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emeritusemeritus · 8 months

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Since never. [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: Since Never.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader (background George Weasley x Angelina)

Timeline: GOF, McGonagall’s dance class.

Summary: George meddles and Fred finally finds the courage to ask you to the Ball, not liking the idea of anyone else taking you. Inspired by TikTok, based on movie canon.

Warnings: Friends to lovers, minor kissing, harmless pranks. A load of fluff. Fred has a crush.

I’m thinking of writing a part two to this, but it would most likely just be self indulgent fluff 🤍

"You know," George whispers into his twin's ear, trying to get Fred's attention whilst also trying to stay under McGonagall's radar as she addresses the Gryffindor students all huddled into one large classroom. The Triwizard Tournament and the associated Yule Ball had been announced the day before and as head of house, Mcgonagall had been tasked with teaching her students the traditional Waltz. The girls were seated on the left side of the room whilst the boys were seated on the right, kept separate for now as they listened to her explaining the ins and out of the tournament and the ball.

George leans forward to whisper once again to Fred who stands with his arms folded, watching in amusement as Filch hopelessly fiddles with an archaic megaphone, trying to get it to work. "Lee told me this morning that y/n's going to the ball with Cedric Diggory."

Fred's head immediately whips round with a face of utter horror as he turns to his brother, before briefly diverting his eyes over to you on the other side of the room and then returning his gaze to George.

"What, since when?"

"Since never," George smirks dangerously as he takes in Fred's rather apparent distaste to his words, his dismay and disappointment etched right across his face. "But your reaction just told me everything I needed to know."

Fred huffs and slinks back onto the windowsill where he'd been leaning feeling a little embarrassed at being caught out so easily by his twin. His crush on you was one of the only secrets he'd ever hidden from his twin, though apparently rather unsuccessfully, never wanting to be teased about it. You'd all been friends for so long that he never wanted to make things awkward by admitting his feelings and so he'd kept quiet for nearly two years of loving you secretly and silently.

"You should ask her," George says, leaning in once again. Fred doesn't reply, at least not verbally, but instead shoots his brother a fierce look that tells him to back off.

"Something may be about to burst out of Eloise Midgen, but I don't think it's a swan," Fred hears Ron mumble to his surrounding classmates, their eyes all sneakily turning to look at the girl in question, who shifts uncomfortably where she stands, unaware that half the boys of Gryffindor are looking at her. Fred's gaze doesn't linger long, instead finding you in the crowd, whispering with Angelica seated beside you as Hermione shoots you both a chastising look from the other side, clearly trying to listen intently to Mcgonagall.

Your hair is down now, not tied up in a high ponytail like it had been at breakfast. Your legs are neatly crossed in your seat, your school skirt revealing an appropriate but delicious amount of leg that Fred can hardly look away from. You're effortlessly beautiful, or at least you are to him, never looking better than when you are laughing and joking with your friends like right now. Sat surrounded by only the girls, Fred thinks it seems to to enhance your beauty, the prettiest face in a sea of girls.

"Mr Weasley."

Fred immediately looks up upon hearing his title called out as it so frequently is, though he's mightily relieved when it appears McGonagall was addressing his younger brother Ron, no doubt hearing him muttering.

"Will you join me please?" She asks, moving towards where he sits with an outstretched hand. The tone of her voice leaves no space for refusal as she tentatively reached out for his jumper and pulls him up of the chair, moving to stand in the middle of the room. The boys all make teasing noises as he stands, dragging his body over to Mcgonagall, feet hardly shuffling on the floor.

"Place your right hand on my waist," she says, opening her arms for him.

"Where?" He asks utterly horrified. Everyone looking on watches with sadistic amusement at his predicament. Fred can barely contain his delight at the scene before him, watching with utter glee, just like his twin beside him.

"My waist!" Mcgonagall replies, grabbing Ron by the sleeve and firmly placing his arm on her waist.

Fred heard a wolf whistle from the other side of the room and looks at you just in time to see your hand pull away from your mouth, clearly having been the perpetrator. The looking of delight on your face mirrors his own as you each catch each others gaze and he thinks just for a second that if he didn't love you already, it was firmly cemented now.

Ron turns and shoots you a look but you simply wink at him with a dung-eating grin before he is dragged back to focus on the professor.

"Mr Filch, if you please," Mcgonagall commands, prompting the caretaker to drop the needle on the record player, flinching only moments later as the speaker begins to crackle, before a signature waltz pours out.

"One two three, one two three," Mcgonagall starts counting as she leads Ron into a waltz, showing the steps that were specific to the champion's waltz.

Fred and George had been goofily dancing along with the music, hardly taking their eyes off of their embarrassed brother when Harry calls over to them.

"Oi!" Harry says, gesturing for Fred and George to come closer. They move in perfect unison and never take their eyes off Ron as they listen to Harry.

"You're never going to let him forget this are you?"

"Never," the twins say in synchronised perfection with identical smirks before leaning back slinking away to lean on the window as they had before.

"Everyone, come together!" Mcgonagall says from the centre of the room, finally pulling away from a bright red Ron to gesture everyone forward. The boys make no effort to move forward, clearly not wanting to participate whereas nearly all of the girls leap forward in excitement, waiting in a line to be picked.

Fred watches as Angelina drags you up, noticing that you had not leapt forward with the rest of the girls and he has to hide a snicker at seeing your disgruntled face, evidently not as keen to dance as your female classmates.

"Boys! On your feet!" Mcgonagall claps, getting the boys to also move forward. Neville stands first, followed by a few stragglers but no one moves forward until Fred steps out of line and whilst ignoring the looks from his twin and fellow Gryffindors, marches straight over to you.

"May I have this dance mi'lady?" He says dramatically with a bow of his head, extending his right hand to you.

"You may mi'lord," you laugh, placing your hand in his. He drags you over to the dance floor and places his hand on your waist just as he'd seen in the demonstration and with surprising precision, pulled you further away as he began spinning you. Your laugh echoed through the classroom even over the music as Fred span you around and around, completely ignoring the choreography until Mcgonagall shouted over and warned you both.

He seemed, for once, to heed the warning and pulled you closer into his chest then, placing his hand back onto your waist as he held you close, managing to quickly pick up the footwork that was needed for the waltz.

It was so intimate and romantic that you had to remind yourself frequently that this was Fred you were dancing with, knowing that he was out of bounds on account of your friendship with him and his siblings.You had to resist the urge to rest your head on his chest as you danced, enjoying the closeness as you half watched the rest of your house dancing around you.

"Do you have a date to the ball yet?" You hear Fred ask as he dances with you, hand resting on your lower back after lifting you in perfectly sync with the music.

"Not yet," you say, looking up to see him watching you with an intensity you couldn't place. "You?" You ask, temporarily breaking your eye contact as he clutched your waist, lifting you again and then taking your waist and your hand to spin you, just as the champions waltz demanded. He didn't verbally reply but instead shook his head with a frown before pulling you in closer and spinning you with more intensity which had you laughing again.

"Y/n," Fred says as he looks down at you, pausing his movements to speak but he's interrupted by Mcgonagall calling time on the dance class. She begins addressing the room of students on details of the ball and you all listen intently until she dismisses the class. When you turn back to Fred you notice he'd joined George and was already walking out the door, bag slung over his right shoulder. Angelina joined you, bringing you your bag as you said goodbye to Ginny and Hermione before walking to your next class together.

"You and Fred looked rather close," Angelina says as you place your bag onto your shoulder.

"He's my best friend Ange," you say, nudging her shoulder and rolling your eyes, pretending that you hadn't enjoyed it quite as much as you did.

"Has he asked you to the ball?" She says, not even flinching.

"No and I doubt he will," you say with a forced huff of a self-deprecating laugh.

"I hope George asks me," she says longingly as you turn the corner towards the charms classroom, instantly falling silent as you see the two brothers you'd been discussing already standing in the doorway to the classroom.

George looks over and smiles at you both, mainly Angelina as he beckons you over and you don't hesitate wiggling your eyebrows at her once he looked away, causing her to nudge you forcefully right back. You momentarily loose your balance from the unexpected nudge and as if on instinct, Fred's arms reach out to catch you.

"Falling for me princess?" He smirks, causing you to roll your eyes.

"You'd love that Weasley," you counter once you'd steadied yourself, seeing that George and Ange had already taken their seats.

"Ladies first," Fred says, opening his arms to gesture for you to go through the doorway first and you send him a sarcastic smile of gratitude before taking your seat next to Ang, in front of Fred.

Throughout the class you were desperately distracted, barely even listening or taking notes. thinking of your dance with Fred earlier and how he'd marched directly over to you ahead of all the other boys. You hoped that he was going to ask you to the ball, though you knew it would just be a pipe dream. Hopefully someone would ask you, even just as friends.

A piece of scrunched up parchment hits you square in the head, making you look round with a glare. Fred immediately smiles widely at you, if not a little sarcastically before he sends another note over to you with his wand, a little origami bird flying over your shoulder and onto the desk in front of you. Your eyebrows knit together in questioning as you look up at him again but he simply raises his eyebrows as if to say 'read it' and you turn and unfold the note delicately, shooting a quick look towards the professor to check that they weren't watching you.

'Black lake 7pm?"

You turned around, still looking confused but when you saw Fred watching you eagerly, you nodded with a little smile. He smiled back, winking at you before dropping his gaze back down to his work.

You secretly nudged Ang beside you and gestured with your eyes down to the little note, seeing her eyes bulge comically as she let out a little silent squeal of delight once she reads the note. She looks at you excitedly and wordlessly nods, as if thinking the same thing.

It's 6:50pm and you hadn't seen Fred or George at dinner which was unusual to say the least. Angelina and Harry had been there so it wasn't a Quidditch thing, which only confused you more. You made your way out of the castle utilising one of the secret passageways that you'd taken multiple times with the twins to avoid being seen, climbing around the statue of Gregory the smarmy and slipped down into the passage, walking the length of the little corridor until you could hear water rippling. You climbed up the little rocky steps and found yourself looking out at the Great Lake, beside the rocky cliffs that hid you from sight.

"Evening," you a voice called out from behind you, making you turn and frown. It was hard to see in just the moonlight with the shadows of the cliffs creating even more darkness, but you immediately sensed that something wasn't right. The person jumped down from where they had been perched on the rock and as they moved closer their long red hair and wooden jumper emblazoned with an 'F' came into focus.

"Hi, Fred," you said unconvincingly, looking at the bloke in front of you.

"Glad you could come gorgeous," he says, shifting to stand next to you. You couldn't help but observe him, looking at his features with subtle glances and questioning eyes.

"It's pretty out here tonight don't you think," he says with a shy smirk, though his eyes focus entirely on you as he speaks.

"Uh yeah, really pretty." He seems to briefly notice your lack of reply and casts a glance up at your eyes before looking away, focusing his attention on something to the right for just a moment.

"I've been thinking a lot about our dance earlier," he says shyly and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes now that it's all added up in your mind.

You gesture for him to move in closer, placing your hand on his shoulder as he leans down so that you could whisper in his ear.

"We didn't dance earlier," you say bluntly though with humour behind it, picking up a rock and trying to skim it on the water.

"Eh?" He asks, turning quickly to look up at your face in surprise, taken aback by his words.

"I danced with Fred earlier. Where is he anyway?" You ask quietly, raising your eyebrow at him, foiling his plan. He barks out a loud laugh at your discovery and you immediately see the performance drop from his body as he slinks down to his regular stance, once again being himself. He subtly nods his head to the right and your eyes light up in glee as you lean back over to him.

"Want to mess with him?" You ask with a suggestive wiggle of your eyebrows. George's eyes immediately light up as he nods, a smile tugging at his lips already.

"You know I've been thinking about our dance a lot too," you say flirtily and a little louder now, ensuring that whenever Fred was, he would hear you. You even lean over to touch George on the arm as you speak, your body language changing as you play heavily on the flirting.

"Oh really?" He says, playing along with a concealed smirk.

"Mmm," you hum, tracing your fingers up his arm with exaggerated movements so you knew that Fred would see them if he was watching. "I spent the whole dance really hoping you were going to kiss me," you said innocently and you immediately have to bite your lip as you and George share a little silent laugh.

"What a coincidence," he says, trying to sound like Fred, "I was thinking the same thing."

"Are you thinking about it now?" You ask, reaching to play with his collar, your voice seductive and airy as you pull out all the stops. "Maybe you could give me a demonstration of exactly what you were thinking about."

All of a sudden you hear a few loud shouts and a shuffle as another figure comes into view, quickly making their way down the rocky cliffs and running comically with waving arms, straight over to stand between you and George, who are both now in hysterics. Fred immediately notices the two of you laughing and freezes in confusion before realising that he'd been played.

"When did you figure it out?" He says, sounding aghast at you seeing through their little scheme.

"The second George said 'evening'," you chuckled, straightening back up and laughing again as Fred and George begin to squabble about who's fault it was.

"Anyway, have fun you two," George says with a wiggle of his eyebrows before walking down the steps to the concealed passage, leaving you and the real Fred alone.

"You know that doesn't work with me," you say, turning to him with a smirk on your face, seeing him already looking at you and shrugging with a playful grin. "Why did you swap?"

"Needed to know you could tell us apart," he says with a cheeky grin that makes you frown, silently questioning him. "Gonna need to know which one's your date to the ball aren't you. Can't have you dancing with the wrong bloke."

Your eyes immediately widen and a smile beams across your face as his words register with you. He chuckles, seeing your reaction before dramatically getting down on one knee as if he was proposing.

"Y/n, would you do me the honour of being my date to the Yule ball?" He asks seriously, holding out his hands as if he was presenting you with a ring. You giggle and let out a little squeal before lunging at him, knocking you both to the floor.

"I might be wrong but I think that was a yes," he chuckles.

"Yes! Yes you great oaf," you reply with a smile, feeling completely elated. His smile matches yours as he pulls you down onto him and suddenly there's a tension that falls between you both at the intimacy of the moment.

"Still thinking about that kiss?" He asks, a nervousness falling across his features that you had so rarely seen. You don't reply, at least not verbally and give a small, shy nod as you look at his lips in anticipation, thinking of nothing else.

Not a moment passes before he leans up, gently pulling you down until your lips meet, his soft lips pressing gently against yours. After just a few seconds, his hands hover over your waist before he seems to find the courage to hold you, placing his hands on your waist and hip as the kiss deepens, lips working completely in sync as you sink deeper and deeper into eachother.

You pull apart a little while later and both giggle shyly at what had just happened. Fred never takes his hands away from your waist, even as he gently manoeuvres you until you're lying down on him, head on his shoulder as you both look up at the star filled sky, a comfortable silence falling between you as you both replay the moment in your heads over and over again.

#emeritusemeritus #harry potter #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #yule ball #goblet of fire

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 10 months

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terms of endearment │ Part I: The Princess and the Rogue

See the Series Masterlist for the correct order!

“The marriage between the second daughter of King Viserys I and his own brother, Prince Daemon, raised eyebrows upon its first announcement. Many assumed the match would echo the Rogue Prince’s unfortunate first union with the late Lady Rhea, despite his wish for a Valyrian bride being, finally, fulfilled. It surprised all who took witness to see the intensity of Daemon’s devotion to his second wife, a regard that would persist through a long and happy union between uncle and niece.”

- ‘Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

The story of Prince Daemon Targaryen and his brother’s second-born daughter, as told through the many terms of endearment he calls her by.

Thank you to @my-justreblog for the header art!

Queen Aemma brings a new child into the world—you. As the second daughter of King Viserys I, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Daemon returns to King’s Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn’t expecting you—the revelation changes everything.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

As the second-born daughter of Aemma and Viserys, you never expected to be married off to your uncle Daemon. The wedding is here—and the wedding night.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Scenes from a marriage—you receive an education from your Uncle Daemon. Lucky for you, he is all too happy to teach you.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

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poppadom0912 · 9 months

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Together : Series Masterlist

Started: 03/09/23 - Finished: 10/11/23

Summary: What was supposed to be a quick trip cleaning your dad's cabin turns into something so much more.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, stabbing, guns, arson, drugs etc.

Halstead Cabin

Halstead Hurt

Halstead Lost

Halstead Help & Severide Worry

Halstead Number Two

Halstead Stubborn Part Two

Halstead Tough

Halstead Blood

Halstead Tears

Halstead Smiles

Epilogue

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #jay halstead x reader #onechicago #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago pd #will halstead x reader #halstead sister #halstead brothers #kelly severide x reader #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x sister!reader #masterlist #series masterlist

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 5 months

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fire-breathing roommate chronicles masterlist ! ♡ (complete !)

synopsis : when an injured, mysterious, and incredibly handsome dragon man blasts through the wall of your apartment, you decide to let him stay with you until he's fully healed. despite the struggles of co-habitating with a mythical beast, his mysterious past and annoyingly sharp tongue, you find you can't help feeling drawn to him..

chronicle #0 : prologue

chronicle #1 : routine

chronicle #2 : bring your dragon to work day

chronicle #3 : going home

chronicle #4 : welcome back

#cash's list <3 #fire breathing roommate chronicles masterlist #looking forward to writing these !

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winchesterszvonecek · 5 months

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"When we get home, I'm gonna tear your clothes off and pound your pussy/ass so hard you can't see straight."

Matt Casey x reader or Brian Zvonecek x reader

Tease - [ Matt Casey] 18+

Prompt: “When we get home, I’m gonna tear your clothes off and pound your pussy so hard you can’t see straight.”

Word Count: 1211

Warnings: female!reader, smut - [ dirty talk, brief vaginal fingering, p in v sex ]

A/N: went with matt bc i don’t have much for him

Masterlist | Matt Masterlist

You’d never have expected Matt to have such a dirty mind, let alone a dirty mouth. But when you riled him up. Whether it be by flirting with him in the common room or purposely pushing yourself up against him in the locker room, he could get to be quite the filthy talker.

And that was evidently proven when he dragged you into his office after having had enough of your teasing for one day, deciding it was high time he did some of his own just to see how you liked it. He drew the blinds, inciting heat deep in your core as he only ever did that when he intended for things to get steamy.

Pulling you close to him, Matt fell back into his chair, which rolled slightly across the floor and banged into the wall. You were quick to straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him deeply. Passionately. Enough that he almost forgot what he brought you in here for.

“When we get home…” Matt whispered, digging his fingers deep into the fleshed of your clothed ass as you ground your hips down against him, making him twitch beneath his pants and almost lose his train of thought.

Again.

His eyelids fluttered, breath hitching in his throat as he tightened his hold on you, stopping you from doing it a second time otherwise he’d never be able to actually get his teasing words out.

“Fuck…” Matt groaned lightly, his hold not quite tight enough as you managed to get one more grind of your hips in before he pulled you closer to his chest, feeling the soft mounds of your breasts pressed against him. “When we get home, I’m gonna tear your clothes off and pound your pussy so hard you can’t see straight.”

“Why wait? Why not do it now?” You replied breathlessly. Like a dog in heat. Practically begging him to pin you down and fuck you as the mere heat that had formed between your legs at his words was unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

You didn’t know if you’d have been able to wait so long to feel him absolutely destroy you, and perhaps you shouldn’t have been so intent on teasing him as you could tell he was trying to play a dirty game. Luckily for you though, you were great at games and oftentimes you got exactly what you wanted.

“You want me to fuck you now?” Matt questioned, grazing his knuckles down your chest and feeling the hardness of your nipples poke through your bra. He carried on, every inch closer he got to your lower half making your legs tighten around his. “Want me to pin you down on my bunk and fuck that tight little pussy of yours?”

“I want you to fuck me, baby.” You whispered, the desperation slipping shamelessly through your lips.

Especially when his hand delved beneath the dark material of your pants, working their way under the already soaked material of your panties. He began to drag his fingers painfully slowly across you, feeling just how wet you were for him and finding pleasure in the soft whine you let out from his touch.

“Fuck, Matt…” You couldn’t help the gentle moan from escaping your throat at the way he teased you. Pushing his fingers into your pussy barely a centimetre before pulling back out, in the exact way he knew drove you crazy and left you craving more. “God, please fuck me… Let me feel that huge cock inside me.”

You knew he couldn’t resist it when you talked dirty. Especially in that tone. That heated, whining, desperation filled tone that could have him leaking under his boxers the second it left those soft lips of yours. The ones that were currently exploring his neck, your hot breath puffing out over his skin as he continued to tease you, rubbing his thumb over your clit just lightly enough that it couldn't give you exactly what you wanted just yet.

Which is what Matt wanted. He wanted you like this. Desperate. Craving more and the second a throaty gasp left your lips when he applied just a touch more pressure, he was on his feet and tossing you down onto his bunk before you could comprehend what was happening.

“Forget waiting.” Matt practically growled, pupils blown wide with lust as he freed you of your pants. “I’m gonna pound that sweet pussy now.”

You could tell by his face that he was serious. That you were in for a rough time and it only turned you on more. You watched as he grabbed your panties, almost ripping them off you in attempts to get you out of them. He bunched them up, shoving them into your mouth in best efforts to keep you somewhat quiet as he didn’t think the firehouse would appreciate hearing him destroy you.

You spread your legs as wide as you could, riddled with hunger as you did nothing but watch as he pulled his cock from his pants. It sprang up almost instantly, rock hard already and dripping from the tip. He gave it a few quick pumps, biting back a moan as he stared directly between your legs.

“You ready, baby?” He asked, stroking his length a few more times before positioning himself on top of you. You nodded, your hand running down his still clothed chest, fingers wrapping around his cock as you gave it a gentle tug towards you, a deep, rattling moan escaping his lips as you did.

The muffled cry that erupted through the panties in your mouth as he bottomed out in one quick motion was enough to get Matt going completely. The speed at which he moved was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, his hips slamming against your thighs as he made good on his word of pounding your pussy until you couldn’t see straight.

You already couldn't see straight and it hadn’t even been a minute yet. But you loved every damn second of it. The slight hint of pain only added to that intense pleasure coursing through your veins. Your lower abdomen was on fire, tightening faster than ever with each thrust of his cock, reaching deeper inside you than it ever had before and sending you to heights you never thought you’d reach.

You made a mental note to rile him up like this more often as when your orgasm hit, it was as though you’d ascended to heaven. Like you were floating from your body and for a good thirty seconds, you saw nothing but white as Matt carried you through it, prolonging it to the point where you had to tell him to stop before you became too overstimulated that it started to hurt.

Luckily though, it only took Matt two more deep thrusts to reach his own end, collapsing on top of you as though he’d just ran a marathon and then fought a blazing fire. You were both sweating, unable to breathe let alone speak but that didn’t stop him from kissing you, pushing your hair back from your face as his lips worked lightly, gently, against yours before he whispered, smugly.

“Same time next shift?”

Like this? Apply to my Matt tag list here!

tagging: @kiddbegins @pensfan5871 @alexxavicry @babyyoda89 @wandamaxim0f @evanbuckbuckley @annchersita @cerealreblogger @sjhhemmings

Enjoy my work? Why not consider supporting me on Ko-Fi?☕️

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vizslasaber · 10 days

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FRIENDLY FIRE ──── captain rex.

SUMMARY | Newly knighted and unaccustomed to combat, you’re suddenly given your first assignment on the shadowy world of Umbara. Waiting on the planet’s surface is the start of a mission filled with death and deception—and the companionship of someone whose smile you never thought you’d fall for.

PAIRING | Captain Rex x female Jedi!reader

A/N | look i'm in love with this man, i simply Could Not help myself from falling in love with him, and i felt the need to live vicariously through reader insert fics, so here we are (don't ask me why they sent two generals in place of one, it's for the purpose of the fic). also, the reader is female, and i've decided some details such as former master (OC) home planet, and name (because i despise using y/n). everything else is up to you!

WARNINGS | fluff, angst because this is the umbara arc, SLOW BURN, star wars curses, death (no major characters), blood/gore, suggestive themes. the whole shabang.

STATUS: WIP | TAGLIST | Last Updated: May 13, 2024

──── CHAPTER ONE

SUMMARY | after landing on the umbaran surface, you butt heads with your fellow general—but get along swimmingly with your temporary clone captain.

WORD COUNT | 3.9k

WARNINGS | combat/action, mentions of injury + death, krell being a bitch, reader with a name instead of y/n because i hate it

──── CHAPTER TWO

SUMMARY | The mission continues, and with it, your growing suspicion of Krell’s authoritarian methods. But the troopers relying on you—including Rex—lead you in the right direction: one of unyielding kindness, even when it’s hard.

WORD COUNT | 3.7k

WARNINGS | Combat/action, mentions of injury & death, Krell being a bitch as usual, gender neutral use of the term “sir,” gratuitous use of Mando’a, and one (1) curse word. Also, a Shakespeare reference because I’m a historian & couldn’t help myself.

──── CHAPTER THREE

COMING SOON!

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3d-wifey · 6 months

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And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 9

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.7k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: @melancholicmelanin , @yvy1s, @honethatty12 A/N: Thank you for waiting so patiently, Finnick girls! I was able to post this one in its entirety. SMUTTTTT, and then angst. I give y'all a lil kiss and then I shoot you. 🥲🥲🥲

Past (x) - You

[19 & 20] - THE CAPITOL; ELEVENTH FLOOR

How your body looked had never truly been important to you. Growing up, the only thing that mattered was whether or not your arms and legs were strong enough to heft you up a tree, whether or not you had the stamina to climb up and down wooden giants with sacks of fruit on your back, whether or not your malnourished muscles could endure the strain of the games.

You know you’re attractive. Not because it’s something you thought of yourself, but because you wouldn’t be in your position if you weren’t. That fact doesn’t stop the nerves from bubbling up as Finnick unzips the back of your dress.

In the garden, under the open sky, each kiss became more searching, and desperate. It was unspoken, the step the two of you were taking—the two of you laughing and shushing each other as you snuck into your room like teenagers, still riding the high of your drinks.

The zipper stops at the base of your spine, warm breath on your neck. He moves the strap down and then the other, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder.

His fingers brush the bare skin of your back and you turn around to face him. He holds your face between two big palms, grinning big and happy at you before kissing you. Finnick kisses like his lips against yours are the sum of his whole being. Like he’s trying to rob you of your last breath and replace it with his own. Like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing for the rest of his life. Your hands go to his waist and you pull him closer until your chest presses against his. He’s warm, even through his shirt and you feel that heat rubbing off on you. If you grip him any tighter, will your fingerprints sear into him? Will they become a permanent fixture on his body like the ghost of his touch is on yours?

You move one scalding palm to his chest where his shirt cuts open. In your mind, you leave your handprint over his heart. You graze blunted nails over bare skin, making a red trail of five from his clavicle to his Adonis belt. He tenses and then leans into the drag. You unbuckle his belt and untuck his shirt from his pants. He licks at the seam of your mouth and you welcome him graciously. He groans deep in his chest as you suck on his tongue and you could stay here languishing in his affections until the sun gives out.

He backs you up until your calves bump into the foot of your bed.

He pauses, not to take a much-needed breath like you do, but to pull his shirt over his head and throw it in the general direction of where he left your shoes. In the back of your mind, you imagine how upset your stylists would be to see the two of you treat your clothes with so little respect. And with that thought, you let your dress drop to the ground.

You sit on the edge of your bed, heart in your stomach. In the past four years, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress, but never with any intent behind it. This is different.

Finnick stands before you and you laugh at his expression. The look of astonishment certainly makes you feel more confident. His eyes don’t move from you as you lounge back.

His face twists up in apprehension like he’s psyching himself up to say something.

"I've never done this before. I mean, I've done this before, obviously. I just," he runs a hand through already messy hair, "I've never been with someone I care about." You sigh, and your shoulders relax. Relief washes over you. You have experience, sure, but everything you’ve done has been for the pleasure of someone else.

"Me neither…But I wanna learn how." Your tongue is quick to add clarification that isn’t needed. “With you.”

“I’d hope so.” He chuckles and a look of realization crosses his face. “I guess this is both of our first times then, huh?” He pulled his belts from the loops before toeing out of his shoes at a leisurely pace, in no real rush. You lay back onto your elbows and watch him undress, probably smiling like an idiot.

"I don't want this to feel like it usually does. I want this to feel real." You want him to feel real. You point your toes to brush his clothed thigh as he undoes his pants.

“Always.” He promises. This will be something special the two of you get to share, a kind of loophole. Something no one else can take away from you.

“If we…” You trail off as he finally hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pulls it down, leaving him in his tight, black briefs, “Um.” You finish rather unintelligently. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Sorry, am I distracting you?” He gestures to himself, eyebrows lifted in a disingenuous apology. You shake your head dumbly as you watch his lips move and he stalks towards you. What a novel thing, you decide, to actually feel attraction towards your partner without the aid of any aphrodisiacs. You had honestly doubted that it was possible, but Finnick had always been in the business of proving you wrong.

He straddles one of your legs, knee settled high between your thighs, and he leans in for a kiss that already belongs to him. Finnick urges you further up the bed with a nod of his head, kisses pressed to the underside of your jaw as you settle in the mountain of plush pillows.

His mouth is pretty and pink. You give in to the impulse and bite his bottom lip, tugging it with your teeth. He moans into your mouth when you soothe it over with your tongue and when he pulls away, his shark tooth necklace dangles in your face.

You bite the bullet and go to unhook your strapless bra, but he stops you.

“Let me.” He murmurs against your lips, long after you’ve forgotten what he’s asking you. You nod anyway, leaning up and he moves to settle between your legs. His fingers brush your back as he unhooks it and pulls it off. The air nips at you, tightening the skin around your nipples.

You’ve been naked before, plenty of times. But never in front of Finnick—never fully. You’re half tempted to do something childish like cover yourself, but you’re stopped. Not by his hands, but by the sheer adoration in his eyes as he looks his fill.

“You’re ravishing.” He grins down at you and says it like a fact. “Somehow, more than I imagined.”

“You’ve thought about me before, Odair?” You aim for cockiness, but you can’t keep the smile off your face for long.

“I always think about you. Whenever I’m in bed with a client, I'm picturing you instead.” You blink. And then blink again. While you’re a little surprised at the admission, you understand. You do the same thing yourself. You feel warmth spreading throughout your chest. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to expect a response from you, so he continues talking.

“I thought about how you’d feel, how you’d look. The sounds you’d make when I did this,” You gasp when he licks a strip up the valley of your breasts, “And this.” Your thighs clench around his slim waist as he blows cool air on the trail of spit he left. Your chest arches towards his mouth, a mind of its own.

“You always manage to exceed my expectations.” The muscles in your abdomen twitch with each syllable as he kisses his way down, light shining flattering on his bare back. “You’re beautiful.”

“So you’ve sai—said.” You say, too distracted by the drag of his lips on your skin and too flustered under the weight of his devotion to think clearly.

There's a sanctity in the way Finnick looks at you that confuses you at the best of times and overwhelms you at the worst. You never strain under the weight of just how in awe of you he is, but your knees get the urge to buckle and yield.

You want to ask how. How can someone love another person so much? But there's no point in voicing it; you'd just be a hypocrite since you end up answering your own question whenever you look at him. You look at him now and feel that same certainty. You're two zealots, worshiping at each other's altars. A religion of reverence.

“And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it,” he kisses where your thigh meets your hip, “I’ll keep saying it until my lungs give out and even after that.”

"And how are you gonna manage that, huh?" You snort at the conviction in his voice.

"I'll figure it out,” He shrugs, smiling against your skin. “For you, I'll find a way." You snort again, shaking your head. Always so confident when it comes to you.

“What’s so funny?” He grins up at you. And the fact that he keeps moving further down doesn’t escape you.

“I can’t say anyone’s ever waxed poetics while going down on me before.” You laugh, stretching your arms above you and settling deeper into the soft bed. Finnick follows the movement like a hawk.

“A shame.” He grabs a handful of your thighs in each hand. “These alone deserve sonnets written about ‘em.” You sigh in a put-upon way to hide how flattered you actually are. You’ve had people go down on you before, though it was never for your own satisfaction. You’ve faked so many orgasms that you can’t recall the last time you had a real one.

Familiar fingers push the crotch of your panties to the side and it all feels so natural. You’re breathless. He runs his knuckles over where you’re soft and warm for him and you flinch into the feeling. It would’ve been mortifying just how wet you are if you were with anyone other than Finnick.

“This all for me?” He laughs, still giggly from the wine. Scratch that thought. Still mortifying with Finnick—maybe even more so.

“Oh my—please, shut up.” You groan into the safety of your hands and you yelp when he nips at your leg in retaliation, skin made sensitive from his proximity.

“You gonna shut me up?” He smirks against your thigh, eyebrow lifted in a silent challenge and you clench around nothing at the gleam of indulgence in his eyes.

“Maybe.” You take the unsaid request for what it is and thread your fingers through his hair, leading to where you’re aching for him.

“Pinch my arm if it’s too much.” You nod, but it seems he’s waiting for verbal confirmation. As soon as you give it, your only warning is a hot puff of air before soft lips descend on you with no preamble. Your back arches off the bed at the hot drag of his tongue.

Finnick wastes no time, so much so that it makes you wonder if he’s more eager than you are. He’s enthusiastic in his approach, licking at you almost greedily. His scruff rubs against you as he moves his head.

He groans as you clench around his tongue, fingers jerking in his hair as your body tries to decide whether it’s too much or not enough. You could’ve come from that alone, his hands nailing your hips to the bed as he builds the heat in your abdomen with just his tongue.

“Fuck me.” Either the alcohol has left your muscles loose and uncompromising or you’ve seriously underestimated Finnick’s strength. Most likely both. Your attempts to buck away from the onslaught of pleasure are useless with the arms wrapped under your thighs and the hands on your hips rendering you immobile. It’s like he’s made from stone, moving only when he wants to—not that he needs any guidance.

“I plan to.” He pulls away for a second and you think that’s the end of it. But then he spits and your eyelids flutter as he lets it drip down before licking it up. The sounds, wet and sloppy, make your ears burn and your toes curl. It’s embarrassing to hear just how much you’re enjoying it, just how much you want him. Almost as embarrassing as seeing and hearing how much Finnick is enjoying it. Moaning into you, hips jolting into the bed. The champagne teams up with the pleasure in a mission to make you light-headed and unsteady.

One of his hands travels up the expanse of your stomach. He holds the weight of your breast in his hand before he pinches your nipple. He twists the hard peak between his calloused thumb and forefinger and it sparks down your back to the base of your spine. You say his name on each exhale and grab his wrist, just to have something to anchor to or you’ll float away.

You throw your head back, a moan trapped in your throat. You claw at the pillow by your head and push on his head, though it’s futile. It only accomplishes him pulling you further down into his grasp. The more you squirm the tighter he holds you, to the point that you’re practically riding his face.

“C’mon, Star,” he murmurs against you and you’re left throbbing at the vibrations. You bite your lip hard enough to sting, “I know you can take it.” It’s more than you’ve felt before, the pleasure. It’s overpowering, drugging your senses. It’s never felt like this, like walking on a tightrope—one good push and you’re plunging over the edge head first. Finnick does something with his tongue that drains all the fight from you. You give in and grind down. And then you are riding his face.

You’ve never really focused on Finnick’s hands before. A grave oversight, you realize, because your first real exposure to just how big his hands are is when he slips his middle and ring finger in all the way to the knuckle. They’re thicker than yours, longer, and far more skilled than you’re used to—reaching places you weren’t prepared for and stretching you out more than you were expecting.

The tip of his tongue makes quick work of your clit, circling the bud once, twice, three times before he purses his lips around it—fingers working in tandem, keeping unforgiving pressure to a spot you’ve only ever had touched in passing. The hand you have on his head threads through his hair again.

"Stick your tongue out," he does as you ask and you buck against his mouth, "Fuck, Finn." You pull his head side to side, using the drag of his tongue to get off, and he goes along willingly. The sound of him pistoning his fingers inside of you is loud to your own ears, but the way he moans as he licks into you—in the gaps his fingers leave—is louder.

Your toes curl and you glance down. His lids are lowered, barely open, as he smiles up at you. Not with his mouth, but with his eyes. Tiny crow's feet and dimples, probably proud to watch you wither on the bed. You grip the sheets with your free hand as you whine. You throw your right leg over his shoulder and use your foot to press his hips into the bed, he shudders.

“Please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, mind muddled with thoughts of Finnick’s hands on you and Finnick’s mouth on you and Finnick, but he does. Of course, he knows what you want.

He’s relentless. Long digits curl along your walls before stretching you out in a scissoring motion that has you seeing stars. But, he always seems to know just when to switch back to periodically slurping at your clit before redirecting his attention to lapping at your leaking hole. It’s messy in a way you never associate with Finnick, yet strategic in a way you do.

All it takes is for his nose to rub against your clit and the knot in your stomach unravels so suddenly that it takes you under like a wave. You come with a buck of your hips and his name on your tongue like it’s something holy, nails scratching uselessly at the sheets. And through it all, you can feel him watching you carefully as he fingers you through it; his gaze is heavier than any metal.

He leans back on his knees and you both catch your breath. You stare up at him, breast heaving with each inhale. He stares back with your wetness coating his chin and mouth, light eyes made dark with lust as they trail over your body and suddenly, you decide he’s too far away.

You pull him close with the foot that’s still hooked behind his back. Close enough to see the light smattering of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes flicker over your face in anticipation and you kiss him chastely before going in for another. And another. You grab his chin, licking your way into his mouth and you can taste your pussy on his tongue.

“Thank you.” You whisper in between kisses, bringing your knees up to cage his hips and you flip him on his back.

You always knew he had a candid sort of beauty, in an offhanded way. Something so rich and straightforward that it can’t be argued against. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Finnick Odair is beautiful.

Though it’s an irrefutable fact, under you, he doesn’t hold himself with the arrogance of someone who knows they’re attractive. He never has, not truly.

Every feature works in tandem to paint his picture. Golden blond hair, bleached from being in the sun so much, is made even messier as you run your fingers through it. Long stretches of tanned skin jump under your touch as you trail a hand down his chest. His eyes shine under the hotel lights. As green as the sea glass he’s sent you and just as soft as he watches you map out his body in your mind.

He smiles up at you, beaming—sunny in the truest sense of the word. Like if you looked at him any longer, your eyes wouldn’t be able to handle it. He turns and his lips, kiss-swollen and pouty, drag up one of the hands you've propped beside his head. He stops at your bracelet, holding eye contact and kissing the shell much like he did on the roof. Though, it’s far from an innocent peck.

You settle your hips and grind against the hard line of his dick. You jerk into each other as the fabric drags against where you’re bare, his boxers being the only thing separating you. A blush spreads down the apples of his high cheekbones and becomes a backdrop to the freckles on his nose. It creeps down his long neck and you’re half tempted to follow its trail down his chest.

So, you do.

His pec flexes under the bruising attention of your mouth. You take it a step further, scraping your teeth against the mark you’ve made and kissing it as an apology. You do it again a few inches down on the edge of his nipple and you feel the moan in his chest more than you hear it.

As you come back up, you trail your fingers down his happy trail. The smattering of hair is coarse against the fingers you dip into his waistband. You watch his reaction as you take him in hand. Soft lips slick with spit fall open between pants and his eyes fight to flutter shut. He hisses as you pull him out of his boxers and he’s warm and heavy in your hand. You glance down and you can say with utmost certainty that Finnick is pretty everywhere.

When you look to him for permission, he gives a laugh that’s on the verge of a moan. “‘M followin’ your lead here.” He pants, bucking into your hand. You rise to your knees. You know where you want to lead him.

You lower yourself down slowly, then all at once, moaning at the stretch. Finnick lets out a punched-out breath and his hands hold onto your thighs. Blunted nails dig into your skin as you rise up and drop back down with a gasp. A fire, starting low in your belly, gradually grows with each drag of him against your walls.

" Fuck, Star." He swears as you ride him, sitting up to hold you closer. Your thighs already burn, but you don’t even think about stopping. You push through it and Finnick is in your ear muttering incoherent half-sentences about how good you feel. How he’s even able to form words with how much he’s trembling is beyond you. You nip at the skin around his collarbone and stop yourself. You’re attempting to be mindful of how hard you’re biting, how hard you’re pressing dull nails into his skin.

“Don’t. Please.” He begs and reaches up, moving your right hand from his shoulder to lace with his left, “If I’m gonna have marks, I want ‘em to be yours, please.” He says it as a confession, or like a wish only you can grant. You’re used to vulnerability from Finnick, he gives it away like rain from a cloud. And, as usual, you suck it up like the droughted roots of a tree.

You lean forward, sucking at the skin where his neck meets his jaw—keeping your grip on his shoulder and hand. You let out a breathy whine when he instinctively bucks into you, your eyes almost rolling into the back of your head. He meets your thrusts with upward strokes of his own, each one knocking a gasp out of you.

Sweat drips down your back from the exertion and from being on top of Finnick’s warm body that grows even warmer with every clench of your walls. He’s hot and throbbing inside of you, and you buck down to chase that warmth every time it leaves your body. You meet each other in an open mouth kiss, barely pulling away to breathe.

His blurry eyes are heavy, routinely flickering from your face to where the two of you are connected and back again. You look down at the circle of white you’re leaving at the base of Finnick’s dick. The blond hair of his crotch is slick with it, wetting his happy trail. You grab at the wide expanse of his back, nails dragging red lines on his tan skin, hoping to be closer somehow, closer than two naked bodies rubbing against each other. He hisses and leans into it.

Distantly, you’re aware of the headboard hitting the wall with a resounding thud with your movement and you pray to anything listening that everyone on floor Eleven is asleep. Neither of you would ever be able to live it down if you woke up Chaff.

“We have–,” Finnick sucks a bruise onto the top of your breast, moving down to catch your nipple in his mouth, and you can feel him in your marrow, “-have to stay quiet .” He nods into your neck, arms wrapped tight around your back. You both grind against each other and he grabs your hips so tight his fingerprints will be ingrained in your bones.

“I love you.” He breathes into your neck, then pulls back. Thin, identical rings of green surround black. He stares up at you, pupils blown with love and lust in equal measure. “God, I love you.” He whispers it like it’s a secret that can do harm. In the wrong hands, it just might. That only occurs to you much, much later.

Right now, all that you care about is this. This atomic moment in time that you and Finnick have carved out for yourselves, a space that’s only big enough for two hearts to beat as one.

“Finnick, you’re clearly tired. It’s okay. I mean, you’re practically asleep already.”

“No, ‘m not,” he mumbles under his breath, turning slightly to nuzzle his nose into the side of your thigh, “just restin’ my eyes. Keep goin’.” You sigh at his stubbornness.

You had been trying, and failing, to describe different crops to him. It’s very hard to point out the differences in trees using words alone, you’re not the poet between the two of you for a reason, and that’s when he came up with the grand idea of just showing him the plants using the projector on the far wall.

You’ve been telling him stories of your youth, the good ones as few as they may be, of the shacktowns, the different family businesses, which farm had your favorite cow; things he wouldn’t have learned about Eleven in a textbook. And it was all going well until he started nodding off. To be fair to him, you have been going on for at least an hour and a half. You think you lost him somewhere in between miming how to use a hoe and explaining what an eggplant is.

“If you insist.” You shrug, picking up the remote.

“I do insist.”

You trail your fingers up and down his spine, looping over freckles and moles as you change the hologram until a mango orchard appears. You worked on one just like this for most of your life, but the picture is off—it’s wrong. It’s too bright, too picturesque. The grass isn’t as high as it should be and the mangoes hang overly ripe on the branches.

“Mango trees were my favorite to work on. The branches spread high and far, so when it’s time to harvest, the leaves act as an umbrella to the heat. My only problem is how sticky they are. They’re such juicy fruit so they’re almost always sticky. Now, imagine having to collect hundreds of them and climb up and down these giant trees. Oh! Not to mention the sap. When there’s too much fluid built up, the mango will squirt sap that’s practically acid that burns your hands. You get burnt, you slow the work day down—” You’re cut off by snoring.

The arm that was previously wrapped around your waist like a snake has fallen to drape over your legs, warm and heavy. You comb his hair back, running your nails over his scalp. You freeze as he shuffles around and he makes a discontented noise after you stop. He moves around until his entire cheek rests on your thigh, nose nudging your stomach and you feel the puff of air heat up your skin even through the sheet. He settles back down once you start moving your fingers through his silky strands again. You shake your head, smiling down at him. Demanding even in his sleep.

Not tired your ass.

My love,

You deserve the stars. And if I could reach up and pluck each one from the night sky to give you, I would. For now, I offer you my soul—though it’s a poor substitute. It’s all I have. That and my heart, which is more yours than it was ever mine.

You’ve left your trace so that I can carry a piece of you on my skin. When I’m alone, I’ll press on bruises in the shape of your lips so that the pain will remind me I’m alive with your heart beating in my chest.

There are many people I envy. But that can’t outweigh the pity I feel for them. Because they’ll never have the chance to feel your warmth.

What a privilege it is to love and be loved by you.

-Yours, and only yours,

Finnick O.

Present (IX) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - TRAINING CENTER

Victors young and old chatter amongst themselves as they wait to give their solo performances. Predictably, no one seems particularly nervous. They’ve all done this before.

He catches the woman from Nine rubbing the back of the man from Nine who’s looking a little green around the gills. Correction, Finnick’s not nervous. What number they’ll rate him is the last thing on his mind. It won’t dictate his likelihood of survival and it’s not like he needs a high score to garner sponsors if and when he’ll need them.

Mags presses her hand to his cheek and he leans into the contact. She’s always been able to make good of a shitty situation, but since that special night with Haymitch, she’s been especially content—serene even. Normally, her optimism would rub off on him. There’s plenty of pressure to succeed in the arena, but, if all goes well, everyone he cares about will be safe. It’s a notion that should have made him ecstatic. His eyes sweep to the right towards the back of the room where you sit between Chaff and Peeta. Nothing’s ever that easy.

What are you thinking?

If everything was as it should be, Finnick would just know. The two of you would’ve spoken extensively about the entire situation together. What was it that Haymitch said to sway you? What part do you play in the plan? He’d kill to hear your thoughts on something this important, no matter how pessimistic. He’s been dying to speak to you. But, clearly, the feeling isn’t mutual.

He’s only spoken to you twice in the past three days, if that even counts as talking. Not for a lack of trying, and it’s a daunting task. It would be one thing if you were angry at him—if you were blowing up at him. He could endure your, rightful, rage. He could handle that because at least you’d be acknowledging him. No, you’ve resorted to ignoring him. Not only that, but you’ve gone out of your way to avoid him.

Whenever he tries to spark up any conversation, you regard him with a level of detachment you didn’t even give him when you were strangers. But his will is as strong as yours. He keeps trying. He keeps coming back like a kicked dog that won’t learn its lesson. It must be a spectacle to watch for those who don’t know him well. And for those who do, it must be pitiful—he must be pitiful. Finnick is a good actor, but it slips through the cracks. It can’t be helped. When it comes to you, he’s always been laid bare. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now he’s acting like one of those yearning protagonists in those victor romance novels they sell in the Capitol. But his feelings can’t be expressed with ink on paper. He’s tried turning to writing as a means of escape instead of any substances, but it hurts too much never being able to send anything to you. To know someone inside and out and to be known in turn, just to be little more than strained strangers? It’s something out of Finnick’s worst nightmares. So much so that he has to fight the urge to pinch himself whenever you walk away from him.

But who is he to complain? He’s living in a hell of his own creation. You could tell him to jump off of a bridge and he'd be so happy you talked to him that he’d ask if you preferred a swan dive or a backflip.

Your arms are crossed loosely under your chest while Chaff speaks to you animatedly. To anyone else, you must look annoyed. Brows furrowed and mouth twisted to the side. But Finnick knows better, knows you better. Your eyes are fond and engaged with whatever he's talking to you about.

Look at me, he wants to tell you, look at me and see me. You glance up and he panics at the thought that he might’ve been thinking out loud. He almost looks around him to check if anyone heard him, but he’s scared that if he so much as blinks, you’ll look away. You glance up and, just for a second, that fondness in your eyes is directed at him. It’s a moment that stretches for only a nanosecond before you look away again, but it feels like years.

He’s been staring too long, staring long enough for Katniss to notice. She catches his eye with thinly veiled confusion. She doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want her to. He doesn’t need a seventeen-year-old’s pity. He’s quick to turn back to Mags and her sympathetic stare. He used to find it grating, how much Mags can see. But he appreciates it now.

Something Chaff said must’ve been funny to you, because he hears a sound he hasn’t heard in years. His heartbeat jumps in the tempo of your laughter. Mags threads her fingers through his hair. Though it offers little comfort, he’s thankful for the attempt.

When it’s finally Finnick’s turn, he doesn’t go in with a plan. He partially ignores whatever Plutarch is saying to him in favor of trying to see the resistance leader hidden in the shell of a Capitol elite. If everything Haymitch says about him is true, then he just might be a better actor than anyone he’s ever seen. Because try as he might, Finnick can’t see the connection.

He looks at everything laid out before him and makes up something simple. There's no need to show off.

He picks up a length of rope and ties it into the knot he taught Katniss, a noose. He puts it around the neck of one of the training dummies, hoisting it over a metal bar and tying the end to one of the sturdy metal table legs. He glances over the array of weapons and considers the dummy. It’s plastic, a hardened casing that should be impervious to damage.

It should be.

He picks up the sharpest knife he can find, testing the point, before grabbing a spear from the display. He takes a few steps back and then a few more. He flips the knife in his non-dominant hand one time before aiming for the spot in the rope that’s holding the most tension. He throws the blade, sniping the rope, and dropping the dummy. But before it can touch the ground, he brings the spear back and throws it forward. It pierces the dummy’s head, sending it back a few feet.

He walks out to the sound of applause behind him.

Much, much later in the day when scores are released, Finnick isn’t surprised by your eight or his eleven. However, after seeing Peeta and Katniss’s matching twelves, he has to wonder how organic any of that scoring was.

A/N: Star, rolling a nat 20 in intelligence and charisma, but a 7 in wisdom: Fuck Finnick, he obviously pities me that's the only reason he'd ever want to talk to me Finnick, literally on his knees: pLEASE 🥺🥺🥺 Pussy put his ass to sleep, buenas noches🤭🤭🤭. I went to a different plane of existence making this smut. I hope y'all are picking up all the water and death imagery I've been implementing. At first, it was accidental, but then my beta READER said it was cool so I pushed into it. Also, doing Finnick's interview was my clever way of avoiding making one for Star.