#and Victor convinces him to cut it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

humaling · 4 months ago

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Hold Me steady.

pairing: finnick odair x victor!reader

summary: how do you watch the person you love most break in front of you—knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it?

warnings: angst to fluff, a small kiss hehe

word count: 4.8k

not proofread!

The plan was simple: keep the girl from District 12 and her husband alive until Plutarch got you all out of the arena. Every move, every alliance, was carefully calculated to ensure survival.

But now, that plan was unraveling before your eyes.

Finnick had disappeared into the woods, chasing after Katniss the moment she took off. The jabberjays had started their cruel symphony, their shrieks laced with the voices of loved ones lost—or worse, suffering. You knew it wasn’t real. Finnick did, too. But that hadn’t stopped Katniss from running toward the sound of her sister’s cries, and it hadn’t stopped Finnick from chasing after her.

Now, standing alone by the water’s edge, you clenched your fists, your patience thinning with each passing second. The arena was a trap, every moment meant to break you, and you couldn’t afford these kinds of reckless outbursts. Cooperation was your only chance at getting out alive, and right now, it felt like emotions were pulling your group apart faster than the Gamemakers ever could.

The distant echoes of the jabberjays still rang through the trees, but what unsettled you more was the silence that followed. No Finnick. No Katniss.

You exhaled sharply, your grip tightening around your weapon.

You never signed up to be a babysitter when the Third Quarter Quell was announced. You hadn’t signed up to go back in, either. But when it came down to choosing a tribute from District 4, there was no real choice at all.

Mags was too old. She’s barely recovering from the stroke she had two summers ago, and if the Games didn’t kill her, the strain of simply being here would. Annie? She was fragile in a different way. She was a survivor, yes, but the arena had left her mind in pieces, and everyone in District 4 knew she wasn’t in the right headspace to survive it again. That left you. The only one strong enough, capable enough, sane enough to go through it all over again.

Finnick didn’t see it that way.

You felt his eyes on you the second you stepped forward, volunteering before Mags could. She had tried—of course she had—but you gently held her back, murmuring that it was all right, that she needed to stay and look after Annie. The poor girl was already breaking, barely able to breathe the second her name was called.

Finnick’s head snapped toward you so fast it nearly made you flinch. It was as if he thought his glare alone could undo what had just happened. But then they called his name, too. Whatever protest had been forming on his lips vanished. His expression didn’t waver, but you saw the shift—the way his fingers curled into fists, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

He didn’t like this.

He made that clear from the moment you boarded the train, frustration rolling off him in waves. First, it was sharp words thrown like daggers over dinner—accusations, anger, his voice sharp enough to cut. Then, silence. The kind that settled thick in the air, heavy and suffocating. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak. Not even after the parade when you returned to your apartment in the Tribute Center, the golden glow of the Capitol’s skyline mocking you through the window.

If Haymitch hadn’t come in and told you about the plan, you were convinced Finnick wouldn’t have spoken to you again until the arena.

You weren’t unfamiliar with that silence.

You had endured so much since you left that arena alive—forced to perform for the Capitol, to obey Snow’s orders. But it wasn’t enough for them. It never was. You had to sell your body, let them use you like you were nothing more than a toy, an object for their entertainment. It was disgusting, the way human beings were capable of treating others like that. You couldn’t understand it, couldn’t stomach it. It left you shaking, disoriented, closed-off to anyone who tried to help, to understand.

Finnick was relentless. No matter how much you pushed, no matter how cruel your words became, he refused to leave you alone. He lingered at your side like an anchor, steady and unrelenting. And when you shut yourself away from the world after your Victory Tour, he came up with his own solution—moving in with you, forcing his way into your life just so he could make sure you were still breathing.

You never really liked Finnick when you first met him—even started to hate him the second you stepped out of the arena. He never warned you about what happens when a person is pushed to the brink of death, never told you that survival meant throwing away every last piece of yourself. Every moral, every shred of dignity. You had to learn that the hard way.

And you hated him for it.

But hate had a way of twisting into something else. Something softer. Something more than like, a lot like love.

You knew where the line was drawn between you and your mentor. Finnick only had this attachment toward you because you were the first Victor he brought home. That was all. It had to be.

But it was hard—hard to ignore the weight of his presence, hard to pretend you didn’t care when you’d spent so many nights at his side, listening to his nightmares break him apart. Hard to forget the way he clung to you, desperate and exhausted, when the sobs wracked his body between shallow breaths.

A sigh slips past your lips as you tap your foot against the sand, frustration settling deep in your chest. Johanna should have been back by now. You don’t have time to sit around and wait, not when every second wasted could mean something going wrong. When a minute turns into five, you’ve had enough. Without another word, you step into the jungle, Peeta and Beetee following close behind.

The air is thick with humidity, clinging to your skin as you weave through the trees. You move quickly, your mind already cycling through worst-case scenarios, but when you finally spot Johanna standing in a clearing, you hesitate. She isn’t moving. Her posture is rigid, her brown hair damp and sticking to her forehead, but what makes your stomach twist is the way she stares ahead, eyes fixed on something unseen.

“Johanna?” You call her name, voice sharper than intended. “Where are they?”

She turns toward you, but the unease rolling off of her is immediate. She looks like she wants to say something but can’t. Seconds drag on in silence, and your patience starts to thin. Finnick and Katniss should be here. You can’t hear them, can’t see them. Something is wrong. You try to push past Johanna, but the moment you take a step forward, a sharp pain explodes across your forehead. It’s like slamming into a brick wall—except there’s nothing in front of you. The force knocks you back, sending you stumbling before you manage to catch yourself.

“They’re still in there,” Johanna says, her voice uncharacteristically unsteady.

Peeta steps in between the two of you, his frown deepening as he glances between you and the empty space ahead. You rub at your forehead, barely registering the ache as confusion clouds your thoughts. Peeta, still frowning, reaches forward, his fingers pressing against something unseen. His breath hitches as realization dawns on him.

“What’s with the wall?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you can respond, movement flickers through the dense jungle beyond the barrier—fast, desperate. Your heart lurches in your chest as you see them.

Finnick and Katniss. Still inside.

“Katniss!”

Peeta’s voice is desperate, thick with panic as he slams his hand against the invisible wall. His palm smacks against the unseen force again and again, his breathing uneven as he tries to get her attention. He keeps calling her name, his voice cracking as he pleads for her to hear him, but she doesn’t react the way she should. Her eyes dart wildly, but there’s no recognition. No relief. The realization settles like a stone in your gut.

“They can’t hear us.” The words barely leave your lips, the weight of them pressing down on your chest as you watch Katniss’s frantic gaze finally meet yours before moving to Peeta’s.

You see the way her eyes glossed, running forward to Peeta. She helplessly bangs against the wall, screaming something at Peeta who continues to give her assurance despite the fact she can’t hear him.

Tears streak down her face, her expression twisted in agony as she pounds helplessly against the barrier. Her mouth moves, screaming something you can’t hear, her hands pressing against the force that keeps her from reaching Peeta. Whatever she’s saying, whatever she’s trying to tell him, it’s lost to the cruel trick of the arena. Peeta doesn’t stop trying, though. He keeps talking, keeps reassuring her, keeps reaching out even though she’ll never hear a word of it.

Your chest tightens, but your focus shifts as you search for someone else. Your heart pounds as your eyes scan the jungle, moving past Katniss and Peeta as fear digs its claws into your stomach. Then, through the gaps in the trees, you find him.

Finnick stumbles through the thick undergrowth, his body tense as the birds swarm him. Their sharp cries echo around him, their wings beating wildly as they dive at him again and again. His arms are raised, shielding his face from the relentless attack, but it’s not the physical assault that’s breaking him—it’s the sounds. The voices. You see the way his shoulders shake, his hands pressing against his ears as if he’s trying to block out something far worse than the flurry of wings around him.

Without thinking, you drop to your knees, your hands trembling as they press against the invisible wall separating you. The smooth, unyielding surface is cold beneath your fingertips, offering no way through, no way to reach him. He’s right there, so close that you can see every detail—the way his sea-green eyes are glossy with unshed tears, the deep crease between his brows, the way his body trembles under the weight of something you can’t take away.

A sinking weight settles in your chest, heavier than anything you’ve felt before. You’ve fought beside Finnick. You’ve seen him at his strongest, his most unshakable, and even his most vulnerable But this? This is different from those nights. The Finnick in front of you is breaking apart, unraveling under the weight of something only he can hear.

You press harder against the wall, your fingers digging into nothing, desperate for any way to reach him. But there’s nothing you can do. No way to stop this. No way to pull him out of it.

And that’s what makes your stomach churn, what makes your heart pound against your ribs with something close to panic. Because for the first time since stepping into this nightmare, you realize that you’re helpless. That no matter how much you want to protect him, no matter how badly you want to pull him away from whatever horror the Capitol is forcing him to relive, you can’t do a damn thing.

The hour stretched endlessly, each second dragging like lead through your veins. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest as you watched Finnick unravel before your eyes. He was barely there anymore—his gaze glassy and unfocused as the screams of the jabberjays clawed through the air, you assume. His arms stayed curled protectively over his head, his body shaking under the relentless assault of sound. Each shriek seemed to chip away at him, stripping him down to nothing but raw nerves and desperation.

Katniss wasn’t faring any better. She was curled up on the ground, her silent screams breaking through the humid air as her mind fractured under the weight of it all. Peeta hovered over the barrier, his voice low and frantic as he whispered reassurances she couldn’t hear, his hands grasping the air in a desperate attempt to anchor her. But it was useless. She was too far gone, lost to the terror of the voices echoing through the trees.

And then there was you—down on your knees in the dirt, your eyes fixed on Finnick as helplessness bloomed in your chest like poison.

You hated this. Hated how useless you felt. You were strong, smart, cunning—those were the traits that had kept you alive in your Games, that had protected you through the worst of it. But now? Now you were nothing but a spectator to Finnick’s unraveling. The only person who had ever pulled you back from the edge, the only person who had ever known how to put you back together, was breaking in front of you. And you couldn’t stop it.

You wanted to return the favor—you wanted so badly to reach through that barrier, to grab his face in your hands and pull him back to you. But you couldn’t even touch him. Your fists curled so tightly at your sides that your knuckles burned, white from the pressure. Your jaw ached from how hard you were clenching it, trying to keep yourself from screaming in frustration.

This was cruel. Sadistic.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip as you lowered your gaze to the dirt beneath you. You hated how fragile you felt, how exposed. Snow had designed this arena to break you, and he was succeeding. Because right now, you weren’t strong, or smart, or cunning. You were just desperate.

You cursed Snow in your head, hatred simmering in your veins as you imagined his cold smile watching from above. If not for him, you and Finnick would be home right now. You’d be down at the beach, your feet buried in the sand as Finnick teased you for being too slow to catch fish. The sun would be on your skin, the salty breeze would be in your hair, and none of this would exist. Just you and him, laughing like the world wasn’t a cruel, rotting thing.

But instead, you were here. On your knees. Watching the person you loved most in the world slip further and further away—and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop it.

The moment you caught a glimpse of Peeta stumbling through the jungle, his arms frantically reaching out to pull Katniss into his embrace, your body moved before your mind could catch up. Your head shot up, muscles tensing as instinct kicked in. Without thinking, you reached out for Finnick.

But then you froze.

A low, mechanical hum cut through the tension in the air, sharp and invasive. The sound of the cameras. The Capitol was watching. Snow was watching.

Your breath hitched as you hesitated, your hand suspended mid-air. Vulnerability in the arena was a death sentence. Every moment of weakness was a weapon to be used against you later. Your jaw clenched, fingers curling slightly as you weighed the risk. Did you really want to expose yourself like this—to let Panem see the way your heart stammered in your chest at the sight of him breaking?

But it seemed Finnick had already decided for you.

Strong arms wrapped around your torso, the force of it knocking you slightly off balance as a familiar head pressed into your stomach. You sucked in a shaky breath, your gaze dropping to the boy clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in a world of chaos. His breath was uneven, ragged against your skin, and his arms twitched as though he couldn’t decide whether to hold on tighter or let go.

It was such a simple gesture—a basic human need for comfort—but it shattered something in you. Without thinking, you dropped to your knees, your arms automatically sliding around his neck as you pressed him close. His body was tense beneath your touch, his shoulders shaking from the aftermath of whatever the jabberjays had forced him to hear. Your hand slipped into his hair, your fingers threading through the damp strands as you guided his head to the crook of your neck.

“I got you, Finn,” you whispered, your voice soft and unsteady. The nickname slipped from your lips without thought, weighted with familiarity and tenderness you rarely let yourself express. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Finnick’s breath hitched, and his grip on you tightened. His arms locked around you as though he was afraid you’d disappear, his fingers digging into your back with just enough pressure to ground himself. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his face pressing deeper into your neck as if hiding there would make the rest of the world disappear. You felt his lashes flutter against your skin as he squeezed his eyes shut, as though the act of letting go would be too much to bear.

You could feel his heart racing beneath your touch, each frantic beat hammering against your chest. Slowly, carefully, you began to rub small circles on his back, murmuring soft reassurances into his ear. Sweet nothings. Anything that might calm the storm raging inside him.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his temple. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Little by little, you felt the tension start to ease from his frame. His breathing evened out, his trembling less pronounced. He took in your words like they were the only thing tethering him to the ground. Slowly, the chaos that had overtaken him began to fade—not entirely, but enough. Enough for him to feel you. To believe you.

When Finnick finally pulled away from you, the world around you began to creep back into focus. Johanna’s voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and angry as she screamed at the Gamemakers and Snow, her axe swinging dangerously through the humid air. Her curses were vicious, each one laced with venom, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Normally, you might’ve smirked, maybe teased her for the poor attempt at theatrics, but right now, none of that mattered.

Your attention was fixed on Finnick.

He sat on the ground, his broad shoulders slumping forward, his arms resting limply against his knees. His eyes were distant, glassy as he stared at nothing in particular. You could see the hollowness in his gaze, the same vacant expression you’d seen before—but never quite like this. This wasn’t exhaustion. This was resignation.

Katniss was still on the ground nearby, trembling in Peeta’s arms as he stroked her hair, murmuring reassurances. Peeta’s eyes, despite the tension etched into his brow, flicked toward Johanna’s outburst with a flicker of amusement. But beneath it, you could see the worry—the tightness in his jaw as he held Katniss like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers.

You didn’t bother with them. Your focus stayed on Finnick.

Slowly, you moved to sit beside him. Not close enough to touch, but near enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Your knees brushed the dirt, and you sat quietly, listening to the ragged sound of his breathing. His fingers twitched against his thighs, restless and unsure. His eyes, though unfocused, flickered with emotion—anger, sadness, fear—all bleeding together beneath the surface.

You hesitated, your hand flexing slightly in your lap before you spoke.

“Do you want to go to the beach?” you asked softly. Your voice was light, careful. You didn’t want to push too hard.

Finnick’s head lifted slightly, his gaze shifting toward you. For a moment, he said nothing—just breathed. Then, slowly, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Relief loosened the tension in your chest. Without a word, you rose to your feet, brushing the dirt from your palms. You reached down, picking up his trident from the ground before holding it out to him. His fingers hesitated for a beat before curling around the weapon’s shaft. His grip was shaky, but steady enough.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than a breath.

You gave a small nod, your lips pressing into a thin line as you turned toward the path leading to the beach. Your eyes met Beetee’s across the clearing, and he gave a slight nod, silently signaling that it was all right. You offered him a quick smile before you pushed through the thick curtain of leaves and branches.

Finnick trailed behind you, his footsteps quiet but constant. Every few steps, you glanced over your shoulder to make sure he was still there. You hated how your chest clenched at the thought of losing him, of turning around to find only empty space where he should be. The arena had a way of taking things without warning, and you weren’t sure if you could survive losing him too.

Finally, the thick jungle began to thin, the trees giving way to the soft rustle of sand beneath your boots. A salty breeze swept through the air, cutting through the heavy humidity. The soft crash of waves against the shore echoed in the distance, steady and calm.

You stepped through the last curtain of leaves, the blinding white of the beach stretching out before you. The water sparkled beneath the sunlight, shades of blue and green rippling beneath the tide.

Finnick stepped up beside you, his eyes fixed on the horizon. His chest rose and fell, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. Slowly, his hand brushed against yours—hesitant, unsure. You didn’t move away.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, listening to the waves.

Finnick’s voice was soft, almost hesitant—a quiet vulnerability you weren’t used to hearing from him. "Can I hold your hand?"

It startled you. Not the words themselves, but the way he said them. There was no teasing lilt, no playful edge. Just quiet sincerity, stripped bare of the charm he usually wore like armor. Your instinct was to deflect, to bat it away with a snarky remark, but something about the way his voice sounded—so small, so unsure—made you pause.

Instead of answering, you let your hand drift toward his. Your fingers brushed lightly against his knuckles, and you felt it immediately—the sharp, almost electric jolt that shot up your arm, tightening your chest. His hand was warm despite the lingering chill in the air, rough with the callouses earned from years of fishing and fighting. He didn’t rush. His knuckles grazed against yours, tentative and slow, as though waiting for permission.

Then his palm shifted beneath yours, fingertips ghosting along the curve of your hand before his fingers slid between yours. His touch was careful, almost reverent, and when he interlocks his fingers with yours, his grip was steady but not possessive. It was as if he were memorizing the feel of your hand—every ridge, every scar—like he needed to commit it to memory in case this moment slipped away.

Neither of you spoke as you moved toward the shoreline, your hands still joined. The sun had started to dip toward the horizon, casting shades of orange and pink across the restless water. The sand was soft beneath your feet, the gentle crash of the waves filling the silence between you. When you reached the water’s edge, you both sank down without a word, letting the tide wash over your legs. Your shoulders pressed together, the solid warmth of him grounding you in a way nothing else could.

For the first time in longer than you could remember, you let your guard slip. Your shoulders drooped, the tension you always carried bleeding away as you exhaled. Damn the Capitol. Damn Snow. You knew the cameras were on you. You knew that every quiet touch, every shared glance, would be dissected and weaponized against you later. They’d use this—use him—against you if it suited them. But in this moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Finnick’s thumb stroked the side of your hand, a gentle back-and-forth that sent warmth unraveling through your chest. You could’ve pulled away. You probably should have. But you didn’t. You leaned into him instead, resting your temple lightly against his shoulder as the waves lapped at your legs. His hand tightened around yours—not enough to hurt, just enough to tell you that he was there.

And maybe that was why you didn’t care about the consequences. Maybe it was because Finnick was still sitting beside you, still holding your hand even though he could feel how your pulse hammered beneath his fingertips. They could take everything from you tomorrow, but not this. Not him.

Finnick’s breath hitched, his hand tightening slightly around yours as you leaned into him. The weight of your lips against his shoulder was light, barely more than a touch, but the vulnerability behind it cut through the fragile space between you like glass.

His other hand drifted up, resting gently on your knee. His thumb brushed back and forth in slow, soothing strokes, but you could feel the tension in his grip, the restrained tremor in his fingers.

“You were crying,” Finnick repeated, his voice quieter this time. He wasn’t looking at you now—his gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the water met the darkening sky. “I’ve heard a lot of things in the arena. Screaming. Begging. But nothing—nothing—has ever felt like that.”

Your eyes slid shut, your forehead pressing against the warm fabric of his shirt. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to acknowledge it. Because if you did, it would make it real. You could handle pain. You could handle loss. But the thought of being his weakness—that terrified you.

“Finnick,” you murmured, voice low and unsteady.

“I couldn’t get to you.” His voice cracked, the words raw and exposed. His hand left your knee and curled around the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the soft skin beneath your ear. “I kept running, but the closer I got, the louder you screamed.” His head dipped toward you, his forehead brushing against your temple. “And then I realized you weren’t there. That it wasn’t you. But it still—” His breath shuddered against your skin. “It still felt like losing you.”

You forced your eyes open, your gaze catching the way his lashes fluttered against his cheeks. His face was so close now, the salt from the sea mixing with the warmth of his breath. Your chest tightened painfully at the raw emotion etched into his features—the quiet devastation beneath his usually effortless charm.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

His eyes opened at that, the sea-green of them catching the dying light of the sunset. His gaze was searching, cautious, like he didn’t know whether to believe you.

“You say that,” he breathed, his thumb brushing along the curve of your jaw. “But you don’t know that. No one ever knows.”

You hated how true that was. He was right. You could promise him everything, swear you’d never leave, but this world was designed to tear you apart. Still, you couldn’t sit here and let him believe you’d already slipped through his fingers.

Your hand drifted from his shoulder to his chest, where his heartbeat hammered beneath your palm. Steady. Alive.

“You’re right,” you said softly. “I don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year.” Your thumb brushed over the hollow dip beneath his collarbone. “But I know that I’m here now. I’m with you. And that’s all that matters.”

Finnick’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the conflict there—the part of him that wanted to believe you and the part that was too scared to let himself. His hand slid to the side of your face, his fingers weaving into your hair as his thumb traced slow patterns along your cheek.

“And what happens when that’s not enough?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

You smiled faintly, your hand sliding up to curl around the back of his neck. “Then we fight. Together.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sound of the ocean filled the silence between you, the steady pull and retreat of the waves. His breath was warm against your cheek, his lips inches from yours. Your eyes flicked downward, toward his mouth, before drifting back up.

You didn’t know which one of you moved first, but suddenly his lips were brushing against yours. A soft, hesitant pressure that made your heart stutter. His hand at the back of your neck tightened slightly, and you leaned in, your free hand sliding up his chest to rest at his shoulder. The kiss deepened, slow and careful, the weight of it grounding you more than any weapon ever could.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling between you. His hand lingered against your cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw like he was afraid to let go.

“We survive this,” you murmured. “And then we figure out the rest.”

Finnick’s mouth curled into the faintest smile, but his eyes were still sad, still searching. His hand slipped down to lace through yours again, holding you steady even as the waves threatened to pull you under.

“Together,” he whispered.

You squeezed his hand. “Together.”

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #hunger games finnick #the hunger games

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xxsycamore · 9 months ago

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╰┈➤ When you discover a mysterious hole in a restroom inside the Crown castle, you're ready to catch the ill-doers of whatever forbidden exchange is taking place and take them straight to Victor. Little do you know, your curiosity would lead you to give more and more of yourself to that ridiculous cause, night after night. And you might just end up enjoying it.

— William, Harrison, Liam, Elbert, Alfons, Ellis, Jude, Roger, Victor x f!Reader

• rating: 🔞 E (MDNI) • tags: Glory Hole; Anonymous Sex; Corruption; Hand Jobs; Blow Jobs; Oral Sex; Come Eating; Come Swallowing; Deepthroating; Masturbation; Dirty Thoughts; Smoking; Objectification; Overstimulation; Penis Size; Multiple Orgasms; Ruined Orgasms; Vaginal Sex; Vaginal Fingering; Size Difference; Large Cock; Creampie; Breast Fucking; Dirty Talk; Squirting/Vaginal Ejaculation • wordcount: 5,836 • masterlist

a/n: I've had this idea for a while now and here it is, finally. One of the longest smuts I've written and definitely one that I'm proud of. Enjoy!

⏮ ⏯ ⏭ NIN - The Wretched

Visions of Temptation 2024/KINKTOBER DAY 2: Glory Holes

NINE NIGHTS.

Among the many things you've been warned about when you first started living at the castle, you couldn't help but be curious the most about one thing. That infamous communal restroom located at the very end of the left wing's top-floor corridor. Remoted and basically isolated from the lively parts of the castle, if it weren't for the obscene rumor Alfons shared with you, you might not have discovered such a place exists at all. Actually, you're still not convinced if it truly exists. It's all too much like the hedonistic bastard to mess with your head like that.

That's why you're on a mission to do a little investigation on your own.

Arriving at the dimly lit location, your anticipation is flattened by the lack of anything obscure to be found. The restroom hardly differs from the ones you've seen around the place: well-maintained and designed accordingly to match the elegant style of the castle. One side is for the ladies, the other for the gentlemen; two different entrances, a wall separating them right in the middle.

You don't know why you even bother going as far as peeking an eye inside the stalls, but nothing appears to be amiss there as well.

Apart from one thing.

You nearly missed it in the sparse light, but the cut-out hole in the wooden wall inside the second stall stands starkly against the otherwise well-polished surface of it.

Suddenly it all clicks, and you remember Alfons' words.

"Rumor has it that around eleven in the evening, people go there to partake in rather... scandalous exchanges. Both parties are provided with anonymity and everything that takes place inside the restroom stays there. We might be a modest group of inhibitors here, little Robin, but everyone has their needs. We don't judge which part of the partition you choose to be on."

This has to be about drugs! As outrageous as it is, it perfectly explains the hole - large enough to serve for the purpose of one such "exchange", the wooden wall in-between separating provider and client.

You chose to linger around here just early enough to be able to leave without witnessing what does - or does not - happen in the established hour, and just close enough to it in case if, for some reason, you'd want to stay and find out for yourself. This means you can perfectly well remain waiting in the stall, catch the culprit red-handed, and take him straight to Victor. You're sure he knows nothing of this, it can't be otherwise.

You don't have to dwell in your thoughts for much longer, because in the perfectly tranquil air around you, you're able to pick up the soft noise of the door opening on the other side. Readily, you prepare to grab hold of whatever is inserted through the hole and see if your hunch is correct.

Little do you know, the sight will make you reconsider at once. You blink your eyes several times when you look down.

It takes you everything not to scream, barely being fast enough to clasp a hand around your own mouth, as soon as you realize what you're looking at.

Whoever is on the other side of the restroom is currently giving access to a certain part of themselves, and by the way it stands erect and demanding attention, you can imagine just one possible scenario of what the person on your side of the partition is expected to do with it.

The breath hitches in your throat. Will you be found out if you were to exit right now? Even if you won't be seen, even if anyone else could have been here, in your place…

A very dangerous thought fills your head, and you know listening to it should be the last thing you do. Still, for the sake of getting to the bottom of this and not disrupting any of it just yet, you start to think it might not be that bad if you just…

Hesitantly, your hand reaches out until your fingertips can almost graze the very tip of the cock in front of you. Eyes falling closed for a second, nine different faces flash through your mind. Nine possibilities. It's as if this changes everything between you and the mysterious man on the other side, when in reality it changes nothing at all. You think back to your fellow Crownmates, as if trying to see if the thought of any of them pushes you away, but to no avail.

You might have lost your mind. Fingers slowly curling around the hot flesh in front of you, the initial contact is far easier than you thought. You start pumping the hardness in your fist right away, noting the way it slightly swells in your hand, despite already seeming quite aroused.

The slight tremble of your fingers is perhaps a welcomed side-effect of the adrenaline coursing through your system, as the cock in your hand is very receptive to your actions. You wonder to yourself if the person on the other side is used to this sort of thing. Or maybe it's his first time here too, his curiosity getting the better of him. Just like you, in a way. However, he's clearly being able to get off on that thrill. It must be contagious because you become bolder with your movements and your eyes are no longer shy to the sight in front of you. It's embarassing not to be able to take your eyes away, but you can't help it - there's something so fine about it; the size and shape of it, the saturated pink color of the glossy tip, the small bud of precum threatening to spill over with excitement on the next enthusiastic throb…

In just a couple more strokes, the object of your admiration closes the spectacle with a rather grandiose final act… The vigorous spurts of its culmination leave a milky-white trail down the crevices of your fingers as you marvel at the sheer amount he came.

Giving him one last base-to-top stoke, nice and slowly, you catch yourself being so captivated by the obscure display that you're almost disappointed when it all ends and you snap back to reality.

Time to splash some cold water on your face.

The sound of a grandfather clock announcing eleven in the evening is coming from afar but you still hear it without mistake. You've found yourself in this cursed place again, albeit with hesitation. Going back to the events of last night leaves you with mixed feelings. For one, you swear you're being fooled with. Is this Alfons' sick idea of having fun? Luring you to some shady place, provoking you to commit unspeakable acts… You bet there are no other parties even involved in this to begin with. Who knows what the hole really is for, but to use it the way he did… it truly takes an unhinged imagination, you have to admit. Now you just have to find him back at the scene of the crime - God knows they always come back - and this time you won't be so generous. It's not exactly a plan that you have but you'll do something, anything.

Still, you can't help but notice there was something off about last night's mysterious visitor. He didn't quite strike you to be anything like Alfons. Not that you want to spend too much time thinking about what he's supposed to be like down there, or the specific mannerisms you can tell him by, or…

Suddenly there's movement and you hold your breath in anticipation as you prepare to look down.

This is…definitely not the same cock.

This can't be.

Without thinking much, you grab a hold of the sizeable appendage as if to explore it more. Maybe the limited light is playing tricks on you.

Your thumb grazes a slightly protruding vein on the side, something you might have missed yesterday, or you might have not. Though the visual difference is becoming less and less the more you overthink it, the feeling of it in your warm palm is notably different. You don't even know how you get on your knees, but you try to make the most of the new angle.

The stranger, whoever he might be, seems to enjoy the way you're fooling around, much to your own surprise. Almost as if he wants to encourage you to explore more, to do whatever you want. Soon enough it becomes awkward to just examine him like that when he's probably here to feel pleasure. Even in your stubbornness to recognize him as the man from last night, you start stroking and massaging the girth in your closed fist. Stimulating the sensitive skin on the head makes it pulse so tantalizingly, and running the fingertip of your other thumb down the protruding vein almost tips him over the edge…You don't mind this reaction. What's more, you pretty much want to finish what you started.

Unexpectedly, the length of the stranger's cock retracts almost completely back inside the hole with just its head sticking out. The sturdy repetitive motion indicates that the man is taking care of himself while still giving you access to the product of his upcoming climax.

What does he want you to do with his cum? Does he want to paint your open palms white, or maybe if he could say so, he would prefer to color your lips white with his come?

The moment he finishes with what seems to be a glorious orgasm, your sticky fingertip has almost made it to your mouth in a rush of curiosity. You have no idea what's the use of doing something like this when he won't even be able to see it.

During your haze, you think you see a painted glossy red fingernail as you watch the cock of the stranger disappear.

You must be imagining things.

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

You guess that the third time is saved for the shameless.

This is exactly what you are, as you find yourself kneeling on the cool tiles on another late night. The initial shock of finding yet another unfamiliar piece of flesh left at your disposal is washed away by the growing sense of thrill that you're starting to get familiar with, more with each passing night. Combined with just a little bit of "since you're already here".

You wonder how fast can you make this one cum. All this time and you're yet to use your mouth, maybe now is a good chance to try it.

Thankfully the other side knows nothing of the fever rising up to your cheeks. Not feeling eyes on you helps you be bolder with your actions, and you feel like an absolute tease. Once you pop the well-formed head in your mouth, your tongue shows no mercy to the painfully erect cock.

A few agonizing slow licks across the length of it seem to be the last straw for the stranger. But not in the sense you're expecting.

In a flash, your mouth is left to hang open and empty; like a lollipop's been taken away from you. A cold shiver runs through you. Did you go too far? Was it not to his liking?

You're not yet fully seated back on your knees in confusion before he gives you a "second chance". Almost as if you're starved, you hurry to take him in again, saliva overflowing from the corner of your mouth and lubricating him for some earnest bobbing of your head. You're going to pleasure him properly this time.

Except, this leads to the same result.

The pause is shorter now, and you get the impression that he's toying with you. Does he want you to please him, or does he not? Which one is the truth?

You fall for his tricks time and time again, because you just can't help it. Awaiting for him to stick his cock back into the hole is rather humiliating but each time your mouth salivates more with the eagerness to welcome him deep inside. He only stills when he's noticeably on the verge of orgasm, and you take him as deep as he lets you. You're a bit tense at this point - should he snap his hips and thrust further in, you're likely to choke on him.

Drinking down on every last drop of his come, you don't know why you're so relieved that his last gesture was not a lie. You just know that you're left to yourself once again. And the whole ordeal has made you horny.

Another day passes in your busy life as a fairytale keeper.

Most of the missions you're assigned are fast-paced enough to keep you fully occupied; senses being constantly put to the test, mind projecting gruesome pictures you've seen through the day and turning them into words at the end of it, once you sit in front of your typewriter.

Yet there are those little pockets of time when the world slows down for you and your fellow Crown members. Traveling from location to location; gathering in the foyer waiting for Victor… It's easy to zone out.

Your gaze moves from Liam's pretty lips curling in a small laughter as he conversates with Harrison, to Harrison stretching out while he listens; to Elbert's tall frame as he looks out the window next to them, to Alfons staring at him, putting one leg over the other as he stirs the steamy liquid in his cup. Which ones? Which ones of them have visited that place? You have very little to go off of. Someone's hand enters your field of vision. Delicate, long fingers drumming against a hard surface. You dart your gaze to another. Roughened palms. And another. Concealed by dark gloves.

Skin textures. Shoe sizes. Limbs stretching out.

It's not until someone asks you if you're alright - "You've been terribly quiet all this time!" - that you shake off your inappropriate thoughts and scold yourself for having them in the first place.

The next time you find yourself in the stall, you're almost glad to give head to someone who's clearly cutting to the chase. There's not much shuffling or repositioning from the other side of the partition, and you're able to focus on the weight in your mouth.

Tonight's stranger is no less well-endowed but you'd say he's a little more on the thicker side compared to your previous experiences. Accidentally grazing him with your teeth makes you hear an annoyed single stomp of a shoe against the floor tiles on the other side. This only motivates you to do better, and you truly do your best sucking him off.

Your ears pick up something different this time. This quick striking noise reminds you of a match being lit… Even with the task you're focused on, your senses remain sharp, and you swear you can smell cigarette smoke.

Here you are, sucking off some guy while he treats himself to a smoke. Things can't get any cruder from this point on.

But you don't mind it at all. This is of mutual interest for both parties, that's only fair. So you don't think much of it your hand makes its way down south, searching underneath layers of clothing until it finds aching hot flesh, begging to be pleasured.

Getting off to your scandalous adventures has been common practice for you the last few days, but it definitely feels better to claim your pleasure here, at the core moment of it.

The closer you get to your own orgasm, the faster your head moves back and forth. All it takes to send you over the edge is the feeling of hot cum being disposed in your welcoming mouth, and you join him by coming there on the floor, unknown to the stranger.

He loses no time removing his spent cock. You can hear the grinding of a heel as he stamps out his cigarette. And he's gone.

Now you're left to wonder why it feels so good to be used by someone on their smoke break.

Tonight sees you crossing yet another boundary.

Things are going on in a less formulaic fashion, with no hurry at all, and it's not that you're not enjoying it- quite the opposite - but you can't help being curious about something. How bad would it be if you were to gain just a little bit of pleasure for yourself from all of this? Surely you won't be found out if you were to share another piece of yourself with the stranger on the other side different from your mouth and your hands. You're far from the thought that some of the female staff don't know about this place. So you don't hesitate positioning yourself upright and facing the wall, close enough that your body is pressed against it.

You don't ask for much, just to feel that delicious hardness against your swollen folds. The very first contact shoots sparks of pure ecstasy through you. The angry-red tip of the man's cock graces against your clit and you nearly mewl out in pleasure. So you do that again, until you're practically grinding yourself on it like a tool conveniently left for your pleasure.

You'd feel selfish and guilty about this if it weren't for the fact that your actions are getting the stranger off as well. You've already slicked him up with your saliva thoroughly, given him attention which has been enough for others to reach their peak. This one seems to have a rather high endurance, but interestingly no other method of play gets him going the same way as you pleasuring yourself on him. Is this what he wants? You're afraid you're not able to stop now, at least not until you cum. Which happens all too soon, with your legs shaking from overstimulation as the cock underneath you remains swollen and upright and poking your folds again and again while you try to catch your breath.

And then he cums. Just like that, without assistance from your side… Or maybe it's your pleasure that did it for him? This is a strange one, for sure… But you like him.

The cock you're currently stoking with both hands is long and elegant, with a rather pale complexion, further emphasized by the blue-ish veins at the base. You can't help but be gracious with your ministrations as you pleasure it, and surely enough, it doesn't take enough to push the man it belongs to over the edge. He spills thickly in your hands and you kiss the tip of it, careful as not to overstimulate it too much… But when you expect an early end to tonight's rendezvous, it seems like it's far from it. Without any indication of him leaving, you realize he's still pretty much hard. So you resume your actions, albeit timidly at first.

It quickly turns into you full-on sucking him off, seeing that your hands won't be enough anymore. His ample length is a little too much for you to take, so you're relieved once he successfully fills your mouth of his cum, a lot less thicker this time. Except, it's still not over. Such a greedy bastard, exploiting you for greater and greater pleasures each time.

Taking in a large portion of breath and exhaling slowly while you contemplate something, you finally decide to take the next step. You can do what you did last night… but facing the other way around, and maybe, just maybe adding a little bit of penetration to the mix.

It takes little effort nesting him inside your tight core because of how wet you've gotten in the meantime, much to your own surprise. Fine, you can be greedy too. Leaning forward until your palms are flat against the opposite wall of the cramped room, you soon fall into a steady pace fucking yourself back and forth on the man's cock that's once again rock solid and pulsing deliciously inside you.

Despite the high libido of the man, he prefers remaining rather still while you move your hips on him, never breaking his reserved and elegant stance. Huffing out a weary emission of air as you're left to shoulder all of the work, you focus on your own pleasure instead, since you're on the verge of cumming.

Your orgasm is rudely interrupted by the other party's own orgasm as he slips out of you and sprays your aching folds with his emission. Already having taken what he was after, he soon exits your sight, leaving you to your own devices as you finger yourself to a rather unsatisfying orgasm on the floor.

Still holding a grudge from the previous night, your storm in the restroom determined to be as ruthless as you need to be and claim your own pleasure first and foremost.

Little do you know, however, that tonight is going to be another test for you.

You're making yourself familiar with yet another stranger tonight - despite being ready to bet that it's high time you're met with a repeat - as you test the waters on this new shape presented before you. He's thicker than any of the previous men. Hell, he's thicker than anything you've ever seen. The massiveness of it in your hands and how he dwarfs them honestly intimidates you. But you remind yourself of your resolve and decide to remain firm as you slowly take things further with him.

Spending too much time on oral is not a part of the plan as you don't want him coming too soon, but you discover that it has nothing to do with your plans anyway. Fitting him inside your mouth proves to be a challenge, and the pathetic way you just soak him in saliva and withdraw every time you take a little more than his head in your mouth makes you feel embarrassed.

Slowly rising to your feet, you accept that you might have to spend a little more time in here tonight. You hope your legs can take it, as you take off your underwear and stretch yourself open for the big intrusion.

Piercing yourself on his tan cock knocks the air out of your lungs as you feel so, so full of him. Without any option but to take it slowly, you massage and grope at your forms as you try to relax your walls around him as much as you can.

Suddenly the thick knob on the wall which you've been using similarly to the previous two nights becomes rather animated as he withdraws until nearly slipping out of your tight entrance, only to quickly thrust back in. Perhaps he got bored with your excuse of a service so far. Clasping both hands around your mouth, you have no choice but to receive his thrusts, the pace quickly building up, as you have to do your best to remain on your feet. Opting for leaning on the opposite wall instead, you have to choose between balance and keeping your mouth shut, as both prove to be hard to achieve at the same time. The man thrusts in and out of you, without a care in the world, and you don't notice how your hands are sliding further and further down until you're practically bent over the tiny space.

This man is an absolute monster. Time goes by in a haze as you find yourself cumming and again around the thick cock inside you, drenching him in your juices until they begin to run down your legs and onto the tiled floor. His stamina is insane - the fact that he can keep going while you're a wrecked mess is scaring you, and you don't know how much more you can take.

When you can't move anymore to meet his thrusts, thankfully his own pace becomes broken in telltale signs of his upcoming orgasm. You need his cum inside you like a trophy. You worked hard for it.

His load is nothing short of pure virility, copious amounts flooding up your insides and joining the rest of the fluids on the floor in a display of utmost obscenity.

You barely make it to your room on your doe legs.

The previous night left you with a pleasant soreness between your legs and the size you're working with today is too big for you to even think about repeating the same scenario. It's gifted in length; pinkish and with a lot of foreskin. Another new one, much to your surprise. And another absolute monster of a cock.

Since your wrecked pussy is off-limits, you begin to worry about pleasuring this one - especially when you think back to how utterly greedy the last two visitors were.

An idea pops into your head.

You start off with the usual, lubricating the shaft with the wetness of your tongue as you suck, massage and kiss every sensitive spot. And there seem to be plenty of them. It's been some time since you've had such a receptive cock in your hands. It's quite lively with its constant little twitches as you get distracted taking it further in your mouth, almost gagging on its generous length. But enough of that.

Using one hand, you unbutton your shirt while simultaneously stoking the cock in front of you, not wanting to ignore him for a second. Once your breasts are freed, keep your kneeling position but get closer to the wall, hotness rising to your cheeks. Carefully, you guide the large cock to the valley of your breasts.

Another enthusiastic twitch. It's like he falls inlove with your idea right off the bat.

You're happy to see that this works with him to say the least, trying to move your body up and down as you press your breasts together using both hands. The slickness you coated him with provides a nice slide, but for a good measure, you drool down some more of it, watching the erotic display of his cockhead peeking through the gap of your tits on every slide.

Oh, this one is more than enthusiastic. You can tell he won't last much, but you're ready to blame that on the method you use on him more than anything. Is he a boobs man? Would he be just as enthusiastic if you were to let him fuck the crux of your thighs?

"Ahhh! Nghh…"

You freeze for a split second as you swear you hear an audible moan from the other side. Everyone so far has shown so much self-control and was careful as to not let out a sound too loud, and yet this one seems to be unable to hold back.

Needless to say, it motivates you.

You don’t even have to keep going for much longer until the cock between your squeezed breasts erupts and paints your chest white. You lean your head down just a little bit more and you're able to give his angry-red tip a playful lick for goodbye. There's no urgency to satisfying your own need, as you're better off taking care of it in the plush covers of your bed back in your room, for a change. Somehow you're sure that your playmate for the night would have wanted that for you too if he could speak.

With a little over a week's worth of sinful adventures behind your back, you feel the need to take a moment and question how you got here. As scandalous as it is to think that there have been eight different members of Crown visiting that shady place for the same dirty purpose, you strangely find peace in the fact that there's at least one of them you're yet to have come in contact to, in this way.

In this very moment, you're still able to face each one of them individually and not die out of shame, because he could be the one.

So you have to leave it at all. For the sake of your sanity, you have to refrain from going anywhere close to that restroom again.

The cackle of the typewriter dies down as you're ready with the evening's workload of documenting Crown's missions, and now the call of your bed is all too strong to resist. You throw yourself face-first into the soft duvet and realize how cool and nice it feels against your skin. Have you overworked yourself, or is this heat trying to tell you something else? A familiar urge builds up in your lower belly, and you open your eyes just to see the wall clock's hands marking exactly eleven o'clock.

With the material you've gathered from those past days, it should be easy enough for you to find relief on your own. So once your hands slip inside your panties, each finding a point of interest, already soaked in liquid desire, your mind drifts off to a familiar place.

But nothing seems to work. As exciting as everything that has happened to you has been, it's nothing compared to the real thing. Since when you've become like this? A thrill-chaser, being only after what feels good without a care in the world. Much like a certain someone that got you in this mess, to begin with. And now there's a dangerous thought creeping into your head.

It's more of a gamble, to be fair.

Nine nights. The chance of all nine men visiting the hole one after another without a single one of them repeating or skipping is significantly small. Small enough to bet your dignity on it, it seems. Fingers still glistening with juices, you make a bold decision, telling yourself that if anything, you can try and resist touching the final ninth man, should he turn out to be tonight's visitor.

The hole in the wall is not occupied, and you admit to yourself that you feel disappointed. You're close to turning on your toes and going back to where you came from, but then you hear footsteps approaching, on the other side. Sleek dress shoes, if you're correct. He's taking his time.

Where you expect to find someone's aching hardness, you find an entirely different body part. You stare down in confusion as you see a gloved hand thrust out through the hole.

"I know you're in there. Why so hesitant?"

This is…Alfons' voice.

But why? It's taboo to break anonymity like this, and he's wrong if he thinks that you'd—

"You can remain silent if you wish, of course, given that you can hear me at all. Though I have this feeling that this might be no other than Miss Robin herself."

Your head gets dizzy. How does he...? No, you shouldn’t fall for it.

After a moment spent in silence, he chuckles.

"Of course you won't answer me. If you're wondering why I'm revealing myself, I'd simply tell you that not all of us are ashamed to admit they have needs, little Robin. Why, I'm sure the person supposed to be on your side of the wall must have far greater needs, no? That's why I decided to be generous tonight and offer nothing but pleasure to that lucky individual. Go ahead, I'm lending you a hand."

Clad in a shiny black glove, Alfons' hand makes a sultry come-hither motion at you, and you swear it looks lewder somehow than if he'd left you with something other than his hand instead. Your folds are still dripping, the heat in your lower belly prompting irritating tingles all over. It would be oh-so-easy to lift your skirts and descent right on his ready palm, your pussy already bare as you left your underwear all the way back in your room.

Hesitantly, you approach the wall and do just that, shivering a little at the unfamiliar texture. But unlike the solid slabs of flesh you've taken the previous nights, Alfons' fingers don’t behave. They don't wait to be ridden to completion while you get used to their shape in your insides. Right from the beginning, Alfons zaps and twists his fingers inside you, discrediting the generosity he so fondly talked about just a minute ago. It's exactly what you tried to achieve alone in your bed. But deeper. And so much more relentless. And exactly what you've been missing.

"That's a good girl. You're taking them in so greedily."

The naughty sounds of your juices muffle most of your whimpers as the flat of his palm repeatedly hits against your swollen lips. Even through the glove, he's scarily precise. He aims for your sweet spots and makes you see stars in no time, until you can no longer find meaning in the dirty things he says.

"Aww, are you squirting on me already? Here I was ready to bet you'd need far more than that. Have those gentlemen been neglecting you? Did you find them rather lacking?"

You hear the sound of water hitting the tiles but you pay little mind to it as Alfons keeps grinding his middle and ring fingers against your sweet spot, scratching something inside you that's been tormenting you for a week straight. You have no name for this feeling. You just know that he ruined you from the very beginning, by telling you about this place, by luring you in here.

The only thing you can think about as you succumb to a violent storm of an orgasm is how much better his cock would feel hitting that same place inside you. How long does he intend on keeping you here, if this is how you start out? The whole night? Would he want to make you do something perverse, fitting of his ways? You care little about that as pleasure spreads all over, making you feel so light.

You immediately get down on your hands and knees, a wicked idea on your mind already, as you're ready to deviously entice him by licking his digits clean. But they disappear before you get the chance to, making you almost whine at the loss. Your pussy still throbs, so well taken care of, yet so neglected at the same time.

"Now, wouldn't you like to finally see for yourself? If I'm one of them, I mean. The ones you've already seen here before."

Blinking your eyes, you feel the weight of his words coming down on you. You've completely forgotten about that at this point.

Even without being able to see him, just being able to pin a name to the person behind the wall makes you imagine everything so clearly. The facial expressions you've seen him do, how he reacts to certain things. The piercing stare of those dead fish eyes when he knows he's right.

"Too bad I'm not in the mood for that tonight. I guess that leaves you no choice but to come here again if you truly want to find out the answer to that question, no?"

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fear-is-truth · 2 months ago

Note

Headcanons for the bowers gang helping reader babysit her three younger siblings (preferably two girls one boy) since that's what I have

❛ THE BOWERS GANG . . . HELPING YOU BABYSIT YOUR YOUNGER SIBLINGS ❜

꣑ৎ ‎ :‎ note. ꒱ this was so fun to write, hope u like it !

HENRY BOWERS

begrudgingly involved. he complains about helping the entire time, grumbling under his breath about “not being a fuckin’ daycare,”

complains loudly, swears even louder, and absolutely refuses to admit that he likes how your little brother starts copying him (oh no)

curses constantly. you remind henry again not to say “fuck” in front of the kids and he mutters “fucking fine” in response.

acts like he’s doing you a huge favour, but secretly enjoys being useful around you.

pick up your little brother by one ankle (cue the chris hemsworth meme)

────୨ৎ────

VICTOR CRISS

vic didn’t even wanna come. he only showed up because a.) you asked, and b.) the alternative is henry throwing a fit and patrick emotionally scarring them for life. (of course, vic trusts belch’s babysitting skills but he can’t trust those two idiots™ dealing with little kids.)

so now he’s parked on your couch, with his feet on the coffee table, assuming he can just coast through the next few hours in peace while the other guy wreak havoc in varying degrees of enthusiasm and psychosis.

gives really insightful advice like “careful there—don’t crack your head open.”

one of your sisters has a huge crush on him. (like in an innocent way—you know how little kids idolise this person they deem ‘cool’ and vic gives off this ‘bad boy vibe’)

disappears when one of the kids starts crying.

you find him leaning against the porch, smoking a cigarette and staring up at the sky like he’s watching god die behind the clouds.

────୨ৎ────

PATRICK HOCKSTETTER

should NOT be around children, but here he is.

he sits in the corner, watching the kids like they’re part of a nature documentary.

gives your brother an empty lighter and tells him it’s a spy gadget, then convinces him he’s a secret government agent.

casually says the most horrifying shit. “there’s a parasite that burrows into fish tongues and replaces it.”

will absolutely engage in sibling drama—takes sides during arguments just to stir the pot.

hands your little sister a dead lizard and tells her to ask henry if it’s poisonous.

────୨ৎ────

BELCH HUGGINS

belch is probably the only one of the group who genuinely knows what he’s doing.

absolute natural. grew up with a noisy house and knows how to keep kids entertained without losing his temper.

he’s patient. like, saint-level patient—and doesn’t get flustered when they start crying or fighting. just sits between them and tells them they all have to “take a chill pill,” which somehow works.

makes grilled cheese without being asked and cuts the crusts off.

lets all three of them climb on him like he’s a jungle gym. piggybacks, airplane rides, the whole works.

talks in funny voices, does impressions of cartoon characters, makes them laugh so hard they fall over.

he’s the only one you’d trust to babysit solo next time.

#it 2017 #bowers gang #henry bowers #henry bowers x reader #patrick hockstetter #patrick hocksetter x reader #victor criss #victor criss x reader #belch huggins #belch huggins x reader #the bowers gang #bowers gang headcanons #henry bowers x y/n #henry bowers headcanons

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jetblack4realz · 3 months ago

Text

protector - haymitch abernathy

hey hello (also kinda prologue)

masterlist

your grandmother sure has a soft spot for that district 12 rascal - and she's convinced you will too.

warnings: sexualizing, allusions to sa and gross people, spoilers to sotr, age gap of like 3 years

word count: 1.3k

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

mags had done a really good job preparing you to enter the wild world that was the capitol. she warned you about smiling judgements from everybody and the strange clothes and drinks that make you throw up so you can just keep eating. you knew all about caesar flickerman and his awkward and too blunt questions. and you knew, even, that victors were used as tools for snow to make more money, earn loyalty, and win the support of many hunger games sponsors.

you just didn't know that she really meant you.

you, the newest and brightest young victor, 18 years old and easy on the eyes, a shining star from district 4, the golden new heartthrob of the capitol that had men way into their late forties salivating at the thought of meeting you.

you were the best target.

"why was he looking at me like that - and why did he say that? that was completely crude and disrespectful and he acted like i was some girl who he had easy access to, like a bloody slab of meat, and why-" you turned sharply to your grandmother, "do you have no reaction?! why aren't you saying anything? why do you just sit there and listen to me and not do anything-"

"my dear," mags sighed, a hand in the air to cut you short. "i tried. i do try and i will continue to try, but i told you. i told you before you volunteered, before your games, and before this party - this is snow's way. this is his game. the gamemakers and sponsors, they can do whatever they want in the arena he couldn't care less but here, in the real world... he loves to play this game."

"but this is my life, gigi," you breathed out, sitting next to her finally. "i can't - i won't be played like this. i can't handle it. i should've listened to you."

"you should've." she nodded and finally met your eyes. "but you can still listen to me now."

you sat straighter, your brows furrowing but you nodded anyways. "i'm listening, gigi."

"there's a boy that i mentored a few years ago - young, charming, a bit of a throwaway victor because he was rebellious. the capitol loves it, they consider him more of a rascal as opposed to a threat but snow... he hates him because he can't use him. i think he could be a great help to you, help protect you in ways that i can't," mags explained.

you let out a breathy laugh. "you can't mean-"

"haymitch abernathy."

"but, he's all out for himself. he won't help someone like me. i - i'm a career, a volunteered tribute who was an idiot enough to do it. he won't help me," you told her, shaking your head.

"he will."

"i doubt it."

"he's already agreed," she said. a small, sad smile pulled at her lips. "it's another game you'd be playing if you go along, but at least you have some control over it. and you have a partner. and we both know that having a partner in the capitol's games can help your chances of survival."

you considered her words even though you knew immediately she was right. you just couldn't wrap your head about the idea of haymitch abernathy - the victor of the second quarter quell, the only living victor from district 12, famed for his solidarity and genius and charm and brewing of illegal alcohol - helping you.

"what's the play?"

"you flirt. pretend to be a couple. it's your only chance of snow leaving you alone, if you're in a very active, very public, and very popular relationship," she answered with a sigh. "i know it's not ideal, but sweetheart, i think it's the best chance you have."

you hesitated again, but only to ask: "he's a good man? you like him?"

mags didn't hesitate with her response, only smiling slightly. "he's a good boy. his heart is in the right place. and he's got spirit, spunk - i think you two would get along really well."

"okay," you breathed out, nodding as you looked up from your hands to meet her familiar seagreen eyes. "if he's in, i'm in. i'll take my chance."

"he is your chance. and he's waiting to meet you," she said, squeezing your hands before standing from the couch in the greenroom and nodding towards backstage. "come along now. caesar is set to interview him in a couple of minutes, just a bit before you, and i'd like you to meet beforehand."

she ushered you along sidestage to the massive curtain that made up caesar's backdrop, making sure to stay quiet as you crossed behind it to where you just noticed a messy tuft of sandy blond hair slip to.

he was taller than you expected, and had more muscle too. you figured it had to due with the last few years of finally eating right, but still, with all the alcohol you heard he consumed you were impressed with how he held himself.

his eyes were a deep gray that flashed blue as he turned his head, and they softened when they spotted your grandmother, settling into a clear silvery ocean color when they finally rested on you. his posture straightened, the glass in his hand never swishing or threatening to spill even as he crossed a few steps to meet you both.

"hello haymitch," mags said with a smile.

"hi mags," he answered, matching her smile genuinely. he glanced behind her to you, one brow twitching up as his smile grew a bit lopsided. "hey."

"hello," you said, bouncing on your heels a bit as you heard caesar's interview wrap up and edge closer to yours at the end of the night. "i'm-"

"mags' granddaughter, i know," he said, waving his hand with the glass and not spilling a drop. "i watched the games. you were very impressive."

you'd gotten that a lot. "thanks."

"quite honestly i thought you were going to fail. that dry as hell desert was a far cry from district 4, but you held it together," he hummed. "good job."

you shifted on your feet, offering him a bit of a smile. "i do my best."

"haymitch is good at that too," mags said, glancing between you and the boy. "especially out here in the capitol. he can show you the ropes."

it was like ropes was a keyword for something they'd previously discussed, because as soon as it left her mouth his eyes were back on you with a strange intensity that turned them back to steel gray. he tilted his head. "yeah? you want that?"

you had to break eye contact with him to breathe and actually think about anything other than how annoyingly perfect his face was, especially for a district 12 boy. and then the only thing you could think about was going out to meet caesar for the fifth time since being in the capitol and how every word you said was like honey to some psycho sponsors who was just waiting for snow to let them sleep with you.

you chewed on your lip, your eyes on the curtain and your ears trying to tune out the laughing crowd behind haymitch. and then, with a nudge from mags, you finally met his gaze and nodded. "yeah. that'd be great."

"okay," he agreed. and then, all at once, his seriousness was gone and a boyish smirk was on his lips. he took a dramatic sip of what you assumed was some sort of whiskey and then stepped back, his hand in the air in a vague gesture to the stage. "and that's my cue. wonderful seeing you ladies."

your brows furrowed as he stepped away, glancing at your grandmother. "what's his cue?"

and then you heard the laughter change to applause and then as he slipped out of sight onto the stage they turned into screams and whistles and loud universal giggling.

"they love him. they want him. they can't have him," mags told you, a small smile on her lips. "and when he's yours, you'll be untouchable too."

#haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy #sotr #thg sotr #sunrise on the reaping

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whizzing-fizzbee · 5 months ago

Text

Darling, Dear

Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x F!OC

Rating: Explicit 18+, MDNI (smut, profanity), all characters are adults Words: 5,333 Tags: throuple, threesome, roommates, friends to lovers, third person POV

Summary: Years ago, Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt mutually agreed that the new fifth year girl was off limits, despite crushes that grew into love. Five years later, the trio of best friends has moved into a townhome together. She loves both men equally, so why not allow them both to love her back?

Notes: Thank you to the anon who requested this! My first threesome. 🥲 Anon asked for a good ol' throuple/threesome in which Sebastian and Ominis are both in love with MC and convince her to be with them both. Characters are post-Hogwarts adults.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Ominis Gaunt scowled across the room. The only thing more crimson than the tip of his glowing wand was his fury as he sensed Sebastian Sallow murmuring quietly in their mutual friend’s ear.

Nevermind the music that carried from a charmed phonograph or the clusters of bodies that chatted animatedly throughout the room; Ominis didn’t need to hear. He could feel Sebastian’s words. They were laden with flirtation and desire.

Ominis waited until Sebastian was alone to call him out. He cornered his freckled friend near the doorway and hissed in his ear.

“We agreed she’s off limits,” Ominis growled quietly. Sebastian sighed through his nose.

“There’s nothing wrong with some harmless banter,” he murmured quietly in response.

“Harmless banter? Seemed awfully sexually charged to me.”

Sebastian snorted. “Sexually charged? Ominis, you can’t even see. How could you possibly tell that?”

“From the way her breath hitched. From the way her back and posture straightened. From the way the heat began radiating from her.”

“You can tell all that from your wand?” Sebastian muttered.

“Don’t test me, Sebastian,” Ominis warned. “She’s off limits. We may be in a new living situation, but our agreement from fifth year still holds.”

Ominis was referring to a mutual gentlemen’s agreement he and Sebastian had made when they were fifteen. Back then, it was all harmless, good-natured fun. They both had crushes on the new fifth-year girl, a striking beauty named Arabella Andrews. Little did they know their lives would become permanently intertwined with hers by the time their fifth year ended.

Arabella and her ancient magic entranced damn everyone to cross her path. But Sebastian and Ominis were the ones lucky enough to earn the title of her closest friends. But it was much deeper than friendship. The trio became bound by an unspeakable bond rooted in mutual love, trust and trauma.

Now, five years later, the trio remained omnipresent in one another’s lives; so much so, that they were moving under one roof. It was unorthodox and even a bit unbecoming to the outside world; two single, young men moving in with a single, young lady. But to them, it made all the sense in the world. The three could retreat to the quiet, private confines of their new home free from judgment or prying eyes.

Now an adult, Ominis had escaped his family’s cruel and overbearing clutches to become the youngest member of the Ministry of Magic Wizengamot. Sebastian, now a cursebreaker, sold his Uncle Solomon’s old cottage in Feldcroft with no intention of ever returning to such a sordid place. And Arabella had become an auror, intent on using her ancient magic for good while she acclimated to adulthood.

Finally, they were free. No more goblin rebellions or ancient relics. No more cursed relatives – Anne Sallow’s curse was lifted when Arabella killed Victor Rookwood. No more darkness to consume the light the trio so desperately wanted and deserved.

But the little unspoken agreement among two-thirds of the trio remained. Sebastian and Ominis still spent their days eyeing their female friend with far more than adolescent curiosity. Schoolboy crushes had morphed into love. Stolen glances became bedroom eyes. The gentle brush of fingers became laced with longing and lust.

It was becoming impossible for either man to ignore their irrepressible obsessions with their closest friend.

They certainly tried. Sebastian had bedded half of Hogwarts, it seemed, before he began dating Violet McDowell for two years. But she grew tired of his unconventional friendship with Arabella, impatient for a diamond ring she’d never wear, and gave him an ultimatum. Sebastian chose Arabella without a second thought.

Meanwhile, Ominis had indulged his family’s attempts at continuing their bloodline. They arranged a handful of relationships for him, but none came to any fruition. Ominis had no desire to wed any of the women they picked; all as equally cruel and ignorant, obsessed with blood status as his parents. Once he finally split from the Gaunt family for good, he decided he had no desire to create any kin with such sinister blood.

But as Arabella’s choice of suitors seemed to become insurmountable, Sebastian and Ominis watched in agony. Men of all backgrounds and intentions tripped over their own feet for a shot at Arabella. She was objectively beautiful, but her character – so full of energy and charisma – was the magnet that made men latch onto her in any way they could. She was the Ministry’s rising star, her arrest numbers far surpassing her peers.

She was strong, clever and sharp, interesting enough to keep people watching for more. Everyone wanted a piece of Arabella Andrews, but she was reluctant to dish herself out so sufficiently.

Her latest flame had been a professional quidditch player by the name of Alastair Wood. Wood was the Montrose Magpies’ latest hotshot, a Seeker destined to be named the league’s Rookie of the Year.

But after three months of courtship, Arabella had deemed Alastair too arrogant and selfish. She broke things off with him and merely shrugged when she delivered the news to her friends, insisting that she didn’t need a husband to complete her place in life. Instead, Arabella sought comfort from Sebastian and Ominis, which was how the trio ended up purchasing a stately three-bedroom townhome on the outskirts of Muggle London together.

“It makes perfect sense!” Arabella had declared when she first presented the idea. “I only wish we’d done it sooner. I guess the notion never came to me since we all thought Sebastian was going to marry Violet.”

Now, the boxes were all unpacked and the decorations were in place – all Arabella’s doing, of course. They were spending the evening with friends, showing off their new home while also celebrating Arabella’s 20th birthday.

She was radiant tonight, clad in a slinky dress that seemed to cling to every curve for dear life. Her hair was pinned in a half-up and she wore a simple silver necklace that once belonged to Miriam Fig.

Sebastian and Ominis watched as she danced with Leander Prewett. Ominis’ knuckles tightened and whitened around the handle of his wand. Sebastian shifted from one foot to the other, unable to remain still as his jealousy threatened to lash out.

“Is she drunk?” Ominis asked as they listened to Arabella cackle loudly at something Leander had said.

“No, she’s barely had any champagne, actually,” Sebastian muttered. “She’s just… happy.”

“She cannot possibly be that happy over Leander Prewett’s presence,” Ominis said bitterly. “Anyone but him.”

“At least it’s not Puffskein Duncan. Didn’t he get mauled by a Venomous Tentacula recently?” Sebastian asked.

“Something like that. Perhaps we can poison Prewett.”

“I thought we said we wouldn’t meddle in her romantic affairs.”

“We did – but I refuse to allow those affairs to include the likes of Prewett.”

“You might actually hate him more than me,” Sebastian mused.

“Only because he thinks he has a shot with her. What were the two of you flirting about anyway?” Ominis asked curiously.

“Nothing of substance,” Sebastian answered. “Honestly, she was asking me when it would be a suitable time to kick all the guests out and I made some crass joke about her rushing people out so we could get into bed.”

Ominis chuckled. “Funny,” he said quietly as Arabella twirled from Leander to Amit Thakkar. “She’s got a room full of eager, adoring men waiting to fall at her feet, yet she just wants to sit by the fire with us every night.”

Sebastian mulled over Ominis’ words quietly, his eyes still following Arabella around the room. Ominis could sense the thoughts sloshing around in Sebastian’s brain, and he waited patiently to hear of his friend’s next grand endeavor. Nothing was ever static when it came to Sebastian Sallow.

“What if that really is all she wants?” Sebastian finally asked quietly. Ominis opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but Sebastian was already steering him away from the party. The men retreated to the bottom of the staircase, away from the music and keen partygoers.

“Sebastian, what’s this about?” Ominis sighed.

Sebastian turned to face his friend, his features narrowed into a serious expression. “You said it yourself,” Sebastian started. “She only ever wants to be around us. And you and I have only ever really wanted her. What if we could arrange all that?”

“Sebastian…” Ominis warned. He didn’t want to like where this was headed, but he was also curious… or desperate.

“Think about it,” Sebastian said, his eyes glinting with all the possibilities. “We both love her and have spent years in misery pining after her from a distance to preserve our own friendship. But what if… what if we could both have her.”

Ominis stilled. It was a preposterous proposal… right? Surely it would ruin the friendship for all three; not to mention the impropriety of such an arrangement. They’d be outcasts, judged for such barbaric behavior if people found out.

But did Ominis really care? Sebastian clearly didn’t. Sebastian didn’t have anything to lose, except Arabella. And Ominis… well, neither did he, now that he severed all ties with his family.

Surely Arabella would care, though, right? She was popular and adored. She’d never taint her name with such lewd nonsense. But both men also knew her well enough to be sure that if there was one trait that Arabella possessed, it was the refusal to care what others think.

Maybe it wasn’t such an outlandish idea after all.

“So you’re saying we could… share her?” Ominis finally asked. “Sebastian, she’s not a toy.”

“I know that,” Sebastian said. “And we would never treat her as such. We’d both give her the love and care she deserves. And in return, we both get to have her.”

A flush crept up the back of Ominis’ neck, a rare display of nerves from the usually composed blond. “And you’d be willing to- to share her like that with me?” he asked.

“With you? Yes. With anyone else? No,” Sebastian replied simply.

Ominis considered his response. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt the same. Sebastian adored Arabella just as much as he did. And though Sebastian had a history of royally fucking up in life, Ominis had witnessed his best friend morph from a misguided teen into a man who understood that he’d received a rare second chance at life.

Ominis didn’t trust anyone else with someone as precious to him as Arabella. But Sebastian understood that, because he loved her too.

“Even if I did agree to this, there’s no way in hell she will,” Ominis said. “She’s too…”

“Just say it, Ominis. She’s too good for the both of us and that’s the real reason neither of us has ever pursued her,” Sebastian said bluntly.

It was true. Ominis’ blood was tainted by poison – a bloodline that carried a history of hatred and harm. Sebastian’s past was contaminated by dark magic and the ultimate sin. But they were only human. Who could blame them for falling in love with someone as lively as Arabella?

But she wasn’t pure either. She’d killed too, though her sins were for the greater good of wizardkind. She’d failed to stop Sebastian amid his descent into dark magic, and it nearly ruined both of their lives. And then she chose to keep his secret rather than turn him in. She was complicit, too. She simply sinned differently from them.

All three were tarnished goods, dealt cruel cards from life’s unfair deck.

“What if she’s horrified by such a proposal?” Ominis asked. “What if she hates us for it?”

“She could never hate us, Ominis,” Sebastian reasoned. “She loves us.”

“Still, is it worth risking our friendship?”

“We could lose her anyway,” Sebastian said. “Either we lose her for trying to love her, or we lose her to someone else. I’d rather lose her knowing I tried.”

That was the only convincing point he needed to make. Still, Ominis’ nerves made him hot and anxious. “So how do we approach the subject? And how do we… what do we… how do we do this?”

“I think we just need to outright tell her,” Sebastian said. “We don’t force her, and there’s no hard feelings if she says no. We promise to drop it and never speak of it again. And then if she agrees to it, we should establish some ground rules.”

“Rules, yes,” Ominis agreed. “Alright.”

Waiting for the party to end was excruciating. Sebastian paced next to the party table of food while Ominis sat and fidgeted on a sofa. Finally, when the last guest said farewell, both men exhaled a breath they’d been holding for hours.

“Okay,” Arabella said tactfully as she sauntered into the living room with her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with the two of you? Something happened, didn’t it? You’ve been shying away from people all night.”

Sebastian snuck a glance at Ominis, who stared at nothing. They hadn’t discussed the finer details of their proposal, like where to start, or even when to start. Ominis decided to let Sebastian take the lead, given this was his grand idea in the first place.

“No time like the present, I guess,” Sebastian muttered. He crossed the room to hook an arm around Arabella’s waist. “Did you have a good birthday, darling?”

“I did,” Arabella answered, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “But now I want to know what the two of you are on about.”

“We both have something to discuss with you,” Sebastian said. “It’s a… birthday surprise, if you will. It’s in your bedroom.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure where this sudden surge in nerves came from. Perhaps it was the enticing dress Arabella was wearing, or maybe it was because he’d had an extra glass of champagne.

“My bedroom?” Arabella mused. “Sebastian, if you wanted to get me in bed, all you had to do was ask.”

“Precisely, my darling.”

Ominis nearly laughed at the irony of it all. Instead, he swayed nervously in his seat as Arabella’s cheeks flushed.

“Sebastian, what’s this about?”

“Perhaps we should sit,” Sebastian suggested, guiding Arabella to the sofa next to Ominis. She became wedged between the two men once Sebastian sat on her other side, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. Arabella continued to appear baffled by their behavior.

“You know we love you, right?” Sebastian asked softly, one hand resting on top of Arabella’s.

“Of course,” she replied. “And I love the two of you as well.”

“But you know we really love you, right? More than just as kindred spirits or fellow Slytherins?” Sebastian continued.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“We’re in love with you,” Sebastian answered. “Both of us. Equally.”

“Wh-what? Are you drunk?” Arabella asked incredulously.

“No, my dear,” Ominis finally interjected. “We’re both very sober and probably very big fools for this.”

“You’re in on this too?” Arabella asked. Ominis nodded.

“We were thinking,” Sebastian pressed. “We’re both in love with you and you don’t seem to be too enthralled by any of your suitors. And now that we’re all three under one roof, we just thought maybe this would be a good chance to explore more depths to our relationship.”

“Our relationship?” Arabella deadpanned. “As in, the three of us?”

“Yes, darling.”

Arabella blinked as the weight of the suggestion settled within her. “And you’re being serious?”

“Absolutely. We talked, and we’re tired of watching these other blokes waste their time and yours. We both love you and are willing to share that love with you – equally,” Sebastian explained.

“You want to share me,” Arabella said, her bashful cheeks now crimson. “As my lovers… You both want to share me in a relationship.”

“Only as much as you want to be shared, dear,” Ominis assured. “And only as much as you want to give. You call the shots here.”

“I call the shots,” Arabella repeated slowly, each of her emotions clashing for control.

She didn’t know what to make of such an unusual, unforeseen proposal. Never in her wildest fantasies had she envisioned the notion of having both men she loved. In her daydreams, they took turns as her lover. Having them both had seemed so forbidden – until now.

The heat emanating from the fireplace could only be rivaled by the heat spreading between Arabella’s legs.

“So the two of you… you’d share me as lovers,” Arabella said carefully. “Like in the bedroom and in life?” Both men nodded their confirmations. “And you’re okay with that – with sharing? I mean, Sebastian, I know you can get jealous-”

“If it was anyone else, the answer would be no,” Sebastian cut in. “But I trust Ominis. The two of you are the only people I trust.”

“And vice-versa,” Ominis added.

“And me too,” Arabella admitted. “I only trust the two of you… and I only love the two of you. I just never thought I could have you both, so it seemed easier to refrain.”

“We understand what you mean,” Ominis said. “We made a deal our fifth year that you were off limits. But now… now it’s becoming impossible.”

“And we promise we’ll stop the moment you say so,” Sebastian said. “In bed and in this arrangement as a whole. We won’t do anything you don’t want. But if you want us both, we’re both willing to be yours.”

Arabella’s breath hitched. The two men she loved and desired were both offering themselves to her in any way she wanted. The power was more alluring than any ancient magic.

“Okay,” she breathed. The fireplace crackled with renewed life. “When do we start?”

“That’s up to you,” Sebastian said gently, though his hands were shaking and his chest heaved with bewildered excitement. She was actually saying yes, he realized.

Arabella shifted in her seat, her thighs pressed together to address the ache between them. Sebastian and Ominis waited with bated breath.

“Can we start now? I mean, it is my birthday, after all.”

Sebastian was on his feet without hesitation. Ominis, still stunned by her willingness to be split between two men, rose slowly as Arabella giggled.

“My room, then?” she asked.

“Whatever you want, dear,” Ominis replied.

When the trio reached the bottom of the staircase, they stopped and shared a glance.

“Sebastian, you’ll go first,” Arabella ordered. “Up the stairs, and with me.”

Sebastian nearly tripped on the first step. “R-Really?”

“Yes,” Arabella said as she followed him, taking Ominis’ hand to guide him behind herself. “You’re the impatient one. I fear if you go second, you won’t make it.”

Sebastian huffed with indignation but the glint in his eye revealed his excitement. Ominis remained quiet as his brain continued to process the absurd scene unfolding among them. He smiled quietly as he trailed behind Arabella.

Once they reached her bedroom, Arabella motioned the men to the bed. She sat between them on the edge, her heart pumping into overdrive as they both stared at her with lust.

“Undress me,” she whispered.

Both men reached for a dress strap, slipping one strap off her shoulders in unison. The neckline of her dress dipped, revealing her plush, full breasts. Sebastian exhaled audibly at the sight while Ominis patiently waited.

“Ominis,” Arabella said softly as she reached for his hand with understanding. He couldn’t see her beauty but he could feel it. She placed the palm of his hand against her breast as he held his breath. She was so soft and warm, like fresh linens drying in the sunlight on laundry day.

Sebastian, ever the impatient one, cupped her other breast and leaned in to kiss her neck. A tiny moan escaped Arabella’s lips as her eyes fell shut and she allowed the two men to grow familiar with her skin.

None of them had ever done anything like this, but it was clear they trusted each other enough to join hands and dive headfirst together.

“I want the two of you to prove how devoted you are to this,” she ordered as she shifted backward onto the bed until she was resting among the pile of pillows. “Show me how much you care.”

She looked regal, like a queen awaiting attention. Sebastian and Ominis shared a glance, though Ominis, whose wand remained in his hand, could already sense what Sebastian was feeling. He nodded at Sebastian, who sprang into action.

Sebastian went straight for Arabella’s lips, laying next to her as he kissed her. His tongue pried its way into her mouth as Ominis decided to take charge in his own way. He wanted to be the first to taste her.

Ominis peeled Arabella’s dress down past her hips and over her knees until it went forgotten at the foot of the bed, soon followed by her panties. While Sebastian showered her breasts with kisses, Ominis pressed his lips in a line from her hips to her inner thigh as he positioned himself between them.

His thumbs ran gentle circles over her thighs as he savored the velvet feel of her skin. She cried out the moment his tongue made contact with her entrance.

Ominis had merely meant to taste her first, but he couldn’t help himself. His tongue sank within her folds and he hummed his approval. He hooked his hands around her thighs as he dipped his tongue in and out of her cunt, drawing patterns across her clit until Arabella’s moans occupied her lips.

As a result, Sebastian used his own mouth to target her breasts. He palmed the erection that strained inside his trousers as he sucked gently on her nipple. He gazed lovingly down at her as she bucked her hips against Ominis with a sharp whimper.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he praised. “We’re going to show you how much we love you.”

As her moans chorused higher, Sebastian placed a hand to her neck, his fingers pressing gently. The pressure from his hand mirrored the mounting pressure within Arabella’s cunt. She moaned, the vibrations from her throat coursing across the palm of Sebastian’s hand. He squeezed tighter.

“Let me know if it’s too much, darling,” he ordered. He watched as Ominis continued to work between her legs. “I want to watch you fall apart before I fuck you.”

Sebastian’s hand vacated Arabella’s neck just long enough for him to unzip his trousers. He kicked them off with his boxers and left them in a haphazard heap on the floor as he gripped his erection.

“I reckon you’re just about ready to come, darling,” Sebastian said. “Tell me, do you want me to choke you with my fingers or my cock as you come?”

Arabella reached for his cock. Sebastian grinned as he knelt above her and nudged his cock into her mouth. Her lips sucked hard around his tip while she used a hand to stroke his shaft.

“Just like that,” Sebastian mewed as he watched her lips glide around him.

Ominis listened to the sinful sounds of sucking above him, his own erection digging into the bed covers. His fingers pressed harder into the backs of Arabella’s thighs, his tongue flattening and prodding against her clit in steady swipes.

Arabella hummed around Sebastian’s cock, a pitchy whine escaping her throat to signal her approaching climax. Sebastian didn’t know where to look; her brown doe eyes staring up at him; her pink lips wrapped and working around his hard cock; her slick folds grinding against Ominis’ tongue; it was all such a vision – a masterpiece painted just for him to see.

The coil inside Arabella’s core had tightened fully, a ticking time clock waiting to spring apart. When it finally did, Arabella gasped around Sebastian’s cock, her back arching off the bed as Ominis’ tongue triggered the release. Her arousal seeped from her entrance and Ominis groaned as he tasted the fruits of his labor.

The view of her orgasm sent pulsing waves through Sebastian’s cock. He pulled it from her mouth and stood, desperate for his turn. Ominis pulled himself away from her thighs and the men switched places.

“My god,” Sebastian breathed as he stroked himself above Arabella, taking in the scene beneath him. Her flushed cheeks, hard nipples and soaked entrance was sin incarnate. “You are so fucking beautiful. Are you ready, darling?”

Arabella nodded as she gently pumped a hand over Ominis’ cock. He grunted at the sensation as Sebastian lined himself against Arabella’s entrance. He hissed as his tip dipped slowly into her folds.

“How are you so fucking wet?” he growled.

“My bad,” Ominis quipped. Sebastian barked a laugh but his eyes became dark and serious as his attention returned to the tight heat swallowing his cock.

Sebastian held his breath as he continued to sink into her. Arabella’s walls stretched around him, compressing his cock with wet, searing flesh. It was better than Sebastian could ever have imagined from the quiet solitude of his own bedroom.

Arabella moaned at the intrusion within her cunt. “Sebastian, you feel so good,” she breathed. Those words alone could have made Sebastian come.

Instead, he grit his teeth and thrust forward until he was fully sheathed, the tip of his cock meeting Arabella’s innermost core. Meanwhile, Ominis squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation of Arabella’s mouth gripping his cock.

“You’re so good at this, dear,” he praised.

Sebastian groaned, torn between the absolute thrill of claiming Arabella and the desire to prolong it. It was too good – she was too good.

But he had vowed to prove to her how much he loved her, and to him, that meant he’d make her eyes roll back into her head and scream his name.

Sebastian gripped her hips hard, hopeful his hands would leave covert bruises only she and him would ever see. He snapped his own hips at a rhythmic pace as he studied Arabella’s face for confirmation she was enjoying herself.

The carol of moans that erupted from her lips was all the security he needed. He slammed hard against her, the smack sending ripples up her skin as his cock pounded her walls. She clenched them as tightly as she could manage, her cunt still swollen from her previous orgasm.

“I need to feel you come on my cock,” Sebastian begged. It was the only plea he’d ask of her that night. She could call all the other shots, make him crawl on his knees before he came himself; hell, he’d even finish on the fucking floor if she asked him, but he had to know how it felt to make her fall apart.

“Please,” Arabella whispered until Ominis’ cock forced itself into her mouth again. She gurgled around it as Ominis thrust against her cheek, his tip connecting with the back of her throat. The obscene sound stirred something filthy in them both.

“Sebastian,” Ominis begged. “Hurry up.”

Sebastian nodded in understanding. He pumped hard as his cock speared Arabella’s core, pressing upward into her softest spot as her slickness added more sound to the trio’s sinful symphony.

“Oh fuck,” she wailed, the bed covers balled into her fist. “Sebastian, you’re going to make me come.”

Her passage tightened around Sebastian’s cock as she willed her body into compliance, begging it to submit to her desperate desire. She wanted nothing more than to come undone for Sebastian. Finally, her core began to contract, pulling around Sebastian’s cock until it gave out, spasming as she screamed out his name.

“Ah, shit,” Sebastian groaned as her twitching heat stroked the tip of his cock. He jerked his cock from her just in time to spill his release. It splattered across her stomach as Arabella’s body slackened beneath him.

Sebastian remained on his knees, catching his breath between her legs until Ominis grunted with Arabella’s lips still wrapped around him.

“Ominis, switch places with me,” Arabella breathed. “I want to be on top of you.”

Ominis obeyed without protest, laying his body across the bed as Arabella climbed on top of him. Sebastian admired her form as she straddled their friend, her folds gliding around Ominis’ cock as she impaled herself on him.

Arabella’s eyes fluttered shut as her body adjusted to Ominis. She moaned as she rocked around him, the arousal from her previous climaxes clinging to his cock. He’d never experienced someone so wet.

“She’s a fucking vision,” Sebastian said as Arabella began to bounce. He watched her breasts jiggle with every movement, his release still trickling down her stomach. It was enough to make his cock twitch again.

Arabella tossed her head and moaned as she used Ominis’ cock to grind into her front wall. Ominis held her hips, his jaw clenched with conviction as he remained determined to feel her fuck herself to another orgasm. He needed to feel the surge of her spent cunt and the twitch of her thighs against his torso.

“So fucking pretty,” Sebastian said as he moved toward Arabella to kneel behind her. He kissed her neck and shoulders as he pulled her arms backward, pinning them behind her back. She moaned as she continued to ride Ominis with an arched back, Sebastian’s chest pressed against her as his teeth gently nipped at her neck.

Sebastian reached around her to rub circles into her clit, one hand still keeping her wrists secured behind her back.

“Come on now,” he encouraged. “Let’s hear how loud you are for Ominis. He’s been so patient.”

Arabella nodded in submission, her hips still rising and falling as Ominis’ cock coaxed that blissful spot inside her and Sebastian’s fingers set fire to her bundle of nerves. She could feel the familiar tightening of her deepest spot dueling the searing sensations over her clit. The whine that fell from her lips swelled into a full-blown shout as the pressure broke and she fluttered around Ominis.

He finally let go too, his typical poise dissolving as his hands throttled her hips and he spilled inside her.

Arabella slumped on top of him to catch her breath as Ominis stilled, the reality of their actions creeping clarity back into his brain. Meanwhile, Sebastian flopped himself facedown onto the bed.

“Come here, darling,” he said as he rolled over with a hand extended toward Arabella. He helped her climb off of Ominis until she had nestled herself between them on the bed, the fingers of one hand intertwined with Ominis’, the other arm flung across Sebastian’s bare chest.

The trio stared at the ceiling, each one waiting on someone else to break the silence. Per usual, it was Sebastian.

“Everyone alright?” he murmured into Arabella’s wild hair.

“Alright,” came a unison reply.

Sebastian smirked to himself, satisfied by a flood of post-sex serotonin. “So, who wants to be the first to admit this was a brilliant idea?” he asked.

Arabella let out a soft giggle while Ominis rolled his eyes. “I suppose you’ve had worse ideas,” he responded carefully. “But we do need to come up with some ground rules for all this… if Arabella wants to continue, that is.”

“Yeah, no pressure, darling,” Sebastian added.

Arabella smiled with sleepy eyes. “My only ground rule is we get a bigger bed,” she said.

“Deal,” the men agreed together.

“And we should probably agree that we’re all three in this together,” Sebastian noted. “Meaning no one gets left out, ever.”

“Agreed,” Arabella and Ominis chimed.

“And we must vow to always be open and honest with each other,” Ominis said. “No secrets or jealousy or suppressed feelings.”

“Suppressed feelings? Us?” Arabella mused. All three laughed. “But seriously, why didn’t you two ever say something?”

“A lot of reasons, darling,” Sebastian answered. “We didn’t want to get in the way of each other and we didn’t want you to come between us. Plus, you’re… you just deserve the world and we don’t ever want to hold you back from that.”

Arabella smiled and squeezed Ominis' hand as she ran playful fingers through Sebastian’s tousled hair. “You boys are my world.”

#sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #ominis gaunt fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #ominis gaunt smut #whizzing fizzbee fanfic #18+ mdni

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mrs-kmikaelson · 2 years ago

Text

Our Song and Dance²

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: not as long as before but still long, murder, violence, death, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, psychological "games," unrequited love, complicated relationships, suicidal tendencies (technically), complex mental health issues, and i make up small details ab smaller characters and some names (pls lmk if i missed anything) Words: 9.2K

Masterlist | Part 3

a/n: i just want to thank you all so much for the support! i was definitely insecure about this, but seeing all the love rlly makes it so worth it! this one is completely catching fire, then the next one is all mockingjay. hope u enjoy! also finnick and y/n's song is def american pie.

“Let The 75th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

Ten seconds later, a cannon fired and you were immediately jumping off the pedestal into the water. Once upon a time, you were a swimmer. This was your edge. You were good in water, as was Finnick, so your worry for him eased.

You swam until you reached rock, climbing on to it and running along the path like your life depended on it because it did. Once you were at the Cornucopia, you ran for your sword, grabbing it and then swiftly pivoting to stab the person coming up from behind you like it was instinct—and it was.

Your mind didn’t have to fully be there; your body knew what it was doing. You’ve danced this dance already, and you’ve perfected it. You stabbed another man from behind, letting him fall to the ground when you pulled your sword away. You grabbed throwing knives, running to find Finnick, and you caught him at just the right moment.

Katniss had just drawn her arrow when you came up from behind her, bringing your sword up against her neck. Alliance or not, you’d slit her throat if she posed a threat.

“Careful, Everdeen,” you warned, making her tense.

At that moment, Finnick held up his forearm, flashing his bracelet. He smirked, completely unbothered, and taunted, “Good thing we’re allies, right?”

Her breath was shaky but her voice was still menacing. “Where did you get that?”

“Where do you think?” You retorted, still holding the blade close to her skin.

You watched as the amusement on Finnick’s face disappeared, his gaze being directed away from you. “Behind you.”

You quickly moved your sword away from her neck without cutting her, spinning and bringing it down on another guy’s neck instead. You turned back to a gasping Katniss, ignoring her state that was much like the one you were just in. “Don’t trust 1 and 2.”

Cannons fired as Finnick walked around you. “I’ll take this side. You go hold them off,” he told her.

You nodded. “I’ll find Peeta.” You didn’t walk far before you spotted him, shouting, “He’s over here!” All three of you ran over, finding him in the water against a pedestal, fighting off a tribute.

Finnick jumped into the water, swimming over while Katniss drew her arrow, seemingly waiting to get a good shot, but then both boys were submerged underwater. She brought her arrow down, breathing heavily as a cannon fired.

You waited in anticipation, a body floating up to the surface. For a second, you thought the kid died, but then he emerged out of the water, panting, and you both let out a breath.

The look on her face as she thought Peeta died was more convincing than any other performance you watched them put on, more convincing than the kisses, and the engagement, and the sweet interviews. Whatever was going on between them, you knew now that it wasn’t all fake.

Seems that you had more in common with the Girl on Fire than you thought.

You glanced over at the island, seeing the sets of Careers standing together, forming an alliance as they usually did. Katniss noticed this, too, so as soon Peeta and Finnick were out of the water, you all went running in to the jungle.

This was a Quarter Quell. There was more to it than just changing up the reaping; the entire arena was special. The Gamemakers were sick. You knew that you were in for a hell of a ride.

Right now, you just had to keep running. You could worry about food and water when the time came, and you’d find Johanna eventually. She was smart; you knew she wouldn’t be one of the first to die.

You ran and ran until Finnick called for you all to stop, crouching down to make a game plan. It turned out that you were gonna need water a lot sooner than you thought with how hot it was. At least freezing to death wasn’t something you had to worry about.

Katniss stared at you and Finnick quite obviously. You weren’t sure if she was trying to be discreet or not; you weren’t sure if she knew how to be discreet at all. The firing of the cannon made her finally look away.

Even though you were just running for your lives, a smirk still made its way onto Finnick’s face. “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore,” he chuckled. You snorted, but Katniss wasn’t as amused.

“You think that’s funny?”

You narrowed your eyes, answering before Finnick could. “I don’t know what you think this is, Everdeen, but in case you failed to notice, it’s kill or be killed out here.” You pointed to your ear. “Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. We don’t care about any of them.”

Her jaw clenched. “Good to hear,” she quipped, pulling a machete out of its sheath on her back. You scoffed at her pathetic attempt to threaten you.

“Look, you wanna face the Career Pack alone? Be my guest. It’s your funeral,” you shot. “Besides, what would Haymitch say?”

“Haymitch isn’t here.” She stared straight into your eyes and you stared right back at her, unblinking. In your peripheral, you saw Peeta glancing between you.

“Let’s keep moving,” he interrupted, standing up, but you didn’t look away from Katniss until she stood up first.

Once you were up and walking, Finnick put his hand on the small of your back, probably to calm you down. For some reason, he insisted on working with them, so you’d just have to stifle your urge to argue with her.

Eventually, though, you knew you would be doing a lot more than arguing. If Katniss and you were as alike as you thought, then you knew that she’d stab you in the back for Peeta, the same way you would for Finnick.

The actual tributes in the arena weren’t always what you had to worry about. You were reminded of this when Peeta hit the wrong branches and went flying backward, sending you all with him.

A wall where he hit was revealed, like a glitch, before it was replaced again with the glamour of the jungle. A force field, you realized. Then your attention was drawn back to Peeta by Katniss’ cry of his name.

You shuffled over to them as Katniss panicked. “He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing.” Finnick rushed over, pushing her out of the way.

She instantly reached for her bow, going to grab an arrow, but you shoved her arm. “What the hell is wrong with you? He’s saving his life,” you snapped. Her hand fell, realizing you were right as she watched Finnick give him CPR.

She looked like she took a moment to collect herself and then she crawled over. “Peeta? Peeta?” She cried. Finnick grunted, switching between compressions and mouth-to-mouth, continuously checking for a heartbeat that wasn’t there. “Please wake up. No,” she sobbed, “please wake up.”

For the first time since The Games began, you really did feel bad for her. If you were in her place, you didn’t know what you would do.

Just as you thought Peeta was dead, he gasped back to life. Finnick moved back, letting them have their moment.

“Be careful, there’s a force field up there,” he breathed.

She tearily chuckled, leaning in to kiss him. You and Finnick shared a look. Katniss was kidding herself if she didn’t think she loved him. You tuned the rest of their conversation out. Peeta could’ve died, just like that, and Katniss would’ve probably fallen apart.

You knew that if Finnick died, you died, too. You couldn’t let that happen. You had to protect him.

Little did you know, he was thinking the exact same thoughts about you.

Once Peeta could stand, you were all back on your feet, looking for freshwater while simultaneously trying to spot where the force field started and ended. After Katniss did a little experiment with an arrow, you figured out that the arena was a dome. You just so happened to be at the edge.

Didn’t matter, though, because there wasn’t a sign of freshwater anywhere. Since you couldn’t satisfy your need for water, you’d just have to compensate with your need for sleep.

“It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected. We should set up camp,” Finnick suggested. “Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

Katniss gave a little scoff like he was saying was absurd. “Not a chance.”

You stepped forward, so fed up and desperately wanting to give her a reality check, but Finnick held a hand up, signalling for you to stop. The only reason you did was because you saw the look on his face. As much as you wanted to tear Katniss a new one, you’d much rather watch him do it.

He stood up, sticking the end of his trident into the ground. He was calm, but annoyance laced his voice. “Honey, that thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called saving his life. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would’ve done it by now.” He picked up his trident. “Same goes for Y/N.”

Then he walked off, and you followed soon after hearing Katniss say something to Peeta about taking the first watch. If you were just watching The Games, then maybe you’d feel a little more compassionate towards her, but you weren’t watching. You were in them with her.

Your compassion sort of needed to disappear to ensure your survival, so all you were was annoyed. But she was a pretty good archer, so having her on your team didn’t hurt, unless you were counting how she was a pain in your ass.

However, your annoyance was quick to fade as you fell asleep, tired, hungry, and dehydrated.

When you woke up, it was to the sound of Panem’s anthem, pictures in the sky of the tributes that had died. Most of them were people you previously had conversations with in the Capitol, yet some of them were still people that you killed.

You couldn’t be friends with everyone in an arena.

You counted eight pictures in the sky. So there were sixteen left, including you four. If you were still mentoring, you would’ve probably been reflecting over how quickly those lives could just come to an end, but you didn’t have time to stop and think about the cruelty of life.

Your thoughts were directed away from the dead by a chime. You looked up to see a silver parachute, slowly falling to the ground. Katniss opened the silver casing, revealing some sort of metal tool and a note from Haymitch. You quickly identified the tool as a spile.

The three of you brought it to a tree, waiting to see if it’d work. Peeta came and found you not long after. You were just staring at it, praying for water. If there was a God, they answered, because water came pouring out of the spile like it was a fountain.

You were so relieved that you laughed, drinking and splashing some on your face.

After that, you were the one taking watch as everyone slept. Every year when The Games came, you had trouble sleeping more than a few hours each night. Now that you were back in the arena, you really couldn’t sleep at all. You’d make sure you got an hour every day, just to keep yourself sharp, but otherwise you’d prefer to let Finnick sleep and watch over him, anyway.

You were all startled by a loud banging, almost like an alarm. The only reason you could think of for its presence was to signal that it was midnight, but you were still confused. There were never alarms in any of the other Games. But, like you’d already figured out, this year was different.

Right after the alarm, you watched as lightning repeatedly struck the same tree in the distance. Nature didn’t work that way, and there was nothing natural about The Games, anyway. It wasn’t a coincidence, but you just couldn’t figure out what its purpose could be.

You spent the rest of your watch trying to put the puzzle pieces together, trying to figure out what the catch was with this arena, but you couldn’t make any of the pieces fit. You didn’t have enough. Katniss tried to stay awake, still distrusting of you, but she eventually succumbed to slumber, leaving you to yourself.

She hadn’t been sleeping long when you heard a different sound. You turned your head, seeing grey mist slowly crawl its way over to you. Your brows furrowed.

There were no natural occurrences in an arena.

You reached your hand out, like you were testing the waters, but you should’ve known better. As soon as the fog made contact with your skin, you fell backward, a scream leaving your lips. Your cry woke everyone else up.

Finnick immediately ran to you, but you shouted, “No, run! It’s poison- the fog is poison!” Either he was stupid or brave, because he ignored your warning and ran to you anyway, helping you up as quickly as possible before you followed Katniss and Peeta, doing your best to run, but the fog was following you, too.

It was harder to run fast in this part of the jungle. All of the branches and plants kept getting in your way, but you weren’t stopping, helping Peeta cut whatever was in your way.

You could’ve been running as fast as humanly possible, but the fog still would’ve caught up to you. It wasn’t nature at all. It was intended to kill.

You had to change directions as it suddenly appeared in front of you, too. It was like it was encasing you. Somewhere along the way, Katniss and Peeta ended up running on the path parallel to you. You skidded to a stop as you heard Finnick scream. Your eyes widened. “Finnick, come on. We’ve gotta go!” You ushered him forward, and then he went running to Katniss and Peeta who came to a stop, as well.

When you got there, Peeta was groaning on the ground, blisters all over the side of his face. “I can’t carry him,” Katniss panted. “Peeta, please, stand up. We have to go.”

If you could carry him, you would, but he’d crush you if you tried. Finnick was in no condition to carry Peeta alone, so you slung one of his arms around your neck, telling Katniss to get the other. “Finnick, go. Get ahead of us.” You motioned for him to go forward.

He looked hesitant, and in any other situation, he wouldn’t, but none of you had the time to argue, so he listened and ran forward, taking Peeta’s blade and cutting the branches in your path.

The three of you cried out as the fog hit the backs of your necks, but then you were all rolling down a hill that you couldn’t have noticed in the state you were in.

You were whimpering on the ground, so consumed by the pain that you almost forgot that you were supposed to be running. You turned over and, to your surprise, the fog didn’t come any closer, travelling upward instead of forward, like it hit a wall. And then it just disappeared altogether.

You let out a shaky breath, resting your head on the ground before you were reminded of where you were. Resting wasn’t an option. You’d rest when you were dead, and you weren’t gonna speed up that process.

So you crawled over to the lake a few feet away from you. This was a gamble, but you had to take some risks if you wanted to survive. Cautiously, you stuck your hand in the water. This elicited another scream from you, but the pain in your hand slowly faded as the blisters were practically washed away.

“The- the water,” you stuttered, “the water helps.”

As Katniss and Peeta made their way over, you pushed yourself into the water, moaning at the pain. Tears leaked out of your eyes, but after a minute or so, the excruciating pain subsided to just a sting.

When you were both okay, Katniss and you got out of the water, dragging Finnick over. As soon as the water touched his skin, he was screaming, trying to fight against it. “Shh, shh,” you hushed, holding him down. “It’s gonna help.” You ran your fingers through his hair, and a few more tears fell down your face, even though you weren’t in pain anymore.

Not physical pain.

But watching him struggle like this was a pain you couldn’t help.

You and Katniss helped him as he shivered while Peeta went and got your weapons. You stayed in the lake even after all your blisters were gone, just cooling off and getting yourselves together.

In The Games, your physical came first, but you wanted to keep an eye on mental health or at least not let it get to a point where it’d affect your body. Though, you supposed there was no healthy mind in The Games, and there certainly wasn’t after a victor left them.

Annie was an example of a worst case scenario, but you knew this because you lived it, too.

Finnick’s hand found yours as you sat together, holding it tightly. This was his way of making sure you were still there. Your way was putting your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

After a while, though, that steady rhythm was interrupted and his heart started beating faster. This caused you to look up, and when you did, you were met with the sight of apes coming toward you.

Katniss grabbed an arrow while you and Finnick slowly stood up, bracing yourself by readying your weapons. You glanced around, seeing that they were coming in from all directions. Fucking Gamemakers, you thought.

You realized you could see the Cornucopia from where you stood, so all you had to was fend them off and make it there.

Suddenly, one jumped at Peeta, then the rest of them got up from their perched positions. Katniss was firing arrows left and right while you and the boys slashed away. If one got too close, you stabbed it.

Katniss was pulled underwater by one, but you killed it before she ran out of air. There were too many to just kill all of them, meaning you had to start running for the beach.

Peeta and Katniss both fell, so you ran to help her while Finnick went for Peeta. You stabbed the ape in front of her, grabbing her hand and taking her running with you. When you reached them, there was someone lying on the ground that hadn’t been with you before.

“Who is that?” Katniss questioned, but you recognized her by the face paint.

“A morphling,” Peeta responded, pulling her up. “Help me get her!”

You let Katniss help him while you helped Finnick get the apes closest to you, taking off as soon as you could. You both stumbled, rolling onto the beach, but the apes didn’t go farther than the edge of the sand. You held your blades out at them, but it was like you really didn’t need to.

You were reminded of the fog and it how was stopped by an invisible wall, the same way these monkeys looked to be stopped by something.

A cannon fired, and they retreated into the jungle. You swallowed, turning to see Katniss and Peeta leaving the water, the Morphling left floating dead. Like clockwork, a hovercraft came in, picking her up like she was an object.

You scoffed. Just when you thought you couldn’t think any lesser of the Capitol, you were proven wrong.

When Peeta spoke up, his voice was both defeated and confused. “She sacrificed herself for me and I didn’t even know her name.”

“Her name was Trayne,” you cut in, making them both look at you, but your eyes were focused on the hovercraft taking her out of the water. “Trayne Carter.”

They both paused, absorbing that. It was like, for the first time since you entered the arena, you were reminded that these people weren’t just your opponents. They were people that had lives.

Just like you.

A look then passed over Katniss’ face as she turned to Peeta. “You think she sacrificed herself?”

“Looked like it.”

Your brows knit together while she voiced your thoughts. “That doesn’t make any sense.” It didn’t, but you had a long list of things you had to make sense of and more pressing matters at hand, so you couldn’t busy yourself by thinking about it.

Finnick found fish that was edible, so you all sat in the shade and ate for the first time since before The Games started. This time, you were the one to reach out for his hand, holding on to it like you’d die if you let go.

You were pretty much in silence until a scream sounded from far away but close enough that you could hear it. You let go of Finnick’s hand as Peeta remarked, “That’s new.”

You all stood up, grabbing your weapons. In the distance, there was a rumble. Something was rustling the trees ahead of you. When it got closer, you realized that something was water. The wave came crashing past the trees and into the water, stopping once it hit the Cornucopia.

Like it couldn’t go past it.

Cannons fired, and the hovercraft returned, picking up bodies from the jungle while you all watched, captured by the sight. You were broken out of your trance by Katniss drawing an arrow. “Someone’s here.”

Her and Peeta ducked while you and Finnick waited to see who it was. It took you a moment since they were covered in blood, but you soon realized who it was. You let out a sigh of relief. “Johanna.” You jogged over to them. “Johanna!”

“Y/N?” She laughed as she saw you and Finn. Her tough exterior came down as she went to hug you, like she was just as relieved to see you. Once she let go of you, she even hugged Finnick.

You glanced, identifying that the people she was with were Beetee and Wiress, then looked back at her. “What the hell happened?”

Katniss and Peeta came over just as she started explaining. “Well, I got ‘em out.” She gestured to them. “We were all the way deep into the jungle where I thought it was gonna be safe.” A humourless smile arose on her face. “That’s when the rain started. I thought it was water. It turned out to be blood. Hot, thick blood.”

You narrowed her eyes at her explanation. Fog, apes, waves, blood rain. There was some sort of connection there, you just couldn’t grasp it.

Wiress came over, looking lost, mumbling, “Tick tock.”

“It was coming down-”

“Tick tock.”

“-it was choking us.” She scoffed. “We were stumbling around, gagging on it, blind.”

“Tick tock.”

“That’s when Blight hit the force field.” She exhaled, shaking her head as Wiress continued to mumble. “He wasn’t much, but he was from home.” You reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder.

You understood what she meant. You’d felt the same feeling before, when the male tribute from district 4, Bay, died during your Games. You didn’t always know the person you were going in with, but you became bonded by the experience. That loss was unlike anything you’d ever felt to this day.

Wiress kept going on in the background, making you glance at her. “What’s wrong with her?” you finally asked.

“She’s in shock,” Beetee replied, coming out of the water. “Dehydration isn’t helping. Do you have fresh water?”

“Yeah, we can get some.”

“Tick tock. Tick tock.” You turned to see Wiress had grabbed onto Johanna’s shoulders. “Tick tock. Tick tock.”

Johanna grabbed onto her forearms, trying to get her off. “Listen- stop it!”

She had pushed her onto the sand when Katniss yelled, “Hey, lay off her!” She went and shoved Johanna, making you rush over.

You shoved Katniss away from her, pushing her hard enough that she staggered backward. “Back off, Everdeen!” you warned as Finnick held Johanna back from retaliating, but she shouted back.

“What’s wrong with you?! I got them out for you!” She struggled against Finnick. “Let me go, Finnick!”

Peeta came over to help balance Katniss. Her eyes were wild, like she wasn’t the one who instigated this. “For me? What does that mean?”

The question wasn’t directed at you, but you responded, anyway. “I don’t know and I don’t care, but you better watch it, Everdeen.” You stepped forward, looking her right in the eye as she stared back challengingly. You lowered your voice. “You’ve played with fire before, but I am telling you right now, I will light your ass up the next time you try me.” She opened her mouth to say something, but you cut her off, “Don’t underestimate me again.”

You walked off before you could hear her reply. If she said another thing to you right now, it was highly likely that you’d do something you would or wouldn’t regret. You weren’t gonna test it.

You decided to take Wiress into the water and help her clean herself up to calm down. She smiled at you crazily. “Tick tock.”

You sighed, “Yes, tick tock.”

“Tick tock.” She repeated herself over and over again, reminding you so much of Annie. Wiress was one of the smartest people you had ever met, yet she was reduced to this every time she was in a bad situation. She won her Games through a loophole, and in turn, that loophole sucked her in until she was too deep to get out.

As you rinsed her hair, she gasped, “Tick tock. Tick tock!” Immediately afterward, lightning struck the tree in the distance, the same tree as the night before. You tilted your head. The tree, fog, apes, waves, blood rain. Wiress looked up at you. “Tick tock.”

“Tick tock,” you echoed, eyes darting around the arena. The tree, the fog, the apes, the waves, the rain.

“Tick tock.”

“Oh, my God.” You cupped your hand over your mouth in shock. “It’s a clock.”

“Tick tock.”

You pulled her out of the water, engulfing her in a hug. “Wiress, you’re a genius!” When you let go, you ran with her to the others. “It’s a clock!”

They all looked to you. Finnick furrowed his brows. “What?”

“It’s a clock!” You pointed to the Cornucopia. “The arena is laid out like a clock!”

Peeta came forward. “Holy shit.”

You ran your hands threw your hair, all of the puzzle pieces falling into place. “It’s, um- there’s a new threat every hour. They- they can only stay in their wedge, though.” You pointed at the tree. “It starts with lightning, then blood rain, fog, monkeys- that’s the first four hours. Then at ten, that big wave hits.”

Finnick chuckled slightly under his breath. “Wiress, you’re a genius.”

Peeta then cut in, suggesting you all get to the Cornucopia, so that’s what you did. Just as you were getting there, he pointed out, “Look, the tail points to twelve.”

Katniss filled in the blank. “That’s where the lightning strikes at noon and midnight.”

Wiress sat down on the rocks, singing to herself while the rest of you gathered around Peeta who mapped out the clock in the sand and what you already knew.

You crossed your arms. “Okay, what else?” You turned to Johanna. “Did you guys see anything?”

She snorted under her breath, “Nothing but blood.”

Peeta replied, “Doesn’t matter. As long as we steer clear of whichever sector is active, we’ll be safe.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, safe from nature.” As if you jinxed it, Wiress gasped immediately after you spoke. You turned so fast you could’ve gotten whiplash, in time to see Gloss pulling a knife out of Wiress’ neck.

Katniss worked fast, shooting him in the chest, but he wasn’t working alone. Right after, Cashmere came running at her. Johanna pushed Katniss out of the way, embedding her axe into Cashmere’s skull.

The other half of the Careers revealed themselves, Brutus throwing staffs at you that you narrowly dodged. Katniss’ arrow missed Enobaria as she threw a knife at Finnick, grazing his arm.

“Bitch,” you swore, throwing a knife of your own at her head, cursing again when it hit her shoulder instead. You went running after her, chasing her around the Cornucopia, but you suddenly lost your footing.

Gamemakers.

The island spun around. You grabbed onto the rock as best as you could, digging your nails into it so hard that they started to bleed. You were determined to stay alive, to keep Finnick alive, but your hold wasn’t strong enough. A scream left your lips as your fingers slipped. Finnick yelling your name was the last thing you heard before you went flying into the water.

Once upon a time, you were a swimmer.

You never thought you’d die by drowning.

And you refused to let that be the way you went out.

You fought hard against the current, using all your force to get above water. You gasped as you surfaced, taking in a large breath of air and coughing as you swam to the rock closest to you.

“Y/N!”

Finnick came running over to you, pulling you up and crouching down to your level. He ran his fingers through your hair, eyes darting all over your body with concern. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, nodding, and then he immediately embraced you tightly. His heart was beating just as fast if not faster than yours. For a moment, you couldn’t hear anything but that beating. You couldn’t hear the water, or the birds, or anyone else around you. You couldn’t even hear the music.

It was just the two of you.

And then that moment ended far too quickly.

Johanna brought you back to earth, heaving, “Let’s just get what we need and get off this bloody island.” You nodded against Finnick’s chest, letting him help you up. You muttered to him that you were fine, but he completely ignored you, helping you walk.

He was good, you thought. You would’ve been good together, in another life. It would’ve been nice to have been loved by this man, but life was never so kind to you.

You made it back to the beach, sitting on the sand under a tree. You weren’t relaxing like before; the time to relax had passed. You were nearing the end of The Games; it was time to plan for survival.

“So, besides Brutus and Enobaria, who’s left?” Katniss asked.

You looked right at her as you answered, “Maybe Chaff. Just those three.” You maintained eye contact with her, knowing that she was thinking the same thing as you. It wasn’t just those three. It was also all of you, sitting here.

Alliances always came to an end in the arena.

You knew Finnick must have caught onto this, but he pretended not to. “They know they’re outnumbered. I doubt they’ll attack again. We’re safe here on the beach.”

Safe for how long? you wondered. Even if the three of them were killed by the horrors of the jungle, you still wouldn’t be safe. None of you would be, as long as you were together.

“So what do we do? We hunt ‘em down?” Johanna questioned, looking to all of you for an answer of some sort, but before any of you could formulate one, you heard a girl scream.

A little girl.

“Katniss, help me!”

Katniss shot up immediately. “Prim!” You remembered that name from the year prior. That was her sister. Your eyes widened, trying to stop her, but she was up and running into the jungle.

You ran after her, hearing the others follow suit. “Katniss! Katniss, stop!”

She was running so far ahead of you that you almost lost sight of her, but you found her stopped, shooting down a bird. “Katniss!” She turned to you, breathing heavily. “Are you okay?”

Before she could even respond, you heard your own name being called. “Y/N!”

Your head shot up, eyes wide. Katniss was trying to talk to you, but it was like her voice was muffled to you. “Y/N-”

“Mom?”

“Y/N, it’s not real-”

It was almost like Katniss wasn’t there at all. You ran farther into the jungle, screaming, “Mom?!”

Katniss was shouting your name, but the only voice you could hear was your mother’s. “Y/N!” Katniss ran in front of you, grabbing ahold of your shoulders. “It’s not her! It’s just a jabberjay-”

You cut her off, shoving her away. “How do you think they got that sound, Katniss? Jabberjays copy!” Her eyes glazed over at your words, and then a new voice joined the mix, making her shake her head fervently.

Whatever she was saying now, you could barely pay attention to it, hearing someone else call your name, the voice of a person you never thought you’d hear again.

“Bay?” You gasped. Tears came to your eyes. It escaped you that Bay was dead, that you held him in your arms as he died. All you could focus on was just how real his voice sounded.

Jabberjays swarmed around you, the voices now louder than ever. Katniss grabbed your arm and you, not there, let her drag you away, running away from the voices instead of toward them.

Your mother’s and Bay’s voices mixed together, screaming your name, your mother who you hadn’t spoken to in years and the boy who you let down. You screamed, too, trying to drown them out, but they were too loud.

Soon, Johanna, Peeta, and Finnick came into your vision. They were saying things, but they fell upon deaf ears. You couldn’t hear anything but the screams.

You hit a wall, banging on it. Finnick stood on the other side, trying to speak to you, but you couldn’t hear it at all. The dam in your eyes broke, tears running down your face like a waterfall.

You sunk to the ground, hands on your ears, sobbing.

“Y/N!”

“You killed me!”

“No, no, no,” you wailed, but they weren’t stopping.

“You killed me, Y/N!” Bay.

“You broke my heart.” Mom.

“I’m dead because of you!” Bay.

“I lost my daughter.” Mom.

“It’s all your fault.” Bay.

“You’re a monster.” Mom.

“You killed me.” Bay.

“You’re not my daughter anymore.” Mom.

“You’re a killer.” Bay.

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” Mom.

“You killed me.” Bay.

“You deserve to die.” Mom.

You don’t know when they stopped. You still heard the echoes of their voices in your head when they were gone. “Y/N!” Someone touched your shoulder, making you flinch. “It’s done. The hour’s done- it’s okay.”

You shot up, seeing Finnick right next to you. “My mom? Where’s my mom- Bay. Where’s- where’s-”

He grabbed your shoulders. “They’re not here, Y/N. It wasn’t real.”

You panted, shuffling back away from Finnick, but he didn’t let you get far, pulling you to him. You tried to fight against it, but he wasn’t letting up. Eventually, you gave up trying to fight, letting him hold you. He pet your hair, whispering to you.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You let the sound of his heart calm you down. It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Bay was dead. Your mom was okay. Finnick is alive. That’s what mattered.

After a few moments, you got up, Finnick watching you wearily. Johanna didn’t say anything, shooting you a look. You knew what she meant. You nodded, telling her without words that you were okay. You had to be okay. She nodded back.

You looked over, seeing Peeta still calming Katniss down on the ground. “Okay? They won’t touch Prim. Alright?” She shakily nodded, collecting herself.

“Your fiancé’s right. The whole country loves your sister.” You looked back to Johanna, seeing her standing on a rock. Her voice was both assuring and bitter. “If they tortured her or did anything to her-” she paused, chuckling, “forget the districts, there would be riots in the damn Capitol.”

She glanced to you and you saw the sheer fire in her eyes. Oh, you’d give anything to burn down that city with Snow in it.

“Hey, how does that sound, Snow?” She shouted, looking up to whatever cameras were in the sky. “What if we- what if we set your backyard on fire? You know, you can’t put everybody in here.” She turned back to you, seeing you all staring at her. “What? They can’t hurt me.” She shrugged, her voice was lowering as she looked to the ground. “There’s no one left that I love.”

You knew that Katniss and Peeta couldn’t have known the true depth of her words, but Beetee did. Finnick did. You did. Anyone watching at home- they couldn’t have understood. They must’ve thought she was crazy, but did any of them have even the slightest idea of who you all were? Did they know that she wasn’t always like this, that they made her this way? You were kids and the Capitol stole your innocence like it was nothing. For you and Finnick, they did it by selling you, and for Johanna, they did it by killing her family.

It may not have been fair to call Katniss lucky, she lost a lot, but at least her sister was alive. At least she still had a family. At least she wasn’t completely dead inside, like Johanna. Like Finnick.

Like you. Johanna ended up walking off, giving the excuse that she’d get you both water. You all made your way back to the beach after that. You sat there, staring off into the distance. This place could’ve been beautiful, you thought. But now blood had been spilled all over it.

What was beautiful about that?

You didn’t have all the answers. Right now, it felt like you didn’t know anything. All you knew was that the man you loved was alive, arm wrapped around you, heart beating. Did he know that he was the only “sure” thing you had? Did he know how much you loved him?

It felt like you were supposed to tell him. You were gonna die soon; The Games would come to end, and so would your life. It felt like he was supposed to know. If you were gonna die, then shouldn’t he at least knew how you felt about him, how in love you were with him?

The answer you came to was no. You weren’t gonna complicate things—God knew this was already complicated enough, this thing you had. You didn’t have time to learn new steps to the dance. You just wanted to let the music play and dance until you couldn’t dance anymore.

You had been sitting there for a little while when Katniss broke the silence. “Who’s Bay?” You turned to her, but she wasn’t looking at you, staring at nothing like you were.

“Katniss-” Finnick tried to interject, but you stopped him, putting your hand on his without looking at him. If you looked him in the eye right now, then he’d be able to tell just how broken you felt. He could read you so easily. You didn’t want him to read you right now when you didn’t have the energy to fake it.

You didn’t want him to see you getting ready to die.

You weren’t exactly Katniss’ biggest fan, and she wasn’t yours, but here you were, sitting together in the same arena. She was you. She was you before everything got bad, worse than it already was.

Soon, you wouldn’t be allies anymore. Soon, one of you would die. So you’d bring down the mask, just for a second. Before you ended up on different sides, you’d show her that you were just like her.

“Bay…” you faltered, “I guess I didn’t know him all too well. Lived in the same district for fifteen years, but I never even spoke to him before we were in that arena, and by then, it was too late.” A burning sensation grew in your throat. “He died in my arms. He- he was gonna take the money from winning and take care of his parents, make sure they didn’t have to worry. He didn’t get to. So I did. I took care of ‘em- didn’t even dent my pockets.” A humourless chuckle left your lips. “You know, my mom and I don’t talk anymore. Says I’m a different person, and she’s right. So, sometimes, I think Bay was just better off.”

Katniss finally turned to you. She didn’t say anything- she didn’t have to. You saw the look in her eyes; she understood. But you wished she didn’t. You wished that nobody had to understand. You wished that Johanna didn’t understand, that Finnick didn’t understand. You wished that you could’ve all just been kids for a little while longer.

That’s when you got up, walking over to where the sand met the water. You wanted to admire this place before you were gone.

You heard someone walk up behind you, immediately knowing it was Finnick.

His voice was quiet, even though you were far from everyone else. “You never told me about Bay’s parents.” If only he knew all the things you didn’t tell him.

But you didn’t say that. Instead, you just said, “I know.” He didn’t say anything else after that, wrapping arm around your waist and pulling you to him. You stared off into the distance together, just like those cold nights at the Capitol you spent together.

Sometimes, saying nothing with him was the equivalent of saying everything.

Sometimes, it was better than saying anything.

You hadn’t been standing there for too long when Johanna came over, telling you guys that Beetee had a plan. You joined the others, listening to him explain how he wanted to lure the Careers to the beach then electrocute them as lightning struck the tree at midnight.

It was risky, and it all counted on the Brutus and Enobaria being at the beach in the first place, but you supposed it beat going into combat with them. You could take them if you needed to, but if there was a plan you could implement to avoid that, then you would.

If this plan worked, then the Careers would die instantly, leaving only the six of you in the arena. But only one of you would walk out, and it had to be Finnick.

Despite how the two of you had been at each other’s throats, you didn’t want to kill Katniss. You didn’t want to kill Peeta, the boy who reminded you so much of Finnick. You didn’t want to kill Beetee, who had made you laugh so many times you were at the Capitol. And you certainly didn’t want to kill Johanna, who was perhaps one of the only friends you had.

You hoped it wouldn’t be you, that you wouldn’t be the one to kill them. You didn’t want to kill anymore. You just wanted this to end.

You were so consumed by these thoughts that you missed the looks Finnick and Johanna shared and the look Beetee threw their way.

By nightfall, you were back in the jungle, making your way to the lightning tree. Beetee said something science-y, then you got started, wrapping the wire he invented around the tree.

“Typically, a lightning strike contains five billion joules of energy. We don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when this hits,” he said, finishing one last wrap before walking over to you, coil in hand. “You three girls, go together now. Take this. Unspool it carefully. Make sure the entire coil is in the water. You understand? Then head to the tree at the two o’clock sector. We’ll meet you there.”

You nodded, grabbing the coil as Peeta cut in, “I’m gonna go with them as a guard.”

You snorted, “What, golden boy, afraid we can’t protect ourselves?” Even in the dark, you could see the redness climb up his neck. “Don’t worry, your fiancé’s gonna be fine.”

“She’s right. They can protect themselves just fine. You’re staying here to protect me. And the tree,” Beetee dictated.

You glanced between Katniss and Peeta, spotting hesitation in both of them. It was happening, you realized. They were already moving to the other side of the board.

“No, I need to go with her.”

“There are two Careers out there. I need at least two guards.”

“Finnick can protect you just fine on his own- Y/N and I could trade places.”

Katniss now spoke up, “Yeah, why don’t Johanna, Finnick, and Y/N stay with you and Peeta and I’ll take the coil?”

“You want to face the Careers by yourself?” You narrowed your eyes. Katniss looked to you, trying to maintain an unwavering expression. “You do realize that you’ve only been at this a year, right? Not only that, you’re from 12. These are people who trained their whole lives just to kill.”

Katniss didn’t have a response, just as you expected. Finnick must have caught onto the tension, questioning, “Is there a problem here?”

Beetee responded speedily, “Excellent question.” Katniss looked back to him, and you knew that she knew her fight was over. She was out of her depth here.

After a second, she replied, “No. There’s no problem.” Not yet, but knowing her, there would be one soon. You and Johanna waited for her to say her goodbyes to Peeta before getting ready to go.

You were walking away when you suddenly came to a stop. You passed the coil to Katniss, then walked back to the tree. Finnick’s brows raised as you beelined for him, but then his eyes just closed as your lips met his.

The music was louder than it’d ever been, like it knew that the beat could drop any minute now. This kiss was equal passion and softness. You kissed him like you’d never get do it again, and that could very well be true. He kissed back just as passionately, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to him.

You knew Finnick didn’t love you. You knew he had a girl waiting for him back home, but if you were gonna die, then you just wanted to do that one last time. You wanted one last kiss from your one true love, even if you weren’t his.

When you eventually pulled away for air, he still didn’t let you go, resting his forehead against yours as you both breathed heavily. “I- I need to go now.”

He ran a hand through your hair, opening his eyes to look into yours. “I’ll see you at midnight?” You smiled, hoping he didn’t see how sad you were.

“Yeah, I’ll see you at midnight,” you said, knowing how probable it was that you wouldn’t.

Then you walked away.

The jungle was dead silent except for the sound of your footsteps and crickets. All you had to do was get to the beach, then get as far away from it as possible. You wanted to meet Finnick at midnight.

But that wasn’t gonna happen.

Katniss suddenly stopped. You looked to her, seeing her trying to pull the coil to no avail. “There’s something…” She pulled it again, and then the wire snapped.

You saw Brutus, knowing Enobaria couldn’t have been far away. You pulled your sword out of its sheath while Katniss drew an arrow, but before either of you could do anything, you were falling to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your head spun. You didn’t need to see it to know that you were losing blood—you could feel it. Get up, get up, get up, get up, you chanted, but it was as if your limbs were frozen.

You heard Katniss scream. You mustered up the strength to turn you head, seeing Johanna leaning over her, cutting into her arm. She shushed her, then looked up and cursed under her breath.

“Both of you, stay down,” she grit out, then she threw her axe at targets you couldn’t see, running away from you both. She did this, you realized. For some reason, you were shocked, but didn’t you always know this would happen? Didn’t you always know that you’d end up against each other in the end?

Didn’t you already know this would end in your last breath?

You did, but you still found yourself questioning: was this it? Was this how you died? Did Johanna just leave you to die?

Suddenly, you could hear Finnick, screaming yours and Johanna’s names. You wanted to scream back, to tell him you were right there, but it was like your mouth couldn’t form the words.

This was it. This was how you died.

You’d been preparing for this since the Quell was even announced, but you just weren’t expecting it, not yet. There were still people left.

At that thought, it was like the world stopped.

There were still people left.

You couldn’t just leave Finnick to fend for himself.

You shot up as if you had just been doused in cold water, reaching beside you to feel that your sword was still there. Your eyes searched for Katniss. She was just right next to you, but now she was nowhere to be seen. You didn’t even know that she left.

You shakily stood up, dots dancing around your vision the same way you were. You still had dancing to do.

A cannon fired, and you started running, screaming Finnick’s name, not caring if alerted anyone of where you were. You ran faster as you heard the sky booming.

Soon, Finnick came into your vision, Katniss not far from him, aiming an arrow up to the sky.

And then you saw nothing.

The last thing you remembered was being blasted backward, sparks everywhere, lightning.

And then the music stopped.

When Finnick woke up, it was like he almost forgot where he was, and then he remembered what happened. Katniss shot an arrow at the force field.

He ripped the IV out of his arm, pushing past the aching in his bones and sitting up, looking around. Katniss and Beetee were lying down in front of him, still asleep. He furrowed his brows. There was no one else.

His eyes darted around the room, looking for you, looking for a sign that you were here, but he couldn’t find one.

“Y/N?” His voice echoed in the empty room. You didn’t answer.

He got up, calling your name louder. “Y/N?” Still no answer.

This was impossible. You had to be here, you had to be on the hovercraft somewhere, you just had to. His mind went to the worst case scenario, but that couldn’t be. You had to be here.

He went for the first doors he saw, expecting to see you on the other side, but he was only met with Haymitch and Plutarch. His heart beat faster now. Where were you?

He ignored Haymitch completely, turning to Plutarch. “Where is she?” It should’ve been an easy answer, but the Gamemaker had an expression that Gamemakers rarely had. Sympathy.

No. This can’t be happening.

He stepped closer, venom in his voice. “Where is she?”

Haymitch intervened. “Finnick, maybe you wanna sit down-”

“Where the fuck is my girlfriend?” They both gave each other a look that infuriated him even further. “Is someone gonna tell me where she is or are you two just gonna stand here all day?”

“Finnick-”

“Where is she, Plutarch?”

The greying man stared at him like he was hesitant to speak, which was saying something, because Plutarch always said whatever was on his mind. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, like he was trying to calm down a rabid animal. “Her tracker was never removed-”

“Okay, so where is she?”

“We couldn’t get her, Finnick.” His ears rang.

They couldn’t get her.

“We couldn’t get Johanna and Peeta, either-”

All of a sudden, Finnick charged at him, but Haymitch quickly went and stopped him, holding him back. “You said you’d get her out! You told me she was gonna be safe!”

“Calm the hell down, Finnick!”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” He pushed himself out of Haymitch’s arms, turning and glaring at him. “Katniss is here! Of course, you’re calm- my person is still out there!”

“She’s still alive.”

“Yeah, for how long?”

Plutarch cut in, “They won’t kill her, Finnick. They know how valuable she is.”

“You don’t have to make someone’s heart stop to kill them, Heavensbee,” he spat. “If anyone should know that, it’s you.” The Gamemakers were creative. He knew that the Capitol would spare no expense to hurt you.

After what they did, rebelling like this, you’d be the one to answer for it. Even though you didn’t know a thing about it.

“Listen, kid, you need to calm down now.” Haymitch looked at him with hard eyes. “You need to pull it together. When Katniss wakes up, she’s gonna be confused and angry, just like you. We need her. If you want any of this to mean something, if you want any chance of ever seeing your girl again, then we need her. So you need to cool it.”

Finnick ran a hand through his hair, mind moving seventy miles per hour. The Capitol had you. They had you. You were supposed to be here, and they had you, and he didn’t even get the chance to tell you. There was so much to tell you, and what if he never got that chance again?

Haymitch was right. If he wanted to see you again, to have that chance, to ever dance with you again, then he had to pull it together. He had to be strong.

For you.

“Okay, what do you need me to do?”

Your death was always expected, at least it was to you. When you pictured an ending in your head, this was it. You knew it was coming. What you didn’t expect was ever waking up again.

But you did.

Your eyes opened to a dark room, fluorescent lights flickering on the ceiling. This wasn’t the arena, but you’d soon learn that you didn’t need to be in an arena to play a twisted game.

Am I alive? you wondered.

Your question was soon answered. No, you weren’t alive. You were in Hell.

Because, sitting in a chair across from you, was the Devil himself.

President Snow smiled. “Hello, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“It appears that you and I have a lot to discuss.”

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies

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fatallyfalling · 2 years ago

Text

Secrets & Sugarcubes ~ ♆

“ Sugarcube ? “

warnings: hurt/comfort, typical Hunger Games violence/trauma, mention/insinuation of forced prostitution, ptsd, soft reassurances, possible slight ooc?? Finnick fears physical touch, end is very fluffy with some slight cuddling, etc.

{{ word count }} 4.0 k

{{ Prompt }} The two of you had a game, a way of trading secrets when the world felt too big and a simple touch felt like a burn on Finnick’s skin. You always made sure to keep a tin of sugarcubes in your kitchen just in case.

{{ a/n }} I swear i know how to write happy things guys i promise akfkakkdka the next one will be tooth rottingly sweet i promise please bear with me >< ! I hope the length of this one makes up for it being a day late as well. This also might seem a bit ooc for Finnick? Not sure - but here is my full headcanon, I'd suggest reading it before this to better understand why Finnick is behaving the way he is as it's explained a bit more in-depth. Reader and Finnick are also rather affectionate with one another but there isn’t an established relationship yet between them. Please enjoy <3

Tip, Tap, Tip-Tip, Tap

Your door creaked under the coded knock, a beat of silence following before it was repeated on the old wood. Your nose scrunched in a perplexed manner, groggily padding down the stairs in your night clothes to your front door, a glimpse at the mahogany grandfather clock in the entryway tells you it’s well past midnight. Your confusion pooled into a sense of concern as cold fingers gripped the metal door handle and gave a firm tug. You knew the knock and who was behind the door as you started speaking before even meeting his gaze, the scent of almonds and honey tainted by a sickly layer of Capital roses filling your senses.

“What’s going on? It’s late. You should be asle-“

Your sentence was cut short as your gaze met a pair of bleary sea-green eyes. You knew the look too well as a frown settled on your lips, your shoulders sinking with your heart as you took in the male before you. “Oh, Finn..” You mutter as you open the door further to let him inside. He hesitates in the doorway, looking lost, but you give a flickering nod of encouragement, convincing him to cross the threshold.

“Come on, I’ll make some tea..”

Nodding towards the kitchen, he wordlessly treks after you. Finnick’s steel-colored dress shirt was well wrinkled, unbuttoned to his clavicle, and sleeves pushed past his elbows. His face didn’t look much better than his suit. His bronze waves were messy, brows sewn in with a tight jaw, and hunched shoulders added to an unsteady demeanor. You could only assume what had occurred earlier in the night while attending the latest Capital party before the famed “Capital’s Darling” appeared on your doorstep. The growing pit in your stomach churned at the thought, and a muscle fluttered in your jaw as you led the victor deeper into your home.

Settling into what sometimes felt like a nightly routine, you get to work on the tea. You also place a small tin on the counter before Finnick, his gaze dancing between your fingers and the tin as you do so. His hands were trembling.

“I think the sweater you left the other day is upstairs. I can get it if you’d like,” You offer while setting the kettle to simmer on the stove. Finnick shakes his head with a soft, tight-lipped hum. He was distracted, flicking his thumbs against the pads of his index fingers over and over again.

“I thought it might help to change...” You allow while stumbling over an apology. You round the counter in a retreat to hunt down the knit item. But you misjudge the distance. Your shoulder accidentally brushes his in a fleeting move that instantly causes recoil and a sharp inhale on Finnick’s part as if he’d been singed by a flame.

“Please,”

The word was strained in his throat as anguish flooded his tanned features. Your eyes widened at your misstep, immediately backtracking to provide more physical space between you. But your frown only deepens as you stare at one another for a fleeting moment before Finnick all but crumples in on himself, descending to the hardwood floor.

Heartbreak splinters through your chest like a knife, bringing yourself down with him as knees meet the polished wood with a thud. Taking further notice of his trembling, it spread up his arms and across his torso now, fists bunching the fabric of his sleeves. The victor wet his lips as his eyes screwed shut, visibly trying to push back whatever threatened to plague his mind.

“I'm so sorry Finnick. Hey, hey- it’s okay, it’s just me, I'm here. I’m sorry, you’re safe with me. You’re going to be okay,” Apologetic pleas pour out in whispers, your head tilting to see beneath the bronze waves blocking his eyes. “You’re safe here,"

He doesn’t respond, only wetting his lips again with a thick swallow that moves his throat up and down. Your lips press to a thin line as you scan around you for anything that might help break the darkness obscuring his senses. Your own thoughts swim with curses for your mistake before your vision finally connects with the small forgotten tin on the counter. Cautiously you rise to retrieve it, your movements are slow, ensuring your hands remain within view, and keeping a safe distance between Finnick and yourself. Once the cool metal touches your skin you wrap your fingers around it, returning to kneel before the distressed Darling on your floor.

“Hey, do you remember our game ?”

A small ‘click’ chirps out as you open the tin. Dozens of small white sugarcubes sparkle inside, gently shifting to let the tin rest between you two. Finnick’s eyes peek out in a squint, dragging his gaze down to the tin and then back up to fixate on your face. He gives a tiny nod to indicate he’s listening, the trembling doesn’t stop.

“Okay,” you manage a small, warm smile briefly as you dip your head to peer into the tin. Plucking four cubes out, simultaneously sweeping your calves out from under you for a more relaxed sitting position, you gently place two near his knee while keeping the other two in your hand.

“One for yes, two for no,”

Gesturing to show the two options, gaining another nod from the trembling victor. At least his attention is focused on the sugar now. Sometimes it took much longer to bring him back enough just to open his eyes.

This was what Finnick Odair hid behind showboating grins and that “Golden Boy” Capital mask. The poltergeists of sticky, unwanted Capital fingers and lips left dozens of invisible burns engraved on his skin. You’d caught the bronze-haired male regularly picking an invisible piece of lint off his shirt or whichever shiny garment the stylists forced him to wear. Soon enough you managed to decipher the minute gesture as a tell to when the discomfort the tanned male felt on his skin too often was starting to eat away at his thoughts.

Never quite free of the forces from previous nights.

It tore open your heart to see him like this. Thrown to the mutts of the Capital under President Snow’s threat of his loved ones being tortured or worse killed if he didn’t comply, there really was no escape from the taloned clutches of winning the annual Hunger Games.

Nobody escapes The Games, and nobody ever wins.

As much as you desperately wanted to whisk the 65th victor away from his position he wouldn’t let you even if you tried, claiming he couldn’t bear to see you come into harm's way and that he’d rather endure the torture just to keep you safe. The seeping guilt you felt was immeasurable.

“I’ll begin, you just answer with the sugar okay ?”

Another small nod earns a second weak smile tugging at the corners of your mouth to reassure him.

“Are you okay ?”

There’s a pause as Finnick thinks, eyelids squeeze shut again but soon open as a shaky hand gently moves the tiny pieces of sugar forward.

Two cubes, ‘no’

“Are you hurt outside ?”

Two cubes, ‘no’

“Are you hurt inside ?”

Another pause, and then he gently scoots one of the cubes backward.

One cube, ‘yes’

“Can you tell me what hurts inside ?”

Finnick hesitates, his brow twitches with a small crinkle of his nose. You wouldn’t pry if he wasn’t ready, you’re patience was strong and you’d spend all night passing sugar on the floor if it meant he could find peace of mind. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,”

Finnick didn’t have many choices or say in life due to his position in the capital, so you found providing clear options to be rather grounding for the Bronze-haired male. It gave him a sense of stability and control over himself and what was occurring around him. Keeping the questions of your game simple and to the point in turn made his responses quick, a distraction technique you had picked up a while back to combat your own struggles post-games.

Two cubes, ‘no’

“That’s okay,” your small smile strengthens as you give him a tender look, not of pity but empathy. “Can I help?”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Please…”

The repeated word is barely above a whisper. If you hadn’t been hyper-fixated on him you might not have caught the parting of his lips that dripped the morsel of sound. His gaze has moved up from the floor to meet yours, wide sea-green irises soft in a pleading expression. You simply nod, assuring him you’re staying right where you are. The tension in his body visibly releases as the reassurances seem to sink in. Gingerly, he releases his biceps, picking at an invisible speck of dust on his sleeve. He drags a hand through his tousled hair before taking it down his face to rub his eyelids. He inhales a deep, shaky breath. You let him take his time to recuperate. Once his hand returns to his lap and he meets your eyesight you resume the verbal questionnaire.

“Do you want your sweater ?”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Okay, just a second,” you smile warmly, he nods, and you slowly stand, making your way upstairs, finding the ivory knit sweater on your bedroom dresser right where he’d left it. Turning around, you retrace your steps back to the kitchen, making sure to avoid the steps that creak louder than others on your way. “Here you go,”

Placing the sweater down as you return to sit with the Darling, he waits for your hands to leave the fabric before picking up the thick material and tugging it over his head. It takes a minute to adjust the layers and his sitting position so they’re comfortable but when he’s done the steel grey button-up collar peeks out from under the angled neckline of the ivory sweater along with the tails of the neutral fabric sticking out under the bottom hem. The ends of the sleeves are stretched around his fingers to mimic mittens. “Better ?” You offer while he takes a moment to breathe in the familiar scent. The smell of Capital roses is quickly suffocated in his familiar warm almond and honey cologne mixing with your scent clinging to the sweater. A sweet smile softens your cheeks as he allows a small lopsided smile with a nod and a hum, the corners of his mouth twitching up at the comfort.

“Very much so.”

“Good,” you nod, “Do you want the citrus tea you like so much? The one with the cinnamon?” Quirking a brow with a small tilt of your head.

“mhm,”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Very well,” you smile sweetly, rising again to move back into the kitchen. You gently open a cupboard, plucking a viridian mug off the shelf for the Darling along with your usual mug. A delicate clink echos in the otherwise quiet space as you set the ceramics on the counter. Finnick has turned to peek up and watch.

His sea-green eyes were still big and pleading, not really ready to stand but also not wanting to be away from you. With the counter cutting off just below his irises and his bronze hair tossed around and fluffy like that you couldn’t help being reminded of a small puppy. You mouth another reassurance with a wink as your cheeks warm, pulling open a drawer to pick up two small objects. They’re burnished silver spheres of metal, split in half but held by a tiny latch and speckled in countless minuscule holes for the nectar of the teas to slip through.

Reaching for two narrow jars on your counter you slide them towards your workspace and unstick each lid with an odd “pop”. Whisps of warm cinnamon, citrus, cloves, and black tea mix with the scent of herbs and spices more aligned with your tastes. The teas were a luxury gift from Mags on your birthday a year or two ago. You only use them on special occasions or nights like these.

You take a small spoon and gingerly press the correct amount of leaves in each steeper, adding a few extra to Finnick’s as he preferred a more prominent flavor. Afterward, you lower the metal orbs into their respective mug and quietly clean your workspace. Once the items are back in place you turn and just about jump out of your skin with a yelp of surprise as the tea kettle’s shrill whistle sings loud and clear.

Quickly you fumble for a cloth on a hook beside the wide farmhouse sink. Wrapping it around the heated handle of the kettle you remove it from the flames and onto an unused burner before shutting off the stove. Your heart pounds as adrenaline courses through your veins like lightning. A curse dances off your tongue but your embarrassment is short-lived as a coy chuckle fills your ears, wrapping around your senses like a soft blanket. A relieving warmth weaves its way through your ribs and melts the icy heartache as you hear Finnick laugh again. Turning towards the sound you spot the bronze-haired male now standing at the counter, his forearms leaning on the cool stone. His hands are barely trembling now although his eyes seem far away but his demeanor has seemed to regain its footing, a flickering of his naturally charismatic aura passes through his pointed-to-white teeth in the form of a lopsided smile. Color has started to ebb its way back into his tanned cheeks. That warmth in your ribcage spreads up your neck but you try to shove it back down. The components of your game; all four sugarcubes and the tin are sitting beside his elbow on the counter. You cross your arms over your chest loosely, narrowing your eyes at him in a playful manner.

“It’s not funny,”

“You’re right it’s hilarious,” Finnick drawls, his tone cocky.

An exasperated huff puffs out your chest followed by a sarcastic roll of our eyes. “There’s the Finnick Odair I know and Love,” You sigh, mischief flickers in those sea-green eyes. Carefully bringing the kettle over after it has a moment to cool you pour the boiling water as evenly as you can before returning it to the stove. A comforting quiet falls over the two of you while watching the liquid within the mugs change color. Eventually, your gaze shifts to watching Finnick slowly build a tiny pyramid out of the sugarcubes. The pristine wall of white crystals stands for all but ten seconds (not even) before the victor’s gentle tap sends it crumbling.

The joy from moments ago dissipates into something melancholic.

“Are you okay…?” You ask again, a crease forming between your brows as you search his sea-green eyes for any signs. Finnick gives you another tight-lipped hum, his smile has slipped away and you notice the set in his jaw returns. His gaze shifts from his folded hands to the sugar close by and hesitantly plucks up two of the four pieces.

Two cubes, ‘no’

“Still inside…?”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Still no touching?” Your voice is tender in a reassuring manner.

Two cubes, ‘yes’

Finnick understands that he’s safe. You’ll respect any boundary he chooses. You’re one of his few ‘safe’ individuals that he allows to fully trust besides Johanna, Mags, and Annie. Unfortunately, Annie was always rather emotionally distraught, meaning Finnick couldn’t be around her for long periods due to her tendency to claw at people during her episodes. It broke his heart to see the fire-haired victor he mentored through an awful arena be left so broken and afraid with limited ability to help her. But you did your best to pick up the slack in her care.

You were all damaged people just trying to survive the best you could with the hand you’d been dealt. No matter the cruelty of the dealer.

While caught up in your thoughts, the tea finished steeping. Gently, you slide the viridian mug of citrusy spices towards Finnick, who allows a small thanks and his “compliments to the chef” while plucking two sugarcubes from his fallen stack and dropping them into the burnt orange liquid.

“My pleasure,” you hum, fixing your tea how you like it and stirring the small steeper around the mug before lifting it from the drink and setting it off to the side. Finnick’s steeper soon follows. You’ll clean the sticky residue later.

Hot ceramic warms your fingertips as they curl around the mug, lifting it to your lips and parting them to give a gentle blow. Ripples of tea bounce around the rim, causing the curls of steam to dance around your cheeks. You inhale the Herbs deeply, and a calm feeling washes over your shoulders. The first sip immediately warms your insides as it goes down, observing the same reaction on Finnick as he takes a long swig of the tea followed by a hum of pleasure.

“Don’t burn your tongue it's still hot,” you murmur into your drink, the emitted sound coming out a bit warped. A ghost of a smile crosses the Darling’s face at your words, though he doesn’t reply, preferring another sip of the luxurious tea.

You already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of his dislike for the stinging on his tongue tomorrow from the burn.

You wish to reach out to him, brush your knuckles against his, or cup his stupidly handsome face in your hands, holding him close till all is better, but you can’t. You won’t. His safety and comfort is your priority right now, and you’ll always give him space when asked. You knew all too well what violation of space felt like.

“Are you feeling any better?”

You question the Darling while searching those sea-green eyes for any signs of pain.

Finnick offers a slight nod, casting a glance in your direction while adjusting the sugar.

One cube, ‘yes’

You nod in understanding. Even though the ache inside his chest still hurt you at least managed to help him start to move past it. The two of you stay at the counter for a long while. Secrets pass back and forth via sugarcube and Finnick has another cup of tea. You move in quiet tandem with one another as he preps the tea and you clean up your steeper and mug in the sink. Softly you hum a small rhyming tune from your childhood as you scrub along the inside of your mug, there’s a sense of domesticity in the air and you can’t help feeling more at ease.

Once everything is clean and put away except the sugarcubes you find yourself on your living room sofa, there’s a space between where your knees are tucked up against you and where Finnick sits. The tin of white crystals sits in that space, the Darling victor plucking up cubes every once in a while to suck on. He could eat all of them and you wouldn’t have minded.

The room is dimly lit, just the light from a lantern on the unused desk beside the fireplace. A soft glow is painted across Finnick’s features that makes his eyes sparkle and spread warmth up your cheeks, the tips of your ears surely going red. You try to suffocate the warmth as it threatens to bubble up past your grasp.

As time passes Finnick eventually speaks of what happened. You listen with full attention and offer much sympathy and reassurance once he’s finished. You thank the charming male for allowing himself to be open with you and he admits, “It’s easy to be an open book when it’s you,” and those sea-green irises seem to light up even more. That warmth twists your insides as your stomach does what feels like a backflip. “Thank you…for letting me in tonight,” he murmurs with that perfect smile, the outer corners of his eyes crinkle, and dimples press into his cheeks. The smile you return is equally as wide and sweet.

“Always. I’ll always be here Finn, and you’re welcome to stay here if you want tonight. There’s plenty of space,” You breathe through a slight laugh. The big house you were gifted in Victor’s Village was far too big to have just yourself anyway and this wouldn’t be the first time the Darling spent the night.

With a nod and a pat to the space between you, you nod towards the stairs before moving to snuff out the lantern. Finnick follows, closing the sugarcube tin and placing it on the coffee table. Quietly you two head upstairs, small giggles peppering the air as the stairs creak.

When you enter your bedroom you rummage in a drawer for a pair of sweats you had ‘borrowed’ from the Darling a while ago when it had been your turn to appear at his doorstep with tears in your eyes. “Here,” you speak gently while holding them out. A cheshire smirk creeps over Finnick’s face as he takes the pants.

“So that’s where these went~”

You shush him with a sarcastic wave of your hand, letting him go into the bathroom to change while you move to sit cross-legged on the plush mattress. You preferred sleeping with many soft blankets and pillows like your own nest. It helped you feel safe when alone - though most would end up kicked off or stolen by the furnace of a man you often shared the bed with. Your revenge usually came in the morning as your icy fingers assaulted the warmth of his lower back with a fit of laughter.

You smile tenderly at the thought as Finnick reappears.

“What?” He asks.

That coy smirk is still plastered on his lips as he comes over to sit beside you. “Hm? Oh - nothing. Lay down, I’m tired." You offer with a hum. He nods before joining you under the covers. You face one another, looking into each other's eyes. Slowly, you feel his hand creep over to yours and interlace your pinkie fingers.

“Is this okay?” Those heart-melting puppy dog eyes return. You can’t help the sweet smile on your face and the warmth on your cheeks.

“Always.”

@justtrying2getby

839 notes · View notes

vicsstars · 2 months ago

Text

❝ have you ever tried this one? ❞

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summary: chet and wemby convince the media girl to have a 3some

warnings; asking for sex, threesome, eiffel tower position, oral sex (giving and receiving), p in v

an: guys please have mercy on me as i’ve never had sex nonetheless a threesome with two men above 7 feet. anyways maybe take this as a part 2 to the nice shot fic? not cannon?

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the echo of victory still pulsed in chet’s veins, a rhythmic thrum beneath his skin. the crowd had begun to disappear, their cheers fading into the dust of confetti, hues of orange and blue that breezed through the arena.

across the almost empty court, chet’s gaze locked with the only other person in the league who ever made him feel like gravity wasn’t solely his to defy. victor’s eyes were already waiting, unreadable yet knowing, a quiet smirk stretching across his face as he slowly drew out his phone.

Chet “Thinking what I’m thinking?”  “Have some shame.” “Your loss. Either I take her or we do.”  “I really need to stop hanging out with you.”

soon after the text conversation, once the arena had emptied and only the clatter of equipment echoed faintly beneath the bleachers, they found you. shadows lengthened as they stepped into the fluorescent hush of the aftergame calm, silhouettes towering beneath the overhead lights that cast on you and your equipment.

the idea they had was reckless, boyish, wild, and not entirely grounded in reality. but in the glittering eyes of fame, reason didn’t have meaning when impulse was in control.

you were still thumbing through your camera, reviewing the night’s captures when the hairs on your neck lifted. two tall figures standing behind you, disrupting the stillness. you turned quickly, nerves buzzing, only to soften at the sight of victor’s familiar face.

“ma chérie,” he murmured, his french accent dipped in velvet. “got a second?”

your voice stumbled over its own nerves as you set the camera down. “anytime. what’s up?”

on the display, a photo glowed. a candid capture of the two of them. victor facing your lens, chet with his back turned. it felt intimate, mythic. the kind of image they’d use in the inevitable documentary of their rivalry for years to come.

“oh shit, this is heat.” chet said, picking up the camera, his fingers grazing yours. the brush of skin was subtle, but your body betrayed you, spine tingling, breath caught.

“you’ve really improved,” victor added, eyes flicking between the screen and your face. “i like how you framed this one..”

his gaze didn’t stop there. his words drifted as his eyes slowly scanned you, slow and deliberate, tracing you like you were another photograph he was trying to memorize.

“so,” he said with a grin. “you doing anything tonight?”

you gave a soft laugh, trying to cover up the growing tension, the way both of their eyes felt like hands. “just editing, probably. why?”

before victor could answer, chet cut him off, his voice rich in arrogance, like a boy used to getting what he wanted.

“you got a hotel room with enough space for both of us?”

the words hung in the air, heavy and surreal. your body froze, breath caught between disbelief and anticipation. the flush in your cheeks bloomed, traveling down your body like a whisper.

“i.. yeah. i guess. why?”

chet’s grin widened as he met your eyes with firey passion. “oh, baby,” he murmured. “you know why.”

there was a beat of silence after his words truly settled in. it wasn’t awkward, it was electric. and as victor stepped closer towards you, the air seemed to limit itself to your lungs. even in his giant height, he still moved with such carefulness.

“hey, no pressure. if you’re scared that’s perfectly fine.” he said softly, laced with a teasing tone. his words wrapped around your ears like silk, smirking at the newfound redness that painted your cheeks.

chet stepped forward next, inviting himself to trail his hands up your arm before speaking again. “come on, don’t make us beg. just a couple of drinks, yeah?”

you hesitated, out out of fear, but the way that time seemed to warp in their presence. their shadows stretched over you like rumors. and in the fluorescent quiet, it felt like the whole, empty arena held its breath in unison with you. victor titled his head slightly, studying your silence as if he could translate it if it stood for a few more moments.

“you’ve spent the whole night capturing our moments,” he began. “how about we make you live in one?”

the key card emitted a soft beep before the door welcome the three of you. you stepped in, dropping your bag against the wall. the pair stepped in afterwards, cautious as to not interrupt the flow that emitted from you once you were in your element. chet was opposite of victors careful energy and flopped himself onto the edge of your bed as if he owned it. “damn,” he whistled low under his breath. “you be living like this?”

“i’m on a media stipend,” you let out in a breathy, monotoned sigh. you kicked off your shoes, still amazed on how your voice was even allowed to be heard in their presence.

victor shut the door behind him gently and let his eyes travel throughout the room. “still,” he began to murmur. “it feels like you.” his comment made you pause, wondering what exactly you were to him.

chet ignored the atmosphere of tension and leaned back on his elbows. his eyes traveled to your laptop, open to a photo of the arena itself you had from a previous game. “that where the magic happens?” he asked, earning a nod from you in response. “gonna find a folder labeled ‘wemby thirst pics’?” he teased.

you rolled your eyes in another response, fighting the back that your cheeks had began to turn a rosy color. “you’re annoying.”

victor remained to be the shy, quiet opposite to chet. he reached for an unopened bottle of water that sat upon your desk and held it up to you wordlessly. you gave him a nod, and he twisted it open and handed it off to you without breaking the eye contact he had established.

“oh, he’s got manners now.” chet said breaking the silence with a smug grin. “you always this quiet or you just scared?”

victor stayed silent once more, looking at you with an expression that invoked calmness, focusedness, yet was unreadable in a way that made your skin warm under his gaze.

“i mean, i didn’t expect this.” you began, attempting to cut the tension. “i was planning on getting back, editing, then sleeping. i didn’t think that you guys would.. you know?”

chet sat up straighter on your bed. “neither. but hey, isn’t life full of surprises.”

his response earned a slight giggle from you, only interrupted by victor’s assertive voice. “but listen, now that we’re here,” he began trailing closer to you, “you still okay?”

you stared up at him, setting the water down. your eyes traveled between him and the outstretched chet that laid on your bed. they both kept their gaze on you. chet’s eyes traveled along your body, admiring every curve of it, imagining what would lie under it if you gave them the chance to undress you. victor’s stayed locked onto your own eyes, searching deeper into your soul, imagining what it would be like to watch your shy persona crumble.

“yeah,” you nodded slowly, “yeah. i’m okay.”

chet stood up, stretching his arms- lanky and loose-limbed. “so, what are we waiting for?” his tone wasn’t meant to be one that was rushing you, just a confidence that he was used to, one that he knew he didn’t have to ask twice.

“lead the way, mi amour.” victor said, placing his hands at your waist and pulling you closer into him.

you didn’t respond right away, at least not with words. your breath was caught between the space between victor’s hands and chet’s gaze, and your body had found itself leaning in. just slightly. just enough.

victor took that as a response.

his lips hooked onto yours first. it was soft, intentional, slow, like he didn’t want to startle you. his hands stayed at your waist, steadying you. everything about him was control, the kind that asked before it took. his kiss lulled in response waiting for you to return it, and when you did, he let out an exhale that brushed against your sensitive lips.

chet moved closer, moving behind you. his presence was a heat that you felt without even needing to look behind you. his lengthy fingertips grazed your arms as he leaned in. his lips brushed against your jaw in a way that was contrasting victor’s mouth still exploring yours. chet’s kisses were different. teasing, warmer, loose. he didn’t want you to forget that he was still there. his lips followed the curve of your jaw and up to your ears.

“i bet you taste just like how you sound,” chet whispered into your ear in a way that made you let out a slight whimper into victor’s lips. “soft, sweet, dreamy.”

victor’s hand cradled your cheek as he pulled away briefly. his eyes searched yours, “still okay?” he asked, his voice a little thicker.

you nodded at him, your eyes pleading for him to sink his lips right back into the pool of your own.

“use your words.” chet demanded from behind, teasing but not rude.

“okay,” you said quietly, as if you were writing a confession. “i’m okay. i want this.” and that was all the confirmation they needed.

chet’s hand slid under your shirt, his fingers pressing into the fabric of it as if he needed to remind himself that you were real. victor’s mouth returned to yours. this time it was deeper, more urgent, like he had a message he could only deliver if his tongue was dancing against yours. there was something sacred about it. it wasn’t specifically boyish lust, but longing.

chet carefully kissed the side of your neck. each one was slow and savory, open-mouthed. you felt his warm breath on your exposed skin as he pulled the neckline of your shirt. his hands moved with purpose, but teased as they were sure as to not cross too far.

victor’s forehead gently rested against yours as he pulled away for a breath of air. his thumb brushed over yours lower lip, tracing the way he’d already made them swollen.

“you don’t know how long i’ve waited for this.” he let out in a whisper, as if afraid the world would know his new secret.

chet’s voice returned a response, a voice that was low. “you know what you’re doing to us?”

you couldn’t find a way to answer them. it was like your brain was only able to respond with action, not words. you leaned into victor, letting your fingers graze the edge of his shirt. you paused in the kiss for a moment, waiting for that silent permission you had given him earlier. he didn’t stop kissing you, giving you the consent you needed to begin to tug at his clothes. his kiss was slow, reverent. it felt like a prayer, or punishment. like he had waited way too long to get you like this and now that he had it, he wouldn’t let it go.

chet stayed a ghost behind the two of you, simply keeping his lips stuck onto any skin available to him. until his hand had found itself coming up from your back and to your neck, hooking around your jaw as he forced you and victor’s lips apart.

“don’t make me sit and watch the whole movie. i want a part too.” he grumbled, forcing you to look at him over your shoulder.

he forced himself into your mouth with an opposite energy to victor. he was hungry. his teeth brushed against your lip, hands guiding themselves down as if he’d already explored the map of your body. victor stayed still, keeping himself pressed against you as if he still claimed you as chet kissed you deep and slow and unforgiving. they stayed in this same position, you as the axis between them. victor stayed in front, steady and slow with soft touches that made your knees weak, and chet in back, lips heavy with promise and groping that showed that he was used to having girls just like this. his hands stayed low on your waist, his fingers tracing slow lines into your skin as if he was sketching out something sacred. he pressed forward into you, and you felt the strength of his chest against your back. you were pinned against victor, who had moved his lips to where chet’s had left off on your neck. your breath becan to hitch in surrender.

they weren’t just kissing you anymore. they were placing you.

che’s grips adjusted, one hand had flattened against your stomach and the other slid down to hook behind your thighs. he nudged you backward, guiding your body with practiced eased until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed and your lips were separated from victor’s. his hands helped as well, firm but tender, as if you were something so fragile to be passed between them.

“up you go,” chet murmured, and with a shared look between them, they eased you down onto the plush bed. your body sunk into the sheets as it gave in, not in fear, but in trust. chet stayed behind you, climbing further up onto the bed. his long limbs moved as if they had an unspoken plan. victor leaned forward, kneeling at the edge. at both ends, they kept you surrounded. not changed, just chosen. victor’s hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slowly as if he knew every inch that was waiting underneath. the fabric slipped over your shoulders, skin warm and beware, catching the low light just right. his hands lingered where the fabric once were as if he were afraid to break you. you looked like a goddess draped in dawn’s first light. every curve, every line was a quiet promise. you weren’t just skin, you were a living art form. yet here you were, underneath his fingertips. he wasn’t just seeing you, he was worshipping you. his fingers seemed to tremble a bit as they began to unhook your bra, the delicate fabric finally removing the space between him and what he saw as something holy. with care, he unclapsed it and let it fall down slowly as if it were petals drifting from a blossom. your skin was now exposed to the quiet hum of the room. wishing he could stay in the moment longer, victor’s eyes stayed focused on the nip of your breasts as he pulled away just to undress himself.

behind you, chet’s hands remained busy. they slid down your hips and with a quick, practiced tug he peeled your pants off. the fabric was easily removed, and with the same swift motion he removed your underwear too. he removed your clothes as if it was nothing, like you had already belonged to him. you felt him smirking against your skin as his steady hands trailed back up to your waist, fingers pressing into your skin to flip you over. your ass was facing victor, the plush of your stomach remaining on the bed as you arched your back. chet’s breath hitched, watching you look up at him like a lost dog as he caressed your jaw. “you look better like this.” he grinned, removing his hands from you to take off his own clothes.

victor’s gaze had followed every moment, eyes darkening as he took in every inch of your body. your ass was perfectly shaped, unconsciously waving back and forth as if it wanted to invite him to grip onto him already. but he waited, he left his boxers on as he kneeled at the edge of the bed where you were positioned. he placed his hands at either sides of your calves, trailing up before gripping them and spreading you apart. your cunt was radiating warmth, quivering and dripping with readiness. your face was buried into the bed, not wanting to look back up at chet who was now fully undressed. you felt a wave of embarrassment, vulnerability between them two. chet’s hands began to caress your head, pulling you up by your hair to meet his own eyes. this view was unbelievable. his dick was in front of you, long, not girthy- yet perfectly curved. the rosy-pink tip was practically begging for your lips to meet it as it leaked desperately with precum. you were about to make your first lick, but was interrupted by the new sensation of victor’s tongue latching onto your clit. immediately, a moan escaped your throat and made your eyes shut. chet groaned in response as if your reaction had lit something up within him. his grip tightened slightly, not rough, just enough to keep you reminded that he was watching. his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, dragging it down before letting it release, his eyes fixated on the way your mouth opened with each moan.

victor didn’t stop. his tongue worked in slow, careful circles. it transitioned between flicking, and soft, flattened pressure, like he was trying to memorize every way your body was responding to him. his hands kept your thighs in his grip, keeping them spread as he pulled you further into his mouth. the sound of your wetness only grew louder to an embarrassing amount, but neither of them cared. you were being studied, consumed.

chet slightly leaned down, his voice thick with hunger. “you really gonna keep me waiting?” he teased, guiding his tip to meet your plush lips. “come on, baby. don’t be shy.”

your lips parted with instinct, letting his tip brush against them. it was warm, slick, and pulsing with desire for you. he let out a low hiss through his teeth as you finally took him in your mouth. his hips didn’t move, he just allowed you to control the pace that you bobbed your head at.

meanwhile, victor’s pace had deepened. his tongue flattened, slow and unrelenting. he sucked, licked, and consumed you like he had all the time in the world to taste you deliciously. the contrast of the sensations sent a shock through your spine, chet’s cock only slipping deeper into your throat as your knees wobbled under victor’s grip.

“fuck, just like that,” chet moaned, eyes staying locked onto the way your lips were wrapped around him. his hands hadn’t moved from your hands, guiding but never pushing, as if he wanted to feel every part of you grow eager to swallow him. victor let a quiet groan into you, low and satisfied. the vibrations sending something up your spine once more, jerking your body between the both of them. chet let out a breathy laugh, his length twitching against your tongue as your head kept raising and lowering on him. “look at you,” he murmured, thumb dragging along your jaw as he tilted your face just enough to watch your lips stretch around him. “fuckin’ beautiful. knew you’d take it so good.”

you whimpered at the praise, sound broken by the way victor’s tongue had flicked right back up again. the sounds were shameless, your body was giving itself away with every twitch, every soft jerk.

“she’s dripping,” victor murmured, pulling his pussydrunk lips from your cunt. “can feel her shaking.” he wasn’t exactly speaking to chet, but instead as if it was a report he had to fill to the room. his lips pressed a kiss right beside your clit, and another, as if he couldn’t keep himself away from the warm embrace your cunt was.

chet flashed a grin at you, his hips rolling forward just enough to listen to you gag around him. “you hear that?” he said, voice thick with heat. “he can’t keep his mouth off you.” his hand tangled tighter in your hair, tugging your head back to remove you from his dick. he wanted to look you in the eyes, admire how glassy they were with tears from gagging against him. “you like this, pretty girl?” his thumb grazed against your spit-slicked lips. “you look fucking beautiful.”

victor finally pulled back, his lips wet, chin glistening, and eyes locked on the way chet’s hands were covered in your hair, anchoring you in place. he leaned forward, chest brushing against your back as he placed a kiss behind your ear. “you okay?” he whispered, his voice grounding you as all sensations had left your body.

“yeah,” you managed to whisper, “please.” you begged, not exactly sure for what.

chet grinned at your response, his dick still aching for you to take it in your throat again. “she’s ready.” he said, almost amused, as if you were made for this.

victor shifted back to his place, finally removing his boxers to expose his hungry cock. it was just a bit bigger than chet’s, a bit more girth, but just as hungry, just as needy. his body moved with intention, body warm and heavy behind you. his breath began to lower as he adjusted the grip on your hips, and without warning he began to line himself up to your entrance. he wanted to resist how much he needed you, how much he wanted nothing more than to be inside you and let loose. with a firm push, he pushed his dick inside you carefully. not thrusting, just allowing for your walls to welcome him. you let out a pornographic moan, eyebrows furrowing and mouth staying wide open as you adjusted to feeling him inside you.

keeping his cool, victor let out a long, shaky breath like he’d been waiting hours for this exact second. his hands ran up your sides, grounding you. “relax, ma belle,” he whispered, his voice nothing more than a thread. “i’ve got you.” his hands stayed steady on your hips, his movements slow and deliberate as he began to slide himself deeper inside of you. each rhythm was gentle, a steady wave. he continued purring praises at you, gently rubbing every part of your body that faced him. chet finally forced himself back into your mouth, his hips thrusting up and down as he felt his tip hit the back of your throat. he synced his movements to be as steady as victor’s thrusts inside you. “you’re so perfect,” he groaned, desire weaving through his voice. “you’re taking us so good.”

victor’s steady rhythm continued, each movement slow and deliberate, a grounding presence behind you. chet’s hands never left your head, his teasing grip firm but possessive, making your gag reflex disappear. their noises bounced around the walls of the room, victor’s calm encouragement wrapped around chet’s playful teasing, pulling you taut between their worlds.

your body trembled, stretched between victor’s warmth filling you and the pressure at your lips, every touch making your body desire them even more.

your breath caught, shallowing as you felt your walls grip around victor, each slow thrust unraveling you from the inside out. chet let out an amused sound as your lips grew sloppier around him, spit trailing from your mouth, moans muffled yet so obvious, everything began to blur, the heat, the pressure, the way their bodies moved between you, and you felt the knot in your stomach begin to tighten. the pressure was building fast, too fast, curling low like a wave about to reach its crest. victor didn’t stop his pace, but almost let out a whisper as he began to feel you tighten around him.

victor’s voice dropped to a husky whisper, warm breath ghosting over your skin. “you’re close, aren’t you? i can feel every tremble.” chet’s grin stayed sharp, eyes dark with amusement and something hungrier. he slowed just enough, fingers tightening possessively in your hair. “shit, you’re shaking. you gonna fall apart on us, pretty girl?”

your thighs quivered, heat flooding through you like wildfire, spreading from the knot deep inside to the tips of your fingers and toes. “cum with us, sweetheart.” victor’s words were soft but firm, an unyielding command wrapped in promise. his hips quickened, moving with a desperate precision that made your breath hitch.

breathing around chet’s length felt impossible, too much, and not enough all at once. but somehow, it became your lifeline, the tether pulling you through every moment. spit traced the sides of your mouth, your lips slick and stretched, but your mind was caught somewhere between the rough hands gripping your waist and the steady weight pressing into you from behind.

warmth pooled low, thick and insistent, growing until it was impossible to hold back. every nerve ending screamed as the knot tightened.

“that’s it, ma belle. let go for me.” victor murmured, his voice raw now, movements losing their careful control. his cock brushed over places only you knew, each stroke slicing deeper into your pleasure and unraveling your restraint.

your body began to unravel like silk, trembling and breaking as a scream caught and muffled in your throat. your walls clenched tight around victor, squeezing and releasing with wild, hungry spasms. his groan was low and guttural, breath hitching as he spilled deep inside you, shuddering with the force of it.

chet’s grip in your hair tightened just a fraction, his hips snapping forward with reckless abandon. the taste of him flooded your mouth, thick and overwhelming, and tears slipped down your cheeks from the intensity of the sensations crashing through you.

“fuck,” chet cursed under his breath, voice rough as he rode out his own release, the heat of it burning bright against your tongue. your whole body felt alight, every inch bruised and beloved as their warmth settled deep within you.

their bodies still moved slightly against yours, slow and unhurried now, breathing heavy in the quiet space. victor’s hands traced lazy patterns along your sides, grounding you back into the moment, while chet’s fingers tangled softly in your hair, his gaze softer than before, almost protective.

“you alright?” victor murmured, voice low and steady. you nodded, words catching in your throat, everything still raw and tender beneath their touch.

chet smirked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “you were made for this.” his tone was playful but sincere, and you felt the weight of those words settle warmly in your chest.

you let out a shaky laugh, a mixture of exhaustion and something closer to happiness. “guess i’m lucky, huh?”

“very.” victor replied with a small smile, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

the three of you stayed tangled there, caught in that perfect moment between chaos and calm, knowing there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

#victor wembanyama #nba imagine #san antonio spurs #wemby #wemby imagine #nba smut #chet holmgren #chet holmgren smut #victor wembanyama x reader #chet holmgren x reader #effiel tower position #vicsstars

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maeintree · 5 months ago

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chapter i. | into the hollow

Summary: Your long-awaited vacation is cut short when Bill Randa drags you into a classified expedition. Now, you’re stuck in a room full of military personnel, a photographer, and a quiet but observant tracker, James Conrad. As Randa and Houston Brooks explain their Hollow Earth theory, you start to realize—this mission is more than it seems, and Conrad knows it too. Pairing: James Conrad x Field Medic!Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: Military themes, strong language, slow burn romance, suspense, mentions of injuries, canon-typical violence Author's Note: setting the stage for the expedition! this chapter introduces key players and builds up the tension before skull island, and it's a little short and i'm sorry! hope you enjoy nevertheless.

Masterlist | ← Previous Chapter ⋆ Next Chapter →

The room is stuffy and thick with the scent of old paper, burnt coffee, and sweat. A single oscillating fan hums from the corner, doing little to push the heat around.

The walls are lined with maps, aerial photographs, and classified documents tacked to corkboards, the kind of place where bad ideas are made to sound reasonable.

You pause in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the faces gathered inside. Your sweater sleeve covers your nose, shielding you from the foul stench wafting through the room. Fucking smells in here.

It sucks, you think. All these soldiers (as well as Landsat), just like you, were ready to go home—finally take a break, see their kids, and enjoy some peace after the war with Vietnam. But instead, you’re being sent off again, dragged into a mission with a bunch of maniacs convinced they'll find something on an island that will probably get them all killed.

The projector turns on, and a man starts speaking: "Hello and welcome. I'm Landsat Field Supervisor Victor Nieves." He points to a blond man at the front: "This is my colleague Steve Woodward, our data wrangler."

He continues, "Our expedition takes us to a place every nautical trade route known to man has avoided for centuries. As for our satellites show that the island is surrounded by a perpetual storm system, allowing it to remain hidden from the outside world; but with Colonel Packard's helicopter transport, we will be the first to break through to the other side."

"We're also pleased to be joined, for the first time, by the resource exploration team led by Mr. Randa and accompanied by biologist Miss San, geologist Mr. Brooks, and Field Medic," he says your name. Heads turn toward Bill, Houston, and the biologist, while you remain at the very back, mostly unnoticed—except for Conrad, who glances back at you.

"Our focus will be on the island's surface, theirs, what lies beneath." He turns his head towards Houston, "Mr. Brooks," signaling for him to go to the front.

"Simple really, we'll use explosives to shake the earth and create vibrations, helping us map the subsurface of the island." The projector switches to the bombing plan. "We'll fly in over the south shore and strategically drop seismic charges to better understand the earth's density."

"You're dropping bombs?" Conrad’s British accent cuts through the room.

Houston nods awkwardly. "...Eh, scientific instruments."

A soldier chuckles. "You hear that, boys? We're scientists now!" Laughter follows.

Woodward, a.k.a blond man grunts. "You guys are not scientists."

"We'll land and set up base camp for ground excursions led by Captain Conrad." Conrad gives a slight nod. The speaker scans the room before calling out, "Major Jack Chapman."

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a crisp military uniform steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His thick Southern drawl carries through the room as he begins speaking.

"Once on the island, the storm’s interference will cut radio contact with the ship. We’ll be on our own." The projector clicks again.

"Three days later, the refueling team meets us here." Chapman points to the north end of the island. "That may be our only safe departure window."

"So, tip for everybody—don’t miss it. Please."

The supervisor wraps it up. "Alright, back to your places. We fly in the morning. Good luck."

You’re the first out, escaping the awful-smelling room and into the cold, salty air. The meeting was exactly what you expected—reckless plans wrapped in scientific excuses. Pulling your sweater tighter, you descend the metal stairs, boots clanking against steel.

"Goddamn suicide mission. Why am I in this? Why, dear Lord, why?" you whisper to yourself.

You flip through the file Randa gave you again, hoping for some kind of reassurance. The words blur together, refusing to sink in no matter how many times you read them. Everything happened too fast—too sudden for the gravity of it all to truly settle.

Just yesterday, you had stormed into Randa’s office, furious at him for going back to the senator. And somehow, Senate Willis agreed to this insanity. Jesus Christ. Probably worried about competition, afraid the Soviets would find something first. But still—goddamn.

The ship sways gently beneath you, the deep hum of the engine vibrating through the deck. Around you, soldiers linger in small groups, their laughter and conversation blending with the distant crash of waves.

You weave through narrow corridors, the dim overhead lights flickering slightly with each shift of the vessel.

Eventually, you find your way down to a storage unit, stacked high with crates stamped with military insignias and Landsat labels. Equipment—cameras, geological tools, radios—piles upon piles of supplies meant for an expedition that feels more like an invasion.

As you scan the room, a faint shimmer of light catches your eye from the far corner. Curious, you step closer.

Conrad stands near a stack of crates, the small flicker of a lighter illuminating his face in the dimly lit storage bay. Shadows dance across the sharp angles of his jaw as he reads the labels, his expression unreadable. At the sound of your footsteps, he turns, brows furrowed.

"What are you doing down here?" he asks, his voice low, steady.

You lean against a crate, arms crossed. "I could ask you the same thing." The air smells of wood, metal, and a faint trace of oil.

Glancing at the boxes, you feign casual curiosity. "Why does a geological mapping mission need explosives?"

He tilts his head slightly, watching you. "You weren’t listening in class. Seismic charges for the geological survey."

You walk past him, fingers trailing over the rough wooden crates, scanning the stenciled labels. Landsat Equipment. Seismic Survey. Your lips press together. "Uh-huh. You believe that?"

"I didn’t say that," he replies simply.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you shift gears. "Have you met Colonel Packard yet?"

Conrad nods. "Yeah."

You scoff. "The guy's wound pretty tight."

Conrad shrugs, flicking his lighter open and shut. "Well, the man's a decorated war hero. That’s the package they come in." His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he asks, "And you? Isn’t one field medic on a jungle mission a step down for medical?"

You narrow your eyes. "I didn’t choose to be here," you say, tone edged. Then, arching a brow, you add, "Are you doubting my credibility? Safe to say, I think I’m a damn good medic."

He smirks faintly. "And being here doubles the small pay you have."

You huff a quiet laugh. "Huh. Okay, Captain Conrad, what about you?" You tilt your head, challenging. "How did British Special Forces get roped into this?"

"Just Conrad," he corrects. "I’m decommissioned."

"Mhm."

"They offered me money," he says as if that explains everything.

"Ah, right. Just like the small pay you mentioned earlier." You mimic his words with a smirk, catching the slight flicker of amusement in his expression. "You don’t strike me as a mercenary."

He meets your gaze, unreadable. "And you don’t strike me as someone who’s seen war."

You hold his stare. "Government field medic," you clarify. "I don’t do war."

The ship creaks, metal shifting with the waves. For a moment, silence stretches between you, something unspoken settling in the air. Then, a sharp click—a sudden flash blinds you.

"Sorry, documentation," a voice chimes. You blink, turning to see Mason—Weaver, or whatever her name is—grinning slyly, camera in hand. "Also, both of you are being called."

You clear your throat, glancing at Conrad before nodding toward the stairs. "You coming?"

He hesitates, flicking his lighter one last time before pocketing it. His gaze lingers on the crates as if considering something. Then, with a small nod, he exhales.

"Yeah."

You and Conrad barely make it a few steps toward the stairs before the sound of approaching footsteps echoes through the storage bay. The dim overhead lights flicker as the ship sways, casting long shadows over the crates.

Turning your head, you spot Bill Randa, Houston Brooks, and San Lin making their way toward you. Randa looks as intense as ever, his gaze sharp behind those thick glasses, while Houston appears more at ease, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

San Lin moves with quiet curiosity, eyes scanning the stacks of equipment.

“There you are,” Randa says, adjusting his glasses. His voice carries that same urgency he’s had since the beginning of this mission. “We were looking for you both.”

Conrad tucks his hands into his pockets, glancing briefly at you before replying. “Didn’t realize we had a curfew.”

Houston chuckles under his breath as he steps past, running a hand over one of the crates. “Impressive setup, huh? Landsat really went all in.” He tilts his head at one of the labels.

Geological Survey Equipment. Seismic Imaging.

“This stuff could map the entire island in incredible detail… or, you know, do a hell of a lot more than that.”

San Lin examines a set of carefully sealed containers, each marked with biohazard symbols and research tags. “I assume you two weren’t just down here sightseeing?” she asks, her voice calm but pointed.

“Sightseeing’s not really my thing,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Randa exhales, clearly uninterested in small talk. “The mission briefing is over, and I need you both focused. There’s a lot you don’t understand yet.” He turns toward the crates, pressing a palm against one as if grounding himself.

“Everything we need to confirm our theory is right here.”

You exchange a glance with Conrad, who looks just as unconvinced as you feel. “Right,” you say, voice dry. “A theory.”

Houston gestures toward a nearby set of steel doors at the back of the bay. “Come on, since you’re down here, might as well take a look at the other storage areas.”

Reluctantly, you follow as he pushes the doors open, revealing another section of the ship lined with rows of metal shelves and stacked crates. Inside, floodlights hum overhead, casting a harsh white glow over the neatly organized equipment.

Maps and geological charts are pinned to a board near the entrance, displaying rough sketches of Skull Island’s terrain. A few scientists are inside, cataloging supplies—mostly radios, first aid kits, and survival gear.

Near the back, a weapons locker sits against the wall, its steel doors secured with heavy-duty locks.

Inside the mesh barrier, you can make out the unmistakable shapes of rifles, handguns, and stacks of ammunition. Next to it, another container is marked with a bold red symbol—explosives.

You glance at Conrad, who doesn’t seem surprised.

“Seismic charges, huh?” you murmur, voice laced with skepticism.

Randa ignores you, stepping further inside as if absorbing the weight of everything stored here. “We are on the brink of discovery,” he says, more to himself than anyone else.

Houston, ever the optimist, claps a hand against one of the crates. “Let’s just hope we live long enough to see it.”

You shiver slightly as a draft creeps in from somewhere, the cold steel walls doing little to keep out the ocean’s chill. Folding your arms, you take a slow step back toward the door.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Let’s hope.”

The spare bedroom is small, barely enough space for the two cots squeezed into opposite corners. A single overhead light flickers, casting a dim yellowish glow over the metal walls. You drop your bag onto the cot closest to the wall, exhaling as you finally sit down. The air smells faintly of salt and oil, but at least it’s better than that god-awful meeting room.

Mason sets her camera bag down by her bed, stretching her arms with a tired sigh. “So,” she starts, glancing at you with a knowing smirk, “what were you and Conrad doing down there?”

You huff a quiet laugh, kicking off your boots. “Sightseeing.”

She raises a brow. “Right. Sightseeing in a dark cargo hold full of explosives and classified equipment?”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one with a lighter and a suspicious amount of curiosity,” you say, leaning back against the wall. “Conrad was already there when I showed up.”

Mason hums, clearly unconvinced but amused. “Mm-hmm. You two seemed cozy.”

You scoff. “If by ‘cozy’ you mean questioning the sanity of this mission, then yeah, sure.”

“Seriously, though,” she says, shifting to face you. “What do you think’s really going on with this mission?”

You exhale, staring at the ceiling. “Nothing good. Randa’s desperate, Packard’s got that war-hungry look in his eye, and those ‘seismic charges’ aren’t fooling anyone.”

Mason nods. “Yeah. Feels off.” She fiddles with her camera. “But at least we’ve got front-row seats.”

You watch her adjust the lens, her fingers moving with practiced ease. “You believe in all that—exposing the truth, showing people what they don’t want to see?”

She shrugs. “Someone has to.”

You smirk. “Lucky us.”

A pause lingers between you before you smirk. “Alright, journalist. If we live through this, first round’s on you.”

Mason laughs. “Deal.”

The ship groans as another wave rolls beneath it, but for the first time tonight, the tension in your chest eases just a little.

funny how she said she doesn't do sightseeing then says she does to mason.. kinda weird, anyway that was chapter one! i used most of the script from the movie itself to actually feel like you're in it. hope you enjoyed, lots of love from me! (sorry if it was too short, the chapters will be much more longer later on!)

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

#james conrad x reader #james conrad #tom hiddleston #series #fanfiction #loki x reader #xreader #skull island #tom hiddleston x reader #intothehollow.series

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catcas22 · 7 months ago

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Maedros in Troy AU

Long, long post about my very niche obsession. Original AU by @sweetteaanddragons can be found here.

Every so often when I'm listening to EPIC, my mind will play six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon and I'll end up back at this AU. This particular addition was inspired by my remembering that Achilles was a redhead (Or maybe strawberry-blonde, idk enough about the Greek language to say for sure. His son was a redhead, and he once went by the alias of "the redheaded girl.")

The morning after the sack of Troy is a somber affair, even, surprisingly, amongst the victors. The surviving Achaean princes limp their way back to the feet of the horse, finally able to take a headcount. Odysseus and Ajax the Lesser are missing, Neoptolemus is nursing a nasty leg-wound, and less concerning but equally inconvenient, Menelaus and Helen have absconded to Sparta to start their second honeymoon.

Neoptolemus, in particular, has been having a day. First he got paired with Odysseus, which he has come to learn means he's going to be acting as the muscle while the Ithacan takes the credit. Then Odysseus was granted the honor of ending Hector's bloodline, and Neo couldn't even say anything because the order came directly from the mouth of Zeus. (Odysseus already took his father's armor. Could Neo not at least be allowed his vengeance?) Then Hector's woman took a swipe at him with a dagger, which Neo handled quite easily, then a madman burst out of the crypts and nearly cut his leg off, which presented a bit more of a challenge.

The princes compare notes, slowly piecing together a picture of The Stranger who carved a bloody swath through their armies and then disappeared as quickly as he materialized. Finally, Eurylochus says what everyone else has been thinking (fearing). Towering in stature, redhaired, wearing armor that turned their blades and wielding a sword that pierced through bronze like soft clay? They all know who that sounds like.

Yes, the others reluctantly admit, The Stranger is most definitely the ghost of Achilles, returned from the grave to once again punish them all for the sake of some personal slight. (Neo can't stop thinking about the look in the man's eyes, that look of pity or maybe disappointment before he left the youth bleeding on the steps of Hector's tomb).

Diomedes is the only one to object. Aside from Neo, he was the only one to get a good look at The Stranger and live to tell about it. That wasn't Achilles. In fact, he made the man bleed, so he wasn't a ghost either. No one else seems convinced.

Neo confirms that Odysseus went into Hector's tomb alone, and only The Stranger emerged. Sage nods are exchanged amongst the other princes -- Achilles must have returned to avenge his old comrade, Greater Ajax. But then why would he kill so many Achaeans after presumably taking his vengeance on Odysseus? (Agamemnon scoffs. As if Achilles ever needed a reason to be a pain.)

Then a messenger arrives, breathlessly announcing that Ajax the Lesser has been found. Specifically, he has been found dead by a blow from The Stranger's magic sword, lying at the feet of a toppled statue of Athena.

Now that's clearly an omen of some sort, though no one can agree on what message to take from it. Athena is Odysseus's patron, but is the toppled statue a sign of judgement or of disrespect? Does this have anything to do with The Lesser's cousin The Greater? Nestor suggests consulting the Trojan oracle Helenus. They left the boy tied up on Agamemnon's ship after Odysseus finished with him, and he was still alive the last time they checked. Perhaps he can interpret the omen.

This plan only makes it as far as the beach, where the gang discovers that both the oracle and Agamemnon's flagship have been stolen.

Suddenly it all makes perfect sense. Diomedes explodes -- yet again, Achilles is punishing them all for the sake of his feud with Agamemnon. The High King sputters out a denial -- he and Achilles were square when the man died. His conscience is perfectly clean. He still looks as if he is actively having a heart attack.

Nestor attempts to intervene. Diomedes shouldn't jump to conclusions... But if Agamemnon knows of anything that might have brought a vengeful Achilles back from the grave, he really should tell them. They promise they won't be mad.

Agamemnon has the horrible, sinking feeling that this might be about the fact that he took a leak on the ashes of Achille's funeral pyre. But he's certainly not going to admit to that. Wounded or no, Neo has a good couple of inches on him, and the kid is built like he strangles oxen for a hobby. He has that same twitchy look in his eye that his father always had.

This man cannot have been Achilles, he insists, and Agamemnon is going to bring back his head to prove it! (No one else is willing to set sail while the son of a Nereid might be after their heads, and Agamemnon is quite sure that they're one more bad omen away from sacrificing him to appease Achilles. It's what he would do, were he in their position.) Eurylochus and his crew quickly get pressed into service -- they need a captain, and Agamemnon needs a boat. And don't they want to avenge their fallen king?

Neo insists on coming along, much to Agamemnon's horror.

Maedhros isn't ready to panic just yet. Disorienting as that first night was, he's now fairly certain that he knows where he is. He's on the eastern side of the Sea of Rhûn. This is an inland sea, and the climate and general look of the people suggest that he's somewhere south and east of Dorwinion. He's a long way from home, to be sure, but at least he knows how to get back. He takes a moment to privately curse that storm Maia for dragging him so far out of his way.

He's fairly certain that the woman he rescued is the baby's mother. At least, she seemed very relieved to have him back. So if he recalls the storm Maia's threats correctly, that would make her the prince's widow. The others seem to tentatively consider her to be in charge, and she's at least attempted to communicate with him. Maybe she can help him get his bearings.

Unfortunately, she doesn't speak any of the Easterling tongues he learned from Bór. That's not terribly surprising. Rhûn is a land of many nations, and this particular clan must be rather isolated if they're still casting weapons out of bronze. That's fine. He might not invent new languages on a whim as his father did, but he does enjoy learning them.

The golden-haired girl hasn't stopped watching him. She looks away with a pained expression every time he catches her at it, but even now he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. He saw eyes like that once before -- the first time he saw a mirror after Thangorodrim.

The others give her a wide berth, though she does nothing apart from sit curled under the mast, arms around her knees. During their flight, she broke from her stupor long enough to lead them to this ship -- the same ship where they found the prisoner who Maedhros assumes to be her twin brother. It almost seemed as if she knew where...

But that would be ridiculous. She couldn't have known. Maedhros rather forcibly shrugs the notion off. They're twins. He's seen Amrod and Amras do far stranger.

On his first night, Maedhros was too preoccupied to look up. Even had he chanced to look at the sky, the smoke of the city's burning would have blotted out the stars. He spends the following day tending to the wounded, despite having nothing but torn clothing and seawater, and offering what comfort he can, despite speaking not a word of their language. When the sun sets, he forces himself to stay awake. One look at the stars will give him his heading, and from there he can plan the route home...

Oh. Maedhros doesn't know those stars.

Maedhros is beginning to suspect that he isn't in Rhûn.

More coming soon, by request of @sweetteaanddragons !

#maedhros in troy au #tolkien legendarium #epic: the musical #the illiad #maedhros #andromache of troy #astyanax #scamandrius #neoptolemus #agamemnon #diomedes #nestor #eurylochus #cassandra of troy

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made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad · 4 months ago

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The different ways Brent, Dan, and Victor do the three brothers scene as Darrel is insane and I’m never going to be normal about it. So excuse me while I yap about their different interpretations real quick:

Because Brent!Darrel starts it off trying to play the parent role he always has. He reminds his brother that his dinner is getting cold. Then he sorta backs off a bit and is a little softer when asking if Pony is going to join them. But then he is really quick about getting up and turning the TV off and that starts giving away his frustration. Then he’s definitely more irritated when he tells Ponyboy he can’t watch cartoons forever and he’s sort of cut off by Soda because Soda can tells he’s irritated. But he’s also immediately back to confrontational when he puts his foot down and tells Pony he’s going back to school. And upon getting no response, he decides to be just be blunt and his desperation to get his brother to say something comes out as anger. When he finally does go over to Ponyboy, he’s back to trying to be gentle. His voice is quieter and his worry is most prominent. And because Brent is the tallest of the actors, he almost curls in on himself to make himself seem less threatening and demanding. When he once again gets no response, he decides it’s better to make Ponyboy angry than to watch his brother slowly fade away into nothingness, so he decides to just come straight out and tell him his friends are gone and they are never coming back. When Soda has his breakdown, Brent!Darrel spends his time looking at the ground and quickly glancing up to look at his brothers. His final plea is one that stuns his brothers and the audience because his desperation and fear are suddenly so obvious and out in the open that it surprises everyone, because he’s Darrel, he’s strong and unfeeling, and suddenly he’s fighting back tears and pleading for his brother to come back.

Dan!Darrel starts by saying the foods getting cold line, but his voice is breaking. Instead of feeling like he’s trying to parent, his Darrel is already emotional and his concern is more prominent, instead of being masked with frustration. His delivery of the cartoons line isn’t as frustrated as Brent’s but it’s more annoyed than he started the scene. Then, he shakes his head and decides to try the parenting angle to see if that gets him anywhere. Darrel telling Pony that their friends are dead is clearly an admission that hurts him too because his voice breaks a bit more and he tries to act as an older brother who had more experience when he tells him that they’re never not going to feel that loss. But he’s also more pleading as he almost helplessly tells Ponyboy that he’s still acting like a zombie after two weeks. He’s also only confrontational for that one line because when he goes over to Ponyboy, he’s back to trying a softer and more gentle approach. Him telling Pony he has a gift is basically him pleading with Pony to come back to them. Darrel telling Ponyboy that Johnny and Dally are dead is his last ditch effort at trying to get Ponyboy to accept their deaths. He’s not exactly trying to upset him, he’s more trying to get him to understand that they’re gone. By the time Soda has had his breakdown, Darrel is fully crying and had given up on trying to convince him, now he’s just begging his brother to be ok. His I love you is done through tears and with a broken voice because he’s finally voicing what he’s been trying to show the entire time.

Victor!Darrel sounds almost surprised to see Pony when he first comes in before trying to pretend like everything is normal. Darrel telling Ponyboy he can’t watch cartoons for the rest of his life is done with this sadness as he watches his brother drift away slowly. He immediately tries to become the authority figure again when he tells Ponyboy he’s going back to school. Darrel saying that their friends are dead is done with frustration but also obvious worry and concern. He backs away from the parental role to become the big brother role as he says Pony has a gift, like he’s hoping hearing that his big brother thinks he has something special inside of him will make him come back to them a little more. He tries to tell Pony that Dally gave up then he realizes that saying that was probably a bad idea so he tries to backtrack and say Johnny died a hero, but he also needs to get his point across that their friends are dead. After he watches Soda have his breakdown, he tries to come back and reassure Pony that it’s not forever, but it’s more obvious than ever that deep down, Darrel is also just a terrified kid. He’s able to hold himself together until he says I love you, then his final wall breaks and he’s open and vulnerable.

#please note this is just my observation from boots bc I’ve only seen Brent as Darrel #also I think the dynamics switch a bit depending on who is playing what role as the brothers #so for these ones it was Brent as Darrel Victor as Soda and Trevi as Pony #and Dan as Darrel Jason as Soda and Josh as Pony #and Victor as Darrel Jason as Soda and Brody as Pony #also I’m aware this is just me kinda yapping and it might be really obvious stuff #I just think it’s so interesting #bc id argue Dan is the most emotional Darrel #and Brent is the most stoic #and Victor is more emotional but less so than Dan #I also think that kinda goes hand in hand with how old they read #bc I’d argue Dan def reads the youngest #and Brent reads the oldest #idk just their different ways of interpreting Darrel in this scene is fascinating to me #the outsiders broadway #the outsiders musical #darrel curtis #dan berry #brent comer #victor carrillo tracey

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mothergold · 1 year ago

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| That Boy is a Monster |

Pairing: Childe x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dark Content, Hate Sex, Slapping, Heavy Swearing, Insults, Enemies to Lovers, Foreplay, Smut, Reader has a vagina and clitoris, Size Difference, Blood, Blood as Lube, Dubcon, Childe has a big dick, Public Sex, Voyeurism, Humiliation, Crying, Reader is implied to be a part of the Fatui, Mindbreak (?), Reader passes out during sex, Vaginal Fingering, Aftercare, Brief Fluff, 2.2k words.

A/n: I have not written for this freak in such a long time, but I had sm fun writing this. So, yeah enjoy <3 (p.s the title are lyrics to the song Monster by Lady Gaga)

Summary: You and Childe have hate sex after battling each other. That's it, that’s the post.

Tagging: @suyacho @auphelia @tighnarly @themovingcastlez

“Mmnh, fuck you taste good.” He moaned, pinning you down and shoving his tongue down your throat, again.

His body was large and covered in blood, towering over you like a bad omen. His eyes were dark and empty. You had nowhere to run, and there was no escape in sight.

You bit his lip and tried pushing him away, but he was much heavier and stronger than you. “Fuck you!” You yelled.

You slapped him in an effort to distract him long enough to get away, but it was futile. It was only fair that the victor of the match got to celebrate in their own way. You just didn’t realize that this was how Childe would celebrate his win. Still, as much as you hated him you couldn’t ignore the longing in between your legs. As he towered over you, you couldn’t help but feel a shiver crawl down your spine. The Fatui Harbinger had quite a way of convincing you to say yes to anything he asked, especially that. Regardless of how much you’d fight him, he would get his way no matter what. That was a cruel promise he intended on keeping.

He slid a hand in between your legs, bloodied and bruised, as he thrusted against his hand, adding a pleasurable amount of pressure for the both of you. You opened your mouth to let out a loud moan, feeling a rush of euphoria from his fingers playing with your bud. Now, staining even your most sensitive parts with blood. If you refused to give up the fight before, you would now. Continuously he played with your bundle of nerves as you tried to weakly push away his advances.

“Fuck, baby you feel so wet.” He groaned in your ear. Not knowing whether it was blood or cum he was rubbing back onto you.

He wasn’t wrong, you were soaking, but goddamn it felt amazing when he touched you down there. Hell, if he touched you anywhere you’d have been a wreck as well, but when he rubbed your sensitive spots all rationale went out the window. He slid two fingers along your folds, gathering up any precum so he could slip both fingers inside of you. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, trying once more to fight him off, but at some point you had given up willingly right as the tip of his fingers pushed against your sweet spot.

“Feels good doesn’t it?” He whispered against your mouth, his lips rough from cuts and dried blood.

You bite his lip as an act of rebellion, but that only causes him to fuck you harder, pulling moans out of your mouth one after another. Throwing your head back you let out a long and broken moan as you dug your nails into his back, leaving behind a trail of blood. Childe wasn’t wrong, it did feel good, but like hell you would ever admit that to him. Suddenly he slipped his tongue into your mouth, moaning against you like an animal starved of its bountiful feast. Again, you bit his lip, but this time with much more rage and forcefulness.

“Fuck you!” You spat back.

His eyes went dark as he let out a twisted laugh. “Oh, I plan to!”

He pulled back only to take his remaining hand and pin both of your wrists above your head. You had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and nothing but pure thrilling fun ahead of you. He continued to finger you, faster and faster, until he could feel your walls tightening around him. That’s when he increased the speed and harshness of how he fucked you, until the very moment in which you came all over his fingers. He watched you with glee as you thrashed against the hold of his hands, moaning and arching your back like it was the best you’d ever had. He pulled out slowly, grinning as he watched you come to reality, thinking that all was said and done.

“What are you doing?” You asked nervously. As you tried to back out his grip you ended up putting yourself in a corner that you couldn’t wiggle your way out of.

He unzipped his pants and then moved to remove your bottoms, pulling them completely off of you as he climbed back on top of you. “Oh, I’m not done yet.”

A horrific expression washed over your face as you realized what his words meant. You try to reason with him, say how he’s long since proven that he’s the winner and that you were sorry for rejecting his advances beforehand, but it was too late. He was already starting to line himself up with your hole when you had begun crying and begging for him to reconsider. Sadly for you he wouldn’t. Before you knew it he was entering inside of you and you had no choice but to brace yourself. You thought you could handle his size, the thickness of it, but Childe had very quickly proved you wrong.

Your limits were tested as he used his hips to push himself deeper inside of you. Grabbing onto his biceps and digging your nails into his toned skin you grit your teeth, fighting back the urge to pull away. It hurt like hell at first, feeling as if he was stretching you wider than was humanly possible, but soon you started to adjust his length and girth. Your body had begun to relax and your mind started to lose focus as you became all too aware of just how big he was. Just as you were starting to get used to the pleasurable burn at your core, Childe flipped you onto your stomach and positioned you onto your knees.

He licked his lips and groaned as he gave your ass a quick, hard slap. Chuckling at the way you whined in response as he pushed himself back inside of you. He grabbed your hips as he pounded inside of you at an unforgiving pace, biting his lip to suppress the excitement hiding underneath his tongue. Your body was on fire, electricity traveled up your spine in the most euphoric way possible. Childe was hitting that sweet spot of yours relentlessly and eventually it broke you in the best of ways. Your tongue fell out of your mouth and eyes rolled back as he hit that spot hard again and again. Fuck, you hated Childe so much, but even you couldn’t deny how good his cock felt shoved inside of your cunt.

You clawed at the dirt ground while Childe managed to fuck into you harder and faster with every thrust, something you didn’t know was even possible. With the combination of his bloody hands, the wetness of the dirt ground, and the freeing air which enveloped both of you; you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle this. If it wasn’t for the way his tainted hands touched you then it was the vulnerability of anyone being able to walk by and see him deep inside of you. God, something about that made your body quiver. Everytime you heard a noise you held a small amount of hope that it was someone watching you with a satisfied grin on their face. Some part of you wanted the world to know how you belonged to Childe, someone you supposedly hated so much.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and groaned loudly. “Fuck, baby keep doin’ that shit and I’m gonna– ahhh!”

Pulling your head up by the fist full of of hair, he started to fuck you sloppily, his thrusts becoming frantic and uneven. You let out a pained whimper as you felt something rush in your chest, your heart beating fast as your number one enemy fucked the life out of you. You were being violated for the whole world to see and yet you couldn’t give a shit less, the pleasure far outweighing the consequences. Tears started to fall from your eyes as you felt the coil finally snap. Childe continued to fuck you through both yours and his highs, overstimulating you as you squirted all over his cock.

“That’s it, baby. Take it all.” He moaned, hunched over you as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

As he drained the last of his release inside of you fell limp against the ground, your eyes were barely open and yet you managed to see a group of lesser Fatui members pointing at you and smiling. Something about that felt so good, filling your core with desire all over again. Even as your cunt glistened from all the fluids you couldn’t help but grind against Childe for more stimulation. You knew it would probably hurt, still very overstimulated, but you needed to be by him now more than ever. Something about right now demanded to be filled with as much of him as he could offer, maybe even more.

In the process of everything he had flipped you back onto your stomach, wanting to look into your glazed over eyes just one last time before he removed himself. As he was about to slide out of you he noticed how you ground your wet pussy against his cock for more, and saw how you eyed the other Fatui members, too. He smiled fondly at you and kissed you gently on the lips.

He stroked the side of your face and shoved himself back into what little space was left between the two of you. “Don’t look at them, focus on me.” He reassured you as he started to roll his hips to press his cock deeper inside of you until he reached that sweet spot again.

The feeling you felt was one of instant relief, moaning immediately as your eyes locked on Childe’s. Although dark and empty it soothed you as he treated you with an entirely different etiquette. It didn’t take long for you to forget about the strays and focus entirely on Childe, wrapping your arms around his neck as he took advantage of the space, lifting your legs so that you could wrap them around his waist and giving him easier access to your cunt. Rougher and rougher he fucked into you until the both of you were a whimpering mess, already on the fast track to cumming all over again, but you didn’t mind.

As the both of you moaned and climaxed in symphony, something even you were surprised by, you felt yourself eventually lose yourself to the pure euphoria you felt. Suddenly, you slipped into a dark nothingness that was like a dreamlike state. It took some time before you had finally came to and when you did you were in a furnished room. You awoke laying in bed, fully clothed and warm, a strange contrast to before. Feeling eyes on you, you glanced to the side of you to see Childe propped upright watching you with a smile on his face.

“Good, you’re finally awake. You had me scared for a moment there.” He admitted, a tint of blush painting his cheeks.

You rubbed the back of your head in embarrassment. “Sorry ‘bout that, I didn’t realize that would happen.”

Childe continued looking at you like an obedient pet. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve seen worse.”

You sighed. “Yeah, I guess– I guess you have a point there.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence, the sound of the fireplace flickered in the background as your eyelids began to feel heavy once again. You tried fighting it, feeling a little awful about fainting mid fuck with your rival. If you could even call him that anymore.

“Tired?” He asked, pulling the blankets over your body gingerly.

You nodded. Letting him put out the fire before crawling back into bed with you, making sure to keep a safe distance from you as to make you feel more comfortable.

“Hey, Childe?” You asked.

“Hmm?” He hummed in reply.

“I still fucking hate you.” You replied in what you hoped was a cold tone, but Childe was not so easily fooled.

“Haha! Sure you do.” He replied with a laugh.

Something about his words and the laughter that followed caused you to feel something bubble in your stomach, something warm and exciting. It filled you with both fear and excitement, eager to find out what all this meant, but for now you’d rest your eyes and heal your battle wounds, hoping for answers in the coming days.

#childe x reader #childe x you #childe x y/n #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #tartaglia x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #childe smut #tartaglia smut #genshin smut

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rawr-mortgage · 7 months ago

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On Crown and Weapons and Fighting

Note/s: So I was speculating about which of the Crown members can actually fight, like who among them is actually good at it, has legit combat knowledge, and is capable of punching someone into the next century, and as a result, this post kinda got out of hand.

I initially meant this to be very chill and casual, but it turns out I have a lot to say and the ideas just ran off on their own, and I had no choice but to follow along to see where it took me.

I doubt I'd be able to make a proper headcanon post like this again soon unless someone suggested another topic, but yeah. Hope this turned out well >:3

Dividers and headers are by the super talented @natimiles ⁠♡⁠♡⁠♡

Content Warning/s: Strong language, mentions of canon-typical violence

Might be controversial, but I think William's more reliant on the use of weapons than his actual combat prowess.

As a noble, I think he learned fencing in his youth, and while he was good at it, I don't think he ever took it seriously until the day he decided to kill his father and establish Crown with Victor afterwards. He learned the intricacies of wielding a blade, and he even started to appreciate the art of swordplay during mock combat sessions with Victor.

Most of the time, though, he doesn't even need to use his sword because he can incapacitate someone easily with his power alone. His preferred method of dishing out punishment is still by ordering someone to take their own life because it serves to prove a point; it's to rob his victims of agency the same way they've done to countless innocents before they had the misfortune of being dealt with by him.

He rarely ever deviates from his trademark “Cut your throat”, but when he's feeling extra devilish and in the mood to prolong a target's suffering and instill the fear of God in them, that's when his extensive knowledge on human anatomy comes in handy. He knows all the places to cut that can effectively kill a person in a matter of seconds, so if he purposely avoids them, there must be a special place in hell waiting for you once he finally decides to send you there.

I have a gun-user Harrison agenda, and this is the perfect time to mention it! That sword that's strapped to his hip at all times is nonexistent to me. He carries a gun, bitch (maybe even two), and he's not afraid to use it. Also, his main weapon being a gun is, in my opinion, a perfect reference to his abandoned dreams of becoming a cop and joining the police force (such a real missed opportunity there cybird).

I like to imagine he does regular target practice with Roger in the garden. They line up all manners of ceramic and clayware, then use air guns and pellets to avoid accidentally killing someone or themselves. Roger would prefer the target practice to commence at dawn, but he knows he has a better chance of convincing the Queen herself to join him in the flesh than for Harry to be up and functioning during the early hours of the morning.

Roger also probably invites him to go hunting with his dad when it's the season. It's my way of giving Harrison a proxy father figure because God knows he needs a new one, but I also just really like the idea of them being good friends. Just a couple of book-smart intellectuals with a penchant for firearms.

But combat-wise, he's in the same boat as Will in that I don't think he knows anything beyond basic self-defense and how to effectively disarm someone. Like he knows how to throw a punch, sure, but his overall martial prowess isn't anything noteworthy or that impressive, to be honest.

Liam is a bit of a wildcard when it comes to fighting. His greatest strength lies in his ability, which enables him to disappear at will, allowing him to sneak up on enemies and immobilize them even without having to make his presence known.

He can use it from the jump or even in the midst of a scuffle to neutralize a disadvantage in skill or physicality on his part by virtue of having the element of surprise and the unpredictable factor it gives him. Imagine how embarrassing it would be, too, because if he's invisible for most of the fight, it's going to look like you're fighting air and losing.

While I don't think Liam has had any formal martial arts training that would put him a peg above Harry and Will in terms of combat, he's quite difficult to defend against given the no-limit-or-drawbacks-of-any-kind invisibility, not to mention he also moves rather swiftly.

He's light on his feet, has good instincts, and possesses cat-like agility. You'd be hard-pressed not to feel a bit paranoid when you're up against him because he can easily swoop in and go for the kill to stick a knife in your back or slice at your throat, and you wouldn't even be able to brace for it. Although maybe sudden death is more merciful than the unfortunate alternative of being a victim to one of his fits.

Frail Victorian Child™. Bro is an aristocrat with an abysmal appetite. He eats so fucking little, a plant probably consumes more sustenance than him during the course of its much shorter lifespan. Every time he sneezes, the others are probably in awe at how he doesn't disintegrate on the spot.

What combat? This man is fighting to stay alive and not die of starvation and/or dehydration on a daily basis.

With that said, it's my personal headcanon that he probably took up fencing after the doctor incident as a proper way of defending himself in case something similar were to ever happen again.

Despite being constantly at risk of getting blown away by strong winds, he has his moments where the monomania kicks in and the uncharacteristic strength and energy the resulting single-mindedness lends him enables him to accomplish and acquire pretty much anything he sets his sights on (as demonstrated in his route).

I'm just gonna put it out there, this man can't fight. Can't throw a punch, an elbow, a kick—nothing. He can't throw anything, but he's probably very adept at tossing someone's salad.

He doesn't like performing any kind of manual labor because it reminds him of his atrocious childhood. And he harps on Roger for being burly and brutish because one of Roger's hobbies is learning how to beat someone up for fun.

The best he can do is probably bitch slap someone, but even then he's shaking off his hand to get rid of the sting. He's fortunate that his ability is like Will and Elbert's, where he's able to incapacitate someone without expending much effort on his part, because he is not at all inclined to build muscle or learn the art of combat whatsoever.

Can and will punch your lights out; no questions asked. He's been frequenting bars and pubs all his life; it's probably a dream of his to get into a brawl at one of them for any reason at all, but no one's insane enough to pick a fight with him on account of his immense height and intimidating build.

Fun fact: the average height of men during the Victorian era was around 167 cm. Roger's height is 183 cm. Bro is several inches taller than the average English gentleman. Not to mention he's swol as fuck, too. A good deal more muscular than a regular doctor has any right to be.

I'm pretty sure he's capable of killing a man even with just his bare hands. Like just punching someone to death, I'm sure he could do it if prompted, but it's not a level of violence he would ever sink to nor indulge in.

Weapons-wise, I think it's interesting how he's essentially the sharpshooter in Crown despite being one of the few proficient members at hand-to-hand combat. Like it makes sense because he can identify targets at a distance due to his enhanced hearing, so a long-range weapon is a no-brainer. Very practical given his ability, but at the same time, kind of funny because of his poor eyesight. Luckily, that's what the scope is for.

Has demonstrated countless times in canon that he can fight. He's tall and gangly, but swift and agile like an acrobat, and he probably trains with Roger and asks him to give him pointers on top of that.

He's employed by Jude as well as a two-in-one bodyguard/assistant, so I bet he's somewhat motivated to maintain his skills and physicality due to that fact, but I get the sense that he also just really enjoys it.

His natural athleticism gives me the impression of a kid who used to climb up trees in their yard growing up, even though his parents kept telling him not to. I think it's cute to imagine him as a rambunctious kid with a surplus of energy that he had to burn by climbing trees as high as he could and constantly chasing his twin brother around, or else he'd be restless and making his parents lose sleep come nightfall.

Ellis' gentle demeanor actually works to his advantage because it's hard to imagine someone so calm and soft-spoken being able to commit murder so swift and easily at the behest of someone else. Jude could order him to carve someone up like they're cake about to be served at a birthday party, and he'd do it with an air of perfect serenity.

You must have a death wish if you want to square up against this motherfucker. Ellis isn't even necessary, the man is fully capable of winning his own battles. The only reason he has Ellis as a semi-bodyguard is because he doesn't have the time nor the patience to knock someone's teeth in himself.

Like, oh, you have a personal vendetta against him and are looking to settle the score? Yeah, well, so does everybody else; get in line and kindly wait for his assistant to duke it out with you. Very sorry that he can't address your grudge personally; he has places to be and people to extort—I mean solicit.

If you insist on having your grudge satisfied by him and him alone, so be it. Although, truth be told, you might've preferred being handled by his assistant had you an idea of the sheer hell your persistence would be awarded with beforehand. Jude knows how to fight and he's not at all reluctant to get dirty with it.

If you think he's above kicking someone who's already down, you're wrong. If you think he knows when to call it quits and stop to say someone's had enough, you're wrong. If you think lopping off a limb or two just 'cause he can is extreme and twisted and kind of psychotic, you're right! But he doesn't care; this is what you asked for, and he's all too happy to finally silence the buzzing of persistent pests.

Jude is already menacing and dangerous on his own; weapons just multiply his deadliness tenfold. He'd be the type to wear steel-toed boots as his everyday work shoes just to make it hurt all the more for whomever is at the receiving end of his kicks. He enjoys causing pain not only as a result of his Curse, but also because of the cruelty the world has imbued in him. He's looking to repay that hurt to anyone foolish enough to cross him.

Victor is bit of an enigma. He's a weapons enthusiast in canon and has what I assume to be an impressive collection of varying blades and daggers and guns and even unconventional weapons like axes, machetes, and whips. The real question is whether or not he knows how to use all of them or if he's only mastered a select few and is actively working to have the rest down pat.

He doesn't go on missions anymore like he used to when it was just him and Will because it's no longer necessary after acquiring so many new and deployable members, and it's better for him to be able to attend to the Queen's every beck and call as her trusted aide.

But on that front, I like to think that what William lacked in combat prowess, Victor had in spades. Apart from helping Will hone his skills with a sword, Victor taught him how to trade blows, evade punches, and the fastest way of knocking someone flat. It's been many years since Victor joined him on the prowl, but Will is still mindful of his lessons, and he even shares them with the others whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Also, if you missed out on certain events, he has this thing where he touches the back of someone's neck and they immediately crumple to the ground, unconscious. I don't know if that's his special ability or if it's just a neat trick he knows how to do, like the metaphorical button on someone's jaw you can hit in order to make them go cold. Either way, Mister Grim Reaper, sir, please tell us more of your secrets.

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments are appreciated (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠) ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

#me? make a formal headcanon post?#who could've seen this coming #some creative spirit possessed and compelled me to write all of this down #thank you to whatever divine force enabled me to become yappatron 3000 for the blorbos today #ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil headcanons

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