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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 27 days ago

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Fall From You Drop by Drop

Warnings: this fic will include dark content and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your new fling has a bigger effect on your life than expected.

Characters: Thor

Note: I hope you all enjoy this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me❤️

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Warmth shrouds you in an unbreakable cocoon. His rough hand brushes up your back, thick fingertips curling, crawling up to your shoulder, grasping as you’re smothered from above. His large body covers you, deep breaths flow in and out of you, your own and his.

You arch your chest up, your arm hooked around his neck as you welcome him in. The heat is intoxicating. No doubt, no hesitation, you can feel it. This is the moment.

Thor draws back, lips parting sloppily as he puffs and peers down at you. He pets your cheek as his eyes drink you in. You’ve never ever had anyone marvel at you. That’s what he’s doing. He looks at you like some sacred being.

You put your hand on his chest as he stares, “you okay?”

He nods and inhales deeply. “I’m perfect,” he caresses your temple, “you’re perfect.” He presses another soft kiss to your lips, “are you... sure?” He asks.

That’s something else new. They rarely ask. They’re rarely patient. The only want what they want. They wouldn’t come back for weeks just to spend time together. They wouldn’t hear ‘no’ or they’d pout at ‘I’m just not ready’. Not him. Not Thor.

Maybe it isn’t just a careless idiom. Maybe older men are better. More mature at the very least.

“I’m sure,” you say.

His eyes rove down as his hand slowly trails around your side. You look down as he touches the fabric of your shirt. He drags his touch to the hem and hooks his thumb beneath. He pulls the fabric up your stomach and you shudder out a breath.

“Sure?” He prompts again as his eyes flick up.

You pause to admire him. He’s older but handsomely so. Square jaw, hair so golden that the silver weaves in subtly, lines etched into his flesh to add definition to his eyes and lips, broad shoulders, thick torso, tall and powerful. His age is hardly a detriment, it only makes everything so much more enticing.

You nod and hum. Your heart is fluttering. It’s been a while but more so, it’s rarely been good. You’re nervous, afraid even, but you are ready. That’s what’s different about time is that you are sure.

He pushes your shirt up over your bra. You shiver. Your nipples poke pertly through the thin cups. You squirm, not uncomfortable, but eager. There’s an itch inside of you.

You watch him. He’s hypnotised by you as he fondles you through your bra. He traces the curve of your tits before he tugs the cups above your chest. He rolls his thumb around your nipple and slowly bows to take it between his teeth. He sucks and purrs, flicking his tongue until you twitch.

You clutch the back of his head and moan. You push your chest up higher and he gropes your other tit as he tends to the first. He toys with you tenderly. He switches and you bury your fingers in his thick hair. One hand wanders down his back, between his shoulder blades, to urge him on.

His hand moves lower. He keeps his attention on your tits. You grab your shirt, lifting your head and shoulders awkwardly to shed it completely. He nips along your ribs as he dips his hand down the front of your leggings. You sigh as he feels along the trimmed vee of hair along your pelvis.

He bends his fingers and rubs along your clit. You gasp and arch deeper. He sucks on your flesh, leaving hot spots down your stomach. He drags his finger up and down your folds then circles around your bud. He presses down as second and continues to swirl.

You whine as sparks ping from your core and scatter across your body. You writhe as he weaves back up to your chest, his other hand creeping under your back. He pinches until the hooks of your bra release.

Once more he nuzzles and nips at your tits. You claw at the top of his shirt. You want more. You need more.

He sits up and frees his hand from your leggings. You drone and continue to tug at his shirt. He chuckles, a sultry rumble, and pulls it over his head. You gape up at his large chest and the soft lines of his stomach. There’s a layer of flesh over the muscle, a scar along his left side, another at the top of his right pec.

He wears the years effortlessly. His thick arms bulge and the veins of his hands throb. His age is his strength.

He falls on you again. His swallows up your moans as his hands rove over your body. He is desperate, feeling every inch of you. He rolls his body against yours, cradled between your legs. His snarls and growls as he burrows his nose against your throat.

You push your head down into cushion, the couch springy back beneath his movements. His hand traces down to your pelvis again, this time over the thin fabric of your leggings. He runs his nail along the seam and surprises you as he prods you through it.

He splits through the stitches. You can’t care for the torn fabric as he stretches the hole wider. His mouth latches onto your neck as he tortures your flesh with teeth and tongue. He slides his fingers around your cotton panties and pulls them to the side. There’s something so raw about him, how he bulls through the layers to get to you.

He flicks his fingers up and down your folds, pressing them along your entrance. He pushes into you, inch by inch, wiggling as he gets deeper and deeper. As he reaches his knuckles, he lays his thumb on your clit and rocks his hand.

You turn your head and bite your lip, his name trapped in your throat. You move your hips as you wordlessly beg for more. He tilts his hand into you, tangling you around his touch. He sinks as deep as he can and lifts his head.

“Ready for me, pet?” He growls.

You nod and moan. You spread wider for him as you grasp at the side of the cushion. He pushes his knees to the edges and drags his hand from your cunt. He holds himself up on one elbow, laying kisses over your forehead and cheek. He tickles you with his nose as his zipper whispers beneath his fingertips.

He angles closer and brings his tip again you. He slickens his throbbing head against your lips, spreading your juices down his shaft as he pumps himself. He lines up with your entrance, the sides of his knuckles against you, and he leans into you.

Your lips form an O as your breath rushes from you. He impales you in a single thrust and you whimper at the overwhelming fullness. You tilt your hips and bend your spine as you take all of him. He hooks his arm beneath you and pulls you off the couch into his lap. You slide even further onto him.

He wraps you up in his arms, rocking you atop him as he nibbles at your lower lip. Your eyes roll back as the friction of his pelvis against your clit burns hotter and hotter. Your bodies meld into a cloud of desire and delight. The room around you slakes away to a haze of colours and shadows.

You clasp a hank of his hair in your hand, your other gripping his thick arm as you work against him. He growls and ruts up into you, holding your hip in place as he pumps from below. Harder and harder, until you feel you might break in two.

“Mmmm,” he purrs along your collar bone, “so good, so soft, so supple...”

His words flicker in you, yet you can’t focus on how strange they seem. You roll your head on your neck and grasp his shoulders as you bounce yourself in your lap. Desperation mounts inside of you as he thrusts in tandem.

Your eyes close on their own as you sink into the lust of the moment. In surrounds you, tying you up in ribbons, as pleasure swells over from your chest, erupting in wild whines and wails. You’ve never known anything like this. You never want it to end.

⏳

You yawn as you enter the coffee shop. The smell of grinding beans is usually enlivening but that day, nothing has done the trick. Caffeine, protein, sugar. You’re dead on your feet. You blame the night of glorious sex and you don’t regret it.

Lorelai is waiting already. You check your watch. It’s time already. You thought you were early. You should be, you left an hour early. The day is just passing you by.

You wave at her as she spots you. You go to the counter to put your order in and wait. You take your double americano and join her at the table.

“Hey, Lor,” you swallow another yawn. “How’s it going?”

You take a sip to clear the frog from your throat, then try to dislodge it with a cough. Your voice feels as if it’s pooling in your mouth like molasses. Thick and sticky.

“Woah, you look rough. Long night?” She asks.

You smirk and look at the ceiling.

“Do tell. How’d date night go?” She trills.

You giggle but only a little before it fizzles. Even that, feels like too much. You look at her, “wonderful. Immaculate. Paradise.”

“Seems like. You must’ve been up all night,” she teases.

“Close to,” you admit, almost giddy. “He’s...”

“How old, again?” She winks.

“Lor,” you roll your eyes.

“Told you. Experience,” she chirps. “I’m jealous but, honey, you need sleep. You look like you’ve been run over. Twice.”

“Oh, you’re definitely jealous,” you sneer. “I’m fine.”

“Well,” she sniffs, “I guess you are closer to thirty than me.”

“Please, by one week. I’ve got time.”

“Five years and counting,” she says.

“Whatever,” you check your phone. “Might as well enjoy it while it lasts, right?”

“Oh, you enjoy that old man,” she snorts.

⏳

Thor comes over again. With how fast the day went by, it feels like he never left. Just as quickly, you’re naked and all that fades away. Time, doubt, anxiety. All of it gone but for the ecstasy of the moment.

The rose-tinted cloud fades and you float back up to reality. You stare at the ceiling as he snores next to you. You feel flat. Hollow. You groan as your bladder squeezes uncomfortably. You barely have the strength to get up.

You wobble into the bathroom and shut the door. You flip the light on and sit on the toilet. You stay their longer than it takes to relieve the pressure.

You have to use the counter to get to your feet. Is the sex that good? Your hips are killing you. Every inch of you is achy.

You turn to look at your reflection. You wince. You lean in to see yourself clearer. Is that a gray hair. A wrinkle in your forehead? You don’t get a clear glimpse as your vision blurs in and out of focus. You shake it off and push yourself away.

You turn the light off as you stagger into the bedroom. You stumble and hit the side of the bed. Thor grunts and you sense him sit up in the dark. He helps you sit on the bed.

“You alright, pet?” He rubs your back.

“Fine, just... tripped,” you lie.

“Mm, come here,” he drags you up over him and rolls over you. “You need sleep. Let me put you to bed.”

You don’t need much coaxing. Ever since that first time, you can’t resist. It’s like an addiction. When he isn’t inside of you, you’re wishing he was. It’s all you can think about. It’s scary. This is supposed to be casual. Short-term.

It can be. You just need to relax. Have fun. Enjoy it while it lasts.

⌛

“I got us coffee,” Thor booms, jarring you from sleep.

The world tilts as you open your eyes. You’re dizzy. Weak. He’s anything but as he marches up the side of the bed and plants a cup next to you.

“Went down to the cafe on Redmond. They had a new special,” he proclaims.

You blink and fall onto your back. You stare up at him. You squint as you try to see him clearer. His hair seems to shine, golder than ever, and his complexion is rosy and vibrant. You wear, he’s missing some wrinkles. Maybe he’s into botox?

You try to sit up. You collapse and he helps you. You rub your forehead in embarrassment.

“Sorry, thanks, I think... I haven’t been sleeping enough,” you croak.

He grabs the cup and hands it to you. He sits on the edge of the bed.

“Well, I might be to blame, keeping you up all night,” he winks.

You laugh and it trickle into a yawn. You sip the coffee. It makes your chest burn. You put it back on the night table. You can’t drink that.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you say.

“Not at all. I was up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” he beams at you.

You stare at him. Did he get his hair dyed? He must have done something. You shake your head at the thought. You shouldn’t worry about all that.

You look at your hands. The veins protrude a bit more than before and you have a dark spot right under your knuckle. Hm.

“Excuse me,” you bend your legs and put all your strength into turn them over the edge of the bed.

You stand and Thor taps your ass. You squeak but shuffle away. Your feet are heavy and your legs stiff. You retreat into the bathroom and hide behind the door.

You reach to feel where he slapped you. It’s still hot. You let your fingers stretch across the skin. It feels loose.

You turn on the light and face the mirror. You nearly shriek. Your roots. You bring your hands up to frame your face as you stare at the silver all around your hairline. And your face. Your complexion is off and your cheeks seems to sag. How can that be? You’re twenty-five.

You lean in to look at your left eye. The pupil is cloudy. What’s happening to you?

The door opens, frightening you as the hinges creak. You look over at Thor. He stands naked and shameless in the doorway. Your mouth falls open.

His stomach is tight and deeply lined. His muscles are corded where before they were hidden beneath a bit of dough. And his arms look thick, his chest even broader, his shoulders rounder. He looks... younger.

“Mm, ready to start the day,” he reaches for you.

You eye twitches as his touch scalds you. You feel the thrill ripples through you and wipes away the horror of that moment. He turns you away from your reflection and lifts you onto the porcelain of the sink. You catch the edge as you bend your legs around him.

In an instant, there is only him and your need for him. You forget why you were so worried a moment ago. Something... oh well. It’s just another little thing that’s slipped your mind. It happens so often these days.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #one shot #horror au #au #marvel #mcu #avengers #halloween 2024

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lis-likes-fics · 1 year ago

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Music to My Eyes

Pairings: Finnick Odair x deaf!fem!Reader Word Count: 7.5k words Warnings: Mentions of the Games, so killing and death, mentions of trauma, my attempt at writing sign language, pre-Katniss, no Annie... A/N: Hey, everyone! I watched the Hunger Games a few months ago and had a mini obsession and decided to write for it and only now just got half of my fic done. Since it was running as long as it was, I decided to go ahead and split this into two different parts, but I swear the rest of it is being planned and written. Also A/N: Just FYI, anything written in /slants/ is an indication of something being signed because explaining every little sign just does not work. And, also, Hecton Leary is absolutely done by Peter Capaldi in my mind...just in case you need a visual. I was watching a lot of Doctor Who during this so, get ready to see those intense eyebrows all over the place in this, lmao. Also Also A/N: Special thanks to my beta-reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen who I will be crediting more bc I literally forgot to last time and she's too amazing for that! Thanks, Vee! 💖

You don't love wearing dresses—especially not extravagant ones like these, more expensive than likely your entire district as a whole. You also don't love parties like these where you have to wear said dresses, surrounded by tons of people generating body heat and stuffing the room full of perfumes and colognes that make your nose and eyes burn. Your feet hurt from the heels your designer paired with your outfit, and the air is active with words and voices that overwhelm your brain with too much information to take.

Having Hecton beside you is a relief at least—not completely lost in a sea of people as he and you communicate with two rich sponsors from District 1 dressed just a slight less dramatic as you but just as exaggerated.

You watch their lips, painted over with bright colors complementing their attire, as they speak to you. "It must be so hard, isn't it?" the woman asks, spending too much time on "so" as she speaks slowly for you to comprehend. You want to roll your eyes. "Flailing about all the time just to get a few words out?"

The man next to her agrees, nodding his head. You can see his throat shift, and you assume he's hummed a response.

Hecton's hands move with skill as he speaks, partly as aid in translation for you but mostly for the performance people are looking for.

You feel like your lips are going to fall off, you can almost feel them twitching at the ends from how long you've been smiling at all these people who don't know anything about you and assume they know everything.

You widen your smile to show teeth and shake your head, continuing to be as respectful as you can with your social tolerance running low.

Your hands move and, out of the corner of your eye, you can see Hecton speaking as they do. "Not really," he translates. "It's natural for me."

The man puts a hand over his heart and turns to her. "Oh, you poor thing," he says rather dramatically. Hecton doesn't dignify his words by translating that for you—not that you needed it in the first place. His hands remain still, folded in front of him. The man glances toward them, and you can see his brief disappointment at his words not receiving the glory of illustration.

You glance up at Hecton, your smile intact as you slightly squint the corners of your eyes in a silent plea. He answers you gracefully, turning his attention back to the fashionable vultures in front of him.

"This was wonderful," he says, "but I believe our little lady is excited to meet other guests here tonight."

Hecton is an older man with grey hair, pale eyes, and intense brows. Upon looking at him, he isn't the most approachable man. You don't just say no to him—especially as a past victor of the Games who certainly triumphed by a long-shot. He is not weakened by age, but he's definitely wisened by it. Although sobered by surviving the horrors of the Games, it neither slowed nor ruined his life, it simply gave an abrupt end to what little childhood people of Districts like yours can obtain.

One look at the finality on his face and they were fully ready to end their (rather insulting) conversation. They turn to one another, making these awful pity-faces as they hold each other's hands and turn back to heartily agree. "Of course." She puts too much emphasis on the words. "Goodbye, dear."

You nod gently and look toward Hecton for confirmation as he places a hand on your back and turns with you. You both walk away from the conversation gratefully, still smiling for everyone else in the room but moving your hands in silent conversation.

/These people are exhausting,/ you complain, entirely within your right with the way they treat you.

Hecton sighs, looking at you with eyes that understand your struggle. /Just keep them happy./

You nod, remaining light-hearted for both your sakes as you offer a genuine smile before you slip back into a customer service front. /I know, I know./

Lots of eyes are on you tonight, but none so keen as a certain boy across the room. He has basically been watching you all night, intrigued by the way you've been communicating, by the way you draw so much attention without having spoken a single word since you arrived.

He has seen you around a few times—on television, at other parties. He knows your face and that you won the Games like him, but he's never paid enough attention to actually know anything past that. But now, observing you all night, he's interested enough to ask.

His elbow brushes the guy next to him, a victor from another district he doesn't care to specify right now. "Who is that again?" he asks, not taking his eyes off of you as his friend turns to look. "I've seen her a couple times, never remember."

He looks at you and then back at him. "Her?" he gestures vaguely toward you. He nods.

"Victor from District 10, she won the 67th Games." He takes a sip from his drink, leaning back against a table with a hand in his pocket. "Surprised everyone cause she," he shrugged, "can't hear or something."

That definitely caught his attention as he turned full bodied toward him. "Really?"

"Yeah," he swirled his drink around. "She's nice…in a little bunny sort of way." It's not necessarily an insult, more than it is him calling you soft-hearted and skittish.

He walks away without a word, finally making his way toward you to quell his curiosity as he approaches you and takes his sweet time about it.

Your back is turned to him. He briefly wonders the best way to get your attention on the way over, knowing you hate being tapped by the way your shoulders flinch and you strain a smile when you turn.

Then again, no one likes tapping.

When he reaches you, he just folds his hands behind his back and smiles. "Hello," he says simply. Hecton turns at the greeting, prompting you to do the same.

"I'm Finnick. Finnick Odair," he greets with a smile of his own as he regards the both of you. He watches the way the old man's hand moves on his name. Your hand reaches out and interrupts him as you place a gentle palm on top of his. He makes a face—it's not annoyed, just teasing.

You turn back to Finnick, your performance smiling still intact. Hecton speaks while you sign. For a moment, Finnick thinks he'll understand the movements you make—Mags doesn't speak, she has to use her hands to communicate all the time, surely it couldn't be that different—but he is proven wrong when words don't match waves.

"I know who you are. You won the 65th Games, you're from District 4." Finnick thinks, briefly, that your friend's voice doesn't match you at all (which is obvious, of course, but he feels it's worth pointing out).

"Well, then," he responds with a slight chuckle, only glancing for a moment at the way Hecton's hands move as he talks, "I'm flattered you know me. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for you…"

You seem surprised by that. He thinks it may have something to do with the way that you haven't had many moments away from conversation since you arrived. Everyone has been too taken by you, too interested in snatching a few minutes.

Your hands don't start moving in that curious way Finnick likes to watch because words are already being spoken. "Mr. Odair, this is Y/N Y/L/N. I am her mentor and translator, Hecton Leary."

Finnick holds out a hand, which each of you shake. Out of courtesy, he doesn't start talking again until after your hands are free. "Wonderful to meet you both. And, please, Finnick is fine. There's no need for formalities when we could be friends, right?"

You still smile as you begin to sign, though your brows furrow. /Why exactly do I want to be your friend?/

Finnick doesn't understand, looking at Hecton for translation. He only says your name, a sort of reprimand as he continues to smile.

/I'm only being honest./

Where you expected frustration from not understanding, you find amusement in Finnick's eyes as his genuine smile widens and he looks between the both of you. "What am I missing?"

Hecton looks at you, raising a large brow and waiting for your reply. You sigh gently and shake your head, remaining civil as you begin to sign.

"Sorry," he speaks for you. "I look forward to establishing friendship with another fellow Victor. Maybe one day we'll…" Hecton gets quiet as he just watches your hands continue to move and your lips continue to smile, full of amusement.

/We'll frolic in the woods together, holding hands and singing songs./

Hecton turns full body to you. He holds his palms apart and brings them together swiftly without clapping them. /Y/N./

You smile wider and hold your hands in surrender, the tiny sound of a giggle slipping out of you. You're otherwise silent as your hands fly. /I'm joking! Tell him it was nice to meet him, and I look forward to being friends./

Hecton eyes you momentarily before relenting, turning back to Finnick with exasperation. "She says it was a pleasure meeting you, and she looks forward to your friendship."

Finnick raises his brows, bowing his head gently. "The pleasure is all mine." He's a charmer, and he makes that clear by reaching out and slowly, softly taking your hand in his (his grasp is so gentle that you could easily take your hand back if you wanted and he wouldn't stop you). He bends forward, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. He straightens his spine and watches you fondly. "Until we meet again."

As he lets go of your hand, he bows his head once more before he walks away. You and Hecton watch him leave. He raises his own brow at you. "Is that blush I see?"

Your hands are quick and exaggerated as you move them. You know he's joking and you're not blushing, but his teasing makes you. /No!/

Hecton's smile is wide and open and you know he's laughing at you, so you call him out for being mean. He drops it just as quickly, once the joke has faded to a funny memory and you both are back to mingling with people who do not care about you.

The halls are empty this late in the night. Everyone has retired to their rooms or taken an early train home. It's peaceful, wandering the halls this late and being undisturbed by curious eyes and ears watching you like some wild animal. You enjoy the silence—the physical silence of steady air and only one set of footsteps to track instead of hundreds.

At the end of the hall you wander now is the elevator that takes you to your level. Hecton will be wondering where you are—and if not, it's probably time for you to retire for the night before the victor's interviews with Lucky tomorrow anyway. As you make your way toward it, the lights bright and beckoning, you stop in front of it and click the door button.

It's as the doors are sliding open that you realize you're no longer alone in the dead of this night. You feel it in the prickle of your skin, the change in the weight of the floor beneath you. You look over quickly where the side of your face heats with a new presence.

You see Finnick approaching you, seemingly pleased to see you as he smiles at you, stopping short of the doors to offer you first entry. You grin hesitantly, your confidence from before waning a little with the absence of your mentor and translator. If he tries to talk to you, you're probably going to have a rough night. You press the tenth floor button. He presses the fourth.

Finnick isn't as pessimistic, glancing at you out of the corner of your eyes as you stand with your fingers tangled and your eyes toward the ground. You don't look nearly as cocky this time around—in fact, you seem nervous, refusing to even give him that small, awkward smile you usually receive when stuck in a space next to someone you don't know.

Finnick licks his lips, and speaks before he can correct himself. "Hello," he says, giving you a charming smile before immediately remembering your certain disability.

His curiosity grows when you raise your head, glancing his way but not quite committing.

"Oh, right," he mumbles. His added words spark your attention once more as you finally look at him, moving your hand in a talking motion.

"Yeah," he responds. "How did you know?" You're deaf, but you could tell that he was speaking without even looking at him?

He watches you think for a moment, staring off to try and figure out a way to tell him without Hecton to aid you. You look at him again, raising a hand palm down and shaking it.

"Shaking?" he guesses, raising a confused brow.

You gestured around the elevator, your face etched in concentration, determined to be understood. You sometimes forget how hard communication can actually be for you.

"The room?" he tries. "The room is shaking?"

You make a face, one that says "not quite".

He thinks for a moment, putting your gestures together before it dawns on him. "The air is moving."

You smile, far too happy to have successfully gotten a point across.

Finnick's brows raise, though not in a mocking or upset way. "Is everything really that sensitive for you?"

'It has to be,' you want to say, but you can't. You can read lips, but moving your own to try and copy them is a completely different story. Instead, you just nod and agree.

"I heard that's how you won the Games," he said, before adding on the end with a genuinely impressed smile. "Very cool, by the way." He had spent an embarrassing amount of time—or it would be embarrassing if he actually cared about that—asking party comers about you. Most of the information he got was about the Games, always about the Games. He got the same answers from just about everyone about how you were just so sweet and how it was so inspiring how your lack of hearing helped you to win.

As much as that sweet grin on your face made you want to smile, he wasn't technically right. So you shook your head, and he watched you raise your hands to cover your eyes.

"You were blind?" he wonders, but that doesn't make any sense and he doesn't feel very smart for asking now.

You shake your head and do it again, this time pulling your hands away and then covering your face again.

"You hid," he answers. That makes more sense.

You nod and he hums.

You didn't win the Hunger Games by killing for being killed, you didn't win by joining alliances or traveling in groups and pairs. You won the Games by running and hiding until everyone had killed each other.

When the Gamemakers used their tricks and schemes to flush you out of your hiding places, you found another one to lay low until the end. Yes, there were times when you had to fight for your life, but you were no strong competitor. It was dumb luck that you won. Right up to the end, facing off with the almost-champion after having been hunted down by Mutts. He killed them, and then he tried to kill you.

And that was when your disability was labeled your greatest weapon.

Maybe one day you'll be able to tell him that.

The doors slid open to reveal Finnick's floor. You both linger there in the elevator for a moment, trying to decide what to do from there.

Truly, you should have just waved at him and let the doors close to take you to your own floor. It was late already, you needed to rest.

But…

"Do you like sweets?"

Yes, you do.

You nod, answering his charming smile with a shy one and being upset with yourself in the back of your mind for falling for his obvious charm. If you got hurt, it was on you and no one else. But who cares?

You, you care. Maybe not enough, though.

You follow him off the elevator and into the common room. The kitchen is just off of it, with a long table cleared of dinner but still adorned with snacks—fruits and a few deserts. Finnick slides over a plate of cookies as you take a seat. They're chocolate and very good.

He sits across from you, a little too keen in the way he leans forward. He picks up a cookie between his thumb and forefinger, playing with it absent-mindedly as he speaks.

"Is that," he waves one hand, "usually how you communicate?" He hopes he doesn't sound offensive and takes a bite from his cookie.

You don't seem offended as you shrug. He watches you move your hand like you're grasping a pen, shifting it around in a circle. He understands and, like a dog, goes to grab the supplies for you, dropping his cookie back on the table with little to no regard. He's not necessarily upset about his obedience, if anything, he's happy to let you boss him around—not that you have been—if it means quenching his genuine curiosity with how you operate.

He slides you a notebook as he reclaims his seat, gently slapping a pen on top with a cheeky grin. He seems proud of himself. You hold in your chuckle as you write with the best handwriting you can with the quickness of your scribbles.

/Signing or writing./

Finnick reads it off. He thinks your handwriting is pretty.

"Does it get tiring?" he asks, cookie forgotten in crumbs on the counter. He absent-mindedly pushes it to the side so he can lean closer. "Moving your hands like that all the time?"

His question is one you get often, a repeated question every person asks to suit their shallow interest in you. But you can't bring yourself to be offended or annoyed. Finnick doesn't seem shallow, his curiosity runs deep and his kindness deeper. You're not sure you could take anything he says with offense.

You simply shake your head. /Easy as it is for you to talk,/ you answer honestly, adding the gesture for "speak" at the end to try to be helpful.

He shouldn't be impressed, but he is. "Oh," he says, brows raised in vivid interest. "Is it easy to learn?"

He's full of questions. He knows he probably sounds like a child, piling them on top of each other like tidal waves. But you don't seem upset, so he carries on.

You shrug again.

/Would not know. Depends on person./ You look up at him, and then you add, /You want to learn?/

The way you write is interesting to him. You don't do it in full sentences in an effort to keep it short and simple. But you also don't use contractions, though you try to write as quickly as possible to keep up the feel and consistency of actually speaking.

He smiles slyly and pretends to be shy about it, bowing his head and looking up at you through pretty lashes. "Maybe," he says. "Could you teach me?"

You mirror his expression, bowing your chin toward your chest and smiling at him. /Maybe./

You finish your cookie and rip off the first page to turn to another. He watches you write out the alphabet, quickly scribbling a very poor illustration of a hand gesture underneath each one. It takes a while, longer than you wished for it to.

Finnick doesn't mind. While you're distracted with the activity at hand, he's watching you. You're very pretty, he thinks. With the way you sit to draw, you keep your body open and give yourself the room you need to still see him as you work.

You've got kind eyes. He doesn't think you get that enough. Everyone calls you a sweet girl, but they usually follow it up with something along the lines of "even with her issue".

But Finnick just thinks you're pretty and kind. That's it. No exceptions.

He wants to learn about you without the tainting of word-of-mouth or television programs. He wants to know you. The stuff you love, the stuff you hate, everything that makes you happy, and the stuff that makes you want to throw chairs. He wants to know what your favorite color is, if you like to dance or paint or swim.

Before he can keep daydreaming about whether you like cats or dogs, you look up at him to show off your work. You think it's sloppy. He thinks you did great.

You start going through it with him, showing him the hand signs as you get to them with a patience that amazes him. Once you've gone through the whole of it once, he lifts his own hand to try it out. He looks weird and silly, and you smile as he tries his best.

When he offers a poor attempt at a 'Q', a giggle manages to slip. You probably don't hear it, but Finnick certainly does. His face lights up at the sound. He had heard you make little more than a sigh. Managing to pull a giggle out of you—especially one as pretty as that? It's like winning the lottery.

He goes through it with you a couple more times before he straightens his spine. "So…"

He points to his chest and holds his hand out, slowly moving it to fit the gestures he's tried.

F. I. N. N. I. C. K.

You nod quickly, beaming from ear to ear at how quickly he's picked it up already. You point to yourself and spell your own name out. You move slowly, giving him time to connect each letter to each sign as you go. And when you finish, he spells it himself. A nearly perfect copy, (although perfect may be generous, he's definitely trying and it shows—that's perfect enough in your book).

You carefully tear the page out and set it to the side so he can still see and write excitedly on the next page, your writing almost terrible with how quickly you scribble. /Natural!/

You sign the word after. He copies you, and then tries to spell it out. He gets it right for the most part—even though you're pretty sure you saw him use an 'X' instead of an 'R'.

He really wants to impress you. He doesn't make that subtle, and you're honestly happy he doesn't. It makes you genuinely giddy, the way he's so eager to learn and show off his new skill (a skill he's literally been practicing for no more than ten minutes). You don't realize how far onto the table you've learned. Your hands would brush if you moved them an inch closer.

"I'll keep at it," he replies genuinely at your proud smile. He had no idea someone so silent could be so pleasantly loud. Your ecstatic movements and wide grins compensate for your lack of vocalization. When you speak through your hands or the notebook in front of you, he almost swears he can hear a voice he hasn't heard in place of it, so kind and pretty. Like a song.

You smile too fondly at him, taking in a soft breath before looking down at your hands and sitting back again. You'd gotten ahead of yourself. You don't correct it as much as you should. You're just as fond as you sit correctly in your seat and watch him with intense interest.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you pick up your pen again. He watches you write something down. You turn the book around for him to see.

/Mentor cannot speak?/

"Mags?" he wonders. You nod, tilting your head. "No."

You write again. /Cannot sign?/

"No."

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, a silent inquiry. He shrugs, "Never learned."

You contemplate for a moment, rubbing your neck gently before taking the notepad once more. You show it to him.

/Can teach./ You point to yourself, offering a small grin.

"Really?" he furrows his brow.

You shrug. Why not?

Finnick stares at you a moment, searching your eyes for a joke he knows he won't find. So why would you be so open to helping her? Maybe you're just weird.

His lips curl in a smile. "I'll ask her."

Your own smile grows.

He drums his fingers on the table, watching you watching him. He thinks for a moment, just staring, before he opens his mouth.

"So obviously, you can read lips." You nod. "Were you born deaf?"

You nod and reach for the notepad once again. It takes you a moment to write this time. /Parents did not find out til 2. Was a quiet kid. Did not realize until I never started speaking./

He's so interested in everything you tell him. He hangs onto your every word like pure gold. "So you've never heard anything before? Ever?"

He feels like it's a dumb question. Of course not. But you hesitate, glancing off before you nod.

/Yes./

His eyes go wide with wonder. "How?" He crosses his arms and leans forward on the table.

You thought for another moment, trying to find the best way to phrase it to keep it simple. You tap the pen against your lips and click click click it.

/Before the 67th Games, my team gifted me hearing aids. Thought it would help./ You pull away for him to read, staring at the page before taking it and adding in a new line, /Didn't think I'd make it deaf./

The look on your face told him how much that bothered you—or, at least, a whisper of how much it used to bother you. He thinks you may be used to it by now…

"Seemed to work, huh?" he asks with a slight chuckle in an attempt to brighten your mood again.

But you shake your head as you pull the notepad back. /When Games started, too much. Ripped them out and ran./ You sigh gently, swallowing thickly. /Couldn't handle it./

He listens in, his full attention heeding your words. "So you never wear them?"

You shake your head. /Do not like to./

He nods gently. "Because it hurt?" he asks, trying to understand.

You think for a moment before raising your hand and shaking it like before, meaning a different thing this time. /Kind of,/ you write.

You sigh and raise your hands, loosely clawed in front of you as you bring them into your chest in fists. Then you pick up your pen to translate. /Trust me?/

He nods. "Yeah."

/Sure?/

His second nod is more firm. "Yes."

He watches you grab a hand towel. You lift it up, gesturing to him with it and he nods his approval once again. You step behind him and tie it around his head to cover his eyes.

After you blindfold him, sure that he no longer has sight, you turn off all the lights and spin him around a couple times before you lead him into the living room.

Without his sight, Finnick is reduced to having to let you lead him where you want him. And he trusts you. He sways on his feet for a moment, standing still when you stop guiding him again.

"Can I look now?" he asks, his hands out by his side blindly if not for anything but balance.

He hears your voice, the slight sound of you clearing your throat before humming gently, like you're feeling for it. Then he hears your broken response, unaccustomed to actually speaking.

"N-o," you mumble. He smiles a little, and you think he's weird—in a good way.

After a moment of silence where the both of you just stand there and do nothing, he feels you begin to remove the towel from his face. You don't give him a chance to adjust to the dark, you just flip the closest light on and let him have it.

He winces, shielding his face as the shock sets in. You smile gently as you apologize, rubbing your fist over your chest in a circle. When his eyes adjust to the light once more to look at you, your smile is still a fond apology as you motion to your ears.

He breathes lightly. “That’s what it felt like for you?” You make a “bigger” motion with your hands as you nod. “That’s awful,” he mumbles.

You shrug as you begin to walk back to the dining table to grab your pen and notepad again. As you take a seat on the sofa, you bring your legs up under you and invite him to sit beside you. He watches you write something as you prop the notepad against your thighs. You show it to him when you finish.

/What do you like to do?/

He is happy to answer as he settles back and thinks for a moment before offering his reply. You sit and talk back and forth for a long time. You don’t really keep track as you learn that Finnick loves to swim and he dabbles in cooking when he can. You learn that he likes the color blue, but his favorite color is probably white. You learn that he is a “live life like it’s your last day” type of person because of his experience with the games (a philosophy you have adopted yourself in a smaller intensity). You learn that he’s more fond of the quiet than the rowdy crowds he’s grown accustomed to.

Finnick learns that you also like the water, but you enjoy sitting under the surface and feeling like the world is just as silent as you in a way that isn’t so interesting to the rest of the world. He learns that you don’t have a favorite color but you always say green, that you’re not a people person but everyone thinks you’re a person who loves people, and that you like to watch Hecton play the guitar while he lets you set your hand on the body of it to feel what he plays.

You don’t know when you fall asleep on the couch, laying against the back of it with your head turned toward the large, cushy pillow that supports your head. You’re curled up against it, and Finnick thinks you look precious. He’s not long after you as he dozes off on the couch. Neither of you touch at all, hands to yourself as you let the night ease on around you. But the presence is comfortable enough, you’re happy for it.

But sometime in the night, you don’t know when, how long the passage of time had gotten to be, the calm that had set over you slowly began to fade and slip into something a little more unnerving. Uneasiness sets in your bones, makes you queasy as your fingers twitch. You hum, a groan that slips from between your lips and rouses Finnick as he opens his eyes and glances your way, eyes still heavy with sleep.

He starts to sit up as he sees you shift, your breath quickened and your muscles twitching. He calls your name gently, a first instinct he immediately realizes isn’t going to work. He hears you hum again and begins to reach a hand out. His fingers hardly brush the skin of your arm when your eyes suddenly open. You’re muttering something intelligible to yourself as you glance around frantically, eyes glazed over and movements full of adrenaline.

“Woah, you’re good,” he tries as you grip the cushions on the couch. It’s too warm and it’s cushy and you don’t want to be up there anymore. He’s still trying to ease you, hands out like you’re a frightened animal ready to attack him. You slide off the couch and onto the floor, where the cold hardwood greets your skin as you catch your breath, your face tucked between your arms as your whole body heaves for air.

He lets you stay there, concern written all over his face as he tries to figure out what the issue is. He guesses they’re just nightmares, bad, ugly nightmares that he, himself, has faced over and over and over again. He waits and waits and waits for your body to steady and for your breath to calm, keeping his hands out but away as he waits for you to recover.

When you’ve calmed down again, you lift your head and sit back against the floor, turning toward him with lethargic muscles, your adrenaline already waning as the exhaustion from before trumps everything else. You catch the movement of Finnick’s lips from out of the corner of your eye and turn to see him speak. “What’s wrong?”

You breathe in slowly, filling your whole chest as you gather yourself enough to answer. You stroke a circle over your chest with your fist, a movement he remembers seeing you do earlier when you were apologizing to him. He shakes his head gently, slowly shifting off of the couch to join you on the floor, giving you space as he props his elbow on the cushion.

“S’okay,” he says, his lips moving gently around the word. “What happened?”

You breathe out slowly, still centering yourself. You lean toward the table, sliding the notepad over with lazy movements. You contemplate before writing. /Vibrations./ You show it to him and he tilts his head. /I sleep with my hand on the floor. It lets me know if someone is coming, I can feel the footsteps in the ground. It wakes me up and keeps me out of trouble./

The way you write is different now, filling the missing blanks of words you’d usually leave out because they were unnecessary. Like you’re too tired to summarize, letting the words do their job as you slump against the table like you haven’t slept in ages and are simply going through the motions.

He moves slowly, letting you see what’s happening before it happens as he sets his hand atop your own on the table. You don’t move, glancing at his hand and letting it happen as his skin brushes yours. He feels honored.

“Well,” he says, “you’re safe here.” With me.

You manage to pull the corners of your lips up into a small smile, turning your hand so his rests in your palm. You raise your free hand to your chin. /Thank you./ You take a moment to sit there, looking at each other and enjoying the feelings of your hand in the other’s. Then you pull your hand away regretfully and pick up your pen.

/I should get back to my floor before my people worry./

He reads it off and nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he sighs, already moving to stand to his feet as he holds his hand out to help you, hoping you would accept. When you do, he smiles. You lift yourself to your feet and give him another of your best in this condition.

You pick up the notepad one more time. /Thank you for the sweets. And for the company. I liked talking with you./

He puts a hand to his heart, too heartfelt to be teasing as he dips his head slightly. “My pleasure.”

Finnick walks with you to the elevator, standing by you in silence after the button is pressed as you both wait for the doors to slide open. When they do, you step in and offer yet another warm smile as you sigh and wave, mouthing the word “bye” as you depart from him, sad to go. He mouths the word back to you, though you’re not positive he spoke them as he offers a small wave of his own.

The doors shut and Finnick misses you already.

The blaring lights, (otherwise) deafening crowds, and extravagant costumes are something you get used to and never get used to all at once. All the attention is on you, and it's your job to make sure they are entertained as you make your way onto the stage with Hecton's at your side.

Lucky is standing, that unnervingly large grin tearing his face in two as he watches you excitedly. His hand is extended toward you, both to show you off and welcome you in.

"Hello, my dear!" he exclaims theatrically as he takes your hand. He places a kiss to your knuckles and then shakes Hecton's hand as well. You all take your seats, your smile the picture of thrilled.

"It's been a while since we have last spoken, hasn't it?" He stops dramatically and then says, "Well, a while since I spoke to you, at least." The air is on the fritz with cheers and laughter and more clapping as you look around at everyone. Lucky's laughter is just as wide. "How have you been, Y/N?"

You look at Hecton, your smile and his set in perfection. He speaks as you sign, beginning his role as your ultimate translator. "I've been great, Lucky. I've missed you!"

His big brows furrow as he slaps a hand over his heart. He turns to the adoring fans. "Oh, isn't that sweet?" He laughs again and looks back at you, his expression calmer but no less dramatic. "I have also missed you, my dear. Now, tell me, this is a tour for some of our previous victors, have you met any of them yet?" He leans in like you're sharing a secret.

"I'm glad you asked, I have. It's been great getting to be reacquainted with old friends and making new ones."

"Ooo," he says, looking around and encouraging the crowd to join in. "New ones like who?" He sits up straight and brings a finger to his lips, glancing away and smiling slyly. "I know I have it from a reliable source that you were mingling with District 4 Champion, Finnick Odair." He leans forward with narrowed eyes. "Do I sense something blossoming?"

He and the crowd tease you, making lovey dovey noises that you don't hear but definitely feel as you glance at Hecton and he raises his thick brows in amusement.

"Oh, Lucky," you smile like you'll laugh as Hecton continues to read your hands. "I wish I could agree, but who am I to say?" You shrug it off with a sigh.

"Oh, really?" he jabs. "Because when I brought it up with Finnick, I believe he described you as 'a special kind of beauty'." This riles the crowd up even more, they cheer louder and the air feels suffocating. You smile through it.

"Did he now?"

"He did."

Lucky laughs dramatically, Hecton laughs less dramatically, and the crowd eats right out of the palm of your hands.

"Well," Hecton says as you catch the attention again, "you know I'm not one to gossip."

"Ohh, not just this once?" He says it like he'll cry.

"I wish I could."

He sighs heavily. "Oh, well." The crowds 'aww's and you give an apologetic smile to them all. Lucky leans over and takes your hand in his, which you then cover with your own. "It has been lovely catching up with you, my dear. And you, too, Hecton, my friend." Hecton nods. "I hope to see you again soon, both of you—I do so love our talks!"

"As do I, Lucky. As do I."

He puts both hands over his chest this time, smiling with sadness to see you go. "Would you give us a kiss before you go?"

You stand to face the crowd and kiss your hand, blowing it out to them as they scream and shout for you. You beam and look at them all, waving happily.

"Oh, fantastic!" Lucky exclaims as he stands to join your side, Hecton at the other. He takes one of your hands again. "It is always a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine."

He turns to the adoring audience. "Our Silent Spectacle, everybody!"

They scream and shout and you press your cheeks to Lucky's before you and Hecton leave the stage. Even after you're past the curtain where they can no longer see you, you keep the smile as wide as you can until it trembles out of place.

/Very well done, Y/N,/ Hecton congratulates.

You huff out a tiring breath, massaging your cheeks before regaining your posture and masking your frown with a much softer smile as you respond. /It's exhausting./

He offers a sympathetic look. /Maybe so, but they love it./ He glances at you again, noticing the fatigue in your eyes and your twitching lips, the nerves kicking from overuse. He sighs, taking your hand and turning you to him.

/You've got to keep them happy./

You look at him, how his words reflected a deeper worry, a double meaning that surpasses the gratification of your adoring crowds. Your eyes glue to his own, solemn, sober—a fair contrast from the faces surrounding you, drunk on the sap of their own self-importance.

/I know,/ you nod.

The tense moment is interrupted as a new player enters the arena. Hecton is the one to turn first, redirecting your attention toward the person approaching you. You immediately smile, an instinct by this point as you turn your gaze on your next audience. It only takes a moment for you to recognize the person, and your smile comes a little easier.

Seeing the situation before he approaches, Finnick wonders whether or not it would be appropriate to interrupt. But when your mentor turns and you turn with him, and you smile a more genuine smile upon seeing him, he finds that he doesn't really care if it's appropriate right now.

"You're quite the personality," he says as he steps up, smiling himself as he tilts his head.

"They love quiet, happy girls," Hecton translates as you sign. Finnick really doesn't think his voice suits you, coarse and thick with an accent hard to find.

"That, they do," he nods. He licks his bottom lip, "So you'll be headed back off today?"

You turn toward Hecton, your jaw clenching briefly before you turn back. "Soon. I've got some business tonight and then we'll be off tomorrow."

"Business?" he raises a curious brow, taking a small step forward as his lips quirked. "What kind of business?"

You tilt your chin, a nervous kind of smile on your lips as you move a hooked finger from your nose to your cupped hand. "Nosey," you tease, though Hecton speaks it flatly.

"Oh, it's a secret?" he wonders, even more curious now. He doesn't speak like a creep as he continues, holding that same teasing feeling while also offering his genuine curiosity. "I have a thing for secrets, y'know. I can keep it safe for you…"

You do it again, with a little more delight this time. Again, Hecton's translation holds no ounce of the delight you give off as you talk to Finnick. "Nosey," he repeats, this time with a little more sternness to get him to stop asking. You give him a side glance, but he isn't affected.

Before you can communicate anything else, Hecton's sets his hand on your lower back. It isn't patronizing, he's just used to guiding you, your protector.

"Come now, Y/N," he says. "It's time we were off."

You sigh gently but nod, still smiling as you glanced up at him. You begin to wave to Finnick, but he speaks as you're waving your hand.

"Am I free to visit down in District 10?" he asks, his tone light and playful to avoid sounding as hopeful as he feels. He's just met you, and he wants to know you.

You nod quickly, too eager. You move two fingers over your fist, missing the way Hecton doesn't translate. But Finnick can figure that one out himself.

His chest floods with relief. "I'll keep it in mind."

You wave. /Goodbye, Finnick./ The way you sign his name is different. Where he is expecting to see the familiar letters you showed him last night, he finds a wave of your hands and a fond smile.

He winks at you. "Goodbye, sweetcheeks."

You scrunch your nose, circling your hand over your belly. /Gross./

Hecton is already walking you away as Finnick blows you a cheesy kiss, mirroring the one you'd done for the audience earlier. You wave him off, smiling and shaking your head as you go.

When you're far enough from him, walking away from backstage to wherever you were headed now, Hecton's intense brows are furrowed in what you can only assume is annoyance at his distrust in Finnick.

/You seemed familiar./

/Stop./

Music to My Eyes taglist: ... This is a temporary taglist for those who want to be tagged in the sequel to Music to My Eyes, Finnick Odair x Reader. Please keep in mind that once the second part is posted, the tag will disappear. Feel free to DM, comment, or send me an ask to be added, if you would like. Or simply add yourself here...

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #the hunger games #the hunger games fanfic #the hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair fluff #reader insert #female reader #deaf reader

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redvexillum · 1 month ago

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I know you're doing Kinktober, and GOD you're amazing at it, but I have a request. (You could count it for Kinktober? Idk.) What about Alastor x Dom!Past Overlord!Reader(animal can be your pick) smut? Imagine you, an overlord who peacefully stepped down, are dating Alastor, and you are a very mean-honest and direct person with a lovable but not to be messed with personality. So one day while Alastor's taking you on a shopping spree, Vox runs across you or pops out from a nearby television (your pick). He starts insulting Alastor/asking if he's finally ready to do something useful and join the Vees, so of course you get pissed. Your anger keeps boiling up as he keeps talking, and eventually Alastor starts worrying less about Vox and more about which man you were gonna punch since it was obvious one of them was going to be the object of your anger(yes he's scared of you, you're a badass). Vox is unaware, since he thinks you're weak, you having stepped down before Vox had died. Eventually, one crude insult to Alastor sets you off, and with wide eyes you sucker punch him in the face, which ends up turning Alastor on. In the initial shock, Vox says something sexist about how you're just a weak girl, which pisses you off more and you start to transform into your demon form. You were about to jump at him and beat him up when Vox teleported away, not about to risk fighting you. Alastor would just be standing there shocked with slightly red cheeks, aroused. When you get back to the hotel, you drag Alastor to your shared bedroom, and tell him to undress cause you're pissed and pretty. I'm Sorry it was so long! Had the idea and knew I had to share it! If you decide not to do it, I look forward to reading your next stories. If you do do it, would it be considered Kinktober for Alastor having a dominant partner kink ( idk what to call it :/ )? I have no idea- Have a wonderful day! Can't wait for your next stories!

Hello Yui! Thank you so much for your kind words! I remember you from when I first started my blog (and then nuked it and then opened a new one lol!)

I really do struggle with saying no, so I did strongly contemplated doing your ask. I'm also honored that you'd consider trusting me with your request, but at the time of you sending me the ask, my request box was actually closed for a while per my pinned message. I actually have a long list of requests (close to 60!) and I also have my own projects and series I'm working on while juggling a full-time career.

In other words, I'm unfortunately at max capacity.

I'm hoping if any of my mutuals or followers would read this and pick up this awesome idea? We always love to see more femdom, amirite folks? 🥵

Thank you again for reading all my works 💖! And I hope you stay tune for more of my Kinktober/Flufftober stories! Who knows, maybe I might write some femdom!reader x Alastor one day? 🥰

XOXO,

RedVexi 💋

#redvexillum answers #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor smut

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mikuni14 · 4 months ago

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Century of Love - Ep 10 Finale

This will be a general summary of the series.

Overall, I really liked Century of Love, except for most of the last 3 episodes, which unfortunately exceeded my tolerance for the soap opera genre, which is high, but also has its limits 😄 There was also too much crying, I don't like watching it and there's nothing I can do about it..

The plot also seemd a bit dull, replaced by an excess of expressive feelings.

And that's all the criticism, apart from that the series met my expectations 😉

DaouOffroad proved that they are one of the best couples in the BL industry, their natural chemistry has been maintained since LiT and they carried this story, this romance, and made the love believable. Apart from that, they are simply incredibly attractive and watching them is a real pleasure

Daou as a 100-year-old man was totally believable, conveying this specific vibe of older, grumpy guys. He was just as convincing when he cried, writhed in pain, as he was totally in love with Vee and discovered the joy of sex 😏

Offroad as a slightly broken young man struggling with adversity, poverty, his grandmother's illness, loneliness, who still retains his kindness and optimism was also very convincing and wonderful. It was obvious that San would fall in love with him, who wouldn't

special mention to Chibi San, what a kid 💯

the other characters (San's family, Tao, Ton and Third) were really nice, I especially liked how supportive they were of San and Vee and their genuine devotion to them. It's also good that they didn't make Third a jealous villain

Ju is one of the most wonderful girls I've ever seen in any production, EVER, but then again I just love the vibe of the Gen Alpha girls, so no surprise that she was my fav 💖

the humor, lightness, funniness, camp of this series was really good

I'm absolutely delighted that the series overall ignored the reincarnation issue and went in the direction I wanted, which was San falling in love with a specific person and when he made a choice, he didn't look back. And Vee was just Vee, no Vad in him, in his memories, his personality. San, Vee and Vad were all DIFFERENT PEOPLE

I like that the series showed that you can fall madly in love once. And then you can fall madly in love a second time.

I liked that when San fell in love with Vee, neither he nor the series introduced any drama with the "choice" between Vee and Vad. San only had Vee in his heart and only wanted him. 10/10, no bullshit, only true love

San and Vee stayed in character until the end. San "nobly and chivalrously" wanted to spare his beloved pain, Vee of course thought that it was all his fault and San was avoiding him because he didn't want to see him. Was San's behavior irritating? Of course, but just as it normally annoys me, here it surprisingly suited San, BESIDES the series showed that this was the wrong approach with Third's words and resolved it without stupid scenes and unnecessary drama and fight. Likewise, their reconciliation was very delicate and kind, as they are

San and Vee barely holding it all together, their last night together - it was very beautiful and moving. Such beauty, raw emotions, despair and nobility are rarely shown in BL series, but it also works best in costume series and soap operas. I also liked how they spent the last night showing that physical contact is not just sex, that it is something important in a relationship and is used to convey feelings

we got a happy ending and their nice scenes together, when they are happy and free

I can only hope that Daou and Offroad will get the opportunity to star in a well-written and directed series in a nice atmosphere on the set, and that we will see more of Pond and the actress playing Juu and her sweet face 💖

Thank you all for the nice time spent together experiencing this lovely i fun series and the awesomeness of DaouOffroad 💖💖💖💖💖💖 See you soon in their next project!

#century of love #bl drama #thai bl #daouoffroad

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klance-daydreams · 27 days ago

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I'm sorry, I don't think I captured their essence

OHMYGOD VEE WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU CAPTURED THEIR ESSENCE TIMES INFINITY OHHHHMYGOODNESSGRACIOUS I ACTUALLY I LOVE THIS SO MUCH YOU DONT UNDERSTAND I LOVE THEIR HAIR AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ITS ROMIR ITS THEM VEE THANK U THANK U THANK U THIS IS SO SO WONDERFUL AND AMAZING 💕🩷💘💖💖💗💓💞💗💘💞💝💖💗💘💓💝💞💘💓💓💝

#THIS ACTUALLY MADE MY DAY #VEE IM GIVING U A BIG HUG #ASKS #FAVE #ROMIR

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silenzahra · 3 months ago

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Hi Zahra! 😄❤️ So... asks, was it? Well here goes! 🤭

Tbh... there's way too much I have to say about how much I'm glad to be friends with you, so I'll just sum it up in a few sentences 😅. Basically... you were one of the first people that made me feel welcomed here, and it feels unreal that THIS is where that led to, and I wouldn't have it any other way. You're honestly the most enthusiastic and optimistic person I've ever met, and I love it so much (especially when it comes to your music posts 🤭)

Hehe... and just to end things off...

WEEGE PIC.

Hi, Vee! 😄💖

Thank youuu for sending this ask! You just made me so happy 🥹💖 Hehe, I also have a lot to say about our friendship, as I love and adore you so much 🥰 I'm seriously so glad I could make you feel welcome here, dear friend! I wouldn't have it any other way either 🥰🫂

AWEEE you're just so sweet OMG 🥹🥹🥹 Thank you so much, @itsavee4117!!! I'm so glad you like my enthusiasm, especially when it comes to my music posts, hehe 🤭😄💖

AND THE BOY 😍😍😍 CUTIEEEEEE 💚💚💚 AW you always send me the best pics of him, and you best believe I cherish every single one of them like the treasures they are 🥹💚💚

And of course... here's one in return! 🤭💖💖

#ask #answered asks #ask box #send asks #itsavee4117 #my mutuals are awesome #I loved this so much Vee!#thank you so so much #💖💖💖#silenzahra

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vse-kar-vem · 1 year ago

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It's partial derivatives and then it's double integrals if you want to look into it haha (you don't need to know these things, I'm sure your maths teacher won't mind)

Thank you for complementing my handwriting <3 yours is also nice <333

DHKAHDKSK that actually sounds quite cool!!!!! i'll try to look it up and talk it over with my more maths-inclined friends haha 🥲

(sadly, nothing can please ms sm--- 😞😞😞 but i bet knowing whatever partial derivatives and double integrals are would get me near her good graces at least (i am deathly afraid of her))

thank you! i try wjen it comes to writing :,^D

#genuinely maths is not my strong suit i cant believe making a silly little post about joker out ship names would have led to actual learning #/pos!!!!!!#so thank you for telling me that! much appreciated learning is fun #💞💞💗💗💗💗💖💖#vee rambles

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keikakudom · 8 months ago

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Ok, from what I understood so far Vox was (maybe still) in love with Alastor but since he saw that he would never return his feelings he decides to break their association, becomes depressed, makes a deal with Lucifer, dissolves his association with the Vees and now He helps at Charlie's hotel, but in exchange for what? PS: Your art and Au is great 💖

Mi inglés no es mi primer idioma perdón si es un trabalenguas 😅

Yes!! YOU GET IT! *points at this post* Did the songs give too much away? I'd be surprised if you could get all that from the text posts alone!

It pretty much went something like that, but I will add an addendum;

It was less "Vox got depressed because of Alastor" and more "Vox was depressed, then cut off Alastor because of it". Alastor only saw Vox as entertainment before, maybe Vox was turbulent sometimes, but like a living room TV-- he would always be there, right? Alastor kept goading Vox on and it came to a tipping point where Vox became so frustrated and he finally decided to take it out on Alastor and leave him, because Vox had to keep moving on.

Although Alastor may have neglected him, Vox isn't completely innocent either. He started going behind Alastor's back way before they disbanded to fulfil the endless need that wasn't satisfied in his partnership with Al. Basically, I see Vox as someone who needs to keep moving forward and keep himself occupied or else he'll end up drowning(just like sharks). So even before Vox cut off working with Al formally, he was always doing little things, like building up the Vees, behind his back.

Back to the present time: Vox jumps on the opportunity he sees with Charlie, making a deal with Lucifer is just a hurdle he has to go through. The Vees are only dissolved in a public/they cannot be overlords together sense. I have a post here that explains more of Vox's reasons for helping out the hotel! But if you mean what do Lucifer and Charlie see Vox getting out of it-- Lucifer feels a bit bad for Vox, so he lets him help out. Charlie is just grateful that a powerful overlord is willing to aid her hotel/project(similar to canon Alastor).

As a bonus, I have a song that I associate with Alastor's POV of the radiostatic dynamic in this AU. Just think of it less in a "romantic" sense and in a partnnership/friendship way.

Thank you, for the kind words and being interested in my AU! I'm glad you decided to read through everything and send this ask. I hope it gave enough info you were looking for <3

#ask #sashab42 #au: reset resort

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kevin-ibw · 9 months ago

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Hi!! Ive read a couple of your posts abt your salvation au and holy sHIT its so interesting and intriguing!! While i still dont fully understand the differences between ur au and canon, ive noticed that salvation/nun!velvet is the one (literally) preaching about, obviously, salvation when in canon, thats charlies job (and shes vv legit abt it and genuinely succeeded, pentious my beloved)

So i gotta ask, would charlie and her hotel still exist? If it does, does it also offer their own version of salvation similar to velvettes cult? Whats the differences between the hotel and the cult? Their respective salvations? What kind of dynamic do they have?

If it doesnt, how does velvette replacing charlies hotel affect hell? Whats the ramifications of that?

Sorry if this is already been asked about, i havent read every post and i just got really curious! I love your art of the vees, and i cant wait to see more of your stuff!!! Have a nice day!! :))

Charlie and the Hotel

- Charlie seeks to give salvation to her people via opening the Salvation Hotel to serve as a paradise for everyone. Sinners are cautious and are uneasy about the offer, but it seems to get a boost in publicity after a certain television overlord promotes her services.

Differences between the Hotel and Velvette's Cult

- Charlie's salvation follows the definition of; preservation or deliverance from harm, ruin, or loss. Similar to canon, the hotel serves as a way of protecting sinners from extermination. It’s supposed to be a safe haven and a paradise for everyone.

The Hotel has elements from Earth that would make anyone very nostalgic, and seeing something that reminds them of our time of being alive, especially if they've been dead for so long, it is their salvation.

Mfs when they actually miss touching grass belike

Meanwhile, Velvette is a lot more malicious. She claims she can offer sinners salvation, but their only definitive proof is their fellow vee, Vox, who has disappeared for over seven years. Velvette's cult actively makes their own followers indulge in sin, saying that eventually, when the time comes, their sins will be forgiven, and we will all be saved from damnation.

And they believe her willingly, unknown to the fact that now their souls have been sold, which strips them away of their change of ascending to heaven.

[Thank you so much for the nice words 😭✨️, I enjoy answering these asks as much as you guys liking my AU 💖]

#AU: Salvation Hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel velvette #charlie morningstar #velvette #hazbin hotel au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

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Crushed 17

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: I just get this urge!

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

The best night of your life passes in a haze of vibrant afterglow, intermingled with spurts of fiery passion. For as much as you can’t get enough of Jonathan, he can’t get enough of you. You forget about the world; about fatigue and responsibilities. There is only each other, only that desperate need to touch, kiss, and moan.

When at last you surrender to exhaustion, your dreams are tinged with visions of reality. Hard muscle, soft lips, and tender whispers. You sway on a tide of pleasured delirium until finally, the wave crests. You sink back down the waking world, your eyes fluttering as morning light stains the wall yellow.

You could swoon. You can’t believe it’s real. After the weeks of tension, fear, and stress, last night feels like no less than a fantasy. You slowly roll onto your back and reach blindly, daintily touching the figure beside you. Nope, he’s very real.

You look at Jonathan, his tall finger stretched across the mattress. One leg bent, one arm tucked under the pillow. His chest rises and follows in a rhythmic breath. His bare chest. The chest you just couldn’t stop grabbing and clawing as he… did wonderful things.

His cheek dimples as he smirks without opening his eyes, “do I have bedhead?”

“What?” You squeak, caught in your admiration. “Uh, no.”

He gives a rocky chuckle and turns onto his side. He hooks his arm around you and wiggles closer before you can fall onto your back. You gasp and brace his arm, letting your thumb rub the bulging muscles of his bicep.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“N-nothing,” you sputter.

He searches you with his blue-green eyes and a furrow pinches between his brows, “are you certain?” His blond lashes flick, “you don’t regret… last night?”

“No, no! Never,” you plead with him, letting your hand trail up to your shoulder, cheeks blooming with heat as you swallow a giddy squeal, “promise, I don’t. I couldn’t.”

He grins even bigger, “oh, I know, I just wanted to hear you say it,” he leans in and nuzzles his nose against yours.

“You… know? How?” You murmur, suffocated by his proximity.

“The noise you made, darling,” he growls and tilts his head to kiss you, long and hungry, pulling away with a nibble of your lower lip, “like a symphony.”

“Oh,” you utter bashfully.

“Might I hear them again?” He brushes his fingers down your side.

“I…”

“You won’t have to do a thing, darling,” he eases you onto your back as he kisses your lips again.

He makes a path along your cheek and jaw, down to your throat as you gasp again. You clutch the loose bedsheet as your spine arches. His doting progress traces along your chest and stomach as he gently parts your legs. He kneels between them, lifting his head to look at you as he kisses the inside of your thigh, inspiring a quiver.

“You only have to sing for me, fawn,” he breathes as he edges closer to your vee, “mmm, darling…”

His nuzzles your cunt and his tongue glides between your folds. You moan and dig your nails into the mattress. Your toes curl and your muscles coil. The knot of pleasure begins to tangle again, longing for him to untie it. You close your eyes and let your head loll, succumbing to his diligent tending.

🌼

After another romp, or several, you give in to the day and beg Jonathan to let you out of bed. He does, reluctantly, as the same reticence slows your steps. You rinse off in the bathroom, surpassing a shower for the time in favour of coffee. He whisks past you as you emerge, a lingering touching on your hips as he does.

You go to the kitchen and rinse out the carafe to start a pot. You pause as you place it on the burner. Would he rather tea? You should’ve asked.

He surprises you as he appears, dressed, his hair slightly damp as he combs his fingers through it. His shirt is slightly wrinkled and there’s an ugly crease in his slacks. He’s unbothered by his uncharacteristic disarray.

“Ah, you just relax,” he comes to you and takes the empty carafe, setting it in the machine. “I will go down to the cafe and fetch us breakfast,” he kisses your head before he pulls away, checking his watch, “they’ve a lavender latte I’ve heard rave reviews about. Would you like to try it?”

“Oh, you don’t need to do all that. I have eggs in the fridge–”

“Ah ah,” he waves his hand, “I won’t hear of it.”

“Really, I–”

“Darling, I must warn you, I don’t think you quite know what you’ve signed up for,” he winks, “I won’t let you trouble over me. I’m not that type. Let me take care of you. You deserve that after all that’s transpired.”

“Jonathan,” you say.

“Mmm, say it again,” he drawls as he cups your chin.

“Jonathan,” you repeat more firmly. “That cafe is expensive–”

“Don’t worry for it,” he shakes his head and lays another kiss on your head, “stay and relax. You had a long night.”

Your brows pop up at his insinuation. For someone who always came across so proper, he can be coy. You shrug and relent.

“Fine,” you agree, “thanks, and er, yeah, I suppose I could try the lavender.”

“Wonderful,” he grins before his demeanour greys and he brings a long finger up, “lock the door.”

“I will,” you avow, the stone plummeting back into the depths of your heart. Oh yeah.

“And call me should you need me,” he demands. You nod as you chew your lip.

You follow him to the door, in only a long tee with Tigger on the front, and find your keys. You hand them over and he steals another kiss before he goes. You are quick to turn the latch, watching through the peephole as he lingers for a moment, eyeing the door with distaste.

He leaves at last and you back away. Somehow you forgot about it all. The carving on your door, your suspension, and lunch with your mother. The afterglow evaporates entirely as you come back down to earth.

You grab your phone and check your notifications. There’s a missed call from your mother and another from your sister. You pace around the front room as you ponder what to do. You return to the bedroom and look at the twisted sheets and the blanket hanging half off the side.

You put your phone down and tidy up the bed. You pull the mattress sheet taut and shake out the pillows. You spread the top sheet and replace the duvet on top. You twiddle your fingers restless and spin to sit on the edge. Your phone lights up suddenly, buzzing on the night table.

You swipe it up and answer, your sister’s name glancing across the screen before you bring it to your ear.

“Hey,” you eke out.

“So,” Geri begins in her way, “I guess that means you want a plus one.”

“What?” You sputter.

“I figured you’d be coming alone so I didn’t factor in the extra plate. So, plus one?” She continues as if you hadn’t said a word.

“What do you–”

“Mom told me about your boyfriend,” she nearly scoffs, “she said he’s charming. Of all things. Just make sure he wears a tie, okay?”

“Ger, I– if it’s a big deal–”

“No, it’s not,” she dismisses, “besides, I don’t need you moping on my special day, the way you do. It’s about time you found someone.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“And your bridesmaid’s dress. Champagne is the colour scheme. Satin preferably. I’ll send a pic of what the other girls got,” she bowls you over again. She is, of your sisters, the most like your mother. “No flats, okay? This isn’t a ballet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t do that,” she sneers, “and you’ll be at the rehearsal dinner. You’ll need a dress for that too…”

She begins to rant. As you try to keep up, you frown. You hope you’re never a bride, it seems like a lot of work. If you did get married, you’d be just fine signing the paper at the courthouse. You chew your thumb and nod dumbly along.

“Are you listening?” She snaps curtly.

“Yeah, just making notes,” you lie.

“Mom was saying she never hears from you. None of us do…”

Again you drift away. Like the lunch with your mother, you’re just a punching bag for all their gripes. Somehow, even your younger sisters make their problems yours. You pick at the hem of your shirt and muddle through the shopping list of Geri’s complaints.

A thump makes you flinch. You can’t help but squeak as you glance over at the wall. You squint. What was that? It comes again. Your focus completely cracks.

“Geri,” you interrupt, “I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? I’ll be at work.”

“Then call me when you’re not. I gotta go.”

You hang up as the thumping continues. The tempo slowly builds and there’s a creaking interwoven with the heavy bumps. Then voices come, permeating the adjoined wall. The very one you share with Ally. You cover your mouth in shock.

Her shrill cries intermix with the banging, what you can only assume is the bed frame. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before but much more intense. It’s usually subtle enough to drown out. And another voice, deeper. Both so loud it can only be deliberate.

You grip your phone tight and stumble out of the room. You shut the door, blocking out the cacophony. It can’t be an accident. You know that much.

You go back to the living room and tuck yourself into the corner of the couch. You stare at your phone but do nothing. You’re too shaken to even scroll through Insta.

You shouldn’t feel this way. Your chest shouldn’t hurt. Not because of him. You have Jonathan now so why does the idea of Colin being with her still feel so bad? You’re horrible.

You drop your phone on the cushion and turn your face down, hiding in your hands as you sniffle. Jonathan’s gone to get you breakfast and you’re here about to cry over another man. You are rotten and stupid and weak.

The lock grinds loudly and the door opens. You snap your head up and listen as Jonathan enters. The door closes and you hear him shuffling before he appears. You try to smile but your cheeks only twitch. You get up to take the tray of drinks from him.

“Here, let me help,” you say sheepishly.

You turn and set down the cardboard tray, the aroma of lavender wafting up to tickle your nose. You’re shaking. Jonathan comes up behind you and places the paper bag next to the cups, pressing himself to your back. He kisses your crown as he hugs.

“Darling, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you croak.

“You’re a very poor liar,” he girds, “and I’m not fond of dishonesty.”

“Sorry, I… my sister called,” you sniff, not quite a lie, “she wants me to get a dress. Two, actually, and…” You carefully detach from him and cross your arms, striding across the living room, “and there’s an engagement party and my mother told her about you–”

“Is that a bad thing?” He wonders as he opens the paper bag.

“No, I didn’t mean that,” you insist, “it’s only… a lot.”

“Surely, you planned on attending your sister’s wedding,” he intones, “and now you won’t have to do so alone. Are you not happy?”

“Of course, I guess… I’m nervous,” you try to shake off the grayness. You near him again as he holds out a cardboard container.

“It’s what they call a breakfast bowl. I wasn’t sure if you liked avocado so I had them put it on the side.”

“Oh, thank you, that’s very… thoughtful,” you make yourself smile, even though it hurts.

You go to the small table set against the wall between two chairs and place your breakfast there. You sit as he follows, setting down a tall cup beside the container. You thank him again. You peel off the lid and look at the foam, the pattern in it not the typical brown but a shade of lilac.

“Looks so good,” you murmur.

“It does,” he puts his own food on the other end of the table but doesn’t sit. “Eat, eat.” He commands with a flick of his fingers.

“Uh, okay, aren’t you gonna–”

“In a moment,” he steps past you, his eyes set on the living room.

You tense as you hear buzzing but you don’t dare turn back. He strides away as you peer down at the latte. He returns and sits across from you with your phone. He narrows his eyes at the screen as he reads the last notification as it vibes.

“What are you doing?” You reach for your phone but he keeps it out of your grasp.

“‘Hope you enjoyed the show’,” he reads out. “What show is this?”

“I don’t– who–”

“Ally, so the message says, but I do wonder if it truly is her,” his eyes meet yours sharply. “What does she mean?”

You drop your chin and take a breath. You slump down and talk to the table, “they were… being loud. When you were gone.”

“Ah,” he accepts, “and you listened?”

“N-no, I heard but I came out here so I couldn’t.”

He taps his thumb on the screen as he looks at it again. He huffs and turns it towards you but keeps a tight grip, “unlock it.”

“Huh?” You bat your lashes.

“Unlock the phone.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making certain you are safe, as I have done,” his tone turns rigid, “haven’t I?”

“Yes, but–”

“And you trust me, yes?”

“I do, but Jonathan–”

“Unlock it, now.”

You struck by the edge in his voice. You’ve only ever heard that when he had Colin by the scruff. Never towards you. Your lip trembles as you have no argument. He’s been so kind; he brought you breakfast and he said such sweet things and what he did…

“Sorry,” you reach across and press your fingertip to the censor to unlock it, “there.”

“Thanks,” he says tritely as he flips the phone back to face him.

You’re quiet as you focus on the container, carefully popping open the lid. The egg, avocado, an array of colourful veggies tease your hunger. It’s only then that your stomach clenches in desperation. You unwrap the bamboo fork and twirl it nervously as you peek up at Jonathan. He glares at your phone.

“Why didn’t you show me all this?” He asks.

“What do you mean?”

“These vile messages from that man?”

“I… I told you he was—”

“You didn’t tell me everything. Fawn, how can I protect you when I don’t know?” His harsh gaze makes you wince.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“We both know that man is deranged. I am only trying to help. And the thought of him ever laying a finger on you,” he stops and shudders, “we’ve committed to each other, yes? So we must start from honesty.”

You gulp and nod, “you’re right. I’m sorry, but that was before and I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“Now you know.” He lays your phone down beside your cup, “that you can and should tell me everything.”

#colin shea #jonathan pine #dark colin shea #dark!colin shea #colin shea x reader #jonathan pine x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #crushed #series #the night manager #what's your number?

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lis-likes-fics · 10 months ago

Text

Music to My Eyes (Part 2)

Pairings: Finnick Odair x def!fem!Reader Word Count: 9.2k words Warnings: Mentions of the games, so killing and death, mentions of trauma, mentions of forced prostitution, my attempt at writing sign language, pre-Katniss, no Annie... A/N: Hey, everyone! I know it took sooo long for me to post this but it is finally out! I also know I said it would be a two parter, but I have decided to start writing a third part to this series. I have literally no clue when it will be released, as I have even begun to work on it yet. But I hope you all enjoy this! Thank you and happy reading! <3 Also A/N: Anything written in /slants/ is an indication of something being signed because explaining every little sign just does not work. Special thanks to my beta-reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen. She's so amazing! Thanks, Vee! 💖

You glance over the papers Hecton splayed out over the table, an itinerary for your next trip—a list of the people you were meeting, the districts you were attending, and other things you weren't exactly looking forward to.

You laid your head on the table and sighed, stroking a piece of paper hidden from his view. A new letter came in today from District 4. Most of the ones you received were from District 1 or the Capitol. But since you met Finnick a couple months prior, the two of you had been writing back and forth as much as you could.

You found that you missed his company far more than you expected to. You've been trying to get Hecton to plan a visit to Finnick's district, but there's always something else to be done…

Hecton's hand comes into view as he slides it across the table to grab your attention. You look up at him quickly. You see him sigh, his intense brows furrowed.

/Are you even listening?/

/Sorry,/ you reply, sitting up a little straighter and looking over the details again.

He softens. /I know you hate doing these,/ he starts, /but knowing what you're going into before you go into it is much safer than the alternative. Especially with this. So you have to be present./

You nod, looking down at your lap as you sigh. /Sorry, Hecton./ He watches you sign "friend" in place of his name and smiles.

He signs softly and mouths the word as he does it. /Thank you./

You move to get back to work when Hecton's focus shifts behind you, in the direction of the front door. You turn to look. /Must be a supervisor./

You watch Hecton sigh, rolling his own eyes as he massages the bridge of his nose. Standing, he made his way to the door in measured steps. Whoever it is can wait.

You rise to your own feet, trailing after him and leaning on the door frame of the foyer with your arms crossed over your chest. He pulls open the door, his frame blocking out your view of your “guest”. You try to look past him, to catch sight of the ambassador or peacekeeper or whoever else must be coming to checkup.

You watch him talk, one hand holding the door as the other gestures with his words. He's too used to you.

You take a step forward, and then over to the other. And then over again. And then one more step to take in the sight of a woman you know from the district. She and her family run one of the little ranches that raise the sheep.

She glances at you, smiling gently before her attention is caught by Hecton once again. He says something, she gives an indifference shrug. You read her lips.

“They asked to see you, I brought them.” She steps to the side.

A smile splits your face, the excitement building in your chest. You rush to the door.

Finnick smiles wide at the sight of you. “You're here!” he exclaims. “I was starting to think I got the wrong District.”

You laugh as you hug him, accepting the warmth of his arms. His arms wrap tightly around you, holding a fifth of a second too long before letting you go. The woman nods and takes her leave.

He motions to a woman next to him. She's small, with bushy white hair and the kindest smile. “This is Mags,” he says.

You take her soft hand in yours, returning her kind grin. You look over at Hecton, and he looks back at you with a raised brow. He stares back at you, stubborn and waiting for you to let him handle this.

But when you obviously choose not to, he glances away and huffs. You turn back to Mags triumphantly.

/Hi, Mags,/ you sign slowly, spelling out her name. Hecton translates accordingly. /I'm glad Finnick brought you. I've been looking forward to meeting you./

She nods, glancing at Finnick and making a gesture of her own. Finnick is the one to speak, “She says ‘thank you’.”

Your smile widens and you turn toward the door, waving them inside. They gladly follow.

As you go to bring them into the living room, Hecton lays a hand on your shoulder to get your attention again. He licks his lips, exasperation in his face as he turns you so his back faces your guests still walking inside.

/We should finish talking first,/ he urges, his movements small in order to talk in secret.

You offer a reluctant look. /Can we talk later? We have guests./

/Yes,/ he nods. /District 4 Victors./

You sigh. /Friends./

/Since when?/ He glances over at them, and then back at you. /We don't know these people./

/I know him. He's a friend. And she's his friend and mentor./ You tilt your head, setting a hand on his arm gently. /I trust them./

Hecton sighs, looking past you, contemplating.

/Are you sure?/

You nod, your gaze unwavering. He pinches the bridge of his nose and you know he's given up. /Fine./

You smile wide, giving your many thanks as you turn to go. He takes your arm again. /Keeps your aids close./

You wave dismissively, shaking your head. /I don't need them./

/Y/N./

But you're already gone, turning away from him to go rejoin Finnick and Mags. You rest your hand on Finnick’s forearm as you grab his attention. His smile is charming, as in meant to charm you because he winked at you when he did. It isn't just you finding him charming.

Which you don't.

You point to your wrist, and then down at the floor. “How long are we here?”

He's learning quickly.

You nod. “A few days,” he says. “Before we have…other engagements.” He glances at Mags, who just nods back to you, still smiling, though there's something else in her eyes.

Sighing, you nod as well as you point to yourself.

“You, too?”

You nod again, before quickly changing the subject by making another sign. He furrows his brow, admitting confusion. “What's that?”

You think for a moment, trying to find a way to illustrate what you're asking. You lift a cupped hand to your lips.

“Thirsty?”

You nod, making the original sign again to confirm. He shrugs, glancing at his mentor. “Why not? Mags?”

She nods as well.

The water shimmers in the sunlight like the lake is filled with a thousand thousand crystals. Finnick had suggested you all go out to the lake, have some fun. Plus, it would give you an opportunity to help teach Mags your language—you'd decided Hecton would also have to help teach her, as well. He could probably get it across a little clearer than you, since he could actually speak to her as he taught her and she would understand.

He’d agreed to help you with Mags. But, as you suspected, he immediately refused to help Finnick. But that's fine. He was learning well from you anyway.

Of course, Hecton wouldn’t let you be alone with them. He’s somewhere along the treeline of the small woods near Victor’s Village, tucked in the cover of the trees with a book and some water, perfectly prepared (by his standards) to sit there for hours surveillancing you. Whether he knows that you’re fully aware of his presence there, you’re unsure, but you are. You always know when Hecton’s around, even with how stealthy the man can become.

As you sit at the shallow end of the waters with Mags, showing her your alphabet as you'd done with Finnick before—only this time, without paper—he comes up from the deep waters with a smile. She looks at him, just as content.

“Can you swim?” he asks you. You nod. “Join me then.”

You gesture toward your new friends. /Mags?/

She just shakes her head, waving her arms gently before she gestures for you to go on. “I'll be fine,” she seems to say.

You accept as you stand to your feet, walking out with Finnick to trudge the depths. The water is cold, icy against your skin as it becomes deeper and deeper, until you have to use your arms and legs to keep your head above water. You welcome the chill. It means you’re alive.

Your eyes fall on Finnick, watching you closely as though he’s standing by in case you need his help. You give him a sweet smile, trying to ease the nerves you can see simmering there. When he winks back at you, you roll your eyes as you splash water in his face.

His mouth parts in a laugh. When he whips his hair back, tiny droplets spray over you and you wipe your face. He surprises you with a splash in return. One, two, three, four. The laughter that must have been coming out of you vibrated in your chest, splitting his grin to be wider than before as he eased up on you.

You sink into the water, swimming past him with more efficiency than he expected. You surprise him when he feels your hand grab at his ankle, letting go immediately. You don’t try to pull him underneath, you don’t tug, you simply grab him. He appreciates the courtesy, laughing as he joins you underneath.

You swim blindly, feeling the shift in the water at your left as he swims next to you. You dive deeper, deeper, deeper, until your hands brush the sandy ground of the lake floor. You let your fingers card through it: the sand, the pebbles and rocks, the stray growths of plants, the shells.

You let your hands smooth over the smooth surface of one, curling your fingers around it and coming back up as your lungs beg for air. You take in a deep, joyful breath as soon as the opportunity is given, filling your lungs with the gratifying air.

Finnick is waiting for you, treading carefully as he swims toward you. You look at him, smiling as you show him the shell you’d collected. He takes a look at it as you hold it in your hand, the top of the shell dark and dull, its ridges smooth going one side and rough going another. As you place it in his hand, turning it upside down, you smile at the iridescent underside of it.

“It’s nice,” he smiles, moving it around in his hand to see every little detail of it.

You nod, /Shiny./ Then you spell it so he understands. He mimics you, his smile widening when he gets it right.

But then he starts swimming away from you.

You gasp lightly, chasing after him. But he’s faster than you, evading every attempt you make at capturing him and the shell. You stop, ignoring the laughter you feel bubbling in your chest as you smack the water, pouting. “You want it back?” he asks, raising his brows as he taunts you.

You nod.

“You gotta catch it,” he shrugs, swimming back again.

He hears you whine, making a sign he’s unfamiliar with. He just keeps making you chase him.

You pout again, ducking under the water once more as you swim down, down, down. He looks around, staying afloat and watching the water carefully. You stay down longer than he expects you to. And even longer after that.

He starts to get worried, looking around and muttering your name under his breath as though you can hear him as he wonders if he should go down and look for you.

But then he feels your hand on his shoulder as you start to climb up his back, wrapping your body around him and snatching the shell from him before he can drop it out of shock. He panics for a split second before reminding himself that it’s just you. Safe and breathing.

His hands instinctively find your legs, his arms wrapping under his knees to keep you secure on his back. He starts to carry you around, letting you have your victory as you giggle above him. You smile wide, holding on tight to him. This is the most fun you’ve had in a long time.

Taking you by complete surprise, Finnick throws himself backwards as he dunks you. You let yourself fall back, being engulfed by the water as you sink. Slowly, the water takes you farther down into its depths as you admire the stillness.

You always feel nice when you go to the lake. You feel safe, still, understood. Under the water, enveloped by its mass, you feel like, for once…you’re not the only one. You feel like everyone else would know, just for a moment, what it was like in your mind. So silent. Just for a moment.

Your beating heart slows with the calm. It gives you time to think.

You’re not used to genuinely smiling this much; your throat and your chest feel weird, a good kind of achy. Even before the Games, before the heartache and the trauma, you never had much to smile about, living in one of the poorer Districts with nothing but the rundown house you grew up in with your parents until they died of an illness and you landed in the orphanage in even worse condition.

After that, you didn’t really have anyone until Hecton came by the orphanage to give food to the starving children, under the radar of the Peacekeepers of course. He came across you, a poor girl with no hearing, completely alone because she could not communicate. He began to frequent the orphanage much more, teaching you the signs he’d learned after his mother—she lost her hearing during the long war when she was five.

Then you were selected for the annual Games, where Hecton became your official mentor. And you survived, but it was hard to live after that. Because you could never just win the Game—no, you never win the Game. You just play a different one now.

And then there was the business with Snow.

So, no, there wasn’t much time for joy.

But with Finnick, everything feels lighter. You feel like maybe…maybe you could do this. Maybe you can go another day, smiling for people who don’t care about you, giving to people who wouldn’t give back. With Finnick, you can take the pain. Because he makes you smile. Oh, you think you could go through anything if it ended with Finnick making you smile.

Your lungs burn.

Coming to your senses, you swim up for air as you feel the need to gasp, to breathe, to inhale all of the water in search of even a sip of oxygen. You claw your way to the top like you're crawling out of a grave.

You fill your lungs as soon as the chill of breath teases you. You soothe the ache, overreaching as you feel your chest heave. But it’s okay. Just breathe.

Finnick won’t admit the relief that washes over him when you resurface. He won’t admit that he felt far too much panic when you stayed below the water way longer than he was anticipating. He won’t admit that he thought, for a moment, that he’d hurt you…or worse.

Instead, he swims toward you a little too quickly and makes sure you’re alright as you catch your precious breath. “I thought I was going to have to come down for you,” he sighs, forcing a chuckle at the end so he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

You steady yourself, your tired arms keeping your head just above the water as you return your body to the calm. You’re tired and your stomach feels a little achy. You slowly press your fingertips together and tap your lips twice. /Hungry./

He takes your hand in his, smiling gently and easing his worry. “Well, come on then.” He pulls you gently with him back to the shore, where you spy Hecton standing at the treeline and looking like he was going to jump in at any moment to save you.

The sun is hanging a little lower in the sky now. The sky is painted a beautiful fade of orange and blue and pink. Sometimes it's hard to remember that a world as solemn and barbaric as Panem can be so beautiful.

E-F-G

You all have been at the lake all day. It's peaceful out here. Mags sits on the blanket laid over the sand with you right next to her. Finnick is sitting closer to the water, his arms wrapped around his knees. He's at an angle, always aware, always ready. The water is still.

K-L-M

Finnick shifts a rock in his palm, rearing his arm back to toss it at the water. It skips, skips, skips.

Q-X— Q-R-S

You point your stick, which you found nearer to the treeline a while ago, at all the letters you'd drawn in the sand. Mags studies them with you.

W-R— W-X-Y-Z.

You nod emphatically, a wide grin on your lips. /Yes! Yes!/ She's just as excited as you.

You'd both been going through the alphabet a few times, teaching her the signs of each letter just to get through with the basics. She's a fast learner, just like someone else you know…

Mags’ sweet smile spreads a bit wider. Thinking quickly, she turns to you and starts signing something, not quite sure of herself.

T…H…A…N…K…

You smile, lifting your hand to your chin and then gesturing to her in a slow, fluid motion. She repeats it. /Thank you./

You take her hand between yours. It's a little cold, a little shaky. She smiles fondly.

Taking her hand back slowly, she begins again. H…A…P…P…Y. You sign “happy” for her. She points to Finnick, then to you.

You try to hide your bashful grin. /Friends./ You spell it and then point to all of you.

Her smile is almost sly now. She shakes her head. /Him happy you. You happy him./

/Make. M-A-K-E./

She nods.

You look her way almost suspiciously. /I make him happy?/

She nods. /You make him…smile./ In an attempt to find a substitute for “smile”, she chose the right gesture for it.

You glance at the sand, your eyes slowly trailing up and up until they find Finnick, still staring out at the gleam of the water.

You turn your gaze back to Mags. She's all smiles. You lift a hand to your forehead, swiping it off into the letter “Y”.

Her brows furrow, a little confused. You remember yourself and spell it out. /W-H-Y?/

She contemplates, turning toward Finnick. Raising a hand high, she waves it a little. He sees it instantly, standing to his feet and making his way toward the both of you. At the sight of your faces, the corner of his lips raise curiously.

“You called?” He almost bows dramatically. Mags pats the empty space in front of her. He sits obediently.

Lifting her hands, she presses them gently against his chest and yours. She looks between the two of you, lingering and waiting for you to get it.

You look down at her hand on your chest, you look at his. Letting your eyes wander upward, your eyes meet and you pretend you're not affected. You look back at Mags. You just nod to her, halfway understanding what she means.

Finnick, not understanding at all, chuckles. “What are you two gossiping about?”

You laugh—or, rather, you assume you laughed. Mags’ silent laughter joins you as she drops her hands. You shake your head at him. /Nothing./

Hecton's heavy fist knocks lightly on the door of one of the spare bedrooms. He waits patiently. The door opens.

“Leary,” Finnick greets, smiling gently.

“Mr. Odair,” he responds. He almost adds an extra emphasis to “mister”. “May I have a word?”

“Of course,” Finnick, understanding what was being asked, says. He looks over his shoulder at Mags on the second bed—Finnick insisted they be put in the same room, and you all were fully aware of the reason why when there were plenty of rooms to choose from, so a second bed was moved into this one so they would both be comfortable.

“Mags,” he smiles reassuringly. “I'll be back.”

She nods.

Finnick steps out of the room and closes the door silently behind him. The two walk slowly through the halls, side by side with considerable space between them. Hecton holds his hands securely behind his back. Finnick’s own hands are clasped comfortably in front of him, his thumbs tapping one another as he waits for Hecton to begin.

Hecton stares at the ground, watching each foot pass the other with every step. He counts it silently in his head. One…two…three… One…two…three…

“I've been wanting to speak with you,” he finally says.

Finnick lifts a brow, “About?”

“About this…” Hecton glances up to slowly meet his gaze, “unusual relationship with Y/N.”

He chuckles lightly, shrugging his shoulders. “What's so unusual about it? We're friends.”

Hecton pauses on his next step, turning to face Finnick as the crease between his huge brows deepens. “And is that your only intent with her?”

Finnick’s own brow furrows this time.

Hecton continues walking again. “I also participated in the Games and won,” he says. “I know what it was like in there, and I know you do, too. People who went through what we went through don't go around making friends with one another. Not like this.”

When he stops again, they're in the living room and his back is facing the direction of your room. His face has fallen from any pleasantry and any distaste he holds for Finnick is clear across it. “What is it you want from her?”

Finnick notices the way Hecton speaks. His back (metaphorically) to you, his hands held tightly behind his back, his lips under-enunciate his words but he doesn't care to whisper. He's so used to talking only with you, even his way of “talking in private” is different. He keeps his back toward your direction to prevent you from reading his signs, and he holds his hands behind his back for the same reason. He speaks so closed-mouthed because you can read lips. Most of—if not his whole—life is centered around you.

You mean so much to this man. Finnick can't mistake his words for an insult because it isn't one. He's just looking out for you.

And that's all Finnick wants to do for you as well.

“All I want is her friendship,” he says, plain and simple. He doesn't sugarcoat, dress up in fancy language or strange little riddles. He just says it.

But Hecton is insistent. “Why?”

“Like you said,” Finnick continues, “you know what it was like. Well, so does she. All I want from her is to be friends with someone who knows.”

“And that's all it is?” he asks, urgent. “There are no other feelings involved?”

Finnick shakes his head slowly. “No.” At least, he's pretty sure of that.

Hecton stares at his face, thinking, searching his face for any kind of lie. But there isn't any dishonesty in his eyes. Or, at least, he can't find any. With a sigh, he relents.

“Good.”

He holds out his hand, his face watching Finnick straight on. He grasps it. There's a moment of silence as Hecton's hand begins to close around Finnick’s, squeezing tighter and tighter to ensure his threat is thoroughly felt. Finnick is unfazed.

“Mr. Odair…” he says, his voice low and his words leaving slowly through his lips, “I never had children. But you should know that Y/N happens to be something of a daughter to me. If you hurt her, in any way…” He takes a step closer, increasing the tension between them, “It will be the last thing you do on this earth.”

His face is stern, void of leniency or mercy. Still…Finnick has faced worse.

“Am I clear?” Hecton questions.

Finnick squeezes back. “Crystal.” Letting his lips part in a small grin, he tilts his head very slightly. “And, please…call me Finnick.”

“Thank you for welcoming us into your humble abode.” Finnick bows theatrically, smiling like an idiot when you wave him to stand.

/Very funny,/ you roll your eyes. You try not to let on how much you'll miss him. You don't know when next you'll see him. /Next time, I visit you./

He's getting better, but he doesn't know that word. He looks to Hecton, he translates briefly before returning to his goodbye to Mags. It's become a routine. But he is getting better.

He turns back to you. “Looking forward to it, sweetcheeks.” He winks at you as he clicks his tongue.

You scowl playfully at him, turning your nose up in feigned disgust. /Stop!/ Your hand lands on his shoulder, lightly shoving him away from you as he relents to the motion. /You're annoying./

His hands fly to his chest, over his beating heart as he closes his eyes in “pain”. “You wound me. Really, you do.”

/Clearly not enough./

He chuckles lightly, rolling his eyes. Like an idiot. He takes a step away when Mags comes forward. She smiles warmly. /Thank you, sweet girl./ Her signs are a little choppy, but they're heartfelt.

You return her smile. /You're welcome./ You take both her hands in yours, squeezing oh, so gently. /Come again soon. Please./

She takes one of her hands from yours and closes it around the others.

Hecton, his voice gentle and his hand on your shoulder even gentler, steps behind you. You turn over your shoulder. /You should be getting some rest now. We have a busy day tomorrow./

Your lashes flutter and you nod. You hug Mags, and then you hug Finnick. With Finnick, the hug lasts a little long…

He pulls away, his hands still on your arms. /See you soon./

You nod. Your hands create a sign he doesn't know. He looks to Hecton.

“Be safe,” he says.

Finnick smiles, a soft thing on his face as he nods. “Always.”

The walls are cold and sterile but still, contrastingly, just as grand and lavish as the rest of the Capitol. There are two Peacekeepers at your sides, one behind you, one leading you through familiar but winding halls. Hecton left you at the door. Only because he had to.

Their heavy footsteps pound in your ears in a maddeningly steady beat. There are people in the distance speaking over other people in the distance speaking. The sound of clothes rubbing against more clothes and skin and metal and whatever else there is to rub against is so unsteady that, that drives you madder.

A lady in extravagant professionalism walks toward you; a clipboard in her hands, manicured white nails, tiny circle glasses on her dark nose, her straightened blonde hair done up in a ridiculously lavish bun. She's in sterile white, with thin heels that make her a head taller than you. The tip-tap, clip-clop of them will finish out the last ounce of sanity you've managed to keep tight in your fist.

She smiles plainly at you as you get closer. The Peacekeeper in front of you breaks away to give her his former place. “Welcome back,” she says, her back to you as she walks. You keep up. “I trust you had safe transport?”

Her words are so strange in your mind. Knowing the words are one thing, hearing them are a completely different issue. This “eloquence” is ineloquent and, quite frankly, grating against your senses. Her S’s are sharp, her T’s are crisp, even her R’s cut your ears in twos and fours and on.

You don't find it pleasant.

You raise your hand to your left ear, tapping the tiny device once, twice, three times in an effort to soften the blow of each sound scraping your brain.

She seems to remember you can't respond to what she's saying and glances over her shoulder. You nod. She nods back.

“Very good,” she says, turning back around again. “You know the drill. Follow me this way, and we will get you in your proper attire before we take you to House.”

You nod again. She says nothing more.

You do as you're told, following her through the building until you reach the Sanitation Chambers. It’s a large room with a row of doors lining one wall, numbers above each highlighted red or green. Two Peacekeepers stay by Door 5, she gestures toward the door. “Your clothes are already inside, along with your robe. When you are ready, you will go through the other door and another guide will be waiting for you.”

If you're being completely honest with yourself, you have hardly understood a single word to come out of her mouth. You can read lips all day, you read someone's signs all day. But seeing words and hearing them are two completely different areas of understanding for you, and you've just been nodding and agreeing this whole time. But you've done this before. You just trust that you understand what's going on and move on from there…

You nod, turning toward the door. With a sigh, you open and close it behind you. The 5 clicks red. The room, sterile again, is small, closet-sized. There's a cubby with your clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Your robe is on a hook next to it.

You strip, letting your clothes drop carelessly to the floor. You stare at the white button above the hook. The word above it reads, “SANITIZE”. You take in a breath, hold it, and press the button.

The sound is harsh and sharp and hissing. It sucks into your skull and the pain rages in the valleys of your mind. Your mouth parts and a shout falls from your tongue as the white gas shoots out from spouts all around the room. Your hands fly to your ears, covering them as your nails just nearly scrape at the flesh. You dig your fingers into your ears, fishing out the tiny devices lodged in the drums.

The sound stops all at once.

You stand there, clutching your ears as your wide eyes stare at one corner of the floor. There's a tiny pebble there. It's brown, barely the size of a pea.

The gas has already stopped. But your heart is beating so fast, heavy in your chest as it beats against your ribcage like a wild animal in a crate.

You close your eyes, take in a deep breath, hold it for a few counts, and then let it out. Steadied and recentered, you look down at your two hearing aids scattered on the floor.

You promised Hecton you would wear them, but you don't think you could put those back in and continue on with the grating way of the world. You fold your discarded clothes, setting them on the shelf and placing your hearing aids in your shoe.

After you dress yourself again, you wrap your robe tight over your body and open the other door. It locks when you close it behind you.

Another guide meets you, just as the first said she would, and walks you into another room. She's saying something, but you don't understand. She walks in front of you. But you know the drill, and Hecton went through everything before you left.

You're taken to a waiting room, but you don't spend a lot of time there before your guide is taking you again to another room. This one, however, is the room you're most familiar with. It's the room you'll be practically locked in for the next week. A bedroom, with a joining bathroom completed with another sanitization chamber and a large closet pre-filled with more outfits than you'll have to wear all week.

Five minutes and the door opens again. And a familiar face walks through. Like a switch in your brain, your face is molded to the kind, friendly girl you're used to showing on stage.

This man is one you see often. Whenever you're booked for this kind of business, he's likely to be there. You don't like him. He feels loud. He's rough and kind of mean, and he's hard to understand because he doesn't speak visibly enough.

He smiles at you and your skin crawls. Like clockwork, you let your robe fall from your shoulders and he starts circling you. Like prey.

It feels like being in the arena again. The hair on the back of your neck stands on edge, the tips of your ears burn like they've been lit on fire.

When he's finished circling you, he begins walking toward you until you have no choice but to look up at him so much your neck hurts.

The bedroom falls away when you look at his face, at his eyes, burning. The anxiety is beginning to rise in you again but today, he isn't just hungry, he looks primal. He looks more dangerous, he feels more dangerous.

He's going to hurt you. The way he stares at you, the way he circled you, he's hunting you. Your heart picks up, your breathing quickens.

You take a step back and he takes a bigger one closer. You take another, and another, and another. You need to be away from you, your head spins with the fear replacing your nerves.

He's angry now. Why would you run from him? You aren't supposed to run.

He grabs your arm, his grip strong and crushing. You panic. Turning your arm from his grasp, you struggle away from him. He scowls.

You back up to the wall. He rushes toward you. Just as he's holding out his hands, he seems to grow bigger and bigger.

With quick reflex, you grab him just as he grabs you and turn around. You shove him up against the wall. His head smacks against it, hard, but he doesn't wince and his head doesn't move from its place.

His hold on you has completely loosened. You let him go and stumble back. Your eyes are wide, your heart doesn't feel like it's beating, everything is suddenly so still.

You take a step to the side, slowly, slowly taking one more as you peer behind his head. You can't scream, the sound doesn't leave your throat, it doesn't even rise in your chest, the shock and fear was too strong at the sight of his head stuck on a tiny hook in the wall. The blood streams down the wall, down his neck. It stains his clothes.

You breathe in, in, in, filling your lungs, filling them to the brim, rearing up for a scream—

A thumb strokes your cheek and your eyes flutter before snapping out, wide. He stands in front of you, having not moved from his original spot even once as he looked expectantly at you. One hand is on your cheek, the other is wrapped around your waist. He's saying something, his lips poorly forming the words.

“What's the hold up?”

It wasn't real. You were just imagining things. You aren't in the arena anymore, and you aren't in danger. You sigh and uneasily slip back into your act. You set your hands hesitantly on his shoulders and smile. You just nod.

A week. You can take a week.

Icy tremors sink into your flesh and bone as you shake. You clutch your hands to your arms, desperate for warmth in the damp cold.

Palms scrape against rocky ground as you struggle to escape the stalking beast created from the Games, not Mutt but Man.

His fists are clenched, his teeth are sharp, his smirk is primal. Just when you think he's going to kill you, he's knelt in front of you and sunk his claws into the flesh of your thigh. A soundless scream tears from your throat. His other hand wraps around your throat, and you claw at it in a desperate attempt to tear it away—

A hand on your shoulder shocks you awake. You bolt up, hands flying and eyes wild with fear and adrenaline. More hands find your face, but they rest with the softest touch on your cheeks and hold you gently.

A pair of lips come into view, forming words you can't hear and struggle to decipher for the moment. The hands move away from you and begin to form letters. O-K-O-K-O-K.

You finally look up and recognize Finnick’s worried eyes. You breathe quickly, moving your hands to communicate back.

/Slow down,/ he signs. “I can't read that fast, sweetheart.” His hand comes to rest on your cheek again, he holds it gently and brushes his thumb over the skin. You lean into his hand. “C’mon, breathe.”

You follow his head, breathing in…out…in…out. You close your eyes, resting your head against his palm. The world around you seems to still. You raise a hand to cover the back of his.

You steady yourself with another breath, reminding yourself once again that you are no longer in the arena. You're in District 4, visiting Finnick just as you promised you would. And everything is okay.

You open your eyes, a new calm settling over you as you circle your fist over your chest. /Sorry./

He shakes his head. “Don't apologize. It's not your fault.” He strokes your cheek again before slowly pulling his hand away and sitting next to you on the bed. “Nightmares happen, that's all.”

He holds his hand out toward you. You take it, holding his hand between both of yours. His other one covers yours as his thumb brushes them. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head gently. You don't meet his eyes. /Personal./

“You don't have to,” he assures you. “I'm not going to make you.”

His words mean so much to you. They warm your chest, make you feel so special. He gives you a choice. He makes it your decision on whether or not you want to talk to him, to share with him something so secret of yourself.

You glance up at him, then away at the desk in the corner of the room as you think. You shrug. /Just the Games…and things./

He asks softly, not pushy but curious. “What things?”

You shake your head gently. /You wouldn't understand./

His body shifts with a chuckle. “Try me.”

You sigh, your heart beating too noticeably in your chest at the idea of telling someone. Revealing this part of yourself to someone who wasn't Hecton, to someone who didn't know…it felt so vulnerable.

You go slowly to make sure he understands.

/After Games, it didn't stop for me. Even with my disability…/ you pause, taking a breath, /I was…/

He tilts his head. Suspicious but not wanting to get ahead of himself. “You were what?”

/Hard word,/ you explain. You don't know the sign for this one. /They said…/

You start to spell it, slowly as he voiced each letter. “D…E…S…I…” You keep signing, but he goes silent. You stop two letters later, dropping your hands and looking up at his crest-fallen eyes.

He shakes his head, a frown set deep in his face as his eyes seem to lose their light. “No,” he whispers.

Confused, you raise your hands hesitantly, rethinking multiple times before you finally continue on. /What?/

It takes him a moment to reply, though his lips twitch as they form the words. He shakes his head again. “Not you.”

/What do you mean?/ you ask slowly. When he doesn't answer you, he watches you sign ‘river’ and take his hands.

He looks away from you, clenching and unclenching his jaw. A deep frown is etched into the structure of his face, and he shakes his head as frustration joins his mixture of emotions.

Finnick closes his eyes when he turns his head to you next, taking a breath and hesitating before he speaks. “You won the Games, and Snow labeled you an object of…attraction. And he…” His eyes open again as he trails off.

Your hands shake. Leaning back, you try to understand what this means, but you find yourself too hateful of the truth to be able to come to terms with it. You move slowly, lethargically, as you continue. /He sold me./

He sighs, shutting his eyes again. His frustration melds into something more sullen, something sadder. He shakes his head, muttering to himself about the injustice, the unfairness.

“Not you.”

You set your hand on his shoulder to get his attention again, making him look at you as you struggle to understand. You swallow thickly. /How did you know?/ Your eyes sting with your desperate plea. /Finnick. How?/

He just looks up, his eyes landing on your face.

You bite your lip, his face becoming blurry as the tears build in your eyes, the tension high as they threaten to spill over your waterline.

/No./ Your hands, though trembling, are firm. /Not you./ He turns away, but you catch his cheek and turn him back to you. He almost seems to lean into your palm as you do. /Finnick, not you./ A single tear slips down his cheek. As if on cue, a tear of your own mirrors his.

/How long?/

He licks his bottom lip, sighing. “Since I won.”

Your throat is hot, it's a struggle to get fresh air down to your lungs as you shake your head. /Not you./

It's hopeless. Every time you get your hands on something good, Snow takes it away. Finnick wasn't supposed to know that world. He was supposed to be done. Sure, he had tours, he had appearances.

But not this.

You stare down at your hands.

He stands quickly, saying something you don't catch because he's turned away from you. He faces you again, motioning toward you. “And you're much better?” He covers his face with his hands, pressing his fingers against his eyes. His chest deflates as his hands sweep down, and he watches you with his head tilted to the side like it was too heavy to carry.

“He can't keep getting away with this.” He shakes his head again, forever denying the injustice. “Not with you.” This one was said softer, coated in the hopelessness twisting in his gut, in his chest.

You stand to your feet, walking over to him as you take his hands. You stand close to him, sighing. You try to reassure him. /I'm okay./

“It's not fair,” he says weakly.

You drop your head onto his shoulder, and his hands instinctively come to settle around you. You breathe in deep, closing your eyes. You don't want him to worry about you.

/It's okay./

There's a long silence.His arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you in close as your bodies provide a comfort you hadn't held in a very long time. His chin rests atop your head. He holds you for perhaps too long as he soaks in the feeling of your warmth.

He pulls away, but only enough to look at your face. You look up at him, content with his arms around your body and his eyes on you, if nothing else.

There's another pause. “What were you dreaming about?”

You let a gentle breath blow through your nose as you take a step back from him, sitting back down on the bed and giving him plenty of space to join you—and he does. /As I said, just the Games./ You pull your knees onto the bed, turning your body to face him as you communicate. Your brows furrow, /Only different./

“Different how?”

You shrug. /Both nightmares at once./ You lick your bottom lip, thinking out what you're going to say before saying it. You'll have to spell out a few words as you go, but he's never minded.

/I'm running through the mountains and go to hide in the caves, when someone finds me. No one is around to hear me, I don't even know if I'm making sound./ He struggles to keep his face partial to empathy and concern. He can't help the tightening of his jaw at the way you describe it. But you know the frustration isn't directed toward you.

You don't realize how your hands have begun moving faster, so fast they seem to flap around as you continue on. Your eyes burn with unshed tears, they burn with the quickening of your heart and the tightness of your chest. /He pushes me to the ground, pins me down. The cameras… The cameras point to me when…/

He watches two tears slip down your cheeks and immediately sets his hands on your shoulders. He holds off on hugging you so you can see him tell you, “Hey, it's okay. You're safe with me.”

Almost desperately, he pulls you into him another time, petting your hair slowly and carefully. He shushes you gently, though he knows you cannot hear it. You hold him close, though the tears have already been sucked back in and become reduced to a harsh ache in your throat.

You've had practice in hiding that pain…

Somehow, you feel lighter. With the burden of that secret, which lay so heavily on your shoulders for so long, finally lifted, you feel like you can breathe just a little more. And, selfishly, you're relieved. And you hate this simple fact, but you are. Because he understands. He knows what it's like, even more than other tributes may have after coming out of those Games without the added shame of selling their bodies for the cruel manipulations of President Snow.

He understands.

Finnick suddenly pulls away from you, and you miss the warmth of his chest on your cheek. He takes a moment, thinks, and then moves his hand with the words he speaks.

/No one will hurt you here./ Your heart aches with the affection that takes root there. /I promise./

You bite down hard on your lower lip as the lump in the back of your throat rises with a fury. You swallow thickly, forcing the fierce feeling inside of you down so you can properly breathe. It hurts, but you welcome the pain because it's the result of something special, something so uniquely Finnick that all you can do is cherish it forever.

/Don't leave. At least tonight?/ Your hands tremble with the emotion welling inside you.

He smiles. “I'll stay right here,” he promises. “Keeping you safe. You don't have to be alone.”

His words hit right where you're most vulnerable. /Thank you, Finnick./

His lips tug at the corners into a tiny smile. “You keep using ‘river’. Why is that?”

You look down at your lap in an effort to hide your small grin, shrugging gently. /Easier,/ you finally answer after a moment too long. /And more…special./

When he grins, it's that type of grin that you know is usually followed by something sarcastic or funny. It widens the span of your lips. “I'm special?” he asks, pressing a hand to your chest. You glance away from him, nodding a little but not wanting to give him the full pleasure of knowing so. He looks pleased. His trying to cheer you up has lifted his own mood tremendously. “Why, thank you, sweets.”

You wave him off, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers. You like the way his hand fits with yours…

“So why river?” he wonders.

/Water doesn't work as well, but you remind me of water. Like lakes or rivers./ You smile sweetly. /Very good swimmer, green eyes like lakes sometimes./

He seems proud now, and you almost regret telling him—except you love when he acts like this, simultaneously the cockiest and sweetest person you know. “I should call you…” He thinks for a moment, and then begins to sign something. “Music.”

Lightly smacking his shoulder, you shove him away from you. That feeling that bubbles out of you, that feeling you know is a laugh, rises in your chest and falls from your lips as you sign exaggeratedly. /That's mean!/

“No, it's not!” His own laughter rises from within him as he can't help himself. You're just so sweet. “Your laugh, it's like music.” You feel heat begin to pool in your cheeks, in your face. “Your name is gorgeous,” he continues. His hand rises and he crooks his finger, tucking it under your chin gently just to brush it there.

He smiles, and the way he does lets you know that he tries to be funny with it, but he's too sincere as he watches you closely. “You're music to my eyes, sweetness.”

You shake your head, hiding your face from him because you're too shy to face him after he's said something so sweet. /Crazy./

He does the chin thing again, mostly because he wants to see your pretty face again but also because he wants to tease you. You look at his mouth to see him speak but nothing else. “You’re crazy,” he accuses.

You smile, and—for once—you feel like you can do it shamelessly. You look up at him, looking at all the details of his face: the greens of his eyes, the subtle point of his nose, the couple of freckles here and there on his cheeks. You lick your bottom lip.

/How do you say you or name?/

He points to his chest, raising his brows questioningly. “My name?”

You nod. Unsure of what to say, he just says it. “Finnick.”

Your lips part, and you're suddenly incredibly self-conscious as you move your lips to form the name. You feel sound rise in your throat, but you don't know whether or not the right one came out.

He smiles. His name had been garbled in your name, muffled with the inexperience of using your own voice instead of your hands to speak. Your voice is hoarse, quiet and sticky with disuse. You must feel it, because you clear it right after as you raise your hand to feel your throat.

“Close,” he says. “Watch.” He raises his finger underneath his bottom lip and speaks again, slower this time. He over-articulates, speaking as clearly as he can. “Fin-ni-ck.”

You press your bottom lip to your top teeth, mimicking the placement of his own mouth. When you add sound to make the ‘F’, it comes out as a ‘V’. “Inni-ck.”

His smile widens, though he isn't taunting you. He holds out his palm. “Gimme your hand.” You do. He moves your hand into a fist and then raises your index. Then he pulls your finger to his lips and mouths the ‘F’ of his name, blowing on your finger and playfully rolling your eyes when you squirm. “Feel that?” he asks gently, patiently. “F-innick.” He spends extra time on the beginning once more.

He lets go of your hand and you bring it to your own lips to try, doing as he did and making sure you feel the air of that ‘F’ as you try again. “Fff-inni-ck.”

He smiles, a huge thing of a smile that shows you just how proud he is. “Yeah! Now put it together.”

So you say it again, and again, and again, repeating it over and over until you get it right. You watch Finnick's face, bright with wonder and amazing, shining with pride and triumph as he watches you attempt his name. And when you say it like you've spoken it a million times before, he feels a lump in his throat and a warmth in his chest. He thinks you're amazing.

“That's it,” he nods, swallowing thickly. He hopes you miss the way his eyes glittered. But you don’t. “That's my name. Finnick.”

“Finnick,” you repeat.

He smiles. “Y/N.”

Tilting your head, you raise your hands again. /How does mine sound?/

He's excited. He has quickly found that he loves doing this with you. “Let's see.” Just as he begins to speak, you stop him.

/Wait./ You think for a moment, making the decision with a final nod to yourself. /I…brought my hearing aids./ His face shifts slightly, a quiet realization. You go to your bag, digging through it to fish out the little box holding said devices. /I do not like wearing them, but Hecton hates when I do not have them close./ You sit by him again.

His hand sets over your own, stopping you gently. “You don't have to.”

/I want to,/ you promise. /I want to hear you./

His eyes flit across your face for a moment before he slowly withdraws his hands. You open the box and take a breath of courage before you pick them up one at a time, pushing them into your ears one at a time, ignoring the discomfort it brings the farther it goes one at a time. Another breath of courage and you switch them on.

It's not what you expected. Usually, the world was so loud. So relentlessly full of noise. But right here, right now… it was still. Still enough to take a breath and only hear the strange sound of the air passing through your nose and into your lungs.

You have to take a moment to adjust, even still, and Finnick understands this because he doesn't say a thing. He hardly moves to avoid the potential rustling of his clothes from bothering you. When you're ready, you turn your gaze to take him in.

You clear your throat as gently as you can, adjusting your volume accordingly. You let your lips part, take a moment, and then speak. “Hi, Finnick,” you speak. He notices how your ‘H’ doesn't quite come through, and it only makes his smile wider.

You pause, your lips parting just a slight at the sound of his name in your own, strange voice. “Finnick,” you repeat, as though you’re tasting the name. It’s like music, you think.

He takes your hand in his, squeezing as softly as he physically could as he smiles. “Hi, Y/N.”

Another pause. So that's what people heard when they heard your name? That's what you sound like to others?

Slowly but surely, you let your mouth form the letters of your name before, hesitantly, you replicate the sound. When you say it the first time, it doesn't sound quite right. Finnick repeats it again, encouraging you with the squeeze of his hand. And then you say it, feeling that same lump rising once more like a reoccurring pest.

“Y/N,” you smile, biting down on your bottom lip to contain your joy at achieving something so…so nice. Something as simple but as special as saying your own name. You giggle a little, your eyes widening at the sound as you suddenly become addicted to it. You do it again. /Pretty./

“Pretty,” he voices.

With a little more confidence, you repeat it. “Pr-etty. Prett-y. Pretty.”

He nods, and a chuckle of his own slips from him. You like the sound of his laughter even more than the sound of your own. “Yes, it is pretty.” He still speaks slowly, wanting to make sure you're still properly understanding him. “You’re very pretty.”

You feel like he's going to make you cry again, but you just look down at your lap and let yourself feel and hear the chuckle that escapes you. Lifting your chin again, you bashfully smile. /Thank you./

“Thank you.”

Slowly and surely. “Th-ank you.”

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