#i could see him looming in the background | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

obaewankenobis · 1 month ago

Text

till forever falls apart; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair x reader (female pronouns, y/n not used)

word count: 10.6k

summary: not quite friends, but not quite lovers; you and finnick odair have been living in a careful balance that always leaves the both of you wanting more. when the third quarter quell arrives, you realize it’s better to be late than never.

warnings: typical hunger games stuff like child murder, forced prostitution, etc... slight mention of like suicidal thoughts but it's brief. smut (fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, i can't remember anything else, pretty vanilla stuff).

notes: there's kind of a lot of plot which i was nawwwt expecting. my bad if you're not into that i guess i know a lot of people look forward to the freaky stuff and it's def not my strong suit so i apologize 😭.

It was a little fucked up, the way you actually looked forward to being summoned to the Capitol.

Yes, they’d tortured your district for generations by killing children for decades upon decades.

During your games, they starved you, maimed you, and forced you to kill other innocent children when you were just sixteen–a child by any means.

The torture hadn't stopped after the games, either. Even the nightmares were a walk in the park compared to the prostitution that awaited you in the Capitol. The looming threat of your family’s safety being compromised should you dare get any ideas of disobeying.

So yes, it was a bit crazy to have a smile tug at the corner of your lips when a peacekeeper knocked on your door and told you President Snow had summoned you to the Capitol for the End of Victory Tour celebration.

The smile, like always, was followed by quiet humming and a little skip in your step as you’d hurried to pack what few possessions actually mattered to you.

The reason for this temporary insanity was simple: whatever despair and destruction the Capitol had thrown at you, they’d also given you something to make up for it, even if it was purely unintentional. The apology came in the form of Finnick, another victor who’d shown you the ropes after you’d been crowned the year after him.

Being from different districts, the only time you were able to see him was when you’d both been called to the Capitol.

Gazing out the window as the station came into view, you sighed and imagined what you’d do upon arriving.

You take in the bright pinks and yellows of the stone streets, the rainbows that glittered against stained glass windows as the sun shone through them. The looming presence of snow-capped mountains provided a dramatic background and suit of armor around the Capitol, a stark contrast from the bright, bubbly city.

For such an evil, awful place, it was breathtakingly beautiful. Your body had the same reaction it did the first time the train had screeched to a halt: completely frozen in time, so still a breath could not be squeezed from your lungs.

You hated the feelings that overcame you, of such paralyzing fear it made you weak. Hated how your fingers became so shaky it took you several attempts to button up your coat. Hated how your legs were so unsure of themselves you feared you’d collapse if you stood up too suddenly.

All of a sudden you were sixteen again, a terrified tribute arriving in the Capitol like a lamb for slaughter.

You hated coming back here every six months at the very least — once for the Games, once for the tour, and however many times you were summoned by Capitol citizens.

The Games were obviously hard–and so was the business you did in the Capitol–but the Victory Tours were a special form of torture. You hated looking at the winner, because they always seemed so lost and terrified, trembling like a lone leaf on a branch as the wind whistled through.

This past year had been a little different — there'd been two Victors this time, and their win sparked something in the districts that you’d never seen in your life. You didn’t hold any hope there would be long lasting change, but you were glad to see this year’s Victors weren’t alone. You wished you could’ve had that.

A gust of wind sweeps through the door as a Capitol attendant opens it, bringing you back to reality, and you force a small smile as the sunlight hits your face.

Waves of bronze hair catches your eye, and it takes everything in you not to jump from the platform and run to greet him.

He’s as beautiful as ever; the sun turning his hair a nice gold. His skin is a little paler and his hair is a little darker, given the winter months, but it’s only noticeable to you because you’ve spent hours running your fingers through it; spent days admiring the way water sluiced off his skin and glistened while he swam.

You notice him immediately–not just because you’ve been subconsciously searching, but because he’s never greeted you at the station before. It’s then you notice dark circles under his eyes, the way they’re glassy with fatigue, and the rigidness of his posture. Your eyes narrow slightly and you open your mouth to greet him, when his arms open wide in invitation to his embrace. It’s then you know something’s really, really wrong.

Because as much as you care for Finnick, and as much as you know he cares for you, he’s never been so openly affectionate with so many people watching.

It’s part of the agreement you have; around others you’re polite, friendly even, and everything else you actually yearn for is tucked away behind closed doors.

So, when you wrap your arms around his neck, you’re hoping it's brief, because you don’t want to get used to being so close to him in public. And when you begin to pull away, you’re startled to find him gripping you close to his body, lips brushing your ear so he can whisper something without anyone else knowing or overhearing.

“I need you to meet me in my room in half an hour. It’s important. Don’t be late,” he says quietly, urgently, before suddenly releasing you. It doesn’t sound like one of your late night rendezvous, unless he’s wound really tight and that desperate for release — no, this seems far bigger than that.

When he finally leans back, you grasp his forearms and study him, searching for answers in his eyes and only being met with apprehension.

Forcing a small smile, all you can say is, “It’s good to see you too, Finnick.”

He squeezes your hand in his own for a brief moment before disappearing, leaving you alone with two Capitol attendants who are supposed to just be carrying your bags to your quarters — but you know they’re guards in disguise, making sure you have nowhere to go.

It’s exactly twenty eight minutes later when you appear in front of Finnick’s door, a hand raised to knock when it flies open.

He’s a little more relaxed, though you can see the tension in the ticking of his jaw and the tight grip he has on the door. Still, the corners of his mouth lift upward in a smile as his eyes land on you. “I was worried you’d be late. Y’know, you’ve never been a very punctual person.”

“I’ve never seen you so high strung before.” You shrug, “Thought I might hurry my ass up for once, in case you had a heart attack.”

He laughs, a lovely melody that makes your insides melt a little whenever you hear it, but you can tell his mind is occupied. “We should get going.”

“Yeah, about that… where exactly are we going?” You ask, though you know deep down you’d follow him anywhere.

“You’re asking so many questions. You don’t trust me?” He asks teasingly, flashing you a smile, and you’re overwhelmed for a moment because Finnick was like the sun — golden and glowing, blindingly radiant from the smile on his lips down to the tips of his toes.

You do trust him — and as he leads you to an awaiting black car, you reassure yourself that he’s not leading you to your imminent death.

Well, maybe you were wrong. Because the words coming out of Finnick’s mouth–backed by Plutarch Heavensbee of all people–are nothing short of treasonous. And in Panem, treason is inevitably followed by death, or a fate so much worse death seems merciful.

“You’re sure she’s not going to say something?” Plutarch asks, and you think it’s because you haven't said a word since they told you about it all. About District 13, the stirrings of rebellion in the Districts, the plan to escalate into a full scale rebellion with the newest victors from 12 — Katniss and Peeta — being the face of said rebellion.

“No, we can trust her. I promise,” Finnick nudges you with his shoulder, as if urging you to confirm what he’s said.

You look around to the others in the room at the Heavensbee mansion: Beetee Latier from Three, Johanna Mason from Seven, and Haymitch Abernathy from Twelve. They don’t look nearly as surprised as you do, so you suspect you’re one of the last people to be told this news.

“Yeah— I just… you really think it’ll work?” You cringe as your voice comes out in a dry croak.

“We won’t know unless we try,” Plutarch says, and you wonder why he’s in on whatever this is. He’s just been promoted to Head Gamemaker, and he lives in this mansion that spans the entire street and is packed to the brim with books and priceless art. Surely there’s nothing wrong with his life that would make him want to rebel. “You and Six are the only ones we haven’t talked to… and we need as much unity between the Districts as we can get.”

“Okay,” You say after a moment, willing your voice not to shake. It's less fear and more excitement at the prospect of something better in your future.

You can hear Finnick’s audible sigh of relief, hear the soft scratch of his chair against the floor as he pushes it back, and feel the softness of his lips against your temple as he kisses you.

You wish he wouldn’t do that. Not because you’re embarrassed that anyone would see it, but because it just serves as a reminder that he’s just out of your reach. Every touch or kiss was on stolen time, and one day, the feeling you got around him would catch up to you in the most devastating way possible.

So, instinctively, you duck down in an attempt to escape him, and try not to notice the slight frown that overtakes his features.

“I’ve kept you all long enough,” Plutarch says in dismissal, checking his watch. “The victory party is tonight, and I would hate for any of you to miss seeing the little lovebirds.”

“C’mon.” Finnick grabs your hand and tugs you to your feet. “We’ve got to get all prettied up.”

“Excuse me,” you scoff. “I’m perfect just the way I am. You on the other hand…” you look him up and down. “Well, we’d better hurry up.”

He gasps and clutches his chest like he’s been struck. You know he knows it's a joke, because there truly is nothing prettier on this earth than Finnick Odair.

The brief joy you feel when you see Finnick can only last so long.

While they’re not particularly awful, just annoying, looking into the faces of your prep team makes you nauseous. All it does is throw you back to nearly a decade ago when you were a tribute.

And, sometimes, being constantly reminded of the horrors you endured made you wish you died in that arena. Not all the time, but sometimes.

“Arms up!” Shrills Iris, who resembles a lemon the way she’s dressed head to toe in bright yellow. You obey the command on instinct. Something cool, almost metallic, slides over your body. The dress is made of a thousand tiny silver-white jewels, each rope swishing and clicking against one another when you move. Matching jewelry weighs down your ears and neck, twinkling and making you appear to be a jewel yourself.

“All done!” The woman beams, clapping her hands together and practically shoving you out the door and towards the direction of the car waiting to drive to the President’s mansion.

You’re sure making victors attend every celebration in the Capitol brings Snow a special kind of pleasure. It’s probably the only kind of joy he ever feels in his life, looking at the miserable faces of past tributes and knowing that because of him, their bodies have either been sold to the highest bidder or withered away due to addiction — or sometimes, in the worst cases, both.

You are grateful for the chance to see the newest Victors, though. You want to be in their presence and somehow have them light a spark of hope in you.

“You were right,” a voice behind you says. You turn to see Finnick.

“What?”

“Earlier,” he continues, his eyes briefly flitting to your dress before returning to your eyes. “You are perfect just the way you are.”

“I—” Stupidly, you can feel a hotness in your cheeks, and know he’s managed to make you blush. He always does that, finds a way to make you stumble over your own words. “Thanks. I think I was right, too.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You do look so much better all dolled up,” you tease, using this as an excuse to take him all in. He, of course, looks breathtaking, which is a bit annoying because you’ve never seen him be anything less. He’s wearing a seafoam colored shirt that brings out the green in his eyes. It’s nearly see through, mostly where his muscle strains against the fabric. It gives everyone a glimpse of his body you feel honored to have seen up close, but it also makes you feel sad at how obviously he’s being objectified. His trousers are a light linen, and you frown again at how… Well, conservatively he’s dressed, despite the sheerness of the shirt.

“I haven’t seen you this covered up in years, shouldn’t you be practically naked?” You blurt out, and you’re rewarded with another laugh that makes your heart sing.

“If you want to see me naked, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask,” he grins, the tips of his teeth peeking through his lips.

“I meant,” you clear your throat and will the blush in your cheeks to subside, “Normally you’re a lot more… distracting.” Well that doesn’t sound any better now that you’ve said it out loud.

“Distracting, hmm? I’m free in…” He pretends to check the imaginary watch on his wrist. “Just a couple hours, if you are. Your place or mine?”

“Finnick,” you grit your teeth. You know he knows what you mean, and yet he still teases.

“Ye-es,” he replies in an almost sing-song voice before his expression becomes a little more serious. “I’m not supposed to take away from the lovely couple tonight. Apparently I can be a little distracting. Did you know that?” His eyes twinkle with more laughter you’re dying to hear.

“You? Distracting? Never,” you reassure him, patting his chest as you move past, trying not to notice how his eyes linger on you.

You disappear into the crowd, not only in search of a drink, but some different company. You, Finnick, and alcohol were a deadly mix you swore you’d never combine again. Luckily, there's no shortage of people holding trays of drinks, from bubbling champagne to deep red wines, and you quickly pluck a glass of rosé.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, all you know is that you’ve just finished your third glass and are reaching for a fourth when your stomach starts rumbling. You realize then you haven't eaten since you’d been on the train. It’s not that there wasn’t any food at this party, there was, in fact, an excess, but it was so rich you were worried it would only further upset your already queasy stomach.

The voice that finally made you understand the phrase butterflies in your stomach calls your name, and you can't help but smile as you turn around and see Finnick holding a plate of shrimp drenched in a red sauce, setting it down on the bar in front of you. Your favorite.

“Thank you!” You can’t contain yourself as you throw your arms around his neck, nearly brought to tears as you think of how delicious the shrimp would be. “I am sooo hungry.”

Finnick doesn’t even budge at the force of you throwing your weight towards him;he probably knew you were going to do that, just as he knew you hadn’t eaten. He knew you eerily well, Observing you must take up a lot of his time. “I figured you could use a break between all that wine.”

You smell the alcohol on his breath and know he's been doing his fair share of drinking, but that’s not the only indicator — the touching becomes almost second nature when he’s got enough alcohol in him.

Although you’ve pulled away from him, his fingers curl around your waist to keep you in front of him, his thumb drawing circles on the small of your back. You can feel his chest pressed against your back, feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as you lean into him. He’s a sturdy and comforting presence behind you. You tell yourself as you lean back that it’s to steady your feet, but you know deep down you long to feel his skin against yours, and you’re too drunk to think about the consequences of people seeing you.

“How much longer do we have to stay here?” he whispers, and you suppress a shudder at the tingles that erupt up and down your whole body, starting where his lips touched your ear.

“We haven't even seen Katniss or Peeta yet.” You hate how breathless your voice has become as his hand trails down to rest on your hip.

“I was being serious earlier, you know,” he says, and you're so close to him you can hear his heart race. Why would he be nervous to ask you to come over? It was casual, you were friends. Friends who helped each other out sometimes, but friends above everything. Being anything more terrified you.

“Really?” You pretend not to notice the pounding of his heart or the sharp intake of his breath. “Mine or yours?” It's funny to pretend either of you really have a place here — the training center’s living quarters hardly count as home.

“Mmm, we can decide later,” he says, suddenly pulling away. Cold air nips where his body once stood, and you’re thinking he’s finally come to his senses about being so handsy in public, but then he’s dragging you to the tile platform where people are dancing, and he’s sweeping you into his arms.

The shrimp is long forgotten, as is the grumbling of your stomach. It’s too busy forming knots as you sway.

“You didn't even ask if I wanted to dance,” you smile, one hand instinctively going to Finnick’s shoulder while the other grasps one of his. His free hand rests on your lower back.

“Do you want to dance?” He drinks in the sight of you, savoring how close you’ve become.

“Yes,” your voice is barely above a whisper. The music is slow and soulful, and all you can do is stare at one another.

“Good,” he says, but you’re not sure how good this really is.

There was a reason you’d created rules for this whole… arrangement in the first place. You drew a hard line in the sand that Finnick kept trying to cross.

When Snow first told you what happened to desirable victors, you hadn’t believed him. And then, two days later, your boyfriend wound up dead. A freak accident at the power plant, they’d said, but you knew. Deep down you knew the timing was too close to be a coincidence, that Snow really did mean what he’d said about everyone you loved dying if you didn't comply.

You were terrified of the same thing happening to Finnick, so much so it was the only recurring nightmare that occupied your brain.

He’d been the one to suggest it be nothing more than just sex, though, probably for the same reasons that had held you back from asking for anything more. And, yeah, that should’ve been what you wanted, but you could admit to yourself that you were a hypocrite. For wanting all the good parts of him, but not the danger that came with it. For wanting him to be able to look past his own fears and want more from you, but not being willing to do the same.

“When should we leave?” Your palms have grown sweaty at the unspoken desires racing through your brain, so you use it as an excuse to disentangle your arms from his body and rearrange them to clasp around the back of his neck.

To steady yourself, of course.

Now, both of his hands are on your hips and he draws you even closer so that you’re chest to chest, so close your breaths become one.

“Not yet.” His voice is soft, even pleading. “One more song.”

Upon closer inspection you find he’s tipsy, but not drunk. He’s a little looser but still of a sound mind, which is why it’s even more terrifying to look at him, because you can't think of a time where the two of you have acted like this fully sober. Neither of you are under the influence of drugs, or alcohol, or even overwhelming emotion that would make you do crazy things. Except the morning after the first time.

The sexual attraction had always been there, but the first time either of you acted on it had been after a particularly wild night that left the both of you to fill in the blanks as you woke up next to him, naked in your bed.

“I’m so sorry — so so sorry! Things got so out of control last night, it was a mistake,” you’d said hastily before he could say the same. You’d rather not be rejected when your head was pounding and you’d felt so sick. You’d clutched the sheets tight to your chest, suddenly self conscious by how bare you were.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he'd said it so casually you thought you'd misheard him at first. You probably looked as confused as you were, because he continued, “ It doesn’t have to be a mistake. I like you, I like… this,” he gestured to the two of you, and when you said nothing, he added hurriedly, “It doesn’t have to be anything. Actually, forget I even said—”

You'd cut him off with a kiss, and had fallen back against the silk sheets with the intention to burn every inch of him to memory, since you couldn’t remember the previous night and cursed yourself for it.

“Hello-ooo,” Finnick’s voice tore you back to reality. “Did you even hear what I said? The song’s over, we can leave now.”

You don’t really want to leave, but you suppose it’s for the best, so you nod and let him lead you to one of the many black cars that sit outside the President’s mansion. One designated for the tributes and victors that only drove to and from the training center.

Finnick wishes he could read your mind, especially when you get that glazed over look in your eye, the one that signals you were in a land far away from here.

All night, he’d wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked.

Glittery, silver eyeshadow made it look like your eyes were really sparkling when you looked at him. In a dress that was tailored to fit you just right, hugging you in all the right places and flowing down to your ankles, yet somehow leaving a tantalizing amount of bare skin exposed.

Your smile completed everything, though. The way it met your eyes when you saw him across the room… he’d do just about anything to make sure you’d smile at him like that again.

When he’d led you to the dance floor in the gardens, it’d been for his own selfish reasons. Not just that he wanted an excuse to hold you close to him, but because he knew you’d look exquisite against the night sky littered with stars. The moon bathed you in a softness that made you glitter and glow, every beam that struck your figure only further highlighting your beauty until he was certain you were from another world entirely.

He’d especially wanted to tell you how you looked then. But like the rest of the night, whenever he opened his mouth, his mouth went dry and his tongue became stuck in the back of his throat, forcing him into silence.

You might think he was the sun, but he thought you were the moon.

He looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky every night just for him.

If only you were willing to see it, instead of whatever twisted reality you’d decided was the truth.

He feels like he’s in somewhat of a daze as he leads you to the car, feels out of his body when the two of you push past his door in a tangled mess of hands and teeth and tongue.

It’s rough and fast and everything he’s not feeling as your lips attach to different spots on his neck and suck hard enough to leave marks. When he’s sure there’s not a spot left untouched by you, he begins to return every bruising kiss you’ve left with some of his own with enough force to match. His lips detach from yours and dip down to your neck, your chest, until he’s biting at your breasts, sucking your nipple into his mouth with a hunger he hasn’t felt in so long.

He wants to feel you, taste you, hear you — he wants his whole being to be consumed by you. He removes his mouth to continue his kisses down your body, relishing in the soft moans he manages to elicit from you and committing every sound to memory, like he’s never going to get this opportunity again. He kisses between your breasts, down your stomach, and purposely skips past where he’s sure you want him most before settling his lips on your inner thighs, his kisses turning almost lazy.

He wants to continue this slow pace, like you have all the time in the world, but that’s just not how the two of you do things

It’s not a show, or even a display of real passion — no, it’s just two pathetic people making the best out of a lousy situation, acting like physical pleasure will somehow cure the constant ache of your hearts.

He fears the sweetness he seeks from you is souring at that realization.

It’s not that he doesn’t want this. Oh no, he’s been thinking about this since the moment he saw you in that dress and measured how difficult it would be to take it off. Actually, if he was being completely honest with himself, he’d been thinking about this the moment he saw you step off the train platform.

It’s that he wants all of this and more, but he’s not sure how to go about it. It’s not like they’re being totally subtle, but if Snow found out… he’d likely use it against both of you. You’d be just another thing for Snow to hold over his head, another person for him to worry about, and Snow would probably do the same to you.

So maybe, if Finnick continued pretending this was nothing more than casual sex and you were nothing more than a good friend, Snow would be convinced too.

“Finnick,” you’re breathless beneath him. “What’s wrong? You sort of spaced out for a sec… we can stop if you want.”

No, he doesn’t want to stop, but it’s probably the first time he’s ever been asked that.

He shakes his head, both to answer you and to clear his head, and leans over to kiss you again.

He’s glad you don’t press it further, not as his tongue finally laps at your clit and elicits a loud gasp from you that gives him the self satisfaction to continue.

Your fingers card through his hair and pull instinctively when he adds his fingers. Now it’s his turn to moan, and the vibrations make you shudder.

All this does is spur him on, wanting to hear the little moans and whimpers from you that he’s grown so familiar with. They only make him harder to the point where it’s almost painful, but it does nothing to slow him as he continues flicking and swirling his tongue. In fact it has the opposite effect, he only becomes more earnest and determined in his efforts.

When he adds a finger he feels a sharp tug at his roots and knows he’s doing the right things.

Since that very first night, Finnick Odair had thought you were too good to be true and too easy to slip through his fingers. So he made it his mission to commit you to memory, treating every encounter like it would be the last one. As a result, he knows every sensitive spot you have, every noise you make and what they mean.

When he gently sucks on your clit and lets his teeth graze it, he knows it’s only a matter of minutes before you become undone. Your hips buck towards him, begging for more, and he obliges with sliding in another finger.

He detaches his mouth for a second so he can soak up the memory of you like this. Your head is thrown back against the pillow and your hair strewn in every direction. A faint sheen of sweat has appeared on your face as you pant, eyes are screwed shut with pleasure.

You’re so beautiful he cursed himself for stopping, even for a moment. At that moment, he doesn’t care about his own pleasure, all he can think about when he closes his eyes and returns his mouth is the image of you.

You’re together when the theme of the Quarter Quell is announced.

The day starts out normal enough. You both have your… clients to attend to, but when Finnick walks through the doors of the apartment you’d been given to share with several other Victors who were bought by the Capitol, you can push the awfulness of the day aside to soak up as much of him as you can before one of you is sent back to your district.

When he suggests a shower, the horrors of the past few hours are washed down the drain when the hot water pours over you. It’s so hot that Finnick begins to complain that he’s starting to feel — and look — like a lobster being boiled alive.

“But now I’m cold,” you whine with your back to him, clattering your teeth together for dramatic effect.

“Really?” He’s inched closer, and suddenly you’re not shivering from the cold.

He is all consuming.

When you emerge from the shower you find your fingers pruney and the mirrors all fogged up — you've been in there far too long.

The two of you finally separate to get ready for bed, and when you finally slide into the bed next to Finnick, his arm instinctively goes around your shoulders.

He’s flicking through different Capitol channels that are all different forms of mind numbing torture, before landing on the official news station where Snow is about to read from a card announcing the twist of the Third Quarter Quell.

“Oh! Wait, stop here, I forgot they were announcing it today,” you say.

“I don’t think it matters that much,” Finnick’s expression is sour, but he doesn’t turn the television off. “It’ll be just as difficult to mentor as any of the other Games.”

“I don’t know… I mean, I couldn’t even imagine trying to train two extra tributes,” you muse, thinking about the last Quell, and almost miss what Snow says next.

In the next moment, you almost wish you had missed it.

“...shall be reaped from the existing pool of victors.”

The two of you have vastly different reactions. Finnick immediately springs up from the bed and begins to pace, only stopping when he hears the sound of strangled sobs fighting their way past your lips.

In an instant he’s next to you, wrapping both his arms around you and tugging you close to his chest. “It’ll be okay,” he tries to soothe, but his own voice is shaky and you suspect the embrace is meant to comfort him just as much as it is you.

I’ve wasted so much time, you realize, and the awful, choked noises you make turn into something so much worse.

You begin to weep, utterly defeated. There’s no fight left in you, and that’s why it’s worse than the short cries, or even hot, angry tears. Realizing the past nine years of torture hadn’t been worth it, and you really should have died in that arena. It would’ve been so much more merciful than whatever this was.

You’re the only living female victor from your district, there’s no hope for you. Finnick, at least, has a chance at not being reaped at all.

“We’ll figure something out,” Finnick continues. “You know… with everything that’s been going on.”

His reference, although vague, makes you think long enough that your cries have paused. Plutarch and Thirteen, you realize. Surely they would be scrambling to come up with a plan right now, because how could Katniss — their beloved Mockingjay — perform for them if she died in another arena? But saving her didn’t leave much room for the rest of you.

“You’re right,” you force out even if you don’t believe him, because you don’t want his calm demeanor to disappear. If he starts to panic you’re sure you’ll lose it completely.

“We should get to bed,” he says abruptly. “I think we’ll have somewhere to be tomorrow.”

There are three of you victors gathered around the dining table in Plutarch’s mansion with him. You, Finnick, and Beetee. You know there are more victors in on it, but you three are the only ones currently in the Capitol, and nobody wants to waste any time. When everyone else arrives for the games, whether as a mentor or tribute, they’ll be informed.

“We have a military, we have political unrest, and we have our symbol. We have everything we need to make this work. Do you know how rare this is?” Plutarch laments. “Thirteen has hovercrafts, so we’ll have a way to get you all out if we can figure out how to work around the forcefield.”

“Which is easier said than done,” Beetee adds. You’re not sure how to feel about him — he’s incredibly intelligent, that’s for sure. He’s such a genius you feel out of place in this discussion, because what could you possibly have to add when he could solve basically anything?

He carries himself with such palpable sadness, though. His shoulders are always hunched like they’re physically weighed down with emotion, and you’ve never seen him without deep circles under his eyes.

“Can’t you just turn them off?” Finnick asks, turning to Plutarch, “You’re the head gamemaker.”

“I wish it was that easy, but it won’t work,” Plutarch shakes his head. “It’ll give Snow too much of a warning, we need it to be so sudden he’s left scrambling.”

“We have to blow it up,” Beetee squints his eyes, deep in thought.

“Tell me what supplies you need and I’ll make sure they’re in the Cornucopia,” Plutarch promises. “But do you know how to do that? Can you figure it out?”

“It’s Beetee,” Finnick insists, “Of course he can.”

Beetee brushes off the compliment with a shake of his head. “It will require a lot…” he pauses at an odd place in the conversation, a habit of his you’ve picked up on, “... of calculations.”

“I could probably help with that,” you interject yourself into the conversation for the first time. “With the calculations, I mean. We do a lot of stuff like that at the power plants in Five.”

Plutarch breaks into a smile while Beetee nods his head slowly. “Excellent. Tell me what numbers you need, and I’ll get them for you.”

You nod earnestly, your chest swelling with a mix of emotions you haven’t felt in forever: confidence, pride, and hope. Like it isn’t just the talk of four lunatics around the dinner table, but a feasible option. A better future for Panem was being dangled above your head, just out of reach.

By the time you see Finnick again, that hope has been completely squashed in all the fuss of the week.

Right now, you’re both just tributes changing out of the ridiculous costumes you’d donned during the opening ceremony.

You’re not talking to him though, not after you saw him cozying up to Katniss Everdeen in nothing but a knotted golden net.

Rationally, you know you’re being a little ridiculous. The net isn’t his choice, it’s his stylist’s angle to get him sponsors. And he’s talking to Katniss in that awful persona he takes on when he’s in the Capitol, the personality everyone expects him to have.

Still, bile rises in your throat at the sight of them.

Trying to slip away unnoticed, though, proved to be difficult due to your illuminated costume shining bright against the evening sky. At least your stylist tried to make your outfit unique this time, dressing you up as lightning to represent Five’s industry of power. It’s still a poor imitation of Twelve’s fire costumes though, because they blow everyone else’s outfits out of the water with no competition.

You hear Finnick call your name as you hurry towards the tribute center and ignore him. You reach the elevator alone and turn around quickly, only to see Finnick standing as the doors closed on him.

Well, almost closing. A hand jutted through the elevator doors and forced them open again, revealing Finnick in all his glory — he hadn’t changed out of the net.

“Almost thought you were trying to avoid the pleasure of my company, honey.” His voice is annoyed and the nickname is not endearing but patronizing.

“Why don’t you go ask Katniss to keep you company?” You didn’t want to say anything, because really it’s irrational to think anything could be going on between him and Katniss, which just means that you look like a jealous fool and nothing else. But seeing him with someone so strong and sure of herself, the complete opposite of you, made you realize how quickly Finnick could slip through your fingers. He was so easy to lose.

“Sweetheart…” he begins, and you can tell he’s trying not to sound too amused, “The whole reason she’s in this mess is because she’s with Peeta. And… she’s seventeen. She’s a kid.”

Both good points, which only annoys you even further because it just proves you have no reason to feel the way you do. “Whatever,” you scoff, turning away from him and wondering how much longer this elevator is going to take. Please, let it be done.

It’s like someone’s answered your pleas because the door rings at the level four and it’s Finnick’s cue to steps off. “By the way,” he says over his shoulder. “I didn't know you were the jealous type. It’s cute.”

The door shuts before you have the chance to retort.

In training, it’s hard to do anything at all. The only things flashing in your mind are the faces of the tributes in your games and the tributes you failed to train. All of whom have been dead at least a year, but they haunt you just as much as they did on the first day.

You’d gotten so close last year. Finch — a clever, redheaded girl — had made it to the final four before she’d died. It was the closest any of your tributes had gotten to victory since you’d been crowned.

She haunts you the most, the way she was little more than skin and bones by the time she died. A direct failure on your part; everyone had been rooting for the star crossed lovers or the stereotypical career from Two that they’d overlooked your tribute, no matter how hard you’d advocated for her and practically begged for sponsors.

“You alright?” Finnick sidles up beside you, holding a thick rope in his hand that’s tied suspiciously like a noose.

“Yep!” You force out a more cheery tone than you’d wished, and cringed at how sharp and on the verge of a breakdown you sounded. “I’m going to help Johanna out.”

Johanna Mason did not need help. She was throwing axes at one of the weapons stations when you popped up behind her and forced out a greeting.

She gives a little shriek and drops the axe dangerously close to her toes. “You see a girl with an axe in her hand and decide to jump her?” She seethes, “Do not do that! Or it’ll drop on your toes next time!”

Her words are furious, but you know she’s harmless at the moment. You know her well under unfortunate circumstances, from two years ago when your tributes had formed an alliance and the two of you had been forced to work alongside one another as mentors.

Until the tribute from Seven split your tribute’s head open with an axe.

“Sorry,” you huff, picking up an axe and marveling at the weight of it. “I had to get away from Finnick. He’s been freaking me out lately.”

“Freaking you out… how?” Johanna narrows her eyes, and it's then you remember she’s in on the rebel plot to break Katniss out of the arena, and the rest of you if you were lucky.

Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s thinking. “Oh— not about that, he’s just… hovering. I don’t think I’ve spent this much time with him during the daytime since we first met.”

Johanna visibly relaxes and then rolls her eyes. “Please tell me you guys aren’t still doing that stupid friends with benefits thing. Please.”

“It’s not stupid!” You object, a little offended by the way she’s framing it. “I told you, it’s for the best… right now, at least.”

“You guys are such idiots,” she sighs, eyeing the axe in your hand. “Are you actually going to use that?”

With a shake of your head you hand it off to her carefully. “It’s just that… you know, with… Snow…” your voice drops to a whisper.

She cuts you off. “Yeah. I know.”

Oh. Yes, she does know exactly what you mean. A wave of shame overwhelms you and you open your mouth to shower her with apologies but she cuts you off.

“I don’t need you to pity me. Well—” She thinks about this for a moment and changes her mind. “Actually, if it makes you listen to what I’m gonna tell you, then yeah, poor me, all alone. Whatever. I’m telling you, you’re being a fucking idiot.”

“I am not—”

“You are!” Johanna hurls an axe at the board with so much force it breaks completely. “He likes you. It’s kind of sickening, actually, and so obvious. I mean, he’s literally staring at you right now— no, don’t look, brainless!”

“Johanna,” You begin, watching her pick up another axe. “I appreciate this tough love… aspect… whatever you have going on, but—”

“If you want to waste your last week alive pining for a guy you already have… be my guest. But don’t talk to me about it, it’s annoying.”

She’s crude, and mean, but she’s right. All the worries you have will be gone in a week. Either one of you will be dead, or you’ll be freed from the Capitol’s chains and in the safe hands of Thirteen.

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” you say abruptly. “How are you doing with this whole Quell thing?”

She snorts and throws another axe, her jaw tight with anger. “I don’t really want to talk about that.”

You’re starting to feel that maybe she hates you when she asks, “Have you ever thrown one of these before? I mean, probably not, judging by the way you were holding that one, but…”

“Yes, I’d love to learn!” You know that’s what she’s trying to ask. It’s her version of trying to be kind, even if it’s laced with insults and sarcasm.

A hint of a real smile appears, and you can't help but admire how pretty she is, behind all the anger.

For the next half hour, Johanna teaches you how to throw an axe, while you chit chat about mildly unimportant things. She soon gets bored of small talk and starts cursing the Capitol six ways to Sunday, and you think how nice it must be to be free about how you feel.

Not that Johanna hasn’t paid the price for it— no, the Capitol deserves every spitting word she throws their way. You brush off her rants with nervous laughter and look around to see if anyone’s listening, because you still have your family at home, but deep down you agree.

It’s refreshing though, to talk with a real friend who’s unafraid to speak her mind and actually understands what you’re going through. Your friends back home, however sweet, couldn’t even begin to know the half of it.

“I wish I could teach you something,” you say ruefully, wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead. “Working in power plants doesn't really prepare us for the Games.”

Johanna shrugs. “It wasn’t a trade, I was just helping you out. And… you’re the least insufferable person here, so I'd rather talk with you than anyone else.”

You’re sure it’s the kindest thing she’ll ever say to you, so all you do is grin and hand her an axe back. She catches your arm and pulls you close, like she’s going to hug you, but instead just leans in and whispers in your ear, “Don’t back out. Or I’ll actually have to kill you.”

You know what she’s talking about, and you know she’s not kidding this time.

Now it’s time to find another victim — err, friend — at a different station to continue avoiding Finnick. You spot him with Katniss, again, but to her credit she looks less than amused at whatever he’s saying. You squash the flame of jealousy beginning to burn in your stomach, because you’ve been over this with him already. That, and the fact that you don’t really have the right to be jealous in the first place.

Finnick looks up from the rope he’s fiddling with and his eyes find you, which now means you have to scramble to find a station.

You spot Cashmere at the archery station and make a beeline, relieved to see her brother is not with her, because it makes the introductions and inevitable awkward small talk a little more manageable.

“Hi,” you force out. Cashmere fixes you with an icy stare but says nothing for a long moment, she just observes. She’s terrifying, to say the least. To busy yourself you pick up a bow and fiddle with it a bit, examining the craftsmanship in an attempt to look busy.

“You shoot?” She says after a minute, her voice almost making you jump.

“Not… really…” And just like that, you’ve lost the singular ounce of interest she held for you.

You listen to the instructor as he tries to teach you how to shoot, but it's clear after the first few tries this is not your strong suit.

You wish you’d been born into a district that gave you a natural advantage in the Games; you’d won yours by nothing more than sheer luck. Everyone who hadn’t been killed by starvation, dehydration, or mutts were too busy killing one another before they paid any attention to you.

You hear him before you see him, the soft chuckle as one of your arrows misses the target entirely. “You should take lessons from Katniss,” Finnick says lightly, but it only makes you frown.

“I’d like to see you try,” you grumble, but you don’t actually want him to try because you’re sure he’s legally required to be perfect at everything he does.

“Why don’t I show you how to throw a trident instead?” He suggests, and that's the last thing you want to do. What you want is time. Time to think about what Johanna said, if all this angst was even worth it when you’d be dead in a week. Time to think about what you actually want.

Time, unfortunately, is a luxury a victor would never be able to afford, often wasting it locked in a prison of their own minds.

“Okay,” you concede finally. “I guess you’d be an okay teacher… I’ve heard you’re not half bad.”

The training week has come and gone, the interviews with Caesar Flickerman having been the last hurrah before they sent you all off to die.

You tried, unconvincingly, to remind yourself of the rebel plot to break everyone out, but it did little to soothe your nerves. You suspected they didn’t let you in on everything; that much was clear by the silent communication between Finnick and Johanna.

All of these thoughts are racing through your mind and keeping you from sleeping. The pillows have been thrown around and the sheets have tangled and bunched around your legs as you toss and turn, trying to find a position that would pull you into at least a few hours of slumber.

All of your thoughts circle back to Finnick. Throughout the week you’d spent several nights in his bed, but tonight you’d both agreed you needed your rest to prepare for the day tomorrow.

Still, you can’t worry about him any more knowing he’s just a floor below you. Throwing on a thin robe you make your way to the elevator, not exactly sure what you want but deciding your mind will be made up by the time you reach him.

You don’t even have to raise your hand to knock, the door flies open and you’re met with sea green eyes that pierce right into yours. They’re clear of sleepiness and brighten as they land on you, so you know he’s been awake like you.

You walk past him and know he’s trailing behind you, closing the door to his bedroom once you’re both inside. “I want it to be like the first time.”

“What?”

“You know, the first time we…” you trail off, suddenly shy, and hope he’ll fill in the blanks on his own.

“Yeah… what about it?” Finnick’s eyebrows furrow into a slight frown, like he’s trying to remember that night, the one that’s hazy with emotions and drenched with alcohol.

“I just… I mean…” You struggle to find the words, because what about it is right. “I guess what I’m saying is I don’t want to think about the consequences.”

Not a whole truth, but enough of one. You want to be able to be with him one last time, and don’t care about the consequences because you're sure to be dead soon.

There’s a long, drawn out pause as he looks at you. Really looks at you, like he’s staring straight into your soul. It’s so silent you’re sure he can hear the pounding of your heart as blood roars in your ears, sure he can feel the air that’s become suffocatingly thick with tension.

“Okay,” he says simply, and that’s all you need before you close the distance and kiss him.

You’ve kissed him many times before, but this one is different. You’re expecting it to be like the others, desperate and rough like you’d lose each other in a second.

This one is slow, like you have all the time in the world. For this one night, only two things are really certain: you have Finnick, and Finnick has you. The ones that follow that first one are just as deliberate and calm, so much so that you lose track of time. While it couldn’t have been that long, it was beginning to feel like hours, any pause being reduced to nothing more than short breaks to breathe before you reconnected.

You’re so wrapped up in the feeling of his lips against yours that you don’t even notice you’re moving until the back of your legs hit the bed and you almost fall back.

He steadies you with a hand on your waist and pulls you back in for another kiss.

“Someone’s eager to get me in bed,” he mumbles against your lips with a smile.

“Am I that obvious?” You ask with a giggle, a little embarrassed at how breathless you sound.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he pulls you closer until your body is flush against his and you can feel everything. “I think I’m a little more desperate.”

Yes, judging by the hardness you feel against your body, maybe he is.

This time you fall back intentionally, pulling him with you and savoring the feeling of his weight pinning you against the mattress.

You never want to stop kissing him like this. His lips are working in a way that’s so sweet and gentle you’re getting dangerously close to blurting out something you shouldn’t.

When he pulls back, propping himself up with his forearms on either side of you, you can really look at his face.

The green of his eyes are barely visible because his pupils are completely blown out, like even his eyes are desperate to get as much of you as they can. His bronze curls are beginning to stick to his forehead from the sweat beginning to dot his hairline.

The only thing that shocks you is that his cheeks are tinted a light pink, and his lips, reddened and glossy from the kissing, are pursed together in…

“Are you nervous?” You blurt out, eyes widening at the realization.

“No,” he mumbles, leaning forward to kiss you again, but you press a hand to his chest that forces him to keep your gaze.

“Why’re you nervous? We’ve done this like, a million times,” you laugh, but he’s not smiling.

Finnick’s answer surprises you so much that your own smile is instantly wiped from your face. “I just want to make sure it’s good for you. I want you to be happy… even if it’s only for a little bit.”

His tone is so earnest and anxious you’re sure you’re about to cry, because no one’s ever been this sweet to you. Except him. “Okay,” you whisper. Those funny three words are jumping in the back of your throat, and you have to swallow hard and kiss him to make sure they disappear.

Still connected by your lips, you roll over until you’re straddling him, his back propped against the headboard. You never want to stop kissing him; when his lips are on yours it’s like you’re in a whole different world. One without all the worries that weigh you down and pry you apart from him. It’s the most relief you’ve felt since your Reaping Day that you whine when his lips leave yours.

He laughs a little at your desperation, his hands sliding under your shirt and raising it above your head before tossing it aside.

Finnick makes quick work of the rest of your clothes and his own, and before you know it you’re both naked.

You’re glad he flips you over because you're a little embarrassed how wet you’ve become — not that it’d be a secret for long.

His hands slide down and gently pull your legs apart so he can settle comfortably between them.

Now it’s your turn to feel nervous, unfamiliar with the position you’re in — at eye level with one another. It’s so different from the impersonal ones you’re used to.

When he’s behind you, you can almost be satisfied with it being just sex. You’re free to pretend it’s anyone, it doesn’t have to be Finnick.

But now, looking into his eyes and being met with a stare just as intense, you hope he can't feel your pulse skyrocketing.

Just as you feel the familiarity of one of his fingers working its way inside you, you’re hit with a force of emotion so hard it knocks the wind out of you and you have to hide a gasp. You realize, with a stab to your chest, you never want this to end, but know it will. Know you have to make this a memorable goodbye in case only one of you survives.

He makes you feel so good, knows your body so well it’s basically second nature when he pumps his fingers in and out in a way that makes you arch towards his hand, silently begging for more.

He’s just about to slide a second finger in when you know he senses the change in how you’re kissing him. It’s more like the desperate, hungry ones you're both used to.

In a moment he’s withdrawn completely and you cry out at the loss. “Why’d you do that?” You groan.

“What’s wrong with you?” Finnick demands, holding your chin with one of his hands and forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

“Nothing, can you just get back to—”

“Bullshit.” He withdraws his body from you completely, leaving you cold and lonely as he sits back on his knees. His eyes widen as he looks at you, and you can literally see his pupils returning to their normal size. “You don't want to not worry about the consequences,” he realizes. “You’re just here to say goodbye.”

You want to protest and sit up, but he’s reading you to filth. “Finnick, I—”

“No,” he says with so much force it surprises you, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s in pain. “No, I told you we’re going to be fine, why are you acting like this is the end?”

You can recognize the edge of terror in his voice and know he’s not really mad at you. He’s panicked, because if you don’t believe his words, why should he?

“Finnick,” you say again, gently this time, and he slowly opens his eyes. You reach your hand towards his face and cup his cheek, an act so tender you can feel your own heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach. “I want to believe you. About everything. Really, I do, I just… I just want to do it right this one time.”

And it’s true. You’ve been intimate with him countless times, but they all feel so wrong compared to the rawness of tonight.

“We’re gonna be fine,” he whispers, grasping onto the hand that’s on his cheek and bringing it down to his chest. You feel his heart beating a million miles a minute, thudding so hard against his chest it might just burst free.

You nod, knowing you don’t have the strength to argue. You want tonight to be perfect, just in case it’s the last time, and you’re already missing the feeling of his lips.

Finnick seems to have lost the internal battle he’s been warring against himself, because when he surges forward to kiss you, his words are seemingly forgotten.

His kisses are still tender and steady, but an edge of desperation creeps toward the end. As if when you pull away to catch your breath, it’s the last time he’ll ever feel them.

You return to the position of before and try to fall back into the rhythm that’d been temporarily disrupted.

His fingers find their way back inside you just as his lips reconnect to yours, but this time you’re impatient. You want to be ready and able to enjoy it, but you can’t stand wasting time without him inside you, knowing you only had a few hours left together.

He seems to sense this, too, because his fingers curl inside you and send shockwaves up and down your spine. Blindly, you reach for his pants and fumble with the waistband for a moment before slipping your hand inside.

Instantly you find his cock, hard and practically jumping at your touch as you wrap your hand around it. You’re rewarded with his hips jumping towards your touch and groan that’s immediately swallowed by your kiss.

Just a simple touch has him impatient, understanding your sudden desperation. The brief whine as his lips leave yours is replaced with a moan as you feel the thickness of him pressing at your entrance.

“Wait!” You cry out, so suddenly it startles him into jumping back.

“What’s wrong?” He looks panicked, then grief stricken, like he’s done something wrong.

“Nothing, I just needed to say—” Please, just let me say it, you beg your brain. “I love you.”

Finnick’s features instantly relax and he’s back against you in an instant. The smile that’s overtaken his entire face is the brightest you’ve ever seen.

“I love you too,” he says in between kisses, “I thought I was being pretty obvious about it though.”

He doesn’t even wait for a reply before thrusting into you. Your nails dig into his shoulders and he pauses, letting you adjust for a moment.

“I think you were made for me,” He breathes, forehead dipping down to connect with yours.

“Oh come on, don’t be cheesy— ah!” He’s setting a pace that’s been like the rest of the night, slow and sweet, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you both grow impatient with it.

For a while there’s only the sounds of labored breathing and skin against skin as he thrusts into you, until your gasps and moans grow more frequent and you both know you’re getting close.

He increases the pace to something much more demanding now, not caring about the path of scratches your fingernails are making down his perfect skin, marring his perfection ever so slightly.

“Please—” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, because you know he’ll give you the release you so desperately crave. Still, with the coil wound tight at the base of your spine it’s all you can do in your sex-drunken mind.

You both come right after the other, completely in sync, there’s no hesitation when Finnick wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto his chest.

“I meant it, y’know,” you say quietly after a minute.

“Me too. All of it.”

The giddiness you feel at his words disappears at the reality of the situation. “I wish you would’ve told me sooner. We’ve wasted so much time.”

“I know,” he sighs, because that's all he can say.

Tomorrow, everything will change. Both your lives will be on the line for a greater cause, your next breath will not be guaranteed, and neither will his. But for these few sacred hours, before the first cracks of dawn seep through the curtains and drag you back to reality, you have certainty, you have contentment.

A sigh escapes your lips, and Finnick looks down at you resting your cheek against his chest.

He hopes you can’t feel his heart accelerating when you begin to draw little patterns in his skin.

“What’s wrong?”

The look in your eyes makes him wish he hadn’t asked.

“I’m just going to miss you.”

He could protest. Could point you towards the logistics that favor both your survival, could ramble about how the rebels are going to get all of you out. How you won’t ever need to miss him because he plans on sticking to you like glue until he draws his last breath.

The little part of him that's just as scared as you are stops him from saying any of it. He’s agreed to sacrifice himself and everyone around him to ensure Katniss and Peeta make it out. He could do it without hesitation if he didn’t have to think about you.

Instead, he just presses a long kiss to your temple and pulls you impossibly closer. You think he’d burrow himself in your skin if he could.

“Me too,” is the last thing you hear before the lull of sleep, aided by the warmth and safety you feel in his arms.

You hope tomorrow never comes.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #the hunger games #finnick odair x you #thg series #finnick odair smut #thg fanfiction #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #the hunger games fanfiction

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misstycloud · 4 months ago

Text

Queen of hearts reader x yan card knights

As the next in line for the throne its most important you raise yourself with dignity, elegance and wit. You could not afford to fail or show any weakness. If you did, it could mean your downfall.

So you grew up with this heavy burden; classes in dozens of subject going from dawn to dusk, fearing you might get assassinated, polishing your appearance to absolute perfection.

When it was finally your turn to take over the crown, you were nervous. Despite having trained hard for this moment ever since you were born, you still feared for the future. Would you really be able to lead with the same strength as those before you? Or would you do a terrible job and doom the kingdom? Those were both equally possible options.

Luckily, you did have trustworthy friends by your side who’d lay down their lives in order to protect you.

Lucius Stormheart was your childhood friend. He’d been with you for as long as you could remember. He was the son of the captain of the royal guard, whom have been a friend of your father for a very long time. Perhaps that is one of the reasons the two of you were introduced. You were around seven and nine at the time. You still remember how he refused to meet your gaze and bowed deeply whilst telling you what an honour it was to meet you.

He was a bit stiff for his age, you believed it was because of the legacy and role he’d have to eventually take over; although you were hardly one to talk. If you had any other friends they’d probably also think you’re strange and not at all fun.

Lucius and you never really played traditional children’s games. It was already decided he would become a knight, so he became your guard. Of course, there was no real danger since you stayed within the palace but he took his duty seriously; constantly following you in silence and staying vigilant of anything that moved. Usually, you would have tea in the garden and he would just stand watch. You beckoned him to sit down and enjoy himself, offering him sweets and other delicacies, but he only shook his head. It went on like that for years. You grew tired of him hardly uttering a single word to you. He was supposed to be your friend but wouldn’t even engage in simple conversation. He truly was too stiff for his young age.

You recalled one day, you were almost an adult then, when you wanted to tease him a bit. You pretended to have lost your gold bracelet somewhere in the grass and cried for him to find it. The moment he bent down in the grass to scour for he (not) lost jewelry, you took off as quick as your legs were able. Lucius immediately reacted and shouted for you to come back, but you had gotten a head start.

You laughed as you felt the freedom you’d never had. It wasn’t long until you ditched your fine shoes and ran barefoot. The wind in your hair and ground under your feet felt great. Lucius’ voice wasn’t far behind you. Tiredness overcame you and you threw yourself down among the green and the flowers. You closed your eyes.

Not soon after you heard heavy footsteps and deep breaths. You looked up to see your childhood friend-made-guard loom over you with a furious expression. How could you just run off like that? Do you understand how dangerous it is for someone in your position? You could be attacked!

You ignored his scolding and rolled around, inspecting the flowers instead.

“Are you even listening to a word I say? Of course not.” He huffed. “You can’t run away from me. Ever. If you do, I might not be able to protect you. Imagine that someone had managed to sneak into the palace ground and was waiting for an opportunity to assassinate you, this would be the perfect moment to do so. Honestly, have you no sense of danger? I’d think someone with your background would posses more caution-“

You drowned out his speech. You were staring blankly at him, an idea came to you, you wanted to tease him further. Besides, this was something you’ve wanted yourself for some time. You rolled your eyes with a smile and sat up.

“- and then it would not only affect you but also-“

“Lucius.” You said gently.

He quieted down. It was evident he was not yet done and seethed in silence, after all, you were a princess whilst he was nothing but a commoner. A commoner inheriting an important role and being more privileged than other commoners was still a commoner nonetheless.

“Can you come closer?”

The young guard frowned but did as told. He knelt beside you and awaited your next words. What he did not expect was for you to caress his cheeks and quickly pull him in for a kiss. Lucius’ mind went completely blank. At first, there was nothing, no air, no light, no sound. Then after a couple second came everything, the warmth of the sunny afternoon, the sound of birds twittering on branches and the feeling of your lips against his. They moved with a gentle passion, your tongue licking his lips, asking permission to enter. He complied. It was sweet and warm, completely different from the early mornings and harsh trainings he goes through everyday.

It wasn’t until after you pulled away and smiled at him that Lucius remembered how to breathe. He stood up like someone had burned him- which someone had to a certain degree- and backed away.

Stuttering, he gasped, “P-Princess? What..w-why would you?-“

You laughed at his embarrassment, feeling a bit sorry for him. He was completely red in the face, matching the uniform he wore.

“My apologies, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to tease you one last time.”

Oh. So that was it? Yes, of course you only wanted to have some fun. It’s not like you get to do anything else out of pleasure in your life. You used him for amusement.

“…..Yes, Princess. It’s alright, but you should not do something like this again. You need to refrain from having relations with men that are not your husband- especially not commoners.”

That was the end of it, you thought. You apologised a couple more times before forgetting about the experience. Lucius said it was fine so there was nothing more to it, right? Unfortunately you had no idea of the massive crisis you’d started within Lucius.

You kissed him. Him of all people. Lucius would not believe it if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. He wondered if all those years of him loving you in secret had been in vain. Did you know? No, obviously you didn’t. It’s just like you said, it was for amusement. You wanted to tease him like when you suddenly took off. It was only fun.

Nothing more like that happened afterwards. The kiss was long since buried along with other memories. That was the case for you. But not for Lucius. He didn’t forget.

About a year before you were crowned queen, Lucius took over his fathers position and became the new captain of the royal guard. You both had become so busy-him with his new job and you with preparing for your coronation- that you hardly saw each other. If you were lucky, you saw him training outside with the new recruits or wandering the hallways. You sent a mere nod of acknowledgement to the other person, no words were exchanged. If you had the time you would’ve mourned the death of the little friendship you had.

You believed you would be no more than strangers with no past and no future. However, you were surprised when your father had called you into his office and there, in all his glory, stood your childhood friend Lucius. His hair reached just above his ears and he wore the same stern expression he always had. The red in his armour seemed glowing, it reminded you of blood.

Your father then revealed the news of Lucius officially becoming your personal knight. When the two of you were young he constantly guarded you but it was more of an assumed responsibility. He was not actually in charge of your protection.

Lucius had done well in his new position and your father wanted to grant him a wish in return. The young man had proceeded to tell him there was nothing more he wanted than to serve his kingdom by protecting its future monarch. This wish was so noble it was granted without further questions, so long he could manage his other duties as well. It made sense, as the captain of the royal guard, whom else was more qualified to protect you?

You first met Sebastian Spade when you were visiting another kingdom as a preteen. The adults had their meetings and swatted you away. They ushered you to go explore the castle whilst they took care of the things that mattered. You decided to go outside since you weren’t too sure about snooping around in all the rooms, there was always a chance you’d find something you shouldn’t and your parents had previously urged you not to run into trouble.

The outside was also beautiful with colourful flowers and carefully trimmed bushes. You wandered, taking in the wonderful scenery. Along the way, the flowers disappeared and you found yourself at the training grounds. At the centre stood a boy your age holding a sword. He lunged at the training dummy positioned in front of him. Unfortunately, he lost his footing and flew forward. The sword landed on the ground with a loud clatter and the boy let out an ‘omfph!’.

You rushed to side and asked him if he was alright, which he was; just embarrassed. He told you his name was Sebastian and that he was aiming to be a knight. He managed to become an apprentice of a knight at the castle. It was one of his training sessions that you stumbled upon. Being a knight had always been his dream. Apparently his father and grandfather had been one, so it was in the blood. Or, it would have been if Sebastian hadn’t been so bad at everything. Truth was he wasn’t actually allowed to use a real sword, only wooden once. But he took one anyway. He thought that maybe he could improve faster if he got used to wielding one out of metal. Well, you got a first row view of how that went.

He felt so worthless. Why couldn’t he ever do something right? Why was he such a failure? No matter how hard he trained, he was barely able to hold the sword straight. Maybe he should give up being a knight altogether, it was hopeless after all. No one said anything, but he noticed the way everyone looked at him. They all thought the same thing, ‘why is he even here?’. How could he blame them? Even his own mentor didn’t believe in him.

You frowned, feeling terrible in how this boy had lost faith in all his dreams. Now you knew nothing of knighthood but you had a friend who did. You wished he could’ve come with but he needed to keep up with his training and besides, you were in yer another royal castle so the chances of anything happening to you was very low. So you decided to give Sebastian some tips; simple things you’ve picked up when watching your friend home his skills. Sebastian listened eagerly, desperate to improve. If there was any way he could become better than he wanted to hear it. That boy hung off every word that came out of your mouth. You did however assert that you were not an expert by any means and these where just things others have told you or what you’ve learned from observation. That didn’t matter though. Thanks to you he understood how to correct his stance and made it possible to hold up the sword- the issue he was struggling with earlier was solved!

During the entirety of the week you and your family were staying, you hung out with Sebastian every day. Every moment you didn’t have to be present out of curtsy you spent with him instead, which was much more pleasurable.

Sebastian was more than happy to have your company. Truth be told, he didn’t have any friends, good acquaintances maybe, but no one he’d be able to call a friend. He was also quite shy. It was to nice to finally have someone who believed in him, who encouraged and was patient with him.

At the end of the week, he had improved so much. It was hard to think he’s the same boy who could hardly even lift a sword. Sebastian was no master, far from it, but it was undeniable that he had become a lot better. Now he only had to hone his skills and he could fulfill his dreams when he became an adult.

The attitude against him changed as well. Before, the other students refused to interact with him unless they were forced to and they along with the knights made fun of him when they thought he couldn’t hear. Now, however, they approached him and wondered how he’d managed to improve so quickly and if he could lend some tips. Obviously he didn’t. They don’t deserve his kindness. Not after how they treated him. Sure, they never outright bullied him by shoving him around or anything but they might’ve as well.

Sebastian ran through the garden. He shouldn’t have since there’s definitely be a scolding coming his way if an adult saw, but he didn’t care. He needed to find you. He had to tell you about the praise he received form his teaching-knight after the day’s training. Before you met he never would have reached a compliment, it was a sign of the good fortune you brought.

His cheeks glowed red at the thought. You were so kind to him. He thought all royals were snobbish assholes who only cares about themself and their looks, now he knew he was wrong. You weren’t like that at all. You smiled, played with him and didn’t care if your dress got dirty. Of course, you preferred if it didn’t but you wouldn’t mind a scolding from your parents for once.

You were beautiful too. Almost too beautiful in his opinion. You were sure to attract a lot of suitors when you grew up. Sebastian’s heart stung. It was a strongly unpleasant feeling; imagining you beside someone else. Sebastian was young but not stupid, he understood what he was feeling. He shouldn’t be jealous, he knew that at the end of the day you were a princess and he was not even close to being a prince, and only a prince could marry you. Realistically he didn’t stand a chance. Unfortunately, his heart didn’t listen to his brain and he couldn’t stop the blossoming affection he felt for you.

“(Y/n)” he yelled when he saw you coming his way. You wore a nice dress that complimented your appearance. His heart thumped uncomfortably within his chest.

“Sebastian, I was just coming to see you.”

The boy scratched his neck. “Well, here I am!”

You laughed at his positive nature. Then your smile fell once you remembered the intent of your visit. “I actually came to see you..for a last time.”

“What?” Sebastian froze. Did he mishear you? No, your words were loud and clear so that meant… “You’re leaving?”

You sighed and nodded, “yes, my family has done the business they came for and we are to return home.”

“When?”

“This evening.”

You hated seeing him hurt. You wished you didn’t have to leave but you had no choice. This was always going to happen, this was not your home. You just weren’t prepared to make a great friend whom you could miss dearly back home.

“Oh. Okay...” Sebastian said in a low voice. His chipper mood was entirely destroyed in a minute.

That evening your belongings were loaded into a grand carriage. You took a seat on the soft cushions inside and scanned the outside form the window. Your parents were in a different carriage so you didn’t have to explain to them why you were staring outside so intensely.

You felt the carriage begin to move. You were really going home. Well, it’s not like you weren’t going to go home in the first place. This was always the plan. No matter how thoroughly you searched there was no sign of your friend. You sighed with a heavy heart. Not being able to see him hurt you too but you at least wanted to say goodbye.

And so you were moving in the direction known as home. Whilst you were thinking about the young knight-in-training, you saw a shadow at the edge of the forest. You leaned towards the window to get a better look and there he was, your friend! So he did want to say goodbye after all, although not in the most conventional way.

Sebastian’s breath was heavy and tired. He’d ran along the toad through the forest. He could feel the smal scrapes he’d gotten from branches(and the one time he fell over a root). It stung a little, however it was no comparison to how he felt inside. He gained and lost his best-and first- friend in the span of a week. And to be honest, you were a bit more than that to him.

He stared longingly at the carriage you were sitting in. He found himself hoping it would break down and you’d have to turn back around, which did not happen since the royal family’s belongings were only of the finest materials and craftsmen ship. Sebastian could only watch as you went further and further away, until you were nothing more than a dor in the horizon. Finally, he waved weakly. Though he was too late for you to be able to see it.

That evening he made a promise. Sebastian vowed to become stronger- better than any knight in the kingdom. Then and only then would he be honourable enough to flee to your kingdom and serve you there. It might take a very long time. But it was completely worth it if it was you.

You’ll see, he will be your knight one day.

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lightsoutmatthews · 2 months ago

Text

Pick Up - Seth Jarvis

summary: after a fight Andrei calls you to pick a very drunk Seth up from the bar.

pairing: Seth Jarvis x female!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: alcohol consumption, being drunk

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

The shrill sound of your ringtone ripped you from your light sleep. You had just finally managed to fall asleep after you kept overthinking everything that had happened today.

It was late. A quick look at the top of the screen, while the phone was still ringing, told you it was shortly after 3 am.

But while you still woke up and tried to figure out how late it was the phone stopped ringing, but the screen told you that Andrei had called.

Your eyes furrowed in confusion. Why was one of your boyfriends friends calling you in the middle of the night?

Was Seth okay?

The thought of your boyfriend stung in your heart. You still remembered how you stormed out of his apartment earlier in the day. You had a fight. A simple disagreement over a small thing that turned into a bigger issue than either of you were expecting.

The words you had fired at each other were still lingering in your head. It wasn’t particularly hurtful things, nothing that would warrant something drastic. It was something you would need to talk about but nothing that could lead to the end of the relationship.

You knew you had overreacted. But so had he. Not really talking to you or answering your texts while he was on the road was a small thing, and you knew how busy he was. But when you heard the other wives and girlfriends talk about how much they talked to their significant others you felt hurt.

You knew you hadn’t been in a relationship for long and that he had been part of the "single guys" group basically ever since he joined the team.

He wasn’t used to have someone waiting for him at home, someone who was looking forward to hearing from him but that didn´t warrant him ignoring you for hours at the time. Expecting to hear from him on a regular basis didn’t seem outrageous to you but when you brought it up it somehow escalated.

It was like both of you talked in circles. Him arguing that be was busy on the road and that he was trying, you arguing that others were trying harder. It was stupid really but neither of you budged so it led to you leaving.

You hadn’t heard from him since but Andrei calling you worried you. He wouldn’t be calling in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something serious, right?

But before you could think about it any further the phone rang again.

Andrei Svechnikov.

“Hello?” You voice still laced with sleep; your eyes still heavy aching to close again and let slumber take over.

“Hey.” The Russian accent on the other side of the line was unmistakably Andrei. “I´m sorry I´m calling in the middle of the night.”

“Is Seth okay?” The worry in your voice was heavy. “Yeah, he´s fine.” A short pause from the other end of the line. “Drunk, but fine. That´s why I´m calling actually.” You let out a heavy breath. He was okay, that was the most important thing.

Mumbling on the other side. You weren’t sure if Andrei was still on the line. “Sorry, were outside of a bar, KK was just trying to stop Jarvy from running into traffic.” Sitting up in bed, you turned on the small lamp on the bedside table, casting your bedroom in a softly lit space that was a massive contrast to the darkness that was looming outside.

“Who are you on the phone with, Svechyyyy.” Seth´s slight Canadian accent halled in the background. “No one, drink your water.” Andrei said, letting out a heavy sign before focusing back on the call.

“I know you had a fight, he´s been upset about it all night, I don’t even know if you want to see him, but can you please pick him up? All he asked all night was to call you and see you."

Now you let out a loud sigh. You weren’t thrilled to leave the house in the middle of the night, especially not to go to a bar in downtown Raleigh to pick up your apparently very drunk boyfriend.

“Drop me a pin, I will be there as soon as I can.”

The message came through seconds after you ended the call. You know you should hurry to not let his friends take care of him any longer, but you couldn’t bring yourself to rush. After putting on a pair of leggings and a hoodie you stole from Seth you slipped into your sneakers and made your way to the parking garage.

When you arrived at the location 30 minutes later Andrei, Jesperi, Seth and Pyotr were outside, Seth sitting on the curb surrounded by his friends. You parked the car and climbed out, Pyotr spotting you before the others, a smile spreading across his face.

You hadn’t talked much to the Russian goaltender, partly because of his still limited English but also the lack of opportunities to meet him. Still, he´d always been incredibly kind to you. His usual calm presence off the ice something you appreciated in the situation.

“Hey guys.” You said when you reached the group. “Heyyyyy.” Seth slurred, trying to get up from the ground but stumbling as soon as he set one foot up. “Hey, thank you for coming.” Andrei said, wrapping you into a quick hug. “Good to see you, even if it´s under these circumstances.”

You greeted KK with a smile and a nod before looking back down on your boyfriend who returned to sitting rather than standing.

“How much did he drink?” You asked his friends. “Too much.” Pyotr laughed quietly. “He was really upset.” Andrei added, as if it was a valid excuse for him to be almost blackout drunk.

You shot them a look, thoughts racing around how you would get Seth back into his apartment. “Get him in the car," you huffed. The sooner you got this over with the better.

Andrei and KK wrangled Seth into the passenger seat. “Say bye, Seth.” You said when the two of them are back on the curb. “Bye, Seth,” he said with a bright smile. It almost made you laugh. “Thank you again.” Andrei shouted before you drove off and closed the window.

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

“You´re pretty.” Seth mumbled as his glance focused and lingered on you for the first time since showing up at the bar. “I know that hoodie from somewhere.” He continued and you had to hold another chuckle.

You let him ramble while you drove, he gave you compliments, talked about nonsense and eventually drifted off, as the streets of Raleigh passed outside. His head leaned against the window, eyes shut, breathing heavy but relaxed.

It would be at least another 25 minutes to his apartment and right now you were happy about the silence. There was still a lingering anger in you that did not want to go away as you kept glancing on the sleeping figure next to you, making sure he was okay. It’s not like you stopped caring just because you were angry.

When you pulled into the visitors parking lot of Seth’s apartment building you softly shook his shoulder to get him to wake up. There was no way you were able to get him upstairs while he was sleeping. He needed to walk on his own.

He looked at you confused when he woke. “Come on, honey.” You whispered softly before carefully grabbing his arm, helping him to get out of the car. “You´re nice.” He mumbled still half asleep.

You greeted the night manager at the front desk with a nod before leading your boyfriend to the elevator and pressing the button for his floor.

His weight was heavy on your shoulder and since he was more leaning on you for support than you hoped you struggled to stand upright. “Seth, let go of me. Hold onto the wall or something.” You whisper shouted to get your point across.

“But you´re warm and comfortable,” he sighed.

Warmth spread through you as you listened to him ramble again. He gave you many compliments throughout the day when he wasn’t drunk, but this took it to a new level. “You´re so nice.” He repeated the words from a few minutes ago. You just chuckled.

Pulling his keys from his jacket you opened the door to the apartment and drag him inside. Planting him on the couch you took of his shoes and jacket before heading into the kitchen to grab him another water.

“Thank you. That’s so nice of you.” He laughed, gripping the bottle a little too hard so that half of the water spilled on him and the couch. You rolled your eyes and ran to grab a towel from the kitchen.

When you started to clean up, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you onto his lap. You wanted to protest but you knew it wouldn’t be much use. So, you let him.

“You´re so good to me, can you be my girlfriend?” You whipped your head around and starred directly into his eyes with a slight smile on your lips. “I already am.” You replied with a soft chuckle, which earned you a soft smile from him. “Oh, lucky me.” He giggled before pulling you closer to his chest, pressing his head between your shoulder blades.

That night you settled into his bed alone while letting him stay on the couch. Shortly after he snuggled you, you got up to put the towel away and when you returned to the living room, he was asleep again.

Deciding that waking him and getting him into bed would be too much trouble you grabbed a blanket and carefully laid it over him before heading into his bedroom to take yourself to sleep.

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

When you woke up the next morning it was close to 11 am. A heavy arm was draped around your waist and soft breathing tickled in your neck. Carefully turning around to see your boyfriend next to you. He was fast asleep looking as peaceful as ever.

You didn’t know when he came into the bedroom, but you enjoyed his presence. His warmth something you had missed that night even though you were used to sleeping without him.

He groaned when you tried to slip out if his grasp and tightened his grip on your waist. “Stay,” he grumbled. Reluctantly you gave in, slid back into his embrace and rested your head on his chest. “What time is it?” He groaned into your hair. “Around 11.”

“God, my head is killing me,” he mumbled after a few minutes of silence. You chuckled. “I´m not surprised.” Another, longer groan leaves his mouth. “Don’t make fun of me, babe, I´m in pain.” You laughed at his dramatics before turning around in his grip to face him.

That seemed the first time he actually registered that you were here. “Wait, how are you here?” He asked, suddenly sounding not sleepy or hungover at all.

Before you could get a word in, he spoke again. “I swear you left yesterday after our fight and you didn’t come back before I left to hang out with the guys.” Confusion laced with what you assumed was concern written all over his face.

“I planned on showing up at your apartment with lunch today to apologize.” He squinted his eyes trying to make sense of the situation which made you laugh. “Andrei called me last night to pick you up because you couldn’t stop talking about me.” His eyes flew open in surprise. “And you came?”

You were surprised by his words. “Of course I came. I would never leave you stranded somewhere, even when I´m angry at you.” His eyes softened followed by a mumbled “I´m sorry.”

“I´m sorry too.” You buried your nose in his chest, his familiar scent prominent but since he hadn’t showered since leaving the bar it was mixed with a hint of alcohol and bar.

“I´ll try to be better, okay? If the other guys can do it so can I.” A few incoherent mumbles that were swallowed by the fabric of his shirt followed from your side. “You have to take your face out of my shirt so I can understand you.” He chuckled and brushed a strand of your hair out of your face.

A loving glance spreading along his face as he locked his eyes with yours.

“I said, I overreacted. Can we love each other again?” Your question made him laugh. “I always love you.” A soft kiss to your lips followed. “I love you too.”

“Good, now that we got this out of the way, can we please go back to sleep? I need at least two more hours and some pain killers to become a functioning human being,” he groaned, which made you chuckled before snuggling back into his chest.

“Sure, but only if you treat me to that Chinese place later.” He laughed before wincing at his own loud sounds. “Promised.”

#seth jarvis #carolina hurricanes #seth jarvis imagine #carolina hurricanes imagine #seth jarvis x reader #nhl imagine

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mina-org · 1 month ago

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Girl you write yandere soooo well. Good job good job! Please requesting yandere Johnny who stalks and kidnaps. Reader dear is horrified but also relieved. Johnny is her whole world, and that’s all she needs to worry her little head about. He’s taking care of everything. It’s a blessing.

Is this Stockholm’s? 🤣

Hope you enjoy <3! Tw for implied depression and brief mention of wanting to die, and kidnapping

part two here

A rough cradle wakes you up, the tires hitting every manhole, crack and drain. A dull ache and sore wrists begin to throb as you get your bearings. Zip ties limit any movement but there’s no tape, no gag. The trees looming over you and the little glimpses you see into the sky reveal golden stars twinkling and occasionally the glowing, seemingly pearl moon.

You could scream, even if there’s no one around to hear it.

You think about it, your lips feel dry and almost cracked, sore. Everything feels so sore. Like a knife twisting endlessly. But just as you’re about to whoever’s behind the wheel senses it.

“Nearly home hen,” his head peeks past the head rest, his bright blue eyes with dark currents swirling within them. “nearly home, don’t start yelling now aye?”

That’s enough to make your voice die in your own throat. He seems strangely familiar.

Where from?

Blue eyes

Irish

No, no Scottish. Yeah Scottish. Mohawk, blue eyes, scottish.

The gym

The gym guy, you cringe inwardly remembering the interactions, he had asked you a few times while his friends lingered in the background, snickers and knowing looks.

It was awful. It felt like you were at secondary school again, where your biggest sin was thinking you were loveable. You hated the feeling, he was so cute and his friends were gawking at you, like some type of zoo animal, he gawked at you. You hated it, how the warmth rushed up and how you couldn’t talk to him and how you were too afraid to go back to the gym. No matter what time you went he was always there.

Soon enough the car stills, pulling up to the side of you feel the tire collided with the pavement. A sudden click, he’s locking the door? Or unlocking it?

You hear the door slam and he steps out.

He’s leaves.

He’s gonna leave you here? Why?

Your mind races with possibilities. What is he leave you here to freeze over night? Or to starve? Or what if he sets the car on fire? The smell of burnt tires already singes your nose and you wonder what will kill you first: the smoke slowly smothering you or the flames eating up your body, devouring you whole, turning you to ash.

What would it feel like? Hell. Only now do you notice how dry your throat is, how raspy your breathes are, it sounds as though you’ve been smoking a pack a day for 20 years.

You’re soon pulled from your firery day dream as the passenger is pulled open. It’s him. You can only look up at him, you’d only topple over if you tried to move so you can only shift your head to look at him. His smile was always there, though now it’s more of a ghost, paling in comparison to the one he normally wore which included teeth and was strangely more predatory than the one he put on to kidnap someone.

He mutters to himself as he fixes your position, sitting you up and checking over you.

“Alright hen? I gave ya’ enough to keep ya sleeping til’ we got tae our new place.” His hands are fixed on your chin as he stares into your eyes. “Yer goeing tae love it, bloody love it. I went on yer Pinterest and found even better.”

“Up in Orkney, five hours tae go hen, yer be alright.” Johnny didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. You looked like a doll, so still with perfect pouty lips.

Soon enough he’s taking a swig of water and pressing his lips against yours, a quick tug to your gets your mouth open and he’s transferring the water into your mouth, a little water escapes trickling down to your neck but johnny is quick to lick it up, his tongue dragging across your skin, up to the corner of your lip.

You can feel the warmth rush to your cheeks as his gaze beats down on you, it feels like the sun beaming down on you, you want so badly to look away but he’s still got a hold of your chin, and so, so close, like he’s blocking you from the rest of the world.

“Yer looking parched hen, can have my pretty wee thing dehydrated, im here to look after my girl.” His voice is gentle. “it’s goeing take a little bit, but yer love it, yer love me soon enough.”

“I was seeing how miserable you was, every morning you stared into that coffee mug like you was wanting it tae kill ya.”

“cannae watch it anymore, and you weren’t giving me the opportunity to help so I had to do it hen.” He shrugs, he’s glad your not shouting but the silence is a wee bit unnerving, what he gave you wasn’t laced or anything, it was quite literally military grade, he knew why you woke up so soon, he’d had given less there was a few ferrys on the way and it would’ve been shits creak if that’s when you had woken up and had a screaming fit.

But your perfect and deep down he knew that, knew that you felt the same pull he did. He was always there and you could probably sense it, that your very own guardian angel lingered just out the window or was always watching through cameras. He couldn’t wait until he got to spend a real morning with you, not watching from afar, even if you tried fight it just meant he could pull into his lap and feed you! Johnny loved taking care of you and watching you? You practically flooded the gym with a sense of broken bird and a sad face which just screamed helped me and he couldn’t ignore the vibe he just wanted to help a pretty bird out and you rejected whenever he was a very respectful man about it so kidnapper mode it is. He just felt this insurmountable ache radiating from you and he just couldn’t ignore it.

First he just wanted a smile from you, to see you laugh would have been been enough but no, you avoided him like he was a plague, he wouldn’t bite, unless that’s something you’re into?

So he starts thinking how can he make a sad girl smile, he tried to find you on social media but it was a bust, no insta or twitter, not even an old facebook account you can’t get into to delete. So he’s left with no choice

He’s got to get into your phone.

Now he could abuse his connections via laswell but her and her wife are busy doing a vowel renewal so he’s forced to grab the lock picking set he got as a joke pre-military (he’d be a brilliant thief, he just knows it.) and do the job himself.

He watches as your night routine or where a routine should be, you come home from work, do more work and skip dinner entirely because making dinner or warming something up means washing up and the pile of dishes is just too daunting for you to face right now.

So johnny does it for you, of course that means he had to slip you a little melatonin but it’s all good, you’ll understand. You’ll wake up rested and see the dishes down and make breakfast and go to work energised and then the gym and you’ll get home and make dinner and be happy!

He’d be happy to wash every dish for the rest of time if it helped you. He wished he could have seen your face, the sight of relief taking over your features, in the future he could imagine himself wrapping around you and sending you back to bed while he makes you a piece or a fry up or avocado on toast, anything to make you happy.

he failed to realise that you wrote it off this time, thought you did it and it just was swept away with other memories of mindless tasks. But you knew.

it haunted your psyche, now you worried what hide around every corner, you avoided going shopping, having to go after work and competing dwindling sunlight to walk to the shop and walk back with a phantom dish washer lingering in your unconscious, ready to pop out, hidden behind the stacked fruit or down an alley on the walk home. Anyway you were afraid and paranoid. What were you going to do? You had mentioned it and your dad had laughed in your face, claiming it had been the dish fairy.

Maybe if you had noticed how you were a few panties short,or that your phone had be combed through and passwords had been collected, or maybe even the cameras that were hidden around your flat.

maybe if you had noticed you wouldn’t be drinking water baby bird style, it’s best not to linger on what ifs, Johnnys sure to take your mind off of it.

You had been lost in your own mind but a pinch from johnny brings you back at him, his big hands planted on your thigh, he’s soon starts dragging his hands up and down, trying to comfort you and making sure the pinch wasn’t too hard. Johnny had always had trouble to control his strength, often putting glasses down too hard and seeing them shatter, you wouldn’t suffer the same way, he’d be gentle.

“Yer goeing to let me look after ya hen?” His voice is coaxing as he observes you slowing coming out your shell, you give him a little nod but it’s not enough, Johnny’s gentle but he’s no push over.

“Use yer words hen, been through your A03, so I know you can do it.” His humours have returned as he goads you, voice dripping with teasing, “tell me ya want it. You wanna come home with me.”

“I want to go with you.” Your voice quiet and unsure, that doesn’t bother johnny though, by the time you’re on the first ferry you’ll be as happy as a pig in shit by his side, he can’t wait until the timidness unravels in front of him, he’s taken some notes from the a03 account and is eager to try them but johnny assume that’s coming on a little too strong ( the kidnapping isn’t?)

He doesn’t fail to notice how you flinch as he pulls out the knife from his pocket, unsheathing it and cutting through the zip ties, and guiding you to the passenger seat and letting you play dj.

Now he’s just gotta decide whether you’d want one of those fancy proposals or just to slip his ring on ya while you’re sleeping.

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clockwayswrites · 6 months ago

Text

City Pigeons Bleed Green : Part 23

The cheerful bell rang a familiar chime as Damian opened the door to his favorite animal shelter. The scent of fur, pet food, and antiseptic was as comforting as it was potent. Damian watched Danny closely out of the corner of his eye. The other boy’s nose wrinkled, but he looked around the front room curiously.

“Damian! I wasn’t expecting you today,” Ms. Lacey said as she popped out of the back room, summoned by the chime.

‘Ms. Lacey’ was their compromise. Damian had refused to simply refer to the woman by her first name and in turn, Ms. Lacey refused to give Damian her last name. It had been supremely frustrating. Now it was almost akin to game or inside joke between them. It was nice.

She brushed the riot of curls (blue this month) out of her face and looked at the group that had entered the shelter curiously.

Damian knew they were a bit of a sight. Danny was still swathed in a number of bandages and, now out of the apartment, looked a moment away from running. Because of that, Jason basically loomed over Danny and Damian as if he could keep the world at bay.

(He might just be able to manage to.)

“No. It is not one of my normal service days, however, I am not here to volunteer,” Damian said, his tone almost apologetic. “I have brought Daniel—”

“Danny.”

“—to see if there is a pet that would suit him.”

“Hi, Danny,” Ms. Lacey said and leaned forward onto the counter.

Danny shied back into Jason’s space. He clutched a little tighter at the backpack that his bear was safely stashed in. Cass had thought it might be good for Danny to be able to take the bear discreetly with him as he seemed rather attached to it. Considering the tracker in the bear, everyone quickly helped make that happen.

“Hi Lacey,” Danny replied softly.

Ms. Lacey leaned back, her smiled now twinged with just a little bit of sadness. Damian had seen her look abused animals the same way. “Do you know what type of animal you might be interested in, Danny?”

“I was thinking a cat or dog?” The words were more a question than a statement. “Someone that can sit with me.”

“That’s a good start. That could also be rabbits, but if they’re going to be living at the manor,” Ms. Lacey glanced briefly at Damian for a confirming nod, “then a rabbit might not work the best. A cat has the advantage that it would be indoors and doesn’t need as much effort depending on the animal’s age. But you might want a dog to walk! Why don’t we get you into the kitten room to start, because that’s a great time no matter what.”

When Danny glanced from Ms. Lacey to Damian to Todd, Todd gave a little nod. Danny tightened the hold on his backpack, took a breath, and gave a little nod.

“Okay, this is pretty great,” Danny said as he pried a tiny orange and white ball of fluff off his shoulder and set the little guy back down with his siblings.

Immediately the kitten was pounced by the black kitten and had his ears chewed on.

“Kittens might be too much energy for me though,” Danny admitted. He had a feeling he’d never have the type of energy he used to again. He wasn’t sure if that was from his death or… everything else.

“They are a great deal of work,” Damian agreed. His own lap was full of peacefully sleeping kittens.

Danny was a little jealous. He caught the grey kitten who looked more like a a dust bunny as it romped past.

“What if I don’t find a pet today?”

“Then we will go somewhere else. This is not the only shelter in the city,” Damian said.

The straightforward certainty that Damian had about the world was something Danny had come to appreciate over the last several days of knowing Damian. The fear was still there. Danny didn’t know if it would ever go away, but he could ignore it now. Sometimes it was hardly even background noise.

Danny was used to having a brain full of static.

“It will be fine, Brother,” Damian said when Danny didn’t respond.

Brother. Damian insisted on using that instead of his name, but Danny figure that was because Damian didn’t have a last name to call him like all the others. Bruce was simply ‘Father’ too. Maybe it was about Wayne then? But Danny wasn’t Daniel Wayne. He was just Danny… no one.

“Yeah,” Danny made himself respond so that Damian didn’t get worried. For all that Damian tried to be aloof he really was worse than even Dick.

“If a kitten would be too much, what do you think of an adult cat?”

Danny looked down at the little slip of a kitten in his hands. It was so tiny. “I think let’s start with dogs. Something not so small and… breakable.”

Damian nodded and started to divest himself of cats. “I have heard the vets ‘joke’ that kittens will heal from anything. One could toss a kitten and its missing foot in a cage and it would reattach. I suggest we do not try it.”

“No,” Danny said in horror. “We are very much not trying that, what the hell.”

“What is what I said.” Despite having to deal with many more kittens, Damian was up first and offering Danny his hand. “Come, Brother.”

Danny took the hand, stood, and still had one last kitten to pull off of of his jeans where it clung with this sharp, sharp claws.

---

AN: I was able to give this a read through finally, so have the first bit of this chapter! Because who doesn't want Danny and Damian surrounded by adorable kittens?

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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ghostlyglimmer · 6 months ago

Text

The Fun Zone Part 1

You can find more chapters here

Summary:

Danny Fenton’s part-time job at The Fun Zone—a chaotic arcade and entertainment center that’s secretly a gang front—was going great until a certain vigilante stormed in to shut the place down.

Danny Fenton leaned against the register at The Fun Zone, his eyes half-lidded with the bored expression of someone who had already been on shift for far too long. The arcade’s lights flickered with their usual neon brilliance, and the sound of pinball machines, whirring go-karts, and kids screaming in the indoor playground provided a steady background cacophony. It was chaos incarnate, but Danny didn’t mind. The job paid surprisingly well for a Gotham gig, and it let him afford textbooks and a halfway decent apartment.

That, of course, didn’t make up for the downsides—namely, the fact that the place was a gang front. Danny had figured it out about two days in. The suspicious packages delivered after hours, the shady clientele that frequented the private lounge, and the way his manager, “Big Sal,” always seemed to have armed goons lurking nearby. None of it really phased him. As long as he kept his head down, he didn’t see any reason to care.

But apparently, the local vigilantes did.

“Hey, kid,” a gravelly voice startled Danny out of his stupor. He looked up to see the Red Hood himself looming over the counter, his arsenal on full display. Guns, knives, and explosives hung from his tactical gear, his crimson helmet reflecting the pulsing lights of the arcade.

Danny blinked. “Welcome to The Fun Zone. Can I get you a family pack for laser tag, or are you just here to threaten the boss?”

Red Hood’s head tilted slightly, his helmet hiding what Danny assumed was either a glare or the equivalent of a facepalm. “You know this place is run by a gang, right?”

“Yeah,” Danny deadpanned. “And they pay me twenty bucks an hour plus tips. Do you want to buy tokens or not?”

Hood seemed taken aback, the air of intimidation slipping just a little. “Do you even care that they’re criminals?”

“As long as they don’t ask me to do crime, I’m good. Rent’s expensive, man.”

Before Hood could respond, the double doors to the bowling alley burst open, and in stormed Big Sal, flanked by his usual goons. Sal was a mountain of a man, with slicked-back hair and a perpetual sneer that seemed permanently etched into his face. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Hood.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Red Hood,” Sal growled. “You’ve been poking around my turf for weeks. You think you can just walk in here?”

Hood drew a pistol in response. “I don’t think. I act.”

The goons raised their weapons, and Sal barked out orders, but before the situation could escalate further, Danny loudly cleared his throat.

“Hey!” he said, waving a hand lazily. “Can you guys not do this in front of the register? I just mopped over here.”

Both Sal and Hood turned to stare at him.

“What?” Danny shrugged. “If there’s going to be a shootout, at least take it to the parking lot. I’m not cleaning up blood.”

Hood’s shoulders shook with what might have been a laugh, though his voice remained gruff. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“First week on the job, I had to break up a fight between two dads who got into a brawl over mini-golf,” Danny replied flatly. “This? This is Tuesday.”

Hood holstered his pistol, much to Sal’s visible annoyance. “You’re a weird kid, you know that?”

“Thanks,” Danny said. “So, if you take over this place, do I still get to keep my job?”

Sal sputtered indignantly. “You little—”

“You shut up,” Hood snapped, leveling a finger at the gang boss before turning back to Danny. “If I take over, yeah, you can keep your job. Might even give you a raise for putting up with this crap.”

“Cool,” Danny said, as though he hadn’t just witnessed a life-or-death standoff. “Want a soda while you’re here? Employee discount means I can get it for like, fifty cents.”

Hood stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’m starting to think you’re the most dangerous person here.”

Danny smirked. “Nah, I’m just good at customer service.”

As Hood turned back to deal with Sal, Danny leaned against the counter again, sipping a soda he’d poured for himself.

The standoff between Red Hood and Big Sal continued, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Danny, however, remained entirely unfazed, sipping his soda and watching the drama unfold as if it were a reality TV show. His coworkers, who had been hiding behind various attractions, occasionally peeked out to catch glimpses of the action. None of them seemed inclined to intervene. Not that Danny blamed them—this was well above their pay grade.

Big Sal, realizing that Red Hood wasn’t going to back down, snarled and gestured to his goons. “You think you can just walk in here and take what’s mine? This is my turf, Hood!”

Hood’s voice was calm but laced with menace. “Not anymore, it’s not. You’ve been running weapons and drugs through this place for months. The Fun Zone’s under new management now. So, unless you want to end up in Arkham—or worse—you’ll walk out of here while you still can.”

Sal bared his teeth, but before he could respond, one of his goons hesitated and took a step back. “Uh, boss? Maybe we should listen. It’s… it’s Red Hood.”

Sal shot the man a glare that could curdle milk. “Coward.”

Hood tilted his head toward the exit. “Smart guy. He should take you with him.”

The goon glanced nervously at Sal, then at Hood, and bolted toward the doors. A few others followed, their loyalty clearly not strong enough to stick around for what was about to happen.

Danny watched the exodus with mild amusement. “Wow, Sal. You really inspire loyalty, huh?”

“Shut up, kid!” Sal barked, his face red with anger. “You’re on thin ice.”

Danny raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. If I were you, I’d consider an employee morale retreat or something.”

Hood let out a low chuckle, his guns still trained on Sal. “You’ve got guts, kid. I’ll give you that.”

Danny replied with a shrug. “So, what’s the plan here, Hood? Are you shutting this place down, or do I need to update my résumé?”

Hood’s answer was interrupted by a sudden crash from the go-kart track. Everyone turned to see a group of kids who had somehow bypassed the barricades and were now gleefully racing around, oblivious to the standoff happening mere feet away.

“Seriously?” Hood muttered, lowering his weapons slightly. “This place is chaos.”

“Welcome to The Fun Zone,” Danny said with a wry smile. “Where the games never stop, even during a hostile takeover.”

Hood let out a heavy sigh, clearly debating whether this was worth his time. Finally, he holstered his weapons and gestured for Sal to leave. “You’ve got 24 hours to pack up and get out. If I see you here after that, you won’t be walking out.”

Sal opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. He stormed out, slamming the doors behind him, leaving Hood, Danny, and a scattering of terrified employees behind.

Hood turned back to Danny. “You still want to work here?”

Danny shrugged. “Depends. You hiring?”

Hood stared at him for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve got nerve, kid. Fine. You’re hired—you get a fat raise and fewer shady dealings. Just… try not to question too much about what happens in the backroom.”

“Cool,” Danny said, finishing his soda. “Do I get a new uniform, or do I keep the one with the mustard stains?”

Hood sighed again, rubbing his temples. “I’m already regretting this.”

Danny grinned. “Welcome to management, boss.”

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #ghostlyglimmer's fanfiction #ghostlyglimmer #GhostlyGlimmer's art

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octaneink · 3 months ago

Text

Sky + Seafoam

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: Painting + yap session Warnings: None Notes: I saw a video of someone painting their bf's back it was too cute so I thought 'Why not write it for Will' so here we are lol. Enjoy!

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV, the volume turned low so it was little more than background noise. You were curled up on the sofa, your legs tucked under you and your head resting comfortably on Will’s shoulder. His free arm was draped loosely around you, his fingers occasionally brushing against your sleeve as he scrolled through his phone with the other hand. The faint sound of his occasional hums or quiet commentary on whatever he was looking at filled the space between you, warm and familiar.

Your own phone was in your hands, though you hadn’t been paying much attention to it until now. A video autoplayed on your feed, catching your eye. It was an artist, their hands moving with practiced ease as they painted a stunning landscape across someone’s back. The colours blended seamlessly—soft blues melting into whites for the sky, rich greens and browns forming trees, and a shimmering river that seemed to ripple with every breath the canvas took.

You sat up abruptly, your head lifting off Will’s shoulder so fast he flinched.

“What?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement as he glanced at you. His eyebrow arched, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he already knew something was coming.

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes still glued to the screen. The artist was adding tiny details now—a sailboat and the reflection of the trees in the water. It was mesmerising.

“You’ve got that look,” Will said, setting his phone down on the armrest and turning to face you fully.

“What look?” you asked, finally tearing your eyes away from the video.

“The one where you’re about to ask me to do something ridiculous,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes soft. He reached over, his fingers brushing against your side in a way that made you squirm immediately. You tried to twist away, but he was already poking at your ribs, his touch light but deliberate.

“Will!” You squealed, laughter bubbling up as you instinctively curled into yourself, trying to escape his fingers. “Stop!”

He didn’t stop. Instead, he grinned, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he shifted closer, his free hand joining in to tickle your other side. “Spit it out,” he said, his voice playful as you wriggled under his touch.

“Okay, okay!” You gasped between laughs, batting at his hands. “I’ll tell you! Just stop!”

Will relented, pulling back with a satisfied smirk, but he kept his hands hovering near your sides, ready to strike again if you took too long. You caught your breath, your cheeks flushed from laughing, and held up your phone so he could see the video.

“What if I painted something on your back?” You said, your voice still breathless. “Like, a whole scene? Look how cool this is!”

Will leaned forward, squinting at the screen for a moment before leaning back with a dramatic groan. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” you pressed, scooting closer to him again. “It’s water-based paint! It’ll wash right off. And it’ll be fun!”

He shook his head, his smirk returning as he reached for your sides again. “Fun for you, maybe. I’ll just be lying there, bored out of my mind.”

You squeaked, scrambling backward to avoid his hands, but he was faster. His fingers found your ticklish spots again, and you burst into laughter, collapsing against the couch cushions as he loomed over you, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Will!” you managed between giggles, trying to push him away. “Stop! I’ll—I’ll make it worth your while!”

He paused, his hands still hovering threateningly. “Oh? How so?”

“I’ll cook your favourite dinner,” you said, still catching your breath. “And you can pick the movie for a whole week. Deal?”

Will tilted his head, pretending to consider it, but the way his lips twitched gave him away. “Tempting,” he said, his fingers brushing your side one last time, making you yelp. “But no. I’m not your personal art project.”

You pouted, leaning your head against his shoulder again. “You’re no fun.”

He chuckled, his arm wrapping around you as he picked up his phone. “And yet you still love me.”

You smiled, your mind already racing with ideas. Will might have said no for now, but you weren’t giving up that easily.

Over the next few days, you didn’t let up. You were determined, and Will was going to crack eventually—you were sure of it.

It started small.

You (10:43 AM): [Image of someone’s back, on it is a painting of a pirate ship.]

You (10:43 AM): Imagine this, but on you.

Will (10:44 AM): 😐

You laughed at his response, but you weren’t deterred.

The next morning, you left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table, a half-finished landscape scene staring up at him as he poured his coffee. He paused, squinting at the page, then glanced at you over his shoulder. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

You shrugged innocently, sipping your tea. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else, though you caught him glancing at the sketchbook a few more times before he left for work.

That night, during your usual movie night, you saw your opportunity. Will was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the back cushions and the other resting on the seat between you. His attention was half on the movie—some action flicks he’d picked—and half on his phone, which he was scrolling through absently.

You glanced at him, then at the fine-tipped marker sitting innocently on the coffee table. A slow grin spread across your face as you reached for it, uncapping it with a soft click.

Will didn’t notice at first. His eyes were still on his phone, his thumb swiping lazily through some app. You shifted closer, your knee brushing against his thigh, and gently took his hand in yours. He didn’t pull away, too distracted to question what you were doing.

You started with the trunk of the tree, drawing a thin, wavy line up the back of his hand. The marker glided smoothly over his skin, and you added a few branches, then some tiny leaves. You were so focused on your work that you didn’t notice Will had stopped scrolling and was now watching you with a raised eyebrow.

“What are you—?” he started, pulling his hand away to inspect the little tree now permanently inked on his skin. His expression was a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Really?”

You grinned, holding up the marker “It’s practice. For the masterpiece I’m going to paint on your back.”

He groaned, dropping his head back against the couch cushions. “You’re relentless.”

You scooted closer, your knee bumping his as you leaned into his space. “Please?” you said, batting your eyelashes dramatically. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll cook your favourite dinner, and you can pick the movie for a whole week. No complaints from me, even if you choose something ridiculous.”

Will tilted his head, pretending to consider it, but the way his lips twitched gave him away. “Tempting,” he said, his voice teasing. “But what if I want more than just pasta and movie rights?”

You narrowed your eyes, poking his side lightly. “Don’t push your luck, Lenney.”

He chuckled, catching your hand before you could pull it away. “Fine,” he said, his tone mock-resigned. “But if I regret this, you’re buying me that new game I’ve been eyeing. No arguments.”

You squealed, throwing your arms around him in a hug that nearly knocked him over. “You’re the best!”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around you to steady himself. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me regret it.”

You pulled back, grinning at him. “You won’t. I promise.”

Will raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical, but the way his lips twitched into a smile gave him away. “We’ll see.”

Will lay shirtless on the bed, a soft towel spread beneath him to protect the sheets. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over his skin. You couldn’t help but pause for a moment, taking him in. His back was smooth and relaxed, the muscles faintly defined under the faint scattering of freckles that dotted his shoulders like stars across a night sky. You’d always loved those freckles—how they seemed to tell a story, each one a tiny mark of something uniquely him.

He rested his cheek on the pillow you’d fluffed for him, his arms folded loosely beneath his head. The position stretched his shoulders slightly, making the freckles shift and settle like constellations rearranging themselves. You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly over one near the curve of his spine, and he shivered at the touch.

“Tickles,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

You smiled, pulling your hand back. “Sorry,” you said, though you weren’t really. How could you be when he looked like this? The light caught the faint golden undertones in his skin, making him glow like he’d been kissed by the sun itself.

“You’re staring,” he said, though he didn’t turn to look at you. His voice was soft, teasing.

“I’m not,” you lied, dipping your brush into the palette of paints balanced on your knee.

“Liar,” he shot back, a smirk in his tone.

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you, and began to paint. The first stroke of blue across his shoulder made him tense slightly, but he relaxed almost immediately, his breath evening out again.

“Cold?” you asked, pausing.

“A little,” he admitted, his voice drowsy. “But it’s not bad. Keep going.”

You nodded, adding more blue, then blending in white to create soft, wispy clouds. As you worked, your eyes kept drifting back to those freckles, the way they seemed to guide your brush like a map. You couldn’t help but admire him—not just his back, but the way he trusted you so completely, lying there without a hint of self-consciousness.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” you said softly, more to yourself than to him.

Will huffed a quiet laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Flattery won’t make me say yes to this more often.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” you said, grinning as you added a tiny bird to the sky you were painting.

He didn’t respond, but you could tell by the way his breathing slowed that he was smiling.

You worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the soft swish of the brush against his skin. The sky was coming together beautifully, the blues and whites blending seamlessly. As you dipped your brush into a soft green to start on the grass, your mind wandered to the park you’d visited earlier in the week.

“So, I was people-watching at the park the other day,” you began, your voice light and conversational.

Will hummed, a quiet sound of acknowledgement that encouraged you to keep going.

“And this guy was walking his dog—this tiny, fluffy thing that looked like a cotton ball with legs. Anyway, the dog suddenly stops in the middle of the path and just refuses to move. Like, full-on stubborn mode. The guy’s tugging on the leash, but the dog just sits there, staring at him like, ‘What are you gonna do about it?’”

Will chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Sounds like my kind of dog.”

“Right?” you said, grinning as you added a few more blades of grass. “But then—get this—the guy just picks the dog up, tucks it under his arm like a football, and keeps walking. The dog looked so offended, like, ‘How dare you?’ It was hilarious.”

Will’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and you had to pause for a moment to keep from smudging the paint. “Careful,” you said, tapping his shoulder lightly. “I’m trying to create a masterpiece here.”

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “Keep going. What else happened?”

You switched to a darker green, starting on the trees that would frame the river. “Well, after the dog drama, I saw this couple having a picnic. They looked so cute together—like, straight out of a rom-com. But then the guy accidentally spilt his drink all over the blanket, and the girl just started laughing. And then he started laughing too, and they just sat there, covered in lemonade, cracking up. It was kind of adorable.”

Will hummed, his voice soft. “Sounds like us.”

You smiled, your chest warming at the thought. “Yeah, it kind of does. Remember when you tripped over your own feet at the grocery store and knocked over that display of cereal boxes?”

“Hey,” he said, his tone mock-offended. “That was one time. And in my defence, the floor was slippery.”

“Sure it was,” you said, laughing as you added a few more details to the trees. “But you have to admit, it was pretty funny. Especially when you tried to blame it on the cart.”

“It was the cart’s fault,” he insisted, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

You shook your head, dipping your brush into a rich brown to add texture to the tree trunks. “Anyway, after the picnic couple, I saw this little kid chasing pigeons. He was so determined, like he was on a mission. But every time he got close, the pigeons would just fly away, and he’d throw his hands up like, ‘Why is this so hard?’”

Will laughed again, the sound muffled by the pillow. “Kids are weird.”

“They really are,” you agreed, smiling as you added a few birds to the sky. “But it was kind of sweet, you know? Like, he didn’t care that he wasn’t catching them. He was just having fun.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft swish of your brush against his skin. You switched to a lighter blue, adding ripples to the river. “It made me think,” you said, your voice softer now, “about how we don’t do stuff like that any more. Just… silly, pointless things that make us happy.”

Will shifted slightly, his voice drowsy but thoughtful. “What kind of silly things?”

“I don’t know,” you said, tilting your head as you considered it. “Like… flying a kite. Or building a pillow fort. Or—” You paused, grinning. “Or letting your girlfriend paint a landscape on your back.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, okay. That’s pretty silly.”

“But fun, right?” you said, adding a few final touches to the river.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Fun.”

You smiled, setting your brush aside for a moment to admire your work. The scene was complete—a serene landscape that seemed to come alive on his skin. The river wound its way down his spine, the water shimmering with hints of silver and white. Trees stretched across his shoulders, their branches reaching toward the sky, and birds dotted the clouds like tiny brushstrokes of life. It was beautiful, but not nearly as beautiful as the man beneath it.

You didn’t notice when Will’s responses grew quieter, then stopped altogether. His breathing deepened, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a peaceful rhythm. The room was quiet now, save for the soft sound of his breathing and the occasional rustle of the sheets as he shifted slightly in his sleep.

“And then I saw—” you began, your voice soft as you reached for a smaller brush to add a few final details. “Wait, do you want to make some chicken souvlaki and tzatziki for dinner? Will?”

No response.

You paused, glancing down at him. His cheek was still pressed into the pillow, his face relaxed and peaceful. His eyes were closed, his long lashes brushing against his skin, and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed deeply. The faintest hint of a smile lingered on his face, as though even in sleep, he was content.

He’s asleep.

Your heart swelled with affection, a warmth spreading through your chest as you watched him. How long had he been out? You’d been rambling for who knows how long, and he’d drifted off to the sound of your voice. The thought made your cheeks warm—not with embarrassment, but with something softer, something that made your chest ache in the best way.

Careful not to smudge the paint, you leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His skin was warm under your touch, and he stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. For a moment, you thought he might wake up, but he only shifted again, settling deeper into the pillow.

You sat back, your gaze lingering on him. The afternoon light had shifted, casting a golden glow over the room and making his skin glow like it was part of the painting itself. The freckles on his shoulders seemed to shimmer, and you couldn’t help but trace one lightly with your finger, careful not to wake him.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, though there was no bite to your words. “Falling asleep on me like that.”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed. Not when he looked so peaceful, so completely at ease. Not when the sound of his breathing was the most comforting thing in the world.

You reached for your phone, snapping a quick photo of the painting on his back. It was too beautiful not to capture, but even the photo couldn’t compare to the real thing—the way the colours seemed to breathe with him, the way the scene felt alive because he was alive beneath it.

Setting your phone aside, you began to clean up your supplies, carefully capping the paints and rinsing the brushes. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft clink of the paint tubes and the occasional rustle of the sheets as Will shifted in his sleep.

Once everything was packed away, you stood, stretching your arms above your head. You glanced at Will one last time, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Sleep well,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to leave, tiptoeing toward the door, but before you could take more than a few steps, a hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Will’s voice was low and drowsy, his grip gentle but firm, his fingers warm against your skin.

You turned back to see him looking at you through half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile playing on his lips. His hair was mussed from the pillow, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw. “I was just—”

He didn’t let you finish. With a quick tug, he pulled you down onto the bed, his arms wrapping around you before you could protest. Before you could even react, he flipped you onto your back, his body pressing you gently into the mattress.

“Will!” you squealed, laughing as his weight settled over you. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, his chest pressing against yours, his legs tangling with yours. “The paint—it’s still wet!”

“Don’t care,” he mumbled, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the coolness of the room. His lips brushed against your collarbone, feather-light, and you felt your breath hitch.

You squirmed, trying to wriggle free, but he only tightened his hold, his arms like a cage around you. His muscles flexed as he shifted, pinning you more securely beneath him. “You’re impossible,” you said, though your laughter betrayed your words.

“Yours, though,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, the words muffled against your skin.

Your heart melted at his words, and you stopped fighting, letting yourself relax beneath him. His weight was comforting, grounding, like a living, breathing blanket that anchored you to the moment. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, your fingers threading through his hair. It was soft, slightly messy from sleep, and you twirled a strand around your finger absently.

His breath tickled your neck, steady and warm, and you felt the rise and fall of his chest against yours. The scent of him—clean and faintly sweet—filled your senses, and you closed your eyes for a moment, savouring it.

“You’re going to ruin the painting,” you said, though you didn’t really care. Not when he was this close, not when his warmth surrounded you like a cocoon, safe and familiar.

“Worth it,” he said, his voice barely audible as he nuzzled closer. His nose brushed against your jaw, and you felt the curve of his smile against your skin. His lips lingered there for a moment, not quite a kiss but something just as intimate.

You smiled too, your chest swelling with something you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just affection—it was deeper than that, a quiet, steady ache that made your heart feel too big for your chest. His weight, his warmth, the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered—it was overwhelming in the best way.

You ran your fingers through his hair again, your touch gentle, and he sighed, the sound soft and content. His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer, if that was possible.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

You didn’t need to be asked twice.

How do people like this layout? I removed the dividers from the scene so its just one whole block. Is that alright? Im not sure honestly. But I hope people like it!

#willne #will lenney #willne x fem!reader #willne x reader #will lenney x fem!reader #will lenney x reader

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tinyshyteacup · 22 days ago

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Tw: cussing, fluff, snuggles

Part 11

Words of Command - Part 12

Your suite in Stark Tower feels more like a sanctuary than any place Bucky’s ever been—not that he knows why. Maybe it’s the scent that always lingers faintly on the couch cushions—your shampoo. Or the way you hum when you brush your hair in the evening, not even realizing you’re doing it. Or maybe it’s just because he’s not in a cage. Not anymore.

The TV glows softly, voices murmuring from a cooking show you didn’t really mean to choose.

Just background noise to fill the silence while you sit curled on one end of the couch in a loose T-shirt and pajama pants, your knees tucked under you like a child listening to rain.

Bucky—stands near the window, half in shadow. The metal arm catches faint light when he shifts his weight. His shoulders are tense, jaw tight, eyes narrowed slightly as if watching the reflection of the flickering screen on the glass rather than the city outside.

And then he says it.

"Doll… what was that?”

You glance up. “What was what?”

He turns slowly.

Controlled.

Measured.

But there’s something unsure in his posture now. Less soldier. More... man. He steps toward the couch, not sitting yet. Just looming, hesitating like a man outside a door he’s not sure he’s allowed to open.

"In the kitchen. When I… I reached for you.”

His hand flexes—flesh fingers curling in mid-air like they remember the shape of your cheek but not how they knew to go there.

“I don’t understand what that was. But it felt like—like something. Not in my head. Here.”

He presses the heel of his palm over his chest, then looks at you with a rawness that’s almost painful to witness.

There’s no mask. Just confusion, vulnerability, and a desperate hunger to understand what’s happening to him.

You put the remote down and shift, making space on the couch. “Come sit with me?”

He hesitates—but obeys.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like he’s afraid he’ll break the cushion just by sitting on it.

You turn toward him slightly, your voice still soft. “When you say it felt like something short-circuited… do you mean it hurt?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not pain. Just... heat. Like... like a pull. But I...I just... wanted to.”

He frowns. “Wanting is confusing.”

You can’t help the soft smile. “Yea, it can be.”

His brows knit. “What does it mean if I wanted to touch your face?”

Your breath hitches, just a little. “Well… it can mean a few things. But sometimes, when we care about someone… we want to be close. To feel close to them. To connect.”

He’s silent. The TV babbles in the background about deglazing a pan.

You continue gently, “Do you think… that's what it is, Soldat ?”

“I don’t know you,” he says quickly—but not coldly. “But I look at you, and I feel like I know you. Like I should know you. Like there’s something warm in my blood when you talk to me. You say my name and it’s like… like gravity. And when I see you smile, I feel like I could die and it’d be okay.”

You blink, stunned at the poetry he doesn’t even know he’s speaking.

Then his voice drops, gravel low.

“Thats not from them."

His eyes lock onto yours. Blue steel, but soft around the edges now.

“You didn’t order it. So why do I want it so bad?”

You reach out slowly, palm up.

“Because it’s yours,” you say. “The wanting. The feeling. It’s not programming. It’s you.”

He stares at your hand for a moment. Then, carefully, he places his flesh hand in yours.

His thumb brushes across your knuckles, slowly. Not sure if he’s allowed to do more.

“Doll…” he says, voice barely a whisper. “If I… if I ever remember more of who I was… will I still want this?”

You squeeze his hand gently.

“You're still you ... we're just… finding your pieces.”

The TV’s background noise fades in your awareness as you both sit there, connected not by command, but by choice. Bucky is quiet for a long time.

“I don’t want to break this... to hurt you”

“You won’t,” you whisper.

His fingers shift, moving up to brush a stray lock of hair from your cheek��just like that almost-moment in the kitchen, but this time, he finishes it. His knuckles graze your skin.

You rest your head lightly on his shoulder. And for the first time, he lets his body relax beneath yours.

Your bedroom is quiet when you slip inside, soft lamplight catching the gentle curve of the comforter as you pull it back.

The hum of the city is muffled by Stark Tower’s reinforced glass, but you can still see the lights winking from below, like a galaxy turned upside down.

You don’t expect to hear the soft click of the door behind you. Bucky had been staying mostly in his own room, only coming to your room on nights with nightmares.

You turn, hand still on the edge of the blanket.

Bucky stands there, one shoulder pressed to the doorframe. His flesh hand at his side, his metal one clenched just slightly, as if uncertain what to do with the need building inside him.

“Doll…”

His voice is low, soft, with that half-rasp that always curls around your name like it’s some kind of prayer.

“I… don’t know if I’m supposed to be here.”

You blink, gentle, cautious. “You can be, if you want to be.”

He steps in, closing the door behind him. Not with purpose—just quiet intention.

“I keep thinking about what you said. About wanting… not being the same as orders. And I keep... wanting.”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. You see it in the way he sways slightly, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to move forward.

“I’m going to sleep now,” you say softly, your tone even and kind. “You can stay, if you want to. But you don’t have to.”

His jaw tenses. “It’s not that I think I have to. I just… I don’t want to be alone. But I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Or makes you feel like—like I’m still not making choices.”

There’s a pause.

"Can I stay with you?” he asks. The question feels fragile.

You nod gently, lifting the comforter a little.

Bucky approaches slowly, like he’s stepping onto ice. He sheds the jacket first, revealing the long-sleeved shirt underneath that stretches across broad shoulders. He’s quiet about it—careful.

As if loud sounds might wake a ghost. His movements are precise, cautious, almost like a soldier diffusing a bomb. His metal arm remains close to his side.

He lies beside you on his back, not touching you. Not even close. His body is tight with restraint.

You watch the hard swallow in his throat. His eyes are on the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

Your laugh is a breathy, tiny thing. “That’s okay. You don't have to do anything.”

A beat.

Then—slowly, achingly slowly—his arm shifts. His flesh hand brushes along the sheet until his pinky finds yours. The lightest touch. Barely there. As if even that could be too much.

"This alright?”

You nod. “Yes.”

And he sighs. Like he’s been holding that breath since 1945.

Minutes pass. You turn on your side, facing away—but your pinky remains linked with his.

No demands.

Just comfort.

Bucky moves behind you—hesitant, still—but closer. Just enough to let his body radiate heat against yours, not touching yet.

Then his arm—the metal one—shifts.

Halting.

Deliberate.

“I know it’s cold. I’ll keep it to myself if it’s too much.”

You reach back with gentle fingers, wrapping them around his wrist.

“No. It’s ok Soldat.”

And that’s it.

That’s all it takes.

He curls behind you, spooning carefully, like he’s scared he might crush you. His metal arm wraps across your waist, held stiff at first—then loosens when he realizes you haven’t pulled away.

His breath tickles the back of your neck. His chest rises and falls in time with yours.

"You smell like warm milk and vanilla,” he murmurs.

You smile into the pillow. “That’s oddly specific.”

"I remember it,” he says, voice soft as dusk. “It's the only memory im sure is mine”

It’s dark in the suite now, the only light coming from the faint cityglow bleeding in through the curtains.

The world outside continues on, fast and loud—but inside, everything is soft. The sheets, the breath, the quiet hum of JARVIS and his circuits that lulls the room into safety.

You’re still curled up together, your body small against his—barely taking up space, yet somehow filling the room with warmth. Bucky’s metal arm rests across your waist, cool at first, but no longer stiff.

His fingers are splayed gently where your ribs rise and fall, not gripping, just… there.

His breath continuea to stir the fine baby hairs at the nape of your neck, chest rising slow behind you.

The kind of stillness that only comes from trust—not programming.

Then, softly, like he’s scared the words might break the moment “Used to be girls like you in Brooklyn…”

You shift, just a little—only enough to turn your head toward him. “Girls like me?”

“Soft,” he murmurs, voice half-lost in the pillow. “Gentle. They wore red lipstick and smelled like sugar cookies. Would laugh behind their hands and pretend not to look at the uniforms.”

A pause.

Then, quieter “None of them ever looked at me like you do.”

You don’t speak. Not yet.

“I remember… fragments. A dance hall. Music. Steve grinning like an idiot ‘cause he finally asked someone to swing. I was teasing him. Telling him he’d step on her feet. Then…”

His fingers flex slightly, tremble, then still.

"Then it’s cold. Metal. Lights in my eyes. Screaming. And then… you.”

He shifts behind you slightly—tentative. The arm across your waist begins to lift. Retreating.

“I shouldn’t hold you like this,” he says, barely audible. “Not with this thing. What if I squeeze too hard? What if I forget where I am again?”

You reach down and place your arm over his metal forearm.

Bucky's breath hitches, not with excitement, but with fear.

“I’m not scared of it ... the arm” you whisper.

“You should be.”

He says it like a sinner.

But your voice stays steady. “Does it... do you… feel? With this arm?”

There’s a pause. Then, hesitant.

“Sort of. Not like flesh, not pain or heat. But… pressure. Vibration. Cold. Like I’m wearing armor I can never take off.”

Your hand reaches down, brushing your fingers lightly over the edge of the metal plates, where his titanium wrist sits at your waist, one fingertip traveling the grove between the plates.

You trace along the lines—over the overlapping segments, over seams that flex as he breathes. Your touch is featherlight. Reverent.

“Y'know I don't see a weapon, when I look at it” you say softly.

His eyes search your face, like he’s waiting for mockery. But all he finds is warmth.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You lift your gaze to meet his. “They gave it to you as a weapon. But it’s yours now, Soldat. You get to decide what it’s for now.”

His throat bobs as he swallows.

“You’re not scared.”

“Not even a little bit”

“Even if I forget again?”

You take his metal hand in both of yours, bringing it gently to rest against your chest, right over your heartbeat.

“Then I’ll remind you.”

His forehead presses to your shoulderblade, eyes closed. No movement—just contact.

He breathes you in, slow and ragged.

“Doll…”

It’s more than a name now.

It’s a plea.

A hope.

A tether.

The quiet hasn’t changed. The room steeped in a hush so complete that even the city outside feels like it’s holding its breath. The kind of silence where words would feel too sharp—unless spoken with care.

You've shifted in your quite half sleep.

Bucky lies on his side, facing you. His titanium arm rests behind your back, not holding but there, like a safety rail you didn’t know you needed. His flesh hand is caught gently between your two smaller ones, warm and still.

Your heads share the same pillow, foreheads close but not quite touching.

You feel his eyes before you see them—fixed on you, heavy with thoughts he doesn’t yet have language for. His brow is creased slightly, as if trying to solve a puzzle written on your skin.

"Doll…” he murmurs, voice gravel and breath.

You hum softly in response, not wanting to break the spell.

Your thumb moves in slow circles across the back of his knuckles.

Soothing.

Patient.

"Can I… tell you something?”

His voice is low, tentative. Like it’s the first time he’s ever asked permission for anything.

You nod, lips barely moving. “Of course you can, Soldat.”

He doesn’t move for a long time. Doesn’t speak. Just breathes. As if your voice was enough to quiet the static in his head.

But then…

"I don’t… know what this feeling is,” he admits, broken-soft. “It’s not an order. Not a mission.”

Your fingertips rest over his chest now, feeling the faint thump beneath his skin. Your head is tucked into the hollow beneath his collarbone. “What feeling?”

“When I look at you.”

He shifts slightly, uncertain. “My chest feels tight. My thoughts get louder, but only the one's about dames. I remember things ... like hands and laughing.”

You feel the tremor in his voice like a ripple beneath you.

"I want to be near you. Protect you. Make sure your safe.”

A pause. Then, almost broken “But I don’t know what that means. I’m scared… if I forget who I am again…you'll be gone too”

Your hand rises, cupping his cheek—gently turning his face toward yours.

“You’re learning, no ones coming to take from you.”

His eyes are wet. Not tears—not yet. But close.

He presses his forehead to yours again, one hand slowly sliding up your spine—not to hold, but to ground.

His touch is still careful, his grip featherlight.

He closes his eyes.

“Tell me to stay like this.”

You smile—sad and sweet. “You don’t need me to order you, Soldat. You can choose this.”

But he shakes his head, softly stubborn.

“Just tell me, Doll ... please"

You lean in, so your voice, half asleep can be a whisper.

“Stay with me, Soldat.”

He exhales and shifts, his arms tightening for a few seconds, pulling you closer.

“Thank you, Doll.”

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