#aggressive positivity is the new name of the game | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

obaex · 4 months

Text

four - hockey player!ex!rafe cameron (pt. 2)

summary: with the stakes of your relationship on the line, can rafe pull off the impossible to win you back?

word count: 6k 🫣

a/n: i love you all for the love on this lil' series!! ♡ toxic hockey rafe has me in a chokehold, so i promise this will not be the last you see of him!! apologies in advance, you will basically be attending a full hockey game here, i tried my best to explain all the lingo!

(part one)

The arena was packed even though you were there early, arriving alone because the other girlfriends and wives were always late, which simply wasn't in your DNA.

Your dad was a coach growing up, so you spent countless hours in empty rinks, arenas and stands; his rule for games was that you were in your seat early enough to see the starting lineup and the national anthem, no exceptions. Truth be told you liked being there when the lights went down, when the music amped up, you loved the anticipation of a new game.

You didn't mind sitting in the cold seat, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate that you got from the same concession stand every time. Hockey players were notoriously superstitious and by extension now you were too; just like they had their pregame rituals, so did you: same parking spot in the VIP lot, same hot chocolate from the same concession stand, same seat in section 106. You were in the lower bowl of the arena, a few rows back from the ice, facing the bench, nearly eye-level with the team.

You let your mind wander and tried not to think about Rafe but it was impossible, this place was Rafe to you; from the feeling of the cold air on your cheeks and fingers, to the damp and crisp smell of the ice and the sounds of the fans and ambient pregame music, all of it was a part of your love story, all of it was him. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt like you thought it would, rather it felt like coming home after a semester at college, foreign but familiar.

You swiped at your phone, a nervous tick, even though you knew there wouldn't be anything there, which was a good thing, Rafe needed to be focused on the game, so you slid your phone into the cupholder next to you and resorted to tapping your heeled foot nervously.

The seats around you filled quickly and sure enough the other girlfriends and wives arrived just as the lights were dimming, offering cheek kisses and sympathetic hugs, well aware of your situation. Your best friend Morgan slid in next to you, pulling you into her side.

"It's selfish, but I'm glad you're here" she said, loud enough to be heard over the music and the announcer as her brown eyes traced your face sympathetically.

"I'm fine" you lied with a forced smile. Totally fine you thought. Not the love of my life who broke my heart then skated over it trying to win me back in the middle of the semifinals.

You decided to keep all of that to yourself, because truthfully it was ridiculous. It was juvenile. And it was never going to happen. And you didn't want it to happen anyway, you reassured yourself. Right?

You shook your head as you turned your attention to the starting lineup as Rafe's name boomed over the loudspeaker, the cheering noticeably louder from the crowd. He was a fan favorite, beloved for his fast and aggressive style of play. He wasn't afraid to two-hand someone when the referee wasn't looking, to stand up for his team, to battle for the puck. He was chippy, gritty, and he's on the first line tonight you thought to yourself, a spot reserved for the very best players, putting them in the best scoring position. But surely that's not in any way related to our deal... you mused.

You stood on your tiptoes to see him over the crowd in front of you. He was standing at center ice under the spotlight, his helmet tucked under his arm as he shuffled side to side on his skates, face unsmiling, focused as he looked between his feet and the empty ice in front of him. Your heart leapt uncontrollably at the sight of him; God he's beautiful you thought as your body hummed in recognition and longing, completely betraying you.

The tension and animosity in the arena were thick. You had faced the opposing team a few times in the regular season and it did not end well.

As in, you'd lost every time.

As in, Rafe left the last game with a five-minute major penalty and a black eye after an all-out brawl.

Now the fans were itching for a rematch and you were simply hoping for everyone to leave in one piece. That was the difference between being a fan and being someone who cared deeply for the boys on the ice, it wasn't a spectacle to you anymore. You watched as Rafe's wingers Nick and Andrew stood beside him, followed by two defensemen and your goalie as the national anthem wrapped up.

Everyone took their seats as the lights came back on and the music came on again too, urging the fans around you to cheer, and for you to resume the incessant tapping of your foot as you leaned forward in your seat, laser focused on the guys lining up for the faceoff.

"Girl, you good?" Morgan asked, taking in your nervous energy.

"Hmm?" you responded distractedly, barely glancing at her. "Yeah, yeah m'fine" you said.

You were always more into the game than the other girls, but that didn't account for the clear tension and anxiety rolling off of you in waves, nor the way you were immaculately dressed, which didn't go unnoticed either.

Rafe skated to center ice, equally sized with the opponent at faceoff as the referee dropped the puck. It had barely clattered to the ice before Rafe had gained possession, shouldering his opponent out of the way and barreling towards the offensive zone with a burst of energy like a gunshot that had the crowd almost immediately back on their feet, pulling you along with them.

"OK, I'm sorry, what is happening here?" Morgan said as she watched him.

He was a man possessed, head down, focused, ignoring his teammates as they called for the puck to set up a play, like he was trying to do it all himself. Like he was trying to score. He flipped the puck towards the goalie, who blocked it and possession shifted as he skated backwards on defense, your heart settling in your chest.

Rafe always played with intensity, but with the way he was playing now, he wouldn't make it through the first period. You thought there would be a reprieve on defense, but he was diving for the puck, playing to steal rather than defending his zone. He looked like a maniac.

Until it worked.

The crowd was back on their feet as he and Nick had a breakaway two-on-one, both of them racing towards the net together with only one defender standing between them and the goalie, the rest of their teammates striding to catch up with them. Nick called for the puck, slapping his stick on the ice, but Rafe deked the defender, faking him out before approaching the goalie and tipping the puck into the small pocket over his shoulder, swishing it effortlessly into the net.

The arena erupted as the goal horn blared and you found yourself jumping up and down, overcome with excitement and emotion. You could physically feel your heart beating. This is totally normal you thought. It's totally fine to score a goal in the first two minutes of the game, on his first shift, against the toughest team in the league.

You watched players pile on him in celebration before they all skated back to the bench, bumping fists with their team before taking a seat on the bench. Your eyes were glued to him, and his were on the jumbotron above center ice, watching his own replay before the coach approached him, grasping his shoulder angrily, and you could imagine why. He had been reckless, he had been lucky. Rafe nodded, but ultimately shook him off and refocused on the resumed play. Players zoomed in front of you and your eyes zipped to follow them before you glanced ever so briefly back at Rafe, who was unmistakably looking at you and smiling.

You swallowed to hide the emotions on your face, not giving him a single inch as you focused on the play.

You loved watching hockey, but it felt different when Rafe was on the ice, like he was a magnet, the only thing you could focus on, and his next shift was no different. He was playing like a madman and within seconds you could hear the coach shouting. Rafe turned up emptyhanded this time and the coach was visibly angry as Rafe skated to the bench, going so far as to yell back at him, which had you holding your breath; you had never seen him do that before.

Nick reached for Rafe's shoulder to calm him down and then they started bickering back and forth. Your attention was now split between the two of them and the action on the ice when you saw Nick physically rear back at something Rafe had said, the motion grabbing your full focus. Nick covered his face with his gloved hands, looking back at Rafe and then repeating the motion before he glanced up at the stands, at you, and shook his head, resigned. Were they talking about you!?! you thought. Had Rafe just told him what's going on?

You were so caught up that you missed the play as the other team scored. The game was tied 1-1. The arena echoed with boos as their bench erupted in cheers. You looked up at the clock: 2 minutes left in the first period.

Rafe and Nick got onto the ice for their last shift and the second the puck dropped, they were off as a duo, Nick's intensity now matching Rafe's own; they were bodying guys, tag-teaming as they raced into the offensive zone. Nick had the puck and passed to Rafe, and almost immediately Rafe was cornered by two extremely large defensemen who pinned him to the boards as they tried to steal the puck. But he wouldn't relent, throwing his elbows and trying to wiggle free, desperate and angry as the buzzer sounded for the end of the period.

And yet they didn't let him go. The crowd started shouting and everyone was on their feet as Rafe dropped his stick, turned and grabbed them both by the front of their jerseys, shoving them as the benches emptied and other players joined in, piling on top of one another until you lost sight of Rafe in a mess of limbs, equipment and jerseys. You were craning to see over the ecstatic fans, egging on the fight as the referees raced to break it up, pulling bodies off of one another until they reached Rafe.

His helmet had come off and as the referees skated him towards the locker room, he was shouting at the opposing team who skated after him, riling each other up before he yanked himself out of the ref's grasp and marched off the ice through the tunnel.

Period 1: Game Tied. 1-1.

You let out a deep sigh before collapsing back in your seat. You took a shaky inhale before exhaling and you felt a set of eyes on you.

You turned to see Morgan looking at you with an eyebrow arched.

"You're really going to sit here and act like you don't know what's going on? I know that boy texts you his every thought."

You opened your mouth, an excuse, a lie ready before she interrupted you.

"-- And I KNOW you didn't block him like you said you were going to, so don't try me. What the hell is going on?"

You bit your lip at that, glancing between her and the ice where the zamboni was running clean lines across the cold surface.

You gave a halfhearted shrug, "You know how much he wants to win, how much this means to him."

She doubled down her glare.

You sighed, avoiding her gaze before looking back to her.

"I made a deal with him" you nearly whispered.

A few of the other girls snuck by you both, causing you to shift in your seats as she leaned in and whisper-shouted at you:

"I'm sorry what!"

"If he scores four goals tonight, I said I'd get back together with him."

"You're joking" she said flatly. "Please tell me you're joking."

You pursed your lips with a small shake of your head.

"The two of you" she said as she let out an exasperated laugh. "Unbelievable. You can't stay away from each other and yet you’re willing to bet the stakes of your relationship on a game. I can't" she said, throwing her hands up in defeat.

She paused, getting serious for a moment.

"Are you sure you even want to get back with him, is that really such a good idea hun?"

"Morgan, he's never going to score four goals, it's like, impossible."

"Are you watching the same game I am?" she said emphatically. "Cause your mans sure is gonna try and you better ask yourself what you're going to do if he does."

There was a whisper of truth to what she was saying. It was probably impossible, but not completely out of reach. And what would you do? Your heart trilled. You would be ecstatic the devil on your shoulder said. You would be screwed said the angel.

Your phone buzzed in the cupholder next to you and swiped it open.

You grasped at your phone. Rafe never had his phone between periods, none of the players did, it was basically sacrilegious. They had just enough time to get treatment, catch their breath, hydrate and listen to their coach and he was on his phone!? You put yours down and tried to rearrange the smile creeping onto your face as you saw the teams rejoining the ice for the second period.

Just like before, Rafe was off like a rocket, but the other team was on to him this time, doubling his defensive coverage, making it nearly impossible for him to skate, let alone make a play. He had put a target on his back with the fight at the end of the first period, so even when he didn't have the puck, you could see the other players go after him, a stick in his skates, a slash at his side, heads turning to chirp at him as they lined up for faceoffs. But he didn't slow down for a moment, battling twice as hard now, coming back to the bench after each shift uncharacteristically exhausted, heaving with his elbows on his knees.

You watched him and felt overcome with emotions as the realization hit you: Rafe wasn't good at expressing himself, he wasn't a 'feelings' person, he didn't always know what to say, which is why sometimes words came better to him over texts when he had more time to think about it. But hockey? Hockey was his language. He couldn't tell you how sorry he was, how much he wanted to fight for this, but he could show you. He could play for you, he was playing for you, putting his body on the line, trying his all-out hardest, not a single person in the arena could deny that as they watched him tonight. He wanted this. Badly. Which meant he wanted you, badly. You felt a flush of warmth in your cheeks that had nothing to do with your lukewarm hot chocolate as you watched him slide up the bench for his next shift.

You looked up at the jumbotron. There were only 12 minutes left in the second period, and the game was still tied at 1-1.

What were you going to do if he scored four goals?

What were you going to do if he didn't? felt like the more pressing question. He was running out of time. If something didn't happen now, he would have one period left to score 3 goals, and that was simply not going to happen. I shouldn't have made the number so high you thought guiltily.

Your eyes glanced back to the ice as he clambered over the boards in the midst of a shift change. He was skating methodically, not slower, but maybe more strategically and you were sure his energy was waning even if it didn't look like it.

Suddenly, Nick picked the puck off an opponent and Rafe raced to skate with him, crossing into the offensive zone with several of their teammates. Nick had a wide open shot, and he brought his stick back for a slapshot before turning at the very last moment and passing to Rafe who had positioned himself near the goalie. The puck banked off his stick and ricocheted into the goal.

You were on your feet again, jumping up and down in Morgan's arms as the boys piled onto each other. The crowd was alive again as the team took a 2-1 lead, 5 minutes left now in the second period.

Morgan looked at you, shaking her head before shouting something you couldn't hear over the crowd. You shook your head back before she leaned in closer.

"Is Nick in on this shit?" she yelled.

You looked at her, confused.

"Why else wouldn't he take that shot? It was wide open."

The idea of Rafe recruiting his best friend and linemate into this made you lightheaded and giddy. As you looked back at the bench, the two of them were shoulder to shoulder, looking right at you and Nick waved, a goofy little smile on his face for the briefest of seconds before his attention returned to the game.

Period 2: Eagles winning. 2-1.

The period ended and you spent the last intermission glued to your seat as everyone around you got up to get food and drinks, your mind spinning.

One period. Twenty minutes left for Rafe to score 2 goals. It was still nearly impossible, but didn't feel as insurmountable as before and you still weren't sure what you wanted the outcome to be. You were staring into middle space, questioning your entire relationship when your phone buzzed again in your cupholder. You swiped it open.

Two hearts.

Two goals.

You smiled widely, rolling your eyes before giggling like a little girl. You wanted to respond, and your fingers lingered over your screen, but he still had no business being on his phone, and what could you possibly say anyway?? "Nevermind!! Let's get back together despite all the shit you put me through!"

Ugh.

The third period was simultaneously the slowest and quickest 20 minutes of your life.

Rafe was battling, and the other team battled back, getting chippier and chippier as the teams exchanged penalties and breakaways, but the score stayed the same. You could feel the crowd's excitement at the prospect of scraping through this game with a one-goal lead; a good enough result to make them happy, but you couldn't deny the disappointment you felt as you were playing an entirely different game.

As time whittled down you felt yourself getting emotional as the odds were stacked against Rafe, stacked against both of you. Ten minutes. Eight. Five. Three. You could feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes as your foot continued to tap, eyes glancing anxiously between Rafe, the bench, the players and the jumbotron that counted down the time unceasingly.

Morgan reached for you, winding her arm around yours and grabbing your hand, a sad smile on her lips. You both knew this wasn't going to happen. There was just no way. You could sense that Rafe could feel it too, he was getting more and more desperate, scrambling after the puck, making sloppy mistakes that made you feel guilty, the most so when the other team scored… tying the game.

And then what felt like the final twist of the knife: with less than 1 minute left, they scored again, capitalizing on the dashed morale of the Eagles to take the lead 3-2. It was like someone sucked the air out of the arena. Rafe was on the ice, on his knees and all of the players looked so defeated.

Fuck fuck fuck was all you could think as they regrouped with their coach to come up with their last play, their last chance to tie the game. You leaned forward, desperately trying to read lips as if you could somehow decipher the plan. The ref blew the whistle and the coach sent guys on the ice, leaving Rafe behind, and your stomach dropped: he wasn't even going to get a chance.

Rafe argued and you could see him yelling and gesturing wildly as the coach yelled back. The ref blew the whistle again and you knew they were dangerously close to getting a delay of game penalty. A ripple of confusion went through the crowd as they watched the argument unfold and you wished you could sink into your seat and disappear.

The coach shouted something that seemed final before Rafe took one look at him, ignored him and skated onto the ice, swapping with Nick who slid onto the bench, head bowed, ashamed, as the coach berated him.

At this point, Rafe had been on the ice way longer than he should have, he was making mistakes, and now he was putting his career, his contract on the line as he stepped up to take the faceoff.

The puck dropped and the battle ensued as the teams fought back and forth. Their team took a shot on goal that had you holding your breath as the time ticked down.

There were less than 20 seconds left as the puck rebounded towards Rafe and he guided it with his stick, taking off down the ice faster than you'd ever seen him skate; in just three strides he had nearly covered the length of the rink, leaving all of the other players trailing behind him as he squared off with the goalie.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" the crowd shouted.

You were on your feet, grasping Morgan's arm for dear life, certain you were leaving a mark as you continued to hold your breath.

Rafe shot the puck and it hit the goalie's leg pad, but bounded right back to him.

"Three! Two!"

He shot again and the goalie fell forward, but the crowd behind the goalie erupted and the official lit the lamp behind the goal - he had scored.

The puck had slid between the goalie's legs and Rafe exploded with energy, ripping down the ice and jumping into the glass in front of you as his team piled on top of him and the crowd went ballistic as fans threw their hats onto the ice to celebrate his hat trick - three goals scored.

You were jumping and screaming with the other girls, a few tears escaping your eyes in relief and excitement, overwhelmed at the entire situation.

Three goals.

He'd scored three damn goals, a new career record for him. And now they were in overtime.

Period 3: Game tied 3-3. End of regulation play.

"Wait! Wait! What the hell happens now!?" Morgan asked breathless, looking to you as the only girl that knew a thing about the rules.

"Overtime" you huffed, trying to calm yourself. "Another 20 minutes, first team to score wins."

"Was that part of the deal?" she asked.

"It wasn't not part of the deal?" you said. "We didn't really get into specifics" you laughed, rolling your eyes.

You glanced at the bench as both teams hydrated and listened to the coaches. Rafe's teammates were still all over him, smacking his helmet, arms slung around him. The coach said something to him and he put his hands up in surrender as he sat on the bench and his teammates took the ice.

Your eyes were glued to Rafe but unlike before his didn't meet yours and for a second, you didn't know how to take that. You craved that acknowledgement from him, but you also recognized the look on his face; he was totally 100% focused, eyes fixed on the action on the ice. He wants to win you thought. Or maybe his focus was for something else.

Within a few minutes, his line was up and they jumped on the ice. He was playing smart now, conservative, concentrated and gathered, a stark difference from before. He was strong on defense, backing his team up as they played perfectly off of each other, which paid off when Nick stole the puck and shouted as he passed the puck up the boards to Rafe who sprinted after it, just a stride in front of a defender.

"Oh my god" you heard Morgan mutter as everyone stood to their feet and even though the roar of the crowd was deafening, you swore you could hear every scrape of Rafe's skate against the ice, the clatter of the puck as the play moved in slow motion to the beat of your heart.

Another stride and Rafe was alone in the offensive zone, the defender just a hair behind him.

Was this really happening? Was he about to end the game, to score a fourth goal?

Another stride and he was eyeing the goalie, lining up his shot.

He maneuvered his stick and just as he was about to shoot, the defender dove, thrusting his stick in Rafe's path, causing them both to tumble onto the ice and into the goalie, the puck sliding away, abandoned as the refs blew their whistles. No goal.

Rafe was down for only a second before he stood up, grabbed his stick and swung it with full force, snapping it in half over the boards in front of him in rage and frustration, causing the fans behind the glass to jump and spill their beer on each other.

Two of the refs were frantically skating towards him, waving their arms and blowing their whistles, but your eyes drifted to the head referee who was standing next to the officials box, watching a small computer screen, a replay. Almost immediately he nodded, handed back the screen and raised his fisted hands over his head and crossed them and you let out an uncontrollable shout of excitement as you grabbed for Morgan.

"What! Oh my god! What is going on!!?" she shouted back, and all you could do was laugh and shout as you jumped up and down and pointed to the referee.

"You are the ONLY ONE HERE who knows what that means!" she shouted. "What does it mean!!!?"

"A PENALTY SHOT!" you shouted back.

Your eyes shot back to Rafe who had clocked the same thing and was skating back to the bench. The equipment manager handed him a new stick and now the arena was abuzz with the same information as the announcer explained that Rafe would have the chance to score one on one against the goalie, with all of the other players off the ice. A golden opportunity.

The fans were ballistic. You could barely hear yourself think, could barely process your emotions as you struggled onto your tiptoes again to see over the raised hands and jumping fans as Rafe skated methodically to center ice, alone.

He skated back and forth, side to side with crisp turns like a predatory shark before he stopped at center ice, hands on his stick on his knees, eyeing the goalie before his head turned slowly and he looked right at you. Even amidst the chaos, you could see his signature smirk before he refocused and gathered the puck in his stick.

He was going to score.

You just knew it. You knew by the look on his face, by the stride of his skates, by the confidence in his gait.

"He's going to score" you said out loud, quietly, to yourself, a revelation before you turned to Morgan who was solely focused on the scene unfolding on the ice. You tugged on her sleeve, desperate for her to understand the weight of what you had just said.

"He's going to score, Morgan" you said, louder, matter-of-factly.

"Well SHIT I hope so!!!!" she shouted back without looking at you, now completely wrapped up in the game.

She didn't understand.

He was going to score.

And that meant he was going to be yours again.

Your eyes found the ice and you watched as he approached the goalie, goading him out of the goal, faking him out before wrapping the puck around his leg and tipping it upward.

The goalie dove backwards at the last minute and 15,000 fans held their breath as his gloved hand extended, brushing the edge of the puck, causing it to wobble, but without enough force to change the course of fate as the puck swooshed into the net.

The goal lamp lit up.

The goal horn sounded.

And if you thought the arena was loud before, it reached a new level as fans screamed, shouted, jumped up and down and embraced each other.

You felt realization ripple over you, your gaze stuck on the ice. Stuck on the image of the goalie flat on his back, defeated. Stuck to Rafe who had ripped his helmet off, discarded as he let out a roar of victory before getting bombarded by his teammates who piled on him in celebration.

End of OT. Eagles win 4-3.

Morgan yanked you into her by your shoulders, hugging you and jumping up and down, but an unexplainable calm had settled over you, gluing your feet to the ground.

You should be excited, you were, but instead you felt like you were having an out-of-body experience. What the hell had just happened? Rafe had scored four goals, had led his team to the finals. Had he done it for himself? Of course. But wasn't a part of it for you too?

You turned and looked back at the ice, desperate to catch his eye, to talk to him, to figure this out as chaos rained around you. The players skated to center ice with their sticks raised to salute the fans before skating away, Rafe leading them quickly into the tunnel without so much as a look at you. Not even a cheeky smile or a blown kiss, which you used to get after every game. What the fuck.

Morgan shook your shoulder.

"Babes, now what?!" she asked, excited, curious, anxious.

You looked at her, lost. You had no idea. Did you text him? Were you just back together again? How did this work?

The lights dimmed as the announcer drew the crowd back in to introduce the three stars of the game - recognizing the three standout players of the night. The third star was your goalie, who stopped an unimaginable number of shots and you cheered for him as he skated solo onto the ice in a spotlight, taking a spin around the ice before tossing a t-shirt into the crowd to an excited fan.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, your mind incapable of thinking of anything but Rafe. You grabbed your phone. No new texts. The players were all in the locker room by now. Sure, they were partying and celebrating, but if he had time to text you in the middle of the game, couldn't he text you now??

Nick was the second star of the game and you glanced up from your phone to see him doing the familiar skate around the ice, waving to Morgan who blew him a kiss back, but you glanced back at your phone, willing a text to appear, opening and closing your texts, refreshing the app, messing with your wifi. Surely it was the internet connection you thought, now desperate to hear from him.

"Come on Cameron" you murmured to yourself.

"Okay, what is he doing?" you heard Morgan laugh and you looked down to the ice to see Nick still circling around, backwards, forwards, pumping up the crowd who roared around him as he gathered a t-shirt to throw. You were thrilled for him, really, but you resumed your focus on your phone. Should I turn it off and turn it back on again? you thought.

The lights dimmed further and the deep voice of the announcer reverberated, "Ladies and gentlemen, your first star of the game, with an unprecedented four goals, including your game winner--"

"Uhhh YN" you heard Morgan say.

But you were too distracted, too afraid to look away from your phone in case you missed a text coming through.

"--Rafe Cameron!!!" the announcer said, the spotlight shining on the tunnel, and your eyes shot up at the sound of his name, only to find the ice empty.

You felt Morgan tug harshly on your sleeve and when you finally looked back to her your stomach barrel-rolled and your heart shot into your throat.

Standing unmistakably next to her in the aisle was Rafe, still fully suited in his gear and pads, towering over everyone like a giant, his skates traded for his training shoes. Pieces of his hair were clinging to his forehead and his face was rosy with exertion, sweat dripping down his temple in rivulets.

He was smiling confidently at you, and unlike the last time you had seen him in your car, his eyes were unwavering and transfixed on yours, even when the fans around you turned around and noticed he was there, even when phones were whipped out and shouts and cheers went up, he ignored them; he only had eyes for you.

"How--" you started to say, your phone completely forgotten as he started to nudge his way past the people at the end of your row to walk fully into the seats next to you.

"Ohmygod, ohymgod" Morgan was saying as she clambered out of the way of his bulky frame and suddenly he was towering in front of you.

He was breathing heavily; with how quickly he made it up here it was no wonder he had been sprinting off the ice and into the tunnel. His face searched yours, eyes twinkling, flitting over your lips, searching for a sign, a signal, a hint of how you were feeling. And you weren't sure you could have expressed it even if you could form words.

He leaned down next to your ear and you could feel the sweat and the heat radiating off of him.

"That was four" he said, breathless and husky before pulling back, but not as far as before, his nose brushing yours.

The spotlight was sweeping the empty ice, looking for him as the announcer tried awkwardly to fill the air time, wondering where he was.

All you could do was meet his gaze, staring into his crystal blue eyes.

And all you could see was your Rafe.

Sure, he had his issues, but you knew he was sincere, you knew he was trying and you acknowledged that despite everything he was probably the love of your life.

"We didn't agree on overtime goals" you said loudly back at him to be heard over the crowd.

For a moment you could see fear, panic and a hint of hurt cross his face; if you didn't know him as well as you did you wouldn't have seen it, it was nearly indetectable. But he took one look at your sly smile, your blushing cheeks, your eyes rimmed with tears.

"C'mere" he said roughly, ignoring you as his warm and sweaty hands that smelled unmistakably like his gloves grabbed your face and pulled you towards him as his lips enveloped yours, engulfing you, bold, brazen and completely unabashed as he full on made out with you, chaotically, his tongue slipping into your mouth, even when you tried to wiggle away, more out of a sense of decorum than anything as a feeling seeped through every inch of you like he was mending every wound in your body.

He was sweating all over you at this point, but you didn't care. You could feel it dripping on you. You could taste it in his kiss, mixed with the tang of yellow gatorade and your fingers grasped for purchase on his jersey as you tried to balance yourself against the force of him pressing into you.

The crowd around you erupted, as the flash of pictures being taken lit the two of you. He was unrelenting and you could feel yourself flushing as much from his attention as from the heat radiating off of him. It definitely went on longer than it should have, longer than any right-minded couple would have made out in front of thousands of fans before he paused just long enough, his lips still hovering on yours and said through a growl, "You're mine, baby."

taglist: @gillybear17, @palmwinemami, @moremaybank, @one-sweet-gubler, @m-indkiller, @ihe4rttwd, @diary-of-jj, @crlsummer, @jjsbank444, @rafescurtainbangz, @romiiq, @dkjndfnmdfmdmnd, @warriorblu, @ietss, @tiaamberxx, @zyafics, @maybankslover, @saintchxx4, @akirkland, @cameronspecial, @f4ll-for-you, @diduzzula, @user123453226780536, @zizuras, @imabigback, @rowans-posts, @mymultiveres, @drewsphswife, @fangirlwithlou

#rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #hockey rafe

302 notes · View notes

damagdsnow · 7 months

Text

Fix my reputation

Pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

Summary: You and Coryo are together for mutual benefits, he needs a well known woman by his side to look vulnerable and loving during the presidential elections and you need your reputation to be fixed after your unforgivable scandal.

Tag: fake dating, slow burn, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, manipulative/soft Snow, strong and independent reader (as she should), fluff, angst, power play, smut, fingering, thigh riding, switching sub/dom, degradation, denied orgasm, piv, dirty talk, overstimulation, oral (fem/male receiving), praise

Chapter 1, chapter 2;

aesthetic chapter one, aesthetic chapter two;

Tw: Snow being Snow, mention of alcohol, panic/anxiety attack, mention of blood, mention of parent death, physical aggression (not detailed and not from Snow)

Word count: 11.3k

note: before reading this I recommend you to read the first chapter here. Also, thank you so much for all the love and support on chapter one I didn’t expect all of this, I love you guys ❤️

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

The first time you had met Coriolanus was when Dr. Gaul had announced he was going to be her apprentice Gamemaker during the next Hunger Games.

At that time, you got a job as a health advisor, essentially you monitored tributes' vital signs and whether they were injured, you formulated unique medicine so mentors and sponsors could help their favorites heal faster and be a step ahead of the others. You were used to stitch wounds, examining patients, making prescriptions. This was a whole new thing to you. Dr. Gaul said to you that you were one of the most qualified doctors in that department, this is the reason why she pressured you to ‘amaze’ her.

”When I read your qualifications I was shocked to learn you were looking for employment,” was the first thing Dr. Gaul said to you when she requested to meet you.

You were in her laboratory, a bright room filled with gruesome creatures, dead and alive. She was standing in front of you, with her voluminous curly hair and her reddish long tunic, while she was feeding some sorta of genetically modified fish.

“I was looking for some thrilling experience,” you started fidgeting your fingers, “making me useful for the good of Panem.”

You practiced saying these words many times before meeting her, what were you supposed to say? That you desperately needed a job? That as soon as you found another position you would quit immediately?

”Your idea to formulate a drug that would help tributes in the arena?” With a long tweezer she dropped a pink cube in the small pool, ”so original,” she smiled while feeding the fishes with more cubes.

“You know what it means right? The games will last longer, people spending money on their helpless and injured tributes, mentors fighting to get the best sponsor,” she continued, her icy eyes were staring at you, “this is going to revolutionise the games.”

“I’m glad you liked my proposal,” you looked down, wondering if it was better to make eye contact with her or watch those horrific creatures with long fangs and thorny tails.

“Liked? I absolutely adore your way of thinking,” she put the tweezer back on a metal tray. “No one was able to surprise me since–” she paused and you looked back at her, ”do you know Coriolanus Snow? You two would get along well.”

At that time you wondered who he could be. Coriolanus Snow? His name sounded familiar to you. Only when Dr. Gaul introduced him to the department as an apprentice, you recognised his face.

You both graduated from the Academy, he was just a year older than you, and during the tenth annual Hunger Games his name was popular amongst students. Even though you went to the same school, you had never talked to him. Until a couple of months before the reaping, Dr. Gaul let you and other members work in her lab to do research. Of course he was there too, and chance had it that you were paired up with Coriolanus, sharing the same desk in the library section.

You could see him sitting opposite to you, his side was impressively tidy, just a black leather notepad and a book. Your half was full of microbiology volumes, agar plates and creased post-it. Coriolanus was too focused on his writing that he never gazed over you, on the other hand you were distracted by his presence. You remembered him differently in the Academy, his hair was slightly longer than before, his facial features were more defined, but the same cold aura surrounded him.

You felt kinda intimidated by him.

You’ve heard colleagues saying how brilliant he was: he won the Plinth prize in his senior year, he graduated with honors at advanced military strategies and he now had a high position as the right hand man of the pretentious Head Gamemaker.

He intrigued you.

You thought you were not the smartest person in the room. There was something in him, probably his confident behaviour while he was writing on his notebook, as if he was superior to you. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, you thought of ways to start a conversation, not a small talk, but something smart to impress him.

Your heart was beating fast and you finally figured what to say, “Mr. Snow I found a better technique for–“

“What makes you think you can talk to me?” He cut you off while still writing in his notebook.

His words stunned you. The conversation you imagined in your head was now gone, what could you say at this point? “I just wanted–” you stuttered

“Don’t bother, I don’t want to know.”

Your admiration for him slowly faded each day. The way he corrected you every time you had a proposal, pointing out your mistakes in front of everyone, or when he made you work till night in the laboratory to perfectionate your research. You tolerated that, you were used to hard work and mean teachers in your university years, but sometimes he didn’t even show the slightest remorse on things he would say about the districts. About you, indirectly.

Every year on reaping day you thought that it could have been you. Your name in that little piece of paper, read out loud changing your destiny. If it wasn’t for your father’s role in the Dark Days, you could have been in that arena yourself, instead of having the privilege to control tributes’ lives in a cozy chair.

Your dad was an engineer, more a genius mastermind who designed and built high tech weapons. Specifically incendiary bombs, which were crucial to stop the rebels from invading the Capitol during the last year of the war. The project was so successful that he obtained an honorary medal from President Ravenstill himself. He was able to buy a place in the Capitol, for the only purpose to give you and your sister a better future, and you actually lived in luxury compared to your old life back in the districts. However, your father did not side with the president’s political view, still he had to conform to it or he would probably be considered a rebel.

He played the game, to stay alive. Until he was not part of that show anymore.

“I only did it for you and Darla, I don’t care about heavens or hell. As long as my family is safe, I regret nothing of the atrocities I’ve done,” were the words your father wrote to you in a letter, before being killed.

They had never been clear about the dynamics of his homicide, but you were sure it was not an incident as someone would say. The Capitol killed him, they took your dad away from you, the only person you admired, that never let you down.

Your blood was from the districts, even if you’ve lived all your life in the Capitol, you couldn’t change your origins. Coriolanus reminded you of that, with his despicable comments about how ‘horrible and disgusting’ the people from the districts were. As if you didn’t exist to him, you were not a person from his perspective. But he did not know that, no one knew you were not from the Capitol, it was only written on your official documents.

“The games are meant to remind us all who we truly are,” was something Coriolanus often said, bullshit you thought, for you the Games were an insult to humanity and civilisation, cruel entertainment for empty people.

Coriolanus Snow, such a brilliant mind but wicked thoughts.

At the same time, you were not better than him. You worked for the Head Gamemaker and indirectly supported the unnatural destiny of those children. It was easier blaming the government, the bad guys, than admitting to be part of the corrupted system you truly despised. Your excuse was that you had no choice, and partially it was true, but can money win over your beliefs? Were you so desperate to bend your morality just not to be jobless and not respectable? You were acting as your father: were you a fighter or survivor?

Little did you know that your worst nightmares were going to haunt you soon. After the incident you were unemployed, with a bad reputation and with a man you hated.

Check, check, check.

You woke up at lunch time for the third day in a row, it was like being a child again. But there wasn’t your mom taking care of you, your dad making your favorite dish or your big sister spoiling you with presents. You couldn’t ignore your responsibilities and let the adults do the big things for you. You were the adult now, but if you kept self destroying your life this way, it was like everything you’ve done vanished away. Giving up was not an option, or to put things clear, it was the easier possibility amongst the other challenging beginnings.

One of these included him.

Coriolanus was not a beginning, he was more like someone you bump into when you are in a rush, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there but that let you miss the train, made you change your destination. However, the end of the journey was a mystery, with him nothing was clear from the start.

The gala was proof that you couldn’t handle that world, it felt like everything you did made your situation in a much worse position. If it wasn’t for Coriolanus, you would’ve busted into tears on live tv, he was used to that world, lying so naturally that he convinced them.

Cameras, flashes, interviews. Not exactly what you have been preparing for all your life.

You didn’t want to remember what happened that night. Your mind replayed memories as if it was a film, but you were trying to stop it. The dancing? The photographers?

No, the kiss.

The thought of his hands on your skin, his hair on your hands, his lips against yours. The more you pushed that image away, the less it faded from your mind. How could you let him do something like that? You knew that letting him in again would only bring more chaos into your life, but at the same time, you needed to fix your mess and he was your solution.

Also, you didn’t want to acknowledge that all the attention was something you needed. Not the bad press, the misleading articles and intrusive photographers. It was the care for you, the way he defended you, the warmth you didn’t feel in a long time. You knew it was fake, just a facade, but that pretending was healing an empty spot you have been hiding for ages.

When you checked your mail, you recognised the reddish envelope. It was from Snow manor.

"Be ready at 7 pm, someone is going to pick you up.’ signed by Iris Davebonn.

Of course it was not over.

He had a plan, and he didn’t give up easily. You also had a plan, he was not the only one with something to prove, but was he the only way out to your hell? Or was he another villain in your tragedy? You had nothing to lose but everything to gain.

Coriolanus is the forbidden apple, the fruit I shall never be tempted to desire.

You opened the fridge, still sleepy but hungry. For your breakfast you had a couple of options: water and rotten eggs or rotten eggs and water. So as always you decided to steal from your neighbor’s tangerines tree, you could easily pick the fruits from your window, the advantages of living on the first floor. You knew that the old lady next door noticed your thefts, but she hated you either way so at least you gave her a reason to. Since you didn’t have a monthly paycheck anymore, you had to live with your remaining savings, but soon you were left with nothing with bills and rent to pay.

Actually, Dr. Gaul never fired you, she wasn’t as upset as Capitol people, she even congratulated you because this way The Hunger Games were discussed more on tv and newspapers. For her, the incident was a perfect strategy to make the Games popular. She even thought you did that intentionally, because in her distorted view,”it was funny seeing their faces when for the first time, a 12 years old boy from district eleven won”. Against all odds, the unknown tribute without sponsors and hope to make it alive, won the games because “I killed everybody else.”

Not as funny as she thought.

Eventually, you couldn't handle the pressure anymore and you quit. The last time you saw her she persuaded you to be by her side the next year, “if you did that by accident, I wonder what you could do purposely.” You never considered that offer, you didn’t have to work there in the first place. If only you could go back, maybe… Maybe, everything would’ve gone differently.

The world fell apart when you heard the sound of cannon in that room. Everybody was cheering for that girl from district two, the favorite, the one that won Capitol’s heart during the interviews. The lovely Rea, the brave tribute that was bit by an horrific dog. That creature cannot be defined as a ‘dog’, more like a venomous lion with a crocodile mouth. Your role was to make a medicine that could heal her wound. Sponsors asked it, her mentor was willing to pay whatever price to save her, the Capitol was betting every penny on her.

The pressure was such that you mistakenly switched two drugs and gave her the other for the boy from District three. Fatal mistake.

You were their only hope but you became the death of them.

Relying on somebody else was the last thing you wanted, especially if it was Coriolanus Snow. You didn’t want to need him. But there you go, on your way to his house. Again.

An avox opened the door for you and silently you followed her to the living room. Iris and Coriolanus were both standing near a star shaped glass table surrounded by small couches, you wondered what their conversation was about because they stopped talking the moment you walked in.

“Speaking of the devil,” Coriolanus said looking at you, he was wearing a white shirt and black pants, his hair was messy as if he woke up a couple of minutes ago.

”There she is,” Iris stepped towards you, opening her arms, “the new star of Panem,” she hugged you like you were an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while, it didn’t feel as awkward as you thought, it felt sincere.

”I think you meant a fallen star,” you laughed hugging her back.

”Honey, the gala was a success!” She said with a warm smile.

You perceived his blue eyes gazing at you, the same look he gave you when you were walking with him arm by arm at the gala.

Why is he staring? Am I wearing something inappropriate? Or is it just the indecipherable look he always has?

“Did you read the newspaper?” Iris pointed at the glass table in front of you but you were distracted by a bowl full of pastries to even pay attention to her.

You leaned forward to read the page but your sight was too blurry. The tangerines were the only thing you ate since this morning, not really an energetic meal. You sat on the small couch and you put the newspaper close to your face, nose almost touching the page, squinting to have a better view.

“Are you blind?” Coriolanus said with an annoyed tone, he tore away the paper from your hands.

”I don’t have my glasses with me,” you lied, you have never worn glasses in your entire life.

You rubbed your temples trying to see clearly again and you swiftly took what seemed to be a pink cookie from the tray on the table. What flavour was that? You tried to make a straight face while chewing that sugary stuff, at least your body was eating something.

“To make things short— they think we are the couple of the moment,” Coriolanus started while reading the page, “that everybody was shocked— bla bla,” he rapidly said, “oh and they mentioned my name four times!”

“No, Mr. Snow, if you have to do something you have to do it right,” Iris intervened, taking the newspaper from his hands.

She sat down on the couch near yours and started reciting the article, reading word by word.

“Is love in the air? In Capitol City probably is.” She read the first line,“what a great title isn’t it?” Iris commented

“Go on or we are going to stay here all night,” Coriolanus said.

You looked at him, he was standing up making you feel inferior, like a shadow looming over you.

“After the unsettling events happened in the last Hunger Games, there is finally some hope in our community. The aspiring president Coriolanus Snow showed up with someone not-so-new in the latest gala before the presidential campaign.”

“ ‘not so new’ so kind of them—” you said and he shushed you. How dare he?

“She studied medicine and has worked with the Head Gamemaker for the past year. Rumor has it that for some kind of incident, she was the cause of the premature death of two tributes.”

Iris took a breath. “Unexpectedly, last night Coriolanus proudly walked with her for the very first time in public. Both dressed in white, representing the noble Snow name, they conquered the attention of the media and the crowd. Are they the couple of the moment?” She smiled while looking at you, “the best part is about to come.”

“If we are basing the answers on the way they look at each other, they definitely stole our hearts. We are looking forward to seeing how this unexpected love will grow.”

You laughed, that was too corny for you, was it possible that they truly believed that little show you made?

”Will Coriolanus Snow win the election the same way he won her heart? Right now we are in love with both of them.” Iris finished.

“Did they really write an article about our possible love story?” You took another cookie, green this time, “they really are bored people.”

”You should be happy they didn’t talk about what happened in the arena,” Coriolanus said but you couldn’t see him, he was standing behind you.

“Well, they mentioned it anyway,” you said while chewing that lemon pastry, or was it mint? For a moment you thought it was better starving than eating whatever thing it was.

”Thanks to me they probably will give you a chance,” he said.

”The tone they used– it was like they think you are doing charity by being with me.”

“Well it kinda is–”

”Oh shut up,” you stand up, turning to him, “your name has never been this many times in a newspaper.” You were close to him, and even if you were not sitting anymore, you felt small standing there facing him.

His eyes were still examining you, as if you were a book written in a language he couldn’t read.

“You two look like siblings fighting over meaningless things,” Iris said, stepping in, getting in the middle of you.

“See? Even Iris thinks you are being overly dramatic.”

You fought the urge to answer back, did he just call you over-dramatic?

“Honey, look who's talking,” Iris said pointing a finger at him, “you are not really easy to work with,” then she turned over to you, “in just one day people fell for your fairytale, imagine what you can do in a month.”

“Do you really think this can work?” You avoided looking at him behind her shoulder.

“They don’t care about what you did, you are just another distraction from their empty life,” she explained to you, “they need something else to talk about.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, there are more important things,” Coriolanus said, “such as the presidential elections.”

”Is there something else you can say instead of politics and fame?”

”What do you want me to tell you? My sad story about when I mixed some drugs in the laboratory?” He stepped closer, ”oh no, that is something you always talk about.”

”I liked you better when you ignored me,” you said remembering the first time you tried to have a conversation with him.

“Stop please,” Iris said, “you two should bond more, this atmosphere is making me wanna retire early,” she touched her hair, orange this time, “maybe you will like each other.” She walked away from your sight.

“It's going to be tiring enough pretending to like him in public,” now there was just the glass table separating you from him.

“So this is a yes, you are going to do this,” his face lightened up.

“It seems this charade it’s working,” you said convincing yourself that was your best chance of getting your reputation back.

Did you just sign a pact with the devil?

He is the forbidden apple. But it doesn’t mean I can’t just play with it.

“Before I forget,” you heard Iris voice coming from the door entrance, “next week dinner with the Holdens and Suncots,” she was putting her yellow coat on, “they gladly accepted the invite here,” then she put her gloves on, “see you tomorrow—oh and try to bond you two,” she pointed a finger at him before closing the door and leaving you alone with Coriolanus.

You looked at the clock above the coat hanger and it was getting late, but you had nowhere else to be at that moment. No one waiting for you at home, no one expecting your call, nothing to do the next day.

“Tigris is going to design another dress for you,” he said referring to the dinner.

“Can’t I just wear something I already have?” The thought of him deciding what color and style your dress had was not something you tolerated.

“Of course not— do you dine here or?” That didn’t sound like an invite, more as if he was suggesting you go home.

“So kind, I’ll pass,” you said with a sarcastic tone.

”I asked because you almost devoured the entire jar of pastries.” He smiled, waiting for your reaction.

”For the record, they are tasteless.”

He rolled his eyes, “the car is waiting for you outside,” he turned his back and walked towards the kitchen.

”I can walk, I don’t need your personal driver,”

Your words stopped him right in his tracks, ”what if you get lost? How could I do without you?” He said jokingly, turning over to see you, “and it’s fifteen minutes away, in the dark— don’t be a child and go by car, you’ll get used to it.”

You didn’t answer, not like you had something to say. Of course you would’ve accepted the ride, your apartment was too far from his house, you just wanted to irritate him. Maybe you were not so different from Coriolanus, you were playing the same game.

Car rides make you recall only good memories. Your dad got a car when you were little, it was gray and smaller than this one, and he used to drive you to school everyday. Until you got into university and you moved to your current house, it was ten minutes from university so you got used to walking.

The engine stopped and you stepped out of the car, it was cold outside and you wished you had heating at home, a luxury you couldn’t afford anymore.

You fumbled with the keys trying to open the door, you were freezing and you rushed because you heard some steps. You didn’t want to have a conversation with your neighbor, she’ll probably just scold you about the stolen tangerines and how loud you shut the door when you go out, the old same story. You finally walked inside but someone blocked you from closing the door. It was a young man, probably in his thirties, he had a tiny recorder on his hand and you immediately clicked.

“Hi, I’m from Capitol’s People Magazine, I wanted to ask you some questions about your relationship with Coriolanus Snow,” he said pointing you to the black device.

”I’m sorry— for interviews, talk to my manager,” you said with a kind tone.

Iris suggested that every time journalists asked you questions you did not want to answer, you had to say those words, and now was the case. You slowly closed the door but the man put his feet in between.

”How could the heir of one of the most influential figures be with a corrupted woman like you?” He looked at you with eyes full of anger.

Corrupted woman, this was new to you. What was the correct answer to that?

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you smiled while trying to close the door by pushing it against his feet but he was not intending to leave you alone.

He aggressively tried to wedge his foot into the door, forcing it to stay open while he continued to badger you with invasive questions about the gala.

”Are you planning on ruining his image while stealing his money?” He reached your arm and grabbed it.

“What’s wrong with you?” His grip was getting tighter as you tried shoving him.

He was strong enough to smash the door open, stepping inside your house. With his hand on your wrist, he roughly pushed your body against the wall, your back facing him as he stood behind you, your heart pounding outside your chest.

“You are just a crazy bitch,” he whispered, “you think you can fool them but are a disgrace for Panem,” he pushed your head against the wall, one side of your face hitting the coarse plaster making your skin burn.

“Get off me! ” you shouted, struggling against his grip.

In response he hit your head again against the wall. You squinted your eyes in pain as a tear streamed down your face, you felt powerless, everything happened so fast.

“Tell me what you want from me,” you said with a weak voice.

“After all you did, you should shut the fuck up and do what you are asked to do,” he put his hand on your scalp as he pushed you harder against the wall.

You screamed like you never did in your entire life, someone had to hear your cry for help, right? But he was quick to cover your mouth with his palm and that was the perfect occasion for you to bite his skin. He kept his hand on your mouth while he choked on his own screams.

Your muffled howl echoed in the room but no one seemed to hear you. Or so you thought. Someone grabbed the man from his collar and pushed him away from you. It was the driver, his tall figure was now beant down to beat that man. You were paralyzed, now your back was against the wall and your lungs finally breathing, but your body was unable to answer your brain’s orders.

”Run!” The driver screamed at you while punching the man one more time, “go in the car! Run!”

You ran towards the car but your legs felt weak and your head too heavy. You opened the car door and you laid down in the back seats. What the hell just happened?

What if he came back? What if next time there is not someone to save you? Your anxiety grew inside your chest and you kept yourself from crying.

“Are you okay, Miss?” The driver asked breathlessly as he violently closed the front car door with a rush, “should I take you to the hospital?” He was looking at you, he had an old scar on his cheek that you didn’t notice before.

You shook your head, “I just need water” you mouthed, trying to maintain a regular breathing.

“Thank you for saving me,” you whispered.

You looked at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes reflecting the street lights while he was driving as if nothing happened, as if his bloody knuckles on the steering wheel were not hurting.

After minutes that seemed hours he talked, “It is my duty,” he said, “Mr. Snow wouldn’t have forgiven me.”

Coriolanus was in his study preparing a speech for the next interview, he had to be careful to pick the perfect words, to speak with the right tone, and to make the adequate facial expressions. Nothing was left to case. Every single action had to be meticulously studied and calculated.

It was his specialty. Playing with words and making people fall in love with his charm. He did it naturally, molding people the shape he wanted. Because he had to have everything under his control, his power, his eyes.

For the first time he was struggling. He was stuck on the opening line and he didn’t know how to continue. Sleepless nights and alcohol were the usual in the past week. This was one of the nights. Locked in his study until he wrote something of that speech, depriving himself from sleep.

Coriolanus was walking around the room, fidgeting with a pen on his long fingers. Until his mind-wandering was stopped by a firm knock on the door, annoyed it could be an Avox, he ignored it. But the knocking didn’t stop.

He let out a sigh as he unlocked the doorknob, “how many times do I have to tell–” to his surprise, the driver showed up at his door, “Virma, what are you doing here?”

Coriolanus soon found the answer to his question by looking over the driver’ shoulder. You were hidden behind his back, like a hurt animal scared of its fate. You didn’t want to come here, like a lost child brought back home. But where were you supposed to be? What place instead of his?

Your ruffled hair, your smeared makeup and your empty look. It didn’t take long for him to understand something happened. A sense of anger grew inside of him. This was not written in a script, it was not meant to happen and when things did not go according to plan, Coriolanus lost his composure, he could have been unpredictable.

His face darkened. He grabbed your arm and he dragged you in his study, along with Virma. You felt his hand on your wrist, his touch was something familiar to you, maybe gentle, as if he was actually worried about you. He pushed Virma to the side and closed the door behind him, casting you both in the dim light of his opulent study.

You were now facing him, his expression was different from an hour ago. His hand traveled to your face, his fingers lifting your chin as he leaned to have a better view of you. The left side of your face was scraped, fresh cuts burned on your temple as droplets of blood trailed your skin. Coriolanus traced his fingertips on your bruised skin and you flinched, instantly regretting the movement as a flash of pain shot through your head, but he was not rough like that man. He loosened his grip on your arm, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of your injuries. He was delicate, as if he was touching something fragile.

You were too focused on his expression to even pay attention to your sore skin. His knitted brows, his parted lips and his concerned look.

“Who did this to you?” His voice barely above a whisper, he glared down at you as he inspected your figure, as if he was looking for other scratches he missed.

You could almost feel the tension radiating from him.

His hand was now on your neck, fingers touching the back of your head, “a journalist, I don’t–” you looked down, “he was asking questions but I–"

“Mr. Snow, I think I know who he is ,” the driver said and for a moment you forgot he was in that room, “he is Lucius Cliffhard' son.”

"Cliffhard' son? The father is running for president why would he–” Coriolanus didn’t finish his sentence and he looked back at you, “thank you for your service Virma,” his hand left your neck leaving a warm spot, “we will talk about it later.”

You heard the door closing and now you were left alone with him. You could barely stand up, your adrenaline was leaving your body and your anxiety was taking its place.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he walked towards the opposite side of the room, looking for something in the small bathroom of his study.

You were standing in the shiny black floor, your heart was pounding so loud you could not hear your weak voice, “he probably was waiting for me to come home because the moment I opened the door he uhm—“ you stuttered, "started asking questions but I didn't answer, so he pushed me against the wall and his hand was on my mouth—“ you paused, ”he hit my head and—“ you felt a lump on your throat and you hoped he didn’t hear you.

His steps were again echoing the room, his figure walking closer to you. He had a piece of cotton wool in his hands and without a notice he held it against your scratches by cupping your face with his other hand. It was burning your skin, his fingertips were slightly brushing your neck while he dabbed gently the cotton to clean the wounds on your temple.

”Continue talking,” he said nonchalantly as he tilted your head to have a better view of tour left side of the face.

You stopped breathing in that moment, maybe because of the nauseating smell of the disinfectant or maybe it was because he was inches away from you, his focused look on the bleeding cut, “I think he just wanted to scare me,” you managed to say in a steady tone.

The blonde snapped his head at you, his blue eyes now on yours, “he is a psychopath,” his scent reminded you of that night at the gala, “he hit you because you didn't want to be interviewed, he could've killed you."

You reached his hand where he was pressing the cotton wool and for a moment your fingers brushed before he removed his hands from your skin. “you are exaggerating– he just needs help, ” you said.

Coriolanus closed his eyes, he clenched his fists and the knuckles turned white. He walked towards the desk and he poured himself a drink, taking a long burning sip. You watched him in silence as you inspected the reddish cotton on your hands.

“Do you trust him so much you want to come back to your house?” He was behind his desk, arms resting above the chair, “I told you, here you could have been safer from the media,” he raised his voice, “but you are stubborn, you risked your life and– if it wasn’t for Virma who knows what could have happened,” he said nervously while pouring himself a drink.

“So now it’s my fault?” You bawled at him.

“You don’t understand that now whatever happens to you affects me,” he said, “what are they going to say when they see your bruises and god forbid— he writes an article saying who knows what lies of what happened.”

“See? You don’t care about my safety, you only care about what they think,” you stepped closer to him because he wasn’t even looking at you, “you want me as your puppet, so you can have me under your control— your house, your peacekeepers, your scripts— it’s all part of your plan,” you said.

”You are free to go back to your pathetic life if that’s what you want," he took a sip of his drink, still looking down, “I can’t save you from yourself, after all– you were miserable before and now too,” it was like venom coming from his lips.

A tear streamed down your face, “this is what I hate about you,” you scoffed, “you are a selfish and heartless man, I was right from the start.”

You have called him only good names: uncaring, unaffectionate, disrespectful, selfish and heartless. The list was getting longer.

“What did you expect? I thought it was going to be easier with you but you are getting on my nerves,” he stood up walking towards you, “you should be grateful— but no, you like acting so superior to me,” his chest was getting closer to you.

You scoffed, “why? Who are you?” You looked up at him through your lashes, “just a rich spoiled kid who is playing at being the next president of Panem.”

“And you fucking need me,” he said against your cheek, “this is why you didn’t leave, you don’t want to admit that without this ‘heartless man’ standing in front of you who knows where you could be right now,” his eyes were consuming you.

”Look who's talking,” you pointed a finger at him, “the Capitol's favorite toy who needs a ‘miserable girl’ to make him popular.”

Coriolanus placed his free hand on your wrist, squeezing it lightly, “you like this am I right?” He licked his lips, “talking back at me, uh?”

His nose was touching yours, his grip was burning your skin and you could feel his hot breath mixing with yours. The blonde was dangerously close to you, but you missed that feeling. Have you already erased what he has said to you? Was he so powerful to make you fall for his spell?

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

His lips brushed yours, memories flooding back to you. You didn’t know if he was about to bite you or kiss you. It would have hurt you either way.

“Tell an Avox to prepare your room,” he said, “or freeze in the streets, I don’t care— your choice.” Coriolanus let your arm go and he walked away from your sight.

It started to be just for show but the backstage was even worse than the real life. At the same time you could not give up on this play, you had to change your rules, your morals, to keep being with him.

So you were alone in the dark in the hallway, thinking about running away or staying.

Coriolanus could not win this way, you hated to admit you still needed his presence to fix your reputation. The darkness seemed to swallow you as you hesitated, torn between your principles and the pull of his influence. He had too much power right now, but you were willing to wait, by making things your own terms.

As you stood there, unwilling to give in to his manipulations, the lingering memory of his touch warred with the sharpness of his words. You slammed the door shut for him to hear you, he would have to do better to get you away from him.

Coriolanus could have touched your face as if you were the rarest creature on earth but the same lips once brushed yours, could tell the most hurtful things to you.

But you did that too. You were both craving the same sin. But too proud to admit on your faces.

“Is everything okay now?” You were in Tigris room, a colorful space barely illuminated by the outside light. It was in the basement, not really a cozy place to work.

You were talking about the aggression that happened a couple of days ago, nothing you wanted to recall actually, especially your conversation with Coriolanus, but you didn’t tell her that.

”Yes, the bruises are healing over,” you answered, touching your temple.

Tigris smiled at you while taking your measurements. She didn’t look like her cousin, apart from the blonde hair, she was pure and kind hearted. Why was an angel like her on earth with people like you? Like him?

“Why are we doing this again?” You asked “Didn’t you already have my measurements?”

You were standing on a stool, only wearing your undergarments while Tigris was putting the tape measure around your chest.

”Coryo sent me a note telling me that last time the dress was a little loose,” that was the last thing you could ever expect to hear from her, because it was in fact true, he noticed that.

“He did what?”

“I know, I was surprised too,” she smiled, “anyway, I read the newspaper.”

Oh no, you didn’t want to talk about that too.

“You two look great in the picture,” she handed you a wrinkled page where you could see a black and white photo of you and Coriolanus at the gala, he was looking at you while holding your waist.

You didn’t know about the existence of that picture until now. That night you were too starved to even pay attention to the newspaper, how could you miss that?

“It was so strange seeing him with a woman,” she commented while looking for some fabric.

“What do you mean? Has he ever had a girlfriend?” You knew the answer to that question but you wanted to hear from her.

“More like ‘girls’ than ‘girlfriends’, ” she laughed, “I’ve never met one of them,” Tigris wrapped a red cloth around your waist.

“Well, not that I’m special,” you looked at the mirror in front of you, “it’s just a stupid show.”

“What a shame,” she folded the excess fabric on your side and put a needle, “I liked you,” Tigris whispered.

You wished you could do something for her, she deserved more than a molded little room and a cousin like Coriolanus.

“So we are seeing each other more often, am I right?” she broke the awkward silence.

“Yes, Iris forced me to stay in this house,” Iris was really in apprehension when she saw your bruises, she lectured you on how people are vicious and in your ‘situation’ it was better not risking more.

“How lucky, aren’t I?” You added.

“I know my cousin can be– difficult to understand but,” she walked behind you, “there are some things that brought him to be this way,” her fingers tighten the fabric on your back, “and of course he’s not a saint, he just needs something– someone perhaps, to make him remember who he really is.”

“I can’t fix him,” you glanced at her reflection in the mirror, “I’m broken as much as he is and– we are incompatible.”

“As the sun and the moon?”

“Maybe.”

The comparison did fit well.

One is the star planets gravitate around, the only source of light at the center of the solar system. The moon is a small satellite whose only purpose is to spin around the earth, showing only one face and depending only on the planet's gravitational field.

Coriolanus wanted to appear like the sun, bright and powerful but he only displayed one face like the moon. You felt small, needing for something to orbit around as the moon did, but you didn’t know how radiant and capable you actually were, exactly like the sun.

Since you moved in his house, nights were longer than the others. It was getting harder to fall asleep because of your intrusive thoughts keeping you awake.

Is the door locked? Am I safe here?

The positive side was that your new room was probably bigger than your whole apartment. Then, you were not freezing anymore and you were finally eating food, not stolen fruit and smelly milk.

Even though you were living in his house, you tried avoiding his presence: by not having lunch the same hour as him, by going out your room only when you heard his door locking or having your usual meetings with Iris before him. That was your way of saying that he could not control your life, especially when he treated you the way he did.

However, that was still his house.

Red silky bed sheets, roses scent, his gold engraved initials on objects.

Coriolanus was not easy to forget. It was as if he had poisoned the air you were breathing, everything reminding you of him. The good and the bad. You promised yourself to not be tempted anymore, he was mercilessly manipulating you into believing he was the person he wanted to appear at the Capitol. But other than his mesmerizing eyes, his golden curls and delicate hands, there was another man hiding in his shadow. You had to picture that side of him every time he teased you, or you could be a sinner.

You were laying on the bed, leafing through the pages of the brand new script it was sent to your room. This was even worse than the other. Not only you had to remember some political matters regarding the current campaign, but you had to pretend again how good of a man Coriolanus was. How he supported and cared for you and how bright your plans as a couple were.

“I was extremely lucky to meet him, he is the sun to my dark days,” what an irony, “I am looking forward to living this exquisite love fully by his side.”

So cheesy for what?

“You can’t avoid me forever.”

You heard a muffled voice coming from the hallway, you walked towards the door but you didn’t answer. It was him of course, after the bad there was the good. He surprisingly tried talking with you on other occasions, but you had walked away before he could even finish his sentence, running away was easier, or god knows what you could’ve done.

“I can hear your heavy breathing,” he said close to the door, “open the door or I will,” he was waiting for your response, thinking about what he could say to get your attention. “Please?” Good manners are always the right answer, right? Right?

You let out a sight as you unlocked the door. Coriolanus was standing close to the room’s entrance, his arm was leaning against the wooden jamb and you noticed he was wearing his coat, as if he was about to go out.

“Oh so you’re alive,” he said, “I was worried about you.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but it didn’t matter either way. Right?

“What do you want?” You were still holding the doorknob, not letting him step inside the room.

“Come with me, we have to go somewhere,” he said with a rush in his tone.

“I kindly refuse your invitation,” you were about to close the door but he put his hand in between. I could squash his fingers, you thought, nothing he could not recover from.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, “sooner or later you will have to pretend to like me,” his face was partially illuminated by your room light, making his eyes brighter.

You looked at his long fingers keeping the door open, he had his usual shiny ring on his index finger and for a moment you thought you could really squash his hand, “I think it’s better we have less interactions possible apart from the social events.”

“It’s been days since people saw us together, yesterday they asked about you at the debate,” he hissed, “see? Instead of asking about my political project they were– nevermind, just come with me.” His eyes were begging you, such a satisfying image.

“I’m not dressed up, what a pity,” you said mockingly.

He peeked at your figure, “you’re fine.”

You did not feel fine. You weren’t even wearing your clothes, you did not had the chance to pack up your things from your apartment and you had to ask Tigris for some piece of clothing that could fit you. She gave you some of her designs, a green matcha wool skirt matched with a cotton white top. At least you were about to wear pretty clothings, not your old unironed shirts.

“Just for show,” you said while grabbing a jacket.

“Just for show,” he echoed.

You realised that in this game of power and appearances, keeping your distance wasn't an option anymore. You knew that you were now entwined in a dangerous dance with Coriolanus, one that could lead to momentous success or catastrophic ruin. The stakes were high and your mixed feelings towards him could not interfere with your plan, he was not the only manipulator anymore.

“Where is he bringing me?” you asked Virma after fifteen minutes of silence in the car. It was better not talking directly to Coriolanus when possible.

“Miss, isn’t this a date? Enjoy the ride,” the driver said with a smile.

You and Coriolanus laughed. Date? The only date you were looking for was the date this show would end. The car stopped and from the window you immediately recognised the place. It was not a fancy restaurant, a loud club or someone’s wealthy mansion.

First date with Coriolanus Snow at… the Citadel?

That was not what the script said.

You heard the car speeding away as he walked towards the huge grey entry, he unlocked the door and he stepped inside. You stood on the sidewalk, not sure if you wanted to follow him, it was too late to change your mind and too dark to be alone outside.

At least ten peacekeepers were guarding the entrance but Coriolanus walked towards the grey corridor unbothered. The first time you were there, you were searched as if you were a prisoner, as if you could hide a bomb inside your small pockets. This time they did not even consider you, because you both spent months working day and night in that cold laboratory.

The elevator plunged down at least twenty floors, the dark walls were so thick you could strain your vocal chords for hours but no one would hear you. You were standing beside him, waiting for the door to open as soon as possible. The only sound echoing in that place was the loud machinery that was slowly moving down.

“Did you miss this place so much you wanted a guided tour by me?” You asked, breaking the silence, “or is it a surprise party for me?” Five floors left, “tell me now so I put my best smile for the cameras,” you said mockingly, but he didn’t even look at you.

Couldn’t this man laugh for once? So boring.

The elevator doors parted and you finally stepped inside the laboratory. It was an open space divided into three areas. The center was where Dr. Gaul did experiments with animals, occasionally it was also where she did her lectures and exams; one side was the sterile area where the researchers did surgical operations and medical trials where they often experimented with new drugs on genetically modified animals; on the other side, there was the library and research tables, where you mostly spent most of your time studying advanced biotechnology methods.

“How romantic– I guess what people are going to say when I tell them for our first date you took me to see these sweet and lovely creatures,” you said as you looked at the wall glass with dead beasts inside clear yellowish cases.

“You should keep the bar low with me— and I just need to find some documents, you know this laboratory better than me,” he removed his coat and stepped towards the library on the other side of the room.

“You tricked me– you just wanted a favor from me,” your voice echoed and you were not sure he heard you. You walked through the library looking for him.

“I’m in the archives section,” his voice was not far away.

The library was arranged in a circular pattern, as if the bookshelves were layers and in the very core there was a large space with study desks, the ones you had slept on many nights back when you worked there. Soon you found the blonde leaning over a desk while reading some pages in an orange envelope.

“Did you find it?” You asked in an annoyed tone.

“Here there is– this is your file,” he said while standing up.

“My what now?” You walked over him, intended to grab the envelope with the 'confidential' print on the cover.

Coriolanus stepped back, leaning his back on the bookshelf behind him, “given your precedents, I thought it was better to check your past before they did,” he had already read your file a long time ago, but he didn’t tell you that.

He started reading the first page, “you uhm graduated with honors in medicine– bla bla bla first student in your class, —okay here, you specialized in general surg— oh no you did not” he paused, “yet?” Coriolanus looked at you with a puzzled face, suggesting you to say something.

“I will this year,” you looked at your fingers, fidgeting with the ends of your jacket.

“Lie number one, here it says you didn’t pay the tuition,” he pointed at the paper.

Fuck. You couldn’t afford paying for electricity, imagine the university fees, in the most expensive city in Panem. You stuttered something but he continued talking.

“Anyway, you got a place in the Ranvistill Clinic —impressive— and then you mysteriously asked for a transfer after two years, and this is how you got here,” he looked at you, “what happened?”

Was that a tricky question? This conversation was making you uncomfortable. You felt under trial, as if you were accused of crimes, Coriolanus was the judge and you were the only one defending yourself.

“Is this an interview? I didn’t know that apart from being interested in writing scripts you also were a human resource guy,” you tried switching the topic, the conversation was getting too personal.

“Do you have something to hide? I must be prepared for anything they can ask me,” he frowned.

You had many secrets you hoped he didn’t already know, “I changed jobs, that’s it.”

“You failed my test,” he chuckled, “you lied straight to my face in a serious matter –this is lie number two.”

“A test? What the hell Coriolanus.” You sighed as you walked over a desk, sitting on it.

“See? This is why you don’t have my trust.”

The man that cannot be trusted was really talking about trust?

“If you already know every detail of my life, why are you talking with me?”

“Oh, I knew it was going to bother you —anyway no, there’s just something that does not add up.” His eyes went again on that file, hands leafing through pages.

“Which is,” you said with a passive tone.

“Clodius South, head of the surgery department —or I should say, your umh— ex boyfriend?” He closed the folder and put it carelessly on the shelf behind him.

Your heart skipped a bit, “I’m done,” you stood up but he came closer to you.

“Answer just one question, I'm curious– why did he fire you? I mean, officially you transferred but I know it wasn’t voluntary,” he didn’t seem to give up, his look was pleading for answers, “so strange, you had been together for a year.”

“Why are you so interested in my sentimental life? You don’t have a chance with me, you know that right?” You laugh, feeling the tension in the air.

“There is no such risk, I’m not attracted to you,” his figure blocked you from walking away, “I just need your popularity, so I can fix it to something good.”

“You were the one kissing me in the car,” you bit your tongue, that kiss was something you didn’t want to bring up, it was better to forget about it. However, the other option was talking about your past, not something you were proud of.

“Oh please as if you didn’t want to,” he tilted his head, eyes locked on yours.

You laughed at his words, “you wish,” your back leaned against the desk.

“Then why did you kiss me back? I remember you didn’t let me breathe for a moment.”

“That was part of the show, Coriolanus Snow.”

“Now you use my full name? Last time I checked you called me differently,” he rested his arm on the desk you were lying on, making his height the same as yours.

You damned the only time it slipped from your lips calling him Coryo, a nickname you promised yourself to not say ever again.

“Why? Did it turn you on?”

His other hand was near your leg, slowly moving closer to your exposed skin.

“You can’t even imagine,” he swiftly looked down to your lips then back to your eyes.

The room did not feel cold anymore. Your breathing was getting slower, his parted lips warming your skin, his arm grazing your leg.

“So tell me, what happened with him?” Coriolanus insisted, but you had other plans in mind.

He was in power right now, he brought you here just to humiliate you with your deepest secrets. Weren't you just a miserable girl? It was your turn to make him feel miserable.

“You say you’re not attracted to me but you always find an excuse to touch me,” you whispered to his ear, his curls brushing your nose and his hand slightly brushing your leg.

This would have made him back off, telling you how stupid you are to think something like that, gaslighting you about the fact he never did such things like touching you.

“If it bothers you so much why you never push me away,” his hand traveled up to your leg, “go on, I’m waiting,” his fingers were now brushing your thigh and you felt his cold ring against your skin.

Fuck. That was not your plan.

You can always get back to it.

“I know your limits— I bet you barely touched a woman in your life,” you knew it was not true, you only said it as a provocation, to hurt his fragile ego as you planned.

I won.

”I don’t have limits, and we both know you would lose your bet,” his hand went under the hem of your skirt, making you shiver in surprise.

His index finger traced the outline of your panties, slightly playing with the waistband. Coriolanus didn’t break eye contact with you, his pupils were wide, you couldn’t see the blue that usually painted his iris, he was breathing slowly with parted lips, as if he wanted to control his heartbeat. And his hand felt so warm and familiar, so close to your core.

You knew that look, the one that he gave you when he let his guard down. The same look Coriolanus had when you came in his study a couple of days ago, his other side that he rarely showed to anyone.

His palm rested on your bare naked thigh.

“You don’t talk now?” His voice soothed your face, “tell me to stop and I will.”

That was the perfect occasion to slap that smug from his face, but you couldn’t even make up a coherent sentence. His voice was a gentle whisper cutting through the tension, but all you could manage was to stare at his eyes, trying to calculate his next move.

You knew what it was. It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that could shatter your plan. Did you have something to lose? You have already bent your morals, risked your life and crossed lines you never thought you would. Coriolanus would have been another crime to add to your list.

He is the forbidden fruit, I shall not fall in temptation.

But what if I took just a bite? A taste of mortal sin.

“Why did you bring me here?” You managed to say trying to control your breathing.

“You once asked me why did I chose you,” Coriolanus whispered to your ear, “and I told you that it was for the presidential campaign,” his hand moved up again, “publicity, press and interviews— I only care about that,” his fingers were covering your clothed cunt.

You took a deep breath and swallowed, your back was still leaning against the desk edge, his other arm on your side. His words were not making things easier for you, not because you were listening to what he actually was saying, but because his tone of voice was something you could only hear in these moments. When he acted good, for the cameras, for the show. But there was no one in that room.

Coriolanus kept talking, “but my point is, why didn't you leave?” His index finger circled around your covered core, “I mean— I could list a few reasons why, considering also how wet you are right now,” he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your wetness. “But you always say you hate me, that you despise me, why are you here then? Are you so desperate?”

Your eyes were closed, your mind wandered prohibited thoughts while his hand was painfully too far away from what your body needed. What could you say to him? That he was right about being so desperate to pretend to be with him, so you could clean your image? That despite his selfish behavior he was tempting you into falling in his game?

Coriolanus brushed your soaked entrance with his fingertips as he massaged your clit with your own wetness. You shamefully spread your legs giving him more access to your folds, his digits that once touched your face were gently rubbing your needy center.

Your silent whimpers were enough as an answer for him to slide one finger inside you.

Your hand was now on his biecep, grabbing his arm so tightly or you could fall. There was something in you that was holding you back from punching him to his face. Was this the charm everyone talked about? Was this the version of him everyone adored?

“Given that you prefer remaining silent— I can tell you why,” his hand moved inside you, “you like the attention,” your cheek was against his, while your other hand rested on the nape of his neck.

Your reaction to his movements made him close his eyes in bliss, but you were too focused on not making sounds that you didn’t notice his expression. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he was making you feel good.

“I bet you’ve barely been touched by a man,” Coriolanus echoed.

It’s just one bite of the apple.

You looked at him this time, and you wished you did it before. The blue in his eyes, his plump lips, the glistening on his forehead covered by his falling blonde curls. An angel.

No, no, he is the devil, not an angel.

“Wrong,” you breathed and his pace fastened, “actually they were better than you,” you whispered and his eyes widened.

“Lie number three,” he slid another finger, “I can tell when you’re pretending and when you’re not,” he brushed your clit with his thumb.

Oh.

You bucked your hips to make some friction, Coriolanus was painfully slow as if he was taking all the time in the world. He leaned his head to your left temple, where small reddish bruises were fading away from your skin, and he planted feather kisses on it. Coriolanus slowly traced a trail of wet kisses alongside your face. His soft lips were healing your bruises, his hand was igniting your core.

His fingers moved faster, pumping in and out your hole and slightly curled to hit exactly your sweet spot. Your little moans echoed in the room along with the sloppy sound of his hand never leaving your cunt. Coriolanus stroked your bundle of nerves once more, his lips sucked a spot behind your hear, slowly moving down your neck, marking your delicate skin with his warm kisses.

That was it. You were sure your high was coming in a matter of seconds, your mouth curved as pleasure began flowing through your body.

“But wasn’t I an uncaring, disrespectful —and what was that—oh, selfish and heartless man?” His hand stopped moving, “well I guess you were right,” his fingers were slowly pulling out your unfulfilled hole.

What was he doing?

“Did you really think you could do whatever you wanted? Having meetings without me, eating locked in your room, ignoring me for days— I have the control here.” Coriolanus looked down at you with a satisfied expression, believing that he finally asserted his dominance over you.

Your mind raced for a response, but before you could gather yourself, his words hung heavy in the air.

That was his revenge.

You thought you could teach him a lesson but he was a step ahead of you. Coriolanus humiliated you, exactly as he planned. His intent was to make you feel ashamed of your past but you gave him a better opportunity: he made you feel needy for him.

Self sabotaging.

“They are here,” he said in a calm tone, as if you were not almost buckling in that very moment.

Five seconds ago you were close to your orgasm and now you were feeling the emptiness growing inside you. You looked around confused, adjusting your body so now you were standing up, your weak knees begging for rest.

Who?

“They?” You stuttered as you watched him stepping back.

“Yes, I called them before,” he smirked, ”put your best smile for the cameras.”

Coriolanus acted like he did not just had his fingers inside you, but his body was telling another story, his bulge was visible from his pants and you noticed that as he swiftly covered his erection with his hand.

He walked towards the elevator where two peacekeepers were waiting for him. You fixed your skirt, probably too ruined and sticky to ever wear it again.

Fuck him.

You followed him, making sure to walk properly or he would’ve noticed how flustered you were. The thick doors closed, it was you, two peacekeepers and the blonde. You were sure he could smell your arousal, you still had traces of his saliva on your neck and a little bruise on your skin. A new one.

Coriolanus took a handkerchief from his pocket and he carefully cleaned his hand from your wetness, like he was cleaning his hands after a crime. Yours. The cloth wrapped around his fingers, as your walls clenched around him moments ago.

Then he caught you staring at his hand, “are you okay? You look flushed.”

You sick bastard.

Your cheeks were painted in a crimson color, of course he could see that, he was the cause of that. The same cause that made you cream your panties and shake your legs. If it wasn’t for the peacekeepers, you would have probably strangled him. But that was his lucky day.

He won.

After an infinite amount of time where your mind couldn’t stop picturing the sloppy sound from before, the elevator’s door parted. Coriolanus grabbed your shoulder as he was directed toward the exit. The silence in that room was now replaced by loud voices coming from the outside.

“Who did you call?” You tried pulling away from his grip but he kept you close.

“I told you, they haven’t seen us in a while.”

He opened the entrance and you heard someone shouting, “they are here!” A group of unknown faces were pointing microphones towards you, asking questions you didn’t bother to listen to.

You walked through the crowd side by side to him, his arm around your waist as you covered your face from the blinding flashes. The car was waiting for you in the exact spot it left you, Coriolanus let you enter in the car first as he followed by closing the door, blocking the loudness outside.

You sat on the back seat, heart racing outside your chest, forcing yourself to completely ignore his presence.

Coriolanus was again back in your thoughts as your wetness slid down your legs.

He is the forbidden fruit.

I am tempted by thee.

A/N: finally it’s out!! It has been so hard writing this chapter, I had so many ideas that I couldn’t mold them together into a coherent text lol. Anyway, as always tell me if there are grammatical mistakes because another difficulty was my limited vocabulary (a special thanks to wordreference.com or I wouldn’t be here today.) Every day I’m trying my best to improve my English so have mercy on me! Let me know if you want to be tagged next time!! 💌

Thank you so much for all the love and support!! Your comments mean a lot to me ❤️❤️ I love you all

ask me questions here 💌

Tag list: @daenerysqueenofhearts @snowsgames @secretsicanthideanymore @serving-targaryen-realness @rareheartsclub @metalarmsandmanbuns @jzr201 @xoxohannahlee @blueberrymuffinmouse @icedcoffee-please @xybilipid-post-blog @phoward89 @katherine101 @gracieghost36955 @annavatar @ghostlyloversworld @coolcatyarb @xxrougefangxx @devils-blackrose @phoward89 @commanderfreethatdust @thepassionatereader @anjellaufeyson @xoxohannahlee

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #coryo x reader #the hunger games #coryo smut #lucy gray baird #coriolanus smut #billy the kid x reader #young coriolanus snow #politician coriolanus snow

366 notes · View notes

scoonsaliciousupdates · 5 months

Text

1.3 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntire, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 3.1k

Previously On...: Bucky got his first glimpse of you.

A/N: Accidentally posted this to the wrong blog. Apologies!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You were having so much fun getting better acquainted with Nat and Wanda that you didn’t even notice when the pool game broke up and its players meandered over to join you. Nat made quick work of introducing you to everyone, and you were fortunate most of them were so famous, you already knew their names, otherwise you would have been lost in a whirlwind of new faces.

Everyone was exceedingly friendly as you went around shaking hands– Peter (that was the first name of the boy Nat had called ‘Parker’) was entirely too enthusiastic in his handshake, but it was endearing, all the same. Thor bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, and you were almost positive you saw Wanda swoon by proxy out of the corner of your eye. Steve’s handshake was firm, but basic (‘boring,’ you couldn’t help but hear Wanda’s voice say in your head), and Sam was brazen and went in for a kiss on the cheek– not that you minded in the least.

When it came time for you to be officially introduced to Bucky, you found yourself practically tingling with anticipation. God, he was even better looking up close.

“Major,” Nat said, giving you a sly smile, “this is Bucky. Bucky, this is my friend, Major.” He took your hand in his, enveloping it, and the heat radiating from where your skin touched sent an electric current down your spine. “Major.” You watched the way his full, pink lips formed around the syllables, as if he was tasting your name, rolling it around in his mouth, something to be savored. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

You offered him a shy, half-smile that you hoped looked flirty and not cringe-inducing. “It’s really nice to meet you, too, Bucky.”

You smiled stupidly at one another before you realized you’d been holding hands for just a little too long. Reluctantly, you let go before you looked too weird.

“I’m Lily,” the petite blond woman you’d noticed him with earlier said, stepping forward slightly so that Bucky had to take a stumbling step back from you to make room for her.

“Watch it, Lil,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. “You almost bulldozed me over.”

The other woman flashed him a smile before turning back to you, her gaze now hardened. She took your hand and shook it firmly, almost aggressively.

“Major,” you said, matching her pressure with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Lily.”

“Should we move this party to a booth?” Sam asked from where he stood a few feet away. “This table ain’t big enough for all of us.”

You had to agree– the high top you sat at with Nat and Wanda was not nearly large enough to accommodate your enlarged party. You all made your way to a back corner of the bar, where there was a large, circular booth available.

“It’s gonna be a tight squeeze,” Nat said, eyeing your group, “but I think we can manage it.” You all began awkwardly sliding in, and by some miracle (or Nat’s manipulation, you weren’t quite sure), you ended up pressed against Bucky on one side of you, and Sam on the other.

“Hi,” Bucky said shyly to you once everyone had gotten themselves settled.

“Hi,” you replied, trying so very hard, and failing, not to blush as he looked down at you with those beautiful blue eyes.

“So, Major,” Sam said from where he sat on your right, “how did you come to be friends with our Natasha?”

“Wow, wasting no time in interrogating the new girl, huh, Sam?” you asked him with a teasing grin.

“Hey, it’s not often we get such pretty new company in our midst,” he said, giving you a playful nudge. “Barnes was our last newbie, and he’s ugly as fuck.”

“Nat’s a customer of mine.” You ducked your head in the hope of hiding your blush at being called ‘pretty’ by an actual Avenger as Bucky shoved Sam over your head. “We’ve known each other… what? About half a year now, Nat?”

Natasha nodded. “Major owns her own business.”

“That’s really impressive,” said Bucky from your left. “It must be nice to be your own boss.”

You nodded. “It is. It’s stressful, but it’s also really freeing, really rewarding.”

From Bucky’s other side, Lily snickered. “Please,” she said, drawing attention to her. “Half the time these “women small business owners” are just morons who got sucked into an MLM; a pyramid scheme. So, which one is it, Major.” You didn’t like the way she sneered your name, but you opted to ignore it. “Herbalife? Beachbody? Oh god, don’t tell me it’s Mary Kay?” she giggled.

“Uh, no,” you said, feeling defensive, though you weren’t quite sure why. “I own a place called The WarZone?”

“Hold up,” said Peter enthusiastically. “Isn’t that the rage room by Sunset Park?” You nodded, pleased to have someone recognize it. “That place is sick! You own it?!”

“Yeah,” you said, self consciously brushing back a piece of hair that had fallen into your face.

“Me and my friends go there sometimes on the weekends,” Peter chirped. “It’s awesome!”

“You’ll have to let me know when you visit next,” you said. “I’ll make sure to sign you and your friends up for the VIP package, no charge.”

Peter’s face was elated. “Seriously? You’d hook me up like that? Wow, you’re amazing!”

“Absolutely,” you shrugged your shoulders. “A friend of Nat’s…”

“Sorry,” said Steve, cutting in before Peter could continue to gush his thanks, “for those of us who were born before the invention of the television, or on another planet,” he cast a friendly nod to Thor, “what’s a ‘rage room?’

“Only the single greatest invention the Japanese ever came up with,” Nat said, throwing a wink at you. “So, like, imagine you’re angry. Like, fucking pissed. And you need to get all that shit out of your system. You go to a rage room, and you pay them money, and they give you a hammer, or a baseball bat, or whatever you want, and you just go to town smashing the shit out of everything you can get your hands on! It’s so much fun!”

“And you do this often, Natasha?” Thor asked, bemused smile crossing his big face.

“At least once a week,” she said. At her friends’ curious expressions, she raised an eyebrow. “What? You think you lot are all peaches to live with? You’re lucky I go as often as I do, or you’d all probably either be dead or violently maimed.”

“That… actually sounds amazing,” Bucky said, turning to smile at you. “I’d love to check it out sometime.”

You fought to keep the pleased grin from growing too wide across your face, when Lily spoke up. “Ick, but Jamie,” she said, “then we’d have to go all the way to Queens.”

“She’s got a location in Midtown, too,” Nat offered. “That’s the one I go to.”

“I can definitely set you up with a VIP time slot, if you’d want” you said to Bucky. “Just let me know when you’d like to come check it out.”

“That sounds great.” Bucky awkwardly maneuvered himself so he could pull his phone out of his back pocket. “Put in your number, and I can call you when I know when I’m going to be free.”

Oh, smooth, you thought as you took his phone from him. Very smooth, indeed. You couldn’t help but notice his phone wallpaper after you’d entered your contact info– it was a picture of him and Lily, smiling together in front of a giant Christmas tree, his arm around her shoulder, and both of hers wrapped around his waist. If Nat and Wanda hadn’t assured you otherwise, you would have sworn they were a couple just from looking at it.

You handed Bucky back his phone. “Here you go,” you said. “Just call whenever you’d like to set up a time.”

“So, the entire thing is just people coming in and destroying stuff?” Lily asked, confused. “I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t see how something like that can be lucrative enough for you to make a career out of it.”

“We do alright for ourselves,” you said, not feeling comfortable with discussing how much money your business brought in. It wasn’t enough for you to be making the cover of Forbes or anything, but you were far above comfortable now.

“Alright?” Nat asked, laughing. “You’ve got five locations in the tri-state area and are looking into opening a sixth! With at least thirty-five employees under you! I call that a bit more than ‘doing alright!’” You shrugged your shoulders demurely, though secretly basking in your friend’s praise.

“I can’t see how that kind of place could even make a profit,” Lily scoffed, “Let alone afford to pay that many people an actual living wage.”

“Indeed says starting salary there’s $75,000 a year, plus benefits,” Peter said, looking up from his phone. “Is that true, Ms. Major?”

You chuckled at his polite addition of a title to your name. “That’s starting, yeah,” you told him, and by extension, Lily. “But it’s more based on education and experience, plus you get an automatic raise after a 90 day probation period.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “Well, aren’t you just the savvy businesswoman?” he asked with a smile. “Too bad we didn’t have Tony come out with us tonight; you two could have a lot to talk about.”

Holy shit, Tony Stark, you thought. You hadn’t even considered that knowing Nat might put you on the path to meeting someone like him. It was too fanciful to even imagine.

“Well, I don’t see the appeal of it,” Lily interjected, seemingly determined to find some sort of fault with your business. “It just seems so wasteful to me. Not very environmentally friendly at all.”

“You know, that’s actually an interesting point,” you said, leaning around Bucky to look at her. “We have contracts with the boroughs and cities we operate in, taking things that would normally go into landfills, like old tvs, furniture, china and glassware, stuff like that, and have people smash them to smithereens. It ends up taking less space in the dump when our clients are done with it, and we painstakingly go through everything that’s left to make sure whatever can get recycled or reused, does.”

Lily pouted, obviously displeased with your answer. “It just seems so… violent.” She wracked her body in an overly dramatic shiver.

“I can see why it would appear that way,” you said casually, “if you’re not familiar with them. Though there are studies that suggest it’s a really healthy outlet for expressing anger and getting stress relief."

“I just don’t understand the appeal,” she said finally, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“That’s okay,” you said, nonchalantly shrugging a shoulder. “It’s not for everyone, and that’s fine.” You shifted your focus back to Bucky and gave him a wink. “It’s a hell of a lot of fun, though.”

Bucky smiled and bit his bottom lip. “Sounds like it,” he said, a flirtatious glint in his eye. “Seems like a guy could get quite the workout doing something like that.”

“Oh,” you pressed your thigh firmly against his under the table, “it’s definitely my second favorite way to work up a sweat.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips. “That so?” he asked. “Well, then, I guess I have no choice but to see how hot and bothered it gets me.”

“I think you’ll be very satisfied with it, Sergeant,” you said, and both of you knew you were no longer talking about his visit to The WarZone.

“Oh, I have no doubt it would be a mutually satisfying experience, doll,” he said. You bit your cheek to hide the smile that was threatening to escape your face.

“Jamie–” Lily began, trying to get Bucky’s attention back on her, but before she could continue speaking, Wanda spoke over her: “So, Major, I didn’t think to ask before, is that a nickname or what?”

You turned to the redhead and nodded. “Yeah,” you told the group. “My real name’s (Y/N), but my employees started calling me ‘Major’ when we first opened and they thought I was being too much of a hard ass,” you said. “It’s just kind of stuck since.”

“Wow,” said Lily, disdainfully. “It’s actually kind of disgusting that you go around calling yourself that.” At all the questioning looks that came her way, she put her hands up defensively. “What? Stolen valor is a real thing, you know. And it’s vile. You’re sitting here with two World War II veterans; you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Lily,” Bucky began chastising, “it’s fine, seriously; Steve and I don’t mind, do we Steve?”

Steve shook his head. “Of course not. It’s just a nickname.”

“It’s actually not,” you spoke up. All eyes turned to you, now. “When I graduated high school, I couldn’t afford to go to college, so I enlisted. I spent eleven years in the army, did three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan during the war,” you said. It wasn’t something you enjoyed talking about, so you always spared the details. “‘Major’s’ not just a nickname; it was my rank at retirement.”

The table was silent for a beat as everyone took in your words.

Until Sam broke it with a raucous laugh. “Holy shit, Cap” he said, slapping his knee. “New Girl out-ranks you!”

The tension that had built around the table at Lily’s accusation of stolen valor broke as almost everyone laughed at Sam’s comment, making jokes about how you would be the only one who could give Captain America orders. Only Lily remained unsmiling, looking down petulantly into her glass. Conversation naturally broke into smaller groups, then, and you were glad to have all the focus off of you.

“You know,” Bucky murmured, leaning down to talk directly into your ear, “you seem pretty amazing.” The way his lips brushed the shell of your ear sent a pleasing shiver down your spine.

“I’m just a regular girl,” you responded, feeling incredibly shy all of a sudden.

Bucky pulled back to take in your face. “Nah, I highly doubt that,” he said. “You strike me as something special.”

“You are quite the charmer, Sergeant Barnes,” you said, playfully pushing at his shoulder.

“It’s working, then?” he asked, smirking. “I’m charming you?”

“Hmm,” you pretended to mull over his words for a moment. “It’s still too early to tell,” you said eventually. “But I’ll let you know.”

Bucky’s grin was boyishly adorable, and you loved the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. You could stare into them forever, you found yourself thinking. Where had that come from? You’d only just met the man!

“Are you always such a flirt, Sergeant?” you asked, trying to keep yourself in check.

“Only when the girl’s exceptionally pretty, Major,” he winked. But then, a bit more seriously: “No– not always, not much at all, actually.”

“That’s a shame,” you told him. “You’re quite good at it. Seems like you’d be doing the ladies of the city a great disservice by not doing it more often.”

“Haven’t much felt the need to,” he said, and you had to hold in a gasp when you felt his hand land on your knee, his thumb tracing small circles into your covered skin. “Is this okay?” He whispered, looking up at you through his lashes. There was something inherently vulnerable in his gaze, as though he was fully expecting, yet terrified, for you to tell him no and to fuck off.

“Yes,” you whispered breathlessly. There was something so sexy about the fact that he’d even asked, and you truly believed that, if you had told him no, it wasn’t okay, he would have immediately stopped and apologized.

One by one, the members of your party left the booth and made their way to the bar’s small dance floor. Soon, it was just you and Bucky. And Lily, of course, but you were trying very hard to not notice her and the angry expression she wore.

“You ever dance, Sergeant?” you asked, as you watched Wanda squeal with delight as Thor picked her up and spun her about.

“Oh, Jamie doesn’t dance,” Lily supplied for him, matter of factly. “He finds it ridiculous.”

You raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “Ridiculous? Interesting.”

Bucky shot an annoyed look in Lily’s direction. “I never said it was ridiculous, doll,” he said to you. “Just… You know about me and Steve, right? How we’re…”

“Really old?” you offered with a teasing smile. “Positively geriatric?”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, “really old. We used to go to dance halls a lot when we were kids, back in the late ‘30s, early ‘40s. It was basically the thing to do. I danced all the time back then.”

You nodded, smiling at the image of a younger Bucky cutting across the floor, twirling a girl in his arms.

“My point is,” he continued, “the music now? I don’t know how to dance to that.” He jerked his chin toward where Nat and Sam were dancing– or more accurately, grinding– against one another. “It’s practically like speaking a foreign language.”

You considered his words. “I have an idea,” you said, sliding around to the edge of the booth and standing up. Bucky followed you with his eyes, expression curious, as you made your way over to the bar’s digital jukebox. Swiping your debit card, you quickly selected the song you wanted to play– something contemporary, but that still had a bass line, a vibe, that Bucky could relate to.

Once your selection was confirmed, you made your way back to the booth. You held out your hand to Bucky. “May I have this dance, Sergeant?” you asked.

Lily rolled her eyes. “What part of him not liking to dance don’t you understand?”

“Relax, Lil,” Bucky said, putting down the glass of bourbon he’d been nursing before sliding out of the booth to take your hand. “What kind of soldier would I be if I ignored a request from a superior officer?”

He beamed at you as you led him over to the dance floor, occasionally looking back at him bashfully.

“Holy shit, New Girl got Tin Man on the floor,” Sam called from where he was dancing with Nat. “Never thought I’d live to see the day!”

Bucky scowled at his friend before you turned to face him. He took both your hands in his and pulled you closer to him. “I really hope I don’t embarrass myself in front of you, doll,” he said with a smile.

“Just dance the way you like,” you said, enjoying the sensation of holding both his hands in yours, though you barely noticed the left one was gloved, “and I doubt that would even be possible. I’ll just follow your lead.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

233 notes · View notes

syluscore · 11 months

Text

Everybody's Gotta Die Sometime

~step brother Ghostface! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

happy halloween to my ghostface leon fuckers. and to hopefully my new ghostface leon fucker recruits. <3 (shoutout to @lipglossanon for making me discover my love of stepcest. and shoutout to @delusionalbunni for requesting this. and everyone in the discord server for giving me ideas constantly)

Word count: 5419

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DON'T FUCKING EAT IT, dubcon, noncon, dom leon, stepcest, kidnapping, drugging, bodily harm, wounds, cuts, blood, knife usage, serial killer, murders, stalking, pervert leon, discusses scenes from Scream, pet names, degradation, praise, dry humping, aggressive sex, finger sucking, slapping, ass slapping, daddy kink, baby trapping, forced impregnation, talk of body changes, talk of lactation, spitting, blood eating, BREEDING KINK, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, and more dirty talk then you'll know what to do with

!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!!

“Run, my pretty bunny,” he whispers in your ear before pushing you down into the mud. A yelp of pain escapes from your throat as you connect with the unforgiving ground. Blood is already running down your chest from where he cut you just moments ago. A little slice to show you just how serious he was. And if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you’re sure it’d hurt like a bitch.

“By time I count to twenty, you better be out of my fucking sight.”

You push yourself up with all the strength you can muster and force yourself to move forward as he starts counting behind you. The drugs are still flowing through you, making your blood feel thick like honey. Your brain is enveloped in a dense fog that has you disorientated as you weave through the heavily wooded forest.

You know you don’t stand a chance; of course you don’t. But he wants to play this stupid game of cat and mouse, so you’ll play along; it’s probably the only way you’ll make it out of this alive.

Your legs are unsteady as you traverse the uneven terrain, using tree branches to keep yourself up on your feet.

Why you of all people?

The Ghostface copy-cat killer has been terrorizing this small town for months now and you’d never heard of him taking any of his victims to the woods to play “chase.” His murders have always been quick, spontaneous, and brutal. There had never been mentions of a second location.

You must be one lucky girl.

You remember walking home from work. Sure, it was late at night so it was pretty dark, but you didn’t have any other choice. Your boss asked you to stay late, and if you had any hope of being brought on full time, you couldn’t say no.

So you said yes and before you could make it home, someone was grabbing you from behind and holding a towel up over your nose and mouth. Then everything went black.

And then you woke up, tied up in the woods with a bag over your head. The bag was quickly yanked off and the first thing you saw was that fucking mask. The Ghostface mask.

You tried to fight him as best as you could, but you were far too weak, and he was far too strong. You never really stood a chance. You pleaded with him, begged him to let you go, but you were only met with anger.

You knew you were poking the bear when you told him he wouldn’t actually do anything. And when he sliced you open across your chest with his blade, you only really had yourself to blame. And when he told you to run, that he wanted to play with you, you weren’t in any position to fight him on it.

So now you’re running through the dark wooded area. You don’t have a fucking clue where you are, you don’t know where you’re headed, you don’t have a plan, and possibly the worst part? You don’t know where he is. You somehow preferred being in that small clearing with him taunting and tormenting you than being out here amongst the trees all alone, every little sound making you jump out of your skin.

How long have you been running through the woods? Time seems to be passing by so slowly as you put forth your best effort. You’re leaned up against a tree, clinging to the bark to keep from completely toppling over. You’re so lightheaded, your head spinning, you don’t know which way is up and which way is down as the world spins around you.

Your lungs ache from the overexertion, the only things you can focus on being the sound of your heart beat pounding in your ears and fighting back the vomit threatening to spill from your throat.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your arms too weak to keep hanging onto the tree. You feel yourself falling backwards, feel yourself fainting and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Before your body can connect with the ground, arms are wrapping around you just like they had before you passed out the first time. You groan out in pain as you’re laid gently on the forest floor.

Your head is still spinning, your eyes unable to focus as you hear a distant voice talking to you.

You slowly come back to yourself and when you do, you realize you’re looking up at Ghostface himself.

“Are you okay? Can you hear me?” He questions you. You try to answer him, but your words die in your throat. You’re still feeling too weak to even speak.

You look up at the moonlight breaking through the trees above you, thinking about how pretty of a view you get to witness while dying. You guess if you did have to choose, this is the sight you’d choose to experience while your body slowly gives up on itself.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when hands grasp your face firmly and pull you to look ahead of you. It takes a minute for you to fully process that Ghostface no longer has his mask on. And you’re sure you’ve died or are hallucinating as death pulls you under when you see the killer’s real face. And it’s not just any face, because that would be too simple. No, it’s one you recognize and one you recognize well.

You choke out words, them barely coming out above a whisper, “Leon? Is that you?”

His cocky, shit eating grin takes over his entire face. You don’t need him to respond anymore. That look is undeniably and so certainly Leon fucking Kennedy.

“In the flesh, baby sis,” he rubs his thumb across your cheek.

“Are you- you’re Ghostface? Like, the Ghostface?” You’re trying to process what’s happening, but it’s so fucking unreal. There has to be some other explanation.

“You’ve always been such a stupid girl.” He shakes his head as he fights back a smirk. “You never connected the dots? Never pieced it together for yourself?”

You stare up at him, giving up fighting your tears.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s you. All the random murders? Oh baby. They weren’t random,” he laughs with a look of disbelief on his face. “Let’s see. Your boyfriend? Couldn’t have him thinking what’s mine belongs to him. That girl that used to live in our neighborhood? She was always such a bitch to you.”

You search his face for any signs of what he’s getting at, but you don’t find any answers. “I don’t understand.”

“How about that barista who always had an attitude with you? Your old manager who made you uncomfortable and didn’t give a shit?”

All you can do is stare up at him. What does your old boss have to do with this? And what barista is he talking about? They’re all bitchy at the coffee shop near your place. If someone was ever nice to you there, you’d be worried about what’s wrong with the world.

“Oh! I know what’ll make you a happy little bunny! Any guesses?”

“I don’t suppose it’s you changing your mind and letting me go?”

Leon bursts out laughing at your response, “You’re so silly. No, baby. I found the lady who did that hit and run on your car. She was drunk off her ass that day and the day I found her. It amazes me how the police could never find her, yet it only took me two days. Now they’ll really never find her.”

He brings his face down to yours, until he’s barely a few inches away from you.

“You killed them?”

“Every one of them.”

“And what about the others?”

He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Some were for practice, some were for fun.” He shrugs as if he isn’t admitting to a bunch of murders. “But if they were an inconvenience to us, they had to go.”

“None of them had to die, Leon.”

“Everybody dies, bunny. Better to be by my hand than some flesh eating disease, right?” The hand not caressing your face starts to slowly roam your body, his fingers gently running down your side.

“Please let me go. You don’t have to do this.”

You try to shake yourself beneath him, but he’s using all of his weight to pin you to the cold, muddy ground.

“Big brother just wants to take care of his little sis,” Leon coos at you, his fringe sticking to his forehead as the blood there slowly dries.

“You’re not my fucking brother, Leon. We haven’t seen each other since we were kids.” Your voice is mean, a complete contrast from the way you look. Covered in mud, tears, sweat, and blood. You can taste it on your lips.

He laughs down at you. “We haven’t? Baby. I see you all the time. I see you behind the counter at work. I see you at the grocery store when you need to pick up some milk and bread. I see you when you check your pockets for your wallet and keys before you go in the back door of your house.” He drags his knife down your neck, hard enough to sting but gentle enough to not break the skin. “I see you with your fingers buried deep in that tight cunt when you think no one is watching. I don’t just see it either, I hear it. I hear how loud and needy you are. It’s as if you’re subconsciously begging for big brother’s cock. Calling out for me to stuff this little pussy full, breed that tight hole until you can’t take it anymore. I see you everywhere you go baby, even in the privacy of your own bedroom.”

You can’t formulate a response, so you just stare up at him dumbfounded. You hope he’s bluffing–he has to be bluffing.

“So maybe you haven’t seen me since we were kids, but I see you all the time, sweet baby sis.”

“You’re lying. Anybody could say that vague shit.” You give him a dirty look as he presses the blade harshly against your skin. You hiss out at the stinging pain and cringe as you feel your warm blood ooze from the fresh wound.

“Oh? You don’t believe me?” You shake your head, further cutting yourself on the knife, yelping before stilling yourself once again. Quickly trying to correct your mistake.

“Hmm, let’s see,” he shifts his eyes as if deep in thought. “What about that step brother porn you’re always watching? Oh step bro, we can’t do this. Mom and Dad will catch us!” Your face heats at his words. “Or maybe when you shoved your hand in your panties while watching Scream? You came how many times? Do you remember, baby sis?”

You stumble over your words. “I-, um, well, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You give him a stern look, trying to emphasize your seriousness, but it’s useless.

His hand quickly wraps around your throat and squeezes. You struggle beneath him as your air is cut off, but he only squeezes tighter.

“Stay. Still!” He screams right in your face and you freeze in fear. You hold yourself as still as possible despite not being able to breathe.

“Remember when you came when Tatum got stuck in the garage door? Or maybe when Billy revealed he was Ghostface? Or when Billy and Stu were stabbing each other?”

“No,” you squeak out, barely able to speak with your constricted airway.

He squeezes even tighter, your face is on fire as you gasp and whine for air.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, you fucking brat.” He shakes your whole body with just the grip on your throat. “You gonna tell me the truth?” He yells out as your vision starts to blur from lack of oxygen.

He loosens his grip enough to allow some air to enter your lungs. “Tell me, god dammit!”

“Okay!” You choke out and he releases your throat. You desperately suck in air and cough from the ache in your throat. “Okay. It’s true, okay?”

“What’s true? Use your words, princess.”

“I fucking touched myself while watching a Ghostface movie! Is that what you wanted to hear? Wanted to hear me admit it even though you fucking saw it! I got off watching it, okay?”

More tears stream down your face, shame filling you after your confession. Speaking the words out loud makes it all the more real, all the more embarrassing.

How the fuck did you end up here? Exhausted in the mud beneath your ex step brother?

He sits back on his haunches and picks the mask up off the ground, quickly slipping it back on and adjusting it back into place. When his hand falls back to his side, you notice the blood smears left behind on his white mask. Your blood stains it.

“See something you like, princess?” Leon quirks his head to the side, his voice teasing. Your face immediately heats up from being caught staring. You hadn’t meant to be staring so long.

You avert your eyes, looking off into the trees and avoiding his mask completely.

“Why do you think I wear this fucking mask?” He spits out, aggressively grabbing your chin and making you look right into the empty eyes of the mask.

You whimper out and shake your head no. He lessens his grip on your chin in favor of running his thumb softly over your cheek.

“Oh, baby. It’s all for you. Don’t you see it? I killed them all for you, I chose this mask because it gets you all wet, and now?” He chuckles and brings his mouth up to your ear. He whispers as if he’s divulging you in some deep, dark secret, “Now, I’m gonna fuck you while wearing this mask. And you’re gonna fucking love it.”

Your jaw drops as your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “Wha-what? No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He grinds his pelvis into your abdomen and that’s when you feel it. His hard cock pushes against you and it solidifies his claim. He’s really going to fuck you.

And you want to be disgusted, you want to scream and push him off, but you don’t say a word as you clench your thighs together. You had been so caught up in the chase, so caught up in putting up a fight that you didn’t stop and realize how fucking wet you are.

You cringe at the throbbing in your cunt. Your panties and thighs are soaked, you’re sure you’ve soaked all the way through your pants as well.

You want to explain it off. It’s just an adrenaline response, it’s out of your control. But as he continues to grind into you, you find your hips raising up and meeting his rhythm. Your lip is bleeding from how harshly you’re biting it, your hands curled into clenched fists.

“There she is. There’s my dirty fucking bunny. Knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself, knew you needed your big brother’s cock.”

You whine at his words, his clothed crotch grinding into yours causing your panties to dig into your throbbing clit. The friction is so good, it has sweat beading down your back, but it just isn’t fucking enough. Not nearly enough.

“Leon,” your voice is high pitched and whiny. You lift your hands from beneath his thighs and reach out to cling to him, but he’s quick to grab your wrists in one of his hands and pin them above your head.

“None of that, baby sis. Use your words for me. What do you want?”

“Please,” you both continue rolling your hips together, finding an achingly perfect rhythm. If he keeps this up, keeps grinding into that spot that’s just right over and over, you’re gonna cum just like this.

He grinds into your clit particularly hard and it has your eyes rolling back, a pathetic moan falling from your lips and echoing out in the empty woods surrounding you.

“Please what, princess? If I don’t know what you want I can’t give it to you. And I’ll stop right now.”

“No!”

“Then use your fucking words, you dumb bunny,” He spits at you angrily. His muffled voice through the Ghostface mask sounds like sex itself. He could say anything to you right now and it would have you drooling for him.

“Wanna cum,” you whine out, toes curling in your shoes.

He slows his hips, just barely continuing to grind into you. “Not enough.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I want you to fuck me. Please, fuck me. I need you inside of me.”

“See? Not so hard is it? You want big brothers cock stuffing this slutty pussy full?

You arch your back, pushing your body up into his in desperation. “Yes. Please, fuck. Need your cock.”

“Who’s cock?”

“Yours?”

“Nu uh, not good enough.”

You whine out, kicking your feet in frustration. “Big brother’s cock. I need my big brother’s cock inside of me. I wanna feel it.”

He sits back on his haunches, releasing your hands from his grasp. His hands go down to start undoing his belt as you reach out and palm his cock through his black jeans.

You gasp as you feel how fucking big he is.

Leon clicks his tongue as he releases his belt and slowly starts working the zipper on his jeans down, “What? Not what you were expecting?”

You whimper at his cocky tone, unable to speak. The only thing you can focus on is getting his cock inside of you.

“Need your big brother to fill you up with his big cock?”

“Yes. Please,” you whine as you wiggle beneath him. You can’t make yourself stay still, your body thrashes with need.

His pants are undone, barely hanging onto his hips when he releases your legs and pulls you up into a sitting position. He grabs your shirt and quickly pulls it over your head, tossing it off to the side haphazardly. He doesn’t even bother pulling your leggings off, grabbing the crotch and tearing it open.

“Hands and knees,” he instructs you and you immediately comply, rolling over and pushing your ass up in the air for him.

He groans at the sight of your lace panties clinging to your pussy, your arousal working as a glue. He tears your leggings further, not stopping until your whole ass is exposed for him.

He runs his fingers over your panty clad pussy and it has you pressing yourself back into his touch. He makes a sound of disapproval before a loud smack rings out, followed by a sharp stinging pain in your ass cheek.

He presses his chest into your back, bringing his mouth down to your ear. “Such an impatient slut,” he growls as he grinds his bare cock against you.

You go to turn your head to look back at him, but his hand is quick to grab your face and force you to look forward, before his hand roughly covers your mouth.

“Stay fucking still,” he hisses out at you, causing all of your muscles to freeze up in fear. The tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Part of you hates it, but another part, a much bigger part, loves it and has your pussy clenching around nothing.

“That’s it. Stay still like a good fuck bunny for your big brother.”

You feel him pull your panties away from your pussy and bunch them up and out of the way, before his fingers lightly graze around your needy hole.

“So fucking wet. And you tried saying you didn’t want this,” he chuckles directly into your ear, sounding like pure sex to you. He releases your mouth and instead pushes your face to the ground and holds the back of your neck instead.

His free hand leaves where he was teasing your hole, surprising you when he grabs one of your hands and brings it back to your wet cunt.

“Feel how fucking wet you are.” He pushes your fingers up against your soaked clit and your legs quiver at the sudden stimulation. “Feel that, bunny? Feel what your big brother did to you?”

You moan out as he continues rubbing your fingers into your clit.

“Yes,” your voice comes out whiny, “Big brother gets my pussy so wet.”

“Good girl. Should I give you what you want? Want me to shove my cock in my little sister’s pussy?”

You push your ass back against his groin again. “Yes, your little sister needs her pussy bred.”

He pulls your hand from your clit and brings your wet fingers up to your mouth. “Here. Open up and tell me how this slutty pussy tastes.”

You’ve barely opened your mouth before he’s pushing his fingers down against your tongue, causing you to eagerly lick and suck them clean.

“That’s it, taste this sweet fucking pussy for me. Such a good slut, huh? Nothing but a fuck bunny for me,” he shoves his fingers to the back of your throat, forcing you to fight your gag reflex while tears slip from your eyes.

You choke around his fingers and he quickly pulls them from your throat.

“You like tasting your own slutty pussy?”

You can’t stop the moan that slips past your lips, “Yes. I love it.”

“You love what? Come on, baby. Use your words so I can reward you.”

Another harsh slap to your ass has you yelping out, “I love tasting my own pussy. Love when big brother makes me taste myself.”

You crane your neck to look back at Leon and he lets you look at him. Mask still in place, t-shirt bunched up above his belly, his pants and boxers pushed down his thighs.

His cock is right against your needy hole. Just one small movement of his hips and you could finally feel him inside of you.

“There you go. Watch as big brother spreads you open on his cock.”

And then he slowly pushes forward and you look into his mask as you finally feel him inside of you.

Your pussy is immediately clenching around him. Weak little moans continuously falling from your lips as he pushes in further and further.

“Such a tight pussy, fuck.” He praises as he bottoms out and holds his dick inside of you. “You were made to take big brother’s cock. Look so fucking perfect like this.”

You whimper softly into the ground at his words, staying still and willing yourself to adjust to his massive dick. You feel split in half already and he hasn’t even started fucking you yet.

His hand runs up and down your back, along your spine gently. “That’s it, you got this, pretty bunny. Gonna bread this tight cunt, ruin you for anyone else.”

“Pl-please,” you whined out, “Please fuck me. I want it so bad. Big brother, please-”

You can’t even finish begging before he’s pulling out and roughly shoving his cock back into you.

“Oh my god,” your voice comes out in a tone you don’t even recognize as your own. “Yes, yes, yes, please. Oh fuck.”

He roughly grips your hip as he effortlessly thrusts in and out of your soaking wet pussy.

“You like that, baby sis? Already going dumb on my cock and I haven’t even properly started fucking you yet. Such a pathetic little whore, my pathetic little whore. Taking my cock so fucking well.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slowly starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts.

“All yours. Your whore,” you aren’t able to finish your statement before he starts aggressively fucking his cock into you. The only sounds leaving your mouth are broken gasps. The pleasure is too intense for you to make any other noise, mouth stuck open on a silent moan.

He moves his hand from the back of your throat, instead grabbing a handful of your hair harshly and yanking you back until your head is against his shoulder. The moan you release is nothing short of pornographic at the pain in your scalp.

He chuckles before speaking right against your ear, “Fucking take it, you stupid whore. Dumb little sis likes it rough. I’ll fucking give it to you just like you want it. Gonna fucking break you.”

“Oh fuck yes, daddy,” you don’t even register the words you’ve said until Leon let’s out a loud moan.

“Daddy? You dirty little girl. Want daddy to breed you? Need daddy to take care of you?”

“Yes. God, yes.” You’re too far gone in a pleasure filled haze to be embarrassed about calling him daddy. Fuck, you’d call him anything he asks right now.

“Gonna let daddy put a baby in you? Keep you tied to me forever.” He’s practically growling in your ear at this point, so worked up over you calling him daddy. “Gonna swell up with my baby and everyone will know how good I fuck you.”

“No, daddy, we can’t,” you try to reason with him through your brain fog.

He laughs loudly in your ear. “But I can, and I will. God, your boobs are gonna fucking leak all over. Gonna fucking suck those milky tits dry.”

You can’t stop yourself from clenching around his dick at his filthy words.

“Ugh, knew you’d like that. Gonna be tied to daddy forever. You’ll never fucking escape me. Gonna keep this pussy stuffed, gonna make you pop out all my babies. Gonna fucking show you how much of a daddy I am, baby.”

He quickly pulls out of you making you whine out in disappointment. But it doesn’t last long, as he throws you on your back. He wraps your thighs around his hips and shoves his dick back inside of you.

He goes back to his unforgiving pace and all you can do is stare up into the Ghostface mask, which only intensifies your pleasure.

Your hands trail up his chest until you’re gripping the back of his neck and pulling him closer into you. You go back and forth between staring into the mask and squeezing your eyes shut.

You don’t know what comes over you, but you're desperate for skin to skin contact. So you grab the hem of his shirt and yank it over his head, but in the process, you pull his mask off with it.

Then it’s just you and Leon staring right at each other’s faces. Sweat pours from his forehead, his mouth slightly agape as he pants from the exertion, and his eyes blown wide with lust. He looks like an absolute madman, but you suppose that’s because he is.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself up into his body. Your chest presses into his as you connect your lips with his. One of his arms wraps around your lower back while he uses his other arm to hold you two up. He thrusts, never once slowing.

The kiss is sloppy. Your tongues immediately come together and explore each other completely. Spit drips down your chin as you moan into the kiss.

He bites your lip, you bite his. He sucks on your tongue, you suck on his. He sucks your lips until they ache, and you suck his lips with everything you have.

You finally break the kiss, but keep your foreheads pressed together.

Leon pushes your bodies down, your back connecting harshly to the cold ground. He grabs your calves and brings your ankles to his shoulders.

“Oh god, daddy. Yes, fuck, please, fuck, just like that. Please, please, please, daddy, fuck.” You don’t process anything you’re saying. Words just keep falling from your lips as he continuously pounds deeply into you.

“I’m gonna fucking fill you up, baby sis. And you’re gonna take all of it. God, gonna breed my baby sister’s tight pussy. Gonna let daddy breed you, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please.”

He brings his hand down between you two, ru

bbing your clit harshly causing you to cry out loudly at the intensity.

“Who’s gonna breed this pussy? Who’s baby is gonna grow in this fucking belly?”

Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head as your whole body feels more and more wound up, fastly approaching your release.

“Fucking answer me. Who’s breeding this tight cunt? Who’s cock are you gonna cum all over?”

“Yours. Yours, daddy. Gonna, fuck, gonna cream my big brother’s big fucking cock.”

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Tell me how it feels. Tell me how good big brother’s cock is making you feel.” He’s groaning, borderline growling, as he ruthlessly pounds into you.

You force your eyes open, force yourself to look into his eyes. “You daddy. You’re making my slutty pussy feel so fucking good. God, your cock is making my pussy feel so good. Big brother’s cock is making me feel so good. I wanna cum all over it.”

“Come for daddy, then. Cream my fucking cock like the dirty whore you are.” He pulls his hand from your clit so he can hold your thighs up more firmly. “Rub yourself for me. Wanna watch you push yourself over the edge.”

Your hand quickly reaches down, quickly rubbing fast circles on your soaking wet clit.

“Look at me while you cum on my cock. Be a good whore and look at who’s fucking you like this.”

You bite your lip until you taste blood again. Moaning loudly as you stare up at Leon and rubbing your clit furiously. You’re desperately trying to cum, desperately trying to push yourself over the edge. But no matter how close you feel, you can’t send yourself over the edge.

Until a stinging, blinding pain seers into the back of your thigh and you can’t even process the warm blood pouring from the freshly sliced wound before you’re cumming. Cumming harder than you ever have in your life. Not one inch of your body isn’t shaking, not one part of you not exploding with intense pleasure.

You’re screaming, your throat burning from the strain. You have to force yourself to stop as the overstimulation sets in.

“Dad, daddy, please. Fuck, I can’t take it anymore.” You’re practically sobbing now, but your request is ignored.

He pushes your ankles off of his shoulders and you immediately lock them behind his back. One of his hands grips your jaw and spits on your cheek.

“You’re gonna fucking take it, fucking whore.” His other hand runs down the middle of your chest, coating it in fresh blood. You look down and see your dry blood combining with the new blood, staining nearly your whole chest red.

A sharp slap meets your cheek. Your cheek burns and your ear rings from the sheer force of the hit. Before you can even yelp out in pain, his blood soaked fingers are being shoved into your mouth and you’re immediately hit with the copper taste.

“I’m cumming, fuck. Breeding baby sister’s greedy fucking hole. Take it, you stupid slut. Fucking take it, fuck.” His thrusts slow, but are just as hard as he cums deep inside of you.

You’re too distracted sucking his fingers clean to register what the stinging pain in your abdomen is.

Leon groans and moans above you as he comes down from his high. He finally looks back down at your face and can’t stop himself from smiling at the blood and dirt all over your body. He could eat you alive right now, and he just might.

He slowly pulls his spent cock out of you, causing you to whimper at the sudden emptiness and the feeling of his cum steadily dripping from your abused hole.

He sits back on his haunches and lets out a throaty laugh. “Would you look at that,” You follow the direction of his eyes down to your abdomen where you see blood pooling. He quickly picks up his discarded shirt and wipes away the excess blood, causing you to hiss out in pain.

But he finally uncovers his handiwork for you to see in all its glory. And you gasp out in shock at the sight of it.

Carved into your skin are messily drawn letters. L.S.K.

“See? You’ll never forget who you fucking belong to now.”

~masterlist~

942 notes · View notes

vax-merstappen · 4 months

Text

undefeated pt. 1 (mv1)

more victories than defeats

summary: it’s the hungarian grand prix and max has won every race this season. when you get pole, can you finally defeat the undefeated?

series masterlist

You walk through the paddock, cameras flashing, people shouting your name. You pull your red cap lower over your eyes, trying to get through the crowd and into the safety of the Ferrari hospitality.

As Ferrari’s clear number one driver, it was no surprise that people wanted to get your picture or signature. Even just a quick sound bite would get a reporter views. And normally you’d try to stop for as many of your fans as possible, knowing that taking a few seconds out of your day would mean the world to them. But today was different. Today you were on a mission.

The Hungarian Grand Prix normally wasn’t a huge highlight on the calendar for you or the team, but today it felt different. With the new upgrades on the car and a stellar qualifying that got you onto pole position, you had a chance.

That chance was to beat Max Verstappen, the current reigning world champion. Last season he had dominated, winning all but three races, his teammate Checo Pérez taking the ones he failed to win. And this season, he had claimed all of the victories of the first twelve races. He was on track to win every race this season, setting a Formula 1 record and doing something nobody else had ever been able to do.

But not if you had any say in the situation. As his main rival on track you would do anything to stop his reign. The bad blood between you and Max ran deep, having started racing in Formula 1 the same year as him. With both of you going into your 10th season in the sport, it was clear to most people that he was the better driver and you hated that.

Maybe today would be different.

You walked into the Ferrari garage, quickly making your way over to your race engineer, Renée, and pulled her aside.

“So what’s the game plan for today? Besides keeping Max behind me and defending like crazy.”

She smiled at you. “We’re running a one stop strategy. You’re going to have to push like crazy at the start and try to get a lead. You know how aggressive he is…”

I scoff. “Aggressive is an understatement. He’s a damn maniac.”

Renée chuckled. “Yeah. Well you’ve got pole so you’ll have a slight advantage over him in second. And you’ve got your teammate Charles behind you in third, so you should have the support there. He’s been made aware that his job is to keep the rest of the grid off of you and Max. Even our odds against him.”

You nod. “Glad to know. We’ve got to win this one today. He can’t win them all.”

“He won’t. We’ve got pole, a good strategy, car upgrades, and your determination to win this one. Today will be our day.”

“Let’s hope it is,” you say, giving one last acknowledgment to Renée before walking to your driver’s room to start your pre-race ritual.

You put on your headphones and started playing your favorite hype song, practicing a few stretches that you always did before a race. As you continued to follow your routine, slowly all the noise faded away and you were left with one feeling. Determination that Max would not win.

---

As you walked out to stand for the Hungarian national anthem, you found yourself lined up directly next to the world champion himself. The tension nearly crackled in the air between you as you made eye contact with Max, his gaze more like a glare. You didn’t dare speak to him as the performer was singing and the grid kids stood before you, but you could already tell he was focused. Though he seemed nonchalant, you knew it secretly bothered him that you were on pole.

As soon as the performance ended and the drivers began to disperse, you whispered under your breath as you walked by him. “Enjoy watching my rear wing.”

You walked away before you could see if he responded.

Standing by your car, you prepared yourself to race. You needed to start strong and capitalize on your pole position. You risked a glance back at the Red Bull behind you, watching Max put on his helmet and ready himself to get in the car. You could have sworn he was looking back at you, almost as a predator looks at prey.

You climb into your car, pulling your own helmet over your head, readying for the formation lap. You give a thumbs up to the crew, watching them step away from the car and take the covers off the tires.

As you pull away from the start line, you move side to side across the track, trying to warm your tires to get better grip for the start. You knew Max would be on you instantly, trying to pass you as you went into the first corner. You went through the corners of the track on the formation lap, readying yourself for the race.

As you pulled into pole position, you watched the red lights begin to light up

Lights out and away we go.

You sped up as fast down the main straight, trying to get your car first on the inside line. You could see Max beside you, trying desperately for the same thing. As you went wheel to wheel, you nudged your car ahead of his, managing to secure the racing line for the time being.

But in your mirrors was Max Verstappen in a Red Bull, arguably one of the scariest sights in Formula 1. And as you made your way around the first few laps, you just couldn't find a way to shake him. He kept behind you, only just outside of getting DRS to pass you.

You kept speeding through the corners of the Hungaroring, sensing it was only a matter of time before he passed you. The pressure was on, the Red Bull and Ferrari rivalry at its greatest.

One pit stop each and a safety car later, you found yourself driving slowly behind the car. And in your mirrors, you could now clearly see the man himself, right on your rear wing. Any lead you had built was gone, taken away with the safety car. The lion was in striking distance and you knew it.

As the safety car moved to resume the race, you pressed the pedal full on, needing to shake the dutchman behind you. With only 10 laps left of 70, you needed to hold on.

But as good of a driver you were, Max was better. The best driver on the grid, undefeated in the first 12 races of the season. And he wouldn't let a Ferrari beat him.

You entered the main straight and you knew Max was close enough for DRS. You watched he caught up to you, going wheel to wheel as you sped through the track.

It would have been easier to accept if there'd been a fight, some sort of defense available, a challenging overtake for Max.

But he just breezed past you, as if you weren't even there. Not a threat. Not a problem. Not anything he'd ever worried about.

Even after a strenuous and hard fought race to gain a lead, Max Verstappen once again would win. His thirteenth consecutive race. Another damn record.

You finished the last nine laps of the race, still pushing but not nearly as hard. You felt defeated. Nothing you or the car was capable of would be enough. Not against him, a living legend of a driver.

As you crossed the finish line in second, you congratulated the team on their efforts on the radio, but your heart wasn't in it. Most drivers would be happy with a podium, if not elated. But not you. Not when you would be forced to spray him oncemore with champagne. Not when he would take home another trophy, which would just be another hunk of metal to him.

You climbed out of the car besides him, noticing Oscar Piastri pulling into the 3rd place spot. You could at least be a little happy for the Australian, having earned another podium in just his second season. You walked up to Oscar and congratulated him, making a point to do so before turning to Max.

"Congrats on the win," you said, your voice monotone.

"Thanks," Max replied simply. "You had a good drive there at the start."

"Not good enough," you retorted, trying and failing to hide your disdain at both him and your own failure.

"Still a podium though," Max shrugged.

"You know damn well you'd be pissed in P2."

Max looked you in the eye. "I think you should be grateful I let you lead the race for so long. My car is clearly faster than yours."

You rolled your eyes. "I don't want to do this here. Not with all the cameras."

Max had the audacity to smirk. "Suit yourself. But I did earn the win, don't deny me that."

You hated it when he was right.

You stalked away from Max on track and headed over to your team, clapping a few of the engineers and team members on the back for their performance. Sure, you were mad. But they still got you a podium position. And you wanted to delay the cooldown room as long as you could.

But you couldn't delay it that long, and god did some water sound refreshing. So you went into that room, looking at Max seated in the center chair, Oscar on his right in the 3rd place chair. You grabbed a water bottle and slumped down in the remaining seat next to Max, not saying a word.

"Could have taken that corner better," Max said, commenting on a clip of your car briefly sliding out of track limits. "Maybe that's why you lost some time to me right before the safety car."

"Thanks for the observation," you said sarcastically.

The tension in the room was palpable. You almost felt bad for Oscar Piastri, having to deal with the two of you.

"If there hadn't been that safety car, I would have had a tougher race. But I still think I could have caught you... your tires seemed to be degrading faster than mine. At least that's what the team said. Also with a few of those small mistakes like going wide on the turns..."

He kept going on, in his typical way, what the internet had dubbed Maxplaining. They were right. It was like he didn't understand that you knew your mistakes and how he had driven faster.

But anyways, you were spared as the three of you were called for the podium. Oscar went out first, followed by you.

You heard the cheers of your team and fans and you tried your hardest to be happy and excited about your podium. But when the cheers for you were eclipsed by those for Max, you couldn't pretend anymore.

You stood only begrudgingly beside him on the podium as the Dutch national anthem played for the 13th time in a row. And when he popped the champagne, even he didn't seem excited, like winning had become habitual for him and that this was an obligation, not a reward.

This was a man with more victories than defeats in the past few seasons.

A man who's wins were routine.

A man you loathed with your whole being.

You chose to spray your champagne over your own head rather than his. An act of protest and anger.

And when you left the podium, you left with stronger feelings. The taste for victory lingered on your tongue. And the desire for revenge burned stronger in your heart.

Part 2 coming!

taglist: @jehun

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen series #f1 series #mv1undefeated

103 notes · View notes

pascalsbby · 1 year

Text

CARNAL / Chapter 3: Exalt

CARNAL Masterlist

Summary: 3.5K/ f!reader, dark!joel, stalker!joel.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, Joel talks you through it, dominate & aggressive joel, pet names, praise kink, brief mention of religion. talk of: anal/Joel masturbating/fingering himself + the usual pure filth. you’re welcome.

“I beg you. Eat me up. Want me down to the marrow.” - Hélène Cixous

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

The resonating depth within his voice reached out and caressed you for a moment. For that split second there was warmth, excitement. And then terror.

Your gaze instinctively fell upon the intricate web of veins tracing an unmissable pattern across his skin. You weren’t listening to the words leaving his mouth, all you remember is him on his knees last night, spread open on his bed as he pleasured himself with his own fingers to your decree.

“Mhmm, so good. Now stick in another one.” He moved it around his tightness, then did as he was told.

“Just like that,” he whimpered at your praise. “Good boy. Does it feel good? Has anyone ever touched you there? I bet you have plenty of times, haven’t you? Cumming hands free with your own fingers in your asshole. Such a naughty boy.”

He wanted to “try something new.” He said he’d pay you double if you played along well. It wasn’t hard to say yes to him, you would have probably done anything he asked of you, money or not. Seeing him in such a vulnerable position, fucking his fingers in and out of himself was enough payment for you. His stutters had been godly as he shoved his face down into the bed, reaching further into his own bliss.

Now, the irony became clear as day: his intention to grant you a sense of control only fueled the impending destruction he had planned for you. It dawned upon you that this twisted game was nothing but a source of perverse pleasure for him, unwaveringly. You felt it punch you in the chest.

You would be damned if you were going to fall to your knees in the middle of your own capstone show. It wasn’t even that, though, the possible embarrassment of collapsing and then having to make up a reason why. It wasn’t even him encumbering such a momentous occasion in your career, in life. It was that you’d shown this man everything you had and he took it in his weighty fucking hands and crushed it. He took advantage of you. He knew every one of your catches, he knew how to mold you.

He knew how to undo you, too.

Had he been recording your encounters? Did he know where you lived? What car you drove? Sarah lived right down the fucking hall.

Sarah.

You were so full with shame it felt like you were going to puke it up. It felt like it was moving up your throat, blocking your airways and tightening its hands around your throat.

He found you. He was Sarah’s father. He was your fathers apparent best friend. He was your dirty secret. He was your stalker, prowling for god knows how long in the shadows.

“Joel here reached out to me a couple months ago, askin’ how the family was. It’d been ten or so years since we’d seen each other last, right?” Joel nodded his head at your dad. Much quieter and reserved in real life, you guessed. Asshole.

“I’m glad you reached out, it’s been good getting to know you again, old man. Just like the ol’ days. 10 years is too long.”

10 years… You’d met him before? You couldn’t remember when exactly. How could you not remember him? No, you were a child ten years ago- this wasn’t your responsibility nor was it your fault. He’s met you before. He remembered. You didn’t.

In all actuality, he did remember the day he met you. You were 15 years old, a shell of a person. You weren’t happy, running around with your friends that summer like he thought all 15 year olds ought to be. He watched a much younger Sarah running around the front yard in the sprinklers, screeching and throwing her hands up in great fervor that summer. You spent most of your time indoors, painting out of long-gone watercolors.

Joel was there helping your dad build the shop that summer. To a teenager so stuck inside of herself, he was probably just passing through. A quick, fleeting memory.

Most nights he would stay for dinner, Sarah was at her mom’s for the summer, so he had no one to go home to anyways. He sat across from you, his attention perched upon your father, mostly talking about whether they should get this lift or that. What type of metal was best for that kind of support. Joel always pushed his peas to the side, hoping no one would notice.

In those rare moments when you did grant him your full attention, your eyes met his with an imploring intensity, silently begging for understanding, a touch of heartfelt empathy. He would pass you when he came inside to go to the bathroom and his steps would falter. Should I ask her if she needs me?

One time your parents were in the kitchen and he thought he’d give you something to laugh about. Mainly to just see if he could make you smile. See if you could laugh.

“Hey…” he broke the silence, broke you out of whatever trance you’d been in. Your brown eyes found his.

“I’ve gotta question for you, darlin’,”

“Okay,” you had hesitated.

“Tell me, a horse walks into a bar- now what does the bartender say?” He paused, waiting for a response, his half-smile sneaking up the edges of his lips.

Silence, waiting.

“… why the long face?" He let out.

And then your laughter erupted. The awkwardness was far more funny than the joke itself.

“I’m sorry but that was the dumbest joke I’ve ever heard, Miller.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” he grinned.

He knew your dad could be a cruel man, but he’s always hoped after college he would grow out of it. Especially once he married and had a kid, then two. They didn’t keep in close contact after college, but maybe he should have been checking more. If anything, to see how you were. To see if your brother knew how to be a man. He knew your mother wasn’t emotionally or really even physically present herself.

He never once had any sexual or unruly thought about you then. But he had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to care for you, protect you. The world hadn’t been fair to you.

He built the shop over three months and then was gone.

It wasn’t until the day after Sarah showed him those pictures that it clicked for him. Those eyes had gazed upon him before, asking the same question. He did some more digging and realized who you were, whose daughter you were. Only after touching himself. He couldn’t take those touches back, the thoughts or the fire in his torso. That only added to the guilt, but it wasn’t enough to stop it from turning into something ugly.

How long had he been at this?

“Excuse me,” you croaked out, lamentably.

No one heard you over the chatter, over your dads feeble storytelling.

“It was good of you to come today, Miller.”

Sarah must go by her mother’s mai- Miller? The guy who has helped your dad build his shop one summer. He would stay for dinner and always sneak glances your way.

Over the past four years being separated from the environment you were forged in, many secrets had unveiled themselves. Most of them nothing but a fragment attached to something bigger. A thrown beer bottle shattering at your feet, road rage, anger directed towards your mother. A therapist told you it was a coping mechanism, it’s what little you’s brain had to do to survive- forget. And so you did, and were still often a forgetful person.

“I’m glad we’ll be able to get our families together more often, now that we know our girls are best friends,” he smiled, happily.

He has no fucking idea. No idea that his daughter was bent over for Joel last night, spreading herself wide open for him while he whispered how badly he wanted to ‘fuck her into the ground’. Tear her apart by his teeth, his fingers, his tongue.

“And Sarah,” he turned to her, “it’s nice to see you again too, sweetheart. ‘Not the same seeing you grow up on your mom’s Facebook. No wonder this one here is so drawn to you,” he looked in your direction, “‘specially if you’re anything like your father. God he used to make her laugh.”

Communication with your father had been sparse over the past four years. In your childhood bedroom, you would often find solace on the floor, fervently beseeching any divine entity that would listen, imploring for an escape from that house. Once you finally broke free, a newfound sense of liberation washed over you. However, it wasn't an emancipation from the burdens accumulated, but rather a conscious decision to spare yourself from the weight of conversing with him frequently; what that meant to do so and what it brought back up.

The pieces of the puzzle now fit together, as if orchestrated by the stranger who stood before your father, deliberately intertwining these unresolved threads, demanding their resolution. It made sense that these loose ends didn’t fulfill until now; until the stranger standing across from your dad wanted them to.

Joel chuckled and you wanted to punch him his fucking teeth. Everyone was looking at you now, waiting for your joyous relief at the rekindling. But you couldn’t speak, and you were sure the color was flushed from your face.

“It’s a shame Sarah was at her mothers that summer. Coulda started bein’ friends years ago. I would ha-“ Joel started.

“I said, excuse me.”

You’d heard enough.

You tore between Sarah and Joel to get as far away as possible. The look on her face hurt, oh my god it hurt. She was so confused why you had a problem with one of her favorite people, her dad.

Before you could get away from him he reached out and brushed his fingers against your waist. How fucking dare you touch me, you thought. But where his skin had touched yours was rising warmth, goosebumps, TV static- a trigger. Your body answering to his, pitifully, willingly.

You made it to the door before anyone caught you or could stop it. All of those people in that room were there for you. It hurt leaving them, but it would hurt even more to have to bare it all to them.

You headed to the third floor of the art building, saying fuck it to waiting for the elevator. You didn’t want to give anyone the chance to catch you and ask questions. The sharp shutting of each metal door made you jump as you got to the last one, feet creaking the old water-damaged floor. This hidden bathroom had always been a hiding spot on particularly hard days, when critiques tore you down or you simply just couldn’t hold in erupting sadness. This was a new sinking feeling.

Despite the pain that gnawed at your jaw each and every time, you became adept at concealing tears, mastering the art of hiding the hurt as the drops silently rolled down your face. Tears meant weakness, it meant getting torn into deeper in your childhood home. A place you’d never really left.

You heard his footsteps before the door creaked shut. His boots falling heavy beneath him. He came into view and he started to open his mouth.

“I was 15,” you snarled.

“Do you do this often, Joel? Stalk your daughters friends and tell them how much you want your nasty cock in their mouth? Pay them to strip for you and pay them extra to stick their fingers in their pussy so you can get off? How many? How many fucking girls have you done this to Joel?”

Rage. You didn’t like to let out it of where it spent most of its time, walking back and forth across your chest, heavy, always present just beneath the skin. The one thing you had inherited from your dad. It was painful to keep it in, hose it down and stop it from simmering. It was easy to let it loose. It felt like unfurling.

He looked like a wounded puppy, brown eyes turned downward beneath drooping eyebrows. Why wasn’t he angry? You knew how to ‘deal’ with anger. It was easier to scream back and fight than it was to sit and be screamed at.

“Should I ask Sarah?” You threw the words in his face.

“Shh, shh. Lower your fuckin’ voice,” he growled. His entire demeanor shifting.

There it was.

He stepped towards you, towering above as he grabbed your shoulder losing himself for a moment, throwing you against the concrete wall behind you. You winced as your shoulder blades hit the cold. “One more loud word out of your pretty mouth and I will break you.”

One hand against the wall above your head, the other held out against the wall beside you, keeping you in place. He leaned down, smelling your hair, inhaling deeply. He kissed you on your forehead- all attempts at disarming you.

You thought about running again. Telling your dad how much of a perv his best friend was, simply to watch him release his anger. You knew how hard he hit. It was Joel’s turn.

“Why me?” You fawned.

He looked down into your eyes, moving his face close enough to yours to feel his warm breath against your cheeks. He was completely intoxicating. He smelled faintly of cigarettes, of booze. Lust. You could get lost beneath him. It wasn’t like you practically hadn’t across a computer screen, already.

“It was your eyes, Birdie.”

“My eyes?” You threw back at him. Looking into his eyes made it increasingly harder to think of anything other than your past encounters. His moans resurfacing, caressing the hardening of your nipples.

“What the fuck are you talking about you fucking psycho?” You attempted a shove, using your body weight to try and flee. You didn’t want to give into him. You needed to get away from him.

He didn’t move an inch. But you did invite more fury. His hand left the wall above you and moved down to your throat, then your chin. He moved it up towards him, so your eyes had nowhere to look but into his. His grip released some, but you were sure he’d leave bruises on your cheeks.

“Let me explain, okay? It’s not what you’re thinkin’. I’m not a freak. I saw that picture of you and I just wanted to help you, hold you, baby. This got out of hand and it wasn’t what I meant it to be. I didn’t know I was gonna need you like this. Just sit down and let me talk.”

The husky ‘baby’ hung in the air. It hung between your thighs, too. Why are you always drawn the bad, vile, disgusting things?

“Listen to you quantify how much you wanted to fuck 15 year old me? How it never left so you stuck around and waited for the ‘right’ moment? The one where you might not get arrested if you get caught? How you wanted to stick your cock inside your best friends daughter?”

“If you don’t shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he warned for the last time, spit hitting your lips. You licked it away, instinctively, and his cock twitched beneath his zipper.

“What? What exactly are you gonna do?”

You invited, drawing your hands up his chest.

“How ‘bout I show you, you fucking brat. You can’t hide from me. I see you, I can see through you. I saw you the very first time our eyes met and I see you now, wigglin’ beneath my touch. You need me sweet’heart, stop denyin’ it. I know you remember how I made you feel without me even touchin you.”

You nodded in disbelief at how disarming his words were.

“So let me touch you.” It wasn’t a question, as much as a demand. He moved his hands to your shoulder and turned you around, pulling up your dress from your front. He stopped midway, slowly releasing your breasts from where they sat in the part of the dress that snugly embraced you. One dropping, and then another. The clothing slid against your hardening buds. You could hear your breathing quickening.

As soon as your clothing thumped to the ground he returned to your skin, cupping your breasts. His hands completely engulfed them and for a moment it felt like he’d done it a million times. You fit so well against him. You were warm, buzzing for him.

He ‘hmmm’ed praises at your back as he pressed himself against you, moving you further into his hands, pushing you both deeper into the concrete wall. He was hard, fully erect against your back. You could feel him against your panties, so long his tip was hitting your lower back. He was big enough that his whole body had a point of contact with yours, enveloping you.

“Your effort not to melt under me is truly admirable.” He snarked, leaned in close, his warm breath tickling your earlobe as his tongue traced a path along the contours of your ear, sending shivers down your neck. He licked them, too. More appearing at the scratch of his beard against your neck.

Then, the warmth of his face was gone and you heard his knees crack as he bent down, reaching in front of you to move your ass towards his face, bending you ever so slightly to his will. Your underwear was delicately covering your cunt and he realized he’d never wanted anything more. He reached and spread your cheeks open.

“Oh so fuckin’ pretty sweet girl. Look at that,” he traced his thumb down the back of your cunt in awe, pushing the fabric deeper into the slick already coating them. You groaned at the relief of his fingers so close to the entrance of your holes.

“Nuh uh uh,” he tutted as you absentmindedly started to squirm beneath his wandering hands. He dug his thumbs into your ass, spreading you open once again. The warm pad of his fingertips turned wet, licking lines up and down your slit, panties pulled to the side. His face was fully between your legs, his nose teasing against your perineum. It wandered to your tense rim, and the flat warmth of his tongue was gone.

He spit.

“You’re the dirtiest girl I’ve ever seen, you know that? Letting me stick my tongue and nose on your pretty little asshole. Want me to fuck you here baby girl?” He circled it, pushing his spit in with the tip of his pointer finger. You whimpered.

“Hmm, I hear you. We’ll save that for next time. It wouldn’t be fair of me not to work you open first.” Breathless, “please Joel” falling from your lips.

“Oh fuck. Say it again. I’ve been waitin’ for my name to pass your pretty lips.”

“Joel, please.” You begged. At this point you didn’t know what exactly you were begging for, besides a release. A release from the situation at hand but more so a release from the pressure he’s causing in your abdomen… in your cunt.

He smirked against you, pointing his tongue into your hole, circling and lapping at you. The noise you made against his tongue as it entered you was absolutely vulgar.

“Could taste these sweet juices for the rest of my fuckin’ life.” He was on his knees now.

He was coaxing sounds out of the base of your throat that you’d never heard before, directing you to stand on your tippy toes, palms against the wall so he could fuck his tongue deeper into you.

You wanted to take him whole, right there. Feel the stretch as he sheathed himself fully into you, claiming you. You wanted the pain.

“Joel, I-“ God he felt so fucking euphoric, mustache tickling your clit as he worked his way up and down your pussy.

“Tell me baby, use your words,” he murmured into you.

“Take me, right now, please. Can’t wait Joel, I’ve been waiting so long.” God you sounded pathetic.

Two of his fingered entered you, fully. You gasped at the fullness and lack of warning.

“You wanna take my cock? You’re so tight you can barely handle two of my fingers. So fuckin’ impatient, hmm?” He curled them upwards and you felt the release.

“Let it happen. Stop fightin’ it and let it out baby. I’ll catch you.”

You went to church a few times growing up. You always admired the fervor and devotion the congregation would sing to the sky, lift their arms and release themselves. That is how you wanted to give yourself to Joel, to sing for him, exalt him with praise and surrender yourself completely.

You wanted him to release you from all of your sins.

“I can take it. Please Joel. Please.”

He rose from the ground, pulling his fingers out of you and suddenly the room had quieted from the sound of your desire, now covering and dripping down his wrist, his chin.

“Then take it.” He tapped your cunt with his throbbing tip, moving his cock around to pick up your juices.

He wrapped his arm around you, covering your mouth, letting you drop your head on his bicep, face towards the roof as he made himself one with you.

Then, you let yourself go and he ripped you open. And you laughed and laughed, through the pleasure and the undoing. The fullness of him was enough to turn you slack in his arms. Screaming moans against his hand, until all of your devotion turned violent.

Chapter 4: DEFILE

”And all of my devotion turns violent.” - Japanese Breakfast, Boyish

A/N: THANK YOUUU for over 1.1k notes on Part 1 and 200+ follows. Writing has been a much needed escape for me, so thanks for coming along for the ride <3

Tag List: @strang3lov3 @leeeesahhh @blackvelveteen1339 @huffle-punk @xxmr-potato-headxx @ssssc0m @silkiers @paleidiot @sarap-77 @i-love-rafe

#joel miller #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #carnal #pascalsbby #the last of us #joel miller x y/n #pedro x reader #smut

569 notes · View notes

patroxlos · 2 months

Text

home base . ch3

"friends who believe in mpreg" - 2.7k words

ultraman: rising (2024). kenji sato x reader

master post. ao3 link.

previous: ch2. "friends who reconnected and who certainly don't want to be more"

next: ch4. "friends who sleep on call with each other"

Kenji endures an awkward interview with sports journalist Ami Wakita.

And is it monsterfucking if you're kind of into Ultraman?

A/N: So my dad accidentally bought me a coffee float instead of the coke float I asked him to get me. I ended up caffeinated at 11PM and began writing this in jitters. it's nearly 3AM. This is unedited and unfiltered which means: my writing is gonna be so unserious you will sit there and ask yourself "Is this writer different from the one who made the last two chapters?"

Hoping you can keep up with all my pop culture references. Motsubishi is such a silly little name. I was workshopping other company names like "Soni," "Yomaha," etc. but Motsubishi is giving Mob Psycho 100 brand parody.

Also, I refer to Ami as 'Ms. Wakita' connotes that she and Ken are still not that close, but as you would be able to tell while reading, they are begrudgingly becoming fast friends.

---

“Absolutely not.” Ken denies it immediately, with a slight aggression. “There’s no lovechild to speak of. We are just friends.”

Ami Wakita flinches a bit at his tone. “Woah, they weren’t kidding when they said you’re a bit defensive about her.”

“Who’s they?” He huffs, taking a bite from a strip of tonkatsu to calm down. He was glad that it is just him and Ms. Wakita in the restaurant at the moment. He would not want anyone to overhear their conversation about you.

“Your friendship with the Motsubishi scion has been well-documented since the start of your professional career. Rumors about your couplings have been circling since before,” Ms. Wakita points out.

“No comment.” His media training kicks in with his mouth full.

She rubs her temple a bit. “What did I say about you showing a little vulnerability?”

“I didn’t even say anything about my dad before you psychoanalyzed me!”

“Well was I wrong?”

Damn, she’s good. “...I thought you were a sports reporter.”

“Reporting on the players’ personal lives is a big part of it,” she coolly responds. “You should read my articles on Ohtani’s translator embezzling his funds, or the Yuki Tsunoda puppy interview I produced.”

“This isn’t about puppies though…” His shoulders are tense. “She’s just been my friend for as long as I can remember. Her family has always been good to my family– especially to my mom–and I know how much they value privacy. She is at a really crucial point of her career working to inherit one of the biggest conglomerates of the world. She and I definitely wouldn’t risk a secret pregnancy.”

He is impassioned when it comes to you.

“Woah…Can I quote that?” Ms. Wakita glanced down at her phone recording their conversation.

He deflates. “Yeah yeah sure whatever. You’re right, this isn’t the first time someone has made up stuff about us. Lovechild is new though. The last time it was an arranged marriage.”

“If it helps, online reaction has always been generally positive at the idea of you two coupling up,” she tries to be helpful. “Both of you are celebrities in your own right. You’re both young, wealthy and attractive. It fulfills a lot of people’s fantasies. The engagement rumors came about only because you two have been publicly attached to each other for so long.”

It does help. A bit too much. His heart picks up. Of course Ken has read all the comments whenever those articles came out over the years. You visit him in L.A. whenever you could, and those visits helped a lot with maintaining your friendship. There are multiple photos of you attending his career-defining games wearing his baseball jersey— the oversized look making you seem like his perfect WAG sitting beside his mom.

Ms. Wakita reads this on his face, clear as day. She figures that he is telling the truth about you and him never ever being romantically involved, but there seems to be something additional brewing on the surface. Putting on an unassuming tone, she asks “So I guess that’s it? You both can’t imagine being involved?”

He leans back on his seat, confidently answering “Yes, we both think it won’t work out long term—”

He proceeds to unlean as the realization causes him to hunch over. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuckity fuck. She really can get the devil to confess his sins.

She tries not to look too thrilled about his slip up, which he can commend her for.

“W-What I mean is that neither her nor me— it’s not happening. It never happened,” he stammers. He needs a new media trainer.

“I’m sure you recall that there have been photos—”

“Of her at my games? Of course she was, haha!” He did NOT need her to mention their other photos right now.

Please don’t.

Please don’t. Please… He is supposed to be moving on. Which he has!

“—that pop up over the years of you two being overly familiar.” She finishes.

God kill him. “All alleged. They’re too blurry to be sure it is us.”

“...Some looked like pro shots to me.”

Ken nearly slams his face on his tonkatsu.

“The one where you’re both getting smoothies at Erewhon was cute?” She sounds honest, and she is. She isn’t even going to report on this. It is already evident that the gossip is a sham, but she cannot help but want to tease the baseball player a bit, now that they are sort of becoming acquainted.

He sighs. “Thanks. It was the Ken Sato wheatgrass and bone broth blend. She didn’t like it.”

He remembers that day. You made a face when he tried to get you to take a little sip, so he blew some raspberries against your cheek and maaaybe just a little on your neck as you both stood in the parking lot; you were shrieking for him to stop as his smoothie-covered lips smothered your skin. All friendly, of course.

“Where did the lovechild thing even come from?” Ken thinks aloud. “She looks too great to be pregnant.”

Ms. Wakita, known single mother, asks “...Do women not look great pregnant?”

“Oh you know what I meant,” He snaps as she covers her mouth with a napkin to laugh.

She stops the recording on her phone to slide him the online tabloid article. Allegedly, he and you fought about him being an absent father at the restaurant last night as you have endured your pregnancy all alone. The story ends with a sweet coupling at the parking lot before you left on separate vehicles, a marker that neither of you planned to get married, or a possible abortion in the near future. What.

“You have a thing for parking lots?” She tries to joke.

His eyes nearly bulge at one line. “‘ The Motsubishi scion ate for two as she devoured a Yakisoba platter all alone—’ It was a decently sized portion for a reasonable price! And I definitely am not an absent father!” He says the last bit with a bit too much vigor.

“I didn’t write it,” She tries to keep his emotions in check. “...I did nearly believe it for a moment though when you called me last night. Was it an hour or two after you met up with her at the yakisoba place?”

He admits that if he was in Ms. Wakita’s place, he would’ve also thought he was secretly raising a child. He wonders whether the Baby is awake right now, terrorizing Mina. “Totally unrelated events.”

“And the apparent baby book purchases in your credit histo— how did a gossip mag get that information?” She marvels as she scrolls through her phone.

He doesn’t know what’s worse: the world finding out that he is raising a giant baby lizard in his basement or people thinking that he’s an absentee like his own dad.

A red blinking light catches Ms. Wakita’s eye. “Are…you gonna get that?”

Not hearing her at first, he runs a hand through his face. God he really did not want to imagine your reaction to this news article. He promised you that it would not be weird. The past is past. If your friendship is already in danger, this might ruin things even further. Oh he can already hear the alarm bells ringing in his head—

Or from his watch?!

“Hey, you don’t have a kid growing in you right now, do you?” Your assistant asks you as she glances at your stomach.

You were both in one of your sleek city limousines on the way to a late evening banquet, where you are due to give a speech. The traffic jam in front of you stretches a kilometer. You follow her gaze. “I thought this suit was slimming.”

She passes you her phone. Huh. ‘Motsubishi Scion Gets Impregnated by Famous Baseball Star.’ You pass the phone back to her. “I don’t want to see the kind of porn you’re looking at.”

“Young Master, it’s an article about you and Ken Sato.” Your assistant was not in the mood for your jokes right now.

You just shrug, taking your phone out to send a few quick texts to Ken. You are sure he probably heard the news by now, and he will definitely agree with you that it is as hilarious as it is ridiculous. “It’ll blow over.”

As you look back out of your window, you’ve already forgotten about it. Seems like a slow day for the newsroom.

At the horizon, you see a PacMan proudly sticking out from the top of a building get knocked down by some beam of light. You yawn and stretch back out on your seat. “Can we go any faster? I want to get this banquet over with.”

Your driver sighs. “This new kaiju attack is impossible ma’am. Apparently, it is just running around without any clear direction.”

“Well I don’t think a monster would have access to KoogleMaps,” you reply wryly.

It was going to be a long night. You begin to settle in for a nap while people are exiting their cars and running out into the streets. Their screams of terror sound muffled inside your bullet-proof vehicle.

“Should we get out too?” Your assistant nervously asks.

You lift up your foot and rest it on your knee. “I’m wearing So Kates. I don’t think I can run either way.”

As you say that, your security detail at the front of the limo begins getting out. Ugh, Tokyo is the worst… You need to fly out soon. He opens your car door and extends a hand out. “Let me carry you, Young Master. Better to evacuate now.”

“Must I?” You groan in frustration.

“We can skip the banquet and take you home,” he compromises. Begrudgingly, you step out of the vehicle just in time for the pinkest…chicken lizard to pop up at the corner of the street.

Immediately, you are swept off your feet as your security detail rushes to escort you and your assistant away from that thing as fast as possible, the wind is knocked out of your lungs. You peek over the shoulder of your bodyguard for a better glimpse at the chirping beast.

You lock eyes with it.

Big mistake.

Because why the hell did it flitter with excitement and began chasing you?!

It keeps chirping, and… burping?... as it hobbles and stomps over cars. Your jaw drops as your limo is flattened like nothing. And for some strange reason, the monster’s eyes are solely trained on you.

Did I do something to piss it off? You ask yourself as it gets closer. You know you can be a bitch but you would remember if you told it to fuck off. No, this monster is chasing after you like it knew you. There was no aggression in its oddly proportioned body, like you are being chased by that grotesque baby in the Tin Toy Pixar short. There is no moral compass behind those beady little eyes, just the pure pleasure-seeking nature of baby hedonism.

It gets closer, and your bodyguard’s legs can only run for so long. He screams bloody murder as he feels himself get picked up, you along with him, by the beast. You hear another scream that sounds like your own voice as you feel yourself get ripped from your bodyguard’s grasp. The monster puts him back down on the street, his landing relatively gentle.

You are being shaken like a rattle now in its claws, its gurgling filling your ears. “Oh my god.” You feel yourself getting sick from the nausea. You never thought you were going to die like this. Your legs flail in the air helplessly but your So Kates stay on, pinching your toes like you are about to give them the best shoe advertisement Louboutin can ask for, with how it feels glued to your feet.

The ground rumbles as if a giant springs through the streets. Your life does not flash before your eyes, but you can hear it in your ears— a very clear ring of Ken shouting “Baby! Put down the human!”

…

Huh?

You felt your body decompress as the monster’s grip loosened. Air returns back into your lungs, but you don’t find yourself returned to the ground.

Instead, you are being lifted up way higher into the sky as you lay on the palm of Tokyo’s hero: Ultraman.

You hiss as your eyes burn from the blinding lights of Ultraman’s unblinking lenses. “Are you okay—?” He says your name with a rising panic. You can swear you saw his chest light threaten you change colors. He is cradling you against it.

You did not know Ultraman can be this friendly with Tokyoites. You struggle to regain your ability to speak, a bit confused and frazzled from everything that just happened in the past minute.

The hero takes this as a bad sign. “Oh god you’re hurt.” There is an ache in his words that shakes up your own core. No one has ever sounded this worried for you.

Man is he bright . You try to shield your eyes from his light. You are brought up close to his face as he inspects your body. “I– I’m fine,” You manage to rasp out. You are initially not sure he heard you, but the evident sag of his colossal, broad shoulders affirms that he did.

You have never gotten to observe the hero this up close. Despite the unemoting face, you find his body to be an open book as it trembles with the fear of losing you. Even if he must be like this with every other citizen in need of saving, you cannot help but feel a little special.

“I was so worried— wait here for help.” He lowers you on top of a roof building, his fingers shaky, worrying about dropping you. You shakily slide off his palm, patting down your suit. You stumble a little on your stilettos, and instantly his massive hands crowd you once more to hold you up. " Please be careful."

“Ultraman!” You shout as you push away his fingers. “I’m okay, thank you!” You point towards the Tokyo Tower, where the baby-like kaiju was already climbing up. “You gotta deal with that first! Leave me, I’ll be alright."

“Huh? Oh, yeah, god… ” The hero curses, getting ready to sprint towards the tower. “Be a good girl and stay put, yeah?” He says to you before running off.

Your feet wobble on your heels as you nearly keel over from the adrenaline coursing through your body. That… you are never leaving the house again during a kaiju attack. Though… you watch as the slim figure of Ultraman begin to climb the tower after the kaiju. Maybe it won’t be that bad next time.

Later that evening in the Ultrabase, Ken excuses himself from the company of his father, Mina and the baby as he heads towards the bathroom for a long-awaited shower. His muscles ache with every step, and he is tempted to pass out on the cold floor— wouldn’t be the first time since getting this newfound responsibilities.

This is getting too overwhelming. He still cannot believe he felt so cornered against the wall that he had to call his dad for help like some kid. If only you saw him now. You were oddly closer to his dad than he was.

Oh shit, you.

You, who he left stranded on some random building.

He quickly fumbles for his phone, eager to call you to see if you’re alright.

Shit , he feels some tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. He is fucking everything up. He is a bad son, a bad father, a bad friend.

Ken opens his messaging app, and he first sees the texts that you sent earlier in the evening.

…

[YOU]

Hey bbgirl.

You pregnat? Pragnent?

My mom is gonna hand you a stack of 20M yen just to stay away from me. Are u g to take it so we can split it after? LOL

Not rlly in the mood to be ur baby daddy atm. get a DNA test before i send child support.

SENT LINK: Motsubishi Scion Gets Impregnated by Famous Baseball Star.

Bc if one of us left that restaurant pregnant it definitely would not be me

A/N: Ultraman fine as hell have you seen his waist?

This chapter was supposed to go A LOT differently from how it ended up being. It was initially supposed to be an extended conversation between you and your assistant about your past...whatever you had...with Kenji during your visits to L.A. But I actually really like writing Ken POV because him and I are pretty similar?

#ken sato x you #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #cross posted on ao3 #one of the sillier chapters lmao

63 notes · View notes

hadesoftheladies · 5 months

Text

men are so annoying my god. they have some of the dumbest takes on women's sports its obvious how disingenuous they are. "wnba players are jealous of caitlyn clark" and all most of them were saying was that caitlyn has a lot to learn playing professional basketball because it's a genuinely tough game and they hope she succeeds. men just keep belittling how skilled a lot of wnba players are and have been until caitlyn clark. they make fun of the wnba without watching it and then act like they know everything and declare caitlyn the sole saviour of the wnba like we haven't had legends like Elena Delle Donne or A'ja Wilson dominating the game. EMBARASSING!

ALSO they are RIGHT to complain about the racism since most brand deals and sponsorships for wnba players are white women. im happy that female athletes are winning and getting money, but it's telling when 70% of the basketball league are black women and most of the sponsorships are held by white women.

the way these goons take out the nuance and the humanity when discussing women's sports and reduce it to infantile squabbles of jealousy just shows how underdeveloped their brains are. like i know you men like inventing drama out of nowhere, but can you just stick to discussing stats? you're so cringe fr.

anyways!

I can't wait to see Stewie for New York Liberty on the court! Las Vegas Aces, Chicago Sky, Indiana Fever and the Washington Mystics are about to give us one hell of a season coming this May 14th. I'M SO HYPED!

Here are the women to watch out for (IMO because I'm biased and not in order of skill)

#1. Breanna Stewart (Stewie) (New York Liberty)

I pledge allegiance. Sincerely. She's so fun on court and weaves between players like that scene in Korra when she had to learn air-bending by evading spinning doors. I can't wait to see her play! (Next to her wife I'm her no# 1 fan don't joke around with me). Check some of her playing out here.

Also, here's a video of her eating spicy wings and barely surviving (while telling her story):

youtube

#2. Angel Reese (Chicago Sky)

After an amazing career in college basketball, Reese finally got drafted to the Chicago Sky WNBA team early this year. She's gotten a lot of hate for being justifiably boastful about her skills but she's remained a strong leader for her teammates and had a positive impact on girls and women everywhere. This is her first season in the WNBA and you can expect a show from her! Check some of her highlights here!

Here's a video explaining why she's so freaking iconic:

youtube

#3. Aaliyah Edwards (Washington Mystics)

One of the top picks of this year's WNBA draft, Aaliyah has been a star player for UCONN for years. She is one of the highest rated draft picks of the season! This will be her first season on the WNBA playing for the Washington Mystics. Her rebounds and offences are amazing to witness. Watch her highlights here.

#4. A'ja Wilson (Las Vegas Aces)

One of WNBA's modern GOAT'S. A'ja IS INSANE. She intimidates everyone on court and then the court itself. I literally saw the basketball hoop shaking when she looked at it during one of her games! I swear. It peed itself. Her wingspan and strength make her so formidable like y'all just have to watch herrrr!! Oh yeah, and she won the championship and several MVP titles. Check her out here!

#5. Caitlyn Clark (Indiana Fever)

Does she really need an introduction? Her career in college basketball has been spectacular and special for women's sports everywhere! She was breaking records in HIGH SCHOOL! This is going to be her first season in the WNBA and more eyes than ever will be on the game because of her! Check some of her highlights playing for Iowa here.

#6. Rickea Jackson (Los Angeles Sparks)

While playing small-forward on her college team, Rickea made a name for herself as one of the most aggressive offensive players in women's college basketball today! She's strong and fast and alert and is genuine fun to watch. You won't want to miss out on her debut into the WNBA for the LA Sparks! Watch her game highlights here.

#7. Kelsey Plum (Las Vegas Aces)

Kesley Plum is just one of my favorite athletes of all time! She's so dedicated to her team and the people in her life and it shows. Her joy is so infectious! She is also an incredibly, impressively strong and SKILLED athlete! And she was a big reason why LVA won the season last year. (And hallelujah she's divorcing her dumbass husband rn! hopefully the dead weight makes her an even stronger player!). Watch some of her highlights here.

AND CHECK OUT THIS VIRAL VIDEO OF HER THROWING A T-SHIRT TO HER FATHER WHO IS FAR UP IN THE BLEACHERS!

youtube

#8. Sabrina Ionescu

Sabrina and Stewie are an unstoppable duo! Watching them play is electric for me! WHEW! Sabrina has made WNBA history with idek how many records! She is the top in the league in assists, triple-doubles, and steals. SHE'S INSANE!!! SHE'S FUCKING RABID!!!! See for yourself here!

Watch her break the all-time three point record like it's nothing here:

youtube

#9. Cameron Brink

Cameron Brink debuts in this season of the WNBA for the Sparks! Cameron has had an amazing college career, but is especially known for her strong defence (and being the god-sister of Stephen Curry). She's bound to have a promising season. Watch some of her highlights here.

The strongest teams (IMO) seem to the Aces, the Mystics, the Sparks and New York Liberty. But there are also strong players in teams like Indiana Fever, Dallas Wings and Minnesota Lynx.

If you don't know which team to support, you could just pick your favourite athlete and choose their team. Some people like underdog teams and some people like top dog teams. Based on last season, I'd consider Indiana Fever an underdog team and Las Vegas Aces the top dog team (they won last season). In terms of best teams? LVA players are SEAMLESS. They move like water and it's magical to watch. But so are the Liberties and the Mystics! I genuinely don't know who to pick between those three.

If any of you gyns watch WNBA, please tell me who you're supporting this season and why!

Anybody who wants to start the season with me in May 14th, comment or reblog and maybe we can organize a discord for it! I'd love to watch this with you guys! And I'm all up for team rivalries.

#radblr #wnba #women's sports #basketball #women's basketball #feminism #angel reese #racism #misogyny #misognynoir #radfem #radical feminism #support women's sports #caitlyn clark #kelsey plum #aja wilson #steph curry #stewie stewie stewie!#Youtube

79 notes · View notes

yamayuandadu · 1 year

Text

The real life inspirations behind new characters in Touhou 19 (Unfinished Dream of All Living Ghost) While I haven’t been posting much about Touhou as of late, I felt obliged to put together the customary post about the inspirations behind the new characters. The new game genuinely renewed my interest. In contrast with similar write-ups pertaining to previous games the research is not entirely mine - some of the sections are a result of cooperation between me and @just9art. Without further ado, let’s delve into the secrets of the new cast. Find out if Biten is the first “Wukong impersonator” ever, when a tanuki is actually a badger, and why Hisami both is and isn’t an oni. Naturally, the post is full of spoilers. Also, fair warning, it's long.

1. Biten Son - sarugami + Sun Wukong

Sarugami means “monkey kami”, the monkey in mention being the Japanese macaque.To my best knowledge, the term is actually not used commonly in English - the results on jstor and De Gruyter are in the low single digits, Brill outright has nothing to offer. Translations are much more common.

Sarugami are particularly strongly associated with Mount Hiei. You might have heard of it because of its association with Matarajin, though in this case he’s not exactly relevant. Instead, it is believed the monkeys act as messengers of Sanno (the “mountain king”), Sekizan Myojin and Juzenji. Sanno himself could take the form of a monkey according to medieval texts, while Juzenji can be accompanied by a deity depicted as a man with a monkey’s head, Daigyoji, known from the Hie mandala. Sarutahiko is also associated with monkeys based on the similarity between his name and the word saru. Bernard Faure notes that despite the clearly positive portrayal of monkeys as semi-divine beings in service of these deities, their perception in folklore and mythology can nonetheless be considered ambivalent, because they could be viewed as aggressive. There are even examples of sarugami being portrayed as monstrous antagonists to be defeated by a hero. The best known tale of this variety is known simply as Sarugami taiji. It is preserved in the Konjaku monogatari. Here the sarugami is a fearsome monster who terrorizes a village and demands the offering of one young woman each year.

In contrast with the sarugami, I do not think Sun Wukong, one of the protagonists of the classic Chinese novel Journey to the West, needs much of an introduction. We reached the point where even in the west he is recognizable enough to warrant toys based on him (there’s a Lego Wukong on my desk right now). Biten's design has many callbacks to traditional portrayals of Wukong, including the staff (which in the novel is a pillar stolen from the undersea palace of a dragon emperor) and a very distinctive diadem (in the novel making it possible to pressure the unruly Wukong into obeying the monk he is meant to protect). As a curiosity it’s worth noting that “fake Wukong” is not a brand new idea - in the novel itself, one of the enemies of the heroes, Six-Eared Macaque, actually impersonates him for a time. Wukong is effectively himself a “divine monkey”, seeing as despite his origin as a literary character he actually came to be worshiped as a deity in mainland China, Taiwan and various areas with a large Chinese diaspora. The topic of Wukong worship itself came to be an inspiration for literature, starting with the excellent The Great Sage, Heaven’s Equal by Pu Songling, a writer active during the reign of the Qing dynasty, in the early eighteenth century.

2. Enoko Mitsugashira - “immortal yamainu” + Cerberus

Enoko gets the least coverage here, because there really isn’t much to say. Yamainu, “mountain dog”, isn’t really a supernatural creature, it’s an old term for either the extinct Japanese wolf, a type of feral dog, or a hybrid between these. It can also be used as a synonym of okuri-inu, a youkai wolf believed to accompany travelers at night.

There’s actually a distinctly Journey to the West-esque component to Enoko’s backstory, but I have no clue if this is intentional. In the aforementioned novel, many of the antagonists, who are generally demonic animals, are motivated by the desire to devour the flesh of the protagonist, the Buddhist monk Tang Sanzang, because it is said to grant immortality. Granted, given the obscurity of the figure Zanmu is based on - more on that later - perhaps this is an allusion to something else we have yet to uncover. Cerberus, being probably one of the most famous mythical monsters in the world, does not really need to be discussed here. The illustration is included mostly because I like Edmund Dulac and any opportunity is suitable for sharing his illustrations. I do not think it needs to be pointed out that Enoko's bear trap weapons are meant to evoke Cerberus' extra heads.

3. Chiyari Tenkajin - tenkaijin (+ mujina) + chupacabra

While my favorite animal youkai not yet featured in Touhou is easily the kawauso (otter), I was very pleased to learn we sort of got a mujina since I wanted to cover this topic since forever, but never got much of a chance. Technically Chiyari is actually meant to be a tenkaijin, which is not a mujina but a slightly different youkai (a will-o-wisp or St. Elmo’s fire-like creature, specifically) who in the single tale dealing with it takes the form of a mujina after dying, but as there is not much to say about it beyond that you will get a crash course in mujina folklore instead.

Today the word mujina is pretty firmly a synonym of anaguma - in other words, the Japanese badger. The animal does not substantially differ from other badgers, so I do not think much needs to be said about its ecology. However, historically the term could be used to refer to the tanuki regionally, or interchangeably to both animals, so in some cases if insufficient detail is provided it is hard to tell which one is meant. This ambiguity extends to the folklore surrounding them, and generally if you know what to expect from tanuki tales, which I’m sure most people reading this do, you will instantly recognize many of the plot elements typical for mujina ones. In other words, it is yet another yokai which typically takes the role of a shapeshifting trickster. Some supernatural phenomena could be basically interchangeably attributed to mujina, tanuki, kitsune or kawauso. Mujina are commonly described taking the form of Buddhist monks, which is one of the many similarities between them and tanuki.

The most famous depiction of a shapeshifting mujina comes from Toriyama Sekien’s Konjaku Gazu Zoku Hyakki (The Illustrated One Hundred Demons from the Present and the Past). The accompanying text compares the creature to the supernatural versions of kitsune and tanuki, and states that the artist relied on a tale according to which a mujina was able to successfully impersonate a Buddhist monk until accidentally revealing its tail.

What makes the mujina special is that it is actually the oldest recorded example of a youkai of this sort. A mujina tale already appears in the early Japanese chronicle Nihon Shoki, dated to 627. It reports an incident of a mujina transforming into a human and singing somewhere in the Michinoku Province. I feel like this alone is a good example of why you should be wary of people who seek to present Nihon Shoki or Kojiki as historical truth. Western audiences as far as I know were first introduced to mujina by Lafcadio Hearn. To my best knowledge, the fabulous shapeshifting badgers however failed to gain the popcultural recognition enjoyed by tanuki and kitsune. They did appear in Shigeru Mizuki's stories every now and then, and I found a mascot character based on them, but overall there isn't all that much beyond that.

Naturally, there isn't much mujina in Chiyari's design, and she instead most likely owes her distinctly spiky appearance to the other inspiration behind her character, the chupacabra. Mujina are not really portrayed as bloodthirsty, but the poorly documented tenkajin apparently is, which is presumably why ZUN decided to connect Chiyari with the chupacabra, the best known modern blood-drinking creature, who first appeared in tall tales from 1995 and subsequently took popculture by storm after spreading from Puerto Rico to mainland USA and Mexico. I am not a chupacabra aficionado so I have little to offer here, sadly.

4. Hisami Yomotsu - yomotsu-shikome

Judging from what I’ve seen on social media and on pixiv, Hisami is shaping up to be one of the most popular new characters (she’s my fave too). In sharp contrast with that, her basis is pretty obscure. So obscure that there isn’t even any historical art to showcase, as far as I can tell (note that this blog claims night parade scrolls might have something to offer, though - I was unable to verify this claim for now, sadly). As we learn from her bio, she is supposed to be a yomotsu-shikome. They’re called the “hags of Yomi” of Yomi in Donald L. Philippi’s Kojiki translation. The term shikome can be literally translated as “ugly woman”. Nothing about them really implies femme fatale leanings we are evidently seeing in Touhou but I’m not going to complain about that. Yomotsu-shikome appear only in the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, and in both of these early chronicles they are portrayed as servants of Izanami after she died and came to reside in Yomi, the land of the dead. Nihon Shoki states there are only eight of them. The distinct grape vine motif present on Hisami’s clothes seems like an obvious reference to Izanagi’s escape from Yomi following his meeting with Izanami, portrayed in the myth recorded in both of these sources. When the yomotsu-shikome started to pursue him, he threw a vine he used to hold his hair at them. The plant instantly bore fruit, which the entities started to eat. They later resumed the chase, but were once again held back, this time by a bamboo shot. According to the Nihon Shoki, they eventually give up after he creates a river from his piss (sic) to keep them away.

Yomotsu-shikome are sometimes compared to oni by modern researchers. Noriko T. Reider in her monograph about oni argues that alongside hashihime and yamanba (pictured above) they can be effectively grouped with them. Another researcher, Michael D. Foster, is more cautious, and states that despite clear similarities it’s best to avoid conflating oni-like female demons with female oni proper, especially since the latter have a distinct iconography and a distinct set of traits. Norinaga Motoori, the founder of kokugaku or “national learning”, a nationalist intellectual movement in Edo and Meiji period Japan, claimed that oni were based on yomotsu-shikome, which is a pretty dubious claim. It is ultimately not certain when the term oni started to be used, but it is safe to say it has continental origin. And, of course, oni permeate Japanese culture in a way yomotsu-shikome do not.

5. Zanmu Nippaku - Zanmu

This was the toughest mystery to solve, and I am fully indebted to 9 here, since they figured it out, I am merely depending on what they directed me to. Research is still ongoing, and it feels like we just started to untangle this mystery, so you can safely expect further updates. Zanmu appears to be based on the Buddhist monk… well, Zanmu. You can learn a bit about him here or on Japanese wikipedia; it seems there are quite literally 0 sources pertaining to him in English, and even in Japanese there is actually very little. Their names are not written the same, ZUN swapped the sign for “dream” from the original name for one which can be read as “nothingness”. If the unsourced quote on wikipedia is genuine, the reason might be tied to the personal views of the irl Zanmu. What little we’ve been able to gather about him is that he was active in the Sengoku period, and apparently was regarded as unorthodox and eccentric. This lines up with Zanmu’s omake bio pretty well. Seems the real Zanmu was also unusually long lived, and was able to recall events from distant past in great detail, though obviously the figure of 139 years attributed to him in a few places online has to be an exaggeration.

Yet more puzzling is the reference to Zanmu’s familiarity with Ikkyo you might spot in the linked article. Whether the famous Ikkyo who you may know from the tale of Jigoku Dayu is meant is difficult to determine. The chronology does not really add up; on the other hand the logic behind associating one eccentric semi-legendary monk with another in later legends isn’t particularly convoluted. As 9 pointed out to me, if ZUN was aware of this link, and the same Ikkyo really was meant, it is not impossible the connection between Zanmu and Hisami is meant to in some way mirror that between Ikkyo and Jigoku Dayu. As you can easily notice, it’s pretty clear the historical Zanmu was male. It does not seem his Touhou counterpart is, obviously. I would say we should wait for more info until declaring that we have a second Miko situation on our hands, with a male historical figure directly reimagined as a female character without any indication we are dealing with a relative rather than the real deal. There’s still relatively little info to go by so I would remain cautious (though naturally this is not meant to discourage you from having headcanons).

Neither me nor 9 were able to find any connection between the historical Zanmu and oni… so far, at least. Therefore, what motivated ZUN to make Zanmu an oni remains to be discovered. As a final curiosity, on a semi-related note it might be worth pointing out that while not as common as their male peers, female oni are not a modern invention, and already appear in setsuwa from the 13th century. A particularly common motif are tales describing a woman turning into oni due to jealousy or anger. Further reading:

Jason Colavito, The Secret Prehistory of El Chupacabra (2011)

Bernard Faure, Gods of Medieval Japan vol. 1-3 (2015-2022)

Michael Daniel Foster, The Book of Yokai. Mysterious Creatures of Japanese Folklore (2015)

John Knight, Waiting for Wolves in Japan. An Anthropological Study of People-wildlife Relations (2003)

Noriko T. Reider, Japanese Demon Lore (2010)

#touhou #touhou spoilers #unfinished dream of all living ghost #udoalg #touhou 19

274 notes · View notes

fic-heaven · 5 months

Note

Enemies to lovers with König and witty reader? I don't know if you also write about him so imma leave this here

Answering two anons at the same time lmao

Say my name (König x witty! Reader)

Pt.2 now!

🐥 The first time König appeared on my drafts was when I was making my last Reyes x Reader fic and um... I kind of wanted to keep doing lmao so here it is. Sorry for my broken English-

Angst/ SOCIAL ANXIETY/ slight nsfw/ open ending (if you guys want a part two and this short gets some attention)

⚠️ I still picture König as Lee Pace ⚠️

They say you transfered from SpecGru to KorTac because you simply wanted a change of airs. But it couldn't be that simple. Why were you so simple?

As antisocial as he seemed to be, König was well aware that a bond between teammates was needed in order to sync and function properly during missions. He wasn't the best at striking up conversations and never intended to improve on this aspect either, often trying to figure people out from the distance, he only approached them if he had questions about their character. Horangi once said it was weird but König frankly didn't care about what was socially accepted or not, he just made the effort to know his team because it was expected of him, and as great as it would be to have friends, he struggled socializing and had given up trying ages ago. König was paid to kill, not to make friends. And as far as his interactions went with his teammates, the only one who gets his game and could be considered his friend is Horangi. But you?

He had tried to investigate you, even going as far as using his position as colonel to gather as much information from your background to understand you without having to make any awkward approach. But nothing he found explained why you changed factions or why you behaved the way you did. You had a normal childhood, went to a good school, graduated being top of your class... Jesus you had a rabbit called Mr. Whiskers, even the deepest info given was borely normal. No trace of trauma or any mental disorder.

König begun studying you like a biologist would to a newfound species and got more and more invested and frustrated the more information he gathered, because he simply couldn't excuse your... Well, your everything.

He approaches you one time during morning drills, looks you up and down as you stretched, ignores the flirty comment you shot his way, because what the fuck is your problem? You don't know him. Then König proceeded to mouth the first thing he ever said to you, one of the main questions he had on his head as to why you would behave so strangely. And it goes like this: "Do you have any mental illness, hm?"

"I might have, yeah."

And you said it so casually. Do you, though? Are you being sarcastic or... God he hates you. Why can't he figure you out!? Why do you smile at him so much? Why do you flirt so much with him? Do you flirt with the others the way you do with him?

That new question made him observe your body language around others and listen carefully to any interaction you had and found nothing but your enchanting witty self. Of course you teased other members, but never so bluntly like the way you flirt with him. The colonel felt weirdly relieved at this. Maybe he liked the attention given? Scratch that, or course not!

One time after a tiring mission in Barcelona, Spain, König approached you with a bottle of water, you thanked him with a wink and he watched you swallow the whole thing before he proceeded to ask you the second question that plagued his mind: "Do you perhaps hide some secret trauma that permanently changed your behaviour, using sarcasm, smirks and jokes to protect your scared inner child in order to not get hurt again?"

"Hmmm... The day I found out my mother was Santa Claus I went bananas, but I wouldn't say it scarred me for life. Do ya want an M&M, colonel?"

He fucking hates you. He hates you. König aggressively snatched a handful of M&M's and stormed away. That night he swore he could hear your laugh echoing inside his head. Why couldn't you leave his fucking mind? What was it with you? Were you doing it on purpose?

_____

You were definitely doing it on purpose.

You have to be patient with König. But he was so hilarious and scary, it thrilled you to watch the two meter tall behemoth of a man walk near you and sneak watchful, calculated glances your way when he thought you weren't looking. If someone dared to ask, you'd easily answer with the honesty everyone knew you posses: You'd fuck König without a thought.

He's so feral in battle, so demanding and intimidating on the comms. His ridiculous voice made him all the more adorable contrasting with his appearance. Oh fuck that. Even his appearance was ridiculous, he looked like the red guy from that creepy show called "Don't hug me, I'm scared" or one of those executioners from the Shrek movie. But he was HOT, with that slutty waist accentuated by his bulky back, those long slender arms that could lift anything on his way, you saw him lift a fucking car a few inches so an injured woman could scape, and as she cried of relief you could feel your pussy crying as well at the sight. And oh his hands... The way he used them, so elegantly but rough, they'd make a beautiful necklace. His voice, as unfitting as it sounded coming from this KorTac monster, made you itch to hear more, his accent was so attractive that it quickly made you addicted to sound of it and your brain pondered on how he'd sound while doing other things. Lucky you, when the stars aligned and you two coincided in the gym you made sure to be close enough to hear the quiet grunts and sighs from the colonel as he trained, to your surprise he never moved away as if he knew what you were doing and thought nothing much of it. Safe to say, you'd gladly eat whatever interaction König graced you with with a speck of salt.

______

Though, when you begun paying attention to the details (because it was hard to guess his deal without seeing his face) You noticed a few hints about the colonel that indicated he had a severe case of social anxiety. The way he self isolated, how he forced himself to interact with people resulting in very awkward conversations that led to him coming up as rude to what he got frustrated and scaped the situation, how he loved his job because you were convinced that he thought he was only good at killing.

That made you wonder if he had other hobbies... It's funny to imagine a tall, muscly guy like him baking or making origamis.

Today you saw the ultimate sign that your big crush wasn't a people's person.

You directed all the attention to König by asking a number of things, (obviously work related) that caught the attention of everyone in the room taking the poor colonel by surprise, his cristal blue eyes widened for a minute before he composed himself answering everything you asked with a professional tone until you spotted the tremble on his hands, poor König noticed your attention drift to his hands so he slid them under the table. That's how you knew it. He couldn't handle being the center of attention for prolonged amounts of time. Your poor baby...

You two were on a meeting with some other KorTac members. König was peeling an apple and had finished it rather quickly as all of you spoke, but he spent ten minutes with the carcass of the fruit slowly browning and drying on his hand, so you decided to test your theory by walking to the near trashcan to throw a random paper you crumbled quickly, after a few seconds König abruptly stood up to throw the dried fruit remnant, the tall Austrian glanced your way before he sat again and kept to himself.

Okay, so judging by this and how stiff he looks, König doesn't know exactly what to do with his body around people, he needed an excuse to stand up and throw the finished apple so he waited for anyone to use the trashcan to go after, BUT he waited a few seconds to stand so he wouldn't look like he was waiting. Must be stressful to be on his shoes. Interesting, but maybe you were overthinking too much, so you decided to do a final test that would definitely tell you if what you thought was right. You didn't want to come to this unless it was really necessary... But you'll probably have to apologize later.

You gave him a sympathetic look that again took him by surprise, but by that time König had called the meeting over, gathered his things and walked out before you could approach him.

Damn you and your stupidly beautiful voice and worried eyes trying to comfort him discreetly.

Gloved hands fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist. König remembers the little girl who gifted him said thing. The day him and his team rescued her and some other orphans from a building about to explode, the worried colonel spent a few minutes comforting the little girl until she pulled the orange bracelet from her small SpongeBob backpack, he chuckled at the gesture and had never taken it off since. They even shared some letters from time to time, he held a piece of little Astrid in the form of a cute bracelet and she held a piece of him in the form of sweet spoken letters.

König saw her kind eyes in yours and it squeezed his heart so much he felt suffocated. Why would a teasing little vixen like you have such kind, gorgeous eyes? It was weirdly comforting that someone would look at him so softly like he wasn't a monster for once after so long.

His heart begun beating faster, his head was so full of questions about you it infuriated him. Long legs carried the colonel to the gym absentmindedly, like his body craved to ease some tension, but at the last minute he turned to the left corridor further from the gym, went to the right and finally approached the shooting range's door.

"Scheibe..." König cursed lowly, he could have very well bursted the door out of it's hinges, his gloved hand (still a bit shaky) took his favorite riffle from the top right corner of the shelf while he shot a backward kick to push the metallic door closed. He spent fourteen minutes shooting targets while mauling at your last interaction, rage swirled his insides and yet he couldn't fully hate you for asking questions, after all it was work-related, and the last soft gaze you gave him spoke volumes that you didn't want to advert all the attention to him out of malice. König was reloading his sniper rifle when he heard a gentle thud indicating someone had entered the room.

"You'd make an amazing sniper." You spoke softly trying not to startle the tense man.

"You come to mock me? Laugh all you like. I'm well aware I'm too huge to be a sniper." He spoke in resentment over his shoulder before redirecting his focused gaze to the target ahead.

"I always say size doesn't matter! As long as you know how to handle your weapon, you'll make any girl blush."

Your dark humour takes König by surprise and he misses the dummy's head, he tries to hold back the chuckle that threatened to spill from his hidden lips. Luckily the shirt he wore as a mask shielded his face enough to make it look like he was holding in a cough or a sneeze but you weren't stupid. When he turns to face you placing the riffle to the near table he gets startled by how close you are, the smirk accompanying your lips as you weaseled close to his very sacred personal space made him curse lowly in his mother's tongue. The tall Austrian stepped back and you rose your hands in mocking defeat.

"Alright, I get it, personal space. Jus' wanted to hear ya laugh..."

"I didn't." He hisses.

"Didn't ya? I thought I heard it, must have been the wind."

Your sarcasm often infuriated König who never seemed to get a good grip on his English, so it was hard for him to detect when you were being serious or just pulling his leg. His hands flex on his sides, tiny waist move side to side as he balances his weight before he crosses his arms and leans his back to the wall. König raises a brow when your smirk morphed into a sincere apologetic smile as you admired his stance six feet apart from him.

"I'm sorry for what happened back there." You said honestly, he sucked in a breath. "Didn't want t' put ya on the spot."

König wasn't shy, he wasn't, but that last line of yours made him feel like it, and it wasn't an ugly feeling? But it was a little uncomfortable, foreign, it squeezed his heart in a weird way, his hands were clammy, he felt strangely light like if it wasn't for his tapping foot on the floor he'd float away. König understood what you were saying and it comforted him that you were on the same page, the weird unsteadiness between the two of you becoming rather unbearable and a constant topic on both your minds, it was relieving that you thought the same way. Suddenly the ugly, unexcused anger he had for you quieted down.

The Colonel's cerulean eyes widen before lowering his gaze to your tank top blinking rapidly. It was easier to listen if he wasn't looking directly at your eyes.

"König..." Your voice was honey making shivers run up his spine and his skin erupt in goosebumps, his hands trembled even when he fisted them on his crossed stance. "Why don't we start again? Call me paranoid, but I feel like there's tension between us and not the type I'd like."

The colonel lifted his hand your way offering you a handshake you took with mirth.

"I'm colonel König. Y-you are...?"

"Goddamn. Ain't your parents bit' egotistical? Namin' their baby boy 'king' in german." You say with a snicker shaking his hand. He takes it back abruptly but you don't flinch. "I'm Sargeant (c/n). My name is (y/n) (l/n). Is König the name written on your birth certificate or were you called somethin' else?" You press teasingly but wary and a bit nervous thinking you were pushing too far.

König is taken aback by this. When was the last time someone had asked the colonel his name?

"I am..." It tasted foreign on his tongue, like he had forgotten the sound of it, the taste of his own name on his tongue. "My name is Andreas Dobler." He said, his eyes meeting yours. "That's... That's my name." His name wasn't König, he remembers the man he left behind all those years back, the man under the dark cloak, before things went to shit, before becoming colonel König.

"Andreas. What a curious name, never heard of it-"

"Say my name again." König interrupts. His voice weak but demanding and desperate. He loved it. He loved the sound of his name on your lips. It was strange, sweet... Arousing, even.

You blinked angling your head up to take a better look at his half-lid eyes. This time König didn't look away, your eyes met and suddenly the ugly tension from before was morphing into another type of tension, your heart beats faster in sync with his. You didn't know you were getting closer until König placed a hand on your waist and then the other, not pushing, not pulling, he simply laid them there and it came so naturally, your playful smile wavered slightly as your hands landed on his shoulders, he shivers. You tilted your head to the side and he was so lost in you, your aroma, your eyes, your lips, your touch, he didn't realize he was returning the head tilt.

Your lips parted, pink tongue darting to hydrate your dry lips until your pearls were visible from the gap, and his eyes catch every movement your mouth makes when you whisper "Andreas."

"Again."

"Andreas-"

"Again..."

"...Andreas..." Your hands slowly move to his chest, his breath hitches. His name has never sounded so sensual whispered by anyone's mouth. You were... You...

"You..." He isn't sure what to say. You are not sure either, suddenly your wit has abandoned you it seems. "You intrigue me." He decides to huff out, accent heavily pronounced.

There's a thousand thoughts swirling on König's mind, he has shared his name but it suddenly didn't feel enough, he wanted to show you who he was, his past, his thoughts, his hopes and dreams, even his face. How can a simple woman like you make König feel so much? Because you were no simple woman. That's why when he felt your small hands slide up his chest to the hem of the shirt that composed his mask, König didn't tense up, in fact, his shoulders relaxed embracing the touch of your fingers gently feeling his neck under the cloth, his stubble, his chin, his high cheeks... Gloved hands grab your wrists.

You stop, still looking up at him noticing the heaving of his chest and how lost in awe his gaze seemed.

"Not yet?"

"I-i... Do not..." Mind. He didn't want to refuse your touch but at the same time it was so overwhelming.

You give a small nod, König lets go of your wrists and you take this opportunity to nuzzle his cheeks, he gasps landing his hands on your waist once more, squeezing the flesh over your tank top. The feeling of your fingers on his face was so foreign it felt like you were touching a piece of his soul.

"Shy lil' thing... Aren't you pretty hiding under there? Maybe you are too beautiful to allow anyone the pleasure of a simple look. Like a sweet Ferrero Roche firmly wrapped and ready to be eaten." You whisper, voice raspy before you chuckle when his Adam's apple bobs with a swallow. Your body is now pressed compleatly against his, your dear colonel's hands tremble on your sides as he fists your tank top. He's nervous, he's shy, but you know he is enjoying this judging by the way his teary, half-lid eyes blink slowly every time you feel and scratch a new inch of skin.

"Don't you worry, darling..." König lets out a small whimper at this. "I'm rushing things ain' I? We were just getting on the first name basis and I had to screw it all..." You wanted to sound apologetic, you promise, but it was so hard when your colonel was practically purring at the feeling of your soft hands scratching his stubble. König was putty on your hands, he has never felt this way. His cheeks burn in embarrassment, he tries to move back but remembers he's already against the wall, and you, a small thing like you have him cornered like a honey badger hunting a mountain lion. His lip wobbles and he tilts his head to the side as he feels your hands massage and explore his neck and jaw in long, gentle motions. The pads of your fingers gracing every inch of his neck muscles.

"...Sag bitte mehr, ich flehe dich an..." (Say more please, I beg you.) König moans out, his german accent sounding strong masking how weak he was feeling at the moment.

He loved your voice, your touch... Your everything. The colonel ran his fingers on your lower back encouraging to continue, meanwhile he very slowly tilted his head higher allowing you more space on his neck to massage and scratch. You chuckle darkly feeling his member poking at your belly, your body instantly pressing harder against his cornered torso.

"You like the sound of my voice, colonel?" You humm, he makes a small noise. "Andreas...?"

His shoulders shake with the force of his shiver, nails digging deliciously on your lower back, you chuckle delighted at the sight tilting his chin to the other side to feel his nape, his ear and some locks of hair. "ich begehre dich..." The Austrian groans, his member now fully erect twitched delighted by the delicious pressure of your torso against it and your soft ministrations to his neck.

Both your radios churr alive until a voice breaks the static, a random operator checking on the comms. König almost knocks you over with how fast he straightened his back and the way his strong grip held you back, his chest heaving fast, eyes wide and vulnerable. You take the opportunity to grab him by the hem of the shirt he uses as a mask.

"Wait-..."

König freezes when he feels cold air hit the heated skin from his neck. You had lifted a portion of the cloth revealing the part you were previously massaging, caressing and scratching just under his chin, careful not to reveal his face. His head moves up to the side trying to hide from your touch, his hands shoot backwards planting on the wall as if a force had taken them from the previous grip he had on you. In truth he was afraid he'd crush your waist.

"I hope you can forgive me colonel... Can't help it..."

There's a long gash on his neck, a very old scar that seemed to be product of a knife fight or even a bullet, it's crocked and it goes up probably to his right ear. You lean close on tiptoes because he couldn't crouch due to how shocked he still felt, and you planted your wet lips on the surface of the sensitive scar. König's throat rumbles with a groan, his powerful hands finally make the move to take you, to cage your body impossible closer to his. A hard roll of his hips make him gasp in relief and you loudly huff when he twirls you to where he was previously caged, his hands soon making small effort to lift you up, both legs wrapped around his waist and he THRUSTS stabbing your cargo pants. You are still kissing, licking and nibbling his neck, your hands explore the long bulky surface of his back, König moans delighted at one particular bite until-

"Oh. Shit."

König turned his head back so fast you are sure it made his neck rotatory, two pairs of eyes look in shock at Horangi who is standing there holding the rifle König had previously left before all of this happened. Your colonel was frozen in embarrassment his shaking hands still held you up and his boner was no longer stabbing you, the thing died at the speed of light when the Korean made presence.

"Jesus Christ. You gonna keep staring or you wanna join us, tiger?"

König snaps his head back at you comically fast, icy eyes glare in surprise, horror and astonishment.

"As fun as that sounds I'll leave you two to your games... 'sides, I don't think you'll be able to handle König alone, imagine the two of us. We'd ruin you." The Korean's response made you laugh enchanted by his wit, he walked out the door in quick strides leaving you two alone once more.

König huffs glaring at the wall behind you. The sudden unwelcome presence of his friend seemed to had robbed the magic from the moment. Your Colonel's body shagged slowly lowering your body, and the moment your heels touched the ground his head leaned down falling to the crock of your neck, the feeling of the warm cloth of his mask made you humm. He kissed your clavicle over his mask and you ran your hands to his shoulders until König slowly retrieved.

He took two steps back, with a very noticeable defeated look.

"Hey. We can keep going whenever yer up to. Don't look at me like that, sweet thing." Your voice carried a playfulness that comforted him from the sudden feeling of defeat.

König couldn't meet your eyes, his voice was shaky "I'm just not like this-..."

"Andreas-"

"DON'T -...!" He barked, startling you both.

It was too much, too sudden, too weird, too suffocating. He liked it at first but... König couldn't put into words what he was feeling right now. He hated that the moment was cut short, he hated that he felt like it was his fault and he hated the way you are looking at him with so much concern like when you two were at the meeting.

"Verzeihen Sie mir." He muttered giving you a final short glance before he rushed out of the place leaving the door open and your startled self still leaning on the wall.

You recognized those words even if you didn't know much of German.

"Forgive me." You translated in a whisper.

Will you?

#call of duty modern warfare #cod #witty reader #konig x reader #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader angst

79 notes · View notes