#so that you can fight with TWO tridents | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wonderlandwalker · 2 months ago

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The promises we cling to | Finnick Odair x reader

thg masterlist / inbox / part two

summary: this is basically just me starting with the "people are watching / then lets give them something to look at" prompt and maybe getting a little lost in the process

word count: 3.6k

tags / content warnings: angst, fluff, violence, blood, injury that whole shebang, I actually proofread this one but that doesn't mean I spotted everything sorry in advance

a/n: apparently the only time I'm capable of writing is when im less than a day away from my constitutional law final and delusional because i've been awake for 38 hours so hopefully this will give me enough dopamine to actually get a passing grade

Finnick knows how this works; he’s known it since he was fourteen years old and first stepped foot in an arena. Since the moment he lost sight of you, since the bloodbath separated you, Snow’s words haunt him with every cannon he hears: "She is just another thing I can take from you."

And yet—

He still dares to believe you’re alive.

Not because the Capitol hasn’t tried. Not because the odds are kind. But because you promised. You swore you’d fight. And Finnick clings to that vow like a prayer, even as the arena’s cannons rattle his bones. Last night, he’d counted the fallen—your name absent from the sky’s grim ledger. But three more cannons have split the air since dawn, and now—

Now he’s not sure what to believe. The rational part of him—the part carved into survival by years of Capitol cruelty—knows the truth: They’re playing with him. But the other part, the raw and bleeding thing behind his ribs, doesn’t care. The rebels’ plan echoe in his head, "Stay put. Wait for extraction." But he’s itching to move, to act, to do something besides sit here and wait. Every muscle in his body is filled with restless energy, his fingers tapping a precise rhythm against his trident. The inaction is worse than any challenge the arena could give him. He wants to run back into the jungle, to tear through the branches until he finds you, but he knows you. That's the cruellest part.

He knows how you think, the way you map escape routes before you even enter a room, the way you always have a back-up plan for your back-up plan. And right now, this beach is your plan. It’s the rendezvous point you had all agreed on before the Games even began, a secret strategy the rebels had managed to lay out. If he leaves, he risks missing you. If he stays, he risks leaving you to die alone. The dilemma claws at his ribs, and around him he can hear the others strategise, but their words blur into static. All he can hear is the phantom echoe of your voice in his head as you tell him it will be okay. Johanna catches his eye from across the beach, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Stop pacing. You’re making me twitchy.” He forces himself to let out a deep breath, focusing on the movement of the water in front of him. He needs to put himself back together; he needs to stay here.

But then—your scream. It tears through the jungle, a sound so visceral his body moves before his mind catches up. He’s already sprinting, the grip on his trident tight as his instincts kick in.

"Finnick, stop—!" Johanna’s voice is lost to him over the rushing of blood in his ears. The trees blur as he runs; he doesn't think about the careers that could be close by, the traps that he could trigger or the fact that he’s doing the exact opposite of what he’s supposed to. The flicker of movement to his right catches his attention, and he’s about to change directions when the jabberjays descend. They’re a swarm of wings and needle-sharp cries as they surround him, their voices stitching together into an illusion of you: your gasps, your sobs, the way you’d whispered his name before being forced apart. He stops moving and staggers to his knees. It’s not real. He knows it’s not real. Knows that Snow’s fingerprints are all over this new form of torture. But logic means nothing when his hands are shaking, when his lungs refuse to work, when every instinct screams to run, find, save—

Johanna grabs his shoulder, her nails biting through his skin. "Breathe, Odair."

The jabberjays' cries fade into the jungle's chorus, leaving Finnick hollowed out and raw. Johanna's grip on his shoulder remains, her fingers digging into muscle like she's the only thing keeping him from splintering apart.

"Get up," she hisses, voice low and urgent. "We need to move before those things lure anyone else here." Finnick's hands still tremble as he pushes himself to his feet. The phantom echoes of your voice cling to him, sticky as blood. He wants to argue, to plunge back into the green hell after you, but Johanna's right—the sound of the jabberjays could be a beacon for every tribute left in the arena.

The walk back to the beach is a blur of snapping branches and Johanna's muttered curses. When they break through the treeline, Beetee's head jerks up from the makeshift radio he's been tinkering with, his glasses flashing in the sunlight. "Did you find—?"

"No," Johanna cuts him off, shoving Finnick toward the water. "Go clean up before I toss you in the water myself.” Finnick's gaze drifts to the treeline, his fingers twitching at his sides. You promised you'd fight. He just needs to believe you're still fighting.

You wake to the taste of copper and dirt. The world swims into focus slowly—first the ache in your ribs, then the sticky warmth of blood matting your hair to your scalp. Somewhere in the chaos of the bloodbath, a blow to the head had sent you sprawling into the undergrowth, separating you from the others. The jungle hums around you, deceptive in its tranquillity. Every rustle of leaves could be a mutation, every snapped twig a Career hunting for stragglers. The beach is your only chance—you know Finnick will be waiting there, even if it kills him. You press your back against a tree, lungs burning, and your ribs scream where a Career’s boot found its mark yesterday, but you know you need to keep moving; too much time has passed already. You know the way his voice cracks when he’s trying not to beg, the way his hands shake after nightmares, you know he’s counting cannons, just like you are—each one a fresh wound. So you bite down on the pain and move.

The arena doesn’t kill you quietly; it creeps in through the cracks—the stench of rotting foliage, the too-sweet tang of tracker jacker venom lingering in the air, the way your own sweat stings the cuts on your palms. So you move in bursts, pausing to listen between steps. The arena's traps are everywhere.

When the jabberjays come, their shrieks weaving together your name in Finnick's voice, you almost believe it's real. Your chest cracks open with want, but you bite your tongue until you taste blood. The jabberjays' voices fade, but their poison lingers in your bones. You press a trembling hand against the rough bark of a tree, counting breaths until the phantom sound of Finnick's screams stops echoing in your skull. Every rustle of leaves sends your pulse skittering. The wound on your ribs throbs in time with your footsteps, a fresh bloom of pain with each misstep. You try to focus on the memory of Finnick's hands steadying you after nightmares – his thumbs brushing your wrists in slow circles. Breathe. Just breathe.

The first hint of salt air cuts through the jungle's rot. Your knees nearly buckle at the scent – it smells like Finnick's skin after swimming, like promises whispered against damp hair. The ground begins to slope downward. Somewhere beyond the trees, waves crash in a rhythm you'd know blind. You're close now. So close. A twig snaps; you freeze, muscles coiled.

Then—a sound. Not a cannon. Not a mutation. A rhythmic tap, too precise to be accidental. You know that sound, like you know the hitch in Finnick’s breath when he wakes from nightmares. Like you know the way his fingers drum against your hip when he’s impatient, when he’s afraid, when he’s trying to pretend he isn’t either. The beach is close. You know that rhythm, the way his hands move when his mind is racing, when the nerves he’d never admit to are fraying his control. And just like that, you’re running; you’re reckless. You can smell the sand now; you can almost hear their hushed voices. But the arena has one last cruelty in store.

You feel it before you see it, that split-second prickle at the back of your neck, the sudden hush of the jungle like the arena itself is holding its breath, and you know the fatal mistake you’ve just made. Memories crash over you like a riptide. The bouncing of his knee under the kitchen table on the morning of the reaping, the way he’d flinched when your fingers brushed his wrist, then clung to you like you were the only anchor in a storm. You remember the Tuesday he’d shattered a teacup at 3 a.m., his breathing coming out in jagged bursts. You hadn't asked him why; it didn't matter why. You had just slid down beside him, pressing your forehead to his temple until his lungs remembered how to work.

And that damned peach pie, the memory of flour dusting his lashes as he’d laughed at your frantic perfectionism, only to turn pale as a ghost when you’d yelped at the oven’s burn. His hands, so careful, always so careful, cradling your blistered palms while his voice stayed as steady as the tide. “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s just pie.” It had been his mother’s recipe, the first thing he trusted you with that hurt to share, and you were more upset over messing it up than the burn on your hands. And that night on the beach, salt air clinging to his lips as he whispered “Promise me” with a desperation that carved itself into your bones. The version of Finnick the Capitol moulded was gone; there was only the raw, trembling truth of him.

It had reminded you of the first time you met. The way Finnick’s laugh had faltered when your eyes locked across the room years ago—like he’d been sucker-punched by his own heartbeat. The Capitol’s golden boy unravelled in an instant. The sun was starting to rise over the water, the soft light showcasing the tension in his shoulders.

You’ve seen Finnick Odair wear a hundred masks, but this—this restless hesitation, his fingers worrying the edge of his sleeve—is new. You open your mouth to ask him, but he speaks first. “I know you like to tease me about the clichés I tell you.” His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming into the tide. “But I need you to know I mean every fucking word.” When he turns, the look on his face steals your breath. This isn’t the polished charmer from your early days or even the fractured man who once sobbed into your collarbone after a Capitol party. This is something rawer. Something terrified.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck on instinct, threading through sweat-damp curls. He shudders, leaning into your touch like a dying man offered water. “I know,” you whisper. “No.” His hand clamps over yours, pressing your palm flat to his pulse. It’s racing. “When I say I’d die for you, I mean it. Let me mean it.” The words are a blade between your ribs. “Finn—”

“We’ve both known what will happen at the reaping, even if we pretend we don’t.” His thumb traces your knuckles—so gentle, so at odds with the fire in his eyes. “You’d walk into that arena alone just to spare a stranger. That stubbornness is why I—" He chokes. “But you have to let me be selfish too.” A tear slips down your cheek, but he catches it before it can fall from your face. “Promise me.” His voice cracks.“Promise you’ll survive, even if I don’t.”

You want to argue. To shake him until his teeth rattle. But the plea in his gaze is a mirror of your own soul. “I promise.” His exhale is a seismic thing, like he’s been drowning for years. You seize his wrist before he can pull away. “Promise me too. That you’ll fight, no matter what.” There’s a flicker of agony in his eyes, but just like you had known, he knows you need to hear him say it. “I promise I’ll try.” There are so many unspoken words as he looks at you. So many more clichés you know he wants to give to you, so many reassurances you wish you could give him, but the one promise you have always shared is louder than ever: you won’t let them have the satisfaction of knowing they can break you.

So maybe this is how it was always meant to be. The thought comes to you with eerie clarity as Brutus enters your line of vision and his fingers crush your windpipe. You’ve kept your promises, you’ve fought like hell, and now—now you’ve made it back to him, even if only for a final heartbeat. Your vision tunnels, and every gasp is like a knife being dragged through your lungs, but you don’t stop moving. Your fingers reach for the blade embedded in your palm — the one you’d taken from another tribute hours ago, the one still slick with your own blood. Brutus snarls as you drive it into his wrist, and for one glorious second, his grip loosens. You suck in a fractured breath, but then his other hand slams you against a tree. “Is that all you’ve got?” His breath is rancid, and stars burst behind your eyes, the world around you fracturing into fragments as he lifts you off the ground, once again stealing your breath from you.

You think of Finnick, the real him, the one who kissed you like he was starving as he trailed a path all over your body, who whispered against your thighs like he was reciting a prayer. Just as you’re about to give in to the memories, throught the static in your ears, you hear it, and Brutus’ head snaps toward the sound.

"Get your fucking hands off her."

The voice is raw with fury, edged with something worse—terror. Brutus actually flinches. It’s a voice you’d recognise anywhere; you’d know it underwater. In a hurricane. At the end of the world. Finnick.

You hit the ground hard, your lungs screaming as they try to reclaim the air you’ve been gifted once more, but all you can process is him. The unmistakably feral look twisting on his face as he slams into Brutus like a tidal wave, the sickening crunch of his fist meeting jawbone—once, twice—each blow precise and vicious, the way his trident lies abandoned behind him; he didn’t even bother using it. This isn’t combat; this is butchery. Your vision swims as you stagger upright, only to collapse again. Every gasp feels like swallowing broken glass, but you have to get to him—

Crack.

The sound isn’t just heard. You feel it in your bones. Brutus’ head snaps sideways, his knees buckling as Finnick drives an elbow into his temple. There’s no finesse, just a boy who’s spent too many years sharpening himself into a weapon, finally cutting loose.

A wet cough wrenches from your throat, and Finnick’s head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t break. For one fractured second, his rage falters. You’ll remember that look forever. How his eyes went wild, how his breath hitched—like he’d just watched you die. The sound of your wheezing seems to snap him out of his trance. Though he’s covered from head to toe in blood spatter—none of it his—he has never looked more fragile to you. He rushes to your side, dropping to his knees as one hand cradles your face while the other takes yours, pressing your palm against his ribcage to help you steady your racing breaths. His thumb strokes your cheek in slow, uneven sweeps—a nervous habit. The blood smearing your skin is thick, still warm, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when Finnick is looking at you like this, like you’re dawn breaking over the ocean after the longest night of his life.

Despite the ache in your arms, you lift your free hand and catch his—the one that had been tracing restless patterns against your skin—and press his palm to your chest. You know the steadying rhythm of your heartbeat is one of the few things that can anchor him now. A spark flickers to life in his eyes as they roam your face, as if he’s memorising the proof that you’re here, alive.

“I’ve missed you.” The words are too small for the weight in your chest, but they’re the only truth you can grasp. His chuckle is rough, warmth bleeding into the sound, and it reignites the dull ache in your heart—then fans it into a wildfire when he murmurs, “I missed you more.” You can feel the want boiling inside him—the way his adrenaline sings for him to crush you against his ribs, to kiss you like he’s pouring every unsaid vow into your lungs. But he hesitates, fingers twitching against your collarbone. Still afraid, still fragile.

“I’m okay, Finn. I promise.” A smile ghosts his lips, but his next words are barely audible. “Everybody’s watching.” He doesn’t need to say anything else. You remember the first oath you ever swore to each other: Don’t let them in. Don’t let them twist this. Your relationship was never just yours—it was a stage play for all of Panem, a performance where even you sometimes forgot where the script ended and the truth began.

Yet here he is, clinging to another promise—the one where he swore to shield you, even from himself. You see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands hover like he’s afraid touch might shatter the illusion of control. He’s trying so damn hard to be what you need: steady, selfless, safe. But the irony is delicious. His restraint is the proof you crave. It screams what the cameras will never understand—that this, right here, is the most real thing either of you has ever had. So you tilt your chin up, your voice a challenge and a dare as you scan his face: “Then let’s give them something to look at.”

Your words are another whisper, so quiet you fear they might dissolve before they reach him—but then his head snaps up, his gaze scouring your face like a man reading a map in the dark. And then he breaks. He lunges forward, lips crashing into yours with a desperation that steals your breath. It’s overwhelming, it's perfect, the familiarity of his mouth against yours is everything you had been craving since you last saw him. You kiss him back like it’s the only language left to you, pouring every unsaid ‘I love you’ into the press of your lips. His touch is featherlight yet feverish, hands tracing your arms, your spine, as if trying to memorise you through his fingertips. And in this fragile bubble of shared breath and tangled limbs, you find it—the truth you’ve been starving for.

Finnick kisses like it’s his salvation. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, insatiable, while his arm bands around your waist, hauling you flush against him until not even air separates you. You feel the frantic thudding of his heartbeat where your chest meets his, a wild counterpoint to your own. When he groans into your mouth, it’s a sound you want to bottle. It’s not enough. Even now, with his skin against yours and his pulse thundering under your palms, you’re already aching for more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he makes the world vanish.

A very deliberate cough shatters the daydream you’d been lost in, and the two of you spring apart like kids caught making out behind the gym. “You two never fail to disgust me.” Johanna’s voice is flat, devoid of even her trademark sarcasm, and the heat that floods your cheeks is embarrassingly familiar. “If you’re done trying to swallow each other’s faces, we’ve got shit to do.”

Finnick snaps back to reality first, hauling himself upright before pulling you up with him. His hands linger, like he needs the contact to convince himself you’re really here. Johanna rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t stick, already stalking back toward the clearing—but not before you catch her gaze flickering over you, her lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile. Of course she cares, she's the one who introduced the two of you to begin with.

“I think she might actually be glad I’m not dead.” You murmur, and his laughter is warm against your ear. The sound settles something in your chest, a reminder: You’re here. You’re together. Maybe, against all odds, things will be okay.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he jokes back. “She’s just relieved she won’t have to suffer through my moping anymore.” The lightness in his grin tells you everything—he’s found his footing again. And so have you. But as Finnick’s thumb brushes your wrist, you both hear it: another cannon in the distance. The Games aren’t over yet.

[prequel: The masks we wear]

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humaling · 2 days ago

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Like Real People Do (Honey, Just Put Your Sweet Lips On My Lips).

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: how does the quarter quell affect between two people who love each other but can’t seem to align on how or when to admit it?

warnings: allusions to prostitutions, miscommunication, jealous! finnick, the usual hunger games

word count: 5.2k

“It’s fake.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Finnick,” you mutter, sharp and quiet, turning to face him with a glare that could cut glass. “Trust me. I’ve been there. It’s real.”

The elevator dings before he can answer. The metal doors slide open with a hiss, and you step out first, desperate to put some space between you and his arrogance. The penthouse greets you with its usual blend of Capitol opulence and poorly disguised District Four touches—seashell sconces, netted drapery, coral accents meant to mimic home. Instead, it feels like a trap. A stage dressed like a prison.

You stride through the entryway, ignoring Finnick’s footsteps behind you, and head straight to the kitchen. A pitcher of cold water and an empty glass wait for you, exactly as you requested before training. On the nearby dining table, a spread of Capitol snacks glistens under too-bright lights, untouched and uninviting.

You pour yourself a glass and drink, letting the cold water soothe your raw throat. Training was brutal. Finnick had pulled you into the sparring room the second the schedule cleared, giving you no room to argue. Not because he enjoyed watching you struggle, but because he was scared. Scared that if the Careers came for you—and they would—you wouldn’t be able to hold your own. Not after years of political posturing and Capitol parties, not after falling out of the rhythm of survival.

So he pushed you. Hard. Not to prove anything, but to make sure you'd survive if he couldn’t protect you.

He didn’t hit to hurt, but every blow carried urgency, every move a silent message: You have to be ready. And even when you matched his pace, even when you felt your body remembering the fight, it wasn’t enough to erase the way he barked corrections or watched you with that infuriating storm of concern and calculation in his eyes.

That was the Finnick that mentored you a few years ago. Sharp edges and hidden soft spots. Acting like it was all routine, all strategy, when underneath it was fear—real fear—for you.

But he didn’t just train you physically. Everytime he opened his mouth made you want to shove a trident down his throat. The pestering, the hovering, the way he bristled whenever Peeta or Blight—or any male—got too close, was suffocating. He was always talking. Always picking. Always pushing. It was getting on your nerves.

Like just now—his smug dismissal of Katniss and Peeta’s relationship as a performance for the cameras. Like he’s an expert on love, like he hasn’t spent the last two years pretending to be in love with you for the Capitol’s benefit. Like he doesn’t know what that kind of pretending can do to someone who’s actually feeling everything they’re faking.

Because you’ve seen Katniss. You’ve studied her, even before this whole plan was handed to you. You’ve watched her in interviews, in Victory Tour footage, in parties where she clung to Peeta like he was the last solid thing in a world built on shifting sand. You’ve seen how her hands shake when he’s gone too long, how her eyes soften when she looks at him and thinks no one’s watching.

You can recognize it anytime. ‘Cause you’re living through it. You’ve been there, done that.

You’ve been playing as Finnick’s doting lover for the Capitol cameras for the last two years. Smiling on his arm, laughing at his jokes, brushing your fingers over his in interviews like it’s nothing. Like it’s all for show. But it never was. Not for you.

Every touch, every glance, every moment has been real.

And the worst part? He’ll never know. Because as far as he’s concerned, it’s all just another strategy. Just another game. Another way to survive the Capitol’s grip.

But you know better. And that’s why you know Katniss isn’t faking it. Even if she, herself, doesn’t know that yet.

“How would you know what’s real?”

You roll your eyes. Here we go again, you think as you turn around to face him, Finnick is there—leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked onto you like he’s trying to read something buried just beneath your skin.

The low light casts a golden hue over his sun-warmed skin, softening the sharp lines of his face, but not the tension in it. His sea-glass eyes are hard, unreadable, swirling with frustration. The corners of his mouth are pulled downward, tight with whatever emotion he’s trying—and failing—to bite back.

You don’t blame him. Not really.

The only time you and Finnick actually interact is when the cameras are rolling. And even then, it’s all for show. Every touch, every whispered promise, every kiss—it’s part of the script. A performance crafted to sell the Capitol a fantasy they can root for. A love story polished to gleaming perfection.

None of it’s real.

At least, not to him.

The two of you haven’t had a proper conversation since the day you volunteered for Annie. Since your name replaced hers and the entire room seemed to stop breathing. You’ve either been biting each other’s heads off or pretending the other doesn’t exist ever since. Finnick’s furious about your recklessness. And you? You’re tired of being treated like you’ll crack under pressure. Like you’re some fragile porcelain doll that needs bubble wrap and constant babysitting.

It’s exhausting—acting indifferent toward the man you've loved for over two years. But you’ve had to. You needed to prove that you're not the naive girl he mentored nearly a decade ago. You’ve grown up. Hardened. Survived. Just like he did.

You made it out of your Games because you were clever, charming, and disarming. You knew how to make the Capitol fall in love with you—and they did. Enough to send gifts when it mattered. Enough to bet on your survival.

But all favors come with a price.

You still remember the weight of President Snow’s office, the way the air thinned when he leaned in close to whisper your choices: do what he says, or watch everyone you love die. The answer was obvious. And Finnick was there. Always was. Always would be.

Then one night, he showed up at your door with red-rimmed eyes and a scratchy voice, pitching the idea like it would save you both. Two beloved victors. Capitol darlings. A romance spun straight from fantasy. They’d eat it up. And they did.

At first, pretending to date Finnick made the Capitol easier to endure. Easier to stomach. But acting with him? That’s never been easy. Not for you.

It’s hard to play pretend when every smile you give him is real. Every touch. Every stolen glance. Somewhere along the line, the boundaries blurred—and you’ve been bleeding at the edges ever since.

Sometimes you wish you’d never said yes. That you’d just taken the offer and walked away. But sometimes—more than you want to admit—you’re glad. Because as long as you’re pretending to belong to him, at least you don’t have to watch him belong to someone else.

"Because I pay attention," you snap, voice trembling just beneath the surface. You turn to face him fully, shoulders tight with restraint. "Because I’ve seen the way she looks at him when she thinks no one’s watching. And I know what that looks like."

Finnick doesn’t flinch, but something shifts behind his eyes. It’s subtle—a flicker, like a crack in glass right before it shatters. Whatever he's feeling, he hides it too well, and that only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” His voice is careful, measured. He sounds like someone inching toward the edge of a cliff, trying not to slip but knowing he’s already too close to the fall.

You let out a breathless, bitter laugh and place your empty glass on the counter with a sharp clink. “It means I’ve lived it,” you say, voice low and shaking with everything you’ve been holding back. “Two years of pretending. Smiling when all I wanted to do was scream. Playing the Capitol’s perfect little love story while my heart felt like it was splintering apart every time I looked at you and realized you weren’t really looking back.”

Finnick pushes off the wall, his arms dropping to his sides, fists unconsciously clenched. “That’s not fair.”

Your eyes flash, and the words pour out before you can stop them. “No, what’s not fair is you standing there, judging everyone else for playing pretend when you’re the best damn actor of all of us. Not everyone’s faking it, Finnick. Some of us just didn’t know how to say it out loud without it breaking us.”

The air in the room turns thick, suffocating. The Capitol penthouse around you seems to shrink, closing in with gold-plated walls and fake coral accents that only make the whole place feel more artificial. The silence between you is loud, louder than any screaming match, and it rattles something loose between your ribs.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Don’t look at me like you mean it… unless you actually do.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for your pulse to race—and then Finnick laughs. But it’s nothing like the laughs you've shared on camera. It’s hollow, bitter, and filled with something darker.

“You think I’m the one pretending?”

The words hit like a slap, but you refuse to let them show. You keep your chin high even as your heart stumbles in your chest.

“I begged you not to volunteer,” he says, stepping closer, his voice lowering to something sharper, more dangerous. “I begged you not to throw yourself back into that hellhole, and you looked me in the eye and did it anyway. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.”

Your jaw clenches so tightly it aches. “Don’t you dare twist this around on me—”

“Don’t I dare?” he bites back, his voice rising. “You’ve been avoiding me since we got here. Off camera, you’re colder than ice, barely speaking to me unless it’s to criticize or ignore me completely. But with everyone else?” His voice breaks into something laced with jealousy. “You’re warm, laughing, alive. You smile at Peeta like he’s an old friend. You let Haymitch make those idiotic jokes and pretend they’re even half funny. Blight—don’t get me started on Blight. One bad pun and you’re clinging to his arm like he’s your partner, not me.”

“I am not clinging to Blight’s arm for your information!” You defended yourself, clearly in disbelief at what he accused you of.

You throw your hands in the air, your breath catching with frustration. “It’s called surviving, Finnick! It’s called doing what we came here to do. Making sure the people involved in this plan don’t fall apart before it even starts. I’m trying to hold this together. I’m trying to help.”

“And what?” he shoots back. “That doesn’t include me anymore? I’m not part of what you’re trying to save?”

The words slam into you harder than you expect, and your mouth opens—but nothing comes out. Your body stills, like your thoughts can’t catch up fast enough. You see the moment Finnick notices your hesitation. His face falls, not completely, but enough to make your throat tighten.

“Right,” he mutters, taking a step back like the space between you is suddenly unbearable. “Guess I don’t matter. Not to you. Not anymore.”

“That’s not true,” you whisper, because it isn’t. Not even close.

But Finnick just looks at you, eyes glassy with something sharp and silent, something he won’t name. “No,” he says, softer now, and somehow that’s worse. “What’s not true is the way you walk around like none of this is killing you. Like you weren’t the one who used to look at me like I was your whole world. Now you look right through me like I’m just… some Capitol stunt.”

You blink rapidly, as if that might clear the ache building in your chest, but it doesn’t help. Nothing would.

“You want to talk about pretending?” he says, voice nearly breaking now, hushed but no less brutal. “I was pretending to protect you. That’s all I ever wanted. But you… you’ve been pretending not to care.”

The words crash into you like a wave, salt in a wound that’s never quite closed. You stagger beneath the weight of them—not outwardly, no. You stay standing. Still. Silent. But inside? You’re unraveling. You try to form a response, to reach for something, anything that could cut through the wreckage between you, but all you find is air.

Finnick holds your gaze a second longer, like he’s waiting for you to fight for this. For him. For you. But your throat locks around the words that could make it right, and all that comes is breath—shaky, shallow, useless.

So, he walks away.

You stand there, eyes burning, nails digging into your palms like maybe pain will ground you. Like maybe if you hurt a little more on the outside, it’ll match the chaos bleeding through your ribs.

You watch him disappear down the hall, his broad shoulders rigid, his steps quick—like he’s trying not to change his mind. Like walking away is the only way he won’t break. He doesn’t look back. Not once. And that—that—is what does it.

Because he always used to.

He always used to turn, even when he said he wouldn’t. He always gave you that last glance. The one that said I’ll come back. The one that made all of this feel survivable.

But this time, he doesn’t.

And it hits you all at once—how close you came to telling him the truth. How badly you wanted to say his name. To take a step forward. To let your guard down and finally just feel everything you’ve been burying under sharp glances and cold silence.

But you didn’t.

So you stay rooted in place, heart hammering, mouth dry, soul screaming every word you couldn’t manage to say aloud.

I did it for Annie, but I stayed for you.

I smile for the Capitol, but I bleed for you.

I never stopped looking at you like you were everything.

But it’s too late. The hallway is empty now, and the only thing left is the echo of your silence and the ache you’ll carry back to your room, wearing it like armor you never wanted to put on in the first place.

The ride back to the Tribute Center feels like suffocation in motion. The Capitol car hums too quietly beneath you, the soft glow of the ceiling lights reflecting off sleek black windows like a mirrored coffin. You’re boxed in—pressed between Finnick’s sharp-edged silence and the buzz of impending fallout.

It started fine. Mags met you with a tight embrace when you stepped off the elevator from the assessment room, her small arms wrapped around you in that way that made you feel ten years old again. Safe. Forgiven. Finnick didn’t say anything—just offered you a short, clipped nod and turned for the car with a clenched jaw and storm clouds in his eyes.

Now, with the car doors sealed and Mags seated on your other side, the tension thickens like fog. You barely have a moment to breathe before Vevina—the Capitol-appointed escort with wine-red curls and nails to match—erupts beside the driver.

“I cannot believe you!” Her voice cracks the silence like a whip, startling even Mags. “After everything we’ve done for you, after everything we’ve planned—and this is what you do?!”

Your spine stiffens. Finnick shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours with the weight of discomfort. Mags straightens, her brow arching in curiosity. You watch the gears click behind their eyes—realizing neither of them know what happened yet.

Vevina is all too eager to fill the silence.

“She refused to do anything,” she spits, turning halfway in her seat to glare at you with glittering disbelief. “Just stood there. No weapon. No display. Nothing!”

The words feel louder in the confined space. Mags frowns, her weathered hands folding slowly in her lap. Finnick’s jaw tightens as he finally turns his head toward you, eyes narrowing as he listens.

“She just stood there and said,” Vevina’s voice pitches higher as she throws her hands in the air, mocking your tone, “‘I’m already performing every day for your cameras. I’m done pretending I’m here to entertain you.’” She throws her arms wide in exasperation. “As if that won’t get her killed the second the arena begins!”

Silence crashes down again.

You don’t need to look to feel Finnick’s stare burning into the side of your face. You already know the expression he’s wearing. It's the same one he wore three days ago—when you first shattered whatever fragile understanding you two had left. That look of restrained rage and disappointment twisted into one perfect storm.

“Is that true?” His voice cuts through the silence like a blade. Low, dangerous. He’s holding back—barely.

You still don’t look at him. You keep your eyes locked on the passing blur of Capitol lights outside the tinted window. Each one leaves a smear of gold in its wake, like stars that never belonged to you. Your voice is flat when it comes.

“Yeah.”

The word hangs in the air like smoke.

You close your eyes and brace for impact—for him to lash out, to accuse you, to hurt you with that sharp tongue of his that’s only ever merciful when it’s lying to an audience. But nothing comes.

Just a breath.

A slow, heavy exhale from his chest as he leans back in his seat. Resigned. Tired. And somehow, that hurts worse.

Vevina whirls back toward him, incredulous. “You’re not even going to say anything? Not even for Mags’ sake?”

But Finnick stays quiet. And so does Mags. The quiet that follows isn’t passive—it’s electric. Laced with things no one wants to say aloud.

Vevina scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief and disgust. “If getting killed is what you wanted, then congrats,” she snaps. “You just punched your one-way ticket.”

You swear you see Finnick flinch. Just a twitch in the tight line of his jaw. But he doesn’t speak.

You don’t either. Not out loud.

But inside, your heart screams.

You want to tell them you had to do it. That every second of that performance room was agony and you refused to give them what they wanted again. That standing there and saying nothing was the only way you still felt like you—not their puppet, not their doll, not a prop in some grand Capitol tragedy. Just a girl with enough self-worth left to say “no.”

You want to scream that this is the only way you know how to fight anymore.

You want to turn to Finnick and beg him to see you, really see you—not the girl who keeps pushing him away, but the one who's terrified of needing him. The one who stood there in front of a panel of people who decide death like it's theater casting—and chose defiance over safety.

But all of it lodges in your throat like glass.

So you keep staring out the window, letting the city lights blur and smear like tears you're too proud to shed. Your hands curl into fists on your lap, nails biting crescents into your palms. And beside you, Finnick stays just as silent, like he knows that anything he says now might break you both for good.

The penthouse doors click open with a quiet hiss, and you step inside, barely registering the soft clink of your boots against the pristine floors. The walk from the elevator felt endless, but still not long enough for you to gather yourself.

The lights are dimmed—just the glow from the city seeping in through the towering windows, casting pale gold shadows across the marble. You drop your training bag by the door, more out of muscle memory than thought, and wrap your arms around yourself as you exhale.

You expect more silence. Or worse—a fight.

You expect Finnick to follow behind with that same cold expression he’s worn the last three days, full of wounded pride and unspoken words. You expect him to start pacing, to ask you what the hell you were thinking, to say your name like it's both a curse and a prayer.

But none of that comes.

Instead, as you turn around to face him, Finnick is already there. Right there in front of you. Closer than he’s allowed himself to be in days.

You barely have time to blink before his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him like he’s been waiting for permission he never got. His hands press against your back, one cradling the base of your neck, the other curling around your waist. There’s no hesitation. No performance. Just warmth, and the quiet kind of desperation that makes your knees falter.

Your breath stutters in your chest as your cheek rests against the crook of his shoulder. The scent of salt and sea and something uniquely him fills your nose. Your hands hover in the air, unsure, before finally pressing against his back like they belong there.

“I thought you were going to yell at me,” you whisper.

Finnick’s voice comes low, raw, and close to your ear. “I was going to. I had a whole speech rehearsed.”

You let out a shaky breath that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.

“So why didn’t you?” you ask.

His hand presses a little tighter against your spine, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter—like if he says it too loud, it’ll make the truth hurt worse.

“Because when you said those words in the assessment room, I wanted to be furious… but all I could think was how brave it was. How much it probably cost you to stand there and say them.” He swallows. “And how much I hate that I wasn’t in that room to take the fallout for you.”

Your eyes sting, throat burning with everything you’ve refused to let yourself feel these past few days.

“You keep doing this,” you murmur into his chest. “You keep breaking my heart by caring when I try so hard to stop needing you.”

His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, and for a second, it feels like he’s holding on for dear life.

“I don’t think you’ll ever stop needing me,” he says quietly. “And I really hope you don’t. Because I never stopped needing you either.”

You close your eyes. You don’t say anything else. You just stand there, wrapped in him, while the city lights blink silently beyond the glass. And for once, there’s no Capitol watching, no plan to uphold, no stage to perform on.

Just two people who’ve been worn down to bone and still find home in each other.

You think the moment might end there.

Just the quiet comfort of his arms, the soft echo of your breathing synced with his, the hush of a moment too sacred to touch. But Finnick pulls back slightly—not all the way, just enough to look down at you. His hands stay on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish the second he lets go.

And then his eyes—those sea-green eyes, always so guarded, so careful—begin to shimmer.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, voice rough. “Like you don’t know.”

Your brow furrows, confused. “Know what?”

He exhales hard through his nose, the kind of breath that comes before a fall. And then he shakes his head and mutters, almost to himself, “I can’t keep pretending this is just strategy. I can’t keep pretending that this is just survival.”

Your heart starts to hammer against your ribs.

He takes a step back, just enough so he can really see you. His hands are trembling, slightly. His jaw tightens, loosens again. Whatever dam he’s kept up for months—maybe years—is finally breaking.

“I love you,” Finnick says, low and certain, like the words have always existed on the tip of his tongue. “I’ve been in love with you since before the cameras ever caught our first kiss. Before you ever stepped onto that stage and shattered everything I thought I knew about sacrifice.”

You freeze, like your body hasn’t quite caught up to the magnitude of what’s just been said.

Finnick steps closer again. One of his hands lifts to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing the skin just beneath your eye.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought it would hurt you. But every time you laugh at someone else’s joke, or act like I’m just your partner in this twisted Capitol show—I feel like I’m losing you.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

He lets his hand fall from your face, his eyes searching yours with a kind of desperation that makes your chest ache.

“And I know I don’t get to be angry about that. I know I don’t get to hate the way you smile at Peeta or lean too close to any of our friends or let anyone make you laugh. But it kills me. Because none of them know what your laugh sounds like at three in the morning when you can’t sleep. None of them have seen you hold a knife in your shaking hand and still choose mercy. None of them know you like I do. And I hate that I let you forget that.”

Finnick takes a breath, ragged and hollow, like he’s just laid his soul bare and now he’s waiting for you to hand it back shattered.

“I love you,” he says again, quieter now. “Not the way the Capitol wants me to. Not the way the cameras tell us to. I love you like I’m drowning and you’re the only thing that keeps me from sinking.”

He doesn’t reach for you again. He just stands there, heart open, waiting for you to do whatever comes next.

And for the first time, there’s no script.

No cameras. No Capitol audience waiting to dissect your every glance, every staged smile. No lines fed to you in passing, no whispered reminders to play your part. Just the two of you standing in the quiet hum of the penthouse, raw and exhausted, stripped down to the truth neither of you has dared to say aloud until now.

His words echo in your mind—I love you—so impossibly simple, but they splinter something deep in your chest. All the weight you’ve carried, all the silence you’ve swallowed, all the pain you’ve convinced yourself didn’t matter—it rises like a tide. You want to speak, to say something back, to offer him the same pieces of yourself that he just laid bare. But your throat burns and your heart is thundering and all that comes out is a shaky breath.

Your hands move before your thoughts can stop them. One rises to cradle his jaw, fingers trembling as they brush over the curve of his cheek. The other clings to the back of his neck, like if you let go now, he might disappear. Finnick doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. He’s just watching you, eyes wide and glassy, like he doesn’t know if this is real or another cruel illusion crafted by the Capitol.

It’s not perfect. There’s no grace to it, no slow-burn choreography. It’s messy and desperate, a little too hard at first, like you’re trying to pour every unanswered question into that single touch. Your lips are warm and trembling against his, and he tastes like salt and sorrow and the truth. His hands tighten around your waist as he kisses you back with the same aching urgency, pulling you in like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

It’s not like the kisses they’ve made you perform. This one doesn’t smile for the cameras. It doesn’t pause for applause. It’s not soft for comfort or sharp for show. It’s everything you’ve been too scared to admit—the longing, the rage, the love you thought would kill you if you ever let it out. You feel the years between you, the Games, the grief, the fake smiles, the lonely nights. You feel it all in that one, fragile moment.

When you finally pull apart, your foreheads press together, your breaths still mingling in the space between. Neither of you speak. There’s no need. Finnick’s eyes are wet, his lashes damp, and his mouth trembles like he’s still afraid this isn’t real. Your chest is tight, your hands still curled into the fabric of his shirt, and you wonder if he can feel your heart hammering against his.

“You have no clue how long I was waiting to do that,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath between the two of you. A soft smile tugs at your lips, fragile but real, like you’re afraid it might fall apart if you let it grow too much.

Finnick lets out a laugh—quiet, rough around the edges, nothing like the polished Capitol chuckles he’s known for. It’s breathless, like the wind’s been knocked out of him, and there’s something boyish about it, something stripped of performance.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, forehead still pressed to yours, his eyes half-lidded but bright with something warm and familiar. “Try being in my shoes. Watching you walk around every day like you’re untouchable. Like you don’t see me losing my mind a little more each time you smile at everyone but me.”

Your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt, heart stuttering in your chest as the weight of his words sinks in. You’re not sure what to say to that. You didn’t know he noticed. You didn’t know he cared that much. But he did. He does.

Finnick lifts a hand, fingers brushing gently over your cheek like he’s committing your face to memory. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he adds, quieter this time. “How hard it’s been to pretend it didn’t matter. To act like I didn’t care when you laughed at Haymitch’s jokes, or when you gave Peeta advice like it was the most natural thing in the world. All while I’m sitting there wondering if I ever meant anything at all.”

You want to tell him he’s wrong. That he’s always meant everything. That all the coldness, the distance, the biting remarks—it was never hate. It was heartbreak. It was the only way you knew how to survive loving him when you didn’t think you were allowed to.

So instead of saying anything, you lean in again, your lips brushing his with the kind of tenderness that aches. This kiss is softer, slower—less of a storm, more of a surrender. You let it speak for you. Every word you haven’t said. Every feeling you’ve been too afraid to name.

And when you pull away, just enough to rest your head against his chest and let his heartbeat calm yours, he wraps his arms around you like he’s afraid to let go.

Neither of you says anything for a while.

Because for once, there’s no need to.

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

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antinousletmehit · 4 months ago

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Hello friend! I’ve really been enjoying catching up on your writing and noticed you write for Poseidon! I’ve been looking for people who do! Could I bother you with a small request for him? With maybe a reader who is a minor deity that protects the Ithacan palace because of the worship of many of the servants there? And his fight with Odysseus and threat to drown the island sparks a sort of argument between the two? If not, that’s totally okay. Regardless, thank you for sharing your writing and I hope you have a lovely day! -&

୨୧┇pairing: Poseidon x reader

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The sea roared against the cliffs of Ithaca, furious and unrelenting. Waves crashed violently, sending sprays of water high into the air. Standing at the edge of the rocky shore, you stared out at the churning waters, your fists clenched at your sides.

“I’ll say it one more time, Poseidon,” you growled, your voice carrying over the storm he had summoned. “Leave Ithaca alone. Your quarrel is with Odysseus, not the people of this island.”

From the depths of the sea, the waves surged upward, and Poseidon himself emerged, towering and imposing. His trident gleamed in the muted sunlight, and his eyes burned with a fury as endless as the ocean. “I care little for your mortals,” Poseidon said, his voice booming like thunder. “It was Ithaca’s king who insulted me, and it is Ithaca that will pay the price. Do not presume to command me.”

You took a step forward, refusing to be cowed. “You dare threaten an island under my protection? I am the Guardian of Ithaca, and I will not stand by while you drown my people in your petty vengeance!” Poseidon chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent chills down your spine. “Brave words for someone so small.”

With a flick of his trident, the waves surged forward, soaking you from head to toe. You staggered but held your ground, your eyes blazing with defiance. “Is that all you’ve got?” you shouted, your voice rising above the crash of the waves. “You think you can scare me with a little water? I’ve faced storms before, Poseidon. You’re not special.”

The sea god’s expression darkened, and in an instant, he was in front of you, his towering form casting a shadow that swallowed you whole. He leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, and you could feel the raw power radiating off him. “You are nothing compared to me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “A brat playing at being a protector. Do you truly believe you can stop me?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to look away. “Maybe I can’t stop you,” you admitted, your voice steady despite the fear gripping you. “But I’ll be damned if I don’t try.” Poseidon studied you for a long moment, his gaze piercing. Then, to your surprise, he straightened and let out a harsh laugh.

“Such fire,” he said, almost amused. “Perhaps I won’t drown Ithaca just yet. Not because of your threats, little guardian, but because I’m curious to see how long that defiance of yours lasts.”

He turned, the ocean rising to meet him as he began to sink back into the waves. Before he disappeared completely, he glanced over his shoulder.

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #epic the musical poseidon #poseidon #poseidon x reader

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wukyma · 4 months ago

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Oh you answered my question ♡ thank u, you fed us so much with all this lore !

First of all, the new poseidon illustration is now my new phone wallpaper, omg his pretty big face with the voluptuous hair .

Second of all, pretty please continue even without pictures ! I'm so interested in your Au! (Ur so right about the not-excuses of Odysseus, I would want Vengeance tho after this bad self-centered justification)

Love the poli/peri/emperor friendship, it's not the first time I see this headcanon and it's such a good idea actually (of course SweetBoyPoli is friend with everyone but the impeccable flavor of a friendship between opposites is still very cool/ complementary) !

But but if I can ask for pictures i would die to see 👀 the moment where they conclude the deal ?

(Also the HAND almost ON Polites FACE??? I have stated at that one for definitely too long. Oh god. Please, its kinda make me feral. )

💫Tatooed Polities ?💫 I must see him with the trident tattoo one day... OR even better : eurylochus/ody reaction to it! Because They know him for almost forever now, so the devastating realitie must be so hard on them (having a deal with a strong and violent god such as the earthshaker and all the implications, ohh good Angst!)

Okay, tell me I read that right too, Poli becoming ✨️friend ✨️ with Circe ?? Fuck your brain is big. Gotta think about the events on circe island with your Polities, that change everything for the better. Of course they can't fight so that rule out Ody and the Moly but maybe Hermes's still here anyway ? Like the little mischievous god he is...

So I have to ask, is Poseidon gonna spy on the fleet -especially Poli since he's beefing with him- ? I kinda have this picture of water spirits reporting to the god every steps ? Tell me if I'm in the wrong ~

(I'm SO ready for mockery tho 🧨 )

Honestly I'm really invested here so every choice is good ♡ would appreciate to read more anyway

(Not very good at detective sorry but hoping someone else will find it!)

FIRST OF ALL receive my massive thanks for writing such a detailed comment on my AU!! These guys are very dear to me, and it makes me extremely happy when someone matches my freak has the same vision <33

And you made it your wallpaper?? I'll bawl fr. Sadlyy i didn't really think through the moment where they concluded the deal, but have an interpretation! (Watch as i struggle drawing without any references except my own face)

The tattoo situation is interesting too because its purpose isn't only to seal the deal ;D hoping that I'll be able to show how that works in the next part— and yes, you're right about Circe; I don't care that it's basically a spoiler because they are just besties material 🫶✨️ can definitely promise a glimpse of Hermes!!

I didn't think of Poseidon using spies, but that's kinda adorable and I'll draw it anyway hehe,, something something water winions lore

(The bottom two are both from water but different species/habitats ig? Whatever, I didn't think too much about it)

#kymanswered #epic the musical #epic the musical fanart #epic polites #polites #epic poseidon #poseidon #epic winions #winions #oa challenge au #yep imma really call it that #lotus eaters #posepoli #polites x posiedon #poseidon x polites #edit: don't be shy anon the city needs to know its heroes #my dms are wide open

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jetii · 3 months ago

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It's OC Sunday, and we've gotten far enough along in Event Horizon that I feel ready to start releasing some of the concept art of my boys.

I’m working on some art of my own, but I've been sitting on this amazing art I commissioned from @astral-veil for too long, and I need to get it out. Thank you again for bringing him to life!!

Please allow me to introduce Commander Booker of the 419th Brigade 🫡 Some background below the cut:

Clone Commander Booker - CC-8411

Booker is a 2nd generation clone commander, part of a new batch of clones intended to be "more capable of independent thought." The men joke that he was left to cook in his tube a little too long.

His first real combat experience was the Second Battle of Kamino.

During the battle, he and General Soma "Goldie" Anathorn repelled waves of droids thanks to Booker’s plan to use a downed Trident-class assault ship as an explosive.

His armor is painted with the arms of the Trident to commemorate the incident.

Booker was hailed as a hero after the battle, and General Anathorn placed her recommendation for his promotion. Neither of them knew at the time that the 419th Brigade formed under his command would be helmed by the two of them together.

The name "Booker" was given to him by his brothers. As a young cadet, he had a keen interest in wrestling and martial arts, and this interest lead him to organizing several fights under the Kaminoans’ noses to figure out who was the strongest.

The secret tournament plot was ultimately foiled after he was caught with dozens of protein bars that were being used as bets underneath his mattress during inspection.

Before the Battle of Kamino, Booker was continuously held back from promotion for flagrant rule-breaking and recklessness.

Not much has changed, but General Anathorn's own brand of rule-breaking and recklessness has forced him to take his responsibilities more seriously.

Booker is charismatic and easygoing to a fault, and his cheerful demeanor is a useful foil to his general’s grumpiness when dealing with the men and the Council.

Prefers his modified DC-15A blaster carbine to a pistol and is known for his deadly accuracy. Though he’d prefer to settle his problems with his fists if he could. And does so often.

A bit obsessive over his hair/mustache, and he keeps a hand mirror in his kit at all times.

He wants tattoos, but he's lowkey terrified of needles. The 419th's chief medic Wise has to trick him into his shots.

If he had any credits, he would definitely have a gambling problem 💀

Rex is his idol, though he quickly gets over that once he sees how hard the captain fumbles over General Anathorn

Booker is fiercely protective of his men and his general, and he considers her a sister and close friend. His closest brother is the captain of the 419th's Maelstrom Company, Snap.

You can read more about Booker and the 419th Brigade in my Rex x Jedi!Reader longfic Event Horizon 💙 And if you ever wanted to request a fic with him…………

#commander booker #clone oc #event horizon #the clone wars #oc: booker #star wars oc #419th brigade #for those of you who are keeping up with EH #we are not quite in mustache territory yet #he's still growing out his shiny look #but i still imagine him this way #and by this way i mean aggressively bisexual

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skyward-floored · 23 days ago

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16 with legend and wind? (both had dream adventures)

16 in dreams

Wind and Legend shared dreams.

Neither of them knew why, at least, not at first. Wind figured it out pretty quickly once they heard more of each other’s stories, and he was certain Legend had as well, but they... didn’t discuss it.

The dreams they shared were never pleasant ones.

The first time it happened, Wind found himself in a sewer, rain pouring outside, the edges of his vision faded and uncertain. He’d turned around at a noise, and seen Legend crying silently over a body, holding a sword to his chest as tears dribbled down his cheeks. Wind, utterly confused and panicked about what was going on, went over and hugged him.

Until the dream suddenly broke.

Both of them startled awake, and when Wind saw the dampness reflecting off Legend’s cheeks, he resumed the hug in the real world, Legend too shaken to protest.

It happened again a few nights later, but with their roles reversed. Wind cried out as Ganon threw him backwards, his laugh echoing as water poured around Wind and Tetra, the two fighting for their lives. Except it wasn’t going well, it was going worse than before, they were losing—

But then Tetra was Legend, and Legend was gripping his shoulders and telling him to close his eyes and look away. That it wasn’t real. Even when Tetra came back and Ganon cleaved a sword through her chest, and Wind couldn’t help his scream.

The dream fell away right as Ganon swung at them, and Wind threw himself into Legend’s arms with a sob, Legend lightly rocking him as he cried.

Normal dreams never seemed to be shared between them, and sometimes several nights would go by between them showing up in each other’s minds. But whenever Wind or Legend had a nightmare, the other was witness to it, sometimes able to affect things, but not always.

But they were always there.

Wind replayed twisted versions of his adventures, bird talons and monster claws, tentacles that overtook people’s minds, all with Legend at his side, standing strong through his nightmares. And Wind had a front row seat to Legend’s as well, never the same twice. Someone screaming as she was snatched away, Ganon staring at the two of them with yellowed eyes, a trident piercing his leg, countless monsters and villains that flew by so fast that Wind couldn’t keep track of them all.

And a calm ocean, with a redheaded girl that Wind couldn’t see the face of no matter how hard he looked.

That one seemed to scare Legend more than any of the others, and after they woke from it, Wind sat up with Legend the rest of the night while he choked out the story of Koholint.

Wind told him of the Realm of the Ocean King in turn, and silently snuggled up to Legend when both of their words ran out, and the stars began to fade with the coming dawn.

Legend was shaking, and Wind might have been too, but he held Legend close, just like he would Aryll after a bad dream.

“I hate this,” Legend croaked, and Wind only held him tighter. He didn’t know whether he meant the nightmares, or the fact that they were each forced to be witness to them, but he agreed.

“Me too. But I’m glad we can at least help each other,” Wind whispered shakily back. “You... you help me know they’re not real. Not... not like the adventures were. That these are just nightmares.”

“I still hate it,” Legend rasped, and Wind squeezed him, not sure what to say, but determined to give him comfort nonetheless.

Legend silently hugged him back, faintly trembling, and neither of them said anything further the rest of the night.

#angst angst angst wahoo #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wind #lu legend #tw injury #answers from the floor #lovely mermain123 #mini story prompt #writing from the floor

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rosy-hollow · 29 days ago

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ: Career Day

ᴀ/ɴ: lowk didn't know if this chapter was going to be long enough and then ended up going over what i planned :O full series masterlist here!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: cursing, death, blood, gore, the hunger games

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader

You’ve been walking for what feels like years.

You tell your District 2 ally this, and he just scoffs, saying “It’s been 30 minutes, dumbass.”

The blonde never told you where you were going and when you asked, he just ignored you. He just started walking the moment the sun came up. His red eyes darted in various directions suggesting he was looking for something, but what?

It unsettles you, and yet- some strange consciousness in the back of your mind says to trust him.

It’s not like you had a better idea anyways.

Your dagger, the wooden one, pricks your skin, splinters painfully digging into your palm - but you can’t bring yourself to care.

New ally or not, death is guaranteed unless you win.

And you didn’t feel like dying yet.

Suddenly, Bakugou stops - forcefully grabbing your wrist and holding your body close to his as he ducks behind a tree, red eyes sweeping over the clearing the both of you were about to enter.

You realize why Bakugou brought you here.

The Career Camp.

You freeze, the only thing grounding you is the feeling of Bakugou’s heartbeat against your back.

His grip on you tightens, waiting for a moment before releasing you.

“No one’s here. We need to be quick. Grab what you can.” he murmurs, and you nod, following him quickly through the clearing and picking the tent closest to you- a green one- and darting inside.

You find a steel dagger, much nicer than the one you made, grabbing it as you spot a first aid kit in the corner.

You grab that too.

When you leave, you have a backpack (also stolen) full of supplies, random weapons, first aid, food - enough to last you and Bakugou a few days.

You’re about to call out to your ally when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“So nice of you to drop in, Katsuki.”

The voice is bubbly, and feminine, yet you can sense the underlying loathing in her tone. Her use of his first name makes you pause though - were they close?

Bakugou stays silent, and another voice pops up.

“You know, we thought you were dead.” a boy this time, speaks up. “Left to the mercy of the forest.”

The girl from before sighs, and you hear footsteps - was she pacing?

“If only we were that lucky..” she says, with condescending - and it makes you pause.

What happened between Bakugoui and the Careers?

Taking a breath, you grip onto your new dagger, peeking out from the folds of the tent.

You counted 4 Careers - two male, two female. You remember the girl from District 1 died in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, along with 12 others - but the remaining odds were still dangerous.

Even with Bakugou on your side, there was no way you could get out of this fight unscathed.

The blond is on the ground with a nasty cut on his arm - shit how did you not hear that? - the boy from earlier that you recognize to be from District 4 pinning him down.

Your heart thuds. Regardless of how eager you were to become allies with him, you both had come into an agreement.

Even if not explicitly stated, you basically agreed to protect him.

Which is why when you sprint out of the tent, you toss your dagger to Katsuki, who picks up and drives it into the neck of the boy above him.

The latter screams out in agony, blood painting his skin red, eyes rolling back as he weakly claws at his throat before going limp, dead.

Before you can dwell too hard on what he’s done, you race to Bakugou’s side just in time to see the remaining three Careers look at you in outrage.

The girl from District 4 is irate, breathing heavily as she points her trident in your direction.

“You bitch!” she screeches, lunging towards you, mere seconds away from being impaled as you roll over, crouching down low as she stumbles, off balance.

The other girl, Bakugou’s district partner from 2 - Himiko Toga, the name flashing in your mind - just laughs.

“This is your new partner Katsuki? A weak little thing from 11?” she asks, the lack of malice in her tone contradicting the bloodlust in her feline eyes.

Bakugou simply groans, yanking your dagger out of the fallen Career’s neck, deflecting a strike from the District 1 boy just in time.

The District 4 girl breathes heavily, a maniacal scream ripping from her lungs as she pounces again, but this time you’re ready.

Stepstepping her swiftly, you reach for Bakugou’s machete, discarded after the initial skirmish, raising your arms and driving the butt of it into the back of her head, the girl collapsing, unconscious. You pant heavily, turning your head as Bakugou kicks the boy from District 1 off of him, the two of you sprinting into the undergrowth - Toga’s unnerving yellow eyes tracking your retreating forms.

You two run for what feels like miles, lungs burning and your fingers clutching Bakugou’s wrist so hard they turn white.

You want to keep running, but he stops you, holding you close to him until your breathing evens out.

When you finally calm down, he looks around silently, making sure no one’s around before he sits, resting his head against the bark of a tree and closing his eyes, leaving you to stand there awkwardly.

Opening the backpack you stole, you take out the first aid kit quietly, extracting the contents you needed before putting it back, making your way over to your ally’s side.

Kneeling down, you gingerly start to disinfect the wound - the blond hissing out in pain, red eyes snapping open and over to you.

“What the fuck do yo-”

“Shut up and stop moving.” You say sharply, cutting him off as you continue to tend to his wounds.

When you finish cleaning, you wrap the gauze around his bicep and slowly make your way down to his forearm with practiced, gentle hands; Bakugou’s piercing gaze following your every move.

When you finish, and sit back, your eyes raking over his figure one last time before standing up, putting the rest of the gauze and disinfectant in your backpack once more.

Rummaging around in your pack, you find a sandwich - how the hell did the Careers manage to get this? You take it out, handing a half over to Katsuki before taking a bite out of your own.

You don’t mention what happened at the Career campsite, and neither does he, silently making your way through the meal.

You’re grateful for that.

You’re almost done with your half of the sandwich when his voice fills the silence.

“When did you learn how to do that?”

“Huh? Do what?”

“All of that. The climbing, and the fighting, and the shit with the bandages-”

You raise an eyebrow. “I believe we had the same access to trainers before the Games, Bakugou.”

The blond lets out a tch, rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I meant, dumbass. I meant-”

“If you’ve always been able to to that shit, why the fuck didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”

That makes you pause.

He had a point.

Why didn’t you?

You stay silent for a moment, watching the sunlight peek through the tops of the trees above. With how thick the foliage was, it was almost impossible to tell what time of day it was.

You breathe out slowly. “In a way, life in District 11 is just like it is here. Survival of the fittest and all.”

Bakugou stares at you, his silence a green light to continue.

“The ones that weren’t strong enough the moment they were old enough to work in the fields… immediately became a scion to the rest.” you bite your lip, thinking. “Most of my friends refused to be seen around me the moment my little brother was born without a leg.”

Your ally’s eyes widened just a fraction - he was listening, you realized. Not just listening, he understood. The thought made you feel less alone.

“My mom was bedridden after giving birth, so it was up to me and my dad to work for the four of us. You’d think that being the agricultural district, we get the most food, but we’re not allowed to eat any of it. And most of the extras that are for us go to the Peacekeepers.” you shrug. “I had to do what I needed to survive.”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow and you pause, realizing what you just implied. “I didn’t kill anyone if that’s what you were thinking.” you say hurriedly. “I just learned how to fight. It was that, or starve.”

Your fingers play with the hem of your shirt by your neck, before tugging it down slightly to reveal a jagged scar just under your collarbone.

“Damn.”

“Yep.”

And that was that.

The two of you decide to spend the rest of the day hunting and gathering - despite your bounty that you stole from the Careers, it wasn’t going to last forever.

When nightfall finally arrives, Bakugou comes back with two juicy bunnies, and you as many berries as you could fit in your pockets.

Bakugou puts together a small campfire, skinning the meat and cleaning it - you decide to wash the berries because witnessing Bakugou’s butcher shop made you a little more squeamish than you would’ve liked, which is ironic considering you’re in a death arena.

When you finish, he’s roasting the meat over the fire, jabbing a stick through them and handing one to you, waiting for them to cool down.

Bakugou eats with his left hand - his right too injured to move at this point, and as devastating as that was, it was admittedly funny to see him struggle to eat his rabbit leg.

You on the other hand enjoy your food normally, the berries a little too ripe and the meat too bland, but regardless - a meal was a meal.

Bakugou had no such mentality.

One bite out of the rabbit leg and he frowns staring at it, disgruntled.

“Needs more seasoning,”

“What?”

“I said, it needs more seasoning.”

You roll your eyes. “Well maybe next time, let’s tell the Gamemakers to put some cayenne and paprika in the Cornucopia, yeah?” you mutter - trying to be funny, but it’s impossible to ignore the weight of your words.

There wouldn’t be a next time.

Especially since one of you wouldn’t be leaving this arena alive.

You both eat in silence again - you feel a little bad for ruining the relatively peaceful quiet the two of you had made, but you decide you don’t care. A dose of reality was just a warning to not get too comfortable.

When you two finish, Bakugou stands up.

“You sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“Are you crazy? Your arm is messed up.”

Bakugou glares at you with the force of a thousand suns, telling you that he wasn’t in the mood for taking no as an answer.

Though, that’s probably true in most cases.

You grab the sleeping bag - one Bakugou stole from the Careers - and get comfortable.

Why did you care whether or not he got any sleep anyway?

For all you know, he could kill you right now.

You still at the thought, your mind refusing to relax now that paranoia seeps through every crevice, threatening to engulf you whole.

“Hey. Stop thinking so much, dumbass. No point in me taking first watch if you don’t get some damn shut-eye.” Bakugou’s voice startles you from your stream of thoughts

You freeze at his words - how could he read you so well?

Instead of acknowledging that, you ask something else.

“Are you- or were you and Toga close?” you whisper, staring up at the dark sky.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything for a minute.

“None of your damn business. Now sleep, idiot.”

You sigh, turning onto your side, your eyelids growing heavy.

You fall asleep to the sound of cicadas, Bakugou’s breathing and a question still swimming in your mind.

Why did Bakugou choose you- out of everyone, to be his ally?

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targaryenluvs · 1 year ago

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MISS OFFICER

pairings: finnick odair x fem!officer!reader

summary: you’re tasked with training finnick odair for war and to fight in the captiol. only problem? he’s completely enamoured with you.

warnings: war mentions, combat, flirting, inappropriate jokes, kisses, short

a/n: was aiming for nazeera x kenji as in grumpy x sunshine

his smile was blinding. or at least finnick liked to think so. he always relied on his charm and wit to get him through whatever. but for once he was dumbstruck, only around you. whenever you walked past he’d throw a joke your way but he could barely ever get a rise out of you and it annoyed him to no end.

but you certainly had no plan to indulge in his comedy. and you didn’t have the time. coin has appointed you to the training program and much to your chagrin you weren’t assigned to a group. rather one victor.

today was your first day with finnick. in closed quarters. just the two of you. alone.

this was going to be hell.

“soldier.” finnick jumped up to his feet once you entered. “y/n.” you stared at him, crossing your arms. “are we friends soldier?” finnick smiled, “i’d like to think so, we could be good friends yknow. if we weren’t already.” you took a step closer, “you’re not family, you’re not my friend and i barely know you. i am your commanding officer and trainer as of now, you will treat me with respect and announce me as such.” you were stern and angry and for some reason it only fueled him on.

“of course miss officer.” he saluted you as you rolled your eyes. “it’s one thing to be in the games and fighting for yourself but here, with me you’ll learn how to fight with a squad. you are protecting others as well and your squad is your family. do. you. understand. me?” he nodded and you walked away, picking up a staff you turned to him.

“now, let’s get to training.”

he was good you’d give him that.

he’d actually managed to get a few hits in but you were obviously better trained. this was your turf in a matter of speaking. hand to hand combat. you were sure if this was in the water or if he’d had a trident in his hands he’d have the upper hand.

“that’s enough for today.” you told finnick as you finished packing away the equipment. “you’re kidding right? it’s only been two hours.” you laughed for once. “it’s been four.” finnick turned around surprised, “you’re kidding.” you shook your head before getting up, “you’re good finnick. just a few more sessions and rifle training and you’ll be cleared to enter.” finnick leaned against the doorway, blocking your exit. “as great as entering the field sounds, i’d much rather spend some sessions with you.” again you rolled your eyes at his words before shifting to the side as finnick moved the same way.

“you’re kidding me. soldier move to the side.” he shook his head, “not until you call me by my name.” you bit your lip and rocked on your feet. “or i could do this.” you pushed him to the side and pinned him to the wall, your arm on his throat. “move or be moved soldier. you chose wrong.” he gazed into your eyes and couldn’t help but smile at you, “for your information i quite like the position i’m in right now.” you scoffed and released him before twisting his arm behind his back and throwing his legs out from underneath him.

“i don’t like repeating myself, finnick.” you teased before picking up your bag and exiting the training room.

and as he laid on the floor, recalling all the times you battered and bruised him, he couldn’t help but laugh. he’d get beaten a hundred times as long as it ended up with you ontop of him.

the next few sessions were similar. you’d enter, not knowing he’d been waiting for over an hour, you’d train he throw a million dirty jokes your way with a bunch of stunning smiles and you’d shake them off as if they did nothing to you. you had an image to maintain and you tried your hardest not to let him in. but a girl can only hold out for so long.

special privileges are earned and somehow finnick managed to weasel his way in.

the lake was calm and you were so close to falling asleep. but, per usual, he came along. whistling of all things. “yes please disturb my quiet time finnick, i’d been waiting for you.” finnick sat down next to you, “of course you were. you can’t resist me.” you turned to him and pouted, “am i that transparent? i want you, i need you, oh baby, oh baby.” finnick beamed as you smiled back involuntarily.

“i see a smile.” you shoved him in the arm, “no you didn’t soldier.” finnick laughed, “soldier? am in trouble now?” you nodded, “yes you are. i’m going to tie you up-” finnicks eyebrows shot up as you groaned, “not like that, why do you always think like that.” he shrugged his shoulders, “you tell me. i see the same gorgeous woman every single day. how can i resist?” this time he wasn’t joking, you could tell. “you think i’m pretty?” he shook his head as you feigned shock.

“i think you’re breathtaking.”

and that was all it took for your defences to come crumbling down as he moved closer, and you let him. his hand on your cheek and his soft kiss. you felt as if you were floating and you’d finally given in.

a girl can only hold out for so long.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #hunger games x reader #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick odair x female reader

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etfrin · 1 year ago

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❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter twelve | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | Canon typical violence, coriolanus snow, dr. gual, mentions of blood, mentions of period, period sex (fingering, f. receiving), dom-ish Coriolanus, mean Coriolanus, murder, aftercare | lmk if I forgot anything!

「��ᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coriolanus Snow finds himself in the arena and later in your arms

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 double update, and they had more than their first kiss? how are you liking it so far? please let me know! ❤️

beta read by perfection itself @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation | taglist

The gong sounded at that moment, and the tributes scattered. Most fled to the gates that led to the tunnels, several of which had been blown open by the latest bombing. Coriolanus could see Lucy Gray run to the underground tunnel he had told her about.

‘Run!’ he thinks, and he could see Coral, the girl from District Four with her trident already killing tributes. The fights were a blur. He sees Lucy Gray noticing Jessup, the District twelve boy yet to pick up any weapons. The stupid songbird runs towards him instead of the tunnels and Coriolanus nearly stands up, wanting to yell at her for her actions. It was a few close calls, but she hadn't died.

She takes Jessup and flees under the tunnels. She tries to kick the door open, but the metal door refuses to budge. She looks around, afraid that other tributes would catch up. Meanwhile, Flickerman comments as other tributes rush in, “Hy and Sol on the other side pincering on Lucy Gray.”

There was a small space below the door, thankfully Coriolanus watched as Lucy Gray and Jessup managed to crawl in. Another tribute dies but is brutally murdered by Coral's pack. Meanwhile Jessup and Lucy Gray are safe in the room they were in.

Coriolanus relaxes in his seat, relieved for now. Six tributes were gone within minutes. Lucky Flickerman comments, “To the children watching, that was violent, horrific, and disgusting.” Coriolanus wants to scoff at the blatant hypocrisy, the games existed because the Capitol enforced it. It was violent because of the Capitol. It was disgusting but it wasn't on the districts.

Coriolanus catches himself, his chain of thoughts rebelling against his beliefs. He swallows and looks at you. Your free hand clutching your stomach, your face turning pale in sickness. Coriolanus finds himself overwrought, he leans in to whisper, “Are you alright?”

You let out a small groan and shook your head, “I started bleeding this morning. The painkillers aren't kicking in and the cramps are getting worse.” It takes Coryo an embarrassing amount of time to understand what you meant. You're on your period. Oh. Your earlier behavior made a bit more sense now, you were in pain and you were acting out.

He knew the basics of the menstrual cycle thanks to the Academy teaching Sex Ed. And Tigris never shied away from it either, she made sure Coriolanus knew that period was an extremely normal thing a woman (or anyone with a uterus) has to go through each month. He lets his eyes soften, and he squeezes your hand in a comforting manner.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asked.

You shake your head in response, but you look even sicker than before. Coriolanus felt displeased seeing you like this, you should have been resting instead the damn games kept you here. It also explained why you had to skip your interview too. You were too sick.

He looks at the screens. Nothing interesting was happening now. It was so boring that Lucky Flickerman had switched to his former job of being a weatherman. Coriolanus decided to go to the cafeteria, hoping to find something you could snack on. That should help a tiny bit.

“I will be back,” he announced, getting up from his seat and heading to the cafeteria. He sees the assortment of food, he heads straight for the sandwiches first. He takes a plate and gets four sandwiches. Two for each of you. Then he searches for something sweet, thankfully, due to the joyous occasion of the games. The cafeteria made different sorts of desserts including chocolate. Coriolanus made sure to pile them up on the plate, leaving nothing behind. He wasn't sure what you liked after all. He was hoping to find out after this.

Then he looks at one of the staff, and he's not sure if he should ask or not. But then he remembered how you were clutching your stomach. With a sigh, he calls someone out, a fellow worker who looks back and politely smiles at Coriolanus.

“Is there any possible way to be given hot water in a bottle?”

“If it's to drink we can give you a glass-”

“No, it's for my girl. She has cramps.”

The female worker nods in understanding and tells him to wait. Coriolanus looked at the clock of the cafeteria, five minutes had passed. He wondered if anything was happening. He hoped that he hadn't missed anything and the songbird was safe. She was the key to everything after all.

“The show isn't over until the mockingjay sings,” he mutters in futile reassurance.

The worker comes in and hands him the hot water bottle. Coriolanus thanks her and rushes back to the auditorium. “You're back,” you said to him, your gaze on the plate of food he had bought. The only meal both of you had was the breakfast he cooked, and neither finished it. So it was understandable you were hungry.

“What did I miss?” He asked, handing you the hot water bottle. You stare at the metal bottle for a moment, baffled by the gesture. He could see your eyes to water and he felt dread creeping in his mind. Had he fucked up? He wanted to do something nice, that's all. He wanted to take care of you!

“Thank you,” you choked out, your voice thick with vulnerability. You press the hot water bottle to the area of your cramps and blink the tears away. “And sorry…” you muttered sheepishly, “Shouldn't have behaved that way.”

“It's fine,” he said, even if it wasn't. You shouldn't have been rude to him, so unnecessarily, but he will let go for now. He turned away to look at the screen to see Marcus was dead, lying on the ground.

Coriolanus turns to you for an explanation. You were ravishing your sandwich. “Mercy killing,” you had simply replied, “That girl killed him with an ax.”

“Well, that's what happens when you do stuff!” Lucky Flickerman comments, “You get attention.” He moved toward Pup Harington, the mentor of District Seven, Lamina. He explained the rules of communicuff. Pup Harington seizes the opportunity to send his tribute a bottle of water.

Coriolanus can see through the screen that the girl from District Seven reaches out to get the glass bottle. She has to duck to avoid crashing into the metal drone as the drone doesn't slow down and crashes into some debris behind her. Breaking the water bottle as well. Pup Harington curses and Coriolanus leans forward as he realizes the faulty mechanism of the drones. He can't send Lucy Gray water or food unless he wants to risk hurting her.

You tsk, “These were probably last-minute inventions to infuse your idea,” you bite the dark chocolate he bought you, “She could have done it next year.”

“She needs the games to shine this year to have games for the next year,” Coriolanus replied.

“What's the point if it's faulty?”

Coriolanus doesn't reply to that, he turns his focus to the screen. Staring at the death of Marcus from District Two and wondering what was his sin to receive this fate. All he did was run for his life.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

None were remaining in the auditorium except you and Coriolanus. You were asleep in your chair and Coryo was dozing off. Trying to keep his focus on the screen; in case anything happens. He was nearly asleep when Dr. Gauls' voice caused him to flinch and be awake.

“Mr. Snow,” she hisses like a snake.

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, his gaze turning into your sleeping form before he met Dr. Gauls' crazed eyes.

“Did something happen? Is it Lucy Gray?”

“Unless you can put a leash on your deluded classmate, she might as well be dead as far as you're concerned.”

Ugh, what the fuck did Sejanus do this time. Go into the arena? Then he realized the irony of his thoughts because he could see Sejanus Plinth through the medium of the screen that was broadcasting the games. He was in the arena.

Sejanus Plinth was in the arena.

The fuck is wrong with him! And why is Dr. Gaul visiting him over this, shouldn't she go to his daddy? He was tired, and his body hurt from sitting in the chair for long hours. Why was he stuck in this mess?

“Bread crumbs I believe,” Dr. Gaul said, turning towards the screen in which he could see Sejanus Plinth wasting precious bread, sprinkling it over the corpse. “Sustenance for a fallen comrade. District two superstition.”

Coriolanus frowned as he watched Sejanus wasting the bread in this manner. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It would have made more sense to him if he sneaked into where Lucy Gray was and handed her the food. Instead, he was throwing it on a rotting corpse. Only the districts are capable of this stupidity.

“I need someone to get him out right now,” she said.

Was she implying he would go to the arena for a ridiculous Plinth boy? He knew she was insane but this was borderline dumb. He doesn't want to risk his life!

“You should send the Peacekeepers,” he replied, as calmly as possible. He doesn't want to go. He's not suicidal enough for that.

Dr. Gaul goes on to explain why she can't send Peacekeepers and the district. She even mentions his classmate, Felix Ravinstill. Frankly, Coriolanus couldn't bring himself to care. Let the Plinth boy die, it's the consequence of his action.

Then Dr. Gaul adds, “Who knows? You get him out unscathed, I'll whisper your name in his father's ear. You still want the Plinth Prize, don't you?” Dr. Gaul knew that he didn't need to verbally agree, his expression was enough.

“I'll freeze the feed for an hour. I estimate that's all we have before the people notice.”

Then, Dr. Gaul leaves after informing Coryo that there's a van waiting for him to take him to the arena. He begins to stand up from his seat, getting ready for the journey to his doom.

“You know I am going with you, right?”

He startled, turning towards you, he firmly said to you, “No.” He watched you rub your eyes, you were sleepy that was clear. You must have woken up while that witch was talking. You shake your head in response.

“Don't care. I won't let that bitch make you go alone.”

He said your name in warning. You glare at him with your adorable, tired eyes. “I am going, Coriolanus Snow. Or else I'll tell everyone about what Sejanus is doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw. He grits out, “You could die.”

“So could you!”

He doesn't argue against that.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

A van takes you and him towards the arena. Losing precious minutes that you use to nap. Your head on his shoulder, while he ran his fingers along his scar, thinking of scenarios to bring all three of you alive. He would sacrifice Sejanus to save you. There's no doubt about that. But it's an action he can't afford right now.

So he thinks and thinks. His mind grew increasingly agitated. There's so much that can go wrong. One wrong move. A tribute waking up and deciding that they were easy kills. Caging them. Torturing you. Hurting you. He feels his breathing getting faster, his vision blurring as these thoughts begin to attack.

He gasps, his eyes closing. His chest rapidly moved up and down. He bit his lower lip until he tasted blood. He forced himself to breathe through his nose. There's no time for an attack right now. He doesn't have the luxury of that. He lets the weight of your head anchor him.

He's going to have a future. He's not going to let anything happen to you. And nothing will happen to him. Sejanus will come out of this alive as well.

Snow lands on top.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

He doesn't let you go in. He won't. When you tried to insist, he growled at you, “I won't be getting him back if I am trying to save you. I need to get him back. I can't make you a higher priority here.” You narrowed your eyes but Coriolanus knew you didn't have a fighting bone in your body. Your hands wove into his curls, and you make him reach your height.

“Then you better come back, Coriolanus Snow. Alive. Otherwise, you won't like the consequences.”

He wants to kiss you. God, he wants to kiss you. He decided that he would come back alive from this. He will. He will steal your breath and make you lose all of your senses. He will ruin you because life is too unpredictable, too short. He can't wait any longer.

He leaves you there. He walks inside the arena, the monotone voice announcing his entry with the usual ‘Enjoy the game’. It sends chills down his spine.

Snow sees Sejanus near the dead body of Marcus. Coriolanus tiptoes across the field. Sejanus laughs quietly when he sees Coriolanus. “Thought they would send my Ma,” he said, bitterly.

“You need to get out, Coryo,” he said and Coriolanus wanted to choke him. It was a nickname for family and friends. A nickname for you. And he had used it blatantly for the first time in a situation like this nonetheless.

“I would like to,” Snow whispered, annoyed. “I really would. But I promised to get you out.”

“Why?”

Because I need to win the Plinth Prize.

Because Dr. Gaul forced me.

“Because you're my friend,” he lied.

“I had to do this,” Sejanus begins to explain, looking desperate, begging to be understood. “I had to go where the cameras were.”

Unfortunately, Coriolanus wasn't the right person for it. “Do you think anyone is watching this? She cut off the feed. You die here and she'll say you died of the flu.”

“You need to decide,” Coriolanus huffed, “Are you gonna be a dead body in Gauls' war or do something actual good?”

“What good can I do out there?”

Was it too late to choke him?

“You're smart. You're rich. You care.” Coriolanus argued, “You can do it if you want. With your father's money.” Sejanus and Coryo flinch when they hear noises in the quiet arena. It was the sound of sharpening knives. “We’re dead if we don't leave right now,” Coryo hisses.

Coriolanus and Sejanus begin to leave. Coriolanus gripped his arm to practically drag him away from Marcus's body. Just then he hears footsteps, and he freezes. Then yells out at Sejanus to run as a tribute comes towards them with a long knife. Sejanus and Coriolanus reach the entrance of the arena, Coriolanus jumps over the entry point but Sejanus trips.

Sejanus holds his knee, groaning and Coriolanus runs back to get him. The tribute catches up and manages to slash Coriolanus back. Coriolanus lets out a blood-curdling scream from the pain, adrenaline rushing in. He has to go back. He has to go back to you; you're waiting for him.

Coriolanus’s fingers closed around a two-by-four, and he brought it up, catching Bobbin in the temple hard, sending him to his knees. And then he was on his feet, using the board like a club, bringing it down again and again without being sure where it made contact.

“We have to go!” Sejanus shouted.

He pants, throwing the board aside. The boy was dead and he wasn't sure what to make of the rush he felt as he saw another dead body in front of him. One of his own making. One that assured him of his survival and made him feel alive.

Sejanus brings back to reality as more tributes come in. He and Sejanus run out as the Peacekeepers open the barricade. He was brought to the ground by the weight of a body. He groans as he feels you on top of him. His back was bleeding onto the ground.

“You're alive,” you whisper, your eyes wide, and your lips swollen as if you constantly bit down, concerned about him. He wrapped his arms around you.

He lets out a heavy sigh, “Not if I bleed out, sweetheart.” You take your weight off him and help him stand up. Your eyes take in the blood with horror on your face. He whispered his arms around you, “It's fine. I am okay.”

In the distance, he can see Sejanus approach them and he's too pissed at him to have a proper conversation right now. It seemed you shared the same sentiments because the moment Sejanus came close, you pushed him. He doesn't fall but the impact makes him take a few steps back.

“You! It's because of you and your stupid beliefs that you do nothing but whine about that has led to this! It led him to bleed, Sejanus! How will you pay for his blood!? Fucking get out of here to your ma before I recreate the fucking wound on you!”

Sejanus flinches, looking betrayed. Sejanus looked at Snow but he had to look away because he simply was so proud of you. He was proud that you stood up, he was proud that you voiced what he wanted to say. He was also amused because thinking of your origins, you should have similar beliefs with Sejanus.

But you were simply concerned about Coriolanus, nothing else. It made Snow feel grateful he had you. You cared and you didn't try to hide it.

Sejanus doesn't try to say anything else. He walks with his head down to the car in which his ma and pa were waiting. Coriolanus pulls you back into his arms. “You didn't have to be so harsh,” he whispered, despite the fact he had enjoyed it so, so much.

“Who's the tribute that hurt you?”

“The boy is dead,” Coriolanus glees, unable to make himself look sane. He was bleeding out, adrenaline still pumping in his veins and with you in the equation. He felt drunk. “I enjoyed killing him.”

Coriolanus doesn't find out about your reaction to his confession as the toll of his blood loss takes over and his vision darkens. He goes unconscious.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

He groans as he wakes up from the darkness. A dull pain in his back. He recognized that an IV needle was stuck in his arm. His shirt was off, and the wound was stitched. He looked around to find out that he was in the lab, and Dr. Gaul was present, looking straight at him from a corner. He was proud of the fact he didn't flinch. He swallowed the nervousness, and greeted, “Dr. Gaul.”

“Mr. Snow,” She greets back, her voice booming, “Never thought I would see Crassus’ boy in the arena.”

He doesn't say anything, nor does he look at her. His gaze turns towards the glass containers filled with greenish liquid and some kind of horrid experimentation. Dr. Gaul drawls on, “Do you want to be like your father, Mr. Snow? Then it's essential to accept what human beings are and what it takes to control them.”

For tonight, Coriolanus Snow was a murderer. He had to accept that, he took a life for his survival, but he enjoyed it. He vaguely remembers confessing it to you. Horror fills him, he fucked up whatever he had with you for sure. Killing someone for your survival was one thing, even Sejanus can't hate him for it. But enjoying it? Feeling powerful as he felt someone's life draining out. It felt like drinking an elixir to Snow.

He can't imagine the disgust you felt when he admitted it. He can't- how will he fix this- he wipes away the tears staining his cheeks. He would beg and grovel, he would lie if you bring it up.

Dr. Gaul misinterpreted the misery on his face. “You did what you had to, Mr. Snow.” Then she begins to walk away, a clear dismissal.

“Yes,” he replied, cordially, “I am aware.”

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

He enters the penthouse; he stops in his tracks as he sees you sitting down in the dining space. Waiting for him. It was extremely late at night by now and you were here, awake. Coriolanus was touched by how freely you showed your care through your actions. From the meal (orange chicken and rice) you gave in the car till now. You cared. So openly, so fiercely.

Unlike him.

His care was always hidden. “Dove,” he whispered, a nickname for you like Coryo was for him. Perhaps his care wouldn't be concealed under layers anymore. Your head snaps towards him, and with long strides, you meet his arm. You are careful about your hand placement, making sure not to hurt him or put pressure on his wound.

“Coryo,” you rasped out, “Coryo, Coryo, Coryo.” You bury your face in his chest and for a moment he thought you were sobbing but you were just taking deep breaths in. He holds you tighter, suffocating you, anchoring you like you did for him. He didn't care that it pulled his stitches.

“Hi,” he whispered sheepishly, he forgot about the arena, the murder, Sejanus, and Dr. Gaul. He remembers you and only you.

“Hi,” you giggle back, your eyes teary. “You're here,” you whispered, “Real or not?”

He let out a small laugh, “I am not a hallucination, dove.”

You shrugged in his arms, “Lack of sleep can cause them. For all I know this is a dream and you're still under the care of that bitch.”

“I am here,” he emphasized his words with a kiss on your hairline. He looks into your eyes and sees how real all of this is. He can make you his reality. He needs to seize it. He needs to control his fate.

He realized you hadn't questioned him about the blood on his hands. He was going to bring it up if you weren't. He would let his confession remain buried if that's what you wanted. No need to unleash his demons onto you.

He guides you to his bedroom, but he gently presses you to the door. He has you in between him and the door. There's no escape, so much for not unleashing his demons when he's a devil in disguise himself. He nuzzles your neck and lets out a desperate, needy noise.

His tongue peeks out to lick a strip of your neck. You gasp, your tense body melting into him. He holds you by grabbing your waist with his hands. “I need you,” he whispered, he pulled back and looked at you with pathetic, puppy eyes; impossible to say no to.

“Give yourself to me, Coryo.”

It's your fault. He will give himself to you. Demons and all. Bloody, pathetic, insane Coriolanus Snow, he's yours now.

“Yours,” he groaned, pressing wet, desperate kisses onto your neck, you move your head to give him more space, more skin to mark. He growls near your ear, letting the past high rush into his veins. The hold he has on your waist gets tighter. You were in different clothes, your academy uniform changed into a simple pink top and jeans.

You let out a moan when he bites into your neck, breaking the skin to form a dark bruise. You pressed into him like a whore. You whine, “I should let you kill more men if it gets you like this.”

He freezes. He then leans back. His lips parted to take in breaths, his pupils blown and his cheeks a deep wine red. He looks debauched and sexy. It drives you insane. You don't say anything further, waiting for his reaction.

He breaks out a feral, primal grin on his face. You were perfect for him. God, you were. He let his fingers wove themselves into your locks and he tugged hard. He relishes the whine that leaves your lips. It didn't hurt, no, he could see the same insane lust in your eyes that he felt in his blood.

He crashed his lips onto your soft ones. Both of your teeth clashed against each other as he kissed for the first time in his life. It was in no way perfect. Too much tongue, uncoordinated, sloppy, wet and so, fucking filthy. His blood rushed down his body as he sucks at your tongue, his fingers pulling at your hair tighter, moving your head so he could fuck your lips with his tongue. His free hand went near your neck. It would be easy to take your life, he realized.

He felt your pulse under his fingertips. His hand around your neck, it was there but he didn't put any pressure on it. His lips attached to yours still engaged in a fight for dominance, and neither of you was willing to give in. Each chasing your own, selfish pleasure through the kiss. He disappointingly understood he would never be able to live a life with you dead. Your beating heart gave him the same rush taking a life did.

You made him feel alive simply by existing.

Your existence is his survival.

You're his.

He groans into your mouth as he comes to the realization. He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both. He immediately went back for a few more kisses, already craving your lips like it was cocaine, chasing the chocolate taste on your tongue.

You gasp, taking in much-needed air as both break away again. His hand which was on your neck, travels to your jeans to unbutton them. Your hand holds his wrist before he can slide your pants off.

“Am bleeding,” you whispered, your eyes wide.

He had seen plenty of blood today, what's more? “Don't care,” he grunts out, he slides your jeans down, along with your panties letting it pool around your ankles. You kick them aside on the floor.

He buried his face into your shoulder, as you took a deep breath. “Can I?” He asked, his hands waiting for permission as his blunt nails dug into your thighs. Frankly, he doesn't even want to ask. And one day, he won't have to.

“Yes, Coryo,” you consent, your voice breathless and needy.

He was glad you couldn't see the satisfied grin on his face. He ignored his aching cock as his fingers slowly traveled up to between your soaked cunt. He pressed his palm against your pussy, letting his hand be colored by your blood and juices. He begins to move his palm up and down your folds and you moan, oversensitive. You begin to rut into his hand and he warningly squeezed your thigh.

“No,” he barks out, a sudden slap on your pussy making you cry out. “Behave, dove.”

You let out a whine, and Coriolanus doesn't want to handle a brat when he's feeling heaven for the first time. He slaps your pussy again, making you jolt. He whispered, dark and menacing, “Behave, bitch.”

“Coryo,” you moan.

“That's it, dove. Let me play with you,” he encourages as his fingers begin to touch your pussy, feeling up your slick folds, your slit through which you leaked out thick goops of blood he couldn't care less about.

His thumb finds your clit, he realized the bud was the source of pure bliss to you from the way you gasped as he began to play with it. His thumb roughly circles around the pearl, and you whine out his name, your hips bucking in again like a whore.

He allows you to do this, knowing that your brain is mush from the pleasure. He begins to bite into your neck, creating more dark hickeys that luckily the academy uniform will hide. He lets out a groan as he slips inside the first digit of your warm, slick, and tight gummy walls. His cock throbs with need. But he won't fuck you so soon, with everything still new to him.

“Fuck,” you cuss, your eyes rolling back. You would have fallen on the floor if it wasn't Coriolanus supporting you. He fucks into your warmth with a single finger, unsure if he should put another one in.

“More,” you whine and he listens. He gently thrust another of his long and dainty fingers inside of your bloody, wet cunt. He moans as he feels your walls pulsate against his digits.

“You feel perfect around my fingers. Look at your pussy squeezing them like a vice. Will your cunt squeeze my cock like that too?” He whines into your ears, growing desperate, his hips rutting into your side. The friction of his pants on his dick was dry but gratifying. He knew he spoiled his pants with pre-cum. He didn't care. He hears you whimper, unable to answer his sinful words.

“Coryo! Slow down!” You cry out as his fingers fuck into you at a rough pace, he wasn't sure what felt good for you or not. He listens, slowing down considerably, he decides to crook his fingers and finds a spongy spot pressing into his fingertips.

You let out a scream of pleasure, and Coriolanus has to use his free hand to shut you up. He pressed his palm onto your lips, muffling your noises. You liked him pressing into that spot. He crooked his fingers even more, rubbing the spot. He giggles as he sees your eyes glaze over like a dumb whore, your cunt spasming around his digits, close to cumming.

He begins to speed up again, and he knows it hurts a bit for you. He couldn't bring himself to care, your pussy is his. He will do whatever he wants. But as he feels the vibration of your desperate whine on his hand. He pressed wet kisses along your jaw, whispering apologies.

“Cum on my fingers, dove,” he whispered, his fingers hitting your g-spot with each thrust, his hips rutting into the side of your body. He was close to snapping himself, for you he was willing to cum in his pants like a stupid boy.

His thumbs find your clit again, now he gets even more feral. The pleasure borderlines to pain, and you drool, your chin covered in saliva which he licks up without shame. “It's fine,” he coos, “Cum, baby.”

He rubbed at your g-spot, his thumb flicking your clit. The coil in your stomach unwraps itself, ecstasy filling your veins as your cunt spasms around his digits. You cum from his fingers, your mind blank. Your eyes rolled back.

He groans, feeling his cock twitch and cums in his pants. It was surprisingly the best orgasm he ever had. He couldn't believe he came untouched. He couldn't find himself to be embarrassed about it, not when he has to pick up your pieces.

“You here with me?” He asked softly, gazing into your glossy eyes. You nod back, weak. He guides you to his bed. “Let me clean you up,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

He quickly changed into his pajamas, cleaning his hand clean of your blood. He takes a wet towel and cleans up the bloody mess smearing your thighs. You let out a whine when the towel touches your pussy. You were sensitive after your orgasm. He shushed you, “It's fine, doll.”

And he cleans you up before he helps you wear your panties. He doesn't make you wear the jeans as he doesn't want you to have any sensory overload right now. He goes to the kitchen and brings you a glass of water. He helps you drink the full glass, encouraging you softly.

He even puts a towel under you, in case you bleed through your pad. He feels the tiredness weighing him down and he lays down in bed beside you. The games will be there tomorrow. But he will only have this night with you once.

“You're everything, Coryo,” he hears you whisper, your throat hoarse even after drinking water.

You're his everything too.

NEXT PART

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raven-6-10 · 5 months ago

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The Dreamers in House Targaryen

So, I finally did the Thing I once promised to do.

Below the cut is the complete famiily tree of House Targaryen, based on all the information currently available in all the published books. I also included the Blackfyre branch for the sake of completness.

Included a reference for what means what on this absolute monster of family tree. Also, for the sake of clarity, I did not include spouses unless they were also Targaryens or a child of a Targaryen.

House Targaryen pre-Conquest surprisingly includes only two confirmed Dreamers and none who could be suspected of having the gift.

Or maybe it's just the lack of the data (*glares at Valaena's mother*)

Daenys the Dreamer: self-explanatory. The most famous of Targaryen Dreamers and the one everyone wants to be like.

Aegon the Dragon: honestly, no surprise there. GRRM confirmed that Aegon's Dream from the show is also canon to the books. But even if he didn't, I would have marked Aegon as a suspected Dreamer - it was long theoretised that Targs came to Westeros because of a prophecy about the Doom of Men, so I could see the Conquest being kicked off by a Dream.

Now this is were it gets Interesting!

Alysanne Targaryen: there is an excelent analysis of Fire & Blood chapters on why Alysanne could be a Dreamer. One that apparently was missed by her relatives.

Viserys I Targaryen: so the thing is. Book!Viserys is never hinted at to have Dragon Dreams. Even in the show, he only had the one dream (of dubious authenticity). Hence, marked as show!only Dreamer.

The Greens!

Helaena Targaryen: Honestly, same deal as Viserys. Book!Helaena is never even hinted at as somebody who might be a Dreamer. So she's in blue and not red.

Now, Aemond's potential line might have produced something. If Alys actually had a living child. And if that line survived more than a generation.

Unfortunately, Lack of Data.

Honestly, once again we are dealing with Lack of Data on the Blacks and their descendants. Fire & Blood only takes us to the end of Regency, which is when Aegon the Younger turns sixteen. We have almost nothing after that as WoIaF is much less detailed on the family doings.

So if there was somebody with the gift, the fact did not make it into history.

Aegon IV's many, many bastards!

(even if some only suspected)

(or you know, not actually his)

Brynden Rivers (The Bloodraven): the only one with magical shit going on, and his is explicitly of the First Men variety.

(If we ever get Fire & Blood 2, I have some hopes for Shiera.)

The Blackfyres!

Daemon II Blackfyre: very explicit confirmation in The Mystery Knight, as he speaks of several Dreams he had over his life that came true.

Also, it's a colossal mess of a family tree with multiple branches having an uncertain fate. *eyeroll* And fans wonder why nobody believes in Varys' story about Young Griff.

Moving back to the main family, we finally get some confirmations that yes, Targs still produce Dreamers. Granted that seems to be confined to Maekar's branch

Daeron the Drunken: confirmed in The Hedge Knight and about as explicit as it gets.

Aemon Targaryen: as confirmed as it can be when we don't have his pov. But he says several things during aFfC that in hindsight are rather prophetic.

And here are our heroes!

Daenerys Stormborn: very explicitly has Dragon Dreams and waking visions at various points in the books.

Jon Snow: technically, we still don't have the confirmation that he's actually a Targaryen. But Jon does have a dream about figting Others at the Wall with a sword of fire, that is very similar to the Dream Dany has about fighting warriors of ice at the Trident.

Rhaegar Targaryen: marked him as a suspected Dreamer for the simple fact that it is hinted that he could see Dany when she was having her visions in House of the Undying.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #valyrianscrolls #house targaryen #dreamers #dragon dreams

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nebulablakemurphy · 2 years ago

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Moves & Countermoves (Part 23)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Part 22

Y/N is just about to sleep when she hears it.

“We have to move now! They’ve released the mutts!” Peeta warns, calling the rest of the squad to action.

Down the tunnel, damp at their feet. Creeping quietly as not to attract unwanted attention. The space before them is dark, gut wrenchingly so and the howls of muttations draw closer.

Gale fires one of the incendiary arrows into the walkway ahead, there’s nothing there.

Cashmere is behind Y/N, gripping her hand firmly. Don’t you dare let go.

The flashlights help, they keep moving, trudging through the water, through a crawl space and onward. Jackson is about to come through, she’s the last of them; the mutts get her instead. Fighting their way into the crawl space.

Katniss fires an explosive arrow, the force of it throwing her back into Castor.

“Pollux, get us out of here!” He yells over the chaos.

Y/N and Cashmere separate.

“Katniss,” Y/N says, hauling her to her feet.

“I’m ok,” a little shell shocked, but Katniss marches on.

“Peeta?”

“We’ve got him, come on,” Finnick replies.

They’re getting out of this, all of them, together. They’d suffered enough. They’ve earned it.

Down the pipeline farther, running faster-

“Ahhh!”

“Castor!”

The mutts got him too. Pulling him down into the water, sinking in their ragged teeth.

Pollux can’t even scream, for his brother, mouth open in a silent cry.

Cressida tugs him forward. They have to keep going.

Gunfire holds off the mutts for only a second, they just keep coming. Hundreds. Thousands. Their skin slick and reeking of roses.

A ladder is finally within view, one that leads up into the capitol.

They have to go, one at a time.

Y/N rains steady fire from her gun.

Pollux is up. Homes is up.

Cressida is next.

Gale.

Peeta.

Katniss.

Leaving only Finnick, Cashmere and Y/N. Fighting the creatures off as best they can.

“Finnick, go now.” Cashmere calls.

“No, you.” He fires back.

Y/N hesitates, starting up the ladder, hanging one arm off to fire at the mutts. “One of you come on!” She drops her empty magazine into the water, loading a fresh one with her arms looped through the rungs. She nearly loses her footing.

“Y/N!” Katniss calls, staring down at her, with worried eyes.

“I’m fine.”

Cashmere is behind her then, patting her bum playfully. “Giddy up.”

Y/N focuses, moving faster, making room behind Cashmere for Finnick. Still kicking off the occasional mutt attempting to scale the ladder.

They’re finally nearing the top when a Capitol creation latches onto Cashmere’s leg, sinking it’s teeth in deep.

Y/N reaches back for her, but it’s useless. She digs her heel into its skull.

Finnick, runs it through with his trident. Now coated in its blood and Cashmere’s.

“Keep moving.” They have to keep moving.

Once they’ve cleared the ladder, Katniss uses the hollow to blow it up.

Y/N removes her belt, knotting it tightly around the top of Cashmere’s thigh, above the wound, to slow the bleeding. “Can you walk?”

Cashmere presses her lips together, allowing Finnick to help her upright. “Yeah.”

————————————————————————

“Haymitch, it’s happening.” Madge makes her way to him, through the slew of bystanders, in front of the broadcast screen. “Snow called for all Capitol citizens to come to his mansion. This is it!”

Haymitch nods, numbly. Everest and Arista are still in school. Daisy is strapped against his chest, sleeping through the yelling and premature rejoicing of those around them.

“Have you heard from her?”

Her.

Y/N.

“No,” Haymitch admits. Not since two nights ago. She would call if she could. He doesn’t dwell on what might be keeping her.

“She’s coming home, Haymitch.” Madge says, with childlike glee. “She’s going to end this and then she’s coming home.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N gives Peeta her nightlock pill, just incase Snow sends peacekeepers to search houses. One of Cressida’s friends and former stylist for the games, Tigris, has taken them in.

It is decided that Y/N, Katniss and Gale are the ones going for Snow, while the others hang back.

“Thank you for everything.” Peeta captures his mentor in a long hug.

I would do more for you, if I could. “I love you, Peeta.” Y/N tells him, “and I am so proud.” She smooths a hand over his hair.

He buries his head in her shoulder, “I love you too.”

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Y/N pulls away slightly, so he can say his goodbyes to Katniss. Who is waiting anxiously behind Y/N.

Cressida is nearest the door, waving Y/N over. “They will have disarmed the pods to ensure the safety of Capitol citizens, just get yourselves into the crowd and you should be able to walk right in. You’re not all glammed up and you’ll be wearing hoods, chances are no one will recognize you.”

Y/N nods, not caring if she’s telling the truth. She has to see this through. For Katniss, for Peeta. For Haymitch and their children. For herself.

The three of them open the door, marching out into the streets, becoming one with the crowd.

Among the sea of bodies is a girl. A little girl, held in her mother’s arms, wide blue eyes staring back at them. Her blonde curls peeking out from the hood of her yellow coat. She couldn’t have been more than four.

Just a couple years younger than Arista.

Y/N has to get home to Arista.

The palace guards are checking civilians as they line up at the front gates. One of them will surely recognize them. They try to turn back, to regroup and make a better plan.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The world around them explodes.

“It’s the rebels!” One of the men cries out.

Bullets rain down. From above and below, all around.

“Mama!” The girl in the yellow jacket is crouched over her mother’s lifeless body. “Mama.” Her mother won’t wake up. There’s screaming, there’s so much noise and she’s all alone.

With one last nod to Katniss, Y/N takes off. Trying to reach her. Because she has to try, if it were one of her children, she hopes someone would try.

“Mama!”

Y/N sweeps the girl up into her arms, searching for Katniss and Gale. The child screams in protest. Y/N understands, she is not her Mama. “Shh, sweetheart. I know you want your Mama.”

“Mama!”

“My name is Y/N,” Y/N says, against her ear. “I’m going to be your friend for a little while, would that be ok?”

The girl keeps crying, but no longer screaming.

“What’s your name, hmm?” Y/N continues rushing them through the crowd.

From the corner of her eye she makes out Gale, being dragged away by peacekeepers.

Where is Katniss?

The girl mumbles out something through her sobs.

“Tell me one more time, honey.” Y/N says, rubbing circles into her back.

“Poppy.”

Y/N pulls back slightly, blinking at her. “That’s a pretty name.”

She nods.

“One of my daughters is named after a flower too. Her name is Daisy.”

When the crowd comes to a standstill in front of the mansion’s still sealed gates, Y/N manages to find Katniss. She’s just a few feet away.

One of the palace guards calls for the children to be brought forward, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to let the little girl go. She will be safe. Snow is smart, calculated and there is no reason for him to kill Capitol children.

“Be brave, Poppy. You’re going to be safe now.” Y/N gives the girl one last squeeze before handing her over to the outstretched arms in front of her. She then begins forging a path to Katniss.

A hovercraft flies overhead, dropping parachutes to the children, being moved towards the mansion.

“Gifts.” The Capitol citizens marvel and little hands reach up to catch them in wonder.

Boom!

Screaming. Running.

The parachutes exploded.

Not parachutes, bombs.

Everyone rushes in to help the wounded. Y/N looks for her, for Poppy. Medics from district thirteen have arrived.

“Prim. Prim Rose.” Katniss recognizes her sister among them.

Prim looks to her sister. Sees that she is alive.

Boom!

What happened to the little girl in the yellow coat?

What happened to Katniss?

Oh. Y/N realizes.

Oh.

More bombs, the fire. It took the little girl in the yellow coat.

It took the medics from thirteen, including Prim.

It took Katniss, blowing her back, setting the jade green cloak ablaze.

Death takes everything. Her Aunt, her father, her tributes, her district.

Everyone but her.

She always tries to save them.

She always tries.

————————————————————————

Y/N startles awake, jerking upright in the hospital bed.

“Hey, hey, gentle. You’re still healing.”

Haymitch.

She’s in thirteen, she made it back to thirteen. Her skin burns, across her chest, down her arms. She glances down at herself, finding the reddened inflamed skin.

“Lie back.” Haymitch soothes, fluffing her pillow before her head comes to rest on it. “You’re alright, no permanent damage.”

“What happened?” She can’t remember.

“Second round of bombs blew you back, knocked your head. Doc says it might be a little fuzzy for a while.”

“Katniss? Peeta?”

“Both safe.” Haymitch assures her. “Katniss has some burns, same as you, but she’ll pull through.”

“Cashmere? Finnick?”

“Cashmere’s leg is healing up nice and Finnick is fine. Back with Annie. The kids are good, they’ve been asking for you.”

“Can I see them?” Y/N’s eyes well with tears. “Please, Haymitch.”

“Of course,” he pats her cheek. “Madge will bring them down after school.

“How are you?” Y/N asks, reaching out for his hand.

“I’m still kicking.” He squeezes their entwined fingers.

“Will you lay with me for a while?” It’ll be cramped, but she needs him close.

“The doctors won’t approve.”

“Please?”

Haymitch sighs, as if he could ever say no to her. “Scoot over and be careful.”

His weight shifts the mattress as he sides in behind her. His arms wrap around her, so softly. As if she’ll break.

“We did it.” She forces her lungs to expand, willing away the pain.

“We did it.” Now they get to live. Now they’ve earned it.

Part 24

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly @misfits1a @nj01 @eruannaaa-blog @thatkindofgurl @solikeapparently @innercreationflower

#moves & countermoves #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy fanfiction #haymitch fanfic #the hunger games fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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the-californicationist · 7 months ago

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Cali's Kinktober: Day 17

Kinktober Masterlist vox nihili - "voiceless" Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x f!reader Kinks > demons, face fucking, come inflation, dubcon Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

As an experienced witch, you decide to summon a powerful demon because you need his help, but the only way you can get his energy is by swallowing his come.

Warning: some dubcon, some actual goofiness, some come inflation; you know the drill. Don't like it? Don't read it!

You were prepared this time. You had bought the best supplies from very reputable sources. You’d mapped out the star charts. You’d articulated the spleens. Everything was in its rightful place. You were summoning a demon tonight, or you were hanging up your grimoire for good.

Ever since you’d discovered you had found a true Book of the Beyond, you’d practiced with it. You’d managed small things - imps, fairies, the odd incubus here and there - but, you wanted power. And true power came at a price. You had made a sacrifice or two over the years, and if you were being honest, sacrificial chicken fried up in a pan just like the real thing. So, it never went to waste. But, it just wasn’t cutting it.

So, you switched over to blood magic. Now, as you sat on your wooden floor, surrounded by candles and runes and attuned crystals, you took your blade in your hands and cut your palm to drip your own blood onto the bright white, chalk pentagram in the middle of the magic circle you’d created.

This was going to work. It had to. You were going to be the most powerful witch in the whole wide… wait.

What is that?

Your blood had created a small portal, and through it came a huge, dark hand.

Out of the floor in your den, a huge Arch Demon crawled into your space, steaming from the heat of Hell, snarling with vicious fangs, and yet looking like the most handsome man you’d ever seen in your life.

When he finally made it to the surface, you looked down at his legs; the furry, cloven hooves making ruts in your hardwoods. His tail swished back and forth, and he held a black, iron trident in his right hand. He was fully nude, his body carved from marble, nearly seven feet tall, with black, twisting horns that sat low on his head. His chest was broad and well-muscled, and his belly rounded right down into a swinging, engorged, uncut dick that was as big as your arm… soft.

“Hail!” You said, repeating your memorized mantra like you were supposed to, “Demon of the Underdark, Ruler of Great and Powerful Evil, I have summ–”

“Wha’s goin’ on in here, love?” The demon sounded… British?

“Well, I was reciting my mantra to summon you to this plane, my lord, just as the great tomes have des–”

“You summoned me?” He cackled, dark and deep, “Is that what this is? Oh, fuck me. Tha’s so adorable, babes.”

“Adorable? I need your powers, demon. Together, we will control the entire realm! Pray, tell me your name that I might write it in my book of magic.”

“Are you mad, love? A screw loose up there? These candles are from the department store, and I’m not sure what that is, but it’s definitely not eye of newt, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the demon chuckled, crossing his arms over his hulking chest, smiling down at you, “But, the name’s Gaz. Write it anywhere you want.”

“I just…” You felt tears spring to your eyes, trying to fight the frustration, “I always get so close to doing it right! The spells, the incantations… I even used the right runes this time. But, I still don’t have my true powers.”

“And what powers would you like to have, pet?” Gaz furrowed his brow as he looked at you, considering you with more regard, using his thumb to raise your chin up so he could see your face.

“I want to be a Master Summoner,” you sniffed, trying not to let your trembling lip give away your desperation.

“Ahh,” Gaz nodded knowingly, placing his hands on his hips, biting into his full bottom lip, “I think you’re missing a key element of your spell, babes.”

“What’s that? Please, my lord, I will do anything to know your secrets,” you prostrated yourself before him, your hands nearly touching his black hooves as you splayed yourself on the ground.

He bent down and pulled you up to your knees, shaking his head,

“It’s no secret, love. Demons only come when they know there are souls to harvest. I’ve come for yours, sweet as it is, but if you want to attract more of my kind, you must have more souls.”

“How do I get more souls?” You asked, watching his deep brown eyes calculating and manipulating the world around him, figuring just how to get what he wanted.

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss you on your pouting lips, immediately forcing his slithering, forked tongue into your mouth, plunging through your throat, testing its depth.

You choked around its soft, writhing form, but you let him devour you, feeling yourself swell with lust between your legs. He pulled away with a pleased moan.

“I can put them in you,” Gaz purred, standing tall again with a dark look in his eyes. He reached beneath the behemoth that was his cock and fondled his heavy, melon-sized balls, “I’ve got plenty in here. Just need to make sure they stay inside your body where you can keep them safe, pretty witch.”

“Whatever you believe will work, my lord,” you peered up at him, trying to look obedient and worthy of receiving dark powers, “I am your humble servant.”

“C’mere,” he beckoned you, and you crawled on your hands and knees to kneel before him, hanging your head in deference.

Gaz used his demonic paw to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head back, stretching your neck and bending it at a terrible angle. You gasped, hissing from the sudden pain. Then, he held your head in place and began to rub the oily body of his demon cock against your face, dragging it over your nose and mouth, letting the head drool across your cheek.

“I think we should keep them in your belly, love. Are you gonna suck them out of me, or do I need to put them there myself?” His voice was a jagged growl.

You looked up at him and stuck out your tongue, using both of your hands to massage and rub his cock all over your face, letting your tongue lick the fire and brimstone smokey taste from his shaft. You found the head at the end of his long length, and you suckled away at the shining, dripping precome that oozed from his slit.

The only problem was, you weren’t sure how to fit this huge cock into your mouth. You made a feeble attempt at sinking his head between your cheeks, and he chuckled at you, guiding himself a little deeper, making your jaw ache from his intrusion.

“Tha’s it, lovie. Gotta work for it, babe.”

“Mm hmm-nm,” you told him.

“Oh, yeah? More, you say…” He winked, watching your eyes widen with concern, and he took both of his terrible fists, curled them into your hair on the back of your skull.

Decisively, and with a steady strength, Gaz shoved his cock through your stretched lips, past your tongue, and rammed it against your soft palate, making you gag against him, your body convulsing, trying to stop him from going any further. The demon snarled,

“Now, suck. Show me your true powers, witch.”

You were bolstered by his belief in you, even if you also felt like your jaw was going to dislocate itself from your face. When your eyes peered down your nose to map out just how much more cock you needed to swallow, you shivered. But, you were going to be a Master Summoner, and you weren’t giving up that easily.

You began to suck in long, aching pulls, breathing through your nose, working your head back and forth with Gaz’s help, massaging his wet tip until it was practically bursting with dewy drops of his slick. You swallowed it down your throat, and you were surprised at how comforted you felt by the sensation of his warm fluid slipping down into your empty stomach.

“Good… so good,” Gaz rumbled with a pleased resonance, “Are you ready for me to fuck this tight little throat of yours?”

“Mngh! Nhuhmph!” You tried to shake your head back and forth, but his heavy prick had hardened, and you couldn’t move or turn your head at all. You were trapped on him, stuck in place, primed and ready for your mouth to be claimed by a demon.

“I knew you would be,” he smiled sinisterly, taking a step forward and shoving his cockhead past your palate and into your throat, feeding himself down your neck and stretching you in places you were almost positive you should not have been stretched.

The sting made your eyes well up with tears, flowing freely across your temples, and you tried to shut them to clear some of the pain, but your hellish master used his hand to slap your cheek twice in quick succession, punishing you for it, his voice a sinful command,

“Eyes on me, you fuckin’ slag. Power hungry girls don’t get to be shy. Face your challenges, witch.”

You looked up at him, finding that dark defiance within you. He was right. You did hunger for power, and you wanted him to fill your belly full of souls so that you could control the demon army of your destiny. This was your time to shine.

You wanted to impress him, so you stared into his gaze and sank yourself even deeper down onto his dick, gagging violently as you tried to take him. It felt like his cock was in your chest.

“Ooh, yes,” Gaz grinned with sharp, white teeth and fangs, proud of your fury, “Tha’s it, babes. More. Take more of me.”

You felt him press himself down and down and down, all your hopes of taking one last breath were dashed, and you could only wriggle helplessly on the end of his long rod like a fish on a hook, caught and without any chance of escape.

Maybe he would kill you and take your soul to Hell, you thought. He was a demon after all. But, he wasn’t done with you. Gaz watched you struggle to remain conscious, trying to breathe as he rammed himself in and out of your throat, fucking your face with reckless need. Then, he pulled himself out of you just enough for you to suck in a ragged, drooling breath, and he held himself there, watching you carefully.

“There,” Gaz purred, petting the same cheek he had so violently abused, “Breathe, pet. Better make it count.”

You were crying from the desperation, unsure of how to get your lungs to feel even the slightest pull of relief, trying to suck in air through the thick drool and slick precome that coated your nose and mouth.

Then, he pet your head and sighed,

“That’s enough for now.”

He was back to his pounding. You were taking him all the way down to his swollen root now, and his black curling pubic hair brushed against your nose and chin. You used your hands to fondle his swinging sack, massaging his balls, coaxing them to dump their many souls into your willing body. You were preparing to be a vessel for a demon, and the feeling between your legs let you know just how much that idea turned you on.

“Suck!” Gaz shouted, slamming his cock through your mouth, “Suck me harder, you filthy little bitch. Suck me like your life depends on it,” he leaned his head down and made his eyes flash red, “Because it does.”

You wailed, but it came out like a moan, trying so hard to please him, sucking him when you had the ability to do so, but for the most part, you were nothing more than his warm cocksleeve.

He buried your face in his pubes, holding your head down as you thrashed for air, pushing at his furry cervine legs for freedom, and then… you stopped. You felt euphoric. Your mind stopped fighting as soon as you felt the molten hot stream of Gaz’s viscous demon come filling your belly.

“Oh, fuck! Yes,” he moaned, smiling sickly, trembling and shaking above you, keeping your head pressed down, forcing you to take him as deep as you could, “Swallow it all, witch. Drink up all these fuckin’ souls.”

You swallowed and took in as much as you could. He had been pumping and throbbing inside of your mouth for so long now, you could actually feel the weight of his seed inside of yourself, and it made you feel so powerful. You rubbed your lower belly, rounded from the creamy gulps of demon come that was being stuffed inside of you, enjoying how full you were.

Then, all of a sudden, Gaz released you, raking himself out of your throat, bringing strings of come and drool and spit with him. Your body clenched, gagging and coughing as he left you empty, your throat feeling like it had been burned. You could taste his spend on your tongue, and you sat back, panting, trying to let the oxygen get into your brain again.

“Mmm,” Gaz moaned, jerking his softening prick in his huge hands, taking the tip and rubbing its sticky remnants all over your face, “Such a good little summoner. You summoned my come right into your tummy, didn’t you, slut?”

“Yes, my lord,” you rasped.

“Does my nasty witch wan–” Gaz’s salacious comment was interrupted by the portal reopening. You both slid away from it, unsure of who or what was coming through.

“Gaz?” A demon with a tall mohawk and long, straight horns that went back across his head, squeezed himself through the open gap in your magic portal, “Mate, where did ye run off to? Didnae even finish your third torture sesh. Oh! Oh… what’ve you got here?”

The apparently Scottish demon startled you, and his gaze was unsettling. He stared at you like he wanted to eat your bones for supper.

“It worked!” You celebrated, “Oh, thank you, my lord. The souls you gave me have summoned another demon!”

“What?” Gaz said, “Uh, no… this is Soap, and he was jus–”

“Summoned? I wasnae summoned here, lass. What was supposed to work?”

“The souls,” you explained smugly, “Lord Gaz has filled my belly with his seed, and he told me that it contains a multitude of souls that I can use to attract other, more powerful demons.”

“He told you that his fuckin’ spunk was full of souls,” Soap asked, his face curling into a boyish grin, “And you believed him.”

You nodded. Gaz sighed, waiting for the next quip that he knew was on its way out of the other demon’s mouth.

“Well, bonnie,” Soap sauntered over to you, jerking his own immense phallus, “Mine’s got twice as many as his does. Hope you saved room for dessert.”

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a-killer-obsession · 8 months ago

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Pirate's Pet [Wire x Reader]

Pirates come to your town, and one decides you look too nice to leave behind.

CW: NON-CON, yandere!Wire, chubby afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, kidnapping, bondage, breeding kink, forced pregnancy, use of ‘daddy’, panty kink, slapping, spitting, oral (reader receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, forced orgasms, forced creampie, Stockholm syndrome, golden birdcage

WC: 2.6k

Masterlist || A03

You should have known better when the bell to indicate incoming pirates rang out over your small town. With no marines close enough to defend it, your town was at their mercy whenever pirates landed, and the bell was supposed to be the call to evacuate to the woods. You, stupidly, hadn't done so. You hated having to go to the woods, often having to stay there for hours, sometimes even days, until the all clear was given. Cold, wet, uncomfortable, getting pickled by sticks and small sharp stones whenever you tried to sit down. You thought that maybe this time you could just hide in the comfort of your home, instead of braving the heavy weather that had forced the pirates to dock in the first place. Big fucking mistake.

The pirates had broken down your door to search for goods, and when a tall man wielding a trident pulled you from under your bed and held you upside-down by your ankle, you knew you'd fucked up. He looked at you like a piece of meat, throwing you on the bed, ripping your blouse open to expose your bra, gagging you with strips he tore from your clothes, and throwing you over his shoulder like a slaughtered pig. Your relentless kicking and punching barely phased him, you may as well have been a fruit fly as he carried you back to the imposing ship he called home. You recognised his captain as Eustass Kid of the worst generation as the tall man carried you up the gangplank, the redhead merely laughing in amusement as you passed.

“Found yourself a toy, ey Wire?” Eustass laughed, “maybe this one will last a little longer.”

“Nice wide hips,” Wire reported, like he'd found a good sale at the market, and spanking your ass hard, “might be worth trying to get this one knocked up, she's got a good build for carrying a baby.” You screamed around your gag at the implication, Wire undeterred as you tried to fight your way off his shoulder.

“Aye, nice fat ass too,” another man, with pale blue dreadlocks and thorn like tattoos commented, “send her my way if you get bored aye?”

“Get your own, Heat,” Wire growled, carrying you up two sets of external stairs and through the door to the stern castle. He carried you through the short hall to his room, where he dumped you on his bed unceremoniously. Before you could scurry away he was grabbing your wrist and dragging it to the edge, where he cuffed it to a chain attached to a strong bracket on the wall. Before you had a chance to protest, he grabbed the other wrist and did the same with the opposite side, leaving you on your back in the middle of the bed, your arms spread out. It was clear he was set up for this, he'd obviously been planning to take a prisoner, and you'd been the only dumb bitch stupid enough to get caught. You kicked your legs at him, catching his face before he pinned your ankles against the mattress with his large hands.

“Do I have to chain your legs too,” Wire said flatly, removing your gag so you could answer him, “or are you going to behave?”

“BITE ME!” you shouted, spitting in his face.

“I will, later,” he purred as he wiped the glob of saliva from his face, “unfortunately I have shit to do before we can play, so you need to stay here and be a good girl.”

“Don't fucking touch me!” You screamed, trying to kick him again until he gave an exasperated sigh and chained you ankles as well, leaving you spread like a starfish. You tried to bite him as he pushed the gag back into your mouth, which earned you a hard slap that made your eyes water and quickly broke your spirit.

“You'll see soon that you belong here,” he cooed, running his hand down your front and breezing it over your breast, “perfect little thing, Daddy is gonna take such good care of you, and you're gonna look so pretty with my baby in you. Be good now sweetheart, or I'll have to skip bringing you dinner tonight, and we can't have that, can we? Gotta keep you nice and chubby so you're in good condition to grow my baby.”

You tried to scream but it was muffled by the gag, as Wire bent down and pressed kisses all over your face and down your neck, finishing at your breasts before he sighed contently and stood. “I'll see you in a few hours, then we're gonna have such fun,” he smiled before leaving you alone in the room, hearing the lock click into place as the door shut behind him. You fought against the restraints, testing for weaknesses, and when you found none there was nothing left to do but sob, hyperventilating as the gag made it hard to breathe until you ran out of air and passed out, your hindbrain taking over breathing for you now that you weren't awake and panicking.

You wake up to the sound of tearing fabric and a cold blade pressing against your skin as Wire cut and tore away your clothes, stripping you entirely until you had nothing but your panties on. He didn't want to waste your pretty lace panties yet, he could have a little fun with them before he tore them off too. “You're so beautiful,” Wire cooed as he pressed his thumb against your cunt to push the fabric between your folds, admiring how fat your labia were. He liked a girl with a bit of softness to her, what was the point of a girl if she wasn't lovely and soft and squishy? “I knew as soon as I saw you that you belong with me,” he smiled cruelly, “daddy's gonna make you feel so good. Such a lucky girl, you don't have to worry about anything anymore. No job or chores or other pirates, just gotta focus on getting nice and bred.”

You shook your head frantically, and he pinched your face hard in his hand, squishing your cheeks and making your lips purse. “No need to be shy about it,” he growled, “you belong here, you belong to me, you're not going anywhere so you can get rid of any silly notions of escaping. There's nowhere to go, we're out at sea and your town is nothing but ash.”

You whimpered as tears welled in your eyes, and Wire made soft shushes as he wiped the tears that escaped. “Shhh, shhh, daddy's got you now,” he cooed, “you're gonna be such a good mama, I know it.”

Wire settled himself to kneel between your legs, palming himself through his leather shorts, a noticeably large tent making your eyes widen. He unbuckled his pants and pulled out his long, thick cock, and you whimpered at the size. Wire noticed your fear and rubbed the head of his cock against your panty covered core. “Shhhh, don't worry mama, gonna be real gentle with you,” he soothed, “gonna get you nice and wet and begging for it first.”

Wire lent over you, caging you under his massive body and kissing you over the gag, before moving to your neck, groaning against it as he licked and nipped at your sensitive skin and relished your whimpers. Every little whine you let out made his cock throb, he couldn't wait to fuck your brains out. The head of his erection pressed against your panties, smearing precum over the fabric, the thin satin the only protection to keep his cock from forcing its way inside you. He trapped his length between your pussy and his hand, fucking the space between, rubbing against your covered clit. Your body began to betray you, clit swelling as arousal built from the friction, tears rolling down your cheeks as you struggled to refuse the stimulation.

Wire was quick to notice as the gusset of your panties grew wet, pulling them aside so he could run a finger between your folds to feel the slick you were making against your will. “Good girl!” Wire praised, “see, your body knows you belong here! Your pussy is so eager for me to breed you! Don't worry sweetheart, daddy is gonna give you what you need.”

The cuffs on your ankles dug into your skin as you fought to get away from him, unable to stop him as he tore the panties from your body, leaving you completely naked. He slid his shaft between your folds a few more times before deciding on something else, kissing and licking his way down your body until he was flat on his belly between your legs, his legs hanging off the end of the bed as he nosed against your pussy. “You smell so lovely,” he cooed, before licking a fat stripe up your cunt, chains rattling at your body went taut, “so sweet as well, mmm. I think I'll give you a reward before I fuck my baby into you.”

It felt like his tongue was trying to memorise every inch of your cunt, exploring every part of it, rolling against your clit and prodding at your entrance. You did what you could to pull tight the muscles there, but his strong tongue bullied its way inside you regardless of your efforts, lapping at your walls and making you produce more slick. There was nothing you could do to stop your body's natural processes when he was using his tongue so skillfully, if he hadn't taken you by force you would have been having a good time, but instead all you could do was whimper and struggle to bite back unwanted moans. You couldn't suppress the pleasured sounds forever though, especially not as he started sucking on your clit and pushing two fingers inside you, curling them to put pressure on your g-spot. The single moan you failed to hold back made him grin against you, knowing he had won, and quickly forcing a harsh orgasm from you.

You laid deadly still as your peak passed, making sad, defeated whimpers as he pulled his fingers from you. He crowded back over you, pulling down your gag and replacing it with his juice covered digits. “Taste how bad you want me,” he teased, “desperate little slut, begging to be bred. I'm gonna pump you full of so much cum it'll have nowhere to go but your womb.”

He gagged you with his long fingers before pulling away, focusing on lining his cock up with your entrance. “No!” You screamed, coughing from your strained throat, “please don't, please don't!”

“You mouth is saying no, but your soaked cunt is saying otherwise,” he grinned, grinding his length against you and letting his shaft get coated in your fluids, “don't worry, daddy will just give you the tip for now, until you can be a good girl and take all of it. We've got all night to mould your pussy to fit me.”

He pushed just the head of his cock inside you, slipping in easily thanks to his preparation, making short thrusts while you cried out for him to leave you be. He alternated between stretching you with the fat head of his cock, and rubbing it between your labia, each time giving you hope that he wouldn't put it back in before dashing those hopes away. Suddenly he sunk all the way in with a grunt, your warm wet hole being too much for him to resist, making you scream as he fully hilted his thick length in your tight cunt.

“You- you said you wouldn't!” You stuttered.

“I lied,” he grunted, “but look at you, you're doing so well sweetheart! You've got my whole cock inside you, I bet that feels nice huh?”

“No!” You spat back. He grabbed your face harshly and pinched it.

“Don't lie to daddy,” he growled, giving you a harsh thrust that forced a breathy moan from you. “See, it's good, huh? Nice and full! You'll be full of cum soon too.”

“No, don't!” You cried out as he started pumping you with his cock, your pussy making wet squelches as he fucked you. “No- hnng- s-stop, l-leave me alone! Hnng, fuck.”

“There it is,” Wire cooed, letting go of your face as you relented to his fucking, making soft moans as you failed to refuse how good it felt any longer, “there you go baby, I told you daddy would make you feel good. Let go sweetheart, you belong here, speared on my cock, taking all of me like you were made for me. Your pussy is fluttering around me, you're gonna cum on my cock soon huh?”

“No!” You denied, but your body was giving you away. The coil in your stomach was pulling tight, and you made heavy pants between moans as Wire gripped your hips and fucked you harder than you'd ever been fucked before, no doubt having the biggest cock you'd ever taken. You started feeling like maybe it wasn't so bad, being trapped here to be fucked and bred by a pirate, he said he'd keep you safe, right? Fuck, how long does Stockholm Syndrome usually take to kick in? Maybe you were just insane, or he really was actually fucking your brains out, so much that you no longer had the ability to think straight.

His thumb drawing circles on your clit pulled you from your thoughts, giving you the last push you needed to clamp down around him, coming with a scream and a gush of fluid neither of you expected. The not unwelcomed surprise made Wire groan and unload inside you, filling you till your overstuffed cunt was leaking. He took a few moments to rest against you, warming his cock and keeping his cum plugged up inside you. Eventually he pulled away, tutting softly as he saw the way his sheets were drenched.

“Oh sweetheart, you've made such a mess,” Wire cooed, “it's okay, daddy will take care of you. You've been such a good girl. Are you gonna behave if I unchain you?”

You gave a weak nod, your spirit entirely broken, disgusted at yourself for cumming not once, but twice, by your captor. You didn't move as Wire unclipped your shackles, pressing soft kisses to each limb where the cuffs had bit into your skin. He picked you up in a gentle bridal hold, carrying you to his bathroom and keeping you in his lap as he filled the tub, before lowering both you and himself into the water. He washed you slowly and methodically with luxurious smelling products, massaging your aching joints and your scalp as he worked shampoo into it. At some point you dozed off, waking in his bed, laid with fresh sheets, dressed in an expensive feeling satin nighty and tucked under mountains of blankets and furs. Next to you on the side table was a tray of food, not just scraps like you expected but good, tasty smelling food. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. He only wanted a baby right? You knew you wanted kids anyway. Maybe being the pet of some pirate who treats you well, spoils you and makes you cum hard wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Maybe you really did belong here.

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#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #one piece x reader #wire x reader #wire one piece

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willamaybeck · 11 months ago

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pjo/hoo @/amusement park headcanons

idk i thought of this forever ago and it's been sitting in my notes forever, so here

piper throws up on a rollercoaster

percy cannot, for the LIFE of him, win annabeth a prize.

"let me show you how it's done, seaweed brain." she calculates how to throw and wins him a tiny stuffed trident.

rachel has to quickly pull grover away from his feast in the trash cans before someone sees

leo & calypso fix a broken-down ride

jason tries to convince thalia to do the bungee jump dive w him--she offers up piper instead but ends up doing it anyway

(she may or may not nearly strike percy w a lighting bolt)

hazel helps a little girl find her lost earrings and frank is basically in love

everyone realizes they "lost" percy & annabeth at the water park ;)

jason was sent to find them and boy--HE DEFINITELY FOUND THEM

frank accidently gives archery lessons

jokes about grover becoming the amusement park janitor

hazel kinda wishes nico were there but she knows he wouldn't have had fun

rachel & calypso befriend each other

piper gets a piggyback ride from leo & vice versa, as well

frank & grover are "guests" in a hypnosis performance

thalia finds this too amusing and takes pictures for the hunters to enjoy

percy & annabeth stroll around themselves for a while just being cute <33

jason mentions smth about nico being gay to piper (an aside, just a short snippet):

annabeth was trying to sneak up on piper w her yankees cap but now she stumbles back to percy by the restrooms and almost cries laughing.

"all this time we thought he had a crush on me, but it was you!"

percy is so mortified

calypso slaps percy when she first sees him (they were all kinda nervous about them meeting again, esp annabeth even tho she knew not to worry; if your bf can turn down a roman praetor for you w/o even fully remembering you, then you should be fine) but then she thanks him for leaving. he's not her happy ending, and she isn't his.

honestly, he was most shocked to see her wearing jeans

leo somehow catches a water ride on fire??

jason & percy volunteer to be in a sword fighting demonstration--somehow none of the mortal audience notices they discarded the prop swords they were given

piper & annabeth are slightly worried they're going to kill each other

calypso guarantees them this a "rather healthy" confrontation

"of course, verbal communication is the best way, but guys think differently."

grover has a picture of juniper in his wallet. rachel finds this incredibly sweet

leo jokingly volunteers to give grover's goatee a trim

no one appreciates the pun.

grover declines.

hazel almost uses golden drachmas as payment for her lunch and frank just can't help but laugh at her

jason & piper fly around the park

the aerial tramway is for chumps

piper fangirls very much upon seeing percy & annabeth's seat--midair snuggling and forehead kisses

jason calls down to thalia to be calm

she's gripping the ride so tightly

she wasn't even supposed to be IN the cart bc it's only fit for two people but rachel & grover pulled her into it

leo's super fuckn fascinated when learning to braid calypso's hair

he tries to copy piper's braids, but she has to inform him it's complicated due to her uneven hairstyle

thalia, rachel, grover, percy, & annabeth all eat lunch together and it's so comfortable.

thalia had never fully met rachel but now she's just crying from how rachel blatantly broke up w percy w/o even dating him

388 notes · View notes

ilguna · 1 year ago

Text

☼ NFWMB pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; nothing can tear the two of you down. they can try, but you're always one step ahead.

warnings; swearing, death, weapon usage, ehh gore, blood mention.

wc; 5.5k

notes; Piano Sessions: songfic, NFWMB by Hozier. not really noticeable, though.

part two.

—

“Here she comes.” You murmur to Finnick, he tilts his head back to get a look.

Katniss is coming down from the tree she scaled a few minutes before. She wanted to assess the situation around the Cornucopia, see how many victors have died so far. By the grim look on her face alone, it tells you all about what won’t be said aloud.

Well, not by you, anyway. Finnick doesn’t care about being sensitive. “What’s going on down there, Katniss?” He asks once she’s made contact with the ground. He’s holding his trident out, casually defensive, as if he’s silently telling her that he’ll fight if he has to. “Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?”

His voice is teasing, because he knows exactly the thought process that she must’ve gone through while she was up there, alone. She likely went up the tree, expecting to find some blood in the water, but not much. After all, twenty-four of you had thrown everything you had at the Capitol to convince them not to send you into the arena, and held hands to show unity among the districts, even if it was a second… She must’ve had herself convinced that there wouldn’t be carnage.

With no pressure to appear complaint with an alliance she had no say in, she could work out her real feelings. Weigh the pros and cons of staying together. It’s led her to think that if you would kill the victors you’ve known and worked with for years, what would keep you from killing her and Peeta, too? How could she reasonably agree to stay?

She can’t.

“No.” Katniss says, responding to Finnick’s pointless question.

“No,” He repeats. “Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance.” He pauses, eyeing Peeta. “Except maybe Peeta.”

He’s standing off to the side, looking between Katniss and Finnick, trying to decide whether or not they’re getting hostile—if he should intervene. This is exactly what Finnick means, Peeta’s too good to be in here. It’s his kindness that almost got him out the first time.

While the rest of you would selfishly kill to save your own lives if it meant survival, he would risk his life to save everyone. He’s got compassion, a quality that the rest of you lack the moment you step into the Games. The only reason why he got crowned was because Katniss refused to let him die, the rest of you fought and didn’t let anything get in your way, mercilessly.

The silence between the two of them is growing heavy with every passing second. It’s as if they’re playing chess, without making any of the physical moves. They’re going back and forth on deciding who will be the one that could come out a fight alive. Who’s the stronger tribute, what move they should make, if they should be the one to make it first.

You know better than to think that Finnick would make the first move. He knows you can’t afford to lose Katniss’ trust entirely. She’s the key to getting out of this arena alive. She’s the one that holds the rebellion in her hands, whether or not she realizes that. Finnick will only move if she does, and it’ll be in self-defense.

You don’t give her the chance, stepping between them, spinning the spear in your hand until you stab it headfirst into the ground. This is to show her that you’re not looking for a fight. She can hold the power in this situation if she wants to, but you won’t let her attack Finnick. She’ll have to get through you, first.

Katniss’ eyes narrow, unhappy that you’re blocking her real target. She won’t be able to kill you, and you know this. Katniss actually likes you, she even suggested having you as her ally to Haymitch, but changed her mind when she found out that you and Finnick come as a package deal.

You give her a little smile, tilting your head. “Did you see how many are dead?”

“Hard to say.” She tells you, still tense. Her fingers flex around the bow, suddenly deciding to lean on her hip, as if she’s trying to see Finnick around you.

Your chin drops, smile fleeting, eyes boring into hers.

The expression is enough for her to take a step back, catching the message. “At least six, I think. And they’re still fighting.”

With upturned lips, you finally move out of the way, allowing her to see Finnick again.

“Let’s keep moving. We need water.” Peeta says.

His eyes are bouncing between you and Finnick, as if he doesn’t know which one of you to talk to. You pull your spear out of the dirt, holding it in one hand as you cross one arm over your chest and one under.

“Better find some soon,” Finnick says. “We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight.”

Katniss presses her lips together, nodding slowly.

“We’ll have Peeta lead the way, then.” You motion.

Peeta doesn’t argue, fixing the machete in his hand before beginning to cut away at the vegetation the same way he had been before taking the break. Finnick tries to push you up next, but you place your hand on his back, forcing him forward. The previous formation had worked before he had a standoff with Katniss. You need to be at the end, now. For everyone’s sake.

The slope is a nightmare to climb, but at least you’re not running. It’s easier to move at a slower pace, knowing that the Careers are preoccupied with the Cornucopia. You won’t be worrying about them until tonight, when the biggest fight is over, and they begin to search for smaller ones.

It must be a mile before it looks like the end of the tree line, as you reach the crest of the hill. Katniss speaks behind you through heavy breaths. “Maybe we’ll have better luck on the other side. Find a spring or something.”

You hope she’s right, because you’re not going to last very long in this heat if she isn’t. It’ll be a waste of time and energy if you go down into this valley and it’s just more trees. By then, you’ll probably be too delirious to keep searching. It’ll be on the mentors and sponsors to keep you alive.

“Peeta, don’t—!” Katniss suddenly cries out, taking a step around you.

A sharp zapping sound fills the air, a blast of air, and then Peeta’s being flung back, straight into you and Finnick. You hit the ground, arms over your head to keep from cracking it on a rock. There’s a dull ache in your ribcage afterwards, but it’s so menial that you forget about it when you hear Katniss calling for Peeta.

You sit up, finding Finnick already looking at you. He touches the side of your face, rubbing away a clump of dirt. “Are you—?”

“Peeta!” Katniss screams. She’s on her knees above him, shaking his body so hard that he’s rocking. She slaps his cheeks, trying to wake him. “Peeta!”

Finnick’s hand falls from your face, mouth open as he crawls a few feet over to Katniss, you move to follow. He pushes her out of the way, needing to be where she’s sitting, “Let me.”

He touches the points at Peeta’s neck, and you catch on to his plan immediately. He runs his fingers over the bones in his ribs and his spine, being thorough. When he stops, he pinches Peeta’s nose shut.

“No!” Katniss yells, hurling herself at Finnick.

You jump, arms securing around her upper body, tackling her to the ground. She’s stronger than she looks, though, because she manages to get out of your grip, and flips her body on top of yours. With both of your hands pinned next to your head due to her knees, she pulls an arrow, pressing it against the bow, and draws back the string, aiming for Finnick.

“Wait!” You squirm beneath her. “Don’t!”

She holds the position, watching your boyfriend. You arch your back, turning your head to the side to try and see where Finnick’s at in the process. You can hardly see him out of the corner of your left eye, due to him being directly behind you.

He’s breathing air into Peeta’s lungs, making his chest rise and fall. Finnick then reaches to unzip the top of the jumpsuit to get access to his skin. And like all the times he’s done it before, he begins to pump the area over Peeta’s heart with the heels of his hands.

When you look back at Katniss, you can see that the intense crease between her eyebrows has relaxed. She watches, captured by Finnick’s actions. When she glances down, she realizes that she’s still on top of you, so she moves off, the arrow sinking to the ground.

You get to your feet, wanting to be out of the dirt and grass. Finnick is so well rehearsed that while you would feel the need to ask anyone else if they’d like to trade off, you don’t bother with him. He goes on like this for several minutes, determination not once wavering.

When Peeta lets out a small cough, Finnick backs off. Katniss flings herself at him, brushing his hair off of his forehead. “Peeta?”

His eyes flutter open, landing on Katniss. “Careful.” His voice is weak. “There’s a force field up ahead.”

The laugh that comes from Katniss is choked, because of the tears coming down her face is a giant wave. Finnick gets to his feet, coming to you to brush his fingers through your hair, combing out dirt and leaves.

“She didn’t hurt you, did she?” He murmurs quietly. “I couldn’t tell.”

“I’m fine.” You assure him. “You’re a quick thinker.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Anything to save the alliance, right?”

He wanders away to recollect the weapons, your eyes linger on Katniss and Peeta.

“Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof. I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.” He tells her.

“You were dead! Your heart stopped!” She bursts, and then slaps her hand over her mouth.

“Well, it seems to be working now. It’s all right, Katniss.” He touches her arm. She nods her head, but doesn’t move her hand. “Katniss?”

“It’s okay. It’s just her hormones.” Finnick says, dropping the trident, spear and machete into a lazy pile together. He’s looking down at them. “From the baby.”

“No. It’s not—” She’s cut off by her own sobs, glaring through the tears at Finnick.

You stare, unsure of what’s happening. When you look at Finnick, you find him just as puzzled, fae twisted. He looks between the teenagers on the ground, before giving a glance your way. You raise your eyebrows, he shakes his head slightly.

“How are you?” He asks Peeta. “Do you think you can move on?”

“No, he has to rest.” Katniss insists, pressing the back of her arm to her nose to keep it from running. She wipes the tears from her face, trying to seem presentable again. She then reaches toward Peeta’s neck, picking up the gold disk attached to the necklace. “Is this your token?”

“Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match.” He says.

“No, of course I don’t mind.” She smiles.

“So you want to make camp here, then?” You ask, trying to get them back on track.

“I don’t think that’s an option.” Peeta says. “Staying here. With no water. No protection. I feel all right, really. If we could just go slowly.”

“Slowly would be better than not at all.” Finnick says, reaching to help Peeta to his feet.

You collect the trident and the spear, while Katniss grabs the machete for Peeta. She hands it to Peeta, checking over her own weapons. Once everyone has gathered themselves, she starts forward. “I’ll take the lead.”

—

“Run!” Katniss’s shrill voice cuts through the quiet night air. “Run!”

A hand secures around your forearm, pulling you upright. You squint through tired eyes to find the enemy, reaching to grab your spear. Finnick’s on his feet, trident in one hand, your arm in the other.

The only thing you’re met with is the wall of white fog, descending upon you. You try to get to your feet, realizing that you have to run. Finnick doesn’t have the patience, leaning over you to simply scoop you into his arms. You bounce, wrapping an arm around the back of his shoulders.

“Finnick.” You say, but he doesn’t look at you, attention alternating between the path ahead and the fog that’s closing in on you from the sides.

He holds up the trident wordlessly, you take it from his hand. This allows him to get a better hold on your body. You watch his face for a few minutes, and then you turn your attention to the two behind you.

Katniss and Peeta are struggling to keep up with the pace that Finnick is setting—which is impressive, considering you’re an extra weight in his arms. Peeta is moving slower than he was this afternoon, meaning that the force field did more damage than any of you realize.

Katniss is holding his hand, moving in front of him, picking out where they run through. They’re managing to stay in front of the fog, but not by much. The fog is lapping at their heels, and even through the darkness, you can see their reactions to it.

“They’re struggling.” You tell him.

He turns enough to get a brief look at them. “You can do it, follow my path!”

It’s not enough. Finnick only takes a couple more steps when you watch as Peeta gets his prosthetic leg caught in a patch of weeds. He can’t catch himself, and it’s too late for Katniss, too. He sprawls across the grass, with Katniss struggling to help him.

“Finn,” You squirm in his arms, “We have to get them. They’re going to die.”

He stops running now, panting. He lets your legs down first, making sure that you’re on a solid part of the ground before he leaves you, trekking back up to the tributes from Twelve. You watch as Katniss jerks Peeta forward, causing him to stumble. Finnick gets there, pulling Peeta’s arm over his shoulders. Katniss wedges her shoulder under the other, and they begin to work together.

“Do you want me to help?” You call.

“No, (Y/n)!” Finnick shouts. “Find us a path.”

You give a hard nod, turning and going down the slope, trying to pick out an area that the three of them will be able to take together. However, they’re only able to make it so far before Finnick stops. You watch as him and Katniss talk for a moment, before he points at you.

She stares at him for a long moment, like she’s confused. As soon as you take a step to go back and find out what the issue is, Finnick pulls Peeta onto him. Katniss is running at you, leaving him behind. When she gets close, she grabs a hold of your arm, pulling you with her.

You resist, watching Finnick.

“Go, (Y/n)!” He barks at you.

It doesn’t feel right, letting him take up the rear, but Katniss is pulling so aggressively that once you stumble forward one step, it’s easy to keep dragging you. And it isn’t until Finnick passes you, taking the lead, do you let her pull you along.

Together, the three of you run between bushes and ferns, dodging trees, narrowly avoiding roots and weeds, calling out warnings. Finnick is taking you down a diagonal path, keeping you away from where the fog is walling you in, while also steering you to the Cornucopia, where the water is.

Still, the fog somehow gains distance, moving faster, tendrils reaching for you desperately. It finally touches you, a searing pain blistering across your skin. The jumpsuit melts away from the acid, doing nothing to protect you from the element.

Katniss begins to struggle, her arms twitching at her sides, having a mind of their own. Her leg has become one useless block, refusing to move with her anymore. She’s not the only one, you can see that Finnick and Peeta can’t help their movements, either. It’s a reaction to the fog, it’s attacking your nerves.

You follow Finnick until he collapses on the ground, Peeta on top of him. Katniss isn’t too far behind, she doesn’t stop, despite seeing them. She trips over their bodies, hand letting you go as she falls onto the heap. You topple forward, but catch yourself on her lower back.

“Get up.” You tell her, head swiveling to look at the fog, still approaching you. “Get up, now!”

You pull Katniss off of Peeta, trying to prop her on her feet, but she sways, not being able to hold her bodyweight. She lands nearby, bow falling from her hand. Peeta manages to roll off Finnick, giving you a clear view of your boyfriend, and his half-conscious state.

You ditch the weapons, grabbing onto his wrists, trying to drag him away from the fog. If there’s anyone that’ll survive this, it’s going to be you two. You’ll deal with the repercussions afterward, you won’t let him die.

You get him a few feet, before you can hear Katniss croaking. Her voice acts as a reminder that you’re supposed to save her, she’s the important one in this situation.

“It’s stopped.” She says, which is what she must’ve been trying to tell you.

You look up from her body to where the fog was advancing. She’s right, it appears to be thicker, forced to condense, but the tendrils are gone. It’s like it’s pressed up against a glass wall, keeping it from moving forward.

You let out a breath of relief, lowering Finnick momentarily as you catch your breath. He’s staring up at you, green eyes capturing yours, moonlight glinting off his bronze hair. His lips move, but there’s no sound behind it.

“Mon-hees.” Peeta murmurs.

You look over to see that he’s gesturing up, at a pair of orange monkeys, sitting together on a branch above them. You drop one of Finnick’s wrists, your hand reaching for the knife on your purple belt. Peeta then rolls over to his knees, beginning to climb down the slope, Katniss behind him. The monkeys don’t jump at them, letting them leave.

You ease, grabbing Finnick’s wrist again, as you go back to dragging him out of the jungle. It’s fairly obvious that he’s in worse condition than the other two, because of his drooping face and uncooperative limbs. He took on most of the fog for Peeta, but that doesn’t mean that Peeta’s completely clean.

You get to the beach, pulling Finnick to the shore, before lowering him to the ground. Katniss crawls all the way to the water, letting it hit her face before she jerks back, letting out a noise. She doesn’t let this deter her, placing her hand on the wet sand, water washing over it. She winces, but you watch as the blue water turns a milky white.

It’s coming out of her skin.

“Okay, Finnick.” You murmur, walking around him to grab his feet. He groans as a response. You turn his body around, carefully pulling him into the water. “Work with me, baby.”

You pull his shoes off first, tossing them toward the treeline. When you begin to work the jumpsuit off his body, he tries his best to move the right way. You have to be careful, with the amount of white patches on his tanned skin. The last thing you want is to get any poison on your skin.

Once you’ve got the wetsuit off, it’s easy to work from there. You start with his feet, carefully scooping handfuls of water on, watching as the poison leaves his skin in wisps, disappearing into the air. You pull him in the water, inch by inch, working all the way up to his abdomen, before Katniss and Peeta are well enough to help you.

“Here, you take his head.” Peeta tells you. “We’ll get his body.”

“Be gentle.” You tell him. “His skin is sensitive from the…” You trail off, wanting to say Capitol. From the years of ongoing abuse he’s enduring from them. You sigh. “The um—the Games.”

Peeta nods, because there’s no need to question you. Katniss observes the way you treat Finnick, mimicking that. Together, you manage to get all the way up to his neck, not wanting to dunk his face underneath the water.

“Finnick, you’ve got to do this part on your own.” You tell him.

“That’s the worst part, but you’ll feel much better after, if you can bear it.” Peeta says.

Finnick nods, scooting to sit up. He takes your hand, squeezing tightly, as he purges his eyes, nose and mouth in the saltwater. When Katniss sees that you’ve got this under control, she gets to her feet.

“I’m going to try to tap a tree.” Her fingers pat the spile on her belt.

“Let me make the hole first.” Peeta says. “You stay with them. You’re the healer.”

Katniss shakes her head at him, not saying anything. He heads for the trees, knife in hand, looking for a good one. He finds it about ten yards from the beach. Katniss keeps a close eye on him, considering he’s hardly visible there.

Finnick eventually lets go of you, wanting to go deeper in the water. You let him, because there’s still a spot on your shoulder that you need to rinse from the poison. You dive into the water, feeling the hot pain blossom out from the spot the fog initially touched you.

When you surface, you scrub at the skin, watching the water turn white. With no other place on your body poisoned, you go to join Katniss back on the beach. She seems to have collected her mockingjay pin, now pinned to her undershirt. You stand near her, watching as she combs her hair from the braid. It’s fairly damaged from the poison, as it noticeably thins. If she cares, she hides it well, because she braids what’s left and throws it over her shoulder.

She then starts toward the water, trying to soak it in to get rid of the stiffness in her arms and legs. You opt for joining Peeta in the jungle, but only to grab the trident and spear, before leaving him in there.

Katniss alternates between floating on her stomach and back, getting as much exposure as possible. While Finnick makes laps around the wedge, dives, surfaces, sprays water out of his mouth at you. He even sinks to the seafloor, and right when Katniss opens her mouth, his head pops out of the water.

“Don’t do that.” She snaps.

You laugh a little.

“What? Come up or stay under?” He asks.

“Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave.” She says, wading out of the water. “Or if you feel this good, let’s go help Peeta.”

Finnick pushes his hair out of his eyes, shaking his head behind her back. You hand him his trident, and he takes the opportunity to steal a kiss from you during the exchange.

He pulls away, humming. “Salty.”

“Gross.” You tell him. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m a new person.”

“That’s good.”

Katniss takes a few steps into the jungle, when she suddenly stops in the middle, forcing you to stop, too. She looks up slowly, you follow her gaze. In the branches hanging above Peeta, are a couple dozen of monkeys, weighing down the limbs. These are the same orange color as the pair that you’d seen thirty minutes ago.

The ones that you thought were going to attack them.

Katniss casually reaches for two arrows, arming her bow with them. You fix the spear in your hand, sharing a look with Finnick. “Peeta,” Katniss’s voice is even, trying to stay calm. “I need your help with something.”

“Okay, just a minute. I think I’ve just about got it.” He says, still drilling into the tree. “Yes, there. Have you got the spile?”

“I do. But we’ve found something you’d better take a look at. Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

It’s smart of her to keep the monkeys from him, considering they’re not reacting to your presence. They’ve all got their eyes on Peeta, he’ll be the trigger if he moves too fast.

Peeta turns to you, a little crease between his eyebrows. “Okay.” He says.

He begins to move in your direction, not being quiet at all. This makes you tense, but the monkeys still aren’t moving, holding where they are in the trees. He’s five yards from where you’re standing on the beach, when he gets a clue. His eyes cast up, and he must make eye contact, because the monkeys explode.

They move faster than you’re able to comprehend, as the shrieking begins. They come down the trees by the vines, swinging at him. They leap from tree to tree to get a better advantage on him. Fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out.

“Mutts!” Katniss spits.

The three of you jerk to join Peeta in the jungle to protect him from the sheer amount of them. Katniss begins to fire arrows rapidly, taking down monkeys left and right, targeting vital points. You and Finnick work back and forth, trying to keep up with her pace, but she’s got a long-ranged weapon.

Finnick will spear several of them like fish before flinging them off to the side. You take jabs when the occasional one gets too close, Peeta slashing with his knife. One of the monkeys latch onto Katniss’s back, when you stab through the back of its head.

The air is hard to breathe, between the scent of blood, the warm must of the monkeys, and the trampled plants. You all move to have your backs to one another, a few yards between each of you to make this fight easier.

A monkey comes soaring out of the trees, straight at you, right as you aim to kill a different one. You can feel your whole body clam up, preparing for the impact.

“Don’t move!” Finnick shouts behind you. You can feel the wind of the trident whizzing between you and Peeta, slamming directly into the chest of the monkey, and the two behind it.

“Worry about yourself!” You tell Finnick.

“Right!” He laughs, you pull the knife out of your belt to hand to him. He grabs it, slicing for a few seconds, before he shouts. “Switch!”

You twist around to take the opposite side, Finnick moves quickly, taking where you’d been standing moments before. There’s more monkeys on this side, forcing you to catch up. When you steal a glance over your shoulder, you see that Finnick has retrieved his trident, getting back on track.

Katniss shoots an arrow, reaching back to grab another. She then switches to her knife, swinging. “Peeta! Your arrows!”

Peeta drops what he’s doing to slide it off, Katniss turning to grab it. This forces you to cover not one, not two, but three areas. Finnick grunts behind you, trying to do the same, but the two of you aren’t enough. A monkey lunges out of a tree, aiming for Peeta. Katniss throws her knife, missing.

Before you can help, Katniss begins to run at Peeta. You reach out to grab the back of her undershirt, she slips from your fingers. She won’t make it in time.

The tip of your spear pierces through the chest of another mutt, when a high-pitched scream fills the air. You look, prepared to see Katniss on the ground, but instead find the female tribute from District Six running at the mutt aimed for Peeta. She throws her skinny arms around it, as it sinks its teeth into her body.

Peeta drops the sheath, which Katniss stoops to grab. He repeatedly stabs his knife into the monkeys back until it releases its jaw, kicking it away, bracing for more. The four of you are panting loudly, for a second, that’s all you’re able to hear. “Come on, then! Come on!” Peeta shouts angrily.

The monkeys aren’t moving forward, though. In fact, they withdraw, fading into the jungle, called back by the Gamemakers.

“Get her.” Katniss tells Peeta, looking at the morphling. “We’ll cover you.”

Peeta carefully pulls the morphling into his arms, carrying her a few yards to the beach. You follow behind him, spear tight in your hand. Finnick and Katniss come out once your feet hit the sand, ensuring that the monkeys don’t come out behind you.

Peeta brings her to the water, laying her in the wet sand. Katniss cuts away at the wetsuit covering her chest, revealing the four puncture wounds, blood slowly pooling in them, trickling down her skin. It doesn’t look that terrible from the outside, which means the real damage has been done inside.

She’s gasping for air, struggling to breathe. Katniss kneels next to her, taking one of the twitching hands.

“I’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says, walking away.

When Katniss looks up at you for help, you turn to leave with Finnick, not necessarily wanting to watch the scene, either. He looks over, making sure that you’re going with him.

“What the hell is going on?” You whisper once you step into the trees.

“No idea.” He shakes his head. “The fog and the monkeys back to back?”

“In the middle of the night, too.” Your face twists. “A weird choice for the Capitol, wouldn’t they want the attacks to be during the day? What time is it, even?”

“It has to be really early.”

You lean up against a tree with the spear, watching the branches while Finnick picks bloody arrows out of the grass. There are a few mutt bodies around, but when Finnick gets close, the vines shift, pulling them away to keep you from inspecting.

When the cannon goes off, you move with Finnick to get back on the beach. A hovercraft has appeared over the water, claw dropping to collect the morphling out of the water. It secures around her, the claw returning to the craft, before disappearing.

He drops the arrows next to Katniss in the sand. “Thought you might want these.”

“Thanks.” She says, gathering them into her arms. She takes them to the water to clean, and when she’s done, she goes to the jungle, pulling moss off the rocks to dry them. “Where did they go?”

“We don’t know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone.” Finnick says, sitting in the sand near you.

He reaches up to scratch his face, where the fog has touched him. It’s seemed that the little wounds have scabbed over already. Finnick’s picking at them, the same way that Peeta is.

Katniss notices this. “Don’t scratch. You’ll only bring infection.”

Peeta sighs, hand dropping. “Think it’s safe to try for the water again?”

Katniss nods, you stay where you are in the sand, letting the other three go in there to get water. Finnick comes out with a shell of warm water, watching you drink it, before going back to grab more. When they’ve satisfied their thirst, they come back out.

“Why don’t you three get some rest? I’ll watch for a while.” Katniss says.

“Are you sure?” Finnick asks, she nods.

Finnick lays down in the sand, staring up at you expectantly. You give him a smile, moving his hair. “I’m not tired, baby.”

He doesn’t argue, simply turning over in the sand, putting his back to you. Peeta does something similar, but opts for laying on his back instead, settling in. You and Katniss sit in silence for a while, watching the waves come to shore, before retreating. Like a game of cat and mouse.

It isn’t until the boys have fallen asleep, when Katniss speaks. “Can I ask you a question?” You look over at her with raised eyebrows. “How are you and Finnick so in sync?”

You breathe a laugh. “Years of practice—trial and error.”

“But you’ve never been in the Games together.” She says, it’s not a question. “How do you two know when to help?”

“Intuition.” You shrug. “Willpower.”

She shakes her head, looking away.

“It’s not something you figure out overnight.” You murmur. “I’ve been dating Finnick for years, Katniss. I know what he’s going to say before he even thinks it. It's just what happens. Besides, you’ve got some of that between you two, too.”

“It’s not the same.” She says.

“Finnick would tear the world apart if it meant keeping me safe, forever. You’re telling me that you wouldn’t do the same?” You ask, she’s quiet. “That’s what you’re doing now, isn’t it?”

She meets your eyes. “Yeah.”

“We’re not as different as you think.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!

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