Note: This is a AU one shot. Y/n is not being used, Reyna is the reader's name. It's just easier for me.
Summary: Bradley is a part of a secret organisation. In one of his missions, he has to get intel of a well - known businessman. He gets close to his daughter and falls in love with her. What happens when she found out her love story was all a lie?
Warnings: Angst, fluff, and a very happy ending :)
Part One – The Meeting
Reyna had always been cautious. Working at her father’s company had taught her to trust few, smile politely, and keep her guard up. She had never imagined that her carefully constructed life would collide with someone like Bradley Bradshaw.
He was quiet, enigmatic, yet strangely attentive. When their paths first crossed in the office — her father’s conference room, sunlight spilling through the blinds — he offered her a cup of coffee. “I thought you might need this,” he said, with a small, faint smile.
That gesture seemed simple, but the subtle intensity in his gaze hinted at secrets. Reyna did not trust easily. But over weeks, their interactions became something more than professional. Slow smiles became long conversations, shared lunches became walks after work, and little gestures — a book left on her desk, a note tucked into her bag — began to break down the walls she had built around her heart.
He was patient, careful, never rushing, letting her set the pace. And slowly, she found herself drawn to him in ways she hadn’t thought possible. He became her first everything — first kiss, first crush, first boyfriend — though neither of them admitted it outright.
Part Two – Falling
Their connection deepened over months. Bradley was always there, quietly protective, never intrusive. Subtle touches, the way he remembered her coffee order, the small smiles when she succeeded at work — all of it made her feel alive, happy.
One night, on a rainy rooftop, Reyna whispered, “I don’t usually… trust people. It takes a lot for me to let someone in.”
Bradley brushed his fingers against hers. “I know. I don’t expect you to believe me. Not yet.”
Her eyes met his, hesitant but searching. “And yet… I do. A little.”
He leaned closer, heart hammering. “…Because I’m the one person you can’t see coming. And yet, you let me in anyway.”
Their lips met in a tentative, electric first kiss. Gentle, hesitant, full of months of quiet longing and shared trust. When they parted, the city around them didn’t matter — only the fragile, precious bond they were beginning to form.
The slow burn continued. Late-night conversations, quiet dinners, stolen moments in the office — each moment layered trust and intimacy. For Reyna, he was becoming more than someone she liked; he was the first man she had ever truly allowed herself to love.
Part Three – The Truth
The house was quiet when Reyna finally stepped into Bradley’s office. She had been tense all day, restless and distracted, but the moment she spotted a carpet wrinkle at the corner of the room, curiosity overpowered her caution.
Her hand hovered over the edge, then she tugged. A loose floorboard shifted beneath her fingers. Inside were neatly stacked folders: photographs, surveillance reports, and documents — all about her, her family, and, most painfully, their moments together.
Her chest tightened. Tears pricked her eyes.
“You… what is this?” she whispered.
Bradley had just returned from work, but froze when he saw her sitting on the floor, the evidence spread around her.
“Reyna… no…” His voice faltered.
She didn’t look up. “You… you used me. For my body. For intel. You… you watched me. Every laugh, every smile, every touch. And all our friends….. Natasha my best friend — fake. All of it.”
Bradley stepped forward slowly. “Reyna, please, I can explain—”
“Explain?” Her voice rose. “You were my first everything! My first kiss, my first boyfriend, the first man I trusted. And you… you were supposed to be the last I slept with. And instead… everything was a lie!”
Bradley fell to his knees. “It started as a mission, yes. I was sent to get information on your family. But the moment I met you… everything changed. Every single day with you became real. Every laugh, every quiet moment… I have loved you from the start. You are my life.”
Reyna shook her head. “Then why did you… make love to me last night? And every other day and night? When we first slept together, did you get up the next day and tell your boss, that you had me? That it would be so easy to get the information you need, from me, now that you have warmed my bed?? Everything we’ve shared… all part of some plan?”
“It wasn’t, Reyna. That night, it was me choosing you. Not the organisation. Not the mission. You were the first person I ever wanted to protect, not use. And now… I’ve lost the one person I care about most. And I will spend every second making it right.”
Her hands trembled. “You betrayed me. All our friends, all the moments… fake. I don’t know if I can trust you again.”
He reached for her hands, but she pulled back. “DON’T touch me. You have lost that privilege.”
She left that night, slamming the door on the life they had been building together. Bradley stayed behind, silent, broken, unsure how he could ever make things right. If she would ever allow me too.
Bradley would learn to regret his past decision, especially when he did not know she was pregnant.
Part Four – Redemption
A week later, Bradley found her in a small motel on the city’s edge. She sat on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, eyes distant.
“Sweetheart…” His voice cracked. “Please… just listen to me.”
“I… don’t know if I can,” she whispered.
“I know. I’ve hurt you, I know. But I swear — no more lies, no more hiding. Everything I do from now on is for you. For us.”
Her eyes met his. “…Why should I believe you?” she whisper.
He knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “Because I cannot live without you. And there’s something you need to know.”
But before he could say anything. She took a deep breath. “…I’m pregnant.”
Bradley froze, heart skipping a beat. “…Pregnant?”
“Yes,” she said softly, tears brimming. “I found out a few days ago. I didn’t know if I could tell you… or if you’d even care.”
His hands shook as he held hers. “Reyna… I swear to you, I’ll protect you. I’ll protect our child. I will spend every second proving my love for you, for our child, for us. Please… let me.”
Tears streamed down her face. “…Then you have to prove it. Every day. Nothing less will do.”
“I will,” he whispered, voice raw and desperate. “I will grovel. I will beg. I will spend every moment earning your trust back. I swear it.”
Bradley left the assassin network completely, and he wasn’t the only one. His entire team did. They felt guilty throughout the years, deceiving Reyna. They viewed her as family, especially Nat and Bob. Every day, he showed up. Listened. Held her when she allowed it. Protected her from any threat. Slowly, Reyna began to trust him again.
One evening, on the rooftop of their house, she leaned against him. “You’ve changed,” she whispered.
“I’ve always loved you,” he said. “I just had to earn the right to be the man you deserve.”
“And you have… mostly,” she teased.
“Mostly?” he asked, nuzzling his face in her hair.
“You still have to earn the rest,” she said, smiling softly.
“…Mostly is a start,” he said, pressing a tender kiss to her temple.
Months later, they brought their baby boy home. Tiny, perfect, alive — with a tuft of dark hair and her eyes.
“He’s… so beautiful.” Reyna whispered, tears streaming.
Bradley held him, looking at Reyna. “Thank you for trusting me again. For letting me love you.”
She rested her head on his chest. “We’ll be okay.”
Part Five – Ten Years Later
Ten years had passed. The city around them had changed, but inside their home, love and laughter filled every room.
Their eldest son, now ten, bounded through the living room with a toy airplane. Their second son, five, chased their three-year-old daughter, who giggled and shrieked with delight. The chaos was perfect — messy, loud, and full of life.
Bradley leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Reyna pour juice for their children. She looked radiant, warm, and alive, and he couldn’t stop smiling. Ten years ago, he had thought he’d lost her forever. Now, they had everything he never thought he wanted. A beautiful wife, three children that are the perfect combination of the two of them and his team, who were the best aunts and uncles.
“You’re staring,” Reyna said, laughing.
“I’m proud,” he admitted, walking up to her, kissing her temple. “Proud of you. Proud of us.”
She smiled softly. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”
“Farther than I ever deserved,” he murmured. “But I promise — I’ll keep earning you, every day of my life.”
Their children ran past them, filling the house with joy. Bradley and Reyna exchanged a look — quiet, unspoken, full of love. They had survived betrayal, danger, heartbreak. And now, their love had created a life that was unbroken and whole.
Sitting together on the couch that evening, Bradly held Reyna’s hand, their children cuddled close. The city lights shimmered outside, but inside, they had everything: love, laughter, family.
And for the first time, Bradley knew — no mission, no secret, no lie could ever take that from them.
Hello my loves,
This one shot has been in my head for a while! So, I finally decided to share with you. I hope you enjoyed it. I may or may not write more AU stories of Bradley. He is so fineeee.
Warnings: Lots of happiness, married couples and babies. Still needs to be edited!
Word count: 564
Masterlist
Series list
Third person POV
Five years had passed since the battle that reshaped the Seven Kingdoms. King’s Landing, once scarred by fire and war, had grown quieter and safer, while Winterfell and Dorne flourished under the care of those who had fought for peace. Life had settled into gentler rhythms, filled with laughter, love, and the quiet joys earned through sacrifice.
The Goddess, no longer Queen of the Seven Kingdoms but content as the Princess of Dorne, spent her days beneath the warm Dornish sun. In the palace gardens, her children played freely. Robb, the eldest, already carried himself with confidence and curiosity; Alexander followed close behind, forever exploring; and little Rose toddled between them, her laughter bright and unrestrained. Obella and Elia, now ten, proudly watched over their younger siblings, guiding their games with patience beyond their years. Shadow, lay nearby, watchful and calm, loyal to his family.
Oberyn sat beside the Goddess, their hands entwined as they watched the children. Peace suited him, and the life they had built together was one neither of them took for granted.
Myrcella and Trystane lived in Dorne as well, Myrcella’s presence was gentle and welcomed. She often joined the Goddess in the gardens; her infant daughter cradled in her arms while her other hand rested protectively over her growing belly. Pregnant with her second child, she had found happiness and safety far from the shadows of her past. Myrcella and Trystane were family, holding deep respect and affection for the each other.
Letters arrived often sealed with familiar sigils and filled with warmth. Sansa wrote of Winterfell and her growing family with Theon, their first child soon to arrive. Daenerys’s letters came from King’s Landing, describing her life ruling beside Jorah and the antics of their twins, a boy and a girl who already showed fierce spirits. The Goddess read these letters aloud beneath the shade of orange trees, smiling as the children listened, even if they understood little of the words.
Winterfell thrived. Jon lived there with his Dornish wife and their three children—two girls and a boy—while Rickon and his wife raised their two sons nearby. Arya roamed the world freely, but always returned, bringing stories from distant lands and gifts for the children she adored. Sansa and Daenerys, once divided, now shared a genuine friendship, strengthened by letters, visits, and mutual respect.
Jaime and Brienne raised their son in quiet contentment, and Tyrion, now married, lived a life of warmth and wit, his home filled with books, laughter, and the steady companionship of his wife. Though no children filled his halls, two dogs did, his life was rich all the same.
Visits were frequent whenever duties allowed. Families travelled between Dorne, Winterfell, and King’s Landing, reunions filled with embraces, shared meals, and memories retold with fond laughter. Bonds forged in war had not faded with peace - they had grown stronger.
As the sun dipped low over Dorne, the Goddess lifted Rose into her arms while Robb and Alexander raced toward her, their voices echoing through the gardens. Myrcella and Trystane smiled nearby, their daughter reaching out with curious hands. Oberyn came to stand beside the Goddess, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
The world would never be without hardship. But for now, there was peace, family, and love.
And that - after everything, was more than enough.
The end
I can't believe I am finally done! Sorry for the VERY long wait, I hope you guys enjoyed it. I hope everyone has an amazing year! It's New Year's Eve here in Australia. Until next time, my loves 💖😊
Warnings: Death, Fluff and Smut (sorry, I’m bad at writing it!). Still needs to be edited!
Word count: 2.0K
Masterlist
Series list
Third person POV
Smoke drifted through the streets of King’s Landing as shadows passed over the broken city. High above the Red Keep, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Killer circled slowly, their wings beating in unison, a living warning written across the sky. Below them, the last of Cersei’s men lay dead. There would be no rescue. No delay.
The Goddess stood before Cersei in the throne room, the Iron Throne looming behind them like a silent witness. Cersei Lannister—once crowned, once feared—now knelt amid the ruin of her own making. Tears streamed down her face. She knew. Death was no longer a distant threat; it was standing in front of her.
The Goddess looked at her without hatred, but without mercy.
Then she turned.
“Myrcella,” she said gently.
The young girl stood near the doors, shaking, tears already spilling over. The Goddess walked to her and knelt, lowering herself until they were eye to eye.
“You are innocent,” the Goddess said softly. “You will not answer for your mother’s sins. You will go to Dorne, to Trystane Martell. You will be safe.”
For a heartbeat, Myrcella simply stared at her—then she broke. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the Goddess, clinging to her as grief finally spilled free. Without hesitation, the Goddess hugged her back, one hand resting protectively between her shoulders, the other cradling the back of her head.
Myrcella cried into her shoulder. She did not hate the Goddess for this. She respected her. She liked her—saw in her a queen who chose justice over cruelty, mercy over madness.
Still, the tears would not stop.
She understood now what her mother had become. Cersei had loved her children, yes—but that love had twisted into possession. After Tommen’s death, something in her had broken beyond repair. Tommen had been kind, gentle, in love with Margaery. And for that, Cersei had turned bitter, claiming he had betrayed her by choosing his wife over his mother. Even after his death, she had called him a traitor.
Myrcella would never forgive her for that.
She pulled back at last, wiping her eyes, and the Goddess brushed her tears away with her thumb.
“You will have a life beyond this,” the Goddess said quietly.
Myrcella nodded.
As guards escorted her from the hall, she did not look back. Cersei watched her daughter go, sobbing now, the sound raw and broken. The Iron Throne stood cold and unmoved above her.
The Goddess remained where she was, watching until Myrcella disappeared from sight.
Justice had come to King’s Landing.
And it had made room for mercy.
-----
The cold air outside the Red Keep was heavy with smoke and ash. The courtyard stood silent, emptied of soldiers and onlookers, its stones still stained by the cost of Cersei’s rule. Above them, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Killer circled slowly, their shadows gliding over the broken walls like silent judges.
Cersei knelt on the stone, stripped of crown and power. The woman who had once ruled through fear now faced the end beneath an open sky. The Goddess stood before her, calm and unwavering, silver and blue armour gleaming faintly in the light.
“Do you have any last words?” the Goddess asked.
Cersei lifted her head. Her gaze drifted to her brothers.
Tyrion stood stiffly, his face unreadable. Their relationship had never been simple - born in blood and blame, shaped by resentment and reluctant affection. Cersei had despised him for their mother’s death yet relied on his mind when it suited her. Love and hatred had always lived side by side between them, twisted and unresolved.
Jaime stood beside him, very still. With him, it had been different. Cersei had loved Jaime—not as a sister should, but as a lover. They had shared a secret bond, a dangerous devotion, and three children born of it. She had used him too, pulling him back whenever he tried to leave, bending his loyalty to her will even when it cost him his honour.
Now, with nothing left to gain, all of that fell away.
“I’m sorry,” Cersei whispered.
The words were meant for both of them - for the brother she never stopped resenting, and the one she had loved and controlled in equal measure.
Jaime closed his eyes, grief tightening his chest. Tyrion swallowed hard, emotion flickering across his face despite years of pain. Neither spoke. There was nothing left to say.
The Goddess inclined her head once, acknowledging the moment.
The execution was swift and clean. No cruelty. No spectacle. One precise motion, ending a life that had caused immeasurable suffering.
Cersei Lannister felt no pain.
Her body fell still against the cold stone, and the wind carried away the last echoes of her reign.
Jaime turned away first, his shoulders heavy but unburdened at last. Tyrion followed, his grief quiet, complicated, and deeply human.
The Goddess remained standing in the courtyard as the dragons continued their slow circles above.
Justice had been done beneath the open sky.
And the chapter of Cersei Lannister was finally closed.
-----
The Great Hall of the Red Keep was transformed for the occasion, banners of silver and blue hanging proudly from the high walls, catching the sunlight streaming through the windows. The stone floors, scarred by past battles, were covered with petals, creating a path of soft colour for the procession. The air was filled with quiet anticipation and the faint murmur of excited whispers—an oasis of light and celebration after so much darkness.
At the far end of the hall, Oberyn Martell stood tall at the altar, his dark hair catching the sunlight that filtered through the windows. His eyes were bright with anticipation yet calm, hands clasped loosely before him.
The doors opened, and all eyes turned. The Goddess appeared, radiant beyond mortal measure. Her gown flowed like liquid silver and blue, embroidered with subtle patterns of lightning and stars that shimmered with every step. Her long hair fell in gentle waves down her back, catching the light with every movement.
Walking just ahead of her were two little girls in delicate dresses—Oberyn’s daughters, Obella and Elia. Their laughter bubbled softly as they scattered petals along the aisle, heralds of joy leading the way. Shadow, the Goddess’s black dire wolf, padded silently beside them, eyes alert and calm, a loyal protector close to his mistress’s side.
At the side of the aisle stood Tyr, the Goddess’s tall and imposing uncle. His hand extended, waiting to give her away. The Goddess approached him, and he bowed his head slightly, pride and love evident in his gaze as he took her hand.
The first row gleamed with happiness. Art, Sansa, Daenerys, Jon, Bran, Rickon, and Arya all sat together on the Goddess’s side, their faces lit with pride and joy. Theon Greyjoy sat quietly, a hand raised to wipe a tear from his cheek, while Jorah Mormont observed with quiet respect. Opposite them, Doran, Trystane, Myrcella Martell, their smiles proud and tender. Even the Lannister siblings—Jaime, Tyrion, and Brienne—smiled, gratitude and relief shining in their eyes as they watched the Goddess, the one who had brought justice and mercy in equal measure.
The Goddess’s eyes met Oberyn’s across the hall, and he offered a small, tender smile. Her lips curved in return, the light in her eyes brighter than any flame or torch. Step by step, she approached, each movement sure and regal, yet filled with a warmth that made the hall feel alive.
As she reached Oberyn, Tyr, her uncle, placed her hand in his, whispering, “Take care of her.”
Oberyn’s fingers closed around hers, steady and sure. Shadow pressed closer to the girls, who giggled at the sight of the wolf, then quickly turned serious, scattering petals like miniature heralds of joy.
The Goddess and Oberyn stood together at the altar, gazes locked. Time seemed to pause in the hall, the air itself holding its breath in reverence.
Then, with a smile and a shared laugh, the Goddess and Oberyn leaned forward. Their lips met in a kiss—gentle, passionate, and full of the promise of a life built together. Shadow nuzzled the Goddess against her side, sensing her happiness and lending a quiet, protective presence. The hall erupted in soft applause and joyful cheers, the dragons circling just outside the windows seeming to pause in respect.
It was a day of light after darkness, of love after loss, and a promise that even in a world scarred by war, life and hope would endure.
-----
Reader’s POV
All of the celebrations were done, Oberyn and I kissed our girl’s goodnight. As soon as the door closed behind us Oberyn wrapped his arms around me and kissed me passionately.
“Slow down, we can continue this in our chambers.” I whispered.
Oberyn didn’t say anything instead, he carried me in his arms and started walking fast.
I couldn’t help but laugh, he has been waiting for our wedding night for months.
“My Goddess, I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”
We made it to our chambers, Oberyn places me on our bed. He starts kissing down my neck.
I quickly stand up and turn around for Oberyn to undo my gown, as soon as it drops, he takes my sheer under garment off. He kisses the back of my neck, his hand dropping to my waist, pressing against me. I can feel how hard he is and my desired grows more for him.
I quickly turn around and kiss him with urgency and desire. Taking his robes off. I slowly start walking back to our bed, as soon as the back of my legs touch the bed, I whisper to him, “Take what is yours my King.”
Oberyn’s eyes darken, his hands grab my thighs and lifts me in his arms, my arms circle his neck. He kisses me hard, placing me in our bed and rocking his hips into mine. The kisses grow more intense, he pulls away and starts kissing my neck, down to my breast. Soon enough he starts sucking my right breast while playing with the other.
Our hips still moving, with his other hand he places two of his fingers inside me, our moans surrounding the room.
He slowly started moving down until his mouth kissed my lower lips. He was a man starved, sucking and licking. He quickly removed his fingers and place my legs around his head.
“Fuck Oberyn… I’m going to cum.”
“Come all over my face my Queen, let go.”
“Fuck, you taste so good.”
Somehow Oberyn pulled me closer and started touching my clit again. I let go, seeing actual stars, Oberyn was thrusting into the bed while sucking my clit.
“Oberyn” I moaned.
“I need you inside me, NOW!”
“What the Queen wants, she gets.” Growling into me before kissing my hip bone.”
“Are you ready, my Queen?”
“Yes, please Oberyn, I need you!”
Oberyn gently pushed his member into me, it hurt a little, it was slow at first, the pain soon turned into pleasure very quickly.
Oberyn started to thrust into me harder and faster, both of us moaning, holding each other close, his balls slapping into my ass, cum dripping down, the sounds of our wet kisses echoing in our chambers. It was filthy and dirty. And I couldn’t get enough of it.
Oberyn’s hand closed around my throat with a firm squeeze.
“Open your mouth, my love.” I did as I was told.
He placed his fingers that were inside me moments ago into my mouth, “Now suck”.
“hmmm Oberyn.”
“You’re a good girl. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes I am.” I say whimpering.
“That’s right baby. Fuck, I’m going to cum, are you going to cum my love?”
“Ahh yes, I’m coming….. fuck… fuck Oberyn”
“You take it like a good girl, my wife.”
Both of us were moaning, not caring if the whole of the 7 kingdoms were hearing us. Both of us coming undone, Oberyn falling into me with a moan, placing a gentle kiss on my lips. He laid next to me, pulling me into him, both of us breathing hard, relaxing into one another.
“That was amazing.” I said with a smile.
“It was my love. And I plan to make love to you until death do us apart. I love you, my wife.”
Note: I'm not good with this Gods/Goddesses thing. I'm doing what I think is right and makes sense to me and the story. I hope I don't offend anyone 💙
Warnings: Angst, death, fluff, and it still needs to be edited!
Word count: 1.8K
Masterlist
Series list
Reader’s POV
The pain I felt was gone, I open my eyes to see where I was. Everything was bright, I was no longer in Oberyn arms. I look around and see my parents staying nearby, watching me with small smiles.
“Mum, dad …. What are you doing here? Where is Oberyn, where is everyone?”
“Sweetheart, you have lost a lot of blood, you are not dead, but you are also not alive.” My mother spoke softly.
“I’m in between life and death?” I asked.
My parents came closer to me, my mother on one side and my father on the other side.
“Yes, my sweet girl. We saw all it of it, if you haven’t saved Jorah he would have died. And I fear if Daenerys loses anymore people she loves she will become like her father.”
“What am I supposed to do then mother”.
“Guide her, like you have mentioned, show her what a true Queen should represent. Authority, protection, duty, strength, mercy and most importantly justice. Both of you have these qualities but she is conflicted, especially when it comes to the North.”
My father took my hand and continued what my mother was saying “If you do this, it will prevent bloodshed, she already respects you, become her family. With the two of you uniting together you will be unstoppable. Once she is ready you can pass the crown down to her.”
“Make her my heir?” I asked.
My parents smiled at me, “yes my sweet girl”.
“I was thinking about it before the war with the dead, but it was just a thought, and Sansa will become Queen of the North. I know Jon won’t want to be King after this.”
“You have to go back my child.” My father said.
“They need you, Oberyn needs you, sweet girl.”
I hugged my parents, not letting go. “I don’t want to go.”
“And we don’t want to let you go but you must my child, but don’t worry we will see you again.”
“How?”
“Keep us in your prayers, we will see you again and your betrothed. He has our blessing.” My said as he placed a kissed on the top of my head with a sad smile gracing his lips.
“When you wake up, your body will be glowing. It is our power healing you. It is not your time to parish sweet girl. You will live a long happy life with your loved ones. And we can’t wait to watch it. We will always be with you, in spirit. We love you remember that. It is time.”
I gave them one last hug, telling them how much I love them before turning to an open gate walking into the light and the everything went black.
-----
Oberyn’s POV
I held her in my arms refusing to let her go. She couldn’t be gone, not like this. We were supposed to get married, have children of our own, watch them grow up as we grow old with them.
The tears wouldn’t stop, Sansa, Theon, Jon surrounded me, tears falling from their eyes. No one said a word.
Footsteps were heading towards us.
“Y/n”
I turn to see Daenerys and Jorah, both of them cover in dirt and blood.
Jorah looked at me with sorrowful eyes “I’m sorry Oberyn.”
Daenerys didn’t say anything at first, just kept looking at my love with tearful eyes, then whispered “She saved us…”
I closed my eyes and pulled her closer to me, after losing my sister I promise myself to never lose anyone else to always protect my loved ones but once again I failed.
I failed my love, my woman.
-----
Third person POV
Cradled in her lover’s arms, the Goddess lay still as the battlefield around them faded into silence. Blood stained her silver and blue armour, and the broken spear wound at her abdomen marked where death should have claimed her. For a long, aching moment, nothing moved.
Then the air shifted.
A soft glow bloomed beneath her skin, faint at first, then stronger—white and warm, like dawn breaking through darkness. The wound in her stomach began to seal, flesh knitting together as light flowed through it, leaving no scar behind. The glow spread across her body, steady and alive, until she was whole again.
He held her tightly, his arms wrapped around her as if letting go might make her vanish. His eyes were closed, his face pressed against her hair. Then he felt it—the warmth, the unmistakable pulse of life radiating from her. His breath caught. Slowly, as if afraid of what he might see, he opened his eyes.
She stirred.
Her lashes fluttered, and then her eyes opened, glowing softly as they focused on him. A small, knowing smile touched her lips. Weak but certain, she lifted her hand to his chest.
“I told you,” she whispered, her voice gentle and sure, “I will always come back to you.”
He stared at her, frozen, disbelief written across his face. Seconds passed—long, fragile seconds—before reality finally took hold. A broken laugh escaped him, half relief, half awe. He pulled her closer and kissed her, fiercely and without restraint, as if proving to himself she was real, she was warm, she was alive.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his voice low and shaking.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
She smiled up at him, calm and sincere, and nodded.
“I promise, my love.”
-----
The hall was quiet, heavy with the weight of what had been lost. Torches lined the stone walls, their flames steady and low, casting warm light over faces still marked by grief. Outside, the fallen had been laid to rest. The dead were buried, honoured, and mourned. Now, only the living remained.
The Goddess stepped forward into the centre of the hall. Her armour was clean, her posture composed, but sorrow lingered in her eyes. She let the silence settle before she spoke.
“We have buried our people,” she said softly. “Warriors, friends, family. They stood against the end of the world, and they did not falter.” Her voice steadied. “Because of them, we are here. Because of them, tomorrow still exists.”
She bowed her head once more.
“I thank every one of you—for your courage, for your loyalty, for the sacrifices you never hesitated to make. I promise you this: I will protect this realm for as long as I live. Until my very last breath, no darkness will rise without facing me first.”
She paused, then allowed a small, tired smile.
“And if the gods themselves come knocking again,” she added lightly, “I suggest they send notice next time.”
A quiet ripple of relieved laughter passed through the hall.
Her expression grew serious as she turned toward Sansa Stark.
“Sansa of House Stark,” the Goddess said clearly, “you have led with strength and wisdom when hope was thin. Before all who stand here, I name you Queen in the North.”
Sansa drew a breath, emotion flickering across her face, as murmurs of approval filled the room.
The Goddess then turned to Daenerys Targaryen.
“Daenerys Stormborn,” she continued, “I name you my heir to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms—if you wish to accept.”
For a moment, Daenerys could only stare, stunned. Then she stepped forward, eyes shining, and smiled brightly.
“I accept,” she said.
The Goddess nodded.
“I will rule only for a few years,” she explained. “Long enough to rebuild what was broken and ensure peace is not just promised but secured.” Her voice softened. “After that, the crown will pass to Daenerys.”
Her gaze drifted briefly to Oberyn, warmth breaking through her composure.
“My future lies in Dorne,” she said. “With the man I love. I intend to live there, to raise my children far from thrones and war.”
She looked back at the gathered lords and ladies, her presence filling the hall.
“Until that day comes,” she said firmly, “this realm is under my protection. You have my word. And I do not break my promises.”
The hall fell silent—then one by one, heads bowed, not in fear, but in trust and respect.
-----
The next morning brought no peace.
Cersei Lannister had broken her promise.
Word reached Winterfell just after dawn—gold cloaks moving without sanction, loyalists rallying in secret, threats whispered through ravens and coin. It was not a surprise, but it was a confirmation. And confirmations carried consequences.
The Goddess convened a small council in a quiet chamber, away from the noise of soldiers and rebuilding. Oberyn stood at her side, steady and watchful. Sansa and Daenerys sat across from Jaime and Tyrion, the weight of blood and history heavy between them.
They spoke plainly. No anger, no shouting—only truth.
“You know her better than anyone,” the Goddess said, her voice calm but unyielding. “If she is allowed to move freely, more people will suffer.”
Tyrion’s jaw tightened. Jaime looked away.
They discussed every option. Exile. Imprisonment. Mercy. Each one ended the same way—with Cersei finding a way to burn the world again.
Finally, the plan was spoken aloud.
Those who had chosen to stand with Cersei—who enabled her cruelty, who helped her spill innocent blood—would be dealt with first. Swiftly. Cleanly. Cersei herself would be last.
Jaime swallowed hard. Tyrion closed his eyes.
“She’s hurt too many people,” Tyrion said quietly. “Including us.”
Jaime nodded, his voice hollow. “I don’t love her anymore. Whatever I once felt… it died long ago.” He lifted his gaze, steadier now. “I want a life that isn’t built on blood. I want to spend what remains of it with Brienne.”
No one questioned him.
The Goddess inclined her head. “Then we move forward.”
Decisions followed quickly after that.
Bran would sit on the council, his insight invaluable. Oberyn would represent Dorne. Daenerys and Missandei would serve beside them, helping shape a realm meant to heal, not dominate. Lord Varys, will continue his role as Master of Whisperers.
Jon would no longer be bound to the Wall, though he would visit when needed. The Night’s Watch would change, as the world had changed.
Eddison Tollett and Tormund Giantsbane would oversee the Wall together. It would no longer exist as a place of punishment, but of purpose. The dead were gone. The endless fear was gone.
The men of the Watch would be allowed to marry. To build families. To request the Queen’s blessing and live as men, not ghosts. Hearths would replace cold stone. Laughter would echo where once there had only been wind.
The Wall would become a home.
As the meeting ended, the Goddess rose, looking at each of them in turn.
“The age of surviving is over,” she said. “Now we rebuild. Carefully. Justly.”
Outside, the sun climbed higher over Winterfell’s towers.
And somewhere far to the south, a lioness sharpened her claws—unaware that the reckoning she had always escaped was finally coming.
Warnings: Lots of happiness, married couples and babies. Still needs to be edited!
Word count: 564
Masterlist
Series list
Third person POV
Five years had passed since the battle that reshaped the Seven Kingdoms. King’s Landing, once scarred by fire and war, had grown quieter and safer, while Winterfell and Dorne flourished under the care of those who had fought for peace. Life had settled into gentler rhythms, filled with laughter, love, and the quiet joys earned through sacrifice.
The Goddess, no longer Queen of the Seven Kingdoms but content as the Princess of Dorne, spent her days beneath the warm Dornish sun. In the palace gardens, her children played freely. Robb, the eldest, already carried himself with confidence and curiosity; Alexander followed close behind, forever exploring; and little Rose toddled between them, her laughter bright and unrestrained. Obella and Elia, now ten, proudly watched over their younger siblings, guiding their games with patience beyond their years. Shadow, lay nearby, watchful and calm, loyal to his family.
Oberyn sat beside the Goddess, their hands entwined as they watched the children. Peace suited him, and the life they had built together was one neither of them took for granted.
Myrcella and Trystane lived in Dorne as well, Myrcella’s presence was gentle and welcomed. She often joined the Goddess in the gardens; her infant daughter cradled in her arms while her other hand rested protectively over her growing belly. Pregnant with her second child, she had found happiness and safety far from the shadows of her past. Myrcella and Trystane were family, holding deep respect and affection for the each other.
Letters arrived often sealed with familiar sigils and filled with warmth. Sansa wrote of Winterfell and her growing family with Theon, their first child soon to arrive. Daenerys’s letters came from King’s Landing, describing her life ruling beside Jorah and the antics of their twins, a boy and a girl who already showed fierce spirits. The Goddess read these letters aloud beneath the shade of orange trees, smiling as the children listened, even if they understood little of the words.
Winterfell thrived. Jon lived there with his Dornish wife and their three children—two girls and a boy—while Rickon and his wife raised their two sons nearby. Arya roamed the world freely, but always returned, bringing stories from distant lands and gifts for the children she adored. Sansa and Daenerys, once divided, now shared a genuine friendship, strengthened by letters, visits, and mutual respect.
Jaime and Brienne raised their son in quiet contentment, and Tyrion, now married, lived a life of warmth and wit, his home filled with books, laughter, and the steady companionship of his wife. Though no children filled his halls, two dogs did, his life was rich all the same.
Visits were frequent whenever duties allowed. Families travelled between Dorne, Winterfell, and King’s Landing, reunions filled with embraces, shared meals, and memories retold with fond laughter. Bonds forged in war had not faded with peace - they had grown stronger.
As the sun dipped low over Dorne, the Goddess lifted Rose into her arms while Robb and Alexander raced toward her, their voices echoing through the gardens. Myrcella and Trystane smiled nearby, their daughter reaching out with curious hands. Oberyn came to stand beside the Goddess, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
The world would never be without hardship. But for now, there was peace, family, and love.
And that - after everything, was more than enough.
The end
I can't believe I am finally done! Sorry for the VERY long wait, I hope you guys enjoyed it. I hope everyone has an amazing year! It's New Year's Eve here in Australia. Until next time, my loves 💖😊
Warnings: Death, Fluff and Smut (sorry, I’m bad at writing it!). Still needs to be edited!
Word count: 2.0K
Masterlist
Series list
Third person POV
Smoke drifted through the streets of King’s Landing as shadows passed over the broken city. High above the Red Keep, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Killer circled slowly, their wings beating in unison, a living warning written across the sky. Below them, the last of Cersei’s men lay dead. There would be no rescue. No delay.
The Goddess stood before Cersei in the throne room, the Iron Throne looming behind them like a silent witness. Cersei Lannister—once crowned, once feared—now knelt amid the ruin of her own making. Tears streamed down her face. She knew. Death was no longer a distant threat; it was standing in front of her.
The Goddess looked at her without hatred, but without mercy.
Then she turned.
“Myrcella,” she said gently.
The young girl stood near the doors, shaking, tears already spilling over. The Goddess walked to her and knelt, lowering herself until they were eye to eye.
“You are innocent,” the Goddess said softly. “You will not answer for your mother’s sins. You will go to Dorne, to Trystane Martell. You will be safe.”
For a heartbeat, Myrcella simply stared at her—then she broke. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the Goddess, clinging to her as grief finally spilled free. Without hesitation, the Goddess hugged her back, one hand resting protectively between her shoulders, the other cradling the back of her head.
Myrcella cried into her shoulder. She did not hate the Goddess for this. She respected her. She liked her—saw in her a queen who chose justice over cruelty, mercy over madness.
Still, the tears would not stop.
She understood now what her mother had become. Cersei had loved her children, yes—but that love had twisted into possession. After Tommen’s death, something in her had broken beyond repair. Tommen had been kind, gentle, in love with Margaery. And for that, Cersei had turned bitter, claiming he had betrayed her by choosing his wife over his mother. Even after his death, she had called him a traitor.
Myrcella would never forgive her for that.
She pulled back at last, wiping her eyes, and the Goddess brushed her tears away with her thumb.
“You will have a life beyond this,” the Goddess said quietly.
Myrcella nodded.
As guards escorted her from the hall, she did not look back. Cersei watched her daughter go, sobbing now, the sound raw and broken. The Iron Throne stood cold and unmoved above her.
The Goddess remained where she was, watching until Myrcella disappeared from sight.
Justice had come to King’s Landing.
And it had made room for mercy.
-----
The cold air outside the Red Keep was heavy with smoke and ash. The courtyard stood silent, emptied of soldiers and onlookers, its stones still stained by the cost of Cersei’s rule. Above them, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Killer circled slowly, their shadows gliding over the broken walls like silent judges.
Cersei knelt on the stone, stripped of crown and power. The woman who had once ruled through fear now faced the end beneath an open sky. The Goddess stood before her, calm and unwavering, silver and blue armour gleaming faintly in the light.
“Do you have any last words?” the Goddess asked.
Cersei lifted her head. Her gaze drifted to her brothers.
Tyrion stood stiffly, his face unreadable. Their relationship had never been simple - born in blood and blame, shaped by resentment and reluctant affection. Cersei had despised him for their mother’s death yet relied on his mind when it suited her. Love and hatred had always lived side by side between them, twisted and unresolved.
Jaime stood beside him, very still. With him, it had been different. Cersei had loved Jaime—not as a sister should, but as a lover. They had shared a secret bond, a dangerous devotion, and three children born of it. She had used him too, pulling him back whenever he tried to leave, bending his loyalty to her will even when it cost him his honour.
Now, with nothing left to gain, all of that fell away.
“I’m sorry,” Cersei whispered.
The words were meant for both of them - for the brother she never stopped resenting, and the one she had loved and controlled in equal measure.
Jaime closed his eyes, grief tightening his chest. Tyrion swallowed hard, emotion flickering across his face despite years of pain. Neither spoke. There was nothing left to say.
The Goddess inclined her head once, acknowledging the moment.
The execution was swift and clean. No cruelty. No spectacle. One precise motion, ending a life that had caused immeasurable suffering.
Cersei Lannister felt no pain.
Her body fell still against the cold stone, and the wind carried away the last echoes of her reign.
Jaime turned away first, his shoulders heavy but unburdened at last. Tyrion followed, his grief quiet, complicated, and deeply human.
The Goddess remained standing in the courtyard as the dragons continued their slow circles above.
Justice had been done beneath the open sky.
And the chapter of Cersei Lannister was finally closed.
-----
The Great Hall of the Red Keep was transformed for the occasion, banners of silver and blue hanging proudly from the high walls, catching the sunlight streaming through the windows. The stone floors, scarred by past battles, were covered with petals, creating a path of soft colour for the procession. The air was filled with quiet anticipation and the faint murmur of excited whispers—an oasis of light and celebration after so much darkness.
At the far end of the hall, Oberyn Martell stood tall at the altar, his dark hair catching the sunlight that filtered through the windows. His eyes were bright with anticipation yet calm, hands clasped loosely before him.
The doors opened, and all eyes turned. The Goddess appeared, radiant beyond mortal measure. Her gown flowed like liquid silver and blue, embroidered with subtle patterns of lightning and stars that shimmered with every step. Her long hair fell in gentle waves down her back, catching the light with every movement.
Walking just ahead of her were two little girls in delicate dresses—Oberyn’s daughters, Obella and Elia. Their laughter bubbled softly as they scattered petals along the aisle, heralds of joy leading the way. Shadow, the Goddess’s black dire wolf, padded silently beside them, eyes alert and calm, a loyal protector close to his mistress’s side.
At the side of the aisle stood Tyr, the Goddess’s tall and imposing uncle. His hand extended, waiting to give her away. The Goddess approached him, and he bowed his head slightly, pride and love evident in his gaze as he took her hand.
The first row gleamed with happiness. Art, Sansa, Daenerys, Jon, Bran, Rickon, and Arya all sat together on the Goddess’s side, their faces lit with pride and joy. Theon Greyjoy sat quietly, a hand raised to wipe a tear from his cheek, while Jorah Mormont observed with quiet respect. Opposite them, Doran, Trystane, Myrcella Martell, their smiles proud and tender. Even the Lannister siblings—Jaime, Tyrion, and Brienne—smiled, gratitude and relief shining in their eyes as they watched the Goddess, the one who had brought justice and mercy in equal measure.
The Goddess’s eyes met Oberyn’s across the hall, and he offered a small, tender smile. Her lips curved in return, the light in her eyes brighter than any flame or torch. Step by step, she approached, each movement sure and regal, yet filled with a warmth that made the hall feel alive.
As she reached Oberyn, Tyr, her uncle, placed her hand in his, whispering, “Take care of her.”
Oberyn’s fingers closed around hers, steady and sure. Shadow pressed closer to the girls, who giggled at the sight of the wolf, then quickly turned serious, scattering petals like miniature heralds of joy.
The Goddess and Oberyn stood together at the altar, gazes locked. Time seemed to pause in the hall, the air itself holding its breath in reverence.
Then, with a smile and a shared laugh, the Goddess and Oberyn leaned forward. Their lips met in a kiss—gentle, passionate, and full of the promise of a life built together. Shadow nuzzled the Goddess against her side, sensing her happiness and lending a quiet, protective presence. The hall erupted in soft applause and joyful cheers, the dragons circling just outside the windows seeming to pause in respect.
It was a day of light after darkness, of love after loss, and a promise that even in a world scarred by war, life and hope would endure.
-----
Reader’s POV
All of the celebrations were done, Oberyn and I kissed our girl’s goodnight. As soon as the door closed behind us Oberyn wrapped his arms around me and kissed me passionately.
“Slow down, we can continue this in our chambers.” I whispered.
Oberyn didn’t say anything instead, he carried me in his arms and started walking fast.
I couldn’t help but laugh, he has been waiting for our wedding night for months.
“My Goddess, I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”
We made it to our chambers, Oberyn places me on our bed. He starts kissing down my neck.
I quickly stand up and turn around for Oberyn to undo my gown, as soon as it drops, he takes my sheer under garment off. He kisses the back of my neck, his hand dropping to my waist, pressing against me. I can feel how hard he is and my desired grows more for him.
I quickly turn around and kiss him with urgency and desire. Taking his robes off. I slowly start walking back to our bed, as soon as the back of my legs touch the bed, I whisper to him, “Take what is yours my King.”
Oberyn’s eyes darken, his hands grab my thighs and lifts me in his arms, my arms circle his neck. He kisses me hard, placing me in our bed and rocking his hips into mine. The kisses grow more intense, he pulls away and starts kissing my neck, down to my breast. Soon enough he starts sucking my right breast while playing with the other.
Our hips still moving, with his other hand he places two of his fingers inside me, our moans surrounding the room.
He slowly started moving down until his mouth kissed my lower lips. He was a man starved, sucking and licking. He quickly removed his fingers and place my legs around his head.
“Fuck Oberyn… I’m going to cum.”
“Come all over my face my Queen, let go.”
“Fuck, you taste so good.”
Somehow Oberyn pulled me closer and started touching my clit again. I let go, seeing actual stars, Oberyn was thrusting into the bed while sucking my clit.
“Oberyn” I moaned.
“I need you inside me, NOW!”
“What the Queen wants, she gets.” Growling into me before kissing my hip bone.”
“Are you ready, my Queen?”
“Yes, please Oberyn, I need you!”
Oberyn gently pushed his member into me, it hurt a little, it was slow at first, the pain soon turned into pleasure very quickly.
Oberyn started to thrust into me harder and faster, both of us moaning, holding each other close, his balls slapping into my ass, cum dripping down, the sounds of our wet kisses echoing in our chambers. It was filthy and dirty. And I couldn’t get enough of it.
Oberyn’s hand closed around my throat with a firm squeeze.
“Open your mouth, my love.” I did as I was told.
He placed his fingers that were inside me moments ago into my mouth, “Now suck”.
“hmmm Oberyn.”
“You’re a good girl. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes I am.” I say whimpering.
“That’s right baby. Fuck, I’m going to cum, are you going to cum my love?”
“Ahh yes, I’m coming….. fuck… fuck Oberyn”
“You take it like a good girl, my wife.”
Both of us were moaning, not caring if the whole of the 7 kingdoms were hearing us. Both of us coming undone, Oberyn falling into me with a moan, placing a gentle kiss on my lips. He laid next to me, pulling me into him, both of us breathing hard, relaxing into one another.
“That was amazing.” I said with a smile.
“It was my love. And I plan to make love to you until death do us apart. I love you, my wife.”
Note: I'm not good with this Gods/Goddesses thing. I'm doing what I think is right and makes sense to me and the story. I hope I don't offend anyone 💙
Warnings: Angst, death, fluff, and it still needs to be edited!
Word count: 1.8K
Masterlist
Series list
Reader’s POV
The pain I felt was gone, I open my eyes to see where I was. Everything was bright, I was no longer in Oberyn arms. I look around and see my parents staying nearby, watching me with small smiles.
“Mum, dad …. What are you doing here? Where is Oberyn, where is everyone?”
“Sweetheart, you have lost a lot of blood, you are not dead, but you are also not alive.” My mother spoke softly.
“I’m in between life and death?” I asked.
My parents came closer to me, my mother on one side and my father on the other side.
“Yes, my sweet girl. We saw all it of it, if you haven’t saved Jorah he would have died. And I fear if Daenerys loses anymore people she loves she will become like her father.”
“What am I supposed to do then mother”.
“Guide her, like you have mentioned, show her what a true Queen should represent. Authority, protection, duty, strength, mercy and most importantly justice. Both of you have these qualities but she is conflicted, especially when it comes to the North.”
My father took my hand and continued what my mother was saying “If you do this, it will prevent bloodshed, she already respects you, become her family. With the two of you uniting together you will be unstoppable. Once she is ready you can pass the crown down to her.”
“Make her my heir?” I asked.
My parents smiled at me, “yes my sweet girl”.
“I was thinking about it before the war with the dead, but it was just a thought, and Sansa will become Queen of the North. I know Jon won’t want to be King after this.”
“You have to go back my child.” My father said.
“They need you, Oberyn needs you, sweet girl.”
I hugged my parents, not letting go. “I don’t want to go.”
“And we don’t want to let you go but you must my child, but don’t worry we will see you again.”
“How?”
“Keep us in your prayers, we will see you again and your betrothed. He has our blessing.” My said as he placed a kissed on the top of my head with a sad smile gracing his lips.
“When you wake up, your body will be glowing. It is our power healing you. It is not your time to parish sweet girl. You will live a long happy life with your loved ones. And we can’t wait to watch it. We will always be with you, in spirit. We love you remember that. It is time.”
I gave them one last hug, telling them how much I love them before turning to an open gate walking into the light and the everything went black.
-----
Oberyn’s POV
I held her in my arms refusing to let her go. She couldn’t be gone, not like this. We were supposed to get married, have children of our own, watch them grow up as we grow old with them.
The tears wouldn’t stop, Sansa, Theon, Jon surrounded me, tears falling from their eyes. No one said a word.
Footsteps were heading towards us.
“Y/n”
I turn to see Daenerys and Jorah, both of them cover in dirt and blood.
Jorah looked at me with sorrowful eyes “I’m sorry Oberyn.”
Daenerys didn’t say anything at first, just kept looking at my love with tearful eyes, then whispered “She saved us…”
I closed my eyes and pulled her closer to me, after losing my sister I promise myself to never lose anyone else to always protect my loved ones but once again I failed.
I failed my love, my woman.
-----
Third person POV
Cradled in her lover’s arms, the Goddess lay still as the battlefield around them faded into silence. Blood stained her silver and blue armour, and the broken spear wound at her abdomen marked where death should have claimed her. For a long, aching moment, nothing moved.
Then the air shifted.
A soft glow bloomed beneath her skin, faint at first, then stronger—white and warm, like dawn breaking through darkness. The wound in her stomach began to seal, flesh knitting together as light flowed through it, leaving no scar behind. The glow spread across her body, steady and alive, until she was whole again.
He held her tightly, his arms wrapped around her as if letting go might make her vanish. His eyes were closed, his face pressed against her hair. Then he felt it—the warmth, the unmistakable pulse of life radiating from her. His breath caught. Slowly, as if afraid of what he might see, he opened his eyes.
She stirred.
Her lashes fluttered, and then her eyes opened, glowing softly as they focused on him. A small, knowing smile touched her lips. Weak but certain, she lifted her hand to his chest.
“I told you,” she whispered, her voice gentle and sure, “I will always come back to you.”
He stared at her, frozen, disbelief written across his face. Seconds passed—long, fragile seconds—before reality finally took hold. A broken laugh escaped him, half relief, half awe. He pulled her closer and kissed her, fiercely and without restraint, as if proving to himself she was real, she was warm, she was alive.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his voice low and shaking.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
She smiled up at him, calm and sincere, and nodded.
“I promise, my love.”
-----
The hall was quiet, heavy with the weight of what had been lost. Torches lined the stone walls, their flames steady and low, casting warm light over faces still marked by grief. Outside, the fallen had been laid to rest. The dead were buried, honoured, and mourned. Now, only the living remained.
The Goddess stepped forward into the centre of the hall. Her armour was clean, her posture composed, but sorrow lingered in her eyes. She let the silence settle before she spoke.
“We have buried our people,” she said softly. “Warriors, friends, family. They stood against the end of the world, and they did not falter.” Her voice steadied. “Because of them, we are here. Because of them, tomorrow still exists.”
She bowed her head once more.
“I thank every one of you—for your courage, for your loyalty, for the sacrifices you never hesitated to make. I promise you this: I will protect this realm for as long as I live. Until my very last breath, no darkness will rise without facing me first.”
She paused, then allowed a small, tired smile.
“And if the gods themselves come knocking again,” she added lightly, “I suggest they send notice next time.”
A quiet ripple of relieved laughter passed through the hall.
Her expression grew serious as she turned toward Sansa Stark.
“Sansa of House Stark,” the Goddess said clearly, “you have led with strength and wisdom when hope was thin. Before all who stand here, I name you Queen in the North.”
Sansa drew a breath, emotion flickering across her face, as murmurs of approval filled the room.
The Goddess then turned to Daenerys Targaryen.
“Daenerys Stormborn,” she continued, “I name you my heir to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms—if you wish to accept.”
For a moment, Daenerys could only stare, stunned. Then she stepped forward, eyes shining, and smiled brightly.
“I accept,” she said.
The Goddess nodded.
“I will rule only for a few years,” she explained. “Long enough to rebuild what was broken and ensure peace is not just promised but secured.” Her voice softened. “After that, the crown will pass to Daenerys.”
Her gaze drifted briefly to Oberyn, warmth breaking through her composure.
“My future lies in Dorne,” she said. “With the man I love. I intend to live there, to raise my children far from thrones and war.”
She looked back at the gathered lords and ladies, her presence filling the hall.
“Until that day comes,” she said firmly, “this realm is under my protection. You have my word. And I do not break my promises.”
The hall fell silent—then one by one, heads bowed, not in fear, but in trust and respect.
-----
The next morning brought no peace.
Cersei Lannister had broken her promise.
Word reached Winterfell just after dawn—gold cloaks moving without sanction, loyalists rallying in secret, threats whispered through ravens and coin. It was not a surprise, but it was a confirmation. And confirmations carried consequences.
The Goddess convened a small council in a quiet chamber, away from the noise of soldiers and rebuilding. Oberyn stood at her side, steady and watchful. Sansa and Daenerys sat across from Jaime and Tyrion, the weight of blood and history heavy between them.
They spoke plainly. No anger, no shouting—only truth.
“You know her better than anyone,” the Goddess said, her voice calm but unyielding. “If she is allowed to move freely, more people will suffer.”
Tyrion’s jaw tightened. Jaime looked away.
They discussed every option. Exile. Imprisonment. Mercy. Each one ended the same way—with Cersei finding a way to burn the world again.
Finally, the plan was spoken aloud.
Those who had chosen to stand with Cersei—who enabled her cruelty, who helped her spill innocent blood—would be dealt with first. Swiftly. Cleanly. Cersei herself would be last.
Jaime swallowed hard. Tyrion closed his eyes.
“She’s hurt too many people,” Tyrion said quietly. “Including us.”
Jaime nodded, his voice hollow. “I don’t love her anymore. Whatever I once felt… it died long ago.” He lifted his gaze, steadier now. “I want a life that isn’t built on blood. I want to spend what remains of it with Brienne.”
No one questioned him.
The Goddess inclined her head. “Then we move forward.”
Decisions followed quickly after that.
Bran would sit on the council, his insight invaluable. Oberyn would represent Dorne. Daenerys and Missandei would serve beside them, helping shape a realm meant to heal, not dominate. Lord Varys, will continue his role as Master of Whisperers.
Jon would no longer be bound to the Wall, though he would visit when needed. The Night’s Watch would change, as the world had changed.
Eddison Tollett and Tormund Giantsbane would oversee the Wall together. It would no longer exist as a place of punishment, but of purpose. The dead were gone. The endless fear was gone.
The men of the Watch would be allowed to marry. To build families. To request the Queen’s blessing and live as men, not ghosts. Hearths would replace cold stone. Laughter would echo where once there had only been wind.
The Wall would become a home.
As the meeting ended, the Goddess rose, looking at each of them in turn.
“The age of surviving is over,” she said. “Now we rebuild. Carefully. Justly.”
Outside, the sun climbed higher over Winterfell’s towers.
And somewhere far to the south, a lioness sharpened her claws—unaware that the reckoning she had always escaped was finally coming.
Omgg do you have the charlie angels reader draft?!?! If so, could you post it someday? I LOVE charlies angels ✨️✨️.
Heyyy, so, yessss I do have a small one shot I think? I never thought would see the light of day, so I polished it a bit because I am more than happy to share itttt, actually thank you for asking lol <3<3<3
Only Angels fly this high!
Bradley Bradshaw x Charlie's Angel reader!
You were never just Maverick’s daughter.
You were the girl who swept your district's science fair four years straight, the one who could solve a Rubik's cube in under sixty seconds without even looking flustered. You knew every Avenger’s and DC's origin story by heart, had an unshakable love for Aragorn and your textbooks, and could quote Star Wars like scripture.
With your braces gleaming, frizzy ponytails bouncing, and socks that never once matched, you were a walking storm of heart, brilliance, and sunshine. A true geek with a gymnast's poise, a mind too quick to sit still, and a laugh that could fill a room before you even entered it. You were fire and fizz and full of wonder— Pete Maverick Mitchell's daughter, sure, but unmistakably, undeniably you.
When your dad disappeared on those long, classified missions—off saving the world in ways you weren’t allowed to know, you just packed your bag like clockwork and headed to one of two places. Sometimes, it was to your godfather, Uncle Ice, who’d ruffle your hair and tell you, with that steady calm of his, that even though you hardly looked like your dad, you had the same fire in your eyes. The same stubborn spark. The same refusal to back down. He said it like a compliment, like a promise. You loved him deeply, truly. He was a quiet sort of anchor, a man who never needed many words to make you feel seen.
But most of the time, you went to the Bradshaws’.
Carol always welcomed you like one of her own, with a warm smile, a hug that smelled like fresh laundry and vanilla, and a plate of something home-cooked waiting on the table. Over time, their house became your second home, the place where you memorized the sound of their old floorboards and where you felt safest when the sky felt just a little too big.
And then there was Bradley.
Older. Cooler. Already growing into the kind of person you could only dream of becoming. He had this effortless way about him—music in his ears, sun in his smile, the kind of person that made rooms quieter and your heart louder. You followed him around with books hugged to your chest, spilling facts about superheroes and black holes, always hoping he'd listen—and he did.
He never rolled his eyes. Never made you feel silly for talking too much or knowing too many things. He let you tag along, called you “kid” with a grin that somehow didn’t sting, and made you feel like being exactly who you were, loud laugh, wild ideas, frizzy hair and all, was something worth being proud of.
You adored him.
Not in a way that needed anything in return, but in that pure, clumsy way that only happens when someone older and kinder and just out of reach shows you what it feels like to be seen.
When Bradley left for college, you told yourself not to miss him. You tried to tuck the ache away somewhere quiet, somewhere small, behind schoolwork, hobbies, competitions and all the things you used to ramble about to him when he’d pretend not to listen but always did. It wasn’t just that he left; it was that things changed.
You only saw him once after that. At Carol’s funeral. The air that day was thick with loss, the kind you could feel in your throat. You spotted him across the room—older, more tired, a stranger in the shape of someone you used to adore. You exchanged a look. Maybe a nod. Nothing more. Heavy. Wordless.
Calls stopped. Messages faded. And after the falling-out between him and your dad, whatever thread had quietly tied the two of you together just… vanished.
But even as time tugged Bradley further away, you never drifted from your dad. If anything, you clung to him tighter. You sent him everything—snapshots of you mid-flip in your gymnastics uniform, shaky videos of your band performing at school, newspaper articles of your victories, long, rambling letters from chess tournaments detailing every single move like it was a mission report. When you got your college acceptance letter, you didn’t just call him, you sent a copy with a doodle you’d drawn of the two of you in matching aviator sunglasses, grinning like dorks.
Because he wasn’t just your dad. He was your rock. Your anchor. Your hero in a flight suit. And no matter how many people came and went, how many versions of yourself you outgrew, he was always the one constant, the voice on the other end of the line who never once stopped believing in you.
And then… you became something more.
Charlie's Angel.
Not long after you started college out in California, with wide eyes and ambition for your future, you were approached by a curious agency. The Townsend Agency. It wasn’t like anything you expected. There were no job postings or open interviews. Just a whisper, a test, and then a door you didn’t even know was there opened right in front of you.
What followed was a whirlwind training that pushed your body to its limits, missions that tested your mind and your morals, and partnerships that carved something fierce and beautiful into your soul. You weren’t alone in it, either. There were two other girls—no, women—who became your teammates, your family, your sisters in everything but blood. Together, the three of you tackled the impossible. Missions took you all over the world—scaling rooftops, decoding encrypted files on the fly, surviving car chases, shootouts, betrayal. It was thrilling. Dangerous. Meaningful. Just the kind of beautiful chaos you lived for. Like a good Mitchell. You always did love flying close to the sun.
That being said… you still haven’t told your dad.
Not because you didn’t want to. You did… do. You’ve come close a dozen times, standing at the edge of the truth with your phone in hand or your heart in your throat, thinking this is it. But it never felt quite right.
Because how do you tell Maverick, the legendary naval aviator, your fighter pilot of a father, that his little girl became a spy?
Not a doctor or a lawyer or a quiet observer behind a desk. No, you became an Angel, a full-blown, off-the-books, world-saving, chaos-wrangling secret agent. You jump out of planes sometimes without a parachute, trusting only your timing and a teammate’s hand to catch you. You've fought trained mercenaries twice your size in the back alleys of foreign cities. You’ve disarmed bombs with ten seconds left on the clock. Posed as arms dealers, infiltrated corrupt corporations, survived car crashes, scaled a glass building in Dubai with nothing but suction grips and nerves, hotwired a moving car in Paris while dodging sniper fire.
And somehow still walked away—bloody, bruised, but grinning with your sisters.
How do you sit your dad down and say, “Hey, remember how you used to panic when I scraped my knee on the monkey bars? Well, now I carry lockpicks in my heels and can kill a man with a paperclip.”
Your friends tell you to just do it. “He’ll understand,” they say. “He’s military. He gets it, he's done dangerous things all his life."
But you know better.
He was a father first. He always had been, even when he wasn’t physically there, even when he was halfway around the world, flying high above everything. His heart was always anchored to you. You were his little girl, his sunshine, his soft spot in a hard-edged world, who checked your helmet twice before you could ride a bike, who made you text the second you got somewhere, worried when you scraped your knee, when you stayed up too late studying.
He was Maverick. Top Gun. Hero to most. But to you, he was just Dad.
So no, it’s not easy. Not when you know the truth will make his pulse spike and his mind race to every worst-case scenario. Not when you can still picture his face the day you fell off the beam at your gymnastics meet and he looked like the world had ended.
But still… there’s a part of you that hopes—when the moment comes, when you do tell him—he won’t just see the danger. He’ll see the strength, the purpose, the pride.
That somewhere deep down, the Maverick in him will recognize the Angel in you... Today is not that day, though.
Not when you’ve finally managed to visit after months apart—not because you didn’t want to come sooner, but because life had a funny way of keeping you both busy. His schedule was packed with flights and trainings and whatever top-secret projects still pulled at the edges of his life. Yours… well, yours was classified. Let’s just say saving the world tends to mess with your calendar.
But now, with a rare stretch of time off, you showed up at his hangar-home like no time had passed at all. He met you at the door with that familiar squint and slow-building smile, arms pulling you into one of those hugs that made you feel twelve again, like the universe could shrink down to just the two of you and still be enough.
You showed off your latest toy—a vintage, growling Mercedes-Benz Heritage, sleek and silver, like something out of a Bond film. He gave it an approving nod, muttered something about it being too pretty to trust you behind the wheel, and you both laughed like no time had passed.
At some point, after he proudly showed you the new project he was working on—an old plane with more history than metal—you insisted on cooking. Said you wanted to treat him. He looked skeptical but stepped aside, letting you take over the tiny kitchen.
The thing is… you might know how to hack into secure government servers blindfolded. You can decode encrypted files while hanging out of a moving vehicle and disarm a bomb with nothing but a bobby pin, chewing gum, and sheer nerve.
But apparently, you still don’t know how long garlic bread is supposed to stay in the oven.
Smoke curled out of the toaster oven like a signal flare, thick and dramatic, as if announcing your failure to the whole Mojave. You stood there, spatula in hand, staring at what used to be garlic bread—but now looked more like a charred fossil.
“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, coughing as you fanned the smoke with a dishtowel, trying to open a window that didn’t want to budge.
So, you stumbled out of the silver trailer—smoke still trailing behind you like you were escaping a failed op—waving the towel above your head, hoping to clear the air.
"Everything is fine, just give me a vacuum and a YouTube tutorial," you coughed, still fanning the smoky air like your life depended on it. The kitchen now smelled less like garlic and more like defeat.
Then you heard it—your name, called out in a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Warm but deeper. Steady. Older. You froze mid-wave of the dish towel, eyes narrowing as you turned around.
And there he was.
Bradley Bradshaw.
Holy. Shit.
"Bradley!" you gasped, the breath catching somewhere between shock and joy.
Before you could think, you dropped the towel, launched forward, and threw your arms around him. It wasn’t graceful—your elbow clipped his sunglasses, you nearly tripped over your own feet, and there was definitely still flour smeared across your shirt—but none of it mattered. The hug was tight, warm, all the things unsaid wrapped into a single, breathless squeeze.
“Oh, it’s been forever,” you said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at him.
You were grinning wildly, eyes dancing, completely caught up in the joy of the moment. What you didn’t notice—not at first—was how stunned he looked.
He blinked, almost like he wasn’t sure how to catch up.
“Look at you!” you said, poking his chest with mock offense. “You grew a mustache!!!”
Bradley let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of it all.
“And you… grew up,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud—like the realization had just hit him and slipped past his guard.
“Barely,” your dad chimed in from across the hangar, where he was wiping his hands clean with an old rag, smudged with grease from the plane’s engine. His voice cut through the moment like a well-timed punchline.
You turned just in time to see him eyeing the thin trail of smoke still drifting from the open trailer door.
“Please tell me you did not burn down my kitchen,” he said, eyebrows raised, half-exasperated, half-amused.
You held up your hands in surrender, cheeks flushed. “Not entirely! It’s still standing. Just… maybe don’t open the toaster for a while.”
“Great…” Your dad shot you a long-suffering look, then sighed like a man who’d seen combat but still wasn’t prepared for you in the kitchen. Then he turned to Bradley, wiping the last of the grease from his palms. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Yeah… uh, just happened to be nearby,” Bradley said, almost too casually. Then he lifted the takeout bag in his hand. “And—looks like I showed up just in time.”
He gave you a small smile, the kind that was soft around the edges and held a hint of something else—something unreadable and warm.
,You grinned at the bag like it was the Holy Grail. “Ohh, like a psychic… or maybe Lady Fate herself. What you brought and please tell me you brought enough for an unexpected mouth?”
“I did,” Bradley smirked, giving the bag a little shake for dramatic flair. “Thai. From a little spot near the base—place looks like a shack but cooks like heaven. One of those joints where they always forget the utensils, but never mess up the order.”
You gasped like he’d just told you he found buried treasure. “My kind of place. Who needs forks when destiny delivers Pad Thai?”
Bradley chuckled, handing you the bag with a knowing grin. “Hope you still like spicy, because I told them to go easy—and they still said ‘mild’ was more of a suggestion than a promise.”
You peeked inside the bag, the smell already making your mouth water. “Perfect. I like my food with a little danger. Keeps me humble.”
Your dad chimed in from behind you, grabbing plates “You say that now, but let’s see you talk tough after the first bite.”
You shot him a look. “Says the man who thinks pepper is a bold seasoning choice.”
The three of you settled in around the small table—plates spread out, drinks poured, laughter drifting lazily through the warm air. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that bounced between memories, light teasing, and just enough catch-up to fill in the gaps years apart had left.
You asked Bradley about his life, his job—nudging him gently with curiosity, dancing around certain topics with the kind of practiced grace that would’ve made Bosley proud. You didn’t lie—you just knew how to steer. How to let a story breathe without giving away the details underneath.
While delicately munching on a spring roll, you hummed quietly, savoring the flavor, then murmured without thinking, “I’ve been craving them like crazy since I came back from Thailand.”
Bradley, mid-bite, paused and looked up with a mild tilt of his head. “You’ve been to Thailand?”
You froze—not visibly, just a flicker of hesitation behind your eyes. The kind of pause most wouldn’t notice. But Bradley had always paid attention.
Still, your smile was easy as you nodded, grabbing your drink for cover. “Yeah. Work keeps me traveling.”
Bradley leaned back slightly, chopsticks in hand, eyeing you with playful suspicion. “Yeah? What do you do, exactly? Something fancy, I imagine, if that car outside is any indication. Since when do you have that kind of taste, huh?”
You raised a brow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I’ve always had taste.”
He snorted. “Right. Last time I saw you drooling over a car, it was that busted-up ‘Back to the Future’ knockoff you swore was the coolest thing ever. What was it? That rusty little hatchback with spray-painted flames and a bumper sticker that said ‘Flux This’?”
You laughed, nearly choking on your spring roll. “Hey, that car had personality. It was vintage.”
“It was a safety hazard.”
“It was charming!”
Bradley grinned, shaking his head. “You’ve upgraded. I’ll give you that. So, seriously—what do you do now?”
You smiled sweetly, taking another bite of your spring roll with practiced nonchalance.
“I’m a private art conservator,” you said, repeating the same polished line you’d fed your dad years ago—the one you’d carefully crafted to sound just vague and boring enough to kill curiosity.
Bradley blinked. “A what?”
“Art conservator,” you repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I restore paintings and sculptures—help private collectors preserve rare pieces. Lots of travel, lots of delicate work, very serious,”
Bradley glanced at your dad, who didn’t even flinch, too busy digging into his pad see ew like this was Tuesday.
Then he looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Seriously?”
You met his gaze, unblinking. “Dead serious.”
He leaned back in his chair, skeptical. “You? Art conservator? The same girl who once glued googly eyes onto her dad’s Elvis poster because—and I quote—‘It improved the emotional depth’?”
You shrugged, all cool confidence. “Every great artist starts somewhere.”
Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Unreal.”
“Hey,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him. “Don’t knock the hustle. Art is very fragile. Almost as fragile as, say… classified intel of the worlds economy on a microchip hidden in the frame of a nineteenth-century oil painting inside the vaults of the luvre.”
Both Bradley and your dad raised their eyebrows in perfect unison, like a synchronized team of disbelief.
You blinked, then raised your hands. “Kidding, pass the rice please."
Bradley chuckled and reached for the plate, shaking his head as he handed it over.
“See, that’s what I find unreal,” he said, his voice laced with something halfway between nostalgia and awe. “You were always… I don’t know. Too clever and smart for your own good.”
Your dad grunted in agreement, still chewing.
You tilted your head, scooping rice onto your plate with a lazy grin. “Is that your way of saying I was annoying?”
He smirked. “Terribly. But also kind of a genius. I always figured you’d end up running some multibillion-dollar tech company or… I don’t know, sending astronauts to Mars.”
You snorted. “Wow, aim high, why don’t you?”
He leaned his elbows on the table, studying you. “I did. You had that kind of brain, y’know? The kind that never turned off. It always felt like you were thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.”
You paused for just a second, fingers tightening on the chopsticks before you smiled again, softer this time. “Still am, just not in the way most people would guess.”
Bradley narrowed his eyes slightly, playful but curious. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”
You returned to your food, casually scooping rice onto your plate, but you could still feel Bradley’s eyes on you—curious, watching like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know he’d started.
“So,” you said, changing the subject with a too-bright smile, “what about you, Lieutenant Mustache? Still flying? Still breaking hearts?”
Your dad let out a soft snort, clearly enjoying the turn of the conversation.
Bradley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, giving you a look. “I’ll have you know the mustache has become a very powerful asset.”
You raised a brow. “Does it come with a security clearance?”
“Practically,” he said with mock pride. “Still flying, still in uniform… just with slightly more facial hair and responsibility.”
“Terrifying,” you muttered, hiding a grin behind your drink—because in all honesty, that mustache looked damn good on him. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. At least not yet.
There was a beat of silence after that, easy and warm. The kind that settles between people who’ve shared enough history to skip over the awkward parts. Three lives woven through time, scattered and now briefly realigned. It felt like no time had passed at all—and somehow like everything had changed.
Your dad stood with a quiet groan, stretching his back as he grabbed the empty soda cans and crumpled napkins.
“I’ll grab more,” he said casually. “Napkins, too, since someone eats like she’s still thirteen.”
You shot him a look. “Rude.”
“But true,” he replied over his shoulder, disappearing inside the trailer.
And just like that, you and Bradley were alone.
The hangar fell into a soft, ambient quiet—just the hum of the overhead fan, the distant creak of the cooling engine, and the sound of Bradley’s thumb absentmindedly tapping the rim of his drink.
He looked over at you, eyes thoughtful. “So… ‘private art conservator,’ huh?”
You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Still hung up on that?”
“Just trying to picture it,” he said, tone teasing but curious. “You, in gloves, hunched over a painting with a little brush.”
You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table. “What, you don’t think I’ve got the patience for restoration?”
“I think you’ve got the precision,” he said, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m just not used to you being quiet for long.”
You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that said you’re not the only one who’s changed. “People grow up, Bradshaw.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking down and then back to you again. “Apparently, they do.”
The tension between you wasn’t thick, but it was there, like static. Familiar and new, cautious and curious. It buzzed just beneath the surface, waiting- your phone began to ring.
The sudden sound made you flinch just slightly, dragging you out of the moment. You set your plate down with a reluctant clink and fished the phone from your pocket.
Bosley.
Your eyes flicked to Bradley for half a second—he was watching you, still relaxed but alert, picking up on the shift in your energy. You forced a smile, one hand already tucking the phone to your ear as you stood.
“Gimme a sec,” you said casually, stepping away from the table, from him, from that dangerous almost-moment.
You put the phone to your ear, trying to keep your voice casual. “Hello… Yeah, okay. I’ll be right in.”
You hung up, slipped the phone back into your pocket, and took a moment to school your features before turning back around. A practiced smile curved across your lips—effortless, easy. You walked back to the table like you hadn’t just been called back into a secret life.
Bradley was still seated, watching you with mild curiosity, like he knew something wasn’t adding up but didn’t know quite what.
“Everything good?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes searching.
“Yeah,” you said with a shrug that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Work. Something I need to take care of.”
Before he could say more, your dad emerged from the trailer with two cans of soda under one arm and a bundle of napkins in the other.
“Alright, I brought backup—oh.” He paused, catching the shift in your expression, one you always wear when you need to leave impromptu. “You leaving already?”
You gave him an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”
He sighed, handing over a soda anyway. “Figures. You show up after a year, almost burn my kitchen down, steal my spring rolls, then vanish.”
You grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Classic me.”
Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be a stranger and text me ass soon as you get there.”
"Of course and don’t worry I'll come back as soon as I can."
You turned to Bradley, catching his gaze again—still curious, still trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were now.
“Guess I owe you a proper catch-up,” you said softly.
He stood, nodding slowly. “Yeah. You do.”
And just like that, you slid into your sleek silver Mercedes, the engine purring to life beneath your fingertips like it knew exactly where you were going—and why. One last glance in the rearview mirror caught the faintest reflection of your dad watching from the hangar, soda in hand, and Bradley still standing by the table, napkin clutched loosely in his fingers, brow furrowed like he wasn’t quite ready for you to disappear again.
You gave a small wave—half playful, half I’ll be back—then pulled out of the dusty lot, tires crunching against gravel as the sun dipped lower behind you.
Back to the mission.
Back to the life they didn’t know about.
Back to saving the day, as usual.
Y/N: Heyyy hope you enjoyed ittttt. There's something about Top Gun x Charlie's Angels that just scratched my brain just right, y'know? One of my favs movies ever.
When a car accident leaves you with custody of your three younger siblings, your world crumbles. Navigating your own grief, funeral arrangements, and the children depending on you - it feels like there's no way out. But if there's one thing Bradley Bradshaw knows about, it's loss. A new position brings him back to San Diego, and back into your life right when you need it most. (from this anon request)
warnings: parental death, angst, hurt/comfort, sad dad bradley, w/c: 10k
for my 1k follower celebration! thank you so much to everyone who's ever read and supported my fics <3
It’s been seven hours since your parents died. Seven hours since the truck collided with your dad’s Chevrolet, on a freeway just two miles from your childhood home. They had been going out for dinner, their first night alone since the twins had been born.
They were stopping off at The Hard Deck to drop a birthday present off for Maverick, neighbour and long-time friend, before heading across town to hit the new Thai place that had just opened up.
At least, that’s what the babysitter had told the cops.
Your mom had been coming to visit you in San Francisco just next weekend. Want some time with my biggest girl, she’d said. Especially since we haven’t been around much recently, what with Olivia and Molly.
But now they’re gone, and your entire childhood resides only in your memory.
Never again will you go to a concert with your dad, continually teasing about his teenage girl taste, and the fact that you’re pretty sure he likes Lana Del Rey more than you do. You’ll never have coffee with your mom, gossiping about distant family members who neither of you have seen in years.
In a single instant, life has become abstract - you’re not sure who you are without them. You’re not even sure you want to find out.
The traffic’s slowed down, now that it’s after midnight. You’ve been driving since you got the news, knuckles white as you grip the steering wheel.
One second you were applying lipstick, getting ready to head out for a date. You’d met the guy on Hinge, and it was unlikely to go anywhere, but you’d been trying to force yourself to get back in the game. It felt like all your friends were starting to settle down, find their person. You’ve not had much luck on that front. Three months here, six months there - it never went anywhere.
You weren’t committal enough. Too unwilling to change. You’d heard it all.
Now all you can think about is your horrifically inappropriate shade of lipstick, and the fact that you’re never going to see your mom again.
You think you might be sick.
*****
You had been an accident. And unfortunate, but indisputable fact. Sure, your parents loved each other - but they certainly weren't planning for a baby at eighteen.
Fresh out of high school, they’d made the best with what they had - a tiny house in the San Diego suburbs, all while scrambling to find jobs. It’s a decision that would forever intwine your lives with the Bradshaw family.
Living in the slightly better house at the end of the street, Nick and Carole Bradshaw were approximately a year ahead of your family. Eleven months earlier, they’d had Bradley, and while they were slightly older than your parents, they were very much all in the same boat.
You don’t have many memories of Nick. Dying just after Bradley’s fourth birthday, you were barely even three. The last time you’d seen him had been at Bradley’s party - you’d spent the entire last hour perched on his shoulders, giggling as he chased Bradley around the back garden.
He seemed like a good man. A good husband. A good father.
But life went on, and your parents stayed incredibly close with Carole. Eventually both of you moved to another neighbourhood in San Diego, beside Bradley’s godfather Maverick, and his wife and stepdaughter, Penny and Amelia.
Things were good.
You don’t remember exactly when you became aware of your parents trying for another baby. There had been vague references to getting a sibling throughout your childhood, but when nothing ever came to fruition, you just shrugged it off. Bradley didn’t have any siblings, and neither did you. You didn’t need siblings when you had each other.
Each day was spent in your backyard or the Bradshaw’s, playing make-believe until you were exhausted.
Even in the throes of puberty, where Bradley was finding his footing in high-school, while you were still in middle school, he’d always make time for you. Would never let his cooler, older friends make fun of you, or make you feel less than.
You’re sure he must have caught his own flack for it, but he didn't let you see it.
Your teenage years passed, and still no sibling. Eventually, words like ‘infertility’ and ‘IVF’ began to get thrown around. Suddenly, nights when your mom was inconsolable became far more understandable.
It seemed like you were meant to be a three-person family.
Finally, they got Adam. Born three months before your twenty-first birthday - the jokes had made themselves.
It had been the last round of IVF they were going to have. It was too taxing, emotionally and physically, to keep going. Especially when you were coming of an age where you might want your own kids in a few years. Your parents didn’t want your kids to have aunts and uncles their own age.
You loved Adam. You did. You do. It’s just always been quite difficult to bond with a kid twenty years your junior. You were across the country at college for all of his major milestones, barely seeing your parents, nevermind anyone else.
It was also at this point that you lost contact with Bradley.
He’d joined the Navy, hellbent on following in Nick Bradshaw’s footsteps after Carole’s death. You wrote occasionally, sent Christmas and birthday cards, but it was never like it used to be.
That had been enough for your parents. Your family complete, mom and dad content with a son and a daughter.
If the cards had fallen differently, Adam might have been your only sibling.
Against every single odd, your mother found out she was pregnant again on her forty-second birthday. After fifteen years of fertility treatments, they conceived naturally just two years after stopping trying.
Oh how funny the universe can be.
Shock had quickly multiplied when the first ultrasound scan showed twins. You wanted to be happy for them. Really, truly. Your parents were finally getting the big family they’d once dreamed of.
You just wished it didn’t feel like you were being replaced in your own home. Your childhood bedroom had been immediately converted to a nursery, like there was no longer a place for you.
You understood. After some tears, you came to the conclusion that if losing your bedroom in a city you didn't live in was the worst thing in your life, you should be grateful. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt a little.
Visits thinned, relegated to holidays and summers, even after college. You moved back to the West Coast, opting for San Fran over Diego, and life has been fine. A little boring, not so great on the dating end, but fine. When you’d hoped for a change, this had certainly not been what you were wanting.
At least the kids are okay. A brief reprieve amongst the chaos. You’ve been on the phone to Maverick - he and Penny are staying with them until you make it there.
“Bradley’s here too.”
There was a name you hadn’t heard for a while.
You're not even sure when you thought about him last.
The roads start to blur together, until finally you're on your street. You haven't been home since Christmas.
The door opens as you pull into the driveway. You half-thought the tears would come as soon as you saw the house, but everything seems dry.
Bradley steps out, making his way over to you. He pauses for a second, allowing you to make the decision, before you throw yourself into his arms. His hands settle on your waist, and you let out a small sob as you bury your face into the crook of his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” He murmurs, voice deeper than you remember. With all his deployments, the last time you saw him was Christmas a few years ago. His first after Carole had died.
Other than the occasional Instagram post, you have no idea what he’s up to these days. You hadn’t even known he was even living in San Diego again.
He looks good. Really good. Sporting a moustache that would look ridiculous on anybody else, he’s filled out in a way that makes your throat constrict slightly. The Navy has served him well.
“A-are the kids okay?”
“Penny and Mav put them to bed,” He replies. “The twins are fine, but uh… Adam was pretty upset. He knew something was going on from the babysitter - we wouldn’t have told him straight away otherwise, but things were so confused, and-”
“Thank you,” You whisper, pulling back. “For being there for them. I-I didn’t even know you were in town.”
“For the past few months. Moved into mom’s house.” He gestures at the near identical house next door.
It’s a horrible club to be joining. That of the dead parents. But the smallest, most selfish part of you is endlessly relieved that he knows how you feel. How he might be the only one who does.
“Was the drive okay?”
“Hm?” You murmur, distracted by the windows upstairs. So many memories flash through your mind - sneaking out to go to parties with Bradley at sixteen, sitting and stargazing with your dad on the 4th of July. Or that time Bradley fell trying to climb up, and had been in a cast all summer.
“The drive? You must be exhausted.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m okay,” You dismiss, making shaky steps into the house. It looks exactly as you remember it. Mav and Penny sit in the living room, faces grave. After Nick, and then Carole, you can tell they’re vastly unprepared to bury another set of friends.
“Oh, kid,” Maverick begins, wrapping you in a hug. “I’m sorry.”
Something about Maverick’s embrace, the way he cups your head against him reminds you painfully of your dad. “I-I don’t know what to do,” You cry. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Don’t worry about any of that right now,” Penny breathes, tears staining her own cheeks. “We’ll help you with whatever you need.”
A glass of water is pushed into your hand, a kiss pressed to your head, and you’re sat in the living room.
Chat is stilted, dancing around the obvious, and soon you begin to insist that they all head home, get some sleep. If it weren’t for the fact that they’re a maximum of fifty meters away at any given time, you’re not sure you would’ve been able to convince any of them to leave.
It’s only when you agree to Mav and Bradley coming over in the morning to help with arrangements, while Penny helps with the kids, that they filter out.
Soon, you’re alone, and the tears return in waves.
Choked sobs that had hidden themselves in the presence of others, now nearly bringing you to your knees.
This isn’t right.
Your dad should be on the couch, watching Cheers re-runs, while your mom knits and pretends that she isn’t watching (she always is).
The kids upstairs should have a real adult looking out for them. Not a girl, barely out of grad-school, who regularly forgoes breakfast because she can’t be bothered making it for herself.
You get very little sleep that night - wandering through to the kid’s rooms every hour or so to make sure they’re okay. Outside of the occasional babysitting gig as a teen, you have no idea what to do with anyone under the age of ten. You opt for the couch in your parent’s bedroom, rather than their bed.
Still unmade from the night before, you don’t think you can bring yourself to sleep in it just yet. It still smells of your mom’s shampoo, your dad’s aftershave.
It’s such a strange sensation, to be somewhere that should be so familiar. Instead, it’s like you’ve wandered into another universe, one where your parents are dead and nothing makes sense anymore.
*****
Adam’s forgotten about yesterday’s incidents by the time morning comes round. He prances into the bedroom, face dropping into a frown when he sees the bed empty.
“Hey, kid,” You murmur, opening your arms for a cuddle.
“Where’s Mommy?” He asks, chewing on one of his fingers as he allows you to pull him onto your lap.
You swallow, trying desperately to come up with a way to tell your four-year-old brother that both his parents are dead. “There was an accident yesterday, and Mommy and Daddy got really hurt.” A lump forms, and you pray that you can keep it together long enough to get through this. “The doctors weren’t able to help them, and they died.”
There’s a moment of quiet, as Adam considers your words. “They’re not here?”
“They’re not here,” You repeat quietly, a tear trickling down your cheek. “But I’m going to look after you and the girls, okay? And Aunt Penny and Uncle Mav. S’ okay to be sad.”
“Mommy’s not coming back?”
You shake your head, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. “No, honey. I’m so sorry.” A whimper sounds from the nursery. The girls are waking up. “Why don’t you head downstairs, and I’ll grab Liv and Molly, and I’ll make you pancakes?”
Seemingly placated, Adam nods and heads downstairs, while you try and wrangle the twins. It’s a challenge, but you manage to get them into their highchairs, just as the door rings.
It’s Bradley, looking far too put-together for 6:45am. “I uh, saw that the curtains were open - figured you were up. How are you holding up?”
“I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet,” You admit, leading him to the kitchen. “Kind of just feels like I’m playing pretend.”
Bradley greets Adam with a wave, and drops a kiss to each of the girls’ heads. It feels so natural that a guilt tugs at your stomach. Bradley isn’t even family, and yet he feels far more familiar to these kids than you do.
“It’ll feel like that for a while,” He replies. “You want me to make breakfast?”
“Oh. I was just going to make pancakes.”
“Are you any better at cooking than you were as a teenager?” Bradley asks, the smallest smile tugging at his mouth.
Despite everything you laugh, shaking your head with your lip between your teeth.
“Got it. I’ll cook then.”
“I think I can survive pancakes,” You protest.
“Okay, grieving lesson 101. Learn to accept help.” His voice is firm, and you find yourself nodding. “Mav’ll stop by later - he’s got all the lawyer’s numbers, and funeral planning. Believe me, last thing you want to be doing is thinking about catering right now. Let us handle the paperwork, and we’ll ask you about anything important, okay?”
“Thanks, Brad.”
You’re overwhelmed by their presence, their willingness to drop everything to be here. A comfortable silence falls, Adam chattering nonsense in the background as Bradley cooks.
“Bradley?” You ask.
“Yeah?”
“When does it start to get easier?”
He looks over at you, with a candour that makes your heart sink. “My mom? I think it took me about a year.”
“That’s a long time,” You whisper.
“I know.” He reaches out, almost tentatively, taking your hand. His thumb rubs circles onto your palm. “But you’ll get through it.”
“Can you maybe help with changing Adam’s insulin sensor? It needs done every two weeks, but he doesn’t like swapping them out.”
Bradley nods. “Yeah, of course. What do you need me to do?”
“Just chat to him, keep him distracted.”
You and Bradley make an excellent team. Bradley keeps him talking about baseball the entire time, allowing you to swap his sensor with relatively few tears.
It’s one of the only things you feel like you can manage. Ever since Adam got diagnosed last year, your parents made sure that everyone in the family was up-to-date on what to do, how to keep him safe. Everyone knows where the insulin and glucagon can be found, and how often his Libre sensor needs changed.
In an attempt to get you all out of the house, Bradley suggests a walk to the local park. He’s got Adam on his shoulders, and you push the twins.
It gets your mind off of everything for a little bit, and for that you're grateful.
You wonder what it looks like from the outside. If people assume that you’re married, had kids straight out of college. You suppose they must. You don’t hate the idea as much as you should.
*****
“I guess, what we’re saying is that you have options,” The lawyer says, sitting back in her chair. You, Maverick, Penny and Bradley are crowded into the cramped office. “You’re the legal guardian of the kids, but we understand that’s a lot for a twenty-five-year-old to deal with. As you’ve discussed already, Pete and Penelope would be willing to take them-”
“I’m going to keep them,” You interrupt. It’s been a decision that’s eaten away at you for the past week. It was never a question of adoption - you couldn’t ever do that to your own siblings. But after a particularly hard night, when Penny had offered it to you, a tiny part of yourself had wondered.
Wondered if it would be so bad, for them to grow up with two parents, who were far more capable and experienced than you are. Penny’s a far better mother than you could ever hope to be - maybe you’d be doing them a favour?
Maybe everybody would be better off if you weren’t in charge.
Then you’d stood in the nursery, after the twins had fallen asleep, with tears streaming down your face, and realised that you couldn’t give them up. Not for anything. You owed it to them, and your parents, to try.
Maverick nods approvingly. “We’ll be here for whatever you need, kid. Whenever you need it.”
“I’ve got a permanent position in San Diego now,” Bradley adds. “I’ll still have to ship out occasionally, but I’ll be here too.”
The rest of the afternoon is spent going over will logistics, funeral arrangements, and adoption papers. Something about health insurance means you need to formally adopt the kids, a process that’ll take a while.
But with Adam and his diabetes, it’s something that has to be done.
Slowly but surely, things seem to be becoming a little more manageable. Maverick and Penny explained any of the financial aspects you don't understand, while Bradley's hand stays firmly on your knee the entire meeting, tracing soothing patterns onto your skin.
*****
You don’t fall apart until the tenth. Two weeks, four days and three hours after your parents die. The funerals are over, the flowers are dying, and now there’s just grief. Raw, unfiltered grief that’s been pushed under your need to care for the kids.
But tonight, Adam has been asking questions you don’t know how to answer. Crying tears you don’t know how to soothe, sobs only ceasing when Bradley arrives after work.
You busy yourself with the girls, trying to soothe Liv’s sore throat while Molly does everything she can to avoid a bath - all while pretending that Adam’s rejection doesn’t bother you.
The fact that Bradley’s the sun, moon, and stars to him - and you’re just the poor mother substitute. The perpetual bad guy. The one who won’t let him see Mommy and Daddy.
You hold it together for approximately ten minutes after the twins go down. Standing in the kitchen, leaning against the island, a small sob escapes as you wrap your arms round your shoulders. Trying to ground yourself, stop your head from pounding so viciously.
It’s only when you hear Bradley’s footsteps padding down the stairs that you swallow, turning to the mountain of dishes piling up in the sink and busying yourself. He’s just spent the last hour comforting Adam. You don’t want him to feel responsible for you too.
“Is he asleep?” You ask, voice far thicker than you’d like.
“Yeah - took some convincing, but he’s out.”
“There’s some pasta in the fridge, if you want to take it for dinner,” You manage, back still pointedly turned.
“You don’t want me to stay?” You wish you could unhear the hurt in his voice, the fact that he’s the only reason you’ve survived the past few weeks, while you can’t even look him in the eye.
There’s nothing you want more than for him to stay. To let this unsteady rhythm you’ve both concocted continue for as long as its able. Until he decides to move on.
Because he will. The kindness he’s shown you is immeasurable, and you’ll never be able to thank him enough, and yet you know it must be finite. One day, he’ll meet a girl, fall in love, and you’ll go back to just childhood best friend.
“Is everything okay?”
You’ve been quiet for too long. Bradley’s perceptive. He always has been. A normally endearing trait, you surprise even yourself when a cry slips from your lips.
A dam shatters, and the sobs wrack your body.
Bradley’s across the room in seconds, pulling you into him. His arms circle your waist, strong and steady as he keeps you upright. Just like he’s been doing since the crash.
“I don't think I can do this,” You whisper, voice hoarse. “I can barely look after myself. Nev-nevermind them.”
"I know it's hard," He murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple. "You're doing the hardest fucking thing in the world, kid. You've gotta give yourself some grace. They were your parents too."
"I-if I let myself feel it, I don't know where it'll end. I don't know if it'll end." Another cry bubbles up, and you bury your face in his shoulder. "I'm so scared, Bradley."
“Mav and Penny and I, we’re here for whatever you need, okay? Anything.”
You nod, trying to quell your tears. “Y-you’ve done so much already. I can’t ask you to do any more-”
“You aren’t,” He replies. “I’m offering. I love those kids, I love you all. I'd do anything for you.”
Your grip on him tightens just slightly, needing to ground yourself.
“Do you have the life insurance payout yet?”
You detach from him slightly, hands dropping to his forearms. “I used it to buy the house. There was still a lot of the mortgage to pay off. A-and I couldn’t afford the payments without it. The last thing they need is to be moved, on top of everything else-”
“Hey,” He interjects, voice soft. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, okay? You’re doing what you need to. Go run yourself a bath, try and relax for a bit.”
“I need to do the dishes, and make lunch for tomorrow-”
He shakes his head. “I’ve got it.” Your protests die on your lips. A bath does sound nice. “We can watch a movie or something, after you’re done.”
You wipe the last of your tears, and press a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
He’s going to make someone incredibly happy someday.
The thought leaps into your head unprompted, and you swallow it back. You don’t need more reminders of how temporary this is.
*****
The next day is even worse. Adam’s doing his best moody teenager impression, while Molly’s contracted Olivia’s cold.
Penny spends the afternoon, and makes things slightly more bearable, but her and Maverick have theatre tickets that night. She offered to cancel, but you’d insisted they go. They needed some normality too. It’s easy to forget that Mav and Penny have known your mom and dad since their twenties. They’re grieving almost as much as you are.
You barely make it to seven before your tears start too. It’s all you can do to dial Bradley’s number.
“Is everything okay?”
“I-I,” You stammer, hardly able to even get the words out. “I don’t know what to do. T-the girls are sick, and I can’t get any of them down, and I don’t know what I’m doing-”
“I’ll be over in a second.”
The phone cuts off, and true to his word, the bell goes in approximately half a minute. You’ve never been more grateful to see someone in your life. You’re sure you must look like a total mess, hair unbrushed and mascara dripping down your cheeks, but Bradley doesn’t comment. Instead, he takes Olivia from your arms and presses a kiss to your forehead. He greets Adam, who looks considerably happier to see Bradley than he was to see you, and whispers a couple of words into his ear.
You can’t make out what he says, but Adam immediately softens, before approaching you and offering a hug.
“Why don’t you get Adam, and I’ll get the girls?” Bradley offers, and you nod gratefully.
Whatever Bradley said worked wonders, and Adam’s far more amenable to bedtime than he was before.
It takes Bradley a little longer, and a lot more sniffling, but forty-five minutes he appears down the stairs, and all is quiet again. “Come on,” He murmurs softly. “You’re exhausted.”
“It’s only eight,” You reply, voice barely more than a whisper. “I haven’t made myself dinner yet.”
“Sounds like a night for pizza in bed then,” He replies.
And so, twenty minutes later, Bradley’s tipping the delivery guy, before clambering into bed with you. It’s the best meal you’ve had in your life, tucked into his side as some cheesy rom-com plays in the background.
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Bradley asks, eyebrow raised.
“How are you so good with them? So natural? It feels like I make the wrong choice at every possible turn.”
He shrugs slightly, pulling you in closer. “It’s easy when they aren’t yours. I’m a novelty to them - if they were my kids, you’d be the exact same.”
You’re not sure you agree, but you nod, placated with his answer.
It doesn’t take long to drift off to sleep, still curled up against him. And the next morning when you wake up to a solid shape beside you, an arm draped across your waist, your heart soars.
*****
You know you're being unreasonable. Bradley's been the best thing that's ever happened to the kids - endlessly patient, full of energy, always down to play. He's shouldered things you wouldn't expect from a close relative, much less a distant family friend.
When there was a problem with the house insurance, Bradley spent three hours on the phone to agents, working out a plan that worked best for you.
Every Saturday, when another week passes and your parents slip further from your grasp, he turns up at 7pm on the dot, armed with casserole and ice cream. He takes Olivia from your arms, and soothes them all to bed with his stories and tales, allowing you the briefest moment of reprieve.
For the first month, he'd end each night holding you while you cried, pressing soft butterfly kisses to your forehead as he promised better things. Promised that things would get easier, that he'd be there for whatever you needed.
But it can't last forever. Made starkly obvious by the woman in the park today.
You’d been having a picnic, while Bradley was continuing Adam’s baseball education. From your perspective, it was just throwing a ball back and forth, but they’d both insisted there was considerable technique and skill to it. You’d taken the girls to go get ice-cream, and had come back to a woman chatting to Bradley, while Adam busied himself with a mitt. You couldn’t hear what was going on, but Bradley smiled, shook his head, and she went on her way.
Turning back round, he was immediately by your side to help with the ice-creams, hand reaching out to push a stray hair back from your face.
You understand the thought process. She saw an attractive guy, with a cute kid, and no ring. You'd have taken those odds with Bradley if you were her.
And when he turned her down, you had no idea what to think. The last thing you want to do is hold him back. Keep him from any kind of happiness.
Even if it killed you a little, you'd be thrilled for him. Even if it meant you became relegated to his past, meant only for occasional visits and cards at Christmas.
Maybe you'd find someone else too. Someone that liked kids, didn't mind some baggage. Maybe this ache in your chest won't last forever.
You can tell he knows something's up when he slips into bed wordlessly, clicking the light off as he goes. You've been lying on the edge for the past twenty minutes, cheek turned out to the window as you try and quell the awful guilt festering low in your stomach.
Bradley's freshly twenty-six. The last thing he wants is to be tied down to three kids. To you.
You're being selfish with him. And it breaks your heart.
But he's in your bed tonight, and maybe that's enough for now.
When you shuffle over towards the midline, far closer to him than you've ever dared before, he finally speaks. "You alright?"
"Can't sleep," Is all you can muster.
"C'mere," He murmurs, voice gravelly as he reaches out for you. You let him loop a hand round your wrist, pulling you across the bed until you're settled against his chest. It feels so terribly right that you want to bawl. Instead, you press your face into the crook of his shoulder and let out a shaky breath.
His arm is draped across your waist, and you're almost chest-to-chest. It's the closest you've been since childhood.
"Better?"
"Better."
*****
Bradley gets orders to deploy the following week. It’s only three months, hardly anything by Navy standards, but the idea of going that long without him makes you feel a little ill. You don’t remember the last time he spent the night in his own house. Each night you somehow manage to get closer, waking up fully intertwined as the kids throw themselves on top of you both.
The house feels too big without him, even with three children racing around.
You both made the decision not to bring the kids to base to say goodbye. After the year they’ve had, neither of you want to make a big deal of Bradley’s leaving. Instead, last night he came home armed with three build-a-bears, each one with a sound-bite of him singing.
American Pie, Adam’s favourite song, much to Bradley’s delight.
Shake It Off for Olivia.
And that godawful new Benson Boone song for Molly.
The idea of Bradley Bradshaw standing in build-a-bear, singing quietly into a little machine, just so the kids have something to remember him by, makes you want to sob. If Bradley Bradshaw’s out to ruin all men for you, he’s doing an excellent job.
Penny said her goodbyes to Bradley at the house, before Maverick drove you both out to base. Now, you’re standing on the tarmac, watching on as Bradley and Pete say their goodbyes. As soon as Maverick’s pulling back, he suddenly spots someone across the lot that he’s got to go say hello to. A squeeze of your shoulder as he passes, and you’re left with Bradley.
“You'll write?” He knows the answer, but when this is the last time he’s going to see you until November, he’d like the reassurance.
“Every day,” You murmur. “I-we’re really going to miss you, Brad.”
He reaches out, pulling you in for a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you too. But it’ll be over in a flash. Promise.”
You somehow can’t imagine that being true. “Stay safe. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“When am I ever stupid?” He asks, smiling until he sees your expression. “Don’t answer that.”
Too quickly, it’s time for him to go. “See you soon, sweet girl.”
And then he’s gone.
Bradley wonders how you're getting on today. If Adam's talent show went well, or if the twins are still teething.
They'll be eighteen months by the time he gets back. Not much older, in the grand scheme of things, but he'll know.
At that age, consistency is everything. Adam's old enough to know Bradley, understand that he's going away for a little while - but Olivia and Molly? He might return a complete stranger.
Sitting in the barracks, head in his hands, he wonders if this is how his dad felt every time he left him and his mom behind.
He knows what Jake would say if he were here. Something snarky, probably. A comment about how they aren't even your kids, nevermind his. That Bradley Bradshaw must be the only bastard on earth who can land himself with diaper duties before first base.
He slips the picture out of his wallet. The one at the picnic. Nat had taken it, the five of you all crammed onto one blanket. Adam's clambering over Bradley's shoulders, and Olivia sits on his lap, reaching up for her brother. You've got Molly, smile wide as you watch the scene before you. Your eyes are on the kids, but his are very much on you.
A guilt festers in him, but he feels happier than he has in years. Ever since his mom died he’s felt totally aimless, drifting from one mission to another, little care as to whether he lived or died. Now, the idea of not going home to you all at the end of the day feels inconceivable.
It just makes him feel terrible that four people had to lose their parents for that to happen.
"Bradshaw," A voice greets, knocking him out of his trance. "How's it going?"
Seeing the picture clasped in Bradley's hand, Reuben steps forward to take a look. "Cute kids. This your first deployment since having them?"
They're not mine. They're my best friend's siblings, but I'm pretty sure I'm in love with her, and I think it would kill me if I don't get to see those kids grow up.
"Uh, yeah. It is."
“Ah, first one’s always the hardest. But it’s so much better getting to go home at the end of it. I used to go home to an empty house after deployments-” Other than a visit to Penny and Maverick, that had been Bradley’s experience with deployments. “-and let me tell you - going home to your kids after a few months? Best feeling in the whole world. I cried the last time I saw my wife on the tarmac.”
Bradley imagines what life would be like if you were his wife. If, when he gets home, he’d be able to pull you close, and kiss you until your lips are pink and swollen, before heading home to the kids.
He wonders what your own kids would look like. His and yours. He doesn’t even know if you’d want that now, not with the three you’ve already got, but he doesn’t mind. As long as you’re happy, he’d be happy too. In whatever form, whatever capacity that turns out to be.
*****
The babysitter’s left, and the house is quiet. You’d managed to transfer your work to the San Diego offices, but unfortunately that means two days a week in the office. You’re still grateful that you can stay at home with the girls most of the time, but you’re starting to feel it. Balancing work and the kids, all while worrying about Bradley every day is taking a toll.
All three of them are sleeping, totally exhausted after Uncle Mav decided that they should go to a local theme park first thing, before the babysitter arrived. You’ve never used her before, so Mav and Penny offered to take them in the morning to make her day a little easier.
You’re going to grab some leftover pasta for dinner, when you frown. Adam’s insulin is missing.
Pulling out your phone, you shoot a quick text to the babysitter.
You: Hey, have you seen Adam’s insulin anywhere? Green and orange pens.
Andie: it had fallen out of the freezer, so i put it back!
Your heart sinks. Frozen insulin is unusable. You must have knocked it out of the fridge this morning before work. Andie wouldn’t have realised, and just put it back in.
That’s a thousand dollars of medication down the drain.
You have no idea how you’re supposed to pay for more, if insurance doesn’t cover it. Hands shaking, you dial the number. Maybe you can catch them before they finish up for the day.
You get a polite but tired-sounding woman on the phone, who is very apologetic, but firm about the fact that they can’t do anything. You can only afford base coverage, and that doesn’t have any stipulations for accidents.
After the car payments, and school, and insurance, you’re running low. Really low. It’s not something you’d ever admit to Bradley or Maverick, unless the kids were at risk.
Maybe you can sell something. Your mom’s engagement ring, your dad’s watch - there has to be something you can do.
The tears come anyway, and it isn’t until your phone rings that you realise what time it is.
You let out a quiet curse. This is Bradley's call night. The single video call he gets for this entire month. After tonight, he'll be stuck with e-mails until he's home.
Four weeks of not seeing his face. You’re not sure how you’re going to cope. Hastily wiping at your eyes, you accept the call, and move through to the kitchen.
“Hi, Brad,” You smile, desperately hoping the camera doesn't pick up your tear tracks.
He looks tired, but happy. His hair is cropped closer than you like, an unfortunate side effect of military duty. But he’s okay, and that’s what matters. You can’t help the feeling of dread that seems to fester in your stomach each time you think about Bradley being somewhere in the middle of the ocean, doing things he can’t tell you anything about.
“What’s wrong?” He’s frowning immediately, and you want to curse yourself. You should’ve made more of an effort to freshen up before getting on the call.
“I-it’s nothing, just a long day at work.”
“Kid, you look like you're about to sob. Please tell me what's going on.”
“I dropped Adam's insulin out of the fridge today - i-it must've been right after I left for work, and the babysitter thought it was meant to go in the freezer. A-and all of his insulin for the month is ruined.”
“Did you call the insurance company?”
“They won’t cover it,” You reply, voice weak. “We don’t pay enough to get replacements - all we get is the base coverage. But uh, it’s fine, I’ll work something out. He has enough for tonight.”
“I can send you the money-”
“No!” You interject immediately. “God, Bradley, you’ve done too much. It’s okay, I can work it out to tomorrow - go to the bank, see what they can do-”
“Sweetheart, I really don’t mind. I don’t want you to have to sell anything, or take out a loan or anything. The money’s just sitting there in my account, anyway. I’d always rather it went to the kids, or you.”
“My dad has a watch, that-”
Bradley’s face falls, as he shakes his head. “Please. I’m not letting you sell your parent’s things. Let me send you the money.”
“I just- I don’t really want to talk about it, is that okay? Can we talk about anything else?”
He nods, eyes still concerned. “Of course. You decided what you want to do for your birthday yet?”
You shake your head. “Just a quiet day, I think.”
“What if I told you I had some Stevie Nicks tickets with your name on them? It’s the day after your birthday, so not quite-”
“You didn’t,” You gasp. “How the hell did you get them from Japan?”
“I left very detailed instructions with Mav and Penny. I think the seats are terrible, but we’ll have fun. It’s in LA, so I’ve booked us into the Garland too, so we don’t have to worry about the drive back.” Sensing the question on your tongue, he continues. “I’ve already asked Mav. They’ll stay with the kids.”
“You’re insane,” You laugh, still wiping at your eyes slightly.
“In a good way, I hope?”
“The best.”
“I’m glad. We can plan it properly when I’m back. Maybe catch lunch in the city beforehand, go to the pier? Whatever you want, honey.”
“You’re going to make me cry again,” You mumble, dabbing at your eyes.
“As long as it’s happy tears.”
“The absolute happiest.”
*****
Just minutes after you hang up, a notification comes through on your phone.
Bank transfer: $1500 has been deposited into your account ending in XXXX, from Bradley Bradshaw.
07/07. 21:37.
Dear Bradley,
You shouldn’t have sent all that money, it’s far too much! You’ve done so much for us already, I can’t even begin to thank you the way you deserve. But since I figure you wouldn’t take kindly to me sending it back, thank you <3 I think Adam’s insulin should be about 1k, so I can send the rest back afterwards. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
Missing you lots, and I’ve attached some pics of Adam’s last game - he insisted I send you some, so that you can see how he’s been practicing his throw! They lost, but it was a lot closer than it’s been recently. He attributes it all to you.
The girls are settling into daycare. I miss them during the day, but I really just couldn’t handle working from home and juggling them both at once. And the staff are so lovely - very hands-on, and they always come home with some kind of arts and crafts.
They’ve already decided that they want to go to the zoo when you’re back, plus a picnic. Sorry to start booking you in for social stuff before you’re even home.
Stay safe and thank you again x
07/08. 05:19.
Kid, I really truly don’t want to see that money back in my account. What’s the point of having it if you can’t use it for the people you love? Buy yourself something nice (and by that I mean by something for you, not for the kids).
Tell Adam he’ll be coming for the big leagues in no time, guy’s a pro! I think that calls for a new mitt when I get home. And I’m so glad Liv and Mol are doing well, I know you’d been worried about the time apart.
We’re about to go offline for a little while, but I’ll be in contact as soon as I’m able. Would you be able to send some more pictures? I have a few of the kids, but there’s only one with you. I don’t know, no worries if not - just missing all of your faces. There’s only so much of Reuben and Mickey that a man can take.
You’re doing so well, honey.
See you soon,
Bradley x
07/10. 18:03.
Hi Brad,
Hope you’re doing okay, and staying safe. As usual, we miss you loads. I got Adam’s insulin sorted, so we’re all good on that front. He says thank you, and I’ve attached a picture of the drawing he did of you both. You’re apparently on holiday in Paris - some not-so-subtle signals for after I get that promotion maybe?
Mav and Penny took the kids so that I could go to Nat’s birthday, which was really nice. They all send their love, and I sent a pic of everybody. I used most of the money left over for Adam’s baseball summer camp (I’m sorry! I know you said to use it on me, but you really should’ve known that was going to happen), but I did treat myself to a dress so you couldn’t be too annoyed. There should be a picture of that somewhere in the files too - I don’t know why I sent it really. Proof that I can spend money on myself? Anyway, feel free to discard.
Sent you a bundle - I didn’t really know what you wanted, so I thought too many was better than not enough. Please email as soon as you’re able - you know I worry.
Can’t wait to see you x
07/17. 03:58.
Hi honey,
That’s us just back to base - can’t tell you any more than that, but we’re all safe. Sorry for the stupid hour, but I wanted to reply before I went to bed.
The new dress looks beautiful. Really. Wish you’d spent more of the money on yourself, but I’ll take what I can get. Green is definitely your colour, though. I’m glad you had a nice time at Nat’s, and that the kids are still doing well.
I love Adam’s drawing, and it’ll get pride of place in my office back in San Diego. With the art and the baseball, I think we might have quite the ladies man on our hands in the future.
Can’t wait for these two weeks to be over, so I can come home to you all.
Love,
Bradley x
It’s the slowest two weeks of his life. Made bearable only by the photos you continue to send, he tries to have one on him at all times, slipped into his flight suit. More often than not, it’s the solo shot of you, in the floaty green summer dress that makes him feel dizzy each time he looks at it.
If Bradley Bradshaw were a smarter man, he’d realise that keeping your best friend in the crevice of your heart saved only for loves of your life is a very telling act. That you’re the first person he thinks about in the morning, and the last at night.
For the first time in his life, it’s not just Maverick and Penny waiting for him. As soon as Bradley’s feet are on the tarmac, he’s sifting through the crowds. Before he can even find you, a shape bursts forwards from the throngs of people, and Adam starts sprinting in his direction. Letting out a laugh, Bradley hoists his duffel bag higher, ready to catch him as he throws himself the final few feet.
“Bradley!” He exclaims, arms immediately wrapping around his neck.
“Hey, kiddo,” Bradley replies, arm tightening round the boy as he starts to move. “Long time no see.”
“We missed you.”
“I missed you too. Care to point me in the direction of your sister?”
Adam glances around, before offering a vague gesture to his left. Bradley follows his finger, and finally his gaze lands on you.
In the green dress.
Liv is balanced on your hip, Molly clinging to your leg. And when you smile at him, a lump forms in his throat.
He thinks he understands what Reuben was talking about now.
All of Bradley’s fears of the twins not recognising him evaporate when Molly smiles up at him, toothy and wide as he makes his way over. She takes some unsteady steps towards him, letting out a giggle when he scoops her into his arms.
Suddenly feeling left out, Olivia starts to reach out too.
“Let’s wait until Bradley puts the others down, okay-” You begin, but he shakes his head.
“Wait, hold on, I can make this work,” He murmurs, readjusting Adam and Molly as he takes Olivia, still somehow managing to find a way to hug you at the same time.
“Hi,” You breathe.
“Hi,” He replies, dropping a kiss to your forehead as he balances the three kids. Another second passes, and then Mav and Penny reach out to take the kids back, allowing you and Bradley a second alone.
“You’re okay?”
He nods, and then he’s hugging you again, far tighter than the one with the children. Your arms fasten round his neck, while his tighten round your waist, pulling you just off the ground as he holds you close. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too. Thank you for the money, Brad. You really saved us.”
“Don’t mention it,” He mumbles. “Really. I’d do anything for you guys.”
“Ready to go home?”
Home. Not his mom’s old house, but the one next door. The one he can’t ever imagine leaving. “More than anything, honey.”
*****
You muddle your way through dinner, having spent three months trying desperately to get better at cooking. While there’s a marked improvement, you’re not sure you’ll ever reach Bradley’s level. But the pasta was edible, and Bradley seemed to appreciate the effort.
Exhausted from welcoming Bradley back, the kids all go down relatively easy, and when Penny and Mav head back home, it’s just you and Bradley. You’ve worked your way through a bottle of wine, and are sitting far closer than you normally would.
Your feet are in his lap, his thumb stroking gently at his ankle.
“Listen, feel free to tell me if this is insane - but uh, I was thinking that maybe we should get married.”
You almost choke on your drink. “What?”
“I get really good health insurance with the Navy - i-if you wanted to, we could get married, and I could adopt the kids - and you wouldn’t have to worry about them.”
“Bradley…” You start, totally at a loss for words. “I-I can’t ask you to do that.”
“What if I want to?” He whispers, eyes earnest, and you can feel yourself welling up. It’s not how you imagined a proposal going, not by any stretch, but the tenderness in his voice makes your knees weak. It would be nice to not have to spend every month wondering if you’d be able to make the healthcare payments.
“Y-you’re sure?”
“Yeah. I am.”
Things move pretty quickly. Neither of you are sure when Bradley’s going to get deployed again, and he needs to have formally adopted the kids to get them put on his health insurance.
Adam is ecstatic with the news, and has already signed Bradley up to talk at career day about being a pilot. And the girls, while not quite at the speaking stage, adore him too. For the first time, you feel like you might be making the right choice.
It’s a tiny affair. Just you, Bradley, the kids, Maverick, Penny and Amelia. You’d agreed not to dress up, and Bradley had suggested your new green one. He’s wearing slacks and a shirt, hair bleached a little from the sun.
It takes everything in you to remember that this isn’t romantic. It’s a platonic wedding, happening only for the sake of the kids.
Something that becomes clear when it’s time to kiss the bride, and Bradley kisses your cheek. You’d been expecting it. Of course you had. The two of you aren’t together, and there’s no reason to believe that Bradley would choose a room with his family and the kids to make his first move.
But it reminds you of what today really is.
A duty. Nothing more.
You wait until Bradley’s distracted by the twins to sneak off to the bathroom, allowing a few tears to escape as you go.
This isn’t how it was meant to go.
For you or Bradley.
Bradley shouldn’t be caging himself in at twenty-six to three kids. This is your reality, but it doesn’t have to be his.
*****
The two of you settle into a rhythm in the house, cautious and a little awkward. It’s hard to think platonically about a man who you wake up next to every morning, who you raise children with. No matter how far apart you start the night, by morning there’s always a knee between your thighs, or his face pressed into your hair. Normally you can untangle yourself before Bradley wakes up. Makes things less weird for both of you.
He’s still your best friend, and you figure it’s probably a lot better than some of your friends who married for love.
So things move on, and while the grief is still very present across all your lives, Bradley alleviates it a little.
Right after Christmas, you get a wedding invitation from Jake, something Bradley had assumed he’d never see. Ever the eternal bachelor, it seems that he’s giving it up to settle down with his girlfriend, Bea.
With everybody now stationed in San Diego, you’ve spent a decent amount of time with them both. They’re a nice couple, they make a lot of sense.
And they’re disgustingly in love.
Like, more love than you could ever have expected Jake Seresin to be capable of showing.
Adam is Jake’s number one fan, and had been thrilled when they’d asked him to be the ring-bearer. Bradley had gotten a little huffy, put out at not always being his favourite anymore. He’d been pacified when Olivia had crawled onto his lap, wanting cuddles during The Lion King.
The wedding is beautiful. Standing in a new dress that Bradley had insisted you buy, after he had seen you hovering over it online one too many times, you feel pretty for the first time in months. His arm has been settled on the small of your back all night, and you’d teased him relentlessly for crying when Adam walked down the aisle.
You can’t help but feel like this is what Bradley deserves. Someone like Bea, whom he can love completely and openly. Not you, riddled with trauma and baggage that would make even the most experienced therapists wince.
He deserved a wedding like this. Not a court-house cheek kiss, full of adoption papers.
“What are you thinking?” Bradley murmurs, lacing his fingers through yours as you watch Jake and Bea have their first dance.
“I-I was just thinking about our wedding,” You reply, trying desperately to keep your voice steady.
“Yeah? What about it?”
“I don’t know, it’s stupid,” You dismiss, feeling the familiar prick of tears in your periphery. You won’t cry today. You won’t make Bradley feel worse than he probably already does.
Sensing the tone, Bradley drops it, pressing a quick kiss to the back of your knuckles. “Can’t believe Jake’s getting married. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I thought for sure Bob would get married first out of all of you guys - he’s been with Chloe for so long.”
“Did I tell you they were talking about getting married in London, to be near Chlo’s family? Would maybe be nice to make a holiday of it. Take the kids, do Scotland-”
He’s cut off by the DJ asking for couples to get up and join the Seresins. Bradley’s immediately on his feet, offering you his hand.
“Oh, Brad, I don’t know-”
He doesn’t reply, just laces his fingers through yours, and pulls you to the dancefloor. Holding you tightly against him, you rest your head on his shoulder as he starts to sway.
A Frank Sinatra ballad plays in the background, and you try and keep your attention focused solely on Bradley. This is a happy occasion. You shouldn’t be ruining it with all this over-thinking.
“You look really beautiful,” He murmurs, head dipped to speak directly into your ear.
“You don’t look half-bad yourself.”
“No, I mean. You look really beautiful. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
This feels like dangerous territory, and you swallow. “Brad-”
“I wish I could’ve given you something like this, like today.”
His words tip you over the edge, and a small sob escapes. Eyes widening, Bradley pulls back to look at you. A few of the nearest couples on the dancefloor also turn, concerned. “Oh, kid. I’m sorry- wait, fuck. Hold on.”
He’s leading you outside, pointedly ignoring any attention you’re both receiving. It’s colder than usual for San Diego, and he drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, thumb reaching out to wipe at your tears.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“I’m sorry,” You cry, chest heaving as you try and regain control of yourself.
His arms are gripping yours, almost as if trying to keep you upright. “Don’t apologise, sweet girl. Was it talking about the wedding?”
“Y-you deserve better than this.”
“What?”
“You deserve a wedding like that. A wife like that. Not… whatever this is.”
Everything is pouring out. All the doubts of the past year, every insecurity, all the guilt about trapping Bradley. You don’t think you could bottle it up now if you tried.
“We’re holding you back.” Your voice is miserable, full of terror that he’ll agree. That he’ll leave, and you’ll be alone again. “That should be you in there. With someone that you love.”
“With you-” He begins, but you cut him off, another sob bubbling up.
“You don’t have to keep pretending, it’s okay.”
“Sweet girl, when I think about the rest of my life, all I can see is you. You, and the kids, and 23 Ridgemont Lane.”
The tears continue to trickle down your cheeks. “Bradley, you’re so young. What about if you meet someone, down the line-”
“That’s not going to happen-”
“You might want more, more than this - and I wouldn’t blame you-”
“Sweetheart, please let me talk for just once second-”
You’re spiralling. You know you are. But something about watching Jake and Bea in there makes you want to sob. That might not be in the cards for you, but you want it desperately for Bradley.
“I don’t want you to hate me one day.” The shake in your voice is borderline pathetic. It’s an admission. One you haven’t been sure you’re strong enough to make. That Bradley holds your heart in his hands, and he can do whatever he pleases with it.
“I could never hate you,” He whispers, reaching up to cup your cheeks. “God, kid, no. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You’re about to protest, when he closes the distance and presses his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter closed in surprise, hands resting on his chest.
He’s softer than you imagined, the slight scratch of his moustache the only friction.
It’s a kiss that knocks your world off its axis. One that you’re pretty sure would knock you off your feet were it not for Bradley’s arms holding you up - one curling at the nape of your neck, the other dropping to your hip, bring you closer, ever closer.
It’s a little uncoordinated, and it’s only when his nose bumps yours that you begin to realise that this is real.
You’re kissing Bradley, and he’s kissing you, and you’re not sure you ever want it to end.
He's smiling against your mouth, pressing you into the wall of the venue.
You’re not sure how much time has passed when he pulls back. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. “I love you,” He murmurs, nose brushing yours. “So much it kind of terrifies me.”
You let out an almost incredulous laugh. “I love you too.”
“Yeah?”
You nod, leaning in to kiss him again. “Can’t tell you how bad I’ve been feeling these last few months, thinking we were holding you back.
He’s shaking his head. “I'm right where I want to be, sweet girl. I want to be there for Adam starting elementary school, and for the twins starting to talk more. I want to fix up the basement, so that the kids have a playroom, and I want to build you one of those shed-things that give you a little peace and quiet after a long day.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot, huh?” You mumble, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face.
“I want to make sure the girls know that there’s no guy out there who will ever be good enough for them, and I want to teach Adam to play the guitar. Acoustic, not electric, for the sake of all our ears. But mostly, I really, really want to love you the way you deserve. I want to be a comfort during the bad times, and celebrate the good, and the rest of the time I just want to be near you.”
His arms are wrapped around you again, pulling you in tightly as you cry into his shoulder.
“What do you say?” He breathes. “Want to get married for real this time?”
How lucky you are to have Bradley Bradshaw in your life.
✮ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁. Knight!Bruce Wayne X Princess!Fem!Reader
✮ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆. When tasked with protecting the Gotham Royal Family, the line between protector and lover gets blurred
⭑ ᶜʷ. Forbidden romance, bruce is a bit young in this, like 27/28 years old
The Gotham Kingdom, proud and unyielding, now faltered beneath the cannons of Metropolis and yet you weren’t sure why.
The castle walls shook with the distant artillery, flashes of light in the midnight sky from the distance. They grew closer each night with more and more guards leaving the castle to go fight. The king and queen grew wary each day, fearing for the worst.
The corridors of the castle felt empty, silence echoing in the hallowed halls where laughter and music once was held. The torches burned dimmer, not lively as they used to be with balls held in these very halls. Each step you took sounded too loud, too echoey for a place you once loved.
Only one constant remained: him.
Your knight.
He had been a constant in the castle for years now, roughly the same age as you, aged by the scars lingering on his face and hands. Older by some but always there from his younger years. Protecting you.
He stood outside your chamber doors, unmoving, unshaken, as though the very walls could crumble and he would still not falter. The glow of torchlight caught the curve of his armor, but it was his eyes; sharp, watchful, impossibly steady, that you found yourself drawn to.
You should have been afraid of the war, should have prayed harder for peace to come and this war to end but instead all your prayers went to wishing he would not be sent to join the war like the others. That he’d be there when dawn rose. You never spoke it outloud, it was frowned upon, a Princess was supposed to think with her crown not her heart and yet, you found yourself letting your heart do all the thinking when you retreated into your room alone.
The nights stretched longer with each passing day, silence broken only by the distant sound of canon fire as smoke filled the Gotham Kingdom. People in the town fled, opting to take the risk of the thick forests than keep in town.
But Bruce? He remained.
Even as one or two other guards fled as well, taking their families and leaving, he remained posted by your side. Hand on the hilt of his sword and shoulder square, like he was ready to bear the weight of the castle alone. Stationed as if nothing in the world could move him.
At times you caught yourself sneaking glances when you thought he couldn’t notice. There was a safety to his presence, like the war outside your window could be kept at bay if he stayed by your side. But when the walls shook with a deep, resounding boom, you flinched. His head turned quickly, not towards the threat, but to you; just briefly. Long enough for your breath to hitch in your throat before returning to his vigil. No words had been spoken.
None need to be.
Late that night as you retired to your chamber, another boom shook the walls of the castle, the glass of a window rattled with enough force you thought it might break. Pressing your hands against it in hopes to stop it from reverbing.
“Do not despair princess” He spoke, not often did you hear him speak. His voice was deep, rough and a bit hoarse, like he had not spoken in days. Low and certain. “The walls shall hold”.
You turned to him, hands slowly coming off the window and folding together in front of you, “I am not afeared” you lied. A flicker of something passed across his features, the barest hint of a smile or perhaps the softening of his eyes flickering in the icy blue vaults, “Then you are braver than most”.
You held gaze for longer than was set to be proper, the weight of his words pressed into you. Heavier than the war outside. But the moment soon vanished as quickly as it came. His eyes now posted on the corridor and his posture carved from stone, a man unmoved.
You retreated into your chamber, the wooden door closing behind you as you rested, but you still felt it.
The warmth of words a knight was not meant to give, and a princess not to crave.
ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ. I love writing Bruce in fantasy AU's omg, I have a couple more Knight! Bruce Wayne ideas that I want to write as well as some Jason Todd ones, muahahahaha
Summary: Let's rewrite Joel's story together, shall we?
Warnings: language, graphic violence, character death (not Joel or Ellie), blood, guns, knives, angst, guilt, reader is a badass
A/N: if you are an Abby fan, I suggest skipping this one.
"Ellie! This way!" you shout over the howling wind. She twists around in her saddle and yanks on the reins, steering Shimmer towards you through the blistering snow.
You point towards the ground — horse tracks, two sets — that head up the mountain.
"Maybe they found shelter there!" she yells, pointing towards an abandoned ski lodge. Years ago you remember clearing it of infected but it isn't part of your usual patrol routes. You nod and dig your heels into the sides of your horse, urging the poor thing through the blizzard and up the treacherous terrain.
You ride the rest of the way in silence. Not that you could hear her anyway, but you both seem to have the same heavy pit in your stomach. You haven't checked out this place in a long time. Anything or anybody could be in there. But Joel and Dina might be in trouble. You had to go.
When you approach the lodge, you bring your horses inside. It's quiet when you slide down from your horse. You exchange glances with Ellie and jut your chin upwards.
"They'd go up high," you say softly. "So they could get a good look at the land."
She nods in agreement before equipping herself with her rifle. You each check that your guns are loaded — long range and side arms — and double check your knives are still hidden in your boots and belts before advancing towards the massive staircase.
Foolishly, you allow yourself to think everything is fine. That they just came in to warm themselves up and wait out the storm. But as you approach the double doors, you hear voices. Ones you don't recognize.
You look at Ellie once again and she shoulders her rifle. You press a finger against your lips and she nods as you creep quietly over the ancient floorboards. Holding your ear up to the door, you listen.
"Because it doesn't matter if you have a code like me, or you're a lawless piece of shit like you," you hear a woman's voice say. You swallow nervously and grip your revolver tighter in your hand.
"There are just some things everyone agrees are just fucking wrong."
You hear footsteps slowly cross the room. It sounds like they are heading in your direction, towards the doors. Your heart slams loudly against your ribs but you are laser focused. The adrenaline in your body sharpens your senses and it's like you can practically see through the doors. You can imagine whoever this is stopping near something by the wall, just feet away from the door where you stand ready on the other side.
You give Ellie one more nod, confirming you're both ready to do what it takes to save the ones you love, and you take a deep breath.
Ellie is first. She kicks the door in and almost immediately gets knocked down by some man standing guard, but somehow you know it's fine. She's not hurt, she just got the wind knocked out of her.
You don't even see Joel or Dina yet. You only see the girl in a grey henley shirt, tucked into her oversized khaki pants, standing in front of a set of golf clubs.
She swivels around in surprise and you lock eyes for one devastating moment. She seems to understand her fate before you. Maybe she sees the pure rage and anger written on your face, one that she herself harbored for five years. Maybe she always knew it would end this way, same as her father.
You raise your revolver and slide one eye shut. It feels like it takes an eternity but it's really only a split second. The girl in front of you no older than Ellie holds her breath. You see fear and helplessness flicker across her eyes before your finger curls around the trigger and a loud bang echos through the vast, open ski lodge.
Blood sprays everywhere and her body drops to the floor with a thud. It seems to have shocked the other four members of the group because there's a moment of hesitation. A small hole burns right between her eyes and thick, sticky blood begins to pool underneath her braid. Her eyes remain open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
Ellie is still on the floor, but the man who knocked her down isn't paying attention. You shoot him in the knee and step into the room. Behind you, the man shouts and drops to the floor. You hear the sickening sound of Ellie's switchblade sink wetly into his ear, then the yelling stops.
It feels like you're on autopilot. Like you are barely aware of what you're doing. You feel shockingly calm. Looking back on it, you chalk it up to some primal, baser instinct. You've always heard people are capable of doing impossible things when they are under extreme duress.
This was one of those times.
Ellie clambers to her feet behind you. You can hear her fumbling with her gun, but you pay it no mind.
Three people left.
There's a woman with no hair reaching for a gun leaning against the fireplace. You exhale steadily and take aim — another loud blast, dark red blood sprays the light stone wall, and another heavy body hits the floor.
The last remaining man and woman begin to scream.
The girl with the black hair and bangs charges you with a knife. You turn, expression blank, and raise your gun, but Ellie gets there first.
A bullet lodges itself into the side of her head. You see her face go slack and her eyes roll back before she crumples to the ground. Warm mist sprays you, covers your face and neck, but you don't care.
You swivel on your heel when you hear footsteps running towards the door. The last man. He kind of looked like Tommy, you notice idly. You roll your shoulder, loosening it up, and raise your gun.
You feel completely at peace when you pull the trigger and your bullet sails through the final man's cheek. He yelps and falls to the ground. He stays alive for about thirty seconds, howling in pain, until finally his body stills and silence fills the room.
It was done. Not what you expected to do today, but it's what you trained for — the unexpected. To do what it takes to save your own.
"Oh, shit," Ellie says, holstering her gun and rushing across the room. You turn, heart rate spiking when you snap out of your haze. Ellie is crouching over Joel on the floor. She is hovering over his leg and it's only then when you notice blood pooling underneath him.
"Joel!" you cry out, dropping your gun to rush to his side. With an indescribable amount of relief, you notice aside from the fucking shotgun that blew a hole in his knee, he's otherwise untouched.
"They— they wrapped it up," he stammers. You look and see the belt wrapped tightly around his leg for the first time. You frown, confused, but shake it off.
"Okay," you breathe, "can you walk?"
He nods but his face is prickled with sweat and he looks pale.
"We got the horses downstairs. We- you can ride back with me. We'll be alright," you assure him with a small smile. Next to you, Ellie jumps up. She rushes over to Dina and begins to shake her shoulders, yelling her name.
"She's gonna be out for a bit," Joel grits. You lean down and offer him your shoulder. He wraps an arm around you and you hook your own arms under his to pull him up with a loud groan. He makes a pained sound but he finally is able to stand, leaning against you with his wounded leg hovering in the air.
"They sedated her," Joel explained when Ellie shot him a panicked look. Dina looked pale too, but she was breathing.
"Why?" Ellie asked. Joel shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Can we talk 'bout this later?"
"Ellie, help me get him down to the horses," you say. She begrudgingly stands and gives Dina one more look. "We'll get him on mine and then come back for Dina," you assure her. She nods and ducks underneath Joel's other arm, supporting his weight as all three of you slowly make your way down the stairs to the horses.
It takes a while, but when you have both of them ready, you finally are ready to leave behind the nightmare you almost walked into.
"Jackson," Joel says weakly behind you. You're leading your horse down the mountain, towards the town currently engulfed in flames. You swallow and square your shoulders.
"Tommy's there," you say confidently, "he knows what to do. I'm— I'm sure it's fine."
Half a mile passes in the worst blizzard you've seen in years before Joel speaks again.
"You saved me."
You stiffen but otherwise remain silent, focused on the trail ahead. So he speaks again.
"She was gonna kill me," he continues. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head.
"But she didn't."
His grip around your middle tightens.
"I killed her father," he adds solemnly. You shrug.
"We've all killed people."
A beat passes between you.
"Her father was— was the doctor."
It takes you a moment, but you connect the dots. You remember what Joel told you about that day in Salt Lake City. What he did to save Ellie. What he swore he would do again, if given the chance. A decision you agreed with and still do.
"Well," you sigh, "it was either them or us."
"I deserved it," he says firmly. You nearly turn around a deck him, but you stop yourself.
"Shut the fuck up, Joel."
"It's true," he urges.
"I don't give a shit," you seethe over your shoulder. "We all do bad shit to save the ones we love. It's the world we live in now. Anyone in your position would have done the same thing."
Joel goes quiet again and you glance to the side. Ellie is nearby but the wind is too loud. She can't hear you. Besides, she's too worried about Dina to care.
"Would you have done it?"
"What?" you scoff, "kill whoever stood in my way to protect the one I love?"
You feel him nod against your back.
"Isn't that what I just did?"
You steer your horse through the trees. You're about halfway to Jackson now. The fires have almost been put out. Whatever happened is coming to an end. The next few months will require a lot of work, a lot of rebuilding. Your lives are all once again forever changed, but you've been through worse.
Note: I'm not good with this Gods/Goddesses thing. I'm doing what I think is right and makes sense to me and the story. I hope I don't offend anyone 💙
Warnings: Blood and war. Still needs to be edited!
Word count: 2.2K
Masterlist
Series list
Reader’s POV
As I look around, I realise this could be the last time I see some of their faces. It means so much to me that they are willing to fight alongside me and for me. As much as I want to save them all, I know I won’t be able to…. but I need to try.
I couldn’t help but think back to our talk with Cersei, how she lied to all of us saying she would fight with us against the nightwalkers. I knew she was lying but I was hoping she wasn’t for Tyrion and Jamie’s sake. Maybe now they can see there is no hope for her.
I stop thinking about it and kneel down, I say a prayer to my parents, to the other Gods and Goddesses who have guided me on this path. I ask them to bless these people and bless me with the strength to protect them no matter the cost. Including losing myself in the process. I want to live but sometimes you need to make sacrifices even if you are scared or don’t want to. That’s what I have learnt from being here, what I have learnt from others especially the Starks.
They made me a better version of myself, and their deaths will not go in vain.
-----
There was a shift in the air, and we all felt it. The hairs on my arms raise indicating it was time. They were here.
Daenerys, Jon and I were in the sky waiting for any movement. Oberyn was down below with Sansa and Tyrion. Oberyn wanted to make sure Sansa was ok and safe. He had given her a sword and had taught her a bit of defence. I also taught her a couple of movements that will help her. Sansa was strong mentally, but she has never touched a sword before this, and we decided to change that. Especially if she wants to be Queen of the North, she needs to learn how to protect herself.
Before this I wished Jon and Daenerys to be safe and that I will be there right next to them when they need me. Even though Daenerys and I didn’t see eye to eye at first, I have always respected her as a person, she has been through so much. Pain and lost can make a person do unforgiveable acts. And I will make sure she doesn’t go down that path.
As we look around, a sudden light appears down below. Melisandre has done it. As fire surrounds Winterfell, I look at Daenerys and Jon, we nod at each other and start to descend as our Dragons set the nightwalkers a blaze.
As we continue to burn them, a bright blue flame heads towards us. It was the Night King with Viserion.
Viserion, loomed ahead, his decayed form a monstrous mockery of what he once was. His tattered wings carried him with unnerving speed, icy blue flames leaking from the wounds in his ribcage. His glowing eyes fixed on his mother and brother with a soulless hunger, promising only destruction and death.
“Let them feel your anger!” I shouted, my voice rising over the howling winds. Killer responded with a powerful roar, her eyes blazing with fury as her body sparked in the fleeting flashes of firelight. With a snap of her wings, she shot toward Viserion, claws extended, jaws wide open, ready to strike.
The two dragons collided in midair with an earth-shaking impact, the sheer force of their clash echoing like thunder across the battlefield. Killer’s claws collided across Viserion’s rotting flesh, peeling away chunks of frostbitten scales, while Viserion retaliated with a sweep of his massive tail that slammed into Killer’s side. The blow sent Killer spinning for a moment, but she righted herself with a furious flap of her wings, I was holding tightly onto her.
Viserion try to set us a flame with his icy blue fire, but Killer spun us midair, using her size to her advantage. Killer then releases her own fire of death towards Viserion. Her fire red streaked with gold. The two fires colliding in an explosion of sparks and mist, the dance of ice and fire had truly begun.
The Night King had jumped of Viserion, heading towards the castle. I could only assume towards Bran.
I urged Killer forward, and with a bellow of rage, Killer surged through the mist, her jaws snapping onto Viserion’s neck. The undead dragon thrashed, his decayed wings struggling to keep balance as Killer's teeth continued to dig deep into her opponent’s frozen flesh. Viserion clawed at Killer’s side, tearing scales from her, but Killer held on, her fury was unmatched.
Third person POV
Below, Daenerys and Jon circled on Drogon and Rhaegal, sending blasts of dragon fire toward the hordes of the dead swarming the battlefield. But all eyes turned skyward as the two massive dragons wrestled in midair, each trying to gain the upper hand.
Viserion twisted violently, managing to wrench free of Killer’s jaws, and raked his icy claws down Killer’s chest. A deep wound opened, but Killer roared, her pain only fuelling her fury. With a furious beat of her wings, Killer surged upward, slamming into Viserion from above, driving the undead dragon toward the ground.
As they spiralled downward, Killer clamped her jaws around one of Viserion’s wings and tore through it with savage precision. The sound of shredding flesh echoed like a crack of thunder, and Viserion let out a hollow, unnatural screech as he struggled to stay airborne.
“End it, Killer!” the Y/n shouted, and Killer responded with a final, earth-shaking roar. She raked her claws down Viserion’s back, destroying the decayed flesh until the undead dragon could no longer hold himself up. With a final, devastating strike, Killer’s tail whipped around, slamming into Viserion and sending him plummeting to the frozen battlefield below.
Killer hovered for a moment, her massive wings keeping her aloft as she gazed down at her fallen opponent. Her rider patted her neck, their voice steady and filled with resolve. “That’s it, my girl. Let them know who we are. Who we really are.”
The battle was far from over, as the Night King himself still loomed in the distance, his cold gaze fixed on them. Killer growled low, smoke curling from her nostrils, and with a powerful beat of her wings, she turned, ready to face the next challenge head-on.
Reader’s POV
“Easy, my girl you did great. We must check on the others, I’m going to fly down. You look out for us from above and stay away from the Night King. After what we just did, we’re on the top of his kill list for sure”.
Killer growl agreeing with me. I put my head against her neck closing my eyes for just a second before leaving her.
“Where are you, Oberyn?” I whispered.
-----
Oberyn’s POV
“Sansa, Tyrion, how are you holding up?” I asked as I pulled out my sword from the now dead nightwalker.
“Surprisingly well”, Sansa choked out.
“We should keep moving and find the others, I’m sure Sansa wants to make sure Theon is ok.”, Tyrion couldn’t help but joke about.
“Really? Right now?”
“What? It’s the perfect time to joke about it. I can’t do it when I’m six feet underground, now can I?”
Before Sansa could say anything, Oberyn put his finger to his mouth. Indicating they should be quiet, a head of them was a group of the dead. Heading towards Bran and Theon.
-----
Reader’s POV
“Daenerys are you ok?” I asked, slowly kneeling beside her.
“I’m fine but please help Jorah, he’s hurt…. I can’t stop the bleeding” Daenerys choked out, eyes filled with tears.
Drogon was setting the nightwalkers a flame around us keeping them away from us.
“Danny, I need you to let me help him. I need you to move for me, ok? Hold his hand for me. Can you do that?”
She nodded her head gently. I place my hands on his chest and say a pray to my parents and fellow Gods and Goddesses.
“Please my fellow Gods and Goddesses, bless me with the power to heal. Please help me heal Jorah Mormont from these wounds across his body. Please help me heal the ones you think are worthy, the ones with good intentions for this world.”
As I finished my prayer a gold light came from my hands seeping through his body and one by one his wounds started to close up and heal. Danny and I were in awe, the light had return to my hands going into my veins. I could feel his pain but oddly enough, I wasn’t suffering from it. I think my parents and my fellow Gods and Goddesses were making sure that it didn’t affect me.
When Jorah opened his eyes, they were golden for a few seconds then went back to his blue eyes.
“Jorah!” Danny wrapped her arms around kissing his forehead with happy tears in her eyes.
“I thought I lost you”
“So did I”
Jorah then looked into my eyes saying “Your family are with you Y/n. And they told me to tell you, to do what you have too. Thank you, Y/n.”
“No worries, Jorah. I must go check on the others.” I say as I start flying in the air before they can say anything else.
As I’m flying through the sky, I see Theon running towards the Night King with a spear. I fly quicker towards them, the Night King takes the spear from Theon and breaks it into but before he can kill Theon I tackle him to the ground. Pushing myself from the ground the Night King was glaring at me.
“This ends now Night King” I say as my eyes and veins start to light up.
The Night King steps towards me with the broken spear.
Third person POV
The Night King stepped forward, broken spear in hand, his icy blue gaze locked on her. His movements were slow and deliberate, radiating the confidence of a predator who had never known defeat.
She stood her ground, her chest rising and falling as raw power radiated from her. The air crackled with tension; every breath filled with the hum of her lightning-charged energy.
He lunged, aiming the jagged spear for her chest, but she sidestepped with inhuman speed. Spinning, she raised her hand, and a bolt of white lightning shot down from the heavens, striking the ground where he stood. The blast sent shards of ice and frost flying, but the Night King emerged unharmed, his blade of ice forming in his hand as he charged again.
She met him head-on, their clash sending shockwaves through the frozen battlefield. His strikes were cold and precise, but she danced around him with such elegance. Her shield deflected his blows, while arcs of lightning sparked from her every movement, illuminating the darkness.
When his blade came for her neck, she caught it with her bare hand, the frost creeping up her arm. Her glowing veins flared brighter, and the ice shattered beneath her grip. She dropped her shield and retaliated with a swing of her fist, charged with lightning, that struck his chest and sent him staggering back.
“You think you can end me?” she said, her voice ringing with unshakable faith. “I am the Goddess of Justice. You can never beat me, and you know it. You have seen it, haven’t you?” The Goddess mocked him.
The Night King snarled, his calm façade breaking slightly, his icy blue gaze unflinching. He stepped forward, Theon’s broken spear gleaming, and with a sudden, brutal burst of speed, he plunged it deep into her stomach.
“NO!” Oberyn’s voice tore through the battlefield as he raced toward her, his cry filled with pain. But the Goddess didn’t falter. She gasped, blood spilling from her lips, yet her glowing eyes never wavered. The Night King’s smile spread slowly as he twisted the spear, relishing his perceived victory.
She staggered back, the light in her veins dimming slightly. He watched, triumphant, as her knees wobbled. But then—she smiled.
“Don’t celebrate too soon,” she rasped, her voice low but unshaken. Her white hair flared brighter than ever, her veins reigniting as arcs of lightning spread across her body.
The Night King’s smile froze as her glowing white eyes locked on him, suddenly blazing with untold fury.
In an instant, twin beams of white lightning erupted from her eyes, striking him with the full force of her divine power. The light was blinding, burning, consuming everything in its path.
His form, once unshakable, began to crack and splinter as the power overwhelmed him. A hollow, icy wail tore from his throat, fading as his body shattered into ash and shards of ice.
The Goddess stood tall, the broken spear still lodged in her stomach, as the battlefield fell silent. The undead collapsed around her, lifeless once more, their master destroyed. She pulled the spear from her body, her hands trembling but steady, as Oberyn reached her just in time to catch her before she fell.
“I told him,” she whispered, a faint smile on her bloodstained lips, “he couldn’t beat me.”
_____
Sorry, my loves! I have been so busy the last two months. I have one more chapter left! I don't know when I will get that done, but don't worry, I will 💕
Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader, Katniss Everdeen x platonic!reader
Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end.
Warnings: LONG, brief descriptions of torture, mentions of forced prostitution, exploitation of minors, suicidal thoughts and tendencies, violence, murder, sick games, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, grief, and unhealthy coping mechanisms
Words: 24K
Masterlist
a/n: so here it is! 5 days later than i said, but it's here! and um, had the same problem w my hotch fic, but tumblr only allows 1000 blocks per post, so i had to cut this short. i'll be posting the rest w the ending shortly, but for now, enjoy! ly!
As far as you knew, love and pain were one and the same. You weren't sure exactly when this fact had been established in your mind; maybe it was with your mother, when she hugged you as she cried. Maybe it was with Finnick as you stood from the sidelines and watched him be in love with another woman. Maybe it was that love, the love Finnick and Annie had, that made you realize it, a love between two people who could never be together. Maybe it was the star-crossed lovers on TV, having no choice but to fake a love that they were too young to know.
You were too young to know it, too.
But the pain aged you, made you into a person you didn't know, a person you didn't like. That's how you knew that Finnick would never love you.
How could he love you if you didn't even love yourself?
How could he love you if no one else did?
You knew that—oh, you knew that so well. But your heart couldn't handle that right now, to accept what your brain already knew. That's why you were avoiding Finnick at all costs, why you turned him away the other night. He had the power to turn you into putty in his hands, and you had to be stronger than that right now.
You had a nation to save. You didn't have time to save yourself from drowning.
As far as you knew, the revolution was going along smoothly. It'd been about two weeks since you all went to 2, and in that time, Coin and Plutarch had been strategizing, planning out their next moves. For now, you were recuperating, adjusting to life in 13, which was easier said than done.
You barely slept, often ending up in the training room late at night when it was supposed to be closed. The guard knew, you think, but he never came out to stop you. Sometimes, Katniss was already there by the time you arrived. Neither of you questioned it.
Something told you she couldn't sleep, either.
Couldn't.
Wouldn't.
You avoided common areas during the day, doing everything in your power to steer clear of the beautiful blue eyes you once adored- still adored. You didn't want to see Finnick Odair. You didn't want to see the victor of The 65th Hunger Games. You didn't want to see the charming playboy. You didn't want to see the convincing actor. You didn't want to see that boy who loved to swim as a child. You didn't want to see the hopeful soldier. And most of all, you did not want to see Finnick, your Finnick.
Because he wasn't yours.
And he never was.
You didn't say it out loud to her, but a part of you thought that maybe Katniss knew this. Maybe she was learning to read you just as you were learning to read her. So you'd end up eating in one of your rooms together, away from everyone else. Sometimes Johanna would join you, only sometimes. Things were different now.
You could tell that she wasn't used to this, and she didn't want to get used to it. It was always you, her, and Finn. And now, you couldn't stand to be around him for reasons you couldn't tell her.
But you think maybe she knew, too.
Maybe a part of her always did.
Sometimes Prim would join you. Katniss' cold exterior would melt and she'd smile larger than you'd ever seen just with her sister's presence. Primrose was innocent and sweet, too sweet for this world. She didn't know it—you didn't talk about these things—but she gave you a little bit of faith in humanity, day by day.
And seeing her and Katniss together gave you a lot more than just a little bit of faith. Seeing the way they were with each other made you wonder how things would've played out if you had a sister, a sibling to care after, a sibling that could've grown up with you, been there with you through your childhood before you stopped being a child.
In a way, you were glad that it was only you, that there wasn't another person who had to share in your pain. But sometimes, you thought, maybe it wouldn't have been so painful if you weren't alone.
Katniss was lucky. And so, you told her that. But unlike that day in the training centre, you didn't tell her out of spite or to taunt her. You told her because she was lucky, and she deserved to know that.
"You know, I used to be jealous of you," you said. The brunette looked up from her food, brows furrowed while your eyes were still trained on the door that Prim had just left from.
"Jealous of me?" She echoed, confusion lacing her voice. A ghost of a smile grew on your face.
You're lucky, you know.
How so?
"You have a family that really loves you, that beautiful sister of yours. At the time, I would've killed to feel a love like that, a love so unconditional." You thought of their mother and your smile widened ever so slightly. She may not have been mother of the year, but she was there. And, really, that's all you ever wanted. That's all anyone could ever ask for. "My mom was, uh... she was never really like that, I guess." You chuckled a bit. "And you already know how our relationship ended up."
The room was silent. The sound of the vent lightly thudding in the background was the only thing you could hear, accompanied by your song. Sometimes, around Katniss, the song got quieter.
And sometimes, around her, it got louder.
After a moment, she spoke. "You have that, Y/N."
Not expecting her to have responded, you turned to her, meeting her eyes staring at you intently. "Hm?"
"An unconditional love," she repeated, her eyes soft as if she were afraid of setting you off. "You have that."
At her words, the smile on your face dimmed. Finnick.
You're my world, Y/N.
You blinked the memories away, trying your best to ignore his face flashing beneath your eyes every time you did so. It was surreal, almost, to think that it was his eyes were what kept you anchored while you were in the Capitol.
And now his eyes kept you anchored as you tried to swim away.
You sighed. Katniss was still so young. She didn't live the victor's life long enough to understand, and you were glad she didn't. There were some things that she never had to experience, things she never had to know, things about you that she couldn't conceptualize, so you tried to put it all into words.
Even though you knew that no words could ever convey what you'd been through.
"I can see why you'd think that, Girl on Fire, but Finnick and I were never... fireworks."
"He told me."
Your head shot up at her reply. You waited for her to add something more, to say she was joking, but the punchline never came. Your breath got caught in your throat. "He told you?"
She hesitated, looking half like she regretting saying anything. "He told me about how you guys started." She paused, letting your thoughts run wild, memories swimming through your brain the same way you used to swim through district 4 waters.
Can we- can we just be together tonight?
"He loves you, Y/N."
What do you mean? We are together.
No, I mean- can I- I want to hold you.
A small, humourless laugh left you, the same laugh you held back when you met young kids, telling you they wished they could have a love like that. You held back the laugh and the tears and didn't tell them that they should be saving their wishes for something better.
The Prince and Princess of Panem.
If only the kingdom knew that this story didn't end in happily ever after.
If only they knew this wasn't a love story at all.
"No." You looked back up at her, smiling bitterly. "No, he doesn't, Katniss. I'm sorry our act was so good that it actually fooled you." It almost fooled me, too, you thought. But you'd been dancing long enough now to know better.
Y/N, I swear to you on everything I believe in that I'm telling you the truth.
It's impossible.
I l-
"It wasn't an act," Katniss cut your thoughts off, latching onto your hand tightly. You resisted the flinch. "I could tell you loved each other—anyone could."
Her eyes were desperate, and you couldn't figure out why. For some reason, she believed in what she was saying. She believed in this love, this love that did not exist, but why wouldn't she? Nobody knew what happened behind closed doors. Nobody knew that you and Finnick only started dating to try and save yourselves from the something that was something bigger than you. Nobody knew that he called out to Annie when he had nightmares.
You weren't even sure that he knew it himself.
"You underestimate Finnick's acting capabilities," you said, suddenly wishing you had a drink in your hand.
She was quick to reply. "You underestimate how much he cares about you."
You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The look on her face... she almost looked offended, appalled that you didn't agree with her. At the same time, she looked like she knew something you didn't.
But you knew a mountain of things that she didn't, that nobody knew.
So you didn't respond, opting to continue eating your food, pretending that this conversation never started. Pretending, pretending, pretending...
Katniss looked at you for a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, before she looked back down at her food, too.
Eventually, you got up and headed for the training centre, conversation forgotten.
And she never mentioned it again.
You were walking down the halls when you saw her. You had just been to see Coin; she told you no, that you and Katniss wouldn't be going to the Capitol.
Part of you was angry. How dare she tell you that you couldn't do this? How dare she say no after all you'd been through? This was your fight. It was your right.
But the other part of you was amused.
Maybe it was going through The Hunger Games twice, or maybe it was just every other fucked up thing that'd happened to you in life, but you found her funny. It was laughable that she thought she could tell you what to do; you'd respect her for everything else, but not this. She couldn't tell you what to do about this.
You were going to kill President Snow with your own sword.
And nobody was going to be able to stop you.
That was the thought running through your head when you turned a corner, and suddenly you were face to face with a redhead you hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime ago.
Why would you do that for me? It was supposed to be me. Supposed to be me, supposed to me, supposed to be me.
Annie.
She stopped in her tracks, eyes going wide. She looked like she hadn't aged a day.
So why did it feel like you hadn't seen her in years?
Why did it feel like you were avoiding her?
Before you could answer your own questions, you felt arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly. Your body went stiff. It's Annie, you told yourself. So, after a few seconds, you hugged her back just as tightly.
This was your friend. This was the woman you volunteered for. And more importantly, this was your soulmate's other half.
This was Annie.
You heard her sniffling as she pulled back, voice cracking. "I've missed you so much. We've missed you so much, Y/N." We.
We.
You didn't know how to respond, so you did what you did best. You didn't say anything, just pulling her in for another hug. You blinked away the tears threatening to well in your eyes.
And Annie didn't know this. You may never grow the courage to say it out loud. But even though seeing her broke something in you, right now, she was helping you more than you're sure you ever helped her.
After seeing Annie, you spent the rest of the day together. For a day, you forgot about Coin, and Snow, and the revolution all together. You forgot you were the Princess. You forgot that this was the woman Finnick was in love with. For a day, you were just with your old friend.
You shared memories of district 4 together, ignoring the fact that it was all rubble now. You talked about her art, how she'd had so much time to create in 13. Part of you envied that, but the other part was just proud and happy for her.
She'd come a long way from the girl crying in your living room, inconsolable and repeating the same words over and over again. Her cheeks looked fuller and there was this light in her eyes that you never thought you'd see again.
You were enjoying yourselves.
Until she said it, and your bubble broke.
"I met someone."
At first, it didn't really register, and then your breath suddenly halted, but Annie was none the wiser to your state of shock, smiling and staring off.
"He's- he's perfect. He's everything." She looked back at you, her eyes twinkling. "I'm in love. Oh, I'm so in love with him."
In love.
With someone else.
You half-composed yourself, stuttering, "W-with who?"
"His name's Julian," she told you. "He's from 12. And I know I haven't known him that long, but Y/N, he's the one." She brought her hand out in front of you, letting you see a ring you hadn't seen before. And now, you were sure that your heart stopped. "He proposed. And I said yes!" she squealed.
You couldn't breathe.
Music filled your ears.
Annie was getting married.
And it wasn't to Finnick.
You realized you'd been quiet too long and mustered up some sort of smile. "Annie, that's- that's incredible. I'm-" shocked "so happy for you."
She was so delighted that she didn't notice your demeanour, grabbing onto your hand. "Y/N, I want you to be my maid of honour." What? She continued, "And Finnick's gonna be Julian's best man. I want both of my best friends up there with me."
You couldn't breathe.
But you responded, nonetheless, because your problems didn't matter. What you felt didn't matter. This was about Annie.
You plastered on a smile and lied, "Of course. I wouldn't miss it for anything."
Annie clapped and then went on and on about the wedding as the music just got louder and louder.
You're my world, Y/N, echoed in your ears.
Little did Annie know, your world just came crashing down.
You paced through the halls of 13 aimlessly, even though a part of you knew where you were going. Music thumped loudly in your ears, and even if you had no destination, your mind was only dancing to that music.
Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-
You ran a hand through your hair, heart rate speeding up. You didn't know what to think.
There was a perfectly crafted image of what you and Finnick were in your head—and that image was nothing. You were nothing. You were "together" out of obligation, to protect your families. And now that your mother was dead and his family was safe, none of that mattered anymore. The picture was ripped to shreds and the frame had shattered to pieces.
This image was sometimes foggy, and sometimes you may have gotten confused, but through all the smoke and confusion, you still knew what this was. It was all a part of the game, a game with no referees but a guarantee in death if you didn't play right.
And if your punishment wasn't death, then you'd wish it was.
You knew that better than anyone else.
But now, now Annie had taken all those shredded pieces and put them together without even knowing it, creating a picture that you didn't know how to interpret.
You didn't understand.
You saw the way he looked at Annie—you saw it the moment you met her.
Rapid knocks hit your door as you were fixing up boxes upstairs. You'd just moved in with Finnick and were organizing your things. You raised a brow, putting a box down and heading downstairs.
The knocks continued up until you opened the door. A girl with red hair and porcelain white skin stood on the other side, a pretty smile on her face. Your confusion only grew. This girl looked like she couldn't be any older than 16.
What was a pretty teenager doing at your door?
She spoke like she was reading your thoughts. "Hi! I'm Annie." You were taken aback by her bubbliness as she held her hand out for you to shake it. You looked down, scanning it before deciding on taking it just to be polite.
"I'm-"
"Y/N." She cut you off, then sheepishly pulled her hand back. "I- sorry, I just- everybody knows who you are."
You intook a sharp breath, doing your best to smile and thwart her comment. Everybody did know who you were—you needed no reminder about that.
She kept talking. "And you're, uh, you're Finnick's-"
"Annie?"
You turned to see Finnick walking up to the door, wiping his hands with a towel. He must've been in the kitchen, you thought.
Her nervous ramblings stopped as her smile widened. "Hey." She glanced back at you, brows wiggling. "I just met the girl."
"Oh, uh- yeah." He awkwardly cut himself off, coming to stand next to you. And your confusion just heightened.
Annie held something out in her other hand that you hadn't noticed before. "Your watch," she explained. "You left it the other day."
His watch?
"Oh, thanks." He took it from her grasp, and you watched as their fingers brushed. And then you looked up at his face and saw a sparkle in his eyes.
It was almost unrecognizable. No one had ever looked at you that way.
But you knew what it was.
And that's because you were starting to look at him that way.
They continued talking but you had tuned them out by that point, dull music ringing in your ears.
You should've known better.
Of course, there was a girl. A girl who was sweet, kind, and pretty. A girl who was nothing like you.
The girl Finnick loved.
He said something to you, asking if he could walk her home. You just nodded. It wasn't a question, no matter how he phrased it.
Annie said goodbye to you and then you watched as they walked out the door, almost forgetting to shut it behind them.
You put a hand on your chest, something akin to a laugh leaving you.
Someone had told you that you were heartless once.
That was funny.
Because, at that moment, you felt your heart hurting just fine.
The memory made your eyes foggy and your breathing irregular. You were hyperventilating.
If Annie was getting married, then what was that? What was that memory? What were all the looks, smiles, and sleepless nights? What were the past eight years for?
What the fuck did any of that mean? What was that supposed to mean to you?
Was he letting her get away— after everything?
Another part of your brain whispered, what if he never had her in the first place?
No. No.
You changed course, walking to the training room. You weren't going to think about this anymore. Thinking about this only made your head spin, spinning the record faster.
If that record spun any faster, it just might break.
And you had no idea what'd happen then.
Soldiers filed out of the room you stood in front of, each saluting you as they went. You gave a nod back, resisting the urge to say something. You knew that, no matter what you said, they were still going to treat you like royalty.
It was better than your treatment in the Capitol, you supposed.
But, to the better part of you, this treatment was just a stain reminding you of the blood shed.
Plutarch stood at the end of the soldiers' line, ushering you inside. "Princess," he greeted, putting his hand on your back.
You ignored the disgusted shiver that went down your spine, greeting him back. "Heavensbee." You glanced at the greying woman seated at the long table. "Madam President."
"Y/N." She got up, shaking your hand. "Lovely to see that you're doing well."
You gave her somewhat of a smile, or at least hoped that you did, but didn't say anything.
The three of you sat down after the unpleasant exchange of pleasantries. You would ask where Katniss was, but she already told you that she'd be going to see Peeta. You didn't ask to come with her.
Not yet.
Besides, you knew that she needed this. They needed to talk.
You didn't know what happened when you guys came back, what happened between them, nor did you fully know what they did to him in the Capitol, but if it was anything like what they did to you, then it was bad.
Coin's voice broke through your thoughts. "I think the only thing left to say... is thank you."
You looked up at her, spotting the look on her face and realizing that you weren't going to like the rest of this conversation. "I need to be in the Capitol," you stated, adding, "Katniss and I."
Coin was shaking her head before you even finished your sentence. "No, you have done your job. You've been very successf-"
"There is no such thing as success until Snow is dead." At my hands.
Alma pursed her lips, no doubt at the fact that you interrupted her. You'd apologize, but you really didn't have the time or energy to care about that right now. You'd been apologizing for your presence for years, respecting every Alma Coin or Capitol resident that came along.
You were done.
"And that will happen," she affirmed. "But you need not worry about any of it." You opened your mouth, but she kept going. "You've helped unify the districts in a very short amount of time, for which I thank you, but now we just want you to rest. And to heal."
Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She was pushing you aside.
"The last the rebels saw me, I was lying on the ground with a bullet in my chest."
Plutarch took your attention. "Y/N, we won't let this momentum go to waste. We'll shoot more propos, right here in 13, showing them that you're alive."
"No, I should be down with the troops-"
"It'll be like being on the front lines-"
Coin interjected, "As far as the soldiers know, you survived a bullet to the heart." Her voice was earnest, but if you knew any better, which you did, then you knew to look past her voice to the calculation in her eyes. "I think they'll understand why you're not with them."
You held back a scoff. "And Katniss? What's the excuse for her?"
Coin's resolve only hardened, a smile appearing on her face, a smile you didn't like. "Look, Y/N, when we win this war, we'll fly you both in for the surrender. We'll need you for the ceremony." She paused, nodding to herself. "You're very valuable to us."
Valuable.
Like an artifact.
You thought of saying something but thought better of it, hiding your true thoughts like it was second nature to you—and it was. You nodded, smiling back at her. "Well, whatever it is you need me to do, I'll do it." The lies flowed from your lips smooth as honey.
You got up, shaking her hand once more and bidding your farewell to the both of them. As you left the room, the thousands of things that'd been on your mind left and only one thought remained.
You were gonna watch Snow take his last breath, and you'd be the one to have taken it from him.
No matter what.
Annie's wedding came faster than light, making you break your promise to yourself not to think about it. With Finnick across from you on the stage, it was impossible not to think about it.
You could feel his gaze burning into you, but you ignored it—at least, that's what it looked like to him. To you, you weren't ignoring anything. To you, he was at the forefront of your mind.
Hell, even as Annie walked down the aisle, Finnick was all you could think about. Your relationship, or lack thereof, was all you could think about. The day you met, the nights in the Capitol together, the days when you lost a tribute, the dinners, the nights you slept together, the times he'd kiss you without a camera in sight, the way he calmed you down during the Quell— your whole life together.
SImultaneously, the stolen glances at Annie flashed through your mind, too. The way he'd call her name as he slept, the way he fell apart when her name was called in the Reaping, the way he broke down with her in your living room, the way he'd kiss you for the cameras and then go to see her later that day.
What were you supposed to make of that?
A part of you thought it was comical. There was an entire revolution happening, the weight of the crown and Panem on your shoulders, but with just the simplest thought of Finnick, all of that dissipated into thin air and got magnified at the same time.
He had the type of power over you that a shepherd had over his sheep.
Did he know that?
Annie's voice sounded, breaking you from your trance. "From this day forth, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer. I promise to love and cherish you each day."
You looked towards them, seeing her hands intertwined with the boy's, sincere smiles on both of their faces and love-crazed looks in their eyes. They looked at each other like it was just them in the room. "I, Julian Cinder, take you, Annie Cresta, as my wife from this day forth," he proclaimed, quiet resolution in his voice. "Whatever happens from this point onward, together or apart, we will always be united. One life, one purpose, one destiny."
"You may kiss the bride," the officiator told him. Julian didn't need to be told twice, reaching downward for Annie's lips immediately, kissing her gently.
Applause overtook the room. You wiped at a tear underneath your eye before joining them, clapping and forcing a smile.
You were happy, you were so happy that Annie was in love and that the boy she was in love with loved her just as much. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you were crying out of happiness.
Your tears weren't happy tears.
Julian's vows were beautiful. The love that they shared was more beautiful than any painting you had ever seen, any song you had ever heard, any place you'd ever been to. And it was real.
It was beautiful.
But it was more beautiful and real than anything you'd ever get to experience.
As the reception started, you didn't stay long to watch the newlyweds' first dance. Music started playing, but it did nothing to silence the music already playing in your head.
Unbeknownst to you, you weren't the only one leaving the wedding early.
Your heels clicked rapidly against the floors, silent footsteps following you. You had just made it to the hallway your room was in when you were spun around.
Like a reflex, you automatically brought your fists up without even thinking, about to swing when you saw the perpetrator.
Finnick.
You lowered your fists, bringing one hand to your chest and breathing heavy. You couldn't tell if your reaction was from being touched or from being touched by him.
He held his hands up in surrender, opening his mouth, but you weren't letting this happen again. Not during these times, not today, not now. Maybe not ever.
You couldn't.
You went to turn, but this time, as if he'd learned from last time, his hand latched onto your arm. Your heart rate sped up, and suddenly, there was a pit in your stomach.
Was it butterflies?
Or was it fear?
You tried pulling away your arm, but his hold was like steel, unrelenting. "Y/N, we need to talk-"
"No." You refused to meet his eyes, pulling your arm harder, seemingly for no reason.
"I need to talk to you."
You shook your head. "No. We-" Fuck. "We have nothing to talk about."
"Yes, we do-"
"No, we don't." Water built in your eyes. "I have nothing to say to you." Liar.
"Y/N-"
"Stop it."
"We need to-"
You exploded. "You let her get away!" You looked up at him, and just like that, the dam in your eyes broke. Because the look on his face split your heart in two. "You-" your voice cracked "you let her get away."
Finnick went silent. His hold loosened, but you didn't notice. You didn't even notice the tears in his eyes.
His voice was no louder than a whisper. "Y/N-"
You cut him off. He wanted to talk, so you would talk. You had enough things to talk about that it'd make your voice go hoarse, enough words stuck inside to you to fill scrolls and still have something left to say. "A-After everything, you just let her go- just like that."
"Y/N, baby, please-"
"Why," you asked, but your words sounded nothing like a question—and they weren't. You were demanding the truth, not asking for it. You wanted to know why. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I love you."
Your breath was knocked out of your chest.
And for the first time since the Quell, the first time since you met Finnick—the first time since when you won The Hunger Games, the music stopped entirely.
And then it picked back up like it never did before.
The music was loud, swirling around you like mist, like you could feel it, like it was pushing you to dance as your feet were glued to the floor. Finnick just stood there, staring at you helplessly. He said it so quickly that you almost thought he didn't think about it—did he? Did he think about his words before he said them? Did he think about the words that had the power to break you and build you up?
Did he think about the words that made you feel like you were alive and dying all at the same time?
Three months ago, you would've been overjoyed to hear him say that—to hear him say anything like that. But now it just felt cruel.
So your response was like nothing you would've ever imagined.
"What the fuck did you just say?"
Finnick's face dropped. A part of you, the part of you that got butterflies when he said what he said, felt bad. That part of you felt terrible. That part of you wanted nothing more than for him to be happy and for him to love you.
But the other part of you had learned that Finnick being happy and loving you did not exist in the same universe. The other part of you wanted to make him happy but had already accepted that love was not in the picture. This other part of you would go to great lengths to make him happy, like volunteering for deadly games and adding gasoline to the fire that was this revolution. But this part of you refused to pretend anymore.
You weren't going to play anyone's games anymore.
Nothing like the Finnick you once knew, he stammered, "I- I said I love you."
You scoffed. "Love? You think you love me?"
His eyes narrowed, like he was getting angry. "Yes, Y/N, I love you."
Your eyes hardened, tears no longer falling. "Oh, is that what this is? Are we in love now?" He opened his mouth to speak but your sudden laughter cut him off.
Someone told you that you were heartless once.
Wasn't that funny?
You went on, "So, the sleepless nights I had, waiting for you to get home—was that love?" You stepped closer to him. "The nights when I knew you were with her, the nights you'd hold onto me and I could still smell her, the nights when you called. out. for her in your fucking. sleep.—is that love, Finnick?" You paused, laughing again like you were crazy, and maybe you were. "I didn't even know that we were in a relationship, let alone in love."
He shook his head rapidly with conviction, looking like you had just stabbed him. "No- no, I was never with her, not like that-"
"Oh, of course not-"
"You're talking about it like it was all bad! It- it wasn't, I- I fell in love with you, Y/N." He moved his hand up from your wrist to grasp your hand, picking up the other one and holding it, too. And for some reason, you let him. "What about the nights we spent together, the days in, the dinners, the last eight years-" he cut himself off, breathing heavily and staring into your eyes. "You can't tell me that we weren't in love."
Finnick's blue eyes were like a whirpool, sucking you in yet again. He looked like he truly believed in what he saying, so much so that you almost believed it, too. You wanted to. You wanted nothing more than to believe that your time together meant something, that he felt the same way you did.
If you were still that same woman, you would've believed it. But even she was a swimmer.
You were not going to be sucked into his whirlpool. Not again.
Not after it tore you apart last time.
You snapped, "It was fake! All of it was fake!" You held back onto his hands, tightening your grip. Finnick's eyes may have been a whirlpool, but yours were a storm. "I remember that; it was my idea. And I am sorry- I am so sorry for the years I have stolen from you, but I had people to protect back then" mom "and I don't anymore." You stepped closer to him, if that was even physically possible. "Don't you get it? I have lost everything. But I never lost you." You shook off his hands, and even as such anger coursed through you, a tear raced down your cheek. "You can't lose something you never had in the first place."
Finnick recoiled. For a moment, he looked sick until he regained composure, reaching for your hands again but you quickly stepped back. "Y/N-"
"You know, you're half right, though." A humourless smile came to your face. "We may have never been in love, but I know that I was." And I still am.
Without waiting for him to respond or giving him the opportunity to suck you in again, you turned and quickly went into your room, locking the door as soon as it closed.
You ran for the toilet, expecting vomit to rise. You sat there, waiting for it come, but nothing came up. Suddenly, you errupted into laughter, the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt, and then those laughs slowly turned into loud sobs, tears running down your cheeks.
You're fuckin' heartless, 4.
Oh, how funny that was.
Maybe they were finally right. Maybe you were heartless now.
Because your heart had just been ripped out of your chest.
You didn't leave your room the rest of the day, except to congratulate Annie and go to the training room later at night. Katniss met you there, dull. You didn't ask her what happened, and she didn't ask you, either. You sparred and pretended that the last few hours didn't happen, that Finnick didn't let the woman he loved get away, that he didn't say what he said.
You already cried to yourself for hours. You didn't need to reflect on it anymore.
You were fine.
"No, you hold it with both pointers facing outward, like a bat." You corrected the position of Katniss' hands on the sword. She may have had a gift for the bow, but anyone with eyes could see that, that wasn't the case for swordsmanship. My God, she's helpless.
She scoffed, "You're acting like I'm inept. I can wield a sword just as well as you can shoot an arrow."
"Sureeee."
Katniss rolled her eyes but continued doing what you were telling her to do. She said she was curious. Little did you know, curious meant terrible.
Once her hands were in position and she was holding properly, she took a swing. You held back the urge to wince. She wasn't that bad, but it was pretty damn bad. "No, see- you can't swing like that. Way too slow, not enough force—have you seriously never wielded a sword before?" You grabbed one, holding up it and demonstrating. "You swing like this. If you swing the way you're swinging, then you're not gonna be able to slice anything."
"C'mon, this'd knock someone down."
"Well, the goal isn't to knock someone down; it's to kill them on impact."
"What, so you went into your Games with the mindset that you'd just kill immediately?"
You intook a breath, your bubble of pretend breaking. No, that wasn't what you went into your Games thinking at all. After a moment, you responded, "No." Pause. "I actually didn't think I stood a chance." Katniss went silent, but for some reason, you kept talking, eyes on the wall. "I would've been the youngest that year, but um... Bay was younger than me. And he wanted a longer life, a better life, so I fought for him. It was him and my mom." And now they're both dead. You cleared your throat, turning back to look at her and faking a smile. "So I decided ruthlessness was the only way to survive in there. And then when I got out, it wasn't ruthlessness that kept me alive; it was being royalty." You chuckled.
Never would you have ever imagined this being your life when you were younger, that you'd be Princess. But here you were, alive and well.
Or at least as well as you could be in your position.
Some had it worse.
You were fine.
You turned, about to move on and keep going when Katniss' voice broke the silence. "Aren't you tired?" You turned your head back to her to see the sword hanging from her hands, a look of exhaustion hiding behind her seemingly empty eyes, despair in her undertone. "'Cause I am. I don't know about much anymore, but I know that I am tired."
You stared at her, this time really looking at her. It was so easy to forget how young she was, that she was practically still a child. You supposed that a victor just grew into their role.
You did.
You were just fifteen.
After a moment, you lifted the corners of your lips as best as you could, trying to genuinely give her a smile, even if you could barely bring yourself to. "I am tired, Katniss," you affirmed. Despite the contrasting look on your face and the feeling in your heart, you didn't feel tears form, not for this; you had accepted this by now, and as wrong as it was, she needed to, too. "But it is not ours to be tired."
You turned around, not turning back this time until you'd replaced your sword for a bow. You turned back, switching Katniss', too. "Here," you said. "Let's switch back to the archery since you're shit with the swords."
She looked at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds. And in those few seconds, the illegible book that was Katniss Everdeen became crystal clear, scibbled writing turning to print. A million emotions ran through her eyes: exhaustion, anger, devastation. But a single emotion rose above all, and you knew this because you lived it: the thirst for blood—a thirst that could only be quenched once you accepted that you were thirsty at all.
Finally, she looked away, nodding. "Okay." She looked back up. "But I'm not shit at anything."
A breath left you, like a weight that'd been lifted off your shoulders. You were back to normal. "Whatever you say, Everdeen."
And then, just like that, you resumed, and everything was fine again.
Or maybe it wasn't.
Maybe it never was.
But that wasn't the point.
In this reality, if you said something was nothing, then it was. If you were supposed to be the Princess and lead a revolution, then that's what you were going to do. If you said you were fine, then you were fine.
Weren't you?
Whatever you say.
You and Katniss retired to your rooms after a few rounds of shooting and one round of sparring. You made it all the way to your door, but never opened it. Your feet kept moving, moving past your room and all the others until you made it to the nuclear weaponry.
You weren't going back to your tonight.
Or ever.
They were shipping supplies to the Capitol tonight from hangar 2. This was your window. Coin didn't want you in the Capitol on the frontlines, but that was exactly where you needed to be. You couldn't let someone else fight your fight. You needed to do this.
You'd said your goodbyes. You just saw Katniss, and though Johanna may not have directly said it, she knew you were leaving, too. She was the one who even told you they were leaving tonight. Peeta was getting better; he wasn't totally there yet, but he was getting there. Annie was happy, finally happy, living the life of her dreams amongst the nightmare you all lived in. Everyone was accounted for.
And Finnick... well, you'd said goodbye to him, too.
It was time.
You crept past any guards with ease, only stopping to pick up your go bag. Like a snake, you made your way through the many bombs and missiles, ignoring the fact that there was a metaphor in there somewhere. Just as the hovercraft opening was closing, you jumped in, rolling on impact.
Once the door closed, your eyes scanned your surroundings. Boxes and cargo filled the room, but it was otherwise empty. You let go of a breath you didn't even know you were holding. You were in the clear.
Might as well settle down, you thought. It was a long way from 13 to the Capitol.
You sat down in a corner, despite having the place to yourself, and brought your knees up to your chest, momentarily closing your eyes. You weren't gonna get much rest in the next few days, but you couldn't sleep now and risk not waking up. Yes, you were tired.
But tired was not a possession that someone like you could own.
You opened your eyes, opting to distract yourself by looking through your bag.
You were lucky Katniss didn't question the absence of your sword in the training room earlier, nor did she notice that some of your shared arrows were missing along with your crossbow. That was because everything you needed was in the bag: weapons, gadgets, and clothing. But none of that was of any real importance to you.
What you pulled out wasn't one of the many pristine articles in the bag. It was damaged. The paper felt delicate in your hands, fragile. It was peeling, ripped around the edges, but maybe that was just because you brought it with you everywhere.
A photograph.
A photograph of yourself when you were younger. Before your father died. Beforen your mother went crazy. Before your name was pulled in the Reaping. Before you killed ruthlessly to survive just to end up wanting to die, anyway. Before you met a boy that made you want to live.
You were still a child here. Your smile was real, tugging at your full cheeks. You don't remember the exact day this was taken, but you remember that you were happy.
Tears threatened to reach your eyes, but you blinked them away. You used to pull out this photo to make yourself feel better, but now it seemed to have the opposite effect. Now, it just reminded you of everything that you'd lost.
But that was the point.
You didn't pull it out to cheer yourself up anymore. You pulled it out for that reminder, to remind yourself what you were fighting for.
Your childhood was stolen from you. Every good thing you could've possibly ever had was ripped away from you, all because of who you happened to become, all because of the world you happened to live in.
You'd be damned if you'd let another child go through what you went through.
If you had your way, no child would ever go through that again.
And you would have your way.
No matter what.
It wasn't long enough before you felt the hovercraft lowering, the pop in your ears telling you that you were landing. It wasn't really noticeable. You'd felt worse pains in your life.
You peeked your head out as the door opened, quickly turning back and intaking a shaky breath. It was a full crowd out there, and you could bet your ass there'd be cameras.
"It's okay," you murmured. "You can do this." You'd been through two Games, forced sex work, and President Snow's personal torture. A crowd was the least of your worries.
However, this time was different. This time, you weren't gonna walk out there with a smile. You weren't gonna twirl or make your sleeves go up in flames. You weren't gonna dazzle anybody.
No.
This was real.
This wasn't a show anymore. It was still a game—a different game, but a game, nonetheless, and you were nothing if not a great player.
You could remember your first Games like they were yesterday.
"You're fuckin' heartless, 4."
You laughed. "Oh, am I?" You swung at the boy's torso with your sword as he narrowly dodged it. "That's not what the papers are saying," swing, "are they?"
The boy and you danced around each other in a circle, danced, and danced, and danced, but only one of you would walk away singing.
"You killed her," he spat at you, anger and desire shining in his eyes—the desire for revenge. "You killed Myrto."
You scoffed, "What, was that 6's female tribute? Be glad I made it quick." You swung again, this time cutting flesh, resulting in a hiss.
You were acting. Dancing. You knew Myrto's name and you knew she was from 6. You knew the names of everyone in the arena, but pretending not to made it easier. Pretending you didn't see Myrto hug the boy in front of you when you were at the Capitol made it easier when you snapped her neck.
Myrto and Spyros, 6's promising tributes. They were close. But he shouldn't have let her go off alone. He shouldn't have let you do that, even if you were doing her a service. Nobody in here would've given her as quick of a death as you did; many wouldn't have cared about the light in her eyes. Despite Spyros' words, there were many that were more heartless than you.
Or so you told yourself.
He swung back at you as you sidestepped, countering with a swing of your own, metal hitting metal. He looked you dead in the eye. "She was scared of you. She saw you kill that guy with your bare hands and was terrified the same would happen to her."
You leaned in, sneering in his face, "That guy came at me first, and then he touched Bay. You don't touch what's mine."
"And what? The crown is yours now, too?"
"Yes." Without another second to waste, you lifted your sword and plunged it into Spyros' stomach before he could blink. His sword slipped through this fingers in shock. A flicker of remorse flashed through your eyes. "No hard feelings, but I need to go home."
You ripped your sword from his skin, looking away andletting him fall to the ground. A few moments later, the cannon sounded ,and you knew he was dead.
A sigh left your lips. Twenty-two down.
One to go.
You shook yourself out of your reverie, shaking your head as if you could still feel the blood on your skin. Blood seemed to consume your thoughts. Theirs. Yours.
No more.
"No more innocent blood," you whispered to yourself. It was funny, almost. You could remember wanting to win so badly, and then as soon as you got out, you wished you let Spyros kill you. If you did, you wouldn't be living with this guilt. You would've never been sold, you would've never gone through what you went through at the Capitol. And you would've never met Finnick, either.
But you couldn't decide if that's really what you wanted.
With one more deep breath, you walked out of the hovercraft, dragging your feet that felt like boulders and forcing yourself to go forward. The cold air of the Capitol hit you like nothing else, as if knives were biting into your skin, but you'd felt worse.
No one recognized you immediately, but soon, murmurs followed. You kept your eyes on the ground. "That's her," someone whispered. "That's the Princess."
Eventually, the crowd went silent and so you looked up, being met with every face in the area. All eyes were on you.
They were rigid, like statues, until one person got down on one knee. Your eyes darted over to him. Even from so far away, you could see his eyes. You saw admiration, respect, and gratitude, but most of all, you saw hope. He bent his head down, bowing. Suddenly, everyone followed. Men, women, and children collectively got down and bowed.
For you.
Your breath was taken away. You didn't know how to respond, but whatever words you were going to say died on your tongue when Boggs came into your line of sight.
"Y/N," he greeted, the slightest bit of surprise lacing his stoic voice. "President Coin didn't tell me you'd be meeting us."
"I know," you said, and you said nothing further than that.
You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but after a second, Boggs nodded, softly telling you, "Come on." You followed him wordlessly, meeting Commander Paylor again before she went up on stage.
She was a good speaker, that you could tell, but you weren't truly listening. The crowd clapped and cheered but you were motionless. You could feel Boggs' eyes burning into the side of your head. He must've thought you were crazy, and maybe you were.
You were fixated on the one thing you'd wanted more than anything else, so it was a bit difficult to pay attention to speeches, no matter how good they were.
After Paylor's speech, you followed Boggs out of the area to where you were stationed. Now that he found you, it only made sense that you'd work together. You could use the ammo, anyway.
You got to your post, still not really focused on anything, but then all of your distraction flew out the window when you saw a head of brown hair, not in a braid but in a ponytail just as similar.
Katniss.
So you weren't the only one with the idea of sneaking out.
"Great minds really do think alike, don't they?"
At the sound of your voice, Katniss turned around and a smile graced her face, and this was one of the few times you'd ever seen the sight. "Y/N," she breathed, and in three strides, she was embracing you in her arms.
You tensed but soon reciprocated the hug, basking in the irony that you once thought you'd never befriend this girl. Yet, now, she was the only one who stood by your side.
You hugged for a few seconds before letting go—both of you could only handle so much affection—but she held onto your shoulders. The smile was still there, but it had dissipated. It wasn't so bright anymore.
She nodded towards a tent, and you nodded in response.
You needed to talk.
Katniss led you into an empty tent and you both sat down. The time for pleasantries had passed—the gun on your hip and the sword hitting your leg had reminded you of that.
Out of habit, you glanced around the small tent. There wasn't much except for the little she'd laid out, along with her bag, stuffed with food. You nodded to it. "That's more food than I've ever seen you eat before."
She barely looked up. "Tryin' to be prepared-"
You cut her off, humming. "C'mon, Katniss." You shook your head. "Don't insult me."
Finnick was hard to get a read on these days. Johanna wasn't the same, and Peeta barely showed emotion. But if you knew anyone, it was Katniss. You were Katniss. So you already knew what she was planning.
After all, it was the same plan you had.
She finally looked up at you. "I'm gonna be fine, Y/N."
"Of course, you are," you affirmed. "'Cause I'm coming with you."
She sighed, "Y/N-"
"Be smart, Katniss. If you're going off alone, you need backup." You left out the fact that your plan involved no backup, either. "Besides," you added, "you know I want this just as bad as you." Maybe even more.
She stared at you for a few seconds after that, maybe a minute, before she eventually nodded. A sigh of relief left you, but before you could get anything else out, your names were being called.
"Y/L/N, Everdeen." Your eyes went to the woman outside of your tent. "Come meet your new unit."
You got up, crouching under the tiny tent opening and walking out until you were with everyone else, the woman who called you right in front of you. She sized you up with a stony expression.
"I'm Lieutenant Jackson," she introduced herself. Her voice was as emotionless as her face, though you recognized a hint of irritation in her eyes. "And I want to introduce you to your squad." She pointed to each person as she went. "This is Second Lieutenant Mitchell, best sharpshooter in Panem. These are the Leeg sisters, first combat division. And this is Corporal Homes."
You nodded to each of them in greeting, even though Homes and you had already met. Jackson introduced all of them to you, but not you to them; though, you supposed it was unnecessary. By now, everyone in Panem knew your face.
You went to say something, but as a familiar face came into view, you forgot whatever it was in a heartbeat.
Finnick.
Katniss' words echoed your thoughts. She left your side and made her way over to him, but you were frozen in your spot. "Are you with us?" she questioned, her back turned to you but her smile audible in her voice.
"Looks like it," he responded, wrapping his arms around her. You looked away, feeling the phantom sensation of his arms around you, your feet stepping synchronously with the song that was back playing in your ears.
Love? You think you love me?
Yes, Y/N, I love you.
Involuntarily, your eyes travelled back to them only to see blue eyes already pointed your way. Your mind shouted at you to look away, but your eyes couldn't follow the instruction. This was your first time looking at him without tears filling your eyes.
And, God, was he beautiful.
Was it his face that shocked you or was it his presence? Was it your history or the chapter you were in right now? Did it matter?
All of the questions you had went unanswered as Boggs entered the canopy. "Gather round," he ordered, forcing you to peel your eyes away. Your unfortunate love affair would have to wait.
If you could even call it that.
"Squad 451, you're my unit." He looked around at you, the so-called 'best of the best.' And while you were the best, in many ways, you weren't truly put together because of your skills. Katniss had a way with a bow, and you and Gale were next in line in that area. Finnick and you had both mastered close combat. Mitchell was a sharpshooter, and everyone else had miles of experience. But that still wasn't why you were chosen.
He continued, voicing what you already knew. "Each one of you is elite in some form of combat. But we are a non-combat unit, so we'll be following days behind the frontline troops." Katniss and you shared a brief glance.
"You're to be the onscreen faces of invasion. The Star Squad," a woman declared, arms crossed. Cressida, you think her name was. You met her in the Capitol once. She was almost gonna direct a show for you and Finnick, and you thank the heavens every day that it never happened. "It's been decided that you're the most effective when seen by the masses."
It appeared that you and Everdeen weren't the only ones with qualms about this regime. "So we're not gonna fight?" Gale spoke up.
Boggs' reply was swift and prepared. "You'll do whatever you're ordered to do, soldier. It's not your job to ask questions."
He held his tongue and nodded, an affirmation leaving his lips, respectful but clearly reluctant. And why wouldn't he be? You were fighters—all of you. Kids thrown into the arena or the streets. This wasn't about pride, though, so you understood the establishment's point of view on this one.
But it wasn't about pride for you.
It was about revenge.
"Our instructions are to shoot propaganda footage on the battle-scarred streets of the Capitol." Boggs went on to explain that, even though you were a propo team, you were still in the middle of a war zone. "It is likely that we'll encounter both active pods and Peacekeepers." He paused. "You're considered high-value targets to the Capitol." His eyes momentarily darted over to you, making you stiffen. "In the event of capture, you'll be given a nightlock pill." Another pause. "A poison that acts immediately."
You felt Katniss' eyes on you as Jackson passed the pills around, the glare of scissors flashing through your mind, beautiful scissors that never got to kiss your skin.
My hair. It's- I want to cut my hair.
I'll help you.
You took the pill and stowed it away, ignoring her stare. You were thankful for her interruption that day in the bathroom, but you'd gone this far without mentioning it and you'd go a lot farther in the same state.
As far as you were concerned, that day never happened.
You're not suicidal, your brain whispered, and you vehemently agreed. But if things ended the way you wanted them to, the way the way they were supposed to, then dying wouldn't be too bad.
That nightlock could go a long way.
"Our unit has been given a Holo, a database that contains a detailed map of the Capitol and a list of every known pod." That caught your attention, making you look up at the device he placed on a container, a hologram of the Capitol shooting out with little orange indicators everywhere. "These pods can trigger anything from bombs to traps to mutts. We cannot move without this device. There's no guarantee that our database is complete; there could be new pods that we're not aware of. Because we don't want the Gamemakers to know we have this intel, it has a self-destruct on it. You flip this switch, say nightlock three times, and it blows itself and anything within a ten-foot radius." He paused, making eye contact with each of you and enunciating slowly. "Stay within our unit. Even with the Holo, it is likely that new pods have been set. Whatever they contain, they are meant to kill you."
Fuck.
You glanced at Katniss to see her already looking your way, clearly thinking the same thing that you were. If you wanted to stay alive long enough to kill President Snow, then you needed that Holo.
Without meaning to, you consequently glanced at Finnick, seeing that childlike glint in his eye that you hadn't seen in ages; albeit, it had no place in war.
But that didn't mean that you didn't miss it.
He leaned towards Katniss and you like nothing had ever happened, making you tense. It was almost like he was playing a game, and you suppose that's exactly what it was because, not a second later, he spoke.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The 76th Hunger Games."
Explosions went off in the distance that you tried not to be affected by, smoke and rubble surrounding the once pristine Capitol. It almost looked the footage you'd seen of 12—you imagined the other districts were the same. As you stood there and filmed propos, it almost looked like home.
Almost.
You stopped in an abandoned restaurant, sitting down to rest. You didn't really feel like resting, but it was nice to stop and strategize.
Katniss and you sat off to the side, away from everyone else, but you could feel eyes burning into the side of your head, eyes that were likely blue. It took everything in you not to look his way.
"We're not getting across this minefield," you remarked.
Without missing a beat, she replied, "Not without that Holo. And we're not gonna get it off him while he's awake."
You nodded, repressing the urge to glance over at Boggs to avoid suspicion. "Let's make sure we're on the same watch tonight, then."
Allies until you weren't. Same team until the time came.
Just like The Games.
The sound of wheels on rubble made you stand up simultaneously, hand on your weapon in quick succession. "Is that Peacekeepers?" someone said.
Jackson radioed something into base before putting her walkie talkie away and ordering, "Stand down, everyone. It's friendly."
You snorted. Friendly was a nice choice of words. But it made you wonder who could possibly be there that hadn't already shown up. Johanna, maybe, you thought. Then the door opened and the person that walked out wasn't Johanna at all.
Peeta.
Katniss drew an arrow from her quiver automatically, making you press a hand to her shoulder. She held the bow down but kept the arrow; you think that if you hadn't stopped her, she would've shot that arrow instantly—and you didn't know if you could blame her.
That Golden Boy that walked into the Quell never came out, nor did Panem's troublemaker from 7 or the Princess. You were changed. And you were fucked up, you knew that—you didn't need a therapist to tell you that. But you were broken before; Peeta wasn't.
You could still hear his screams when you closed your eyes, entangling with the beat of the music. You danced to those screams in the Capitol for weeks on end.
And then they hijacked him. President Snow was the Devil, and he collected Peeta's soul like it was pocket change, turning him against the love of his life.
You saw what he did to her. She never talked to you about it, but the rings around her neck and red in her eyes were impossible to miss when you came back.
So, no, you didn't know if you could blame Katniss for wanting to shoot him, but none of you could let her do that. Because, if she shot hijacked Peeta, she'd be shooting the Peeta with a heart of gold, too.
He walked towards you slowly, soldiers behind and around him as you all stood with baited breath. He mumbled something to himself quietly that you couldn't make out, eyes trained on the ground as if wishing it'd swallow him whole.
He walked until he got too close and Katniss pulled back her bowstring. You widened your eyes, whispering, "Katniss-"
"Okay, stop," Gale warned, holding up one hand like he wanted to keep the peace but the other was on his gun, finger on the trigger. How convenient would it be if he finally got a reason to shoot the only other competitor he had? It nearly made you scoff.
"Hold up, everyone relax." You froze at the voice, seeing Finnick walk forward with his arm held out to the rest of you, like he was holding you off. You couldn't spot even the slightest hint of hesitation in his actions.
He continued to walk towards him, even as Boggs ordered Jackson to cuff him. Only then did Katniss lower her bow. You gave her a cautionary glance but didn't say anything more, following her back inside. She kept quiet about you and Finn; the least you could do was offer her the same luxury.
Back in the restaurant, Boggs explained that they wanted to add Peeta to the propo, show Panem that he was on your side now.
But he wasn't.
You knew that. Katniss knew that. And President Coin certainly knew that, too.
A message to The Mockingjay.
"He's not in control of himself," Gale said, a blank look on his face.
"I say we schedule an around-the-clock watch on him," Jackson proposed, as if Peeta wasn't ten feet away, in perfect earshot of the conversation. "The Leegs 'til 1700, Homes and Mitchell 'til 1900."
Katniss startled you by her quick intrusion. "Give me a watch."
Clearly, the others weren't expecting that either, judging by Jackson's head tilt or the brief flash of emotion in Boggs' impassive demeanour. "And if it really came down to it, you think you could shoot him?"
"I wouldn't be shooting Peeta," she replied, her voice cold as ice. "'Be killing a Capitol mutt."
She didn't mean that. She really didn't. You could still remember how hysterical she was when she thought Peeta died in The Games. She loved him. But he didn't know that.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Peeta's eyes fall to the ground. "I'm not sure that kind of comment recommends you for the job either, soldier."
Boggs cut in, "Put her in the rotation." Jackson looked up at him, then he walked away. There, said and done. Katniss wouldn't have been Katniss if she hadn't followed him outside, but you didn't tag along for the questioning.
You stayed inside, walking away from where you sat with Gale to another area in the building. His thoughts were loud, too loud for your own. Peeta was here now, and that changed a lot for him. It changed a lot for Katniss, too, and you.
Because, now, you were stuck here.
There was no way you'd be leaving now.
You were on your own in a secluded part of the restaurant, thoughts filling your head the way water filled district 4 one summer in your childhood, an unstoppable flood. That flood didn't leave any part of the district unaffected, and now you could feel this flood taking hold of your brain—and there was nothing you could do to stop it.
"C'mon, Y/N. We all know this is a sham. I mean, I've never even seen you speak to Finnick Odair, and now you're dating?"
You rolled your eyes at the Capitol's 'Favourite Son,' your disinterest doing nothing to deter him. Augustus Braun was nothing if not persistent, especially when it involved you. He won the year before you and thus made it his mission to pursue you ever since, so when revealed that you were dating Finnick, it clearly caused a stir.
You tried to brush him off. "I don't know what you want me to say, Augustus. I didn't see it coming either; it just happened."
"It just happened?" he echoed.
"Yeah. I mean, you can't control love." The words sounded so faux coming out of your mouth, even to you. It was times like these when you wished Finnick was here; he was a much better actor.
"That is so bull-"
Another voice interrupted. "Augustus." You both turned to see Cashmere, one of his mentors, walking toward you, a feline smile on her face. "Leave the lady alone. You know we only fight when The Games are going on."
When The Games are going on, she said. You could be friends all year round, but as soon Reaping Day hit, that camraderie ceased to exist. Regardless, you were never close with victors from 1 and 2. You couldn't really trust anyone that would volunteer for those games just to bring glory to their name.
You had that glory.
And you would do anyhing to give it back.
"Aw, Cash, I was just talking our princess here," he nudged your shoulder, "about her make-believe relationship." You wanted to punch him.
She laughed. "Oh, but the Princess wouldn't dare lie, Aug. She's too good for that." Some would call the look in her eyes a star's twinkle. You called it a malicious glint hiding in plain-sight. She turned to you. "It's the truth, isn't it, Y/N/N?"
You plastered on a fake smile that looked more annoyed than anything. "Of course, it is. What could I possibly gain from lying?" There it is.
The glint in Cashmere's eyes disappeared. She looked to Braun, but he didn't share her glance. He didn't look any different, but you knew that she got it. Because she knew what you could gain from lying.
All the same things she could gain, too.
So you watched as she put on a smile and defended you. "I believe her." Augustus' groan was loud, but it was inaudible to you as you silently thanked her with your eyes. "Now tell us how you and your prince met."
"Could I get a penny for your thoughts?" A voice broke you out of your trance, a voice you recognized all too soon.
Finnick.
Here he was, trying to talk to you, as if he didn't just let Annie walk away. As if he didn't tell you he loved you. As if he didn't just upend your entire world.
You didn't want to speak to him. You thought you made that clear already, and you did, but he was ignoring that. He wanted to talk to you, so he was gonna talk to you, regardless of your feelings.
You didn't look at him as he walked up to stand next to you, continuing to stare out the window. The destruction outside matched your mental state, grey and ruined, but it was still the Capitol, the same way you were still the Princess.
And he was still the Prince.
The words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. "Do you remember how we said we met?"
You were met with silence, not because he didn't remember but because he did. After a beat, he responded, "I do." You felt his gaze burn into the side of your head.
A humourless chuckle left you, false memories lighting up behind your eyelids as you blinked. Of course, he remembered. He had it memorized just as well as you did—he was the one who came up with the story.
You might've been the storyteller, but Finnick was a better liar than you could ever dream of being. He lied so well for years. So when he goes and tells you something like he loves you, that's all you can remember.
That he was a liar.
"We said that we met in the Capitol," you recalled. You had a reminiscent smile, but your eyes that were trained ahead of you betrayed the façade; you were bitter. "I wasn't watching where I was going; I was nearly hit by a bus, but you pulled me back last minute, saved me." Another laugh. "I was oh so grateful. You told me that you already knew me, that you'd seen me around before and you'd been working up the courage to come speak to me." You shook your head. "And then there: screen fades to black, and the rest was history, right? Love at first sight—God, they loved that, didn't they?"
"Y/N-"
"But it wasn't love at first sight," you cut him off. "It wasn't really love at all."
Finnick went to put his hand on your shoulder but you jolted away, finally turning to look at him. For a moment, it was like looking into a mirror: his eyes were sad, too.
But why? This was his story. Were his own lies getting the best of him?
Yes. They were.
With that realization, your eyes hardened. "We didn't meet that way. We were not in love—there was no love story. This is not a love story, Finnick," you emphasized, stressing every syllable of every word, your voice nearly cracking on his name. You averted your eyes, composing yourself and taking a step back. "So I don't want to speak to you for the rest of the time we're here."
"What? Y/N, I just-"
"Please respect that." Whether he was gonna abide by your wishes or not, you didn't want be stick around to find out.
So you walked away, leaving him there just like every other time it was just the two of you. It was funny, almost—it was always just the two of you, but now you couldn't handle it to be alone with him.
Perhaps that was because you knew you were right. This wasn't a love story.
It was a tragedy.
And this tragedy wouldn't have a happy ending.
You wondered what it was like to live in the Capitol, to be born into a life where food and shelter was always guaranteed, a life where you could raise children knowing that they wouldn't be taken from you by a slaughter that rich people would call a game.
A normal life.
Those kids went to school and made friends, they fell in love because they wanted to, not for survival.
You wondered where those kids were now, as their home was turned into a warzone. What were they thinking? Were you the bad guys in their mind? Did they even understand what you were fighting for?
You heard Snow had a granddaughter. You wondered about her, about how she must've felt. And then that caused you to wonder... was evil an inherent trait? Was it like a disease that somebody had to be born with, or was it something that bred over time?
Suddenly, the sound of somebody sitting across from you at the table cut off your train of thought. When you looked up and saw Panem's Golden Boy, you found your answer.
Maybe evil wasn't an inherent trait, but good had to be. Because Peeta Mellark had the most pure heart you'd ever seen, so pure that Snow had to work twice as hard just to taint it, that his love for Katniss was so strong that it persisted—even if he didn't realize it yet.
Good had to be natural.
You had to believe that.
You greeted him softly, but not too soft. "Peeta."
He took a minute before responding, seeming to take in your appearance. "Y/N." Pause. "You look different."
That nearly wrestled a laugh out of you. "So do you," you replied, followed by a quirk of your brow. "But that's not why you're here to talk to me, is it?"
It wasn't.
You had a feeling he'd be coming soon. It was only a matter of time since he arrived. When you got out, the first thing you wanted was to talk to him, too. The only thing that stopped you was the white, locked room that kept him detained.
His room and yours were right next to each other in the Capitol.
That changed things.
You didn't expect him to speak so soon—you certainly couldn't find the words—but before you knew it, he was asking, "How do you do it?" He didn't need to explain further.
How you do this. That's what he was asking.
Peeta had trouble with eye contact since he arrived, but right now, he was looking you right in the eye, awaiting an answer you weren't sure you had—pleading for it. How did you do it? Were you doing it at all?
You wanted to give him the perfect answer, the same answer you were still seeking, but that wouldn't be fair. You didn't want to lie to him.
You were sick of lying.
"Honestly?" you questioned. "I don't know if I even know what I'm doing. Haymitch, uh, he told me I was still standing because I had to fight for the people that couldn't, show that them that they could." You paused, pondering over it. "And that's true. But there's more to it than that. It's not just about them anymore. It's about me, about us. I want-" you intook a deep breath, looking down momentarily. When you looked back up, it was with a new resolution shining in your eyes. "I want to show Snow that he didn't knock me down. And I want to make sure that no other pawn gets knocked down by a king and his crooked version of a game."
You didn't know if that was the answer he was looking for. You didn't know if that would help him—you didn't know if anything would.
But then you saw a look in his eyes, a new light that hadn't been there before, dim but present. It was accompanied by fear, but you could see it. A light shining through all the darkness.
His voice was quiet. "Do you think we'll ever be free?"
You knew he wasn't talking about the war or the Capitol. He wasn't talking about Snow's hold on all of you. He was talking about the shackles of your own minds.
That took you back to the other blond boy you were accustomed to, his words reverberating through your head. We will never be free, Y/N.
Not long ago, you believed that wholeheartedly. The thought crushed you. You had accepted it as reality, that you were trapped and had nowhere to go, that this was your forever.
But maybe it wasn't.
"Yeah," you replied. "I think so."
You couldn't sleep that night. It would've been better if you had a shift taking watch—that way, you would've at least felt useful, but you didn't.
You weren't sure if it was a matter of if you couldn't sleep or wouldn't. Every time you tried to close your eyes, you were brought back to places you didn't wanna be, saw things you didn't wanna see.
That's why you were lying on your side, facing the wall instead of the ceiling. It was harder to sleep that way. And it also meant you didn't have to look at Finnick Odair.
You told him you didn't want to speak to him. Meanwhile, you loved him an unimaginable amount, so much so that he consumed your thoughts, even as you were in the middle of a war, hiding out in an abandoned restaurant as the enemy wanted your heads on a platter.
The enemy.
You thought of Coin then, how she sent Peeta here knowing it'd cause chaos, knowing it'd just bring both of the lovers grief.
Wolves liked to masquerade as sheep.
Maybe the enemy was closer than you thought.
In your own thoughts, you didn't even notice the stirring of limbs until a raspy and hushed voice sounded. "Katniss?"
Your immediate reaction was to stiffen, but you quickly stopped yourself from doing anything to give up the fact that you were awake. Because that was Finnick's voice.
He sounded just like that whenever he woke up.
You didn't see the brunette, but you already knew she wasn't sleeping either—though, chances were, she wasn't hiding it. "Yeah?" she muttered.
There was a beat of silence. You wished you could lift your head to see what was going on. It wasn't like Finnick not cut to the chase. Then again, you supposed it also wasn't like him to give spontaneous admissions of love.
Eventually, he got to it. "Do you and Y/N have a plan?" It almost sounded like his voice was filled with genuine curiosity.
Now it was her turn to respond. The turning of her gears was nearly audible to you. She couldn't tell him the truth, that you were really here to kill Snow and not to shoot propos. "Yeah, it's this plan."
There was no pause this time. "That's not what I'm talking about."
"Well, it's what I'm talking about," she bit back.
You knew she had more questions than this. You knew she was wondering why he was asking her and not you, wondering whatever it was that happened between you earlier or even back in 13.
She had questions.
But out of respect, she would never ask them.
"I'm worried about her." Oh.
Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that. It seemed that Finnick continued to surprise you with every encounter, even though this wasn't an encounter with you at all. His voice got quieter, but he still spoke with purpose, the same purpose you watched from a video out of a box where he exposed Snow for the monster that he is.
He always did have a way with words.
You just weren't used to hearing those words about you. Not without a camera shoved in his face or eyes glued to your forms.
"Y/N?" she asked, even though she knew who it was. "Don't be. She's the strongest person I've ever met." Oh.
Katniss defended you without a second thought, and for some reason, that was surprising. It shouldn't have been, but it was. You weren't used to friends or people to coming to your defense. Johanna was one of your closest friends, but you weren't with her enough to ever get used to it. Katniss, on the other hand, was someone you felt like you'd known your whole life.
Maybe because you had.
"I know that," he responded, almost offended she'd think he didn't. "Her strength is incredible- enviable, even." Pause. "But I still worry about her." Another pause. "If anything happened to her, I- I don't know what I'd do."
Your breath hitched.
I said I love you.
Katniss must've been thinking of what to respond but Finnick barely gave her a chance. "Just- look out for her for me, okay- and I'll do the same for you." There was another pause, and then a shuffle, and then silence. "I have your guy. And you have mine."
It was a wonder you didn't make a sound.
A few seconds passed by, then she agreed. "Deal."
And when you got up a couple hours later after no sleep, you pretended the conversation never happened.
The team was walking around looking for a good spot to film when your first pod was found.
"Split. Take cover," Boggs ordered. You did as he said, retreating to the right pillar with Katniss, Gale, and Cressida as he threw a random rock into the walkway. Immediately, shots went off, loud and repeated.
You ducked your head into your knees, covering your ear with one hand while clutching onto your bow tightly. They're not people; they're just guns wired to go off, you reassured yourself. Somehow the thought of real people was scarier.
And that thought was scary in and of itself.
The guns went off until they knocked down a structure ahead of you yet you were still wary, even when Boggs gave the okay. "All clear. Gale, Homes, with me. Leegs, take the wings."
You slowly stood up, now holding onto the arrow with both hands just so your hands wouldn't shake. Katniss shot you a look, not needing to speak. You okay?
You nodded, sending her one of the same nature. What about you?
She nodded back. And even though neither of you were entirely convinced, you both still dropped it.
When you turned to your left, you saw Peeta still on the ground, empty rifle in hand, hitting his head against the butt and mumbling to himself under his breath. He sounded like a madman. That's when you turned to Katniss again.
For a second, she almost looked like she was gonna go over there.
And then a bomb went off.
You jumped, nearly losing your grip on your weapon. Katniss went running despite Jackson's call of her name. You wanted to follow her but it was like you her cemented to your spot. Your eyes were stuck on the floor, ears ringing.
Please, please- no- no!
You harshly shook your head as if it'd shake the thoughts out of your head, and then you booked it in the same direction, ignoring Jackson's protest.
Turned out that you'd only spent a few seconds losing it. You crouched down next to Katniss while Gale went straight to look at his legs. You didn't look get a good look at them—you tried not to—but you didn't think they were even there anymore.
"It's okay," Katniss muttered, even though she knew it wasn't the truth.
He's gonna die, you realized.
Boggs realized this, too. "The Holo," he croaked. "The Holo."
You widened your eyes, going to grab it while Katniss held his hand. He pressed some buttons and used all of his strength to tilt himself upward, panting, "Unfit for command. Transfer- primary security clearance-" He looked to you, eyes wild yet resolved. "Say your name."
If you thought your eyes couldn't get any wider, you were wrong. But you didn't have time to question this decision or get him to explain his choice, so you spoke without realizing what was happening. "Y/N Y/L/N." Your breathing got faster. "What did you just do?"
He didn't answer you, just looked at you with the strongest stare a dying man could muster. "Y/N, don't trust them-" his eyes darted to Katniss, "n-neither of you. Kill Peeta if you have to. Do what you have to do." He stopped talking then, but his eyes were still open.
"Boggs?" No response.
You tried. "Boggs?" No response, either.
He was dead.
Katniss gently set his head down. You just stared at him, taking shallow breaths.
He was dead.
Homes was still trying to triage his wounds—he didn't even realize it until Gale said the words out loud. "He's gone." It was almost compulsive of him to repeat it. "He's gone."
There was a collective moment of silence. Boggs was willing to put his life on the line for this revolution, and he did it. Now he was dead.
Weren't you all just dead people walking? Soldiers, just waiting to fall into your own carefully curated traps. And perhaps that was exactly why you were so okay with it.
A part of you knew you were already dead.
In the silence, groaning suddenly became audible to you. With a slight turn, you saw it was one of the Leegs. The blast hit her, too. When the other Leeg saw, she immediately got up and went to tend to her sister, but on her way, she stepped on a tile that sunk down on her weight. Her eyes went wide, but it was too late.
Immediately, large gates that you didn't even know were there started to close in on the areas between buildings, effectively encasing you in the courtyard. In the blink of an eye, oily black tar was flooding down, billowing between the buildings.
Someone screamed. "Go, go, go!"
You took off running, the others not far behind you. Gamemakers were creative. You didn't know what that was, but you knew that if it didn't obliterate you first, it'd drown you.
You were running to higher ground, Katniss right next to you when you saw her being yanked away out of your periphery. You spun around to see her on the ground, just barely rolling out of the way as Peeta slammed his rifle down on the ground in a flurry of rage.
"Finnick!" she yelled, but someone else got there first, tackling Peeta to the ground before he could try hitting her again. You were there right after, pulling her off the ground and then holding her back from running into the sludge when Peeta pushed Mitchell in.
A net shot out of the ground with his body in it. Finnick came rushing before Peeta could come back to finish his task, holding him back.
"Come on, come on, Katniss, we gotta go!" You pulled her out of the way before the tar came crashing into you, running for the closest building.
Homes shot down the door. "Everybody, inside! Go! Upstairs! Go! Hurry up!"
You all went running up either flight of stairs, stopping in the middle just to see that the lower and upper half had been disconnected. You were stuck. And tar was filling downstairs at a speedy rate.
"Shit," you cursed.
You ran a stressed hand through your hair. On your right, one of the Leegs was moaning in pain, and on your left, Finnick was trying to calm Peeta down, holding him tightly. You looked away when he ended up pressing a needle into his neck, swallowing.
Now's not the time for memories, Y/N.
The tar continued to fill the building, making a bubbly sound that made you feel nauseous. "It's slowing down," Cressida noted.
And she was right. It stopped just before hitting your landing, rippling at the stairs. You let out a sigh.
"Gamemakers are still putting on quite a show," she remarked.
"That they are," you mumbled—though, you were unsure it was loud enough for her to hear you.
Meanwhile, Jackson radioed in. "451 to base. Over."
"Hey, we better move," Homes cut in. "If Peacekeepers didn't know where we were, they do now. Those surveillance cameras caught us."
She just radioed again while you looked down at the Holo in your hand. "451 to base. Come in."
It was Gale speaking up now. "This is a bad spot. We need to move now."
"451 to base. Over." Jackson got frustrated, flipping her radio shut. "I can't get a signal," she said. "But I can get us back to base. Y/L/N, give me the Holo."
For a second, you didn't even know she was talking to you. Whether it be the shock or just the fact that she had barely spoken to you this entire time, it didn't register. When it did, you met her eyes looking at you expectantly. "Y/L/N, what did I just say? The Holo. Come on, let's go."
Boggs' words resounded in your head as all eyes turned to you. Don't trust them.
Your grip on the Holo got tighter. You didn't break eye contact as you told her, "Boggs gave it to me."
Jackson paused her movements, stopping to give you her full attention. "What are you talking about?"
Katniss backed you up, stepping forward and closer to you at the same time. "He did. He transferred Y/L/N his security clearance. Homes, Gale, and I saw it."
Jackson's gaze was unwavering, her voice colder. "And why would he do that?"
You were a great liar. When you were younger, you wanted to be a storyteller, so it made sense when you grew up to spin lies like clockwork. A liar, an actor, a victor, a dancer. You came up with a lie quickly. "I'm on special orders from Coin."
You maintained her stare as she questioned, "To do what?"
"To assassinate President Snow for all of Panem to see."
It wasn't too far-fetched of a lie, but you had a feeling that no matter what lie you gave, Jackson wouldn't have believed it anyway.
"I don't believe that for one second," she deadpanned. "As your new unit commander, I order you to transfer security clearance to me. Now."
Allies could only last so long before survival and power came into play, and you were in the Capitol. Power was the only thing that was important here. But this wasn't about power.
This was about the people.
You weren't gonna let anything or anyone get in your way.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The 76th Hunger Games.
You kept your voice soft as you asserted, "I apologize, Lieutenant Jackson, but I cannot and will not do that."
Jackson stared at you for a second, almost like she was challenging you to redact your statement. When you didn't, she reached for her side. Guns were immediately drawn before she even pulled hers.
You were staring down a barrel as Katniss, Finnick, and Gale had their weapons pointed at her. One of the Leegs had a gun pointed their way, too, while everyone else just stayed still, glancing between you.
It almost surprised you when Finnick was the first to speak, and you didn't know why. "Woah, now," he warned. You could hear the smirk on his face in his words, so similar to that dangerous boy in The Games who laughed at any obstacle. "Let's not be too hasty."
Jackson ignored him, doubling down. "I'm not asking you again, Y/L/N." Her glare was menacing. "Give me that Holo."
She may have shot you then and there when she saw you weren't gonna cooperate, but before you could find out, Cressida was stepping in front of you. "She's telling the truth." What?
She continued, "Plutarch wants it televised. He thinks if we could film the Princess assassinating Snow, it'll make the Capitol surrender before the casualties get too high."
"Look, while we're in here pointlessly arguing, there's 100 Peacekeepers on their way here right now to confirm that we're dead." Finnick's voice was rugged as he cut in, impatient. But only you could detect the undertone of worry.
Jackson seemed swayed but not swayed enough. Her grip on her gun didn't falter. You had to say something before there was a bullet in your skull and this was all for nothing. This couldn't all be for nothing.
"Boggs wanted this," you pressed. "And he wanted to help me."
You saw the waver in her eyes despite the gun still raised for your head, and you knew you got to her. You maintained her stare, silently pleading that she'd put it down. Eventually, she did.
You let out a short breath you didn't know you were holding. Jackson looked down, and then she nodded. "Alright, soldier." She looked back up at you. "Holo's yours."
You nodded back to her in thanks. The tension in the air didn't fully dissipate, but the guns had all now been lowered. Gale went for the stairs, cautiously stepping down on the first step to see nothing happen. In the time you were arguing, it appeared that the sludge had dried.
He turned back to the rest of you. "I don't think we're gonna leave any footprints. We should move now. And those cameras outside should be covered up the oil."
From next to the Leeg in the corner, Castor interjected, "She can't move forward like this. Her leg is too bad. We have to evacuate her." She hissed and whimpered as he spoke. Then he realized what words lingered in the air, the conclusion you all had reached but didn't want to voice.
You had to leave her here.
At the realization, an apology was tumbling out of his mouth, but the girl's sister cut him off. "I'll stay with her."
Jackson reassured her, "As soon as we make contact, we will send somebody back. I promise you." Katniss' stare was so intense you could almost feel her thoughts.
If we make contact.
"Alright, everybody move out. Let's go!"
Any guilt you had for leaving the Leegs there had to be diminished; you had to focus. You and Katniss moved out side by side. In the background, you heard Finnick asking Peeta if he could walk.
Gale was right; the cameras outside were completely shielded by the tar. It had dried up everywhere like frozen ice—your own little winter wonderland. Except, in this wonderland, you had nightlock instead of potions that made you grew taller, guns instead of playing cards, and the mad hatter was a ruthless dictator trying to kill you all.
What odd music you had in wonderland.
But you danced anyway.
The net with Mitchell's body hung over you like a cloud, but none of you had time to pause and pay your respects. Gale and Jackson led the flock. You got far enough away from the building you were in to another in the same vicinity.
He shattered the glass with the butt off his crossbow. He and Jackson went running in first, checking the place to see if it was empty. Your immediate task was closing the curtains, but once you turned around you were stunned by the house's sheer beauty.
It wasn't a family home—you could tell, but it was so big for one person. Holographic walls, a decor mirror, a lavish velvet couch and matching armchairs surrounding a block television protruding out of the ceiling.
Not even your house in Victor's Village had been so luxurious. Even the curtains looked like they cost a year's salary from back home.
"Wow," a voice drawled. "Well, didn't we get lucky?"
Finnick's sarcasm was so familiar you went to roll your eyes, but the sound of tires on the ground cut you off in motion. Your guard flew back up as you discreetly peeked out the window.
Peacekeepers. Dozens of them. Big cars, too. All of them armed, and all of them going for the building you were just in.
You didn't have time to make the connection. They just started firing.
Oh, God.
Finnick's voice was now devoid of anything unserious. "It's the Leegs."
Oh, God.
Those shots might've been enough to kill them. But if they weren't, then the missile they launched certainly was.
The building came tumbling down, falling to pieces as you all simultaneously fell, too, crouching down. You felt your heartbeat strong, rattling against your ribcage, hearing it beat in your ears, mingling with the beat of the music.
As soon as we make contact, we will send somebody back.
That was a lie.
They were dead.
You weren't even sitting with information for a minute before a beep sounded, followed by the fanfare. Slowly, your head lifted.
MANDATORY VIEWING. ATTENTION ALL PANEM RESIDENTS, the screen read. Soon, the blue sreen faded into Caesar Flickerman, and you were clenching your jaw, white hot anger running through your veins and electrifying every part of your body.
"You've got to be fu-"
"Good afternoon, I'm Caesar Flickerman," he cut Finnick off, resulting in a scoff. You could imagine him rolling his eyes, too. "Here with our continuing coverage of the defense of the Capitol." Now you rolled your eyes.
Every single word Caesar spoke was complete and utter propaganda bullshit. You wished now that you would've decked him when you had the chance, given him the finger and told him to go poke and prod in someone else's life.
He was nothing more than a mutt at Snow's disposal.
"Today, as our Peacekeepers valiantly hold off the rebels, our story... takes a surprising twist."
Following his statement, footage of all of you played from when you were running away from the oil. "Y/N Y/L/N, the girl we once deemed our Princess, and Katniss Everdeen, our once favourite daughter, have now infiltrated the city with some of the victors, whose names are all too familiar." You rolled your eyes again at Caesar's deliberate pacing and dramatic word choice.
This was the man who once nearly praised you on a daily basis. He's the one that made that God awful nickname stick. Yet here he was now, turning his back on a group of people he once claimed to cherish.
Had you become too human for his liking?
"Finnick Odair and Peeta Mellark." He emphasized Peeta's name with careful precision, just as he came on screen, pushing Katniss to the side and trying to bludgeon her to death. You intook a sharp breath, glancing to Katniss first; she was already looking at Peeta. Her eyes were now more betrayed, like seeing it on TV was different, and his eyes were still glued to the screen, like he couldn't even believe he did it.
"Hm. Clearly, some alliances don't last forever."
Katniss' eyes slowly flickered away, and without really thinking about it, you grabbed onto her hand, squeezing it tightly just to show her you were there. She surprised you by squeezing back with the same force.
Caesar's voice suddenly got more smug. "Take a look at what happened just a moment ago, when our Peacekeepers cornered the former Princess and her band of foolish rebels. Whatever arrogance brought this treacherous girl back to us, you are about to witness a great victory, not only for the Capitol, but for Panem."
Video of the destruction from across the street played onscreen. You watched yourselves supposedly go up in flames.
Supposedly, you were dead.
"So there you have it. Y/N Y/L/N, Panem's Princess, a girl who inspired so much violence, seems to have met a violent end herself." A light chuckle escaped you against your will. You were dead? "Stay tuned for more information. Caesar Flickerman. Thank you."
Caesar ended with a smile that was so creepy it was comical. You felt like laughing again, but decided that propbably wasn't appropriate. Jackson didn't like you very much as it was, likely because of the title Caesar so eloquently gave you.
Royalty. You didn't feel so royal lying in sheets with men old enough to father you, men that were fathers.
Somehow, you didn't feel so royal lying on a cold metal slab, either
"So now that we're dead, what are we gonna do?" Gale questioned.
Peeta spoke up. "Isn't it obvious?" All eyes turned to him. No one had expected him to speak—it was his first attempt since nearly killing Katniss and actually killing Mitchell. "The next move is to kill me."
Katniss took a step forward, but you don't think it was concious. You don't think anything about what she felt toward that boy was conscious.
His voice was wrought with guilt. "I murdered one of our squad members." He paused as if trying to come to terms with it. It was the first time any of you had even acknowledged it. "Katniss is right. I'm a mutt. And it's only a matter of time before I snap again." They made eye contact for a second until he broke it, looking away. "I'm not in control. I need a nightlock pill, so I can die when I need to."
Gale's interruption was sharp and honest. "If it gets to that point, I'll kill you myself." You got the feeling he'd do it regardless.
His admission sliced through the room. He got up moments after, walking to somewhere else in the large townhouse. It was really so big that you didn't understand how it could still be called a townhouse. Kids back home would call this mansion.
You didn't let Gale get lost in it, though, standing up and following him to the kitchen. He entered the pantry; you were right behind him, closing the door.
You narrowed your eyes. His face was impassive but you could see the slighest bit of surprise in his eyes. That just pissed you off even more.
From the moment you met Gale Hawthorne, something didn't feel right. It wasn't that he was a bad man, just that you knew he'd be willing to do bad things for a chance of the right outcome. And you could understand that—you understood him most of the time, but that was out of line.
So you told him that. "You didn't need to say that to Peeta. Not like that."
He scoffed. "I said what needed to be said. No one else would-"
"You twisted the knife, Gale!" you loudly whispered, eyes now narrowing into slits. "It's called compassion—try it."
"You heard him, Y/N—he's a mutt," he argued, not bothering to match your low volume and throwing his arm out, nearly knocking over a box of cereal in the process. "What kind of compassion does he deserve?"
At that, you took a step closer to him. "You have no idea what it's like." You pointed your finger in his face, consumed by anger. Anger for Peeta, for that boy you saw on TV with Finnick who was willing to kill himself for The Girl on Fire. For the boy who was nervous to meet you. For the boy whose screams you heard for nights on end. A fire burned in your eyes, a fuse now lit that couldn't be contained. "It was hell here. Peeta, Johanna, and I went through hell. You can't expect him to be all fine and dandy after that. And I know how you feel about Katniss, I do. I care about her, too, Gale—she's my person, and so as her person, I am telling you that knocking out the competition won't score you any points with her. Let her come to the decision herself." You went to turn but then added, "And leave Peeta alone."
You didn't want to see the guilt painted all over his face after that, opening the door and leaving him in the pantry by himself.
You weren't excusing what Peeta did, but you knew that he needed time. He needed the time to find himself again. He wasn't the same person. And neither you were you.
You may not have known it, but you needed to find yourself again, too.
The lot of you sat in the living room of the house for some time, waiting it out until it was safe to move. Until then, you ate marshmallows and other little treats stashed in this person's home.
You eat like this, you'll believe anything, Gale had said, and you thought he was right. If you lived like this, grew up like this and were born into this life of opportunity and opulence, then you were sure that you'd believe almost anything, too.
But genocide? you wondered. Perhaps the sun shines brighter here.
Perhaps it blinded them.
Suddenly, the fanfare started, making you all look up to the TV to see the Capitol logo fade into faces—your faces. A showcase of your deaths, like you were fallen tributes.
Finnick's face came onscreen. You heard his snicker from somewhere in the room. Then came you. You shook your head at the ridiculousness of it all.
Didn't they know? You were still dancing.
You'd be dancing until your song ended with Snow's dying breath.
After Peeta and Katniss' pictures played, the montage transitioned into Snow's face. An involuntary shiver overtook your body.
You heard his voice before he even started speaking.
Oh, sweet girl. I will make you wish that you died in that arena.
"So, Y/N Y/L/N, a girl we gave the world, a disgrace to our nation, is now dead. And Katniss Everdeen, a poor unstable girl with nothing but a small talent with a bow and arrow, joins her in the ground." He sounded pleased of himself. "Neither of them thinkers, nor leaders. Simply faces, plucked from the masses—a silly girl with a crown and a deranged one with a song."
You scoffed at the smugness in his tone. A silly girl with a crown. It was funny that you weren't laughing.
"Were they valuable? They were extremely valuable to your... rebellion. Because you have no vision, no true leader among you," he lectured. "You call yourself an alliance. But we saw what that means. Your soldiers are at each other's throats-"
Snow was cut off from his rant by random glitching. Not random, you realized. Your lips curved upward just the smallest bit. Beetee.
Alma's face graced the screen, replacing Snow. "Good evening," she greeted. "For those of you who don't know me, please allow me to introduce myself. I am President Alma Coin, leader of the rebellion. I have interrupted a broadcast from your president in which he attempted to defame two incredibly brave young women." She paused, collecting herself. "'Faces, picked from masses,' he called them. As if any leader, a true leader, could be anything else."
The emotion and conviction in her voice nearly made you believe she actually liked you. "I had the privilege of knowing a small-town girl from the Seam in district 12, and a girl from the water in district 4, both of whom survived the Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell—and rose up and turned a nation of slaves into an army." Her voice raised at the end; she sounded like she might cry. "Dead or alive, Y/N Y/L/N and Katniss Everdeen will remain the faces of this revolution. They will not have died for nothing."
From the seat beside you, Katniss muttered under her breath, "I had no idea I meant so much to her."
You huffed a barely-there chuckle. "Me neither."
Coin continued, "Their vision and ours will be realized. A free Panem, with self-determination for all. And in their memory, we will all find the strength to rid Panem of its oppressors." She took a breath. "Thank you. And be safe."
The screen then faded to pictures of you and Katniss, a whistle playing in the background. It was from The 74th Games—it belonged to a girl named Rue, you think. You could remember watching her hide away from everyone in training, knowing that she wouldn't last.
A 12-year-old girl, sent into the arena to die.
That thought spurred you into drive. You got up. "Snow is in his mansion," you said. "Where is that?" You placed the Holo down on the coffee table, pressing a button and watching it illuminate with the Capitol's hologram.
The others gathered around you. Cressida pointed to spots on the map, informing you, "That's us. That's the City Circle. It's at least, 70- 75 blocks north."
That appeared to catch Finnick's attention. "75 blocks?"
Without thinking about it, you responded, "Nobody knows we're alive. This is our chance." Your eyes met his, and just then did you realize that you were talking to him. You quickly averted your gaze, switching the topic. "These buildings," you pointed, "Do these look over Snow's gardens?"
Cressida was unsure. "I..."
"They do," Castor replied.
"Well, if he goes outside at all, we could get a clear shot." You glanced to Katniss who nodded back to you. It was undecided between the two of you who'd get to deliver the final blow. You wanted to, so badly, but if there was anyone who deserved it just as much, it was her.
When the time came, you'd decide.
"We're getting ahead of ourselves here. Whether they're looking for us or not, we are pinned down," Jackson cut in, subsequently instructing you to hit the middle button to scan for pods.
When the map lit up, you sighed. "That's just about every ten steps."
"Yeah, and that doesn't even show the new ones," Gale reminded you.
Finnick's voice was tired. "So we can't go anywhere in the streets."
"And the rooftops are just as bad," Jackson added.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Pollux tap Castor, pointing his finger down. Realization dawned upon his face. "There might be another way."
Tunnels.
Unanimously, it was decided that you'd take Pollux's suggestion. He said he knew the tunnels well, and it was a good way for you guys to go undetected.
So you packed up what little you had, strapping yourself with weapons, and grabbing the Holo. And just as quickly as you all were there, you were gone, slipping into the night.
The tunnels were huge and spacious. It was surprising that you'd never been down there once, that there were still so many parts of the Capitol you hadn't seen. It didn't feel that way after sleeping in so many Capitol beds.
If that could be called sleeping.
You walked with the Holo in hand, navigating your way through. Everything was fine until you heard the sound of a train's engine.
Like lightning, you all ran to the side, hiding behind the wall and out of the train's sight. You exhaled once it passed. You could only pray it didn't catch a glimpse of you.
But prayers couldn't be enough. You turned to Pollux. "We're too exposed here."
He nodded then gestured forward with his hand. You let him take lead, following him to a door. The door opened to another ladder that you went down without further question.
It was darker, and there was half-dried up liquid all over the floor, but one quick check of the Holo told you that this place was clear. For the time being, at least.
Smoke went off in one of the hallways that spooked you, but it was fine once you realized that it was just normal smoke. You could still remember that smoke from the Quell, how it felt as it licked your skin.
But you're fine, Y/N. You're not there anymore.
You willed yourself to believe this was a war, not a game.
You refused to be someone's chess piece any longer.
You eventually came across a little tunnel where Jackson suggested you rest, electing herself to take first watch.
You sat down, glancing at Finnick and looking away before he could notice. Your eyelids got heavier. It'd been nearly two days since you last slept.
You were tired.
No, you were exhausted.
Unknowingly, your eyelids started to droop shut. It wouldn't hurt to get a few hours of shut-eye, you reasoned. You needed to be sharp for what lied ahead of you.
So, within a matter of seconds, you drifted into an abyss of nothingness.
"Y/N, my dear, it is so lovely to see you again."
A smile was etched onto your face, like you were a puppet and the puppeteer that stood before you controlled your every move. The puppeteer made you extend your hand and shake his own. He pulled at your strings and got you to sit at the chair in front of his bureau.
Then he forced your mouth to open, spilling rehearsed pleasantries that you didn't actually mean. "President Snow, it is always a pleasure."
It wasn't. Nothing about meeting Snow in his office was pleasurable to you.
He sat in his red chair that was akin to a throne, higher than you. It was a reminder—a reminder that, even though you had won your Games, and even though you now basked in riches and fame, you were still beneath him. You were still beneath every person in the Capitol you would ever meet, and he sought to make sure you'd never forget it.
"Pleasure," he repeated. "That's an interesting word, isn't it?"
You furrowed your brows, unsure of what he was getting at. "I... I suppose so."
He hummed and just took to staring at you. Was his goal to make you squirm under his gaze? You were certain it was, but you didn't. You kept your cool and maintained his stare. Whatever President Snow called you in for, you were determined to show you could handle it.
You wanted him to like you.
And what a mistake that was.
"Y/N, I am sure that, by now, you've been made aware of the... infatuation people have with you," he started, tilting his head like it was a question. It wasn't, but he did expect a response.
"Yes, I've heard chatter."
He tilted his head again, feigning interest. "What kind of chatter, dear?"
You swallowed. What did he want you to say? Somehow, it felt like no matter what your answer was, this was a trap. "I- people liked my performance, they like my personality. They think... they think that I'm-"
He cut you off, "Captivating? Note-worthy? Attractive?" His last adjective elicited another swallow from you. The word sounded slimy coming out of his mouth. "All-encompassing, Y/N, you are desirable."
Trap. This was a trap. Still, you questioned, "Desirable? What does- what does that mean?"
He didn't answer you, going back to his stare from earlier, but this time it spoke to you. You know what it means, his eyes read. But you didn't. You didn't want to.
You were regretting coming here. You wanted to go back home to lie in your bed, curl yourself up in the covers you never had as a child and sleep. You had a doctor now, one you could afford, that prescribed you medication just to sleep; you wanted to use it right about now.
Then Snow made you wish you had just downed the whole bottle when you had the chance.
"I have a deal for you."
A deal with the devil.
And soon enough, you were stuck dancing his dance 'til the end of time.
"Y/N."
You were shaken out of your dream by someone tapping your knee. Your eyes fluttered open to see Jackson crouched down in front of you. "It's your watch," she informed you.
You nodded, masking how thrown off you were by standing up, moving to go sit toward the opening. Your legs felt shaky against the ground, but you willed them to move.
You ended up sitting across from Peeta. Finnick was right next to him, his head lulled forward, eyes closed. Good, you thought, they both deserved the sleep.
Finnick always had trouble sleeping in high-stress situations. He had trouble sleeping regardless, sometimes more than you. You caught him awake more times that you could count, nursing a glass of something strong and staring at nothing instead of trying to sleep.
You should've known this time would be no different.
You were staring at the opening when you heard his voice. "Y/N?"
Instantly, your head snapped toward his. His head was upright now, no longer lulled over, and his eyes weren't closed—they were trained on you. A shaky breath left you, from being either startled or frustrated.
Why can't he ever leave well enough alone?
You opened your mouth to reiterate what you already told him, but he was faster. "I know." He paused, staring at you in that way you hated. His voice was quieter now. "I know. You don't wanna talk to me."
"So then why?" you asked, pleading for him to tell you the truth. "Why do you keep doing it?" Why did he insist on continually hurting you?
You were already in love with him. He already had your heart in the palm of his hand, so why did he feel the need to crush it?
It was already broken.
There was something about Finnick's expression you couldn't decipher, something that almost looked pained, and that pained you, too. For a moment, you almost thought you were spared, that he'd pretend to go back to sleep and you'd pretend to believe it, just like old times.
But when was the universe ever so kind to you?
"I do remember the night we met," he revealed. His eyes were sincere; you wanted to look away, but yours were locked on his. The two of you had never talked about this before. "The- the real night. But that wasn't the first time I saw you." He paused, swallowing. "I saw you win. I saw you back home. I saw you in the Capitol dozens of times, but- that night... I don't know what changed. You always looked beautiful, but that night you looked like an angel, Y/N." Your throat tightened, water welling up in your eyes. And then he went in a different direction. "But you were drinking. You looked... sad. And I- I wondered to myself, how could such a beautiful girl be so sad?"
You had to cut him off. "Finnick-"
"So I went up to you," he continued, ignoring your protest. "I had to. Something pulled me to you like a- like a magnet. And up close, you didn't just look like an angel anymore—I saw a goddess. A goddess whose voice dripped of all things sweet and bitter at the same time." He sounded breathless, his eyes glazed over like he was reliving the memory just as you were. "You enchanted me, Y/N."
You were speechless. You didn't know if you could speak even if you had the words. It was almost certain that, if you spoke, you'd cry.
Not once did he look away. Not once. God, he looked like he meant it. And that just made it hurt all the more.
"That was the night we met," he affirmed. "I remember the pretend, but the pretend isn't what I thought about while you were gone. What I remember best isn't the pretend." His gaze got heavier. "It's everything real that we had."
Real.
This felt real. And the tear that raced down your cheek felt real. The hoarseness in his voice felt real. The weight on your chest felt so real that you almost thought you were suffocating.
Do you want this to be real, Y/N?
Yes, of course, you did. A part of you did.
But did you really?
If this was real, would that make the pain easier to manage?
You didn't get to finish that thought. You didn't get to respond. There was a thud far off, something dropping in the water that caught your attention.
Simultaneously, both yours and Finnick's heads turned to the opening. It was complete and utter darkness—there was nothing there.
Then another drop. That made you brace your bow, your other hand going to wipe your cheek. Your eyes suddenly felt much drier.
Finnick got up before you could, going to the opening. You shot upward right after. "Finnick."
He held back two fingers without turning around. "Hold on. Just let me check it out."
You didn't listen, following him into the cavelike tunnel with the Holo turned on. It began chiming immediately, but the light you shined everywhere didn't pick anything up but dirty walls.
If you listened hard enough, it was almost as if you could hear your own name being whispered and bounced off the walls, drawn out purposefully.
You tilted your head and closed your eyes, focusing on the sounds entirely. Water droplets and Finnick's footsteps could be heard, your own breathing, and then you heard it again.
Y-Y-Y/N.
Your eyes flew wide open. "Do you hear that?"
Finnick turned to you but then a shuffle from back inside the tunnel interrupted whatever he was going to say.
"Katniss."
Both of you turned back to see Peeta waking up, the others not very far behind him.
Jackson, who you couldn't see, questioned, "What is that?
Peeta came to the answer faster than either of you, rushing, "We gotta go. We gotta get outta here now."
"Keep your voice down-"
"Mutts! They released mutts!"
Shit. You quickly re-entered the tunnel. "Pollux, what's the fastest way out?"
Without another word, Pollux was up and leading the way. Gale stood next to him, shooting an incendiary down the path before you went down.
Fire. Clear. It was safe to continue. You walked slowly, Jackson covering the back.
There was another tunnel on your left. Fire. Clear. Nothing.
On your right was a much more narrow tunnel, ending in a very small opening. The rest of you lit up the way while Pollux crawled in. Nobody spoke as he checked the area. It was silent except for your laboured breaths.
Then you couldn't even hear that. Your breath hitched as he went out of your view. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10-
Ten seconds. Ten seconds and then he was back. You exhaled as he came back into sight, signalling that it was clear to come in.
Gale and Katniss went first. Then you, then Finnick, Peeta, and the others. Jackson was the last to come in. She shined her flashlight on the path you came from until she decided it was okay to enter.
As soon as she put her flashlight down, your stomach dropped.
No-
Jackson spun around, revealing dozens of mutts with pale, slimy skin and grizzly teeth. They didn't have eyes, but you saw their claws as they took her to the ground.
You gasped. Katniss immediately drew an arrow and shot at the opening, launching an explosion that sent you both backward into the water.
"Go! Go! Go! It's mutts!"
You took the hand that was outstretched to you without even looking at who it belonged to, and in a flash, you were up and running. Peeta screamed, "Pollux, lead us out of here!"
You ran like hell, but the mutts caught up to you. Briefly, it registered to you that there could've been tens and tens more.
One knocked Castor into the water behind you, leaving Cressida to scream his name. You barely noticed Finnick shooting one at your side as you knelt down, drawing an arrow and shooting, lighting them up like candles.
But Castor was still there. He was screaming.
"Y/N, come on, move!"
Finnick shook you out of your stupor, grabbing you and practically dragging you upward. That removed you from your trance, sending you running.
You were going straight until another horde of mutts came your direction, forcing you to turn to the tunnel on the left. They're coming from all sides.
You stopped as you ran into a larger area, spinning around and firing another explosive arrow into the tunnel you just came through. There was a ladder here—you just had to fend them off long enough to get there.
Katniss and you stayed on the ground, firing arrows left and right, trying to stop them from getting inside. She turned and one jumped down at her, leading you to shoot at it. She shot one coming from behind you; you shot one from the front.
But they were fast. You didn't see one coming until it was coming right at you, too close for you to fire. Your eyes widened as it pushed you against the wall; the only thing stopping it from mauling was your bow cushioned between it and your body.
Reflexively, your free hand went to the sword on your side. You raised it into the air and brought it down right on its neck, simultaneously kicking it away from you. Just as that one was gone, another came running from your right. You stabbed without a second thought.
Another got too close from your left. You hit it over the head with your bow, backing it with enough force to snap its neck.
Too slow, you realized, quickly sheathing your sword and hanging the bow on your back, replacing it with the 9mm strapped to your thigh, promptly shooting the mutt in front of you.
You spun, seeing Katniss trying to fight off a mutt on top of her. You shot it with precise aim, killing it immediately.
Before you could even go to help her up, you were being knocked to the ground, your gun flying out of your hands.
You shuffled backward on the platform using the heels of your hands, eyes wild with the realization that it was right in front of you, but then just as it was about to come down on you, it was impaled from behind, a familiar trident glinting in the light.
A sigh of relief escaped you as Finnick threw the mutt to the ground, swinging at the next one like clockwork. That gave you the second you needed to get your bearings. You unsheathed your sword a second time, running up and covering him, slashing away at mutts on auto-pilot.
Your feet moved with a mind of their own, dancing with relentless determination. Finnick and you stood back to back, killing mutts like it was nothing.
The area was almost empty; just about everyone had gone up the ladder already, everyone but you, Finnick, and Katniss. She was on the ground, a mutt in front of her. You ran to her, sinking your sword into it and tossing it away before pulling her up. "Go, go, go!"
She followed your direction, running for the ladder. You hacked away at another one just as you heard Finnick scream, "Katniss!"
Immediately, you spun around, watching him throw his trident at a mutt trying to pull her down. Shit. He was weaponless.
A mutt crashed into him, and you wasted no time to pull out your second gun, shooting it in its centre. You ran to him, shooting two more on your way, and pulled him up. "Come on! Let's go!"
He rapidly nodded back to you, and you booked it, him running behind you. You made it to the ladder, climbing up like your life depended on it because it did. You were almost there when you heard Finnick scream, a mutt biting into his shoulder, but he stabbed it and pushed it to the ground.
You made it up to the top, looking down to see him up two-thirds of the way when a mutt jumped up and grabbed his shoulder. Your eyes went wide. "FINNICK!"
He lost his grip, and your hand shot down at the speed of light, grabbing his. You surprised yourself at your own strength, pulling him up. Katniss quickly reached down to help you.
You don't know what the sound left you was; it was like a sob. He's okay. He's okay.
But if you were one second later, he wouldn't have been.
Without thinking about, you threw your arms around him. He reciprocated immediately, hugging you just as tight. Another sob left you. He's okay. He's okay.
I love him, and he's okay.
"Come on, come on, come on, come on! Let's go!" That brought you back to your senses, making you let go of him despite every bone in your body that said not to. "Keep moving! Keep moving!"
Katniss shot an arrow down the ladder just to slow down any mutts that'd follow you, and then the three of you were off once more.
You ran into the train station, and immediately, you were met with bullets flying your way. Not mutts this time. Peacekeepers.
Katniss pulled you behind a pole with her, soon realizing there were Peacekeepers attacking from the side, too. She shot an arrow at them, causing them and the escalator they were on to explode.
We have to run. It was either run or stay there to die. You pulled at her sleeve; she got the memo, running with you to the side.
One of the lights flickered before shining even brighter, like a spotlight. You soon realized its purpose when Messalla ran underneath it and was instantly vapourized, becoming nothing more than ashes.
Cressida stopped, her mouth falling open. You had to force yourself to yell at her. "Keep going! Keep going!" She got out of her shock and then started running again.
You didn't have time to stop and mourn over the life lost.
You raced through the station, shooting behind yourself periodically and dodging the light traps as you went.
But that wasn't enough. Not enough to satisfy the sick fantasies of a Gamemaker.
The ground behind you broke, and then it was coming at you like wave of rubble, forcing you to run faster than you ever had.
With all of your might, you jumped onto the platform, breaking your fall with a roll. Panting, you got back up, and you would've kept running had you not heard Cressida scream Peeta's name.
You turned around, seeing Katniss already running toward him. He was knelt forward, hands covering his ears. She crouched down next to him. "Peeta, we have to keep going!"
"I'm a mutt-"
"We have to keep going!"
"I can't keep control!"
"Yes, you can-"
"Leave me, I'm a mutt!"
Katniss kept wrestling against him. "Look at me!" She grabbed his face into her hands. "Look at me." Within a split-second, her lips crashed into his, kissing him like he wasn't breathing and needed CPR.
Anyone watching could feel the love she had for that boy.
You glanced at Finnick to see him already looking at you, then you promptly looked away. This wasn't about you.
When she finally pulled away, she was nearly begging him. "Stay with me." And when you saw the look on his face, you knew that she got to him.
"Always," he whispered.
Katniss nodded, and then she pulled him up and you were running out. It was snowing when you got outside, a thin layer covering the ground.
"I know where we are!" Cressida shouted, turning back to you. "I know a place. Up those stairs!"
You followed her, running up the stairs and passing a portrait of Finnick on the way, the words WANTED written on it in bold. There were likely similar ones all around the city. Your theory was proven correct when you ran past another post, this time with your own face.
Cressida ran forward to some dress shop, banging on the door. It almost looked like it was empty until you saw someone's figure behind the pixelated glass.
A woman opened the door and you all immediately ran inside, Cressida exclaiming, "Shut the door, shut the door!"
Katniss immediately raised her bow at the woman, drawing an arrow until Cressida assured her it was okay. While Finnick and Gale went to secure the perimeter, you stayed and examined the woman, getting a good look at her.
She had a tiger pattern tatted, framing her face and going down all the way to her neck, with whiskers. The orange, furry coat she wore completed her appearance. She looked familiar; you just couldn't pinpoint from where.
Cressida walked up to her. "Tigris, do you remember me? I'm with Plutarch's underground." Tigris just stared at her blankly. "We need your help."
In the background, someone shouted that it was clear. You watched as Tigris' eyes then locked on you. She didn't stare long before she acquiesced, leading you to another part of the shop. The boys met you on your way there.
She lifted a quilt off the ground, revealing a hidden trap door. It opened to a flight of stairs, and then the puzzle pieces suddenly clicked.
"I- I know you," you said. "You were a stylist in the Games."
She paused, removing her hood. "Until Snow decided I wasn't pretty enough anymore." Her hands ended up on her hips.
Pretty enough. That was all shades of ironic to you. How could such an ugly man decide what was beautiful?
Your mouth moved on its own accord. "We're here to kill him."
Tigris was impassive, but if you looked hard enough, you could see the slight curve of her lips.
You went down the stairs. She closed the door once the last of you was down. You were cemented to your spot by the stairs, listening to the sound of Pollux cry. His brother was dead.
The Leegs. Jackson. Castor. Messalla. Even Finnick almost died, and you don't know what you would've done if that happened, if he died due to decisions that you made.
This was your fault. This wasn't a game, but you played it like one. Now everyone that was dead was dead because of you.
Cressida said something about Gale needing stitches, along with Finnick. Slowly, you turned around, swallowing. This is my fault.
The words came tumbling out of your mouth. "I made it up." All eyes went to you. No take-backs now. "Everything." Your voice cracked. "There- there is no special mission from Coin, it's just- it was just my plan." Don't cry, Y/N. Don't cry. You don't deserve to cry. "Everyone that's dead is dead because of me—I lied."
"We know," Cressida said. "We all knew."
Your brows knitted together. They knew? "Wh- the soldiers from 13?"
"They did, too." They knew. "Do you really believe that Jackson thought you had orders from Coin?" Her voice wasn't accusatory, nor was it intended to be hurtful. It was genuine. She looked down. "She trusted Boggs and he clearly wanted you to go on."
But why? Why did Boggs trust you? Why did she lie for you, and why did any of them go with your plan?
"We had your back, Y/N." Your eyes darted to the new voice, meeting Finnick's blue eyes from across the room. His voice was soft, just as soft as it was earlier before the mutts came. "Always have. Always will."
Tears came to your eyes. Don't cry, Y/N. You sniffled. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I-" you cut yourself off. Don't cry, Y/N. You turned to Pollux. "I'm so sorry, Pollux. I'm so sorry."
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry-
"Glimmer. Marvel. Mags." You looked to the side, seeing Peeta with his eyes trained on the ground, reciting, "Clove. Wiress. Rue." He looked up at you. "Bay." Your breath hitched. Bay. "What do all those deaths mean?"
You couldn't answer—because you didn't know. That was a question you'd been asking yourself since you were thrown into the arena at 15.
"They mean that our lives were never ours," Peeta said. "There was no real life, because we didn't have any choice. Our lives... belong to Snow, and our deaths do, too."
Finnick's voice echoed in your head, words playing in your head that you had thought about a thousand times before. We will never be free, Y/N.
"But if you kill him—if you end all of this... all those deaths, they mean something."
Your will was broken, a tear falling down your cheek against all your best restraint. Meaning. Every death since you were reaped for The Hunger Games and every death that came before it, they could all have meaning.
"Cinna. Boggs. Castor. Jackson. They chose this."
Katniss spoke up from beside you. "They chose you, Y/N." You turned to her, seeing the silent words that lied in her eyes. She nodded, as if confirming it for you. She was giving it to you.
Snow's death. It was yours.
So it was decided. You would kill President Snow. You would put an end to this, and you would give those deaths meaning.
No matter what, even if it killed you. That didn't matter.
Your death would have meaning, too.
You were dressing Finnick's wound, wincing every time he hissed like you could feel the pain yourself. He didn't deny you when you sat next to him, a first aid kit in your hands.
You stitched him up like it was muscle memory, which it was. Your father taught you. I'm not always gonna be here, Y/N, he said, so there are some things I need to teach you so you can take of yourself. And your mother.
And you did. You took care of yourself and her for six years. Then you took care of yourself out in the wilderness in The Games, going as far as to kill people just to stay alive. When you got out, you continued to care of your mother, even as she refused to look at you. You sold your body and gave up your innocence so she would stay safe; you gave her your home.
Now where was she? She was dead.
But Finnick wasn't. He was still alive. He could've died right before your eyes, but he didn't. You couldn't let him die.
Your mother, she died without the two of you ever reconciling. You refused to let that be the case for you and Finnick. All of the grief and trauma between the two of you, it would be resolved. It had to be. Or, at least, it'd be as resolved as could be possible.
Maybe there was too much too broken to be fixed. Maybe Finnick Odair and Y/N Y/L/N were doomed from the start.
But at least you had this. You had goodbye.
All of a sudden, he spoke up. "The plan was always to pull you out." You stopped what you were doing, your hands freezing in their place. "You were never supposed to be in The Games, Y/N. The Reaping was rigged."
"What?" Shock laced through your voice.
"You were supposed to stay in 4," he told you. "You were supposed to stay home, and then people from 13 would come pick you up." A breathless chuckle left him, one that you were sure hurt his ribs. "You were never supposed to volunteer."
Memories flooded your head.
Why would you do that?
Finn-
Why would you volunteer?
You intook a sharp breath, realization hitting you like a truck. The hiding away at the gala, talking to Plutarch, the way he wasn't surprised when the Quell was announced, the sheer anger he had when you volunteered. And then the insistence that you would be fine, that you were both gonna make it out of that arena.
Except you didn't.
"So that plan changed. Johanna was supposed to cut your tracker, but she didn't get the chance. Then Katniss shot the force field, and I-" his voice cracked, "I wanted to find you, but I couldn't move."
Stop. "Finnick-"
"I was gonna tell you." He turned around, facing you. "After The Games, I was gonna tell you that I loved you. But then they had you and I couldn't. But I do, Y/N." He grabbed onto your cheeks, and you let him. His eyes begged you to believe him. "I love you."
A shaky breath left you, the words reverberating through your head. I love you.
He loved you.
And this time, you believed him.
You rested your forehead against his. "God, I-" say it. "I love you, too."
In a heartbeat, Finnick's lips collided with yours. You didn't even have to think about before you kissed him back, your lips moving together in unison, dancing to the song you'd danced to for years. You realized this was your first time kissing him since the Quell, and you realized just how much you missed this.
Whenever Finnick kissed you, you felt loved, even if you knew he didn't love you.
Except this time, you knew he did.
When you pulled away, you couldn't help the smile that came across your face. When you opened your eyes, you saw that his face was no different.
This. This was what home felt like.
Even if you might not feel it again, it was nice to visit just one last time.
"When, um," you paused, running a hand through his hair. God, I missed this. "When all this is over, we can talk about everything."
His grin got wider when you thought that wasn't possible. "Okay. I can wait—I'd do anything for you." Your smile got a little hollow. I hope you let me die.
You were lying. You knew you wouldn't be here to talk about everything—you'd be dead by then. But you wanted to just have this, this one last moment. You wanted one last moment with Finnick, doing what the two of you did best. Pretending.
So you pretended everything was okay, and you made promises you couldn't keep.
"I love you, Y/N Y/L/N."
You smiled. "I love you, Finnick Odair." You'd love him to the end of time. You loved him to death. Soon, he'd realize that.
additional a/n: ru happy i didn't kill finnick?! it was very tempting, guys, but i had this planned out from the beginning. ALSO, bc i am skeptical that every tag on this taglist works, here is an additional taglist of everyone new that has asked to be on it.
Warnings: Tension between the reader, Sansa and Daenerys. Theon is back. Oberyn is protective of Sansa. Fluff. Rob is mentioned. Still needs to be edited.
Word count: 1.1K
Masterlist
Series list
Reader’s POV
“My love, are you alright?”
I look to my right to see Oberyn waiting for me, he watches as I give a little kiss on Killer’s nose.
“I would be lying if I said I was fine, war is coming. Between the living and dead. Many lives will be lost but I will try to save them.”
“I know you will, my love, but remember you must also look after yourself. I can’t lose you.”
“Oberyn, you won’t lose me.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Oberyn had leaned in and placed his lips on my forehead, as I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. He can’t lose me, but I can’t lose him either, and if it came down to it, I would want him to live instead of me.
-----
Sansa and I decided to talk to Daenerys alone, if we wanted to survive and win this war we could not be against one another.
“Please join us Daenerys, we have much to talk about.”
“Thank you, Goddess.”
“Please, just call me Y/n”
“I’m going to be straightforward with you, I know you want the iron Throne, but so do I, Daenerys.”
Daenerys features had hardened before she said “All my life, I’ve known one goal. The Iron Throne. Taking it back from the people who destroyed my family, and almost destroyed yours. My war was against them. Until I met Jon…”
Before she could say anything else I interrupted, “I’m sorry Daenerys but Jon is not in love with you, he does care for you the way he cares about me.”
She didn’t know who Jon was, and even if she did, she would still love him, but Jon would never fall for his aunt. He was raised as a Stark, not a Targaryen. I’m sure he would have if I hadn’t told him, she was quite beautiful.
“I only say this as I do not wish you to get your feelings hurt. Jon was in love once, and I do not think he will love again for a while.”
“I understand, but with him or not, the iron Thorne is my birthright”
“It once was, but not anymore. I have seen the destruction, from above, Daenerys you would make a good queen but not right now. You are greedy for power, and you are angry. A true queen wants justice and peace and does not allow anger to cloud her judgment. You had that once, but you no longer have it. I’m sure one day you will again but for now the iron Throne will be mine.”
“I can’t allow that Y/n”
“Were you going to leave Winterfell alone? Or were you going to rule over us too?” Sansa asked.
We got our answer, and she stayed silent.
“You do not want me as your enemy Daenerys, you and I would be so powerful if we were allies or even friends. Before you make your decision consider this, you could be my right hand. No one would be successful against the two of us. And when I see fit that you are ready to rule, I will make you the Queen of the seven kingdoms.”
Before she could say anything, the three of us were interrupted by a knock.
-----
Sansa and I were walking side by side as Daenerys was in front of us. We were walking towards the hall as people had arrived to fight with and for us. As we were walking, we could hear a familiar voice. I held onto Sansa’s hand, as soon as we saw him.
Theon look towards Sansa then to me and Daenerys, “My Queens”
“Your sister?”
“She only has a few ships, and she couldn’t sail them here. So, she’s sailing to the Iron Islands instead to take them back in both of your names.”
I step forward and ask, “But why are you not with her, Theon?” I said with a knowing smile as he glanced at Sansa.
“I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa…”
“If you’ll have me.”
Sansa embraced Theon in her arms, holding him close to her. And I just knew she wasn’t going to let him go this time.
-----
“Theon” I called out to him.
“Y/n… I’m sorry I..”
“I know Theon, Sansa has told me everything. It’s ok, you are safe now. I missed you, little brother.” I said as tears fell on my cheeks.
His arms were suddenly wrapped around me.
“I miss you too.”
“But not as much as Sansa, right?” I said with a cheeky smile, as I wiped the tears away.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means Theon.”
Before he can say anything, I say seriously “You need to tell her how you feel before the war begins, otherwise you will regret not doing it, if anything were to happen, not that I would let it happen. But you need to tell her. Both of you deserve a happy ending.”
“I don’t deserve a happy ending Y/n, if I fought harder for Rob… then maybe, but I was too weak…”
“Then not for you but for her, Theon. You are a good man, and you are brave, and you are strong, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be here fighting for us, fighting for her.”
“Do you love her Theon? And truly love her, not like those girls you used to sleep with. One after the other.”
“I do, she was all I could think about. I only want her, I want to love and protect her until my last breath. I would never hurt her Y/n.”
“Then tell her Theon!”
“I will!”
“Tell her at the feast tonight.”
“Ok I’m doing this, I should go find her…”
Before he could leave, I grabbed his arm to turn him around, “and Theon. I’m proud of you.”
I kissed him on the cheek before walking away.
-----
Oberyn and I were watching silently as Theon was talking to Sansa, they were both eating and talking to each other. I could tell that he was nervous, his knee kept on bouncing under the table. And then suddenly the two of them leave the table.
“Should we follow them, my love?”
In the past few weeks, Oberyn and Sansa have gotten closer. He saw her as a little sister, she was always with us wanting to know more about his girls and Dorne.
“Look at you getting all protective.”
“Well, she is going to be my sister-in-law soon, so I’m allowed to be, my Goddess.”
I let out a little laugh and say, “Well I guess you are right for once, my prince.”
I place a gentle kiss on his lips. “We both know I am always right my love.”
I roll my eyes and before I can say anything, he says “You sure we can’t follow them??”
Synopsis: The old Queen Mother of Kerch's former royal family is offering a hefty reward to whoever returns her rumored-to-be-alive granddaughter to her. Kaz being Kaz hears about the reward and hatches an elaborate plot involving a fake princess. Reader is a lowly amnesiac orphan and escaped indenture who flees to Ketterdam where she gets tangled in Kaz Brekker's plot.
A/N: Hi folks!! I hope you've all been good--it's been a busy time for me but I'm so excited to be posting part 2! Just a reminder to everyone that the story is inspired by the movie and musical Anastasia. Once again, I hope it makes sense lmao
Warnings: mentions of sickness, death, drowning, violence, the Kerch indenture system. Me rambling. pls let me know if I've missed anything
Word count: 2901
.........
The dreams were worse tonight.
The once gentle, whispering voices turned to screams. Someone was calling for you, crying into the pitch black night with a painful tremor in their voice. You wanted to call back but couldn't find the strength. Honestly, when have you ever had that kind of strength? You're not brave, not like you should be. There were times at the big house where you would get so angry with the other servants, angry enough that you felt ready enough to cuss them out, yet you never did. You were too afraid of the consequences that stepping out of line would yield.
Your nightly visions only further prove your cowardice. In the dark of your nightmare, there was no hope, and you woke up shaking and nauseated.
The streets below the window of your room were still populated despite the late hours. It was the end of the week, though, and you figured people were using the night to let loose. The lantern beside your bed had long burned out, and you rummaged in your trunk for the pair of shiny candlesticks and matches you had stolen from Devisser's home--the wax had almost all burned out but there were still the holders. The brass would fetch enough money for you to survive maybe two weeks. It was not enough, though. Nothing was ever enough. You could have stolen his wife's entire collection of jewelry and you still wouldn't be able to get a ticket out of Kerch. No amount of money could strike your name from the lost indentures list.
There was always that Brekker that the shopkeeper had steered you towards. If he could do what she said and help you get to Ravka then you should find him as soon as possible. You had nearly gone to see him several times in the last few days, but you always chickened out. You would head over to the Crow Club with every intention of meeting Brekker, and yet, you could never bring yourself to go inside.
You were about to light one of the candles but instead you packed them away and pulled your day clothes from your trunk. You probably looked disheveled as you hit the streets, but not less composed than most of the people around you. A man stumbled past you, drunk, before he leaned into a post and emptied his guts into the street. The barrel really was a lovely place. You should have come sooner.
You pulled up the collar of your jacket to protect yourself from the wind that seemed to pick up the closer you got to the Crow Club. People were milling about the streets, their chatter and whispers carrying through the crisp air. What kind of secrets did they share? And how long would it take before their secrets infected the entirety of the barrel? In the short time you had been here it seemed you had heard the phrases "I heard it from" and "I assure you it is true" a thousand times. Everyone was a gossip, which made everyone dangerous. All it would take for you to be found by Devisser or the stadwatch was a rumour about your origins. Speculation about you might lead to the uncovering of your deserted indenture or people might think you were a runaway Grisha. The last thing you needed was for people to think you were valuable or worth notice. You were just another face in the crowd; your only goal was to go to Os Kervo.
The club was bustling with people as you arrived. You stood back a bit, biting at the inside of your cheek. For a moment you debated whether you should just go home, but you couldn't seem to make up your mind. You could only wait. As for what you were waiting for, you had no idea. A sign from the saints, maybe? Anything at all that would tell you to trust the club and the Brekker inside of it.
A young man stood against the building, staring directly at you as you eyed the crow sign above the door; it swung in the breeze, as though it was about to take flight. The man had been outside before when you passed by, watching you closely then as he was now. He called out to you.
"Have you finally plucked up the courage to come inside this evening?"
Your stare snapped down to him. He palmed a pair of pistols at his waist, but there was no threat in the action. It looked like more of a comfort or a habit that he had. He had never interacted with you before, just stood watch.
"I don't know," you answered, truth in your words. You stepped closer to the building, closer to the man. "I was thinking about it."
"Well, you look cold, perhaps you should think about it inside," he smiled.
A short scoff escaped you and you moved to stand before him. "If I entered the club I wouldn't need to think about entering the club."
"Sounds logical to me." He tilted his head at you. "What are you afraid of?"
You paused. There was nothing innately scary about the club. You weren't a gambler nor were you a drinker, so you wouldn't be trapped in a cycle of either if you decided to go inside. What you were doubting was the person you were supposed to see. If you were to believe the shopkeeper, this Brekker could be the key to your future. He could help you attain your lifelong dream of finding your family in Os Kervo. It was the idea that you might finally be getting what you wanted that made your stomach turn to lead.
"I just… I have to ask a big favour of someone I've never even met and I don't know how they'll react," you decided to tell him. It was close enough to the truth, and he considered what you said.
"There's no use in worrying over it, then," he said. "It sounds like something you just have to do."
His words were encouraging, and you smiled at him.
"If I may, who are you asking a favour of?"
"Someone called Brekker."
His mouth desperately wanted to curve into a smirk and you could tell that he was doing all he could to stifle a laugh. This reaction made your fear return, and you frowned up at him. He noticed your pointed look and managed to clear his throat.
"What's wrong with Brekker?" You questioned.
"Nothing at all. It's just funny to me that you're so afraid of seeing Kaz."
"You know him?"
"Know him? We're great friends. You're gonna love the man." He leaned towards you, raising a brow. "In fact, why don't you and I go inside and meet him right now."
His tone was playful with a hint of deceit, but you could tell he was not entirely dishonest. If you had to go out on a limb you would say that he was not trying to lead you astray.
You nodded, and he grinned, leading you inside.
……….
The breeze caught the curtains in Kaz's office. He had been doing the books when Inej came in, giving him a report of the whispers on the street. She was still there, explaining to him about an actor that Pekka Rollins was training to be the missing princess. Apparently the actor was very convincing, and--to add insult to injury--she had been one of the ones Kaz auditioned and ultimately turned away. But if he rejected her it must have been for a good reason. Still, the thought of Pekka fooling the old lady and getting the reward put a sour taste in Kaz's mouth. That reward was his. She was his pigeon.
Inej was interrupted by the door squeaking open, making a wedge of space just big enough that Jesper poked his head in.
Kaz spat his name, glaring daggers into his friend's face. "What could possibly be important enough for you to be here? I told you to watch the door."
"I was watching the door," Jesper replied, "when I came across someone who wanted to meet with you."
"Tell them I'm not seeing anyone right now," he dismissed, turning back to Inej. He knew he was being harsh, but the information he had just been given put him in a foul mood. He would likely seethe for the rest of the night, snapping at anyone who bothered him.
"Oh, you'll want to see them, I can promise you that." Jesper opened the door, gesturing for someone to come in with a "here we are, my dear."
You stepped past the threshold and immediately Kaz felt his anger diminish. After waiting for nearly a week since that day in the shop, you had made your way to him. There was apprehension in the muscles of your shoulders as you took in the room. Your eyes fell on him and he stared back, studying your features properly for the first time. There was something uncanny about your face, and you certainly looked more like the missing princess than everyone else he had seen for the job. You murmured a quick introduction, eyes darting to Inej but quickly falling back to him as you told them your name and began to explain why you were here.
"I have an issue I was told could be solved by a man named Brekker. I assume that's you." You tilted your chin at him, uneasiness in your stance. It didn’t take a genius to tell that you were nervous.
"You assume correctly, Miss Vos." He motioned for you to sit in the armchair before his desk, and he stepped behind the surface. Jesper and Inej stood by the wall, and you glanced over your shoulder at them before meeting Kaz's waiting stare. "Your issue?"
"I need to go to Ravka, but I don't have the money for travel papers. Also… it's not exactly legal for me to leave the country."
He half expected you to lie, to say something other than what he had overheard in Eugenia's shop, but you didn't. You either trusted him enough to be honest--which didn't seem likely judging from the way you sat with your spine as rigid as a marble post--or you had no other choice but to be frank with him. It was probably the latter.
He looked down at you, responding smoothly, "Normally I wouldn't be able to help you with something like that, but as luck would have it, I can obtain the proper documentation."
Your shoulders relaxed a bit, your face softening. But you had barely any time for ease as he spoke again.
"However, my offer is conditional," he said, leaning into the desk. You swallowed, brows pulling together as you looked up at him. "Have you heard the rumours of a missing princess?"
You gave a quick nod.
"And have you heard of the Grand Duchess Marien?"
"I know the name."
"Good. Then perhaps you'll know that the Duchess is the mother of the late king," he explained. "She's been searching for any leads on the missing princess."
"I don't see the relevance of this."
"I can help you get to Ravka, but only if you help me by posing as the princess."
You scoffed. "That would never work."
"Why not?"
"I-I was brought up in servants’ quarters, not a palace--I wouldn't even know where to start if I were to pretend to be a princess."
"That's where we come in," he said, nodding to Jesper and Inej. You looked at them, and he kept on, saying, "We can teach you everything you'll need to know."
"This is ridiculous. I'll find my own way," you huffed, moving to stand. Kaz was quick to react, his cane blocking your path to the door.
"Sit down," he ordered. Your glare, piercing as it was, could not rival his. The sight of yours did nothing to intimidate him, whereas--after a long, unblinking moment--his had the required effect. You took a seat.
Kaz pulled a book out of his desk drawer, flipping to a dog-eared page. He turned it around, motioning for you to look. A portrait of the royal family peered up at you, and you stared at it with pursed lips.
"The princess was six years old here, and though the resemblance is not exact, it is there," he explained, pointing at the youngest girl in the image. She stood beside a little boy, hands folded atop his shoulder. You stared between them for a moment. When you looked up at Kaz he swore he saw a glint of sorrow in your eyes. You recovered in a split second, shaking your head.
"No way." You crossed your arms, casting an irate stare at Kaz. "I'm an orphan. I don't have a family. I know for certain that I don't because if I did I would remember them--especially if they were a royal family."
There was a bite to your voice, a bitter sting of something which seemed to pain you. It was hopelessness that marred your words, and yet a lack of hope should have led to despair or exhaustion, not bitterness. Perhaps you hadn't lost hope. Perhaps it was the slim possibility of hope he presented that made you recoil. He could work with that.
Kaz sat down in his chair, levelling with you in the aim of coaxing information out of you. He wasn't trustworthy enough when he stood over his desk. If he wanted you to be vulnerable, he had to show vulnerability, and sitting would do that. He even briefly considered sending Jesper and Inej away but figured you seemed comfortable enough already with them in the room. They weren't as imposing as him, he supposed.
"What do you remember?" He asked, trying to be gentle with his words. You stared at the wall over Kaz's shoulder at a painting of the harbour. He saw Jesper start to fidget where he stood and even Inej looked slightly disinterested, but once you started to speak they listened carefully.
"I was ten or so when I was pulled from the True Sea. A group of fishermen found me floating on a barrel, said I probably jumped from a slaver ship. I was barely breathing, at least that's what they told me. They wrapped me in blankets, gave me food and a name; I still can't remember what my old one was."
You picked a bit of fluff on your pant leg, averting your stare even further. Your words were ghostly, devoid of all feeling like you had rehearsed them your entire life, and yet there was a faint tremor to your voice. How curious.
"When we got to shore they handed me over to their boss, a mercher named Devisser. I worked in his second home on the southern shore until a few weeks ago. Almost all of my memories were made in the kitchens of that place; I don't remember anything before the fishing boat." You met his eyes again, folding your hands in your lap, a neat little pile of rough knuckles and calluses, nothing fit for a princess. "Look, all I want is passage to Os Kervo. I don't even need to be taken all the way there, just as long as you get me to Ravka."
"And we can help you," Kaz insisted. "If you pretend to be the princess, learn the etiquette, the history, you can get to Ravka in mere months."
"I don't want to lie to make my way in the world."
"But if you think about it, It's not really lying," Jesper jumped in then, and Kaz held his breath. If he ruined this for them… "For all any of us know, you could really be the princess. I mean, you look like her, right? Plus, you've got family in Os Kervo, she's got family in Os Kervo."
If it weren't for the softening in your brow–your thoughts rolling through your mind with Jesper's words–Kaz would have put a stop to his friend. But, as it was, you seemed to be coming around to the idea. Jesper was playing on your lack of childhood memory in order to alleviate your guilt about tricking an old woman, and Kaz might have commended him for it if he really wanted to.
"We can show you to the old bat; if she says you aren't her granddaughter then there's no harm, no foul." Jesper smirked at you, "Plus, you'll have made it to Os Kervo where you can look for your real family."
You stared between the three of them, perhaps measuring the degree of sincerity in each of their eyes. In a rare attempt to be like Jesper, Kaz let his expression fall, making his face friendlier–or, at the very least, neutral. When you looked at him he looked back with eager eyes. They ought to do the trick.
"Are you in?" He asked.
"Why not?" You sighed, folding your arms. "If it gets me to Os Kervo…"
Jesper was grinning behind you, Inej had a small smile, and Kaz felt his mouth nearly imitate them. All the anger he had ten minutes ago had melted away. Pekka Rollins was far from his mind. The only thing that mattered now was making this amnesiac orphan into a princess.
..........
A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the upcoming parts of this series please comment on this part or send me an ask. And if you want to request a fic, please feel free to send in an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)
