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jen-with-a-pen · 9 months ago

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𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is.

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter– to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day.

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week.

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together.

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival.

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A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door.

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger.

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder.

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit.

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip.

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing.

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink.

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it.

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time.

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell.

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear.

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below.

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost.

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape.

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully.

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium.

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form.

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?”

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.”

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan.

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear.

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours.

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.”

You wanted to take his finger and break it.

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.”

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion.

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance.

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles.

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike.

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The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously.

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side.

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?”

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward.

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard.

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body.

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!”

“No! Fuck– Get off me!”

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.”

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone.

“Is that all, Sergeant?”

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.”

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged.

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you.

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.”

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why.

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame.

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door.

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy.

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however.

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?”

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release.

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core.

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs.

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass.

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.”

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him.

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure.

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you.

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!”

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you.

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode.

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile.

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

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magics-neptunes-things · 2 months ago

Text

Mockingjay

Hi guys!

Sorry for the wait but here is finally the first chapter for the Luna's Hunger Games :)

I don't know for now exactly how I will ends this, but if you have any suggestion please feels free to send them to me, I might take them for the next chapters.

Also a big THANK YOU to @w-owwomen for your help, you are lovely ♥

Please enjoy ♥

TW : Nothing much for now I think, please let me know if you're not ok with it.

Ona was nervous. Fidgeting with her fingers, she looks at the people on the stage as trying to switch the microphone on. She hates this moment every year, the one where they are selected : the next young people to go to the Capitol. And then, they need to fight for their life in the arena.

As she's in the oldest of the selectable population, she's in the front now. Her gaze left the people in front of her to look for her family in the crowd. Their parents aren’t far from her, standing next to her brother. Joan’s name never was raffled, their parents only needing to save one more child to be happy. And now he’s too old to be a part of the Games.

At least, that’s what people in the city say.

They also say that they won’t select a child of one of the best craftsmen of the district. But Ona isn’t stupid and she knows that it has nothing to do with that. Sighing softly, she averts her gaze again when she realizes that her mother is almost crying.

Ona distracts herself as they give their speech and video reminding them why the children must die for the Capitol. Ona hates them. It’s only when they call the name of the male tribute that she listens again.

“Tony Sanchez”

Ona knows him. He's exactly between her and Joan in age and clearly terrified as he manages to walk to the stage and face the crowd. He's more Joan's friend then hers but they'll still talk when he came to their house.

“Alright, thank you, thank you” the presenter says, stopping fake clapping. “Now, the girl!”

Ona looks at the man carrying the pot and at the presenter as she puts her hand in. She takes several seconds to mix the papers, before taking one out. Ona knows before she opens her mouth.

“Ona Batlle”

She can feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on her and it’s possibly weighs heavier on her than the fact that it’s her turn to go face her death. She remembers the first times she was standing here, holding her brother’s arm. He always managed to reassure her, whispering to her that he will take her place if it was needed. But today, he can’t. And Ona probably wouldn’t let him do it.

Ona looks at her family again when she’s up the stairs. Her ears are buzzing, making her unable to hear anything around her. Her mother’s crying, her brother placed an arm around her shoulders. And her dad might pass for impassive, but Ona can see the terror and sadness in his eyes.

After the presentations, Ona and Tony are taken to go to a room to say their goodbye to their family. Ona already knows that room for being here two years ago, saying goodbye to someone she loved. A simple look only informs her that nothing has changed since the last time she came here.

She doesn’t have time to look at it for very long though, the door opens suddenly, letting her family enter the room. She’s almost crushed in her mother’s arms, deeply sobbing. Just a shared look with her father makes her understand that they think the same things. The tributes from district 8, where she comes from, never stay alive for long in the Games. They aren’t prepared for what is happening during the fight, they don’t know how to survive.

Joan seems to think the same, too.

“Take all your classes about survival. Maybe learn to make a fire but don’t do it at night, it will attract your opponents” he says.

Ona nods. She doesn’t need to hear that, she already knows. They had watched the Hunger Games together since they are allowed by their parents.

“Don’t eat something you don’t know and if you have to eat something raw, eat fish not meat yeah?”

“Okay” she says softly, still in her mother’s arms.

She knows that too, but she has the feeling that it helps Joan to say all of this to her. Ona doesn’t want them to cry at her departure. She wants them to stick together. Her family is the thing that helps her survive and be at least a little happy these last few years.

“Are you going to watch me?” she asks anyway.

“Of course we are” her father talks for the first time. “And no matter what Ona, we are proud of you and love you more than anything.”

Her mother cries harder and despite everything, Ona can’t help but smile softly and rolls her eyes. She’s happy to mean so much for her family, but she doesn’t want them to cry.

“I love you too, all of you.” she answers, trying to have a look at her mother’s face.

Someone is suddenly knocking on the door and Ona feels her heartbeat getting faster. Is it already time to say goodbye? But no, it’s only her best friend who came to say goodbye too. She just wanted to give the Batlles’ some time alone.

Aitana takes Ona’s mother place in her arms and hug her so hard that she might break her several ribs.

“She’ll needs all of her body intact” Joan says, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Promise you’ll fight to come back” Aitana whispers in her ears.

Their eyes cross when she releases Ona and Ona only nods for an answer. Aitana doesn’t seems to need much, stepping back to let someone else have her place. Her best friend knows what Ona is thinking, their connection never having failed since they met when they were maybe six months old.

Ona loses track of time and soon her parents are talking at Aitana about something. Ona takes advantage, grabbing her brother’s arm.

“If I don’t come back, promise me you’ll take care of them. And of you.”

Her brother frowns and open his mouth to answer something, but Ona cuts him off. She knows that he probably will say not to talk like that, that she has her chances to come back and everything, but that’s not what she needs right now.

“Please.”

They look at each other, Ona’s brown eyes deep in her brother’s blue ones. He finally sighs, putting a hand on her arm.

“I swear. But you have to swear back that you will fight for your life, Ona. You are clever enough to survive. You might not have the strength of a bulldozer, but you are smart, quick and tricky”

“I swear too” Ona answers calmly.

They look at each other for several seconds before Joan nods and takes his little sister in his arms. He wants to say that he’s sorry not to be able to protect her anymore, but he knows that she doesn’t need to hear it to know it.

********

One and a half hours later, she’s in the train taking her to the Capitol. The journey is long, two days and two nights. It will be the first time that Ona will cross another district. It won’t be too long though, because of the length of the district 8. When she enters the train, someone takes her to her room and asks her about her clothes size. She will need to get rid of the ones she’s wearing now and have to wear what they are giving her instead.

Thanks god it wasn’t awful, even if it looks like they are keeping the nice clothes for the TV shows.

She’s sitting in the main room when Tony comes to sit next with her. It’s weird to be face to face with someone who will be your opponent in a few days. He seems unsure too, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

“You’re little Joan sister, right?” he says finally after many minutes.

He knows who she is, Ona thought. But she takes pity on him, he always been friendly with her when he came to see Joan.

“Yeah” she mumbles. “And you’re Tony.”

“Yeah.”

Awkward.

“So, uh. What were you up to before coming here?” Ona asks.

The possibilities aren’t multiple in the district, but it’s always nice to ask, Ona thinks. Her parents' finances were pretty good. Ona was living with them in a pretty nice apartment in a pretty nice building. She knows it’s not the same for everyone.

“I was working in the Armory with my father” he shrugs.

Ona nods only. What can she answer? The good thing for Tony is that he probably knows about weapons now, unlike her. He doesn’t have time to ask her the question back, before the automatic doors of the wagon opens again.

Ona raises her eyes to look at the woman coming inside. Her long, blond hair looks like they are the softest she has ever seen, and she has to fight the urge to touch it. Her almond eyes are scanning both of them, before she smiles at them.

“Hi. I’m Alexia, I’ll be your advisor during the Games.”

Ona recognizes her. She won the Games five years ago, in an arena with the theme of an island. She was strong and never failed anyone.

“You’re not from district 8” Tony frowns.

Alexia doesn’t have time to answer before Ona speaks for her.

“We don’t have a winner who is still alive” she mumbles, rolling her eyes.

She doesn’t look away when Alexia looks at her, shrugging. Like said before, their district isn’t really lucky in the games. A small smile appears on Alexia’s face and it’s still here when she talks again.

“Ona’s right. That’s why I nominated myself to help you to change that.”

She’s still looking at Ona when she sits down, and the young woman can’t help but look away. She feels like Alexia is scanning her soul with her eyes and it’s quite disturbing. Alexia seems genuinely intrigued by her.

“First, I’ll answer your questions if you have some and then I’ll explain to you what will happen now. You’ll have several classes with options during your training, we can talk and choose which ones are the best for you. I think it’s more important to value your strengths and not try too hard to work on your weaknesses, we don’t have time for that. It’s important to know them, though.”

Ona likes the way Alexia seems to be thinking. She was scared she’d have to face someone who will tell her that she has her chances to win. She knows it’s wrong. She wants someone to help her, and Alexia seems the right person for her.

The three of them spend almost a full hour speaking together. Tony seems a little reluctant to open up to Alexia, which Ona thinks is stupid. She’s here to help. As a result, Alexia decides to talk to Tony one on one first.

“Don’t be shy to use the facilities of the train” Alexia advises her when she leaves the room. “I’ll meet you in your room in around one hour”

Ona decides to explore the train a little more before going back to her bedroom. There aren't a lot of windows on this train, probably to hide the road to the Capitol. Like she would be going back one day.

She passes a room where Peacekeepers are looking at some screens. Ona realizes that some are of places in her district as well as many she doesn’t know. She doesn’t have time to look at it for any longer though, because one of them suddenly sees her and harshly closes the door.

When she comes back in her room, she realizes that a bunch of other clothes are on her bed, neatly folded and ironed. They look nice and Ona carefully puts them in the drawer facing her bed. She then takes a look at the stupidly big bathroom with a bathtub that could probably comfortably fit three people. She decides to refresh herself anyway and when she comes back, changed and showered, Alexia is waiting for her on her bed.

“Oh, sorry” Ona mumbles.

“No problem.”

They look at each other before Alexia nods towards the bed, asking her to take a seat next to her. Ona obliges, sitting cross-legged and grabbing a pillow to hug it without really thinking about it.

“So. You are Ona Batlle, 17, both your parents are alive, same as your big brother.”

She waits for Ona to nod before continuing. Alexia seems to have memorized everything as she is not reading off anything.

“What would you say are your strengths?”

Ona shrugs softly, before remembering what her brother told her. He’s probably right, but she hates talking about herself.

“I can be tricky when I need to, I guess.” she finally answers.

Alexia looks at her with the same scanning-disturbing look that earlier. Ona bites her lip and searches for something else to say, but it’s Alexia that talks first.

“I hated that too, talking about myself. But you have to realize that it will be talking about yourself that will make Capitol and Sponsors love you. They need to see themselves in you. Sure, there will be shy people watching, but shy people won’t get you any bonus.”

Ona nods. Of course, Alexia’s right. The brunette doesn’t usually like when people try to scold her, but Alexia has the ability to make her understand her point without seeming condescending. She likes it. The blonde grabs a pile of paper behind her and gives it to Ona.

“Those are the questions that will help me to understand you better. Please fill them in so I can see how to help you.”

Ona takes them, frowning slightly. Her eyes roam them before she looks at Alexia again. The blonde smiles at her before making herself comfortable against the headboard of the bed. Grabbing the pen hanging on the sheets, Ona starts to answer the questions.

********

The next day, Alexia joins them at breakfast with a plan about the obligatory classes and the optional ones she is advising each of them to attend. A quick look at Tony’s sheets makes Ona realize that they aren’t sharing a lot of them.

“Isn’t it better to stick together at the beginning?” she asks their Mentor.

“It can, but I really think that if you want to work together, it’s better to separate your strengths. And we never know, you can be separated at any point during the Games. It’s important that you can survive alone.”

It’s a polite way to say that they could betray the other at any time, Ona thinks. She looks closer at her sheets, seeing that Alexia added some survival classes like Ona had asked her yesterday.

“I’ll protect Ona at any coast” Tony says, frowning deeply.

Ona raises her eyes on him, surprised and a little uneasy at this statement. She feels Alexia’s quick gaze on her before the blonde talks.

“Great. But she can handle herself and all of the classes will help you both be stronger as individuals.”

She doesn’t add anything while grabbing a plate to put some waffles on it. Ona looks at her sheets again without really seeing them. She’s grateful for Tony’s protection, but doesn’t like being seen as a poor little girl. Sure, she’s may be small and not very muscular, but like Joan said she’s fast. Alexia putted some physical trainings on her timetable, but she doesn’t know what it means exactly.

********

The train ride is a little boring until they pass District 2. The landscapes are way more beautiful than District 8 which is not surprising. Ona feels impressed by the mountains and the small villages with beautiful small houses. It is nothing like the endless buildings in District 8.

“Oh sorry” Ona says as she enters the TV room.

She wasn’t expecting Alexia to be here, looking at the black screen. The blonde turns her head to look at her but smiles, gesturing for Ona to come to sit next to her.

“The train is for everyone” she shrugs. “Do you want to watch TV?”

“I never managed to turn it on…” Ona blushes.

Alexia smiles but doesn’t say anything, grabbing the remotes to turn it on. Ona frowns when she sees a seaside landscape in front of her eyes.

“It’s District 4” Alexia comments.

Ona nods softly, looking at Alexia from the corner of her eyes. She likes her, in a friendly way. She loves her brother with all her heart, but if she had to choose a big sister, she would have picked one like Alexia.

“You are from District 10, right?” Ona asks softly, scared to cross a line.

But Alexia just nods, switching the channel to find a beautiful forest. Once again, very differently of her district where you have to fight to be able to see something green.

“What does it looks like?”

“Like this”

Alexia switches the channel again. It now shows a landscape with a lot of mountains and canyons, beige and red rocks. And in the distance, you can see the sea. The kind of thing Ona only saw in books when she was younger.

“It looks beautiful” Ona finally says.

“It is. It’s very warm though, I miss the sun when I’m in the Capitol. I live near the sea, with my Mom and my sister.”

“What about your father?” Ona asks.

“He’s dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry”

She’s a little surprised by Alexia’s blunt answer. She looks carefully at her mentor, but she doesn’t seem mad. She’s not smiling of course, but her gaze is still inviting discussion.

“Don’t be. It was several years ago. He was sick. It was awful of course, but I try to do things for him now. I just hope he’s proud of me.”

“I’m sure he is.”

It’s maybe top direct, but Ona can’t imagine a parent who will not be proud of Alexia. Her answer makes Alexia smile though.

“Thanks.”

“So you are living with your mother and sister?”

“No, I’m living with my girlfriend actually.”

Her answer makes Ona almost jump. Homosexuality isn’t a thing that is appreciated in Panem. People usually hide it or get married to save appearances. Alexia’s smile gets wider this time, unable to hide her amusement.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re homophobic?”

There’s a mix of teasing and sincerity in Alexia’s voice. Ona blushes, but probably not for the reasons Alexia thinks.

“No, I… Quite the contrary actually.”

“Oh, so you have a girlfriend too?”

Ona bites her lip and shakes her head. No, she doesn’t have a girlfriend, but she doesn’t know how to explain things to Alexia. She doesn’t know if she wants to, to be honest. But she feels like she can trust Alexia, which is strange. Because except for her family and Aitana, she doesn’t trust anyone.

“I had one” Ona whispers.

“What happened?”

Alexia’s tone is the same as Ona’s, like she understands that it’s a sensitive subject for the younger girl. Ona takes a big breath before starting to talk again.

“Do you remember Jana Fernández? She was a tribute two years ago for my District. She was 15 at the time.”

“I do” Alexia only says.

“It was her. My girlfriend.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Ona shrugs but doesn’t add anything. She doesn’t talk about Jana to anyone, even if her family knew at the time the nature of the relationship between her and Jana. Her parents and her brother have always been supportive about her sexuality and her choice. Her father said that he will love her no matter what and will crush anyone who will try to put a finger on her. She always felt safe with her family.

“I knew she only had a small chance, but it’s still hurt” Ona mumbles after a silence.

She’s not looking at Alexia, so she doesn’t see the sad smile on the blonde’s face. She’s surprised when she feels the other girl place an arm around her shoulders to hug her but she relaxes quickly, after the surprise has passed.

“It’s hard to live after the loss of someone you loved” Alexia says, waiting for Ona to hums before talking again. “I really think you never heal from it. You just learn to live with that part of you.”

“That’s right. I know she would have wanted for me to continue and maybe move on, but I can’t.”

“Maybe you haven’t found the right girl for now”

Ona shrugs once again, she doesn’t really know. And even if Alexia is right, it’s too late for her now. Her life is almost over.

They don’t say anything else, just looking silently at the different landscapes on TV. Alexia needs to answer a call at some point, so Ona goes back to her room to take a big, long, hot bath. Something she hasn't had a lot in her life. After that, she went to eat something with Tony and the team but left early to go to bed. The talk she had with Alexia exhausted her.

********

“Ona, come look at it!”

Ona groans when Tony calls her. She was all comfy, reading on the couch but stands anyway, joining him at the window. Ona realizes here that they are arriving at the Capitol and the view is like nothing she has ever seen in person before. Of course, she’s seen it on TV during previous Games, but it has nothing to do with being here in real life.

“It’s massive” she finally says.

Alexia hums, bored, from the couch where she was still sitting, leafing through a magazine. But Ona doesn’t look at her, captivated by the city in front of her eyes. Everything is shiny and bright.

They finally arrive at the train station and Ona wasn’t expecting people to come to see them but the crowd is massive and she lets Tony guides her with an hand on her back. They follow the Peacekeepers taking them to a white vehicle with no drivers. The tinted windows offer them the possibility to look without being gawked at.

“What’s now?” Ona asks Alexia.

“We will go to our rooms, then I’ll show you the other contestants. The training starts tomorrow.”

Ona nods, swallowing with difficulty. She still can’t believe that everything is really happening, that she’s slowly but surely preparing for her death. Breathing suddenly becomes shallow, so she tries to distract herself by looking by the windows. There is now way that she is having a panic attack right now.

Alexia’s comforting hand on her arm makes her jump, but she soon relaxes herself into her. Ona looks at the blonde from the corner of her eyes, but Alexia isn’t looking at her. She’s looking outside, but it’s better for Ona like this.

When they arrive at the place where they will stay, Ona’s mind almost explodes once again. Everything is so big and stupidly fancy. It makes her angry when she remembers that people almost die from hunger outside the Capitol. But she says nothing, she doesn’t know if the other members of the team are thinking like Alexia.

Ona’s room is big, with a double big bed. She has a TV, a drawer full of clothes and a proper bathroom that’s even bigger than the ones she had on the train. There are a lot of bottles of shampoo, shower gel and all different kinds of products for her skin and her hair.

“At least I’ll die pretty” Ona grumbles.

“The point is to stay alive, actually”

Ona jumps, hitting her knee on the furniture next to her. She wasn’t expecting someone to be here with her. She turns around to face another girl, brunette with a cocky smile.

“Hi. I’m Leila. I’m your fashion designer.”

“Oh. Hi.”

Leila doesn’t seem surprised by Ona’s lack of dynamic, she might be used. Fashion is never a thing usually in the District and for Ona too. Even if her parents works on that area, they work for the Capitol, not the Districts. They only are authorized to wear what the Capitol lets them.

“Alexia needs you in the living room. You will see your contestants and after that I’ll show you what I designed for you to wear for the different events before the Games.”

They were going to the living room while talking and Ona frowns when she hears that.

“What different moments?”

“Well the interviews on TV and the parade especially.”

Ona answers with a soft groan, not really fond of that kind of thing. She hates being in front of everyone. Leila seems to find this reaction funny based on her smile, but Ona doesn’t comment on it and lets herself fall onto the couch next to Tony. Alexia was standing next to the TV with a remote in her hand.

“Right, so as you already know, we have twelve Districts fighting during the Games. The districts 1, 2 and 4 are the career districts and of course they are the most talented and prepared for the Games. They will be tough opponents.”

“So it's probably best to have an alliance with one of them, right?” Tony asks.

Ona rolls her eyes and Alexia sees her gesture, making her smile softly. Tony doesn’t though and he keeps looking at Alexia with intensity.

“Maybe” Alexia finally answers. “But they don’t need you, unless you have a special something. They usually make an alliance between them.”

Tony nods and Alexia puts her attention back on the screen. She presses the buttons to present each tribute from each Districts. First the boy, then the girl. Ona looks at Alexia presenting the twins of 1, the psychopaths of 2 and the Nerds of 3.

“Now from District 4. Declan Smith. He seems pretty fast, and his father is one of the best fishermen from the District. He probably knows how to craft some interesting things, and of course fishing.”

Ona looks at him, he might be 18 or maybe 17, but clearly not younger. He could easily pass for someone older than 18 though. Alexia clicks on the remote again and a picture of a girl appears on the screen.

“Lucy Bronze. She’s Jorge Bronze’s little sister, the winner of the Games two years ago. If she’s like him, she’s a great fighter. Very strategic, isn’t afraid of a phsyical fight but clever enough to know when to hide.”

There is a moment of silence while they all look at her picture.

“She seems… impressive” Tony finally says.

It caught Ona by surprise, because she almost adds “beautiful” to Tony’s sentence. Her face card has probably never declined. She has beautiful green eyes; brown hair and her face is pretty even if she’s not smiling in this picture. Her muscles seem pretty impressive too.

Ona is so surprised at attraction to the girl in the picture that she isn’t really following what Alexia says after that. She just pouts a little bit at her picture, thinking they could have chosen another one. This one isn’t really pretty.

When she goes to bed several hours after that, she is still thinking about Lucy and it was really annoying her. She doesn’t even know the girl, why is she having such an impact on her? She’s almost eager for the training from tomorrow, where she will probably meet her and see how unbearable she is to help her to get over it.

Chapter After

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #ona batlle #ona batlle imagine #lucy bronze #lucy bronze imagine #lucy and ona #ona batlle x lucy bronze #lucy bronze x ona batlle

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