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kaynothanks · 2 months

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Behind The Sun

Pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!Reader

Warnings: murder, a true killing spree really, angst, dark thoughts, it's dark in general (I need to call my therapist), Finnick is taller than reader, reader has hair, and a brother, this is my attempt at fulfilling my need for a good Finnick fic after the clips of the new movie have been haunting me everywhere (let’s ignore that this is basically a dead fandom)

Word-Count: 20k (it's worth it, trust me)

You found getting your hair cut loathsome. It was unbearable any day but this day it seemed especially gruesome; sitting still and pretending for just a few moments longer that the day was like any other. Usually, you would think about how your mother kept pulling at your hair too harshly or that her hands were shaking far too much for you to even let her get close to your hair. Though on this day, all you could think about was the pair of scissors in her hands. Inconspicuous some might think, yet in your district you knew better.

Your hands shook at the thought of what the tributes from districts like One or Two could do with something as simple as a pair of scissors. You hissed in shock as your mother twirled your hair into a tight bun at the back of your head, frowning at hair through the mirror. She didn’t look at you, she didn’t look up at all.

Her shaking hands she placed on your shoulders, hesitating to face your reflection. The smile she forced was painful to witness. "It's going to be fine, after today, it's only one more year." Her smile faltered, realizing that your brother had to endure his first Reaping today and many more would follow.

She looked into the mirror, watching your brother who sat on the floor trying to get his light stick to work again. Some of the boys had built them themselves out of old parts the factories rendered useless. They would often sneak outside in the evenings to draw patterns into the air by swinging their light sticks—though your mother hadn’t allowed your brother to go recently, since his light stick blew up last time. Faulty wiring.

To redirect her attention, you laid your hand atop hers and smiled a forced smile, too. "It's going to be okay. His name is in there only once." Yours was in there over twenty times. You had signed up for Tesserae and claimed it multiple times throughout the last few years for yourself, your mother, your father, and your brother. "We should head out," you said and stood, grabbing your brother's attention. "The Reaping's going to start soon."

Your brother whined in protest. "I don’t wanna go. They're gonna hurt my finger."

You snorted and held your hand out for him to take. "It's just a prick, you'll barely even feel." Bidding his light stick goodbye, he grabbed your hand, letting himself be pulled up from the floor.

"You look funny," he commented, making you narrow your eyes at him.

"Yeah?" You questioned and tugged at his shirt, neatly stuffed into his pants. It was such a difference from his usual attire, consisting of dirt-stained trousers and ripped shirts. "So do you."

Walking beside your mother and brother, you could spot the red banners with the golden sigil hanging from the Justice Building from afar. A way for the government to proudly display Panem's power; forcing every citizen of District Five to attend—with the exemption of those too ill to make their way here. Dozens of cameras were set up around the premises.

Entering the square, you stood in line, waiting for registration with government officials. Giving a drop of blood was a strict requirement, a method used to identify the people of District Five. Your brother stood beside you, clearly fidgety. He hated needles and the sight of blood, too.

"Atlas," you whispered and your brother turned his anxious eyes to you. "Want me to slap you when the needle hits? You won't even notice the pinch." Laughing at him frowning at you, you gave his shoulder a shove. "My offer stands, just so you know."

You and he stepped up to the tables at the same time and you grinned brightly when he looked back at you, as though he was actually considering taking you up on your offer. Paying no mind to the man in white, you looked around. Many children stood already in their dedicated section, though none of them wore even just a hint of a smile. Understandably so, you thought. It was the first day of a fight for life and death and with just a little too much bad luck, it was one of their lives on the line. Your mother was already out of sight and when you were about to walk toward the front, where the oldest children gathered, a hand wrapped around yours.

You looked down at your brother—he was catching up to you rather quickly in height, you noticed.

"I don’t want to go alone."

Once more you forced a smile. "It's only for a little while, okay? And after this is over, I'll help you make a killer light stick, how's that sound?"

"With flickering lights and all?"

"With flickering light and everything else you can think of," you agreed and saw his face lighten up immediately. He nodded excitedly and bounced off to the far back of the male section. You walked close to the front and stood beside a girl from your classes. On the stage in front of the Justice Building stood Mayor Ward Smith and beside him the district escort, Twila Hearst. Behind them remained two of the previous District Five victors. Ivette Li-Sanchez, victor of the 50th Hunger Games, and James Logan, victor of the 43rd. James Logan by now was almost completely bald and had a limp in his step. You remembered everyone telling you about how much that man was admired back in the day.

Ivette had won her games at fifteen, making her now thirty. Although she looked far younger. Perhaps the Capitol was treating her fairly well, after all.

Mayor Smith stepped towards the microphone and smiled, spreading his arms in welcome. He thanked everyone for their attendance as if anyone had a say in the matter and started reciting the founding history of Panem not a second later. He covered everything as though he himself was a history teacher before moving on to the beginning of the Hunger Games and its rules. Warden Smith spoke of it as if there was nothing more graceful than becoming a tribute, sprouting off his mouth what spoils and riches come with victory. His eyes shifted down to a piece of paper as he read off the names of your district's previous Hunger Games victors.

It was good to know he cared enough to remember them by heart.

Introducing Twila Hearst he waited for some kind of applause, although quickly stepped aside upon noticing none was to come. Twila, too, appraised all the potential tributes and made some idle comments to not seem too excited about what was to follow. "Whom should we start this year with?" She questioned happily, putting her hands by her ears to signal she wanted the crowd to decide. A few female voices called out men as if the few seconds they gained by the male tribute being picked first made any difference.

"The men this year?" She gasped and opened her orange-painted lips in shock, not being able to hide her smirk. "Whatever happened to ladies first?" Stepping over to the Reaping Bowl filled with solely male names, she clapped. "But I'll give what the people demand!" Sticking her hand in the bowl, she fumbled around for far too long; a meaningless and cruel try to build up any more suspense as though the hope to walk away alive wasn’t channeling enough tension as it was.

She pulled a slip from deep within the bowl and opened it, reading the name first for herself before leaning towards the microphone. "Atlas Thornbury!" She called out and peered out into the crowd of gathered males, trying to make out if anybody had started walking towards the stage. "Atlas Thornbury, come up here my boy!"

You hadn’t registered at first. Hadn’t even paid attention, really. That flicker of hope you had held within your chest kept assuring you that once again you would walk away. When your mind caught up, you felt as though you could breathe. Your heart thundered against your ribcage as your head whipped from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of your brother. The girl from your class put a hand on your shoulder, trying to offer some kind of reassurance that all would be okay, though you knew it would not. He was barely a twelve-year-old boy, so thin he almost looked sickly. Atlas wouldn’t stand a chance. He wouldn’t survive. He would die. Die alone in a cage made for punishment and entertainment of the rich folk.

Peacekeepers were on the move the second your brother stepped out of line and escorted him to the front of the stage. You heard crying, you thought, or perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks, offering you a reaction of what you could do instead of staring panic-stricken. In your haze, you had missed Twila introducing Atlas to the rest of Panem and moving on to picking the female tribute.

She cleared her throat, the slip with the name already grasped loosely between her fingers. You swallowed and watched your brother in a state of paralysis. Even though you saw her lips move; you heard nothing. Nothing but your own blood rushing through your system, as you forcefully pushed the pitying hand off your shoulder and stepped out of line.

"I volunteer as Tribute!"

All heads snapped toward you as some Peacekeepers sprinted forward, keeping you from walking any further. You shoved them off, trying to get to the stage—to your brother, who was shaking so much you were sure he would break at any moment. Twila continued her blabbering but you ignored all. Ignored the whispers around you and pitiful glances and your mother's screams from all the way at the back, crying about both her children being taken from her in a split second.

You had barely stepped onto the stage when your brother's arms wrapped themselves around your waist. His cries shook his body weakly as you put your hands around his head. A tear fell from your eye before you could stop it.

Nothing was going to be okay.

When the ceremony was over, both of you were taken into custody and led into the Justice Building to a room that held more riches than perhaps the whole of District Five. Your mother was brought into the room by some Peacekeepers and you tried your hardest to soothe her wails and ceaseless cries. Though it was hard, when all you were left to feel was a shattering numbness. It didn’t matter anymore. You were going to die. And with that realization, you swore you would fight for your brother to your last breath and beyond.

---

You had never been on a train. Not that you had ever had the chance or permission to. Only those of the Capitol and those reaped had the chance. You didn’t know if you liked the feeling of not having still ground beneath your feet. The thought of moving so quickly without actually noticing the speed made you itch uncomfortably.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Twila asked, cutting herself a tiny piece of meat before bringing it to her mouth.

You looked to her, to your brother—who was stuffing his face with pastries—and to the two previous victors. "No."

"Well, then," Logan clapped and stood. He was the only one who, too, had refused to eat. "We should talk strategies." He walked over to a small table where different bottles of very expensive alcohol were arranged and poured himself half a glass of scotch. "Any skills or special talents we should be aware of?"

Atlas lifted his hand the same way he would in school and waited to be called on. "I make killer light sticks."

Logan looked confused. "What?"

"Toys," you responded in a hiss with half a mind to toss the table. "He makes toys."

"What about you?" Logan questioned. "Any talents?"

"No."

"I think I'm getting a tummy ache," Atlas complained and put down the pastry he was holding. You told him to go to his room and lie down a bit since it wouldn’t be too long before your arrival at the Capitol.

When he was gone you fixed the adults with a stern gaze. "We can all go on and pretend that you actually believe we stand a chance or drop the act and acknowledge the fact that we are as good as dead already."

Ivette snorted and your head whipped to the other side of the table. "Oh, angry girl, if there is anyone I believe will win, it's you."

You ignored the nickname and scoffed. "I think we already established that I don’t have any skills or talents or even a chance. If I were you, I'd lower my expectations."

She put down the cutlery and leaned forward. "You have anger, and trust me, that's enough." Ivette didn’t give you a chance to respond as she stood and turned on a big screen hanging from the wall. "Why don’t we see who you'll be competing against, hm?"

Clips of other Reapings played; the Career Districts first, showing how they fought over who got to volunteer this year. "Many volunteers this year," Ivette commented as the next clip started to play. District Four. A young boy stepped out of line, and you thought he resembled your brother quite a bit, when another male stepped out of line, volunteering for the boy. When you stayed silent, Ivette sighed. "I didn’t have any skills upon entering, either. But I learned because I had to. And you will, too. We both know you have something to fight for."

You stared at her and she stared right back. Leaning back in your chair, you gripped the plush armrest tightly. "Tell me what to do to keep him alive and I'll do it."

---

Upon arriving at the Capitol, you and your brother were brought to the City Circle, the center of the Capitol, where the Remake Center was located.

A group of extravagantly dressed personas stood with broad grins on their faces, waiting for your arrival. You and your brother were handed a blue rope each and were hurried inside to change. They separated you then, bringing you to a room with a metal surface to lie on. You were hesitant but the prep team gave you no room to argue, tutting you as though you were no more than a mindless child. Laying there, you let them do your nails, wax your brows, and remove every inch of body hair you had before they stuck you in a tub with cold water. When you shivered, they laughed, tutting you again, telling you if you had hurried it would have been warmer.

Afterward, they did your hair and added make-up and then told you to wait for the head stylist to arrive. You had the prep team repeatedly tell you why they were dressing you up, and each time they replied with sponsors. According to them, getting sponsors was crucial to the survival of the Games.

You shook with anger at being presented to the Capitol like a piece of meat, dolled up ridiculously in order to meet their beauty standards.

When the head stylist arrived the other members of the prep team brought in a laughably big gown that was completely transparent. "I'm not wearing that," you argued but the head stylist only raised his brow. "I'll be naked."

"It hurts my feelings that you'd think my execution of the power district would be done so poorly." He clapped and walked away. "Help her get dressed."

The prep team sprung into action, pulling you along with them before they stood on stools to let the dress down onto your body from higher above. You frowned at yourself. Not because you looked like a cloud of translucent puffiness, but because you had never worn anything feeling as comfortable as this gown. The material was indescribably soft on your skin and so light you could barely tell it was there in the first place.

You moved the tiniest bit and suddenly the dress turned a solid silver color. The head stylist came back with a headpiece in hand that was a mix between a crown and a halo. Your mouth fell open in hesitation. "Isn't this a little too—"

"Provocative?" He grinned and picked up a spray bottle of silver body paint. "Good."

Everything on your body was doctored to perfection; your eyelashes now had the length of half your pinky finger, your lips were drawn to look fuller with a vibrant metal shimmer, and your body to your neck up was covered in silver paint, sparkling notoriously when the sunlight hit you directly. When you looked up into the sky, it was a clear blue with no hint of darkness and you wondered if District Five was as dark as it was because the Capitol had stolen the sun. When the prep team was finally done with you and your brother, it was the late afternoon and you were immediately led along to the center of the City Circle. The other Tributes were gathered there already, standing beside black chariots drawn by night-shaded horses.

Hundreds of Capitol citizens had gathered along the Avenue of Tributes, chanting their favorite districts or just simply the word Hunger. The shouts echoed in your ear as whatever your brother was telling you faded into the background. Your eyes fell from Tribute to Tribute as blood rushed through your ears. Whom of them would you kill? Who would kill you? The pace of your breathing picked up as your hand fell to your stomach; you felt like your lungs were granting no more air to enter and the dress now appeared to be nothing but a cage.

A loud laughter snapped you out of your trance and your head whipped to where the roaring sound came from. A tall blonde male stood beside an old woman, who playfully slapped him on the arm while gifting him with a stern look that held no anger whatsoever. You tried recalling the names of the Tributes, which Logan and Ivette had spent over an hour teaching you, yet you were not sure when it came to him.

The girl beside him, the other tribute of District Four, was Adella. Both Tributes appeared mature enough to be over sixteen at last, perhaps eighteen even. As though he could feel your eyes glaring into his back, he shifted his gaze toward where you stood. Curiosity taking over the slight feeling of shame, you continued mustering him, wondering if he volunteered because he wanted to partake in the games as a Career or because he had felt true compassion for the little boy who had been chosen.

A sharp pain coursed through your arm as your head flew to look at the spot. Your brother's fingers were lingering close by to the piece of skin he had just pinched. You scowled at him, but he only nodded toward the head stylist standing in front of you. Redness arose at the back of your neck as you noticed he had been talking to you all along. He held his hand extended toward you, a small device in it. You took it without asking and waited for any kind of instruction.

"Press it when you're about halfway along."

"Why?"

He blinked at you and took it back in a flash, grimacing at the fact that you had questioned him once again. "I'll do it myself." He hurried you onto the chariot designated for District Five and patted both your shoulders. "Don’t forget to smile." Your brother nodded in agreement, though you stayed still.

Rhythmic pounding of drums joined the echoing chants and suddenly it seemed your pulse thrummed only after their beat. Chariot after chariot got to moving. Your district was almost in the middle, not too far behind and not too close to the front, and yet it wasn’t enough time to prepare you for the sight of thousands of people surrounding you.

When you had barely made it three feet onto the Avenue, you gripped your brother's hand. "Don’t smile," you told him, not taking your eyes off the spectacle before you.

"But he said—"

"I know what he said. I just don’t care." You did care. You cared that you didn’t want to give anybody the satisfaction of seeing even a flash of happiness about what they were doing to you. You refused to play into sick games, refused to just accept a punishment you didn’t deserve since it was for a rebellion that happened decades ago. It had not been your fight and the districts losing it and being brought close to extinction, for you, seemed to be punishment enough. The districts did not have anything else to give anymore and still, the Capitol took and took, and you knew they would never stop. Not without being stopped.

You would not play along. You would fight, but not for their entertainment or promised riches, but for your survival, your brother's survival, and the slim chance to bring him back to your mother safely.

Something happened then. You hadn’t noticed it at first, too caught up in the stream of your furious thoughts when gasps sounded and the applause went raging. Looking around, you tried spotting the cause, when your brother looked you up and down with big eyes. You peeked downward, spotting the previously silver dress had turned into a stream of bright, flowing electricity. It wasn’t a mere dress anymore; it was pulsing with life—with power. The long hemline of the dress, which was so long, it was close to dragging on the floor, was sprouting sparks of electricity, just like the back of your brother's suit. You could see other tributes in front of you looking up at the screens, wanting to know what all the hype was about.

The chariots gathered at the end of the avenue, standing in perfect rows and you wondered how often these horses had gone through this process. President Snow stood, walked forward, and bathed in the attention he was getting from the citizens of the Capitol. He stood high above the Tributes and for a second you found yourself thinking about how long he would fall, if someone were to shove him.

"Welcome," he spoke, his voice sounding through all the avenue. "Tributes, we welcome you. We salute your courage and your sacrifice, and we wish you happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor!" Not a moment after he had finished his little speech, the chariots were on the move again, drawing you back to where you had come from.

Stepping off the chariot, your dress was back to plain silver, though you had no time to ponder it when you were approached by Logan, Ivette, and Twila.

"Well, that was something," Logan commented and Ivette grimaced. "I thought the strategy was to—" He halted when he noticed other Tributes eyeing you curiously, and certainly not in friendly spirits. "Let's get you two to your apartments, we'll talk more when you don’t look like aluminum foil."

You were brought to the training center, where you would be staying in apartments for the week of your training. All the riches that were kept from the district were perhaps gathered in the Tributes' apartments—or at least whatever the parsimonious Capitol could bear to spare.

You had barely washed off the silver paint and slipped into some linen pants when there was a small, careful knock on your door. Opening it, you found your brother standing there donning clothes just as comfortable as your own. Smeared streaks of silver paint were still covering his face. He hesitated, towel in hand. "Can you help me?"

"Well, I'll need something in return."

He huffed annoyed. "What do you want?"

"You see, there is this buffet down in the cafeteria, and I'd really hate to go alone."

"There is more free food?" Atlas squeaked as if it was the best news he had ever gotten to hear. Which for him it might have been. Back home there wasn’t a lot of food to go around. "I hope they have more pastries. You have to try those!"

"We'll see." You still weren't hungry and the thought of eating any meal they served made you feel as if you were having an executioner's meal.

---

A lot of Tributes seemingly chose to avoid the chance to socialize with the enemy. A few empty metal tables stood spread around the room—you chose the one at the far back, not wanting to draw any more attention to you after what had happened at the Tribute Parade. Atlas was off before you had even sat down, going straight to the pastry table.

You rolled your eyes, wanting to mother him and tell him he should eat real food, but you didn’t want to take any specks of happiness he had left.

He came back with one or two pastries on his plate, saying he had found they had many kinds of meats to choose from and he wanted to try them all. You nodded along to everything he said, offering a smile here and there so you wouldn’t seem too disconnected from the conversation. With other tributes in the room, you just couldn’t focus on anything but the warning flashes in your mind, reminding you that danger was imminent.

Atlas pulled at your hand then, dragging you to the buffet, lecturing you on not eating all day. You snorted. Who was mothering whom now? Only because of his demands did you fill your plate with some of the many dishes to choose from. Atlas appeared content enough with the action and went on to load his own plate.

At the table, you pushed the food on your plate around aimlessly, poking some vegetables and cutting some meat without actually bringing it to your tongue. You felt sick to your stomach.

"You know," a voice said from behind you, amusement weirdly prominent in his tone. "There is a funny fact about food."

Peeking over your shoulder, you came face to face with the District Four male. And, seemingly, the arrogant smile was sewn onto his face. Not one moment you had seen him without it. A mask well crafted, you thought. You should perhaps hone your own; letting the Capitol know you loathed them wasn’t the smartest of moves to pull when you required their help. Sponsorships and all that.

"Interesting, truly," you said and turned back around, yet somehow you had the feeling you wouldn’t be able to shake him off so easily.

He sat across from you; plate loaded to the brim with maybe every kind of dish they offered. "It's supposed to be consumed with your mouth, not the eyes." Grinning, he shoved a piece of steak into his mouth. He groaned in exaggerated delight, making you raise your brow. "I've had fish for almost every meal for the past eighteen years, I'm going to spend the rest of it bathing in ribeye."

However long that may be, you thought, your eyes moving to find your brother still waiting in line. "You volunteered," you spoke then before you could think about it.

"Well, I guess I'm not the only one, am I?"

"Do you consider yourself a Career?"

The blonde snorted. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

He eyed someone over your shoulder and leaned in. "Not yet." Leaning back, he brought another cut piece of red meat to his lips. The District Four male nodded to your untouched plate. "Why aren't you eating?"

"They are serving us our last meals day in and day out as if it's gonna change anything about the fact that they want to see us slaughter each other. I can happily do without their insincere gestures of atonement."

"You really do not like the Capitol, do you, Spark?"

"And you do?"

He didn’t answer, forking himself another piece of food before pointing at your plate. "Are you going to eat that?" Understanding his inquiry, you shoved the plate across the table just as Atlas reappeared.

"Hello," your brother greeted and surprisingly set his plate right next to the man. "I'm Atlas."

The male nodded as if he didn’t already know and extended his hand. "Finnick."

"I know!" Your brother exclaimed. "You volunteered for the other boy. That was nice."

Finnick smiled and yet, you could clearly spot the pity in his eyes. Perhaps his mask wasn’t so perfectly crafted after all. Atlas' eyes found your plate across the table, no item of food missing. He frowned at you and deeply so. "Mom would be so mad at you right now." You wanted to tell him that he could tell on you all he wanted when you got him home. But with Finnick sitting across from you, you didn’t dare speak the words and let him see the doubt written across your face. "Can you at least eat the vegetables?" Atlas whined. "You always make me."

"Fine, but you're getting yourself a serving of them, too."

"Deal!" He jumped off the bench, grabbing himself another plate, and stepped into the short line again.

"I'm sorry," Finnick said out of the blue, drawing your attention back to him.

You swallowed, the corners of your mouth dropping low as you gave a slight nod, eyes finding your brother's form. "Me too."

---

The gymnasium was huge. The diversity of stations ranged from simple survival training with plants and berries to camouflage and all kinds of weaponry you had never known existed. All Tributes had gotten an orientation by the Head Trainer, with a rundown of all available stations and rules.

You were allowed to move freely in the gymnasium, socialize or spend the time however you pleased, though, under no circumstances, were you allowed to fight any other Tributes while training. Strictly forbidden was partaking in any combat exercises with each other. Experts were available to partner up with if anyone fancied a session.

Surrounding the whole of the gymnasium was one balcony, from where the Gamemakers observed closely the skills and talents of each tribute.

You had been training for a few days now, though while the other Tributes actively used their time in the gymnasium, Ivette had been giving you private sessions. She and Logan thought it best to go with the strategy of deception—to make everyone think you were harmless, useless. You had learned the basics with every other Tribute; what the weapons were called, how they were used, and so on.

Though mostly while others trained, you stayed close by your brother, observing him when in training with the head trainer and when he was aimlessly throwing knives and other weapons around, too. Once or twice, you spared a glance toward the balcony, finding the Gamemakers eyeing the action of your brother in amusement. For them, his life truly was nothing more than a plaything.

On the last day of training, you stood by your brother once more, trying to help him with throwing knives, although you found you weren't the best teacher. Another knife clunked to the floor without sticking in the target and you huffed. Ivette made teaching look so easy. You had picked the movements up in seconds but now trying to explain them seemed futile. With the other Tributes close by, you couldn’t even show Atlas the correct way of doing it or you would be on the brink of blowing Logan and Ivette's whole strategy.

"You need more force," you said, causing Atlas to stick his tongue out toward you, clearly annoyed and tired.

"You keep saying that, but it's not working! Just admit you don’t know what you're doing!"

"Spark's right," a—by now—familiar voice commented and you lit up in appreciation for Finnick's affirmation. "If you draw your hand back further, you're gonna get it." Atlas positioned himself the way Finnick told him to, looking at the older male for approval. The blonde nodded with a wink, showing your brother the hand movement again, just in case. Without waiting for Finnick to give the go, Atlas hurled the knife straight forward, and to your surprise—and your brother's, too—it bored itself into the target. It was far off from the point where it optimally should have hit, but a win was a win.

Finnick and you stepped away, letting your brother try by himself. The District Four male frowned down at you. "Why haven't you been training?"

"I… I did train," you protested, pointing to the countless survival stations. "I finished all of those."

He seemed truly worked up over it. "Those won't help when anybody comes after you."

"Are you planning to?" You joked, yet you weren't sure you were joking at all. When no reply followed you huffed and flared your arms. "I had never held a weapon before the beginning of the week. There is no way I could learn how to handle any of them, so I just… don't." You shrugged, trying to ignore the furious disbelief in his sea-green eyes.

"I thought you would do everything to protect your brother."

Again, your shoulders raised and fell. "Reality triumphed hope."

He shook his head and stormed off, leaving you to stare after him speechlessly. You still hadn’t gotten your answer. Would he come after you? He had conversed with you every day at every evening meal since the beginning of the week. Though ignored you most of the time when other Tributes were in proximity. Under any other circumstances, you were sure he would have been a friend. Not a fiend out for blood. You shook off your dense thoughts. Of course, he would come after you. It was the game, after all.

---

You felt like a dog, waiting to dance and show off whatever training you had received, hoping to get some kind of acknowledgment—a treat, expressed in a score number, which wouldn’t completely tank your chances at getting more sponsors. Apparently, you had a good amount of them already, so much so, that Logan felt confident that you would at least survive a few days in the arena.

His explanation of the statement was, that if the other tributes didn’t want to lose sponsors at the very beginning of the game, they would have to let you live since all of Panem seemed taken by you from the moment your dress lit up. He and Ivette had decided to tweak their strategy for you after getting word of the number of sponsors eagerly awaiting your test scores. They had told you not to hold back.

Your brother went before you. Atlas was gone for about ten minutes, before coming out with a bright grin, whispering a quick assurance that each throwing knife had hit the target. When you went in, you were met with nothing but playful chattering. Looking up at the balcony, you found that not a single person was paying attention to you. You frowned. Yes, in the training sessions, you had barely taken part in, but they could at least show some goddamned respect. They were going to kill you for their pure amusement.

Your nostrils flared as you walked to the table holding the weapons. Picking up a spear, you turned the perfectly balanced stick of metal over in your hand and took place across from the human-shaped target. For the week, Ivette had trained you hour upon hour, making sure you knew every movement, every stance, every impression there was to take in. Drawing your arm back, you focused your eyes, found the middle of the target, and hurled the spear forward. It hit the target with such force a good part of it went all the way through and was now poking out at the back of the thick target. And yet, none of them even spared you a glance.

You scoffed in disbelief, looking around for anything else that would get their attention until your eyes landed on a silver box on the wall. Peeking at the Gamemakers once more, you checked if they had at least acknowledged your existence by now, but no. Gripping a small knife from the table, you went over to the box and broke it open. Fuses, wires—a lot of wires. It was all you had been schooled in back in District Five.

You ripped out the see-through plastic wall that the wires were tugged away behind and pulled a handful of them out. Sorting them, you lined them up, lifted the knife, and cut straight through them. Everything went black. Panicked shouts followed as all of them struggled to see. Hard thing to do with the cables cut not only from the main source of power but the backup generators, too. The fuses you turned off, as you pulled at the two cables you had memorized and connected them. Turning the right fuse back on, a single source of light, focused only on one spot in the gymnasium, turned back on.

Their eyes were on you now, as you stood illuminated in a pool of darkness and threw the knife you were holding straight at the target's head. Angered and interested their attention fell from the twice perfectly penetrated target to you as you bowed with an annoyed grimace and left the room. Peacekeepers pushed past you, probably thinking you had ambushed and killed all the Gamemakers and there was a part in you—not small, not unconscious, not obscure—that wished you had. The men in white suits eyed you suspiciously, but you paid them no mind, more focused on the red flickering lights in the hallway. You hummed. There were more generators. The rest of the Tributes still waiting to be called in for their evaluations mustered you as you went past with your head held high, not giving away if you were the reason for the power failure. You went back to the apartment which for the day remained yours, only to find Atlas already waiting patiently in front of the TV.

You weren't sure if your brother had spent even just a single day at his apartment. It was right across the hall and yet it seemed to be too far for him. "You know they will be announced in the evening, right?"

He huffed. "I just wanna know what they thought. I handle the knives so well—just like Finnick showed me! They have to give me an okay score." Atlas only then appeared to remember that you had had your evaluation, too. "Do you think yours went well? What did you show them?"

You hesitated, not sure if your action had ruined your chances at a remotely fine training score. "I threw a knife, too." You shrugged. "We'll see what they thought about my performance in a few hours."

Taking a look at the clock, you grabbed a jacket and signed for your brother to follow. You were to spend the day with Ivette and Logan for them to prepare you for your interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Both of your mentors thought you were in dire need of training when it came to proper etiquette. Logan and Ivette had schooled you for hours, trying to get you to show a somewhat flirty, yet mysterious persona, which Caesar Flickerman and the rest of the Capitol would eat up. Twila then busied herself with scorning and arguing with you over the ways of proper etiquette. Deeming you readied enough, they put their attention on Atlas, letting you off the leash that you were on—you weren't more than a lapdog by now, after all.

You couldn’t sleep that night. Atlas was peacefully sleeping beside you and every time your eyes remotely closed, you jolted awake, scared you would wake in the arena, where harm lured, waiting to take your brother. You knew, of course, the arena was yet another day away, you wouldn’t just wake there, but telling yourself it over and over again didn’t help one bit. Too anxious, you stood and slipped on a rope. Downstairs they had food, you thought. Perhaps after days of barely eating anything, you needed some sugar to calm your nerves. Peacekeepers were stationed in and around the building; the only reason why they allowed the Tributes to move freely within. Although they were a little weary now, since on day four, a District Seven male had tried to escape. They had caught him, naturally, and made an example out of him, too. He had been whipped. Cruelly and gruesomely, with no hint of mercy, only swings filled with content.

The Peacekeepers had no interest in peace, you thought. They were sadists to some degree, jumping at every chance to punish, and even to kill. Their title and position in the Capitol's food chain gave them no limitations. In the name of the Capitol, in the name of President Snow, they had said, and chained the poor male up—as if he wouldn’t be fighting for his life soon enough—and hurled thinly threaded metal cord across his back. They had left him to bleed there, unconscious and shivering.

The cafeteria stood empty, not even a Peacekeeper was bothered to keep watch. You hesitated as you gripped a plate from the high stack and went over to the different dishes. Some of them were stored away in coolers, while others still shimmered over low heat, keeping them warm and prepared, in case any Tribute experienced nightly cravings. You did exactly what Atlas had done the past few days, and went straight for the pastries.

"So, this is how you do it, huh?" An amused voice hummed. "You have tricked us all, pretending to starve yourself, when in reality, you sneak down here at night."

"Yes, Finnick," you played along. "You have finally uncovered my deepest, darkest secret." Cocking your head, you stalked to a table and set the plate down before turning to look at him. "What are you going to do with it?" Finnick's broad form was leaning against the doorway. His blonde locks were a clear mess, giving away that you hadn't been the only one tossing and turning.

He only grinned, turning his head downward, before pushing himself off the doorway. Finnick made his way over to the table, halting close to you. Closer than you had ever been, you noticed. Perhaps the nightly distress had made him unhinged, his impulses winning over the schooled restraint, which usually kept him so well in check.

Seeing Finnick's agents not totally in balance was a true rarity. There was only one other time he had let his guard down. An accident, you guessed, when he had slipped up and his frustration had gotten the better of him.

"I have always been curious about secrets, you know?" He went on, studying your face for any sign of discomfort at his nighness.

"Isn't that just a fancy way of saying you are nosy?"

Finnick chuckled. "I know a lot of them, too. The other Tributes'. They are quite open after some sweet-talking."

"Of course, if anyone were to get anything out of them, it would be you."

"Do you want a little pre-view?" In his grin you found true excitement, something you hadn’t seen too often from him. Finnick wearing anything true on his face was reserved more moments like this; moments of intimacy. Goosebumps arose on your arm, thinking that in the span of mere hours, all of it was gone. He wouldn’t be helping your brother perfect his fighting skills, wouldn’t help you righten your stance with gentle, cheeky touches, wouldn’t come at you with a grin, but a raised weapon, ready to tint it with your blood.

You wanted everything to be different. You wanted it so badly, it hurt deep within your chest. A stinging sensation you hadn’t felt since the day Atlas' name had been called by Twila on the day of the Reaping. It seemed like so long ago, though it had only been one week.

You shook your head. "Best to keep secrets to yourself. You don’t want them to lose their worth."

"Why do I feel like sweet talking won't get me any of yours?"

You shrugged. "Maybe I just don’t have any."

Finnick took another step closer and you turned your head up a bit, to be able to look him in the eyes. "I don’t believe that for a second."

"Then I guess you'll just have to live without mine."

"How gruesome of you, Spark," he said, leaning forward, putting his hand flat on the metal table behind you. It might just have been the first cage you did not mind being in. "To tease me so."

You swallowed; your throat suddenly dried of any words. A shaky breath of air flowed from your lips as your back pressed into the metal table. Out of reflex, you put your hand in front of yourself, landing it directly on his hard chest. You averted your gaze, turning your head downward. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to compose yourself, though it proved challenging with his chest heaving beneath your touch just as quickly as your own. Rough fingers, prone by the hard labor of District Four, gripped your chin, turning it back upward. There was no way of escaping him now; no way of escaping yourself.

You caved then, with a defeated breath and he saw right through you. He kissed you, mouth hungry and tinged with the desperation of escaping the leering reality that none of you could change. With his strong arm, he helped you atop the table, his body slotting against your own perfectly. Finnick groaned against your mouth, as your thighs tightened around him, pulling his body closer to you. His arm wrapped around your hip and you gasped against his lips as you felt him pressing his crotch into yours. It was messy and heated and overwhelming until it all stopped. Both of you pulled away in order to catch your breath and Finnick let his forehead fall against yours.

Suddenly a tear dropped onto your cheek and a sob forced its way from your mouth. "I can’t let him die," you cried and shook your head so forcefully you were getting dizzy. Everything you had been holding back from the moment Atlas' name had echoed through District Five broke loose. "He's only twelve years old. He is a child. He can't—" You stuttered along as Finnick pulled you into him. The embrace wasn’t solely for your comfort, you knew, you felt it. Felt all the fear he kept so well hidden. You wrapped your arms around his neck, locking him in just as tight as his arms engulfed you so desperately you felt it seeping into your skin. For a second, you felt safe then, with his arms giving you just enough space to hide away in.

Finnick placed his hand on either side of your face, wiping your tears with his thumb. Opening his mouth, he was about to say something, when steps sounded outside of the cafeteria. Startled, he distanced himself from you, making it look like he hadn’t acknowledged your presence, as you hopped off the table. A Peacekeeper entered, followed by the District Eight male Tribute.

You left the cafeteria then, throwing a quick look over your shoulder only to find that Finnick was paying you no mind. Wiping whatever was left of your tears yourself, you hurried back to your apartment. Atlas was still sleeping peacefully as you sat at the edge of the bed, facing him. In this state, he looked so much like his younger self. It was all you saw in him now, too aware that his life might be cut short. Instead of seeing his future, you only saw his past. Remembered the first day your mother had put a fussy baby in your arms that you were so deadly jealous of. It was a weird feeling. Feeling such a surge of love for someone you had barely known half a day and yet, you had felt discontent when seeing your mother and father with him. Loving him the way they had previously held reserved only for you.

And then a few years later, your father had died. Your mother was so devastated she hadn’t been able to get out of bed for months. You were to one to take care of Atlas, you were the one to hold him while he was crying and your arms were the ones, he fell asleep in. Not able to help yourself, you extended your hand and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead.

You were ready, had been since the first day you had laid eyes on him. You were ready to die for him.

---

The next day, your prep team once again spent the whole day forcing a make-over on you, plucking hairs and eradicating blackheads, all the while shushing your complaints. It was only when they were done that the head stylist, Lazarus, made an appearance. In his hand, he was holding the dress specifically created for you. Top till mid-thigh it was black, with blue shimmering mesh fabric running down to the floor.

He held it out for you to take, knowing you wouldn’t argue this time—you wouldn’t have won the argument anyway. After the prep team had helped you get into the garment, they tugged long gloves onto your arms, made out of the same mesh blue fabric as the bottom of the dress.

Lazarus signed for them to leave you then and you frowned. Your eyes followed him intensely as he checked around to see if anyone was close by. Silver hair glimmering in the fluorescent lighting, he made his way back.

"A source informed me Caesar is dropping some big news tonight during your interview," he spoke lowly. "They didn’t say exactly what it was, but I didn’t want you to be too surprised."

"Is it about back home?" You asked, swallowing. Was your mother all right?

"No," Lazarus assured and tugged at the waistline of the dress to pull it into place. "Something about the Games." When he was done, he stepped away and stared at the piece of art he had created. "I was surprised by your score." At the sudden change of topic, the thoughts of your mother vanished.

"Why? Thought it would be low?"

"Yes, actually," he admitted. "District Five usually doesn’t score above a five. Let alone a ten." He looked almost proud, you thought. "A lot of people will be furious for betting against you."

"Did you?"

"Let's just say, if you die, I'm going to be a homeless man." Lazarus wore a small grin on his face, ruffling his silver locks until suddenly he turned serious once more. "You need to be careful with what you say or do from here on out."

Your forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"

"Things have been different in the Districts since your Reaping." His voice got even quieter. "There is scattered talk that the Capitol is scared your death or your brother's might start another revolution."

"A revolution?" You asked shocked and shook your head. "That doesn’t make any sense. A lot of children have been reaped before and no one seemed to care. Why would anything change now?"

"It is already changing," he said. "Since the day of the Reaping the whippings in the Districts have more than doubled. A platoon of Peacekeepers has been sent to every District because they couldn’t keep the people down anymore." He took your hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "The Capitol has a target on your back already, only they can't allow themselves the shot. You can’t step out of line, not yet at least."

A voice shouted, letting you know a car was waiting to bring you to your interview. The car ride was silent, not even your brother or Twila were babbling along this time. At the studio, Peacekeepers were waiting to take you inside but before they could sweep you away, Logan stopped them. "Remember what we talked about?"

You huffed. "Yes."

"What did we talk about?"

"No swearing."

"And?"

"I really love the Capitol."

"Good girl," he grinned and stepped away to catch up with Ivette and Twila. "Go!" He called over his shoulder. "But don’t be yourself!"

Against your expectations, everywhere in the studio—except for the stage—was a cloud of grimness lingering. Not even the people working on the show carried the Capitol's flashy personas. The Tributes stood in a lean line by the wall, waiting to be called up and by the looks of it, you were the last to arrive. You cleared your throat as you made your way towards the front, halting awkwardly before Finnick and the District Six female Tribute. All the Tributes moved back to make space for you and your brother.

The Careers went first, talking about how grateful they were to have this opportunity to fulfill their dream. They raved about how great the Capitol was to come up with these Games and how excited they felt about the following day. You wanted to slap every one of them for even thinking such things. They were delusional, honed into this way of thinking by their Districts. The Career Districts had forced away the fear when it came to the Games and manipulated the children from a young age to have the same views. It was downright disgusting.

You watched every single interview pass by until it was Finnick's turn to take over the stage. It was like seeing a switch flipped inside of him the moment there were cameras on him. He was grinning from ear to ear, dimples on full display. The words he was speaking were not his own, but then again, yours wouldn’t be your own either. He, too, appraised the Capitol for its greatness and all the nice things they had done for him from the moment he had volunteered.

Caesar Flickerman called out for you and a surge of applause went through the audience. Walking out you tried focusing on the purple-haired male, but instead, the audience caught your attention. They were standing up—well, most of them anyway—with their hands cupped at their mouths, cheering your name. You swallowed at their crudeness. If they loved their Tributes so much, how could they watch them die, gamble with their lives, and hope for a few more coins in their pockets?

You wanted to watch them burn, all of them, for the things that they were doing to you. It should be their screams and cries reverberating through the arena, not those of children. It was them deserving of punishment for they hosted in their minds sickness far worse than any criminal.

Climbing the steps up to where Caesar stood, you were careful not to trip since Lazarus had forced heeled torture devices onto your feet. Bright lights from spotlights blinded you, making it impossible for you to make out anything beyond the stage and yet, you could not avert your eyes.

An excited voice called out your name as a hand plucked yours and pulled you down to your seat. You blinked at Caesar's white grin as the male patted your hand as if he were a close friend offering reassurance. He was not and you weren't quite sure if anybody housed by the Capitol could even be considered friendly, let alone tolerable. Caesar was a star amongst the Capitol's citizens, looked up to as though he was a rare gold coin in a sea of copper. People adored the man more than they adored Snow; you were sure of it.

"Now, I've got to admit, you certainly sparked the Capitol's interest with your entrance at the parade, isn't that right, folks?" Another round of applause and cheers followed his words and you forced a smile of gratitude. "And not only that, but you also had our hearts zapped from the moment the cameras caught you for the first time." Caesar turned serious. You wanted to laugh then; his sincereness was falser than the smile currently resting on your lips. "Would you care to share the reason for your volunteering?"

Your jaw clenched as you had to keep yourself from flaring your nostrils. Never in your life had you heard a question more unnecessary. What did he want to hear? That you volunteered solely for the purpose of killing everyone who had it out for your brother? That you thought Atlas wasn't strong enough? That you did not want him to be alone in his last moments? You swallowed, biting down on your tongue as your gaze went out to the audience. Thinking back, you should have paid more attention when Logan and Ivette tried to school you in self-control.

"I didn’t want my brother to be alone."

"All for your brother, I see." The crowd cooed with compassion none of them truly had. "And you love your brother?"

You stared. "Of course."

"You would do anything for him?"

"Yes."

"Kill for him?"

Blinking at Caesar, you suddenly couldn’t imagine anything but jumping over the table separating you two to strangle the man. Digging your nails into the palms of your hands, you pushed yourself to grin. "Well, Caesar, we will just have to wait and see what I'll do."

"You certainly are capable if your score proves right!" He roared enthusiastically, bestowing eagerness onto the audience. "Let me tell you, it came as a big surprise to us all when your score was published! For almost three decades, District Five scored below four, and there you go, easily bagging a ten. Quite the impressive lady, you are, dare I say." He leaned forward then. "Very impressive indeed. So impressive the Capitol just couldn’t help themselves." Caesar stood in one swift motion, microphone in hand, wearing a glowing smile. "For the first time ever, the Capitol has bestowed upon me to honor of announcing that this year there will not be one—" He stalled, lifting one finger to back his words. "But two… victors!" Your head snapped to him and back to where the other Tributes stood waiting for their interview.

Soon after—after Caesar had gone on about how your family could be reunited as if that hadn’t been your first thought— you were ushered along and off the stage to where the other Tributes sat, who had already completed their interviews. All you wanted was to get to your brother, to pull him close and assure him that both of you would see your mother again. Your body was pumping with adrenalin as you thought of what the future could be like if you got him out—and you, too. Faltering, you took your place beside Finnick. It was harder now, you realized. Way harder now that you had not only your brother to get out, but yourself, too. In all your time here, you had never even allowed yourself to consider it. Atlas and you surviving this hell. It had been futile until now. For the first time since the Reaping, you allowed yourself to feel hope.

You stared straight ahead, thoughts churning messily as you waited for Atlas to get off the stage, ignoring the way Finnick's eyes kept flicking over to you. Caesar treated him for what he was; a child. Asked him his favorite games, if he had many friends, and if he was sad about his score of three. And with every word slipping off Atlas' tongue, the audience laughed and cooed and awed as if he was no more than a circus monkey they could gawk at. They didn’t care that his life was on the line, neither did they care about any of you, only the money they had bet.

The Tributes beside you were celebrating the news they had just received with hugs and laughter. You couldn’t even muster to move a single muscle until you saw Atlas getting off the stage and heading towards you. He talked to you, you saw, but no word reached your ears as you stood and took him in; the little crease between his brows as he complained about his interview, the spattered freckles adorning the top of his cheeks and the glitter that had been put there by his style team, long mahogany lashes, a straight, crunched up nose, and ears just a tad bit too big for his head.

As he waited for your answer you suddenly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close. Atlas huffed, arms hanging by his sides. "You are so weird. Logan told you not to be yourself."

"I wasn’t myself," you defended and smiled—a true smile. "I was being nice."

Following the interviews, you and all other Tributes were to return to your apartments. It was the end, you thought. The end to all the formalities and niceties. Now, all were going to show their real faces, real agendas. That night you were in your bed in a state of restlessness, Atlas sleeping beside you. But you could tell he wasn’t at peace. His usually wrinkleless face was contorted with concern, led by whatever dream he was currently having.

Morning came sooner than you had expected, leaving you with tremors in your limbs. Instead of spending hours in a chair getting your make-up and hair done, while the styling team chattered along, today a grave silence had taken over. Your hair was pulled out of your face, fixated by the stylist so it wouldn’t bother you and you were given the same clothes every Tribute would wear. By these, you could ponder what terrain you would be facing. Having grown up watching each and every game since your birth, you could guess the arena would offer a great variety of terrains. The boots were sturdy as though they were meant to ease the hardship of trekking or climbing but the fabric of the shirt and pants were thin—thin enough not to be a bother when engulfed in water or heat.

When you were done, Lazarus came, checking the work the style team had done and when he deemed it presentable, he nodded for you to follow him. Outside the building, a hovercraft was waiting for you with Peacekeepers surrounding the building in case you or your brother were planning on making a run for it. One of them held a device you had never seen. Though before you were allowed on the hovercraft, the device was lifted to your arm, followed by a sharp pain. You didn’t react to it, knowing there was far worse to come. The spot where the tracker was implanted was itchy and with every movement, you thought you could feel the foreign object in your arm.

The Tributes from Districts One to Four and their head stylists were already on the hovercraft when you boarded. The Careers—as always—looked ready for their first kills. Their chins were directed upward, apparently too good to look at everybody else, chests puffed and proud. The hovercraft filled steadily till it was ready to depart the Training Center for the arena. The one place without the simple rules set for humanity and where killing was (besides surviving) the one true goal.

Time seemed deceiving now, too. Or perhaps they were delaying on purpose, to boost the quivers of nerves and everyone's anticipation. It felt like decades until you finally arrived. Of course, in truth, the trip had only taken a mere hour.

Your eyes couldn’t find a single bare spot after arriving at the arena. Before entering, you and all other Tributes and their stylists were surrounded by Peacekeepers, who led you underground the arena; into the arena catacombs. Your brother gripped your hand tightly as he spotted the weapons they carried. In the Districts, the Peacekeepers kept them hidden. You knew it was solely for reassuring the citizens of Panem, to keep them down, to make them feel like the Capitol cared. Still, they were packed with weaponry on every trip they took outside the Capitol, ready to punish any stepping out of line.

Snow would have your head if he were able to catch a single thought that was rumbling around in your head. Treacherous, they would call them. When in truth it was the Capitol committing treachery on the people, they—as often stated by Snow himself—couldn’t function without. And it was true, of course. Panem wouldn’t be able to function without the grubby work forced on each District. But the people of Panem—the Capitol's citizens excluded—were no more than cattle in Snow's eyes. Everyone knew it. They were just too afraid to lose their heads admitting it.

You squeezed your brother's hand, jaw set in a tight line. By now you couldn’t even force a smile. No muscle in your face was willing to defy what you were truly feeling. Dread. Anger. Fear. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but whatever it was, it was enough to make you nauseous.

You halted when your brother stopped walking alongside you, hand still in yours. His stylist had his other hand in her grip, giving you a pitiful smile. "His Launch Room is through here. This is where you have to part." Both, you and Atlas, looked toward the dark corridor. You swallowed and nodded, noting that Atlas was resisting letting go of your hand.

"Can we… Could we have a moment?" You looked toward Lazarus and back to Atlas' stylist. Taking your brother's shoulders tightly into your hands, you pulled him closer—somehow feeling like the walls had grown ears. Other Tributes passed you and you kneeled on one leg, pulling your brother with you. "You listen to me now, okay? When we are up there, you run."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When the signal comes, you turn around and run. You get away from the Cornucopia. That is the only way I can make sure you're safe."

"But I can help you! It's way more dangerous for you to go alone! And—"

"Atlas!" You gripped his shoulders tighter, forcing him to stop talking. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you: you run."

"But I heard the others talking about the Cornucopia. They all call it the Bloodbath. What if you don't make it back?"

"I will. I will grab us supplies and come find you immediately."

"But what if… what if you don’t?"

Again, you forced down the lump of fear that had gathered in your throat. "You survive, okay? You…" Hesitating, you wagered whether or not the feeling in your gut was indeed a trustable one. It had brought you so far, might as well go with it now. "You find Finnick."

"You told me not to trust him!"

"I know, it's just… I know he won't hurt you."

"How would you know that? You don’t know him."

"Just… trust me, all right?" You did know him, in some way. By the look in his eyes and his seemingly stone-carved features, mastered to perfection, you knew him. You knew Finnick for what he was. The things you had been trying so hard to be, too. You related because, on some level, you two were unerringly the same. Only, somehow, Finnick had mastered everything far better than you ever would. For that, you admired him.

Atlas and you were separated then. Peacekeepers told you to keep moving, and, intimidated by the firearms they carried, you followed their demands without dispute. Brought to your own Launch Room, Lazarus' eyes followed you with hidden sorrow.

"You look like someone's about to die," you joked, suddenly close to heaving.

"I truly believe you won't," he assured. "But you aren't going to come back whole, either. The Games take far more than just lives. They take souls, too."

"Good to know you aren’t in a grim mood."

Something behind you moved and he stilled. "It's time." He signed for you to enter the launch tube, hugging you before stepping aside for you to be sealed in. No sound penetrated in thick glass of the tube, obliging you into utter awareness of yourself; your wildly pounding heart, the uneven puffs of air fleeing your lungs, and the uncontrollable quiver of your hands.

Without warning the platform beneath you shifted, slowly raising you upward, exposing you to the pressing air filling the arena. The lights were blinding for a few moments, a swift contrast to the dark catacombs. A countdown began, and after your eyes had adjusted, your eyes rapidly skimmed the tributes, searching for your brother. He was almost across from you, so far there would have been no way for you to protect him if he ran toward the Cornucopia. Looking to your right you found a dense forest; tropical, as far as you could tell. Turning your head back to the Cornucopia, you could make out a blue glistening behind it, far behind the other Tributes. A river or lake, you guessed.

Your chance of observing ended the second a shot reverberated through the arena. In sync, you and all the other Tributes jumped from the platforms. Almost all sprinted toward the Cornucopia, except for a handful deciding to take their chances without any supplies at all. You hadn’t seen if Atlas had followed your orders, all that was left to do now was hoping he was trusting you enough.

The Tribute beside you fell and in a second a Career was atop her slashing her throat. You stumbled shocked by how easily it seemed to come to them. No thought, no hesitation, no remorse. Close to the weapon stand, you were tackled, a dark head of hair entering your vision. You kicked her away with a grunt, still on your knees, trying to crawl forward to get your hands on one of the knives spread across the moist grass. Fingers wrapped around your ankle, pulling you back, just as your hand grazed the handle of a silver dagger. You turned then, sharp and quick, only to lock eyes with the girl from District One.

Her forehead was wrinkled, hand raised with a blade, ready to strike you down. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the word entering your mind, couldn’t help feeling it; cattle. Breeding cattle, you were no more than. Her blade sliced your collarbone and you hissed, all hesitancy giving way to the will to survive. The silver dagger jutted from the side of her throat. She sputtered, shaky hand reaching to the blade protruding from her body. Your eyes went wide, moving to stare at the hand you still held outstretched. You weren’t really thinking as it wrapped back around the dagger's handle to pull it free, allowing her blood to flow freely.

Gasping for air, she fell to her side, withering as the last seed of life within her ceased. Canons echoed. One, two—it didn’t stop. You scrambled to your feet, reaching for the bigger weapons within the Cornucopia, only to find the District Seven Tribute hiding behind the crates containing survival kits. The one who had tried to escape. You could only imagine how weakened he must have still been from his whipping. He stared up at you in shock, a small knife cradled tightly in his unstable hand.

"Run," you said, giving a look over your shoulder at the Careers fighting their way forward. They were packed with different types of weaponry already. And, unlike most Tributes, they knew exactly how to use them. Getting the spear and backpack you came for; you took a second one for Atlas the dagger, too, and ran behind the Cornucopia and toward the body of water. It was smarter than running back into the bloodbath. Running into trees surrounding the river, you made sure to keep looking over your shoulder once in a while. There had to have been at least one Career who had seen you run in this direction; who had seen you kill one of their own.

A twig snapped behind you. You faltered, breathing heavily. Turning around, you reached for the dagger sticking out of the backpack in your hands. A knife sailed past you and you dropped the second backpack in shock as you whirled around to search for the culprit. Not a second later a big hand wrapped around your mouth, caging your body. Spurred by adrenaline, you kicked the male in the shin, elbowing him and shoving him off, causing you both to tumble into the red soil. You scrambled forward, gripping the dagger you had dropped, only to throw yourself atop the muscular body, blade raised.

The sea-green eyes stopped you in your movement. Your lungs burned in exhaustion, fingers clenching anticipatingly around the dagger's hilt. Finnick eyed the blade then, tinted with remnants of blood. Instead of trying to wrangle the weapon from you, his hands rested gently on your thighs spread to fit his body.

Another twig snapped.

Finnick jumped into action, seizing the weapons from your hand, overturning you. Your back landed against the contents of the backpack strapped to you, leaving you flailing, trying to reach the spear fastened to your backpack. His hand found your throat then, shaking and you knew he was attempting to force himself to lock it tightly—yet, he couldn’t. Your hand found the red soil, clutching it in your fist before you threw it in Finnick's eyes. When he stumbled, you kicked him onto his back. Using your chance, you collected the things you had dropped and ran.

Picking up voices behind you, you kept moving until Finnick's joined in, telling them the exact way you had gone. Cursing, you threw the second backpack into some bushes and continued forward, till you reached the edge of the water. It was a weird river, you thought, with massive stones protruding not only from its midst but all around it, too.

Thinking back to the survival station in the training center, you recalled the numerous pages of information you had studied—still, you praised the seemingly uninteresting information as it would now perhaps save your behind. Caves. Underwater Caves, one page had said. It had—in shocking detail—explained what to look for when there were many various stones nigh or in water. Checking each stone for the right markers, your gaze settled on a rock close to the other side of the river. Naturally, it had to be far from you.

Growling you pulled the backpack from your form, waging whether or not the supplies it brought were worth being caught. No. Definitely not. Hurling the backpack into the water, hoping it would drown soon enough to not give the Careers an idea of where you had gone. You seized your spear and dove headfirst into the river, showing not an ounce of vacillation. Bubbles of air escaped your mouth, making you fear that the Careers would spot you eventually. Hurrying along, you swam toward what you had identified to be a possible sanctuary.

The air in your lungs was getting scarce all the while the beating of your heart found no ceasing. Underwater, you were close to blind. In foreign territories, it was only a matter of seconds before you were to hit your head and drown.

Rolling your eyes at yourself, you noticed Atlas' voice piping up at the back of your head, shaming you for your negativity. The wasted time brought no favor, as you noticed there was no more supply of air. Dread crept into the fibers of your figure, that perhaps you had indeed made an error when picking the rock.

Tightening the bite of your jaw, the wrinkles between your brows grew in depth as you provided a ferocious push of your legs. At present, there was no circumstance for uncertainty. Frankly, there was no space for it. No space for it, when the last remnants of air vanished from your lungs, and no space when you could still make out the bustling of rancorous boots. Atlas was out there, stranded in the woods, with no rations of food or weaponry for protection at hand.

Your brother required your aid, your support; you. He needed you by his side if only to give him strength, give him hope. You had sworn an oath to yourself that you would not in this life, see broken. Unsighted by the darkness of the depth the water bore, you had only just reached the rock when wooziness overtook you. Skimming along the rough exterior, you shoved yourself further into the shadows beneath.

Were you any less filled with panic, you might have commenced speculation of what truly lurked blow, but now, wholly engulfed with fright, you came to the comprehension that there was no opening.

No opening, no cave, no sanctuary, no safety.

You had been mistaken. Tremendously so. Pulse spiraling, you couldn’t quell your wants any longer. You needed air. At the rock's backside, you dashed upward to where you perceived the sun piercing the dark, breaking through the surface, gasping for oxygen. When a cough inched its way up your throat, you pressed your arm tightly to your lips to quieten yourself. You hoisted yourself onto one of the rocks barely peeking from the water and cowered in a crouch, hoping—begging to whatever might was left to watch over you—that none of them would locate you.

Spying at them from your position, you obtained a glimpse of them walking in the opposing direction. About to run, your eyes caught on a package being carried by the river's fast flow. Making certain that the group of Careers was entertained by their hunt for another Tribute, you snuck further out of your hiding spot, on your hands and knees, extending the spear you held into the water.

When the backpack floated by, you caught it with your weapon, lifting it out of the river and toward you. You grinned; one out of two wasn’t a bad accomplishment. Looking around you tried to settle for a direction to go; you were left guessing Atlas' location. Bypassing the Cornucopia would have been imprudent. The Careers had secured it, meaning watchful eyes all over its proximity.

There was little to no prospect of making the correct decision. He could have fled into the tropical forest behind him, although someone or something could have gotten in his way, which would have caused him to differ on his way.

Your fingers dug into the roots of your hair as you cursed the Gamemakers with every bad word you held in your vocabulary. The arena was extensively large this year as though they had known of your plans all along, as though they had wanted to see you struggle in your quest of protection. They did, of course, yet the arena's extent added to the woeful cruelty of it all.

Keeping low, you eyed the tropical forest. To get there you would have to run across a vacant field. It offered no shelter, no safety, no way to take cover. A death trap, intent on segregating those reckless enough to risk their lives. You had never believed yourself to be one of them; how vastly the mind deceives.

Ensuring that the Careers were still on the other side of the river, you strapped the backpack tight and hurried forward. Running while being close to a crouch proved to be immensely uncomfortable and strenuous, the muscles in your legs protesting painfully. You had barely reached the edge of the forest when a sharp pain cut across your cheek. Hissing, you clutched the bleeding wound, taking note of the knife that had hit the tree inches from your head. A young girl stood roughly hidden by the giant trees forming the rainforest.

The girl you recalled was only two years older than Atlas. You had pitied her, too, had felt a familiar stinging in your heart rewatching the clips from the Reaping. She had cried upon her name being called, refusing to step toward the stage. Peacekeepers had to drag her there, while she wailed and struggled and begged for them to end her life then and there.

You pulled the knife from the tree as you ignored the hidden girl, refusing to kill a child. Continuing on into the forest, you picked up the shuffling of footsteps at your back. You dodged the attack, causing her sword to hit nothing but air. She grunted as she took her next swing, the weapon lying unfamiliar in her hands. She had probably gripped whatever she could get her hands on before fleeing the bloodbath.

Before the girl could strike once more, you took hold of her arm, shoving her away. "Stop this!" You hissed. "I don’t want to hurt you."

She scoffed, finding her footing once more, ready to kill. "Then hold still and I'll make this quick," she grinned, throwing herself forward. Using your staff, you blocked the attack. Without warning she pulled out a dagger, slicing along the length of your arm with one quick swipe of her hand.

Kicking her off you watched as she tumbled to the ground, teeth on display as she growled in contempt. You pointed the sharp end of your spear at her in warning. "Stay down."

You moved past her, hoping she would stop and see the madness in it all, when all of a sudden, a weight on your back made you stagger. Caught off guard you grabbed at the arm tightening around your throat, catching the glinting of a blade out of the corner of your eye. Stopping the knife before it could slice your throat, you tried prying her off you. Throwing yourself back against a tree, the girl wailed in pain, letting go for just a second, before her sword found its mark in the back of your leg. You cried out, falling forward, causing her to tumble off you.

Scrambling to stand up, you were ripped from your feet and onto your back, as she launched herself onto you. Barely blocking her first strike, you couldn’t help but notice your wounded arm growing weaker with each moment you spent struggling. Her knife drew closer to your head, as the strength of your arm faded consistently. With your other hand, you searched for any object able to provide you with help, fingers landing on the cold handle of the blade you had dropped before.

"I'm sorry," you said, tears gathering in your eyes. She looked at you questioningly for a moment, until you urged your hand forward, piercing her chest. The pressure she had put against your arm ceased as she wrapped her fingers around the handle protruding from her body before yanking it out in one swift motion. Blood poured from her wound instantly, tainting the fabric of her clothes and yours. Her bloodied hands shook as she stared at the knife that seconds ago, had been in her chest.

Blood spluttered from her mouth. Small specks of warm liquid landed on your face as you watched the life slowly draining from her eyes. She fell, eyes wide though so terribly lifeless you could have wailed from the sight. You barely registered the sound of a canon, declaring yet another child’s death. The never-ending apologies forcing themselves from your lips soon turned into sobs muffled by nothing but your fist urgently pressing against your mouth. There wasn’t anything you could do but stare down at the child whose life had ended at your hand.

Footsteps sounded not too far off. You jumped in fright, snapping out of the state of shock you had lingered in. Looking for an easy way out, you wiped the tears from your face and eyed the trees. Taking the risk of trying to climb a tree probably would have caused you to fall to your death, since you had never once in your life attempted to climb a tree. Shuffling to stand, you pulled tightly on the strap of the backpack and took off running.

You did it for Atlas, you reminded yourself. Everything you did was so your brother could live. You ran until your lungs stung in discomfort and your legs throbbed, sure to be sore for the next couple of days. The next few days you spent hiding in the woods, all the while listening to the canon going off in an unrhythmic reminder that the Careers were close to wiping the arena clean.

The sun bore down mercilessly, its heat as relentless as you navigating through the treacherous landscape of the arena. Your heart was heavy with the thought of hearing another canon—and seeing Atlas’ face flash on the horizon, paying him tribute for the great sacrifice he made. Pushing through the dense underbrush, your mind racing, you felt a sudden sharp pain lancing through your leg. You gasped, shock coursing in your bones before stumbling back and falling. Mere meters away, you spotted a snake slithering back into the brush, its bite burning in your veins as though it had been laced with fire. Panic surged within you, the pounding in your chest instantly the only thing you could hear. Sweat gathered above your brows as you bushed yourself to stand, when suddenly, in your gaze state, you heard the childish laughter of your brother. Whirling around, a figure hushed past the trees, and you called out, changing the small shadowy form. Stumbling you caught up to the shadow, though upon touching his shoulder, wanting to turn Atlas to face you, he vanished.

White dots danced in your sight, a ringing in your head overtaking your senses, writhing in stark agony. In the midst of your haze, the sound of a parachute broke through, landing silently a few yards away. With every bit of strength left n within you, you dragged yourself towards it, unscrewing the metal cap of the item that had been dropped. Upon opening the cap, the sight of an antivenom greeted you, sent by your sponsor. The relief was instant but left you weakened and exposed. Knowing the dangers of the Game—the people within—had no consideration, no compassion, merely a drive to kill, you forced yourself to move.

In the far distance, foreign sounds drifted through the air and you stilled. Growls, you noted. You had never heard such a thing before, violent and vicious and terribly hungry for blood that you felt your lips begin to quiver. The growls of the mutts carrying through the dense brush hastened your escape towards the mountains, but vast expanse of no-man’s-land lay before you—nothing to shield you, nothing to hide you. You ran out of the brush and onto the orange soil, the ground crumbling behind you. A flitting gaze over your shoulder left you gaping, each spot that you had stepped on was caved in, leading into a dark abyss below. The look had cost you, you noted as a rip appeared in the soil before you. Mere meters in front of you lay the mountain range, so, so close but the ground gave away.

With the last efforts of survival, you leaped. Your fingers graced the solid ground at the beginning of the mountain range, gripping tightly as your body collided with a wall of hard rocks. Arms straining and teeth clenching, your feet pushed against the wall, trying to help you pull yourself over the edge. A gasp of relief fled your lungs as your eyes met the familiar glimmer in your brother’s wide gaze. He held a hand out for you to take, helping you heave yourself to safety. The feeling coursing through you was of overwhelming gravity, and in that moment, all fear and tension melted from your chest.

You pulled Atlas to you, arms engulfing the younger boy, lip quivering and eyes stinging. “I thought I’d lost you,” you whispered, holding him close. It was merely a second later that you recalled the situation you both were in—the hell they had forced you into. “We gotta climb up, find a cave or something,” you insisted, starting forward as Atlas nodded, his trust in you unshaken, even after the horror he must have witnessed. “We’ll just wait it out, okay? They’ll end up killing each other sooner or later.”

Luck had been on your side this once as you came up on a cave, its entrance no bigger than Atlas. It was a good place to hole up in—and you did for as long as possible until the grumble in both of your stomachs could no longer be ignored. The necessity for food driving you back down the mountain should have been something to anticipate, though after barely making it to the mountains, the thought of nutrition had fled your mind. A few days you had lived off of berries, though the bushes grew empty after a while. Telling Atlas to stay in the cave—scared you would encounter the remaining ranks of the Careers or whatever mutts had chased you. The cannon had sounded often in recent days and you guessed the mutts had done their jobs fairly well, taking out the majority of the Careers.

Wandering along the mountains, you kept your eyes trailing for any possible danger, they spotted the close rain forest instead. You had to be at the far east side of the mountains with how close the trees seemed to be. Turning back to the task at hand, you eyed the bushes for any edible berries, though ended up growing rigid at the sight before you. His figure stood broad as it always had, hair disheveled and perhaps just a little wet with sweat.

Within seconds, your hands found your spear and you charged. His betrayal had scorched a deep wound into your being, even when you would die rather than admit to it. The stark clash of your spear against his trident echoed loudly through the mountains, though his body moved with scarce efforts to keep you at bay. The ease with which he held himself, the ease with which he pushed you back, the ease with which he had stabbed you in the back on the first day in the arena caused you to burn from within. Fury in your eyes, you grunted, bringing the spear down once more. His hand went out, catching the spear and attempting to rip it from your grasp but you held on for dear life. Finnick pulled at it again and you stumbled forward, fingers still tightly wrapped around the perfectly balanced metal.

“Stop it,” he hissed, his warm breath flaring across your face and you flinched.

“So you can try and kill me again?” You shot back, staring up at the towering male, teeth clenching. “I won’t make it that easy for you, Finnick.” You, fueled by your burning rage, gave up on retrieving your spear, arm lunging forward and punching the male across his face. The impact made Finnick stagger and your hand spasm, but he still refused to release his ironclad hold on the spear. You stood, locked in the standoff, when a dark cloud began to form over the mountain range. Within moments, rain hailed down upon you and contentment filled you, knowing you had been running low on water. Though when the first drops, of what you had thought would be a salvation, hit your skin, you recoiled. Blisters appeared on your skin, each impact leaving behind a painful sizzling as you screeched in pain.

Finnick grabbed your wrist, pulling you along as he dashed across a tiny scrap of dried grass and into the nearby rainforest, seeking refuge from the corrosive downpour. Stumbling and feet sliding unsteadily against the wet floor, you tumbled into a small pond, about to righten yourself and run further, when you noticed the sudden grace the water proved to be. Finnick, after realizing it too, fell into the pond, hands splashing water onto his face and limbs in a desperate attempt to cease the searing ache. His hand came up, spilling water over your shoulder and back, washing away the blisters you hadn’t yet reached. The tenderness he was using to handle you was such a crass contrast to the earlier confrontation that it made your head spin.

“I’m sorry.”

Your head snapped toward him at the words that had fallen from his lips, though his eyes didn’t dare to meet yours. You hissed in pain, accidentally touching a part of sore skin. “Sorry won’t fix what you did, Finnick,” you stated coldly, feeling a suggesting tingle in the tips of your fingers to try and push him under the water, try and drown him. “You tried to kill me—"

At that, he snapped. “Don’t you think if I wanted you dead, you would be?” The frustration in his eyes was palpable, though something else lingered within them—a flicker of pain. Tension arose so vastly, charged with anger, hurt, and the unspoken truths of your situation, you could have sliced it with a knife. You were enemies thrown together by circumstance, yet bound by a thread of mutual survival and the remnants of what could have been.

The fleeting moment of uneasy peace was shattered by a scream that pierced the air, slicing through the heavy silence of the rainforest. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that ignited a primal fear deep within your chest. Atlas. Your heart froze, the confusion and turmoil that had clouded your thoughts moments ago swept away by a tide of sheer panic.

Without a second thought, you were on your feet, the pain from your burns momentarily forgotten. You didn't look back at Finnick, didn't see if he followed. Nothing mattered except reaching Atlas. The acid rain had stopped, leaving the world eerily silent in its wake, a silence now broken by the echoes of your brother's distress.

You sprinted with a speed you didn't know you possessed, your legs carrying you back toward the mountain range where you had left Atlas, where you had told him to stay hidden in the cave. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a thunderous echo of Atlas's scream. Why hadn't he stayed? Fear and guilt twisted inside you, coiling around your heart like the snake that had bitten you.

As you broke through the treeline, the scene that unfolded before you was one of your worst nightmares, you realized. Atlas was there, at the bottom of the mountain range, not in the safety of your cave but out in the open, struggling against one of the tributes No, not just any tribute—a killer, poised to end your brother's life. A Career.

You were still too far to reach him in time, your desperate cries for Atlas to run, to fight, to do anything, lost in the distance that separated you. Time seemed to slow, each of Atlas's desperate struggles etched into your memory with painful clarity.

And then, it time seemed to still. The Career tribute overpowered Atlas, and with a swift, brutal motion, plunged a knife into the chest of the person you had sworn to protect, the person for whom you had volunteered to face this horror. A scream, raw and filled with anguish, tore from your throat as you witnessed your younger brother's life being snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

The world narrowed to a pinpoint of rage, grief, and an overwhelming sense of failure. Your vision blurred, not with tears but with a fury so intense it threatened to consume you. Atlas, your kind, brave, and gentle brother, was gone, taken by the merciless game you had been forced into.

Every moment spent worrying about Finnick, about your fractured alliance and the betrayal that had seemed so significant, paled in comparison to this loss. In the face of Atlas's death, everything else was trivial, inconsequential. A deep, seething hatred for the Capitol and its cruel games took root in your heart, a vow forming from the depths of your grief; you would make them pay. Every tribute, every sponsor, every viewer who took pleasure in this barbarity would feel the weight of your wrath.

But first, you had a Career to kill.

As the cannon echoed through the arena, a solemn confirmation of your brother's death, the world seemed to stand still. Grief and rage battled within you, propelling your body forward with a singular focus—vengeance. The Career who had taken Atlas from you barely had time to register your approach before you were upon him, your weapon driven by a force fueled by loss and fury. He fell quickly, a testament to the skills you had honed for this moment, for this purpose.

But there was no time to mourn, no time to celebrate your swift revenge, as the rustle of leaves signaled another approaching. The last Career, drawn by the sound of combat or perhaps the cannon's call. Your heart pounded, not just with the exertion of battle, but with the realization of what was to come. You were ready to fight, to kill again if necessary, your resolve steeling within you.

Finnick's footsteps were close behind you, a rapid drumbeat on the forest floor. You half-expected him to call out, to try and stop you or to take the lead, but he remained silent, his presence a steady pressure at your back. The last Career appeared, sword raised, eyes wide with a mix of determination and desperation. He hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and Finnick, the confusion clear upon his face. He had expected to find Finnick chasing you, perhaps even fighting you, but not this—this silent alliance in the face of shared loss.

Without a word, Finnick moved past you, his trident gleaming in the dim light. The Career barely had time to lower his weapon before Finnick was upon him, the trident finding its mark with deadly precision. The man crumpled, and silence fell once more, broken only by the sound of two cannons firing in quick succession.

You and Finnick stood side by side, the realization that you had won, that it was over, sinking in slowly. There was no joy in it, no triumphant cheer; just a heavy weight of survival and the cost it had exacted from both of you.

The journey from the arena to the Capitol was a blur, a series of motions and procedures that felt detached from the reality of your victory. You were taken to separate rooms, the opulence of the Capitol a stark contrast to the brutality you had just endured. It was in this surreal state of limbo that Finnick came to find you, his own room abandoned in favor of seeking out the only other person who could possibly understand what he was feeling.

The moment you saw Finnick enter your room in the Capitol, the pent-up rage and grief you'd been carrying since the arena found a target. He moved with a cautious grace, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within you. His first words were meant to be a comfort, but they ignited something fierce and painful inside you.

"We did it," he said softly, his eyes searching yours for something you weren't ready to give.

"We did it?" you spat out, your voice sharp, laced with anger and disbelief. "You think we did this together? You abandoned us, Finnick. You left my brother to die!"

Finnick's expression tightened, the sorrow in his eyes deepening. "I thought I was making the right choice—"

"The right choice?" you interrupted, your voice rising, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "You thought abandoning us was the right choice?"

Without thinking, you stepped forward, your hand balled into a fist, striking his chest. It was a futile gesture, driven more by your need to express your anguish than to cause him any real harm. Finnick didn't stop you, nor did he try to defend himself. He simply stood there, taking your blows, his face a mask of regret and pain.

"You could have saved him!" Each word was punctuated by another hit, your anger flowing through you like a river bursting its banks. "You were supposed to be our ally!"

"I know, and I'm sorry," Finnick's voice was barely above a whisper, his arms tentatively coming up to hold you, not to restrain, but to offer solace.

Your strength faltered, the anger giving way to the profound sorrow you'd been trying to keep at bay. The punches slowed, then stopped altogether as the reality of your loss, of Atlas's death, truly hit you. Your hands fell to your sides, and you felt your knees weaken as the weight of your grief became too much to bear.

Finnick was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to his chest. You wanted to push him away, to scream at him for his betrayal, but the energy, the anger, had drained from you, leaving nothing but exhaustion and heartache.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Finnick murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I would give anything to change what happened."

And there, in the opulent room that felt miles away from the horror of the arena, you allowed yourself to break. Tears streamed down your face, sobs wracking your body as you clung to Finnick. He held you, his own body shaking with silent cries, as you mourned not just for Atlas, but for all that had been lost in the games.

The anger had burned bright and fast, but what remained in its ashes was a deep, unyielding sadness. Finnick's embrace didn't fix the gaping wound in your heart, but it offered a momentary reprieve from the loneliness of your grief. In the aftermath of your rage, wrapped in the arms of the one person who could come close to understanding your pain, you found a fragile sense of comfort.

The games had ended, but the scars they left behind were fresh, painful reminders of the cost of survival. And as you cried into Finnick's chest, a part of you understood that this shared sorrow was the first step towards healing, towards forgiving, not just Finnick, but yourself as well.

After the tempest of your grief and anger in Finnick's arms, a precarious calm settled over both of you. The initial intensity of your emotions gave way to a weary, shared silence. As you pulled away, wiping the remnants of tears from your cheeks, you caught a glimpse of something in Finnick's eyes—a reflection of your own pain, the understanding that the games had taken something irreplaceable from both of you.

In the days that followed, the Capitol was abuzz with the aftermath of the Hunger Games. You and Finnick were paraded as victors, symbols of triumph and resilience, yet beneath the surface, you both bore the invisible wounds of survivors. The forced smiles for cameras, the scripted interviews where you recounted the horrors of the arena with a veneer of gratitude for the Capitol's 'generosity,' felt like another layer of betrayal, this time self-inflicted.

----

A few months after the Hunger Games, amidst another extravagant Capitol party celebrating the unity of the districts, the weight of your experiences in the arena became too much to bear. As the party's laughter and music echoed hollowly in your ears, you found yourself seeking refuge away from the crowd. Slipping unnoticed through a side door, you ventured into a secluded garden, a hidden oasis under the night sky.

The garden, illuminated by the gentle glow of fairy lights woven through the foliage, felt like stepping into another world. You moved aimlessly along the winding paths until you found yourself in front of a grand statue, an intricate marble piece that towered above the garden's natural beauty. Here, in the shadow of the statue, you leaned against the cool stone, allowing the tears that you had fought to keep at bay to finally escape.

As the facade you'd been forced to maintain since your victory crumbled away, the garden's tranquility contrasted sharply with the turmoil within you. The tears were for everything—the loss, the pain, and the irrevocable changes the games had wrought upon your life and Finnick's.

The sound of footsteps broke through your reverie, and you hastily tried to compose yourself, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. When you looked up, it was Finnick who emerged from the shadows, his eyes immediately finding yours in the dim light.

He stopped just in front of you, concern etching his features. "There you are," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of understanding and shared sorrow.

"I just needed a moment," you managed to say, though your voice betrayed the depth of your distress. You attempted a smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil inside. Finnick reached out, his thumb gently catching a tear that had escaped down your cheek, his touch tender. “I hate this,” you confessed, the words barely above a whisper, “pretending to be something we’re not, celebrating when all I feel is loss.”

Finnick stepped closer, eliminating the distance between you. He didn’t dare step away; instead, he lingered before you, offering his presence as a silent source of comfort. "I know," he responded, his tone gentle. "But remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m here, with you. Always."

You nodded, struggling to find words that could encompass the breadth of what you were feeling. Before you could speak again, Finnick reached out, carefully wiping away a tear that had lingered on your cheek. His touch was tender, filled with an empathy that spoke volumes of his own battles with the ghosts of the arena.

In a gesture that felt as natural as breathing, Finnick drew you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. The warmth of his body against yours was a stark contrast to the cool marble at your back. He kissed your forehead with such care and affection that it felt like a balm to your wounded spirit. Then, his lips brushed softly against your nose, a touch so light and comforting that it drew a half-hearted smile from you, despite the sadness.

Finally, his lips met yours in a kiss that was both a salve and a promise—a promise of shared strength, of mutual support, and of a bond forged in the crucible of unimaginable trials. It was a kiss that spoke of hope amidst despair, of finding light in the darkness, and of the unspoken vow to navigate the uncertain path ahead, together.

Leaning against the cool marble, under the canopy of the night sky, you found a moment of peace in Finnick's embrace, a reminder that, despite everything, you were not alone. You had each other, and together, you would find a way to heal, to rebuild, and to carve out a space for yourselves in a world that had forever changed you.

In the quiet of the garden, with the distant sounds of the party reduced to a mere whisper, you and Finnick shared a moment of profound connection, a brief respite from the chaos that had become your lives. The kiss ended, but you remained close, leaning into each other for support, finding solace in the presence of someone who understood the depth of your pain and loss.

Finnick's eyes met yours in the dim light, a silent conversation passing between you. There was an understanding that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, both seen and unforeseen, but there was also a shared resolve to face them together. The world outside the garden was a maelstrom of expectations, responsibilities, and the ever-present gaze of the Capitol, but here, in this moment, none of that mattered.

"You know we can't stay here forever," Finnick finally said, his voice low, breaking the silence that had settled between you. It wasn't just an observation about the garden but about the bubble of peace you'd momentarily created. The real world, with all its complexities and demands, waited just beyond the garden's confines.

You nodded, taking a deep breath, bolstered by the strength you found in Finnick's presence. "I know. But for a moment, it's nice to pretend we can."

Finnick smiled, a genuine, warm expression that reached his eyes. "We'll have more moments like this, I promise. Away from the cameras, the parties, the Capitol. Moments just for us."

The thought was comforting, a lifeline amid the turbulent seas of your new reality. You straightened, steeling yourself for the return to the party, to the roles you were forced to play. Finnick sensed your resolve and offered his hand, a silent pledge of solidarity. You took it, and together, you stepped back into the light, leaving the sanctuary of the garden behind.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the two of you navigating the party as a united front, your earlier moment of vulnerability transforming into a source of strength. The Capitol's guests saw only the victorious tributes, the heroes of the games, but beneath the surface, you and Finnick shared a bond forged in the crucible of shared suffering and mutual understanding.

After the party, the journey back to your separate rooms in the Capitol's luxurious accommodation felt like transitioning from one world to another. The grandeur and opulence of the Capitol surrounded you, a stark reminder of the divide between the lives you once knew and the lives you were forced into now. The echoes of laughter and music from the party faded as you walked through the silent, opulent hallways, each step taking you further away from the façade you had to maintain in public.

Finnick walked you to your door, his presence a source of comfort in the overwhelming world of the Capitol. Despite the late hour, neither of you seemed eager to say goodnight, lingering in the hallway, caught in the bubble of tranquility you had created for yourselves. The intensity of the day, from the forced smiles at the party to the genuine moments of connection in the garden, had drawn you closer, a silent acknowledgment of the shared experiences that bound you together.

Standing before your door, Finnick turned to face you, his expression serious yet gentle. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low. It was a simple question, yet loaded with the depth of understanding and concern that had grown between you.

You offered a small, tired smile, appreciating the sincerity of his question. "I will be," you replied, knowing that the road to feeling truly okay was long and fraught with challenges. "Thanks to you."

Finnick's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. The gesture was intimate, comforting, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving the connection and solace it offered.

"I'm always here for you," he said, his voice firm with promise. "We've been through too much to let the Capitol's games tear us apart. We're survivors, and we'll keep surviving, together." The weight of his words hung in the air between you, a vow of mutual support and resilience. It was a commitment not just to each other but to the future, whatever it may hold. Finnick leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent echo of the affection and care he had shown in the garden. "Goodnight," he whispered, reluctantly stepping back.

"Goodnight, Finnick," you replied, your voice a soft murmur. As Finnick turned to leave, a sudden wave of vulnerability washed over you, the stark loneliness of the Capitol's luxurious rooms looming in your mind like a shadow. The thought of spending another night alone, surrounded by the echoes of your thoughts and the weight of your brother's absence, was unbearable. "Finnick, wait," you found yourself saying, the words slipping out almost without thought. He stopped immediately, turning back towards you with a look of concern. The hallway, with its grand decorations and the soft glow of the artificial lights, felt like a world away from the raw reality of your emotions. "Would you... stay with me tonight? I don't think I can be alone right now," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in your request was palpable, a stark contrast to the strength you had always tried to project.

Finnick's expression softened, his earlier resolve giving way to a deep, unmistakable empathy. He understood all too well the demons that haunted you in the quiet, the memories and fears that the Capitol's walls could not keep at bay. "Of course, I'll stay," he said without hesitation, his voice carrying a warmth that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. There was no judgment in his eyes, only an unwavering support that seemed to bridge the distance between you.

He followed you into your room, the door closing quietly behind him, sealing off the world outside. The room, with its grandeur and excess, suddenly felt less imposing with Finnick there, as if his presence could somehow make the space more bearable, more like a sanctuary than a cage.

You didn't bother with the lights, the city's glow casting a soft illumination through the windows. The silence of the room enveloped you both, a stark reminder of the world you had left behind for this moment of solace.

Finnick's presence was a steady comfort as you prepared for bed, the routines of the evening taking on a new, less lonely aspect. When you both lay down, the bed large enough to maintain a respectful distance yet close enough to feel the reassuring presence of each other, the tension began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of peace.

Neither of you spoke much, the silence a comfortable blanket woven from mutual understanding and shared experiences. The sound of Finnick's breathing, steady and calm, became a lighthouse in the night, guiding you away from the shoals of your own turbulent thoughts. And for the first time since entering the Capitol, the night didn't seem quite so long, nor the shadows quite so deep. With Finnick by your side, even in the silence, you were no longer alone.

#finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick x reader #the hunger games #a ballad of songbirds and snakes

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etherealising · 2 months

Text

chapter thirteen | the injury of finally knowing you

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: hard conversations are inevitable and that’s exactly the lesson carmy learns when he decides to finally be honest with you.

warning(s): unintentional slut shaming (lol) | ooc carmy | very minimally edited |

wc: 7.6k

The sound of the bathroom door opening did little to draw your attention as you sat on Carmy’s bed, eyes trained on the letter in your hand. You hadn’t meant to snoop or anything, as Carmy showered you stayed in the living room for a bit and tried to work more on the rough draft for your article but the inspiration just wasn’t there at the moment, so you ventured to his room to wait for your turn to shower.

You didn’t think you’d ever willingly read these letters again, so when Carmy asked if he could have them you had no problem allowing him to take them. But then you saw them sitting folded on his side table and you knew exactly what they were before you reached for them. As you waited for Carmy to finish you read them, you weren’t sure what compelled you to do so but you read each of them from start to finish even when you could feel the emotion clawing up your throat. The worst part of it all was that you couldn’t even remember when you penned each letter, they were dated but the emotions spilling from your words made you feel a bit ill. It was almost like a different person wrote these letters, of course, you still felt the hurt and anguish, but you were sure you’d always feel it.

“Shit,” your eyes moved to find Carmy making his way towards you, quickly gathering the letters on the bed before gently removing your grip from the one in your hand. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have left these out.

You watched him tuck them away then felt the caress of his thumb against your cheek, the motion soothed you even as he moved his thumb up to wipe a fallen tear. “Do you read them often?” You weren’t sure if you wanted to hear his answer, but you also didn’t want him beating himself up over something that was entirely out of his control.

Carmy’s thumb continued tracing back and forth against your cheek, eyes flicking between your own before his hand dropped, his eyes following soon after. “Too often…kinda like if I uh read them enough it’ll fix everything.”

Your heart clenched at his words a quiet sardonic laugh following behind them, “Sounds fucking stupid I know I just,” he stopped himself you could tell he was closing himself off, see in his face that he didn’t feel like what he needed to say mattered.

Carmy’s head turned at the slight sensation he felt ghosting across his hand. You gripped his hand in yours giving it a subtle squeeze before raising it to your lips and placing a kiss so soft and loving to his knuckles that you were sure he could feel the sensation of emotion seeping into his skin and burrowing into his bloodstream.

Watching as he allowed you to comfort him in your way, your free hand reached out to comb the stray pieces of hair out of his eyes. Your thumb ghosted across his temple before tracing a path down his cheek and landing at his jaw, raising his chin so he was forced to look at you.

“Carmy, I wanna hear what you have to say. I always want to hear what you have to say. Do you understand me?” Your voice was quiet yet demanding, you hoped to convey just how serious you were, you would listen to the man in front of you read his grocery list morning, noon, and night if necessary.

You gave him a small encouraging smile as you looked at him. You watched as his eyes strayed to your lips eyeing them for longer than what seemed appropriate considering neither of you was sure what this relationship was, if the context of this conversation was any different you would’ve already captured his lips with your own. Instead, you leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before leaning back, your hand still attached to his.

Silence settled over the two of you, you couldn’t force Carmy to talk but you hoped he felt safe enough to open up to you more than he already did. You just wanted to be there for him, to show him that through everything you were still in his corner.

“I read them and I…I just feel this intense guilt you know?” You listened as Carmy began speaking he looked away from you, his eyes locked on the wall opposite the two of you. “A-and I just feel angry, angry at myself. Because why the fuck didn’t I just ask you to stay with me, why didn’t I-I check on you.”

You sat next to Carmy silently, squeezing his hand every so often to let him know you were still there, still listening.

“Most times I just think about how alone you were, how fucking scared you must’ve been. A-and it makes me angry all over again because why the fuck would you do that to yourself?” Carmy’s glistening eyes met yours, questions swimming through his irises. “Shit, no I-I’m not blaming you, promise. But I just look at you and it’s like fuck she deserved so much better, deserves so much better but y-you just suffered alone because of me you know. You’ve always been the best of us Baby and just the idea of you all alone writing those fucking words while I was in some miserable fucking kitchen across the country fucking oblivious to it all I just…I.”

Carmy’s words trailed off, you watched his throat bob up and down like the words he tried to get out lodged themselves there fighting to never be spoken. You tried not to cry, you didn’t want Carmy to think he needed to comfort you in this moment, but it was all for naught as the tears streamed down his face, silent sobs wracked his body as he held his head in his hands. Your interconnected hands pressed desperately to his lips catching every tear.

“Bear, hey look at me,” you spoke softly hoping to lure his attention. There were a few moments of waiting until Carmy’s head slowly lifted, eyes quickly tracking the tear stains on your cheeks, you didn’t give him the chance to wipe them away as you removed your hand from his to grip his face. His stubble was scratchy underneath your touch but you gently dabbed away any leftover tears. “There you are.” It was quiet, a whispered breath that made Carmy’s heart race.

“It's cliche, but they really mean that shit when they say you can’t change the past.” You gave a small grin at the huff of air Carmy loosed through his nose. “It hurts Carmy, god does it hurt. But neither of us will be able to move forward if we keep letting our past mistakes and regrets live in the present with us. There’s a lot of shit I wish you would’ve done differently, things I wish I did differently, and now that we have the chance to do things differently I mean…I don’t wanna waste it. I don’t wanna waste another 10 years without you in my life, Carmy.” You paused, stopping yourself from what you wanted to say but knowing that if this was real if you and Carmy were going through with this the opportunity would present itself.

“I don’t want you to pretend what we experienced wasn’t harrowing and trust me some days it’ll hit harder than others. But if I deserve better then so do you Carm, I…I want us to be happy in whatever way makes you most comfortable. Just please Carmy…don’t push me out of your life again, I’m not sure if there’ll ever be a next time for us after this.”

Carmy’s face was still held delicately between your hands, you offered him your best reassuring smile as silence settled over the two of you. You wished you knew what was going on in Carmy’s head, you were nervous to be too blatantly open with your feelings for him scared it would shut him down.

“How long?” Your brows furrowed at Carmy’s question, a plea for him to explain himself. “If I wanted happiness i-in the same way you did, how much longer would you wait?” It made sense now what he was asking, a small sad smile made its way to your lips as you drank in every bit of emotion that ran across his face the longer you stayed quiet.

You searched his eyes for any sense of hesitation but found none, “I’m a patient woman, Carm, but I won’t wait forever.” Sometimes the truth hurts but it was better to be honest and get everything out on the table now since the two of you were being vulnerable.

Carmy nodded expecting nothing less, if he were being honest with himself he didn’t even think he still deserved your time but he sure as hell was still happy to have it. And this time he wouldn’t allow himself to get in his way, his hands came up gently cupping yours before turning his face from left to right and allowing his lips to sink into the palm of your hands.

He watched as your eyes sparkled before he moved to grip your face, tilting your head down just right to place a kiss on your forehead. A kiss full of love and promises.

A kiss that said you wouldn’t be waiting long.

You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror, a small smile peeking through at the sight of yourself in the matching pajama set Carmy bought you. A small laugh left your lips as you thought about him shopping for you all alone, how many different sets he must’ve looked through, how undecided he must’ve looked while shopping for you.

He’d done a great job though as far as you could tell, there wasn’t any way he could go wrong. You quickly stepped into the matching fuzzy socks that came with the set before turning to exit the bathroom making sure to grab your work clothes so you could wash them.

Exiting the bathroom you found Carmy sitting up in bed with a journal in his hand, the scene reminded you of that Christmas years ago, although this time you were almost positive you wouldn’t wake up alone. You smiled at Carmy as his eyes found yours before leaving to exit the room and start your laundry.

Looking around the living room a feeling of worry began to sink into you as you couldn’t seem to find your laptop or any of the documents you’d spread on Carmy's coffee table earlier that night. You checked around to make sure you hadn’t overlooked it before making your way back to Carmy.

“Carm, have you seen my laptop?” Your voice trailed off as you watched him lift the device off of his side table, your documents neatly stacked on top of it.

You carefully grabbed your belongings halting as you weren’t sure if Carmy wanted to be bothered by your presence as he did his respective work. You took one last look around the room before deciding it might be best if you just returned to working in the living room, knowing how frustrated you could get at times when writing.

“Sit down Baby.” You stopped mid-step to look at Carmy whose eyes were still glued to the journal in his hand. His eyes flashed up to you as you stayed planted in your spot, his eyebrows raised as if to ask why you hadn’t joined him yet.

It was hard but you hid the giddy smile on your face as best as you could, something about just being in Carmy’s presence in such a domestic context made you feel all warm inside like maybe someday this wouldn’t just be a one-time thing. Maybe this would be your life.

You settled in next to him taking a quick peek at his journal before averting your eyes. You were curious as to what he was writing in there, but that wasn’t exactly your business, it didn't mean you couldn’t ask questions though. “Working on the menu?” You tried to sound nonchalant like you were just making small talk as you waited for your laptop to power on, hands mindlessly shuffling through the loose papers not reading a single word on them.

“Somethin’ like that.” Carmy’s voice was quiet as he quickly finished his last thought on the page before closing said journal and storing it away. “Working on your article?”

You let out a quiet scoff at his non-answer, a quiet laugh following at his curiosities being thrown your way. “Something like that.”

Carmy’s laugh rang through the otherwise quiet room, the timber of it warmed your belly. He quieted down after a moment, you could see a frown forming on his face out of the corner of your eye. “I uh…never apologized for punching your boyfriend b-but I’m not sorry for punching him, I’m sorry that it probably made things at work weird for you.”

Your head turned in Carmy’s direction so fast you were sure it gave you whiplash. This man could not read a room to save his fucking life, you’d basically told him moments ago you were his when he was ready to take that next step and here he was bringing up fucking Hayden. You’d give your kidney to spend a day inside that man's head.

“Let me get this straight Carmen, you think I was dating a man who told me to my face, surrounded by loved ones that I didn’t try hard enough to kill myself?” You could see the realization dawn on him as he let your words sink in, embarrassment clear on his face as he realized his mistake.

Carmy’s arm moved up to scratch at the back of his neck, “Well no, but he said-.”

“And you believed him?” You didn’t need to hear any more of Carmy’s sentence to know that whatever Hayden told him was done with malicious intent. You tried not to be upset with Carmy in that moment seeing as how you hadn’t let him explain his side, but a part of you couldn’t help but feel judged.

“Shit no,” you could hear the panic in his voice as he reached to move your laptop and papers, hands quickly falling to your waist to turn you to face him. “No, no I…fuck. I just didn’t know how to bring it up to you and now I’ve just fucked it.”

The frown on your face deepened as you watched the panic race through him, “You could just ask me Carmy instead of accusing me of things. I don’t mind that you're curious but is that what you think of me that I’ve had relations with every man I know? You gonna accuse me of fucking Richie next?”

“Baby,” the words escaped Carmy in a sigh, he hadn’t meant to offend you but the longer he thought about it he realized how much of a repeat offender he was when it came to backing you into a corner like this. First the prom accusation, then the Christmas accusation, and now this. “I’m sorry… it's just you have so much experience a-and-“

“Carmen!” Your eyes shot wide at his words, if he was hoping to assuage your feelings he sure was doing a shit job at it. “Do you even think before you speak?”

Carmy wanted the world to swallow him whole in that moment, he’d never been a master of words but he was shooting himself in the foot more often than not in this conversation.

“You just indirectly called me a slut Carmen. Which by the way if I was it's nobody’s business but mine.” You removed Carmy’s hands from where they had settled on your waist, peeved by the whole conversation.

Carmy’s hand moved up to run through his hair, he knew deep down why these conversations kept coming up between the two of you and it wasn’t because he thought any less of you because of your sexual history. But every time he thought he could have an honest conversation with you about this it just turned into him self-sabotaging in hopes that you’d do the mental work and figure it out, but that wasn’t your job and he knew that he just tended to ruin any good in his life before it had the chance to become great.

The two of you sat in silence as you allowed Carmy to gather his thoughts; the indignation sat heavy in your chest. You weren’t ashamed of any casual relationships you’d had in the past, and you wouldn’t allow whatever Carmy had going on to force you to feel guilty about living your life. Whatever adventures you’d partaken in prior to this was exactly that, before Carmy.

“I-I don’t think any less of you for whatever past relationships you’ve had. And I don’t care…at least not in the way you think I do it's just,” he paused, gathering whatever courage he had to get the rest of his words out. “There’s just this…this need for me to be the best at everything, a-and I’ve been fucking things up with us for so long that I think you know what if I finally let this happen and there’s just someone better for you.”

A sense of understanding washed over you, and while you didn’t want to invalidate Carmy’s feelings he still needed to know the effect of his words. “Carm, it's okay to feel insecure. But you can’t expect me to know these things if you don’t talk about your feelings with me.” Your eyes darted across his face making sure you hadn’t lost him. “This doesn’t work if neither of us communicate, the next time you’re curious just ask me Carmy. And please if anything like that ever happens again check with me instead of letting things fester.”

Carmy nodded his head rapidly, thankful that his most recent blunder hadn’t caused too much of a rift. He knew he could confide in you about anything but he just felt a bit apprehensive confiding in you about his feelings for you. His hand reached out to play with the ruffled bit of your sock allowing himself time to come to terms with the fact that he’d have to work on opening up even more to you if there was any chance of a romantic relationship.

“You know for a long time I uh, I envied you.” You were surprised by Carmy’s admission watching him closely as he continued fiddling with your sock. “It’s fuckin’ stupid really, but I uh think it started when Mikey let you work at the shop and your relationship with him just drove me fuckin’ crazy sometimes.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter before finally looking up at you hoping you wouldn’t hold his past indiscretions against him. “I would just watch the two of you sometimes and wonder why the fuck the two of you acted more like siblings than he and I did. But I uh, I think what really pushed it over the edge was the summer you left.”

You sat there listening intently, nervousness building in your chest as Carmy divulged feelings of his you had never been privy to until now.

“I fucked up big time I-I knew that, but at the time it just pissed me off. It was stupid but I just expected you to get over everything the…the kiss and then seeing me with Claire, I was a fucking idiot. And you just started spending even more time with Mikey and it was like the two of us hadn’t been best friends for almost our whole lives.” Carmy shook his head realizing how immature all of this sounded even to his ears. “And then you just fucking left us…left me and I know you had to, but I was an idiot teenager and at that time it just felt like you’d given up on me.”

Your quiet sniffles drew his eyes from their burning gaze trained on your forehead, watching as your lips rapidly trembled.

“I called you every day for a year, Carmy.” The tears began to fall, your voice cracking along with it as you defended yourself for a hurt you hadn’t even realized you caused.

Carmy’s heart ached as he watched you, his hands surging forward to grip your face, “Shh, I know Baby please don’t cry. Please, I just want to be honest with you.” His hands moved to gently wipe your face as you nodded two small kisses landing on the apples of your cheeks before he moved back to make sure you were okay, his hands leaving your face to hold your hands in his.

“It was like I fell into this mindset once I decided to leave for culinary school, I felt like none of you fucking believed in me, but I believed in me and I was just like fuck you watch this…a-and I just lumped you in there. I just threw myself into and I was so caught up in my shit it wasn’t until Sug sent me your article about the James Beard award that I realized I was the one who gave up on you…on us. By then I felt like it was too late, like too much time had passed and it wasn’t fair for me to expect space in your life anymore.

Silence settled over the room, your heart felt like it was ready to beat out of your chest. The idea that Carmy threw away your friendship because of envy hurt you to your core, and as much as you wanted to excuse his actions just because you were teenagers you wouldn’t; not this time. Carmy made it abundantly clear he knew he’d made all the wrong choices and you weren’t going to sit here and lick his wounds or pretend it was all okay because none of it was. For years he acted as though you didn’t exist as if he’d never met you, made you feel like you had done something catastrophically disgusting for him to ghost you in the way he did.

“I thought I did something to make you hate me ” You hiccuped as you spoke trying to rein in the tears, you looked back and forth between Carmy’s eyes scared to find even a sliver of hate floating around in them.

Carmy’s heart broke as he listened to those words leave your mouth, he hadn’t meant for this night to take the turn that it did but he felt the two of you were in a good place and that you deserved to know the truth. He wanted to be honest with you, in the hopes that by clearing the air between the two of you the both of you could continue to move forward, preferably by building a future together.

“Hey, hey look at me please.” Worry raced through him, he was sure this was the moment when everything fell apart for the two of you. The two of you had already come back from a lot, he just wasn’t sure your relationship could come back for the immaturity that caused all the unnecessary hurt in the first place. Carmy wasn’t sure he could watch you any longer, since you’d been back in Chicago it felt like every meeting between the two of you ended with you in tears and he was always to blame.

You wouldn’t look at him, your face buried in your hands. But what more could he expect you’d spent all these years beating yourself up for something that wasn’t even your fault, all these years wondering why you’d lost your best friend with no sign of answers insight. Carmy raised to his knees hesitant but deciding to wrap his arms around you, pulling your head into his chest hoping to offer you some sense of comfort.

He pulled you into him as tight as he could wanting to remember what it felt like to hold you in case this was the last time he’d ever be blessed with your presence.

Carmy didn’t need to open his eyes to know that you were gone, the lack of warmth next to him and the foreboding feeling told him everything he needed to know. He sat up in bed looking at the space you slept in, the covers wrinkled from where you tossed and turned, a part of him was sure the sheets had lost the warmth of your body hours ago.

His eyes flitted around the room hoping to find some piece of you still there but he came up empty. He raised his hand swiping it across his mouth as he recalled the conversation from last night, he thought he was doing the right thing by opening up to you, being honest but as he sat there in his quiet empty apartment he wasn’t sure if his vulnerability had the opposite affect and reopened wounds you were trying to keep closed.

There was nothing he could do now, the truth was out in the open between you, and all he could hope for was that you’d forgive him. Reaching for his phone he scrolled through the few notifications hoping to see your name, but coming up short as he finished looking through them all. He quickly pulled up your contact pressing the call button before raising the phone to his ear and listening as it rang before he was sent to voicemail.

Carmy didn’t want to make a big deal out of you leaving and if you asked him for space he would give it to you, but to do that he needed to know you were safe, and the chances of him finding that out lessened each time you didn’t pick up the phone and the messages he sent stayed on delivered. After the fifth call, he moved from his bedroom to the living room hoping the reason you weren’t answering was because you left your phone behind.

But every trace of you was gone and as much as Carmy tried not to overthink the current situation at hand, he couldn’t help the rising anxiety within him, his hand moving to massage his chest the heaviness in it causing discomfort.

Carmy’s eyes found the Polaroid of the two of you still on the counter where you placed it. He reached out, picking it up and bringing it to his eye line, his finger darted out to trace the smile on your face. Every time he glanced at this photo his eyes would always stray to you, more importantly, the look on your face.

He thought back to the moment this photo was taken, displaying one of the happier moments in his life, and it wasn’t because of the sex, the whispered promises, or the shared kisses. It was the fact that when he looked at this picture it reminded him of the moment he realized he was willing to commit to you, the moment he realized he shouldn’t have ran at hearing your admission through the door. He remembered working his whole shift half his mind focused on the tasks at hand, the other part trying to figure out the words he would say to you upon returning home. But you were gone, and deep down he knew you would be you made it clear your time together had an expiration date, but he still held out hope and then he returned to an empty apartment with this Polaroid and his chain all to welcome him home. He hid it away not being able to stomach what he’d lost, until he found it while unpacking when he moved back to Chicago deciding it was an image he wanted to see every day for the rest of his life.

He placed the picture back in its spot above the stove before moving to grab his phone and quickly calling Sug hoping she might have heard from you. Maybe you called her and vented about the previous night, or maybe you were at her house now. He paced back and forth as he waited for his sister to pick up, he felt guilty that Sug always got dragged into this mess between the two of you but he just needed to know you were safe somewhere.

“Is Baby with you?” The words were out of his mouth as soon as he heard the line connect.

“Good morning Carm, I’m doing great. My feet are a bit swollen but other than that it’s been a nice morning.”

Carmy let out a huff of frustration, “Shit, sorry about your feet Sug,” he listened to her mock laugh through the phone. “Is Baby with you, or have you heard from her?”

He waited with bated breath hoping Sug could assuage his worry, “I haven’t spoken to her since last night, I thought she was with you.”

“Uh yeah, yeah she was,” Carmy wasn’t surprised that Sug knew you’d been at his house, it’s probably how you’d gotten his address. “But I think I really fucked up this time Sug.”

“Carm,” the tiredness was evident in Sug’s voice and he felt even worse continuously adding stress on her plate.

“I know Sug I’m sorry I just…I said some things and she was just gone when I woke up. A-and I’ll give her space if she needs it but I just…I’m worried you know what if she…she,” Carmy couldn’t finish his sentence not wanting to speak the idea into existence.

The line went quiet and he wasn’t sure if Sug understood what he was trying to reference or if she was lost in the web of memories. “I’ll check with Cortez, just call me if you get in touch with her before I do. Please Carmy.”

Camry didn’t know who the fuck Cortez was but he appreciated all the help Sug was offering. He agreed to let her know if he heard from you before ending the call. He tossed his phone onto the counter, his hands running through his hair as he tried not to stress over the situation any more than he already was, bending over he placed his elbows on the cold countertop before placing his head in his hands, he was sure he could feel an ulcer developing at all the stress the two of you caused each other.

His head shot up at the sound of the front door unlocking, the last thing he needed was someone trying to rob him at eight in the fucking morning. Carmy watched from his position in the kitchen, surprised to see your body trying to sneak back into the apartment wearing your clothes from the previous day. He was silent as you quietly closed the door before locking it and turning to face him.

The surprise on your face was evident as the two of you stared at each other waiting for someone to speak first. It was you who broke the silence, raising the bag and cup holder in your hand as you spoke, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you but I bought us breakfast.”

Carmy frowned at how casual you were acting as though he hadn’t spent most of his time awake freaking out over your disappearance, though it's not like you knew that. “You…you can’t just fucking do shit like that Baby.”

The distress was clear in his voice and he watched as you frowned confusion decorating your features “I can’t…buy you breakfast?” If Carmy wasn’t so stressed out by you at that moment he would’ve found it cute the way innocence flashed across your face at the question, he was seconds away from giving in from that look alone.

“What? No, you can’t just…just fucking disappear like that. I woke up and you were just gone and y-you didn’t leave a note or anything…I was worried about you.” Carmy finished his train of thought before it turned into nonsensical rambling, his eyes finding yours across the room as he watched the understanding wash over your face.

You nodded, Carmy followed your movement as you made your way to the kitchen placing down the objects in your hands before lifting yourself onto the counter opposite of him. The two of you stared at each other, Carmy moved to cross his arms across his chest hoping the longer he’d stay silent you’d give in and explain your little vanishing act to him. He wasn’t mad, far from it but he didn’t know how to tell you that this reminded him all too much of you disappearing in New York.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Carm. I just needed some time to think about everything you told me last night.” His eyes stayed connected to yours as he nodded in understanding, you came back so he felt it was safe to assume the heavens made sure he hadn’t lost you yet. “I’m not sure if I can forgive you Carmy those years for me…they were miserable. I felt all alone in a new place and it wasn’t just me, your actions hurt. My mom was dying Carmen and she asked about you so much…she loved you like you were her own Carm.”

“I don’t think you meant to hurt anyone,” Carmy’s eyes watched your mouth form a disbelieving laugh. “But the fact is you did, and I know you’re sorry Carm, I see it in your face every time you apologize, every time you look at me. And what’s stopping you from doing something like that again? You’re flighty Carm, what if we finally decide to do this…to take that next step and you feel overwhelmed, like it's all too much what then? Do you just ghost me again in hopes that it hurts me enough to finally give up on us or do you stay and do the hard work?”

Your response was valid and Carmen knew that, so he didn’t even take the chance to try and defend himself. He hadn’t thought about the consequences his actions might bring and didn't even give a second thought to how selfish he was being when he cut you off cold turkey. And he loathed to admit it but through all the time apart you still knew him better than anyone else.

“I…I don’t know if I can continue wanting this for the both of us Carmy.” Carmy’s eyes followed your hand that stretched out between the two of you, your fingers wiggling to urge him to go to you, his feet leading him easily.

Carmy found his way to you watching as you entwined your fingers with his, his free hand coming to rest on your hip as he looked up at you seated on his counter from his position between your legs.

“I don’t deserve to spend the rest of my life walking on eggshells around you Carm scared that you’ll drop me at a moment's notice,” Carmy didn’t want to hear the rest of what you had to say but he stayed put, allowing your free hand to ghost across his cheek until you gently cupped it his face relaxing into your palm. “And you don’t deserve being pressured into a relationship you’re not ready for, it’s not fair to either of us.”

The words felt like they burrowed into his heart, growing roots and staying there for all of eternity. He leaned in resting his forehead against your eyes closing so he could pretend this moment wasn’t happening and instead the two of you were just enjoying each other’s presence.

“Baby,” the words were a plea as they left his lips hoping that somehow the two of you could salvage this.

His eyes opened as your thumb gently rubbed across his cheek watching you as you watched him. “It's toxic Carm, we’re toxic.”

Your breath ghosted across his lips and he savored the feeling sending a tender squeeze to your hip before he gently pulled you to the edge of the counter, his nose bumping into yours, lips precariously close to brushing against yours as he began speaking, basically transferring the words from his mouth to yours. “We can work on it.”

His nose nudged against yours waiting for you to stop him before things went too far. His eyes flickered back and forth between your eyes before dropping back to your mouth analyzing the way your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. Carmy’s hand left your hip, his thumb gently tugging at your lip ghosting across the plumpness of it, he cradled your jaw, his nose nuzzling against yours just right to have your bottom lips brush against each other.

The two of you sat in that position for a moment, Carmy wouldn’t make this decision for you not if you didn’t want him to. But as your hand moved from his cheek to the side of his neck he felt his heart begin to race as he would finally get the chance to taste you after so long apart.

Your body jolted against Carmy’s, your lips landing against the corner of his mouth as the phone in your pocket vibrated. Carmy wasn’t sure if the disappointed sigh was yours or his, his hand fell from your jaw moving around your hip on the counter to retrieve the phone from your back pocket. Both of you knew the contact was unnecessary but the quiet gasp you let out was proof enough that neither of you cared.

“Who is it?” Carmy relished in the way your lips brushed against his as you spoke, the two of you still poised in the position for a kiss.

He looked down at your phone doing his best not to show a visceral reaction at the name on the screen. He carefully turned it in your direction watching as your eyes widened before taking the phone from his grip. He let out a sigh of remorse as you pushed off of him, sending an awkward smile his way.

“Sorry, I need to take this.” Carmy nodded, reluctantly stepping from his position between your legs, his hand raised to the back of his neck as he wasn’t sure what to do with himself before deciding to occupy himself with the breakfast you bought.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as you stayed in your position on the counter and answered the phone. He didn’t intend on eavesdropping but considering he was still in close proximity he could hear the voice coming through the other line.

“Cortez, what’s u-”

“Do you like stressin’ people the fuck out ma?” Carmy tuned out the conversation as soon as he heard the gruff voice deciding to instead occupy himself with the breakfast you bought.

Carmy’s head turned in your direction when he realized you’d been trying for some time to gain his attention, he gave you a small half-smile wanting nothing more than to hold you as the two of you figured things out. Instead, he held a bagel out to you as a peace offering, “Breakfast?”

He watched you nod before coming to join him, the two of you standing in silence as you put the spread on your bagels. Breakfast was spent in silence with the quiet dialogue of the TV in the background, the scene of you two on opposite sides of the couch a mirror image of the previous night's dinner, that same tension-filled air hanging between the two of you.

Carmy didn’t argue when you decided to head home after finishing, the two of you silently worked around each other to clean up the trash from breakfast. And he forced himself not to bring up his worries about the future status of your relationship as he led you to the door.

“Drive safe yeah?” Carmy stood in front of his door frame trying not to be as awkward as he felt.

He watched your lips spread into a small smile, he wasn’t the only one seemingly fighting off the awkwardness. “I’ll text you when I get home…thank you for letting me stay, and for the food and the clothes.” Your words ended on a quiet laugh the sound bringing a smile to Carmy’s face.

The two of you stood there for a moment longer awkward silence lingering in the air, you began rocking back and forth on your heels Carmy unsure of what to say. “I guess it’s time I make like a banana and split.”

Carmy tried to hide his smile at your stupid joke, his hand reached out to grip the back of your head pulling you into his chest. “I forgot how fuckin’ lame you could be.” He smiled as he felt you laugh in his arms his lips pressing into your temple as he allowed to push off of him, his hand still cupping the back of your head.

“You missed out on 10 years of lameness Carm, gotta start makin’ up for it at some point.” Carmy let his smile grow at that point. You’d made it clear to him that you wouldn’t forgive what led to the downfall of your relationship.

But as the two of you smiled at each other he took this moment as an olive branch, whether you meant for it to be or not he would take what he could get. He allowed you to pull him back in both of his arms wrapping around you his body relaxing into yours as your warm lips met the skin over his Adam’s apple before moving to place one final kiss on his jaw.

He let you step out of his hold hoping you wouldn’t mention the dusting of pink that he could feel spreading across his cheeks. You stepped back Carmy’s hand that was once on the back of your head traced down the side of your neck, then your shoulder, and arm before finally entwining your hand with his.

“Before I forget do you know when you’ll be free in the next week, I kinda need to interview you for this article I’m writing.” Carmy gave a small smile at your antics.

His free hand moved to scratch the back of his head trying to gather all the courage he could, “I uh still have a couple hours before I head to the restaurant if you wanted…to interview me now.” The smile left his face as he watched your smile fall.

“Oh, I’m sorry Carm I actually have somewhere to be, but thank you for offering.” He nodded trying not to let the disappointment show on his face.

The two of you exchanged goodbyes before Carmy stepped back into his apartment realizing what an idiot he was for not walking you to your car and also thinking you’d just drop everything and spend more time with him under the pretense of conducting an interview. Deciding to make himself useful Carmy headed into his room figuring he might as well head to the restaurant since he had nothing but time.

Carmy was in the middle of buttoning his jeans when the sound of incessant knocking spread through his apartment, part of him was resigned to just let whoever it was knock it wasn’t like he really knew anyone in the building. But the longer the knocking went on he decided to just figure out who the hell was bothering him.

Making it to his living room he swung the door open ready to tell the person off but stopping in his tracks as your figure stood there surprise easily written all over his face.

“Hi, Carmen Berzatto right?” His eyes narrowed confused at the game you were playing, eyes darting to your hand hanging between the two of you before it raised to the notepad he hadn’t realized you were holding and began writing in as you spoke. “Impolite and shorter in person. Sorry, I’m with the Tribune I was wondering if you had time for an interview.”

Carmy rolled his eyes laughing at your antics, “You’re a fuckin’ dork.” He moved out of the way and opened the door wider signaling for you to come in, locking the door he turned and watched as you began taking your jacket and shoes off.

He was sure he had never seen a more perfect image, than the vision of you in his apartment at that moment. Your selflessness was never more apparent to Carmy than in that moment, he could almost physically feel his love for you growing as he realized time and time again you would fight for this relationship.

baby: ayye yo this shit actually kinda toxic

carmy: ohh no maybe if we make out that’ll fix it??

a/n: anyway i know this may feel like we’re going backwards but i promise you the barby ship will be sailing sooner than you know it! please enjoy! 🤍

likes are great, but comments and reblogs really are the lifeblood of fic writing. if you love this fic please consider sharing 🫶🏽

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy the bear x reader #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fic #the bear x reader #the bear x you #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

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gimmeyourlovepls · 6 months

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earth 1610! miles morales x reader headcannons (❁´◡`❁)

a/n: i'm so tired of not having good enough ideas that i feel i can post here💀. please leave requests for almost anything, and i will look at it!

ok, so i know you guys would have met is the most awkward buut cutest way

you were on a walk, and miles was running to find somewhere to change into his spiderman suit when he crashed into you

he was still wearing his bag though, and being the klutz he is he didnt zip it properly and a couple of things fell out, including his sketch book

you helped him pick his stuff up and his sketchbook as well, which was open

you immediatley started gushing over his drawings and striked up a convo, although it ended soon as he still had his spider buisness

from then on though, it felt like you saw eachother more and more often

and that lead to you becoming friends, and you having the fattest crush on him

always trying to talk to him, as well as you seeing random items and thinking of him

until one day, you guys were hanging out, and he wanted to show you a sketch he made

so he handed you his sketch book

but then you did an artists worst fear

you turned the page 🥲

immediatley you saw drawings of you

some were headshots, others were just your smile, or maybe even your eyes

but the thing that stood out the most to you was a bright red heart at the corner with your name in it

miles couldnt get out of this

he started rambling, trying to explain himself

but you silenced him with a kiss on the cheek, blushing heavily

you two are such a cute but awkward couple

miles would probably not do pda that often

not cause he doesnt like it, he's just scared to make the first move

he'd at least hold your hand or have an arm around you, although the second one he doesnt do often at the beginning

kiss him and he'll immediatley melt, telling you how much he loves you

bro would probably have a spotify playlist that has songs that remind him of you

you guys would also maybe have a shared one of a blend of your fav songs

his idea of a date is probably you guys in his bedroom or yours, you either laying on him or cuddling with him, maybe while he doodles or you guys watch a movie

he doesnt do extravagant dates and gifts, but its the little things that count

little notes telling you to have a good day in your locker

your favorite candies in your bag

he loves you so much

and you love him

a/n: sooo, i was just writing this for fun, but i guess ill post it so i can say i did something for once. love u guys!

#miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #miles x reader #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #earth 1610 miles morales #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales x you #miles morales #into the spider verse #spiderman

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m1ckeyb3rry · 1 month

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── THE GLASS PRINCESS // ELEVEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: Your evening with Lee is cut short by the arrival of a strange boy with hooked swords. Instead, you go to the fountain and reveal your greatest secret to the Blue Spirit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: i hope you guys don’t think i’m insane for how often i’m updating

Something amazing had just happened to you, and there was no one you wanted to tell more than Kuei. Your brother, who you loved more than anything. You could envision his pride already, the way his face would glow when he saw it, the way he’d pick you up and spin you around and tell you how happy he was.

It was as you ran down the carpeted hallway towards his chambers that you heard hushed voices coming from the room where your brother’s council of advisors met. He was still young, of course, a child as you were, and so the daily goings-on of the kingdom were managed by these advisors, who were all specialists in their field and had advised your father before Kuei.

Always more interested than your brother in this type of affair, you rested your back against the wall by the door, holding your breath so that you did not alert the men to your presence. They were speaking quietly, but they had left the door ajar by mistake, and so it was not very difficult for you to listen in.

“That boy is no king,” the first said. “Do you think his father would let Long Feng walk over him like that?”

“He is still a child,” the second said. “We cannot expect much from him.”

“Even as a child, he has no interest in learning statecraft, nor the history of his kingdom. He’s far too busy playing with his sister and drawing pictures of bears in his lesson book to absorb anything of use. I fear his reign will lead to the end of the kingdom as we know it,” the first argued. At this, the second sighed.

“You’re right about that much, to be sure. He does not have the power to back up the few proclamations he makes. What kind of general obeys a king like that?” the second said.

You swallowed, for these were words you knew to be treasonous. They were speaking ill of your brother, of the King Kuei, and they ought to lose their stations for it. There was nothing you could do, though; even if Kuei would believe you, who else would? Who would discharge two premier advisors on the words of a little girl?

“If only he were born an Earthbender,” the first said. “Then he could be trained. Then there would be a way that he could eventually gain the respect of the rest of the council.”

“There hasn’t been an Earth King who could Earthbend in many decades now,” the second said. “At this point, I’d even take a queen, if she could just do that much.”

“What do you mean by that?” the first said. The second huffed.

“You know. That sister of his,” he said. “If she shows some promise…if she can lift even a pebble…then we will do what we must in order for the kingdom to have a strong ruler.”

“You’d kill the king in favor of a queen?” the first said.

“If she can Earthbend, then I’ll kill anyone for her to rule,” the second said bluntly. “It’s about time that the world was reminded of why Shan’s line is so feared.”

“You are more daring than I thought, old friend!” the first said. “Let’s vow to keep an eye on the young princess. The moment she gives us a hint that she can Earthbend, we will strike.”

“And if she doesn’t?” the second said.

“Then we’ve lost nothing but a few spare moments spent caring for our dear king’s heir,” the first said. “It’ll only make us look better in the eyes of the royals. We really cannot lose in this scenario.”

“You’re right,” the second said.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest of it. Staring at your palms in horror, those very palms which might lead to your brother’s death, you ran back to your room as fast as you could, pressing your hands over your ears as you chanted the same thing to yourself under your breath, over and over like it was a mantra.

“I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender.”

“You know, I had a lot of fun with you,” you said, pulling on the end of Lee’s sleeve to get his attention. “Lee, I really am being serious. I enjoyed it.”

The two of you had spent the rest of the afternoon doing random things around Ba Sing Se. You had bought lunch for you both, and Lee had argued with the vendor until he agreed to give you the food for half-price, after which you had sat by the fountain and eaten together. It was surprisingly nice, even though neither of you had spoken much. Oddly, you didn’t mind silence with him. It was alright. It was nice, even.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lee said. “I guess you could say I had fun, too.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to admit that you like spending time with me,” you said.

“It might,” he said.

“Oh, save it. At the minimum, won’t you say that it was better than working the afternoon shift?” you said.

“That much is true,” he allowed. “But it’s back to work for me now. It’s just about time for the evening round to start.”

“For shame,” you said. “Let this not be the last time we do something like this together.”

“Okay,” he said gamely. You were actually taken aback, not expecting him to agree so readily. Lee was one of those particularly contrary people, the type to refuse on principle, even if he harbored no real misgivings, so for him to just say yes was out of character. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Did you like your lunch that much?” you said.

“Huh?” he said.

“It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you to acquiesce so quickly. Normally, you would’ve pretended to deliberate over it for at least a minute or two,” you said.

“You told me a good story,” he said. “Do you blame me for wanting to hear more?”

“Ah, so I’m your new theology lecturer,” you said. “You should’ve said so from the start.”

“Not exactly,” he said, staring at his feet as he walked. “You’re something else.”

“Something else! And may I be privy to what that might be?” you said.

“No,” he said. “It’s for me to know, not you!”

By his tone alone, you could understand what that something else could represent, but you did not force him to explain further. He always gave you these considerations, never made you talk more than you offered, never demanded you elaborate, so you did the same for him, only humming a song your brother used to sing to you as you entered the tea house.

“This is where we must part, then,” you said when you and he reached the counter. Lee pulled his apron down from its hook and tied it back on miserably, already dimming, though you had not noticed until it was vanished that he had been close to happiness the entire time the two of you had been together.

“Lee, Y/N! You’re back!” Mushi said as he exited the kitchen. “How was it?”

You arched a brow at Lee, jerking your head towards Mushi, indicating that he had to respond in his own words. It was not just because it was polite; you wanted to hear it, too. What would he tell his uncle about the outing? What had he thought of it?

He finished tying the apron behind his back in a neat bow and rolled his sleeves up again, revealing his sinewy forearms. It was something you had always taken note of: he was far more well-built than you would’ve expected of an ordinary citizen. It was closer to the lithe musculature of the higher-ranked soldiers, but you had never come up with a satisfactory explanation for why he was like that.

“We had a good time,” he said shortly. “Am I serving or washing this time?”

“That is great to hear,” Mushi said. “I told you you would! And I think they want you serving tonight.”

He said something under his breath that you could not quite catch, but then he nodded, ducking beneath the counter to produce a tray. And though it meant that you would be late to the lighting of the fountain lamps, where you might meet the Blue Spirit, you found yourself lingering, trying to squeeze out every bit of time you could spend with Lee until you had to go for good.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to. It was a realization you were on the brink of arriving at, but you hadn’t quite reached yet. It just remained that that was how it was, that you preferred arguing with him to speaking fondly with anyone else, that you’d rather sit in silence with him than have an avid discussion with another person.

“Hey,” Lee said, pausing before you with the empty tray in his hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“What a turn of events,” you said. “The very boy who tried to ban me from the shop is now inviting me back.”

“And the very girl who was once illiterate is now telling stories of her own,” he said with a wry half-grin. “Things change.”

The door slammed open, almost bursting off of its hinges, and you all but leapt out of your skin as a boy brandished a pair of hooked swords at you and Lee, a piece of grass sticking out of his mouth, incongruous with the rest of his regalia.

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “I’ve had enough of all of you! Since no one believes me, I’ll prove it myself!”

“What are you talking about?” one of the low-level militia members who frequented the shop said. “You have about ten seconds to drop those swords, boy.”

“That boy and the old man are Firebenders!” the boy shouted. “Judging by the girl’s closeness to them, she’s in on it, too! I bet she’s a Firebender as well!”

You thought it was ironic that he was accusing his own kingdom’s princess of being from another nation, but considering no one knew who you were, you could not share the humor you derived from the ridiculous declaration. Glancing at Lee, you saw that his mouth had set into a firm line.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! You must be confused,” Mushi said.

“I saw you warming tea!” the boy said. Almost collectively, everyone in the shop rolled their eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, speaking for the entire crowd when you did so. “He’s a tea-maker. They do tend to do that.”

“That’s not the point! How about this?” he said, jabbing his swords at the poor, defenseless Mushi, who backed away in concern. “I’ll just make you Firebend! If you do it in front of everyone, then there’s no way it can be denied any longer!”

As the boy rushed towards you, Mushi, and Lee, the militia man stood in your defense. Before he could do anything, though, Lee was taking the swords of the man’s back and pointing them at the boy.

“If it’s a show you want, then it’s a show you’ll get,” he said. You gasped as the two of them began to battle. Mushi took you by the arm, pulling you out of the way as Lee and the boy leapt atop the tables, slashing at one another with blows that were not meant to solely maim.

“What is happening?” you said as the clash made its way outside. “Since when can Lee use broadswords?”

“He’s a boy of many talents!” Mushi said as you followed the crowd outside. You hid behind him, peeping over his shoulder and clutching the back of his shirt when Lee sacrificed one of his swords so that the other boy would lose one of his.

“Will he be alright?” you said. You couldn’t understand the extent of your nerves, only that you were nervous. You didn’t want Lee to die, of course, but that was a natural reaction which any person might have. What was strange was that every time the boy’s hook whistled near Lee’s face, every time its wicked tip nearly caught on Lee’s arm, your heart leapt into your throat.

“He’s skilled, but this poor boy is confused. Someone, please help him!” Mushi said. “Oh, thank goodness.”

You weren’t sure why he was so relieved, but then you saw those familiar uniforms and squeaked before crouching behind Mushi. It was two Dai Li agents, come to take the other boy away — two Dai Li agents who, if they had turned their heads even a moment earlier, would’ve seen you and known that you had escaped the palace right under Long Feng’s nose.

“Are they gone?” you said as the crowd began to disperse. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes, it’s all clear,” Mushi said. You looked around his legs, but he seemed to be telling the truth, so, straightening, you brushed yourself off.

“Thank Quynh,” you said with a shudder. “That was so frightening. Lee, are you fine?”

“It was nothing,” Lee said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he handed the militia man his swords back. His expression was still dark as he took off his apron and tossed it at his uncle. “I’m taking the rest of the day off, uncle.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you said, reaching out and placing your hand on his shoulder to stop him before he could stalk back into the tea shop. He whirled around, and you preemptively cringed back, already feeling sorry for asking, but it was too late.

“I said I’m fine!” he said. Upon noticing how you had already shrank away, though, his eyes widened. “Just…it’s fine. You should go, Y/N.”

“Right,” you said. “I’ll, um, see you around.”

He nodded, and then, before Mushi could convince you otherwise, before anyone could tell you to stop, you were running towards the fountain, the only place where you might find some solace, even if said solace had not come in so long.

Finding that familiar bench, you collapsed atop it, the stress of everything compounding until you were close to tears. What if Lee had really been injured? What if the Dai Li had not come in time and the boy had bested him? What if he ended up in the same state as some of the people you had seen in the Lower Ring? If he lost his arm or his leg, if another scar was sliced into his face, then what?

You had not been crying for very long when there were those same footsteps in front of you, the soft, light ones that you had all but memorized from how frequently you imagined them. Though you did not take your hands away from your face, you opened your fingers, peering through watery eyes at the figure squatting before you.

He tapped your wrists, and you let him pull your hands down, even though you were more than a little embarrassed to be found in such a state by the Blue Spirit, who always seemed so collected. Using your neckline to blot away your tears, you ignored your rational mind’s warning and threw your arms around his shoulders, resting your face against the crook of his neck.

“Things are so terrible, Blue Spirit,” you said, holding onto him as if he were an anchor. He was hesitant in reciprocating, but eventually, his own arms settled around your waist, keeping you in place if not pulling you closer. “My — my friend, have I told you about him? My friend, his name is Lee…I’d never say it to his face, but he’s someone I really admire. He’s so certain of himself and his opinions, and he’s not like Kuei or the servants at all — he’s really very witty, he can actually keep up with me and argue his own points when we speak instead of constantly bowing to my whims or dismissing them in turn! He’s my friend, my only friend, except you, but today he was attacked. Attacked! In my own city, he was attacked!”

The Blue Spirit patted you on the back. It was a little too rough to really be considered comforting, but you understand the intention and found that the effect was not lessened despite his ineptitude.

“I was so worried he might’ve been hurt,” you said. “What would have I done then? Who would I have if not him? You might not believe it, or maybe you might find it depressing, but I’ve really grown attached to him in the short time we’ve known one another. Besides you, he’s the only person who’s treated me normally, without reverence. I’m not her royal highness the princess when I’m with him. I’m just the frustrating Y/N who likes books and distracts him from his work.”

The Blue Spirit pulled away and shook his head at you. You laughed, though it was a thin, brittle sound.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you said. “It’s a wonder he gets anything done at all when I’m there. A testament to his character, maybe. Anyways, I think I’ve upset him.”

The Blue Spirit shook his head once more, but you could only stroke the cheek of his cool mask.

“Thank you for that, but I really have. It’s alright; I will apologize to him tomorrow. I was in the wrong for bothering him when he had been in such peril only seconds previously,” you said. “I’m sorry to you, as well, for burdening you with my troubles. It’s only that I hadn’t realized the truth of Ba Sing Se until now. I was told that the city was more dangerous than I expected before I came here, but until I experienced it myself, I didn’t quite appreciate what it entailed.”

The Blue Spirit nodded, using his gloved hand to swipe away the tear tracks which had dried on your face. You caught his hand and squeezed it.

“I want to show you something,” you said. “It’s a secret that I haven’t told anyone else in all my years of living, but since you’ve saved me twice already, I think that it’s alright if you know.”

He cocked his head as you trotted over to the fountain, fishing around in the water, pulling out one of the little glass lanterns that floated along the surface in the night, when the turtleducks had gone away to wherever they slept. Blowing out the candle, you smashed it against the ground, careful not to cut yourself on the twinkling shards.

“You see, the reason why I’ve been kept in the palace is because I’m a nonbender like my brother, like my father, like most of my family, in fact. It’s because I’m defenseless — or at least, because I’m thought to be,” you said. “But it’s not entirely like that. Er, the second thing is true, sadly. I am defenseless, or nearly so, but as for the rest of it…”

Gathering the pieces of glass in your palm, you concentrated on them, or, specifically, the tiny particles of earth which they were made of. It was not a feat of strength but of precision, and though you held no claim to the former, the latter was something you could proudly call yours.

Shielded by the Blue Spirit’s body on one side and the fountain on the other, the jagged edges of the glass smoothed and curled on your palm, melding together until they formed the shape you wanted them to: a sparkling lily, which you presented to the man.

“That’s the extent of it, I’m afraid,” you said as he held it up to the firelight. “Glass flowers and other such sculptures. I’m not particularly strong, you see, or if I am, then I’ve never been able to cultivate that strength. Bending exercises, repeated forms…I could not practice things like that for fear of what would become of Kuei if I did.”

He was obviously confused; you did not blame him. It was a confusing statement without the context behind it, so, staring at the rushing waters of the fountain, you began to explain.

“I was fairly young when I discovered that I could Earthbend,” you said. “I ran to tell my brother, but on the way there, I overheard a pair of his advisors saying that if I turned out to be an Earthbender, they’d kill my brother so I could take the throne. That was something I could not allow — he is my brother, you know. My only family. I could not let him die, too, so I swore off bending forever.

“I was not entirely successful. Bending is something that those of us who have it must perform frequently in order to be fulfilled, so my compromise was making things like that flower. Little artworks, which were innocuous enough that no one was ever suspicious as to their true origin. I didn’t have a traditional teacher, but Quynh — yes, the bear spirit, the patron of the Earth Kingdom, the great mother, that Quynh. I’m the princess, aren’t I? It only makes sense that she guided me. Anyways, she taught me that, if I could not train my power, then I had to refine my senses, so that I was sufficiently challenged without making my prowess obvious.

“At first, I only bent crystals, which are harder than pure earth but easier than glass to work with. Eventually, though, I grew bored of making small pieces of jewelry for Quynh, no matter how lovely she looked draped in diamonds and rubies. After that, I graduated to glass, and that’s what I do when I’m bored of reading and studying — I practice.

“I suppose you could call me the world’s only Glassbender,” you finished. “Not the first, but the only remaining, as Quynh was the only remaining bear. It’s not a very practical element, but it’s not like I’ll ever need to use it for anything but aesthetics, so for my own purposes, it’s suitable.”

The Blue Spirit admired the glass lily, and you laughed as he turned it over in his hands — a real laugh this time, not a despairing one. He was like a child, filled with such delight at the simple toy you had fashioned. For a while, he played with it, tracing each edge and crevice with his slender fingers, caressing each individual petal, and then finally, reluctantly, he offered it back to you.

“No, it’s a gift,” you said. “You can keep it. It’s not difficult for me to make more, and no matter how pretty it is, it’s really only glass. It’s not in rare supply by any means.”

He did not think twice, carefully tucking the flower away in the folds of his clothing. You smiled at him before raising your finger to your lips.

“It’s a secret, remember? No one can know I’m an Earthbender. No one can realize the truth, lest they depose Kuei and install me in his place,” you said.

The Blue Spirit offered you his hand, and for a moment you stared at it unsurely. It was a strange form of agreement, but then you understood — it was not his hand he was offering but his pinky finger. You interlocked your own with it, so that the deal was made, the secret sworn, and then you let go.

“Imagine how the civilians would laugh,” you said, sitting on the marble edge of the fountain and dipping your fingers in the water. “If they knew the truth. That name they call me is more apt than they realize, isn’t it? The Glass Princess. I really am one.”

He sat beside you, though he did not dip his own hand into the water. He only observed you, and though it might’ve been intense, uncomfortable, awkward, were it anyone else, it felt reasonable with him. Like that was what he was meant to be doing.

“Can I see your hand?” you said. He gave it to you readily, and you cradled it in yours, arranging it so that the palm was facing upwards, before pausing. “Is it alright if I take the glove off?”

You waited. For a moment, the night was utterly still as he thought about the request, and in that time, you came to notice things about the world which you had thus far been blind to.

The precise shade of his mask, which was a deep blue like sapphire-paint. It was something that you could never erase from your mind, the visage of your savior, the color which had stood between you and your death — but it was also the color that had unmasked the truth of your city to you. If it were not for the Blue Spirit, wouldn’t you still live in that same ignorance? You could not yet say you understood anything, but now you knew that there was something there which needed to be understood in the first place. Before, you were not even aware of that much.

The exact scent clinging to him, which was the delicate fragrance of the honey that some used as sweetener in place of sugar. It was not overwhelming nor heady; it was a soft, warm aroma, as gentle and inviting as candlelight.

The shushing rhythm of the fountain in the background, which was melodic in its sameness. It was another one of those sounds, the type that easily faded away when it was not on your mind but which was omnipotent when you paid attention. The steady flow of the water lulled you into another state — not sleep, because you could not sleep when you were so close to the Blue Spirit, but the opposite, a heightened awareness of both yourself and of him.

That was why time passed both agonizingly slowly and yet dizzyingly quickly, up until the moment that he nodded in agreement and whatever trance you had been in was broken.

Anticipation rushed through you as you took your free hand, the one not supporting his, and tugged on the end of the glove. It came off with a swift motion, and for the first time, there was the sensation of your skin touching his own.

“They say you can tell someone’s future by these marks,” you said, dancing your fingers along the creases of his palm. “It’s an ancient art. Very esoteric. I never learned much about it, but now, I wish I had.”

You wished you could read his future, untangle those winding ways into something comprehensible. The roadmap of the Blue Spirit’s life. You wished you could read it, could know if that destiny was one that included you in its course, but you did not say anything along those lines. You didn’t know what that desire meant yourself, and you didn’t want to frighten him, either, in case it sounded like something it was not.

Though his hands were surprisingly soft, there were calluses formed in the places where he gripped his swords. They were incredibly warm, too, though it was in a pacifying way, not with the sickly sense of fever. They were the hands of a warrior, but also the hands of vanity, and it relieved you to see that even the perfect, infallible Blue Spirit was prone to this fault.

“If only I were more like you,” you said. “Ba Sing Se is in such a state of disrepair, and I can do nothing but offer coins to those I come across, in the hopes that I might alleviate their personal struggles. That’s not hardly enough, though. For every one person I can help, tens of others do not get the same chance. Tens of others continue to suffer from a problem that I cannot identify. What princess does not even know why her subjects are in such pain? What princess can do so little about it?”

The love for your kingdom or the love for your brother? If you were the queen, would things be any different? Would Ba Sing Se be in a better position, or would it all be the same? Well, it was a moot point now. You were not an Earthbender in any way that mattered. The advisors had longed to instate you so that you could remind the world of the power of Shan’s line, but as it was, you would only make a mockery of your famed ancestor. The man who had established the entire Earth Kingdom, left with a great-to-the-nth-degree granddaughter who could only bend glass. That was his lineage. That was his legacy.

“My forefathers must be so ashamed of me,” you said. “What have I ever done with my life? What is there that I can still do? I am the Glass Princess, and that’s all I will be remembered as. King Kuei’s sister who would’ve watched Ba Sing Se fall if it meant she could keep her pretty jewels and fancy dresses.”

Taking another lantern, removing its candle, you twisted the glass into a miniature replica of the Earth Palace. It was meticulous and perfect; such was the training Quynh had given you, after all. Form over function. Accuracy over mass. Mental fortitude over physical fortification.

“That’s where I am,” you said, tapping the minuscule window. “All of the time, unless I am with you or in the tea shop. That’s the extent of my world.”

Two finger lengths long. That was your existence in summary. You put the Blue Spirit’s glove back on and gave him the model of the palace.

“In case you ever visit,” you said. “So you don’t get lost. Come see me if you do, won’t you?”

He didn’t offer you his pinky this time, but you figured that when he nodded his head in acceptance, he still meant it as a promise.

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#zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla #reader insert #canon au #the glass princess #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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writingpastmybedtime · 3 months

Text

Cinderella AU

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x f!Reader

Summary: The classic Cinderella AU. It's heavily inspired by the Disney live-action remake, but with a few tweaks here and there.

Word Count: 8k, oops..?

Warnings: None, except for extra cute Prince Sebastian.

A/N: It’s my first time writing for Seb at this length & I'm kind of proud of how it turned out. Oh, and I gave Sebastian the nickname 'Bash'. Hope you love it as much as I do!<3

Once upon a time, or however the story begins, there lived a girl named Y/N. She was the most beautiful thing in her parents’ eyes and held the kindest heart. They lived happily in a secluded small mansion. They weren’t the richest per se, but they could keep up with the house and even had a few workers in the kitchen and garden.

As time went by, the girl discovered a passion for music and playing the piano. Her sweet melodies often graced the halls of the house, and whenever she wasn’t behind the piano, she had her face buried deep in a journal, writing down every last thought that had occurred to her that day.

Alas, the time that had passed had also come bearing sombre news. The little girl’s mother had fallen ill with a disease so rare, there was nothing left to do but wait. Those three months spent waiting were the hardest for the girl, as she was always staying beside her mother’s bed, reading to her, brushing her hair, and playing lovely tunes on the piano to soothe her mother’s mind.

It wasn’t until one night, that the clock in the writing room, which her mother so deeply loved, stopped working and the house suddenly grew more quiet.

Years passed, and Y/N grew even more beautiful. She was always happy and kind, helping out everyone around the house and being there for her father. Y/N’s father was a merchant, so it was not uncommon that he had many trips abroad and many foreign friends. He had a certain way with him, his friends even called him a man of many words. He always found a way to insert an inspirational quote into whatever conversation was going on. His personal favourite, however, was a quote about courage.

Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.

“Darling, would you accompany me to the garden?” Her father asked her. Of course, she followed him with a smile on her face. He began to tell her of a widowed woman, with two daughters just a few years older than Y/N. He explained that he’d known the woman's late husband, having met him many times on his travels.

“They need a place to stay and they need a sense of security,” he began shyly, before continuing. “I think I can offer them that, I think we can offer them that.”

Y/N smiled as she took her father's hands in hers. “Father, if it’s something that would make you happy, it would make me even happier.” He smiled at her and pulled her into a hug.

Madam Deveraux was a widowed noblewoman with two daughters, Arabella and Isadora. The Madam herself was mostly reserved and you could never tell what she was thinking just by looking at her. Her gaze always remained strong, even when the death of her dear husband crushed her spirit. As months passed after the tragic death, the demeanour of Madam Deveraux changed. Once just a composed and modest lady, was now hardened at heart, with only one true goal. To see her two daughters succeed and be wed off to rich husbands, no matter the cost.

Arabella, the eldest daughter was certainly pretty on the eyes, however, she had a mouth to her that diminished her beauty to a certain degree. Never afraid to speak her mind and even once in a while throw in a more vulgar term here or there. She was fascinated with all kinds of different adult romance books - that’s where she probably learned those indecent phrases. She also loved to draw, but truth be told, she wasn’t really any good at it.

Isadora, like her sister, was also beautiful in her own way. She certainly wasn’t as crude as her sister, but still had a peculiar sense of self. Her ego was probably the biggest between the three of them. Every reflective surface she saw made her gaze at herself longingly, always fixing her hair or makeup. Always whispering sweet affirmations to herself. She knew she was the prettiest person, whenever she walked into a crowded room. Even if the snobby personality sometimes made her mother’s eyes roll.

After a few weeks, it was time again for Y/N’s father to take his leave. Y/N felt crushed, and a sense of dread filled her heart, making her father promise that he’d return.

Unfortunately, on his travels back from overseas, Y/N’s father fell ill and was never able to return to her. It saddened her deeply, but due to her chores, given to her by her step-mother, she didn’t have time to dwell on her grief.

Months passed, with her chores growing bigger and bigger. She had given up her bedroom because Arabella and Isadora were too cramped up in their own smaller one. Unfortunately for Y/N, instead of getting the smaller room for herself, she had to stay in a storage room right next to the kitchen. It wasn’t the most tedious place to be, for someone somewhere must’ve had to have even worse living conditions. That thought kept her appreciating her commodities and trying to tidy up the tiny storage room as best as she could.

“Y/N, could you be a dear and help your sisters with their dresses?” Madam Deveraux’s cold voice could be heard from upstairs, as Y/N was just finishing up setting the table in the kitchen. Sighing, but still with a smile on her face, the girl walked upstairs to assist her step-sisters. Arabella was tugging Isadora’s corset, to make it more tight, as Isadora was standing near the mirror letting out gasps of air.

“A little bit of help, please?” Isadora asked in her saccharine voice, looking at Y/N through her mirror. Y/N nodded and took over from Arabella, pulling and pulling until the corset was perfectly on Isadora’s body.

“Hmm, I look good, don’t you think so?” Isadora spun around, now in her huge pink sparkling dress, which did not do her beauty any justice. Y/N, however, was not one to judge. She just smiled lightly and nodded.

“Pfft, as if you had any sense of style,” Isadora went to grab her rings, before putting them on her dainty fingers. Her brown hair was curled in an updo and she had put on a plethora of perfume, that was way too sweet, but ironically, fit her perfectly.

“Hah, you’re right sissy, this wench does not know anything about fashion. I mean look at how she’s dressed right now.” Arabella looked at Y/N from head to toe, her face grimacing. Y/N lowered her head to look at her grey dress. Yes, it wasn’t as fancy as the gowns on her step-sisters, but it had belonged to her mother. The grey dress made her feel some kind of sanity, running around doing chores for the Deverauxs’. Picking invisible lint from the pocket of her skirt, the step-sisters just laughed at how humiliated Y/N looked.

“Yes, you do look absolutely atrocious as of late,” Isadora smirked as Arabella grinned, taking joy in embarrassing Y/N. “You’re just plain ugly,” the eldest sister managed to get out before laughing.

“Here, take this, go buy yourself something prettier,” Isadora scoffed as she handed Y/N three silver pieces. You could not get anything fairly pretty with that kind of sum. Y/N had given up on pretty dresses a while ago, being content with the ones her mother had left her. She shook her head at the silver coins, not accepting the pity donation.

“Fine have it your way, I was just trying to be nice,” Isadora threw the silver pieces on the floor as Arabella snorted in an unladylike manner. “Now leave, as I remember correctly Mama wanted you to go down to the forest to pick up some flowers for the gathering tonight.”

Y/N nodded to the girls, before hastily leaving the room, blinking back tears. She had grown accustomed to their derogatory comments, but that didn’t mean a part of her always ached at their remarks. Never had she been anything, but good and friendly towards the girls and their mother. She shook her head, as if to shake it clear from the depressing thoughts and picked up a dark-brown wooden basket from the kitchen table.

The walk from the house to the forest was always Y/N’s favourite. As soon as the house with the hectic people inside of it disappeared from her field of view, a certain kind of calmness filled Y/N. It was as if she could finally breathe without restrictions. Even the world around her seemed a little bit more saturated. Birds were flying around, singing their beautiful songs; it was spring after all. Y/N started to hum a melody she used to love to play the most on her piano.

Y/N twirled around and smiled, suddenly feeling joyous and elated. She closed her eyes, still twirling, liking the feel of the afternoon sun on her face. A total bliss. Suddenly, when taking her last twirl, she felt her foot get stuck on a tree root and braced herself for a fall.

However, the fall did not come.

Instead, strong hands had grasped her waist, holding her a few centimetres off the ground. Y/N finally opened her eyes, the sun making her squint a little before finally her vision was back in focus. She was looking into blue eyes. Into the most gorgeous blue eyes she’d ever seen. Serene, deep blue eyes, that she could get lost in. That she did get lost in.

“Miss, are you alright?” Y/N blinked, before realising the man was still holding her. She stumbled to get out of his grasp, before wiping her dress from invisible dirt. Her cheeks flushed pink, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you..?” Y/N said, waiting for the person’s name to finish her sentence. To thank him personally. She now had time to look at the man that had so gracefully caught her. He had brown medium-length hair, which seemed abnormally soft and Y/N wished she could tread her fingers through it. The man smiled, no grinned rather, and Y/N was taken aback by how handsome this stranger looked.

“You really don’t know who I am?” The man chuckled and Y/N shook her head quizzically. Was she supposed to know him? She browsed through her brain, wondering who this man could be; maybe she’d met him before. But no, she’d remember him. She could never forget those eyes.

Y/N saw a peculiar look in his gaze before his grin grew even bigger and he introduced himself. “My name’s Bash,” he said, and Y/N furrowed her brows, but smiling nonetheless.

“That’s a peculiar name,” she spoke, before realising her comment was nowhere near acceptable nor did it come off as friendly. The man, Bash, as she’d learned, let out a genuine laugh at the comment. Y/N felt embarrassed and was about to apologise before he stopped her.

“I like your candour,” he smirked. “It’s actually a nickname. A name that my father calls me whenever I haven’t done anything to upset him.” Y/N smiled, no longer feeling embarrassed, but just a little bit of something else. A strange warm feeling was creeping up in her chest.

“Well, thank you, Bash, for catching me. And I’m sorry you even had to, I’m not normally so clumsy.”

“It’s no problem, besides, what even is a beautiful girl like you doing out in these woods anyway?” Bash asked, not being able to take his eyes off Y/N. He’d never seen a girl so beautiful before. And ‘beautiful’ was not even enough to describe her.

“Oh, I’m just on my way to get flowers for a party later on. Which does remind me, that I should be on my way,” Y/N looked down at her basket, which she hadn’t fortunately dropped, when she had stumbled. Realisation hit her then, that he’d called her beautiful, but she couldn’t believe it. Perhaps she’d heard wrong?

“Do you work nearby?” Bash asked, his eyes still admiring her own. He did not want to leave her this soon after just meeting. But her duty called and truth be told, so did his. He wasn’t even supposed to be out here. He was out riding with his horse when suddenly he heard the most beautiful voice humming somewhere nearby. Having left his horse a few metres behind, was when he finally saw her. She was twirling and twirling and completely not noticing the tree root that was about to make her fall on the next twirl. Thankfully, he was fast and had caught her on time.

“Yes, I do. Are you from around here as well?” Y/N asked politely. Knowing that she should be going now, but his eyes were just too mesmerising, to not look away from, that she stayed grounded.

“I actually work at the castle,” he said, his eyes turning pink as if he was embarrassed about the notion. Y/N smiled at that. “Must be nice,” she thought out loud, as Bash just shook his head at her comment.

“Depending on the day, it can be a little bit too much sometimes.” Y/N nodded at that, trying to understand what it must be like working amidst hundreds of people. Working for royalty.

“Well, it’s like my father always taught me,” she began as she gave him the sweetest smile. “Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.” Bash raised his eyebrow at that. “And do you feel like that?”

“Huh?”

“Do you feel seen?” He inquired, and Y/N shrugged. The question was raw - she hadn’t expected that. Did she feel seen? No, not as of late. But she couldn’t tell him that, now could she? She noticed the sun had turned just a tiny bit more golden and felt fear rush through her. She was supposed to be making supper for the Deverauxs and their guests.

“Look, it’s been wonderful having this chat with you, but I really must take my leave,” she nodded to him, taking her basket and turning around, completely forgetting about the flowers.

Bash felt a tinge of sadness in him, before nodding and giving her a final smile. “Well, it was wonderful making your acquaintance. I hope to see you again someday.” Y/N turned around at his voice. She nodded, grinning at him.

“So do I.”

“Soon,” Bash said and saw Y/N blush, before finally taking her leave.

She found some wild poppies just behind the house and hoped they’d do. Fortunately, Madam Deveraux only gave her a quizzical look, before dismissing her. She took a breath, thanking the gods that her step-mother did not freak out over the flower arrangement. All evening as she was making supper for everyone, her thoughts went back to the kind stranger she’d met.

Bash.

Y/N was browsing through the city fair, currently looking at new books she wished she could buy when suddenly a horn was heard above in the upper city. She glanced up from the booth towards the sound, seeing everyone gathering around.

“Hear ye, hear ye,” a man in a formal outfit began. Behind him stood many other men, dressed the same.

These were men from the castle, she concluded. Her thoughts went to Bash for a second, before focusing back on the man giving out the information.

“As requested by His Royal Highness, Prince Sebastian, there is to be a ball, for two weeks hence, in honour of him choosing a bride. As per his wishes, the ball is open to everyone in the country.”

Squeals and cheers were coming from every corner of the city at the news. Y/N suddenly felt very happy. Maybe this was her chance to see Bash again in the castle, after all, he did say he worked there.

Having made her way back home, she rushed to Madam Deveraux, who was sitting in the living room with Arabella and Isadora. The latter was playing the piano. Correction, trying to play, for Y/N, did not know it was possible to make that kind of noise on the delicate instrument.

“What has gotten you in a rush? Your dress is all dirty again,” Arabella scrunched her face, clearly disgusted by Y/N’s clothing once again.

“I was just in the city when they announced there is to be a ball in two weeks as the Prince is to finally choose a bride. It’s open to everyone.” She smiled as she saw Madam Deveraux jump up from the couch, her daughters following her. Suddenly they screamed and the two girls jumped around.

“I’m going to be the new princess,” Isadora squealed before Arabella nudged her on the shoulder.

“No, I am!” Arabella insisted before Madam Deveraux made them quiet down.

“Y/N, you have to go into town and get three beautiful dresses,” Madam Deveraux smiled at her, a new prosperous future in mind for her daughters. She knew they had to look their best to catch the eye of the Prince.

“Yes, yes I will. Thank you for letting me come with you.” Y/N said as she was about to leave back to the city, her mind joyous and excited. Madam Deveraux had finally accepted her as part of the family and she got to go to the ball as well.

“Come with us?” Madam Deveraux scoffed and raised her eyebrow. “Why in the seven hells do you think you’re coming with us?”

Y/N started to say something before she was rudely cut off.

“Nuh, uh-uh.” Madam Deveraux pointed her finger at Y/N. “You do not belong at events like these. You will not go, I forbid you.”

Y/N felt tears in her eyes, not understanding why she was being so mean to her.

“Oh, Mama, look. You’ve made the duckling cry.” Arabella snickered and Isadora laughed.

“But why? All I’ve ever done is be nice to you. I do all these chores, you ask of me, and more.” Y/N started shaking but was reluctant to let out real tears. They cannot see me cry, she thought to herself.

“Have you ever considered that you’re maybe just not enough? Not enough pretty, not enough smart,” Madam Deveraux took steps toward Y/N, placing a finger under her jaw, pulling Y/N to look at her. “You’re no one.” Madam Deveraux turned away, before muttering instructions that Y/N was to buy dresses for the three of them the following day.

TWO WEEKS LATER

After helping the Deveraux sisters into their beautiful ball gowns and doing their hair, Y/N watched them leave in a big beige carriage. Letting her shoulders shrug, she finally let out the tears she’d been holding in. Y/N had hoped to visit the ball as well, hoping to see the blue-eyed man who had taken over her thoughts.

Y/N heard footsteps behind her and her name being called, before turning around and seeing Anastasia, an older lady that she’d known all of her life. Anastasia was a neighbour, a lovely woman, who always took care of Y/N whenever it was needed. Anastasia did not like the way Madam Deveraux had started treating Y/N after her father died and even offered to let Y/N move in with her. However, Y/N always passed the opportunity down, saying that she made a promise to her mother and father to look after the house.

“My dear,” Anastasia came closer, taking Y/N’s hand and seeing the tear trails on her face. “Why are you not at the ball? Everyone’s invited.”

Y/N shook her head, before explaining that Madam Deveraux had forbidden her to attend the event. Anastasia pursed her lips, before muttering, more to herself than to Y/N.

“This will not do,” then louder, “this will not do at all.” She grabbed Y/N’s arm and started pulling her towards her house which was just a few minutes further away. “You will go to the ball, end of story.”

“But how? I have no horse to take me, let alone a carriage. Nor do I have a dress that is suitable for this kind of event.” Y/N saw Anastasia grin, before ushering her faster towards her house.

“Have courage, dear one. I will make sure you get everything.”

And just as Anastasia said, Y/N had it all. Anastasia was a well-endowed lady, who did not have the joy of getting to raise a daughter of her own. No, she was instead blessed with three sons. So it was mere luck, and perhaps a little bit of something else, that Anastasia had a beautiful periwinkle blue dress in her closet waiting to be worn. It fit Y/N perfectly as if it was made only for her to wear.

Anastasia did Y/N’s hair next, whilst explaining that she’d already talked with her personal chauffeur, who was to take Y/N to the ball.

“I cannot begin to thank you enough, Lady Anastasia,” Y/N had tears in her eyes, although this time they were there for another reason. Gratitude.

“Oh, stop it, dear. I’ve told you a thousand times to not call me that, it makes me feel old,” she grimaced, before helping Y/N into the carriage. As Y/N took a step, Anastasia saw her shoes, which looked worn out and definitely didn't go along with the dress. She muttered something under her breath, before looking at Y/N again.

“There’s something in a box inside the carriage. Make use of them. And make sure to dance.” Y/N furrowed her brows, trying to understand, before she took her seat and felt the carriage take off slowly. “But wait, what about Madam Deveraux and the step-sisters? Won’t they recognize me?” Y/N asked worriedly, looking back at the kind woman.

“Oh, don’t worry about something so trivial, my dear, it’s already been taken care of,” Anastasia winked, before remembering, “and before I forget, try to return at midnight. I cannot explain why, but it’s imperative that you do so. You have to be back when the clock strikes twelve.” With a smile, Anastasia stayed behind, waving at Y/N.

Y/N was a bit confused, even more so when she opened the box that was on the seat in front of her. Beautiful shoes, made out of iridescent glass, were inside the box. She gasped when she took one in her hand, not even feeling the weight of it, expecting it to be heavier. She slipped off her slippers, before trying on the glass shoes.

They fit perfectly. As if these shoes, just like the dress, were made just for her. Maybe Anastasia was a witch? No, that sounds too evil. Maybe she was her Fairy Godmother. Y/N chuckled at the silly idea of magic but still felt curious about the predicament she was in.

Y/N didn’t have enough time to dwell on the whereabouts of her dress and shoes before she saw the castle in front of her. Only a few minutes separated her from the majestic building.

“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen,” she whispered to herself, looking longingly at the castle ahead.

The castle itself was beautiful. Y/N had never seen a building so marvellous in her life. Taking slow steps through the garden in front of the castle, she was in awe. Twirling around and trying to take it all in. The castle inside was just about the same. Mesmerising to the point of Y/N being left speechless. She imagined what it’d be like to live here. So in contrast to her current living conditions.

Before she knew it, she was standing behind a huge door, with two guards standing on each side of it. This must be the ballroom, she figured. She gave a nod and a curtsy to the guards before they nodded in return and opened the doors.

She heard the buzz of the voices first, before walking towards the balcony that was connected to the ground floor of the ballroom. About a hundred and fifty other people were mingling downstairs, not counting the guards and other workers.

She began to make her descent down the marvellous staircase, walking slowly, as if not to ruin the dress and not to stumble on her feet. She felt anxious, before reminding herself of her father's wise words again.

It was then that Bash saw her, from across the room. He’d been waiting for her for hours now. Hoping that she’d grace the castle with her beauty. And what a beauty she was, indeed. He was left bewildered when he saw her. She looked otherworldly.

She looked ethereal.

As if they were magnets, he felt an invisible string pull him towards her. He apologised to the princess currently in front of him and nodded to his father, before taking his leave and stepping onto the dance floor.

Y/N had just reached the last step when she noticed the crowd parting and giving her way. At the end of the tunnel of people, she saw him.

It was him, it was truly him.

Bash.

And oh, the way he looked at Y/N. As if she’d hung the stars in the sky.

He grinned when he was finally near enough to notice the sparkling eyeshadow on her eyelids and the pink tone of her lips.

“Wow, just wow,” Bash let out, scratching the back of his head. A habit of his, whenever he was nervous. “I’m speechless, really.” Bash said, before taking Y/N’s hand and placing a delicate kiss on her knuckles.

“You look breathtaking,” he said, looking up. Y/N blushed heavily, still not having noticed the ballroom growing quiet. All she saw was him. He was wearing a dark blue suit, with small gold intricate details, that made him look regal. It was then, Y/N realised, he was probably not just a mere worker in a castle.

“Would you allow me this dance?” He said as he stood up straight again. Y/N nodded, not trusting her words at the moment. He took her hand gently on his, placing his other on her waist. The pull between them only grew, the magnetic feel forcing them to be as close as possible.

And then they danced. He was a wonderful leader, and fortunately for Y/N, she was not so bad herself on a dancefloor, having taken dance lessons in her youth. The pair only had eyes for each other, completely ignoring the looks they were getting all over the ballroom. Some were jealous, some were elated, and some were more than angry with the outcome happening right now.

Y/N grinned as Bash twirled her not once, but twice, and then made her fall into his arms. The song ended and they were both out of breath. Y/N felt Bash put a strand of hair behind her ear, looking longingly into her eyes. He leaned in, before closing his eyes and stopping himself.

“Come with me, I want to show you something,” Y/N nodded as he led her away from the dancefloor to the confines of a secluded room filled with high bookshelves. There were rows and rows of books. Y/N twirled around, taking it all in. She’d never seen bookshelves this high before.

They were in a library.

Sebastian noticed how Y/N smiled in awe as she took it all in. He just had a feeling she would like it.

“You didn’t tell me you were a prince, Prince Sebastian,” Y/N said when she turned around from admiring the thousands of books gracing the shelves. Bash chuckled.

“I told you I worked at the castle. Which is true,” Y/N narrowed her eyes before smiling.

“I just didn’t specify,” Bash said, a finality in his tone. Y/N then saw him truly as he was, as a future king.

A kind future king, she acknowledged.

“True,” she took another longing look at the bookshelves before something else caught her eye on the other side of the room.

There was a black grand piano, waiting to be played. Almost calling her name as she took steps towards it. Bash saw what her eyes had fixed on, a grin growing on his face.

“Do you play?” He asked as Y/N let her fingers slide tenderly across the black-and-white keys.

“I used to,” Y/N said honestly, still gazing longingly at the beautiful instrument in front of her. “I haven’t in a while, not since my father passed.” Bash looked at her sorrowfully, before whispering his condolences.

Sebastian took a seat in front of the piano, patting the place next to him. Y/N blushed before she obliged.

She watched Sebastian place his hands on the piano, pressing a few keys, which made the sweetest tune. She closed her eyes and hummed to herself when she heard him continue. Suddenly the sound stopped and she opened her eyes to come face to face with Bash.

“Your turn,” he whispered, his face was so close to hers, that she could feel his breath on her face. She blushed but shook her head.

“I shouldn’t.”

“You should.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You should.”

“I shouldn’t, really.”

“You should, really.”

“I will.” She said finally, seeing Sebastian grin before she placed her trembling hands on the keys.

She took a breath before letting her hands take over, the notes she played were familiar to her, never forgotten. Even if she hadn’t played them in so long. She let herself be carried by the tune, until at some point, there was a dialogue.

Sebastian had accompanied her on the piano, he was playing on his side, giving supporting yet beautiful notes to the ones she played. Y/N was enthralled and totally mesmerised by the music.

So was he. Before today, Sebastian was sure Y/N could not surprise him anymore. She was already perfect enough. But here she was, letting out a precious and delicate part of herself that not many could see. She trusted him. And he appreciated it more than Y/N could ever imagine.

Later on in their life, Bash would tell Y/N that this was the moment he fell in love with her.

As with all good things in life, the song came to an end, and Y/N removed her hands from the keyboard to her lap. Fidgeting with her fingers, as if suddenly ashamed of letting someone see her so bare.

Sebastian placed two fingers underneath her jaw, making Y/N look at him. Her eyes were so vulnerable, that he wanted to fix everything in her life. Not knowing anything about her, but vowing to himself that he’d do anything and everything in his power to make sure she was happy at all times.

Their faces were close again, just one small nudge, and he could feel her lips on his. Y/N saw as Bash’s gaze moved from her eyes to her lips, hers following the action. They were so–so close. Sebastian nudged Y/N’s nose with his own as if asking for permission. Y/N closed her eyes and grinned, him doing the same, and just as their lips were about to meet, Y/N heard the clock strike.

Her eyes flew wide open and she pulled away. Looking at the clock behind them, she realised she was running out of time.

“I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” Y/N said apologetically, coming to stand. Bash followed immediately, wanting to grasp her arm, but not wanting to overstep.

“You’ve been absolutely wonderful and I’ve had the time of my life, truly.” She started walking away, fast. Sebastian was bewildered, not understanding what went wrong.

“Why are you in a hurry?” He asked, giving her a smile to try to ease the sudden tension in the room.

“It’s hard to explain, I don’t even understand it myself. But I made a promise,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. Bash was trailing behind her; they still weren’t out of the confines of the library. “I don’t break my promises.”

“Then promise me, we will meet again,” Sebastian told her, as he saw her quicken the pace. She was at the door now. The door that connected to the ballroom. The door that would bring them back to reality. She gave him one last look over her shoulder, grinning at him the way she’d never before when she finally whispered so only he could hear.

“Goodbye, Prince Sebastian.”

She took off and Sebastian followed. He felt his pulse quicken in his chest, for he had been so close to telling her that he’d chosen her as his bride.

And she’d used his full name. Not the nickname he’d given her.

Bash felt dread creep up on him. This wasn’t supposed to end like this.

And that’s when he realised he didn’t know her name. All this time together, and he had forgotten to ask the simplest of questions.

She had passed the ballroom now and Sebastian tried his hardest to catch up. With his luck, though, what with being the prince and all, he wasn’t so quick. Girls touched him and pulled him into them, everyone trying to score a chance at a dance with the Prince Sebastian.

Sebastian muttered countless apologies, before finally getting free of the wandering hands and quickening his pace towards her.

Y/N tried to run as fast as she could. Suddenly she stumbled and one of her glass shoes had fallen off. She looked behind herself and saw Bash following her, even if he was a bit farther behind. She did not have time to go back for the shoe, trying to get the other one off her foot, while still running.

She finally made her way to her carriage, letting it drive away. In her last glance towards the castle, she saw Bash picking up her glass shoe, holding it to his chest, and looking longingly towards the carriage. She blinked and felt moisture on her cheeks. She was devastated by leaving him, but he was a prince. He was the Prince Sebastian and she was just a commoner. A maid, if she could be called even that as of late. However, the feeling was bittersweet, as she’d have memories of this night to remind herself for the years to come.

The way his hands had felt, the way he had looked at her, the way his breath had made goosebumps on her skin when his nose brushed against hers.

The carriage dropped her off at her house, and she hastily made her way into her small room. As she changed into her other dress, the grey one that was her mother's, she noticed that her periwinkle dress was gone. She had just hung it up in her closet, but it was nowhere. She looked again and again, pulling out every other dress in her closet, but nothing.

It was as if it was never even there.

All that remained, which reminded her of the evening spent with the Prince, were her memories and the small glass shoe on the ground in her closet. Reminders, that she hadn’t imagined her time in the castle and that it had been real.

It was quiet until she heard voices coming from the hallway. Annoyed voices.

“I cannot believe, we didn’t get to dance with the Prince,” Isadora said grumpily, sitting down at the dining room table with a disappointed look. “All because of that stupid girl in that pretty dress.”

“At least I touched him,” Arabella closed her eyes, trying to remember the feel of his shoulder beneath her fingers. “He was so firm,” Arabella continued to daydream and took a seat next to her sister. Madam Deveraux was the last to arrive in the room, taking note of Y/N and how bubbly she suddenly looked.

She had a certain spring in her step, when she finally brought the food on the table, for them to eat. Madam Deveraux raised her eyebrow, eyeing Y/N thoroughly, but not saying a word. She thought Y/N would be more devastated at not having had the opportunity to attend the ball.

Something was going on. And she did not like it one bit.

Y/N spent the rest of her evening writing everything down in her diary. She wrote of every minute spent in the castle and her time with the Prince. Mostly, she wrote of the Prince.

It was a month after the ball when Y/N went to her room to check her closet. She had a peculiar feeling in her chest as if something were amiss. Her diary had been exactly where she’d left it, but to her surprise the glass shoe was missing. Y/N looked around her closet, but it was nowhere in sight.

“Are you looking for this?” She heard the cold voice of Madam Deveraux from the doorstep, before looking at her quizzically. “It’s a wonderful little thing, isn’t it.” Madam Deveraux said, looking at the shoe in her hand and then at Y/N. “Do you even know that there’s a countrywide search for whoever wore these shoes to the ball?”

Y/N was surprised, for she did not know the Prince was looking for her. Mostly because she hadn’t even been out of the house these previous weeks. Madam Deveraux had been giving her more chores than she could manage and now she figured out why.

“I won’t even begin to ask where you acquired such a thing, for I simply do not care.” Madam Deveraux hit the glass shoe on the wall next to her, making Y/N gasp and let out a weak ‘no’.

Madam Deveraux smirked, taking pleasure in Y/N’s sorrowful state. “It’s only a matter of time before they knock on our door. And you will not be a part of this household when they ask. It’s only me, Arabella and Isadora.” She grinned darkly, looking at Y/N sitting on the floor, tears in her eyes.

“Do you understand? Do you now, finally, understand that sometimes a person of your stature is just not enough?” Y/N whimpered as Madam Deveraux closed the door of her room, locking it behind her.

Y/N looked around herself, she had approximately enough food in her room to last her a few days, but she had finally accepted her fate. She would never see Bash again.

It was the afternoon of the next day when Madam Deveraux heard knocking on her door. She placed on her most pleasant smile and opened the door wide, to be met with the new King’s chancellor.

“Hello, we are here on behalf of His Majesty the King, to try to find his beloved. Are there any ladies in your household, to whom this shoe might belong?” The man in a dark blue suit asked, showing Madam Deveraux the glass shoe she was all familiar with.

Madam Deveraux was thrilled. She had ordered her daughters to lotion their feet daily and to try to squish them into smaller shoes, for she had to be sure that one of them would find their place near the King.

Arabella was first, as was expected of the eldest daughter. She let out a bunch of profanities while trying on the shoe, pushing and pulling the glass to try to fit into it. “One more time,” she said, her face completely red from the puffing and huffing.

“Oh, give up already,” Isaroda said, whilst nudging her sister, making her fall and catching the shoe in her hand.

As expected, it didn’t fit her either.

Madam Deveraux was absolutely annoyed with her daughters, completely disappointed in their incompetence.

“I am sorry for wasting your time, Madam Deveraux,” the chancellor said, as he was stepping out of the house. Just as he was about to get back on his horse, there was humming to be heard.

The loveliest voice was humming a tune somewhere in the house. Madam Deveraux’s eyes shot up, trying to close the door behind her.

The chancellor raised an eyebrow. “Is there someone else in the house with you?”

Madam Deveraux smiled smugly, however slightly shaken with the idea of the kingsmen hearing Y/N’s humming. She shook her head.

“No, there is no one, but me and my two daughters.”

“You’re lying,” said a strong voice, as a man jumped off his horse. He removed his hood, and everyone gasped.

It was Prince Sebastian. No, he was King Sebastian now. His father had fallen ill and given Sebastian the throne early.

Madam Deveraux was flabbergasted and immediately curtsied. “M-my prin-King, My King, I had no idea, you’d be here.”

Sebastian took a few steps forward, still hearing the tune of Y/N’s humming. He knew it was her. It was the same song they’d played on the piano together.

Sebastian looked at his chancellor, nodding towards the house. “Want to check it out, or should I?”

His chancellor, his best friend, smirked when he saw the glint in Sebastian’s eye. “Go ahead, Your Majesty.” Sebastian grinned before fastening his pace and entering the house. He followed the humming to the small door near the kitchen.

Sebastian saw that the door was locked, so with one, really-really strong pull he tore the lock off the door and exhaled before opening the door.

Y/N had no idea what was going on. She had been trying to calm herself ever since Madam Deveraux had locked her in this room. So when she heard noises coming behind the door, she had expected the worst.

What she didn’t expect, however, were the kind eyes of Bash.

Sebastian faltered, his steps coming to a stop. There she stood. His beloved. His Queen. He furrowed his brows as he took in her commodities. The way she was dressed. The way her eyes were red-rimmed - an indication that she had been crying.

She had been locked up.

Everything suddenly made sense to him and he wasted no time in hurrying towards Y/N and pulling her to him. Hugging her so close to him, finally, finally, feeling her in his arms.

“Bash,” She let out weakly and Sebastian just shushed her, placing his head on hers. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

Y/N tried to push herself away from him, afraid to get even more hurt. She had felt enough disappointment and grief in her life to experience it again. And grief she would feel if she lost Bash too. So it was easier to push him away before her feelings got too strong. Although, deep down, she knew there was already no turning back. She had fallen for him. Deeply.

But Sebastian wouldn’t budge, he was only grinning more widely when he realised that Y/N, the one he was looking for, was safely in his arms.

“Do you know that I have a countrywide search put out for you?” He asked casually, not even minding that she was trying to break free of his hold. Letting his fingers run through her hair, silently comforting her.

“Bash, have you even realised who I am?” Y/N looked at him through tear-filled eyes. “I'm a nobody. A maid at best. I have no prospects, no dowry. I am not someone you want next to you to rule a kingdom.”

Sebastian laughed at that, pulling the smaller one closer to his chest, letting his head fall on her own again. “That’s where you’re wrong, darling,” He inhaled her scent before placing a kiss on her head.

“You’re strong, you’re honest. Your heart is made of gold. You’re the only person I want to share the throne with.”

She finally looked up into his eyes, to see the most sincere gaze ever directed towards her.

“Well, aren’t you supposed to give me a shoe to try on then? Or have I heard wrong?” She finally retaliated and he chuckled at that.

“Fair enough,” he said before slowly kneeling in front of Y/N.

She looked at him, Prince Sebastian, no, King Sebastian now, on one knee, holding up a glass shoe.

Her glass shoe.

“May I?” Bash cheekily said, before Y/N blushed, and pulled up her skirt just a bit to give Sebastian her leg.

Bash placed her foot in the shoe, and as a surprise to neither of them, it fit her perfectly. His eyes found hers instantly, a strong, confident look in his gaze.

“Can I now, finally, know your name?”

She laughed at that, a tear escaping her eye as she finally began to realise that her old life was coming to an end.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” she said as Sebastian’s eyes glossed over as well.

“Y/N,” Bash tried the name out on his tongue, and he liked how it sounded. He closed his eyes and shook his head, before looking at Y/N again with a new determination in his face.

“Y/N, would you please do me the honour of marrying me and making me the happiest man to ever walk this Earth? I promise to give everything in me to make you happy. To keep you safe. Please, just please, end my misery and come back to the castle with me. As my equal. As my Queen.”

Y/N fell on her knees in front of Bash, her tears falling on her cheeks, although she did not care for them at that moment. All she saw was Sebastian’s face near her as she started to nod and laugh.

“Yes?” Bash looked at Y/N with a hopeful gaze, placing his hands on either side of her face, and pulling her towards him.

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling Bash’s forehead on her own.

“Yes.”

Time stopped then.

Sebastian pulled Y/N closer to himself and finally connected their lips. Magical was not even the word to begin to describe how it felt like. They were made for each other, of that, were they both certain. Y/N had never experienced anything like this before. His lips were so smooth and soft on her own that she let out a whimper. Bash smiled at that and Y/N followed.

They both pulled away, grinning at each other.

“I love you,” Bash said, caressing Y/N’s face with his right hand.

“I love you,” Y/N said before Bash connected their lips again.

It was no surprise that the wedding of Y/N and Sebastian happened only a week after their first kiss. Y/N had moved into the castle immediately after Sebastian had caught her locked up in the storage room. Madam Deveraux was put to trial, for treating Y/N the way she had. Arabella and Isadora, although crude in their temper, were pardoned, but made to leave the country, effective immediately.

As for Y/N and Sebastian?

Well, their story is just at the beginning, filled with sweet kisses and even sweeter memories.

“Do you have any idea how happy you’ve made me?” Bash asked as he held Y/N, his wife now, close to himself.

“Hmm, I can begin to imagine it’s something close to the way I feel,” Y/N chuckled and Sebastian laughed, finally taking a look at her.

Ethereal, he thought. She stood in front of him in their shared bedroom, still in her white gorgeous wedding gown.

Sebastian just shook his head, still in disbelief that his happily ever after was in his arms at last. He pulled Y/N closer and placed his lips on hers. The one of many kisses shared that night.

#sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan cinderella au #sebastian stan fairytale au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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