#victor li x reader

[niphredil-14]

please send in requests. I’ll write pretty much anything. im desperate for inspiration. all my posts are queued.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could have a Emperor Caracalla x reader where because of his disease he doesn't recognise her for a moment when they're about to make love and she has to calm him down

I am here and no one else

Emperor Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, choking and using knife, cuddling, crying

Summary : They had been together many times, they saw and felt each other. It reassured her that he was aware of her, that Caracalla was not lost in madness, but on the night of the full moon when they were in bed together, madness crept into his mind and next to him was no longer the woman he loved and had married.

info : Thank you very much for the request dear anon it is a pleasure to get another request for Caracalla, enjoy reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His blue eyes had been so clear a few years ago, when the sun was above them and the people had cheered them both and his smile was sincere and honest.

The wedding of the emperor Caracalla and his wife the sun roms was cheered and no shadow had settled over the imperial family, it was a dream, a beautiful dream that seemed so far away when she looked at her beloved husband now.

His eyes clouded with madness, bloodied when he saw the battles in the colloseum and his temper erratic, she loved him, loved him through it all but with each passing day she feared for him, for his brother and herself. Because if madness prevailed, Caracalla himself would not stop at her and Geta, they were sure of that.

The whole day, however, he seemed like a miracle, but clear from breakfast he remembered what appointments were coming up today, ,,The ring is especially flattering to my sun” he had wooed her at noon on the way to the Senate.

Even in that he not only supported his brother but also ignored the lies of the senators, he seemed to clearly recognize what Geta was pursuing and stood up for his values. It was moments that brought tears to her eyes as she seemed to wander back into the past dream.

A ring he had bought her, it was small things, but it was these small moments that gave her and Geta hope that things would get better, even in the coliseum Caracalla remained relatively calm.

,,The credit goes to the victor!” he extended a rare moment of grace when even Geta would have decided otherwise and she saw in the older man's gaze that he was proud of his brother.

The day had been blessed by the gods it seemed from the moment the sun rose until now but such protection can be deceiving.

After dinner the three of them planned to keep to themselves, but keeping to themselves ended in togetherness for Caracala and her.

Kisses exchanged in the hallway, hands holding each other and clothes removed, ,,Such beauty,” he said, searching her lips a second time as they both changed from their tunics into those for the night.

Naked skin disappeared under silken fabric, gazes resting on each other, bright eyes looking at their bodies and seeing only pure beauty, ,,You are so beautiful,” he heard a giggle as she turned in her clothes and came towards him in another kiss that led them to the bed.

Soft fur and pillows caught her and she ran them through blonde curls, she loved him, loved his art, his laugh and giggle, his pretty eyes and golden curls, ,,You're more beautiful” she murmured and tapped the tip of his nose as they both let go of each other for a moment.

Reaching to the side table next to the table wine had been provided and grapes he held the goblet out to her and she placed the grape to his lips, it was a quiet moment, a moment between adults, a moment that was not possible in his madness, ,,Your flattery is both amusing and sweetening” he said eating the grape and savoring the sweetness on his tongue.

She put the goblet aside after a sip and ran her hands over his pale torso, the small scars and inconsistencies of his illness were not ugly to her.

She smiled at his words, circling his skin as he leaned over her, his lips searching her face, but in the darkened room where the torches provided light, his eyes saw the wine on her lips.

Dark...dark red...blood red.

A color that made him pause kisses that he continued to return but his fingers that touched her, from her neck where he heard her pulse to her soft breast became more and more strange.

Stranger and stranger with each blink her appearance became more distant, with each kiss she smelled and tasted less like his wife and he caught the scent of her blood.

Blood like at a birth, blood that no longer threatened to flow through him and blood of a madness that he had to stop in her, ,,You-you're not her!” he cried out, interrupting the kiss and his fingers wrapped around her neck, fingernails clawing into her skin and her eyes opened in shock.

Air that was drastically and quickly no longer inflicted on her his name came broken from her lips, her hands clutching at his wrist trying to gently reassure him at first.

,,It's me...it's your wife” she rattled fluttering eyes trying to find his gaze, to find her husband. Instead, he only squeezed harder, seeming neither to hear nor recognize her...and in that moment she realized that her nightmare that his madness would kill her had come true.

Her legs kicked, trying to throw him off her, but there was a power in him that she didn't know he had, a power that made her slowly see black spots.

Fear and adrenaline flowed through her body, ,,Cara-Caracalla” she gasped trying unsuccessfully to calm him, she looked around the flash of the knife caught her eye, tears ran down her eyes as he pushed her harder into the pillows the giggles were replaced by screams as she cut his arm with the knife.

Her fingers just managed to grab it, she would never have wanted to hurt him but if blood was what made him run away, maybe it was blood that brought him back.

His scream continued to echo through the chamber as he held his arm away from her as if he had been burned and she took a deep coughing breath, tears streaming from her eyes.

Caracalla rolled off the bed screaming and crying as he hit the floor and pressed himself against the wall as his gaze lifted and he began to scream again, ,,I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry...what have I done!” he said over and over again as the sticky blood ran down his arm, staining it and he realized when he saw the desaturated state she was in.

Coughing and struggling to get air back into her lungs, she slowly got up from the bed, swaying, her voice failing as she tried to speak and coughing a gesture that only made him cry more.

She came slowly towards him, he pushed himself further away from her, ,,Stupid, a monster...a delusional one" he reproached himself as his face settled in his hands and she hugged him, holding him trembling as she slowly began to breathe regularly again, stroking his head.

She shook her head and took a piece of her robe to wipe the blood off his arm, ,,Not-it's not your fault. I'm alive you see I'm alive my king” she replied and clasped his hands, forcing him to look at her as she kissed his hands and looked at his reddish neck and saw his face, his hideous work.

Before he could cry again, she pressed him to her, kissed his forehead and his fingers clutched at her body, ,,You're still alive?” he asked the question so obviously that she laughed and nodded, ,,Yes! Yes, it's me here,” she said, putting his hand on her chest, his hand feeling her heartbeat, and he breathed shakily.

His smile just as pleased as hers as he engaged her in a kiss, holding onto her and the other way around as the two of them sat there on the floor bloody kissing, reassuring each other that they were still alive.

As he held her hand he told her, ,,Never again...I will never lose control like this again” he promised her, tapping the tip of her nose as she had gestured as the imperial couple remained sitting there holding and loving each other.

That despite the strangulation marks on her body and the blood on his, they loved each other no less than before and no madness would change such love and care.

They were bound by blood and love and they would be until the end of madness if they loved each other forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @sigiismunda , @somepallings , @naysha140 , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs

[niphredil-14]

give me a character to write a death scene of im bored and trying to procrastinate my wips

[24kmar]

𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐀 (A. Donaldson, T.Duncan)

𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: A. Donaldson x Fem!Reader, T.Duncan x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, Sugar Baby! Reader, Female Manipulator Reader(Wolf in sheeps clothing), Daddies money reader 🤭, Age Gap! (Early 30's art and tashi, early 20's reader), power imbalance, language.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Tashi and Art see Pro! Tennis player reader they cant help but be infatuated. She's just so perfect, on court and off. When she starts moving up in the tennis world, they decide to take up on this oppurtunity. Offering to coach her and take part in her success and her life.

𝑩𝒐𝒓𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘. 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒐. 𝑶𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒉𝒐? 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒊𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒅𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆.

You were used to getting what she wanted, growing up the golden child with daddies money. Always winning, in tennis and in life. Being signed to NIKE. Truly a born stunner. And thats just what tashi and art needed.

When they went to a standford tennis game, only for the nostalgia (lies, they saw you play at standford and needed to have you). Sitting down after finally getting away from the crowds of fans. Thats when they saw you, stretching and getting ready for your match. Getting ready to win.

Seeing you play gave them the rush, the hope they needed. With each grunt, each step you took, each roar of victory. They grew more and more hungry for you. You were so power hungry, so ambitious, just like tashi. Just perfect. After winning the match (of course you did) they came up to you.

"Y/N L/N" tashi spoke walking up to you.

Turning around hearing your name, you were met with the stars of the tennis world.

"Oh my god, tashi duncan, art donaldson. Its amazing to meet you." You beem shaking their hands. "We've been watching you" tashi speaks " you're good, really good." Art finishes for her.

"We would like to make an offer." tashi says, art looking at you up and down. Observing everything you have to offer. "How would you like us to coach you?" Tashi offers. This isnt the first time you've gotten an offer to be coached, theres been many more instances to which you've declined.

But not now, you couldnt pass this up. So you said yes. And the rest is history.

They wanted to make you better at tennis ( they really just wanted to have you to themeselves). You gave them something they both needed. Giving art something perfect to worship, a star. And tashi, a lover and a winner.

They worshiped you, giving you anything and everything you wanted. Making sure their stargirl was always fed and never left hungry. To the victors go the spoils. Shopping sprees, fucking you till you couldnt handle it, even then giving you more. More, more, more, always more, what you deserved.

Controling your each and every move, and you let them. You were really the one in control. Only letting them think they were to boost their ego. Letting them do whatever they wanted, aslong as you got what you wanted.

Now you're here. Art between your legs, drinking in everything you have to give him. Tashi next to you, making sure you'll make her proud at your match tomorrow.

"Mmmm a-art m'gonna cum" you moan out

"Only winners get to cum" tashi whispers in your ear. Shivers going down your spine.

"Are you a winner prinncess?" Tashi asks you, biting your neck. Thats when art cuts her off with a harsh suck to your clit. Whimpering into your cunt when you pull at his hair.

"Answer me now or i wont let you cum" tashi whispers in your ear.

"F- fuck, yes im a winner!" You moan out pathetically

"You gonna win tomorrow? Gonna make us proud, princess?"

"Mhm!" You grab at her, reaching your peak.

And thats what you did, you won. Like a star, a winner, a born stunner.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Isn’t it Just So Pretty

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: you’re no longer sure of how much acting you’re doing when pretending to be in love with Peeta during the games

Masterlist

After hearing the announcement that two victors can go home if they’re from the same district, Peeta was the one thing on your mind. You knew he must be alive since you hadn’t seen his picture in the sky yet. And if he was alive, he must be by a source of water. You rushed to the lake, not caring how much noise you were making, and looked everywhere. Suddenly, something grabbed your ankle.

“Here to finish me off, sweetheart?”

“Peeta!” You exclaimed in surprise, not caring who heard you. You helped dig him out of the mud and moss he had buried himself under before pulling him into a tight hug.

“Oh my God. Peeta. Peeta.” You breathed in relief as you stroked his muddy hair. You heard Peeta sigh happily in your ear and melted into your touch.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” You told him as you cupped his face to look at him.

“You have?” Peeta asked in skeptical surprise.

“Didn’t you hear the announcement? We could both go home.”

“So you came back for me?” A smile tugged at Peeta’s lips.

“Of course I did.” You shrugged like it was obvious. To you, it was. But to Peeta, it was never obvious that someone would take care of him.

“Oh.“ Peeta smiled shyly and nodded his head. “Well, thank you.”

“Of course. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

You fully pulled Peeta out of the mud and gently dragged him towards the river. Once you were hidden behind some bushes, you assessed his wounds.

“What happened?” You asked once you saw the gash on Peeta’s leg.

“Cato’s sword. He was mad that I tricked him.”

“Tricked him? How?”

“I purposefully led him away from you after your dropped the tracker jacket nest on us. Once he figured it out, he got me.” Peeta explained. You looked at him with great sympathy that before returning your attention to his wound. It was bad, much worse than anything you had yourself. And the fact that it happened because he was trying to protect you made you feel even worse.

“Is it bad?” Peeta asked when you hadn’t said anything for a while.

“No.” You lied. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He lied back. You looked into his eyes and shook your head a little.

“You’re lying.”

“So are you.” He replied. You felt your face heat in embarrassment and nodded again.

“We need to keep this clean. I’m gonna have to wash your clothes.” You changed the subject.

“Okay.” Peeta agreed. You helped him lean his head back and washed the mud out of his hair until it was blonde again. Once that was clean, you moved on to his clothes. You shyly looked into his eyes and he nodded his head, giving you permission to tug off his shirt. You washed it and left it out to dry on a rock before returning to Peeta. He looked so helpless lying there on the rock you had laid him down on. He looked so vulnerable and gentle, not posing a threat to anyone. He didn’t deserve to be here. No one did, but especially not Peeta. He was a lover and a baker. He shouldn’t be bleeding out on a rock. You knelt down beside Peeta and he looked up at you with his gentle, puppy dog eyes. He was completely at your mercy now and you both knew it.

“Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.” Peeta said to break the silence. You felt your breath hitch in your throat from the unexpected sentiment and before you knew it, you were leaning in to kiss his cheek. Peeta’s face heated up under your lips and when you pulled away, he looked just as surprised as you were over what had happened.

“Um, I should probably finish washing your clothes.” You stumbled over your words a little and refused to look Peeta in the eyes. You undid his button and zipper and started to tug his pants down.

“Wait.” He gulped before you could pull his pants over his wound. You stopped and looked into his eyes, feeling the same anxiety he was.

“I’ll go slow, okay?”

“Okay. Please be careful.” He said in a whiny voice. You couldn’t help but smile a little and nodded your head.

“I will. I promise.”

You tugged Peeta’s pants the rest of the way off and got a full view of his wound for the first time. It was much worse than it had looked through the rip in his pants. You felt helpless as you stared at it, knowing there was not much you could do at this point.

“How bad is it?” Peeta asked you. You stared at his wound, unblinking, until you felt tears come to your eyes.

“Sweetheart?” He asked in a soft voice. You finally looked up at him just a tear rolled down your face.

“How about that kiss?” He mouthed, making you burst out laughing. You cupped his face and pulled him into a long kiss to keep him calm.

“It’s not that bad. You’ll be okay. I promise.” You told him once you pulled away.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I never do. I’m gonna go wash these. Stay here.”

“I don’t have much choice, but okay. I’ll wait here and keep the lookout.” Peeta replied, making you laugh. You were about to leave with his pants when you noticed the hem of his boxers. They were filthy, caked with mud, and definitely teaming with infection. You knew they had to be washed, but that would leave Peeta with nothing. Peeta followed your gaze and connected the dots.

“You need my boxers, don’t you?” He asked. You avoided eye contact as you slipped off your backpack and handed it to him.

“Here. You can cover yourself with this.”

“I don’t care if you see me.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you can take them off and I’ll just close my eyes?”

“Look, I know it’s awkward, but I can barely move. There’s no way I can get these off by myself.” Peeta admitted. You knew he was right, but you were not prepared to see a naked man for the first time. Peeta quickly remembered the star crossed lovers plot and cleared his throat.

“Plus, it’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before.” He followed up, looking into your eyes to signal you to play along.

“Right.” You quickly nodded. You got Peeta’s boxers off as quickly as you could with as little eye contact as possible and ran away with them once they were off. You washed them and left them out to dry, giving him your jacket to cover himself in the mean time. Once his clothes were dry enough, you carefully dressed him. You then applied leaves to his wound the way Rue had taught you.

“Okay. We’re in good shape. But I want to get you somewhere less open. This is the biggest water source so the Careers could be back any day now.”

“How are we gonna move? I can’t walk.” Peeta reminded you.

“It’s okay. I’ll carry you.” You shrugged. Peeta laughed a little and held up his arms like a toddler. You gently pulled him off the ground and scooped him up so that you could carry him. He was pretty light since he hadn’t been eating and you had gained some muscle while training for the games. You carried Peeta through the woods as quietly as possible.

“I bet all the people in 12 are laughing at us.” Peeta said after a minute, making you laugh.

“Yeah? How come?”

“Because you’re the big strong hero and I’m the damsel in distress that needs to be carried.”

“Who cares what they think? We’re doing what we have to do to survive.” You shrugged and continued walking. Peeta went quiet for a minute as he thought back to the kiss you’d shared a few hours ago. It was real to him, but he didn’t know what it meant for you.

“Right.” He said after a beat of silence. You could tell something was on his mind but decided not to push it. Instead, you carried him to a nearby cave and gently laid him down inside. You let Peeta rest while you covered the entrance of the cave with leaves to keep yourselves hidden. You then returned to Peeta’s side and brushed the hair off his forehead.

“Are you comfortable?”

“As comfortable as I could be in this situation.” Peeta said through a strained laugh.

“Then we should get some sleep.” You suggested.

You pulled your sleeping bag out of your backpack and helped Peeta into it. You climbed in on his good side and cuddled into him.

“This is nice.” Peeta said quietly. “I never thought I’d ever be this close to you.”

You smiled and draped an arm over his torso to pull him in. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, but you stayed awake all night and kept eyes on the entrance of the cave. You were exhausted by the time he woke up the next morning, but you didn’t let him know that. You put a hand on his forehead and felt that it was slightly cooler than the dah before.

“I’m gonna go get you some water.” You told him and tried to get up.

“Wait.” He caught your hand, making you stop.

“Please don’t leave.” He said in a soft voice. His doe eyes were staring into yours pleadingly and it took all your strength to say no.

“You need water.” You insisted. “I’ll just be right outside.”

“Please don’t go.” Peeta whined, sounding like he might start to cry. You knew he’d been lying by the river for days, bleeding out and knowing he could be killed any minute. Now that he was finally with you, it probably terrified him to be left alone again. You felt sympathetic towards Peeta and leaned in to kiss him again. You let it linger for as long as he needed.

“I’ll be right back.” You whispered once you pulled away.

You left the cave, gathered some water for Peeta, and purified it before heading back to him. When you reached the cave, a parachute was waiting for you outside. You gasped and grabbed it before running inside. He had fallen asleep again in your absence so you bent down to kiss him awake.

“Peeta, Peeta, Peeta. Wake up.” You said as you peppered kissed all over his face until he woke up.

“What? What happened?” Peeta asked through a yawn.

“Look what Haymitch sent you.” You smiled and presented him the parachute.

“Food?” Peeta asked hopefully.

“Uh huh. Soup.” You nodded and got the food ready for him.

“Wow. My first parachute.” Peeta smiled to himself. The parachute wasn’t really sent to Peeta. You had made that up because when you told him Haymitch had sent you a few things, he seemed sad that he hadn’t received anything. You wanted to cheer him up, so you told a little white lie.

“How are you feeling?” You asked as you helped him sit up.

“A little better. I think my fevers breaking.”

“That’s great. I would love to get you to eat something.”

“I’m really not hungry.” Peeta admitted, making you freeze. Not having an appetite despite not eating in days was not a good sign.

“Please? Just a bite?”

“No. If only there was something you could do to persuade me.” Peeta sighed, making you laugh endearingly. You leaned in to kiss Peeta and he met you halfway. He kissed you for as long as you let him before pulling away.

“Suddenly, I’m starving.” Peeta said, making you laugh. You carefully spoon fed him the soup and felt his forehead when you were done.

“Damn it.” You hissed.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re burning up again. I thought you were getting better.” You started to panic and sat back on your knees to think. Your mother or sister would know exactly what to do here, but you didn’t.

“It’s okay. Maybe I’m just warm from the sleeping bag.” Peeta tried to calm you down.

“Maybe. Let me check your leg.” You checked his leg and just as you suspected, it looked worse.

“Damn it!” You screamed and got off the floor. You went over to the wall of the cave and pressed your forehead against it as you cried in frustration.

“We need medicine. Not soup. You won’t get better without medicine. Why isn’t anyone sending medicine?” You cried and tugged at your hair.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Peeta said calmly.

“It’s not okay!” You shouted. “The leaves aren’t working. Why aren’t they working?”

“Maybe the infection is just too deep. It might’ve been a lost cause before you even found me.” Peeta voiced his deepest concern, one that you both shared.

“No. There’s no way you survived this far to get wiped out by an infection. You survived Cato’s blade. I’m not gonna let you die over the infection that came after it.”

Peeta stayed quiet as you paced back and forth and tried to come up with a plan.

“We just need more sponsors. We need them to send us medicine so that you can get better. What can we do to get their attention?” You asked him.

“I think we’ve done everything already.” Peeta said regretfully.

“Then I’ll… I’ll- um. Uh….” You trailed off when no ideas came to mind.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I can’t fix this. I can’t fix you.” You started to freak out and dropped down to your knees. You buried your face in your hands and felt your entire body give up. You banged your fists on the ground in frustration before letting out a guttural sob.

“It’s okay.” Peeta assured you. “You’ve done as much as you could.”

“But it’s not enough.”

“It’s enough. It’s more than enough.” Peeta replied. He felt helpless as he watched you cry and tried to come up with a way to distract you from the inevitable doom he was facing.

“You know, I remember the first time I saw you.” He said, catching your attention.

“You do?” You sniffled and looked up at him.

“Uh huh. It was the first day of kindergarten. My dad pointed you out and said, “see that girl? I was gonna marry her mother.” He still seemed jaded by it after all those years. I watched you walk into school and ran in after you.”

“Your dad and my mom? Is that true?” You smiled a little and crawled over to him.

“Apparently they dated before she met your father. My dad used to grumble about the coal miner with the golden voice whenever he and my mom would fight.”

“Did that happen a lot?” You asked sympathetically as Peeta reached up to wipe your tears.

“My brothers and I used to try to separate them. He’d hit her. Then he’d hit us. Then we’d be silent for a few days. And then, it was like it never happened.”

“Until it happened again?” You assumed.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Until it happened again.”

“I’m sorry, Peeta. I didn’t know you had it so bad.” You frowned and laid down on his chest.

“It’s not your fault. You’ve got your own troubles. Don’t worry about mine.” He said as he rubbed his hand up and down your back. You stayed with your head over his heartbeat for a while as you calmed down.

“I’m surprised you turned out the way you are.” You said after a minute.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re so kind. But your home life wasn’t kind you. I wonder where you get it from.”

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s just me.”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s just you.” You smiled and looked up at him. Peeta didn’t look at you, though. He had a far off look in his eyes as if he was thinking of something he couldn’t put to words.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this anymore. It’ll be awkward when you go home.” You said to change the subject.

“I’m not going home.” He laughed softly. There was no self pity in his voice. He wasn’t trying to make you guilty. He genuinely believed that and had already accepted it.

“Peeta.” You said warningly.

“It’s okay. I know it. You know it. Even my parents knew it the day I left. I’ve said goodbye to them. They’re in the past now.” Peeta shrugged. He looked down at you and brushed some hair that had come loose from your braid off your forehead.

“All I see is you now.” He said softly. You stared at him in silence, never being good with words. You had so much you wanted to say to him, but the way he was looking at you made your mind go blank.

“After that first day that my dad pointed you out, I always looked at you. I remember the first day of school when the teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song. And your hand shot straight up. I followed you home that day. And every day after that.” Peeta recalled as he stared into your eyes.

“I didn’t know that.” You smiled softly.

“I used to watch you hunt from the bakery window.” He continued. “You were usually with Gale. But sometimes you’d go alone and I’d wonder what would happen if went outside and asked to go with you.”

“Why? So you could hunt?” You laughed in surprise.

“So I could be with you.” He said simply.

“Peeta.” You smiled guiltily. Peeta looked at you for long time before reaching up to touch your braid. He held it in his hands as if it was solid gold.

“I should’ve told you how I felt before the games. I feel so stupid for waiting until we were on opposing sides of a death match to tell you how much I care about you.”

“We’re not on opposing sides.” You shook your head.

“There’s only one winner.”

“I know. That doesn’t put us on opposing sides.” You told him. You stared into his eyes for a moment and reached out to touch his face.

“Nothing could.” You whispered. No matter how much it hurt him, Peeta sat up so that he could cup your face and kiss you. You kissed him back and wished you could close the curtains and shut the world out from this kiss. Even though the romance meant you would get more sponsors, that didn’t matter to you anymore. You knew the way you were feeling for him wasn’t an act anymore. You felt genuine love and you needed him to know that.

“I can’t lose you.” You pulled away to tell him.

“You won’t. Being here with you like this is enough to make me live through anything.” Peeta said as he rolled your broad between his fingers.

“I wish they weren’t watching. I wish it was just us.” You whispered and felt your eyes begin to water. Peeta looked you up and down and a doubtful look crossed his face.

“Do you?” He asked. He wasn’t fully skeptical, just hesitant in believing you. You nodded your head and Peeta seemed to believe you.

“Then it is just us.” He said simply. You couldn’t help but smile before leaning down to kiss home once more.

“I wish I knew how you felt before the games.” You whispered against his lips.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Yes it would’ve. We could’ve been like this. But safe.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me back. I had nothing to offer you. Nothing you needed, any way. You’re only thinking you would’ve liked me back because I don’t have any competition here.” Peeta said, again with no self pity on his voice. These were just things he knew to be true. And maybe they once were. But as you stared into his eyes now, you knew it wasn’t the truth anymore. You knew you loved him.

“You don’t have any competition anywhere.” You said softly.

“You’re just saying that.” He said with a disbelieving roll of his eyes.

“I’m not.” You insisted. You turned around to look at the camera you knew was behind you before leaning down to whisper in Peeta’s ear.

“I love you.”

When you pulled away, Peeta was watching your face very carefully. He was trying to see if you were just deceiving the cameras or actually professing your love for him. He looked so hopeful that he might cry if it turned out to be the former.

“Real or not real?” He asked, making you smile.

“Real.” You assured him. Peeta let his guard down and finally broke into the smile he’d been holding in. He tilted his head up so that you’d kiss him but pulled away a little just before your lips could touch.

“Promise?” He whispered.

“Promise.” You replied before pressing your lips to his.

[giuseppe-yuki]

gladiator

gladiator!ollie bearman x goddess of victory!reader

w.c.: 1.7k

warnings: slightly graphic descriptions of gore, angst

summary: yet another young gladiator prays to you in your temple

a/n: very unedited + there might be glaring historical inaccuracies :(

picture credits from pinterest :)

he’s young, not unlike all the ones before him. with tousled brown locks that ruffle as he darts along the marble floor, eyes that glow the colour of syrupy ambrosia in the dim flickering of the torches, and perfect muscled body, he reminds you of venus’ adonis in a way. your gleaming statue, wings outstretched, robes flowing, and holding your iconic laurel wreath, gazes upon him knowingly as he hesitantantly approaches your altar at the base of sculpture. your priests barely spare him a glance- they are too busy preparing a new sacrifice that lays neatly on your stone altar- a once-magnificent bull. its mouth is open in a silent scream and its eyes are glossy as the priests collect its crimson blood in a decorated jar and shave off selective portions of its raw flesh to burn as offerings. he watches as the head priest raises his glistening knife, sticky with blood, and brings it down into the bull’s rough hide with a rough thwack, and he thinks he is going to be sick.

still, he falls into a kneel in front of your statue, like a lowly subject in front of an emperor, and like the ones before him, prays for victory.

you sit near the emperor’s viewing box, in a seat only the highest generals could afford. your appearance flickers to those around you- sometimes appearing as a beautiful maiden or a wizened old man. the crowds don’t notice your wavering form, instead focusing all their attention to the sandy center of the amphitheater, where the boy cowers with a silver sword and flat-planed shield, awaiting his opponent. above you, the emperor lounges lazily on a plush couch and inhales grapes from the vine. when he gives a signal- a mere flick of his hand- the gates of the amphitheater rumble open to reveal a snorting bear, prompting the audience to roar in approval. it was obvious- they were here to see blood, and that was what the emperor would give them. 

within the first minutes, the beast had already batted away the boy’s flimsy shield and raked his sharp claws against the length of the boy’s leg. rivulets of red, like rubies against his pale skin, flow down from the wound, satiating a fraction of the crowd’s hunger. you can see how he grips his sword tight enough that his knuckles turn white and the fear in his eyes as he tries to limp away from the bear. you can also see the hesitance in his swings that open up deep cuts that flow vermillion along the animal’s hide like the wound on his leg. you help the best that you can. a miscalculated stumble of the bear, a slight push away from the path of the beast’s paw, a guide of the sword towards a critical artery. but, when he finally plunges his bloodied sword into the throat of the exhausted animal, like a knife through butter, it is all his doing. it reminds you of the first fight of another young champion of the past, sebastian, and the roar of the lion that he had fought with a spear. when the animal lies, dying, in its own pool of blood, does the boy finally collapse onto the sandy ground, exhausted in his own sense. before he passes out from blood loss, he raises his head, and it’s like he looks directly at you. 

you come to him in the form of a young medici, a bag of bandages, ointments, and herbs in one hand. ollie, is what he says his name is, and he gives you a small smile even as he lay pale and bleeding on the rough cot in the newly assigned private sleeping quarters for victors. he’s prettier up close, even when his brown eyes blink at you hazily and his cheeks are colorless from the lack of blood. 

he first opens his mouth to break the silence when you are spreading your magical nector salve on his wounds.

“i’m glad they sent someone as beautiful as you to come patch me up,” he says in a lilting tone, eyes trained on your profile.

you can easily strike him down like you always do with unwanted advances from mortals, but instead, you laugh, a twinkling sound that ollie swears is the prettiest thing he’s ever heard. 

“you flatter me,” you reply, a rare smile gracing your face.

although you are not aesculapius, the god of medicine, your hands make quick work in firmly wrapping the soft bandage expertly around the openings on his leg. after all, it would be pretty pathetic if a champion with the blessing of the goddess of victory herself didn’t last a full day after his win.

when you are done, you wave your hand subtly over the top of his wounds, willing the greater parts of his pain away. he visibly relaxes, like a weight had lifted from his shoulders. 

his eyes track you silently as you throw your materials back into your brown medici bag. it triggers the memory of a certain eerily quiet champion you had blessed before- kimi- whose bright blue eyes you can remember skittering across your figure when you had bandaged his wounds. 

when you are done packing up your bag, you tread lightly to the door. before you can pull it open, ollie calls out to you. 

“wait,” he says, voice pleading.

you hesitate, but turn back to him, your tunic swishing. 

ollie looks at you with wide eyes, as if he didn’t believe that he had spoken out loud. 

“can you- can you stay for a bit?” he asks apprehensively. 

there are a million things to tend to, like overseeing minor battles, ensuring triumph in campaigns, and granting the prayers of the mortals that knelt in your temples, but you can’t help but concede to his request. 

you neglect your duties for far too long in the damp room with ollie. it was laughable in a way, to see the great goddess of victory pliant under the wiles of a young mortal.

he talks about his parents, about his younger brother, and his little sister, and about how he dragged away one fateful evening from his family to become a gladiator, unlike the multitude of other bloodthirsty gladiators from rich families that wanted fame and fortune. but, when he comes to the topic of his actions in the arena, he suddenly goes still. 

“i didn’t want to kill it, you know,” he whispers quietly, as if he didn’t want to admit it. 

his bottom lip quivers, and it is now that you are reminded how young he really is. it is a reminder of another victor that you had championed, charles, and his unwillingness to kill, even as a successful gladiator. like charles, big fat tears slip from the corners of his eyes when he thinks back to the poor creature, most likely chained and beaten, being made a spectacle, and dying by the hands of another for entertainment. however, you knew they always toughened up after awhile- they always did. so, you brush a comforting hand through his curls, kiss him gently on the forehead, and it’s only when he falls into a deep sleep do you finally leave the room.

you see him again several days later, this time in the great roman amphitheater again. again, he stands with his flat-planed shield and silver sword in the dusty middle of the arena. a look of fierce intensity flashes across his helmeted features, unlike the last time he was in this position, making him look significantly more willing to slay whatever beast steps in his path. 

however, when the emperor waves his hands, commanding the gates to rumble open, and the crowd thunders in excitement, what steps out is a familiar man with thick black hair that seems to sway perfectly in the breeze, a hint of stubble, and pouty pink lips that you knew all too well. carlos, you remember his name was.  you remember too, the way he had knelt down in your temple all those years before like ollie had. he had made an offering of three silver coins- all that money he had- and begged for you to protect him in the arena. true to your word, you gave him your divine protection until he became the emperor’s champion gladiator, personally favored by the elite and the crowd. 

carlos makes the first move, taking advantage of ollie’s barely healed leg. his weapon of choice, an engraved dagger, hacks a deep line of red as it carves from the tip of ollie’s right shoulder to his hip. at the sight of the excess bright liquid cascading down the younger boy’s body, the crowd erupts in a frenzy. when ollie collapses, unmoving, on the ground, they seem to chant carlos’ name- our champion, our champion, they scream. it seems like ollie is just another easy opponent, another nobody that would ultimately make their way onto the carlos’ lengthy list of the vanquished. carlos turns away from ollie to face the crowd, a smile on his lips and arms open, embracing the crowd. he has not lost once for a year, so what makes it seem like he would lose now?

that’s what makes it all-too-surprising when ollie pushes himself up with god-given strength and hacks down on carlos’ neck as hard as he can, with his sword. it lands with a wet thwack the way the priest’s knife did in the bull back in your temple before.

when ollie is paraded through the town, a victor’s laurel wreath atop his pretty head, the crowds that once shouted carlos’ name now screams ollie’s, crowning him as victor. neverending bottles of wine, cornucopias overfilling with food, and precious jewelery are thrust into his arms from every direction. you know it feels good to be loved by the people. it’s a pity, because you know ultimately, your divine interventions would draw the attention of the three parcae who controlled peoples’ fate. the fate of a gladiator was to die; they always did. it was proven with all the past gladiators you championed-  the brave sebastian, quiet kimi, kind-hearted charles, and now, the resilient carlos. it was all a matter of time before they would take ollie. even worse, the crowd would probably move on just as quickly like they did with carlos. so, for now, you watch as he smiles his dimpled smile and let him bask in the glory of being victorious. 

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them. 

It started as petty crime—the theft. 

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days. 

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad. 

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious. 

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect. 

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation. 

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths? 

You consider yourself an artist. 

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.” 

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation. 

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it. 

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”  

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season. 

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running. 

Your body moves to it. 

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.  

But beauty takes time. 

You’d look better with those pearls. 

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation. 

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation. 

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds. 

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.” 

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric. 

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.” 

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” 

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.” 

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking. 

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”  

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?” 

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.” 

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding. 

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river. 

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks. 

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped. 

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent. 

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.  

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them. 

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm. 

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone. 

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head. 

“So, here for Victor’s party then?” 

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.” 

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part. 

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.” 

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron. 

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so. 

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another. 

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to. 

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up. 

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there. 

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand. 

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do. 

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing. 

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind. 

You blink, sighing under your breath. 

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days. 

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time. 

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.” 

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping. 

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat? 

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle. 

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it. 

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.” 

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs. 

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them. 

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.” 

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns. 

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately. 

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him. 

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule. 

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes. 

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely. 

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins. 

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back. 

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks. 

“Affirmative, Lt.” 

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him. 

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull. 

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence. 

A flash of red catches his eye. 

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be. 

It was you. 

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside. 

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock. 

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air. 

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all. 

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat. 

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp. 

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions. 

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck. 

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames. 

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence. 

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon. 

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back. 

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head. 

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents. 

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers. 

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?” 

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate? 

Was he a thief like you, or hired security? 

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.” 

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you. 

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow. 

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest. 

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!” 

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks. 

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall. 

“Get over here,” he snaps. 

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!” 

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together. 

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.” 

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.” 

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.” 

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall. 

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. 

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!” 

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad. 

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric. 

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. 

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.  

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?” 

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip. 

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again. 

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat. 

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind. 

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down. 

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught. 

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement. 

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.” 

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery. 

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here. 

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step. 

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated. 

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk. 

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?” 

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself. 

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.” 

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you. 

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night. 

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later. 

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick. 

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex. 

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal. 

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving. 

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking. 

“And Gaz?” 

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.” 

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed. 

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options. 

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea. 

It was perfect. 

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces. 

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag. 

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order. 

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him. 

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting. 

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play. 

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly. 

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently. 

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?” 

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?” 

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway. 

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you. 

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain. 

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught. 

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips. 

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.” 

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse. 

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow. 

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking. 

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest. 

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders. 

A bullet whizzes past your face. 

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths. 

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool. 

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him. 

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing. 

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders. 

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head. 

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again. 

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form. 

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest. 

Both of your eyes lock in a battle. 

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose. 

You needed to disappear again. 

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.” 

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another. 

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked. 

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand. 

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

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[targaryenluvs]

LONELY WATERS

pairings: dark!finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: even if you resided in the fishing district you only ever got close to the water for swimming late at night. it was your favourite time of the day, but it leaves you open and vulnerable to predators and people, the water won’t save you. silly girl, don’t you remember? finnick odairs a champion swimmer.

warnings: nude swimming, nc voyeurism, stalking, scaring someone, inappropriate touching, chasing in waters, threatening and manipulation?? false misconceptions about victors, nc kissing and implied sexual intimacy and technically kidnapping?? (not forever) passing out from exhaustion due to sexual relations

a/n: THE VOICES 👹👹 italics is your thoughts!!! not proofread!

the water was cold, just how you liked it.

you’d been taking care of your cousin davine who’d literally put a hole in her finger trying to spin around the finnick odair’s trident since it was on display in a local gallery. but she’d overestimated her strength, let go of it whilst it was still in the air and it sliced her good. you met her outside as you’d been getting groceries and scolded her the whole way to the hospital.

“are you crazy? did you honestly think you could handle such a weapon on a whim? why the hell would you want to hold it anyways it’s just a trident.” you investigated as she whined and moaned, “why wouldn’t i want to y/n? it’s finnick! i just didn’t know it’d be that difficult.” you sighed as you halted her walking, bending down to look up at her, “i know it seems super cool okay. but the things he went through? the reason he has that trident? not cool. don’t idolise the games and the victors. the games are barbaric and those poor victors live their lives because the capitol lets them. i don’t want you anywhere near them okay? they’re dangerous.”

davine shook her head, “how? they’re just victors, they had to kill to win the games you know that y/n.” you sighed again, “they’re not dangerous because of the games they’re dangerous because of their time in the capitol. they care about themselves, after the hunger games they’ll probably do anything to keep themselves safe. act nice to us, earn our trust and support i- it doesn’t matter, just try not to go around him okay?”

finnick was watching you from the balcony as you explained your worries to davine. now now, who’d gone and told you all those lies? he wasn’t dangerous, as long as you were on his good side.

honey, he’d show you dangerous.

as you took off your dress you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you, so you stopped. your head zipped around , trying to look for a glimpse, a person, an animal, something. but you couldn’t see anything. and that should’ve been your first sign. someone that you could hear but not see.

as you lowered yourself into the water you felt at ease. the water was the one place you were by yourself. you thought you were. everyday had you, and everyone, surrounded by people all day. but here? peace.

“isn’t it dangerous at this time of night honey?” finnick emphasised as your hands shot up to cover your top half. “don’t hide now, i was enjoying the view.” you couldn’t believe your eyes, finnick odair, in the flesh. god the screens didn’t do him justice. i get it davine, why you wanted to hold the trident. his eyes were so green.

“w-what are you doing here?” finnick tilted his head as he crossed his arms, still on the land, “can’t i come down here? if i knew it was reserved i wouldn’t have come, but it isn’t, and i can do as i please. you never know who’s around sweetheart, not the best idea to come out alone.” you didn’t even notice that he was slowly taking off his own clothes till he was walking your way. “i swim here every night. no one’s ever here.” he was in the water now, and you’d begun to slowly back away, the water engulfing you slowly. chest, shoulders, neck. “well that’s going to change, don’t you wanna swim with me?” you shook your head as he mimicked you, shaking his head slowly, “no? you gonna stop me?” he was making his way towards you, cutting through the water like glass.

you were hyperventilating and your mind was foggy. you obviously weren’t thinking properly since instead of swimming towards the shore you swam further out. you could hear his laugh as you began to swim, “do you really think you can swim away from me? the place in which i excel? i’ve chased down tributes in water, fit, healthy and much more athletic than you. trust me, you’ll tire yourself out before you get any further.” but you didn’t listen, all you could do was try.

the rocks were large and created a huge wall, it was a rocky area of the beach which you were using as refuge from finnick. if there was one thing you never expected it was this, being chased by finnick odair through opens waters for- what, exactly? you had no clue.

you’d mistakenly began to relax, thinking you’d lost him when you dove under the water but the unrelenting pressure on your ankle had you wailing as you were yanked under the water. your eyesight was muffled and muggy, but you knew who’d dragged you under. finnick swam back to the surface, his hands right around you.

“should’ve listened to me.” he smiled, perfect teeth on show, barely puffed out, where as you felt as if your heart was going to burst from exhaustion and fatigue or plain fright. “now, i’m going to make sure, you remember me, remember what i’m going to do, and will continue to do.” you were sure his face was going to haunt you, everywhere you went. every time you saw a trident, even a damn fork. blonde hair and green eyes would send you spiralling every time you plucked them out from a crowd.

your tears were hot and streaming as you felt his hands roam, lower and lower. the rocks cut you as he pushed you into them, manipulating you into the positions he wished for. your body was so cold but his presence was like fire, his hands were warm and undeniable as they grabbed and kneaded at soft skin. his kisses were unrelenting and you were sure he’d leave a trail of bruises all over you in his wake.

you’d passed out at some point of the night, you were in the water, then on the rocks, then on the land yet you woke up in an unfamiliar home. maybe someone found you laying on the ground, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d left you there, naked and ruined.

what were you going to do? if he approached you in public? in private? in your home? who in panem would believe your truth? that finnick odair, the capitols darling was capable of such unbelievable, vile actions. they’d probably turn it around you. he’d let them.

at least he’s not here. you thought to yourself, you could do your best to avoid him. it’s not like there aren’t plenty of women, gorgeous girls that could take his attention. he’d probably picked out another girl to go after, to charm and take the normal way.

your thoughts had taken you away from the present, the present being you laying besides someone. their muscular arm draped over your waist, the sheets covered your and his bare body. “had a good sleep did you?” finnick murmured into your neck as you froze up.

no no no no no. please no.

“yes honey. you’re here with me. now let me hold you.” he whispered as he pulled you into his chest, cautious of your patched up cuts. everything hurt. your shoulders, arms, thighs. your hands traced over the bite marks, the skin all over you, tainted.

just wishing for lonely waters in which you could relax led to you be trapped in his arms. and he sure as hell wasn’t letting you go. not when you brung him so much pleasure, yeah, he’d be using you for a while, if not forever.

if only you’d been nicer.

[judenostopwaitkeepgoing]

Crown's Favorite Kinks 😈

18+ | MDNI! | EN-Released Villains x Reader

Crown's favorite kinks!

CW: Mature content, MDNI!, Most of these align with the villains' powers, but some kinks are not for everyone!!! Some kinks rely on (consensual!) power imbalances/violence, so proceed with caution! These are villains~~~! Also these are just my opinions so may not be the kinks you'd pick! But enjoy!! 😙

William Rex - Corruption Kink

Lowkey all of the members of Crown could potentially be into this lol. But Will in particular loves to see his little robin lose her innocence more and more! It’s such a turn-on to him! He's got big lemme-teach-you vibes. He gets off on being your 'first' anything. Literally or as a scene, it doesn't matter: he wants to deflower you. He'd get especially turned on by a bratty bimbo-ish attitude. And you know you're gonna cling to this whole innocent act even after he knows what a dirty girl you are because he gets so turned on! I bet that this man would get excited if you dressed up in a coquette/Lolita aesthetic for him. He'd be like "Does this little robin understand she's about to get eaten up?" Ugh! William!!

Harrison Gray - Overstimulation/Edging

Tease, tease, tease. Harry is a bona fide TEASE. He’s all sweet and sensual and then WHAM he leaves you in the dust, only to loom over you, grinning like a fox, saying something like “You didn’t seem like you were enjoying it that much so I stopped.” LIES! You know he’s lying! But he’s gonna make you beg and be realllyyyy honest for him. And he’ll know if you’re lying! He won’t let you cum until he deems that your answer is honest enough!

Liam Evans – Exhibitionism

Performer, hello! Loves to show off his beautiful girlfriend, hellooo! He’s definitely fucking you on stage at least once. Probably Not while the theater is full, but the idea that someone could walk in on you guys at any moment is very exciting to him. He also likes PDA because it sends the clear message that you are his! So this is kind of an extreme extension of that. He secretly wouldn’t mind if some of the other Crown members peeped you two going at it—all the more reason for them to mind their manners around you!

Elbert Grecia - Blindfolding and/or Temperature Play

Sensory deprivation would be a surefire way to get Elbie worked UP! He’s all about more, more, more! He’s insatiable! Forcing him to confront having LESS!? It’d drive him insane. And I feel like temperature play would be exciting for him because you two can be as slow and gradual as necessary. Making each level of heat or coldness against your skin even more delicious by drawing it out.

Alfons Sylvatica - Voyeurism/Peeping

Oh, you mean the guy who can literally make people see anything he wants them to see likes to be naughty and watch?? Shocking. Alfons would orchestrate the most exciting peeping experience for the both of you, maybe even building in an “accidentally getting caught” moment that he’d have to “atone” for... Or I could see him drilling a hole in your bathroom wall for him to access anytime he wants! lol

Roger Barel - Sir/Daddy Kink/virginity fetish

Haha, Roger has such cocky guy energy, he’d love the ego-stroking of you calling him ‘sir.’ He’d like ‘doctor’ too but he’s got hangups about not being a real doctor anymore, so he might get distracted, unless you guys were clearly role-playing. But hit him with a ‘daddy’...? He’ll go feral. Also, he wouldn’t necessarily admit it but he is turned on by the idea of deflowering someone, so he’d be into that (even as a role-play) as well.

Victor - Dressing you/slight DDlg

I could see Victor getting very excited/enthusiastic about picking out something for you to wear on a day-to-day basis. He wouldn’t be controlling about it—if you wanted to wear something else, you of course could and he wouldn’t think twice about it. But, there’s also times when you two are explicitly playing where he would be more... insistent that you wear what he wants you to (perhaps even a collar...). And as for the DDlg stuff, I could see him being into being paternal in a more superficial way than a sexual way. He’s older than you so he naturally views you as young and innocent and in need of guidance/protection.

Jude Jazza - Impact Play/sadism or consensual blackmail

Mean dom Jude! Hard dom Jude! He is a sadist, okay! I could see him owning whips/paddles and stuff but I could also see him just using his hands to toss you around. He won’t hesitate to land a hard slap across your face or give you a thorough spanking if you misbehave. He’d also be very excited if you offered some sensitive information (or nudes!) to him that he could playfully use against you because he is twisted like that. His aftercare would be surprisingly sweet and loving tho, confusing the hell out of you! 🫠

Ellis Twilight – Bondage

Well, of course haha. But oof. Lord. Help. Ellis is so attractive, it’s crazy. He’d love to tie you up (it is his power after all), but he would also love it if you tied him up!! I get STRONG switch/vers vibes from Ellis, so he would really be happy either way. You would look so pretty and helpless all tied up, and he would have such a fun time teasing you like that. And he would really enjoy you playing with him while he can’t move—he’s so used to being able to move and overpower you however he wants, it would be extra exciting for him to be restrained for once.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance¹

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: super-duper-duper long, exploitation of minors, forced prostitution, unrequited love, complicated relationships, violence, death, mental health issues, canadian spelling lol, and i make up some names (lmk if i missed smth) Words: 19.7K

Masterlist | Part 2

a/n: i alr have this finished, but it was way too long to post in one part (as you can see) so i split it up into three parts. this one goes from pre-hunger games to right before the quell. had this idea in my head as soon as i finished thg, so i hope u enjoy!

Y/N Y/L/N, victor of the 67th Hunger Games. You were from district 4, one of the youngest victors that not only your district has ever had, but also all of Panem. Of course, you weren’t the youngest; that title belonged to none other than Finnick Odair.

A man you hated with a passion and, frankly, a man who didn’t like you very much either.

You could still remember the night you met.

Snow was droning on and on, giving a speech about something you couldn’t care less about. It was all lies, anyway, and you were only gonna end up in some rich man’s bed tonight, so you’d prefer to go through that interaction as drunk as you could be. With that thought, you downed the rest of your flute.

“Ah, careful, Princess.” Before you even saw the person, you knew it was him. His voice was so easily recognizable, even though you had never met, not even after living in the same district, then the Victors’ Village, or even at these little Capitol parties. 

Finnick.

You turned, a faux smile on your face that he fully reciprocated. “Snow wouldn’t want the Capitol’s pride and joy to be under the influence,” he said, teasing but with an undertone that put you off.

You didn’t give a damn what Snow thought, but you weren’t gonna say that, especially not in his own home. Instead, you gave him the smile you gave the rest of Panem and directed the topic of conversation away from the President. “I won my Games, Finnick. Trust me, I’m not a lightweight.” Oh, but you wish you were. You wish you could get so drunk that you’d forget who you were entirely.

A part of you felt bad: twenty-three other people died while you walked out of the arena, and yet you wanted nothing more than for your life to end. A part of you wondered if the great Finnick Odair ever felt this way, either, but it wouldn’t be good small talk to ask.

Finnick’s grin only widened. “Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Your eyes just so imperceptibly narrowed. “Likewise.”

He started to walk away, but he suddenly paused like he forgot something, leaning closer to you. Your breath got caught in your throat when you felt his on your neck. Your eyes locked, and all of a sudden, you wondered how it was possible that you never noticed how beautiful his eyes were. 

“May the odds be ever in your favour, darling,” he whispered, and then he walked away without giving you another glance.

That night, Finnick didn’t leave your mind. It wasn’t until there was a resident of the Capitol lying on top of you that you stopped thinking about him. When you were in that position, you stopped thinking about everything, really.

When you walked out of your hotel room, done with your little job, Finnick was brought back to the forefront of your mind as your eyes met his. He looked like he was in the same state as you, also having been leaving a room. He looked surprised to see you.

You stared at him for a moment, but then you let yourself disappear down the hallway before he could say anything.

You knew what that meant; you knew it wasn’t his own room that he was leaving. When you got to your own room, you realized you were much more alike than you thought. You supposed that you couldn’t be surprised; Finnick was desirable, so of course Snow would put him up for sale.

You were in the exact same boat.

Since that night, you saw him in a different light.

You two didn’t talk when you got back home, no, but at your next Capitol event, you decided that you’d refuse to leave him alone, to leave someone who was going through the same thing as you to their own devices. That’s what you told yourself, but deep down, you just didn’t want to suffer in silence, either.

So you went and found him after a night with another Capitol pig. Standing outside, hands in his pockets, he looked so calm, but you saw a storm brewing in his eyes that only few could ever decipher.

You went and stood next to him, even though it was freezing cold out. He glanced over at you, and then his face became surprised, not surprise at you being there, but at you being there with him. Neither of you said anything; it was either that you were too afraid of a jabberjay overhearing or of yourselves. You just stood there in a comfortable silence.

You’d learn that, with Finnick, sometimes doing nothing could mean everything.

The two of you went on to do this every time you were there until, slowly, you graduated from just silence to holding each other. Oh, Finnick Odair was a cocky asshole, but when you were in the Capitol, he wasn’t him and you weren’t you. You were just two people that needed comfort, and that was enough.

You still didn’t talk, though, and when you were at home, you didn’t communicate at all. That was why you were surprised when you answered your door to see him standing on the other side.

Finnick went back to being Finnick, striding into your home without so much as an invitation. This caused you to roll your eyes, but they suddenly widened at his words. “Caesar Flickerman is on TV, saying that we’re dating.”

If you were drinking something, you would’ve spit it out. “What?” An incredulous look was painted onto your face.

Finnick, on the other hand, was a little more stoic, not exactly the charmer he was on television or in Capitol balls, but you could easily guess why—and if you hadn’t, then he was gonna tell you, anyways. “You know what this means.” He looked you in the eye, jaw clenched. “Two of Snow’s best—the Prince and Princess of Panem—dating? It’s the last thing he wants.”

“Finnick-”

“No, he won’t be able to sell us if we’re together, and if he can’t sell us, then he’ll start killing the people we love.” This was the first time either of you were even acknowledging the situation you were in.

You felt stung for some reason, even though you didn’t love Finnick—and he didn’t love you. But, deep down, no matter how much you tried to repress it, you knew there was something between you, so hearing him speak to you this way, like you were just nothing, hurt.

However, you got over your feelings quickly, the same way you always had. You moved your thoughts away from your heart and started thinking with your head. You were quiet for a second until you let out a soft gasp, like a light bulb went off in your head.

This time, you made eye contact with Finnick effortlessly. “What if this is exactly what we need?” You asked, a glint in your eye that he hadn’t seen before.

The blond scoffed. “I don’t see how our families dying is exactly what we need, Y/N.”

“No- no, Finnick, you already said it.” You grabbed onto his shoulders. “The Capitol- hell, everyone already thinks we’re the Prince and Princess of Panem. If we give them what they want, then- then we’d be unstoppable.” You paused to let him weigh in, but he only stared heavily at you, not a trace of what he was thinking on display, so you continued, “Snow and all of those Capitol motherfuckers will eat this shit up, Finnick. And then we’ll be free.”

You were trying not to show any emotion, either, but you couldn’t help it. At the mere thought of freedom, something you never thought was possible, you felt so many different things at once. While you were holding your feelings on your sleeve, Finnick was less easy to read.

But, in seconds, you knew exactly how he felt.

“We will never be free, Y/N.”

He walked out after that, leaving you alone in your living room. He’d never know it, but you stayed in that same spot for three hours, staring at where he once stood. His words had awakened something in you, the part of yourself that’d been thrown into the Hunger Games at only fifteen-years-old. 

At the time, you thought you were going to die. You were hopeless, but after you won, you realized there was hope after all. You could still make it. Even as Snow allowed your body to be violated, your mind to deteriorate, you still had hope. But Finnick’s words brought back that frightened little girl in you that you thought died.

You’d later realize just how lucky you were that he buried her again. He came back and told you that he’d do it, and as easily as he brought that little girl back to life, he drowned her.

It wasn’t easy at first, pretending to be in love. You didn’t know the first thing about it, but Finnick helped you as if he’d been doing it all his life.

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s gonna be fine-”

“No, it’s not gonna be fine. Caesar’s gonna call us out immediately- and if he doesn’t, then Snow will-”

“Y/N.” Finnick cut off your nervous ramblings with a stern calling of your name. Even him saying your name was still weird to you. You weren’t used to so much conversation with the victor, but now you were gonna have to pretend to love him. “We’re gonna be fine.”

You weren’t convinced, and he saw that with the twitching of your fingers. You knew Finnick was a great actor, and normally you were, too, but this situation was unlike any other that you’d ever been in. It was foreign territory for you.

“Look,” he grabbed onto your hand, “whenever you get nervous up there, you just hold my hand, alright? You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say your heart skipped a beat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d even say you felt a spark when his skin met yours.

For a second, you pretended that you weren’t pretending. You pretended that you were holding hands because you were two kids in love, not because you had to survive. You pretended you were never in The Games, that you never killed so ruthlessly just to live without truly living. You pretended that you weren’t you, and Finnick wasn’t Finnick, and you were holding hands just because, not because you were about to go on TV and lie.

But that second ended far too quickly as you pulled your hand out of his grasp, nodding. “Okay,” you took a deep breath, repeating his words to yourself, “we’re gonna be okay.”

“Of course, we are. Now tell me again how we met.”

When the time came for the actual interview, you never let Finnick’s hand go.

The experience became more familiar to you as you went on. It was the same as any other show you’d put on for the Capitol. When you were younger, you dreamed of being a storyteller.

Now, you told stories of a life of yours that’d never existed.

Finnick and you were thrusted into the public eye, reciting the same stories day after day. It almost felt like it was actually real, and sometimes, you wished it was.

He’d look at you with a look of love in his eyes in front of all of the cameras, touching you tenderly. Oh, he was a wonderful liar. He even made you believe it for a second, too. But you knew that no such thing would ever happen.

Finnick Odair would never fall for a girl like you. Even if you were slowly falling for him.

During nights alone, you’d marvel at the turn of events. Finnick was once a man that you hated, but now look at you. You didn’t even know if you were faking it anymore. But it is fake, you’d remind yourself. He doesn’t love you, and you won’t love him.

You weren’t gonna let yourself love him. Truth be told, you were never gonna let yourself love anybody in the first place. Loving someone only made a new liability, a new weakness for the Capitol to exploit, but you could not love Finnick.

You’d been through a lot; your heart had taken many blows and survived, but you knew loving Finnick would only one day break it into a million little pieces. Still, it’s not like he made it easy.

You were lying in your bed- your shared bed with Finnick. Since announcing that you were dating, you moved in with him. You both decided it’d be easier to hide it all that way, easier for the public to believe, too. Sharing a bed was his idea—“just in case,” he’d said.

You wanted to object, but what would you even tell him? That you were afraid of falling in love with him? You would never even put the mere idea into his head. So you went along with it.

It was funny, though: you never went to bed alone, but that’s still how it felt. Being next to him, under the covers… it didn’t make you as warm as you hoped it would.

He didn’t live with anyone else. From what you gathered, Mags, your shared mentor, was his only family. His parents died of sickness early on; Mags took him in and kept him alive, all the way up until he was sent to The Games. Finnick didn’t get sappy with you often, but you knew that he couldn’t lose her.

What he was doing for Snow, he was doing for Mags. You thought Mags was the only person he cared about, but you learned that this wasn’t true. There was one other person who he was close to, who he’d do anything to keep safe. That person was Annie Cresta.

You met her once. She was beautiful and sweet, so you understood immediately why Finnick was in love with her. He never talked to you about her, but you could tell just from how he looked at her that she was the light of his life, even if she herself wasn’t aware of that.

Annie was good, the perfect girl for Finnick. She didn’t come with all the baggage you had, she wasn’t as rude, and she always knew what to say. You would’ve wanted them together, too, if it weren’t for the fact that Finnick was becoming your Annie. He was becoming your person, and so it killed you to know that not only was he in love with another girl, but he was also unhappy.

He’d never be happy with you. While you wished you could spare him the torment and just let him be with her, you had people you cared about, too, and he was now also on that list. So your job was to keep you all alive, not happy.

The door to your bedroom opened, interrupting your train of thought. You faced away from the entrance, but you knew it was Finnick. He had perfected soundless footsteps, even though you weren’t in an arena anymore. But you supposed you were still fighting for your lives, anyway.

He climbed into bed, letting out a big exhale when his back hit the mattress. You didn’t greet him, nor did he greet you, even though he knew you were awake. You’d gone through this whole song and dance already. You had to pretend in front of the cameras; you weren’t gonna do that in here, too.

The two of you were silent. This wasn’t a silence like before when you stood together in the Capitol after those horrible nights. This was a silence that was suffocating.

Things were never the same after you decided to go through with this charade. Maybe you were almost friends before, but now you were allies at most, just there to help the other survive. Oh, you wished you could be friends, but life was never so kind.

As if he could hear you begging for companionship, he whispered, “Y/N?”

Your breath hitched. “Yes?”

There was a beat of silence before his response. You wondered what his face looked like, but you wouldn’t dare turn around. “Can we- can we just be together tonight?”

Out of all the things he could’ve said, that didn’t even make your list. You sharply inhaled. Finnick didn’t sound like Finnick at all. He sounded small, and vulnerable, and scared, all states that he’d never let you see him in. But he was.

“What do you mean?” You didn’t turn around. “We are together.”

So unlike Finnick, he stammered, “No, I mean- can I- I want to hold you.”

If this were the dance you compared it to in your head, then you’d be stumbling over your own feet. He’d never asked about anything like that before. In fact, Finnick never even seemed to like you or this predicament much. Sure, you interested him, and maybe you were friends, but you knew that if he could’ve pick anyone else to dance this dance with, he would’ve.

You wondered what brought him to this point. Maybe it had something to do with Annie, but at that moment, you couldn’t bother thinking about it. He’d never know it, but you could never say no to him.

So you turned around and let him wrap his arm around you. But little did he know, you obliged not just to comfort him, but also yourself.

You’d fall asleep in Finnick’s arms every night after that. 

You’d always been so independent, so alone, that you forgot what it felt like to lean on someone, even if it was just for a little while in the dead of night. But when Finnick held you, sleep came easier and nightmares came less.

He had no idea that he became your knight in shining armour; he never meant to, but he did. Soon after you started “dating,” Snow left you alone. You still attended Capitol parties, still mentored kids every year, but you no longer found yourself in bed with members of Snow’s cabinet, and neither did Finnick.

It was easier once it stopped, but you still had to grapple with the pain of what had already happened to you; all of this didn’t even take into account The Games. Sure, you were done, but you still had to come back once a year and prepare a kid to kill or be killed. Nothing dredged up old memories like that did.

Doing it with him was what got you through it. When you lost a kid, Finnick was there to hold you and reassure you and himself that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t have done much more to stop it. At times like those especially, you had to reel yourself in and remind yourself that, yes, he cared for you, but he wasn’t in love with you.

There were times that every bone in your body told you the exact opposite, that Finnick’s actions told you the exact opposite. Sometimes, he’d kiss you for the cameras and made you fall for it, too.

God, you were a team, such a great team. Would it be so horrible of you to assume you could be more?

You’d later realize that, yes, it was.

Because at the reaping for the 70th Hunger Games, Annie Cresta’s name was called and your little fantasy of a relationship with Finnick was shattered to pieces.

His usually calm demeanour was broken as he ran toward her as soon as you both got on the train, engulfing her in a hug and soothing her while she sobbed. You just watched from the sidelines, a frown on your face. You wished you were frowning because your dear friend Annie was just chosen to be in a fight to the death, but you were frowning because Finnick had never hugged you like that.

There were no cameras here; this wasn’t for show. He never looked at you like that when there weren’t any cameras around.

You felt like you were intruding on a private moment, even though you were just standing there, even though you were supposed to be his girlfriend, not Annie. A girlfriend would’ve probably cleared her throat, interrupted the interaction, but you couldn’t find the courage to do that.

Instead, you waited for the moment to end and walked over to her yourself when Finnick stepped away, giving her a tight hug as if she hadn’t just brought you to the brink of tears. But that didn’t matter. Annie could possibly die, so your little feelings for Finnick were pretty insignificant at the moment.

You tossed those very feelings to the side, directing all your attention to preparing your tribute. Finnick was trying to explain everything, but he was too worried, so you took over for him, pushing forth all your efforts while he focused on the boy that’d been reaped from your district.

You always tried your best with the tributes, always, but this wasn’t just any tribute. This was Annie Cresta, your friend and the love of Finnick’s life. You needed her to make it out of this alive—Finnick wouldn’t survive without her.

You gave her every piece of advice you could think of during that trip, digging through your memory for things you might’ve even forgotten. You wished you could help the boy in the same way, but there could only be one victor in these Games, and it had to be her.

Remember that these are games, Annie. Don’t worry about the killing once you’re in the arena; you need to treat it like a game, like the other tributes are just pieces that need to be knocked off the board, you told her. You hated every word that came out of your mouth, but she needed to hear it. She needed to overcome the shock now so she didn’t get choked up during the actual Games like you did.

When the time finally came for you to send the tributes off into the arena, you hugged yourself, taking deep breaths to try and calm down. You imagined that it was Finnick’s arms that were around you, but you weren’t gonna ask him to comfort you. He was the one that needed comforting, but you knew he wouldn’t accept it, so you didn’t offer.

Instead, you worked your ass off to get Annie sponsors, to get people to like her as if they didn’t already. You didn’t sleep for days, and neither did Finnick until he accidentally fell asleep for a few hours one day.

You both watched as she took the tips you’d given her, using them in her own way. She was small, but she was smart and she picked up on how to play the game quickly.

Only when the last tribute was dead did a sigh of relief finally leave you. Your shoulders slumped as you sat in front of the TV. Finnick’s muttering fell upon deaf ears as static filled your brain. She made it, you thought. She’s okay.

But that didn’t make life any more okay.

After all, nobody ever really won The Games.

“Annie- Annie, it’s alright-” 

“No, it’s not!” You heard something break, like it had thrown it to the ground. When you walked further into your house, your guess was proven right. Finnick and Annie stood in your living room, the former worried and the latter frantic, pieces of a broken vase all over the ground.

“Nothing is okay, Finn! Nothing! Do you hear me- nothing is okay!” The redhead was pacing around with your so called boyfriend trying to stop and calm her down. They were both so panicked that neither of them noticed you, and you didn’t announce your presence, either.

You only stood from the side, just like on that Capitol train. The Annie that went into that arena was innocent. She was eighteen, but she was still more of a child than either of you ever got the chance to be. Now that she won, she didn’t look so innocent anymore.

She wore a look that was so familiar to you. She was alive, but Annie had never looked more like a ghost of herself.

“Annie, please-” Finnick’s voice cracked mid-sentence. He kept trying to get close to her, but she moved away every time. The tears in his eyes made yours watery, too. You had never seen him look so broken, not even as you stood in the Capitol together those cold nights after being used.

If you weren’t sure of how much Finnick loved Annie, you were now.

“No, no, nothing is okay!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face. She suddenly stopped, letting out a sob before collapsing onto the ground. Finnick ran to her right away, pulling her close and rocking her as she repeated the same thing over and over.

You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until you felt the tear falling onto your cheek, wiping at it immediately and turning around to walk away as quietly as you possibly could. You weren’t gonna just stand by and do nothing while Annie fell apart and Finnick cut himself trying to put the pieces back together. You couldn’t.

You found yourself in the kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove to distract yourself. Your eyes zeroed in on it as you tried to block out the sound of Annie’s crying, trying not to cry yourself. At one point, you succeeded, because you couldn’t hear anything anymore.

You don’t know how long you stood there, but you were eventually broken out of your trance by a hand reaching out in front of you to turn off the stove, moving the kettle. It was only now that you realized how loudly it was whistling.

You turned to see the hand belonged to Finnick who now poured the hot water into your expensive tea cups. They were a gift given to you by a patron of the Capitol, an old man with kids and a wife. He was somewhat of a regular of yours, and so he gave you that tea set to try and make himself feel better for what he was doing, along with many other gifts.

You never told Finnick any of this. You wondered if he would so readily pull them out if he knew where they came from.

He wordlessly put the tea bags into the cups, sliding one over on the island to where you stood. Then he brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip of the scalding liquid like it was nothing. You ignored your disbelief and the rational part of your brain, picking the cup to do the same thing.

When the tea met your tongue, it burned, even as it went down your throat, but you still went back in for a second sip, anyway. This pain was able to distract you from all the thoughts bouncing around in your head, and so that made it feel like it was worth it. You wondered if this was Finnick’s logic, too.

You didn’t say anything for a long while, didn’t ask about Annie or where she went. You knew he must’ve known that you heard what happened, but he didn’t mention it, either. You assumed that she fell asleep.

You wished you could fall asleep so easily, too.

Your song kept playing as you both danced around the same topics, standing together silently as your world crumbled. You danced, and danced, and danced, until your tea cups were empty, but the song was still playing.

Finnick’s voice cut through the silence of your music effortlessly, even though he was still so quiet.

“Sometimes, I think she would’ve been better off if she died.” You slowly brought your head up to meet his eyes, but they were aimed at the cup in his hand. He looked nothing like the Prince of Panem, the charming man who always had something witty to say. No, he looked beaten down, just as lifeless as Annie. Maybe you looked as lifeless as you felt, too; maybe you were all so unaware of how broken you seemed.

You didn’t know what to say to his confession. So you didn’t say anything at all.

You’d never know where that conversation would’ve went, because in seconds, Finnick collected your cups, put them in the sink, and then he left you standing there.

His words from before echoed through your head. We will never be free, Y/N.

And maybe he was right.

Annie was back home, but she never really came back from that arena—none of you did. Hell, you were thrusted into a life you never wanted, a victor’s life, as soon as you were out. You thanked God that Annie wasn’t gonna have to go through what you did; the way she was spinning out made her undesirable. At least a good thing came out of her losing it.

Oh, you were starting to find a silver-lining with everything. You had to—otherwise, you’d lose it, just like Annie. You had to find some sort of good in this situation because, otherwise, what was the point?

Time supposedly healed all wounds, but you felt like you were still bleeding. You just learned to conceal it better than others.

Before The Games, you had friends. Now you really only talked to Finnick, and you two didn’t talk much, either. Every now and then, you’d see Annie and Mags, but they weren’t your people. And your family… well, how close could you be with them after what happened? You weren’t the same girl your mother raised.

She could barely even look at you anymore.

But you couldn’t think about any of this. If you did, you’d fall apart, and you couldn’t do that. You had a role to play, an image to protect—for your safety, for your family’s safety, for his safety.

You couldn’t afford to break down like that in your living room and throw things. You wanted to, so badly, but you didn’t have that luxury.

So your song kept playing, and you danced along with it.

Finnick’s walls went back up, too. His charisma was like a light bulb that briefly flickered, but it was back now. He was dancing, too. But, without even realizing it, you both held each other tighter at night, as if you were trying not to lose the other to the tornado that was your life.

However, when you woke up, you both pretended the tornado didn’t even exist.

Annie wasn’t one for pretending. Oh, she got wrapped up into the tornado the second she was declared a victor and there was no saving her anymore. Yes, she would’ve been better off dead, maybe you all would’ve been, but if you thought about this for too long, if you let the song stop, then you’d get caught in the cyclone, too.

You pretended for a year, attending Capitol galas with a smile on your face, getting interviewed right next to Finnick with his hand in yours, acting like you were the picture perfect couple. He spoke about you like he knew you like the back of his hand, but truth be told, he didn’t know you at all; he barely ever tried to. You didn’t blame him, though; it was hard to try to talk to someone when the music was so loud.

Then came the 71st Hunger Games, and you were mentors again. Meeting the tributes, it was almost like the music stopped- almost. The girl was quiet but angry, and she reminded you so much of yourself. The boy kept cracking jokes that she didn’t laugh at, jokes that were probably inappropriate for a time like this, but you knew he wasn’t doing it to be an ass. This was his way of coping.

He reminded you of Finnick.

Looking at these kids was like looking into a mirror. On the last day of training, he finally got a reaction out of her, made her smile with a faint blush on her cheeks. Oh, these kids should’ve been laughing together in the diner back home, not on their way to die.

They were too young and too innocent. It makes you wonder if things would’ve been different if you and Finnick had met before The Games. Would that have made soothed the heartbreak?

You didn’t know. But when you saw that boy crying as he held her in that arena, blood pouring onto him from her stab-wound, you knew that heartbreak was what he felt.

Too young. They were too young.

The boy died too. He didn’t even put up a fight.

These kids were just kids, and they died young.

Just like you and Finnick did.

You sat in your room at the Capitol, swirling your scotch around in your glass. It was a crystal glass so beautiful you knew it could’ve only been crafted by hand, but you didn’t want to admire it; you wanted to throw it at the wall.

Their names were Delta and Aalto. Aalto was the more talkative one; he said he dreamed of opening his own bakery one day, right in the middle of the district with food that everyone could afford and enjoy.

He’d never get to do that now.

And Delta- she didn’t know what she wanted out of life yet. She never got the chance to figure it out.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

The door to the room opened, making you look up from the liquor in your hand to see Finnick walking into the room. He looked defeated. Of course, he was better at hiding it than you were, but you knew how to read him better now, after all these years.

The bed dipped as he sat down next to you. You held your glass out, almost like a peace offering, and he took it without much thought, downing it in one go.

You sat there together the same way you had many times before, not saying a word. But this time felt different. It felt like there was something you were supposed to say. So you turned to look at Finnick, trying to see if he felt the same weight, only to see that he was already looking at you.

You could tell just by his eyes that he felt it, too. He opened his mouth, then closed it like he’d lost his train of thought. When you met him, you never thought you’d see the day when Finnick was speechless.

Look at how wrong you were.

You opened your mouth after a few seconds, wanting to articulate your feelings in some way, but Finnick’s lips slammed against yours before you get anything out. Without thinking, you kissed back; it felt like second-nature to you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but he had never kissed you like this, so passionately, not a camera in sight. He was kissing you like you were air and he’d been holding his breath for so long, like you were the treasure he’d been searching for and he didn’t want to let go.

It felt like nothing you’d ever experienced.

When you eventually pulled away for air and opened your eyes, you were brought back to the real world. There was something you were supposed to say. But you quickly disregarded it, pulling him back in for another kiss before he could notice the way you were looking at him.

Yes, there was something you were supposed to say. But you couldn’t put it into words.

So you hoped that this kiss said everything that you couldn’t.

You were both grieving, and you were both there. And you knew that Finnick didn’t like you like that, so you weren’t gonna get your hopes up. This meant nothing, even if it felt like everything for you when it was happening.

He was the only person you’d ever done anything like this with before. You did things with those people Snow set you up with, but that didn’t count. You were doing this because you wanted to. You didn’t know if this was his first time or not, but you weren’t gonna ask. You did everything but talk for the rest of the night.

When you woke up, it was still dark out and Finnick was still asleep. You stared at him for a few seconds, his fluffy blond hair that you messed up, his swollen lips. He looked so peaceful like this; you couldn’t bear to wake him up and ruin that, bring him back to this nightmare.

So you got up as quietly as you could, wrapping yourself in a robe and closing the door to the bedroom, walking into the living room. The rooms the Capitol provided the victors were beautiful, but never beautiful enough to make you forget about the ugly reason that you were here.

You sat on the couch, exhaling and leaning back. You were gonna sit there in silence, but your song kept playing, and the record was skipping, and you were starting to get a headache, so you turned on the TV.

Without having to change the channel at all, you were immediately met with the news, Caesar Flickerman’s face on the flat screen. It wasn’t long before you realized why he was so excited: the Hunger Games were over. Someone won.

Caesar’s attitude made your mood go sour. He was behaving like twenty-three children weren’t just killed. It didn’t matter if they died of starvation, dehydration, an animal, or actually another tribute—it was all murder, and the Capitol was the perpetrator. It disgusted you that there were people who found enjoyment in watching these Games, Caesar Flickerman included. They’d pretend to be sympathetic, but at the end of the day, you were all just circus animals to them.

The victor’s face came onto the TV, and you immediately recognized her from the rankings. Johanna Mason. Caesar kept talking, explaining how Johanna had managed to cause so many people to be enamoured of her, and you suddenly felt sick.

Snow was gonna jump at this opportunity. He was gonna use her, too.

You turned off the TV, going back to your room and getting back into bed like you’d never left. Your song came back on, and you went back to preferring to listen to it instead of your own thoughts. You weren’t gonna think about Johanna much longer; there wasn’t any point.

There was nothing you could do.

The next time you woke up and it was actually morning, you were surprised to see that Finnick was still there. While you were sleeping, he managed to snake his arms around you. 

You didn’t get up, even though there were Capitol duties to attend to.

You stayed in bed and pretended that you were a normal couple, that maybe Finnick actually felt something for you, that you weren’t in the Capitol right now, that the world wasn’t so fucked up, that you weren’t so fucked up. But you didn’t pretend for long, eventually getting up and facing the world that you didn’t want to be apart of but had been sucked into.

He didn’t tell you this, but he was pretending, too.

You both went to the gatherings you had to go to, talked to the people you had to talk to, kept smiles on your faces, and shook Snow’s hand, even though it made you want to puke. You endured it all—you both did. The Prince and Princess of Panem…

You realized it was true what they said, heavy is the head that wears the crown. This figurative crown was weighing you down; you wondered if it’d be so coveted if people got the chance to feel how you felt.

Then you went back home, even if it didn’t really feel like a home to you. It was still all you had. But Finnick kept surprising you.

Your dance suddenly changed. The song was still playing, but the dance was different, almost like that night you’d spent together had actually meant something.

You started having dinner together every night. Before, you often forgot to eat, but now how could you? You were beginning to look forward to your daily dinners; there wasn’t much more to look forward to in the life you led.

He made it hard for you not to fall even more in love with him.

You two still didn’t talk during dinner, but it almost did feel normal, like you were a family- like you could be a family.

And then the dance changed again, and that dream felt even more real.

You pulled your chair out at your dinner table, sitting down across from Finnick. You were both dressed “down” in more comfortable clothes, but you knew there was some people in the district that still couldn’t afford them. That bothered you, but when you had dinner, most of your worries were pushed to the back of your mind.

When you two had dinner, you just enjoyed the dance.

You were a few minutes into dinner when you noticed that Finnick wasn’t eating but he was staring at you. He hadn’t stared at you like that since when you first met, so curiously, like you were a secret he wanted to be let in on.

You couldn’t ignore his stare, even if you tried. However, you tried to act nonchalant. “Is there something you want to say?” You quizzed, twirling another bite of pasta like you were unaffected by his gaze.

Finnick responded in the same beat, so much like the Finnick that was charismatic and lively, not the quiet one you normally lived with. “Something I want to ask you, actually.”

“Oh,” you said, immediately kicking yourself at how stupid you sounded. “Well, ask away.” He didn’t need to be told twice.

“What’s your favourite colour?” 

You were caught off guard by his question, blinking like you were trying to figure out if you just imagined him saying him that or if he really did. He blinked back at you but never faltered.

“What?”

He repeated himself, slower this time. “What is your favourite colour?” You blinked again when you realized he was being totally serious. “You know, colours, like a rainbow-”

“I know what colours are, Finnick.”

“Ohhhh.” His eyes got big as if he thought you actually didn’t know what a rainbow was. “Sorry, you were just looking at me like I had said the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. So what’s your favourite colour?”

You couldn’t stop the corners of your lips going up as his grin just got wider. God, you hadn’t seen him smile like that in so long. It actually looked real.

You thought about it for a second, looking right into his eyes when you came up with an answer. “It’s blue, not really dark or light either. Sort of green- it’s close to grey, too.”

He looked at you for a few seconds before blurting, “Y/N, that sounds like the least vibrant shade of blue I’ve ever heard of.”

You laughed. “It’s vibrant to me!” He laughed, too, shaking his head like you were crazy. That shade of blue that you described was more vibrant than any other blue you’d ever seen. You could never tired of looking at it whenever you looked into Finnick’s eyes.

When the laughter died down, you asked him the same question. “Okay, now what’s your favourite colour?”

He shrugged. “Don’t have one.”

You scoffed, “Oh, come. on. You have to have a favourite colour; you can’t be that boring.”

“That boring? I’m not boring at all,” he argued, a look of faux offence on his face.

You snorted. “I beg to differ.”

“I can make you beg a lot more if you don’t take that back.” Your eyes immediately went wide and, against your will, a faint redness spread on your cheeks.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said, crossing his arms. He looked pleased at the reaction he got out of you. “Take it back.”

You scoffed again, but you weren’t sure if it was because of your stubbornness or because you wanted to see how far you could push him. “I’m not taking anything back.”

He just stared at you for a few seconds before flashing that famous smirk of his, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Really?”

You crossed your arms, too, nodding. “Mhm.”

He chuckled. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning.”

And then he spent the rest of the night showing you just how boring he wasn’t.

The day after, you didn’t wake up dejected but instead with a smile on your face. You didn’t get out of bed at all, staying in Finnick’s arms. You felt giddy, like a school girl. There were no thoughts of his lack of feelings for you, Annie, or The Games. You just laid there and enjoyed the moment.

It didn’t even feel like you were pretending.

When Finnick woke up, you did it all over again. You ended up staying in bed all day together, cancelling your plans.

And when the time came to get out of bed, to go back to the real world, the music didn’t go back to normal. It was more upbeat now. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the beat to drop, but it didn’t.

Finnick didn’t pretend like you two sleeping together never happened. In fact, you two kept doing it almost every day. You actually had conversations during dinner. You learned basic things about him that you hadn’t known in all of the time you were living together.

He made you laugh often. You stopped crying so much.

Is this what happiness feels like? you wondered. If it was, you never wanted anything different. Whatever Finnick felt for you, it didn’t matter. As long as he kept making you happy, it didn’t matter.

You were so in love with him that it stopped mattering if he reciprocated your feelings. You didn’t want anything to ruin this, what you had. Your relationship was the most special thing you’d ever had, even if you didn’t know what to call it, so you were gonna do your damn best to hold onto it.

The things he’d say in front of the cameras felt real, then the things he did when you were alone made you believe it even more. Whatever this was between you, it felt real.

So real.

You were stirring something on the stove when two arms snaked around your waist, tickling you, making a squeal fly from your lips. “Finnick!” You screeched, trying to suppress your giggles as you turned around. The culprit (who was shirtless) didn’t look guilty at all, a shit-eating grin on his face. You shoved his shoulder. “I am trying to cook us breakfast.”

He snorted. “Yeah, trying and failing.” You shoved him again, causing him to laugh. “I’m sorry, you can’t cook!”

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. “I’ll have you know, I can cook very well, actually.”

He wrapped his arms around you again. “You know, you’re cute when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting!” You exclaimed, but a blush still arose on your cheeks that Finnick noticed right away. It was almost like he was always watching for those types of things, always trying to say or do something to get you red.

“You’re even cuter when you blush.” 

Your blush worsened, but you weren’t gonna give him the satisfaction of your defeat. “I’m not blushing. We’re in a kitchen, and it’s hot.”

He pulled you closer to him, grin widening. “Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart, about your blushing or your cooking.” He glanced behind you. “Oh, look, burnt food.”

Your eyes went wide, immediately turning around. You groaned when you saw the brown eggs and the trail of smoke coming from them. “It’s all your fault, Finn, you distracted me.”

He gave your head a kiss, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “Sure, darling, whatever you say.” Luckily, you were turned away from him so he couldn’t see how your cheeks reddened. You still weren’t used to the pet names, even though Finnick seemed to adore them. “Let’s leave the cooking to me from now on.”

You lightly scoffed, “Whatever.” He kissed your cheek before you started walking away, planning to sit on the couch while you waited for him to cook the food. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was probably smug.

“Who messes up eggs?” he muttered under his breath once you were a few feet away.

“I heard that, Finnick!” you shouted, but he only let out a loud laugh.

You shook your head at him, plopping down onto the couch in the adjoining living room and turning the TV on, but it was really just background noise. You found it much more enticing to watch Finnick cook. The way he moved so swiftly looked effortless; he knew what he was doing, that was sure. And it didn’t help that he was shirtless.

You discreetly stared at him for a while—or, you thought you were being discreet. Without looking up from what he was doing, he teased, “You know that I can feel you ogling at me, right?”

You went red as a tomato. “Shut up, Finnick!” you shrieked, turning back to the TV as if you even knew what was playing. His laugh boomed and you turned up the volume to tune it out, only causing him to laugh even louder.

Even though you were thoroughly embarrassed that he’d caught you staring at him, a smile still found its way onto your face. Around Finnick, it was hard not find a reason to smile.

You’d be content if you didn’t do anything for the rest of your life but wake up to him every day.

You spent many more mornings like that together, and lunches, and dinners, and everything in between. You exchanged jokes and playful banter constantly. Finnick really did make your cheeks hurt.

But he knew when to be serious.

There were still nights when you’d wake up from nightmares, and he’d comfort you back to sleep every time. When you caught him in a nightmare, you’d try your best to repay the favour, even though that didn’t happen often. He rarely wanted you to see him like that, so he hid his nightmares, but you did everything you could to keep him happy while he was awake to make up for it.

When you went to the Capitol, all of the darkness crept back in, squeezing in through the cracks of the walls that you’d built—for both of you. But you kept each other grounded. You weren’t alone.

Once, he had to talk you back from the edge as you had a panic attack in the bathroom. He locked the door and stayed there with you until you calmed down. You told him that you saw someone you hadn’t seen up close in a while, an old patron, and that just opened the floodgates. You saw his hands ball up into fists; he tried to hide the anger on his face, but you saw it and you understood it. 

He was angry at the Capitol, and so were you. He’d been through the same things you had, and that made it so much easier to cope, to have someone that understood. He understood for you and you understood for him, and so when things were bad, they at least became more okay. As long as you were there for each other, things were okay.

Meeting Johanna Mason at a later event nearly brought you right back to the brink. Her family was dead, she’d told you. And you wished you hadn’t understood so fast. You wished that none of you ever had to understand these things, that you could’ve stayed kids for longer before childhood was ripped away from you.

It’s not fair, you cried to Finnick. He killed her family. She said no, and he killed her family.

He let you cry on his shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down your back as he whispered, I know. It’s not fair, I know. But it was the world you lived in, and, unfortunately, neither of you had the power to do anything about it, even though you were the so called Prince and Princess of Panem.

So you did what you could. You were there for Johanna like how you were there for Finnick when you still didn’t know him. Both of you were there for her, teaching her the moves to your dance so she could dance with you while you were all at the Capitol together.

She was brutally honest, maybe even rude to the average onlooker, but it was what The Games did to her. Finnick and you understood that, and that led to you both forming a friendship with her. Coping with other people, people who understood, was the best painkiller that not even money could provide.

The Games were the hardest, but you went through that together, too. You trained those tributes with everything you had. You tried your best, but sometimes, not even that was enough to keep them alive. Finnick and you would grieve together. At times, he was more rational than you, reminding you that it wasn’t your fault, that these were games made to kill.

Whatever you went through, you went through it together. The good days, the bad days, the laughs, the tears—you were together every step of the way.

Things went like this for years. You really were a team, and nothing could convince you otherwise this time. You loved him more and more each day, but you never told him that; you didn’t need to, and you didn’t need him to love you, either. Being there, being together was good enough.

Your song never got old. You were so in sync as you danced. Oh, you never would’ve thought that Finnick Odair of all people would not only make your life bearable, but also joyful.

You were fake boyfriend and girlfriend, and yeah those lines started to blur, but you also became best friends over time. 

Finnick and you lied together in bed, the TV going on in the background. Your head was on his chest as he pet your hair. It was your seventh time doing this mentor thing, but it never seemed to get easier.

Your tributes were promising, but they still died early on, even though you both got them as many sponsors as you could. Mentors were usually down in the lobby, talking to sponsors and watching The Games with everyone else, but after your tributes died, there was no point.

So you went upstairs, and you both just lied there. It was one of those times where neither of you had to say anything. You were together, alive together, and that was enough.

Listening to Finnick’s heartbeat could calm you down in any situation. You must’ve been doing something to help him, too, because his heartbeat was steady. You stayed like that for a bit until he moved a bit, murmuring under his breath, “What?”

He sat up, making you sit up, too, while he grabbed the remote, turning the volume up. You glanced at it and the scene immediately caught your attention. You heard the last bits of what the announcer was saying, that a rule about two victors was being annulled. Your brows furrowed; you must not have seen the part where any such thing was declared.

You recognized the tributes who you quickly realized were the last people left standing. They were the kids from district 12, the Girl on Fire and the boy in love with her.

You scoffed. “Of course, they want the star-crossed lovers to battle to the death.” You were about to turn away, refusing to indulge in the Capitol’s bullshit, but Finnick grabbed onto your arm.

“Wait.”

You stopped, turning back. The girl, Katniss, had a bow and arrow in her hands. Peeta was a few steps away from her. They were both staring at each other, Katniss looking like she didn’t know what do, but Peeta looked like he already accepted that he was going to die.

You didn’t want to watch this, watch two people fall apart on television, but for some reason, this had captured Finnick’s attention.

One of us should go home, he said. One of us has to die; they have to have their victor. Katniss was already shaking her head.

No. She dropped her arrow to the ground, walking forward. They don’t.

You tilted your head, but you understood what was happening when she pulled a handful of berries from her pocket. “Holy shit.”

Peeta grabbed her hand, rejecting the idea immediately, but she whispered, Trust me. He must’ve really been in love with her, because he did. She poured some berries into the palm of his hand, making you lean closer.

“You don’t think they’re gonna…” you trailed off, puzzled. There were people that’d killed themselves in past games, but this had never happened. There was always a victor.

Peeta hesitated, but looked sure when he looked back into Katniss’ eyes. Together? he mumbled.

She repeated his words. Together. She looked up for a second, and then you suddenly recognized the look on her face. This was a bluff.

They counted down from three, and just as they were gonna bring the berries to their mouths, the announcer frantically cut in, Stop- stop! He cleared his throat. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners… of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

Relief flooded into Katniss’ eyes as she embraced Peeta in a hug. Shock flowed through you, and Finnick’s expression was no different.

Once you had processed the information, you couldn’t help the grin that grew on your face, disbelief and pride filling you at the same time. “They just screwed the Capitol.”

You turned to see him smirking. “Hell yeah, they did.”

And this made your Hunger Games experience just a little bit better.

Neither of you were surprised that Seneca Crane was found dead days later. He made a grave mistake, letting two victors win. Snow wouldn’t have that, and you could guess why.

What Katniss and Peeta did was causing chatter, sparking hope. People in district 4 were more hush-hush about it, but outlying districts, like 11, had gone into revolts. The Capitol must’ve been stressed, and knowing that brought you some sick form of comfort.

Katniss and Peeta were spinning their actions, making them out to be this act of love, like they couldn’t bear to live without each other, but you and Finnick saw right through it. After all, if there was anyone who could spot a fake relationship, it was you two.

However, the two love-birds flew from your mind when you got home. You were brought back to your little world, living life alongside Finnick. The urge grew to ask him what you were, if you were still in a fake relationship just like Katniss and Peeta or if this was real, as real as you felt it was, but you didn’t wanna mess up the one good thing you had going.

The truth was, you don’t know how long you would’ve made it without him.

Finnick was your lifeline, and he had no idea.

The next time you were at the Capitol, you were in the Presidential Palace for the so called biggest party of the year. It was always hosted right before the Hunger Games, so being there gave you many things to be anxious about.

But, like always, you concealed it, smiling and shaking hands with the people you came across, even as you were disgusted. Some of these people, the very people who paid for your body at sixteen, were there with their families. You wondered how they could have children and still do what they did.

You were a child, too.

Normally, Finnick would be there to calm you down, but he snuck off somewhere without telling you.

You were wandering around, trying to find him when a head of brown hair streaked with red came into your view. “Hey, Princess.”

A sigh left your lips, both out of relief that you found someone you knew and discontent at the nickname. “Hey, Jo.” You would usually make conversation with her, but you were pretty distracted, glancing around behind her. “Have you seen Finnick anywhere? I’ve been looking for him for a while now.”

When you looked back to her, a look you couldn’t decipher flashed across her face, but it was gone in an instant. “No, can’t say I have.”

For some reason, you got a weird feeling from her. It was almost like she knew something that you didn’t.

“Hey, why don’t we go grab a bite while we wait for him?” She suggested, gesturing to the buffet. “I’m starving.”

You shook your head, dazed. “I’ll catch up with you- I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”

She perked up. “I’ll go with you.”

You were quick to decline. “No, that’s fine; go eat. I’ll be back in a sec.” She was hesitant  for reasons you couldn’t fathom, but she eventually nodded, agreeing to meet you later.

You walked through the halls, passing the bathrooms and not even sparing them a glance. You didn’t really know why you lied about where you were going, but in that moment, it felt like instinct. You trusted Johanna, but you were catching the same weird vibe from countless other people. All you wanted was to find Finnick and have him tell you everything was alright.

You didn’t have to look long before you found him, outside along with many other partygoers. But he wasn’t alone. Standing next to him was a man you’d just recently seen on TV. You just couldn’t remember his name.

You made your way over to them. They cut themselves off as soon as they saw you, not letting you overhear a single detail of whatever they were talking about. You stifled the reappearance of that weird feeling that was starting to feel a lot like suspicion. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen.”

Finnick waved you off, “No, it’s fine, sweetheart.” He pulled you into his side, kissing your temple. “This is Plutarch Heavensbee.” A lightbulb went off in your head as you looked to the man.

He was Seneca Crane’s replacement.

What the hell was Finnick doing talking to him?

“It’s an honour and a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted, holding his hand out. There was something about him that was throwing you off, not just your revelation of who he was, but you still shook his hand.

“Pleasure’s mine, Mr. Heavensbee,” you replied, smiling your umpteenth fake smile of the night. But you had an inkling that no one in the Capitol was as genuine as they seemed.

Plutarch didn’t try to stay and make small talk like the rest of the people you encountered at the Capitol, bidding you both farewell and wishing you a good night. Something told you his departure had something to do with your arrival.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned in Finnick’s arms. “Was that the new head Gamemaker?” He nodded, but didn’t offer any explanation. You furrowed your brows. “What were you talking about?” 

Finnick shrugged nonchalantly, but for some reason, he seemed tense. “He wanted to meet the youngest victor of The Games.”

You found that hard to believe, holding back a scoff. “Well, he didn’t seem too interested in meeting me.”

A smile arose on his face as he wrapped his arms back around your waist. “That is because you, darling, are not the youngest person to ever win.”

This time, you did scoff, but the tense atmosphere dissipated. “You’re a dick.”

“You love me.” Your heart nearly stopped, but you kept your composure. You did love him, more than he’d ever know.

You shook your head, acting unaffected. “C’mon, Johanna’s waiting for us by the buffet.” You tried walking away, but your faux façade of annoyance was broken by Finnick latching onto your hand and walking forward with you, chuckling.

And then the entire matter of everyone’s weird behaviour was pushed to the back of your mind.

Returning home from the Capitol was always peaceful, like a weight being lifted off your shoulders, but this time was unlike any of those other times. When you got home, the so called peace that the Capitol so delicately crafted was ripping at the seams.

The chatter from before, from when Katniss and Peeta defied the Capitol, was louder than ever. They had just gone on their victor’s tour, right before you left for the Presidential Palace, and they had apparently sparked a reaction in just about every district they visited, yours included.

You found out that district 4 had been in a revolt since Everdeen and Mellark came and gave their speech. The people were outraged. The news talked about seafood shortages due to bad weather, but the Capitol just didn’t want to let Panem know what was going on, that people were refusing work, that Peacekeepers were murdering innocent people left and right for the smallest of incidents.

When you were all caught up with what had happened, you were furious, too. You wanted to march out onto the streets and give the Capitol the finger, but Finnick pulled you back. 

“What are you gonna do, Y/N?” he questioned, not even giving you the time to answer. “You don’t even know.”

Your voice was vicious as you responded, a tone you’d never given him. You were angry, and you both knew you weren’t thinking clearly; you just didn’t care. “I don’t know right now, but I’m gonna do something, Finnick.” You tried pulling your arm away, but he was much stronger than you.

“I’m not gonna let you go out there and get yourself killed.” You could tell by his demeanour that he was angry, but not for the same reasons that you were.

You shook your head. “You of all people should understand where I’m coming from.”

His eyes went hard. “You must not know me well if you think I’d let my girlfriend kill herself.” That shut you up.

His girlfriend.

He called you his girlfriend.

You got over the shock and, suddenly, you were even more angry than before. While you could pretend all you wanted to that you lived in candy-land, the cruel reality was still there. Finnick didn’t love you. He was only playing with your emotions.

Tears built up in your eyes: sad tears, angry tears—they were everything tears. You felt everything. “I’m your girlfriend now?”

He scoffed, “Oh, come on, Y/N. You can’t be serious right now.”

“I am so serious right now.” 

At your deadpan, he finally let go of your arm, running a hand through his hair. A part of you felt bad that he was so stressed, but you were stressed, too. He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say when he looked back up at you. His voice was no longer harsh, but small. “Y/N, please.”

You swallowed. 

“I’m just asking you to trust me.” He grabbed onto your hands. “Please just trust me.” He was begging you.

“Trust you to do what?”

“I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please.” He held your hands tighter. “Trust me.”

Oh, it didn’t matter how angry you were, if your thoughts were set in stone. Finnick would still be able to mold you like clay. Every time.

“I trust you.”

There was something different about him, but you were too distracted to try and figure it out.

There were so many things going on.

You were with Annie when it happened. Oh, that must have been some cruel joke from the universe. You were walking through the town square, on your way to Victors’ Village with pastries from the bakery in your hands. You were slowed down by the all of the people congregating together, watching the screen.

President Snow was announcing the third Quarter Quell, and they were eating it up. You weren’t gonna do that, entertain his lunacy. You’d go the Capitol and play your role, but you weren’t gonna watch these broadcasts anymore. You weren’t gonna play along.

Finnick could explain it to you later so you’d be able to prep your tributes. The Quells were always made out to be the hallmark of The Games; they were always harder. You felt for whatever kids would have to go through them.

You felt a lot more once you realized who these tributes were gonna be.

You weren’t listening to what Snow was was saying, but his words cut through any sort of mental block you had. “On this, the third Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are… to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.” 

Your stopped walking as if you’d hit a wall, the stuff in your hands falling the ground, but it was almost like you didn’t hear it. You stopped hearing anything, not Snow explaining the condition or everyone’s gasps. Your ears rang. Everything was muffled like you were underwater.

You were done. You were supposed to be done. You went through those Games, you won, and now you were supposed to be done.

He was gonna make you go through it all over again.

You were so shocked that you pinched yourself, like you were a child and this was some nightmare, and even though you didn’t wake up, even though you knew you were awake, you were still caught in a nightmare that you’d have to die to escape from.

Your senses came back to you and you spun around, pulling Annie into a tight hug the second you saw the tears streaming down her face. She muttered the same thing over and over into your shoulder.

“This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.”

She couldn’t go through this again. The Games broke her beyond repair. She couldn’t mentor because of it; she could barely ever attend any of the Capitol parties you and Finnick frequented. She would die in that arena, either mentally or physically.

You couldn’t let that happen.

Your song played on a loop in your mind, making the decision for you. You were reminded that, even though your dance may have changed, Finnick didn’t love you. He loved Annie, and he would be destroyed if she died.

You couldn’t let that happen.

You couldn’t let Mags go back into the arena, either. He needed her. These were the only people he cared about; you couldn’t let them go through this.

Then and there, you decided your fate.

You were gonna be the one to go back into the arena, and no one was gonna stop you.

When you and Annie had made it to your house, ignoring all of the looks of pity thrown your way, Finnick looked just as beaten down as you, but not surprised. You didn’t have time to analyze that.

He hugged Annie first, shooting you an apologetic look, but you didn’t understand what it was for. You knew what Annie meant to him.

You weren’t so deluded that you’d believe you came before her. Besides, she needed to be consoled more than you did. You were calm. Annie was lost right now, but you knew exactly where you were headed.

That night, once Annie left, your clothes came off, and you and Finnick had the softest sex you ever had. It was gentle, and you let yourself feel loved one last time. You let yourself be selfish and have this one thing, just one last time.

You knew that the odds of coming out of that arena were slim, so you kissed Finnick like you were gonna die the very next day. I just might, you thought. And then as you fell asleep in his arms, you pretended that everything was alright. You pretended that your dance wasn’t gonna end so soon, that you weren’t gonna sign your life away when you woke up, that Finnick really loved you, that he loved you just as much as you loved him. You pretended one last time.

The next day, you and all of the other victors walked to the Hall of Justice, escorted by a dozen Peacekeepers. There were so many male tributes. As terrible as it sounded, you were praying that it’d be one of them that was chosen, not Finnick. If he was, then you would throw away any chance you had of winning.

If he went in with you, then he’d be the one walking out.

Cassia Locke stood in the middle of the stage, in between the male and female victors. You found it funny, almost: you were victors, but now the Capitol was gonna rip that refuge away after they’d already taken everything from you.

Cassia was just another mutt in your eyes. She was district 4’s Capitol escort; she was meant to be an advisor, but she didn’t do that well, not for you or the other tributes you mentored. But you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised. Her job was to make spectacles, not survivors.

However, she almost looked human for a moment, glancing at the women sympathetically before she pulled out a folded paper from the bowl. You stood on edge; there were only three of you. Unbeknownst to you, Finnick also stood straighter in trepidation.

She cleared her throat, announcing, “The female tribute for the 75th Annual Hunger Games and third Quarter Quell is… Annie Cresta.”

Annie’s face fell, but you quickly stepped forward. “I volunteer as tribute.”

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Annie whispered, putting a hand on your shoulder, but you brushed her off and ignored her.

Cassia nodded. “Very well, then.” She moved back to the bowl. “Now for the males.”

You glanced over to see that Finnick was already looking at you, an unknown emotion written all over his face, though you realized what it was quickly. Betrayal.

You were confused why. If anything, he should’ve been relieved.

“The male tribute for the 75th Annual Hunger Games will be…” she unfolded the paper, “Finnick Odair.”

Your heart dropped. That wasn’t supposed to happen. 

The universe must’ve hated you.

Finnick’s mask was back on. Any trace of emotion on his face was erased and replaced with the cocky, charming façade that he’d perfected. He smirked as if he wasn’t just chosen for the most brutal “game” there ever was, like there was nothing to be worried about.

He was so good at pretending. Maybe even better than you.

You both walked toward the centre of the stage simultaneously, routinely. You’ve danced this dance before.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Hunger Games.”

Right after that, Peacekeepers came from the side, trying to grab at your arms, but you shook them off. “We know where to go,” you said. You don’t know if it was the your tone of voice or the look on your face, but they actually listened.

You were escorted into an inactive chamber, the same one you were brought to for your first Games. Memories flashed through your mind before you shook them away. You couldn’t get PTSD right before you went into this.

Finnick was stoic as he stared you, but before either of you could say anything, Mags and Annie came rushing into the room. Annie took you by surprise, immediately engulfing you tightly.

She was still crying, but manage to blubber out through her tears, “Why- why would you do that?”

You rubbed her back. “Annie-”

“Why would you do that for me? It was supposed to be me. Supposed to be me, supposed to be me.” She kept repeating herself over and over, shaking in your arms.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Finnick and Mags watching you. “It’s gonna be okay, Annie,” you told her, but you knew it was a lie. “I’m gonna be fine.” You weren’t.

As if she knew this, she only cried harder. You didn’t know what else to say, so you just kept rubbing her back, hoping that she’d calm down. Eventually, she stopped shaking, but tears kept flowing from her eyes like a waterfall. She tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming.

She sniffled, going over to hug Finnick, then hugging you one last time before she left. “Take care of each other- please,” she asked, and you weren’t thinking of doing anything but.

You nodded, assuring her that you would do just that. Mags hugged you, saying the words she couldn’t express through her gaze. You could tell that neither of them wanted to leave, but they had to. 

Only one of you was gonna come back, and that was gonna be hard to come to terms with.

They left, and then it was just you and Finnick. The music kept playing, and playing, and playing, and you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. You didn’t want to hear this song ever again if it could be your last time listening.

If you could have it your way, you’d dance together until the end of time. But forever was never promised, not in the world you lived in.

The silence, however, felt like it lasted a forever in the moment, so you broke it. “Can you say something?” Finnick just kept staring at you in a way he had never looked at you before. The music got louder. Tears came to your eyes. “Please.”

Maybe he took pity on you, because he did say something. You just weren’t sure if it was any better than the silence. “Why would you do that?” His voice was cold.

You felt cold.

You swallowed. “Finn-”

“Why would you volunteer?” He stepped closer to you, so much venom seeping through his tone that you thought you were gonna be sick. “Annie was going to go-”

You cut him off, throwing your hands up. “You saw her, Finnick. She’s a mess.”

“She was going to be fine-”

“She can’t go through The Games again!” You shouted, losing it. Why was he berating you as if you didn’t just save the love of his life? “It would kill whatever part of her is left.”

“She would’ve been fine. You would’ve been fine-”

“God, why do you care about what happens to me? Annie’s gonna be okay—you’re gonna be able to come home to her and build the family you’ve always wanted-”

He snapped. “You’re my family!” You recoiled like he just hit you with his words. It was like you’d been doused in cold water. Finnick sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was a beat where neither of you said anything, letting his revelation soak in.

But you didn’t know what that meant.

When he spoke up again, his voice was quieter. He didn’t look like the Finnick that smirked up on that stage; he looked defeated, not triumphant. “You’re my family, Y/N. Don’t you get that?” He looked back up at you. “I could’ve protected Annie in that arena, and you would’ve been safe, here—not there with me.”

You shook your head. “There is no protecting someone in an arena- you and I know that best.” You let a tear fall, smiling sadly. “You’re gonna come home, Finnick-”

“Stop.”

“You’re gonna come home and you’re gonna live a long life with Annie-”

“Stop it.”

“You have people to take care of. I don’t.”

“Y/N, stop it.”

Another tear. “You deserve this-”

“Stop it.” Finnick grabbed onto your shoulders. You didn’t even know he got so close. “I’m not gonna let you die in there. Do you hear me? You’re not dying.”

“Only one of us is coming back, Finn. It’s gonna be you.”

You don’t know if your eyes were just really that blurry or if there were actually tears in his eyes, too. “No, you are coming home-”

“Finni-”

He grabbed you tighter. “We are both coming home.” The dam in your eyes broke, and all of the tears you were trying to hold came flooding down your cheeks.

Why was he saying these things? He knew it was impossible.

“We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear,” he promised, but these were promises he couldn’t keep. These were things he couldn’t control. Why was he lying to you- why was he lying to himself?

You wanted to say all these things, to scream, to tell him that it wasn’t true, that you were going to die. But then you remembered every other time you lied in bed together, every time you kissed and held each other. You’ve been lying to yourself all along, pretending you could have a future together when, deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case.

So you held everything in, pulling Finnick to you and hugging him with everything you had. You were gonna let him pretend, just this last time.

You were gonna dance together one last time.

You spent the entire train ride in each other’s arms, only getting up to eat and go to the bathroom before getting back in bed. You didn’t have mentors—you were the mentors. You’d been here before already, and that was surreal in and of itself.

You thought you already won. But nobody ever won, did they?

Those games killed everyone, victors included.

The press was insane, but just as you expected it. You were the Prince and Princess of Panem; they didn’t want to watch you die. Turns out, people in the Capitol did have hearts; clearly, they weren’t all too functional.

This visit, in more ways than one, was completely different from any other time you’d been in the city. Instead of the graceful show you normally put on, waving and smiling, you were much more mute. You were gonna die, anyway, so what was the point of continuing to be a puppet? 

Finnick was still his usual self, smirky and arrogant, but even his anger snuck through the cracks of his act. All of you were angry, all of the victors. You could tell just by the mere glances you’d gotten of them, by the news coverage. Nobody wanted to go into an arena and kill people, not even the Careers (who you’d admit were pretty crazy).

However, this was all still a show to the Capitol, with you as the unlucky cast. And the show had to go on.

You and Finnick were separated to be prepped by the “glam teams.” The first time around, you remember being scared, but now you were just bored.

You were sitting idly in the dressing room, waiting for your designer when a man walked in, making you raise a brow.

This was a designer, but not your designer.

“Wait, I know you.” You tilted your head as his face became more familiar to you. “You’re Cinna- you designed those outfits with the fire.”

Cinna nodded in a way that you perceived as both humble and prideful at the same time. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Princess.”

This elicited a bitter chuckle from you. “Please, call me Y/N.” You then stood up to shake his hand when your curiosity sparked. “Aren’t you Katniss’ designer?”

“Yes, but I’m also going to be designing your outfits, as well,” he replied. “The head Gamemaker requested it. You are the Princess, after all.”

The corners of your lips went up. Most people you met at the Capitol would beat around the bush, but this guy didn’t seem shy. It was refreshing. You teased, “Ah, and since I’m a princess, I get Panem’s best to dress me?” 

Cinna chuckled a bit under his breath, but didn’t confirm or deny your comment. He dived straight into his plans, explaining what he wanted to for you with a twinkle in his eye that you noticed most artists had when speaking about their work. “I want to stay true to the district 4 theme, but I want to make a statement.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling.”

He smiled. “We’re gonna show the Capitol that they can’t control you.”

And then your little smile turned into a grin.

Cinna did not disappoint. You were in a golden, long-sleeve, grid shirt with holes where the squares were supposed to be; your velvet skirt was a dark blueish-green, skin-tight; and atop your head was a golden crown, decorated with blue jewels.

Of course, it wasn’t a normal outfit, but you were gonna save the theatrics for the parade.

Finnick was around somewhere, likely causing trouble while you were walking around, looking for Johanna. However, you ended up running into someone else.

“Peeta,” you called, and he turned around. He immediately reminded you of Finnick, a mask of charm hiding him. Although Peeta had only been at this for a year, he already knew how to play the game, unlike Katniss who was rather unapproachable.

“Y/N,” he greeted. He scrambled for something to say for a few seconds. “I heard about how you volunteered for that girl. It was really brave.”

You hummed, almost sarcastically. “You don’t have to suck up to me—it’s not like I bite.”

He got red, making you stifle a laugh. “That’s, uh- that’s not what I meant-”

“It’s fine, I get it,” you waved it off. “It’s probably intimidating to be here around all of us, just a year after you won.” He didn’t say anything, just awkwardly smiled. “You know, you don’t have to be scared. You have a lot of power ‘round here; you just need to learn how to wield it.”

He gave you a confused look, so you elaborated, “There’s power in the masses, Peeta. The people here love you.” You paused. “Use that.”

A look of realization crossed his face, and so you decided that you said all you needed to say. He thanked you, but his mind looked to be elsewhere. You nodded, then walked off to find your carriage.

Sure, the Capitol could try and treat you all like pieces on a chess board, but if you got rid of the board altogether, then there would be no game to play. You spoke to Peeta to help him realize that. It didn’t matter if you were all meant to be on different sides; until you got into that arena, you were all one team, and you were gonna try your hardest to stop The Games before they began.

If that didn’t work, then you would just have to concede. One way or another, you would make sure that Finnick made it out of that arena alive. Peeta reminded you an awful lot of him, and while you would otherwise be rooting for him, you would choose Finnick if it came down to it.

You met Finnick at the chariot not long after leaving Peeta. He was shirtless, wearing a skirt similar to your top, rope around his wrists like bracelets. If you weren’t about to go into this stupid parade, you would’ve probably been making out already, but you were far too worried to think about that.

You had Cinna to thank for calming your nerves, giving you something to look forward to. Once the parade had started and you were coming through, you pressed the button of the device he had given you and then your top went up in flames, disintegrating until you were just in a black bralette, revealing the swirls of blue they painted on your arms, resembling waves. The rope around Finnick’s wrists caught fire, too, burning up until there was nothing there.

The crowd cheered, chanting your names. The faintest of smirks grew on your lips, but you really had to stifle your enjoyment when you saw Snow staring your carriage down.

What you did symbolized freeing yourself of the shackles of the Capitol, of these stupid Games. They could try, but they wouldn’t control you. 

You would’ve usually felt some sort of fear- hell, you were never so defiant just in fear of what they would do to you. But what more could they do to you? They were already going to kill you. You didn’t care anymore.

After the parade, you ran into Johanna who gave you a good laugh as she told you how she stripped in the elevator. You would’ve paid good money to see it, that was for sure. You also talked to a few other victors on your way back to your suite.

You’d been friends with many of these people for years and now the Capitol was just gonna try and pit you against each other. None of you were looking forward to that—you were friends. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t make any allies.

Alliances didn’t last forever in the arena, but they lasted long enough. Considering your status, almost everyone wanted you and your “boyfriend” as allies; they certainly didn’t want you as enemies.

The next day was spent at the training centre, a brand new one made specially for the Quarter Quell. The thought made you roll your eyes. The Capitol would spend their money on things like this and yet there were still kids out there starving. What kind of world was that? One that you were okay with leaving, so long as Finnick would remain in it.

On your way in, you passed Cashmere and Gloss throwing knives at holograms. They were good, you noted, but not better at it than you. Johanna was off practicing by herself—though you were sure that she was doing it more so to release her pent-up aggression. Wiress and Beetee, Nuts and Volts as Jo called them, were by themselves, much less violent than everyone else here and much more strategic. Finnick was tying knots, looking more bored than anything. And you… you weren’t doing anything.

You leaned back on a wall, watching the other tributes instead of joining them. You didn’t care about the rankings or making yourself look dangerous. You didn’t have anything to prove; you did that already, and you really didn’t need to “practice,” either.

You’ve danced this dance before.

However, not everyone was so aware of just how well you danced last time.

“Not practicing?” You turned your head, seeing the newest victor walking up to you, donning her famous hairstyle. The corners of your lips quirked up in amusement. 

She must have been told to make friends. You couldn’t imagine it was working out so well if she was coming to you.

“Don’t need to, Everdeen,” you replied, shrugging. “I don’t need the spotlight; got enough of that.”

She lightly snorted. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.” And you didn’t doubt that. Katniss had definitely captured the attention of Panem with her actions, and she certainly acquired the attention of the Capitol. Snow couldn’t have been her biggest fan.

In another life, you could picture you and her being friends, but you knew it wasn’t gonna happen in this one.

“You’re lucky, you know,” you said. You knew she didn’t see that way, and maybe it was a little bitter of you to say that, but it was true. At least she hadn’t been under the spotlight long enough for it to burn her like it’d burned you. 

She scoffed, “How so?” The girl had restraint, you’d give her that. She clearly wanted to say a lot more than that, but she was smart. She knew better.

You shrugged again. “You just are.” And you left it there. If she wanted all the dirty details about you, she could try her luck with one of the other victors, but you doubted she sensed the real meaning of your words. She hadn’t been dancing long enough to even hear the song yet.

A dramatic sigh then escaped your lips. “Ah, though I suppose even your luck can only run so far, Girl on Fire. So sorry about your wedding.” The sarcasm in your voice was toned down just enough that it wasn’t so evident but evident enough to make your point.

She gave you a tense smile, although you weren’t sure if any of Katniss’ smiles ever weren’t tense. “Thanks,” she responded with zero sincerity in her tone. “I’m sorry you and Finnick never had one, either. Would’ve been a real royal occasion.”

You hummed, smiling your royal smile back at her. The Kat has claws, you thought. But you didn’t really feel like standing here and trading subliminals with her all day; you’d have enough of that with everyone else, anyway.

You left it at that, going to walk away before pausing as if you’d forgotten something. “Tell Haymitch I said hi.” You gave her a once over. “He’s done a good job.” And then you walked away.

Finnick’s voice rang through your head: May the odds be ever in your favour, darling. You almost felt like recycling that line and repeating it to Katniss, but you had already messed with her enough. 

Your demeanour was in stark contrast of how you normally behaved. You may have been more agreeable or kind at home, sweet on cameras, but in this territory, you had an entirely different reputation. Sharp, cunning, unpredictable—ruthless. That’s the way it needed to be if you wanted to survive, or at least survive long enough to do what you needed to do.

So, you supposed that you had a mask, too.

You all did.

When you got back to your suite later in the evening, Finnick informed you of Katniss’ display with her bow and arrow, how she had renowned victors quaking in their boots, but people were even more scared of you, and you hadn’t even done anything at training.  

You basically had the entire pool of tributes to choose from for an alliance. You were choosing Johanna, of course, and Finnick already had his mind made up on his pick.

Making his way over to you, he tossed you something that you swiftly caught before sitting down on the armchair across from the sofa you were sitting on. You looked down, opening your hand to see a golden pendant, a medallion with a rose in the middle.

You raised a brow. This wasn’t a present. “A rose?”

“They’re a Capitol favourite.” Precisely why you hated them.

“Alright, and why are you giving it to me?”

Finnick brought his wrist up, showing you a golden bracelet made of vines while wiggling his fingers. “They’re gifts,” he told you, “from Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy.”

You were familiar with both people. Effie Trinket was crazy, but that wasn’t the dominant thought on your mind. “Gifts for what?”

He answered, “They’ve brokered an alliance with us on behalf of Katniss and Peeta.” At that, you groaned, but Finnick readily cut you off. “This will be good for us, Y/N.”

“They’re brand new to this,” you countered. Sure, you liked the spark that the Girl on Fire had, and Peeta was quite the catch, but they only won a year ago. The Careers would be a better pick, even though you didn’t exactly like them, either.

“Yes, but they’re good; you’ve seen them. And the Capitol’s gonna love it, the two pairs of lovers together. C’mon, you know all this.” You did. You knew that this was one of the best avenues to take, but something in you was against it.

Maybe it was just that Peeta reminded you of the man you were in love with, and Katniss reminded you of yourself. But right now, you had to remind yourself to think with your head, not your heart. You needed to disregard your feelings and do whatever it took to win this.

To you, winning didn’t mean surviving this. Winning meant that Finnick did.

So, with a sigh, you surrendered, agreeing to this little deal. “So, these accessories are, what? Bargaining chips?”

He smirked. “No, they’re symbols. Katniss and Peeta have theirs, too.”

You chuckled, shaking your head and mocking, “So we’re in a little golden alliance, then?”

“It appears so, darling.”

After a little more conversation, Finnick and you headed off to bed, even though neither of you could really sleep. You held each other, though, and so the insomnia was bearable. He told you to stow the necklace away, that you were saving the objects for The Games. Apparently, Katniss and Peeta still needed a little persuasion for this, especially the former.

She was smart not to trust you, but she was equally as naive for the same reason. If you wanted to, you could be judgemental all day, but you didn’t have the time for it, so your mind didn’t linger on the subject.

When you were waiting to be assessed the next day with the rest of the tributes, your mind didn’t really linger on anything. You felt numb: not pleased, not sad, just numb. If you could pin-point an emotion, it had to be anger, but that feeling hadn’t left you since your first Games.

Finnick, on the other hand, looked no different, maybe even a little amused by the tension in the room, too amused for somebody who had to go back to the arena. But Finnick was always one to look a challenge into the eye and, instead of looking away, give it a wink. That was his persona while you were here, in the Capitol, so you’d let him indulge in it if that’s what made him feel better.

You’d do anything for him, even if he didn’t love you back.

He went into the room first. You didn’t know exactly what he was gonna do, but you knew that you were all basically doing the same thing. Plutarch Heavensbee may have been new, but even he knew who you all were. You’ve all shown your skills already, been here already, danced this dance already.

The song was getting old.

You were all giving your own personal fuck you to the Capitol.

When Finnick walked out, he flashed you a smirk that almost made you laugh. You stifled a smile as you walked into the room yourself, but it was quickly wiped off your face as memories played in your head like a movie.

You remembered the first time you did this, coming in and saying your name, scared out of your mind but ready to win, ready to impress the sponsors.

Now, you didn’t have to say your name. You caught their attention as soon as you walked in. You were the Princess. You needed no introduction.

It was funny, though, how that imaginary crown couldn’t save you from this.

The thought of your inevitable death was what fuelled you. You were known for your abilities with a sword, but that wasn’t what you reached for. You reached for the jug of gasoline and a lighter, immediately opening it and pouring in a circle in the middle of the room before stepping into it.

Then you looked right up at all of them and their confused faces, and threw the open lighter to the liquid in front of you, igniting a circle of fire around you.

You stared right at the head Gamemaker as you did it, expressionless. His expression told you that he got the message, or at least your hostility.

You would burn this place to the ground if you had to, even if you got burned while doing it. 

When the flames got smaller, you turned and stepped over them, walking out of the room without another glance or word to the Capitol mutts. As far as you were concerned, they weren’t worth your time—you were running out of that, anyways.

Once the assessments were over, all any of you had time to do was get ready for the show. Caesar wasn’t exactly a face you wanted to see right now. Maybe he saw his enthusiasm as a way of “calming the tributes down,” but it was really just his lack of empathy. You didn’t need him cheering and practically gossiping about your death before it happened. 

As much as the people in the Capitol liked to think of these Games as games, they weren’t. They were your lives. But you really could spend days obsessing over it, days that you didn’t have.

It was time to dance, and there was nothing you did better.

You were backstage, standing with Finnick and Johanna, waiting your turns. Cinna had made you very pretty. He was good at what he did.

You were wearing a dark blue dress with wide straps tied into blue bows at your shoulders and a sweetheart neckline. The bottom half was pretty fitted, but it was covered by a sparkly, golden, A-line, hoop petticoat made of the same material as your top from the parade, gridded with holes like before. And of course, your crown sat atop your head—Cinna insisted.

He really wanted to nail the whole Princess thing, milk it for all it was worth. And you let him, because his designs were great. Part of you wished you could’ve gotten more into fashion; now you’d never get the chance to.

You couldn’t blame Katniss for being so stand-offish. You’d be intimidated, too, if you were new to the club, watching from the sidelines. You, Finnick, and Johanna didn’t really seem all too approachable right now, either, even the ever so charming Odair. They were exchanging jokes and laughing at the interviews, mocking them, while you were rather stoic, observing the interviews watchfully.

Cashmere and Gloss went first, of course. They did theirs together since they were brother and sister. It was odd to you, how two siblings managed to get reaped together out of all the victors district 1 had, but you were paying more attention to the act they were putting on. 

Casmere was sobbing. She’s a much better killer than she is an actor, you thought, but the people in the audience clearly bought it. You’d give her credit, though; you were all trying your best to get this thing cancelled, even if that was highly unlikely.

Next came the two crazy Careers who made Gloss’ acting look world class. Then Beetee went on stage, using logic as a tactic rather than emotion. Smart, but logic wouldn’t sway President Snow’s wishes. The Capitol sent innocent kids off to die every year in a televised event to pay for something that happened years before any of them were born—logic was obviously not their strong suit.

Wiress went next, and that’s basically when you tuned out. She was pretty out of it, not really saying much. Finnick was going after her. That’s what occupied your thoughts.

“Hey, you alright?” Your were snapped out of your daze by the very man you were thinking about, as if he was reading your mind. Those blue eyes that you loved so much stared down at you, concern swimming through them.

Those ocean eyes. You could drown in them.

You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “Yeah, I’m good.” He continued to stare down at you like he was completely unconvinced, but before he could say anything, they were calling his name.

He cursed under his breath then placed a soft kiss on your temple before having to walk out on stage, that famous smirk on his face. He was so good at that, at going from hard to soft so easily, cursing to kissing you.

He was good. He was real good, and he was a much better actor than any other tribute here. He was so good that he could make even you believe his performance.

You watched them from the TV backstage. “Finnick,” Caesar started. “As I recall, the last time we spoke, it was with your other half, who is here today.” The crowd cheered.

Finn nodded, smiling tensely, which you were sure he did on purpose. “That’s right.”

“You and the Princess have so graciously shared your love with us, and we have fallen in love with you both, perhaps as much as you love each other.” You and Johanna simultaneously rolled your eyes. Finnick, though, smiled to the cheering audience, mouthing thank you’s that no doubt made them swoon. “None of us know how to deal with the fact that you are both going into The Games- I certainly haven’t come to terms with it. Tell us, how are you dealing with this?”

You scoffed. If there was something the people of the Capitol liked to do, it was pretending that your tragedy was their own. They didn’t know even half of your pain, any of yours. 

Caesar practically shoved the microphone in Finnick’s face. He looked down, like he was thinking, but you knew he probably had this bit down pat already. “If I’m being honest, neither Y/N nor I have come to terms with it, either.” He now looked right to the camera. “What I do know is that I will do whatever it takes to protect the woman I love.” The crowd cooed as you looked straight at the TV, as if Finnick was staring into your eyes. “And if I… if I die in that arena, then my last thought will be of her lips… and how lucky I was to have met her and have had the opportunity to give her my heart.”

The crowd went wild and Caesar said something in response, but you couldn’t hear it. You were stuck staring into Finnick’s eyes, the eyes you fell in love with. Oh, he was so good. He could dance the dance so much better than you. Because everything he said, he almost made you believe that he meant it.

You blinked the tears in your eyes away when Johanna shook you, telling you they were about to announce your name. You put the mask back on, and it was your love for Finnick that made you do it. You were doing this for him.

An exhale left your lips as you waited for your cue. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, as our Prince exits, I have the honour of welcoming his counterpart to the stage. The winner of the 67th Hunger Games. The Princess of Panem. Y/N Y/L/N!”

The doors you stood behind opened and you walked onto the stage, a stellar smile on your face as you waved to the roaring crowd. You just had to play the role, and everything would be fine.

When the cheers died down, Caesar gave you a sympathetic look, or at least a look that he thought was sympathetic. “Now, Y/N, it is lovely to see you. You look stunning.”

“Thank you, Caesar. It’s always wonderful to see you. I just wish it was under different circumstances.” You glanced to the crowd, catching their pity. For once, that was the exact emotion you wished to inspire.

“Yes, I think I speak for us all when I say that this is not easy.” You tightly smiled, even though you really just wanted to flip him off. “We just spoke to Finnick, he has been quite expressive these past few days in the Capitol, but you, Y/N, you have not been as revealing. Please, we’d like to know what’s been on your mind.”

If Caesar really heard what was on your mind, then he’d be appalled. That wasn’t your goal, even though you’d greatly enjoy that. Instead, you had a different play.

The audience was very quiet in anticipation of your response. You sighed, keeping the tired smile. “I, um… I’ve had a lot on my mind, really. Finnick and I, we thought we had more time, time to get married and even have kids, but now it’s like that time has just been… stolen from us.” Collective awes resounded throughout the crowd as Caesar brought his other hand to his chest, like your words moved him. “It’s- it’s just not fair, simple as that. But I love him, and that love will survive, even if I don’t.”

The audience let their dismay be known while Caesar shook his head. “Oh, my dear, I have seen your love- we all have, and I know that it will never die.” You nodded in agreement, listening to everyone else agree with you.

The acting was easier than you thought it’d be. Maybe that was because it wasn’t all acting, not for you. You knew your role, and you knew it well, but your love for Finnick was not something you had to fake. It was perhaps one of the only real things you had left.

“Now, we are all in for an emotional night, so I’d just like to lighten the mood a little- is that alright?” You nodded again, though you wondered how he would’ve reacted if you didn’t. “Okay, now we all saw your display at the parade- isn’t that right, everyone?” He paused, letting them applaud. “Yes, it was magnificent. Would I be right in assuming that you have something similar planned tonight?”

“Oh, you’d be correct,” you responded, flashing a grin at the whooping crowd.

“Please, please.” He stepped back. “Go right ahead.”

You glanced at Cinna sitting front row before pressing the button of the device he gave you. The golden petticoat then went up in flames, seemingly “ejecting” the skirt of your dress, sending it from above your knees to your ankles as it went from skin-tight to flowy. The very bottom faded into a teal colour, like the sea.

The crowd’s cheers got louder than you thought possible. Caesar wowed, then raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Princess of Panem!” You gave the crowd one last wave before making your way up the stairs to stand with the rest of the victors.

You were standing next to Finnick by the time the next tribute was called out and the attention was on them. To your surprise, he grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. But what really surprised you was the slight tremble you felt.

You looked up at him to see him already staring down at you. His mask fell a little, and instead of the at-ease Finnick you just saw, you were looking at a much more serious, stern version. You were confused by what could’ve brought this on, but then he leant down slightly, whispering in your ear, “I told you. I’m not letting you die.” When he pulled away, he didn’t look any less serious.

Oh, what a great liar he could be. There he was, making you believe in things that couldn’t possibly be true. You were going to die. You knew that, and you’d accepted it already. But Finnick hadn’t accepted it at all. He looked like he was believing his own lie.

You don’t know why this had shaken him so badly. Maybe he felt obligated to you, maybe he felt bad for you, but whatever it was, you weren’t gonna make it worse.

You could be a good actor, too.

For him.

You nodded, whispering back, “I know.” This looked to have calmed him down a little. He kissed the side of your head, and then the mask was back up. He kept his tight hold on your hand, and you let him.

You never know when it’d be the last time you held hands, and so you were gonna enjoy this while it lasted.

Even though this was an “emotional night,” as Caesar had dubbed it, you still got satisfaction out of everything the victors were pulling. When Johanna came on stage, she had a totally different approach than all of your sad acts and Beetee’s logic: she said what you all really wanted to say, giving the Capitol a loud fuck you.

You and Finnick had to stop yourselves from laughing amidst your shock. Caesar definitely wasn’t expecting that. You knew Snow definitely wasn’t expecting that, either. You hoped he was watching this right now, and you hoped that all of Panem could feel your outrage.

But if you were surprised by anything, it was the so called star-crossed lovers from district 12. Katniss’ wedding dress was a nice touch; she could’ve convinced even you that they were in love, if you didn’t know any better.

You weren’t the only one with a message to send to the Capitol with your attire. She spun around and her white dress was engulfed in flames, transforming into a midnight blue dress similar to yours. And when she lifted her arms, wings were revealed, and the smile on your lips widened.

“It’s a bird,” Caesar stammered in awe. “It’s like, a- it’s got feathers- it’s a bird- like a-”

You murmured at the same time as Katniss spoke up, “Like a Mockingjay.” You looked up to Finnick, seeing him already smirking. Everdeen was a lot ballsier than you thought.

“Your stylist certainly has outdone himself this time, hasn’t he? Bestowing not one, but two just astonishing looks upon us! What theatricality.” The attention was drawn to your designer. “Cinna! Take a bow.”

You were growing to like this man more and more, knowing that the Capitol must have hated him.

When the cheers died down and Katniss came and joined you all, the event was almost over with just Peeta left. You remembered the advice you gave him; you had high hopes for him, and he did not disappoint. 

He claimed he and Katniss had a secret wedding, reeled them all in, and then he added the cherry on top. “You know, Katniss and I, we’ve been luckier than most. And I wouldn’t have any regrets at all…” he paused, choking up, “i-if, if it weren’t… if…”

“If it weren’t for what? What, Peeta?”

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

The audience clamoured. You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide the upturn of your lips, feigning horror. Finnick was in the same boat, stifling a laugh.

Golden boy was smarter than he got credit for.

People in the audience stood up, shouting while Caesar tried to calm them down. They were calling for The Games to be stopped, exactly what you’d been trying to achieve all night. Caesar whispered something to Peeta away from the microphone, and he walked up the stairs to the rest of you, hugging his apparent wife.

Then suddenly, you were nudged by the person next to you, looking down to see their hand outstretched. You quickly realized what was going on and grabbed it. And then amidst all the fury, you brought your hands up together. Yes, they wanted you to kill each other, but you were all united in the same fight first.

It became obvious that Caesar couldn’t contain the crowd’s indignation any longer, so the anthem played, increasing in volume to try and drown them out, but your actions were still so much louder than words. 

That’s when the lights cut out.

But it would be a lot harder for the Capitol to snuff out the spark you all lit.

While you all did your best, your efforts appeared to be futile. Snow wasn’t against killing children, so you supposed that you all should’ve known better than to think that he’d cancel The Games for Everdeen’s baby.

However, it wasn’t completely useless. You had the public’s support. Sponsors wouldn’t be hard to get, so at least that was something. But all in all, The Games were still happening. One winner. Twenty-three of you would be dead, and you were going to be one of them.

Your last Games, you were relentless, selling your soul to stay alive. And you were gonna do it all over again, but this time, your objective wasn’t staying alive at all. It was making sure Finnick could make it home to Annie. 

Lying there in Finnick’s arms that night for what could possibly be the last time, you realized that you would die without ever having been loved by someone. You were with Finnick, and you loved him, but he didn’t love you back.

These last few days, you had been consumed by fire, knowing that you would burn everything down if it meant your lover would be safe, but it was like it was just hitting you that you’d been warming yourself up with a flame that wasn’t ever really yours.

You knew without a doubt that Finnick Odair was your soulmate.

But you weren’t his.

Tears pooled into your eyes at the thought, and so you quickly buried your head into his chest before a panic attack could came on. You calmed down to the sound of his heartbeat, the heartbeat that you personally would make sure didn’t stop until he was old and his hair was grey.

The next day was a blur between the hovercraft, having the trackers injected into you, and then being separated from Finnick. The only thing you really could remember was how he kissed your cheek before he left.

And then you were in the tube, rising up into the arena. You couldn’t get a good look at it. Every time you blinked, your Games flashed before your eyes. Sun, cold, dirt, blood, screaming, murder.

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes as the announcer counted down. Pull yourself together, Y/N, you thought.

And then The Games begun.

Taglist: @honestlycasualarcade

[larcenywrites]

how do creed/logan act if they find out their partner is expecting?

Tbh I think they would know even before their partner 😅 super senses and all, yk? So I went with that angle! It’s nothing special, but I could always do something more fleshed out for each one later on. Maybe like how I did my Tony Stark family stuff 🤔

Reactions to Pregnancy

Logan Howlett x Reader

Victor Creed x Reader

Warnings: pregnancy mentions obviously | like two sexual references but they’re more on the mild side

Logan

Terrified. He probably picks up on it before even you, or, at least, before you tell him, but tbh he might be the one to tell you 😅 that nose never lies, but pregnancy probably still doesn’t really cross his mind at first… it’s when he suddenly hears an extra heartbeat nearby, and a rapid one at that, that he actually has to connect the dots. And yet, he still won’t bring it up! He’s nervous, a little more tense than usual, but for now he’s probably choosing to, ah… not ignore it per se? Maybe he’s trying to come to terms with it himself before you find out… by ignoring it!

But he can’t ignore it anyway because now when hears you trying to sneak up on him from behind, it’s not just you anymore. It’s quite literally following him around and keeping him up at night, and maybe hearing a quick pulse naturally puts him on edge anyway. He’s probably damn near falling apart! Is he terrified? Yes. Anxious? Yes. Low key wondering how he could let this happen?? Kinda! But then again, he is the one who ditches the condom like once a month in favor of his little kink… He was already beating himself up a little about being a terrible choice for a father, but now he’s really cursing himself because he of all people should know actions have consequences!!!

Not to mention: What if he passes on his mutation?? Shit, there might be yet another genetically perfect killer on the loose soon!

With a sigh, he finds himself tapping a finger or two on your lower tummy in thought. He knows that, regardless, he’s doing everything he can to keep you- both of you- safe. And all this stress ain’t for nothing— in fact, it’s already made him a little attached to that unnamed heartbeat!

You’re probably not gonna notice too much difference in his usual behavior other than he seems more tense and unfocused lately. He always tends to be the big spoon, he usually ends a day with rubs and nuzzles, he’s always tuned in to what you’re doing— what will be different though is him being more reluctant to leave for missions (probably a little huffy about it even), and a whole lot more cuddlier than usual the night before! And in the case that you’re a fellow x-men, it’s not out of the ordinary for him to keep an eye on you, but it is definitely weird for him to challenge the set plan just to stay by your side, and the pot is finally boiling over when he starts telling you that you can’t come on missions altogether… which probably leads to everybody arguing! Hell, you may still not even know you’re pregnant at this point, but Logan has to say it because otherwise he’s really looking like the bad guy here!

Minus the fifty questions you probably have for him, he is relieved that this whole pregnancy thing isn’t just on his shoulders now. But now that you do know, he’s definitely relieved that he can be a little more affectionate without being questioned! At some point he definitely ended up nuzzling under your shirt and has decided to just lie there for probably the rest of the evening with his very tiny baby 🥰

And come on, Logan loves the students! Even if it is in his own grumpy way! He really shouldn’t be so worried about being dad material 😘

Victor

Again, he probably picks up on it before you do, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he knows what he’s sensing! But what he does know is that you smell delightful, and all he finds himself doing that night he first notices is rubbing against your shoulder and nuzzling into your neck. It’s easy to just laugh off his spontaneous cat-like affections, and even easier to succumb to the licking and nipping without much thought 😘

It’s rather late one night when he’s coming home, and while he always aware of each pulse that should normally be around, there’s definitely a new one… He probably thinks it’s a rat that got in the wall or something at first! Now on the hunt and prowling around, he’s a tad confused when he’s led to your sleeping form in the bed. Just as his nose never lies, neither does his hearing! He’s not dumb, he knew exactly what it meant as soon as he made it to the bed.

Eh, honestly he’s probably more surprised it hasn’t happened sooner 😅 He’s probably wildly inconsistent with protection, definitely has a breeding kink anyway, and has probably taken the condom off without you even noticing before… Even so, he still definitely didn’t plan it! Well- probably.

Still flopped over you with a big ol arm over your waist and nuzzling into your neck, he’s probably purring way more than you’ve ever heard him purr before. Enough to wake you up at 4 in the morning! You’ll have to lift his big ol head from your chest to get his attention, and he’ll just outright tell you! He’s one of the best trackers in the world, so there’s no reason to doubt him… that and it’s not every occasion that you’ll see him kneading happily at the blankets!

Ah- maybe he has done… questionable things, both when it comes to family and not-family… But, really, there's no need to worry! This hellcat is quite fond of kids, so while you may be a little anxious over the sudden news, Victor is unfazed enough for the both of you! Besides, he’s more than capable of keeping both you and a kid safe, and he’s had plenty of challenges in his 200+ years, surely he can handle raising a kid. Plus, he has a kid or two out there that he didn’t raise himself, so he’s probably pretty excited about this one ;3 But he does kinda hope he passes down his mutation…

The only downside as far as behavior goes is he’s now ultra protective and nosey (not that you could ever hide anything from him anyway), and now he’s dragging home tons of trinkets and jewelry and blankets and maybe even an entire turkey one time 😅

[eymie]

THE LYING KIND !

pairings: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

warnings: manipulation, possessiveness, fluff (at the beginning), angst, smut, kissing, oral (m. receiving)

summary: coriolanus is starting to grow suspicious that you’ve caught onto his lies. now you have to get his trust back.

a/n: title inspired by duvet by boa.

You had found Coriolanus in District 12, in The Hob. His blond curls shaved, and his sweet expression replaced with a cold one. Until he had seen you. Singing on that stage, voice so sweet his breath caught at the sight. Your little twirls as you sung. His girl.

His victor, his girl, his bird. You caught his eyes as you melted on that stage. A smile engulfing your face, twirling again. When the lights dimmed and you ran to him. Your Coriolanus.

A night you snuck out, meeting him at the hanging tree. Your hands rubbing over his shaved head, missing the way his curls threaded in your fingers.

You'd take him down to the lake, your wet bodies rubbing against each other in the cold water. Enjoying the way his skin rubbed against yours. His cold dog tag tingling against your chest as you pressed together.

His soft touches in the field just outside the forest where it was forbidden to go. When his hand would travel up your skirt, teasing the skin of your inner thighs. His lips brushing against your own. When Coriolanus kissed, he kissed like he was a starving man and you were his last meal. Like he would die if he let go, like he'd stop breathing.

"You can trust me, Coriolanus." You'd whisper as he pressed his forehead against yours. He's hum, nodding.

"I know." He trusted you, and you trusted him.

Coriolanus was a possessive man, you knew this well. When you'd sing and men would compliment your voice he couldn't help but be angry, jealous, hateful. You were his, not theirs.

He hated Sejanus, he couldn't help it. When you'd laugh with him in the crowded rooms. Innocent conversations had Coriolanus biting back his insults. You were his. You were his. You were his. Those men couldn't have you, Sejanus couldn't have you. If you thought to touch another man your body would be the result.

He was a liar, you felt it. You could tell by the way he'd stumble over his words, make excuses. You knew he was possessive, that he was overprotective too. If someone was to threaten you there would be a bounty on their head.

He started noticing your reactions. The way you looked at him in confusion, or hurt. Then again, you were always a better actor than him. He wasn't the same sweet mentor back in the games.

He knew it was over for him when you ran into that room with guns. He blocked you off from the others, the yelling being muffled by the band and loud crowd outside. He knew there was no going back when he grabbed that gun and shot Mayfair. The way you stared back at him in horror, it was over. Trust me, trust me, trust me.

The Coriolanus you had met those two months ago wasn't the cold man standing in front of you. He didn't seem the lying kind back then. Now, you felt his paranoia, his anger, his crave.

Sejanus sobbed in the back of the room but all he could hear was your hyperventilating. His hand going to caress your face but you pulled from his touch.

You ran home that night, Billy and Mayfair bleeding out in that room. Fearing you were next. You clutched your blankets, sobbing into your pillow. You weren't surprised when the town was called to the hanging tree the next morning.

You stood in the crowd, waiting for your own name. Coriolanus stood up front with the rest of the peacekeepers, except Sejanus. You looked around for him until you saw other peacekeepers drag him up to the platform. Jabberjays repeating his screams for him and the recording that got him hung. The sound of Coriolanus' voice on the other end. Bobbin, Mayfair, Sejanus. You knew you were next, whether it be at his hands or the tree.

You ran from the hanging tree that morning, into a dark alley to catch your breath. You didn't know he had followed you until you turned around and saw him.

"You alright?" He asked, trying not to raise your suspicions or scare you. His hand reaches for yours but you pull it away quickly. "You don't trust me."

"I do."

"You don't" He growled, cornering you against the wall. You watched as his adams apple bobbed. His fingers wrapping around your wrist. "Don't lie."

"I wouldn't lie to you Coriolanus--" He cut you off with a hard kiss. It was different than before. It was aggressive, dominating. He was swallowing you words, trying to deter you from your suspicions.

"Are you going to leave me?" He pulls away, looking into your eyes that were holding back tears. He furrowed his eyebrows waiting for you to catch your breath and answer him.

"Why would I?"

"You were. I know you were." He held your chin up, angling your face to look back up at him. "After everything I've done for you. I'm the reason you're alive right now."

"You can trust me, please." You begged, trying to get him to below you. His voice was loud, you wanted to beg him to quiet down. He knew better than that.

"What did I do?" He yelled and you looked around hoping no one heard. The dark alley was empty besides the two of you.

You hated the way his voice still made you clench your thighs. The way that if he begged you’d still let him take you against these brick walls.

"Nothing." You whined, trying to convince him. His girl bruising against your wrist. His face was inches from yours.

"You were going to turn me in." He spat, accusing you. If he wanted to, you could be dead just like Mayfair, Bobbin or Sejanus.

"I wasn't!" You tugged your wrist out of his grip. Your words come out in a whine. You weren’t leaving this alley alive. You caressed his cheek with your hand, knowing he would fall for your lies. He has been the whole time. "I love you."

He was taken aback, backing up a bit from you. You walked forward after him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Let me show you that." You mumbled before softly kissing him, staring into his eyes innocently. You kissed his jaw, fingers hooking around his pant loops praying his didn't notice your shaking hands.

He groaned, his hand threading in your hair. He pulled you into another deep kiss. A kiss of relief, that he believed you. He felt hot against your touch.

You two had touched before, in the cabin by the lake when he'd dry you off. When they'd lay in the field or when he'd pull you back stage. He's explored your body with his hands, partially. Never being the one to purge your true innocence.

He didn't expect her to fall to your knees in front him. The dirty bricks probably leaving marks and bruises.

He almost went to stop her when you unbuttoned his pants. The sound of his pants unzipping as you looked back up at him.

“Can I?” She whispered, even though you knew nobody came near this part of town. You felt him rub the back of your head, your hair getting tangled in his fingers.

“Yes, yes.” He nodded, pulling your hair back a bit to look him in the eyes. Your hands pulled down his pants and boxers just enough for his hard length to fall out. You looked up at him and he nodded. He was longer than you had expected, his pre-cum pooling at his pink tip.

Your tongue kitten licked his tip, the warmth of it making him groan. The tip of your tongue running along the underside of his cock.

“Don’t tease.” He groaned, pulling your head back to look at him. He pushed you back down, forcing his cock past your lips.

You took him as far into your mouth as you could, grabbing at his pants to stabilize herself. His hips thrusted, his tip hitting the back of your throat making you gag around him.

“So warm— fuck, and wet.” He pushed your head down in his cock. You sputtered around his length, saliva spilling down his cock. “Fuck, take it.”

Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes. You scratching at his hip bone as he fucked your throat. You breathed out your nose, fighting back your gags. He let go of his head, you pulled off his cock gasping for air. You wrapped her hand around his cock, sucking his tip back into your mouth.

“M’gonna cum.” He whimpered, you heard it even if he tried to hide it with a groan. The way you hollowed your cheeks as you bobbed your head allowing him to cum down your throat.

You closed your eyes, tears now straining your cheeks. You heard him mutter at you to swallow so you did. Swallow his hot cum down your bruised throat.

“Good girl.” He stroked your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I trust you.”

masterlist

[cece693]

My Wolf (Dark Jacob Black x M! Vamp Reader)

This was a request, and I would post the original, but it would reveal the plot twist.

Summary: Jacob killed the Cullens for you—being rejected by the boy he loved—what else would he do? But was he really the one who orchestrated all this?

tags: dark Jacob, death, plot twist, reader isn't what they seem, Cullens bashing

Becoming a vampire was supposed to be a new beginning—a chance to stand alongside Bella and the Cullens, to be part of something greater than yourself. At first, it was everything you imagined: strength, speed, and the comfort of a family who understood what it meant to be different. But there were darker sides to this new life that no one had warned you about—the endless thirst, the gnawing emptiness that came with immortality. Still, you tried to adapt, to embrace the life you had chosen.

But then there was Jacob.

What began as harmless infatuation soon morphed into something darker, more twisted. He followed you everywhere, his presence an unsettling shadow that grew more oppressive with time. He couldn’t accept what you had become, and his feelings turned into something far more dangerous. You found yourself trapped between his growing obsession and your own struggle to adjust to this new existence.

When Jacob finally confessed his feelings, you tried to let him down gently, explaining that there could never be anything between you. But your rejection only fueled his rage. His eyes darkened, his body trembling with barely contained fury, and in that moment, you knew you had lost him.

He was no longer the boy you once knew; he was a beast unleashed.

Emmett was the first to fall, his strength no match for the fury of a heartbroken werewolf. Rosalie followed, her beauty marred by the brutal force of his claws. Alice and Jasper were next, their bond shattered like glass beneath his relentless assault.

And then there was Bella.

You stood there, motionless, as Jacob’s fury turned on her. Your sister—your blood—reduced to nothing but a casualty of a war she never saw coming. But as she lay broken, her eyes searching yours for some comfort in her final moments, you offered none.

Because deep down, this was what you had wanted. You had orchestrated it all.

Jacob was nothing but a tool, a means to an end. You had played on his obsession, his unwavering need to protect, to love, and twisted it into something monstrous. You had whispered words of rejection, knowing it would push him over the edge, knowing he would seek revenge in the only way he knew how.

And as the Cullens fell, you felt nothing. No remorse, no regret. Only a cold satisfaction that finally, after all the lies and deception, they were paying for what they had done to you. For turning you into this…monster.

When Jacob looked at you after Bella succumbed, you let out a tiny smirk. Even in his madness, he knew you were the one who had set him free. And so, you kept him around. Not out of love, not even out of gratitude, but because he was yours now. A weapon you could wield as you saw fit. As long as he behaved.

The Cullens had tricked you, but you had outwitted them all. And now, in the ashes of their downfall, you stood as the victor.

[libertyybellls]

ONE FOR THE ROAD !

pairing; mentor!finnick x victor!reader

summary; you’ve been finnicks since the moment you met, after your interviews you break- who can fix you better than him?

contains; ANGST/FLUFF, two idiots in love, typical thg themes- i’m sure by now you know what i mean ;(

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

finnick watched you from behind the curtains of the stage, somewhere in a hallway with your face on the screen infront of you. watching you with your hand over your heart as you gushed about your faux-greatfulness to the capitol.

he watched your face drop as all of your kills were flashed onto the large screen, he watched the squint in your eyes, the way your brows furrowed, the way your jaw clenched. he pleaded now to you, through his mind- bury the hatchet sweet girl, don’t fall apart, you’ve made it this far.

his fingers were crossed his foot tapping anxiously until the milisecond your interview concluded.

your stylists crowded around the hallway, waiting to applaud you on how good you were- but finnick knew you better than anyone, he kept his distance.

your presence came with fury, tearing off your ridiculous headpiece- it falling to the ground in pieces with seconds. each step you took seemed to get angrier. your stylists behind you with a hand on their chest. something their dull minds couldn’t understand, how could she be so angry when it’s over with?

when you turned the corner and he saw you, when he saw the darkness in your eyes clouding your every move. desperate to be alone, to rot away- he twisted you around and into him.

you fought against him- struggling to release yourself from his hold. finnick only pulled you closer to him, with a tighter hold. “it’s okay, you’re okay.” he hushed into your ear, your arms softened. they found a home around his neck while your head hid away in his neck.

“no,” you only shook your head. how could he lie to you when you’re like this? “it’s not, it’s not fucking fair.”

he understand, if anyone- he understands. “i’m still me, you’re still you.” he said that and he wanted to believe it, wanted it to be true. thought maybe the cards would fall into the right lineup for him- to all be in his favor, but when had they ever been?

“no im not.” you didn’t believe him, and he couldn’t believe himself- maybe the two of you could build a city of lies in your heads.

you wanted to tell him what a monster you were, how awful you were-but he had to have already known .

he’d watched you be the most deceitful creature in the game, the most twisted, two fast creature. you’re sure he knew.

“yes you are princess, i know it’s bad but you’re safe, you’re with me.” finnicks voice always had this perfect serene pitch, even when you didn’t mean to- in a world of voices it would be the only thing you could focus on.

the tears cascaded down your face, black mascara indefinetly staining his white sweater.

he would never admit this out loud, it almost ate him up inside thinking it- and he would beat himself up for it for as long as he lived, but you were not the same- you never would be. but he could love you in any way you came.

you weren’t the same girl who would collect the seashells that reminded you of him and run up to his door with a basket full of them- you would never be the same girl who’s eyes would sparkle at the smallest conversation between you, him, and mags in her living room on a summer night. the same girl who’d laugh so hard that your stomach ached and you’d slap his shoulder.

you weren’t the same girl. and he knew that the moment your knife went for your allies neck, the way you screamed when the last cannon went off.

and you’d never say it, but you thought of him. every time someone would charge at you- desperate to hear the cannon. you thought about how all you needed to do was run home into his arm and scream at him for not letting you love him sooner.

and now, now he needed to think of you. think of your loving touch- your pure heart and the sound of your overjoyed laugh when he’d hug you too tight- or catch you off guard with a joke. he needed to think about brining all this anger- this hate, this disgust and guilt out of you- for he’d rather take it all on himself than watch it eat at you.

so he would hold you close when you woke up screaming, bathe you when your body was too tired to hold itself up, whisper sweetheart nothings into your ear as he cradles you back into a deep slumber.

-

a/n; very short, just wanted to get a lil angst out for u guys ;))

masterlist

INBOX OPEN!!

[ceirinen]

December 2023

I decided to make a list of every fic I read each month.

I would like to interact more, but life has been complicated recently and when it comes to interacting, I get very anxious which is something I'm trying to overcome.

So, here I made this to appreciate such amazing writers and stories that inspire me and others everyday. To the authors, I want to thank them for their dedication and time spent on writing to offer us fascinating stories.

I totally recommend their work.

(If you are in this list and you don't want to, please let me know so I can fix it).

@cillianmesoftlyyy

So New | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader Method Acting | young!Cillian Murphy x Reader

@runnning-outof-time

Research | Tommy Shelby x Reader Bedtime Stories | Tommy Shelby x Reader & Daughter

@zablife

teacher!Luca Changretta x Reader Funeral | Tommy Shelby x sister!reader A Visit to the Peaky Blinders Set | Cillian Murphy x wife!reader

@gypsy-girl-08

Festive Spirit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader All I Need... | modern!Thomas Shelby x Reader A Gentle Warning | Thomas Shelby x wife!Reader

@pacifymebby

Arthur Shelby x Reader

@fkmarrycill

Pre-Gaming | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@holacia3

Lost and Lucky | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader Surprise visit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

@beastofburdenxo

Let Me Praise You | Tommy Shelby x Reader Raising Catherine | Tommy Shelby x Reader

@look-at-the-soul

If I let you go | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@your-nanas-house

What does my princess want? | sugar daddy!Cillian Murphy x sugar baby!reader I'm pretty sure you're mine | sub!William Killick x dom!fem!Reader What are we, idiot? | Neil Lewis x best friend!Reader Thirsty | Tommy Shelby x secretary!Reader

@raincoffeeandfandoms

To the end of the world | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Tommy, the teddy bear | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Emergency surgery | baby!Tommy Shelby Fanfiction | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Anon | Alfie Solomons

@lis-likes-fics

Loner | Edward Cullen x Reader At the End of the Day | Tommy Shelby x wife!Reader

@rafeology

Mentor!Finnick Odair x victor!reader

@wife-of-all-dilfs

Flower Therapy | Finnick Odair x Reader

@darlingsfandom

Cillian Murphy x Reader Tommy Shelby x artist!reader Soft sugar daddy | Robert Fischer x Reader

@pinguwrites

Home Is Where the Heart Is | William Killick x future!reader

@http-finnick

Skin to skin | Finnick Odair x fem!insomniac!reader

@acewritesfics

Lost Love | Tommy Shelby x Reader 36 Minutes | modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

@dearshelby

Had you first | Tommy Shelby x Reader Little Tommy | Thomas Shelby x oc

@lau219

Red Carpet | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@peakyswritings

I Do Bad Things | demon!Tommy x Reader

@shelbystales

Ceramic Lessons | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@darthannie

Day eighteen: breeding kink with Lenny Miller | Lenny Miller x f!Reader

@hllywdwhre

Afterglow | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@red-write-hand

I'll be home for Christmas | Thomas Shelby x Reader

@mysaintkitten

Bad Behaviour | Mike Kiernan x fem!Reader

@notyour-valentine

The Spirits that I summoned | young!Tommy Shelby

@brummiereader

No Son Of Mine | Tommy Shelby

@youbyradiohead

Strawberry Syrup | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillianthinker

British accent | Cillian Murphy x Reader Young and in love | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillspropertea

Coming home | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillmequick

Operation Christmas Tree | modern!Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

[toothfa-1-ry]

METAMORPHOSIS -finnick odair

The capital has a way of messing up with your head. Finnick saw it happen to him, he saw it happen to Peeta and worst of all, he had to see it happen to you too

GENRE: Angst

PAIRING: Finnick Odair x gn reader,

WARNING: PTSD, mental illness and abuse, suicidal thoughts, self harm on Finnick's part, reader want through a lot of psychological abuse and physical abuse, Finnick has panic attacks basically very hunger games coated abuses

A/N: back in for a hot minute with the new release of a the ballad of songbirds and snakes! I seem to be pulled back into the hunger games lol however since it's been a pretty long time since I've read or watch the movies this fic is probably not going to be accurate at all! Also I have no idea how to end this fic so I just did it in a hurry. I don't rlly like how it came out but oh well!

You weren't supposed to get taken away

You weren't supposed to fall back down behind, you weren't supposed to be left behind while Finnick was distracted talking to Katniss.

Finnick wasn't supposed to leave you behind, he was supposed to stay by your side just like he promised. He wasn't supposed to let you be taken away and yet your there stuck in the capitol while he lies with wounds all over his body in the 13 district

It should have been him, he thinks, that maybe if he had switch places with you in that moment, that he was right next to you instead of ahead of you, that he would pulled you towards him, maybe..maybe you would be there next to him.

Maybe you would be lieing next to him, perhaps is bruises and wounds as bad as his but atleast the both of you would be safe in each others arms.

Finnick knows that he should get out of his room. The plain cold room with grey walls seem to surround him on all four sides and yet his grief seems to swallow him as a whole

The ringing sound in his ears continue relentlessly and the tremble in his hands refuse to go. He'd find himself picking his scabbed scars and almost healed wounds and waking up in the dead of night screaming. He finds himself scarring his once golden skin which now seemed rusted with red and all of his old wounds once which was kissed by you being reopened at the dead of night.

He screamed screamed for you, every night and even while he was awake he seemed to be mumbling your name over and over again under his breath. As if believing that if he did so that maybe you'd appear infront of him and tell him it's just a bad dream

Sometimes he'd be forced out of his room, sometimes it's by Haymitch or some other person. He couldn't care less, however he was also a beacon of hope for the people maybe not flaming as bright as Katniss the girl on fire but rather hope like the beach waves hitting the shore

But you were different. You were a different kind of hope, not burning bright and flaming with fumes like Katniss or calm and majestic in all its glory like Finnick but you were like moon.

Hope like the moon in the dark night sky guiding travelers for the past million centuries, sailors, prophets and even kings and helping them find way back to their homes, to their solace. You were the light in the dark, a elegant beam of radiance showing way even to a poor man.

You were Finnick's light. The only thing that helped him see, the only time he felt truly like himself not like the capitols charming prince, or the victor from the 4th district but rather just like plain Finnick. The boy who had golden tan skin, hair dry with salty sea water, the boy who smelled like the sea ans the boy he once was before the capitol got a hold of him.

Like the moon's reflection on the ocean bed in the calm, you were a beam of radiance to him that helped him sleep in night, safe and sound..and loved.

He misses you more than he remembered you. And it scared Finnick.

Being forced out was now a usual thing for Finnick. Being forced to sit in a cafeteria with a plate of food which would go cold and remain uneaten.

He usually stayed alone still away from the others which was unlike him but his mind would be plagued with the last look you gave him, his ears repeating your mortifying scream

Sometimes he'd talk to Katniss. She understood him, after all her Peeta was taken away to just you were taken away. Both Finnick and Katniss blamed themselves more than they should have,

He thinks, at first that he is a little envious of Katniss and the way she looks strong. She holds herself in a way he doesn't. He thinks, how does she do it? How does Katniss remain like a fire burning torch when Peeta the person she adores the most is gone like how you were

But then he hears a familiar voice, he sees a all too familiar face across the tv screen and he is immediately filled with desperation and dread. He looks at Peeta's stoic and unmoving face on the tv screen and he feels the tremble beginning in his hands again.

The capitol couldn't have..could they? They wouldn't have- they couldn't have done it. They didn't kill Peeta but..they seemed to have done something even worser

Finnick's thoughts are left troubled when it was disturbed a loud sound of a metallic plate dropping and a cry of despair

He sees Katniss, her tears and the way her hands fly towards her mouth and try to cover her cry.

Thats when he notices the bags under her eyes and the cuts on her hand. He notices the way her heart sank just like his did and he notices the way Katniss called out Peeta's name. He remembers the way she held him in the games and the way she begged him to live

He thinks, maybe they aren't so different at all.

"he's alive..he's alive" Katniss whispers under her breath and Finnick's holds his, his eyes scan the tv screen scanning for your face whi- and he sees it.

Your face in the background, your hair combed and slicked backed tightly into a bun. Your faced filled with white powdery makeup making you look almost as if you were a corpse. Your eyes seemed scarily full and your lips dry.

But you weren't dead, but you didn't really seem alive either.

The fact that you were alive had a unsettling feeling in Finnick but right now he couldn't care, you were alive and breathing

"y/n" Finnick breaths out as he runs towards the screen with no hesitation. His mind is no longer on Katniss or Peeta or the capitol but at you and your face.

His trembling fingers slowly trace your face as he cries your name out repeatedly, he isn't listening to what Peeta is saying or all the commotion in the back

Your alive.

"they're back! Peeta, Johanna and y/n they- they're back"

Finnick runs faster than he has ever done in his entire life.

Faster than he did in the hunger games or faster than he did from the capitol people after they were done with their business with him in their bedrooms.

He throws down whatever he was holding in his hands, leaves whatever thought was occupying his head and runs faster than he ever did

He doesn't care about whether he hit someone or if he was making too much noise. He cried your name out as he ran calling you, searching for you before opening the door with a bang, his eyes red with tears and trembling body.

He sees you in a wheelchair lying lifelessly in the the chair which held your body.

He doesn't notice the way everyone else in the room looks at him, Haymitch, the doctors or nurses or even Johanna who was sitting in a similar wheelchair a few metres away from you. They way they all immediately stood up straight and their body tense, the way their faces were looking at him with pity

Finnick feels as if though he had stopped breathing, every single bone in his body moves automatically. The tears stream across his golden skin as his hands itch to touch you

All he needs is you. All he needs is your touch, your warmth

He runs towards you unaware of the way you tensed up when you saw him, he shouts your name as his hands stretch out to finally hold you, he begs for forgiveness again and again but finds you shaking instead

"Finnick don't go near her- wait Finnick don't" Beetee's immediate warning fails when you start thrashing against Finnick's touch

"y/n?- y/n my love? What's wrong?" Finnick panics as he tries to calm you down as you shout and scream

Just a few seconds ago you were silent and unmoving refusing to speak but here you were with Finnick, screaming and crying trying to get away from him like he was a monster

"my love please-" Finnick begs as his hands touches your face, the panic in his voice and the tears unhidden from anyone. The despair and regret dripping from his words and unhelpful touches which seem to drive you insane even more

"away! Get away from me! I- get away! away!" You try to push Finnick away but your not that strong. You seem to be repeating the same things again and again but you shake your head and scream even louder than before

"Finnick let go of her- don't Finnick!" Finnick's hears the others shouting at him but he can't let you go, not when you don't even recognise him

"it's me- it's me y/n. It's Finnick your sweetheart" his voice cracks at the nickname you gave him, his eyes search for a second of recognition or even love but your eyes are filled with terror and fear

"y/n it's me! I'm here now! I'm sorry I'm never going to let you go- please y/n..it's me" he begs and pleads you but you don't stop resisting against him even going lengths of hitting him with your hands helplessly

"Finnick let go!" Finnick hears Haymitch shout as he pulls him away from you "she isn't the same y/n you know- the capitol played with her mind"

Finnick feels his entire world go cold, his skin gone numb and his brain feels all muddy. There's a dark deep sinking feeling in his gut as he watches you look at him in complete fear, crawling away from him and into the corner of the room hugging yourself

Finnick takes a few steps towards you but is fiercely pushed away by a agitated Johanna "get the fuck away from her Finnick!"

Johanna glares at Finnick alongside with everyone in the room before she runs to the corner you were sobbing in and cradles you in her arms muttering "don't touch us, don't touch us" again and again.

"what- what do you mean? What's going on?" He turns and looks at the faces in the roomwhich was responded with a nervous glance. Finnick feels his blood boil and his anger consume him

"I said what do you mean" he shouts "what the hell happened" his eyebrows furrowed as he watches Betee struggled to form sentences

"we- we don't know exactly what happened" Betee says as he motions towards you and Johanna who was rocking you in her arms, shooting everyone in the room dirty looks still repeating the same words

"but-"

"but what? what...what happened to my y/n why.. why does she seem afraid of me? Why is she scared-" His voice cracks before he began to sob uncontrollably "why?"

The room goes silent and all that could be heard was Finnick's sobs and yours alongside with Johanna's muttering.

Haymitch walks slowly to Finnick and holds him in the shoulder "I think..you should sit down somewhere while we talk about this" he says grimly as he turns around and gives looks at the rest of the people in the room to give them some space

Finnick's breathing is shallow as he listens to Betee. The more he listens the more he wishes that he were dead, that it was all fake. He wishes even more that it was him who was taken into the capitol and regret and anger fills him up

"the capitol obviously wasn't going to let it slide, I mean y/n she- she was the capital's sweetheart. She was one of their favourite victor and seeing her being a part of the uprising? Snow would have never let her or any of them for the fact go unscarred but, we never expected this much"

Betee continues in a whisper, he stops every 2 minutes and looks at Finnick to say something but Finnick would always remain silent and unmoving.

"Johanna she- she's developed this insane fear of water- she was drowned multiple times by the capital and Peeta he..he was also brainwashed. He has developed this insane hatred for Katniss."

"and y/n?" Finnick finally broke his silence "what did they do to her?" You could hear the desperation leaking from his voice, his voice at the verge of breaking

Betee seemed to be hesitant to say, often refusing to make eye contact with Finnick but he sighed and looked straight at him

"y/n was strapped. She was strapped into this machine and they kept on fiddling with her memories. She couldn't differentiate with what was real and what wasnt. They inserted this entire new plot into her head which she now believes some parts of it to be true"

Finnick breathing stopped, a chill ran down his spine as he internally begged that it was not what he was thinking of

Betee looks up to Finnick with sadness and guilt painted in his eyes, he didn't want to break it to Finnick this way. He knew how much it would hurt him

"Finnick" Haymitch says instead, choosing to be the one to break the news to Finnick "y/n, she's scared of you. Just like how Peeta has developed hate for Katniss, y/n has developed fear towards you."

A all too familiar feeling came over Finnick. He was where he was in the beginning. He was nothing but a monster, a killer, a damaged product before you came along and showed him a new path but he had to ruin everything. He had to break you too, he had to ruin you too, it was all his fault

Panic engulfed Finnick as it hit his very core, today was the day he got you back and yet today was also the day he seemed to have forever lost you

"but-" he trembles as he talks "but why- what did they show her? What did I do to her" his breathing becomes fast

"it's not your fault" Haymitch says as Betee nods his head "we're trying to figure that out right now"

"is it only me?" Finnick's blood shot eyes pierce Betee's "am I the only person she's scared of?"

"she's scared of everything and everyone except for Johanna. Johanna was the only one who was there to comfort her but Johanna herself isn't in the right mind right now either" Betee replies

"oh" Finnick's voice is empty and hollow, he doesn't want to ask the question but it seems inevitable "will she ever stop being scared of me?"

Finnick is scared of Betee's answer, his heart hammered agains his chest in panick "do you think..I can get her back?"

Betee purses his lips as he continues "it won't ever be the same Finnick. Y/n.. whatever they implanted in her head has been recognised as real to her now but if we keep on pressing on with the truth maybe" he looks hopefully at Finnick "maybe you could get a piece of her back, not fully but a fragment of her"

"I just..I just want her, I don't care if it's a piece of her or whatever. I just..I want her to be okay"

Betee just nods his head wordlessly as he watches Finnick break down. Right infront of him was probably the strongest person he ever knew, he watched him during his games, watched him become victor and knew everything he went through but he never saw Finnick this broken.

"I'm going to get her back" Finnick says "if that's the last thing I ever do I swear, she's going to be okay"