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applcrumbl · 6 months

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I see the way you look at her.

Pairings: Peeta Mellark X Reader Warnings: Y/N uses she/her pronouns, talk of cheating, talk of murder and death. Author’s Note: Y/N is kind of a dick in this but that’s so slay purr for her

Summary: Peeta returns to District 12 after the 74th Annual Hunger Games to a girlfriend who wants nothing to do with him.

The air in District 12 was thick with tension as the Reaping day unfolded, casting a shadow over the usually quiet town. The nervous energy in the square was palpable, each child from from age 12 to 18 lined up as though they were being put to death by firing squad. In a strange way, they were. Dressed in their finest garments, the kind that they would be proud to have on television, yet praying that their names were never called.

Y/N’s name was in the bowl 20 times this year. 15 as tesserae, for the grain and oil her family so dearly needed to survive, and the rest for the age she’d turned earlier that year. There were boys with twice as many in the other bowl. Her neighbour, Gale, at 18 years old, had his name in 42.

Yet, with only 5 slips of paper, Peeta Mellark was called. His eyes bore into hers as tears threatened to fall. She watched him hug Effie Trinket, clad in her Capitol Extravagance. Katniss Everdeen, the girl she’d played with since youth, stood with him.

Truthfully, she’d moved on from the shock that her lover was going to die quite quickly. He certainly was more likeable than the rest of the tributes, But there was not enough money in the entirety of District 12 to provide the sponsorships he would need to stay alive. Peeta was strong in build, but would never be able to hurt someone, let alone to the point of murder.

She sat with a group of girls in the square, watching Caesar Flickerman on the large screen.

"Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember.” Peeta says, “But I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was alive until the reaping."

Furrowed brow, she listened intently to his words. Who else would he be talking about, if not his own girlfriend? If not herself.

“She have another fellow?" asks Caesar.

“I don’t know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta.

Alice Walker, one of the girls who sat with Y/N, turns to look. “Thought you an’ him were going steady?”

“We are.” She replies—confusion as to why he was talking about her as though she were someone else.

She turns back to face the screen. Eyes trained on Peeta, looking the same as ever - only cleaner and in nicer clothes. He still wore the silver ring she’d bargained for at the market. His 15th birthday gift - She had put her name in the reaping another time to afford it.

“So, here’s what you do. You win, you go home. She can’t turn you down then, eh?"

“I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning...won’t help in my case," says Peeta.

“Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified.

"Because...because...she came here with me.”

From the moment of Peeta’s admission, she secretly hoped that he’d die in the games. As much as she wanted him to come back alive so that she could kill him herself, she also wanted nothing more than to see him suffer.

Everything she’d done for him. Everything she’d been put through for him. All for him to be in love with Katniss Everdeen. She stopped watching the games after that.

That didn’t mean she didn’t hear all about District 12’s star-crossed lovers and how they won the Hunger Games by means of their love. She stayed far away from the train station, and its once-dull platform, now adorned with makeshift decorations crafted from whatever materials the citizens could salvage. She stayed far away from his family’s bakery, and his shiny new home in Victor’s Village. She stayed far away from any place where the boy could find her. But, that did not mean that he did not try.

Katniss once spoke to her in the woods, explaining that it was all a rouse for the Capitol. Y/N only believed it because Gale had told her the same thing before. Katniss pleaded with her to speak to Peeta and allow him to explain. If not for her own sake, then for his. “I can’t even look at him Y/N. But he shouldn’t be alone right now”

She wondered how a victor of The Hunger Games could be so desperate for company.

It took a lot of her pride to walk to Victor’s Village that night. The air was crisp, and the stars overhead seemed to bear witness to the storm of emotions raging within her. Unable to quell the turmoil in her heart, she found herself standing outside Peeta’s home.

It was the first time that she’d seen him. A glimpse through the front window into the warmly lit kitchen. He was baking again, decorating a cake, much like he would have been before the games. Except now, he was thinner, his eyes more sunken, hands shaking as they pressed fruit into icing.

Taking a deep breath, she approached the door. Knocking gently, the sound echoed through the quiet night.

"Y/N," Peeta said, his voice soft with a hint of regret. "I didn't expect you."

She met his gaze, searching for answers. "We should talk."

He nodded, stepping aside to let her in. The air inside was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, a familiar comfort that felt oddly out of place given the current circumstances.

They settled in the living room. The fire roared, illuminating the large room in an orange glow. The walls of the ground floor were taller than the height of her entire house. And one of the multiple sofa suites was bigger than the bed her brother slept on. There was more luxury in a singular room than in any 5 buildings in the seam.

She sat, conscious of the room she was taking up. It felt like she would be whipped for even being near. Peeta sat more comfortably, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread. The girl took a deep breath, ”How are you?”

“Where have you been?” Peeta interrupts, “I’ve been looking for you since I returned.”

“Can you blame me?”

Peeta hesitates a moment. “No.” He admits, hands wringing together, “It was for show, Y/N. For the cameras and the Capitol.”

A curt nod. Her expression remained stoic as she processed Peeta's words. The room felt heavy with unspoken tension, the crackling fire doing little to dispel the cold atmosphere that had settled between them.

"For show," she repeated, her voice flat. "So, all of it—the love, the sacrifice, the pain—it was all just a performance?"

Peeta looked pained, his eyes desperately searching for understanding in hers. "Yes, entirely. Katniss and I, we played along to survive. It was the only way."

“It was not the only way.”

“I never wanted it to be like this.”

“You could’ve fought. You could have-”

“I couldn’t kill her. And I couldn’t watch her die.” Peeta interrupts.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “But you could lead the careers right to her.” She deadpans, “And you did do that, by the way”

His shoulders slumped, guilt written across his face. "I never wanted it to be like this. I wanted us both to make it out alive. But they wanted a love story, and we had to give it to them."

“You don't get it, Peeta. You don't get what it's like to watch the person you love be in love with someone else, pretend or not.” Y/N shook her head, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "It was so embarrassing to hear about your 'epic love story' broadcast to the entire nation. Have people question me every single day about what happened between us.”

Peeta scoffs, standing up from his seat and pacing to the far corner of the living room. His hand rubbing his face, he forces out a laugh at her words.

“You had some uncomfortable questions forced your way, Y/N” He starts, “I was reaped for The Hunger Games. They are not the same.”

The room falls silent, save for the roar of the fire and the gentle hum of the lights.

“I did what I did, not to stay alive.”Peeta admits, “I couldn’t care less if I died in there, My family wouldn’t either-”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. But that’s not my point.” He breathes, “I needed to stay alive so that I could come back to you.”

Y/N remained seated, her eyes fixed on Peeta as he spoke. He turned to face her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I needed to survive, not for the Capitol, not for the cameras, but for us. I wanted to come back to District 12, to you.”

She couldn't deny the sincerity in his voice, but the wounds ran deep. Having spent the latter half of the last 5 months hating his guts, she couldn’t forgive him easily. Hearing that he’d done it for her only made her feelings more scrambled.

"Love is more than a performance, Peeta. It's more than a show for the Capitol.”

He took a step closer, his expression filled with regret. "I thought we had a better chance of making it out together than I ever would have alone.”

“But now you’re in it for life. After your victory tour, do you seriously just expect that you’ll be able to just ‘break up’? People who have suffered together like the pair of you have, don’t just call it quits.”

“We’ll figure it out, I just need time.”

Y/N leans back in her chair, eyes still trained on the broken boy before her. She tears them away to try and stop the tears that threaten to fall. “I saw the way you looked at her.” She admits. “I understand that you went through a lot together, but- But, you never looked at me like that.”

Peeta's eyes, full of remorse, met hers. He reached out, as if to touch her hand, but hesitated, fingers hovering in the air.

"I never meant to hurt you," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "But in that arena, survival seemed like the only option. It was never about choosing her over you."

He lowered his hand. "I know I messed up. I can't change the past, but I want to make things right, Y/N. I want a chance to prove that I can be the person you need."

She shook her head, a mixture of frustration and sadness in her eyes. “I think you need time to figure it out by yourself, Peeta”

"Give me time," he pleaded. "But give me time to figure it out with you.”

The room hung heavy with silence, the fire that danced in the hearth was slowly dying. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, as Y/N distanced herself from him, each footstep on the plush carpet seemed to amplify the quiet.

“I should go,” she says.

“Please don’t.” He begs.

Y/N hesitated, her hand resting on the doorknob. She wanted to turn around, to look into Peeta's eyes and find a glimmer of the person she had once loved. Yet, the fear of more disappointment held her back.

"I need time, Peeta," she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, “We both need time. Alone.”

Peeta remained silent, watching her silhouette against the doorway, his expression a portrait of heartache. He wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap, but he didn’t.

“If you love someone, let them go.” He whispers, allowing her to open the door and walk down the snow-covered stairs. The hinges closed with a soft thud, and Peeta was left alone.

#applcrumbl #writing #the hunger games #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark angst #angst #peeta mellark smut

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cherrsnut · 4 months

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Hostage - Chapter 2

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 4.5k

Previous // Next

Chapter 2

The television was on. Very important Capitol hosts, by which Mr Flickerman was included, were wrapping up scenes of previous Hunger Games. Talking about their ‘favorite’ moments, arenas, and even victors.

You were sat on an armchair, your gaze fixated on the scene playing out. Two boys, fighting in a game of death. The hosts never mentioned their names, nor from which district they came, but the bloody moment when that year’s victor was messily cutting the other’s throat paralyzed you. The cut was done from an odd angle, and you murmured a curse when you saw the adrenaline of survival almost decapitate his victim. You cringed your nose and eyebrows, and with your surgical knowledge, you could bet your finger that, that Tribute could have been killed in a cleaner, faster, and more painless way.

You didn’t notice just how your air had been trapped against your throat. So when you released it, your chest felt emptier and cleaner from the bloody mess the hosts were laughing and joking about.

“Ok so, we need to prepare for the Games” Scarlett, the pinkish escort of District 4 appeared from behind you two, grabbing the remote and turning off the screen. Two more people trailed behind her, an older woman with uncontrollable silver curly locks, and a man all too familiar, especially to the civilians of District 4.

“But first things first. Let me introduce you to your mentors. This is Mags” Scarlett pointed at the short elder impatiently. Mags simply smiled brightly at the two of us. “You needn’t me to tell you, I know you already know. But still, I introduce you to Finnick Odair” To this Finnick turned up a smug smile with a silent chuckle rumbling just beneath his Adam’s apple.

Sacreltt went to sit at the crown of the large table. She was impatient and too upbeat, just like a kid waiting in line to ride a rollercoaster for the first time, it sickened you. You went to grab a chair, not before giving another glance at the victor from your District from two years ago. His bronze hair shined with the sun that started to set through the transparent clear window.

Scarlett called for tea to the nearest Avox girl. Specifying for English tea, with exactly two spoonfuls of brown sugar, and for the drink to be scalding hot. Then she grinned and looked at you and Vito again.

“Alright, babes. First things first, tell us about yourselves” Scarlett slightly tilted her head to the side. You noticed just how her makeup was still intact. It was rather simple compared to the other Capitol civilians you had seen. A pink tint with a golden shine added onto her lips, with an eyeshadow of the same hue. A purple eyeliner, as a means to contrast colors, curved around her eyes with the added cat tail coming off the corner of her eye.

You and Vito looked at yourselves, wondering just who to start with. Vito was the first to speak.

“Well, my name is Vito.” he seemed nervous, or perhaps he wasn’t prepared for the question.

“I work with my dad on my family’s prawn farm” he looked up at shyly Scarlett, and you had to focus on not getting distracted by how he nervously peeled onto the skin next to his fingernail.

“My dad, he trained me to be here…” Vito suddenly declared. Leaving you speechless, and questioning as to why he kept it hidden for so many hours. This changed many things for this year’s Hunger Games. And maybe, District 4 would claim another victor this year.

Scarlett’s eyes sparked up in excitement, and she clapped twice without realizing it. You were glad she was at least, happy about one of the Tributes since it's not like you could offer much more.

Finnick eyed Vito for a second before asking. “Your dad trained you?” a passing curiosity crossed his eyes almost playfully. Just then you could truly take in the treasure of a man he was. Sitting across from you, you could see his facial features quite well.

The tan of his skin perfectly complements his blonde hair. The way his cheekbones were so prominent it highlighted his eyes if that was even possible when his eyes were so green and lively like nature itself planted a seed, and a forest grew in the summer breeze inside. And still, it almost seemed hypnotizing just how you wanted to trace your fingers across his cheek, then down to his thin lips that were stuffed with the beautiful color of candied pink. His clean-shaven face revealed the otherwise cute face he had. Not hard looking or intimidating, but soft, and just like his eyes. He reminded you of the summer under the silhouettes of maple trees, of warmth and refreshing sunlight.

“Correct. He used to tell me about how he used to train, and how he wished to have gone to the Hunger Games. I guess he wanted me to live his dream” Vito explained, a perplexed look on your face very much visible to the rest of the people present.

He didn’t add anything else, and you forced a few blinks to take in what he said and try to comprehend as much as you could. Your eyes left to stare off into the wall for barely three seconds, with the only conclusion that some people didn’t deserve to have kids.

“What about you, birdie? Who are you?’” Scarlett spoke in a more reasonable calmer tone than before. But you still struggled to understand the people you are sharing a room with. None of them seemed to be the least concerned about what Vito just said.

You were more lenient with the victors, especially Mags. You supposed it wasn’t great seeing so many Tributes you mentored, just to be brutally assassinated in the arena, and you supposed she’d already seen her fair share of wild parents stories, all with with questionable parenting skills. And Finnick probably was still succumbed to what he had to go through two years ago.

But why was Scarlett so nonchalant about it? It was rather bitter having her in your surroundings at almost all the time. It wasn’t exactly that she was completely indifferent, but she was excited to see one of the most God awful things in the world, laughing along to the cruelty that many children were subjected to, an you would soon join into that statistic.

However, you knew you had to get used to her behaviour sooner or later. Even when everything seemed so nauseating, and you knew it was bad when you could taste the bile coming up for your throat. God, you hated this.

So you ignored your sentiments and carried on. Because now taking pity on the way he was raised was not the right moment. Not when the both of you had been thrown into the same deadly game, when anyone’s background means absolutely nothing to spare your life.

Even if you hate to admit it, Scarlett was right, we need to trace a plan, and we only have a day to take a look over every card we were setting on the table.

“Well…” You started. “You probably already know this, by my name is Y/N L/N. I’m fifteen and I’m a doctor” You took a sneaky look over Scarlett, seeing her energetic face come back, and you retracted a bit. “Well, kind of. I work at a herbal shop. It's just a lot of fishermen get injured during the day, they normally come in when they need immediate care” you explained.

“Immediate care?” questioned the escort’s sparkling eyes. You internally sighed, you could already predict this was going to be a prolonged conversation. Over something that woudn’t be much of use once you’d be dropped off in the arena.

“Yeah.” you confirmed, but you furher continued. “For instance yesterday, a group came rushing to my shop because one of them had slipped and fallen on the deck, hitting his head in the process. They were logically concerned when he wouldn't wake up, even more so when a big bleeding cut appeared from his head” you recalled. If it meant this talk would help in any way, you give away the details of your former life. Still knowing there was barely a chance for you to survive, you still played along the planning game, even when you’d already convinced yourself of your eventual doom.

“That’s a pretty big injury, you can take care of that?” now it was Finnick speaking, his gorgeous face directed at you. It was something being in the presence of someone whose beauty was ethereal, but them speaking to you was a bigger milestone. Your heart thumped hard, and you cursed at yourself for just how embarrassing you were being. You took a mental note, one which consisted of berating yourself infront of the bathroom mirror. It was fine being attracted to someone; it was fine to walk by someone and to instantly be charmed by you. But all in its context, yours was exactly of that in a few remaining days of your death penalty would be finalized. You were going to die.

You supposed then you mind must’ve churned itself. You already accepted this fate. You might as well give yourself the privilege to internally comment about someone’s looks, you at least had that last bit of freedom to do that, right?

“Of course. I also can take a look for infected wounds, just like finding antidotes to poisons. I especially like that one” You told him with a small smile appearing. Oh god, that smile. Right there and then was the evidence of his popularity in the Capitol.

You had to bite your tongue before any of your senseless thoughts spilled all over the table for everyone to hear your most inner provoking thoughts.

Then again silence to your gratitude. The only sounds of the railing echoing against the bullet train. You went to look over at Mags, and noticed just how quiet she was throughout the whole planning, and you supposed she fitted into a more calming human prototype, one where her peacefulness enhanced her rather ‘listener rather than a speaker’ personality type.

She realized your gaze on her, and she returned it with a small smile. With a continuous electric reaction that zip zapped it ways until it reached her gliting eyes.

That warmth her embraced you in stuck with you, and you coudn’t help but find her especially so meltingly cute. All the wrinkles were in full display, and it taught you that even after decades of experience, and traumatizing memories of setting foot in the arena, you could still smile just enough that Heaven’s doors would open up for you without further doubt of your light as feather soul.

But even in her gentle smile, and pure eyes, so pure it was easily to compare of that a riverbank flowing down a green mountain. There was still something behind her skull, a lurking darkness swimming in bitter water.

“I think I know why you look so familiar” Finnick changed to a new topic of conversation. He looked at you pointedly, scanning your every pore and mole hidden along your skin. And he nodded once he made up his mind, a sly smirk coming up to his lips. This had to be illegal.

It wasn’t fair just how easily it made you so jumpy, and you hoped and begged to whatever entity, whatever you were feeling wasn’t reflected on the mirror of your body.

“I’m pretty sure you bandaged me up once, I remember going to an herbal store when I was younger when I cut myself with a fishhook,” he said. His smile should absolutely be prohibited for being under some sort of national scale threat, because the way his eyes landed on yours with that slow creeping smile made your heart trip hard… several times. But then you had to keep reminding yourself. Stop. Being. Weird.

You needed to think straight, freezing your heart and mind. If you could you’d punch yourself, and open your eyes at what was at stake here. A few more slow breaths and you’d be able to consume yourself with reason, at least you tried to convince yourself of that. But it was hard, the screaming helplessness surrounding you like a heavy poisonous fog, choking and hurting you with the sole purpose to remind you it was just days away for you fight for your own survival; and then, Finnick was the whispering thoughts. He was the only thing taking you out from a self-absored battling arena, almost like a human stoned oasis. You never has spoken to him, at least not that you oculd recall, but if it meant a pretty stranger would be the one to distract your distressing thoughts, then so be it.

“How old were you though? Edna never let me touch her things until I was nine. Which quite frankly never stopped me from using it behind closed doors…” Finnick chuckled at that last comment. He was slowly removing the bitter taste left on my tongue with his sweet presence. But to you, it was beginning to be a little too much. Having his attention was considered a precious treasure in itself, and you weren’t blind as to why. The way he had some sort underlying flirt in his normal talk was starting to put you on edge. His very own voice was just like caramel that melted in your tongue, and there was no dial it tasted just like high-class pastries.

The very moment you realized that this was in his nature, you were able to calm down slightly. There was no point getting internally worked up when he didn’t mean anything further other than to make conversation. A sigh of relief escaped escaped your mouth.

“Is that so? I suppose it must have been Edna then…Edna was it?” he trailed off with a more relaxed smile. Yup, you were confident to state that his entire being was a nuclear weapon, and you should fear the day they’d try to put him in use, because you were sure all of Panem would be doomed.

It was increasingly becoming harder trying to talk to someone in a noirmal conversation with your running mind.

“Very much correct” You leaned back against your chair, to try and find a more comfortable spot. Vito gave an odd look at the exchange of words given between me and the victor, the very same you plasmated earlier. One of indecipherable shock, and you coudn’t blame Vito for the way he was feeling.

“I. Just. Had. The. Best. Idea” Scarlett stood up, she looked like she was talking to herself in her usual loud manner. Her abrupt pauses were very much loved and used in everyday form by the people in the Capitol, they simply loved that sweet exaggeration they coudn’t get over. “No one will see this coming,” she exclaimed in excitement, and unlike her she mumbled her words out. “Y/N, the Healer of our Capitol’s Darling” She made a movement with her hands, just as if displaying the front title from a big article, and every word that left her mouth, the more she fell in love with your marketing strategy she just came up.

“Well, actu-” you tried to put out a single sentence. But Scarlett’s ideas were much louder than the what hjappened in reality.

“If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes” She went to walk away, presumably to her room. So happily she was one step away from dancing around the salon car to her sleeping chamber.

You exhaled a sigh, not in the mood to refute Scarlett, so you let her go on with her planning.

“Well, as long as I gain sponsors, I suppose it’s alright for me then” you absentmindedly talked. You felt a yawn crawl out of your mouth, so you went to cover it while rolling your eyes to the window. You were pleasantly surprised to find the beautiful view of the night. The moon and the stars shone across the sea, painting an alluring picture over it.

“You tired? Maybe you should head back to sleep?” Vito’s voice is concerned. You looked at him, still in a slight trance from the yawn, and smiled briefly at him. “Don’t worry. I’m fine”.

Just then, the red clothing of the Avox came into view. She was carrying a ceramic tray, traced with golden line art. Placed on top, where the cute tea cup along with the teapot and and a differently designed cup for its special use of storing sugar cubes. You concluded the ceramic products were all bought as a designed set.

The large teapot had a trunk of that of the elephant you have only seen in adventure books targeted to children. You respected the artist’s innovative cheeky drawing on it. Many types of birds, which reminded you of the representation of the higher class of society, things like peacocks and cranes showing their beautiful feathers, all in the shimmering brushstroke gold. The five teacups followed suit with the same design.

Along with drinks though, the Avox seemed to bring an extra treat. Two layers of plates hung, and above were many pastries you’d never thought you’d be able to digest. Your eye had caught one shortcake specifically, one where the top was filled with freshly cut strawberries, glazed over with molten sugar, its provocative appearance rumbled your belly with eagerness.

Then after placing everything on the table, the Avox gave a knowing look and walked off with the tray, presumably to the kitchen, or perhaps to knock on Scarlett's room and give her the requested drink.

Your attention was back to the contents of the table. Not wanting to come off as rude, but very impatient to try them out. You looked over the people’s faces. Vito was reclined against the chair, a gloomy expression on his face, and you didn’t need to ask to know why.

So you stopped. And while your belly was moaning for that sugary treat, you ignored it. A sensation similar to guilt washed over your chest. You supposed you wished you felt like him, to be worried about the arena. He felt like he was being skinned by the tumultuous thoughts of his, and tlhough differently, you understood that emotinal pain. However, what set you and Vito apart was that since stepping your foot on the train, you had been accepting your impending death seantence.

Perhaps you hadn’t truly taken in the situation, maybe the idea you were going to fight in the arena was so disorienting, your psychology couldn’t fully comprehend it. It hadn’t connected the wires, and once you’d be face to face with the rest, you’d probably sink and drown in remorse for not taking this situation as you should have.

The sleepless nights you’ve been having since the first Reaping you attended left you wondering if you’d be trapped in this hunting competition. Maybe you exhausted your brain with so many different scenarios, that it had simply got used to the idea of your death.

Just maybe that’s why you took more importance of the delicious snacks you’d never imagined you’d taste, because this is more of a shock than the Games itself. And you could imagine for Vito, who has family and friends beside him, it was much harder to take in. Because for you, the only thing you were leaving behind were just physical, instead of Vito, which were the built relationships he created long his nlife. The memories, the feelings, and the what could’ve been in the future with their company.

You touched his shoulder, rubbed it slightly to get his attention. His dark-as-coal eyes roamed to yours, worried traces evident on the wrinkles he formed. He didn’t say much else, and he found himself being unable to utter a word, not knowing what to say. You gulped down nervously.

You didn’t quite know what to do in this type of situation. You normally would scurry off and cry alone, but that was because you were used to your lonely life. Edna was your only friend, even adopting as a grandma figure over the decade you had spent together. And even so, she wasn’t a very sentimental person, and you were unable to read off her emotions. Naturally, you eventually learned that side of her, and you kept repeating to yourself you didn’t need anyone to comfort you, that you were just fine to deal with yourself.

But for Vito it must be different, he grew up in with people surrounding him. When you climbed up the car that led you to the train, you were able to catch fragments of his family. His father was there along with his mother, a baby in her doting arms. Three little girls, all with the same hair color as Vito's, waved him goodbye, with tear-stricken eyes and red cheeks.

He always had someone to talk to when needed to share something, and even if he didn’t, he was used to the physical comfort you lacked.

He looked away, staring off to the nightly ocean. You forced yourself to be that source of comfort that his sister must have provided him, because his pitiful expression was simply just too much for you.

“I hope this isn’t strange-” you cut yourself. You got reminded of the way Philip comforted Emi earlier that day. And as he looked up to see what you meant, you got up from your chair and leaned against him. A quick peck over his creased eyebrow while you hand found stability from his jaw, your index finger pressed over his cheek. You never saw his look of surprise, and if you did it would probably make you turn back and awkwardly sit back down on your chair from embarrassment. But you didn't, so with your chin resting on his shoulders, you pushed him further into your embrace. Your arms wrapping around his waist.

You didn’t say anything, and you obligated your body to relax from the physical touch you had avoided for so many years, for his sake. Because Vito was the one who mattered right now, and not your foreign feeling.

You closed your eyes. Your arm brushing passed to hold the nape of his neck. “Everything will be alright” you whispered into his ear. Even though you were copying everything Philip said to his sister, you still meant every word from your beating heart.

He wrapped his arms around you, and in doing so he pressed himself more into your body, in an attempt to hide himself from the rest. His tanned hands went along to grab your shirt from your back. His breaths were becoming shakier, and in some instances you felt him hiccup into your shoulder, whilst also trying to control his ragged breathings. You drew circles around his back for more added comfort, tickling his back with the phantom touch of your fingers slowly flowing around the body of his back.

“You’ll be fine” you whispered again, brushing his ears with the warmth of your breath. You slightly removed yourself from him, finding more room to untangle yourself from him. You noticed how his grip on you had become stubbornly stronger. But you didn't mind. Not when you hand crawled up to his hair and cupped the back of it. Your fingers laced with his onyx hair. You faced him, giving him another peck of his cheekbone. And you found yourself with the salty only tears could make, no matter how salty the sea may be, you let his pure tears flow down your taste glands and welcomed it into your stomach.

He hadn’t cried much you realized, maybe just two tears, one for each eye. And while you brushed his head, you felt his breath deepen and exhale, trying to calm himself down as well.

You stood up, your fingers planting over his jaw and nape. Tilting his head upward to you. You could see the shine of his tear river going down to his cheek. A small smile, one you hoped to encouraging, all the while you dried his tears with your thumbs.

His eyes locked with yours, traces of humidity on his lashes as he looked up at you. A shining sclera evident with the way the light bulb reflected on his eyes.

“I’ll make sure of it. '' Your smile widens, showing just slightly your front teeth previously hidden by your lips of affection.

You traced a few messy hair strands behind his ear, and he leaned deeper into your hand’s touch. He suddenly got stuck to you. He missed the warmth your body provided him, how hidden from everyone he felt, and how it made him feel like a little child being protected from the world’s cruelty.

His head was pressed against your chest, and you only chuckled, a few tones lower than your usual voice. You pet his head, sliding from the crown of your head to his neck, just to put it back up, and repeat that move over and over again. You closed your eyes, and a closed-lipped smile appeared in your features, forgetting the upcoming Games. He needed you to be strong for him, and today, you’d protect him from whatever threat lurked behind the dark corners “I promise” you gave him an oath with the very intention to keep it.

The victors sat across from them looking at the two Tributes. Mags looked over at Finnick, and just repeated what you had just done, she placed her hand over his shoulder. She grabbed onto it tighter, her look reflected on his green eyes. Mags closed her lips and eyed him more intensely. Finnick’s frown was present, and he interlocked his eyes with his mentor. She gave him a small smile, and slightly nodded at her, reassuring she needn’t be as concerned about him.

Finnick played with his fingers as he watched the both of you. He just felt something break seeing the both of you, like the only line that kept him sane, was suddenly cut and he fell to a dark abyss, one filled with the monsters he dreams about. He gulped down hard. And something in him wished for your empathic arms to wrap around him. He for once wanted to feel small and well taken care of, he wanted your words to help him cope at night. But he regretted how that could be disturbing for eyes of others, he was your mentor, and you were a Tribute who was most likely going to die soon anyway. He lamented just then, just how many souls, as clean as the white feathers of doves, would be taken for the Capitol’s entertainment.

Mags kept her gaze on the child she had started to consider her only son. She felt troubled over him, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty she couldn't erase his fragile and hurt soul.

Previous // Next

Heyaaa, hope you're having a wonderful day bestiess. I hope you're liking this Hostage so far. Just wanted to say two things

I could start preparing a Taglist for you all if you want to of course <3

Second, the next chapters are going to be DEEP, like a lot of emotional turmoil, so ye, be prepared.

#finnick #finnick odair fanfic #thg fanfiction #finnick x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x you #the hunger games #thg #thg finnick #thg x reader

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monsoon-of-art · 1 month

Note

SO! Awhile ago I sent an ask about how I shoved your OCs into a Café AU and with the latest few post you've been putting up, the AU has expanded.

Dragonfly is the tired barista inherited the Dragonfly Café and its trade secrets from her now retired abroad father, they talk through facetime. She also goes to college where she dorms with Michelle, Fabi and Taylor. She also over charges or short changes rude customers.

Clay is the café cleaner who fills in as a barista when Dragonfly has classes. Dragonfly let's him live in the flat above the café for free since she's already paid for her dorm room and never leaves the café premise other than to take the trash out.

Hayday is the annoying customer who always seems to order complex drinks at inconvenient times, tries making small talk with Dragonfly when she's clearly busy and never tips, the only reason why he's not banned is because Dragonfly can't really afford to ban anyone. He's several part time jobs and sometimes moonlights as a coffee boy for Ant Queen, the local sleazy motels owner, and eventualy Snake Eyes. He totally didn't develop a crush on Dragonfly after she gave him a free cup of coffee and slice of carrot cake after seeing him nearly collapse at the counter on a slow day. He dropped out of college to take care of his mum when she fell ill, is in both medical and educational debt.

Snake Eyes is a sleazy businessman whose been trying to buy the café out ever since Dragonflys father first built it and is now trying to either buy out the property from Dragonfly fairly or bankrupt it until she's forced to sell. He wants to demolish the building and the surrounding area to build something like a mall or apartment complex.

Nighthawk runs a crêpe stand outside of the café and tries to, unsuccessfully, poach customers. He swore revenge on the Dragonfly Café since he blame it for the cause of his parents diner going out of business.

Damselfly is the part time barista that Dragonfly hired to help Clay while she's in class after finding out that he was struggling. She hardly helps Clay in favour of being on her phone and is actually wealthy influencer online but doesn't tell anyone offline so they give her praise for being a 'struggling student working hard to pay off her loans'. She regularly post pictures of Dragonflys and Clays fancy coffee art designs and claims them as her own and keeps tips she receives instead of putting them in the shared tip jar.

Lovebug is the repeat customer who brings a new girl he catfished to the café atleast twice a month. He eventually develops a crush on Dragonfly because she comped his bill after a particular bad date which he believed meant she was into him, he also gets annoyed that she isn't dating him despite never asking her out and rarely talking to her outside of ordering drinks.

The Ice Cream Man is exactly the same as in canon, eldritch 'Wife' and all, no one knows what his deal is but he comes around on the 13th of every month no matter the weather, there could be a Magnitude 10 earthquake, a Category 9 tornado and a literal biblical downpour going on at the same time and he'll still be happily walking down the street with his 'Wife'. Everyone stays out of his way, once Nighthawk begrudgingly spent a day hiding in the Dragonfly Café just because he forgot what the date was when he set up his crêpe stand.

Drosera is the florist who owns the flower shop on the opposite side of the street to the café. She doesn't eat people since she isn't a plant but she'll do anything to ensure her shop stays afloat and is welling to go to some serious extremes in a calm methodical manner to do so.

Detective Victor is a small time detective whose spends his down time trying to slowly untangle the mystery of why businesses in the area around the Dragonfly Café keeps failing. He regularly comes to the café on his lunch breaks and is a good tipper.

Reporter Louise is a small time reporter for the local news agency who once had a bad experience in the café and took it personally. She takes every opportunity to rag on the small café and the only reason why she doesn't get reprimanded for it is because the her personal vendetta with the café is the most amusing thing her news agency has published in years.

Hope you enjoyed and keep uploading more work, you're giving me some serious brainrot with your OCs and I love it!

op I dont have much to add here but I love this a lot

#myocs #neon hero

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cutpaperbleedswater · 24 days

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Does anyone ever think about D12’s water supply? Where does it come from? Is it filtered?

When learning about fracking in school I learnt about how the water is contaminated with the chemicals being pumped to draw out the water from fissures, is there a similar case with mining? Does coal dust, as it is ever, line their pipes or is it minerals like copper that can help make water cleaner. Are their chemicals in their water? Why do they have it running freely? It is stated that Katniss and her family survived on water and mint leaves, which to me gives the impression water is free flowing.

To what extent do the Capitol dehumanise the population of D12. They starve them, extra food shippings wouldn’t be too hard to allow into the district alongside ingredients like the Mellark bakery have. They force them into mines which target your lungs. They are deemed as hopeless when reaped. They aren’t entertaining which is all the Capitol want so wouldn’t it be easier to slowly eliminate the district by cutting off the water supply? Where on earth do you find a supply where you can transport water from, Katniss’s lake? No, too far. Why hasn’t it become a bad memory like they could so easily do, like Snow does with noncompliant Victor’s families? Is Snow still somewhat smitten over Lucy Gray? Does he feel like he owes her something? Does he feel even a hint of remorse? Because I really understand that it should be easy to get rid of them and their memory and everything they stood for?

Also what’s coal used for? In a fic I read they had hydroelectric dams, in the films they gave hydroelectric dams, that can sustain a population if they were to cut off other electricity use in different districts, which they wouldn’t be opposed to let’s be real. Capitol citizens wouldn’t want that dirt in their home. They’d have a fake fire like a good half of us have. Perhaps it’s to fuel other district like 8, working in factories like they do with unsafe fuel combustion. In Five that’s likely where the combustion takes place, the hazardous fossil fuel burning polluting their skies? But there are many other renewable resources that we are still discovering today (I understand it was written over ten years ago, let’s be real, if it was written today, there would be fracking not coal mining) that an entire district could be dividely dedicated, perhaps creating class differences like in 12.

What do the Merchants do for the district? Only they can afford what they sell, they don’t contribute to the exported workforce. Most of the reaping slips are from Seam per their teserae, is it to spark interest when one, Peeta, is reaped? The Seam, backbone of the district, hardly need them, Greasy Sae for example. It would create a stronger sense of community which may be a problem when trying to be presented as ‘savages’.

And this all brings me to the question; how long was the bombing planned for? Maybe it’s just because of Katniss being a big fuck you to the Capitol or maybe it’s because it’s delayed due to sentimental reasons? What about when Snow visits Katniss in her house, how did he journey through the District, how did he feel being back?

Did the series dehumanise Snow in the way he dehumanised the district?

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #district 12 #sorry but of a ramble #I’m either stating fax or talking smack #But like??

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friendship-ditch · 3 months

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Wild girl - Part 4 (Ongoing)

(Katniss Everdeen x Fem Reader) ❀

Summary: You and Katniss dry off at your home and she finally opens up. She'd love to stay, but she has to take care of her family, so you walk her back home.

Warnings: Very slight descriptions of injuries/damaging habits. This is an interactive story—the poll at the bottom will be open for a week and will choose the direction of the next part! <3

Word Count: 2248

“What if we hung out a little longer?”

Katniss tilted her head, gray eyes big and curious. She studied you for a moment as if she was running your suggestion through gears in her mind, it was like she couldn’t believe it.

“What do you mean?” She finally asked, her guarded voice betrayed by her expression.

You stepped a little closer to her, the two of you still huddling beneath the picnic blanket from the pelting rain. “You could come back to my house, we could dry off and just keep hanging out, out of the rain–or we could sit on the porch and watch the rain.” Your offer was tentative, hesitant almost. It seemed as if Katniss was going to decline from the way she was studying you, but then her lips lightened into a small smile.

“That sounds… really nice.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Her smile widened slightly as her tough walls finally began to break down due to the warm beating in her heart. “I’d really love to do that.”

You grinned back at her, hardly able to believe it. You’d managed to sway the most reserved, and beautiful, girl in the world into not only going on a picnic with you, but now coming to your house to hang out with. You felt like you were on top of the world.

Katniss noticed the giddiness and the gleam in your eyes and chuckled. “Well, are we going or not?” She asked, tugging the collar of her jacket up. “I’m soaked.”

You nodded in agreement, deciding it would be best to get out of the rain. And so, instead of splitting up at the fence, you both returned to your house.

It was nothing big, your house, but it was home either way; a small cozy cabin tucked on the edge of town with not much more than the necessities. You’d lived here your whole life and although sometimes larger houses, such as those in the Victors Village, seemed more appealing, you couldn’t imagine leaving.

Katniss seemed to like your house, though. It was quite similar to hers, just a little cleaner and more designed for one person rather than a family.

“Your house is quite cozy.” Katniss observed as she slipped out of her mud covered boots. She slid her damp jacket off and looked around for a hook to hold it. Upon finding none, she glanced at you.

You took her jacket and just hung it on the back of one of the chairs. You were about to give her a small tour when you noticed a few leaves poking out from her hair. Carefully, you reached to remove them when she spun to face you.

“What are you doing?” Katniss asked, nose wrinkled. She ducked when you tried once more and swatted your hand like a defiant cat.

“You have something in your hair.” You reached out again, placing another hand on her shoulder to hold her still.

Katniss ducked again, now just leaning into the game. “What is it?” She ran her fingers through her now wavy hair but found nothing.

Ignoring her question, you slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against you, keeping her in place.

“Stay still, Wild Girl. Stop squirming.” You muttered, reaching up to pluck the leaves from her thick waves.

Katniss stiffened a little at the sudden closeness, then relaxed, her face pinkening. “Is… is it a bug?” She stammered.

“No.” You stepped back and held your findings up to her face. “Just some leaves. Were you running through the bushes?” You teased, enjoying the way her blush deepened.

Katniss finally snapped out of her flustered state and broke free from your grip. She raked her fingers through her damp hair once more, trying to smooth it out. “No, no.” She stuttered, shaking her head. After a deep breath, she faced you once more, this time a bit more confident. “I was just… collecting all the stray leaves so none would get stuck in your hair, Pretty Girl.”

So this is how things were going to be played.

You just rolled your eyes and pointed to the small door that led to your bedroom. “I’ll get you some dry clothes and then we can just hang out.”

Katniss accepted with a grateful nod and soon you were both in dry sweaters and fuzzy socks, sitting down by the fireplace and drying off.

“Thank you for this.” Katniss sighed contently, biting at the edges of her nails and rolling her shoulders. She was still a little on edge but was relaxing a bit more. “You’re really sweet—Ow!”

She winced, pulling her hand from her mouth to observe the damage she’d done around her nails, a little blood on her skin. “Shit.”

“Are you okay?” Instinctively, you clasped your hand around hers and peering at her wound. The tips of her fingers were practically raw from… who knows how long, of her indulging in her nervous habit. She winced again and pulled away.

“I’m fine.” She mumbled, lifting her hand to her lips to suck the blood away and pretend nothing was wrong.

You took her hand back and shook her head. “No, let me get some bandages.”

You didn’t give her a chance to object as you were suddenly up and scrounging around for some bandages to wrap her fingers up. She scowled as you sat beside her and tried to pull away again.

“Come on, let me help you.” You urged gently, softening your voice and your expression. “It’ll be easier if I do it.”

Reluctantly, she let her hand relax under your care, but she clearly wasn’t happy about it. “It’s nothing to get all worked up over… they’re just a bit sore.”

As you began to wrap up her bleeding finger, you noticed just how bad of a state her whole hand was in. There were deep callouses and bruises from using her bow, and around her nails were still very raw and thin.

“Just a bit?” You shook your head, deciding now to wrap the tips of all of her fingers, at least to prevent her from hurting herself anymore at the moment. “Your fingers are falling apart.”

Katniss seemed to deflate a little at that comment and she fell silent.

“It’s not a bad thing, I’m not mad.” You assured her quickly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Well don’t be.”

The surprise from her snap must've been clear across your face as she backed down a little with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry.” Katniss turned her head. “I’m not used to… people taking care of me like this. It feels wrong.”

You made a soft noise, though it was unclear whether it was of surprise or disappointment. You moved to wrapping the last of her fingers, tucking the bandage gently around her skin and then giving her hand a squeeze when you finished.

“That’s what friends are for.” You murmured. “You can count on me for anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.” You nodded with an affirmative smile, lifting your gaze to hers, with a shock.

For the first time ever, those deep gray eyes of hers were misty and soft, vulnerable even. Her lips were quivering and after a second of holding your stare she had to turn away.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Your smile eased into a frown and you shook your head. “Don’t be sorry, it’s okay.”

Katniss forced a weak smile and stared at you as if she was debating something. After a few moments of deep thought, she moved to sit beside you and curled her knees to her chest, her body leaning into yours. Her warmth radiated through the thick sweater she now adorned, and her head slowly fell onto your shoulder.

You had to be dreaming, there was no way this was happening. It was as if Katniss had completely given up the tough girl act the second you showed her some true, deep kindness. She’d gone from a feral creature to a soft being who forgot all other functions besides seeking lost affection.

A small smile crept onto your face and slowly, so as not to scare her, you slid an arm around her now tight figure and pulled her into your side.

“Are you okay?” You asked her softly, feeling her face brush against your shoulder as she settled and got comfortable.

Her breath tickled your neck. “...I am now.”

Your lips lifted higher and you tightened your grip around her, resting your chin against her forehead. “Good.” You murmured, voice light and airy so you didn’t break the thin blanket of intimacy.

Katniss sat there with you for a few minutes before she lifted her head back up. “Thank you.” She whispered, lips inches away from your flushed cheeks, her face the same color. “For all of this.”

You shook your head and gave her a tight squeeze. Once you managed to draw a squeak of protest from her, you laughed and let her go.

“Thank you, too.” You smiled. “You’re a really good friend.”

“Friend…” Katniss repeated as she laid her head back on your shoulder. The word felt sticky and thick on her tongue, she hadn’t had a friend in ages. But yet, you couldn’t help but feel there was something more to her simple utterance.

You just nodded and ran your fingers through her hair, working out the knots. It was a good thing Katniss’s head was on your shoulder and not your chest which concealed your racing heart.

You couldn’t help but maybe imagine this as being something more than friends… But you knew better than to push it, at least for the moment.

This moment, and this friendship, were beautiful as they were at the moment. And if that was all that was meant to be, you’d be content.

You and Katniss sat in a gentle silence for a long time, cuddling by the fireplace and listening to the rain splatter against the window. Eventually you heard her stomach gurgle with hunger and laughed.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” You offered quietly.

Katniss looked at you longingly, but forced herself to decline. “I’d love to, but I have to get back home…”

If you didn’t know how devoted she was to caring for her family, Primrose especially, you’d be a little hurt, but you knew that Katniss’s main priority would always be them, even if it meant skipping out on fun things like a shared dinner.

“Alright.” You tried to conceal your disappointment with a smile as you helped her up to her feet. “Let’s get you home before it gets too dark then.”

Katniss only nodded in response.

Her clothes were still damp so she threw them into a bag–the sweater on her body still yours–then met you at the door. You each put on a mostly water-proof jacket and then set out into the downpour.

The walk to Katniss’s house wasn’t quite long, but it was very slippery. You completely bit it once and had to make the rest of the trek with muddy pants and a bit of a dampered dignity.

Katniss wouldn’t let you live it down either. Her arm was around your waist half of the time and you could hear her insistence through the rain that it was to keep you on your feet. She made sure to hold you close around particularly mud caked spots. If it weren’t as dark and gloomy as it was, you probably could’ve seen the glowing blush on her face.

And finally, you made it back to Katniss’s house. The two of you ran onto the porch and shook off, giggling.

“You two are soaked.” Katniss’s mother said with surprise as she opened the door. She ushered you both inside, not giving you a chance to decline and she sent you to wear some of Katniss’s clothes.

Katniss was waiting for you when you came out.

Her dark hair was very frizzy and curly from the rain, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold, but she looked quite happy anyway.

“I have a snare right by the meadow.” She said as she slid her jacket back on. “It caught some game earlier. I’m going to go grab it real quick so we can have that for dinner.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, stay here.” Katniss shook her head. “You’ve done so much for me, it’s my turn now.” Her serious expression softened into a chuckle as she tried to ease the sudden tension. “Plus, you’d only get my pants dirty.”

You looked down at your legs. Her pants were a bit too long on you and practically touched the floor, but you didn’t mind. Your sweater didn’t exactly fit her perfectly either.

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes but matched her smile. “Be safe, and quick.”

“Will do.” Katniss seemed a little touched by your farewell and the quick pat to your shoulder was a surprise to the both of you. She just shrugged it off and then left.

You stood, looking around her house and debating what to do.

In the kitchen, you could hear Katniss’s mother preparing some sort of other food, probably some of the roots and other plants that had been bustling with the oncoming spring. And in the other room sat Primrose, fevrently studying some books.

You had a little time to kill, so you decided to make yourself useful while waiting for Katniss’s return.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

#the hunger games #catching fire #katniss everdeen #the mockingjay #katniss everdeen x reader #katniss everdeen x fem!reader #katniss everdeen x you #x reader #interactive story #are you really trying to tell me katniss doesn't bite the shit out of her lips and fingers when she gets stressed?

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hungergamesheadcanons · 6 months

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Capitol Living Quarters For Victors We Know And Love:

In my head the Victors get allocated blank space apartments on the floor of their district in the Tribute Centre for when they 'need' to be in the Capitol, whether for The Games or for clients. Maybe these rooms get memorialised after their deaths, maybe they get scrapped and left for the next victor, you decide. Here are some headcanons on their rooms.

Mags Flanagan:

Simple and clean, reminiscent of home if slightly on the more luxurious side. Gravitates towards blues and whites, as it reminds her of the ocean. Usually has a scared tribute sleeping in here at least once a year, so it's very cosy and calming.

Finnick Odair:

So I couldn't actually find a reference I was 100% happy with but this is the closest I could get. To me Finnick's room is full of reminders of home - seashell strings on the wall his sisters made, driftwood tables and stuff like that. I also think it's full of things that catch his eye - whether because it's almost impossible soft or kind of quirky, and even though it's kind of eclectic, the room is full of pale blues and soft yellows. I also like to think that he has a lot of art on his walls to remind him of the sea - most people get homesick but Finnick gets seasick.

Johanna Mason:

So I reckon Johanna fully started this room expecting to lean fully into the District 7 aesthetic, but when her family was killed she tapped out and the Capitol designers were left to fill in the blanks. Consequently her room is like a mix of too much yet not enough home, and she despises the place. If she had to pick between being in this room or at home though, she'd always pick this room. Home has too many ghosts for Johanna.

Haymitch Abernathy:

Haymitch's room is a mess, for sure. Littered with beer bottles and other booze whenever he's in it, but when he leaves it's always magically cleaned and smelling like citrus when he returns. It's filled with all sorts of cheap tat - most of it makeshift gifts received from the tributes he knowingly sent to their deaths as they knew they wouldn't be getting out alive. Those are the only things in that room he consistently dusts. He has a cactus too. That thing should be dead by now but it isn't. Maybe the cleaners water it.

Bonus round!

Katniss Everdeen:

Katniss designing a bedroom? She would have scoffed and said no, leaving the Capitol (and probably Cinna) to sort it out in her stead. It wouldn't have been bad - it wouldn't have been her safe space sure, but to Katniss a room is a room. As long as she's got a bed, she doesn't care.

Peeta Mellark:

Peeta's on the other hand would be simple but cozy. Let's be real, any tributes after them would probably gravitate towards Peeta if they were scared or struggling, as he's easily the most sensitive and comforting of the gang. So Peeta's room would be full of soft, squishy surfaces and blankets for when sniffling children knock on his door in the middle of the night, along with warm fairy lights and big windows.

Lucy Gray Baird:

Didn't expect to see her here, did ya? Colourful, chaotic, and more than a little jarring to the eye, Lucy Gray's room would have been almost painful to look at. Everything in it has meaning, though, and don't you dare tell her to change anything if you don't wanna get sassed.

Effie Trinket:

Hyper-feminine and rather stylish, Effie's Escort room would be the height of luxury befitting her station. Very comfortable, and slightly impractical in some instances but what does that matter when you have an aesthetic to maintain.

Coriolanus Snow:

Stuck in the past. Nasty, horrible man. Ugh. enjoy your room of designer sadness sir.

Primrose Everdeen:

Were Prim to ever have a Capitol bedroom, it would be full of pastel shades and jewel tones, comfy and cosy. Lots of cute decor and plants - she'd love watering them all. Probably lots of big pillows for buttercup to snooze on.

#the hunger games #the hunger games headcanons #mags flanagan #finnick odair #johanna mason #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #lucy gray baird #effie trinket #coriolanus snow #primrose everdeen

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gudvina · 4 months

Note

Hayffie prompt - married in secret during the whole hunger games trilogy

The things I do to keep you near.

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Chapter 1: Wedding Bells.

Picks up after Sour Comments but both can be read as standalones!

can be read on AO3! <3

71st Hunger Games, reaping season.

District Twelve��s sweltering heat was heavy on Effie Trinket’s skin as she made her way to the Victors’ Village, taking in the blooming fields around it. Despite the heavy coat of ashes by the city the earth there seemed cleaner, with wildflowers and ivies taking over the village’s walls, making it look almost picturesque. It didn’t resemble any of the gardens she’d seen in the Capitol, even the ones meant to replicate perfect wilderness couldn’t quite catch the restlessness of that land.

She crossed the iron gates, trying to ignore the weight she felt in her chest. Another reaping. Another set of children sent to be slaughtered. Every year it was harder and harder to stomach, and the option of leaving it all behind her was always itching in the back of her mind. But she couldn’t.

And not only because of the usual mantra “once in the Games, always in the Games”. When she arrived at the door that seemed to await her every year she took a moment to sport her brightest smile, in case anyone was watching, and knocked. Chin up!

She heard a thud and a bit of rustling behind the door, which soon opened to reveal the one reason she couldn’t leave.

“Didn’t hear the hovercraft” he said, barely awake. His hair was dishevelled, there was a huge stain on his shirt that she suspected- and smelled- to be vomit, and the hand that leaned on the door frame held a bottle of some sort of spirit. A rush of tenderness swept through her and her smile sweetened. She was ridiculous, she knew, but she couldn’t help feeling oh, so happy just at the sight of him.

“Well, that’s not the polite way to greet guests, Haymitch! Come on, let’s get you ready, we have a big, big day ahead of us” she quipped, making her way in, successfully ignoring the unpleasant smell of the house.

She set down her bags on the floor, not trusting the sofa, and turned to him with a wrinkle of her nose. “Now, how about you freshen up? We don’t have the whole day, according to my schedule in four hours the stage will be ready!”

Haymitch was visibly embarrassed by the state of the house, or maybe his state, but he just grumbled something under his breath and went upstairs. He was aware that Effie would attempt to clean around, just like she had done all those years before, but it didn’t make it easier. At best, he used to be irritated by her misplacing his things, at worst, he used to hate that a Capitol would get to see his worst.

But there was never pity in her eyes, and slowly they’d learned to work around each other.

When he was finally presentable he went back downstairs, finding his house looking a lot less like a dumpster and a lot more like a house. He found a shapely shimmery piece of fabric on his armchair and followed the smell of coffee that led him to the kitchen.

She was leaning on the counter, her eyes on the brewer. “So, sweetheart, you found us someone other than Chip and Chop?”

“Name-calling is incredibly rude, Haymitch! And no, for your information Tulsia and Tallia are still our stylists. Seneca was not willing to drop them” she answered, trying to sound unaffected by the facts. She didn’t like their stylists any more than he did, but it would not do to dwell too much on it, especially since they were much better than the ones before. She had raged after the stunt of putting naked children on blast, no matter how hiding coal could be.

“Uh, what is it, boyfriend ain’t budging?” he sneered, knowing she didn’t like to be pressed about her relationship with the young Game Maker. They’d had a relationship in the early years of her escorting career, the power couple for every little Capitol girl who dreamed of marrying a man whose destiny was killing children for fun. Pictures of them in high school were flying around, and constant rumours of an upcoming marriage made waves through Panem’s scene.

All of that stopped when they broke it off, announcing to the press that they were still friends, but their lives were taking different directions and they still supported one another. If he hadn’t fucked her throughout the entire relationship, maybe Haymitch would have been shocked by the news as well.

She’d never told him what truly happened between them, though. Not even a hint. Crane still made her puppy eyes from across the room, that was enough to know that the split wasn’t mutual, but otherwise, he had no idea of what happened, nor did she offer any explanation. And he didn’t know if he wanted her to.

“He said he couldn’t find any interesting stylist this year, but he’ll press for the next”. She sighed, ignoring him to pour two cups of their coffee.

“Uhm, maybe you’re still salty he didn’t sail the wedding boat with you”.

“Why, Haymitch, it appears you know about me more than I do! Pray, any other insight?”

“Well, if you insist, princess, I happen to know exactly what might cheer you up” he smirked, letting his hand grab the soft flesh of her ass, pressing her against the counter. The soft moan she let out should have been illegal.

“Haymitch, behave, please” she whispered, but her voice was not convinced, and she suspected he could tell as well.

“Think you like it when I misbehave, sweetheart” he whispered, letting his hands wander over her body, relishing in the fact that she was wearing a dress that was airy enough to let him touch her bare skin under it. Her moans and the way she gripped the counter spurred him on, and he soon had his hands in between her legs, pressing soft circles in the sensitive flesh of her core.

She let out a soft ‘oof’ sound when he stopped his ministration, backing away a little to unbuckle his belt and free his shaft. Effie turned towards him, coffee forgotten, and got down on her knees, making quick work of taking him in her mouth, sucking him just the way he liked it.

He usually didn’t fuck her so early into the Game, but the previous year she had disappeared for half of the edition, and he truly wanted, no, needed to feel her around him.

Before he could lose it he gripped her jaw and pulled out, bringing her to her feet again. He kissed her hard, an angry battle of tongues and teeth, before pulling her legs up around his waist and pressing her onto the kitchen, sheathing himself inside her. She moaned greedily and held him tight, kissing the crook of his neck as his thrust picked up speed. She delighted in their reunion.

He couldn’t think of anything else but the softness of her against his hardness, and when her walls tightened he rode her orgasm, chasing his own. It didn’t take long. Her whimpers drove him wild and soon he was spilling inside her. He left soft kisses on the flushed skin of her collarbone, trying very hard to avoid leaving marks on her skin.

“And now you have to take another shower, I don’t know why I bother!” she started with her little sing-song tone, and he smirked, detecting the strain in her voice. Effie looked at him, his air was all over the place again. She didn’t dare move too much or touch him too softly, especially now that he’d already found his release.

After last year’s mishap, his behaviour had changed slightly. For years they’d shared mad, violent nights, taking each other any time they needed some solace from their realities, but gradually the violence had waned down a little to leave place for a connection she couldn’t quite name. She didn’t even dare admit it to herself, what he was for her. What she felt for him.

Haymitch didn’t move, deciding to keep playing with the soft skin of her chest, his stubble tickling her a little as she relaxed against him. Her eyes took in the kitchen, the golden summer light seeping through the window exposing the freckles of dust in the air. Time seemed to have stopped and she relished in that stillness.

Suddenly she felt him start to grab again at her skin, and despite his purpose in doing so all that did was bring her back to reality. “Haymitch, we need to leave in a few hours and, tell you that, I don’t want to be late”.

“When do you ever?” he groaned, pulling out of her as she took a handkerchief from the counter to clean herself up.

“Never, we need to decide what you’ll wear for today and make sure everything is ready before the Peacekeepers come to get us,” she said, and then continued for another while as she fretted about what to do and about what was the state of the clothes she’d bought him the previous year.

It was interesting to see her transform from Effie, the girl who’d just blessed his kitchen and ears with sounds that would be shameful even in a brothel, into Effie Trinket, the escort who needed to be on top of everything. He felt a lot for Effie. He didn’t get to see her much in the light of day, and missed her until her return, when the night brought down her wigs and masks.

In that moment Effie Trinket had taken over, and there was nothing he could do but get himself a drink and follow her lead.

***

Haymitch wasn’t drunk enough to deal with Tulsia and Tallia’s mindless chatter, so he got up and took a flask of alcohol with him. The two did nothing but talk about the same three subjects in rotation, their voices overlapping because supposedly “twins have a special connection” and fuss over what might happen at whatever event. The children had retired for the night, a boy and a girl of twelve. This year, much more than the year before, it was hopeless. At the very least the girl was cute enough that some sponsors might just take pity on her, but he wasn’t even sure they’d survive the bloodbath.

He moved through the train’s carts, before finally coming to the one he was directed to. He entered and knocked on the door of the compartment he knew she was in, waiting for her to open. The soft padding of bare feet against the carpet could be heard behind the wood panel and then she appeared before him; no wigs, no makeup, just her in a nightgown.

“Haymitch, it’s incredibly late and I’m about to settle for bed. What is it?” she whispered, looking behind him in case there were waiters around. But the train had stopped for maintenance in District 7, and they were all slaving after the twins’ whims.

It took a while for him to answer, transfixed by the golden tresses crowning her visage. He knew he was about to do something stupid, but when she looked like herself being stupid didn’t sound so bad.

“I want to take a walk, come with me and bring matches” he whispered, before disappearing into another compartment where he stole a loaf of bread. Maybe last year’s absence had gotten under his skin more than he cared to let on. A part of him was screaming that it didn’t matter, that she was free to do what she wanted, and this wouldn’t change anything. But his madness for her won over any common sense.

Maybe twelve’s traditions had some meaning. Maybe it would influence something. He was mad. And drunk.

He stepped outside the train, putting on his best show by slurring to Peacekeepers that he wanted to take a walk, disappearing right outside the stations where an expanse of wood met his tired eyes. Good.

He didn’t dare step too far, just enough to be hidden by the guards, and sat down on the ground.

A bat of an eyelash and a worried mention of appearances was enough for Effie to convince the guards to let her search for him on her own. What was wrong with her, she wondered. Why did she always follow him around? But she couldn’t help it, she was curious and even though the humidity made her gown cling to her skin she stepped outside, searching for him.

Her eyes surprisingly adapted to the darkness, and soon she found him sitting on the ground, holding something between his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Give me the matches”

Effie hesitated, but she couldn’t detect his expression, so she gave him the matches. A few minutes later he’d lit up a small fire, and her eyes took a minute to adjust to the light. When she took a better look at him his expression was unreadable, but his eyes were set on something, and now she saw that what he was holding was a small loaf of bread that he was trying to toast on the fire without burning himself.

She was stunned into silence, looking as he turned it around.

Then he held it to her.

“Can you toast it a little better for me?” he asked, slightly amused by the confusion on her face.

Her brow furrowed, but she took it and did as he asked, turning the loaf to make sure it wouldn’t toast too much. She didn’t understand, the train had a toaster that got the job done quite well; there was no need to scamper about in the cold of the night. And yet she couldn’t stop herself, concentrating her energies on the task at hand. Of his drunken acts up, this was by far the least harmless. After all, he’d been almost polite.

When she was satisfied with the golden crust she returned him the bread, enjoying the warmth of the fire, when he surprised her once more. He took the loaf and broke it into two pieces, setting his half on his lap before placing the other half in her hands with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Cheers!” he smirked and took a bite, his eyes fixed on her.

“I’m sorry?”.

“Eat the bread and shut up, Princess”.

“But… did you put something in the bread?”

“What, you wanted butter?”

“I- no, I… is this a joke?”

“What?” he asked, worry creeping on him. Did she know? He didn’t think Escorts required knowledge of the districts they’d take on, but still, if she knew…

“You force me, a lady, outside in the middle of the night to toast some bread when there are perfectly good toasters inside the train. It sounds like a joke, doesn’t it?”

Relief. She didn’t know.

“It tastes better like this, this is why I left you the other half, to be proven right. Now eat the damn thing and shut up” he shrugged and took another bite of the delicious bread. Avoiding danger had never felt so rewarding.

She looked at him, confusion still taking over her features, but did as he asked. They both ate in silence, listening to the sounds of the night, the cackling of the fire, and the station workers doing their job.

When they were done Haymitch got up, moved closer to her, still sitting on the ground, and grabbed her waist as he let their lips meet in a chaste kiss, where he could still taste the bread. He interrupted it before any of them could turn it into something more.

“Let me put out the fire and we’ll be out of here”.

It wasn’t a fancy thing, and she didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he hoped it would do the trick. Good luck on leaving him, now that she was his wife.

They returned to the train station with much fanfare from her and incoherent slurring from him, the usual show. When inside, he waited a few minutes to join her in her compartment, curling around her small frame and holding her close. If he was lucky he might be rewarded for his troubles in the morning, but for the night he was content with just holding her, lulled to sleep by her soft breath and the faint smell of peaches on her skin.

#hayffie #haymitch x effie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #the hunger games #thg series #thg fanfiction

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perhaps-in-anotherdream · 1 year

Text

[CN] Victor’s Sea-circle Event (Chapter 4)

⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for content yet to be released on the global server! ⌚

✧ mum’s smile || little gentleman || art and love || mum’s companionship || endearing thoughts

【Mum’s Companionship】

A journal recording Victor’s growth during the study tour program in France.

What she hid in here is not only memories but also her regrets for not being able to be there to constantly care for him and nag him during the time he was growing up.

[Note: Victor’s mum used to call him “Yan Yan,” which as always, I’ve translated as Vic-Vic~]

—

✧ DATE: 05/21

He safely arrived in France at noon today. Following the teacher’s instructions, I was waiting at the designated meeting point when I saw him getting off the bus with a big bouquet of carnations in his hands. The teacher said that when they were passing by a florist, Vic-Vic requested to stop briefly and wait for him; he then especially picked out those flowers for me. This adorable little gentleman… did he watch some French romantic movies!

—

✧ DATE: 05/21

Vic-Vic’s dad said he packed his luggage all by himself for this trip. And sure enough, Vic-Vic immediately opened his suitcase in the living room after we returned home today. Although this little grown-up didn’t say anything, I knew he was probably trying to attract my attention. So, I thought of teasing him a little and deliberately pretended to not see, going about my business as usual.

But to my surprise, Vic–Vic was extremely patient. He just sat there on the sofa and waited quietly. Before long, I couldn’t resist anymore and succumbed in my heart, promptly making up for it by rewarding him with the recognition he deserved. Vic-Vic took out a certificate from his suitcase and presented it to me, saying that he would bring an even better trophy next time. I knew he was trying to tell me through this gesture that he was studying diligently and growing up well. So I hugged him and told him he was truly amazing. But what I didn’t tell him was– “Actually, you are already outstanding in your mum’s heart, and you don’t need these awards as validation.”

—

✧ DATE: 05/25

We visited a vinyl record store, and I initially thought that at Vic-Vic’s age, he might find this type of music medium too old-fashioned. But he listened attentively to the teacher’s explanations throughout the visit. I asked him if he wanted to buy a vinyl record as a souvenir for himself, and he quickly nodded. Eventually, with the curator’s recommendation, we selected a collection of Miles Davis’ famous tracks.

Sticky Note:

As soon as we got home in the evening, Vic-Vic couldn’t wait to play the vinyl record. I was curious about why he was so interested, and he explained that the unique sound of vinyl records made him feel like he was traveling through time.

—

✧ DATE: 05/31

To my surprise, Vic-Vic helped me secure the tickets to the music concert that I had missed out on earlier through a knowledge quiz.

My son is truly amazing~

—

✧ DATE: 06/05

I still remember the first time I made pudding for Vic-Vic. With a frown on his little face, he peered at the kitchen countertop and asked me in an earnest tone if we needed to hire a professional cleaner to tidy it up? Just the thought of his deadly serious expression makes me somewhat unable to contain my laughter. I wonder if he will ask the same question again when he sees the kitchen in its current state after waking up?

—

✧ DATE: 06/05

…in the blink of an eye, you are already leaving for home today. There are many things Mum doesn’t know how to say to you face-to-face, so I’ll just write them down here silently.

As the person dearest to you, I’m truly sorry that Mum can’t always be by your side and witness you growing up. Seeing how sensible you are, Mum feels gratified, but my heart also aches at the same time. If I had been by your side all the time, perhaps you would have been able to be like the other kids, often acting coquettishly and being stubborn with Mum, wouldn’t you…

Regardless of anything, I hope that one day you will understand that no matter where you are, I will always be blessing you, watching over you, and loving you. And also, remember to smile a lot more. Mum absolutely loves the way that smile lights up your face~

P.S. The teacher said that this record needs to be submitted to the school, but Mum is really unwilling to part with these precious memories and give them to someone else. So I lied to the teacher and told them that I accidentally lost the journal…

After you leave, I’ll secretly hide it away. You can revisit these memories at your own pace when you grow up.

—

✧ next stop: endearing thoughts

—

#DAMMIT PG WHY DID YOU CHOOSE VIOLENCE ON THE 4TH DAY ALREADY ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽#you can see how much impact his mom has on him despite her rare presence. his love for romantic French movies- collecting vinyl records...#the way he still brings her flowers every time he visits. the throwback to how she taught him to make pudding—#and remember how he said that MC resembles him mom strikingly?? you can feel their resemblance through these pages too—#both his mum and MC – “your existence itself is the grandest miracle.” and their quirks too— 😭👊#I JUST— I JUST— ITS ALMOST MIDNIGHT AND IM HERE FLAILING ARMS CLUTCHING MY CHEST ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽#mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice #恋与制作人 #李泽言 #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc translations

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pinkxpunkstar · 5 months

Text

♤Lackadaisy♤

Rocky x afab!mexican!reader

Chapter 1: Did you hear?

Summary: Your a lovely cat who lives near her family because your still accustomed to your mom’s cooking, and your father help, like killing a spider, your at the age of 22, you work as many things; Repairer, Mechanic, Babysitter, Cleaner, but getting a job that is meant for a man, even if he’s you’re a woman is a little hard, especially in 1927, it has been a little hard finding a job, since a group of gangsters started crawling more in town causing mischief, and mayhem in town. Little did you know a gang was exactly what you needed to get a job! And maybe even finding a lover too~.

Characters: You, Ivy, Freckle, Mitzi, Viktor, Your Brother; Ray

Authors Note: I apologize for any misspelling mistakes. I also tried my best with Viktor speaking in Russian but if it’s no good then corrections are always welcome! ♡

Warning: None!

——————————

”Come on! You owe me a dance!” Ivy said excitedly, already grabbing the ginger’s paw, trying to flirt her way in with the ginger cat and Freckle’s response is “I do?” Freckle said confused to Ivy’s action as she tugs him in for a dance “Yes I’ve decided, you know the Charleston?” “No” “The Lindyhop?” “No.” “The Roudabout? The Jingle Jangle?” “The Hoopty Noodle?” the cute pair went off to dance, and Mitzi watched them, with a heartwarming smile, remembering what it’s like to be young and in love, that heartwarming feeling inside

While Viktor gives them both death glare, until Mitzi pats the top of his paw, letting him know that they’re okay. Meanwhile Mr. Sable just being in the background drinking the alcoholic beverage, with disgust in his face.

Mitzi sighs as she looks down with a worried and tired look on her face, “What’s wrong? Is it new recruits? because I will gladly kick them out” Victor says to Mitzi, since he knows how Mitzi have been struggling ever since with her husband death, business went down and payments are increasing, so he does what he can for her

“No it’s not them I’m worried about” this confused Viktor so he asked Mitzi “Then why do you look so uhh what do you call it ‘blue’?” Victor said unsure of how to say the phrase correctly “Oh Viktor, what am i going to do? The business isn’t making any money, we have more damages and worries coming, and now the car is damaged, I just wish there was a way to fix the damages without having to pay too much money for it” “Hmm, maybe I can help” Viktor said not too sure if he should bring up the idea “What do you mean by that Viktor? Do you know someone? ” Mitzi asked, confused to why did Viktor sounded a little unsure, I mean this is Viktor we are taking about! He doesn’t even blink when a ferocious animal attacks him

“Yeah his name is Inez” Mitzi felt relief, maybe there’s hope after all! “He won’t do the job but he haves a oldest son, and he knows about mechanic as well, I can try to talk to him and convince him to help us” “Wait wha- convince? Why do you have to convince him? Isn’t that his job?” “He knows about mechanic, but he doesn’t work as one” “Well I still appreciate it Viktor, thank you so much dear” “No thank you’s yet, I still have to talk to him, I just hope they still have the same number as before” “If you don’t mind me askin love but how come you guys haven’t talk?” “We stopped talking, after he found out I worked for lackadaisy” “Oh, is that…so?” Mitzi said feeling confused and unsure what to say next

*Ring* *Ring*

“Hello? Who is this” “It’s Viktor” “Oh Viktor, I wasn’t expecting you for you to call, how’s it been?” “I’ve been fine but uhh I have a problem” “A problem?” “Yes well… uhh … a business problem” “ Umm…Viktor I’m not sure I’m even supposed to be even talking to you” “I know, but I really need this favor y/n” Viktor says the last word like a whisper, so weak and so crumbly “*sigh* All right fine” “Thank you, meet me at Little Daisy Cafe in the afternoon” “All right, I’ll be there, see you then” “Yes and

y/n?” “Um yes?” “thank you” “…” “Goodbye. Viktor, see you then”

“Hey! Who are you talking to?” your brother asked curiously

You and your brother decided to keep up the family business, which means you guys work the same job but your brothers have more clients than you do, you guys decided to take a day off

Until you both heard the phone ringing and you brother gladly took it

“An old friend, a very old friend” You explained in little detail

Not sure if you should tell your brother, besides what can happen?

#lackadaisy #rocky x reader #rocky rickaby #ivy lackadaisy #freckle lackadaisy

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karatekels · 8 months

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Fresh Start - Day 14 (Part 2)

There's... there's only one part after this. 😥 And it's mostly written. And I'm sad. ---

Previous Parts:

---

Day 14 – Late Morning

Terry is relatively well-behaved over breakfast, all things considered. Sure, he had drawn teasing patterns across your body any time one of the staff was in eyesight just to rile you up, but he hadn’t tried anything more than that, and you were very grateful. It was strange enough for you to be a guest in a place that can gardeners and cleaners and secretaries constantly flitting about; you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of them too.

That said, you were sure that most of them had heard you in bed with Terry this morning, or at least the crying you’d down in the front hallway. But you were really trying not to think about that right now; you could process the humiliation later. The same also went for the tongue-lashing Victor had given you, though you couldn’t even say you were mad at him. He had been right, after all, and had helped put things into perspective for you. You make a mental note to enthusiastically thank him; it would probably annoy the man to no end.

One of the housekeepers comes to clear your breakfast dishes, bringing you out of your thoughts… or perhaps Terry’s hand subtly traveling up your thigh under the table was the cause of that. You bite your tongue, giving him a pointed look; he gives you a smug smile in return. You ignore him, thanking the woman who had cleared the table – this was so strange for you.

Looking after the woman with mild discomfort, you miss Terry’s silent exchange with one of the other housekeepers, the man giving him a short nod. Terry stands, offering you his hand, which you happily accept. He leads you back into the house, taking you slowly through main floor of the house, and something about the way he’s holding himself is… suspicious. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, and he catches you staring, giving you an inquisitive arch of his eyebrow.

“What are you up to, Terry?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Come with me,” is all he says, giving you a mysterious smile and leading you up to the third floor. Was he taking you to his bedroom again already? You hadn’t recovered from earlier…

“Remember yesterday, when you accused me of being insatiable?” you quip at him as he leads you to the doors to his bedroom. He just gives you a disparaging look.

“Always assuming the worst in me,” he tsks, though his eyes twinkle with amusement as he looks down at you. “I actually have something to show you.”

You bite your lip, staring at the door with trepidation. What could he possibly have done now?

He takes in your hesitation with a playful roll of his eyes, throwing the doors open himself and tugging you into the room. You don’t see any obvious sign of a present, and let out a slight sigh of relief before taking in the room with a more observant eye. Something definitely felt different…

And then you notice the change.

While you had spent the majority of your time in this room on Terry’s bed for… obvious reasons, another had been that the seating area had consisted of there only being one armchair beside the coffee table. Now, a matching one sat on the opposite side of the table, with a large loveseat sat parallel to the long end of the coffee table facing the fireplace.

“Oh…” is all you can say, your voice thick with emotion. Terry’s arms wrap around you, and he kisses the top of your head.

“I wanted you to know before you left that there will always be a place for you here now,” he says softly, and you melt against him, still lost for words at the sweet gesture.

“There’s one more new addition; or rather, subtraction…” he says, spinning with you to face the bookshelf that stood against the same wall as the bedroom door.

The contents of the shelves have been reorganized, and now one in the middle is completely empty.

“You can bring some of your books over the next time you visit if you want to keep them here, or we can order you new ones; whatever you wish.”

Tears fill your eyes; so much for not crying again today. Terry was going to think you were a big crier at this rate, and you weren’t, really…

You turn yourself in his arms, reaching up to hold his face in your hands.

“You are the sweetest, most wonderful man, Terry Silver,” you whisper – the gesture has honestly taken your breath away. You pull him down to kiss him, trying to pour every ounce of the emotions overwhelming you into it. From the way he responds to your passion with his own, you would say you had gotten your message across.

Reluctantly, you force yourself to break the kiss before the two of you get carried away. “Thank you for all of this; I love it. I love you.”

“You certainly seem to have come around to the idea of me spoiling you,” Terry comments, quirking his lips. “Not a hint of snarkiness to be found; I must be even better at this than I gave myself credit for,” he muses, looking pleased with himself, and you roll your eyes at him.

“Meanwhile, you’re still persistent with teasing me,” you point out. “I’m going to need you to get your act together. For now, stay here; I’ll be right back,” you order him, turning to leave the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he asks, a note of desperation in his voice, and you’re glad you’re not the only one visibly unhappy with the idea of being apart.

“I’ve got to finish your little redecorating project.”

You fly down both flights of stairs, sliding into the front entrance; this house was quickly feeling familiar to you. Housekeepers and other staff members are about, so you force yourself to walk to your suitcase with some sense of decorum. Rifling through your bags, you pull out the books you’re looking for and scurry back upstairs to the bedroom, giggling like a lunatic.

Terry is right where you left him, and you march past him to the bookshelf to add to your shelf: your very worn copy of Crime & Punishment, and the botany guide Terry had given you.

“But that was supposed to be for you to take home!” he protests, moving to take the book back off the shelf. You snatch his hand away, holding it in your own.

“We both know that you having to look at an empty shelf until I come back would be depressing. Now it can make you happy,” you insist softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Plus, those are my two most favourite books in the world, and both give me memories of you; I’ll have to come back soon and check on them,” you tease, and he sighs deeply at the combination of your words and your touch.

“Fine,” he agrees huffily. “Then you have to let me put something else in your suitcase to take home. And no spoiling the surprise.”

“Deal,” you say, agreeing immediately.

“This whole ‘compromise’ thing you’ve insisted on might not be so bad after all…” he muses to himself, wrapping his arms around you again to kiss you gently. When he finally pulls away, your eyes are glassy.

“Now, we should probably christen this new couch before I leave, don’t you think?” you ask, running one hand along the back of the loveseat.

He’s got you straddling his lap on the couch before you even finish your sentence.

--- Terry’s POV ---

The most apparent sign of your growing distress came when Terry asked if you would rather have him drive you to the airport or have the limo take you both, and your choosing of the latter. While you were starting to come around to the idea of him spoiling you, he knew that you were still quite uncomfortable with such public displays. The only reason he could think of for it was that the limo meant that he wouldn’t be driving.

Sure enough, once he had all but thrown you into the limo – the look on Victor’s face at the exuberant hug goodbye you’d given him at the door had been priceless, but he’d been briefly worried the man was going to kill you – and your laughter had subsided, you had curled up in his lap, clinging to him for dear life.

Terry definitely didn’t mind; on the contrary, the longer he held you the more he found himself fighting his instincts to keep you here. But he would be strong, strong enough for both of you. You were a tempestuous woman; you felt things intensely and wore your heart on your sleeve. It was one of the things that he’d come to love the most about you, and if it meant he had to hold you tighter as you weathered the storm together, then so be it.

He turns his attention to you again, feeling you shrink further into yourself the closer you get to LAX. He runs his hands up and down your arms, the way he knows makes you feel better, and you finally manage to look up at him. He notices you biting that spot on your lower lip, and tilts your chin up to kiss you softly, soothing the spot and trying to relax you some. It seems to help a bit; you nuzzle into his chest with what he wants to believe is a happy little sigh.

“Hey Terry?” you ask, your voice weary. It was the first thing either of you had said since you had entered the limo. He pushes down the desire to rekindle your earlier discussion (you’d called it an argument) about letting him bump you up to first-class; you should have space and comfort – the flight would be stressful enough for you. You were such a stubborn thing… he answers your question instead of returning to that particular subject.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“You made your money from different kinds of tech companies, right?” you ask, completely out of the blue.

“More or less,” he replies, sidestepping a more detailed (and controversial) explanation. What were you on about?

“Any chance one of them secretly developed a means of teleportation?” you joke weakly, and he chuckles at your silly remark.

“Not yet, but I’ll get my best people on it,” he assures you, kissing the top of your head. He could hardly wait for you decide to move in with him; he wanted you by his side permanently.

Terry tries to pull you into casual conversation a few times, wanting to distract you from your thoughts, but eventually contents himself with the silence, holding you close and savouring your warmth, the softness of your skin.

Eventually, the limo pulls up to Departures at LAX, and comes to a stop. You’re clutching his blazer in both hands, your knuckles white. He doesn’t think you even realize that you’re doing it.

“Look at me, love,” he coaxes you, cradling your face in his hands. Your eyes meet his, and he takes a moment to memorize your face before speaking. You have the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen…

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he whispers fiercely, tightening his hold and refusing to let you break eye contact. “The moment you walk into that airport, I’ll be waiting for you to come back. You’re all I’m going to think about. I’m here for you, for anything you need, anytime; never forget that.”

“Terry, you have to stop – they’re not going to let me board if I’m a sobbing mess,” you ask, trying to squirm out of his grip. He relents, releasing your face so that he can hold you one last time. You squeeze him back with surprising strength, like you were trying to imprint yourself on his body, and he lets you, focusing on the scent of your hair as a distraction so that he wouldn’t lose his composure.

“I love you too, honey,” you mumble into his shirt, but he catches every word. “I’m going to think about you all the time, and I’m going to figure things out and come back to you as soon as I can, I promise.”

Your words make him feel those damned butterflies in his stomach again, and he forces himself to take a deep, shuddering breath to try to calm himself. You sense his tension, pushing yourself up to kiss him, playing with his hair gently, giving him comfort.

“I’m leaving my heart here with you, Terry Silver,” you tell him seriously, fighting to keep your tears at bay. “You’d better take good care of it.”

“I’ll have your good friend Victor tighten security,” he teases. “Now, have a safe flight, and please let me know that you’ve gotten home safely. Don’t make me come find you.”

“A tempting idea,” you say lightly, as you force yourself to move towards the door, clutching his hand. The driver opens the door, and with one last squeeze, you let go of his hand, slipping out of the limo. “Bye, Terry.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.” he says, keeping his eyes on you until you turn around and his driver shuts the door after you.

The moment he gets home, he heads to his dojo. He needed to work some things out of his system.

---

Day 14-C

#thomas ian griffith #terry silver #terry silver x reader #cobra kai #fresh start

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vendetta-if · 1 year

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Here is an interesting question if Victor didn't die and mc still wanted to pursue (or had the choice) to be heir to the mafia would he let them? I mean we only got to see how he reacted when mc was little which was understandable. But I felt that either he would Not be okay with that because he doesn't want his child to be forced into life or it being too dangerous (similar to how someone might feel if their kid wanted to be a police officer or go into the military).

Or...

He would ALLOW it but only if mc work hard to prove to him and the family they really want this but be more be grudgingly and he still be protective dad mode (haha like a mother bear but papa version and feel so bad for his poor heart as I swear he's going be going through heartache everytime mc being in danger)

Actually, if he were still alive, he would most likely return to his Family sooner or later. Luka (and Grandpa and Grandma by extension) and Cara have often asked and begged him to come back home.

And near the time he died, he was seriously considering on returning and step up as the new head soon. There are a lot reasons, but first and foremost is he thought it would actually be saver for MC and also him if they just fully live under the Family’s protection. Viktor knew he and his family had quite a lot of enemies still roaming around, and right now, the easiest targets are him and MC.

Secondly, he also wanted an easier, smoother, and more comfortable future for MC and what’s better than preparing the Family business for MC to take over one day. Although, Viktor did plan to slowly start shifting the Family business into the more legit waters, so by the time MC inherits it, it’ll be fully clean or at least cleaner than when he first takes over.

Thirdly, he seriously missed his Family, yes… Even his father too (begrudgingly). The reason he didn’t want to let MC hang out too much with Grandpa was because he didn’t want Grandpa to influence MC too much. He knew how his father would have wanted MC to be raised.

So… Yeah, if he were still alive, he would most likely be the next head of the Family and MC is still going to be the heir too 😄 And even if he didn’t plan on stepping up as the head and MC planned to go back to their Family, then he would gladly join and support MC.

He would actually be more worried if MC planned to be a Vigilante or Superhero 😭 Vigilante because he knew firsthand how dangerous it could be and it could sometimes feel like a thankless job. Superhero because he didn’t want MC to change to fit the image that the Agency wanted or created for them, plus, the potential mental pressure of climbing up the ladder of fame to become the top superheroes 😔

#asks #anon ask #if: vendetta #char: mc #char: viktor #lore #AU #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript

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just0nemorepage · 4 months

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A Lair of Bones || Helen Scheuerer || Curse of the Cyren Queen #1 || 474 pages Top 3 Genres: Fantasy / Young Adult / Mermaids

Synopsis: Mighty cyrens have ruled the ancient lair of Saddoriel for centuries. A cavernous fortress, a subterranean labyrinth of tunnels and levels, powered by magic and music…

From the moment she was born, Roh, the daughter of an infamous criminal, has been despised by her own kind. Restricted to the Lower Sector and forced to work as a common bone cleaner, she has always believed she belongs above: where lies adventure… and power.

Opportunity arises in the form of the Queen’s Tournament, a treacherous set of trials that could see the victor crowned ruler of the entire lair. Up against the most cunning, dangerous cyrens in all the realms, does Roh stand a chance?

Publication Date: July 2021. / Average Rating: 4.10. / Number of Ratings: ~1270.

#tbr tuesday #I haven't read this yet!#a lair of bones #helen scheuerer #curse of the cyren queen #no. 1 #400-499 pages #need to buy #jomp original

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bi-zemo · 1 year

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Tally marks - victor zsasz x male reader - part 1

y/n and zsasz harm themselves in different ways

crossposted on ao3

Victor had been getting scars since he was 13, even lines across his left wrist and thighs every evening like clockwork. It stung at first, but as he got older and more used to pain he began to find it grounding. Now at the age of 23 the familiar sting barely even affected him as he carried out his hits.

I hadnt felt anything but normal bruises and scrapes until I was 18, when a single line appeared on my right arm. The sharp sting waking me up just past midnight, deeper than anything I would do myself, blood seeping through the hoodie I wore to bed and leaving a stain. I thought nothing of it until a month or so later, when a second one appeared as I was making a late night sandwich in my small kitchen, same size, same deepness, right next to the last. I hoped my habit hadnt rubbed off on my soulmate, I felt bad enough harming someone else I didnt want whoever it was doing it on purpose. It wasnt until three months later, a couple cuts from them and many from me, that I realised what they were doing. That night a fifth line cut across the four, he was making a tally.

Victor finished the line, his first tally. He had gotten the idea from his soulmate, the many lines littering his wrist had always been an exact number like they were counting something. He didnt know what they were counting but he knew what he was. His first kill had been messy and disorganised but successful, he took the knife still decorated with the mans blood and rolled up the sleeve of his arm clean of scars and left one mark as deep as was bearable. He wanted it to last. Since then he had left one line per death, and this longer stroke made him proud. His kills had become cleaner, slowly, and he had learned to plan. Most important of all, someone had offered to pay him, a lot of money. He had no idea how someone had learned of his hobby but he wouldnt turn down something that could pay his rent for at least three months.

After that first tally the lines started appearing more frequently, I had guesses of what they were counting but I assumed none of them were right. That was until I heard whispers, of a hitman with a perfect shot, whispers like this went around my shitty neighbourhood all the time and I usually ignored them, until I heard how he counted his kills. Tally marks. That had been what peaked my interest, it was unusual, and it fit my soulmates habit.

Someone was looking for him, thats what victor had heard, and no one who didnt have a deathwish would search for him. So he looked into it. Followed the whispers to a shitty apartment on the edge of the narrows, watched it for a few days until he established the resident nearly never left, only sat on the windowsill for a cigarette every few hours in his boxers and usually a hoodie. It was a tired looking, underweight man, probably around twenty or so but looked younger due to what was probably several years of food deprivation, not uncommon in the narrows. The first time the apartment was empty was when the young man left, actually dressed in jeans and several layers with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a hood pulled over his greasy hair. Victor took this chance to climb through the window into a kitchen, plates stacked high on the sides by the sink. He opened the fridge and scoured the cupboards. Just as he expected, the man had left for groceries. The only thing in that fridge was a half drank bottle of coke and the cupboards were worse. He scanned the rest of the flat, a small living room connected to the kitchen but looked barely used, only a bag of laundry that after a thorough sniff victor decided was straight from the laundromat. Well maybe not straight from, it was clean but had been left a while. The bathroom was nothing much, towels on the floor and shampoo knocked over in the shower. The razors on the edge of the sink placed gently on a piece of tissue caught his eye as any blade would but he continued on to the bedroom. There he found the window he had been watching, the windowsill mostly cleared so the resident could perch on it. The bed was messy and clearly well used and there were mugs, some still half filled with cold coffee, on nearly every surface. Clearly the man pretty much lived in here. Victor swung the door shut behind him and headed back to the living room, sitting on an armchair in the darkest corner and waiting for the man to come home.

I hauled my heavy groceries up the stairs to my third floor apartment, the many tins i had found discounted making the bag far too heavy for my week arms but they would feed me for several weeks. I stepped through my front door into the kitchen and flipped on the flickery bulb, dumping the plastic bags on the floor and my backpack on the counter before beginning to put them away. “Lovely place you got here.” I jumped out of my skin, dropping a tin of soup that rolled under my cabinet, spinning to see a bald man in a suit that looked like it cost more than my entire apartment. I reached into my pocket to pull out my knife but he stepped forward, slipping his own hand into the pocket and grabbing it himself, tutting. “Naughty boy” I was frozen as he flipped the blade open, flipping it between his fingers. “Who are you.” “You should know considering youve apparently been looking for me.” This was when i noticed bulk around his torso, a holster, guns. “Zsasz.” “Thats my name, dont wear it out.” He slid the knife into a pocket inside his jacket, letting me catch a glimpse of a pistol concealed under it. “Whats a guy like you doing looking for me, judging this place you cant afford my services.” I couldnt get the words out, his dark eyes distracting me from anything that left his mouth. “You gonna tell me sweetheart?” I squeaked and he sighed. “Dont know if you count as a threat but i guess i have to do this anyway.” He drew out a gun and pressed it against my chin. “Wait wait i-” I didnt know what to do or how to phrase it so i did the only thing i could think of and pulled up my sleeve. There on my lanky arm was his tallys.

For the first time in his life victor was speechless, no witty comeback making its way to the front of his mind. He shoved the gun on the counter and grabbed the mans other wrist and shoved up the sleeve, ignoring the wince he got in return, and saw the lines and lines of scars he knew decorated his own left arm. He just stood there holding the two wrists in his hands before looking up at who he now knew was his soulmate. “You know, cutting yourself is really bad for you.” I let a small smile break over my face, locking eyes with the victor zsasz and living to tell the tale. “Yeah sorry about that.” He still had me crowded against the counter, my wrists gripped firmly in his gloved hands, i could feel his calm breath against my mouth. “So, soulmates huh.” I nodded slightly. “I could live with that.” And his lips connected with mine, sending sparks all the way down to my toes and fingertips, making me melt at the contact. I had never felt anything like it, i had heard that when soulmates kiss it released hormones that couldnt be released any other way but i didnt realise it felt this good. He pulled back and i almost leant forward with him. “Fuck” “Fuck indeed” His face remained hard to read, only a small smirk on his face, but his pupils were blown wide and when my body unconsciously leant forward i felt something at his crotch brush against my half hard cock. “No thats not another gun honey.”

#victor zsasz #victor zsasz x reader #victor zsasz x male reader #gotham

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