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moonsgemini · 3 days ago

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cherry wine pt. 3 - firefighter!rafe

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summary: After a couple weeks you & Rafe finally get to see each other again. He invites you over & makes you dinner & you know the perfect way to thank him. Of course it only ignites the mutual obsession.

warning: firefighter!rafe x teacher!reader, fem reader, fluff, two people obsessed with each other, oral (m. rec), dirty talk, rafe being sexy

an: hi! sorry this took so long & it’s on the shorter side. I promise the next part will come much sooner. Ugh I feel like this isn’t my best work. Also this can kinda be read as a stand alone.

masterlist ★ part one - part two

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It had been a couple weeks since your first date with Rafe and since then you’d seen each other a couple times sporadically. It was only ever for a few minutes though. He’d be just getting off a sixteen hour shift and meeting you for ice cream or you’d stop by the station and drop off baked goods. His busy schedule and yours didn’t allow for much free time.

Occasionally he’d leave treats at your front door before he went off to work. A hot coffee and a muffin or a scone to help you get through the day. Sometimes even a small bouquet of flowers and a cute note, that particularly made your heart flutter.

The two of you texted practically all day, sometimes he’d call you on his way home if it wasn’t too late and you weren’t lesson planning or grading. It was nice to not feel so obligated to see someone you were dating every day.

At least you think you guys are dating. Actually you don’t know what the two of you are doing. You wouldn’t consider one date to be dating. But every thing since then has felt so much like dating.

He wasn’t shy about letting you know how much he liked you in turn neither were you. He was the first guy to not make you feel embarrassed about your over flowing feelings.

When he let you know that he had a few days off coming up you made sure to get as much work done before then. Yeah you did like the idea of still having your space but you couldn’t deny that you missed him. Plus trying to catch up on lesson plans, grading, and parent conferences all week had run you ragged. You could use some alone time with a hot firefighter.

The thought of seeing him again made those butterflies flutter. It may be possible that you actually had missed him a lot. Not only had you missed his smile, jokes, and his attentiveness but you also missed his mouth and his hands. The smell of his cologne made you want to lick him.

What he had done to you the last time you’d seen each other replayed in your head whenever you had a spare moment. You hadn’t felt so wanted in so long that having him just wanting to taste you and being satisfied with that made you all the more desperate for him. He was truly the first real man you’d been with and you can’t even imagine what he’d be like during sex.

Rafe invited you over to his place so he could make you dinner. From what you had told him he could tell you had a long busy week. He made sure to promise you there’d be cherry wine of course.

It was a Friday and he had the day off so he had spent the day cleaning his condo and getting everything for dinner ready. He even bought some of your favorite snacks you had mentioned in conversation in case you wanted some while watching a movie later.

A part of him hoped you’d want to sleep over, it’d be nice to not sleep alone for once. He decided on cooking steak since that’s what he knew best. He was just a man after all.

He was a bit nervous. Which was a new feeling for Rafe. He didn’t typically miss people and usually that was because he didn’t stick around long enough to know anyone like that. It was a defense mechanism but there was something about you that made him want more. It wasn’t just how good you tasted and looked but it was how easy it felt to talk to you. Rafe thought you were funny, smart, and he liked how you played along with his teasing.

After school was over and you touched up your makeup in your classroom. You even changed into a tank top that was a bit revealing and your favorite pants that made your ass look fantastic. You didn’t want to waste anymore time away from him so as soon as you finished you headed out to his place.

That feeling of missing him so much should scare you but you liked it. You liked missing Rafe and you liked that you knew he missed you. With him everything felt real and you didn’t question your feelings or if you were being too eager.

You had to send the principal a fruit basket or something for continuing to insist the firefighter come every year. A few days ago you found out they almost didn’t do it this year but it all worked out. You can’t imagine not meeting Rafe now that you know him.

He didn’t live too far from the school so the drive was relatively short. You had texted him when you left school and since then he had been waiting outside for your arrival. When he saw your car pull up he walked down his driveway to meet you.

Being the gentleman that he is he opened your door for you, that smirk never falling from his lips. You loved him in date attire and his work uniform but him dressed like this. In a sweatshirt and grey sweatpants was making you swoon. He looked so domesticated you would get on your knees for him right here in the driveway.

“Hi,” You said bashfully as you stepped out. Every time you saw him it felt like the first time. Still occasionally turning into a pile of bashful mush around him.

“Hi,” He shut your door and placed a hand on the small of your back leading you up the driveway.

“Been waiting for me?” You teased.

He nodded, “Of course. Been thinking about you all day.” The heat creeped up your neck at his earnestness.

“You’re not shy about what you want huh?” You teased.

He shook his head with a smirk, “Then how would I always get what I want?”

You scoffed as he opened the door letting you in first, “I don’t know if cocky is a good look on you Cameron.”

He laughed, “Not cocky just confident,” he shut the door and gently put his hand on your stomach pushing you back against the door, “And I always get what I want.” Rafe leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your mouth.

It was like finally breathing fresh air when your lips met for the first time in a while. You would make out with him all night right there if you could, but he pulled away with a grin.

After gathering yourself you laughed and gently shoved him, “You’re dangerous.”

His condo was nice. It was clean and had as much decor as a man in his 20s with a demanding job can have. There were a couple frames pictures on a shelf. They looked to be his sisters he had mentioned a few times. At least you didn’t have to worry about him secretly having a family.

In the living room he had set up blankets on the couch and candles on his coffee table. It was cute how he wanted to set the romantic mood. To top it off he had Netflix open ready to have a movie played.

You sat on one of the stools on the breakfast bar as you watched him cook. He wanted to wait till you were here so the food was hot. It smelled delicious. If he could cook good food you were never letting him get away. He was almost too good to be true.

The way his back muscles flexed under his white tee shirt had your mouth watering. You wanted to bite him. The two of you made casual conversation about your week. It was weird how his ability to multitask made you more attracted to him.

“You wanna pick a movie while I plate?” He asked turning to you with a smirk.

You agreed and walked over to the living room. As you scrolled Rafe got the wine glasses and opened a bottle. He walked over to you with two plates and glasses.

“Wow, thank you chef,” You teased helping him with the plates.

“Don’t say that too much now you’ll turn me on,” He laughed but was being completely serious.

“Maybe I will then,” You smirked.

A bottle and a half of wine later the two of you were settled on the couch not particularly paying attention to the movie playing. It was a romcom you had suggested and obviously Rafe wasn’t going to say no. The pair of you couldn’t keep your mouths shut talking about anything and everything.

It felt so natural laying with you and talking. Everything from the outside world disappeared and Rafe could just focus on you and making you laugh. A sound he had grown to admire. The sound warmed his chest and made him want to pinch your cheeks. It was scary how fast he had become obsessed with you.

He hoped the feeling was mutual but by your body language he’s sure it is. Seeing Rafe relaxed in his own space was doing something to you. The alcohol in your blood stream not helping either. It didn’t help that he also couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Not even inna sexual way but it was still lighting you on fire.

His warm heavy hand had been resting on your thigh and he’d squeeze it occasionally. If he saw your hair move in front of your face he’d be quick to tuck it behind your ear. He even fed you some of your steak and used his thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth. Then he had the audacity put his thumb in his mouth to taste what was on your mouth and hum. You’re convinced he was put on this earth to torture you.

It finally became too much when he grabbed one of your legs and draped if over his. His hand began to trace circle on your inner thigh. Moving higher up every few minutes.

You set your empty glass on the table and turned fully towards Rafe. Both of your legs across his lap now. He didn’t notice your change in demeanor as he looked forward and went on about this show he saw with the main guy in it.

“Then he like asks her-“

“Rafe?” You interrupted.

He turned to you with a small grin, “Hm?”

“Thanks for dinner and everything,” You spoke softly.

His lips lifted in a crooked boyish smile, “Of course sweetheart.”

You reached out and rested a hand on his chest, “I think I need to thank you properly.”

Rafe could hear the innuendo in your statement and he was loving where this was going. He maneuvered you as a surprised sound left you when he placed you on his lap to straddle him. His hands now resting on your hips and yours on his shoulders.

“How would you do that hm?”

You shrugged feigning contemplation, “A kiss maybe.”

He raised a brow, “Oh yeah?”

You nodded and leaned forward closing the gap between you. Rafe pulled you closer so your chests were pressed together. He groaned as his body lit up feeling your weight on him. Your hands moved up his chest to grip the strands of hair at the back of his head.

Rafe’s hands gripped anywhere he could reach. The way he manhandled you had your underwear getting damp. He pulled away but only to press open mouthed kisses on your neck. He moved one of his hands into your hair and gently tugged at it to expose more skin. He could just eat you up.

The small whines and soft sighs you were letting out made his dick swell. He mumbled something about how good you taste before his lips slotted with yours again.

After a couple minutes of kissing and you may have started grinding against his bulge. As if you could stay still while feeling just how much he wanted you, but you had something else in mind for tonight. Especially since he’s already been so giving to you, so gently pushed his chest as you pulled away.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” He asked hazily. Rafe was drunk on you.

You giggled and shook your head, “Nothin I just think there’s something else I could be doing with my mouth.”

His eyes widened a bit surprised but it was quickly replaced by excitement. Now usually Rafe is a giver and he doesn’t mind not receiving. Like the last time you were together he got off just on making you cum, but he wasn’t going to stop you if you wanted to suck him off.

“Yeah? Feel free to show me,” He rubbed his hands up and down her sides.

“oh I will,” You smiled softly before leaning in and placing a kiss on his jaw. Moving down to his neck as your hands ducked under his shirt to feel the hard muscles of his abdomen.

Soon you were kneeling on the floor and your hands were fumbling a but as you tugged at his sweatpants. He helped you pull them off and he sprung free from the confines.

You’re not particularly fond of the way dick’s look but Rafe’s was one you could appreciate. No other guy had one this pretty, was it weird to think it’s pretty? you thought as you leaned forward. Never breaking eye contact with him as you gave his head a tentative lick.

That alone had him throwing his head back with a groan. Your mouth wrapped around his head. Rafe was going to explode with how warm and wet your mouth was you gently sucked on him.

Inch by inch you took him in deeper. Your head bobbing up and down at a slow pace to start. Once Rafe felt himself hit the back of your throat his hips stuttered. He was doing everything in his power not to thrust into your mouth.

“Fuck baby you look so good like this,” He groaned as he looked down. You looked like an angel with his cock in your mouth and doe eyes looking up at him. Your hand holding what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Drool was starting to fall from your mouth. He felt your throat constrict around him as you sped up your pace.

“So pretty with my cock in your mouth,” He continued praising you once he saw how his words made you rub your thighs together. You hoped he hadn’t noticed that but he did.

You hummed softly around him. The vibrations adding to his pleasure. Rafe wrapped one hand around your hair to create a makeshift pony tail as your motions became sloppier.

“Getting me so close,” He sighed, “Feels like heaven in your mouth.”

One of your hands reach between him to fondle his balls. This is what got him closer to the edge.

“Dirty girl eh?” He gripped your hair a little tighter, “You’re so hot I could cum just by looking at your face.”

He felt you gag around him and that is what tipped him over, “Fuck I’m gonna cum baby.” He thrusted his hips upwards fucking your mouth. Not too hard obviously but it was enough to finally push him over the edge.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He chanted and groaned as you took him as deep as possible as the his cum shot down your throat.

You pulled off of him with a pop and wipes your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt hot as you thought about what just happened. Rafe had his head thrown back with his eyes closed as he still worked on catching his breath.

“Was that okay?” You asked a bit shyly. Rafe let out a choked laugh

“Fucking better than okay,” He laughed as he peered down at you. You laughed softly and he leaned down to pull you back on to his lap. With you on top of him he maneuvered his sweatpants back on.

Rafe pulled you in and kissed you. His tongue invading your mouth. You’re thinking he surely must taste himself but not care. That thought left you even more damp. Your thighs clenching around his hips.

You pulled away and leaned your forhead against his as you softly spoke, “Rafe I really like you.”

He stroked your cheek with his thumb as he held your face, “I really like you too.” You let out a breathy laugh feeling like a giddy school girl.

He pulled away to look at you properly, “Want to stay the night? We don’t have to do anything else.”

You nodded before he could even finish, “I’d love to stay.”

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peachylynnie · 2 days ago

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house edge

word count: 3.5k (making up for my absence) synopsis: in which sylus finally talks to you, alone. contains: pt 3 of blackjack, pt 2 of ace, sylus x fem!reader (non mc), moderately obsessive sylus, LOT'S OF TENSION, the twins appear, alcohol consumption, cursing, weapons, violence (death, mentions of suicide), and references to gambling. a/n: house edge refers to the odds advantage in the house/dealer's favor. haha this totally isn't late haha. i'm back in school and wifi sucks so this took awhile. i still hope you enjoy. reblogs and comments are always appreciated. lmk if you want to be tagged for the rest of the series. tagged: @sprout341 @miffysoo previous chapter | lads masterlist | next chapter

before he can savor that addictive look on your face (he couldn't care less about the cards), sylus' phone rings.

"tch," he clicks his tongue, ready to decline whoever's interrupting his moment with you.

however, his brows furrow upon reading who's calling.

the twins.

sylus curses under his breath as he stands up. he can't reject their call. he's made it clear to them that they should call only when it's important.

"i'll get back to you on my wager soon, gentlemen," he says as he strides towards the door, ignoring sherman and his lackey's frantic attempts at a compromise. "sweetie," he nods at you, brings the phone to his ear, and steps out of the lounge.

as sherman and his lackey lunge for sylus' cards to search for signs of foul play, you frown at the door he just closed.

this guy. he's no ordinary guy. of course, you knew that when your handler stationed you here. he's the head of onychinus for fuck's sake, the infamous person who runs the infamous faction that runs the infamous n109 zone. but seriously? anyone in their right mind would stay after seeing the hands on the table, especially after a whole night of losing. your handler emphasized that despite how much the rumors about him vary, they all point to him being a cunning man, capable of bringing a rival faction to their knees in less than a day.

it’s not like he’s a gambling addict either. you’ve seen your fair share of them, and they all have this crazed look in their eyes. but no, this fucker gave you the most smug look before tapping the table. it's almost as if he knew he was going to win.

"hey, we need you at the bar," your one-day manager calls for you. "lounge's closing in five minutes."

"yeah," you exhale a deep breath. you need to calm down. it’s bad enough you lost your composure (in front of the head of onychinus of all people). for now you’ll focus on what’s important: no longer the commission but getting out of here. as soon as the last cup is put away, you’ll ring for transportation and book it.

"goodnight gentlemen," you step away from the table. sherman and his lackey stand up in pursuit. "i would advise against any attempts at violence," you say as politely as you can. "this is a lounge, after all. one that is closing too. have some tact, will you?"

and with that, you walk towards the bar, paying no mind to their insulted faces. if they still decide to follow you, you'll use your evol to the max. you can’t afford to care about anyone who’s within fifty meters anymore. every additional second spent here is jeopardizing your chances of escaping sylus qin. did you see that nod? he's nowhere near done with you.

luckily, you don't hear footsteps chasing you. once you reach the bar, you quickly scan the lounge before collecting the empty glasses.

all seemed well for a moment. there were little signs of your one-day manager assigning you more tasks. there were many signs of sherman and his lackey waltzing out. most importantly, there was every sign of you finishing your task, meaning you could soon leave without running into a certain silver-haired man.

however, there were no signs of sherman's gun on the table.

♢♢♢♢♢

it's raining by the time sylus leans back against an alleyway, a hand in his pocket and a foot against the wall.

"speak."

"hey boss!" luke and kieran greet simultaneously through the phone.

"you'll never guess what we found out," the older chirps.

"idiot, he's the one who sent us here," the younger reminds.

"what did you just call me?!"

"cut to the chase," sylus snaps. "i'm in a hurry right now." he is very much in a hurry right now, damn it. every additional second spent here is jeopardizing his chances of seizing you, having you. he needs to get back to the lounge as soon as possible. he needs to see you, talk to you, squeeze out of you that enticing look you had on your face less than five minutes ago.

"woah there, boss. is everything okay? you sound tense," luke asks.

sylus sighs, pinching his nose bridge. "yes, everything is fine, luke. thanks for asking." he glances at the rain-covered window across from him to see if you're still at the table. he frowns when he doesn't see you. "did you confirm what i asked you to?"

"yes," kieran answers, earning a grumble from his twin about his stolen thunder. "there are no authentic protocores here at sherman's warehouse. actually, there are no protocores here at all."

"seems like he was trying to strike us a deal with nothing," luke pipes in.

"how disappointing," sylus chuckles drily. "not surprising, though."

"should we go after him, boss?" the twins excitedly suggest at the same time.

"no need," sylus peels himself off the wall and moves over to the window for a better view. "i'll take care of him myself," he assures as he wipes the glass. he's delighted to find you at the bar drying a glass while sherman and his lackey make their way towards the exit, which leads right into the alleyway he's in. "in fact, i'll take care of him right now."

and with that, he hangs up the call. right on cue, sherman and his lackey step out of the lounge, their faces twisted with frustration from all the losses they experienced tonight. however, their faces immediately morph into fear upon seeing the head of onychinus.

"gentlemen," sylus smirks as he pockets his phone. "i just heard something very interesting."

in a blink of an eye, bloody, inky wisps wrap around the two men's necks and slam them into the wall. the very wall the feared man was leaning on moments ago. how unfortunate.

"w-wait," sherman chokes out. "let's t-talk about t-this."

"what could there possibly be to talk about, sherman?" sylus mocks with crossed arms. "surely not the fact that you tried to deal me not even fake protocores but none at all?"

one would find it difficult to determine if the two men were going pale from the lack of air or the abundance of fear. perhaps both. how unfortunate.

"no matter," sylus shakes his head. "let's talk about my wager instead, shall we?"

the air shifts as his evol tightens around sherman and his lackey's necks. the crimson and ivory tendrils rampage faster and faster, signaling for a brutal execution to come, a signature move every bastard in the n109 zone is aware of. however, the dreaded crushing and disintegration of flesh never comes. seizing this chance, sherman desperately searches for something in his pocket.

“looking for this?”

his eyes widen upon seeing his gun in sylus’ hand.

nobody, not a single one of you, noticed him swipe the gun before leaving.

“now, about my wager,” sylus cocks the gun. “how about your lives?�� he aims at the drenched forehead of its owner. “surely it’s the least both of you can do after trying to trick me.” he places a finger on the trigger. “again.”

before sherman can open his pathetic mouth, sylus pulls the trigger, a glorious bang ringing through the rainy night sky. he doesn’t give the lackey a chance to mourn. instead, he gives him the same fate as his employer: a bullet lodged deep into his skull. not a single one of them was worth his evol.

wiping the blood off his cheek, sylus tuts. “felled by your own gun.” he releases his evol. “how unfortunate.”

after chucking the gun on the floor, he approaches the entrance of the lounge. he doesn’t have time to clean up the corpses. he’ll just escort you out another way (yes, this man plans to accompany you wherever you go after tonight). unable to hide his frenzied smile, he grips the door handle and steps in.

♢♢♢♢♢

the brief pitter-patter of rain let in by the door should’ve been your first sign to hightail it out of here. the silver-haired man who’s currently seated at the bar with an elbow planted should’ve been your second. the red hungry eyes trailing over your figure most definitely should’ve been your third.

but you’re too busy drying the glasses with your back turned. big mistake.

“a glass of gin fizz, please.”

you still.

“make that two, actually,” he adds.

you don’t turn around. you don’t dare to. instead, you slowly grab the last glass, prepared to put it away.

“i’m afraid the lounge is closed, mr. sylus,” you counter gracefully.

the man chuckles, leaning back in the stool. “surely this lounge can make an exception for the head of onychinus.”

“of course!” your manager dashes out of the employees' room, eager to earn the lounge additional funds. “what are you doing?!” she scolds you with what she thinks is your name. you’re thankful you have an alias tonight because the idea of sylus knowing your identity turns your stomach, which you’re sure is what he’s trying to do by ordering two glasses past closing time. “pour him a glass of gin fizz!” she instructs and dashes back into the employees’ room. you resist the urge to curse when you hear the employees’ entrance lock, meaning she clocked out for the night, meaning it was just you and sylus. couldn’t she have just made the drinks herself if she wanted the additional funds that badly?

exhaling deeply, you use the glass in your hand to scoop up some ice. no point in resisting. last thing you want is for your handler to nag you for not cooperating with the client’s staff, especially when you already gave up on the commission. might as well just get this over with.

“i wouldn’t scoop the ice first if i were you, sweetie,” sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. “it’ll dilute the alcohol.”

you don’t say anything. you just grab a bottle of gin and pour it into a jigger. your customer scoffs.

“are you ignoring me, sweetie?”

you pour the gin into a shaker and squeeze some lemon juice.

“if you’re upset about something, then you should tell me.”

you take out the simple syrup from the fridge and pour it into the jigger.

“how about this?” he starts.

you add the syrup to the shaker along with three ice cubes.

“i ask you a question, and you ask me a question.”

you equip the shaker with its strainer and start shaking it violently.

“aren’t you curious as to how i won?”

you freeze. only now do you feel the chill of the liquor from the shaker.

“go ahead, sweetie,” sylus coaxes, thrilled to finally have your attention. “ask. i know you want to. your face back there said it all.”

placing the shaker down, you open its lid, pour its contents into the ice-filled glass, add a generous amount of soda water, turn around, and slam the glass in front of sylus.

that’ll shut him up for a minute or two.

but it takes everything in you not to gasp when you look up from the glass.

since when was it raining outside? he’s seated with his shiny, silvery hair messily slicked back, beads of water slowly dripping down his face and neck, his drenched button-up suit clinging onto his chest and forearms for dear life, and his ruby-streaked blazer not only hanging from his broad shoulders but also adding to the puddles forming beneath the stool.

you make a mental note to inform your handler that the head of onychinus is NOT some old, short man with a face only a mother could love, like some of the rumors say.

enjoying your gaze on him, sylus tilts his head teasingly. “well?”

you can’t back down. it sounds like he won’t either until you talk to him. pinning your hands on the counter, you lean in. “why did you hit? you knew your chances were low, even after looking at my cards.”

he doesn’t answer immediately. it’s your turn to expect something from him, want something from him. it’s the least you could do after driving him in circles the whole night. besides, he wants a closer look at your face; commit it to memory in case you even think about leaving without compensating him for the absolute torture you put him through.

after taking a slow sip from the glass, sylus asks, “ever heard of gambling addicts, sweetie?”

you squint at him. “yes, but you aren’t one.”

“oh,” he quirks a brow. “so you know of me?”

“everyone in the n109 zone knows who you are, mr. sylus.”

“yes, but you aren’t from the n109 zone, miss dealer.”

you tense. although the shift in your shoulders was incredibly tiny, it was taken hostage by his eyes. he’s impressed by how controlled your reactions are.

but now it's his turn to ask.

standing up from his stool, sylus leans in dangerously close and whispers, “what brings you to the n109 zone, sweetie?”

you don’t answer. but you don’t back away either. sylus likes that. he likes what’s happening right now. when was the last time he felt this ecstatic from a conversation? even though your answers were cryptic, he was able to conclude that you come from a place or are in a position where his existence is made aware, and probably in certain detail too, given your insistence on him not being a gambling addict. when was the last time he had a gin fizz that tasted this good? he’s delighted the serving he had at the previous table was also made by you (how does this psycho know that). and most importantly, when was the last time he felt threatened? something is unsettling about the way you won every single game tonight, with a look of indifference too.

by chance, are you an evolver?

“i assure you, i am from here, mr. sylus,” you answer with a small smile. it doesn't reach your eyes. removing your hands from the counter (he frowns when you do), you turn around to make another glass. hopefully his previous request for two will serve as a distraction. “you’re welcome to look into my name, but i’m sure the head of onychinus has better things to do than to worry about some dealer.”

sylus laughs. he actually laughs. although it isn’t loud, the intervals as to which his rich voice seeps through are enough to convey that your lie hasn’t convinced him. “sweetie,” he shakes his head endearingly and sits down. “because i am the head of onychinus, everything and everyone in the n109 zone is subjected to my worrying, including intruders who use fake names.”

you spin back around, your eyes full of alarm. how does he know about your alias? no, how does he even know you’re not from here? from the beginning, that’s what he’s been insisting on. there’s no way someone as busy as him could know about every single person residing in the n109 zone. at least, that’s what your handler said (oh how wrong she was).

“do you truly expect me to believe that is your name?” sylus repeats your alias with scorn. it’s an injustice to your frame. “it doesn’t suit you. you need to pick better names, sweetie.

what the fuck. he’s convinced you’re an intruder because your alias doesn’t suit you?! this guy. this guy’s not sane. that’s it. now you really need to get out of here. glaring at him, you snatch his glass and dump its contents down the drain. damn it, you wasted too much time. he got you. he got you good. he never intended to uphold his “a question for a question” deal in the first place, given his bullshit answer about gambling addicts.

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through gritted teeth. “now excuse me, mr. sylus. the lounge was supposed to close fifteen minutes ago.”

sylus licks his lips. he can almost taste the frustration in your face and voice. it’s intoxicating. that’s the second time he’s forced a reaction out of you. how much more until you beg him to stop?

“of course, miss dealer,” he concedes mockingly. "allow me to escort you out.”

“that won’t be necessary,” you hiss. “my car is right around the alleyway.”

“still,” he blocks you from exiting the bar. “it’s dark and raining outside. it’s the least i could do to pay for the drink.”

“money will do,” you frown.

“i’m afraid i’m all out, sweetie,” he smiles. “you did quite the number on me, after all.”

you scoff. not only is his smile shameless, but so is his lie. you may not be from here, but you know damn well it’s going to take an eternity of games to even leave a dent in the head of onychinus’ bank account. you glance at the clock. you should have called for transportation by now. technically, you still can, but you need to be outside. and it doesn’t look like he’ll let you go anytime soon unless you accept his offer.

“you can walk me to the alleyway,” you sigh.

“not to your car?”

you scowl at him. don’t push it.

sylus chuckles and steps aside. when you exit the bar with a huff, he can’t help but think you look like a cat, a cute little one who scratches when agitated. perhaps kitten will be what he calls you next.

after turning off the lights, you step out of the lounge. only to freeze in your tracks.

corpses.

corpses of the two people involved in your commission. narrowing your eyes, you notice a bullet wound in each of their foreheads. you scan the ground, searching for any traces of the murderer. however, your blood runs cold when something catches your eye. sherman’s gun. you crouch to pick it up. did he kill himself? no, that doesn’t explain why his lackey has the same wound.

“ah,” sylus interrupts your thoughts. “i forgot to escort you out the other way. my apologies, kitten.”

he knows violence doesn’t faze you as it normally would for any other outsider. still, he didn’t want you to see this kind of violence since there’s a substantial difference between witnessing an arm get crushed and witnessing the glassy eyes of lifeless bodies.

though, he supposes he worried for nothing since you’re being eerily quiet with your eyes fixated on the gun.

skillfully, you unload the gun. no bullets left. you exhale deeply. from the looks of it, sylus killed them since he knew the bodies would be here. furthermore, he used sherman’s gun, which initially only had two bullets, given the lack of bullet marks in the alleyway. you just happened to miss the sound of gunfire since you were too occupied. but if that’s the case, that means sherman and his lackey died quite the unfortunate death where the former’s gun was their undoing and no one could’ve heard them, which means… your evol. it did its job. too good of a job.

“at least the commission is complete,” you murmur.

sylus furrows his brow. “you, what did you just say?”

for a moment, all that is heard is the downpour of rain and the distant rumbling of thunder.

you pull out your phone and press a contact. “delilah, open it now.”

“what?”

you sprint down the alleyway, not bothering to acknowledge his confusion.

sylus immediately chases after you, his legs moving like never before. shit, you completely took him by surprise. what was that phone call? no, what did you mean by a completed commission? and why do you know how to unload a gun? clenching his jaw, he prepares to teleport to the end of the alleyway, determined to intercept you. he’ll be damned if he lets you escape.

although he blinks to the end of the alleyway, you make a sharp turn, evading his outstretched arm.

“tch,” sylus clicks his tongue before continuing his pursuit. however, you make another turn around the corner, giving you three seconds out of his sight.

by the time sylus turns around the corner, you’re gone. not a single trace of you left behind. but what infuriates him more is that this is a dead end. not a single way out but the way he got here. he slams a fist in the wall, ignoring the blood that seeps down and the deep cracks in the bricks. using his free hand, sylus pulls out his phone and dials his most recent contact.

“luke. kieran. get me access to the cameras surrounding this lounge,” he spits the lounge’s name. “now.”

♢♢♢♢♢

you breathe rapidly as you fall onto the floor, your throat burning and your ears ringing. you’ve never run so fast in your life.

“welcome back,” a smooth voice says your name. your actual name.

you look up to face your means of transportation, delilah.

“what the— did it rain over there?” an acute voice asks.

stella, your handler enters your vision.

both of them reach out a hand for you to take.

you begrudgingly accept and swiftly walk towards the door, eager to give yourself a fucking break after all that happened today.

“what’s the rush?” delilah asks with a yawn. “don’t tell me you failed the commission—"

"how was your first time in the n109 zone?” stella interjects, warning delilah with her eyes.

you pause before turning the knob.

“never send me there again.”

#DUNDUNDUN #*dodges a tomato*#i'm sorry this took awhile #*dodges another tomato*#despite how long it took me to write this #i had fun with sylus' dialogue #sylus x reader #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace #lads fic #lnds fic #lads #lnds #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lnds x reader

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liyliths · 2 days ago

Text

.˚𓅆࿐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 an aot au / inspired by the hunger games

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

series summary: survive. that's all you've known you're entire life - to survive. survive district 12, survive the reaping, and survive the capitol. but when you're reaped for the 98th annual hunger games alongside levi ackerman, will you seize the opportunity of rebellion when it arises? the mockingjay is singing, dear reader, please choose wisely.

His voice is quieter this time. “You’re an idiot.” “Gee, thanks.” You scowl at him. “It’s not my fault they weren’t paying attention.” “If you would just control your impulsiveness,” he mutters, voice low, dangerously close to a warning, “you wouldn’t be the first person the careers try to slaughter.” You exhale sharply, crossing your arms. “Not like it makes a difference. If the Capitol wants me dead, they’ll find a way to make it happen.”

pairings: levi ackerman x reader

contains: fem!reader, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt and comfort, semi canon compliant, character death, descriptions of blood, phycological trauma, rebellion, this is gonna hurt but be so rewarding, and any other warnings that come with aot characters/the hunger games universe

word count: 5.5k

playlist

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Your muscles ache. It’s not like physical activity is anything new for you, but you think your body is caught off guard by the amount of strain you’ve been putting on it.

Hannes had encouraged you and Levi to practice at every station in the training room, so for the past three days, all you’ve been doing for the majority of the day was training at every skill station, practicing and picking up new things. Despite Hannes’ orders to appear mediocre, Levi excels in knife throwing and you ace the edible plants test.

Though, you haven’t gotten to the damn bow and arrow. You’ve been itching to get it on your hands, but you know Hannes is right. You can’t show the other tributes what you’re good at.

Today was the last official day of training, and everyone has their private sessions with the gamemakers where they score you on whatever skill you choose to present. Finally, you’ll be able to shoot.

You and Levi were pulled from lunch to the waiting room for your sessions, along with the other tributes. You’ve memorized a few new faces but haven’t been able to catch anyone’s names besides Armin. One of the familiar faces was a girl of a shorter stature with bright blue eyes, complemented by lucious blonde hair, always followed around by a taller brown-haired girl with freckles.

Being District 12, you and Levi are the last to go. You watch the tributes leave district by district, first the boy, then the girl. No one comes back after they leave. As the room empties, you feel less and less inclined to appear friendly. You and Levi sit in silence. You��ve exchanged mostly friendly conversation per Hannes request to appear as ‘allies’, though you’re against the idea.

You figure it would increase your odds if you stuck to yourself and waited out the Games, hiding and surviving until you have to protect yourself. If you’re with allies, or even just one ally, it’s no secret one of you will have to betray each other. It’s like a ticking bomb until someone decides to do it first, and you’re not willing to take that risk.

The intercom summons Levi, and he rises. You two exchange a glance, unsure of what to say.

“Make sure you throw those knives straight,” you call out. He hesitates in his tracks for a moment before glancing back at you.

“You too. Don’t miss,” he says, and with that, you’re left alone in the waiting room.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, your name is summoned by the intercom. You stand up after a deep breath, smoothing back your hair and rolling your shoulders. Summoning the courage, you walk forward, straight to the sliding door that leads to the private session room.

Once you walk through, you quickly realize you might be screwed. The gamemakers have sat here far too long, at least in their heads, after seeing the other twenty-three tributes. Most of them are probably stuffed full and have consumed too much wine, itching to get home.

There’s nothing you can do, you realize, so you continue. Your eyes set on the weapons, and you see it—your bow and arrows. The bow is made of exclusive material you can’t even begin to describe, paired with matching arrows. You run your hands over the bow before you pick it up, slinging a quiver with the arrows over your shoulder.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you stride over to the targets. They’re similar to what you and Levi practiced on with the throwing knives, with a red bullseye in the chest on a human figure. When you equip an arrow and pull back on the string, you realize just how different this bow is compared to the one back home. The string is stiffer, and the arrows rigid.

When you shoot, you miss the center of the target by a few inches, and you’re met by a few scoffs and laughter, losing what little attention you had. For a moment, you feel humiliated, but you move on to the next target and shoot, the arrow landing straight on the center of the bullseye, finally getting a hang of the new weapon.

It was a great shot. You turn to the gamemakers—a couple are nodding in approval, but the most of them are fixed on the roasted pig with an apple stuck between its mouth being served. You can’t help the anger you feel rise in your chest. If they’re going to send twenty-four kids to fight to the death, the least they could do is have the decency to pay attention to them.

You refuse to be treated like another animal in their zoo.

Your heart starts to pound wildly. Without thinking, you ready another arrow and shoot straight at the gamemakers, your arrow piercing through the apple perched in the pig’s mouth, landing directly through the wall behind. There are a few gasps and sounds of alarm as people stumble back, but then you’re met with quiet.

Everyone stares at you in disbelief. These are the gamemakers, even the head gamemaker, and you just shot an arrow straight at them.

“Thank you for your precious time, I will ensure I don’t waste any more of it,” you say, giving a slight mock bow before throwing the bow and arrows on the ground, making a beeline to the exit.

You don’t think you’ve ever walked faster in your life. After your session, you went straight for the elevator and retreated to your apartment, shutting yourself in your room. Your team tried to ask you how it went when you got inside, but you pushed past them. So much for being damn likeable.

You feel so much regret. You shot at the gamemakers, the ones who have the power to help you live or die in the games, the ones who can earn you sponsors with a high score, and you’ve absolutely ruined it. You shot straight at them!

Well, your intention wasn’t to shoot at them, you shot at the stupid pig out of anger. To get their attention, because no else would have done it.

What will they do to you now? Arrest you? Execute you?

Though, does it really matter? Because you are being shipped off into that arena in just a few days time, where your odds are close to zero. You want to believe you can make it out of there, you can go back home to the woods, but what are the chances?

What really scares you, though, is what they could do to the people you’re close to. You wouldn’t deem yourself close to Petra, no, but since you volunteered yourself for her, people would assume you’re close, which is probably why Levi asked about it. She and her family could suffer because of your idiotic actions and impulsiveness.

You ended up locking yourself in your room until dinner, when Valerie beckoned you outside to eat and watch the scores announced on television. The gamemakers probably wound up giving you the lowest score, which will get you no sponsors, and no sponsors means you’re royally screwed in that arena.

You may as well consider yourself dead already, then.

When you sit yourself down for dinner, your team is already chit-chatting with each other and excitedly discussing their theories on who scored what. You’re surprised Hannes has been laying off the liquor, but he did make a deal with you after all. At least he’s a man of his word.

Even if you get a bad score, you hope it won’t deflect all the hard work Hange and Moblit put into your costume just to get you to stand out. It feels like you threw away all their hard work without a second thought. Well, you presume you did stand out in the scoring session, but clearly not in the right ways.

As the others talk, you meet Levi’s eyes across the table. His eyebrows raise, and he’s almost asking something upon the lines of what happened?

You just send him a small shake of your head. God, how readable must you be for him of all people to notice you like this?

Someone clears their throat, and you look up from your plate to see everyone’s eyes on you. Quickly, you panic, your eyes darting around to see what you missed.

“How did your session go, sweetheart? You’ve been awfully quiet.” Hannes asks, looking as if he’s repeated himself. Somehow, him calling you sweetheart ticks you off more than usual and you find the will to speak.

“Oh,” you say, smoothing the napkin out on your lap. “I shot an arrow at the gamemakers.”

Everyone stops eating, and Valerie’s fork drops from her grip before she practically roars. “You what?!”

“I shot an arrow at them. Well, not exactly at them. They were ignoring me and I couldn’t stand it, so I… I lost my head, and I shot an apple out of their stupid roasted pig’s mouth!” You confess.

After a beat of silence, Hange speaks up. “And what did they do?”

“Nothing… Well, I don’t know. I just walked out.” you say.

“Without being dismissed?” Moblit questions.

You pinch your lips together. “I guess I dismissed myself.”

“Well, that’s that,” Hannes shrugs, grabbing another butter roll.

The table continues to eat, and now you’re unsure of what else to say. You want to ask if the gamemakers will do anything to you, but you think you already know the answer to that. It’s too late now, and if anything, they’ll just make your life hell in the Games.

But then you think about Petra. Will they do anything to her? You want to ask, but you can’t risk anyone using that against you. You can’t risk the Capitol harming her and her family, so you silently hope your actions only have consequences that will effect you.

“What do you think they’ll do to my score?” you can’t help but ask, even though you’re sure you already have the answer yourself. There’s no way you’ll be scoring above a five.

“Scores only matter if they’re very good, otherwise, no one pays attention to the mediocre ones. If anything, it’ll help you not become a target in the arena with a high score, the careers tend to take the other high scores out quickly.” Moblit explains, and that makes you feel more at ease.

Hannes nods in agreement, going to pick up a piece of pork loin with his fingers, which Valerie frowns in disapproval at. He rips off a piece of the meat and starts to chuckle. “What were their faces like?”

You can feel the corners of your mouth twitching into a smile. “Well,” you start, thinking back to when it happened. It all happened so quickly, you can only remember it in a blur. But then, an image flashes into your mind. “They were shocked. Even terrified. One bald man tripped backward into a bowl of punch.”

Hannes cackles at that, almost spitting out his wine, and everyone starts to laugh together. Well, except Valerie, although even she is suppressing a smile. “Well, it serves them right. It’s their job to pay attention, and just because you come from District 12 is no reason to ignore you.”

Then, her eyes dart around as if she said something totally outrageous. “I apologize, but that’s just what I think.”

Wow, maybe Valerie does have some compassion for you. Crazy concept. She is sweet, but you can’t help but think she is a little idiotic. Though, isn’t everyone that comes from the Capitol?

“Well,” you change the topic. “How did your session go, Levi?”

His eyes dart up from his plate, clearly caught off guard. He swallows down his food and finally speaks. “Fine.”

That’s it?

You arch a brow. “Fine?”

Levi’s gaze flickers to the others at the table, Hannes sipping lazily from his drink, Valerie watching the two of you like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, Hange stuffing their face with dessert, and Moblit shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

He’s avoiding the question. You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table, challenging him. “What did you do?”

Levi’s fingers tighten slightly around his fork. He shifts in his seat, clearly irritated—though whether it’s at you, the question, or something else, you’re not sure.

“Nothing special,” he finally says, voice flat. “Got in, threw some knives, got out. Same thing for me, too. They weren’t really paying attention.”

You glance at Hannes, expecting some sort of reaction, but he just snorts and takes another bite of his pork loin. “And? How were you with the knives?”

“Half decent.”

You can’t help but scowl at him. Half decent? Even though he handles those knives like he’s done it his entire life? Fine then. He doesn’t like talking much about himself, anyways. Who are you to pry?

After everyone finishes up dinner, you and your team gather in the sitting room to watch the scores on live television. The soft hum of the Capitol anthem plays as everyone converses while waiting. There is a tension you can’t quite shake, even as Hannes leans back into the couch with his drink, feet kicked up as if this is just another routine event.

It isn’t. It really annoys you how Hannes seems to take everything so lightly, but you guess you can’t blame him.

But right now—this is the moment the Capitol sets the stage on who to place your bets on, and who to kill first. People wonder, who might be the most dangerous tribute? Who will be the weakest?

You take a seat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed as you stare at the screen. Levi sits a short distance away, arms resting against his knees, his gaze unreadable as always. Hange and Moblit are pressed together on the far end of the couch, their expressions more eager than anxious. Hannes sits laid back a distance away while Valerie sits beside you, practically buzzing with anticipation.

The broadcast has begun, and as the photos of the tributes appear with the scores beneath them, you feel sick to your stomach. These are the tributes you’ll face in the arena, the same people that could be the ones to kill you.

The first to broadcast of course is District 1, meaning you’ll be up last, as per usual. You recognize the two blondes from District 2—the male tribute named Reiner Bruan, scoring a total of ten, and the female, Annie Leonhart, with a score of ten as well. You see Armin in District 3 with a score of six, not terrible.

Next up was District 4—you immediately recognize the picture with the cold stare of the black-haired female tribute. Her name is Mikasa Ackerman, and she scored a total of ten. You can practically feel your stomach drop to your feet. Even though you don’t want to admit it, that girl is frightening.

Most of the other tributes score an average of five, with a select few getting a decent high score. District 12 comes up last, male first. Levi managed to score a nine, and you swear he would’ve scored higher if those damn gamemakers had been paying attention.

Not bad, though. More than not bad. For a District 12 tribute, that’s practically unheard of. You glance at Levi, expecting some reaction, but he doesn’t give one. He just stares at the screen, expression blank, like none of this matters.

But you know him well enough now. The slightest tension in his jaw tells you otherwise. You wonder what he might be thinking right now, but before you can delve into the thought—the sound of your name makes you pause.

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek as your photo comes up, expecting the worst. Then, they’re flashing a number on the screen… it’s an… eleven?

An eleven!

You stare at the screen, willing it to change, as if maybe you read it wrong. The room erupts into excited screeches, and everyone is congratulating you with a slap on the back. How? How did you manage to score that? It can’t be right.

“An eleven?!” Valerie nearly shrieks, gripping your arm like she might shake the answer out of you. “You got an eleven?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

“That must be wrong, right?” You look at Hannes, scanning his features for an answer, but all he does is laugh at you.

“Well, kid, I guess you left quite the impression.”

You scoff. All you can think about is what Moblit said at the dinner table, If anything, it’ll help you not become a target in the arena with a high score, the careers tend to take the other high scores out quickly.

You’re as good as dead now. The gamemakers knew what they were doing. If they were to give you a low score, you would have been viewed as weak and non-threatening. But now, since they’ve given you this outrageous score that not even the careers achieved, you are the number one target in the arena.

Well, this must be your punishment. And judging by the way Levi’s fingers clench against his knee, he knows it, too.

His voice is quiet. “You’re an idiot.”

“Gee, thanks.” You scowl at him. “It’s not my fault they weren’t paying attention.”

“If you would just control your impulsiveness,” he mutters, voice low, dangerously close to a warning, “you wouldn’t be the first person the careers try to slaughter.”

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms. “Not like it makes a difference. If the Capitol wants me dead, they’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Levi’s eyes narrow. “So you’re just giving up?”

You glare at him. “I never said that.”

He leans back slightly, his jaw tightening as he exhales through his nose. Then, softer, but still laced with irritation, he says, “Then start acting like it.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should have. He just watches you with that same cool, calculating expression, but there’s something behind his eyes, something unreadable. Frustration? Concern? You don’t know, and it’s infuriating. Why would he care about what happens to you? You wanted to punch him and understand him at the same damn time.

“Well!” Hange claps, standing from her place on the couch. She shuffles over to you and helps you up. “Our girl on fire,” she smiles proudly, reaching her hands out to tuck you into her embrace. “Oh, just wait until you see the interview dress.”

You pull back from her, a smile threatening your lips. “Oh, more flames?”

“Perhaps,” she says with a mischievous grin.

The next morning, you lie in bed for a while before you have to get up. Today is prep for interviews, then tomorrow you’ll be with the interviewer in front of the entirety of Panem. The next day, you’ll be sent to the arena. You don’t even know if you’ll be alive by the end of the day, but you bury the thought. As much as you’re dreading it, like enough to bring you to the brink of a panic attack, you refuse to let yourself think about it.

You can’t help but wonder how things are home. You wonder how Petra is doing—if she’s safe, if she’s eating, if she’s sleeping enough. She worries too much for others, putting their needs before her own. As much as you admire her for it, you wish she’d think about herself sometimes. She’s so selfless, it honestly drives you mad.

The first time she helped you, you barely knew her. About eight months after your sister passed away, you had been on your own. You didn’t have much given the circumstances. Then, the reaping of that year had arrived. Your wardrobe was terrible, but it’s not like you had much of a choice there.

Everyone dressed their best for the grim occasion, but you had nothing that even remotely passed as formal. The only dress you owned was threadbare, stained, and stretched too thin from being worn for too many years.

That morning, you sat outside, scrubbing at the fabric, trying in vain to make it look somewhat presentable. You knew it wouldn’t make a difference, but still, you tried. Then, amidst your focus, a hand tapped your shoulder. You turned, and there she was. Petra.

You knew her from school, but neither of you interacted with each other up until then. She was kind, always smiling, but you had never imagined that kindness would extend to you. Then, of course, you noticed she didn’t come empty handed. A dress. Neatly folded, clean, simple but beautiful in a way yours would never be.

“I brought this for you,” she said, holding it out.

She didn’t say anything about your own dress. Didn’t comment on the stains, didn’t try to pity you, didn’t make you feel small. She simply gave.

You hesitated. “Thank you, but I can’t take this.”

But she didn’t argue, nor did she give you much of a choice. Without saying anything else, she carefully set the neatly folded clothing on your lap and left you alone. From that day forward, she never stopped giving.

It didn’t matter how many times you tried to refuse, how many times you insisted that you were fine. She would still leave food on your doorstep, press an extra piece of bread into your hand at lunch, and sit next to you when you were alone. She was happy to share what she had and give her company, even with nothing in return.

And now? Now, you’re here. You wonder if Petra ever regrets that kindness. If she blames herself for the fact that you took her place.

You hope she doesn’t, because you don’t.

A jarring knock at your door startles you, and in comes Valerie, chirping at you to get up and ready for another big day. You take a shower, a luxury you didn’t even have back home. After you get dressed you head for the dining room, joining your team. Levi is nowhere to be found.

“So, what’s going on today?” you finally ask, breaking the lull of conversation as you take a sip of your orange juice.

That catches Hannes' attention as he chews on some bacon, his mouth full as he speaks. “You and Levi have interview prep with me and Valerie.”

“Well, why aren’t we starting? You don’t need to wait until I’m done with my food, I can eat and listen.” You propose, eyeing your mentor as you reach to cut up some sausage on your plate.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Hannes shrugs, reaching for his drink. “Levi asked to be coached separately.”

You go still. Your fork hovers inches above your plate, your appetite evaporating in an instant.

Betrayal.

That is the first thing you feel, which is appalling. For betrayal to be felt, there had to be trust first. You knew better. Trust is not meant to last, especially in the Games. But the boy who spared you bread, the one who taught you how to throw knives, the one who noticed your hunting skills… it was hard to not feel some sort of trust toward him.

How foolish of you.

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart.” Hannes waves you off, taking another swig of his drink.

“Right,” you murmur, fighting back a scoff.

Levi doesn’t owe you anything, nor do you owe him. But it sure as hell feels like he just took a knife to your back.

“Today you’ll start with Valerie for presentation and those kinds of things, then me for content.” Hannes explains.

You can’t imagine what she might teach you, but you already know you won’t enjoy it. She’s not the brightest, and those are the kinds of people you can barely tolerate. At least she’s somewhat tolerable. You figure she’d scold you about your manners, tell you to hold your back straight, to be more ladylike, and to stop glaring.

And that’s exactly what happens.

After dragging you into a separate room, she shoves you into a long gown and forces you into heels so high you’re convinced they were invented as a method of torture. For the past four hours, you’ve endured a relentless onslaught of corrections, criticisms, and backhanded compliments.

“Hold your chin up! You don’t want to look like a petrified rabbit!” Valerie scolds, pulling out her ornate fan and lifting it beneath your chin to physically force your head up.

“I’m trying here, but it feels like my feet are on fire!” you snap through gritted teeth.

“Oh dear, get used to it.” Valerie shakes her head, clearly unimpressed. “And that face! No one wants to see a scowl on that pretty face of yours!”

You roll your eyes, your scowl deepening out of pure spite. “Really hard to not do when I’ll be looking at a bunch of people that will be betting on whether I live or die.”

“Try and pretend, young lady!” Valerie snaps, dramatically releasing her fan from your chin, only to smack you lightly on the head with it.

You blink. Did she just—?

“See?” she says, as if nothing just happened. “I’m smiling at you even though you are currently on my last nerve.”

You rub your head. “Yeah, well, you just smacked me.”

“Nevermind that!”

With an exaggerated sigh, you finally reach your breaking point. The heels have to go. You kick them off, relishing in the immediate relief as the cramps in your feet subside. You collapse onto a nearby chair, throwing your head back in exhaustion.

“I don’t think I can take much more of this.”

Obviously, performing is not your strong suit. You don’t think the talking part is, either. Hange did wonders with making you look the part, but so far, everything else? A disaster. Your wardrobe seems to be the only good thing about you.

Valerie exhales, folding her fan as she gives you a once over. “Well, that’s the best I can do.”

You arch a brow. “Wow. Such confidence.”

She huffs. “Just remember, you want the audience to like you.”

“Great,” you mutter. “Because apparently, I’m extremely likeable.”

Valerie pauses. And then, unexpectedly, she shrugs. “I hate to admit it, but I think you are.”

That catches you off guard. She flicks her gaze to the side, as if she doesn’t want to acknowledge it too much. “At least once I got to know you.”

You stare at her for a second. That’s… probably the nicest thing she’s said to you. Still, you smirk. “Huh. You must be losing your mind.”

Valerie rolls her eyes. “Don’t push it. You’re definitely a firecracker, but I think you can use that to your advantage. At least try, will you?”

“I’ll try.” you nod. It’s not a promise, but it’s the best she’s going to get.

Next up is Hannes. When you went to switch off with Levi, they both seemed to be in a decent mood, so maybe the content session might go well, but that idea changed as soon as you and your mentor were one on one. He escorted you to the sitting room, and then just frowned at you for a while.

You stare at him for some time, waiting, but the frown remains. Finally, you ask. “What?”

“I can’t figure out what to do with you.” He says, clasping his hands together in thought.

Your brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“How we’re going to present you.” He exhales, rubbing his chin. “Can you be sweet? Friendly? Charismatic? Because so far, you’re lacking in every department.”

You scoff, slumping into the couch. “Wow, tell me something I don’t know.”

“But,” he continues, undeterred, “you have a great story. Hange made you look unforgettable, you volunteered for that young girl, being the first volunteer in your district’s history. You’ve also got the top training score. People are intrigued, but have no idea who you are. The impression you make tomorrow will decide the fate of your luck with sponsors.” Your mentor explains.

He’s right. The more likeable you are, the more of an advantage you’ll have in the arena. People will be rooting for you, wanting you to win, and so the gamemakers have to try and keep the people happy by keeping you alive.

You understand your team is just trying to help you, but the idea of performing for the Capitol makes you sick to your stomach. It feels physically impossible.

“Well, what’s Levi’s approach? Or am I not allowed to ask you?” you question.

“Like I said, the both of you have about as much charm as a dead slug.” He sighs, leaning back on the couch.

You scowl at that.

“I couldn’t really get through to him, but we both settled on something that I think will work.” He admits, scratching his stubble. “You, though? When you open your mouth, you always manage to come across as hostile.”

You blink. “Are you serious?”

If even Valerie thinks you can be likable, then this guy must be delusional.

Hannes shrugs, completely unbothered. “Look, I’m trying to be real here, dear. Just pretend I’m the one asking you questions.” He shifts, posing as an interviewer.

For a few agonizing hours, you two go back and forth, and you really do try to answer the questions in a likeable fashion, but you just can’t. You can’t be another piece in their games, performing for people you hate just for their own entertainment. The whole thing is sick. It makes you angry. The longer the makeshift interview goes on, the more hostile you grow.

“Alright, enough.” Hannes says, rubbing his temples. “Let’s try a different approach.”

“Like what?”

“They don’t know anything about you, so when I try to ask you personal questions, get personal.” He says.

You shake your head. “No.”

“No?” Hannes questions you.

“They don’t need to know anything personal. They’ve taken enough away from me. No one needs any more than that.” You shake your head, shutting down the idea completely.

“Then just try and make something up, huh?”

“I can’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

“Well, sweetheart, you better learn fast,” your mentor shrugs, reaching for his glass and taking a quick swig of wine. “Or, here’s an idea… try being yourself.”

Your hands curl into fists. Now he’s really pissing you off. “I am!”

“Whatever you say, girl. I give up.” He says, lazily standing from his seat on the couch and swiping his glass of wine. “The best advice I can give to you is to answer honestly, but don’t scare them away. Got it?”

You sink in defeat. “Fine.”

By the end of your session, you find yourself as no one at all. You tried. Tried to be someone else. Tried to be confident but humble, charming but real, likable but not a puppet. But none of it felt right. None of it felt like you.

You exhale sharply, forcing down the unease curling in your stomach. Maybe Valerie is right. Maybe, if they got to know you, they’d like you. Not that they’d ever get the pleasure.

The grand office of President Rod Reiss is silent except for the soft clink of ice swirling in a crystal glass. He holds it loosely in one hand, his thumb tracing the rim as he stares at the screen before him, expression dark and unreadable. The broadcast replays the final training scores, the numbers flashing in stark gold against a velvet black backdrop.

District 12—Female Tribute. Score of eleven.

He exhales sharply before turning his attention to the man standing near the door. “Pixis, fetch Zeke for me.”

Pixis, the gamemaker second in command, ever composed, dips his head and steps out, returning moments later with Zeke Yeager—the head gamemaker. Zeke strolls in, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, a smirk already tugging at his lips.

“Yes?” he says innocently.

“An eleven?” The president questions, swirling the drink in his hand. “You gave her an eleven. Need I remind you two, we do not give out elevens.”

Zeke raises his hands in mock surrender, quick to defend himself. “It was Pixis’ idea, sir, not mine.”

Reiss’s gaze flicks to Pixis, who simply shrugs, unfazed. “I believe she earned it.”

“She shot an arrow at your head.”

“Well,” Pixis corrects smoothly, “at an apple, sir.”

“Near your head.”

Pixis nods his head, unapologetic. Reiss lets out a slow breath, gesturing toward the two velvet chairs before his desk. “Sit.”

The president clasps his hands together as they gamemakers obey, resting his elbows on the polished desk. “That was a clear act of defiance. And you know what is dangerous?” He raises his eyebrows. “Hope. Contain it.”

Zeke gives a small nod. “We will, sir.”

“Well, you want a target on her back, yes?” Pixis questions.

“I do, indeed. I want her dead.” Reiss nods. “Hope can lead to rebellion. We need to show everyone what happens when someone dares to defy the Capitol.”

“Yes.” Pixis nods in agreement. “Putting such a high score on her will only make her a big target in the arena. The tributes will see her as a threat, so they’ll want her dead first.”

Reiss finally leans back in his chair, satisfied. “Very well. Make it happen.”

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a/n: hi guys thank you for reading! sorry for the shorter chapter and minimal levi this chapter, just working on some build up here! i promise after this pretty much every chapter will have a lot of him up until the end! also the games will start after the next chapter, yay! i hope you enjoyed <3

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