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wndaswife · 1 year

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meant to be yours | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Nearly eight years after your breakup with her, you meet Wanda again when she enrols her children at the preschool you work at, evoking a multitude of old feelings and regrets.

Word count: 14 245

Tags: angst, fluff, pining that is a lot more mutual than it seems to either of you, mentions of marital issues, sorority!wanda & milf!wanda (best of both worlds), doctor doom makes his grand entrance

For the last few years, all Wanda has known how to do is compromise. It was a method of survival, a way to make sure she made something of herself as she aged.

The life she had made for herself wasn’t what she’d envisioned; ever since high school, Wanda dreamed of being a journalist for a fashion line. She loved writing and fashion design although the last time she ever had any large projects with either of those passions was in college.

Somewhere along the way, Wanda became convinced that the only thing she could ever be good at was planting down exactly where she’d always been — not taking leaps of faith lest she tumble and have nothing to fall back on.

That was why she settled for a life married to her college boyfriend, staying at home most of the time caring for her two four-year-olds, Tommy and Billy. They were raised to be good, sweet boys, and though Wanda had heaps of regrets, her sons were always her greatest joys.

Victor Doom was an aerospace engineer who focused on robotics and developing other technological advancements for the company at which he worked — the household’s breadwinner.

In college he was especially well-known for being one of if not the only campus frat boy with a working brain, who in his final year helped paton tech with his astrophysics professor, subsequently earning himself a position as an engineer at a renowned corporation where he’s since been employed.

All she’d been doing since college was compromise — where to relocate, when to have children, whether or not she pursued a career. Some days she was somehow comforted by the fact that she didn’t need to do any more than live in the providing shadow of her husband, for it meant that she never had to reach for anything above, and that meant she never had to risk failing.

But other days, when she was selfish, Wanda wished she had more. She wished she had more friends, she wished she had a better marriage and a fulfilling job. Then she’d make dinner for her husband and settle around the table with him and Tommy and Billy at the end of the day and realise that she couldn’t have what she sometimes felt she wanted.

How could she?

At thirty years old with no opportunity for anywhere but forward along the path she’d always been afraid to step off of, there was nothing more for her but this.

In the morning an argument took place in the kitchen, hushed and whispered so as to keep it muffled from the twins who were sleeping upstairs. Victor and Wanda had been discussing putting the twins into the summer preschool program for some time, as the private school they were planning on enrolling them in the fall semester had an optional preschool program.

He was on board up until this morning when Wanda brought up the idea that she use the free time to get a part-time job at a local newspaper company that was looking for journalists.

Upset at her suggestion, he called her selfish and accused her of intentionally suggesting bringing the twins to preschool so she could waste time on her own self-absorbed endeavours. She tried to tell him that she felt she had to do more with herself, and that she didn’t only want to be a stay-at-home mother, especially when she had the education to pursue a career like he did.

Rationally he couldn’t understand her wanting to find a job when he provided everything and more for their family, but it was her comparison of their likeness that set Victor off and he became furious and had trouble keeping his voice down, forcing Wanda to quickly abandon the idea of applying to the part-time job to keep him placated.

He left in a frustrated state though he ended up getting what he wanted, and Wanda woke the boys up for their first day of preschool.

The two young boys had moved to cuddle up beside each other through the night, with Tommy having switched beds to sleep next to his brother.

Wanda woke the both of them, running her hands over their tiny heads and soft hair, and she watched as their little noses scrunched up and their short little arms unwrapped from each other's warm pyjama-clad bodies.

As she watched them arise, she thought to herself how lovely it would be to care for her sweet sons like this for a very long time, and she realised how not-so-terrible living a life without pursuing her other dreams would be.

“G’Morning, mama,” Billy mumbled and his mother leaned down to kiss his scrunched up little nose.

Oh, it wouldn’t be terrible at all.

In the car after breakfast, Wanda explained to the twins what preschool was and how much fun it would be to meet new friends and play games a few days a week. The boys were thrilled and their mother was relieved, for Wanda didn’t wish to abandon the plan she and her husband had made by letting Tommy and Billy skip their first day, and she knew that if she let them stay home because of their whining, they’d whine all day until their father returned home in the evening.

But fortunately for her, the twins were ecstatic.

She didn’t know until her arrival that the first day was also when the parents were allowed a sit-in to allow the children to acclimate while also giving them a first-hand perspective of their child’s first day.

From the preschool calendar, she knew the potluck was on Friday but not that the first day was practically an orientation. If she knew, she would’ve insisted for Victor to take at least the morning off to join her in it.

The forty-minute long sit-in orientation where Wanda sat on a short plastic chair along the edge of the learning carpet along with all the other parents allowed for them to see for themselves that their children would get the most out of their preschool experiences, and that they could be relied on to care for their children.

As she gathered her things that were asked to be placed atop the class desks along with all the other parents’ belongings in the back, Wanda watched as the parents around her seemed to make fast friends. She wondered if they had all somehow known each other before the first day.

In any case, she felt lonely without her husband, especially as she watched her sons socialise joyfully with the other children of the class, watching the precious sight of their children take place without her husband with her.

She carefully slipped away along the walls from the groups of quietly chatting parents as they also gathered their things until a familiar voice made Wanda’s perk up as if she was suddenly summoned by dog whistle.

Darting her eyes around the busy room, Wanda walked forward slowly as her eyes raked through the classroom behind the heap of parents between her and the voice that seemed to come from the back of the classroom, to the right, and…

Wanda’s chest tightened painfully and her breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of you. It was you with your hair but longer now, your height the same as it had been, your voice that was a few slight tweaks worth’s difference from the one that had been echoing in Wanda’s mind, albeit fainter these days, ever since the last she heard it in person.

Her hand reached back and she pressed the pad of her finger into a sharp edge of the cubbies behind her, sending a sharp pain up the nerves of her finger and forcing sound through its muffled barrier and finally freeing her locked joints.

She tore her eyes away from you and stopped just before the doorframe of the classroom.

Carefully, when she had confidence in her breathing, Wanda raised her head and took another look at you.

All the different ways she’d start a conversation with you ran through her mind and she soon began thinking of all the things she’d like to say, all the things she’d like to ask you and all the things she wanted to know about how you were living your life now.

But her fingers tightened around the doorknob and she looked over to it, seeing the gold of her wedding ring reflect the classroom lights. Then she suddenly felt unbecoming and terrible about herself, so she looked back and saw her boys enjoying themselves under the watch of the preschool teachers before she quietly slid out of the class.

When Victor came home early and agreed to go pick up the boys to make up for his absence at the sit-in, Wanda quickly looked through her closet and searched for the letters she received from you the summer she was with you during which she had a three-week long trip to Saint Petersburg with her family.

As the tips of her fingers felt the base of a small rectangular box, Wanda began slowly running the pads of her fingers along the bottom until they caught onto the slim edge of an old sheet of paper.

Slowly as to not rip it, Wanda slid the paper out along the open space between the edge of the box and the other stacked mementos she’d kept since college.

Since you.

Before she opened the letter, she questioned why she’d even gotten the urge to look for it and what she was initially intending for when she began searching for it. She looked down and saw the familiar loops and lines of your handwriting and she abandoned the train of thought, slowly unfolding the sheet and raising it up so she could read it.

For some reason she felt guilty for how long it’d been since she last read from it, and the part of her from her younger years scolded her for stopping the way she used to run her eyes over every inch of your penmanship since the last time she was with you.

Anyways, Wanda read through the letter and felt an addictive pulse resounding within her chest, a lightness and a sort of prickly sharp wave that seized her throat and travelled down into her lungs.

As she let the recollection of having ever been worthy enough for this kind of love, reading the way you described how much you missed her while she was gone and how much you loved her, Wanda felt an odd sense of despair knowing such a thing could only ever exist for her through memory.

She couldn’t quite ask herself whether she was mourning the kind of love that was written on the paper or just who she received it from.

Still as she tucked away the letter and ran the tips of her fingers over the other stashed-away mementos in the box, Wanda still couldn’t figure out why she wanted to look for them in the first place, why seeing you today made her want to open the box hidden along the top back corner of her closet.

But she still sorted through it, seeing a flyer for one of your college plays in there and a music CD you put together for her, and more small trinkets all with meaning and all safely-kept through the years to keep the memory of you stored.

Downstairs, the front door opened and along came the excited footsteps of Tommy and Billy, and Wanda tucked everything back into the box and placed it back into the top shelf of her side of the walk-in closet.

Friday came around, and this time Victor did take a day off to go with Wanda to the potluck; parents and children alike from both the elementary and preschool were being invited to have lunch together for a traditional welcoming event for the start of the summer.

Since Tommy and Billy had already made a handful of friends and were by then already quite attached to the idea of playing with their friends outside the classroom, they were dressed in their very best for the sunny day.

Wanda made a conscious effort to look her best too, for she knew that today she was finally going to come up with the confidence to start a conversation with you. She tried to approach it from a professional point of view, to see it as practical if anything to make connections with the preschool’s instructors.

But she couldn’t deny the way she kept adjusting and readjusting her hair in the side mirror of the car as Victor drove them to lunch, and that wasn’t really required of her to be practical.

Tommy and Billy tugged at their father’s hands and pulled them towards the preschool, excited to show him what he’d been missing while he was at work.

There were a bit more people than Wanda anticipated though the expansive playing field of the preschool was certainly enough for the size of both the preschoolers and the kindergarteners from the private school. So she carefully slipped through the crowds and towards the potluck’s tables to set down the dish she made at home.

She saw you there too amongst a line of other parents along the edge of the table filling their plates.

You were one of the teachers’ assistants from what Tommy and Billy had told her during their many excited retellings of their days when they got back home.

Wanda inhaled sharply and kept the casserole dish in her hands as she subtly waited for the line of parents to clear so she could inch her way closer to you. She spotted a clearing on the table that was close to you and carefully set it down.

She pressed the pads of her fingers into the scalding ceramic to give herself some confidence and she looked up from the table of food, finally laying her eyes on your face within a metre from you for the first time in nearly eight years.

To seem as if she’d approached you naturally, Wanda cleared her throat a little and turned her body to face you. She tucked her hair behind her ear and parted her lips.

It all seemed like she was moving too slowly — mechanically — while the beating of her heart made her feel like she was moving too quickly — messily.

“Hi,” she said, stupidly. She got your attention at least and you lifted your head and looked at her.

It was then that Wanda felt she’d bitten off far more than she could chew as she felt herself seized by the sight of you.

Your hair was longer, like she’d seen on Monday. You looked older now, but the years had been very kind to you. She felt herself ache. You looked so beautiful, and she felt she would be trapped in this moment forever, unable to look away from you, feeling that if she had, you might suddenly disappear for another eight years.

The slight stutter in your greeting might’ve indicated to anyone else that you did recognise her and that her presence in front of you had stunned you momentarily, but Wanda, caught up and otherwise distracted by the sight of you, didn’t notice and so she introduced herself.

“I don’t know if you remember me from college, but–”

You nodded and interrupted her, “Wanda.”

Wanda hoped you didn’t notice how her eyes fell to your lips as you said her name, listening with her interest piqued the most beautiful medley of sound as it came from the way your lips wrapped around each syllable of her name.

It felt like an eternity had passed before your eyes garnered her attention again and she replied with a smile that looked relieved, perhaps because of the fact that you’d remembered her. “How have you been doing? It’s been a long time.”

“I’ve been okay,” you answered simply, almost hesitant to share your present life with a figure of your past.

You looked over to the other side of the sunny field where the twins were being carried on Victor’s shoulders. “They’re yours, right?” you asked, gesturing over to them. “Billy and Tommy.”

Wanda nodded proudly, looking over at her playing children before back over to you. “How did you know? Did they mention me?”

“Anyone who went to college with us still remembers the last name of the all-famous Victor Doom,” you said with a chuckle that might’ve seemed resentful to Wanda if she still wasn’t so taken by the sight of you.

“But, how are you?” you asked more seriously, straightening and looking at her. “You look great. What have you, uh, been doing? The last few years.”

She flushed when she watched you look down at her outfit and her hair and she fidgeted with her fingers, absently rubbing her thumb against tablecloth. “Not very much,” she answered. “I got married — to Victor, as you saw — then had Tommy and Billy.”

“That… sounds like a lot,” you said with a lighthearted laugh.

Wanda felt her heart beating against her ribs in a way that made her take in a breath to relieve the tension she felt in her chest as she listened to the way you laughed. She felt like a stupid flaky college sorority girl again.

“A lot, but not what I imagined for myself,” she confessed.

With an understanding nod, you then said, “You seem to be doing great for yourself, though.”

A cool wave of validation came over her and she beamed. “Thank you,” she responded.

“A-And, you? Are you seeing any–”

Before Wanda could finish her question, one of the other instructors, one whose name Wanda did not know, called you over. You excused yourself and Wanda completely understood, allowing you to head over to where you were needed.

Although she had chances to approach you again throughout the afternoon, Wanda instead kept looking over at you from afar between conversations with her husband or other friends she miraculously made with other mothers.

She didn’t want to press, and she was worried that the thrill of seeing you inflated her sense of reality, and she didn’t want to overstep or misread anything.

After all, the last you’d spoken wasn’t on very good terms and although the years may have done away with the wounds from what had happened, no amount of time could change a future friendship that might simply cease to exist because of the past.

So Wanda had to settle with having only a single brief conversation with the person whose letters she’d kept since college, and she left the potluck early with her husband so the boys could bring one of their friends home for a playdate.

To celebrate the start of the summer and the successful lunch, Wanda and Victor stopped at a farmer’s market that they passed in the car for ice cream with the twins and the friend they were bringing home.

As they waited in line, Wanda began to wander and eventually found herself in front of a handmade jewellery booth. She was initially looking in a solely appreciative way, not planning on buying anything but in awe of the shop owner’s talent until she laid her eyes on a pair of earrings.

She reached for them and brought them up into the light of the sun and out of her shadow so she could more clearly look at the tiny silver dolphins hanging from them. They were perhaps half an inch in size and really adorable and subtle.

The rest of her family caught up to her with ice cream in the young boys’ hands while Wanda had just purchased the dolphin earrings. She showed them to Tommy when he questioned what she’d bought.

“It’s so pretty,” Billy mused.

Wanda agreed, “It is really pretty.”

“Is it a gift, mama?” asked his twin.

“A little bit of one, maybe,” she answered with a contemplative hum then took his hand as the five of them headed back to the car together.

She’d wear it eventually.

Dolphins were your favourite animal.

That evening after the boys had gone to bed, Wanda straddled her husband’s hips in their bedroom, knees hugging either side of his lap as he guided her forward with his hands on her hips. He thrusted up into her while Wanda leaned forward with her hand flat beside his head to keep herself up.

She was too much in her head to enjoy herself — not that Victor cared whether she was involved during sex, and she couldn’t stop thinking of the letter she reread earlier that week and the dolphin earrings she bought and how pretty you looked at the potluck.

With a final grunt and a particularly harsh thrust into her that made Wanda wince beyond the mess of her hair, Victor released into her and soon untensed. He lifted her from his hips and ran his hand down the side of her bare thigh, perhaps meant to be some act of affection, before turning onto his side with a satisfied exhale.

Wanda cleaned herself up in the washroom and once she finished washing her face before heading to bed, she looked at herself in the mirror and felt something curious and desolate, so she stepped forward to get a better look at herself.

She wasn’t under any form of illusion; she was well-aware of how she’d aged over the years, from occasional periodic observations like how her skin looked a tad different in certain places.

But under the burning scrutiny of the washroom lighting, all Wanda could see were smile lines and signs of ageing and reminders upon reminders about how differently she looked from the last time she was with you in college.

Ever since she saw you for the first time in eight years on Monday, you were her landmark in time for nearly everything. She made dozens of comparisons a day, seeing how much things had changed and when the last time she thought of something was — minuscule things that seemed significant when she wondered about how you saw things from your perspective.

Tonight, she wondered how you might think of how she looked now.

She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for, but Wanda knew she’d been hoping for something because the very sight of how she looked in the mirror made her feel let-down, almost hopeless.

And you looked so pretty at the potluck.

There were things about herself that she was glad had changed since college, but she wasn’t in any way thrilled about how much she seemed to have aged.

Victor had brought it up a handful of times before, but it was only under the light of the washroom with the thought of you in mind that Wanda realised how right he was.

Wanda wasn’t sure how exactly she was feeling by the time she shut the washroom light off and went to bed, but she knew that she was certainly glad to finally pull her attention away from the mirror and to think of only you when she closed her eyes instead of her reflection.

Over the next week or so, Wanda tried her best to be impartial with how she approached driving the boys to and from preschool while also ensuring that she only behaved as any other mother would around you.

She allowed Victor to drop the twins off and pick them up without insisting she go along just to see you, and if she did catch sight of you, she’d try her best to wave only when it seemed necessary — when anyone else would’ve done it.

The feelings that buried themselves deep within Wanda’s chest ever since she first saw you nearly three weeks ago had begun to overcome her in a way that she could only rely on convention to ensure she was behaving as she should.

But after a while she began to miss interacting with you and after an amount of time she started to feel picky about how to approach you again.

Fortunately, Tommy and Billy’s birthdays were approaching and they were adamant about having you there; it gave her an excuse to start a conversation with you.

So while Wanda went to pick the boys up from school, she approached you while you were with the kids, waiting for them to get picked up by the rest of the parents as they played outside.

“Hi, Y/N,” she greeted with a smile, elated at the feeling of saying your name out loud.

She was standing on the outside of the picket fence while you were on the other side, turning to face her.

“Oh, hey!” you said and smiled too in a way that made Wanda feel like she wasn’t being too awkward. “Let me get the twins for you.”

Before you could leave, Wanda quickly interjected, “Actually, I was wondering if I’d be able to ask you something.”

You seemed the slightest bit wary and that brought about a twinge of sadness within Wanda, but she pressed on anyway; she could understand why you’d be doubtful of her intentions, even after all the years that’s passed.

“This is... a little embarrassing to ask,” she began hesitantly, “but the twins begged for me to invite you to their birthday party this Sunday, so I was wondering if you’d like to come. They talk about you a lot and I think they’d just like for their favourite person to attend.”

She probably talked too much.

“Favourite person, huh?” you repeated with an amused smile.

Wanda was reassured by your lighthearted response. “Their words,” she said.

“And their mother and father?”

“Forgotten — completely.”

You both laughed, though Wanda a moment after you as she was initially taken by the sight of sheer joy on your face, caused all because of her.

After taking a moment to seriously consider the offer, you said, “Sunday? I can’t do that day, sorry. Would I be able to drop off a gift instead on Saturday?”

“Oh, that’s fine!” Wanda reassured with a wave of her hand. “Actually, we’re having dinner with just the four of us on Saturday, so you’re welcome to join us then instead.”

You had a feeling that Wanda was sort of trying her best to have you attend something for the twins, but a part of you also felt she was trying hard just to have you there.

Though you knew you were completely free on Saturday, you took a moment before answering to look a bit less rushed in responding to Wanda’s offer.

“Saturday should work,” you confirmed with a nod.

Wanda perked up and smiled, thrilled at succeeding in inviting you over for dinner. “Alright. That sounds good.”

She watched as you pulled your phone out from your pocket and she swallowed, forcing herself not to hope too much from what you were about to do, as you easily could’ve been checking the time.

But then you asked, “Would you mind if I got your number? So you can text me the address and all.”

Wanda hoped her fingers weren’t trembling as much as she felt they were as she reached forward and took your phone with an attempt at a professional nod.

“Of course,” she managed to say, repressing the onset of an excited smile.

You caught sight of her flushed cheeks and the forming dimples as she held back a smile, but you weren’t entirely sure what it meant.

Years ago you would’ve pinned it as a flattered blush, hints of a heart tenderly-touched and a sensitive soul. But the Wanda you eventually came to know… was disingenuous.

Most things with her were.

You tried not to be bitter and childish about what had happened years ago though you were almost certain that people like her didn’t change; you had to look away.

On Saturday evening, Wanda had finished getting dressed in something casual for a dinner at home but formal enough for having a guest over, and she was standing in front of her vanity surveying the dolphin earrings in the palm of her hand.

She hadn’t worn them yet; she was saving them for a special occasion, for when she really wanted to make a gesture.

But the silver of the dolphins were too reflective and the shape of the animal would’ve been clear from even two metres away, and that wasn’t subtle enough for the steadily-budding rekindling between her and you.

So she opened her jewellery box and tucked the earrings away safely for a different time — a time she hoped would eventually come.

And most importantly, Wanda didn’t want to drive you away.

Wanda was in the kitchen putting together some drinks when you knocked at the front door, gift in-arm. She looked over at the door, feeling a fury of anxious butterflies burst in her stomach as the reality set in that she was going to have dinner with you.

Victor announced that he’d get the door and descended from upstairs where he’d been helping the boys get dressed for their very special guest.

From the kitchen, Wanda could hear you greet her husband at the door and she began to steady her breathing. She focused instead on carefully placing mint into the cocktail glasses.

“Is she… here?” she asked Victor over her shoulder in the most inconspicuous way she could when he stepped into the kitchen to check on the food.

“She’s waiting in the den,” he answered. “I told her you’d come around with drinks.”

Wanda told him it’d only be a few minutes until the rice and stir-fry would be ready, so he went back up to help finish getting the twins dressed before dinner was served.

On top of the fireplace in the den was a framed picture of Wanda’s college sorority, and leaning close to take a better look at it felt like peering into a sort of time machine. It felt like a completely different life, yet you could almost just recall things like when exactly the photo was taken as if it’d happened only months ago.

The photo was of the entire sorority coming together to take a picture before campus closed for a week for the holidays. It was during a sorority event at the city’s ice rink, and you recalled being dragged over to it by Wanda, who was your girlfriend at the time.

You were posed together near the corner of the group of other girls, Wanda’s arms squeezed around your shoulders while she stood on a pair of ice skates.

“I made this for you,” a voice approached from behind, and you turned to see Wanda walking into the den with a drink in both hands. “A mojito. But for yours, without any alcohol because I know you’ll be driving home.”

She was wearing a red turtleneck and slacks. She had an expensive-looking watch on and pearl earrings, and for the first time you considered how rich she must be now that she was married to Victor Doom.

Wanda saw the drink in the cocktail glass tremble slightly before you finally took it from her with a ‘thank you’ and she rubbed her palm down her hip nervously.

The warmth from the fireplace made her cheeks feel so warm, and the shade of the fire made your skin look so pretty and soft with the way the gentle orange flickered against your face.

“So you have this picture here,” you noted and took a sip of the mojito as you gestured to the framed picture. “Framed and up on the mantle.”

Wanda tapped her fingernail against the side of the glass as she looked at the photo over your shoulder.

Damn.

She forgot to take it down before you came, and now she looked obsessive and childish and overbearing. She would understand if you saw it that way, for there was really only one reason she’d ever have that photo up in her house, and she looked at it every single time she passed it since she moved in.

“Y-Yes,” Wanda stuttered and straightened, feeling the condensation from the glass trickle down her fingers. She smiled a little, because she was a bit proud of the picture.

She couldn’t read your expression, not when your back was turned, until you looked back at her and said in a lighthearted tone, “You must’ve not changed very much since college, huh?”

It wasn’t accusing or rude, and Wanda felt that it would’ve hurt less if you had said it as an insult; you said it as if you’d never expected her to be different.

Even if it were true that Wanda hadn’t changed since college, the realisation wouldn’t have even disappointed you.

You would’ve expected it, and that made something behind Wanda’s ribcage ache.

Her lips parted to say something, perhaps to protest, but she couldn’t figure out what she wanted to say before the shrill cheers of Tommy and Billy ran into the room at the sight of you.

Wanda stepped back and allowed them to tackle you excitedly before you set the mojito on the coffee table so you could lean down and hug them, wishing them both an early happy birthday.

She listened, partially-absent, as you told the boys you’d give them their gifts after dinner. She watched you mostly, and how little you’d changed in the way you laughed and teased.

Did it always feel like this, eight years ago?

Had she been so cruel with you that you truly couldn’t believe she was one to change after so long?

Was this the first time, out of all the inevitable others, that she realised the hurt she made you feel?

Victor called from the kitchen announcing that the dinner was ready and Wanda blinked out of her stupor to kiss the foreheads of her children and let you walk ahead first as the twins led you forward.

You looked so pretty wearing a knit pullover that made everything about you look so soft and smelling of sweet sparkling champagne.

The mojito made her a little tipsy and she felt her face’s warmth as she kept looking up from her plate and over at you across the table where you were discussing all sorts of things with Tommy and Billy, who were still practically buzzing with joy at having you over for dinner.

She watched your lips as they moved, imagined you reciting the words from the letter you wrote her years ago — imagined you meaning them like you did back then too.

Since she reread the letter for the first time in a while just three weeks ago, she could recall every word of it again like she used to be able to when she was much younger.

She felt ashamed of herself and looked away from you to spare her dignity, though it would not be the last time she did.

For most of the dinner, Wanda was silent; Victor was always more of the talker between the two of them, she liked getting to watch you without the fear of sounding obsessive, and she very much enjoyed listening to you interact with the twins without interrupting.

It was only during the gift-opening after dinner that Wanda blurted out in the middle of a conversation.

They were opening up a wrapped book to see a picture book guide of dolphins, and Wanda was only halfway into feeling shocked about the coincidence before Billy giggled and said, “You really like dolphins as much as mama said.”

“What?” Wanda all but coughed out.

Billy excitedly flipped through the book and insisted, “Mama, you said.”

“I…” She cleared her throat and her eyes flickered over to your face, half-expecting you to be furious for some reason. “I-I said what, Billy?”

“That Y/N likes dolphins,” Tommy answered and looked up from the book, now confused by his mother’s confusion.

Wanda shook her head insistently. “I don’t think I…” She trailed off and brought the rim of her mojito up to her lips to shut herself up.

Her avoidance of your eyes made her miss how you looked across the dinner table at her and her flushed cheeks.

Victor made a joke about how forgetful his wife was and although it was a tad too degrading for dinner with their children, Wanda was thankful for it anyways for it cancelled out any impending awkward silences caused by her inability to behave properly around you.

Just how much had she been thinking of you to the point of completely tuning out when she spoke about you in front of her children?

“We’ve been talking a lot about dolphins at school,” you said and wiggled your eyebrows at them. “We’re learning about our favourite animals.”

You reached into the bag and pulled out two adorable stuffed animals, a horse and a red cardinal — the twins’ favourites.

As they cheered and stood from their seats to round the table and hug you tightly, Wanda felt a mix of emotion whirling within her, a sense of shame and humiliation, but also so much adoration for you.

To the boys’ dismay, their bedtime came quicker than it felt it had and Wanda had to put them to bed. They both whined although having been given an extra hour to stay up for their birthday dinner with Y/N, but like the sweet boys they were, eventually listened to their mother’s delicate discipline.

Her greatest, greatest prides.

They were good boys.

Wanda had the twins say goodnight to you and thank you for coming, then excused herself for a moment to put them to bed. She’d come back down to see you out, but until then you promised to help clean up after dinner with Victor.

“You know, I remember a lot about you from college,” Victor told you as he handed you a glass to dry.

You placed the dry glass onto the rack beside the sink then replied, “I remember a lot about you too. Though, uh, we didn’t really talk, I think.”

“Yeah, but I talked a lot with Wanda,” he said. “And she’d blabber about you, like, every other day sometimes. So it feels like I know you well.”

Something about that made you bristle; you didn’t want to be known by Victor Doom.

When you were finished with the dishes, Victor dried his hands and leaned against the sink, scrutinising you in an odd way.

“You look good,” he then complimented.

The flicker in his eyes suddenly became perceptible, and you quickly picked up on what he was trying to inch closer to.

You eyed the front foyer then looked back over to him to continue seeing civil. “Thank you,” you answered simply.

He was tall.

Imposing.

“Are you with anyone I’d know from college?” he asked, moving the dish cloth between his fingers.

“No.”

He scoffed in teasing disbelief. “I’m not under any illusion that…” He trailed off with a chuckle, leaving the rest of his words to imagination. “Especially when time’s done you so well.”

You felt like tearing your hair out and you felt a dozen weights being lifted from your shoulders when you heard Wanda begin to descend the staircase.

“Give me your number,” Victor then asked in a hushed, hurried tone. “We’ll set something up.”

Wanda reaching the bottom of the staircase allowed you to quickly slip out of the constricting corner of the kitchen and you grabbed your things from the sofa in the den before following you out to the front porch.

Victor Doom was still a huge dick, and you were beginning to have a terrible perspective on the couple. They didn’t change at all, and you weren’t sure what you came to the dinner anticipating, but knowing that Victor was still the kind of man Wanda was comfortable being married to planted an indescribable bitterness in you.

“Thank you for coming,” Wanda said quietly as the warm silence of the summer evening soon enveloped the two of you alone on the porch when she closed the front door.

“The boys really, really enjoyed having you over. I’m sure they’ll be talking about it for weeks,” she added with a laugh.

You nodded and turned to look at her. “Yeah. It’s no problem, I really enjoyed celebrating with them. They’re lovely,” you answered.

Being in front of you now, Wanda wanted to say a lot and wanted to ask you about everything you’d been up to over the last eight years.

There was no one to interrupt now, and it would be alright and objectively appropriate to start some small talk about your life while also being able to hide her buzzing curiosity behind convention.

But all she could find herself telling you was one thing — all that she could get past her lips.

“I really… I really have changed since college, Y/N,” she uttered quietly, pressing her nail into the pad of her thumb in front of her stomach.

It was important to her that you knew that for some reason.

You regarded her for a moment then nodded, and Wanda seemed relieved at what seemed to her as trust established.

The moment you stepped onto the porch, you told yourself how irritated you were at both Wanda and Victor, how unimpressed and upset you’d felt because of how little she’d changed since college.

Yet all you could think about on the way home was her.

It felt that something was gnawing at you from the inside, pricking at your skin each time it fought its way closer to realisation, but still you couldn’t figure out why you felt the way you did with Wanda.

For years the feeling had been asleep within you, unwoken and put to bed the day of college graduation when you caught sight of Wanda trying to approach you before you left the graduation ceremony.

That was the last you ever saw of her before earlier this month.

It was painful to recall the time you used to spend with her, but freeing, in a way.

You remembered how idiotically in love you were with her at the time, how naive and new everything felt. It was torturous to recall how it all ended up, but… thinking about how she used to make you feel made you feel exhilarated and you wondered if what you were doing was some sort of sick form of masochism.

All the music CDs burned for her to play when she was away from you, the letters to her written with a careful hand — all so childish that it was worthy of some form of envy.

You questioned if you were envious of the childish-like view of the world that you had when you were in love with Wanda or if it was the love itself.

Either way, it was an unreachable thing of the past.

You grew up, and Wanda…. was Wanda. She always would be.

Weeks before the actual breakup, things had begun to dwindle between you and your girlfriend. She took frequent rain checks on your plans together to be able to tend to the sorority as the end of the year was approaching and the group traditionally began recruiting for the next year before the summer.

But at the same time, your theatre was finally putting on the show they’d spent all year putting together, months of hard work spent on funding and prop and costume design — everything from the casting to the lighting crew was created from scratch since the start of September.

You understood, time and time again, that Wanda had her own priorities with her own friends and hobbies. She helped with some things where she could, and you loved when she did.

Some late nights were spent designing costumes together because Wanda had always been interested in fashion, and oftentimes she helped with those designs while you worked on putting together props.

She wasn’t a college student or a sorority girl when you spent those late evenings together — she was just Wanda. But sometimes you felt like even Wanda didn’t know who she was during those years, and that was hard to keep up with.

In spite of missing your practices and flaking on days where she promised to read over your scripts or touch up on the costumes, Wanda vowed to make it for your play’s showing.

The only issue was that on the same day there was an initiation for the new recruits, and Wanda was required to attend as an upcoming alumni.

It would end before your showing and although there’d be an afterparty to celebrate, she also promised that she’d go right to the theatre to watch once the initiation ended.

Anxiously, you stood by the edge of the stage behind the curtains with a clear view of the front doors as you waited for Wanda to arrive. She had a seat in the front row where you could see her from anywhere to the right of the stage behind the curtains so you could watch her reactions to her performers wearing her designs.

Then a few anxious minutes turned into half an hour, and she still hadn’t come.

By then you knew that the initiation was over because Wanda gave you a definite time it would be finished by, which was well before the start of the play.

You sent her a few texts, but by the second to last act, you knew she wasn’t coming and you stopped messaging.

Maybe it was unfair to place her attendance on the kind of pedestal you did, because it wasn’t any sort of objective truth how important it was that she came.

It was a play you helped write while thinking of her, props you made sitting with her in the living room — just the two of you, hours upon hours painting and writing and designing all while trying to see the set through her eyes.

You imagined you knew her well enough to see from her shoes, anyways.

A whole year’s effort for her.

It wasn’t like you told her any of that; not even you knew how important Wanda had been to every single thing you did until you were broken up.

When Wanda finally arrived, she burst through the theatre doors, heels in hand. She looked like she’d been running, as she was out of breath and a bit dazed as she looked around at the empty theatre.

And the soft flush of her cheeks and the mess of her hair.

She was drunk too.

You were packing up the last of the props into boxes on your own when Wanda stepped up to the stage and looked for someone.

“Is… Did I miss it?” she asked, slowly catching her breath.

“Guess,” was all you could manage to force out from the bitter feeling that squeezed the air out of your lungs.

She caught sight of the props you were putting away; some of them were things she could recall making with you. She remembered helping you hot glue some of them together and pick out the paint and cut up the little details.

She felt terrible.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” she apologised. “I lost track of time. Really, I did. I didn’t mean to miss your play. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t mean to, but you should’ve cared about it enough that coming to see something important to me wasn’t an extra effort to you.”

You closed the stage curtains and stepped down from the staircase leading out to the side where the door to the theatre was, and Wanda followed behind you.

You placed the prop box down by the foot of the staircase.

“I know you were busy, but I just thought you’d prioritise your own girlfriend over some stupid sorority,” you muttered.

The anger was well-founded, yet the way you insulted Wanda’s interests wasn’t. But you were so upset and jealous and you felt so belittled.

Maybe she felt the same way too, because Wanda quickly countered, “You don’t have to make me feel bad about it. I just apologised. And besides, it’s not like you had anything that important going on here.”

Your face contorted and you turned to look at her.

“What?” you asked.

Although seemingly hesitant for a moment, the drinks Wanda had earlier catapulted her emotions forward and in the moment, she’d say anything to get a reaction from you just to make herself feel better about what she did.

“You wouldn’t know what it’s like to have something important happen to you, Y/N, because you always give me shit for pursuing the things I care about,” she argued.

With a disbelieving scoff, you replied, “I ‘give you shit’ sometimes because I want you here with me. I wanted you here! And I’ve always understood when you had other things to do.”

“You would want that, because you have nothing going on without me anyways.”

Sensing criticism in her tone, you questioned, “What does that mean?”

“It means that you could never understand having real things matter to you, because all you have is this idiotic nerdy theatre shit and nothing else important, so you leech off of me to make yourself feel better for at least having someone who’s actually doing something with their lives close to you.”

Wanda didn’t know why she said that, and even in the moment she hated the taste of her words as she spat them out. But she said them, still.

She loved how nerdy and creative and hardworking you were. She adored you so much — looked up to you.

Hours she’d spent listening to you talk about how much you loved theatre and watching performances with you online. She loved the part of you that loved theatre and film and art; she thought it was endearing and adorable, and it made you the most creative and sensitive person she knew.

The argument pressed on, both of you fueled by the insecurity of not being prioritised by the person you loved. Perhaps all either of you needed was to confess that you really did care about the other, for in your own ways, it felt to both of you that it had become lost somewhere along the line.

Wanda felt criticised and betrayed that you would look down on her, that you saw yourself as so different from her. The entire sorority paled in comparison to you, but the feeling that you thought you were truly that different from her, that someone else would be better for you instead, made Wanda say just about anything to get some sort of emotion out of you.

In a way you felt the same, constantly feeling that Wanda prioritised things more than she did you. You were patient and understanding with her and your love for her remained in the face of her distance, but where did that get you if she didn’t care about you anyway?

In the heat of the moment, someone accidentally nudged the prop box and made everything in it drop and clatter to the ground.

The loud noise of broken props you and Wanda had spent countless nights working on together put an abrupt stop to the argument.

There was a particular prop that tumbled out of the box and broke, a small chalice that took hours to design to make it as historically accurate as possible for the play, put together by an actual blacksmith that Wanda knew, and intricately decorated by the both of you afterwards over Indian takeout and the span of two movies.

Wanda felt so terrible looking at it, and how its base was bent and its handle broken off.

“I think I’m done,” you said suddenly and started getting your things from a small closet beside the exit. “I think we’re done.”

It took a few moments for Wanda to process your words, blinking in the face of watching you begin to pack up and leave her. Then she managed to utter, “What?”

“We should break up before the school year ends. Let’s stop pretending this is gonna work out, okay? Just focus on our own stuff while we can.”

Wanda scoffed out a nervous laugh and she approached you, stepping over the broken props. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not breaking up because of… of this. Y/N. Come on.”

“Why not?” you asked and zipped your jacket up. “Be honest with yourself and try to tell me that you see this working out any better than it already has been.”

If Wanda were more sober and less overwhelmed, she would’ve told you just that, because she loved you and she knew she could give you what you needed — what you deserved.

She would gladly apologise for what she did and how she’d been treating you, and she’d be honest about how she’d been feeling too.

And if you were thinking properly, not acting rashly, not too emotionally, you would’ve taken a step back and realised how much Wanda did love you.

Maybe you still would’ve wanted more of her — more of her attention, more of her affection — but you would’ve told her that too, and Wanda would’ve felt like the most important person in the world for being wanted so much by you.

But none of that happened.

Instead, Wanda began pleading, “Please don’t leave me. Y/N… No one really likes me but you. You know that. No one knows me, really. You’re all I have.”

“You have your sorority,” you muttered and pulled your hat on.

Wanda started to cry then, almost immediately brought to tears by the suggestion that her sorority could mean anything to her like you do.

Was she so terrible that she'd led you to believe that was even possible?

“I don’t care about them like that, and they don’t even really like me. They don’t like anyone,” Wanda insisted tearily. “But you like me. I know you do.”

She wrapped her fingers around your hand and tried to hold it.

“Please don’t leave,” she begged.

Recalling it now made you feel like the worst person in the world — truly.

In spite of the situation and what happened, Wanda really had been trying. She was crying in front of you and begging you to see that your relationship was stronger than you thought it was, and that she cared about you more than you realised.

And all you could do was be bitter and cold and look away from her, pull your hand away when she held it and turn your back to her weeping.

What were you protecting back then?

Your ego?

Back then you wondered if it was a worthy trade-off, and today while you drove back home from Wanda’s house, you wondered the same.

In the morning you continued to think about Wanda, and for an inexplicable reason, even checked your phone for a message from her.

It’d been a while since you did that.

But you didn’t hear from Wanda until Monday when she picked the boys up from school, and by then you’d been thinking a lot about change and the breakup and if it was possible to be normal with each other again.

“I wanted to… to apologise. For dinner on Saturday,” Wanda said to you the moment she stepped down from her car, walking up to you waiting by the front door of the school. She was bold about it, didn’t hesitate before apologising for something you weren’t sure needed apologising for.

“What are you apologising for?” you asked curiously, looking between her and the children being picked up by their parents.

You doubted that Wanda knew her husband tried to get your number, but you were almost sure that she at least knew about the infidelity.

Had she really settled for someone like that?

Victor was who Wanda started going out with after you broke up, and it bewildered you that she was still with him.

Didn’t she at least once think that she could do better?

She indeed knew about the infidelity — she’d known since college. But what was she meant to do about it? She’d begged him for normalcy and to upkeep appearances for Billy and Tommy, but she couldn’t beg for him to love her like a husband did his wife.

Nor could he.

Wanda spun her wedding ring around her finger anxiously. “I just felt that things might’ve been uncomfortable for you, and I would never want to make you feel that way. That wasn’t my intention at all.”

It felt like she was talking a lot faster than you could catch up with.

“I-I can get ahead of myself sometimes, and if I said anything to make you feel… uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

The sight reminded you all too well of that evening in the theatre — Wanda’s nervous fidgeting and her apologetic tone, and most of all, the pleading to keep you close.

It was different now, of course, because it was in a different context. But it was the same, really.

It was always Wanda begging you to stay with her.

“It’s… alright. You’ve done nothing to make me uncomfortable,” you reassured, and Wanda smiled.

Then you scratched at the back of your neck and looked away awkwardly before saying, “Listen, it’s kind of stupid, but I have, um…”

You hesitated to say it because of the subject matter, but Wanda was patient and so understanding as she regarded you with such kind eyes as she waited for you to continue.

For the first time you noticed how a part of Wanda had aged — changed, even. She looked older in the way she looked at you, the innocent levity ever present but now wrapped in the years that have passed and the maturity that came with it.

Wanda reached out a little and brushed the pad of her thumb across your knuckles softly, reminding you that it was okay to say to her what you wanted.

She did change — but not all of her.

Though you’d been so adamant about wanting her to be different from college, you found that you really enjoyed knowing some parts of her were exactly the same.

The parts you loved.

And the parts of her that were different you wanted to get to know too.

You’ve seen how hard she was trying with you, and you were finally determined to do the same for her.

“I have some play going on this weekend. I helped put it together with a few theatre friends from college,” you said finally. “So, if you wanna come, I can get some tickets for you and Victor.”

Wanda’s interest was immediately piqued and she straightened, her eyebrows raising as her lips parted to accept the offer.

But you added hurriedly, “But you really don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I know it’s not really your thing.”

“N-No! I’d really love to go,” Wanda insisted with a reassuring nod. “Would it be alright if I just went on my own?”

Imagining Wanda going alone to one of your plays made the offer a lot more intimate than you initially planned it to be, and the ease at which she suggested it made your breath catch in your throat.

Wanda took it as she was being too forward and she immediately began explaining, “It’s just that Victor gets impatient with those sorts of things and I wouldn’t want to have you waste a ticket.”

“Yeah, I get it. Totally,” you replied and cleared your throat. “Yeah, sure. Just you. I’ll text you an entry ticket and they’ll just scan the barcode on it before you go in.”

“Okay,” she said with a reaffirming nod and a wide smile. “So, this weekend? When, Saturday?”

You corrected, “Sunday. At eight.”

“I’ll save the date,” Wanda said, practically beaming. She couldn’t believe how lucky she’d gotten.

Maybe she hadn’t been as unfortunate with her attempts as she felt she’d been.

Was it apologising for dinner that got her an invite to your play? Or did the twins win all your affection for her?

Or maybe you just blurted out the invitation without really thinking it through, and you regretted it the moment it came out of your mouth.

If that was the truth, Wanda would try her hardest to make sure you’d end up enjoying having invited her. She’d be what you deserved eight years ago, and she’d show you that she still could be what you deserved now.

After that, she wasn’t sure what would happen; expecting anything more than your forgiveness would be selfish.

Almost every day until Sunday came, Wanda sorted through her closet and her jewellery box to put together an outfit for you. She’d be wearing it and it was ultimately up to her whether she wore it, but it was for you.

As she picked out a cream knit sweater and a floor-length black skirt, she thought about how you’d like her outfit and also wondered what you might think of the perfume she chose too.

When it was the evening of the play, Wanda put her hair back into a French twist — this she did with the intention of not seeming too much like how she looked in college, as never she wore her hair up in something so formal back then.

Wanda laid the dolphin earrings in her palm and surveyed it as she wondered whether it would be okay to wear it tonight. She worried about making too big of a gesture where it wasn’t appropriate, but there was a chance you wouldn’t notice she was wearing them at all.

After several moments of deep consideration, she took off her pearl earrings and put on the ones with the small silver dolphins hanging from them.

You swore you hadn’t been this nervous leading up to the play’s first performance until tonight. You’d worked on plenty since college and it wasn’t like this was anything like your first project since graduation.

Why were you so nervous?

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you took it out to silence your notifications until you read the text message.

It was Wanda, and she messaged: I got a spot in the front row! I’m excited!

When you stepped out from backstage and stood beside the edge of the curtains to be able to get a little glimpse into the crowd, you looked for her, eyes sorting through the front row of the audience.

In the midst of the soft buzzing from the crowd’s chatter and an audience of nearly three-hundred people, you saw Wanda sitting in the front where she said she was. She wasn’t with Victor or the twins; she came alone like she said she would, even though you ended up sending her three extra tickets in case she changed her mind.

The very sight of her made you ache, a thrumming longing beating at your sternum as you watched her look around at the theatre and adjust her skirt.

Quickly, before the performance started, you messaged back, I see you. You look great.

You wished so badly to have been able to see her face when she read the text, but you were pulled over to help with the lighting last minute.

When the curtains finally opened, you checked your phone one more time and saw Wanda’s message: Thank you. :)

The theatre lights dimmed and lights from the stage turned on and your position at the far-left of the curtains allowed you to see her much clearer — like you’d wanted to do years ago.

You paid little attention to what was going on during the performance, though you miraculously kept enough focus to be able to do things like help keep the performers on time with their costume changes. But mostly you were watching Wanda.

In a theatre full of hundreds of people, she was your only audience.

During pauses in the script where the theatre was full of only silence, you could hear the pulsing of your heart and for a moment forgot it’d ever done anything but beat only while you watched how pretty Wanda looked in the pale light of the theatre’s stage.

When the play came to a finish and the curtains closed, the crew and performers gave their thanks to the audience before the theatre lights were turned back on and some of the crew and performers lined up by the door to thank people as they filed out of the theatre.

The line shorted gradually and the crowd of people made it so that you couldn’t spot Wanda, and though you’d completely understand if she already left — after all, she didn’t need to stay to do anything else — a part of you hoped she stuck around a little.

But not for any particular reason, for you didn’t even know what you’d say to her if she did; you just wanted to see her wait for you.

“Hi,” a soft voice greeted, and you turned your head away from the theatre doors to the woman in front of you.

Wanda.

The sight of her made you rather nervous, and you realised you’d been worrying a lot about whether she’d enjoy the play.

Your only audience.

It was her opinion you cared about the most.

With a smile that made her own widen at the sight, you replied, “Hi.”

“I really liked it,” she told you. “The performers were incredible.”

“I’m… I’m really happy you liked it,” you said, internally feeling pretty relieved. “Yeah, they’re super talented. We had to move around a few dates, actually, so they’d be able to perform for us.”

“And the script…” Wanda said, something brief and unsaid exchanged between the two of you as you looked at each other. But the question that was implied wasn’t answered when she added, “The script was wonderful too.”

Someone approached from behind and waited around Wanda to be able to talk with you, so she uttered, “I should leave. Thank you for inviting me. I really loved being able to watch.”

You nodded once and smiled cordially at her, but the sight of her turning and heading for the theatre doors reminded you all too well of something similar from years ago and you reached out suddenly and took her hand. She stopped and looked down at your hand wrapped around hers.

Her fingers twitched before she looked up at you.

“Stay,” you said and took a breath. “Until I’m done here.”

An unusual feeling began to grow within her as she ran her eyes over your face, seeing the hesitancy that seemed to make the corner of your mouth twitch as you anticipated her response and the look in your eyes that meant something she couldn’t interpret.

Her throat tightened and Wanda had to swallow to ease the tension there so she could reply to you.

“Okay,” she replied, hoping you didn’t hear the way her breath caught in her throat when your fingers tightened around her hand. “I’ll wait in the hall.”

Was she stuttering when she answered? She couldn’t tell.

She focused only on keeping her legs steady as she moved one foot in front of the other, her thumb rubbing at the heel of her hand as the feeling of your fingers running down her palm when you let go of her hand lingered even when the doors closed behind her.

Minutes felt like seconds in that hallway where Wanda waited for you. It felt like time simply ceased to exist there when her mind ran rampant with what it might’ve meant that you invited her to see your play and asked her to wait for you.

She wondered if things would’ve gone just like this if she had come to your play like she promised eight years ago.

The theatre lights turned off and you stepped into the hallway once the doors opened, exchanging a smile with Wanda who straightened from the adjacent wall and stepped towards you.

“Thanks for waiting,” you said gratefully. “Sorry for taking so long. There was a problem with the lighting again.”

“It’s totally okay. I didn’t wait long at all,” Wanda reassured. Then she said, “You’ve always been such a talented scriptwriter. I’m glad I got a front row seat to your play.”

Her words made you flush and the way she looked at you with such innocent and sincere optimism in her eyes that presently glistened with the dim light of the hallway made you stutter until you were finally able to thank her.

You cleared your throat and said, “You really do look great tonight, by the way. I mean, a lot better now because I can see you more clearly. Compared to before, like, behind a curtain.”

That made Wanda laugh and she nodded. “I get it. Thank you,” she replied. She was glad that you liked how she looked. She wore it all for you, after all.

Really, neither of you knew what you were expecting when you made time for each other alone. You didn’t know what you had wanted when you asked Wanda to stay, and she didn’t know what she’d been hoping to get out trying her hardest to be friendly with you again.

“Did you drive yourself here?” asked Wanda.

“No, I got a ride from one of my friends. He had to drop something off at his place, so he’ll come back to get me. His car couldn’t fit me in there with the set stuff.”

Immediately, Wanda offered, “I can drive you home. You don’t have to wait for your friend.”

“Really? You don’t have to. I don’t wanna bother you.”

“It’s not a bother at all. Tommy and Billy are out of town visiting Victor’s parents, so I don’t have to be home early to make them dinner or anything.”

Things seemed to be going well — really well. But you still weren’t sure what you wanted from all this.

Maybe there wasn’t anything to want.

Maybe you and Wanda would just end up being casual friends who went out for lunch sometimes when she was free or went with her to her pilates classes when she could bring a friend.

That was kind of amusing; you couldn’t ever imagine someone like her being a casual anything in your life.

Knowing Wanda would never be something casual.

“Would you mind if we stopped at my place before I drop you off? I have something I’d like to give you,” Wanda told you as she buckled her seatbelt then started the car.

With a piqued interest, you asked, “What kinda thing?”

“A surprise,” she teased and grinned at you.

That made you feel all warm. It reminded you a lot of how you remembered her when you used to go out. She was such a tease back then.

Seeing her behave in some ways like how you remembered her but now dressed in expensive jewellery and clothes with shorter hair and a more mature face made her teasing even more endearing.

She talked a little about the twins and how their birthday party went, all the while you were watching how the streetlights casted on her face. Her face had become less round over the years and the pale lights from the street she drove down made the angle of her cheekbones cast a particularly sharp shadow along her face, making her face look sculpted, but by hand, like a Grecian statue.

Her nose was the same.

Her eyes crinkled at the sides when she smiled over at you after perhaps noticing you watching her. That was different from when you were together — the way she smiled — and you liked that a lot. So you didn’t care that she caught you.

If you had looked away, you wouldn’t have seen how she looked when she smiled at you.

“Come in and wait in the den,” she told you when you arrived before leading you into the house. She set her purse down beside your things on the couch then started the fireplace. “I’ll just be a second. I have to get it for you upstairs.”

Somehow the room looked different now knowing it was only Wanda at home.

You looked at the picture you had been staring at the last time you were here, and even that looked different too. You’d noticed how Wanda was hugging you when you last saw the picture, but now you couldn’t stop looking away from her.

And how happy she looked with you.

Wanda came down from upstairs and you could see her holding something for the fireplace reflected off of what looked like metal.

When she stepped into the den, you could see she was holding some kind of prop.

It was the chalice the two of you worked on years ago that broke.

“Oh my god. You still have this?” you mused and carefully took it with both hands when she handed it to you.

Wanda’s cheeks flushed and she played with her wedding ring. “It’s all fixed up now,” she said. “I was really careful with it. You should take it.”

“No,” you immediately contested. “It isn’t right for me to take it from you after you’ve taken such good care of it.”

“It’s still yours. It was for your play. Please take it.”

You looked down at it, turning it carefully in your hands and reading in all the details of the prop the late nights you spent with Wanda making it as if the very metal and its details had words written on them. You wondered what she must’ve thought every time she saw it over the last eight years.

It belonged to the both of you if anything.

When you set the chalice down by your things, Wanda quietly asked, “Y/N… Was tonight the play you wrote for me in college?”

You blinked and were taken by surprise. You started writing a script for Wanda so you could have it finished by the middle of February, but you ended up breaking up before her birthday, and you never had the chance to give it to her.

Initially when you first met Wanda again last month, you thought it was by complete coincidence that you had also just found the drafted script from years ago and had just decided to finally make it into a show.

But maybe you truly had been thinking of her a lot more over the years than you originally thought you did.

“How did you know that?” you asked.

She confessed, “I read a few pages of it back then.”

“When I…”

“When you told me not to,” she confirmed. “But I was curious, and… Well, that was the play, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, and she couldn’t help but giggle.

“You wrote a play for me,” she said, teasing you.

Without taking your eyes away from her for a second, you smiled and repeated, “I wrote a play for you.”

At first your sincerity made Wanda swoon and her teasing demeanour melted into a warm flattered mess before guilt overtook her at the sight of how you looked at her.

You looked at her with so much admiration.

Wanda swallowed and quietly said, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“You apologise a lot.”

“I know, but–” She cut herself off and seemed to be recollecting things internally before she began again. She struggled with maintaining eye contact but she tried anyway, and you wondered what was so important that she had to try this hard to communicate it.

She said, “I should’ve gone to your play in college.”

You tried to interrupt her before she could apologise for something that happened so long ago, but she wouldn’t let you interject.

“It was important to you and I should’ve gone like I promised I would. I prioritised other stupid, meaningless things over you, and I’m sorry. I should’ve…”

She finally broke eye contact and looked down at the floor, pressing her fingers against her palm anxiously.

You weren’t sure if you should try interrupting her again until the light from the fireplace reflected against the silver of her earrings.

You reached out and laid the earring against the pad of your index finger so you could get a better look at it and Wanda looked up from the floor and ran her eyes over your face.

“Dolphins,” you said.

It was then that Wanda realised the feeling that had been planted deep within her the second you took her hand in the theatre, then blossomed rapidly until this very moment.

She was falling in love with you again.

Her eyes moved over your shoulder to the photo of the two of you from years ago, framed and showcased right on the mantle where she could see it.

She recalled how her eyes always found their way over to the photo whenever she passed the fireplace, even when she hadn’t any idea if she’d ever see you again.

The box stored in her closet of all the things that reminded her of you from when the two of you were dating years ago came to mind too.

She wasn’t falling in love with you again — no.

Wanda had always been in love with you.

“I bought them to wear for you,” she confessed, stepping closer to you so your knuckle accidentally ghosted against her cheek.

Your eyes left the earrings to meet hers. “They’re pretty,” you said.

“If only I’d have kept my promise,” Wanda whispered, “things would’ve been different.”

You ached as you realised how much guilt must’ve been on her shoulders the last eight years, how quick and easy it was for her to blame herself for what happened.

“Wanda, our breakup wasn’t your fault,” you told her. “I made mistakes too.”

She immediately shook her head and looked away from you.

“No, you didn’t.”

You insisted, “Yes.”

“It was my fault that–”

You had to cup Wanda’s cheek with your hand to make her look at you again and stop talking. She shut her mouth and looked at you, and that was when you sternly said, “It was my fault too.”

She began to tear up and you carefully swiped the tears from her eyes with your thumbs.

“I don’t care how things would’ve been,” you said. “All I care about is what it is now — what we are now.”

Wanda took in a shaky breath and quietly asked, “What are we now…?”

Your eyes fell to her lips and Wanda was too distracted by how you looked and how good you smelled and how warm your hand was on your cheek to notice you were leaning in for a kiss until your lips were pressed against hers.

She’d forgotten how good those could feel.

But she never forgot how yours felt.

Her arms raised and she wrapped them around your neck so you couldn’t back up from her too far when you parted from the kiss.

“I could… I could do right by you this time,” Wanda found herself promising the moment you pulled away enough so she could look into your eyes.

What was she saying?

“I could treat you right this time around too,” you vowed.

What on earth were either of you saying?

“Is that okay?” you whispered.

Wanda didn’t wait a moment before replying, “That’s okay. That’s… really, really okay.”

She leaned in and kissed you again, feeling you smiling against her own grinning lips.

──────── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ────────

Until she filed for divorce from her husband, all Wanda Maximoff has known how to do is compromise, because until then, she never imagined a future wherein she could be any more than someone who lived in her husband’s shadows and never pursued the things she loved.

That night of your play changed so much for her.

It was painful to have to say goodnight to you and eventually have to drive you back home for her husband would eventually come back later that evening, but all Wanda could think about when she was in bed was how much things could change.

She thought about the kinds of futures she could have with you and the twins, the kinds of lives you could lead and the things she could do with herself.

But there was one thing she had to do before she could have any of that, and she wasn’t willing to wait and sit still anymore; when she turned to look at Victor sleeping beside her, Wanda knew she had to file for divorce.

It wasn’t that the filing was so uncalled for at all, and it was easy to build a case against him.

The infidelity on Victor’s part and arguments that they sometimes failed to keep quiet from Tommy and Billy and dozens of other issues had built up to the point where Wanda’s lawyer confessed to her upfront that she was surprised she hadn’t filed for divorce much earlier.

They were trying to keep it as delicate as possible for the twins were still young, and in spite of their differences, neither their mother nor their father wanted to subject them to the complications that parents went through during a divorce.

Wanda rented her own apartment large and comfortable enough for both her and the twins, and you when you stayed over.

You slept in Wanda’s bedroom, naturally. Though it still made you giddy recalling the mornings and nights you spent together in the same bed, in the same apartment.

Despite the relatively smooth move, Victor was still a very rich and power-hungry man, and he hadn’t been making the divorce process easy for Wanda. Oftentimes she was tired and drained, but also so impassioned.

It’d been a long time since she stood up for herself and what she wanted, and really, it was also first time she’d ever stood up to him.

“He wants to have them five days a week, each week,” Wanda told you presently, scoffing.

You leaned against the table and watched her as she worked.

“What’s his lawyer saying?”

“I don’t care what that asshole is saying. I’m not compromising, Y/N,” she said sternly. “I’m not settling for two fucking days a week with my children.”

Rounding the table, you wrapped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her against you. “That’s my girl. That’s good,” you praised and shook her around a little, making her stifle a laugh as she looked up and smiled at you.

You kissed her temple and told her, “It’ll work out, Wands. Be strong.”

“Is everyone ready for the picture?” a voice called from the front of the stage.

It was the start of a new season at the theatre and it was tradition for your company to take a photo of all of the crew during the very early days of production development.

“Oh, hurry, hurry!” you hissed and took the pencil out of your girlfriend's hand.

Wanda tried to protest, “Y/N–”

“Finish the costume design later. Come on. Come on, come on, let’s go!”

You took her hand and pulled her to the stage where the rest of the crew was getting together for the photo, the camerawoman standing by the edge with her camera ready.

Your arm wrapped around Wanda’s hips and she wrapped both of hers around your shoulders, squeezing each other tight and smiling widely together as the photo of the entire production crew was taken.

You asked, “Wanna see it?”

“Very much,” she replied.

You rounded the camera together and Darcy approached Wanda.

“Wanda. Hey,” she greeted.

“Hi,” replied Wanda with a smile and she turned to face the young woman.

“When you write the article for the newsletter, could you mention that we’re looking for backup dancers?” she asked. “There’s, like, several big musical numbers in this one and we were pretty understaffed for the last show.”

You frowned and looked over at her. “Okay, not ‘pretty understaffed,’” you corrected. “Moderately understaffed.”

While ignoring your lighthearted offence because you’d been the primary one in charge of performer recruitment for the last play, Wanda answered with a reassuring smile, “I’ll add it.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said with a relieved exhale.

When you turned around to look at the camera for the photo, Darcy mouthed at Wanda before leaving for backstage again, ‘Very understaffed.’

“Wanda, this is gonna look really great on the mantle,” you told her, turning the camera around so she could see the picture.

“Framed and right under the television in the living room,” she affirmed.

Wanda still had the picture of the two of you with her sorority, though now it was stored away in the box with all her other keepsakes from you.

It was always a symbol of the past, a reminder to her of a love she couldn’t ever get back. But now that things were different, Wanda didn’t need to think about anything but her future wherein you and the twins were always in it, no matter how many different lives she imagined for herself.

So there was a new framed picture put up where everyone in her apartment living room could see it — a photo of the theatre crew and you and Wanda right in the middle in the front row, smiling widely in each other’s arms with her cheek pressed against yours.

#gif credit to kcthrynns on twitter tho they are a deleted account now #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #elizabeth olsen

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turbulentscrawl · 7 months

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I need more shy s/o headcanons...

Could I ask for a shy s/o with two of your favorite idv characters? How would they react with someone shy?

Maybe sfw and nsfw? 👀

Can do eheh

I did keep these a bit shorter, since they're more specific. But I hope you enjoy ;)

Norton Campbell

SFW

-This relationship would take a good while to develop because neither Norton nor you are likely to initiate it. But once the acquaintance hurdle is jumped, you find out just how little Norton gives a damn about shyness. (In a good way.) He talks to you like he talks to anyone else, rarely reacting to or drawing special attention to your timidity. If you respond to him, great. If you don’t, you don’t.

-It’s both cute and hilarious when the pair of you interact with other survivors. You’re so shy, and Norton is so stoic, and inevitably you’ll end up flustered over something and just bury your face in his chest and he just does not care. If he needs to move while you’re occupied this way, he’ll ask you to stand on his boots, and just walks off like that.

-He’s also one of the tallest guys in the manor, so feel free to hide behind him. Again, he really doesn’t care. If you hide under or behind something else, he just nonchalantly pokes his head in when he needs to say something to you.

-The only time he ever gets frustrated by your shyness is if it causes problems while you’re in danger. If those situations ever do arise, Norton is quick to throw you over his shoulder and remove you from the situation himself, regardless of any protests. Safety and health come before comfort.

NS/FW

-Norton is a little different about your shyness here than in public; he’ll let you get away with it in the bedroom for all of five minutes. After that, the manhandling comes into play.

-Norton will respect a genuine boundary, but he thinks claiming ‘you’re shy’ is just another way of playing hard to get. And Norton is hard…that’s it, he’s got a hard-on. He’s ready to go.

-No he will not leave the room pitch dark just because you’re embarrassed about being naked. And no, he won’t let you hide under the covers the whole time either. And no, you will not hide your red face behind or muffle those pretty little sounds with your hands. Try it and he’ll rather effortlessly pin your wrists over your head with one hand.

-The one time he kind of lets you get away with any of this is when he’s got you face-down-ass-up on the bed. He’s a little preoccupied with pulling your hips back to meet his thrusts, so if you plant your face in a pillow or something he’s less likely to reach over and rip it away. He will however definitely take it as a challenge to make you scream loud enough to be heard through the block.

Luca Balsa

SFW

-Luca is good with shy people! He’s energetic and talkative enough for several people, and he doesn’t mind carrying the conversation so long as you don’t mind his rambling. Honestly if his s/o is shy, then between them, Andrew, and Victor, Luca starts to look like the trope of an extrovert collecting introverts.

-He’s not crazy with PDA, but Luca does like leaning close to talk, and holds your hand whenever his are free. He always checks with you before trying to initiate PDA in a new kind of situation, but after that he just trusts it to apply to all similar ones. No sense in calling attention to your shyness and possibly making it worse.

-Luca thinks your blushing face is the best thing ever, so he does occasionally go out of his way to draw it out of you. While he doesn’t exactly have a poetic disposition, he has earnestness on his side. Who wouldn’t be flustered when he gets down on one knee and kisses your fingers?

NS/FW

-He thinks it’s fun to make your shyness a game. Whenever you hide away, it’s clearly because he has to earn seeing your best expressions.

-Cue Luca doing his damnedest to suck your very soul out, only pulling away periodically to ask through gulps of air if he’d “earned it yet?” No? Well, he’s not done yet. At some point you’ll be driven wild enough to choose pulling his hair over shielding your face.

-He’ll hold both of your hands with his own too. or, better yet, put your arms around him? He can deal with some angry red marks on his back for a while. Just expect a few revenge hickies.

-If you’re really so shy…he can be out of the room for your pleasure time. How? Oh, just this little remote-controlled thing he made for you. …Wanna try?

#idv x reader #identity v x reader #norton campbell x reader #luca balsa x reader #idv prospector #idv prisoner #spicy content

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graceshouldwrite · 1 year

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The Most Powerful Hack to Make Your Readers Cry

You’ve seen it all: show, don’t tell, plant a visceral image in the reader’s brain of the environment/character, write a complex character arc with lots of growth and setbacks, establish deep relationships, high stakes, etc.

All the advice for making readers cry I’ve seen so far is basically that list. But, while those things are absolutely important, I find that the thing that always does the trick, whether as a tipping point or in and of itself, is this:

THE CALLBACK!

Before we move on, this is an ANALYSIS heavy post, so all the book + show examples contain spoilers!!

So, what do I mean by a “callback?” Think of Chekhov’s gun, but, here, you use the gun to pierce your reader’s heart. As a refresher for anyone who needs it, Chekhov’s gun is just a rule in writing that anything you introduce in the book should play some role in the plot.

Specifically, the name comes from the example that if a reader introduces a gun in the first act, it MUST go off later, (maybe, say, in the third act). For example, in the TV show Breaking Bad, the protagonist Walter White prepares a vial of poison (ricin) that he wanted to use to eliminate an opponent early on in the series. After the assassination attempt falls through, the ricin makes an appearance again in the very last episode of the show, when Walt finally uses it to kill another opponent.

Got that? Alright, onto the examples of successful, tearjerking callbacks:

1. The Last Olympian (Rick Riordan); “Family, Luke, you promised.”

Context: The character Annabeth says this line. Years ago, Annabeth had run away from home, and Luke had effectively adopted her into a found family with another kid named Thalia. Common reason for leaving home = parental trauma! Yay! He promised Annabeth that they would be each other’s “family” from now on.

Now: Kronos, the antagonist titan, has possessed the demigod Luke and uses his body to strike Annabeth, injuring her. She’s also holding a dagger that Luke had given her when she joined his “family.”

Significance: her words + the dagger are a mental + physical reminder to Luke of his promise. They force him to recognize the sheer degree of his current betrayal by bringing him back to a different time. The fact that their found family only happened because of parental trauma bringing them together makes it worse—Luke felt abandoned by his Olympian father, Hermes. Now, he realizes that he basically did the equivalent to Annabeth by joining the titans.

2. Les Miserables (Victor Hugo); Jean Valjean’s death

Context: At the beginning of the book, the bishop had caught Valjean trying to steal candlesticks to sell. Instead of handing him over to the police, the bishop told the police that he had given them to Valjean, saving him from arrest and showing him mercy. This changed his life forever, kickstarting his character redemption arc.

Now: Jean Valjean dies surrounded by his loved ones, remembered as a benevolent man who bettered thousands of lives. He’s surrounded by light from candlesticks that once belonged to a bishop.

Context: Valjean had once taken in an impoverished woman named Fantine, showing her mercy and promising to take care of her daughter, Cosette, after Fantine died. Valjean then rescued Cosette from abusive quasi-foster parents (it’s a long story), raising her as his own daughter. This furthered his arc by allowing him to finally understand how unconditionally loving someone feels.

Now: Valjean describes Fantine to Cosette, who never knew her mother.

Significance: Both examples throw readers back to much earlier points in the story before the completion of Valjean’s character arc. In a way, this final scene feels like an external manifestation of his kindness paying off; both he and the reader feels a sense of accomplishment, relief, and just a general “OMG WE MADE IT.” Readers don’t feel cheated, because they were with Valjean every step of his 1,400 page arc. The weight of it all just crashes down on you...

3. Your Lie in April (anime); Kaori’s letter after she dies

Context: Kaori’s entire plot significance is that she helps Kousei, a piano prodigy who can’t play piano anymore due to traumatic parental memories associated with it, play again—but also, just to help him enjoy life again after a turbulent upbringing. She meets him a year before she dies of a medical condition, and her free spirit + confidence influences him to find beauty in life and music again. They basically do a crap ton of crazy funny stuff together lol

Now: Kaori has died, and she leaves a letter to him. Among other general confessions and thoughts, she references things they did and memories they shared: she says, “sorry we couldn’t eat all those canelés,” reminisces about jumping with him off a small bridge into the stream below, “racing each other alongside the train,” singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as they rode the bike together, etc.

Significance: Yes, the nature of the letter is just sad because she’s revealing that she loved him all along, apologizing for not being able to spend more time with him, lying that she didn’t like him (to spare his feelings b/c she knew she would die soon), etc. BUT, these small details highlight exactly how many experiences they shared, and the depth of their relationship. Thus, they emphasize the significance of her death and the emptiness it leaves behind.

4. Arcane (show); “I thought, maybe you could love me like you used to, even though I’m different.”

Context: Character Jinx says this in the last episode to her now estranged older sister, Vi. Without going into the crazy complex plot, basically, orphans Vi and Jinx used to care for each other before a bunch of crap went down that got them separated. They then grew up on opposite political sides; Jinx grows up on the side of the underbelly city rebellion, and Vi grows up working on the side of the richer city that essentially oppresses the undercity. Thus begins the development of their opposing viewpoints and work environments, to the point where they always meet on opposite sides of a political battle, never able to come together as a family or understand each other again.

Now: After a super dramatic confrontation, Jinx reveals that although she wants Vi to love her like she did before their separation, she knows it’s not possible because “[Vi] changed too.” She finishes with, “so, here’s to the new us” before blowing up a political council meeting a few blocks down filled with people Vi sides with. Oops! This cleanly seals the fate of their relationship as something basically irreparable.

Significance: This callback isn’t through literal flashbacks or items like in the previous examples. Jinx’ lines are enough to bring back images of their childhood to the audience’s mind. Now, the audience subconsciously places this image of: 1) two sisters so different, hurt, and torn apart, right next to 2) the image of two sisters as innocent children who loved each other and would care for each other no matter what.

Why do callbacks work so well?

If you’ve noticed something in common with all of them, you’re right: they remind audience of a time BEFORE the characters have come so far on their arcs, developed, and put on so much more emotional baggage.

Callbacks force the audience to SUDDENLY and IMMEDIATELY feel the weight of everything that’s happened. The character’s anguish and overwhelming emotions become the audience’s in this moment. Callbacks are a vehicle for the juxtaposition of worlds, before and after significant development.

This works because we, as mortals, fear IMPERMANENCE the most. We fear LOSS. For us, time gone is time we will never get back; callbacks make us face that exact fact through a fictional character. A lost moment, time period, or even part of oneself may hurt as much as losing a loved one, and nothing makes humans grieve more than the realization of a loss. A callback slaps the audience in the face with the fact that something was lost; loss hurts so much because almost 99% of the time, what’s gone is gone forever.

Of course, a good callback requires good previous character development, stakes, imagery, and all that jazz, but I thought I’d highlight this specifically because of how under covered it is.

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

I’ve been binging general media lately: I finished Death Note, Your Lie in April, and Tokyo Ghoul all within like a month (FIRST ANIMES I”VE EVER WATCHED!!), reread lots of Les Miserables, analyzed a bunch of past shows like Breaking Bad, watched a bunch of My Little Pony, worked to fix up my old writing... and that’s not even all! The amount of times I’ve CRIED while enjoying the above media and so much more honestly just inspired this post.

Like, no joke, my eyes were almost always swollen during this period whenever I hung out with my friends and it was so embarrassing help

Personally, I just find that this method works super well for me, and I watched a bunch of reaction videos to these above scenes (and read book reviews on the book scenes I mentioned), and it seemed that just about everyone cried during these parts. That’s when I realizes that the callback might also just be a universal thing.

Anyway, this post is long and dense enough as is. SORRY! As always, hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated <3333

Happy writing, and have a great day,

- grace <3

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dollwritesarchive · 1 year

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𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!prize!reader, dub con, manhandling, rough sex degradation / barou being mean, name calling ( whore, bitch ), all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ my toxic valentine masterlist. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. thanks for reading <; 3

“Con— gratu— lations!” you spat in between ragged breaths, your brows knit tight together, your features twisted in both pain and unwilling pleasure. each syllable seemed to erupt from your lips, shot out by the force of Barou’s hips pounding into yours from behind. each time, you bite back a hoarse squeak, your feet stomping on the floor. you could feel the grate in his locker imprinting against your cheek the harder he pushed your head against it, his other hand was clasping your wrist— the hand that you’d used previously to attempt to coerce him into a gentler victory celebration now successfully restrained.

Barou was snorting through his flared nostrils, dark eyes wild with lust and adrenaline, and each time he bucks his powerful hips, he fills you to his hilt, and none too gently. “You don’t seem very excited for me.”

you bite down harshly on your lower lip; his voice was deep and raspy, and the hot puffs of breath on the back of your neck as he fucks you like a feral animal raised your hairs on end.

“I was promised an eager fucktoy,” it was a hiss, as if he were disappointed in your services. however, his body told a completely different story. he was throbbing in your guts, and each time he rams into your depths, you pull yourself forward against the locker. with nowhere to go, you tremble, impaled on him. “Instead, I get a whiny bitch that can barely even take me.”

your hand, the one not balled into a tight fist down and wrenched behind you, pushes flat against the locker, trying to push back against his strength— just to get your face off the harsh, cold metal. “I’m— trying—“ you whimper, indignant. you typically didn’t mind your stay or your contract in Blue Lock; most of the boys were needy, but never hurt you. this was your first time with the beast that was Barou Shoei, and you were blindsided by just how little he cared about your body. he twisted you up into whatever position he desired, like you were nothing but elastic, and fucked you so brutally that you knew you’d be sore for days to come. you could only hope that the next victor would be content with using your mouth instead. “y—you’re being too rough, that h— hurts!” you felt as though you were being ripped open. with each, greedy thrust, Barou was battering your limit, and he didn’t seem to plan on stopping any time soon.

“‘Cause you keep trying to run from my cock,” Barou released your wrist and your face simultaneously, both hands clamping against your shoulders to lock you in place. naturally, both of yours follow, nails biting at his forearms. maybe you were just trying to hold on to something as he drilled you with more aggression, as if emphasizing his following point. “I know it hurts, but I wouldn’t have to be so rough if you would just be still and take it, like you’re supposed to.” your calf muscles burned, and that when you realized you were struggling on your tip toes, the velocity of each thrust nearly sweeping you off your feet. “Come on, whore,” he snarls, grinding his teeth, “stick it out for me. Give it up.” you were practically screaming— the shrill moans hardly even sounding like yourself, but you obey. arching your back as tight as it would go, your feet dangled just above the floor as the strength behind his merciless fucking took over. as if you were perched on his lap, his lower half supports your weight so he can pound upwards, and you slammed down to meet him.

“Fuck!” you cry out, planting your palms on either side of your ass, fingers pressing into the muscle pads of his lower abdomen. like caressing pure steel. if you could just get a moment of reprieve, push yourself up and away from his pistoning hips, you could try to regain some control over your own body. but he was granting none of it.

his fists grip your waist instead, both hands so massive that you swear he can almost interlace his fingers around you, and he pulls you down harder. “That’s better,” he grunts in approval; the bestial edge to his voice in your ear eliciting a surprised mewl, “now you’re starting to sound like you like it.”

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deadsetobsessions · 2 months

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Hi, good day ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

I want to say that I love your prompts and your writing a lot (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

I have an ask for the triplet!Tim au, would the triplets regain their civilian identity as triplets or would they still maintain the one identity as Timothy Drake? Also if, really if, the triplets have a favorite rogue to hang out with or beat up, who would they be?

HDGASJKHDFGSAKJGD thank you????

The triplets would regain their separate identities, but only after Damian's been well established as the new Robin. It'd be kind of suspicious if Timothy Drake became Tim, Archy, and Lionel around the same time people realized there were three feral Robins running around instead of one. The fam would probably try to convince them otherwise but they'd totally bully the Bats into going along with it. Except Barbara. They bribe Barbara.

They do have a favorite Rogue!

Archy's favorite Rogue to beat up is Clayface. He tried to pretend to be Robin once except it was Archy's turn that night, and Clayface punted him into the sewers. Clayface got extra crispy that night and Archy found a new appreciation for electricity.

His favorite Rogue to hang out with is Cat-Woman. He's got a passion for looting that she appreciates. He's learned some of the tricks of the trade from her.

Lionel's favorite Rogue to beat up changes weekly, but the main roster is Penguin, Victor Zsasz (they have matching psycho energy but like on different sides of the scale), and Prometheus because the guy tried to off Commissioner Gordon.

His favorite Rogue to hang out with is Poison Ivy. He brings her plants and she's got the best kidnapping etiquette. As in he never wakes up with a headache if she ever tries to take him out. She can match his intensity in protecting the things they care about. She's like a mentor to him.

Tim's favorite Rogue to beat up is Cluemaster (bc he's bffs with Steph) and Two-Face. They're relatively simple to outwit- they're smart but they're not Tim-smart and fighting them gives him a break from his own head.

On the flip side, Tim's favorite Rogue to hang with is the Riddler. He's chill when he's not setting up bombs and traps everywhere. Plus, when Tim gets kidnapped by him, they do like a little trivia to pass the time before Batman comes to rescue him.

#asks #triplet tim au

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dollwrites · 1 year

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𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐞𝐢

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ originally posted on 02.15.2023. this will eventually be a reverse harem au just give me some time to set it up. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. thanks for reading <3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ the beast and the harlot by avenged sevenfold

you bite down harshly on your lower lip; his voice was deep and raspy, and the hot puffs of breath on the back of your neck as he fucks you like a feral animal raised your hairs on end.

#barou smut #barou x reader #barou shoei smut #blue lock barou #barou shouei #barou x you #barou shoei x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock smut #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you

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hyperfixatedfandomer · 10 months

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Billy Batson the homeless kid from Fawcett City first, and Captain Marvel second (my take)

Unpopular, and probably a bad take but as someone who read Alex Dogboy as a child and wants to re-read it asap, I like the interpretations of Captain Marvel in which Billy Batson is homeless for a good while before falling back into care. I even got a whole image in my head for why he doesn’t want to return to cps and try to get a foster family.

Let’s say his parents die, and it’s a horrible trauma and Billy is NOT okay, he’s 13 when it happens and then jumps from home to home for a while, his experiences being mediocre until he gets ONE parent that tries doing something unspeakable to him (insert social commentary on how unsafe the foster system is) and he runs away. From that point on, he lives on the streets.

And he has it BAD.

I’m not a fan of angst, and suffering of characters, especially young doesn’t bring me any kind of joy but I like seeing a character survive. Fight against the cruel environment they live in, against horrible odds, and celebrate small victoires like there is no tomorrow. Holding onto those victories to not loose yourself.

A successful shoplifting mission, something useful found while dumpster diving, nimbly avoiding criminal gangs, both big and small on his way "home" (which is an abandoned building apartment in a bad part of town).

I don’t want Billy to have it bad per ce, but I want the comics to really EXPLORE how difficult it gets, living in the streets as a child that needs love and care, but has to stay vigilant because in this world, any adult could hurt you. I want an entire comics issue just about Billy surviving in that world, getting by day by as autumn slowly changes to winter and it gets progressively colder. I want the comics to delve into his struggles before he get a a power that will make his life easier, because it’ll amplify the magic of seeing him get powers of the gods.

I want to see him be crude and swear like he so often does in the modern versions of the character, and then deliberately steal food to feed cats. He might see a flower shop owner getting harassed while she’s bringing her newly arrived plants inside and then walk behind the guy who bugs her to punch him square in the jaw. He’s not perfect, he has put up walls to protect himself, but it’s these instinctive acts of kindness (though rough around the edges) make the wizard choose him. He’s desperate and Billy is, again, NOT perfect, but he has potential, and it’s all that matters.

I want to see all of what I’ve written above play a big role and impact Captain Marvel’s every decision as a hero. Not just his childhood naivety and teenage brashness, but his trauma and bad experiences. I want to see him interact with the league in line with his background.

And I want him to fall in love with Rosa. I want to see him warm up to the idea of having a parent again, of having a family once more. I want her to be a small business owner, maybe if that’s that same flower shop and maybe it’s not going very well but she’s happy and she has her foster kids, until one day she gets harassed by a creepy stranger in front of her shop and a boy from the streets delivers him a clean left hook for it.

They see each other around, Billy is clearly homeless, and she buys him takeout. After that, he, akin to a cat, slowly eases into a friendship with her and eventually falls into this inner crisis because he’s afraid of loosing a parent again and adults have hurt him before, he’s scared but Rosa’s smile is so genuine and he feels so incredibly safe around her he just can’t resist showing up at her shop, eventually helping her out and then getting a part-time job there, which helps him get bare necessities without stealing.

I want Billy to choose to make that terrifying leap because he trusts that Rosa will catch him, and then he can have the new plot with being introduced into her family, his new siblings and dad (Victor).

Adventures of Captain Marvel, all the insane stuff he can do is absolutely cool and I totally want to read that, but I’m just saying that his adventures would feel so much more magical and amazing if the writers leaned into the darker aspects of his story more often.

That’s just my take tho idk, might delete later 🤷

(Anyway if you got any questions — feel free to drop them in my as box✨)

#dc #dc comics #dc fandom #dc au #dc captain marvel #dc shazam #Shazam #captain marvel #billy batson #Shazam Billy Batson #tawky tawny #dc billy Batson #dc comics Billy batson #dc justice league #justice league #dc fanfiction #found family

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sashi-ya · 1 year

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𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬. Trafalgar Law x F! reader & Crew

✦ a sweet comfort scenario after ch. 1081. Do not read if you are not caught up with the manga!! HEAVY SPOILERS AHEAD. We will miss you, Polar Tang. ✦ wc: 1062

His wounds were something you haven’t seen before; even after Dressrosa the cuts and hits weren’t as deep and severe as those.

Quickly, those who still can swim freely or with some difficulty, pull the ones at risk out of the water into the coasts of Victor Island.

Ahead of them, some yellow pieces of your home sink into the cold abyss of the Grandline. That in which Polar Tang had been surrounded and hugged, now seems to be its graveyard.

You can only focus on the pain your soul can feel, the physical wounds are nothing compared to it. But it's not just yours; it's what Law will feel when he finally wakes up.

Because he will. And your hands will make it possible.

A day or so has passed, the wounds have been treated. Bepo has returned to his usual form, and besides Penguin and Shachi nobody can stop asking him about his Sulong state. You were able to smile for the first time since the incident because of it. Seeing such a sweet polar bear turn into such a beast and then go back to his apologizing ways is always a little funny.

However, there is something that you can all agree… there wouldn’t be enough gratefulness towards him for saving Law from getting his most precious treasures out of him; his life & the Ope Ope no mi.

A new night came and the still pretty tired -but alive- crewmembers head to their improvised beds still on the coast of that island. Law, continues to be submerged into unconsciousness. Maybe is not that he is not strong enough to wake up, but he doesn’t really want to.

You snuggle on his side. It’s a blessing to be able to grab his hand and feel it so warm. It could have been different. It could have been terrible.

Inside that little cave where you dragged him in, the soft brilliance of the moon only reaches the entrance, and the sound of raging waves fill the place. You wonder if those same waves are softly lulling Polar Tang to its eternal rest and some tears sprout from your eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbles. Soft tattooed hand sloppily reaching for your cheek. It gets wet because of the tears.

“La-Law! You are awake!” you chime, trying to choke back tears that won’t stop falling. “Don’t try to move, you are still pretty hurt” you tell him, while grabbing his hand and planting a kiss on his palm.

“Your face… it’s hurt… I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect our home” he murmurs, with just one eye open because that’s what his swollen eyelids allow him to do.

You don’t care about anything; your wounds are nothing. He protected you all, he fought against a man who plays it dirty. Who is a coward and can’t win if he doesn’t steal other’s dreams. How dare him speak of dreams, when he goes around this world snatching them from others?

“No, Law. You are such a strong man. You protect us all. Your mission was completed, you put yourself in front of us to fight!” you try to make him understand he is not weak, that he should be the winner because Teach wasn’t able to take what he came to steal; the Ope Ope no mi.

Law turns to you with difficulty and grimacing in pain. His hands reach your cheeks, and his forehead presses against yours. “I’m glad you are alive. How is the rest?” he asks, with trembly voice. He is scared to hear what he doesn’t want to.

“The whole crew is alive. They are all safe and sound!” you inform him, allowing the poor doctor to breath a sigh of relief.

He nods, closing his eyelids tight. A tear tries to scape. Because there is yet another crew member he knows he lost. But, there is even more he wants to discover… He lifts his arm, putting his hand in the classic form to cast his “rooms”.

“ROOM…” he shily says, still with eyes closed and trembling lips.

With difficulty, a blue bubble of light sprouts from his palm illuminating the surroundings with its magical hue. Law barely opens his eye, and lets his body fall limp on yours. He is so relieved. His fruit, the reason why Cora-san died, the heart of his life is still inside him.

“Bepo saved you. He was the one who gave Teach the final blow to prevent him from stealing it. Bepo turned into Sulong… he saved you as a vice captain should” you proudly inform your captain -and lover-.

Law fixes his watery icy eyes on yours. And a smile you rarely see appears on his beaten-up countenance. “I’m so proud of my brother… I wont have enough life to pay him for this”

You know Bepo doesn’t need anything back for doing what he did, but you agree with Law either way.

However, Law’s sight reach for the sea outside the cave. And countless silent tears bathe his cheeks. He knows there will be no coming back, and his only home for the last 12 years is definitely gone.

“What will you do, now? I lost our home… how am I gonna face Mr. Wolff after this?” he murmurs, burying his head on your chest.

“We lost it the physical body of Polar Tang yes, but we didn’t lost our home Law…” you whisper, kissing his ruffled black hair with delicacy and tracing circles on his back with your palm.

You let him cry all he needs. After all, he is just human. And soon shy eyes surround you all. The whole crew wait to say something, they were all sleeping but his captains heartbeats surely woke them all.

“Law… are you sure we lost our home?” you ask, again, making him look up towards his nakama surrounding you.

You make them all come to him, slowly. Bepo is the first, however, to run and hug him. And in a big, sweet hug you all melt. “Captain, you are alive!” they all chime. But Law can’t stop apologizing for losing Polar.

“Law, I’m gonna ask you again… are you sure we lost our home?” you repeat, grabbing his cheeks. He blinks, in between blurry sight he keeps silent.

And you all, at unison repeat; “Captain… home is where the heart is!”

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ilguna · 1 year

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☼ comfort (Katniss Everdeen) ☼

summary; when Greasy Sae's unable to take care of Katniss, you volunteer to step in for the day, expecting Katniss to ignore your presence.

warnings; swearing, death mention, murder mention, the usual.

wc; 3k

–

The moment you step foot into Victor’s Village, it feels like a wet blanket is thrown over your head. The weight of the air here is unbearable, and you stop walking a few steps in, trying to get used to the feeling before you even think about continuing any further.

You’re not entirely sure what you expected when you agreed to come here for Greasy Sae, but you weren’t expecting to see a barren neighborhood without a single trace of color. The grass is dead, it might as well be dirt. The concrete fountain is dry and cracked. And the houses are grey and black, if you didn’t know any better, you think you’d be walking into a funeral home.

All the times you were told about Victor’s Village, you couldn’t help but to picture a paradise, because that’s what they advertise it as. You win the Hunger Games, you get a nice neighborhood, with bright green grass and flowers lining the sidewalk in front of the houses. You’ve pictures white houses, or even the colorful ones that they show in the Capitol.

It should not look like this.

If any of the victors of Twelve are expected to make a speedy recovery, then that means they need to be in an environment that inspires that idea. A nice garden out front could act as an excuse to get out of the house, sit on the grass and read, have people over—anything.

You’re almost surprised that the volunteers that are rebuilding the district didn’t start here first, since it’s such a small project. It’d be so easy to spread seeds, plant flowers, and call someone to fix the fountain. You suppose that they’d rather focus on jobs, farms, and getting houses built and whatnot for families. If it were you that were in charge, you’d start with the reason why they’re able to work freely in the first place.

The truth is that none of you would be here if it weren’t for the sacrifices that Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch made.

You let out a breath, rolling your shoulders slightly, before continuing around the fountain, off to the right. Katniss’ house is the first one, perfectly preserved from the war.

You go up the few steps onto the porch, adjusting the handle of the basket in the elbow of your arm. You recite the vague instructions that Sae gave you before she had to leave. She told you to knock on the front door to alert Katniss that you’re coming in, but not to expect her to answer. The door should be unlocked.

You knock a few times, pausing briefly, and then reach for the handle to open the door.

Immediately, you’re hit with a smell.

You go back a step, turning your face to the open air behind you, trying to ease the pained look off of your face. It’s a mix of smells, the primary one being rotten food. You wonder if any of them bothered to help her clean what was left in here, or thought of doing it. Surely not Haymitch, because having his own struggles across the street. If Katniss has to be taken care of, then shouldn’t have either. The only person that would’ve been able to is Sae.

You shake your head, going inside of the house anyway, reminding yourself that you’ll get used to the smell as time goes on. You slip out of your boots to leave next to the door, watching as a few bits of snow fall off the bottom and land on the hardwood floor.

You shut the front door, cutting off the breeze from chilling you any further. You take your time navigating your way to the living room, passing by a staircase and a hallway with several rooms. You catch a glimpse of the fireplace first, and find that it is lit, but the flames aren’t very high.

Katniss has herself positioned so that the back of her chair is to the corner of the room, making it impossible for anyone to sneak up on her, giving her full visibility of the room and the only entrance and exit. The fireplace is to the right, which is why she’s turned in that direction, trying to suck up all the warmth that emits from it.

When Sae was talking to you, she told you that the fire is a pain in the ass to get started, but sometimes Katniss has enough energy to do it herself before she comes to cook breakfast.

Even though the entire house is dark, curtains pulled shut to hide the winter light, Katniss manages to sense your presence. Her eyes snap up from the floor, lifting her head. In the next second, she’s on her feet.

You stop moving, “Sae couldn’t make it today, she had to make plans last minute for her granddaughter. She asked me to come instead.”

She doesn’t move from where she’s standing for a minute, eyeing you up and down, deciding if your story is real. She must figure that it’s not worth the fight, because she slowly sits back down in her chair, but doesn’t return back to her relaxed state from before.

“I’m (Y/n).” You tell her.

You know who Katniss is, for obvious reasons, but also because you both frequented the Hob. While she went to sell what she caught, you wandered around as an extra help to the busier stalls, catching thieves and making little to nothing in payment. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the alternative.

There’s also the fact that you went to the same school that she did, as well. The two of you weren’t in the same groups, of course. She either kept around Gale or to herself. You had your own friends, the few you could make.

Katniss doesn’t respond, Sae warned you about this, so you’re not all that concerned about it. You head into the kitchen, where the smell seems to worsen the further you go inside. There’s a part of you telling you to open the fridge, despite knowing full well that the smell is coming from there.

You set the basket onto the counter carefully, pulling the top cloth off, and folding it neatly. You then reach inside for the second cloth, thinner and smaller in size. It’s slightly damp from the steam coming off of the muffins, they weren’t able to cool properly before you left. It’s all you could do last minute after Sae told you that she liked baked goods. She was never specific about what type, though.

You could always cook her, that’s what Sae does. Only, this is the first time being inside of Katniss’ house, the first time that you’re officially meeting her, too. Sae tried to tell you to make yourself at home, but it feels impossible when you don’t know where to start.

It was better than showing up empty handed, because you came late.

There’s three types of muffins inside of the basket, two of each, because you couldn’t guess which one Katniss would like better. You pull one of each variety out—a chocolate chip, a blueberry, and a banana nut. You manage to go through three cabinets before you finally find where the plates are.

When you go back to the living room, Katniss seems to have managed to get some of the tension out of her body. You watch her eyebrows twitch together slightly. You can’t imagine she’s thrilled with you being here instead of Sae. Sae’s familiar, she traded with her in the Hob all the time, and she’s the one that’s been taking care of Katniss.

“I made muffins.” You tell her, as if it’s not obvious. You set the plate on the coffee table, and then take a seat across from her on the couch. The heat from the fire begins to eat away at the goosebumps on your arms. “There’s two of each, I’m not sure which you’d like more.”

She doesn’t move, you lean back against the cushions, looking around the room, finding a thick layer of dust at the corner table. You press your lips together, because it’s similar to the state outside. It’s cold and depressing in here. You can’t imagine there’s much healing going on.

Katniss reaches forward, taking the chocolate chip muffin. You make an effort to try not to watch her eat, because that has a tendency to put people off. You play with your fingers, wondering exactly how long it would take for you to clean this place from top to bottom, if it’d even make her feel better.

Of course, you’re not stupid enough to believe that it would magically clear her of all the feelings she has about her life. She’s been through a lot in the past three years, volunteering for the Hunger Games twice, killing people, losing Peeta, being the face of the rebellion, getting Peeta back, only to find out that he’s not really hers anymore. She lost several more of her friends, her sister, and her mom won’t come back here, either.

Sae tells you that Katniss hasn’t showered since she got here, that’s why she tries not to sit too close. There’s letters that you noticed, piled up on the dining room table. And Sae tells you that Katniss lets the Head Doctor call her the same time every week, trying to get a progress update on her, but she never answers the phone.

Cleaning her house wouldn’t fix any of her problems, or come close to doing it. You remember what it was like, though, being in that position. When you sat at home for two weeks, unable to pull yourself out of bed after your mom died, leaving you to take care of everything.

A small gesture can go a long way.

Katniss eats all three muffins, leaving the wrappers on the plate to make it easy to clean up.

“Are you still hungry?” You ask, watching her shake her head.

You take the plate, heading to the kitchen to throw the paper away. The sink is empty of dishes when you get to it. Sae told you everything should be caught up for the most part. All you’d have to do is come in and cook, and come back at dinner to do it all again.

After setting the plate into the sink, already deciding that you’ll do it later, with the rest of the dishes you’ll end up with, you head back to the basket. You drop the cover cloth back inside, spreading it over the tops of the muffins. You press your lips together, this is the part where you’re supposed to leave.

You have to try, at the very least. You head over to the living room, Katniss doesn’t look up from where she stares, hands in her lap.

“Katniss?” You call, her eyes flicker to you in the doorway. “I know Sae normally leaves, but I wouldn’t mind sticking around. We could go for a walk, draw a bath, bake?”

She stares at you wordlessly, shaking her head.

“A book, game, puzzle?”

There’s no answer, she turns her body away from you, ending the conversation with that one move. You watch her for a few seconds, not entirely surprised by her behavior. This is exactly what you were expecting to receive, anyway.

Unfortunately for her, you’ve still got more questions to ask.

“That’s fine. I do need to know what you’d like to have for dinner, though. I don’t want to cook you something that you don’t like.” You say, no response. “Anything you could possibly want, Katniss. From here, from the Capitol, maybe something from another district you tried on the tour?”

Silence.

You suck in a breath, thinking, “How about lamb stew?” You ask, gauging her reaction. It works, her eyes find your face again. “And I think I remember Haymitch mentioning cheese buns.”

Katniss narrows her eyes, face twisted. You can’t tell if this is a good expression or not. If she’s mad that you’ve somehow managed to figure out what her favorite meal is, or the fact that the cheese buns that you’re referring to are Peeta’s specialty.

“You can’t.” She finally says.

“Can’t what?” You challenge.

“Replicate either of those.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, “You’ve never been to the Capitol, and I doubt you’ve ever had the chance to buy one of Peeta’s cheese buns. It won’t turn out right. Why bother?”

You let out a laugh, “Is that right?”

She shrugs, “Am I wrong?”

“I guess we’ll find out tonight, won’t we?” You ask.

—

Honestly, there was a second while you were in the middle of making the stew where you had yourself convinced that you weren’t going to make it. You have the handwritten recipe for it, with all the instructions on how to cook on the back, but the further you got, the more complicated it would get.

You knew that the Capitol was outrageous with their ingredients. You just weren’t expecting for them to throw a little bit of everything they could possibly think of into the recipe. They had to have done it to make sure that the taste would be impossible to bring back into the districts by the victors. It truly is an evil thing to do.

And you admire them for it.

It’s a good thing that you’ve never gotten a recipe wrong in your life, and now that the sanctions are gone between the districts and the Capitol, it means that all ingredients are fair game. It wasn’t easy by any means to track down the lamb and the specially dried plums, but you have your ways for a reason, and your own pantry full of brand new foods you’ve been dying to try.

You carefully ladle the stew into a bowl you brought from home. You think Ksatniss’ dishes are nice, they don’t have that same polished look. As for you, if there’s one habit that your parents successfully instilled on you, it’s a nice appearance for dinner, even if there’s nothing on the place.

You slide a spoon into the bowl, before grabbing the plate that has Peeta’s cheese bun on it. You’re going to admit it now, you think you would’ve done his recipe better if you had more practice. He’s been a baker his whole life, he’s got an advantage on you there.

“Okay, Katniss.” You say, coming out of the kitchen, carrying her portion of the food.

She seems more awake now than she did this morning, she’s been open to conversation, too. It’s something to report back to Sae, even if it’s not a lot.

“It smells good.” She murmurs, adjusting in her chair.

“Everything smells good when you’re hungry.” You set it down on the table. “You can’t say anything about the presentation, because I’ve never seen how they serve their stew.”

A smile hints at the corner of her lips, “Anything else?”

“You have to tell the truth.”

You go back into the kitchen, grabbing your bowl and plate, meeting her back in the living room. You find her picking apart the cheese bun first, placing a piece of it in her mouth.

“Sae tells me that she doesn’t cook you lunch, is that your preference, or is it because you wake up late?” You ask.

Katniss raises a shoulder before dropping it. “She doesn’t want to spend her entire day here, she’s got her granddaughter to watch.”

“That’s right.” You take a bite out of the cheese bun. You managed to get the softness of it down perfectly. Katniss wouldn’t tell you the other qualities of what Peeta’s is like, besides the look of it.

It may or may not have led to you cheating a little bit. You went and asked Haymitch what it’s like, but you might as well not have because he was drinking when you walked in the house. You thought Katniss’ house is bad—it’s a fucking nightmare in there. Your persistence won over, he told you that the cheese melts on top and it’s usually a little greasy.

“I didn’t see you in District Thirteen.” Katniss says, lifting the bowl to rest on her lap. “Were you with Greasy Sae in the kitchen?”

“Um, part of the time, yeah.” You move the hair out of your face. “They kept me in the hospital for a couple weeks because of the burns from the fire. When they finally cleared me, Sae vouched and they brought me to work with her.”

“Did you like it there?”

You let out a noise, “Did you? I mean, it was nice for a while, because of the meals and stuff, but not being able to go outside drove me up the wall. For a second, I thought we were going to be stuck down there forever.”

Katniss tilts her head, “That’s why I got out.”

She brings the spoon to her mouth, you watch as her face twists, and then she smiles. Her eyes meet yours, you know immediately that you’ve replicated the dish. That’s all you need to know.

“How do you do it?” She asks, taking another spoonful.

“I’m just that good.” You laugh, “And what about the cheese bun?”

She makes a face, “Close. It’s good, though.”

“I tried.” You pick off more bread, “Would you care if I came at lunch everyday to cook for you?”

She shakes her head, “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“I could probably think of a few things, but I would love to use you as a taster for the Capitol cookbook I got last month.” You sit back. “Only if you want me to, I don’t want to overstep.”

She smiles briefly, “I don’t mind, (Y/n).”

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victorluvsalice · 1 year

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-->Anyway, with Smiler getting their tech on and Alice off to wow the painting world (in a nice shirt and slacks, not a palm tree costume, as per the pop-up I got regarding which outfit she should choose for an important speech at some island-themed museum), Victor finally got up and started with the farm chores! Beginning with Repairioing that damn weather machine, because we are gonna need that, I’m sure.

-->Then, after checking on the chickens, it was into the greenhouse to test one of his other spells -- Floralorial! This is the one that just instantly weeds, waters, and sprays for bugs any particular plant that needs tending. I suspect that casting it on every plant in the greenhouse would take longer than just letting Victor weed and water a bit on his own, but I did have him try it on a couple of plants just for magical experience and to make his job a little easier. :)

-->Tending the rest of the plants (after selling the honey from the beehive) got him all the way up to Gardening skill 7, nice. And what better way to celebrate than FINALLY PLANTING ALL THOSE DAMN OVERSIZED CROPS? Yes, Major Accomplishment Number Two: Victor finally putting in the ground the oversized lettuce, pumpkins, eggplants, mushrooms, and watermelons from Cottage Living! And then fertilizing them all because cleaning out the chicken coop occasionally yields vitality and super-vitality fertilizers and I’d been banking them for precisely this moment. So THOSE are finally on their way -- we’ll see what size produce Victor can coax out of them!

-->And might as well follow that up by actually using his Herbalism skill for something -- namely some deodorizing cream! Because, uh, that was the only thing he had the ingredients to make. Still, it was something, and nice to see him using his new grill (which I believe is also a @the-crypt-o-club creation/recolor) to good effect!

-->And while all this was happening, Angela Pleasant stopped by for a visit! Which was good, as Smiler had been sitting down at that video-creation station for a while and was starting to feel thirsty. . . Of course they were polite and invited her in for a chat first, though. Angie’s a friend, after all, and Smiler does try to at least talk to someone for a little while before asking for a drink! (Because otherwise they’ll say no, as I have found out.)

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3d-wifey · 7 months

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And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 8

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 4.8k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag List: @melancholicmelanin , @yvy1s, @honethatty12 A/N: Are yall mad at me 🙁🙁 Your outfit & Finnick's outfit.

Past (ix) - You

[19 & 20] - THE CAPITOL

You like Johanna, you decide after only a few minutes of talking to her. She’s clever and somehow always simmering with rage. With her stature and how meek she seemed in her interviews, even you were surprised by the 180 she did in the arena. It's easy to see how she won.

It's admirable. Admittedly, your games were more animalistic than strategic. The careers had turned on each other pretty early on, leaving behind those who were desperate to stay alive. There was even a boy who resorted to cannibalism, eating the heart of any tribute he killed. His name was Titus. He was only thirteen. When they airlifted you out, it felt like you were taken out of the wilderness and brought into captivity.

You also note, despite her permanent scowl, or maybe because of it, she’s pretty. And that thought plants dread in your chest. You know the future for pretty, young victors all too well.

Is this how Finnick felt when he first met you?

There are ways around it, you note. Though the consequences are pretty grim. Enobaria comes to mind. She won her games by ripping another tribute’s throat out with her teeth. An act of desperation turned into her main selling point. She was smart. Went to an extreme and sharpened her teeth to garner more Capitol appeal while simultaneously dissuading Snow from selling her body. She’s pretty, but no one’s jumping to get into bed with teeth like that.

And Haymitch…well, Haymitch wasn’t given much of a choice considering Snow killed any leverage he might have had over him.

You make your rounds, jumping from group to group, barely being able to pull away from those who want your attention. Obviously, you aren’t mingling because you want to. There isn’t a single client you’d willingly interact with, ever . However, what you want doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. A fact made all the more apparent when you get cornered by a particularly tenacious Capitol.

Ursa Lowvale—a notable actress old enough to be your mother, with a surprising amount of political influence—has one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding your waist. Her makeup, in Capitol fashion, is cakey and clashing. You force down the impulse to move away because no matter how long you’ve done this, it never ceases to amaze you how uncomfortable their touch makes you.

“Did you get the care package I sent you, dearest?" She asks, rubbing a thumb over your cheekbone. You take her hand from your face and move it to rest over your heart, just above your breast. Her touch makes you nauseous, but you play it off as if you’re showing your sincerity and not your disgust.

“I did. And I must say, your kindness knows no bounds.” You threw the package away immediately. You didn’t even bother looking inside. “You’re so giving.”

“Oh, I’m giving in all aspects . As I’m sure you know.” She moves her hand down to rest on the crest of your cleavage and you play none the wiser to what she’s insinuating. That’s the personality you’ve cultivated over the past four years; shy, docile, naive—if not a bit ditzy. It’s that very image that ropes them in. Corrupting the ‘innocence’ of a victor is awfully appealing.

“I’ll be sure to set up another meeting sometime soon. It’s been far too long.” She leans down and places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be waiting.”

You wait until she’s out of sight to drop your smile. You take a sip of champagne out of the flute and then you take another. You’ll never drink enough at one of these events to lose your wits, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little tipsy. If more encounters like that happen, you’ll need it.

You stick to the outskirts of the party, savoring the limited solitude while it lasts. You watch on as Johanna turns another person down. You don’t know how they even work up the nerve to ask her to dance; she certainly isn’t welcoming. She seems to tolerate victors well enough, but anyone else—well, they should know better than to approach her.

You jump when toned arms slide around your waist, champagne sloshing out of your glass.

“ Stunning as always, Star. ” He whispers, voice husky in your ear. You relax in his hold.

“Finnick Ewan Odair, I swear if you made me drop this glass—”

“I know, I know,” he smirks against your cheek and you can’t tamp down your smile, “Missed you.” He kisses your temple and moves back. It wouldn’t be perceived as strange for Finnick, of all people, to hang off of you, but you keep it to a minimum as a self-imposed rule. No one would blink twice at innocent affection in public, but you both know how easy it would be for the two of you to get carried away. There’s flirting and then there’s flirting.

“Mhm, I’m sure you did.” You chuckle into your drink, playing at being impassive and he sighs dramatically.

“You see, now, normally, when somebody says they miss you, you’re supposed to say…?” He prompts with his hands and trails off. “C’mon, Star. I know you know this one.” You blink up at him, silent. He scoffs in faux offense, turning to walk away and you drop the act.

“Okay, I’m sorry ,” you laugh, pulling him back by one of his billowy sleeves to hook a finger in one of his belt loops, “I’m sorry. I missed you too.” In the past six months since Johanna’s games, you’ve only seen each other seven times. Odd, since you’ve both come to the Capitol at least twenty times combined, and usually, the two of you are brought in to work at the same time.

“Now, was that so hard?” He teases and you poke him in his stomach where he’s ticklish. The muscles in his abdomen twitch as he snorts unattractively. Or, it would have been if anyone other than Finnick did it. “You’ll catch a cold in that.” He notes with a quirk of his eyebrow and looks you up and down for longer than what’s strictly necessary. He’s referring to the newest dress your stylist stuffed you into. It seems like she gets more and more daring with each outfit. This time you’re in a thin strapped evening gown with an almost see-through corset bodice. There’s a slit up your left thigh reaching your hip. You try not to toddle in red heels that are truly too high.

One of his hands goes to your waist and moves you to sway with him to the music the live orchestra is playing. Your free hand trails up his strong shoulder to play with the hairs at his nape.

“I can say the same for you.” You tug on the shark tooth necklace that definitely isn’t his. He’s in a loose, khaki-colored wrap shirt with a deep v-neck. Deeper than deep, honestly. It’s sheer like yours and tucked into the front of his white slacks. The sleeves cinch at his wrists and the whole thing offers very little coverage to his bare chest and stomach, which is probably the point.

“I guess we’ll have to find a way to keep each other warm then.” He bites his bottom lip with a grin that spells nothing good for your patience.

You pinch his side.

“Ow! I’m kidding .” He raises his hands placatingly, grinning broadly.

“ Behave .” You scold through your teeth and your cheeks hurt with the stretch of your smile.

“You gonna punish me if I don—”

That earns him a smack to the bare skin of his chest.

“You are so irritating,” you scold and he laughs loud and unrestrained with his head thrown back. A sight that never ceases to leave you breathless. Finnick usually never lets himself be this carefree in public, but maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s your presence. He catches his breath, ruddy cheeks dimpling. He looks awfully pretty under the soft yellow lights, hair shining like gold. A possessive thought sinks its claws into you. You don’t want anyone to see him like this. No one else deserves it. You aren’t even sure if you do.

“You love it.” He’s still letting out breathy little giggles as he beams down at you, big doe eyes twinkling.

You shake your head with an insurmountable fondness. “I love you .”

He wrinkles his nose and your eyes are drawn to the faint freckles dotting the bridge of it. “See, that’s not fair.”

“Oh?” You cross your arms, balancing your glass precariously while playfully sizing him up as one would before a sparring match. But that train of thought makes you think. Could you take Finnick in a fight? You snort. Can anyone? “Please, Mr. Odair. Please tell me all about how unfair it is that I love you.”

“ Ouch . Mr. Odair?” He huffs at your expectant stare. “You use it for evil .” He mirrors your stance by crossing his arms, and drawing your attention to his biceps. His loose-fitting sleeves are doing a horrible job of hiding their shape and size as they flex with his movement. Hmm . You bring back that thought of fighting Finnick, but now it’s not that funny. You picture you and Finnick spent and sweaty as you wrestle on a mat, he would be red in the face and grinning from exertion as he pinned you down and—

You take a sip of champagne.

“Well, I guess I’ll just stop saying it all together then if it’s such a hardship.” You shrug.

He raises his hands like he’s fending off an attack. “Woah! Alright, alright. I’m willing to come to a truce.”

The pair of you are still joking and giggling together when you get approached by a couple. Edgar, one of Finnick’s regulars, and Karlo, his husband whom you’ve had many meetings with yourself. Anyone else in your position would have jumped apart, and put as much space and plausible deniability between you as possible—and maybe you would have done that when you were younger, but you both know now that the best way to squash any suspicion is to act like there’s nothing to be suspicious of.

You and Finnick share a glance. Breathe and endure , you mouth to him while your back is still turned to the encroaching couple. You welcome the wry twist of his lips.

“What are you two drinking that’s making you so smiley?” They ask and you both sober up. Well, not literally. You don’t know about him, but you’re still a little fuzzy. You shiver as the silk of Finnick’s shirt brushes your bare back as he wraps his hand around yours and takes a sip from your glass.

“Champagne.” He supplies, with that charming smile that you don’t even have to turn around to know is there. “It hits quicker than you’d think.” This is partially true, but, really, the only thing you’re drunk on is Finnick.

You lean back into the heat of Finnick’s chest and his hand goes to your hip to steady you, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip.

“Looks like someone’s drunk more than her fair share.” Karlo laughs as they crowd in on you both and if you really had been as drunk as you’re pretending to be, you would have thrown up from the smell of their strong perfumes clashing. Both sickeningly sweet and fighting to clog your lungs. “Don’t tell me you’re drunk already.”

“Honestly, I barely drank any. I must be a lightweight.” You laugh, fake to your own ears and you’re sure to Finnick’s too.

“Really? That’s quite surprising. You know. With your rough background and all.” Edgar says with genuine confusion. It’s odd to be insulted so sincerely. Finnick scoffs behind you in what could be mistaken for amusement, but the grip on your hip says otherwise.

You stay quiet for the rest of the conversation. You chime in here and there, but Finnick carries the bulk of it. It isn’t normally like this. Many people usually fall over themselves trying to be the first person you talk to. But there are a select few who prefer you to stand there and look pretty. You can essentially dumb your way out of a conversation, Finnick isn’t so lucky.

“You’ll have to show us some of your poetry sometime, Nick,” Edgar says while walking his fingers up Finnick’s arm and you almost wince for him. He hates that nickname. Writing, specifically poetry, is the hobby Finnick was forced to take up after his games. Something that’s supposed to give a layer of complexity to his playboy image. Though, unlike most victors, it’s actually something he enjoys and is quite good at.

You, on the other hand, wished you were given any other skill to hone. If your fingers hadn’t already been callused, the violin strings would’ve left them mangled.

“He always forgets to ask that, but I’m sure it’s because you have him suitably distracted.” Karlo laughs and Edgar cackles along with him. You don’t know what’s tighter, your grip on the glass or your smile. You wonder which one will shatter first.

“Ah, anyway. We must be off.” Edgar, thankfully, pulls away.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Karlo takes your unattended hand and kisses the back of it and you instantly regret talking your stylist out of giving you elbow-length gloves.

“Likewise.”

You hold your breath and release it when they’re out of sight. You feel Finnick’s chest expand with his own sigh of relief.

“Alright,” he plucks the champagne from your hand, handing it to a passing server. You’re tempted to complain, “Let’s go. We’ve shown our faces long enough that Snow shouldn’t care.” You’re hesitant for a moment, but you can’t act like the idea of being alone with Finnick isn’t more than enough to convince you.

Other than the constant security and monitoring, the Training Center isn’t a terrible place to stay. As you and Finnick walk hand in hand down the hall, you can take comfort in the fact that you won’t run into anyone you’ll have to hide this from. The soles of your feet ache with each step. You yelp when you almost trip for the third time, your ankle turning inwards. Maybe you really are a lightweight.

Wordlessly, Finnick squats down and pats his thigh. You're confused before he taps your ankle. And he waits patiently like it’s the most natural thing in the world to take your shoes off for you. Your chest warms from something other than alcohol. You place your foot on his thigh and he takes off your heel and does the same with the other. He keeps the strap of your shoes looped over his finger as he stands.

“C’mon,” he puts one arm under your knees, another behind your back, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You really do try your best not to gawk at his strength, but from Finnick’s flustered giggles, you’re failing miserably. You wrap your arm around his neck.

“My hero,” you put the back of your hand to your forehead and his chest vibrates with his laughter.

“My star, light of my life,” you laugh as he spins you, “The least I can do is save you from a broken ankle.” He presses a featherlight kiss to your lips. Your eyes flutter shut and you can’t help but smile against his lips.

You and Finnick have unintentionally established a pattern. More often than not, you both would be in the Capitol at the same time for the same reason and one of you always ends up in the other’s room. But the elevator doesn’t stop on either of your floors.

The elevator opens on the rooftop and he’s yet to put you down. You’re amazed at how long he’s been able to carry you without any strain.

The gardens are sprawling and well-maintained, a surprising amount of care for something unprofitable. There was a kid, a tribute from one of the early games, who jumped off the roof. They claimed he fell by accident and the force field was put in place as a safety measure. But you all know what really happened—the districts know what happened. And you suspect he’s the reason the garden was implemented. A poorly planned distraction on the Capitol’s behalf.

Finnick sits on one of the garden benches behind a tall hedge of roses with you on his lap. You rest your head on top of his, tracing random letters on the back of his neck.

Finnick clears his throat. “There were kids at the reception. Running around– chasing each other. They asked me to play tag with them.” He laughs. You conjure up an image of Finnick chasing a gaggle of children that don’t even come up to his waist, because of course he did, and suddenly, you can think of nothing else. “Have you ever thought about having any?”

“I did when I was younger.” You hum. You thought of a lot of things when you were a kid. When you were young enough to be shielded by your parents from the brutality of your district, young enough to dream. That period didn’t last and you haven’t been a kid for a long time.

“But?”

“But, I didn’t think I’d live long enough to have any.” You didn’t even think you were capable of that kind of love. You didn't think it was in your capacity. It was bred and beaten out of you, especially after your games. But Finnick’s in the business of proving you wrong. “And to bring them into this world, into Eleven, seems cruel.”

The chirp of crickets fills the silence. Fireflies dot the sky and blend with the stars.

His fingers tap on your thigh. “I always thought I’d have two. They’d be close in age so—”

“—They’d be friends.” You finish and he gives a slow nod that picks up speed.

“Yeah, a boy and a girl.” You want to picture it. You want to imagine a world where it’s possible to have that life together. But you fear the fate of a child that would look like you and Finnick.

Your eyes drift from constellation to constellation. Perseus, Pegasus, Pisces. The stars are clearer here than at the Marquis, but not by much. It’s times like this that you miss your dad the most.

“If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear some more of your poetry.” You mutter into his hair. What Edgar said got you thinking. You don’t want Finnick to associate his talent with those people. Everything he writes is a piece of him. It amounts to more than that, more than them.

“I would think you’d be tired of it by now, considering how much I write in my letters.”

“Mmm, I’ll never be tired of anything you do. You really do have a gift, Finn, and you shouldn’t waste it on them.” The words were out of your mouth before you even had time to comprehend them. You lift your head when he moves to look at you, “It’s true.” You say, somewhat embarrassed. You aren’t really the emotionally forthcoming one in this relationship, but you weren’t expecting what you said to be met with surprise.

He places a kiss on the shell of your bracelet. You shiver as he trails his lips down to the tip of your fingers. Your heart speeds up in anticipation. He presses his cheek to the back of your hand and he sits there with his eyes closed, before speaking.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you.” He laces your fingers together, eyes still closed. “A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I.” When he opens his eyes back up, you’re swept away by the sheer adoration. That’s something you should get used to, right? You don’t think you’ve seen Finnick look at you any differently. And you don’t think you ever will.

He shakes his head with a smile as bright as the sun. “Everything I do, I do for you.” He whispers and just when you catch your breath, it’s gone again.

You’re not sure who leans in first, not that it matters. No, all that matters is this moment—just the two of you.

He pulls back, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

“So,” he speaks, lips twitching into a smirk, and you brace yourself for the sheer strength of the eye roll that’s certain to follow whatever he says next, “your room or mine?” Your eyes truly come close to rolling out of your head, but you snort despite yourself and that smirk becomes a full-blown smile.

Present (VIII) - You

[23 & 24 ] - TRAINING CENTER

You inhale through your nose and release the breath through your teeth. Your arms burn from your fingers to your biceps and you try to adjust your grip on the bar, but the strain in your shoulders convinces you to tap out. You drop to the ground and the screen next to you reads four minutes and eight seconds, but you know you can make it to five.

You bounce on your toes and shake out your hands. Just as you’re about to jump back up, you notice a crowd forming around the archery station. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you’re able to slip to the front and see what the commotion is about. Inside, Katniss shoots down the hologram opponents with deadly proficiency, seemingly sensing the enemies before they’re even there. The arm strength involved with shooting a bow and arrow is nothing to scoff at. Especially with the fluidity and speed she’s going.

After she hits the last hologram and the exercise shuts off, everyone else stands impressed—yourself included. You're starting to understand why Haymitch is putting so much stock into her.

In terms of basic survival, there’s nothing for you to improve on. Shelter making, fire starting, weapons, hand-to-hand—there isn’t much for you to learn within the day you have left. You think about stopping at the camouflage station but think better of it. As long as there’s something to climb, you’ll have camouflage. Mags hovers by the fish hooks station, but you worry if you go near her, Finnick won’t be far behind. You don’t know what he wants from you, why he even wants to speak to you. It’s not like he responded to any of your letters, so why now ? Why now when you’ve finally come to terms with the way he wanted things to be?

On the topic of avoiding Finnick, you also steer clear of the knot-tying station. He’s there now teaching Katniss how to tie what looks like a noose. You’d run out of fingers if you tried to count the number of knots he’s taught you. You never thought you’d ever have to use any of them, but there’s no telling what will happen in the arena.

Edible insects are much easier to distinguish than plants, but you’re more than adept at both. The same can’t be said for Peeta. You must have been watching him for nearly thirty minutes and he’s gotten close to nothing right.

He still has the paint that the female Morphling—Megan, you’re pretty sure—painted on his arm. Swirls of the orange, yellow, and purple trail from his wrist to his shoulder.

The screen flashes red as he organizes the plants incorrectly.

“You are terrible at this.” You walk forward to lean against the control panel, “Like, extraordinarily.”

Peeta looks up from the buttons. It’s technically the first time the two of you have talked, not counting that meeting after the chariots where Chaff kissed Katniss.

“I just,” he scratches at the back of his head and frowns, discouraged, “I can’t remember the names. I know nightlock, obviously. But not much else.”

“Well, you’re able to recognize where you fall short. That’s good. You’re trying to match the names to the fruit, but you don’t have enough time to remember all of that. It’s pointless anyway.” What good is remembering the name of a berry if he doesn’t know if he can eat it or not?

“Then, what am I supposed to do?”

“Instead of figuring out the names, try to focus on what they look like and whether or not they’re edible. That’s all that matters, honestly.” You restart the exercise, changing the parameters so he’ll have to organize the plants into categories by picture.

“You’re helping me?”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you die because you decided to tussle with the wrong berry.” Hundreds of kids have died in Eleven from eating something they shouldn’t have. Not because they didn’t know it was poisonous, but because they were so hungry that they took their chances. “Trust me, that’s not a fight you wanna pick.”

It’s touch and go for a second, but it’s not long before Peeta starts catching on. He’s a quick learner, and it’s much easier—more beneficial—to memorize what an edible plant looks like rather than what it’s called.

While Peeta is distracted with a timed matching game, your eyes trail to where Finnick goes through different motions with a trident while Katniss watches with laser-like focus. He stops to say something to her and glances your way. You’re quick to look back down to the task at hand.

How are you supposed to work with him in the arena if you can’t even handle being in the same room as him?

“I’m just not good at this.” Peeta laughs with a hint of self-deprecation. The screen shows he was only able to get half of the plants organized before the timer went off. For somebody starting from scratch, he’s selling himself pretty short. He just needs a little more time and you’re confident he’ll be able to recognize what can and can’t be eaten within an hour.

“I watched your games. You could definitely be better.” Poisonous berries are the leading cause of death in the arena. Followed closely by being killed, either by another tribute or the arena itself. This will help protect him from the former. He doesn't need to master this. He just needs to know enough to get by.

”Yeah, Katniss is definitely better at this kind of stuff.” He looks over his shoulder to where Katniss and Finnick are still training. This time Katniss holds the trident and her movements are nowhere near as polished as his were. Despite that, Peeta’s eyes shine.

You look at Peeta— really look at him—and realize something.

"You actually love her, don't you?" You marvel. It hadn't even crossed your mind that their feelings could be genuine. He looks at you surprised, before whatever persona he's embodying slides into place.

"What, do you think it's an act or something?" He laughs.

"I did. But your eyes gave you away. They hold this kind of—softness whenever you look at her, whenever you talk about her," you turn back to the screen but don't restart the exercise, "I'd recognize that anywhere." Of course, you would. It's how Finnick used to look at you.

You're both quiet. He looks from you to his hands on the controls.

"I do." He breathes, hard to hear over the cacophony of sounds in the room. "I really do."

You take a breath and let it out in a sigh.

"I'm sorry then."

"For what?" His brows furrow with confusion.

"You shouldn't have to go into the arena with someone you love. It's cruel." Your heart aches for him. You don't know how much Katniss reciprocates his feelings—you're starting to think she doesn't at all. For that, you can't help but feel sorry for him—can't help but see yourself in him.

Haymitch was right, after all. Peeta's a good kid. He doesn't deserve this.

"Then, I'm sorry too." You glance at him from the corner of your eye. "You're right. We shouldn't have to." You don't say anything for a second and he doesn't press you to. You doubt anyone told him about you and Finnick, so maybe he's just that observant. And smarter than anyone notices. An oversight you're sure he takes advantage of.

You don't bother denying it. Instead, you nod. He nods back. A sense of comradery is shared between the two of you, but it doesn't last long. You still have training to do. You press on a random square and a creepy-looking plant appears. A red stalk with shiny, white berries spins in a slow circle on the screen.

"White baneberry, poisonous or not poisonous?" He contemplates it.

"Poisonous?" He asks more than tells you.

"Just to eat?" You prompt and he shakes his head.

"You can't touch it either." He answers far more confidently and you smile. There might be hope for him yet.

"Good. Next."

A/N: SMUT NEXT CHAPTER!!!!! PEW PEW PEW!!!!

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #hunger games catching fire #masterlist #finnick x reader #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #and they'd find us in a week #finnick

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