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arvandus · 1 month

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Disobedience - Barbatos x afab!gn!reader

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI; Dom!Barb, Sub!Reader; tall coded Barbatos; mild choking; hair grabbing, pinning, kinky tail stuff; vaginal and anal fingering; vaginal sex; anal sex; reader’s first time doing anal; Barb is dom, but soft when it counts!

WC: 5,571

Special Note: This fic also has a AMAB!GN!reader version! Exact same premise, setting, and aftermath, but the smut is slightly different for obvious reasons. You can find it here!

Also, you can find the full version of the banner art (done by me) here! (it's NSFW but censored for tumblr).

No sooner had the great castle doors closed behind the last guest, when Barbatos immediately spun on you. His stare was dark and oppressive, his cheeks flushed and lips tightly sealed. Diavolo was nowhere to be found, likely making a wise retreat as soon as he caught on to the thick tension between the two of you.

Barbatos’s hand was on the back of your neck in an instant, a firm pressure that you couldn’t escape as he began to guide you through the now-empty castle halls.

“Come, my dear. We have much to discuss.”

You had thought he’d take you to his room, to discuss the matter of your... mischief... privately within the safety of his personal space.

But you were quickly proven wrong as he steered you into one of the random empty rooms down the great hallway. You weren’t sure of its purpose, and you didn’t have time to contemplate it as he forcefully guided you into the dark space, the door swinging closed behind him. There was no sound of a latch, and a moment later a sliver of yellow light from the hallway lit the room just enough to make out his expression as Barbatos turned you to face him. His expression was devouring, his eyes feral and dangerous, a wild beast pushing against the cage of his control.

“Barbatos, the door—” you started.

But your words were cut short, devoured by his lips on yours, his tongue already laying claim to the inside of your mouth. His hands were holding your jaw, fingers curled towards the base of your neck, and all you could do was whimper at his onslaught.

Your legs felt like jelly, your head swimming dizzily as he pushed you back, back, until the backs of your legs hit the sofa that sat in front of the large fireplace, its hearth dark.

He didn’t care, you realized.

Which showed just how much you’d gotten under his skin at the dinner table. Because Barbatos always cared.

With your body pinned, his hands moved swiftly from your jaw to your waist. Immediately, his hands were pulling your teal RAD shirt from the waistband of your pants as he kissed you. Your own hands began working just as feverishly, forcing off his RAD tailcoat and fumbling at his tie. Your own blazer was swiftly being pushed off your shoulders as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, to your neck...

The sharp pain of teeth digging into your sensitive flesh made you hiss, your heart beating wildly in your chest as your hands gripped at his shoulders. It was followed by the warm, wet swipe of his tongue, lathing over his mark as if he were savoring the icing on a cupcake.

You were panting now, one hand around his neck with your fingers in his sweaty strands, just beneath the collar of his dress shirt. But just as you were about to let yourself get lost in the heady passion he was drowning you in, you felt his tail wrap around your neck and squeeze.

Your eyes flew open, wide and alert from their half-lidded state, and you swallowed your saliva, hoping it would take your fear with it.

Barbatos wouldn’t hurt you. You knew this, believed it with every fiber of your being. But being held in a chokehold by a demon brought forth your primal survival instincts in a way you couldn’t entirely ignore. You let the fear linger for only a moment, allowed your mind to catch up and process.

You could breathe.

Of course you could. As you knew, he wouldn’t hurt you. Now the sensation of his tail around your windpipe brought a different type of thrill into your veins, washing over the fear that had been present a moment prior.

Barbatos pulled away just enough to look down at you. His thumb stroked your cheek as he spoke.

“Such audacity, my little lamb...” he muttered. “What could possibly have inspired you to behave so foolishly?”

The foolishness in question? A secret game of footsie that you had initiated with him beneath the table as Prince Diavolo hosted the student council and some high-profile dignitaries. Barbatos had been sitting across from you, and in your boredom, had decided to tease him just a little bit. A quiet removal of your shoes, a soft brush of your toes against his ankle, slipping beneath the hem of his pants before retreating again....

The feeling of the tips of his tail sliding up and over your chin brought you immediately back to the present. They pressed against your lips, warm and wet, before forcing their way into your mouth. The slick tips swirled around your tongue, caressing and stroking before forcing your jaw open.

“Answer me,” Barbatos ordered.

His eyes stared at you, half-lidded, two glowing embers of green in the dark of the room. His tail slid out of your mouth, pulling your lower lip, now wet and plump, down. He stared intently as the soft flesh popped back into place upon its release, the tips of his tail returning to decorate your neck.

“I... I only wanted to tease you a little. No one saw... and I didn’t... I didn’t go too far...”

At least that was what you thought... you kept your quiet administrations to him below the knees, never past them despite the urge you had to push even further. You’d thought you were being so good...

“Too far?” he repeated. His tone was scolding and yet his hands were quickly undoing the buttons of your shirt. “Do you know what would have happened if we were caught?”

That earlier flare of defiance returned, fueled by the giddy joy you felt when you held the full weight of his attention. “You didn’t exactly stop me,” you cooed sweetly.

Barbatos’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his mouth curling into a dark grin. His hand came up and clutched your cheeks between his fingers, squishing the flesh. “You still choose to push me... how incredibly brazen of you, considering your current predicament.” He tutted at you, gentle tsks falling from between his closed teeth. “What has come over my sweet little lamb to make them so disobedient? Is this your way of being needy? Have I been neglecting my love for too long?”

Your breath hitched, his words bringing emotions up within your chest that frothed like flotsam on an angry sea. That wasn’t... that couldn’t be... could it?

No, no... you were fine. You were understanding, and patient, and....

And yet...

Barbatos caught the change in you instantly, and the quiet lust-fueled fury in his eyes flickered, allowing a momentary look of tenderness in his gaze.

His tail released your throat, and you felt its absence, the air of the room cold against your wet skin where his residue lingered. Then he kissed you again, just as hungry but less violent, and you clung to him, your hips pressing forward against him. He met your needy pressure in return, his hand on your breast while his other arm held you close.

“You foolish human,” he muttered against your lips. “All you simply had to do was ask...”

Your fingers had already undone the row of buttons of his shirt that you could reach.

Your eyes met his in the dark, the faint light of the hallway a halo around his head. “Barbatos, please....”

He smiled and kissed you again, his tongue deep and thorough, twining and swiping as if he could swallow your destitute pleas before they escaped your trembling lips. As he did so, his tail undid the back of his white cummerbund while his hands busied themselves with undoing the buckle of your pants, and then the button, and the zipper...

Your hands did the same as soon as the cummerbund was gone, fingers clumsy and frantic. But before you could slip your hand into his slacks to feel the warm weight of him, his hand snatched your wrist. He spun you around so your back was against him now, the couch in front of you, and his mouth was once again on your neck, sucking and nibbling. Barbatos’s hands caressed the planes of your body, moving from your chest and down over your ribs. It felt tender, and you sighed against it, your blood pulsing in your chest, in your veins, between your legs...

But then the tenderness vanished as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, your underwear. In a fluid series of motions he yanked down the fabric and bent you over the arm of the couch by the back of your neck. You gasped at the sudden change in position, your arms tucked beneath you. Your cunt was exposed now, your pants bundled around your thighs.

You felt his body press against yours, curling over you like a blanket, matching the curves of you. His soft bangs tickled against your shoulder blade as his lips ghosted against your skin and you shivered, a whimper falling from your lips. Finally you felt his breath at your ear as his thumb massaged at your neck muscles in a slow, gentle circle.

“You wanted my attention and now you shall have it. All of it.”

Barbatos’s dexterous fingers of his free hand slid between your legs, stroking your folds. You were already so wet, your labia flushed and swollen, your body ready for him before he’d even pulled his cock out. Steadily, Barbatos pushed two of his fingers into you, and your walls clenched and fluttered as your breath caught in your throat.

“You will feel me in every inch of your body,” he whispered. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you misbehaved so shamelessly.”

You were frozen, air trapped in your lungs and burning a hole through your chest as you waited for more. Your walls clenched again around his fingers, but they stayed torturously still.

“Answer me,” he ordered again.

You nodded your head.

He chuckled low and dark. “How very greedy of you...”

There was a silent pause, and time seemed to slow. You could hear Barbatos’s shaky breaths as his hand tensed against the back of your neck, pushing you deeper into the couch cushions. His groin pressed against you, still covered by his unbuttoned slacks and his underwear. His fingers were deep within you, and still there was no mistaking the hard bulge that pressed against your aching cunt, your clit throbbing at the contact.

“I warn you,” he said quietly, “I will not be gentle. Not this time. Not when you’ve tortured me to the point of madness. So tell me... are you certain this is what you want?”

You nodded again, more vigorously, and yet it wasn’t enough; not for him.

Barbatos clicked his teeth. “No, no...” his grip on your neck loosened and he rubbed his thumb tenderly against your cheek. “I must hear you say it.”

You swallowed the saliva that pooled in your mouth. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, I want this. I want you to ruin me, Barbatos, please.”

The weight of him left your back, his fingers left your cunt. There was a frantic moment of the sound of Barbatos’s belt buckle clinking as he shoved down the front of his pants to pull his cock out. Then he shoved into you with a single thrust.

That single action made the tension in you snap. You cried out, your back arching and head lifting as pleasure exploded from your core and washed you in instant fiery hot bliss. Had you been of sound mind, you might have felt embarrassed at cumming so quickly on his cock. But there was no time to recover, let alone think. Barbatos gripped one hip with a firm hand, fingertips digging into your skin, as the other grabbed you by your hair and pinned you back down into the couch. Then he set a brutal pace, his hips pounding against yours, bottoming out with each thrust. It instantly threw you into overstimulation, your body not yet recovered from your initial orgasm, and yet there was no way to fight it, no way to escape it. Not with the way he had you trapped beneath him, your own human strength useless against him. All you could do was cry and whine, unhinged sounds ripping from your throat as your tears escaped your closed eyes and your drool soaked into the couch.

Barbatos watched you, relishing in the sight of you beneath him, broken under the violence of your own pleasure while he chased his own. Your walls were tight around him, hot and comforting as the tip of his cock drove into the deepest depths of you. Already he could feel his own orgasm climbing rapidly, the hours of sexual tension finally reaching its precipice. His tail dipped between his legs, finding your swollen clit, and rubbed it in fast circles as your body spasmed. Broken pleas fell from your lips as your fingers clawing at the wine-colored upholstery. It only spurred Barbatos to pin you down even harder, his hand switching from your hair to your shoulder, stripping you of every last ounce of power you pretended to have, subduing you entirely and preventing your escape.

You came a second time, this time your juices soaking his pounding cock, his balls, his thighs, absorbing into his clothes. He came with a groan, joining you in your shattered ecstasy, his rhythm becoming uneven, his hips stuttering as he filled you with his cum.

Barbatos’s thrusts began to slow, and your mind spun, dizzy and hazy, the aftershocks of your pleasure still making you spasm beneath his hands. Finally his hips stilled, and for a small moment, you both fell silent as you caught your breath. His hand released your shoulder as he straightened up and pulled himself out of you.

The room was thick with the scent of sex, and Barbatos stared at your sweaty form, limp across the couch. He drank in your beauty, reveled the way your body was marked by him. The fingerprints forming on your hips, the mark on your neck from earlier, and your cunt...

He watched intently as his cum began to leak out of you, pale and glistening. It coated your labia, your clit, and still it spasmed here and there, each one sending a small shudder up your spine as you lay beneath him, your eyes half-closed.

Barbatos tilted his head slightly, admiring, as his finger brushed against your sex, scooping his cum onto his digit. You flinched at the contact, and your eyes fluttered open to look back at him from the corner of your gaze. You were still too spent to try to move your head.

He kept one palm at your hip, a gentle hold compared to the finger-digging grasp of earlier, as he pushed his cum-covered finger back into your hole. You inhaled a shaky, broken breath, but didn’t object, and Barbatos smiled.

Were you still not satisfied?

Good. Neither was he.

Barbatos withdrew his finger and followed it up with a second, the push of his fingers making a lewd squelch around the cum that still filled you. You whimpered softly and your hips shifted back into his hand.

Slowly he began to pump his fingers in you, letting the sticky white coat his fingers to the knuckles. He watched, transfixed, his eyes raking over every inch of you. Still so much of you to explore, so much of you to claim. His free hand caressed the curves of your body before finally settling on your ass. It filled his palm and then some, and his gaze lingered, no longer focused on the thrusting of his fingers, but on the tight, puckered hole that tightened and relaxed with each swipe of his fingers in your wet heat. Curiously, his thumb pressed against the inside of your ass cheek, pulling it aside to allow him a better view.

Your body tensed, and this time, your head did turn to look back at him.

“B-Barbatos?”

He glanced up at you, the lust in his eyes rekindled until the irises glowed green with old magic.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

You paused, your mind considering, and shook your head. “N-No...” you whispered. “But I’ve never... um...”

Barbatos allowed his thumb to brush feather-light against your tight hole and the muscle fluttered at the contact. Your breath hitched in your chest and your hips rocked back just slightly.

He hummed. “I told you earlier that you will feel me in every inch of you. I meant it.”

Your body shivered at the reminder, an electric chill that buzzed across your skin, making your flesh goosepimple and your hairs stand on end.

“Yeah,” you replied on a shaky breath, “but you also said you wouldn’t be gentle.”

The fire in his gaze mellowed, and his lips curved into something gentle and familiar. He leaned forward over you and planted a tender kiss to your shoulder. “I did say that, didn’t I? But not with this. I will be gentle. I promise.” There was a hesitant pause, and then he added, “However, please do not force yourself for my sake. I will only enjoy it if you do too.”

His words were the reassurance you needed, and after a moment you nodded your head. “Okay, yeah. I want to try. I’ve wanted to try it for a while now...”

He leaned forward further to reach your mouth, and you turned your head just enough to kiss him back. Before he pulled away, he said, “We can stop at any time. Just tell me.”

You released a relieved sigh and nodded. “Okay. I will.”

He stared at you a moment longer, giving you a moment to process your decision, before planting one more kiss to your shoulder blade.

Then he straightened up, his hand back on your ass, warm and gentle, and his fingers still buried in your messy cunt. He returned to the slow and steady pumping, and he once again brushed his thumb delicately against your asshole. He watched you intently as he did so, noting the way your brows furrowed, your lips parted, your closed fists tightened. He did it again and again, until only the signs of pleasure were present, your body no longer stiff with anxiousness. Once you were comfortable, he stroked you again, this time with a slightly more pressure, rubbing his thumb into a small circle. Again and again he repeated it, until you were once again relaxed.

Then he scooped his other fingers deep inside your cunt, let them brush against your sensitive walls, and slowly withdrew them, his cum gathered on his long digits. With his other hand and his tail prying your ass cheeks apart, he spread the warm juices over your puckered hole. Already his cock was throbbing again, hard and aching. You were so exposed to him, not an inch of you left unseen by his wanton gaze. This part of you was beautiful, too... you were so vulnerable, so trusting...

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Your eyes were closed in anticipation and you nodded.

Carefully, slowly, he pushed his index finger past your tight defenses, the cum easing the transition. He didn’t go far...just to the second knuckle, before pulling it out again slowly. His attention was focused, taking in how you gasped, how your back arched.

Again, he went in slowly, patiently. You breathed through it, a steady breath in your nose and out of your mouth. He repeated this entry and retreat, slowly increasing the pace. Your hips were starting to move back into his hand, and he smiled.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked teasingly.

“Mhmmm...” you hum.

“I’m glad.”

A gentle silence fell between you, with nothing but the soft sounds of his administrations and your breathing. Once you were panting heavily, Barbatos knew you were ready for more. This time, he curled his tail between his legs, their slick tips petting your neglected cunt. One tip flicked playfully at your clit and your body spasmed beneath him, his finger still in you, keeping you stretched. He gave a gentle ‘shhh, shhh’ to soothe you as the other tip slithered into your cunt, curling within you as deep as it could go until it filled you.

You whined, his name tumbling from your lips even as your hips tried to roll against him. But you were still bent over the arm of the couch, your movement limited, and Barbatos liked it that way. After all, your teasing earlier during dinner had stripped him of his control in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. This was setting things right, returning your dynamic to what it should be... you, his sweet, obedient lamb, and he your shepherd.

His tail filled you, stretching you, even as the dexterous tips played with your clit and rubbed the most sensitive parts of your inner walls. The added arousal of his tail’s attention made it that much easier for his second finger to join his first, stretching your virgin ass for him. You moaned as it went in, your muscles tensing again at the intrusion, even as you struggled to ride his tail to climax. Slowly he pumped his two fingers in you, allowed you to adjust to them, enjoy them.

He leaned over you slightly to get a better look at your flustered face.

“Would you like to cum like this?” he asked.

It took a moment for you to reply.

“Y-Yes... I mean, no, no... I want...” your words fell away, incomplete, and you turned your face into the couch cushion in embarrassment.

Barbatos’s smile shifted into a grin. “You want...?”

Your words were muffled into the cushion, but he heard them regardless. “I want you in me. I want to cum with you inside me.”

“Inside where?”

“Barbatooos,” you whined. “Don’t make me say it.”

Barbatos’s grip on your ass tightened and he stilled his fingers. “If you’re too embarrassed to say it, then you’re not ready to do it, sweetling.”

You wiggled your hips slightly, but it only caused Barbatos’s grip to tighten on you, stilling your movements.

“You’re doing this on purpose...” you grumbled.

“You seem to have forgotten that this is supposed to be a punishment,” he teased.

You huffed and pouted, and Barbatos waited, unswayed by your behavior.

Finally, you relented.

“I want your cock inside me.” A pause. “Please...”

Barbatos hummed. “There, now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His fingers returned to their motions as well as his tail, and your pleasure was reignited, your body once again writhing as best it could beneath him. The cum was cooling, becoming tacky while exposed to the cold air. Barbatos released a long, wet strand of saliva from his mouth that landed right on its mark, and then slowly added a third finger.

“Barbatoooos....” you whined again, your voice pitching in desperation.

“All in due time, my dear. You’ll get what’s promised. We shouldn’t rush these things.”

You panted beneath him, your pleasure building but never releasing, and now your legs were shaking, your upper half propped up onto your elbows as you adjusted your angle for him.

Finally, you were ready. He removed his fingers from your ass and wrapped them around the base of his cock. It was rock hard now, the veins nearly bursting, and he released a wanton sigh as he allowed himself a couple of indulgent strokes. Then he lined the tip with your waiting hole and paused.

“Are you ready?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, pleeaase...”

Slowly Barbatos pushed his cock into you, centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch. You gasped deep, your lungs taking in air as you endured the stretch of him. Your hand flew back to reach for him blindly, and Barbatos’s free hand grabbed yours, his fingers intertwining with yours.

He pulled out just slightly, removed his tail from your cunt to drip more secretions onto your asshole, and then pushed back in a little further.

“Ba-Barbatos...” you sobbed, your voice rising in pitch.

The change in your voice made him pause, and his grip on your hand tightened as he clung to his restraint. His breaths were shaky now, his cock twitching, thigh muscles flexing with the need to bury himself in you. He tried to calm his racing heart, steady his voice.

“Do... do you need me to stop?”

You shook your head and tightened your grip on his hand.

Relief flooded him, and he relinquished his grip on the base of his cock to stroke your spine with the palm of his hand.

“We’re almost there, love,” he soothed. “You’re doing so well.”

Out again and then back in, and finally he bottomed out with a satisfied sigh, his balls pressed against your pussy. You let out a sigh as well, your body releasing some of its stiffness.

Barbatos waited, allowing you to get used to his presence, even as his cock pulsed inside you in time with his pounding heartbeat. He leaned over and planted a kiss to your back, your fingers still interlocked with his and the other hand, the one that had been inside you, now settled at your hip.

“You feel divine,” he murmured against your skin. Your eyes were closed as you hummed in agreement, and it pleased him to see your lips curl into a small smile.

Slowly, with his body still caging yours over the arm of the couch, he pulled out slowly and pushed back in. You moaned beneath him, and the sound of your pleasure went straight from his brain to his cock, and he growled.

“You test my restraint when you make noises like that, you know...” he muttered.

You chuckled beneath him and opened one eye to peer at him. “It’s not my fault you make me feel so good...”

Passion was quickly overwriting his brain, and Barbatos kissed your skin once more. Then he straightened himself up and began to properly fuck you, two hands planted firmly on your hips and his tail buried in your pussy.

He went slowly at first, half to help you finish adjusting to him, and half to relish this new part of you that you were letting him have. Your ass was so tight, choking his cock until every nerve of the sensitive head was singing in unison.

“Faster... please...” you muttered.

Barbatos had never heard sweeter words. He quickened his pace, letting himself enjoy you fully, and you panted beneath him as you let him take you.

The pleasure you felt was unlike any other. The burn of being stretched, mingled with an undercurrent of pleasure each time he hit deep inside you, combined with his tail fucking your needy cunt and playing with your clit... it was stimulation from all angles, sensations in places you’d never experienced before, creating a vortex of pleasure you were quickly losing yourself in.

Between the extended foreplay and the edging with his tail, it wasn’t long before your orgasm crashed over you, fiercer than any you’d had before. You cried out, tears in your eyes as your mind emptied of all thought, all senses, except for the feel of Barbatos in you, on you, his hips colliding with yours, his balls slapping against your cunt as it spasmed on his slick tail. It was like lightning, incinerating in its heat, decimating in its impact.

Barbatos followed soon after, his thrusts running on instinct, his grip on your hips tightening. His breaths turned into pants, heavy and loud, and you loved it, loving hearing his ecstasy, knowing how good you made him feel. Your name fell from his lips, blessing your ears as he finally lost his control, let himself get washed away entirely by the pleasure of you. He spilled his load into you, hot spurts coating your insides, and you moaned happily at the sensation.

Finally, his thrusts slowed to a stop, his grip on your hips loosened. Barbatos lingered in you for a long moment, his breaths heavy with adrenaline, before giving into to the post-coital bliss and laying himself over you. The heat of him was oppressive, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to get off you just yet. You weren’t any better, your skin slicked with sweat and your own breaths coming out in ragged huffs. Lazily, your hand came up and tangled into his sweaty hair to scratch at his scalp, and he hummed contentedly into your shoulder.

As your head cleared, your speech returned.

“I think we ruined the couch,” you muttered into the cushion.

Barbatos chuckled and groaned, his voice reverberating through your ribs. “It will be replaced. However, I will make this room off limits until then.”

“Do you think Diavolo will be mad?”

Barbatos scoffed and began to push himself off of you. “Considering how many times he has ruined the furniture with similar activities, I hardly think he is in a position to judge. But no. I don’t think he will say anything, to be quite frank. We have both lived here a very long time and have our own unspoken agreements between us.”

His cock was soft now, but he still pulled himself out of you gently. You winced and his hands ran soothing strokes along your hips and your sides as you pushed yourself up from the couch. Your spine felt stiff, suck in that position for so long, and the stitching of the upholstery was imprinted into your skin in all the places he’d pinned you down.

Barbatos swiftly fixed his pants and belt then turned you slowly to face him. He smiled tenderly at you before putting his forehead against yours as his hands fixed your pants next, securing the button and buckling your belt for you. He kissed you, the touch of his lips soft, while his hands rested at your waist, and you pouted.

“You’re not going to make me do the walk of shame all the way to your room, are you?”

Barbatos chuckled as he picked up your coats and his cummerbund, careful to use his left hand and the pinky and thumb of his right.

“Of course not.”

You scrunched up your nose and winced. “Good. Because I’m oozing out of places I’ve never oozed before, and I’m pretty sure my underwear are ruined. Possibly even my pants.”

Barbatos stifled his laugh, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Well, had you appropriately waited to provoke me after the dinner instead of during, then perhaps this could have taken place with better preparation.”

You scoffed at him in mock appall. “So this is my fault?”

He grinned. “You cannot entice me so brazenly and not expect there to be consequences. Besides...” - he leaned closer to you, his arm with the coats wrapping around your waist - “You hardly protested once I had you bent over the sofa.”

You couldn’t stifle the laugh the slipped from your lips. “Barbatos!”

“Come now, enough,” he chided as he opened a portal to his bathroom. “Haven’t you bratted enough tonight? Or do you need a fourth round? Maybe a fifth?”

“What? It was only two,” you huffed defensively.

“Two for me, but don’t think I didn’t catch your first orgasm in the beginning.”

“That was a fluke!”

He cocked his head at you in amusement. “You are truly adorable, I hope you know. But fluke or not, it still counts, which brings your total to three.” His brow furrowed lightly in thought. “Although we will most definitely need to clean up before we continue...”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Wha... are you serious??”

Barbatos’s arm reached out to guide you along with him, and he smirked devilishly. “I am a demon, my love. You have yet to scrape even the surface of my sex drive.”

You gingerly followed him through the portal.

“Does that mean you’re always horny but just never show it?”

Barbatos chuckled. “No. I am older, and it grants me more control than most. However, I am easily aroused, particularly when it’s with someone I care for. And demons can easily go multiple rounds for hours, unlike most humans.”

“I am both terrified and intrigued...” you muttered.

He chuckled again.

“Come,” he invited as he began to run his shower. “There will be plenty of time in the future to explore our limits. For now, let us cleanse ourselves and allow your body to rest. Some snacks are in order, as well as a special tea that will help with the aches and pains. And I shall have your clothing either cleaned or replaced, depending on their state.”

You let him begin to undress you as you placed your hands on his shoulders for balance. “Are you sure you’re a demon and not an angel?”

He paused, devoting his full attention to you. “I am what I am. But most importantly, I am yours, and you are mine. You are most precious to me. And I always treat my precious things with the utmost care.”

His words made your heart twist, and you touched his smooth cheek with your fingers and gave him a tender kiss on the lips.

When you pulled back, you were smiling at him, tears in your eyes.

“You are most precious to me too, Barbatos.” ------

Taglist: @hymnbook @chiekoisbread

#happy birthday barbatos #obey me barbatos #om barbatos #barbatos x f!reader #barbatos x afab!reader #barbatos x gn!reader

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biconickyoshi · 4 months

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Been wanting to do some updated character model sheet thingies for my ongoing longfic The Avatar and the Fire Prince, so here they are! :) Up until now I'd only drawn Zuko and Aang, but I thought it was about time I added Iroh and the Water Tribe siblings to the lineup as well. Right now all I've done this for is Books 1 & 2, but I really want to get started on the Books 3 & 4 versions so I can add Toph and Suki (and possibly Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee) to the lineup!

As usual, for anyone who has not read my fic but is curious about the premise: this is an AU in which Zuko and Iroh discover Aang in the iceberg just 3 months after Zuko is burned and banished at age 13 in 96 AG, 4 years prior to the return of Sozin's Comet. It is also an enemies to best friends to lovers slowburn in which Zukaang is endgame (since Aang was released from the iceberg 3 years early in this AU, he is only one year younger than Zuko). This fic is heavily based in canon, so I try my hardest to ensure that everything is canon-compliant at least when it comes to lore and character behavior despite the different circumstances.

Book 1: Air's premise: after finding and capturing Aang, Zuko and Iroh are forced to escape with him on Appa when Zhao interferes with their plans to return to the Fire Nation. This Book focuses on Aang desperately searching the Air Temples for any remnants of his people he can find, dragging Zuko and Iroh along in the process. Eventually, Zuko starts to question everything he was raised to believe, while Iroh is forced to face the mistakes of his past.

Book 2: Water begins with Aang, Zuko, and Iroh traveling to the South Pole after Aang starts to have recurring nightmares about an impending attack on Wolf Cove (Sokka and Katara's village), and eventually follows my adaptations of several storylines from canon Book 1 before ending with the Siege of the North in Agna Qel'a. During this Book, Zuko begins to realize his feelings for Aang are more than friendship, while Aang remains oblivious (lol).

Book 3: Earth is the Book I am currently working on (the most recent chapter was my adaptation of "Avatar Day") and so far follows Aang, Zuko, Iroh, Katara, and Sokka as they search for an earthbending teacher for Aang - so far, it has followed the general canon plot of Book 2, though of course, as always, there are differences due to this being an AU. No spoilers, but I have some really interesting things planned for this Book, particularly as we get closer to the Ba Sing Se arc. I also have a lot of fun stuff planned for the Zukaang romance in this Book.

Book 4: Fire will be the last Book of the fic, and will of course revolve around the Gaang in the Fire Nation. This is all I will say for now since I don't want to spoil the plans I have for the previous Book (which will heavily influence what happens in Book 4, obv).

When I finally finish this fic (I'm about halfway through at 33/65 chapters), I plan to start writing a direct sequel that adapts the events of the comics, as well as a Korrasami-focused Legend of Korra rewrite fic that is set in the same AU as TAatFP.

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kaynothanks · 7 months

Text

Behind The Sun

Pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t want to go alone."

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

"With flickering lights and all?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I volunteer as Tribute!"

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

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

Nothing was going to be okay.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

Logan looked confused. "What?"

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

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

"But he said—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He huffed annoyed. "What do you want?"

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you consider yourself a Career?"

The blonde snorted. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

"And you do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why? Thought it would be low?"

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

"Did you?"

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

Your forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"

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

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

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

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

You huffed. "Yes."

"What did we talk about?"

"No swearing."

"And?"

"I really love the Capitol."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared. "Of course."

"You would do anything for him?"

"Yes."

"Kill for him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

"But what if… what if you don’t?"

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

"You told me not to trust him!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another twig snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first, you had a Career to kill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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choccy-milky · 17 days

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A few months back, I asked if it was okay to write using Clora and Seb. Finished the work - thought I'd lost it on my hard drive and a virus scan located it.

Not sure if it's sad or happy, but the basic premise of it is Clora getting frustrated/upset at Sebastian and Sebastian comforting her, Sebastian getting upset at a predicament Clora's in and Clora comforting him, and them both getting frustrated/upset and having to comfort each other.

If you'd rather I didn't post it, that's fine too, but just wanted to test the waters and double check that you'd be okay with it if I gifted it to you via AO3, or see if you wanted a sneak peak of it before posting it.

OMG im so happy you were able to find it and recover the work you did!!😭🙏 AND YES OF COURSE YOU CAN POST IT AAA I CANT WAIT TO READ IT!! you can DM it to me first if you want, but i also dont mind if you post it straight away on ao3!! IM LOOKING FORWARD TO IT SM AAARGHHHA💖💖💖IT SOUNDS ANGSTY WE LOVE THE HURT/COMFORT I HOPE MY HEART CAN HANDLE IT🥺💖💖TY AGAIN FOR USING CLORA AND SEB AND TAKING THE TIME TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT THEM😭

@sunshine-goblin AAA THANK YOU!!! im honoured its your fav fanfic AND ALSO THE LONGEST YOUVE READ BAHAHAA fr, when you say its as long as four books in lotr it rly makes me realize how insane i am😃👍 aw IM GLAD I COULD INSPIRE YOU TO DRAW MORE AND WRITE AS WELL😭 I was curious so i creeped you and everyone go look at their HL blog @sunshines-legacy your MC is so cute and so is your art🥹💖 as for tips on writing a longfic and brainstorming and motivation and stuff, my motivation was my brainrot and unhappiness with the canon story/ending LMAOO, and looking at the story of the game and playing around with what i was unhappy with/what i WISHED could have happened instead, was a lot easier than just coming up with plotlines from scratch. but something i highly recommend is just OUTLINING and making a timeline, one of my fav parts of writing was just putting on some cafe ambience in the background and doing stream of conscious type word documents where id just barf ideas and then worry about making it pretty later....like look at how many versions of the same chapter i have BAHAHA or like different renditions bc i couldnt decide if id wanna keep a scene/what order, so id make a timeline and keep smoothing things out until i was happy with it and whatnot

brainstorming is defs my fav part of the process and the most helpful part to me. just getting a blank document and writing stuff you want to happen without worrying about how it connects to the story, and then a lot of the times as i was doing that id just keep going and it would kinda tie itself together/id come up with a solution as i was writing / once the ideas kept flowing. so basically : TIMELINES AND OUTLINES I VERY MUCH RECOMMEND, but very low pressure and barebones ones. for example, this is what my outlines/brainstorming look like

its honestly just me talking to myself LMAO, and a lot of the time ill interject and be like "OH YEAH AND THEN THIS CAN HAPPEN" as the ideas come while im writing BAHAHA. its a super fun process and honestly nothing feels better than just getting hit with that flash of inspo, and since its all very low effort theres no pressure to actually write well and its just a chill fun time AND GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR OWN PROCESS / WRITING💖💖💖it can be difficult but HOPE U HAVE FUN TOO💖💖

@a-little-lysdexic WAIT REALLY?? LMFAOO OMG THATS CRAZY....SAME BRAIN...🤝🤝...that would trip me up so much if i were you omg BAHHAHA but aside from having similar tastes in names, IM GLAD YOU LIKE MY ART AS WELL, TYY💖💖💖

THANK YOUUU im glad you're liking it!!! and that its taking over your life BAHAHA💖💖 the video you're thinking of was by @silverxstardust for chapter 13 of my fic, and you can watch the video here! (AND TY AGAIN TO SILVERXSTARDUST FOR DOING THIS!)

youtube

#ask #yapped so much #IM SO EXCITED TO READ YOUR FIC ANON U DONT UNDERSTANDDD #also for anyone interested in updates on my living situation i am currently in a dingy and sketchy af motel #but we went to a viewing for a place yesterday and we loved it so we just paid the deposit immediatley and started filling out the forms #we paid the deposit to put us on top but its still not confirmed whether we have it but I HOPE SO GAHH ITS THE PERFECT PLACE #and the perfect location we dont drive and theres literally a grocery store right outside #we wouldnt be able to move in till october 1st tho so all my stuff will just stay with uhaul and im going back to my moms on tuesday #I NEED MY MOMMYYYYYY ive been eating like such trash LMFAO #and between hopping between hotels and airbnbs and taking ubers to our viewings #me and my roommate have spent like the equivalent of 1 months rent just in the span of like a week #feelsbadman #we dont think about that tho tralalalaala #now that we have a place i can relax and stop apartment hunting and start drawing and writing again woo

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rux363 · 6 months

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"He was, unfortunately, very handsome."

This one's a real interesting prompt because I overthink this a lil too much - but here’s what I have for this year's KaiShin One Prompt Challenge!

Please do check out how everyone has gone about with the prompt at @dcmkkaishinevents! And once again, thank you mac for organising it!

Thoughts on it under the cut!

Right. Okay. I really struggled with this one. Not only in terms of time constrains (it's been a really busy time) but also because the prompt is reaallllly interesting. Like super interesting that I just jumped onto to join the event because I wanted to challenge myself (been in a slump lately and this prompt was screaming at me) and I was latching on real hard to something here:

Shinichi and Kaito look alike. So alike that Kaito has gotten mistaken as Shinichi before, and he has used it to his advantage too.

How do I use the prompt, while also remembering that they would look the same? I thought about going the crack route, as seen below:

Kaito: He is, unfortunately, very handsome ??: ... don't you guys look exactly the same? [Narcissist much?] K: oh. Right

But I wasn't up for it. I tried thinking about the idea of one of them looking like an absolute dork (affectionately), and then the line - but it kept feeling wrong to me, because I feel like that would be attractiveness. Handsome is too much of a physical word for me.

As Faith (@indelibleme) says, "this prompt is more for the "damn he's hot" type of vibe lol" - which is absolutely true.

So it's something about the physical appearance. Or at least that's what I want to focus on. But they look the same. (Kinda. You get the idea)

And then, it hit me. What if we make it so that Kaito likes Shinichi - everything from his intelligence to his appearance, and it's not because he looks like Kaito - he doesn't feel attracted to himself duh - but it's because it's how Shinichi looks. Kaito just happens to look like him. And is pining after him in the mirror.

Like. Does that even make sense? Probably. I don't know And right after that thought, I had that image of Kaito looking at the mirror and seeing Shinichi.

AND THEN THAT ONE FIC THAT POPPED UP IN MY HEAD KEPT REVOLVING IN MY HEAD WHENEVER I THINK OF THIS BECAUSE IT IS ABSOLUTELY NAILING IT I JUST HAD TO HUNT IT DOWN AGAIN yea. Here's the link to it: the only victim of these innocent crimes (is me) by dytabytes - it's an explicit fic so 18+ only and please read the tags and summary. I guess this drawing is an ode to that fic because when I went back to reread it, the premise really hit all the right spots.

Anyways, again, Kaito and Shinichi has their similarities, and they also have differences. This is just one route I went and m quite happy with what I have.

There was going to be an exposition and conclusion that used the prompt more explicitly, featuring the crack portion, before what I have - but time and energy. I am lacking of them.

If you have read uptil here - seriously thank you and have a good day/night/whatever time is a social construct haha

#DCMKOPC24 #kaishin #kudo shinichi #kuroba kaito #I spent too much time over thinking about this #like - it's such a odd train of thought - even for me #but I really like it haha so here we are #seriously though - if you like something like this - read dytabytes “the only victim of these innocent crimes (is me)”#11/10 hit that crave - just make sure to read the tags and summary yourself - not your thing? move on #also m alive yay #ruxart

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cablepowerhouse · 3 months

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I’m thinking of writing a small fic about Ninjago but I’m unsure of if it actually has potential.

The basic premise is that it swaps the positions/roles of multiple characters, specifically siblings and family members for instance

-Kai gets kidnapped and Nya has to go the path of the ninja to get him back

-the smith siblings have their elements swapped as well (but their personalities and emotional hurtles are the same)

-Wu is bit by the devourer as a child and gets corrupted by its evil venom

-the positions of the brothers are switched, Garmadon is the ninja’s sensei and Wu is the dark lord of the underworld

This was what I thought of at first but I slowly thought about even more changes I could make in order to make this story even more “switched up” than before.

-what if Zane isn’t really Zane? What if there is more to reveal about him than just the fact that he’s a robot?

- in this au The white ninja will discover that he is not only a hyper realistic android, but he is also the SECOND android son of dr Julien and that he is the “Echo” of his older brother Zane (Echo takes the place of Zane and Zane takes the place of Dr julien in the latter part of season 2)

-Jay doesn’t go by the name “walker” in this story because he’s instead referred to as “Jay Gordon” the son of famous movie star Cliff Gordon and the master of Lightning Libber Gordon who had unfortunately gone MIA after a freak accident that involved Milton Dyer’s failed “Prime empire” video game experiment 12 years prior.

-Jay is rich kid who acts out in his own particular way. He’s not too different from his mainline counterpart in terms of personality, he’s still just as intelligent, inventive and hilarious as the Jay we all know and love but he often lies or exaggerates himself in an attempt to impress those around him (especially a fiery young blacksmith girl who happens to be on the same ninja team as him;)

The only character that I don’t have a fully developed backstory for is Cole. I have a few things in mind but I want to make sure that each of the main characters from the pilot have a solid starting point for their story to unfold before I get into any actual writing.

Lemme know if you’re interested in reading this and I’ll write it, I really want to know that there’s at least one person who is willing to hear this story before I dedicate my time to actually producing it. After all, every writer needs an audience.

#ninjago #kai jiang #kai smith #ninjago kai #jay gordon #jay walker #jay ninjago #cole brookstone #ninjago cole #nya jiang #nya smith #ninjago nya #lord garmadon #sensei garmadon #master wu #sensei wu #ninjago au #ninjago fanfiction

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vampire-exgirlfriend · 3 months

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You guys, what the fuck is up with the increase in stealing and plagiarising in this fandom lately? When did that become a thing that was okay to do?

The first time I was flat out plagiarized was almost four years ago in a different fandom. A well known author in that fandom took the first paragraph of a short one shot, one of the first things I’d ever posted and that I was incredibly proud of, switched a few words, and then used it as the summary for their slightly longer fic. They then went on to steal the premise of my ficlet and just…make it longer. This was brought up in a discord server a friend of mine was in that I wasn’t and the general consensus was “who would believe you? You’re nobody.” So I kept my mouth shut and I deleted my fic because seeing it made me feel like shit. Something similar then happened to a friend of mine with the titles of her fics being stolen, flat out and word for word, for the same characters. And again it was “no one will believe you.”

We shut up. We stuck it out. And then when it kept happening, to us and to others, we left that fandom.

I was so, so excited when HotD aired. I was back in my ASOIAF phase that had never actually ended. It was a new opportunity to make friends with common interests and my writing improved so much because of how passionate about the canon material I was. I have made some of the most incredible friends, like life-long, stay up all night talking, come to my house or let’s hang out when you’re in my state/country kind of friends. It’s pretty amazing. But this fandom is a whole different beast than any other I’ve been involved with. I have no idea if it’s the general age of the fandom, or the lack of prior fandom experience, or what us old people call the “tiktokifcation of fandom.” But it’s different. And while that’s usually a good thing, there are so many times when this has been awful. There is a huge lack of accountability here. People are stealing things. And the weirdest part is, they don’t care! It is plagiarism to have someone else's story opened while you write yours so that you can tone match the other writer. It is plagiarism to take people’s well thought out ideas and then use them beat for beat. I get it, it’s fic, nothing is wholly original, we are going to see idea recycling! That’s just fandom. But to model your entire story off of someone else’s is heinous. And it’s wrong. And this literally just happened to a very good friend of mine. When she mentioned she was uncomfortable with it and had blocked the person who did this, someone she considered a level headed mutual (who has recently admitted to plagiarising someone else themselves, mind you) told her that she was just drama baiting and didn’t have the right to be upset. The same thing happened to me with a now deleted creator who told me that she dragged me in her discord server and that her friends (all big name creators would essentially “black list me” for saying anything).

It’s not dramatic to not be okay with your work being stolen! This is a normal fucking reaction. In trad publishing or academia, this shit gets you banned, expelled, etc. It can ruin your life.

I received a slew of anons recently asking for help with graphic making and editing. And I was so excited about them. That shit is fun for me. We chatted for a while, with them on anon, and that was that. Until I got an anon letting me know that the person I was talking with was someone who had stolen ideas and storylines from me and other creators. So I looked, I asked friends to look, and the consensus was “yeah, this is fucking plagiarism, and it’s weird.” All of the edit stuff she’d asked about was used on an edit that was a direct rip off of my own. But I elected to not make a thing of it, to ignore it, to wash my hands of it because of the weird fucking trend of calling out theivery being labeled as drama baiting. And I didn’t want that, not after I had genuinely made the mistake of thinking that someone had stolen an idea from me when they hadn’t (calm down, we’re really close friends now). This person deleted their old blog and so I thought it was over. And then yesterday I got a dm from this new blog I didn’t even know existed accusing me of sending them harassing anons.

A blog, who had stolen from me and at least four other people, who had reached out to me on anon for help and ideas, that at this point I didn’t even know existed anymore, said they knew I was sending hateful anons accusing them of theft. I wasn’t, of course, because I had no idea they even existed, and it made no sense that I would even know they’d created another blog. I only found out about their new blog when they dm’d me from it. But they had obviously done this to enough people that they were now getting called out on it.

You guys, we have to fucking stop acting like this. This fandom needs to stop stealing from each other and eating our own. And if someone brings up that they’ve had an idea stolen, we need to take them seriously instead of insinuating they’re only attempting to cause drama. Stop sending people unhinged anons because you feel like you’re guilty of lifting from another creator and just work on creating something original. Writing is hard. Giffing and making edits is fucking hard. And no, nothing will ever be 100% original, that’s just impossible at this point, but stop fucking taking things that aren’t yours and claming them as your own. Do better. Grow up.

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alexiswritingstuff · 1 year

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Just wanted to let you know that I've been binge reading all of your writings and I love them so much, keep up the good work! :)

I know you might have a lot of Gus requests, so it's okay if you put this one on the back burner for a bit. But I read the "Not So Scary After All" work and I was wondering if you could write a sort of sequel to it?

Maybe Jesse keeps trying to tell GN reader how obvious it is that he likes them. How he's seen him try not to smile when talking to reader, the softer tone of voice, things like that.

Reader obviously doesn't believe him and thinks that Gus is just being nice to his employees, especially the ones that are responsible for the cooks.

Anyways, after a few days of Jesse pestering the reader about it something happens to make them realize he might be right. I was thinking maybe they would make another mistake with the cook and Walter is there to see it. Maybe he gets mad, a little TOO mad, and Gus walks in 🤭 Or anything else works too! I just love the premise of a protective Gus that doesn't like to show how protective he actually is

First of all, thank you for the comment about my writings, I'm glad you have enjoyed them so far! Initially I didn't think about writing a part two, so I hope this does it justice, as well as that I hope it was what you were looking for!

Thank you for sending this in!

Not so scary after all. 2/2

Pairing: Gustavo x gender neutral reader.

Other appearances: Jesse Pinkman, Walter White.

Warnings: arguing, walter being a douche.

also be aware of spelling mistakes, or other errors. I do read these over but I can tend to miss stuff either way!

A/N: my brain has been fixated on other characters recently, so if these guys seem ooc then that may be why. It's hard to write scenes where gustavo is interested in another person because we barely get to see that in either show, so I also hope my portrayal of him just generally feels correct.

I hope you enjoy!

more Gustavo fics.

Taglist- @sukunamybeloved - @viviennemuerte - @miwagila - @marksassybanana

previous part.

It never mattered how many times you had gone through the same routine. Surprisingly, considering your line of work, waking up in the morning was always the most jarring part.

You could’ve had a great nights sleep, not woken up at any point, had no distractions or noisy neighbours. Yet the second you were in that car to get to the laundromat, it was like you had to force your eyes to stay open.

Which was apparently the same for Jesse too as there was a series of mumbles and grumbles that would fill the car every few seconds.

Each time you spared a glance to the passenger seat he would be leant further and further into window, his head bobbing whenever there was a difference in ground level or direction of the wheels.

It had you amused, but also a little concerned, “Did you wake up too early, or too late?”

Seeking no comfort from the hardness of the glass, and after his temple ended up smacking right into it, Jesse got himself to sit upright in a speed that closely resembled one of those stairlifts.

He groaned, having to make consistent attempts to keep his body from just slumping all together, “Both?” His hands raised to his head, the sides of his fingers beginning to rub at his eyes as if it would rid them of their tiredness.

In all honesty, outside of the cooking sessions and other shenanigans you found yourself in, you and Jesse never really... hung out. There would be times where you had lunch together, or had to show up to his house if there was something to drop off.

But that was mostly it.

And there wasn’t exactly a reason as to why. You had absolutely nothing against Pinkman, it was like the opposite. The more you spent time with him, the more you felt like some kind of guardian watching over some kid. Even if he also was an adult.

“You had breakfast, though, right?” Your gaze was trained on the lane ahead despite your ongoing conversation.

You had just turned onto a state road, meaning that, regardless of it being early in the morning, people were up and about. Trying to get to their jobs.

It always made it seem busier than it was.

At first, in response to your question, Jesse simply emitted another mumble of something. He was thinking, the intensity in which he rubbed at his eyes increasing for a moment, and then his hands dropped. “Oh,”

“Shit, I don’t... I don’t know.”

You supressed the urge to sigh. It had already happened a few times. Depending on what he did the night before, there would be some mornings where his mind was rattled enough that he would almost forget where he even was, so.

You came prepared.

“Well, I guess luck is on your side today.” you commented, flexing your fingers against the grips of the steering wheel, “There should be a sandwich or something in the back.”

By now Jesse’s head was leaning into the headrest, definitely having the same problem of trying to keep his eyes open like you did. The heat outside probably wasn’t a helpful factor either. “Seriously?”

You didn’t want to take your attention off of the road. The cars in front were starting to slow, and you needed to keep note of the distance from the ones at the back. “Check.” you told him, adjusting the rear view mirror for better visibility.

Jesse sort of rolled his head to the side after a moment, his chin almost knocking into the bone of his shoulder as his gaze cast onto the few items that were in the back seats.

He lazily blinked for a good few seconds, his eyes trying to adjust to the redirection of a sunlight beam. And then he saw it. Right in the middle.

A brown bag.

“No way.”

The next move he made was so fast that the seatbelt strapped around him had immediately stalled against his body, attempting to keep him in place at the assumption of sudden danger.

But that wasn’t enough to stop him at all.

He pushed against it once, then twice, and then one more time before simply manoeuvring himself around the belt so that the top half would basically be protecting the car seat instead of him.

When Jesse leaned himself between your seat and his, it was so much harder to keep your attention on the road. He was reaching out, arm extended as far as it could go and waving almost madly, until eventually, he grabbed the bag.

Jesse practically had to shove himself backwards to sit upright again, but soon he was able to resume his previous position with a big sigh of relief. Your head could only shake.

Now, there was this sound a rustling paper that filled the entire car as you moved onto the accompanying lane. Something that was definitely not supporting your concentration. “Damn.”

His voice was muffled, the noises coming out of his mouth barely even sounding like a word which in turn made you send him a look.

He had finally gotten to the sandwich. “You make this?”

“Nah, I had too many errands to run.” you informed with a slight sigh, finally beginning to let yourself relax in your seat, “Would’ve done it if I had the time, but I think that is better anyway.”

Jesse didn’t even have to speak for you to know his response. He had taken another bite, nodding his head just slightly in proper approval. If his eyes were closed it would look like he was in pure bliss.

After relentlessly chewing for a hot minute, he attempted to swallow it down, “I didn’t-- I didn’t take you as an early riser.” Yet his voice was still almost unintelligible.

“Well, believe it or not, other people are in fact active in the mornings.” you pointed out, slightly leaning to the side for further emphasis on who the comment was aimed at in a way that had Jesse rolling his eyes.

You swear you saw a clump of crumbs fly from his mouth when he next spoke, “Yeah, yeah-- You sure your too many errands wasn’t just you making sure that you looked good for a certain Fring?”

Your head snapped in his direction in a way that had looking back to the road immediately after, and probably almost gave you whiplash. But you saw it either way.

That damn grin had taken over his lips.

Again.

“Please don’t do this right now.”

Jesse had to clear his throat to stop himself from almost choking, “Aw come on, man, it’s-- There’s nothing to be ashamed of if you did.” Your head shook like it had done before, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was always so stupid to you how the indirect mention of someone made your body react the way it did. You were only trying to get to work, yet your heart was acting as if you had just gone for a run.

“But I do.” The look you sent Jesse almost had him wanting to put his hands up if he wasn’t so focused on his sandwich, “What? I do-- Look, I may not have that much experience, or whatever, but there is totally something going on.”

“Definitely on his end at least.” He moved the sandwich around in his hands, trying to locate the best part to bite as he had finally swallowed the last one, “I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve seen him give you the look.”

Your eyebrows furrowed within seconds, “The... The what now?” You tried to turn in his direction for confirmation, but he seemed a bit too busy to notice your movement.

Due to a junction being up ahead, your foot had moved onto the foot break, watching the lights fully change the closer you drew.

“The look.” Jesse finally repeated, his mouth full all over again in a way that needed real concentration to understand the words coming out of it, “Yeah, he gives you the look, like, all the time.”

Soon, the car in front of you had fully stopped, and then so did yours as you put it into first gear, keeping your feet on the first two pedals.

The moment the car had stopped moving, you turned to Jesse within seconds, eyebrows furrowed more than they had ever been. “What is the look?”

Pinkman gave you a simple glance at first, thinking that you were just messing around as he kept munching away... But no matter how much time went by, you didn't move. Still watching him.

His chewing slowed when his head turned back in your direction. He just blinked for a moment. “You don’t know... You don’t know what the look is?”

Your chin lowered, your eyelids slightly doing the same, “Does it sound like I know what it is?”

“Okay, but... how?” Despite Jesse’s previous complete interest in his sandwich, it lowered with his hands to his lap. There was utter confusion written all over his face while he remained smacking away. “How do you not-- How old are you?”

Your attention went to the road ahead all over again, the back of your head sinking into the headrest as a huff left your lips, “Older than you.” you pointed out, trying to sound more authoritative, but that just seemed to spark an already lit flame.

“Then how do you not see it, huh? I mean, even I can tell that it’s pretty obvious-- And not just because of the look either,” Jesse fully twisted in his seat so that he faced you, “He like... He wants to actually, like, talk to you, and shit-- I’ve seen him smile-- genuinely smile at you, okay?"

“Now, if he was doing it to me? I would... Man, I would be terrified-- But it’s you, it’s... different.” You were trying so hard not to shake your head again, but Jesse’s voice practically being right in your right ear was making it a lot more difficult. “It’s something else--”

“It’s not...” You regripped the steering wheel, “You do realise we’re talking Gustavo Fring, right?” Your head attempted to turn back to Jesse, though your eyes were trying to keep the attention on the road as one of the final vehicles seemed to cross through the junction.

“Exactly!” Jesse practically threw his arms up, almost losing his grasp on the sandwich in the process, “You should be caring about this more than you do.”

Your head shook as your gaze fully went back to the road, your foot readying to release the clutch while your fingers tapped against the steering wheel in anticipation.

You were trying to find something to zone in on, something to distract yourself from the kid sitting in your passenger seat as he was still eagerly trying to get you to see the things the way he did. But you weren’t giving it to him.

“Fine then.” Jesse reached behind him, grabbing the top half of the seatbelt, pulling it until it was in front of him again, before he ducked himself beneath.

“But I’m telling you, Y/n.” It was back, slinging diagonally across his torso by the time he was seated properly, and also by the time the lights had finally turned green.

“You’ll see.”

There was something about this day that was starting to feel a little familiar.

You and Jesse had arrived ages ago. You had gone down the windy red stairs, did the whole thing of taking off unnecessary clothing so that you wouldn’t completely boil in the obnoxiously yellow protective suit you would put on next.

And at first, once you were all geared up, the two of you stood in front of the machines. Your heads were raised, eyes cast up to the walkway above as you awaited the arrival of your usual partner at their usual time...

But the door never opened.

There was no proper estimate for how long the two of you just stayed waiting as you had set your watch to the side, and the clock was on the other side of the room, however, there was one thing you knew for sure. Someone was late.

Eventually, the two of you were trying to compensate, finding something useful to do while giving the benefit of the doubt that maybe it was just tough traffic or something going on that made them lose track of time.

Though, the ability to sympathise got smaller and smaller the more minutes began to turn into full on hours.

You found yourself at your usual table with your hand supporting the weight of your head, attempting to occupy your mind by looking over the paperwork from passed cooks. A habit that you only recently developed.

“Dude,” you heard somewhere to your side before there was an exasperated sigh, and a quick creaking of a chair, “What the hell is taking him so long?”

Earlier, Jesse had taken one of the other wheeled chairs from the table connected to yours and had rolled somewhere, enough so that you could only see him from the corner of your eye.

His body was slumped back, the seat beneath him creaking with every move that he made. And considering that he didn’t have anything to do, that was like every. Single. Second.

He had tried out the difference created when he would shift his weight, tested what it would feel like to have his legs hanging over the left side of the chair and then the right, he had pushed his feet onto the floor to roll himself backwards and forwards against the smooth tiles.

And now, as apparently none of that had seemed to have settle his mind, Jesse had resorted to zipping and unzipping the protective suit he was so ready to take off by now. Over, and over... And over again. “Okay,”

“That’s it.”

The pencil held in your gasp was cast to the side of the notepad, you were barely looking at this point, before your hands moved to the edge of the table so that you could push against it enough that your chair started to roll.

You stood up, winding round the seat that was still on the move as you began to walk towards one of the pathways between the machines. Jesse fully planted his feet on the ground, “Yo, Y/n, where are you going?”

Your fingers grasped onto the zip of your suit and you yanked it down as far as you could without having to bend for the rest, beginning to pulling your arms out one after the other moments after.

You moved round that damn settling tank and soon ended up at the wall where you would keep or hang up your loose items. “I...” you began, your voice becoming strained as you bent down to free your feet of those big welly boots, “am going to find out what the hell is going on.”

The squeak of a chair echoed somewhere to the back of the room. “Well, don’t-- Don’t leave me in here by myself.”

Finally, after one last tussle, your, once worn, protective suit was now sprawled on the ground beside the clothing rack. You moved to your usual shoes, putting either feet in their respective ware before tying the laces to make sure they wouldn’t fall off.

Before Jesse could even appear by your side to complete the same process, you were on the move once again, directing towards those windy red stairs that always made you feel like you were going to fall up and/or down them.

“Y/n, wait, dude, wait-- Just give me a minute.�� You could hear the hurried rustling of plastic suit echoing through the steps you took on the metal staircase.

Eventually, when your movements had allowed you to arrive at the cat walk, you found yourself complying to Jesse’s words... While the man himself was still trying, and failing, to get the suit off.

It gave you a moment to catch a breath you hadn’t been able to take all day. You were stood high, looking down at the problems below, and not drowning neck deep in it like you usually did.

A deep breath sucked into your nostrils as you let your eyes fall closed, the air of the lab starting to cool the warmth that had festered across your skin--

A sharp whistle squealed through from your left before it bounced around each wall one after the other.

Your eyes had snapped open as soon as the sound appeared, but it wasn’t until your head had started to turn that your brain realised what it had come from.

It was the door.

Your body twisted in the direction of the man who was almost stumbling across the cat walk, a series of huffs and puffs spluttering from his mouth that would have you worrying any other day.

But as of now, all you did was cross your arms over your chest.

“Yo, Mr. White! What the hell took you so long, dude?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he began through a slight wheeze that ended with him doing this horrendous cough. And once he was about three steps in front of you, he stilled his apparently over exhausted body, using a hand to shift his weight onto the railing, “There was... car trouble, and stuff with the kids, you-- you know kids.”

“You would think, maybe, after the first one that it was going to get easier and then...”

In the midst of Mr. White stabilising himself, his head had turned to the right in at attempt to locate Jesse, which wasn’t hard to do considering the fact that he was still taking off that damn suit, to further emphasis his... guilt?

But instead, after he did a sort of double take, he began to slowly face you once again, “Why aren’t any of the machines on, why... Why aren’t you wearing your suit?”

“We were waiting for you. I was just about to try and find at least someone to tell us where you were.”

“Wait... Wait a minute,” Mr. White started, holding his hands up while he took a step closer. “You didn’t start?” His chin slightly lowered in a way that made his eyes peer at you over his glasses.

“No?” you stated simply, your eyebrows furrowing at the sudden change to his demeanour, “After last time... We didn’t think you wanted us to do it by ourselves.”

“But that was-- That was last time, Y/n.” With every word that the man spoke, his hands rose higher and higher until they were inches away from touching his face, “Do you have any idea what time it is right now?”

The urge to scoff was stronger than ever, and you had to hold it back more than you ever had in your life, “I think I should be asking you that question.”

The man before you began shaking his head in a way that was almost not visible. “I told you... I was having problems with my car.” For a moment his expression remained the way it was, a visible attempt at holding back what you were guessing was anger.

But then it failed.

“I have... a family to take care of...” His hands dropped to his sides. When he next spoke the corners of his mouth slightly downturned like there was utter distaste for the words coming out of his mouth, “They are not going to be put at expense because, again, you weren’t able to do a simple job.”

Regardless of how loud it usually was when someone walked up the windy stairs, right now, as Jesse began to do just that, it was barely audible to your ears. The sound fading more and more the longer you stared at the man before you. “Guys, can we just--”

“I am doing my job just fine, Mr. White.” you started up with this lack of emotion to your voice, trying to make it as clear as possible that you wanted to get this over and done with, “We just didn’t want to do another batch all by ourselves, simply, because you couldn’t be bothered to show up.” Though it seemed your mouth had other plans.

There was something that almost satisfactory when you saw a side of his face twitch. But soon, it was one that ended with this sort of smile curling at his lips, his eyebrows raising more than you had ever seen in your time working with him. “Oh.”

“So, you want me to apologise for making a singular mistake? Is that it?” He took yet another step towards you, “You know what, how about we count how many times you have made-- No, caused, a mistake, hmm?”

You couldn’t count the amount of voices that were telling you to take a step back, to move away the closer he got to stand directly in front of you, “But that wasn’t only my fault-- There’s a big difference between actually trying and just not showing up.”

Your feet remained planted on the ground beneath. Your arms were held tighter than ever across your torso as you tried to maintain the blankest expression possible.

“Dude, both of you just... just chill out, please.” Jesse tried to insist as he walked up the last few steps, but no one paid any attention to his words, “We can-- We can work this out--”

“You allowed a contamination,” Mr. White began, narrowing his eyes as if in disbelief, “How did you-- Did they not teach you to read, or listen, to instructions in school?”

“My education has nothing to do with this.” you insisted without missing a beat. And regardless of your attempts to keep your composure, it was inevitable that something began slipping into your voice.

You had been up early.

You had been running back and forth to make sure that certain things were sorted for certain people, had to drive all the way to downtown to pick up Jesse and then all the way back up to get here. To work.

And then, while at work, you weren’t even able do your damn job because your other partner, that was supposed to be there at a specific time by contract, just didn’t show up.

Which then lead you and Jesse to have to stand and do absolute jack shit for hours on end.

Walter just shook his head again, even raising his hands like he was about to shove you or something, though he might have wanted to simply point a finger, “Well, apparently it does, because if you still aren’t competent enough to follow something so basic, then--”

“What is going on here?”

Within the next second, the man in front of you had twisted round in a way that almost gave you whiplash just from watching. He stepped to the side, and moved backwards until he was practically next to you. “Oh, Gus, I, uh... We were just... Slow start.”

But, of course, he was still a little ahead.

Your feet, however, hadn’t moved an inch. In fact the only move you made was to let your arms finally fall free to your sides as you stared onwards.

It was Gustavo. He was stood in the doorframe, one hand pressing against the weighted metal so that he had enough time to take in his surroundings. And then he took the final step inside.

It was only when the door closed behind him that you realised you hadn’t even heard it open in the first place.

The lab was back to what it had been minutes ago. Silent. No sound at all filtering throughout the entire room.

Gustavo stilled himself not far from the door he had walked through, but enough so that you could feel his presence as well as see it. His arms were unmoving by his sides, a trait that would’ve carried out through his entire body if he hadn’t started moving his head.

Like Walter had done when he arrived, Gustavo looked at the room below. He studied it, looked from one section to the other while noting the quietness that was effecting even him.

And then he turned back to the people across from him, the expression on his face unwavering, “Why is that? There’s nothing in the machines.”

“You know, ex-- exactly.” the man to your side suddenly spoke up, snapping your attention from the other guy you wanted to look at a little longer. “I had... countless problems with a lot of things this morning, and I wasn’t able to arrive on time.”

Walter sort of took a step forward, but instead of what you would naturally think of when someone carried out such a movement, he didn’t properly face Gustavo.

He stood side on, his body turned towards the machines so he could look at you or his boss with a simple movement of his head. And as of now, you seemed to be his main target. “Apparently they couldn’t be bothered to start the batch themselves.”

“That’s not true.” You mirrored his stance, faced directly towards him, instead of the man who was just trying to seek answers, as your eyebrows furrowed as much as they could.

Walter tilted his head, “You sure?” he asked, using the most condescending voice that would of set you off had you already lost the grasp on your, slowly dissipating, self control.

“Yes, I don’t understand--” Your hand rose to your face, fingers pressing into the skin beneath before dragging down to your chin. And then they dropped. You took in a deep breath. “Look... I admit it, sure, we could have started the cook. But.”

“Me and Jesse both thought it was smarter to wait after the previous mistake,” you began, emphasising your point by gesturing to the dude who was now stood behind, and his eyes sort of widened at the sudden attention.

This time it was you who took the step forward. “But yet again,” You made sure to hold yourself back from blinking as you stared right at the man who was trying so hard not to cut you off, your fists clenched at your sides. “You. Weren’t. Here.”

Your heart was thudding in your ears, a sound louder than any other thing in the room. The exhaustion was rampant through your body, continuously attacking system, and at this point testing your patience that had already become thin.

The ability to control anything was about one minute away from collapsing.

“Why were you late, Mr. White?”

When Gustavo’s voice caught your ears, you hadn’t even bothered to look his way despite the fact that Walter did. In fact, he took the chance to move away from you, which almost made him bump into the other railing.

“Car troubles, and, uh... family stuff, too, you know... all that.” he informed, his voice and the look of his face switching into one that you could instantly tell was the fakest attempt of trying to get sympathy.

“And you didn’t inform anyone of these... troubles?”

Your head turned in about a second, your gaze snapping to the man who hadn’t moved a singular inch since the last time you properly saw him. His attention was only on Walter, his eyes now slightly narrowed.

“What...” Mr. White started, the shock clear within his voice and the expression on his face, “Are you... Are you trying to say that this is my fault?”

“I am not saying anything, Mr. White.” Gustavo’s turned in the mans direction with such slowness that had a look of regret taking over anything else that was threatening to appear on Walters face. And once he stilled, he had even slightly tilted it to the side, “I am simply asking questions to understand why a job hasn’t been completed.”

Walter let out this sort of scoff of a sound as he gestured with his hands like before, “Well, then your asking the wrong person, Gus.”

He pointed towards you, this time not even bothering to look unless it was to make sure his finger was actually aimed in your direction, “They... They have been here for who knows how long, I... I-- I mean, the batch could’ve finished by now, if they just--”

“You are putting the blame... on them?” Gustavo’s voice was low, deep in pitch that it was almost gravelly and harsh to any ears that heard it. There was no direct tone, or emotion clear within it. But paired with the slow step forward, anyone could tell that it wasn’t good.

“You are putting the blame on a person who was actively trying to solve a problem that you created... because you weren’t competent enough to make a phone call?”

You were use to his intimidation tactics. In all honesty, usually, it seemed even more affective when he wasn’t using them, like when he wore that smile that never really reached his eyes.

But this...

This was different.

When Gustavo wanted to intimidate someone, or remind them of their place in the bigger picture. He had relationships to maintain, an act to keep up so that nothing could expose him and/or his business, so he never risked insulting a person in case it would backfire, create unnecessary problems.

Gustavo Fring wasn’t a man who directly insulted someone unless he was going to gain something from it... Well, apparently, until now.

For the next few seconds it seemed that Mr. White couldn’t find the exact reaction he had. His lips twitched almost every way that they could, his mouth would open and close again and again like he was mimicking a fish, all the while his head began to shake once again, “I don’t... I don’t know what to say-- I can’t... Gus, I just--”

“I have heard all I needed.” There were no movements that accompanied his words. No change to his voice a part from a mild show of a tested patience. Gustavo just stared at the man before him, unblinking, “You still have plenty time to cook.”

“You can’t be serious--”

“That’s what you came here to do... Is it not?” Gustavo pointed out simply, his head tilting to the side in a way that almost made him look like a puppy. But his face said all that it needed to.

Walter sort of cowered, avoiding the mans gaze as he took a moment to think, “I... I-- Well... Yes, but--”

In about a second, though there was almost nothing displayed on Gustavo’s face, everything sort of... dropped? His eyelids lowered in a way that wasn’t enough to hide his eyes but it was still visible, his jaw unclenched, his lips almost looked like they were turning down the way.

But again. Not once did he blink.

“Then cook.”

For a solid ten seconds, there was just utter silence. Someone could have drop a pin on the other side of the room, and it would still echo like any other sound. No one moved. No one twitched. No one spoke.

Walter took in a deep breath, his shoulders deflating when it made its way back out. And then he turned, beginning to do just as Gustavo said this time without any argument.

But the moment you started to do to the same thing--

“Not you.”

You froze. Your body hadn’t even managed to twist yet, so after sending a look to Jesse who sent one right back, you simply rocked back on your feet, resuming the same position you were in before.

His eyes were only on yours. The first time he had fully looked at you since he had entered the room.

“We have... other matters to discuss.”

After you left the room, it was practically silent when you began to walk.

There was the usual sounds that occurred from the machines within the laundromat, and the workers who you were still not sure knew about the giant meth lab beneath there feet, but between you and Gustavo there was nothing.

No exchange of words and barely even the sound of your own footsteps.

He was a few steps ahead of you, which may have been one of the main reasons, as he lead you across the paths that had big machines towering over you on each side.

There would be a few moments were you had to duck, or even completely manoeuvre, around certain objects that were hung, either needing to dry or they were connected to a moving system that would bring clothes from one section to another.

You had no idea where you were going. The second the two of you had officially exited the lab, his lips had became sealed. He just started walking, and of course, you only had one response to that.

Your gaze pretty much remained on Gustavo’s back no matter how far you went, only fleeting to make sure that you weren’t going to bump into anything, as you followed the man in front of you like a lost duckling... Though, you felt more like a child getting ready to be told off.

Eventually, after stopping yourself from getting caught up in the thoughts swirling through your mind, you found yourself walking out of the big vertical door. The entrance of the laundromat.

If your heart wasn’t pounding before it sure was now. And no matter how badly you wanted to just focus on the feeling of fresh air after being stuck in an underground room for what felt like, and probably was, about five hours... Gustavo stopped walking.

He was stood at the edge of the paved platform, hands moving to clasp behind his back as he resumed that usual straight posture.

Your steps grew slower the more close you got to standing by his side. You wanted to gage his mood, predict what was about to happen or what he was going to say, which was a bit difficult considering that you could only see the back of his head.

You cleared your throat when you had arrived to the right of him. Your eyes were slightly narrowed, adjusting to the sudden presence of the sun, while you gently leaned back and forth on your feet.

“Sir, I... I’m really sorry about this... Again,” you had begun, but almost immediately your speech planned in your head seemed to have fallen apart.

You turned your head to the side, trying to properly convey your apology through your face more than your words. “I know it doesn’t help the business, but I really, really, don’t know why this keeps happening--”

“Y/n.”

You had already been looking at Gustavo throughout your words. And maybe it was because you were too caught up in your mind, or because originally the man before you had been gazing into the distance with the usual expression that barely gave you anything to work with.

But now he was looking right back at you.

“Yes?” you answered subconsciously in a way that had your mouth snapping shut immediately after realising that you didn’t need to actually do that.

This time, Gustavo’s chin lowered, “I’m not going to scold you, Y/n.” His gaze was the most gentle you had ever seen it, along with sound of his voice. He may have said the words simply, and matter of factly, but his face told you otherwise.

You sort of just stood there for a moment, blinking at him. “You... You’re...” And then your eyebrows furrowed all over again, your body turning so that you faced him directly, “You’re not?”

Gustavo kept looking at you, and finally, since thatsituation with Mr. White, you weren’t presented with an expression of judgement. It wasn’t a look that visibly told that they thought whatever they were seeing was utter stupidity.

He took in a breath, letting his eyes fall back on the busy town ahead for a split second, before they were back on your own, “I want you to go home.”

His voice was lighter, the expression on his face no longer holding the tension that had clung to his skin.

Your lips parted, even if no sound initially came out. You stared back at him for a moment, your eyes a little wider than they were before, almost unblinking, “Did I mess up that badly?”

Gustavo’s eyebrows furrowed so quickly that you hadn’t caught onto it until he turned his body in your direction, “Forgive my phrasing.” he started, his hands remaining behind his back no matter the change of position, “This is not a punishment.”

With his next words, Gustavo made sure that you were looking at him, right into his eyes, just in case his meaning was conveyed through his voice, “You are not in trouble for the wrongdoings of another man.”

... Were you missing something? Why would Gustavo take you out of the lab?

I mean, sure, you made the deduction that not starting the batch might’ve not been such a great idea, and honestly at some point expected to get a good talking too because of it. Maybe it would be the final straw...

But here you were. Theman himself, the big boss, stood right in front of you. Directly telling you that you’re not in trouble.

“Then... I’m going to have to say that I don’t understand, Sir.” The muscles beneath your brows were getting a good work out from consistently changing between being normal and then furrowed within, practically, every thirty seconds, “We still have a batch to do, a deadline to follow.”

Influenced yet again by a man stood before you, “And who is that for?”

Your whole body felt like it wanted to deflate, fall limp and just collapse on the ground. This time it wasn’t in anger, or fear, or annoyance. It was because after everything, you could exhale the nerves that had clung to your insides. There was no use for them now.

You lightly nodded your head, the fact of not being in trouble officially processing in a way that had your gaze lowering, “... You.”

Gustavo wanted to smile. He wanted to display his pride of finally cracking the code that was your mind, having created even a bit of equal understanding, but he could still see the ghost of the previous expression that held your face hostage. The genuine concern over possible harming his business.

And him.

“I am not asking you to leave because I think that you are bad at your job, or that you don’t do anything for this business-- Because that would be entirely wrong.” he started up with this new voice that was difficult to ignore, “I am simply saying that you have the day off.”

“It is... normal in a workplace, is it not?”

By the time your eyes met Gustavo’s, your brows had furrowed once again, though now, it was for a very different reason, “I mean... Yes-- But not in this business, just...”

There was a huff of air that passed through your lips. Theexhaustion from earlier was presenting itself back into your system, making the want to talk become a lot less than before, “Let me-- Let me go back in there, we can work, we can... we can get it done.”

Gustavo’s head began shaking before you had even finished your sentence, “I can’t do that.”

“And why not?” you questioned, leaning back slightly so that you could fully take in his demeaner, analyse any look that took over his face, “I thought you said that I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“You didn’t.” he insisted almost immediately, the expression he wore going blank the way it usually did. But now wasn’t the time. “Then...” You took in yet another breath to cut off your words, trying to suppress the urges to sigh, scoff, or the sudden want to raise your voice, “Why?”

To say this day felt long was truly an understatement. Things just kept happening one after the other and still you were left in the dark. No answer as to why things progressed into the situations they had.

“Y/n, I am not... risking the loss of more time to arguing.” It was like you could visibly see the words he chose to say. The pure caution, decisions careful enough so that he wouldn’t set off the things he could see getting ready in your eyes, “I know that if you go back in there, Mr. White will not... let go. Not unless I place someone in there to stand and watch at all times.”

“All I am telling you is that you are free to go while I... sort things out.” Gustavo somehow made himself stand taller, trying to prove the confidence in which was already heard in his voice and to also prepare for the possibility of you finally reacting in the way that your body had wanted to for hours.

But despite what he had envisioned playing out, or tried to predict, it was pretty much the opposite. In fact, the only proper reaction to his words was your shoulders deflating, ridding your muscles of its constant worry.

And then you crossed your arms over your chest, sniffing as you did so, “And what about Jesse... Mr. White? What-- What about them?” you questioned, waiting for the words to settle before you looked back into those other pair of eyes, only to find that the look from earlier had repossessed his face, “It may not seem like it, but I assure you, Y/n.”

“Mr. Pinkman and Mr. White can handle it themselves.”

For the first time throughout the entire day, you felt the want to smile. “Okay then.” You nodded your head once, your grip tightening on your arms as you took a step backwards, “Thank you, uh... Mr. Fring. It seems you have saved me again.”

“Gus. Call me Gus, and please, there is no need to thank me.” Gustavo started up before you could even try to turn in the direction of your car, “It comes under being an employee.”

Your body stilled after about one more steps backwards, your eyes narrowing at the man before you, playfully, “Then how come I haven’t heard you getting protective when someone else makes a mistake?”

Gustavo mirrored the look on your face, “I wasn’t... I wasn’t being... protective?” In his case, however, he wasn’t doing it in a teasing sort of manner, he was just genuinely confused at the comment. “I simply understood the situation and acted accordingly.”

Your arms loosened in your hold until they lowered to your sides once again, “And yet you defended me.” If you were close enough to Gustavo you would probably have started circling him, “Even though I was in the wrong... both times.”

Gustavo unfurrowed his brows, “You weren’t in the wrong just because some man has an incorrect idea of authority… and a very poor concept of time.” His tone was the flattest you had ever heard it. There was no emotion behind it until the words of... slight insult.

The urge to smile grew stronger that had you pressing your lips together to stop yourself from letting out a laugh. “Still,” Though, after a moment, you managed to compose yourself, “If you hadn’t arrived when you did...”

Gustavo huffed air through his nose, bowing his head a tad before he let it shake a few times. When he looked back up it was clear that he was trying to hold back whatever was wanting to take over his face, but you could see it in his eyes.

“Go home.”

There was this feeling of giddiness begging to erupt in your chest. It spread a warmth to every part of your body until it was a collective feeling. It caught you of guard, causing the smile you were trying to hide begin to curl at your lips.

So, after a sharp breath and a nod as a thanks, you sort of ducked away, twisting yourself around so that you could make your way towards your car.

However, the nearer that you got to the vehicle, it seemed there was a thought pushing itself further and further to the centre of your mind. It may have been more of a feeling, as you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to go back to your house.

I mean, sure, being able to take a nice long shower, grab a bite to eat, and completely flop on your bed sounded... Well, pretty nice actually.

But the next session for a batch was now going to be days away.

Days from your work and a certain Fring.

You had completely stilled about a step away from your car. There was a quiet breath that huffed through your nose, one that only you could hear, “You know what, actually.”and then you turned on your heel, the concrete practically scuffing under your shoe. “I’ve worked for you for quite some time now, and yet…”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been inside your restaurant.”

The man your eyes managed to focus on seemed to be closer than he was the last time you saw him. A fact that made your brain almost completely miss the words that came out of his mouth. “Well, it’s not an obligation.”

There was something about the look on his face. Something about the way he pressed his lips together immediately after he finished speaking. He may have assured that the visit wasn’t needed, but... there might have still been a want.

“What hours is it open?” you asked, the sound of your voice almost echoing through the parking area, even if the noises from the active laundromat were louder.

Gustavo’s head slightly rose after a moment, one of his brows slightly twitching as he processed your question. And then he cleared his throat, “That would depend on the day.” he informed, readjusting the hands he still held behind his back.

You hummed in response, letting your gaze fall into the distance as you thought.

Honestly, after the past few hours you could barely remember what part of the week you were in right now. So, instead, you thought back to what a usual week would look like.

What was the day that was perfectly set between the times you would possibly be able to see Gustavo at work? Right in the middle?

“How about Thursday?” you suggested, now watching as Gustavo began to make his way across the concrete, slightly nodding his head, “Then... Seven to ten, I believe.”

“All right,” you breathed out, the speed in which your heart beat increased the more the man approached. “One less lunch to plan for the week.” You practically gulped as you reached backwards, fingers patting against the cool metal of the vehicle for a moment until they located the handle.

Gustavo stilled himself about three steps in front of you, the look on his face signalling that he was thinking about something as he wasn’t making direct eye contact, “Actually... I would suggest to come around dinner time.”

Just as you were about to tug on the handle, your hand froze, along with pretty much every other part of your body.

The man was now looking right at you, his voice sort of timid in a way that caught you even more off guard. And apparently himself too. “It’s... more quiet.” He cleared his throat, “Less people around.”

Your arm slowly moved back to your side, releasing the warm handle from any sort of grasp.

There was a fight going on in your chest. A want to give into the urge of running away like you would’ve done in a situation close to this as a kid. But you weren’t a child anymore, far from it.

It took a good moment for any sound to be able to roll off of your tongue. And as soon as something eventually had, it was like your lungs remembered how to properly function. “Will you be there?”

You felt younger. The two of you may have been stood pretty much right in front of the other, yet neither of you could maintain eye contact longer than a few seconds before you collectively had to look away, no matter how confident either one of you tried to seem.

Gustavo cleared his throat, though it sounded like it had barely done anything. “I believe so.” he finally confirmed, and regardless of the fact that his voice was still quiet, there was this tone that took over his words.

“Well, good...” That giddy feeling returned, even if it had probably never left. “I think I probably would still go if you weren’t there, but... it would be a lot less... fun.”

The man before you let the slightest smile curl at a side of his mouth, “Well, we wouldn’t want that now would we?” He sounded more breathy this time, a natural progression from his already quiet voice. But it wasn’t because of nerves, or a reaction of his lungs, which you had initially thought. It was intentional.

“Not at all.” Your voice in question was more full than his, however, there was this slight whisper to it, as if Gustavo should be the only person allowed to hear it.

“Then it’s settled,” he began, slightly lowering his head in away that had your back pressing into your car. His normal tone had seeped back through his words like he was back in boss mode. But not quite Gustavo Fring just yet. “How does... eight o’clock sound? Unless you eat earlier?”

Your head shook practically without a second of hesitance. The ability to move your lips was barely thereso you resorted to moving to the side, finally pulling on the handle of your car door until it swung out far enough that you could stand behind it.

You could see Gustavo raise his eyebrows just the slightest as the door had created a sort of separation, and it had you biting back a grin. “It’s perfect.” you insisted, trying to sound as neutral as possible despite the, possibly, clear ways you felt at that moment.

And then you lowered yourself into the car, having to slightly shifted backwards a little bit to properly get into the drivers seat before you swung your legs inside.

Your hand grasped the inside of your door, your fingers making certain that they had a good grip, before your eyes landed on the figure through the glass of the window that hadn’t moved an inch.

And then you smiled.

“Gus.”

#gustavo fring #gus fring #gustavo fring x reader #breaking bad x reader #breaking bad #brba #gender neutral reader

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valeffelees · 6 months

Note

Oh do tell about that snowbaz au of yours 👀

I WOULD FUCKING LOVE TO, thank you so much tumblr user pidgelikethebird (and also my most beloved and loyal companion @drowninginships) for providing me the enrichment i need to survive the winter.

ok gimme a min here to turn my thoughts into comprehensible words. i'm gonna say right now: this post is gonna be a LONG one, but 10 out of 10 scientists agree you should read to the end.

so, if you didn't know, The Beauty Inside is a Korean romcom from 2015, based off an American short film of the same name; the orig short film i linked is an extremely quick watch (only 6 episodes, each one 4-10 minutes long) and i would absolutely recommend it, but the very basics of the premise is that: a man wakes up in his bed on his 18th birthday to find he's in a completely different body than his own, and every day since then, he wakes up as somebody new.

AND OBVS I JUST HAD TO FUCKING SNOWBAZ THAT, which is how my AU, titled In the Many Ways of Loving You, was born:

Simon Snow wakes up every day as somebody new; the only person who knows the truth is Penny, his best friend and roommate, since she's been by his side since it all began ten years ago.

he works on commission as a custom bookbinder—like, he has an Etsy or some shit, i dunno, some kinda online shop where people can commission him in a variety of ways to rebind their favourite books, either by paying extra for Simon to buy the book himself and rebind it from new and send it to them, or sometimes collectors will send their personal copies to him to have him rebind them, and he's very good at it, and N E WAY the point of this is that he has a small bookshop he's been going to regularly for the last eight or so years, because it's close to his and Penny's flat, and where the story begins: Baz is a new employee that just started working there about two weeks ago and Simon has a massive crush on him.

ok, now. day one: when we meet Simon for the first time, he wakes up and he's lovely and blonde and brown-eyed and ok, yeah, i've just made him look like Agatha bc i thought it'd be kinda funny, esp since Agatha's not actually in the fic otherwise.

and Simon has to pick up a copy of some random book from the bookshop today bc someone bought a custom binding of it, so he goes down and, as usual, since it's his job, Baz has to come over to talk to him and is like, "hey, can I help you with anything?" and Simon doesn't need any help bc he's been coming to this shop for years, but every time Baz asks he says yes bc he wants the excuse to talk to him, and on this day Simon is like, wait. i'm so hot rn. so he asks Baz out—

and Baz is like [finger guns] absolutely not.

and Simon is like 👁️👄👁️ welp i'm in fucking agony.

but whatever, fine. a guy like Baz is prolly already in a proper relationship, and it's always a bad idea for Simon to get involved with someone he has to see on the reg. he had to start going to a different coffee shop that's twenty minutes out of his way bc he went out on a great date with one of the baristas at his old spot and then obvs couldn't go out again after just that one time, and it made him super emo, so really, Baz saying no was prolly for the best.

TIMESKIP, it's been a few days and Simon has to go down to the bookshop again. but this time he's a bloke. and so Baz comes up to ask if Simon needs help and he says yeah, as usual, and the two of them end up having a bantery convo about the book Simon's looking for bc they've both read it and Baz hated it, but Simon loved it, and it's just very cute and casual, and then Baz is like. so, my shift ends in liiike... four hours. are you doing anything?

and Simon is like. OH. OH!!!

that whole "it's prolly for the best" thing? yeah, fuck that, that was Simon of the past, he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about bc cute bookshop guy wants to hang out and so they go out and have the most fucking insane romcom date ever.

'cause you gotta remember, Simon only gets one real day with people, so he doesn't do like casual coffee dates or movies or whatever. they go out and like fucking B&E a museum after hours bc Simon knows someone like the janitor or something (i dunno) leaves one of the back doors unlocked so he can step out for a cig every few hours, so they sneak in and have the time of their life running around looking at art while trying not to get caught, and we're going to use the suspended disbelief bestowed upon us by the power of romcoms to pretend security cameras aren't a thing, and it is BRILLIANT. like, Simon and Baz have so much chemistry, and when the night ends Baz is just like all smiles and creased eyes and messy black hair and, breathlessly: "I want to see you again."

and Simon's heart drops. because he wants to see Baz again, too, but he can't. no matter how much he wants to, he can't. when he wakes up tomorrow he's going to be someone new, so he can't, he can't, he can't, he—

"Yeah," he says. "Tomorrow?"

SIMON NO!!!

"It's a date."

FUCK!!!

ok, so now we have a problem. Simon can't just stand him up, i mean he could but he doesn't want to, and he really does want to see him again, so he does the only thing he can think of: he stays awake. all fucking night.

Baz, the next day: "You look exhausted."

Simon, wired asf on caffeine and trying to be smooth: "Had someone on my mind all night."

and then they go have another wicked date, but i have nothing in my notes about what it is. oh, i have them living in Canada in this fic btw bc as a rule, if a fic doesn't have to be set in England, i move them to Canada for comfort. so i might have them go cliff jumping or something? who knows. we'll go with that for now.

cue the romcom montage.

[mother tongue starts playing SO DON'T SAY YOU LOVE ME FALA AMO, JUST LET YOUR HEART SPEAK UP AND I'LL KNOW]

ok. post-date. Simon is so dumb and infatuated with Baz and does something only a boy who is dumb and infatuated and sleep-deprived would do in his situation, and he goes back to Baz's flat with him to "watch a movie", or in other words: the movie starts and then they prolly have sex, but in my notes this is written as "??? smash ???" so i guess it's kinda up in the air.

either way, Simon passes the fuck out at Baz's place bc he was properly exhausted by that point, and he wakes up to Baz screaming at him bc obvs he looks like a different person now.

Simon, half-asleep: [PANICKED FLAILING] BAZ IT'S ME!!! STOP THROWING THINGS!!! BAZ!!! IT'S ME, IT'S SIMON!!!

and Baz is like: WHAT THE FUCK

and Simon is like: I CAN EXPLAIN

and Baz is like: HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE

and Simon is like: I CAN EXPLAIN!!!

so, here's a detail from the orig film that comes into play here: in the orig movie, the MC keeps a video diary, logging every day what his face looks like, and in this, Simon does this on his phone and backs them up to his computer every hundred days, so he gives Baz his phone and tells him the whole story while Baz scrolls through these short like minute long videos of Simon on various days going, "Hey, this is me today. I have [this and such] thing to do, blah blah blah."

and the thing is, Baz recognises him in some of them. bc Simon is always coming into the bookshop. he stops watching when he gets to the day Simon looked like Agatha, and Simon has been quiet for a while at this point, just letting Baz process.

Baz: "I want you to leave."

Simon takes his phone without a word and goes. Penny picks him up on the corner a block over and drives him back to their flat. she doesn't ask what happened. she already has a pretty good idea.

when Simon's next commission comes in, he thinks about going to another bookshop, he really does. but this one is so convenient, esp since Simon can't drive bc he can't risk getting pulled over carrying a licence that doesn't have his face on it, and he's been going there for eight years and it's not like Baz will recognise him anyway.

so, to the bookshop he goes, but this time when Baz comes up to ask if he needs help, Simon is like, "haha, no that's okay," and goes back to looking for things on his own, and Baz kinda lingers awkwardly for a moment before going on his way, but then when Simon comes up to the till to pay for the book, Baz just stands there staring at him. and Simon is so uncomfortable, like, he just wants to leave—

"Simon?"

SORRY, YOU WHAT?

"What?" Simon gapes at him. "How did— how did you? But I'm—"

"Can we talk?" Baz asks.

"How did you know it was—"

Baz shouts over to the other employee on the floor that he's taking his lunch break, and Simon just slowly follows him out of the shop with the book forgotten, unpaid for, at the check-out.

and here's the deal, Baz liked Simon a stupid amount considering they'd only gone on two dates, but they were good dates, and Baz doesn't date much, so he's a bit hung up on just how much he liked Simon and the weird way shit ended, so he's basically like. i want to see it again. and Simon is like, see what? and Baz is like, you. the... whatever that you do, i want to see you change.

and that's how Simon ends up bringing Baz back to his flat, and btw: Simon has a rule about never bringing people back to his flat bc it's weird as fuck. his room is really tiny, and it's cluttered as fuck in a Howl's bedroom type way. he keeps to the same cheap, casual style for all his clothes, but he needs things in a bunch of sizes. shoes are a nightmare. he has to take care of his hair in a million different fucking ways. so he has the lives of a dozen people shoved into a room the size of a shoebox, and his mattress has no frame. that shit is just on the floor, so it takes up less space. and there's this mirror, a wide full bodied mirror, propped up against the wall facing the bed, so that the first thing Simon can do each day is roll over and look at himself.

Simon and Baz have supper together, they talk, they pretend this isn't weird as fuck and, even though it is weird as fuck, they still have so much chemistry, and this is a fanfic, so they just end up having sex again but it's supposed to be kinda emo and tender and look, it's what my heart wants, ok?

morning comes. Simon wakes to Baz's hands on his face. which is already and improvement compared to last time. Baz is looking at him very seriously, but also very like. softly. he's touching Simon's features, tracing them, and Simon is quiet for a very long time, watching him do this, until he's just like. what are you doing.

Baz: "Getting to know you." A pause. "Why does it happen?"

Simon: "I don't know."

Baz: "Are there other people like you?"

Simon: "I don't know."

Baz, sighing: "Well, what do you know?"

Simon: "That I'm still me. Inside, I mean. Like... if you had a book, and every day you gave it a new cover, the story wouldn't change."

Baz: "You must get lost on a lot of shelves."

Simon: "Yeah."

and from there, Baz is just a part of Simon's life the same way Penny is, he knows the truth, and he deals with it. for the first time in Simon's adult life, he gets to really date. he and Baz do a bunch of domestic shit together, for months, and it's so good. all of it is so good, all the time, and they fall so fucked up deep in love with each other.

(detail from this point that is relevant later: Baz and Simon make a game out of Baz recognising Simon at work on days when he hasn't seen yet what he looks like. Simon will come in and try to act like a stranger, but Baz can Where's Waldo him every time.)

but then Christmas comes. and Baz has to go home to see his family. and i don't have an exact idea of how this convo goes, only that it is not a fight of any kind, like, it is a normal convo about the holidays but Baz apologises to Simon during it for not telling his family about him, he says they'd want Baz to bring Simon home if he did (bc i just don't wanna fuck with homophobia in this so we've shot Malcolm with the ally beam) and he wouldn't know how to explain Simon's whole... thing to them, and Simon kinda realises that like. he can't ever be the type of boyfriend Baz can bring home to his family. he can't ever be the type of boyfriend Baz gets to have a normal life with.

SO SIMON GHOSTS HIM.

like, Baz comes back from his family's place, annoyed that Simon hasn't returned any of his texts or calls, only to find that Simon and Penny have literally fucking moved flats in the two weeks he's been gone. and obvs he's fucking devastated and confused by this and desperately trying to get Simon to respond to him, but he won't.

Simon goes out of his way to find a new bookshop to go to, and that's the end of things for about a week or so, and i haven't actually decided what happens here exactly, but the general idea i wanna go with is that Simon goes to the bookshop Baz works at just for the sake of seeing him, checking up on him, bc he misses him.

but remember that game they played? so yeah, Baz walks up to say his usual like, "hey, can I help you find anything?" but he fucking clocks Simon after like ten seconds.

scene change: they're in Simon's new flat, like maybe Baz demanded that if Simon is going to break up with him he owes it to him to do it goddamn properly, but i dunno. details, details. but they end up getting in a huge fucking fight and Simon reveals the reason he ghosted Baz was bc he realised Baz can't have a real life with him and Baz is like:

"You don't get to decide that for me! You're still you, you're still lovely—"

"You don't even know what I look like!"

"I don't care what you look like, you fucking moron, I care that you're Simon Snow! There's a person inside you that exists every day, even when everything else changes, and he's lovely. I love him. The rest doesn't matter, how can you not see that? Stop telling me I'm not allowed to love you however you are, I'll love you a hundred different ways, Simon. Any size, any shape. I'll love you over, and over, and over. That's a life for me. A real life for me. You!"

and then Simon throws his arms around Baz's neck and hugs him like he needs him to breathe and Baz clings to his shirt and they're both prolly crying all loud and gross, but it's fine. they're gonna be fine.

the next day: Simon wakes up to Baz's mouth on the back of his neck. "Like this one, then?" he says.

"Loveliest yet." Baz brushes his knuckles over the slope of Simon's shoulder. "Freckles, curls, broad shoulders... Mmm, maybe we should stay in bed today."

Simon laughs and rolls over to pin Baz to the mattress, grinning at him. he goes to say something, prolly rib at him the way they do, but as he does he catches his reflection in that mirror he keeps by his bed and he freezes.

"Holy shit!" he shouts, and shoves himself up onto his knees. "That's me!"

Baz rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, I told you—"

Simon shakes his head furiously. "No, it's. Baz. I'm. Jesus fucking Christ, that's me. Baz, that's me."

Baz sits up slowly. "Do you mean—"

"Fuck, holy shit!" Simon grabs his curls with both hands. he hasn't touched these curls in ten fucking years. he looks older than he remembers himself, which is a given, but it's definitely him. his father's eyes, his mother's chin. the moles on his cheek, above his eyebrow, below his ear.

Simon freaks out in a way that kinda toes the line between being happy and being a breakdown, he throws himself at Baz, and they both fall back onto the bed and Simon is laughing and he's shaking and he doesn't understand, he doesn't get it, but holy fuck, he has his own face, he has his own body, he has his own hands. Baz pushes them apart so he can get a look at him, and Simon is actually kinda self-conscious when he does, which is a new feeling. he never has to feel self-conscious about anything, usually, since he knows every flaw or insecurity isn't really his, and will be gone the next day, but this is just... him.

Baz takes Simon's face in his hands and then, breathlessly, "Hello, Simon Snow."

AND THEN THEY KISS bc what else would they do here.

and uhh, yeah. so. Simon goes out to the kitchen where Penny is making breakfast and she loses her shit when she sees him. big hugs all around. Baz really does take the day off work to spend it with Simon, even though that just means lying around on the sofa watching movies while Simon works on his current rebinding commission. when Penny gets home that evening, they order takeaway and sit around the lounge room playing boardgames together until late, late, late into the night. Penny falls asleep in the armchair, and now it's 3-am.

Simon is tired. he's looking at the clock, sitting with his knees up and his arms around them, with Baz beside him. Baz has his forehead on his shoulder, an arm around his waist. he doesn't want to go to bed, because what if... what if it was only for today. how long will it be until the next time? what if there is no next time, what if, what if—

"We'll still be here," Baz whispers, exhausted. "And you'll still be you. No matter what, Simon."

and so they go to bed.

Simon wakes up to Baz's mouth on the back of his neck.

"Good morning, Simon Snow."

AND YEAH, that is the entire plot of my The Beauty Inside AU.

i told you this was gonna be a long one, but if you've made it all the way to the end of this mess, thank you kindly again for indulging me!

#ngl i wanted to sign up for the cobb with this fic idea really bad but at the time i wasnt confident i could manage #taking part in a fandom event. i might think about signing up for it next year if it runs again but who knows #thanks for hanging out!#snowbaz #ask #pidgelikethebird

46 notes · View notes

arvandus · 1 month

Text

Disobedience - Barbatos x amab!gn!reader

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI; Dom!Barb, Sub!Reader; tall Barbatos; mild choking; hair grabbing; rough handling and pinning; oral sex (barb receiving); kinky tail stuff; anal fingering; anal sex; Barb is dom, but soft when it counts!

WC: 5,077

Special Note: This fic also has a AFAB!GN!reader version! Exact same premise, setting, and aftermath, but the smut is slightly different for obvious reasons. You can find it here!

Also, you can find the full version of the banner art (done by me) here! (it's NSFW but censored for tumblr).

Barbatos’s hand was on the back of your neck in an instant, a firm pressure that you couldn’t escape as he began to guide you through the now-empty castle halls.

“Come, my dear. We have much to discuss.”

You had thought he’d take you to his room, to discuss the matter of your... mischief... privately within the safety of his personal space.

“Barbatos, the door—” you started.

Your legs felt like jelly, your head swimming dizzily as he pushed you back, back, until the backs of your legs hit the sofa that sat in front of the large fireplace, its hearth dark.

He didn’t care, you realized.

Which showed just how much you’d gotten under his skin at the dinner table. Because Barbatos always cared.

Your eyes flew open, wide and alert from their half-lidded state, and you swallowed your saliva, hoping it would take your fear with it.

You could breathe.

Barbatos pulled away just enough to look down at you. His thumb stroked your cheek as he spoke.

“Such audacity, my little lamb...” he muttered. “What could possibly have inspired you to behave so foolishly?”

“Answer me,” Barbatos ordered.

“I... I only wanted to tease you a little. No one saw... and I didn’t... I didn’t go too far...”

“Too far?” he repeated. His tone was scolding and yet his hands were quickly undoing the buttons of your shirt. “Do you know what would have happened if we were caught?”

That earlier flare of defiance returned, fueled by the giddy joy you felt when you held the full weight of his attention. “You didn’t exactly stop me,” you cooed sweetly.

Your breath hitched, his words bringing emotions up within your chest that frothed like flotsam on an angry sea. That wasn’t... that couldn’t be... could it?

No, no... you were fine. You were understanding, and patient, and....

And yet...

Barbatos caught the change in you instantly, and the quiet lust-fueled fury in his eyes flickered, allowing a momentary look of tenderness in his gaze.

“You foolish human,” he muttered against your lips. “All you simply had to do was ask...”

Your fingers had already undone the row of buttons of his shirt that you could reach.

Your eyes met his in the dark, the faint light of the hallway a halo around his head. “Barbatos, please....”

Your hands did the same as soon as the cummerbund was gone, fingers clumsy and frantic. His hand reached you first, his administrations faster and more efficient, his warm fingers wrapping around your throbbing cock. Your boxers were already stained with precum, and you choked and gasped as he ran his thumb over your sensitive tip.

“You poor thing,” he cooed at you. “Already making a mess of yourself, I see...”

You were not to be outdone. You knew as soon as he got his hands on you, all reason left you, and you became putty in his hands. But you’d already gotten under his skin earlier, and you realized you loved to see him squirm, to watch some of that calculated control slip away...

Your hand dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear, and you were pleased to feel his own dampness greet your palm. Barbatos grunted, his face flinching and eyes glossing over as you squeezed the length of him, stroking him from shaft to tip within the confines of his clothing.

You smirked at him, your eyes challenging. “Seems I’m not the only one who’s a mess...”

Barbatos returned your stroke with his own, and pleasure radiated from his touch. You stifled a moan, your head tilting back. And then he did it again, and again. With each stroke of his hand on your cock, his body pressed closer to yours until there was barely room to move, and his mouth returned to your neck, sucking and nibbling.

“H-Hey, that’s cheating!” you complained.

You struggled to keep pace with him, your hand working his cock just as fervently as his worked yours, but you realized you were quickly losing that battle as your hips began to buck into his grip, your breaths coming hot and fast.

You could feel your orgasm beginning to climb, building, building, goosebumps breaking out across your skin...

And then Barbatos stopped, his hand frozen, his strokes vanishing. He pulled away from your neck slowly with a smug grin.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Wha... are you serious??”

“You didn’t think I’d let you cum that easily did you?” His eyes glowed bright again, his aura suddenly oppressive. “On your knees.”

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, your cock twitching against his hand. You wanted to disobey, to fight back against him, and yet your body listened anyway. Slowly you lowered to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. It made his touch vanish, his hand slipping out of your pants, leaving behind a visceral longing in your loins and in your chest.

You pulled his cock out and kissed the flushed tip sensually as Barbatos watched. His hand cradled your head tenderly for a moment, before tightening around your hair. The ache of his grip was divine, and you moaned, your eyes fluttering closed.

Barbatos took the opportunity of your parted lips to push his cock into your mouth. He groaned long and low, the pleasure reverberating through his body. You savored the taste of him on your tongue, the heat of him in your mouth. With his fingers tight in your hair, he began to thrust into you, shallow at first as you swirled your tongue around his leaking tip, then going deeper, deeper until he filled your mouth entirely. He moaned and panted, he head tilted back in pleasure, his eyes closed and you gazed up at him adoringly as he lost himself to the feel of you.

With each deep snap of his hips, your nose brushed against the hairs that rested at his base, the natural musk of his scent tickling your nose. Your own abandoned cock ached horribly, your pulse throbbing, and tears stung your eyes at the need to be touched. You wanted to touch yourself, and yet you knew he wouldn’t approve... you were already on thin ice, and he’d already denied your orgasm once... what if he did it again? And again?

But you couldn’t help the way your hips were starting to roll, the need for friction being too great to control. You’d take anything... the clothes tight around your crotch, his shoe.... anything to feel even an ounce of relief.

Barbatos was never one to leave you neglected, however. The small movements of your hips, your pitiful whines... they whittled away at his stern resolve and he opened his eyes just enough to peek down at you. With a silent smirk, his tail came forth and dipped into your waistband and pulled out your cock.

You moaned needily, hot tears brimming your eyes at his mercy. If your mouth wasn’t full of his cock, you would have been begging.

His tail began to pump you while you sucked him, the secretions making his strokes glide smoothly from base to tip.

His breaths were ragged, and he still somehow managed to find the ability to speak. “You are not to cum before me, do you understand?”

Ah, you realized... what you had thought was forgiveness was once again just another form of punishment; cruelty wrapped in kindness.

You whimpered and nodded, even as you felt your orgasm building again so quickly. Barbatos was doing it on purpose, you realized, seeing how quickly he could race you to the edge.

You redoubled your efforts, tongue pressing harder against his tip, your hand gripping his shaft, wet with spit. Your other hand fondled his balls, caressing and stroking and he sucked air in through his teeth as his thrusts came faster and faster.

His grip on your hair tightened, springing forth delicious pain in your scalp, and you knew he was close.

“Right there, just like that...” he muttered. “Don’t stop...”

You obeyed, and it wasn’t long before hot spurts of cum were spilling into your mouth, coating your tongue. You swallowed what you could, but there was so much that it filled your mouth and coated his shaft in white as he fucked into your mouth. It was a testament of how much you’d riled him earlier, how deeply you’d aroused him and made him wait...

Barbatos’s orgasm, combined with his attention with his tail, made you follow soon after, your hips thrusting into the slippery grip, your seed spilling out in spurts to coat the serpentine prongs. You gasped and moaned, even as Barbatos’s cock continued to pump in your mouth as he rode out his orgasm.

Finally, his cock left your wet lips and his tail released you. You buckled forward, your hands on the ground as you breathed deep gasps of air into your lungs. You felt lightheaded, your body tingling all over, and if you were standing, you were sure you would have collapsed.

You needed a moment... just a moment to collect yourself...

Barbatos knelt to one knee in front of you, his finger tilting your chin up to look at him.

“Very good,” he whispered. “Stand up.”

His face was so close and all you wanted to do was kiss him again, to feel his tongue in your mouth, his hands on your body...

You obeyed.

You stood on shaky legs, bracing yourself against the arm of the couch.

He stepped forward and closed the distance between you. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you firmly, sensually on the lips, and your mouth opened on instinct, your arms wrapping around him. A steady motion of lips, a rhythm dancing of tongues, and then he pulled away just enough to look into your eyes.

Your heart felt heavy in your chest, weighed down by your love for him, and you opened your mouth to speak. But before you could do so, he spun you around so your back was against him now, the couch in front of you. His lips brushed the shell of your ear and it sent a shiver through every crevasse of your body.

“We’re not done yet.”

Then his mouth was once again on your neck, sucking and nibbling. Barbatos’s hands caressed the planes of your body, moving from your chest and down over your ribs. Your arousal bloomed again, your blood pulsing in your chest, in your veins, between your legs, your spent cock somehow starting to reawaken, despite how strongly you’d just came. His attention felt tender, and you sighed against it.

But then the tenderness vanished as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, your underwear. In a fluid series of motions he yanked down the fabric and bent you over the arm of the couch by the back of your neck. You gasped at the sudden change in position, your arms tucked beneath you. Your ass was exposed now, your pants bundled around your thighs.

You felt his body press against yours, curling over you like a blanket, matching the curves of you. His soft bangs tickled against your shoulder blade as his lips ghosted against your skin and you shivered, a whimper falling from your lips. Finally, you felt his breath at your ear as his thumb massaged at your neck muscles in a slow, gentle circle.

“You wanted my attention and now you shall have it. All of it.”

Barbatos’s free hand slid between your legs, fondling and caressing your balls, making the skin tighten and tingle. Then his hand slipped upward until his dexterous fingers brushed against the puckered hole of your ass. He massaged the tight muscle with the pads of his fingers, and a moment later you felt the familiar drip of saliva from his mouth land on your sensitive hole. His fingers smeared it, circling tightly around the rim, before he finally slowly pushed his index finger into you.

Your breath hitched, you groaned. Your hands balled into fists as you clenched your teeth. Yes, yes, this was what you wanted, what you needed. You’d been needing this all night... no, even longer than that. Your hips shifted back as best they could, your hardening cock rubbing against the arm of the couch.

More wet liquid, slick and warm, followed by a second finger. They pushed deep into you, curling, before retreating again and returning. Barbatos began a steady pace, his fingers working open your asshole in preparation for him.

As he pulled his fingers back to the tips to add a third, the warm, heavy weight of his tail grazed along your ass cheek, the secretions from it sliding down into your crack. Barbatos removed his fingers briefly to gather the substance across all three of his fingers before pushing them slowly into you.

You groaned, your hips pushing back, grinding. You needed more, needed him to fill you, you needed the friction on your cock...

Barbatos leaned over you, his free hand keeping you down by the back of your neck while the fingers of his other hand stayed buried in your ass. He was overbearing, a heavy presence at your back despite the fact that he wasn’t technically touching you. But his aura was enough, the thick, dark magic coiling and writhing like an angry mist, ghosting across your senses like a thousand hands softly stroking.

“You will feel me in every inch of your body,” he whispered. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you misbehaved so shamelessly.”

You were frozen, air trapped in your lungs and burning a hole through your chest as you waited for more. More of him, more of his touch... Your walls clenched again around his fingers, but they stayed torturously still.

“Answer me,” he ordered again.

You nodded your head.

He chuckled low and dark. “How very greedy of you...”

“I warn you,” he said quietly, “I will not be gentle. Not this time. Not when you’ve tortured me to the point of madness. So tell me... are you certain this is what you want?”

You nodded again, more vigorously, and yet it wasn’t enough; not for him.

Barbatos clicked his teeth. “No, no...” his grip on your neck loosened and he rubbed his thumb tenderly against your cheek. “I must hear you say it.”

You swallowed the saliva that pooled in your mouth. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, I want this. I want you to ruin me, Barbatos, please.”

The weight of him left your back, his fingers left your readied hole. There was a frantic moment of the sound of Barbatos’s belt buckle clinking as he shoved down the front of his pants further to eliminate the last of the barriers between you. Then he shoved into you with a single thrust.

You cried out, your back arching and head lifting as pleasure exploded and washed you in wave after wave of instant fiery hot bliss. Had you been of sound mind, you might have felt embarrassed at cumming so quickly on his cock. But there was no time to recover, let alone think. Barbatos gripped one hip with a firm hand, fingertips digging into your skin, as the other grabbed you by your hair and forced you back down into the couch. Then he set a brutal pace, his hips pounding against yours, bottoming out with each thrust. It instantly threw you into overstimulation, your body not yet recovered from your orgasm, and yet there was no way to fight it, no way to escape it. Not with the way he had you trapped beneath him, your own human strength useless against him. All you could do was cry and whine, unhinged sounds ripping from your throat as your tears escaped your closed eyes and your drool soaked into the couch.

Barbatos watched you, relishing in the sight of you beneath him, broken under the violence of your own pleasure while he chased his own. Your walls were tight around him, hot and comforting as the tip of his cock drove into the deepest depths of you. Already he could feel his own orgasm climbing rapidly, running on the heels of the one before. This one would be stronger, he knew... he could feel it in how shocks of pleasure were swathing his body with each thrust, how his balls began to tighten, his tail dripping in secretions. He dipped the wet appendage between his legs, finding your scrotum, one pronged tip stroking and caressing gently. His hand pulled up on your hip, your body lifting just long enough for him to get the other tail prong between you and the couch arm to wrap around your throbbing cock.

He wanted you to cum with him... with each deep, sharp thrust into your ass, your body jolted forward, making your cock bob within the snug hold of his wet tail. Your moans turned into shattered whines and broken pleas, your fingers clawing at the wine-colored upholstery. It only spurred Barbatos to pin you down even harder, his hand switching from your hair to your shoulder, stripping you of every last ounce of power you pretended to have, subduing you entirely and preventing your escape.

You came a second time, your body trembling and spasming, ropes of cum shooting out of your cock to decorate his tail, the couch. Over and over again you moaned and shook, your orgasm shattering you like glass upon concrete. It was sharp, dancing the edge of painful, and yet the pleasure was mindblowing, vanquishing everything except for the feel and scent of him. He was in you, around you, beneath you.

Barbatos’s pounding quickened, half to heighten and extend the elation of your orgasm, and half to chase his own, eager to join you. He came with a groan, joining you in your shattered ecstasy, his rhythm becoming uneven, his hips stuttering as he filled you with his cum.

Your voice was hoarse now, your lungs on fire as every inch of your body felt incinerated, a heightened hum of energy across every nerve of skin. Barbatos’s thrusts began to slow, and your mind spun, dizzy and hazy, the aftershocks of your pleasure still making you spasm beneath his hands. Finally his hips stilled, and for a small moment, you both fell silent as you caught your breath. His hand released your shoulder as he straightened up.

He was still in you, his cock starting to soften, your rim ringed with white from the cum that he’d fucked into you over and over. Barbatos slowly pulled out of you and watched his seed leak from your hole, your body still twitching with the occasional aftershocks of pleasure as his own heart pounded the remnants his own high through his veins. He committed the sight to memory, something to be cherished and revisited in his mind on days where the heavy list of duties kept both of you apart.

Finally, Barbatos gave into the post-coital bliss and laid himself over you.

The heat of him was oppressive, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to get off you just yet. You weren’t any better, your skin slicked with sweat and your own breaths coming out in ragged huffs. Lazily, your hand came up and tangled into his sweaty hair to scratch at his scalp, and he hummed contentedly into your shoulder.

As your head cleared, your speech returned.

“I think we ruined the couch,” you muttered into the cushion.

Barbatos chuckled and groaned, his voice reverberating through your ribs. “It will be replaced. However, I will make this room off limits until then.”

“Do you think Diavolo will be mad?”

You winced and his hands ran soothing strokes along your hips and your sides as you pushed yourself up from the couch. Your spine felt stiff and the stitching of the upholstery was imprinted into your skin in all the places he’d pinned you down.

Barbatos swiftly fixed his pants and belt then turned you slowly to face him. He smiled tenderly at you before putting his forehead against yours as his hands fixed your pants next, securing the button and buckling your belt for you. He kissed you, the touch of his lips soft while his hands rested at your waist, and you pouted.

“You’re not going to make me do the walk of shame all the way to your room, are you?”

Barbatos chuckled as he picked up your coats and his cummerbund, careful to use his left hand and the pinky and thumb of his right.

“Of course not.”

You scrunched up your nose and winced. “Good. Because I don’t think I have it in me to walk that far. Plus I’m sure I’ve ruined my boxers, and possibly my pants.”

You scoffed at him in mock appall. “So this is my fault?”

You couldn’t stifle the laugh the slipped from your lips. “Barbatos!”

“Come now, enough,” he chided as he opened a portal to his bathroom. “Haven’t you bratted enough tonight? Or do you need a fourth round? Maybe a fifth?”

“What? It was only two,” you huffed defensively, even though you knew it was a lie.

“Two for me, but don’t think I didn’t catch your first orgasm in the beginning.”

No doubt the entire castle heard your orgasm when he’d first entered you...

Still, you dug your heels in, your face hot with embarrassment.

“That was a fluke!”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Wha... are you serious??”

Barbatos’s arm reached out to guide you along with him, and he smirked devilishly. “I am a demon, my love. You have yet to scrape even the surface of my sex drive.”

You gingerly followed him through the portal.

“Does that mean you’re always horny but just never show it?”

Barbatos chuckled. “No. I am older, and it grants me more control than most. However, I am easy to turn on, particularly when it’s with someone I care for. And demons can easily go multiple rounds for hours, unlike most humans.”

“I am both terrified and intrigued...” you muttered.

He chuckled again.

You let him begin to undress you as you placed your hands on his shoulders for balance. “Are you sure you’re a demon and not an angel?”

His words made your heart twist, and you touched his smooth cheek with your fingers and gave him a tender kiss on the lips.

When you pulled back, you were smiling at him, tears in your eyes.

“You are most precious to me too, Barbatos.”

---

Taglist: @hymnbook , @chiekoisbread

#happy birthday barbatos #om barbatos #obey me barbatos #barbatos x male!reader #barbatos x amab!reader #barbatos x gn!reader

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