This Is The Best Thing I Have Ever Seen

Hello there! I have a Spencer Reid request if you are ok with writing it ❤! Spencer and reader are co-workers and friends but it might be a little awkward sometimes because the reader has a slightly "different flavour of autism". And one day the reader is frustrated or had some wine and admits that she is extremely attracted to him and he admits it too and they just jump each other xd. Make it desperate, horny, build up tension, juicy, steamy and hhhnnnnngggg 😍❤

Hi, lovely!

I really love your request, but I must admit that I am kind of scared of writing it because of the aspect of autism. Just ti be clear, I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING AGAINST IT OR AGAINST THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE IT. In fact I LOVE THEM!! But I just don't know a lot about the topic, and I'm just really scared that I'll write something wrong. I'm so so so sorry. If anyone on here wants to write this fic, please feel free to do it! And don't forget to tag me, cause I would LOVE to read it.

Once again, I'm so sorry, I truly hope that this is okay. If you have any other requests feel free to send them. I love you all so much! ❤️

The Great War | Finnick Odair

Pairing/s: Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Summary: After everything that you've been through during the rebellion you finally found the peace with Finnick.

Warning/s: angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, war, weapons (reader has a knife), bow and arrows, trident, axe, syringe, violence, fighting, Katniss gets struck by lightning, blood, trust issues, attempted suicide (not graphical, but it's talked about), wounds, pills, trauma, Finnick ALMOST dying, Snow's execution and Coin's death, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: Once again, a fic inspired by Taylor Swift's song (are we really surprised?)

My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked

Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground

And maybe it was ego swinging

Maybe it was her

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur

The heat was getting to your head, it was staring to be too much. It already was.

The holes in your bodysuit that were the consequence of the poisonous fog were everywhere it seemed like. Your hair was sticking to your face because of the sweat from the intense heat and exhaustion. You gripped your knife that seemed to fit you a little too perfectly. The golden earing that Haymitch gifted you so that Katniss could recognize you as one of her allies was hitting the side of your face as you ran to the lightning tree.

You were terrified. You were in on the plan to get Katniss out, of course. Everyone except Katniss and Peeta was.

You did your part. You joined Johanna and cut out the tracker inside of Katniss' arm. But that's when things went wrong. One of the carriers attempted to attack you. It was dark, tropical trees were everywhere, you couldn't see anything. You didn't know who attacked you. All you knew was that you pushed Katniss away to keep her hidden and Johanna ordered you to run while she distracted the person who tried to attack. For a moment you stood there frozen, hesitant. Johanna Mason then swinged her axe at you and you had no choice but to bolt away as fast as you could.

Your mind was racing too fast. Finnick. Katniss. You had to get to that tree to make sure that they are there. That they are okay because you were one hundred percent sure that if they weren't you would lose your mind. You would become the madness itself.

You didn't hear anything but two pairs of footsteps running somewhere north from you. You kept running, trying to ignore the intense dehydration, heat and exhaustion. But as you didn't hear nor see Johanna after a while you started to seriously regret your decision.

You pushed your was through to the lightning tree. You didn't have time to catch your breath because it was immediately knocked out of you as you saw Katniss pointing her arrow at Finnick. He was still holding his trident, but you know that he wouldn't use it even if she did shoot him.

"Katniss!" Your raspy voice yelled out, Finnick immediately turned to you. A look of relief washing over him as he saw you.

"Remember who the real enemy is." Finnick reminded the girl on fire and at that moment realization washed over her. You could see it.

She looked at Beetee who was unconscious behind her. The coil was still there. She quickly picked it up, wrapping it around her arrow before pointing it at the sky.

At that moment both fear and adrenaline washed over you. She was going to blow up the arena once the lightning strikes the tree.

"Katniss!" Finnick's voice rang out. "Get away from that tree!"

You started to panic. You were getting out of time. Finnick, Katniss, Beetee and you were the only ones who came. Johanna was nowhere to be found. Peeta didn't return yet. Your ever racing mind pushed you to run towards Finnick as fast as you could.

"Katniss, get away from that tree!" Finnick's voice rang out once more before you saw it.

Katniss pointed at the sky, the lightning striked the tree and she let the arrow fly.

The last thing that you saw was the bright light from the lightning, a bloody screams that left Katniss' and your mouths and a painful grunt from the love of your life before the mere force of the lightnings hit sent you flying into the trees behind you before the darkness overtook you.

°

Once you woke up everything was hurting you. You felt so numb. You felt so numb yet you somehow felt everything. It was truly horrific.

The oxygen mask was planted onto your face as your eyes scanned the unknown territory. Everything was white and so clean. You turned your head to the side and spotted Katniss Everdeen, still knocked out beside you, and Beetee, not that far away from you. He was still unconscious, too. At that moment, you felt panic arise in your chest, consuming you. Where was Finnick?

You violently ripped the oxygen mask from your face as you stood up, ignoring the sharp pain that traveled across your body. What were you going to do? You patted your thigh, but your knife was gone. You knew that you weren't thinking rationally, but you never did when it came to him.

You spotted a see-through box a few feet away from you. A syringe was in there. It was filled with an unknown liquid, but you guessed that someone knocked you unconscious with this so you took the risk as you placed the syringe in the palm of your hand.

You strolled silently towards the door. You jumped a bit as the door suddenly opened. You raised the syringe in the air, ready to attack anyone who stood behind the door if you needed to.

You felt yourself slowly lowering the syringe in your hand as you saw who stood in front of you. Haymitch and Plutarch Heavensbee. You made it. You were relatively safe. But not seeing Finnick didn't calm your nerves. If anything it just fueled the fire in your veins.

"Where is Finnick?" You hissed out, your voice dangerously lowered that you scared yourself for a brief moment. You knew that you probably looked like a mad woman, but you didn't really find it in yourself to care.

"Y/N." Haymitch slowly approached you, he raised his hands in the air in front of him as an attempt to both calm you down and show you that he won't hurt you. "He's here. On the chair, he's still unconscious."

You turned to look at the side that Haymitch was pointing at and there he was. In a blue shirt that was too big for him. You threw the syringe onto the desk in the middle of the room as you stared at him. Relief washing over you like the waves back at your District.

"What happened while I was out?" You asked Haymitch waiting for an explanation as you didn't take your eyes off of Finnick.

"We couldn't rescue Johanna and Peeta." Haymitch sighed, he was obviously afraid that you would try to attack again and this time succeed after you hear the news that he had for you. "They still have trackers in their arms. We cut Finnick's, Beetee's and yours out after we rescued you."

He stopped here and you waited. You waited for his words to finally hit you.

"The Capitol took Peeta and Johanna."

Out of nowhere, the darkness overtook you once again. The last thing you remember was Haymitch catching you in his arms and Finnick yelling out your name.

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, sweet dream was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, tears on the letter

I vowed not to cry anymore

If we survived the Great War

The room of the hospital wing at District 13 was dimly lit. The cold metal walls of one of the hospital rooms felt like they were closing in on you, cutting the space for you to breath. Perhaps that was one of the reasons as to why your breaths came in ragged gasps as you suddenly woke up from your state. You sat up in your bed, sweat-soaked and still trembling. Another nightmare. The same one that haunted your every dream, every night, since the first night that you left the arena from your games. The arena, the blood, the faces of those you had to kill. Everything came back to haunt you once again.

Suddenly the door slid open with a harsh, quick movement.

Finnick slept in the room next door. You knew he was there, even before you heard the footsteps approaching. Pretty soon your suspicions were proven to be correct. There he was, shirtless and disheveled, concern etched on his face.

"Y/N." He whispered, crossing the room in a few strides. His arms enveloped you, pulling your crying, shaking form close to him providing the protection that you needed. "Another nightmare?"

You felt yourself nod, burying your face in his chest as you tried your hardest to just dissappear. His skin was warm against your cold, tear stained cheek, a stark contrast to the icy memories that plagued you.

"I can't escape them, Finnick." Your voice shook, a sob at the tip of your lips. "Their screams, the blood... everything. I relive it each and every night since that year."

He held you tighter, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back.

"You're safe here now, darling." He murmured. "We're in 13. The Capitol can't touch us here." He talked, as if he tried to remind you where you are right now, trying to pull you away from the horrific nightmare that he was oh so familiar with himself.

"The guilt is eating me alive." Your voice cracked, a silent tear sliding down your cheek. "I killed them. How can I possibly live with that?"

Finnick tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His sea-green eyes bore into yours, fierce and unwavering.

"My love, listen to me." His soft voice spoke to you. "We all did what we had to do. The Games were a nightmare, but we made it out. We're alive."

"But at what cost?" Tears welled up, threatening to spill. "I can't forget their faces. The ones I killed. The ones that I left behind..."

"You promised me something, remember?" He wiped a lost tear away with his thumb. "Back before I was forced to send you into that arena alone. You promised me that you will survive and come back to me. You did."

"I know, but-"

"No buts." His voice was firm, it reminded you of the time that he trained you before you went into the arena for the first time. Back when you two were just a mentor and a tribute, nothing more. "You're so much stronger than you think you are, love. We all carry scars, but they don't define us. I want you to promise me something now."

"And that is?" You asked him as you kept your eyes on him.

"Promise me that you won't cry anymore. Not because of the Capitol or the nightmares. We survived, Y/N. And we'll keep surviving."

You hesitated, but then you nodded. "I promise."

"Good. Now get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up." Finnick pressed his lips to your forehead, a gentle kiss that sent warmth through your veins.

As you settled back against the pillows, his arms were still wrapped around you, giving you sense of protection you came to a realization that maybe you could find comfort in the darkness that seemed to constantly try to consume you. With Finnick by your side, the nightmares seemed less terrifying, and the promise that you made him that night felt like it will last a lifetime.

And so, in the quiet of that hospital room in District 13, underground, you closed your eyes, vowing to keep your promise. No more fear, you knew that you would be all right as long as your love was next to you.

You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone

You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playin' with fire

And maybe it's the past that's talkin'

Screamin' from the crypt

Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it

The sterile white walls of District 13's hospital pressed in on you, suffocating you, stripping you of fresh air that your lungs needed right now. You sat at the edge of your hospital bed, your fingers tracing the material of the purple medical bracelet around your waist that said that you were "Mentally disoriented". The label of the chaos that boiled within you.

The doctors came and went, you heard their voices, but they didn't reach your brain, your messed up mind. They offered so many pills, you didn't even know what pill was for what anymore. They offered therapy sessions and worst of all, sympathetic glances. They looked at you like you were broken and you were, but you hated it with burning passion. Yet after all of that, you couldn't trust them. Not after everything that you went through. The arena, the cruelty of the Capitol, the loss of your friends. The nightmares that still clung to you like shadows, following your every step, and the darkness that constantly threatened to swallow you whole.

Finnick sat beside you. His hand brushed against yours, a silent reassurance. His eyes held a depth of understanding. The kind of understanding that came only from someone who survived the horrors too immense to name.

"You don't have to face this alone." He said softly. His voice was your lifeline, pulling you back from the endless abyss. "Y/N, let them help you."

"They don't understand, Finnick." You whispered in the quietness of the room. "They can't understand."

"Maybe not, but I do." His thumb traced circles on your palm.

"Finnick, I-" You met his gaze, the weight of your pain reflected in his sea-green eyes.

Before you could finish, though, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. It was a desperate kiss, fueled by fear and longing. His mouth tasted of salt and the sea.

"Don't shut me out." He murmured against your lips, his voice sweater then honey. "I can't lose you, too."

"I'm broken, Finnick." Tears welled up blurring your vision.

"No." He said fiercely. "You're not broken. You're a survivor. And you're mine."

Finnick pulled you into his arms, holding you as if you were fragile glass. His heartbeat echoed against your chest, a rhythm of hope.

"Promise me." He whispered. "Promise me that you won't try to leave me behind again."

The memory of the razor blade, the cold metal against your skin, haunted you. You'd wanted an escape, a way to silence the screams of your fellow tributes that echoed in your mind. But the doctors had intervened, wrestling the blade from your trembling hand.

"I promise." You choked out. "But what if I can't keep it?"

"Then I'll be here." He vowed, his grip on your hands tightened. "Every step of the way. We'll fight this darkness together."

And so, in the sterile hospital room that you were forced to stay in, Finnick and you clung to each other. The fragile threads of two broken souls entwined. Finnick's love was a lifeline, pulling you back from the blink. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to believe that survival was possible. Even when the nightmares threatened to consume you.

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the bombs were close and

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, the burning embers

I vowed not to fight anymore

If we survived the Great War

Uh-huh

Uh-huh

The air was thick with tension, the walls of District 13 trembling as the Capitol’s bombs rained down upon them. Finnick now stood alongside you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. His sea-green eyes were filled with worry, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest once again.

The lockdown sirens blared, drowning out the screams of panic echoing through the corridors. People rushed past you, seeking shelter, but you and Finnick remained rooted to the spot. The world outside seemed to blur as you clung to each other, seeking solace in the midst of chaos.

“Y/N.” Finnick whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’ll get through this. Somehow we always do.”

You nodded, your fingers tracing the contours of his face. His stubble scratched against your skin, a familiar sensation that grounded you. The Capitol had taken so much from both of you—the Games, the torture, the loss—but here, in this moment, you had each other.

The bombs continued to fall, shaking the ground beneath your feet. You pressed your cheek against Finnick’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. His hand slid down to your lower back, holding you close as if he could shield you from the destruction outside.

“I love you.” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the chaos everywhere around you. “After all this is over, I promise I won’t fight anymore. No more battles, no more bloodshed.”

Finnick’s grip tightened. “Y/N, you don’t have to—”

“No.” You interrupted. “I mean it. We’ve both seen enough violence, lost enough people. If we survive this war, I want a different life. A peaceful one. With you.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning.

“A peaceful life...” he repeated, as if testing the words. “Together.”

“Together.” You nodded, your heart swelling with determination.

And so, as the bombs continued to fall, you made a silent vow. You would survive this war, not for the rebellion or for justice, but for the chance to hold Finnick Odair in your arms without fear. To build a future where love could flourish, where scars could heal, and where promises were kept.

In the chaos of District 13’s lockdown, you clung to each other, two souls battered by the storm. But love was your anchor, and as long as you had that, you knew you could weather anything—even the wrath of the Capitol.

It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Your finger on my hair pin triggers

Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I lost you

The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering fluorescent bulbs casting eerie shadows on the cold metal walls. You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for Finnick. The room where the victors were supposed to meet felt like a prison. A place where memories of the Games and the Capitol’s cruelty still lingered.

The rebellion had succeeded. The Capitol was in chaos, its once-mighty regime crumbling. But victory came at a cost. The mutts, the twisted, genetically engineered creatures, had nearly taken Finnick from you. Katniss had told you about it, her voice raw with emotion. How he’d fought tooth and nail, how he’d almost been torn apart.

And now, as you waited, your fingers trembling, you couldn’t shake the image of his bloodied form from your mind. The way he’d looked at you before leaving for that final mission, the promise in his eyes, the unspoken words that he will return to you alive, in one piece. You’d clung to that promise, held it close like a fragile flame in the darkest of nights.

The door creaked open, and there he was, Finnick Odair, the boy with the sea-green eyes and the tragic past. His hair was disheveled, his skin pale, but he was alive. He stepped into the hallway, and you rushed to him, throwing your arms around his neck. His scent, the salt of the sea that carried itself back from your home, the tang of sweat, filled your senses, and you buried your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“Finnick.” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You’re here. You’re alive.”

His arms tightened around you, and for a moment, you forgot about the war, the mutts, the bloodshed. It was just the two of you, clinging to each other like shipwreck survivors in a stormy sea.

“I promised, didn’t I?” His voice was hoarse, but there was a hint of a smile. “I always keep my promises.”

You pulled away, your hands delicately framing his face. His cheek was bruised, a gash running along his jawline. But his eyes, they held a fierce determination, a fire that refused to be extinguished.

“You idiot!” you said, your voice trembling. “You almost died.”

“But I didn’t. And I won’t. Not as long as you’re here.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you kissed him, desperate, hungry, as if you could swallow away the pain, the fear, the memories. His lips were warm, tasting of salt and survival. And in that kiss, you made a silent vow, a promise of your own.

“After this war...” you whispered against his mouth, “we’ll find a place where the sea meets the sky. Somewhere far from the Capitol, far from the Games. We’ll heal, Finnick. Together.”

He kissed you again, and this time, it was slow, tender. “Together.” he murmured. “Always.”

And so, in the hallway of broken dreams, you held each other, two fractured souls seeking solace. The victors’ meeting could wait. For now, all that mattered was this fragile moment, the taste of salt, the warmth of love, and the promise of a future beyond the horrors of Panem.

We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back

The air in District 13 was thick with tension as the rebels gathered to witness the execution of President Snow. The Capitol had fallen, and the weight of years of suffering and loss hung heavily on everyone's shoulders. Finnick, like always, stood beside you. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as you both faced the president.

The crowd murmured, their collective breaths held. The noose tightened around Snow's neck, and the man who had orchestrated so much pain and death finally met his end. You didn't feel relief; instead, a hollow emptiness settled within you. The cycle of violence had consumed too many lives, and you wondered if it would ever truly end.

After the execution, you and Finnick retreated to your small quarter that was given to you at the presidential palace. You packed the few belongings you had left, folding clothes and tucking away mementos. Finnick watched you, his eyes shadowed by the ghosts of the arena.

"Y/N." he said softly, breaking the silence. "We've survived so much. But now… maybe it's time for something different."

You turned to face him, your heart aching. "Different how?"

He stepped closer, cupping your cheek. "Peace, Y/N. We've fought, bled, and lost. Maybe it's time we find our own peace."

His words resonated within you. You thought of the horrors you'd witnessed—the Hunger Games, the rebellion, the deaths of friends. The scars ran deep, and you wondered if healing was even possible.

As if sensing your turmoil, Finnick pulled you into his arms. His embrace was both tender and desperate.

"We finally get to leave." he murmured against your hair. "Find a quiet place in 4, away from the chaos. Somewhere we can heal."

"But Katniss…" you began, thinking of the broken girl who had become the Mockingjay.

Finnick kissed your forehead. "Katniss will find her way. She's strong. And she has Peeta."

°

The next morning, you stood with Finnick on the platform in front of the train that would take you to District 4. Katniss approached, her eyes red-rimmed from grief and exhaustion. You took her hands, feeling the weight of her pain.

"Katniss, don't do this to yourself anymore, I beg you." Your soft voice reached her ears. "After everything… we'll try to find the peace we all deserve. I hope you find it too."

"Also, there is something that Finnick and I wanted to let you know before we leave the Capitol." you said gently.

She looked at you, her expression wary.

"I'm pregnant." you announced and Finnick's grip on your waist tightened.

Katniss blinked, surprise flickering across her face. "Pregnant?"

"Yes." you confirmed. "And Finnick and I… we've had enough bloodshed. It's time for us to find peace. Back at 4. Because we both know that we can't do it here at the Capitol."

Katniss's lips trembled. "Take care of each other." she whispered. "And write to me. Tell me whatever you need."

"We will." Finnick promised, placing a hand on her shoulder as he spoke. "And Katniss, find your own peace too. You deserve it the most."

As the train pulled away, you glanced back at Katniss. She stood there, a lone figure, watching you both leave. The world outside blurred, and you clung to Finnick's hand, knowing that this journey was about more than survival, it was about reclaiming life, love, and hope.

Together, you and Finnick leaned against the window, watching the landscape rush by. The Capitol, the districts, and the scars of war faded into the distance. Ahead lay an uncertain future, but for the first time, it felt like freedom.

And as the train carried you away, you whispered to the wind.

"Peace, Katniss. May you find it too."

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the worst was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, we're burned for better

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the coast. You sat on the weathered driftwood, your sundress billowing in the breeze. The waves crashed against the shore, a rhythmic lullaby that matched the beat of your heart.

Finnick was out there, his laughter carried by the wind. He chased their little daughter, her giggles like music. She had his sea-green eyes and your stubborn spirit. Her tiny feet left imprints in the wet sand, and you watched them both, the man you loved and the child you'd brought into this world.

His white shirt clung to his chest, the fabric darkened by saltwater. His light brown pants were soaked, but he didn't care. Finnick had always been at home in the sea, a merman with secrets hidden beneath his skin.

You traced the delicate band on your finger, the wedding ring. The day you'd vowed to be one with Finnick forever played in your mind. The sun had been just as golden then, and the waves had whispered promises. You'd said "I do" with the ocean as your witness, and it felt like the universe itself had blessed your union.

Beside you layed Katniss' letter. Her words echoed in your head, a mix of sorrow and hope. She'd lost so much, fought so hard. But now, finally, there was peace. Peeta was by her side, both of them were healing together. The Mockingjay had found her song and it was a bittersweet melody.

You closed your eyes, feeling the salt spray on your skin. The sea had witnessed your love, your pain, and your victories. It had taken so much from you, the Games, the rebellion, the scars etched into your soul. But it had also given you Finnick, your anchor in this tumultuous world.

As if sensing your thoughts, Finnick approached. His hair was tousled, his smile soft. He sat beside you, your daughter nestled in his arms. She clutched a seashell, her eyes wide with wonder.

"She's growing up so fast." you murmured, leaning into Finnick's warmth.

"Too fast." He kissed your temple.

You glanced at the horizon. The sun was a fiery ball, sinking into the water. "Katniss wrote that Peeta and her found peace."

"It's about time." Finnick nodded.

"We've all shed enough blood for an eternity, perhaps even more than that." You rested your head on his shoulder.

He intertwined his fingers with yours. "Maybe now we can heal."

The waves whispered their agreement. You looked at your daughter, at the man who'd become your heart.

"We'll find our peace too, won't we?"

Finnick pressed his lips to your forehead. "After everything… we deserve it."

And as the sea sang its ancient song, you knew that love, like the tides, would flow. But here, by the coast, with Finnick and your daughter, you found solace. The wedding ring glinted in the fading light, a promise etched in metal.

Katniss's words echoed once more:

"May you find peace."

And you believed that you finally had.

Uh-huh

Uh-huh

I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

Uh-huh

I vowed I would always be yours

->

->

->

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@randomgurl2326 @caroline-books @hellonheels-x @livingdead-reilly @thecrowdedstreetin1944

I MISS YOUUUU ❤️

Awwww!!! I really miss writing, too. The school is just killing me right now, ut I'm really trying to find some spare time to write. I'm really excited for you guys to read what I wrote. Love you!❤

Johanna Mason obsession is striking back!😫🪓

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐬/𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: swearing, major mentions of death and violence, spoilers, death of children, mental illness, mentions of previous torture. 

a/n: with the hunger games resurgance, I want to continue writing for these characters. I absolutely loved this series so much, it was an innate part of my teenage years. 

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And just when I thought that my obsession with him was finally over 😫 I love this so much!

Lipstick Kisses

Pairing: Thomas x Reader Wordcount: 5k Summary: Thomas develops an obsession with lipstick after someone tells him he shouldn’t wear it. Any kind of lipstick. Warning(s): Smut, some shibari, some bunny <3, mentioned past humiliation, pegging, some d/s dynamics, nipple clamps, sub Thomas

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"Are you okay?" Thomas asks, hand on your cheek. 

You nod, but Thomas looks at you. Nothing is okay at the moment, everything is way too much and everything at once. There's no need to lie to him. There's also no chance to really do that, he always sees right through you, and right now, you can see in his face that he doesn't believe you. Thomas' gaze is soft, and you shake your head.

"It's okay." He wraps his arms around you, kisses your forehead. He's soft, not the joker he was mere seconds before when he danced around your kitchen just in his underwear, open bottle of wine in one of his hands, pulling faces and singing off tune on purpose loudly. "It's going to get better again, I believe in you."

He kisses your cheeks as well, then the tip of your nose before he kisses your lips. You're hanging onto him like he's saving you from drowning. Some of the dark bordeaux lipstick you were wearing all day, sticks to his lips and then leaves a faint mark when you kiss his cheek. You laugh, before you try to wipe it away.

"Sorry."

Thomas just laughs and kisses you again. Deeper this time, for longer, more lipstick left behind on his lips. Enough to see the contrast against his skin. Again he kisses your forehead, leaves a lipstick mark of his own. In his eyes you can see a glimmer of wonder and surprise.

"Oh, it sticks."

"Of course it sticks," you laugh again, "You know that, silly boy. Or how do you think it got onto your lips?"

"Because I kissed you."

A pleased sigh escapes him when you kiss his throat, leaving a dark lipstick stain behind. He kisses you again, more bordeaux lipstick sticking to his lips.

"It looks so good on you."

"Really?" He looks at you surprised.

"Yes, really." You get your phone and open the camera app. "Dark lipstick is made for you."

He looks at himself in the reflection, tilts his head from side to side: "You really think so?"

It's not like he looks uncomfortable, he just looks unsure. You leave him alone with your phone and wonder if you will find a selfie or two later. He's still looking at himself when you come back with the lipstick in hand. 

"Let me show you."

Thomas pouts at you after you carefully applied the lipstick to his lips. 

"Brou de Noix," he reads from the bottom of the lipstick tube - butchering the French a little bit. "You really think this looks good on me?"

"Thom," you take a photo of him and give your phone to him, "Why do you think you don't? Who told you this?"

He sighs but this time he sounds frustrated: "One of our latest make-up artists, she said I'm too pale for anything too adventurous."

"They are talking shit, you look incredible."

There's a red stain on his teeth when he bites his lips, you reach out for his cheek and get the colour of with your thumb. Thomas pulls a face at you.

"It sticks, I thought we established that much." You smile at him. "That means it also sticks to your teeth."

You peck his lips, only for a few seconds but he grins at you and holds you in place, close to him.

"And now you're kissing it off of me, because I look so irresistible?"

"Yes, I'll completely kiss it off you." 

He smiles when you kiss the corner of his lips. 

.#####.

It happens more often, it’s a slow progress of Thomas getting more comfortable with that pop of colour on his lips. First it’s colours you almost can’t see on his lips, inconspicuous, a little pink, a bit of nude here and there. Sometimes you only notice when he kisses your cheek, looks at you for a moment too long and you will have to rub some lipstick off your face.

Gradually he’s getting adventurous. One of your dark red lipsticks is missing first, you’re looking for it everywhere one night when you’re going out. Only weeks later it turns up again - you find it in Thomas’ suitcase buried under some shirts.

Then there’s a wonderful plum colour you have had your eyes set on for quite some time but you never dared to pay more than a certain amount for any makeup and this certainly was over your budget. Until one day Thomas gives you a small box with the plum coloured lipstick inside. It looks marvellous on you, your friends tell you so, Thomas tells you so and you can see it yourself. But when you catch Thomas in the bathroom one evening, you can just think stunning and stare at him. He tries to hide the lipstick in the sink behind him whilst rubbing it off his lips. 

“Please don’t,” you say. “It looks amazing on you, Thomas.” 

“You think so?”

“Yes,” you smile at him, “I already said that last time. You look stupendous, too good to be real.”

.#####.

The next time, he isn’t hiding it. One evening he just sits down next to you on the couch, colour on his lips that looks like he just drank a glass of red wine but didn’t lick his lips afterwards.

“So beautiful.”

He smiles at you before he puts his head in your lap and you can play with his hair, twirl strands of his blond hair around your fingers, comb them slowly through his hair. You see how he bites his red lips and how he closes his eyes. He presses his lips to the skin on your thigh where the fabric of your pyjama shorts end.

“You have a favourite yet?”

You can feel how he shakes his head: “No, I only tried about four but I really like this one.”

Thomas looks up at you confused when you get up but when you come back with your makeup bag that holds all your lipsticks and makeup wipes his eyes grow wider.

“Then let's try some more,” you smile at him. He sits up which gives you the opportunity to straddle and sit on top of him. A tiny whimper escaping the back of his throat, always so sensitive to your every touch. “Pick whichever you like.”

His hands shake slightly when he picks up your bag full of treasures and opens it. The little sigh leaving his lips doesn’t slip your attention. Overtaken by something almost like greed he rummages through it. 

“There are so many shades,” he looks at you, “Oh, dark red. Brick red ... plum. Oh, this has a funny name, Tea and Cookies. Pink, more red. Oh, wait, what the fuck, is this blue!?”

“Yes, that’s blue. I have some green as well.” Thomas raises his eyebrow at you and you laugh. “Halloween is a thing that happens.”

“I want to try the green.”

You look for the label that says Serpentina. A dark shimmery green you know will look lovely on Thomas’ lips. Stark contrast to his skin and the light blush around his cheeks and his nose. He squirms under you when you do his lips and his eyelids are fluttering when you take a photo on your phone to show him. 

“I look … good?” He looks at you questioningly. 

“Insanely good.”

He kisses your throat. It doesn’t leave a mark on you, doesn’t stick, and he looks at you confused. 

“It’s smudge proof,” he pouts at you - looking at you like you betrayed him out of a reward he was craving, “And kissproof.” 

“That’s not fair,” he says but doesn’t elaborate when you take a make-up wipe to get the lipstick off.

The next one is a berry shade that you also deem gorgeous on Thomas. Even he marvels over it when he sees himself on your phone camera. He’s rewarded with more satisfaction than before when he presses his lips to your throat again, the lipstick sticking to your skin. It does stick but not enough for his taste. 

There’s the darkest shade of plum next, it’s matte. It’s so dark that he laughs when you show him: “I’m too much of a loaf of toast for this one but I love how it feels and this … matte thing?”

“I think, I have the perfect one for you,” you dig into your bag again until you find the brick red matte lipstick Thomas looked at earlier, “I wanted to test if this one is smudge proof.”

It isn’t, you know. It’s the reason why you bought it in the first place - for it to smudge. Stain Thomas’ sweaty sticky skin. To leave marks on your own skin, colour transferring from Thomas’ lips to yours. After you’re done with the lipstick, Thomas bites his lips, the red sticking to his teeth. Carefully you wipe it off his teeth with your thumb. Instead of going for your throat, he pulls up your pyjama shirt. He leaves a lipstick mark around your nipple and looks at it in awe.

“I want to tie you up,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “And leave all those marks over you, so I can see every kiss I left on you when I’m done.”

Thomas puts his hands in front of him, looks at you expectantly: “Please.”

“Here?” you smile at him. “Kitchen table, bed or floor?”

You can see how he tries to find an answer, slightly whimpers when you stroke your fingers over his hip bone. 

“Bed.”

You take your make-up bag and then take his hand to lead him to the bedroom. It doesn’t take much to push him into the sheets, his fingers getting tangled in them.

“Cuffs or rope, bunny?” 

“R-rope.” You can see how he swallows heavily. “Please.”

The berry colour of the restraints in your hands reminds you of the colour Thomas had on his lips earlier but you’re digging deeper, getting the mint green rope. The rope lands next to Thomas on the bed, he plays with it, while you look for the scarlet red lipstick. 

“You’re allowed to get naked, Thomas.” 

He only blinks at you and you put the lipstick aside. It isn’t much to get him out of, you pull the old band shirt over his head when he raises his arms and then you pull down his joggers, there’s no underwear to get rid off and he whimpers into your ear quietly.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Get on your tummy.”

He almost stumbles over himself, almost gets caught in the sheets, before he turns around. You laugh, but it’s lovingly, not condescending. 

“Are you excited?” You take the rope from his hand. 

He nods into the pillow, his cheeks almost as scarlet as your lipstick pick. A quiet sigh falls from his lips when you take one of his hands and tie the rope around his wrist twice, there’s enough room for two fingers you can wiggle under the rope. Then you cross the rope over the ends you just worked on, reach under the bind to make a loop and pull the rope through it, Thomas is still happily sighing. You create another loop and pull again, before you take the end and tie him to the bed. 

“This okay?”

You can see how he pulls on the ropes, how he wiggles, how he gets a couple of fingers of his other hand under the rope.

“Feels good.”

He looks beautiful when you’re done with his other wrist and he lays in front of you - tied.

“Ankles as well?”

He shakes his head on the pillow. Thomas still tests the pull and give of his restraints when you apply the lipstick, you just look at him for a while until he whines and strains his neck uncomfortably to look at you.

You press the first kiss to his right ankle, then the left, you leave kisses all over his calves, his thighs - leaving an ocean of right behind. He moans when you leave kisses on both of his asscheeks, squirms under you, shamelessly pushes his ass closer to you.

“Hey, hey,” you pull away from him. “Only kisses.”

“Not even a finger?”

“No, not even one,” you smile, “And it’s pretty red already, believe me, so no slaps either.”

It’s not that you don’t want to give it to him at all but you aren’t quite sure where you left the lube last time and you wouldn’t leave him alone to go and look for it. The other problem, you don’t really see as a problem, but would leave Thomas too embarrassed would be that he would cum. Doesn’t matter if one finger, or two, or three. He would fuck himself back on them and cum, faster than he would like, embarrasslingy fast and he might not be happy to continue after. You don’t want to end this so soon. 

“I won’t …,” he starts and whines before continuing, “cum. I promise.”

“Good boys don’t lie.” You wet one of your fingers with spit and let it catch on his hole, he only tries to muffle his noises. “That wouldn’t even take you two minutes.”

You withdraw your finger and start kissing him again, the small of his back, his sides, some moles and freckles. Up his lower back. You do notice that he’s biting the pillow, rolling his hips into the mattress but you only stop him when he's seriously starting to rut into it. 

“What are you doing?” You hold his hips still.

“I’m hard,” he mumbles when you gently pull him off the pillow by his hair, lipstick bleeding into the white pillow case. An ear shattering mewl comes from him when you reach around him but before he has the chance to buck up into your hand, you pull away.

“Yes, my bunny is hard,” you whisper into his ear, “But I want you to hold your hips still. No getting off, okay?” 

He would - get off. Rubbing himself against the mattress, against you, furniture, your pillow. You can still remember the one time he was dry humping the pillow next to you. You didn’t ask him to do it, Thomas so horny and desperate to get off that he didn’t realise what he was doing, the only thing that was important was that you didn’t stop him. There wasn’t a no coming from you. The wet spot in his underwear gave him away before the humiliation reached his eyes and spit on his chin before he looked away ashamed. You moan thinking about it, you want him to do it again but you have to store the idea away for another day.

You still hold his hips when you kiss his shoulders. Then his neck, you stroke sweaty strands of his blond hair out of the way. You kiss the shells of his ears softly, Thomas shivering under you. For what feels like the fifth time already you reapply your lipstick again.

“Turn over.”

He’s careful to turn, slow, the ropes crossing and you can see how his dick is straining against his stomach, pre cum on the tip. 

This time you start kissing on the bridge of his foot, then the ankle, repeat your movements on the other side. Before kissing up his calves, his thighs, again. You kiss into his prominent pubic hair, pushing his dick a little out of the way to kiss his belly, his hips, up his happy trail, around his navel before you lick into it for only a second. You leave red marks on his ribs, around his sensitive nipples - on them. On his collarbones. You kiss his arms, his tattoos. His armpits, for a little bit longer, when you lick there he moans and pulls against the rope. You move on to kiss his tied wrists, his hands, his fingers. 

There’s a sniff. And then another. Some heavy breathing.

“Thom?”

“Hmmm?” He looks at you teary eyed.

“You are crying.” You put your hands on his wrists to untie him quickly if he wants to, if he needs to, stop. “Are you okay?”

“‘S good …,” he sounds drowsy and his eyes flutter but he still cries, “good tears, promise. More?”

You press the last kisses to his fingers and then move to his throat. You kiss up to his chin, you kiss the stubble, his cheeks, his forehead under his sweat drenched fringe, you kiss some tears away. You leave a dozen kisses on his nose before you stop.

“You forgot something,” he says sheepishly.

“True.”

And then you kiss him on the lips, his tongue lazily pushing into your mouth. He breathes heavily when you pull away.

“You said everything,” he whines and he pulls on his restraints even more than before.

It possibly feels like hours for Thomas when it only takes a few minutes to kiss your way down again. You take your time to kiss his scrotum, a bit too long for Thomas it seems, because he cums. His leg is kicking into the mattress, and then there’s only a low whimper. You can feel how he’s in a fight with the ropes around his wrists while you kiss and lick up his length and then you place one last kiss on the tip, some cum dribbling out of him and a pitiful whimper coming from the back of Thomas’ throat. You move up quickly to untie his wrists, to pull him close, sweat and lipstick covering him. He just sinks into your embrace.

“Are you okay?”

He nods at your shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

“Still floaty,” he looks at you - cuddles even closer to you, makes himself a home right where your heart beats, “but … I feel loved.”

“Good,” you kiss the top of his head, “Let's get you some water, and then I’ll clean you up.”

Thomas makes a grumpy noise at that.

“I’m gonna wash your hair and massage your shoulders, I promise. And after we can cuddle.”

“Chocolate?” Thomas asks.

“Yes, sure.” It’s some habit he developed, you already have forgotten how it started. But Thomas who usually isn’t too fused about chocolate would ask for it after subbing. After you put him in a fluffy bathrobe, he would slowly nibble on his chocolate while being hugged. “Of course you’re getting your chocolate.”

“And next time,” he smiles, “I can kiss you.”

.#####.

You shouldn’t be shocked, or surprised, but somehow you are both. It’s the fact that you didn’t expect it, when you should have seen it coming.

There’s red letters on your bathroom mirror. Lipstick sticking to the glass.

Love you!

There’s a heart around it, a lipstick mark next to it.

You can’t even be mad that he used your expensive one.

.#####.

How are there so many shades of lipstick?

That’s what Thomas writes to you one evening. 

How come you kept the liquid matte ones from me?

You laugh.

The next evening Vic texts you, looking for her lipstick, she thinks it might be with you. You have a look in the bathroom before you realise that the most likely suspect is right under her nose.

Ask Thom. And tell him, he has to give it back, he can’t just take what isn’t his.

He’s out but I found it in one of his pockets. Since when does he steal lipstick? 

Slight obsession.

You can imagine how Thomas’ cheeks heat up when Vic will tease him with it later.

Can you show me the colour?

Vic sends a photo of a lipstick tub with red roses on it. Another one, where you can see the colour, a raspberry red - a little pinkish. Another one that shows you the name. It’s matte and liquid. 

.#####.

“I got something for you.”

“Shouldn’t I bring presents from travelling, or something?”

“You will like it,” you smile at him. He will, you’re sure. But there might be a catch he isn’t expecting when you look at his excited face.

His face slightly drops when you give him the lipstick tub. Red roses on white background. The Dolce & Gabbana sign on it. The Dolcissimo name. He swallows.

“You know what this is?”

He nods.

You wait.

“Vic’s … lipstick.”

“No, this is your lipstick. I bought it, it’s yours, you can wear it.” He nods again. “And what do you have to say?”

“Little bunnies don’t take what isn’t theirs?”

“Exactly,” you say softly, “Come here.”

You apply the lipstick to his lips, he looks beautiful. Pretty.  

“I’m sorry.”

“Did you apologise to Vic?”

“I did.” Thomas blushes deeply.

“Good, and now bunny can make it up to me.”

He nods.

“You can get yourself ready,” there’s excitement sparking in his eyes, “And then you can get my harness, choose a size and take one more toy. Then you can get me, I’ll be in the kitchen cooking for later.”

At some point it made click in your head, that the biggest punishment for him is deciding on it himself and some other small thing. Rack his pretty head if he can and wants to take what he chooses for himself. It takes him longer than you anticipate. When he comes into the kitchen, he’s naked. Except for his collar, his cheeks are reddened. He isn’t saying a peep.

“Did you choose?”

He nods.

You eye his collar, you didn’t say anything about it, you aren’t displeased, you almost let it slide completely. You put a finger under it: “Next time you ask, okay?”

“Yes,” he gets out quickly, “Yes, I will. Thank you for letting me wear it.”

Thomas put everything on the end of the bed. He kneels next to it on the floor. You have a closer look. There’s your harness, lube, a condom, a dildo that’s slightly bigger than what you thought he would pick. But the biggest surprise are the nipple clamps he got out. With every passing second he blushes more. You pick the clamps up and let them dangle in front of his face.

“Are you sure about them?”

“Yes,” he looks at the floor.

“Babe, you hate them.” He really does, his nipples are sensitive, he always yelps and looks at you as if in agony. “You can choose something else, you can choose something you like.”

You’re surprised he didn’t go with his usual choice of rope. Or his second choice of a cock ring - there even is a vibrating one that he actually loves somewhere in the nightstand. 

“Can we try?” His voice is small. “Please.”

“Sure,” you get your hand under his chin, “but if this is too much we will change to a ring, okay?”

“Yes,” he smiles, “I would like that.”

You get your harness to step into it. Thomas stretches his hand out before he stops himself.

“Am I allowed to help?”

“Of course.”

He readjusts a strap that twisted, then he adjusts the toy to the o-ring of your strap-on harness. He stays on the floor until you tell him to get on the bed.

“Did you finger yourself?”

He looks at you out of wide eyes. Surprised. It just seems to hit him that this was included in getting yourself ready. 

“No,” he closes his eyes. “Bunny is still good?”

“Yes, you’re good.” You take his hand and squirt some lube onto his fingers. “You can do it now.”

You kiss his thighs, you know that he slid one finger into himself when you hear him moan, and then another one a few minutes later when you hear him mewl. You put some lube on your own fingers, one of them slips easily into Thomas, joining two of his own which he scissors slightly.

“You think that’s enough?”

“Ye-,” a moan rips through his throat, “Yes, I’m ready, please.”

“Good, keep your fingers there a little longer.” He sighs when you pull your finger out. You get the clamps and put them on his nipples slowly and carefully. He whimpers and moans and whines. “Should we take them off?”

You tug on the chain gently. There’s a little silent cry tumbling from Thomas’ lips. 

“Let’s take them off, okay.”

But Thomas shakes his head.

“No?”

“No,” he whines, “I want them, please. I want this, it feels nice … but no tugging harder than this.”

“Okay,” you shush him, “Not harder than this. And when it is too much we will still take them off.”

He watches you when you rub the lube onto the strap-on. Obediently he spreads his legs and he bites his lips when you stretch him out slowly. After a couple of inches you stop, only continuing when Thomas whimpers for more. You go slow on him, and his whimpers turn into moans when you slide in with the whole length. Thomas’ breath goes heavily and he bites his lips when you stop moving, just keeping him full. 

“You’re ruining your lipstick.”

He stops biting, but when you pull out completely, he bites his lip again to muffle his frustrated voice.

“I want you on top.”

You change places. He is over you, and you sitting against the back of the bed, waiting for him. To lower himself down, to get the dildo inside again. You’re waiting for him, he lets it slide back in slowly. He’s betraying his own impatience with how slow he’s going. Before the impatience takes over and he starts to bounce up and down. Hands around your neck. He hisses when you still his hips. It’s the other small thing he hates so much. 

“No bouncing.”

“But …” 

“Don’t move.”

For a minute you both stay still. He’s soft, and whimpering. And sososo desperate. You can see it on his face, it takes him a lot not to move. 

“That’s it, just like that,” you press a kiss to his lips - then to his nose, “such a good boy for holding still.”

“Just wanna bounce.”

You laugh a little: “I know, you’re such a bouncy bunny. But you have to hold out a bit longer.”

He grits his teeth together, everything to just stop himself from moving. He’s impatient, he wants to move. There are whines and growls coming from the back of his throat. You know it’s all he wants to do, just bounce up and down. Have the tip bump against his prostate. 

“You’re pretty when you’re blushing.”

His face and his throat get even redder, the teasing getting to him. He’s trying so hard not to move, to bounce, to wiggle, to grind against you. 

“You’re doing great.”

He loves the praise, his eyes rolling back. The blush isn’t going down, it only gets more, travelling down his chest. The look of his eyes is pleadingly, and he grabs your hand, squeezing it to think about anything else than moving. 

“Now you can move.”

There’s a breath he probably doesn’t know he was holding. He moves, his hips moving up and down. He’s a bouncing mess on top of you, lipstick getting smudged. He’s panting. And he’s so close. His thighs are quivering, his face lit up in pleasure. You tug at the chain from the nipple clamps just a tiny bit, he whines, but he still moves his hips.

“Stop.”

He makes the craziest sound you have ever heard. Alluring. Absolutely pathetic little noise. Still, he stops moving.

“Not fair,” slips out of his mouth before he can think about it. You tug on the chain again. You know that he can’t think straight anymore. 

You give him a short break: “Move.”

He moves, this time quicker, more uncoordinated. You give him a couple of minutes, not enough for him.

“Stop.”

“No …”

He whines, he bounces for a couple more seconds which is why you slap his thigh lightly and then he stops. He flares his nose. You know it’s all so much, too much. 

After the fourth round, you praise him, he isn’t moving. But he’s begging, drooling, the spit running down his chin. 

“Please, pl-please, just, bounce, please.”

Everything coming out of his mouth is a broken cry. His hair is everywhere, his bangs clinging to his forehead, sweat on his chest.

“I’m …,” he shivers, “Please, I’m so desperate. Bunny needs …”

He doesn’t finish. He sloppily starts sucking on your fingers when you hold them out for him. His red lips look beautiful around your fingers. 

“You were so good today,” you smile at him, “You can move.”

Thomas starts moving and this time you don’t stop him. His thighs are quivering harder than before. His breath hitching, his movements uncoordinated. You raise your hips a little bit to meet his movements. He cums with a loud moan when he bounces down and you take one of the nipple clamps off just to have the little teeth snap again. Thomas only slowly calms down.

“Ouch,” he whimpers.

You take them off carefully, Thomas still mumbling. 

“You are fantastic, we will put cream on your poor nipples,” you whisper into his ear, “Such a good boy, I love you.”

He doesn’t make any move to get off you, wanting the feeling for a bit longer. You’re grateful that you took a glass of water and some chocolate from the kitchen earlier.

“Love you too.”

.#####.

Thomas sends a photo of a lipstick to you just before a show. 

Vic’s?

NO

You can see the pout in front of your inner eye. 

Ethan got it from the mua. He said, I’m eyeing it, so I should wear it

It’s a lovely shade of merlot.

Do you want to wear it?

Yes

He sends you a selfie. Thomas in front of the mirror. Lipstick on his lips. He’s beautiful, and he doesn’t rub it off. Only when the stage lights are out again.

.#####.

END.

.#####.

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I... she can off my head whenever she wants to...

Joker Out are so real for this 😌💚

Ahhhh I love your writing so much, but remember it’s okay to take breaks! I hope your feeling okay and get better soon

Hi!

Thank you so much for the support love. This made me feel so much better. ❤️

Bro is majestic