#it'd all been going too smoothly again

[fickleminder]

be our guest

DWBD AU. When Diavolo comes over to the House of Lamentation for dinner, the demon brothers realize it would be a perfect opportunity for you to expose their horrible treatment of you.

DWBD AU masterlist here.

"Don't you dare," Lucifer pointed directly at you, causing your foot to hover just above the threshold, "take one step further."

You didn't know how he caught you trying to enter the kitchen while his attention was focused on Beel. Maybe he really did have eyes in the back of his head. "I don't mind helping—"

"We got this, so scram!" Mammon yelled from behind the stove. Black smoke was already wafting out from his pot.

You knew Lord Diavolo coming over for dinner would be a big deal, but you didn't think it'd be this big. The prince wanting to eat human world food wasn't too surprising; trying different cuisines was part of cultural exchange after all, and it made sense to host the meal on your home turf, so to speak.

The Avatars didn't take the news well, however. You thought they'd be thrilled to have the opportunity to enjoy your cooking again, but instead of leaving all the work to you as you'd expected, they demanded detailed step-by-step instructions for whatever dishes you were planning to make and told you to stay out of the kitchen. At most, you would be allowed to take on a supervisory role, but with Lucifer refusing to even let you in past the doorway, there was only so much you could do.

"Psst, hey!" You glanced towards the nearby window to see No. 2 waving at you cheerfully. "Can you open the front door? I have reinforcements!"

To your surprise, reinforcements came in the form of seven little D's and the Lord of Time himself.

"Good afternoon. How are the preparations for tonight's meal coming along?" At Barbatos' signal, the little D's scurried into the house carrying baskets of fresh groceries.

"I've been banned from the kitchen, for some reason," you admitted, wincing when you heard Asmo's shrill scream and a loud crash. "…I don't think they're doing too well though."

"That won't do. My Lord sent me ahead specifically to ensure dinner goes smoothly." Barbatos rubbed his chin and hummed. "If the little D's and I were to assist you, would the preparations be completed in time?"

"Sure thing! It won't be the first time I've had to cook for such a large group, but I'll take all the help I can get!"

"Wonderful, I'll be with you in just a moment. Please excuse me."

A blink, and Barbatos was gone.

.

.

.

Things were spiraling out of control.

Mammon and Levi kept fighting over the utensils and recipes. At some point, the steps you had painstakingly written down got drenched and became illegible, forcing them to improvise.

Beel insisted on taste testing everything, taking bite after bite until plates and bowls were scraped clean. Belphie was there to keep his twin in check, but mostly ended up dozing under the counter.

Asmo refused to risk chipping his nails doing menial work and was backseat cooking behind Satan, who started burning more food out of sheer irritation. Several pots and pans had already become dented beyond repair.

Lucifer made a valiant attempt to manage his brothers, but to no avail. Even if he wasn't constantly undermining you when you tried to give instructions from the doorway, he kept trying to take over the individual tasks, insisting he could do them better. This dinner was going to make or break the exchange program and everything had to be absolutely perfect or—

"Gentlemen," was the only warning before a blur shot through the kitchen, knocking everyone off their feet and forcibly throwing them all out. Barbatos stood over the resultant pile of limbs and dusted his gloved hands with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "We'll take over from here."

Lucifer tried to rise to his feet. "But—"

"Do set the table in the meantime. I trust even that should be within your capabilities?"

The butler's tone practically threatened a surprise house inspection if they didn't comply. Effectively cowed at that point, the brothers obeyed.

.

.

.

Lord Diavolo's laughter echoed all the way into the kitchen, and you grinned to yourself as his generous compliments reached your ears.

"Are you sure you don't want to join them? We can handle the rest in here," No. 2 asked.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll probably feel super out of place there anyway." You added another heap of ingredients into the boiling pot. "Did you remember to remove my plate from the table?"

"I did!" No. 5 piped up. "Did I do a good job?"

"Aww, yes you did!"

"Yayyy~!"

"Do not forget that you are our guest too, in this realm." Barbatos spoke up softly, and all the chatter from the little D's immediately fell silent. "From the way you're avoiding dining with the Avatars, it's clear we've been remiss in our hospitality."

Of course Barbatos would see through your act. After all, his own placid smile hid secrets you couldn't even begin to imagine. "Really, it's fine! I'm used to it by now. Besides, someone's gotta keep the food coming, and you guys are technically the guests here so…"

The corners of the butler's lips twitched upwards. "Touché. In that case, I will personally see to it that you are rewarded for your hard work tonight. Why don't you begin by telling me your favorite pastries?"

.

.

.

Despite your exhaustion, you stood at attention when Lord Diavolo shook your hand at the end of the meal, thanking you for serving up such a scrumptious dinner. Your smile was genuine as you waved him goodbye at the front door, and you only allowed it to drop once all the castle's residents have left through a portal.

Behind you, the brothers were sweating bullets as they watched you lower your hand and just stand there, staring into the distance while their minds raced.

Did you say anything to Barbatos while you had him alone? It would have been a golden opportunity for you to air your many grievances to him; half the things the brothers had done to you would have easily seen them thrown into the royal dungeons for being such poor hosts.

You had never dared to approach Lord Diavolo yourself in spite of his friendly demeanor, partially due to Lucifer's many reminders about knowing your place. But he never expected the prince to come to you instead, and so he had rallied his brothers to ensure you wouldn't have to lift a finger tonight, a last ditch effort to persuade you to hold your tongue. So much for that plan.

"We're sorry…" Beel said quietly once all of you had gone back inside. All the satisfaction from eating your cooking had faded away after seeing you emerge from the kitchen completely wiped out. He didn't need his Sin to tell you hadn't eaten anything all night.

"No you're not." The words came out before you could stop yourself. You were more tired than you thought, and your brain-to-mouth filter just wasn't working anymore. "If you were, you'd do better. All of you. But I guess that was too much to ask for."

The atmosphere around the brothers was heavy with shame and guilt. They really screwed up, didn't they? Asmo attempted to steer you towards your room. "Why don't you go and rest while we clean up—"

"The dishes are already done. The little D's took care of that—"

"How about some cup noodles then?" Mammon suggested loudly. "C'mon, ya must be hungry—"

"I'm not feeling like instant food at the moment—"

The doorbell rang all of a sudden, freezing everybody in place. No one dared to move for fear of finding Diavolo on the other side, as unlikely as that was. But there was only one way to find out who was calling on them at this hour.

"Yo," Vorgo greeted you with a lazy salute when you opened the door. "Hope this isn't a bad time. Is the coast clear?"

"You're good. Lord Diavolo already left." Just the sight of your friend was enough to lift your spirits, and you found yourself smiling at them easily. "What's up?"

"Special delivery." The lesser demon held up several containers of food. "Figured you'd be run ragged tonight, so I thought you could use a pick-me-up. I made that casserole you like, plus a few other things—"

"I love you," you blurted out before slapping a hand over your mouth.

Vorgo looked a little taken aback but recovered quickly with a laugh and flushed cheeks. "You're most welcome! Get some rest and I'll see you in class, okay?"

The smell of warm, homemade food was making your empty stomach roar loud enough to rival Beel, but you were past caring at this point. You bid Vorgo farewell and prepared to retreat to your room for some well-earned downtime.

"…Why didn't you say anything to Diavolo, or Barbatos for that matter?" Satan asked just as you were about to ascend the stairs. They hadn't mentioned a word about your treatment before they departed, seemingly none the wiser about how much you had suffered under the brothers' care. "You would have gotten everything you deserved, and yet…"

"I didn't think they'd care, to be honest," you shrugged. They were royalty after all, while you were just some human, and the brothers' behavior could easily be written off as demons being demons. "Even if they did, they probably wouldn't believe me."

Nobody told you Diavolo was a walking lie detector. Even if you had decided to spare them, he would have found out eventually, and then you would come to realize just how much he truly valued your well-being in his kingdom.

Lucifer sighed once you had left. "Belphie, make sure—"

"Deep sleep, no dreams. I got it."

"Levi—"

"I've got manga to catch up on so you won't hear a peep from my room."

Beel offered to make you breakfast the next morning, and Asmo whipped out his D.D.D. to book you an appointment for a manicure. Goodness knows you could use one after putting your hands through the wringer tonight.

Mammon was preparing a list of groceries to stock up in the kitchen while Satan volunteered to cover your lesson notes and homework for the next few days.

"Of course, that goes without question." Lucifer nodded when Satan gave him a pointed look. He would personally ensure that you had the rest of the week off from RAD. After your performance tonight, he doubted Diavolo would object to the idea.

[nishimuraazr1zzkiii]

You big baby ༘⋆p.js

🍝

༘⋆Genre: fluff

.ᐟWarnings: nothing too extreme.

❅WC: 0.6k

ᝰNotes: got inspired since someone I know cries everytime they get a fever and their suitor took care of them(made me feel single istg)

๋Thinking about how jay would take care of you when you have a fever especially if you cry when you have a fever.

On the first day of you fever, waking up to an afternoon sun shining directly in your already watery eyes and a cold towel on your forehead. Feeling around the bed, you don't feel jay next to you, already guessing that he must have left for work already.

Not having enough energy and you feel sluggish than usual, you stayed in bed for a few hours trying to fall back asleep since your fever was getting worse by the hour. Eventually your fever got worse to the point that tears started to well up in your eyes threatening to fall.

Just as you tried to sit up, you hear the front door open and quickly close, you figured it'd be jay since you weren't expecting any visitors but it was to early for him to be home.

The door to your creaks open, jay peaked from the door checking if you're awake or not. Seeing that you were sat in bed with tears in your eyes.

"Y/n! My love, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Jay rushed next to you and put down the plastic bag he was holding and cupped your cheeks while tears fell from your eyes as you sob quietly in jays arms. "I-i...don't k-know *hic* but m-my fever is ge-getting worse... " your voice trailed off by the end of your sentence, hearing this, jay immediately grabbed the plastic bag and took out a packet of pills, popping one out and grabbing the glass of water on your bedside table.

He gave you the pill and the glass of water, but you pushed it back to jay knowing you wouldn't be able to swallow the pill smoothly. "Ok y/n, I'll cook some soup for you and once I finish the soup, you can use it as a substitute for the water so you won't taste the pill" he got up from the bed and kissed your forehead, "get some rest while you wait, I'll leave the water and pills here if your thirsty" jay tucked you in bed and put a back the wet towel that was on your forehead and went out of the room.

.

.

.

You wake up a few hours later, you still felt like you were burning in a fire since your fever hasn't still cooled down, you hear the door open, showing jay holding a tray with a bowl of soup, a glass of water and the pills you still needed to take to make your fever go down.

"Is your fever still high Princess?" He put down the tray on the bedside table and checked your temperature and took the towel from your forehead away, "you should eat up and take the pill so the fever won't be so high tomorrow, do you need anything love?" You shook your head, indicating that you didn't need anything.

"alright then love, if you need me, I'll be down stairs cleaning all the dishes" but before jay had gotten a chance to stand up, you grabbed his hand, pulling him towards you on the bed "what is it love? Is there something wrong? " jay checked your temperature again "no... Can you.. Stay here with me for a while?" Your voice so quiet and soft that jay almost couldn't here you, he didn't say anything but he laid down next to you cuddling you to sleep, his face on your neck, your legs tangled together, his arm wrapped around your waist while the other one is under your head, jay softly caressing your hair, humming a soft tune lulling you both to sleep.

That's how the rest of your sick week has been. Waking up to jay cooking you breakfast and dinner, drinking your medicine, sleeping while waiting for jay to come back from practice, and cuddling to sleep.

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[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance⁵

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader, Katniss Everdeen x platonic!reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: LONG, brief descriptions of torture, mentions of forced prostitution, exploitation of minors, suicidal thoughts and tendencies, violence, murder, sick games, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, grief, and unhealthy coping mechanisms Words: 24K

Masterlist | Part 6

a/n: so here it is! 5 days later than i said, but it's here! and um, had the same problem w my hotch fic, but tumblr only allows 1000 blocks per post, so i had to cut this short. i'll be posting the rest w the ending shortly, but for now, enjoy! ly!

As far as you knew, love and pain were one and the same. You weren't sure exactly when this fact had been established in your mind; maybe it was with your mother, when she hugged you as she cried. Maybe it was with Finnick as you stood from the sidelines and watched him be in love with another woman. Maybe it was that love, the love Finnick and Annie had, that made you realize it, a love between two people who could never be together. Maybe it was the star-crossed lovers on TV, having no choice but to fake a love that they were too young to know.

You were too young to know it, too.

But the pain aged you, made you into a person you didn't know, a person you didn't like. That's how you knew that Finnick would never love you. 

How could he love you if you didn't even love yourself?

How could he love you if no one else did?

You knew that—oh, you knew that so well. But your heart couldn't handle that right now, to accept what your brain already knew. That's why you were avoiding Finnick at all costs, why you turned him away the other night. He had the power to turn you into putty in his hands, and you had to be stronger than that right now.

You had a nation to save. You didn't have time to save yourself from drowning. 

As far as you knew, the revolution was going along smoothly. It'd been about two weeks since you all went to 2, and in that time, Coin and Plutarch had been strategizing, planning out their next moves. For now, you were recuperating, adjusting to life in 13, which was easier said than done. 

You barely slept, often ending up in the training room late at night when it was supposed to be closed. The guard knew, you think, but he never came out to stop you. Sometimes, Katniss was already there by the time you arrived. Neither of you questioned it.

Something told you she couldn't sleep, either.

Couldn't. 

Wouldn't.

You avoided common areas during the day, doing everything in your power to steer clear of the beautiful blue eyes you once adored- still adored. You didn't want to see Finnick Odair. You didn't want to see the victor of The 65th Hunger Games. You didn't want to see the charming playboy. You didn't want to see the convincing actor. You didn't want to see that boy who loved to swim as a child. You didn't want to see the hopeful soldier. And most of all, you did not want to see Finnick, your Finnick.

Because he wasn't yours.

And he never was.

You didn't say it out loud to her, but a part of you thought that maybe Katniss knew this. Maybe she was learning to read you just as you were learning to read her. So you'd end up eating in one of your rooms together, away from everyone else. Sometimes Johanna would join you, only sometimes. Things were different now.

You could tell that she wasn't used to this, and she didn't want to get used to it. It was always you, her, and Finn. And now, you couldn't stand to be around him for reasons you couldn't tell her.

But you think maybe she knew, too.

Maybe a part of her always did.

Sometimes Prim would join you. Katniss' cold exterior would melt and she'd smile larger than you'd ever seen just with her sister's presence. Primrose was innocent and sweet, too sweet for this world. She didn't know it—you didn't talk about these things—but she gave you a little bit of faith in humanity, day by day.

And seeing her and Katniss together gave you a lot more than just a little bit of faith. Seeing the way they were with each other made you wonder how things would've played out if you had a sister, a sibling to care after, a sibling that could've grown up with you, been there with you through your childhood before you stopped being a child.

In a way, you were glad that it was only you, that there wasn't another person who had to share in your pain. But sometimes, you thought, maybe it wouldn't have been so painful if you weren't alone.

Katniss was lucky. And so, you told her that. But unlike that day in the training centre, you didn't tell her out of spite or to taunt her. You told her because she was lucky, and she deserved to know that.

"You know, I used to be jealous of you," you said. The brunette looked up from her food, brows furrowed while your eyes were still trained on the door that Prim had just left from.

"Jealous of me?" She echoed, confusion lacing her voice. A ghost of a smile grew on your face.

You're lucky, you know.

How so?

"You have a family that really loves you, that beautiful sister of yours. At the time, I would've killed to feel a love like that, a love so unconditional." You thought of their mother and your smile widened ever so slightly. She may not have been mother of the year, but she was there. And, really, that's all you ever wanted. That's all anyone could ever ask for. "My mom was, uh... she was never really like that, I guess." You chuckled a bit. "And you already know how our relationship ended up."

The room was silent. The sound of the vent lightly thudding in the background was the only thing you could hear, accompanied by your song. Sometimes, around Katniss, the song got quieter.

And sometimes, around her, it got louder.

After a moment, she spoke. "You have that, Y/N."

Not expecting her to have responded, you turned to her, meeting her eyes staring at you intently. "Hm?"

"An unconditional love," she repeated, her eyes soft as if she were afraid of setting you off. "You have that."

At her words, the smile on your face dimmed. Finnick.

You're my world, Y/N.

You blinked the memories away, trying your best to ignore his face flashing beneath your eyes every time you did so. It was surreal, almost, to think that it was his eyes were what kept you anchored while you were in the Capitol.

And now his eyes kept you anchored as you tried to swim away.

You sighed. Katniss was still so young. She didn't live the victor's life long enough to understand, and you were glad she didn't. There were some things that she never had to experience, things she never had to know, things about you that she couldn't conceptualize, so you tried to put it all into words.

Even though you knew that no words could ever convey what you'd been through.

"I can see why you'd think that, Girl on Fire, but Finnick and I were never... fireworks."

"He told me."

Your head shot up at her reply. You waited for her to add something more, to say she was joking, but the punchline never came. Your breath got caught in your throat. "He told you?"

She hesitated, looking half like she regretting saying anything. "He told me about how you guys started." She paused, letting your thoughts run wild, memories swimming through your brain the same way you used to swim through district 4 waters. 

Can we- can we just be together tonight?

"He loves you, Y/N."

What do you mean? We are together.

No, I mean- can I- I want to hold you.

A small, humourless laugh left you, the same laugh you held back when you met young kids, telling you they wished they could have a love like that. You held back the laugh and the tears and didn't tell them that they should be saving their wishes for something better.

The Prince and Princess of Panem.

If only the kingdom knew that this story didn't end in happily ever after.

If only they knew this wasn't a love story at all.

"No." You looked back up at her, smiling bitterly. "No, he doesn't, Katniss. I'm sorry our act was so good that it actually fooled you." It almost fooled me, too, you thought. But you'd been dancing long enough now to know better.

Y/N, I swear to you on everything I believe in that I'm telling you the truth.

It's impossible.

I l-

"It wasn't an act," Katniss cut your thoughts off, latching onto your hand tightly. You resisted the flinch. "I could tell you loved each other—anyone could."

Her eyes were desperate, and you couldn't figure out why. For some reason, she believed in what she was saying. She believed in this love, this love that did not exist, but why wouldn't she? Nobody knew what happened behind closed doors. Nobody knew that you and Finnick only started dating to try and save yourselves from the something that was something bigger than you. Nobody knew that he called out to Annie when he had nightmares.

You weren't even sure that he knew it himself. 

"You underestimate Finnick's acting capabilities," you said, suddenly wishing you had a drink in your hand.

She was quick to reply. "You underestimate how much he cares about you." 

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The look on her face... she almost looked offended, appalled that you didn't agree with her. At the same time, she looked like she knew something you didn't.

But you knew a mountain of things that she didn't, that nobody knew.

So you didn't respond, opting to continue eating your food, pretending that this conversation never started. Pretending, pretending, pretending...

Katniss looked at you for a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, before she looked back down at her food, too.

Eventually, you got up and headed for the training centre, conversation forgotten.

And she never mentioned it again.

You were walking down the halls when you saw her. You had just been to see Coin; she told you no, that you and Katniss wouldn't be going to the Capitol.

Part of you was angry. How dare she tell you that you couldn't do this? How dare she say no after all you'd been through? This was your fight. It was your right.

But the other part of you was amused.

Maybe it was going through The Hunger Games twice, or maybe it was just every other fucked up thing that'd happened to you in life, but you found her funny. It was laughable that she thought she could tell you what to do; you'd respect her for everything else, but not this. She couldn't tell you what to do about this.

You were going to kill President Snow with your own sword.

And nobody was going to be able to stop you.

That was the thought running through your head when you turned a corner, and suddenly you were face to face with a redhead you hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime ago.

Why would you do that for me? It was supposed to be me. Supposed to be me, supposed to me, supposed to be me.

Annie.

She stopped in her tracks, eyes going wide. She looked like she hadn't aged a day.

So why did it feel like you hadn't seen her in years?

Why did it feel like you were avoiding her?

Before you could answer your own questions, you felt arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly. Your body went stiff. It's Annie, you told yourself. So, after a few seconds, you hugged her back just as tightly. 

This was your friend. This was the woman you volunteered for. And more importantly, this was your soulmate's other half. 

This was Annie.

You heard her sniffling as she pulled back, voice cracking. "I've missed you so much. We've missed you so much, Y/N." We.

We.

You didn't know how to respond, so you did what you did best. You didn't say anything, just pulling her in for another hug. You blinked away the tears threatening to well in your eyes.

And Annie didn't know this. You may never grow the courage to say it out loud. But even though seeing her broke something in you, right now, she was helping you more than you're sure you ever helped her.

After seeing Annie, you spent the rest of the day together. For a day, you forgot about Coin, and Snow, and the revolution all together. You forgot you were the Princess. You forgot that this was the woman Finnick was in love with. For a day, you were just with your old friend.

You shared memories of district 4 together, ignoring the fact that it was all rubble now. You talked about her art, how she'd had so much time to create in 13. Part of you envied that, but the other part was just proud and happy for her.

She'd come a long way from the girl crying in your living room, inconsolable and repeating the same words over and over again. Her cheeks looked fuller and there was this light in her eyes that you never thought you'd see again.

You were enjoying yourselves.

Until she said it, and your bubble broke.

"I met someone."

At first, it didn't really register, and then your breath suddenly halted, but Annie was none the wiser to your state of shock, smiling and staring off.

"He's- he's perfect. He's everything." She looked back at you, her eyes twinkling. "I'm in love. Oh, I'm so in love with him."

In love.

With someone else.

You half-composed yourself, stuttering, "W-with who?"

"His name's Julian," she told you. "He's from 12. And I know I haven't known him that long, but Y/N, he's the one." She brought her hand out in front of you, letting you see a ring you hadn't seen before. And now, you were sure that your heart stopped. "He proposed. And I said yes!" she squealed.

You couldn't breathe.

Music filled your ears.

Annie was getting married.

And it wasn't to Finnick.

You realized you'd been quiet too long and mustered up some sort of smile. "Annie, that's- that's incredible. I'm-" shocked "so happy for you."

She was so delighted that she didn't notice your demeanour, grabbing onto your hand. "Y/N, I want you to be my maid of honour." What? She continued, "And Finnick's gonna be Julian's best man. I want both of my best friends up there with me."

You couldn't breathe.

But you responded, nonetheless, because your problems didn't matter. What you felt didn't matter. This was about Annie.

You plastered on a smile and lied, "Of course. I wouldn't miss it for anything."

Annie clapped and then went on and on about the wedding as the music just got louder and louder.

You're my world, Y/N, echoed in your ears.

Little did Annie know, your world just came crashing down.

You paced through the halls of 13 aimlessly, even though a part of you knew where you were going. Music thumped loudly in your ears, and even if you had no destination, your mind was only dancing to that music.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-

You ran a hand through your hair, heart rate speeding up. You didn't know what to think. 

There was a perfectly crafted image of what you and Finnick were in your head—and that image was nothing. You were nothing. You were "together" out of obligation, to protect your families. And now that your mother was dead and his family was safe, none of that mattered anymore. The picture was ripped to shreds and the frame had shattered to pieces. 

This image was sometimes foggy, and sometimes you may have gotten confused, but through all the smoke and confusion, you still knew what this was. It was all a part of the game, a game with no referees but a guarantee in death if you didn't play right.

And if your punishment wasn't death, then you'd wish it was.

You knew that better than anyone else.

But now, now Annie had taken all those shredded pieces and put them together without even knowing it, creating a picture that you didn't know how to interpret.

You didn't understand.

You saw the way he looked at Annie—you saw it the moment you met her.

Rapid knocks hit your door as you were fixing up boxes upstairs. You'd just moved in with Finnick and were organizing your things. You raised a brow, putting a box down and heading downstairs.

The knocks continued up until you opened the door. A girl with red hair and porcelain white skin stood on the other side, a pretty smile on her face. Your confusion only grew. This girl looked like she couldn't be any older than 16.

What was a pretty teenager doing at your door?

She spoke like she was reading your thoughts. "Hi! I'm Annie." You were taken aback by her bubbliness as she held her hand out for you to shake it. You looked down, scanning it before deciding on taking it just to be polite.

"I'm-"

"Y/N." She cut you off, then sheepishly pulled her hand back. "I- sorry, I just- everybody knows who you are."

You intook a sharp breath, doing your best to smile and thwart her comment. Everybody did know who you were—you needed no reminder about that.

She kept talking. "And you're, uh, you're Finnick's-"

"Annie?"

You turned to see Finnick walking up to the door, wiping his hands with a towel. He must've been in the kitchen, you thought.

Her nervous ramblings stopped as her smile widened. "Hey." She glanced back at you, brows wiggling. "I just met the girl." 

"Oh, uh- yeah." He awkwardly cut himself off, coming to stand next to you. And your confusion just heightened.

Annie held something out in her other hand that you hadn't noticed before. "Your watch," she explained. "You left it the other day."

His watch?

"Oh, thanks." He took it from her grasp, and you watched as their fingers brushed. And then you looked up at his face and saw a sparkle in his eyes.

It was almost unrecognizable. No one had ever looked at you that way.

But you knew what it was.

And that's because you were starting to look at him that way.

They continued talking but you had tuned them out by that point, dull music ringing in your ears.

You should've known better.

Of course, there was a girl. A girl who was sweet, kind, and pretty. A girl who was nothing like you. 

The girl Finnick loved.

He said something to you, asking if he could walk her home. You just nodded. It wasn't a question, no matter how he phrased it.

Annie said goodbye to you and then you watched as they walked out the door, almost forgetting to shut it behind them.

You put a hand on your chest, something akin to a laugh leaving you.

Someone had told you that you were heartless once.

That was funny.

Because, at that moment, you felt your heart hurting just fine.

The memory made your eyes foggy and your breathing irregular. You were hyperventilating.

If Annie was getting married, then what was that? What was that memory? What were all the looks, smiles, and sleepless nights? What were the past eight years for?

What the fuck did any of that mean? What was that supposed to mean to you?

Was he letting her get away— after everything?

Another part of your brain whispered, what if he never had her in the first place?

No. No.

You changed course, walking to the training room. You weren't going to think about this anymore. Thinking about this only made your head spin, spinning the record faster.

If that record spun any faster, it just might break. 

And you had no idea what'd happen then.

Soldiers filed out of the room you stood in front of, each saluting you as they went. You gave a nod back, resisting the urge to say something. You knew that, no matter what you said, they were still going to treat you like royalty.

It was better than your treatment in the Capitol, you supposed.

But, to the better part of you, this treatment was just a stain reminding you of the blood shed.

Plutarch stood at the end of the soldiers' line, ushering you inside. "Princess," he greeted, putting his hand on your back.

You ignored the disgusted shiver that went down your spine, greeting him back. "Heavensbee." You glanced at the greying woman seated at the long table. "Madam President."

"Y/N." She got up, shaking your hand. "Lovely to see that you're doing well."

You gave her somewhat of a smile, or at least hoped that you did, but didn't say anything.

The three of you sat down after the unpleasant exchange of pleasantries. You would ask where Katniss was, but she already told you that she'd be going to see Peeta. You didn't ask to come with her.

Not yet.

Besides, you knew that she needed this. They needed to talk.

You didn't know what happened when you guys came back, what happened between them, nor did you fully know what they did to him in the Capitol, but if it was anything like what they did to you, then it was bad.

Coin's voice broke through your thoughts. "I think the only thing left to say... is thank you."

You looked up at her, spotting the look on her face and realizing that you weren't going to like the rest of this conversation. "I need to be in the Capitol," you stated, adding, "Katniss and I."

Coin was shaking her head before you even finished your sentence. "No, you have done your job. You've been very successf-"

"There is no such thing as success until Snow is dead." At my hands.

Alma pursed her lips, no doubt at the fact that you interrupted her. You'd apologize, but you really didn't have the time or energy to care about that right now. You'd been apologizing for your presence for years, respecting every Alma Coin or Capitol resident that came along. 

You were done.

"And that will happen," she affirmed. "But you need not worry about any of it." You opened your mouth, but she kept going. "You've helped unify the districts in a very short amount of time, for which I thank you, but now we just want you to rest. And to heal."

Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She was pushing you aside.

"The last the rebels saw me, I was lying on the ground with a bullet in my chest."

Plutarch took your attention. "Y/N, we won't let this momentum go to waste. We'll shoot more propos, right here in 13, showing them that you're alive."

"No, I should be down with the troops-"

"It'll be like being on the front lines-"

Coin interjected, "As far as the soldiers know, you survived a bullet to the heart." Her voice was earnest, but if you knew any better, which you did, then you knew to look past her voice to the calculation in her eyes. "I think they'll understand why you're not with them."

You held back a scoff. "And Katniss? What's the excuse for her?"

Coin's resolve only hardened, a smile appearing on her face, a smile you didn't like. "Look, Y/N, when we win this war, we'll fly you both in for the surrender. We'll need you for the ceremony." She paused, nodding to herself. "You're very valuable to us."

Valuable.

Like an artifact.

You thought of saying something but thought better of it, hiding your true thoughts like it was second nature to you—and it was. You nodded, smiling back at her. "Well, whatever it is you need me to do, I'll do it." The lies flowed from your lips smooth as honey.

You got up, shaking her hand once more and bidding your farewell to the both of them. As you left the room, the thousands of things that'd been on your mind left and only one thought remained.

You were gonna watch Snow take his last breath, and you'd be the one to have taken it from him.

No matter what.

Annie's wedding came faster than light, making you break your promise to yourself not to think about it. With Finnick across from you on the stage, it was impossible not to think about it.

You could feel his gaze burning into you, but you ignored it—at least, that's what it looked like to him. To you, you weren't ignoring anything. To you, he was at the forefront of your mind.

Hell, even as Annie walked down the aisle, Finnick was all you could think about. Your relationship, or lack thereof, was all you could think about. The day you met, the nights in the Capitol together, the days when you lost a tribute, the dinners, the nights you slept together, the times he'd kiss you without a camera in sight, the way he calmed you down during the Quell— your whole life together.

SImultaneously, the stolen glances at Annie flashed through your mind, too. The way he'd call her name as he slept, the way he fell apart when her name was called in the Reaping, the way he broke down with her in your living room, the way he'd kiss you for the cameras and then go to see her later that day.

What were you supposed to make of that?

A part of you thought it was comical. There was an entire revolution happening, the weight of the crown and Panem on your shoulders, but with just the simplest thought of Finnick, all of that dissipated into thin air and got magnified at the same time.

He had the type of power over you that a shepherd had over his sheep.

Did he know that?

Annie's voice sounded, breaking you from your trance. "From this day forth, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer. I promise to love and cherish you each day."

You looked towards them, seeing her hands intertwined with the boy's, sincere smiles on both of their faces and love-crazed looks in their eyes. They looked at each other like it was just them in the room. "I, Julian Cinder, take you, Annie Cresta, as my wife from this day forth," he proclaimed, quiet resolution in his voice. "Whatever happens from this point onward, together or apart, we will always be united. One life, one purpose, one destiny."

"You may kiss the bride," the officiator told him. Julian didn't need to be told twice, reaching downward for Annie's lips immediately, kissing her gently. 

Applause overtook the room. You wiped at a tear underneath your eye before joining them, clapping and forcing a smile. 

You were happy, you were so happy that Annie was in love and that the boy she was in love with loved her just as much. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you were crying out of happiness.

Your tears weren't happy tears. 

Julian's vows were beautiful. The love that they shared was more beautiful than any painting you had ever seen, any song you had ever heard, any place you'd ever been to. And it was real.

It was beautiful.

But it was more beautiful and real than anything you'd ever get to experience.

As the reception started, you didn't stay long to watch the newlyweds' first dance. Music started playing, but it did nothing to silence the music already playing in your head.

Unbeknownst to you, you weren't the only one leaving the wedding early.

Your heels clicked rapidly against the floors, silent footsteps following you. You had just made it to the hallway your room was in when you were spun around.

Like a reflex, you automatically brought your fists up without even thinking, about to swing when you saw the perpetrator.

Finnick.

You lowered your fists, bringing one hand to your chest and breathing heavy. You couldn't tell if your reaction was from being touched or from being touched by him.

He held his hands up in surrender, opening his mouth, but you weren't letting this happen again. Not during these times, not today, not now. Maybe not ever.

You couldn't.

You went to turn, but this time, as if he'd learned from last time, his hand latched onto your arm. Your heart rate sped up, and suddenly, there was a pit in your stomach.

Was it butterflies?

Or was it fear?

You tried pulling away your arm, but his hold was like steel, unrelenting. "Y/N, we need to talk-"

"No." You refused to meet his eyes, pulling your arm harder, seemingly for no reason.

"I need to talk to you."

You shook your head. "No. We-" Fuck. "We have nothing to talk about."

"Yes, we do-"

"No, we don't." Water built in your eyes. "I have nothing to say to you." Liar.

"Y/N-"

"Stop it."

"We need to-"

You exploded. "You let her get away!" You looked up at him, and just like that, the dam in your eyes broke. Because the look on his face split your heart in two. "You-" your voice cracked "you let her get away."

Finnick went silent. His hold loosened, but you didn't notice. You didn't even notice the tears in his eyes. 

His voice was no louder than a whisper. "Y/N-"

You cut him off. He wanted to talk, so you would talk. You had enough things to talk about that it'd make your voice go hoarse, enough words stuck inside to you to fill scrolls and still have something left to say. "A-After everything, you just let her go- just like that."

"Y/N, baby, please-"

"Why," you asked, but your words sounded nothing like a question—and they weren't. You were demanding the truth, not asking for it. You wanted to know why. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I love you."

Your breath was knocked out of your chest. 

And for the first time since the Quell, the first time since you met Finnick—the first time since when you won The Hunger Games, the music stopped entirely.

And then it picked back up like it never did before. 

The music was loud, swirling around you like mist, like you could feel it, like it was pushing you to dance as your feet were glued to the floor. Finnick just stood there, staring at you helplessly. He said it so quickly that you almost thought he didn't think about it—did he? Did he think about his words before he said them? Did he think about the words that had the power to break you and build you up?

Did he think about the words that made you feel like you were alive and dying all at the same time?

Three months ago, you would've been overjoyed to hear him say that—to hear him say anything like that. But now it just felt cruel.

So your response was like nothing you would've ever imagined.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Finnick's face dropped. A part of you, the part of you that got butterflies when he said what he said, felt bad. That part of you felt terrible. That part of you wanted nothing more than for him to be happy and for him to love you.

But the other part of you had learned that Finnick being happy and loving you did not exist in the same universe. The other part of you wanted to make him happy but had already accepted that love was not in the picture. This other part of you would go to great lengths to make him happy, like volunteering for deadly games and adding gasoline to the fire that was this revolution. But this part of you refused to pretend anymore.

You weren't going to play anyone's games anymore.

Nothing like the Finnick you once knew, he stammered, "I- I said I love you."

You scoffed. "Love? You think you love me?" 

His eyes narrowed, like he was getting angry. "Yes, Y/N, I love you."

Your eyes hardened, tears no longer falling. "Oh, is that what this is? Are we in love now?" He opened his mouth to speak but your sudden laughter cut him off.

Someone told you that you were heartless once.

Wasn't that funny?

You went on, "So, the sleepless nights I had, waiting for you to get home—was that love?" You stepped closer to him. "The nights when I knew you were with her, the nights you'd hold onto me and I could still smell her, the nights when you called. out. for her in your fucking. sleep.—is that love, Finnick?" You paused, laughing again like you were crazy, and maybe you were. "I didn't even know that we were in a relationship, let alone in love."

He shook his head rapidly with conviction, looking like you had just stabbed him. "No- no, I was never with her, not like that-"

"Oh, of course not-"

"You're talking about it like it was all bad! It- it wasn't, I- I fell in love with you, Y/N." He moved his hand up from your wrist to grasp your hand, picking up the other one and holding it, too. And for some reason, you let him. "What about the nights we spent together, the days in, the dinners, the last eight years-" he cut himself off, breathing heavily and staring into your eyes. "You can't tell me that we weren't in love."

Finnick's blue eyes were like a whirpool, sucking you in yet again. He looked like he truly believed in what he saying, so much so that you almost believed it, too. You wanted to. You wanted nothing more than to believe that your time together meant something, that he felt the same way you did. 

If you were still that same woman, you would've believed it. But even she was a swimmer.

You were not going to be sucked into his whirlpool. Not again.

Not after it tore you apart last time.

You snapped, "It was fake! All of it was fake!" You held back onto his hands, tightening your grip. Finnick's eyes may have been a whirlpool, but yours were a storm. "I remember that; it was my idea. And I am sorry- I am so sorry for the years I have stolen from you, but I had people to protect back then" mom "and I don't anymore." You stepped closer to him, if that was even physically possible. "Don't you get it? I have lost everything. But I never lost you." You shook off his hands, and even as such anger coursed through you, a tear raced down your cheek. "You can't lose something you never had in the first place."

Finnick recoiled. For a moment, he looked sick until he regained composure, reaching for your hands again but you quickly stepped back. "Y/N-"

"You know, you're half right, though." A humourless smile came to your face. "We may have never been in love, but I know that I was." And I still am.

Without waiting for him to respond or giving him the opportunity to suck you in again, you turned and quickly went into your room, locking the door as soon as it closed.

You ran for the toilet, expecting vomit to rise. You sat there, waiting for it come, but nothing came up. Suddenly, you errupted into laughter, the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt, and then those laughs slowly turned into loud sobs, tears running down your cheeks.

You're fuckin' heartless, 4.

Oh, how funny that was.

Maybe they were finally right. Maybe you were heartless now.

Because your heart had just been ripped out of your chest.

You didn't leave your room the rest of the day, except to congratulate Annie and go to the training room later at night. Katniss met you there, dull. You didn't ask her what happened, and she didn't ask you, either. You sparred and pretended that the last few hours didn't happen, that Finnick didn't let the woman he loved get away, that he didn't say what he said.

You already cried to yourself for hours. You didn't need to reflect on it anymore.

You were fine.

"No, you hold it with both pointers facing outward, like a bat." You corrected the position of Katniss' hands on the sword. She may have had a gift for the bow, but anyone with eyes could see that, that wasn't the case for swordsmanship. My God, she's helpless.

She scoffed, "You're acting like I'm inept. I can wield a sword just as well as you can shoot an arrow."

"Sureeee."

Katniss rolled her eyes but continued doing what you were telling her to do. She said she was curious. Little did you know, curious meant terrible.

Once her hands were in position and she was holding properly, she took a swing. You held back the urge to wince. She wasn't that bad, but it was pretty damn bad. "No, see- you can't swing like that. Way too slow, not enough force—have you seriously never wielded a sword before?" You grabbed one, holding up it and demonstrating. "You swing like this. If you swing the way you're swinging, then you're not gonna be able to slice anything."

"C'mon, this'd knock someone down."

"Well, the goal isn't to knock someone down; it's to kill them on impact."

"What, so you went into your Games with the mindset that you'd just kill immediately?"

You intook a breath, your bubble of pretend breaking. No, that wasn't what you went into your Games thinking at all. After a moment, you responded, "No." Pause. "I actually didn't think I stood a chance." Katniss went silent, but for some reason, you kept talking, eyes on the wall. "I would've been the youngest that year, but um... Bay was younger than me. And he wanted a longer life, a better life, so I fought for him. It was him and my mom." And now they're both dead. You cleared your throat, turning back to look at her and faking a smile. "So I decided ruthlessness was the only way to survive in there. And then when I got out, it wasn't ruthlessness that kept me alive; it was being royalty." You chuckled.

Never would you have ever imagined this being your life when you were younger, that you'd be Princess. But here you were, alive and well.

Or at least as well as you could be in your position.

Some had it worse.

You were fine.

You turned, about to move on and keep going when Katniss' voice broke the silence. "Aren't you tired?" You turned your head back to her to see the sword hanging from her hands, a look of exhaustion hiding behind her seemingly empty eyes, despair in her undertone. "'Cause I am. I don't know about much anymore, but I know that I am tired."

You stared at her, this time really looking at her. It was so easy to forget how young she was, that she was practically still a child. You supposed that a victor just grew into their role.

You did.

You were just fifteen.

After a moment, you lifted the corners of your lips as best as you could, trying to genuinely give her a smile, even if you could barely bring yourself to. "I am tired, Katniss," you affirmed. Despite the contrasting look on your face and the feeling in your heart, you didn't feel tears form, not for this; you had accepted this by now, and as wrong as it was, she needed to, too. "But it is not ours to be tired."

You turned around, not turning back this time until you'd replaced your sword for a bow. You turned back, switching Katniss', too. "Here," you said. "Let's switch back to the archery since you're shit with the swords."

She looked at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds. And in those few seconds, the illegible book that was Katniss Everdeen became crystal clear, scibbled writing turning to print. A million emotions ran through her eyes: exhaustion, anger, devastation. But a single emotion rose above all, and you knew this because you lived it: the thirst for blood—a thirst that could only be quenched once you accepted that you were thirsty at all.

Finally, she looked away, nodding. "Okay." She looked back up. "But I'm not shit at anything."

A breath left you, like a weight that'd been lifted off your shoulders. You were back to normal. "Whatever you say, Everdeen."

And then, just like that, you resumed, and everything was fine again.

Or maybe it wasn't.

Maybe it never was.

But that wasn't the point.

In this reality, if you said something was nothing, then it was. If you were supposed to be the Princess and lead a revolution, then that's what you were going to do. If you said you were fine, then you were fine.

Weren't you?

Whatever you say.

You and Katniss retired to your rooms after a few rounds of shooting and one round of sparring. You made it all the way to your door, but never opened it. Your feet kept moving, moving past your room and all the others until you made it to the nuclear weaponry.

You weren't going back to your tonight.

Or ever.

They were shipping supplies to the Capitol tonight from hangar 2. This was your window. Coin didn't want you in the Capitol on the frontlines, but that was exactly where you needed to be. You couldn't let someone else fight your fight. You needed to do this.

You'd said your goodbyes. You just saw Katniss, and though Johanna may not have directly said it, she knew you were leaving, too. She was the one who even told you they were leaving tonight. Peeta was getting better; he wasn't totally there yet, but he was getting there. Annie was happy, finally happy, living the life of her dreams amongst the nightmare you all lived in. Everyone was accounted for.

And Finnick... well, you'd said goodbye to him, too.

It was time.

You crept past any guards with ease, only stopping to pick up your go bag. Like a snake, you made your way through the many bombs and missiles, ignoring the fact that there was a metaphor in there somewhere. Just as the hovercraft opening was closing, you jumped in, rolling on impact.

Once the door closed, your eyes scanned your surroundings. Boxes and cargo filled the room, but it was otherwise empty. You let go of a breath you didn't even know you were holding. You were in the clear.

Might as well settle down, you thought. It was a long way from 13 to the Capitol.

You sat down in a corner, despite having the place to yourself, and brought your knees up to your chest, momentarily closing your eyes. You weren't gonna get much rest in the next few days, but you couldn't sleep now and risk not waking up. Yes, you were tired.

But tired was not a possession that someone like you could own.

You opened your eyes, opting to distract yourself by looking through your bag. 

You were lucky Katniss didn't question the absence of your sword in the training room earlier, nor did she notice that some of your shared arrows were missing along with your crossbow. That was because everything you needed was in the bag: weapons, gadgets, and clothing. But none of that was of any real importance to you.

What you pulled out wasn't one of the many pristine articles in the bag. It was damaged. The paper felt delicate in your hands, fragile. It was peeling, ripped around the edges, but maybe that was just because you brought it with you everywhere.

A photograph.

A photograph of yourself when you were younger. Before your father died. Beforen your mother went crazy. Before your name was pulled in the Reaping. Before you killed ruthlessly to survive just to end up wanting to die, anyway. Before you met a boy that made you want to live.

You were still a child here. Your smile was real, tugging at your full cheeks. You don't remember the exact day this was taken, but you remember that you were happy.

Tears threatened to reach your eyes, but you blinked them away. You used to pull out this photo to make yourself feel better, but now it seemed to have the opposite effect. Now, it just reminded you of everything that you'd lost.

But that was the point.

You didn't pull it out to cheer yourself up anymore. You pulled it out for that reminder, to remind yourself what you were fighting for. 

Your childhood was stolen from you. Every good thing you could've possibly ever had was ripped away from you, all because of who you happened to become, all because of the world you happened to live in.

You'd be damned if you'd let another child go through what you went through.

If you had your way, no child would ever go through that again.

And you would have your way.

No matter what.

It wasn't long enough before you felt the hovercraft lowering, the pop in your ears telling you that you were landing. It wasn't really noticeable. You'd felt worse pains in your life.

You peeked your head out as the door opened, quickly turning back and intaking a shaky breath. It was a full crowd out there, and you could bet your ass there'd be cameras.

"It's okay," you murmured. "You can do this." You'd been through two Games, forced sex work, and President Snow's personal torture. A crowd was the least of your worries. 

However, this time was different. This time, you weren't gonna walk out there with a smile. You weren't gonna twirl or make your sleeves go up in flames. You weren't gonna dazzle anybody.

No.

This was real.

This wasn't a show anymore. It was still a game—a different game, but a game, nonetheless, and you were nothing if not a great player.

You could remember your first Games like they were yesterday.

"You're fuckin' heartless, 4."

You laughed. "Oh, am I?" You swung at the boy's torso with your sword as he narrowly dodged it. "That's not what the papers are saying," swing, "are they?"

The boy and you danced around each other in a circle, danced, and danced, and danced, but only one of you would walk away singing. 

"You killed her," he spat at you, anger and desire shining in his eyes—the desire for revenge. "You killed Myrto."

You scoffed, "What, was that 6's female tribute? Be glad I made it quick." You swung again, this time cutting flesh, resulting in a hiss.

You were acting. Dancing. You knew Myrto's name and you knew she was from 6. You knew the names of everyone in the arena, but pretending not to made it easier. Pretending you didn't see Myrto hug the boy in front of you when you were at the Capitol made it easier when you snapped her neck.

Myrto and Spyros, 6's promising tributes. They were close. But he shouldn't have let her go off alone. He shouldn't have let you do that, even if you were doing her a service. Nobody in here would've given her as quick of a death as you did; many wouldn't have cared about the light in her eyes. Despite Spyros' words, there were many that were more heartless than you.

Or so you told yourself.

He swung back at you as you sidestepped, countering with a swing of your own, metal hitting metal. He looked you dead in the eye. "She was scared of you. She saw you kill that guy with your bare hands and was terrified the same would happen to her."

You leaned in, sneering in his face, "That guy came at me first, and then he touched Bay. You don't touch what's mine."

"And what? The crown is yours now, too?"

"Yes." Without another second to waste, you lifted your sword and plunged it into Spyros' stomach before he could blink. His sword slipped through this fingers in shock. A flicker of remorse flashed through your eyes. "No hard feelings, but I need to go home."

You ripped your sword from his skin, looking away andletting him fall to the ground. A few moments later, the cannon sounded ,and you knew he was dead. 

A sigh left your lips. Twenty-two down.

One to go.

You shook yourself out of your reverie, shaking your head as if you could still feel the blood on your skin. Blood seemed to consume your thoughts. Theirs. Yours.

No more.

"No more innocent blood," you whispered to yourself. It was funny, almost. You could remember wanting to win so badly, and then as soon as you got out, you wished you let Spyros kill you. If you did, you wouldn't be living with this guilt. You would've never been sold, you would've never gone through what you went through at the Capitol. And you would've never met Finnick, either.

But you couldn't decide if that's really what you wanted.

With one more deep breath, you walked out of the hovercraft, dragging your feet that felt like boulders and forcing yourself to go forward. The cold air of the Capitol hit you like nothing else, as if knives were biting into your skin, but you'd felt worse.

No one recognized you immediately, but soon, murmurs followed. You kept your eyes on the ground. "That's her," someone whispered. "That's the Princess."

Eventually, the crowd went silent and so you looked up, being met with every face in the area. All eyes were on you.

They were rigid, like statues, until one person got down on one knee. Your eyes darted over to him. Even from so far away, you could see his eyes. You saw admiration, respect, and gratitude, but most of all, you saw hope. He bent his head down, bowing. Suddenly, everyone followed. Men, women, and children collectively got down and bowed.

For you.

Your breath was taken away. You didn't know how to respond, but whatever words you were going to say died on your tongue when Boggs came into your line of sight. 

"Y/N," he greeted, the slightest bit of surprise lacing his stoic voice. "President Coin didn't tell me you'd be meeting us."

"I know," you said, and you said nothing further than that.

You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but after a second, Boggs nodded, softly telling you, "Come on." You followed him wordlessly, meeting Commander Paylor again before she went up on stage.

She was a good speaker, that you could tell, but you weren't truly listening. The crowd clapped and cheered but you were motionless. You could feel Boggs' eyes burning into the side of your head. He must've thought you were crazy, and maybe you were. 

You were fixated on the one thing you'd wanted more than anything else, so it was a bit difficult to pay attention to speeches, no matter how good they were.

After Paylor's speech, you followed Boggs out of the area to where you were stationed. Now that he found you, it only made sense that you'd work together. You could use the ammo, anyway.

You got to your post, still not really focused on anything, but then all of your distraction flew out the window when you saw a head of brown hair, not in a braid but in a ponytail just as similar.

Katniss.

So you weren't the only one with the idea of sneaking out.

"Great minds really do think alike, don't they?"

At the sound of your voice, Katniss turned around and a smile graced her face, and this was one of the few times you'd ever seen the sight. "Y/N," she breathed, and in three strides, she was embracing you in her arms.

You tensed but soon reciprocated the hug, basking in the irony that you once thought you'd never befriend this girl. Yet, now, she was the only one who stood by your side.

You hugged for a few seconds before letting go—both of you could only handle so much affection—but she held onto your shoulders. The smile was still there, but it had dissipated. It wasn't so bright anymore. 

She nodded towards a tent, and you nodded in response.

You needed to talk.

Katniss led you into an empty tent and you both sat down. The time for pleasantries had passed—the gun on your hip and the sword hitting your leg had reminded you of that.

Out of habit, you glanced around the small tent. There wasn't much except for the little she'd laid out, along with her bag, stuffed with food. You nodded to it. "That's more food than I've ever seen you eat before."

She barely looked up. "Tryin' to be prepared-"

You cut her off, humming. "C'mon, Katniss." You shook your head. "Don't insult me."

Finnick was hard to get a read on these days. Johanna wasn't the same, and Peeta barely showed emotion. But if you knew anyone, it was Katniss. You were Katniss. So you already knew what she was planning.

After all, it was the same plan you had.

She finally looked up at you. "I'm gonna be fine, Y/N."

"Of course, you are," you affirmed. "'Cause I'm coming with you."

She sighed, "Y/N-"

"Be smart, Katniss. If you're going off alone, you need backup." You left out the fact that your plan involved no backup, either. "Besides," you added, "you know I want this just as bad as you." Maybe even more.

She stared at you for a few seconds after that, maybe a minute, before she eventually nodded. A sigh of relief left you, but before you could get anything else out, your names were being called.

"Y/L/N, Everdeen." Your eyes went to the woman outside of your tent. "Come meet your new unit."

You got up, crouching under the tiny tent opening and walking out until you were with everyone else, the woman who called you right in front of you. She sized you up with a stony expression.

"I'm Lieutenant Jackson," she introduced herself. Her voice was as emotionless as her face, though you recognized a hint of irritation in her eyes. "And I want to introduce you to your squad." She pointed to each person as she went. "This is Second Lieutenant Mitchell, best sharpshooter in Panem. These are the Leeg sisters, first combat division. And this is Corporal Homes."

You nodded to each of them in greeting, even though Homes and you had already met. Jackson introduced all of them to you, but not you to them; though, you supposed it was unnecessary. By now, everyone in Panem knew your face.

You went to say something, but as a familiar face came into view, you forgot whatever it was in a heartbeat.

Finnick.

Katniss' words echoed your thoughts. She left your side and made her way over to him, but you were frozen in your spot. "Are you with us?" she questioned, her back turned to you but her smile audible in her voice. 

"Looks like it," he responded, wrapping his arms around her. You looked away, feeling the phantom sensation of his arms around you, your feet stepping synchronously with the song that was back playing in your ears.

Love? You think you love me?

Yes, Y/N, I love you.

Involuntarily, your eyes travelled back to them only to see blue eyes already pointed your way. Your mind shouted at you to look away, but your eyes couldn't follow the instruction. This was your first time looking at him without tears filling your eyes.

And, God, was he beautiful.

Was it his face that shocked you or was it his presence? Was it your history or the chapter you were in right now? Did it matter?

All of the questions you had went unanswered as Boggs entered the canopy. "Gather round," he ordered, forcing you to peel your eyes away. Your unfortunate love affair would have to wait.

If you could even call it that.

"Squad 451, you're my unit." He looked around at you, the so-called 'best of the best.' And while you were the best, in many ways, you weren't truly put together because of your skills. Katniss had a way with a bow, and you and Gale were next in line in that area. Finnick and you had both mastered close combat. Mitchell was a sharpshooter, and everyone else had miles of experience. But that still wasn't why you were chosen.

He continued, voicing what you already knew. "Each one of you is elite in some form of combat. But we are a non-combat unit, so we'll be following days behind the frontline troops." Katniss and you shared a brief glance.

"You're to be the onscreen faces of invasion. The Star Squad," a woman declared, arms crossed. Cressida, you think her name was. You met her in the Capitol once. She was almost gonna direct a show for you and Finnick, and you thank the heavens every day that it never happened. "It's been decided that you're the most effective when seen by the masses."

It appeared that you and Everdeen weren't the only ones with qualms about this regime. "So we're not gonna fight?" Gale spoke up.

Boggs' reply was swift and prepared. "You'll do whatever you're ordered to do, soldier. It's not your job to ask questions."

He held his tongue and nodded, an affirmation leaving his lips, respectful but clearly reluctant. And why wouldn't he be? You were fighters—all of you. Kids thrown into the arena or the streets. This wasn't about pride, though, so you understood the establishment's point of view on this one.

But it wasn't about pride for you.

It was about revenge.

"Our instructions are to shoot propaganda footage on the battle-scarred streets of the Capitol." Boggs went on to explain that, even though you were a propo team, you were still in the middle of a war zone. "It is likely that we'll encounter both active pods and Peacekeepers." He paused. "You're considered high-value targets to the Capitol." His eyes momentarily darted over to you, making you stiffen. "In the event of capture, you'll be given a nightlock pill." Another pause. "A poison that acts immediately."

You felt Katniss' eyes on you as Jackson passed the pills around, the glare of scissors flashing through your mind, beautiful scissors that never got to kiss your skin.

My hair. It's- I want to cut my hair.

I'll help you.

You took the pill and stowed it away, ignoring her stare. You were thankful for her interruption that day in the bathroom, but you'd gone this far without mentioning it and you'd go a lot farther in the same state. 

As far as you were concerned, that day never happened.

You're not suicidal, your brain whispered, and you vehemently agreed. But if things ended the way you wanted them to, the way the way they were supposed to, then dying wouldn't be too bad.

That nightlock could go a long way.

"Our unit has been given a Holo, a database that contains a detailed map of the Capitol and a list of every known pod." That caught your attention, making you look up at the device he placed on a container, a hologram of the Capitol shooting out with little orange indicators everywhere. "These pods can trigger anything from bombs to traps to mutts. We cannot move without this device. There's no guarantee that our database is complete; there could be new pods that we're not aware of. Because we don't want the Gamemakers to know we have this intel, it has a self-destruct on it. You flip this switch, say nightlock three times, and it blows itself and anything within a ten-foot radius." He paused, making eye contact with each of you and enunciating slowly. "Stay within our unit. Even with the Holo, it is likely that new pods have been set. Whatever they contain, they are meant to kill you."

Fuck. 

You glanced at Katniss to see her already looking your way, clearly thinking the same thing that you were. If you wanted to stay alive long enough to kill President Snow, then you needed that Holo.

Without meaning to, you consequently glanced at Finnick, seeing that childlike glint in his eye that you hadn't seen in ages; albeit, it had no place in war.

But that didn't mean that you didn't miss it.

He leaned towards Katniss and you like nothing had ever happened, making you tense. It was almost like he was playing a game, and you suppose that's exactly what it was because, not a second later, he spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The 76th Hunger Games."

Explosions went off in the distance that you tried not to be affected by, smoke and rubble surrounding the once pristine Capitol. It almost looked the footage you'd seen of 12—you imagined the other districts were the same. As you stood there and filmed propos, it almost looked like home.

Almost.

You stopped in an abandoned restaurant, sitting down to rest. You didn't really feel like resting, but it was nice to stop and strategize.

Katniss and you sat off to the side, away from everyone else, but you could feel eyes burning into the side of your head, eyes that were likely blue. It took everything in you not to look his way.

"We're not getting across this minefield," you remarked.

Without missing a beat, she replied, "Not without that Holo. And we're not gonna get it off him while he's awake."

You nodded, repressing the urge to glance over at Boggs to avoid suspicion. "Let's make sure we're on the same watch tonight, then."

Allies until you weren't. Same team until the time came.

Just like The Games.

The sound of wheels on rubble made you stand up simultaneously, hand on your weapon in quick succession. "Is that Peacekeepers?" someone said.

Jackson radioed something into base before putting her walkie talkie away and ordering, "Stand down, everyone. It's friendly."

You snorted. Friendly was a nice choice of words. But it made you wonder who could possibly be there that hadn't already shown up. Johanna, maybe, you thought. Then the door opened and the person that walked out wasn't Johanna at all.

Peeta.

Katniss drew an arrow from her quiver automatically, making you press a hand to her shoulder. She held the bow down but kept the arrow; you think that if you hadn't stopped her, she would've shot that arrow instantly—and you didn't know if you could blame her.

That Golden Boy that walked into the Quell never came out, nor did Panem's troublemaker from 7 or the Princess. You were changed. And you were fucked up, you knew that—you didn't need a therapist to tell you that. But you were broken before; Peeta wasn't. 

You could still hear his screams when you closed your eyes, entangling with the beat of the music. You danced to those screams in the Capitol for weeks on end. 

And then they hijacked him. President Snow was the Devil, and he collected Peeta's soul like it was pocket change, turning him against the love of his life. 

You saw what he did to her. She never talked to you about it, but the rings around her neck and red in her eyes were impossible to miss when you came back. 

So, no, you didn't know if you could blame Katniss for wanting to shoot him, but none of you could let her do that. Because, if she shot hijacked Peeta, she'd be shooting the Peeta with a heart of gold, too.

He walked towards you slowly, soldiers behind and around him as you all stood with baited breath. He mumbled something to himself quietly that you couldn't make out, eyes trained on the ground as if wishing it'd swallow him whole.

He walked until he got too close and Katniss pulled back her bowstring. You widened your eyes, whispering, "Katniss-"

"Okay, stop," Gale warned, holding up one hand like he wanted to keep the peace but the other was on his gun, finger on the trigger. How convenient would it be if he finally got a reason to shoot the only other competitor he had? It nearly made you scoff.

"Hold up, everyone relax." You froze at the voice, seeing Finnick walk forward with his arm held out to the rest of you, like he was holding you off. You couldn't spot even the slightest hint of hesitation in his actions.

He continued to walk towards him, even as Boggs ordered Jackson to cuff him. Only then did Katniss lower her bow. You gave her a cautionary glance but didn't say anything more, following her back inside. She kept quiet about you and Finn; the least you could do was offer her the same luxury.

Back in the restaurant, Boggs explained that they wanted to add Peeta to the propo, show Panem that he was on your side now. 

But he wasn't.

You knew that. Katniss knew that. And President Coin certainly knew that, too.

A message to The Mockingjay.

"He's not in control of himself," Gale said, a blank look on his face.

"I say we schedule an around-the-clock watch on him," Jackson proposed, as if Peeta wasn't ten feet away, in perfect earshot of the conversation. "The Leegs 'til 1700, Homes and Mitchell 'til 1900."

Katniss startled you by her quick intrusion. "Give me a watch."

Clearly, the others weren't expecting that either, judging by Jackson's head tilt or the brief flash of emotion in Boggs' impassive demeanour. "And if it really came down to it, you think you could shoot him?"

"I wouldn't be shooting Peeta," she replied, her voice cold as ice. "'Be killing a Capitol mutt."

She didn't mean that. She really didn't. You could still remember how hysterical she was when she thought Peeta died in The Games. She loved him. But he didn't know that. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Peeta's eyes fall to the ground. "I'm not sure that kind of comment recommends you for the job either, soldier."

Boggs cut in, "Put her in the rotation." Jackson looked up at him, then he walked away. There, said and done. Katniss wouldn't have been Katniss if she hadn't followed him outside, but you didn't tag along for the questioning.

You stayed inside, walking away from where you sat with Gale to another area in the building. His thoughts were loud, too loud for your own. Peeta was here now, and that changed a lot for him. It changed a lot for Katniss, too, and you.

Because, now, you were stuck here.

There was no way you'd be leaving now.

You were on your own in a secluded part of the restaurant, thoughts filling your head the way water filled district 4 one summer in your childhood, an unstoppable flood. That flood didn't leave any part of the district unaffected, and now you could feel this flood taking hold of your brain—and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

"C'mon, Y/N. We all know this is a sham. I mean, I've never even seen you speak to Finnick Odair, and now you're dating?"

You rolled your eyes at the Capitol's 'Favourite Son,' your disinterest doing nothing to deter him. Augustus Braun was nothing if not persistent, especially when it involved you. He won the year before you and thus made it his mission to pursue you ever since, so when revealed that you were dating Finnick, it clearly caused a stir.

You tried to brush him off. "I don't know what you want me to say, Augustus. I didn't see it coming either; it just happened."

"It just happened?" he echoed.

"Yeah. I mean, you can't control love." The words sounded so faux coming out of your mouth, even to you. It was times like these when you wished Finnick was here; he was a much better actor.

"That is so bull-"

Another voice interrupted. "Augustus."  You both turned to see Cashmere, one of his mentors, walking toward you, a feline smile on her face. "Leave the lady alone. You know we only fight when The Games are going on."

When The Games are going on, she said. You could be friends all year round, but as soon Reaping Day hit, that camraderie ceased to exist. Regardless, you were never close with victors from 1 and 2. You couldn't really trust anyone that would volunteer for those games just to bring glory to their name.

You had that glory. 

And you would do anyhing to give it back.

"Aw, Cash, I was just talking our princess here," he nudged your shoulder, "about her make-believe relationship." You wanted to punch him.

She laughed. "Oh, but the Princess wouldn't dare lie, Aug. She's too good for that." Some would call the look in her eyes a star's twinkle. You called it a malicious glint hiding in plain-sight. She turned to you. "It's the truth, isn't it, Y/N/N?"

You plastered on a fake smile that looked more annoyed than anything. "Of course, it is. What could I possibly gain from lying?" There it is.

The glint in Cashmere's eyes disappeared. She looked to Braun, but he didn't share her glance. He didn't look any different, but you knew that she got it. Because she knew what you could gain from lying.

All the same things she could gain, too.

So you watched as she put on a smile and defended you. "I believe her." Augustus' groan was loud, but it was inaudible to you as you silently thanked her with your eyes. "Now tell us how you and your prince met."

"Could I get a penny for your thoughts?" A voice broke you out of your trance, a voice you recognized all too soon.

Finnick.

Here he was, trying to talk to you, as if he didn't just let Annie walk away. As if he didn't tell you he loved you. As if he didn't just upend your entire world.

You didn't want to speak to him. You thought you made that clear already, and you did, but he was ignoring that. He wanted to talk to you, so he was gonna talk to you, regardless of your feelings.

You didn't look at him as he walked up to stand next to you, continuing to stare out the window. The destruction outside matched your mental state, grey and ruined, but it was still the Capitol, the same way you were still the Princess.

And he was still the Prince.

The words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. "Do you remember how we said we met?"

You were met with silence, not because he didn't remember but because he did. After a beat, he responded, "I do." You felt his gaze burn into the side of your head.

A humourless chuckle left you, false memories lighting up behind your eyelids as you blinked. Of course, he remembered. He had it memorized just as well as you did—he was the one who came up with the story.

You might've been the storyteller, but Finnick was a better liar than you could ever dream of being. He lied so well for years. So when he goes and tells you something like he loves you, that's all you can remember.

That he was a liar.

"We said that we met in the Capitol," you recalled. You had a reminiscent smile, but your eyes that were trained ahead of you betrayed the façade; you were bitter. "I wasn't watching where I was going; I was nearly hit by a bus, but you pulled me back last minute, saved me." Another laugh. "I was oh so grateful. You told me that you already knew me, that you'd seen me around before and you'd been working up the courage to come speak to me." You shook your head. "And then there: screen fades to black, and the rest was history, right? Love at first sight—God, they loved that, didn't they?"

"Y/N-"

"But it wasn't love at first sight," you cut him off. "It wasn't really love at all."

Finnick went to put his hand on your shoulder but you jolted away, finally turning to look at him. For a moment, it was like looking into a mirror: his eyes were sad, too.

But why? This was his story. Were his own lies getting the best of him?

Yes. They were.

With that realization, your eyes hardened. "We didn't meet that way. We were not in love—there was no love story. This is not a love story, Finnick," you emphasized, stressing every syllable of every word, your voice nearly cracking on his name. You averted your eyes, composing yourself and taking a step back. "So I don't want to speak to you for the rest of the time we're here."

"What? Y/N, I just-"

"Please respect that." Whether he was gonna abide by your wishes or not, you didn't want be stick around to find out.

So you walked away, leaving him there just like every other time it was just the two of you. It was funny, almost—it was always just the two of you, but now you couldn't handle it to be alone with him.

Perhaps that was because you knew you were right. This wasn't a love story. 

It was a tragedy.

And this tragedy wouldn't have a happy ending.

You wondered what it was like to live in the Capitol, to be born into a life where food and shelter was always guaranteed, a life where you could raise children knowing that they wouldn't be taken from you by a slaughter that rich people would call a game.

A normal life.

Those kids went to school and made friends, they fell in love because they wanted to, not for survival. 

You wondered where those kids were now, as their home was turned into a warzone. What were they thinking? Were you the bad guys in their mind? Did they even understand what you were fighting for?

You heard Snow had a granddaughter. You wondered about her, about how she must've felt. And then that caused you to wonder... was evil an inherent trait? Was it like a disease that somebody had to be born with, or was it something that bred over time?

Suddenly, the sound of somebody sitting across from you at the table cut off your train of thought. When you looked up and saw Panem's Golden Boy, you found your answer.

Maybe evil wasn't an inherent trait, but good had to be. Because Peeta Mellark had the most pure heart you'd ever seen, so pure that Snow had to work twice as hard just to taint it, that his love for Katniss was so strong that it persisted—even if he didn't realize it yet.

Good had to be natural.

You had to believe that.

You greeted him softly, but not too soft. "Peeta."

He took a minute before responding, seeming to take in your appearance. "Y/N." Pause. "You look different."

That nearly wrestled a laugh out of you. "So do you," you replied, followed by a quirk of your brow. "But that's not why you're here to talk to me, is it?"

It wasn't.

You had a feeling he'd be coming soon. It was only a matter of time since he arrived. When you got out, the first thing you wanted was to talk to him, too. The only thing that stopped you was the white, locked room that kept him detained.

His room and yours were right next to each other in the Capitol.

That changed things.

You didn't expect him to speak so soon—you certainly couldn't find the words—but before you knew it, he was asking, "How do you do it?" He didn't need to explain further.

How you do this. That's what he was asking.

Peeta had trouble with eye contact since he arrived, but right now, he was looking you right in the eye, awaiting an answer you weren't sure you had—pleading for it. How did you do it? Were you doing it at all?

You wanted to give him the perfect answer, the same answer you were still seeking, but that wouldn't be fair. You didn't want to lie to him.

You were sick of lying.

"Honestly?" you questioned. "I don't know if I even know what I'm doing. Haymitch, uh, he told me I was still standing because I had to fight for the people that couldn't, show that them that they could." You paused, pondering over it. "And that's true. But there's more to it than that. It's not just about them anymore. It's about me, about us. I want-" you intook a deep breath, looking down momentarily. When you looked back up, it was with a new resolution shining in your eyes. "I want to show Snow that he didn't knock me down. And I want to make sure that no other pawn gets knocked down by a king and his crooked version of a game."

You didn't know if that was the answer he was looking for. You didn't know if that would help him—you didn't know if anything would.

But then you saw a look in his eyes, a new light that hadn't been there before, dim but present. It was accompanied by fear, but you could see it. A light shining through all the darkness. 

His voice was quiet. "Do you think we'll ever be free?"

You knew he wasn't talking about the war or the Capitol. He wasn't talking about Snow's hold on all of you. He was talking about the shackles of your own minds.

That took you back to the other blond boy you were accustomed to, his words reverberating through your head. We will never be free, Y/N.

Not long ago, you believed that wholeheartedly. The thought crushed you. You had accepted it as reality, that you were trapped and had nowhere to go, that this was your forever.

But maybe it wasn't.

"Yeah," you replied. "I think so."

You couldn't sleep that night. It would've been better if you had a shift taking watch—that way, you would've at least felt useful, but you didn't. 

You weren't sure if it was a matter of if you couldn't sleep or wouldn't. Every time you tried to close your eyes, you were brought back to places you didn't wanna be, saw things you didn't wanna see.

That's why you were lying on your side, facing the wall instead of the ceiling. It was harder to sleep that way. And it also meant you didn't have to look at Finnick Odair.

You told him you didn't want to speak to him. Meanwhile, you loved him an unimaginable amount, so much so that he consumed your thoughts, even as you were in the middle of a war, hiding out in an abandoned restaurant as the enemy wanted your heads on a platter.

The enemy.

You thought of Coin then, how she sent Peeta here knowing it'd cause chaos, knowing it'd just bring both of the lovers grief.

Wolves liked to masquerade as sheep.

Maybe the enemy was closer than you thought.

In your own thoughts, you didn't even notice the stirring of limbs until a raspy and hushed voice sounded. "Katniss?"

Your immediate reaction was to stiffen, but you quickly stopped yourself from doing anything to give up the fact that you were awake. Because that was Finnick's voice.

He sounded just like that whenever he woke up.

You didn't see the brunette, but you already knew she wasn't sleeping either—though, chances were, she wasn't hiding it. "Yeah?" she muttered.

There was a beat of silence. You wished you could lift your head to see what was going on. It wasn't like Finnick not cut to the chase. Then again, you supposed it also wasn't like him to give spontaneous admissions of love.

Eventually, he got to it. "Do you and Y/N have a plan?" It almost sounded like his voice was filled with genuine curiosity.

Now it was her turn to respond. The turning of her gears was nearly audible to you. She couldn't tell him the truth, that you were really here to kill Snow and not to shoot propos. "Yeah, it's this plan."

There was no pause this time. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"Well, it's what I'm talking about," she bit back.

You knew she had more questions than this. You knew she was wondering why he was asking her and not you, wondering whatever it was that happened between you earlier or even back in 13. 

She had questions.

But out of respect, she would never ask them.

"I'm worried about her." Oh.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that. It seemed that Finnick continued to surprise you with every encounter, even though this wasn't an encounter with you at all. His voice got quieter, but he still spoke with purpose, the same purpose you watched from a video out of a box where he exposed Snow for the monster that he is.

He always did have a way with words.

You just weren't used to hearing those words about you. Not without a camera shoved in his face or eyes glued to your forms.

"Y/N?" she asked, even though she knew who it was. "Don't be. She's the strongest person I've ever met." Oh.

Katniss defended you without a second thought, and for some reason, that was surprising. It shouldn't have been, but it was. You weren't used to friends or people to coming to your defense. Johanna was one of your closest friends, but you weren't with her enough to ever get used to it. Katniss, on the other hand, was someone you felt like you'd known your whole life.

Maybe because you had.

"I know that," he responded, almost offended she'd think he didn't. "Her strength is incredible- enviable, even." Pause. "But I still worry about her." Another pause. "If anything happened to her, I- I don't know what I'd do." 

Your breath hitched.

I said I love you.

Katniss must've been thinking of what to respond but Finnick barely gave her a chance. "Just- look out for her for me, okay- and I'll do the same for you." There was another pause, and then a shuffle, and then silence. "I have your guy. And you have mine."

It was a wonder you didn't make a sound.

A few seconds passed by, then she agreed. "Deal."

And when you got up a couple hours later after no sleep, you pretended the conversation never happened.

The team was walking around looking for a good spot to film when your first pod was found. 

"Split. Take cover," Boggs ordered. You did as he said, retreating to the right pillar with Katniss, Gale, and Cressida as he threw a random rock into the walkway. Immediately, shots went off, loud and repeated.

You ducked your head into your knees, covering your ear with one hand while clutching onto your bow tightly. They're not people; they're just guns wired to go off, you reassured yourself. Somehow the thought of real people was scarier.

And that thought was scary in and of itself.

The guns went off until they knocked down a structure ahead of you yet you were still wary, even when Boggs gave the okay. "All clear. Gale, Homes, with me. Leegs, take the wings."

You slowly stood up, now holding onto the arrow with both hands just so your hands wouldn't shake. Katniss shot you a look, not needing to speak. You okay?

You nodded, sending her one of the same nature. What about you?

She nodded back. And even though neither of you were entirely convinced, you both still dropped it.

When you turned to your left, you saw Peeta still on the ground, empty rifle in hand, hitting his head against the butt and mumbling to himself under his breath. He sounded like a madman. That's when you turned to Katniss again.

For a second, she almost looked like she was gonna go over there.

And then a bomb went off.

You jumped, nearly losing your grip on your weapon. Katniss went running despite Jackson's call of her name. You wanted to follow her but it was like you her cemented to your spot. Your eyes were stuck on the floor, ears ringing.

Please, please- no- no!

You harshly shook your head as if it'd shake the thoughts out of your head, and then you booked it in the same direction, ignoring Jackson's protest. 

Turned out that you'd only spent a few seconds losing it. You crouched down next to Katniss while Gale went straight to look at his legs. You didn't look get a good look at them—you tried not to—but you didn't think they were even there anymore.

"It's okay," Katniss muttered, even though she knew it wasn't the truth.

He's gonna die, you realized.

Boggs realized this, too. "The Holo," he croaked. "The Holo."

You widened your eyes, going to grab it while Katniss held his hand. He pressed some buttons and used all of his strength to tilt himself upward, panting, "Unfit for command. Transfer- primary security clearance-" He looked to you, eyes wild yet resolved. "Say your name."

If you thought your eyes couldn't get any wider, you were wrong. But you didn't have time to question this decision or get him to explain his choice, so you spoke without realizing what was happening. "Y/N Y/L/N." Your breathing got faster. "What did you just do?"

He didn't answer you, just looked at you with the strongest stare a dying man could muster. "Y/N, don't trust them-" his eyes darted to Katniss, "n-neither of you. Kill Peeta if you have to. Do what you have to do." He stopped talking then, but his eyes were still open.

"Boggs?" No response. 

You tried. "Boggs?" No response, either.

He was dead.

Katniss gently set his head down. You just stared at him, taking shallow breaths.

He was dead.

Homes was still trying to triage his wounds—he didn't even realize it until Gale said the words out loud. "He's gone." It was almost compulsive of him to repeat it. "He's gone."

There was a collective moment of silence. Boggs was willing to put his life on the line for this revolution, and he did it. Now he was dead.

Weren't you all just dead people walking? Soldiers, just waiting to fall into your own carefully curated traps. And perhaps that was exactly why you were so okay with it.

A part of you knew you were already dead.

In the silence, groaning suddenly became audible to you. With a slight turn, you saw it was one of the Leegs. The blast hit her, too. When the other Leeg saw, she immediately got up and went to tend to her sister, but on her way, she stepped on a tile that sunk down on her weight. Her eyes went wide, but it was too late. 

Immediately, large gates that you didn't even know were there started to close in on the areas between buildings, effectively encasing you in the courtyard. In the blink of an eye, oily black tar was flooding down, billowing between the buildings.

Someone screamed. "Go, go, go!"

You took off running, the others not far behind you. Gamemakers were creative. You didn't know what that was, but you knew that if it didn't obliterate you first, it'd drown you.

You were running to higher ground, Katniss right next to you when you saw her being yanked away out of your periphery. You spun around to see her on the ground, just barely rolling out of the way as Peeta slammed his rifle down on the ground in a flurry of rage.

"Finnick!" she yelled, but someone else got there first, tackling Peeta to the ground before he could try hitting her again. You were there right after, pulling her off the ground and then holding her back from running into the sludge when Peeta pushed Mitchell in.

A net shot out of the ground with his body in it. Finnick came rushing before Peeta could come back to finish his task, holding him back.

"Come on, come on, Katniss, we gotta go!" You pulled her out of the way before the tar came crashing into you, running for the closest building.

Homes shot down the door. "Everybody, inside! Go! Upstairs! Go! Hurry up!"

You all went running up either flight of stairs, stopping in the middle just to see that the lower and upper half had been disconnected. You were stuck. And tar was filling downstairs at a speedy rate.

"Shit," you cursed.

You ran a stressed hand through your hair. On your right, one of the Leegs was moaning in pain, and on your left, Finnick was trying to calm Peeta down, holding him tightly. You looked away when he ended up pressing a needle into his neck, swallowing.

Now's not the time for memories, Y/N.

The tar continued to fill the building, making a bubbly sound that made you feel nauseous. "It's slowing down," Cressida noted. 

And she was right. It stopped just before hitting your landing, rippling at the stairs. You let out a sigh.

"Gamemakers are still putting on quite a show," she remarked.

"That they are," you mumbled—though, you were unsure it was loud enough for her to hear you.

Meanwhile, Jackson radioed in. "451 to base. Over."

"Hey, we better move," Homes cut in. "If Peacekeepers didn't know where we were, they do now. Those surveillance cameras caught us."

She just radioed again while you looked down at the Holo in your hand. "451 to base. Come in."

It was Gale speaking up now. "This is a bad spot. We need to move now."

"451 to base. Over." Jackson got frustrated, flipping her radio shut. "I can't get a signal," she said. "But I can get us back to base. Y/L/N, give me the Holo."

For a second, you didn't even know she was talking to you. Whether it be the shock or just the fact that she had barely spoken to you this entire time, it didn't register. When it did, you met her eyes looking at you expectantly. "Y/L/N, what did I just say? The Holo. Come on, let's go."

Boggs' words resounded in your head as all eyes turned to you. Don't trust them.

Your grip on the Holo got tighter. You didn't break eye contact as you told her, "Boggs gave it to me."

Jackson paused her movements, stopping to give you her full attention. "What are you talking about?"

Katniss backed you up, stepping forward and closer to you at the same time. "He did. He transferred Y/L/N his security clearance. Homes, Gale, and I saw it."

Jackson's gaze was unwavering, her voice colder. "And why would he do that?"

You were a great liar. When you were younger, you wanted to be a storyteller, so it made sense when you grew up to spin lies like clockwork. A liar, an actor, a victor, a dancer. You came up with a lie quickly. "I'm on special orders from Coin."

You maintained her stare as she questioned, "To do what?"

"To assassinate President Snow for all of Panem to see." 

It wasn't too far-fetched of a lie, but you had a feeling that no matter what lie you gave, Jackson wouldn't have believed it anyway. 

"I don't believe that for one second," she deadpanned. "As your new unit commander, I order you to transfer security clearance to me. Now."

Allies could only last so long before survival and power came into play, and you were in the Capitol. Power was the only thing that was important here. But this wasn't about power. 

This was about the people.

You weren't gonna let anything or anyone get in your way.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The 76th Hunger Games.

You kept your voice soft as you asserted, "I apologize, Lieutenant Jackson, but I cannot and will not do that."

Jackson stared at you for a second, almost like she was challenging you to redact your statement. When you didn't, she reached for her side. Guns were immediately drawn before she even pulled hers.

You were staring down a barrel as Katniss, Finnick, and Gale had their weapons pointed at her. One of the Leegs had a gun pointed their way, too, while everyone else just stayed still, glancing between you.

It almost surprised you when Finnick was the first to speak, and you didn't know why. "Woah, now," he warned. You could hear the smirk on his face in his words, so similar to that dangerous boy in The Games who laughed at any obstacle. "Let's not be too hasty."

Jackson ignored him, doubling down. "I'm not asking you again, Y/L/N." Her glare was menacing. "Give me that Holo."

She may have shot you then and there when she saw you weren't gonna cooperate, but before you could find out, Cressida was stepping in front of you. "She's telling the truth." What? 

She continued, "Plutarch wants it televised. He thinks if we could film the Princess assassinating Snow, it'll make the Capitol surrender before the casualties get too high."

"Look, while we're in here pointlessly arguing, there's 100 Peacekeepers on their way here right now to confirm that we're dead." Finnick's voice was rugged as he cut in, impatient. But only you could detect the undertone of worry.

Jackson seemed swayed but not swayed enough. Her grip on her gun didn't falter. You had to say something before there was a bullet in your skull and this was all for nothing. This couldn't all be for nothing.

"Boggs wanted this," you pressed. "And he wanted to help me."

You saw the waver in her eyes despite the gun still raised for your head, and you knew you got to her. You maintained her stare, silently pleading that she'd put it down. Eventually, she did.

You let out a short breath you didn't know you were holding. Jackson looked down, and then she nodded. "Alright, soldier." She looked back up at you. "Holo's yours."

You nodded back to her in thanks. The tension in the air didn't fully dissipate, but the guns had all now been lowered. Gale went for the stairs, cautiously stepping down on the first step to see nothing happen. In the time you were arguing, it appeared that the sludge had dried.

He turned back to the rest of you. "I don't think we're gonna leave any footprints. We should move now. And those cameras outside should be covered up the oil."

From next to the Leeg in the corner, Castor interjected, "She can't move forward like this. Her leg is too bad. We have to evacuate her." She hissed and whimpered as he spoke. Then he realized what words lingered in the air, the conclusion you all had reached but didn't want to voice. 

You had to leave her here.

At the realization, an apology was tumbling out of his mouth, but the girl's sister cut him off. "I'll stay with her."

Jackson reassured her, "As soon as we make contact, we will send somebody back. I promise you." Katniss' stare was so intense you could almost feel her thoughts.

If we make contact.

"Alright, everybody move out. Let's go!"

Any guilt you had for leaving the Leegs there had to be diminished; you had to focus. You and Katniss moved out side by side. In the background, you heard Finnick asking Peeta if he could walk.

Gale was right; the cameras outside were completely shielded by the tar. It had dried up everywhere like frozen ice—your own little winter wonderland. Except, in this wonderland, you had nightlock instead of potions that made you grew taller, guns instead of playing cards, and the mad hatter was a ruthless dictator trying to kill you all.

What odd music you had in wonderland.

But you danced anyway.

The net with Mitchell's body hung over you like a cloud, but none of you had time to pause and pay your respects. Gale and Jackson led the flock. You got far enough away from the building you were in to another in the same vicinity.

He shattered the glass with the butt off his crossbow. He and Jackson went running in first, checking the place to see if it was empty. Your immediate task was closing the curtains, but once you turned around you were stunned by the house's sheer beauty.

It wasn't a family home—you could tell, but it was so big for one person. Holographic walls, a decor mirror, a lavish velvet couch and matching armchairs surrounding a block television protruding out of the ceiling.

Not even your house in Victor's Village had been so luxurious. Even the curtains looked like they cost a year's salary from back home.

"Wow," a voice drawled. "Well, didn't we get lucky?"

Finnick's sarcasm was so familiar you went to roll your eyes, but the sound of tires on the ground cut you off in motion. Your guard flew back up as you discreetly peeked out the window.

Peacekeepers. Dozens of them. Big cars, too. All of them armed, and all of them going for the building you were just in.

You didn't have time to make the connection. They just started firing.

Oh, God.

Finnick's voice was now devoid of anything unserious. "It's the Leegs."

Oh, God.

Those shots might've been enough to kill them. But if they weren't, then the missile they launched certainly was.

The building came tumbling down, falling to pieces as you all simultaneously fell, too, crouching down. You felt your heartbeat strong, rattling against your ribcage, hearing it beat in your ears, mingling with the beat of the music.

As soon as we make contact, we will send somebody back.

That was a lie.

They were dead.

You weren't even sitting with information for a minute before a beep sounded, followed by the fanfare. Slowly, your head lifted. 

MANDATORY VIEWING. ATTENTION ALL PANEM RESIDENTS, the screen read. Soon, the blue sreen faded into Caesar Flickerman, and you were clenching your jaw, white hot anger running through your veins and electrifying every part of your body.

"You've got to be fu-"

"Good afternoon, I'm Caesar Flickerman," he cut Finnick off, resulting in a scoff. You could imagine him rolling his eyes, too. "Here with our continuing coverage of the defense of the Capitol." Now you rolled your eyes.

Every single word Caesar spoke was complete and utter propaganda bullshit. You wished now that you would've decked him when you had the chance, given him the finger and told him to go poke and prod in someone else's life.

He was nothing more than a mutt at Snow's disposal.

"Today, as our Peacekeepers valiantly hold off the rebels, our story... takes a surprising twist."

Following his statement, footage of all of you played from when you were running away from the oil. "Y/N Y/L/N, the girl we once deemed our Princess, and Katniss Everdeen, our once favourite daughter, have now infiltrated the city with some of the victors, whose names are all too familiar." You rolled your eyes again at Caesar's deliberate pacing and dramatic word choice. 

This was the man who once nearly praised you on a daily basis. He's the one that made that God awful nickname stick. Yet here he was now, turning his back on a group of people he once claimed to cherish.

Had you become too human for his liking?

"Finnick Odair and Peeta Mellark." He emphasized Peeta's name with careful precision, just as he came on screen, pushing Katniss to the side and trying to bludgeon her to death. You intook a sharp breath, glancing to Katniss first; she was already looking at Peeta. Her eyes were now more betrayed, like seeing it on TV was different, and his eyes were still glued to the screen, like he couldn't even believe he did it.

"Hm. Clearly, some alliances don't last forever."

Katniss' eyes slowly flickered away, and without really thinking about it, you grabbed onto her hand, squeezing it tightly just to show her you were there. She surprised you by squeezing back with the same force.

Caesar's voice suddenly got more smug. "Take a look at what happened just a moment ago, when our Peacekeepers cornered the former Princess and her band of foolish rebels. Whatever arrogance brought this treacherous girl back to us, you are about to witness a great victory, not only for the Capitol, but for Panem."

Video of the destruction from across the street played onscreen. You watched yourselves supposedly go up in flames.

Supposedly, you were dead.

"So there you have it. Y/N Y/L/N, Panem's Princess, a girl who inspired so much violence, seems to have met a violent end herself." A light chuckle escaped you against your will. You were dead? "Stay tuned for more information. Caesar Flickerman. Thank you."

Caesar ended with a smile that was so creepy it was comical. You felt like laughing again, but decided that propbably wasn't appropriate. Jackson didn't like you very much as it was, likely because of the title Caesar so eloquently gave you.

Royalty. You didn't feel so royal lying in sheets with men old enough to father you, men that were fathers.

Somehow, you didn't feel so royal lying on a cold metal slab, either

"So now that we're dead, what are we gonna do?" Gale questioned.

Peeta spoke up. "Isn't it obvious?" All eyes turned to him. No one had expected him to speak—it was his first attempt since nearly killing Katniss and actually killing Mitchell. "The next move is to kill me."

Katniss took a step forward, but you don't think it was concious. You don't think anything about what she felt toward that boy was conscious.

His voice was wrought with guilt. "I murdered one of our squad members." He paused as if trying to come to terms with it. It was the first time any of you had even acknowledged it. "Katniss is right. I'm a mutt. And it's only a matter of time before I snap again." They made eye contact for a second until he broke it, looking away. "I'm not in control. I need a nightlock pill, so I can die when I need to."

Gale's interruption was sharp and honest. "If it gets to that point, I'll kill you myself." You got the feeling he'd do it regardless.

His admission sliced through the room. He got up moments after, walking to somewhere else in the large townhouse. It was really so big that you didn't understand how it could still be called a townhouse. Kids back home would call this mansion.

You didn't let Gale get lost in it, though, standing up and following him to the kitchen. He entered the pantry; you were right behind him, closing the door.

You narrowed your eyes. His face was impassive but you could see the slighest bit of surprise in his eyes. That just pissed you off even more.

From the moment you met Gale Hawthorne, something didn't feel right. It wasn't that he was a bad man, just that you knew he'd be willing to do bad things for a chance of the right outcome. And you could understand that—you understood him most of the time, but that was out of line.

So you told him that. "You didn't need to say that to Peeta. Not like that." 

He scoffed. "I said what needed to be said. No one else would-"

"You twisted the knife, Gale!" you loudly whispered, eyes now narrowing into slits. "It's called compassion—try it."

"You heard him, Y/N—he's a mutt," he argued, not bothering to match your low volume and throwing his arm out, nearly knocking over a box of cereal in the process. "What kind of compassion does he deserve?"

At that, you took a step closer to him. "You have no idea what it's like." You pointed your finger in his face, consumed by anger. Anger for Peeta, for that boy you saw on TV with Finnick who was willing to kill himself for The Girl on Fire. For the boy who was nervous to meet you. For the boy whose screams you heard for nights on end. A fire burned in your eyes, a fuse now lit that couldn't be contained. "It was hell here. Peeta, Johanna, and I went through hell. You can't expect him to be all fine and dandy after that. And I know how you feel about Katniss, I do. I care about her, too, Gale—she's my person, and so as her person, I am telling you that knocking out the competition won't score you any points with her. Let her come to the decision herself." You went to turn but then added, "And leave Peeta alone."

You didn't want to see the guilt painted all over his face after that, opening the door and leaving him in the pantry by himself.

You weren't excusing what Peeta did, but you knew that he needed time. He needed the time to find himself again. He wasn't the same person. And neither you were you.

You may not have known it, but you needed to find yourself again, too.

The lot of you sat in the living room of the house for some time, waiting it out until it was safe to move. Until then, you ate marshmallows and other little treats stashed in this person's home.

You eat like this, you'll believe anything, Gale had said, and you thought he was right. If you lived like this, grew up like this and were born into this life of opportunity and opulence, then you were sure that you'd believe almost anything, too.

But genocide? you wondered. Perhaps the sun shines brighter here.

Perhaps it blinded them.

Suddenly, the fanfare started, making you all look up to the TV to see the Capitol logo fade into faces—your faces. A showcase of your deaths, like you were fallen tributes.

Finnick's face came onscreen. You heard his snicker from somewhere in the room. Then came you. You shook your head at the ridiculousness of it all.

Didn't they know? You were still dancing.

You'd be dancing until your song ended with Snow's dying breath.

After Peeta and Katniss' pictures played, the montage transitioned into Snow's face. An involuntary shiver overtook your body.

You heard his voice before he even started speaking.

Oh, sweet girl. I will make you wish that you died in that arena.

"So, Y/N Y/L/N, a girl we gave the world, a disgrace to our nation, is now dead. And Katniss Everdeen, a poor unstable girl with nothing but a small talent with a bow and arrow, joins her in the ground." He sounded pleased of himself. "Neither of them thinkers, nor leaders. Simply faces, plucked from the masses—a silly girl with a crown and a deranged one with a song."

You scoffed at the smugness in his tone. A silly girl with a crown. It was funny that you weren't laughing.

"Were they valuable? They were extremely valuable to your... rebellion. Because you have no vision, no true leader among you," he lectured. "You call yourself an alliance. But we saw what that means. Your soldiers are at each other's throats-"

Snow was cut off from his rant by random glitching. Not random, you realized. Your lips curved upward just the smallest bit. Beetee.

Alma's face graced the screen, replacing Snow. "Good evening," she greeted. "For those of you who don't know me, please allow me to introduce myself. I am President Alma Coin, leader of the rebellion. I have interrupted a broadcast from your president in which he attempted to defame two incredibly brave young women." She paused, collecting herself. "'Faces, picked from masses,' he called them. As if any leader, a true leader, could be anything else."

The emotion and conviction in her voice nearly made you believe she actually liked you. "I had the privilege of knowing a small-town girl from the Seam in district 12, and a girl from the water in district 4, both of whom survived the Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell—and rose up and turned a nation of slaves into an army." Her voice raised at the end; she sounded like she might cry. "Dead or alive, Y/N Y/L/N and Katniss Everdeen will remain the faces of this revolution. They will not have died for nothing."

From the seat beside you, Katniss muttered under her breath, "I had no idea I meant so much to her."

You huffed a barely-there chuckle. "Me neither."

Coin continued, "Their vision and ours will be realized. A free Panem, with self-determination for all. And in their memory, we will all find the strength to rid Panem of its oppressors." She took a breath. "Thank you. And be safe."

The screen then faded to pictures of you and Katniss, a whistle playing in the background. It was from The 74th Games—it belonged to a girl named Rue, you think. You could remember watching her hide away from everyone in training, knowing that she wouldn't last.

A 12-year-old girl, sent into the arena to die.

That thought spurred you into drive. You got up. "Snow is in his mansion," you said. "Where is that?" You placed the Holo down on the coffee table, pressing a button and watching it illuminate with the Capitol's hologram.

The others gathered around you. Cressida pointed to spots on the map, informing you, "That's us. That's the City Circle. It's at least, 70- 75 blocks north."

That appeared to catch Finnick's attention. "75 blocks?"

Without thinking about it, you responded, "Nobody knows we're alive. This is our chance." Your eyes met his, and just then did you realize that you were talking to him. You quickly averted your gaze, switching the topic. "These buildings," you pointed, "Do these look over Snow's gardens?"

Cressida was unsure. "I..."

"They do," Castor replied.

"Well, if he goes outside at all, we could get a clear shot." You glanced to Katniss who nodded back to you. It was undecided between the two of you who'd get to deliver the final blow. You wanted to, so badly, but if there was anyone who deserved it just as much, it was her.

When the time came, you'd decide.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves here. Whether they're looking for us or not, we are pinned down," Jackson cut in, subsequently instructing you to hit the middle button to scan for pods.

When the map lit up, you sighed. "That's just about every ten steps."

"Yeah, and that doesn't even show the new ones," Gale reminded you.

Finnick's voice was tired. "So we can't go anywhere in the streets."

"And the rooftops are just as bad," Jackson added.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Pollux tap Castor, pointing his finger down. Realization dawned upon his face. "There might be another way."

Tunnels.

Unanimously, it was decided that you'd take Pollux's suggestion. He said he knew the tunnels well, and it was a good way for you guys to go undetected.

So you packed up what little you had, strapping yourself with weapons, and grabbing the Holo. And just as quickly as you all were there, you were gone, slipping into the night.

The tunnels were huge and spacious. It was surprising that you'd never been down there once, that there were still so many parts of the Capitol you hadn't seen. It didn't feel that way after sleeping in so many Capitol beds.

If that could be called sleeping.

You walked with the Holo in hand, navigating your way through. Everything was fine until you heard the sound of a train's engine. 

Like lightning, you all ran to the side, hiding behind the wall and out of the train's sight. You exhaled once it passed. You could only pray it didn't catch a glimpse of you.

But prayers couldn't be enough. You turned to Pollux. "We're too exposed here."

He nodded then gestured forward with his hand. You let him take lead, following him to a door. The door opened to another ladder that you went down without further question.

It was darker, and there was half-dried up liquid all over the floor, but one quick check of the Holo told you that this place was clear. For the time being, at least.

Smoke went off in one of the hallways that spooked you, but it was fine once you realized that it was just normal smoke. You could still remember that smoke from the Quell, how it felt as it licked your skin.

But you're fine, Y/N. You're not there anymore.

You willed yourself to believe this was a war, not a game. 

You refused to be someone's chess piece any longer.

You eventually came across a little tunnel where Jackson suggested you rest, electing herself to take first watch.

You sat down, glancing at Finnick and looking away before he could notice. Your eyelids got heavier. It'd been nearly two days since you last slept.

You were tired.

No, you were exhausted.

Unknowingly, your eyelids started to droop shut. It wouldn't hurt to get a few hours of shut-eye, you reasoned. You needed to be sharp for what lied ahead of you.

So, within a matter of seconds, you drifted into an abyss of nothingness.

"Y/N, my dear, it is so lovely to see you again."

A smile was etched onto your face, like you were a puppet and the puppeteer that stood before you controlled your every move. The puppeteer made you extend your hand and shake his own. He pulled at your strings and got you to sit at the chair in front of his bureau.

Then he forced your mouth to open, spilling rehearsed pleasantries that you didn't actually mean. "President Snow, it is always a pleasure."

It wasn't. Nothing about meeting Snow in his office was pleasurable to you.

He sat in his red chair that was akin to a throne, higher than you. It was a reminder—a reminder that, even though you had won your Games, and even though you now basked in riches and fame, you were still beneath him. You were still beneath every person in the Capitol you would ever meet, and he sought to make sure you'd never forget it.

"Pleasure," he repeated. "That's an interesting word, isn't it?"

You furrowed your brows, unsure of what he was getting at. "I... I suppose so."

He hummed and just took to staring at you. Was his goal to make you squirm under his gaze? You were certain it was, but you didn't. You kept your cool and maintained his stare. Whatever President Snow called you in for, you were determined to show you could handle it.

You wanted him to like you.

And what a mistake that was.

"Y/N, I am sure that, by now, you've been made aware of the... infatuation people have with you," he started, tilting his head like it was a question. It wasn't, but he did expect a response.

"Yes, I've heard chatter."

He tilted his head again, feigning interest. "What kind of chatter, dear?"

You swallowed. What did he want you to say? Somehow, it felt like no matter what your answer was, this was a trap. "I- people liked my performance, they like my personality. They think... they think that I'm-"

He cut you off, "Captivating? Note-worthy? Attractive?" His last adjective elicited another swallow from you. The word sounded slimy coming out of his mouth. "All-encompassing, Y/N, you are desirable."

Trap. This was a trap. Still, you questioned, "Desirable? What does- what does that mean?"

He didn't answer you, going back to his stare from earlier, but this time it spoke to you. You know what it means, his eyes read. But you didn't. You didn't want to.

You were regretting coming here. You wanted to go back home to lie in your bed, curl yourself up in the covers you never had as a child and sleep. You had a doctor now, one you could afford, that prescribed you medication just to sleep; you wanted to use it right about now.

Then Snow made you wish you had just downed the whole bottle when you had the chance.

"I have a deal for you."

A deal with the devil.

And soon enough, you were stuck dancing his dance 'til the end of time.

"Y/N." 

You were shaken out of your dream by someone tapping your knee. Your eyes fluttered open to see Jackson crouched down in front of you. "It's your watch," she informed you.

You nodded, masking how thrown off you were by standing up, moving to go sit toward the opening. Your legs felt shaky against the ground, but you willed them to move.

You ended up sitting across from Peeta. Finnick was right next to him, his head lulled forward, eyes closed. Good, you thought, they both deserved the sleep.

Finnick always had trouble sleeping in high-stress situations. He had trouble sleeping regardless, sometimes more than you. You caught him awake more times that you could count, nursing a glass of something strong and staring at nothing instead of trying to sleep.

You should've known this time would be no different.

You were staring at the opening when you heard his voice. "Y/N?"

Instantly, your head snapped toward his. His head was upright now, no longer lulled over, and his eyes weren't closed—they were trained on you. A shaky breath left you, from being either startled or frustrated.

Why can't he ever leave well enough alone?

You opened your mouth to reiterate what you already told him, but he was faster. "I know." He paused, staring at you in that way you hated. His voice was quieter now. "I know. You don't wanna talk to me."

"So then why?" you asked, pleading for him to tell you the truth. "Why do you keep doing it?" Why did he insist on continually hurting you?

You were already in love with him. He already had your heart in the palm of his hand, so why did he feel the need to crush it?

It was already broken.

There was something about Finnick's expression you couldn't decipher, something that almost looked pained, and that pained you, too. For a moment, you almost thought you were spared, that he'd pretend to go back to sleep and you'd pretend to believe it, just like old times.

But when was the universe ever so kind to you?

"I do remember the night we met," he revealed. His eyes were sincere; you wanted to look away, but yours were locked on his. The two of you had never talked about this before. "The- the real night. But that wasn't the first time I saw you." He paused, swallowing. "I saw you win. I saw you back home. I saw you in the Capitol dozens of times, but- that night... I don't know what changed. You always looked beautiful, but that night you looked like an angel, Y/N." Your throat tightened, water welling up in your eyes. And then he went in a different direction. "But you were drinking. You looked... sad. And I- I wondered to myself, how could such a beautiful girl be so sad?"

You had to cut him off. "Finnick-"

"So I went up to you," he continued, ignoring your protest. "I had to. Something pulled me to you like a- like a magnet. And up close, you didn't just look like an angel anymore—I saw a goddess. A goddess whose voice dripped of all things sweet and bitter at the same time." He sounded breathless, his eyes glazed over like he was reliving the memory just as you were. "You enchanted me, Y/N."

You were speechless. You didn't know if you could speak even if you had the words. It was almost certain that, if you spoke, you'd cry.

Not once did he look away. Not once. God, he looked like he meant it. And that just made it hurt all the more.

"That was the night we met," he affirmed. "I remember the pretend, but the pretend isn't what I thought about while you were gone. What I remember best isn't the pretend." His gaze got heavier. "It's everything real that we had."

Real.

This felt real. And the tear that raced down your cheek felt real. The hoarseness in his voice felt real. The weight on your chest felt so real that you almost thought you were suffocating.

Do you want this to be real, Y/N?

Yes, of course, you did. A part of you did.

But did you really?

If this was real, would that make the pain easier to manage?

You didn't get to finish that thought. You didn't get to respond. There was a thud far off, something dropping in the water that caught your attention.

Simultaneously, both yours and Finnick's heads turned to the opening. It was complete and utter darkness—there was nothing there.

Then another drop. That made you brace your bow, your other hand going to wipe your cheek. Your eyes suddenly felt much drier.

Finnick got up before you could, going to the opening. You shot upward right after. "Finnick."

He held back two fingers without turning around. "Hold on. Just let me check it out."

You didn't listen, following him into the cavelike tunnel with the Holo turned on. It began chiming immediately, but the light you shined everywhere didn't pick anything up but dirty walls.

If you listened hard enough, it was almost as if you could hear your own name being whispered and bounced off the walls, drawn out purposefully.

You tilted your head and closed your eyes, focusing on the sounds entirely. Water droplets and Finnick's footsteps could be heard, your own breathing, and then you heard it again.

Y-Y-Y/N.

Your eyes flew wide open. "Do you hear that?"

Finnick turned to you but then a shuffle from back inside the tunnel interrupted whatever he was going to say. 

"Katniss."

Both of you turned back to see Peeta waking up, the others not very far behind him.

Jackson, who you couldn't see, questioned, "What is that?

Peeta came to the answer faster than either of you, rushing, "We gotta go. We gotta get outta here now."

"Keep your voice down-"

"Mutts! They released mutts!"

Shit. You quickly re-entered the tunnel. "Pollux, what's the fastest way out?"

Without another word, Pollux was up and leading the way. Gale stood next to him, shooting an incendiary down the path before you went down. 

Fire. Clear. It was safe to continue. You walked slowly, Jackson covering the back.

There was another tunnel on your left. Fire. Clear. Nothing.

On your right was a much more narrow tunnel, ending in a very small opening. The rest of you lit up the way while Pollux crawled in. Nobody spoke as he checked the area. It was silent except for your laboured breaths.

Then you couldn't even hear that. Your breath hitched as he went out of your view. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10-

Ten seconds. Ten seconds and then he was back. You exhaled as he came back into sight, signalling that it was clear to come in. 

Gale and Katniss went first. Then you, then Finnick, Peeta, and the others. Jackson was the last to come in. She shined her flashlight on the path you came from until she decided it was okay to enter.

As soon as she put her flashlight down, your stomach dropped.

No-

Jackson spun around, revealing dozens of mutts with pale, slimy skin and grizzly teeth. They didn't have eyes, but you saw their claws as they took her to the ground.

You gasped. Katniss immediately drew an arrow and shot at the opening, launching an explosion that sent you both backward into the water.

"Go! Go! Go! It's mutts!"

You took the hand that was outstretched to you without even looking at who it belonged to, and in a flash, you were up and running. Peeta screamed, "Pollux, lead us out of here!"

You ran like hell, but the mutts caught up to you. Briefly, it registered to you that there could've been tens and tens more.

One knocked Castor into the water behind you, leaving Cressida to scream his name. You barely noticed Finnick shooting one at your side as you knelt down, drawing an arrow and shooting, lighting them up like candles.

But Castor was still there. He was screaming. 

"Y/N, come on, move!" 

Finnick shook you out of your stupor, grabbing you and practically dragging you upward. That removed you from your trance, sending you running.

You were going straight until another horde of mutts came your direction, forcing you to turn to the tunnel on the left. They're coming from all sides.

You stopped as you ran into a larger area, spinning around and firing another explosive arrow into the tunnel you just came through. There was a ladder here—you just had to fend them off long enough to get there.

Katniss and you stayed on the ground, firing arrows left and right, trying to stop them from getting inside. She turned and one jumped down at her, leading you to shoot at it. She shot one coming from behind you; you shot one from the front.

But they were fast. You didn't see one coming until it was coming right at you, too close for you to fire. Your eyes widened as it pushed you against the wall; the only thing stopping it from mauling was your bow cushioned between it and your body.

Reflexively, your free hand went to the sword on your side. You raised it into the air and brought it down right on its neck, simultaneously kicking it away from you. Just as that one was gone, another came running from your right. You stabbed without a second thought.

Another got too close from your left. You hit it over the head with your bow, backing it with enough force to snap its neck. 

Too slow, you realized, quickly sheathing your sword and hanging the bow on your back, replacing it with the 9mm strapped to your thigh, promptly shooting the mutt in front of you.

You spun, seeing Katniss trying to fight off a mutt on top of her. You shot it with precise aim, killing it immediately.

Before you could even go to help her up, you were being knocked to the ground, your gun flying out of your hands.

You shuffled backward on the platform using the heels of your hands, eyes wild with the realization that it was right in front of you, but then just as it was about to come down on you, it was impaled from behind, a familiar trident glinting in the light.

A sigh of relief escaped you as Finnick threw the mutt to the ground, swinging at the next one like clockwork. That gave you the second you needed to get your bearings. You unsheathed your sword a second time, running up and covering him, slashing away at mutts on auto-pilot.

Your feet moved with a mind of their own, dancing with relentless determination. Finnick and you stood back to back, killing mutts like it was nothing.

The area was almost empty; just about everyone had gone up the ladder already, everyone but you, Finnick, and Katniss. She was on the ground, a mutt in front of her. You ran to her, sinking your sword into it and tossing it away before pulling her up. "Go, go, go!"

She followed your direction, running for the ladder. You hacked away at another one just as you heard Finnick scream, "Katniss!"

Immediately, you spun around, watching him throw his trident at a mutt trying to pull her down. Shit. He was weaponless.

A mutt crashed into him, and you wasted no time to pull out your second gun, shooting it in its centre. You ran to him, shooting two more on your way, and pulled him up. "Come on! Let's go!"

He rapidly nodded back to you, and you booked it, him running behind you. You made it to the ladder, climbing up like your life depended on it because it did. You were almost there when you heard Finnick scream, a mutt biting into his shoulder, but he stabbed it and pushed it to the ground.

You made it up to the top, looking down to see him up two-thirds of the way when a mutt jumped up and grabbed his shoulder. Your eyes went wide. "FINNICK!" 

He lost his grip, and your hand shot down at the speed of light, grabbing his. You surprised yourself at your own strength, pulling him up. Katniss quickly reached down to help you.

You don't know what the sound left you was; it was like a sob. He's okay. He's okay.

But if you were one second later, he wouldn't have been.

Without thinking about, you threw your arms around him. He reciprocated immediately, hugging you just as tight. Another sob left you. He's okay. He's okay.

I love him, and he's okay.

"Come on, come on, come on, come on! Let's go!" That brought you back to your senses, making you let go of him despite every bone in your body that said not to. "Keep moving! Keep moving!"

Katniss shot an arrow down the ladder just to slow down any mutts that'd follow you, and then the three of you were off once more.

You ran into the train station, and immediately, you were met with bullets flying your way. Not mutts this time. Peacekeepers.

Katniss pulled you behind a pole with her, soon realizing there were Peacekeepers attacking from the side, too. She shot an arrow at them, causing them and the escalator they were on to explode.

We have to run. It was either run or stay there to die. You pulled at her sleeve; she got the memo, running with you to the side.

One of the lights flickered before shining even brighter, like a spotlight. You soon realized its purpose when Messalla ran underneath it and was instantly vapourized, becoming nothing more than ashes.

Cressida stopped, her mouth falling open. You had to force yourself to yell at her. "Keep going! Keep going!" She got out of her shock and then started running again.

You didn't have time to stop and mourn over the life lost.

You raced through the station, shooting behind yourself periodically and dodging the light traps as you went.

But that wasn't enough. Not enough to satisfy the sick fantasies of a Gamemaker.

The ground behind you broke, and then it was coming at you like wave of rubble, forcing you to run faster than you ever had.

With all of your might, you jumped onto the platform, breaking your fall with a roll. Panting, you got back up, and you would've kept running had you not heard Cressida scream Peeta's name.

You turned around, seeing Katniss already running toward him. He was knelt forward, hands covering his ears. She crouched down next to him. "Peeta, we have to keep going!"

"I'm a mutt-"

"We have to keep going!"

 "I can't keep control!"

"Yes, you can-"

"Leave me, I'm a mutt!"

Katniss kept wrestling against him. "Look at me!" She grabbed his face into her hands. "Look at me." Within a split-second, her lips crashed into his, kissing him like he wasn't breathing and needed CPR.

Anyone watching could feel the love she had for that boy.

You glanced at Finnick to see him already looking at you, then you promptly looked away. This wasn't about you.

When she finally pulled away, she was nearly begging him. "Stay with me." And when you saw the look on his face, you knew that she got to him.

"Always," he whispered.

Katniss nodded, and then she pulled him up and you were running out. It was snowing when you got outside, a thin layer covering the ground. 

"I know where we are!" Cressida shouted, turning back to you. "I know a place. Up those stairs!"

You followed her, running up the stairs and passing a portrait of Finnick on the way, the words WANTED written on it in bold. There were likely similar ones all around the city. Your theory was proven correct when you ran past another post, this time with your own face.

Cressida ran forward to some dress shop, banging on the door. It almost looked like it was empty until you saw someone's figure behind the pixelated glass.

A woman opened the door and you all immediately ran inside, Cressida exclaiming, "Shut the door, shut the door!"

Katniss immediately raised her bow at the woman, drawing an arrow until Cressida assured her it was okay. While Finnick and Gale went to secure the perimeter, you stayed and examined the woman, getting a good look at her.

She had a tiger pattern tatted, framing her face and going down all the way to her neck, with whiskers. The orange, furry coat she wore completed her appearance. She looked familiar; you just couldn't pinpoint from where.

Cressida walked up to her. "Tigris, do you remember me? I'm with Plutarch's underground." Tigris just stared at her blankly. "We need your help."

In the background, someone shouted that it was clear. You watched as Tigris' eyes then locked on you. She didn't stare long before she acquiesced, leading you to another part of the shop. The boys met you on your way there.

She lifted a quilt off the ground, revealing a hidden trap door. It opened to a flight of stairs, and then the puzzle pieces suddenly clicked.

"I- I know you," you said. "You were a stylist in the Games."

She paused, removing her hood. "Until Snow decided I wasn't pretty enough anymore." Her hands ended up on her hips.

Pretty enough. That was all shades of ironic to you. How could such an ugly man decide what was beautiful?

Your mouth moved on its own accord. "We're here to kill him."

Tigris was impassive, but if you looked hard enough, you could see the slight curve of her lips.

You went down the stairs. She closed the door once the last of you was down. You were cemented to your spot by the stairs, listening to the sound of Pollux cry. His brother was dead.

The Leegs. Jackson. Castor. Messalla. Even Finnick almost died, and you don't know what you would've done if that happened, if he died due to decisions that you made.

This was your fault. This wasn't a game, but you played it like one. Now everyone that was dead was dead because of you.

Cressida said something about Gale needing stitches, along with Finnick. Slowly, you turned around, swallowing. This is my fault.

The words came tumbling out of your mouth. "I made it up." All eyes went to you. No take-backs now. "Everything." Your voice cracked. "There- there is no special mission from Coin, it's just- it was just my plan." Don't cry, Y/N. Don't cry. You don't deserve to cry. "Everyone that's dead is dead because of me—I lied."

"We know," Cressida said. "We all knew."

Your brows knitted together. They knew? "Wh- the soldiers from 13?"

"They did, too." They knew. "Do you really believe that Jackson thought you had orders from Coin?" Her voice wasn't accusatory, nor was it intended to be hurtful. It was genuine. She looked down. "She trusted Boggs and he clearly wanted you to go on."

But why? Why did Boggs trust you? Why did she lie for you, and why did any of them go with your plan?

"We had your back, Y/N." Your eyes darted to the new voice, meeting Finnick's blue eyes from across the room. His voice was soft, just as soft as it was earlier before the mutts came. "Always have. Always will."

Tears came to your eyes. Don't cry, Y/N. You sniffled. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I-" you cut yourself off. Don't cry, Y/N. You turned to Pollux. "I'm so sorry, Pollux. I'm so sorry."

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry-

"Glimmer. Marvel. Mags." You looked to the side, seeing Peeta with his eyes trained on the ground, reciting, "Clove. Wiress. Rue." He looked up at you. "Bay." Your breath hitched. Bay. "What do all those deaths mean?" 

You couldn't answer—because you didn't know. That was a question you'd been asking yourself since you were thrown into the arena at 15.

"They mean that our lives were never ours," Peeta said. "There was no real life, because we didn't have any choice. Our lives... belong to Snow, and our deaths do, too." 

Finnick's voice echoed in your head, words playing in your head that you had thought about a thousand times before. We will never be free, Y/N.

"But if you kill him—if you end all of this... all those deaths, they mean something." 

Your will was broken, a tear falling down your cheek against all your best restraint. Meaning. Every death since you were reaped for The Hunger Games and every death that came before it, they could all have meaning.

"Cinna. Boggs. Castor. Jackson. They chose this."

Katniss spoke up from beside you. "They chose you, Y/N." You turned to her, seeing the silent words that lied in her eyes. She nodded, as if confirming it for you. She was giving it to you.

Snow's death. It was yours.

So it was decided. You would kill President Snow. You would put an end to this, and you would give those deaths meaning. 

No matter what, even if it killed you. That didn't matter.

Your death would have meaning, too.

You were dressing Finnick's wound, wincing every time he hissed like you could feel the pain yourself. He didn't deny you when you sat next to him, a first aid kit in your hands.

You stitched him up like it was muscle memory, which it was. Your father taught you. I'm not always gonna be here, Y/N, he said, so there are some things I need to teach you so you can take of yourself. And your mother.

And you did. You took care of yourself and her for six years. Then you took care of yourself out in the wilderness in The Games, going as far as to kill people just to stay alive. When you got out, you continued to care of your mother, even as she refused to look at you. You sold your body and gave up your innocence so she would stay safe; you gave her your home.

Now where was she? She was dead.

But Finnick wasn't. He was still alive. He could've died right before your eyes, but he didn't. You couldn't let him die.

Your mother, she died without the two of you ever reconciling. You refused to let that be the case for you and Finnick. All of the grief and trauma between the two of you, it would be resolved. It had to be. Or, at least, it'd be as resolved as could be possible. 

Maybe there was too much too broken to be fixed. Maybe Finnick Odair and Y/N Y/L/N were doomed from the start.

But at least you had this. You had goodbye.

All of a sudden, he spoke up. "The plan was always to pull you out." You stopped what you were doing, your hands freezing in their place. "You were never supposed to be in The Games, Y/N. The Reaping was rigged."

"What?" Shock laced through your voice.

"You were supposed to stay in 4," he told you. "You were supposed to stay home, and then people from 13 would come pick you up." A breathless chuckle left him, one that you were sure hurt his ribs. "You were never supposed to volunteer."

Memories flooded your head.

Why would you do that?

Finn-

Why would you volunteer?

You intook a sharp breath, realization hitting you like a truck. The hiding away at the gala, talking to Plutarch, the way he wasn't surprised when the Quell was announced, the sheer anger he had when you volunteered. And then the insistence that you would be fine, that you were both gonna make it out of that arena.

Except you didn't.

"So that plan changed. Johanna was supposed to cut your tracker, but she didn't get the chance. Then Katniss shot the force field, and I-" his voice cracked, "I wanted to find you, but I couldn't move."

Stop. "Finnick-"

"I was gonna tell you." He turned around, facing you. "After The Games, I was gonna tell you that I loved you. But then they had you and I couldn't. But I do, Y/N." He grabbed onto your cheeks, and you let him. His eyes begged you to believe him. "I love you."

A shaky breath left you, the words reverberating through your head. I love you.

He loved you.

And this time, you believed him.

You rested your forehead against his. "God, I-" say it. "I love you, too."

In a heartbeat, Finnick's lips collided with yours. You didn't even have to think about before you kissed him back, your lips moving together in unison, dancing to the song you'd danced to for years. You realized this was your first time kissing him since the Quell, and you realized just how much you missed this.

Whenever Finnick kissed you, you felt loved, even if you knew he didn't love you.

Except this time, you knew he did.

When you pulled away, you couldn't help the smile that came across your face. When you opened your eyes, you saw that his face was no different.

This. This was what home felt like.

Even if you might not feel it again, it was nice to visit just one last time.

"When, um," you paused, running a hand through his hair. God, I missed this. "When all this is over, we can talk about everything."

His grin got wider when you thought that wasn't possible. "Okay. I can wait—I'd do anything for you." Your smile got a little hollow. I hope you let me die.

You were lying. You knew you wouldn't be here to talk about everything—you'd be dead by then. But you wanted to just have this, this one last moment. You wanted one last moment with Finnick, doing what the two of you did best. Pretending.

So you pretended everything was okay, and you made promises you couldn't keep.

"I love you, Y/N Y/L/N."

You smiled. "I love you, Finnick Odair." You'd love him to the end of time. You loved him to death. Soon, he'd realize that.

Goodbye, Finnick.

I love you.

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies @lantsovheiress @hobiebrowns-wife @notplutos @faeriepigeons @hnslchw @unholyhuntress @aclmagic @gloryekaterina @ayme301 @lem0ns77 @kisskittenn @onlyangel-444 @moonagedaydream505 @spderm4nnnn @satellitespeirs @glitzcute @iammirrorball @corpsebasil @forever-sleepy-sloth @omwtkydttfym @divinelovers @maggiecc @i-am-a-simp1 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @nelliereadsstuff @how2besalty @dreaminglandsworld @eilaharmonia @catvader101 @lexa138 @h0neylemon @dakotali @hermionelove @theseerbetweenus @whosscruffylooking @yourdailymemedelivery @emma-andrea1 @s1lngwns @meenyminymoes-blog @roxi-reid @rattertatter @sunnybunnyy2 @just-levyy @amaranth-writing @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @joshhutchersonisdaddy @my-name-is-baby @hehehe13356 @quazsz @chloecharms23 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @thehairington86 @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @ment1tavoid @hereliesme @tayrae515 @mottergirl99 @blackdxggr

additional a/n: ru happy i didn't kill finnick?! it was very tempting, guys, but i had this planned out from the beginning. ALSO, bc i am skeptical that every tag on this taglist works, here is an additional taglist of everyone new that has asked to be on it.

[puppyguppy]

There's a moment a few select individuals were privy to. A memory forever burned into some lucky handful of brains; those that'd been there, and not drunk enough to forget it. No one's sure if Aizawa even remembers it -- the core of the memory itself. That moment-maker. Not a single soul has been brave enough to bring it back up, or maybe everyone's just been too busy, recovering still, and rebuilding.

Which is what should've happened that night, but.

Those lucky, lucky few disagree.

Vehemently.

All in all, it'd been good for everyone.

An irresponsible reprieve, yes, but they were all so sick of being strong and responsible and the ones left alive. Aizawa, one of the most. Maybe the most -- out of the adults around, anyways. (Not that the kids could really be considered kids anymore.)

So, maybe that's why he'd allowed himself to drink so much. To drink so much, and let it go to his head instead of his heart. To drink so much, and let it take him to the dancefloor of the club, instead of the couch in his campus apartment. He'd still be in uniform, technically, not that anyone cared about that in the interim. The upper half of his jumpsuit had been folded and knotted around his waist though, chest clad in a black tank top. He'd had his hair tied up -- sort of. In this messy updo he'd temporarily adopted, which infuriated some and sexually frustrated others. Not that he knew, or cared. At least, that'd been the general assumption.

But, war changed a man.

As did twelve drinks.

Or, maybe, he'd always been like that.

After all, he had been friends with the R-Rated Hero, and Present Mic was only just barely any better.

It'd been Yamada, actually, that'd sparked the whole thing. No one knows exactly what he'd said, or did, outside of say something in Aizawa's ear and sway his hips. But, it'd made Aizawa laugh; the kind of laugh that'd thrown his head back and everything. And then, for those that'd just so happened to have been watching; heads turned and eyes pulled to that one particular spot on the sweaty, crowded floor, like Fate herself had guided them --

They got to watch Aizawa dance.

They got to watch him pop a hip, and then the other, the action immediately repeated and accentuated by the bunch of his costume around his waist. He'd been on beat without even trying, his body not even stuttering as pops smoothly rolled into waves. While the song that'd been playing at the time had been suggestive, what Aizawa had done with his body had been borderline obscene. Even if only because anyone watching felt like they'd gotten a glimpse of some Victorian lass's ankle for the very first time. And then.

And then.

He'd done this cheeky little spin on his good leg, thrown his head back again, his tank top stretched just enough to expose a little strip of hip, and -

and his hair had fallen, fluffy and gorgeous and all down in his face, the hairtie lost to the abyss of bodies. It'd shocked him into another laugh, but not bad enough to stop him from dancing, from damn near grinding -- no, that'd only stopped once Yamada couldn't take it anymore, and slapped his ass with a hand before more or less collapsing against his side.

He'd looked so young, for just those few minutes. Which was to say, he'd looked his age. Despite everything, despite the loss, he'd looked happy. And so, so fucking hot.

And for some, more than two but less than a hundred, that's now the memory that gets them through the day.

And well into the night.

The world was worth saving, the war worth winning, and the aftermath worth surviving.

[imahinatjon]

Can you write something about a reader who only focuses on what they did wrong. Like for example, they had a mission that they succeeded flawlessly in, and they know that. But they only focus on the small mistakes and how to perfect them. And after some time, Fyodor, who has started to fall in love with them, grows irritated at their unhealthy habit and decides to teach them a lesson, by overstimulating them. No worries if you don't want to write something like this

It has been WAYYY too long. I am so sorry for not getting to this sooner. But hey! Its done now. Been a busy month and my hands are killing me lol.

Anyway, here it is. Overstimulation with fyodor. Maybe out of character.

How much more?

Fyodor x Reader 18+ 💋

This was... oh THIS was irritating. Fyodor didn't send you out often, in his opinion you were too good for the lowly, mediocre jobs, so he'd wait for a better and more Important mission to send you on- he trusted you'd get the job done.

Not that he'd ever told you that.

So of course, you assume your kept behind so often because your not good enough to go on missions - without even realising that the ones you DO get assigned are the more important ones.

But how were you to know that they were important to him? You'd never seen a 'normal' job.

No normal person would ever be caught complaining to Fyodor in such a way. The only person who spoke to him so familiarly was you.

And it was ovbious he had some sort of feeling towards you, to everyone but yourself. Your colleagues weren't sure if they should worry for you or be glad you'd be somewhat protected.

Aha! But, none of that is the point, not really. The focus of this is what your doing right now - complaining again to Fyodor. Telling him all about your last mission. An astounding success it was! But... well, that one guard? He managed to spot you and alert a few other guys of your infiltration, all because you were a little too loud. I mean, you did take them down, but you have a rather nasty scratch on your arm. Only a scratch, but it hurt, and hindered the rest of your mission. Maybe if not for that first mistake. It would have gone a little more smoothly.

Fyodor really didn't care. You did the job, and you made sure it was a success, all the little details were inconsequential.

But he listened to you. Patting your head as your frowned deeply when you sat beside him.

He wanted to fix the problem. Somehow. Your constant complaining DID get annoying at times. Besides, you were seriously underselling yourself on a regular basis.

Then he had an idea.

In hindsight, a stupid idea which didn't make much sense, and wouldn't do anything to fix things in the long run, but it'd be a temporary fix.

...

That and he just really wanted to eat you out.

This little thought of his, an impulse he'd never have acted on if he wasn't already a little ticked is what landed you on your back, sprawled over a sofa, fyodor gently massaging your genitalia, ghosting gently over all your most sensitive parts with his cold hands.

Occasionally he'd hit that one spot, making you flinch with a cold shiver up your spine and your hips twitch.

You sighed quietly, he was slow, and it was relaxing, blissful, and then you felt something warm fan over you.

Opening your eyes you spied his mouth closing in on you, ready to take in your essence.

"W-wait!" You yelped

Fyodor stopped and looked up, expectantly, he wanted an explanation

"Its not... I'm... what if it doesn't... it won't taste... Good?" You weren't sure hoe exactly it should he said. You were sure whatever he wanted to do would feel heavenly, and you desperately wanted him to continue, but doubts persisted.

He sighed.

"Any more complaining and I'm not letting you come"

'What?' You thought to yourself. He was harsh, and you were sure he would stick to his word should you complain again, but, his hand squeezed yor thight gently. A subtle message 'its okay'

And he was soon back between your legs, tongue working wonders, one hand over your stomach, arm keeping you still, the other toying where his mouth was absent.

He moved around a lot, switching his attention to various parts of your body, bringing you closer and closer to an edge you would soon reach.

You felt your muscles tighten, his hair run between your fingers, and you were sure you must have called his name at some point as your mouth was open and throat a little dry.

You needed some water.

But something was stopping you after your climax. A sensation that slightly ached, made you wince and look down. Fyodor was still going. He has to know you've already come right? Surely...?

Of course he knew.

But you hadn't much time to entertain his intentions as your next orgasm was ready to crash down upon you like a tidle wave, more intense than the previous.

He shifted, leaning up over you.

"Think you can come again..."

You wanted to shake your head no...

But... the I

Thoughts of what he could do to you... this was a change you didn't get everyday.

All you could do was weakly nod. Even if all your insides all felt tight, even if it ached slightly, even if you grew tired... you wanted to take everything he would give to you.

Just like another mission. How much could you take?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Good?

[twisted-tales-of-all]

My Universe Returns to Me

Summary: Missing your boyfriend, you surprise him by watching the final concert of his group's tour, followed by a wonderful night together for the first time in months. Pairing: Stray Kids' Bangchan x afab!Reader Genre: Smutty One-shot with loads of fluff AUs/Tropes: idol!AU, established relationship, temporary-ldr, first meeting after a while Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: description-heavy, slight tinge of jealousy, occasional teasing, body worship (f. receiving), praise, unprotected sex, slight begging, orgasm (m. and f. receiving), breast fondling/nipple play, creampie, slight overstim during aftercare, it's pretty fluffy sex because Chris is a so deeply in love A/N: a drabble request turned into a full piece oops, I still italicized the prompts like the drabbles. Special thanks to the spirit who came to help me write this (they want to stay anon), and I hope everyone enjoys! As always, feel free to point out any missed warnings, and please reblog with feedback/reactions<3

It'd been far too long since you'd last met your boyfriend since they're currently on tour, so you decide to surprise him at the last concert. Sitting in the company-designated seats towards the back of the crowd, you take a picture of the stage and send it to him while they're doing soundcheck. When they head backstage again, you get a slew of messages in response, some just keyboard smashes and others excitedly asking whether he'd be able to see you later. Finally, he pouts about having to put his phone away and wishes for you to enjoy the show.

You choose not to answer most of his messages, simply telling him to have fun and that you can't wait to see him. The concert goes as smoothly as any last stop does, with plenty of tears and sappy moments sprinkled amongst the singing, dancing, and rehearsed skits. You take plenty of pictures of the screens that project the members to their fans, especially when your boyfriend is plastered on screen for all to see. After the concert ends, the VIP event begins. You watch all the lucky VIPs line up for their high fives and quick chats with the members, but you know better than to join that line - even if the company tickets come with the option to. The boys would all be too excited to see you, and you're not trying to get jumped by hundreds of fans for befriending the group. You walk out of the venue and make your way to the hotel, silently thanking Felix for telling you where they were staying so you could get a room in the same hotel.

Lounging in your room for an hour or so, your mind wanders to the VIP event. A pang in your chest alerts you of your slight jealousy of the fans who see your boyfriend before you, but you shove the thought away by remembering Chris' words from the last time you felt undeserving of him.

"No matter how well I treat the fans, I'm always thinking of you, y'know. You never leave my mind, and even all the stars are by your side. You're perfect in my eyes, and I'm always going to be by your side."

Taking yourself out of your head, you hear your phone ring. Answering without even checking the name, you don't get a word out before the chaos erupts from the other end.

"Where are youuuu? I want to see you and hug you and kiss you and hold you already." Chris whines, making you smile but roll your eyes.

The disgusted screams in the background prompt you to ask him whether they've returned to the hotel yet, but Felix's screams answer before Chris can, "Tell 'im to wait until he's alone to do this! We don't wanna hear him gush!"

Despite his pouts, you tell your boyfriend to call you back when he reaches the hotel, knowing he'll call the moment the van pulls up to the building. When you get the call, you give him the room number and tell him that he can come straight up if he wants or wait until he washes up. Within minutes, you hear someone knock on your door. He has a bag with his change of clothes and insists that it's easier to wash up in your room instead of waiting his turn for the showers in their four rooms. You roll your eyes, but he hugs you so tightly the moment the door closes that you can't help but smile. When the boys say he's whipped for you, these moments prove that for you.

After the initial hellos, filled with long hugs and dozens of kisses of varying intensities, he asks how you enjoyed the concert. His eyes fill with worry and anticipation, but they soften again as you tell him about all of the new pictures you have to tease everyone with. At the end of your ramble, you mention the event and pout about how he's STAY's boyfriend. He tilts his head as his face twists into a sad apologetic gaze, so you finish with a half-joke.

"Call me selfish, but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you."

He cups your cheeks as he teases you for being possessive, "Awh, my love feels like they aren't getting enough attention? Is that why you came all this way? You missed me that much?"

Even though he's eating it up, you point out that he's even more possessive, "You'd miss me just as bad if you didn't beg me for pictures every single day!"

"Shh, don't worry, I'll take very good care of you. You came all this way, after all."He deflects, turning on his deeper, more sultry voice as he leans in to kiss you again, trying to distract you from the topic of his own neediness.

The kiss holds more longing than those from earlier, as it's somehow softer but more sexually charged than before. Deepening the kiss, Chris puts a hand on the small of your back, guiding you to lean back and lie flat on the bed. As he holds himself above you, he relishes the moment - you're finally here with him after months of being apart for the tour, your lips soft and your hands safely resting on the back of his neck. You were right, after all; he'd lose his mind if he wasn't getting your daily selfies and updates. It showed in his movements now, as he melted into you, verifying to himself that it's not too good to be true - that the love of his life was in his grasp again.

He pulls away slightly, brushing a stray hair from your beautiful face as he gazes at you with love-filled eyes, getting himself lost in the sparkles in your eyes, shining as brightly as the stars in the night sky.

"Chris, stop staring at me. I'm getting shy."

"But you're so beautiful, I want to admire you some more." The distant smile on his face tells you more than his words do; how happy he must be and how unreal it must feel.

"It's not a dream. I can't lie here for you to stare at forever."

Taking that as his cue, he starts kissing your body, worshipping your very existence. Careful not to move your clothes much yet, he takes his time to kiss every knuckle on your hands and each mole on your exposed skin. You squirm, giving him another sign to move forward, and he obliges by slowly sliding his hands under your shirt. He hooks his thumbs under the hem as he glides his hands up your torso, leaving goosebumps from how softly he touches you. As he reaches your chest, his fingers graze over the lacy fabric of your bra, and you notice his jaw tighten as he resists the urge to pull your shirt off faster. Already committed to his worshipping today, he resists where he otherwise wouldn't.

Fully removing your shirt, his fingers gloss over your shoulders and make their way to your beautifully decorated breasts. Tracing the edges of the fabric, he muses about how beautiful you look in between kisses to your collarbones and upper chest. Careful not to focus on your breasts too much, he lowers himself, leaving a trail of soft kisses from the bottom of the bra down to the hem of your pants. He isn't as slow removing your pants, undoing them and pulling them down quickly to see you in your adorably delectable matching set. A deep growl forms in the back of his throat, prompting praise after praise of how wonderful you look and how glad he is knowing that you're all his.

Your face and core heat up even more at the praises thrown at your exposed body despite him praising you endlessly throughout the relationship. No matter what he says nor however many times he says similar things, they always feel so deeply genuine that you can't help the knot in your stomach or the blush forming on your face. As he lowers his face between your thighs, the knot in your stomach tightens. Alternating his kisses between your thighs, you continuously feel his warm breath, especially when he hovers over your covered entrance to admire the soaked-through fabric.

Getting desperate for him to touch the places he's actively avoiding, you whine, "Chris, please. I need you. Stop teasing."

Although he insists that he wasn't teasing, your begs kick him enough to stop fighting his urges. Quickly removing his clothes, you notice his cock throbbing already. Not one to waste time teasing himself, he quickly works to pull your panties down, groaning as a string of your wetness follows the movement. Too tempted by seeing you exposed to him like this, he doesn't bother to remove your bra. As he settles between your legs, you quickly remove it yourself, letting your breasts free of the cage you chose to show them off to your boyfriend in.

Before lining himself up, he drags two of his fingers between your lower lips, gathering up your pre-cum. Rubbing it on the tip of his dick, he counts that as enough lube as he's too eager to feel your walls engulf him to do more preparation. As he lines himself, he looks to you for approval, sliding in slowly after your nod.

The noise leaving his lips as he bottoms out sounds heavenly and feral mixed perfectly together. And you can't even blame him; he feels so good inside you, filling you up perfectly with his thickness pressing against your walls and fighting against your tightness. He pulls back slowly until he's only half inside before thrusting in again sharply. You love it when he does this, feeling like he's trying to connect the two of you together so eagerly, wanting to feel you always.

He picks up the pace, rocking his hips to continue hitting your best spots. You try to cover your mouth to muffle the inhuman noises he's pushing out of you, but when he lifts your legs over his shoulders, you can't contain yourself anymore. The sly one-sided smile painting his face tells you that he's enjoying himself, earning those kinds of sounds from you.

Between thrusts, he teases, "You, you missed me, a lot, huh?"

Moving one hand from your hips to your breast, he cups it to display your nipple to him. Keeping pace, he leans forward and takes your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sucking gently. As you tighten from the sensation, he groans against you, sending vibrating chills from your perky nipple to the rest of your body. All of the combined sensations work you up, and you feel your orgasm building as he continues thrusting deep inside you.

"Don't stop... Please, I'm close." You warn him.

He focuses on his thrusts, keeping a steady rhythm as he feels you clenching tighter around him again. A deep, guttural moan against your breast brings you over the edge, your orgasm rippling through your whole body as you shake and moan uncontrollably. Riding it out, Chris lifts his head to watch your face contort from the pleasure, praising you for not hiding yourself this time.

"There you go, my love. Feel it out. Let everything out. Good job."

When you come down from your high, you notice his thrusts getting sloppy. With both hands back on your hips, his grip tightens as he nears his own climax. As his grunts become more animalistic, he finishes inside you with one final deep thrust. The warm liquid fills you as his fingertips dig into your skin, only to release seconds later as his high comes to an end.

You watch his face writhe as he slowly pulls out of you. He quickly grabs one of the washcloths from the bathroom, wetting it slightly with warm water, and rubs your opening lightly with it. Wincing from the stimulation, you grab at the sheets. You know he's just trying to clean you off, but you're so sensitive from your orgasm that you can't help your reaction.

"Shh, I know. I'm sorry. I just want to help love." He places the cloth over your throbbing core and adds, "I'll draw you a bath, too. I'll hold you in there so you can rest properly."

Quietly, your voice hoarse from your screams, you call to him as he walks to the bathroom again, "Thank you, Chris. You're the best."

"Only because it's you. I love you, Y/N."

[rindecisions]

Stranger Tales Part 25

Read the rest on AO3

Steve beamed a little brighter than he'd intended at Eddie's comment, feeling his cheeks warm a bit.

That smile had Eddie entirely enchanted. It felt as if the universe herself had put a spotlight on Steve. He almost forgot he was holding his ice cream cone again and opted to put it in the tray with the others before he ended up dropping it for real.

With a slightly nervous lick of his lips, Steve cocked his grin unevenly. "If it's really not, not working..." He swallowed. "Do you think I could... possibly... get a number?"

Eddie was taken aback. Even if Steve had been messing around with flirting with a guy on a dare, making an actual move was unexpected. "Twenty-three," he said before he could reel in his shit-heel.

"What?" Steve squinted.

"You asked for a number, right? So, I gave you one." He shrugged. He'd already stuck his foot in his mouth. It'd be weirder if he tried to back down.

Steve scoffed a laugh and shook his head. "No. Your number," he clarified.

Eddie chewed on his lip. "That depends," he stated smoothly, meeting Steve's eyes with a little more confidence. "Do you plan on actually using it, or is it just proof that you managed your end of the deal?"

Strangely, Steve found it a little hard to look into Eddie's focused eyes. "I'm a little undecided, honestly," he answered with an awkward huff.

The slightly bashful expression on Steve's face made Eddie's heart thud. It almost felt like Steve was seriously considering it. "Can I think about it?" He picked up the tray of cones. "I need to get these to the guys before they melt."

"Yeah, no, of course," Steve replied quickly, and gestured for him to leave.

Eddie nodded and turned away.

A concern gripped Steve's chest, and he spoke before he could think it through. "Munson."

Eddie turned back around to look at him.

"You—you're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

Deep pity and sympathy washed over Eddie, and he let out a small sigh. "No, Steve. I wouldn't dream of it," he stated sincerely, and gave him another nod before leaving.

Eddie knew it was too good to be true. There was no way that Steve would ever be okay with dating a guy. He'd almost considered giving him his number too, but maybe he should just let things slide.

He met the guys out front of the comic shop, and everyone took their respective cone.

"What took you so long?" Jeff asked.

"Harrington was talking my ear off," Eddie chuckled.

༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒༒

Steve spent the rest of Robin's break waiting to see if Eddie would come back, and when he didn't, he felt his heart sink.

"How'd it go?" Robin asked, hanging up her bag in the back.

"Well, I did it," Steve sighed.

"By the weight of that sigh, I'm assuming it didn't go well."

"I think it went great, actually," Steve chuckled weakly.

"Then why the long face?"

"I think I blew it at the end. I was fucking stupid and—"

"No surprise there," Robin interjected with a pursed grin.

Steve looked at her flatly, unamused. "As I was saying," he grumbled. "I asked him not to tell anyone that I was flirting with him as he left," he admitted.

"Yeah. Okay. That was stupid of you."

Steve gave her a bitchy glare and sneer. "No shit."

"But hey, at least you did it," she stated congratulatorily. "I'd call that a win all on its own."

"When I asked for his number, he said he needed to think about it."

"Was that before or after you dropped the insecurity bomb on him?"

Steve groaned. "Before."

"Ouch." Robin cringed.

He sighed and rested his forehead against the cool freezer door.

"Gonna try to concuss yourself again?"

"Maybe if I hit it hard enough, I can stop being so fucking stupid."

"Not likely, but it'd be funny to watch, so don't let me stop you."

He glared at her and flipped her off.

Don't forget to vote ^-^

[acetier]

"feel free to ask literally anything about torin!" Oh Boy I don't want to spam ur inbox with TOO MUCH bc he and varre live in my head rent free so for now I will ask the most pressing thing on my mind....... torin overthrows mohg as per your first post about them, right? How do you think varre reacted to that???? I can never imagine killing mohg would go over too smoothly with him, so I'm curious if/how torin was able to win him over!!

"I'll ensure you regret this, my lambkin..."

((aftermath under the cut))

it didn't go over smoothly at all, aka torin is once again reminded that his actions have consequences and those consequences are rarely (if ever) good :'^D varre's still fanatically loyal to mohg and views any attack against his master as an attack against himself, so torin killing mohg would be an unforgivable betrayal.

i ended up killing varre at the end of his questline in my first playthrough haha. i think for them to have a (sort of?) happy ending as they are now, torin would need to be content with serving the dynasty alongside varre and abandoning the rest of his quest (which he isn't willing to do as part of what drove him to varre in the first place is his desire for revenge and he can't give that up so easily).

on the other hand if you want to imagine a scenario where varre ends up surviving, he and torin would need to go their separate ways for a while. when they meet back up it'd be after torin resolves his quest for vengeance and comes to terms with his losses and also probably after he's burned the erdtree (and melina). by then they've both been through the wringer and are so Tired of it all that it's easier to fall back into comforting old habits with each other. it'd still take them a while to fully reconcile tho :'^)

[ehh-is-the-name]

ii 15's live now... How we feeling?

Really how we feeling guys? I'm feeling-

(I'm feeling a lot of things, there's a lot under the cut, also hope your internet's alright 'cause there's a lot of beefy gifs)

I'm feeling inanimate insane- II 15 AM I RIGHT??

As per usual, I'm doing a post about everything and anything that comes to my mind regarding the new ii episode.

Starting off strong before I devolve into meeple nonsense (gotta show people I care about other characters from the show too) AHHHHH HGHH MY HEART!!! I KNOW- IKNOW I know it wasn't good for her to stay in the game, but a piece of me clings to her like a mite.

From when this happened and Paintbrush showed up, I knew it was jover. The Bright Lights are lighting up the hotel now, and you know what, I'm ok with that (no I'm not I love them </3)

-

I also love this part. In my heart of hearts, Bright Light ploycule is real and canon.

- - -

Ok it's mephone time 'cause I keep rewatching the ep and that's all I can FUCKING think about

My first reaction to Meeple being mentioned was literally the embodiment of this image

Going back to being serious:

This song is very inanimate insanity coded, and by that I mean MePhone specifically. (Of course, it's a song about Taco and I'm Making it about MePhone, that's what I do.)

Healing is a process, Mepad knows that well, and seeing everything that's happened is probably why MePad quit. Besides the terrible work conditions he's put through, MePad just can't stand everyone being dragged through the mud. Taco was so right, the game's getting really serious and it's taking a toll on everyone (including MePhone, which MePad definitely got front-row seats too). I wonder if he feels a part of the problem and is now trying to rectify it. I mean, it'd make sense why he's helping out Taco now.

I feel even more justified in saying it after looking at the resignation scene again. MePad is thoroughly done with MePhone's shit, and for good reason. Tempting to not REVIVE someone just to make sure the show goes smoothly is fucked up! MePad's had enough and AUGH FUCK YEAH AND AAUGHHH FUCK NO MEPHONE'S REACTION TO HIM RESIGNING-

Ok ok- lemme start from the top.

. . .

So…. what the fuck was s3?

He hints at it actually happening with the "'First without' you have no idea", being connected to him not having an assistant for more than half of s3, and the "for half a day the world actually felt peaceful" referring to the s3 finale. Or at least that's all I'm assuming. But to them, it's only been a couple hours..?

I'mm soooo fuckin' lost, but my theory is that he either alt-reality'd that season or time travelled, or something. That's just not makin' sense, especially with this happening tho

I just can't think of any other way that this would make sense and be canonical other than MePhone himself went into an alternate timeline to do s3. That does give me fic ideas though...

Anyways... Connecting it back to MePad and everything though, I find it both funny and saddening to see that he's gone back to s2 persona (when thinking about it in terms of my theory). It's so obvious that it's a front, from the turn of his heel to change topics away from his "vacation" with the pained "BUUUTTT ANYWAY", to the short pause before going "WELL!" after MePad's resignation, to the "And if you're ready to talk" thing being shot with his cover-up is another-

You don't need me to tell you it's a front, everyone and their mama knows, but I'll continue to do so 'cause I physically have to, or else I'll explode. You can tell it really tears him up from how MePhone reacted when he first saw MePad.

LOOK AT THE SHOCK ON HIS PIXELY FACE!! He probably thought MePad fully abandoned him or something before his "vacation" and this was whiplash that it wasn't THEN MePad ACTUALLY left?!? Of course it's gotta hurt, but s2 means he's got the host role to fill, and that means being a snarky sack of shit (I say that with love, of course).

That also paired with the look of guilt… shame in this scene…. AGH

She's so right here by the way, the years he spent on iii for "something new" shows that he's not trying to move away. Sure it got him to come back to s2 in the first place, but now that he's here, what did he actually learn? Actions speak louder than words, and so far, he's been just the same s2 asshole host we remember. Though you know what could change all that..?

Had to put the vid and not the gif of this scene because the abrupt phone call actually scared the shit outta me.

First things first, I love Knife's little gestures. They're all so sick of his shit, as they should be <3

Secondly, the whole way he's talking about them in the clip is giving his s2 persona hardcore

Lastly, and most importantly, COBS???? UM UH COBS???

I wanna give props where props are due, the sound design, the pacing- everything leading up to this scene was absolutely perfect would cry again 10/10

BUT ALSO COBS??? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING CALLING HIM DIRECTLY???

No seriously. We had him build generations of phones, specifically to take him out, send "insiders" like Toilet and Walkie Talkie (I assume at least) to also take him out in some way or another, and whatever the hell else was going on, all to indirectly take down MePhone, and now he just calls. Calls in the middle of the recording! I assume he knows about s3 and if so just what in the fuck could he want??? WHAT IS HIS PLAN??? I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THAT COB OF CORN IS TRYING TO DO- IT IS GOING TO DRIVE ME INSANE.

Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE in that scene is just as confused and concerned as I am. (I am just saying things, but you know what I mean.)

I'm so serious though, Knife is like "WTF?!", and Suitcase is like "WTF??" AND GOD DAMN IT LOOK AT HIM HE IS CONFUSED AND SCARED GUYS. If this doesn't shake that s2 persona outta him, I don't fuckin' know what will (besides the show just being over, but I digress).

Cobs is def gonna make an appearance next ep (I'm manifesting, let me cook), and it's not gonna be pretty, but MePhone's gonna get to turn him into a corn tortilla and everyone's gonna cheer and he's not gonna have daddy issues anymore and then everything will be ok. That's my prediction for ii 16.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, I will give more random outbursts of tears for the next one.

[ghostfanwriter]

💖🧰 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 🧰💖

Part five

←Previous part

💖 Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Fem! Reader

🧰 Synopsys: Joel comes back with a few gifts for you, and you ask Frank to make him a gift as well.

💖 Features: Reader daydreams about Joel and touches him, graphic but no smut per say (I think?); Pet names and Joel guiding her as she touches him.

🧰 Word Count: Around 7k.

💖 About this: This doesn't move the plot a lot, but it moves the story on the sense that he shows her how he cares about her and she cares about him back?

🧰 Author's Note: Inconsistency is key over here. Impostor syndrome decided to pay me a visit and also now that spring's coming I'm working like crazy, and so my writing got a bit slowed down. Hope you like this, I put a lot of love into it 🩷

His backpack, a lantern, a gun.

A guitar, a leather bag with tools, another bag with brushes and small cans of paint.

All of his things surround Joel as he sits on the floor of an abandoned convenience store somewhere far from Lincoln.

He took his time to block the doors and windows before checking his list and winding down.

The day went by smoothly, with no encounters with any infected or alive. He found everything he was looking for, especially the things he was looking for you.

He takes a box from his backpack and opens it, taking a camera and its instructions out of it. He has to squint his eyes and hold the paper away from his face so the words become clear for his tired eyes.

He opens the small packaging with photo papers and fills the camera, turning it on, looking at the ceiling and quietly praying it'd still be functioning.

He knew how happy you'd be if he got it back to you. How you'd finally be able to have things looking just like the real thing.

The camera turns on and he smiles, then looks around, thinking of what he could take a picture of to test if it still worked. When he finds nothing interesting, he turns the lens to himself and takes a photo, that comes out perfectly.

His face doesn't help it, though, and he grunts when he sees it.

He looks old. Old and tired.

No.

He doesn't look old and tired. He is old and tired.

Too old, too tired.

Too old and tired for you. What is he thinking?

He crumples the photo, setting it aside, crumpling his thoughts along with it.

He's been through it.

He is getting old. But he knows his feelings, knows his feelings for you. He'd never get close to you if he didn't know how he feels for you.

He wouldn't because he'd kill the man that did to Sarah what he did to you. There's no questioning that.

But he knows how he feels for you. He knows how you feel for him. He can't just vanish now, just go away, it's too late to realize this was all a bad idea.

He can't let you not believe in love because an old man broke your heart.

He goes back to his backpack and grabs one of the containers with the food you prepared for him. Opening the lid, he sees the shredded chicken and breathes in deeply, smiling at how good it smells. The images of you preparing it that morning star replaying in his mind, taking him right back to it.

To how sunny and happy you looked, how your hair was messy from wearing that funny hat the whole morning, how your skin was glistening from being in the sun picking the crops for breakfast.

How your skirt moved along with your body, how your shirt hugged your chest so nicely. How more comfortable you were around him this morning, compared to the one before. How much closer you got the night before...

He cuts his thoughts when he starts feeling a tightness on his jeans. He adjusts himself, then takes a picture of the food.

He wants to save it, to remember it. Remember having you taking care of him like that.

Even in the poorly lit room the camera somehow manages to take an intelligible photo again, and he hums, pleased with it.

He puts it back inside its box and grabs a fork, devouring the chicken, humming with the taste and texture of it.

Still chewing, he grabs a pancake and rips it, using it to grab some of the chicken and eating them together, laughing at how good it tastes.

He keeps eating, thinking about how you're probably having dinner with your dads right now. How he'd be sitting across from you, how he'd take your ankle between his and caress it.

The scene makes him smile.

But he can't help but think about the last time he had dinner at a table, eating and talking, everyone going through their days and laughing.

How long ago it was.

How Sarah was still there.

How he wishes he had her with him.

He thinks about what he told you, about how you two would be good friends if you've ever met.

Thinking about her hurts too much, so he avoids it. And doing so he never thinks about her as anything but a fourteen years old.

Never thinks about how she would be old enough today to have her own children. How if things never went to hell he could maybe even be a grandfather today.

He shoves more food in his mouth, trying to take his mind away from what his life could be. Away from such painful places.

He finishes his food quickly, thinking about whatever, as long as it didn't hurt so much.

And he wishes you were here, with him. He feels comfortable with you, he trusts you. He would think about Sarah if you were with him, he'd go through his memories, would cry even. Because you'd be there with him.

But you're not, so he lays down, using the bag filled with your clothes as a pillow, thinking about you. About how you'll probably try all the new clothes and show them to him. How pretty he knows you're gonna look in them.

He picks up the photo he crumpled and straightens it back, thinking about how upset you'll be if he tells you he took a picture of himself and threw it away.

He falls asleep with the thought of caring for you. Keeping you safe and well, like he failed to do for Sarah. How Sarah always wanted him to be happy, how happy she must be seeing that he's maybe finally found peace and love.

You hardly closed your eyes all night, thinking about him.

If he was okay, if something happened, if the coffee was good, if the food was enough.

You're lying on a rocking chair on your porch, almost falling asleep when Bill walks out of your house.

"Hey, baby. Sit up, close your legs. Joel's back." He says, tapping your shoulders, and your heart starts racing inside your chest.

"Joel already?" You ask.

"Yeah, just saw him through the cameras." He says.

"Oh, there he is." Frank says, following Bill towards the gates.

You resist the urge to get up and run to him, and just bend over the porch fence, focusing on controlling the wide smile trying to break through your face.

He's back. Hopefully he's alright. Your eyes and nose burn just from the anticipation to see him.

When your dads are getting near the gate you see him more clearly. Carrying at least six bags, all full, seemingly very heavy too.

Joel greets your dads with a smile and a "Hey."

"Hey, how'd it go?" Bill asks.

"Fine, no problems. Found everything and some more." He responds.

Bill looks at him, then eyes his guns.

"Bill, I think we can trust him." Frank says, smiling awkwardly, and Joel shakes his head, setting all his bags on the floor.

"No, he's right. You can't lower your guard." Joel says, looking past your dads. "You've got something important to protect." He adds, handing your dad his guns.

"That I do." Bill says with a smile, taking them and some of Joel's many full bags.

"You didn't have to bring this all back. We could take it by car later." Frank tells him between grunts, also taking a few bags.

"It's fine." He says quietly as they begin walking towards the house, and Frank looks back at him.

"Is everything alright? Where there really no problems back there?" He asks Joel, slowing down his pace so Bill wouldn't listen to them.

"Yeah, no. It was fine." He responds, looking at the house, already looking for you, smiling when he sees you almost falling over the porch to look at him.

"She was crazy worried about you." Frank says, looking at you. "Stayed on her window until dinner time, waiting for you. Probably wouldn't have eaten if I didn't call her."

"I'm sorry." Joel says, looking at Frank, and he frowns.

"For what?" He asks, and Joel looks back down, avoiding your dad's eyes.

"For her. She told me she, well... Told you about us." He says.

"Oh, yeah... I mean, she's been lying to me." He says, and Joel looks at him. "I saw you two before you left. Didn't know you were, you know... there already." Frank says, and Joel gulps, his shoes seeming more interesting to him than ever before as he stares at them to not look at your dad.

Oh Frank...

...You've been so much further than that.

"I'm sorry, I don't even know if I should have ever gotten close to her. Shouldn't have talked to her, looked at her." Joel says, and Frank looks at you, smiling.

"Look at her, Joel." Frank says, and he looks at you.

All of his sadness, worry and tiredness dissolve when your eyes scrunch with your smile.

Shining as always, a big, now shameless and uncontrolled smile on your face. He can't help but smile back at you.

"She hadn't smiled like that for a while before you arrived. Definitely didn't smile like that since you left yesterday." He says, and Joel looks at him. "You're making her happy. That's all a father can care about." He says, and Joel's stomach hurts.

He knows that feeling all too well. He misses feeling it.

They reach the porch and you scan him up and down, trying to see if there's anything different on him.

"Are you okay?" You ask, your brows furrowed, your eyes worried.

"Yeah, b—." He curses himself. "I'm alright. Just a bit tired." He says, looking at Bill, praying he didn't catch the nickname he almost let slip out.

"Are you hungry? We were about to have lunch." You say.

"Well, your chicken is starting to wear out." He laughs.

"Well, then let's go in. You need some rest." Frank interrupts you two, bringing a few of his bags in. Bill follows him, also carrying some of them.

You and Joel share half a second together, while you also pick up a few bags.

"Take just this one. It's all yours." He says, handing you a soft and heavy bag.

"Oh — God. Is this all just my clothes?" You ask, grunting when you pick it up.

"Yeah. I found a really nice dress, think you'll really like it." He says, smiling.

"You didn't need to bring all this weight, Joel." You say, feeling bad for the effort he made for you.

"It's fine, baby." He reassures you. "It was for you."

You smile at him, making an actual effort to not go and hug him.

You were so worried, so stressed. It's been a day, and you feel like you haven't seen him in weeks.

Footsteps coming from inside cut your thoughts, and you turn around and start going inside, finding Bill on your way to the living room.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

"Yeah, was just telling Joel he didn't need to bring me all this stuff. It's really heavy." You say.

"It was the only heavy thing I brought though. The heavier stuff stayed." Joel explains himself, walking in, carrying the remaining bags.

You place your bag next to the coffee table and turn around, looking back at him. And you notice something behind his back.

"Is that...?" You ask with a big smile, pointing at the guitar.

"Oh, yeah. It is." He says, smiling. "Found a good one." He takes it off and holds it in front of himself for you to take it.

"Ah! Thank you." You scream quickly, taking it and going to sit on the couch besides Frank. "Did you only find one?" You ask, looking around and noticing there are no others.

"Uh, no. A store full of them." He starts. "But I still had a lot to look for, so I just took this one." He explains.

"We can share this one, it's fine." You say, smiling.

He sits on an armchair and rests his backpack by his feet, opening it to look for your camera.

"Here, Bill, this is yours." Frank says, handing him a big leather bag with tools.

"Oh, look at these, baby." Bill says, sitting by your side and opening the bag.

"Oh, wow! More tools, how exciting, dad!" You joke, acting like you're more excited about them than you actually are.

"Haha, funny. What did you ask for again? Huh?" He asks, and you give him a look. "What was it, baby?" He insists.

"Nothing. I asked for nothing." You lie, and Bill looks at Joel.

"Clothes. She asked for clothes." He says, laughing, his cheeks red and his eyes glistening.

He loves seeing you with Bill. You two are exactly what he thinks him and Sarah would still be like.

He'd love her more than anything, they'd joke around and he'd kill anyone who tried to brush a finger on her.

"Joel! C'mon, that's so unfair. You can't be in his side!" You say before he's finished speaking, acting like you're mad at him.

"Oh, yeah, clothes! The thing your wardrobe is full of." Bill says over you, laughing.

You rarely see your dad so laid back. You love to see him laughing and having fun. And it's interesting to notice how much in common he has with Joel, how they always agree on what has to be done and how to do it, how they make fun of you the very same way. In other circumstances, you'd say they'd be good friends.

You and your dad keep arguing about tools and clothes, playfully hitting each other.

"Hey, this is for you too." Joel interrupts you, beckoning for you to come towards him. When you do he hands you a small book with guitar instructions.

"I thought you were gonna teach me." You say, disappointed, and he laughs.

"I will, I'm just messing with you." He says, removing the camera from his backpack and showing it to you.

"AAAaaah!" You scream again, this time for longer, your eyes wide and your voice high. "No! Joel, where did you find this?" You ask, bending down to hug him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." You say on his neck, still not letting go.

He caresses your back, looking awkwardly at Bill, who looks at Frank, frowning.

"Enough, baby. Let him go." Frank tells you, distracted by what he's looking at, but you're too busy enjoying Joel to hear him.

Too busy feeling relief, the hug much more thankfulness for him being back than for the camera. He's here, he's fine, he brought you so many things.

He thought about you while he was away...

"Baby, hey." Joel whispers. But you only let go when Bill almost yells your name.

"Sorry, Joel." You say, running to your dads, jumping over the bags on the floor and throwing yourself back in between them on the couch.

"Oh my God!" Frank says when you show it to him. "Does it work?" He asks Joel.

"Yeah it does, pretty well." He says. "There's some paper inside of it already, there's more here with me. The photos come out instantly." He explains to you.

"Uh!" You gasp, your eyes wide, and the three of them look at you. "Can we take pictures?" You ask.

"Yes! I want a family photo." Frank says, excited.

You look at Bill, smiling and biting your lower lip.

He frowns, then nods, smiling. "Yeah, alright."

You're so excited you're shaking.

"Joel, can you take the first one, please?" You ask, and he nods, so you hand him the camera and sit back on the couch, holding both your dads' hands. The three of you put on your best smiles and stay still.

"Wait, is my hair good, loves?" Frank asks you and Bill, who look at him, and you fix it. But Joel's already pressed the button, and he photo comes out of the camera: you smiling, fixing your dad's hair. You don't notice it, though, and Joel keeps it to himself, waiting for you to be ready.

"Now it is." You say, looking over at Bill. "Oh, daddy. Your hair's a mess." You say, fixing it for him as he keeps messing it back. "Stop! Let me fix it." You say, playfully slapping his hand away and laughing, and he stops.

You take their hands back and nod to Joel, who takes the picture, mesmerized by you.

Your big smile, your hair, your dress, the soft tan you have around your nose, how solar and pretty you are.

After he takes it he sees your eyes growing wider through the viewfinder of the camera, when you see the photo coming out of it. You run towards him.

"Oh my God!" You scream, taking the photo. "It's us!"

"Let me see it!" Frank says, excited, and you sit back in between your dads.

"Oh my..." He says, tears forming in his eyes. "It's us. Our family." He says.

Bill leans on you to look at it, his eyes getting red as soon as he sees it. He looks at you, caressing your hair, then he looks at Joel.

"Thank you." He says, and Joel nods, smiling, holding back his own tears.

He knows how important memories like that are. He wishes he had more photos with Sarah.

"Now we need one of all of us." You say, not giving him the chance to drown in those thoughts. "We can't keep you out, Joel." You say, getting up.

"Yeah, c'mon, sit here with us." Frank says, scooting next to Bill.

"No, it's alright. It should be about you, not me." He says.

"C'mon!" You say, going towards him and grabbing his hand, pulling his arm. "You're with us, I want a picture of all of us!" You say, grunting as you struggle to move his body an inch away from the armchair, and he gets up.

"Okay—God, you're persistent." He says, laughing, going to sit next to Frank.

You stand in front of them, holding the camera.

"How do we take this one?" You ask them, and they all frown.

"Didn't think about it..." Bill admits.

"Maybe try and... I don't know, turn it and see if it frames all of us?" Frank suggests.

"Okay." You agree, sitting in the coffee table and trying to figure out how to hold the camera with it facing you. "Alright, big smiles old men." You say, laughing and pressing the button.

"Hey!" They all scream.

The photo comes out perfectly, with all four of you clearly in it. All of them laughing and making offended faces at what you said while you smile proudly in front of them.

"Oh, this is amazing." You say, laughing when you see it, turning to them.

"No, baby, c'mon, take another one. A serious one." Frank says, laughing, slapping your thigh playfully.

"Alright." You say, turning your back to them. "C'mon, smile." You say right before pressing the button.

"Is it good?" Bill asks, leaning close to you, looking at it over your shoulder.

"It's perfect" You say, looking at the photo, loving every single man in it. "Thank you, Joel. I had no idea this still existed." You say, turning to them and looking at him.

"Now everything's gonna look just like the real thing." He says, mentioning the conversation you two had the day before when picking vegetables for breakfast.

You smile. He remembered what you said, he was thinking about you just as much as you were thinking about him.

It's not like you don't know your dads love you and care about you. You do. But their love feels different from Joel's.

You feel special because he wasn't meant to care about you. He decided to. He saw you and thought you were special enough for his time and effort.

It's a type of attention you've never had before.

"Did you find any of the stuff we talked about?" Bill asks when he understands you two talked about the camera, not liking the wide smile you're shooting Joel.

"Yeah." Joel cleans his throat. "Lots of tools and big cans of paint. Stuff for fixing the fences, the houses, mowing the lawn." He answers, adjusting himself on his seat.

"Great. Think we can make it today?" He asks, and Joel thinks before answering, looking again at you, then looking back at your dad.

"Uh...Yeah, sure. I just need a shower first." He says, and Bill nods.

"You're going out again?" You ask Joel, more disappointment present in your voice than you wished.

"Darling." Frank says, looking at you and turning his eyes towards Bill.

A silent 'How are we supposed to explain this to your dad?'

"I'm sorry, but aren't you tired? You just arrived." You say, more calm.

"It should be an one-hour drive, I can rest on the car, it's fine." Joel says, and you sigh.

"You're sure? We could go tomorrow, or other day." Bill says.

"Yeah, no. It's fine, I'm fine." He says. "Just dirty." He laughs. "Would rather go today and fully rest tomorrow." He decides.

"Can I go? Since you're driving there?" You ask, and Bill grunts.

Letting you outside wasn't his favorite, but your dad knows you can take handle yourself. And he stays more calm with himself and Joel being there to protect you.

"Well... I don't see why not." He says smiling at at you, and you smile back.

"Actually, I think you should stay, dove." Frank says, and you whine.

"Why?" You ask.

"Well, we shouldn't leave the town alone for so long, right? And I don't wanna stay here alone." He says.

"But I—" You start, and he gives you a look.

A look he only gives your dad. A look he gave you for the first time yesterday, watching you and Joel kiss.

Fuck.

"Alright." You agree.

"Great! We have lots of laundry to do with all this new stuff Joel brought you." He says.

Bill looks at both of you, also eyeing Joel, trying to see if he's maybe understanding what's going on.

"Well, alright. You rest then, Joel. We're leaving right after lunch." Bill says, getting up and going to the kitchen.

"I'll go start laundry." You say quietly, picking up your heavy bag.

"Do you want help with that?" Joel asks, already getting up.

"No, thanks, it's fine." You say, smiling, picking the bag.

"Okay. I'm gonna go shower." He says, nodding to Frank and going upstairs as you walk outside.

"Fuck me." Frank sighs, rubbing his hands violently on his face. Then he fixes his hair and goes to the kitchen help Bill.

After a few minutes you can already smell lunch being prepared.

You go upstairs to pick up your dirty clothes. If you're stuck at home doing laundry, then you might as well do all of it.

As you walk up the stairs you can't help but think about how Joel's on his own. How he said he'd shower, how much you loved seeing his body that other night.

You skip your bedroom and go straight to his. When you reach his bedroom door you hear his shower running, and quietly walk inside the room.

You find his wallet on top of a pile of clothes on his bed and grab it, running your fingers through the worn-out leather. Opening it, the first thing you find is Sarah's photo.

You look at it. It's old and starting to rip at the edges. The colors are finally giving in and fading, specially around her right side, like if Joel caresses her cheeks and hair when looking at her.

Thinking about him going through such loss makes your heart ache. You feel so much for your — probably deceased — parents, and you haven't even got any memories of them. You can't imagine what losing his daughter must have felt like for Joel. And to think that the only memory he has of her is fading away...

You have an idea. You put it back on top of his bed and run downstairs, grabbing your camera and rushing back to his bedroom.

...

When you get there he's still inside the bathroom, but he stops the water as soon as you open his wallet. You take the photo out and bring it close to the window, taking a picture of it.

You sit on his bed and hide it on your bra, putting the original photo back. Just when you're finished he walks out of the bathroom, his hair damp and his body covered only with a towel wrapped around his waist.

You can't breath for a second, overwhelmed by his wide shoulders, strong chest and stomach, his belly poking out and his cock outlined on the towel. You've never seen him like this, at least not in daylight, and you can't look away.

He sees you eyeing him up and down and smiles, like if he knew he'd find you exactly where you are right now. Like was hoping to find you there.

He walks to the bedroom door and locks it.

As he walks closer to you, you can see the water droplets covering his skin, and he notices your blissful and watery eyes.

"I missed you." He says, cupping your cheek, your eyes faltering as soon as he touches you, taking your ear between his index and middle finger, caressing the skin under your eye. He leans down closer to you and his wet hair drips on your forehead, making you scrunch your eyes and laugh.

He smiles and kisses the water drop on your forehead, then your cheek, right besides your nose. He moves lower and gives your lips a peck, slowly making his way through them to roll his tongue around yours.

His movements careful and intentional, his beard scratching your lips and your cheeks, making you moan and lean further into him. His dry lips making you deepen the kiss, making you wanna keep them wet.

He pulls away and looks down at you, his wet hair falling over his forehead, dripping, the water running down his cheeks.

"I missed you more." You say, touching his waist before wrapping your arms around him. He pulls your head closer to his body, hugging you. His skin, still cold from the shower, wetting your face.

You kiss some of the water droplets around his chest and stomach, burying your face on him as he caresses the hair over the nape of your neck. You caress his back, bringing your hands to his sides, finding the hem of his towel.

"Baby..." He says, trying to convince himself to stop you.

But he doesn't, and you pull on it, slowly letting it fall out of him. Your heart slams against your chest when you see him naked. His wide shoulders, strong torso and slightly prominent belly making him tower over you, making you want to lie back down and pull him on top of you. His cock, big and soft, right on your face, making you lick your lips.

He takes a fistful of your hair, gently pulling your head back to make you look up at him. He almost smiles at how he finds no resistance to maneuver you.

"Right now is not the time." He says with a low voice, barely above a whisper, slowly shaking his head, leaning down to give your lips a peck.

He pulls away with a quiet groan when you touch his cock, just running one finger over it, then taking it in your hand, moaning at how heavy it is, even when soft like this.

Even though he said you shouldn't, he doesn't stop you from touching him. He likes how curious and open you are, how different it feels to be with you, who wants to explore things with him, and not just have sex because he wants to.

You keep holding him, touching his tip with your thumb. When you lick your lips and try to lean closer to him, he pulls firmly on your hair, keeping your head in place.

"I didn't say you could use your mouth." He says, softly but sternly, caressing your hair.

You look up at him, bringing your eyebrows together and letting out a soft and frustrated moan.

"But you're dry. I don't wanna hurt you."

"Then lick your thumb, baby." He instructs, and you do, wetting it and exploring his tip again, earning a groan from him.

It's the first time you're seeing his cock soft and dry, the second time you're seeing it up close, and you want to understand and memorize every little part of him.

How his soft — so soft — skin covers most of his tip, how it wrinkles at the edge; how you can see a few veins poking on his skin; how warm and heavy he is; the curves his tip has, how they make you want to run your tongue all over it, on top of it, underneath it, maybe even ask him if it'd be okay to poke the tiny hole at the center of it with your tongue.

How its size and thickness make you wonder how it'd feel to have him inside you. If it'd hurt, how far would it go, if you'd feel it all the way, if you'd still feel him the next morning, how empty you'd feel after he left you.

You wet your thumb again, rolling it on his tip, remembering how soft and warm it felt on your clit, how badly you want to feel it on you again.

Your other hand goes to his balls, picking them and rolling them on your palm, earning a loud sigh from him.

"Careful there, baby." He warns, and you soften your grip on them. Their soft and squishy texture making you actively remind yourself to not squeeze them.

Your heart accelerates when you feel him starting to grow and harden, softly pulsing from time to time. But you hear a soft knock on the door, and you freeze. Your heart beating so fast you're afraid it may give in that you're with Joel, since he's certain his is audible as well.

"Joel?" You hear Frank's voice.

"Yeah." He responds, taking the chance to get away from you and look for an underwear. His voice a bit raspy.

"Oh, hey. Huh... lunch's ready, if you're ready to come down, we're about to eat." He says.

"Alright, thanks, be right down." Joel says, putting his underwear on.

"Okay." Frank says, and you hear his footsteps going away; then coming close to the door again. "You haven't seen her... Right?" He asks suspiciously, and Joel looks at you while he puts his jeans on, moving his lips.

"No, last time I saw her, she was in the living room, taking her clothes outside to wash them." He lies.

"Yeah, I saw that too. But she's not there anymore."

"Maybe she's just somewhere else outside." Joel suggests, reaching for a shirt in one of his drawers.

"Yeah, she probably is." Your dad agrees. "Well, anyway, she'll come when she's hungry." He finishes before walking away again.

Joel, now almost fully dressed, comes to sit by your side to put his shoes on. And as he starts putting on his socks you realize you've never been by his side before. He's always either across from you, behind you or in front of you, but he's never sat besides you.

You look up at him, his cheekbones and nose sculpted by the glaring sunlight entering through his window. His face feels so far, his pouty lips so out of reach. He looks so good, so big, so strong, so overpowering almost.

You've never felt small or powerless; your dads always did their best to make sure you had the confidence to face anything you ever came across. And yet here you are, struggling to fill your lunges because a man is simply putting his shoes on by your side.

Wishing he would just lay you on his bed and crush you with his weight again, making it hard for you to breath — Oh how good it felt when his warm skin touched yours, when his rough and large hands held your hips so firmly and his beard scratched your neck and collarbones. His hot breath burning your skin—

"You should go to your room, baby." He says without looking at you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Are you and dad gonna be away the whole day?" You ask, slightly out of breath, and he looks down at you, shrugging.

"Don't think so. We're just gonna go take the stuff I couldn't bring by hand. It's an one hour drive, then just pick it all up and drive for another hour back." He explains, his hair falling all over his face.

"Do you ever brush your hair?" You ask, and he frowns.

"Not since I got here. You know, somehow this time I forgot to pack my comb." He jokes, laughing proudly at himself.

"Don't get up." You say, carefully leaving his bedroom to not walk into one of your dads.

...

After a few seconds you come back, a comb in hand. He's finishing his second shoe, and laughs when he sees you locking his door.

You walk towards him, stopping in between his legs, just like you did the morning before.

First you run your fingers through his hair, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer.

He looks up at you with soft eyes as you carefully comb his hair back. When the repeated and soft movements start soothing him, he closes his eyes and touches his chin to your chest, keeping his head back, a relaxed and joyful smile on his lips.

While he was away, he kept thinking about you, thinking about how he, so relatively late in his life, found such an opportunity. Not just the opportunity to leave the QZ and still be safe, living a comfortable — even happy, maybe — life. But most importantly, the opportunity to have someone who seems to genuinely care for him. Maybe even love him someday.

Someone making sure he has enough food, exhaustively asking if he's gonna be okay, making him want to be careful and return home safe, making him feel like he as a home, respecting his time to talk about Sarah, pushing him to explore his old hobbies and combing his hair...

And nothing is asked in exchange, nothing is traded. He just cares for you... And there you are; solar, pretty, a positive and shiny refuge amongst all the depressing things he is always surrounded by.

"Better." You say, and he opens his eyes, not minding having his daydreams cut by the one causing them.

"Did it look that bad?" He laughs, his voice soft.

"No, I just wanted to touch it." You whisper, cupping his cheeks and kissing him. "I was so worried. I felt so bad for asking you for clothes. And you've brought so many of them, so much weight." You say, barely pulling away from him, holding his face in your hands.

"I still have some that aren't in that bag." He laughs, and you frown, smiling when you see his smile.

"You do?" You ask, running your hands down his back, letting most of your weight fall over him.

"Yeah, those I said you could wear only for me?" He says with a smirk. "They're in there, go get them." He points to the backpack he took with him. You let go of him and go towards it while he gets up and goes to his bathroom.

You open it and find a pink bag with a few pairs of lingerie inside. You can feel your cheeks heating up imagining yourself wearing them.

They're so sheer, so small and revealing. You take all of them, setting every new pair carefully on top of his bed.

He comes back to hug you from behind, squeezing your waist, gently pulling your hair over your left shoulder and kissing the right side of your neck, going from pecks to open mouthed kisses and nibs.

"They're so... Small." You say, and he stops.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to, baby." He reassures you. "It's okay." He tightens his arms around you.

"No, I liked them, it's just... Why even wear them if they show almost everything?" You ask, and he laughs, tightening his hug.

"That's the thing, baby. They show almost everything." He says, his chin on your shoulder.

"I don't get it." You frown.

"You know how you looked at me when I left the shower? With the towel on?" He whispers.

"Oh, okay... I think I get it." You say. You couldn't help but think about what he'd look like without the towel.

Knowing something so fragile was keeping you away from his naked body was... thrilling.

"You're gonna look so pretty in them, baby." He says, and you moan quietly. "Can't wait to see it."

"I can only wash them when I shower, so you're not gonna see it tonight. Maybe tomorrow." You say, and he squeezes your waist.

"I'll try and not lose my mind." He laughs on your neck. "Now go, I gotta go downstairs." He says, turning you around, giving you a kiss. You turn around, and he calls your name. "Are you not forgetting anything?" He asks, holding your camera.

"Oh... Yeah." You try not to sound too suspicious.

"What were you doing with it?" He asks when you reach him.

"I was taking pictures of you showering." You say innocently, and he frowns. "Of course I wasn't, oh my God!" You defend yourself, and he laughs.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

"Yeah. I was just taking it up to my bedroom, and then I remembered you were showering, so I came to see you." You say, hugging him again, stuffing your face on his chest.

He kisses the top of your head and walks you backward towards the door, going slowly so you won't trip.

He lets go of you and opens the door. You two walk down the hallway, and he squeezes your waist as he lets you by your bedroom door, going downstairs.

You hide the bag with the lingerie at the bottom of a drawer and go outside, back to laundry.

"Isn't she coming?" Bill asks, and Frank shrugs.

"I looked for her but couldn't find her anywhere." He says, putting the plates down.

"I ain't gonna eat without her, not when I'm leaving for the day." He says, getting up and walking outside.

"Where is she?" Frank almost whispers to Joel.

"Huh?" His question catches Joel off guard as he's helping him set the table.

"Did she leave your room already?" He asks impatiently.

"She wasn't—" Joel starts, shaking his head.

"Joel, I looked all over this house and everywhere I knew she could be. I know she was with you." He says in hushed, angry whispers.

Joel doesn't like this. He doesn't like this at all. Your dads shouldn't know about it. They shouldn't even think about it. He wanted to do things the right way, slowly, carefully. Respectfully.

"She went outside before I came downstairs." He admits, fixing your cutlery. Frank watches him, noticing how much care he puts into everything he does to you.

"Did something happen in your room?" He asks quietly, like he was afraid of the answer.

"No! No, nothing happened." He says firmly. "She just wanted a hug... And a kiss. Just said she missed me, was worried about me." He says with a short and shy smile.

"Did you miss her?"

"I was the first to say it." He says, looking at Frank. "Look, I know you may not believe it, but I do care about her. At first I didn't wanna get involved with her at all to not hurt her when I left." He says, sitting down across from your seat, looking at your chair. "But then fixing your car that day Bill talked to me about the houses around here. How I could work on one of them if I wanted a second, safe place to stay."

"And you're considering it?" He asks, and Joel takes a moment to respond.

"You know how QZ's are. They have their benefits, but overall... They're nothing compared to this. Tess said she won't leave, so we could still keep the deal going. I also have my brother, who has access to other things. Things Tess and I don't have."

"Your brother works for FEDRA?" Frank asks, turning his head slowly.

"No! He doesn't. He's a Firefly." Joel rushes to say.

He can't help but worry about his brother, but he's in no hurry to come back.

"Is that what you and Tess talked about that day when she called? About you staying?" He asks.

Joel nods in response, and Frank wonders how things escalated so quickly. How he went from telling Joel not to look at you to agreeing to have him move in to be with you.

"Just make sure you are sure before you tell her anything, alright?" Frank says with a sigh, scratching his forehead.

"I don't wanna stay if you don't think I should. If you don't think it's right you tell me and I leave as soon as we finish what we need to do over here—" Joel says, a hint of shame in his voice as he doesn't look Frank in the eyes anymore.

"No, Joel... It's not that, I'm sorry." He interrupts Joel, leaning back on his chair. "I'm just thinking about Bill. I mean, I don't wanna scare you, but we're gonna have to be extremely careful if we want you to come out of this alive." His seriousness almost scaring Joel.

"Yeah, she... She told me that." He says, playing with his fork.

He just had to go slow with it, and everything should be alright.

Right?

...

You're sorting the clothes Joel brought you when your dad finds you.

"Hi, my honeybun." He says, and you laugh.

He has this thing where sometimes he'll call you the sweetest nickname he can think of, just for the sake of it. Somehow he still comes up with new ones from time to time.

"Hey, daddy. Is lunch ready?" You ask smiling.

"Yeah, your dad said he couldn't find you, though." He asks, picking one of the dresses and holding it in front of himself.

"Hmm. Must've been when I went to the bathroom." You lie, and he hums.

"Aren't these dresses a bit too short?" He asks, picking another dress you've just thrown on the laundry pile. "Why did Joel pick this for you?"

"I asked him to." You say almost too quickly. "I showed him some magazines and described what I wanted. He said he'd bring a bit of everything and I'd see what I liked." You explain.

"And did you like this dress?" He asks, raising his eyebrow.

"I did, yeah." You say, and he scratches his head.

"You know I don't like you wearing this type of things around him."

"Dad..."

"Just avoid it, alright? Joel might be whatever, but he's still a man. And you're so gorgeous, my honeybun." He says, cupping your cheek. You kiss his palm, screaming at yourself for lying to your dad, for doing all this behind his back.

But would he ever let you experience what you've had with Joel if he knew about it?

The only conversation at the table was between Joel and Bill, as they discussed the roads they'd take and how long it should take to come back. Your dad was focused on Joel's descriptions of the way, and Joel walked him through it while he caressed your leg between his ankles again.

But it all felt too rushed when they had to leave. Your heart feeling hollow and your stomach overfilled as your dad kissed your forehead, and Joel discreetly squeezed your hand while your dads kissed goodbye.

"Take care, you two." Frank says.

"Got two good reasons to be." He responds, kissing Frank again.

"I have one too." Joel whispers to you, knowing Bill has his back turned to the two of you. You smile up at him, quickly touching your head on his chest, quickly pulling away when your dad turns around.

"C'mon." He tells Joel. "I love you, baby. " He tells you before going inside the car.

They drive away, Joel looking at you through the car's mirror.

...

"Dad?" You ask Frank after the gate closes behind your dad's truck.

"Yes, love." He responds fixing your hair behind your ears.

"Can you help me with something? A gift for Joel." You ask, and he raises his eyebrows quickly.

"Sure, what is it?"

"Do you think you could paint this photo for me? Make it bigger and fill in where the photo is fading." You say, taking the photo that was still on your bra and showing it to him.

"Baby, who is this?"

"He never...?" You ask.

Fuck.

Joel never told your dads about Sarah, maybe he never told them anything about himself.

"He has a daughter?" He asks, confused.

"Had... one." You hesitate.

"Oh, dear." Frank sighs. "Sure, love, I can do it." He says, walking inside in a hurry.

Now he understands why Joel was always so understanding of his and Bill's concerns. Of why he always said he didn't want to stay if that'd make him and Bill uncomfortable.

Because he knows what caring for a child is like.

...

Now it was just you and your dad for a couple of hours. But strangely enough, he didn't look for you. Didn't come to help you with laundry like he said he would, didn't ask any questions. He just spent the whole day at his studio, painting.

Probably painting Sarah.

"Hi, dad." You say, entering the room and sitting by his side.

"Hi, my love. Are you okay?" He asks, noticing your expression.

"Uhum. I'm fine." You say, looking at his canvas.

"Think you can tell me her name?" He asks, looking at Sarah's photo.

"I don't know... I thought he had told you and dad." You say, feeling guilty for exposing that part of Joel without his consent. He trusted you, after all.

"That's okay. You don't have to." He sounds calm while he starts mixing more of the paint Joel brought him.

"Why did you want me to stay?" You ask after a minute. Even though he's not acting like he's mad at you, you know exactly why he wanted you to stay. So why won't he just say something?

He sighs, taking several seconds to respond, focusing on his painting and on what he's gonna say.

"I wanted you to stay so I could yell at you, cry, even. So I could ask why you lied to me, what you two have been doing behind our backs." He says, and you instinctively pull your body further from his. "But then I saw him hold you hand before leaving, whispering something to you, you snuggling on his chest. Then you asked me to paint her... And now I feel like I shouldn't do any of that anymore." He says, looking down at you.

"I'm sorry I lied to you. I was just afraid you'd tell dad and... I don't like to think about what he'd do to Joel." You say.

"I'm honestly more worried about what Joel would do to defend himself." Frank says, and you look at him.

As obvious as it sounds, you've never thought about it. You never considered Joel defending himself. Maybe your dad coming out of it hurt. Because of you.

The thought makes your breathing shallow, and your dad notices it.

"Hey, hey, baby. Nothing's gonna happen, okay?" He soothes you, caressing your hair. "We're gonna go slow, be careful. And we'll prepare dad for it. Okay?"

"Uhum." You agree, your breathing still laborious.

"But I mean it when I say careful." He says, and you look at him. "I saw you going upstairs earlier. I know you were with him." He says and you look away from him, embarrassed. "That I have a problem with. You're not being honest with me. And that was all I asked from you."

"We'll just be actually careful and everything's gonna be okay."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"I am." He admits with a sigh, kissing your forehead and hugging you, letting silence take over.

Imagining one of them coming out of this hurt makes you want to tell Joel you don't want to do this anymore, that he should stay away from you. He should just go back to the QZ and you should just forget about all of this.

You've lived just fine without anyone like him, you always handled yourself — oh, but it feels so much better when he's there with you, his rough hands feel nothing like your soft ones —, you've always been loved by your parents — but the way he loves you feels different —, and you've just met what...four or five days ago?

You can get over him.

But imagining him going away, never seeing him again, never talking to or touching him makes you want to cry, to scream. It makes you whish you just listened to your dad and never looked out the window, never let Joel see you — never looked at him in the first place —, never smiled at him, never moaned his name, never called him into your bedroom. But you can't. You've done all that, you've touched him, felt his warm breath on your ear, and you can't imagine never feeling that again.

So you just hug your father, trying to keep your mind away from such terrifying scenarios, from one of them getting hurt.

You know one day your dad will know. And you know someone may come out of it hurt.

Be it physically or not.

You just hope it's not both.

Hope you liked it, friends 🩷. Bill's gonna find out sooner or later, the problem is... What will he do when he finds out? How will Joel react?

Hope you're here when we find out, I love you all so much, this series means so, so much to me, and I love getting comments, reblogs and asks talking about it. I love that you guys are still so invested in it, even when it takes me so long to update the story.

Ily 🩷🩷

My Masterlist 🩷

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Genshin Impact) Shenhe, Eula, and Yelan reacting to S/O asking to never leave them

For maximum effect, please have Careless Whisper on as you read this. Except for Yelan, her is 'Don't Be Afraid' from Metal Gear Solid 3.

"If I can ask one thing? Please, don't leave."

Shenhe doesn't get this request asked until she truly understands what it's like to live as a human again.

Her expression doesn't change too much upon first glance, until one realizes her eyes have slightly widened.

(Shenhe) "...Leave? Why would I do that?"

They've given her no reason to leave, and it's not like she has much duties to attend to.

(Shenhe) "As long as you are willing to have me, I will stay as long as I live."

The sudden hug they give her gives Shenhe the reassurance she answered right.

She replies with a gentle hug in return, a very small smile growing across her lips.

Eula was caught off the guard by the question, as the two had been slowly and silently dancing under the moonlight.

Her footwork is graceful as ever though, as her dancing never portrayed her surprise.

Instead, Eula brought S/O even closer into them while her hands gripped theirs even more tightly.

(Eula) "Leave? I wouldn't dream of it."

She dipped them low near the ground as their lips slowly connected, Eula pulling them back up.

Eula goes back to dancing as she rests her head on their neck, smoothly leading their waltz into a hug.

(Eula) "Who else can withstand my vengeance? It's a plan that will last many years after all."

Yelan was tracing the top part of glass as she drank wine with S/O that night, when S/O asked that.

Her finger stopped right in its tracks as she paused.

She was hesitant to reply. Who knew what her line of work would get her into. If she had to leave to ensure S/O lived, she would do so without question, even though it'd hurt.

Yelan had lost her team before. She didn't want to lose someone she loved.

And yet, S/O would probably say they wouldn't mind, knowing them. She chuckles thinking about it, and looks them in the eye as her hand reaches for theirs.

(Yelan) "...Don't worry. I won't go anywhere."

If S/O wasn't afraid, then maybe she should do the same.

[yandere-yearnings]

I’m baaaack! (Actually that’s a lie because I never left and just been re-reading all the stuff you wrote about Dice)

I just wanted to ask if Dice would get along well with a true yapper darling? (I’m totally not exposing myself rn)

I hope life is going smoothly for you and have an amazing day!

-🪫

low battery nonnie, it's nice to hear from you again!! honestly vv flattered that dice's stuff is getting a reread, whenever someone says smth like that, it never fails to make me smile😭💕 also thank you for your well wishes, i hope you have an amazing day too🥺🩷

and to answer your question, absolutely❗️❗️ in hindsight, i think he'd probably have the most chemistry w/ a talkative person anyway, since he's more of a listener and just quiet in general. he'd find it amusing, and then it'd slowly become endearing to him as he realises his darling is the type to go off on a tangent abt things — sometimes he subtly instigates just bc he likes hearing your voice. definitely someone he'd look forward to coming home to after a long day at work😌✨️ so yap away at him, he enjoys it haha

[lorei-writes]

HC: Chevalier & Esther - Morning Routine

Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Fluff Word Count: ~800

Content Warnings: none

Morning Routine

The routine differs, depending on whether Esther's illness is in a remission or a flare up period.

Remission Period

Esther opens her eyes as soon as the sun rises. Her day starts soon after.

Her first "proper" duty is to force Chevalier out of the bed. That being said, Esther has long given up on the thought of it ever going smoothly. She knows what scenario is likely to unravel if conventional means were to be employed.

It'd follow as such: After stopping at far enough distance from the bed, she'd call Chevalier, to which he'd reply with hiding his head below the pillow (the pillow and the covers if she were particularly loud). Past that point her only option would be to step closer, until inevitably she'd find herself within his reach and be dragged into the bed.

Checkmate. She'd lose. Again.

That being said, this awareness is what has enabled her to conjure a plan -- one that works reliably and produces satisfactory results.

It all starts roughly an hour and a half before Chevalier needs to be awake.

Esther enters the room quietly. She removes the chatlaine from her belt and sets it on the desk, careful as not to encourage its clatter. She drapes her capelet over the back of the chair, takes off her shoes, discards her skirts and shirt... and climbs onto the bed.

It has never been productive to aim for instant victory.

It has to be her and her alone that Chevalier reaches for once agitated. Having led to that scenario, Esther brushes his hair back.

"Good morning," Esther whispers.

"...Be quiet," he grumbles out after a short while, perhaps roused by her touch, her fingers still lingering in his hair. Nevertheless, he is yet to complain.

"The sun's already up."

He does not say a word as he drags her into his embrace. Has he not spared her two already? Not that she'd demand anything more.

Some days Chevalier nuzzles into her, other times he cradles her against his chest. The former indicates he may be more willing to get up once the time comes.

The duvet seems to whisper as Esther pushes it further up Chevalier's arm; any sound is loud, too loud, in this space and time. Her breathing stops the moment his muscles twitch. She watches her love closely, fearful that if she as much as blinks, she'll ruin what little rest he has left.

It is only once the tension leaves his limbs that she knows all is well. Chevalier's heartbeat is strong, at times to the point that she thinks its echoes spread within her body -- and perhaps in a way they do, the very palpable contractions of the muscle somehow resulting in surges of something as intangible as affection.

It isn't uncommon for Esther to kiss Chevalier on the forehead and temples right before he has to wake up for good. Perhaps that makes it more bearable for him.

Flare Up Period

Chevalier has never been particularly willing to rouse instantly... but if it is to let her rest, he will force his sluggish body to cooperate.

Esther doesn't generally get much sleep at nights during the flares. The symptoms she experiences get the strongest then, peaking sometime between 2 and 4AM. It leaves her exhausted, but being her stubborn self, she still wishes to continue on with her routine for as long as possible.

Provided that it is at all possible.

His days have been filled with listening -- listening to quiet footfall that tries to disappear at nights, to muffled down complaints, the water running in the bathroom... to the peaceful puffs of air emerging from her lips come dawn. It's been the sole sound he's been hoping for.

Chevalier is reluctant to move, but he does. As nimbly as humanly possible, he climbs out of the bed, dresses himself to then just as soundlessly turn his steps towards the door. He stops, however. He cannot leave just yet.

Perhaps attracted by some strange magnetism wielded in hands of purely not-quite-obligations, Chevalier approaches the bed. He circles it, a predator searching for his prey, or conversely, a beast fearing an attack of a greater threat than himself. He observes, he assesses.

He acts. Esther has lost weight. One blanket is not enough to keep her warm.

Chevalier may rouse by himself, however, it does not mean he's any more palatable in the mornings.

Any person who enters his room with the intention of disturbing his (and by extension, Esther's) rest can expect for punishment to be delivered swiftly. Chevalier is overprotective and it is hard to convince him to change his approach.

You've seen a typo? Please, tell me!

--

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86 @rinaririr @keithsandwich @cheese-ception @bis-enti @claviscollections @queengiuliettafirstlady

+ @ochrosia , because I've mentioned this and you said you'd like to see it ^^"

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

[hearts4golbach]

The Night Shift.

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

Chapter 22.

my head pounded as i dug through my bag, praying i had some sort of pain killer in that damn thing. unfortunately, i didn't have shit. i leaned against the counter and texted johnnie.

me: johnniee

me: Are you up?

johnnie: yeah babe what's up

me: Are you coming tonight?

johnnie: Of course

me: Would you mind bringing something for my headache? it's starting out to be a terrible night, lol

johnnie: yeah ill head that way soon :)

me: Thank youuu

i turned off my phone. the bell on the door rang, and i greeted the customer. "Welcome in. what can i get for you?" Hearing the same repetitive phrase angered me tonight, way more than any other night. i cleared my throat in an attempt to calm myself down.

"Can i get a latte, please?" the girl requested.

i hummed. i turned around towards the espresso machine. i packed it and slid the container into the slot. i pressed the on button, expecting it to work, but it didn't. "you've got to be fucking kidding me." i said under my breath, hoping the customer didn't hear. i turned back around. "im so sorry, the espresso machine is broken."

"Oh, no worries!" she gave me an awkward smile before looking up at the menu.  "Can i get a medium vanilla cream hot coffee?"

"yes ma'am, so sorry for the inconvenience." i picked up the coffee pot, which i had made a fresh batch not long before she had come in.

she finally received her drink. she paid and left, leaving me alone in the cafe once more. i poured myself a cup of cold water and chugged it, hoping it'd dull the pain.

i discovered that the espresso machine had just unplugged, but it was still a bitch to plug back in. i opened the cabinet and moved the extra bags of coffee beans. the plugs were in the very back of the cabinets. i was torso deep into the cabinets, trying to fish the cord out from behind the small opening in the back of it whenever johnnie walked out.

i heard a chuckle slip out of his lips. "You okay over there?"

"Yeah, just trying to plug something in." i mutter as i finally reconnect everything.

i stand up and turn to find johnnie holding a small bouquet of about 5 light pink and white tulips. i purse my lips and try to hold back tears.

"Awe, it's okay, y/n." he smiled softly, coming behind the counter to hug me. i held onto him tightly, feeling as if some of my problems had washed away. he rubbed my lower back and pulled a small container of painkillers out of his back pocket. "Here are those, if you wanna take them real quick."

he kept one arm wrapped around my waist as i did. "Thank you so much," i pecked his lips, "im so glad you're here."

he pulled up a chair behind the counter to sit with me, "What's been going on?"

"It's just that nothing seems to be working. It's just been a weird night. i have a massive headache, and my temper is super short tonight. of course, the thing was unplugged, so i had to fix that. but im only an hour into the shift, and i know the rest of the night is going to be shit." i rambled, dreading the following hours.

"Can i help around the store again? maybe that'll take some shit off of your shoulders." he offered. "What all do you have to do tonight?"

"Well, take orders, obviously. i need to sweep and mop out here and go do the last of the day shift dishes, then i need to wipe down all the counters and tables. we need to take down the valentines decorations, too." i listed off all of the main tasks that came to mind.

"Where's the broom?" he asked with zero hesitation.

"Since you really wanna help, the broom is in the closet right over there." i pointed to my right, "but really, you dont have to help."

"i wanna help, love." he replied before taking out the broom and beginning to sweep the floors.

the next hour worth of orders went smoothly. surprisingly, tonight was a busier night than usual. i decided to stop complaining, as i was getting more money, the more people that came in. johnnie then wiped off all the tables and counters, leaving them spotless.

"youre actually the best." i called from across the cafe. he smiled and gave me a thumbs up before returning to the last few tables.

"You ready to take the decorations down?" he asked, wiping his forehead after tossing the dirty rag in the dirty bin.

"Yeah, let's do it." i climbed up on his shoulders, figuring it'd be best to get the hard shit to take down out of the way first.

"There's a party me and jake were invited to this weekend. Do you wanna come with me? i think tara is going, too." johnnies thumb gently rubbed my thigh.

"Uh, obviously," i stuttered. i tossed the small stack of heart cutouts onto the floor before moving on to the next one. "Why wouldn't i want to go?"

he shrugged. "i dunno."

"My parents are coming to town soon. i told my mother about you, and she wants to meet you." i mentioned. i was anxious for his response. "Do you want to?"

"Uh, yeah? of course i fucking do." he giggled.

i sighed, "i just need to warn you, im not sure if she'll like you. she's very judgemental."

"Then I'll earn it. dont worry, y/n."

"You'll earn her liking you?" i raised my eyebrow even though he couldn't see.

"Yeah, I'll find a way." he patted my upper thigh.

after i picked the last heart off of the wall, i got off of his shoulders. he placed a soft kiss on my lips. i replied, "im sure you will."

[calico-heart]

Promptober 1

@seasaltandcopper and I are collabing thru promptober! Today we did something for Mal/Lyra in their Starfield AU :3

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

Things had been going smoothly for days, so naturally they were overdue for some trouble. It found them in a shitty little spacer bar set up in independent space, a semi-popular haven for smugglers, pirates, and fugitives, and the closest port to rest and ressupply before crossing into Freestar space.

If Mal had bothered to look closely, he probably would've spotted a few familiar faces in the scattered crowd. He didn't.

Save the festering grudges and trips down memory lane for after he had a couple drinks in him.

Well. That had been the plan anyway.

"Hey," a voice slurred, somewhere to Mal's right. "Hey, I know you."

Pointedly refusing to look at the man, and hoping that would be enough hint to shoo him away, Mal ordered a drink. "No, you don't."

"I do," the spacer insisted. "I know her too."

"No ye don't." Lyra replied, lip curling as she set her drink down. "Cause if ye did, ye wouldn't be damn fool enough to run her gob about it."

The bartender set Mal's drink down in a small, grubby looking glass, and he snatched it up before the liquid had a chance to settle. He tossed it back, grimaced, and signaled for another.

Maybe the booze would put him in a more charitable mood. Or at least dull his nerves before this asshole got on every last one of them.

The spacer scoffed. So much for taking the hint. "Nah, I'd never forget a mouth like that." Somehow the line managed to sound both derisive and leering in a way that made Mal's skin crawl. "And you better mind it, bitch, or I'll slice those pretty cocksucking lips right off your face, I don't give a damn who you've cozied up to this time."

Leaning back in her chair to assess him, Lyra cocked her head with a faint scowl. "Y'know what. I do remember you, too." 'Cocksucking' lips pulled up into a lurid smirk as she batted her eyelashes.

He glanced back to his friends at a table across the room. Lyra's eyes slipped after, counting them. Weighing her chances. He grinned savagely, "'Course ye do, I'm —"

"You had the smallest, purplest balls I'd ever seen in me life. I thought ye were a eunuch or somethin'." She flung her whiskey at him. "They grew in a bit an' you 'aven't learned t'manage 'em yet? Or are ye just compensatin' for it?"

Okay, so maybe diplomacy was never an option.

The spacer spluttered as he took most of a glass of whiskey to the face. He yelled something. His buddies, sitting a few tables over, also yelled something. Chairs scraped. A couple patrons lifted their heads, curious or cautiously excited about the free show.

Mal drew his pistol from its side holster and shot the guy.

Just once. And because Mal was feeling merciful, it was the knee and not the spacer's tiny little purple nuts. The guy dropped, howling in pain and clutching his leg, before he could do more than dream about taking a swing at Lyra.

"This guy bothering you, honey?" Mal interjected wryly, taking advantage of the brief shock in the aftermath. "I can shoot him again if you want."

She considered it. But he wasn't looking particularly threatening, curled up on the ground like a pillbug muttering curses. A keen assessment of his friends told her they were startled now, but they weren't very good at math. "Nah. Y'can shoot them though, if ye like." She answered, leaning over to lilt in his ear, "Might 'ave t'give ye somethin' special fer the trouble."

He hummed, lip tugging up at the corner. The way her breath tickled the shell of his ear had all the hairs on the back of Mal's neck rising, and the honey-promise in her voice had other things rising, too.

Well, that was one way to cure a bad mood without the booze.

"Sure," Mal answered, reaching down to brush a gentle hand up Lyra's thigh, still making direct eye contact with the thug on the ground as if to say, see, dumbass, that's how you do it. "It'd be my fucking pleasure."

[haunted-xander]

The program has been going well so far. It felt strange for Chiaki to see Hajime's face as... Hajime again. She'd gotten so used to Izuru's long hair and red eyes, that Hajime's short and choppy brown hair and his golden-green eyes felt like looking at old memories.

She wondered how it'd feel to see Hajime's personality with Izuru's appearance.

There were a few things she noticed in regards to how everyone was acting in the program. Hiyoko and Mahiru weren't as close as they were during their school days, but as these versions of them have just met, that makes sense. Most of the others seem to be getting along with who she'd expect, with the exception of Nagito and Hajime.

Hajime didn't know anyone in Chiaki's class besides her, having only met Chisa and -very briefly- the Ultimate Imposter. All he knew of them was from what Chiaki had told him.

He seemed to get along well with Nagito in the program, though. Admittedly, Chiaki had been keeping an eye on those two in particular, as she had gotten a lot closer to them over the course of the Tragedy. And, in part, because they both seemed rather lonely even during the school days. Hajime never seemed to hang around with anyone else and never talked about any other friends, and Nagito had always been somewhat... seperated from the rest of the class. Despite Chiaki and Chisa's attempts at integrating him into the class, everyone else found him too off-putting and weird to bother with, and Nagito himself seemed reluctant to include himself.

She could tell Monaca was keeping a close eye on them, too. Mostly Nagito, of course. When Hajime first appeared, Monaca seemed confused for a second before she put the pieces together.

For some reason, Hajime seemed to pass whatever approval test she has in her mind, as Monaca looked at him the same she did Makoto and Kyoko; not necessarily positive, but decidedly not negative. Neutral. She didn't seem to mind his interactions with Nagito, which was a vast improvement over her utter disdain at anything Izuru said or did with Nagito and Chiaki.

...Intimate moments became hard to come by, thanks to that.

Right now, the students in the program were all having fun on the beach. Most of them were swimming and playing in the water, but some had opted to simply watch from the shore. Usami -the rabbit teacher that Chiaki and Makoto helped Alter Ego design- seemed happy to see things going smoothly.

But things never stay happy for long, do they?

Out of nowhere -and really, shouldn't even be possible in the simulation- the sky turned dark and cloudy as an all too familiar voice suddenly spoke up from all the islands monitors.

"Ahh, ahh...! Mike check! Mike check! Ah, ah! Ah, ah! Can you hear me, can you hear me? Puhuhu... Surprised? You were totally surprised! ...Riiight?" It was like the voice was talking to those of them outside the program, mocking them. "Now then, sorry to keep you all waiting for so long. Let's leave all this worthless entertainment behind... It's time for the main attraction!" The feeling of dread filled the room.

In the corner of her eye, Chiaki could tell the survivors of the Killing School Life having an understandably stronger reaction to the robotic bear's appearance. Makoto was shaking violently, face pale and tears in his eyes. Kyoko tried to keep her cool, but her face was grave as she clasped her hands close to her chest. Even the usually unfazed Byakuya was visibly shaken, his eyes betrayed his attempt at composure and his hands trembled slightly.

Chiaki couldn't begin to imagine the absolute terror they must feel at seeing Monokuma like this again.

She tore her eyes away from the bear's face and shifted her gaze over to Monaca, trying to gauge her reaction. Although she knew the little girl wanted to ensure Nagito's safety, she still held admiration for Junko and as such, could very well see this as an opportunity to further carry out her idol's will.

Monaca's face was blank, devoid of any emotion. ...Maybe she doesn't know how to feel. I guess I can understand that. Her admiration of Enoshima-san, and her bond with Komaeda-kun are at odds... Despite Chiaki's thoughts, Monaca turned to Makoto and started to yell, "...You promised nothing would go wrong. You promised that Big Bro would be fine. You PROMISED, so why is Mr. Monokuma in the simulation!? Why is Mr. Monokuma messing everything up!? You said everything would be fine, so WHY is Big Bro in danger!? TELL ME!?"

"M-Monaca-san, I-"

"YOU PROMISED!! YOU SAID BIG BRO WOULD BE FINE, THAT MONACA WOULD GET ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD WITH HIM! YOU'RE A LIAR! MR. NAEGI IS A LIAR!!!" By now, Monaca was screaming and flailing her arms around, furious and upset at the threat towards the one person she'd admit to care about. "BIG BRO IS IN DANGER AND IT'S ALL! YOUR! FAULT!!! BIG BRO'S GONNA DIE AND MONACA WON'T HAVE ANYONE ANYMORE, NO ONE ELSE LIKES MONACA, NO ONE!!!! MONACA DOESN'T WANT TO LOSE THE ONE PERSON WHO SAID THEY LOVED HER AND MEANT IT!!!!!!"

She was crying. Honest, genuine tears were streaming down from Monaca's face as her voice grew hoarse with her screaming. Chiaki understood all too well what she was feeling, but couldn't bring herself to blame anyone present for it.

Makoto didn't know this would happen, and he never would've wanted to consider it.

No one managed to get a word in, Monaca's screaming drowned out anything they tried to say, so they simply had to wait until she tired herself out. By the time she had stopped screaming her throat out, Monokuma had gathered all the students in the simulation at Jabberwock Park and was explaining the rules of the Killing Game to them all. Monaca wheeled herself over to Chiaki, and lightly held onto the fabric of her backpack.

They stared defeated at the image of Monokuma on the monitor.