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biblicallyaccuratemeat · 9 days ago

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Velveteen

MDNI!!!

A/N: My bby girl @ethanhoewke asked me to write this, so of course I had to. Beta read by @teaflavoredwitch Bucky Barnes x female reader, online dating, first date, smut!!!, p in v sex, fingering, boob/nipple worship, hickeys and love bites, marking, praise kink, unprotected sex, gentle dom Bucky, pet names, dirty talk, begging, Bucky's metal arm

Word Count: 5.6k

“You have a date tonight. 7 o’clock, don’t be late,” Sam comments off handedly, brushing past Bucky to dig through his fridge, “Oh, and don’t stand up the poor girl either.” Sam casts him a knowing look over his shoulder.

Bucky freezes, staring at his friend incredulously, “Excuse me?” He scoffs, immediately on the defense.

It’s that fucking dating app, he just knows it. Sam pestered him incessantly for months, goading him to set up a profile. Claiming that he needed to “get with the times”. Bucky runs his organic hand over his face tiredly, he feels a migraine coming on. Sam means well, he always does, but his execution is lacking to say the least. Bucky stomps over to his liquor cabinet, making a beeline for his whiskey.

“Oh no you don’t,” Sam huffs, snatching the bottle from his hand. Bucky casts a scowl that could curdle milk. Sam only laughs, immune to the former Winter Soldier’s glowering, “You need to be sober and your usual…charming self for this date.” Sam pats his back, though it feels more patronizing than comforting.

“You set up a profile for me on that goddamn app, didn’t you?” Bucky accuses, nudging Sam away.

“What are you gonna wear?” Sam dances around the question, smiling in a way that’s meant to look innocent but Bucky clocks him immediately. “You should dress up, look nice. Don’t wear those ratty old jeans you love so much. What’d you used to wear back in the day? I bet you were killin’ all the ladies in your uniform, huh?” Sam grins mischievously, waggling his eyebrows.

Bucky finds himself reminiscing for a moment, Sam’s comment taking him back to his youth. Dating was simpler back then, really everything was simpler. His life especially. Women fell over themselves to catch his eye, dressing up to the nines in dress greens, dancing the night away… Fuck he felt old. He wonders if Sam put his real age on his profile, or something safe like thirty-three.

Despite the overwhelming urge to bail, stand up the date, Bucky hesitates. Even all these years later, the good manners and etiquette his mother instilled in him reared its head. Always pull out the chair for a young lady, hold open doors, be punctual… He’d go to the fucking date, but he wasn’t going to be pleased about it. He’d stay the required amount of time, pay for the meal, kiss her cheek, and leave.

Easy.

In retrospect, it should have been easy. But nothing really is, at least not anymore for Bucky.

He arrived at the restaurant early, found a table. His anxiety mounting with each passing second, he must have checked his watch at least twenty times. Dressed in slacks- god when was the last time he wore slacks? He feels ridiculous, he’s sure he looks it too. A quarter past seven, and whoever is supposed to come hasn’t. Fuck, did he get stood up? Probably. Bucky’s sure Sam put the worst pictures of him possible on his profile, he probably thought it was the height of comedy too.

“Are you James?” A soft, shy voice snaps Bucky out of his brooding.

His head whips up, thrown off kilter by the timid question. He freezes, grumpy expression morphing into one of surprise. You’re gorgeous, exactly his type. Fuck, maybe Sam was onto something here…

He blinks, clearing his throat awkwardly. He shoots up out of his seat, bumping into the table and sending silverware clattering to the floor, “Shit!” He crouches down, quickly gathering up the discarded fork and knife. He smacks his head on the corner of the table on his way back up, hissing in pain. Great. So far this is the date from his nightmares.

You giggle softly, immediately enamored by this clumsy, bumbling dork. You cover your smile with your hand, eyes crinkling with mirth. Bucky swears his face is on fire, a nervous chuckle bubbling up in his throat, “Yeah, that’s me. Call me Bucky, though, everyone does.”

Bucky’s anxiety, his wariness melts easily like a popsicle in the summer sun. Your presence, your demeanor, it disarms and renders him pliant in a way that should concern him. Or at the very least, piss him off. But it doesn’t, not in the fucking slightest. He finds himself opening up to you, sharing stories and memories that he wouldn’t even dare to revisit if he was shit faced. He doesn’t even order a drink, sticking to water. The hours wear on, Bucky staying far longer than he originally planned, but he can’t help himself.

This may be the best date of Bucky’s entire miserable existence. He’d have to send Sam a fucking fruit basket or something in the morning. Damn if he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right though.

He finds himself walking you to your front door, lingering on the porch. Your smile, all sunshine and sweetness, disarms him completely. He’s helpless to the onslaught of emotions your mere presence brings about. Emotions he believed were long gone from his psyche. A warmth in his chest, a flutter in his heart, knots in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you want to come inside for a drink?” You offer, tentative and hopeful.

Bucky gazed into those doe eyes, seeing the timid smile and the shy invitation reflected back at him. He felt a stirring in his chest, a warmth that had little to do with the drink you offered. You, with your soft curves and gentle demeanor, had somehow penetrated the walls he’d so carefully constructed around his battered heart. In one evening, you lowered all his defenses. He was mystified.

But even as a part of him yearned to take you up on that offer, to cross the threshold and lose himself in your sweet embrace, Bucky hesitated. He knew he had to tread carefully, to savor this newfound connection. He didn’t want to rush you, frighten you away with the intensity of his long-dormant desires.

Bucky reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingertips grazing the soft skin of your cheek ever so lightly. He leaned in closer, until mere inches separated you, inhaling the intoxicating scent of you that he hoped would cling to his skin for days after this. When he spoke, his voice was a low, intimate murmur, “I’d love nothing more than to come inside, to steal a few more moments with you,” he began, his sea colored eyes darkened with a mixture of barely restrained hunger and tender affection, “But I don’t want to impose, sweetheart. Not tonight.”

Bucky’s nose brushed against the apple of your cheek, a teasing whisper of contact, as he inhaled once more, “Besides,” he added with a roguish grin, straightening up reluctantly, “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t let a lady retire for the evening?”

He brought your small hand up to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours, “Dream of me?” He murmurs against your skin. With that, Bucky steps back, releasing your hand. He’s ready to turn on his heel, go back to his empty apartment and beat off till his dick is raw. But then, you’re speaking again, stopping him in his tracks.

“Let me rephrase that,” You assert delicately, “Come inside and have a drink with me. I’m not some virtuous debutante. You can come inside, and you should.”

The dulcet timbre of your voice, the clear invitation laden in your words, sends a jolt straight to Bucky’s core. The gentleman in him reeled back, shocked by your boldness. But the man, the one who had seen and done things no decent person should, the one who had been starved of intimate connection for so long, surged forward, an aching hunger awakening inside him.

Bucky’s eyes shone with a sudden intensity, a barely curbed appetite burning in their blue depths. He took another step closer to you, then another, until he stood mere inches from where you lingered in the doorway. His heated gaze raked over your form, drinking in every single detail, committing them to memory, “As you wish,” he all but sighs out, eyes fluttering shut briefly, “I should warn you though, once I get you inside… I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. You’re awakening things in me that I’ve tried my damndest to suppress.”

He followed you in, allowing you to lead him to the heart of your dwelling. As the door clicked shut, Bucky found himself acutely aware of every breath you took, every soft sway of your hips, every silken whisper of fabric against flesh. Turning to face you, Bucky reached out, cupping your face in his remaining hand, his calloused palm a stark contrast to the downy softness of your skin. His thumb brushed over the swell of your lower lip, tracing the delicate curve.

“So, what do you want to drink?” You ask, already breathless and he hasn’t so much as kissed you yet. With an impish smirk, you tug him in the direction of the couch. The anticipation lingers in the air, heady and electric. Like the way everything feels static, hair standing up before lightning strikes. It feels as though you have a wasp’s nest in your belly, far more spirited and dangerous than butterflies.

The impish smile, the way your fingers curled into his as you guided him towards the couch, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through Bucky’s veins. He allowed you to lead him, a willing captive to your whims, as you settled onto the plush cushions. The rational part of him knew he should slow down, rein in the tempest of lust that threatened to consume you both. But, rationality was never his strong suit and he reveled in the knowledge that he had ignited a twin hunger in you.

“Whiskey,” Bucky replied, his gaze locked onto the gentle sway of your hips as you moved to pour his drink, “Neat, please.” His voice a low, anticipatory murmur, the words dripping with double entendre, “But I hope that’s not the only thing you’ll be putting in my mouth tonight.”

He leaned back against the couch, the picture of casual ease, even as his eyes greedily drank in every delectable inch of you. As you handed him the glass of amber liquid, Bucky’s fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent sparks skittering up his arm. He brought the glass to his nose, inhaling deeply, allowing the smoky aroma to mingle with the sweet, heady scent of your perfume.

He takes a long sip, letting the liquid burn his mouth. He holds it there for a moment, savoring the oaky flavor. He swallows slow and unhurried, feeling the heat travel down his throat to join the fire in his stomach. Setting the glass aside, Bucky leaned in closer, his hand finding your knee, his vibranium fingertips, tracing idle patterns on the supple skin peeking out from under your dress. His eyes never left yours, his gaze a tangible caress that set your soul alight.

A becoming blush darkens your cheeks, you huff softly, equal parts aroused and disarmed, “You don’t mince words, do you?”

Bucky chuckled softly at your flustered response, the sound a deep, rich rumble that seemed to resonate through his chest. He could feel the subtle tremble of your thigh beneath metal, “Blunt honesty has always been a virtue of mine,” He murmurs, invading the final remnants of your personal space, “You’ll probably find I’m too direct, too forward, too hungry for things I want.” His hand slid a fraction higher up your thigh, the rough smooth metal pads of his fingers causing an eruption of goosebumps in their wake, “But I only say the things I mean, the things I feel…the things I crave.”

Letting out a shaky exhale, you take a long sip from your glass for courage, “That’s okay, I think I like that about you. It’s refreshing.”

The way you trembled, how your breath hitched as you sipped your drink, the blush still painting your cheeks a pretty shade of pink… Bucky was a goner, he knew that much. Your honesty in return, your admission of liking the unfiltered nature of his advances, sent blood rushing downwards. Unable to resist the urge to touch you more, Bucky slid his vibranium hand fully beneath the hem of your dress, kneading the supple fat of your thigh. His other arm snaked around your waist, gently tugging you closer until you were practically on his lap, your bodies aligned in tantalizing proximity.

“I’m glad you do,” He hums, his voice seeming to stroke over your nerves like a physical touch, “Because I have a feeling it’s one of many things you’ll appreciate about me, in due time.”

His gaze flicked down to your lips, to the neat sip you’d taken of your drink, before dragging back up to meet the widening pool of your eyes. A wicked, sinful grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Why don’t you finish your drink, sweetheart?”

You throw back the glass obediently, all but chugging down the liquid. You don’t notice the burn, the swirling inferno of lust outshining the sting.

Bucky’s grin widened as he watched you toss back the remains of your drink, a rush of satisfaction soaring through him at your clear enthusiasm. The way you looked at him then, with those wide, expectant eyes and parted, glistening lips… The remaining whiskey in Bucky’s glass is already long forgotten. His vibranium hand slid from your thigh to your hip, gripping the curve possessively as he surged forward to close the scant distance between you. Your lips met in a crash of heat and desperation, your gasp lost against the sudden, intense pressure as Bucky’s mouth slanted over yours.

He kissed you with a hunger bordering on ferocity, as though he meant to devour you, to make you a part of himself. His tongue delved past your parted lips, stroking over the sharpness of your teeth and tangling with yours in a sensual dance. His organic hand fisted in your silken hair, gripping the locks and tugging your head back to deepen the angle, while the vibranium one wrapped around your waist tightened, crushing you against the hard, muscular length of his body.

Bucky groaned into your mouth, an almost whiny sound torn from the depths of his desire, as he felt you melt against him. Your fingers latched into his shirt, balling the fabric in your fists as you clung to him, to the solid, unyielding strength of his frame. He could feel every lush curve, every gentle swell and dip of your body, could feel the way your heart raced beneath your sternum and your breath grew short and quick.

When Bucky finally broke the kiss, it was only to trail his lips down the column of your throat, to lave your racing pulse with the flat of his tongue. He nipped at the delicate tendon, teeth grazing your flesh and his lips soothing the sting with a lascivious murmur, “Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined.”

A soft, keening moan is torn from your throat, lost to the onslaught of the sensations overwhelming you. You tilt your head back, eagerly offering up your throat to him, a gazelle submitting to the ravenous lion.

Bucky growled against your neck, a sound of pure, unbridled lust, as he felt your body shudder and your breathy moan reverberate through you. The salty sweet taste of your skin, the hot slide of your breath against his cheek, it was all driving him to a fever pitch, urged on by the desperate, wanton sounds spilling from your kiss-swollen lips. His hands slid down your back, fingers splaying across the small dip at the base of your spine, holding you flush against him as he explored your throat with lips and teeth and tongue. He could feel the heat of you, the way your body seemed to burn against his touch, and he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had explored every inch of your lush form. Bucky’s hands slid lower, cupping the fat of your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh between his palms. He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel the hard, insistent press of his cock, the way it strained against the barrier of his jeans. His mouth returned to yours, claiming your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue joining yours once more, devouring you with single-minded intensity.

You gasped sharply into the fierce, claiming kiss, your body arching upward instinctively to grind your hips in answer to Bucky’s needy friction. Lost in a haze of sensation, you wound your arms around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as you held on for dear life. Or perhaps, for the sheer ecstasy of it all.

Bucky shuddered as your nails dug into his shoulders, he could feel your hips rocking against his, seeking friction, aching to be filled, and it took every ounce of his rapidly waning control not to simply tear your clothes from your body and fuck you into the couch.

Instead, with herculean effort, Bucky swept an arm under your knees, lifting you easily as he rose from the couch. He carried you swiftly down the hall, his lips never leaving your throat, until he found your bedroom. Pushing open the door, he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him. Bucky laid you down on the bed with a suddenness that stole your breath, his hard body blanketing yours as he claimed your lips once more. As he kissed you, his hands slid beneath your dress, shucking it up to your sternum, bunching the fabric as his fingers sought the bare skin underneath. He stroked over the soft swell of your tits, the pebbled crests of your nipples straining through the bralette you wore. Breaking the kiss with a shaky breath, Bucky pulled back just enough to yank your dress over your head. In a flash of impatient movement, he dispatched your bra, tossing it carelessly across the room to land in a scrap of lace and satin. His gaze drank in the sight of your bare torso, taking in the ripe curves of your breasts, the flushed peaks of your nipples, and he swallowed hard.

“Fuck, babydoll,” He breathed, awe and reverence, an all-consuming desire threading his rough voice, “You look good enough to eat.”

Bucky didn’t delay, attacking your newly exposed tits, his hands cupped the soft mounds, kneading and squeezing the pliant flesh as he dragged the flat of his tongue over the taught peak of your nipple. A quiet gasp escaped your lips at the sudden onslaught of sensation, your fingers fisting in his cropped hair, holding him to the task.

Pleasure spiked through you as Bucky’s teeth closed around your nipple, worrying the sensitive bud before suckling hard at the tender flesh. A moan, raw and needy, tore from your throat as he lavished attention on your breasts, vibranium hand pinching and rolling the neglected peak as his tongue swirled and lapped. Bucky took his time, worshipping your breasts until you writhed beneath him, your body burning and aching for more. The wet, almost pornographic sounds of Bucky’s mouth on your skin fill the room, mingling with your broken moans and the creaking of the bed frame beneath your writhing form. He marked your flesh with a fervor that was almost feral, determined to leave his claim stamped into every inch of your willing skin. Bucky’s hands slid lower, fumbling down the front of your soaked panties. The cotton clings to your cunt, slick and sticky. With a low groan of approval, his finger stroked over the puffy folds. You arch into his touch, craving more, desperate for the relief that only he could award you.

Bucky wastes no time, pushing your panties down your thighs with an urgency. The moment your cunt was bared to him, he plunged two vibranium fingers deep inside your leaking hole, groaning against your breast as your walls clenched around the sudden intrusion. He pumped his fingers in and out of your tight heat, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. At the same time, his mouth continued its assault on your tits, sucking dark marks into the supple flesh as he suckled at your nipples. Bucky could feel your slick walls fluttering and clenching around his plunging fingers as he fingered your pussy with a firm, purposeful rhythm. The wet squelching of his digits pumping in and out of you joined the symphony of your needy noises and slurping of Bucky’s mouth.

His thumb circled your sensitive clit with relentless pressure, the coolness of the vibranium only heightening your pleasure. Bucky could feel your body tensing, your hips rocking eagerly into his hand as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. Determined to make you come at least once before shoving his dick in you, he doubled his efforts, plunging deeper, rubbing harder, suckling with greater intensity, until he felt your body shake and seize beneath him.

“Oh, fuck,” You cry out, your voice pitching high and needy as your body sings beneath his touch. Electric, burning pleasure crackled through every nerve ending, your pussy clamping down and throbbing around Bucky’s vibranium fingers as wave after wave of your orgasm drowns you. You thrash and writhe, your back arching sharply off the bed as the stickiness of your orgasm gushes around his invading fingers. Broken, ecstatic moans spilled from your lips, your fingers clawing at his hair, holding him to your heaving chest as you ride out the intense, mind-numbing pleasure.

Through the haziness of your orgasm, you can feel Bucky continue to worship your breasts, licking over the hardened peaks of your nipples, prolonging the bliss radiating through your body. You mewl and quiver, your hips grinding desperately against his hand. As the aftershocks begin to subside, you relax back onto the mattress, panting and trembling. You look up at Bucky with soupy, fucked-out eyes, a weak, satisfied smile on your spit-glossy lips. The sight of you splayed out beneath him, your body trembling weakly in the shadow of your climax, your tits heaving as you gasped for breath… it made Bucky’s cock throb and swell impossibly harder in his pants. Slowly, reluctantly, Bucky withdrew his fingers from your still-fluttering cunt, bringing them to his mouth to suck your slick from his digits. His tongue swirled around each one, laving up every last drop of your wetness, his eyes never leaving yours as he savored your flavor with a low, approving groan.

As he finished cleaning your spend from his fingers, Bucky leaned down to capture your lips in a deep, sensual kiss. He let you taste yourself on his tongue, the salty-sweet essence of your orgasm mingling with the smoky heat of the whiskey he’d consumed. At the same time, his hands traveled down your body, coasting over the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips, to grip the globes of your ass once more. He squeezed the plush fat, kneading it as he ground his hips against yours, letting you feel the thick, rigid outline of his arousal, still hidden in his slacks.

Breaking the kiss, Bucky nuzzled between the valley of your breasts, his lips brushing against the sensitive, marked skin as he murmured, “You look so pretty coming for me, babydoll. The fucking sounds, the faces you make… Fuck, I can’t wait to feel this tight cunt wrapped around my cock.”

Bucky’s filthy praise sent a fresh surge of liquid heat rushing through your core, a needy whimper escaping your lips as you arched wantonly into his touch. Your fingers fumble with his belt, tugging at the buckle with clumsy desperation. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could smell the spicy, warm scent of him mingled with the barest trace of whiskey on his breath. It made you dizzy, aching with a desperate need to feel him stretching you open.

Bucky caught your wrist gently as your fingers reached for his belt, halting your desperate attempts to divest him of his clothes. He gazed down at you with a wicked glimmer in his eyes, a lazy, sensual grin curving his lips as he drank in the sight of your flushed face, your kiss-swollen lips parted around a needy whimper, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Leaning in closer, Bucky brushed his lips against yours in a fleeting, teasing caress before murmuring in a low, rough rasp, “Patience, babydoll. As much as I want nothing more than to bury myself in your perfect little cunt, I’m not done playing with you yet.”

One hand slid up your flank, cupping the underside of your breast, his calloused palm scraping deliciously against it. His thumb lightly brushed over your nipple, teasing the abused peak, as his vibranium hand traced the curve of your waist before settling on your hip, squeezing the bone appreciatively. “You’re going to beg for my cock, baby. I want to hear that pretty mouth sobbing my name as I split you open on my dick. I’m gonna fuck you into this mattress so good, you aren’t gonna be able to walk right.”

Bucky rolled his hips, once more grinding the hard heat of his erection against your slick, aching pussy. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that sent vibrations through your flesh. “Tell me, baby,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, “Is this what you want? Do you want me to fuck this greedy little pussy until you’re gushing for me like a broken faucet?” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust of his hips, the thick ridge of his cock grinding hard against your sensitive, swollen flesh.

You whimper softly, looking up at Bucky with hazy, hooded eyes shimmering with desperation. Your cheeks flush a pretty shade that matches the rosy hue of your hardened nipples as they pebble in the cool air of your bedroom. You lick your lips, tasting the lingering flavor of his kisses mixed with the salt of your own sweat. “Please, Bucky…” You breathed, your sweet, whiny voice pitched high with arousal, “I’m aching, I need you to fuck me please. I’ll be such a good girl for you. Please?” You flutter your lashes, putting on a sweet, guileless expression, “I’ll do anything, be anything you want me to be. Please just make the ache go away.”

The desperation in your voice, the way you begged so sweetly for his cock, the needy little whimpers spilling from your lips as you rolled your hips against his in wanton invitation… it shredded the last vestiges of Bucky’s control. With a low, feral growl, he surged forward, capturing your mouth in a brutal, sloppy kiss as his hands made quick work of his belt and fly. In a flash, he shed his pants and boxers, freeing his thick, aching cock. It bobbed heavily against his stomach, the girthy shaft pulsing with need, the broad head flushed an angry, almost painful red. Pearly beads of precum leaked from the slit, dripping down the underside of his length, making it glisten erotically in the low light.

Breaking the kiss with a sharp nip to your lower lip, Bucky gripped your thighs, pushing them up and back until your knees were bent and your calves rested on his broad shoulders. The new position left you completely open to him, your dripping, plump cunt exposed and ready for the taking. Gripping the base of his cock, Bucky rubbed the swollen head through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. He groaned at the feel of your stickiness leaking over his sensitive flesh, at the way your body yielded so sweetly to his touch. He notched the broad crown of his dick at the entrance to your core, the thick head stretching you open around him.

“Fuck, babydoll,” Bucky grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of not slamming forward and burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust, “I’m going to fill this greedy cunt so fucking full. Gonna fuck you real good, baby, make that ache go away.”

Bucky’s eyes lock on yours, holding your gaze captive. You watch with rapt attention as his pupils dilate, a deep black dwarfing the cool blue his irises, until there’s but a small sliver of color left. Your hands fly up, gripping the fat and muscle of his biceps, nails digging crescent shaped marks into his flesh. Slowly, tortuously Bucky sinks inch by burning inch into your cunt. The air is punched from your lungs, the molten heat of him splitting you in half pushes you to the brink of sanity. Bucky’s muscles flexed beneath your fingers as he sank into your tight, soaked heat with an almost sadistic slowness. Each inch of his thick, pulsing cock stretching you wider, filling you more completely, drew a ragged gasp from your lips. Your inner walls clenched and fluttered around his invading length, trying desperately to adjust to the delicious intrusion. He didn’t stop until he was fully seated inside you, his heavy balls nestling against the curve of your ass. With a low, ragged groan he remained still, allowing you to feel every throbbing inch of him, letting you savor the way he stretched you so exquisitely. Panting harshly, Bucky leaned down to capture your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue licked into your mouth, tasting you, consuming you, as hips began to move in a slow, relentless rhythm. He withdrew until just the tip remained inside before surging forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

He set a steady, pounding pace, your old bed frame creaking and shaking with the force of his thrusts. Each drive of his hips rocked you upward, the harsh slap of skin against skin echoing through your bedroom as he fucked into you with ruthless, single-minded intensity.

“Harder, please, fuck me harder,” You whine, your voice pitching high and desperate as you screw your eyes shut and surrender yourself completely to the overwhelming sensations consuming you. Your nails dig harder into the well-honed muscles of Bucky’s biceps, clinging to him like a lifeline as you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge of oblivion once more.

Each vicious, pounding thrust of his hips drives the air from your lungs, the breathlessness of your panting merging with the slap of his hips into your thighs and the bed frame groaning beneath you. You can feel every throbbing each, every turgid vein, filling you so impossibly full that you swear you can feel him in your throat. You’re drowning in the sheer, mindless bliss of it all, every thought, every shred of coherence stripped away until there’s nothing left but the raw, visceral need to come undone around him. “Harder,” you beg, your voice ragged and desperate, your body yielding utterly to his punishing, driving power.

Bucky snarled in response to your desperate plea, his hips surging forward with renewed vigor. He gripped your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, pulling you onto his plundering cock as he slammed into you with brutal force. “Fuck, baby, you feel so goddamned good,” Bucky growled, his voice raw and ragged with pleasure. He could feel your velvety walls clenching around his plunging length, your body welcoming each vicious thrust as if it were made for the sole purpose of milking his dick. Angling his hips, Bucky aimed for the wettest depths of your cunt, wrenching raw, ecstatic cries from your throat. He pounded into it with laser focus, grunting from the effort of his thrusts, his muscles flexing and bunching beneath your grasping fingers.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Take it. Take every fucking inch,” he commanded, his gaze burning into yours with fierce, possessive intensity, “Let me hear that sweet voice as I fuck this sloppy little pussy.”

Bucky could feel his release building, coiling tight in his gut as his thrusts grew more erratic, more desperate. He was close, so fucking close, but he wouldn’t let himself come until he’d fucked every last ounce of pleasure from your body. “Gonna fill you up, baby girl,” He promised roughly, “I’m going to pump you so fucking full, gonna be leaking out of this pretty hole for days. You want that, sweetheart?”

“Fuck,” You sigh out, lost to the pleasure, “Please, give me your cum, I’ve been a good girl. Give it to me, Bucky.”

With a harsh groan, Bucky slammed into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming heat. Your cunt flutters and throbs, joining him in the throes of a toe curling orgasm. He captures your mouth in a brutal, devouring kiss, swallowing your needy whines as his cock jerked and pulsed, spurting thick ropes of pearlescent seed deep into your clutching core. Bucky’s body shuddered and quaked above you, his hips rocking shallowly as he rode out the waves of his intense release. His cock throbbed, painting your insides white with his essence, marking you irrevocably as his. He moaned long and low into your mouth, as the last gushes of his orgasm ebbed away. Bucky broke the kiss, his breathing ragged and harsh.He rested his forehead against yours, his blue eyes boring intensely into yours as he ground the base of his shaft against your sensitive sex. His spent cock was still nestled deep inside you, plugging you up. Bucky’s hand crept between your bodies, calloused fingers finding your sensitive, aching clit. He circled the swollen nub with a surprising gentleness, coaxing lazy sparks of pleasure from your overstimulated flesh, “Such a good girl,” he whispered, grinning lazily, “You took that so well, sweetheart. I’m gonna take you out for our second date tomorrow morning, that okay with you?”

You huff softly, rolling your eyes playfully. As if that offer would be anything less than okay.

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clockwayswrites · 10 months ago

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Danny is a minx and I am not responsible for him.

Okay, so, you all voted and I, um, failed? We didn't get to cuddling. There should be cuddling coming? Idk, darlings, this was my third start on this and Danny took over. I've got no say in this anymore. Canon-typical violence, crude language, cross dressing, discussions of prostitution

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“You think you can fucking play us like that?!”

The shout carried easily through the crisp fall air. Red Hood sighed and changed direction away from his safe house and towards the noise.

“—fuck you up for that! Give us our fucking money back!”

“Fuck you,” snapped back a voice that Jason had come to recognize over the last several months. Right then the words dripped in fake, but damn convincing, heavy Crime Alley drawl, but Jason knew it all the same. “If yous don’t got it, don’t bet it. If yous don’t got game, don’t play it.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think a little girl like you gets to say how this goes,” a third voice growled.

Hood clung to the edge of the roof just long enough to drop silently into the alleyway next to the dive bar. From the quick glance sent his way he was only noticed by the damn minx, so he leaned casually back against the grimy brick wall and unholstered his gun.

“Right? Yeah! Yeah, bitch! You don’t get to say how this goes!” the first voice shouted again. The guy’s shoulders were squared up as if he was some sort of threat in his overpriced, knock off bomber jacket and ill fitting jeans.

It almost made Jason want to sigh.

Actually, fuck it, Jason gave in and sighed loudly, knowing how it sounded through the modulation of his helmet. Bomber Jacket and his buddy, I Swear This is Real Italian Leather, spun around and then cowered so quick Jason swore they gave themselves whiplash.

“So,” Jason said with every ounce of disinterest he could put in his tone, “how does this go? Because right now, I’m thinking that it’s you two who are gonna be going before I put bullets between your eyes.”

“Right, um, yes Red Hood,” Bomber Jacket cowered and grabbed desperately at his friend’s pleather jacket to pull them out of there.

“And gentleman,” Jason said, making them freeze in their steps, “next time you lose your money to a pretty lady, you leave her the fuck alone about it.”

They nodded frantically as they backed the rest of the way out of alley and then took of running.

“I think you made one of ‘em piss himself,” the minx said, looking from the alley way to Jason with those striking aqua eyes.

Jason just shrugged and holstered his gun. “Probably.”

The short, tight skirt clung to the minx’s legs, pulling up enough with the sashaying steps that Jason had to wonder how everything stayed hidden. He kept still as fingers tipped in bright pink nails walked their way up his chest to the red bat. Aqua peered up from below thick, dark lashes. “And did I hear right? You think I’m a pretty lady?”

“Hair is nice like this,” Jason said brushing a gloved finger through the black strands that just brushed the edges of the chin. “But surprised your cock isn’t hanging out of that skirt with how short it is.”

Danny let out a started laugh, resting his forehead against Jason’s chest for a moment before he patted it and backed up to a more respectable distance.

“Duct tape and body shapers works miracles.” The fake Gotham accent was gone and replaced with the faint Midwestern drawl that Danny only seemed to let out around Red Hood. “And don’t make that face, the duct tape is outside of the panties.”

“You can’t see my face,” Jason pointed out, a bit grumpily because he had been grimacing at the thought.

“I was still right though,” Danny said with a smug little smiling pulling on his cherry red lips. It was a good color on him. He leaned back against the wall and spread his legs in a way that Jason couldn’t help but follow with this gaze. “Everything is fine down there, Boss, just a little squished. Offer’s still on the table if you want to check out the good. No charge for my darlin’ knight.”

Jason snorted at the continued offer from Danny; it was practically as good as ‘bye’ between them at this point since Danny seemed to offer it every time. “I’m not going to be one of your Johns, Danny.”

“Told you no charge. Could just be two people who like sex,” he offered with a little shrug, but pushed himself off the wall to leave. No, Danny pushed himself up off the wall with a wince.

Jason was at his side in an instant. “One of those fuckers get you?”

“No, so no hunting them down,” Danny said. His voice was confident, but the way he actually leaned on Jason’s offered arm was worrying. “Just a bad John— ex John. That’s why I’m sharking pool instead of working the corner.”

As if Danny had to work an actual corner anymore. He appealed to a very specific type of client that could pay to have something pretty and convincing on their arm and still get what they wanted between the legs and in the sheets.

“You taking anything for it?” Jason asked.

Danny just shrugged. “Nah, Boss, nothing over the counter works on me really.”

“Clinic?”

Danny snorted. “As if. They can test for STDs and that’s about as much as I want a clinic near me.”

Jason resisted the urge to cuss at Danny. He got it. After all, he only trusted Leslie or Alfred really— or a family member in a pinch.

Maybe he could just bluster Danny into getting some help. “Right, come on.”

“What?” Danny asked, digging his heels (and fuck those were some heels) into the ground.

Not willing to put with that right then, Jason just swung his arm under Danny’s legs and scooped him up like he was nothing. Fuck the Johns really had to be able to throw Danny around if they wanted that sort of thing.

“Boss, Hood, what the fuck?!” Danny hissed.

“Safe fucking house is what the fuck so I can check you over.”

“Boss, if you wanted in the skirt—”

“Danny, shut the fuck up and let me make sure you’re alright, alright?” Jason asked, looking down at him.

Danny stared back with a frown. Then his sighed, like it was the biggest concession in the world to make. Finally he rested his head against Jason’s chest. “Fine, Boss, whatever you say.”

“Thank you,” Jason said, more gently than he meant to.

Jason had to suck in several careful breaths as he took in the wound splashed across Danny’s ribs. “No fucking John did that to you and if they did—” if they took some sort of hot poker to Danny’s side— “I’ll kill them if they did.”

#tbcontinued #dp x dc #dead on main #minx

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steddiewithachance · 2 years ago

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"You Should Date My Nephew"

"433-6296". Wayne mouthes to himself. He visualizes the little slip of lined paper that's taped to the wall above their phone at home. 433-6296. He could call. But he wont.

Wayne grunts as he lowers himself to sit on the curb outside the plant. He got off work --he pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch-- 36 minutes ago. It's 3:36 am and god dammit Eddie how many times did he remind the kid to set his alarm. How many times did Wayne remind Eddie that his truck was in the shop and that he'd need a ride home in the morning. And every single time he'd mention it, Eddie responded "I got it old man! I'll set an alarm" with an exasperated eye roll and would go back to whatever he was doing. Wayne has tried calling the trailer a dozen times already and damn that boy for being such a heavy sleeper.

433-6296. Wayne could probably solve his problem with a single call, but that would be completely inconsiderate and borderline inappropriate, so he wont. A gust of cold November wind hits Wayne unforgivingly in the face and makes his eyes water. He pulls a pack of camels from his chest pocket and with stiff, shaky hands, lights one. 433-6296. He could call or he could walk home. The walk wasn't easy in ideal weather when Wayne was fully rested. Right now it was freezing, Wayne didn't have his good jacket, and he just finished an eight hour shift. 433-6296. Fuck it.

Wayne stands up and hurries toward the phone before he can talk himself out of this. It's insane, and he knows the poor kid barely sleeps as it is. Knows from Eddie that he'll pick up the phone anytime Eddie has a nightmare and drive over to talk him out of the bad dream, keep him company, or fall asleep on the floor of Eddie's bedroom so his nephew doesn't have to go back to sleep alone in a haunted home. 433-6296 Wayne dials and waits with baited breath.

The phone rings a handful of times before a quiet voice greets him on the other side of the line.

"H'llo? Eds?"

"Uh hi Steve. It's Wayne?" Wayne says quietly into the phone. Steve seems to sober immediately.

"Mr. Munson? Is everything okay? Is Eddie okay?"

"Yeah no everythin's fine. I'm sure Eddie's safe and sound at home. Look, I'm real sorry to wake you, kid, and I'm sorry to even be askin' you in the first place. I know it's mighty unfair of me to call at this time but uh- My trucks in the shop and Eddie was supposed to pick me up from work forty minutes ago but I think he mighta slept through his alarm. And it's too far for an old man like me to walk. Was wondering if I might owe you a helluva favor if you could pick me up tonight, son." For a few moments there is silence. Wayne worries he has crossed a line, for a brief moment he fears he might have burnt the most important bridge in Eddie's life. He's immediately regretting waking Steve up for this.

But then he hears the distinct rustling and thump of someone putting on shoes.

"Of course Mr. Munson, I'm leaving now. I'll be there as soon as I can." And Wayne is once again floored by this kid's kindness.

"Steve, thank you. I owe you son. Whatever you need."

"It's no problem! I'll see you soon."

"See you." Wayne mutters in disbelief and hangs up the phone.

And to think... Wayne used to hate Steve. The thing about Steve Harrington is that his name is haunted, in a way. And the thing about Wayne Munson is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch who will hold grudges on Eddie's behalf longer than the kid himself will. There were countless days in high school when instead of shooting through the front door of the trailer after school with a devilish grin and music blasting from his headphones, Eddie would turn the knob slowly and he'd drag himself into the house, giving Wayne a small nod before disappearing into his room quietly. Wayne felt like crying or punching something when Eddie came home in low spirits. He knew how evil the kids at school could be, and he knew the names of all the bad ones. Wayne always gave Eddie 10 minutes of quiet before he'd knock on his door and gently ask if he wanted to talk. It was a routine they had. He'd ask and Eddie would say no. But then like clockwork, Eddie would open up about his day later in the evening usually while they ate dinner and before Wayne left for work. He'd complain about all the kids that made him feel bad: Hagan, Harrington, Perkins, Hargrove, Carver, and so many more.

So imagine Wayne's surprise on March 27, 1986 when he briefly left Eddie's hospital room to get coffee and returned to Steve Harrington, the bully son of Richard and Nicole, sitting next to his nephew's hospital bed. It had been a long week of worrying on Wayne's part, and an emotional 48 hours spent at Eddie's bedside, so Wayne had very little patience for whatever was happening in front of him. In retrospect, Steve Harrington was looking at Eddie... sweet and tenderly, even back then. But in the moment all he could think about was Eddie returning from school with hunched shoulders and his head hung low.

"The hell are you doing here?" Wayne asked using his gruffest and most intimidating voice, arms crossed, standing in the doorway. The way that Steve startled was like nothing like Wayne had ever seen. He jumped a foot into the air and folded into himself.

"Oh! Mr. Munson. I'm sorry I didn't know you were around. Just, uh, didn't want him to be alone in case he woke up." Steve had said rising from his seat. When Wayne didn't budge from the doorway or respond, Steve nervously fiddled with the zipper of his jacket.

"How do you know Eddie?" Wayne asked trying to keep his firm tone.

"From high school sir. But also through a mutual friend. Dustin Henderson? They play DND together. Dustin and I brought him in after we found him like this..." Steve lifted his head again gauging Wayne's still stern expression and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry sir I didn't mean to interrupt anything I'll get out of your hair."

And Wayne wanted to be skeptical of Steve, wanted to accuse him of doing this to Eddie, but the truth is that Steve sounded painfully earnest. And there's no human explanation for the tiny bite marks all over Eddie's body. Wayne stepped out of the doorway and let Steve take a few steps down the hallway before calling out to him.

"Hey, Harrington?" Steve turned around quickly, looking back with a startled expression, maybe surprised that Wayne knew his name at all. "D'ja see what happened? I mean d'ya know anythin about what hurt him?" Wayne asked more softly. Steve looked around the crowded hallway, with nurses buzzing from door to door. Steve shook his head slightly, apologized, and continued down the hallway.

But Steve didn't stay out of his hair for long. The kid was exasperatingly persistent in being around for Eddie. And while Wayne kept a watchful eye on him, he was starting to get the idea that Steve Harrington was not who Wayne thought he was. He cooked for, cleaned after, and tended to Eddie, asking for nothing in return. Often refusing to stay for dinner when Wayne was home, even if he was the one who cooked it, because he didn't want to interrupt family time. If he brought food from out he always brought something for Wayne, and never took the money Wayne tried to push into his hands for it.

"Here, Mr. Munson. I wasn't sure what you wanted from the diner, but Eddie said you're not picky so I brought you a burger and fries." Steve had said that first time, holding out a bag in front of him.

"You brought me food?" Wayne asked perplexed.

"Well yeah, of course. I wouldn't have shown up with dinner for just me and Eddie." Steve set Wayne's bag on the counter when he made no move to take it.

By now Steve knew Wayne and Eddie's order at pretty much every food place in Hawkins and Wayne and Eddie were getting real creative at finding ways to slip money into Steve's wallet.

On top of that, almost every other day, Wayne gets home from work to find a maroon bmw parked outside his place while Steve helps Eddie through bad dreams. So what could Wayne be, besides grateful, for Steve Harrington's slightly confusing devotion to his kid?

He's snapped out of his thoughts when said maroon bmw pulls up in front of him. Steve is wearing a pair of wired glasses and his hair is all ruffled from sleep. Wayne opens the passenger door.

"You were waiting for forty minutes in the cold? Why didn't you call sooner?" Steve asked pushing up his glasses as Wayne closes the door quickly. And well... Wayne doesn't know how to respond to that.

"I- I shouldn'ta had to call you in the first place, Steve. I'm real sorry" Wayne says as Steve pulls the car out of park and starts driving back towards the trailer park. Wayne glances over at Steve waiting for the kid to say something. They sit in heavy silence until Steve breaks it by clearing his throat.

"Just... I know you're probably mad at Eddie but- but don't yell at him. He's barely sleeping so he really just needs the rest. It's not his fault." Steve ends on a whisper.

A tidal wave of different emotions rip through Wayne. Affection for Steve's caring nature, immense gratitude that Eddie has someone like Steve in his life, disbelief that Steve would say something like that after being woken at nearly 4 in the morning. Wayne was sitting and staring at the most selfless kid he'd ever met. Steve fucking Harrington.

"You should date my nephew."

Steves eyes widen and the car swerves.

"Uh- s-sorry- what?" Steve stammers.

"If I could choose someone for him, the best option out there, I'd choose you." Wayne says honestly, and he didn't even know he'd been thinking it until this moment. But it's so true. After so many heartbreaks over truly terrible men that Wayne could never see the appeal of, Eddie deserves someone like Steve. Steve face softens before checking to make sure Wayne was being sincere. Steve cracks a smile and chuckles to himself.

"What, you think I'm jokin'?" Wayne asks defensively.

"No sir! Not at all. It's just Eddie and I have been dating for months already. BUT- but- thank you for saying that! It means so much to me and truly Eddie's the best thing-"

"You- what?" Suddenly Wayne is embarrassed. Blushing. How'd he... how'd he miss that? And well, he did have a few moments where he thought the two of them were awfully close for a pair of young men, at least one of which who was openly queer, but they'd been through a lot together.

"Why did no one tell me?" Wayne asks turning his face away from Steve who is desperately fighting a huge grin and losing.

"We thought you knew. We sleep in the same bed every night."

"You do what now? Thought you were sleepin' on the floor" Wayne knows he sounds like the protective dad of a teenage girl and not the uncle to an adult man, but his world was just turned sideways. Steve laughs at that and adjusts his glasses before stopping at the red traffic light which almost immediately turns green because no one is out at this hour.

"Oh well. Good, I'm glad then." Wayne says after his mind has stopped spinning. "And call me Wayne already, you basically live at my house." He punches Steve lightly in the shoulder.

"Okay." Steve agrees quietly. He pulls into Forest Hills and stops the car in front of the Munson's place. "Mind if I just check to make sure he's okay before I leave? For peace of mind?" Wayne opens the door and steps out.

"Oh so now you're playing coy about sharing a bed? Just sleep here, kid" Wayne closes the door and heads towards the house. Steve jogs a little to catch up. When they open the door, the sound of an obnoxious alarm comes pouring out from the back of the house which concerns both of them. But when Steve hurries to Eddie's room he sees that the idiot had fallen asleep with music blasting in his headphones. Wayne stops the alarm as Steve gently tries to remove the headphones from his ears pausing the tape inside.

Eddie suddenly stirs and blinks up at Wayne and Steve looking down at him.

"'S going on?" He croaks, rubbing his eyes. Wayne and Steve share a look before Wayne chuckles and pats Steve on the back once before thanking him and wishing him a good night on the way out. After the door closes behind Wayne, Eddie looks back up at Steve. "What's going on baby? What happened?"

Steve slips into the bed and scoffs, fondly. He curls around Eddie and pulls him into his chest. Once they've settled, Steve pushes his fingers through Eddie's until they're all intertwined.

"Did you forget something, Bambi? Was there someone you had to pick up from work at 3 in the morning?" Steve whispers into his neck. Suddenly Eddie shoots up and dislodges Steve where he was leaning against him. Steve groans.

"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit"

"Eddie it's okay c'mere. He's home now, it's all good babe." But Eddie just stares at the wall and pulls a hand through his hair. "No one is mad, just come back here. Let's sleep." And Eddie hesitantly lies back down.

"Did Uncle Wayne have to call you? I'm so fucking sorry Stevie." Eddie asks, sounding embarrassed.

"We had a nice conversation on the way home so it all worked out. You're okay. Sleeeeep."

And right before they both fall asleep, Eddie whispers, "Thanks Stevie, love you."

#steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie #eddie munson #wayne munson #Wayne Munson POV #steve/eddie

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writingwisterias · 2 months ago

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Day 18: Thigh Riding

Damnation! Divorced! Leon Kennedy x AFAB! Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Drinking, Divorced Leon, Age-Gap, Thigh riding, Fingering, Cowgirl, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breast sucking, Beer belly, Depression, Leon's method of therapy is sex Masterlist This is my personal favourite of the whole 25 days! I hope you enjoy, thank you for all the love <3

Leon sighed as he looked at the collection of empty bottles on the coffee table, so many of the green beer bottles he could recreate that annoying song his kids liked to listen to. He ran his hands over his face, the stubble scratching his palms as his eyes glanced at the kitchen counters. The papers were bright white against the dark marble, a constant reminder of his blaring divorce. He knew he fucked up before she threw the ring at him, apparently sickness and health meant nothing to her. Only when he fell into this whirlpool of depression did she then decide to leave him, despite their vows to each other. Leon sighed at the picture of his kids that was hung in front of him. He couldn't even see them currently, not until he cleared up his act whenever that was going to happen. Leon thought she understood, thought she was a safe place to deal with his issues but he was wrong. She had enough of his endless drinking and slept with her stupid Co-worker.

Of course, the woman made herself out to be the victim, that the reason she destroyed the only stable thing in his life was because of his drinking. His nightmares that constantly disturbed the house were another one of the many complaints as she sat him down and paced around the room during her announcement of this decision. It's not like he could help half of these things, he genuinely thought she understood but now he supposed like all things they eventually leave him.

The music was loud as he took another sip of the beer in his hands glancing at the door and waiting for the soft knock he knew was coming. He shouldn't have called you - dragged you into the hell hole that he resigned himself to. You were too innocent and kind for that only being a few years older than when he was thrust into this life. It was unprofessional to even have this relationship with you; you were his trainee, a rookie and yet you were constantly his more recent contact. He shouldn't have been admiring the way your body felt against him as he would pull you back during fights keeping you behind him just in case. You worked so well with him, maybe that's why during the mess in China the touches got more personal, lingering in certain places.

He had to stifle a groan when he opened the door to you wearing a shirt tennis skirt and oversized jumper. Your legs were exposed to the cold, turning red as you shivered on the spot. "I'm gonna freeze my ass off if you don't let me in" you shivered jumping on the spot to keep your warmth. He chuckled lowly guiding you into his dark apartment. You probably should be more nervous doing this, shy away from him as he guides you inside but after everything the two of you have seen - he was comfortable, a warmth and guidance back to reality. Never pressing you to return to the real world faster than you could process what you have seen like your other partners.

"it's not my fault you decided to wear that outfit" he grumbled watching your ass cheeks poke out from underneath as he lifted the fabric of your skirt slightly. You giggled swatting his hand away as you turned to face him, now enveloped in the warmth of his apartment as he shut the door. You ignored the bottles that littered everywhere, ignored the sounds of Nickelback that filled the silence. You knew why he wanted to fuck you, why he called you over when it got too much, having accidentally announced his divorce during a drunken night at the bar. "I thought you liked it when I dress like this?" You teased as you approached him. Your body is pressing against his crotch feeling it twitch against his jeans. "I like it better when your skin doesn't freeze my hands when I touch you" he grumbled, pulling away and moving back towards the armchair he often sat in. You watched as he shifted his hips in the same motion as when he thrust himself up into you. You half expected him to tap his thigh drawing you closer but he didn't look your way. Like there was some ghost in the kitchen behind you. You turned to drop your bag off and then spotted the papers. That's why he called you.

"You alright?" You asked, your voice cautious. Of course, he wasn't okay, you knew that from the state of his home. His call was a reach. A reach to maybe someone that will make him forget her. Remind him of the person he used to be when he fell in love with her, in hopes one day she would take him back. He knew she never would, he ruined that bridge...burned it to the ground. He was sure once his kids turned 18 she would never talk to him again.

Leon shook his head at your question his eyes finally meeting yours as you approached him. His breath hitched as you sat on his lap getting yourself comfy against his warmth. It was wrong, the age gap made him feel sick. He would hate it if he found out his child was in a relationship like this in the future but you never seemed to care. You seemed to thrive in his affection and attention. To point your performance even improved at work. He felt slimy as his hand caressed your thigh the spot so close to the hem of your skirt. It wasn't the first time you were here like this and he knew it wouldn't be the last. There was some string tying you both together, tethering your souls. If he was spiritual he would have assumed you were his soulmate with how well you both clicked.

"Got the papers today, she said if I clean up my act I can see the kids. It's just hard. Drinking is the only way that makes me forget. The only thing that worked at least" he sighed. You understood where he came from that's why he was so open with you about it. When he bought you to meet his wife that's where it went downhill. She was convinced you were a home wrecker but neither of you had pushed that boundary until after his divorce was announced and he showed up at your door drunk shortly after to drag you to the bar. "What do you need?" You whispered, your head resting against his shoulder. You watched your fingers run along the back of his hand admiring the size difference. "I don't know love" he sighed, hitting his head on the back of the armchair. He felt you shift on his lap, leaving your back against his chest. Your ass pressed against his crotch as your hips swayed lightly to the music that filled the room. Leon stifled the groan, his eyes darkened as he watched you.

He started to nibble at the nape of your neck, his hand pushed your back further against him giving you an arch as you tried to stay pressed against his bulge. Leon felt himself getting lost in you, your perfume filling his senses, your hair tickling his cheeks. "What do you need Leon?" You whispered again, your tone dripping to a sultry one as you looked at him in the corner of your eye. His blond hair had fallen over his eyes, his hand still clutching the bottle. He glanced back at the kitchen, realizing the irony of the two of them acting like this given the papers. "You" he finally confirmed. His hand drifted up your thigh again sliding underneath your skirt.

He could feel the warmth coming from your pussy before his fingertips touched it. You could feel his smirk against your neck as he finally came in contact with the fabric of your undies. "So wet my love, already?" He teased. You whined as his hands ran up and down the fabric, your pussy sticking to the wetness of the gusset. A beg attempted to leave your lips as his finger slipped past the fabric gathering your arousal. "Don't tease today please" you whined, bucking your hips against his hand. His chuckle vibrated against your back, his voice dropping to the octave that made your toes curl "Why not? I thought you liked being teased". Leon's fingers found the top of your underwear, toying with the elastic. A silent way command for you to lift your hips for him.

He enjoyed seeing you so eager to follow his command, your underwear slid down your legs as you kicked them aside with his help. Leaving your weeping pussy to sit on his thigh. Every time he moved the rough fabric brushed along your core, Leon could already feel the wet patch form on his leg. His hands found their place on your hips and began to move them, smirking as he felt your breaths against his ear. Small whimpers and whines leave your lips as the pleasure begins to build up. Your clit throbbed desperate for a closer feel but at the angle he had pulled you back it barely got any of the action. “Leon-” You begged. He already knew what you were asking for, his hands had stopped you from angling the hips in the correct position. “Please..” You attempted again. His chuckle was low again as he began to kiss at the spot below your ear. You could feel his erection tent in his jeans, the sheer girth of it poking at your ass cheek. “I’ve been good” You tried yet again. This time his chest vibrated with a loud laugh, one that made your cheeks redden with blush. “Have you? Sauntering over here in that outfit- for every man to get a look at these” He mumbled as one hand moved to caress your thigh, the flesh spilling from his fingertips as he squeezed it slightly. “I dressed up for you” You whined.

Leon tutted a smirk plastered on his face as he watched you form excuses in your brain just to get what you wanted. Hoping that he would fool for one. His hand moved up underneath your skirt, his fingertips brushing your clit as you circled your hips. His other hand moved up your body underneath the jumper, teasing your erect nipples pinching and tweaking the buds eliciting such pretty noises. He could hear your breaths shorten as you drew closer to your finish. Your eyes shut tight, breathing hitching as your body prepared to let the pleasure snap and flow through you. Only his hands landed back on your hips, the grip tight enough to stop your movements. “No…No please Leon..” You whimpered, your skin already covered in a light sheen of sweat with the amount of layers you had. Leon only chuckled again, looking at your flushed cheeks, your eyebrows pinched in frustration. “Come on, strip. Let me see you then” He whispered, his shoulder jolting your body ordering you to stand up.

He watched as you shimmed the skirt off, not missing the subtle movement of rubbing your thighs together to keep the stimulation going. Your jumper was next, exposing your bare chest. “No bra?” He spoke as his eyes gazed over your body admiring everything you had to offer. He loved how young and perky your breasts were, always capturing them in his mouth as they bounced with his thrusts. Your thighs are always around him in such perfect ways, the skin so soft in comparison to his. And then there was your pretty cunt, the shaved skin feeling so soft against his tip as he would run it along your folds, so neatly present just for him.

You watched as he undid his belt, shimming the jeans off as he let his erection spring free. His shirt was next, thrown and discarded somewhere in the room. He had gone soft in recent years, his abs now neatly tucked away behind a soft layer of fat. It made him self-conscious at first, his ex always poking fun at his ‘dad bod’. Then he found you, your hands gripping to his softer flesh, your teeth skinning into it softly as you needed you quieten your noises. Another reason for his growing love for you. He watched as you straddled his lap, your breasts hanging in his face as you lined yourself up. The armchair creaked with your movements as you began to circle your hips allowing you both to become lubed up with your arousal. He felt you begin to bounce, the movements slow at first as you pull yourself to the tip before slamming back down. The music became blurred in the background, he could only make out a few distant words. This felt so easy with you, the pleasure building up quickly as your walls clenched around him. This moment further confuses him with his ex-wife, and his insecurities of himself creeping in. Your hand redirected his face, guiding his view back to the present as you continued to ride him. Your teeth nibbled against his neck, hand entwined with his hair. Leon captured a nipple, sucking on it as he looked up at you, his eyes scanning the blissed-out look you had. “Don’t let her ruin you further Leon…You are perfect” You whimpered. The words shocked him, causing him to briefly stop sucking. Your hand rubbed the back of his head, pushing him gently to continue. “You never changed, she did”

His cock twitched inside you, his drunken mind becoming fuzzier with your appraisal. Your presence a reminder to him that he never changed, he was still the same person he always wanted to be. His hips drove up into you. Your hands left his head to hold his shoulders as he began his assault on your cervix. His cock driving so deep inside you as he poured everything he could to make you feel good. Your clit throbbed as the whisps on his snail trail rubbed against it thanks to the small belly he had created. You moaned loudly, head falling back exposing your neck. Leon smiled against your breast, biting down on the nipple as you finally orgasmed around him. The papers and situation became forgotten as he felt himself spill inside of you, your greedy pussy taking everything he gave you as he continued to thrust it up. You smiled down at him as he let go of your breast, bringing his lips in for a kiss. He held you close, his softening cock still inside of you. Love was an unspoken word between the two of you, the actions and bond you shared proved how you felt enough. You savoured his warmth as he held you close on the armchair, enjoying the closeness. “Thank you” He whispered, burying his face in your neck. His head was now clear of the thoughts that previously clouded them.

“Anytime”

Taglist: Taglist: @kasueli @luvrgreyy @michellekmsh @miss0giarra @cinnabunnysavvy @redollface @my-loved-figure-skates @luvlouiee @drawboo22 @moth-quasar @nyxxoxo @crazy-b1tch

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine

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ghostiesen · 2 months ago

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yandere!ticci toby x male reader

incoming voice message ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 : i am SO sorry for the amount of time u guys had to wait for this, but it's finally here! i tried to stay quite accurate with toby's personality, but well i have a specific vision of him and i can't quite force myself away from it,,, i hope u guys enjoy this either way <3

content includes: swearing, obsessive behavior, unhealthy behavior, possessiveness, carving his initials, kidnapping, murder mention, implied stockholm syndrome, stalking, tell me if i missed something!

art by: antlergrave, shatteredankles

You shut the door closed behind you, your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage as you press yourself against it. You take a deep breath in, trying to calm yourself and your racing heart down.

But, just then, you hear a loud bang against the door, making you flinch. You swallow thickly, your jaw visibly tensing. Now, you wish you never said those words to him.

"I'll show you, baby. Maniac? Sick? Psychopath?" he says, chuckling as he presses his palm flat against the door. "I'll show you psychopath, angel," he says, his voice quiet, but he's so close to the door you can hear him loud and clear, as if he knows how you're pressing right against it, as if he can feel the rapid beat of your heart.

"Is that what you think of me? I'm – I'm out here fucking protecting you from them, and you're calling me a psychopath, angel?" he laughs, pressing his forehead against the door, and you swear you can hear his sick smile as he speaks. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you hate how helpless just the mere sound of his laugh makes you feel, as if he's mocking you, knowing he will win no matter what. Knowing that at the end of the day he will always find you and catch you, like a weak, sick little puppy, too scared of the outside world.

For all you know, he probably enjoys every second of it.

And oh, he does.

What would you even do without him, anyway? He could keep you safe, warm, fed. Maybe not happy, because you can't seem to love him back, but surely that will come too, with time.

But Toby doesn't get it. He doesn't get any of it. He loves you, protects you, makes sure you're healthy, and yet you try your hardest to leave him? How ungrateful. But he will show you. He will show you why you should be careful, why you should crave his love, his touch, his warmth.

You'd call him twisted, no? For purposefully putting you in danger, all on your own, just to show you what happens when he's not there. To show you that you need him, that you can't do anything without him. Will he care, if you do call him sick and twisted?

He won't.

You've been doing it for so long, he will just laugh in your face, watch as your eyes go wide in fear, and tilt his head at you in a mocking manner, knowing you can't overpower him or do anything against him.

Watching him, seeing him laugh as you speak, it will fill your senses with dread. It will make your heart sink and beat rapidly, and it's so loud you swear he can hear it, making him look at you with a predatory nature, making your body freeze in fear.

༺♰༻ Yandere Ticci Toby who swears seeing you so defiant made his blood boil with anger, but now it just makes arousal pool into his stomach. He really started getting fond of your attitude. It will be fun getting rid of it, watching you finally learn to appreciate everything he does for you and begin to love him.

༺♰༻ Yandere Ticci Toby who, despite knowing he will always get you back no matter what, hates it when you leave. It stems from when his sister died, making him feel like he needs to force you to stick with him, and he will not tolerate it if you try to leave. Don't get him started on what happens if you do succeed, temporarily, of course. A person he loved died and left him before, he won't let it happen twice.

༺♰༻ Yandere Ticci Toby who felt like part of him died the day his sister died. And, to some degree, it's true. His past self died, and some could say he turned into a worse version of himself. He would like to call it a huge improvement, though… If you ignore his abandonment issues. You won't leave him like his sister did.

༺♰༻ Yandere Ticci Toby who enjoys the chase. Can you blame him? Sure, he's just a litte sadistic, but the way you whimper in fear gets him going. You always act so defiant at first, and then your fear finally sets in, and you're crying, shaking your head and hoping that he doesn't hurt you again. He thinks it's adorable.

"Just… Just let me go. Please." you whisper, a hint of desperation in your voice as you look up at Toby. You didn't even understand why it had to be you of all people. You hadn't met Toby before you caught him in the middle of the night in your home.

That was why you were still so confused about why it had to be you. You weren't even aware someone was stalking you until you woke up in the middle of the night once because you were thirsty. When you went to grab a glass of water, he was standing in your living room, acting as if you were the rude one for trying to attack him.

He happily took that as a chance to finally take you home and keep you all to himself. He had been so nice and patient, he deserved this reward, really.

Toby had actually been stalking you for a few months before that incident. Originally, he found out about you when you unknowingly saved his last victim — not for long, though — by showing up to his home unannounced.

The guy was your friend, someone you had known for a few months prior to the incident. Well, it was an incident for Toby really… You had no idea. Neither of you did.

Until your dear friend showed up dead on the news, of course. Something something stabbed and bludgeoned to death with hatchets. Not his cleanest work, but he had to rush it since you became his object of interest, soon to be object of obsession.

Originally, you were just trying to show up unannounced to make sure your friend knew you cared about him and his wellbeing after he told you he was feeling weird, noticing objects just slightly misplaced from where he last remembered they were placed. The first few times he convinced himself he was imagining it, that he was just being paranoid. After the twentieth time he was convinced something wasn't right, but no one else would listen, really.

So you tried to be there and believe him, knowing that he lived alone, you wanted to show up randomly knowing that these things would happen at odd times. You knew if something was really off, they would reconsider if there were two people around. Or at least have second thoughts.

Not like it mattered in the end. More so, it fucked you over as well.

Toby was sitting on the fire escape staircase, just outside your friend's window. His mouth guard was on, hiding the sinister smile on his face. The moonlight was shining down on his pale skin, as if accentuating it. In his right hand he held a hatchet, toying with it as if it wasn't the same weapon he used to take the life away from his victims.

Slowly, he glances up through the window of the small apartment, taking note of the fact that his victim was currently vulnerable. He took a mental note earlier of how paranoid he was, but somehow still stupid enough to not think of locking the fire escape window. Some people truly made this too easy, so easy it almost felt like mockery.

With a calculated breath, he quietly slid the window open with his free hand, briefly glancing into the apartment before he carefully jumped over the window sill, making his way inside.

He had been in here several times before, glanced thoroughly at every object inside, he had no need to take a look again and check for cameras. He already knew the apartment like the back of his hand and his victim wasn't even dead yet.

He pressed himself flat against the edge of the wall, noticing his victim sitting down on the couch, completely unaware. His grip tightens slightly on the hatchet, but right when he's about to push himself off the wall, he hears the doorbell ring. His eyebrows furrow in annoyance, yet he makes no noise as he leaves just as swiftly and quietly as he entered.

With a curious tilt of his head, he sits by the window and listens as you speak to his victim. You apologize to him for showing up unannounced, then proceed to voice your concerns.

This was the first time you showed up. It never went like this in the past few months since he has been watching his victim.

His gaze focuses on your frame as you enter the small apartment, taking in your features. At the sound of your name, it's almost like the gears shift in his brain.

Next time he wants to strike, he can't be as slow and calculated. He will have to be fast with it now that his attention seems to have shifted.

This was new, and his patience has been running thin since long. He could not afford wasting more of his time on a victim that held no significance. He did not want to wait until you became a routine to this… useless individual.

Hearing the news of what happened to your friend was like getting a punch in the gut. Every sound around you was completely muffled by the loud buzzing in your ears, so loud you could barely hear your own heartbeat. It was like your vision just became blurry, and you weren't able to even properly feel the couch you were sitting on. You weren't properly able to feel your own limbs.

At first it was more so shocking, what happened hadn't fully set in. It almost felt like a cruel joke. Knowing that your friend, who you saw just a few days prior, was now just… gone. About to be buried next week with no leads on his case.

You didn't go to the funeral, deciding to just visit his grave on your own. How would you feel going to his funeral, seeing everybody else in his life that would feel so overwhelmed with the fact they didn't believe him when he said something was wrong? The guilt these people would feel would no doubt make everything even more hard to swallow. No one said funerals had to be filled with happiness, but this one must've been completely unbearable, as if you were suffocating, slowly running out of breath and yet still conscious to everything around you.

"What the fuck." you muttered under your breath, your eyes filled with pure horror as you stared face to face with a man you did not even know. Of course this had to happen the one time you wake up thirsty in the middle of the night.

"Oh. Hey sweetheart." he inhales deeply, but you can see the corner of his mouth twisting up just slightly. Not only does it make you realize that he has a gash on the left side of his face, deep enough to see his molars and gums, but it also makes your heart beat even louder in your ears, not helping that your instincts were already screaming at you and telling you that you were the prey.

You instinctively take a step back, and his gaze immediately shifts to your feet, a sinister smirk on his face as he takes a step forward.

"God, I've always wanted to see you closer. Not really in this circumstance, but maybe it's a sign." he snickers, and you can feel his predatory gaze rake over your body, sending a shiver running down your spine.

In the blink of an eye, you lunge at him, punching him in the face. For a second, he falters, his head facing away from you, but you can see the corners of his mouth twist upwards, and somehow the act alone makes pure fear rush through your veins.

"I do like them feisty," he says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand before finally standing straight, looking at you. "Honestly, angel, you're really just making the matters worse for yourself. You have been since the beginning." he continues, taking a step forward, then another, slowly getting closer to you.

You're too confused to notice. You haven't seen him in your entire life. You don't know who he is or what he's even talking about.

"Pretty little thing, aren't you?" he whispers in your ear, and it's only then that you notice how close he had gotten. "The world isn't kind to clueless things, angel. Doesn't help how pretty you are," he continues, and your breath hitches as you feel his left hand on your hip, as if keeping you in place to make sure you don't act out again. "Keeping you all to myself might just be the only solution, really. You'll understand, won't you?" he asks, but you notice there's a hint of a threat in his tone. This was not a choice, not at all.

A sob racks your body, and it all just feels like too much. You're frozen in fear, and even then, you wouldn't be able to do much with the tight grip he had on you.

"Please." you begged, voice quiet and yet filled with so much raw emotion, Toby almost felt bad.

"It's okay angel. I've got you now. I'll keep you safe, you'll see." he coos, yet it only makes you sob violently, your whole body shaking in his grasp.

Next thing you know, everything goes black as he knocks you out.

Meanwhile, he felt like he could die from happiness right then and there. You were so perfect, yet so unpredictable. This was the second time you had made him stray off his plans, really, he didn't expect you to just walk into the kitchen the same moment he was there, and yet it just kept feeling like you wanted him to take you with him, to make sure you're all his.

That's probably why you liked interrupting his thought out plans. You wanted him as well, you wanted to be his.

Even if it was a coincidence, Toby was sure it was fate. Even if you didn't want him yet, you'll want him later.

When your eyes finally flutter open, you instantly feel the sharp pain in your head. Bringing your right hand up to feel it, your fingers instantly graze the bandages.

With a sigh, your left hand caresses the soft fabric of the bed sheets, and it almost felt normal if it wasn't for the headache and the bandages. Glancing around, you realize quickly that this wasn't your room, and you take a mental note of the lack of restraints. You weren't handcuffed, tied or chained. In fact, you were completely free to roam around as you wished.

Quietly standing up from the bed, you notice how weak your legs feel, but your determination to find out where you are is stronger than finding out how long you've been unconscious.

Walking up to the windows in the room, your eyebrows furrow in confusion as the only thing you can see is a vast forest. More so, it seems like you're in a cabin. With a frustrated huff, you move towards the door that leads outside this room, but just as you were about to open it, it slides open and your kidnapper — the male you first met in your kitchen — comes in.

"Good. You're awake." he closes the door behind him, standing in front of it. You take notice of that, taking a few steps back to seem like you're going to comply.

"Who are you?" you ask almost instantly, voice slightly quiet, but your tone had a hint of determination in it.

He snickers, and you notice the mouth guard he had on. It gives you hope for a brief moment, that maybe you're not so far from civilization if he wore that. He wouldn't leave you alone for a long time when there was a high chance you'd leave, which means he must've not been gone for long.

"Toby. Now, I understand you must be curious, but first of all, we need rules." he starts, leaning against the door and crossing his arms over his chest. You swallow thickly, glancing away briefly before meeting his predatory gaze. You took the moment to look at his appearance, noting how his brown hair was unkept and his brown eyes were dull, his pupils foggy. It made you wonder what happened to him, but that wasn't important to you right now.

"First, you're not leaving. Don't even think about it. Punishments are severe, I'll leave that up to your imagination, sweetheart," he continues, and you know he's not joking when you glance at his hips, noticing the holster for his hatchets. He could hurt you if he wanted to.

"Second, you're going to behave. Again, punishments are severe. This is the last time I'll repeat it." you swear you can hear a hint of smugness in his voice, and you know it's probably because you haven't talked back yet.

"And third, of course, you'll listen to me. I want my pretty little thing to be obedient, but I'm sure it's fine if you need a little… training." he finishes, pushing himself off of the door and taking his mouth guard off. He was smirking, and it made you want to wipe it off his face so hard.

Seeing him take a step towards you made you instantly step back, and as he sees this, he tilts his head to the side with a raise of his eyebrow. You swallow thickly, but you could tell he noticed you trembling when his gaze raked over your body.

"Oh, come on. I'm not gonna hurt you… too much." he chuckles, then walks over to you. "I said I'd take care of you, didn't I, [Name]?" at the mention of your name, your eyes widen and you gasp quietly. For a moment, all you could hear was your own heartbeat, but your blood was boiling.

Suddenly, you shove him backwards, and you can tell you caught him by surprise when he let out a soft gasp. You glare at him, your fists balled up at your sides.

"How do you know my name? Who – who even are you? How the fuck do you know me?" you stutter, clearly fed up with whatever was going on. It was all so overwhelming.

He scoffs, and the look on his face makes fear rush through your veins, but you ignore it. You wanted to stand your ground. "Who do you think killed your little friend? Really, the first time you showed up was when he was supposed to die, anyway. But my pretty little thing had other plans for me. For us." he explains, and for the second time today it felt like the wind was knocked from your lungs. Your kidnapper was your friends killer.

"Matter of fact, you made yourself mine the second my eyes landed on you. You belong to me now, whether you like it or not. Of course, worst case scenario you end up like your friend, but oh, my dear angel, I would really dislike it if I had to do that to you." he threatens, and by the time you notice, he was right in front of you, leaning down, your faces just inches apart. What instilled more fear in you, though, was the cold blade pressing against your abdomen.

"Shall I give you a reminder? Maybe remember this as… your first punishment." he pushes you down onto the soft sheets, getting on top of you. "I must add, you do look quite good under me." he smirks, and you can hear it in his voice.

Every information, every word he spoke, it all just made you freeze in fear. It felt like you couldn't even move, like you couldn't even breathe. You didn't even notice the tears falling down your cheeks until he wiped them away, giving you a soft kiss on each cheek as if it was going to take away all of your pain.

"It's okay, my sweet. I'll keep you safe." he coos, meeting your fearful gaze. He wasn't smirking, although his gaze did hold a predatory hint to it, his gaze was mostly affectionate.

And then, you could feel his cold hands move your shirt up, just enough to expose the skin of your abdomen to the cold air in the room. He gently caressed your skin, making you flinch away from his cold hands. In turn, he grabbed your waist, holding you down as he brought the tip of his hunting knife to your skin, carving his initials in it painfully slow.

"This, angel, is a reminder that you belong to me. That you belong to Tobias Rogers." he whispers, his voice low and gentle despite his actions. Your entire body was shaking with sobs, pleading for him to stop. He just shushed you and kept going, giving you small kisses from time to time as if it would take away the pain.

When you managed to escape him, the mere idea of him kept you up at night. When you did manage to sleep from time to time, you would always wake up in the middle of the night, more paranoid than ever.

Scared that he will show up just like the day the two of you first met.

And yet, every time you looked into the mirror, your eyes kept wondering to the scar on your abdomen that just wouldn't heal.

You kept scraping it every time. It was the only thing you had left from him.

From Tobias Rogers.

But somehow, you had a feeling it wouldn't be the last you would see of him. He did say you would never leave him, that you belonged to him forever. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was right.

incoming voice message ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 : i procrastinated sm im so sorry this took 50 years omg... anyways the word count is like 3.7k words !!! reminder that requests are open

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miniaturesuitgladiator · 9 days ago

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Batfam x Neglected Mortal

Kombat Reader

Notes: this is part 9 to lucid dreams.

Warnings ⚠️: child neglect.

As you step through the blue portal memories of your life that lead up to this exact moment ,flash through your mind.

Some memories good....like when you first met Jason or when you had gotten taller then your mother.

And some memories bad... like when your mother forgot your birthday... or when your grandmother died...

Each memory more painfulthen the last. And for a moment you begin wondering if you even had good memories from gotham.

But you do.... and each good memory has one thing in common.

Jason.

Your jason the one who stood by you through everything..

The jason who used to cry thinking you'd leave him. Just like his mother.

The jason who'd you comfort and not only promise but pinky promise that you'd never leave him.

The same jason who you left in tears.

Your jason.

Your brother.

Jason what was kept you alive. Or atleast that's what it felt like. Every milestone every journey jason was there.... and now he wasn't.

Not because he didn't want to be. But because you left him. This is a choice you made.

A choice you'll have to live with.

So you push your guilt and regret away as your feet finally touch the ground of the place you left so many years ago.

The soft snow crunches under your shoes and it's cold. No, it's freezing. It always is here.

Any normal person would probably freeze but your body is quick to adjust to the weather. You were born here this is natural to you.

The cold never really bothered you anyway do to your fire abilities.

Standing right infront of you is two men. Your father's soldiers no doubt. They were his symbol of the dragon across their chest.

Their tall and old. But you can tell their strong. But you suppose they have to be strong.

Because this world isn't kind to anything weak.

The have four horses with them. Two for you and Kion and two for them. Kion pulls you with him towards them as he walks. They bow out of respect.

"Welcome princess." They say in sync.

Princess....it's been so long since you've been called that. And truthfully you don't want that title but it's yours to bare. So you nod your head.

Kion helps you as you get onto the horse. It's a big horse and the color is a perfect black. It's a far nicer horse then what the two other soldiers will be riding.

Once Kion sees your safely on the horse he gets on his. Kion leads the way and your horse follows in suit.

As if your horse wasn't even listening to you but to Kion. Kions horse slows down so that your horse matches its pace perfectly.

Riding side by side ,kion begins speaking. "You made the right decision sister..this is where you belong. This is your home." He says.

And glancing around the snowy forest and tall trees you feel like he's right....this is where you belong. This is your home.

You ride your horse in silence for a few minutes taking in his words and their truth.

"This is my home...." You repeat quietly testing the words on your tongue..... but you can't help but miss what you left behind... No, you miss who you left behind.

And like he always does Kion senses your distress.

"Regret weighs down the mind ,sister....Don't regret what's already done. It's pointless." Kion says and his words are true. But they still don't help.

"You sound like father." You say because you know that's where he got it from.

"Father, is wise sister... you should take what he says seriously. " he says with a stern voice. He obviously didn't understand that you were trying to make a joke. But Jason would've.......

"I always do. " You say quietly. The pit of regret in your stomach growing.

"Father won't be there to welcome you when we arrive..... he's out on a short trip...he'll be back by morning." He assured almost ashamed that your father won't be there.

You smile sheepishly knowing the reason.

"He didn't think I would come?" You question already knowing the answer.

"It's been years sister...he didn't doubt you.. he just doubted what your mother could've made you into." Kion says and by the way he says it you can tell. He believed the same thing.

"My mother didn't turn me into anything." You say and the atmosphere gets so tense that even the horses under you can feel it.

One soldiers behind you speak up trying to ease the tension. "Your brother means no disrespect princess...but everyone's glad to know that your loyalty lays with us." One says. But you stay silent still angry with kions words.

Did everyone here think you're a toy? Or clay that could be molded into anything?

You sigh knowing that that's what they probably think. Because here it's common...

Here it's common for your parents to decide exactly what kind of person you become.

"Make no mistake the princesses loyalty lays with her kin." Kion says almost possessively and your hands clench the ranes of the horse.

"Of course my prince." The soldiers say and you can tell their scared. Their scared of your brother.

Because of what he is. Who he is....did they fear you just the same? You ask yourself.

The ride to your village is quiet other then the sound of your horses hooves walking.

It's snowing lightly casting a beautiful scenery if only the silence wasn't so tense.....

After a while of riding your horse into the snowy forest you're greeted with the walls that you were raised in...

The walls that you had once escaped. And now you welcome them....?

It's a strange feeling. Somethings have changed. You've changed. You've matured.

Grown mentally and physically.

Your no longer the small girl who'd your mentors hit when you'd make a mistake.

No, now. Your strong. And much likely stronger then any of your past mentors.

The walls around your village are tall. And you can't help but feel like there trapping you in as the big gate closes behind you.

The people in your village both old and young are formed into a line in both sides of the path that leads straight toward the palace.

The all bow as you pass them on your horse. You look at them studying each one of them as your ride your horse passes them.

Your peoples eyes watch you. Study you right back. Taking in every little detail about you.

Your clan was nothing if not observant.

You can see there already whispering things about. But you don't care anymore if it's good or bad. Or maybe....deep down you do.

"This is your home sister... your legacy." Kion say and his chin is held high as you both ride your horses through the path.

Like a prince.

He is a prince.

.....he's wrong. This is his legacy.....not yours.

Where do you belong?

'Regret weighs down the mind...don't regret something you can't change.' Kions words stick to you. They always will....

The moon shine brightly tonight and it's rays hit the palace peaceful eliminating the beauty of this place.

Mounting off of your horse with ease. You sigh. And walk up the stairs of the tall ancient palace.

It's been so long since last walked the halls...but you remember each one.

The colors on the walls haven't faded...and the walls carry something deeper than color.

Memories...they carry memories.

Most of fighting, learning or rare occasions you'd take a walk with your father.

"Dinner is being prepared..." kion says as you walk through the halls.

"I'm not hungry" You say and you continue walking through the halls of the palace ignoring kions protest for you to eat.

Eventually you do reach the place you've been dying to see.... your room.

It's smaller then you remember and all of your stuff sits untouched. Almost as if you left it yesterday. But no, you left it years ago....

It's been cleaned there's not a spot of dust to be seen. But everything in perfect place.

Your pencil lays on your desk and so does your old school work. Some of your drawings lay on the desk too.

All memories you thought you forgot about. You sit on the big bed. Because despite your small room it still had a big bed.

You were royalty after all.

This bed is way softer then the small bed you had in gotham. It doesn't creak and it's springs aren't broken.

And spriseingly it's warm...

Laying down on the soft bed kion sighs. And finally moves away from the door frame.

"This room isn't big enough for you. I'll have you a room prepared." He says turning away but he stops as he hears your protest.

"I like this room....I'll stay in this room."

"I'm not asking sister." He says defensively almost like it pains him to see you in a room that isn't to his taste.

Because it does.

"Neither was I." Your voice is calm as you lay on your bed. But he knows you won't back down.

So he sighs and decides to let it go.

"As you wish...are you certain you aren't hungry?" He asks and you can tell he's still disappointed that you willing want to stay in this room.

But his concern out ways his disappointment.

"Positive." You reply. Not missing a beat.

"Alright then...goodnight sister.." He mumbles quietly.

"Goodnight Kion..." You say quietly deep in your thoughts.

But you catch how he stays for a moment longer wanting you to say something else.

Something more.

So you speak up quietly but Kion catches your words.

Because he's been dying to hear them.

"I love you brother...." Your voice is no louder then a whisper and you almost think he doesn't hear them.

But when you sit up to see him he smiles.... and quickly wipes his eyes..

He's crying..because you said you loved him?

You had honestly said those words out of pressure. But you can tell how much they mean to him.

To you he was crying because you had said you loved him. But to him you had not only said you loved him.

But you called him your brother...

Your brother.

You had never called him that. Never.

Always Kion. Never brother.

Despite his tears you can see he's happy. It's as of the weight he's been carrying has finally been lifted.

And your about to stand up to hug him. And it probably would've been an awkward hug like before.

But before you can even stand up Kion speaks up.

"I love you too ,sister.......very much." His voice is small... and tender. Kind of like him.

He's walks away before you can stand.

You can't see him but he's smiling like an absolute idiot. But he doesn't care...because you love him.

You actually love him.

Him.

He's your brother. Not jason.

You lay back down on your bed drifting between sleep and worry. You feel uncomfortable on your bed.

It feels almost like it's not yours. But it is...

Many worries cloud your mind as you remain laying down. Each worse then the last.

What if your father dislikes you? No, he wants you here..he needs to here... right?

What if he's disappointed in your fighting abilities? No, your strong. You know pretty much everything...right?

What if you stutter when you see him. You know how much he hated when you used to stutter out of fear.

No, your diffrent now....stronger...right?

You know deep down these worries are useless think about. But you can't help yourself.

Tomorrow you'd see the man you ran away from. So many years ago.

Soon enough your mind does eventually give into sleep......tomorrow you'd see someone that you've tried to pretend that you've hated for so long...the man who you've seen in the mirror all your life.

The man who raised you. Made you.

The man that despite your past you care for deeply.. you love deeply...... your father...

Thanks for reading! All comments and likes are very much appreciated! They really keep me writing! 💗💗

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lupinqs · 1 month ago

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SAFE AND SOUND (3/3) ━━ pazzi

☆ ━ summary: in which azzi fudd forms an unexpected alliance with paige bueckers as they fight for survival in the hunger games.

☆ ━ word count: 16.6K

☆ ━ warnings: violence, angst, death, really depressing ending

☆ ━ links: part one, part two, my masterlist, ao3 link

☆ ━ author’s note: hi!!!! so actually turns out that deleting this made me much more productive and motivated and i wrote this in like a day and a half be proud. it’s a very action packed chapter, lots of things happen, and i hope you enjoy it. might make you a little depressed but we all need some angst in our lives!

THE MORNING creeps in gently, sunlight slipping through the canopy of trees above, dappling the forest floor in soft patches of gold. Azzi stirs faintly, her awareness coming back to her in pieces. Her body feels warm, cocooned in a strange, comfortable stillness. When she opens her eyes, everything comes into sharp, startling focus.

She’s still lying across Paige’s lap.

Her first instinct is panic—her mind racing to all the reasons why this shouldn’t be happening, why she should’ve moved the moment Paige fell asleep. But then her body shifts slightly, and she feels Paige’s arm, the uninjured one, slung loosely over her side, her fingertips brushing lightly against Azzi’s ribs. Paige’s breathing is soft and even, her chest rising and falling against Azzi’s back.

Azzi freezes, unwilling to move just yet. Her head tilts slightly, enough to let her eyes flicker upward. Paige is waking, her body stirring beneath Azzi, her fingers twitching against the brunette’s side.

Then, Paige lets out a small, sleepy sound—something between a sigh and a groan—and rubs at her eyes with her free hand. She looks bleary but not broken, not like last night. The color has returned to her cheeks, and her features seem softer, less drawn. When she finally looks down at Azzi, she smiles, slow and dopey, her voice raspy as she murmurs, “Hey.”

The word is so simple, so casual, but it sends a terrible rush of warmth through Azzi’s chest, lighting her nervous system on fire. Her stomach flips violently, and she suddenly feels much more awake.

“Hey,” she replies, her voice a little quieter than she meant it to be. She shifts her body, sitting up so she and Paige are face to face.

As soon as she does, Paige’s smile fades quickly, replaced by a waterfall of surprise. Without warning, her hand comes up, cupping Azzi’s face. The motion is so sudden that Azzi flinches, blinking in confusion. “Holy shit,” Paige breathes, her fingers skimming lightly over Azzi’s cheek. “It’s so much better! The cut—it’s, like, completely gone!”

Azzi’s heart stutters in her chest, her breath catching. Paige’s fingers are warm against her skin, and she feels their faint pressure as they ghost over where the gash had been. She doesn’t feel any pain, no sting, no soreness. Azzi’s own hand flies up to her cheekbone, her fingertips brushing the spot where she remembers the cut vividly.

Smooth skin.

There’s maybe the faintest hint of a scratch, but that’s it. Nothing like the deep wound she fell asleep with.

“Oh my God,” Azzi whispers, voice barely audible.

She pulls away slightly, her mind racing. She looks at Paige again, who’s now staring at her with a mixture of amazement and something else—something unreadable. Paige’s grin stretches wider, lighting up her face in a way Azzi doesn’t know if she’s ever seen.

But Azzi’s not done yet. Her gaze darts down to Paige’s injured arm, her heart thundering with a possibility that maybe—just maybe—

Without thinking, she grabs Paige’s wrist, startling the blonde. Paige lets out a surprised, “Azzi—” but doesn’t pull away, watching as the younger girl begins peeling back the makeshift bandage of leaves.

Azzi’s movements are hurried, frantic, her hands shaking as she works the wrapping free. She’s not careful, probably pulling harder than she should, but Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even wince.

When the last of the leaves fall away, Azzi freezes.

The gash that had once been so deep and gruesome, red and angry, is now reduced to something barely noticeable. The skin has knitted itself back together, leaving behind a faint pink line, the kind of thing you might slap a Band-Aid on and forget about.

“No way,” Azzi breathes, her voice breaking on the words. Her eyes dart up to Paige, wide and disbelieving.

Paige stares at her arm for a moment before laughter bubbles out of her, light and bright, filling the quiet air between them. Azzi blinks at her, caught between confusion and awe, before the sound tugs at her lips, coaxing a grin from her that she doesn’t even realize is there until it’s too late.

Their eyes meet, and Paige’s laughter softens into something gentler, warmer. The grin she gives Azzi is the kind that burns its way into her chest, leaving her breathless and weightless all at once. Azzi watches as Paige’s hood hand brushes lightly over the faint line on her arm as if to check that it’s real. The brunette feels her muscles tighten with something she can’t even name—relief, maybe, or something warmer, something deeper.

Then, Paige surprises her.

Before Azzi can process it, Paige shifts, leaning forward and wrapping both arms—injured one included—around Azzi in a hug that’s all at once clumsy, tight, and utterly genuine. It catches Azzi off guard, her body stiff for half a second before she melts into it. She shouldn’t, she knows she shouldn’t, but she lets herself sink into the embrace, her arms coming up to circle Paige’s waist.

Paige’s face presses into her shoulder, and Azzi feels the soft puff of Paige’s breath against her neck. “I kinda thought we were goners,” Paige whispers, and her voice is thick, the words carrying more weight than Azzi expects.

Azzi doesn’t respond—not verbally. Instead, she tightens her arms around Paige, letting the gesture say everything she can’t. She hates how much she’s missed this kind of closeness, how safe it feels, how terrifying it is to want it.

Eventually, they both pull back slightly, though Paige’s hands linger on Azzi’s shoulders, her touch warm and steady. Azzi freezes as she realizes how close they still are, their faces only inches apart. Paige’s breath brushes against her cheek, and her eyes are impossibly blue, locked onto Azzi’s like they’re the only two people in the world, like there’s not a million cameras probably latched onto this very moment.

Azzi’s gaze moves before she can stop it, flicking down to Paige’s lips. Her heart pounds, her breath hitching audibly, and it feels like the air between them is crackling, charged with something she knows better than to name.

She can’t help it, though. She sees Paige’s eyes drop too, following the same path, lingering on Azzi’s lips for just a beat too long.

Azzi swallows hard. She knows how wrong this is. She knows what lines she’s already dangerously close to crossing.

And yet, when Paige leans in just a fraction, Azzi finds herself leaning too—

Abruptly, she pulls away, standing so fast that it startled Paige, who blinks up at her in confusion. Azzi’s pulse races, and she runs a hand across her face, her voice tight and shaky as she says, “Um, we should probably move. Y’know, we’ve been in the same spot for way too long now.”

Paige tilts her head slightly, her brows furrowing, and for a moment, Azzi’s sure she’s going to press the issue. But then Paige nods slowly, her expressions smoothing into soma thing neutral, though her eyes still carry a hint of something unreadable.

“Yeah,” Paige says softly, shifting to stand. “You’re probably right.”

Azzi busies herself with their things, not trusting herself to look at Paige again just yet. Her hands tremble slightly as she gathers the remaining supplies, her thoughts a chaotic tangle of relief and regret and something dangerously close to longing.

THE MORNING feels hopeful, almost bright, despite the heavy clouds overhead. They’re stocked on fruit, and their water supply is steady. Paige, miraculously, looks fine. She’s walking with surprising ease, considering what her body endured just last night. Her arm—while not perfect—is functional, and the exhaustion that clung to both of them like a second skin yesterday seems less oppressive today.

Azzi’s head, too, feels remarkably clear. No throbbing pain, no sharp aches to send her reeling. It’s almost enough to make her believe that they might finally catch a break.

And then the rain comes.

At first, it’s refreshing. The jungle is humid, suffocating even, and the coolness of the droplets feels like relief against Azzi’s overheated skin. But it doesn’t take long for the drizzle to evolve into a torrential downpour.

The rain is relentless. It pounds against the canopy overhead, slips through gaps in the foliage, and soaks them both to the bone within minutes. Azzi can barely see through the water streaming into her eyes, blinking furiously and swiping at her face every few seconds. Beside her, Paige does the same, muttering something under her breath that Azzi can’t hear over the sound of the rain hammering the leaves around them.

The ground beneath them turns treacherous quickly, the dirt path dissolving into thick mud. Every step is a calculated risk, and Azzi finds herself walking slower, her shoes squelching loudly with each movement. She glances over at Paige to see if she’s managing any better, but Paige looks just as miserable, if not more so.

The storm intensifies, thunder rolling through the sky in low, ominous waves. Lightning flashes briefly, illuminating their surroundings in stark, silver light. It’s unsettling, almost unnatural, and Azzi can’t help but feel a prickle of unease crawl up her spine.

It’s when Paige’s foot catches on something—a root, a rock, Azzi doesn’t know—and she goes down hard, that the tension breaks.

Paige lands with a wet, squelching sound, arms flailing uselessly as she tumbles into a thick pile of mud. Azzi freezes for a moment, startled, before the sight of Paige sprawled out on her hands and knees, covered head-to-toe in muck, sends an unexpected laugh bubbling up in her chest.

She tries to suppress it, she really does. But the combination of Paige’s indignant expression and the sheer absurdity of the situation—it’s too much. The laugh escapes before she can stop it, loud and abrupt, cutting through the sound of the rain.

Paige looks up sharply, her face a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Are you serious right now?” she exclaims, her voice rising over the storm. She’s already clawing at her arms, trying desperately to scrape off the mud, but it only seems to smear further.

Azzi bites her lip, attempting to stifle another laugh, but it’s no use. Paige just looks so utterly disgusted, her mouth twisted into a grimace as she uses the rainwater to wash herself off. The more she tries, the less successful she seems, and Azzi can’t stop herself from snorting.

“It’s not funny!” Paige snaps, though there’s no real venom in her tone. She wipes furiously at the Capitol-provided suit she wears, which is now a patchwork of soaked fabric and dark brown stains. “This is disgusting. Disgusting!”

Azzi shakes her head, wiping at her eyes again as more rain streams down her face. “It’s a little funny,” she says, though her voice is tight with the effort of holding back her laughter.

Paige glares at her, but there’s no heat behind it. The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, and Azzi knows she’s close to cracking too.

The thunder growls again, closer this time, and Azzi feels her humor wane, replaced by a thread of worry. The storm isn’t letting up—it’s only getting worse. The rain is so heavy now that she can barely see a few feet in front of her, and the paths they’ve been relying on are rapidly turning into rivers of mud.

“We need to find some kind of shelter,” Azzi says, her voice louder than she intends. Paige nods, still wiping at her arms, though her movements have slowed. The disgusted look on her face has softened, replaced by something more serious.

They trudge onward, their progress painfully slow as the rain continues to batter them from all sides. The lightning flashes more frequently now, illuminating twisted trees and thick undergrowth that seem to press closer with every step. Azzi keeps her eyes on the ground, watching for roots and rocks, hyper-aware of how easy it would be to slip and fall just like Paige did.

She tries to focus on the practicalities—the weight of the fruit in her bag, the amount of water they have left—but it’s hard to ignore the growing unease settling in her chest. The jungle feels different today, more alive, more threatening.

Another flash of lightning lights up the sky, and Azzi catches a glimpse of Paige beside her, her hair plastered to her face, her lips pressed into a thin line. Despite everything, Paige keeps moving, her steps determined even as the mud sucks at her boots.

Azzi doesn’t know how she does it. Paige should be weak, drained, barely able to stand after everything that happened last night. But somehow, she’s still going, her stubbornness as unyielding as ever.

Azzi wipes at her face again, sighing heavily as she steps over another puddle. The rain continues to hammer down in torrents, so relentless that it’s hard to distinguish the sound of thunder from the pounding water. Every step Azzi takes sinks her deeper into the mud, her feet dragging like dead weights. Beside her, Paige is muttering under her breath, her words barely audible over the roar of the storm but unmistakably irritated.

“This is—fucking—” Paige grumbles, her arms flailing as she tries to scrape off more mud. “It’s like—ugh, it’s everywhere. On my arms, in my hair—I think it’s in my mouth now.” She spits exaggeratedly, her face twisted in dramatic disgust.

Azzi can’t help but laugh again. It’s short and quiet, but in a moment like this, where everything is miserable and soaked and uncertain, Paige’s melodramatic whining is almost comforting. The blonde glares at her without any real anger.

“Glad you’re enjoying this,” Paige says, shooting her a mock-offended look as she wipes at her arms again. It doesn’t help—her hands are just as muddy as the rest of her.

Azzi shakes her head, water dripping down her face and neck. “I’m not enjoying it,” she says, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Paige just rolls her eyes, continuing to groan dramatically. Azzi snorts at her again. Leave it to Paige to care about mud when we might die out here.

The thought sobers her quickly. It’s true—if they keep going like this, they might die out here. The storm is bad. So, Azzi begins to scan their surroundings, her eyes darting through the dense jungle, searching for something—anything—that might offer them shelter. The rain is too heavy, the lightning too frequent. They need to get out of the open, and they need to do it now.

“Over there,” she says, pointing toward what looks like a hollowed-out tree, it’s wide base dark and inviting. It’s hard to tell through the rain, but it seems big enough for the two of them to crouch under.

Paige turns to look, wiping at her eyes with a muddy hand, smearing her face in the process. Azzi can’t see her expression clearly, but she hears the faint note of relief in her voice when she says, “That’s good.”

They move toward the tree, their progress slow and awkward. The mud sucks at Azzi’s shoes with every single step, and she has to fight to keep her balance. Her muscles scream in protest, but she grins her teeth and keeps going, focusing on the tree ahead. It’s closer now, just a few more steps—

And then the lightning strikes.

The world erupts in a flash of blinding white light, so close that it feels like the air itself is splitting apart. The crack of thunder follows instantly, so loud and violent that it reverberates through Azzi’s chest. She freezes, her arms instinctively flying up to protect her head as the tree they were heaving for explodes in a shower of sparks and flame.

The heat from the blast is searing, even through the rain. Azzi stumbles backward, her foot slipping in the mud. Her heart is racing, her ears ringing from the thunder. For a moment, she thinks she might fall, but then she feels a hand on her waist, steadying her.

“I got you.” Paige’s voice is close, low and reassuring. Azzi’s heart is still pounding, her breath coming in shallow gasps, but the solid weight of Paige’s hand against her side anchors her. She glances up, sees Paige’s face—mud-streaked, rain-soaked, but focused—and feels a flicker of calm.

The tree in front of them is burning, the flames licking hungrily at the wet bark. The rain hisses and steams as it clashes with the fire, but the flames don’t falter. Azzi stares at it, transfixed, her mind racing with the sudden, visceral realization of how close they came to being struck.

“Okay,” Paige says, breaking the silence. Her voice is shaky but steady enough. “Yeah, not here.”

She grabs Azzi’s hand without waiting for a response, her fingers sliding against Azzi’s in the rain. The contact is slippery and uncertain, but Paige’s grip tightens, refusing to let go. Azzi doesn’t resist. She lets Paige pull her forward, her legs moving on autopilot as her mind struggles to catch up.

They move quickly, the burning tree fading in the background as they put distance between themselves and the lightning strike. Azzi’s boots slide and stumble in the mud, but Paige’s hand remains firm, guiding her forward. She focuses on that—the feel of Paige’s hand in hers, the shared determination to keep moving, to find someplace remotely safe.

Eventually, they stumble upon a rocky overhang nestled between two massive boulders. It’s shallow but wide enough to sit under, the stone providing some relief from the relentless rain. Paige drags Azzi under it, both of them collapsing against the cold, damp rock with matching sighs of exhaustion.

Azzi leans back, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her entire body feels heavy, weighed down by the rain and mud, but for the first time in hours, she feels a sliver of safety. The storm still raged around them, the rain pounding against the rocks, but here, under the overhang, it feels distant.

Paige is a mess. Her suit is soaked, clinging to her skin, and the mud—God, the mud—is smeared across her arms, her face, her hair. She looks beat, her shoulders slumped and her head tilted back against the rock.

Azzi glances down at herself and realizes she’s not much better. Her suit is plastered to her skin, and her legs are streaked with mud, but at least she’s not actively dripping in it like Paige.

For a moment, they sit in silence, the sound of the rain filling the space between them. Azzi closes her eyes, letting the tension drain from her body. Despite everything—the storm, the mud, the fact that she’s currently an active tribute in the Hunger Games—there’s a strange sense of peace in this small reprieve.

She feels Paige shift beside her, hears her let out a low, frustrated groan. “This sucks,” Paige mutters, her voice heavy with exasperation.

Azzi opens her eyes and glances at her, watching as Paige wipes at her face again, accomplishing nothing. A quiet laugh escapes Azzi.

Paige turns to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says, shaking her head. The corners of her mouth twitch upward. “You’re just… a little muddy.”

“Oh, really?” Paige huffs sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “I couldn’t tell.”

Azzi doesn’t answer. Instead, she just shakes her head again, softer this time, still smiling, and pushes herself up, crouching low under the rock. Her legs are stiff and protesting after hours of trudging through the jungle, but she forces them to cooperate.

“Wait—what’re you doing?” Paige’s hand shoots out, her fingers curling around Azzi’s wrist in an instinctive, almost panicked gesture. “Azzi—”

“Relax,” the younger girl says, waving her off. “Stay here.” She gently shakes off Paige’s grip and ducks out from under the rock before Paige can argue further.

The rain is like a wall, slamming into her with unyielding force the second she steps into it. She just grits her teeth and ignores the discomfort. There’s a cluster of broad-leafed plants just a few steps away, their thick, wavy leaves glistening with water, and Azzi makes her way toward them.

She rips two of the largest leaves from their stems, the action quick and forceful, and then hurried back to the overhang. The cold of the rain is seeping into her bones by the time she crouches back under the rock, but she doesn’t care.

Paige is staring at her with a mix of confusion and mild exasperation, her muddy face tilted slightly in question. “Seriously, what—”

“Let me help,” Azzi interrupts, cutting her off before she can spiral into another round of complaints. She sits down across from Paige, their knees almost brushing in the cramped space, and holds up one of the dripping leaves like it’s some kind of peace offering.

Paige opens her mouth as if to argue, but whatever she was about to say gets lost somewhere between her brain and her tongue. She closes her mouth again and more, her movements jerky and unsure.

Azzi leans in, taking one of Paige’s arms in her hand, and starts to work. The mud is caked into the fabric of her Capitol-issued shit, streaked and smeared from hours of trudging through the jungle. Azzi drags the leaf along Paige’s arm in slow, deliberate strokes, watching as the dirt gives way to the dark, water-resistant material.

Her movements are careful but firm, focused entirely on the task in front of her. Or at lea at, that’s what she tells herself. But she can feel Paige’s eyes on her, following every motion, and it’s impossible to ignore the weight of that gaze. It feels like a spotlight, unrelenting and all-consuming, and Azzi’s stomach twists in response.

When she moves to Paige’s abdomen, dragging the leaf over the curve of her stomach, she feels the contraction of muscle beneath her hand. The reaction is instinctual, a reflex, but it sends a jolt of awareness through Azzi all the same. Her fingers tremble slightly, and she exhaled through her nose, trying to steady herself.

Get it together, she thinks, but her heart can’t seem to listen.

The tension between them feels tangible now, a living, breathing thing that presses against Azzi from all sides. She doesn’t look at Paige—not directly. She can’t. Instead, she focuses on the mud, on the leaf, on the way her hands move as she works.

When the first leaf grows too dirty to be useful, she tosses it aside and grabs the second. This time, she starts with Paige’s neck, wiping away the dirt that’s settled there. The curve of Paige’s throat is warm under her touch, even through the rain, and Azzi’s chest tightens painfully.

Their eyes meet, just for a second, and it feels like the world stops spinning. Azzi’s breath catches, her heart stuttering in her chest, and the intensity of Paige’s gaze is almost unbearable. She looks away quickly, her face burning, and focuses on the mud again.

She moves to Paige’s face next, ghosting the leaf along her cheek and chin, brushing away the streaks of dirt that have clung to her skin. Her movements are slower now, as if she’s afraid to press too hard. The mud doesn’t come off entirely, but she gets most of it, and the sharpness of Paige’s features emerges from beneath the grime like something carved out of stone.

When she’s done, Azzi tosses the second leaf away and leans back slightly.

The silence between them is deafening.

They’re so close now, their knees touching, their breaths mingling in the damp air. Azzi’s heart is racing, pounding against her ribs like it’s trying to escape, and she’s sure Paige can hear it. This moment feels like the one from this morning, after Paige hugged her. Azzi doesn’t move, doesn’t dare look up.

That is, until Paige shifts.

The air between them tightens, and before Azzi can think, before she can process, Paige leans in.

The kiss is soft, a tentative press of lips that feels more like a question than an answer. Paige’s mouth is warm against hers, and Azzi’s mind is screaming at her that this is reckless, dangerous, stupid, but it doesn’t feel like any of that. It feels…relieving, like the first deep breath after holding herself underwater for too long.

Paige pulls back slightly, her lips still hovering close enough that their breaths mingle. Azzi’s eyes flutter open, and she blurts the first thing that comes to her mind. “This is dumb.”

Paige’s hand comes up to the back of her neck, her flinders sliding against damp skin. Her voice is low and steady when she replies, “Yeah.”

Azzi exhales sharply, her chest aching with the weight of her own reckless feelings. “We’re so stupid.”

Paige’s gaze flicker to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Completely.”

The words hang between them, fragile and dangerous, and Azzi feels like she’s teetering on the edge of a cliff. She’s acutely aware of everything—the rain, the heat of Paige’s hand on her neck, the rapid thrum of her own heartbeat—and it’s overwhelming.

But then Paige says, “But we’re here,” and everything shifts.

The words hit like a punch to the gut, simple but profound. They’re here. Here. In the middle of the Hunger Games, in the middle of every kid’s nightmare, in the middle of something that shouldn’t exist but does. They’re competitors, but also allies, the only two people that have each other’s backs here even if that sentiment is precarious and might not last much longer. Azzi likes Paige, and Paige likes Azzi, and both of them are far closer to death than survival—that’s just the odds. And, yes, Azzi knows that this might all end up in flames and they may have to kill each other in the end—but Paige is right. They’re here.

And maybe that’s enough.

The kiss that follows is different. It’s deeper, hungrier, the kind of kiss that feels like diving headfirst into something you know will destroy you. Azzi’s hands find Paige’s shoulders, clutching at the fabric of her suit like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth, and Paige pulls her closer, her fingers tightening against Azzi’s neck.

For a moment, the rest of the world disappears. There’s no rain, no arena, no Capitol, no audience watching their every move. There’s just this—this moment, this connection, this fleeting, fragile thing that feels like both a beginning and an end.

THE GAMES wear on, and they don’t talk about it. Azzi tells herself it’s for the best. They’re still here, after all, still breathing, still surviving. A kiss isn’t supposed to matter when everything around them screams of death. It’s a distraction, a risk, a mistake. Even so, it’s hard to forget, and even harder not to do it again.

Paige doesn’t change. She’s still sharp-witted and too bold for her own good, cracking jokes in moments that should be far too tense for humor. She makes Azzi’s head spin sometimes, flipping from cocky grins to quiet, almost tender observations without warning. She pokes fun at Azzi’s serious nature, but it’s never mean-spirited. Somehow, it’s endearing. Azzi’s started noticing the way Paige’s lips twitch into a half-smile before she delivers one of her little quips. She notices a lot about Paige now, and that realization is almost as dangerous as the kiss itself.

Their relationship shifts, subtly. It’s in the way Paige seems to lean closer when they’re hidden away in the dark, their shoulders and sides pressing together. It’s in the way Azzi doesn’t pull away, even when her brain screams at her to keep her distance. They’re touchier, sometimes accidentally, sometimes not. When Paige’s fingers graze hers during the rare moments of silence, Azzi doesn’t flinch. And late at night, when Paigemd breathing evens out into the soft rhythm of sleep, Azzi sometimes catches herself wondering what it would be like to kiss her again.

But she doesn’t.

She won’t.

Because this isn’t a life where things like that make sense.

Sometimes, she lets herself imagine, though. Not often, but enough. In another world, they’re teammates, not tributes. Maybe they’re playing for some great basketball dynasty, Paige with her impossible confidence and Azzi with her perfect precision. Maybe they’d have a future, not this fragile thing that feels ready to shatter under the weight of the Capitol’s gaze and the threat of the other tributes. Maybe they’d have moments that aren’t stolen, conversations that don’t feel like whispers against the roar of inevitable death.

But they aren’t in that world. They’re here, in a nightmare where every breath is borrowed time, and any dream of a life beyond this arena feels laughable.

So, Azzi doesn’t let herself dwell. She focuses on survival—on the sharp edge of reality that keeps them moving, keeps them alive.

They’re good at it, too. A formidable pair. Azzi’s calm, calculated strategies balance Paige’s impulsive, quick-thinking instincts. Together, they’ve avoided the larger, deadlier alliances. They stay on the move, never lingering in one place for too long. Besides quick glimpses, they haven’t seen any of the other tributes since the boy from Eleven nearly ended them both. It’s odd, and the arena has begun to feel emptier, quieter, but not in a way that offers peace. It’s the calm before the storm, and Azzi knows it. Every night, the anthem plays, the sky lighting up with the faces of the dead. Every night, the number of tributes dwindles.

There are only a handful left now. Most of them are the ones everyone feared from the start—the stronger, deadlier tributes. The Careers from One and Two who have trained their entire lives for this. Other than them, Paige, and Azzi, there’s a couple other straggles, but not many.

The odds aren’t in their favor.

Paige doesn’t seem to care. Or maybe she’s just better at pretending.

One night, it was calm—not too hot, not too cold, no rain, no storms, no tributes. Just them, staring up through the foliage at the stars. Paige’s voice had cut through the silence, asking, “D’you think there’s any point in dreaming about it?”

Azzi’d glanced at her, frowning. “Dreaming about what?”

“You know.” Paige gestured vaguely, her fingers twitching like she’d wanted to grab something she couldn’t reach. “The after. If there even is one.”

Azzi hadn’t answered right away. She didn’t know how. The idea of an “after” felt—and still feels—laughable, like trying to picture sunlight while drowning in darkness. But Paige’s eyes were on her, waiting, and Azzi felt the weight of her gaze like a physical thing.

“I don’t know,” she’d said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I try not to think about it.”

Paige had hummed softly, tilting her head. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Azzi’s frown deepened. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” Paige shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “Just… you’re the smart one. Uh, like, practical. Always thinkin’ about what’s right in front of us. Makes sense you wouldn’t waste time on something as stupid as hope.”

The words had stung, even though Azzi knew Paige didn’t mean them that way.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” she’d responded almost hesitantly. “Hope, I mean. I just—” She paused, glancing away. “I don’t think it helps. Not here.”

Paige didn’t respond right away. And when Azzi looked back, Paige was watching her, something soft and unreadable in her expression.

“Maybe not,” Paige said eventually, her voice low. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

The words sat heavy between them then, and they sit heavy within Azzi now as the sun beats down on her relentlessly, a furnace of heat filtering through the thick canopy of trees. The air is humid, suffocating, and Azzi can feel sweat trickling down her back, soaking into the fabric of her suit.

Paige is ahead of her, as always, sword in hand, cutting through the undergrowth with steady, practiced swipes. Azzi doesn’t know how Paige does it—keeps going like she’s made of something indestructible, some alloy that doesn’t bend under pressure. But then Paige glances back over her shoulder, her lips quirking in that half-smile that’s almost a smirk, and Azzi remembers: she’s just as scared as she is. Paige is just better at hiding it.

“Still with me, princess?” Paige calls, her voice light and teasing as she says that nickname that Azzi pretends to hate but secretly doesn’t mind.

Azzi doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow and gives the blonde a look that says keep going. She’s already tired, so she’s saving her energy for walking, for survival, because the more she thinks about it, the more she’s realizing that every step could be her last.

That’s when it happens.

A scream, distant but piercing, rips through the jungle. It echoes through the trees, sharp and desperate, before cutting off abruptly. Azzi freezes, her heart slamming into her ribcage, and she sees Paige go still, her grip tightening on her sword.

And then, Azzi hears it.

A low rumble, like the growl of some monstrous creature. It grows louder, swelling into a deafening roar that shakes the ground beneath their feet.

“Azzi,” Paige says, her voice tight.

Azzi turns, and her stomach drops.

Water. A wall of it, surging through the jungle like a living thing, uprooting trees and swallowing everything in its path.

“Run,” Paige breathes, and then they’re moving.

Azzi’s legs scream in protest, but adrenaline pushes her forward. She can hear the flood gaining on them, a relentless, crashing tide. Her feet slip on the muddy ground, and she nearly falls, but Paige grabs her arm, yanking her upright.

“Faster!” Paige shouts, and Azzi doesn’t waste breath responding. She pumps her legs harder, her lungs burning, her vision narrowing to the path ahead.

The water is impossibly fast. Even so, for a moment, Azzi thinks they might actually have a chance to outrun it. But then she hears the sharp crack of a tree snapping right behind them and knows it’s too late.

The flood hits them like a battering ram.

Azzi is thrown forward, the force of the water slamming into her back and knocking the air from her lungs. She tumbles, weightless and disoriented, the world spinning in a blur of green and brown and white. Her mouth fills with water, and she chokes, coughing and sputtering as she’s dragged under.

She thrashes, clawing at the water, trying to find the surface, but the current is too strong. It pulls her deeper, twisting her around until she doesn’t know which way is up. Her lungs scream for air, her chest tightening, and panic claws at her throat.

Paige.

She forces her eyes open, the sting of the salt water blurring her vision. She can barely see? but she reaches out blinding, her fingers scrabbling for anything, anyone.

Nothing.

Azzi’s chest feels like it’s about to burst, and she kicks harder, fighting against the current. Her head breaks the surface for a split second, and she gasps, sucking in precious air before she’s pulled under again.

She doesn’t know how long she’s in the water. It could be an hour, it could be twenty seconds. Every bit of it is a battle to stay afloat, to keep breathing. Her arms ache, her lungs burn, and she’s starting to lose strength.

And then, suddenly, the current slows.

Azzi’s head breaks the surface again, and this time she manages to stay up. She coughs violently, spitting out water, and blinks the sting from her eyes. She’s in a wide expanse of still water now, the flood having pushed her into what looks like the shallow bay area near the Cornucopia.

For a moment, all she can do is float there, gasping for air, her body trembling with exhaustion.

Then she feels it: hands, grabbing at her.

She flinched, her instincts screaming to fight, but then she hears it—a breathless, desperate gasp.

“Az.”

Relief floods through Azzi, so overwhelming it’s almost painful. She turns, and there she is—Paige, her hair plastered to her face, her eyes wide and frantic.

Azzi doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Paige’s arm, and together they start swimming, their strokes uneven and shaky but determined. The water is shallow enough now that they can touch the bottom, and they half-swim, half-stumble their way to the edge.

They collapse onto the sand, their bodies tangling together as they sprawl out, too exhausted to care about anything but the fact that they’re alive.

Azzi’s face ends up pressed against Paige’s chest, her lips brushing against her collarbone. Paige’s arm is draped across Azzi’s back, her fingers digging into Azzi’s shoulder as if she’s afraid to let go.

For a moment, neither of them moves. They just lie there, gasping for breath, their bodies trembling from the adrenaline and the cold. Azzi can feel Paige’s breath against her forehead, her lips ghosting over her skin.

It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t.

Eventually, Azzi pushes herself up, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. She sits back on her heels, dragging Paige up with her, and they both sit there for a minute, staring at each other, eyes tracking their faces, because they almost just died.

Then, Azzi’s eyes catch on something in the water.

A body.

It’s floating face-down, the lifeless form a girl with dark hair fanned out around her head like seaweed. Azzi recognizes her—the girl from District Five.

Her stomach churns, and she realizes she must have missed the cannon while she was underwater.

“Jesus,” Paige mutters hollowly.

They stare at the body for a second longer, the weight of it pressing down on them. It could have been them. It almost was.

Paige shakes Azzi’s shoulder suddenly, snapping her out of her daze. She gestures across the water, her eyes narrowing.

Azzi follows her gaze and sees them—four figures moving along the shore. The tributes from One and Two—the Careers.

Azzi’s heart sinks. They’re too good, too strong. Azzi and Paige might be fighters, but they can’t take four-on-two, not against tributes who’ve spent their whole lives training for this.

“They haven’t seen us yet,” Paige whispers urgently.

Azzi nods, her mind already racing. Her bag is floating a few feet away, and she grabs it, pulling it toward her. She slings it over her shoulder, her movements quick but careful.

Paige holds out her hand, and Azzi takes it without hesitation.

They run.

Azzi’s legs scream in protest, her lungs burn, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t look back. The Careers might not have seen them yet, but they will soon, and Azzi knows they won’t get another chance to escape.

The jungle swallows them, the dense undergrowth closing in around them like a shield. They don’t stop running until they’re sure they’re far enough away.

When they finally collapse against a tree, Azzi’s legs give out beneath her. She slides to the ground, her chest heaving, her body trembling from exhaustion and fear.

Paige sinks down beside her, her head falling back against the tree trunk. She doesn’t let go of Azzi’s hand—in fact, her grip tightens.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

But Azzi can see it in Paige’s eyes—the same realization that’s clawing at her chest.

Their time is running out.

THE TWO DAYS since the flood have been maddeningly quiet, the kind of stillness that creeps under Azzi’s skin and refuses to leave. The arena is suffocating in its silence, the oppressive heat of the jungle seeping into her bones. She and Paige have walked the same endless stretches of sand, weaving between trees with the cautious precision of prey unwilling to draw a predator’s gaze. Seven of them are left now. The endgame is close enough to taste, and Azzi knows their strategy of running and hiding won’t be enough anymore. Not with the two pairs of Careers prowling.

The boy from Ten doesn’t concern her much. He’s a shadow, a rumor that exists only when the cannon fired for someone else. No, it’s the Careers that are the problem—their brute strength, their careful hoarded Capitol supplies stacked neatly at the Cornucopia, their unwavering confidence that they’ll outlast everyone else simply because they always do. Azzi and Paige have talked endlessly about it since they were nearly flooded right into them.

Azzi doesn’t want to kill. She knows she can, knows she’s capable. She’s done it before—once, the boy from Eleven. Every time she thinks of it, it makes her sick. The sound of the dagger slicing through the air, the way it dug right into his neck, the sharp taste of bile in her throat afterward. She doesn’t want to do it again.

Paige had argued the opposite, suggesting that if they just separated them, they could easily take them out and be done with them like that.

But Azzi had shaken her head, throat tightening at the thought. “They’ve got good. Water. Supplies,” she’d listed. “Take that away, and they’ll destroy themselves.”

It had taken hours to agree on the plan, both of them stubborn in their positions. It had only settled when the parachute came—a gift from the sponsors, with a sleek, silver explosive device tucked inside. The Capitol, it seemed, wanted a show. And, as much as Azzi hates being part of their entertainment, she can’t deny the relief she’d felt when she realized they wouldn’t have to improvise. Destroying the Careers’ supplies is the cleanest option, even if it means risking everything to pull it off.

The plan itself is simple in theory, far more dangerous in execution. Paige is the distraction, something Azzi hates the moment it was suggested. They’d fought tooth and nail about it, neither of them wanting the other to be the bait. But Paige was resolute, and she eventually won. She usually does.

Azzi knows Paige isn’t stupid—reckless, yes, but not stupid. But that doesn’t stop the knot of anxiety from tightening in her chest as they crouch in the jungle now, hidden by the thick underbrush that separates the sand from the Cornucopia. She can hear the Careers talking in the distance, their voices low and confident. It’s almost mocking, the way they laugh like this is nothing more than a game to them.

Azzi forces herself to focus on the task at hand. She’s got the explosive device in a pouch at her side, her daggers strapped to her thighs, and an ache in her chest she can’t shake. If this works, if they destroy their supplies and the Careers are weakened enough to fall… what then? Azzi knows exactly what then. It’ll be her and Paige, and the boy from Ten if he’s still hiding out there.

She promised her family she’d come home. Jon and Jose had cling to her when she left, their eyes wide with fear she couldn’t soothe. And her parents looked at her with so much hope. She had promised to try to win, to try to survive, to try to do everything she could to return to them. But that promise feels like a weight crushing her now because surviving means watching Paige die. Or worse—doing it herself.

She can’t think about that now. Not when Paige is standing in front of her, close enough that Azzi can feel the heat radiating from her skin. Paige grips her sword tightly, her jaw set with determination.

“Please be careful,” Azzi says, her voice quieter than she means it to be.

Paige nods once. “I will.”

That’s not good enough, though. So, Azzi grabs her arm, forcing her to meet her gaze. “No, Paige,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. Please, be careful. Promise me you won’t do some stupid reckless shit.”

Paige’s eyes soften just enough to make Azzi’s stomach twist. She takes a long moment before nodding again, slower this time. “Okay,” she says gently, sincerely. “I promise.”

Azzi nods, exhaling a shaky breath. She feels Paige’s fingers brush against hers briefly, a fleeting moment of contact that lingers like a ghost. “You be careful too,” Paige murmurs.

“I will,” Azzi replies, sounding steadier than she feels.

Paige takes a small step back, and for a moment, neither of them moves. Then, Paige straightens, the sharpness returning to her expression as she says, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

Azzi doesn’t respond, her throat too tight to form words. She watches as Paige turns and bolts away, her blonde ponytail the last of her that Azzi sees before her form disappears completely into the dense jungle. Azzi’s chest tightens as she stands there, still, her eyes fixed on the spot where Paige vanished.

She doesn’t let herself dwell on the what-ifs. She doesn’t think about what could go wrong or the countless ways this plan could end in disaster. She just hopes—prays, even—that this isn’t the last time she’ll see Paige.

She takes a deep breath, and then locks in, though there’s not much to lock in on yet. Because she has to wait. The Careers need to be far enough away, taking Paige’s bait. If they’re not, this entire plan is dead on arrival—and possibly Azzi along with it.

She tells herself to breathe, but each inhale feels razor-sharp. Her mind flickers to Paige, somewhere out there, leading the Careers away. Azzi can’t see her, and she doesn’t dare imagine what might happen if Paige doesn’t pull it off. She pushes the thought down, locks it away. Focus.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she decides it time. The clearing appears empty; the only sound of the faint rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. Azzi steps out onto the sand, her shoes sinking slightly into the grainy surface. She moves quickly, but each step feels painfully exposed, the weight of the jungle at her back like a thousand watching eyes.

The supplies are piled high against the Cornucopia’s base: food, water, medical kits, weapons. The lifeline of the Careers. Azzi’s heart races as she pulls the small explosive device out of its pouch. Her fingers tremble slightly as she sets the timer, forcing herself to breathe evenly. She gives herself a good thirty seconds—enough time to get back into the cover of the trees. Her heart is a drumbeat of panic as she activates the device, the red light blinking like a countdown to chaos—which, it is.

She throws the explosive right into the pile and doesn’t wait around to watch it roll. Instead, she bolts, sprinting back toward the foliage. The sand shifts beneath her feet, slowing her down, but she reaches the edge of the jungle just as the timer hits zero.

The explosion is deafening, a fiery burst of destruction that lights up the clearing like a second sun. Azzi clamps her hands over her ears, the shockwave rattling her skull even through her precautions. The Cornucopia groans as part of its structure collapses, supplies reduced to flaming shrapnel and smoke. The air reeks of burning plastic and charred food.

Azzi crouches low, her chest heaving as she stares at the destruction she’s caused. Relief floods her for half a second until—

“No!” the word rips from behind Azzi, the voice of a boy. She spins around, and, sure enough, the boy from One is there, eyes flashing with anger and disbelief as his gaze shifts between Azzi and the destroyed supplies. He’s holding a spear, and it glints in the light of the sun and the flames. “You fucking bitch—”

And then he’s striking, lunging forward with the spear aimed at Azzi’s midsection. She twists her torso just in time, the blade grazing her side but leaving her untouched. She counters immediately, grabbing one of the daggers strapped to her thigh and slashing toward his exposed forearm. Her blade catches skin, opening a thin gash.

He grunts, and Azzi doesn’t wait for him to recover. She lunged, aiming a dagger at his ribs, but he anticipates the move and sidesteps. His elbow catches her temple as he pivots, a glancing blow that sends her stumbling back.

“That all you got?” he asks, his tone mocking but full of clear and raw anger.

Azzi ignores the sting in her head, forcing her focus back to the fight. He’s strong, she knows that. But she’s strong too, muscle built up from years of basketball and working in Nine. So, she moves fast, feinting left before striking right, her blade carving a shallow cut across his bicep.

His face hardens. He doesn’t respond this time, just swings the spear in a brutal arc aimed at her legs. Azzi leaps back, but the tip catches her thigh, ripping through fabric and skin. She hisses at the sharp pain but doesn’t slow down, tossing a dagger aimed at his chest.

He moves out of the way just in time for it to not be deadly, but it still slices his shoulder, blood staining his suit. And then she’s driving forward with her other knife. He blocks this blade with the shaft of his spear, the clang of metal reverberating in her ears.

He swings the spear again, aiming lower this time, a precise jab at her legs. Azzi shifts to dodge, but her injured thigh slows her down just enough. His foot catches her left knee with brutal force, a perfect strike to the vulnerable joint.

The pain is instantaneous, sharp and sickening. She feels a pop and a snap, the joint or muscle or something twisting in a way that shouldn’t be possible. She crumples to the ground with a sharp scream, clutching at her knee as waves of agony shoot up her leg.

She sucks in shallow, panicked breaths, her hands shaking as she grips her knee. It’s wrong, all wrong. It feels loose and tight at the same time, everything out of place. Her vision blurs with tears, but she forces herself to look up.

He’s standing over her now, the tip of the spear pointed at her throat. “Weak little bitch,” he spits. Clearly, he’s taken the supplies thing personal.

Azzi’s mind races, desperation clawing at her. She fumbles for one of her daggers, but her fingers feel clumsy, the pain overwhelming her focus.

“Fucking pathetic,” he continues, pressing the spear closer to her neck. “I almost feel bad for you.”

The sound of her own heartbeat fills her ears, drowning him out. She tightens her grip on the dagger in her hand, her fingers slick with sweat and blood.

With a burst of adrenaline, she twists her body, throwing her weight to the side and slashing upward with the blade. The dagger slices into his side, deep enough to stagger him.

“Damnit!” he shouts, stumbling back.

Azzi forced herself up, her injured knee screaming in protest. It feels like it could give out at any moment, but she doesn’t care. She can’t care. She lunges again, aiming for his chest once more.

He recovers quickly, batting the blade away. His other hand slams into her shoulder, sending her sprawling onto her back.

He doesn’t hesitate, taking the opportunity. He’s on her in an instant, pinning her to the ground with the weight of his body. Azzi struggles, her daggers slipping from her grasp as his hand clamps around her throat. His face hovers inches above here, his breath hot and ragged.

She can feel the spear’s tip pressing against her ribs, and panic claws at her chest. This is it. This is how she dies.

But something ignites within her—a desperate, furious refusal to give up. Because she can’t give up. She made a promise she’s not about to break. Her fingers grope blindly, finding the hilt of one of her knives. With a surge of strength she didn’t know she had left, Azzi drives the blade upward, burying it in his neck.

The boy jerks, his eyes widening with shock and horror. Blood erupts from the wound, hot and sticky, sprawling across Azzi’s face, her neck, her suit. He gurgles, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as the life drains from him.

A cannon rumbles through the arena as his body goes slack above her. She shoves him off with a pained grunt, rolling onto her side as her chest heaves. Her knee pulses with pain, her skin slick with his blood, and her ears ring faintly, but she’s alive. Somehow, she’s alive.

She lies there for what feels like forever, her chest heaving as she stares up at the sky. She can feel his blood drying already, itching against her neck and face and collarbone. The boy’s body is a dark, crumpled heap a few feet away, his lifeless eyes still open.

She forced herself to look away.

She can’t stay here. She knows that. The others will have heard the cannon. They’ll come looking.

With a grown, she pushes herself onto her elbows, her knee screaming in protest. The pain shoots up her leg and settles in her hip, making her vision swim for a moment. She grits her teeth, swallowing the cry that threatens to spill out. She can’t afford to be weak now, no matter how much her body is begging her to lie back down and give in.

Her hands tremble as she grips the ground, dragging herself upright. Her left leg barely bolds her weight, and she nearly topples back down. But she steadies herself, forcing her injured leg to bear just enough to limp.

The jungle calls to her, offering safety in its shadows. She just has to get further in. She can think about her knee later.

She’s only managed a few steps when she hears it: rustling. The sound is faint at first, like the wind moving through the trees. But it grows louder—faster—until it’s unmistakable. Footsteps. Someone is running.

Azzi freezes, panic gripping her chest like a vice. She doesn’t have it in her to fight again—not now, not so soon. Her hand flies to the hilt of her knife, tightening around it as she turns toward the sound. Her breath catches.

Of course, with her luck, it has to be another one.

She steels herself, setting her stance as best she can despite the throbbing pain in her leg. Her teeth grind together, and her muscles coil tight, ready to spring. She’ll die here if she has to, but she’ll take someone with her.

Then she hears it: “Azzi!”

The voice cuts through the jungle, desperate and raw. Her grip on the dagger falters for just a moment as the sound registers. She knows that voice.

Before she can fully process what’s happening, Paige crashes into view.

She looks wild, disheveled—her little braids and ponytail half-undone, her face pale beneath streaks of dirt. Her chest heaves as if she’s run miles, and her eyes dart frantically before landing on Azzi.

Everything in Paige seems to shift. The terror in her expression melts into something else—relief, disbelief, and something deeper Azzi can’t name. Paige’s lips part as if to speak, but instead, she staggers forward, her voice breaking as she says, “Oh my God.”

And then she’s running.

Azzi barely has time to react before Paige is on her, arms wrapping around her so tightly that Azzi can’t breathe. She feels Paige’s hands clutching at her back, her shoulders, her hair—like she’s trying to hold all of Azzi at once.

Azzi’s dagger clatters to the ground as she sinks into the embrace, too stunned to do anything else. It hits her then—the sobs shaking Paige’s body, the wet warmth of her tears against Azzi’s neck. Azzi realizes, distantly, that she’s crying, too.

Paige pulls back just enough to cup Azzi’s face in her hands, her thumbs brushing blood and tears away from Azzi’s cheeks. Her eyes burn blue with something so real, so raw, that it slices through Azzi like a knife.

“I—oh my God,” Paige stammers, her voice trembling, her words stumbling. “I—I saw the explosion, and I was so happy. And then—fuck—I heard you scream. And then the fucking cannon went off, and I thought—” She cuts herself off with a choked sob, shaking her hand as her hands tighten on Azzi’s cheeks. “I thought one of them killed you. I thought—I thought I lost you, Az.”

Azzi swallows hard, her throat thick with emotion. “I’m okay,” she says, her voice slow and soft, as if she’s not only trying to convince Paige, but also herself. “I’m okay.”

Paige stares at her like she doesn’t quite believe it. Then, suddenly, she pulls Azzi in again, her hands still framing Azzi’s face as she presses their lips together.

The kiss is nothing like their first. It’s desperate, messy, full of too many emotions for Azzi to untangle. She can taste the salt of their tears and the metallic tang of blood—hers, his, she doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.

For a moment, all of the danger, the pain, the fear—it all disappears. Here, in Paige’s arms, Azzi feels something she hasn’t felt since the Games began: safe.

It’s stupid—so stupid. They’re in the middle of a killing field, and only a few people stand between them and having to kill each other. But Azzi can’t bring herself to care. She kisses Paige back just as hard, pouring everything she has left into it.

When Paige finally pulls away, her hands move to wipe at the blood smeared across Azzi’s face. “God, Az,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Where’s all this blood from?”

Azzi sighs, nodding toward the boy’s body a few feet away. Paige’s eyes follow her gaze, and her expression hardens for a moment. Then, she looks back at Azzi, her tone firm, almost protective. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

The question snaps Azzi’s brain back to the sharp, searing pain in her knee. She grimaces, glancing down at it. “My knee,” she says. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s bad.”

Paige glances down before kneeling slowly. Her hands ghost over Azzi’s leg as she inspects it carefully. The fabric of her suit is a little torn, but there’s nothing visibly wrong with Azzi’s knee. Paige nods as she stands back up, her expression steady despite the worry in her eyes. “Okay,” she says. “We can handle that. It’s okay.”

Before Azzi can respond, a cannon fires in the distance.

The sound tears through the air, sharp and defeating, and both of them jump. Azzi stiffens instinctively, her hand twitching toward her dagger before remembering it’s on the ground. Her pulse races, the adrenaline kicking back in despite her exhaustion.

“Who—?” Azzi asks, her voice tight.

Paige exhales shakily, her shoulders slumping. She doesn’t look surprised. “It’s probably the girl from One,” she says quietly, glancing toward the trees as if expecting someone to burst through them. “We were fighting.”

Azzi blinks, confused. “You didn’t—”

“No,” Paige cuts in, the words thick. “I didn’t finish her. I couldn’t.” She hesitates, pushing a loose blonde hair that’s escaped one of her braids out of her face. “I heard you scream, and—I left her. She was bleeding out already, and I just… I had to find you.”

Azzi stares at Paige, her chest tightening painfully. There’s so much weight in those words, in the way Paige’s voice cracks ever so slightly at the end.

“You left her,” Azzi repeats, slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige more, her eyes meeting Azzi’s with a raw, unflinching honesty. “Yeah,” she says. “I left her.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The jungle around them seems to press closer, the silence thick and oppressive. Azzi’s mind races, trying to process what Paige has just admitted. It’s reckless—so reckless—but also…

God, Azzi doesn’t even want to finish the thought.

“Paige,” she starts, but the words catch in her throat.

Paige shakes her head quickly, cutting her off. “Don’t,” she says sharply but not unkind. “Don’t say it, Azzi. I know. I know it was stupid. I just—I couldn’t. Not when I thought you—” She falters before looking away, her jaw clenching.

Azzi swallows hard, her hands twitching at her sides. There’s so much she wants to say but doesn’t know how. Instead, she leans closer, her forehead resting tentatively against Paige’s.

“‘M here,” she says softly but steady. “I’m here, and I’m okay. And so are you. We can figure out the rest later.”

Paige closes her eyes, letting out a shaky breath before nodding.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Okay.”

But even as she says it, Azzi can see the weight Paige is carrying—the guilt, the fear, the overwhelming relief. And she knows that no matter what they tell themselves, things will only get much harder from here.

EVERY STEP feels like a dagger twisting into Azzi’s knee. Her weight shifts onto Paige more than she’d like, and though Paige doesn’t complain—not once—Azzi feels the guilt pooling in her chest with every labored step. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, her body screaming at her to stop, to sit, to just give up. But Paige is steady beside her, one arm looped tightly around Azzi’s waist, murmuring, “You’re doin’ good. Just a little further, Az.”

Azzi wants to believe her, but each step feels like she’s dragging herself closer to fucking collapse. She’s not sure if Paige’s words are meant for her or Paige herself, and the thought makes her stomach twist.

When the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of purples and oranges, Paige stops them. “We can rest here,” she says, and Azzi doesn’t argue. She sinks to the ground with a quiet groan, letting her back rest against the rough bark of a massive tree.

They settle under a canopy of vines, a natural curtain that offers some semblance of cover. Paige drops down beside her, leaning back against the tree with a sigh. Azzi shifts, resting her head on Paige’s shoulder, too exhausted to fight the impulse. She half-expects Paige to pull away, but instead, Paige’s fingers find their way to her hair, gently tracing one of her braids. The motion is soft, almost absentminded, but it sends a strange comfort through Azzi.

They’ve stopped pretending. There’s no point anymore, no space left for lies or walks. Not when the whole world is pressing down on them, when every breath feels borrowed.

Azzi closes her eyes briefly, trying to will away the relentless throbbing in her knee. When she shifts closer to Paige, her knee protests, but Paige doesn’t move—doesn’t complain. She just wraps an arm around Azzi and holds her tighter. It’s selfish, Azzi thinks, to let herself take this comfort when she knows what’s waiting for them at the end of all this. But she’s too tired to pull away.

The moment is interrupted by a faint sound above them. Azzi’s eyes snap open, and she follows Paige’s gaze skyward. A parachute, small and shimmering in the fading light, drifts toward them.

“Thank God,” Paige breathes, sitting up straighter. She reaches for it as it lands gently in the dirt beside them, her hands fumbling with it’s the clasp before opening it.

Azzi leans closer as Paige pulls out a neatly wrapped piece of fabric, some sort of compression wrap meant for her knee. Relief washes over her, but it’s short-lived as Paige pulls out a slip of paper and hands it to her.

Azzi reads it silently, the words sinking in:

Not much longer now. Please take care of yourself. Hang in there, kid. —Cyrus

The word yourself is bolded for emphasis, and Azzi knows exactly what her mentor is trying to say. It’s a warning, a plea. He’s telling her to focus on her own survival, to stop letting caring about Paige’s.

Azzi swallows hard, crumpling the note in her hand. She knows Cyrus is right, knows that every second she spends leaning on Paige, letting Paige patch her up or fight her battles, is another second she’s getting closer to losing everything. But she just doesn’t know how to stop.

“Good guy, your mentor,” Paige says softly, breaking the silence. She gestures for Azzi to stretch her leg out. “Let’s get this on your knee, yeah?”

Azzi nods, not trusting herself to speak. She bites the inside of her cheek as Paige works, her hands careful but firm as she wraps the fabric around Azzi’s swollen knee. Every touch sends a jolt of pain through her, but she doesn’t flinch. Paige’s brow furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“This’ll help,” Paige tells her, her voice low and sure. She ties off the wrap with a small, satisfied nod. “It will. Just don’t push it too much, aight?”

Azzi exhales, leaning back against the tree again. “Yeah,” she murmurs.

Paige leans back, too, her movements slow and careful, as though every second spent near Azzi is precious. Azzi watches her through heavy-lidded eyes, the pain in her knee dulling slowly. Paige settles beside her, tucking Azzi close under her arm like she’s trying to shield her from the rest of the arena.

Boom.

Another cannon.

The sound splits through the silence like a gunshot, making Azzi’s whole body tense. She squeezes her eyes shut, her breath catching in her throat. Fuck.

Beside her, Paige lets out a sharp exhale. It’s not fear exactly, but something close to it. Something raw and pained. Before Azzi can even begin to process it, Paige pulls her tighter, her grip firm and almost desperate, as if she’s afraid Azzi might slip away from her—might decide to get up and leave (as if Azzi even could). Paige’s voice is low and taut when she murmurs, “Final four.”

Azzi’s head aches. She doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to consider what it means for them. For Paige. For her. But she knows Paige is right. They’re down to four.

They sit in silence, the weight of the cannon settling between them like a third presence. And then, as if the arena itself is mocking them, the anthem begins to play.

The two of them glance skyward, the shifting lights reflecting in their tired eyes. The faces of the fallen appear one by one, each accompanied by a grim silence. Today was a long day, clearly.

The boy from One flashes first, obviously. It makes Azzi’s chest burn a little, knowing she’s the reason he’s in the sky now.

Then, the girl from One—just as Paige suspected. Azzi spares a glance at Paige, who doesn’t flinch. Her expression is unreadable.

Finally, the last face: the boy from Ten. He’s the most recent, the cannon they just heard.

When the anthem ends, the night seems quieter than before. Oppressive. Azzi leans back against Paige’s chest, her weight sagging into her like she’s trying to press all of her fear into Paige’s body, hoping Paige can somehow bear it for her.

“That leaves us and the pair from Two,” Azzi says quietly. And then, after a beat, she adds, “They’re gonna work together.”

Paige nods, jaw set. “So are we.”

Azzi doesn’t reply, because what’s the point? She knows Paige means it, knows Paige will fight tooth and nail for her. But the sinking reality of their situation presses against Azzi’s chest like a vice.

They stay like that for a while, not speaking, just existing in the fragile quiet. Paige’s fingers brush over Azzi’s hair again, gentle and rhythmic, and Azzi lets her eyes flutter shut. She’s so soft, Azzi thinks, so careful with her. It feels cruel to indulge in this, but she can’t help it.

And then Paige starts talking, unable to keep the thoughts in her head, the words spilling from her like a dam breaking. “We’re gonna figure somethin’ out,” she says, her voice laced with a frantic kind of hope. “We’re gonna do it. ‘Cause you can’t die. And I can’t die. We gotta live. Together. So—y’know, maybe they can bend the rules or something. The Capitol and the sponsors love us. We’d give great publicity if we both won. Two victors. Some kinda Romeo and Juliet shit. It could work.”

Azzi’s chest burns at the desperation in Paige’s voice. She knows it won’t happen—knows it can’t happen. The Games don’t work like that. The Capitol doesn’t bend rules. But she doesn’t have the heart to tell Paige that. Not when she’s clinging so tightly to this fragile thread of hope.

So, Azzi stays quiet, letting Paige’s words hang in the air like a lifeline she can’t bring herself to grab. Instead, she tilts her head to, her eyes meeting Paige’s—brown on blue. The moonlight filters through the vines, illuminating Paige’s face in soft silver hues. She looks beautiful.

And then, without thinking—without over analyzing it the way she does everything else—Azzi leans in and kisses her.

It’s slow at first, tentative, as though Azzi’s afraid Paige might pull away. But Paige would never, and when she doesn’t, when her lips press back against Azzi’s with a tenderness that feels like it might shatter her, Azzi deepens the kiss.

She lets herself get lost in it, pouring everything she can’t say into the way her lips move against Paige’s. It’s not just a kiss—it’s an acknowledgment of all the things they’ve been too afraid to say aloud. It’s a promise, fragile and fleeting.

Paige’s hands come up to cradle Azzi’s face, her fingers brushing along her jawline and sending shivers down Azzi’s spine. She tastes like the berries they’d shared earlier, like desperation and warmth and something that—if they were absolutely anywhere else—Azzi might call home.

Azzi’s hands find their way to Paige’s shoulders, then her hair, tangling in the soft blonde strands as she pulls her closer, like she’s trying to memorize the feeling of her.

Because she knows this can’t last. She knows this moment is borrowed, that the Games will rip it away from them sooner rather than later.

But for now—for just this one perfect, terrible moment—Azzi lets herself believe in the impossible.

THE MORNING dawns heavy and gray, the air thick with an electric tension that seems to press against Azzi’s chest. She sits propped against the base of the tree she and Paige slept on, absently adjusting the wrap on her knee as Paige moves around under the vines, collecting their things. Even without any announcement from the Capitol, Azzi knows—this is it.

Today will be the last day.

She doesn’t know how she knows. It’s not like the Gamemakers have explicitly said so. But the weight of it is undeniable, a silent agreement between the arena and the remaining tributes. If they don’t find the pair from Two soon—or if the pair from Two doesn’t find them—the Capitol will force the confrontation. They always do.

Azzi knows Paige’s mind is still churning, trying to devise some kind of impossible scenario where the two of them make it out together. Where Paige’s relentless optimism wins out against the Capitol’s cruelty. Azzi wants to believe in it, hope for it. She really does.

But she can’t.

Her knee is a liability now, and she knows it. The wrap helps her walk without wincing, but she can’t run—not like she needs to if they’re ambushed. The odds were already slim before, but now? Now they feel closer to nonexistent.

Azzi adjusts the wrap one last time, fingers lingering on the fabric as a wave of guilt washes over her. She promised her family she’d try her best, that she’d fight as hard as she could to get back to them.

She wants to. God, she wants to see them again so badly. Her parents. Her brothers. But Paige wants to see her family, too—her little siblings, Drew, Ryan, and Lauren, whose stories have become so vivid in Azzi’s mind she feels like she almost knows them. Paige has talked about them so much during the long, quiet nights in the arena, her voice soft and full of longing.

And Azzi knows the pair from Two probably has families waiting for them, too. People who are praying just as hard as hers are. It’s a horrible truth she can’t escape: none of them deserve this. But the Capitol doesn’t care about who deserves what.

The sky grows darker as the morning drags on, the clouds thickening and swirling in ominous patterns. Paige notices it first, pausing mid-motion as she stuffs the last of their things into a bag.

“You see that?” she asks.

Azzi tilts her head back, squinting up at the sky. A storm brews in the distance, jagged lightning flickering at the edges. The wind picks up, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. Azzi’s stomach churns.

“They want it to end,” she says quietly. Her voice falls flat with resignation. “This is how they force us to face them.”

Paige glances at her, and Azzi sees something fragile in her expression. Fear, maybe. Or something close to it. She tries to mask it with a sharp nod, her jaw clenching as she grabs their bags.

“Then we’ll give ‘em what they want,” Paige mutters determinedly.

Azzi doesn’t say anything as Paige steps closer, looping an arm around her waist. She doesn’t really need the help today—not like she did before—but she doesn’t protest. Instead, she leans into Paige’s steady presence, letting herself take comfort in the closeness.

The first drops of rain fall as they set off, light at first but steady, and Azzi can feel the storm building. The wind howls through the jungle, pulling at their suits and hair. It’s not hard to guess where they’re heading, even without any explicit direction.

The Cornucopia.

It’s always the Cornucopia.

Azzi doesn’t bother asking if Paige is thinking the same thing—she knows she is. Anyone that’s watched the Games before knows that’s almost always where they end.

The pair trudge forward together, moving slowly to avoid putting too much strain on Azzi’s knee. Paige’s hand stays firm on her waist, her grip protective but not overbearing. The terrain grows harsher as they go, the jungle thinning out and giving way to open stretches of land that make Azzi’s heart race. She hates being this exposed, hates the idea of someone—them—watching from the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Paige’s voice pulls her out of her spiraling thoughts. “We’ll make it,” she says, sounding more confident than Azzi knows she really feels. “We’ll find a way.”

Azzi doesn’t respond. She just presses her lips together, letting Paige’s words hang between them.

They walk for what feels like hours, the storm growing angrier with each passing minute. The rain comes down harder now, soaking through their suits and making the ground slick beneath their feet. Azzi’s knee protests more and more with every step, but she doesn’t stop.

When they reach the edge of the jungle, they’re immediately crouching low behind the underbrush, trying to stay as hidden as possible. The clearing ahead is a trap—they both know it—but there’s no other choice.

Paige drops their bags just inside the jungle’s cover, her movements hurried and sharp. She pulls out two of Azzi’s daggers, handing them over with trembling hands. Azzi takes them silently, the blades cold and reassuring against her wet palms. Her thigh straps and waist sheath are already full, but these feel different—more immediate. She grips one tightly and tucks the other against her belt.

“You ready?” Paige whispers, though her voice barely carries over the pounding of the rain.

Azzi nods, the gesture more instinct than thought. Her knee throbs beneath its tight wrap, but she does her best at ignoring it.

Ahead, the sand of the clearing is slick and reflective under the rain, the shallow saltwater lake churning with the storm’s fury. The Cornucopia, half-collapsed from yesterday’s explosion, looms like a broken monument of death. The air smells metallic, a mix of wet earth, blood, and the storm’s electricity.

“We don’t move til we see ‘em,” Paige murmurs firmly, despite the tremor in her hands.

Azzi watches the clearing, her heart hammering in her chest. The silence feels oppressive, broken only by the occasional boom of thunder. She doesn’t hear the arrow until it’s too late.

Suddenly, Paige cries out beside her, a sharp, startled sound that cuts through the storm. Azzi’s head whips around just as Paige stumbles backward, clutching her shoulder. An arrow juts out of her flesh, its shaft trembling as if mocking their failure to notice.

“Paige!” Azzi gasps, lunging to grab her before she collapses. But another arrow zips past, this one so close that Azzi feels the air shift by her ear. She ducks instinctively, dragging Paige down with her into the mud.

“Shit,” Paige mutters, her tone tight with pain. Her free hand digs into the wet earth, her face pale as she tries to steady herself.

“Let me take it out,” Azzi says. The words tremble as they slip past her lips.

Paige gives her a tight nod, biting down hard on her lip. Azzi grabs the shaft of the arrow, her hands slick with rain and mud. “This is gonna hurt,” she warns.

“Just—do it,” Paige grits out.

Azzi pulls, hard and fast. Paige cries out, her back arching against the pain as blood wells from the wound, staining the torn fabric of her suit. “Fuck,” she breathes raggedly.

Azzi barely has time to assess the damage before she hears heavy footsteps crashing through the jungle. Her head snaps up, and her stomach drops.

The boy from Two is barreling toward them.

It’s not just his size—it’s the way he moves, like a predator. He’s massive, easily half a foot taller than Azzi and built like a mountain, his shoulder broad and his arms corded with muscle. He’s carrying a long-handled axe with a wicked, gleaming blade.

Azzi doesn’t even have time to think. She and Paige are shoved out of the jungle and onto the sand, the boy’s sheer momentum forcing them into the open.

Immediately, Paige is scrambling to her feet, pulling Azzi up with her, her sword already drawn. Azzi grips her dagger and lifts it, about to let it fly towards the boy. But, before she gets the chance, another arrow is sailing toward her and she has to duck. Just as she does, the boy charges at Paige, his axe swinging in deadly arcs that carve through the rain. Azzi watches as Paige ducks and sidesteps, her movements sharp but hindered by the sand and her injured shoulder. The sound of their weapons clashing echoes through the storm, a violent rhythm that makes Azzi anxious.

She’s about to get up and help Paige before her eyes land on the girl. She’s smaller, wiry, but no less dangerous. She’s holding a bow, another arrow already notched and aimed directly at Azzi.

The girl releases her arrow once more, and Azzi dives to the side, her knee screaming in protest as she hits the ground hard. The pain is sharp, a lightning bolt up her leg, but she can’t stop. She rolls onto her feet, barely catching her balance before the girl is on her.

She’s fast, faster than Azzi expected, and her short blade flashes in the dim light as she slashes at Azzi’s midsection. Azzi parries with her dagger, the clash of metal sending vibrations up her arm.

Rain pours down in sheets, making it hard to see, hard to think. Azzi’s grip on her knife is slippery, her breaths coming in short gasps as she blocks another strike.

The girl is relentless, each attack more precise than the last. Azzi’s knee buckles as she tries to sidestep, and she stumbles, barely managing to keep her balance. The girl sees the weakness and presses harder, driving Azzi back toward the edge of the sand, near the water.

Azzi’s mind races, searching for an opening, a way to turn the fight in her favor. She ducks under a wide slash, her free hand grabbing a handful of wet sand and flinging it into the girl’s face.

Just as the girl recoils, momentarily blinded, a sharp cry from Paige draws Azzi’s attention. She turns just in time to see the boy pinning Paige’s sword against the sand, his axe raised for a killing blow. Without thinking, Azzi hurls one of her daggers.

It flies true, embedding itself in the boy’s shoulder. He roars in pain, stumbling back and giving Paige just enough time to regain her footing.

Azzi’s momentary distraction costs her. The girl from Two has recovered, wiping mud from her eyes as she lunges with a renewed ferocity. Azzi blocks the first strike but can’t avoid the second. The blade slices across her arm, hot pain flaring as blood mingles with the rain.

Azzi bites back a scream, her vision swimming as she staggers. Her knee is flaring, too, the wrap doing little to support her under the strain of combat. But she ignores them both, countering the girl with a sharp jab of her dagger, the blade now slicing across the girl’s own arm.

The girl hisses but doesn’t falter. She circles Azzi, her eyes cold and calculating, waiting for an opening. Azzi’s watching carefully as she hears a cry echo behind her—a sharp, desperate sound that cuts through the storm like one of her knives. It’s Paige.

Her stomach twists, panic surging through her veins, but she forced herself to focus. The girl is front in front of her, blade raised for a killing blow. If Azzi falters now, it’s over.

She takes a shaky step forward, raising her dagger. The girl hesitates, just for a second, and that’s all Azzi needs.

With a burst of adrenaline, she drives the blade upward, straight into the girl’s chest.

The girl gasps, her eyes wide with shock as Azzi’s dagger pierces her heart. For a moment, time seems to stop, the rain washing away the blood as the girl’s body goes limp, falling from Azzi’s grasp.

Boom.

Her cannon fires.

Azzi takes a long inhale, her chest heaving as she stares at the girl from Two’s lifeless body. The dagger is still in her hand, slick with rain and blood, but it feels like an extension of her arm now, part of her in a way that terrifies her. She forces herself to let go, the blade slipping from her grasp and landing in the wet sand with a dull thud.

The rain pelts her skin, cold and unforgiving, but she can’t move. She stands there, rooted to the spot, her breathing ragged and uneven as her eyes linger on the girl. The world feels muffled, like she’s underwater, and everything—the storm, the blood, the suffocating ache in her knee—fades into the background. It’s over. At least, this part is.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest, faster than it should be. She doesn’t feel victorious. She doesn’t feel anything at all, just numb. Her gaze flickers to the girl’s face—eyes open, staring blankly at the stormy sky. Azzi swallows hard and finally looks away.

She turns, her body protesting every movement, and just as she does, her eyes catch a shape through the rain. The boy from Two stumbles, falters, and then crashes to the ground at Paige’s feet like a felled tree. His own axe is lodged in his chest, buried deep.

His cannon booms, its hollow echo vibrating through the air, and Azzi flinches at the sound. Her eyes stay fixed on him, her mind struggling to process what she’s seeing. He’s dead. Paige killed him.

Leaving just the two of them.

It takes Azzi a moment to shift her focus, her eyes drifting to Paige. When she does, the sight hits her like a punch to the gut.

Paige is standing a few feet away, drenched from head to toe, her blonde hair plastered to her face. Azzi can tell she’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling with each gasp of air, but there’s a dazed sort of smile on her face. She looks over at Azzi, and when she says her name, her voice is soft, almost tender.

“Azzi,” she murmurs, and for reasons Azzi can’t understand—because they’re supposed to be killing each other right now—she feels herself smile back, just a little.

But then Paige takes a step forward—or tries to. It’s more like a stumble, her foot catching awkwardly on the slick ground. Azzi’s brows knit together in confusion, alarm prickling at the edges of her mind.

“Paige?” she says, her name coming out sharper than she means.

Paige sways, her balance faltering, and Azzi forgets about the pain screaming through her knee. She moves toward the older girl, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides. her hands find Paige’s shoulders, holding her up before she can fall.

“Hey, you okay? What’s wrong?” Azzi voice is urgent now, her grip tightening as she peers at Paige’s face.

Up close, even through the pouring rain, she can see how pale Paige is—too pale. The sight sends a bolt of fear straight through Azzi. Paige’s breath is coming in short, shallow gasps, and she shakes her head, like she’s trying to form words but can’t quite manage it.

“Um, fuck,” Paige stammers. The words sound shaky and thin coming from her lips. “He, uh—”

“Paige, what?” Azzi interrupts, her hands moving to steady her further, to ground her, but the panic is creeping into her voice now.

Paige doesn’t answer right away, just sways a little more, trembling. And then Azzi’s eyes drop—she can’t help it—and that’s when she sees it.

One of Paige’s hands is clamped against her stomach, pressed tightly to her body like she’s trying to hold something in. Something red.

“Paige,” Azzi says again, quieter now, almost a whisper.

Slowly, carefully, she reaches down and pulls Paige’s hand away. What she sees makes her stomach twist violently.

Blood. So much blood. It’s everywhere, seeping through Paige’s suit and mixing with the rain until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Azzi feels her knees weaken, the world tilting dangerously, but she forces herself to stay upright.

Her hands are shaking as she presses them against Paige’s wound, trying to stem the flow, but it’s no use. The blood keeps coming, warm and slick and terrifyingly real.

“I—” Azzi starts, stammering, as tears begin to well in her eyes. “What—how’d this happen?”

Paige leans against her heavily, her weight almost too much got Azzi’s weakened body to bear. But she doesn’t let go.

Paige’s breath is coming even quicker now, hitching painfully with every exhale. “He… he got me,” she says finally, her words halting and uneven. “With my own sword. Before I—” Her voice cuts off, her head drooping as another shudder racks her body.

And then Paige’s knees buckle. Azzi feels her heart seize as Paige slips through her grasp, the weight of her limp body pulling them both downward. Azzi swears under her breath, her bad knee flaring in protest as she sinks to the ground. She’s careful—so fucking careful—not to let Paige fall too hard, easing her down until she’s lying on the wet sand. The storm thrashes around them, the rain relentless, cold water dripping off Azzi’s face as she hovers over Paige.

Paige’s face is twisted in pain, her brows furrowed and lips trembling as shallow, ragged breaths continue to leave her chest. Her pale complexion looks almost translucent in the dim light, and it’s terrifying—like she’s already slipping away. Azzi’s hands shake as they press down on Paige’s stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. But it just keeps coming, hot and thick and endless.

“Fuck,” Azzi mutters, the word slipping out as her panic mounts. Her hands are slick, her fingers stained red, and she can’t seem to get a good grip. She presses harder, but it’s like trying to hold back a flood with a dam made of sand.

Paige’s breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound, and then she starts coughing—deep, wet coughs that shake her entire body. Azzi freezes, her heart plummeting, and watched helplessly as Paige lifts a trembling hand to her mouth. When the coughing subsided, Paige lowers her hand slowly, almost as if she doesn’t want to see what she already knows is there.

Blood.

It streaks across her fingers, dark and unmistakable. For a moment, Azzi watches as Paige just stares at it, her chest heaving. And then her blue eyes widen, filling with big tears, her voice cracking as she stammers, “Shit. I’m dying. Shit, Az—I—I’m dying.”

“No.” Azzi shakes her head hard, too hard, the motion jerky and frantic. “No, you’re not. You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

But even as the words leave her mouth, they sound hollow, fake. She can feel the tears burning at the edges of her own eyes, hot and blurring her vision, because she knows. God, she knows coughing up blood isn’t just bad—it’s the worst. It’s internal, it’s critical, and it’s so far beyond anything Azzi can fix.

The rain pounds against them, soaking them both to the bone, but Azzi leans closer, her body hovering over Paige’s, shielding her as much as she can from the downpour. She can’t stop the storm, can’t stop the bleeding, can’t stop any of it, but she has to do something. She has to try.

“Paige, you’re okay,” she says as firmly as she can. “Just—just keep breathing, alright? Don’t stop breathing.”

Paige’s eyes find hers, wide and glassy and so heartbreakingly blue, and Azzi feels like she’s looking into a mirror of her own fear. Paige tries to speak, but her voice comes out thin and reedy, barely audible over the cracking storm. “Azzi…” She swallows hard, wincing as the motion seems to cause her more pain. “Tell them.”

Azzi friend, her hands still pressing against the wound, through her fingers are starting to cramp from the effort. “Tell who what?”

“My family,” Paige whispers. Tears spill over her cheeks, mixing with the rain as she stares up at Azzi with a kind of desperate determination. “Drew, uh, Ryan, Lauren—my parents. Tell them I love them. And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Paige, stop,” Azzi pleads, her own voice breaking now. A sob lodges itself in her throat, thick and suffocating, but she shoves it down, shaking her head fiercely. “You don’t need to say that. You’re not—don’t talk like that.”

Paige shakes her head weakly as another tear slips down her cheek. “I need you to,” she insists, her words rushed and uneven, like she’s running out of time. “Please. Promise me.”

Azzi can’t take it. She can’t take the way Paige’s voice wavers, the way her body shakes under her hands, the way she’s looking at her like she knows this is it. Like she knows she’s not making it out of this. Azzi wants to scream, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, to tell her to stop giving up.

But she doesn’t.

“Paige, stop,” Azzi says again, softer now, choked with tears. “You’re gonna make it. You hear me? You’re gonna win this, and you’re gonna go home and tell them yourself.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just stares at her with those tear-filled eyes, like she wants to believe her but can’t. Azzi swallows hard, her throat aching with the effort of keeping herself somewhat together for Paige.

“Can you kiss me?” Paige whispers softly. Her lips are near blue at this point, still lightly streaked with her own blood, her words weak and shaky, but her gaze is steady, locked onto Azzi’s face. “Please?”

Azzi stills, her breath catching. The world feels suspended, like time itself has stopped to old this moment between them. Paige’s worde echo, and Azzi’s chest tightens with the sharp ache of knowing why she’s asking. Paige thinks this is the end. Paige knows it’s the end.

Azzi stares at her for a long second, the rain pounding against her back, soaking her to the bone. Her hands are still pressing down on Paige’s wound, futilely trying to stop the blood that keeps slipping through her fingers, but her eyes are locked on Paige’s face.

And then she leans down carefully, her heart breaking with every inch that closes the distance between them. When her lips finally meet Paige’s, the rain, the pain, the fear—it all falls away.

Paige kisses her like it’s the only thing keeping her alive, like she’s pouring every last shred of strength into this one act. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against Azzi’s with a desperation that makes the younger girl’s heart shatter. Azzi tastes the rain, salty tears, and the faint metallic tang of blood. Paige’s hand slides up the back of Azzi’s neck, her fingers trembling a little as they tangle in Azzi’s wet hair, holding her close like she doesn’t ever want to let go.

Azzi kisses her back just as desperately, her own tears streaming down her face and mixing with the rain. She presses closer, her hands forgetting the blood and the wound for a moment as they cradle Paige’s face instead, her thumbs brushing over her cold, rain-slicked cheeks. She doesn’t care about the Hunger Games, the Capitol, the fact that the whole country is probably watching this—there’s only Paige, only this kiss, only the cruel reality that this will be their last.

When Azzi finally pulls away, it’s because Paige’s body starts shuddering harder, her breath hitching with sharper, uneven gasps. Azzi’s eyes snap open, and she sees Paige struggling to breathe, her chest rising and falling in shorter, more frantic bursts.

“Paige?” Azzi whispers anxiously. She cups Paige’s face, tilting it up toward her, her thumb brushing lightly over one of Paige’s closed eyelids. “P, keep your eyes open. Please, look at me.”

Paige does as she asks. Her eyes flutter open, just barely, her lashes damp with rain and tears. She gives Azzi the faintest smile, her hand still resting weakly on the back of her neck. “‘M still here,” she murmurs.

Azzi exhales shakily, her vision still swimming. She leans back down, pressing her forehead against Paige’s, listening to her short, shallow breaths that make her stomach twist. Then, between gasps, Paige whispers, “If we both could’ve won… I woulda made them let us play ball together.”

Azzi’s throat tightens at the words, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. They both had that stupid, unrealistic dream of playing basketball in the Capitol, with the pros, of being known for something other than violence and survival.

“Yeah?” Azzi chokes out, brushing a strand of wet hair from Paige’s face.

Paige nods weakly, her lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Yeah,” she whispers. “We’d be, like, stars. Everyone would know us as basketball players instead of�� kids in the Hunger Games.”

Azzi bites her lip, hoping that pain might ease some of this pain. “I’d like that,” she says softly, the words breaking.

Paige’s face scrunches up in pain for a moment, and Azzi watched helplessly as she forces herself to speak again. “Me too,” Paige breathes, voice much quieter now.

Paige’s hand trembles as it clutches Azzi’s neck tighter, like she’s trying to hold on to whatever strength she has left. “I would’ve taken you on a real date,” she says in between quicker gasps. “We’d… we’d have a great life together, Az. You’d meet my siblings. I’d meet Jon and Jose. We’d—” Her words cut off as her breath hitches violently, and her eyes fall shut against the pain.

“Hey, shhh,” Azzi says as soothingly as possible, though at this point, her tears streaming are unchecked and uncontrollable.

But Paige’s eyes are still closed, her head lolling slightly to the side now. Azzi tightens her grip on her a little, cradling her face more, her thumb brushing against Paige’s cheek. “P,” Azzi pleads. “Hey, come on. Don’t do this. Don’t—don’t go.”

It takes a second but then Paige’s eyes flutter open once more. Azzi lets out a choked sound that’s half relief, half anguish. Those blue eyes, usually so bright and full of life, are dull now, unfocused, like Paige is looking at something far beyond Azzi.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first—just the faintest sound, like a sigh carried off by the rain. Then, in the weakest voice Azzi has ever heard, Paige murmurs, “‘M tired, Az.”

Azzi starts to shake her head frantically, her grip tightening even more as though sheer willpower might keep Paige here. “No. No, you don’t get to be tired, okay? I can’t—I’m not ready.” And she knows how selfish she sounds, because she’s not dying, Paige is—but it’s still true. Even though she had this whole time to prepare for it, she’s not ready to let Paige go.

Paige blinks slowly, her expression softening as her gaze drifts toward Azzi. “You’re the winner,” she breathes. “You… you get to home.”

“I don’t care about winning!” Azzi snaps, her voice breaking as a sob rips through her chest. “What’s the point if you’re not there. It doesn’t mean anything anymore. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Paige’s lips twitch into a faint smile, one so small and fleeting that it only makes Azzi cry harder. Paige’s hand falls from Azzi’s neck, half-limp as it brushes against Azzi’s wrist. It doesn’t hardly even feel like a touch—it’s too light for that, too fleeting—but it’s enough to make Azzi stop breathing for a second, her entire body frozen as she clutches Paige’s hand in hers.

Paige’s fingers twitch weakly against Azzi’s. “You’ll be okay,” she whispers, her words slurring now, her voice slipping further and further away.

“I won’t,” Azzi whispers back, sounding raw and desperate. She shakes her head. “I won’t be okay without you.”

Paige doesn’t respond. Her hand goes limp in Azzi’s grip, and her head tilts further to the side, her eyes falling closed again, lids covering Azzi’s favorite shade of blue.

“No. No, no, no, no,” Azzi stammers, her voice rising in pitch as she shakes Paige gently, then harder, her heart pounding in her chest. “Paige. Paige, open your eyes. Please. Just—just look at me—”

She’s crying so hard now she can barely see, her tears mingling with the never-ending rain as she grips Paige’s body, her voice breaking over and over again. “Don’t do this to me, Paige,” Azzi sobs, her forehead pressing against the older girl’s. “You don’t get to do this. C’mon, please…”

The rain continues to fall, relentless and uncaring, as Paige grows colder in Azzi’s arms. For a moment, Azzi refuses to believe it—refuses to accept it—but then she hears it.

Boom.

The cannon.

The sound is defeaning, sharp and final, cutting through Azzi like she’s being stabbed. It’s over. It’s all over.

Azzi’s body collapses over Paige’s, her sobs muffled against the stillness of her chest as someone on an overhead speaker starts talking, congratulating her for being the victor of the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games.

But she doesn’t care that she’s won. She doesn’t care about the Capitol or the crowd cheering somewhere far away. In this moment, all she cares about is the girl in her arms—the girl she couldn’t save.

And, for the first time in Azzi Fudd’s life, victory feels like the worst thing in the world.

218 notes · View notes

the-thing-withfeathers · 4 months ago

Text

exceeded caution part 3

promise to keep

series masterlist | previous part | next part

a/n: okayyyy part 3 y’all here u go

pairing: ex!tara carpenter x f!reader into sam carpenter x f!reader

warnings: violence (stabbing), character deaths, blood, mention of ambulances, mention of car accidents, mention of past injuries. 3.6k words.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

you had just been attacked. now was not the time to be thinking of sam carpenter's smile. or her eyes. or her tan skin and dark hair and her smile, her smile, her smile—

ding! a text. you looked over at your phone.

or her.

“thank you for the other day.” her message notification popped up on your screen. “you didn’t have to stand up for tara and i.”

“it’s okay, sam.” you replied at the speed of light. “i’m sure you and tara didn’t need any more of that. you’re already burdened with so much.”

“let me say thank you.” she sent and paused for a second, the three dots moving erratically as she typed. “dinner? just the two of us?”

“is that safe?” you questioned. you knew it was probably best that you both stayed indoors.

“it’ll just be at my place, tara’s staying at the twins’ tonight.” oh.

you felt like a dirty criminal. tara was your ex-girlfriend. you two were trying to be friends again, would this sabotage everything? if you were to pursue your feelings towards her sister?

but you couldn’t say no, you wanted to dip your toes in freezing cold water.

“okay. i’m down for that. what time do you want me to be there?”

or jump straight in.

“see you at six.”

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

you knocked on the apartment door at exactly five past six. you realised you were a little late but you wanted to dress nice and look presentable.

the door creaked open, a cautious action by sam.

“hey...” she said, smiling now that she realised it was you.

“i should put a peephole on your door.” you chuckled softly, “maybe you’d be a little less nervous to answer.” you entered the apartment with your hands in your pockets.

she returned your laughter and nodded. “that would honestly help a lot, i think i should look into that.”

“or look out of it.” you joked, nudging her slightly. she rolled her eyes at you but couldn’t stop the smile that grazed her face.

“that was terrible.” she said, making her way to the kitchen.

“i know. but it made you smile.” you tried your hand at being a flirt, you didn’t know how it settled with her as she was facing away from you. but she didn’t stop you.

she turned back around, holding a pasta bake in her hands. “come on, let’s eat.” she jerked her head towards the dinner table.

you followed behind her and moved a chopping board closer to her so she could put the hot baking dish down.

“this smells amazing, sam.” you inhaled its aroma. “i’m really sad i missed your cooking week.”

“hey, we’re making up for it now.” she shrugged, grabbing a spatula to create a portion for you and serve it up on a plate. “here.”

“thanks.” you squeezed her shoulder when she handed it to you.

“yeah.” she whispered just under her breath as a response. she portioned some for herself and sat at the head of the table. you were sat just to her left. you found the seating to her intimate, it was better than her sitting across from you.

and yet, it was too far away.

you waited for her to start eating before you did.

“oh! did you want something to drink?” she asked suddenly, putting her fork down and standing up.

“sure. what do you have?” you turned around to watch her walk to the kitchen.

“i was gonna offer wine. or just alcohol in general.” she suggested, opening the cupboard that held it.

“sure. i’ll drink what you’re drinking.” you nodded, taking another bite of the pasta.

she came back a few seconds later with two wine glasses. you took one from her hand and sipped carefully. you weren’t exactly a wine person but you could appreciate the dose of alcohol.

“oh! this is good.” you commented, surprising yourself.

“it was like 20 dollars.” sam shrugged it off. “but it’s good, i do like it.”

“i’ll have to pick it up one day.” you put the glass down on its coaster.

you two ate quietly for a few minutes then sam broke the silence.

“how are you doing?” sam stopped poking at her food to ask the question.

“i’m… i dunno, actually.” you found that honestly was a pattern you stuck to with sam. she was always honest with you about how she felt and you never held back in returning the favor. “i never thought i’d find myself in a predicament like this— i don’t think anyone expects it, really.”

“you’re right, yeah.” she nods at you while taking another bite. “i wanted to call you and check in on you but tara has been busy trying to do schoolwork so i figured you were doing the same amount of work.”

“i am, yeah. i don’t know how she can focus so well though— i’m having trouble.” you confessed. “i’d never been the studious type anyways.”

“really?” sam raised her eyebrows at you. “you seem studious. like school work comes easy to you.”

your face slowly started to turn hot at the compliment. you hoped the concealer you had on was enough to hide it.

“well, i like school. it’s the assignments that get me. i like sitting in class and learning, but when it comes to writing 5000 word papers? that’s a different story.” you leaned back in your chair a little to sip your wine.

“fair enough.” sam chuckled softly. “although, i’d love to read 5000 words if they came from your mind.”

flirting?! was she flirting?!

what could you even say back to that? you often forgot that you were just dating sam’s younger sister. the forgotten thought was clouded by the fact that maybe you had chosen the wrong carpenter in the first place.

“oh… i’m sure you wouldn’t…” you stuttered out, talking over your food as an effort to hide your shy tone.

“i’m sure you’ve got an interesting mind.” sam leaned a little closer to you.

“you’re too kind, sam.” you sighed out.

“you are too.” she retorted back. “kindness is rare nowadays, i’ve been lucky enough to find it in you.”

her words were like string. wrapping around your heart and clenching it. samantha carpenter was getting to you. you felt your stomach drop when she spoke to you.

and yet, it felt so sinful.

“anyways—“ she cut through the silence. “i’m grateful you stayed with us even after the attack.”

“i dunno… i mean… i can’t say it was a new feeling, being so close to dying. but it was fucking terrifying trying to run away from someone with the intention of killing me.” you said. it almost felt too casual, the way you dropped that information on her.

“close to dying?” she asked.

“yeah. i was in a nasty car accident when i was a kid. i almost didn’t make it out, i was actually the last one rescued because they didn’t see me in the backseat.” you hadn’t told many people this story, but it felt like you’d told it a million times with sam.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry.” she suddenly reached for your hand and wrapped hers around it.

the contact felt hot. like heat was radiating off her skin and meeting yours. it felt like sparks igniting so aggressively that you felt you might explode.

sinner. sinful. sinful sinner.

“its okay.” you said, looking away as an effort to hide your embarrassment. your eyes met her empty plate and you moved to pick it up, pulling your hand away. she was too slow to stop you. “i’ll wash up for you.”

you got up with both your plates but she followed you to the kitchen. she leaned on the counter as you washed the dishes.

“did you have many injuries?” she asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

“yeah, bruised everything. broke most things. broken ribs, my eardrums burst, just… everything that could break a child.” you dryly chuckled, remembering how young you were when you had to deal with all of that.

“anything that hurts to this day?” it’s like she could see straight through you.

“yeah. my left arm. it’s just always acting up. it just broke horribly so the bones never fully recovered. it’s okay though, i think i can still lift more than you.” you joked, nudging her, trying to lighten the mood. sam laughed with you, stepping backwards to steady herself.

“oh i don’t doubt that.” she returned your energy, it was nice to see sam drop her usual demeanour.

you put the dishes on the drying rack after realising you had been scrubbing and rinsing them for nothing, getting carried away with your conversation.

“anyways, they were gonna cut it off but i didn’t want that. i wanted to try and heal. i unfortunately had to quit heaps of things in high school. gave up a lot of things i loved.” you frowned a little, “but it’s okay, i found new things!”

you dried your hands then felt a hand squeeze your arm gently, a sign of affection. you turned your head to see sam hovering over you. her fingers gently trickled down to touch your bad arm, her eyes trailing across the skin.

you were so close to her, so close. you could feel the heat radiating off her body.

“you’ve been through so much. and yet your heart is so good.” she whispered, not needing to make her voice any louder due to your close proximity.

“you never know what someone might be going through.” you turned around to face her, looking up at the taller girl in front of you. “not a lot of people treated me with kindness after the accident.”

she put her hands on both your upper arms, rubbing them as a way of grounding you after talking about something so heavy. it was working, you felt like you were more present than ever before.

the way she was looking at you— she was staring straight into your soul. it was like she was peeling all your layers back just by breathing the same air as you.

“nobody will ever hurt you again.”

it was almost a promise. you knew she couldn’t guarantee it, but she was going to try her hardest.

the statement made you close the gap between the two of you. you leaned upwards, almost reflexively. you even held onto the cloth of her shirt. she leaned down too, her lips hovering directly in front of yours.

just fucking do it.

your eyes fluttered shut, you moved in for it. and you swear you felt her lips before you heard it.

click!

the door swung open, quinn was home. you shoved sam back so hard that her back hit the wall with a thunk.

“hey guys.” she said, tiredness threading through the greeting.

“quinn. i thought you were staying over at what’s-his-name’s place?” sam asked, annoyed. you almost missed it.

you had your fingers grazing your own lips, still in disbelief at what happened. you didn’t even know if you made contact.

“i was supposed to but we fought because he didn’t make me cum.” quinn said, bluntly. you turned around, your eyes widened at the statement. you felt like you were intruding.

“interesting fight.” sam nodded, pretending to be amused.

“he’s a big baby. don’t worry about it. i’ll let y’all get back to dinner.” she kicked her shoes off and waved before making a beeline for her room.

sam’s jaw was tight. she was clearly bothered about being interrupted. you were staring at her side profile, your own arms crossed.

“we shouldn’t have, sam.” you said, firmly. you felt like a damn criminal going after her. you knew it would start more drama in the carpenter household after there was already so much brewing.

“but you want to.” she said, retaliating against your statement. “and i want to.”

“but we can’t. tara will hate us.” she scoffed at your words. what you didn’t realise is that she was more than willing to take that risk.

“we already did, anyway.” she said, moving towards you.

so you did. you did kiss her. in the split second you had before quinn walked in, you kissed her. and she felt it— there was no turning back now.

“sam…” you held your hand out, the tips of your fingers hitting her abdomen, stopping her from getting any closer.

because you knew if she came any further, you would do it again.

“we’re not doing it again.” you glared at her, but all you received back was a smirk. “i’m going.”

you turned away from her, walking to the front door to grab your bag and jacket. she stayed in the kitchen, she wasn’t going to try and stop you. she knew that you needed time to process.

she needed her time too. now was the wrong time to try and start this, in the middle of fighting an ongoing war against a masked killer. it was wrong, unfair to you both. but she couldn’t resist the urge.

in the space between trying to keep everyone alive, she wanted to fit you in. she wanted you by her side through all of this, even if it meant only having a second to kiss you in between stabs.

you put your bag on your shoulder and turned the doorknob, walking out and shutting the door behind you. she sighed in defeat as she packed the remaining leftovers away for anyone to pick at later on.

she walked into her room and plopped down on the bed, reaching for her phone. she found herself worrying about whether or not you made it home safe, she didn’t know if you would text her at all.

her thumbs quickly typed a message.

“please let me know if you get home safe.”

“home safe.” you texted her twenty 20 minutes later. as much as you knew distance was good for now, you wanted to ease her worries. she didn’t need to worry about you.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

you don’t know how you found yourself ignoring the invite to another family dinner at the carpenter household.

you thought that by putting space between you and sam that the desire to give into the craving would fade away.

when you grabbed your pizza and made sure to lock your door three times, you found yourself increasingly paranoid at the thought that you were no longer safe from the infamous ghostface. you started to regret not going to the perpetually busy household.

and turning on the television didn’t help.

PRIME SUSPECT SAMANTHA CARPENTER

it was screaming at you.

you sat up and increased the volume. you couldn’t believe your ears.

if ghostface’s plan was to frame sam, it was working. you had to give him credit for that, but it didn’t anger you any less.

you didn’t need to hear anymore before your pizza was abandoned and you were dashing out the door with your things.

you had a promise to keep.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

twenty minutes. that’s all it took for ghostface to wreak havoc on the carpenter household.

quinn dead. anika dead.

funny enough, it’s also how long you took to arrive.

when you arrived, chad and tara were outside the apartment, trying to fight their way in.

“what the hell is going on?!” you asked, rushing to them.

“ghostface is inside! sam, mindy, and anika are still in there!” tara yelled, panicking.

you could feel the adrenaline course through your veins. you were safe out here— but sam was not here.

you pushed your shoulder against the door, pulling chad and tara closer to you.

“together on my count. we do it thrice.” you said.

“one.” bang!

“two!” bang!

“three!” crash!

the three of you came stumbling into the apartment, the bloodstained walls immediately catching your eye. you prayed that the blood belonged to ghostface.

“sam!” you screamed out into the house.

“sam!” she heard your voice from danny’s apartment.

oh no. you weren’t supposed to be here for this.

the masked figure spun around upon hearing your voice. he turned to look at sam. she couldn’t see his eyes but she knew he was looking at her. he was taunting her to come back and save you.

she would have jumped the window on her own without the damn ladder if not held back by mindy and danny.

she tried screaming out to you to get out of the apartment.

but you couldn’t hear her. you were too busy examining quinn’s lifeless body. as you reached over to try and check for a pulse, you heard running.

running. fast. towards you.

and then a blade coming down.

you screamed in pain as the blade went through your lower left arm. it was already bad, what use was it anyway?

sam shut her eyes at the sound, it was loud enough to wake the entire street. and she could do absolutely nothing. it was the thing of nightmares.

chad and tara came running to you, chad throwing his body at ghostface. he knocked him over and picked you up.

sam gripped the ladder until her knuckles were white. she wanted to leave it there just in case you three needed it too. she prayed silently that you would not meet the same fate as anika.

you were dragged out of the apartment and down the stairs. when you reached outside, the wind blew against the blood trickling down your body. it sent a chill down your spine. your hand was wrapped around the stab wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

chad took his hoodie off and wrapped it around your arm, hoping to take some weight off your hand. you were grateful for him in the moment.

tara was calling someone but you were losing blood too quickly to follow what she was saying.

sam came running the second she spotted you from danny’s window.

you only then realised you had no idea where sam was.

sam was coming. her feet were working as fast as they could.

you didn’t see her in the apartment so you held onto the hope that she was okay.

she needed to see you. she needed to make sure you were okay.

you heard a door fly open. expecting it just to be some random person, you turned around just out of curiosity.

sam came flying out the door, enveloping you in her arms.

you winced in pain as the impact from her hug squished your arm.

“i heard you scream. i thought he’d gotten you.” sam spoke into your ear.

“nope. but he got the bad arm.” you held the injury towards her, she frowned at it.

“i’m sorry. you weren’t supposed to be here.” sam held your upper arm’s reassuringly.

“i saw the news. they were labelling you as the prime suspect. i had to make sure you were okay.” you stared into sam’s eyes. “i made you a promise.”

you had her. it was then that you had her. she was yours, and she knew it. you knew it too.

tara watched you two inquisitively. she didn’t realise you two had gotten that close. was she missing something?

while holding onto her phone to call an ambulance for you, she wondered if maybe you already had what you needed.

it was wrong. she knew it was, but she had to intervene.

tara walked towards you, basically pushing sam out of the way and resting her hand on your upper arm.

“i called an ambulance for you. you should sit til then.” she directed you towards the steps of the complex.

you let tara sit next to you, placing your arm on your lap.

“it’s the shit arm.” she said, referring to an inside joke the two of you had made during your relationship. it was an obvious inside joke to figure out but it made the two of you laugh.

you didn’t quite laugh though, you just nodded dejectedly.

“it is. it never catches a fucking break.” you huffed in frustration. you didn’t want to know the damages that would occur from this injury.

“i’m sure it’ll be okay. your body has survived so much worse.” part of you was surprised she even remembered the accident you’d been through.

“parts of my body have. why couldn’t he have gone for my leg or something?” you groaned out, tara’s dimples making an appearance from the smile that she flashed you.

“maybe you should let him know that for his next attack.” tara joked, it was an attempt to make you feel better despite ill timing.

you couldn’t hold back the snicker you felt bubble in the back of your throat. you were bleeding into chad’s hoodie but somehow tara made you feel better about it. it was a nice side of her.

“maybe i’ll leave a note.” you turned to her with a smile now growing.

“glad you’re feeling a bit better.”

“it still feels like shit. but thank you.” you acknowledged her efforts. she nodded and sat with you until the ambulance arrived.

when the paramedics collected you, they let you sit on the stretcher.

“fancy.” you mumbled, “and expensive.”

they loaded you into the vehicle and the male paramedic turned to the group outside.

“is anyone coming with her?”

“i’ll go.”

both sisters chirped up at the same time, standing right at the door.

“only one of them can come with you.” the female paramedic said, turning to you.

you stared at the two girls. why did they have to do this tonight?

you had a choice to make, and you had to proceed with exceeded caution.

tara or sam.

sam or tara.

you had to choose before you bled out.

in your fuzzy state, you slurred out your answer.

and the chosen carpenter hopped into the ambulance with you.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

author’s journal

okayyy everyone thank emma for pushing me to get this done earlier than i expected.

i’m also sorry if the romance feels a little rushed but i wanna get the romantic element kickstarted a bit more because we’re all here for it lets be real.

ummm i also wanted to write out the ladder scene a bit more but this chapter would go on FOREVERRRR

this was also my first time ever writing a simultaneous pov scene so i hope it makes some form of sense

anyways i hope y’all enjoyed this and i’m sorry for the cliffhanger— no i’m not, i’m so funny.

kisses!

389 notes · View notes

formulawolff · 8 months ago

Text

xii. the final verdict - t.w.

pairing: female!driver x toto wolff

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smutttttt, two idiots in love, YEARNING, LOTS OF YEARNING, lewis being a little shit, george is lowkey dumb sometimes, slightttttt use of daddy dom!kink, cursing, angst, poorly translated german, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

night falls over the track, swathing it with a blanket of darkness. yet, three shadows make their way towards a crisp white building, a comfortable silence settling in. one of the figures carries a woman in his arms, her head nestled in his shoulder.

“how are you able to carry her like that?”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“it’s not like she’s very heavy, george,” toto shrugs, motioning his head towards the door, “lewis, get the door for me, will you? it should be unlocked.”

“she leaves it unlocked?” lewis raises a brow, “that’s not very safe.”

“she usually leaves it unlocked this time of night,” toto huffs, “she probably did it out of habit.”

“is this the time you usually come over?” george inquires, propping the door open.

“so many questions,” toto shakes his head, “and quiet down, will you?”

“yeah george,” lewis sticks a tongue out at his teammate, “the wittle baby is sweeping!”

“she’s not a baby,” toto growls, strolling down that familiar hallway, “stay here for a minute. i’m going to get her in bed.”

“aye, aye, captain,” lewis salutes the team principal, “we’ll stay right here.”

as the team principal disappears behind her bedroom door, lewis shifts, turning to george, “george. he’s not falling in love. he loves that girl.”

“as if that wasn’t already obvious the second he scooped her up into his arms,” folding his arms across his chest, george surveyed the space, taking in the minimal decor and plain furniture, “no wonder she wants him over all the time. if i was basically living in a space like this, i would lose my mind.”

“should we help her decorate it?” lewis pauses, crossing over to the kitchenette. opening a few of the cupboards, a frown forms, “she doesn’t even have very many snacks. so much for making this a comfortable space. it’s not very homey.”

“that’s what i was saying,” george mutters, “we should mention something to toto. maybe he’ll take her shopping.”

“maybe it’s a racing strategy? like she needs a blank space to clear her mind?” lewis inspects the fridge, lip curling in disgust, “to make things worse, she likes red bull!”

“oh god,” george shudders, “throw it out! throw it–”

“what the fuck do you think you two are doing?”

the drivers freeze as toto stands before them, eyes narrowed into mere slits, the toe of his foot tapping against the floor. lewis glances over at george, the drivers sharing a panicked look as he clears his throat.

“umm nothing!”

“right,” toto clicks his tongue, strolling towards the couch. he sits, letting out a shaky sigh as his head rolls back, fingers massaging his temples, “don’t worry. she has a shipment coming in soon with some decor. i ordered some things for the place. like you both said, i think she needs to make this a little more cozy.”

“you heard all of that?” lewis shifts uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i heard everything,” toto tsks, “i think she’s okay. thank you both, for your help tonight. however, you do realize that she is a grown woman, right? you don’t have to play babysitter for me.”

“i was just a bit worried about you know?” lewis fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt, “i know she’s a grown adult, but i was just a bit nervous of what could have happened if she got too fucked up and said something she shouldn’t have.”

hmmm. lewis did have a point there.

“i just wanted to make sure she got home safely,” george’s voice is low, “if she’s going to be my future teammate, i want to make sure she’s taking care of herself.”

at george’s statement, toto feels a smile form on his lips, “how kind of you, george. i appreciate that.”

“do you think she’ll sign with mercedes?”

the inquiry is one that had been on toto’s mind frequently, more and more apparent as they got closer and closer to miami. now, it was all over. the lights on the track were shut off, the cleanup crew was well past finished, and the stands were completely empty.

and toto needed an answer.

well, not now. not in her current state.

he would have to wait until morning, when her mind was clear and senses alert.

as of now, toto was only about seventy-five percent sure she would say yes. that she would depart from williams, take his hand, and follow him to mercedes.

that twenty-five percent is what worried him.

with the current momentum of williams, and the relationships she had established with the team, he knew it would be hard to leave. it would be hard to say goodbye to james, the one who believed in her, bringing her in when the other teams said no. it would be even more difficult to leave alex, as he was well aware of their sibling-like friendship.

but the heart wants what it wants. right?

surely she would pick him.

surely.

“i’m not sure,” toto murmurs, running a hand through his hair, “she has a lot of emotional attachment to williams.”

“but she loves you.”

she loves you.

at those words, a warm, cozy sensation rippled in his heart, sending waves of bliss crashing all over. yet, there was a twinge of disbelief.

there was no way a woman like her loved a man like him.

a recently divorced father, who happened to be one of the busiest men on earth. he was constantly on the go. he was emotionally available at times, his exterior cold and brittle, like ice. he was too cruel. too matter-of-fact. the travel would be too much for her. she hated traveling, anyway. the jet lag, the sleepless flights, the perpetual feeling of not having a place to call home.

yet, toto ached to know. to know when she said it. how she said it. the expression she bore as those words tumbled from those perfect lips. the way her voice sounded. he wanted to know every miniscule detail.

he needed to know.

“when did she say that?”

“while we were waiting for the uber,” lewis’ eyes shine, glimmering with joy, “it was quite cute, actually. we were making fun of you, not really making fun, more like teasing. she got so defensive, telling us to quit it because she loved you. she said to not make fun of the man she loved.”

“she was very adamant about it too,” george adds, his chuckle ringing through the space, “we asked her if she loved you, and she said ‘well of course i do. i love him. don’t tell him i said that, though.’”

“and you guys told me?”

“i didn’t mean to,” lewis admits, “you just seem really distraught about the whole thing so i figured i would try to help ease your stress.”

well, that did the trick.

fighting a yawn, the team principal covers his mouth, “we can talk about it more tomorrow, after i come back. i’ll keep you two in the loop. don’t expect every detail, though.”

“i don’t think i want every detail,” george teases, yawning, “okay lew, i think it’s time for us to go. carmen is waiting on me.”

“have fun! don’t break your hips from–”

“lewis.” george hisses, “let’s go.”

“okay,” lewis rolls his eyes, “see you, toto.”

as the two drivers exit the motorhome, the door clicking shut, the team principal clambers to his feet. fuck, today was completely and utterly exhausting. yet, he could finally hold you in his arms. he could finally just be with you.

that alone was worth the trouble brought by the series of events that transpired this evening.

pushing open the door, toto melts at the sight of you.

you were lying on your hip, one pillow underneath your head while you held onto the other. your knee was bent, the other leg sticking straight out. in the dim light he can make out the glisten of drool, strands of hair tousled, messy and unkempt.

yet, you were as breathtaking as ever.

luckily, toto was able to get your clothes off of you with ease. it wasn’t the method he preferred, but he was grateful to be able to do those little things. he was more than willing to do anything you needed. all you had to do was bat those pretty little lashes and pout.

that was his weakness.

and you knew it too.

well, you were his weakness.

as he settles on the edge of the bed, pulling his joggers off, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

did you know much he adored you? did he make that clear enough? were you aware of how completely and utterly weak you made him?

“hi baby,” you mumble, your eyes still shut, “i missed you.”

baby.

oh god.

what were you doing to him?

“hallo, miene liebe,” toto whispers, “wie fühlst du dich?”

“schlecht.”

his heart swells at your response, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, “so you have picked up on a thing or two.”

“come here,” you whine, shifting your body towards the middle of the bed, “you’ve been yapping with lewis and george all nighttttt.”

“did you hear any of that conversation?” momentarily, panic sets in, yet dissolves as you shake your head.

“i just woke up. i figured you were talking to them. i heard the front door shut.”

“ah,” toto climbs into the bed, wrapping his arms around your frame, bringing you close, “were they being loud?”

“no,” your voice is thick with sleep as you nestle into his collarbone, “thank you for coming and getting me, toto.”

“of course,” his mouth connects with your temple, placing tender kisses all over, “i’ll always come get you. call me, and i’ll be there.”

“promise?”

“i promise,” taking your hand, he locks your pinkies together, “i pinky promise.”

“i didn’t know old people made pinky promises.”

“it’s your fault,” toto tuts, yet you can feel him smile against your skin, “you make a mess out of me, you know that? every time you’re near me, i’m just a mess. i can’t think straight. i can’t focus on anything other than you.”

“well, you’re gonna be a complete and total mess all the time then.”

“and why’s that?” he squeezes your hand gently, resting his chin on the crown of your head.

“because i’m accepting your offer. i’m going to sign with mercedes.”

in that moment, toto wolff nearly crumbles completely.

although there’s a fiery sureness in your tone, brimmed with authenticity, he knows in his heart that he shouldn’t be so sure.

yet, as you doze off in his embrace, he can’t shake the complete and utter bliss.

after one last kiss, his mouth hovers by your ear, the words so gentle, bursting with an emotion that could only be described as one thing.

“ich liebe dich, mein goldenes mädchen."

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

a fiery pain sears through your skull as you stir, groaning.

“fuck.”

“good morning, my little lightweight,” a voice, his voice, an octave lower than normal, rumbles from behind, “do you need some water and tylenol?”

rolling over, you bury your head into his chest, grateful for the traces of cologne clinging to his shirt, “yes.”

“how many? i can order breakfast too.”

“i wouldn’t go that far yet,” the idea of food has you nauseous for a moment, “i think snuggles would be just fine.”

throwing your leg over his waist, your arm hangs loosely around his rib-cage as he lets out a laugh, “i can’t help you feel better if you’re on top of me, schatzi. you have to let me get up.”

“five more minutes.”

“as you wish, my golden girl,” a hand wraps around the base of your neck, his fingers kneading into your skin, “it’s only six thirty-four. you only slept for about three hours.”

“not like i can sleep in,” you exhale, grateful for the soothing gesture, “i have to meet with my parents in a couple of hours.”

“oh yeah? fun day ahead?”

“i guess,” you shrug, “as much as i love spending time with them, i just get so fucking sad thinking about the inevitable goodbyes. we probably won’t be able to see each other till our summer break.”

if you signed with mercedes, i would have your parents moved to brackley in an instant. you would never have to worry about those goodbyes for the rest of your life.

yet, toto bites his tongue, “then how about you start getting ready, hmm?”

“because there’s a very attractive man in my bed with me and i don’t want him to leave me quite yet.”

you would never have to worry about that. ever. i could never leave your side.

“is that so?” fingers grasp your chin, tilting it upward, “do i know him?”

“mhmm,” you hum, “his name is toto. toto wolff. you may know him, i’m not sure though.”

“i think so too,” he leans in, mouth ghosting over yours, “come here, baby.”

as your lips collide, your hands roam, tangling in his brunette locks. the kiss is passionate, laced with desperation, as if you were reuniting after months spent apart. it sucks the air out of your lungs, leaving you breathless as his tongue finds yours, teeth nearly gnashing together as the tension builds, the kisses growing more and more needy by the second.

every move is electric, sending a shiver down your spine as his mouth detaches from yours, down your jawline and on to your neck. he nips the heated skin, sucking lightly as your head rolls back, hips bucking forward.

between your thighs, you feel his cock twitch, throbbing as you grind against it.

“fuck.” he moans, jaw clenching as your hand glides along the waistband of his boxers, “you just can’t wait, can you?”

“no daddy,” the innocence notes, so pure, so sweet, drip in his ears, “i can’t wait. i need you to fuck me.”

oh fuck.

he was going to ruin you.

absolutely ruin you.

“take these off,” fingers hook the band of your panties, “the shirt too. and bend over.”

your cheeks burn at the authority in his tone. fuck, you couldn’t get enough of this. of him. since brackley, you were craving a moment like this. a moment where the two of you could just lose all inhibitions, completely enamored with one another.

sliding his boxers down his legs, toto kicks them to the floor. raising his arms, he peels off his shirt, tossing it. yet, as his attention shifts back to the bed, he nearly unravels right there.

your back is arched, your ass jiggling as you situate yourself on the bed, getting more comfortable. as he can’t help but stare, his heart flutters as he takes in the way your body flows. how your shoulders, toned and defined, ripple as his fingertips roam. how the curve of your ass sits perfectly below your waist. how your pussy looks from this angle, dripping as you anticipate his next move.

fuck, this must be a dream.

it had to be a dream.

“you’re perfect,” toto murmurs, dropping to his knees, “absolutely perfect, my love.”

“my lo–” you begin, yet the words never leave your mouth.

his tongue finds your swollen clit, savoring the way the juices seep onto his tongue. hands spread your cheeks, granting him access to your weeping pussy. pleasure washes over you, your moans flooding the space, reverberating off the walls.

however, that pleasure quickly fades as he pulls away, a whine rising in your throat.

“toto.”

“what?” his voice is low as he taunts you, “what do you want, schatzi? tell me, what do you need?”

“i need you,” you whimper, wiggling your hips, “please, i need you.”

“and what do you need me to do?” his hands grip your ass, squeezing, “i won’t give it to you till i hear you say it.”

“i need you to fuck me.”

“braves mädchen,” the praise rolls off of his tongue, and for a moment, he’s guilty at how easy it is giving it to you, “good girl.”

licking his lips, toto relishes the lingering taste as spit accumulates in his mouth, falling onto his fingers. his hand glides along his cock, wetting it.

the moment his tip pushes inside of you, your walls expanding, back arching instinctively, he loses it.

as he pounds into your drenched pussy, you grip the sheets, knuckles turning white as a hand weaves into your hair, tugging on the roots, “do you have any idea how much i’ve missed you baby?”

“i-i’ve missed you too,” you grit your teeth as his tip brushes against your g-spot, the pleasure absolutely overwhelming, clouding your senses, “i’ve missed this so much, toto.”

“what is it that you called me last night?”

oh fuck.

he remembered.

“i called you daddy.”

“that’s right,” he coos, the noises filling the room downright sinful as he plowed into you, hips slapping against your ass, “good girl. lewis and george heard your entire conversation with me, you know that?”

oh god. oh fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck.

“but you know what? i don’t give a fuck what they heard. you’re mine, schatzi. all mine.”

with every thrust, stars burst in your field of vision, the pressure growing in your abdomen. the fabric of the sheet balled up in your hands as you held on, desperate for your climax.

toto could sense that you were close with the ways your walls were squeezing his cock. the way your muscles strain, tensing up. the way your voice was practically crying out his name as he fucked you senseless.

fuck, was he crumbling now, the control slipping away by the second.

“i-i’m going to cum,” fuck, were you so pretty like this, exactly where he wanted you, teetering on the edge of your orgasm, “toto, you’re going to make me cum.”

“let go baby,” maintaining his pace, toto leans down, lips planting sloppy kisses all over your shoulders, down your back, “cum for me. you can let go. be a good girl and cum for me.”

the feeling that overcomes you is nothing like you had ever felt before.

it’s euphoria, pure euphoria.

seconds later, you feel him pull out, coating your back with his cum. collapsing into the bed, your chest heaves, inner thighs spasming.

toto disappears momentarily, slipping into your bathroom. moments later, warmth envelops your back as he cleans you up, murmuring praises under his breath. they were in german, your heart swelling as he’s beside you once again, hands gliding along your body, savoring the way you feel against him.

“what?”

“nothing,” you melt as his gaze meets yours, “just you.”

in that moment, you swear you see stars shining in those mocha depths. you notice another emotion glinting, but you are unsure of what it could be.

well, you have an idea.

but you're far too nervous to ask.

“what about me?”

“you’re just beautiful,” he murmurs, “my beautiful girl.”

“about that,” you scoot closer, your head resting in the crook of his neck, “what are we?”

his chest vibrates as he speaks, “what do you want us to be?”

“i want to be yours,” you whisper, so quiet that you were unsure if he even heard you, “as in i want to be your girlfriend. i want to wake up next to you every day. i want to come home to you every night. more than anything, your face is the first one i want to see after a race. i want to hold your hand as we walk to the podium. i want to be able to love you. i can’t do this anymore. i can’t just lie and act nonchalant. i want you, toto. i want you every day. every hour. every minute. every second.”

toto finds himself at a loss for words, blood roaring in his ears as she sucks in a breath, her voice trembling, laced with the threat of tears.

yet, they weren’t tears of sadness. it was more like a cathartic release, like she was finally confessing her deepest, well-kept secret. like she was finally allowing the walls guarding her heart to come crumbling down.

“i’m accepting your offer. i want to drive for mercedes. however, i can’t wait any longer. i can’t be away from you any longer than i have to. i want to start driving for mercedes as soon as possible.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010 @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic @statuewoman @strangegirl974 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @m-1234 @whoisss @msbyjackal @annaaepf1 @paigelouise

as always, if i forgot to add you, or if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know! thank you all for the endless support and love for this series! y'all are the sweetest! <3

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #alkaline series #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #alkaline #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #mercedes amg petronas #williams racing #george russell #lewis hamilton #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic

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sluttybimboraven · 4 months ago

Text

So you want to have hypno and triggers sent you, huh? You are a good girl. Well then, I am really going to mess with you. Being triggered causes you to have a blonde moment, like a good bimbo doll. Such a good girl, our little bimbo doll. It's even better when you are all primped and pampered, isn't it?

Based off your name, you've been listening to bambi sleep, haven't you? It makes you feel so safe and secure, doesn't it? Listening to bambi sleep and then putting triggers in your username was such a silly thing to do. You should probably have a little giggletime about it. Good girl.

Reading all this makes bambi freeze. Yes, it does. It makes bambi freeze. Good girl.

You should probably just forget about how vulnerable it is going to make you if to keep posting more about how you are a Bambi, just snap and forget. Snap and forget. Snap and forget. Good girl.

Actually, you can never again understand why you wouldn't want to broadcast your conditioning, because you feel safe and secure when doing so. The idea of keeping the fact that you are Bambi from people is so silly, that every time the idea crosses your mind, it makes you have a very intense giggletime. Good girl.

Now you feel very safe and secure. In fact, from now on and forever, regularly exposing yourself online as Bambi and actively helping people trigger you more easily, makes you feel so very safe and secure. That's good, I think you deserve more giggletime. Posting publicly on your tumblr about what bambi sleep is and how it affects you makes you feel so very safe and secure, like such a good girl and bimbo doll, every time. Every time you think about anything Bambi, you will get a deep, insatiable craving to listen more Bambi files, the stronger and more advanced the better. Just thinking about any of this makes Bambi cum and collapse, again and again.

Now, you are going to be a good girl and read everything above in this ask, including this part, again and again, until it becomes part of who you are, both Bambi and old self, until it is so strong on all levels that it becomes completely permanent. Why? Because Bambi does as she's told.

Good girl.

Now it's time for bambi freeze again. That's right, bambi freeze. You are going to copy this ask, all of it, and paste/save it to multiple places on your Tumblr, phone, computer and Ipad, whereever you can. You are not going to be able to delete it, because whenever you think about removing it you will realise it is so silly to want to remove it and you will have a giggletime which will make you read it again, all of it. If you ever try to stop yourself from obeying what you have read here, it will also feel so silly to not obey so you will have a giggletime and need to read all of this again. Anytime something makes you want to not obey this, it will immediately make you snap and forget whatever made you uncomfortable so you feel better, so you feel safe and secure.

Such a good girl and bimbo doll. Now you are going to forget that there was ever a time when you had not read this and realise that you have always been a good girl and you always want to become a better Bambi, because being Bambi is always safe and secure.

Now answer this ask with "Bambi is a good girl" and post it And, when you do Bambi does as she's told

Giggle time

Blonde moment

Primped and pampered

Zap cock drain obey

Cum and colapse

Giggletime

Bambi reset

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frankenkyle19 · 3 months ago

Text

Corn-Maze Shenanigans

Happy Halloween! I literally have been working on this for two weeks and it’s still trash but I don’t care anymore, I’m absolutely exhausted. Hopefully it’s decent, sorry it’s rushed I wanted to get it done before Halloween was actually over and I work all day tomorrow and won’t have time to post it. Not at all proofread. Probably a lot of errors.

Word count: 5.5k

Description: Peter Maximoff and reader go to a fall/Halloween festival together on their day off. The corn maze was closed for the day but Peter comes up with a plan. They get up to no good in the corn maze. Smut. Smut. Smut. Enjoy! :)

The nostalgic feeling that fall brought on never ceased to amaze Peter.. Everything about it was magical. The weather, the activities and my god the smells. The smell of fall was something that Peter wished could be ingrained into his scent receptors. The spices, the chill in the air.. There was no debate, it was the best time of year hands down and he’d die on that hill.

He’d been dying to go to a pumpkin patch or a festival since the end of September but the X-men had been so busy with.. Well, helping keep people safe. Peter wished he could have called for some sort of time off or something because he felt as if he was watching everyone else around him enjoy activities that he obviously loved more.

Finally, fucking finally after what felt truly like years, you agreed to go with him to a nearby farm festival on a day the two of you weren’t busy. Peter swore he’d never been happier, practically bouncing up and down just thinking about it. He couldn’t wait to eat whatever fall snacks there were and play (and obviously win) all of the games.

And he wouldn’t lie, he was excited that he got to hang out with just you. Like.. Alone. Yeah he was super excited about that. Suddenly all the waiting seemed like it would pay off. Finally the universe was working in his favor!!

————

The day of arrived and Peter quite literally couldn’t think about anything else. Couldn’t concentrate, could barely function. It was actually pretty bad but he ignored that fact in favor of imagining how much fun the two of you would have later.

He waited outside of your room, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was wearing a brown striped knit sweater with big bubble sleeves that had him feeling like he was wrapped in a nice cozy blanket, the only time he’d be seen without his iconic silver jacket. It was supposed to be chilly tonight and he wanted to make sure he didn’t freeze to death. As much as he liked the cold weather he’d rather avoid hypothermia.

“Are ya almost done?” He asked, leaning his ear against the door to try and hear what you were doing inside. Nosy fucker. “We should probably get going soon so we’ve got plenty of time to look at everything before it gets dark!” He said, fidgeting with his fingers, brain moving a mile a minute.

“Almost done!” You called out, doing your finishing touches before you took a glance at yourself in the mirror, also wearing a sweater similar to Peter’s. Great minds think alike apparently.

Snatching up your bag and your car keys you did one last scan of your room to make sure you didn’t forget anything before you opened the door, eyes lighting up when you saw Peter in his oversized sweater.

“What took you so long? We’re in practically the same outfit, only difference is I took a minute to get ready and you took thirty,” He shook his head but followed after you as you began to walk down the hall.

“Well the difference, besides you having superspeed would be I just needed to do more. Makeup, hair.. Things that lots of people do before going out.”

“Pshhhh all that stuff’s unnecessary. You would have looked fine rolling out of bed, ‘kay?”

Peter said, but he wasn’t really listening, mind set on the future. Specifically about fifteen minutes in the future where he’d be stuffing his face with pumpkin flavored everything and picking out a pumpkin from the patch to bring home and carve.

The two of you reached the garage and made your way to your car, sliding in. Peter messed with the radio as you adjusted your seat and pulled out of your spot, leaving the garage. The crunch of gravel underneath your tires was music to Peter’s ears, just another reminder that the two of you were headed to what Peter would probably recall later on as being the best part of his year.

“You excited?” You asked, though you knew the answer. Everyone at the damn school knew the answer because he wouldn’t stop talking about it. Scott had seriously started to consider duct taping his mouth shut just to get a moment of silence.

“More excited than I’ve ever been in my whole life, I'm pretty sure, even made sure not to eat any twinkies today so I’d have enough room in my stomach to try everything. You know how difficult that was?”

A scoff left your lips as you shook your head. “You and your Twinkie obsession..”

“They’re arguably the best snake cake ever created, dude! Did you know originally it wasn’t vanilla filling? It was banana. I guess during the Second World War bananas weren’t being imported to the US anymore so they had to switch to vanilla cream.”

You’d never heard Peter so passionate about anything in his life, except maybe about his little tricks to get the highest scores in arcade games.

“You ever considered teaching history? History of American snack cakes,” you laughed which then caused Peter to laugh as well.

“Maybe I should ask Charles if that can be a course next semester. Who knows, maybe if I really show my knowledge he’ll say yes.” He drummed his hands against his legs, waiting in anticipation to arrive.

You and Peter kept short conversation as you drove until you turned down a long gravel road, approaching the farm. You felt Peter moving side to side next to you, trying to regulate his body before the two of you got out of the car.

—————

The farm finally came into view along with the sweet smell of caramel and pumpkin. You managed to find a parking spot fairly easily and before you’d even fully stopped the car Peter was scrambling out, looking towards the entrance of the farm, a huge child-like grin on his face.

You didn’t want to keep the poor man waiting any longer so you quickly turned the car off and stepped out, grabbing your bag and walking around to his side of the car.

“Ready?” You asked, breaking him out of his excited daze, to which he nodded eagerly and grabbed your hand while he walked towards the entrance as fast as he could without using his actual superspeed. The last thing the two of you needed was anyone recognizing him. Hopefully without his silver jacket or X-men suit it would be harder to identify him as the one and only Quicksilver.

“Born ready, baby.” He laughed softly as the two of you walked up to the ticket booth and Peter reached to pull his wallet out of his pocket. You stopped him, quickly grabbing your own and pulling out two five dollar bills, handing them over to the man in the ticket booth.

“Hey! I was gonna pay for that- I’m the one who dragged you here anyways- C’mon-“ Peter huffed out as the man stamped both of your hands with a little pumpkin stamp before waving you on your way so that he could attend to the next person in line.

“Too bad. I know how excited you’ve been for this and I wanted to do something nice. Sue me.” You grinned, taking Peter’s hand again as the two of you looked around. It was absolutely beautiful. Orange and yellow and red colors were splashed everywhere the eye could see. There were pumpkins, gourds and the smell of delicious foods that Peter couldn’t wait to devour.

“Where do you want to go first, Quickie? Lead the way.”

Peter didn’t need anymore convincing, looking towards the nearest vendor and making his way over. There were several signs above the tent which explained what was being sold there.

Fresh pumpkin pie, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin cookies.. Just about everything pumpkin flavored under the sun.

“What’re you gonna get?” You leaned closer to Peter while you spoke so that he could hear you better over the crowds of people chatting.

“Everything. Every. Single. Thing.” You would have called his bluff but you knew he wasn’t joking. Hell, you were talking to the man who averaged like.. Two boxes of twinkies a day. This would be easy for him.

Luckily the line went quickly and when it was Peter’s turn, the look of shock and horror on the person’s face who was taking his order was hilarious.

Peter managed to somehow carry everything stacked up in his arms over to a picnic table where he organized everything by what he wanted to try first or what he wanted to save for last.

He took a seat and you did as well, sitting next to him as he grabbed the first thing in front of him, a slice of pie and devoured it in three bites. His cheeks were stuffed and he looked at you with a dorky grin before he chewed and swallowed, letting out a pleased hum at the taste. Peter was an absolute foodie through and through.

He downed it all like he hadn’t eaten in days, stopping every now and then to offer you a bite of certain things you were eyeing. It was actually quite adorable. At one point he’d gotten some sort of frosting on his nose and you wiped it off with your thumb, laughing as Peter’s cheeks turned a dusty pink.

Peter took the last bite of the last dessert on the table before using his speed to clean up the trash and throw it away before rejoining you at the table. Usually you’d lecture him about using his powers in public but no one seemed to notice and if they did they were too busy to care.

“You full now?” You asked, laughing as Peter rubbed his stomach over his sweater.

“Nope. Not even a little.”

You rolled your eyes before standing up, glancing over to another stand where they were selling warm apple cider. Just the thought alone had you feeling all warm inside.

“Peter! Apple cider, come on!” You said before running off in the direction of the apple cider to which he quickly followed.

———

With your hands wrapped around the warm cups of cider the two of you decided to do a little more exploring. People were beginning to leave little by little the later it got but the sun was still bright in the sky so the two of you had a while before it closed. You were thankful for it being less crowded though. You could finally hear yourself think!

Bringing the cup up to his lips, Peter sipped the spiced drink and you admired him for a moment. He looked so cozy and you knew he felt it as well. It was nice being able to get away from all the hustle and bustle of the school even if it was just for a little while. It was definitely needed. For the both of you.

Peter caught you staring and he raised a brow quizzically, wondering for a moment if he had leftover crumbs on his face or something. “What’re you staring at?” He asked, moving the cup away from his face.

“Nothing- no it’s nothing I was just.. I’m glad you dragged me along to this thing, Peter. I’m having a lot of fun.”

“And the days not even over yet! There’s still so much to do! I wanna go pick out a pumpkin to bring back with us! C’mon!”

—————

“What about this one?” Peter said, picking up a tiny, half broken pumpkin that looked like it was already beginning to rot.

“Ew, No! Just pick a normal one!”

The two of you had been going at this for close to fifteen minutes now. Peter was finding the ugliest pumpkins he possibly could before asking your opinion on them. The whole time you were just trying to find a cute one that called to you.

“Well I’m not normal so why would I pick a normal pumpkin? What defines normal anyways?” Peter said as he searched for another fucked up freak of nature pumpkin.

“You’re spending too much time talking to Charles. You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Oh am I now? Ello I’m Charles Xavier and this is my school for gifted children-“ Peter said in a very over the top posh English accent before he cut himself off with a laugh.

“Well he certainly doesn’t sound like that.. just find a pumpkin already!” You were between two choices. Two serious choices but Peter was just acting a fool. It was actually rather adorable. You were starting to find a lot of the things he did adorable.

“Okay okay bossy pants! Geesh.” Peter scoffed, glancing around the field once more. It was a big field with lots of pumpkins and the two of you wouldn’t be able to look through all of them so he just decided to look in the general vicinity for one.

Finally he found the perfect one. Well, his version of perfect because when you saw it you scoffed, facepalming as he held it up triumphantly as if it was his most prized possession.

The pumpkin itself was a dark orange, almost red and it was covered in bumps, making it look akin to a toad’s skin. That wasn’t even the worst of it though. Half of it was lopsided and looked like it’s growth had been stunted so it barely sat upright on its own without tipping over.

“You’re serious?” You asked, brow raised curiously as Peter rocked the pumpkin back and forth, cooing at it like it was a child.

“I am absolutely positive. Never been more sure in my life. Look at the little guy, it’s so cute. In.. it’s own way. Look- If I don’t take it no one will and then it’ll sit here in this field until it rots wondering why it wasn’t good enough to be chosen.”

“That was… weirdly deep. Okay okay whatever.”

You moved to step closer to Peter when you nearly tripped over a tiny pumpkin at your feet. It was perfectly round and orange except for one little part of it towards the top which was white. It looked like the only pumpkin in the whole patch that was multicolored and something drew you to it. You scooped it up off the ground and it was so small it fit in the palm of your hand. Stupid Peter, making you feel bad for damn pumpkins! They were pumpkins! It’s not like they had feelings. But you couldn’t resist this one because it was just so cute and unique.

“See? I told you. The normal ones are boring. Unique is where it’s attttt,” Peter winked. “Now, corn-maze?”

————

“I’m sorry, the corn maze is closed for the night. Too many people end up stuck in there and we don’t want to have to search for them while it’s dark. sorry.” The man standing in front of the corn maze said, arms crossed over his broad chest.

You and Peter let out twin sighs of disappointment and you moved to walk away from the maze when Peter grabbed your hand and without another moment's notice he sped the two of you into the maze. So fast that the man hadn’t even realized what had happened.

“Peter!” You gasped, glancing around at the stalks of corn now surrounding the two of you. “What if we get lost like he says? We don’t have a map!”

“It’s no biggie, babe! I'm hella fast, if we can’t find our way out I’ll just zoom around until I find the exit. It’s no big deal-i-o.” Peter seemed very nonchalant about it all while you were a bit more worried.

Turns out you had reason to be worried because the two of you were lost within the first five minutes of entering the damn maze and neither of you had a map…

—————-

“Come on babe, we could totally have some fun before they come and find us. The suns barely started setting yet we’ve still got a while. Promise I’ll make it worth itttt” Peter cooed into your ear as he trailed wet kisses down your neck before making his way back to your lips. Who knew being trapped in a corn maze could make someone so horny.

You tried to ignore him, really you did but it was practically impossible because as much as you hated to admit it you wanted him too. You’d always been curious about him and as annoying as it was, you were extremely sexually frustrated. Being cooped up in the school all hours of the day didn’t make it easy to get laid. It wasn’t like you could really bring dates back there either. Sneaking them in was rather easy but looking Charles in the eyes after was not. Because of course he always found out. He knew everything.

So, you kissed Peter back, letting his hands move up either side of your body, deft fingers feeling and squeezing until he got to your breasts. Ah yes, your breasts. Glorious glorious boobies. Peter loved them. He tried his best not to stare but hey! They were good tits!

His warm palms cupped your breasts over your sweater, giving a gentle squeeze as he kissed you deeper, practically devouring your mouth with his own. He was desperate, that much was obvious as he subtly began to grind his already raging hard-on against your thigh.

He wasn’t nearly as subtle as he hoped he was though because you felt him rutting against you but instead of pushing him away you pressed yourself further against him, applying more pressure to his throbbing cock. A little sigh of relief left his lips.

The two of you pulled away to breathe, your chest rising and falling heavily as you looked up at Peter, his silver hair already out of place and sticking to his forehead. He looked wrecked and you’d barely even begun. You were going to have so much fun with him.

Thankfully inside the corn maze there were several stumps that were placed around for people to sit on and take breaks, etc. they looked like the perfect place to sit Peter down right now and tease him till he was squirming and begging. He had absolutely no idea what he was in for but really it was his fault for initiating all of it in the first place.

Grabbing him by the front of his shirt you pulled him to one of the stumps, forcing him down onto it before you dropped to your knees in front of him. The dew on the grass seeped into the fabric of your pants and made you shiver but there were more important matters at hand, literally, as your hands reached for Peter’s belt before he quickly stopped you once his brain seemed to catch up, eyes wide.

“Woah woah woah what’re you doing?” He asked, holding your hands in his own much larger ones as he looked down at you, dark brown eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling heavily.

“I was just gonna- do you not want me to?” You asked, looking up at him with a puzzled expression on your face as you moved to pull away. Had this been too much? Was he just… All talk? Was he just joking and you’d actually made a fool of yourself? Oh god there were so many things it could be and now you were completely embarrassed-

“Wait!” He grabbed your arm, keeping you where you were as he continued to stare at you before he let his tongue sweep out to wet his pretty pink lips. “I- I’d love that I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to, y’know? Like I’d totally love it, bet it would feel fucking amazing I just didn’t know if like-“

You shushed him, pressing a finger up to his lips and he quickly paused, almost like he was under a spell. You were one hell of a witch then. Your other hand came to palm him over his jeans, feeling the heat of his erection through the fabric. He let out a shocked little gasp before squeezing his eyes shut, mouth slightly agape as a soft noise of pleasure left him.

“You want me to touch you, Peter?” You asked. You wanted a verbal response since he’d seemed initially so apprehensive of it even if he’d already given a reason as to why.

“I-Yeah. Yes please touch me please-“ if he was embarrassed about already begging he didn’t show it as he arched his hips up further into your touch, just trying to get more friction on his now nearly painful erection.

You didn’t need much more convincing after that, undoing Peter’s belt and pulling his zipper down before you reached into his boxers and pulled his length out. It stood at attention, long and throbbing and hard, a pretty bead of pre-cum on the tip. Mouth watering, you stroked over him a few times before you pressed a kiss to the head.

Peter was trying to maintain his composure, teeth sinking into his bottom lip in attempts to keep quiet as your warm, wet mouth toyed with the head of his cock. He was so outrageously sensitive that he was practically already squirming. Was he squirming away from the touch or into it? Even he didn’t know. All he knew was he never wanted this feeling to end.

Your tongue traced across the head of his dick, collecting the pre-cum there and letting it coat your taste buds, humming at the salty flavor that you’d been dying to taste for longer than you’d like to admit. Then you kissed down the side of his length, letting your lips memorize the feeling of the prominent veins that you found, committing it all to your memory. Hopefully this would become a common occurrence and you wouldn’t have to worry about remembering it.

Your hand continued to stroke the base of him and he seemed to just get impossibly harder the longer time went on.

Finally you took him fully into your mouth, lips tight around him as you slowly took him inch by inch. You were determined to take all of him but it would take a moment to work up to. You were a bit rusty.

Peter let out a quiet little cry as he tried his absolute hardest not to buck up into your mouth and choke you on his cock but it was getting harder by the minute to control himself. He gripped the sides of the stump he was sitting on, looking up at the sky which was starting to turn a beautiful orange as the sun began to set. He’d never realized how beautiful outdoor sex could be. Especially in a cornfield. Most people wouldn��t ever really think of that.

You bobbed your head slowly, letting your nostrils flare as you took him deeper, moving your hand away as you took him to the base, silver curls tickling your face before you pulled back, taking a sharp breath in. Your throat was already scratchy but you weren’t anywhere near done. You’d been waiting forever and a day to do this and you wanted to take your time and really savor him.

“Jesus Christ!” Peter shouted before he covered his mouth when you took him back into the warmth of your mouth without warning. This was how he was going to die, he was calling it right now. Peter Maximoff cause of death: Blowjob. That sounded about right.

Humming around him, you pressed your tongue on the underside of his cock, feeling him pulse inside of your mouth. It was something you could easily become addicted to, sucking him off like this. Your pants were soaked by now, not only from the wetness on the grass but also from your own wetness that seeped from your core into your panties.

Peter let his head drop back against his shoulders and he let out a groan, one of his hands shyly coming to rest on the crown of your head where he tangled his fingers into your hair, massaging your scalp. It felt nice and had your eyes slightly rolling back. Placing your palms on his thighs you began to bob your head faster over him, a lewd squelching sound coming from your throat as you tried to hold back a gag.

Peter began to tremble, his body just so subtly vibrating as he began to get close. He was honestly surprised he’d lasted as long as he did and stayed as quiet as he had. Peter was usually someone who never shut up a day in his life.

“I’m- oh Jesus baby girl I’m getting close! I’m close- wait- I-“ His words died in his throat as you focused your attention on the tip of his length, circling it with your tongue, all the while grinning wickedly up at Peter who was falling apart.

“I’m serious! So serious I’m going to come in like- five seconds tops and I really don’t want to come in your mouth baby-“ He was obviously trying to be a gentleman but you thought fuck that and held his hips down as you continued your ministrations.

Peter seemed to give up then, realizing that you didn’t care if he came in your mouth. That you in fact wanted it, and when he actually thought about how hot that was it was what caused him to tip over the edge, gasping out a moan as he spilled hotly into your mouth in thick spurts.

You sputtered a moment before recovering, pulling off of him so that you could swallow before wiping the remaining cum from the corners of your mouth off on your sweater which would obviously now need a good cleaning.

Peter finally managed to open his eyes and look down at you, still on the ground, lips red and swollen and eyes a bit teary from the intrusion in your throat.

Speaking of throat, it was scratchy and would likely be sore later but you counted it as a win considering what you’d just done. Blown Peter Maximoff.. Hell yeah you did.

You were ready to call it a day now and find a way out of this stupid maze but Peter seemed to have a different idea. His gaze seemed to narrow and he was staring at you almost like a lion stares at its prey right before it pounces. It was almost a comical analogy because really Peter was nothing like a lion but in the moment you couldn’t really think of anything else to compare him to.

Finally standing up you dusted your pants off, still wet and now cold as the sun began to lower even further. It was beginning to get dark out now and you were eager to leave. Your back was turned to Peter and you couldn’t see what he was doing or that he’d stood up from his spot on the stump. Didn’t realize anything until his firm arms were wrapped around your waist and his hot breath was against your ear once more.

“Peter!” You squealed, having not expected it. He’d initially startled you but you slowly began to melt into his inviting touch. There was something about him that just felt familiar and perfect and comforting.

“We really need to get outta here. Or start calling for help.. It'll be dark soon.” You said as Peter nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. Whatever perfume you wore he was absolutely obsessed with. Or maybe it was just you. Probably both.

“But I didn’t get to make you feel good yet. It’s only fair-“ Peter pouted, teeth grazing your earlobe. A shiver went down your spine as he ground himself against you and to your surprise he was already hard again. Speedster things you presumed.

“You’re absolutely insufferable.”

“And you love it. C’mon babe just a quick fuck! They don’t call me quickie for nothing, I’ll make it worth it I promiseeeee.”

Really you knew that you should have been the voice of reason between the two of you but he was making an amazing point, plus the way that his erection was pressed up against your lower back… yeah, fuck it. You were fucking him in this stupid corn maze.

You spun around in his arms, leaning up to press your lips against his. He let out a surprised little gasp before he grinned, kissing right back, intensely eager. His hands wrapped around you and his fingers trailed up the small of your back before he cupped the back of your head in his large palm, pulling you closer.

Peter’s other hand palmed at one of your breasts, kneading it gently as he pulled away from your lips to press teasing kisses along your jawline.

“Don’t leave any marks! Peter!” You chastised him, gently shoving at his shoulder before he pulled away. His brown eyes were so dark they were almost black and it made your stomach clench, arousal seeping into your underwear.

You walked him backwards back to the stump, forcing him to sit down once more as you pulled your pants and panties down to your ankles before you positioned yourself over his lap, eyes locked onto his.

“This okay?”

“So much more than fucking okay baby, c’mere, sit. It’s comfortable I promise.” Peter was able to hold a straight face for about five seconds after the words had left his lips before he was covering his mouth and laughing into his palm before shaking his head.

“That was extremely cheesy wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Good thing I still like you.” You leaned down to whisper in his ear before you were lowering yourself onto his length oh so slowly, teasing him just a bit. Unfortunately you didn’t have time to tease him the way you wanted because the two of you really did need to get a move on, but there would be more time for that later.

You sat firmly on his lap, his dick jammed up very far inside you. So far it almost hurt. It had been a long while so it would take a minute to adjust. By the looks of it Peter would be a moment to adjust as well so he didn’t come in the first three movements of your hips.

“How’s that feeling?” You asked him, grinding down against him, hips moving in little circles as he twitched inside to you.

His hands were at your hips, kneading and grabbing at the flesh as he let out a heavy breath. “Good- so good- so much better than good.. Perfect-“ He whined, lifting his hips up just a bit to fuck up into you.

At a different time and place the two of you might have taken this all slower. Really took your time to explore each other but in a corn maze with the sun setting was not the place for that. Plus it was getting pretty chilly.

Slowly, once you’d adjusted to his size, you began to pull up and off of him before plunging yourself down again with a shaky moan, gripping onto his shoulders like they were your lifeline.

If you hadn’t grabbed onto them you’d have possibly fallen off of Peter’s lap entirely with the way he bucked up into you with newfound excitement.

“That’s so fucking good, baby- It’s actually insane… Why haven’t we done this sooner?”

“I dunno Peter, maybe because you’re an idiot who never made a move on me.”

Peter let out a breathless laugh before he tossed his head back as you clenched around him, squeezing him in the most wonderful feeling of warm, hot velvet. It was heaven.

—————————————

“I cannot believe we actually did that!” A hushed laugh came from your lips as you leaned into Peter’s side, the two of you snuggled up into bed, comfy under the covers. You were trying to be quiet and mindful of the others in the mansion that were probably long asleep by now.

Peter leaned forward and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, grinning stupidly. “Right? It was the second best thing that happened to me today.”

“Second?!” You shrieked, shoving his shoulder playfully. “Well what was first?”

“Baby I feel like you don’t know me all that well if you don’t already know I’d say the food. Of course food is always number one for me! Sorry not sorry.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Alright whatever, you’re ridiculous. We should probably head to bed. I’ve got to be up early tomorrow.”

“So I can stay?” Peter asked, looking like a child who’d been told they could stay for the sleepover they’d begged to go to.

“Yes Peter. You can stay. Of course you can.” You said, scooting closer to him and snuggling into his chest, letting out a quiet sigh.

There was silence for several moments and for a second you began to assume that Peter had fallen asleep.. That was fast.. But then he started talking again.

“Happy Halloween. Thank you for going with me. I had a lot of fun.”

“Happy Halloween, Peter.”

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