masterlist

Hunger Games

Harry Potter

Stranger Things

after the battle

masterlist

Steve Harrington X (Female) Reader

after the battle against the demogorgons in hawkins, steve and the reader return to their home. the reader is hiding a secret though...she is hurt, bad. reader is also jim hoppers daughter. enjoy!!

The evening air felt heavy, burdened by exhaustion and the weight of what they had just survived. y/n leaned back in her seat, staring absently through the window as the blurry lights of Hawkins flickered by. She caught a glimpse of her reflection, the dark, curly hair framing her face, her soft blue eyes exhausted yet resolute. Subconsciously, she rubbed the fabric of her shirt, a small semblance of grounding comfort amidst the chaos. 

“So, um, we definitely kicked some demogorgon ass tonight, huh?” Steve broke the silence, his voice light but tinged with concern. He kept a firm hand on the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

y/n forced a small smile, “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But honestly, I didn’t think it would be that intense.”

“Intense? Try terrifying,” Steve looked at her quickly before refocusing on the road. “I thought you were a goner when that thing lunged at you.”

“I mean, I handled it,” she shrugged, trying to deflect from the moment, though a flash of pain shot through her thigh. She winced instinctively, biting her lip.

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve’s protective instincts kicked in immediately, his voice lowering in intensity. “What was that?”

“Nothing! Just… cramped up,” she said quickly, dismissively. The last thing she wanted was to worry him even more.

“y/n, don’t lie to me. Seriously. This isn’t like one of those times when you just need a snack. You look pale.” 

“I’m just tired, Steve. We saved a lot of people tonight. I’m just... I don’t want to think about it right now.”

Steve turned the car into their driveway, the crunch of gravel beneath the tires signaling that they were home. “No, no, no. Not thinking about it isn’t going to work. You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

He parked the car, and before she had a chance to protest, he was already out and rushing around the vehicle to her side. Opening the door and looking down at her, he put a hand on her shoulder, his brow furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Steve, I’m really fine—”

“y/n, what’s wrong? Please tell me.” His urgency was palpable.

In that moment, she met his gaze. The warmth in his brown eyes made her stomach twist. “I… I got hurt during the fight. A scratch, nothing major. It’s fine, really,” she attempted to brush it off again.

“y/n!” Now his voice was a mixture of fear and anger. “What do you mean ‘nothing major’? You’re supposed to tell me these things!”

“I didn’t think it mattered. It wasn’t that bad!”

“Let me see,” he said, taking a step back, his arms crossed. He wasn’t angry at her; he was worried. 

“I don’t want to—”

“y/n,” he insisted, his tone softer but firm. “I can’t help if you don’t let me.”

With a resigned sigh, y/n nodded and stood as Steve scanned her thigh. She felt a sharp gasp escape her lips as she moved, and he quickly scooped her up into his arms, carrying her over the threshold before they even said another word. 

“Steve, I can walk—”

“Nope,” he interrupted, concern etched in every line of his face. “You didn’t tell me you were hurt, so I’m taking care of it. Deal with it.”

With a playful roll of her eyes, she fell silent, allowing him to carry her to the bathroom. He gently placed her on the rug, his expression shifting to an overwhelming mix of determination and concern. “Okay, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

She felt a blush creep across her cheeks. “You’re such a dork sometimes, you know that?” 

“And yet here we are, with me being responsible and you scaring the hell out of me,” he shot back, already rummaging through their poorly organized cabinet filled with expiring medical supplies. “You’re lucky I’m a pro at this from all those times we’ve had to patch each other up.”

“Funny how that happens in Hawkins. Also, I’m not lucky; I just have you,” y/n teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“You should be thanking your lucky stars,” he commented with a small smirk while tossing a roll of gauze on the counter. “But now, shorts off, y/n.”

“You could make this sound a little less awkward,” she laughed lightly before hesitating, the tension weighing heavily around them. “It’s just a scrape, Steve.”

“I’m not taking ‘it’s just a scrape’ as the final word. You need stitches.” His face softened, a hint of worry still in his eyes.

y/n eventually relented, gripping the edge of her shorts and slowly slipping them off while Steve turned his back, feigning decency. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath.

“You’re the one who waited until after almost getting killed to tell me,” he shot back, turning around again. His breath punched from his lungs at the sight of her injury. The gash was deep, a stark contrast against her skin, and fresh blood was seeping through the makeshift bandage she had applied earlier in a rush.

“y/n… that looks bad,” Steve said, his voice softening with concern. “You need to go to the hospital.” 

“No,” she shook her head vehemently. “We can do it here. It honestly doesn’t hurt that much.”

“Seriously, I can’t just let you bleed out. We’ll fix it ourselves, but I think you need professional help.” 

“Steve, no. Just trust me. You can handle this, okay? You know the ins and outs better than some nurse at a hospital.” 

He let out a heavy sigh, glancing at the gash again. “Fine.” He moved closer, gently grabbing her waist and lifting her carefully to the countertop, where she sat awkwardly, both vulnerable and grateful. 

“I can do it myself, you know,” she said, trying to retain some semblance of independence. 

“I know you can. But you’re in pain, and I want to help.” 

As he began cleaning the cut, she flinched, tears pooling at the corners of her blue eyes. “Damn, that stings…”

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured softly, whispering words of apology as he worked methodically. “You’re doing great. Just breathe; I’m right here.” 

He shifted to grab the needle and thread, explaining what he was doing. “I’ll be quick, just a couple of stitches, and then we can get you comfortable”

She nodded weakly, still biting her lip to hold back the tears. “I trust you, Steve.”

“Alright, love,” he said, almost distractedly, focusing intently as the needle pierced her skin. The rhythmic process of stitching helped him dispel the tension building in his chest. 

“I promise you, y/n,” he added, locking eyes with her in an attempt to keep her grounded, “I’ll always protect you. Even if it means telling you what you don’t want to hear.” 

“Just don’t freak out next time, okay?” she managed to joke lightly through the pain.

“Deal,” he replied with a small chuckle, though the worry never left his face. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he finished, a prideful breath escaping him.

“See? Not so bad,” he said gently, cleaning up the area around her. “You did great!”

“If I were doing it myself, I might have had just two accidents instead of one,” she quipped back, allowing a small grin to play on her lips. 

“Exactly. Now we both need to shower before we collapse into bed,” he instructed, lifting her gently off the counter. 

Once in the shower, they took turns helping each other wash away the grime of the day—the blood and sweat and tears. The steam wrapped around them like a comforting embrace as y/n leaned against the shower wall, her heart racing both from the fight and from being this intimately close to Steve.

“I can’t believe we didn’t end up as demogorgon snacks,” y/n mused, the warmth of the water soothing her nerves. 

“Thanks to my supreme battling skills,” Steve said dramatically, flexing his biceps like they were nothing but a show.

She couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension ease between them. “Yeah, and my incredible stealth mode. You know, moving stealthily while almost screaming.”

He leaned in with a smirk, “I’ll give you that, you’re the best at that. But you’re also the best at worrying me.”

“Maybe we both worry each other a little too much,” she admitted softly, brushing her wet hair back from her forehead. 

“Not a chance. I’m the king of worry,” he replied, his brow furrowing again. “And you know what? I’ll take it. Because I’ll always be here.”

After rinsing off completely, they wrapped towels around themselves and walked back to the bedroom, y/n leaning heavily against Steve for support. 

As he laid her down gently onto the bed, she sighed deeply, pulling the covers up around her. “You’re so sweet.”

“Just trying to do the right thing,” he replied quietly, climbing in beside her.

They cuddled close, the day’s events still weighing heavily on their minds but comforted by each other’s presence. Everything felt cozy and safe until y/n's breathing began to slow. Just as he was about to drift off himself, y/n suddenly twitched and sat up, screaming as the world around her shifted into the terrifying scenes from earlier that night.

“y/n!” Steve’s voice was immediate, pulling her into him as she sobbed uncontrollably. He cradled her in his lap carefully, his heart racing. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s me. You’re safe.”

“Steve! The demodogs… they were everywhere,” she cried, the panic still running through her body as the memories flashed vividly before her. “I couldn’t breathe; it felt real!”

“I know. I know.” He hushed her softly, running his fingers through her hair. “It’s over. You got through it. We beat them, remember?”

Tears streamed down her face as the adrenaline of the nightmare lingered. “I kept thinking about how I should have said something sooner, but...” 

“Shh, none of that matters right now. You’re safe here; I won’t let anything happen to you—ever.” Steve squeezed her gently, a firm promise in his voice.

Finally calming down, she looked up at him, her heart slowing while their eyes locked. “I’m really scared, Steve.”

“Let’s go somewhere else.” He started to shift, careful of her leg. “I can’t let you go through this alone.”

He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her in a protective hold that felt like a shield against the chaos. Moving slowly, they made their way out to the living room, where he settled them onto the couch and wrapped them both in a blanket.

“Alright, my lap is the best spot,” he said, helping her into a comfortable position. “You’re safe here. I promise I won’t let them get to you again.”

y/n nodded as they relaxed into the cushions. She had her face nestled into his shoulder, trying to recapture the feeling of calm. Steve played with her hair softly, humming a tune as she closed her eyes, allowing tranquility to envelop them like the blanket. Their laughter danced in the air, momentarily replacing the tension from earlier.

Suddenly, the phone rang, ringing into the stillness of the night, causing them both to jump. “Who would call us this late?” Steve asked, furrowing his brow as he pulled back from her slightly.

“I don’t know; it’s probably just one of the gang,” y/n said, still slightly shaken.

Steve let her go gently and stood up, trying to shake off the nervousness from her startling yelp. “Stay here. I’ll check.”

As he grabbed the phone, he turned to her for a moment, reading the concern still etched on her face. “It’s probably just a prank. Don’t worry.”

He answered it with a curious, “Hopper? Is that you?”

“Steve,” Jim Hopper's gruff voice exclaimed on the other end. “How are you guys holding up?”

“Not great,” Steve admitted, glancing back at y/n, whose eyes were wide with curiosity. “Actually, kinda rough. y/n got hurt tonight.”

“Is she alright? What happened?” Hopper's voice shifted immediately from the usual banter to concern.

“She… she didn’t tell anyone and I had to fix her up. It wasn’t pretty, but she’s okay now,” he reassured, feeling a surge of protectiveness swell inside him again. “But, like, she might need to see a doctor.”

There was a brief silence before Hopper's voice carried through the phone again. “Thank you for taking care of her, Steve. Just make sure she’s really okay,” he added, his tone stern but grateful. “I mean it.”

“Always, Chief. I promise,” Steve said, glancing at y/n, whose expression had turned serious as she strained to hear her father’s voice.

“Good luck getting some sleep, okay?” Hopper warned. “You both deserve the rest after tonight.”

“Thanks, Hopper,” Steve replied before he hung up the phone and returned to the couch, settling back down beside y/n, who looked curiously at him. 

“It was just your dad,” he said, relaxing into the cushions. “He was checking on you and freaked out because I told him you got hurt.” 

“What did he say?” She shifted closer, seeking comfort in their cocoon of warmth. 

“That he’s glad you’re okay and thanked me for patching you up,” he shrugged lightly. 

“What else?” y/n smiled softly. 

“Just wished us luck getting some sleep,” he smiled back, feeling lighter after the call. 

That eased the lingering tension in y/n’s body, and as they started talking softly about trivial things—everything from movie jokes to ridiculous childhood stories—the warmth of the couch, the sound of Steve’s laughter, and the weight of their earlier fears faded, allowing sleep to finally claim them. 

As y/n nestled deeper into his lap, she felt safe. She drifted off, secure in the fact that, no matter the darkness they faced, Steve would always be there to guide her back into the light.

escape from the past

masterlist

Coriolanus Snow x (Female) Reader

*coriolanus snow and all other hunger games characters mentioned are not owned or created by me*

reader and coriolanus snow are in a relationship. reader was a victor from district 12 and struggles with ptsd. contrary to the books and movies, reader and coryo are around 19 and haymitch is in his forties. coryo is also not president and panem has gotten through the revolution peacefully. enjoy!!

The gold and silvers of the Capital glimmered faintly through the curtains of y/n's apartment, the muffled sounds of the city droning outside like a distant echo of a life that felt both far away and impossibly close. y/n shifted slightly in her sleep, the soft curls of her hair framing her face as she nestled into the warmth beside Coriolanus Snow—Coryo, as she affectionately called him. He lay protectively beside her, his blonde hair contrasting with the darkness of the night, radiating a sense of peace. But turmoil flickered in y/n's dreams, drawing her down into memories she wished to forget.

Suddenly, she gasped awake, tears streaming down her face, panic clenching her chest like a vice. The weight of the past bore down on her, memories of the Hunger Games surfacing in a torrent, cruel and relentless. “Coryo…” she wheezed, struggling to catch her breath.

Instantly, a light flickered on inside Coryo's mind. He stirred, immediately sensing her distress. “y/n?” His voice was laced with concern as he propped himself up against the headboard, pulling her into his lap. He could feel her trembles against him, the way her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m here. Just breathe with me, okay?” He rubbed her back gently, his fingers tracing soothing circles that sought to ground her.

“I… I can’t,” y/n managed between sobs, her hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. “It was the Games… I was back there, Coryo. I thought I was…” The words choked in her throat, an overwhelming wave of fear crashing over her.

“No, no. Look at me, y/n.” Coryo cupped her face, guiding her to meet his steady gaze. “You’re safe. You’re with me, and you’re home.” He continued to rub her back, his voice trailing into quiet praises. “You’re so strong, my love. You’ve overcome so much. Just focus on me.”

y/n’s breaths began to steady, the warmth radiating from Coryo slowly easing the edges of her panic. “I don’t… I don’t want to go back there,” she admitted, her voice cracking, their foreheads almost touching. “I feel like it’ll always haunt me.”

Coryo’s heart ached for her. “It’s not going to chase you anymore, I promise. Let’s do something together to clear your mind. Would a shower help?” He suggested gently. y/n nodded, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, and they slipped out of bed together.

Once in the shower, warm water cascading over their bodies, Coryo stood behind her, delicately massaging shampoo into her curly hair. “You know,” he began, his voice playful despite the earlier tension, “I think I should have been a hairdresser. These curls are just begging for some TLC.”

y/n chuckled softly, the sound a little shaky but brightening the moment. “You’d certainly get a lot of clients with those hands, Coryo.” She turned slightly, splashes of water glistening on her skin. “And you’d also break a lot of hearts.”

“Just yours, I hope,” he replied with a grin, rinsing the shampoo from her hair. “And maybe Haymitch’s too—he could use some sprucing up.” y/n laughed genuinely at that, feeling the kiss of warmth enveloping her, almost clinging to the clean scent of citrus and herbs from their body wash.

After they dried off and dressed into comfortable attire, Coryo rummaged through his drawer, pulling out a soft, dark blue sweatshirt and holding it up for her. “Here, you’ll look so cute in this.”

“Cute?” she arched a brow, half teasing, half touched. “I could wear a potato sack and still be cute to you, Coryo.”

“Maybe I’d find the right potato sack,” he smirked, leading her to the couch, intertwining their fingers. He sat down and gently urged her into his lap. The blanket enveloped them like a cocoon as they sank into the comfort of each other.

“Still a bit shaken?” he asked, running his fingers through her hair, aware of the remnants of her earlier distress. She nodded, her eyes still a little red. “Do you want to talk about the dream?”

“Not really,” she sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. “Just a nightmare of being back in the arena. I saw everything… again.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head, squeezing her gently. “You’re not there now. You’re with me. We’re safe.”

After a moment of contemplation, Coryo asked, “Are you hungry? I could whip up some breakfast.” 

“Yes, please,” y/n agreed, her voice still laced with vulnerability, but she felt reassured by his steady presence.

“Right then, I’m your chef for today,” Coryo proclaimed with mock seriousness as he lifted her off his lap and carried her to the kitchen, placing her on the countertop. y/n laughed—enveloped in the blanket, she wrapped her arms around her knees and watched him as he went to work.

As he cracked the eggs into the skillet, he turned, an impish twinkle in his eye. “You know, I’ve heard there’s a high chance of getting the dish wrong if your chef doesn't get any quality time with his sous-chef,” he teased.

“Oh really?” y/n feigned surprise, her smile infectious. “How does one ensure that doesn’t happen?”

“With a kiss.” He stepped closer, settling against her thighs as his hands easily gripped her waist before leaning in for a kiss. Their lips touched softly, tenderness flowing between them. It was moments like these that made her feel both cherished and cherished, every careless worry slipping away for a moment. “You’re amazing,” he murmured against her lips, his tone shifting to sincere as he gazed into her eyes.

“I’m grateful to have you,” y/n replied quietly, her heart swelling. The heaviness of her fears felt lighter when she was engulfed in his warmth.

As the food finished cooking, Coryo expertly managed to sauté everything to perfection, and within moments, he had their plates ready. He dashed back to the living room, carefully balancing one in each hand, before making his way to y/n, who he once again scooped into his arms and returned her to the couch. 

“Dinner is served, milady,” he declared, pretending to bow as he set the plates down on the coffee table. y/n giggled, a sound that warmed him more than the eggs could.

“Wait, I forgot forks!” Coryo exclaimed suddenly, scrambling back to the kitchen. y/n remained on the couch, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders like a security blanket. 

But as soon as Coryo left, the familiar darkness encroached, the shadows of the past creeping back into y/n's mind. She felt her breath quicken again; the panic began to rise as images invaded her thoughts—the blood, the screams, and the haunting memories. The peace Coryo had provided felt like it was disappearing, the panic spikes becoming overwhelming.

By the time Coryo returned with the forks and knives, she was gasping again, staring wide-eyed at the utensils in his hands. Panic struck harder, wrapping around her throat like barbed wire. “No!” she cried, tears spilling as she looked at him, the connection fraying in the chaos of her mind. “Please, Coryo, no!”

His heart sank, understanding dawning as he dropped the utensils and rushed to her side. He placed his hands on her arms, grounding her, but she shrunk away, lost in fear. “y/n, focus on me! I’m here. Just take deep breaths, love.” But the words barely cut through her panic.

“I can’t breathe, Coryo!” y/n sobbed, her voice piercingly high, frantic and trembling as she pressed her hands against her own face.

“Stay with me,” he urged gently, the anxiety flooding his own heart. “I’m going to call Haymitch. He understands.” 

Desperate, he grabbed his phone and dialed, his voice steady as he spoke to their neighbor and mentor. “Hey, can you come over? y/n is… she’s having a hard time.”

Haymitch arrived quickly, finding y/n curled on the couch, her breaths quickening, and Coryo kneeling beside her, trying to offer whatever comfort he could. “What do I say?” Coryo whispered, concern coating his words.

“Just tell her she’s safe,” Haymitch instructed, kneeling before y/n. He locked eyes with her, his own experiences glimmering in his gaze. “Listen to my voice, y/n. You’re safe, you’re in your apartment with people who care about you. You’re not back there. You’re safe.”

Gradually, y/n’s frantic pulsing began to slow. “But what if it happens again?” she whimpered through her tears.

“Then we face it together,” Coryo promised. “You’re not alone—I’ll always be here, and so will Haymitch. We’ll get through this.”

Eventually, the tight cloud of panic began to lift, the shadows retreating as y/n focused on their words. Each breath became steadier. Haymitch shared his own stories of struggle, the weight of the Games amplifying their connection, and slowly, peace enveloped the room again.

When Haymitch left, Coryo lifted y/n into his lap once more. She melted against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her breath still uneven.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he reassured softly, stroking her hair as her heartbeat began to normalize. “We’ll work through this together, I promise.”

“Thank you for always being here for me,” she said, her voice small but sincere.

“Always, y/n,” he replied, kissing her temple, feeling the warmth of her body against his, and the soft rhythm of her breathing as they settled into the serene cocoon of each other’s arms, ready to face whatever came next, together.

potions homework

masterlist

Draco Malfoy x (Female) Reader

*draco malfoy and all other harry potter characters mentioned are not owned or created by me*

reader and draco malfoy are working on potions homework when something unexpected occurs. Enjoy!

In the heart of the Slytherin common room, shadows danced along the stone walls, flickering like the flames in the nearby fireplace. The room was cozy, filled with the rich scent of old books and the faint aroma of bubbling potions simmering in vials scattered across several study tables. The soft glow of enchanted sconces cast a warm light, making the usual intimidating decor of dark greens and silvers feel inviting. y/n nestled comfortably on a plush black leather couch, her frame enveloped by the cushions, her curly hair cascading around her shoulders like a halo.

Surrounded by textbooks and parchment, y/n was deeply engrossed in her Potions homework, a complex assignment on the intricacies of potion-making that required both precision and creativity. She wore her usual Slytherin robes, the fabric draping elegantly, a testament to her own unique style and confidence. As she scribbled notes, her brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally glancing at the open textbook beside her.

On the opposite end of the couch sat Draco Malfoy, his trademark platinum blond hair gleaming even in the low light. His posture was relaxed yet alert, a sign of both his intelligence and innate sense of responsibility despite the carefree demeanor he often projected. He was focused on his own homework, scribbling notes with a practiced ease, but the occasional sideways glance at y/n showcased the comfort and camaraderie they shared.

As y/n turned to another page in her textbook, she found herself staring blankly at a particularly perplexing problem. She bit her lip, frustration creeping in as the words danced mockingly before her eyes. Feeling bold, she scooted closer to Draco, her thigh brushing against his, the warmth sending an unexpected thrill through her. 

“Hey, Draco,” she began softly, leaning in to close the gap. “Can you help me with this section? I’m really stuck.”

Draco looked up, his green eyes meeting hers with a mixture of amusement and genuine interest. But as their thighs connected, y/n felt a sudden electric pulse between them, and Draco’s reaction was immediate.

“Fuck,” he breathed, a hint of shock in his voice that both surprised and pleased y/n. She could see the way his cheeks flushed slightly; it was an endearing contrast to his usually composed demeanor.

Before either of them could process what had just happened, Draco snatched the papers from y/n’s hands with an impatient grace, tossing them onto the coffee table in front of them. His expression shifted to something more intense, a daring spark igniting in his gaze.

“Come here,” he said, his voice deep and commanding as he tugged her gently yet firmly, pulling her into his lap. y/n's heart raced as she settled against him, the heat radiating from his body enveloping her in a comforting embrace. With their faces just inches apart, an unspoken tension hung in the air, thick and palpable.

Without another word, Draco leaned in and captured her lips with his. The kiss was everything—passionate and tender all at once. y/n melted against him, feeling the world around them fade away, leaving just the two of them suspended in time. They kissed as if they were both savoring a long-lost moment, with Draco's hands cradling her face, his fingers threading through her curls.

After what felt like an eternity, they broke apart, breathless and flushed, the lingering heat of their kiss still electrifying the space between them. Draco looked into her eyes, his expression softening.

“Do you want to come up to my dorm?” he asked, his tone low, almost hesitant, as though he was waiting for her to affirm what he had just proposed.

“Yes,” y/n replied, her heart fluttering at the prospect. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Draco helped her off his lap, standing up and offering her his hand, a subtle smile gracing his lips. Their fingers intertwined as he led her toward the concealed entrance that led to the boys' dormitories, his grip firm and reassuring.

As they walked down the dimly lit corridor, anticipation hung in the air, each step bringing a mixture of excitement and nervousness. When they reached his door, Draco paused for a moment, looking down at her with a smirk that told her he was reveling in the moment.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice a low murmur laced with mischief. 

With a nod, he pushed the heavy wooden door open, the creaking sound echoing in the silent space beyond. The room smelled faintly of potions and leather, lined with neatly arranged books and an assortment of Quidditch posters. But before y/n could take in the surroundings, Draco spun them around, pressing her against the wall with a gentle yet firm tug.

“Hold still,” he commanded softly, pinning her hand above her head with one of his, a playful glint in his eyes. y/n's breath hitched at the suddenness of it all, the thrill of being at his mercy sending butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“Draco,” she breathed, her eyes wide with both surprise and delight.

“Just trust me,” he murmured, leaning closer, brushing his lips against hers once more. As their mouths moved together, he broke away long enough to glance into her eyes, his own filled with admiration. “You’re incredible, you know.”

y/n felt herself blush under his gaze, heat rising to her cheeks as he kissed her again, more fervently this time. The kiss deepened as he pressed her against the wall, his other hand finding her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. She melted into him, the world outside of Draco’s dorm fading away, leaving just the two of them wrapped in their own budding reality.

With every gentle kiss and whispered word of praise, she felt cherished and adored, and for the first time in a long while, y/n allowed herself to truly embrace the moment, the feeling of being wanted—the sweetness of new love that stemmed from years of friendship, blossoming into something deeper, something undeniably cherished.

you are so lovely

Finnick Odair x (Female) Reader

*finnick odair and all other hunger games characters mentioned are not owned or created by me*

note: this is inspired from the movie “Titanic” when Jack draws Rose

Summary: Reader is an artist that works with the highly renowned Capital stylist Cinna. Reader and Finnick are in an established, serious relationship. when reader is working on a dress design for an upcoming capital event, she gets the idea to draw Finnick with his trident.

You catch him staring at you again. His eyebrows rise and his cheeks hollow as a thin smile appears when your eyes meet. His sea green eyes melt, and a single lock of his curly bronze hair falls to just barely cover the top part of his left eyebrow. You can’t help but return his grin. You look at him as he sits on the couch. He looks like a Greek god. Pure, unfiltered sunlight seeps from the window through the linen curtain and paints his body in the most beautiful gold you’ve ever seen. 

“Can I draw you Finnick, please.”

“Why sweetheart, doesn't Cinna give you enough projects?”

“Yes, but those are for work. this- well, this is for me. will you do it for me?” 

moments pass before Finnick rises from his spot on the couch and walks over to your chair. when he reaches your chair, he squats down to your level and holds his hands out to you. in one fluid motion, his gentle, but calloused hands reach to grasp your palms. you feel the smoothness and warmth of his hands as his thumbs begin to slowly stroke up and down your hands. his green eyes peer into yours as he continues to run his thumbs up and down your hands. 

“Darling, if you want this so bad, then- I will do it, for you.”

a large smile instantly appeared on your face. he reciprocated the joy you felt by smiling at you, then grabbing your face with his palms. he stared at you for a long while before rubbing his thumbs in a circle motion around your cheeks, similar to the pattern he traced on your hands moments ago. you smiled at him as he pushes a stray curl away from your face and places it behind your ear. you could feel Finnick’s warm breath on your cheeks as he moved his face closer to yours. you reached up and ran your hands through his messy, but breathtaking hair before your hands meet and secure themselves around his neck. you both stay there for a second, relishing the feeling of your close proximity. Finnick is the first to cave. he grabs you face and presses your lips together in a flushed moment. your lips connect and your hands around his neck press his face closer to yours. you feel a smile on your lips as Finnick continues to gently kiss you. 

after what feels like hours. Finnick withdraws his lips from yours, leans upright, and joins your foreheads together. his hands drop from your face and return back to your palms where they resume there circular massaging. 

“Where do you want do draw me love?”

a wide grin appears on your face as he reminds you of drawing him.

“there” you whisper, pointing over the to the sunlit window. the linen curtains stir slightly as the cool evening air blows. 

Finnick removes his forehead from yours and looks in the direction where you point. he smiles gently, admiring your ability to craft and select the perfect scenery. Finnick extends his legs and returns to standing, towering over you in the most flawless way. 

you rise from your spot on the chair to gather your art supplies. you grab your drawing pencils, erasers, and paper as Finnick begins to walk over to the window. 

“he needs something to hold... a prop of some kind” you think. 

“his trident” you decide

a soft pinks blush erupts on your face and paints your features as you picture him standing in front of you with his trident. 

“finnick?” you question

finnick glances your way and smiles

“what sweetheart?” 

your eyes are scared to meet his and drift to the floor as you request “could you grab your trident? i think the drawing will come out better if i draw you holding it”

 a cocky grin erupts from his face at your request. he knew that you admired his dexterity and talent that he exhibited trough his trident although you never watched his games. Finnick made it clear that he never wanted you to watch his games so you would never experience or realize what type of person he could become in order to keep you safe and be reunited with you. the only time you saw him with his trident was when he trained with it. he only trained in case he ever had to reactivate that side of him he fought so desperately to keep from you. 

you finally look up from the floor and see him walking over to his closet, across from the window. he silently slides open the door and reaches for his trident, which was tucked away behind some of the outfits you designed for him. you marvel as the strong but soft muscles of his right arm contract under his skin. his veins move comfortably around his biceps as he slides the closet door shut with his left hand. he walks back to his spot by the window, never breaking eye contact with you. he stands in front of the window with his right hand grasping his glimmering trident. the sliver metal of the trident shines and sparkles in the sunlight. 

he watches you as you scramble to gather the rest of your supplies and join him near the window. you take a seat in your olive-green corduroy chair with a small table on the side of the left arm. the chair was made especially for you in your favorite color and material to perfectly suit your taste. the bamboo table on the side of the chair was the perfect for finishing up some late-night projects and sketches for Cinna. you scooted the chair slightly to the right to get the perfect view of Finnick and his trident. 

your eyes meet his again as you tear a piece of fresh paper out of your sketchbook and place it on your side table. he makes a mental note to always remember the way your eyes sparkles as you lay out your drawing pencils or how your eyebrows furrow in a gentle cross as you adjust the paper placement on your table. moments like these remind Finnick why he fought so hard in the arena...to be here today, with you. 

you almost decide that everything is perfect until you look up at Finnick. you stare at his hand and forearms for a second. you think of how much you will enjoy shading in and sketching in the chiseled muscles on his arms and decide that they alone will not suffice you. you want--no, you need more. 

“one last thing” you whisper, glaring at his chest, which was covered in a dark brown ribbed tank top. 

“anything for you y/n” he replies with a smile

you find this request far more embarrassing and unlikely than the previous as you ask, "will you take off your shirt, please?” 

he chuckles lightly before propping his trident against a nearby wall and grabbing the bottom hem of his top. he slid off his top off of his chest, balls it up in his hands, and tosses it on the floor.

you couldn’t help but bite your lip as your eyes scanned his newly uncovered skin. his pecs and abs shined in the sunlight. the black sweatpants around his waist provided a wonderful contrast to the golden light surrounding him. how you wished you could trace the lines of his abs or rub his v-line that trailed down his lower stomach into his sweatpants. he was truly perfect

Finnick’s arm reaching for his trident against the wall brought you back to reality and the task at hand. with his trident in hand, Finnick strolled back over to his spot near the window and met eyes with you. a smile appeared on both of your faces at the gentle intimacy that was forming. 

you grabbed a light graphite pencil, pressed it to the paper, and began sketching the outline of Finnick's hair and face. every strand of hair and curve of his face was expertly drawn. 

Finnick watched you in admiration as you sketched, then looked back up at him, then resumed sketching. he would never truly understand how he got so lucky to call you his.

 a dark pink paints your cheeks as you began drawing the lower portion of Finnick. he begins to grin as you began sketching his abs.

“i do believe you are blushing y/n” 

his remarks only make you blush more. 

regaining your focus, you resume drawing with sure strokes, determined to make this your best piece you have ever done. 

this is a sight you will both carry for the rest of your lives. you wish you could live in this moment forever. you, him, and the sun.