#little dancer of fourteen years | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

laceswan · 2 years ago

Text

The Smiling Princess

Finnick Odair x fem!dancer!OC

What if the equivalent of a Disney Princess was thrown into the Hunger Games? Sylke is optimistic and has an affinity for all that is gentle and sweet. What happens when she is placed in an arena and forced to kill or be killed?

fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, canon typical violence

part two is out!

The capitol wasn’t all that different from district one. It was more modern, more luxurious, but not by much. Sylke thought back to the reaping. This year was a strange one. For some reason, none of the training female career tributes volunteered, either too young or not ready. She was only fourteen, never once had she wanted the life of a career. And yet her name had been the one drawn. Standing on that stage next to a man much older who’s trained his whole life for this, she felt more out of place than ever before. The train ride was not long, less than a day, but Sylke found it hard to relax, and time seemed to pass at a snail's pace. She had decided the moment her name was called and no one volunteered, that this was the end of her life. It wasn't even a question in her mind. Normally she would try to maintain a certain amount of optimism, but as she pondered on the train it became evident that such hope was almost always applied to someone not herself. Undying optimism was reserved for everyone else, while a more calculating hope was held for herself. In this case, the odds were not in her favour. The best she could do was enjoy the little bit of life she has left. And she did. Regardless of its strange and bloody traditions, the capitol was beautiful. The gifts she had been offered, the world she got to see from the train window, so much of it was bright and wonderful. And with the little time she had left, she resolved to appreciate it.

The other tribute from 1, Cesare, didn’t seem to like her much. He was cold, offered only backhanded advice, and made a lousy excuse for her only companion. Their mentor, Victoria, was sweet, convinced that Sylke could survive with some allies and sponsors. Their escort, Misty, agreed, and was already assembling a list of rich possible benefactors she planned to meet with. When they arrived in the capitol, Sylke was desperate for a new face, a friendly one. There was one person around her age, the tribute from four. She saw him at the tribute parade, dressed glamourously in blue and green. When they met, she tried to be as friendly and genuine as possible. That was his first instinct as well, to simply be kind, to make a friend, but when the conversation was over, he was swiftly pulled aside and reminded that she wouldn’t make a good ally, that he should put energy into connections with other, more fit tributes. As he tried to talk to Cesare, a broad-shouldered athlete who clearly had an advantage at the game, Finnick couldn’t keep himself from looking in her direction, from thinking about her and what she must be feeling. There was a churning anxiety, an uncertainty, that raged like a storm in the high seas within his core, one deeply tied to being so young in a place full or intimidating older kids. She was probably in the same boat, and he was drawn to that. No one else was that young in this Game, and in a different world, perhaps they even would have been friends. That is what kept him lingering in her mind as well. That they could have been friends. Only to her, they still could be even if only for a short while. It was the only friend she might be able to find in this place.

There was a gala that night, a chance to meet people, network, get sponsors. Sylke’s stylist put her in a long, heavy gown, white and gold with little pearls and jewels, to appeal to sponsors from one as her stylist put it. Something about portraying luxury. As much as she disliked the performance of it all, it had been a while since she’d been in a gown like this, with the heavy silks that draped off her body like water flowing gently over time-smoothed rocks. Something about it felt authentic, the daintiness and femininity. If she looked in a mirror she looked like herself. There had been a few times like that in her life, all of them before or during dance performances. The mirror that hung on the wall backstage was where she would check her costume before going up. She was grateful each time that her character wouldn’t be be frowning. She wouldn’t have to act. It would make her smile like nothing else, to see the dress she was wearing, because the person looking back at her was the girl she would see in her dreams, the princess she always wanted to be. And she would smile, a real smile, and she would go on stage with that smile, and everyone watching would know it’s real. The gala was different. People were closer, meaner, there was a tension in the air that never truly went away. The other tributes were there, closer to her than she’d ever seen them before. They were all so strong, so ruthless, merciless. It became clear to her that she didn’t stand a chance. They all looked out of place in fragile evening wear, like they belonged in a suit of armor on the battlefield. They could kill her in an instant, rip her apart like silk. This was the way she was going to die. She had a week or so until then, a week that she wanted to enjoy. But how would she enjoy what was essentially her deathbed? She would need to look at the little things, just the details could perhaps keep her happy for a week. She would need to distract herself, take comfort in all the things around her that weren’t awful. Those details weren’t as rare as she had thought, not if she looked in the right places. The gala was certainly not the stage, but it wasn’t that different. Those similarities were what she took comfort in that night. The dress, the lights, the few faces in the crowds that were truly friendly. Her dress didn’t flutter like a tutu, it didn’t spin the same, but it still made her happy, she looked liked herself in every glass, every reflective surface, she would see the dress, the jewels, and in a matter of seconds, her smile. She met all sorts of sponsors that night, they loved her. After all, there was no point in trying to appeal to them, and thus she could just be herself. Perhaps they made plans to help her in the arena now that she’d met them, but it didn’t matter. All that she could do was enjoy her night. Bask in the luxury and make some friends. The sponsors weren’t really friends. They weren’t her equals, they weren’t fearing for their lives. Only twenty-three others were like her. One of them was standing alone, at the edge of the dance floor. The boy from four that she had yet to learn the name of. He wore bronze to match his hair and tanned skin, a fairly simple ensemble akin to any other tuxedo or suit. The part that caught attention was the brocade. Just like Sylke’s jewels, they glittered in the light, adorning his chest and shoulders. There was a heavy patterned fabric that was draped off his shoulder like an asymmetrical cape fit for a prince. It hung still as he leaned against the wall, but Sylke pictured it fluttering with every movement and step he took. He was alone, as though waiting for company of some kind. So she walked up to him, the fabric of her dress swaying with each step.

“Hey. I’m Sylke. ”

“Finnick. You’re from one?”

The question was awkward, like he didn’t know what else to say.

“Mhm. And you’re from four, right?”

“Yup.”

There was a silence. She wanted to ask how he was enjoying the night, if he liked galas like this, if he’d ever been to one before, in fact she was about to when-

“But you’re not a career?”

There it was.

“I’m not. Just a regular tribute, like you.”

“Actually I’m not. I trained for this.”

“But you’re fourteen, don’t you wait until eighteen?”

“Yeah, usually.”

His answer was short, clearly a sore subject. She wanted to ask why, but as she looked at his face it became obvious that he didn’t know. So she didn’t push.

“Do you feel ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

His mentor, and kind woman named Mags, had told him not to show weakness, to portray confidence, never let the image slip, but it still did when he was talking to her. He let it slip, for some reason that he couldn’t yet identify. Something in him just wanted to tell her everything, every thought, every feeling, every doubt that floated through his head. Or rather he wanted to tell the world, but the world could not be trusted and so he looked to trustworthy individuals. Something told him she was most certainly one of them. Of course he didn’t say everything, but his performance was still weakened by her presence. Mostly by that smile. So genuine it made him want to smile too. They spent most of the night seated at a table in the corner of the room, occasionally beckoned by a mentor or escort, but always returning to the conversation. That conversation began with talks of the games, but it took little time to expand. Finnick told her about his life back home, and Sylke did the same. They talked about almost everything, from the birds that Sylke kept and trained in her garden to the rigorous dental hygiene Finnick was instructed to keep when he was a boy due to his sweet tooth. He was shocked to learn that she’d never eaten fish. On special occasion shellfish, but never proper fish. Soon after, Mags called him to meet a sponsor, and he returned a bit later with a plate of some of the fish being served that night.

“Here. I found some at the table, you should try it. It’s not like I catch at home, but it’s good.”

“Is there a certain way I’m supposed to eat it?”

He laughed, putting the plate on the table and sitting beside her.

“A fork and knife will do”

She laughed with undeniably genuine cadence before taking a bite. It was certainly new, but still familiar. Like a heightened version of the shrimp her family would get for celebrations, something meant only for the most celebratory of occasions. It was rich and just salty enough, and perfectly seasoned. Perhaps fitting for the celebration of one’s life, a good last meal. She made a decision to request this as her final meal before going into the arena.

“So… do you like it?”

She turned to him, swallowing before smiling, with the edges of her lips pulled high and making crescent moons of her eyes.

“It’s really good! If I had that as my last meal, I think I’d die happy.”

“Yeah? Wait until you try mine. No seasoning or capitol kitchen can make up for freshness--catching, cooking, and eating it right there on the sand.”

He spoke with confidence, almost arrogance dripping from his voice, with a pearly white grin to go with it.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They continued to talk and to laugh, exchanging stories and jokes like old friends catching up after too long apart. At some point she had reveled in the dress she was wearing, how the luxury and flow reminded her of costumes she would wear, how she felt more like herself wearing these than any time before. She spoke with a beaming smile, eyes flitting from his to the fabric to the jewels to the glittering room and then back to him. He said little as she did this, simply watching the joy pour from her every word. It was that genuine joy the pulled him to her, that made his performance slip, that made him content to let it.

“You glow when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“About the things you like, the things that make you smile.”

She laughed.

A minute or two later, the music switched to a new song, and Sylke perked up.

“I know this song!” She stood up and took his hand. “Come on, get up!”

“Wait, to dance?”

“Yeah! What, they never taught you how to dance?”

“Only a little,”

She pulled him to the dance floor and took both his hands in hers. “It’s a waltz, do you know how to do that?”

He shook his head.

“That’s alright,”

She brought one of his hands to her waist with her own on his shoulder. It felt nice to have someone so close, someone to trust. They didn’t move.

“It’s slow, do you wanna look at my feet and I can teach you?”

He pulled her a little closer, practically speaking directly into her ear. It hadn't been long since he felt the warmth of another human, just a few days ago he was hugging his family goodbye. But the capitol was so cold, so glamourously sterile, that this closeness with Sylke felt like a moment of fresh air after a month of factory smog. The rest of the capitol felt sickly cold in comparison to this. This comforting, trusting warmth. Neither of them wanted to leave.

“Maybe later. Let’s just sway for now”

“Okay.”

They swayed in silence, trying to savor this moment of trust. Gold, ivory, and bronze melded together as they moved, these clothes must have been made to dance together. The music was soft, a subtle background for their movement. The night was coming to a close, the dance floor had few people left on it. It didn’t take long for Sylke and Finnick to be pulled away for final goodbyes, the last chance of the night to get sponsors before they went back to the apartments.

They spent the rest of the week training. Sylke spent most of that time learning about plants. The training centre offered plants from multiple different biomes, and Sylke did try to learn about all of them, but she couldn't help but favour the jungle plants. Something about the vibrant colours striking shapes was absolutely fascinating to her, especially because she grew up in an urban area that held only artificial, staged cactus and succulent terrariums. She learned quickly what was poison, what was edible, and what was medicinal. Often, she learned, something poisonous because helpful when delivered in the right dose. There was a tree near her home in district one, planted in a concrete box in a public square. From midsummer to the first cold breeze, the blossoms would hang from its branches like white handkerchiefs dipped in rosy dye at the bottom. The tree was lovely and admired by Sylke as well as many of her neighbors, but everyone who lived nearby to admire from a distance. Adults told her when she was very young that every part of that tree was dangerous, not to be touched, and deceptively beautiful. The man at the medicinal plants station told her however, that the leaves, once cooked, make for a powerful pain reliever. Still to be ingested with caution, as with any other narcotic, but helpful when taken prudently. Sylke was simply fascinated by such topics. She didn’t care much for violence, which most of the training room was dedicated to. She also learned how to use a friction bow, but that was mostly out of boredom. Her favourite part of the training was most certainly the medicinal plants. She took comfort in knowing that with this knowledge she could perhaps help someone stay alive, and that if she taught someone else they could as well. Perhaps if things were different, if she hadn't been reaped, if for whatever reason she couldn't pursue dancing, perhaps she would have become a healer. Sometimes she would catch a glance of Finnick, throwing his trident and hitting his mark each time. He was so assured in his ability, a security that would certainly serve him well in the arena. He trained for this after all, his confidence was justified. His kills would be swift and painless, and she had no doubt that was how he liked them to be. He never seemed the type to torture something like that, something about him, the kindness that he offered to many (though not all) was too great for such cruelty.

The evaluations came too quickly. The game was approaching too fast. Cesare was first, then she would be up. When she entered the room, a small pile of stalks and leaves sat on a table in the corner of the room. In her fifteen minutes, she separated them into three piles. One she burned, another she ate, and the last she sorted into their different uses. She gave a curtsy before walking out.

She was sitting on a couch in the apartment that night, all eyes staring intently at the screen. The man next to her had gotten ten out of twelve. She got a four. No one was surprised by that. Finnick got an eleven. She hoped he would win. A part of her was sure that he would.

After that was the final show with Caesar Flickerman. Everything was just like back home, just a little more glamorous. There was a mirror just before the entrance to the stage, and in it she fluffed up her skirt before looking at herself in full. She had a tiara too, adorned with little gilded doves. She had once mentioned to a sponsor that doves were her favourite bird, a symbol of peace. Not only that, but the tiara was made to look like branches, with green jewels like olives ready to be harvested. In fact, all of the jewels she was wearing were green, to match the olives and complement the dress as her stylist had put it. And the dress. They had her in a rosy pink ball gown this time. It spun better than a tutu, with even more layers or tulle. It was perfect, everything the little girl inside of her could ever dream of. They were really leaning into the princess thing, and it made her happy beyond belief. The smile on her face was genuine, and everyone in the crowd knew it. She walked out from the steel doors, stage lights beaming from every direction as she took a seat. Caesar introduced her to the crowd, but all she could think of was music. She could hear it in her head, like she was sitting upstage while the principals danced. Like clockwork, he’d back straightened and her hands folded in her lap. She only caught the last bit of Caesar’s words.

“You really do look like royalty, sitting so poised like that. Do you know what people have been calling you?”

“What have they been calling me?”

“The smiling princess.”

He looked out to the crowd.

“Now folks, can you think of anything more fitting? Here she is in her royal gown, with a crown on her head, and the prettiest smile in the world. I can’t think of a better name for such a lovely young girl.”

“Thank you Caesar. I really do feel so lucky to be here and to have been received so kindly. My heart is truly warmed by the kindness you show me.”

“And look at that, such impeccable manners!”

His galavanting smile and raucous laugh shifted quickly to something of a pout as the crowd quieted and he took a more serious tone.

“Now of course, manners and sweetness are all gone in the arena.”

“That’s true. I will be completely out of my element.”

The crowd went quiet as Sylke formed her next words. She wondered if she should tell the audience the certainty of her death, how little hope she had for herself. But she decided against it. Instead, she focused on what she knew, the morals that she upheld and took comfort in.

”You know, I’ve been taught that the way to live a good life is to be kind, to have mercy, and to offer grace. I know not how that will apply in the arena but I have no intention of abandoning my morals.”

“Such wisdom at such a young age.”

He took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes.

“We all know that the arena is deadly. Unfortunately, other tributes are not as kind as you are. But we wish you the best of luck. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

The skirt rippled with her as she stood, walking of the stage with cheers sounding behind her. Misty was by her side immediately.

“That was good, you did good. A lot of sponsors are really loving the princess image, and that kindness, mercy, and grace speech really turned some heads.”

Sylke watched the rest of the show from backstage. Tributes came and went, each leaning into distinct personalities crafted by mentors, escorts, and stylists. She wondered how many were real. How many were total fabrication? And how many were what she imagined most of them were, exaggerations and oversimplifications, initially based on truth, but dramatised and amplified to make a good show. That’s what Finnick’s was. When he came on the stage, he had a big plastic smile. He acted arrogant, confident, but in a peacock sort of way. He had confidence in his own ability and his odds in the arena, and in the interview he missed no opportunity to flaunt it. And that was mostly based in truth. He did carry himself with confidence, and he did come off as arrogant when she first met him at the parade. But he was also compassionate, and that same confidence and security in himself allowed him to be wonderful at helping others, caring for the people around him that he trusted. It meant that he wasn’t afraid to step up and protect someone. And Sylke was sorely disappointed when she didn’t see that on the screen in front of her. That wasn’t Finnick, not all of him. But the audience loved it. They had no idea who he really was, and they didn’t care. They cheered and screamed with every toothy grin he flashed. They loved him. If he won they’d love him even more. He’d be their golden boy.

“You know they love him almost as much as they love you.”

She looked up and back to see the speaker. It was Cesare.

“What?”

“You hear the cheering? It’s almost as loud as when you were up there. Looks like the capitol found their prince.”

He slinked away again, with a smirk, like all he came up to do was tease her. But he was right. She wondered what would become of it all. She would die, and hopefully he would live. The capitol would lose their smiling princess. Would they mourn? What about him? If he died would they mourn him too? Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps coming backstage.

“Hey! They loved you out there!”

“They loved you too, princess.”

They began to walk together, with no defined direction, just aimless, something to do with their bodies as they chatted. Finnick noted how regal her dress was, prompting her to revel similarly to the night of the gala at the way she felt wearing the dress. And again, he watched. She spun, the skirt flying up and revealing layer upon layer of fluffy tulle, and he felt a pang of desire to be the one spinning her, the knight in shining armor to her princess. And then he wondered if it was an act. If even around him she was playing up the princess thing, like he would with his playboy image for the cameras and other tributes. But he didn’t do that with her. Did she?

“Are you really like this?”

“Hmm? Like what?”

“When you’re on stage you’re essentially no different than how you are now. Is this just who you are?”

“I-I guess. I never really thought about it.”

They walked without words for a moment. He began to wonder if he made her uncomfortable.

“I try to be honest with everyone. I know my team likes to have a certain image, but when I get to talk I like to just be me. I’d like to think I’m always like this.”

Always a princess he thought. That’s just who she is.

“You’re not like that though. You were acting different on stage, I could tell. Did they tell you to do that?”

“Yeah. Apparently I’m becoming a capitol heartthrob.”

He rolled his eyes, drawling though his words with palpable disgust.

“My escort said I’ll get more sponsors if I do all that flirty stuff.”

She nodded, waiting for him to say more. There was a question she hadn’t the courage to ask, but he knew it, and answered before she asked.

“It’s not totally fake. But it’s icky, like they’re whittling me down into… it’s not something I’m not, but…”

“It’s not all of you.”

“Yeah.”

Stylists and escorts were moving about, organising the tributes to go into the stage for the finale. As Sylke was summoned to line up, Finnick pulled her close just as he had at the gala and whispered in her ear.

“I wanna come to your room tonight. Will they be asleep by midnight?”

Victoria would likely pass out the moment they returned to the apartment, and Misty always took a sleeping pill at eleven. Cesare would be asleep too, getting a good nights rest before the game in the morning.

“Yes.”

She was pulled away, and soon after so was he.

That night, she asked for fish as her supper. It was similar to what was served at the gala, tender and perfectly seasoned with a certain luxurious richness that she adored. The meal was quiet. They were always awkward, but usually Victoria, or failing that Misty, would try to make conversation. The table was quiet this time. Cesare was eating with vigor, trying to get as much down as possible before the game. Sylke was eating slowly, simply trying to enjoy all of it. Victoria had said all there was to say, now it was just a waiting game. As the night progressed everyone but Sylke went to bed early. She didn’t enjoy silence. Much more pleasant was to have something to listen to. Sometimes that would be bird songs and wind making melodies in the rustling flora, other times it was an orchestra unpacking and tuning as the crowd settled in. Whatever it was, she always preferred noise over silence. And so when all was quiet and everyone was asleep, she closed her bedroom door and found music to play. It was on the vanity, a turntable next to a selection screen. She chose something soft, classical, to remind her of home. She closed her eyes and for a moment she was back home. All was well, all she needed to worry about was the crowd, the choreography, that was it. Music had a power over her, to bring her anywhere in the world so long as she could hear it. Her feet moved across the floor, gliding and stepping with the music she knew so well. The piece was short and coming to an end. Her eyes came open a long time ago, but they didn’t actually look anywhere until the final note, when she would smile and bow to the audience. But of course, the roaring applause wasn’t there, and she was back in reality, back in the cold and grey apartment room. But she had enjoyed her escape, short as it was. A quick glance at the clock showed the midnight was nearing. She made her way to the door and kept an eye peering out the peephole. Right on time, she saw him walking, turning to check behind nearly every step. She laughed to herself at his caution, knowing full well that if she were in his place, she likely wouldn’t look back once. He approached the door and gestured to knock before stopping. He stood pondering a quieter method for perhaps a second before she opened the door. They tried not to make noise until she had closed the bedroom door again.

“You're playing music?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say much for a moment. In the end it was Sylke that spoke first, voicing the question that had stayed at the front of her mind for hours.

“Why did you want to meet tonight?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see you again before tomorrow.”

She nodded, understanding and reciprocating his sentiment entirely. Another song faded out, and a lively waltz took its place.

“I never actually got to teach you to dance.”

“I’m still interested.”

She stood up come her place seated on the edge of the bed and placed her hands behind her back.

“Watch my feet. You know how a waltz goes 1, 2, 3…”

He nodded and stood next to her, mimicking her every movement. She took two steps and he did the same. She brushed her leg forward and he followed. With each step she counted, one, brush, turn, two, step, three, step. It took him a moment to pick it up, but with time he was able to find the rhythm and it became easier with each turn.

“Great. Face me,”

They kept their hands behind their backs, not wanting to complicate with arms yet.

“Just waltz, and I’ll be going backwards to match you.”

He nodded again and hesitated before stepping forward. She stepped backwards. When he brushed his leg forward she moved hers back. When they turned it switched. Once again, it slowly began to make sense to him.

“That’s great! Do you want to try arms?”

“Sounds good.”

They assumed a familiar position, with his arm on her waist, and hers on his shoulder. Only this time there was significantly more distance between them. Finnick was too focused on his feet to notice, but to Sylke took note of it, how as much as she loved to waltz with him, she did miss being closer. As the moved clumsily about the floor, she smiled and giggled both when he struggled and when he succeeded, finding joy in anything and everything he did. He almost didn’t hear her laugh with his laser focus on taking the right steps. At some point it seemed to get easier for him, but he still kept his gaze fixed on the ground. Upon seeing this, she lifted her hand from his shoulder and gently took hold of his chin to turn his face to hers.

“Look at me. Or to the audience, but we don’t have one of those.”

Just as he was told, he didn’t take his eyes off her. His steps were a bit messier as a result, but they smoothed over in time. Looking into his eyes, she found herself smiling even more, something he mimicked with a grin of his own. It wasn’t the plastic one from the stage earlier, it was different. Genuine. They could hear the song getting closer to its end. Finnick took the hand that was clasped with hers and placed it on her waist as the final phrase played.

“Dip?”

She smiled again, and that was all they needed for a response. He lowered her, with one hand at her waist and the other moving to support her back, keeping his head by hers and his eyes never leaving. The music went quiet before transitioning into something softer, slower, clearly in 4/4 as well. Neither of them moved once again. Her smile had gone slightly, now just doe-eyed and looking at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded. Sweet and slow, they moved closer until their lips met. The kiss was tender, slow and yet fleeting as they pulled apart. With foreheads pressed together, both of them donned massive smiles, eyes thinner than crescent moons. Finnick brought them back upright but kept them close. He didn’t want to let her go, perhaps not ever. He didn't want to think either. The future was too dangerous to consider right now. They mostly stayed cuddled on the bed for the rest of the hours they spent together, talking softly because they were too afraid to fall asleep. The conversation was not nearly as lighthearted as other ones. The game was tomorrow, and it weighed heavily on both of their minds. They talked about what it meant to take a life. Sylke didn’t like to think about it, but with the game so near, she could not pluck the thoughts from her mind. To kill someone, to rob them of their life.

“Have you ever…”

“No. No, never. I don’t think I want to either. I can, I know I can, but… I don’t know. It’s that or die.”

She admired his drive to live. It was amazing, an extension of that security in himself she figured. She was choosing to die, but she couldn’t blame him for choosing to kill instead.

“I don’t think I could. It takes so much, so much that I don’t have. I envy you Finnick. You’re strong and capable and-“

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

“What, am I wrong?”

“I-no, but… don’t whittle it down like that. You’re not wrong, I have skills that serve me in the arena. And with those particular skills you’re not as strong. But that’s not the whole story. Sylke, I’ve only known you for a week or two but I’ve seen how incredible you are. I’ve seen your kindness and your optimism and your care for the world around you. Those are skills too, even if they don’t serve you in the arena.”

By the end or his little speech, there were tears making their way down her face. There was quiet between them once more, but not out of awkwardness or lack of things to say. She moved closer and rested her head on his chest. His hand almost automatically moved to her head to play with her hair, something of an unconscious attempt at comforting her. The flow of tears came to an end. He tilted her chin to look up at him. Her face was still wet, with doe eyes and little trace of a smile. He’d never seen her look so sad before, and he promised himself to do everything in his power to keep that beautiful smile of hers around.

“You’re wonderful.”

He pressed his lips to hers, this time quicker, more passionate. Time seemed to fall away, and for just a moment so did the music. When they pulled apart she nuzzled into his neck, taking comfort in his arms securely around her. She felt safe here, like the danger of tomorrow could never reach her here. Some amount of time that neither of them bothered to note passed, and the glare of the clock seemed increasingly present. They were tired but still too afraid to fall asleep. Not here, not like this.

“I should go.”

“You need to go.”

Nothing moved.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

For a moment, all was still. Slowly, they rose, making their way to the apartment door. Before she could reach for the door, he took her hands in his and made a point to look square in her eyes.

“There’s gonna be a bloodbath at the cornucopia tomorrow. You should run, but don’t go far. I’ll find you once I get some weapons. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She didn’t need to ask anything more, all was understood. He knew her odds, he knew of her intention to die quickly, this was it. He would kill her in the morning, quickly, painlessly, end her suffering before things could get worse. She opened the door and gave him a melancholy smile. As he began to walk away she spoke quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Better with you than anyone else.”

398 notes · View notes

fffanii · 2 months ago

Text

10.03.24

more inaisei song au stuff

ranting below, BEWARE!!!

OKOK so. this is not canon in any capacity. these silly little fans are like how ppl make aus based on pjsk cards and what not. thats what these guys are

the first is liar dancer, second is hitomania, third is uminaoshi, fourth is god-ish. now, you might be like. wtf uminaoshi??? liar dancer and hitomania and maybe god-ish are fine but UMINAOSHI??? and to that i say. it was a joke. and then i got attached. BUT JUST LOOK AT THAT GUYYYY HES SO FUCKED UP!!!!

this was the start of the joke btw. its so fucking stupid. context? teto likes to bully fan for shits and giggles idk

anyway. i like these silly fan song things and uh. i might make more designs but i also wanna do some for other characters… specifically non-breath oblige for suitcase :33

also. uminaoshi fan and god-ish fan are in a toxic gay situationship, do not question me, i make the rules, not you. so what if the fans are being gay for each other. i mirrorship all i want and fan is gay as hell what do you want from me

ALSO WHY IS MY ART SUDDENLY GETTING ATTENTION??? i should be glad (AND IM VERY GRATEFUL DONT GET ME WRONG) but its like wow. all these people who like my art are gonna be so disappointed when i throw filler at them nine times out of ten

ALSOALSO the ii charas are not teenagers… theyre still adults in this au…… im still figuring out the whole ‘how they became groups’ thing but they have GRADUATED FROM HIGHSCHOOL!!! BOT IS BASED ON BOW WHO IS AN ADULT SO BOT IS ALSO!!! AN ADULT!!!!! the cherries and yinyang and other characters who are portrayed as children a lot are ALSO!!!!! ADULTS!!!!!!!! i should clarify this because to be honest making them all be in highschool or younger feels a bit fucked up because i put them THROUGH some shit like im not putting a fourteen year old through whatever the fuck happened with the bright light’s sekai dude… that just feels wrong….

#プロイナイセイ #proinaisei #プロジェクトinanimate異星 #project inanimate isei #pjii #fan pjii #why do i have so many tags for this one au #im normal guys trust #art #i dont wanna tag ii for the same reason as last time #also. not elaborating on the bright light sekai thing. you will have to stay tuned…#or not idk i might never tell you lol

16 notes · View notes

handfuloftime · 9 months ago

Text

(A while ago @apurpledust mentioned wanting to know more about Duroc's children, so here's what information I have)

Duroc and his wife, Maria de las Nieves Martínez de Hervas, had two children, both of whom died tragically young. (Hervas left instructions that her gravestone should be engraved with "To the unhappiest of mothers".)

Their first child, Napoléon Louis Sidoine Joseph Duroc, was born on 24 February 1811 in Paris. Named for the emperor and his two grandfathers (Claude Sidoine de Michel du Roc and José Martínez de Hervas), he lived for just over fourteen months. The infant’s health was never good; Duroc wrote to Bertrand in March 1812 that “[Hervas] is doing well but her son has been and always is ill”. (As Duroc’s biographer Danielle Meyrueix notes, when writing of his wife and child he habitually referred to “her son” rather than “our son”. Perhaps not the most engaged of fathers.) Napoléon died on 6 May 1812 at Maidières in Lorraine. The architect Pierre Fontaine, noting in his journal that Hervas had asked him to design a tomb for her lost son, wrote that the child had been “a few days older than the King of Rome and destined to enjoy at that prince’s side all the favor with which the Emperor honored his father.”

Their daughter Hortense Eugénie Nieves Duroc was born on 14 May 1812, eight days after the young Napoléon’s death. (In a letter, Duroc implied that the news of the boy’s death had been kept from Hervas, who was in Paris, to avoid imperiling her health.) Named for her godmother, Hortense de Beauharnais, she was baptized in January 1813 alongside the duke of Bassano's daughter. After Duroc’s death in May 1813, Napoleon transferred the duchy of Friuli to her, writing to Hervas that Hortense would be “assured of my constant protection”. He also remembered her in his will, leaving her a large sum of money and recommending, in one last attempt at matchmaking, that she marry Bessières’s son, the duke of Istria. Hortense’s aunt wrote in 1823 that “Hortense is perfectly sweet, she’s a rare child for her spirit and intelligence, who her poor father would have been happy to see so fine in all respects”. She died of pneumonia on 24 September 1829 after three days of illness, aged seventeen.

A 1933 biography of Charles-Nicolas Fabvier (Hervas’s second husband) identifies this painting by Jeanne-Elisabeth Chaudet as a young Hortense Duroc. It was sold at an auction a few years ago with the title “Young Embroideress”, so either the sitter’s identity has been lost since then or it may never have been Hortense at all.

Duroc’s long liaison with the dancer Emilie Bigottini may also have resulted in at least one child. Felix Bouvier, writing a biographical sketch of Bigottini in 1909, claimed that “children were born of this irregular union, a daughter and a son named Odilon”. However, Odilon (full name Pierre Dominique Jean Marie Odilon Michel du Roc), born in 1801, was the son of Duroc’s cousin Géraud Pierre Michel du Roc, the marquis de Brion. On Duroc’s death, Napoleon made Odilon a page in the imperial household. (This may have given rise to Bouvier’s claim, as it seems to have confused people at the time. Caulaincourt had been tasked with sorting out Duroc’s affairs, including a substantial amount of money for Bigottini, and Duroc’s sister Jeanne implied that he had gotten the wrong impression from one of Duroc’s requests: “On the subject of the allowance for little Odilon, M. the duke of Vicenza was misled…he took a step which pained me very much”.) As for the daughter, all I’ve been able to find so far is a remark from Laure Junot that “It was known that the count Armand de Fuentès had had a daughter with Mademoiselle Bigottini, and that Duroc was in the same position”.

#duroc #maria de las nieves martinez de hervas #emilie bigottini #hortense duroc

48 notes · View notes

ginsengkitten · 5 months ago

Text

༺ Beautiful Dangerous ༻

༺☆༻

Chapter Fourteen

Lingering Strays

The razor clinked against the glass hand mirror on your vanity. You put your nose to the edge of the white powdery line and inhale it swiftly. Coke didn't burn you anymore. It was a pre show routine for all the dancers at Sparkplug. And non dancers.

You take one last good stare at your reflection. From the outside-it's almost impossible to tell that a girl as beautiful as you was hurting inside. In the most glamorous state of your life- No one suspected at thing and that's why you were so good at your job. It was a known fact that you were the prettiest dancer at Sparkplug. You had become a household name in recent years, earning yourself your own special number. People came for the main ensembles but they stayed for you specifically. Selling out night after night every weekend. The club was all you had, and you put your heart and soul into it.

The microphone whispered feedback into the room as the previous dancers made their exit. Dee took her usual catwalk up the stage with mic in hand. Cheers sprouted through the room. Dee addressed the crowd. "I know y'all wish you could see me up here one of these nights but let me tell you yall ain't that lucky." She bantered to the crowd who endearingly gave her a chuckle. She stood luxuriously above everyone in her signature gaudy silk and lace robes and cigarette in her fingers.

Dee gave a slow waltz around the stage as the room came to a quiet. "But lemme tell yall something.."

"You might just be lucky enough tonight.. - "

a lone wolf gives out a hoot of excitement. Dee grins and continues her monologue.

"Now we here at Sparkplug take pride in taking in the stray animals. The loners. The wanderers. The wounded..and you know me I just have a soft spot for these poor creatures. Can't help myself-they're just too cute.

Many of you may know of our special rescue. A sly little fox from back east...

Ladies and Gentlemen I want y'all to give a very warm welcome to Sparkplugs favorite little stray-

FOXEY!"

Slash looked up from his whiskey glass. The name echoed out as the room erupted into excitement and cheers. a silly coincidence, he brushed off to himself as he intended to return to his drink, when suddenly a familiar guitar tune flooded through the room on the sound system. He knew this one by heart.

Foxey Lady by Jimi Hendrix.

Stage lights flashed on and an array of decorative flair stylized the stage. Slash leaned forward in his seat, his attention now captured as a slender, sparkling woman took the stage and strutted confidently and sultrily down the catwalk to greet the audience. The woman flashed a gorgeous and big smile. Slashes heart sped up in an instant. He questioned if he was seeing things. Is that .....her?

His label manager nudged him playfully, "get a load of this babe! Been hearing about it her for weeks now. Most beautiful girl in the whole state. I see what they mean, right?" He chuckled dumbly and didn't focus much to see if slash responded to his remarks. Slash stayed stunned as his eyes glued to the woman. It was you. It was his girl.

He couldn't help but agree with his label manager however. It was painfully obvious how much you had grown and evolved. Into this decadent form of all woman. And the song, does she still go by Foxey? He thought. All parts of him were on fire with emotion and questions. You danced across the stage in a perfect choreography of sexual energy. Your hips swayed to the music as you returned to center stage on the catwalk and began mouthing the lyrics to the hungry audience, who was going rampant at this display. The crowd went crazy for you.

"You know you're a cute little heartbreaker"

"You know you're a sweet little - love maker!"

The crowd ebbed with excitement. You relished the attention and warmth of the crowd. You loved the adoration and admiration you got. You winked at regulars and gyrated your body enticingly towards them all. Hoots and whistles poured through the audience.

Slash watched from the back side of the room from a dark booth. He dared not to blink. His body was unraveling in itself. He couldn't believe his eyes.

You unknowingly continued to dazzle the crowd . Bumped off a line of coke and the energy in the room, you flaunted and taunted and twisted and teased. The crowd was incorrigible. With a heavy layer of lust, came an equal layer of admiration and respect. Loyal visitors paying their dues to their most beloved dancer. The number sizzled to a close with yet more roaring applause. You flashed another smile and blew a kiss out into the crowd. Catching eyes with an old regular in the back as you gave him a flirtatious wink, but your eyes catch someone else just adjacent to his table. You freeze for a moment and your stomach drops. Shuttered in a dark corner of the room your eyes met those staring back of the one person you thought you’d never see again.

Slash.

The dressing room door slams closed and you lean yourself up against it to catch your breath. The other girls on the room notice your abnormal entrance.

“That good huh?” Clara jokes as she fixed her hair.

You can’t reply, or speak. Your body felt hot- hotter than it did after a dance. You quickly shed your frilly costume down to your lace undergarments. A different girl named lou takes note of your state and drapes your silk robe around you. Clara comes up to you and lovingly holds your hand, a concerned look on her face now. “What’s gotten into you girl? You mess up a move or somethin out there?”

You share blankly through her.

Clara takes her cigarette out of her mouth and lays it on an ash tray. “Alright alright enough of this come on now” Clara and lou usher you to your chair and sit you down. “Now you just sit here and cool down alright? What happened out there?”

You want to speak but words fail you. Where to even begin explaining this? Explaining- Him? Before you can address it, the door swings open and Dee files through in her mighty boss like strut. She approached you and gave you a light squeeze, too busy with management duties to fully realize your state of being. “Perfect as usual doll! You killed it!” She shouts out excitedly as she lights a long armed cigarette in her fingers.

“Thanks, I-“ you begin

Dee looks you up and down. “Oh girl you can’t be undressed already! Not tonight baby I just got a special request for a private VIP dance for you. Go on and get yourself prettied up now, ion need them waitin too long you hear?” She instructed. “It’s gonna be good money.” She gives you a wink that usually- you would be delighted to witness. But you now had barely any time to process your thoughts, let alone what just happened. Were you imagining him there? Just like all the other times? You admit it’s been a long time since you imagined him anywhere. His presence used to surprise you at times and you’d have to shake your head to ward him off like some evil spirit.

“You look like you seen a ghost.” Dee says.

“Well sort of….” You utter.

#gnr #slash #slash gnr #saul hudson #slash fanfiction #slash x reader #gnr smut #gnr x reader #saul hudson x reader #slash smut

28 notes · View notes

ijustwanttoreadfanfiction · 2 years ago

Text

Candyland

Rockstar! (ish) Eddie Munson x AFAB! Bar Dancer Reader

Cherry Pie is always the inspiration for some absolute filth. Reader works at a Coyote Ugly type bar - you'll find out, it's hard for me to describe this one. Because I suck.

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), p in v sex, suggestive content with the dancing?

The R-Bar, Chicago - 1991

Eddie is sweating his nutsack off, fingers red raw from shredding for almost two hours, voice sore and crackling. The mediocre applause that follows him off the small stage with the rest of the band hardly seems worth the pain. He snags a water bottle from a beat up trestle table, chugging it in relief as their manager Lambshank approaches; so named because he got shanked in prison with a lamb bone, true story.

“That was a killer set guys, great work, the crowd loved you!” He hails with so much bravado it verges on sarcasm.��

“Yeah, all fourteen of them.” Eddie deadpans.

“I counted seventeen.” Jeff wryly supplies with a rough croak, finishing off his own bottle of water.

“Alright, it wasn’t the biggest crowd, granted, but everyone has to start somewhere.” Lambshank reasons.

“Yeah, but we started this group eleven years ago, Shank.” Eddie huffs, he knew the rockstar dream wouldn’t be an easy one to achieve but he thought after graduating and being able to pour all his time and what little money he had into the band they’d be playing bigger and better venues by now.

He was fed up, every place was like The Hideout back home, filled with drunks, and sticky floors. They did have a couple of genuine fans, who they appreciated even if they were slightly over-zealous in their affections; Gareth had never quite been the same since Luann, the forty-seven year old divorcee, threw her FF bra directly at his face mid-show.

“You fellas need a fun night out, get yourselves pumped up again and I know just the place.” Lambshank says bracingly, working his fists back and forth like a Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot. Eddie scrubs at his tired sweaty face, pushing his hair out of his eyes, wanting nothing more than to shower and go to bed, god he was getting old.

“Shank I don’t need a night out, I need to get some sleep.”

“Eddie, I promise you, you’ll enjoy it - and the first round of drinks are on me.” Shank offers teasingly.

_______________________________________________

“Candyland?” Gareth asks, reading the pink neon sign aloud as they all stand outside a rather nondescript looking building, the loud heavy bass thumping of music the only indicator there might be something going on inside.

“Candyland.” Lambshank affirms with a grin, gesturing towards the heavy door in front of them, a burly and surly looking doorman giving Lambshank a curt nod letting the group in.

It’s a cacophony of noise, and flashing lights, the place is packed to the rafters, the smell of stale beer and sweat heavy in the air. But it’s the movement from the bar area that catches Eddie’s eye, a group of women all around his age in various states of undress, dancing and grinding along to No Sleep Till Brooklyn - Beastie Boys, they also appear to be serving drinks.

“Welcome to Candyland boys!” Lambshank laughs, patting Eddie heavily on the back.

It’s certainly a show, the girls are laughing and screaming things out, men and women on the floor crowded up to the raised surface cheering loudly, throwing money, and generally having the time of their lives.

The song finishes up, and the bar girls all jump down to be replaced by an older looking blonde woman with a microphone in her hand.

“Candyland, how are we doing tonight?!” She yells, to a deafening cheer. “C’mon I know you can do better than that, I said HOW ARE WE DOING TONIGHT?” She corrals with a fist to the air.

The bar shouts back in unison, even Eddie finds himself wanting to join in.

“That’s what I like to hear.” She laughs throatily. “Now I want you to give it up, and by that I mean your hard earned dollars, for our girl JETT!”

I Love Rock ‘N Roll - Joan Jett starts up, along with a raucous cheer from the crowd as girl jumps up onto the bar in black PVC booty shorts, a ripped white crop top, black bra visible underneath and black high-top converse, her back is to everyone as she claps her hands and stamps along to the beat, Eddie tears his eyes away trying to work out the best route to the bar in order to actually get a drink when Gareth starts tugging hard on his arm.

“Jeez man what?” Eddie huffs in irritation, Gareth points dumbly back towards the bar, mouth hanging open, Eddie looks again and feels his own jaw drop.

“Holy shit it’s -” Jeff breathes, the girl is finally facing the crowd, throwing her body back and forth, a huge smile plastered across her pretty face.

“Y/n -” Eddie finishes his sentence with a gulp.

Eddie hadn’t seen you since graduation, but it was definitely you, despite your get up and apparent new found sense of confidence there was no mistaking your face. You had been something of a shrinking violet at High School, choosing to hang out with Eddie and the gang as they didn’t mind that you were painfully shy and preferred books to conversation, and whilst you had never been a fully fledged member of Hellfire you sometimes took part in the occasional campaign if they were short and Eddie coaxed you enough.

It didn’t seem you needed to be coaxed into doing anything anymore though as you gyrated on the platform, hooking your leg and arm around a pole between the bar top and ceiling, spinning about seductively. You headbang slightly, before dropping low to grab a handful of dollars from a howling man, one of the girls behind the bar passes you up a bottle of vodka and you expertly pour a shot into the man’s open mouth. As the song fades out, some of the other girls jump back up to join you, the vodka bottle in your hand being swapped for the microphone.

“Good evening Candyland.” You purr slightly out of breath, laughing loudly at the tumultuous response. “Life is sweet, but you know what? It could be a little sweeter, so how about we pour a little sugar on you?” You ask suggestively, throwing your arms up as Pour Some Sugar On Me - Def Leppard rings out.

Eddie doesn’t know where to look, well he knows exactly where he wants to look but he doesn’t know if he should. You’re back to back with one of the other girls, both winding down to your knees, you crawl across the bar and Eddie finds himself standing tiptoes to follow your progress. You lay on your back, arching upwards, so your chest is on display, while a redhead girl in Daisy dukes wets your body with the seltzer tap. You screech wildly, shaking your head allowing the liquid to splash the front row, Eddie thinks he might pass out as the blood thunders down from his brain to his cock.

You move back up into a kneel, taking the tap and spraying it into the raucous crowd, whilst necking a beer you’ve taken off of someone. You and the rest of the girls line up, all bending sideways so you’re grabbing the ass of the other, spanking in time to the music, before shaking your legs so the muscles bounce and jiggle.

“This is insane.” Gareth says weakly next to Eddie, and he has to agree. You straighten up, spinning around the pole once again until you’re head on staring at Eddie and the group, a wide beaming smile of recognition breaking across your face. You seem to be dancing with even more enthusiasm now you’ve clocked your old school friends, hands running over your own form, as you strut up and down the platform. The redhead from before has a bottle of whiskey in her hand which she pours on her chest with a subtle nod to you, you lean in and lick the gold liquid from her skin, to rapturous hoots and hollers, tracing your tongue up her neck until you meet her mouth; Eddie notices more dollar bills clutched in your hands as you pull away.

The song comes to an end, and you instantly jump down into the crowd, pushing patrons out of your way, practically racing towards the band.

“OH MY GOD, HI!” You shout excitedly, barrelling straight into Eddie first, he barely has time to snap out of his funk and embrace you back before you're pulling away to address the others. You’re flushed with exertion, but to him you’ve never looked prettier.

“Gareth, Jeff!” You hail, bringing each of them in for their own hug, Eddie having to fight down a sudden surge of jealousy.

“Y/n! What the hell man?!” Gareth greets you with a laugh, gesturing to the hive of activity still taking place on the bar behind you.

“Girl’s gotta make a living, ya know.” You tease, punching him lightly in the arm. “It’s my Aunt’s place, she’s the blonde one up there.” You point to the older woman who revved up the crowd earlier, she’s currently pouring a row of shots, but all the while keeping an eye on her girls, including you.

“What are you guys doing here?” You ask casually, like you’re not standing in front of them scantily clad, and the source of their awkward crotch covered stances.

“We’re on tour.” Jeff supplies.

“Holy shit - that’s so cool, where are you playing?” Eddie wants to answer you, but your devastating smile is making his brain short circuit.

“They played the R-Bar tonight. Lambshank, manager extraordinaire and long time patron of Candyland.” Lambshank butts in, offering his hand in greeting, you shake it and Eddie sees a slight wariness enter your expression.

“The R-Bar huh? I’d thought with how good you guys were in High School, you’d be playing bigger venues than that.” You don't say it maliciously, you seem genuinely concerned, and it sparks Eddie's brain and mouth back to life.

“We’ve been trying to but it’s not been going so well.” Eddie says quietly, and you nod in understanding.

“Where are you guys playing next?” You ask with interest.

“We’re at the R-Bar again tomorrow night.” Gareth says, unable to keep the dismay out of his voice.

“Ok, cool, leave it with me. Drinks on the house by the way, just go see my aunt. Catch up properly at close?” You ask quickly, already backing up towards the bar, slipping under the gap and whispering in your aunt's ear as you service the clamouring groups.

Eddie's gaze is firmly fixed on your retreating form, he always had a soft spot for you through school, ok maybe crush was more accurate, although he'd play it off as a brotherly protective vibe when people had asked but what he was feeling now was far from brotherly.

"I'll get us some beers." He says not caring if the others are listening, purposely ignoring Lambshank's request for a double JD, as he makes his way through the thronging horde, with a little elbowing he eventually gets to the front.

“What can I get you handsome?” Your aunt asks him, leaning across the bar.

“Uh - four Coors Dry please.” He responds absentmindedly watching the way you’re shaking a drink at the other end of the bar, clearly flirting with every customer and doing a damn good judging by your overflowing tip jar.

“Would you prefer for my niece to serve you?” Your aunt says with a wry smile.

“Oh - uh - no sorry, just haven't seen her in a while.” Eddie stammers, slipping across a $20 bill.

“You’re Eddie right?” He nods, she smiles and it’s not too dissimilar to your own. “I'm Paula. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. She never used to shut up about you when she was a teenager, Eddie this, Eddie that.” She laughs, pouring the beers.

“She liked me?” Eddie asks in shock, the thought makes his head spin.

“I don’t think you need to put it in the past tense hunny.” Paula grins, sliding his $20 back across the bar. “You break her heart, I’ll get Doug the Doorman to break your fingers.”

Before Eddie can respond, your voice cuts across the noise once more, you’re up on the bar again, microphone in hand.

“Alright Candylanders, it’s come to our attention that we have some very, very special guests here with us tonight -” The seductive lilt in your tone is back, commanding the attention of everyone in the room, but none more so than Eddie. “- all the way from my hometown of Hawkins, Indiana, they are the next generation of rockstars, the one, the only CORRODED COFFIN!” You bellow pointing towards where Gareth, Jeff and Lambshank are still standing.

“They’re the real deal, and they’re playing at the R-Bar tomorrow, I know - I know it's a fucking shithole." You argue back to the murmured complaints. "But here's the deal, you all go and I will reveal my very secret, very intimate tattoo at the end of their show -” You teasingly pull at the waistline of your booty shorts, before stroking your hand down over your covered mound, the crowd going wild. “- Alright you bunch of horn dogs, save it for tomorrow, now let’s get this fucking party started!” You scream, throwing the microphone down to Paula, who gives you a huge wink.

Cherry Pie - Warrant blares out of the speakers, the girls clambering up to join you once more, pitchers of water in their hands.

“ANYONE ELSE FEELING WET?” Paula shouts into the mic, as you and the rest of the girls pour the pitchers over yourselves, Eddie watches completely enthralled as the water cascades over your chest and down your legs, barely noticing how Gareth and Jeff have joined him.

You stomp over towards them, a huge smile on your face again, dropping into an impressive front split, water droplets glistening over your flushed skin.

“Hey Eddie, you want a blowjob?” You ask loudly over the music.

“Do I want a what?!” Eddie asks incredulously, half laughing, half choking on his beer.

You jump down, grabbing a shot glass, and two bottles of liquor, topping it off with some whipped cream.

“A blow job.” You present to him with a devious smirk.

Eddie throws his head back in a proper laugh, the kind of laugh you used to savour hearing through school, he moves to take the shot but you slap his hand anyway.

“Oh that’s not for you big boy, it’s for me. You need to sit right here.” You say patting the bar top, Eddie looks at you warily but hoists himself up regardless with a smile, you wink and then move to the other end of the bar, whispering something to Paula as you pass.

“Ohhhhh! Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like Jett is about to give some lucky guy a blowjob!” Paula shouts through the mic, stopping mid pour to ring a bell, Eddie’s ears hurt from the wolf whistles and stamping of feet.

Two girls, the redhead and a brunette, help get him in the correct position, legs spread with the shot in between, you get lifted onto the bar by Doug blowing a kiss to him and the gathered crowd. Sinking to your knees you stalk towards him in a slow crawl, he would never be able to listen to Smooth up in ya in the same way ever again. When you reach him, you lean in close to his ear so only he can hear you, his arm automatically coming up to steady you as you hover.

“When I touch your knee, put your hand on the back of my head, and when I touch it again let go.”

You move back, grinning from ear to ear, running your hands over his chest, down and down, fingers brushing his thighs, until you reach his knees; Eddie lifts a shaking a hand to run through your hair at the crown of your head, you wink again before arching low, ass in the air, he can see your lips wrap around the glass; he knows you must notice his raging hard on.

“SHOT, SHOT, SHOT!” The bar screams and Eddie suddenly remembers there are a hundred people watching your antics. Once you have the drink secure, you run your hands back up his legs, tapping his knee once, he lets his hand drop from your head albeit reluctantly. You throw your whole body back, chest jutting out, swallowing the shot to ear splitting cheers and clapping, letting a carefully choreographed bit of liquid spill from the side of your mouth, using your thumb to seductively chase it back to your mouth with a firm suck.

You press a quick kiss to Eddie’s lips, before standing abruptly, taking a bow.

“Can I get one of those? Please?” Gareth asks, voice strained.

_______________________________________________

The rest of the night passes in a blur of girls dancing, pounding music and alcohol but Eddie only has eyes for you. Even when Gareth gets his ‘blowjob’ from the redhead, Cherry, you’re still his focus, the way you move, how openly you laugh with the girls sharing private jokes, the way you handle yourself; fearless and so sexy.

The bar finally closes at 2am, it’s oddly quiet now the sound system is off, only the chink of glasses being collected and general chit-shit fills the air. Lambshank is chewing Paula’s ear off about management opportunities, which she seems to be responding to with good humour. Gareth is following Cherry about like a lost puppy, helping her with clearing tables, and Jeff is asleep in one of the booths, a cocktail umbrella tucked behind his ear.

You’re wiping down the bar top, a shy smile on your face, the one Eddie remembered from school, it seems the shrinking violet is still there once the music is off.

“So Eddie Munson the rockstar huh?” You say, voice a little croaky from a night of shouting and singing.

“I wouldn’t say rockstar.” Eddie murmurs, sipping at his drink.

“Is the band your only job?” You ask pointedly, spraying at a stubborn sticky spot.

“Yeah.” Eddie says, rubbing at his neck feeling self conscious.

“Well then, you’re a rockstar.” You grin softly.

“Alright ladies, you can all head home, Mr Shank here is going to help me finish up.” Paula calls, meeting your raised eyebrows with a sheepish shrug of her shoulders.

Eddie watches as Gareth attempts to rouse Jeff from his deep drunken stupor, wondering if he can manage to get him back to the hotel by himself, not quite ready to leave your side, evidently you are thinking along the same lines as you place a delicate hand on his arm.

“Shall we help get the guys back to your hotel?” You suggest gently, trying not to laugh as Jeff sinks lower into the seat trying to pull Gareth in for a spooning.

“You want to come back with me?” Eddie asks, surprised, not believing his luck.

“Yes, if that’s ok.” You say blushing profusely. “Unless you don’t want me to.” You add quickly feeling unsure of yourself.

“No! - I uh, I mean I would love for you to come back with me.” Eddie stammers, his face burning likely matching the same reddened shade as your own.

“Ok, just lemme go get changed.” You smile breathlessly.

The hotel isn’t far from the bar, and the thirty minute walk allows you and Eddie to catch up some more, sharing lingering looks and touches where you can, in between half carrying, half dragging Jeff. Gareth being absolutely no help, floating along behind slowly, waxing lyrical about how he is in love with Cherry.

“Should I tell him she’s a lesbian?” You whisper to Eddie, stifling a giggle.

“Let him have his moment whilst he’s still hammered.” Eddie laughs. “I’ll break it to him in the morning, assuming he remembers.”

Your head is swimming with all kinds of Eddie related thoughts as you try your best to concentrate on the task at hand, helping Gareth into bed, he passes out as soon as his face hits the mattress in the double room. Eddie situates a now entirely unconscious Jeff with some difficulty, before making sure they both have glasses of water and Tylenol on the bedside table ready for their no doubt horrendous hangovers.

You’re bubbling with nerves as he closes the door, but they abruptly disappear when he takes your hand, leading you down the corridor to his own room. It's small and basic but at least it’s clean.

“So - uh do you want a drink?” Eddie asks, rooting about in a plastic bag on the side. “I have slightly warm Coke or slightly warm Mountain Dew.”

“Such variety! I’ll take a slightly warm Mountain Dew please.” You laugh, perching on the end of his bed, rubbing your hands over your leggings.

“For Madame.” He passes you a can with a silly little French accent, sitting next to you with a can of Coke. “Gotta say it was one hell of a show you put on tonight sweetheart.”

You’re blushing again, shaking your head in embarrassed disagreement.

“It’s nothing special, just silly little dances and tricks, but it pays the bills, and it helps Paula out.” You say dismissively.

“I think it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Eddie mutters, his leg jiggling with nerves or pent up energy, you couldn’t tell.

“C’mon Eddie, it wasn’t that good.” You mumble, thinking if your cheeks got any warmer the sprinkler system would go off.

“When you did that thing with the shot, I nearly came in my pants.” He says honestly, laughing at his own admission, it sparks something within you, the same feeling of fearlessness you experience when you’re up on the bar. You stand up, taking his drink from his hand and placing it on the windowsill with yours, kicking off your shoes and pulling down your leggings so you’re left in your panties and pink Candyland sweater.

“It would be a waste if you came in your pants Eddie, when my mouth is right here.” You whisper, sinking to your knees in front of him, praying you hadn’t misread the signals.

Eddie doesn’t give you long to worry, grabbing your face in his hands, leaning down to kiss you hard, tongue stroking into your mouth making you moan softly.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this is happening.” Eddie murmurs against your lips as you unbuckle his belt, lifting his hips to help you tug his pants and boxers down. His cock slaps against his belly, long and hard, making your mouth water, you wrap your lips around him eagerly, tongue flat against the shaft as you bob up and down.

“Oh - f-fuck.” Eddie groans, hands back in your hair just like at the bar, gently guiding your movements. The room is filled with the sounds of your choking and sucking, the wet slide of your mouth over his throbbing dick, and Eddie’s whimpering gasps.

“Yes! Oh baby, your mouth feels - shit - so fucking good. Used to dream about you - fuck - used to dream about you doing t-this.” He moans, hips pistoning up to meet your open throat as you move quicker. “Can I - ah! Can I fuck you? Please sweetheart?” He begs, and it sends a surge or arousal through you.

You pull off him with a broken gasp, lips swollen and wet.

“Yes please.” You say sweetly, slightly out of breath.

Eddie’s hands are everywhere as he hauls you up from the floor, peeling your panties down, fingers tracing through your wetness whilst he kisses you deeply again.

“Condom - where the fuck did I put the fucking condoms?!” He hisses, stretching back down to retrieve his pants, you laugh peppering his neck with licks and nips.

You’re practically dripping, hovering over his cock, waiting with baited breath as he rolls the condom on, angling the hard tip to your slick opening. Both of you letting out loud moans as you sink down inch by inch, walls hugging him tightly, spasming with the stretch.

“Eddie - oh my god!” You whimper, nails biting into his shoulder, rocking against each other, his balls hitting your ass.

“Yesss, you feel like fucking heaven.” Eddie growls, using his strength to hammer up into you, both knowing the other wasn’t going to last long, the entire evening serving as foreplay. You bring your fingers down to rub roughly at your clit, whining into his mouth through messy kisses, each thrust of his cock bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Eddie, babe, I’m gonna cum.” You gasp, pussy tightening almost to the point of pain, vision going blurry as you climax hard.

“Oh god - baby! Fuck -” Eddie chokes out, arms holding you in a bruising grasp, head against your neck as he jerks his hips at a brutal pace, hurtling into his own release with a loud cry.

Eddie continues to pump gently into you, drawing out your orgasms, lazy kisses, and stroking touches bringing you back down.

“Goddamn, why didn’t we do this years ago?” He asks breathlessly, as you laugh with exhilaration, he lays back on the bed pulling you with him, thundering heartbeats steadily slowing.

“Y/n?” Eddie asks quietly after a time, fingers stroking up and down your thighs.

“Mmm?” You murmur sleepily.

“I know I was a little distracted back there, but - uh - I didn’t see any kind of tattoo.”

You laugh again, pushing off the bed, rummaging through your bag, throwing a small packet at Eddie.

“Candy cigarettes?” He queries in confusion.

“Yep, with a free Batman rub-on tattoo.” You grin, jumping back onto the bed straddling him once more, shoving one of the candy sticks into your mouth.

“Those are a filthy habit, sweetheart.” Eddie teases grinning widely up at you.

“Care to do the honours?” You smirk devilishly, waving the temporary tattoo at him.

_______________________________________________

#eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson 18+#strangers things eddie munson #reader insert #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fanfic

220 notes · View notes

fleurotter · 11 days ago

Text

⋆༺♱༻ … can i GIVE it UP જ⁀ →﹐ or give it away﹒? ⟢ ⓘ (𝓼even) . 20:16 𑁍ࠬܓ ✉︎ fleurs profile.

ꕀ ♱ ꕀ — i wanna take you to the BASICS !

𝜗𝜚 BIRTH NAME. min ye-seo ( 김예서 ) 𝜗𝜚 STAGE NAME. fleur

⟢ . originally ye-seo was supposed to debut as a soloist, so of course bighit's train of thought was to give her a name that would stand out. they ended up keeping the name, to generate buzz and because fleur herself asked to keep it ( she thought it was pretty ).

𝜗𝜚 BIRTH DATE. august 30, 1999. 𝜗𝜚 CURRENT AGE. 25 ( twenty - five ) 𝜗𝜚 ZODIAC SIGN. virgo 𝜗𝜚 BIRTH PLACE. jeju island, south korea. 𝜗𝜚 HOME TOWN. lindau, germany. 𝜗𝜚 RESIDENCY.

⟢ . jeju island, south korea ( 1999 - 2003 ) ⟢ . lindau, germany ( 2003 - 2014 ) ⟢ . seoul, south korea ( 2014 - present )

𝜗𝜚 SPOKEN LANGUAGES.

⟢ . english ( fluent ), german ( fluent ), korean ( proficient )

𝜗𝜚 PRONOUNS. she/her 𝜗𝜚 SEXUALITY. bisexual 𝜗𝜚 RELATIONSHIP STATUS. taken ( soon to be engaged )

𝜗𝜚 BODY MODIFICATIONS. five tattoos : little black cat ( 2018, on inside of right arm ), 7 ( 2022, on upper left rib ), little grey cat in a tea cup ( 2019, upper left arm ), black stars from chichiro ( 2017, on right ankle ), flower sleeve ( 2021, on right hand )

ꕀ ♱ ꕀ — 다 원해, 원해, 원해? ... CAREER !

𝜗𝜚 GROUP NAME. bts / bangtan 𝜗𝜚 POSITION. face of the group, vocalist, center, lead dancer, maknae. 𝜗𝜚 TRAINING PERIOD. one month, fourteen days. 𝜗𝜚 YEARS ACTIVE. 2015 - present. 𝜗𝜚 AGE AT DEBUT. 15 ( fifteen ) 𝜗𝜚 REPRESENTATIVE EMOJI. 🐈‍⬛ ( black cat ) 𝜗𝜚 SOLO ENDORSEMENTS.

⟢ . samsung ( 2020, 2022 ) ⟢ . diesel ( 2022 - present ) ⟢ . calvin klein ( 2023 )

𝜗𝜚 SKILL RATING.

⟢ . vocal ( 7,5 / 10 ) ⟢ . rap ( 6 / 10 ) ⟢ . dance ( 8,5 / 10 ) ⟢ . stage presence ( 9 / 10 ) ⟢ . producing ( 4 / 10 ) ⟢ . writing ( 9 / 10 ) ⟢ . choreographing ( 8 / 10 ) ⟢ . acting ( 7,5 / 10 ) ⟢ . public speaking ( 3,5 / 10 ) ⟢ . leadership ( 7,5 / 10 )

𝜗𝜚 SOCIAL MEDIA.

⟢ . instagram ﹫fleuringbloom ⟢ . youtube ﹫fleuringbloom ⟢ . twitter ﹫notlillyblossombloom ( spam acc turned public )

𝜗𝜚 KNOWN FOR. being the head president of onces, her love for sanrio character quizzes, coke rants on weverse over the dumbest things, sadly... daddy issues, being very careful with interacting with men, pre-debut audition video with ' get up ' by baby v.o.x, love for various keychains ( she has a whole collection, gifted by fans, members, overall self bhought etc. ), going viral by locals every two business days, her iconic old v-lives ' everything is a sign if you're crazy enough ', having old highschool pictures get digged up by netizens that are very... gay.

ꕀ ♱ ꕀ — 서두르지 마 baby ... PRIVATE !

𝜗𝜚 PHOBIAS. entomophobia ( fear of bugs ), thalassophobia ( fear of deep bodies of water )

𝜗𝜚 MENTAL CONDITIONS.

⟢ . anxiety ... fleur is literally stressed all the time, she's been like this since childhood ( especially in school ) but the idol industry just intensified the constant fear, dread and uneasiness. it causes her to sweat, feel restless and tense, and often have a very rapid heartbeat. the combination of her being a massive overthinker, doesn't help either. she's had to take quite a few hiatuses due to fear.

𝜗𝜚 MBTI. intj ( architect ) 𝜗𝜚 STRENGTHS.

⟢ . rational. they can reframe nearly any challenge as an opportunity to hone their rational thinking skills and expand their knowledge – and with this mindset, they can devise inventive solutions to even the most arduous of problems.

⟢ . independant. they can imagine few things more frustrating than allowing arbitrary rules or conventions to stand in the way of their success. moreover, they are happy to make decisions without outside input or opinions. these individuals prefer to take matters into their own hands.

⟢ . original. even in their everyday lives, these personalities force the people around them to consider new (and sometimes surprising) ways of looking at things.

𝜗𝜚 WEAKNESSES.

⟢ . overly critical. they tend to have a great deal of self-control, particularly when it comes to thoughts and feelings. when the people in their lives fail to match their level of restraint, intjs can appear scathingly critical, but this criticism can be unfair.

⟢ . socially clueless. their efforts to defy expectations may leave them feeling isolated or disconnected from other people.

𝜗𝜚 HOBBIES. making collages, decorating toploaders / collecting a few photocards, yoga, dancing, songwriting.

𝜗𝜚 NON-IDOL JOB. " i used to really want to become a teacher but then i had a really bad internship, and that kind of crushed my dream ( laughs ). i considered studying psychology but due to me becoming an idol that also fell through- oh! graphic design was also on my mind, at the time. "

𝜗𝜚 IDEAL TYPE. " i used to say i really like losers, like total dweebs who are really passionate about something, and i think that still applies. regardless of gender. "

𝜗𝜚 FAVORITES.

⟢ . color. " i used to always say grey and beige at these questions but i don't wanna come of as a sad beige mom, so i'll say pastel green is nice. pastels overall are really pretty. "

⟢ . number. 3, 5, 8 ⟢ . food. dumplings. ⟢ . movie. chichiro : spirited away, coraline. ⟢ . season. late spring.

𝜗𝜚 CLOSE IDOL FRIENDS. twice's chaeyoung ( their tea is crazy ), loona's yves, fromis chaeyoung. ( she barerly has any friends in the idol industry at all 😭 )

#fake kpop idol #fake kpop oc #fake kpop addition #fictional kpop addition #bts addition #bangtan added member #bangtan addition #bts added member #kpop added member #kpop addition #fake kpop profile

8 notes · View notes

vxmpswxn · 1 year ago

Text

⠀ ⠀

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ‹⠀𓄿:⠀𝒾n the 𝓈hadows of dance and death, 𝓁aena morberg weaves her tale, a faint reflection of tragedies that dance 𝒾n the twilight, where art and agony converge 𝒾n an ethereal 𝒷allet of grace and darkness.

⠀ ⠀

⠀ ⠀IMPORTANT. hi, german is not my first ⠀ ⠀language but I try; low activity, 21+ only ⠀ ⠀selective ♡. wire: vxmpswxn. ⠀ ⠀_________________________________　❞ ⠀ ⠀keep reading for info in english.

⠀ ⠀

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ─── 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀.

Complete name: Laena Indra Kennedy (née Morberg).

Short names: Lena, Miss Morberg, little bird (just for Rajko), kitten (just for Cailan) & Ms. Kennedy.

Species: Human.

Age: 24 years.

Born: June 16.

Nationality: Swedish.

Parents: Diederik Morberg & Sasha Dupond ( † ).

Relationship: Married to @american-satan

Family: Nova Chloe Kennedy (daughter), Conde (cat) & Arrax (dog)

Eyes: Gray blue.

Hair: Long, straight and black.

Physical characeristic: Has a scar on each wrist from a suicide attempt at age fourteen. Also has a small tattoo under her right breast—a rose with the phrase forever Cailan entangling the flower stem.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ─── 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓.

ᅠ◗ᅠCurrent occupation: Ballet dancer and graduate in fine arts—currently takes care of the Morbergs' art foundation, and does sporadic classes at the dance academy.

ᅠ◗ᅠInterests: History (specially the norse & slavic culture), ballet, art in general (paint, writting, dance, orchestras, etc.), witchcraft & rituals, alcohol (specially wine), criminal documentations and old books.

ᅠ◗ᅠLikes: Sundays. Smell of coffee in the morning. Evenings. Children. Piano. Painting. Noise of the city. Fire. Sweet wine. Anatomy books. Dancing. Order. Candles. Sweet things. Caresses in the hair. Cemeteries. Her husband. Nova's laughter.

ᅠ◗ᅠDislikes: Illuminated places. Mornings. Sleep. Gaudy colors. Storms. People who are too cheerful. Funerals. Dirt. Physical contact without her permission. Lies. Loud noises. Shadows. Cold food. High temperatures. Her birthday.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀.

ᅠ›ᅠLaena keeps a secret diary where she pens down her most intimate thoughts and reflections. She often carries it with her while working on gravestone restoration in the cemetery.

ᅠ›ᅠHer mother died when she was born and, since then, has always felt guilty about it. As grows, the physical likeness becomes more pronounced, causing discomfort and further distancing from her father.

ᅠ›ᅠIn her adolescence, Laena silently suffered at the hands of her ex-boyfriend, Aksel. This dark chapter in her life plunged her into the depths of drugs and abuse. Her brother, Rajko, acted as her secret defender, liberating Laena from torment by eliminating the source of her suffering, though this heroic act remains buried in the shadows.

ᅠ›ᅠEvery time prepares for a ballet performance, she engages in a peculiar ritual: placing a small flower on the lapel of her costume as a silent tribute to her mother. It's a private gesture that allows her to feel the connection between her art and her maternal legacy.

ᅠ›ᅠWhen comes into contact with the shadows of death, she not only perceives their presence but also gains fleeting visions of how and when someone will meet their end. This additional burden of knowledge has led her to carry the weight of others' secrets, often grappling with the morality of interfering in the destinies of others.

ᅠ›ᅠFrom a young age, no one ever believed in Lena's abilities. Consequently, throughout her life, she has been subjected to a series of psychiatrists, all attempting to silence her gift with medication. Rather than calming her torment, these pills plunged her into a haze of disconnection and despair.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Greetings spiders! ⠀⠀⠀Stay hydrated & be respectful

#witch rp #horror rp #nsfwrp #crime rp #supernatural rp #fantasy rp #mature themes #userfakevz #r: married

92 notes · View notes

greatideas-badwriter · 11 months ago

Text

SasuSaku: Sacrificed To The Banished Prince Chapter 1

Sixteen. That's the age that a person reaches adulthood in Konoha. It's also the age when most sons and daughters get paired up for arranged marriages. The same can't be said for Sakura, though. No, at twenty-two years old, she's never received a single offer, largely due to the fact that her existence isn't known by many. As the illegitimate child of Baron Haruno and a traveling dancer, the poor young woman was brought up as little more than a slave. Most maids are treated with more care.

Sakura is the eldest of the Baron's four children. Just three years younger than her is Hihara, the family heir and only son. With blood-red hair, emerald green eyes, and tan skin, he received nearly thirty marriage proposals on the morning of his sixteenth birthday. He married Duke Hyuga's second daughter, Hanabi, though he remains in the Haruno estate while she stays at the castle. Apparently, their dislike of one another is mutual.

Next, there's Haruka, the most beautiful Haruno daughter. She has the family's red hair, long and flowing down her back, sparkling blue eyes, and a figure others can only dream of having. Her sixteenth birthday was two months ago, and she's been taking her time selecting a husband out of the many proposals.

In reality, Sakura knows Haruka's only holding out because when she's been wed, she'll have to move in with her new husband, and it's likely she won't be as coddled as she is at home. Haruka is a daddy's girl through and through. She's spoiled and mean but does a great job of appearing charming in front of others.

Finally, there's Hana, the youngest daughter. Unlike Hihara and Haruka, Hana is sweet and kind. At fourteen, she's soft-spoken and intelligent. She's the only sibling who doesn't mistreat Sakura. The two share a love for reading novels and often bond by discussing them.

After twenty-two years of being treated awfully, Sakura's spirit is beyond broken. With dull green eyes and an ever-present solemn expression on her pale face, the woman does what she's told and tries not to draw attention to herself. Any personality she had to speak of was squandered long ago.

"You should be thanking me. My father allowed you to stay here even after your slut mother ran off and got herself killed," Haruka shoved Sakura to the ground. The pinkette didn't try to defend herself because she knew by now it would only make things worse.

The middle siblings often find reasons to bully her, even if they have to make something up. This time, Haruka insisted the woman glared at her. It didn't happen, obviously.

"Here," the redhead lifted her flowing dress enough that her feet were visible and pointed one out toward Sakura, "Kiss it. Tell me how grateful you are."

Tears threatened to rise in Sakura's eyes, but she blinked them back. Gritting her teeth, she crawled closer to do as ordered, only to freeze when their father's voice rang through the long hallway, "Girls, quit playing and come to my office."

A tiny cry escaped Sakura when her hand was suddenly stomped on by Haruka's heel. She snatched it away to her chest when able and struggled to her feet with a low gaze. It was bleeding. She quietly followed her younger sister.

"What do you need this trash for?"

They stood before the Baron's desk, Hihara and Hana already present and waiting. The stern man held up a piece of parchment with an unfamiliar seal in dark blue, "There has been a proposal that cannot be declined." He set it on the desk before him and interlaced his fingers with his elbows resting, "The second Uchiha heir demands a wife from us."

Sakura expected Haruka to be excited because, as far as she was aware, none of her other suitors had a name even close to as powerful as "Uchiha". To her surprise, she wasn't. "No, Daddy, please! Don't make me!"

"This is outrageous! How many women has he gone through already, Father? Surely there's something you can do?" Hihara added.

The Baron lifted a hand to silence the room, "Sakura."

Sakura's eyes lifted in surprise, only to drop quickly down again, "Yes, Father?"

"You'll go."

Haruka gasped before laughing loudly, "That's perfect! Send the garbage to her death in my place. Thank you, Daddy!"

The pinkette couldn't help but ask, despite knowing it'd upset at least her siblings, "To my death…?"

Hihara responded, "Countless women have been sacrificed as wives to him already. Receiving a proposal means certain death by the monster's hand." When Sakura met her brother's eye in disbelief, he smirked, "Thank you for your sacrifice, dear sister."

After being raised under the idea that she was nothing, Sakura didn't argue. She didn't fight back when Haruka visited her bedroom later that night to beat and mock her. She didn't even shed a tear upon being bathed and dolled up like some kind of princess the next morning, only to be put into a carriage and immediately sent to the most northern part of Konoha, where snow covered the ground, and the air was cold enough to hurt bare skin.

'If only I wasn't about to be killed, I'd be so relieved to finally be away from everyone,' Sakura mused while watching the trees pass outside. 'Wait, why aren't we going East, toward the castle?' This was the first time she'd been permitted to leave the estate, so she was still happy regardless.

She looked at her hands with a grimace. Her nails were trimmed and painted a soft white, but there's no hiding the scars and callouses from the hard work she'd been forced to do.

'Will he kill me immediately, or will he want to consummate the marriage beforehand?' To say she was frightened is putting it lightly. Sakura didn't know what consummate meant, but Father told her before she left to expect it and that it was her duty as a wife.

"We're here, Lady Haruno," the driver interrupted the woman's train of thought. Sakura's spine straightened as the door to the carriage opened. She was helped outside by the frowning man. He removed her luggage and sat it by her feet, tipped his hat, and left her there on the side of the dirt road.

"W-Wait!" It was futile. She was alone.

The confused woman looked behind her, only to swallow hard. There, at the end of the lengthy trail she'd been left at, stood a mansion. It was black as night and gothic in style. Every window was dark and covered with curtains. The grass and garden were dead, the leaves from the bare trees lying unraked and messily mixed into the snow to make it a dirty brown color.

'Is this really the home of a member of the royal family?'

She carried her heavy suitcase, struggling all the while, up the path until she reached the door, where she hesitated. Before she could decide what to do, the door opened to reveal a pale-skinned man with dull eyes and a tense smile, "You're trespassing. State your business or leave the premises."

'What? Is this not the right place?'

"I'm the eldest daughter of Baron Haruno." Sakura bowed politely as the maids instructed her last night.

The man's eyes widened, and he cocked his head to the side, "You're Lady Haruno?"

She nodded, attempting to remain composed under his watchful gaze.

He studied her in silence for a moment before holding the door open and gesturing inside, "Follow me. Don't touch anything."

A second man wordlessly approached, took her suitcase, and followed the duo into the large home. The floors were bright white, the tile shiny enough to reflect the lights even though they were dim. Dark violet wallpaper with an elegant black design covered the walls. Expensive-looking vases and ornaments decorated the hallway, each one probably worth more than everything Sakura owns combined. "

Wait here." The young woman nods, bowing her head politely when the pale man spares her a glance.

It was silent between her and the second butler for the entirety of their wait, almost ten minutes. The pinkette begins to feel lightheaded. She wasn't offered any food before being sent off by her family, and her body has always been weak due to the neglect and abuse she suffered all these years.

Just as she began worrying she'd have to ask the silent man nearby to show her somewhere to sit, the original butler reappeared.

He held out a thin black envelope. "Usotsuki will show you to your room."

'What is this? A letter? Where is the prince? Will he not come out to kill me now?'

The confusion must've been obvious because he curtly explained, "Lord Uchiha forbids you from visiting the third floor of the estate, where his quarters are located. Until further notice, you'll begin planning the wedding. That letter contains an official greeting."

The next thing Sakura knew, she was alone in a massive, dark bedroom. It took mere minutes to hang the three dresses she owned in the wardrobe. Inwardly, the woman was terrified the murderous prince would come to kill her in the middle of the night, but she was also wondering if maybe things would be better that way. If he did it while she was asleep, then at least she wouldn't have to suffer anymore.

Lighting a candle at the desk near the bed, Sakura sat in the large chair and opened the letter from her soon-to-be husband. Intricate, neat handwriting met her gaze. Tears welled in her eyes as she read it.

"Lady Haruno, thank you for agreeing to travel to my home without an escort. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated. As for our engagement, allow me to clearly explain my intentions. We will not be married. His Royal Highness has demanded I search for a fiance, which is why you've been summoned. However, I do not agree with his demands."

"While I am certain your stay here will be temporary, please inform any of the staff of your needs, and I will see to it that they are met. I ask for your patience as I devise a plan to return you to your family. Please allow me one month to remedy the situation. In the meantime, you will need to act as though our wedding is inevitable. I understand that I'm asking a lot, but it's for both of our sakes. I do not wish to be married, and you likely do not wish to be married to a man like me."

A signature at the bottom of the letter read "Sasuke Uchiha".

Sakura's heartbeat soared in a panic.

'No! No, this can't be happening!'

If she returned home in a month, unwed, her family would be enraged. With shaking hands, the woman fumbled through the desk for a pen and paper, quickly writing a response.

"My Lord, your honesty is appreciated in this stressful situation. Please allow me to return the gesture with unsullied words. While I'm sure you have personal reasons as to why you wish to remain a bachelor, I beg your reconsideration. For my own reasons, I cannot allow this marriage to fail. Let us be wed as His Highness requests. Use me as a defense against further such demands. Whether you discard of me or not, I am fine with whatever outcome so long as our families are fooled."

Sakura would rather be brutally murdered by this mysterious prince than return home. She was sent here to die, and if she didn't do that, the punishment would certainly have her begging for death.

Hesitantly, the woman opened the door to her room and tiptoed into the hallway until she saw two maids passing by, "Excuse me, but can you please deliver this to Lord Uchiha?"

The maids looked at her with wide eyes. One of them gingerly accepted the letter, "As you wish, Ma'am." The pair bowed politely before scampering off, whispering excitedly to one another.

Sakura watched them for a moment before returning to her room with a sigh.

That was the nicest any staff had ever treated her. She fully expected them to hit or at least yell at her. Her body trembled with fright as she climbed into the comfortable bed and curled into a ball. One way or another, her life would soon be over.

#naruto #naruto fanfiction #narutofanfic #narutofanfiction #sakura #naruto shippuden #sakura uchiha #haruno sakura #sasusaku fic #sasusaku fanfiction #uchiha sasuke #sasuke #sasusaku #sakura haruno

28 notes · View notes