#these didn't come with her i tracked them down separately but i like how the pages are designed a lot

[nuzzle]

dollfie members premium booklet vol. 4 "girls collection" & volks news vol. 39

[nanamiluvs]

lactation link with nanami please

honestly i had to sit and ponder for a moment when i received this request because DUDE i can and i will make this man lactate but that's for another day ig

having his fill !

pairing : husband!nanami x reader

rating : explicit

wc : 1k

tags : reader is afab but no pronouns used, reader is called "wife" once, nanami and reader had a child, lactation kink, breastfeeding, oo nanami wants you so bad, nanami is a little shy when it comes to things like this

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

husband!nanami whose eyes linger on your chest for a moment too long. husband!nanami who thinks you haven't noticed.

husband!nanami whose eyes are on you as you're feeding your little baby. he smiles with fondness, the two loves of his life together in a single picture. he adores the sight, really, as much as he adores you. even as your hair disheveled and your eyes heavy, he thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world.

but what he feels bad about is the moment you shift, parting the little mouth of your daughter from your nipple as you place her back in her crib. he can't help how his eyes linger at the exposed skin, leaking a few drops of milk, swollen and oh he wants to latch onto it so bad and he's going to jump out the window if he gets hard at the sight right now.

it's not like it didn't happen. nanami knows of the few times his dick hardened at the thought of sucking your tits, so full and ready to give him milk as much as he w-

husband!nanami who clears his throat and offers you a smile, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips as he tells you dinner is ready, so come eat.

well, he has, for sure, had his mouth on your chest before- just not during the latter part of your pregnancy and after the baby was born, who was now two and a half months old.

this weird pattern of his behaviour has been going on for quite some time, you knew that much. you had a guess on what the hell that was all about, but you could never be sure when it came to the man named kento nanami.

you two ate dinner, chatting as usual with your laughter and his occasional chuckles filling the room. you were going to get to the bottom of this...but how? how could you possibly start the conversation? so, you decided to delve right in as he finished washing the dishes.

"kento, is there something you want to say to me?" you say, halting your movements to look at him. he stopped in his tracks as well.

husband!nanami who coughs when he feels your chest press against him as you asked, eyes oh-so innocently staring up at his.

husband!nanami who blames himself for feeling a rush of excitement when he shouldn't have. you were probably doing it on purpose, but what if you weren't? he'd hate to be such a degenerate for someone like you.

husband!nanami who confirms his suspicions when you place his large hand on top of one of your tits, making him grope the flesh. "if you want to ask something, just ask, kento. i'm your wife."

husband!nanami who has you laying on the couch as he towers over your smaller frame, his lips kissing yours with fervor. your shirt is off and he's completely clothed as his mouth trails down to your neck. his hands cover almost the entirety of your breasts, separated by the layer of your bra. he shifts the weight in his hands, caressing them, and you feel his bulge shift against your thigh.

husband!nanami who looks at you before he takes your bra off, eyes then immediately captivated by the way your tits move when they're set free. his eyes focus on the darkened tips, mouth parting like he was going to say something.

"can i..."

you laughed at his timidness, scared of asking whatever he was going to ask. "can you what, kento?"

"hell." he buried his face in your chest, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "can i," he pulled back to meet your gaze, a desperate look on his handsome face. "my love, i apologize if this sounds weird, it's just- can i...have a taste?"

you smiled and nodded, shifting to rest your back on the pillow on the side of the couch. "see, that wasn't so hard." cupping his face in your hands, you pulled him closer and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "just make sure there's some left for the baby."

husband!nanami who might have misheard your last sentence by the way his mouth sucks on your buds, shy licks of testing the waters turning into harsh sucking that made your milk flow out. you grabbed his hair, whining, saying something about how he's too rough, which falls to deaf ears.

husband!nanami who realizes, once he had a taste, that he's probably getting addicted.

husband!nanami who can't help but toy with your breasts as he fucks into you, watching the milk squeeze out and then reach down to lick the drops. he's mesmerized by both the taste and the visual. while he had always liked your chest, he was particularly obsessed with them after your pregnancy. you let out high-pitched moans as his teeth bit into your nipple, playing with it as if he was the baby.

husband!nanami who likes the taste way more than you would have expected, begging for more with his eyes when you tell him there's probably no more coming out. and he's always right, too, he makes more come out.

husband!nanami whose mouth latches onto one of your nipples when you two are fucking, just needy for you as his hand rolls and kneads your other tit. his eyes take a glance at the way milk comes out squirting, thinking about what a waste it is.

husband!nanami who still feels embarrassed to talk about his newfound kink but is eager to indulge in it.

husband!nanami who has found yet another thing about you to love.

[lila-went-missing]

I saw you wanted req's for Clarisse !! and I had a cute (well I thought it was cute) Hear me out !! You're Percy's older sister but you've been at camp for a few years so you and Clarisse have had more time to talk and get closer, sooo coincidentally once Percy came and after he and Clarisse had their fall out she finalized the relationship (not to be petty but just to get under his skin a little bit.. but also she didn't wanna do something to Percy and have you upset with her and ruin the progress y'all made.) But !! Percy only found out when you guys were eating at your table and Clarisse came by and didn't say anything to him, she kissed you but as she was walking away she muttered a half-assed apology to Percy. Bro's dumbfounded but you break the news to him, and as the loving brother he is and the fact you and Clarisse have known each other it's only fair he happy for you !! (You keep him safe from her.) SORRYYY this is so long but Clarisse makes me giggle, I hope you're having an amazing day !

I've been so excited to write this but I'm also such a procrastinator so sorry if this took a long time to come out. You're literally so sweet I hope you have an amazing day.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and wounds, it gets slightly suggestive once but nothing happens, cursing i think, I'm not going to lie to you this sucks especially the ending.

This took forever because I'm the medically expensive one in the family and I've been in and out of doctors offices for over a month now. This isn't proofread, I trust grammarly and move on. I love you all so much, enjoy my lovelies.

When the Waves Come In

Being a forbidden kid was anything but easy. Monsters could smell you more than others. The gods hated you. Trouble and tragedy seemed to track you down wherever you went, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. The only perks? Having a cabin to yourself and being slightly more powerful than other demigods. If you were being honest, that wasn't really a fair trade.

Not to mention, the other demigods at Camp Half-Blood either hated or praised you. There was no in between. You were claimed only seven months after arriving at camp, this made a lot of unclaimed kids unhappy with you. Like it was your fault that Poseidon was kind of proud of you once? It's not like he's bothered to reach out since then.

Over the last three years of living at camp, you've made some decent friends. You got along pretty well with most of the Hephaestus kids, Beckendorf immediately taking a liking to you for your stubbornness. The Apollo kids liked you, they even let you help lead archery classes. But there was one person that you were closer with than anyone else. Clarisse. Your Clarisse.

You weren't friends. You were so much more than that. But at the same time, you weren't quite together either. It was very complicated. However, there was one thing you were both certain of, you like being near each other, and hated being separated. Oftentimes, she would sit at your table during meals, Chiron choosing to turn a blind eye. You would sneak her dessert every time she lost her privileges. You were her girl, that much, everyone knew.

When a new kid by the name Percy Jackson showed up at camp, you didn't think much of it. New kids arrived all the time, 90% of them never being claimed and getting left to rot by their godly parents in the Hermes cabin. It was sad, but it was the truth. You learned to live with it.

You assumed the same would happen to him, until you saw it. The horn that once belonged to the Minotaur. Grover claimed he had killed it with its own horn. Everyone believed it except Clarisse. You wanted to not believe it, but how else would he have the horn?

Of course, Clarisse being Clarisse, she had to prove that he was a fraud. The first time she did this, she was blasted by water into a wall, effectively shattering a mirror with the impact. She came to you, of course, a bruise forming over her stomach and chest. You were honestly surprised that she didn’t some internal bleeding deal going on.

“I just want him to own up to being a liar!” She ranted. “Is that too much to ask? I mean, he’s 12, he’s like 4’11, he has no muscle what so ever! How am I expected to believe that he, of all people, killed the Minotaur?” She paced back and forth over the floor of your cabin for what felt like an eternity.

“I mean, this kid shows up out of literally no where, and is getting all the glory in the world. Is everyone here really that blind? There’s no way he managed to actually kill it, yet he’s getting all the praise? How does that add up?”

You stood from your place on your bed, walking towards her and placing your hands on her shoulders. Your hands squeeze gently, trying to ground her.

“Breathe,” you whisper, “I know it sounds highly unlikely. I know you’re pissed, you have every right to be.” Honestly, if the only way you could ever get your father’s attention was through glory and winning fights, even then, seldom getting any acknowledgement whatsoever. You have to admit, you’d be pretty pissed in this situation too. I mean the only thing you could do to get anything, even an admittance that you exist, is immediately taken over by this random kid no one’s heard of? Yeah, she’s rightfully pissed.

“But I need you to breathe before you have a nervous breakdown, honey.” Your hands rub up and down her arms, feeling her muscles slowly relax.

“I wouldn’t have had a nervous breakdown.” She mutters.

“I know, but I might’ve.” Knowing her, the way she is behind closed doors, she most definitely would have. But you let her believe that she would be okay.

“It’s just not fair you know? He hasn’t done anything. Even if he did kill the Minotaur, there’s no way he wasn’t running purely on adrenaline and rage. He wouldn’t be able to do that again if he tried. He’s getting all of this praise, and for what? Existing? Being, not even a man, a boy?” Her voice is much much quieter this time, barely making it to a whisper. If it wasn’t for your proximity you probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I know, I know, love.” You can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around her. “Just think, in a week or two, people will probably forget all about it. He’ll go back to being a regular 12 year old, nothing special.” Realistically, you know that sounds kind of bad, but what else are you supposed to say to her.

There was a part of you, no matter how small that part may be, that knew that wasn’t going to happen. Most demigods aren’t able to do something like that and live through it. But you knew he wasn’t like most demigods.

You knew he would get claimed, soon, most likely. From the moment you laid eyes on him it’s like you could feel it. What happened in the bathrooms only confirmed your suspicions. While you didn’t say anything to the girl in front of you, you knew who he was.

He was another forbidden kid. Not just a forbidden kid though, your brother. A son of Poseidon.

***

Capture the flag was the next day. From the moment you woke up you could feel the energy surging through the air. This was one of the most anticipated events of the summer. The only thing you really won was a party and bragging rights. I guess to camp full of the competitive people you’d ever meet, that was all you needed.

It was definitely all Clarisse needed. She loved to win and hated to lose, a trait she inherited from her father. And she’d be dammed if she was going lose another game of Capture the Flag.

That’s why you’re so confused when she tells you that she’s changing the plan. She never changes the plan, finding solace in a good strategy.

You understood more when she explained what she was doing. Revenge on the new kid for blasting her with toilet water. When you put it like that, it sounds logical. But knowing Clarisse, and knowing what you know, you can’t just go along with it.

“Clar, I really don’t think this is a good idea.” You both paced around each other in your cabin, similar to last night.

“Are you seriously telling me that what he did was okay?” Her voice raises with every word.

“No! I just- I have a bad feeling! I don’t want you to get hurt!”

“I won’t! I can handle myself, you know this!”

“I know! But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about you!” Your heart beats out of your chest with every step you take towards each other.

“I can’t believe this! You really don’t think I can do this!” Before you can even formulate a response, she’s grabbing her stuff and walking out the door.

You follow her of course, yelling her name, but it’s no use. She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t even pause in her steps. You watch her disappear behind the door of cabin five.

The door to cabin three shuts as you slide down it. Your head hits the wood as you lean back, sure to give you a headache later. You can’t find it in yourself to care though. A tear slips down your cheek. Then another. Then another.

You know it’s a bad idea. She will go after revenge. And she will get hurt. But you also know that there’s literally nothing you can say to her. You want to, but it’ll only make things worse. That's the thing about Clarisse, when she gets her mind set on something, there's no changing her mind. All you can do is patch her up afterwards.

The red team has kept the flag near the water ever since you were claimed. They made sure that you were never far from it, blasting anyone in the face if they got too close for comfort. You weren't going to lie, it was potentially one of your favorite things to do.

So, as per usual, you were patrolling the edge of the water. No one had really gotten close enough, which was very disappointing. Until the new kid ran out of the woods and immediately tripped and fell on his face. Your whole body straightens immediately, muscles tensing. You pull out your sword and move towards him. He probably doesn't want a fight but it's better safe than sorry.

He had a few cuts littering his arms and cheeks. His clothes were dirty and he was now covered in wet pebbles. You could tell that he was disoriented and panicked. You were about to approach him when one of your sort of girlfriend's brothers ran out of the woods after him. Miles. One of her sisters followed suit, Trinity, you think her name was. Dear Hades they're actually going through with it.

Clarisse comes barreling out of the woods after them. Before you can even think about jumping in the sound of metal on metal fills your ears. Swords and shields clash. A spear jabbed at his chest. Her spear. You wanted to get between them, help him, protect him. Even if he didn't know it yet, he was.

But you couldn't. Everything moved so fast you didn't have time to react before they were all rolling over the ground. The water fed off of your emotions, grabbing her siblings and ripping them away from the fight. But it was too late. You saw the spark come from in between them. You heard the wood snap. Half of the spear was in her hands, the other half in his as his body rolled with the momentum.

It felt like time froze for those few seconds. The water was still. The wind stopped blowing, birds stopped chirping. The air around you seemed to disappear. You couldn't breathe. All noises cut out as her guttural scream ripped through the air, lasting for what felt like an eternity.

She ran forward, grabbing the front of his armor and jerking him forward. The conch blew, the blue team ran across the river carrying the flag. She ran off into the woods, it didn't take long for you to follow behind her, grabbing the pieces of the spear as you went.

Before you fully made it away, you saw the trident above his head. That's the moment you realized that you should've placed bets. You would've made bank, but that's not really your concern right now.

You find her in her cabin, facing away from the door, sitting on the edge of her bed. If you look close enough you can see the way her shoulders shake. You place the pieces of her spear on a table near her bed before kneeling behind her. Your arms wrap around her front, pulling her in.

Her back rests against your front, her head tucking back into your neck. You feel the way her shoulders tremble and shake in your gentle hold. For a long time, she doesn't say anything. A few tears slip down your cheeks that you don't mention. You don't push her. It's very rare she lets anything like this happen. She feels like showing these kinds of emotions would make her weak. It didn't matter how many times you assured her otherwise. Sometimes you can't change a person's thoughts when they're the only thing that person has ever known.

After what feels like forever, she speaks. Her voice comes out shaky. It's the kind of soft you only hear late in the night after sneaking into her cabin.

"That spear- it was the only-." A sob escapes her throat and you can feel the way it moves through her whole body, consuming her completely.

"I know honey.." You whisper in her ear. Your arms subconsciously tighten around her muscular frame.

"It was the only proof that he could ever love me." You swear you can feel your heart shatter. You've never liked her dad, but even so, you knew how much that spear meant to her. Her fathers traits were very prominent in her from the moment she was born. Her anger issues kept her in trouble, never getting help. Never being accepted. Her father was the only hope she would ever have until she met you. But even then she was so terrified of losing you...

"It'll be okay.. I promise." Your words a hidden promise of protection.

You're not sure what happens that night but you know something changes. Her arms wrapped around you a little tighter. Her breaths came a little deeper, more relaxed. Your finger over more of her scars, tracing them with the delicacy that was only ever seen in the hands of the greatest artists. When you thought about it though, she was the only work of her art that would ever be worthy of such care.

When you wake the light hits the two of you in a new way. As if Apollo made Helios shine it on the two of you alone so he could write the greatest love hymns that would ever be seen by mankind.

Her siblings don't question your presence. They never do. Why would they when it's so rare the children of Ares are able to find such peace. So rare they can find such a level of acceptance within another person.

For a while you sit there and watch the golden light dance across her bronze skin. The way it shines around her face, the face you've kissed so many times. The face you long to kiss right now. You don't sneak out this morning, instead staying curled into her side. The beating of her heart threatening to lull you back into a peaceful slumber.

Then the conch blows for breakfast, causing her to stir. Her eyes flutter open, turning into pools of golden honey as the light swims in the sweet waters. A small smile creeps onto her lips as her eyes meet yours.

"Hi." You whisper. Your hand strokes over her cheek.

"Hi, baby." Her voice is as soft as the way she looks at you. Before you know it she's leaning forward and placing her lips on yours. It's the first time but it doesn't feel like that. It just feels... right. Something about it is so perfect. The way your lips fit together like long lost pieces of a puzzle.

"What was that for?" Your lips remain parted when you pull away. "I just, wanted to kiss you." She mutters in reply. A blush covers the expanse of her cheeks. You never thought you'd see her so flustered. "Can you do it again? Kiss me again?" She smiles and nods at your words before leaning in and pressing her lips back against yours.

They're soft and warm as they slide against yours. It feels like coming home after a long day of training. Your favorite person right in front of you with open arms.

When she pulls away, she's smiling wider than you've ever seen her. "I really should have done that a lot sooner." You can't help but laugh at her words. "I've only been waiting for four years!"

"Why don't we make up for that?" She leans forward, resting her hand on her waist and pulling your body against hers. A chuckle leaves your throat.

"Maybe later, right now, I really want breakfast." You peck her lips once more before rolling out of bed. "Come on!"

It's not long before you're both dressed and making your way to the dining pavilion. As much as you would like to sit with her, she's already on thin ice with Chiron. You take your time getting your food and burning it, not wanting to be separated until absolutely necessary. Eventually though, you have to part ways and join your newly-claimed brother at the Poseidon table.

"I'm surprised you're not more banged up if I'm being honest." You say as you take your seat. There's not a single scratch on him.

"Annabeth kind of shoved me into the water, next thing I know everything is healed." He answers, you can tell he's nervous knowing your connection with Clarisse.

"Perks of being Poseidon's kid, that and our cabin is a lot less crowded." He laughs lightly at your words.

"You're telling me! It's nice not sleeping on the floor." The both of you go quiet for a while, eating in comfortable silence. The breeze is cool against your skin, a nice reminder of the weather barrier. When you look up, Percy is looking behind you with pure fear in his eyes. You expect to be greeted by a monster when you turn, instead you're greeted by your girlfriend.

You can't help but chuckle at the look on Percy's face. You really can't help but laugh at his face when she leans down and presses a kiss against your cheek. "I'll see in training later, right babe?"

"Wouldn't miss it." You kiss her jaw before she turns and jogs off towards the arena.

"She- you-" He looks utterly dumbfounded as what he just witnessed. "What just happened?"

"She's my girlfriend, Percy."

His mouth drops open with the most surprised look you've ever seen. "Oh."

"Is that an issue?" You don't really care if it is, but you ask anyway. "No, no I just, didn't take her as the type to really date anyone." He answers.

"Most people don't, I'll do my best to keep her from pulverizing you." A laugh escapes you before you take your leave.

Life didn't seem too bad.You had a new brother, you were dating the girl you'd been in love with for years. You might even be able to convince her to leave him alone. You'll get her spear fixed as a surprise birthday gift.

You can feel everyone's surprised eyes on you as you walk out. There's no doubt the entire camp knows by now, and there's no doubt that a billion rumors will be floating around by dinner time. But there's a part of that just, can't find it in you to care. How can you when you have everything you've wanted right there in front of you.

[blue-sadie]

Five Stages Of Feelings

Neteyam x Na'vi Reader

Summary: the decision to go looking for you was the best decision he ever made

Warning: enemies to lovers, hurt reader

3rd person pov

The village knew of the rivalry between the oldest son of jake sully and the daughter of ninat, they fought for the title of best hunter of their age group but it only ended in punishment.

"This is your fault" yn hissed bumping shoulders with neteyam as she passed him, neteyam growled and grabbed yns wrist pulling her to look at him, his tall figure looming over her.

"Its not my fault you don't know how to shut your mouth" he spat, the two were paired on a hunting trip his father thinking it would be a good 'bonding' experience but the two started bickering scaring off the pray.

"Then you should've giving me a bloody arrow" yn pulled her wrist from him harshly causing her to stumble and fall into the mud the mud splattering over her body, neteyam burst out laughing he bent over clenching his stomach trying to catch his breath.

Yn huffed and got up stumping off into the woods "your going to get us in more trouble" neteyam called after her but when she didn't to back he huffed rolling his eyes and went his own separate way back to the village.

He took a seat at the end of the village watching the trees carefully this is the way you'll be coming back and he just wants to annoy you further but when you didn't arrive at eclipse a feeling started to tug at his heart.

Worry? Guilt? No why would he feel any of those he let out a forced laugh he hates you he wouldn't care if you went missing it would actually be better for him.

He waited for a few minutes and slowly started to pace his eyes still trained towards the forest he slowly became more aggregated with himself "ah fuck it" he cursed loudly and walked into the woods.

His tracking skills helping him very much "your going to be the death of me yn" he grumbled slowly climbing over the roots that was in his path, his ears flickered as he heard it.

A whimper of pain, he crouched low to the ground slowly making his way to the sound his eyes looking around for any predators that might be lurking.

"Yn" he whispered as he caught sight of you laying on the ground his breath caught in his throat as they ran over your body noticing the blood "fuck" he muttered and jumped to your side.

His hands wavered as they hovered over you he didn't know what to do "w-what happened" he choked as he moved his gaze to your eyes his heart clenching as he saw the tears rolling down your face.

"V-viperwolfs" you grunted, neteyam quickly slid his hands under your body trying to pick you up but you cried out in pain "c-cant" you weakly pushed him away as you spoke.

He grabbed your hands holding them tightly "I have to get you back" he said his voice filled with concern but you just shook your head "n-not gonna make it" you cried making him shed a tear of his own as he shook his head.

"I'm not gonna let you die" his voice was dipping as he slowly lifted your hands to his chest "you can't die" he murmured making yn giggle which turned into a coughing fit "starting to sound like you care about me sully" you panted he nodded his head.

"I do surprisingly" he smiled sadly "is it bad I think the same" yn said making neteyam chuckle and shake his head "I think it's perfect" he whispered and leaned down connecting their lips together in a quick kiss before pulling back just leaving a inche between them.

"Neteyam" he hummed in response, yn shifted slightly taking out a fruit that was underneath her, neteyam frowned in confusion intill he saw that the fruits juice had a blood like texture he looked between the fruit and yn making her smile nervously.

"Lo'ak and kiri put me up to it but I'm glad we feel the same way" she giggled slowly sitting up he narrowed his eyes at her growling slightly.

"I'll get you back one way or another"

Tag.List

@laylasbunbunny @neteyamyawne @sweetirilly @greekgods15 @erenjaegerwifee

[recuira]

after hours

after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction

for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

chapter one chapter two chapter three

chapter four | suede. stalking. silly.

his pov;

"Your wanted poster."

Those three words settled in my mind as I stared at the distraught girl in front of me, watching as she fumbled with her hands, a nervous exterior brushing over her. She seemed to be so horrified with the fact that I was once a pirate sought after by thousands- wanted dead or alive, though much preferred dead. Many still wanted me dead but due to my brilliant idea of hiding out here, the chance of anyone getting my bounty was thin. I, however, didn't see it being as much of a big deal as she deemed it so. The real issue I found was tucked away in one of the books within the nightstand which I was so fucking thankful she didn't find. I'd rather her not have been looking around but if she were to find one of the two? I was glad she found the poster.

I tossed another slice of apple into my mouth then set the knife down on the cutting board. I approached Y/N but instantly halted when I noticed how nervous and uneasy she was. "What's wrong?"

"H-How many people did you kill?" She asked, her voice shaking.

"Does that really matter?" I asked, waving my hands up in the air to hopefully exaggerate my point. "It was almost a year ago."

"That doesn't change the fact that it happened!"

"I know, I know." Despite her discomfort, I took a seat next to her anyway. She tightened her arms around herself, almost to make sure there was as much distance between us without her actually moving. Clenching my jaw, I patted my hands upon my thighs. "I know it's a terrible thing, and there's nothing I can do to change that. It's in the past and if I could go back and alter things, I would. Being a pirate was all I knew. My old friend was one, too. Then we separated onto different things and-"

"Did he kill people?"

"Lots of pirates kill people. It's part of the hype, ya know? It's very unlikely to raid another ship without there being any casualties. But I stopped because I got tired of it. I wanted something more."

"It's a pretty big bounty. I mean- come on, fifteen million berries?"

"Don't think about turning me in now," I chuckled, wanting to add a bit of lightheartedness to this unfortunate predicament.

"I'm not like that. I know I'm in need of money but-"

"I didn't mean it like that, Y/N, come on. Give me some slack."

"Well, why exactly did you stop? Did you lose the thrill of stealing from others? O-Or did you get bored of killing innocent people?"

I rolled my eyes, scoffing. "We've all done some shit we're ashamed of. We're humans. I did a lot of fucked up shit," I said as I pointed at myself. "But I changed that. I moved and let all that go. I left my crew, made someone else the captain, and abandoned ship. I left all of that shit behind and came here."

"But why?"

"If I say this, I'll probably make things worse but I don't want to lie anymore," I said as I laid back, folding my hands over my chest. I stared up at the ceiling. "You've obviously heard of the One Piece, right?"

"Of course."

"Well, I was one of those pirates absolutely obsessed with finding it. Fuck, I even dreamt about it. It was the only thing I truly desired in life. It was the only thing I thought about. Not riches, women, alcohol- just the One Piece. I was making somewhat decent progress but then I heard that a group of Straw Hats-" I grimaced at the thought. "-made off with the map which they stole from one of the Marine bases. I happened to track them down and I managed to steal the map from some kid named Monkey D. Luffy. But all good things must come to an end and I lost it. I was back to square one. And then I discovered his bounty was thirty million berries." I frowned then sat up, turning to face Y/N. "Can you believe that? Some newby pirate-wannabe received a bounty double my own! Seeing that brought me back to reality. So I dropped everything then came here."

"All because of him?"

I nodded my head. Just the thought of that kid irked me. There was no one, other than Shanks, who I despised more than my own self.

"So, yeah, I know what I did was fucked up. But there's a reason I'm here now. There's a reason I've given you so much. It's because I want to be a better person, maybe redeem myself for what I've done. And I can do that by helping you, by making your life a little less miserable."

"Do you pity me?" The girl asked, finally meeting my gaze.

"What?" I laughed, almost obnoxiously. "Of course not. If anything, I envy you."

"Me?" Y/N pointed at herself. "You envy me?"

"You have no bad conscience. You've done nothing wrong, you have nothing to make up for. You have a clean slate."

She shrugged, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "Thank you."

"So, uh, do you hate me now?" I asked, forcing a frown to mimic a pouting child. She giggled at this and shook her head. I sighed in relief, wiping 'sweat' from my forehead. "Thank god. I don't know what I'd do with myself if you hated me."

"I knew you were a pirate but it's still shocking to learn about your past. It'll take me a bit to get used to it but I don't hate you."

"So, we're good?" I extended my hand.

"We're good." She shook it.

I felt as if a huge relief was lifted off my shoulders. And as long as she stayed out of the nightstand, there would be no more issues. But if I hid the book, then I would be even more safe. I pondered the possibilities before I watched as she rose from the confines of the bed and approached the counter. My eyes trailed down. The backs of her thighs were exposed and the shorts clung to her ass so divinely. I bit my lip and crossed my leg over my lap.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me," She mumbled as she started to chew on an apple, then began to cut into an orange. "I do have a question for you, though."

"Go ahead, shoot." As soon as she turned around, my eyes met hers and I smiled.

"Are devil fruits real? Or is that just an old tale? I've never seen one up close and I heard they cost a fortune, even for just one alone."

"They're real," I said with a small laugh. "I would know, I've eaten one."

Y/N nearly jumped before she darted over toward me, her hands grabbing at my shoulders. She still had a slice of half-chewed apple in her mouth which made her struggle to properly speak. "WHAT? You- NO! You didn't?!" She let go of my arms and instead planted her hands on my chest, shoving me back. I collapsed back against the bed, laughing. "You ate one?!"

"Years ago, when I was fifteen."

"You're lying!"

"I'm not. It was a mistake actually."

"What happened?"

I chuckled and pushed myself back up. "Give me an orange and I'll tell you."

If my reflexes weren't so quick, the fruit would've hit me in the face with how quick she threw it. But I caught it and began to pick apart the peel. "Easy, next time," I smirked and took a bite from it. "Well, when I was younger and was a pirate-in-training, the crew I was in raided this ginormous ship and hit the motherload. Not only gold and jewels and anything you could think of, but there was also a devil fruit. I found out how much they were worth and tried to steal it but I was caught in a predicament and I tried to hide it in my mouth."

"And?"

"I swallowed it whole."

She gasped, "And you're alive?"

"It doesn't kill you. It just takes your ability to swim when you're in the ocean, in salt water. It's like the sea turned its back on you."

"Did you get a power from it?"

I shrugged and winked at her, taking another bite. I licked the juices from my hand. "Guess."

"You can fly?"

"Ha! Nope."

"Read minds?"

"It's body-altering."

"Wait," The lovely maiden smirked, taking a seat on the bed. "Did it give you that red nose?" She snickered.

"Guess again," I said flatly, my expression turning cold as I stared at her. She gulped, clenching her jaw. I laughed and looked down at my lap, now using one hand to hold the orange. I continued to chew on it. But while she was distracted with her numerous attempts to guess what kind of body-altering power I had, I detached my left hand at the wrist. It floated behind the both of us and tapped on her right shoulder. Y/N jumped up, her head shooting to look at her side. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows furrowed together before she spotted my floating hand waving at her. She gasped and slapped it away. I broke out into a fit of laughter, my hand reconnecting to my wrist. "Impressive, huh?"

"You- what?" She was still flabbergasted.

"I ate the chop-chop fruit. It allows me to pretty much chop any part of my body. Like I can-" To avoid grossing her out, I chopped my left leg from my thigh instead of my head from my neck. She watched in amazement. I smiled at this. "I can disconnect anything from my body from my toes to my ears to my-"

"Even... ya know?"

I winked. "Oh, yeah. That, too."

"That's so cool. How come you haven't done it before around me?"

"I don't know. I just never found a reason to." Shrugging my shoulders, I allowed my leg to snap back. I continued to chew on the orange before finishing it and tossing the peel into a small bin to the left of the bedside table. Y/N finished hers as well. She wiped her hands down on her shirt.

"So, uh," I chewed on my bottom lip. "Do you think you and your mother will be okay?"

"Yeah. We fight all the time. Her drinking doesn't help."

I cringed. "Really?"

"Yeah, she's one of the reasons I hate it so much."

I pursed my lips and nodded my head. I knew I needed to cut back on it but it was something I've done for well over more than half my life. Though, I was destined to do it. Not only for myself, but for her, too. I'd do anything for Y/N. "So," I began, "what do you want to do today?"

"I need to go make up with my mother. That's a big to-do. I can't stand her ever being upset with me." The girl said as she stood up, slipping her shoes back onto her feet. "We can have dinner tonight if you want. Maybe you could meet her."

"Meet your mom?"

"Yeah, why not? She was wondering where all that money came from. She thought I stole it."

"Hell, I don't know. I'm not good with meeting new people."

"Will you, at least, consider it?"

"Sure," I smirked.

"Thank you." Y/N reached for the doorknob, giving it a strong and firm tug before it yanked open. A gush of cold wind washed over her, almost knocking her back. I tossed her my coat to which she whispered another 'thank you' then slipped it on. "I'll see you, Buggy."

"Bye," I murmured with a smile.

As soon as the door shut, I jumped down from the bed and pulled the drawer out from the nightstand, dropping it on the stone floor. I sorted through the numerous books and grabbed the novel I was so fucking thankful she didn't look through. As I opened the cover, the hollowed book had contents that almost spilled out. Papers among papers, among sketches fell out, wafting along the floor. Several notes about Y/N puddled on the floor. One, which was my favorite, was a letter I wrote to her- well, I refused to send it. If I sent it, any last fiber of my confidence would be crushed like a scrambled egg. My fingers lined the rigid edges as I unfolded it.

Messy paragraphs lined both the front and back of the page.

I smiled. How long ago did I write this? I haven't looked at it in so long. I usually added a sentence to it each time I saw Y/N, which is why it was so long. But I stopped pouring my thoughts and desires into it when I actually had the pleasure of speaking to her.

If she saw this, I would kill myself.

I'd purposely jump into the ocean with two anchors attached to my feet.

I looked over the first paragraph,

'I've never wanted something so badly in my life. To say I yearned for her would be a complete understatement. I longed for her, I yearned, I desired- In simple terms, I wanted her. I mean, how could I not? She was an angel. She was a siren. I would purposely listen to her enchanting song, allowing my boat to crash, just if it meant I could be graced by her presence, by her beauty. I was obsessed with her. If she found out my thoughts, my desires, she would never let herself be seen with me. I wouldn't blame her, though. I was obsessive. It was unhealthy, I knew that. But I didn't care. I wouldn't say I loved her because I didn't know what that felt like. I've never experienced it. But perhaps I did love her. I didn't know, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that she was the only treasure I wanted. Not the One Piece, no. Not even that could match up to her alluring person. If I had to travel every sea in order to find her, battle every sea snake in order to touch her, I would. I would in a heartbeat.'

I grimaced, cringing at what I was reading. Thank god, she didn't see this. I didn't even want to see this.

I tucked the papers back into the hollowed-out book, closing it. I slipped the other novels into the drawer then slid it into the nightstand. With the book of secrets, I needed to hide it somewhere she could never find it- where even I struggled to find it. I didn't want to throw it out for I would be completely discarding all of those moments we had together, although she couldn't reconcile them with me because at that time, I was nonexistent to her.

Maybe I could follow my own idea and form my own message in a bottle. I never mentioned her name, nor my own. To an outsider's perspective, it was anonymous.

I shook my head and slipped the book back into the bedside table. She wouldn't be back anytime soon so I had enough time to properly execute a fool-proof plan.

But right now?

I needed to go get another coat.

-=-

her pov;

My mother and I resolved things, just like always. And when she caught wind of a pirate suddenly becoming very fond of me, she begged me to invite him over for dinner. I didn’t think that was the best of ideas. Going out to dinner? Sure! But to have him over? At our house? I cringed at the idea.

She fell ill months ago. Nothing too major, but ever since she’s gotten better, she despises leaving the house and even made me bring her bed downstairs so she could sleep next to the kitchen just in case she had a hankering for something to eat. It was ridiculous, I knew that. But I couldn’t just tell her no. She was my own mother. While I was old enough, I definitely wasn't going to willingly disobey her.

She persisted that I go and grab Buggy so we could have him over for dinner, while I insisted we all go out to eat. She hated the idea and told me that it was her house, her rules.

I grimaced at the thought.

Now, I was just outside Buggy's home, knocking on the stone door. I hoped he was home, though there was no possibility of me being able to ask him prior to my arrival. I knew he was busy. He was a very busy man. I was surprised he made time for me.

With another knock, another silence fell. I groaned and backed up.

My eyes trailing down, I stared at the doorknob and chewed on my bottom lip. He wouldn't care if I waited inside, right? We trusted each other. He knew where I lived and I knew where he lived. As far as I knew, he never crossed any of my boundaries and I definitely didn't cross any of his- well, except for maybe 'snooping' through his nightstand.

Without thinking too much more about it, I grabbed the rusted doorknob, gave it a firm twist, then shoved it open. I almost fell through the doorway.

I caught my balance and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Without the lantern being lit, it was rather dark, but the bright blue sky helped to illuminate the small room. He must've not been home since I left.

I looked around, admiring everything.

As I took a seat on the edge of the bed, I noticed a piece of paper laying on the floor. It wasn't there before.

I raised an eyebrow and reached to grab it but before I could, the door flung open, a certain blue-haired pirate standing in the entrance. When he noticed me, he smirked. I gulped.

"So, we're breaking and entering, are we?" The man grinned as he took a few paces forward.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, scratching the back of my neck. "I came over to ask you about dinner but you weren't here so I figured I would wait."

"No worries, I'm only teasing."

"So?" I folded my arms, leaning forwards.

"So what?" Buggy questioned as he slipped his coat off. Since when did he get a new coat? And why? I was only borrowing the one he lent me. I didn't plan on keeping it. But I guess now it was okay if I did.

"Dinner? Are you available?"

"Hmm, it depends. What time?"

"I don't know, sometime tonight? Only for two hours or so. My mother wanted to meet you. I told her about you."

"What did you tell her?"

"That you've been a friend of mine for a few weeks now and you've been fortunate enough to treat me and help me out," I said with a smile. "She thought you were my boyfriend." I chuckled.

"Heh, that's rich," Buggy said as he turned around to close the door.

"So? Can you?"

"I guess so. Just don't leave me alone with her. I really don't want to be bombarded with questions." The man said as he folded the jacket over his arm then slung it on the countertop. "Did you tell her about my nose?"

I laughed, confused. "No? Why would I?"

"It's my defining feature. It's hard not to notice it when you see me."

"I didn't tell her. I didn't think it was important. I even forget it's there."

The clown burst out in laughter, his eyes closing as he clutched his stomach and nearly fell back with his fit of giggles. I pursed my lips. "What's so funny?" I asked as I crossed my arms.

"It's cute how you're trying to be nice to me. With a nose like mine, how can you forget it's there?" He replied while wiping a tear from his eye.

I felt flustered with the first part of his monologue but I ignored it and shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, I just do. It's not all I see whenever I look at you, ya know. It's not my main focus point when we speak. I look at your eyes, not your nose."

"And yet again, you prove to me that you're different than others."

I smiled. "Hope that's a good thing."

Buggy smirked, winking his left eye. "Of course it is."

The pirated approached me before he knelt down and picked up the piece of paper. He examined it for a moment then laughed to himself. "Grocery list," He explained as he shoved the paper into his pocket.

I paid no attention to the paper. It wasn't any of my business. "Speaking of groceries, want to go help me get food for dinner?"

"What's on the menu?"

"No idea, but let's just grab something so she won't be bitching later."

"Guess I'll be needing this again," The blue-haired man said as he reached to grab his jacket. He slipped his arms through and adjusted the collar. "We match now."

"Mine's more vintage than yours." I winked.

"Oh, so it's yours now?"

"No?" I gulped.

Buggy giggled. "It is. I got my own now so no worries about giving it back. Unless you'd like to trade from time to time."

"No, I like this one."

The man looked at me, an eyebrow cocked upward.

I paid his look no attention and instead looked down at the tattered suede coat I wore. I inhaled softly. It smelled like him.

A soft odor mixed with whiskey, coconut, and cinnamon. And while I hated the stench of alcohol, it worked for him.

I couldn't imagine him without it.

[iveantive]

Prompt: sakura finds a stray dog

or

sakura finds feral hybird kazuha and decides to take her in

TW: A/B/O, g!p, hybrids, branding, kinda mentions of abuse, heat cycles, vaginal fingering, masturbation

word count: 11k (it's a full ass plot with porn)

How could you be so stupid? Sakura mumbled to herself.

Raindrops falling from up above started to drop onto her dry hair. It really is her fault. She checked the forecast last night and knew it was going to rain. But, she thought nothing of it because, on most nights, she would already be home cooking dinner.

It was just her luck. Her boss had asked her to stay longer to finish up some extra paperwork, and she couldn't say no. She was aiming to get a promotion within the next couple of months. So, she stayed, and what would've been a minimum of 30 minutes of unpaid labor became an hour when one of her managers, some brazen cocky alpha, tried hitting on her. Luckily, she was good at deflecting all his stupid questions, giving him deadpan answers to show she wasn't interested.

"What're you doing here so late?" She heard the Alpha slide up behind her as she typed on her laptop.

"Working." She said flatly.

"I see that. Do you want some company?" The alpha slid a nearby chair over to them.

"No, I'm trying to go home quickly." Sakura didn't even want to make eye contact with alpha. Knowing if she did, it would make it harder for the alpha to leave her alone.

Alphas, though, once they start, they just don't stop. Especially when they learn Sakura is a single 25-year-old omega. She's been through this time and time again. Some alpha will come along boasting about how they're from this renowned pack, but really Sakura couldn't care less. When she would make that known, the alpha would get defensive and start calling her names before they stomped off angry they didn't get her number.

It's not that Sakura wasn't looking for a mate. She's been on countless blind dates (set up by Chaewon against her will). It was just that none of them made it past the first date. Alphas were predictable, and she always knew how things were gonna go.

"Well, it'd be quicker if we did it together." Sakura felt the alpha's rough hand creep up her lower back. She would have no trouble smacking his hand away if it were any other alpha. But Sakura needed this job. And she knew if she were to flat-out reject the older alpha, he could ruin her career.

"That's okay, I've actually just finished," She gritted through her teeth, managing to slide away from the alpha's grasp. Despite hearing the alpha calling her name behind her, without missing a beat, she quickly got up, packed up her things, and left the office.

That's how Sakura found herself walking home later than usual. The sun had already set. Instead, getting replaced by grey storm clouds. And by now, the loud bustle of the city life had died down.

A loud crash of thunder snapped Sakura out of her thoughts.

Shit, Sakura cursed. Quickening her pace, she was just a block away from her apartment.

She was practically running by the time she was about to round the corner to her building when she heard a noise. It sounded almost animal-like.

Stopping in her tracks. She turned her head towards the alleyway separating her apartment building and the next one over. Sakura peaked her head ever so slightly in trying to see if she could find the source of the noise, to no avail. It was way too dark, and whatever animal was making that noise was deeper in the alleyway than Sakura wanted to go down.

Yet, she doesn't know why she started to tiptoe down an alleyway, ignoring the raindrops drenching her hair. It was like something was luring her closer, and maybe it was out of her innate curious nature. Sakura knew she wouldn't be able to sleep at night if she didn't at least check to see what was making the noise. It could be an injured animal, perhaps even one of her neighbors' pets. Come to think of it, she had heard some dogs fighting the past couple of nights. She had chalked it up to being all in her head. To be fair, she did live in the city, and stray dogs were common.

As Sakura walked closer, the dull noise got sharper, sounding almost like an animal whimpering mixed with a cry. The saliva in Sakura's mouth started to dry up as she stepped closer to the source of the noise.

Then boom another strike of lightning followed by a crash of thunder.

The lightening provided merely a couple of seconds of light, but it was enough. Sakura was able to make out the silhouette.

A girl.

And as the thunder crashed, Sakura heard another loud whimper, followed by cries soon after.

How long was this girl out here, never mind how the real question is why Sakura thought to herself. Whatever, she couldn't think about that right now. She needed to help the girl. She fished her phone out of her pocket, switching the flashlight on.

Sakura's eyes widened.

The source of all that whimper was, in fact, a girl. As Sakura angled her flashlight up and down her body, though, she knew she wasn't just a girl.

The girl was quite bigger than her, from what Sakura was able to make out. That wasn't even the most shocking part. The girl was naked, with various parts of her skin covered in dirt that was forming into mud as the rain continued to pour down on them. Even more shocking, were the wolf-like ears on the top of the girl's head, and another double take down the girl's body was a tail tucked between her legs.

A hybrid.

Sure, Sakura had heard about them before. Something between a wolf and a human. They maintained both canine and human characteristics. The only ones she'd ever known of usually lived in government-provided homes with other hybrids, and the ones that didn't usually end up dead. Nobody would admit it, but hybrids did have a reputation. They were known to be unstable, unpredictable dangerous even.

As far as Sakura knew, she thought they were extremely rare. Which only made her wonder more how and why the hybrid in front of her was on the streets.

Sakura angled the light towards the hybrids face, or atelast tried to. The angle was awkward. The hybrid was cowering in the corner of the dark alleyway. Her hands covered her face as she let out the scared whimpers.

Sakura grimaced, taking the sight in.

"H-hey," Sakura said softly, catching the hybrid's attention. Her hands dropped from her face, immediately started to let out a low growl.

Sakura kneeled closer to the ground and held out her hand to the hybrid.

"i-i'm n-not gonna hurt you." Sakura tried to remain stoic in her place, trying not to let the fear seep through.

The hybrid started to untangle herself from the cowardly position, getting into a more defensive one. The growls still rumbling from her gut, as she inched closer to Sakura.

Sakura closed her eyes, praying for the best. After a few moments, and not feeling her hand getting mauled off by a rabid hybrid, she opened her eyes back up.

The hybrid was sniffing her hand, Sakura mentally sighed in relief. She looked back at the hybrid, being able to make out the light grey fur on her ears and a red scratch on her cheek.

"A-are you here alone?" Sakura looked into the hybrid eyes trying to gauge any sort of emotion she was feeling, but she was able to decipher none. Only earning a growl from the hybrid.

"I live in the building right here. Do you want to come in?" Sakuras' tone was soft.

The hybrid tilted her head, furrowing an eyebrow.

Maybe she doesn't understand, Sakura pondered.

"Inside. Warm." Sakura tried a new approach as she pointed to her apartment building.

She heard a low grunt come from the hybrid before she switched positions again, now being perched on her hands and knees.

"I take that as a yes," Sakura smiled.

Sakura got up from her crouched position. She was looking back at the hybrid, remembering that, yep, she was indeed naked. And something tells Sakura her landlord wouldn't appreciate her taking in a naked, dirt-covered girl into her apartment. Never mind the hybrid part.

Thinking swiftly, Sakura started to undo her padded jacket. It should be enough to cover the hybrid, at least enough that her landlord and other apartment tenants wouldn't question her.

Sakura reached to drape the jacket over the hybrid shoulder, earning another growl from her.

"You have to wear this to come inside."

The hybrid grunted in response before accepting the jacket being put over her shoulders. Sakura held out her hand to the hybrid as she prepared to exit the alleyway.

She had made it a few feet away from the hybrid before Sakura realized she wasn't following her behind.

"What're you waiting for?" Sakura tried to hold out her hand to the hybrid.

"Wet" Instead of taking ahold of Sakura's hand, the hybrid pointed at Sakura's clothes as they were being drenched in water as the rain was now falling much harder than before.

"So you can talk."

—-

Getting the hybrid into her apartment without catching the eyes of passersby was proving to be a harder challenge than she thought. She didn't think it would be a particularly easy task, but the real gravity of the situation started to set in as Sakura stepped toward the front of the building. In the glass door leading into the lobby, she was able to see the young girl's reflection. The hybrid was towering over her. Any movement she made felt like she was walking on eggshells. The hybrid could so easily knock her over, even hold her down if she so pleased.

So, she took it slow. She was only walking a few steps before waiting for the hybrid behind her to follow. Which she did, albeit much slower than Sakura would have liked. It seemed like the hybrid wasn't too keen on walking on two legs, with how much they were wobbling. Perhaps she had been in the area enough to know how to blend in enough, Sakura wondered. And just as she thought that, she could hear the hybrid sniffing the air, letting out a satisfied grunt before sniffing again.

Another challenge faced the pair when it came to getting onto the elevator; Sakura pushed the button to go up, hearing a ding as the doors opened. She stepped in, expecting the hybrid to be following her, but as she turned towards her, she hadn't moved. The light grey ears on top of her head were drooping as she sniffed the surroundings of the elevator.

"You've never ridden in one before?" Sakura took a step forward, using her hand to block the doors shut. The hybrid just grunted in response. I think that's a yes, Sakura thought to herself.

"I-it's okay. It's only a short ride. You won't even notice we're moving," Sakura tried to reassure the hybrid. Not even really sure she could understand her.

"Come on, it'll be okay" Sakura held her hand out to the hybrid. Only for it to get knocked down as the hybrid brushed passed her with another grunt.

Sakura should be happy that she only lived on the 3rd floor, she doesn't even want to think about if she lived on a higher one. As soon as the hybrid got into the elevator, she stayed glued to one of the sides. Sakura pushed the button to her floor, the ding of a bell indicating the doors were closing, and the elevator began to move.

She watched the hybrid eyes widen, and her body dropped to the floor as the mechanical creaking of the elevator sounded out. The young girl cowards in the corner, whimpering with her eyes closed.

"I-it's okay. Nothing bad's gonna happen. The elevator is just lifting us up." Sakura crouched beside the hybrid. She knew it probably wouldn't do her any good if she tried to touch her when her back was turned. The most she could do was talk to her.

"It must have been cold out there by yourself. Did you know it was gonna rain?"

Silence.

"Yeah, me either. I got stuck in some stupid work thing. Some annoying alpha kept trying to talk to me when I was trying to finish up some report." Sakura glanced her eyes over to the hybrid, and her eyes were no longer squeezed tightly. They were looking at her.

"Usually, by now, I'd have already cooked and eaten dinner. I would be lying on the couch, probably texting Chaewon. She's one of my friends. I've known her ever since I got to Seoul." The hybrid stared at her, furrowing her eyebrows. Could she actually understand her? Sakura wondered. It wouldn't really change much if she did, though. The hybrid seemingly wasn't too keen on talking. Sakura was thankful her rambling had gotten the hybrid to calm down more seemingly.

And with the ding of the elevator indicating they'd made it to Sakura's floor, the hybrid was all but eager to get out. She immediately scampered off the floor and out into the hallway. Heavy steps as she walked down the hallway, sniffing the new air.

"This way, I live a couple doors down." Sakura nodded towards the end of the hallways. She really needs to thank whatever god is up there for making it so none of her neighbors had been in the hallways to see the pair. It was almost comedic in a way, a big hybrid in a way too small padded jacket following behind a petite girl in a skirt and blazer, both drenched with rainwater.

They had finally made it to Sakura's apartment, typing her code into the number pad and pushing the door open.

Sakura stood waiting for the hybrid to step into her home. The hybrid sniffed the air to the apartment before Sakura guessed it was adequate enough and came in. The young girl immediately started snooping around, making her way into the kitchen, sniffing the countertops, and dipping her head in the half-open cabinets. Before she had trekked into the small living room, she had gotten back on all fours, sniffing the cushion to the couch, and ducking under the coffee. At least she's not destroying things, Sakura thought.

Sakura cleared her throat, catching the hybrid's attention. The sniffing had stopped, and the hybrid had gotten back into her view.

"Yeah, it's not much, but it's enough for me." She really had all she needed in the apartment. It was a simple one-bedroom, one-bathroom flat, with a small living room and kitchen to go along with.

"You should get cleaned up, my bathrooms over there." Sakura pointed to the half-open door down the hall.

The older girl waited a couple of seconds for the hybrid to react, only to see her perched on her knees with her head tilted, staring at her. Sakura sighed. She really needed to get a gauge of how much the hybrid could understand her. But, for now, she had two options really, either she let the hybrid stay naked and covered in mud, or she sucked it up and bathed her herself. And seeing how the entranceway and path into the kitchen had prints of mud littering the hardwood the option seemed pretty clear.

Sakura walked closer to the younger girl, her eyes getting bigger as she walked closer.

"I-I'm not gonna hurt you. We just need to get you clean." Sakura held out her hand to the hybrid, who in return brought her nose up to the older girl and sniffed it. Till she heard a grunt, which seemed to be on the more chipper side, Sakura took it as a sign it was okay to get closer.

"I'm gonna take this off, okay? Then we're gonna go to the bathroom." Sakura pointed to her padded jacket the hybrid still had on. She was earning no response, just a blank stare from the younger.

Please don't bite me, please don't bite me was all that was running through Sakura's head as she crouched down to be on the same level as the hybrid. Bringing her hand up to undo the velcro, she held her breath. The crackles of the first piece starting to unravel filled the tension in the air.

She looked at the hybrid, trying to see a response in her, only to see she was looking down, fixated on Sakura's hand. Taking it as a sign to continue, she undid the remaining pieces of velcro much quicker. The older girl reached her hands up the hybrid's shoulders, taking the jacket off, effectively leaving the hybrid exposed to her.

Sakura already knew from the alleyway that the hybrid had to have been in some kind of accident or fight from seeing the scratch mark on her face. However, she wasn't expecting to see cuts littering her collarbones and even more scratches on her arms. She already knew once she bathed the hybrid, without a doubt, she would see more wounds on the poor girl.

"Good, follow me to the bathroom." Sakura motioned for the hybrid to follow.

They made their way to the said bathroom in silence. With Sakura pushing open the door and waiting for the hybrid to come. The young girl was taking her time walking down the hallway, looking at all of the things Sakura had on her wall. Various picture frames she had with friends, even the shelves she had up filled with various things from random books to her crocheting yarn. The hybrid's eyes darted from each item.

"You can look at them later. You need to get cleaned up first." Sakura stood by the doorframe, tapping her nails on the wood. She gained the hybrid's attention, who glanced back at Sakura before making her way over to her.

"This is a bathtub. It's where you get clean. I'm gonna have to rinse you off first before I can wash you, okay?" Sakura pointed to her bathtub.

Much to Sakura's surprise, the hybrid was quick to step into the tub. Which she supposes she should be thankful for.

"The water might come out a little cold at first, but it'll warm up," Sakura said as she reached for the showerhead.

She turned toward the knobs of the bathtub turning the water on, making the hybrid whimper at the sudden noise and contact of the water before she calmed back down. The flow of water spraying down her legs, Sakura watched her bend down sniffing the water. Before she completely bent down and started biting at the water. The sight made Sakura stifle laughter. It was kinda cute, the hybrid nipping at the water for a few seconds, then turning away to breathe. Just to go back to bite the stream of water. In the process getting her ears caught in the water, soaking them.

Sakura stared at the amusing sight for a few more seconds before she recalled why she was doing this in the first place. She alternated between fiddling with the knobs and reaching her hand into the stream of water until the water had reached a warm, comfortable temperature.

She maneuvered the showerhead over the hybrid's body. Spraying her torso and back which were the parts of her covered the most in mud and god knows what else. Sakura watched as the once clean water below the hybrids turned into a dark brown color as the filth was being washed off her.

"How long were you out there?" Sakura asked. She was waiting a couple of seconds only to get none. It had to be longer than just this day, she was sure of. There was no way the hybrid would've been able to get this dirty in a single day.

The hybrid remained silent as Sakura continued rinsing her off, staring down at the ground.

"I'm gonna have to touch you for the next part. Is that okay?" Sakura waited for a response. She looked at the hybrid, who, after a few seconds, gave her a short nod. To her surprise.

Sakura reached for the bottle of soap she had near and began to pour an ample amount into her hand.

"If I touch something that sensitive, just growls at me or something."

The older girl, reached into the tub and began with the hybrids arms. She was using her hands to spread the soap down her limbs. She looked back at the hybrid, to see how she was doing, seeing the hybrid looking at her hands, watching her movements. It almost made Sakura shiver, the way she was staring at her.

She had to ignore it, though, and continued on with the hybrid's upper body. As she got closer to the younger girl, she was also able to see the cuts on her more clearly. Some of them were more healed than others. With some of them already turned into faded white scares, some still pink, and others merely scabbed over. It made Sakura wince as the thought about the possible reason for these marks. If it were just a fight with another hybrid or animal, the marks would be more scattered. But, the marks on the hybrid were calculated, like they were done on purpose.

Sakura took a breath.

"You doing okay?" She doesn't know if she was asking it to herself or the hybrid. But nevertheless she got a grunt in response from the hybrid.

So, She continued on down to the hybrid lower body. When she noticed something that almost made her lose her footing, her eyes had to be bulging out of her head as she stared in shock. She quickly tried to regain her composure, not wanting to panic the hybrid.

A small mark.If she weren't so close to the hybrid she wasn't sure she would've caught it, Maybe even written it off as another scar. However, this mark wasn't like the ones that were on her arms or her upper torso. She got closer, lightly running her fingers over the marks, feeling the indentation.

NKZH

Those letters were scarred on her skin. Sakura grimaced as she stared at the markings. These markings had to be done on purpose. There was no doubt about it.

Sakura debated in her head on her next action. She had to think that the hybrid knew that she saw it. So, in theory, she could try to ask the hybrid about it, but truthfully, she was afraid of the reaction it could evoke.

So, she didn't. She didn't bring it up. Instead focusing back on the task at hand, and that cleaning the hybrid. She continued washing the hybrid's lower body before she moved on to washing her hair, using her fingers to make an attempt at detangling the disheveled hair, paying extra attention to the fur on her ears. They were soft, so soft. She used her fingernails to really get into her scalp and scratched behind her ears, cleaning them thoroughly, hearing a sigh of relief fall from the hybrid's mouth. Finishing up, she did a last final rinse on the hybrid.

"That wasn't so bad, was it," Sakura said more for herself than the hybrid.

"You smell much better now." Sakura had a soft smile. The hybrid sniffed herself, making a snorting noise afterward. Is that her way of laughing? Sakura tilted her head.

Sakura stood up and grabbed the towel she had hung up, and just as she was about to turn back around, the hybrid shook. The water from the fur on her ears and her tail splattered on the floor on the wall.

"It's a good thing I'm already wet, or else I would totally kick you out right now." Sakura playfully rolled her eyes.

"Use the towel and dry off. I'll get you some clothes." Turning around, She tossed the towel at the hybrid, who surprisingly caught it.

Sakura walked out of the bathroom across the hall to her bedroom and stared at the clothes in her dresser. She really didn't have any clothes that would fit the hybrid. Never mind the fact that she didn't have any underwear for the hybrid to wear. But, something tells her the hybrid wouldn't even care nor notice. She continued to scour her drawers till she settled on the biggest t-shirt she had and the baggiest sweatpants.

When she came back to the bathroom the hybrid had done just as Sakura said. The towel over her shoulders as she stood in the tub.

"You can come out of there now," Sakura said, and the hybrid stepped out of the tub. She wondered why the younger girl hadn't moved without her permission.

"These are the only clothes that I have that I thought would fit you." Sakura handed them to the hybrid. Who began to put the clothes on slowly.

Luckily, the t-shirt did fit the hybrid. Normally it would come down to Sakura's lower thigh, but on the hybrid, it was fitting more like a normal shirt. However, the sweatpants were a different story. The cuffs to the pants only reached her mid-calf, and they got tighter as they went up. They were leaving really no room for imagination of what was under there. Not that Sakura was looking, obviously.

Sakura brought the hybrid back out into the living room, and she had taken out a couple of extra pillows and blankets for the girl.

"You can sleep here for tonight" Sakura pointed towards the couch. She reached for the TV remote on the nearby coffee table and switched it on. The hybrid was immediately going towards the couch, plopping down on the cushions. She stared at the TV enamored.

"I'm gonna go shower. Stay here. You can watch whatever you want," Sakura said as she walked awake, facepalming herself. Could the hybrid even understand her? Did she even know how to work the TV? Whatever, Sakuras is sure she'll be able to figure it out.

-

Sakura stared at the hybrid from the kitchen. When she had come out of the shower, the hybrid had fallen asleep. Of course, with the TV still on, the hybrid did change the channel to some random romance drama. She wouldn't have taken the hybrid to be the romance type, or maybe the hybrid just found the music playing soothing. Who knows.

With the hybrid being asleep it forced Sakura to reflect on the past few hours. Just what did she get herself into? The scars and scratches she had seen on the young girl's body scared her. How did she get them? Matter of fact where did she even come from? Sakura knew she wasn't gonna get the answer she wanted.

With a sigh, too many questions, no answers. She flopped onto her bed, her phone in hand, the clock reading just a few minutes past midnight.

Yeah, Chaewon was probably still up.

She hovered her finger over the Facetime button, and her phone rang once, twice before Chaewon picked up.

"Damn, isn't your old ass usually asleep by now? What're you doing up?" Chaewon was currently in bed, too, from what Sakura was able to tell.

"Am not! I just appreciate my beauty sleep." Dramatically put a hand to her chest.

"Last Friday, when Yunjin and I asked you to go out with us, you were already asleep." Chaewon deadpanned.

"Fine, you got me there, but I wouldn't want to third-wheel you two anyways." Sakura rolled her eyes.

"Okay, fuck you. Now, why'd you call?" Chaewon asked.

Oh yeah, there was a reason why Sakura called her best friend in the first place before getting psychologically beat up.

"Promise not to freak out"

"The most exciting thing you've done in the past three months is crochet a new sweater. Just tell me." Chaewon rolled her eyes.

Sakura knows there is no easy way to say what she wants to get out without basically dropping it on Chaewon. Hybrids were foreign territory for really everyone she knew. They never even crossed most people's minds. Since they never lived near the city, it was easy for everyone to forget they even existed.

"I brought a hybrid home."

Sakura saw Chaewon's eyes stare in disbelief. Moments of silence passed by before she even heard Chaewon breathe again.

"You're joking," Chaewon snorted.

"I'm not. I just found her in the alleyway by my apartment, and she looked scared. I didn't want to leave her alone. It was raining." She tried to explain.

"I don't believe you. Hybrids are rare. Why the fuck would one just be outside your apartment?" Chaewon prodded.

"I don't know. That's why I took her in; better me than someone else who'd take advantage of her." Sakura reasoned.

Chaewon remained silent for a few seconds.

"Show me her."

"What? She's sleeping. I don't want to wake her up."

"then I won't believe you."

"Oh my god, fine. But you better stay muted. If she mauls my arm off, it's on you."

Sakura rolled off her bed, turning the brightness down on her phone. As she tiptoed out of her bedroom, god, how the fuck did she get here, walking on eggshells in her own home.

She stepped closer and closer to the couch where the hybrid was sleeping. She could hear the little snores the girl was letting out. The lamp on the nearby coffee table provided just enough light, and Sakura was able to see her face. She looked so peaceful, not at all as it looked when she came across her a mere few hours before. Her light grey ears twitched, and her eyebrows furrowed every few breaths. It was like she was dreaming. Maybe she was, for all Sakura knew.

Sakura angled her phone up at the hybrid face, holding her breath as if she would hear her if she were too loud. She tried to make sure she got her ears and her tail that lay heavy on the side of the couch in the frame—staying there for a few moments, looking at the younger girl before she looked back at her phone and saw Chaewon's eyes wide open, her mouth agape.

Yep, that was her cue to get back to her room. So, just as quickly as before, Sakura made her way back to her bed. Then unmuted Chaewon.

"Holy shit, you weren't lying," Chaewon said in disbelief.

"Of course not. Why would I?" Sakura scoffed.

"I don't know, what're you gonna do with her?" Chaewon asked.

"I plan on calling the RoH on Monday when they're open, but for the next couple of days, I don't know." Sakura took a breath.

"mmm, that's a good idea. Have you talked to anyone else about her yet?"

"No, I wasn't sure who to call. I don't even really know what I'd be asking anyway," Sakura sighed.

"It's not like any of you have experiences with hybrids."

She and Chaewon just stayed in comfortable silence for a couple of seconds. Then she saw almost like a lightbulb go off in Chaewon's mind.

"What're you thinking?" Sakura prodded.

"Maybe you should try talking to Wonyoung. She might know more about hybrids."

"What makes you think that?" Wonyoung was an acquaintance, albeit six years younger than her. She had gotten to know the younger girl when she became friends with Chaewon, who was friends with her older sister, Eunbi.

"Do you remember her, mate?" Chaewon asked.

Sakura tried to think back. She'd only met Wonyoung a handful of times. However, she remembered last year when she had introduced her mate Yujin. She didn't actually get to meet her, but she remembers Wonyoung talking about her. An alpha just a year older than her.

"Yujin, right. I remember Wonyoung talking about her a bit".

"Think about it. The way Wonyoung talked about her. It was a bit strange. Doesn't it remind you a little how the hybrid on your couch is"

She recalls Wonyoung explaining how she met Yujin. She didn't go into much detail. But She remembers the young girl talking about how Yujin was from the countryside. And they had met when the alpha had transferred to her colleges. She remembers Wonyoung saying the alpha was still getting used to meeting new people and interacting with them, which she thought was a bit odd but didn't question it at the time.

"A little bit, yeah, but Wonyoung didn't say Yujin was a hybrid." Sakura furrowed her eyebrows.

"Can you blame her, though? Maybe she didn't know how we'd react if she flat out said it"

"You might be right. I'll try to call her tomorrow," Sakura yawned.

"Let me know how it goes. Get some sleep, unnie." Chaewon yawned back. Her eyes had started fluttering shut.

"You too, and tell Yunjin I said hi," Sakura ended the Facetime. Tossing her phone to the side, hitting her head on her pillow with a thud. A million thoughts ran through her mind about the hybrid that night as she tossed and turned in her sleep.

—---

To say Sakura didn't get a lot of sleep last night would be an understatement. She was tired, yes, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't fall asleep for more than 30 minutes at a time. She ended up spending her time googling things about hybrids.

Are hybrids friendly?

Do hybrids like people?

The questions she asked were stupid; Sakura knows it. It's just that schools never taught anything about hybrids other than reiterating the fact if you meet one in the wild, remain calm, stay as far away as possible and call the Register of Hybirds. And, well, she clearly didn't follow the second rule. The hybrid looked so lost and scared last night. Sakura just knew she would've regretted her actions even more if she had done nothing to help her.

But that didn't mean the hybrids presence also didn't scare the shit out of her. The scars and cuts that littered the young girl's skin, god, the letters that were scarred into her skin. Sakura swears she thought up every type of scenario in her sleep-deprived delusional state last night of what possibly could've done that to the hybrid.

It was bright and early the next morning. Sakura had only noticed it was the start of a new day by the sunshine that peaked through the curtains in her room. She wonders if the hybrid is still asleep or if the hybrid is awake, also reflecting on the previous night's events.

A part of Sakura is even scared to come out of her room to check on the hybrid. The younger girl has no reason to keep tolerating her. Maybe the hybrid only tolerated last night because she had offered her a place to stay. The idea that once she exited the room, the hybrid would immediately start growling at her wasn't an unlikely one.

Sakura picked up her phone, looking at the time. 7 am, she sighs. There was no point in staying in her room anymore. She would have to face the hybrid at some point, and it might as well be when there's a possibility she's still asleep, she thought.

She musters up the courage to get out of her bed. Slowly making her way to the door, with a deep breath, she turned the doorknob. She made her way out of her bedroom, moving as quietly as possible. She made it out her door and tip-toed her way to the living room, where she could still hear the sound of the TV making noise.

Had she left it on last night? She swears she turned it off.

As she rounded the corner into the living room, her question answered itself. There was the hybrid sitting with her knees to her chest, staring at the TV. And upon closer inspection the younger girl was watching an episode of Adventure Time. The fear she had of facing the hybrid washed away as she chuckled at the sight.

Sakura took a couple of strides closer, making her presence known to the hybrid.

"Did you sleep well? You were already asleep when I came out of the shower last night. I didn't want to wake you?" Sakura padded over to the opposite side of the couch the hybrid was on and sat down.

The hybrid nodded.

"That's good" Sakura faced the TV, not even really watching, just staring at the screen as she built the courage to ask her next question.

"So, were you thinking about staying here longer?" Sakura held her breath.

To which she got no response. Facing back toward the hybrid, she saw her eyes fixated on the TV.

"It's okay, no pressure. If you do, we're just going to have to talk about some things first" Sakura watched the hybrids face for any sort of expression. But there was none. Sakura sighed. Well, she might as well be honest with the hybrid, she thought.

"If you're still here tomorrow, I'm gonna call the RoH." Sakura saw the hybrid's jaw clench. Yeah, Sakura better explain herself.

"It's not that I don't want you here. It's just going to be hard to have you here when I don't know anything about hybrids, and RoH would be able to help me understand you better." She looked at the hybrid, waiting for any sign of a response.

And after a few moments, she got one, a hesitant nod.

Sakura exhaled the breath she didn't even know she had been holding in this entire time. She faced her attention back to the TV. Resting her eyes as she sank onto the couch. Well, that's one hard conversation down. Good job, Sakura, she mentally patted herself on the back.

The pair continued to sit in silence. It wasn't awkward, per se. Matter of fact, Sakura didn't really mind the hybrid being there. She wasn't used to waking up in the morning and someone else being there with her. Matter of fact, she kinda liked it. Even if the hybrid was hesitant to interact with her, the younger girl's presence was comforting in a way.

The low sounds or stomach rumbling drew Sakura out of her thoughts.

"Oh you must be hungry, when's the last time you ate?" Sakura looked towards the source of the rumbling, who was the hybrid in question.

No response.

"I was getting hungry too. I'll make something for us."

Sakura got up and made her way into the kitchen. She settled on making something easy and filling for them. She was still in no headspace to do anything overly complicated this morning.

It was a simple breakfast: Rice, eggs, spam, kimchi, and seaweed on the side. Nothing more, nothing less. The hybrid had found her way into the kitchen while Sakura was frying up the spam. Sakura deduces it must've been from the smell. The hybrid got closer to the older girl till she was towering over the girl as she cooked, looking over her shoulder. She was sniffing the air around her. It made Sakura's spine stiffen at the feeling of the hybrid being in such close proximity to her.

"C-can you get some plates? They're in the cabinet over there," Sakura pointed at the cabinet. And to her genuine surprise, the hybrid had gone over to the cupboard and pulled out a couple of plates for them. It made Sakura wonder, did the hybrid understand everything she was saying? Did the hybrid pick and choose what she wanted to answer?

Sakura plated each of their meals on the plates and took them over to her kitchen table. It was a small one, built for really only one person. However, she was lucky she was small and also decided to buy a second chair.

She sat across the hybrid, observing her starting to eat her food. She began sniffing at it before grabbing it with her hands and practically inhaling food in her mouth. Sakura looked at the untouched chopsticks a few inches away from the hybrid hands.

Doesn't know how to use utensils, noted.

After the pair had finished eating their breakfast, Sakura brought their dishes to the sink and began to clean up. The hybrid had dropped a fair bit of food out of her mouth onto the table, waiting for Sakura to clean up. She continued to wipe down the table as the hybrid went back into the living room. When she was finished, Sakura sat back down near the hybrid on the couch.

Sakura looked down at her phone to read the time. 10 am. Wonyoung must be awake by now, she thought.

Sakura cleared her throat, catching the attention of the hybrid beside her.

"I'll be back. I need to call a friend." She watched for a response from the younger girl. To which she received a hesitant nod. It was a bare minimum reply, but it was the best she was gonna get from the hybrid. For a majority of the things she asked her, Sakura deduced,

Once Sakura had excused herself to her room, she shut the door behind her and took a seat on the bed before scrolling through her contacts to find the person she needed. And there she was.

Jang Wonyoung.

To be honest, Sakura doesn't even know if Wonyoung answers her call. Sure, they've met a couple of times, but never in a one-on-one setting. Anytime they've hung out together, it had been in the presence of other people. But she was desperate. If there was any chance that somebody she knew had an experience with a hybrid, she wanted to talk to them as soon as possible. Which again, Sakura is unsure if Wonyoungs mate was even a hybrid. And even so, who's to say Wonyoung would want to talk about it? Hybrids were looked down upon in society.

Sakura sat for a few moments, debating whether to call the younger girl. As her finger hovered over the Facetime button, she held her breath as she pushed it. The phone dialed. She heard the tone ring once, twice, three times, and on the fourth chime, Sakura was starting to give up hope on the younger girl picking up.

But, on the sixth chime, she heard the phone connect.

"Sakura, Unnie?" she heard Wonyoungs voice.

"Yeah, yeah, it's me."

"Oh! I wasn't expecting a call this early. How are you?" The younger girl asked.

"I'm doing good, but I actually called because I had something to ask." Sakura could feel herself starting to get hotter.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure I can answer it." She heard the cheerful voice of the younger girl. Sakura's palms were getting sweatier by the second as she was building the courage to ask Wonyoung her burning questions. She didn't want to straight up ask the younger girl right off the bat if her mate was a hybrid. She needed to ease into it.

"What do you know about hybrids?" Sakura softly asked.

"O-oh, um, why do you ask?" Sakura can hear the tension in Wonyoungs voice.

Sakura needed to be honest with you, younger girl. Wonyoung was smart, and she wouldn't just give her the answers she needed without some sort of explanation of why.

"W-well, I have a hybrid staying with me right now," Sakura got out. She saw Wonyoungs eyes widen in shock, and she swears she saw her eyes dart to the side of her.

"O-oh, thats crazy. H-how?, wh-where? I mean, they're so rare?" Wonyoung stuttered.

So Sakura went and gave the younger girl a brief rundown on how she met the hybrid and took her in. Wonyoungs reaction to Sakura's story had been almost the complete opposite of Chaewons to say the least. They were both shocked at the fact that a hybrid had ended up in their city. However, when Sakura got to explaining the hybrid's behaviors and mannerisms, she was calm and simply listened to her.

"To answer your question, yeah, I actually do know a couplet things about hybrids. You called the RoH already, right?" Wonyoung asked.

"Not yet. I plan to call them tomorrow. Right now the hybrid seems comfortable enough with me. I don't want to scare her off or something," Sakura sighed.

"When you talk to the doctor, make sure to ask them to do a blood test. And make sure they do full body exam on them, that could also tell you some general information on her," Wonyoung dropped on the older girl.

"W-woah, that's actually some solid-ass advice," Sakura said in awe. She swears Wonyoung has been more helpful in learning about the hybrid on her couch than the late-night googling did.

"What can I say? I do like hybrids," Wonyoung smiled, and there it was again. Sakura swears she saw Wonyoung look to the side of her.

"Are you with you, Yujin?" Sakura played up the teasingness in her tone.

"H-how'd you know?" Wonyoung seemed to say in genuine shock.

"Who else would your eyes be wandering at during this entire conversation?" Sakura laughs.

"Yeah, Yujins here. She's right next to me." Wonyoung gave up and even denied it.

"Wony, I'm just gonna come out and ask it," Sakura prepared herself to ask the question. To which she saw Wonyoungs eyes widen again.

"I think I have a feeling where this is going, but go on."

"Is Yujin a hybrid?" Sakura asked.

Wonyoung almost laughs. Before she flipped the camera and there Yujin was curled up next to the younger girl with her head in her lap. And upon closer inspection of the screen, Sakura was able to make out the brown ears atop her head.

"Does that answer your question?"

"Holy shit. Now I get Chaewon shock, when I told her about this," Sakura's eyes were wide in disbelief. Previously, when Wonyoung had shown pictures of her and Yujin out together, the framings of the photos were in such a way you weren't able to see the top of either their heads. Sakura could've guessed it. This entire time they were just hiding Yujins ears.

Wonyoung laughed as she flipped the camera back on herself.

"Yeah, she's kinda insufferable sometimes, but I love her," Wonyoung smiled.

"Can I ask you a question about her?" Sakura questioned. She watched her nod.

" Where did Yujin come from?" Sakura held her breath. She assumed it would be a bit of a heavy question. It was common knowledge that hybrids typically weren't mated with humans. She'd only ever head of it being possible a handful of ties. But, with the newfound discovery of Wonyoung and Yujins' relationship, there was no denying that these types of relationships existed.

"I don't want to go into much detail. It's Yujins story to tell, not mine" Sakura nodded her head in understanding.

"I did meet Yujin in college like you guys all know. But I didn't meet her in class like I said. I met her when I was doing my clinicals at the hospital, and I had come across her," Wonyoung explained.

"And you figured out she was your mate?" Sakura asked.

"Not exactly. I had offered to take her in for a couple of weeks when the hospital said they were gonna discharge her; at the time, I thought Yujin didn't have money for anything. And well, I guess you could say she grew on me," Wonyoung beamed.

Sakura smiled at the explanation from the younger girl. It made her ponder the direction her new relationship with the hybrid on her couch could possibly go. Before she shook her head, she shouldn't be thinking about this. It's too early to think about this, both in their relationship and well in the day. She doesn't even know where the hybrid stood. Hell, Sakura still didn't even know her name.

"I want to ask you something else," Sakura said before she got a nod from Woyoung to task.

"Was Yujin able to speak when you found her?" Sakura was curious whether or not the hybrids' behavior was normal to other hybrids.

"Yeah, I mean, she was shy at first. But she was always able to communicate with me. Can your hybrid not?" Wonyoung asked.

"I'm not sure. When I talk to her, sometimes she answers in one word, or sometimes she just nods, but most of the time, she doesn't answer. I'm not sure if it's because she doesn't like me or she genuinely can't talk."

"I'm sorry, unnie, I'm not sure what that could mean. Maybe she's still warming up to you." Wonyoung smiled optimistically.

"Yeah, maybe," Sakura sighed.

"Can I see her?" Wonyoung asked.

"Y-yeah, give me a second." Sakura got up from her bed and made her way down the hallway quietly. She stayed just out of earshot of the hybrid before she flipped the camera to face the hybrid, making sure her light grey ears were visible in the frame.

"At least she seems well-trained enough. When Yujin first came, she wasn't even potty trained," Wonyoung laughs as she recalls the first couple of days with Yujin. Reminding her much of the situation Sakura was currently having.

"Ye-yeah, I guess so."

And just as she says that Sakura can hear the sound of something trickling.

No, No, No, No, is all that rang throughout Sakura's mind as she looked back up at the hybrid. To see that, yep, within a matter of a few seconds, she had her eyes off the hybrid. She somehow managed to take off her sweatpants and start fertilizing the plants, if you will, near a fake plant she had in the corner of her living room.

And it seemed like Wonyoung had heard it, too, with how she had started laughing.

"I'll text you later, Wony. Thanks for the talk. It really helped." Sakura tried to end the Facetime quickly.

"It's no problem, unnie, and I hope everything goes well for you and your hybrid," Wonyoung hung up.

Your hybrid

Now, why was Sakura enjoying the way that sounded? Before, she was interrupted again by the sound of trickling water, which she now knew was, in fact, not water. God Dammit, how much water had the hybrid drank? As Sakura looked up, the hybrid was now doing her business in the middle of the room.

Sakura is thanking whatever god is up there for deciding not to install a carpet and settling for hardwood floors.

- When Sakura had called the RoH and informed them about her current situation with the hybrid they immediately wanted to meet her. From the tone over the phone, Sakura wasn't able to tell if it was purely out of concern for her safety or out of awe that there really was a hybrid in this part of town.

The RoH told her they were going to send a doctor to her apartment as soon as possible. And just a short mere two hours later, there she was. Upon hearing the knock at the door indicating that the doctor was here, the hybrid quickly got up from her place on the couch, got in a defensive position, and started growling at the noise.

Sakura had to tell her it was okay and that RoH was just here to help. She told the hybrid to stay in the apartment while she went and talked to the doctor alone, and she got a grunt of annoyance from the young girl.

When Sakura opened the door, to her surprise, the doctor was a young woman. She was definitely in her 30s, and she was fitted in a white coat carrying along a briefcase.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs?" Sakura held out her hand.

"Bae, it's good to meet you too, Miss Miyawaki," she said as she shook her hand.

"I take it you wanted to talk alone before I meet the hybrid?"

"Yeah, she might be a little on edge right now. I told her a doctor from the RoH was coming over, and her response wasn't great," Sakura tried to explain.

"Mmm, wasn't great how?" The doctor asked.

"At first, when I told her, she seemingly was okay with it, but when she heard you coming to the door, she started growing."

"That's understandable. It's quite common for hybrids to struggle when meeting new people." Mrs. Bae nodded.

"I've already been made aware of the circumstances you came across her. Since then, has there been anything that could give you an idea of where she could have come from?" Mrs Bae asked.

Sakura debated in her head for a couple of moments, debating on whether or not to tell her about the scratches and marks she had found on the hybrid's skin. A part of her was afraid that if she told her, the hybrid would be taken away. And for some reason, she didn't want that. However, she wanted to be honest with the doctor. After all, they would know what's best for the hybrid. And that's what Sakura wants for the hybrid. Right? But was it worth the possibility of her getting taken away? She pondered.

"Um, when I brought her home and gave her a bath, I actually saw a lot of scratches and scars on her body."

"Unfortunately, that is also quite common for hybrids that have been found on the street, whether it be from the physical damage caused by wherever they came from or from wild animals they encountered before being found. It really is a case-by-case sort of thing," The doctor explained.

Was it really that common for hybrids to be treated this badly? Sakura wonders. Sure, hybrids aren't usually in the general population. Since they typically came from the countryside, saying that Sakura assumed that they lived secluded lives.

"Th-there i-is something else, too." Sakura started to feel nervous again. The doctor waited for Sakura to speak again.

"I-I saw some sort of scarring in the shapes of letters, too," Sakura was able to get out. For a split second, she was able to see Mrs. Bae's eyes widen before they went back to normal. She stood there for a moment as she waited for the older woman to collect her thoughts.

"There is quite a high possibility that those marks were a branding." The doctor stated.

Sakura's eyes widened in shock. But, now that she thinks of it, it started to make more sense.

"When hybrids are branded, it typically means they were kept by humans for a reason. I've seen cases when the branding has been used for things such as breeding," Mrs. Bae explained.

Sakura took in the words falling from the doctor's mouth. It was starting to make sense in her head as she started to form the story in her head. The hybrid must have found her way into the alleyway after she had escaped from where she was before.

"W-what does the branding mean?" Sakura asked.

"The reason for them can vary. It can be anything from their name to just random identifiers for their captors."

Sakura just nodded as questions started to flood her head. And as much as she liked to ask them, she needed to focus on the task at hand. Sakura opened the door back to the apartment and was met with the hybrid growling at Mrs. Bae, who remained poised, standing up straight. The doctor observed the hybrid. Maintaining eye contact with the hybrid till she had stopped growling and just remained silent. The doctors started to take notes in her notebook as she did a physical on the hybrid.

To be honest, for Sakura the next hours for her were a blur. Most of what the doctor did for the hybrid was done with Sakura off to the side. Still though, she managed to remember Wonyoungs words and told the doctor specifically to make an appointment for a blood test. She also recalls the doctor telling her she was going to call to set up further health-related appointments as they walked towards her door and bid her a goodbye.

After the visit from the doctor, Sakura had opted just to order pizza for dinner for the pair. They were currently sitting on the couch watching TV. It seemed clear to Sakura that wherever the hybrid was before, she didn't have a TV. Whenever it was turned on, the hybrid seemed so entranced with whatever was playing.

But, for Sakura, she kept thinking about what the doctor had told her. Was it really that far off to think that the hybrid could have been in one of those places where people kept hybrids as captors? It would explain the clearly calculated scratches and marks she had discovered that littered the hybrid's body the day she found her. This would also explain the indentations of letters in her skin. It didn't even feel right just to say they were indentations.

The hybrid was branded by somebody for a reason.

Sakura just couldn't figure out what. And she wasn't sure if she was ready to know. How could somebody do that to her? Sakura knows people hate hybrids, but to abuse them like that. Sakura didn't even want to think about it.

So, she didn't. Well, at least she tried not to.

What didn't leave her mind, though, were the letters.

NKZH

Were they a company? Maybe the girl's initials? Sakura wonders. And she was really hoping it would be the latter.

If the first two letters are her sir name, then that must mean the last two are her first name, Sakura deduces. She doesn't even know if she's right. However, she supposed she wouldn't ever know unless she tried. So she did.

"Zaho" Sakura blurted out. Catching the attention of the hybrid, but not enough to warrant anything more than a stare.

"Zeha," She tried again.

Nothing.

"Zuhe"

Nothing.

"Zuha"

Upon those syllables falling from her mouth, Sakura hears something. It's a quiet thumping, a sound you would have to focus to hear. Something she would have missed if she wasn't actively wanting her hear a response. She looked around for the source of the noise until she looked down at the gap between her and the hybrid.

"Zuha," Sakura repeated.

There, the noise was again. And as her gaze was on the gap between them, she saw her tail wag. It was thumping on the cushion of the couch. Sakura looked at the hybrid, her eyes still on the TV, but her ears twitching along with her tail.

"Your name is Zuha?" Sakura asked.

The hybrid nodded.

-

It doesn't even hit Sakura. Her heat had started till it was too late.

Now usually, Sakura was very punctual with her heat schedule. She even had an app that would tell her how far along she was in her heat cycle. It was so unlike her to forget her suppressants. She hadn't forgotten to take them in the last five years, why now she asks herself.

Okay, she may know why she forgot. And it had something to do with the hybrid still residing on her couch. It had been about a week since the hybrid had first come into her home. Sakura had just been so caught up in taking care of Zuha that she had forgotten about herself. Now that she thinks of it, maybe she did simply ignore those notifications she got from her heat app, warning her to take her suppressants.

The hybrid had just been taking up so much of her time lately, from the RoH appointments to teaching her basic chores. Her world was completely taken over by the young girl. Not that she minded, really. It was nice to come home to someone waiting for her. Even if Zuha's communication skills still weren't the best, she was making an effort, and that's what mattered. However, because of all the time she had been taking up, Sakura had ignored the warning signs of her heat coming—the lethargy, the hot skin, and most prominent of all, the warm ache between her legs.

Finally, having time for herself after a long day at work and caring for the hybrid. Sakura was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, when her mind started wandering. It's not like she was trying to. She really was trying to think about anything else. But, the heat between her legs just was getting harder and harder to ignore. She can't help it, as much as Sakura would hate to say it. She's still an omega, and what she needed right now was an alpha.

And yet she didn't have one. She was alone in her bedroom. It would be so easy to wake up the sleepy hybrid on the couch Sakura thought. Get on top of Zuhas lap, and start grin-

Nope, nope, nope, you still barely even know the girl, Sakura sighed.

It's true that the pair had grown increasingly closer even within just this past week. Zuha would no longer growl at her whenever she got too close. And she had started to try and communicate the best she could with her, even if it was by simple nods or gestures. However, saying that, it was still hard to ever gauge any deep emotion from the younger girl. She had tried to ask Zuha more about her past and how she found herself in the alleyway. But, the hybrid seemed detached whenever she'd bring it up, always just shrugging her shoulders or looking away.

Get ahold of yourself. Sakura ran her hands through her hair as she tried to think about literally anything else that wasn't Zuha related. And unfortunately, it was harder than she thought. It had been so long since she'd last gotten off and even longer since she'd gotten laid. She's not some sort of prude, and it's just that with the convenience of suppressants, she never got the urge.

Sakura tried to remember the feeling of being touched by an alpha. The last one she had been with was good enough. She had gotten her off, and that's much more than she can say for any male alpha she had slept with, if you'd even call it that.

She remembers the touch of the alpha's fingers down her chest. As she imagined it in her head, Sakura reached her hand beneath her shirt, cupping her breast. They were much more sensitive than usual. She let out a sigh of relief as she used one of her fingertips to run her finger over the peak of her nipple.

Fuck she needed more so much more. Sakura could feel the stickiness between her legs growing. She tried to remember the way the alpha pushed her fingers in. Sakura slides her free hand beneath her shorts. She shivers at her cold hands nearing her most sensitive area. She let out a breathy moan as she rubbed herself over her panties. Before quickly biting her lip in an attempt to stifle it, she remembered the hybrid still residing in her house. Thinking about if she could hear her. What would Zuha do? Sakura's mind wandered.

Would Zuha come barging into her room? Rip off her shorts and panties and fuck her right there. Her strong arms could so easily hold her down. Sakura's hand traveled beneath her panties, swiping her fingers over her sensitive core. She's so wet. She reached her hand, previously cupping her breast down to tug down her shorts and panties. The room's cold air made her groan as she felt it hit her core.

She teased her entrance, slowly sinking one of her fingers inside. It wasn't enough, not even close. She craved something deeper. She thinks about Zuha's hands and how much bigger they are than hers. She can recall the touch of them when Zuha would be in the kitchen helping her cook, and she wanted a taste of whatever Sakura was cooking and she'd grab her hand to bring the food into her mouth. Her entire hand wrapped around her hands, almost comedically big.

She can't help but think about her long, slender fingers inside her. How deep they'd reach inside, how much they'd stretch her out.

Fuck Sakura moans, that's what she needs. She needs someone to stretch her out, fuck her deep inside. She needs to feel them. She needs to feel Zuha. She's taken glances at the hybrid bulge way more than she'd like to admit despite having bought underwear, shorts, and pants that actually fit her. The hybrid just never bothered to wear more than just shorts around the house, leaving really nothing to the imagination, which was working in Sakura's favor right now.

Not to mention the hybrids body. She felt like a pervert for even thinking about it. The hybrid still wasn't very good at bathing herself, so Sakura was the one to do it for her. And throughout bathing her, Sakura's gaze couldn't happen but wander. The hybrid had a strong, fit body. Sakura would watch as the water flowed down her skin, over her toned abs. She would find herself getting caught up staring at her body.

She slipped another finger inside easily. She was so wet. She pumped her fingers in as deep as she could, just barely grazing the spot she needed it the most. Sakura's eyes tightened as she teetered closer to her orgasm. She could feel herself starting to drip onto the sheets. She slipped another finger in, the filthy sounds of her pussy filling the room. She lowered one of her hands to her clit, making her let out a high-pitched moan. She started rubbing her clit in a slow and light, as she tried so desperately with her other fingers to fill herself.

It felt good, sure, but it wasn't what she craved. She needed to be full. She needed to be fucked. For fucks sake, she needed to be fucked by the hybrid. She wanted to feel how deep Zuhas cock would reach inside, how much she'd stretch her out. How would it feel to be fucked by her? Would the hybrid be rough or gentle with her, she wonders. She needed it. She was getting closer, she could feel her wrist aching in exhaustion, but her other hand made up for it as she rubbed her clit faster.

Sakura dragged her hips against her fingers, desperately trying to get them as deep as they could go. She didn't even care to muffle her moans. It was not like they'd do much anyway with how loud she was being. Her breaths started hitching as she quicked her wrist movements in a last burst of energy. In tandem with her movement on her clit, Sakura came with a loud moan. As she felt her body spasming, her feet planted on the bed, gripping the sheets.

Her breath started to calm down after a couple of moments. She slowly retracted her hand from her nether regions. Sakura couldn't help it. She felt empty in more ways than one.

Perhaps it has to do with her still heat-cluttered mind. But she wished the hybrid was next to her. Not just for the most obvious reason, but she felt so cold, so alone on her bed. Sakura thought about the feeling of the hybrid arms wrapped around her as she started to drift asleep.

[adventuringblind]

Unfair Of You to Leave Me Behind

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: Oscar's world comes crashing down on him in Vegas.

Warnings: Graphic injury descriptions, lashing out in anger, car crash, Lando's 2023 Vegas crash, grief, panic attacks, blood, pregnancy mentions, miscarriage, death

Notes: I'm back to make you cry again. Me and the requester who shall not be named were cackling while coming up with this idea.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

She kisses Oscar when they first wake up. The only way he ever wants to wake up is with her in his arms. Despite the fact that it's the afternoon Vegas sun shining through the window, he could care less.

She's racing today in place of Carlos, and he couldn't be prouder of her. He's devastated that Carlos got injured from that stupid grate, but his girl is driving a Ferrari. He's pretty sure the Spainard will understand.

Oscar laughs softly to himself, recalling the memory or how their 'rivalry' started.

~~~~~

"Carlos! Wait up!"

The Spainard slows his pace and waits for Oscar to catch up. "Hey man, it's not your fault, I didn't give you anywhere to go."

"I'm sorry too, didn't mean to be so... I don't know..."

"Seriously, mate, we all make mistakes on track." Carlos claps him on the back and gives him a reassuring smile. "Was that all? I, unfortunately, have to go he eaten by the media sharks."

Oscar laughs at the comparison. "Actually, I had an idea."

"Oh? Do tell?"

"I thought it might be fun to cause some chaos."

The two males find themselves huddled over Carlos' phone, crafting a petty tweet that will definitely get people's attention.

Thus was the start of their 'rivalry'.

She'd laughed so hard with Lando when they found out. The utter ridiculousness of Oscar being any kind of petty had them in tears.

"Oscar, if you weren't dating my sister for so long, I might believe you."

"Might?! I'm petty when I want to be!" He huffs and crosses his arms.

"Petty? My love, you are the king of unbothered. This thing with Carlos is cute, though!" He pouts in disappointment but quickly forgets about it when her lips meet his. "I wouldn't have you any other way."

~~~~~

Oscar spends his morning (afternoon) complaining about the diet Kim has him on. It's completely unfair. They both sneak a cookie anyway. Giggling as they get away with their crime.

He walks her to the Ferrari garage and drops her off with Charles. He doesn't want to let go; the goodbye kiss is longer than neccecary, and Charles makes a fake gagging sound.

"Shut up, Charlie. Like you don't make out with Max." She waves off Charles indecent noises.

"I'd rather not watch baby Norris get it on. Not when I have to face Lando sooner or later."

Oscar shrugs. "What a way to celebrate his birthday, no?"

"We'd be having a funeral for him if that ever happens." Charles watches them with fondness, leaving each other's embrace for the last time.

Lando teases up until they are forced to separate and head to the grid. A plethora of jokes about Oscar with his sister in Vegas are had. To the point where Oscar manages approximately one indecent joke and Lando shuts up.

"That's my sister, mate."

"And she's my wife, your point?"

~~~~~

Oscar stands nervously at the edge of the water. Daniel and Max keep reassuring him it'll be fine. However, he wouldn't put it past those two to push each other into the water while officiating.

Logan stands beside him. He smiles happily and nods to where she is walking down the beach.

Oscar may be unfazed by most things, but he is only so strong. She looks ethereal walking down the Australian beach in white, flowers decorating her hair.

Lando is the one walking her down the aisle on her request. Both her sisters trail behind her.

It's just their immediate family and a few close friends. It's intimate and small, just the way they wanted it.

Daniel does end up pushing Max into the water. Oscar is to wrapped up in his new bride to notice, let alone care.

His entire world came together that day. Oscar could lose everything but still have her and live the rest of his life a perfectly content man.

~~~~~

The faster her drives, the sooner he can get of this car and go check on Lando. The crash looked awful; like the car just slipped out from underneath him. It's making him more nervous than he would like.

His lover can't be fairing much better, that's her brother. The last thing she needs right now is to be distracted. Which he most definitely is not.

Oscar drives because he can't wait to see her after, to tell her how proud he is. Maybe he'll worship her tonight if she'll let him. If she isn't too exhausted-

The world moves in slow motion. She was ahead of him after his last pit stop. She was running in sixth, he's seventh but they both are lapping cars at this point.

The red Ferrari and the blue of the Williams collide. Oscar is barely able to dodge the debrief flying everywhere.

For a brief second, her car is over his. He wants to reach out to her; grab her and tell her it'll be okay.

Then she's gone.

Oscar hears his engineer talking to him, but he only has one thing on his mind. He stops the car, pulls of the belts off and bolts in her direction. Except it's worse than he imagined. The sight we he turns around is brutal.

The Ferrari is in pieces. The entire front is wrapped around the pieces of wire barrier it took out. The fence is decimated and the car itself is smoking.

Oscar puts himself to work. He can see her, clearly unresponsive. The marshals are talking to him. It's fuzzy, but he knows they are helping.

He tries to pull her out and has to choke back his tears while doing so. Metal rebar from the car sticks into her through her abdomen. Her head lolls to the side like it's been snapped.

Oscar pulls her helmet off instead. He makes eye contact, and shatter. She's trying to talk to him, but it's incomprehensible.

His body is half in the cockpit with her as they cut the car away. He's not being useful now, but they have to understand. This is his entire world bleeding out for everyone to see.

He cups her face tentatively, as gently as he can manage. "Please love, stay with me - please - you did so well, come on love - open your pretty eyes for me." He chokes on broken sobs. He rips his gloves off, longing for the feel of skin of skin. Forehead pressed against hers, he will her to stay awake.

The marshals try to pull her away, but he knows as soon as they do, she's going to start bleeding worse. He screams at them defensively, not sure why, he just needs everyone to leave them alone.

Logan is the one to pull him off with the help of a few others. Oscar whips around out of Logan's grip. "This is your fault!" He regrets the words when they leave his mouth. Logan looks sick, pale and clammy.

~~~~~

Logan sits next to Oscar after filming another video for Prema. He's never been the biggest fan of media, but Logan makes it more fun.

"You gonna ask her out today? Like I suggested a month ago?" Logan wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

Oscar shrugs. He'd been working up the nerve to ask her, but knowing who she's related to scares him a tad. She's out of his league by miles. "Not sure yet."

"Well, she's coming over here right now."

Oscar looks her way and has to fight the urge to cringe when they make eye contact. She is beaming at him. "Hello Oscar and Logan!"

"Hey! You got any plans for tonight?" Oscar reels when Logan sounds like he's going to ask instead. He'll say something like 'You snooze you lose, Piastri' after this encounter is over.

"Not that I know of."

"Great, Oscar doesn't either, He'll meet you tonight at six!"

"Will he be the one talking?"

Logan looks at Oscar and sighs when there is no response. "Hopefully."

"Okay then, I'll see you tonight, Oscar."

He does spin himself after she leaves and shoves Logan's shoulder. He mumbles some kind of thanks before crossing his arms and pouting like a child.

"Bet you she's the one."

And at the time, Oscar had laughed like it was a joke.

~~~~~

He only stops his seething at the distressed American when somebody pulls him away. He wants to push them off and run. He'll sprint to the hospital if he has too-

"Oscar, we're gonna get you there, okay?" Max and Daniel are escorting him off the track. They make no mention of the fact Oscar is converd in her blood.

Andrea tells him he can leave. Kim throws extra clothes at him and his phone. He can't look at it right now. The thought of dealing with any kind of media has him gagging as Max peels out of the parking lot.

He blocks out the drive. He tunes out the voices of Max and Daniel, trying to calm him. He'll be calm when he gets to her. Not a second before.

Oscar fights his way to her room. Determined to see physical evidence that she's okay.

Only, she's not moving.

The door to her room is wide open. Lando is sat curled next to Jon with his own medical equipment attached. His teammate is sobbing into his trainers chest, clutching his sisters limp hand.

Oscar takes tedious steps in. She looks so peaceful, entirely undisturbed. His knuckles run across the cold flesh of her cheek.

A doctor comes in, but he doesn't pay any attention. Not until the confirmation finds its way to his ears.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Both of your losses."

Oscar turns his attention to the doctor. "What do you mean both?" He snaps.

The kind looking woman looks disheartened. It makes Oscar's chest crack further. "She was pregnant. I'm so sorry."

~~~~~

"Osc, seriously, I'm not too worried about it." She wraps her arms around him from behind.

Oscar spins her around so he can see her eyes and peck her lips. "You could be pregnant."

"Or - hear me out - I could be stressed." She cups his face and stares at him with adoration. "I want to have a baby with you - I just - I don't want to get my hopes up, you know?"

"Whatever happens, we're in it together. Baby or stress, we'll figure it out."

She pulls him back to bed despite it almost being the afternoon. "If it's a girl, we should name her after one of our mums."

"And a boy?"

"Jack, after his daddy, the greatest man I've ever met."

~~~~~

Oscar collapses.

He shatters.

He screams until his lungs give out.

He holds her one last time.

He whispers his praise.

Then he watches her leave, taking everything with her.

His world is gone.

The funeral comes around far too fast. The last name on the grave includes his, the hyphenated one. It was her idea to conjoin the two. He wanted to match.

Charles had been around to tell him what actually happened. Both him and Carlos are devestated. The Spainard believes it should've been him.

The sketchy patch jobs over the grates had been quick. Carlos had been the first victim. Oscar's wife had been the second.

The grate hit the underside of the car and knocked it off the racing line. Right after she passed Logan. The American just happened to be close enough that it looked like they collided. He'd just been an innocent bystander in a brutal accident.

The FIA and Ferrari are pinning it on her. The statements made, despite the footage and data, are claiming it a driver error. It makes Oscar sick.

Oscar refuses to go anywhere near a track until the FIA own up to their actions. So does Lando, Max, Charles, Daniel, and Carlos.

They get everyone to take a stand. Soon enough, there are no drivers to put on a show.

The FIA has nothing. They took everything away from Oscar, so he did it right back.

~~~~~

A year goes by too quickly. He feels like it was yesterday that she was kissing him goodluck. Now she's a Ferrari reserve, getting ready to test the car.

He's fretting over her like a mother hen, but he can't help it! He might actually cry prideful tears over how proud he is of her.

He always kisses her in case it's the last time.

~~~~~

Oscar kneels over her grave. Logan sits beside him, arranging flowers in the shape of a heart.

The Aussie had cried his apologies to his best friend as soon as he found out what happened.

He's been winning races left and right for a few years now. Lando and him have dominated. He's not got a title yet, but Lando does. Her brother has dedicated it to her. They are both winning for her. He wishes she was here to see it.

"You were right Lo, she was the one."

[milaisreading]

The manager has a type?!

Pairings: Blue lock x manager!Reader

Warnings ⚠️: reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to:Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

Pt2

'Today is a nice day.' Kurona hummed as he was in particularly good mood. The reason? Ego wasn't as nasty with the training as he usually was. He had his favorite food for breakfast and (Y/n) complimented one of his passes. Yeah, today is a nice day.

"He is so dreamy~" Kurona stopped in his tracks as he walked past the medical office as he heard (Y/n)'s voice from the inside.

'Who? Is she talking about one of us?' Kurona gulped as he leaned against the door to listen in.

"Who? He? I didn't think you would be still into footballers after having to manage a whole group." Anri's voice was heard as she chuckled.

"I can't help it. He is so handsome and tall. Also talented."

'Tall? Handsome? We do have tall people but that's about it.' Kurona thought, a few players already coming to his mind.

"Now that I think of it, you never told me if you have a type or not?"

"A type... hmmm" Kurona was now all ears, he needed to know who it could be out of them all.

"I think someone expressive and free spirited! Strong willed too! Maybe even that he is into dancing with blonde hair..."

'Blonde hair?!' Kurona thought as he touched his pink one.

"Now you are straight up describing Lavinho. I never expected him to be your celebrity crush."

"Stop saying it like that! You make me feel embarrassed! Also he is so good looking and talented~"

Kurona's face paled at that revelation and he felt his whole world crush then and there.

'No way does she like that obnoxious man?! He is so ugly and old! First that Ness guy and now Lavinho?! My poor manager!' Kurona thought as if he was told someone is dying.

'Do I have to dye my hair now?'

"Kurona, you have been pretty quiet the whole day. Did something happen?" Hiori asked the same night as the boys were getting ready to sleep.

"Yeah, you were looking at (Y/n) like she is about to disappear, too." Gagamaru said sounding annoyed.

"Leave him alone, maybe he is just tired." Rin said, knowing good and well that even he was annoyed with Kurona today.

"Ah..." The boy started speaking after a whole day of complete silence.

"He finally found his voice!" Karasu teased.

"You look and sound like someone ran you over." Otoya chuckled.

"Let him breath, it was a long day." Isagi defended with Bachira laughing.

"You would feel the same if you heard your own manager say she has a crush on Lavinho." Kurona finally spoke up, like he was in a trance. The room fell eerily silent as the boys looked at him in disbelief.

"Hold up! What did you just say?!" Chigiri and Reo shrieked as Nagi got up from his bed.

"You better be lying, shark teeth." Baro warned, grabbing Kurona by his collar. Kunigami quickly intervened and separated the two.

"Calm down, Baro. I am sure Kurona got the wrong idea." The orange-haired boy said, trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

"Yeah! There is no way that loud guy could be someone our sweet manager likes." Aryu added.

"Yeah, I am sure (Y/n) would like peace and quiet more. She sure wouldn't like the opposite." Gagamaru agreed.

"I know what I heard! She was talking about it with Teieri-san and she admitted to it! Plus that guy dances and has blonde hair, we lost." Kurona said as one part of the group went into complete frenzy and the other tried to keep calm.

"Hold up! Panicking won't help us! Bachira let go of Chigiri's hair!" Yukimiya said, clapping his hands as Niko spoke up.

"How are we supposed to keep calm when that bastard is all (Y/n) thinks of apparently!" The blue-eyed boy questioned, knowing well that he couldn't keep up with someone like Lavinho.

"Reo, could you get him banned from playing football?" Nagi asked the already annoyed boy.

"How am I supposed to do that?!"

"I don't know, you are the rich one!"

"SILENCE!" The group froze and they turned to look at Rin, who looked like he was about to kill someone.

"So what's the plan, under lashes junior?" Baro asked, turning his attention away from Isagi and Kunigami. Ignoring the last part, the younger Itoshi sighed and thought it over for a moment.

"The best way we can get rid of this little crush of hers is by making her realize she actually doesn't like him, but someone else."

The room fell silent as they tried to figure out how her falling for someone else will help them.

"And as the captain, I will take the burden of her falling for me." Rin said dramatically.

"Eh?! No way, you and your eyelashes stay away from her! (Y/n) would much rather be with me! We shared food!" Isagi immediately yelled, followed by Baro.

"And what is there to fall for by you? Brother issues?!"

"You two are not any better, one is a wannabe striker and the other one scares the shit out of anyone who approaches him!" Rin argued back.

"I think I would be a much better choice. After all, Lavinho and I are similar. Her falling for me is more realistic." Bachira said, earning a disapproving look from Kunigami and Hiori.

"No way! You are too wild for her. (Y/n) needs someone calmer and who can protect her."

"You go into your emo phases, Kunigami. You are not that reliable either." Hiori protested.

"You guys are too ordinary for her, what she needs is someone spontaneous, someone who cab knock her off her feet... someone-"

"Someone like me! Thank you for seeing it my way, Karasu."

"Shut it, Otoya! You are like a watered down version of Oliver!"

"So now we are insulting, Yukimiya?! And your blind ass is somehow better?"

"Of course!" The boy yelled back.

"I think (Y/n) would much rather be with me. I am calm, a gentleman and fun to be around. Also I have great hair." Aryu said, causing Chigiri to butt in.

"Long hair doesn't equal better. After all, (Y/n) braids mine more often than yours."

"I think (Y/n) would fit better with me. She is always so calm and we do have a lot of common topics. Plus she does like nature." Gagamaru said, earning a looks from Niko and Nagi.

"You are too bland for her, Gagamaru. A wild moment here and there never hurt anyone."

"Then the same goes for me, except that I have money." Nagi told Niko.

"You do?"

"Of course." Nagi said, pointing at Reo.

"Excuse you! Why would I give money to you! I will spoil (Y/n), not you!"

'I hate it here.' Kurona thought to himself.

"Why is your face red?" Anri questioned (Y/n) as she walked into Ego's office.

"I told her Chris and Lavinho will be here next week to train with the guys." Ego answered, confused as to what he even said wrong. Anri's expression turned into a teasing one and she started nagging the teen, who was on the brink of fainting.

'Why did I have to say anything?!'

[vigilante-3073]

Snooze

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: Late night research turns into an early morning cuddle session.

TW: Fluff, pining, flirting.

Dean Winchester sat at the table in the bunker surrounded by piles of books. With a glance at the clock in the corner of his laptop, he realized that Sam had gone to bed almost an hour ago. Dean was exhausted, but hated the idea of leaving Y/N alone to do research by herself.

The case they were working on involved children and those particular cases had always been a difficult for her. Y/N would stay up for days on end if it meant bringing a child back to their parent safely.

She was a ray of sunshine with a heart of gold, a genuine sweetheart who could do no wrong. Dean often found himself wondering why someone so good would choose to be involved with the Winchesters.

Y/N had quickly become the one stable point in the rocky relationship between Sam and Dean. She often played mediator between the brothers and Dean would never be able to thank her enough for that.

Dean's eyes wandered to the clock face of his watch. It was almost 4 o'clock in the morning and Dean sighed. He decided that it was time for the two hunters to drag themselves into bed for a few hours of sleep before hitting the books again.

He opened his mouth to voice his thoughts to Y/N before a soft snore from behind the large pile of books separating them stopped him.

Dean closed his book and set it on the edge of the table before standing from his seat. He rounded the table, a small smile coming to his face when he saw Y/N.

Her arms were crossed on top of her open book, head leaned against her bicep as she slept. Her eyelids fluttered as she dreamt, eyelashes brushing against the apples of her cheeks.

Dean squatted down beside her chair, hand rubbing over her back as he tried to wake her gently. She looked so peaceful, but she would be endlessly sore if he let her continue sleeping like that. Y/N made a soft noise before her bright eyes fluttered open, making Dean's smile widen slightly.

Y/N was absolutely gorgeous and Dean would never admit it, but he had always wondered what they could be together.

Dean knew that he didn't exactly have the best track record with dating and relationships. Hell, she probably thought of him as a friend and would never see him as anything more. Dean had decided a long time ago was better to preserve the relationship as it was than to push for more and be left with nothing.

"Sweetheart, you're drooling on a book that's almost a thousand years old. Let's get you into bed before you do any damage, alright?" He questioned softly.

Y/N sat up in her seat, grimacing as her back cracked from being hunched over, "You alright?" Dean asked, she nodded.

"How long was I out?" Y/N asked softly.

"No clue, but we haven't talked in almost three hours," He said, hand resting on her knee.

She allowed Dean to lead her through the war room and down the hallway towards their bedrooms. Dean opened her door for her, watching her shuffle across the room before falling into her bed fully dressed.

Y/N huffed, "Did you find anything?" She asked, "Not yet, but we both need to get some sleep" Dean said.

Y/N nodded and Dean rose to his feet, "C'mon, time for bed," He said, she stood from her chair.

He shook his head with a smile, making his way over and taking off her shoes for her. She shuffled out of her cardigan, half-heartedly tossing it towards the end of the bed.

Dean grabbed her folded blanket that had been draped over the back of her chair. He spread out the fluffy material on top of her, making sure she was fully covered before turning to leave.

Her hand slipped out from under the blanket, fingers circling around his wrist, "Stay," She said softly.

Dean felt his cheeks flush, they had shared a bed on multiple occasions, but he hadn't expected her to ask.

He liked having her in the same space as he and Sammy when they traveled so he could better protect her in case something happened. But this was different, this was her space and not just a matter of circumstance.

Y/N stared up at him, "Please, stay," She repeated, he nodded.

"Yeah, I'll stay," Dean said.

She let go of his hand, pulling her arm back underneath her blanket. Dean shrugged off his flannel and kicked off his shoes, crawling into the bed beside her.

Y/N turned to face him, tossing the blanket over him before slipping one of her legs between his. Dean wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to himself. She rested her head down on his chest, snuggling closer to him.

Y/N tilted her head up suddenly, looking at him with wide eyes, "I'm sorry, I didn't even ask. Is this okay? I can back off if it makes you uncomfortable," She said softly.

"No, this is great," He assured, thumb rubbing back and forth across the small of her back.

She settled back in against him, resting her head down on his chest with a content sigh. They laid together in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again, "Your heart is beating really fast," Y/N stated.

"That's only because I have the most beautiful woman in the world using me as a pillow," Dean replied.

[sweetbuckybarnes]

Who is This? - Back to Brooklyn

Summary: Bucky and Y/N Barnes go back to Brooklyn.

Main | Bucky Masterlist | Series

Authors note: was thinking of changing the series title to Babydoll? Any thoughts?

It was Y/N's last shift at the bar in Madripoor, as the owners surprised them with the sudden closure of the bar at the end of the working week.

Bucky and Sam (who was somewhat reluctant to come along) walked into the bar ten minutes before closing. They saw Y/N dancing behind the bar with the blonde curly-haired woman and a redhead woman, as they sang along with the title track from Lady Marmalade - it was one Sam had forced Bucky to watch.

"Voulez-vous coucher avec mou, ce soir? Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?" The three women sang as Bucky and Sam made their way to the bartop.

"You do know what that means, don't you, babydoll?" Bucky asks, looking at his wife with a smirk.

She looks over at him with a matching smirk. "I'm surprised you know what it means, considering you were always skipping French class for that girl Dotty."

The smirk on Bucky's face slipped like a mask. "You knew about that?" His face pales considerably.

"Oh, please, James. I didn't know until you confirmed it," she tells him, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his nose. She had very nearly played him when Bucky reached his hands up to cup her face and plant a kiss on her lips.

When he pulled away, he looked her dead in the eyes. "I swear to you, babydoll, nothing happened with Dotty. Nothing happened with any of them. I know I had a bit of a reputation-"

Y/N snorted. "A bit? I'm pretty sure there was writing on the girls' bathroom at the diner. For a good time, find James Barnes. You were a total ladies' man."

"There was only one lady I wanted, and I married her."

"She better not find you here with me then. I think she might get very jealous."

Bucky chuckled to himself as the group behind the bar completed their shift for the final time. Y/N was counting the money in the till as Yasmine stood beside her with a calculator counting card receipts, whilst Mark went to properly lock the door (unlike last time when Bucky was able to get in).

Y/N finished counting the money and then looked at their manager (who had made a surprise visit, most likely to make sure they all got paid).

Their manager started counting out the money for their wages, as Y/N walked over to where Bucky and Sam were standing, waiting for her. "How are you, babydoll?" Bucky asks her, wrapping his metal arm around her waist and running his fingers through her hair - they had learnt what happens when Bucky's metal hand gets entangled with her hair. Safe to say, that was a somewhat embarrassing situation...

"I'm OK," she says half-heartedly. "I'm just going to have to find somewhere new to work," she tells him, as her manager hands her a small stack of $50s and $20s.

"Why don't you come back to Brooklyn with me?" He offers, slipping her purse from her shoulder, before handing over her wallet from said purse.

Y/N considers this. "Why not? It would be a nice change from this place."

Bucky tightly wrapped his arms around his wife. "You coming home with me, babydoll?"

"Did you honestly expect anything else?"

Bucky unlocked the door to his apartment, holding Y/N's suitcase in one hand with his backpack thrown over his shoulder.

"Welcome home, babydoll," he tells her, watching as his wife walks into the apartment. He sets down her suitcase and his bag as she takes a look around the room.

"James?"

"Yeah, babydoll?"

"What's that?"

'That' she was referring to just so happened to be the pile of sheets and lone pillowcase on the floor.

How the hell does he explain this to his wife...?

"Erm... that's where I sleep."

"Where's your bed?"

"In the bedroom," he says, looking away from her to their belongings.

He didn't see Y/N pursed her lips and mull over his words. For all he knew, they were going to be sleeping in separate places until he could finally deem himself worthy of sleeping in the same bed as his wife.

"James? Where did you go, my love?" She asks, which is when Bucky notices she is toe-to-toe with him, cradling his face with her hands. "You completely missed what I was saying."

"I'm sorry, babydoll."

She giggled and pressed a kiss to his nose before looking at him in his eyes. "We're going to take this at your speed, I don't mind sleeping on the floor, I just want to make sure you know you can talk to me and tell me when you're ready to sleep on the sofa and then possibly in our bed."

Bucky is silent as he takes her words in. What did he do to deserve her? He couldn't even form words to tell her just how much he loves her. So, he wrapped her up in the tightest hug known, hoping it was enough for her to understand the depth of his feelings.

[fanficsdumpomg]

John Dory Boyfriend Headcannons

*John Dory and y'all met during his brozone days, you were in a band that frequently opened for them. You both met during an afterparty and you hit it off.

*John Dory and you would constantly spend time after shows, you got closer to his brothers during this time as well and became like a big sister to baby Branch. However, as much as you cared about John Dory you never wanted to take your relationship to the next level for fear of crazy fans.

*Your relationship came to a head after the big brozone concert where John had wanted to perfect the perfect family harmony, you didn't hear from him after the show so you went back to his family's pod to discover they had all quit the band and left baby branch alone.

*Feeling angered and Sad at JD's disappearance and leaving his brother behind you decided to help Rosiepuff take care of Baby Branch. After Rosiepuff's death, you however became like a parent to to branch.

*In the years that followed Branch had grown out of his shell and met his bff now girlfriend Poppy who helped him become a better person. You couldn't be more proud of him but where did this leave you? You spent so long taking care of him what were you going to do now?

*These feelings continued to build but you pushed it down with hobbies, these feelings exploded however on the day of Bridget and Gristle's wedding an unexpected guest appeared.

*JD was back and you were pissed not only for leaving you without a single word but only now showing up when he needed something from his brother.

"Y/N, I'm sorry...I was so young and angry I didn't give anything else a second thought but I have never stopped loving you."

*You didn't accept his apology and wanted nothing more to do with him but when Branch had agreed to go on the rescue mission to save Floyd you immediately wanted to go feeling that motherly instinct to protect Branch Arrise again. Also, you could take care of cute little Tiny diamond who had managed to sneak his way on Rhonda so this was a win-win for you.

*Getting in Rhonda, y'all set off to find Spruce and came across Vacay Isle; where a spruce turned Bruce now worked with his wife and family. After some convincing you guys managed to get Bruce to come along but not before performing to show/prove to his kids that yes, he was in a band.

*During the performance you were glad to see how happy Branch was with his brothers again and when he pulled Poppy on stage, John Dory pulled you up on stage as well where y'all performed the last verse of the song.

"I forgot how fun it was to perform with everyone... especially you <3."

*Okay, JD still has the band charm you see; but it will not work on you you tell yourself no matter how much you blush.

*Moving on with Bruce, you were well on your way to collect Clay and on the way over you were finally civil enough that you and JD could have a talk about what the two of you had been doing the last 15+ years. You told John all about how you cared for Branch at that time (which John thanked you for) and John Dory talked about his time hiking the Neverglade trail.

"Sounds...interesting to say the least, you'll have to bring me on your next adventure JD." you said smiling resting a hand on his.

*You had finally reached Clay after Branch's brilliant yet gross plan to have Rhonda track Clay with his old Funder Underwear.

*Arriving at the abandoned gold course you meet Clay and Viva the leader of the putt-putt trolls and as it would turn out Poppy's long-lost sister.

*After Viva and Poppy went off to reconnect, Clay informed you of her tragic backstory on how she was separated from King Peppy and Poppy during the night of the troll escape. Clay also let you know that Viva is very protective over the trolls she protects here so unfortunately you would have to leave Poppy behind if you all wanted to get a move on to get to MT. Rageous.

*Unfortunately, Viva did discover y'all as you were about to leave and shut the gates effectively trapping you inside. You were however able to escape with Poppy due to Clay opening the gate again but left behind a broken-hearted Viva.

*Now you were on you were way to Mt. Rageous and the gang + poppy decided to have a little practice session which in your opinion was going very well until John Dory stopped it claiming it wasn't perfect enough. Feeling frustrated everyone lashed out and him especially Branch who was disappointed when he learned that his brothers planned to split up once again after they saved Floyd. He stormed out of Rhonda with a distraught Poppy following behind him

*You were incredibly angry not Just at John Dory this time but at the rest of them, how could they be so insensitive towards their little brother.

"You know what John Dory, you have hurt your little brother and me for the last time. You better hope when we get to MT. Rageous that he is okay 'cause I will end you!" And with that, you stormed off towards the back of Rhonda.

*And you stayed at the back of Rhonda till MT. Rageous where you were kidnapped by Velvet and Veneer. Velvet and Veneer had no use for you so they threw you for draining purposes but Velvet thought it might be cute to use you as a little good luck charm and captured you in one of her diamond earrings. Poppy and Branch confronted the two of them at the entrance to the rage dome and outed them as liars/frauds which prompted their roadshow in their car.

*Horrified you watched the brothers get drained as Branch, Poppy, and Tiny Diamond raced to save you on the MT. Rageous freeway. They eventually got aided by Bridget, Gristle, and Viva and managed to corner the Popstars on a boat.

*The fight was tough and they managed to free John Dory, Clay, Bruce, and You but not Floyd. And in one last attempt, the seven of you performed hoping to achieve the perfect family harmony. It worked and you were able to save Floyd at last, shattering the diamond prisons that trapped both you and the brothers.

"John Dory...getting kidnapped made me realize that I have never stopped loving you no matter how big-headed and stupid you are. The time we spent together these last few days has made me realize that you are still the silly goofy boy I fell in love with all those years ago." You said smiling.

"I love you too, Y/N!" he shouted with a grin pulling you into a kiss.

[spamgyu]

LOVE OF MY LIFE // Mingyu x Reader (ONESHOT)

description: what if soonyoung never got the girl? what if mingyu ended up fixing things before it was too late? - companion to right where you left me and the rest of the always!au

pairing: Mingyu x Reader

genre: angst and very very light fluff

They said if you love something, let it go.... and if it comes back, it's meant for you.

She knew their relationship had run it's course, the two having more bad days than good ones.

But why was letting go so hard?

It had been five months since she was in his room, begging for him to not end things – despite the constant heartache she was enduring while they were together.

Five months but the wounds still remained so fresh. Every single day feeling worse than yesterday.

Unlike him.

It was as if the four years they had spent together was nothing for him, bouncing back into the single life within weeks of their separation as if he didn't once tell her that he loved her to the moon and back. As if they didn't plan their future together, promising that he would be by her side as their hairs turned gray.

This was the third time he had brought a girl around. Each time, being someone different.

She didn't know which hurt more. The fact that none of them came close to resembling her, or the fact that he seemed to be happily dating around.

Was she never his type? Was that why it never worked out?

All while she couldn't get herself to even delete the images of him on her phone, he had moved on and wiped all evidences of them off of his social media.

Y/n watched from the other side of the room as he introduced his new fling to their friends, playing with the straw of her drink.

Jeonghan followed her gaze, the smile on his lips falling once he realized where she was looking. "He's so fucking stupid." He grumbled, pulling y/n's arm to force her to turn her back from Mingyu who had yet to realize that his ex was in the corner of the room – heart clearly breaking.

As if it could break more than it already has.

It was Jeonghan's birthday and he had invited the gang to the small celebration in his new apartment.

Meaning y/n's attendance was mandatory; being childhood friends and all.

She should have known he was going to bring someone around.

Why wouldn't he?

They were both single.

It wasn't like he wasn't allowed to date.

"Hey, we're out of White Claw. I'm gonna head out and grab some, you wanna come?" Soonyoung approached the two, motioning for y/n to follow him.

She knew what he was doing.

He had been one of the boys who Mingyu and the mystery girl had been speaking with, making eye contact with her from across the room.

Y/n knew she could always count on him to rescue her when her stupid ex was up to god knows what.

Letting out a sigh, she nodded, setting her drink down on a nearby table.

Y/n allowed Soonyoung to assist her with putting on her jacket, whilst she drowned in the thoughts of Mingyu. Wondering how he was doing, who the girl could be, how long would it be until he found a new girl to bring around, and how come it was so easy for him to move on and yet... she was still there... sitting at the table set for two.

Waiting for him.

The cold October air nipped at her nose as the two made the quick journey to the corner store at the bottom of Jeonghan's apartment building.

"He's not dating her." Soonyoung broke the silence.

"Didn't ask."

"I know."

She never did have to ask.

He had always been able to read her mind, answering all the questions that she was afraid to vocalize.

"He wasn't dating the other girl either."

Y/n stopped in her tracks. "What are you doing, Hosh?"

Halting when he realized she no longer was matching his pace, Soonyoung turned around to look at the girl who stood under the bright lights of the laundromat. "Well he wasn't going to clear the air." He shrugged.

"I don't care what he does."

"Yeah you do."

Yes she does.

She still checked his social medias, checking to see what he was up to. The man who she used to spend nearly every waking moment with was now just someone who she knew behind the screen.

Y/n cared.

So much.

"Why do you care if I know he's not dating those girls?"

"Because I know you'll spend the rest of the night over thinking. You'll let that shit ruin your day."

God, why couldn't it just have been Soonyoung? Why did she have to fall for the wrong friend?

Soonyoung was everything and more.

He knew her better than anyone else, tending to her needs before she even knew it was something that she was missing.

He did it so effortlessly.

And yet, y/n was pining for a man who she no longer knew.

A complete stranger.

"Aren't you tired of always looking out for me?"

Soonyoung shook his head, walking over to her and slinging his arm around her shoulders. "You're my best friend. I'll always have your back."

Best friend.

In the past two years, it was no secret that the two have gotten closer. Despite Soonyoung's confession of feelings to her, after the fight that would have ultimately later be the catalyst of her and Mingyu's break up, the friendship between the two bloomed.

He was well aware he wouldn't measure up to Mingyu, pushing his feelings aside to provide comfort for the girl.

Besides, it was just a silly little crush.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that no matter how far Mingyu distanced himself from her, his gravitational pull didn't allow her to be set free. Somehow, she was still stuck orbiting around him.

It was a pity.

Mingyu was giving the poor girl's heart a hard enough time, Soonyoung knew that it would be no use if he did it as well.

The two were back in the apartment in no time, despite taking a detour of walking around the block before heading back up – as requested by y/n.

"We're back! Hope you guys didn't miss me too much." Soonyoung sang as he entered the door, earning laughters and hollers from the group.

All except Mingyu; who sat on the couch, eyes following every move of hers.

Everyone had gone from mingling in small groups to sitting around the living room, playing Uno Extreme.

Or what Seungcheol called "Uno with Jeonghan's rules".

"What took you guys so long? What you do? Make-out?" Chan snickered, scooting closer to Minghao to make room for the two on the floor.

It was a running joke of the group that the two were secretly dating; especially now that everyone had been well aware of Soonyoung's vocalization of feelings towards y/n.

Word travels quickly in a small collection of people.

"Chan!" Soonyoung and y/n scolded.

"Kidding!" Chan laughed. "Okay, Hao, draw 12."

"That's not a thing!"

"Yes it is. Jeonghan sa–"

"Jeonghan is full of shit." Minghao crossed his arms over his chest. Without Soonyoung to join in the fun, Minghao had been the target of everyone – silently plotting to make sure that he would end up with the whole deck by the end of the game.

"Just draw 12 dude!"

"Can we just please restart? Y/n and Hosh are back and I don't like this round."

"Fine." Jeonghan held his hand out for the everyone to hand him their cards, obnoxiously shuffling the pile.

"Count me out, I'm not in the mood to be yelled at by Kwan and Hosh." Y/n laughed as the cards were being dealt – recalling to their last game which got a little too heated, all because Jeonghan had coached her to hide half of her pile.

This was of course quickly discovered by Seungkwan and proceeded to make a scene.

In his defense, a tall glass of all the left over liquor was on the line for the loser to chug and he had about twenty cards in his hand.

"Can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen." Soonyoung winked, earning a shove from the girl.

"I'm grabbing drinks, put your orders in." She stood from where she sat; earning a chorus of jumbled replies from everyone. "Relax, I was being nice. I only have two hands."

"I'll help." Mingyu spoke up above the mess of voices, stepping over Jeonghan and Seungcheol's legs to make his way over to the kitchen.

The silence was almost deafening as the two collected the various cans of drinks from the fridge, the only sounds to be heard were the indistinct voices of the group from the room nearby.

"How are you?" Mingyu asked, watching the girl attempt to balance four tall cans in her arms.

"Good." She replied.

More silence.

"I heard you got the job at Solar." He continued.

"Yeah. First day was last month."

"Come on, Star. I'm trying here."

Y/n began walking away, content with the drinks she was able carry herself, but quickly stopping in her tracks once the word left his lips.

Star.

The pet name he had given her when they began dating.

It began as a joke, claiming that she always seemed to have stars in her eyes whenever she rambled on and on about any topic she was passionate about. It soon gained more meaning as their relationship progressed.

"You're my star. The one thing that shines during the darkest times of my life." He would say.

Now, she can't even bare to look or hear that word. Let alone hearing him say it.

"Don't." She turned to him, her face pale upon the mention of the word. "Don't do that."

"Sorry, I– it was a slip up." He took a step towards her, only for her to take a step back. "Don't be like this."

"We're not friends, Mingyu. We're in the same friend group, but we're not friends. You don't get to call me Star. You don't get to just act like nothing happened." She kept her voice low, keeping her composure.

He had no right to act normal. Especially if he was the reason why she was so broken.

"So what? Are we just never going to speak to each other?"

"God, Mingyu. It's only been five months!" She exasperated. "You may be okay, but I'm not. So yes, maybe I don't want to talk to you."

"Who said I was okay?"

"I–"

"Oops, sorry I thought you guys were struggling– I can come back."

The two turned their heads to the source of the voice.

Soonyoung.

"Of fucking course. Here to save the damn day." Mingyu mumbled.

Obviously not quiet enough as y/n's ears had been able to pick up what he had just said. "What's that supposed to even mean?"

"Super Soonyoung, always there to save the day. Whoopdeedoo."

Before she could make any further actions, she felt Soonyoung's hand on her shoulder; silently telling her to back down.

"You see." Mingyu nodded over to his friend's hand. "You said I'm okay. You're wrong. I'm not okay. Not when I see you guys doing whatever the fuck you guys do right in front of my face. You don't think it hurts? Seeing my ex and my best friend?"

"Mingyu..." Soonyoung began.

"No, you don't get to put your two cents in." He shook his head.

And just like that, it was as if she was transported back in time.

To the last few months of their relationship where their fights seemed to always circle back to one single topic.

Soonyoung.

No matter how many times she reassured him that Soonyoung was nothing but a friend and it was him that she loved, Mingyu couldn't seem to get his brain to comprehend that the two were able to be friends with no feelings involved.

Not when he knew his friend had a little crush on his girlfriend.

Y/n remained faithful him to the very end, keeping her word that it was him.

It will always be him.

But he had his mind set and there was no changing it.

"I'm leaving." Y/n deadpanned, passing the eight cans to Soonyoung and heading straight to the door – ignoring the questioning looks from the others.

"Fuck." Mingyu breathed upon hearing the door slam close.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that right?" Soonyoung quipped.

"Yeah, thanks I got that." He replied sarcastically.

"All she's ever talked about is you. Every single day since the break up she had done nothing but think about you." Soonyoung began, recalling to all the times he sat in silence; listening to the poor girl talk about her ex who seemed to careless about what she was up to or how she felt. "She would rather have bad days with you than have good days without you. I'll never measure up to you. She's got you on a fucking pedestal– which honestly, I don't think you deserve but she does! I had a crush on her, okay so what, but you're the love of her fucking life. I could bring the world– hell, I can bring the whole universe to her and it will never be anything compared to what you do. Can't you see that?"

Mingyu chewed at his lip, processing all that his friend was saying.

Men weren't like women. They didn't talk problems through, they simply brush their problems away and jump back into reality as if the hanging tension above their heads didn't exist.

Which is exactly what the two had done; ignoring the elephant in the room to further avoid opening a can of worms.

This had been the first time Soonyoung and Mingyu have attempted to address the topic of Y/n. It was a touchy subject.

Especially for Mingyu.

"You're telling me that the girl you've been dying to be with since freshman year is finally single and you didn't even think once to pursue it?" Mingyu scoffed.

"How could I when all she can ever talk about is you?" Soonyoung forced out a laugh. "You know, her camera roll still has all your pictures together. All the shit you gave to her while you guys were together are sitting in a box in her closet. Nothing Jeonghan and I say can get her to move on. I know you still love her. I see it every time I go near her."

"I–"

"Stop pretending you're okay."

Mingyu licked his lips. "Is she– do you think I can fix this?"

"You can probably murder me in front of her and she wouldn't bat an eye."

"Good, because I've considered doing that many times."

"Just go after her." He rolled his eyes.

She should have thought her walk out through.

Fall had rolled into the city much earlier than expected and her jacket provided her little to no defense against the cold temperature; shivering as she waited for her uber.

Which was minutes away.

She should have just hid away in Jeonghan's room.

"Y/n!" A voice called out.

It was him.

"Leave me alone Mingyu."

"No. I– please listen to me." He jogged over to where she stood, at the end of the curb.

There was no escape. Stupid uber delay.

She flashed him her phone, showing the ETA of her ride. "You've got twelve minutes."

Running his fingers through his now outgrown hair, a new look she had yet to get used to, Mingyu took in a deep breath. "I'm not okay. I should have gone after you that night when I said I wanted to end things. I should have taken it back. These past five months have been hell and I have been pretending I was okay because I thought– God, I thought you and Hoshi were together. It didn't help that everyone would joke around about it and– and I– I shouldn't have let my insecurities get in the way. I shouldn't have brought any of those girls around, making you believe I was with them. I've been trying to set Hao up with my coworkers since his breakup with Kaia and– I'm–"

"You're rambling."

"I fucked up, and it seems like I keep fucking up but– I'm sorry. I want you back. I need you back"

As much as she wanted to be angry with him, she couldn't.

Just like all the times he had left her hanging, y/n's heart had found a way to soften for the one and only man that had captured it.

She was angry at the situation – frustrated at the fact that no matter how many times she had reassured him that she and Soonyoung would never be a thing, he still refused to believe her.

But she was more frustrated at herself, for absentmindedly feeding into his insecurities by continuing to hang around the one person that had caused the issues in the last months of their relationship.

"Star, please say something."

"I'm sorry too."

He shook his head, hesitantly taking a step towards her; his eyes staying locked on hers. Almost as if he was asking for permission. "It's all me. All the problems, the fights, the shortcomings. All me."

"I'd rather have ten million bad days with you–"

"Than good days without." He completed her sentence. "I know I– I spoke to Hoshi. Well– more like he gave me an earful."

Y/n couldn't help but crack a smile. She had expressed to Soonyoung many times how she would rather have gone through war and back with the boy she loved than live a peaceful life without him.

Who would have thought he was listening to all her endless rambles?

"I thought I was doing what's best for you back then." Mingyu reached up to place a warm hand on her cheek, smiling once he felt her lean into his touch. "I– I didn't think to ask you what you felt."

She missed him.

His touch.

His gentle voice.

His love.

The sudden ring of her phone, signaling that her ride was soon approaching pulled them out of their moment; both looking down at the device. "One minute."

"If I ask for you back, do I have a standing chance?"

"Why do you ask stupid questions?"

tag list: @leah-rose03 @yoonzinuhh @musingsofananxiouspotato @woofie-nctzen-fanarts

«« [an]

alright. final installation to my always!au

this is for my team mingyu girlies out there.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

New Faces in New Places

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: none really, just run of the mill teen wolf dangers lol

Genre: fluff I'd say

Summary: After a few signs from your familiar you're moving to a new town and you find out very quickly that it is anything but ordinary

***

You cross-reference the address your mom gave you with the building you're currently parked in front of. It looks like the right place but man, moving to a new town is always a hassle.

"We finally made it Ellie. You almost burned down my old apartment to get me here but- we made it. You'll have to wait here though, okay? I know mom trusts this guy but I'm not too eager to bring you into a vet's office for no reason." You say to your bird before you get out of the car. You make sure to leave the windows down because heavens know how long you'll be here. You walk into the office, startled slightly by the sound of the bell over the door. A Black man walks out of the back room wearing a lab coat over his maroon colored button-down. He's bald and has neatly trimmed facial hair.

"Hello. How can I help you?" He asks.

"Hi, Dr. Alan Deaton, I'm guessing?"

"Excuse me, do I know you?"

"Not me. But you do know my mother."

"And who is your mother?" He asks, an eyebrow quirking up at you. You wave a hand over your wrist, exposing your family crest marked into your skin, and show it to him.

"My goodness." He gasps stepping back. He swings open the door by the counter and gestures for you to follow him through the doorway he originally came through. "It's like seeing a ghost. I never thought I'd be seeing that crest again after your mother and I went our separate ways. Wait is she-"

"She's fine. Living her best life in Europe." You say, eyes shifting around the room to take it in as you lean against the metal exam table.

"That's good. What brings you here then?"

"Actually, my familiar. Kind of. She knocked over a candle that burned this spot on a map and when I did some digging, spoke to my mom and she told me it had to be here. Also that I'd find you at this place."

"I wasn't aware your mother still knew where I was but honestly leave it to her to keep track of her associates." He chuckles.

"Yeah, she told me if I was coming to Beacon Hills I had to find you first. So what do I need to know about your little town?" You ask.

"Oh well, we definitely get a lot of strange activity here. Beacon Hills has a nematon."

"Beacon Hills has a nematon?" That gets your attention. You had no idea.

"It was cut down many years ago so it's been dormant for quite some time until recently when a group of teenagers accidentally reactivated it."

"A group of teenagers reactivated a nematon?! What the hell kind of teenagers are running around here?" You blink at him.

"They weren't trying to. They were only trying to track down their parents and stop some human sacrifices."

"And they somehow reactivated a nematon? And they did that accidentally on their own?"

"I didn't know it would reactivate a chopped down tree but we also didn't have many other options at the time."

"So I take it you're quite involved with this group of teenagers?" You ask.

"Their ringleader works for me." He shrugs.

"Their ringleader works for you? So you're the adult to our resident Scooby gang." You laugh.

"What?"

"A Scooby gang is the term I use for a group of teenagers who have a knack for getting into shenanigans they have no business getting into." You shrug.

"Well, you know. Druids are advisors by nature."

"Sure- to supernaturals usually. Is this group of kids supernaturals?"

"Not all of them."

"Not all of them?! Are there a lot of supernatural kids around here?"

"Relatively?"

"What does that mean-?" You shake your head.

"Deaton! We need your help! It's Isaac- something's wrong he's not healing!" The frantic yelling along with loud movement from the front of the office turns your attention from Deaton to the doorway, your question forgotten as a man with dark hair comes barrelling in with a younger boy behind him carrying another. They all halt at the door when they see you standing there and you're smart enough to pivot so you're standing next to Deaton, out of the way assuming they intend to lay the half-conscious one on the table.

"Well don't just stand there bring him here. What happened?" Deaton asks. The man steps to the side boy carrying the other can lay him on the table.

"Wolfsbane." You say quietly, immediately picking up its signature with a magical scan of the boy.

"What?" Deaton's gaze snaps to you.

"It's Wolfsbane, we have to get it out of his system if you want him to heal himself. Do you know what kind? How it got in his system?"

"Does that matter?" The man asks staring at you from across the exam table.

"Kind of. All of that stuff affects potency and subsequently the best solution to-"

"Y/n." Deaton says gently.

"He's a bit old for your Scooby gang but I take it he's part of it?"

"I should've prefaced. They aren't all teenagers."

"Noted. But he is. And he's dying." Your gaze shoots down to the kid on the table again. "How do you want to go about this?" You ask crossing your arms.

"Can you tell me if it's yellow wolfsbane?" He asks.

"It's not." You say after a moment of your eyes flitting across the gash in his side.

"Good. So we can burn it out of him."

"You're going to induce a fever?" You ask and Deaton shakes his head.

"He's bleeding too much too fast. You'll have to burn it out."

"Me?" You blink at him.

"You know how to right?"

"Of course I do." You say.

"Well I don't keep a torch in the office so yes you'll have to do it." Deaton nods. You hardly notice the other two watching your conversation like it's a tennis match, both sets of eyes darting back and forth between you as you talk quickly with Deaton.

"Very well." You sigh rotating your neck and cracking your knuckles in preparation. You grasp the young boy's hand.

"What is she doing?" The man asks, almost growling as he shoots a glare.

"Saving Isaac's life. Back down Derek. You came here for help." Deaton says.

"Hi, Isaac. My name's y/n. I'm gonna do my best to make it quick but this is gonna be uncomfortable for a little while so- feel free to scream or break my hand." You say gently to the boy on the table, Isaac you presume, before closing your eyes. When they open again your irises are literal flames that shock the two people watching you carefully as their friend's life is in your hands. Isaac groans, his back arching off the table and his fingers squeezing around your hand with a strength that would probably crush it if he wasn't currently bleeding out on the table. It takes longer than you expect, seeking out and burning the wolfsbane coursing through his blood, but after a few minutes his blood starts to boil and you know there's no more of the deadly plant in his system. You close out your spell and wait for his grip to loosen before releasing his hand.

"I think you should wrap that gash. He's clear now but- there's no way of knowing when his healing will kick in." You tell Deaton. Deaton nods and grabs a gauze pad and medical tape.

"He'll be okay?" The other teenager looks at you and Deaton.

"Yeah he'll be fine." Deaton nods.

"What are you?" The teenager looks at you curiously.

"Who are you?" The man asks, his gaze is still skeptical but much less hostile, there's something in his eyes that you can't quite identify. Akin to awe but not quite.

"Scott, Derek, this is y/n. She's new in town. Y/n, this is Scott McCall and Derek Hale."

"Members of your Scooby gang." You say.

"Why do you keep saying that?" Derek asks.

"Before you walked in here Deaton was telling me about a particularly atypical group of teenagers that had a knack for getting into shenanigans."

"I'm not a teenager." Derek says.

"You haven't already met Stiles have you?" Scott asks. You turn to Deaton with a confused look on your face.

"Scott's best friend. Shenanigan might as well be his middle name. He's quite the erratic kid." Deaton explains.

"Ah- well, no. You, four are my intro to Beacon Hills." You say. Isaac groans as his eyes finally start to open. His half-lidded gaze turns to you and his brows furrow as he tries to identify the stranger in the room.

"You saved me." He mutters. "Are you an angel?" He asks suspiciously making you giggle at the question.

"No sweetie. In fact, some people would call me the opposite."

"Y/n don't freak him out." Deaton chuckles.

"No angel, just a witch. But welcome back. Whoever did this knicked you real good." You tell him with a soft smile and gentle squeeze of his arm.

"Well- thank you." Isaac says.

"A witch?" Scott blinks at you.

"Yep. I don't understand how this kid got wolfsbane poisoning. Are there hunters in Beacon Hills?" You frown at Deaton.

"Sometimes." Deaton says.

"One of them's an ally now though. He helps us a lot." Scott says.

"Hunters and werewolves working together. This is one interesting little town." You muse.

"You'll get used to it pretty quick." Deaton chuckles.

"Oh I'm sure. I'd hang around but Ellie will start to get antsy if she doesn't get out of her carrier soon so I have to find my house. I'll be in touch Deaton. I have a feeling this conversation is far from over." You say.

"You can call me when you get settled if you have any immediate questions. Or swing by later." Deaton says writing his number on the back of a card.

"You rest up Isaac at least a few hours before you do anything strenuous. And watch that gash, if it doesn't start healing within the hour come back to Deaton. And I assume you two will look after him. Nice to meet you all." You say to the trio of wolves before taking the card from Deaton and leaving the office. You don't notice the way Derek's eyes follow you but Deaton does, and he has to make a conscious effort to stifle his smile.

A week later and you're mostly settled into your new home. Ellie is also pretty well acquainted with her new space, which is great because she can be quite particular.

"Something interesting out there Ellie?" You ask when your bird perches by the window, staring outside as intently as a bird can. Her wings flutter fiercely for a moment and she attempts to pry open the window with her beak. You quickly stand from your couch and whistle at her, tapping your finger to guide her over.

"I take it we have to be somewhere? Now when I take you out there wait for me to get on my bike before you start rushing off to whatever danger you're chasing." You warn her as you put on your shoes. She coos at you with her head tilted slightly and you roll your eyes before leaving your apartment. Outside you barely manage to get the bike running before Ellie flies off down a street.

"Dammit Ellie." You huff, speeding after her on your bike, looking up every so often to check her flight path. She eventually perches on a perches on a light by a warehouse and you take off your helmet ready to curse her for being so frantic but the sound of voices inside grabs your attention.

"I told you not to rush off you silly bird." You hiss at her when she flies down to sit on your shoulder as you approach the door curiously. You can see two people standing to the side but ready to jump in along with three, no four, people circling each other and you can hear growling, which is cleared up when one of the faces is revealed to be Scott from Deaton's office. You've had a couple more conversations with Deaton since your first one and have since learned that Scott is the ringleader he'd mentioned that first day and that he's got a whole bunch of supernatural friends. You whistle loudly enough to get everyone's attention and six pairs of eyes snap to you. You recognize Isaac in the bunch too. The two other guys they were growling at don't match any of the descriptions Deaton's given you so, process of elimination tells you the other two people looking at you must be Stiles and Lydia.

"Whatever you think you saw, you didn't we were just teens doing- teen goof things." Stiles, you're pretty sure, frantically says.

"You know Stiles I'd have expected a better excuse from you." You say. "That is Stiles right?" You ask Scott. He and Isaac nod which causes Stiles to look frantically between the three of you.

"How do you know my name?! And you two know her? Why don't I know her? Who are you?" Stiles asks.

"I'm gonna ask that you hold all questions briefly." You tell Stiles before turning your attention to the two unidentified individuals who still look to be on guard. "You two, I'm guessing, do not belong here." You address them only to be met with a growl that you immediately counter with a command. "Ciúin." You say sharply and their aggression dwindles. "I suggest you both return to where you belong of your own free will while you can. This territory is not up for grabs." You say sternly, flashing your magic in warning. The boys glare at you as if they are planning to challenge your demand but neither seems willing to take the risk when they meet your warning gaze. After a stretch of silence, they let out another growl at Scott and Isaac before leaving.

"We totally could've taken them." Isaac huffs.

"What did you do?" Scott asks.

"Nothing really just- a scare tactic I learned some years ago." You shrug.

"Well thank you." He nods.

"Can I ask my questions now?" Stiles asks.

"Stiles, Lydia, this is y/n. She's new to Beacon Hills." Scott says to his friends.

"So how do you already know her?" Stiles asks.

"She knows Deaton. And, she saved Isaac's life." Scott says.

"Yeah." Isaac nods. "Hi again." He says to you with a shy smile.

"Hi, Isaac. You look much better than the last time I saw you." You return his smile with one of your own when he straightens up at your attention.

"So do you! I- I mean, now that I'm not like half-conscious or whatever." He says awkwardly shifting his gaze from you.

"Hey, how did you even know we'd be here?" Scott asks you.

"Ellie." You say lifting your shoulder slightly to show off the bird still perched there contently. "She flew right to you." You add, handing her a treat you conjured.

"That's a pigeon." Stiles says.

"She's my familiar." You correct him.

"You have a familiar?" Lydia asks.

"Correct." You nod.

"What does that mean? Is she not human?" Stiles asks Lydia.

"I'm a witch. Think druid but cooler." You wink at him. "Don't tell Deaton I said that." You add in a stage whisper that makes the others laugh.

"So is that how you knew my name?" Stiles asks.

"No. Deaton's just been giving me the 411 on everyone I need to know about so I made a guess based on the names and descriptions I have." You say.

"Scott we've gotta have a talk man. When you meet people who might be of significance like witches you're supposed to tell me!" Stiles says.

"I figured you'd meet her yourself soon enough." Scott shrugs.

"Before this continues- because I'm sure it will. What were those guys doing here anyway?" You ask interrupting the couple's quarrel that's about to start.

"They were- sending a message." Isaac says.

"A message? To whom?" You frown.

"Scott. Looks like word's gotten around that he's an alpha."

"It's a good thing you showed up when you did because I had a really bad feeling about them fighting." Lydia mutters.

"I guess Ellie's taken a liking to you all. She's the one who sensed there was trouble."

"Thank you Ellie." Scott says nodding at your bird.

"You all should get out of here and head home before any more trouble comes looking for you." You say.

"Will you be alright getting home?" Isaac asks you.

"I should be asking you all that." You chuckle.

"Stiles will drive us." Scott tells you.

"So?" Isaac prompts.

"I appreciate the concern hon but I am an adult, with enough magical power to level a city. I'll be fine on my bike." You laugh. "Now you guys get going." Everyone starts to move towards the door except Stiles, who starts to object when he sees his friends leaving.

"Hang on now just because you stopped a fight doesn't mean you can- woah woah hang on!" Stiles loses his train of thought as Scott drags him towards the warehouse entrance and you chuckle.

"Come on man don't be an ass." Scott mutters to his friend.

"I just want you to know I have more questions for you that I will be asking at a later date!" Stiles calls to you even as he's being removed.

"Deaton has my address! Have him give it to you and you can come by and ask as many questions as you want!" You shout after him.

"I will do exactly that!" He points just before the group exits and you laugh to yourself in the empty warehouse.

"You brought me across the country to protect this group of teenagers?" You ask Ellie. "I hope you know we'll have no more peace." You scoff at her before the two of you leave the warehouse yourselves.

A few hours later a knock on your door pulls you away from the movie you're watching. You place your mug of hot chocolate on the table before walking over to your front door and checking the spyhole to find Derek on your porch.

"Derek?! What are you doing here?" You ask with a frown. You haven't seen him since you met last week and quite frankly you weren't sure you would. He seemed rather apprehensive around you all in all.

"I- heard you helped the kids out of a jam earlier. I wanted to thank you." He says.

"Oh- no need. They probably could've sorted it out themselves honestly but Ellie really felt we had to step in."

"Ellie?"

"My bird, familiar."

"Familiar- that's right, you're a witch."

"I am indeed." You chuckle. "You- said you came here to thank me? I don't want you to feel like you have to do-"

"Oh I don't! Didn't. I'm not here out of obligation I wanted to come. It's not every day someone as pretty as you moves to Beacon Hills."

"Are you flirting with me Derek Hale?" You ask, surprised at his direct line.

"Depends on if it's working." He says.

"Are you here to ask me on a date or not Derek?" You ask. There's a moment of silence before he replies.

"Will you go on a date with me?" He asks.

"I would love to." You smile at him.

"I've been trying to work up the courage to ask you that all week." Derek breathes out.

"How cute. Do you have a phone?"

"Of course I do."

"Do you have it with you?" He hands you the device eagerly and you input your number for him. "You can call me when you've figured out the details." You say handing it back to him. "Okay?" You prompt when all he does is give you a goofy smile.

"Okay." He says still giving you a pleased look that makes you want to laugh at how cute he is. You jolt suddenly when your own phone rings on your coffee table.

"Oh shoot- one second." You say rushing to grab it. Unknown number. "Hello?" You answer walking back over to your front door where Derek has his phone pressed to his ear, looking at you cheekily as he speaks and his voice comes through your device.

"I'll pick you up at 7:30 on Friday?" He asks and you laugh before you give him an answer.

"Didn't realize you already had a plan."

"Oh, I've been planning all week. If you said yes I wanted to be ready."

"Then I will see you Friday. For now, you should go home, looks like it's going to rain." You say noticing the clouds obscuring the usually starry night sky. Derek looks up as if he didn't even realize.

"Right. I'll see you Friday." He says with one last smile before he takes off. You smile to yourself as you return to your movie and hot chocolate. Friday just can't come soon enough. Maybe moving to Beacon Hills was a more perfect idea than you gave Ellie credit for.

***

[sunny44]

Baby Sainz

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x wife!reader

Warnings: none I guess.

Summary: Y/n and Carlos are more than happy with their happy marriage and their baby girl.

Previous Chapter

Y/n’s POV

I woke up to the sound of laughter and smiled to myself as I knew what it was, I looked over to see Carlos and our daughter in the armchair in our bedroom, she was lying on his lap with him making faces and she was laughing at him making him laugh along with her.

"I'm jealous." I said to him who looked at me smiling and Evie started looking for me since she heard my voice.

"Good morning love." He gets up coming with her to me and as soon as she sees me she starts moving on his lap. "Ok,ok I know you're hungry."

"Good morning princess." I kissed her forehead and lifted my blouse and she began to eat.

"Good old days when I was the only one who did that.”

"Carlos." I scolded him, laughing.

"I'm serious, now I have to share."

"Stop being silly and lay down here with us." I patted his side of the bed and he sat up. "What time do we have to leave for the track?"

"Are you sure you want to go? I know you're excited to see the race but do you think we should take her along?"

"I'll stay the whole time in your garage and we'll watch the race from there, you don't have to worry about her." He agrees. "Unless you don't think it's a good idea to take her or you think it's not the right time for them to know that she exists."

"It's not that it's just that she's so small and fragile that I'm afraid something will happen to her and about them knowing she exists that's going to happen one time or another so I'd rather they know for us than for some paparazzi’s." He says running his hand through her little hair. "But I know you will take good care of her."

"I will." He smiles and gives me a kiss getting up and going to get ready.

I had already left all her things ready yesterday and already in the car so I just needed to get ready and change her.

Actually my pregnancy was very peaceful until the time of the delivery where I never felt so much pain in my life. Evie was already 6 months old now and besides being her daddy's copy she was for sure daddy's little girl.

She hear his voice and starts screaming of happiness until he shows up and takes her in his arms and Carlos was so much in love with her that even without knowing she already had him in the palm of her hand.

"You go get ready and I'll put the clothes on her."

"I left her clothes separate in the bedroom." He agrees and leaves.

I know he would love the clothes I chose so I just waited until he came back with them. The race was again in Spain and it was hot so I took cool clothes or we would be hot.

"I can't believe it, how did you find these?" He already walks in smiling with a giggling Evie dressed in a bodysuit full of chillys’s.

"I knew you'd like it."

"I didn't like it, I loved it." He says patting her and she giggles.

"Daddy chilly and baby chilly."

"Don't call me daddy."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes me imagine things of which we cannot do in her presence and which would surely result in another baby chilly." I laughed and kissed him. "Can we go?"

"Yep."

We went to the car and after checking to see if we had everything we left in the direction of the circuit.

When we arrived I went down first so I could put her in the stroller and cover her before the people saw that he had arrived, after I got her sleeping inside I pulled the roof off the stroller and put a blanket over her so no one could see her little face and then Carlos went down and got Evie's bags and we started walking into the paddock.

I could already hear the murmuring as they saw me again pushing a stroller and along came Carlos with two golden bags, one on his arm and the other in his hand.

"Hey where's my best friend?" I hear Charles' voice and turn to him.

"She's in here sleeping." He lifts a little off the deck and I hear him talking to her who giggles a little. "Well since she's not sleeping anymore let's go to the garage and then you can pick her up.”

We go in and Charles picks her up and smiles at the sight of her clothes and starts walking with her through parts of the garage where the media wouldn't be able to see while Carlos and I are talking to the staff.

Soon he shows up with her and as soon as she sees Carlos she begins to reach out to him who takes her on his lap and kisses her forehead and lays on his shoulder.

"She looks a lot like him." Charles says as Carlos pulls away a little.

"Yes she is, she has him in the palm of her hand."

"You can tell, look at that." He’s holding her and pretending to throw her up but not letting go and she laughs along with him.

"I never got a chance to thank you for talking to him that time we fought, it made a lot of difference and it helped a lot."

"No need to thank me, I knew he was screwing up and look at him now." He pointed at the two of them playing together. "I was sure he would regret it if he let his fear speak louder because we both know he's a family guy."

"Yeah." I say watching Evie tug at his hair that swayed her in the air. "I don't even know how I could even consider divorcing him."

"Don't think about it, it didn't happen and it was because it shouldn't happen. Live in the now and enjoy your family."

"Thank you Charlie." I gave his cheek a light squeeze who smiled and walked over to them.

"Is everything okay?" He asks as soon as I get close to them and I smile. “Yeah, everything is perfect."

He gives me a kiss and hands me Evie since he needed to get ready for the race. And in the end Charles was right, I had nothing to worry about.

Bonus scene!

Y/Sainz instagram post

Liked by @carlossainz, @yourdad, @charlesleclerc and others 193718

Y/nSainz a little different weekend for us but a very nice one. Thank you @scuderiaferrari for the amazing weekend but a special thank you for @carlossainz for making sure his girls were having fun, baby Sainz and I had a lot of fun.

See you next time Spanish GP.

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Tag list: @spicyclover @starsanova

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 14

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 32.5k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn, @xngelsau A/N: 32.5k....uh, i...this is fucking crazy, years in the making basically. and tumblr let me post all of It!!!!

Present (XIII)

THE ARENA; THE BEACH (4:10 am—4:23 am)

The female morphling gasps raspily in Peeta’s embrace as he soothes her and Finnick feels fuzzy, blurry around the edges. He turns his back to the display, his gaze sweeping the treeline. He can’t look—won’t look—as she takes her last breath. He doesn’t know her, but he can’t shake that feeling of helplessness. There’s nothing more he can do but watch as she dies. 

Would you have thrown yourself between Peeta and certain death just as readily as she did? Like Mags did? He grips his trident and tries to keep a grip on his sanity as well, but that’s a lot harder to hold on to than the metal in his hands.

The monkeys have all but disappeared back into the jungle. They wouldn’t come onto the beach, toppling over themselves as they snarled and spit at him. Finnick knows he’s threatening, a formidable enemy with his trident wielded as an extension of himself. Still, even he knows that shouldn’t have been enough to intimidate a rabid pack of apes with a preference for the blood of victors.

It was almost like they couldn’t come onto the beach. From what Katniss told him, the fog behaved similarly after they fell down the hill. Billowing upwards along an invisible barrier. 

She was so close to making it. Just a few more feet and Mags…

He feels his throat tighten, tears gathering behind his eyes. His nose will start running any second now, which means it’s a perfect time to collect Katniss’s arrows. He stays on guard, but there’s nothing—not one chitter or screech. He pulls blood-stained arrows out of monkey carcasses with the sound of cannon fire dogging his steps.

SECTION 6  (5:47 am—6:38 am)

You have no idea how long you’ve been roaming, but the sunlight sprinkling through the treetops tells you it’s finally morning. The sun isn't very high, yellow rays don't envelop you. Instead, you stumble under the lethargic blue hue between night and day.

You can see again, fully. That's an obvious plus. But, on the downside, the heat will only get hotter. Not that you’d be able to tell with how hot your injury has already made you. 

It’s gotten worse— you’ve gotten worse. It’s made you hazy, you’ve lost track of time. 

You escaped the blood rain, got separated, fought killer beetles, and skulked around like a fox with a lame paw, hiding in the shadows from any predators looking for an easy kill.

You left behind one of your sickles somewhere in the last mile. Having two weapons seemed like such a novel idea when you had other people with you. But after being attacked, wielding them both has only been a nuisance. You could have placed it in one of the belt loops meant for weapons if it didn't pull at and weigh down your tourniquet.

You now hobble along on numb legs as you apply pressure to the wound by pressing your free hand against the blood-soaked cloth you have tied around your waist. 

Between now and the bugs, you had received a sponsor gift. Some sort of thinly sliced dried meat and a seeded roll from Eleven. You hid yourself in the thick underbrush and scarfed it all down; there was no time to savor it while you were so vulnerable.

You’re still vulnerable. As if being alone in an arena deadset on killing you isn’t bad enough, your injury, and whatever is in it, has you moving at half your normal speed. But, for better or for worse, you haven’t come across anyone else. You know not to expect anyone from your original group, but you haven't seen anyone. Your only company is the pounding in your head, the burning in your side, and the odd little creatures that scamper in the trees. 

You thought, perhaps, you’d come across Chaff and whatever’s left of his group. You know from last night that he didn’t die in the bloodbath. The same can’t be said for the male morphling. You sigh, long and heavy. 

So much for trying to learn his name.

You remember how it felt to see Cecelia’s face in the sky. Cecelia and old man Woof, his mind hardly there but still hellbent on keeping her safe. Your throat reflexively tightens. You hadn’t thought she would make it far, but you had hoped—you shake your head. You don’t know what you hoped for, but you can’t help but think of her three children clinging to her as she was reaped and your own mother’s scream when you volunteered. 

You’re all dropping like flies.

You stop for yet another break. Eyes squeezed tight as you gasp in the muggy air—you’re winded. Again. You wipe your forearm across your forehead, sweat wetting the dry blood. It runs down your hairline, dripping a salty mixture into your eyes and mouth.

You can’t keep going on like this. At this rate, you’ll succumb to your injuries before anything else kills you, and, had it not been for the revolution, you’d be fine with that. Dying in the arena was your plan as soon as you raised your hand to volunteer. But things are different now; your plans have changed, and you refuse to break your promise to Finnick. The only way out is through. And your only way out is by getting sponsored. 

You can’t mistake survival for self-sacrifice, which is what this is. Survival. You’ll lose no part of yourself in return for their help.

They’re not taking something you haven't already given—that they haven't already taken before. 

You lower your head, feigning exhaustion as you catch your breath, though you don’t have to act much. Subtly, you adjust your hand, ensuring any movement escapes detection. At most, it might look like your fingers are involuntarily twitching, disguising the deliberate pressure you're applying to the wound. The pain makes tears spring to your eyes, but that isn’t enough. They need to feel your anguish like it's their own. With a grimace, you dig deeper. Your body flinches away from the feeling, but you don’t let yourself get far. Your nails, trimmed and well-kept, still manage to cut into the fabric, aggravating and stretching one of the already gaping wounds. 

It's an odd feeling—the strike of pain in a place you never imagined you could feel it, fingers worming around like a flimsy stick wrapped in barbed wire. An even odder feeling to scratch at something that was never meant to be felt.

You sob, abandoning any attempt at stifling your groans and ragged breaths. Tremors wrack your body, muscles spasming weakly under your merciless touch. There's a harsh rasp in your lungs, labored breathing, a tang of something metallic. The relentless pressure sears through you, yet you persist. You continue to wiggle your fingers around until you feel the warm trail of tears tracing your cheeks.

You look to the sky and swallow your pride. You’ve done it your entire life; what’s one more time?

You can imagine how you look now. Your face streaked with tears and blood, a mix of desperation and agony etched upon your features. The rivulets of red fluid mingling with teardrops, tracing sorrowful paths down your cheeks. The pain and exertion must be painting your expression, your eyes wide and brimming with torment, the viscous liquid obscuring the once familiar contours of your face. And you top it off with a pitiful pout.

“Seeder, please— please ! I need…I need…somethin’. Any— anythin’ .” You hiccup, gesturing toward your likely festering wound. “I need help. I don’t wanna die.” You allow your face to screw up in anguish, really playing it up. After all, it’s not actually Seeder you’re performing for. 

" Please ." Your plea, a soft sniffle, is barely audible, and it's almost comical how quickly the package arrives. They were waiting, just like you thought. Waiting for that moment of surrender.

That familiar three-note tune pings from above you. The sponsor gift floats down languidly as if it has all the time in the world and you aren't being slowly poisoned. 

You move closer, but it's stopped before it can reach its destination. Instead of falling before you like it should have, the package hangs precariously among the branches. You scan the mess of white, brown, and green. The parachute has gotten tangled in the lower canopies.  

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” You bemoan. 

You stare despairingly up at the package. It tweets that little tune, taunting you from its high perch, and it won’t shut up until you get it. It’ll only draw attention the longer you stall.

From down here, the climb seems daunting, but you’ve climbed higher than this in Eleven when you were younger, starved, and overworked.   

You touch the trunk and the bark is different than what you're used to, but it’s still firm enough that you have faith it’ll hold your weight without breaking. The bark back home is rough and sap-sticky with little to no give. These trees are somewhat slippery and damp from the excess humidity, no doubt. 

You swallow hard against the rising nausea, your fingers gingerly probing the covered wound as you attempt to ground yourself. Your arms tremble as you place your weapon among the gnarled roots. Your side sears with raw hurt that pulsates with each breath, made worse and reopened by your little stunt. With that at the forefront of your mind, the urgency of retrieving the parcel tethered between the two trees outweighs the agony.

With gritted teeth, you reach out for nearby branches, using them as anchors. The mud-slicked roots serve as precarious footholds, threatening to betray you with each move. Each upward pull sends fiery jolts through your injured side, but you ignore the throbbing ache, fingers finding purchase in the deep grooves. You wince, fighting against the dizzying waves threatening to overwhelm you. You realize, perhaps a bit late, that you've been overestimating the adrenaline's ability to numb the pain. You claw your way up, inch by agonizing inch. 

It’s within sight and then within reach. It hangs above you. You position yourself a little higher until both feet rest on one branch. You shimmy, your chest pressed against the trunk as you hug the tree with one arm. Your other arm stretches up, fingers barely brushing the bottom of the silver canister. You pant open-mouthed as the stretch brings your attention back to your injury, destroying the brief blissful second you forgot about it as you came upon your gift. 

You relieve the pressure along your side by pushing to your tiptoes, batting at it like a cat, before you’re finally able to get it in your grasp. It’s a dodgy hold at best. Only your thumb, middle finger, and ring finger have any real grip on it as you attempt to shake it from the branches. It’s not enough. The tendon in your forearm flexes as you rock back onto your heels, using your full weight to dislodge it, and it feels like the entirety of your abdomen twinges with the reintroduced stretch.

But the suffering was worth it. You got it, bringing it to your chest, relishing in the feeling of cold metal in your hand. Each breath is a pained gasp as tears blur your vision. Whether they’re from pain or relief is anyone’s guess. You can't help but smile, laughing with each pant. It's a small accomplishment, barely an accomplishment at all, but—"You did it. You fuckin' did it ." 

You steady yourself before opening it and reading the attached note.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

A rose by any other name is watered just the same.

You flip it around and it reads:

For the venom. Drink up.

- S

The price of medicine in the Games is nothing to scoff at. And who knows how much the prices may have inflated for a Quarter Quell. You'd like to pretend that one of your higher-end patrons sponsored this. That Seeder pulled this together through numerous donations. 

But you know better. 

Snow is supposed to be impartial regarding who survives in the arena. The president sponsoring someone is unheard of, but you know the man better than most. You know what echoes through that dark abyss he calls a soul. There’s always a way around, a way to cheat if you have enough power. It wouldn’t surprise you if he bent the rules in whatever way benefited him. In fact, you know he did. And it seems your survival benefits him. You’re no use to him dead.

Volunteering wasn’t enough to escape him. You’re alive, because he allows it—in the arena more than ever. Your life isn’t even yours to take. It’s his.

You'd throw up if you could afford to lose the food in your stomach.

You pick up the bottle from the canister. It's clear and about the size of your palm. There’s no label, no indication of what may be in it. You pop the cap and sniff it. It smells herbal, almost minty. When you bring it to your lips and tip it back, it goes down fast, leaving an oily film on your tongue. It has no taste.

You wait. You aren't expecting it to instantly fix you, but wouldn’t it be lovely if it got rid of the nagging ache in your wound and the sheen over your vision? Or maybe just your migraine? 

With a sigh, you close your eyes as you thump your forehead rhythmically against the tree, not helping your headache in the slightest. 

Something is bothering you—something you can’t understand. This antidote. Why would this even be a sponsor gift? Sure, at face value, it’s just medicine—there’s tons of medicine a mentor could send in—but it isn’t, not really. There are salves and sleeping aids—those sorts of things. Things that’ll assist a sick or injured tribute, but they won’t cure them. 

This? This is quite literally a cure. What fun would be in that? Where’s the entertainment value? Wouldn’t betting on the stakes lose its appeal if there was something a mentor could buy to instantly get rid of them? 

Did he…? No. No, he couldn’t have. But nothing else makes sense. He must have had it made after you were attacked. For the venom , he knew exactly what was causing your rapid decline—something that can’t be picked up through the camera. The only reason you know those beetles left a toxin in you is because you feel it. You doubt something like this is even available to buy in the shop. If someone else gets poisoned by those bugs, they’ll no doubt die. But not you. Because of Snow, you’ll survive something that should be a death sentence.

He’s cheating. For you.

You look to the ground and contemplate, only briefly, if a fall from this height, in your current state, would be enough to end it all. If you aim for your head or neck, would it kill you instantly or paralyze you? 

It’s because of these morbid musings that you’re able to catch it—the man barreling through the jungle through vines and low branches—but you surely would have heard him with how loud he is. You freeze like a deer, hardly breathing as he stumbles over his own feet. 

The man from Ten. 

He's not a part of the alliance. And it’s just your luck that he falls below you, crashing face-first onto the ground hard enough for you to wince. He crawls up, panting loudly as he spins in frantic circles before focusing back on the direction he came from. It's almost like he’s being chased—

Whoever is chasing him enters your line of sight like they read your mind. Not who, you correct yourself, because the thing stalking forth is certainly not a person. You see its vague, hulking shape in the low light.

You don’t know if it’s something native to the jungle, a mutation of an existing animal, or a completely original mutt. It’s bipedal, bigger than any human you’ve ever seen. Bigger than any bear you’ve ever seen. 

He’s gonna make a run for it, you can see it in his tense stance. It’s a horrible decision, but the only one he can make. The urge to warn him not to turn his back on that thing, because it will give chase is strong enough that you have to bite your tongue, iron bursting in your mouth as your canines dig in.

He tries to run again, but, as you predicted, it easily catches up to him with its much longer strides. He dives down to grab something off the ground. A fallen branch—nothing you could have picked up as weak as you are right now. He aims it at his pursuer. 

“No! No ! Stay–stay back! Back,” he swings the stick threateningly, unbalanced by its heavy weight, and you remember being in a very similar position in your first Games. Your heart seizes at the reminder. The glassy-eyed desperation in the other tribute as he ran towards your scythe, the sound he made as he held his intestines, the resistance and then the sudden give of his neck under the knife—you barely register dropping the metal canister, distracted as you are. It tumbles down a branch before getting stuck in its leaves. 

The thing freezes and perks up at the sound, listening intently, before seemingly letting it go. Go for the kill you do have over the one you could.

The man warns it back again, and to the astonishment of both him and you, it listens. A momentary pause follows, during which the beast regards him with an uncanny semblance of animal intelligence, only to abruptly lunge forward. The beast is unnervingly silent as it moves, despite its enormous size. He tries to flee again, but this isn’t the terrain for a fair fight. From this height, it’s hard to tell if his legs get caught on vines or ensnared by a dead log, but he tumbles again. In an eerily swift motion, the creature seizes his waist, effortlessly hoisting him into the air, holding him aloft like he’s a doll.

You watch on in horror as it grabs his shoulder, nails digging into where his upper arm meets the joint of his shoulder blade and pulls, wrenching his left arm out of the socket. His scream is blood-curdling, echoing back through the trees so clearly that it sounds like jabberjays flying around you. Despite that, it doesn’t drown out the sound of his severed arm hitting the ground.

You’ve heard a mountain lion and their vixen screech before, their mating calls that sound like a woman shrieking in pain. They could be heard from miles and miles away and you would know not to wander too far into the woods for a while. His screams put them to shame.

Its claws are like a hot knife cutting through butter as it tears through his flesh with ease. It shreds muscle and tendons with a sickening squelch. You slap your free hand against your mouth, digging your fingers into your cheek. You want to climb further up to escape having to witness the carnage, but what if it hears you?

You glance down to where you left your weapon on the ground. Why the hell didn’t you bring it with you? If you had , maybe you could’ve helped him. Could’ve thrown it at the beast’s head or dropped it for the man to use. As it is, it’s too far away to be of any use to him. You’re no use to him. You’re helpless. You can do nothing more than watch and you feel sick with this strange, unplaceable guilt. He isn’t your ally, you shouldn’t care, but you do. You care a great deal.

You make the mistake of making eye contact with the man and you wish it were still nighttime. You wish you couldn't see and you were only left with the sounds and your imagination. You wish you hadn't seen the palpable desperation in his eyes. You wish you hadn't looked down and saw a human staring back. 

“Help me! Please!” He lifts his remaining arm towards you as if you can do anything of significance. As if all you need to do to save him is reach down. “ Please !” The Beast doesn’t seem to understand English since the man’s pleading doesn’t draw its attention up to you. Or maybe it’s just too busy relishing in its kill. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper an apology, shaking so hard that you're scared you’ll fall out of the tree. You turn your head away as the Beast starts pulling at the man’s legs, forcing him into a position he shouldn't be in if the series of pops are anything to go by. 

His screams become piercing. You close your eyes, pressing your forehead into the rubbery bark. You’ve never been an awfully curious person or particularly morbid by nature. You’ve never wondered what it sounds like for limbs to be ripped off the body, but now you know. 

Stop. Stop fighting. Just die. Just die, please, just—

There’s a sound of what can only be entrails hitting the ground. 

You whimper, slapping your other hand against your mouth to stifle a sob. Sniffing and chest hiccuping loud enough that it might draw its attention. Luckily, the man’s agonized screams of pain distract the beast.

You start counting, shaky mumbling muffled by your hands. You keep getting interrupted by the wailing from below. 

It takes under two minutes in total for him to stop screaming. Screaming for help, screaming for mercy, screaming for God. It’s replaced by the groans of a dying animal, a death rattle mixed with what you can only assume is the beast playing in the mess it’s making. 

It takes another forty-three seconds for the cannon to fire. 

The nearly silent, but not quite, sound of the hovercraft is the only thing that convinces you to open your eyes. You chance a glance down and it is horrific . It’s what you imagine the aftermath of the blood rain looked like. Your brain can’t make sense of it. It’s almost like you’re staring at a complex math problem you never learned to solve. You can only see the numbers and the symbols, but not the equation they’re making up. You can’t see how this barbarity used to be a human being with thoughts, and feelings, and hopes, and dreams, and people who cared about him.

The claw drops down to pick up his remains. The light shines down, and it’s in this faint light that you're able to get a better look at the beast. Its dark blond fur works terribly to hide the blood stains, which it’s covered in. It’s congregated on its hands, arms, stomach, chest, and legs, but not on its face. That has to count for something, right? That it didn’t…didn’t eat him. It has to count for something.

You push yourself flat against the trunk of the tree, but it doesn't even look in your direction. Still, you try to make yourself as small as possible as the giant thing lumbers off. Just in case.

The hovercraft claw drops down five times to collect the man—a leg, another leg, an arm, a torso, a head —

The ground isn’t safe. That much is clear. 

You told Rue she’d be safe in the trees. Maybe you should take your own advice. It takes you a while to finally move. To convince yourself that, while you’re not safe by any stretch of the word, the beast isn’t coming back for you. Your muscles are sore from being tensed up for so long, joints stiff and aching as you move out of your position.

As you push further up the tree, something makes you pause. You strain your hearing, listening closer to your surroundings. It’s completely quiet now. Even when the beast came thundering through, the animals were still around like nothing was amiss. Yet, now, no bugs are chittering, no birds chirp above you, and no small critters scurry in the foliage. The jungle is completely silent. 

It’s strange because it sounded like someone was calling your name, but that can't be right because that voice—You whip your head to the right. You heard it again. 

You squint, your eyes moving rapidly to spot anything through the underbrush. It's still quite dark—dark enough that it feels like you're peering through a pitch-black pool. But you swear you can see a shape, a black mass stalking through the trees.

And whatever it is, it's calling your name.

You grab an especially thick branch, your stomach turning as you clamber up. It’s a desperate climb as you propel yourself up the tree, ignoring your body’s protests. 

You put your foot in a crevice of the tree trunk, but your wound throbs with the stretch, and your foot slips. You wheeze like you've been punched in the gut, footing faltering on the slippery bark and sending another tremor of agony through your injured side. You react in enough time to tighten your grip so you won't go plummeting to the ground.

You breathe deep and try again, leaning forward to account for the pain in your side.

You grow light-headed as whatever that thing is stalks forward, but by the time it comes close enough for you to see it, you're already perched high on a thick branch—straddling it so you can observe it.

You look down at the animal and big, brown eyes stare up at you. Big, brown human eyes. The light peeking through the trees illuminates its black fur and when it finally stops moving, you're able to get a good look at its face—a familiar face . You don't know how, why, or from fucking where, but you know it. You know that face.

It stands up on its hind legs, clawed front paws leaning on the tree. Not like an animal, it stands almost like it's human and like the beast and—what the fuck is it ?

Its collar turns—its collar ?

“What the fuck?” You whisper, staring with your mouth agape. Why the fuck is it wearing a collar?

Its collar turns with its movement, revealing the number ‘11’ and the insignia for the district.

It opens its mouth and calls out to you. You see its too human tongue and too human lips fold around the syllables and your ears ring with recognition.

It sounds like, like Rue?

That's exactly who it sounds like and now that you've given a name to the voice, the resemblance jumps out at you.

That's her face, her little face, meshed with the monstrosity of the Capitol. And those are her eyes so big and trusting—so uncanny and so human—that you're almost certain those really are her eyes.

It's horrific and cruel; it's inhumane and revolting—it's the Capitol and its hatred staring up at you.

She couldn't even find peace in death.

You grind your teeth together as it scratches at the tree, its voice growing more desperate the longer you watch it. It—it isn't being aggressive like mutts normally are. Not like the beast from before. It's whining like a dog, like a child , like it's hurt.

"Please, don't leave me down here!"

Your resolve falters. Maybe, maybe they found a way to bring tributes back. Maybe Rue really is in there, trapped. And if she is—

This is what they want . They want to bait you, bring down your defenses, and make you vulnerable. If you go down there, it'll tear you apart instantly. Leave you in pieces.

And if that doesn't work, they'll torture you with her voice. Torment you with what they made her into.

You pull your legs up on the little space the tree provides and close your eyes, ignoring the sting of dried blood cracking apart and retearing your wound open. She doesn't like that; her little voice grows monstrous. You don't bother looking down.

You wish you could cover your ears, but you need to be able to hear if something approaches—something else . 

This is hell.

THE BEACH (10:04 am—9:07 pm)

Johanna has no idea how much time she spent searching for you before she decided to just cut their losses and head towards the beach. And, of course— of course —Beetee became too faint to walk on his own two feet, forcing Johanna to drag him through the vines, underbrush, and whatever the hell else was on the jungle floor. 

Her feet finally sink into the sand and she almost cries. The breeze carries the salty smell of the water and each breath of air is already thinner and cooler than any she’s taken since walking into the jungle. The dramatic shift from solid ground to soft mounds is disorienting but not enough to stop her. She keeps walking forward when she realizes she’s the only one carrying Beetee’s weight anymore. She drops him once they’re a few feet away from the tree line. There’s no telling what else could be in there and he makes for an easy target. She looks down at his blood-caked form, scrutinizing him. His eyes close behind skewed glasses, his face slackens, and—he’s passed out. 

He is completely unconscious. 

“Great. This is just— ugh !” She stomps her foot, kicking up sand. You’ve disappeared off the face of the Earth, Blight is dead, and Beetee is well on his way to being next. “This is shitty. This is so shitty.” She snarls down at Beetee’s unresponsive body—soon to be his unresponsive corpse, she’s sure.

And Wiress—Johanna sighs.

Honestly, she’s surprised Wiress didn’t wander off at some point. Instead, she almost walked herself in circles around Johanna. You’d probably say she reminded you of a bird or something, but if anyone asked her, she’d say it was more gnat-like. Just consistently buzzing nonsense into Johanna’s ear—tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock— God !

Wiress circles near her— gnat, gnat, gnat —and Johanna is fed up with just about everything, but especially this. She shoves the older woman down onto the warm sand and she lands next to her district mate, acting for all the world like she wasn’t just pushed with a considerable amount of Johanna’s strength.

She knows that isn’t what you would do; this isn't how you’d handle the situation if the roles were reversed and you were the one stuck with the invalids. You would probably find a way to treat Beetee's injury so he doesn’t fucking die. Then, you’d tend to Wiress with kid gloves and figure out some way to fix her in the process. But you aren’t here and that’s sort of the entire problem, isn’t it? 

She searched for hours and there’s no sign of you. She’s worried; of course, she’s worried. The number of people Johanna actually gives a shit about can be counted on one hand and she’d still have fingers to spare. You happen to be one of them.

When she first won her Games, Johanna hadn't been looking to make friends. Prickly and irritable, she didn't hold back from making this known. She was condescending and scathing and vindictive—she still is—but you just kept coming back.

And then something changed.

Johanna had made the mistake of underestimating just how much Snow hated when things didn’t go his way—just how much he hated to lose. But Coriolanus Snow always got his pound of flesh, whether it was given willingly or not. 

She refused his offer and her family paid the price. Her mother, her father, and her big sister were all taken from her and killed on the president’s orders—framed as a freak accident with them as the only casualties. At sixteen, she was a victor with nothing but three graves to show for it and a fury burning in her chest like a forest fire, never to be extinguished.

So she lashed out, striking at anyone who got too close to her with cutting words that were meant to hurt as much as she did. She kept her distance and she tried to convince herself that it was much better that way. That being alone was her choice. And yet, you were there. You were there despite how much she claimed to want otherwise and you brought Finnick along with you.

Finnick, who just so happens to be another one of those counted fingers. What is she supposed to tell him? 

Oh, hi, Finnick. Why isn’t the love of your life with us? Yeah, we kinda lost her hours ago. Absolutely no clue where she might be or if she’s even alive. Oops.

Yeah, fat chance that doesn’t end with him walking into the ocean, never to be seen again.

She knows you’re not dead. She just needs to find you. She refuses to put another finger down.

Johanna stares down at her allies—her dead weight, more like—as Wiress climbs to her feet, heading straight for the water. If the revolution didn’t need these two so badly, she swears she would’ve drowned them herself to get it over with. If it weren’t for them, she could’ve covered more ground in her search for you like she wanted without having to keep a leash on Nuts and carry Volts. That’s the only thing keeping her here on the beach instead of in the jungle looking for you like she wants to. 

“ Johann a !”

Her head whips up, looking over her shoulder at the quickly approaching figure. “Finnick!”

The relief is almost blinding. Or at least, it would be if it weren’t for the guilt. He descends the slight hill and she sees him looking for you, eyes searching and finding nothing.

She starts prattling off before he can say anything. She doesn’t know why, maybe to buy herself some time before she’s asked the question she doesn’t want to hear and forced to give him the answer she doesn’t want to give.

“We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood.” Just describing it makes her remember it all in disgusting detail, makes her sick. Wiress fluttering around certainly doesn’t help.

“Johanna—”

“You couldn't see, you couldn't speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That's when Blight hit the force field.” She gestures roughly to the jungle, but Finnick is already looking, eyes combing the treeline as if you’ll come hobbling out any second now and she feels a bloody bead of sweat drip down her neck.

“Johanna—”

“He wasn't much, but he was from home.” 

“ Johanna! ” He shouts, scaring Nuts into a brief, but blissful silence. Honestly, she’s more surprised he lasted as long as he had without fully cutting her off.

“I’m sorry about Blight, Johanna.” He says, all at once calm again. “Where’s Star?”

Let it be known, Johanna Mason has never found a bush she was willing to beat around, even one as prickly as this. "We lost her in that blood shower." People have called Johanna many things since she became a victor, namely a vindictive bitch—which was more true than not—but no one can ever claim that she’s cruel. She doesn’t enjoy watching the color drain from Finnick’s face, and with it, whatever tentative hope he managed to hold onto. She’s quick to add, “She didn’t hit the forcefield, I know that for sure. It was nearly impossible to see anything, but the hovercraft only picked up Blight.”

Peeta and Katniss come up to them, but no Mags. No response from Finnick either.

“Finnick?” She prods, but he doesn’t reply.

She prepared herself for any reaction he may have. Crying, running off to find you himself, letting himself get carried away by a current, a combination of all three. She doesn’t know what to do with no reaction at all.

He’s silent as he stands alarmingly still, face clear of any discernible emotions. She regards him warily despite her concern winning out over the caution. She’d seen enough animals freeze up just like this before striking. Not that he had ever acted like that before and he’s not the kind of guy to take his anger out on others, but…grief isn’t logical.

Finnick stares off somewhere over her head sightlessly. She might as well be having a conversation with the crashing waves and the salty breeze. He doesn’t answer when she calls his name again. He doesn’t say a thing. And then, all of a sudden, he drops all at once like whatever’s been holding him up has been cut at the root, strings snipped abruptly. 

She and Katniss move forward on instinct to try and catch him, but he crashes down into the sand on his ass faster than either of them can move, his trident landing beside him. She blinks, then blinks again as he collapses in on himself. His back takes on a miserable curve as his elbows lie propped up on his bent knees. He looks completely gutted and Johanna can tell the drastic shift in his behavior has left Katniss confused, but not Peeta. Peeta stares down at Finnick with more pity than she’ll allow herself to show.

" Jesus , Finnick, I'm not saying she's dead. She's just by herself.” Which is almost as good as dead in here. Johanna squats down beside him. She grabs the back of his neck when he won't look up, getting in his face until he has no choice but to meet her eyes. They’re watery and it’s the closest to crying she’s ever seen him. "But she can survive, you know that. She’ll find a way, she always does."

She throws in a scoff like it’s ridiculous that they’re having this conversation in the first place, leaving out the panic she felt when she realized they had lost you. 

“...Right.” He croaks. He doesn’t nod. But he isn’t crying either, so she’ll take it. He sniffs and she worries he’s about to prove her wrong. “Yeah. Yeah, um. You’re right.”

“Let’s just try to stay in one place. Let her find her way to us.” She gives him a pointed look. Meaning no running off.

He doesn’t say anything else. He just continues to stare down at the sand. She'll cut him some slack. After all, she's never loved anyone the way Finnick loves you. She doubts she ever will.

She stands up, getting an armful of Nuts for her troubles, still wet from her dive into the water. Johanna pushes her in another direction that isn’t her personal space. She nudges Beetee with her foot when she notices him slowly gaining consciousness. 

“I got left alone with these two.” She nudges Beetee, who's barely conscious, with her shoe. “I don’t even know if we can consider him alive. And her—”

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

“Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock,” Johanna says. This seems to draw Wiress right back in her direction and she careens into Johanna, gripping her and refusing to be steered away again. “Listen, just— stop it .” Johanna manages to get out of her hold, shoving her to the beach. “Just stay down, will you?”

Katniss rushes in and pushes Johanna away, finally opening her big mouth to say, “Hey! Lay off her!” As if Johanna is the one accosting Wiress.

Johanna narrows her eyes in hatred. “Lay off her?” She hisses. Before anyone can react, Johanna rears her hand back and slaps Katniss hard enough that her palm stings with it. She could have done it a lot harder and she probably should have for extra measure.

Finnick finally reacts to that, standing up to pull them apart. “Hey, hey, hey !”

He lifts Johanna over his shoulder, but she doesn’t make it easy for him. Twisting and writhing in his hold like a rabid badger as he carries her to the water. And Johanna is so very tempted to chuck her axe at Katniss’s confused face.

“I got them out for you!”

-

The mood amongst the group is rather somber. Wiress was killed right under their nose. Preventative, if they had only been paying attention. Their canary is dead, as Katniss said. But they noticed too late. It’ll cost them somehow, Finnick is sure.

After making sure a waterlogged Beetee is breathing more air than water, Finnick can’t look at him for long. For no reason other than the fact that he can’t stand it. What is there to see other than a man mourning his district mate, his friend? Someone who’s been in his life longer than they haven’t. It sparks a resigned anger in Finnick, an anger that simmers and smolders. An anger that burns but doesn’t have the room to spread. An anger that’ll consume him and only him. He burns for Beetee and himself, for Wiress and Mags. It’s an anger that prays Chaff will survive, or else it’ll consume you too.

Beetee rolls his thin, golden wire between his fingers and Finnick knows he’s thinking of Wiress. He looks away, down at the low-hanging branch he’s leaning against. What is there to do? He won’t apologize to Beetee for his loss, because that means he’ll be acknowledging that he’s lost something too. 

Katniss is the first to speak after a long stretch of silence. "So, besides Brutus and Enobaria, who’s left?”

“Maybe Chaff?”

“Star.” Finnick reminds them, loathed to leave you out of the count. 

Peeta nods. “Just those four.”

“They know they’re outnumbered. I doubt they’ll attack again. We’re safe here on the beach.” Or, at least, safer than they’d be if they made camp in the jungle. 

“So what do we do? We hunt ‘em down?” Johanna asks, still somehow able to make the only viable option sound like the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. An admirable skill. Finnick isn’t that eager to go marching back in there either. He’d much rather stay in one spot to make it easier for you to find them, but there are only two careers left and he’s confident that the four of them could make quick work of Brutus and Enobaria—

“Katniss!” A girl yells Katniss’s name somewhere behind them, somewhere deep in the jungle. He doesn’t recognize it at first, doesn’t understand what’s happening until—

“Prim!” Katniss is up in mere seconds, darting off faster than he’s ever seen her move. He lunges for his trident, rushing after her. This has trap written all over it, using her little sister to lure Katniss away from the group. And here he is running right after her. 

Shit.

Finnick is the fastest out of the five of them, no doubt. It’s no chore at all to catch up to her. Though it would have been impossible to lose her with how loud she screams, “ Prim !”

By the time he gets there, the screaming is cut off abruptly. 

“Katniss!” He crashes into the small clearing that she’s stopped in, panting. “You okay?”

Before she even opens her mouth to answer, they’re interrupted. The shrill screech that rings throughout the jungle isn’t Prim’s. It’s—

“Annie?” He asks, but he knows those screams and they are without a doubt Annie’s. She screams again as if to answer him and his heart drops. He doesn’t think, doesn’t have time to before he’s running. “ Anni e !”

He chases the sound of her voice deeper into the jungle, but it feels like he’s simultaneously getting closer and further away. “Annie! Annie !”

“Finnick! It’s not her! It’s just a jabberjay. It’s not her.” She says as she catches up to him, but that does nothing to soothe him.

“Well, where do you think they got that sound? Jabberjays copy .”

“You don’t think…?”

He doesn’t bother answering, chest heaving, because he does think. He knew the Quarter Quell would be a death sentence for more than just him and Mags. He knew that despite her many triumphs and growth since her Games, Annie wouldn’t make it alone—not yet. But this ? This is a worse fate than he could have ever imagined for her. 

“Katniss ! ” This voice is different from the other two, more masculine. Finnick doesn’t recognize it, but Katniss must if the fear in her eyes is anything to go off of.

“Gale.” She whispers, and that’s when the birds stop hiding.

His eye twitches at the next scream, his shoulders hunching closer to his ears. “Finnick! Finnick, please!”

“Star?” Your name falls off his lips as a faint whisper, but it feels like a razorblade as he forces it out of his throat. Because putting your name to that tortured voice is torture in and of itself.

But that doesn’t…how could they have—if, if you’re here, then how would—But he doesn’t know that for sure, does he? He doesn’t know where you are, does he? None of them do. He wouldn’t put it past Snow. 

He could see it now: Snow plucking you out of the arena during the bloody chaos, dragging you kicking and screaming somewhere deep in the walls of the Capitol, and letting animals in lab coats draw these horrible sounds from you. There really is no limit to his sadism, is there? There’s no line he won’t destroy as he crosses it.

The birds start diving low to pinch at their skin, pull their hair, and strike at them with their wings. He tries to swat them away when dodging doesn’t work before realizing the only way out of this will be by getting out of the four o’clock wedge, like with the fog and the monkeys.

“Come on, come on, come on!” He shouts, pushing Katniss to run back the way they came from and he can barely hear himself despite the way his vocal cords protest at how loud he yells. They run— sprint away from the birds, unsuccessfully. They draw blood but the wounds the jabberjays leave are more than skin deep. When they finally spot the others, Finnick almost feels the relief viscerally. 

It’s this that makes him blind to the fact that the other three don’t approach them, that they hold their hands up to tell them to stop. He only sees it when he runs face-first into the barrier with a crunch of something important. He groans, barely catching himself from falling on his ass. His eyes water as something warm and metallic dips into his mouth and he doesn’t need to touch his face to know his nose is bleeding.

They try to get Finnick and Katniss out from the other side with their weapons as Beetee stares on with palpable sadness. It’s a good effort, Johanna with her axe and Peeta with his machete, but they don’t even make a dent. He’s stuck here for the next hour. When that sinks in, Finnick can’t stop his ears from listening to the screams around him.

“Help me, Finnick! Please!”

“Finnick!”

Finnick stumbles backward over his own feet as he stares up at the hundreds— thousands of jabberjays circling above them. The sheer number of them, they almost paint the sky black. Some fly just out of reach, tauntingly, while others settle into tree branches. But they all open their mouths to sing a cacophony of horror. He looks over at Katniss and he knows she’s screaming. He can’t hear it, but he can see it in the way her entire body quakes as she bangs on the barrier. 

The wails of pain are deafening and he gives up before Katniss does, dropping to the floor. Finnick hunches over, making himself smaller as he clenches his hands over his ears and digs his nails into his scalp, hoping the pain will distract him. It doesn’t. He presses the heels of his palms into his skull and the throbbing ache does nothing to take him out of the moment. 

He’s trapped.

Even though there must be at least five voices surrounding him, including Katniss’s, Finnick can only focus on two. He only hears you and Annie, your begs and screams swimming together to grate against the confines of his skull. He apologizes but it’s more of a vibration in his chest than any sound said aloud. He tries to think, but he can’t, he can’t—can’t think of anything else. What could they have done to make you scream and plead and cry like this, reaching out for him when he can never reach back? Helpless, yet again, as you and Annie are tortured. 

He’s helpless and he’s hopeless and Finnick sobs, his forehead thudding against the ground over and over. He imagines your hand rubbing his back soothingly as you run fingers through his hair and it only makes him cry harder, chest rocking with painful hiccups.  

-

Coming to the beach feels like admitting defeat, but your chances of survival in that jungle decrease substantially the longer you stay there. You don’t know how long you cowered in that tree, but you know you stayed long after the Rue mutt went silent. 

You limp along in the sand. Your only hope is that you’ll spot Finnick when he comes to the water to fish. That’s when you hear it. A masculine voice yelling, screaming something. You poise yourself to start running in the opposite direction. You don’t know who’s left, but it would be difficult to take on Gloss or Brutus even if you weren’t injured. Something makes you stop though, something tells you to listen. You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can make out who’s saying it. 

Peeta !

Your feet carry you back into the jungle, tripping over your boots and vines and anything else in your path, but you don’t fall. You don’t allow yourself to. You speed up the louder Peeta’s voice becomes, closer and closer and closer until you see them. 

You don’t quite understand what it is you’re looking at. Beetee looks to the sky underneath his glasses, scanning for something. Johanna is slamming her axe against a clear barrier, clear like what you saw the beetles bumping into. And you were right, Peeta is the one screaming. 

Johanna spins around as you approach and her eyes light up at the sight of you.

“You found us.” She pants, axe falling to her side. “Oh, thank God.” She moves and it’s only then that you see him.

Finnick is curled up on the ground with his hands covering his ears.

“Finnick!” You rush forward, falling to your knees without a second thought, reaching for him and meeting nothing. “Finnick, it’s me!” You bang your fist against the barrier but it’s like he can’t even hear you.

“Jabberyjays.” Johanna says from behind you, and, suddenly, you understand.

You don’t take your eyes off of him, to do so feels like you’re leaving him in there alone. It becomes even clearer why Peeta is yelling, because curled beside Finnick sits Katniss. Peeta’s yelling, because he’s trying to be louder than whatever voices are being used to torment her. 

This isn’t how you wanted to reunite with Finnick, but, you sigh shakily, blinking back the water in your eyes, you’re so damn glad to see him. 

“It’s no use.” Johanna huffs, you feel her pacing behind you. “He can’t hear any thing, not even you.” That may be true, but seeing him in such a state is making you desperate in your panic. 

“But he can read my lips.” You realize, you just need to get his attention. He needs to know you’re here, that’s it. You don’t know how long you kneel on the ground yelling, screaming yourself hoarse alongside Peeta, focused only on Finnick. But, by some miracle, something makes him look up. Maybe he can feel you, sense that you’re there—regardless, he looks up and you smile, laughing in relief. 

He’s crying, tears making tracks in the dirt along his face and it breaks your heart. There are a few scratches along the right side of his face and there’s crusted blood under his nose. The birds got him good and you don’t just mean physically. 

He stares at you like he doesn’t believe you’re really there. Like he can trust what his eyes see as much as what his ears hear. 

“Finnick! Finnick, baby, it’s not real.” You enunciate, shaking your head rapidly. “ It’s not real.”

Star? He mouths and you nod eagerly, pressing your forehead to the transparent wall. He clambers up, shuffling forward to copy you. He presses his big hands to your smaller ones, forehead to forehead. His eyes slip closed, lips quivering and you can see the same relief you feel shake through him. His shoulders quake with his sobs, but his eyes don’t stay off of you for long. He’s scared to look away from you, you can tell. 

You take in a deep breath, and then another, each one less unsteady than the last. Telling yourself not to cry proves to be fruitless. You can only imagine what it is he’s hearing.

“Remember when I ate fish for the first time? I think you had just turned eighteen—no, nineteen and, I don’t even know how it came up, but I told you I never had fish before and you were appalled .” A small crease develops between his brows as he watches your lips, but eventually, he nods, beautiful eyes flickering up to yours. They almost look gray whenever he cries, a glossy film muting the color. But they’re still breathtaking. A thousand and one poems, you think. “You made me try more fish than I even knew existed and I ended up throwing up over the balcony. And, and you felt so bad, and you kept apologizing, but I couldn’t stop laughing at the idea of some Capitol elite wearing my puke as a hat. Do you remember that, Finn?” He blinks a few times before his mouth tilts into a small smile, one you don’t even realize you copy. 

Yeah, sweetheart. I remember. 

Your heart flutters at the pet name even after all this time. 

You go on like that, saying whatever comes to mind with Finnick watching your lips carefully, reverently like your words are the only thing keeping him upright for twenty minutes, thirty minutes, maybe even forty. 

“The hour’s up,” Peeta says, relieved, though you aren’t sure what he’s talking about. But then the jabberjays start falling to the ground dead, wings flapping pitifully before they still, and you know it’s coming to an end. It’s an unnerving sight. Not that Finnick notices with how closely he watches you. “The hour’s up.”

Something shifts. The air goes still and then, suddenly, you feel warm callused skin under your hands and a damp forehead against your own. Finnick falls into you, his big frame feeling incredibly small in your embrace as he trembles. 

“Star.” He breathes almost mournfully. 

“Hey, baby.” You grin, taking his face into your hands. You rub blood-smeared thumbs along his cheeks. His eyes are puffy and you want to kiss them. Something rushes over you, because you can do that. There’s no reason not to now. You’re not acting for the cameras anymore, not hiding anything to make your patrons feel special. You’re together now, they can’t use you against each other as punishment. You lean forward and he closes his eyes like he already knows what you’re going to do.

Or maybe it’s a case of your desires syncing up so intrinsically that you’ll know what the other will do without being told. 

Just like it used to be.

You press your lips against each of his eyelids, savoring the feeling. You pull back—he freezes momentarily, probably at the thought of you letting him go—but only enough to see his face clearly. “Are you alright? You okay?” He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know the answer is no.

You wind your arms around his shoulders and he buries his face into your neck. You whisper reassurances into his ear, running your fingers through the hair curling along the back of his nape. One of his hands reaches up to grip your bicep while he folds his other arm around your waist.

“It’s over. It’s okay. They’re gone. The hour’s gone. The hour’s up. It’s alright.” You look over to see Peeta comforting Katniss, coaxing her out of the protective ball she’s curled herself into. She jumps, gasping once he touches her. 

“Prim! Find Prim!” She yells, to your slight confusion. 

“No, no. Prim’s okay.” He reassures her and, though seemingly impossible, Finnick’s grasp on you tightens.

“They used your voice.” He says into your neck. Your voice? Why would they do that when it’s something so easily disproven? And why your voice specifically? Another protocol broken by Snow? You wouldn’t be surprised. You’ve got more questions than answers and the only person that can answer them is the last man you’d want to speak to again. “Yours and Annie’s. I-I thought, I thought you were gone. I,” he inhales, “I thought they took you.” He croaks despairingly and you just might start crying again.

“I’m right here, Finn. No one’s gonna take me.” You whisper, a promise meant for his ears only as you curl around him protectively.  

“Okay? They won’t touch Prim. Alright?” Peeta talks her down and you wish you could help.

“It was fake.” You say, loud enough for the others to hear. Their gazes swing to you. “Apparently, it’s not hard to take a regular recording of someone’s voice and—”

“Modify it,” Beetee picks up, nodding in agreement. He was the one who told you about it a few years back. It has always stuck with you. It made your skin itch then and it makes your skin sting now. “Change the context, in a way. Our children learn a similar technique in school. Fairly young, at that.”

“Your fiance’s right. The whole country loves your sister. If they tortured her or did anything to her, forget the districts, there would be… riots in the damn Capitol.” Johanna attempts to help in her own blunt way, but there’s an undercurrent of jealousy. Something every victor must feel. You know you do. What makes Katniss’s family more lovable than your own? Doesn’t your mom deserve the protection that comes with that kind of public acclaim? That safety net? A part of you hates how envious you are of Prim, this little girl, but it can’t be helped.

“Hey, how does that sound, Snow? What if we, what if we set your backyard on fire?! You know you can’t put everybody in here!” She shouts to the sky. You all stare at her, silent. Even Finnick who still clings to you watches her. “What? They can’t hurt me. There’s no one left that I love.” You know that to be tragically true. 

When it happened, it spread amongst the pool of victors like a plague. A factory fire in Seven? The same district whose entire industry is lumber just so happened to be negligent enough that a fire started in one of their sawmills? Only killing three people, no less?

Snow has never been subtle, not when it falls and not when it sticks. Not when it builds and certainly not when it traps. He’s much like his namesake in that way. But he has no need for subtlety. Not when he’s exacting his own special brand of justice. Not when he’s teaching someone a lesson. Because a lesson for one of you is a lesson for you all.

He attempted to trap her just like you feared he would and Johanna told him no, perhaps very loudly and colorfully. She told you she doesn’t regret it, she only regrets that Snow took it out on her family. And that she didn’t curse him out more before she was escorted out. Johanna Mason has always been the bravest girl you know.

She huffs like a bull. “I’ll get you some water. You too.” She points her axe to you before she storms off. You almost forgot how thirsty you are. 

-

Finnick can’t sit in this jungle anymore surrounded by these fucking birds, even if they are dead. 

He needs to go back to the beach, back to the water. He doesn’t say any of that, and yet you stand, pulling him up with you. He grabs both his trident and your sickle in one hand while you intertwine your fingers with his. He doesn’t ask where you’re leading him, because he’d follow you anywhere. Beetee follows with Katniss and Peeta not far behind. 

His nerves feel raw and exposed, but seeing you, holding you loosens a knot between his shoulder blades. He doesn’t know how he would have fared after the jabberjays if you weren’t there. If he couldn’t get some kind of confirmation that you were okay. If you weren’t there to hold him together. 

They clear the jungle, stepping onto the beach and he sweeps for enemies. When he sees none, he buries the hilt of his trident into the sand and lays your weapon next to it. He notices something as you pull him to the water. 

He looks down at the hand he had wrapped around your sickle to see…blood. You held his face earlier. He uses the back of his hand to rub at one of his cheeks. He pulls back and sees—blood. He thought it was just sweat but both of your hands are covered in fresh blood.

The blood rain your group got caught in happened hours ago, it should be dried and tacky by now. So unless you’ve had the severe misfortune of being caught in it twice—

He stands still, pulling you to a stop.

"How much of this blood is yours?" He asks, dreading the answer. Already, he looks you over, but it’s hard to find anything amiss when you’re drenched like this. You stare up at him confused, brows furrowed before they raise in realization. 

“Oh!” 

Oh? What does ‘oh’ mean? ‘Oh’ isn’t what he wants to hear. ‘Oh’ sounds nothing like ‘none at all, Finn’. ‘Oh’ suggests something substantial that you remembered, ‘oh’ means bad .

"More than you would like." You shrug indifferently like your words aren't kickstarting Finnick's heartbeat double-time. He looks you over again and finds that you’re favoring your right side.

"Let me see."

You sigh, reaching down to your waist. You’ve tied your sleeves together in a tourniquet. You grit your teeth as you untie it and he winces as the cut on his thigh twinges in sympathy. He squats down to get a better look, carefully pulling back the sticky fabric of your shirt and cursing. 

God.  

What could do this? He raises his other hand to your back to steady you. The wounds are, he doesn’t want to say bad , but they’re far from good. There’s no discoloration to suggest infection, he thinks. There’s harsh bruising, but that’s normal, right? It’s to be expected for any injury. There’s nothing to suggest that it’ll kill you. 

He looks up at you and you seem fine, all things considered. You know more about medicine than he does and you would tell him if this was fatal.

The two crooked circles make him queasy to look at, but at least you aren’t bleeding any more. Your entire side is covered in your blood, so that doesn’t promote much confidence. There’s loose skin and jagged cuts and, and…

He tries not to outwardly show how freaked out he is, he doesn’t want to scare you, but, of course, you can tell anyway.

“I’m alright.” You place a bloody hand on his head, lacing bloody fingers in his hair.

He looks between you and the wound in disbelief. This does not look alright. 

He shakes his head, stunned. And more than a little amazed. “How could you forget about this? Even for a second?”

“I saw you.” You say and smile and he knows you’d shrug if it didn’t hurt so much. “And, I, uh, I guess it…it didn’t seem that important. At the time.”

“Star,” he scolds, despite the way his chest feels tight and his eyes feel scratchy with the need to cry again because this is very important. 

But . 

He felt the exact same way when he saw you. He doesn’t know what told him to look up at that moment, doesn’t know what made him lift his forehead from where he pressed it into the dirt, but he did. And there you were. And he could suddenly hear again. Not the screams of pain and anguish around him, but you. He read your lips as you talked and it was like you were beside him, he could almost hear you. The real you. The you that the jabberjays couldn’t mimic. He could feel again and it wasn’t the feathered wings hitting him or the tears trailing down his face. It was you. You were there and that meant nothing else mattered because you were there .

Even now as he stares up at you, at the way you glow under the sunlight, he can barely feel the sting on his cheek from a jabberjay’s talons that got too close for comfort.  

He looks back down at the wound before your beauty can further distract him and frowns.

“What happened to you, sweetheart? Another victor?” He asks, but he can’t even think of what kind of weapon could do this kind of damage.

You sigh wearily. 

“No. No, nothing that simple. I’ll explain later, I promise. C’mon.” You pull at his wrist and he stands. “Come help me wash all of this shit off.” He’s conflicted. You do need to clean up, but he doesn’t know if you should be so blasé about this. He looks over his shoulder at where the others sit a few feet away.

“Okay. But we need to get that taken care of, Star.”

“Of course, Finn.”

“Katniss helped Beetee. With, like, moss. And…Water and stuff. He was in much worse shape, so she can definitely help you.” You let him ramble.

“Okay, Finn.”

-

Katniss sits in the sand, warm despite the permanent chill the jabberjays have left behind. She jumps at the sound of metal on metal, an arrow being added to her quiver. She looks up and behind her at Johanna’s smug face, probably getting a particular kick out of scaring her. 

She hands Katniss an opened coconut full of water and she takes it hesitantly, still more than a little confused about where the two of them stand. “Thank you.”

Johanna says nothing back, not that she expected her to. Instead, she picks up a stray stick and sits to the left of her. 

"What's the deal with those two?" She asks, running the risk of sounding like one of the older women back in Twelve—as rare as they are—who loved to gossip. Not that there was ever anything to gossip about in the Seam. Katniss thinks they just liked the distraction.

Johanna glances up at her before looking to where you and Finnick sit in the water a foot or two away from the shore. Or, more accurately, Finnick sits in the water as you lay across his lap. He washes the blood off of you with the kind of gentleness Katniss thought he only had reserved for Mags. He takes your face between his hands, seemingly taking a moment just to look at you, and the exact nature of your relationship only further complicates in Katniss' mind.

"What isn't the deal with them," the older girl throws the stick a couple of feet, giving up on whatever she was trying to draw. "They won their Games so young, fourteen and fifteen. They practically grew up in the Capitol together. You don't go through half the shit they've been through without growing a little attached."

Ah. She can believe that. You won your Games before her father died, so she remembers some of the fanfare—the interviews you and Finnick used to do together, all of which were projected in the town square, had always confused her. From what she learned in school, Four and Eleven couldn’t be any more different. What was the point of pairing you two together? 

She isn’t a strategist like Peeta, she can admit it’s not her strong suit. But if she thinks less like the districts and more like a victor, it makes sense.

Two victors who are close in age, both attractive and charismatic. Who wouldn’t want to see them together? Usually, victors from the same district get paired together for their television appearances, but neither Four or Eleven had another victor appropriate for public consumption, either too old or too crazy. 

“Hmm.”

When she was younger, she imagined victors like you and Finnick—pretty, charming, well-loved—were living the dream. 

But if two of the most beloved and revered victors are miserable, what chance did she and Peeta stand? No, she knows the answer to that. She doesn’t have a chance. She can’t handle it, the Capitol. She’s barely been subjected to it for a year, and even then, that’s only the tip of the knife.  

You were right, she realizes. In comparison to you and Finnick who’ve been on this ride for nearly a decade, she’s incredibly lucky. She’s already slipped up once, and it cost a man his life.

The weight of Snow’s threat looms over her and without the Quell, it would have only been a matter of time before she did something else to displease him. But Peeta knows how to play the game, he knows how to sway the audience. He came up with the romance, with the baby. It took her some time to understand the significance of those two plays, but she gets it now. She couldn’t have done that, couldn’t have possibly thought to.

Nobody worries about Peeta and whether or not he's selling the romance. She's the risk factor here.

Yet another reason why he should be the one making it out of here and not her.

"Then what happened?" They didn't act this close during training . In fact, while she was unsure of Finnick's intentions, Katniss was almost certain you hated him. That was, perhaps, partially the reason she found it so hard to trust him. 

"The same thing that always happens when Snow sniffs out that someone has an ounce of happiness. He cut it at the root.” Katniss attempts to understand the implications of that statement. How much is she not saying? Suddenly, Katniss glances to the sky, remembering all at once where they are and that this conversation is far from private. How much can she say? She looks back to where you and Finnick have huddled even closer together, noses nearly brushing. She’s too far away to hear the conversation, but she can tell from here that whatever is being said is done in a whisper. As soft as freshly hung sheets drying in the sun. Maybe softer. 

You two are a mystery she hadn’t even been aware of. And maybe it isn’t her place to try and solve it, but she knows one thing for certain. It’s becoming increasingly clear that the only real victor is Snow.

Suddenly Johanna sighs, long and weary like the old bloodhound Katniss used to stop and pet when she sold her catches in the merchant area. “Love is weird.”

-

“So it’s a big clock?”

“Yep.” The water has become a murky red, just diluted enough to not be opaque. “Wiress figured it out—in her own special way.” He didn’t think twice about her weird little chanting. There was too much going on in his own head to wonder about hers.

He can’t dip you into the water like he did Johanna. It would be far from productive and certainly less fun. You need a gentle hand which he’s more than happy to provide.

He’s heard of saltwater washes being used for wounds, but that might be a little different from the water in the arena. There’s sea life swimming around, which means bacteria. Not to mention the blood of victors unlucky enough to be slaughtered during the bloodbath. All of which will open you up to an infection. 

So instead, he thought it best to lay you horizontally across his lap, propping your torso up to keep your wound dry. 

“That makes so much sense. It feels so damn obvious now.” You scoff, shaking your head. 

He smiles and says, “I’m sure you could’ve figured it out too.” 

You huff. “Mhm. Sure.”

The blood comes off of you in thick clots before disintegrating in the water. The real problem presents itself when he attempts to wash it out of your hair. The blood sits heavy and congealed in your curls, oily enough that rinsing it out proves nigh impossible. The salt in the water helps, but only barely. 

Finnick’s fingers are gentle as he works, diligent yet soothing. You inhale, relaxing into him. He finds himself hunching over you protectively, curling his body over yours like a shield. 

“and…Wiress?” You ask, not so much about her absence. It isn’t hard to guess what the absence of a woman like that means in a place like this. It’s what caused said absence that you’re after. Finnick sighs.

“The careers came. Snuck up on us while we were busy mapping out the arena. And then Gloss ran a knife through her neck.” He says. He knows you wouldn’t want him to spare you from the details. You asked him because you want to know.

“Oh.” You say, the subtle waves withdrawing and climbing around your shoulders and your head. It might get in your ears. Should he scoot back? Maybe further up the beach? “How’s Beetee taking it?”

“He’s…taking it. The man’s a robot.” He grumbles with less snide than it should have come out. The people expect him to be catty, but Finnick’s been declawed for a long time now. Your eyes stay closed but there’s disapproval written in your brow. Because you know him. You know where to look when he’s hiding.

“Finnick…” You sigh, and he sniffs.

“I don’t know. I guess…he didn’t really think she’d make it.”

“I’m sure he hoped though—that it wouldn’t be so violent, I mean.” You peek an eye open as you catch yourself before relaxing again. He chuckles. And then he remembers where he is.

There was an agreement, something all the victors wanted if they were going to do something as risky as openly rebelling. Immunity for their loved ones. Plutarch agreed to make it a priority ‘if possible’. He knows you asked for your mom, the same way he asked for Annie. But Beetee came into the arena with the only person he cared about. He doesn’t think Beetee has any family other than Wiress. And now, other than you and Annie, Finnick doesn’t either. 

“Yeah. Well. See how well that hope worked out for him.” Instead of replying, not that there’s really anything to say to that, you grasp his hand tenderly, pressing a kiss to it. You open your eyes to look up at him, lips pressed to his knuckles and he can feel the apples of his cheeks along with the shell of his ears go warm, flushing with something other than the heat. It’s not that he isn’t used to physical affection from you, he’s getting reacquainted with it. All while being on national TV. Caesar’s gonna have a field day with this. He wonders how he and his odd little cohost are narrating this, but his mind doesn’t stay on them for long. You let your lips linger, idly drifting to the tips of his fingers, and the muscle in his hand flexes with an impulse he can’t quite explain. Though he is particularly distracted by the drag of your lips against his skin as you talk.  

“I’m sorry about Mags, Finn.” His lips twitch downward. 

“Me too.” You didn’t get nearly enough time with Mags. It adds insult to injury. 

It’s quiet. But it’s not heavy like he’s gotten used to it being since they’ve entered the arena. It’s light, there’s nothing expected of either him or you. He can breathe. The salty smell of seawater calms him almost as much as your humming does. He recognizes it as one of the songs you composed.

“This is technically an ocean, isn’t it?” He pauses, looks around, considers it. 

“I guess you could call it that. Albeit, a rather small one.”

“And, that would make this a beach then? Right?” Your mouth twitches, you’re trying not to smile. He rubs his thumb along your cheek because he wants you to.

You sit up with a little difficulty that you try to hide. He sees it, because he always sees you, and helps you sit beside him. He’s been done for quite some time now. He just wanted to keep touching you. Making sure you’re real, and you’re here with him. In your time apart, he forgot that he didn’t need to find his own assurance. All he had to do was ask. He holds out his left hand and you take it.

“It’s the first I’ve ever seen in person. I haven’t had the chance to take it all in considering, well, y’know.” You laugh and Finnick assumes the birds can only listen in jealousy. Not even they can sing a song as sweet as that. “I could do without the circumstances that led up to it, but, hey.” You nudge your shoulder into his and stay there, sides pressed together, and he leans into you. “We’re here, aren’t we? We’re side by side in the sand.”

His head tilts in confusion before his eyes widen. Side by side in the sand, just like he wanted all those years ago. A childish wish that never stood a chance of coming true, but a wish he sent to you in a letter all the same. Looking back, that sort of hope should have been drained from him—it had been drained from him. But not with you. No, hope is your currency and Finnick had been in massive debt before he met you. 

He wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you more than he’s wanted anything in his entire life, it seems. It’s been a long two years and, before that, a long couple of months. He needs to kiss you and, he realizes with a buzz of excitement that he can.

“Star?” He coos, tracing circles on your palm. You hum in reply, turning away from the view to look at him. He leans forward, closing the distance between you, and finds you more than eager. His lips meet yours in a tender, slow kiss, a culmination of two years' worth of longing. One hand goes to the back of your head to pull you closer, the other goes to your jaw. It’s always been easy for the two of you to get carried away, to get lost and found in each other.

The softness of your lips against his ignites a flame that had been dormant for too long. Time seems to stand still as the world fades away, leaving only the sensation of your touch and the caress of the sea breeze. He’s a symphony of emotions—passion, longing, and the sweet relief of finally coming home. The taste of salt from the sea mingles with the sweetness of something familiar, creating a flavor that is uniquely yours. It’s a rediscovery of something he feared might be lost. 

As he pulls away, the echo of the kiss lingers in the air. He’s slow to open his eyes, but when he does, they lock onto yours. Your lips are wet with spit and slightly open as you stare at him with open awe, like he’s something to be admired. The entirety of Panem has witnessed your reunion. And he’s still holding you close. Pride probably isn’t the right emotion to feel right now.

His smirk says otherwise.

He and his silver tongue grasp and flounder for something to say. He wants to tell you how beautiful you look, how beautiful you always look, even when covered in scrapes and the Capitol’s vitriol. But that’s obvious in the way he’s gazing at you. Hasn’t been able to look away from you.

He wants to tell you how thankful he is that you’re finally here with him, but that’s obvious in the way he’s kept a hand on you—always touching somehow since that barrier came down. He wants to say all that and more, ardently and profusely, but you already know how the sky is blue. Instead, he says something you don’t know.

“I saw a monkey.”

 You grin in excitement, still so close that he can feel it against his own smile. “Really?” 

-

The two of you fall back into step with each other, synchronous like no time or space has passed between you at all.

What they know so far is enough to keep them alive. The arena is a clock and each section houses a special horror that rears its head twice a day. Twelve to One, Lightening. One to Two, Blood Rain. Three to Four, fog. Four to Five, monkeys. Five to Six, jabberjays. With you here, they’re able to map out two other sections. 

You explain to them the other active wedges you’ve been through. In the wedge between the blood and fog, Two to Three, you draw a crude circle with spikes. 

Finnick tilts his head. And then tilts it in the other direction. "Pineapples?" He guesses. 

"No," you say with an offended pout. "Beetles."

"Right." He nods like that was his second guess.

“Venomous.” You add.

“ Venomous?”

He regards your wound with a new kind of fear. It’s not just infection that you’re fighting, but now there’s venom working through your bloodstream? Finnick’s ears ring for a second, out of tempo with his elevated heartbeat. He looks you over. It isn’t like he didn’t notice how drawn and fatigued you look, but now he can attribute it to something deeper than just the arena draining you. 

A surge of panic seizes his chest. The image of you in pain, alone and vulnerable, haunts him. His grip on his composure fluctuates as he struggles to comprehend the new threat for what it is. For what it’ll do to you. But before his anxiety can fully manifest into something he can’t predict, your eyes meet his over your shoulder. Silent reassurance is given while a wordless plea for his composure is asked for in return. 

The warmth of your presence soothes and settles him. 

You turn back to the group, addressing them calmly about something that should normally cause, well, the exact opposite of calm. 

“The beetle’s venom is poisonous, but I was… fortunate. A Sponsor sent in an antidote.” Finnick’s eyebrows furrow. A mixture of relief and bewilderment clouds his features. He meets Johanna and Beetee’s eyes and finds that same relieved confusion reflected back at him. A sponsor gift like that shouldn’t be possible. Your touch grazes his arm gently, and the value of that kind of gift is only lost on Katniss and Peeta. As well as the realization of who could pull off such a thing. Who has enough money, enough power, enough sway to have such a gift at the ready and sent into the arena? Who else but their president? Who else but Coriolanus Snow ?

Finnick feels sick at the realization, a queasy anger that's unfortunately laced with gratitude. Because Finnick Odair refuses to be thankful to Snow for anything . His brain knows that—swears by it. But you place a hand over the one he has resting on your shoulder, a reminder that you’re here when it so easily could have ended differently. He can be grateful for your resilience, your strength. And that has nothing to do with Snow.

The group says nothing for a while. Peeta and Katniss look around in bemusement, look at each other, and then look around again.

Briefly, you look to the sky, the back of your head pressing into his stomach, and Finnick copies you. He looks up and sees nothing but an artificial blue sky with formulated clouds drifting by, but he knows you see something different. 

A bird squawks in the distance and Finnick stiffens. But it's not a jabberjay. Only a seagull. 

“The sun had just started to rise, so…here.” You say, finally coming back down to Earth. You point at the Six and Seven o’clock wedge in Peeta’s rough sketch of the arena. “There are multiple mutts here. All of them monstrous.” You say as if it’s something you were taught, not something you know for certain. Detachment. 

“Well?” Johanna prompts. “You can’t just say something like that and not elaborate.” She pokes and he glares at her. He has half a mind to scold her for pushing you, for poking at a crack in a glass just to see what’ll spill out. 

“What?” She asks, incredulous at the lack of support for her probing. “What’s the point of mapping any of this shit out if we don’t even know what we’re looking for?” She huffs.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” You cut Peeta off. Exhaling sharply, you start, pause, and then start again. “There’s a beast. It’s twice the size of a normal man and covered with fur. It walked on two legs and it was strong . Like, like a human-bear hybrid. I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but it tore the man from Ten apart. In the most literal sense. The claw had to dip down four more times to collect all of him.”

“God.” Finnick places a hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles along your nape. He can’t imagine it, doesn’t want to imagine it. Because if he does, it would be all too easy to imagine you in the man’s place as Finnick is forced to watch. He takes a deep breath and squeezes your shoulder momentarily. 

“...Alright then.” Peeta is the first to speak after a short silence. “Beast, six to seven o’clock—” 

“ Beasts .” You correct, not rudely. “There’s, um, there’s more than one thing in there. There was another mutt—a, uh, a dog. It was Rue. It had her eyes an–and it spoke. I was already hurt, lost a lot of blood. Too weak to run, to do much of anything. So I stayed hidden in a tree and she... it begged me to come down until the hour was up. Then it was gone."

"...That's—" Finnick starts, pressing the line of his leg to your back from where he stands close behind you, but he doesn’t know how to finish it.

"Fucked." Johanna says, looking around at their stunned faces like they're weird for not saying it first. But, she's right. Finnick can't think of another word to adequately describe it other than ‘fucked’. "That's fucked. "

“I can’t imagine.” Katniss pipes up to the surprise of, most likely, everyone. She hasn’t said a word to you until now. Is she picturing herself in your position? High in a tree, hiding from the remnants of a little girl you both cared about. “What that must’ve been like. I can’t imagine.” 

Finnick can’t see your face from this angle, but he knows it’s deceptively blank.

“I’m just glad my dad passed before my Games. Don’t know what I would’ve done if they used him too.” You laugh, dry and humorless. He didn’t even consider that.  

Katniss stares at you a little longer, contemplating something, before looking away.

-

It’s a little while later that a parachute arrives. 

District Three has sent loaves of bread if the bite-sized cubes can even be called loaves. Finnick counts them, methodically thumbing them over before placing them in neat, even rows. By the time Beetee asks for the amount, he’s already counted four times.

“Twenty-four.” He says. Four pieces for six people. 

“An even two dozen, then?” Says Beetee.

They’re coming on the third day, tomorrow, but the time doesn’t make much sense. Unless they’re using the twenty-four-hour clock, that is. In this instance, he assumes they’d have to. He’s familiar with it, more than just familiar. He’s lived by it for most of his life. Four primarily uses the system since so much of their time is spent out at sea. After his Games, it was a shock having to get used to the twelve-hour clock used throughout most of Panem with the exception of Two, Three, Five, Six, Twelve, and, of course, Four.

So then, that’s when they’ll come. On the third day, at twenty-four hundred. Midnight. For whatever reason, the plan has changed. Not just the time, but they’ve bumped the day up too.

Beetee will understand it, even if you and Johanna don’t. That’s his role in the plan, after all.

And Finnick reiterates, “Twenty-four on the nose. I’ve already divided them.” 

He passes out each pile to the group. Four for each person with an extra fifth to you from his pile, bringing him down to three.

“I can’t, it’s yours.” You attempt to deny the extra loaf, but it’s perfunctory at best because you and he both know he won’t take it back. 

“It’ll go to waste.” He says. Because no matter how frivolous those in the Capitol may be, that particular trait never rubbed off on you. He also knows after living your entire life in Eleven, you’d never let food go to waste if you can help it. Luckily, no one in the group is enough of an ass to try and claim the loaf of bread for themselves. It’s more than apparent to everyone that you need the extra sustenance. “If you don’t eat it, no one else will.”

So you do so while leaning heavily into Finnick’s side.

-

In the time it takes for everyone to settle in and finish eating, Beetee calls their attention to him.

“I have a plan.” He nods to himself, still rolling his wire between his fingers. “I have a plan.” It makes Peeta a bit apprehensive. Not because of the man himself or anything. Moreso the possible complexity of whatever it is he’s about to say.

Despite how much he wishes he could act otherwise, that brush with the force field has taken more than a physical toll on him. His ability to…to think is hindered, if only slightly. A bit slower to connect the dots sometimes, but that’s all it takes for things to go wrong. He had trouble understanding Beetee before the shock that stopped his heart. But now? Peeta fears that his brain may end up being his own worst enemy here. 

He can’t afford to mess up and force Katniss to save him. He certainly doesn’t want a repeat of what happened to the morphling, to sweet Mags, happening to any of his allies—to Katniss. 

Peeta can only hope that nothing else happens, some other enemy catching Peeta off guard and someone, taking pity on him and putting more value on his life than it’s worth, takes the knife or the claws or the razor-sharp teeth for him. No , he decides. He can’t keep being the deadweight someone else has to carry. He means that literally, in Finnick’s case. It might have worked in his favor during his first Games, but it won’t fly here, especially if he plans on getting Katniss out alive.

He leans forward on the knee he’s kneeling on, digging his machete into the sand to use as a crutch, eyes trained on the older man so he can’t possibly miss anything important.

“Where do the Careers feel safest? The jungle?”

Johanna shoots that down. “The jungle’s a nightmare.”

“Probably here on the beach.” Peeta theorizes. It’s where he’d want to be if he was by himself in the arena with no allies. But it’s more likely he’d be forced to hide in the jungle, blending in enough that anything bloodthirsty—both human and man-made—wouldn’t find him.

“Then why are they not here?” Beetee counters. And Peeta isn’t able to answer him right away, his mind taking a little longer to formulate a response.

“Because we are. We claimed it.” Right. That’s the response he was making his way towards. Only, he’s walking to it rather than sprinting like Johanna seems to be. Hell. Even then, he’s more hobbling than walking.

“And if we left, they would come,” Beetee says, a statement this time instead of a question.

“Or stay hidden in the tree line.”

“To spy on us or find food. They’d be able to see an attack from the jungle or the beach, escape ahead of time.” You finish Finnick’s thought from where he stopped it. Peeta’s thankful for the explanation that nobody else probably needed. “It’s the position with the best advantage.” 

Unlike Johanna and Finnick, you’re sitting down with your back against Finnick’s shins, probably largely due to those holes in your side. Peeta winces thinking about them. He only got a glimpse of them over Katniss’s shoulder as she tried her best to patch you up before he looked away, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever leave his mind. Plus, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget the look on Finnick’s face as you told them everything you had been through.

When you were recounting your journey before you stumbled across them, all he could think about was how strong you are. Certainly stronger than he is. If not physically, then in, perhaps, every other way possible. 

“Which, in just over four hours, will be soaked in water from the ten o’clock wave. And what happens at midnight?” Beetee turns to Katniss, prompting her to answer just with his stare alone. It all reminds him of some of the school teachers back in Twelve. The ones that actually cared about the kids learning anything, at least.

“Lightning strikes that tree.”

Instead of confirming whether she’s correct or not, he continues on. “Here’s what I propose. We leave the beach at dusk. We head to the lightning tree.” Beetee points towards the twelve o’clock wedge where the tree towers in the distance. “That should draw them back to the beach. Prior to midnight, we run this wire from the tree to the water. Anyone in the water or on the damp sand will be electrocuted.”

Peeta picks up a handful of the damp sand underneath them, rubbing the grains between his fingers. It seems like a sound plan, but what would Peeta know? He hardly knows anything about open bodies of water or the conductivity of sand, let alone electricity. Twelve’s curriculum didn’t really have room to fit anything in that wasn’t about coal.

“How do we know the wire won’t burn up?”

“Because I invented it.” Is that why he wanted the wire enough to get stabbed in the back over it? Peeta assumed it was because it would’ve been Beetee’s only chance of survival. Maybe it’s both. “I assure you, it won’t burn up.”

Beetee pauses, looking around. Waiting for the rest of them to shoot the plan down, but nobody else has a better suggestion. Peeta goes to say just that but notices Beetee isn’t looking at him. That by itself is normal, he’s used to it. What he isn't used to is the fact that he isn’t looking at Katniss either. Beetee is looking at the three older victors behind them. 

Peeta first looks to you. You tilt your head, picking at the skin around your nails as you contemplate something. You turn to look up at Finnick who’s already watching you. Something is said without words between the two of you, Finnick places a hand on the back of your neck before you both turn to Johanna. Johanna answers with a slight tilt of her head and a minute twitch of her eyebrow. You’ve all agreed to do it together then, he can tell that much.

He and Katniss look at each other.

“It’s the best we’ve got.” You say, and Peeta agrees.

“Well, it’s better than hunting them down.” Johanna concedes.

“Yeah, why not? If it fails, no harm done, right?” Katniss says.

Peeta purses his lips into a slight frown, followed by a nod. “Alright, I say we try it.” 

Finnick asks, “So what can we do to help?” 

“Keep me alive for the next six hours. That would be extremely helpful.”

-

Peeta suggests they take turns getting some rest in. First go Peeta and Beetee, curling up in the sand under some shade where they made their temporary camp.

“You should rest,” Finnick says to you. You’ve been through hell and you couldn’t have grabbed more than a scant few hours before being pelted with bloody rain. 

“Yeah, I should.” You agree, too tired to put up much of a fight. He can see just how exhausted you are in your eyes. Instead of leaving to lie down, you grab his hand, staring up at him with beseeching eyes.

“Sleep with me?” He wants to, really, he does, but then he looks over to where Katniss sits cleaning the fish he caught. 

By now, he can trust her not to kill him in his sleep, but can he trust her not to bolt? She won’t leave without Peeta, but what’s to stop her from sneakily waking him up and ditching them? As if hearing his thoughts, you nod towards where Johanna paces the shoreline. 

She watches the stretches of open land around them before glancing over to Katniss. She does this again, over and over, all while idly swinging her axe beside her. Deceptive in the way she isn’t on guard. She could handle Katniss long enough for the rest of them to wake up if she tried something. And the siren song of sleeping beside you is too beautiful to resist. 

“C’mon, Finn.” You pull him along and he goes. Of course, he goes.

-

When Peeta comes to, it’s to the sound of unfamiliar birds and the movement of water. He must have fallen asleep outside the bakery, but…he can’t remember there being any water in Twelve. 

There shouldn’t be. He sniffs. Especially not salt water.

He turns over expecting grass and finds something grainy instead. 

He shoots up, eyes opening. 

Sand. He’s sleeping on sand. He’s not outside of his family’s bakery. He’s not in Twelve at all. Had he been, sleeping during the workday would have ensured him a beating from his mother.

He’s on a beach. In the arena. 

He finds a head of chestnut brown. It’s mostly dried by now, made wavey from being in her signature braid for so long. Katniss. He’s on a beach, in the arena. And he’s with Katniss.

He relaxes. Beside him, on his right, sleeps Beetee. If you asked Peeta how well someone could sleep on sand, he’d say fruitlessly. But Beetee sleeps like the dead, clutching his spool of wire to his chest. If he tried taking that spool, Peeta’s sure he’d find that Beetee is gripping it like the dead too. 

To his left, curled into each other like the roots of a tree, lies you and Finnick.

Face to face, legs entangled, Finnick’s arm that isn’t cocooned between your bodies is draped over your waist, somehow mindful of your wound even in his sleep.

He probably doesn’t have the right authority to call two seasoned killers cute, but, and maybe it’s the hopeless romantic in him, but right now, you two don’t look much like killers.

You do, however, look quite young. And, if his minimal prior knowledge is trustworthy, quite in love.

He was more than a little shocked by how intimate of a reunion the two of you had, but, honestly, he was glad to see it. He doesn’t know Finnick well and, in retrospect, he doesn’t know you all that well either, but he thinks he’s an apt judge of character in a way that Katniss isn’t. And he thinks…he thinks you guys deserve each other. He can say that much, right?

You and Finnick deserve whatever moments together you’re able to grab. Peeta doesn’t know how it’ll end for you, doesn’t know how it’ll end for Finnick. Who knows how much time will be left before one or both of you meet cannon fire? Peeta doesn’t seem to know a lot of things, but he knows he doesn’t want to be here to find out.

He doesn’t know what happened before the Games, what led to the strain in your relationship. Honestly, with the way you stared at Finnick—similar, much too similar to how he knows he looks at Katniss—he was a little too scared to ask. But whatever it was apparently can’t touch you two in here.

From what he saw, you two hadn’t even interacted much before that spectacle the night of the interviews and he was tempted to ask you what was talked about after you got off the elevator together. Regardless, words didn’t need to be exchanged for anyone to see how much you two cared about each other. Not for Peeta, at least. And what you told him that day in the Training Center struck a chord.

"You shouldn't have to go into the arena with someone you love. It's cruel."

It is cruel. Crueler still to be the one waiting for someone who doesn’t want you back. You deserve to have that kind of love returned tenfold, and he’s happy you found that in Finnick, that whatever those hurdles were could be cleared, even in here.

He stands and goes to sit with Katniss. For a while, they don’t say anything, just sitting in comfortable silence together, back to back. 

Finnick is the next to wake up, and once Finnick is up, it doesn’t take long for Johanna to go down. Beetee wakes up slowly, and Peeta’s able to convince Katniss to take a short cat nap. Through it all, Peeta notes that Finnick doesn’t leave your side. You’re the last to wake up.

They all meander around, idly talking, until the sun has almost completely set and everyone is awake, coiled, and ready to enact the plan.

-

Johanna is more relaxed, Beetee notes, now that you’re back. He may have been somewhat incapacitated for the majority of your absence, but from what he can recall, she had been snarling and pacing like an anxiety-ridden dog. Even after they finally came across Finnick and the others, she had been tense, maybe even more so. Only after your return did she regain her composure. She’s still rather volatile, but, in comparison to before, she’s almost docile now.

“Do you think it’ll work?” She asks after a moment of silence between them and he knows she’s not just referring to his plan to get rid of the remaining Careers. He knows she’s talking about their escape. “Like, really, honestly work.”

He removes his shoe, turning it upside down to empty it of the sand it’s accumulated. Shaking it, patting the outsole, and slipping it back on before repeating the process with his left shoe.

“It’ll depend on more factors than just us. There are a number of variables we can’t control. Outcomes we can’t account for until they happen. I can’t say for certain, but,” he puts his left shoe back on and adjusts himself on his spool of wire that he’s using as a seat, “yes, I believe it’ll work. One way or the other.”

“Great pep talk.” She mumbles, but he knows she’s being sarcastic. 

A few feet before them are you, sitting, and Finnick wading in the water. They watch Finnick twirl his trident for your enjoyment. He does a complex maneuver, of which you applaud him for.

“Bravo! Bravo!” You laugh and Finnick bends at the waist in a bow.

From the corner of his eye, Beetee sees the divots in the sand Johanna is making with the blade of her axe. “I think it’ll work too.” 

“Mmh. Good.” He nods.

-

The sun beats down on you as you lean back. It’s disorienting to feel the ground shift beneath your hands. And under your nails. Sand is far coarser than you thought it would be. You always imagined something softer when you saw it in textbooks, like powder. Instead, it’s gritty, like salt. Getting in almost every crevice, something Finnick did not warn you about.

Finnick crouches before you, both hands on his trident as he digs its end into the sand and uses it as a crutch, filling you in on even more things you missed. You hadn’t thought too critically about what your other half would be doing while you worked your way back to him, but, even if you had, you certainly wouldn’t have guessed any of what happened.

“You should have seen her after I got his heart beating again. I mean, she was beside herself. Crying, laughing, snotting. The whole nine yards.” Almost absently, Finnick gathers a handful of sand to pour over your shin, adding to the growing pile he’s already gathered at your ankles.

“‘s that right?” You ask, though it’s not really a question, peeking an eye open to regard the couple and closing it again when they go in for a kiss. For the cameras? “She’s so…stoic. It’s a little hard to believe.” You, much like everyone else with two brain cells to rub together, hadn’t put much stock into the romance as a whole. Unlike everyone else, however, you knew it was very much real for one of them—Peeta. The way Peeta talked about her, described her, you’d think she was some sort of angel, but, personally, you think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“Only because you didn’t see it with your own eyes. I was honestly a little worried I was witnessing a nervous breakdown.” Finnick shivered dramatically. “Shush.” You push at his shoulder when he laughs even though you’re hardly any better, barely holding back your own amusement. “And I don’t think I’m all that torn up over missin’ that.”

The last nervous breakdown you can recall happening in the arena with any real clarity is Annie’s. You’re not hurting over not seeing anything like that again or seeing Peeta laid out, dead to the world.

You imagine yourself in Katniss’s position, a snot-nosed blubbering mess curled over Finnick’s body, listening to his renewed heartbeat. You bite your lip. What does it mean that you can understand her?

Finnick rubs a thumb over the furrow between your brows you hadn’t realized was there, before moving down to free your bottom lip from its sharp prison. “What’re you thinking about, beautiful?”

“I haven’t really had the chance to talk to Katniss.” In fact, she’s talked to everyone but you. It was hardly noticeable during training. But it certainly sticks out now. She’s giving you, one of her few allies, a wide berth. Why?

He hums, no judgment in his voice, only curiosity. “You’ve got something to say to her?”

Do you? “Maybe.” You look at her again. “Won’t know ‘till I say it.” 

No time like the present. No point pushing it off for later when you might not survive the next hour. You shift like you’re about to stand and you think you do a pretty good job of pretending your side isn’t spasming with such little movement, like these wounds aren’t slowly killing you.

“Where’re you going?” He asks, offering a hand for you to grab and push your weight against to help you stand before straightening back to his full height.

“Off to get some one-on-one with our bride-to-never-be.” You joke, smile dropping into a scoff when he wrinkles his nose at you. “Oh, come on. That was funny!”

“Mm-mmm. No. Bad joke. Bad wordplay.” He shakes his head, treating your shoulders as an armrest and ignoring the elbow you dig into his ribs—and you just know he’d lean his full body weight on you, making your knees buckle if you weren’t injured. You can literally feel him holding back. ”I’d say have fun, but I doubt that’s possible.” The arm around your shoulder curls inward, his bicep flexing against the back of your neck so his fingers can play with the ends of your hair. You lean into his heat despite the arena supplying you with a surplus of it. “Want me to go with you?”

“No.” You say, before grinning up at him. “Why don’t you keep the others company? I think it’s your turn to babysit anyway.”

His scowl tells you what he thinks of that idea. Now, that’s funny.

-

Katniss’s lips are still tingling with the distinct pressure of Peeta’s mouth against hers when she notices you approaching them.

She’s expecting to see the rest of the group behind you, or even just Finnick, but it’s just you. 

Peeta says your name, “It seems you’re moving around fine enough. I’m glad you’re alright—relatively speaking.”

“You and me both.” You nod.

You say a joke, she thinks, because Peeta laughs, but she didn’t catch it over the beating of her heart in her ears.

“I’m gonna head over.” Peeta nods over to the rest of their allies as he stands. She bites her tongue to stop herself from begging him to stay.

She isn’t afraid of you, necessarily, but she isn’t exactly fond of what you remind her of. Guilt.

Once she learned you were Rue’s mentor, she’s tried her hardest to avoid you. She didn’t want to give herself the chance to ask you questions she knows will only hurt to hear the answers to. Or give herself the opportunity to apologize for things that you won’t forgive. Rue. Thresh. Whatever it is she sparked in Eleven. 

Katniss supposes it’s not your fault that being around you fills her with an overwhelming sense of remorse. She can’t explain any of this to Peeta, who already seems to have taken a liking to you. Instead, she just nods with a grimace of a smile.

She can’t blame anyone but herself for believing that there wouldn’t be a confrontation eventually.

“How’s your side treating you?” She asks.

Her eyes flick to your stomach. She had never felt such profound shock from the severity of a wound before, except perhaps when they had to attend to Gale's back. Genuinely, it’s a wonder you're moving around the way you are with your side so mangled. She was able to clean it with some fresh water Johanna got from tapping a tree, before pressing some of that absorbent moss against it with the tourniquet you made from your sleeves. 

You were an easy patient, with some slight difficulty considering Finnick glared at her like he caught her kicking a puppy whenever you flinched. You sat still, even giving her advice despite the pain you had to be in. She’s seen men twice your size weeping from sprains—though they were usually from the merchant side of Twelve. 

“Better, thanks to you.” You lower yourself to sit beside her in the spot Peeta previously occupied. Now that it's just the two of you, she notices that you speak with a distinguishable drawl that she doesn't think was there the last time you talked to her. It's familiar, almost. Similar to how her father’s folks sounded, from the little she remembers of them. “Is that common in Twelve? Being a healer?”

“No. I’m a special case,” is all she says, but you, surprisingly, don’t ask her to elaborate. “And you? Is that something everybody learns in Eleven?” Rue knew so much about natural medicine and she hadn’t even been in her teens yet. Who knows how much more she would have known had she been older? There’s so much she’ll never have the chance to learn because of Katniss.

“If we want our kids to live into adulthood? Then, yeah, it has to be.” You, surprisingly, elaborate with a wry laugh and she wishes you hadn’t. Hadn’t been so truthful. It’s a privilege in Twelve to have this kind of knowledge, something to use to their advantage. For Eleven, it’s a necessity. The closest thing she can equate to it is hunting. Without it, neither her or Gale's families would have made it long after the mine accident. Many families hadn't.

She waits for you to say something, ask her something—do something to explain why you’re here. But you don't. Instead, you pick up a handful of sand and let it spill out of your hand, somehow impervious to Katniss’s expectant stare.

Do you think she wants to ask you something? Did Finnick send you over? She glances over at his exceptionally bored expression as he idly spins his trident and decides that can't be it. She knows that if she had been separated from Peeta with no way of knowing he's safe only for him to show up injured, she'd want to keep him as close as possible.

Are you trying to wait her out then? If so, for what?

Well, not for nothing. There is one question on the tip of her tongue. 

She hadn't asked before because it didn't seem important to know. She was also wary about mentioning Eleven at all after what happened the last time she was there. Whatever answer she'd get wouldn't help her in the arena, so she never asked.

But now, now that she's aware of what the Gamemakers put you through with that mutt, aware of just how badly she would have handled that, aware of the fact that you cared for Rue—she didn't know how much, but she knows that you did care—and it suddenly feels very important to know. 

“...Was it you?” You look at her with a raised brow. She looks away to watch the sun begin its descent. Fake or not, a sunset will always be beautiful. “When Rue…I was sent bread. I know it was from Eleven. It was meant for Rue. Was it you?”

You pull your left leg up, forearm resting over your knee as your hand flexes open and closed.

“If I said yes?”

“I’d ask why.”

“Why do you think?” 

Weirdly enough, she wants to get the answer right. Almost like she doesn’t want to disappoint you or something equally as stupid. Does she care what you think of her? If she does, it has to be because of your connection to Rue. And, apparently, Haymitch and Peeta.

She knows why she would have sent the bread in your position. “A repayment. For what I did for Rue. And I, I guess so it wouldn’t go to waste.”

You look at her for a moment, long enough that it makes her, no stranger to staring, shift a little. 

The way you stare at her, always slightly amused. Like she’s a long-winded joke you already know the punchline too, but want to hear again. It’s hard to explain. It doesn’t feel malicious or like you’re making fun of her. But it’s confusing and more than a little intense. Another thing she noticed about you, especially in your interviews. Haymitch had explained once, how it’s a part of why you have so much influence in the Capitol. Sure, you’re beautiful. But more than that, you’re captivating, persuasive. Your stare is a snare that prey willingly walk into. Even Katniss feels it, which is saying something.

It’s vastly different from how Finnick looks at her like she’s a puzzle he keeps finding pieces to, with no clue where to put them. Or how Johanna looks at her like—well, like she hates her. Of the three, she can’t tell which she prefers.  

“I have no siblings. Shockin’, right?” The only shocking part is you bringing that up seemingly out of nowhere. The shift in topics makes her blink. “I’m sure you learned that each family in Eleven has, like, ninety kids with full smiles and even fuller stomachs.”

Truthfully, Katniss is too embarrassed to say what she learned about Eleven, which is close to nothing. When they were being taught things about the other districts, as rare as it was, it was typically kept to their purpose and how they utilize the coal Twelve provides, if at all. Other than the little the teachers went over about how food is produced and the assumptions from other children that were treated like facts, Katniss can’t say she actually learned anything about your district. And she learned that from Rue. “Something like that.”

“If you get rid of the full stomachs, then it’s not too far off, honestly. More kids mean more workers. I’m sure it would have happened eventually, might’ve ended up with twenty brothers and sisters.” You joke. Or, at least she thinks you’re joking. She doesn’t know, but she’s too embarrassed to ask. She does know, however, that they’ve definitely cut the cameras away from the conversation by now. 

“Why didn’t it? Happen, I mean.”

“I’d imagine you’d need two parents for that.” Despite the blankness of your face that gives nothing away, you somehow manage to slip some humor into the statement, so you can’t be too upset at her for inadvertently making you mention your dad again.

She wonders how it happened. An accident like her father? Or…?

The punishments for minor crimes are distributed harshly in your district, Rue told her this much. And she’s seen it with her own eyes. Just how brutally the citizens of Eleven are treated by Peacekeepers. A feeble old man executed swiftly and without a word like he was no better than a dog with rabies. If that’s what they’re willing to do publicly, she can’t imagine what it’s like when there are no eyes on them. 

Is that something she can ask you? Does she even want to know? You choose for her.

“He and a few other men were hung in the square on grounds of treason and conspiracy.” Rebels . You don’t say whether the claims were founded or not, but Katniss can tell by the way you say it that, rebel or not, your father was an innocent man. Your eyes cast around aimlessly. She’s relieved they aren’t focused on her anymore. “I was eight. So, yeah. No big family.” 

Eight. Even younger than she had been.

“But I always wanted one growing up. Wanted kids of my own. Someone to love them with.”

With a level of fondness Katniss hadn’t expected to see, maybe, ever, let alone in the arena, you look over at Finnick who—despite Peeta’s best efforts to engross him in a conversation—keeps glancing over here. And, she squints, he’s slowly edging closer. Poor Peeta seems none the wiser about how unengaged his audience is. It would be a funny sight. How desperately Finnick seems to want to be around you. The most eligible bachelor in Panem so very obviously in love. He’s nothing like he was before they entered the arena, or even a few hours ago when Johanna had to pull him off the brink of what seemed to be a panic attack. Funny if they weren’t in the arena. And funny if it wasn’t so very sad.

“You lived in the Seam, right?” She turns to you, surprised that you knew that, before nodding. The ignorance about other districts isn’t as universal as she thought it was. She isn’t sure if that says more about Twelve or her. “I grew up in a Shacktown, somethin’ similar. So you know bringin’ a child into that is practically a death sentence and, and…” You sigh. Suddenly, Katniss feels incredibly guilty for this fake pregnancy. “Forget I said any of that. None of it’s important. Just, just got a bit sidetracked.”

“It’s alright.” But it’s not alright, is it?

“So, no kids. But I had my tributes. And I cared. About every single one of them.” You say with a bit of steel in your voice as if she might claim you’re lying. 

She just nods, recalling you telling her she’s lucky to never have to worry about being a mentor. Thinks of how Haymitch treated them before their first Games. She thinks of you and him both having to train and send off kids from your districts that you knew had no chance of winning, having to do it year after year. 

“Rue—she was a good kid, real good. But she never would’ve survived after the Games anyhow. Young girl like her? They would’ve eaten her alive. And then thrown her right back up to make room for more.” You purse your lips together, slightly twisting them to one side. “Just tradin’ one arena for another, really.”

She doesn’t wanna think about how true that is. Do you see her too? In the song birds and the meadows? Do you see Rue in the small animals that scurry high in the trees, too trusting to not fall victim to the snares and traps? You must. With how much you care, you must see her too.

Katniss has a moment of clarity. 

It’s possible she completely misunderstood what you told her at the chariots. She was under the impression that you hated her a little bit, different from Johanna’s general ire. She thought that your hatred, valid and pointed, came from the fact that she survived only because your tributes saved her. That’s what she thought you meant before Finnick interrupted the conversation and you left like you were allergic to his presence. 

But you never said that. You made no indication that you blamed her for anything, for either of their deaths. That was all Katniss projecting, wasn’t it? 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing at all.

“I held her. The night before. We couldn’t sleep, we talked and…gossiped. And then I held her. And, for that small moment that wouldn’t really matter to anybody but me and her, I guess…I guess I could imagine what it would feel like to be a mother.” Katniss frowns and has to look away from your wistful face. It’s horrible, the things you’re saying. A lesser woman would be crying. But you say them with a smile. It’s also horrible, she realizes absently, that had the circumstances been different, had you met at a nauseating Capitol party or grieving over your respective tributes, she could see you and her being friends.

“Seems you’ll be livin’ that out for the both of us, huh?”

“What?” You look down at her stomach. “Oh.” Right. The baby. That is supposed to be inside of her. This is the third time she’s had to be reminded. How did she forget that fast? She’d be better off writing ‘remember to be pregnant’ on her arm.

“ Oh .” You mimic, an amused smirk growing. “It’s alright. Your belly’s still flat, must be pretty early in. I almost forgot myself.” You wink and, stupidly, Katniss feels herself blush. Now, if it’s from embarrassment at her misstep or being the focus of all of your… you is anybody’s guess. 

She doesn’t understand how Finnick can stand to be at the center of it. Not only that but actively seeking it out, if how visibly impatient he seems to be to head this way means anything, shifting his weight from foot to foot. You snort. He locks eyes with you, pulling a face that turns your snort into a laugh that you hide behind your hand. He seems to be begging you for something and Katniss never realized how much could be said with just eye contact and some funny faces.

Nothing’s happening, per say, but it still feels like she’s intruding on a private moment despite neither of you saying a word to each other and being a good thirteen feet apart. Still. The air around you two feels so constantly charged that she can’t help but notice it.

And that kiss earlier…

Katniss wills her ears to cool down, but it appears her body is just as good at listening as she is. Caesar must be beside himself about the whole thing. It’s not hard to imagine him fainting live over it. She wishes she could see it.

“So I did send the bread because it’d be wasteful not to and because it’s what Rue would’ve wanted. But, also, as a thank you. For protectin’ her when I couldn’t, even for a little while.” You sniffle, rubbing at your nose. “Sorry. For, um. Makin’ that so long-winded.” If she knew you better, she’d be confident in saying you sound embarrassed. There’s no reason to be. It didn’t even feel like the two of you talked for long, but the sun is barely peeking over the horizon now.

“I should be the one apologizing. For Rue. And Thresh…For the old man…”

“Briar.” You say. Your district is massive. So much vast land that barely houses its population. Unlike Twelve, Eleven is far too big for you to know everyone. It should surprise her that you know his name. But it doesn't.

“For Briar.”

“Katniss…Nobody blames you for a damn thing that happened except for you.” Obviously, you haven’t had a chat with the president recently. As far as Snow’s concerned, anything bad that’s happened in Panem since her win is entirely her fault. And almost as if you know what she’s thinking, you say, “Nobody of any real importance, at least.”

She scoffs but doesn’t argue. There’s no point. Something tells her you're the kind of person who can convince anybody of anything. And no matter how desperately she wants to believe it, she doesn’t need you to convince her that she’s faultless. 

She remembers Peeta vouching for you. At the time it didn’t make much sense, and a small part of her had wondered if it was because he liked you. Stupid . 

You taught him, he had told her, about plants. From their toxicity to their edibility. A subject Peeta was particularly lacking in. Valuable information given away freely when you didn't have to. In fact, it would have served you not to help your competition. She doesn’t understand it and she has a feeling Finnick wouldn't either. But you do, and so does Peeta. And she knows that means it was strictly kindness that drove you. Between you and Finnick, she’ll never be able to get rid of this debt. How could I possibly kill them now?

“It seems I have a lot to be thanking you for.”

You regard her for a moment.

“You don’t owe me anythin’, Katniss. That’s what you’re thinkin’, right?” It seems even her thoughts, like her secrets, are public knowledge known to everyone before they’re known to her. “Well, here and now, I absolve you of any debts.” You wipe your hands together like you’re clearing them of dust. “How’s that sound?” It sounds like you’re only making her predicament worse.

“That sounds very generous.” And too good to be true. In fact, she hopes it’s too good to be true. It would make this whole thing easier. She unsticks her tongue from where it feels frozen to the roof of her mouth and asks, “How was it? The mutt, I mean.” Katniss doesn’t even know why she asks. Maybe because she knows it’ll hurt.

The mutt hybrids of Foxface and Thresh tearing Cato apart are still seared into her mind just as much as the flinch that went through Marvel’s body as her arrow struck him dead. Who knows how she would’ve handled it if they had turned Rue into one so soon after she lost her?

Instead of describing it in vivid, painful detail, your eyes get flinty as your fingers tap your thighs in no specific rhythm and you say something much worse. “When I was fifteen, after I won my Games, I thought I’d eventually become—jaded to all of it. That the blows would be dulled. And, after eight, almost ten years, you think you’ve seen all they had to throw at you. That they can’t possibly hurt you worse than they already have. But that? That was… mean. That’ll haunt me more than havin’ to watch her die.”

“...Oh.” She wants to apologize again, and she would if she thought you would accept it. Most of this conversation will be cut from the final product, and that’s if the Gamemakers are even risking keeping the cameras on them. 

Finnick is the only one still standing among the other group, his hands on his hips as Peeta recounts some sort of story. It looks like Beetee is the only one actually listening, following along. Johanna watches on in amusement, seemingly cutting Finnick off every time he tries to interject. He does nothing more than sigh in response, but his growing frustration is evident as he crosses his arms.

“Ah. That’s my queue.” You chuckle as you clamber to your feet, slow and cautious. She’d almost forgotten you were even injured. You wear your pain so well. “I better head over there before he pulls somethin’.” 

You smile at her so easily that it makes her smile in turn. Small and without teeth, but it’s not as tense as she thought it’d be. “Right.”

You turn away, getting a few steps before abruptly turning back around. What stopped you?

“You know, Cattails mean peace and prosperity. At least in Eleven. Many a feud and petty squabble has been patched up just,” you snap your fingers, “like that once people start exchangin’ Cattails.” 

“I…didn’t know.”

“And Katniss, the Arrowhead, brings to mind protection, courage, strength. And they can be surprisingly sweet.”

“...What do they have in common?” She can’t help but ask.

“They both have ‘ cat’ in them.” You say it so matter-of-factly, completely straight-faced, that it catches Katniss off guard enough to make her laugh. “They’re both resilient, adaptable. Bred for survival. You’d look them over at first glance, but they can save your life. But I’m sure you already knew that part though, huh?”

“Some of it.” Mostly learned from her father. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I think you have a lot in common with both—”

“Not just the stuff about the flowers. All of it.”

“Why not? Just seems like things you should know.” You shrug and, despite herself, she believes that you really believe that. “There doesn’t have to be some convoluted reason behind everyone’s actions. I wanted to tell you, so I did. You’re allowed to do things just because you want to.”

“...Right.” The last time she did that, a man had been killed.

 “Don’t brood over here for too long, Cattail. It’s bad for the baby.” Cattail? So close to Gale’s nickname for her. She doesn’t hate it, but she won’t encourage it. Things are hard enough as is. “I’ll go save my boy from yours.” She’s taken aback at Peeta being referred to as her boy, that you feel like her and Peeta’s relationship is worthy of being held up next to yours and Finnick’s. Maybe she’s a better actor than everyone gives her credit for.

You wave over your shoulder at her and she realizes with a dawning sense of horror that you’re more like Peeta than she wanted to be true. Seemingly kind without reason. Genuine. A good person.

If she hadn’t been convinced before, then she certainly is now. She and Peeta need to leave. Because if she has to shoot first, she’s not sure her hand won’t shake as she notches her bow. She looks over to the group. To where Finnick’s face lights up with a grin at your approach and Johanna, Beetee, and Peeta sit in a semicircle and talk like friends. Only one person gets to leave here alive, and she needs it to be Peeta. That hasn’t changed. But it’s the first time she’s felt something like guilt because of it.

SECTION 12  (9:20 pm—?)

When he and Katniss guesstimate it to be somewhere around nine, they all start heading to the twelve o’clock sector. Not before he had Katniss check your wounds despite your insistence of, I’m fine, Finn. It hardly even hurts anymore. But he knows you’re lying because you hardly argue when he prompts you to get on his back so he can carry you.  

Finnick leads the charge, precariously stepping from rock to rock. He uses one hand to shift away obstructant vines and the other to hold his trident. Your arms are looped around his shoulders, your right calf resting in the crook of his elbow—the same hand gripping the shaft of his weapon.

As he slows down a bit so Beetee and the others can catch up, he’s glad they decided to head to the tree earlier than they previously planned. It’s not that they aren’t making good time, rather, he doesn’t want there to be any reason they’ll need to rush. No reason for any possible slip-ups, no potential to become sloppy.

They hike forward, led by nothing but artificial moonlight. Finnick keeps a good pace even while carrying you, leveraging himself uphill, gripping tree trunks to support the both of you. When he gets to a high point, the others a little ways behind, the Capitol anthem trumpets throughout the arena. 

You huff, warm breath hitting his ear, when Cashmere’s face flashes in the sky. He hadn’t been friends with her, just two Careers out of dozens floating around in the same circles, and as far as he knows, you hadn’t either. But he knows you don’t need to be friends with someone to care about them, that’s just who you are. He squeezes your calf. Effortlessly compassionate, one of the reasons he loves you, but it must’ve been exhausting. 

Gloss follows behind her, replaced by his victim, Wiress. He glances over to Beetee who’s looking under his glasses at her portrait mournfully. Finnick looks away, right into Mags’s kind eyes. His nostrils flare, something in his chest pinches, but he doesn’t cry. Not again. You tighten your arms around his chest, keeping the blade of your weapon away from his face. You kiss his temple before laying your head on his. Some of the tension leaks from his shoulders as you move to press your cheek to his. You don’t say sorry about Mags again, which he’s thankful for. He squeezes your calf once, twice. A comfort. You’re a soothing weight on his back.

Other than Blight and the female morphling, no other people of interest appear. No Chaff, which is relieving. 

The music cuts out and they move forward in silence, the sound of bugs chirping following them further into the jungle. Thankfully, no birds.

When they get to the ginormous tree, he pauses, gawking a bit at the sheer size of it. Its branches cut a cruel figure above them. It looms all the more in the night, with shadows and a lack of good lighting making it look even bigger. 

So this is what gets them out? It certainly looks the part. 

He helps you off his back, ushering you in front of him as the others step closer to the tree. He looks over his shoulder, scanning for enemies hiding in the dark as hard as Beetee is inspecting the tree. Finnick grabs your wrist— “ Stay close to me .” He whispers, looking away from you to the sky beyond the branches. Soon enough, it’ll split open and they’ll be free. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet.

“Minimal charring.” Beetee notes. They all look back at the tree trunk to try and see what he sees. “It’s an impressive conductor.” Nobody agrees or disagrees. How could they? “Let’s get started.”

Anticipation bubbles in Finnick’s stomach, making his hair stand on end as everyone follows Beetee closer. You raise your eyebrows at him, lips pursed briefly. You feel it too. They’re steadily approaching the climax.  

“Typically a lightning strike contains five billion joules of energy. We don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when it hits.” Finnick keeps his back to the tree as Beetee works his wire around a part of it, keeping his gaze glued to the tree line. But, for a split second, he glances behind him in enough time to catch Beetee looking you over from under his glasses, a quick clinical sweep before he says over his shoulder to Katniss and Johanna as he unspools more wire, “You two girls, go together now. Take this. Unspool it carefully.”

Beetee pushes the handle into Katniss’s hands, speaking so surely that you don’t even object to being excluded—which Finnick is very grateful for. You’re the fastest of the girls, have the easiest time moving swiftly between the trees and rough terrain. On a normal day, when you didn’t have an injury sinking you. “Make sure the entire coil is in the water. You understand? Then head to the tree in the two o'clock sector. We’ll meet you there.”

Beetee nods at them, heading back to the tree, and Finnick thinks that’s the end of it.

“I’m gonna go with them as a guard.” Finnick freezes momentarily, before turning back around to face Peeta. That won’t work. He can’t emphasize enough just how much that won’t work. Not only are the two of them active flight risks, no matter how well they think they’re hiding it, but they also need to handle the trackers as soon as possible. Johanna is strong, but not strong enough to take both of them.

“No, no, no. You’re staying here to protect me. And the tree.”

Finnick alternates between watching the trees, watching the increasingly tense conversation, and watching you. Working to not treat this interaction like it’s as high stakes as it actually is. They can’t make it seem like they’re eager to separate the two of them—which they are. It’s actually a large part of the plan. Some might say the crux.

“No, I need to go with her.” Peeta stubbornly digs his heels in. 

“There are two careers out there. I need two guards.”

“You have two guards.” Peeta gestures to you and Finnick.

“Allow me to correct myself. Two able-bodied guards.”

“Hurt or not, I’m sure she’d be much better at fending off the careers.” You shift enough behind Finnick to grab his attention. You purse your lips into a frown, one that he returns. He hadn’t anticipated Peeta being a problem, especially this close to their escape. Katniss makes sense, he was almost banking on her making this difficult, but Peeta is a surprise. You raise a brow, tilting your head minutely. But not a surprise to you. "Besides, Finnick can protect you just fine on his own.”

“Yeah, why can’t Finnick and Johanna stay with you and Peeta and I’ll take the coil?”

Finnick fully turns around at that, slowly creeping up to stand slightly in front of you. He doesn’t want it to escalate, but if push comes to shove, he and Johanna will just have to move in quickly to incapacitate them. And it really looks like Peeta’s ready to push and shove. Finnick subtly has his weapon at the ready, not enough to draw attention, but just in case. He can see Johanna do the same, moving her axe to her dominant hand.

“You all agreed to keep me alive till midnight, correct?”

“It’s his plan. We all agreed to it.” Johanna bites out, making the two of them seem all the more unreasonable to be arguing over who’s paired with who when they’re all trying to do their parts.

“Is there a problem?” Finnick asks, working to keep any aggression out of his voice, trying to make it seem like he’s just supportive of Beetee’s plan and won’t let anything obstruct it. However, he must not work hard enough because you grab his elbow. An anchor. 

“ Excellent question.”

Katniss’s eyes flick from Beetee to you and then back.

“No. There’s no problem.” Whatever trust she has in you and Beetee to not hurt Peeta apparently outweighs the distrust she might still harbor in him and Johanna. Peeta, however, doesn’t seem as convinced. 

“I’ll go with ‘em, Peeta.” You pipe up and step forward past the protective wall of Finnick’s body. “Six hands spreadin’ the wire will get us done three times as fast.” Finnick tenses at the idea, teeth grinding together. That’s not the plan. You going where he can’t protect you, again, has never been part of the plan. Maybe if you weren’t so grievously wounded—no, not even then. 

His hand lands on your shoulder, sliding limply down your arm to latch onto your wrist. “ Star .” He rasps, dismayed. He understands a situation as delicate as this might require improvising and flexibility, but this isn’t something he’s willing to bend to. He’s not letting you leave his sight if he can help it.

You lock eyes over your shoulder, and that split-second look holds a thousand and one words. All of which tell him that you have no intention of leaving him, but Katniss and Peeta don’t know that. The fact that you even offered to go in your current state just to appease Peeta’s worry should be a grand enough gesture of goodwill to extinguish some of that lingering apprehension. 

If Finnick is willing to send you on your merry way to lay the wire without his protection, then why can’t Peeta do the same with Katniss? His thumb brushes the shell of your bracelet before letting you go.

He leans away, listing leisurely against his trident—he’s all lax lines as he regards Katniss and Peeta almost apathetically. “Well?” He raises a brow at them. Your move.

If he was Peeta, he’d pull the baby card, the only good argument he’d have for wanting to stay with her. But Finnick isn’t bringing that to his attention if he’s clearly forgotten.

“Like Katniss said, there’s no problem.” You eye Peeta uncertainly, much like how he looked at you in the elevator. Maybe that’s what makes him concede in the end. “And it’s probably best if you stay up here.” Finally , something Finnick can agree with.

Beetee nods, an infallible thing that conveys no further arguments. “That settles it, then.”

Of course, it isn’t that easy.

The two of you have stalked further away, out towards the outreaches of the tree’s massive roots, speaking in low tones. The distance is intentional and not just to keep him from overhearing anything. Peeta will feel more compelled to stay close to Beetee and watch his back, less likely to sneak off or outright run if he’s the nearest one to him. 

He leans down to hear you better, as you take turns subtly watching Peeta and less subtly watching the trees. 

“It’s almost over.” You mumble. “Not much longer, I’m sure—” Something cuts you off. A soft metallic sound, not so much loud as it is sharp. The sound a spring makes when abruptly bouncing back to its original position. Or, more accurately, the sound of a very taunt, very thin wire. 

In sync, you both turn and watch the suddenly lax wire coiling at Beetee’s feet. You turn to each other. He reads fear in your eyes that he knows is reflected in his own. The wire’s been cut and cut very suddenly. He hears voices so faint he thinks he’s imagining them, before a scream that can only be Katniss rings out. 

You don’t even hesitate to run towards it, which makes sense, he shouldn’t be surprised by it. Katniss is a key factor in their escape if not the rebellion as a whole. Every rebel vowed to put their lives on the line for Katniss and Peeta. Knowing that doesn’t stop his stomach from dropping at the sight of you running head-first into danger. 

“ Star !” He yells after you, but you’re already too far ahead to think about stopping. He tells Peeta, “Stay here and guard Beetee,” before chasing you. 

“Finnick, wait! ” He ignores Peeta calling his name well enough, focusing on not losing you.

Despite your head start, he catches up to you. Quickening his stride, he overtakes you, jumping over a log to skid in front of you. You crash into his chest, but he’s able to steady you. You pant, sagging against him. As tough as you are, the wounds are doing nothing but crippling you.

Making noise isn’t a privilege either of you have right now. There’s no telling where Brutus and Enobaria are skulking around, no telling if Katniss still considered anyone an ally other than Peeta. You’re too hurt for this, and you’re only getting worse. He needs to get you out of the open. Head whipping around frantically to find— “C’mon!” He whispers, steering you away from the moonlit path.

"I need you to hide here, okay?" His voice shakes, heartbeat in his ears as he crowds you behind a tree where large leaves hang low and the grass grows tall. No one will see you here.

"What? No, we need all hands on deck.” You say, a Four phrase you surely learned from him, trying to stand up straight despite the way your shoulders shake. You’re starting to look pale, sweaty from more than the humidity.  “We need to keep Katniss saf—”

"No. No, me and Johanna can handle that. You're hurt—"

"I can still help, Finnick." You beg, moving away from the cover that the tree provides and Finnick can feel the clock breathing down his neck.

" This isn't up for discussion, " He whispers harshly, softening when you flinch back. "I can't watch you and help Johanna at the same time—I know I don't have to, but I will anyway. You know that."

He hears feet hitting the forest floor in the distance and curses.

"Once we handle the other victors and get Katniss and Peeta to the tree, I'll come back for you, okay? Just," you turn towards the sound of someone yelling and he grabs your face, "focus on me. Do you trust me?"

Your eyes are glossy as they look between his, face resolute despite the pain he knows you're in and the absolute hell breaking loose around you both. But for a split, vulnerable second, Finnick sees the mask slip. Your lips quiver as you nod.

"Then, please . Stay here. I'll come back for you, I promise." You grab his wrist, your grip tight. You're scared. He is too. Not just for himself, but for the rebellion. What it'll mean for the cause if this all goes to shit.

He's scared for you.

"I promise ." He repeats, presenting his pinkie for you to take with your own. You hesitate. You hesitate long enough for Finnick to become hyper-aware of the sweat dripping down his neck.

You hook your own around his tentatively, and then certainly. Putting an insurmountable level of trust in him.

He leans forward, lips meeting yours, and he savors the feeling. He’d drink poison from your mouth if it meant he got to kiss you. You're soft against him, but he knows how tough you really are. He knows it must kill you to sit back and let someone else handle the situation, and you're right about them needing all the help they can get. But you're letting him be selfish and he loves you so much. 

"I'll come back." He swears into the air between you and him and you keep your eyes closed. "My Star." He whispers into your hair and hopes you can hear the declaration of love hidden in it. You squeeze his wrist one more time before stepping back.

He waits for you to hide before he runs off to look for Johanna and Katniss.

“Katniss! Johanna!” He sprints through the jungle, down the slope, looking for any sign of either girl and giving up any attempt of discretion. “Where are you?!”  

He leaps through the underbrush, pushing past vines and leaves, coming to a stop when something glints out of the corner of his eye. He reaches his hand out, grounding himself against the bark. On his left, down in a deep ditch, he sees some of Beetee’s wire, but not the spool and neither of the girls that should have been with it. He squats down, squinting at what looks like blood next to the wire. “Johanna!”

No reply. No shout, no groan, nothing. He rushes further down the slope and realizes it’ll only be a matter of time before he stumbles onto the beach, which reminds him he’s working on borrowed time. He turns around, looking up at the slope he just sprinted down.

“ Shit .”

He doubles back, passing that same ditch in time to hear a cannon. It’s not you, he knows it’s not you. You wouldn’t have left your spot after promising him, and no one would even think to look for you there. It’s not a spot someone can just stumble upon. Which means it’s someone else, a complete gamble. The chance of it being a good thing is tragically low. He pushes himself forward, suddenly very worried about how vulnerable Beetee is. There’s no way Peeta actually listened to him, especially not after that cannon.

There’s shouting, and it sounds like Peeta, but he’s very faint and very far away. Almost as soon as Peeta starts yelling, Katniss yells back and she sounds much closer. “Peeta!”   

His relief is quickly followed by fear, fear that he won’t be the first person to get to her. There’s no telling if she’s hurt or not, but she can speak at least, which is a good enough sign for him. 

Another cannon fires right before he rounds back to the tree. He has chills despite how scorching hot he feels. Nothing. He sees nothing . Not a damn thing. His heart sinks.

“Katniss, where are you?!” He yells, chest heaving. He takes a second to scan his surroundings, hoping to see a head of long brown hair or maybe the light glinting off Beetee’s face from wherever he’s hiding. Hopefully hiding. There’s a very real chance one of those cannons was him. Just as he’s about to turn and look in another section, he sees her. Or, more accurately, he sees an arrowhead pointed right at him.

Silence. Neither of them speaks, both panting and wired. He raises his free hand slowly, trying not to give her a reason to let her arrow fly. 

“Katniss.” He had hoped it wouldn’t have come to this, had hoped for a lot, it seems. Hoped that he wouldn’t need Haymitch’s plan B. But it’s the last chance the revolution has and it depends on the next words out of his mouth. “Remember who the real enemy is.”

He holds his breath at the same moment it looks like Katniss holds her. That reaction could mean a lot of things. Could mean Finnick will leave this arena in one piece or it could mean he’ll leave with an arrow between his eyes. 

Please. He prays. Please don’t shoot.

She lowers her bow, slowly and then all at once. They regard each other for a moment. The sound of thunder cracks the silence, making him flinch.

Finnick eyes the gathering clouds warily. Glaring into the swirling storm. Suddenly, he remembers that Beetee said they shouldn’t be anywhere near that tree at midnight. “Katniss, get away from that tree!”

She doesn’t listen. Of course, she doesn’t listen. She must have some kind of death wish, she must not understand just how unlikely it is she’ll survive. She wraps Beetee’s wire around the arrow she had pointed at him and Finnick doesn’t think he can comprehend just how poorly this will end.

She aims at the sky, and Finnick rushes forward on instinct. 

“Katniss, get away from that tree!”

There’s a flash of blinding light as the tree is struck and Finnick goes flying back.

He feels warm. Too warm. The warmest he’s ever been. This heat. It vibrates through him, so deep that his bones must be shaking with it. 

No. 

His muscles. They’re vibrating, they’re tensing, they’re cramping and straining. It leaves him breathless, like a kick to the diaphragm. The pain is almost as blinding as the light was. 

In the second it takes for Finnick’s body to go numb, to become paralyzed, to become deafened by the bombardment of sound, his heartbeat speeds up so rapidly that he can feel it contract and relax. 

Every time he blinks, he loses time. 

He blinks and the hovercraft lifts Katniss’s limp body into the air. Katniss is taken away and he needs to find the others, needs to—Star, Johanna, Peeta, Star, Star, Star —he blinks and he’s fighting to stay awake as they airlift Beetee. 

He doesn’t know when his eyes close, but when he opens them, it’s to the expanded claws of the hovercraft. Fear seizes his chest as the claw descends to him because he knows . He knows if they lift him up, if they take him out of the arena, they’ll never find you. He knows you won’t move. Knows you won’t come towards the sound. Towards the pickup point. Because you promised him. And he promised you.

I promised, I promised, I promised.

He tries to move, to shift, to scream . To give you some kind of sign, some kind of signal. But he can’t. He can’t fucking move.

But even if you do move, you’re too injured, too far.

The metal talons slip underneath him. His eyes blur and he can feel the tears slipping down either side of his face. As he’s lifted, his eyes slip shut and don’t open again for a long time.

DISTRICT THIRTEEN; HOVERCRAFT 

The first time Haymitch talked to you, you called him a jackass. 

Not that it wasn’t well deserved. He was being a jackass. No more than what was usual at the time, but enough to put anybody new off. That wasn’t what happened though. You weren’t put off despite it being your victory tour and having met hundreds of people who were no doubt far nicer to you than he had been.

But that didn’t deter you. You called him a jackass, yes, but not to be mean. It was an observation of a grown man who was purposefully acting like a drunkard. Haymitch was even more of an acquired taste back then than he is now. Instead of scoffing and turning your nose up at him, you left and came back with a flute of what he thought to be champagne, but was actually water. 

Even though you were forced to entertain dozens of people cloying for your attention, you kept an eye on him for most of the night. He would have thought Chaff and Seeder put you up to it, but, even if they had, the fact that you were taking the time to actually look after a stranger was insane to him.

The last time Haymitch talked to you, he reassured you that they would get you out—that he would get you out. You were skeptical, as you always are, but you trusted him. He saw it in your eyes, you let yourself believe, just for a moment, that it was possible. You believed in Haymitch. 

He looks at your picture now, the one Finnick gave him for safekeeping. It’s aged with love. A little worn around the edges, but loved. 

Stop shaking , he tells his hands, stop fucking shaking. He wills his body to listen to him just this once so he can actually look at you. Just let him look at you smiling, so it can replace the last time he saw you. Replace seeing your body getting airlifted by the Capitol with you happy and smiling. Safe and whole. When he hadn’t broken his promise to you and Finnick. When he hadn’t failed you.

-

When Finnick wakes up, it's with the biggest headache known to man and the intuitive feeling that something is very, very wrong. It takes a moment for his brain to tell his body he's awake. And when it does, he’s sore in places he didn’t even know could feel sore. 

He’s on a padded bed. There’s a pain in both of his arms, though he can barely feel them—as heavy and limp as they are at his sides. A twinge in the crease of his left elbow. He tries to bend it and it’s a laborious effort, but when he does, it’s to the unfamiliar sounds of beeping. 

His hearing is back, followed by the smell of antiseptics and burnt hair—the stale taste that comes from sleeping for a while. He’s in a medical ward of some kind. There must be an IV in his arm then, pumping him full of fluids. And in his right arm, there’s a deeper throb. His forearm itches, wrapped in a scratchy gauze—his tracker. Gone now, surgically removed. He tries to open his eyes, but it’s like there are hundreds of anvils tied to his eyelashes.

Star.

He floats in and out of sleep, he thinks. It’s hard to tell. 

The final time he wakes up, it’s to the silver-gray ceiling of a hovercraft. He panics for a second, not entirely sure whose hands he’s wound up in. He paws at the oxygen mask on his face, heartbeat picking up sluggishly. It’s new; it wasn’t here the last dozen times he gained consciousness. When he gets free, he waits for the beeping. But there is none. The IV hangs from the machine on his left. Weakness clings to him like a heavy blanket, tucked into all his joints. 

He pushes himself up, arms straining under his weight. Even that winds him and he sits, dazed. 

Something’s wrong.

He can’t remember, but something, something, something…

Something terrible has happened. 

It’s like his memory is filled to the brim with piles of rope tied in an impossible knot. He pulls and pulls, but there’s no end in sight. A chill goes through him as he swings his legs out from the blanket and over the side of the bed, feet bare. He’s still in his arena getup, though they removed his shirt and there are more than a few sizable holes in his pants. He’s bruised all over. Ugly splotches of purple, blue, and yellow paint the majority of the skin he can see. Various cuts and scratches are twining in between, like vines or the lines of a constellation—

“ Star!” And just like that, the knot unravels. He remembers the feeling of being paralyzed, stuck on the jungle floor as the sun streamed in and Katniss and Beetee were lifted out. He remembers the guttural fear, not at the prospect of death, but because he knew, in your current state, getting there on your own before the hovercraft left was incredibly unrealistic. He remembers how you gripped him as he kissed your forehead. 

But that’s just what he remembers. He’s been asleep for who knows how long, so they must have gone back for you. And Johanna. And Peeta. He does a sweep of the room. To his immediate right, Katniss lies in the same state he did. Only, she’s chained to her bed. To her right is Beetee, hooked up to more wires than he and Katniss had combined. But the reason behind that is the least of his concerns. 

There are more gurneys, all with medical equipment on standby. But they’re empty. All perfectly made, not a sheet out of place. 

He lurches to his feet. His stomach sways almost as much as his vision and saliva fills his mouth as acid burns his chest. There's a reason why you aren’t here with him. An explanation for why he didn’t wake up next to you. Your injuries were more extensive than theirs were. Needed closer monitoring, maybe even surgery. So he just, just needs to find a different medical wing. That’s all.

Each step is a conscious effort. Even now, his body doesn’t feel like his own. Every muscle protests his movement, even his brain. You’re here, on the hovercraft somewhere. He’ll walk every square inch until he finds you, because you are here. He doesn’t know how long it takes him to get to the automatic door. He just knows that there’s a pounding in his head like a grandfather clock. It feels nearby. If he could just press his fingers into his eyes, he could rub away the pain like an aching muscle. 

Instead, he presses his hands against the walls, using them as crutches as he shuffles and limps to—well, he doesn’t know where. He has no idea where he’s going. The lights in the hall nearly blind him, any brighter and his nose will start bleeding again, and whatever brain injury he has won’t allow him to focus on any signs. He needs, needs to…He needs to find Haymitch. 

Haymitch!  

He needs to find Haymitch. He’ll tell him what happened, explain it all away. He’ll bring him to you. He drags his battered body toward the sound of voices. He finally gets to the room where two men are arguing. Haymitch and it takes a moment for Finnick to recognize the calmer voice as Plutarch Heavensbee. Whatever he’s saying, Haymitch doesn’t like it.

“That’s it? Really? You’re a smart man, Plutarch. You and I both know that shit’ll fly over as well as a lame bird. You can’t expect them to just… deal with it.”

“That’s exactly what they’ll do, Haymitch. There was no guarantee they’d all get out of the arena. It’s a shame, but casualties happen in revolutions.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you look those kids in the eye and say that to their faces. We’ll be lucky if they don’t end up planning a coordinated attack to crash your fancy hovercraft.”

The words he’s hearing don’t make sense, but he attributes it to whatever the hell is wrong with his brain.

The door opening cuts their conversation short. Finnick pants as he leans heavily along the frame. He can’t help but look for you, but the two men are the only ones in the room. Medbay it is, then.

“...Kid.” Something painful flashes in Haymitch’s expression, but Finnick dismisses it. He’s sure he looks pretty beat up, that’s all. “We, uh, didn’t think you’d be up moving around so early.” He approaches Finnick slowly and stares at him expectantly. He’s waiting for something, bracing himself for an approaching wave. 

“Haymitch.” He nearly jumps at hearing his own voice. It’s hoarse and raspy, and he’s acutely aware of how dry his throat is. “How long have I been out?" The older man grabs his shoulder, places a guiding hand on his back, and directs him over to the table they’re speaking over. Something he’s thankful for because he isn’t sure how much longer his legs would have held up. When he leans most of his weight on the cool metal, he realizes it’s more than just that. It depicts moving treetops and mountain ranges in light blue projections, presumably what they’re flying over. 

“Nearly ten hours,” Plutarch answers. Good. More than enough time for you to be out of surgery. 

“Where’s Star?” Haymitch goes still beside him, looking at Plutarch, and then back at him. Your injury must have been worse than any of them anticipated if you’re still in surgery. “Is she still in surgery? Or, or if she’s recovering in a different med bay, I wanna go sit with her—”

“Kid.”

“—I won’t be in the way, I swear. I just, I’ll feel better if I’m with her and I don’t want her to wake up alone—”

“ Finnick .”

He opens his eyes, though he doesn’t remember closing them. His fists are clenched as he leans on them, nails working their way into his palm.

With the kind of blow he received, it’s expected that Finnick will be a bit absent. The medics told Haymitch to prepare himself to talk slower and repeat questions when necessary. But Haymitch didn’t prepare for this. He should have, but he wasn’t expecting the earnest hope in Finnick’s eyes as he determinedly clung to his senses. This has nothing to do with being electrocuted. He genuinely thinks you’re here. As the seconds tick on, Haymitch’s need for something alcoholic claws at him. 

“Here, drink some water. It sounds like you’ve been gargling razor blades.” Haymitch forces him to take it into his weak hands. It goes down uneasily. Though, luckily, it doesn’t come back up. 

The thick silence sits heavily upon them. Before he can ask where you are again, Haymitch sighs. 

“She’s not here.”

“...I know. Tha–that’s why I asked—”

“She’s not here.” Haymitch interrupts him. Finnick can feel his brain working desperately to make the connection, to fill in the blanks—of which there are many. Haymitch pauses, looking to the side and then down. He licks his lips. “We…we didn’t get her out.”

“What? What does—? Wha—” He laughs in disbelief, shock coloring his otherwise pale features. “What the hell do you mean?"  

Finnick sways, his determined gaze faltering to give way to terror. Haymitch prepares to catch him, but he doesn’t fall. He visibly steels himself, but the walls he builds aren’t nearly as high or impenetrable as they usually are. As the truth sinks in, those walls start to crumble, and Haymitch can’t feel sorry enough.

Plutarch takes over, though Haymitch isn’t sure how good of an idea that is. “We were only able to retrieve Katniss, Beetee, and you.”

Finnick doesn’t know what’s worse, that they’ve given up on you so resolutely or the fact that Haymitch doesn’t bother hiding how remorseful he is.

"You said that if we did this, we’d be free. You said you’d get her back to me." He hisses. Despite how his circumstances shaped him, despite how his father tried to raise him, Finnick isn’t a violent person. It’s something he’s capable of, but it doesn’t come easy to him. He wasn’t born with it in him, rather it was tattooed into his skin. You, however, wear violence like a heavy coat you’ve borrowed. It was never meant for you. With that in mind, Finnick lashes out with an anguished scream that rips his throat to shreds.

He lunges forward, his feet still clumsy and his mind disoriented, but Haymitch still struggles to hold him back. Finnick doesn’t know what he’s trying to accomplish, not sure whether he’s attempting to hurt anyone other than himself, but his fist strikes Haymitch’s jaw. 

“Whoa— stop !”

“You were supposed to get her out! What was the point!” Haymitch tries to restrain his wrists. “ What was the point! ”

People rush in. Medical personnel with syringes, ready to put him to sleep. I’ll let them. Before they can get close, Plutarch raises a hand and they freeze. 

"Finnick, we couldn't find her. Or Peeta and Johanna for that matter." He’s calm and rational, distantly sympathetic like Finnick is just overreacting. Like hearing this should be enough for him to see apparent reason. But it only makes it worse because—

"I know where she is! Just turn around and we can get her! Please ." He pleads to Plutarch, to Haymitch, to anyone who’ll listen. 

“Believe me, Kid, I want to go back.” Haymitch grunts. Finnick’s weakened, but he’s not weak. At this rate, Haymitch will be as bruised as he is.

“Then go back .” 

"We're too far away with too little time. We go back, this’ll all be for nothing." Plutarch says. Like there’s nothing else to be done. Like it’s the end of the conversation. And for everyone but Finnick, it is. If you got left behind, then it was all for nothing. He struggles against Haymitch before his body betrays him. The anger that powered his attack evaporates and in its place now stands despair. His legs give out. He’s heaving and practically limp in Haymitch's arms.

Haymitch allows him to sink to the floor, and Finnick allows himself to cry.

Tremors wrack his body as he stares ahead sightlessly, lips quivering as he weeps. Cool air brushes his back like a feather, but he doesn’t even feel it. He can’t feel anything, only your absence. He feels it more than he did over those torturous two years he spent apart from you. 

His shirt had been so badly singed, they had to cut it off of him, is what Plutarch says, but Finnick is done talking to him. The man is saying something else, Finnick can see his lips still moving out of the corner of his eye, but he’s done listening to him too. 

Haymitch puts his cardigan over Finnick’s shoulders and slides a paper into his hands. Instinctively, his thumb rubs over it, over the subtle grooves and creases and he recognizes it even without looking. He presses a kiss to it, dry and cracked lips caressing your picture as he asks you, "What was the point?”

"I just got word from my men.” Finnick looks up, hope clear even through his tears. He should know better than to have hope, but he just can’t seem to help himself when it comes to you. “The remaining four victors in the arena...have been taken by the Capitol. They never took their trackers out."

That breaks him, Haymitch can see it. The kid just, he just deflates . Curls in on himself, forehead touching the ground— sobs .

 “You, you should have left me in there. Why didn’t you leave me in there? I wasn’t,” he gasps, hardly breathing at all. “I wasn’t supposed to get out. Not without her.” 

“I’m sorry, Finnick.”

Finnick says nothing, because what good does that do? Haymitch’s guilt, what good is it? Who does it help? It means nothing to Finnick, nothing to you.

“I’ve given special orders for Annie Cresta’s retrieval, if possible.” Plutarch reminds him. “With Snow’s attention split between the arena and Eleven seizing control of transportation, it should be fairly easy to slip into Four unnoticed. If that’s any consolation.” It’s not.

Eventually, the weeping tapers off. Not the crying, no. When Finnick eventually sits up, the tears are still streaming down his face. Haymitch is used to seeing him trailing behind you with a cocky grin, shoulders back, and carrying arrogance like a shield if his sharp tongue wasn’t enough. The man that Haymitch has grown close to over the years isn’t here, neither is the boy he once was. And neither are you.

“Do you see that?” Haymitch nods over to the shell of Finnick Odair. “You see that reaction? That’s what I tried to warn you about. Now, how do you think Katniss is gonna react? You think she’s gonna be any better?”

“He’s in shock. She will be too. But they’ll have no choice but to see reason.” Plutarch says and Haymitch’s face twists in disbelief. For how strongly he feels for the rebellion, Heavensbee is still Capitol raised. That ignorance shows like a flashing sign now. People aren’t ruled by logic, they don’t make decisions based on what they know to be true, not really. Especially not in this case. Emotions will be high. And considering it’s Finnick and Katniss they’re talking about, the one less adapted for it, they’d be lucky if they don’t go catatonic.

He nods. “Sure, sure. Once they stop seeing ghosts. And as long as their ghosts are leashed by Snow, you’re gonna be short two rebel leaders.” He says. His jaw aches from Finnick’s right hook, and his chest aches for, well, many reasons. And he is shockingly far too sober for the rest of this ride.

“They’re both intelligent people.” Plutarch counters. “They’ll understand that the revolution is more important than any singular person.”

“Of course they’re smart. There’s no doubt about it. But they’re also strong-willed. They’re stubborn . They’re kids. Pair that with them also being… stupidly in love.” Haymitch can see that none of this is particularly clicking with the other man and sighs, throwing his arms up in frustration. “You know what? Nevermind. You’ll find out just how much we need them more than they need us.”  

“Hm.” The ex-Head Gamemaker hums, not entirely convinced. But he will be. God , will he be. He’ll learn the hard way what happens when you live for someone else, and Haymitch will run as much damage control as he can. He’ll keep these two alive even if they hate him for it. He owes you and Peeta that much.

Finnick sits in silence as Plutarch and Haymitch speak in low tones. He thinks Plutarch attempts to talk to him a few times, tries to rope him into the conversation. Maybe to ask for his input or some type of council. But what good is Finnick to the rebellion now? How could he possibly think of the future of Panem when his future is trapped in the Capitol? 

Eventually, Plutarch stops trying, probably dissuaded by Haymitch. Finnick’s standing now, leaning heavily on his hands like he’s drunk. Haymitch must have helped him up.

“Maybe,” he wonders aloud, an open stream of consciousness that he doesn’t bother to censor. He doesn’t need to look at the other men’s faces to know he sounds as desolate as he feels. “Maybe if I’m dead, they’ll let her go.” They could broadcast it live. A hanging or execution by gunfire. Or lethal injection, so he can drift away with thoughts of you. 

Plutarch raises his eyebrows. It’s the first thing the kid has said in the last hour and a half.

Haymitch’s reaction is as upset as Finnick thought it would be.

“No. No, are you crazy? Your dying won’t help anything. Hell, it’ll probably make whatever treatment she gets worse. And you and I both know Snow didn’t take her just to fuck with you.” If Finnick was more present, he would have noticed Haymitch softening. But he’s not and he doesn’t.

Haymitch is right. Of course, he’s right. But it’s increasingly hard to see that past the tears in his eyes.

Later, when Katniss barges in and lashes out, as angry and despondent as he was, and has to be sedated, Finnick sits beside her in the same bed he woke up in. What a cruel twist of fate to be sitting at her bedside, wishing she was someone else while knowing Katniss was doing the same with him.

But there’s nothing to be done for that because he isn’t Peeta, and she isn’t you. And they’re both here when they shouldn’t be.

He stays out of the way as medics bustle around the room. They check her IV drip, measure out more medicine, and contemplate aloud if they should tie her down again. Ultimately they decide against it and leave the room one by one until it’s only them. Three patients in a room that should have held six.

“Katniss. Katniss, I’m sorry.” He apologizes, but even then it doesn’t feel like it’s really her he’s apologizing to. He wants to picture you in her place, lying here beside him, but Finnick’s imagination has never worked that way. 

He stares at your picture.

She mumbles something incoherent, which is more than he thought he’d get from her. Her voice must be shot. She’d been wailing. For so long. Even after they drugged her. He hadn’t minded. It gave him something to focus on other than his thoughts. A ringing in his ears that wasn’t from head trauma or grief. It was the kind of animal-like keening he’d only heard once before—from his father when his mother died.

And then she went deathly quiet. But even before that, she refused to talk to anyone. Like she was a wounded creature surrounded by predators and the only way she could communicate was by screaming and sobbing. He gets it, they wanted to put him on IV fluids as a precaution. You can cry yourself into dehydration and, apparently, he’s already at risk. Luckily, Haymitch talked them out of it.

Not that he would have noticed. Or put up much of a fight. 

“I wanted... to go back for Peeta and Johanna. For Star...” He trails off, blinks his puffy and watery eyes, and tries again. “I wanted…to go back for them, but I, uh, um..." He sniffles, “I couldn’t move ,” he says. Not as an excuse, or an admission of guilt. He doesn't need her to validate or coddle him. He tells her because she has to know, somebody other than him has to know that he tried . 

And that he failed. 

She says nothing, but that deliberate silence speaks volumes.

“They, um, they took her, too. Th–they took…they took Star.” That gets a blink out of her. Or he thinks it does, his eyes feel swollen from crying. They offered him something for it, but he refused. He continues, feeling the need to fill the silence.

“It's better for him than her and Johanna. They'll figure out he doesn't know anything pretty fast. And they won't kill him if they think they can use him against you.” He shrugs even though she can’t see it. “Knowing Snow, he won’t kill Star either.”

“They’re bait…aren’t they, Finnick?” Her speech is delayed as she talks at the ceiling, the sedative doing its job. “But you get rid of bait…when it gets no bites.”  

They should have given her some kind of tranquilizer or anesthetic, those would have put her to sleep. He wishes she was asleep, that her vocal cords were so strained that she couldn’t speak at all. He wishes she hadn’t said that, hadn’t brought logic into his delusion.

He tries to imagine what they’ll do to you, but his mind whites out to the sound of static. No. Not static. Your screams in the arena, once fabricated, but now made real. 

No. 

It’s both. 

Static and screams and static and screams and he covers his ears, weeping. 

“I wish she was dead. I wish they were all dead and we were too.”

-

Epilogue

-

THE CAPITOL

There are snipers at all possible vantage points. 

All hovercrafts have been grounded. 

Should anything be picked up by the sonars, he has given express orders for it to be shot down immediately. He had peacekeepers previously stationed in Two brought to the Capitol overnight, almost tripling their numbers. This close to an attack like that, he can’t afford to be lax in his security. 

Despite the extra muscle milling around, or perhaps because of it, the citizens cheer as he steps out onto the balcony.

Even after all these years, the sight of his faithful, if not at times inane, people falling over themselves at the mere sight of him is invigorating. It’s what he is owed, of course, what he’s due. It’s invigorating all the same.

Coriolanus allows himself to relish the feeling. He’s worked tirelessly to get where he is today, to get his country where it is today. Day after day, making the difficult decisions needed to keep the scales balanced so those unsuited for the task didn’t have to. Moments such as these, it wouldn’t do to squander them.

He raises a hand and a hush falls over the crowd, quelling the unrest. He surveys the audience, taking in their fears and hopes. He has no need to contemplate the approach he should be taking. He knows what his people need to hear. 

“Esteemed citizens. Today, we stand in the shadow of a grievous attack. An assault upon the very heart of our beloved nation. Yesterday's events in the arena were not merely an affront to our sovereignty, but a blatant act of terrorism perpetrated by those who seek to undermine the tranquility and stability we have fought so very hard to maintain since the Dark Days."

He pauses, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the assembly. There are very few people who witnessed the Dark Days firsthand and lived to tell the tale. Even less so now than when the war initially ended, their names almost all lost through death or forgotten by time. Despite that, he made sure the generations that came after were taught about it, and the words ‘Dark Days’ became synonymous with ‘horrors beyond comprehension’. Bringing it up has the desired effect. He watches as they shift uncomfortably. 

“I know many of you are concerned by what you witnessed last night. Frightened by the events that have left us all shaken. Your safety is my top priority. I will not deceive you, my dear citizens, I will not shield you from the harsh realities of our world.” A lie. A necessary one. But a lie, nonetheless. “Hear me when I say you have every right to be afraid. Rebels have infiltrated our sanctum, defiled our most cherished institution. They have stolen into our home, wreaking havoc and sowing chaos.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, a tide of uncertainty underscored by a palpable sense of unease. Fear, apprehension. The perfect state for susceptibility. 

“But, they could not have done it alone. It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that some of our own, once celebrated as champions—as victors , have now fallen into the clutches of treachery, their allegiance swayed by the insidious whispers of our enemies.” He grips the sides of his podium, leaning forward. “As of today, they shall be branded as terrorists. Enemies of the nation.” He declares and so it is true.

There are gasps and cries of dismay, of outrage. Aghast and stricken, the people begin to speak over each other. Murmurs turn into shouts. He allows it as he already predicted this very reaction. Accounted for it, even. He lets them stew in their despair for a moment longer before raising his hand again. Silence.

“It is a grave tragedy,” he says, voice heavy with somberness he doesn’t feel, “that the people we have allowed into our hearts, have put upon our very shoulders in an effort to uplift them— raise them from their stations, would throw our generosity into the mud and our benevolence into our face. A tragedy,” he nods along to his words. “But not a surprise. While we mourn the loss of innocence, we must also acknowledge a glimmer of hope. We have reason to believe that some of our victors, unwitting pawns in this treacherous game, remain untouched by the poison of rebellion. Swift action was taken to rescue the innocent and the unaware, to shield them from the grasp of those who would seek to corrupt and manipulate them. They were spared from the rebels’ clutches only by our decisiveness to intervene despite great risk. And we will continue to safeguard them from the horrors that would have awaited them at the hands of the rebels.”

There is a discernible note of relief in the air, a whiplash of emotions as they look to him for guidance. He had always been focused on the marketability of a victor, even when he was a boy. How to best sell them to the audience, what skillset should they develop, what makes them charming. As he gained power, climbed the ladder, those questions became someone else’s to answer. But it’s possible he has set the foundation for the job too well. Though it was his intention, the citizens have become far too attached. And the victors, far too comfortable.

“But let me assure you, we shall not cower in the face of fear or despair. Our resolve remains unyielding, our commitment unwavering. We shall stand tall as we unite to root out this insidious threat. Let it be known that those who stand against us are not only enemies of the state but enemies of peace and progress. Enemies of every man, woman, and child in Panem that cherishes the stability and prosperity of our nation.” 

“Even the children?”

“What animals!”

“Where do they draw the line?”

The irony of their outrage isn’t lost on him. It’s why he said it, after all.

"Our path forward is clear. We shall embark upon a thorough investigation of every remaining victor and sift through the ashes of betrayal to discern friend from foe. We shall leave no stone unturned, no shadow unexplored. And mark my words, justice will be swift, and it will be absolute."

A sense of righteous fury and determination sweeps through the crowd as if they’re getting ready to fight the war themselves. He would scoff under his breath if didn’t irritate the sores. Realistically, many of them would think about this for a week, a week and a half at the most, before moving on. Shopping frivolously, partying excessively, hoarding their wealth gratuitously. Living naively in the bubble he formed for them. Over half a century later and Coriolanous is still bitter that they’ve never had to understand the disparity. But that is how it must remain, this is what he strived to keep. The Capitol citizens relishing their opulent lives as a right and not as the privilege it actually is.

"Together, we shall weather this storm. Together, we will emerge stronger, more united than ever before. For in the end, it is not the darkness that defines us, but the strength of our collective will to overcome it.” He stands resolute as the cameras zoom in, just as he instructed them to. Fervent applause echoes around him so loudly, it wouldn’t surprise him if it could be heard across the Capitol. He raises a hand in farewell, his mind already turning towards the trials that lay ahead. He finishes with, “Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”

-

“Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”

“And that was our brilliant president, making sure to reassure us all in these uncertain times.” Caesar Flickerman opens after Coriolanus’s speech. Showmanship has certainly become more wooden since the days of Lucky Flickerman, but it was a change needed to fit the times. He’s paid to be a distraction and he does it well.

“Wonderful speech.” His cohost, whose name he doesn’t know and doesn’t care to know, tacks on. He has no idea how the man has kept his job for as long as he has while being utterly forgettable. Though, it’s most likely they’ve just forgotten to fire him.

“Wasn’t it? Doesn’t it just make you wanna get out there and kick some rebel butt?” Caesar throws one of his legs out in the semblance of a high kick before breaking into his clenched jaw laughter.

“Now, although no names have been officially said, I do have my fingers crossed about which victors were saved.”

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that, Caesar. I know I’ll be in the minority in this, but, out of all the victors left in the arena, I hope Enobaria was saved.”

“ Really?”

At the mention of her, he recalls the image of four victors strapped down to gurneys and unconscious.

He could have done without the woman from two, Enobaria. The rebels know better than to allow a potential mole in on their plot. As such, she’s completely useless to him, most likely to just be sent home. Johanna Mason, always so willful, so self-assured—well, no longer. He’ll see to that. 

Capturing Peeta was almost better than capturing Katniss herself. He told her to convince him of their romance and convince him, she did. It was nothing short of pure stupidity to leave him behind, but Snow isn’t wasteful. He’ll have a use for him undoubtedly, and he’ll have it soon.

And you. It wouldn’t be hard to find out if you had any part in the rebellion, and he knows you must have. For all your supposed obedience, you’re still defiant at heart. You can bat those pretty eyes of yours however much you want, it doesn’t hide the hate in your gaze. He chuckles. Always so resentful. But you’re far more clever about it than Ms. Mason and far more convincing than Ms. Everdeen at hiding it. They’ll squeeze every last drop, every morsel of information out of you—-he’ll see to that personally. 

A clash was inevitable, it had been too long since the rebels had last made their move. Katniss and the heat her win garnered had all but handed them their opportunity on a silver platter. All of it was an annoyance, one he’d been preparing for. And, truly, it seems Coriolanus has gained much more than he’s lost.

There’s a knock at the door that breaks him from his musings, followed by a Peacekeeper pushing it open. Behind them stood a timid girl, one of the assistants.

“President Snow?”

“Yes.”

“Your granddaughter is waiting.”

Coriolanus hums and says nothing else, the sound of leather rubbing against leather as he squeezes his hands into fists making her squirm.

He decided long ago to lead by example when teaching his children etiquette and virtues, and his grandchildren after them. Punctuality is one of them. With that in mind and without looking away from the recap, he says, “Very well. Bring her in.” No point in keeping her waiting. The girl rushes to do just that, almost tripping over herself when he uses two gloved fingers to motion her in. 

She sets up the communication device, connecting the call, and his granddaughter’s grinning face is projected before him.

“Grandpa!”

“Hello, darling.” He smiles briefly, irritating the sores in his mouth. “Was there something you wanted to share?” He wonders momentarily if she was saddened by his announcement, knowing how much she idolized the victors.

“I learned a new song today! Would you like to hear it?”

“Did you?” He asks though he knows saying she ‘learned’ anything is being very generous. “By all means.”

Calliope places the violin between her shoulder and her chin, getting into the correct position. She knows that much at least. Discreetly, he lowers the volume right before she drags the bow across the strings. He winces once she starts playing, another word used loosely, lowering the volume even more. She’s abysmal, to put it simply. So bad, in fact, that he can’t notice the improvement she and her instructor swear is there—he never does. 

But she only started her lessons very recently, she’s a novice. Unlike you, the entire reason she even wanted to take lessons. Your skill with the violin is truly something to marvel at. After your moving performance, she’d been taken with the idea of playing herself. He’s happy that was her main takeaway from that night. And you’re a far better person to emulate than Katniss Everdeen. 

Coriolanus, for a long time now, has been of the mindset that music is only good for causing trouble. And he’s been proven right time and time again. Despite that, he’s always been partial to your playing. The way the notes soar and dance through the air, each one carrying its own emotion and story. You become one with your instrument, movements sure and fluid like you’re channeling something other .

You’re not a singer, it’s part of why he prefers you. You played so often, not because you enjoyed it, but because he willed it. Perhaps that’s where he went wrong in the past. He didn't need a performer. A bird couldn't truly be tamed without breaking its wings, after all. They were meant to entertain you with their primitive songs from afar, heard not seen. Birds weren’t meant to be cared for or doted on. 

You, however, invoke memories of the wayward lap dogs that once roamed the desolate streets during the Dark Days—lost, yet in need of guidance and a firm hand. You responded with surprising grace to both rewards and punishments. The sort of unwavering loyalty that could be harnessed. Akin to those loyal canines who, once taken in, never strayed far from their master's side. Indeed, there was no need to break you; you were already tamed, domesticated by circumstance and necessity.

His mind wanders to a time long past, to his grandmother's cherished garden. He remembers the times she would force him up to the roof to help her, tending to the whims of the temperamental woman and her equally temperamental plants, diligently pruning away the encroaching weeds. He could never claim to have a green thumb, but there was one plant he remembers being fond of: lavender. A hardy plant that survived longer than many of his neighbors had and was always so rewarding to see grow. Splashes of purple and green on the ever-present backdrop of gray had made those days a little less dreary. The memory brings a faint smile to his lips that leaves just as fast as it arrived. 

The woman is long since dead and so is her garden.

Coriolanus absently adjusts a vase of pristine white roses on his desk, contemplating the parallels between you and that resilient lavender plant.

So, yes. Perhaps you aren't an animal at all. Instead, a flower that endures. Beautiful and useful. And a Snow only surrounds themselves with the best. 

You’ll need tending to, of course, some nurturing. Just as well. You have quite a few weeds he'll need to prune, but he’s certain the end result would be just as rewarding as those sprouting lavender buds in his grandmother's garden. He’ll need that splash of color in the foreground of this eternal war.

And who knows? Perhaps he’ll have gotten you under control in enough time to have you perform at Calliope’s birthday celebration. You might even be able to train her yourself. A mentor yet again.

While Calliope continues to play, his eyes drift back to the recap. 

“Now, let's lighten the mood a bit, shall we? Did you catch that electrifying moment between two victors? I mean, talk about sparks flying!”

“Pun intended, I hope?”

“You know it, Claudius. Ha ! If you don’t know what I’m talking about, or you were unlucky enough to miss it, two of our very own victors shared a fiery moment on the beach.” They pull up a short video of your and Finnick’s pitiful display on the beach. “ Oh, the passion! It was so unexpected, so intense, that yours truly couldn't contain his excitement, and well, I might have had a little tumble. But fear not, because we've got the clip ready for your viewing pleasure. Let's roll it!" 

“What’s this?” Finnick pulls you forward into a deep kiss with crashing waves and the setting sun in the background. “I—excuse me.” Caesar holds up a finger before passing out. 

"Ah, classic Caesar, always getting carried away by the drama!” He speaks in the third person, laughing at himself as the clip of him is played again in slow motion. “But seriously, folks, wasn't that kiss something else? Oh, what a moment! I think I need a fan myself after that!" 

"I was on the edge of my seat, practically squatting the whole night!" 

"Words right out of my mouth. Is it possible this fiery little dalliance flew under our radar all these years?"    

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised. Those two had always been prett y close. So cute." 

"Too true, my friend. Too true. And you can bet your Capitol couture that we'll be talking about those two in-depth later.  For now, let's dive into more highlights from the Games. Who impressed you the most? Which victors left you speechless with their skills? Which death rocked you the hardest? Share your thoughts with us about our all-star season, because the excitement never ends here at Capitol TV!"

-

END OF PART 1

A/N: I know this was a doozy, like WOOO. right? But that's the end of part 1, next part is mockinjay. might take a hiatus in between just to breathe and like, give me some air and time to plan. Come yell at me over on tumblr!!!!

[liennka]

Mizumono

Hannibal Lecter x Will's daughter X Will Graham

Summary: Will was supposed to help Jack with killing Hannibal, but he arrived too late and with him, his daughter, Y/n.... (s2e13)

-> This one is filled with angst, but i realised that's just what i am good at :) I am open to any criticism (be nice pls).

I just wanted to say that I am not the owner of this show, but I did make this story, so don't copy it without my knowledge, thank you.

When Alana called about the warrant, Will didn't panic. He told Y/n to go downstairs, urging her to turn off the lights and grab a jacket. And as the police headlights came through the windows, they ducked and crawled on all fours to the back door, Will grabbing his gun. Outside, hidden in the darkness, they ran across their property, stopping on a road. The rain soaked their clothes, though at least the ground wasn't muddy, otherwise they'd be easy to track. A taxi pulled up and Will gave him an address. 

"Hannibal Lecter's house? Why are we going from one danger to another?" Y/n asked, much rather preferring a McDonald's or a cinema. 

"Because Jack will be there, and right now nowhere is safe," her father whispered, looking out the window, "and maybe it's the only address I know."

"That's probably it. What are we going to do then? Have a cup of tea with him and chat with Hannibal?" she sarcastically teased. 

"I gave him time to leave, nothing should happen".

Y/N wasn't so sure.

----●----●----●----

When they got off, her father couldn't have been more wrong. Alana laid there, glass broken, rain rinsing blood from her hair. She seemed dead, just the twitching from shock making her shoulders move up and down. 

"Alana!" Will rushed to her and wrapped her in his coat.

Y/n made note of her surroundings. The front door opened, all sorts of wet footsteps on the carpet, the second floor window busted. And a bloody burgundy dahlia looking at her from a pot near the entrance. 

"Betrayal," she hummed, crouching down beside Alana.

Will looked at her as if she was crazy. He had just called the ambulance and left Alana his phone. 

"The flowers," Y/n pointed out, "I guess he's inside.” 

"Jack's there too," Alana choked out.

Y/N was surprised, she thought Alana's rib cage was too damaged to speak, but Alana proved her wrong. Will nodded and stood up, his gun in both hands. Y/n stayed a little longer, not caring that her hair was now sticking to her ears and causing her to feel cold.

----●----●----●----

As she opened the door to the kitchen, the smell of blood hit her. There were knives, plates and glass everywhere, two pairs of shoes standing in the midst of it all. As she looked up, Hannibal's silhouette greeted her.  

"You were supposed to leave!" Will was standing in front of him.

"I couldn't leave without you two," Hannibal said affectionately. 

Y/n did not know who 'you two' meant, but had a hunch that it included her. Strangely, Hannibal didn't even spare her a look, placing his palm on Will's cheek as if to caress it. They both had such an intense gaze, the sexual tension almost making Y/n turn around to give them some privacy. The scenery looked like a theater piece, a tragedy at that. They dove into their world, where she didn't exist and where they spoke in a different language, or maybe she just lost her hearing from how loud her heart was beating.  Either way, Y/n wanted to separate them, to drag her dad back to their house, back to their dogs. 

She did not see the knife coming from her point of view. Her father simply yelped and took a step forward, crashing into Hannibal's arms. This wasn't real, no. Hannibal would never hurt Will, he was like the other half of his soul, she lied to herself. But there was a red stain on his shirt and when Hannibal embraced him, the weapon remained in his hand, as if to mock them. Y/n stood motionless, no sound could break through her frozen vocal chords. She never thought this would happen, her chest tightening and her eyes filling with tears of pure terror.

The impact of Will's body aligned with her first fallen tear. His body fell directly into a pool of Jack's blood, his pants soaking it up. A few droplets of their mixed blood landed on her shoe, ruining her white trainers. Y/n swallowed nauseously, not daring to look into her fathers eyes. 

Hannibal leaned forward, his crescent-shaped blade back on the counter. 

"I have let you know me, see me," Hannibal paused as Will struggled to breathe, "I gave you a rare gift, but you didn't want it.”

"Didn't I?" Will insisted heartbroken, his eyebrows knitted tightly together. He seemed distressed, but more than anything, he was furious. 

Y/n shut herself off, not wanting to remember her father so frail, choosing to merely listen. And when she heard Hannibal mention the shattered teacup again, something in her snapped. She opened her pocket knife behind her back, using it for the first time since she bought it after the encounter with Tobias. Her fight-or-flight instinct flipped a coin and settled on fight. In a blink of an eye, she was standing behind Hannibal, her knife placed just under his jaw.

Y/n had no idea what she was doing. Her mind told her to end it, to be free at last. But her heart knew that was not possible, not in this life. She couldn't stop shaking, so she applied more force, making him bleed a little.  Will sucked in his breath, not quite understanding what was going on as this was out of character for her. 

"We are not a shattered teacup. You can't glue us back together and pretend like nothing happened," Y/n croaked in his ear, her voice high-pitched.

The blade suddenly twitched as a chuckle erupted from Hannibal’s chest.

"No, you certainly are not just a piece of pottery, but you are indeed fragile."

“You should have left when Will told you to. Instead you slaughtered them all, rightfully or not, whether you believe in God or not. There is no excuse for that,” Y/n hissed, her disappointment in him turning her words bitter. 

"I should have seen it coming…you made us so blind," her disappointment in herself turning her words sour.

Alana's happy face when she gave her a handmade sweater, or Jack and Bella's Christmas party, it was all over. Her bright future turned dim.

"I just wanted us to be a family. Why," she sobbed, a big droplet falling on the floor, "why can't I have a genuine family for once?"

----●----●----●----

Taking advantage of her state of mind, Hannibal grabbed her hand, pulling the knife away from his throat and spinning her around. He took her face in his palms, making her look at him. Y/n had teardrops on her chin, red spots on her irritated skin, her lips chapped and her eyelashes littered with fresh tears. He wiped them away so she had a clear view of him. However, he was no better, his normally perfectly sleek bangs were now messy, blood on his collar and some drying under his nose. He was bruised and in pain, yet he still looked like the most charismatic man she had ever seen. A charismatic man that attempted to erase her father's existence. 

"You don't get to start over after what you've just done, that's not fair!” she tried to wriggle out of his grip, “You hurt Will and you broke my trust. What do you expect us to do?" 

"Nothing, such is life. Don't fight it, let it all go."

Y/n raised her eyebrows in disbelief, a single tear running down her cheek. By now she could care less about having a weapon on her side, she felt she had already lost. 

"'And what if I don't want to let it go, to forget or forgive?" 

"Then you lose yourself," Hannibal directed his gaze back to Will, "I forgive Will. Will he forgive me?"

"'Don't. No, no, no!" Will uttered for the first time after his collapse.

It broke his heart, but there was nothing to be done, his design was meant to be finished and everything had to go according to plan. He pried her knife from her slack hold, unbeknown to her. 

"What are you tal-" Y/n's question couldn't be finished as she was silenced.

Her own knife, now in Hannibal's possession, was plunged blade deep into her side, almost identically to her father's. She yelped as she felt her muscles being torn apart, the stinging as Hannibal yanked it out causing her to choke. Her eyes opened wide as if trying to comprehend what was happening. The searing pain in her torso sent her to the ground, but it was the pain in her heart that made her burst out crying again, only this time it would not stop. Hannibal slowly lowered her down beside Will, splattering the tiles with her blood and tears like the rain would.

 She shook, struggling to catch her breath. With one hand she pressed against her wound, with the other she found her father's hand and weakly squeezed it. She felt his cold fingers, the energy draining from his body. 

"Dad," Y/n muffled her cries. 

Will wanted to help her, to hold her and console her, but he'd been bleeding for so long he couldn't even open his mouth. He had no choice but to watch with half-closed eyes as the entire room bathed in red.  

"You can make it all go away. Put your head back, close your eyes," Hannibal reached for Will's shoulder and met his eyes. "Wade into the quiet of the stream".

Y/n blinked at Hannibal for a second, but instead of a man, she saw a red horned monster with black dahlias sprouting from its eye sockets. So this was his true self, she realised.

“We were never meant to work, were we?” she clutched at Hannibal's trousers with her bloodied fingers. 

There was a silence for a while, Will's labored breathing slowing and her own sniffles fading to silent tears. Hannibal knelt down and ruffled her wet hair. 

And as her father closed his eyes, Hannibal asked her: "Will you forgive me?"

Y/n wanted to say no. She wanted to send him into the pond of burgundy ink as well, but her own mind said otherwise. 

"'Maybe, if you promise to make us work."

He smiled and stood up, not looking at her again. As his footsteps faded away, Y/n's warm blood grew chilly and her eyes heavy. With her last strength she kissed her father's knuckles, her last tears streaming down her face.  

----●----●----●----

She shed tears for how pitiful her ending was. And as her vision got blurrier, she bid farewell to her life.