#how to skin and debone a fish | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kometqh · 1 year ago

Text

𝐄𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐭.𝟐 (fem reader) 𝟗.𝟕𝐤 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐢𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞-𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲, 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲.

As the words leap off the tip of my tongue, I freeze. Time stills, and all that I can hear and feel is the hurried beat of my heart. The tips of my fingers begin to prick, just like on that day.

I'm taken back to an icy, cold, windy day. Some of the water at the harbour had frozen over, large shards of ice hitting against the wooden structure. We were carrying large nets filled with all kinds of creatures; fish, crab, lobster, abalone, the whole lot. The children would often come to help out, as the work was long, tiring and difficult, stretching out until it became pitch black outside.

Me and Annie had been helping my mother out with carrying the nets, as she had been pregnant back then, her stomach too large to let her do anything but sit and debone the fish, or pack it away into freezing boxes that were to be transported straight to the Capitol.

On that day, the excess water that had been brought by the creatures had dripped heavily onto the wooden flooring, freezing over. Everyone was aware of it, some going out of their way to warn the others. I listened, focusing on the floor beneath my feet. It creaked heavily, and Annie had to catch me by my arm a couple of times.

I remember it like it was just yesterday; the water was scalding cold.

It pricked at my skin with invisible nails, burning every inch of it through my coat. The water had instantly gotten through my throat, and then it began to freeze my lungs over. My hands felt like burning icicles, but I did my best to swim my way up, panicking for air. Gurgled screams escaped my throat.

I didn't swim for long enough, as my limbs began to become numb. I had ceased all of my movement, convinced that I was gonna to die. Feeling too worn out to continue swimming, even though just a mere moment ago I was ferociously fighting for my life.

The cold was engulfing me like a spikey blanket, wrapping around every crevice of my body as my lungs sputtered out water, though more replaced it in mere seconds. My entire body kept twitching, but the icy water kept burning me.

My body began to slowly sink, exhaustion taking over as I inched further down, surrounded by darkness.

Then, in the far distance, I saw it. The splash.

I saw it from the corner of my eye, a figure swimming towards me. At first it was just a blur of bronze, but then it became slightly clearer. Arms extended, it reached out to grab a hold of my hand and pulled, and I floated up after it towards the surface, arms latched loosely around his neck. My eyes slowly closed, too exhausted to stay awake.

I don't remember anything after that. All I know is that it hurt, and I almost died. I struggled to walk for a while, the stinging pain reappearing from time to time.

That's how I felt in this moment; legs frozen, heart pounding violently, lungs burning. I guess it took me too long to keep moving, as I quickly felt a pair of hands harshly grab my arms from each side, ushering me up and onto the stage.

"Wonderful!" Sylvia Borgnino exclaims, reaching her pointy gloved fingers towards me. "What is your name darling?" She asks in a heavy accent, her breath lightly fanning over my face as she leans in close. I clear my throat, looking between her own honey-brown eyes and the audience. "Y-Y/n..." I stutter, feeling my hands tremble.

"Y/n?" Sylvia asks, her eyebrows raised questioningly, nudging me on.

"Y/n Montford." I finish quietly, my throat has dried up, my voice coming out croaky and timid. I look around, noticing the shocked faces of the people around me. Some of our school friends have taken Annie to the side, consoling her with hugs as they all solemnly stared at me.

Suddenly I feel a light squeeze on my forearm, and look up to see Sylvia looking at me gleefully. "Our most recent tribute in District 4! Let's give her a round of applause, everyone!" She excitedly speaks into the microphone, clapping her gloved hands. Some people in the audience join, not out of excitement or joy, but rather out of respect. Or so I assume. I wouldn't know.

Clearing her throat, Sylvia begins, "Thank you! Now, onto the male tributes." She says gleefully, stepping over to the other glass bowl, repeating the same actions before dipping her hand in, fishing around for that one piece of paper. Once she found it, she walked back over to the podium, leaning over slightly. "And the male tribute from District 4 is... Beau Murland! A round of applause for him, everyone!" She shouts excitedly, clapping her hands once again.

Some people form an empty circle around a young boy, he must be no older than 14. He was stuck in place, his wide, innocent eyes staring ahead at the stage. Someone in the crowd poked him, fishing him out of whatever trance he put himself into. With small, timid steps, he made his way over to the stage, hugging himself.

Now that he was closer, I could see his features clearer. He had big, bright blue eyes that stared into your soul, soft wavy caramel hair, and sun-kissed skin. He just barely reached the height of my shoulder. He looked skinny and frail, like he barely ate. Sylvia quickly begins asking for any tributes, but no one speaks up. The mayor quickly takes over, beginning to speak out a memorised essay on the Treaty of Treason, as he does every year. It goes by quickly, and before I know it, me and the boy are being asked to shake hands, before the national anthem begins to play. From there, we're escorted by peacekeepers into the Justice Building, led to separate rooms before the doors are closed on me.

I sighed loudly, the initial shock having washed away like a morning breeze. I turned away from the door, and was welcomed by a grand, red room. The windowsills seemed to be lined with gold, glazing lazily in the sunlight that streamed through. There were curtains that extended all the way to the ceiling, probably made of some expensive material. In the middle of the room there was a couch and two armchairs, a coffee table separating all three. Further down, against a wall, a big chimney rested, but there was no fire crackling.

I seat myself down in the middle of the couch, gasping quietly at the sheer softness of it. To be honest, I have never felt such luxury. What was it? Velvet or something?

With a loud creak, the big wooden doors slid open, and I was greeted with the sight of my teary-eyed mother and trembling little sister. As the peacekeeper closed the door behind them, I stood up, not daring to move in fear of my legs trembling. Hali ran up to me, and her slender arms encircled my waist. Her tears stained my dress, but I didn't mind.

My mother stayed a bit back, a pained expression present on her face. Her hand was covering her mouth, though I could tell there was a scowl on her face, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Why-" She paused, taking a deep shaky breath. "Why did you volunteer?" She asked quietly, yet still loudly enough for me to hear. I shook my head, closing my eyes as I felt tears well up.

"I- I don't know. I had to." I respond, and my chest begins heaving up and down, and I begin to hiccup. "Annie has- she's helped us so much... I owe it to her." I say quietly, my hand caressing Hali's head. A loud sob escaped her lips.

An exhausted sigh leaves my mothers' lips, and she sniffles.

"You don't owe her anything! It's normal for everyone to help each other out, that's how we live!" My mother shouts, hiding her face in her hand. "Y-you're just throwing your life away... If you hadn't volunteered, you'd be free." She says quietly, more to herself than to me. Her legs slowly begin moving, and she's quickly pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.

The three of us stand there for a bit, just embracing and crying. Hali's sobs began to quieten down, but she's started biting down on her nails. "Hali, stop it. You'll hurt yourself." I mutter quietly, taking her hand into my own, squeezing it reassuringly.

She shakes her head, and more tears spill out. I pull away from my mom, and lead them to sit on the couch on either side of me.

"Take care of yourselves, okay?" I asked, looking between the two as I caressed Hali's head. My mother nodded, her hand coming up to hold my cheek. "We'll be okay. And so will you. You have Finnick, he w-won his games right?" My mother asked, stumbling over her own words. I nodded my head, before leaning into her hold.

"I'll be okay..." I whispered brokenly. We sat there in silence for the remaining few minutes, exchanging hugs. As the peacekeepers escorted them out, I shouted 'I love you's' to them. My mother opened her lips to respond, more tears escaping her eyes but the door was slammed in my face before I could hear what she said. A strangled sob left my lips, and in a combination of frustration and stress, I kicked the door, slamming my fist against it with a strained scream.

After a minute or so, it opened again.

I saw her fiery red hair first, bouncing up and down as she ran over to me, tears streaming down her face yet again.

"Y/n! Why?! Why did you volunteer for me?!" She shouted at me, shaking my shoulders. Her nails dug into my skin, and her eyes looked desperately into mine.

"You didn't have to and you know it! What if something happens to you?! What if you get seriously injured or- or killed?!" Annie continued, leaning her head on my chest. Her voice was strained and hoarse. I held her in my arms, gently stroking soothing circles into her back, as I always would. After a while, she looked up at me, her eyes teary and her face flushed.

"I'll look after your mom and sister, I promise." She said quietly, resting her chin on my shoulder. "When you're in there-" She paused, taking a shaky breath. "You won't need to worry about them, okay?" She asked, her hand caressing the back of my head, the other caging me against her body.

I nodded my head, looking up to the ceiling as tears began to prick at my waterline, "I'd appreciate that, thanks." I say, my voice tender, barely above a whisper.

I squeezed her tighter, and we sat there silently comforting each other until the peacekeepers returned, escorting Annie out of the room, just like they did with my mother and sister. For a minute or two, the room is completely silent. My breaths are shallow, and I've successfully stopped the tears from falling.

I won't cry. I can't cry.

I sit there for a while, and soon the doors open once again. For a moment I believe that the peacekeepers will take me to the car, but I'm faced with a much more disappointing sight.

"What are you doing here?!" I screech, my lips forming into a disgusted scowl. The sight of him made me sick. He was a tall, skinny man. His skin was saggy, hanging onto his body, and he was permanently stuck looking tired and sickly.

He took his hat off, twisting it between his hands. He sighed heavily, smacking his lips. For a moment, he said nothing. But then he began.

"I- I came to wish you luck. Sweetheart, I know I hurt you, but you must know I still care about you." He said quietly, keeping his distance. "I know you don't want to see me, but I had to give you this." He said, stepping closer as he extended his hand to me, something green and golden glinting in his palm. I know what it is-

"It was your grandmothers... I kept it after she passed away," He pauses, stopping in his tracks. His gaze shifts from anywhere, to my eyes, and I can see the pain in them. "She wanted you to have this, so take it, it'll keep you safe." He insisted, and had come close enough to place the bracelet into my hand. My heart swelled, and I became overcome with pain.

After my grandmother passed, my scumbag of a father had packed his bags and left for another woman, leaving no trace of himself or my beloved grandma in the house.

"I hate you..." I said quietly, my heart hurting too much to even be angry. I spun the bracelet in my palm, though slowly and gently, I was suddenly afraid that it would break if I held it too hard.

"I know, I know you do. But I needed to give you this. No matter how much you hate me, I still love you." My father says quietly, looking into my eyes hopefully.

I shake my head, looking away. "Get out."

A gasp escaped his lips, and I raise my voice. "Get out!"

I can hear his footsteps moving away, but I'm not looking. Instead, I stare out the grand window, my arms crossed over my chest as my thumb massages over the bracelet. I can hear the door opening and closing, before I'm completely swallowed by a deafening silence.

I swallow thickly, and a lone, strangled sob escapes my throat. I refuse to cry though, as he doesn't deserve my tears, or sympathy or gratefulness. I continue to stare out of the window, at the beautiful garden behind the Justice Building, until the peacekeepers come to retrieve me. I put the bracelet on though, afraid that I'll lose it otherwise.

The peacekeepers reappear after a short time, and escort me out to the car. When I arrive, the other boy is already sat there, twiddling with his thumbs, head hanging low. Next to him is sat Sylvia, the announcer and District escort, looking at a notebook as she busies herself with ticking something off. I seat myself next to her, and the door is promptly shut on me.

No words are exchanged, and the car ride is short and swift.

The cameras are relentless and blinding. The crowds of cameras are thick, and refuse to make way for us. I look at the train ahead, patiently waiting for us to board it. And then I catch a glimpse of myself on a large TV screen.

I look confused, shell-shocked. My eyebrows are scrunched together, the corners of my lips tugging downwards. The boy next to me, Beau, looks absolutely terrified. It is clear that he has been crying, his cheeks are freshly stained red, his hair unruly and tremors gloss over him from time to time.

The cameras continue to bombard us with clicking sounds and flashing lights, taking pictures of every angle until we reach the doors of the train. Sylvia instructs me and Beau to smile and wave, and even insists on me blowing kisses into the lenses.

Eventually we're let onto the train, the doors behind us zipping shut. I have to take a moment to adjust to the barely-lit train cart, as I can still see the colourful lights flashing in my vision. I'm quickly pushed into another cart by Sylvia, who doesn't give us a moment to recollect our thoughts.

Finnick and Mags are already there, sat waiting at a dining table. Sylvia ushers us forward, her heels no longer making that daunting clicky-clacking sound as she walks over a soft carpet. Finnick turns in his seat, his gaze instantly catching mine, observing.

I don't lift a finger, don't utter any words. Instead, I shift my gaze to look over the interior of the cart. There are large, crystal-clear windows, thick mahogany curtains embracing the edges, and golden ropes keeping the curtains bound to the sides. The carpet itself is also red, with golden lining travelling parallel on both sides as it extends into another cart. Most of the furniture is silver; chairs, table, sofas, cupboards. The wallpaper is a faint blue, with diamond shaped-patterns stretching out across the expanse of the cart.

A voice rips through the air, struggling. I look to the source of it, and notice Mags trying to speak. She gestures for us to sit down, and we reluctantly do so. Beau takes the empty seat next to Mags, whereas I have to sit next to Finnick.

"So," Mags starts, taking in a breath, "How are y-you two feeling?" Her voice is quiet, croaky, and her accent is much more noticeable than mine or Finnick's.

I look to Beau, who stares at his hands. I look back to Mags, and manage a faint smile.

"Not so good, but does anyone feel good after realising they're taking a train to their death?" I ask quietly, my smile faltering as I look away, rubbing my arm. She heaves a heavy sigh, moving around a bit.

She coughs quietly, and it's evident that she is struggling to speak.

"Me and Finnick are going to do our best, okay you two?" She asks again, her hand shakily moving to hold Beau's in a tight grip as we both see that the boy has started to tremble.

Beau takes in a deep, shaky breath, and shakes his head. "I don't want to die, I can't die. What will happen to my sister?" He asks, his free hand coming up to wipe away his tears. Mags has a big frown on her face as she moves her chair closer to Beau, holding him in her embrace. "You'll be okay, child. When Finnick was your age, he won the games. You can do the same." She reassures, clearing her throat as she shakes her head.

I look towards Finnick, and notice that his eyes are slightly puffy. His gaze is fixed on Mags, and he doesn't acknowledge me or Sylvia.

He's silent throughout the rest of the interaction, but his hand eventually inches downward, his fingers tracing the silver framing of my chair, dancing over it. I look down at it as Mags, Sylvia and Beau talk to each other, digging into their food that the kitchen staff had brought for us. All of a sudden, his fingers wrap over the framing, and pull on my chair until it's close enough for our arms to touch. Though it doesn't ease the constant ache in the pit of my stomach, it feels nice to have his skin brush mine, even if it's not romantic whatsoever. It's still enough to make my heart rate spike, and my breathing to become shallower.

I turn to face him, looking at his eyes, but he's not looking at me.

If he were to turn his head to look at me...We'd kiss.

I force myself to look away and towards Mags as I feel the heat suddenly rush up to my cheeks.

Turning to the trio, I tune in on their conversation. Mags was speaking quietly, just barely above a whisper. She was asking Beau about any special talents that he may have, and at that, Beau straightened up, dropping his cutlery, his face flushing instantly.

"I... I can sing." He responded, his voice as light as a feather, and a small, barely noticeable smile tugged at his lips. At that, Sylvia's eyebrows rose, and she looked up from her food, intrigued. "Well then, can you sing for us?" She asks, placing her cutlery down, placing her elbows on the table as she locks her hands together. So now she's paying attention.

"W-well, I don't know that many songs!" Beau exclaimed, an unsure laugh leaving his lips as he scratched the back of his head. "My mom taught me a few bits and bobs, b-but that's it really!" He continued, looking between Mags and Sylvia, before he turned to me, diverting their attention.

"Do you have any special skill? Uh-" He asked, pausing a little as he looked away, scratching at his chin. "Y/n, was it?" He looked to me, his eyes glinting with uncertainty. I nodded my head, biting down on some duck meat. I take a moment to chew, before replying with, "Yeah, uh, I'm not sure if it counts as a 'special' skill but..." I paused for a second, thinking of my answer. "I'm quite good at playing the guitar." I continue, looking down at my plate.

I had gotten myself a rather large portion of a duck, some mashed potatoes and greens. I opted for a simple combination, as the chefs had brought more food than any of us could eat. It was so much better than any meal I have ever tasted, the duck was juicy and tender, melting away in my mouth. The potatoes were smooth and soft, with a hint of salt in them.

Though I can confidently say it doesn't beat my mothers fish stew. Nothing beats home cooking.

I feel Finnick shifting next to me, and from the corner of my eye I can see that he's looking at me. For a moment, I doubt that he'll say anything.

"I believe I've made up a plan." He says curtly, reaching for my hand. He takes hold of it, pressing the plush skin of my fingertips, scarred by numerous hours of practice, feeling how it springs back. Everyone's attention has turned to him, and nobody speaks.

"For now, I believe that the best way to gain sponsors is for the two of you to stick together," He pauses, looking between me and Beau.

"Beau. You're small, you're adorable. During your interview, Caesar will lead the conversation. It would be a good idea to offer to sing for the audience, if you're nervous." Finnick pauses, waiting for some sort of response from Beau.

The boy nods, his big eyes gazing up at Finnick from underneath thick eyelashes.

Finnick then turns to me, his hand having shifted from my fingertips to the bracelet I was given just a few hours prior. He spun it slowly around my wrist, his eyes fixed on the object.

"As for you, Y/n, I think Caesar will be willing enough to make some... Accommodations." He states, his thumb glazing over the bracelet, tracing its' golden lining.

"I'll speak to him beforehand, and ask him to prepare a guitar for you, so that you can play a song. It'll create a kind of 'connection' between you and Beau, the audience will love it." He finishes, looking up into my eyes.

"How are we going to do that?" I ask, swallowing the shame I feel as he rests my hand on his thigh. "It's quite simple, really." He quickly replies. "With your guitar, you and Beau can work on a song together. I'm sure the editors will make a montage of sorts, pairing Beau's singing with your guitar. It'll make the audiences go wild." He finishes, and for the rest of the evening doesn't say add on much else, leaving the planning to Mags and Sylvia, with Beau and I occasionally butting in.

After all of us finish eating, and the conversation dries up, Mags quickly ushers me and Beau to our chambers, mumbling about how we're going to have a busy day tomorrow.

The silver doors once again zip shut behind me, but this time I'm left all on my own. All on my own to process the days' events, emotions and weariness. In my room, there is a simple bathroom, it is adorned with a pretty white porcelain sink, a cubed shower, and a large mirror.

There is a whole collection of soaps and shampoos to choose from, and I decide on a honey-scented soap, and a chocolate-scented shampoo. Chocolate is some sort of dark brown, squared treat that nobody in District 4 has even dreamed of.

The walls are tiles in the colour of a deep red, and the ceiling light casts a golden glow on the interior, creating a false sense of comfort.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I strip, observing my skin, the different marks, moles and bruises that decorate it. I look at my face, noticing the deep shadows, or rather eyebags, that hang on the crease under my eyes, painting the area a darker tone of my skin. My hair, once a beautiful picture-perfect net impersonation, is now a tangled mess, and I hiss in my pain as I tug at the knots in it. This will be a long night, I think to myself.

A shiver runs down my spine as I step into the shower. The small cube-shaped space consists of clear doors, a porcelain seat of sorts and a tiled floor with a drain situated just below the showerhead. The water is at first scalding hot, burning my skin before I'm able to adjust the heat. After that, it's all bliss and comfort as I dip my head under the water, the droplets feeling like a warm summer sprinkle. I've never had a shower; those are only accessible to the wealthiest.

Usually, at least in my area of District 4, we have showers just outside of our houses, sheltered away from curious, and perverted, onlookers by four wooden walls and a roof. There is a pipe that connects to another pipe that connects to some treated water, and although it's freezing cold, it is much better having that than sea water. After spending hours on a boat fishing, or working at the harbour, many people grow to hate the salty wrinkles that take hours to completely disappear, only to reappear the next working day.

But this water is so much different. Warm and gentle, it detangles my hair, and cascades down my back, easing my sore muscles. I've never felt such luxury. Does everyone in the Capitol have access to this?

I lather my hair with the sweet shampoo, and have to fight off the urge to taste it. My fingers move across my scalp, rubbing the liquid into the roots. It takes a while to wash out, but I eventually get out of the shower, brushing through my hair with my fingers.

After I leave the bathroom, having washed myself and brushed my teeth, I feel as though I just left heaven. My muscles feel relaxed, my head is in a state of bliss.

As I sink into the bed, I am welcomed by the soft material of the sheets. The sheets wrap around me, my body melting into the soft mattress, swallowed by warmth and fuzziness. For a moment, I am stuck in that blissful state, but then my mind wanders.

Do Capitol citizens have access to this? Do any Districts have access to this kind of luxury? Is it 24/7, or do only the wealthiest have access? It doesn't seem fair.

But I shake those thoughts away. After all, I will most likely be dead soon. It won't matter anymore, whether I suffer or not. Another tribute will probably kill me quickly and swiftly, ending my short-spanned life.

The least I can do for myself now is enjoy the luxury that is being thrown so viciously at me. For the first time in my life, I've been able to go to bed with a full belly. For the first time in my life, I feel relaxed after washing myself. For the first time in my life, I can go to sleep without any pain, or hunger, or anything. Just bliss. Just comfort. Just luxury.

But that doesn't last long either. Oh, I forgot. Materialistic luxury is fleeting, sleep is the true luxury. But even now, as I'm trapped in this rich-laid room, I cannot afford the luxury of sleep. I twist and turn in the bed for what feels like hours, unable to sleep.

My stomach twists into knots, and I soon have to take the duvet off of me, as I'm drenched in sweat. The stillness of the room allows my thoughts to wander.

I'm scared. I'm absolutely fucking terrified. I just willingly threw myself into the hands of death. What was I thinking? That I can win the Games? That I can kill someone, let alone a child? Children?

I take in a deep breath, feeling as the air enters my lungs, and a shiver runs down my spine. The heat I was feeling just moments ago has dissipated, and I'm left a trembling, cold mess.

I wrap the duvet over myself again, trying to contain the tremors. I'm shivering uncontrollably, my legs and arms twitching as I pull the duvet impossibly closer.

I start thinking of Hali and my mom. Of Annie, her tear-stricken face, the mess her flaming hair had become in her panic. I think of Finnick. Was he disappointed by the fact I had volunteered? Was he angered by it?

I couldn't tell. But it didn't matter in the end; I couldn't let Annie go into that arena. She was too kind, too gentle, too fragile. If there is a world full of those who deserve to be put into an arena, fighting to the death like wild animals, Annie isn't a part of that world. She took care of me after my deep-dive into the icy waters, helped my mother nurse me back to health, she took care of me when we were kids, provided me company and listened to all my secrets and grievances, helped me deal with my fathers sudden abandonment. And now has even promised to look after my loved ones as I willingly shove myself into a gruesome bloodbath.

I could never repay her. I could never repay her for all the things she's done for me and my family.

With a loud sigh, I sit up, clutching the bedsheets tightly in my fists. With the back of my hand I wipe away a few stray tears.

A cup of water sounds nice.

I put on a bathrobe that has been hung in a fancy wardrobe, still shivering, I put on my fluffy slippers, and press a button. The doors in front of me zip open, shaking lightly as the train passes over something rough.

The corridors are dark, as only a single light shines. I trudge through the cart, sliding another door open. It's even darker in here, this cart being much longer than the one that carried Beau and I, and I think Mags and Finnick and Sylvia have their rooms in here. I quietly walk through, looking at the doors. Maybe Finnick is behind one of them, and if he is, then it's just my luck.

His silence at the dinner table was unnerving. I need to know what he was thinking.

There's two doors on my left, and one to the right. Any normal person would assume the left is for the ladies, right? With that, I gently knock on the door to my right, and I hear someone shuffling about, before the doors slide open and I'm standing face to chest with a shirtless Finnick Odair.

At my height, the tip of my head reaches just the top of Finnick's shoulders. Goddamn, was he always so freakishly tall? I slowly look up to him, my neck bending slightly. He's already staring at me, though there is haziness in those beautiful green eyes of his.

He doesn't utter a word, and instead reaches for my hand - his skin is scalding hot against my icy hands - and he swiftly pulls me into his room, the doors sliding shut. I bump into his chest head-first.

"Are you okay, Y/n?" He asks, his voice as warm and sweet as honey. I almost melt on the spot, though the shivers continue travelling down my whole body. It takes me a whole minute to compose myself. He definitely knows I like him. My lips open and close, no words leaving, and I'm stuck. What did I come to him for again? With a sigh, Finnick gently takes a hold of my hand and leads me to his bed. As he sits me down on it, I notice that it is far bigger than mine. That's unfair. Though he is the 'Capitol darling'.

"C'mon darling, I'm waiting." He says softly, again. He stands in front of me, and I finally realise that I'm gaping at him like a fish.

I take a sudden, sharp breath and shake my head. "Uh... I- I needed to talk to you..." I whispered, blinking slowly like a child. A soft smile tugs at his lips, and I instantly know that whatever mood he was in earlier, it's definitely gone now.

"So? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" He asks, sitting down next to me. He sits criss-crossed, his knee digging into my side. He pulls me closer, rubbing my arm with his hand, muttering something about how cold I was.

He sure was muscular. What did he do all day? Exercise? I doubt it.

I think for a moment, trying to finalise my words, but with a shake of my head, I decide to shoot straight. "Why were you so quiet at the dinner? I thought you'd be helping out more," I say softly, unsure of whether to continue or not. I look up into his eyes, and see a glint of softness shining in them, "I mean, I know what you're like... But- But it made me nervous..." I finish, looking away and instead choosing to focus on how the skin has begun to peel from my cuticles.

Finnick sighs quietly, his free hand reaching to hold my own.

"I wasn't angry with you, nor disappointed if that's what you're thinking." He states softly, and I swear my heart will collapse if he continues to be so sweet and soft. "It's just that-" He pauses, casting his gaze elsewhere, "I just couldn't imagine what you felt, when you volunteered." He says, gently stroking my hand with his thumb. "You're so good to Annie, you'd do anything for her. And I think it was really selfless." He finished. The words bounced around my head, the meaning completely avoiding any sort of understanding.

Another tremor goes through me, and I tuck my legs against my chest, teeth chattering.

My eyebrows scrunch up in confusion.

"What do you mean? Annie's the amazing one, not me." I scoff. I shake my head, looking up at him. Just how delusional is he? Me? Selfless? Somehow I can't see how the two mix well together.

Finnick's grip on my hand tightens, and he heaves a sigh. "See, you don't actually realise just how kind you are. I mean- Y-You literally provide for Annie and her father. You helped me out so much, you listened to me when I needed an ear." He says, his tone shifting to a more annoyed one.

I look at him in disbelief.

"You're kidding, right? I mean-" I pause, releasing a shaky breath. "Y-you're the one that saved me. Annie's the one that took care of me. You think I wouldn't do everything in my power to repay you?" I asked, tugging my hand away. "You're being ridiculous, Finnick." I quickly add on, but Finnick completely ignores me, instead opting to change the conversation.

I don't know if I'm genuinely upset by his words, or if it's the adrenaline that's rushing through me. I rub at my arms, frantically attempting to warm up.

Finnick doesn't reply for a moment, and as I stare at him, I notice how prettily his hair falls over his forehead, a few strands extending over his lash line.

He sighs quietly, and turns to me again.

"We're not going to argue about this. I see no point in it, and you're clearly too anxious." He says, pulling me closer to his chest. I don't resist or pull away, instead I lean into his warmth.

"I-I couldn't- I couldn't sleep." Softly I admit.

"I thought so... It would be weird if you were completely fine." He responded, his voice was like honey, dripping sweetly into my ears, warming my heart.

"I know it's weird of me to ask, but... Can I stay with you? Just for tonight, I promise." I ask, my gaze fixed on a hair strand that stuck out in front of my face. I don't hear a response, but Finnick doesn't waste a second to lift me up, moving the duvet before placing my body down on the bed, joining after.

"C'mon then, we don't have all night." He gestures to me, a cheeky smile on his face. That's the Finnick I know. I nod silently, and clamber further up the bed. Finnick pats the empty spot beside him, and as I join, he drapes the velvety duvet over the two of us, before his toned, muscular arm slides beneath my neck. He brings me in closer, and my face rests against his hot chest, the warmth radiating off him as if he was the sun. My own, personal sun.

"We're gonna be cuddling?" I ask, giggling slightly. The shivers have eased, though my hand is still quite shaky. Unsure of where to go, I rest my hand on his toned stomach, fingers itching to glide over his skin, to feel every crevice and stretch of skin that he can offer. I've never been this close to him... Am I going feral? What the hell?

Finnick chuckles in reply, and I feel him shifting slightly again. I look up to him, and notice that he's already staring at me, a toothy grin stretching through his lips. "If you have a problem with it, then I can sleep on the floor. That'd be more favourable, wouldn't it?" His voice is low and gravelly, but also husky and comforting, his hand softly stroking circles into the skin on my arm. I shake my head with a smile and thank him.

We sit like this for a while, just feeling each others warmth. It's much better than sleeping alone, that's for sure. Finnick's natural scent has long since invaded my lungs, but I feel myself becoming drowsy, enamoured by his every characteristic. The hand that was stroking my arm eventually stopped, but he never ceased to hold me tight to him, his nose stroking against my hair as he breathed softly.

No words were exchanged, and we laid there for hours. I would often drip in and out of consciousness, startling the two of us awake with a loud gasp. He would comfort me, realising that I was constantly having nightmares, and he would lull me back into sleep with his honeyed voice, whispering sweet nothings into my ears.

Eventually, Finnick moved positions, turning his body sideways, pulling me even closer into his chest - if that was physically possible. Now, with my face flushed against his chest, I could fully relax. It may have been a bit much, but I lazily draped my leg over his own, not thinking in my drowsiness. Though it seemed to help, as my breathing steadied and I almost lulled myself back into a dreamless sleep. Better than nightmares, at least.

Finnick's soft voice gently awoke me, but it sounded as though he'd also been dosed with the natural sleep syrup.

"It's just like back then, isn't it?" He asks sleepily, his voice raspy. His body had slid further down the bed until my nose rested against his neck, inhaling his sickly-sweet scent. I nod my head lazily, grunting out a throaty 'mmm' in response. I earned myself a chuckle, and a quick 'I'll let you sleep now', before I completely drifted out of consciousness.

I don't wake up again on that night, but slowly rouse myself awake as I feel the sunrays poking at my closed eyes.

I can't move, as Finnick's arms grip my body, keeping me close to his own. For a while, I lay there, content with just laying with my eyes closed with Finnick holding me.

But the growing anxiety in my stomach gnaws at my nerves, and I can feel my pulse in my ear.

Though I try to fight it, I eventually raise my head, peeking over Finnick's broad shoulder. Still sleepy, I act before I can think. Placing my hand on his waist, I lean in close enough so that my nose nuzzles against his bicep, inhaling Finnick's sickly-sweet scent. It comforts me enough to settle my nerves.

It's a surprise that I'm not sick of it already.

My eyes slowly flutter open, and I have to blink a couple of times to adjust to the light. The train is still moving, though now we're passing by a grand lake, surrounded by some mountains. Wherever we are at, it sure is beautiful. I look down to Finnick, and a startled sound escapes me as his eyes are already boring into mine, though tiredly. No matter the time of day or night, Finnick Odair will always find it in himself to dish out sarcasm. "Having fun, sweetheart?" He asks, though by the look in his eyes, I can see that he needs no answer.

I shake my head, feeling my cheeks flush out of embarrassment. Did he really just lay there? Whilst I literally nuzzled my nose against him? Am I crazy?! Or... Is he?

I can't form a single reply, and my mind goes blank. May the arena take me already.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" He nudges further, that toothy grin making a reappearance as the sun lazily glosses over his skin. I shake my head 'no', though still can't form a single sentence. I swallow heavily, and take a deep breath.

"Isn't it- Isn't it time?" I ask, feeling my brain short-circuiting.

"Time for what?" Asks Finnick, shuffling lightly. His voice is gravelly and husky from sleep. My fingers gently grip at his flesh, unknowingly. "That tickles y'know." He says, chuckling under his breath.

"What?" I ask, confused.

He doesn't say anything, but instead his gaze points towards my hand, his eyebrows rising slightly. My nails are lightly digging into his skin. I blink once, then I blink once again. As if he just burned me, I retract my hand instantly, hiding it behind my back. I take a deep breath, focusing on letting it out slowly. With an accusatory tone, I ask, "How long have you been awake?"

Finnick laughs, crinkles of skin appearing at the outer corners of his eyes, paired with the dimples that form whenever there is even the tiniest hint of a smile. "Long enough for me to feel you sniffing my arm." He admits, still amused. My face grows red, and I could swear steam was coming out of my ears. A shiver runs through me.

Before I can ask any further questions, or even think of a reply, someone's knocking on the door. Then, a panicked Sylvia Borgnino is speaking.

"Finnick? Finnick are you awake?! You better be!" She shouts, and Finnick swiftly gets out of the bed to open the door. His back is muscular and toned... Wow.

The doors slide open, and he asks, "Sylvia? Did you need anything?" Leaning lazily with his body against the doorframe.

"Yes! I did. I went to wake Y/n but she's not answering the door! Come and-" She pauses, as her eyes catch onto someone in Finnick's bed. "Is that-" She pauses, her fingers reaching up to massage her temple, taking a deep breath. "Is that Y/n?" Finnick slowly turns his head, locking eyes with me, he winks, before he nods, and turns back to Sylvia.

"Yeah, it is." He confirms, his head resting on the doorframe. "Did you need anything from us? 'Cause if not... Then I'll get back to what we were doing." He says, his voice raspy from sleeping, yet still soft and melodic. I can almost hear him smirking.

I can hear a gasp, followed by a, "Where are your manners, Finnick?!" Her tone is accusatory as I see Sylvia eyeing Finnick up and down, a clear scowl on her face. She huffs out a breath, and tiptoes to see over his shoulder.

"Hi...Sylvia?" I ask carefully, my voice light and high-pitched as I'm uncertain of what her reaction will be. Her eyebrows are scrunched up in disapproval, and she doesn't respond to me. Instead, she turns to Finnick, glaring at him with a glint of danger in her eyes. "You two better be ready in 20 minutes! If either of you are late I-" She exclaims, but pauses as she deliberates on what to say. "I'll make sure you two regret it!" And with that she leaves, her footsteps thumping down along the corridor.

"She seemed... Pretty angry." I say quietly, meddling with my bracelet, unsure of Finnick's own mood. Though he is quick to reply, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "She certainly is, she won't let us forget this for a while I don't think." He finishes, scrunching his nose at me, a smile now prominent. The crinkles beneath his eyes deepen with the scrunch, and his dimples make an appearance. I laugh quietly, covering my smile with my palm.

"No, no don't cover yourself honey. You don't need to hide your smile from me." He says, his voice hushed yet soft, as he crawls on the bed towards me. He maintains steady eye contact, and neither of us are willing to look away. If I were to look away now, I'd feel as though I've lost a battle.

I feel myself slipping away, drowning in his sea-green eyes, unable to escape. His gaze is hooded, his long eyelashes lazily fanning over his eyes. I blink rapidly, feeling my breathing becoming heavy. His voice, as sweet as Sleep Syrup, whisks me away back into the present. "Well then, shall we get ready?" He asks, now having laid his chin on my outstretched legs, his hands sturdily holding onto my calves.

I gulp, and nod my head, though neither of us move.

Finnick continues to lay still, his eyes boring into mine. I gently nudge him with my foot, which seems to get a reaction. He slowly rises back onto all fours, and proceeds to get off of me. He walks up to my side of the bed, hand outstretched. He wiggles his fingers, and that toothy grin returns.

"C'mon, I'll take you back to your room. Once you're done, I'll meet you in the dining room." He states, and I lend him my hand. He swiftly pulls me up and we proceed to my room. The walk isn't long, but I'm unwilling to let him go, fear flushing over my body like a wave.

"Finnick..."

"You okay honey?" He asks, not sparing a moment to think to respond to me, it felt very much instinctual. I hesitate, and decide not to pursue the topic. "Nevermind, it's okay. I-I'll see you in a bit." I smile unsurely, waving him away, although he remains still, his eyebrows scrunched up in concern.

"If you wanna talk, if there's something on your mind, you can tell me, Y/n." He says, his voice having taken on a serious undertone. I nod my head with a small smile and thank him, before I step into my room and the door slides shut, separating us.

I take a quick shower, the warm artificial rain slightly easing my nerves, I brush my teeth and change my clothes before I take one last look in the mirror. My hair looks fine, my teeth are clean, but I can still feel the rattling of my heart, the shakiness ghosting my legs, and the pricking of nails at my hands.

I shake my head, taking a deep breath. This is not the time, I think to myself, and exit my room.

The train is eerily quiet as it travels. It is much different on the inside than it is to the outside. Whenever I got to see a train, I was overcome with fear and anxiety, as it would travel awfully fast and make tons of noise. It would make me terrified and anxious, and although I'm on the inside of the train, those same feelings are now making an appearance.

I continue on, my feet shuffling towards the next cart, though I feel them becoming numb.

There is loud chatter coming from the room, and as I come closer, I can hear Beau telling a story, and soon I can see Finnick and Mags listening intently, giving their breadcrumb opinions on the matter at hand. As I enter the room, Beau exclaims a loud, "Y/n!", and everyone turns their heads. Mags greets me with a strained voice and a gentle smile as she smothers a piece of toast with a clumpy liquid, Sylvia and Finnick turn to me with smiles.

"We've been waiting for you, Y/n. Come, sit with us." Finnick says as I make my way towards him, and I notice his smile from earlier is now gone.

"We've been discussing the games, and everyone agrees on what course of action we'll take." Bringing up a steamy cup to her lips, Sylvia says before sipping on some black liquid.

"If you want me to play the guitar then I'm gonna need to know what song I'll be playing to." I state quietly, lathering some toast in jam.

My stomach twists and turns as I'm reminded of what's to come.

The Games. The bloodbath. The paparazzi and the flashy cameras. I'm gonna be put up on display like a wild animal. I'm going to be placed in that arena, forced to fight to the death against twenty-three other tributes. I feel my stomach drop, and one of my legs begins to bounce up and down rapidly under the table.

I might as well step off the metal plate before the gong sounds and blast myself to pieces. I remember watching a tribute in the Games a few years back. She was fiddling with something in her hands, trembling so much that she dropped it. It was far too late for her to catch it, because as soon as it hit the ground, she was blasted into pieces.

I pitied her, though now I considered sharing the same fate. How ironic.

Either way I'm trapped. I'm trapped in this train, I'll be trapped in the Capitol, and I will be trapped in the arena.

The only means of escape is death.

Finnick continues to discuss the plan with the others, and I'm able to get the gist of it. It's enough for me to realise he wants me to help Beau in the arena, which I don't have an issue with in and of itself.

The issue will be when we have to split up, or if we both end up getting through to the final showdown. What will we do? Fight each other?

I lean back into my chair, abandoning the jam toast on a porcelain plate, barely having taken a bite out of it. I can't eat anymore, I don't want to. I swallow thickly, but notice how dry my throat has become.

I take in a deep, shaky breath, and think of reaching for some water.

Water. Water sounds nice. Reaching for it shouldn't be too difficult to do... Right? The bouncing of my leg has increased in speed. I feel goosebumps travelling down my arms.

I can't.

The cart feels so much colder now, so less spacious, and my hands and arms feel numb. I tune out the conversation in front of me, instead focusing on a faraway, high-pitched noise. Was that the train screeching against the tracks? Isn't it supposed to be silent?

It starts off slowly; the trembling. A couple shivers here and there, but it soon turns into full-blown chills. They really must've crammed the air conditioning up. I look to everyone, from Beau to Mags, Sylvia to Finnick. But they all seem fine? Maybe- Maybe it's just me. My hands feel clammy, sweaty. I try wiping them on the long sleeves of my shirt, but the clamminess doesn't go away.

I need to get out of here.

The walls feel too close, and my head feels heavy. I close my eyes, lifting a shaky hand to massage at my temple. My breaths are shaky. My leg doesn't stop bouncing. The shivers continue.

Get up, get up, get up, get up!

My legs don't listen, and I bite down harshly on my bottom lip. Tears start pricking at my eyes, and I have to blink rapidly to get rid of them.

I hear a voice.

It feels so close yet so far.

The tears are now fully welled-up in my eyes, on the verge of falling. I bite down harshly on my bottom lip, feeling the skin crackle under my teeth.

The iron taste of blood sits on my tongue.

I look around, anywhere. But I catch the gazes of everyone around me. They have stopped talking between themselves.

They've stopped talking?

Why aren't they talking?

I look down at my lap, heaving in a shaky breath. It sounds as if I'm wheezing.

"Y/n?" It feels distant, and I'm not sure who the voice belongs to. A warm hand nudges me, and I look up, seeing Finnick's sea-green eyes boring into mine.

There is a clear concern glinting across them, and his mouth is slightly parted.

I can't breathe. I can't get enough air into my lungs. Why can't I breathe?

Calm down, Y/n. Calm down.

But I don't calm down. Instead, I begin gasping for air, my chest shakily heaving up and down, the tears escaping like water from a broken dam. My cheeks flush, and I try to supress my sobs. I bring a shaky hand up to my mouth, shaking my head in the process.

I feel arms wrapping around me, and soon I'm scooped up into the air, my head resting against a sturdy chest. It's Finnick.

In any other situation, I'd try to sniff his scent, or focus on the heat radiating from his body. But now, all I can do as I try to breathe, is cover my mouth. The sobs grow louder, and more tears slide down my cheeks.

"Fuck... Fuck, fuck fuck!" I wail out, my knuckles aggressively wiping at my eyes. I'm not supposed to be crying. I'm supposed to be strong, I'm supposed to be tough.

My body bounces up and down as Finnick runs through the carts, eventually leading me into a room.

Finnick soon lays me down into some silky sheets, although I can't tell who's room I find myself in.

My chest is aggressively heaving up and down, but I can't catch my breath.

My chest feels tight.

I supress another loud sob.

The room suddenly becomes dark, and I find some comfort in that.

"I w-wasn't-... I-I wasn't supposed to cry!" My voice is sickeningly high-pitched and drawn out, and I cry out, covering my face with one hand as I turn on my side, gripping the sheets tightly in my other one.

I can feel Finnick's hand softly caressing my hair, but I continue to cry.

His arms wrap up around me, and I can hear him telling me 'It's okay's'.

I manage to supress my sobs and wails, though my lips are tugged downwards in a scowl, my eyebrows furrowed and I'm pretty sure I look pathetic. Not strong, or tough. Just pathetic. And Finnick is witnessing all this.

"Get out..." I say quietly, a small sob leaving my throat.

"What?" Finnick leans in closer, unable to hear me coherently.

"Get out!" I exclaim. "P-please get out!" I shout, though it's not as loud as I convince myself it is. "I don't want you to see me like this..." I insist, my voice hoarse and small.

More sobs break out through me, and I feel more tears welling up in my eyes.

"Please... Just leave me alone-" I continue, wrapping my arms around myself.

Finnick shakes his head, repeatedly saying soft 'no's'. I ignore him, my hands pushing away at his chest.

Without a second thought, he scoops me up into his lap, forcing my face into his chest. My sobbing only becomes stronger, but it soon eases into soft hiccups as Finnick begins humming a lullaby, stroking my hair with one hand, cradling me with the other.

I focus on the sound of his voice.

His voice is so lovely... So soft.

I close my eyes again, grimacing as I let the tears flow.

It takes a while of Finnick humming and caressing me, but my breathing eventually steadies, with occasional, throaty sobs making me hiccup. I continue wiping aggressively at my eyes, but the longer that Finnick hums, the more I let them cascade freely, until eventually they stop and I feel the wetness of my eyelashes against my cheeks.

We sit like this for a who knows how long, long after my crying has ceased. A scowl remains on my face, but I continue listening. It has been a long time since someone has comforted me like this...

The last person I remember doing this... Is my grandma.

She was a wonderful woman, though strict at times and painfully honest, she never failed to show me just how much she loved me. Guiding me through meltdowns as a child, in just the same exact way as Finnick is now.

"I'm tired..." I softly mutter to Finnick, hiding my face further in his chest. My voice is raw from crying, and my eyes slightly burn from all the salty tears and rough knuckles. Finnick's shirt is damp with them, but I don't think he minds it too much.

"D'you wanna sleep? I can stay with you if you'd like..." He whispers softly, his large hand coming down to caress the side of my face, his thumb lovingly stroking the apple of my cheek. I nod my head gently, and feel the tears trying to return, but I blink them away. "Okay, we'll take a nap, and then we can talk about what happened, okay honey?" He continues, his voice sounding as sweet as honey tastes. I sniffle quietly, and nod my head again, doubting that my voice is steady enough to talk more.

Finnick lays us down on the bed, and drapes the duvet over me, his chest presses against my back. I close my eyes, and feel the drowsiness slowly lure me into a dreamless sleep.

@bambikitten @noisyalmonddreamer @avoxrising @honethatty12 @circe143 @dnpo1son @innercreationflower @lagrimasdepandora @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @lil-tracys @i-bitch-you-bitch @pinkigirl @yourdailymemedelivery @nexxus13 @ropickle @spilled-coffee-cup @zucchinimalfoy @l5byrinth @superbfishhumanoidweasel @whens-naptime @nordicvxid @luvrboiwonu @lili19080 @nojustn00 @antoheartit

346 notes · View notes

steviewashere · 7 months ago

Text

Want to Go Home With You (Bring Me a Home)

Rating: Teen and Up (May Change With Future Chapters) CW: None, at least for now Tags: Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Hurt/Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Took Canon Out Back And Pulled an Old Yeller, Mer!Steve Harrington, Fisherman!Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington, Confused Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Wants to be Loved, Mermaids with Animal Like Instincts, Future Propositioning, Lowkey Might Involve Some Omegaverse Aspects in the Future (Not Sorry)

This is chapter one of ????. Also this takes place in Oregon because that's what I know and the idea of a merman living in an Indiana lake-beach is odd to me. So...bear with me. This is my first like actual alternate universe, completely separate from Stranger Things, so be nice.

Also, I've written Steve here as a merman who's had no contacts with humans—his English is choppy and his understanding of basic human communication is weird. If that's a turn-off for you, turn back now.

Read Part Two Here

Can also be read on AO3

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ Fishing wasn’t the ideal career to be going into after high school, but Eddie had to do something while he waited for his dreams to kickstart. Granted, going into this business was easy because his uncle owned the local bait shack. But it didn’t make the job any more appealing in the end. Not even the many beaches he had the chance to truck out to. There was Cannon Beach and Seaside’s, but he stayed close to home in Newport’s.

The beach wasn’t anything super spectacular. Sure, there were parts of it inhabited by the native seal population, some of the areas overloaded with crab shells. And it was damn near majestic during the summertime. Eddie, however, didn’t see the gist of spending time there, though. Maybe it had to do with how every single one of his work days would go, the hours spent sitting in the serene stretches of water. But nothing was intriguing or worthwhile about spending his time there.

That is, until one particular early summer day.

June isn’t a busy summer month for Eddie and his uncle. It was the right temperature, but there was still the risk of storms. Heavy duty kind of storms. Business didn’t stop, though. He woke up at 5:30am, when the sun was still acclimating to the baby blue sky, and readied himself in coveralls, thick and tall rubber boots, and a bucket hat that protected his lopsided mop of curls. His hair remained back in a bun and his skin was doused with paste-like sunscreen. In one hand he carried a red fishing rod and in the other, an old black lunchbox transformed for tackle.

He went out to the docks. To the few run down boats. And climbed aboard his uncle’s tried and true, S.S. Lenore—a tiny thing, made for up to four people, overrun with nets and crusted muddy footprints, and equipped with a singular cooler. The engine always took a few pulls to start up, jostling and crunching like food run through a garbage disposal, but it did the trick. And then he was off.

Eddie always took the chance to float out for a handful of minutes. Sometimes fifteen. Sometimes ten. Set himself up stagnant in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nobody, with no chance in hell he’ll be interrupted. Today he just needed to get a cooler full of trout. Rainbow trout, to be more exact. They’re easy fish to gut and debone, good for baking in the oven, and stuffing full of herbs for marinated fish stew. He’d gone out previously to hoist in mackerels and herrings. This was the last trip he’d need to take for a good two weeks, but he was going to do a damn great amount of work for it.

“This should be good,” he mumbles to himself, just barely breeching the edge of his boat. The ocean underneath him moves in subtle pushes, rocking him lightly against itself. Its color is bright and shining—bluer, somehow, than the last time he visited just a few days ago. He can see schools of trout idling underneath the sheen of the water. And so he rigs one of his nets, tosses it over the side of his boat, and slowly sinks it into the water.

And he waits.

It isn’t until half past when he came out that the net begins to rustle. Tugging and splashing, but it doesn’t settle the way it does when it’s some regular trout. No, this threatens to topple Eddie straight into the cold depths of the water below. To sink his boat and turn it over of all its resources.

He grips to the ropes holding the damned thing up. Pulling at it hard enough to give him the starts of burns on his soft palms. And he heaves. Groaning with it. Panting unrelenting in the face of this thing trapped inside his net. Whatever he caught is surely not some common fish for his soup, this is something more—maybe even more dangerous. And he hadn’t thought to bring anything with him to ward off danger.

There had been one time where a shark got caught. Eddie happened to have a knife on him that time. He gave in, cut the ropes on the net, and let it free—which cost him the equipment, but luckily saved his life.

This is a time where having that knife would be spectacular. But as he hefts the net, he realizes that this creature caught is no ordinary thing. It’s not a shark. Not a seal. Not a school of fish. However, through the floundering waves around him, he catches on a fish-esque glimmer. Scales of some sort shifting with the catch of light breaking through.

He wrestles with the net for a few minutes more before eventually getting a good enough grasp to tie it down. Pulling up the rest with his hands, he’s met face to…tail with this creature. It has scales—pearl white and baby pink and pastel yellows—they shine iridescent in the high rise of sunlight. The end of the tail sports two fins, both of them crescent shaped, thicker towards the base of the tail, and spindly where it faces Eddie. Before he can stop himself, he’s poking at the scales, where they taper into absence at the creature’s fins. It’s then that the creature really notices him.

In one fell motion, grand and heaving, the boat rocks. Teetering into flipping. The creature turns its head to him and…hisses. Like the guttural bubbling hiss of a harbor seal. It rocks in the net again, as it lunges towards Eddie.

Immediately, Eddie pulls his hands away and steps as far back as the boat will allow him. Granted, it’s only four feet in width, but that puts space between him and this thing. The thing that he calculates slowly with his eyes. Tail—yeah, he already knew about that. But then he rakes up to the torso of the fish like creature, where his tail is ombre with the glistening, golden skin of a nude torso.

“That—That isn’t right,” Eddie finds himself stuttering, surveying the torso once again. Sure enough, there’s skin. Dotted with moles and freckles. Dark brunette chest hair that could almost be mistaken as black. Toned arms and big, veiny hands. At the ends of this creature’s fingertips are short, curved towards the palms, white claws. Gills where its ribs are. And then Eddie goes to its head. Square-ish jaw, more freckles and moles, smile lines and baby crows feet. Thick eyebrows, triangular nose with a bridge that angles slightly to the left. Ears that threaten to point at the tops. Brunette hair that swoops to the right, falls to its collarbones, wavy and stringy with saltwater.

And its eyes.

Human eyes. Hazel, glowing honey in the sun. Long eyelashes. Drooping eyelids. Pupils that are pinpoint small, dilating with every hiss that leaves the creature’s throat.

A mermaid.

Eddie Munson is looking at a fucking mermaid.

Or…merman? It doesn’t have the seashell bra like all the mermaids he’s heard tales about, but maybe that’s just fable. He’s played all kinds of fantasy games, but he never thought what he described would be looking at him. Wild eyes and baby shark-like teeth, though without the second row. Hissing.

It struggles in the net again, lunging. Wrapping its hands on the edge of Eddie’s boat, squeezing at the metal material. The force of this merman’s grip enough to cause the edge to creak. Eddie’s stomach drops.

“Woah! Alright, okay!” He exclaims, hands up and placating. Briefly, he wonders if it has a good sense of smell and hearing. Like it can scent the excretion of his sweat even in the cold air. Or how his heart beats like the galloping of a race horse. “Easy! I ain’t—I’ve got no reason to hurt you!”

It seems to know what he’s saying, as it relaxes in the net for the first time. But it shoots him a pitiful, pleading look. Petulantly whining at him, though the sound is gargled.

Eddie wipes his sweating palms on his coveralls and takes a tentative step forward. “Easy,” he murmurs, “I’ll free you, but you have to stay calm.”

But the merman shakes its head. “No,” it croaks, “No free.”

Okay, so the guy speaks. It knows English. Even as choppy and awkward as it sounds.

“No free?” Eddie questions, “You don’t want me to free you?”

It shakes its head again. Whines, gargling again in the back of its throat. Its hands grip to the boat again, this time lugging some of its weight. As if it’s trying to…climb in.

Eddie startles back once more. “Hey, no,” he barks, “no climbing in. You can’t come onto my boat.” Though he wants to take it all back the moment he locks eyes again. If it didn’t have scales and gills, Eddie would almost think it was a sad puppy hybrid. He can almost imagine the droopy tail paired with the glistening, fearful, and pleading eyes. “Why shouldn’t I free you? My boat isn’t your home and I can’t take you back with me. You belong in the water.”

“Home,” the merman echoes, croaking. “Your home…warm?”

“Uh—“ What the fuck, he can’t help but think, exasperated. “—uh, sure. Home is warm. My, uh, home is warm. I live by the sand with my uncle, selling worms and cooking fish. The sun hits my skin every morning.” He doesn’t know why he’s answering the guy, but something in its stare, the broken words—Eddie’s allured. “Can you please answer my question? I’d like to go home. So, why shouldn’t I free you?”

The merman points a clawed finger at itself. “My home not warm. Cold.” Eddie nods along because—of course, duh, the ocean is cold. But it murmurs, “Love.” And now Eddie’s confused all over again.

“Love?”

Its voice is soft and sweet, curious. “You have love?”

Eddie shouldn’t be indulging this. He shouldn’t. But maybe the merman is a siren with how he’s drawn to answer. “I don’t have a partner, if that’s what you’re asking. But my uncle loves me. And I love him. That’s—I have love like that.”

It nods like it understands. Looks away over its shoulder, to the cold, salty water. And visibly shudders before facing Eddie again. “No love,” it says, pointing at itself again. “I no have love. No warm.” It tries to climb in again, even as Eddie’s moving to pry its hands away, but it holds tight and hisses again. “Want warm. Go with. Want to go. Go now,” it demands in a low timber.

And even as pretty as this merman is, Eddie has to refuse. He shakes his head softly. Gently, he says, “You can’t. I—I don’t know you. And…I don’t have an ocean in my house. You’ll die if you come with me.”

“Steven,” it mutters.

What? “What.”

“Know me—Steven,” it says. “Know you? Name?”

Tentatively, Eddie relaxes again. Realizes that this won’t be an end all conversation. “My name is Eddie. It’s short for Edward,” he answers, “but I like Eddie more.”

It hums, observing. “Eh-die,” it sounds out. “Eddie,” it whispers. Without warning, it trills at him. High pitched, chirping and bubbling from the back of its throat. Smiling with the sound, squinting its pretty honey eyes. Something in Eddie stirs. “Like that,” it chirps. “Short and easy. I want.”

“You want a short and easy name, too?” Eddie clarifies. It nods at him, squeaking an affirmative thing. “How about…Hm, what’s a good name for Steven?” He ponders as the merman continues to look on at him, eyes bright and curious. “How about Steve? Is that good enough for you?”

“Steve!” It crows. Trilling again, higher pitched than the last, squirming again in the net, closer and closer to heaving itself into the boat. “Easy, easy, easy,” it says at him.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle. “So…Steve, am I able to call you a he? Like…His name is Steve?”

He nods at Eddie. Wriggling again as if he can’t contain his excitement.

“Well, now I know you, huh? It’s a shame I still can’t take you to my home.”

And now Steve frowns, eyes saddening again. “But…My home is cold. You have warm,” he says solemnly.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, “but I don’t have space for you, Steve. Your home is in the water. If I take you out of the water for too long, you’ll die. You need the water.”

“I will see you again?”

Eddie shrugs. “If you see my boat again, you can visit me. How about that? And…what’s special about that, is that I can bring you things that aren’t in the ocean.”

“Man’s stuff?”

Befuddled, Eddie asks, “What are man’s stuff?”

“Stuff I see from up here. From Eddie’s home,” Steve answers. “I find and I keep and I hide. Nobody knows. Just Eddie. Eddie is nice, though. You make me happy.”

Humming, Eddie assesses Steve again. Smiles softly. “You’re nice, too, Steve. Even though you scared me earlier. But you were scared, too, huh? Caught in my stupid net.” He takes a careful step closer, standing over where Steve rests in the net still. He places a hand on one of Steve’s, tentatively, but purposefully. “But if you see my boat again, you can come visit. Maybe next time I’ll bring some fish soup? Do you eat fish?”

“Fish are tasty,” Steve says as a response.

Eddie chuckles again. “Okay, Steve. I’ll bring you fish soup. Tomorrow, though. I have to free you and go home, okay?” He reaches down for the ropes that he tied down earlier. Tugs on one of the knots and frees one side. Steve yelps.

“Promise you come back?” Steve meekly asks.

“Promise,” Eddie murmurs intensely, unraveling the last of the rope. “Look for Lenore. She’ll bring you back to me.”

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ If you'd like to be tagged in future updates, let me know. Taglist for this is open <3

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #mer!steve harrington #fisherman!eddie munson #hurt/comfort

81 notes · View notes

magicbystarlight · 7 months ago

Text

Venomous - Part Thirteen

Masterlist, Part One

Summary: A wife. A mother. A witch with someone else's name. That’s the life you didn’t want. So Tom offered you more.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+, injuries, blood. Minors DNI.

A/N: Our poor reader finally catches a break? Kind of?

Dumbledore mouthed a silent apology as you clutched your chest. When you calmed, he pointed to his mouth. You made him sit before lifting the Silencing Charm. Hoarsely he said, “We should move.”

You rejected the idea. “Help will be here soon,” you told him, explaining Drein. It would be a bigger risk to move since this area had already been checked and dismissed. You didn’t tell him, however, that he didn’t look like he could handle moving.

Unlike you he knew how to catch fish. Accio fish . It was embarrassingly obvious. He’d offered to hunt, but you’d grown too attached to the rabbit still hopping back and forth. It was for the best. Retrieving the fish had already winded him. You took over preparing the fish, claiming the need to learn. It wasn’t too different from preparing potion ingredients. Removing the skin and deboning. It was good to have a task to focus on. A small fire was set to cook the fish and quickly extinguished when done. The smoke was too big a risk to keep going for long.

Your face scrunched at the taste.

“Not quite as tasty as the house elves make?” he joked. There hadn’t been much conversation. Another risk.

You swallowed the bite. “It’s a tad fishier than I’m used to.”

It was worrying how time continued to pass. The adrenaline had worn into anxiety. Dumbledore insisted you rest. You laid on the cot and closed your eyes. Sleep did not come. Every sound had you twisting to see. The rabbit. More deer.

You stared at the water. Why had no one come? Had Drein gotten lost? Had they not opened the letter? Did they not believe you? Did they not care?

You wiped the thoughts away. You couldn’t dwell. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t get you home. The sun finally peeked through the clouds. It was high. Midday. You would rest a bit longer.

—

Dumbledore slept soundly after another untasteful meal of fish. A suspicion had begun to seep in that there was something worse than blood loss that ailed him. His color hadn’t returned and his speech had begun to slur. Soon his need for medical attention would outweigh the risks of moving.

If you were lucky you might be able to forage something that could give you more time.

You strengthened the protection charms, adding a Muffling one to cover any small sounds and a weak Confounding one that would hopefully stop anyone from walking through it. The clothes still held their Transfigurations, but you redid them anyways. It would be inconvenient to have them lose their weather-resistance in the middle of trekking through the snow.

A shudder ran through you as you placed a Disillusionment Charm over yourself before leaving the protective shell. It wouldn’t make you invisible, but close enough. Pink slipped through the thinning clouds. It would be night soon. Not that there would be much difference in visibility. You knew nothing about foraging, but you knew potion ingredients well enough.

You set off into the trees, stopping every few meters to put a notch into one and wipe away your tracks. It wouldn’t do any good to get lost or to leave an easy trail to follow. There’s not much to find at first. Too much snow between the trees. But further in you find a couple things you might be able to brew into something. A few mushrooms and some winter berries.

As you dug into the frozen ground around a shrub—the roots were good for alertness—something hissed. You froze. Slithering out of a hole in the tree in front of you was a snake. Triangular head, slitted eyes, black zig-zag markings down its back, the rest a silver grey. An Adder.

It shouldn’t be moving that quickly. They slowed in the cold. But the Adder slithered closer nonetheless, black tongue flicking with a hiss. Cautiously you began to step back. Sudden movements could cause it to strike. A bite wouldn’t be enough to kill you normally. But this wasn't normally. Exhausted, stranded, and hunted, its venom would decimate any hope you’d get out of this.

A whistle blew out your raised wand and the Adder paused. It’s tongue flicked the air. Another hiss. It retreated back to its tree. Abandoning the shrub's roots, you followed the snake's lead and traced back your steps to the pond. You were plenty alert after that.

—

Dumbledore woke only long enough to sip the vile smelling concoction you’d brewed with the berries and mushrooms you gathered and the bones and eyes left of a fish. It wasn’t much, but color returned to his face.

The sky began to clear over the course of the night, darkening the forest. The sliver of a crescent moon glowed softly through the moving clouds. Had it really only been a day ago when you’d been staring out the tower’s window bored?

Sleep finally took root as you wondered if they’d replaced the mirrors yet.

—

You woke before dawn. The squirrel scurried up a tree. The deer moved together through the tree. The rabbit hopped across the other bank. Dumbledore still slept. Your body ached and your stomach rumbled. How you missed the comforts of Hogwarts. A bed and warm meal would be heaven.

Soon, you promised yourself. As long as the sky remained clear you’d follow the sunset and head west.

For now you just had to get through the day. Boil some water. Cook some fish.

The rabbit bounded across the snow.

Maybe you’d have to get over your attachment and take what meat you could get. You weren’t sure how much more seasonless fish you could stomach.

Green lit the white.

The rabbit dropped in the snow. Motionless.

Vinda strolled into view from between the trees. Movement had your head turning. Six more if you counted correctly.

Surrounded.

“We know you’re here,” she called out, her head swiveling slowly. “And we know you’re hurt. Let us help.”

Ahh. They knew you were there but they didn’t know where .

“Let’s not play games, Albus.”

And they didn’t know Dumbledore was out of commission. Well. All the better.

A Silencing Charm followed by a message carved into the ground. The slimly, chilly feel of Disillusionment washed over you again. As long as you didn’t die the rest of your charms would hold. You steeled yourself for the next part. You were well versed in using it, but never in this way. If it didn’t go how you needed it to, then all this preparation would be for naught.

“Forgive me,” you whispered to the still sleeping Professor before pointing your wand towards Vinda. A deep breath. Six successive spells shot out followed by the sounds of six successive explosions. You run opposite of them. More explosions. Yelling. Your wrist winds your wand, air beginning to twist. You whip the twisting wind forward. Two of the followers blocking your path into the forest are knocked far to the side. Spells began to fly past you. You make it into the tree line and keep running, not looking back.

The warmth of a spell swept too close. You turned, running diagonal from the way you’d been going. It won’t stop them from being able to track you, your prints decorate the snow with each footfall, but it would delay them a few seconds. And every second you could distance yourself from the pond the better.

The sounds of your pursuers grew closer, the occasional spell hitting trees a meter or so away. You turned again and continued on.

Heat singed your arm. Your steps faltered for only a moment under the pain. Turned again.

A blast knocked you off your feet and slammed you into a tree. There was a ringing in your ears. Blood oozed down from cuts on your legs and arms. Your pants were widening, the hems unstitching themselves. Your spell on them was failing. The tree you’d slammed into creaked and groaned. Another misfired spell must have hit it. Shaking out your shoulders, the slimy feel of Disillusionment dissipated. It cost too much energy to hold. As the ringing cleared you heard someone just behind you. You turned as the man reached for you. That’s how he stays after he’s hit with a Stunner. You took his wand, chucked it, and ran.

It felt like eternity and seconds as you ran. A never ending chase that would end too soon.

A shadow closed in on your side through the blurring trees. You felt your wand briefly tug on your grip, but it remained in your hand. You’re not sure what spells you sent their way, but one hit its target and you pushed on.

Turned again. Your skirt had returned to its original state, your gloves and boots halfway reverted.

There’s no more sounds of a pursuit. Your steps slowed. No. No that wasn’t the plan.

You stopped, watched the forest over your shoulder, and listened. Nothing. No. No .

Blue sparks flew from your wand as you raised it high above your head. Fireworks echoed loudly in the now silent forest. Your eyes pinched shut, waiting. The faint tell-tale crunch of footfalls on snow broke through the dying sounds. If you could spare the breath you’d have sighed in relief.

You stuffed your wand away and turned towards the fast approaching group. The snow burned as you dropped to your knees and raised your hands above your head. The cold seeped through your sleeves. You couldn’t risk them turning their attention back on the pond. If the spells on your clothes were beginning to fail, the protection spells could be as well.

“What trap have you led us to, Miss Selwyn?” Vinda asked.

“There’s no trap.” A branch snapped as they surrounded you. “I won’t fight anymore.” Another tree groaned against the rising wind. “I surrender.”

“Surrender? After all you’ve done to escape?”

“There’s no way out of this forest,” you said, letting your voice shake. “Dumbledore—he said he’d be back. But it’s been more than a day and no one has come for me. I’m cold and hungry and I—” tears had formed in your eyes “—don’t want to die here.”

She lowered her wand and approached. Her demeanor changed. Her voice was softer, kinder. “He left you here all alone?”

“He was Splinched badly. I begged him not to leave me here, but he said he couldn’t take us both. He promised he’d send help.” You flinched when her hand brushed over a cut on your face. “I stayed by the water like he told me to but no one came.”

“I suspect he did not survive his trip.”

You cried openly. They believed you. He had a chance. “Please,” you begged, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t let me die here.” Leave and don’t look back.

“Shhh,” she hushed you, kneeling in the snow. “Your only crime has been being a scared child who's been fed lies all her life. All will be forgiven.”

Bile rose in your throat. Hatred trapped behind a broken, “Thank you.” One day you hope you can tell your mother how useful it could be to cry.

She rose and offered her hand. “Come. Let us…”

Her words trailed off as figures began popping into existence. In seconds those who surrounded you were surrounded themselves by nearly double the bodies. Aurors . There was a moment of silent surprise, neither group seeming to have expected the other, before spells were once again flying through the air.

“Retraite!” Vinda commanded before taking hold of your wrist.

No, no. You tugged but her grip did not relent. No. Not now. Not with help finally there. No. You pulled and pulled to no avail. No. No.No. No .

She’s half way turned when she released you with a cry. Her fingers that held you so tight, twisted and bent at unnatural angles. Her face contorted into an expression you can’t quite register before she’s gone. They’re all gone. These people who’d been chasing you, hunting you down like an animal for days at this point, gone.

It didn’t seem real.

A delusion you must have made to shield you from reality.

Your name was called. It sounded like…You blinked. You could see him as he broke into a run.

Yes, it seemed somewhere in the forest you must have lost your mind.

It was the only feasible explanation.

He crashed into the ground where you still kneeled, wrapping you tightly in an embrace.

He felt real.

“Thank Merlin,” he cried. He said something about a note and a map and Abigail.

He sounded real.

A musky scent clung to him. The wash he had always been fond of.

He smelled real.

His scruffy beard scratched your forehead.

He was real. Warrick was here.

“Dumbledore,” you said, pushing him away. “Dumbledore!”

There’s too many questions. What happened? Where is he? Did they take him? Is he dead? What? What pond? Where is it?

It took too long for someone to produce a map, but only seconds for you to point to where. Apparition does not feel better with Warrick holding onto you. Images you’d repressed flickering. You could feel it building. Panic. You pushed it down again. Not yet.

You’d made your mark on the area. Blasted out ground from your explosions. Trees snapped where your wind had blown. The rabbit still motionless.

The charms fell quickly. At least they had held at all. Dumbledore was still there on the Transfigured cot, unmoved. It’s a scenario that does not relieve you. How did none of that wake him? You nearly scream when you see them all pause and stare at the ground instead of rushing to help him. The message you’d written was meaningless now.

Don’t let them trade anything for me.

They moved too slow as you explained the Splinching, your Healing Charm failure, the concoction you’d made. One of the Aurors pulled a small vile from his coat. From the color you’d guess a Blood-Replenishing Potion. They eased Dumbledore up and let it slide down his throat.

“Hogwarts is closer than St. Mungo’s,” Theseus said in response to the concern of Apperating him too far. You hadn’t realized he was there. One Auror was instructed to head to St. Mungo’s so they send Healers to the school. Another to Hogwarts to warn of their coming.

Warrick tried to insist you go to St. Mungo’s. You refused. Your injuries were minor.

Your stomach lurches dangerously as you land in Hogsmeade. It seemed as if everyone had come out of their shops and restaurants to see. You don’t look at them. You stared at the carriages waiting.

You’d only seen thestrals as a drawing in a textbook before.

Warrick had kept his arm around your shoulder. Theseus had him step away, reminding him there was still an investigation. The head Auror helped you into the last carriage. He’s kind as he asked about what happened. He doesn’t interrupt as you explained everything in too much detail. You wand breaking. The trip to Diagon Alley. Your request to see London. Their plan to trade you for something. The man who’d lost half his head. The carriage jolted. Once to signal the journey’s beginning, twice to signal its end. You don’t leave. You continue to speak. Even something as insignificant as the Adder. Your plan to lure them away. The wand you’d thrown. All of it until…

“...you showed up.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry it was so close. We’d been trying to track you from your letter, nothing worked until it suddenly did.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. How stupid you were. “I had a Disillusionment Charm on me until the end. It must have messed with the tracking.”

“An achievement half my department can’t claim,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’d make an impressive Auror.”

You keep your disagreement to yourself.

"I'm going to do my best to minimize how many times you'll have to officially repeat what happened to you, but there's going to be a lot of questions. Both from us and the Ministry and from the public. The Daily Prophet will reach out to you. Rumors will spread. I've seen the sort of response someone can get after surviving an encounter with Grindelwald. It's not easy.”

It didn't sound much different than the life you'd led before.

“We’ll talk more about it later. Let’s get you up to the Hospital Wing and taken care of.”

You had planned to object. You didn’t think you needed any medical assistance. But as you left the carriage, you stumbled with your first step. Everything ached. The wounds that had begun to scab over stung. The Thestral was the only thing that kept you upright. “Sorry,” you mumbled to the creature as it huffed. It’s white eye stared.

Theseus helped you up the stairs into the castle. Like in Hogsmeade, you don’t look at the crowd that observed as you climb the Grand Staircase. It must have been lunch. There conversations are a buzz in your ears. Noise. It's grating after the silence of the forest.

The Hospital Wing was crowded. Aurors, Healers, Ministry officials. You stepped on Theseus foot trying to back away from Abraxas when rushed you at the door. You don’t care much about his anger after Theseus stopped him. Neither does Theseus.

He guided you to a bed far from the front. Your mother, Abraxas, his parents. They tried to crowd you, but Theseus refused to let them. He drew your curtain shut. You heard his threats through the thin fabric. Demands to see you are brushed off. “When she is cleared and when she wants to see you. Not a moment before.”

“She is my daughter!”

“She’s my fiancé!”

Theseus did not bend. His no is definitive when they push for information. You’re of age and they have no legal right to know anything about an ongoing investigation. There’s outrage as his instructions to leave. Headmaster Dippet’s voice attempted to sooth them. He offered his office to let them wait. They’re unhappy, but eventually they relent.

Madam Urquart appeared with him from behind the curtain, hair frazzeld and face red, with potions galore. They’re vaugely recognizable, but you’re too tired to recall their names or functions. You drank each without protest. All you wanted now was sleep.

“No one will bother you until you’re ready,” he promised as your eyes grew heavier.

You hope your speech isn’t as slurred as it sounded to your own ears. “Thank you.”

HP Tag List: @bamboozledflamplant @squishytomatoes @benonlinear @byelannie @itsccc

Venomous Tag List: @pearlsome @fck-this @ambria @sheeple @strangunddurm @weirdowithnobeardo @emberenchanted @abbiesxox

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #abraxas malfoy x reader #tom riddle x you #ravenclaw!reader #venomous

63 notes · View notes

tmwcs · 1 year ago

Text

S E 7 E N : A S M O D E U S P A R T T H R 3 E

Warnings: drying humping, breaking entry, harassment, assault, torturous abuse, blood, gore, groping, and cussing. i think that's it.

With a soft and short kiss to your helix, he stands straight. Walking over to his chair, he takes his light blazer off and sits it on the backrest of his seat, as he joins you from across the table. His shoulders and arms were defined with lean muscle, just like Jay’s. His blouse gently draped over his form and was slightly cropped as it flashed bits of his bare abdomen whenever he moved. Resting his elbows at the table, a hand is propped up to cradle his chin as it rests within his palm, while the other laid flat at the forearm against the table. “So, what do you feel like having? You can have whatever you want.” You smiled softly. “Oh…umm…I’m not sure. Did you have anything in mind?” He shifts his gaze in a playful manner as he displayed a loving manner of being pensive. “Well leeeeeets seeeee….hmmm…” tapping his fingers on the table, he asks you, “I can tell you like fruit…” he denotes as he looks at the large fruit bowl you had displaying various fruits, all but apples since the Senator had banned it, claiming it was a sinful fruit. Noting the lack of them, he looks over at you. “How long has it been since you had apples?” “Mmm…a little over a year. The Senator banned them.” He rolls his eyes slightly before returning his gaze at you. “I can’t stand mortals sometimes….not you of course. You’re an exception….to a lot of things.” He removes his arms from the table and looks down as he swipes it clean while he issued the last bit of his statement. Taking his blazer, he flaps it and instantly the material expanded and while made of the same material and keeping the same color, you watched before your eyes that once it was unmoving, it became a table cloth. It was like a magic trick. Flapping it once more, he cover the table as he smooths it out. “Could you reach inside my inner coat pocket and take out what’s inside, darling?” He softly issues as his eyes stay on the cloth while he meticulously smooths the remainder of it out. You nodded with a polite response and reach across your chest and felt around from inside the coat under your arm. It felt so soft and warm against your skin. Reaching inside the large interior pocket, you felt something as you slowly took it out. It was an elaborate clutch of some sort, made of pure silver. The grooves of the decorative engravings carved in it was immaculate and ancient as you noted the ritualistic design. Handing it to him, he smiles as he takes it from your hand softly. “Thanks darling.” Opening the semi flattened container from the side clasp, you saw a perfectly row of slim cigarettes. You continued to watch as he takes one out and places it inside his mouth. Snapping his fingers at the end, a flame flares, lighting the other end. His ability to produce fire with touch was similar to that of Jungwon when he burnt off a piece of your hair as a momentum for him to keep and remember you by. Huffing out one long and smooth puff of smoke, he delicately takes the cigarette with his thumb and index finger. “Come stand next to me darling.” He softly states as he reaches his free hand to you. You take it as he holds yours endearingly. Flicking the cigarette on to the table, flames burst out and engorged the surface of the table, but only for a split second as it dissipates and suddenly, right there before you, was the most beautiful display of food you ever seen, all with cutlery made of pure silver and adorned with various gems. A platter of purple and green grapes beautifully on display, next to it, was a much larger one that had various slices of fish meat, shrimp, and others that you couldn’t recognize as they were all deboned and neatly sliced, also laid out in an immensely beautiful manner. There were various bowls of sides filled with various dried fruits, vegetables, and sauces. a bread bowl, real butter, chalices filled with deep red wine, and even chocolate, another delicacy that was banned by the Senator.

Off to the side, was of course, a small bowl of apples, all kinds as the shapes, sizes, and colors contrasted from one another. Next to it, was a platter of fresh, steamy apple strudels. “Here, sit.” He ticks you into the chair as he lays down on the back rest of it. Leading you by the hand, he gently sits you down a she places a kiss on it. “Now, we have some unique delicacies here, so feel free to ask me what they are and if you like, I can show you which sauce goes best with them. The fruit complements the slight saltiness of the meat and helps cleanse the palette, so be sure to enjoy those in between bites.” He smiles as he sits across from you. “Thank you….can you tell me what types of seafood these are? I’ve never seen some of these before, I’m curious.” He looks over as he props his elbows back on the table. “Well let’s seeee…we got blackened halibut steaks, also blackened tuna, we got shark meat, various prawns, there’s grilled octopus, and Poisson Cru, you’ve heard of it?” You shook your head and allowed him to explain. Everything looked too beautiful to be touched, let alone eat. Noticing your hesitancy, he encourages you to eat with him, after acknowledging how adorable your displayed hesitancy was. “So, are you looking forward to coming home with Heeseung in a few days?” He asks. Munching on a piece of fruit and marinated fish, you shifted your gaze down at the table cloth as you took the advantage of the question and asked for closure. “….do you know what I should expect? What it’s going to be like…when I go?….Are you even allowed to tell me?” You inquired as you spoke out your works sparingly. Mucking on a piece of bread, he sighs out as he answers. “Well, where do I begin…hmmm….life will be much different than what you’re accustomed to. You should know by now, our elder brother has been waiting for you…for a long time.” “Right…6 thousand years was it? I remember Jay mentioned it.” “Nearly 7.” You glanced up and paused your chewing as he continued. “7?” “Yeah, five days from now it will be 7 thousand years that he’s waited for you.”

P A R T F O 4 R

Taglist: @deobitifull; @solstramaii; @vampiregirl215; @nshmrarki; @enhypen14; @iamliacamila; @lisaaannna; @nikstrange; @jaehaki; @luv-enhy-skz33; @silcry@honeysjae; @crackedcameraa; @stinkmonkey ; @baekxo07

#kim sunoo #sunoo #enha x reader #sunoo x reader #sunoo imagines #sunoo smut

84 notes · View notes

dewdewick · 4 months ago

Text

Shadows in the dust |

Chapter 6

Pairing/s: Finnick Odair x fem reader

Summary: At the age of 18 you thought you’d soon be free of the hunger games, unfortunately fate has a different plan. You are picked as a tribute for district 2 and thrust into capitol life.

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Trust issues, Death, Torture, Mental illnesses, manipulation tactics, Weapons, Swearing, Canon typical violence, Mentions of psychological distress, Use of Y/N, Fem reader, descriptions of clothing reader wears, explicit descriptions of weapon use

A/N: I’m back! The chapter is short but only because the next one is gonna be LONGGG. As always Thank you to the Betas, I owe you my firstborn child.

Word count: 2K

*******************************************************

Fire caught wood, sending sparks up into the air like fireflies. Y/N sat back as the fire began to grow, looking at the young boy next to her with a guilt in her eyes. “What are you doing there honey?” She asked, watching him pick at the fish they had caught. Caspian blinked quickly, regaining focus as he had been lost in thought. “Finishing Scaling the fish so we can cook it” he said simply, a questioning look at her as if his answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh I’ve never really done much fishing, District 2 isn’t actually much different from the arena.” She said, still watching him work “do you think you could teach me?” She asked after a moment of silence. “I’ll show you how to make herbal medicine for pain relief,” she offered. He furrowed his brow before nodding, “yeah ok that sounds like a good trade, my legs hurt pretty bad anyway.” He mentioned, motioning to the bite marks on his calves and thighs.

She perked up a bit, grabbing the tortoise shell and retrieving the small tin of salve “I actually have something for that!” She said with a small smile. unscrewing the lid on the tin and putting a bit of the medicine on each bite mark. She knew he was still upset about Meena, but hopefully a small kindness could help ease the tension a bit. As she finished she looked into the tin, realizing she didn’t have enough salve for her own leg ;she scrunched her nose but simply screwed the lid back on and set it down. They sat silently for a few seconds before he spoke “Finch said you were kind.” He said simply and quietly. She looked up from the tin and finally meet his eyes. “I try my best,” she replied, a tired smile on her face. He averted his eyes from her gaze again, looking down to the knife in his hand. He took the fish and turned to face her better, placing the knife right below the gills. “Watch carefully” he said, slicing into the fish.

He carefully removed the head and tail of the fish, pulling out the spine. He used the knife to scrape out the guts of the fish, pouring a bit of water on the meat to clear out any blood. Afterwards he expertly pulled out most of the small bones that remained, laying out the prepared filets. “That simple, might still have a few little bones but it’s the quickest and easiest way.” He explained. “Seems easy enough but I might need a few more lessons.” She said with a small laugh “I got about a third of that, plus to be honest I’m not sure I know where to cut quite yet.” She smiled. He smiled as well, grabbing another fish and starting to scale the skin. “How about I show you again tonight and then we can have more hands-on learning when it’s light outside in the morning?” He asked, “Good idea, because I can’t teach you anything until tomorrow when it’s light enough anyway.” She replied in a bit of a relieved tone.

He made quick work of the fish as they spoke, gutting and deboning it with skill and accuracy. The two squired the meat on sharpened sticks, holding them over the fire to cook. “How old are you anyway?” Caspian asked, raking a hand through his curly blonde locks. She sighed, a bit of a grimace on her face “turned 18 a couple months ago, it was my last year.” She said, pursing her lips. “Ouch rough business” he said, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Yeah it’s fine, not happy about it but I’m here so…” she shrugged, twirling her stick.

“Finch told us all about you, he’s been whining about it since the beginning. Apparently you’re pretty, thoughtful, kind and smart.” He teased. She wrinkled her nose and giggled, “you little jerk” she smiled “Maybe I am all of that” He only shook his head with the same smug smile “nah you seemed much better in the stories.” He further teased. “Oh I’ll show you punk” she smiled wider, “I’m totally awesome and super cool” she giggled.

He let out a boyish laugh, his sun kissed cheeks crinkling with the small dimples upon them. She twirled the stick squired with fish, a soft smile on her face. Watching the flames barely touch the meat, her mouth watered a bit. “When’s it done anyway? How do we know?” She asked, her attention fixed on the dancing flames. He shook his head with the same smile, “it’s done when it’s not that pink color anymore, then you gotta wait so you don’t burn your mouth.” He stated, once again, quaking an eyebrow like it was obvious.

“Well excuse me for not wanting food poisoning smarty pants” she quipped, once again scrunching her nose up in an upside down smile. “Maybe I’m kinda dumb when it comes to district 4 stuff but I’m pretty smart at district 2 stuff. I can kill a snake and I can get the venom from a scorpion pretty easily.” She grinned proudly. His eyes widened a bit and he inched a bit closer to her “wait really? That’s actually kinda cool” he nodded, waiting for her to say more.

“A few of the more affluent women in my district used to like to wear rattlesnake tails as jewelry. My siblings and I would catch them when we could and sell the tails to the jeweler in town. They threatened our cattle and set up burrows in the tall grass where they ate.” She explained. “And the scorpion venom was something I could sell too, it has a lot of uses both as a poison and a medicinal remedy.”

“You gotta show me how to do that, I can coat my spear in it!” Caspian said, his eyes full of excitement. “I dunno, I thought I wasn’t cool enough” she said with a smirk, her brow raising just as he had before. “I was kidding!” He whined, his shoulders dropping slightly.

She only laughed in response, ruffling his hair. “I’m kidding, you pretty much fed me tonight so of course I’ll help you.” She grinned.

He pulled his stick out of the fire and looked over the meat “speaking of food, it looks pretty much done” he commented, blowing on the filet. She pulled her stick towards her, examining it closely and poking her finger into the meat. She pulled back quickly, the food much too hot to even touch. The two sat in silence for a few minutes, blowing on their hot dinner and mentally willing it to cool off. After a while the meal was finally cool enough, the two teens eating their portions within minutes. It was a bit of a chewy meat but delicious nonetheless. After not eating for a while she felt she would’ve devoured anything at that moment. After they ate the wind began to slowly pick up, blowing stronger and stronger as the fire died out.

Caspian shivered as he backed into the cornucopia, curling up in a corner with his weapon in hand. Y/N did the same before looking over at the younger boy “sweetheart why don’t you come over here? It’ll be warmer together.” She suggested, offering a hand. He scrunched up his face as he thought for a moment before standing up and shuffling over to her. They sat shoulder to shoulder for a moment silently before she cracked a smile. “Can I put my arm around you? Promise it'll be warmer” she asked.

His blonde curls blew in the wind as he nodded, tucking his shoulder under her arm and smushing his cheek against her clavicle. She shuffled even closer and wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin in his hair. He exhaled at the warmth, closing his eyes in exhaustion. It wasn’t long until he was in a semblance of sleep against her. He reminded her of one of strays that roamed her families property, wronged by the world but still so willing to take a gamble on love.

“Sleep good sweetheart” she whispered, her words lost in the strong roar of the wind. She let her cheek rest on top of his head, closing her eyes and exhaling. Exhaustion took over her body, putting her to sleep despite the loud whipping of the wind.

The sun rose after only a few hours, it’s warm rays shining on the two teens. Y/n blinked her eyes to wake up, the gravely feeling of dust urging them to remain closed. Caspians wavy blonde lacks tickled her nose as he laid snuggled against her chest. She gently brought a hand up, petting his hair absentmindedly with a soft smile. “Time to wake up sunshine” she whispered, her hand traveling to rub his back.

The young boy mumbled a few unintelligible words, his bleary eyes squinting up at her as she grinned. “Good morning” she muttered, sweeping a lock of hair out of his eyes. He sat up tiredly, stretching and hunching over a bit “m’ exhausted” he yawned. “I know the feeling” she said, taking her jacket off and balling it up. She set it on his lap as she stood “why don’t you take a bit longer of a nap honey? I’ll look around for some breakfast.” She offered. He nodded slowly, putting her jacket under his head and curling into himself a bit on the ground.

She silently laughed to herself, looking out into the arena. She decided to forage a bit, try to see what she could find in an obviously more popular area of the arena. She wondered if the game makers had purposely put more food around for the careers or not.

The sun was hot on her back as she looked around the shining gold cornucopia, finding a few familiar sprouts of greenery. She couldn’t help but also track a few marks in the dust, it was obvious a lizard of some sort was roaming around.

Finding a small hole she stomped on it, sending a medium sized lizard fleeing. She quickly used the pitchfork she carried to stab the animal in the back. It let out a sharp cry as it quickly died and she winced. Picking up the scaled animal and setting it atop the foliage she had collected, she began to make her way around the cornucopia again. The sun was higher in the sky and she figured it must’ve only been about an hour.

Turning the corner she saw it, the sword plunged into the dirt,

She looked up from the weapon, her eyes meeting familiar brown irises.

Finch.

#fanfic #finnick odair #finnick x reader #thg fanfiction #thg series #x reader #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #thg #catching fire

11 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 1 year ago

Text

Buried Alive Inside My Dreams

Summary: An evil enchantress has locked Princess Feyre Archeron in a tower, secluding her from her family and removing her entirely from the outside world. Trapped and alone, Feyre turns her gaze to the stars, dreaming of returning home to her sisters- of finding peace. She's determined to escape before her birthday and the annual starfall that marks the occasion just as soon as she can figure out a way down.

When a thief breaks into her tower, Feyre takes her chances and leaves with him, unaware of who this man is and the price freedom will try and extract from her

Happy @officialfeysandweek2023

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

f Feyre had been smart, she’d have left Rhys to die. No one would blame her for it—it was clear he’d been caught up in the rushing river filling the once dry creek bed from the broken dam, had been injured by debris, and had managed to crawl into the grass before succumbing to his wounds. It likely wouldn’t take long at all, and was probably painless.

And yet Feyre found herself searching the bank for a sharp rock and, once she found it, sliced open one of the scars littered along her wrist and pressed the wound to his lips.

“Drink it,” she breathed, her other hand cradling his head so he wouldn’t choke. “Come on, Rhys, drink.”

He did, taking the most polite mouthful of blood—and then another before his eyes fluttered open and he realized what was happening. Shoving her back, Rhys wiped at his shining, ruby lips.

“You—you—”

“Yes, I know. Witch,” she grumbled, gripping the wound with her other hand and applying pressure. “But a witch who saved your life.”

Pulling at his shirt and revealing dark, swirling tattoos inked along his shoulders and broad, muscular chest, Rhys watched his once fatal wound knit itself back into flawless, golden brown skin. Feyre felt a little bitter looking at her own wrist—she could heal him, and Amarantha, and everyone else, but not herself. Rising to her feet, Feyre walked toward the treeline and plopped back down, wet clothes uncomfortable against her body.

Rhys came to join her, hesitating before sitting shoulder to shoulder, his back against the same wide tree trunk.

“That’s why you were imprisoned?” he questioned.

Feyre nodded, drawing her knees to her chest. “My mother made a deal with an enchantress in exchange for children. I don’t know what my sisters got—well, that's not true. I’m pretty sure my middle sister got beauty. And I got this,” Feyre said, holding up the thick strands of her hair draped all over the ground. It would take her days to pick out all the strewn about leaves and sticks. “Eternal youth, so long as you keep drinking from my blood, you’ll never age, never die. Not me, though. I’ll live and die as I should.”

“Oh,” Rhys murmured, looking down at his broad hands. “That's why you thought…I’m not going to sell you, for the record.”

“I appreciate that,” Feyre murmured, not bothering to mention that it was the least he could do given she’d saved his life.

“You can’t kill her on your own, you know,” Rhys told Feyre, closing his eyes. “Believe me. I’ve tried.”

“Why?”

He peeked open one violet eye. “She killed my family.”

Oh. “I think she killed my mother, too.”

Without opening his eyes, Rhys reached over and gripped her knee. Neither of them said a word, calming their still terrified bodies. Night was starting to settle, which prompted both Feyre and Rhys to get up, gather firewood and some fish from the river they’d just been plucked out of. Rhys built the fire while Feyre began deboning their fish. It was companionable for a moment—even in their exhaustion, Rhys and Feyre had found common ground. Both their families had been wrecked by the same horrible woman.

Looking at her nails illuminated in the dark, Feyre dared to ask, “How did you try and kill her?”

Rhys glanced over, stretching out his legs in front of the fire. The food was long gone, leaving nothing but the curling smoke and crackling fire for company. Overhead, a blanket of stars twinkled, watching with what Feyre thought was curiosity.

“Traps. Poisoned arrows, poisoned drinks. A poisoned dagger—”

“I’m sensing a theme,” Feyre said, almost smiling.

“She’s hard to get close to,” Rhys murmured sheepishly. “I’d much prefer to drive a sword through her throat and watch her gasp for air at my feet, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Feyre was tempted to ask why she’d targeted his family. What about them was so special? But asking opened her up to the same line of questioning, and though Rhys seemed to have made peace with Feyre’s magical blood and hair, she wasn’t certain he’d be so calm about a hidden princess in his midst. He was a criminal after all, even if he was one with some morals. And he’d protected her twice in the caverns when he could have let her die and picked his ring off her body.

“What’s so special about the ring?” Feyre asked him after another long minute of silence.

“It belongs to the love of my life. I intend to give it to her…if I ever find her.”

“That's…strangely romantic,” she agreed, guilt pricking her chest. “How will you know when you find her?”

Rhys shrugged. “I’ll just know.”

“Good luck,” Feyre murmured. She didn’t think true love existed—not in a place where a child could be locked up in a tower for a decade, at least. There was no love that existed at all, only people trying to survive and make the best of their terrible circumstances.

Still, long after Rhys had fallen asleep, Feyre was still thinking about what he said. I’ll just know. Pulling the ring from her pocket, she examined that blue stone and silver band with curiosity. What would it be like, she wondered, to find someone who could recognize you on sight? Who knew what you were without a word needing to be said?

It was silly, sliding it onto her finger. Stupid, too, because if Rhys saw he was likely to be angry. But he merely slept, head lolled against his shoulder while Feyre held the ring up against the firelight. It truly was beautiful, and whoever it belonged to was impossibly lucky. Rhys, for all his annoying qualities, was frustratingly loyal.

And maybe some little part of her was jealous, because Feyre could have given it back to him. He’d promised, and she believed he’d take her to Avalon with or without possessing his ring. Feyre merely repocketed it, wanting to hold on to it—and to him—for a little while longer. Rhys was the first person to show her true kindness, even if sometimes it felt begrudging.

And she’d been alone for so long. She wasn’t ready to let it all go.

When Feyre woke the next morning, her head was in Rhys’s lap. He was awake, her hair carefully piled around her shoulders as he picked scattered debris from the strands with nimble, gentle fingers. Rustling treetops hid the sun from view save for a few errant beams that warmed her skin.

“You don’t have to do that,” Feyre murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“Keeps my hands busy. And you looked like you needed the rest,” Rhys replied in that deep, rich voice of his. “We’re ahead of schedule. Maybe a day or two from Briarcrest, and then from there it's just a day’s walk to the border.”

“Right,” Feyre murmured, sitting up. She was embarrassed to be using his thigh as a pillow, and more embarrassed still that she’d worn the ring he intended for his future wife someday. It was all painfully intimate. Rhys didn’t stop pulling things from her hair given the length even after she sat up, taking his hands out of her hair only when it was time for her to braid it.

“What happens when you cut it?” he asked, watching her finger comb her hair.

Feyre shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope it just becomes regular hair.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Then I might just shave it all off and be bald until I die,” she replied, knotting the end of her braid. It fell to the back of her knees, just as it always did, but at least it wasn’t dragging. The multitude of braids required in order to shorten it made it nearly as wide as her back which Feyre preferred simply for aesthetics.

Rhys cleared his throat, looking away when she finished tucking her shirt into her laced up pants. “We should ah, probably get going.”

While Feyre smothered their fire, Rhys made his way down to the river to splash water over his face and hair. The wet droplets clung to his skin, making him, impossibly, more handsome than before. Feyre couldn’t look at him as he approached, his white shirt still unbuttoned from the day before, revealing wide swaths of muscle and skin beneath the aquamarine of his vest. His jaw was darkly stubbled while his hair was mussed and gods, he was so beautiful it made her teeth ache.

“Will there be somewhere to stop between today and Briarcrest?”

Rhys grimaced. “Nope. We’re roughing it for the next two days. Good thing you’ve got shoes, though.”

“I would hate for you to have to carry me,” she replied, not hating that thought at all. A flush crawled up Rhys’s neck while he coughed again.

“Yeah,” he agreed gruffly.

“So,” she began, sidling up next to him. Even after a night outside, Rhys still smelled good. Like citrus and the sea—like a cloudless, starry night over a cold, midnight sea. “Wanted by the crown, huh?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “They’ve never once managed to get my nose right on those stupid posters.”

Feyre looked up at his perfect face, deciding it might be fun to tease him a little. “Looks right to me.”

A dark scowl clouded his expression. “Look again, Feyre darling. I am far lovelier in person.”

��And so modest, too.”

“Incredibly modest. I have to be, given how beautiful I am and how big my—ow!”

“That’s enough of that,” she said breathlessly. Rhys glanced down at her and Feyre hoped her red cheeks could be attributed to the uphill hike and not her embarrassment. A sly smile spread over his face.

“I’ll show you—”

“I said that’s enough!”

“Of course, darling,” Rhys replied smoothly, openly grinning now. He knew he’d gotten under her skin. Did he also know he’d made her heart race? Feyre had read just enough to understand sex, even if she’d never gotten to partake in it. Clearly Rhys didn’t have that problem, which, good for him she supposed. It seemed wrong to bed him and then wave him off.

“Lighten up,” Rhys said, reading her every thought. “Your virtue is safe with me.” Feyre nodded, unable to explain that she wasn’t really worried about that. She was more worried she might like him too much, and it would make leaving him difficult.

Still.

Feyre thought about what it might be like for the duration of the walk.

RHYS:

He was losing his mind. Feyre’s shirt was dry, and somehow more sheer than it had been the day before. Or maybe he hadn’t noticed it, given they were in the dark and she was being strangled. Now, though, in a beam of fading light, all Rhys wanted to do was rip it off her body and really look at her. It didn’t help that every day they spent in the sunshine drew forth more freckles over the bridge of her nose and warmed her skin. They’d been walking for two days.

Two days in which Rhys waited until she fell asleep beside him and drew her into his lap only to pretend she must have done it herself in her sleep. And two days he’d been allowed to untangle her thick hair and comb through it with his fingers while she was unaware, just so he could watch her braid it again.

They were coming up on Briarcliff—which meant their time together was drawing to a close. He supposed that was for the best. He was starting to imagine scenarios in which he told her the truth and offered her his assistance, of which he truly had none to give. Rhys was about to stage a bloody coup, just like the one that had stolen his crown ten years before. He could die.

He could succeed, too. And if he did, he doubted he’d have the sort of time to dedicate toward her revenge. It would have to be shelved while he found a place for her in his court and Rhys didn’t even know what he’d do with her.

Put her in his bed? It was tempting, of course, and Rhys was highly aware that his best chance at stability and legitimacy was marrying someones very important daughter. A princess from a neighboring realm or a very high born woman of a nobleman with a lot of money made the most sense. And the more he thought about it, the more he could see true love slipping from his fingers.

Rhys was bound by duty.

And he had to let her go.

Sleeping with her would merely complicate his weird feelings, strung together by what he kept telling himself was trauma. She was keeping secrets—so was he, to be fair. Still, Rhys couldn’t resist alluding to his cock, to his mouth, to anything that might give her pleasure, if only to see that blush stain her pretty cheeks.

Feyre really was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And Rhys doubted he’d ever encounter her kind of beauty again. Fierce and unflinching, resilient and yet somehow deeply optimistic.

And soft. Oh, but Feyre was so, so soft. She wanted him to think of her as hardened, as someone unafraid but Rhys could see it just beneath the surface. That sweetness, like a kitten he wanted to stroke.

Well. Mostly like a kitten. But truthfully, when he imagined stroking her, she was naked and begging him for more, more, Rhys—

“Rhys?”

Rhys snapped out of his daydream. “Hm?”

“We’re close. Look,” Feyre pointed toward a well worn path a few feet away. Deep grooves from carriages and wagons dug against the ground, half frozen as the world continued to get colder. He’d caught Feyre with her arms wrapped around her body as they walked. It had been seasonally warm year round, but the closer they came to Avalon’s border, the colder it would become. Winter was upon them, after all.

He’d get her a cloak while he was there, and maybe both of them some warmer clothes, too. Rhys was looking forward to soft blankets and a warm meal he didn’t have to hunt down first. Though, to be fair, Feyre was far better at hunting than he was. It had been her who’d trapped all those rabbits and Feyre who had made the bow and iron tipped arrows while he’d been collecting firewood.

A huntress and a thief. What other little talents was she hiding, he wondered?

By the time they reached the open gates of Briarcliff, Feyre’s shoulder was pressed against his side and her body was wracked with shivers. He wasn’t doing much better, well aware the guard that watched the two of them enter must have assumed them beggars. Let him. Better that then the truth.

“This way,” Rhys murmured, straightening himself even when whistling air whipped around his face. He just needed to get inside for a minute, warm himself up, and then he’d be fine.

The city itself was beautiful and vibrant—nearly reminiscent of Velaris. His teeth ached from longing.

He was so close to home. So close to going back and setting everything right.

“What’s going on?” Feyre asked him, looking as local vendors arranged tables on sidewalks and hung brightly colored pendants and string lights over the streets.

“Starfall,” Rhys replied with a shrug. It had been one of the most cherished holidays in Velaris before…before. Now he could hardly stand the sight of it. “We’ll be long gone before—”

“Gone?” Feyre asked, reaching for his arm to stop him. She wasn’t looking at him, though. She was looking at a mural painted against a limewashed building. Rhys turned, catching the stares of the three young princesses peering back. They’d be grown women, now. He’d never thought much about them, though he’d met them all when he’d been a little boy. Only once, because his father thought he and the oldest sister might be a good match to unite their kingdoms.

He remembered hating her.

And he remembered their bright, open palace overlooking the sea, and the middle sister—who wouldn’t have been older than seven—trying to rope him into a tea party. And how the youngest had opened a panel in the wall for him, mischievous blue eyes twinkling like stars, one finger pressed to her lips.

Tell no one, she’d whispered before closing him in. Rescuing him from both of her sisters and dumping him out in the courtyard where Rhys had spent the rest of the visit lounging in a hammock napping under a warm summer sun. No one had seen the trio of princesses in years. Except Cassian, at any rate, if Azriel was to be believed. He had the eldest, escorting her to the other sisters somewhere in the vicinity. Rhys didn’t let himself dwell, turning away from their too knowing eyes. Feyre remained a beat longer before reaching for him again.

“Can we stay?”

“Stay?” he scoffed. “You’re a day from the border. You could be in Avalon by nightfall tomorrow—”

“But it’s starfall,” she pressed, her voice a breathless whisper.

“So?”

Hurt flashed over her expression and Feyre removed her fingers. “Right. Let’s go—”

He caught her before she’d made it more than three steps—in the wrong direction, not that he dared to tell her so. “What’s important about starfall, Feyre?”

Tell me something truthful about you.

“I could see the falling stars from my window,” she whispered, genuine pain lancing her expression. “It’s how I knew…how I knew I’d turned another year older.”

“Your birthday is on starfall?” he asked with wonder. Feyre nodded, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re right, though. We should—”

“Stay,” he interrupted. “We should stay. It’s just…it’s just two more days. I’ll deliver you to Avalon in a week, just as I promised.”

Three more nights with Feyre. His reasons were selfish—he wanted to prolong what he had with her before he had to tell her goodbye. And maybe steal something for himself before duty came to claim him. He’d have his memories, right? Though Rhys would end up married to someone out of survival, he’d know that somewhere in the world, a woman like Feyre could exist and he’d got to be part of that, a part of her, even for a little while.

The relief on Feyre’s face made it worth it. She’d never admit that she was thankful, proven by the little nod of her head. But he knew it. Rhys didn’t resist the urge to reach for her delicate wrist or pull her hand into his.

Even when Feyre yanked it back out a second later, he’d felt their fingers interlock for that moment, palm to palm. Rhys forced a roguish grin on his face, to act like this was all a little game to him. Feyre scowled, following after him until he reached a tavern called The Snuggly Duckling.

Inside was warm, and smelled of roasted meat and hoppy ale. Rhys drank it in, making his way to the beleaguered woman running the desk. The sounds of cheering and raucous laughter was nearly deafening.

“I need two rooms—”

“I’ve only got one,” the woman interrupted snappishly. “Last one. You can have it or you can go on. Everything is booked up thanks to Starfall.”

“One room is fine,” Rhys said smoothly. Feyre wasn’t paying attention anyway, which was just as well. Her pride would have demanded they keep walking, and he was determined the next three days belonged to them. Just Rhys and Feyre. She wasn’t an enchantress on the run and he wasn’t a prince trying to reclaim his crown.

He wanted to give her one good birthday. He doubted she’d ever had one.

They exchanged coins for a key, and Rhys dragged Feyre up narrow, creaking steps. Three stories to the top, where he slid in that golden key and revealed a small room made up nearly entirely of a bed. It was, blessedly, big enough for them both. A little table by a jutting window had two chairs for meals, and a trunk that the foot of the headboard was likely for storing their things.

Feyre froze in the doorway while Rhys stepped inside. “Rhys,” she breathed, but he was ignoring her to open the little door across the bed.

“A bath,” he said with open relief. He didn’t care if the water was hot—because there, on the sink, was small bottles of soaps for his hair and skin. “There’s a bath.”

“And only one bed,” she added, like this was a problem.

“We sleep next to each other every night anyway,” he reminded her smoothly, as if his heart wasn’t racing in his chest. “This is hardly any different.”

She took a tiny step inside. “Right. And you’ll keep to your end.”

“I promised your virtue was safe with me, did I not?”

“You did,” Feyre acknowledged.

“I’m a man of my word, Feyre. Go on. You take the first bath. I’ll track down warmer clothes and something to eat.”

She held his gaze for a moment and then relented. “Alright.”

Rhys couldn’t hide his grin.

“Good.”

#feysand #pro feysand #doing everything earlier than usual today

47 notes · View notes