respectthepetty · 1 year ago
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I was really hoping you'd do one of your color posts for Love in Translation, so thank you! I was curious if you had any comparison and contrast with the way the Atime26 team is doing the green-blue boy dynamic compared to some of the Korean teams (such as Studio Winsome with Our Dating Sim)?
Benito, bestie, buddie, great question!
To generalize - Usually, the Green Guy is the pursuer in Korean dramas.
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And Japan has shown that the Green Guy is the one who has the feelings first.
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So it's very interesting that Thailand has framed the Blue Boy as already knowing his feelings while the Green Guy has to catch up, and the Blue Boy is being very Blue Boy about it (quiet, reserved, serious).
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BUT, and this is a big BUT (Sir Mix-a-Lot "I like big butts" style), Thailand is doing something funky with the colors, and I like it.
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Phumjai likes Tammy. Tammy's favorite color is blue; therefore, Phumjai, a Green Guy, wears blue, a lot.
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Yan Feng likes Phumjai. Phumjai's favorite color is green; therefore, Yan Feng, a Blue Boy, wears green, a lot.
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But the thing is, they both wore these colors before knowing what their love interest's favorite color was, so why would I believe Phumjai, who wears blue often, is the Green Guy, and Yan Feng, who wears green regularly, is the Blue Boy? Well, TAMMY!
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Tammy didn't wear green until she realized she liked Phumjai. She is a Blue Beauty, so her wearing green shows that she likes a Green Guy = Phumjai.
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Also, when they were trying to figure out names for the store, Thai (Phumjai) was green, and Chinese (Yan Feng) was blue.
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So unlike Japan and Korea who clearly code the characters as their respective colors and keep them that way until the exchange, Thailand's Atime26 seems to be implying that this relationship was destined to be which is why they are already wearing the other's color >insert Weaver Girl & Cowheader<
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This year has been the year of this damn Weaver Girl x Cowheader: Never Let Me Go, Chains of Heart, and now this. All these shows include Chinese culture within them, but the first two dealt with fated lovers, so why wouldn't Love in Translation? Palm and Nueng went back in time to realize they were always meant to be. Not even death (which was faked) could separate Ken and Din. And now we have these two who even before they really got to know each other, they liked each other:
Outside of the dressing room, Phumjai threw his green shorts over the dressing room barrier at Yan Feng.
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Yan Feng threw them back over
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And Phumjai, who was trying on a blue shirt, said "thank you"
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Which sparked a delightful conversation that made each one more confident and happy, but also, sealed their fate.
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Because without knowing it,
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They were telling the other that the perfect person they were looking for was them.
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They were meant to find each other. They said it themselves.
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The product placement colors reinforce that.
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64 notes · View notes
vunblr · 21 days ago
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What if...?
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight dom! Bucky. A little angst.
Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.
Word Count: About 8.4k.
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She knew exactly who he was the first time they bumped into each other when she ran toward the stairs of her apartment building, and he suddenly emerged from them, lost in thought. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, and the glint of metal was pretty noticeable when he reached out to grab her elbow to prevent her from falling backward. The touch was brief, since he retired his hand promptly when he was sure she would not fall, his blue eyes revealing something akin to regret.
“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice low and gravelly as he retracted his hand, tucking it into his jacket.
“Oh, don’t be,” she responded, the corners of her lips lifting just slightly as she waved her hand dismissively. “I should’ve been more careful. The elevator’s out, and I was in such a hurry… ugh. We always tell the kids not to run in hallways and stairs because accidents can happen, and here I am-" She cut herself off, realizing she was rambling, and gave an embarrassed smile. “Anyway… hi. I’m Y/n, I just moved in yesterday.” She extended her hand.
He reached out, his grip firm but gentle. “James Barnes, but most people call me Bucky.”
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, and as she straightened her nurse uniform, she bit her lip. Handsome. The cute wrinkles that creased the corners of his striking blue eyes, were the kind that hinted at a man who had both smiled and seen more than his fair share of hardship, and it was hard not to notice. His body, the epitome of perfection. She mentally slapped herself for staring. “Well, Bucky, I’m running late for work, so I need to go, but I’ll see you around. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
He nodded, watching as she hurried down the stairs, her uniform swaying slightly with her steps. He stood there, rooted to the spot for a moment longer than he should have, replaying the soft smile on her lips.
The days after that encounter passed in a blur of awkward run-ins. Each time, she greeted him with the same soft smile, and each time, Bucky found himself lost in thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself in years.
It started with a polite nod, maybe a smile here and there, but soon, their brief encounters turned into casual conversations. Small talk about their days, the weather, even little jokes about the state of their shared building. He found himself looking forward to those moments, however fleeting they were, because it felt so easy to exchange a few words with her, how her laughter always seemed to come just when he needed to hear it. He’d often catch her gaze lingering on him a second too long before she looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks and it was enough to make him wonder if maybe, just maybe, she felt the same pull that he did.
Then, one evening, as they both stood waiting for the elevator, she quirked a brow at him. "You know, Bucky," she started, her voice light, "if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me."
He blinked, caught off guard, but the playful glint in her eyes made him relax. He let out a small chuckle. "Well… I could say the same about you." She laughed, and once again, the sound made him feel almost normal.
His therapist had been telling him for months that he was isolated, and that he needed to socialize, form connections. She had even suggested dating, but every time he tried, it hadn’t gone well. The interactions felt awkward, forced, and he often found an excuse to leave early, or worse, sometimes he didn’t even bother with an excuse, just walking out of there without a word.
There was something about Y/n that set her apart, mostly the ease with which their conversations flowed. He wasn’t the type to talk much, often keeping things curt and to the point, but she had this way of making the silence between them feel comfortable, never pushing him to share more than he wanted. He didn’t have to try so hard to keep up with standard appearances. But the pull toward her wasn’t just about feeling comfortable, he wanted her. He caught himself watching her more often than he’d like to admit, she was exactly his type, soft and curvy in all the right places. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to touch her, to run his hands over her body, feel her warmth beneath his fingertips. But every time he got close to asking her out, fear crept in, locking the words in his throat. Fear of rejection, of being too damaged, of her seeing the parts of him he was ashamed of. It always stopped him.
Tonight felt different, though. There was something in her playful approach that made the fear feel less suffocating, less overwhelming. The elevator doors opened, and as they stepped inside, Bucky turned to her, his heart hammering in his chest. He could barely believe he was about to do this.
"Y/n?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.
She glanced at him, her eyes curious. "Yeah?"
He swallowed hard, feeling the moment's weight as he stood before her, and almost panicked. This wasn’t something he was used to. He could fight in gruesome battles, survive impossible odds, flip a fucking armored truck with a tug of his arm… but asking someone out? That felt like a whole different battlefield. It was terrifying in a way those other things weren’t.
For a moment, he almost backpedaled. His mind scrambled, desperately searching for something else to say, some way to deflect his intentions and change the subject. But nothing came. He was stuck. He’d already opened his mouth, and there was no way to retreat now without looking like a fool.
Taking a deep breath, he jumped.
“Would you like to grab dinner with me sometime?” The words came out gruff but honest. For a second, doubt crept in, making him wonder if he’d just made a mistake.
Her eyes widened in surprise before lighting up, a smile spreading across her face that eased the knot on his stomach. “Oh, I’d love to. It’d be fun to do something outside the building for a change. We run into each other so much, that I actually thought about asking you to hang out, but you always seemed rushed, like you couldn’t wait to leave. I’m glad that’s not the case.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “You know, we can be neighbors and friends. There’s nothing in the building rules against it.”
Bucky blinked, his heart sinking at the word friends. He forced one of the practiced, uncomfortable smiles his therapist suggested. Friendzoned -a term he’d only recently discovered- wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he hadn’t spelled it out, either. Of course she thought he was just trying to be friendly, he hadn’t given her a fucking hint of his real intentions. He hadn’t flirted, hadn’t made even the slightest move to swoon her.
The old him would’ve had no trouble conveying his interest. He would’ve been smooth and confident, knowing exactly how to charm her and make his intentions clear. But he wasn’t that guy anymore. He hadn’t done this in decades, and the rules seemed to have shifted in ways he didn’t fully understand. Hell, he had shifted. He sighed. 
"Uh, Y/n?" he started, his tone careful and tentative. She looked back at him, her eyes curious. "I just want to be clear," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, "I meant it... as a date. Not just neighbors or friends grabbing a bite."
For a moment, she didn’t respond, still processing what he had just said. His words hung in the air, heavy with significance. And then, something clicked. A blush crept up her neck as her smile turned more thoughtful. He wanted to spend time with her not because they lived in the same building or happened to bump into each other, but because he was interested.
"Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize… I mean…” she stumbled with her words, “I didn’t know you meant it like that." She has had her fair share of men in her life but being honest with herself, in a million years, she wouldn’t have guessed someone like him would be asking her out. Not Bucky, the quiet, handsome, brooding neighbor with the sharp jawline and the weight of a thousand untold stories in his eyes. For months, she had brushed off the little moments between them as neighborly interactions, nothing more. It had been easier that way. Safer, maybe. But now, standing here, the truth of his intentions was undeniable.
He waited, his expression still calm, but the vulnerability in his eyes was unmistakable. She almost laughed at herself, the absurdity of it all. Of course, she had noticed him. How could she not?
Her smile softened, "I’m glad you clarified." she finally said, her voice quieter now. "And yeah, Bucky. I’d like that, a lot."
Bucky gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if he’d been holding his breath and had just now allowed himself to exhale. A faint smile crept onto his lips, one that actually reached his eyes, softening the hardened edges he usually carried.
"Great," he murmured, his voice low but warm. "I’ll, uh, figure something out."
They shared one last look before the elevator doors opened, and as they stepped out, Bucky’s heart was still racing, but this time, it wasn’t from fear.
The first date had been simple, almost quiet in its ease. He brought her flowers, a small, hesitant gesture that made her eyes light up. They went to a bistro and talked about life, interests, and the kind of things you only share when you feel a certain sense of safety with someone. Bucky never said more than necessary, but she learned to read the way his eyes softened when he listened, the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when she said something that caught him off guard. It was easy and comfortable as their previous interactions, and yet, in the back of his mind, there was always the whisper: do you even deserve this?
The second date was at the small café on the corner of their building. There had been more laughter this time, the conversation flowing easily. As they sat across from each other, their knees brushed under the table. It was subtle, almost unintentional, but the warmth of the touch lingered. It happened again, and neither of them moved away.
They walked back in silence, a comfortable quiet settling between them, though there was an undeniable charge in the air. As they reached her door, she turned to face him, and for a moment, the space between them felt heavier, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.
His hand hovered just near her lower back, not quite touching, but close enough that she felt the warmth of his body through the fabric of her dress. For a brief second, she thought he might pull her closer to break that last sliver of space between them, but he didn’t. His hand lingered for just a moment longer before falling away, his expression betraying a flicker of hesitation.
Bucky’s gaze dropped briefly to her lips, his brows furrowing slightly, before he looked away, almost as if chastising himself. His old-fashioned upbringing, perhaps, held him back and kept him from making the move she half-expected, the one she wanted.
“Goodnight, Y/n,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. His tired eyes lingered on hers just a little too long, as if he were still debating, still fighting the pull to act on the desire he was clearly feeling.
She nodded, trying to ignore the flutter on her chest and to respect his boundaries, even though her hands itched to reach for him, to pull him closer and start what he wouldn’t. “Goodnight, Bucky,” she said softly, her own voice betraying the emotions swirling beneath the surface.
They stood there for a heartbeat longer, the short distance between their doors now feeling like miles. He gave her a small, almost hesitant smile, then turned toward his own apartment, the quiet between them somehow louder now.
By the time the third date approached, Bucky’s nerves were starting to get the better of him. He didn’t want to ruin this. The cocky Sergeant Barnes -the man who hadn’t yet turned into a walking nightmare- would’ve laughed at him. That version of himself had been bold, self-assured, the type of man who could sweep a woman off her feet without a second thought. He’d have taken the lead with ease, knowing exactly how to handle the situation. But that man was long gone, buried beneath the weight of all he had done, all he had become.
Before leaving for the date, he poured himself an imperial pint of asgardian ale. Just enough to give him a buzz, to take the edge off. Standing there, glass in hand, he caught his reflection in the window and sighed. Could she see it? The darkness? The scars left behind from being Hydra’s puppet? And even if she didn’t... how long until she did? You don’t deserve this, the voice whispered again, unrelenting.
That night, after dinner, they found themselves in her living room, two untouched coffee cups growing cold on the table beside them. The dim light softened the space around them, creating an intimate cocoon that made their conversation flow effortlessly. Yet, beneath the easy chatter, Bucky’s doubts lingered. He couldn’t shake the feeling that any move forward could shatter the delicate balance between them.
He’d been raised with a sense of propriety, a rhythm to follow when it came to courting. There was a dance to it, an unspoken set of rules about when to advance and when to hold back. The trouble now was figuring out how much to let himself move forward, how far to let this go before the weight of his past dragged him under again.
As their conversation naturally ebbed into silence, he noticed her gaze flicker to his lips, lingering just a bit longer than usual. His pulse quickened. She was giving him a sign, even if she hadn’t meant to. For a brief moment, he hesitated, but the look in her eyes, the quiet anticipation, and the ale still running through his system urged him forward.
He leaned in slightly, their knees brushing, the warmth of her body drawing him closer. His hand hovered near her arm, and she responded getting closer, her lips parting ever so slightly as if inviting him in without saying a word.
Slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance between them, his heart pounding in his chest. The kiss was meant to be soft and chaste, but all restraint flew out the window the second their lips touched.
His hand slipped to the small of her back, pulling her closer, the kiss growing hungrier, more urgent, as if months of longing were unraveling in that single moment. With a gentle, almost teasing flick of his tongue against her lower lip, he urged her to open her mouth. She complied, her lips parting as she allowed him in, and things turned molten. His tongue slid against hers, and the heat between them spiraled when she let out a quiet, breathless moan. The sound sent a jolt of desire pushing him further. His metal hand remained firm on her back, pulling her as close as possible, while the other slipped into her hair. She responded eagerly, her fingers gliding up his chest and tangling in his now messy bun, tugging him closer as if she couldn’t get enough. The kiss was all-consuming, urgent and messy, as months of tension finally broke free. Eventually, they slowly pulled apart, heavy breaths mingling in the charged air between them. His gaze dropped to her lips, now swollen and flushed from their activities, and he felt the undeniable pull to dive back in.
Then he noticed it. His vibranium hand had slid down to her waist and was gripping harder than he intended. Much harder. He swallowed and looked at it, the realization sinking in. His hand, still gripping tightly, could harm her. He sighed, frustration and self-reproach tugging at him, unable to find a balance between his longing and his fear of hurting her.
She caught the sigh, her eyes following his downward gaze until they landed on his hand, still gripping her waist. And then it clicked, she understood. It wasn’t just the pressure of his hand; it was everything behind it. The strength he was constantly aware of, the control he had to maintain, the fear of hurting someone he cared about without meaning to. It wasn’t just about this moment, it was about everything he carried with him.
Instead of pulling away, she did the opposite. She shifted slightly, pressing closer into his hand, her body language reassuring him. With that small gesture, she was telling him she trusted him, she wasn’t fragile, and she wasn’t going to break. He didn’t need to hold back with her.
He exhaled softly, and a question bubbled up, one that had been lingering in his mind for far too long. “Have you ever thought how things would have been if we had met under different circumstances?” His voice was quiet, almost tentative, the weight of the topic heavy in the intimate space between them.
Her brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. “Different how?” she asked, leaning in a little, her eyes searching his.
Bucky took a breath, his gaze drifting again as if he were caught somewhere between the past and the present. “I mean… if I hadn’t been…” He trailed off for a second, a shadow crossing his expression. “If I didn’t become what I am. If I’d been just… me.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as though speaking the words out loud might break something fragile between them.
She stayed quiet, giving him the space he needed, her hand gently resting on his arm, a subtle reassurance.
“I think about it sometimes,” he admitted, his eyes still distant, fixed on a point somewhere beyond her. “If we’d met before all the... before everything.” His lips pressed into a thin line, guilt flickering behind his blue eyes. “Maybe in another time, I could’ve been just a guy. Someone who didn’t have…” He paused, his metal hand still against her back. “Someone that wouldn’t have been so messed up. Someone normal and approachable.”
Her heart clenched at the weight of his words. “Bucky…” she started, her voice soft, but he shook his head slightly as if to wave off her sympathy.
“I don’t know,” he continued, quieter now. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve…” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.
Without hesitation, she entwined their fingers, squeezing gently. “You do deserve this,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering as she met his gaze. She wasn’t going to let him retreat into the dark place where his self-deprecation lived. “You deserve to be happy, Buck. You’re a good man.” She sighed and shifted beside him, her head resting back against the couch as she considered his previous words and then an idea popped up.
“Let’s see… if I had been born before 1920, I’d probably still be a nurse.” Her lips curved into a small smile as she looked at him sideways, eyes gleaming in the dim light. She watched him closely, seeing how he would react, her heart thumping just a little faster as she waited. “I’d have enlisted to work in a field hospital. And… who knows, maybe we could have met there when you were serving.” She let the thought linger in the air, light and playful, hoping it would lift the heaviness that had settled between them.
Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, and he tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He shifted closer to her without even realizing, his hand still resting lightly on her waist. “You would’ve been responsible for making sure I was fit for duty,” he mused, his tone a little lighter now as if the idea of an alternate history didn’t seem so bad. “Keeping an eye on me, seeing my injuries, maybe even patching me up yourself.” He added with a playful edge, allowing himself to immerse in the scenario.
She grinned, shaking her head, eyes twinkling as she imagined the scene. “Oh, from what I heard about you, I doubt you would have visited the hospital very often, Sarge,” she teased, nudging his knee with hers playfully, a grin tugging at her lips.
Bucky chuckled, the sound low and genuine, as his thumb began tracing slow, soothing circles on her back, a gesture she was growing fond of. “Probably not,” he agreed, leaning in slightly, his voice dipping into something softer. “But I would’ve noticed you from afar. Even if I had no reason to be there, you would’ve stood out.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed the back of his hand, a smile playing on her lips as she waited for his answer.
Bucky glanced down at their intertwined hands, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against her softer ones. He looked back up at her, his voice steady, but with a hint of something deeper. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
She blinked, caught off guard by the casual sincerity in his tone. “Beautiful, me? Pfft!” She laughed softly, with a playful spark in her eyes. “But... now that I think about it, pin-up girls were a thing when you were serving, weren’t they?”
Bucky leaned back into the couch, pulling her with him, his arm wrapping firmer around her waist, a slow grin forming at her words. “Yeah, well, nurses were definitely included in the ‘interesting’ category too,” he teased. His eyes flicked down, tracing the curves of her body as his hand tightened slightly around her waist, making her feel self-conscious. “Especially ones with curves like yours.”
She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head, but before she could say anything, Bucky continued, his voice lower now, a bit more serious. “You’d have been popular among the guys in camp, you know. They’d have been lining up, falling over themselves to get your attention.” He paused, his gaze flicking back to hers. “But trust me, I would’ve noticed you first. And I wouldn’t have let anyone else have a shot.”
Her cheeks flushed as she tucked her legs beneath her, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, so you would’ve asked me out?” she teased, her curiosity bubbling to the surface as she edged closer to him, her eyes locked on his.
Bucky turned slightly toward her, the hand resting on her arm sliding down slowly, his fingers brushing her skin in soft, teasing strokes. “Oh, I wouldn’t have just asked,” he said with a smirk. “I’d have made sure you had no reason to say no.”
She felt her heart quicken at the subtle heat in his voice, the playful edge giving way to something more intense. Her breath hitched slightly, and she bit her lip as she gazed up at him. “Is that so?” she murmured, her voice soft, a bit more serious now. “And how would you have done that?” She leaned in a little, her shoulder brushing against his, her warmth radiating into the small space between them. “How was the game back then? Brought flowers? Invited me to dance?”
“Both, probably,” he murmured, his hand now resting on her thigh, his thumb grazing the fabric of her dress in slow, deliberate motions. “Flowers, because they’re classic... and dancing, because it’s intimate.”
“Well,” she whispered, her voice softer now as she leaned her head toward him, lips just inches from his ear, “I guess I would’ve let you court me, Sarge. Tell me about a date with you.”
Bucky’s hand tightened slightly on her thigh, the pressure just enough to make her heart race. His stubbled cheek brushed against hers as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Saturday night,” he whispered, his lips barely grazing the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “dinner at the Officers’ Club, followed by a slow dance... and then back to my quarters for a proper goodnight kiss.”
Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening as the warmth of his breath and the weight of his words settled between them. She could feel the tension thickening in the air, her voice trembling slightly as she teased, “Only a kiss?”
Bucky smirked against her skin, his lips hovering near her ear. “Maybe more than just a kiss,” he rasped, his voice low and full of promise, “but only if you wanted it too.”
She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Hmm, I dunno, Sergeant Barnes... things were done more properly back then, right? No sex before marriage, and all that stuff?”
He let out a low chuckle, his hand already inching higher up her thigh, the heat of his touch sending shivers up her spine. “You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, his voice taking on a teasing edge. “I would've waited until our wedding night…” His hand slid beneath the fabric of her dress, fingers grazing the soft skin of her thigh. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have thought about it. Every. Single. Day.” He leaned in again as he whispered. “How you’d look... how you’d feel... imagining all the ways I’d finally get to touch you.” His breath was warm against her skin, the words heavy with tension.
“Is that so?” she murmured, her fingers sliding up his chest, gripping his collar just enough to keep him close. “You think you could’ve waited?”
His hand tightened again on her thigh. “I would’ve tried... but I don’t think you would’ve made it easy.” Bucky’s playful tone faded into something more serious, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Would you have let me… let me have you like that?” His words carried a weight that made her heart race.
She swallowed, her fingers gripping his shirt tighter as she looked up into his eyes, feeling the pull of him in a way that left her defenseless. “I-” her voice faltered, her pulse racing, but she managed to find her words. “Yeah, Bucky... I would’ve.”
Bucky’s metal hand, firm but tender, climbed from her waist tracing a slow, deliberate path up her spine. He then reached for the little buttons at the neckline of her dress, his touch both careful and bold as he unfastened them, one by one. Each undone button revealed more of her skin to his darkened gaze, and the way he looked at her made her feel exposed in a way that went beyond the physical. “I would’ve taken care of you,” he murmured, his lips brushing her collarbone. “Made sure no one else got close to you.”
Her body leaned instinctively toward him, craving the closeness as her free hand ran up his arm, her fingers tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “No one else would’ve mattered,” she whispered.
With a swift, deliberate motion, the hand on her neckline slid down and snaked behind her, grasping her ass and pulling her fully into his lap. She gasped as her hips pressed against his, feeling exactly how much he wanted her. “Every night,” he growled, his voice rough with need, “I would’ve made sure you were mine.” His eyes were ablaze with raw desire as his grip tightened, holding her firmly against him.
Her pulse raced, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and his mouth crashed into hers in a searing kiss. His other hand slid higher up her thigh, teasing the edge of her underwear, fingers brushing the soft skin. A soft moan escaped her lips, muffled by the kiss, and when he broke it, his lips found the curve of her neck.
“So only one kiss, huh?” she chuckled in a breathed tone, her voice trembling with anticipation as her hips instinctively rocked against him.
Bucky inhaled deeply against her skin, trailing hot kisses down toward her chest. “Well, I would've kissed you every chance I got but believe me, that wouldn’t have been enough...” His words were thick with promise, his breath hot against her skin. He pressed his arousal harder against her, his hand slipping between them, fingers tracing her slick heat over her underwear. The breathless gasp that escaped her was all the encouragement he needed. “… that wouldn’t have been fucking enough.” he whispered against her skin, his voice low and filled with hunger, as his fingers moved with purpose, leaving no doubt about what he wanted.
She bit her lip, her voice soft but laced with playful intent as she fed into the fantasy they were weaving. “Well, if we had ourselves a little house with a white fence, I’d have waited for you to come home every day in a frilly apron,” her eyes locked onto his, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as she added, “with nothing underneath.”
The image she painted made Bucky’s breath hitch, his grip tightening around her ass. His eyes nearly rolled back, his imagination spiraling into wild possibilities. “Damn.” His voice was laced with lust. “If I could’ve had you waiting for me like that,” he murmured, his hand gripping her tighter, fingers digging into her skin as his restraint began to falter “I’d have come home early every damn day just to take advantage of you.” His lips brushed the swell of her breasts, the heat between them spiraling as his imagination ran wild, and he pulled her impossibly closer while teasing over her soaked panties.
Her gaze flicked from his lips back to his darkened eyes. “Oh yeah?” she challenged, her voice a sultry whisper. “Right there on the kitchen table?”
Bucky’s smirk deepened, the raw desire in his eyes nearly swallowing her whole. “Hell yes, right there on the kitchen table,” he growled, his vibranium hand gripping her ass harder, possessively. “I’d bend you over it, flip up that little apron, and bury myself inside you until you screamed my name for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.” He confessed without a hint of remorse or shame.
Her body reacted instantly, hips pressing hard against the teasing hand hovering over her clothed pussy. A soft whimper escaped her, the sound almost desperate. His hand answered her need by slipping her panties aside, his fingers slowly sinking into her heat, stretching her with deliberate, agonizing precision. The sensation sent a shudder through her, her body arching into his touch.
She let out a shaky breath, her playful tone faltering as her body betrayed her. “How kinky,” she managed to tease, biting her lip as she met his gaze, her voice barely steady under the growing pressure inside her.
Bucky inhaled sharply, savoring the way she responded, his hand moving with more purpose now. “Kinky enough to have you blushing for days,” he growled, his teeth grazing up to her jawline before dragging his lips slowly up to brush against hers. His fingers kept sliding deeper inside her with slow, deliberate strokes. “And when the milkman came the next morning…” The hand on her ass squeezed the supple skin harder, pulling her even close against him, while the other continued its relentless torment between her legs. “...you’d be so sore from the night before, you wouldn’t even be able to stand straight. Couldn’t look anyone in the eye without blushing, remembering just how loud you screamed.”
She blushed at his statement, totally immersed in the fantasy. “That sounds… so good, Buck.” She managed to say, her voice trembling with want. She bit her lip again, locking eyes with him and starting to ground herself shamelessly against his fingers, the pressure building quickly inside her. “But... would you only fuck me at the kitchen table when coming back? What about… other creative places? Like the back porch, under the shade of the bindweed?...”
Bucky's eyes closed as her suggestion sparked a flood of heated thoughts. “Hell, yes," he growled, his voice deep and gravelly, thick with desire. He pushed his fingers deeper inside her, his thumb circling her swollen clit, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. “I’d lift that sexy little apron right up, spread your legs wide open, and fuck you right there under the bindweeds," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, each word laced with promise. "And you'd moan my name, scream it, while everyone else thinks we’re just having a quiet afternoon tea."
The combination of his filthy words and the relentless pressure of his fingers sent her body trembling with anticipation, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. "Bucky…" she moaned softly, her hands tightening their grip on him, desperate for everything he was giving her. Her hips bucked uncontrollably against his hand, her breath hitching as his fingers curled inside her, hitting just the right spot and sending waves of pleasure radiating through her body. The pleasure built inside her, tightening, coiling until every nerve in her body felt alive.
Bucky felt the signals and growled, his fingers moving faster now, each stroke deliberate and calculated as his forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming out in ragged bursts. “I’d had make sure no one could ever touch you the way I did,” he muttered, his voice low and possessive. "Every inch of you, mine." He punctuated the last words with hard, rhythmic rubs at one side of her clit and that was all she needed for the climax to hit her, a wave of intense pleasure crashing through her. Her moans turned into soft cries as she buried her face on his neck, her body trembling violently as his hand continued to work her through it, prolonging her ecstasy.
When her body came down from her high, still trembling from the intensity, Bucky slowly withdrew his fingers. Panting, she looked at his gaze and saw the raw, unbridled desire burning in his cobalt eyes. Without hesitation, she leaned in, her lips finding his stubbled jaw, trailing soft, hungry kisses down his neck, nipping and sucking against his skin while her hand wandered lower and lower on his abdomen, finally unbuttoning his pants with deliberate slowness, venturing inside his underwear.
The moment her fingers brushed against his cock, he tensed and groaned. “W-wait,” he rasped, his voice thick with need and restraint. His hand held hers firmly, keeping her from going further.
Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion, her lips still hovering near his neck. “Why?” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “I want to make you feel good too. You deserve it, Bucky,” she whispered, her words full of tenderness and desire. Her fingers twitched beneath his grip, her intention clear.
Bucky let out a low, shaky breath with a hint of frustration. He knew he had to come clean. “I want it too, trust me,” he muttered, his voice low, strained. “But it’s been so long... too long. If you touch me now…” He trailed off, swallowing hard, the unspoken words hanging in the air. “Let me lead,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. He leaned in to kiss her, deep and slow, pouring all the pent-up desire into the kiss.
She sighed softly, pulling back just enough to reach for the hem of her dress, slipping it over her head in one fluid motion. The fabric lifted away from her body, leaving her sitting in only her bra and panties as the dress was tossed to the side of the couch.
Bucky’s gaze darkened as he took her in, his hands instinctively roaming over her bare skin. But then he groaned again softly, almost painfully, his fingers pausing as his grip tightened around her waist. “What happened to let me lead?” he rasped; his voice thick with restraint.
Her breath hitched at his words, her lips parting as if to respond with a half-hearted apology, but before she could, his hands were already sliding down her body, reclaiming control. His fingers traced her bra straps, slipping them off her shoulders with excruciating slowness. “I need to do it my way,” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “If you don’t behave... this ends before we even begin.”
The meaning of his earlier words hit her then, her body stiffening as realization dawned. He wasn’t just leading to take his time with her; he was fighting to keep from losing control, from coming right there in his pants. Her teasing grin faltered, replaced with a softer expression. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice quieter now, laced with understanding. “I didn’t realize…” Her fingers gently grazed his cheek, guilt creeping into her tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you.”
Bucky tensed slightly at her touch, inwardly cursing himself for letting his vulnerability slip. His masculine pride stung. Great job, Barnes. Way to cool the mood. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers in an attempt to brush off the tension. “It’s alright,” he muttered, but the strain in his voice betrayed him. His fingers dug into her hips just a little, grounding himself. “I just... got worked up faster than I expected.” He exhaled shakily, trying to ease the tension. Then he started to move.
As his fingers worked at the clasp of her bra, his touch slow and deliberate, he broke the silence with a low murmur, his voice thick with desire, yet laced with a hint of vulnerability. “You know… I liked you from the moment we bumped into each other on the stairs,” he said, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. “I still remember the way you looked at me, even after I knocked you off balance and grabbed your arm. No gloves, metal hand out in the open… but you didn’t flinch.”
She smiled softly at the memory, her breath hitching slightly as the tension between them simmered. When her bra fell away, his gaze dropped to her exposed breasts, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. His flesh hand cupped her gently, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a slow, teasing motion.
“I loved how your uniform looked on you then,” he continued, his voice growing huskier as his metal hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer. “I still do. Every time I see you in it, it makes it hard to focus on anything else.”
His thumb continued its slow teasing, but then his expression shifted, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. His voice dropped, a hint of regret slipping into his words. “I wish I’d asked you out sooner. The old me… he would've handled this better. Would’ve known exactly how to...”
She cut him off before he could finish, her eyes fierce, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer. “Stop,” she said firmly, her voice soft but unwavering. “The moment of ‘what if’ has passed. I don't want the man you used to be.” Her lips brushed against his jaw, her breath hot against his skin. “I want you. Not someone I never knew.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them fixing his gaze on hers. She wasn’t looking for the version of him with the effortless charm and swagger. She never did. She wanted him, baggage, scars, and everything else.
A slow, shaky breath escaped him, his grip on her tightening as a flicker of vulnerability passed through his eyes. “You don’t know how much that means,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips brushing against her jaw, then down to her neck. His movements were soft at first, but as her hands gripped his shoulders, urging him on, the hesitation melted away.
His mouth found hers again, kissing her hard, his hands moving with more confidence again. “I’ve wanted this... you,” he rasped, his breath hot against her skin. “For so damn long.” She responded with a moan, her body arching into him as he took full control.
Bucky groaned, unable to hold back any longer as the tension between them reached its peak. He gently shifted her off his lap, laying her down on the couch, his hands lingering on her hips for a moment before he stood. His breath was heavy, and though his chest tightened with familiar insecurities, especially about his arm, he pushed forward.
His fingers moved to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. As the fabric fell to the floor, his eyes darted to her face, half-expecting some flicker of hesitation or doubt. Instead, her gaze roamed over him, dark with desire as her eyes took in the hard lines of his chest. “Damn... you’re perfect.” Her voice came out breath and soft. Swallowing hard, Bucky quickly slid his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, kicking them aside. Now fully bare before her, he stood there, his chest rising and falling as her gaze lingered on him. He could see her eyes focused on his size, her lips parted as she let out a soft, breathless sound. The way she looked at him -no hesitation, only hunger- made his insecurities, the doubts about his scars, his arm, everything, to retract to a far corner of his mind.
Without a word, he climbed on top of her, positioning himself between her legs, their bodies pressed together, heat and tension coiling between them. His hands trailed down her sides, gripping her hips firmly as he pulled her closer. Slowly, he guided his cock to her slick entrance, teasing her folds as he coated his shaft with her wetness. A low, rumbling groan escaped his lips as he playfully rubbed the tip of his cock against her clit, the pressure sending jolts of pleasure through her.
Her body reacted instantly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she writhed beneath him. “Bucky…” she moaned softly, her hips tilting up toward him, her body aching for more.
He moved slowly, sliding inside her inch by inch, and paused as soon as he was fully sheathed, giving her a moment to adjust. Her body clenched tightly around him, a gasp escaping her lips as her nails dug into his shoulders. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, the sensation of him filling her completely overwhelming her. The tight heat of her body had him teetering on the edge, but he held back, determined to give her time.
He pulled back slightly, then pushed forward again, slowly and deliberately, testing her response. Her breath hitched, her thighs trembling around his hips with each thrust. She bit her lip, her eyes fluttering shut as she struggled to find her breath.
“Fuck, Bucky,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice barely audible but heavy with surprise and awe. “You’re… big. I’ve never... God!”
Her words sparked something deep within him, the mixture of vulnerability and pleasure igniting a fire he could barely contain. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his control began to slip. His hands moved to the back of her thighs, gripping them firmly just beneath her knees, then in one swift motion, he lifted her legs, spreading her wider as he started to thrust deeper, hitting spots that made her eyes fly open, a strangled moan escaping her lips. “Bucky… oh my God,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she struggled to take all of him.
Encouraged by her reaction, Bucky picked up the pace, his thrusts growing harder and faster, losing himself in the haze of lust that overtook him. He pulled her thighs higher, spreading her wider, driving into her with relentless force. Each thrust was deeper and rougher, and her moans quickly turned into desperate, breathless cries of pleasure.
The sound of her moans, the way she cried out his name, only fueled him further. “You like that?” he growled, his voice low and ragged as he thrust into her again, deeper, harder. Her slick heat gripped him tighter with every movement, making his pulse race. “Look at me, Doll. You like it rough?”
Her body arched beneath him, her hands scrambling for something to hold onto as the intensity of his thrusts tore through her. “Yes! Bucky… fuck! Don’t stop,” she moaned, her voice breaking as he kept his relentless, punishing pace.
“Oh, I won’t stop,” he growled, pulling out of her with a slick sound, only to flip her over onto her stomach in one swift motion. His hands gripped her hips roughly, pulling her ass up and positioning her on all fours before she had time to catch her breath.
Before she could process the shift, Bucky slammed back into her, filling her completely. She gasped, her fingers clutching at the couch cushions as he drove into her from behind, his pace unrelenting. “Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, his flesh hand sliding up her back before grabbing a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as his hips pistoned against her, thrusting deep and hard.
She let out a scream of pleasure, her body trembling as he pounded into her. “Yes! Oh God, yes,” she cried, her voice hoarse, her body helpless under his rough control.
Bucky grunted with each powerful thrust, his grip on her hair tightening, his metal hand digging into her hip, guiding her back onto him. The angle allowed him to go even deeper, kissing her cervix with every push of his hips. Her moans only spurred him on, the rhythm of their bodies frantic and primal, skin slapping against skin.
He released her hair and grabbed both her hips, yanking her back onto his cock with force, losing himself in the haze of lust. “Come for me,” he growled, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp smack, making her gasp.
Before she could recover, his hand slid between her legs, his fingers finding her clit. He circled it with firm, deliberate pressure, his voice rough as he leaned over her, thrusting deeper still. “I want you to come all over me, Doll.” The moment his fingers found her swollen nub, her body responded, hips bucking involuntarily as her breath hitched. The pressure building inside her hit its peak, and with a loud, desperate moan, she shattered beneath him, her body trembling violently as she came hard.
The feel of her tight, wet heat spasming around him was too much for Bucky to handle. He let out a guttural moan, his hips slamming into her as his own release took hold. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice ragged as his body tensed, and he came hard, spilling thick, hot spurts into her. His hips jerked involuntarily with each wave of pleasure, the intensity of his orgasm hitting him harder than he’d expected. He gasped, his forehead falling to her back as he rode out the aftershocks, his cock pulsing inside her, still surrounded by the tight, wet heat of her body.
The sound of their heavy breathing filled the room, the intensity of their release leaving them trembling, their bodies slick with sweat. Bucky stayed inside her for a moment longer, his fingers lazily circling her clit, drawing out her pleasure as her body continued to spasm beneath him. But as the haze of bliss began to fade, his mind started to catch up with his body, and a flicker of doubt crept in. Had he been… too much?
Slowly, he withdrew from her, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. His hand slid up to her shoulder, gentle, almost tentative. “Are you okay?” His voice was low, uncertainty laced in every word.
She turned her head slightly, her cheek pressing into the cushion as her hooded eyes found his. “I’m better than okay,” she murmured. “That was... perfect, Buck.”
He exhaled, feeling the tension in his body ease, but his mind refused to quiet. What if she was trying to play it cool after being on the receiving end of nearly 80 years of pent-up frustration?
Sensing his unease, she shifted, sitting up on the couch. Her hands cradled his face, her thumbs gently brushing against his skin. He looked almost miserable for someone who had, minutes ago, been nothing short of a god of intercourse.
“You didn’t hurt me, Bucky,” she said, her voice firm yet warm. “I meant it when I said it was perfect. Stop overthinking. It was the best I’ve ever had.” Her cheeks flushed as she realized the weight of her words, but she didn’t back down. “I mean it,” she added, her voice softening as her gaze dropped for a moment, the blush deepening. “It really was the best I’ve ever had.”
The tension in his body slowly began to melt away as he absorbed her words, a flicker of relief washing over him. His breathing steadied, and the storm of doubts in his mind started to quiet. He looked down, feeling a pang of guilt for letting his insecurities creep in. Running a hand through his messy hair, he shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. I just... I get in my head sometimes.”
She gave him a gentle smile, her fingers brushing his scruffy cheek again. “You didn’t ruin anything, Bucky, not even close. If anything, the only thing you’ll have to atone for... is setting the bar pretty high.”
Bucky’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile as her words sank in. He exhaled deeply, feeling the weight on his chest finally lift. Without saying anything, he reached up, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing softly over her skin in a silent gesture of gratitude.
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was full of understanding, unspoken promises, and the certainty that, somehow, they were exactly where they were meant to be.
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Dividers by: @strangergraphics
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calcifiedunderland · 1 year ago
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Shrimply Yours~
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In which you invoke your shrimp privileges to cheer Floyd up.
Floyd x GN Reader! Enjoy, shrimpies!!~
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“Y’know Floyd, I’d say you’re the shrimp, not me.”
Maybe you really did have a death-by-squeezing wish. Or maybe your plot-armor protection had finally worn off. The eel in question lifted his head slowly at your words and side-eyed you, his golden eye glinting ominously in the Mostro Lounge kitchen’s light.
You’d been washing the dishes after asking Azul for a job in exchange for a little extra madol on the side. For the most part, your day had been as peaceful as it could’ve (the life of a magicless prefect was always maniacal), until you heard arguing from outside the kitchen. You all but jumped when Floyd slammed the door open and wordlessly stalked to the stove, and you spotted Azul walking off shaking his head to himself. Floyd shoved pan on the heat and began frying something, completely ignoring your presence. Was it even possible to fry chicken so aggressively?
In any case, Floyd seemed a little more volatile than usual at the moment, even considering it was him. The other students who’d been in the kitchen with you before had scuttled out before Floyd could snap at them too. But in any case, you knew that Floyd’s mood flipped faster than Crowley leaving all his work to you. So, you thought you’d try to lighten the mood.
At your words, Floyd slowly brought his head up from his deep-frying, golden-and-olive colored eyes zeroing in on you, baring his sharp, shiny teeth at you in a scowl. And in that split second, you suddenly remembered that Floyd was, in fact, a mer-eel. Moray, specifically. A predator. A predator that probably ate shrimpies like you. Who was now looking at you predatorily.
“What did ya just say, shrimpy?” His pupils were practically pin-pricks, and for a moment you swore you could hear the Jaws theme song in your head. You could remember, time and time again, your friends and upperclassmen telling you not to engage Floyd when he was in one of his moods. Even up until now, you’d never been on the awful end of his anger, especially alone. But you weren’t called beast-tamer for nothing, damn it, and maybe that title could extend to taming angry Floyd’s too. An angry Floyd that was still your friend.
“I said, you’re the shrimp, not me.” You maintained eye-contact with him, almost challenging him, ‘come at me, bro.’ You tried to keep a straight face, although you were deflating rapidly by the second because by Sevens this was so stupid but-
“Because you’re shrimply amazing.”
One second passed. Two. Three.
Then Floyd broke into a wide, sharp-toothed grin. He surged towards you, completely forgetting the frying food. “D’awww, SHRIMPY!!!”
He swooped behind you, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up. Your legs flailed around and now your arms were locked in as Floyd spun around the kitchen haphazardly with you in his arms. “Shrimpy knows just how to cheer me up! I knew this is why I kept you around!” He laughed cheerily, bobbing you up and down.
“FLOYD!” You cried, “PUT ME DOWN-“ the kitchen swirled crazily around you, as Floyd babbled some song or other cheerfully. Thankfully he’d stopped spinning, but began shaking you side to side while humming, “Shrimpy’s so brave n’ nice, all the other guppies left when they saw me but only Shrimpy stayed!”
He started pouting, and squished his cheek into yours. “Azul was bein’ mean to me, making me work now. Just ‘cause I roughed up a few customers doesn’t mean it was my fault! They shoulda been nice to me~”
Even though you were basically suspended in the air by him, you smiled at Floyd’s words. “Glad I could help Floyd, that was so mean of Azul,” you consoled him, hoping he’d put you down. He bent over until your feet were safely on the sweet, sweet ground, but didn’t let you go from his arms. The two of you swayed together, basking in each other’s company in the subpar lighting of the kitchen, until you frowned.
“…Hey, is something burning?”
“Ah shit, I burned the chicken.”
———
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uhohdad · 5 months ago
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THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN
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KONIG X READER [HUNGER GAMES AU]
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You & Konig have been chosen to participate in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death.
18+, NSFW, 144k WORD COUNT, AO3, Virgin!Konig, Outcast!Konig, 18yo!Konig, GentleGiant!Konig, Mentor!JohnPrice, Fem!Reader, Blood & Injury, Graphic Violence, Death, PTSD, Alcohol Use, Slow Burn, Konig Pines Hard, Sexual Content, Porn with Too Much Plot, First Time, Dirty Talk, Size Kink, Smut, Fluff, Angst
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➤ THE TRIBUTES I
It’s as if someone dropped an anvil on your chest. Every wisp of air has been stolen from your lungs, too stunned to even pull in a breath. Frozen in your spot, knees locked, and racing thoughts having come to a grinding halt.
Even with the mic’s piercing feedback through the speakers, the blare of your name was unmistakable.
The only thing that offers a sliver of an opportunity to ground you is the peacekeepers’ harsh, demanding grip on your upper arms. They support your full weight, practically dragging you along as you fumble the simple task of putting one foot in front of the other.
The stairs to the temporary stage creak under legs made of lead. You’ve fully collapsed into yourself by time the escort extends her hand to guide you to center stage, sucked into a fever of denial and shock. The escort rambles on, but her words are lost before you can retain them.
The adrenaline already courses through your veins, blood audibly pumping in your ears and eyes sprung open. You are wide awake, but you can’t shake the feeling that this must be a dream, that there must be some mistake. It doesn’t feel real.
You never thought it’d be you. It was always a ‘what if,’ but it never seemed likely. There are thousands of slips in that big glass bowl and only a handful read your name.
Your lips part as you struggle to work in heavy, wheezing breaths, staring out over the densely packed crowd - an ocean of drab colors and hollow silhouettes. Just moments ago you were lost in this crowd, one head in a sea of thousands.
What are the odds?
You start when the back of the escort’s hand nudges your shoulder, ripping you from your haze.
“It’s customary for the tributes to shake hands, dear,” she whispers to you out of the mic’s range.
It takes you a moment to register her words, to understand what she was even trying to communicate.
You didn’t hear her call the male tribute, too engulfed in your blackhole of dread, deafened by the sound of your own heartbeat. Your doubled vision flits to catch the gaze of the male tribute, swallowing hard when you find half-lidded eyes. Immediately your heart sinks, intestines tied into knots as you stare at the menacing figure before you.
The Mountain.
You didn’t know him. You didn’t even know his name, and you had missed your opportunity when the Capitol’s escort read his slip of paper from the big glass bowl. You knew his nickname, though. Or at least - the name he was taunted with. He’d been relentlessly teased for his size, nearing seven feet tall with an intimidating frame to match. Always looming above the crowd, commanding attention whether he wants it or not. The particularly unruly kids torment him, the rest are afraid of him.
The district’s outcast.
You’d had an encounter with him once before, for just a moment. You hadn’t even exchanged words, but you’d thoroughly embarrassed yourself.
Through vision that warps with each beat of your heart, you find his arm, extended and waiting patiently to shake hands.
You try to find a response to the escort’s instructions and also give The Mountain an apology for making him wait, but your words come out mumbled and on top of each other. You shuffle unsteadily towards him, having to reach your arm up to press your shaking palms to hands that sit much higher than yours. His calloused, monstrous hand swallows yours with a sturdy grip. He’s carrying the work, your arm gone completely limp to his as he shakes your hand. You meet his eyes, devoid of expression and staring down at you, half-lidded and unreadable. You’re not sure if the moisture is coming from you, him, or both, but you have the sense to refrain from wiping off the sweat on your nice reaping day clothes in front of the crowd.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the tributes from District Nine!”
The escort raises each of your arms as the crowd looks on, yours by your wrist, his by the crook of his elbow, as far as she can reach when his arm is fully extended. There’s no applause, but people do break into overlapping, indecipherable shouts.
Judging by the way the escort’s face drops, it wasn’t a positive reception.
You’d already sunk into yourself again, wrist limp against her hold and arm dropping loosely to your side when she releases it. You get a brief second to glance to your feet, a moment to pretend you were slipping through the stage and out of existence before you’re roughly ushered away, tripping over yourself as the peacekeepers push you and The Mountain into the district’s hall.
Your loved ones were more emotional than you were. You couldn’t bring yourself to be in the moment to give them a genuine goodbye, clouded by a numb fog, completely dissociated from your body and thoughts. You wish you could remember their heartfelt parting words, but you’re not sure if it would make it easier or harder to leave, most likely never to return.
When your time is up, the guards swoop in to take you both to the train station, where you’re escorted through a swarming crowd with a hundred cameras trained square on your face. You catch a glimpse of yourself on one of their screens, long enough to see your face has drained its color.
Thirty minutes pass on the train ride to the Capitol when you finally regain control of your body, the racing thoughts returning.
The escort is rambling about something, you can hear her voice but you’re too exhausted to tune in to her words.
Your eyes flick up from the floor of the train to find crystal chandeliers, upholstered furniture, golden decor. Extravagance you’ve only ever seen through the static of a television. The colors are vibrant. Dyed a rainbow of saturated and bright colors you weren’t used to seeing in your district. You follow the path of intricate etchings into the sturdy wood, mesmerized by the swirled designs.
As your eyes scan the room you feel the stare of The Mountain, arms crossed and legs fully extended to support his deep slouch on the opposing bench. He quickly glances away when you meet his stare, giving his attention back to your district’s escort.
You take the opportunity to close your parted lips and make a futile attempt to keep your emotions off your sleeve.
The Mountain had you beat in that department - unreadable in every sense of the word. That’s the smart move, keep your opponents guessing. You’re sure you read as pathetic, smelling of weakness and as helpless as a fawn.
He’s got you beat in every department, actually. The Mountain looks like he was engineered for this. Height designed for intimidation, built like an ox, muscles that protrude even from under his clothes.
You wouldn’t stand a chance in a one-on-one with him, let alone him in the company of twenty-two other tributes.
You’re dead.
After soaking in the escort’s ridiculous outfit, busy with deep red ruffles and gems, you finally tune into her words. She’s going on about what the upcoming days will look like, her misguided optimism and excitement a grated ringing your ears. You don’t bother to stifle the way your cheek bunches with a snarl.
The train car’s doors part with a smooth zip, your irritation briefly distracted by a burly man making his entrance.
John Price - a winner of a game that took place around twenty years ago. You’d never met him, but you knew of him well. A man that’s straight to the point, doesn’t take bullshit, and isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. The kind of man you can deduce with a onceover that he’s been hardened by life’s cruel nature. Harsh lines around his eyes and forehead, always dawning a furrowed brow and an everlasting squint, appearing as if he both dislikes and distrusts just about anything he looks at. He’s spent his life as victor mostly in his own isolation, dulling the pain with whiskey and the occasional prostitute. Aside from a plush stomach, courtesy of indulging in his winnings, it’s clear he’s retained most of his strength over the years.
Price crosses his sturdy arms and interrupts the escort mid-sentence, “Ruby, give the kids a minute to breathe, would’ya?” His voice gruff and tone shaming, giving the escort, Ruby, a look that conveys the room’s annoyance with her.
She’s taken aback by his interruption, nose crinkled and mouth pulled back in disbelief. She mumbles under her breath as she exits the compartment, leaving you and The Mountain alone with your mentor.
Your gaze finds the floor again, staring in the space just in front of The Mountain’s boots, his ankles crossed and heels dug into the train’s floor. If the circumstances were different, you would have thanked Price for silencing the escort, but you’re in no mood for courtesy.
From your peripheral you watch Price uncross his arms, digging his palms into his hips as he looks you both over. He takes his time eyeing up The Mountain, just like most do. You already know what he’s thinking - that District Nine might actually have a chance. That someone that fit, that strong, that big would have the best odds of leaving with the crown.
The burn of Price’s stare is brief. He doesn’t linger on you as much. You know what he’s thinking - that a weakling such as yourself was destined to die in that arena, that you don’t stand a chance to even last a day. Giving up on you before you even started.
Not that you could blame him.
Price says nothing, turning his back to you both. You turn your focus out the window, watching the trees whiz by faster than you can get a good look at them, a green and blue blur of foliage and sky. You’ve never gone this fast before.
There’s the sound of clinking glass, the pour of liquid.
Price wordlessly moves in front of The Mountain before stepping to you. He nudges you when you refuse to return his stare, extending a short glass half-full with an amber drink.
“You’ve earned it,” He says when you hesitate, his offering outstretched for an awkward few seconds before you reach out, carefully wrapping your fingers around the crystal.
You inspect it closely before looking over to The Mountain. You meet eyes again, both of you checking to see if the other will accept the offer. You raise an eyebrow at him, acknowledging the shared hesitance.
It felt like a trick.
Alcohol was a luxury you wouldn’t have been able to afford in your district - even if the merchants were unethical enough to sell to the underaged.
You bring the glass just under your nose, wincing at the pungent smell that singes your nostrils.
“Don’t be shy,” Price says, “It’ll ease the nerves.”
That you could get on board with.
You ignore The Mountain’s stare boring into you as you bring the glass to your lips, taking a meager sip. An audible gag leaves you when you swallow, face contorted in a wince at the fire that laps against the back of your throat. You can follow the warmth as it makes its way down, finishing with a bloom throughout your chest.
Price gives a chuckle at your struggle to take the whiskey down.
You narrow your eyes at him, the heat under your skin turning to that of spite. You hold his stare while you bring the glass back to your lips, impulsively downing the whiskey. Your body fights each swallow, forced to override the clear signals from your body that strongly suggest you don’t let it go down. Stinging tears well at your eyeline and threaten to spill, but you don’t break your glare even after you slam the empty glass on the bench next to you with an obnoxious thud of crystal. You hope he can’t tell you’re fighting back the overwhelming urge to vomit, the warmth crawling up your throat instead of down this time.
“Atta’ girl,” Price says with an amused huff. He draws closer to top off your glass while you force down a coughing fit.
You’re good, you think, but you’re too busy choking on your stomach’s threat of retching to object to his pour. You catch The Mountain swirling his glass before taking his first sip, eased by your bold display.
Price lets out an exhausted grunt when he sits, hands on his thighs as he drops onto the same velvet covered bench you perched on. If he’s noticed your clear discomfort as you fight to hold in the burn of the whiskey, he doesn’t comment on it, thankfully. You surely would not be able to handle another round of spite-chugging.
The three of you brood in silence for at least twenty minutes. It’s not an awkward silence, more of a solemn one. The silence that blankets a burial as you watch a loved one being lowered into their grave. There was nothing any of you could say to dull the harsh reality unfolding before you.
You can feel the loosening effect of the alcohol. Price wasn’t kidding. The world felt fuzzy, but easier. Your thoughts slow, inhibition lowering. You change your mind on the refill after all, returning to small yet confident sips.
Once Ruby returns, you’re well past tipsy, cheeks flushed and a noticeable dip in coordination. Your steps feel uneven as the four of you make your way to the dining car, putting an unusual amount of focus on your strides.
Ruby continues to break the silence with her casual conversation, sitting across from you and going on like half the table wasn’t being sent to their death.
The Mountain’s legs brush against yours under the cover of the table’s exotic wood, but the spirits have given slack to prior reservations. You’re not bothered to point your knees towards Price. You can feel The Mountain’s stare out of the corner of his eye, annoyed you weren’t making room for him.
You stopped caring.
Your entire life you’ve been so focused on pleasing others, making yourself smaller to conform as you were expected to fit the order of the districts. You most certainly were going to die - what could you gain for continuing the charade?
The Mountain can deal with your outer thigh, you decide.
Dinner is more lavish than the train’s fixtures. Enough food to feed your family for a month spread out on the table in front of you for just one meal. Golden brown and fluffy rolls in a neat stack, perfectly roasted and seasoned greens, tender beef and potatoes stewed in rich broth.
You didn’t think you would have much of an appetite, but the smell is so enticing you can’t help but sample. Hesitant bites quickly turn to greedy scarfing - you’d never tasted anything so extravagant.
You’d feel bad, but the booze has dulled your worries and The Mountain seems to be putting it away faster than you were. Through the fog settled over your mind, you briefly wonder how much food it takes to sustain one of his size. The financial strain he must have put on his family. How many times was he forced to put his name in that big glass bowl in exchange for extra rations?
After nursing your second glass of whiskey to completion, cheeks flushed with warmth and thoughts beyond muddled, Price doesn’t hesitate to pour you another.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate, John.”
You watch as Ruby’s lips purse, Price not even giving her a glance as he tips the decanter, silently defying her suggestion.
“It’s unbecoming of a mentor to get his tributes intoxicated,” Ruby scolds.
“It’s unbecoming to send these kids to their death for no good reason,” Price shoots back, voice gruff as he sets the decanter down. He returns to his fork, the screech of metal across his plate echoing throughout the car as he gathers some greens.
“You know very well it’s because of the rebellion.”
You and The Mountain share another unsure glance before you offer him a lazy shrug and a soft roll of your eyes. Something to remind him that nothing mattered anymore, remembe
The combination of what remains of your nerves, whiskey, and rich food does not bode well, your stomach churning as it catches up with your appetite. Beads of sweat seep from your pores and underarms, your clothes suddenly twice as constricting.
You slide your chair out from the table with a drawn-out, obnoxious scrape. You’re followed by all three sets of eyes as you wordlessly rush out of the dining car with clenched fists, the train’s doors opening for you automatically.
You make it to the bathroom, thankfully, but miss your opportunity to lean closer to the toilet - a mixture of the rich stew, whiskey, and bile spraying over the porcelain. You drop to your knees, another twist and heave of your gut launching into the bowl. The whiskey burns just as bad up as it does going down, if not more, and this time it takes its opportunity to scorch your nose for good measure.
When you’re finished coughing out the final bits of half-digested food that threaten to lodge in your windpipe, you lay back with a groan, back flush to the cool tile.
You’ve never been in a bathroom so extravagant. Sinks made of marble, golden fixtures, embroidered towels. Not a single fleck of dirt or grime. The bathmats are made of an elegant, plush fabric encompassing stuffing that substitutes a pillow for your spinning head. You felt bad for defiling a bathroom so lavish, but shelved the feeling when you think maybe it could be a form of revenge.
This is what you get for sending me to a fight to the death, Capitol. Puke on your fancy toilets.
You lift your arm to wipe vomit from the corner of your mouth before letting it fall back onto the tile with a thud, eyes pinching shut in a desperate attempt to rid the dizzy spin.
You sneer at the sound of heavy shoes approaching, not bothering to sit up to greet your visitor.
“I don’t want to hear it, okay? Just-”
You peek with one eye when the footsteps stop, bailing on your sentence when you see The Mountain filling the doorway with his massive frame.
“Oh,” You sit up slowly, knees folding in front of you, resting your head on the bathroom wall. You close your eyes again with a soft wince, “Thought you were Price.”
“They, äh,” You noticeably flinch at the sound of his voice, enough to snap your eyes open with a shake of your head. You’d never heard him speak before. It was intense - grating almost. Not like Ruby’s voice. His was deeper, harsher, as if he was forcing each word with a hiss through a filter of crunching gravel, “Wanted me to tell you that dessert was being served.”
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes looking to the ceiling to avoid your stare.
You appreciate the gesture - partially because you didn’t need your opponent to see you even more pathetic than he already has - tears and snot staining puffy cheeks, curled up in a ball next to a vomit-stained toilet. Mostly because the thought of a rich Capitol dessert makes you gag, and you’d rather he didn’t watch as your limbs scramble for the toilet before making another splash in the water. It’s followed by desperate spitting in an attempt to remove the bitter taste from your mouth, and when you pull away to sit on your knees, you’re relieved to see the doorway empty.
You return to leaning against the bathroom wall, taking deep, exhausted breaths as you wish away the nausea.
The footsteps near again, and you pull a face at the second disruption. You don’t look, but you can hear the footsteps approach, pause, and then peter out again. You raise an eyebrow at the lack of mocking, opening your eyes to find only a glass of water sitting on the marble countertop.
“Hey,” You call out with a slight slur, rubbing your brow unsurely. You continue when you hear the footsteps stop in acknowledgment, a shameful plead layering words exclaimed to the next room, “Don’t tell Price?”
You didn’t want him to know your spite-chugging had blown up in (out of?) your face. You’d already embarrassed yourself in front of The Mountain, you didn’t need to ruin whatever scrap of dignity Price might hold for you.
“I won’t,” The harsh voice echoes back.
You don’t form words, but you do hum him a single note in the tune of ‘thank you’ before he leaves you be.
You’re not sure how long you rest on the ground, soothed by the cool tile. When you regain your strength, you stand on wobbly legs, and help yourself to a pure white towel embroidered with gold thread stitched into intricate patterns. You wipe your face before cleaning off the toilet to the best of your ability, ultimately deciding that whoever was responsible for cleaning the toilets most likely did not have any influence on the decision to send you to your death.
The Mountain’s offering of water was a saving grace. You give a thorough rinse of your mouth, stripping the repulsive taste from your tongue before making your way back to the dining car.
“Welcome back,” Price says dryly upon your return.
You give a light grunt in response, still embarrassed about failing to hold your liquor. You’re hoping he was oblivious to your defeat.
“Would you like to see your rooms?” Ruby asks with her posh Capitol accent, ending her question with a high pitch.
Ruby shows you to your rooms, each of you having your own private quarters.
“Help yourself! Anything in here is yours for the taking. If you need anything, just ring the bell and someone will be at your service,” She gives a bright white smile, “Goodnight you two!”
Ruby’s shoes clack obnoxiously as she walks off, a folded palm raised near her head and bouncing with each step.
You and The Mountain share another glance, a raise of an eyebrow at Ruby’s incongruous mannerisms.
Maybe you could blame it on the whiskey - but his presence, while intimidating at first, is starting to grow on you. As selfish as it is, you’re relieved you weren’t alone in this. Someone to check-in with, someone who was just as lost as you, just as unsure, and just as knee-deep in the same abysmal circumstances.
He served as a reminder of home, too. Maybe not incredibly familiar, but he was a pleasant contrast from the Capitol way of life, even in his nice reaping day clothes. A piece of District Nine to be at your side, at least until you get to the arena.
You don’t last long once you’re back in your room. You brush the awful taste from your mouth, have a warm soak in the extravagant shower in your private bathroom, enjoying the scents of fancy soaps. Once dried and underwear replaced, you crawl into the lush bed, only minutes passed before you’re drifting off.
———————————————————-
It’s the growl of your hollow stomach that wakes you. A cramp that tightens in your lower half, aching for food. It’s accompanied by a mild headache, a punishment for your dehydration and irresponsible drinking. The hangover had you feeling dirty, even though the shower’s water pressure and fancy soaps and scrubs had you cleaner than ever before. You groan at your abdominal muscles, sore from the arduous task of vomiting.
After a half-hearted attempt to pull yourself together, you meander to the dining car, hoping for food. The smell hits you as soon as you step through the automatic doors, eyes lulling and mouth watering at the inviting aroma of a generous breakfast spread.
Ruby and The Mountain are already sitting at the table, halfway through their meals.
“Good morning!” Ruby says in a pitch that makes your headache throb. You don’t let it show, “Sleep well?” She asks.
You hum at her in response, polite but reserved. Avoiding her gaze, you eye up the dishes spread on the table as you take your seat. Bacon, sausage, and ham spread neatly on a tray. Eggs, seasoned potatoes, ripe and brilliant fruits. Bagels, muffins, and toast paired with an assortment of jams. Never had you had so many choices for breakfast.
When you bump into The Mountain’s knee this time, you cross your leg over the other, giving him the space he needed. Maybe it’ll make up for the disgusting display you subjected him to last night. You avoid his gaze too, now inhibited without the confidence the booze gifted you.
You don’t hesitate to load your plate, rolling your eyes in satisfaction as you take your first bite. While you chew you pour yourself orange juice, following your swallow with half the glass to satisfy your overwhelming thirst.
“Today’s going to be very exciting,” Ruby starts with her cheery tone, “We’ll be arriving at the Capitol!”
You keep your attention to your plate, secretly wishing she’d give you time to wake up, time to pretend that what was happening wasn’t happening. You wonder if Price would have staved her off if he was here.
“The opening ceremony is tonight!” She squeals. Her hand goes limp on her wrist as she leans forward in her chair, dropping her voice as if she’s sharing a scandalous secret, “So, when we get there, you’ll both head straight to your stylists. They’ll prep you and make sure you both look perfect for the audience.”
You can feel the intimidating, half-lidded stare coming from the direction of The Mountain. You resist the urge to meet his gaze, the shame making it difficult to meet his eyes. You tilt your chin down to rid him from your peripheral in an attempt to focus on breakfast instead of the stylists, the ceremony, or The Mountain.
He was a reminder of home, a reminder that you were not alone in this nightmare, but he was also a reminder of the nightmare you were both trapped in. You wanted to at least have a belly full of food before you dug into reality.
“Coffee?” Ruby asks after she’s finished topping off her mug.
Coffee was another luxury you wouldn’t have been able to afford in your district. You flick between her gaze and the pot before you find a matching mug in front of The Mountain’s plate.
“Sure,” You mumble, careful not to brush your fingers against the heated glass while you take the coffee from her. You fill the empty mug next to your assigned dish, and warm your fingers around the mug. Your hesitant sip leads to a wince at the bitter taste.
Apparently having watched your reaction, The Mountain wordlessly slides a ceramic jar and matching pourer filled with sugar and cream respectively into your reach. He looks to Ruby, who gives him a proud nod, as if he correctly implemented something she had taught him.
You don’t say anything, don’t meet his gaze even when he pulls away his hands.
After a moment of hesitance you do take his suggestion, and find he’s right. With the sweetening of sugar and mixed with chilled cream it is much better, tasting more like a dessert than a drink you’d have with breakfast.
Keeping your mouth rinsed from vomit, bettering your coffee.
After you’ve downed your first sip, you have the thought that he might be trying to get you to ingest something. Maybe the hangover was not the only thing to blame for feeling lousy this morning. A poison, or even just something to make you sick before you get to the arena, mixed into the water and the cream.
You set the mug down on its saucer as if handling an explosive.
While The Mountain is busy clearing his plate, you survey him. His eyes are still half-lidded and unreadable, body relaxed casually.
Maybe too casually.
“Morning,” Price says on his entrance, stealing your attention.
“You’re late,” Ruby says strictly.
“You’re loud,” Price cuts back, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
You raise a brow.
At the very least, watching Price and Ruby bicker was entertaining. Something to distract you from your imminent death, drawing closer with each minute that ticks by.
Ruby’s face pinches, but otherwise she doesn’t acknowledge his insult.
“We were talking about the opening ceremony tonight.”
Price grunts, loading a scoop of potatoes onto his plate with a large silver serving spoon.
“This will be the first time you get to show off to your sponsors, so make sure you make a good impression!”
You and The Mountain have paused eating to give your stomachs a chance to stretch around your appetite. The sound of Price clinking dishware fills the silences in between Ruby’s excited words.
“Big smiles, head high, don’t forget to wave! Remember - you’re proud to be a part of such an important part of history!”
You slam your glass of orange juice down onto the table, the juice sloshing up the side of the crystal and launching droplets from the glass that splatter on the tablecloth. You command the table’s attention, but only meet Ruby’s eyes with a pointed, icy glare.
She looks back at you in bewilderment, as if you’ve not been provoked into your outburst. You don’t have words for her, just a stare full of daggers and flared nostrils. You’re not in the mood to play nice this morning.
“Well, you certainly have a lot to work on between now and the ceremony,” She says, taking a sip of her coffee as she holds her saucer underneath.
You roll your eyes, roughly smearing a glob of jam over a piece of toast. In your irritation you forget you didn’t want to acknowledge The Mountain yet, shooting him an annoyed glance. His brows lower, almost like he’s apologizing on her behalf.
You find it even more annoying that he’s not as bothered by the implication that the two of you should be proud you were chosen to be slaughtered. You look back down to your plate, tearing off a corner of your toast, too busy mulling over Ruby’s words to enjoy the sweet taste of jam coating your tongue.
A full stomach helps dull the rage and eases your hangover.
“She’s right, you know,” Price says, low and toward his meal after a long silence.
“That it’s an honor to be such an important part of history?” You ask, voice sharp with malice.
“No,” He starts, and Ruby’s mouth cocks back, “That you need to make a good impression on the sponsors.”
He slides a piece of ham off his fork, not bothering to swallow as he continues, “Play their game. Wear the corny costumes, be a beacon of positivity, act honored to be there.”
“Whatever,” You say, bumping your knee against The Mountain’s leg when you slide out of your chair to stand. You drop your cloth napkin over your plate, exiting the car without so much as a goodbye.
Back in your room, your pointed frustration boils down to reveal nothing but a heavy ache in your chest. An exhausted sob leaves you when you flop down on your bed, finally giving yourself the space to cry, to let out all of the overwhelming emotions you’ve been trying to heed off. The tears flow mercilessly, the droplets rolling off your nose before staining the silken sheets a shade darker. You don’t even try to stifle your cries, too occupied thinking about home, about your loved ones, about how you’ve only a few days left to live - and you can’t even live them how you want too. Forced to be a puppet to the Capitol, dolled up and pretending like you’re not the lowest you’ve even been, just to give them a good show. A desperate bid to have some rich schmuck buy you the difference between life and death in that arena.
When you awake for the second time, your eyes are puffy, mouth dry, and there’s a hearty knock flooding your room that only exacerbates the dehydration headache nestled just behind your eyebrows.
Ruby’s calling in a sing-song voice through the door, “We’re here!”
You give a small whine into the sheets, lifting your head to find your temples pulse with movement.
You rub your red eyes with a loose fist and rise to make a last minute attempt to look presentable. Walking around like you’ve just woken from a nap you cried yourself into surely doesn’t say, ‘I’m proud to be a part of such an important part of history,’ does it?
You do what you can, fixing your hair and brushing your teeth, but there’s nothing you can do to hide puffy cheeks and swollen eyelids.
When you open the door, you flinch when you see The Mountain, not expecting to see his daunting figure standing in the hallway between your doors.
His eye twitches when he sees your swollen face, a stare you had to tilt your head back to meet.
You let out a long exhale as you regain composure, one hand slowly returning from your instinctual brace to the doorknob.
You give him a raise of a brow in question at his lingering presence while you creep the door shut.
For a moment those hooded eyes widen, his hands pulling up to the space in front of his chest. He fumbles the start of his sentence, looking to the floor before he spits it out.
“I thought we should go together.”
You give him a small, slow nod, not sure what to make of it.
Your first thought is that he wanted a look at you, to see if his poisoning had any worthwhile effect.
You’re surprised he’s doing it by letting his nerves show, being so open about leaning on you. You didn’t think he would allow himself to be vulnerable in front of an opponent - he’s been nothing but unreadable so far.
Maybe he’s comfortable letting his guard down after he saw you such a mess yesterday, not worried about showing weakness to someone who’s more than truly pathetic.
Maybe he’s relieved to have someone just as lost and just as unsure at his side, too. His fidgeting hands drop to his side as you walk past him, his heavy boots following in your wake.
Maybe he’s just trying to lure you in so that you’ll be an easy kill in the arena. Trick you into thinking he’s not a threat so that the knife impales smoothly through your back.
You lead him to the car with the velvet benches, where Ruby and Price sit. Your attention is immediately pulled to the windows, a perfect view of the twinkling Capitol approaching in the distance. A massive city with skyscrapers and lights that dot the sky like stars. An infrastructure unlike anything you’ve ever seen, thousands of vehicles flooding the grid-like streets - streets made of concrete, not of dirt.
As you near the city, the train beginning its smooth stop, you can see crowds of Capitol citizens flooding the space near the tracks.
“What are they doing?’ You can’t help but ask, face warped in confusion.
“They want an early glimpse at the tributes!” Ruby answers enthusiastically.
“They’re here for us?” You ask, a mixture of genuine confusion and patronization in your voice.
They’re cheering, open mouth smiles, jumping up and down, waving handkerchiefs at the sight of you and The Mountain through the window.
You both stare dumbfounded at them, soaking in the rainbow of bright and busy outfits. They all looked like they were dressed up in costumes, dawning puffy gowns, huge wigs, and dramatic makeup. They’re gone in an instant as you pull into the train station.
The four of you are ushered quickly into the remake center, where you share one more panicked look with The Mountain before you’re led down different halls.
——————
In the remake center, there is no stone left unturned. You are roughly scrubbed, plucked, and slathered in a hundred different creams and elixirs. Teeth whitened, nails picked clean of dirt, filed down and oiled. Hair washed, combed, and styled.
You can’t help but feel violated, all of these hands on you, transforming you against your will. In an attempt to soothe yourself you close your eyes, trying to take yourself somewhere you’re not. It’s difficult to do so when every few seconds there’s a rip of a hair from its follicle, a yank on your scalp, or the gritty scrape of a hard sponge along your skin.
You wonder if The Mountain is having a similar experience, or if his prep team is taking it easier on him. Will they wax him? Or let him keep his body hair since he’s a boy? Are his nails getting filed? Is he being scrubbed head to toe with a rock that feels like it’s made of sandpaper?
Without his presence and to your dismay, you find yourself even more anxious without him by your side. You wish you could share another unsure glance with him, to remind yourself that you’re not alone in this.
Not yet anyway.
Once the prep team has measured every curve and inch of your much too exposed body, they decide you’re ready and haul you off to your stylist.
Your stylist is a tall, thin woman named Mauve that doesn’t seem to be too interested in you at all. She refuses to meet your eyes, attention glued to a tablet supported by her stomach and resting on her forearm. Her free arm pokes at the screen.
She lets out a sigh, and then speaks, not to you, but to the room, “District Nine. Grain. What am I supposed to do with that?”
It’s tradition for the opening ceremony outfits to reflect the main industry of the districts. In previous years, the District Nine tributes were usually dressed as farmers. Not particularly remarkable or fashionable.
“Farmers?” You ask.
She sighs again, this one drawn out, and then exits the room.
You are left in this room for hours, alone with your own thoughts. Your fingers tap on the bench you’re perched on, legs swaying anxiously a foot off the ground.
When Mauve returns, you’ve already managed to dive headfirst into a full spiral, nothing in the room to distract you from the impending games, and more pressingly, being put on display for thousands of Capitol citizens as if you’re cattle to be auctioned off.
She’s got a long, flowing beige dress in her hands. It’s covered in wheat, stems and wheat flowers arranged in intricate patterns along the upper half of the dress, swirling on the bust. The lower half of the dress is made up of what must be a thousand oversized wheat heads that fan out at the hem, giving the impression of feathers weightlessly bouncing at the bottom of the skirt. She fashions a matching crown on your head and pins it in place in a way that puts an unpleasant pull on your scalp.
In terms of opening ceremony costumes, it’s actually not the worst. It’s not particularly flashy or remarkable, but it’s certainly an improvement from overalls and straw hats.
“It’s pretty,” You say, running your fingers over the fabric.
“It’s the best I could do,” She scoffs again, “Grain. What a joke.”
If only the dress was as comfortable as it was pretty. You might as well be wearing a bale of hay, scratchy and poking you with each movement you make. You find yourself holding your arms up to avoid the prick of fake wheat on your inner bicep.
The shoes are the worst part. A beige high heel that squeezes your feet too tight and digs into the back of your ankles. You hope you won’t have to deal with fresh blisters in the arena.
She does your nails, a matching beige with a dotted design that give the appearance of wheat florettes. It lends your nails a glossy, bumpy texture that’s quite pleasant to run your fingers over.
Mauve applies your makeup in silence. After sitting in isolation for the last few hours, you’re happy to have her painting and poking your face, now able to focus on the smooth swipes of a brush or the smear of a heavy cream instead of… everything else.
When you look at yourself in the mirror, your breath is stolen, a gaped mouth and sprung eyes looking back at you.
You don’t look like yourself at all. The girl standing in front of you is a stranger. You’ve been completely rid of the evidence of your life in District Nine. You might as well be a Capitol citizen with your glowing skin, outlandish outfit, and hair silkier and fluffier than ever.
Mauve went heavy on the make-up, the flesh of your face already begging for the touch of fresh air, but you can’t help but admire the artistic nature of your eye shadow. A simple, classy even, light beige on your eyelids that transitions to a creamy rich brown on your eye sockets. The highs of your face shine with a radiant golden shimmer, the lows darkened to give your features a more striking appearance.
“Wow,” You say breathlessly, at a complete loss for words.
Mauve checks her nails, looking bored. She takes her time before she gives you one more gloss over and leaves without a word.
This time, instead of mulling over the games, the ceremony - you stare at yourself, mesmerized by your own appearance. You’re particularly interested in the way the wheat flowers on your hem dance and flutter when you sway.
You’re relieved to see Ruby when she comes to retrieve you with Mauve. You’re eased by the familiar face, even if she has a tendency to be incredibly ignorant.
“Oh!” She gasps, “Don’t you look just marvelous!”
“Thank you, Ruby,” You say, genuinely appreciative of her compliment.
You have to cling to Ruby’s folded arm, making slow, shaky steps as you get accustomed to the shoes.
When you meet up with Price and The Mountain down in the stables, it confuses you when another wave of relief hits in their presence. You were relieved to see Ruby, but you actually let out an audible sigh at the sight of The Mountain.
You lock eyes almost immediately, and you find yourself smiling at him. Actually smiling, you think for the first time since Reaping Day. You catch yourself quickly, stifling your expression with a fold of your lips as you look him up and down. The only thing that makes you feel better about your readable emotions is watching him dull his smile, too.
He’s wearing a matching beige suit, but his is not covered in wheat flowers. Instead he is accented with them, the florettes blooming along his tie, the seams of his suit, his jacket pocket. There’s a bundle of long stems fastened between his shoulder blades, giving him a collar made of florettes around the back of his neck. It resembles peacock feathers, the wheat blossoms fanned and fluttering behind him with the slightest movements, much like the skirt of your dress. A crown similar to yours is fashioned to his head, but his is thicker, less dainty.
“Well, don’t you two just look good enough to mill and grind,” Price says.
“How long did it take you to come up with that one?” You say, arms still raised awkwardly to avoid the stab of wheat stems.
Price just huffs, looking away. You follow his gaze, and your face immediately sinks in dread. This is the first time you’ve seen the other tributes, and even just standing in the same open room as them is enough to intimidate you. If it were not for the painted-on skin of your makeup, you’re sure everyone would be able to see the color drain from your face.
Price must have noticed, because he snaps his fingers with a quiet whistle to catch your attention. He points to the floor in between the group’s four pairs of shoes, wordlessly ordering you to focus on the task at hand.
You give him a weak nod, eyes still pooled with unease. Any other time you would have been miffed by the disrespectful gesture, one that reminds you of how one would treat a dog that has a habit of running too far from his owner, but you understand Price has your best interests in mind. You’re thankful, even, that he is there to ground you, to keep the fear from bubbling up and boiling over.
Ruby unintentionally helps distract you with her last minute coaching. She gives a light but firm smack to your upper arm, “Don’t hold your arms up like that! You look like a chicken.”
“It’s itchy,” You object.
“Good! All the more incentive to wave at the crowd. Remember - happy faces, chin high, big smiles!”
After a light roll of your eyes, you feel the burn of The Mountain’s stare again. When you look to him, he flicks his gaze to his dress shoes.
You’re surprised by how much it stings.
Maybe you were already becoming too dependent on him. This will only be a weakness in the arena. You cannot afford to get accustomed to his presence, to lean on him for support, because it will soon be ripped away from you. You may be in this together now, but the moment that gong sounds in the arena all bets are off.
You swallow hard, mouth suddenly as dry as cotton.
Shortly after they load you and The Mountain into a chariot rigged to two unattended, tan-colored horses. Ruby offers her hand for support as you pull yourself into the chariot.
Standing next to The Mountain this closely, you can’t help but soak in how he dwarfs you. His towering height and limbs like tree trunks remind you of just how puny and weak you are.
You don’t want to think about The Mountain anymore. About his unmatched size, unquestionable strength, mutual reassurance. About his stupid matching suit and collar of wheat flowers that compliments the flecks of gold in his eyes.
You pinch off your vision and let out a long breath through your nose. When you open them, your attention is immediately taken by the tributes in their chariots in front of you.
The boy and girl from District Eight stand as far apart from each other as the chariot allows. They’re dressed in colorful, busy outfits made of weaved ribbons with contrasting designs. Textiles is their district industry, you think. The girl is tall, but has a thin build and little muscle. The boy is average in stature, but you can tell he’s lean. You can’t help but imagine how you’d fare against a fight with each of them. The girl you might stand a sliver of a chance against, the boy not so much.
Through the gap between them, you can see District Seven’s tributes, chatting with each other. They’re actually smiling, going on like they’re not about to be paraded in front of thousands of people in a debut for their deaths. Lumber, you think. Your guess is confirmed by a look at their arms, toned and muscled by years of swinging an axe. You wouldn’t stand a chance against either of them.
The large metal doors open with a grind, and you can hear them - the Capitol citizens screaming in anticipation. A thunderous roar made from thousands of whooping cheers and clapping hands. It’s loud enough to vibrate the floor of the chariot. Your heart skips when the music blares over the speakers and the first chariot pulls out. The crowd triples in volume at the sight of District One, in their outfits that reflect like the sun and will surely leave a lasting impression on the sponsors.
You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until it’s too late, having to take several deep, shaky breaths through your mouth. Your pulse has made its way to your ears, sweat working its way through layers of thick make-up. The dress is not helping, its pricks and jabs a constant reminder of its presence. It seems tighter, somehow, as the cut of the waistband digs into your ribs and constricts the air from your lungs. You’re hyperventilating, squeezing heels clicking anxiously under the shuffle of your weight on each foot.
You desperately fight the urge to look to your left, to share this moment of stomach-churning apprehension with The Mountain. The only way you manage this feat is by pinching your eyes shut.
You’ve thought you managed to cut off the support The Mountain has been providing you so far, until the chariot lurches forward and rips the floor from your feet. With a gasp your eyes open, hands instinctively shooting out to steady your balance, already hindered by lifted shoes you’re not accustomed to.
Once steady on the floor that slipped from underneath you, you give something of a nervous laugh before you realize one hand is gripping the front of the chariot, and the other is firmly wrapped around The Mountain’s forearm. He has already braced in the space around you, primed to catch you if you fall.
Great, now you’re literally leaning on him for support.
You jerk your hands back to your sides as if you’d touched a blazing oven. Wheat stems stab into your inner arm as you meet the gaze you’ve been trying to avoid. You mumble out a sheepish apology to him, but he surely can’t hear it over the boom of the crowd, his hands retracting slowly to his sides.
You force your focus back to Ruby’s instructions, lifting your chin and plastering a big, toothy smile on your face. It feels too forced but you hope it doesn’t show. Your arms spring to wave quickly, having already been overextended to avoid the scratch of fake grain.
Once you catch sight of the packed stands, you black out. Your hands are still moving to follow orders, feet still planted unsteadily in your spot, but your nerves have pried your very soul from your core and dropped it right through the chariot and floor, sending it to an inky black void.
You return to your body and mind during the Capitol anthem, the muscles in your face burning from your forced, clenched teeth smile. You’d completely missed The President’s speech.
It’s not until all of the chariots have been led to the training center when you realize that your arm is bent at the elbow to meet a hand that sits much higher than yours.
Your fingers are intertwined with The Mountain’s, squeezing him with a grip strong enough to choke the life from a man.
————————————————————
It’s all you can think about - the hand holding. You wish you could remember who initiated it.
The worst part was the look on his face when you had jerked your sweaty palms back to your side. He looked as if you had just spit in his face and accused him of violating you. The rejection that spread across his features gave you a pang in your chest that still lingers with a heavy weight in your heart.
You wish you hadn’t pulled away like that. It was so fast, though, the jarring realization that you had been relying on him to ground you - once again.
As you look to your glossy, too-tight shoes, the only thing you can see is his horrified expression flashing in front of your eyes.
Suddenly you’re brought back to the first encounter you had with him, that day in District Nine. A nauseating heat of shame and regret washes over you.
On the elevator ride to your district’s assigned suite, you try to give him a look through the wheat collar that partially obscures his face. One that would hopefully convey an apology, but his gaze is fixated on the bottom of the elevator doors. His brows are sloped, the space between his eyebrows scrunched, and he’s gnawing slightly at his lower lip.
When the elevator doors part, you suck in with a sharp inhale.
Ruby gives an excited squeal, “Isn’t it so exquisite?!”
Her voice takes on an air of superiority, “I bet you’ve never seen anything like this back in District Nine.”
You’re too distracted to be annoyed with her, proving her point by taking in the room with open mouth awe.
The ceilings must be fourth feet high, large beautifully crafted marble columns stretching from floor to ceiling. The furniture here puts the furniture on the train to shame.
It is a disgusting display of extravagance.
Ruby gives you a tour that ends at your quarters, where she instructs you both to get changed and unwind until dinner in an hour.
You’re happy to follow her instructions, eager to get out of the wheat dress. Your door has barely closed when you kick your shoes off hard enough for them to fling into the frame of the massive bed with a thud. The dress peels off and you’re quick to shower, eager to rinse the stuffy layers of makeup off your face.
It takes you too long to figure out how the closet works. There are so many fancy appliances in this room, and the closet is controlled by a screen that you have to select your outfit on. You figure it out, finally, and an outfit whizzes out from behind a curved, frosted glass panel. You grab the clothes as if the glass was about to snap back into place and take your arm with it.
You don’t trust this closet.
For the first time since the morning of the reaping, you are able to dress in clothes that remind you of home - that remind you of you. You’d opted for something on the more comfortable side, desperate for a breathable, light outfit after that uncomfortable dress.
At dinner, you find yourself thankful for Ruby’s chatter. The energy was definitely off, the air just as stale and constricting as the dress. She filled the silences you would surely choke on if it were just you, Price, and The Mountain.
“Oh, you two did better than I could have hoped! And those outfits,” she gasps for emphasis, “Well, I have to say it’s the best thing that’s come from your district in a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if you both have sponsors already lining up!”
You know she’s just humoring you. Many of the other districts blew your outfits out of the water. Yours were average, at best. Somehow it seems even worse than the awful outfits, which are at the very least memorable.
“And your waving? Perfect!”
“The hand holding was,” Price pauses, as if chewing on his thoughts while he actually chews his food, “Interesting.”
There’s a harsh scrape of dishware followed by a stark silence as you and The Mountain come to a grinding halt. You don’t dare look up from your plate, but your peripheral reveals Price’s sly, half-lidded stare that pierces through your flesh and draws heat to your cheeks.
His smirk is unmistakable.
Ruby - oh Ruby, you are so sorry for brushing her off before. She rescues you from the most painful three seconds of your life with her optimistic Capitol accent.
“It was perfect! It will surely play well with the audience, and if they think you two may be in the works of forming an alliance in the arena, the sponsors will see that as an advantage!”
An alliance?
You hadn’t considered that before.
The Mountain doesn’t need an ally. Especially not one so useless and will offer little help in the arena. You had no doubt that you would only hold him back.
You don’t look at him. You want to look at him. You so badly want to see what he thinks of Ruby’s implied proposal. If it’s his turn to reject you, to wear a realized scowl at the very thought.
Maybe his eyebrows would be raised in interest. A glint of consideration in his eyes at an idea he hadn’t given thought to before.
No.
Surely he would not want you as a partner in a fight to the death. He will have his pick of the litter when it comes to allies, and you will be nothing but dead weight.
The rest of the meal goes as smoothly as you could hope. Ruby rambles on, you keep your gaze to your meal. Once plates are cleared and drinks are emptied, Price leads you to the sitting area where he strongholds you and The Mountain to share a couch so comfortable and soft you could melt into it.
“Alright,” Price says with a push in his voice, “I’ve let you two wallow long enough. Let’s get down to it.”
Your eyes flick to the floor, hand stroking the soothing fabric of the upholstered sofa. You didn’t want to think about the games, but Price had given you plenty of time to digest your circumstances. He didn’t deserve the attitude you instinctively wanted to give him. He’s just as much a victim to these games as you and The Mountain are.
Price lets out a grunt that suggests his bones were fighting his squat to his chair.
With your head still angled to the floor, hair curtaining your view, you can see Price mashing buttons on the remote.
The replay of the reapings.
The careers are nothing short of cruel. Throwing themselves onto the stage to volunteer. All of the tributes from District One and Two are fit and muscular, wearing expressions that leak brutality and a disturbing amount of excitement.
By District Three’s contestants you’re already queasy, and can hardly focus on anything as your vision blurs. It’s like you’re already in the arena, imagining all the different ways the careers will end your life. The boy from District Two, Titan, who has canines that come to a point so sharp it makes his smile look twice as cruel, could easily knock you to the ground with one swing. The girl from District One, Sapphire, piercing you with weapons so sharp you can’t feel the punctures until it’s too late.
Without moving your head, you side-eye The Mountain, who the careers couldn’t hold a candle to. You can tell even over the television that he’s got them all beat in size, and surely strength if judged by pure muscle.
Maybe an alliance wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
The other tributes are a blur. You tune back in around District Seven. The District Seven tributes expressions do not match the ones you saw on the chariot. They look much more solemn as they climb onto the stage, staring hollowly out into the crowd.
Next is Eight, the tributes that had stood miles apart in their chariot.
To your surprise, the boy had volunteered.
He doesn’t look particularly equipped to fight, but there’s a look in his eyes you catch for a moment, a look of pure rage so powerful it radiates through the screen.
“Look out for this one,” Price says, “Something ain’t right with that boy.”
You quirk a brow, but you can’t help but agree. Even through the screen he’s tying your guts into a knot. The feeling is accompanied by an almost primal urge to run.
And then there’s you.
Frozen in shock, hauled up to the stage by peacekeepers. You look as weak and pathetic as you’d suspected. Clearly distraught, pale in the face, knees shaking. You know it’s bad when you feel Price’s pitied gaze out of the corner of your eyes, looking at you like a wounded fawn.
Surely the other tributes will see you as easy pickings.
And then you learn his name.
Konig.
The Mountain’s name is Konig.
When the camera’s find him in the crowd, there’s a brief moment of fear. That look of uncertainty welling over in his eyes before he wipes his expression clean and makes his way to stage.
Konig’s hand had waited outstretched for yours for an uncomfortable amount of time while you were staring blankly into the crowd.
It takes a lot for you not to look at him the moment your hands meet on screen.
You want to apologize for ripping away from him on the chariot so harshly.
The rest of the tributes aren’t particularly memorable. You’re too distracted and have already decided you had absolutely no chance of winning. Doesn’t matter who shows up on that screen, you are going to be slaughtered regardless. You didn’t think making note of the tributes would be particularly relevant.
You tune back in as you watch the replay of the opening ceremony. Ruby joins for this, letting out an excited squeal as she plops herself into an empty chair.
She makes commentary on the outfits, clearly downplaying the better costumes, and insulting the particularly worse ones for you and Konig’s benefit.
“There’s my tributes!” She announces proudly as you and Konig ride into frame.
He really does tower over you.
The camera has to take a wider angle than they did with the other chariots just to get you both into frame. Your smile is clearly forced, the corners of your lips barely perked up as you display your teeth unnervingly. Your eyes show your true emotions and your brows slope in worry.
There’s no mistaking your fear. You’re still waving to the crowd but you know that your soul was miles away in that moment.
Konig’s wheat collar flutters as he waves. He’s much more reserved, keeping his hand close to his body.
The camera zooms out so there’s four chariots in the frame, and the horses trot a few more yards. Still, you can very clearly see your hand reach up and frantically nudge the same forearm that you gripped onto when you lost your balance. You’re practically hitting him, the back of your open hand thwapping him in quick succession in a desperate blind plea for his comfort.
You watch as Konig, without even looking at you, slides his forearm back so that he can take your hand in his. For a moment he even lowers his waving hand so he could lay it on top of yours in a reassuring fashion.
Your fingers move to your temple in a futile attempt to rub out the sick feeling swirling in your guts.
It makes your heart sink twice as low, knowing that you had initiated the hand handholding. Used him for comfort that he was in no way obligated to give you, just so that you could thank him by ripping away from him with disg
You have to look to the floor for the rest of the opening ceremony replay, only Ruby’s gushing to distract yourself from the guilt.
Price switches off the TV when the anthem begins to play and shifts in his seat to face you both with a grunt.
“You have a decision to make. You want to be mentored separately or together?”
There’s a beat, and you resist the urge to look at Konig.
“We’d have more mentorship time if we trained together,” Konig says, quickly but quietly from behind you.
You hesitate before giving a small nod in agreement.
“Alright then. The next few days you kids will be doing group training. So,” He clears his throat, shifting in his spot, “What’d’ya got?”
Price looks at you both expectantly, raising his eyebrows when he’s met with silence. The remote swirls in his hand.
“Nothin’?”
You shrug at him.
“She can fight,” Konig quietly offers on your behalf.
So he does remember.
You whip your head around to him, pulling a face. Your voice comes off more defensive and pointed than you intend, “No I can’t!”
For a moment he shrinks into himself, his eyes flicking between each of yours before he leans forward to find Price.
“I’ve seen it,” He says with a nod.
Price quirks a brow at you, “That so?”
“It wasn’t even a fight!” You blurt out, “He didn’t even-“ You cut yourself off with a growl, face burning.
“He?” Price perks up.
“It doesn’t matter! Because it doesn’t count!”
You cross your arms over your chest, and Price gives something of an amused huff at your outburst.
“If you say so, Plucky.”
Your brows furrow at the nickname.
Price nods his head at Konig, “You?”
Konig gives him a shrug.
“Oh, you’re kidding, right?” You say with an eye roll, your open palm pointing at Konig, “I mean look at him!”
Konig flinches, but Price pushes forward, “Any experience with weapons?”
The room goes silent again.
Price lets out an exhausted sigh, “Not giving me much to work with, kids.”
He leans forward in his chair, hands knitted loosely together, “Tomorrow they’ll start group training. You’ll be with the other tributes,” a finger shoots up, “Don’t let them intimidate you.”
You look to the floor.
“Ignore them. They don’t even exist.”
He continues, “Maximize every minute you have in there. I want you to focus on food first. Purifying water. Snares, fishing, edible bugs and plants, starting fires. Dedicate the entire day to learning how to feed yourself in that arena. You understand? Food first.”
He waits until you both give confirmation before he moves forward.
“First aid next. Learn how to wrap and care for a wound with what natures gives ya’. Got it?”
He waits for another nod.
“Shelter next. Figure out how to keep warm. Learn to tie a good knot, camouflage techniques.”
“Defense last. Get used to handling some weapons. Throw some knives, learn hand-to-hand combat.”
Price takes a swig of his drink, and he takes a minute to survey you both. One of his eyes narrows slightly at you. He points at Konig, before flicking his finger in your direction.
“I want you to keep an eye on her.”
Your face warps into a wicked scowl, “What’s that supposed to mean? I need a chaperone?”
“It means,” Price starts, his stare boring into you, “I don’t want you getting into trouble.“
Your head shakes, “Wha- Trouble? What trouble?”
“Don’t push it, Plucky.”
You’re not sure if that was an answer to your question or a warning to not get on his bad side. You don’t shoot back, but your face clearly displays your displeasure.
“Alright,” Price pats his knee before standing, “Training’s at ten tomorrow. Be ready.”
He shakes his fingers at you once more before disappearing down the hall.
Your frustration wins out over guilt, and you shoot Konig an annoyed glare in disbelief. You were hoping for him to back you up, or at least be equally irritated, but he offers another apologetic stare.
“Well!” Ruby claps her hand together, “How productive. You two make sure to get to bed early and get a goodnight’s rest!”
Unfortunately Ruby does not hear your silent plea to not leave you alone with Konig, her shoes clicking obnoxiously as she leaves the sitting area.
Once she disappears down the hall, the room immediately goes silent, your own breath deafening you.
What did Price mean about you getting into trouble? Did he mean that the other tributes would pose too much of a threat? Does he think you’re too weak to handle yourself? Or did he hear Konig’s interjection and now thinks of you as someone who likes to pick fights?
Any way you slice it, it doesn’t sit right with you.
It’s impossible not to feel his presence.
Konig is frozen, he doesn’t even dare fidget in his spot, staring forward with slightly widened eyes. You can tell he’s afraid of setting you off, as if the slightest movement would provoke you.
This irritates you even more, like he was proving Price’s point about you being trouble.
“What?” You ask with a sneer.
He fumbles for his words, looking terrified of your questioning.
“Ich - äh,” He clears his throat, his voice just a mumble, “I’m sorry. About Price.”
This is an effective technique on his part, because it successfully redirects your anger.
“It’s demeaning!” You exclaim, “Do you not feel that way - forced to play babysitter?”
“I don’t mind,” He blurts out, and then he stops to choose his next words very carefully, “Maybe we could help each other with training.”
You huff.
When you speak again, your voice has relaxed, confused over defensive, “I don’t understand why he said that.”
There’s a pause, and then one corner of his lip perks up, his tone dawning a playful hum.
“Didn’t you hear?” He says, “You’ll find trouble.”
You roll your eyes and blow air out your nose, but the ghost of a smile does creep onto your face.
“Not sure if I’m the trouble or if the trouble is waiting for me in the training center.”
“Probably a little of both,” He says, still wearing a remnant of a sly smile. His body has visibly untensed, posture a bit slouched and fingers returning to their soothing fidget.
Konig actually made you feel better.
Again.
“Hey, um,” You trail off for a moment, avoiding his gaze, “Thank you. For keeping me steady today.”
After a pause you awkwardly add, “On the chariot,” just in case he’s not sure what you’re referencing.
He shifts against the back of the sofa.
“Ach, äh,” He clears his throat again, “Of course.”
There. Now you can be relieved of your guilt for yanking away from him and looking at him in disgust.
“Sorry if I-“ he starts quietly.
“No,” you cut him off, “You didn’t do anything wrong. All those people, the noise, it just- it freaked me out.”
You omit the real reason you pulled away.
“Me too,” He says, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people at once, especially not with them all looking right at me.”
Another air of silence falls over you both. This air is less stale, easier to breathe. You’re feeling much better now that you’ve apologized for being so harsh about the handholding.
It is frustrating, though, how you find yourself leaning on him time and time again. Even now, you’re letting him make you feel better about the implications of Price’s request. About your own guilt of being harsh with him about the handholding.
You need to sever this tie, sooner rather than later. This is not a luxury you will be able to afford in the arena.
But you are so scared, and lost, and unsure, and angry about everything. Having Konig there, sharing in every emotion, his presence reminds you that at the very least you are not alone.
You don’t say it, but some part of you is actually relieved Price is making him your chaperone. Whatever the implication, it’s giving you an excuse to keep hanging around Konig, contrary to the brutal truth. You were not ready to let go of his reassurance, and you can’t shake the idea that the longer you lean in to him, the harder it will be to pull away.
As the cold world beckons for your attention, he is the warm blanket enveloping you, dangerously comfortable. His siren call pleads for you to stay wrapped up in him for just five more minutes. Ignore the cruel reality waiting for you. Forget about everything else. Slip back into the sweet embrace of sleep. With Price’s request that Konig keep an eye on you, he has just pulled that blanket to your neck, tucked you in, and gave you permission to put off the world just a little bit longer.
Does Konig even know what his presence is doing for you?
Does your presence do the same for him?
You don’t ask.
You both sit in silence, listening to the sound of chests rising and falling.
You can’t help but wonder if it’s all a ploy.
If Konig is purposefully drawing you in with the basis of his comfort. If this just another trick to make sure you end up on his kill list.
It is certainly possible, but the idea invokes such a gut-wrenching feeling you have to stifle it like an ember under your boot.
You take a deep breath, and the thought that’s waiting for you on the exhale is knowing you’ll have to see the tributes face-to-face for the first time. It ties your stomach in knots, heart pounding against your ribcage at the very thought.
“Are you nervous?” You ask under your breath.
“About tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” you say, absentmindedly swirling your fingernails across the fabric of the sofa.
He doesn’t say anything, but he gives a shaky nod.
“I don’t want to do it,” You admit at a whisper.
He nods again.
After a tense beat he says, “We’ll do it together.”
It terrifies you, knowing the other tributes will be there, watching you fail to accomplish skills they’ve been experts at for years. Sizing you up. Planning how they’re going to slaughter you in the arena.
But at least Konig will be by your side. You will go through it together, and maybe they will not be as focused on you with such a fierce competitor towering next to you.
“Thanks,” you say breathlessly.
“Of course,” he says, his cadence matching yours.
Another cozy silence drapes over you both, sitting in each other’s company. You get lost in Konig’s fidgeting fingers, watching them mesmerizingly lace and unlace, swirling as the pads of his thumb runs over the side of his index finger.
When he notices you staring, he stops at once, setting his palms flat on the sofa.
You know you should try and get some rest, but there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep tonight, and you don’t want to go to your room.
To be all by yourself.
“Have you gone out on the balcony?” You ask.
He looks to the crystal sliding doors off the dining area before finding your eyes.
“Are we allowed to?”
You shrug, “They didn’t tell us not to.”
He looks at you with those unsure eyes.
“What are you afraid of?” You goad with a raise of a brow, “Afraid they’ll send you to your death?”
He’s clearly against the idea, but you can see he doesn’t have a defense. Flitting over your mischievous features with wide eyes and furrowed brows.
You grin as you stand from the couch, making a show of catching his stare as you slide the glass panel open, disappearing between the curtains that flutter now exposed to the wind.
The view is breathtaking.
You can see light pouring from windows in the neighboring skyscrapers. It reminds you of the night sky, stars dotting an industrial landscape. Shaky hands lay themselves on the guard rail, not daring to lean your weight on it as you peer down to the streets below.
You can hear them, the Capitol citizens, the honks of noisy cars and rowdy evening shouts below, their words lost to the unusually powerful wind. They look like ants from up here, walking the unnatural grid-like pattern of the streets.
The balcony is furnished, a huge wicker U-shaped couch with abstract patterned cushions. You nestle yourself into one of the corners, pull your knees to your chest and lean back into the cushion’s hold.
You hear Konig carefully sliding the glass door closed. He only makes it two steps into the open air before he stops.
You watch him marvel at the sight, just as you did, but he doesn’t dare near the edge.
He silently sits on the other corner of the couch, both of you looking ahead at the twinkling lights of the opposing buildings, listening to the Capitol night life below.
You find yourself peering into windows, glimpses into the world of a Capitol citizen. Nothing is muted, elegant furnishings and big screens as people settle in for the evening.
It’s cold out here on the balcony, the muscles in your face stiffening at the harsh chill of high winds, but it’s welcome.
It’s grounding, refreshing even, something to keep you in the moment and out of the grueling whirlpool of your thoughts waiting to pull you under at any lull.
About fifteen minutes pass before Konig wordlessly slips back inside.
You thought he was turning in for the night, so you’re surprised when the glass doors part again, returning wearing a black jacket, another in his hand.
He leaves generous distance as he sets a jacket on the cushion next you.
“It’s from my closet,” He says, just loud enough to be heard over the wind, “Sorry if it’s too big.”
He carefully retracts his arm and nestles back into his spot.
You stare at his offering with squint eyes, examining it to figure out his motive but failing to draw a conclusion.
You nod slow and hesitantly grab the jacket, slipping your arms into the sleeves.
You drowning in it. The sleeves hang well over your hands and the hem falls to your knees. You zip up and pull the hood up, having to position it on the crown of your head so the extra fabric doesn’t hang over your eyes.
It’s nice, the cozy warmth of the jacket to protect from the cold.
Unfortunately it’s also a reminder of how much bigger Konig is, how much stronger he is, how you would not fair well against him if the time comes in the arena.
You curl your legs in front of you and pull the jacket over your knees.
The steady white noise of the wind, the ambience of the city below, the night air, it has a soothing effect on you. You slink further and further into the couch, until you commit to laying on your side. Your socks worm their way into the crevice of the corner’s cushions as your body curls up on the middle of the couch and an arm raises to prop under your head, crown pointed in Konig’s direction.
You let the hood fall over your face, blocking out the wind as you listen to the bustling Capitol life below.
———————————————————
You wake to the sound of Ruby yelling.
“How do you lose a pair of tributes?!”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Price shoots back.
You squint at the bright sun, raising your palm to block out harsh rays from sensitive eyes.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble we’ll be in if they don’t turn up?”
“They’ll turn up,” He says definitively.
Price gives a hum as if he thought on it a little more, a retraction of his statement, “Well, if she got a bug in her brain she could have convinced him.”
Your brow quirks at that. You rub the sleep from your eyes, turning your head towards the glass doors, shimmering in the sunlight.
Ruby lets out an exasperated inarticulate noise of disapproval.
Your attention is stolen, though, by Konig. He’s curled up on the patio sofa too, his head next to yours, a strong arm resting over his eyes. His long legs are stretched out on the other side of the couch, his top half sharing the same bench as you.
The glass door of the balcony slides open, and Ruby drops an arm dramatically.
“What are you two doing out here?!” She scolds frantically, “Were you out here all night?!”
You prop yourself up on your hands, a deep inhale of morning as you transition to wake. Konig’s arm uncovers his eyes, raising his head and sitting up with stiff joints.
Price slips out to the patio, quirking his brow at the sight. A scowl plasters on your face as you watch him bite back a smug grin.
You look down and see yourself still wearing Konig’s jacket, and roll your eyes, averting your gaze when you’re finished. You’re hoping Price can’t see the faint glow that flushes your skin, because you know how this looks.
“It was freezing last night! And you don’t even have the heater on,” Ruby smacks her lips, “You two are going to catch a cold!”
“There’s a heater?” You ask, voice low with sleep.
She squeaks out an annoyed noise as she gestures to a switch on the wall.
“It’s not going to be very fun participating in the games with a cold, you know!”
You stretch your arms and speak through a yawn, “I don’t think it’s going to be very fun participating in the games at all.”
She cocks her jaw and squints at you, “You’re late for training!” She turns to Price and adds with a swing of her arm, “Deal with them!”
She then stomps off, heels clicking as she disappears in the suite.
Price crosses his arms, standing straight and pushing out his chest as he inspects you both. Neither of you look up, staring at your laps as you soak in your scolding and mentally prepare for training.
Price lets out a heavy sigh before he speaks.
“The stylists set out outfits for you both. Both of you - dressed and ready to go. You got five minutes.”
His voice is stern, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his exertion of authority.
When Price steps inside, you and Konig share a look, and it’s clear you’re both anxious about today. After a deep inhale in a failing attempt to steady yourself, you force an uninterested shrug.
It’s not convincing.
You avoid Ruby or Price’s stare as you make your way back to your room to get changed. The outfit waiting for you consists of a pair of black athletic pants made of a silky, sweat-wicking material and a shirt to match. The shirt’s sleeves are generously trimmed and the back has the number ‘9’ stitched on the back.
You clean your teeth, fix your hair, and change before you meet Ruby and Konig, the latter dawning an identical outfit, by the elevators.
“Really, it’s just irresponsible!” She fumes with crossed arms as you wait for the elevator.
You would normally let out an amused huff, because it’s hard to take the Capitol accent seriously, but you’re too distracted by the churning in your stomach.
Konig seems genuinely regretful on the otherhand, clearly disappointed with himself for letting down Ruby.
“Sorry, Ruby,” He mumbles sheepishly, and her face relaxes, head tilting slightly.
She nods, pleased, and says softly but proudly, “That’s alright, dear. You both just had us worried.”
His apology seems to quell her, and she returns to her normal cheery self by the time you’re deposited by the elevator.
“Okay you two, make sure you follow John’s instructions! Listen to the trainers and - Be. Good.”
Ruby smiles brightly before she saunters off.
You and Konig share a deep breath and an unsure glance before you enter the gymnasium, buried underground beneath the tower of district suites.
The trainer center is a massive gymnasium, uninviting concrete walls with training stations lining the room, each with their skill that contain anything from knot tying to sword fighting. Each station has an instructor, an expert in their craft, to teach the tributes last-minute survival skills. Obstacle courses fill the middle of the room along with pull up bars, sparing rings, weightlifting.
On an open balcony high above you, there’s a room of gamemakers, perched and observing like hawks in their nest. They’ll be watching you all train, and after an individual assessment you will be scored on a rating of one to twelve, the higher the score, the better the tribute’s potential.
With one look, you know you and Konig are the last ones to arrive. The entire room turns their attention to you as you both enter, and you have to stifle the instinctual urge to turn and run.
You don’t look up from your shoes as the head trainer gathers you all into a circle and gives the run down on the stations. She releases you all, and as the other tributes turn their backs you can’t help but size them up.
“What do you want to do first?” Konig asks.
You don’t answer, distracted by the career pack, quickly engaging the deadly weapons and handling them with ease.
You jump when Konig says your name.
“Huh? What?”
“What first?” He asks.
“Oh, uh-”
You do a quick scan of the room.
“Edible plants?” You say with a slight crackle in your voice, your mouth dry from nerves.
He nods, and you let him lead you to the station.
You follow Price’s instructions.
You pull your focus to the trainer, and try to ignore the ravenous grunts echoing from across the gymnasium as the careers skillfully drive weapons into dummies.
You also try to ignore how much taller Konig seems when you both stand right next to each other. He makes you feel like a child, having to crane your neck back to see his face.
Your thoughts are loud, stomach tossing, and limbs gelatinous. The fluorescent lights illuminating the gym are bright and harsh, the sounds of weapons clashing makes your heart pound against your ribcage, the overlapping voices of tributes and trainers are a grated ringing in your ears, and the observation by tributes and gamemakers that you will soon be at the mercy of - absolutely gut-wrenching.
It’s too much.
Your chest tightens and you give an involuntary gasp for air.
The trainer pauses her ongoing speech to quirk a brow at you, and Konig turns to look down at you.
“Oh-” You give a nervous laugh that turns into a wheezing coughing fit, distorting your face as you try and choke it back.
You manage to wheeze out, “Excuse me,” before you rush off. You don’t have a plan, but your brain is telling you to get away, to run and run far - away from prying, judgmental, predator eyes.
You duck behind the unused boxing ring, folding over once out of sight.
Your breathing is out of control, nearly hyperventilating as you slide against the ring and to the ground. You can feel the tears of anxiety welling at your eye line, the sore ache of a lump in your throat.
You don’t want to be here - you don’t want to do this!
You bury your face in your knees, trying to wish away the tears as you pray for the floor to swallow you whole. The last thing you need is for every last tribute to see you weak.
“Did you find trouble?”
You sit up with a flinch, shoulders relaxing when you find only Konig. He’s already seen you crying and irredeemably pathetic, so there’s not much concern for putting a show on for him.
“Because that was impressively fast,” He adds.
You give a scoff, and a hint of a smile breaks through.
You hate him for it.
“Yeah,” You say with heavy breath, a low vibration dragging your voice down. You use the inside of your wrist to wipe away any tears that threaten to spill.
He sits down next to you, letting his legs stretch out as he leans his back against the sparing ring. He lets out a sigh, his head lulling as he looks down his nose to a far wall in the gymnasium.
He doesn’t say anything more.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” You mumble at the floor, resting your chin on your knee.
“It’s okay,” He says.
A few minutes of silence pass before you speak again, your voice just a wisp.
“Do you ever just want to disappear?”
He answers without hesitation.
“All the time.”
Your eyes find the floor.
Once again, you find yourself benefiting from his comfort.
He waits, seemingly with patience, for you to get your bearings. He extends his hand in an offer to help you up, but you pretend you didn’t notice.
You spend the rest of the day moving from station to station, following Price’s instructions, listening intently to the expert’s instructions on survival.
You try to avoid making eye contact with Konig for the rest of the day. You want to prove to yourself that you can do this without his comfort. You keep the conversation strictly to the task at hand, and do your best to ignore the glares of the tributes and gamemakers from across the gym.
You hate to admit it, but having Konig by your side does make it easier. He seems to be a lightening rod for the attention of the other tributes. Even if a tribute wanted to look in your direction to get a scope on the girl from District Nine, it would be more than easy to get distracted by the behemoth standing next to her.
It’s hard to ignore the stares in your direction, but when you turn they’re usually fixated on Konig, not you, before they feel your stare and snap their heads away.
Konig doesn’t seem fazed.
At first you assume it’s because he’s too powerful, too confident in his strength and ability to be intimidated by opponents clearly weaker than him.
But then you consider - maybe he’s just used to this? The boring stares that come with someone of his unusual stature, the taunting from your particularly rowdy peers in District Nine - maybe it gifted him the ability to be unaffected by others.
But that doesn’t quite make sense either, because last night he seemed genuinely influenced by your annoyance, by your goading, and this morning, by Ruby’s disappointment.
You itch to understand your competitor, to figure out his motives, his strategy, the mind games he’s playing with you.
The rest of the day brings mediocracy, and little else is uncovered about your fiercest adversary.
You actually learn a lot about plants and knot tying, but your snares and fire starting skills leave something to be desired. At dinner, Price grills you both about what you learned, filling in any gaps in your memory.
Avoiding Konig is harder on the second day.
At the first aid station, the instructor is happy to have a duo join her. Aside from the career pack, who are too focused on playing with weapons, the other tributes wander around the gymnasium solitarily. It’s clear the attendant is tired of tributes touching her, so she has you practice on each other instead.
After fascinating you both with a type of moss that can be used as an antiseptic, she has you take turns using sticks to make splints on each other’s arms.
You both sit on the ground, and he holds his arm out for you so you can snap the twigs down to the appropriate size for his forearm. It’s hard to ignore how his massive bicep is bursting out of the pitiful, generously-trimmed sleeves of his shirt. Tanned and sculpted over countless days spent in the fields of District Nine, performing jobs only the biggest and strongest could handle.
The close proximity to him is making you nervous, and you can feel the burn of his stare as you work. You force yourself to keep your focus solely on wrapping strips of fabric scraps tightly around either end of the sticks, but you can’t stop thinking about how easy it would be for the arm you work around to hurt you. How quickly it could snap a bone, knock you unconscious, or choke the life from you, all with minimal effort. Your entire body would not measure up against this one arm, let alone the rest of him.
It’s hard to stop once you start on this train of thought, and now you’re trying to think your way out of an altercation that starts in this position, kneeling on the ground.
How far could you run before he managed to get hold of a scrambling limb? Could you kick him in the ribs hard enough to break away? If you landed a hit square to his nose, could you break it?
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when you sit back on your legs upon completion, wiping a sheen of sweat off your forehead.
When it’s his turn, you hold out your arm and turn your head away, staring at anything other than Konig. You have to push the impulse to pull away from hands that could crush you to dust at any moment.
It’s hard to ignore the brush of his fingers against your skin, the gentle hold on the underside of your arm as he steadies you to secure the strips of fabric.
It’s even harder to ignore the warm feeling that blossoms in your chest at the human contact.
This is nothing new for you. It means nothing, simply explained by ravenous, seething hormones that don’t know their place.
Once the trainer is satisfied, she gives you the advanced task of making the splint on yourselves.
You repeat this process as the trainer teaches you how to make a tourniquet. She instructs you not to tighten it as you would in an actual emergency, because it can cause injury anywhere from muscle damage to complete limb paralysis if placed incorrectly or for too long.
You suck in a breath, swallowing at the idea of being at Konig’s mercy. You’re don’t trust him enough to not jump on the opportunity for sabotage.
How long would he be able to hold you down before a guard could rip him off you? He’s strong, you’re sure he could easily take out at least a few while also fending you off - long enough to do some hefty damage to your arm.
You’re extra careful as you tie the tourniquet around Konig’s forearm, hoping that if you use gentle hands, he might return the favor.
It’s ridiculous, his proportions. You hope neither Konig nor the trainer can see the heat on your cheeks as you work around his arm as carefully as you would a deadly weapon.
When it’s your turn, you can’t bring yourself to look away. You watch his large hands work and wait with bated breath for him to go in for the kill.
As he twists the tourniquet in practice, your arm tenses in anticipation, priming your other arm discreetly in case you need to push him away.
He stops long before the fabric indents your flesh, meeting your stare. Eyes that were narrowed in focus relax, and before you can avert your gaze he turns to look over his shoulder, waiting for the instructor’s approval.
She nods assent, and immediately you feel flushed with an embarrassed heat as he undoes the knot around your bicep. You’re almost ashamed at your paranoia for suspecting he’d try and hurt you before the games.
Of course he wouldn’t hurt you here.
He was nervous just to step out on the balcony, he’s not going to break the clearly stated rule to not combat with other tributes before the arena.
He’s waiting until it’s fair game. Drawing you in with the basis of his trust until he’s granted permission to tear you limb from limb.
The instructor has you both practice on yourselves, and then wraps out the lesson by teaching you about more plants with medicinal uses, from bug bites to burns to infections.
Konig and you move from the first aid station to knot tying, to shelter building, to camouflaging.
To your credit, you really are giving it a fair effort, brows furrowed and tongue pressed to your teeth as you focus on retaining as much information as possible. The anxiety is making it hard to focus though, thoughts buzzing like insects gnawing at you from the inside out. It’s like you’re already in the arena, flinching at any noise and fighting the instinct to flee when any eyes glance in your direction.
On the final day of group training, as per Price’s instructions, you focus on the physical aspect of the competition, handling weapons, avoiding injury, and learning offensive maneuvers.
Weapons are illegal in District Nine, so besides the sickles and scythes loaned out in the wheat fields, you’ve never seen one in person before - let alone held one.
The sight of them are intimidating. You do not instinctually imagine yourself at the handle of the weapons, but on the brunt of their sharp blades and serated edges. Your eye twitches at the thought of each of them tearing through you.
It does not help that the career pack doesn’t stray far from the weapons, and so far you’ve been doing the best you can to avoid them.
You turn to Konig and pull a face contorted with displeasure.
“I know,” he whispers. He glances around the room, “We could start small?”
Your face remains unchanged, so his hand comes up to rub the side of his jaw as he continues to search the room on your behalf.
“Weightlifting?”
You actually let out a laugh at the suggestion, “Oh yeah?” Your chest still rattles with the aftermath of your own amusement, “Bet I can lift more than you.”
His eyebrows pinch for just a moment before he realizes you’re only kidding. A reserved smile creeps on his face.
“I’m sure.”
You flex your pathetic bicep at him and give it a hearty pat, “No, really.”
You swivel your wrist around for emphasis, a mischievous, cheeky grin on your face.
He gives you a warm smile, his shoulders lifting with each huff of a soft, inaudible laugh.
“Let’s see it, then.”
When you move toward the weights, you catch the stare of the careers, having paused their training to watch the two tributes who dared to near them.
You don’t have the forethought to hide your fear, and they don’t look away once you meet their gaze like the other tributes. They look at you like a pack of hyenas salivating over their next meal, challenging your stare, deadly eyes and smug smiles plastered on their faces.
You get the feeling it wasn’t because they were amused at your stupid joke.
Your stomach tightens, brows creased as you shake them from your sight.
Konig glances over his shoulder to check on you and you make an awkward little jog to catch up to him.
“Thought you and your fearsome biceps chickened out,” he says as your footsteps catch up to him.
“Pfft, never,” You say, voice lacking confidence as you resist the urge to look back at the careers.
You’re not sure what you can stand to gain from weightlifting other than showing off how weak you are, but you don’t object. Not only is it an excuse to put off weapons training, it is an opportunity to see what Konig is actually capable of. Maybe you could even find some sort of weakness to use against him if the time comes, a bad knee or a tricky shoulder.
You sit down on one of the benches, a slight kick in your feet, planting your palms firmly into the bench’s padding.
It becomes clear almost immediately that the monstrous boy from your district has no weaknesses.
For his warmup, he prepares weights that are significantly heavier than your entire body, lifting them into the air without so much as a grunt of resistance.
The nausea hits like a crashing wave, consuming you in an uncomfortable heat that brings sweat to your skin and threatens to boil your stomach over. You pull on the collar of your shirt as you watch the muscles in his arm bulge and tighten with each curl.
You’re dumbfounded, face scrunched in mixture of confusion and horror, but you can’t look away. You swallow with a dry mouth as he moves to stack more weights onto the barbells, eyes flitting around the sight before you in a panic.
If Konig wanted to, he could pick you up like he was scruffing a kitten.
As you watch him deadlift what must be twice his body weight, you can’t stand to watch anymore, face drained of its color as you imagine him using that strength against you.
It’s as you’re turning away that you realize the gym has gone silent. Not a clash of a weapon, not an instructor teaching, not even the murmur of a gamemaker.
Your breathing cuts off entirely as you catch every eye in the room staring in your direction. More specifically, in the direction of the boy who seems to defy human nature. The tributes, the instructors, the gamemakers high in their post, all stare on in a spectrum ranging from amazement to fear. Some of the tributes look just as nauseous as you, pale in the face and fists clenched at their sides, surely imagining facing his strength in the arena.
The careers look less smug. Not afraid, but annoyed. Angry, even. Looking down their nose with snarls on their lips.
The boy from two, Titan, is the exception. His pointed canines are displayed proudly, his hands rubbing together in giddiness because the game is actually getting interesting. He laughs, his laughter the only noise harmonizing with the metal clunks of Konig’s weights.
Your head snaps back into place, staring at the floor, mouth parted and face burning.
Konig sets his barbell gently on the ground, faces you with his hands on his hips, and says, “Alright, your turn.”
His face sinks when he meets your eyes, as full as moons and pooled with dread.
He looks around the gym, sees all of his competitors, his evaluators leering at him. His face relaxes but reveals nothing to you. He nods before meeting your stare again.
He lifts one of his hands, pointing all of his fingers at you, “Just to be clear, you are chickening out, then?”
You blink a few times, and then you let out the ugliest snort, a string of guffaws following.
He gives you a dopey smile with that silent, breathy laugh that makes his shoulders bounce. It’s the most of a laugh you’ll be able to pull from him, you think.
“No way,” you say, standing up from your bench.
You approach the barbell he placed on the floor, and stick your shoe out to give one end of the weights a shove. It barely rolls a centimeter under the weight of your foot.
“Y’know, I would,” You say, rubbing your fingers together to suggest grubbiness, “But I got butter all over my hands at breakfast, so I probably won’t be able to get a good grip on it.”
“Mhm,” He hums, his lips pressed into a smile as he crosses his arms over his puffed-out chest.
“Be pretty rude of me to dirty the weights for everyone else.”
“Very,” He says, “What next, then?”
When you glance around the room, most have resumed their activities, but the careers and a large percentage of the gamemakers seem to be lingering their stares on the District Nine tributes. You clear your throat and try to shake off their burning stares.
“What about that?” He offers after he sees you struggling to decide. He points over your shoulder to a large structure - two bars that stretch horizontal over a long fall to the mat below. Rings dangle from ropes in rows along the bars. It’s an exercise to see if a tribute can swing from ring to ring, using only their upper body strength to get from one end to the other without touching the ground.
“Nope,” You say definitely, “I’ll just fall and end up being thrown into the arena with a broken leg.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll stand underneath and catch you if you fall.”
“What?” You ask through a thrown-off laugh.
“You’ll be okay,” Konig encourages, “Just see how far you can make it.”
For a minute you consider if this is a trick. If he would pretend as if he was going to catch you, but instead lets you plummet below, taking precaution to make it look like a genuine accident.
“Maybe later,” you say with a tent of your brow.
“Hand-to-hand?” He offers.
You nod at the suggestion. This is a skill you are certainly lacking and could stand to sharpen, and it doesn’t require using the intimidating weapons.
The instructor is not sure what to make of you both at first, eyeing you curiously before he digs into his lessons. He goes over the basics, encouraging you to avoid solely throwing punches and reminding you to use all the parts of the body that can do damage.
He does go over the proper way to land a blow with your fists, how to get out of a restraint, the vulnerable places to strike on an opponent.
You’re only listening halfheartedly. Four days of non-stop training is catching up with you, and you’ve still got one foot in the mentality that you don’t stand much of a chance anyway, so it’s hard to feel motivated to make an effort.
As soon as you wrap up the lesson, you catch the career pack huddled in a circle near the ring, far from their usual post at the weapons.
Immediately you know something’s up, keeping a careful watch on them from the corner of your eye as you and Konig exit the ring.
“Want to try the weapons again?” He asks you.
“I’m kind of over it,” You say quietly, still side-eyeing the careers, “I’ll just follow you around.”
“District Nine!” That laugh, Titan’s laugh, is truly sardonic. An almost squeaky, attention-grabbing cackle that somehow bears condescension, “You came to play this year, huh?”
Both you and Konig tense as the pack approaches. Konig’s arm shoots down in the air in front of you as he takes a few steps toward them, as if already holding you back from a confrontation.
You would normally be annoyed by this, but staring down a pack of trained killers is enough to keep you from arguing.
Konig says nothing, dawning those uninterested half-lidded eyes, chin raised as he stares down at the boy with fangs for canines.
Titan holds out his strong arms, that wicked smile spread thick as he meets Konig’s eyes, “How’d you like to play with the big boys?”
It takes you a moment to realize they’re asking Konig to ally with them.
To your surprise, your body immediately ignites with jealousy.
You can’t pin why.
Jealous that Konig is so superior he got the attention of the elite tributes, and you didn’t?
Jealous that the careers are worthy of Konig’s consideration, that they could benefit him in the arena in a way you could not?
Jealous that they were also trying to benefit from the comfort he provides with his presence?
A boy’s reassurance can only spread so thin, after all.
Maybe all the above.
“I’ll think about it,” Konig says evenly.
Your expression immediately twists.
He is considering it.
What a slap in the face, even entertaining the idea of allying with the careers. The tributes that, statistically speaking, are going to be the ones to end your life.
Your face is burning with betrayal, rage, and disgust.
You can’t believe this is the boy you find comfort in. They don’t take too kindly to those friendly with careers back in the districts. If he wins, he will be ridiculed twice as much back home.
The boy from two gives him a drawn-out full body once over, looking him up and down before he flits his eyes in your direction.
His eyebrow quirks and you swallow hard, but your face keeps your scowl.
Konig makes a casual sidestep to stand directly between you both, cutting off your view of Titan.
Maybe this was what Price was talking about. About you being trouble, and wanting Konig to keep you out of it. The boy from two was big, not as big as Konig, but enough to still tower over the majority of the tributes, physically superior in every way. This does nothing to relieve the urge to run your mouth and maybe even get a few good scratches in with your fingernails.
Your scowl thickens when you realize Price actually had reason to suspect you needed a chaperone.
You hear the boy huff, and without another word the careers leave you be.
Konig does a full turn, head tilted down to meet your stare. When he sees your clear displeasure his brows shoot up.
“I want to talk to Price before I turn them down,” he explains.
Anything but a harsh no is unacceptable to you.
Traitorous, even.
You can’t believe he’s considering it.
He sees that this does not quell you, and adds, “Maybe he has a strategy to use against them.”
“Whatever, Konig,” You say with a roll of your eyes, a tone that clearly suggests you’re not buying what he’s selling.
This would be a good time to sever the tie between you. The comfort of him being by your side has been tainted by his conspiring with the careers. Clearly Konig has moved on, if he had even been reaping the benefits of whatever it is you two have.
Maybe you were naive to think he was ever your partner in this.
Of course he’s not. He is your opponent, always has been. Only one can come out of that arena. He knows it. You know it.
He was just smart enough to keep his distance, to not let his emotions get tangled up in someone who will be dead in a week, whereas you have been foolish enough to let your heart bleed without caution.
He doesn’t need your comfort like you need his. He will be self-sustainable in that arena. He actually has a chance, and a good one at that. You know it. The careers know it.
What could Konig have possibly gained from a partnership with you?
Your blood is boiling, body perspiring in the brutal heat of humiliation. You can’t believe you’ve let yourself get this attached to him, that you looked farther into worried glances then you should have, that you’ve allowed yourself to become so reliant on him that the thought of him not being even a little reliant on you makes you feel this inadequate, this jealous, this stupid!
You knew this was coming, you could see it from a mile away, but it doesn’t soothe the searing sting. It’s only frustrating you more knowing this is your own fault.
Konig doesn’t owe you anything, he’s just doing what’s best for himself, which is what you should be doing.
He opens his mouth to say something else, choking out the start of a syllable before he stops himself.
At least he looks a little hurt at your displeasure. That makes you feel a little better.
You huff, turning on your feet.
“Wha - where are you going?” He asks.
“Anywhere,” You say with a wave of a hand over your shoulder.
“But, Price-“
“I don’t care what Price said!” You blurt out, whipping around to face him, hands springing up aggressively.
Konig’s shoes squeak to a stop, and you catch a couple Capitol guards priming to intervene. You can feel the stare of a few tributes looking in your direction.
You sigh, forcing your voice to a quiet yet harsh grit, “It’s not like you can look after me in that arena, so what’s the point of looking after me now?”
He doesn’t have an answer for you as he dawns those hurt eyes, the same eyes he wore when you ripped your hand away from him in the chariot.
Even in your rage, it makes your heart throb with guilt and regret at your outburst. It’s confusing, so confusing, how you can be so angry with someone and still care about not hurting them.
You can’t stand to look at him anymore, both in your rage and guilt, so you turn on your heels and leave him in his spot.
Training is technically optional, even if most tributes aren’t stupid enough to skip out on the life-saving advice, or in the career’s case, an excuse to throw weapons around, so no one stops you when you march right out of the gym. You fume the entire elevator ride up to your suite. If fury was steam, you’re sure you would have released a cloud of it when the elevator doors part.
Price is sitting at the raised table in the dining room, leaning back in his chair at your arrival.
“What’d’ya doing here kid?”
You don’t even answer him, marching down the hall without so much of a glance in his direction.
“What’s wrong?” His voice calls.
“Ask your victor,” You spit, slamming the door to your room behind you.
NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER NAVIGATION
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Dividers for this series courtesy of the very talented and generous @saradika-graphics who makes lovely dividers and masterlist headers for FREE! Huge thank you for your contributions to the writing community and helping make our fics stand out and look pretty!
Konig Photo Credit
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yuujispinkhair · 1 year ago
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Brother (Part 2)
When you start dating Yuuji, you don't know that your sweet sunshine boy has an evil twin who wants to have his brother's girl, too.
Part 1 ++ Halloween Masterlist 2023
Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) + Yuuji x Reader Genre: Horror, smut Word Count: 6k Warnings: 18+, dark content, consensual sex with Yuuji + noncon with Sukuna. Rough sex, degradation, humiliation, getting called slut, whore, cheater. Forced orgasms, pussy spanking, squirting, cumshots, creampie, kind of forced breeding. Sukuna isn't a nice guy in this story. Sukuna and Yuuji look completely alike. Sukuna doesn't have his tattoos. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.
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The flashbacks of that night haunt your every thought. The memories of being forced to watch yourself in that dirty bathroom mirror and Sukuna standing behind you with his hands all over your body. His sneer, his mocking laugh. The helplessness you felt. The humiliation of cumming against your will and getting taunted for it.
Sukuna broke you that night. And maybe you would have stayed there on the bathroom floor lying in a puddle of squirt and cum after he was finished with you, waiting for someone to walk in and find you. But there was one thought that kept repeating in your mind over and over again: Yuuji must never find out!
You knew he would blame himself for what his brother had done to you out of jealousy.
And so you scrambled to your feet and hastily cleaned yourself before you stumbled back to the party with a fake smile plastered onto your face. When you spotted Yuuji in the hallway, all your instincts screamed at you to run the other way. He looked too much like his brother.
But you forced yourself to stay and smile as he walked towards you and smiled that big sunshine smile and pulled you into his strong arms.
"Cutie! I was wondering where you went. Did you meet some friends? Oh, why are your clothes wet?"
You forced yourself to lie to him when his gaze trailed over you with a worried expression on his pretty face.
"Oh, I knocked into someone, and she accidentally poured her drink over me. It's ok, baby, don't worry."
You forced yourself to go home with him after the party and sleep in his arms. Arms that felt exactly like the ones that had held you captive.
And since that night, you keep forcing yourself to act like everything is fine. You do it to protect Yuuji from a knowledge that will hurt him.
It's been three days since the party. Three days since you met the evil twin. And the shame and disgust still cling to you.
And the fact that the man who did this to you has the same face as your boyfriend makes this whole thing even more fucked up. Anytime you look at Yuuji, you now also see his brother.
And another thing bothers you: Yuuji lied to you.
You remember your first date very clearly. The typical small talk the two of you exchanged to get to know each other. What are your hobbies? What is your favorite color? Do you have any siblings?
You remember loud and clear that Yuuji said he has no siblings.
You are currently sitting on Yuuji's bed, watching a movie, but all you can do is stare at his side profile, watching him with narrowed eyes. Was it a misunderstanding? You can't stop yourself from blurting out,
"Yuuji? Do you have a brother?"
"Huh?"
Big golden eyes blink at you in surprise, and Yuuji shakes his head,
"I only have my grandpa. Didn't I tell you?"
Your heart is beating too fast. He is doing it again!
"I thought maybe you have a sibling who lives somewhere else....goes to college in another town or something, and you forgot to mention them."
"Oh, I see! But no. I am an only child."
He grins at you, that cute big boyish grin, and stretches, causing his hoodie to ride up and expose some of his firm tan abs before he laughs softly and lunges towards you to wrap you in his strong arms and pull you into one of his bear hugs.
You feel irritation well up in you. Why is he lying to you? Yuuji is such a sweet guy. Always smiling, always helping others, always so sweet and fun to be around. He always seems so genuine. And yet. He is keeping a dark secret from everyone. But why?
Is he worried you will leave him if you find out there is another guy who looks like Yuuji but is a violent and cruel sadist? You blink. Maybe that is it.
It must be hell for Yuuji to have a twin like that. Sukuna said he is the family curse. Now that you think about it, you realize that this is true. He is Yuuji's curse. Anytime Yuuji looks in the mirror, he sees the face of his evil twin. No wonder he doesn't want to talk about Sukuna! No wonder he moved far away from his hometown to attend college here!
But what was Sukuna doing at that party? Did he travel here to visit his brother and then see the two of you at the party? Is he gone again now? Or is he still somewhere near? Is he lurking in the shadows? Is he watching his brother's every move?
You gulp hard. It scares you to think Sukuna might be here, stalking you and Yuuji.
Instinctively, you snuggle closer to your boyfriend, seeking comfort, seeking his protection. And Yuuji reacts to it immediately, cuddling you tightly and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, sighing softly before he tells you how happy he is to have you and how much he loves you. His lips find yours and kiss you sweetly before they wander down your body, kissing, licking oh so tenderly, the complete opposite of his brother's touch.
Your anger at him has dissipated. Yuuji is a victim, too, cursed with a twin like Sukuna. And so you let Yuuji touch you. You caress his soft pink hair and moan his name as you spread your legs for him willingly when he asks you in that sweet, low voice if he can please eat you out.
And when he is lying on top of you later that night, fucking you into the mattress with deep but loving thrusts, you find yourself digging your nails into the buff muscles of his back, clinging to him, scratching his skin, as if you want to make sure he will never leave again.
You need him here with you. As long as Yuuji is here, you are safe from Sukuna. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips, arching your back to meet his horny thrusts, begging him for a second round, begging him to fuck you again and again and stay inside you all night.
He doesn't know it, but you need him to claim you back. You need the good twin to overwrite what the evil twin did to you.
You feel guilty the next morning when Yuuji gets up and stands before the bed with his back to you, and you see the deep red scratches your nails left on his muscular back.
But he just shrugs and grins that cute sheepish grin at you,
"Don't worry, cutie. It doesn't hurt, and I really loved how you didn't want to let go of me. That was so cute! I love knowing that I made my girl feel good."
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It's party time again on Saturday, but you go there with an uneasy feeling. You cannot stop the shudder running down your back. You cannot stop your gaze from wandering restlessly through the room, watching, waiting, worrying.
Is Sukuna somewhere near?
You cling to Yuuji desperately, holding his hand the whole time, hugging him, burying your face in his broad chest, unwilling to let go.
He thinks it's cute that you are so clingy and kisses you sweetly, smiling at you so innocent and sweet. It breaks your heart. You need to protect this smile, this innocence.
You realize with horror that Sukuna isn't just Yuuji's dark secret anymore. He is also yours.
He managed to force his way into your life, into your relationship, into your body, and into your mind.
Yuuji gently pries his hand out of your grasp, smiling apologetically before he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek and tells you that he has to use the bathroom real quick.
"I'll be back in a second, cutie!"
You feel like an idiot at how terrified you feel when your boyfriend leaves the room. You stare after him, watching him make his way through the crowd, taller than most of them, his pink hair standing out. Your gaze stays glued to that flash of pink, watching him walk further and further away from you, and with him, the safety you felt leaves you too.
You grab the cold bottle of coke from the table next to you, holding on to it as if it is your lifeline. You feel your breath speed up, and your hands cramp from how tightly you clutch the bottle while your gaze is fixed on the open doorway, heart hammering fearfully in your chest as you count the seconds waiting for Yuuji to come back. This time, you won't leave your spot. You won't wander around alone.
A flash of pink appears in the doorway, and you slump against the wall as a relieved smile lifts your lips. Until your mind provides a disturbing thought. Is that Yuuji? Or is that the wrong twin? How can you be sure this is Yuuji and not Sukuna, who is walking towards you? Isn't that gaze too devilish? Isn't that a smirk instead of a smile?
The relief you felt a moment ago is replaced by panic. Your heart is racing, your vision dancing with black spots. The bottle you were clutching so desperately slips out of your hand and lands on the floor.
You are frozen in place, watching an Itadori twin walk toward you without knowing which one it is. You stare at him like a deer trapped in the headlights, eyes wide, heart hammering wildly.
But then he blinks, and his lips lift in the typical broad smile. You can hear his happy laughter, even across the loud mix of voices.
You exhale loudly and shake your head to clear your thoughts. Stupid. You are so stupid! Of course, this is Yuuji! You curse yourself for being so paranoid and confusing your sweet, loving boyfriend with his evil twin.
Yuuji reaches you and leans down to peck your lips sweetly. He pulls away, and worry washes over his handsome face.
"Are you ok, baby? You look a bit sick. Do you need some cold water? Or some fresh air? Do you want us to leave?"
You smile at him weakly, shaking your head, still feeling shaken but refusing to let the memory of Sukuna ruin your evening.
"No, I'm fine, baby."
You step closer and wrap your arms around him, getting on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply, trying to chase every trace of his twin away. You just have to keep kissing Yuuji. When he kisses you, you know who he is. You know that this is the right twin. That this is your sweet Yuuji.
Your left foot steps in the small puddle of coke, soaking through the canvas of your Converse, dampening your sock uncomfortably, but your lips keep moving against Yuuji's desperately.
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You spend the night at Yuuji's, falling asleep in his strong arms, spooned by his warm buff body, finally feeling at ease here in his bed with his body pressing so reassuringly against your back.
But your dreams aren't that comforting.
You dream of a black hallway with hundreds of mirrors lining its walls. On the other end of the hallway stand two men. They both have the same pink hair and undercut. They have the same face and the same build. And they watch you with the same eyes as they both lift a hand, reaching out for you, silently beckoning you over. Come here, come to your boyfriend.
You wake up with a gasp. The red neon digits on the alarm clock tell you it's still the middle of the night. Yuuji's strong arms are still wrapped around you, his body is still pressing against your back, his warm breath is on your neck.
Warm lips close around your skin and suck. You moan softly, pushing your ass against the warm body behind you, rubbing it over the growing bulge in those boxer briefs. Maybe a good fuck with Yuuji will chase away the lingering uneasiness from the bad dream.
The lips on your neck become bolder, sucking roughly on your skin. The arms around you tighten, making you squeak because it's painful. Large, strong hands dig firmly into the soft flesh of your belly.
Your eyes widen, your body turning rigid as fear crashes over you. Cold dread fills your every fiber as you realize this isn't Yuuji behind you.
"Missed me, brat?"
Sukuna's low, mocking laugh fills your ears, and you spiral into the dark again. You tumble from one nightmare into the next. But this time, you can't wake up from it.
How did Sukuna get into Yuuji's apartment? Does he have a key? Or did he break in? And most importantly...
"Wh.. where is Yuuji?"
Sukuna's nails dig painfully into your skin. His voice sounds rough, angry,
"I don't like it when you talk about him while I am with you! You have no manners, brat!"
His hands grab your tits firmly, kneading them roughly through Yuuji's shirt that you wear for the night. The huge hard bulge of his erect cock is rutting firmly against you, letting you know what he will do to you.
And you know there is no escape.
You are once again trapped in the evil twin's arms. You cannot run from him, and you can't even scream, or you will alert Yuuji. Yuuji, who is probably in the kitchen or bathroom, and if he comes in here and sees you with his twin... You must protect him! He must not know!
And that leaves you here in the arms of this monster.
Sukuna shoves one hand under your shirt, groping your tits roughly, squeezing them possessively, and pinching your nipples between his fingers until they sting from a mix of pain and pleasure.
His other hand pushes between your thighs, forcing them apart so he can yank your panties to the side and expose your pussy to him, giving it a mean, hard slap from behind that makes you gasp.
Sukuna's mocking laughter fills your ear.
"Gotta remind that pathetic little cunt again what it feels like to get fucked right."
His unrelenting fingers slip between your pussy lips and push inside you, making tears well up in your eyes. Sukuna doesn't give you time to adjust but starts fingering you instantly, fucking you with two long fingers, hard and fast, making your whole body tremble from fear and pleasure. To your horror, you can hear the filthy squelching noises of your wet cunt, creaming up against your will.
"Oh, do you hear that? Your slutty little cunt is weeping for me. You thought about my cock every day, didn't you? Don't be shy, tell me all about it, slut! Tell me how much you missed getting fucked by me!"
Against your better judgment, you try to beg for his mercy,
"S...Sukuna, please just stop..."
A long finger curls brutally inside your cunt, pressing against your g-spot and massaging it with firm, rough circles, making your thighs press together and your body shake.
"Uh uh, what did I tell you?"
Of course, you should have known there is no mercy in him. You know his game by now, know what he wants. Sukuna fingers you brutally, torturing your g-spot, laughing when your hips jerk uncontrollably. Your resistance breaks, and you sob softly as tears of shame run down your face, and you tell him what he wants to hear,
"I'm sorry... I missed your cock so much, Sukuna. Please fuck me. Please let me cum on your cock again."
He laughs, opening his mouth and letting his canines graze over your neck,
"Bet you thought about me anytime my brother fucked you. A naughty cunt like yours isn't satisfied with a guy like my brother. You cheating little slut need my cock to fuck you right."
Your breath hitches, and your body goes rigid because you know what will come when Sukuna pulls his fingers out of you.
For a moment, your pussy flutters around nothing, but then Sukuna rams his thick hard cock deep into your wet heat, impaling you on his fat length with one brutal thrust.
Long fingers get shoved into your mouth, stuffing it with them, muffling your cries, filling your mouth with the taste of your own juices. You choke around them, but Sukuna just presses them firmer into your mouth, forcing you to take him from two sides, stuffing your cunt and your mouth as he uses you for his sick pleasure.
He humps you like a rabid animal, fucks you with brutal hard snaps of his hips while he groans in your ear, voice filled with glee and arousal,
"Ah yeah, that feels good. My brother fucked that little cunt so often that it molded to our cocks. You're such a dirty little cock slut, so insatiable, huh? Wanting every Itadori dick to fuck you stupid. Good thing you have two of us to fuck that greedy cunt."
His pace is brutal and unrelenting. His fat mushroom head hammers against your g-spot, torturing you with his cock, making your body react to the stimulation against your will, pussy creaming up for him, body jerking from pleasure in his violent hold.
Sukuna growls in your ear as one large hand grabs your wet pussy, keeping you in place, pulling you back against him. You keen around his fingers when he pinches your swollen clit meanly between two fingers, making your hips buck wildly.
"Take my cock, you slut!"
His taut balls slap heavily against your cunt with every rough thrust. Sukuna's fat cockhead is pressed against your g-spot, hitting it brutally, while his fingers attack your clit with rough strokes, rubbing hard, fast circles around it.
It's too much, too intense. The pleasure is hot and red, making your whole body jerk uncontrollably as you cry and sob around Sukuna's fingers. Your cunt shudders and pulses hotly around his brutal cock.
Heat floods your body as an intense orgasm gets forced out of you. Hot and wild, making you cum so hard that you think you will black out from it.
Your body is shaking from the intensity of your orgasm, pussy twitching hard around Sukuna's fat cock, which doesn't go unnoticed by him, of course,
"You little slut. Milking my cock so eagerly. You want more, huh? Want my cum this time? Was the greedy little cockslut sad that I didn't fuck her full last time, hm? Want to have your pussy fucked full like a big girl? Yeah, tonight you're gonna take my cum. I'm gonna fuck that greedy cunt full of it."
He growls, wrapping his arms around you and manhandling you into another position, on your belly, your face pressed into the pillow as Sukuna mounts you from behind. One of his hands is in your hair, grabbing it painfully and pushing your face down, keeping you firmly in place. But you couldn't go anywhere anyways. Not with his heavy body on top of you, fucking you brutally into the mattress.
He fucks his cock into your tight heat with erratic wild thrusts, giving himself over to pure primal need, punishing you with every hard thrust, chasing his orgasm with rough horny thrusts until you feel him cum in you, flooding your pussy with his hot seed.
"Yeah, take all of it, you greedy slut! I hope you get pregnant and have to carry my brat!"
He groans and growls as he leans down, cock still deep in your pussy, as if he wants to plug you up. His voice is amused when his lips brush over your ear,
"Now say thank you, you little slut."
You sob softly, hiding your face in the pillow, crying from the humiliation you feel as you mumble,
"Th... Thank you..."
But Sukuna's fingers twist painfully in your hair and yank your head up, forcing you to look at his sneering face. You hiccup as you stare at him with wide, tear-stained eyes. His mocking smirk looks even more evil here in the dim red glow of the alarm clock's light.
"Where are your manners, brat? Look at me while you thank me."
You sob weakly but force yourself to do as he commands,
"Th.. thank you, Sukuna. Thank you for f... fucking me.. and for g... giving me your cum."
He chuckles at your words, a sound full of mocking and triumph. One of his large hands grabs your chin, strong fingers pressing into your skin as he leans closer to lick over your cheek, licking up your hot tears,
"See, you can be a good girl if you want. It's a shame that I have to leave already, but my brother will be back any second now. 'Til next time, princess. Can't wait to make you cry with my cock again."
He leaves you lying there, pussy throbbing and full of his cum. You feel dirty, debauched, crying softly into the pillow.
You hate Sukuna so much, and you hate yourself, you hate your body, for reacting that way to him. How can you do this to Yuuji? Cumming on his brother's cock right here in Yuuji's bed? Lying here with your pussy filled to the brim with Sukuna's cum, while sweet Yuuji has no clue. Maybe Sukuna is right, and you are really a slut.
The door opens, and your body goes rigid. Which brother is it now? Sukuna or Yuuji? Somehow, both options sound terrifying at the moment. You are scared of Sukuna, but you feel guilty when you think of Yuuji.
You hastily wipe your tears off and force yourself to calm your breathing as you roll onto your side, pretending to be asleep.
The heavy weight of an Itadori man makes the mattress dip as he gets in bed behind you. You gulp hard. You don't dare breathe as a pair of muscular arms slips around you and a warm, buff body presses against your back.
But then a soft kiss is breathed on your neck, and a happy sigh exhaled against your ear.
Yuuji.
Sweet, strong Yuuji.
You snuggle against his buff body instinctively, needing him, needing his love and strength, even while you are drowning in shame and guilt.
Yuuji chuckles happily,
"Aww, hey, cutie, did I wake you up? I'm so sorry. I got hungry and had to make a sandwich. Come here. I'll cuddle you so my princess can sleep again. Or maybe we can do something else that will make you sleepy..."
His voice turns into a low, raspy whisper, making your pussy flutter even in this situation, as if you are conditioned to react with arousal to the sexy sound of his voice when he gets horny.
Yuuji's strong, muscular arms tighten around you as he nuzzles his face against your neck. You can feel his smile, and it makes things better and worse at the same time.
The guilt makes you feel sick. Here you are, lying in your sweet and loving boyfriend's arms, with your pussy still leaking his brother's cum.
Yuuji's lips trail tender kisses up and down your neck while he hums softly, oblivious to your inner turmoil. His large hands start wandering over your body. But it's such a different touch from Sukuna's. Yuuji's hands are gentle, loving when they slip under the old t-shirt he gave you, caressing your tits sweetly, circling your nipples tenderly until they are stiff and pleasure throbs in your lower belly.
Yuuji moans softly against your skin,
"I love you, baby. You feel so soft and sweet. I wanna spoil my pretty girl."
You can feel his fat cock hardening and pressing hotly against your ass through his boxers, so needy for you. But Yuuji is sweet about it, not demanding, not aggressive. He slips a hand into your panties to lovingly caress your clit with gentle slow flicks, pampering your pussy with his tender caresses.
Your head is spinning, lust pulsing hotly in your clit, making you spread your legs eagerly for Yuuji, pushing your throbbing cunt needily against his loving fingers, wanting to feel him, wanting him to chase away every trace of his brother.
He moans loudly when he feels more of your hot wet cunt, voice so sweet and sexy,
"Fuck, cutie. You are already so wet. That's so hot."
And your eyes fill with tears. You are choking on the guilt and shame. Knowing that most of the wetness is from the orgasm, Sukuna forced out of you and from his cum that's seeping out of you and coating your pussy lips so obscenely.
Suddenly, you see red. You can't take it anymore. You can't just lie here and spread your legs and let Yuuji pamper you as if you deserve it. As if everything is ok.
Nothing is ok! And it's all because of that monster, Sukuna! You hate him! You hate him for doing this to you and to his brother! You hate him for driving this wedge between you and Yuuji! But you won't let him destroy what you and Yuuji have! You won't let him win! Yuuji is the only Itadori brother you want to belong to, and you will prove it tonight!
You turn around in Yuuji's arms, making him gasp in surprise when you attack his lips with a fierce kiss, your hands running roughly through his pink hair, tugging on it and biting his bottom lip as you moan his name.
"Yuuji... I want to fuck, you baby. Let me ride you."
He moans in answer and rolls onto his back, pulling you with him eagerly while he licks into your mouth. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, taking his fat cock in your hand and giving it slow, firm strokes that make him throw his head back and moan loudly.
Your mouth falls open as you watch him in the dim light. He looks just like his brother, just like Sukuna, but the difference is that you are the one in control now. 
Yuuji is just as strong as Sukuna. He could manhandle you and use you just like his twin, but he isn't like that. He is so sweet for you, such a good boy, obediently giving himself to you. You are the one who can do anything you want with him.
It sends a thrill through you, making your skin tingle with excitement and pleasure.
You are breathing heavily, grunting and gasping, lost in a feral need. You hastily pull your soaked panties to the side, not bothering to take them off, too lost in this primal need to get your man's cock into your wet needy cunt.
Yuuji moans loudly when you bring his fat mushroom tip to your puffy wet clit, rubbing it against your little bud, using Yuuji's cock to pleasure you.
Hot waves of pleasure shoot through your whole body, your clit pulsing hotly as you rub it against Yuuji, almost in a frenzy now in your need to fuck him and fuck every thought of Sukuna away.
You feel exhilarated by the power you have. Rubbing your wet messy pussy over Yuuji's twitching fat cock, hearing him moan and gasp. You're teasing his fat cock, basking in what you can do to him, how you can reduce an Itadori brother to a whimpering needy mess.
You watch that pretty face as he moans and whimpers, so openly showing you his pleasure. So submissive and good for you. His lips open in a loud, strangled moan, and then he starts begging you,
"Fuck... ah ah baby! Oh, cutie, please fuck me. Fuck me, baby, please. I need you, please wanna feel you. Please let me feel your pretty pussy around my cock!"
Your cunt is twitching hornily at his words. The power surge almost makes you cum all over Yuuji's swollen tip. But you need more. You need all of him. You finally sink down on his fat length, taking him in you in one eager motion until you sit completely on Yuuji's muscular thighs, his cock buried all the way in you, and your feral groan fills the small bedroom.
You feel dizzy with lust, dizzy with power, unable to hold back now that your boyfriend's cock kisses your g-spot and fills you so fully. You cry out softly, cumming just from sitting on Yuuji's fat cock.
You dig your nails into his buff pecs as you let him feel your pussy twitch around his cock, watching his pretty eyes roll back when he feels your orgasm around his cock.
"Yuuji! Ah, baby, you feel that? That's what you do to me, baby! I love you so much! I love you and your pretty cock, oh god!"
Sukuna could never do this to you! He can break and humiliate you, force you to cum on his cock. But he can never make you want him! You clench your teeth, not giving yourself or Yuuji a break, and start bucking your hips against him, riding his cock eagerly.
Soon you are bouncing wildly on Yuuji's fat cock with your head thrown back, moaning and screaming his name as you ride him hard, not holding back. And he lets you use him, lets you fuck him while his large hands knead your ass. His hips buck needily fucking his cock even deeper into you, so eager, so horny. And so sweet with his loud, needy moans and mewls, with his moaned love confessions and sweet praises.
Your sweet Yuuji.
He doesn't know he is fucking his brother's cum deeper into you with each deep horny thrust of his cock. He doesn't know he is mixing two Itadori seeds in your greedy pussy when he cums with a loud cry and fills you to the brim with his hot seed.
You won't let Sukuna win! You won't let him spoil what you have with Yuuji! Yuuji is the one you love. Yuuji is the one who deserves to cum in you and who deserves your pussy, and who deserves your orgasms. You will give him that! You will be his girl! You will fuck him even harder and cum even more for him than you do for his brother!
You moan Yuuji's name, not stopping but going for another orgasm, smiling when Yuuji lets you, even though he is mewling from how overstimulated his cock is.
And you slide up and down on him feverishly, letting his fat girth drag over your swollen clit until the pleasure peaks again and you feel your next orgasm wash over you in hot waves.
And this time, you finally squirt on him, feeling your hot creamy wetness gush over Yuuji's fat cock and his heavy balls, giving him your all.
He moans loudly when he feels it, his large hands kneading your ass firmly, guiding you up and down on his cock, letting you cum and cum and cum.
"Fuck, baby!! Yeah, make a mess on me, cutie. Fuck!"
Your pussy is overstimulated and puffy from how hard you fucked yourself on Yuuji's gorgeous cock. But you don't stop but keep riding him wildly. It's messy, slippery, and wet from your combined fluids, your cream and squirt, and Yuuji's hot cum that is seeping out of your cunt.
But you need more! You are in a frenzy, driven by the urge to cum on him again and again, making sure Sukuna loses this fucking game!
Yuuji is mewling under you, overstimulated, but letting you use him regardless, so eager to give you pleasure. And you ride yourself to orgasm after orgasm on his gorgeous fat cock, while moaning and screaming his name over and over again.
"Fuck! Yuujiii! Yes yes!! You're gonna make me squirt again, baby!"
You almost black out when the next orgasm rips through you. Your body is shaking uncontrollably, so weak that you just slump on Yuuji's lap, moaning even louder when his fat tip presses even firmer against your g-spot.
But Yuuji's strong hands catch you and hold you, lifting you up and down on his fat cock, letting you ride your orgasm out on him, his golden eyes watching the spot where your pussy and his cock are connected. The spot where you squirt all over him again, making a sticky mess on his cock and his abs, showing him how good his cock makes you feel.
"Yes! Yes! Oh, Yuuji!! Oh, baby!! I love you! No one could ever fuck me as good as you!"
I hope you are still here somewhere, Sukuna. I hope you hear me fuck your brother and how much I love it. I hope you hear me scream his name like I will never scream yours.
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You spend the following week being a clingy girlfriend to Yuuji. Always hugging him, always snuggling against him, following him from room to room. He notices it but doesn't mind. He wears a bright, sunny smile on his pretty face, happy that his girl loves him so much. And he moans so sweetly for you when you keep him up every night for hours, fucking him almost desperately until the bed is a mess from your combined cum.
You try to keep Sukuna away by always being by Yuuji's side, telling yourself that the evil twin will not dare approach you while his brother is by your side. 
But it is hard at times.
Yuuji, Sukuna. Sukuna, Yuuji. They look the same, and it fucks with your mind. Sometimes, you get scared. Sometimes, you think Yuuji's fingers dig too firmly into your flesh. Sometimes, you think he is smirking at you. Sometimes you shudder when he fucks you from behind with hard, fast thrusts, and his low voice growls in your ear, sounding too similar to his brother.
You hate that the evil twin has that effect on you. That Sukuna somehow always seems to be with you, even when you are with Yuuji. But you have to make the best of this. You will love and fuck Yuuji even harder. You will spend even more time with him. Maybe this way, you can chase Sukuna completely away from your mind.
Maybe after college, you and Yuuji can move far away, making sure Sukuna will never find you again.
An old friend of Yuuji visits for the weekend. A guy with tousled black hair and dark blue eyes who watches his surroundings with a cool, intelligent gaze.
Fushiguro Megumi. He grew up with Yuuji. Went to school with him. They played together as little kids.
You wait until you are alone with him before you ask,
"Megumi?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever met Yuuji's twin brother, Sukuna?"
Megumi's head whips around, and he frowns at you. His gaze is surprisingly hostile. Blue eyes narrow as he looks at you and answers in a cold voice,
"What do you mean? What sick game are you playing? Of course, I haven't met him. Sukuna died in the womb! Yuuji consumed his brother before he could be born. It's something that bothers him a lot. That's why he doesn't talk about it!"
The world around you seems to crumble away. You stare at Megumi, eyes wide, fingers tingling. For a long moment, a heavy silence fills the room. And then hysterical laughter bubbles out of your mouth. You can feel your mouth lift, stretching your cheeks in a horribly grotesque shape as your loud, hysterical laughter carries through the apartment, sounding shrill and insane.
And deep inside Yuuji, his evil twin throws his head back and laughs, too.
Do you understand it now, you stupid girl? There is no running from me. He is I, and I am he.
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Thank you so much for reading the last part of "Brother"!! I hope you enjoyed it!! I had a lot of fun planning and writing this story. I love the horror elements, and I hope it could give you an uneasy feeling too lmaooo. It's so terrifying to me to imagine that the guy you love has the same face as the guy who does all those horrible things to you.
And how did you like the ending?? Ahhahaa, I am laughing with Sukuna. So much for running away together with Yuuji to escape his evil twin ;)
The smut part with Yuuji affected me A LOT. I hope my fellow Yuuji lovers had a feast with this!!
I hope you enjoyed this horror mini-series! Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be sweet.
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dira333 · 4 months ago
Text
Things to be sure of - Kazekage Family
part two of "If we have each other" - Gaara x Reader, Shinki & Reader. Shinki's 11, the twins are 4. - tagging @deathbytsubaki for the idea
Summary: Time changes, but some things stay the same
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“Nii-chan?” The door opens and Hayato pushes his head through, bright red hair messy as usual. “What are you doing?”
“Packing,” Shinki explains, taking one shirt out of his bag and exchanging it for another. “I’m leaving for Konoha today.”
“Konoha?” Hayato waddles inside, a bunny plush tucked under his arm. “Are we visiting Uncle Shika?” 
Shinki halts. He often forgets how little his siblings engage in adult conversations. Not that his parents consider him an adult already, at the ripe age of eleven. 
“Yes, you are. But I’m leaving a week earlier. Father is going to take you with him next week.”
Hayato’s pale eyes widen. “You’re going without us?” He asks, voice quivering. Shinki sighs, crouching down in anticipation. Sure enough, Hayato stretches his arms out, wanting to be held.
“Just for a few days,” Shinki mutters into his brother’s hair as he picks him up. “You’re barely going to have time to notice it.”
“But who’s going to read me a story at night?”
Shinki chuckles softly. “Like always, Mother and Father will read to you. It’s like I’m going on a mission.”
Hayato doesn’t seem convinced, his hold tightening, his sand, pale yellow in color, mingling with Shinki’s iron sand as if to say “I will not be left behind”.
Hayato’s still dangling off him by the time you step into his room, freshly ironed clothes in your hands.
“Ah,” you pick your youngest off him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Can you do me a favor, Sugar? Can you get Daddy to eat something? Tell him you need a snack?”
Hayato blinks up at you for a second before nodding, leaving with one last tug on Shinki’s trousers.
“How are you feeling?” You ask, stepping closer. Your hand moves through his hair, tugging a little at a stubborn strand. 
He knows you’re referring to more than just him leaving. He also knows that you can catch him lying from a mile away.
“This week, I overheard something,” he starts, putting his bag on the ground to sit on the bed instead. You take the spot next to him without asking, don’t react when his iron sand moves to shut the door. “I doubt they knew I was there. They were discussing who was the best option for the next Kazekage.”
You don’t say anything, just nod your head to let him know you’re listening.
His eyes land on his hands, curled into fists. 
“It’s not always the firstborn who becomes Kazekage,” Shinki repeats, “but the one with the most talent.”
Silence stretches out around him.
“Do you feel that you have less talent than Hayato or Honoka?”
He considers it for a moment. Does he feel that way?
“I mean,” he licks his lips for a second, glaring at the floor. “Hayato has no trouble controlling his sand at 4 years old. He’s no victim to violent mood swings or nightmares or-”
He trails off and your arm pulls him in. His head sinks onto your shoulder like it’s meant to be there. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp.
“He’s got two Kekkai Genkai’s.” Shinki continues, his voice now lower. “And even if he didn’t want to become Kazekage, what about Honoka? Surely there’s time for a female Kazekage. Both of them have the blood of the Kazekage running through their veins.”
“Shinki,” you pull away to look into his eyes. “It’s not blood alone that makes someone a parent or a child. It’s not talent alone that makes a great Kage.”
Something like a whimper spills from his lips. You pull him in again.
He’s reminded of nights, spent in this room, his body curled into a ball. Father used to sit with him, quietly, when the nightmares were at their worst.
You’d climb into bed with him instead, let him rest his body on yours, let skin melt into skin, warmth into warmth.
You have dried his tears often enough to know their shape by touch alone. 
“Do you question our love for you, Shinki, or do you question your qualifications for becoming Kazekage?”
“Both.”
“You are not even a Genin yet,” you remind him softly. “Yet you are already exceptionally talented. Uncle Kankuro and Aunt Temari are both perfectly capable of becoming Kazekage, but it’s just one position that cannot be shared. Whether you’ll be ready to take your Father’s place or not, I don’t know. But I know for certain that we both believe in you. We are so, so proud of you.”
You wait a moment, probably to let your words sink in.
“As for our love for you, Shinki… I do question it too, sometimes. Because I know that I love you. I know that your Father loves you. But I question if we show it to you in a way that you can understand.”
Your hand's card through his hair again. “You’re my special boy, Shinki. You chose me.”
“Better?” You ask, rubbing his back softly. He nods, pulling away. 
“Sorry,” he rubs a hand over his now-dried eyes. 
“Don’t apologize. It’s important to talk about these things. Can I do anything else to make today easier for you? I know it’s just one week and good preparation for next year when you’ll have to leave for the Chunin Exams, but if I can do something-”
“Can we have Lunch together?” Shinki asks, cutting off your rambling. “I leave before Dinner, so-”
“Oh, absolutely. I’ll go and convince Gaara right away. At least that way we can get him to eat something during the Day.”
He joins in your chuckles, leans into your touch when you pat his shoulder one last time.
“I love you, Shinki.” You kiss his cheek.
“Love you too.” The door closes after you with a click.
Gathering himself, he grabs his bag, going over the things he needs yet again.
The door opens with momentum only seconds later, almost crashing into the wall.
“Nii-chan!” Honoka declares like a war-cry. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes,” he states calmly as she takes a run-up and jumps onto his bed, upsetting the things he’d placed there. “Careful.”
“Why are you leaving? Where are you going to? Is it a mission? Can I come with? Oh, please, can I come with?! Uncle Kuro said I’m ready for my first puppet already, but one without poison. Can you believe that? I want one with poison.”
“Honoka,” he stills her, one hand on every shoulder. “Breathe. That’s too many questions.”
“Fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Where are you going?”
“Konoha.”
Her eyes light up and she’s jumping to her feet, nevermind the fact that she’s now leaving footprints all over his bedsheets.
“Can I come?! Please, Nii-chan! I wanna watch you kick Bokuto’s ass!”
“I’m not going to kick his ass.” Yet, he adds in his mind. Maybe next year, at the Chunin Exam.
“Oh,” she pouts. “But I could still come. Aunty Temari loves me. I want to learn how to fight with her Fan!”
“You’ll have more than enough chances to do so when you come up to Konoha a week later.”
“That’s not fair,” Honoka declares. “Why do you get one more week with Aunty and I don’t?”
“Because I’m older.”
Honoka huffs. “That’s unfair. I should have gotten born first.”
He considers the missing logic of her statement, but decides against fighting it. There’s no use in fighting Honoka. She spends too much time with Uncle Kankuro.
“Tell me about Training instead,” he insists, packing his things. “What did Uncle Kankuro show you today?”
“Oh, sure. Well, first he had me recite all poisons and antidotes and I only forgot one. Then he had me practice using my Chakra Strings and it sucked a lot, but I’m getting better. Then…”
“Shinki.” Father stops him at the door, one warm hand on his shoulder. He looks tired, as usual, but Shinki’s long since learned to read his mind through his eyes.
I’m proud of you, they say today. I’ll miss you. Be safe.
“How are you?” Shinki asks, drawing out the moment they have to separate again, if only to come together at the table. “Are you sleeping enough, Father?”
“Have I ever?” He jokes softly. “When we return, I want resume our usual training. It won’t harm you to miss the occasional mission.”
Warmth surges through him at these words. He knows what they mean.
Let us spend more time together. I’ve missed your company.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“Can you sit down?” Uncle Kankuro bellows from the kitchen. “Yeez, why do I bother having the food ready on time when you guys take so long in gathering. Honoka, don’t get in my way, this stuff is hot.”
“Sorry, Uncle Kuro.” Honoka rushes to her seat. She knows to head his warnings, after all, she once managed to trip him on the way to the table. 
They’ve just taken place, plates filled, when Hayato opens his mouth.
“Shinki’s leaving,” he says, with the tone of someone who’s suffering.
“I know,” Father leans in to smooth done his hair. “We’ll miss him.”
Tears fill pale eyes.
“Does he have to leave?” Hayato asks. He turns to Shinki. “Do you?”
“Don’t be a cry-” Honoka starts, but you interrupt her.
“It’s okay to miss him,” you say, leaning in to dry Hayato’s tears. “We’ll all miss Shinki. But some things are necessary. If we’d never left Suna, we’d never get to see Uncle Shikamaru. How do we deal with these feelings?”
Hayato considers it for a second. “We look for the good?”
Shinki waits for him to connect the dots. Soon enough, Hayato blinks up at his big brother.
“Can I sleep in your bed while you’re gone?”
“If you want.”
Honoka opens her mouth, no doubt to fight for her right to Shinki’s bed.
“Ah,” you cut her off. “Let’s eat first, and discuss things later, okay?
There are not many things to be sure of, even at eleven years old.
Times are changing. Suddenly, traveling from Suna to Konoha takes less than a day. Things that seemed impossible are just “a new Jutsu” now. 
But there are things, Shinki knows for sure. He counts them, sometimes, when he’s unable to sleep.
His parents love him. His parents love each other. He has a home. Shikadai will always favor a nap over anything else and Boruto will be annoying…
“What are you thinking about?” Aunt Temari asks, checking the clouds above her. They’re early, but he doesn’t mind waiting.
“What things to be sure of.”
“Oh,” she nods. “That sounds interesting.”
“What are you sure of?”
Her eyes move away from him. Aunt Temari is different from you. She doesn’t like emotional topics. But sometimes, when they’re both alone, she opens up a little bit. He likes that. She reminds him of his Father’s Cacti. They do not bloom as often or as long as you might want them to, but if you treat them right, their bloom is like a gift.
“I am sure…” She hesitates, before she smiles, a twinkle in her eye that tells him that she’s not ready to bloom today. “I’m sure that Honoka is going to be the first out of the carriage today.”
He considers it. “Hayato will want to be picked up.”
“Gaara will have messy hair.” Her smile has turned into a smirk. “Because your mother cannot take her hands away.”
Shinki smiles. All good things to be sure of.
The train halts, the doors open.
“Nii-chan!” Honoka bursts through the open doors, her red hair like a beacon. “Aunty Temari!”
Following her, much quieter, though with no less urgency, comes Hayato, pulling on Shinki’s legs. “Up!” He asks, making himself look younger than he really is.
Shinki picks him up with ease, lets him settle into the curve of his shoulder. 
Behind his siblings, his parents walk out, smiles on their faces.
You’re holding Father’s hand, both of you clothed like the high ranking officials that you are.
But Father’s hair, usually combed to the side, is standing up in every direction, much like that of Hayato. 
Shinki shares a knowing look with Aunt Temari. 
Yes. All good things to be sure of.
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zvezda-writer · 5 days ago
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Ok but imagine Nikto with a girl just as weird as he is.
You don't even know how you ended up in the military, or how you ended up being accepted, but you were. And on Nikto's unit. It's not that you're insane, you just don't care enough about anything. It's like an eternal autopilot and you're just surfing in it. But for others, you're straight up psycho.
During a mission, while everything just got fucked up, your unit cornered and the chances of any of you leaving the place were minimal, you pulled up a aerosol deodorant and a lighter and threw fire on a enemy who got too close, creating the perfect distraction for your unit to catch the enemies off guard and eliminate them. You basically saved the unit? Yes. You gave a damn about it? Definitely no. “I did what needed to be done” is what you said when your captain came to thank you.
Nikto, on the other hand, wasn't as impressed as the rest. He thought the same, you just did what needed to be not, nothing special, yet he found himself observing you more than he probably should. The way you were so nonchalant about everything, even when you got shot, was weirdly interesting to him, and he found himself curious to know what you liked, even if his nonchalant attitude showed the opposite.
He wasn't just interested, he was obsessed. Had already memorized your favorite weapons, your daily schedule, favorite book and even the size of your gear. What can he say? It's just curiosity.
Until one day he just sat by your side in the common room while you read the same book you read a hundred times. He didn't say a word, just looked at you for a few seconds, nodding at you as you looked at him and nodded back, going back to your book. From this day, a strange friendship formed between the two of you.
You barely exchanged a word or two, but worked in perfect harmony while in the field, being unstoppable when together, and spent most of your silent time reading by each other's side in the common room. You were always together, except in your quarters, you still valued your moments alone.
If anyone asked any of you what you were, the answer was the same for both of you “we tolerate each other”. Weird choice of word, tolerate. You were almost symbiotic, and yet you claim to just tolerate each other. Sounded almost comical, if there wasn't such possessiveness in your relationship.
He wouldn't accept any other soldier helping you with your guns or gear, glaring at them as if he could kill with one look. You wouldn't accept any other soldier sit by his side in the cafeteria, motioning with your head for them to move away. They had half a mind to argue with any of you. And if the possessiveness wasn't enough, there was this obsession too. You simply knew everything about each other, even each other’s schedule and toothbrush color. It was strange, you two just kept thinking about the other every damn second.
The other soldiers simply started to treat you like a couple. You were his girlfriend, and he was your boyfriend, at least in the soldier's eyes. You didn't care, in fact, since it wasn't true. What a ridiculous thing, dating Nikto.
Until it wasn't ridiculous anymore.
During a mission, you got shot. Nothing serious, just a bullet in your leg, but you did lose blood and ended up spending some days in the infirmary. Boy, the man was restless. He wasn't snapping at anyone, he's a soldier, he had self control, but anyone could see he was grumpier than normal, glaring at anyone who tried to approach him. You weren't any different, bored to death and feeling strangely lonely, something that never bothered you before, but was bothering you now. You missed your weird companion. A lot.
Until you heard the nurse's voice asking Nikto what he was doing there, at the infirmary, your head snapping up to meet his gaze. “I came to see my girlfriend”, was his answer. Blunt and short, as always.
Girlfriend. The word sounded so strange on his tongue and on your ears, but at the same time it carried some sort of silent endearment and agreement between the two of you. You were his girlfriend, he was your boyfriend, and that's it.
“I brought your book”, he said, handing you your favorite book and sitting on the chair by your side. How did he manage to get it from your room? Who knows. You were just happy to have your book to keep you distracted and your boyfriend to keep you company.
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rapunzelbro · 9 months ago
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A Sacrifice for a friend Angel Dust x Reader 1
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Tw/ extreme angst, implied death, sad shit so be warned. This is going to be one of the imagines that ends up being closer to a full blown fanfic
Masterlist Taglist
1 2 2.5 3 3.5 4 5 6 Statement
If Angel Dust was there 5 minutes before, maybe he would’ve been able to change your fate
Maybe if he stopped you from going out that night he could’ve stopped it
He knew you were reckless, he knew how much you cared but why did you do what you did for him of all demons?
Why the FUCK did you do it
You were Angel Dust’s closest friends, you were there from when he first got to the hotel, you two bounced off each others personalities and it made you two of the most annoying people in the Hazbin Hotel but y’all didn’t give a shit
You knew of his deal with Valentino, all the abuse, sex, movies he was forced to do. How he was forced to sign his life away to him. It was fucked.
You were there all the constant nights he came home bloody and bruised to take care of him, comfort him when production got rough, or when he felt at his lowest.
You were far from redemption and you knew that was a given, the only one you cared enough about was Angel Dust and helping his redemption. He was so close but so far
And helping him meant saving him from the hell he was going through. The contact he signed with Valentino which held his redemption back entirely
You were extremely bothered the few weeks leading up to your decision. You were more drunk than usual and avoided questions on why, when they appeared
Husk felt the shift in your mood instantly, and the intentions you had he was unclear of. You usually always had a bright smile and bubbly personality when you were drunk with Angel, but as the weeks passed, he saw the change and that personality slowly went away even if it wasn’t noticeable
He noticed
You started coming back to the hotel later, you always came back bothered and uneasy, you didn’t talk to the others as much it concerned Husk like hell
Everytime he tried to confront you, you were never there or yelled at him.
When it was time for your decision to be made, you had all of your stuff in boxes. Your room has never been so dull until now. Angel helped you decorate with all sort of pink colors and photos of everyone together, but now? it was just lifeless
Everyone was asleep when you walked towards the exit, except for Husk
“Don’t do anything stupid Y/n”
“I can’t guarantee that Husk”
You giving him a smile before you left to do what you had to do whether you were scared shitless or not
Valentino hearing ‘I want to make a deal’ and he is instantly interested
“What will get you to release the contract on Angel Dust”
You’re straight to the point. You already know the answer, which you’ve been preparing for
“He’s my top money maker~ You’d have to give me your soul in exchange for his freedom”
He has his hand out, his signature glasses slightly positioned down to look you in the eyes with a Cheshire Cat like smile
“Do we have a deal?”
You staring at his hand before grabbing onto it
“Deal”
The moment you say that your arms and legs are covered in thick pink smoke before you’re pulled under
“Y/N WHAT THE FU”
That was the last thing you heard followed by the sound of chains breaking
you were pulled in an empty room filled with the similar pink fog coming from one of Valentinos crushed cigarettes.
While the poison of the pink fog holds you still with the tangible arms, you accepted it, you didn’t struggle when your body gave up on you
You accepted your fate long ago
Angel Dust tag list: @vendetta-ari @brithedemonspawn @satansmanager @storydays
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kitasgloves · 3 months ago
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Thinking about seeing your ex-lover SAKUSA KIYOOMI. In a crowded room during a mutual friend's birthday party.
Everybody adored you and him back when you were together. It seemed to everyone that you and Sakusa complimented each other perfectly. Like two sides of the same coin. Yin and Yang. Dusk and Dawn. Summer and Winter. Like you were fated to meet and be together forever, you both thought the same thing.
When you and Sakusa met eyes years after separating, there were identical somber smiles on both of your features. You walked towards him, you were always the one to approach him first. He chuckles at the fact. Even if romance failed you both, you and Sakusa remained friends. After all, you were friends at the beginning before lovers.
"Hey, how are you doing?"
You spoke with a genuine smile. Sakusa knew you were better at conversation than he was because he preferred listening to you for hours. He returns the gesture.
"I'm well. Though this season had a rough start"
"How's volleyball, lately?"
"It's still okay. My teammates remained insufferable as always"
He replies and this draws a laugh out of you. God, he missed hearing that. A part of him remained selfish to know that somebody else gets to hear it now. From what he gathers, you're not in a relationship at the moment. It brought a tiny portion of solace to him. Sakusa thought how perfect it was to slide back into a relationship with you again considering he hadn't found anybody yet. He doubts anyone would replace you.
"I like your new hair color"
"Oh, thanks! God, I was afraid that I would like shit"
"No, it doesn't. Anything suits you, in my opinion"
Sakusa replies and there is a familiar glimmer in his eyes, a soft upward curl of his lips is present. Your heart unwillingly skips a beat.
Damn you, you handsome beast
You softly glared at him. On the surface, anybody would've never thought that you and he broke up, the closeness still lingered even if you and he fell apart. But if one were to look closer, ache laced in every smile, laugh, and look you and Sakusa exchanged.
The history you shared with him was irreplaceable. There were no regrets, but heartbreak instead. The romance was not fit to stay between you and Sakusa. Conflicts were inevitable to hurt both of you and the solution was to kill the tenderness only lovers shared. You thought it was reasonable, and Sakusa was a rational man. If it won't work, then you shouldn't force it, it only further complicates things.
But it hurts like shit to acknowledge that the yearning for each other was there. You still loved him. And from that stupid soft gaze, he only gives to you, Sakusa returned the sentiment. But to try again would only bring doom in the end. As you cast your heart away when he walked off, you couldn't help but think to yourself with glassy eyes: would there still be a chance again someday?
I'm trying to hurt myself to feel something lmao
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lilasamaaa · 5 months ago
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A lapse in judgement | Carlos Sainz x Reader
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Genre | Angst (of course), Hurt/Comfort, Fluff.
Word count | 3.8K
Warnings | Mention of sexual activities, rejection.
Summary | The long-awaited dinner with your in-laws doesn't go as planned... Will you and your boyfriend manage to change their minds about your relationship?
Author's note | I'm back, bitches! This lovely prompt was requested, thank you for the idea Anon! I hope you all like it, please let me know what you think! ✨ (not proofread lmao)
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Being the new girlfriend after the one who got away fucking sucks. Even when your lover was the one to end things. It's quite something to be the girl after the one he was supposed to spend his life with. Get married with. Have kids with. You wouldn't wish anyone to be in your place. Yet, here you are, all because you fell in love with him. Carlos Sainz. Him and his doe eyes. His impeccable hair. His charming smile. Frankly, you didn't stand a chance.
You knew who he was, of course. Formula 1 is among your fondest childhood memories, sitting in front of the TV with your siblings and parents. Each Grand Prix was a household event, and you could never bring yourself to part with the Ferrari-colored jacket you wore every race Sunday. It's been years since you've fit into it, but the memory is too precious. So, yes, you knew who he was. And you recognized him immediately when he walked through the door of your workplace, sunglasses perched on his nose.
You don't follow Formula 1 as closely as before. Just enough to keep up with the news. You don't pretend not to know who he is. What's the point in pretending?
"Back from Monza already?" you ask, wiping your hands on a clean towel.
He smiles. A polite smile, but one that seems to indicate he's not keen on chatting. Or at least, not about that. You ask him what he'd like, and he asks for anything with soy milk in it. He orders two, to go, and you smile again. Okay, you think. Understood. The exchange lasts no more than two minutes, and soon, the driver exits the coffee shop, leaving behind a lingering woody scent.
Weeks pass without crossing paths with him again, and honestly, the encounter has completely slipped your mind. That one early morning, though, you're sitting at one of the café tables, contemplating new drinks, new recipes to implement based on some customer feedback, when the little bell chimes behind you. You definitely need to stop leaving the door open to let the floor dry after your morning cleaning session.
You turn around, ready to inform the friendly customer that the café doesn't open for another twenty minutes, when you catch his gaze.
"I know you're not open yet," he starts, putting both hands in front of him. "I saw the sign. But I really need some coffee, and all the other shops are closed."
"I suppose I can make an exception for such an emergency," you say as you rise from your seat, smiling kindly at him. "What can I get you?"
"I don't remember the name of what you made for me last time, but it was incredible. There was..."
"Soy milk?"
"Yeah."
"I'm on it," you say, turning around. "Two?" you ask, feeling like you already know the answer.
"Yes, please."
You hurry behind the bar, preparing the two coffees, and you place them in front of him a few seconds later. He takes out his phone to pay and places it on the terminal, which emits a soft "beep." Then, he picks up one of the coffees before sliding the second one towards you.
"This one's for you," he says, and you barely manage to hide your surprise.
"Oh," you say. "If I had known, I wouldn't have charged you for the second one."
"But it wouldn't have been the same, then. I wouldn't have offered it to you," the driver says, winking at you before taking a step back. "Thank you so much for the favor. Have a good day!"
With that, he's gone. As you sip your hot coffee slowly, you wonder when you'll see him again next time. But already, your employees arrive and pull you from your thoughts.
"That guy outside kinda looked like Carlos Sainz, no?" Lucia, one of them, asks while tying her apron.
"You've seen him? I thought so, too," you reply with a smile.
The next time you see him is the exact opposite. You've just bid your last employee a good evening, and you're putting the chairs up on the tables in preparation for the morning cleanup. A knock on the storefront makes you look up, and you smile when you see him. You open the door, and he slips inside, slightly damp from the light rain falling outside.
"Have you ever heard of opening hours?" you ask while wiping down the countertop.
"Can't say I have," he replies with a grin, the sight making your stomach flutter.
"I think congratulations are in order," you begin, throwing the towel over your shoulder. "That was a clean win in Singapore."
"Thank you. It might be a bit late for a coffee, but would you like to grab a drink with me?"
The proposition takes you by surprise.
"Like? Right now?"
"Yeah. Right now. I know a place not far from here."
"Aren't you afraid of being seen or something?" you ask, arching a brow.
"Never with beautiful women, no."
You chuckle, rolling your eyes. You've been living in Spain for ten years, yet you don't think you'll ever get used to the natural flirty nature of its inhabitants.
"Give me ten minutes to change and close up, and I'll join you," you say, while he nods, sitting on one of the bar stools.
Carlos takes you to a dancing bar, obviously run by friends since he spends five minutes shaking hands and greeting everyone as you enter. He leads you to the back of the bar, to a secluded corner where the music is much quieter, and you can actually have a conversation. You have no idea what to say. Where do you even start with a Formula 1 driver? Someone whose life is so different, so far removed from yours. Sensing your discomfort, Carlos takes the lead, asking you questions about your café, (Did you open it by yourself?) and about your life. (Where are you from? You have an accent).
The evening passes, and the drinks flow until you find yourselves tightly pressed together on the dance floor. Your back against his chest. His hands on your hips. Yours on his neck. Swaying to the rhythm of the music, all senses heightened. His lips don't take long to seek yours, and from the wall of the bar against which he pins you, you transition to his mattress, his warm body pressed against yours.
You don't sleep much that night. You don't know if you'll ever have the chance to see him again. To have him like that again. So, you lavish your lips on his, your body against his. And in the early morning, as you wake up entangled in each other's arms, and you almost expect him to kick you out... He climbs back on top of you instead, pressing warm kisses against your mouth, your collarbones, your navel... You arrive at the café thirty minutes late, with bags under your eyes. It's never happened before, and your employees are so surprised that none of them even think to joke about your poor state.
You don't hear a word from him for the next ten days. Occasionally, you glance at the app you downloaded, which informs you about upcoming races. You know he's in Qatar. You try not to let the little voice in your head win. The one that laughs at you. That tells you that you'll never see him again. He's working, you think. He's busy. Your life goes on, though you can't help but watch for him early in the morning and late at night, your eyes lingering on the storefront.
Then, one day, he comes back. Right in the middle of the shift. Seeing him walk into the café, Lucia lets out a scream and drops the cup she was holding. "Dios mio," she says, clutching her heart. Several seated customers turn around, but nobody seems to pay attention to the tall brunette with caramel eyes whose gaze is fixated on you, from across the counter.
"Soy milk?" you ask, trying to contain your smile.
"Yes, please. Only one."
And then, he starts coming every day. Every day he's not on the other side of the world, that is. By his seventh visit, Lucia can almost serve him his coffee without spilling any, her hands shaking so much.
Outside of the café, the two of you slowly start going to museums. To restaurants. To the cinema. But there's one place you both prefer. His bed. You spend hours there, exploring each other's bodies or talking about everything and nothing. Exchanging thousands of kisses or sharing your worst childhood embarrassments. Moaning against each other or talking about your very first pet. And one evening, as you were recounting how your respective parents had met, he asks you the question.
"Speaking of that, would you like to meet them?"
Your heart skips a beat. It's been six months since you've been seeing each other. Since you've been exclusive. Since you've been a couple, in reality, even if neither of you has dared to say the word. That one, and the other. The one that starts with an L. Even though you know you do... And you sense he does too.
"I don't know," you say, resting your head against his bare chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Have you talked to your family about us?"
"Of course," Carlos says, pressing a kiss to your head. "They know I've been seing someone. And they know it's serious."
"Do they even want to meet me?"
"They haven't asked, if that's your question," your boyfriend replies. "But they never have, with anyone. They know it's something I like to do at my own pace."
You nod, and a few minutes later, the fateful dinner is set for the following Saturday. Already, the ball of anxiety that has lodged itself in your stomach grows. And soon enough, you find yourself standing in front of the door of the imposing Sainz mansion, your throat tight and your hand sweaty in Carlos'.
"Relax," the driver says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before stroking your thumb. "They're not that bad."
Carlos knocks on the door, and a young woman opens it before jumping into your boyfriend's arms. You recognize her instantly from the pictures in Carlos' phone. Blanca. As if pronouncing her name in your head had reminded her of your existence, Blanca turns her head, smiling politely in your direction.
"Nice to meet you," she says rather blankly before gesturing for you two to come inside.
You encounter his other sister, Ana, in the hallway a few seconds later. She isn't much warmer, not even offering a smile and simply saying "Welcome" before rushing to hug her brother. The reception from the two women surprises you a little, and doesn't really help you feel confident about the evening. Carlos doesn't seem phased by the situation, helping you out of your coat before guiding you to the living room where the two young women have already disappeared. You're about to walk through the door when your eyes stop on a series of frames hung across from the front door. Your heart skips a beat. Feeling you come to a halt, Carlos stops as well, following your gaze.
"Fucking hell," your boyfriend says before taking the frame off the wall and placing it upside down on the buffet below. "I'm sorry. This photo has been there for so long that they probably don't even notice it anymore," he adds, his tone apologetic.
You know he's trying to reassure you, but his words have the opposite effect. You've briefly talked about your exes. Well, more about his. Isa. The girl he was with for seven fucking years. The one his parents loved so much. Seeing a photo of them together right before meeting your in-laws is like a knife to the heart. A reminder that you're the new girl. The one replacing her. You muster a smile that you know is fake at Carlos before continuing on your way. As you arrive in the living room, his two parents stand up from the couch, rushing to their son to hug him.
The embraces last a few seconds, until they turn to you. You greet them politely, handing his mother a huge bouquet of flowers and his father a bottle of fine wine, as they thank you with strained smiles.
"I also brought chocolates from my shop for you," you continue, turning to his sisters sitting at the dining table. "They're from a small producer in Andalusia, a real treat..."
"How kind of you," Blanca says dryly.
You miss the glance that Carlos shoots his sister, behind you. A stern look. One that scream "be careful". One Blanca pretends not to see.
"Let's sit down," Carlos' mother announces, gesturing for everyone to take a seat.
Intimidated, you stick close to Carlos, sitting next to him. The table is beautiful, adorned with fine porcelain and various flowers. You smile as you spot silver napkin rings and pick up the one in front of you. Your next breath gets caught in your throat when your eyes land on the letters engraved in the metal. Isabel.
"Ah yes, sorry," Ana begins, following your gaze. "We didn't have time to make a new one. I hope you don't mind."
"It's fine," you say, looking up and smiling at her.
"So, dear, what do you do?" Carlos' father asks. "Carlos told us about a café, but we didn't quite understand."
"I opened my own café a few years ago. We also serve fresh pastries that I bake every morning. It's really taking off; I have several employees now, and I'm planning to open a second one soon..."
"Did you study culinary arts?" her mother asks.
"Uh, no, I don't have any degree," you reply with a nervous laugh. "School just wasn't my thing."
Ana and Blanca exchange a glance, and you lower your head, feeling your cheeks flush. You feel Carlos' hand on your thigh, and you cast him a grateful glance, which he doesn't see, his eyes fixed on his sisters.
"And so, the two of you met at the café, is that right?" his father resumes.
"Yes, that's right," you reply with a smile. "In May, the first time."
"In May?" Ana asks, looking at her brother. "Weren't you still with Isa?"
"Are we gonna mention her all night?" Carlos snaps.
"It's just a question, no need to get upset," Ana replies, rolling her eyes.
"Did you know who he was?" Blanca asks, holding your gaze.
"Uh, yeah, I recognized him. But I served him like any other customer," you recount.
"It must be weird," Ana continues, as your attention turns from her sister to her. "To see a celebrity walk into your little café."
"It's actually not so little," Carlos says. "It's pretty well-known in Madrid. Lots of customers."
"Never been," Blanca says curtly.
Carlos's mother gestures for her daughters to follow her, and the three women disappear in the kitchen before returning a few minutes later with their hands full of various dishes.
"Carlos told us you love to eat," his mother continues, giving you a genuine smile. "It's good that he didn't choose a very slender girl, for once," she adds, as you tilt your head. Was that supposed to be a compliment?
"What are your plans after the café?" Carlos' father asks, chewing on a piece of chicken. "Now that this first project has worked out?"
"I beg your pardon?" you ask, genuinely confused.
"What are you going to do with your life now?" Ana asks.
"Well... I'm going to keep running the café? It's my sanctuary, my biggest project. I'm so proud of it, I'm not going to give it all up now."
"Oh," his father replies, eyeing you. "I'd understood it was temporary. That you were a kind of investor."
"No," you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "That's... That's what I do."
The silence falls over the table, punctuated by the clinking of utensils. After a short while, Carlos's mother clears her throat, meeting your gaze.
"Forgive our questions. We're curious to get to know the person Carlos shares his life with. You have to understand, after seven years... You always know what you've lost, but you can never know what you've gained."
"And that was quite a loss," Blanca chimes in, sipping on her wine.
"You can't trust anyone these days. You never know if they love you for you or for your wallet," Ana states, looking at her perfectly manicured nails.
"Or your contact list," Blanca adds, shooting a glance your way.
"Okay," Carlos suddenly says, throwing his napkin on the table before getting up. "That's enough. We're leaving."
"What?" you say, looking up at him.
"They're clearly not ready for this. We'll come back when they finally understand that my ex is just that - my ex. Get your things, love."
You stand up, feeling your legs tremble, as Carlos' hand find the small of your back, pushing you towards the hallway.
"Don't be ridiculous," his mother says, standing up as well. "You can't expect us to forget seven years just like that."
"I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to respect my partner. But apparently, that's too difficult."
A few seconds later, Carlos is backing out of his parents' driveway, one arm around your seat, his gaze fixed on the rear window. In the passenger seat, you fidget with your fingers, staring at your hands and biting your lip nervously. His brows are furrowed. Jaw clenched. None of you exchange a word until you hit the main road, headlights from passing cars casting shadows on your faces.
"I'm so sorry," he finally says, stroking your thigh. "If I had known..."
"You couldn't," you reply, placing your hand on his. "I don't blame them. Seven years is no small thing."
Turning his head, his gaze meets yours.
"I won't pretend that those seven years didn't matter to me, that they meant nothing. Even though I don't have any romantic feelings for her anymore, she will always be a part of me in some way," he says, as you feel your heart tighten in your chest. "But she no longer occupies my thoughts. She's no longer imprinted under my eyelids. It's not her fingers that give me chills, her voice that makes my heart race. All day long, I think about you. I talk about you. Even at night, I dream of you. You're right beside me, so close, and yet it's not enough. You still find a way to get closer, to flow through my veins, to infiltrate every breath, every heartbeat."
"Sometimes I wish I could see myself through your eyes. That girl sounds exceptional," you say, laughing as you wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes."
"She's quite something," he replies, eyes on the road. "I can't wait for them to realize."
After the disastrous first encounter with your in-laws, over six months pass before Carlos comes join you on the terrace of your shared hotel room in Jeddah, placing a coffee in front of you. Bending down to sit beside you, the pilot winces, a hand on his stomach.
"Are you okay?" you ask, running your hand through his hair.
"I feel so fucking sick," your boyfriend says, a painful grimace on his face.
"Shouldn't you see a doctor, babe?" you ask, stroking his arm. "You look awfully pale. And you haven't eaten since yesterday morning."
"I can't keep anything down," Carlos replies, throwing his head back before closing his eyes.
"Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro," you start, earning a small grin from your boyfriend.
"I just love when you call me that."
"There's no way you're getting in that car tomorrow," you insist.
You didn't think you'd be so right. Well, not to this extent. Hurrying through the corridors of the hospital, two large aluminum trays in each hand, you dodge doctors and nurses along the way, weaving through visitors until you reach the door marked with the number you're looking for. You knock on the door, slipping inside before turning around to close it behind you.
"I wasn't sure what you'd prefer, so I got both," you begin, still facing the door, handle in hand. "The paella was quite easy to find, but I admit I had to cross the entire city for..." your sentence dies in your throat when, turning around, your eyes meet those of your mother-in-law. Then your father-in-law's. And your two sisters-in-law, crowded in Carlos' small hospital room.
"Oh," you utter, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you'd be there. I'll leave you alone," you start, turning around once again.
"No! Stay," Carlos' mother says, rising to take the trays from you.
"We're really happy to see you again," his father says, rising as well to embrace you. "Carlos was telling us how well you took care of him. Thank you so much for being there."
"That's the least I could do," you reply, feeling intimidated. "He would have done the same for me."
"I may love you, but I'm not sure I would have slept in that armchair. Or changed your blood-soaked bandage," Carlos replies, eyes half-closed, still under the influence of anesthesia.
"You did what?" Blanca asks, turning to look at you, eyes wide.
"Well, his nurse was busy and it started leaking," you shrug.
"You slept here?" his father asks.
"They wouldn't let me at first, but I didn't feel like leaving him alone in a foreign hospital."
"She annoyed the staff so much they just gave up on throwing her out," your boyfriend lets out in a laugh.
"I didn't annoy anybody," you reply quickly, fearing what his family might think.
"You threatened an intern to tie yourself to the chair."
"I didn't do that," you half-laugh, shooting your boyfriend a warning look.
Seated on the side of Carlos' bed, bickering with your boyfriend while running your hand through his hair in a loving gesture, you don't see the glance exchanged between the Sainz family.
"We were thinking about something, before you arrived..." Ana begins, her eyes finding yours. For the first time, you're not met with her harsh, cold gaze, but with gentle eyes. "We have a family house in Mallorca. We thought it would be nice to all go there together, so Carlos can recover in peace. We would be very happy if you joined us."
"It'll be a chance for us to get to know you. And to apologize for our pathetic behavior last time."
"Carlos chose you," his mother starts, smiling warmly at you. "And we all understand why."
You could cry with happiness at the thought of finally being accepted, being welcomed into the family of the person you've shared your life with for almost a year now. At no longer being the new girl. The one after the love of his life.
At the though of maybe, simply being the one.
The real one, this time.
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definitelynotafurinasimp · 5 months ago
Note
If your not busy, I've been thinking that Fontaine announces a masquerade party, the Fontaine girls (Furina, Navia, Lynette, Clorinde) goes to the party. After enjoying the party, a random person with a mask (reader) invites them to the ballroom dance (can be a private or public area) and whilst dancing they engage on a small talk, it makes the girls wanting to know more about the person behind the mask. However, the reader has to bid them goodbye and kisses their hand leaving them alone. Maybe for part 2 the girls knows the reader's identity and maybe a hint of romance, who knows? ;)
Furina recognizing reader after a masked ball
characters: Furina x gn!reader
warnings: none
a/n: I am sorry for only writing Furina’s part, but it turned out relatively long (for my standards), so if I attempted to write 3 more parts I might actually take until the heatdeath of the universe. So I hope you forgive me. As to why I chose Furina?
...I hope that one is self-explanatory.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
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Furina
No matter how much one were to look around the room, it would have been near impossible to find anyone more excited about the ball than Furina herself. Even during the days when she had to play the role of Archon she had found herself genuinely enjoying the atmosphere they offered and getting to socialize while wearing a literal mask was an interesting change of pace .
That being said however, as Furina looked at the faces around her, some better obscured than others, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment welling up inside of her. Sure, while there were some people she had difficulties identifying, most of them felt at least familiar enough that she was certain she’d be able to recognize them if given more time to put the pieces together.
And then there was you, packing a voice she had never heard before and a face she had no idea where to start with. Were you new here? Or were you simply one of those souls that didn’t think too much of parties? Whatever the case, you caught her interest.
Before long, the two of you were using the justification of dancing to talk to each other, simple small-talk at first, only for the former Archon to start asking questions that would discreetly lure more information out of you before you even knew it. And yet with every question you answered, the puzzle pieces inside of her head seemed to fit together less and less. You didn’t own a bakery, but your brother did. You could seamlessly stitch up a hole on any piece of clothing in a matter of seconds. Your favorite color was red. You didn’t have any siblings. You get lightheaded when seeing blood. Where did that cut on your thumb come from? You were cutting an apple only for your knife to slip.
By all means, Furina was starting to think you were dodging her questions or simply amusing yourself by answering with random nonsense. And yet, whenever you weren’t, talking with you was surprisingly fun and your soothing voice made her feel at ease. 
Each new hint causing her to throw out her last theory and begin from scratch and before Furina realized it, this had become a matter of pride and honor. The idea of letting you leave when she still had no idea who you were irking her more with each sentence the two of you exchanged, especially considering how much fun she had talking with you.
“What is that even supposed to mean? Give me one more hint, that last one didn’t count”, Furina once again spoke up in the middle of your dance, demanding another hint that would make solving your case at least a little bit easier. The two you agreed to give her until now, opening up more questions than they answered, only for the former Archon to receive an amused grin in response, almost making her speak up again, only for you to go first.
“If you’re this interested in figuring out my identity I could just hand you my business card, but don’t you think not knowing who you’re dancing with makes the whole thing just so much more exciting?”, you asked, your smile never leaving your face once as Furina responded with silence, your point carrying far more truth than she liked to admit., only for her to be pulled out of her thoughts when she felt a cut on your left thumb, only for your hand to flinch away ever so slightly. And before she knew it, her mind was once again running wild, trying to come up with new theories.
“You’re an underworld criminal right? That’s why you don’t want to reveal your identity, because you’re scared of me”, she spitballed, hoping to at least throw you for a loop.
“So you’re someone criminals should be scared of?”, you asked in a joking manner, once again failing to even refute her accusation before eventually changing the subject to something more light-hearted.
And then, before Furina had even the chance to find out your name, the ball was over and you bid her farewell, kissing the back of her hand before vanishing into the crowd of people, never to be seen again.
Since that encounter, barely a day passed where she didn’t at least briefly think back to your conversation. Was it because she liked talking to you or simply because leaving the case unsolved left a bad taste in her mouth. And yet, there wasn’t much she could do, as even if she wanted to gather more clues there was simply nowhere for her to start.
Eventually, she gave up. Simply going on about her days as she slowly but surely left the incident behind.
…However many times she liked to tell herself that however, there were still times she got lost in thoughts thinking about it. Sometimes in private, other times, when she wasn’t as fortunate, in broad daylight. And while spacing out for a moment was nothing life-threatening in most cases, not paying attention to where one was going made bumping into something or someone almost inevitable.
“Ah, I’m sorry!” Furina heard a voice ring out as she fell onto the floor, having been ripped out of her daydream when she walked into someone only to be sent flying downwards, letting out a small yelp when once she made contact with the sidewalk.
“N-no, It was my fault”, the former Archon quickly responded, her usual charade nowhere to be seen as her cheeks turned red from embarrassment. 
Almost instinctively, she started looking around herself, only to find herself in front of a shop selling baked goods. There weren’t many people on the street, which made the fact that she managed to bump into one even more shameful, and when she finally did take a look at the person in front of her, she was met with a worried expression as they extended their left hand towards her, a broom with which they swept the street in front of the building occupying their other.
“Let me help you up”, they eventually stated, signaling towards their hand in a voice that left Furina wondering where she knew it from.
Without further hesitation, she took it.
“Tha-”
That scar on their thumb felt awfully familiar.
“AHA!” Furina screamed out, yanking herself up before striking an excited pose as her eyes widened, causing you to startle in the process.
“Is something wrong, Miss-”
“So you do own a bakery after all!”
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stabortega · 1 year ago
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SAM CARPENTER HCS — DATING HER
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Summary: What it would be like to date Sam Carpenter.
Pairings: Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader.
Warnings: SFW & NSFW. Implied fem reader, she/her pronouns used. MDNI.
Author's note: Not much to say, look at those arms tho. 🤤
MASTERLIST.
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SFW:
You've met Sam through her job (one of them).
She's a waitress at one of your favorite diners, but after seeing her face, you had one more reason to go eat there everyday.
Sam had issues and that was obivous.
You didn't knew what had happened, and Sam didn't knew if that was a good or a bad thing.
You knew something was off when you looked at her, while she was serving your morning coffee, and she would just look away.
Like if she wanted to look, but she couldn't.
One day, the diner was about to close and she was cleaning everything up, while you finished your last mug of coffee.
So, you handed her your phone number written on that 10 dollar bil that Sam swore she wouldn't keep it.
And of course, she did. She rather have 10 dollars out of her paycheck than to miss the opportunity of having your number.
Sam was scared.
Everyone who came into her life got involved into her mess, one way or another. She didn't wanted that for you.
And although she didn't even knew a single thing about you (despite the fact that you liked your coffee black), she cared deeply about you.
But after you guys started exchanging texts, she realized that all she wanted was to be herself with you.
Behind all of that protectiveness, Sam was just insecure. She just didn't felt safe anymore.
And she hated not having control of things.
Which is why you guys' first date made her anxious as fuck.
She didn't knew what do to, or what to say. She was scared to drive you away with all of her baggage.
But you, and thank god for that, took the matters into your own hands.
Being the extroverted girl you always were, you talked about pretty much everything all night. All of your favorite movies, your favorite music.
You even explained to Sam why purple was the superior color for a good amount of time.
And all of the anxiety she felt before, suddenly was gone.
Needless to say she kissed you goodnight after that amazing date.
Sam proved herself to be an amazing girlfriend, actually.
You would visit her at the diner everyday, sometimes you guys would even walk home together.
But for a very especific reason, Sam would never let you go upstairs to her place.
And you didn't knew why; she never told you.
You thought it could be her sister who didn't liked you, her friends who thought you might be weird; maybe she was a secret hoarder.
But all of the questioning came to an end when she drove you to college one day, and your friends saw her face for the first time.
"Holy shit, is that the Woodsboro girl?" One of your friends said after she left.
"Who?" You asked, confused.
"You don't know what she did? Dude, she's a murderer."
That night, you and Sam had a heated argument.
You were sad that after 6 months of dating, she couldn't even be real with you. It's like she didn't even trusted you enough.
"How would I tell this to you, (Y/N)?? No one teaches you to tell your girlfriend that you had to kill someone, god damnit." You took a deep breath, and looked at her.
"Look at me, baby. I don't care what you did, what you had to do, or what happened back in that town. I believe in you. I trust you." And that was what Sam needed to hear. From anybody. From you.
After that argument, you guys rarely fought anymore. You gave her time, and space. You understood her issues, you took care of her.
Eventually, you got to meet her friends, her roommates,and especially her sister, Tara.
And you guys hit it off right away, which made Sam so happy and relieved.
"You really like her, don't you?" Tara said, while Sam and her were together in the kitchen. Sam looked at you and Chad playing some Mario Kart together, laughing and making fun of each other while Mindy and all of the gang were laughing as well.
"Yeah, I do."
Sam is the kind of girlfriend who pretty much always wants to break up with you because her mind tells her to do so.
She's just too scared to hurt you, to bring you into her life.
But she's also very caring, being the most incredibly sweet girl you've ever met.
When she's home from work, tired, all she wants do to is cuddle you and feel your fingers onto her her.
She's just a huge softie sometimes.
NSFW:
Everything about Sam being a softie doesn't apply here.
It took you guys a certain amount of time to finally have sex.
Mainly because Sam was just insecure.
But when you finally did, you've asked yourself how the fuck could she be so insecure?
She was just that good.
Sam is a dom most of the times, like I've said; she feels safer when she's in control.
And she's a good dom, lemme tell you that.
She's the kind of dom who wants to overstimulate you so bad until you use your safe word.
She wants to make you feel the better you've ever felt.
Her favorite position is the missionary (especially with the strap).
There's something about looking at your face while she fucks you raw that just gets her going.
One of her biggest kinks is also mommy daddy kink.
And she kinda found out by accident.
You were supposed to call her mommy, just like she'd asked you.
Somehow, daddy came out instead.
And now she won't stop railing you untill you call her that again. And again.
And again.
She's VERY into dirty talking.
She could easily make you cum just by whispering all of the things she wanna do with you.
"Fuck, you like that? Look at your fucking face, you wished I was fucking your mouth too. God, you're such a slut. Your pussy is made for me to fuck."
And at that point she was fucking you so good that all you could do was nod and whimper.
Sam also prefers to fuck at your place, mainly because she's terrified that Tara finds out she has a sex life.
And let's never forget about the day Mindy has caught you two.
"Oh, my god! I am so, so sorry- Wait, is that a butt plug?"
So now Sam's traumatized enough.
And also, she has a huge toy collection that she absolutely adores using on you.
Like I've said, overstimulation is a big thing for her, and she wants to fuck you in every way possible.
And at the same time.
"Fuck, look at you... So fucking tight yet so ready for me, huh?" She whispered while she was fucking your ass with one of the plugs. "Bet daddy can make you cum just by fucking your ass, don't you think?"
But when Sam bottoms, though.
Seeing her so vulnerable, so submissive, gets you going like crazy.
Sam didn't allowed herself to be in that position for a very long time, it's safe to say she's insecure about that too. But you respected her time, her space.
And now she's a whore in bed with you.
Sam loves when you fuck her in all fours, it makes her feel like she's a dog in heat and that makes her crazy.
When you pull her hair, slap her ass, god.
She has a big mirror in her room, and something about watching you fuck her gets her so turned on.
And you knew that.
"Look up, baby. Look at your face while I'm fucking that tight pussy of yours."
Also, she has zero gag reflex. You do whatever you want with that information.
Being completely honest here, Sam doesn't really knew much about aftercare.
Mainly because all of the people she's been with never really cared enough to do it, so she was unaware.
But, of course, you taught her. And you took care of her.
And everytime you guys were done, she would look at you and ask if you were okay, if she hurt you too much.
She loved you too much to hurt you, at that point.
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itsonlydana · 7 months ago
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"passenger princess" | epilogue
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the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana
❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader
❱ wordcount: 4,8k
❱ summary: Dating Thranduil Oropherion and the PDA that comes with it
❱ warnings: none
❱ an: here we go, one last night in this story✨️ title once again taken from hoziers "abstract" // also: are any of you interested in a official hobbit/thranduil taglist?
general m.list + series m.list
🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3
THE MOMENT I KNEW I'D NO CHOICE BUT TO LOVE YOU
The evening welcomed you with a chilly embrace and whispered breezes danced through the coat you clung to, drawing it closer as you emerged from the car.
Your head lifted, attention drawn to the imposing building before you. Unbeknownst to you, your jaw subtly fell, lips parting in a muted "Oh" that almost escaped notice, barely reaching your own ears.
"It's quite a sight, isn't it?" Next to you, Thranduil closed the door to the passenger seat of his car after he had helped you out.
He handed the keys and a few notes of cash to a young valet, whose eyes widened as if he were to drive the Batmobile. The boy rushed to the driver's side of the car, the keys turning on the ignition, and the motor purred smooth like a cat.
You barely noticed it, only felt the vibrations of the car starting. Your eyes were glued to the building in front of you. "It's beautiful," you whispered in awe.
The Imladris Opera House lit up the sky's deep and endless midnight blue.
A washed-out white stone façade rose high up in front of you, its architectural features of multicolored marble friezes, columns, and lavish statuary were illuminated by what must have been hundreds of hidden lights. On either side of the left and right avant-corps two gilded angel figures reached their hands towards the center of the building where a glass dome made the highest point of the palace.
Frozen on the spot, you could not take a step on your own until you felt the gentle push of Thranduil's hand on the small of your back. Looking away for just a second, you glanced at him, shot him a bright smile, and let him guide you towards the building.
The weeks had swiftly slipped away, and it hardly felt like an entire season had passed since that fateful night spent cuddled together.
Late summer had given way to autumn, a season dedicated to delving deeper into each other's lives. Evenings were spent on his couch, sipping wine and sharing every detail about the paths you had walked before finding each other. The world transformed into a canvas of colors, with flaming red and orange leaves falling during your walks, and the glow of candlelight casting a warm ambiance as you lost yourselves between the covers.
Your friendship with Legolas grew impossibly stronger, too, with entire weeks now spent at their house. Clad in long sweaters that grazed your knees, you chatted day and night, studied from breakfast to dinner, enjoyed late evening snacks, and repeated the cycle the next day.
Time blurred into a mosaic of tender touches, lingering kisses, and laughter beneath the sheets.
Before you knew it, Thranduil had once again invited you to the Opera, and once again, you had gladly accepted.
As you got closer, the building grew and grew until you had to let your head fall into your neck trying to explore the intricate details you could only see up close, like the elaborate roses carved into the marble columns.
Thranduil caught your wandering looks and his hand slipped from your back to intertwine his gloved fingers with yours as he leaned down a bit.
"It is said that the architect only accepted the project in exchange for the hand of the king's one and only daughter- who was promised to a prince at the time." – Thranduil's voice reached a dramatic cadence, purely for effect – "No one else dared to take on the tasks of building this Opera, the king had ludicrous ideas of combining multiple styles into one that no other architect thought themselves sane enough to try."
You leaned into his side, your hands brushing against the expensive fabric of his knee-long, black woolen coat. When he started talking, explaining the history of this marvelous building you were so close to entering, his voice fell into the passion that you so adored to watch.
No building, even one as breathtaking as the Imladris Opera House, could be more fascinating than watching Thranduil explain something to you that he cared deeply about.
In the golden tones of the cast iron streetlamps flickering their lights, Thranduil's eyes had taken on a fascinated glitter. It disappeared when he noticed you staring up at him, a quick shadow passing over his usually composed face. "Excuse my rambling," he said and you pouted in disagreement.
"Don't apologize," you shook your head, "you know that I enjoy listening to you" And with a quick movement, you rose to your tiptoes, sneaking a peck onto his from the winter air cold lips. In a low and hushed voice, you murmured: "Talk architectural to me" and felt the blood rush into your cheeks when his eyebrows rose on his forehead.
His eyes crinkled at that, the corner of his mouth twitching in that tell-tale smirk that he reserved for those innuendos that passed between you two, ever since the slip of your tongue on the night he invited you to the Opera in the first place.
He planted a gentle kiss on your temple, his lips pausing briefly before he spoke again. "Okay, then, but feel free to interrupt if I start to bore you."
You nodded with enthusiasm. "Absolutely, don't worry. Although everything you say is interesting to me, you know that."
"I'll hold you to that when you start grumbling about your university papers and ask me to help you understand them," he teased.
"Uhmm– that has nothing to do with you," you rolled your eyes, not intending to mock him but to emphasize the sheer annoyance coursing through you at the thought of your coursework. "It's just that my brain ceases to function if I have to read another dull statement from some politician who kicked the bucket centuries ago and contributed nothing positive to society."
Thranduil chuckled and gently lifted your hands, placing another kiss on your knuckles. "I adore it when you're resolute about highlighting all their wrongdoings instead of doing what's required of you," his lips brushed against your skin, setting ablaze the areas he touched. "My firecracker."
You grinned and gave a playful tug on his hand. "Come on, then, enlighten me with the story behind this building."
Thranduil then began fulfilling your ask and since you had a few moments before you had to enter, he pulled you along the walls.
Whenever he talked about some fascinating architectural features ("There are multiple styles but the ones standing out the most are these elements of the Renaissance, Baroque and Neoclassical"), his long fingers pointed towards them, using statues to explain his statements.
You walked along the front façade until you could peek around the corner and he showed you one of the two pavilions- the other one was on the right side of the building, another mathematical symmetric design choice ("Which points to the architect's inspiration by the renaissance").
After that, you turned around again to walk towards the main entrance, where, feeding into your nervousness, a larger crowd had formed a line. Thranduil's hand in yours gripped you tighter as you approached those fashionable men and women who, in your mind, must have seen right through the smile you now wore more so as a mask than out of pure joy.
Despite all the dates planned leading up to this, starting with coffee dates turning into evening dinner outings at restaurants that you felt comfortable with until you let Thranduil choose some that he wanted to take you, you felt like a fish out of water.
Yes, Legolas had helped you select clothes that fitted the occasion, ones you already had because Thranduil would disapprove of you buying an outfit that served as a costume rather than what you felt comfortable with, but right now, staring at the elegant hats and lavish dresses, nothing seemed like the right choice.
Thranduil must have noticed that you grew quieter, answering what became a monologue rather than dialogue, with nods and "Hmms". He didn't say anything out loud, nor did he stop talking, probably relying on the whispered reassurance that you had given him one evening when he had fallen into a monologue such as this one, raving on about a book he had read when you'd admitted how much it calmed you to hear him speak.
You let him tug you under his arm, resting your cheek against his side while you slowly shuffled forward in the line.
Coming closer to the double doors opened wide enough to let golden light fall out into the night and bathe those entering into its nearly godlike shimmer, the storm inside you ebbed into a breeze, scarcely shuffling through some thoughts that your mind couldn't let go just yet.
Considering what you have gone through, this date shouldn't scare you. This was Thranduil beside you, the man who held your heart carefully in the palm of his hand as much as his arm secured you right now, he would make sure that this night would play out like you wanted.
"When we enter you will see–"
You interrupted Thranduil with a gentle nudge of your head against his chest. The smile that now graced your mouth was soft and real again, something Thranduil immediately caught onto.
"Thank you," you said without further explanation; it wasn't needed.
"You are welcome, my dear," Thranduil leaned down again, hovering over your lips as his eyes took you in as if to make sure to imprint your smile into his memory, before closing the gap between you.
There was no hesitation in the way he kissed you, his lips parted as soon as you lifted your chin higher to meet him and a barely audible but deep and sensual hum spilled into your mouth. One of his gloved hands cupped your cheek to angle your head and his thump stroked over your jaw. It fell open with the slight pressure performed from the finger, inviting him in to deepen the kiss.
Only the clearing of a throat behind you reminded you that you were for one in public, close to making out like teenagers, and second standing in line.
While you pulled away from Thranduil, your head flushed beet red, and muttering: "Sorry, I'm so sorry, yes, sorry, we will move", Thranduil looked awfully pleased with himself as he lifted his hand to wipe away some lipstick that had stained the corner of his mouth.
He shot you a wink as your eyes flittered over the deliberately slow movement of his thumb and you rolled your eyes, cheeks flaming hot.
You rushed to close the gap that had formed while you and Thranduil had been all over each other, giving the woman and her grinning husband another apologetic nod and smile. You pulled on the red scarf that Thranduil wore around his neck.
"You're impossible," you murmured, casting him a scornful glance, then burying your face in a cold hand, "Oh God, how embarrassing"
Thranduil's chuckle at your attempt to hide your heated cheeks and probably reddened lips only showed you how little he regretted the kiss.
"Darling," he began, still grinning widely and clearly proud of his talent for unraveling you in public like that, "If it bothers you too much, I'll restrain myself. However," – he leaned in, whispering the next words in your ear – "look how everyone looks at us. They envy me for standing beside you, for not having the most exquisite person in one of their arms."
You raised your head just in time to see a young man a few meters in front of you hastily jerk away and, promptly, dropped his ticket. When he stood up again after fishing for the paper on the ground, he looked back at you, then at Thranduil and oh, there really was something like envy in his eyes.
And because Thranduil was Thranduil, a cocky asshole at times, he smiled at the boy while his arm dropped to your waist provocatively.
You only rolled your eyes, yet this public display of affection and possessiveness had your heart flutter in your chest.
Heart pounding through your rib cage, his large hand holding you to him, you muttered something through your teeth.
Thranduil raised one eyebrow interested. "Could you maybe repeat that, I did not understand what you said."
"I said," you took a deep breath, huffing out air that dissolved into a white cloud, "–that I do not mind the kisses."
A grin filled with satisfaction spread across Thranduil's face at that, dimples carved out into porcelain skin. The hand on your waist held on tighter and it took a simple tug of him for your body to turn into his again, a simple twitch of his lips for you to kiss him.
This time though, you made sure to have it last no longer than a quick peck as the line moved and just when you separated, the crowd in front of you cleared.
"Good evening, Mister Oropherion! I haven't seen you in a while," a young woman greeted Thranduil, and overcome with shock you stared at your partner.
"Good to see you again, Sigrid", Thranduil winked at you, mouthing a "Later" when he noticed your bewilderment. Delving into the depths of his black coat, he retrieved a golden card – the Opera's emblem gleaming in the lantern light – as Sigrid waved her hand.
"Ohh, you know I don't need to check your card, Sir!"
Thranduil laughed and the card disappeared in the pocket of his coat again. "I know, I know. I also know that your boss wouldn't like you skipping formalities just because it is me" – his mouth curved into a smirk, "ah and I have someone to impress tonight"
Sigrid leaned forward, a hand next to her mouth, to faux a whisper: "He may seem like an arrogant ass, but I can tell you– he is secretly a softie"
"What?" you faked a gasp, turning to look up at Thranduil who, to your surprise, blushed…blushed!
He playfully swatted your hips and shot Sigrid a warning look: "What have I ever done to you that you must embarrass me in front of the lady?" He sighed, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him, "Was it the time that I thought Legolas invited you over to…what did you call it, my love?" as if in deep thought, Thranduil lifted a hand to scratch his perfect chin, "Netflix and chill?"
"Oh my god–"
"Thranduil!" you cried, laughter bubbling up your throat before you could stop it. Out of pure condolence for the girl, you started shoving him into the entrance hall, away from the girl whose face turned beetred as she fumbled to stamp the tickets of the next couple.
"It was nice to meet you!" you huffed out, wrangling with the tall body of Thranduil who was snickering to himself, making it not easier for you to handle him.
"We should chat some other time! Legolas, some boys and I have a movie night once every while, you could join"
The invitation was clearly not enough to help the poor woman, Thranduils high-pitched laughter (so unusual for his usually deep and honeyed voice, that pure sound of his laughter) would probably haunt her for the rest of the evening given the look on her face.
However, she nodded frantically. "Sure, I will have Legolas send you my number," then she smiled, "Have fun tonight! You as well, Sir!"
"I'm sure we will," you called back and there was a phrase like "If you could behave the rest of the night" on your tongue, at the sight of the entrance hall however, it slipped away.
The hand that you had used to direct Thranduil fell and he used the opportunity where your mind stopped working, to take it back into his. If you weren't so busy staring at the interior of the Opera House you would have teased him for being so touchy tonight, yet there was nothing leaving your lips of that sort.
"Wow," you breathed out.
The red carpet you stopped on trailed further into the hall, ending shortly before a large ceremonial staircase of white marble with a balustrade of red and dark blue marble, which divided into two divergent flights of stairs leading to the second floor which overlooked the foyer through wide open curved outward balconies. Golden candleholders with what must have been hundreds of candles decorated the columns, lulling you into a trance with the flicker of their flames.
A finger trailed over your temple, sliding down behind your ear and your neck, and it came to rest with the rest of the hand on your shoulder. "For years I have gone in and out of these halls, impressed by their beauty. Now, with you standing right here, all the gold pales." Thranduil's words sent a shiver up your spine and you tilted your head to stare at the ceiling.
"There is no need for flattery," you said, wide eyes wandering over the balconies on which women leaned onto the balustrades with sparkling glasses of wine, to the grand staircase where the crowd trailed upward without a hurry, "You already have this girl speechless."
Thranduil's lips delicately brushed against the shell of your ear, as his hands leisurely traced the contours of your side.
"What a shame, though I would hope you will find your voice again," his voice bore semblance to a velvety purr, "–for I am genuinely interested in garnering your perspective on the private balcony, affording an impeccable view of the orchestra, that I had readied for us."
As your head swiftly turned to fixate on him, his rosy lips formed, in a manner not surprising anyone, that typical smirk that left you marveling at the intriguing resilience you had maintained in resisting its captivating allure. Every time you saw it, especially now with his icy blue eyes waiting, provoking a response, you were contemplating how you had never fainted at the sight of it before.
And the worst part was, that he knew what he could do to you with one single smirk, or just, and it was embarrassing to admit but you couldn't help but fall for it every time, one strategically raise of an eyebrow.
No matter how bewitching his smirk was, however, you were much more hooked by what he said.
The questions toppled over themselves in your head, a "WHAT?" knocked down a "You are kidding, right?" and then there were the big "Why?!" and "How?" that you were hung on.
Most of these questions resolved themselves; there was no need to reiterate what had already been sufficiently explained. Thranduil was undeniably wealthy, almost absurdly so in his own estimation.
This fact had been glaringly apparent from the outset when you only knew him as Legolas' father, the owner of a law firm that represented politicians and celebrities, often requiring him to work late. He indulged in whiskey from opulent bottles and drove the most extravagant car you had ever sat in. The first time you visited Legolas at their home, a gathering of Thranduil's colleagues celebrated his ascension to CEO, filling the mansion with the strains of piano music and the gentle clinking of delicate crystal glass flutes.
If it hadn't been clear, Thranduil's habit of spending a lot of money with and for you (whether it was in the form of gifts such as books, a new coffee machine for your dorm, or simply the dates he took you on) was explanation enough.
The man had been greeted by name at the entrance and like a few people, all dressed in fine clothes like him, he didn't have a ticket, he had a member card.
So you swallowed your questions, took the arm he offered you and let yourself be led through the beautiful and tall halls of the opera.
Why not savor both this gift and the delightful company of the man you've fallen for?
If it wasn't obvious that Thranduil was showing off a bit, come on, he had kissed you right in the middle of the grand staircase and grinned at every man staring at you on your way, it became more than clear when you walked down the hallway to the private rooms. Another boy in uniform opened a door as soon as he saw Thranduil walk up to him, greeting him by name just like Sigrid did.
Behind the door, you let out the quietest "Holy shit" afraid that the swear would taint whatever holy atmosphere vibrated around you.
The air was filled with the low murmur of people talking, shuffling towards their seats and you, you looked down on all of them.
Literally.
Beneath you a sea of stools stretched onward, a moving mass of hats and pinned-up hair.
You took a careful step forward, coming up to the balustrade, you laid your hands on the red velvet that cushioned the balcony.
Just like the other balconies on your left and right, beautiful wooden panels were creating an archway under which you stood, with roses and delicate swirls painted golden.
You had a clear view of the stage, up on the fourth floor as you quickly counted in your head. The stage was covered by maroon curtains that draped over each other instead of just framing the sides and ended in gold ornaments at the seams.
The dome, which you had seen from the outside, was hidden behind a slightly curved ceiling, the only telling of what rose into the sky behind it. Nevertheless, the ceiling was a view all of its own.
A piece of art.
Up there, a dark sky had been painted, sprinkled with tiny golden dots of stars and hanging perfectly centered not just to the painting but to the whole room, hung an enormous chandelier, dripping with crystals that reflected the light of the lamps, honey golden liquid broken down into a thousand shards and bathing everything in a spectacle of imitations of stars.
Thranduil stepped up behind you again. He slung his arms around you, pressing his front against your back to rest his chin on your shoulder. Silver hair fell over you as he nuzzled your temple with his nose, brushing and tickling the sensitive skin of your neckline.
Slowly he took on to unbutton your coat, his nimble fingers pushing one button after the other through the holes.
"Is this the time to tell you that I practically own this balcony?" his voice rolled over your body, words spoken close enough that you felt his lips form them.
"Yeah," you breathed out "I figured."
"And do you know what that means?" he asked while opening the last button.
You shook your head slightly so as not to knock him away.
"It means," he unfolded himself from you to pull away your coat. You turned and watched as he hung it next to his own, it looked small in his large hands. Your fingers dug deep into the velvet behind you, eyes locked with his. "It means we can come here whenever we want as well as leave whenever we want"
It wasn't what you had expected to hear, yet you let out another deep breath, basking in the residue of tension and heat that had lapped at you both and transformed into something softer, much more meaningful than desire.
"You are the most fascinating man I have ever met," you mused, tilting your head to look at him. Thranduil was dressed up in smart black (and snug) pants and his white blouse wore a stark resemblance to the one a character you had gushed over in a movie had worn.
That he had maybe chosen the article for that exact reason made your heart flutter in your chest.
He sauntered closer to you again, hands clipped together in his back and when he leaned against one of the two chairs, the only furniture except for a small table, it was nothing but graceful. He regarded you through hooded eyes, an expression in them that was so full of infatuation it should be too much for a relationship this young, this fresh but you had been ready to plunge into this deep and far ever since you had met him.
"I promise this is just to impress you," Thranduil smiled, and lifted one corner of his mouth higher than the other and it made him look almost shy.
"Mhmm," you hummed, stepping closer to him and when you reached out to cup his cheek, he leaned into it. His eyes bore into yours, the ice-cold blue melting every bone in your body into a puddle. "I think," you whispered and looked from one eye to the other, "you don't need anything to impress me except for yourself." Raising to your tiptoes, you smiled against his mouth "Thank you, Thranduil. This is the best gift anyone has ever given to me"
As you looked up at him through hooded eyes, his gaze became soft. His lips met yours in a gentle but playful kiss, one where he nipped at your lower lip and throat and did that low purr of satisfaction. It made your head swim in the best way possible, let all thoughts come to rest.
When the lights dimmed a short while later, you found yourself cuddled against Thranduil's side, his arm around as natural as everything had become between you.
The music swelled- the tunes of a piano mixing with the violins and cellos, increasing into the playful introduction that you had come to listen to whenever Thranduil drove you anywhere.
You allowed your glance to flee from the orchestra to Thranduil, watching his side profile next to you.
"I am so lucky," you whispered. It should have been spoken far too quietly to be heard in a room that was filled with a dozen instruments orchestrating the most gorgeous music.
Thranduil however, turned his head as soon as you said the words.
"You say you are the lucky one yet here I sit, unable to believe you are truly with me," he said and reached out to trace a finger over your temple down to your cheek. "There are so many things I would like to tell you, my darling"
You watched him, silently inquiring him to continue.
He sighed and the corner of his eyes crinkled in soft delight. "It's just– I feel so much more ever since you came into my life and while it's close to overwhelming– well, and I do mean that truthfully and wholeheartedly positive, it made me realize how much more enjoyable life is when I can share it with someone I l–like"
"That doesn't sound like something that's 'just' anything," your wavering voice betrayed how collected you wanted to sound. Feelings as hard as the waves during a storm crashed inside you, lapping up your throat trying to break out of where you dammed them away to.
"No," Thranduil shook his head "No, I dare say it's not just anything. It seems to be everything. You, you wonderful girl, you are everything"
Your breath hitched, caught in the mix of emotions in your throat. Fingers carefully lifted to intertwine your hands, coming together in your lap. He waited, you figured, he waited for you. He always waited for you. The music faded into the background as you reached for him.
Reaching and waiting, daring and yearning, teasing and loving.
He was the fine threat that pulled on your heart, tugging on it in the same rhythm as it beat inside your chest.
"Thranduil?" you fiddled with his fingers, tugging on them to have an outlet for everything rushing through you, leaving you restless with the want to scream your feelings into the world.
"Yes?" He sounded hoarse, unusually so, and it urged you on further.
"The moment I met you I knew you would take my heart and whisk it away." Grappling with the challenge of expressing just how much of an impact he had on you, you thought back to every big movie scene, every lovesong that you finally understood the lyrics to.
All of them felt bland in contrast to the cocktail of feelings that he evoked in you, the emotions that came from loving this man.
However, he beat you to it, articulating what had occupied your contemplation.
"I love you," Thranduil's voice resonated, gaining a steady cadence. "I love you. I realize it might be soon, and time lies ahead of us, but I wish to spend every moment with you, fully aware of the depth of my feelings."
A violin's sigh, a cello's resonance, a gasp.
"I love you too, Thranduil. So much."
Thranduil inclined his head, a golden aura enveloping his silver-blonde locks that cascaded around you like the rich, heavy red curtains.
At that moment, he resembled the Swan, exuding grace and elegance. His long, fair eyelashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones, and as he leaned in to kiss you, a profound sense of being utterly cherished and loved enveloped you, much like the crescendo of the music all around.
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taglist [closed]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris @finallyforgotten , @123forgottherest @tomhockstetter7-111 @marshymallo @emily-roberts @howlerwolfmax @tigereyesf @seththetinydemon
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yourlocaltrashpandaa · 2 years ago
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living together ~ monkey trio
{macaque, sun wukong, & mk x fem!reader}
++============++
Macaque
macaque started living at your place after the defeat of LBD and it was a weird adjustment for him
he’s not the type for a more domestic life but he loved you and didn’t want to leave you alone all the time
you were happy to have him there but you could tell he was struggling with the adjustment
mostly all the sounds, it irritated his ears
you do live in the city after all and you’re used to the sounds.
to help you got him a pair of noise-canceling headphones
you rarely see macaque without them which you don’t mind
the two of you exchanged small notes to each other
macaque finds it cute especially when you drawing things on the notes
you got blue and purple sticky notes for this
you like things that are color coded, it was one the charms that macaque liked about you
the first couple of days you spent together, macaque won’t sleep in the same bed with you
not that you minded, you loved macaque and respected his space since he’s rarely touchy with you mostly bc he’s not much of fan but also abandonment issues
but one night, you felt him slip into the bed from behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried in your neck and his tail was curled around one of your ankles.
he likes your warmth and after that night, he’s gotten clingy with you
clingy to the point where he’s protective, like very protective
you’ve heard him hiss at people before
you started to think that your monkey boyfriend was half-cat
he loves your touch, you’ve heard him purr sometimes when you pet him when the two of you chill on the couch
you love have your emo monkey boyfriend in your home
Sun Wukong
after a lot begging from wukong, you finally gave in and moved in with him on Flower Fruit Mountain
he was a happy monkie and hugged you as soon as you showed up
“Peaches! You made it!”
“Hi, Wukong.”
wukong’s little monkeys were just as happy to see you as your monkey boyfriend
They took turns hugging you 😭
though you had your gripes with living on Flower Fruit Mountain, you found that it was quite peaceful living far away from the crowd city
wukong knew the stress you’ve experienced while living there so he thought if you lived with him you’d be able to get a sense of peace
you really took on a housewife persona which wukong was surprised by
he wanted to you to relax and let him do everything
yet you said otherwise
you like the idea taking care of household stuff also you want to make this monkey your husband
wukong didn’t stop you from doing what you wanted
when you cook, he’d stand behind you with his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as his tail wagged behind him
“Thanks for everything, Peaches.”
he’s very flirty and rolls out compliments every so often and you don’t mind, they sometimes make you flustered but you’re so used to wukong’s antics they don’t effect you as much so you flirt back sometimes
It catches him off guard sometimes
sleeping in the same bed was easy for the two of you with you liking to cuddle and wukong being clingy
“I love you, sunshine”
“I love you too, monkey face.”
MK
you and mk have talked about who would move into who’s place
But neither of you could come to an agreement on it
Look you wanted to live with mk yet his apartment seemed too small for the two you yet you lived on the other side of the city, yet your apartment was bigger than mk’s it was a bit inconvenient
After days of rating the pros and cons, the two of you settled on you moving in with mk
pigsy and mk helped you move most of your stuff to mk’s apartment (mostly clothes and other things like that) and your hamster
mk was happy to have you with him
He likes seeing you after a long day, sometimes he even forgets that you live there
an exhausted mk would sometimes stumble through the door, seeing you either on the couch or sitting on the bed in the bedroom, he’d flop down in your lap and rant about his day while you listened as you ran your fingers through his hair
you cook most of the time
you’ve been teaching him how to cook, yes he has blown up the kitchen before
mk did get embarrassed when said you’d like to sleep in the same bad as him
mk.exe has stopped working
you laughed at his reaction, and told him that he didn’t have to agree with it if he didn’t want to
he shook his head rapidly and said he doesn’t mind
he was really tense next to you until the both of you fell asleep and woke up almost on top of each other
you moving in with him was the best thing that happened to mk
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wakasaz · 8 months ago
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Becoming Wakasa’s yakuza wife (。♥‿♥。) Gosh I just know he enjoys spoiling you in every way. Especially on your honeymoon night (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
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Ღ Pairing: Wakasa Imaushi x fem!reader
Ღ cw: [n]sfw, 18+, mdni
Ღ an: not proof read
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Ღ The wedding was small and intimate. You wore a white dress and Wakasa wore a black suit with a purple tie. The same color as his eyes.
Ღ Wakasa looked at you with nothing but love in his eyes. He thought you were the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on. He couldn’t believe you were finally going to be his wife.
Ღ When he proposed he had taken you back to the first place you two had met. He spent months trying to find the perfect ring but decided to just have one custom made for you as nothing he was seeing in stores was good enough. You always said how much you loved his eyes so the ring is a perfect match to his eye color.
Ღ You cried when you turned around and saw him down on one knee. You didn’t even look at the ring, throwing yourself at him and saying yes over and over as tears ran down your face.
Ღ You and Wakasa exchanged vows that you each wrote. He told you about how much he loved you since the day you met and that he knew you would be the one. You told him he was your best friend and how you love him more than anything and you couldn’t wait to be his wife.
Ღ After exchanging vows and I do’s he pulled you into a heated hiss dipping you in the process. His tongue swiped your bottom lip and you opened your mouth for him. Your fingers found his hair pulling on the multicolor strands causing him to moan into you.
Ღ You and Wakasa couldn’t keep your hands off each other at the reception soon deciding to sneak away while your friends danced.
Ღ Wakasa carried you into the hotel room. Kicking the door shut with his foot. His lips were on you the whole time. Kiss and nipping anywhere he could reach. He sat you on the bed gently before loosening his tie. His lips found yours in a heated kiss and he crawled on top of you deepening the kiss. His hand found the end of your dress sliding up to your panties feeling your wetness. You moaned into him as he started stroking you through the fabric.
Ღ After teasing you for a few minutes he pulls away bringing you with him. His hand finds the zipper on your dress slowly undoing it. Your dress lays at your feet. Wakasa groans seeing you didn’t wear a bra then his lips are on you. He takes one of your buds into his mouth kissing and licking until it hardens. After teasing the right side he switches to the left before kissing down your stomach as he drops to his knees. “I need to taste you” He says against you. He licks up the center of your panties and eats you through them, teasing you. You whine telling him to take them off and he chuckles against you.
Ღ He stands staking his tie off and placing it over your eyes tying it in the back as he guides you to lay on the bed. You go to kick off your heels but he stops you. “They stay on” he mumbles against your lips. All you have on is your panties, garter, and heels. He kisses and licks down your body till he reaches your center. He slowly pulls your white panties off, being careful not to move the garter. He put them in his pocket.
Ღ His is biting your thighs, giving attention everywhere except where you crave him most. He laughs when you impatiently whine and wiggle trying to get it to move. He kisses down your leg until he is at your center where he splits you with his tongue, teasing, licking, and sucking. He eats you like a man starved. His finger finds your center, curling at just right spot before adding a second. Your moaning and crying out his name. You want to take the tie off so you can see him but every time your hand goes to it he smacks it away telling you it stays on. Your hands find his hair where you pull trying to ground yourself. You feel like your release is coming. Wakasa always did know exactly what to do with his tongue. You blame his oral fixation, you swear he has.
Ღ Another flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers and you are releasing all over his face, Screaming his name as you find your bliss. Wakasa swears you taste devine. The best thing he has ever had in his mouth. He continues to lick, overstimulating you. You yank his hair pulling him up to you. His lips are on you in seconds. You can taste yourself on his tongue moaning into the kiss.
Ღ Wakasa strips before he is on you again, entering you slowly. You both moan at the feeling. Your pussy always did squeeze his cock just right. He starts out moving slow so you can adjust before picking up the pace. He is squeezing any skin he can find with his hands, having to be touching you at all times. Your nails scratch down his back pulling a hiss from him.
Ღ It’s not long before you both find your release at the same time, Wakasa filling you up just to pull away and watch it drip from your center. You whine at the loss of contact. He chuckles, removing the tie from your eyes, kissing your lips before flipping you on to your stomach.
Ღ “We’re not even close to done yet, baby.” Yeah, it's going to be a long night.
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messyhairedhazeleyeddude · 11 months ago
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Detriment | Jujutsu Kaisen
A Yuji Itadori / Sukuna x Fem!Reader | ANGST + SMUT
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Contents ; Angst, violence, sadism, slight non-con, gore details, voyeurism, and humiliation.
Dynamic ; Soft Dom!Itadori | Hard Dom!Sukuna | Sub!Fem!Reader
P.O.V ; Third
Pronouns used ; She/Her
Age Range ; 18+ | College Years
(Wow! What a great way to start this off, huh? Don’t be nervous. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Grab some snacks if you want and curl up into whatever blanket you got. Listen to some music too, here’s something I recommend as always.)
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━ ━°⌜ 始まり ⌟°━ ━ | Translation : The Beginning |
Sorcerors barely have time for love. That was agreed upon everyone who lived in the profession. No one among Jujutsu High could go for a relationship grander than a simple fling or a couple of flirtatious exchanges with someone outside the school.
If they did marry eventually, the couple wouldn’t go without a very rocky path ahead of them. Either one would die in battle and the other would follow suit in depression or it would turn for the worse in causing the pair to resent each other. Barely anything in between.
Succession only came with retiring from sorcery which rarely happened. It was too dangerous to leave the life behind. And for Yuji Itadori, he was trapped there until his life ended. So, with all of that that in mind, why was she on a date?
He was staring at the girl he had a crush on for almost the entire semester leaning her head on the shoulder of Toge Inumaki, sleeping soundly as he patted her. Grief writhed itself in his expression and a couple of tears began to brim the corners of his eyes.
The defeated boy turned around from the sight and laid his forehead on both of his arms, trying to wipe away his heartbreak. While both of his peers, Nobara and Megumi tried their best to rush over to him to spout nonsensical comfort. He was just running away from them not too long ago. The two were acting weird and awkward, hushing things to each other.
When he found out that it was about (Y/N) from the small whisper of her name, he bugged them over and over to let him in on the gossip. Eventually, he gave up and went to find out for himself. He wished he never heard a single murmur now.
Before Itadori knew it, he was full blown sobbing against the brick staircase. He knew he shouldn’t feel this terrible about something that was destined to never happen in the first place. Although, that didn’t change anything on what he felt. Even as both of his classmates watched him have the breakdown. Nothing stopped the rage from coming to him.
Hyperventilating, Yuji stood back onto both feet, mumbling to himself while his reality was shifting into different colors. Something was wrong. He noticed what he was feeling instantly. But, that couldn’t be right. Sukuna had no reason to come out. Why would he waste his time on this?
The loss of control on his emotions gave him a huge disadvantage when trying to hold back the king of curses. It felt like his limbs were being crushed as he fought him. Worst thing about it wasn’t the pain though, it was the fact he could hear him.
“You’re really going to let a man that can’t even speak get her like that, huh?” Sukuna bellowed out in his head, “How pathetic!” So that was it. He was here to taunt him.
If Itadori could, he would beat into his skull all of the anger that was running through his veins currently. But, he was no match for him. He understood that as soon as his body felt numb and all he could do was watch him take over. Once again.
A smirk appeared over the huge frown that was there a second ago, markings appearing and disappearing to signify who was truly present. Both Megumi and Nobara jumped back with their bodies positioned in a fighting stance, bringing out their closest weapons to point them at Sukuna.
They both had a terrified look to their eyes, focused on keeping a safe distance, and guarded for anything that he tried. Although, they also knew that it wouldn’t do to stop him and they’d probably die any minute.
Sweat dripped down from Megumi’s forehead as he shouted at the evil curse, “Sukuna! Return Itadori or else!” He summoned his demon dogs who immediately went to lowering themselves and approaching him slowly. A part of him was worried it was the end already, but he could tell that Sukuna still didn’t have his full potential. He was weak.
Nobara wanted to add in her own demands too, “We aren’t afraid to pummel ourselves into the ground with you until you do.” Even though it was shaky, she held up three nails in each of her fingers, auras of cursed energy embedded in every single one. Her eyes gave off a bit of a crazier look while she grinned back at him.
It was right there that the demon himself clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth several times at them, “Tch, tch, tch…” The red flared in his orbs while his sharp teeth brimmed his bottom lip, letting them soak in his frightening presence.
As much as he wanted to kill them, Itadori was fighting hard on the inside, and he didn’t have enough time before Satoru would show up. That meeting had to wait. So, he decided he would ‘clear the air’ and that was through forcefully grabbing Nobara by the neck; lifting her up while disabling her nails and hammer by using his ability, ‘Dismantle’.
He dug his fingernails into her neck, causing her to grab at his wrist, struggling to breath. Megumi unleashed the demon dogs, the shikigami’s rushing to his legs and opening their jaws to bite. But they didn’t get to latch their teeth in as they were cut into a million pieces in an instant.
Closing his eyes, Sukuna took in a deep inhale and sighed out in satisfaction, “I can smell her. That raw power. No wonder this kid is drawn.” His smirk widened and he cracked his neck, throwing Nobara to the side, and causing her to slide on the concrete before hitting her back on a stone wall.
Megumi yelled out her name, rushing over to her side while Sukuna began walking towards the direction of (Y/N), his hands shoving themselves into his pockets. He continued, “I’m here to give him a hand… And take something that was meant to be mine.” The excitement in his voice never wavered. It increased.
All at once, Megumi threw the rest of his shikigami’s toward him, but none were able to get past his attacks. Every time, they were slashed into tiny pieces and a puddle of blood and guts. The black-haired boy fell to his knees next to Nobara, picking her up in his arms and checking to see if she was okay.
Nothing else stopped him from approaching the girl anymore. Instead, he got to her. Inumaki tried to say something before he could reach them, but it was too late because by the time he opened his mouth, Sukuna opened his domain.
“Domain Expansion. Malevolent Shrine.”
Everything was shrouded in black. Then the piles of bones surrounded him, leaving him on top of the throne of the fossils left behind from his victims, sitting like he was a king. He was, in terms.
(Y/N) stared up at Sukuna with terror in her expression, stumbling backwards until she fell onto her knees. “No… No… What’s going on?” she looked down at her palms shaking, her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to level herself.
That didn’t work. She was left freaking out. Who wouldn’t be? This was guaranteed death. She was facing her end. And it was all because she was too weak. There was no way she would come out of this. She was facing the top of the food chain in regards to power. But, why?
“You have something of mine,” as if answering her question, he declared that out loud. His fingers pressing into the side of his forehead as he observed her with amusement. The robes he was wearing shifted when he began to stand, scaling down the mountain using all the skulls as stairs.
(Y/N) knew what he was talking about once he said it, putting her right hand over her left to cover the finger she kept. They had stitched it onto her body a long time ago. It was cruel attempt at keeping it safe. But, it worked. Until now.
He chuckled, “You can’t seriously be wanting to keep that thing on you forever, (Y/N)?” Using the last bits of bones to dismount off of the pile onto the ground. He was leveled with her. Sukuna was in front of her.
She heard of him millions of times, especially since she was the keeper of one of his fingers, but she always liked to think of it as some stupid horror story. Forgetting how real it was made this ten times harder for her to swallow. It was worse when she became friends with Itadori considering how sweet he was. The growing crush on him was beyond terrifying. Exactly for this reason. Wait, what was the reason for him being here?
He knelt down, gripping her chin with two fingers, his sharp nails poking underneath her jaw while tilting her head to make her look him in the eyes. Glaring down at her with that same crooked smile, he muttered out a question, “You like having my power, hm?”
The panicking girl didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t have one, really. It was a yes, possibly. But, at the same time, she knew who it came from. And seeing him here didn’t convince her to want it anymore. He couldn’t have it though. No way in hell was she going to hand it over.
Sukuna seemed to pick up on this because he started to gradually laugh louder and louder, his eyes widening along with the the second pair on his cheeks. (Y/N) watched him, paralyzed out of fear, and shook when he cackled out, “You know what?! I’m feeling in a generous mood today! Itadori, you watching this?”
It looked like he was shouting at no one. But, she knew that the original boy that she was friends with was witnessing everything and that made her sick to her stomach. Sick at what this monster could do to him.
Then without hesitation, as if he got his answer, her hand was raised into the air and she wasn’t able to pull it away. Sukuna bit off the entire tip of the finger that was already connected to her nerves, making her scream at the top of her lungs, and writhe in agony.
He swallowed the chunk and slammed a palm onto her head, pushing her down into the concrete of his domain as it felt like knives sliced across her thighs and arms. “What were you doing with Inumaki?” his voiced lowered while asking.
That was confusing more than anything to hear. Why would he ask that? Why was he concerned about that? So many questions flew through her head but she had to respond, his impatience was obviously short from how hard he was gripping her. She choked on her sentence, managing to piece it together, “He was teaching me how to control cursed energy better. I passed out from trying too hard…”
A hum vibrated out of his throat, his hand no longer crushing her head in while he laughed manically for another moment. “Ohoho, that’s gotta be the best thing I’ve heard all my years alive! And to think, the kid was so worried about you, he was breaking his own soul!”
Whatever Sukuna was talking about, it was hard for her to understand. Hell, she couldn’t make sense of it even after he had that fit with himself. Instead, she was left to deal with the confusion as the cursed man moved forward with what else he had planned.
Each piece of her clothing was cut off of her, shredded onto the floor, and leaving (Y/N) naked. She couldn’t even feel it happening. It was the cold that made her get what he was doing.
But, there was nothing for her to attempt. She would die if she refused. And what he said, it was right. He was feeling in a good mood if this is what he was deciding to do to her. She’s heard of the torture he’s committed, the massacres, what he was doing was simply nothing compared to the rest. And Itadori. If he was witnessing her being raped and it was by his body, it would be horrible for him after it’s over.
(Y/N) had to save Yuji. So, as Sukuna dug his nails into her hips and stripped his robes off, she let out one last request, “Can it please be Itadori first if you’re going to do this? Please…” He stopped what he was doing automatically.
The King of Curses ended up thinking about it despite the brutal urge he had to destroy them mentally, hearing the shocked voice of the trapped boy wondering what she just suggested.
He had to admit. It was amusing to see the guy in such a state. Snickering, he obliged and said his last words before letting him take back control, “For now, I will. This comes with a price. I hope you know that, (Y/N)”
Itadori gasped when he slipped back into his own body, looking down at her and coming face-to-face with his naked crush’s back. A huge blush swept across his cheeks and he stuttered in surprise and panic, “He let me? H-He hurt… He killed Megumi’s shikigami’s… He.. did this to you.. I did this. I let him. I wasn’t-“
Before he could spiral further, she reached up to him and turned to face toward his chest, pressing her lips on his. He needed to stop thinking if he was going to succeed. She couldn’t afford much more time with him, they were on a limit.
Her legs wrapped around his waist and she parted from him to encourage, “Do it. Just fuck me, Itadori. Don’t think about anything. I want you to be the one, not him.” That was enough for him to listen.
Positioning himself awkwardly, he pressed against her folds to prepare her and himself. There was so much to worry about and so much for him to do. But, here he was, having sex with the one girl he’d been fantasizing about for weeks. Yeah, it was great having her like this. What about Inumaki? Everyone? What could he do?
Itadori finally got to pushing himself inside, his pupils wide, and his jaw hanging open as he panted out a couple of noises. It was the best feeling he’s ever had. Warm and fit perfectly around him. Just like he thought it would. But better.
He criticized himself in his thoughts, ‘You shouldn’t be enjoying this.’ He tried to put himself down over and over. But, it was ignored by a thrust. And then another. And another. Until he was at a pace that made both of them stuck in the act. Her hands wrapped around his neck, matching her legs as she gave up.
Her body felt like it was going limp, loosely hanging on as her (E/C) eyes were looking up at him in a daze. The aggression in him instinctively increased and before he processed what he was doing, he was pouring every emotion he had into ramming her. She stuttered out moans from the impact each time, her nails finding themselves latching into his back, and clawing down slowly; blood trailing right behind.
There was twinges of pain because of how careless he was becoming and that rage seemed to only be getting worse. She summed it up to him venting out what he could considering they were both in an impossible situation. But, when he leaned forward to the crook of her neck, she heard the rasp of the voice she was dreading to hear, “Time’s up.”
Once they switched, (Y/N) noticed the difference immediately between the two of them. His hand shot to her neck and he dragged his black nails against it, teasing her by softly squeezing at first. Even though that squeeze was still tight enough to make her choke.
Sukuna used his teeth to rip into her shoulder, biting deep into her skin until blood was rushing down the crevices of her chest. She let out a piercing scream that started to crack underneath the pressure of his palm.
He was ruthless. There was no time to adjust to the strength he exerted, only time to cry. She couldn’t see what he was doing to her, but she felt it. And it was so intense that her legs went numb. The sounds of his hips colliding with hers was a loud and sharp slap. Red marks were left on the inner corners of her thighs and exactly where he was aiming all of his force.
When he pulled away from attacking her left side, half of it was covered in a sea of red, all from the amount of times he had sunk his canines in. Pleasure tried to ease the ache for you, it never succeeded because of his cruel treatment.
Any time she moaned, another slice from his technique would cut at her body. And despite her losing so much blood, she was still awake. Hanging on by a thread. That thread being Itadori. She could see a mix of displeasure, sadness, anger, satisfaction, and pure insanity all within the red eyes that took place over his honey brown ones. She really missed that color.
Her eyes were starting to close no matter what after a couple of minutes trying to fight the response to his abuse. But, before they shut, a sound of multiple footsteps stumbling in the domain made her snap her head toward them.
Inumaki, Nobara, and Megumi were looking back at her in devastation. Her pupils shrunk, eyes went wide, and she shrieked out to them, “NO! GET OUT-“
Not even a second thought to it, (Y/N) released her technique, ‘Barrier’, and both Nobara and Inumaki were protected from Sukuna. Except for Megumi. She didn’t have enough in her. He instantly got slashed across the chest, staining his navy black uniform with red, and causing him to fall back.
Megumi Fushiguro was the first put in critical condition.
The skewered girl cried as she was picked up by her hair off of the ground and slammed onto a manifested desk of what resembled flesh. She was stuck staring at her two classmates, exposed and defiled.
Nobara shouted at the top of her lungs, “You sick evil bastard! Let go of her or I’ll shove nails into-” She couldn’t finish before she was incapacitated by his technique. The worst cut being the one on her arm, almost severing it in half and leaving her to grab at it to make sure it didn’t.
Nobara Kugisaki was the second.
(Y/N) tried to plead at Sukuna, hoping that anything she said would convince him to stop, “YOU CAN HAVE ME! NOT THEM! DON’T KILL THEM! PLEASE!”
His narrow sadistic eyes flickered from Inumaki to her back, swiping a tongue across his lips as he chuckled darkly, “What? You want me to save your little boyfriend?” By the sound of that, it was like he was jealous. But, what she was hearing wasn’t correct. She had no relationship with Inumaki and how was he jealous?
Using that, she corrected him, deciding that sparing time with conversation was the route to go, “I have no feelings for Toge… Why are you suggesting it?” Grunts spilled in the middle of her sentence but she was heard.
And he answered with a bloodthirsty grin, “Word got around. Being cuddled up next to someone in broad daylight isn’t friendly, is it?” It was hard to respond with him continuing to fuck her, especially when it was directly in front of Inumaki and Nobara. The shame she was experiencing was like no other and she could no longer look up at their faces.
So, she ended up sobbing by the time she could let it out, “That wasn’t! Anything! I just fell asleep! I JUST FELL ASLEEP!” Her cries grew louder and more desperate, the cursed speech user feeling the exact same way as he ran for them. He couldn’t just watch her die like this. He couldn’t.
Pulling down the neck cover he had, (Y/N) shook her head at the sight of Toge and panicked. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t shut her eyes and watched the white-haired boy shout out a command, “ESCAPE!”
Instantly, she was lifted from Sukuna’s grasp into the air by an invisible force, looking down in surprise at Megumi and Nobara following with. She wished she hadn’t though as she witnessed Inumaki sputtering out blood and collapsing to the ground, limp. That terrible grin never left his face as he glanced up at them being sent out of his domain, winking at (Y/N) like he was telling her, ‘See you later.’
Toge Inumaki was the last.
When everyone made it outside and onto the grass, all of the Jujutsu Sorceror’s were working on getting Sukuna under control again. Gojo being the one to relocate the students to aid while forcing his way into the domain that vanished seconds later.
She won’t ever forget the look on Itadori’s face, covered in her blood, and the disgust in his eyes the moment he locked them with hers. His hands were resting on his lap in front of him and thankfully, his clothes were back to the way they should be. But, it was like the spark in his soul faded. She understood that what Sukuna had planned, worked. From then on, they both were never going to forget what happened.
Yuji Itadori will cease all contact with (Y/N) (L/N).
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