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heartbreakgrill · 3 months ago

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Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 8; "My reputation's never been worse."

“This is so fucking stupid.”

I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket, eyes rolling at the sight of the boys, noise makers between their lips, some jank ass sign unraveling in the wind.

“Your mom’s fucking stupid,” Max fired back with his usual goofy smile, words muffled from the noise maker in his mouth. His knocked his fist against my elbow gently as he passed by, moving to help Cy hold up the poster board.

They’d bought it at a random Walgreens, after having forced the Uber driver to pull over, abruptly. Then, with bumpy hands and terrible penmanship, they wrote out some sarcastic for Sam about returning home from prison.

“Don’t be a sour puss, dude,” Adam replied. His brows were furrowed, chin dipping side to side in disagreement to my negative statement.

I looked to him, watching as he pulled a cone shaped hat down onto his hair, the rubber band snug against his chin. The meer humor of the too-small hat on his head made his words lose any meaning. I wanted to laugh, but instead I shot back, my brows skeptically, sarcasm quick as air, “Who? Me? No, never!”

Adam scoffed a laugh. His hat was finally adjusted now, hands falling to his sides exasperatedly. “Seriously. Just try to be nice, for once. Sam said Daisy’s, like, so sweet.” My skepticism only darkened my gaze, sarcasm sinking into genuine wonder, “So, what, we’re gonna be dancing around some child all summer?”

It was a valid question. When Sam asked us about Daisy joining the tour for the summer, everyone else just jumped on board. I, however, took a little convincing. What business did she even have here, 5,000 miles from home? It’s not like she had any professional connections to touch on, nor was London that interesting. Or, maybe I was just being a pessimist, again…

To say the least, I had trust issues. Or, in my therapist’s more light turn of phrase, I was cautious, careful to new people because I had a lot on the line with my career and had been through numerous situations with others that ended up with me, well…in therapy.

Max battled with the cardboard sign as the wind seemed to be winning the war. He struggled to get the words out as he scuffled to straighten its edges, which seemed to take more work than it needed to, “She’s literally only 5 years younger than you.”

“So, a child?”

“So, a 23 year old, grown woman. She’s really smart, Sam said. I’m sure you can have some fun conversations about the elements and shit.”

“Sam’s biased,” I murmured, focused now on the cigarette between my pointer and middle fingers. I dallied with lighting it, displaced energy in the act. It was early. I was tired.

“Sam’s one of your best mates,” Cy shot me a look. “Listen, just give her a chance. Stop moping just because you think some woman’s gonna take away from our guy time this summer.”

I straightened up, offense hitting my features like a stone wall, “When did I say that? I’m just worried we’re gonna have to cater to some child while we’re trying to literally do our jobs. She’s gonna be pursuing around like she’s in some Taylor Swift video while we’re going to be trying to earn our income. It’s just…weird.”

I’d never mention that fear to them- the fear I had of this trust. I think maybe if they all looked at me a little more closely, they’d see it. They’d see the fear in my eyes. But, I was really good at displacing my anxieties onto a separate, less pressing issue.

If I was ever terrified the sky was going to fall, then, suddenly, I was lashing out about the uncut grass in the front yard, randomly. Gotta love unhealthy coping mechanisms. Cy was still looking at me all judgmentally. I knew he wanted to lecture me further, but he simply reached over, patted my shoulder, and said, “Just…try not to be a dickhead, okay? Let the girl enjoy her summer.”

Max continued on, blabbering about something or the other. “I’m, like…Ollie, have you ever even seen a Taylor Swift video? I am pretty sure not a single fucking one takes place in Europe. They’re all super conceptual and abstract. Honestly, you might actually love some of ‘em. What’s that older one? With the trees and shit?”

“Out Of the Woods?” Adam was quick to fill in the blanks. I looked to him out of the corner of my vision, gaze narrowed. Of course he knew which one it was. He held his hands up, defensively, “What? My little cousin loves her.”

“Mhm,” I nodded, slow.

He trailed off, looking away, “And, maybe, you know, I do, too.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Max latched onto Adam’s help, continuing his rant about Taylor Swift, of all things. “Fuck! Out of the Woods! It reminds me a lot of the Fall for Me video! There’s, ya know, water…lots of running…self-deprecation. Fuck, a Sleep Token/Taylor Swift collab would go so hard!”

“Shit, could you imagine some real drums on one of her songs?” Cy perked up at the thought, fingers thrumming against the corner of the sign that he’d now laid his clutches on. “Sick!”

“Oh, God,” I rubbed my forehead, itching more and more to finally light up my cigarette, puff out a few smokey deep breaths. “I can feel the glitter and sparkles starting to fucking suffocate me! Can we please talk about something else?”

“Whatever, Ollie,” Adam flicked his hand towards me dismissively. He went to change the subject when his phone dinged from his pocket. He pulled it out, in one fluid motion, and read whatever text he’d gotten. “Shit! They just got their bags! Quick! Hold up the sign!”

Max shuffled around, all energetic, trying to make everything look perfect. He quickly tried to put a party hat on my head. I had to shove his entire body into Adam to stop him from getting the string down over my chin.

“Fuck off!” I cursed, brushing out the torso of my hoodie. He giggled, annoyingly, knowing he’d successfully gotten on my nerves. Again.

Max turned his attention away from me and to the two people who had just walked out of the airport, suitcases rolling behind them, backpacks looped around their shoulders. I noticed Sam, first, his head dipped down into his phone, curly blonde hair mopped up atop his head. He was dressed, head to toe, in all black. It was a welcome site, the fifth member of our posse back in our home country, our original stomping grounds, even if he wasn’t from here.

I let a smile overtake my features, excitement bubbling in my cheeks. It was actually really good to see him.

I wouldn’t have even paid any attention to the girl standing beside him if she didn’t stick out so much, like a sore thumb. Her bright pink sweater, gray sweatpants, the purples and greens swirled around her suitcase. Every single thing touching her was just…so colorful. Even the expression on her face, wide grin, cheery eyes- though they were circled by tireless bags- it was all so glaring.

I narrowed my eyes skeptically.

As Sam fumbled about on his phone, she stepped forward, excitedly taking an extra noise maker, my left over party hat, from Max. She barely got the hat on before Sam was looking up, our small crowd erupting into joyous ruckus that caused him to nearly drop his phone.

I don’t know why, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I watched her, carefully, as she went through the motions of greeting everyone. Adam was his shy, introverted self. Cy was charismatic, Max obnoxiously flirty.

And she was just…constant, through it all. Upbeat, grinning, encouraging to every single average word that my friends told her.

And then she was looking at me, offering her hand. My head shook slightly as if to unscramble my consciousness. I glanced between her hand, her own gaze, unsure of what to do or say. I had been too busy watching. I barely brought myself out of that entrapped stare before my name came fumbling out of my mouth.

“Oliver.”

She seemed a little put off, taken aback, after I blatantly ignored her outstretched hand. But, I didn’t want to shake it. I was afraid that, if I touched it, she might shock me, sting me, scorch me with that bleeding sunshine she seemed to have sticking to her skin.

Besides, I couldn’t trust her, right? Right.

I turned my head away, feeling somewhat ashamed for the way I brushed her off. There was a rejected twinkle in her eyes, one that I could not handle. Moving on from that interaction, or in an attempt to do so, I tilted my chin down, glazing my eyes to the concrete. I shrunk beneath the cover of my hood. I didn’t need to feel bad for anything. I didn’t even know her, nor did she know me.

As the others finished up with their exchange of greetings, the group itself began making its way back to the Uber, with Sam and Daisy now a part of the flow.

The car ride back was objectively short, though it felt longer than the time on Apple Maps said. I rode in the back with the guys, pressed up against the door due to the lack of space. My long knees jutted out awkwardly. The bone of my leg ached from knocking against the door with each bump in the road that the car hit.

I stared out of the window, hoping the painful time would pass quicker. The ugliness of London stared back at me. A small, curious part of me kept darting my eyes towards the front seat, where she sat. But I stilled my gaze on the city.

That was maybe part of the issue- I just didn't understand why Daisy was so interested in visiting this place anyways. It was boring, bland. I associated the cloudy gray skies and rainy summers with some of the worst times of my life. This city looked the way I felt for most of it, too. The people were shit, too. Rude, always in a rush, unforgiving and untrustworthy.

What adventure could one find in this wet, concrete maze of hell?

Bored, I moved my attention back to the interior of the car, still resisting that urge to look forward. Adam, Cy, Sam, and Max were a cacophony of lost conversation, catching up, rumbling laughter. I listened for a moment, intently awaiting her to throw in her two sense. She seemed like the type to talk somebody’s ear off. Perhaps I could read between her sentences, find out her motives, her intentions, find something to use against her, so I could easily hate her and put distance between us-

Oh.

She was sleeping.

Her body was slumped against the door, neck pillow twisted around to support her forehead from the glass of the window. She cradled her hands to her stomach, the blanket she had just up underneath her chest.

The curve of her face caught my eye the most, the simple stillness of the lines around her lips, the peaceful flutter that ruffled her lashes every so often. I wondered what she dreamt of- rainbows, sunshine, lollipops. I bet she was the type of person who would respond, "World peace," when asked what she would wish for if she had a genie.

God. I really was an asshole. Here was this stranger, this beautiful, seemingly kind stranger, trying to catch up on sleep after traveling nearly 20 hours…and here I was, creating an entire persona around the two facts I actually knew about her. Maybe I should give her a chance, like the guys said. Maybe I should let her in, even if it was barely past the surface, and try to be amicable.

Maybe she wouldn’t sell my name to the paparazzi. Maybe she wouldn’t leak photos of me online, or call news sites to gain traction on social media.

I nearly flinched as she shifted in her slumber, so lost in my thoughts that the disruption was a panic. Her lips parted, just so, as air deflated from her lungs. The hair that curled around her face ruffled from the gentle gust.

Though she looked like Sam, she really was beautiful. Sure, Sam was attractive, in his own way. But, uniquely, Daisy was…honestly, gorgeous, all doe-eyed, rose lips, freckled cheeks.

I kept staring at her, analyzing, accidentally memorizing.

As I felt myself sinking, into my seat, into myself, into this stare I had on her, I straightened up, shoved myself back in the door.

The poor girl wasn’t even awake.

And I was being far too open.

When we reached the hotel, everyone piled out of the Uber. I went to step out, myself, to begrudgingly helped with luggage. But after I cast a casual glance over my shoulder, I noticed Daisy was still asleep. As though she were his responsibility, I found Sam and went to vocalize the issue with him. But he was busy with their bags.

None of the others were really familiar enough with her to consider her.

No one but me, I guess, because I was reaching out my fingers, touching her shoulder, telling her, "We're here."

I swept myself away before she could wake up and look me in the eyes. - "Where's your sister?" Cy inquired, poking at his dish with the fork in his hold.

Sam shrugged as he continued shoveling french fries in his mouth. "Sleeping, I think. She was fucking exhausted. Could barely get herself to bed this morning.”

"Poor girl," Max pouted his bottom lip. "Has she ever traveled this far from home?"

"Nope."

"Damn. Good for her, then. It's hard to just leave everything behind, to leave your everyday life for this type of thing for this long," Max continued.

I listened intently, though I made it seem like I wasn't even conscious of the guys seated at the table with me. Where they thought I was mindlessly stirring my drink, I was reading between the lines of every vague fact Sam dropped about Daisy.

"Well," he held a hand before his mouth as he chewed, swallowed. He sat back as he began to unload more information about his sister, "No offense to her, but she doesn't have much of a life. She works, like, two-three jobs at any given time. She works at some clinic during the day, waits tables in the evening, then does some stuff on campus here and there."

"Shit. Hope she's taking care of herself," Adam commented, thoughtfully.

"She does. I think. I don't know. We don't really get much time together anymore. Ever since mom died...I don't know. It's been hard to stay connected."

"This summer's gonna be good, then, for you guys to get to see each other," Cy touched Sam’s wrist with his fist, encouraging our friend with his response.

"Yeah," Sam's eyes seemed a little distant then, like there were foggy memories, regrets clouding his consciousness, "Yeah, I hope so."

Max went to speak again when Sam's phone went off. He pulled it out, scrolling through the texts he'd received. "Speak of the devil."

Sure enough, Daisy came padding into the hotel bar. Her hair was damp, twisted up behind her head by some clip. Her features were more prominent this way, skin shining with the care she must have just put into it. As she approached us, her perfume breezed off her skin, off her stupid Taylor Swift hoodie, right past my nose.

It smelled so sweet that I had to look away, focus on something else.

Everyone else greeted her, asking about how she slept, how she felt. I was inattentive, attempting to make it seem like I hadn’t just been thrown off balance.

I needed to do something, say something to her, to be welcoming. To make it seem like I wasn’t such a dickhead, even though I pretty much was. So, I worked on some phrases in my head, hoping to catch her in a side conversation, so there wasn’t so much tension with the others listening in. But, she walked out of the bar as quickly as she'd come.

I found the air to be cooler without her occupying the space.

I shivered and turned my chin towards that freeze.

Later that evening, I found myself on the hotel roof.

It was one of my favorite spots, no matter which city we were passing through, which state I found myself to be stuck in. I could go up to the highest floor, even if it wasn’t too far off of the ground, tune out the stress that came with work, and relax into the peace and quiet.

It was one of the healthier coping mechanisms my therapist and I had been working on. I was an antisocial person, to say the least. And when I’d had to be around others for too long, working literal overtime to just function like a normal person, I’d become irritable, withdrawn.

So, stalking off in the late hours of the evening with a book in my hand and some lyrics in my head became a usual, practiced ritual that I was comforted by, especially on tours.

The breeze of London flew past my face, braising goosebumps on my neck. I tucked my chin into my hoodie more. There were these tiki lights, all around me and the intimate seating area I occupied, but the little bits of light did nothing to help me see the book in my hands.

I tucked it away after straining for a few moments and settled on just resonating with myself for a bit. I watched the flames of the fire pit before me, listened to it crackle and pop. I was so focused on the peacefulness, that I hadn’t even noticed the elevator ding, nor the person scuffling across the concrete of the roof.

In fact, I didn’t even notice her until she was sitting across from me, these little alcohol bottles in her hands. The movement of her sitting before me flitted my gaze up, edges of my vision blurred slightly from the intensity of the flames. My hearing focused after. There was music streaming from the speakers on her phone, some Taylor Swift song I didn't recognize. I withheld the urge to roll my eyes and studied her movements.

She read the label on the mini shot of Jack Daniels with squinted eyes. I'd never seen someone pay so much attention to a simple liquor Maybe she'd never drank it before. That would be a strange fact, considering she was 23. Every 23 year old I knew had gone through every liquor known to man. Then, she drank it and I realized why she was so observant. Her face turned up in this grimace, lips puckered, brows furrowed. She just couldn't handle her liquor. Her examination of the bottle was really just a hesitance to consume it in the first place.

I stifled a laugh and instead found my words, urged to tease her for this occurrence, "Gonna share?' Maybe I should have intruded her peace more gently, or maybe I should have said something sooner than I did. Either way, I had spooked her enough that she jumped.

Her once shocked grimace twisted into a deep frown, like she was annoyed I had disturbed her. "How long have you been sitting there?"

My grin widened, though it didn't seem like she found much humor in the situation. "Long enough to know you can't take a shot." I held out my hand, awaiting her to hand over one of the bottles. She didn't do that Instead, her face hardened a bit and she made another comment, “Sorry I’m not an alcoholic. If you want one, you have to come get it, by the way. I’m comfy now.”

I was taken back by her crudeness. Everyone said she was so kind, so sweet. I'd even overheard her niceties earlier, at the airport, at the bar. Had I done something?

Instead of setting the record straight, communicating, though, I became defensive to her jabs. As I reached for one of the bottles, I said, "Comfy with this trash music playing?"

Funnily enough, this made her face sink more, if at all possible. Her frown was deep as a river, and murky as one, too, "Real men listen to Taylor Swift."

I tried another joke, hoping it would salvage the wreckage we were feeding, "Hey, haven't you heard? I'm a vessel, not a man?"

I don't know if it did, but she at least continued speaking to me. "So, vessel, what are you doing up here? Can't sleep?"

I tossed my hand in her direction, speaking with my casual satire, "Obviously." I looked away from her, breathless. I was trying so hard, so incredibly hard to seem careless, chill. I didn’t know why I couldn’t just, actually, genuinely not give a fuck.

I reached for my cigarettes, too stressed out to handle a head that was some sober from nicotine. After a long drag, I felt that familiar buzz of a clear head, the temporary reduction of anxiety.

Cigarettes were always a killer ice breaker, helpful in even the toughest, most awkward conversations. So, when my eyes popped back open and met hers, I offered a hit.

If her face had been disgusted before, it was even more so now. "That's okay, thanks," she almost sneered.

I pursed my lips. Okay, I wasn't the only one killing this conversation. She acted like she was just too good for anything that I had to do with. Like if she were to take a drag from this cigarette, she'd be infected with my sickness.

I voiced the concern with my snide tone again. Her response nearly made me choke on my own spit, “More like my mom died of lung cancer because she smoked for thirty years.”

As quick as possible, I stomped the butt into the ground. "Sorry."

She hummed some sort of response, looking away so uncomfortably. I wanted to grovel, to beg for her forgiveness in the case of such a small moment of misunderstanding, but I settled on another painful jab at a nice conversation.

“I’d ask what you’re doing up, but I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep after the day you had.” She responded in that same dry tone, "Yeah, no."

Annoyed, I began to wonder where all this sweetness had gone. Earlier, with the guys, she had spoken like she'd known them for forever. Here, with me- she acted like I'd spit in her coffee this morning, like I was holding her at gun point just to have this conversation.

I gave up on trying to be overly considerate and shot straight to the point. I wanted answers anyways, and now I had a good reason to search for them, "What's your deal, Daisy?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" She responded.

I shrugged as I crossed my arms over my chest. What did she want it to mean? "Why are you here?" Instead of just answering the question, she countered me, echoing the question. Good fucking game, Daisy Hallett. Good fucking game.

I stretched my body out as I thought, unsure of how to answer. What was I here for? To do my job, obviously. So, I told her that. But, I should have known she would pry deeper. That were her job, after all, to observe, analyze, pry.

“That’s not what you’re here for,” She rejected my words, shaking her head just slightly, “That’s what everyone else is here for. What about you, Oliver?”

I started making music for myself, not anyone else. In the darkest, most terrible parts of my life, it had gotten me through to the other side with ease. It was my biggest coping skill, sitting at a clear number one on the list my therapist and I had outlined.

Getting paid for it, getting to tour and travel cities…that was all a plus. Touring, performing itself, were two things I was still trying to get used to. It was awesome to get to play my music life for others, to help them through to the other side, but it was sometimes…overwhelming, a hard pill to swallow.

So, I answered honestly this time, “To…worship. To celebrate my music, myself…life.”

She was impressed by this answer, pleased, and I could tell this by the stretch of her lips. That sweet, enticing smile did something to me.

As she held up the shot bottle in a gesture to cheers, I returned the smirk. We danced on the edge of some invisible line.

"To life."

I wanted to hear more of her voice, more of...her, more about her. So, I scrambled and said, "Wait, what about you?"

“There’s no deeper meaning to anything I do,” she waved me off.

I understood her more in this moment than I sometimes understood the people closest to me. She was like- she was insecure, she was scared. She was a little kid with monsters under her bed and in her closet.

So, I affirmed her existence with words that seemed so simple, yet would have meant so much for me to hear, too. “Oh, Daisy, there’s always deeper meaning to everything humans do. Think. What’s yours?”

This threw her off balance, yet somehow kept her from falling off the edge. It made the gears in her head turn, made her question her own thoughts. "I guess…I guess…to find that deeper meaning. To find what I’m looking for, maybe.”

She still didn't seem too sure, but I knew that, once this summer ended, once the leaves turned brown, and she returned back to a place called home, she would know it in her bones.

And I think, maybe, I might know it, too.

Sooner, rather than the later that I hoped for, we were in the elevator. Hours of breathless conversation sat, stale in the air on the roof, abandoned as the steel doors trapped us in silence.

The more she told me, the more terrified I was of her very existence. She was smarter than me, and very good at returning snide comments. Her wit was so profoundly intelligent, that I found myself silenced on more than one occasion.

Above all this- she was a disruption- she was chaos. She made me think differently, harder. She made me laugh.

I was drawn in by all of this, by her eyes, by the way the corners of her pink lips curled up into her cheeks. It took me a second to realize that she was staring back up at me, that our shoulders were turning to face one another, that my fingers were grazing the sleeve of her hoodie.

"You're very pretty, Daisy," the words fell out in a dangerous whisper. I loved the way she blushed, the way the tip of her nose scrunched, and she fell back onto her heels a bit.

I would have kissed her, I knew that for sure, had the elevator doors not opened up, had we not parted ways there, in the barren hallways. And I would have sought her out, would have reached for a simple phone number, another moment on the roof, another conversation about life and college and her favorite fucking color...

had I not made it back to my room and looked myself in the eye, through the smudged reflection of the bathroom mirror. The painful eye contact brought me back down to Earth, reminded me of the ugliness swirled up inside my chest, the bitter desire of my own self interest, selfishness.

I was...I was the chaos. I was the disruption. Here was this beautiful, interesting, smart girl...and here was me, this man-giant, who could barely hold a conversation without feeling like he was going to have a panic attack. Besides all that, her brother was my fucking best friend. I was his boss.

This was territory that I could not enter, not without a guilty conscience and someone's broken heart. So, I would proceed with caution, although it ended up making me seem like the worst person in the world.

I knew I could no longer keep up the act only a few weeks in, all thanks to Whitney Houston and this stupid pink fucking dress.

I watched her parade herself all night, guzzling drinks like they were air, batting her stupidly prim and perfect eyelashes my way. She knew exactly how to get me going- how to lock me in, most of all. And I was playing right into the fucking game, weak signs and Achilles heels all exposed from the second that she stepped out of that hotel room.

When I saw that knowing, vivacious smirk- I knew tonight would be different.

It wasn't until she was passed out, in my bed, with my hoodie on, that I realized I was falling for her. I had been able to subside the hunger that I felt, the hunger I felt to speak to her, to consume her with my eyes, my teeth, my hands, my body- God. It was easy to push all these thoughts away when she wasn't there- but then, she'd show up at breakfast or dinner or in my dreams and thoughts and desperations and I'd spiral again.

It didn't help that I was letting it get to me so much- and she was literally trained in analyzing behavior. I exposed my curiosities with even the slightest dip in my gaze or lift in my shoulders. There was a moment, during breakfast, when she told us of her plans for the evening of one our first shows- that she wasn't coming to.

Max had to go and make a stupid joke when I just barly glanced up from my plate, "Even Ollie's hurt!" I stopped coming to so many social gatherings, at least where she was concerned. And, then, I got all the space I needed when we took off on the buses.

Everyone flocked to her side, wanting even a second of her attention, while I kept to myself on the other bus. Because I thought the guys might leave me alone about it, I could almost reside in absolute peace.

But, then, Ronnie came knocking on my bunk.

It was early morning. We were stopped for gas, somewhere in Northern Italy. The bus was deadly silent, with nothing but my own quiet breath and the hum of the outside world to keep e company. Ronnie came in, bounding, like she always did. She slammed the bus door shut, jarring me from the focus I'd had on the game of Mario Kart pulled up on my Switch. Next thing I knew, she was ripping open the curtain to my bunk.

"Why the fuck are you rotting in here like a mummy? I'm close to wrapping you up in toilet paper and shoving you in with the suitcases!"

I rolled my eyes as she spoke and slouched my shoulders away. The hood of my sweatshirt dipped enough that she was no longer in my view. "Sam needs to stop gassing up your jokes. It's getting to your head."

"You're literally just jealous because your jokes are only ever mean and borderline tone-deaf," Ronnie grabbed the lip of my hood and tugged it down over my face.

I wriggled away from her, Switch dropping towards the inside of the bunk. I shoved her hands away. "Says you, Miss Jimmy Carr."

Ronnie's jaw jutted open a bit, "Now that's fucked, Ollie."

I went to jab back again, but she held up a hand, head tilted like she was a tired, annoyed mother of a band of men babies. "Stop while you're ahead, dude. Back to what I came in to harass you about- you need to come join us! We're playing Mario Kart with peaches- Daisy, sorry. You guys would get along sooo great. I know you're, like, weird about new people, but she's so fucking funny. Please, please just come over, hang out, be chill for once in your life."

Peaches. They had given her a nickname. Peaches, as if she weren't already sweet enough to sour the cuts on my skin.

I huffed and puffed at the rant as I pulled my hood down the back of my head. "First of all, I don't play Mario Kart-"

"I literally hear the music coming from your Switch," Ronnie pointed with a dead stare at the device, muffled humming rumbling from beneath my blanket.

I met her eye, absent any shame of my white lie. I took a breath and dove back into my rejection, "Second of all, why the hell do you guys give out the cringiest, most ridiculous nicknames? Like, peaches?What even is that?"

"It's called joy, magic, and fun, you grinch," Ronnie pinched my elbow. I flinched away from her touch again and she snickered. "If you don't like Daisy, just say so. I won't tell anybody. I'll just resent and judge you in silence- silent words, not punches."

What did she mean, that I didn't like Daisy? I knew I'd been passive towards her, but I never made it so obvious-

The expression on my face must have read confusion or shock because Ronnie popped a hip and crossed her arms.

"Listen," she added, "I know that she probably irks you. I get it. You're the bad boy, dark soul type and she's this ray of fucking sunshine and, yes, peaches. Just- give her a chance before you rain all over her parade."

"I literally never said I had a fucking problem with her. Why does everyone think I hate her guts when I've literally only ever had one conversation with her?" I frustratedly spoke, words rushed together. Ronnie stood back a second, reading the scrunch of my brows, the way I pushed myself up onto my elbows. Then, her offended frown morphed into something knowing, as though bits of information clicked in her head.

"Oh," she rhythmed, grinning now, "I see what's going on here. Hey, she's gorgeous.” "Oh, my God, here we go," I stood from my bunk, now, unwilling to just lay there and listen to her try to evaluate my behavior.

Ronne didn't follow me as I made my way to the back room, "Ollie...just remember who you are. And who she is."

And this sentence alone threw me for the biggest loop.

I didn't even know what she meant by that, but as well I knew Ronnie...it was definitely more than met the eye, deeper than any surface level warning anybody else could give. Not only did I know Ronnie well, but she could read me like a book. She knew what to say to make my skin crawl. Who I am...who Daisy is.

Analyzing the statement from top to bottom, general to specific, it was simple. She was my best friend’s brother. And I was his boss.

It meant more than that, though.

Ronnie meant that Daisy…Daisy was delicate. Daisy was meat, fresh off a shattered bone, and I was a hound.

I was always the hound. The Albatross, even. A winged creature always coming in to swipe shiny things off of stormy shores.

Ronnie didn’t want to harm me with the statement, but she sure as hell wanted to humble me. And that she did.

Each time I found myself aching to find Daisy’s gaze, I’d shrink back into myself. Remember my place. Remember who I was.

And, then…that damn Whitney Houston song. That damn pink dress.

Ronnie knew I was slipping, when I first spotted Daisy, in the doorway of her hotel room, long legs on display. I caught my lips beginning to party, drool beginning to pool in my teeth. This appreciative smirk came upon my face until I met Ronnie’s frown.

And I moved on.

I kept trying to move on, to fly away, leave the gold necklace on the beach for some other lucky, hopeless idiot to clean the sand off of, treasure for the rest of their sorry days.

I paid for her meal, as some sort of reparation for the damage I must’ve done all evening, being the hungry being I was while she toyed with the lock on my cage.

But, I just couldn’t . Especially not when she was running from the bar, sickness visible on her face. I could’ve left it where it was- Max was shuffling after her, ready to help, ready to hold her hair up.

Before I knew it, my feet were racing me out of the door, my hand was on Max’s shoulder, a kind smile was reassuring him that I could handle it, that he could go back to having fun.

My hands were in her hair, my neck was cradling the crown of her head, she was reaching for my wallet, letting us into the hotel room, laying down on my bed. I was giving her my hoodie, placing a bandage on her leg, caressing her fruity skin.

And then…just like that, as quickly as the rain began, like when you can see it in sheets, pounding into the Earth, just there, off in the distance…then it’s splattering on your windshield, the sound jarring you from your tired drive, the blur harming your vision of the road.

It was raining in my hotel room.

I didn’t have an umbrella.

I spent the entire night, laying there on the bed beside her, faced away, tensed up. Every breath she took stopped my heart. Every wrinkle from the white sheets made my eyes blink.

I was spending so much of my thought process trying to remember the taste of her fleeting lips on my own, pressing my fingers to them as though they were stained from her, as though I could close my eyes and taste them, again and again and again.

Then, in the morning, she returned my hoodie. There was this…look…this distant, worried look. Had she remembered? Had she remembered the words I said? Was this going to change anything? Everything? At breakfast, I ignored her persistent eyes, the gaze burning into my soul for answers. When she told us she couldn’t remember anything, I was little relieved.

If she didn’t remember, I could put distance between us, try to forget it myself- try to forget the way her fingers buried themselves into my hair. Try to forget the feel of her nose, pressed into my cheek, her chest, warm against my own.

While I was able to put physical distance between us this week, being that work kept us busy. But, the mental, emotional yards were harder to climb.

Once we made it through the airport, to Italy, I began my practice of celibacy, against the thoughts of her, against us.

I think part of me knew it wouldn’t last. I think part of me didn’t want it to. I think that’s why I was there- in the elevator, headed for the roof, in hopes that I might find her there. I didn’t even know if it was a place she frequented, but my intuition told me it was a good place to look.

And I was right.

I acted shocked when I first saw her, like it didn’t help my blood pump, seeing her, feet in the water, hair curling around her forehead.

She looked so…tense. Stressed. There was this permanent furrow in her brow. Did she really not remember…anything? At all?

Though it was a relief, I wanted to jog her memory (I wanted to kiss her).

I asked Daisy, barely glancing over at her in the seat beside me. From the corner of my eye, I watched her chew upon on her bottom lip, “Not really.”

Why did it feel like a lie?

She must’ve remembered something. Sure, she had been drinking, but…she was smarter than that. “Okay,” I choked, snatching another look at her.

I noticed Daisy turn her chin to return the gaze and I looked back at the city. I couldn’t look into her eyes, look at her face. I’d crumble.

“Is there something I should be remembering?”

It was timid, shy. But bold.

Bolder than I could bring myself to be right now.

Unable to find my own words, unable to form my own lie, I echoed her.

“Okay,” she copied.

The moment swelled in my mind. I wanted- needed her to remember. I wanted her to feel the ache in my bones at the thought of our lips pressed together. Wanted her to feel the longing Maybe then, she’d be the one to break, and I could blame it on her. Make her out to be the bad guy, going after me.

What a fucked up thing to think about.

Before I could catch myself, I blurted, “You don’t remember-“

At the same time, she went to push further on the topic.

I excused myself, motioned for her to continue. But, of course, she let me go instead.

“You don’t remember coming back to the hotel?”

I knew I was confusing her.

“Not really. you’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? Something important I should be remembering?” her knuckles, clasped together, were turning white.

I shrugged and pretended to be unaware, “I don’t think so.”

“Why did you tell me to come sit with you?”

She really knew how to make a guy question his own thought patterns. It would make her a really great therapist- but it just made me want to run.

To hide. To slip away from this disruption in my damaged peace.

I sighed, thoughtful, though still unsure, “I don’t know. Thought it would be nice. Like when we were in London-“

“Like when we were in London and you proceeded to pretend like we never did this? Like when we were in London and you kept interrupting me, so I couldn’t tell everyone we had been up on the roof together?”

So, she was pissed.

I knew she would be. She acted like she didn’t care, but I saw through the disguise. It reminded me of me.

I shrugged, putting on the same play, “Like that.”

I guess that was the comment that sent her off the edge, though. She was too guarded, too respectful of herself to take the bullshit I pushed. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

That wasn’t it for me. I needed to know what she knew. She obviously remembered more than she was letting on.

I slid into the elevator behind her, “Daisy-“

I swear to God, the rhythm of her breathing palpitated when I said her name-

“I need you to be honest with me. What do you remember?”

“Oh, cause you’re such a conscientious person yourself?”

I pulled at my hair, stressfully, “I really don’t think we’re on the same page right now, Daisy. Please, if we could just talk about this, if you could just tell me what you remember-“

Gears seemed to click in her brain. Something I said, the way I moved, the flash of the stars in her eyes, something had triggered a memory in her head. Something suddenly made sense.

I tried to help, though I was probably just being an asshole. “I want to figure this out, okay?”

I wanted to figure her out.

Whatever clicked was- it fucked things up.

“Oliver,” she frowned, “I can’t play this game with you.”

Game?

What game?

I was only ever playing defense- keeping to myself, keeping her away from my heart, trying to maintain distance. She had kissed me- I was the one to turn her away.

My shoulders fell, “What game? Daisy…I’m confused!”

“So am I, Oliver!”

Fuck. The way she said my name-

“I’m- you’re fucking with my head!”

Like she wasn’t fucking with mine?!

I went back to my original question, hoping to continue digging there, instead of worrying about this new hole she was unburying, “What do you remember?”

“It doesn’t matter, Oliver! I just don’t want to do this with you. Max is right. I should listen to him.” What the fuck did Max say? Why was he involving himself in this? How did he even know about- us- when we didn’t even- what?

What was happening?

“I’m not doing this with you.”

The doors opened, and she was leaving me. In her dust. In the swell of her words.

I retreated back to my room, throat tight, chest contracting for any gulp breath I could get. I fell back against the door like there were bullet holes bleeding out of my chest. I wanted to just...be honest. To be honest with her. Tell her what I really thought, what really happened, how I felt about her.

It wasn't the boundaries holding me back now. All my senses of morality and respect for our situation were dead. It was me. I was the iceberg. I was the gun.

I found my way to the bed, lay there like an empty casket. Dead, hollow, shards of wood. Why was I so afraid of her?

Maybe she'd be good for me...better than the last relationship I had, that much I could already tell. But, maybe she didn't want me for that.

Maybe she wanted to scalp me for my money, for my fame, dish out the gossip to the tabloids. Maybe she wanted to love me.

Maybe I deserved something good. Maybe I deserved to take a risk on something. Maybe I needed to. I was outside her door, before I was really conscious to my own movements, knocking, waiting. For barely a second.

She was opening the door, standing there in this barren light like an angel.

"Daisy."

I was kissing her.

Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, whatever cruel fate she may prophesize or goodness she may expose to my paled skin- I didn't care.

Because she was kissing me.

I hadn’t been with someone for over a year.

That was what was so jarring about the entire situation.

It made me cautious, held me back. I’d been on a dating ban since I switched to my new therapist, who wanted me to focus on myself more than I always did on another person.

And for a while, it was going well.

Until Daisy disrupted that.

I knew, for as long as she was alive, breathing my air, I just could never be alone.

Usually, when I dated someone, when I was with them…I still felt that loneliness because I would give so much. And that person never returned it.

Daisy did, by a tenfold. She was…present. She so easily showed up, made time for me, chased me down when I went into those bouts of self isolation.

It was difficult to let her in…to let her join me in the dark.

But she made it feel less lonely. She made me feel…whole.

I started going to breakfast more often, started including myself in the group activities. Not only did she make me feel less alone, but she made me feel like I needed human connection.

“It’s warm, isn’t it?”

I scoffed at my therapist’s words, so simple for something so complex. “Warm. It’s hot. I feel like I’m on fire.”

“Good. Burn,” she responded. “You’re in the light now, Oliver. How do you feel about it?”

“Wow, what a question,” I teased.

Dr. Grime sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement was delayed, due to the time zone different, the laggy wifi in the hotel room. “Seriously, Oliver. Is it…do you feel like you want to snuff it out?”

“Of course I do,” I shuffled on my bed, “you know me. Something good comes and I feel like I don’t deserve it. But…I think it might be okay if I hang around in this for a while.”

“I think so, too,” she smiled. “I like how your language has changed, too. You’d tell me, ‘I don’t deserve this.” Now you say, you feel like you don’t deserve it. You’re recognizing rational thoughts from emotional ones. That’s very important. I’m proud of you.”

I offered a strained smile in response, uncomfortable with her praise. It was appreciated, though, and gave me body a sense of accomplishment.

Maybe I was getting better.

“So, this Daisy,” she leaned forward, more intrigued with the personal aspect of my love life, like some maternal figure.

I chuckled, shaking my head approvingly, “Daisy.”

“Do you…love her?” Dr. Grime poked.

I blushed, deeply, but quickly shoved the thought away, “Oh, no. No way. I…I barely know her. That’s- that’s crazy. Definitely not. No.”

My phone dinged in rhythm with the end of my sentence. It was her.

Daisy: soon as sam goes to bed, i can be over

My eyes lingered on the text, more concerned with this situation now than the accusatory, knowing tone of my therapist’s words.

“Mm,” she paused, “no, of course. So, is this just…a casual summer fling for you? A way to get over everything this, figure out what it is you want out of a relationship? It’s important to have something like this, a stable ground to work up off of for the future, considering you don’t have a great idea as to what love should be like.”

“Maybe,” I shrugged, toying with my phone. I stared at the message, reading and rereading the message again and again.

What…was this.

What was this to me?

What was this…to her?

We’d established some boundaries, mostly that I couldn’t really commit to anything to serious. And she said that had been okay.

Was I still okay with that?

Was that still what I wanted?

I was so obviously falling in love with her, but I would never tell anybody that.

Especially not her.

But it didn’t matter if I loved her- did I want her that way? Did I want this to last past the summer?

I did.

And that’s what scared me the most.

Loving her beyond the swept up dream we were caught in, back home, domestically. Loving her casually, routinely, in the kitchen back in my apartment, through school, sharing plants and bath towels.

I wanted that.

I wanted her…her ends and odds.

I lied, “No. I don’t want that right now. Got tour going on, new album soon. You know. Busy.”

Long after therapy ended, I stared at the message. The sun had set, the day had died…and I just couldn’t think of anything to say.

I think if I were to be around her right now, I might blurt out some passionate, mindless thing that I couldn’t bring us back from.

I needed to do…what I always did. Be alone. Ruminate in my thoughts in the darkness of a foreign hotel room in a strange city. All alone.

This felt…easier. Comfortable. What I was good at.

Yeah…this was easier.

The next day, I couldn’t stay from her any longer.

I needed her and she was needed that, too- however we could get each other.

So I pushed aside the feelings I had for her- put up all my walls and boundaries, and took her into my arms-

We would have this summer, even if it killed us.

–

"Hiya, Ollie, dear!"

My mother's voice was a sweet symphonic sound to my tired ears. We were in near opposite time zones, hundreds of miles apart, and I missed her more than anything. Touring usually took everything out of me and she was the one, separate, stable person I could turn to.

We'd only called once or twice the past few months due to my obsessed perversions with a certain best friend's sibling who had been taking up all of my time- not that I was complaining about who.

It was only recently that my mom and I had established such good rapport. Since I was young, she'd struggled to wrap her head around my career choices. Now that I was fully devoted to the act, and quite successful, she pushed aside her disagreement with it and chose to just keep supporting me.

Though I couldn't always answer, her calls were welcome.

"Hi, mum," I sat up in the hotel bed, my back sighing in gratitude at the change in posiiton. i had been rotting in here for a few hours, a little bored since Daisy was out with her friend. I could've went and hung with the guys, but I honestly needed some time to myself. That time was starting to really feel like loneliness, though. I guess before I met Daisy, they were empty hours full of empty feelings. Now, I was waking up to the reality of my existence. I'd made it so dull.

"Are you in Paris yet? Or are you still travelling?"

"We made it a few days ago," I replied. “Show’s tomorrow."

"Oh, I love Paris," she remarked. I could hear her lovely grin through the tone of her words. "I remember when we went there on a school holiday. My favorite part was the Eiffel Tower. It's so big. Now, I hear that it sparkles. You'll have to take a photo for me."

"Sure, mum."

"Have you gotten out much or are you holing up in your hotel room?"

Sheepishly, I scratched my neck. My response was delayed a bit; we both knew the answer. “Uh...I’m getting out there. Ya know, hanging out.”

“Ugh, Ollie,” I could nearly hear the roll of her eyes through the phone. “You know need a lady friend. Someone to drag you out of your bed. I mean, how many times do you get to see Paris. And get paid for it!”

At the mention of a ‘lady friend,’ I blushed. I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her about Daisy, and damn did I want to. Though we weren’t even officially together. I didn’t know how to explain that to my mom, so maybe I’d just shy away from the topic, talk about something else.

But I guess my lapse of silent thinking made her think that there already was a lady friend.

“Oh?” she questioned with a cheerful lace to her tone. I didn’t say anything, my brain was unable to come up with anything in response. Acting defensive always made people think the opposite of what I said. Should I just tell her? Get it out of the way? Let her lecture me about my poor choices.

“Well, I won’t badger you. When you're ready,” she was already responding.

I was surprised that she was going to leave it there, to say the least, which only furthered my sentence. She usually pushed until I gave her some semblance of the truth. As she was getting older, I’d realized she gotten more relaxed and didn’t push as much as she used to. I think it was partially due to the guilt she felt for everything between us growing up.

So, I just went to move the subject along when she jumped back on it, “Just- please don’t tell me it’s that Fiona girl. I’m so sorry if it is. I just can’t sit around and watch you be treated so poorly by someone so...so awful. Again. Her personality is just- wow. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. I went to school with her mum, and she was awful towards me. Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree-”

I had to stop her while she was ahead. I guess some things never really, truly changed. "Mum, please! I’m not seeing Fiona again, I promise. I’m not...”

I wasn’t offended that she thought I was. It was just...more or so shocking. Shocking that she thought I’d put myself back in that. I had, a handful of times before. But...I was different now.

I guess she hadn't been around me these past few months, but I had truly changed. This past May’s Oliver very well could’ve let Fiona waltz back into his life. But July’s Oliver? He would’ve been hesitant.

And, even more so- Daisy’s Oliver...Daisy’s Oliver was a changing man. Daisy’s Oliver was a better man.

And I wanted to tell my mum that, I decided. She needed to know- it would ease her mind, along with my own. I know she was always worried for me. So, I told her-

“No, I’m seeing someone else. Her name...her name’s Daisy,” that felt good to admit, to put into the Universe, that I was seeing her, and she was seeing me, even if there were no labels attached.

“Daisy?” she perked up at the name. “That’s a pretty name. What’s she look like? You got any pictures you can text me?”

I realized quickly that I didn’t. In the near two months that we had been sleeping together, consuming one another’s souls, we hadn’t taken a single picture. It was probably for the best, just in case they somehow fell into the wrong hands. But- there were so many moments I could’ve- should’ve- captured. Moments of Daisy, hair whipping past her face on the roof, the lights of Italy glowing behind her like she had angelic wings. Daisy, in my hotel room, in the early morning before she had to sneak away. Tired eyes and an even more exhausted smile as she laughed at something stupid, I’d done in my sleep.

I wanted one. I wanted a picture of her, a picture of us, whatever I could get.

For now, all I had was my memories to help me describe her to my mum. It was easy to do so, considering she was etched into the very nerves in my mind.

“No, I don’t,” I breathed out, “but she’s beautiful. She’s got this-this- God, I can’t even describe her to you. Her hair’s darker, like yours. She’s got these brown eyes. Shorter than me, of course. You can always tell it’s her, though, just by the way she carries herself. She’s got this energy. You’d just have to see it to believe it.”

“She sounds amazing, Ollie,” she sighed distantly then giggled, “Well, if she’s so pretty, where are the pictures? I need to see her! Need to see what this talk is all about.”

I chuckled in response, “I know, I know. I suck.”

“It’s alright. I’m sure it’s difficult, with you on tour and her...what does she do, exactly? Where is she from? Would I know her?”

Here came the long winded, shameful explanation of everything between Daisy and me. The feelings that weren’t feelings, the girl who wasn’t mine, the upset sea tumultuous between us. Her brother. Sam.

I tried my best, “Well, she’s working towards her counseling license. So, she goes back to school in the fall. But right now, she’s on tour with us. Her brother works- um...Sam’s her brother. She just wanted to do some traveling before getting tied down for the next few years.”

“Sam? Sam Hatlett? She's his little sister?” There was a bit of shock in her tone now like I imagined there would be. Sam was like a brother to me, and mum knew that. In fact, she loved Sam. She always had.

When she first met him, she’d pulled him under her wing like a mother bird, like she could just feel that he needed her. So, to imagine that I might go after his little sister is rightfully shocking. It was close to home.

“I know, I know. Again, I suck,” I laughed, though I felt so tense. Rubbing my neck didn’t ease the tension in my skin.

“You don't suck, darling. It’s just a precarious situation, I’m sure. How does Sam feel about it all? Was he weird when you first started dating Daisy?”

When I first began to tell my mum about Daisy, I doubted whether or not I wanted to be completely honest. But I easily fell into the comfortability of her warm conversation and realized I could not bend the truth. Not only did she deserve to know it, but she needed to. I knew, too, that she wasn’t going to judge me, tell me I was making a bad decision. It took three times with Fiona for her to begin voicing her opinion.

Above all, I didn't need to jump through any hoops to win her approval. I didn’t have to play a role, fill a part. I was me. And she loved that man.

I realized, subconsciously, that this was how I felt about Daisy, too. Comfortable. Easy.

Loved.

I explained things to my mom, carefully, making sure she knew of the endless boundaries Daisy always ensured we had and the sweet, delicate moments that made everything worth it. I nearly fell into myself, swept up in the reminiscent beauty of it all. God, I missed her, even if it had been only two days since I’d seen her. Her friend Sasha was in town and took up all her time.

I didn’t know what I was expecting my mom to say, so I held my breath after I finished saying, “But, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s just a summer thing or what. We’re both kinda in weird positions, so we’re not too worried about that, I guess. We’re just...having fun, ya know?”

As the insecurity rose up my throat and choked me out, I sighed out the rest of the air I had in me and added, “We’re not, like, in love or anything.”

I hadn’t expected her to laugh, that’s for sure.

But she laughed. My mum giggled, like things were well and truly hilarious, like I had just told her a joke. I waited there in silence, waiting for her to make fun of me for being so stupid as to let this situation occur. Laugh at me for being terrible at love and life. There goes Oliver again, breaking hearts, getting his heart broken. He can’t even be in a stable relationship! Laugh, laugh, laugh.

She said, “You are crazy, Ollie,” but it wasn’t meant in a harsh manner.

It wasn’t condescending, it wasn’t mean. She wasn’t making fun of me. She was...she was laughing because it was funny.

“You are usually so good at going after things. I mean, look at you with your music, darling. I said no, how many times? I insisted you do something, anything else. I never supported you financially. I never...I never supported you. I was the odds you were testing yourself against and looking at you now! I mean,” her voice cracked. A sniffle followed. My muscles eased from the discomfort I felt into something that wanted to reach for her through the phone, hug her.

“I know your father and I didn’t give you the best example for love. I know we weren’t some movie star-couple that everyone always knew would last forever. We fought. We weren’t there for you when we should have been. Your father left you. And then I held all these stupid expectations up to you, to try to make you better. And you! You’re successful!”

“And I give you all the credit for that. You are...my pride and joy, Ollie. My life. I am so proud of you, darling. But it breaks my heart, still, that you have not been able to find happiness. That you must spend so much time repairing what I broke. We cannot blame everybody else- you can...you can blame me, Ollie. I know I am to blame. And that is okay.”

“So, forgive me for laughing, forgive me for calling you crazy and stupid and wild, darling, but- it's right in front of your face, Ollie! She’s right there in front of you. Daisy. Darling, if you’re still questioning what love is, what it’s supposed to feel like...please let me knock some sense into you! You are wasting so much precious time on believing that it can only leave. It doesn’t have to stay for long for it to be important. If she leaves at the end of the summer, you will regret not telling her.”

I didn’t have to ask her what she meant; what she knew I’d regret not saying. I knew it, I knew it as well as I knew Daisy’s face, even more clear in my memory now.

“You can beat around the bush some more if you’d like, or you can carry on with this facade you’re so deeply transfixed by. Darling, I know it’s hard to let the chaos subside, to let the goodness in, but as I am getting older, I am realizing that it is bright. It is...comfortable. It is good. You deserve to have a lifetime of that. Don’t waste any more time, Ollie. Please tell her, please let her tell you. Please just...hold what you have.”

I had borne a hole into the wall, but snapped out of my still position when I felt a tear roll down the side of my nose. “H-how? How do I tell her?”

“However you need to,” she chuckled lightly. “Although, here’s a hint, Ollie: you are in the City of Love. Take advantage.”

I knew our call was ending and didn’t know when we’d get to speak again. So, like she had told, I took advantage of the moment and I held what I had; “Mum, just so you know,” my voice came out as a whisper, a gentle patter of rain on the roof.

“Yes, Ollie?” she whispered, too, like there was a gentle card deck stacked between us. I think maybe there was- I think there was always some sort of tension lingering from the harsh moments we’d beat into each other; the fighting, the leaving, the crying. I don’t think she ever felt like I’d forgiven her, as if I really needed to. She had been growing up, too, after all.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I know, baby,” I felt relieved that there was a smile in her tone, “now, go. You have some more dreams to chase down. And, Ollie?” “Yeah?”

“Get some pictures for me.”

I was lucky that, the next day, everyone was busy with their own plans on opposite sides of the city. So Daisy and I were able to spend some time together, outside of this drywall prison. I was a pretty good listener, too, and remembered all the spots Daisy had gushed about seeing in the little time we’d had together these past few weeks. I was being given the perfect setup to do what I needed to do: we were going to be alone, in the most romantic city on planet Earth. I could finally tell her how I felt.

Of course, so much of me shook with anxiety. What if- she didn’t feel the same way? She didn’t want to risk it? She didn’t want to commit to someone this close to school? Let alone someone who lived across the world from her? These weren't my only fears. There were so many revolving around my career that I could’ve drowned beneath their weight.

Yet, each time I looked at her, I was anchored to her shoes. I couldn’t drift out to sea. I was grounded. Though my fears about how she would react sank, it took another amount of effort to get the words out.

I could’ve done it right away, gotten it out there, cleared the air, so we could enjoy each other even more. That would’ve been the best way: I would've gotten answers, started the day out on the right foot. But, when we got out onto the streets, I was swept up in the busy buzz of the crowds. It was loud in the cafe we grabbed breakfast at, loud on the sidewalks, overly crowded by the river. We finally found a place to sit, breakfast sandwiches and drinks in hand. Though there were still throngs of people all around us. So what good was the City of Love when it was full of ignorant tourists?

The anxiety of what I wanted to do was making me feel grumpy. I shut down a little bit, unable to really engage in much conversation, let alone tell her how I felt. I think it just looked like exhaustion to Daisy, so she didn’t really notice. I did- I was hyperaware of every short sentence, every avoided gaze. All of these people are going to be standing here when I tell her. They’re going to watch her reject me and they’re going to know. They're going to know I’m not good enough. She’s going to walk away from me, leave me stranded in the park, alone with my own rejection and denial. I’m not good enough I’m not good enough.

I thought about what my therapist would tell me, ways to snap myself out of this maladaptive pattern of behavior. My brain lies, she always said. It makes things up, creates false realities based off things others have said to me, or moments of true insecurity rooted in no sense of truth.

Daisy would want me, even if I wasn’t good enough. That was the one assurance I could tell myself to shake off the weary thoughts.

And if she didn’t- well, I don’t think thinking about that was going to help me very much. So, when we got back into the hustle and bustle, shopping around the city, visiting the sights, I opened myself back up.

I didn't know if I’d ever find the confidence. I was on the precipice again, after lunch, when I began spewing cheesy pet names as a sublimation for the words I needed to say. It shocked her at first, hearing such sweet things coming from me. And that stung a little. Was I that monstrous towards her that simple affections made her brows shoot up? Was I that bad? I repeated them once, twice, just so she really knew I meant it.

The day went on and on and I cowered in on myself even more. There were plenty more ample moments, but I just kept letting the clock tick down. I knew we were running out of precious time. If I didn’t tell her now, we would go straight back to secret moments in a hotel room, balancing on a tightrope, pretending like the moment the leaves changed color, we wouldn't be losing each other. I just knew Daisy wanted that about as much as I did.

Just when I was giving up hope, I found my moment, finally. Just after we had stopped to view the Eiffel Tower, some street side scam artist grabbed some pictures of us and was trying to convince me to spend $200 on the copies. At first, I brushed it off, until I caught a small peak at the images on his camera. Before he could spout another line, I was giving him $100. He gave me three photos.

Where my words may fail, these pictures couldn’t. You wouldn’t have to know Daisy and I personally to well and truly and see how infatuated we were with each other. I wasn’t even worried anymore that she wouldn’t want me. I was worried she wouldn’t want the risk, the jump, the caution of a fall.

These would be to convince her to leap. These had to be.

I stopped us outside the hotel, knowing if once we stepped inside, our memories might as well be cleared of the day's events. We would be going back to normalcy, to the real world. Our friends would be waiting there, we would allow the gap between us to grow. I would swallow my words and choke on them.

“I love you,” I pictured myself saying. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you, I love you in London, you in Paris, you at home. I love you from the hotel rooms we’ve indented to the streets we’ve wandered. I love you in the plane, on the bus, in every inch of this world.”

But it just wouldn’t come out.

I tried to encourage myself by thinking of who I was just a year ago. By thinking of how I was a year ago, the person I was dating, the situation I was caught up in. Fiona, the endless hours of fighting, of begging. Crying, screaming, the blood sport we played. Hunter and prey, me the victim and yet the one wielding the sword. I thought of Daisy when I first met her. The scent of her in my nostrils, like a clue that I was to hunt for as long as I could run. Of her in my teeth, when I first caught up to her incessant running. The satisfaction I felt, how disgusting that was. How horrible it was that I loved the taste of her blood on my lips.

And how much better I could breathe knowing that I had let go, that I had put my claws away and instead threaded a needle to stitch her skin close. How beautful that was- the beast retracting, the mask falling away. A true creature coming to light, renewed and willing.

Tears welled in my eyes. The words were there, finally, waiting just atop my tongue. She was leaning closer, clutching my hand, clutching those photos like a rosary, like she would sacrifice herself for me. I would, too. I would I would I would I would.

I think I hesitated a moment too soon, or I think she could tell what was happening. I think tha- that, I think that she was running again.

I think she wanted me to chase her or to stop, or she was placing traps in the woods, waiting for the wolf with a bow in arrow.

Because she was pulling away. And our friends were calling our names.

I didn’t have time to think, wrapped up in the swell of the arrival of our friends.

But I felt the death of the moment. It was heavy. It was rotten.

Later, I sat alone in my dressing room before the show, the photo I had kept between my fingers. I swear I could hear her breath, echoing from inside the paper frame of us. Swear I could feel her hands on my arms, grasping as though the wind would take us away from each other. Her lips on my cold ones, warm and fueling like a kindled fire.

I wondered if she threw the photos away. If she stared at them, with resentment. If she wanted to burn them.

Yet, I could��ve lived and died in that moment if I had to. If I was never able to tell her how I really felt about her, I’d be content to waste away, hanging on her lips like a vine, rotting from indecision and cowardice.

Eventually, Sam poked his head in to let me know it was time to go on. I flinched when he first spoke. It drew me back to reality in harsh, cold lighting. I drew the photo from my face, met his eye, and nodded.

I was lucky he didn’t ask any questions about my reserved response, though I knew he was aware that I was getting into character as this vessel. Part of me wished he had asked, though, if only to have someone to share the darkness with again, if even for just a second. And maybe outing Daisy and I to Sam would force me to tell her everything. Force some sort of decision to fall from the loitering hammer that hung above us.

Sam left. I set the photo down on the counter, not even thinking straight enough to put it away somewhere. Then, I hung the mask on my face, edges of my eyes darkened, just like my mind.

Part of me wished I didn’t even have to perform tonight. Every time I put on this disguise, I was reminded of those dark parts of me, the parts of me that were too much like this creature the costume made into. When I’d first come up with the character, I felt so strongly that I was just like Vessel- nothing but a pit of black, music transporting through me like some god had planted it there. I hadn’t been aware of my very real feelings. I just sat there, in that emptiness.

Things were different now.

Maybe I just needed a break from it all, from the costumes and the concerts and Daisy. Well, not Daisy. Not her. Just...everything involving her.

But never her. I just wanted her always, everywhere.

I didn’t get to have that, though, the break nor Daisy.

In fact, all I got was a slap in the face. When I went on stage, I spotted Daisy in the audience. For a split second, there was a lift in my heart, a fire in my bones. She was here. She hadn’t pulled away- she wanted me. She wanted me.

Then, as the lights flickered, I noticed the look of guilt on her face and the hand around her waist, She was here...with someone else.

I felt myself retracting, cocooning, not for growth, not for birth into something good, something with fluttering wings...but into that moth. Into that darkness.

Into that vessel.

In my fury, I laid claim to Daisy in all the wrong ways. I held her by the throat and let her dangle from my lips, reminded her how desparate she was for me, reminded her just how much she relied on my game. It had never been and never would be our game. I was the villain. I was the hunter.

She was my prey.

I was losing hope for my own reconciliation, for my own change. Maybe I would just always be detached, dark, monstrous. Maybe I would never be able to commit, to give in, to be someone’s something.

Maybe I was just this vessel, and maybe this vessel was just me.

Maybe I was never good enough for Daisy, but just enough to satisfy her furious need for that bad. And that was enough for me.

Things got worse when Fiona started blowing up my phone.

I wasn’t sure how she had gotten my number. I had changed it back in March, when I’d ended- really ended- things with her. And, with my career, it wasn’t like I’d just handed my number out to any person on the street. I had, maybe, ten contacts on my phone.

Daisy was one of the few I responded to.

But, somehow, someway, Fiona had gotten hold of my number and began blowing my phone up with messages. I blocked her the minute I noticed, after a show when I had time to get on my phone. Then, a few days later, she started messaging from a different number.

They were innocent claims- she kept saying I had left things at her flat and needed to come pick them up. But I knew her better than that. She was trying to use this to weasel back into my head, my heart. She’d convince me to come pick everything up and then, when I was there, she’d start crying. Start saying how much she loved and needed me. She’d convince her into her bed, and we’d start spiraling down into that same old waltz we both knew too well.

After I blocked this contact, I guess she evolved. She started using an unknown number, so I couldn’t even block the contact. I called my manager immediately and told him I needed to get a new phone number. Apparently, all the stores around us were closed for a few days, which just so happened to be my fucking luck. But he promised to get something for as soon as possible.

In the meantime, I just had to ignore her.

So, I booked a last-minute therapy appointment.

I glossed over everything with my doctor, telling myself that things with Daisy were hopeless. She obviously thought me to be disposable. I mean, I had watched how quickly she’d pulled away, how quickly she found another empty face in the crowd.

I didn’t want to admit that shameful situation to my doctor. I didn’t want her to know I’d let myself fall again.

Instead, we talked about Fiona, about the temptress knocking on my door. My doctor kept reminding me to, “Stay strong. Know your worth.”

Easy words for someone in a healthy, happy marriage.

All it would take was one more wrong look from Daisy and one wrong text from Fiona, and I’d end up back off the cliff.

So, I clung to the guys. Daisy had been...not so distant but detached. Cautious. She was taking the lead, so I followed. We still hung out, still fucked like we had been doing. Still had these meaningful, deep conversations that made me wonder, over and over, what the fuck was going through her head. But honestly, I now spent some of that extra time with Max, Cy, Adam, or Sam. We were due to begin working on the next album and I had plenty of ideas floating around in my head.

It was peaceful, quaint. Something I’d missed. Maybe I wouldn’t be ready to start dating again if something like this caused me so much stress.

Adam was texting me now, wondering if I wanted to hang out sometime this morning, talk about the album. I told him I’d let him know what time, considering Daisy was in my bed. And Fiona was blowing my phone up like fucking crazy.

The whole situation threw me off. She wasn’t really concerned about it, but made numerous, passive jokes about me having a secret girlfriend. I don’t know if it was because she really, truly wanted me to be exclusive to her, or if it was just something to do with her pride.

Signals were still mixed, even after we’d had a conversation about how committed we were to each other. Part of me wondered if it had just been an act, her agreement to never see anybody else, her admittance that she was, “mine.” If it had just been something brewed from the heat of the moment. But, when I answered the phone, set it back on the nightstand, I swear to God I saw something in her eyes shift, like she had been bothered at the thought of me with someone else.

Or it would be shitty in general if I was seeing someone else.

I weighed telling her, every single, how I felt about her. I don’t know that if I told her I loved her it would change anything. I had all but done so, and she still was unmoving. She still had gone and found that faceless nobody in the crowd.

Today, I felt like maybe I should. Tell her.

As soon as she had left, someone knocked on my door. I didn’t think it was Daisy, considering Sam would be waking up soon and she needed to get back into bed. When I looked through the peephole, Adam was there, staring over his shoulder sort of strangely.

“Hey, dude,” I started as I opened the door, then turned to make my way over to the bed where my book bag was. I reached in for my notebook, continuing, “so, I’ve got a few good ideas rattling around-” probably a few too many about Daisy, “that I wanna show ya.”

He slowly entered the room, shutting the door softly behind him, “Yeah, uh...” he approached me sort of hesitantly, distant confusion in his pupils, “I think we...should talk about something first.” He didn’t seem too sure of himself and the words he was saying were cautious. So, my tone slowed, hardened “What-what’s up?”

He finally met my eye and I felt like a sword had been shoved down my throat, “I just talked to Daisy...out in the hallway.”

I set my book bag down, hands having been frozen around the straps like someone cursed me into the stoic, icy position. All I could think to say was, “Oh.”

Adam nodded half-heartedly, “Yeah. Oh. I... don’t know what to say, really. I knew you guys had been...like, it was obvious. To me and I think Max, at least. Sam is kinda clueless and, he and Ronnie are totally sleeping with each other.”

Well, that was obvious. So obvious that I could have snorted, but I was too focused on the wild realization that everyone basically knew. All of that sneaking around, trying to be secretive- well, it didn’t fucking matter. And it didn’t seem like it really mattered that much.

“Are you gonna, like, scold me or something?’ I sat on the edge of my bed, running a wary hand through my hair.

“No, I’m gonna tell you that you’re fucking stupid.”

“What?” I looked up from the ground, shock widening my eyes.

Adam finally softened his expression and chortled, though it was short before he was in on me again, “You’re stupid, Ollie. I don’t think you’re doing it on purpose. I think you’re just...Fiona fucked you up. And I’ve watched you slowly start to heal over these past few months. Daisy has everything to do with that. And...she fucking loves you, dude. She thinks the world of you. And you’ve both, I guess, been dancing this dance with each other, walking around the whole thing. I just told her, like- stop thinking less of yourselves. You both deserve something good. You’re both worthy of each other. So, stop being fucking stupid and just tell her.”

My face was hot. I clenched my hands together, knuckles turning white as all these rampant, loose feelings released in my chest, in my head. “She doesn’t love me.” Adam chuckled again, “That’s a bold fucking statement. She just told me herself how much she adores me.”

“Well, yeah, she likes me, that’s obvious,” I waved him off, ��she wouldn’t be sleeping with me if she didn’t. But...I think I’ve made it clear so many times how much I want her. And she, just, doesn’t care. Or she turns away.”

“She’s scared!” Adam exclaimed, making me flinch just slightly. “Sorry,” he spoke quieter, like he had shocked himself with his tone of voice. “She’s scared, Ollie. She’s...she doesn’t know who she is. That’s why she came here. That’s why she pulls away, why she seems unsure.”

“Well, I know that,” I scoffed, “I know her better than anyone. You haven’t seen the way she...how she denies it. I know she denies it. She denies us- me.”

“Okay, tell me,” Adam nearly popped a hip at this, a sassy tone overtaking his authoritative one. “Tell me how she denies, what she says and does that makes you think she doesn’t want you. Tell me that she doesn’t love you.”

I thought, long and hard. I could've mentioned the very recent time when she had been dancing with another guy, at our concert, a prowling look in her eyes. Or, of the time when I was on the brink of telling her how I felt, then she pulled away. Or-

Wait.

Am I fucking stupid?

I’m so fucking stupid. I am the dumbest, stupidest idiotic idiot to have ever existed.

It was all right there, clearing up now like I was wearing new glasses. I had a new perspective- I had an unbiased, outsider’s view of the world I had been suffocating in. And Adam’s view was- a breath of fresh air.

I was so obviously the one turning away from her.

From the beginning, I’d been denying her, us, for fear that she wouldn’t want me that way. For fear that someone would find out, for fear that I might die if she ever looked away from me. And I’ve been covering it up with the excuse that I was broken, or hurting, or-or...worthless.

I knew differently. I’d known it differently for a while now but had been unable to act upon this rationality. I was too emotional, too, in my head. And that made me seem manipulative, and asshole-ish, and- fucking stupid.

Adam watched me carefully, watched me as I processed these past few months. My eyes were narrowed, confused, though they widened as the information unfolded in my mind, as the notches clicked together.

“You’re…right.”

Instead of worrying myself with the evidence that she, too, was afraid, I felt my head flood with memories, as tangent on my skin as the cool air of my hotel room. Memories of her devotion, her promise, her love. Memories of us in the stale morning, sharing stories of her mother and that little apartment back in America. Memories of us on the roof, atop the world, atop the feeling, a private sanctuary where even just the flash of her eyes should have told me everything that I needed to know. I was going to tell her I felt the same. I was going to pull her up to the roof, one of our most sacred secrets, and pour everything out onto the barren concrete between us. And I knew she would say that she loved me, too.

It was delicate and I would have to handle it as such. Any sudden movement, and we’d be falling apart, all over again.

But, then Max was bombarding my hotel room, spewing some nonsense about Daisy and Ronnie getting tattoos. He was dragging us to Sam’s hotel room. I was practicing the lines in my head, over and over, a prayer.

Daisy was looking at me with these doe-innocent eyes, like she, too, was praying to some old god. Altering herself for a breath that he may resurrect what was dying between us even now.

I found more words, new words- lyrics, pummeling my skull in wondrous discovery. It was right there- everything was- My phone wouldn’t fucking stop ringing and I thought that I might explode into atoms. I ignored the call, watching as Daisy’s face fell each and every time that it did. She well and truly thought that I was seeing someone else.

Enough was enough.

I took a step towards her, fully intent on putting a rest to the strangeness and awakening what was already there. But, then my phone rang again.

And Sam began making some joke about Fiona calling me, a knowing, devious smirk on his features. He didn’t know- how could he know? I couldn’t be upset with him, but I wanted to strangle him into the carpet.

But I couldn’t focus on that anger for too long-

Because Daisy was leaving like we both always left, one too many times, in one too many silent glares of this something that we just may never get right.

The delicate threads of us bent and snapped.

#sleep token #sleep token x reader #sleep token smut #vessel x reader #sleep token x you #vessel x you #vessel sleep token #sleep token fanfic #sleep token band #sleep token iii

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blueparadis · 2 years ago

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Shinji + edging you all day, denying you of your release until you beg him to cum inside of you. Gets carried away he went into breeding mode.

I miss you my sweet blue Paradis 😘 chuu~~

HUNGER ; SHINJI HIRAKO !

+. CWs —» f!switch!reader(s!her pronouns), $mut, edging, unprotected $ex, b*33ding k!nk, pleasure!dom!shinji, p0rn with little plot, aftercare, light undertones of angst, mention of aizen souske; word count — 1k

+. NOTES —» my debut post or a rather first thirst post for BLEACH. If you side-eye me after reading, then it's okay. I deserve that;-; || you can browse my tag index here.

Hirako places his member over her lower belly, smearing the tip with her arousal, and then, weighs his cock again aligning with her vagina murmuring, “What’re ya whining about?” He pushes the tip a little into her saying, “Aren’t you satisfied with this? You still want more?”, he speaks as if he does not know what he has been doing all this time. He speaks as if he does not wish to fuck you in all positions that a man could as if he is and will be able to keep all of it at bay.

He notices a sharp intake of breath as he pushes his cock inside her, seeing her squirm and squeeze her eyes shut. It’s amusing, really that after eating her pussy for so long, fingering her until she begged him to stop, she is still able to hold it back, that is not to cum without his permission, to keep it at bay. It is not just fucking anymore. At this point, both are eager to see how far they can push each other.

The corner of her lips curves in delight when Shinji begins to rub his length. “What’re ya so happy about?” and she had to bite her inner lip not to burst into laughter, to not let him realize how fucking needy he looked right now: skin glistening with sweat, eyes glinting with impatience and lips puffy from all the sloppy kisses he shared with her while fingering her.

“Play with your boobs.”, Shinji instructs as he watches her struggle underneath him, grabbing the bed sheets in tight knuckles, body arching in pleasure with ragged moans and all of it just not to moan loudly; just not to let anyone know that instead doing paperwork Shinji is fucking you in the dead of night. Not just anyone, just to keep it from his roommate, Aizen Souske.

She is well aware that this is only of his tricks to delay the process to have her helpless and under his control a little longer before he finally snaps yet she obeys. Shinji smirks watching her play with her boobs, pinching the nipples, biting her lower lip, and being unable to lock eyes with him. What a pretty little thing!

And, all he is doing is pushing his cock back and forth into her soaking pussy. It’s not even halfway in yet he relishes the feeling of complete control over her. And why would he not? When one of her hands occasionally keeps flying back to her pussy, to rub it rashly, paying no heed to his warning just to get a release.

The way her modesty keeps peeling off, slowly, like a budding flower is really tempting to watch. What a beautiful thing to witness! It is turning him on. She tries to sit upright to get more than half of his cock but is instantly pushed back upon the futon, any incoming defenses shut down by Hirako’s desperate kiss. It’s overwhelming. It’s unexpecting of him.

But Y/N gives in to his advances since she finally earned what she so badly craved. Shinji’s hands move from her inner thighs to her hands, long calloused fingers wrapping around her wrists firmly. Shinji’s lips move along her neckline to her collar bones and he ceases when he feels her hips thrusting against his; swift and sly, he would say but he is not surprised.

“Do— you feel —good?”, she asked out of nowhere in shaky breaths. Shinji’s eyes stilling in surprise yet his grips were still firm over her. “Had your fill … hirako?” and that is when he notices her sleepy exhaustive eyes.

“Think so.”, he says softly with a teeth-flashing grin.

Shinji hovers above her, adjusting the stack of pillows underneath her waist so that he does not accidentally sprain her while fucking, clasping her inner thighs cautiously before he begins to thrust his hips against hers. He is close, too close and it must have been all the teasing he did before. He did not take into consideration that it might have an effect on himself.

“I’m —”, and she swallows hard, body twitching tremendously as he hits her g-spot.

“Close?”, he picks up the pace, “I know you’re.”, ignoring the fact that the skin slapping against one another is getting louder, loud enough to wake Souske up.

Her hand desperately clutches onto his arms, nails digging as worry seeps into her heart. What if. . .what if Souske wakes up? Shinji’s grip grows stronger, tummy twitching, mouth open ajar panting and rushing. He has to pull out, pull out before he finishes in her.

Shinji’s hands approach his throbbing member as he tries to pull out.“What’re you—doing? Just —cum in —me.”, Y/N manages to mutter loud enough for Shinji to hear. But it takes a while for him to register it, her words that weigh more than she realizes. His arms curl around her waist as he jocks down, his chin grazing her cleavage as he says, “As you wish.”

He thrusts his hips with strong strokes, pacing up, hitting the perfect spot with perfect force until he empties his balls in her, pace decelerating body sluggish and exhausted; head rested on her cleavage as their breathing regularises.

Shinji moves away from her body. Silence engulfs the room for five minutes or so. His long hair strands, all in disarray as he tilts his head towards Y/N to get a glimpse of her face but all he could get was the view of her back. He pulls the cover over her naked body, to cover her yet no response. He notices the small rise and fall of her waist. ‘she fell asleep.’ he ponders as he walks up to the washroom as if he was not the reason for her exhaustion.

When he comes back, his eyes jump from the stack of papers and then onto her who is peacefully sleeping, still half-clad. He smiles as he heard her feeble snores, almost like soft purrs.

He clusters his hair and tied it in a bun like Y/N does like he noticed her doing all those times when she paid a visit in the middle of night to help him with his work and that too with her barrette.

He grabs a few papers and sits beside her on a separate futon. Before he focuses his energy to work he grazes the back of his fingers on her back. She arches and pulls the blanket over herself under the influence. His eyes land on the papers; he sees it now; he chose wrong. He should have taken you as his lieutenant and not Souske.

— @shoyoist ; @nymphoheretic ; @rozentias

+ @tokyometronetwork

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residentthot · 3 months ago

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Would you write Sugar Daddy headcanons for Chris?💕

I sure would 🥴

Chris Redfield as your sugar daddy:

SFW

You always worked hard to maintain your lifestyle and be financially independent, while also being conscious about avoiding debt and mindless spending. Sometimes it stretched you thin, but you were happy and confident.

One of the benefits of Chris’s job was that they paid for his travel, per diem when out on missions, and his car. This was all on top of a handsome salary. Chris spent most of his time on missions, so never had the time to spend the money he would make.

Shortly after you two started dating, Chris told you that he didn’t want you to work anymore. You protested, wanting to earn your own income and not rely on a man for money, but he was able to finally convince you by giving you an allowance of your current salary (he was planning on giving you much more, but you didn’t need to know that right then…).

It took you a while to get used to not working. What were you supposed to do while Chris was gone on missions? And then you got your first assignment in the form of a text one morning- ‘My credit card is on the kitchen counter. Buy yourself the nicest dress you can find and some matching heels.’ You smirked. Chris loved it when you dressed up for him, but you only had two nice dresses that were actually starting to show some wear and tear from the years of wearing them. The unease at the idea of spending Chris’s money on luxury items like that started to fade away as he kept giving you little assignments like that.

You noticed that it would drive Chris extra crazy when he would get back home and you would show off your new things. Putting on a little fashion show for him, letting him smell the expensive perfume on your neck, showing him what color you had your nails done… he always responded like he was feral and that was his way of marking you- making you his.

He always tried to spoil you more, but you always kept your senses and never let materialistic obsessions take over. It made him love you that much more. He loved your practicality, and it made it even more special when you would let him shower you in gifts or take a fancy trip.

~NSFW under the cut~

Chris had this idea that he would Pavlov train you to enjoy spending his money. Every time he would instruct you to buy a new silk dress, or strappy stiletto heels, he would call you good girl and give you lots of praises. He knew exactly how to push your buttons.

‘You pick out such pretty things, you sweet girl. You deserve it all,’ He would whisper to you as he slowly removed your new lacy lingerie. He would kiss you softly all over, singing praises and worshipping your body as he unwrapped you like a present.

‘So good for Daddy…’ he would mumble right before delivering long and soft licks directly to your core. He knew that the name made you sopping wet, and he would only pull it out when you were a good girl and accepted one of his gifts without protesting. He would eat you out for -hours- if he could, but you never managed to last that long. Every time, without fail, as you came all over his beard he would suck up all your juices and in the blissful afterglow he would assure you that ‘Daddy will always take care of you’.

#asks #anon #chris redfield smut #chris redfield nsft #female reader #resi hornythots

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sukunasweetheart · 2 years ago

Text

Where the Petals Cascade - Chapter One

Synopsis & Masterlist

Tags; slowburn, eventual smut, eventual romance, contract marriage, lots of sexual tension, manipulative & womaniser sukuna, potential angst, mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of gambling, lots of flirting, fake relationship trope.

Word count; 12k

01. Chapter One.

Malevolent Casino - a brand easily recognised by the public. The rising popularity of this casino company is no secret to the world. And the way they’re topping the casino industry only adds to the wealth held by the man that possesses this establishment that’s tainted with the misery of others. Gambling– everyone loves to shun the topic of it out in the open, but when times are tough and a good rush of adrenaline is needed, guess where people drift towards?

Sukuna put out the light on his cigar as he gazed upon his company’s revenue from last year, printed out on the document he held up in his hand. The incredibly significant numbers put a smile to his face. Earning money off of the pathetic men and women that have crippling addictions - all of them being regulars at his facilities - there is no better source of income for a person like Sukuna than this.

But still…he felt as though he was always missing something.

Though the amount of money being raked in was quite remarkable, there was a lack of exponential growth seen in the company’s annual revenue in the past few years. In some, there had even been a slightly concerning and noticeable decrease.

It had taken Sukuna a little bit of pondering to realise what it was that his company lacked - a good public image. Perhaps it was due to how his business emerged from the darker part of society; a flawless reputation had been something that was the least of Sukuna’s concerns back when he’d began making his way to the top.

He definitely wasn’t about to let his business flicker out like a dying flame in a decade or so. A plan was to be devised.

…And thus, this finalised plan of his brings him to this small, yet refined bar in a more remote and quiet part of the city.

Sitting at the bar counter alone, you bask yourself in the slow music that echoes around, taking the final sip from your almost-empty glass. There are very few customers around in your vicinity, and perhaps only a little bit of muted chattering can be heard in the distance from where you remain.

Just as you’re about to ask the bartender for another, he brings you a drink that you have no memory of ordering.

“The gentleman over there requested this for you,” he voices, noticing your expression of inquiry. You turn to see a man wearing an expensive looking crimson suit, giving you a small smile from across the room. Ominous looking tattoos adorn his face, but they compliment his pink, gelled up hair quite well. You politely smile back at him, and turn to the front again.

Judging from its colour and scent, you can guess what kind of drink it is. You can’t really say that it’s your favourite.

A few minutes after, footsteps resound from behind - and a deep, velvety voice calls out to you.

You look up and meet the man’s eyes.

“Not a fan of whiskey?” he asks, smoothly taking the empty seat beside you.

“Unfortunately not,” you respond, swirling the glass cup’s contents around mindlessly with your hand.

“Apologies for that. What kind of drink do you prefer?”

“...A dry martini would be nice,” you tell him, reflecting his flawless falsified smile.

The pink haired man gives a little nod to the bartender, and he is soon on his way to mix up another drink for you.

“And I’ll help myself with this one, in your stead.”

He reaches out for the glass in your hand, and as he closes the distance between his and your body, the scent of his cologne seems to disperse into the air around you. You watch his fingertips graze your hand ever so slightly, while he takes the whiskey away.

“Would you believe me if I said I’d fallen in love at first sight?” he responds with a humorous undertone.

“You’re quite the fine gentleman. What business would you have with a lady like me tonight?”

Sukuna lets out a boyish chuckle - the only genuine reaction you’ll be getting out of him today.

It was your turn to let out a small laugh.

He faces you with a smirk, and you notice the way he taps his finger against the surface of the counter.

“Certainly not. You don’t seem like the type,” you tell him.

“Oh? And why is that?” He takes a sip from the glass of whiskey.

“You don’t strike me as a very sentimental man.”

“I wouldn’t say that you’re entirely incorrect. But I’m not as emotionless as you may think.”

You meet his eyes once again. It’s incredibly difficult to tell when this man is lying.

“Is that so,” you say, giving him a look of intrigue.

Moments later, your martini finally arrives, which you’re quite happy to see.

“I don’t believe so. The Golden Rose Enterprise has been a vastly successful business, ever since you took over.”

“Malevolent Casino, is it? The name of your company,” you ask as you take the drink into your hand.

“An honour that you know of it. Especially from someone of your calibre,” Sukuna says, unsurprised that you’d caught onto him.

“You flatter me.”

You force out a courteous smile.

“I’ll assume that we’re skipping over the self introductions,” he continues speaking.

“Feel free to contact me when you’re ready. I’ll be happy to take you out for dinner.”

“It’s true that I approached you with an offer in mind that you may find interesting,” Sukuna informs, eyeing your reactions carefully.

“Apologies, but I don’t usually tend to talk about business when I’m around alcohol.”

“That’s fine by me,” he says, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit. What he pulls out is a business card.

He then finishes up the remaining whiskey in his glass in one go and stands up to pay for the both of you. Before he excuses himself however, he comes over to you one last time.

“Business is business, but…”

Sukuna leans down closer to you, his face being inches away from yours.

“I’m not fuckin’ around when I say that I’m interested in you too. I don’t just buy drinks for anybody,” he tells you in a low voice. The sudden tonal shift from being overly formal to the crude language is indeed something you weren’t expecting. An unexplainable shock runs down your spine. Seeing your widened eyes grant him satisfaction, and he smirks as he gazes down at you while still hovering close to your face for a few more seconds.

He moves back away, and puts his hands into his pockets.

“It would be nice to get to know you better. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again,” Sukuna tells you, as he begins to walk away.

“Have a good evening.”

You’re left alone with the drink that he’s bought for you, and the black business card that still holds the scent of his cologne. You chuckle cynically at yourself, looking at the number that's printed on it.

The man sure knows how to linger in someone’s thoughts.

Meanwhile, outside of the bar, Sukuna hums as he walks over to his car. Easy. A bit too easy.

He’s casted out the bait - now all he shall do is wait for you to bite onto it.

A little over a week has passed since then - and frustratingly enough, he has heard nothing from you as of yet. He spins the pen in his hand at his desk, while he rests his chin against his other palm lazily. He’s certain that he had indeed grabbed your attention that night. What could be the reason for this radio silence? Are you shy? Overly cautious? Too busy?

That last possible reason ticks him off a bit. You’re not the only one running a successful business here. You think he’s not busy?

His thoughts are interrupted when a knock comes at his door.

“Come in,” he states firmly, not moving from his current position. Uraume, his secretary, enters the room shortly after. They walk up closer to where his desk is, and stops to stand a few metres away.

“What is it?” he asks them, continuing to fiddle with that pen in his hand.

“I’ve received a report saying there’s been a bit of a dispute between an employee and a regular customer, sir. The customer is giving threats to sue the company, and the employee sustained an injury from an object that was thrown at him. I thought it’d be best if you knew about it.”

“Is he a VIP customer?” Sukuna asks immediately.

“No, sir.”

“Then he’s nothing to worry about. If he takes it to court like an idiot, send one of our lawyers to the case. He’s injured one of the staff - he’s unlikely to win.”

“Yes sir.”

He stops fidgeting with the pen.

“How’d they end up dealing with him?”

“He was escorted outside by the security guards - by force.”

“By force, huh…”

That’s right…

If you won’t look his way, he can just force you to.

“Uraume. You wouldn’t mind if I went on a little break, would you?”

This is your favourite part of the day.

Sitting down at your large desk, signing off a few papers quietly whilst the steam rises from the piping hot cup of tea that rests close to you. Right after finalising these few documents, you’ll get to sip on it and take a little break from your work…Or so you thought. Three sharp knocks resound from the door.

“Yes? Please come in,” you call out.

The person that emerges from the entrance is Nanami, your most competent secretary.

“It seems there’s a significant guest visiting the hotel today, ma’am. The manager requests your presence in greeting this person,” he informs you.

“Significant guest? I don’t recall there being any VIP bookings today,” you respond, standing up from your seat and walking over towards him.

“He booked in moments prior, and also applied for the VIP membership today. Paid on the spot.”

“...Impressive,” you relent, already having an educated guess on who this person may be.

The two of you make your way down to the hotel lobby, where you’re faced with a few slightly panic-stricken employees of yours, all of them making way for you to approach this new “significant guest” of yours.

Sukuna smiles triumphantly as you make your appearance, being blatant about his pride in his presence that requires a personal greeting from the CEO herself.

“Good afternoon, sir. To what do I owe this pleasure?” you say, standing before him.

“There’s no need to be so formal. I just thought it’d be nice to spend my day off somewhere… extravagant.”

He scans his surroundings, pretending to be interested in the interior decoration and furnishing of the lobby.

“I see. Then allow me to accompany you to your VIP suite,” you tell him with a polite smile. Nanami receives the key for Sukuna’s room while you dismiss the employees that are gathered around the front desk - getting them on their way to greet the other guests coming in.

“Nanami - you can head back up and finish your paperwork for the day,” you instruct the man as you take the key from his hand, “I can guide him by myself.”

“Yes ma’am.” He makes a short bow and excuses himself first.

You turn to look at Sukuna, who seems to be pleased with your decision to send everybody else away.

“Well then. Shall we be on our way?”

“Certainly.”

He follows you close behind all the way to a private elevator that is separate from the ones taken by regular guests.

The elevator arrives with a ding, and both of you step inside of it once the doors slide open.

“From my understanding…you’re not here simply for a nice hotel experience, are you?” you ask Sukuna, who is watching the floor numbers on the monitor go down as the two of you wait for its arrival.

“Such keen observation, as usual. You are correct.”

Bullshit, Sukuna thinks.

“I assume then, it’s got something to do with my lack of response to your proposal that other day.”

“So you’re aware. I thought you’d forgotten all about me, with the way I was left waiting.”

“I do apologise. The week has been rather busy for me, but I promise to come by soon enough.”

“Very well,” he replies, turning to you with a pretentious smile.

“In the meantime, it would be nice if I could show you around - especially since you came all the way here,” you suggest to him. “Please let me treat you to some lunch.”

“I look forward to it.”

Upon entering the suite, you make a quick tour of the room for him, ignoring the couple of underhanded compliments he gave every now and then regarding the interior design. A very particular person, he is. Though a large majority of it was done out of spite; he was, truthfully, quite impressed by the quality. There was no luggage that he’d brought with him today, considering how he was only spending one night here, so the room tour ended pretty quickly and you were soon bringing him along to the restaurant, down the building.

As the name of your company suggests - the colour gold seems to linger around at every turn they take, being draped over a lot of the furnishing and architecture. He can’t shake off the feeling that it might be a little excessive. After passing through the hallways, the two of you finally get to the hotel’s dining room. A waiter comes around and formally introduces themselves, before handing over two menu lists after leading you to an appropriate table for two.

“What would you like to eat? We have quite a broad list of options that you can choose from.”

He skims over the various dishes listed on the laminated sheet before making a quick decision on the Filet Mignon, with tomato soup and a bread roll as the appetiser. You decide to have the same thing.

“You seem pretty excited,” you comment, gazing over at him with an amused look on your face.

“Of course. Eating is one of the greatest pleasures of life,” he states with confidence, eyeing the perfectly polished cutlery on the table, “don’t you agree?”

“Undoubtedly. Which is why we only hire the best chefs for our hotel dining.”

“I’m not too difficult to satisfy when it comes to food, so you don’t need to get too nervous,” he tells you. This evokes a genuine chuckle out of you. He really likes eating – is a mental note that you make in your head quietly.

Sukuna eats in a very satisfying way-- he eats tidily, but is not shy to clean everything off the plate. You can’t help but appreciate his table manners. You pour a glass of the tropical fruit juice for him. When questioned ‘Why not wine instead?’ - he’d replied with ‘It’s too bright outside for alcohol,’ which came off as a surprise to you.

What he notices from you, is the way you seem to be closely analysing him. For what purpose? A few ideas do come to mind. But he can tell you’re not doing it with malicious intent. He accepts the juice that you offer him.

“Do you have a lover, Mr. Ryomen?” you ask him, out of the blue. It even takes him aback, a little bit.

“...Would it please you if I said no?” Sukuna shoots back, having his interest piqued from your sudden query.

“It most certainly would,” you say with a small smile. He can’t really read into what you’re trying to do here.

Outwardly, there is little change in his demeanour. Continuing to cut up his meal, he watches as the blood oozes out from the pink and tender meat inside– something that he most appreciates, when it comes to having his steak rare.

“Would it be alright for me to visit you at your room tonight?” you say.

Your abrupt assertiveness is nothing less than…puzzling. But it wouldn’t really hurt to play along with you for now.

“A rather…sudden initiative, on your part. Can I ask why?”

“There’s no need to read too deep into it. I’ve been meticulously planning something for a while now,” you put your cutlery down onto the table, “and I think you might find it appealing.”

It’s not often that Sukuna gets curious about something, or someone.

“I’m happy to listen to your proposal as well, of course. I’m confident it will fit well into mine.”

Sukuna takes his last bite of the steak and also puts his knife and fork down.

“Quite a bold claim to make, considering how I haven’t told you what I want yet…” he wipes his lips down with a serviette and neatly folds it up. “...But sure. I’m eager to hear what you have in mind.”

He just hopes it won’t be a waste of his time.

The two of you continue to make aimless small talk as dessert comes around, before you have to eventually excuse yourself to continue your office duties.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Ryomen. I’ll come by at around 8pm, tonight,” you tell him, standing up from your seat and making a quick glance at your wristwatch.

“Right. I’ll see you then,” he replies, and proceeds to watch as you walk off, each elegant step followed by another.

Sukuna knows - it won’t be easy work manipulating you, from the looks of it. He plans to start off small; offer to work in collaboration with you, only to slowly start making his way further into your prized possession– Golden Rose Enterprise– like a poison that spreads through the veins. Whether it’s through seizing your love and affection, or grasping tightly onto a weakness of yours - he’ll let you decide on that.

For now, all he needs to do is find a way to kill the time before 8pm arrives. Perhaps he should call for an in-room massage later?

By the time you reach your office once again, your pitiful cup of tea has gone terribly cold. You get someone to dispose of it for you.

Ryomen Sukuna… the man seems to be plotting something. You knew from the very moment he reached out, that he was up to no good. Him and his company are both quite infamous - just as your hotels are known for their flawless reputation and transparency, Sukuna’s business is known for their questionable public image. Though there hasn’t been any real trouble that’s arisen as of yet, the rumours that they’re roped into aren’t pleasant at all.

And not to mention the CEO himself…

Eccentric, temperamental, yet also intelligent and charismatic; this is what your research on him tells you so far. A long history of scandals involving various female celebrities, the man has lived through quite a dramatic love life if what the articles say are true.

But, well, you’re not that particularly worried. You finish signing off the remaining papers at your desk.

You’ll put him on a leash, before he puts one onto you. You print off a copy of your well put together, finalised contract, and slide it into an A4 envelope, sealing it shut. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

At ten minutes to eight, you’re ready to head into his room, where you shall reveal your cards to him.

Meanwhile- Sukuna, in his VIP suite- has just finished up his shower and makes an effort to dry his hair with a towel taken from the hanger. He then hums as he feels up the material on the pitch black bathrobe he finds on the sink counter, neatly folded and ready for use. After donning the robe, he emerges from the bathroom at good timing as he hears someone at the door.

It hardly seems surprising to you, when he opens up shamelessly wearing the hotel’s bathrobe that presents his collar bones in a lascivious way, still looking a little moist from his shower. You ignore all of that, and look up at him, who smirks down at you, in all his arrogance.

“Good to see you. Come on in,” he tells you with nonchalance, stepping off to the side to make way for you.

“It’s good to see you making yourself comfortable. How do you like this room?” you ask, sitting down on one of the sofa seats at the coffee table.

The two of you exchange polite smiles. He notices the envelope in your hands.

“Nothing less than what I’d expected, from a five star hotel,” Sukuna says as he takes the seat on the other side of the table.

“That’s great news.”

“Well then. I’ll get straight to the point,” you begin.

“Why don’t we get married, Sukuna?”

You call him by his name, for the first time. And additionally, you see his expression of surprise for the first time as well.

“...What?”

You give him a look that makes it obvious that you were expecting this kind of response.

Sukuna seems to still be processing the idea, hanging his head as he leans back against the sofa seat.

“...I understand that reaction. But I’m not saying this as a joke,” you tell him, holding back a chuckle from seeing his dumbfounded response.

“Have you ever heard of what a marriage of convenience is?” you ask.

“And? On what grounds are you asking someone you met a week ago to marry you? Even if it is out of convenience,” he questions, his real personality beginning to show itself to you.

“You’re like the last puzzle piece for my final picture. There’s a lot that I’d like to gain from you and I’m sure there’s a lot you want from me – isn’t that why you approached me at the bar?”

Sukuna regains his composure and narrows his eyes at you.

“Putting aside your needs for now…how can you be so sure about my demands? Enlighten me.”

“I did have a couple of guesses on what they could’ve been. A company that’s already at the peak of the casino industry. What exactly could you be missing?” you speak confidently.

“And my answer ended up being…reputation. Your numbers are consistent, but they’re not accumulating as much as you’d like them to, are they? Perhaps due to a lack of new members at your casinos. The ones that are already hooked may continue to spend money, but a flawed public image is preventing you from gaining new customers. Even a small shortcoming like that is enough to cause problems in the future.”

Sukuna has a fascinated grin that he covers with the palm of his hand. You’re… interesting.

“Which is presumably why you’d want to work with a company that is known for having a perfect reputation. I’m sure partnering up with me would improve it, albeit a little, just by association.”

“You have me backed into a corner,” Sukuna lies, running a hand through his hair at a languid pace.

“But that still doesn’t explain why we should have to get married does it?” he voices carefully.

"We recently finished remodelling our hotel wedding venues. I want to promote it in a more flamboyant manner. What better way than to get married myself?"

An unlikely couple such as yourself and Sukuna would gain a lot of attention; especially from how he’s already well known by the public. You’ll create the grand facade that he’d ‘changed for the better’.

"You’re able to go as far as marriage for the sake of your business?" Sukuna asks with a raised eyebrow.

You look at him straight in the eyes, mouth set in a straight line, and arms crossed.

"Yes, I am."

Witnessing your sincere determination, Sukuna goes from slightly doubting your plans, to acknowledging that you have ambition worth recognising. You’re not very sane at all.

“Alright. Let’s say that’s fair enough. What else would you want from me beyond that?”

A glint shows up in your eyes, as if you’d been waiting for this question this whole time.

“...As the CEO of a casino company, you’d have a long list of top secret VIP customers.”

Sukuna immediately understands where this is heading towards.

“That I do.”

“Our hotels have been doing perfectly fine with our usual guests, but there’s been a bit of a decline with attaining new VIP members recently. My main goal is to snatch up a few from your list using, hopefully, a bit of your influence.”

He crosses his arms and falls silent for a few moments.

“Objectively speaking, having our companies collaborate would create a rift in Golden Rose’s image. But that’s something I’m willing to sacrifice if everything goes smoothly.”

“Is reputation the only benefit I’m getting from this marriage?”

“Why, of course not. Since it’s not new for hotels to have casinos near, or even inside them, I thought it’d be nice if we made a collaboration. As you would know - next to my main hotel, I own another building. We can renovate, and insert new slot machines as you see fit. Funded entirely by me.”

A spark of intrigue gleams over his eyes. Tempting offer indeed.

“I’ve written up a contract as reasonable as I could make it, outlining the details of our marriage, including a few rules and regulations, and what to do if we end up wanting to divorce, for whatever reason,” you say as you slide over the envelope towards him on the coffee table.

So she meant it when she said she was preoccupied this week… Sukuna thinks to himself. Writing up a contract takes quite a lot of energy, after all.

"I'll look forward to hearing back from you again."

"...Give me some time. I'll consider it," he finally tells you, leaning back and crossing his legs after much contemplation.

"Wonderful." You stand up from your seat and look down at him with a smile.

When you're a few steps to getting to the door, Sukuna speaks up again from behind you.

"Aw, leaving so soon? I wouldn't mind if you stayed the night here with me," he teases - with a smirk that you can hear in his voice.

"...Thank you for the offer, but I'll have to decline. Have a good night."

He hears you leave, with the sound of the door opening and closing.

“Tch. What a prude way of saying no.”

Aren’t you a little too cold for someone who aims to be his lawful wife?

No matter - he’ll find one way or another to get under that awfully polite attitude of yours.

The contract is actually quite reasonable and fair for both parties, and Sukuna hates to admit so. You worked on this alone? Or maybe you had that stuck up of a secretary helping you behind the scenes.

Either way, upon having his own lawyer review it for him after carefully reading through it himself, he has decided that he will take you up on this offer - and participate in this marriage of convenience.

It makes things easier for him, after all. This will skip him a lot of steps, and you’ll be closer to his reach, making it simpler to play around with you as he pleases. Not to mention; the contract states that if the wedding doesn’t happen, all negotiations are off the table. Clever of you to make it an ‘all in or nothing’ type of agreement.

Today’s the day where he’d already arranged another meeting with you at one of his private restaurants, where he anticipates seeing your pretty face again, since it’s been a little over a week.

Uraume opens the car door for him, and he steps outside without a hitch.

He’s a little elated to find you already sitting inside, gazing out the window as you’re at the fancily decorated table. You’re dressed in a quite eloquent outfit, perfect for a day like this, where the petals are carried away from cherry blossom trees, even by the gentlest of breezes.

“How impolite of me to keep a lady waiting,” Sukuna says as he approaches you, “apologies for the late arrival.”

“Not at all. It’s a habit of mine to show up at least ten minutes before any appointment. You’re actually on time,” you tell him, looking at the watch on your wrist.

“...Quite the courteous habit to have.”

Sukuna’s private restaurant specialises in Japanese cuisine, which explained the various platters of sushi and sashimi that were soon getting placed onto the table, shortly after his arrival. He lets you take the first mouthful, and appears to be awaiting your opinion on the taste.

“This…is really good. I can tell the fish is fresh, and there’s a perfect amount of vinegar in the rice,” you comment, your chopsticks going for another one.

“I’m glad it’s to your taste. Nothing but the best for my fiancé.”

The term he uses catches you a little off guard, but you manage to laugh it off. Sukuna is very satisfied by the millisecond of a pause in your reaction. Perhaps you should’ve added the rule of no unnecessary flirting with the other party into your contract?

After the hearty meal, the table is cleared, and the contract is taken out and placed upon it, resting between the two of you.

“We’ve both come here to sign this, am I correct?” you reconfirm, pulling out a pen of yours, ready to draw up your signature.

“Indeed. We’ve reviewed it multiple times back and forth between us, I doubt there’s anything more to worry about.”

You pass it on over to him, after signing it swiftly. He does the same.

The both of you are now officially bound together, by law.

There’s a beautiful shade of pink outside that grasps your attention, every now and then. You’d forgotten the current season was spring – and like in every other year, the cherry blossoms are always there to remind you. This is a nice restaurant indeed.

“I hope you have the time to enjoy some tea with me, Y/N,” Sukuna says as he puts his pen away. It feels nice to hear someone call you by your name like that.

“Fortunately, I do have a few minutes to spare.”

“Enjoying the outside view?” he asks - placing his focus on you, rather than the window.

“Yes, actually. This view is…very lovely.”

You say it in a soft spoken voice, and your eyes mellow out in a way he doesn’t expect when you look out the window once again. He takes a mental note to bring you here a second time, once the next spring season arrives.

This tea time is spent very delightfully (to your surprise), for maybe the next ten minutes before the both of you need to eventually leave due to your busy schedules. Once standing up, you offer your hand to the man before you, with a smile. He takes your hand, that is so dainty and soft compared to his, and shakes it.

“Your hair is the same colour as those petals,” you say without thinking.

“I do get that a lot. I’d argue that I’ll always look better than any of those trees, however.”

“That’s some impressive confidence you have,” you retort, with a chuckle.

As you’re walking out of the restaurant alongside him, you remember something you’d forgotten to mention to him.

“The wedding will be in a month’s time. We’ll see each other a couple of times before then,” you state, looking up at him in the eyes.

“Excellent. Feel free to contact me whenever.”

“I actually prefer your normal attitude, rather than the one you’re using around me all the time,” you tell him truthfully.

“You mean my flirtatious advances on you?”

“No, you already do that now. I mean when you use your crude language, and speak in shorter sentences.”

You nonchalantly walk out of the door that he’s still holding open for you.

“Oh? ...You’re into that shit? Very unexpected, coming from someone like you,” he retorts with a smirk as he holds the door open for you.

“Yes, that’s much better. I’m happy to see that my future husband is the obedient type.”

Obedient–

He catches you giving one last glance at him, before getting inside of your car, with a cheeky smile on your face. Sukuna is stunned in an amused way, having been called obedient for the first time in his life. It should be making him angry, but he’s grinning instead. The urge to get back at you rises within him like wildfire.

This whole marriage thing with you is bound to be one hell of a ride.

“How are the wedding preparations going?” he asks on the phone.

The question comes while you’re inspecting the various invitation designs before you. You pick one of them up and flip to the other side.

“Very smoothly. You won’t have to lift a finger, as we promised.”

“That’s good to hear. It’s a shame, really. Would’ve liked to help pick out a wedding dress for you,” he says humourously.

“Certainly not. I imagine you’d pick an atrocious dress,” you tell him, listening to him chuckle.

“Not possible. All wedding dresses look the same anyway,” Sukuna dismisses.

You furrow your brows a little at his ignorance. Of course he’s the type to say that.

“I’ll have to disagree. But pushing that aside for now,” you say, putting down the sample invitation card, “have you prepared the list of guests you’d like to invite for the ceremony?”

“I have. I’ll get Uraume to send the list to you soon.”

“Thank you. Well then, I wish you a good afternoon.”

You end the call sharply.

Mildly irritated as he sits at the back of his car, Sukuna removes his phone from his ear and looks down at the screen with a raised eyebrow. He wishes you wouldn’t cut calls so abruptly like that. What is wrong with you?

“Pretentious,” he mutters, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He looks out his window, expressionlessly.

Amongst the number of people Sukuna plans to invite to the wedding, his mother and father aren’t a part of the list. But, surprisingly so, it’s the same for you too. They’re excluding the whole ‘walking the bride down the aisle’ as a result. He doesn’t care enough to ask you what happened to them – it’s none of his business, after all. It’s just a little strange to think about how both the bride and the groom will have absent seats for parents.

The car suddenly feels a little stuffy for him. He rolls the window down a little bit, letting the outside breeze swirl inside, carrying the scent of the city.

And as for you – after having completed a large portion of the work needed to be done for the wedding, you’re now happily sitting at home with a glass of wine in your hand. In maybe around two weeks’ time, you’ll be a legally married woman. It feels a little surreal to think about.

Looking over at the wedding invitation card that has his and your name printed over it, your mind brings up the image of your parents. Oh, how they would’ve never approved of a man like him. You can’t help but let out a small, dry laugh.

…It’s all for the sake of the business. You promised them to do well.

And you shall execute it– flawlessly.

Little inklings of dating rumours have already dispersed amongst the employees at both Malevolent Casino and Golden Rose Enterprise, having grown all the way back from the moment when Sukuna applied for the expensive VIP membership all too suddenly. That, and alongside the frequent ins and outs both you and Sukuna have been doing at each others’ offices have raised the suspicions of many. Countless friends and acquaintances have reached out, asking if it’s actually true. And to each one of them, you replied with a ‘yes’.

This is a perfect chain of events leading up to the marriage announcement. For someone who has quite a bit of media attention on him already due to past affairs, he is indeed the ideal candidate for the promotion of the hotel’s wedding services, as he’s bound to draw the gaze of a wider audience.

It’s rather amusing how many of them warned you, and discouraged your ‘relationship’ with Sukuna.

“He’s not like that at all. He treats me very well,” you responded to them, the best you could.

And then, you sent out the wedding invitations, not long after.

You become terribly busy in the final week before the ceremony. Giving instructions to employees during the setup process of the venue, arranging the rings, selecting the perfect dress and suit, establishing a script for the vows, and organising the food for the event. Not to mention, there needs to be professional photographers present to capture everything beautifully, so the photos can be uploaded to the hotel website.

For the honeymoon – you reckoned it’d be best to go somewhere overseas, even if for only a few days – in order to prevent speculations that the two of you may not actually be in love. When asked if there was a particular country he wanted to go to for the honeymoon, Sukuna replied with “I couldn’t care less where we go.”

So you took it upon yourself to select somewhere most convenient for you.

Ironically enough, you barely met the man during this final week, as you were too preoccupied with running around and making sure everything was perfect.

And now, here you are, dolled up in a stunning wedding gown, waiting for Sukuna to finish getting dressed up. You can hear the guests buzzing outside, anticipating the appearance of the bride and groom.

A whistle resounds in front of you. Looking up, you see him in the polished suit that you had picked out for him. Alongside that, his appropriately slicked back hair makes him look like quite the handsome gentleman.

“You look ravishing, my dear wife,” he comments, giving a smug, lopsided grin.

“Not your wife quite yet. We’re yet to be officiated,” you respond back with a smile.

“No need to mind the details. We’re about to be, anyway.”

He offers up his arm, and you’re quick to put your hand around it.

The two of you stand underneath an opulent arch, decorated with countless delicate roses. As the officiant makes his speech, you and Sukuna face each other hand in hand, exchanging gazes that contain nothing but false affection.

“The Bride and Groom shall now make their vows.”

The crowd watches intently, falling under a noticeable hush.

“On this joyous day, I, Ryomen Sukuna, will take you as my one and only – my lawfully wedded wife,” his voice booms brilliantly around this almost ethereal-looking wedding venue.

“I vow to bring forth happiness and fulfilment to our most tender, yet unshakable connection we share – and offer up my whole heart to you – as I shall be the valiant protector of our betrothal.”

He executes the speech with great accuracy and enthusiasm, which you are fairly impressed by. You almost let out a giggle from it, knowing that he is most undoubtedly rolling his eyes internally at the words that had just come out from his mouth.

“And I, (Y/N) (L/N), take you as my one and only – my lawfully wedded husband,” you mirror, letting your voice ring out just as he had let his.

“I vow to wholeheartedly embrace and value you as my other half, devoting myself to our most cherished relationship – where I shall tend to the light that our love emits, and treasure it endlessly.”

All of these fancy words - if only everyone knew that they were nothing but empty promises. Nevertheless, finally being able to say them aloud relieves a great weight from your shoulders. It’s almost over.

“You may now seal those promises with a kiss.”

Your eyes widen for a moment.

…You’d forgotten all about the very highlight of all wedding ceremonies. The kiss.

Looking to Sukuna with slight uncertainty, you wonder if you should be the one to initiate it–

He flashes you a gentle smirk. You’d overlooked this part, hadn’t you? He seems to ask.

He pulls you closer to him by snaking his arm around your waist without hesitation, and firmly presses his lips against yours. Having your worries been alleviated, you close your eyes during the kiss. The crowd cheers and a thunderous clap takes over the air around you.

The tips of your tongues brush up against each other, before he pulls away at the appropriate timing, leaving behind a very miniscule and delicate sense of disappointment from having it end so quickly.

The two of you make your way down the steps and walk through the aisle for the grand exit - stepping on the extravagant white carpet that leads to the outside world. Beautiful pink petals are showered down from the ceiling at this perfect timing - and the crowd continues their cheers tirelessly. From the corner of your eye, you inspect that the photographers are doing their jobs in a satisfactory manner.

From the way you and Sukuna bring up your smiles, it wouldn’t be an understatement to say that the two of you are excellent actors.

The path leads all the way to the sleek limousine that awaits the new couple.

You’re mildly surprised to see that it’s raining outside. The weather forecast this morning hadn’t said anything about rain this afternoon. Different hues of grey adorn the sky – the clouds are seemingly vehement on concealing its true colour today. As each of your respective secretaries open up a large umbrella to shelter the two of you, you wonder in dismay. Is this supposed to be some kind of omen?

Getting inside the vehicle, you confirm that the driver is Ijichi, and feel the tension from your body disappear in an instant, now being able to settle down a little more naturally.

“My face hurts from all that smiling,” Sukuna grunts beside you.

“I can say the same,” you agree, caressing your own cheek with your hand.

The limousine will drop by both of your homes, where each of you will get changed into more comfortable clothing before taking off for the airport. Luggage had already been packed prior to the wedding. You’re exhausted, and you could say that you’re pretty envious of Sukuna’s relaxed state that you see once you come back down after changing.

“You must be tired,” he suddenly comments, eyeing you up once you’ve seated yourself comfortably, putting your seatbelt on.

“What makes you say that?” you ask him.

He reaches his hand out to your head, where he gingerly takes something up. When he opens his palm for you to see it, you realise that it’s a petal from the wedding.

“Forgot to check the mirror?” Sukuna asks rhetorically with a cocky undertone.

You let out something like a helpless laugh.

“Thank you for picking up on it.”

The ride to the airport is entirely silent, with you and Sukuna quietly staring out into the windows, watching the scenery outside. As much as you would’ve liked to fall asleep to the softly orchestrated patter of rain against the car’s exterior…you just couldn’t seem to.

After arriving at the airport, you thank Ijichi for his extra service, and promise that his bonus will be sent to his account very shortly. Then, the two of you are guided to the boarding entrance, where you’re seated in the elite economy class.

The plane is headed for Paris, France. A little cliche and overdone, but it’s a place you’d been to most frequently, as your parents had taken you there often for business purposes. The ride goes without any issues, as Sukuna had let out the occasional yawn beside you, before slipping on a silk eye mask and going for a nap. He managed to wake himself up a little before the plane landed.

Upon your arrival at the grand hotel in the bustling city of Paris, the two of you are booked into the same room but with separate bedrooms. The luggage is handled carefully, as the bellman guides both of you to the room.

“I was thinking we could use this opportunity,” he says as he walks close beside you, “to spend the night like how all newlyweds do.”

The fatigue has worn your usual polite attitude off, and you have to roll your eyes at him.

He thoroughly enjoys getting under your skin.

“Quite the charming suggestion. Too bad that I have no energy for that right now.”

“Are you implying that you might in the future?”

“...Think of it as you will, Sukuna.”

The moment you enter, you drag your feet over to your own room.

“I’m going to sleep straight away. Feel free to spend the day how you wish,” you tell him, before going inside and closing the door behind you.

Sukuna has a little bit more energy to burn off, since he took a long nap on the plane – so he decides to step out and enjoy the outside city while he’s here.

It’s not as if it’s his first time in Paris - he’d done a lot of travelling back in his younger days, when he used to be absolutely drunk on the amount of money he was making. He already knows which restaurants and shops are to his taste, and since it’s been a while, he decides he’ll pass some time by revisiting those same places.

He very much enjoys his independent shopping – particularly that feeling of satisfaction at the end, when he’s gained a handful of carefully selected goods. The first place he drops by is a luxurious shoe store, where he picks the pairs that fancy him most, and an employee is immediately ready to come down and help him with fitting them on.

By the end of his little trip, Sukuna’s accompanying assistant has his arms full with various shopping bags, filled with new suits, shoes, expensive cologne… let’s just say that he’s very keen about maintaining his appearance for self satisfaction. And each item was carefully chosen from the designer brands that Sukuna favours greatly.

His bags are dropped off to his room by that same assistant. Before he goes back, Sukuna heads off to the hotel’s bar, where he plans to spend some quiet time with a drink to finish off the day.

This hotel’s well established bar is quite suited to his liking, he thinks, as skims his surroundings, languidly making his way through the dimly lit, atmospheric area.

What he orders tonight at the bar counter is a boulevardier cocktail – being in the mood to have something bittersweet on his taste buds. He’s barely had a chance to take a sip of the drink, when someone all too abruptly claims the empty seat to his right.

“I’ll have a dry martini, please.”

The phrase makes Sukuna whip his head to the side, being mildly pleased to think that it might be the person who he assumes it is.

…He finds that it’s a woman he doesn’t know of at all, staring back at him with a sly smile. He doesn’t visibly show any disappointment, but he does face the front again, before taking a gulp out of the crimson-coloured liquid that resembles the hue of his eyes.

“What, am I not pretty enough for you?” the girl asks in a playful manner.

“...I wouldn’t say that. You’re not too bad to look at,” Sukuna responds honestly.

He entertains her for a little while, doing the bare minimum to keep up with the conversation. She seems so eager to escalate things with him, and he considers it, seeing as he’s got nothing better to do. The contract does state that such relations are permitted for both parties, so long as it’s outside of the media’s attention.

There’s lots of casual touching going on, whether it’s brushing her hand over his, or placing them onto his shoulder or arm, being very blatant in the way she flirts.

The woman hovers inches away from his face, and he stares down at her while he makes some last minute decisions. His gaze falls down to her lips.

“Well? What do you say?” she urges him for an answer, leaning closer to him.

“We could head up to my room and…keep each other some company.”

Just as she thinks she’s gotten him on board, Sukuna grabs her face and pushes her away, deeming that it’s too bothersome for all of that tonight. She pouts right after he lets go of her.

“And I thought we were on the same page… can I ask why?”

He downs the rest of his drink in one go before showing the girl the ring on his left hand.

“At least pay for my drink!” she exclaims as a last resort.

“I’ll be taking my leave, then.”

“Wha- are you going already?!” she questions, thoroughly disappointed. He ignores it, and is already taking steps towards the exit.

With a hand in his pocket, he stops in his tracks, and turns slightly to the side to give her one final glance.

“Too bad. I don’t buy drinks for just anyone.”

Sukuna then heads back up to his room, wondering if you’ll be awake by the time he arrives.

When he’s back inside however, you seem to still be in your deep slumber, seeing as there’s no sign of life around the lounge and no sounds coming from your room. Even for someone as capable as you, managing to prepare everything for that extravagant wedding must’ve been arduous work. He’s in no place to feel irritated at you. It impresses him – how you arranged everything within a limited amount of time, while also fulfilling your duties as a CEO.

Sukuna takes his jacket off and then begins to loosen his tie. After a day of shopping, nothing is better than taking a hot bath to relax the muscles. He can make use of that built in jacuzzi tub in the bathroom, and freshen himself up.

It doesn’t take long for the steam to begin rising from the water as the tub slowly fills up, bubbling up at the sides. He makes himself comfortable towards the edge of the tub, where he lets out a sigh and leans back - the water stopping at the comfortable level, being his chest. He slicks his moistened hair back, and something gets caught in his fingers as he does so.

Looking down at his hand, he sees that it’s a small, pink petal. It must’ve blended in well in his hair from the wedding, this entire time. Thinking of you, a sinister smirk makes its way upon his features.

How reassuring it is, to have a wife so capable. You’ll certainly be a useful asset for him to utilise in the future.

Perhaps a little difficult to crack open, but that’ll only make the end result all the more rewarding.

In the following morning, Sukuna wakes up to some noises outside of his room, and he figures that it’s you walking about after sleeping for almost a whole day, if that’s even possible. Doing a great yawn, he does a quick self-check in the mirror, and proceeds to step out of his room.

You’re latching a watch onto your wrist when the door to Sukuna’s room opens up, revealing the man with his hair down, wearing some loose, comfortable clothing. Having woken up very early, you had taken the time to get dressed after that well-deserved sleep you had.

“Good morning,” you tell him, while checking the tightness of the watch on your wrist.

Damn right he is. After sleeping for a day straight, you’re gonna ignore him again and go about your own business?

“Going somewhere?” he asks curtly, without greeting you back.

“Yes, in about two hours or so,” you say, wondering why he seems mildly irritated towards you today.

“I’m going to a piano concert. I doubt you’ll be interested, but you're welcome to join me.”

A piano concert? Shit sounds boring as hell. Of course you’d be interested in that.

Being invited under these premises… like being offered leftovers… he can’t help but feel a little displeased.

“You have a spare ticket?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I always buy the seats at either side of mine. I’d rather not sit next to strangers.”

“I’ll go. I have nothing better to do around here anyway,” Sukuna says, with a voice that sounds like he’s doing you a big favour. Maybe he’ll take this chance to learn a thing or two more about you.

“Wonderful. I’ve also ordered room service for us, so we can have breakfast together if you’d like?”

That seems to have appeased him a bit, which forms a little smile on your face.

Perhaps around an hour and a half later, the two of you leave the hotel to head over to the auditorium, which requires only a short walk.

Sukuna trails behind you as you stride over towards your seats, where you’re able to make yourself comfortable. From this location in the auditorium, you catch sight of people clambering around towards their seats below. There’s still a bit of time left before the show begins.

He falls quiet for a few seconds, which makes you give him a discreet little glance.

“I’m surprised you actually came all the way out here with me,” you tell him, in order to strike up some sort of conversation.

“I figured that even a dull piano recital would be better than being stuck in my room all day,” Sukuna responds with nonchalance, crossing his legs.

“You wouldn’t know that it’s dull yet, would you? It hasn’t even started yet.”

“I guess you’re correct. You did prove me wrong before, after all.”

You make a quizzical expression at him, and a sly smirk creeps up onto his features.

“Your wedding dress. It was unique. Beautiful, even,” he admits.

A moment of realisation later, you let out a small chuckle.

He’s a little disappointed by that response. He’d like to catch you looking all flustered, one of these days.

“I’m glad you were able to learn something from our wedding,” you tell him.

“And of course,” he continues, “the one wearing it, even more so.”

“Why, thank you very much. You looked quite stunning as well. I knew that suit would compliment you nicely.”

The conversation is cut off when the concert begins with the lights dimming, as a pianist makes their way onto the large stage.

More than the music itself, Sukuna was finding that his attention was garnering towards your reactions more. You seem to be enjoying yourself.

…Though it wasn’t long before he was beginning to zone out a little, being easily disengaged with the concert, as he isn’t exactly one for piano music.

By the end of the show, you see that he is very eager to leave the auditorium. You can’t help the childish way the corners of your lips rise in response. He’s quite easy to read, at least when it comes to these smaller moments.

“Why don’t you get up on stage yourself next time? That’d be something more worthwhile to watch,” he says, bringing an image of you sitting before the large instrument up in his mind.

“You must be an avid fan of the piano,” Sukuna says with a grunt, as they leave the bustling area.

“Only casually, every now and then. Out of everything I was required to learn as a child, I liked the piano the most.”

“I’m flattered that you think so. But I prefer listening over playing it myself.”

Your words erase the image out of his mind.

The rest of the “honeymoon” goes by without much happening between the two of you, only quietly sharing meals together or the occasional drinking session; though neither of you were able to get drunk - due to being a tad too cautious around each other.

Your first day back at the office felt quite refreshing.

Everyone was busy, and the hotel’s wedding venues especially; as you had predicted, there was an overflow of requests coming in from couples who had seen the photos of your marriage on the website. They did come out very beautifully - almost like something out of a scene in a film. It was worth paying those photographers the good money.

At your desk, you scroll through the various article titles that have been published on several gossip sites – featuring the topic of your wedding mainly focusing on Sukuna.

[Sukuna, a CEO notorious for breaking the hearts of many actresses, gets married?]

[CEO of Malevolent Casino settles down for owner of Golden Rose Enterprise. A match made in heaven?]

[A womaniser reformed, CEO of Malevolent Casino enters wedlock!]

Oh, how you laughed until your stomach hurt. You can imagine the kind of face he’d make if he read any of these titles. The overwhelming attention is even better than you had expected. You even have a few interview requests from some of these gossip magazines. Doing a few of them wouldn’t hurt, would it?

The two of you have even set up a shared home, put together by Sukuna himself, just in case there comes a moment when you need it. Though you weren’t very happy about the design choices he’d made, when furnishing the place. For now, an agreement was made that living under the same roof together was not necessary.

Later in the day, you receive a call from the man himself.

“So, are you enjoying the fruits of our labour?” he asks as soon as you pick up.

“Yes, it truly is satisfying. Getting married at our venues seems to have become a little trend now,” you tell him proudly.

“Good for you. I hope you’re remembering your part of the deal, however,” he states with warning, “I’m yet to see any of those fruits growing on my end.”

You chuckle a little at his words.

“Of course I do. I have something in mind that will help with that,” you reassure him.

“But before we go into any detail for it…” you say, as you read over the email for an interview request on your computer screen, “let’s do one interview, about our marriage.”

You smile as you hear Sukuna make a little noise of grimace from his end.

“This better be worth doing,” Sukuna mutters, as he walks alongside you in the corridor, towards where the interview will take place.

“I wouldn’t suggest doing anything that’s a waste of time,” you tell him with confidence.

His expression of indignance doesn’t change.

“After all, it’s a good opportunity to have this attention on us last a little longer,” you add on.

“I already figured. Aren’t you mooching off of my image a bit too much?” he narrows his eyes at you.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I was thinking we could start the planning for that collaboration of ours soon. Wouldn’t that be to your liking?”

That seems to quell his discontent, for now. You open the door at the end of the corridor.

“The two of you have stirred the media up quite a bit through your sudden marriage! Please tell us your story on how you first met each other.”

The interviewer speaks to you and Sukuna with a bright smile, gesturing politely towards the vague direction between you both. Of course, you had prepared a little bit of a script for both yourself and him, but he’d brushed it off, saying that he was able to wing something like this easily.

“Well, our first meeting was-”

“It’s rather cliche, but we met at a bar,” he cuts you off abruptly. It catches you off-guard. You only hope that he won’t say anything unnecessary.

“I was the one that approached her, after catching her gaze from across where she sat,” he continues, crossing his legs. The excited interviewer types away on her laptop, recording his words.

“My! That does sound romantic. Please do give us more details.”

Sukuna does an excellent job at mixing the truth with his lies, and surprisingly enough, you’re the one sitting in silence as he does most of the talking while you act as backup to his story. It’s even better than the script you’d made up originally. He’s clearly picked up the skill to smoothly manipulate his stories.

“Our last question in the interview is directed towards the both of you. What compelled the two of you to choose each other for marriage? What do you love most about one another?”

A question that wasn’t on the damn script. They always love to sneak a few extras in like this. And technically that was two questions, not one. Sukuna is about to express his displeasure towards the interviewer, but you speak up before he does.

“I appreciated his very forward way of approaching me. How he’s difficult to read, granting him a more mysterious appeal. Arguably arrogant at times, but rightfully so, considering how clever and charming he is. For one second I was only a little intrigued by him, but then in the other…he’d suddenly become the apple of my eye.”

How do you say all of that without batting an eyelash? Part of him wonders if you perhaps meant any of it, even just a little.

“That is wonderful! I understand why you’d be infatuated. What about you, Mr. Ryomen? Did you also feel equally as captivated?”

He certainly won’t lose to you.

“...But of course. Her strong sense of independence. How competent she is. She mentioned that I’m difficult to read - but that hardly seems to be the case. She reads me like a book, and I find that so interesting,” Sukuna looks at you with a smirk and naturally places his hand over yours, squeezing lightly.

“It had been a while since I’d chased after someone rather than be chased – but that only made our relationship all the more sweeter.”

You’re impressed with how willingly he shot back at you, with his impromptu speech. The interviewer, oblivious, swoons as the two of you exchange smiles.

“There were nothing but satisfying answers during this session. Thank you so much for your participation!”

The interview is wrapped up nicely, and the two of you walk out after shaking hands with her.

Your insincere wordings are sickeningly sweet, like caramel, clinging onto him with its viscous texture.

“The apple of your eye, huh?” he goads, eyeing your response.

“Yes, my dear husband. The apple of my eye,” you repeat, with a relaxed demeanor.

“Very endearing,” he says – with venom in his tone.

A car awaits outside for the two of you, its engine already on and ready to drive off.

“While we’re here, perhaps we should talk about the event I’ve set up for us,” you tell him, fastening your seatbelt.

Sukuna opens his eyes instantaneously. He’s going to do… what?

“Go on, I’m listening,” he says, crossing his arms and resting his head back with his eyes closed.

“We’re going to do some volunteer work at an aged care facility,” you say bluntly, paying no mind to his dismissive posture.

Judging from that reaction, apparently not.

“Are you fucking around with me?”

“No? Actually, I was half expecting that you would’ve seen this coming.”

“This is still only phase one – improving your reputation. I’m even organising a few journalists to publish an article for us,” you tell him unapologetically.

He looks comically displeased.

“There’s a lot of guilt that follows when it comes to a hobby like gambling. It’s already considered a taboo, but with a company holding an unfavourable image like yours, newcomers are hesitant. Our partnership isn’t enough to put all of that behind,” you explain.

“And if I said no?”

“This isn’t for me more than it is for you.”

“You must be joking. How is taking care of some old fossils beneficial to me?”

“Let’s just say that it’s a ploy,” you start.

Sukuna rolls his eyes, despite knowing that you’re correct on that.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“Addicts are constantly looking for excuses to be addicted. What’ll happen if they believe you made this company for a good cause?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he scoffs, returning to his former attitude. “And I’m guessing you expect me to throw in a donation there too.”

Sukuna grunts with annoyance.

His aloofness resembles the behaviour of an unhappy child – but you don’t dare tell him that aloud.

“It’ll only be a few hours of work. Get a couple of good photos in and we’ll be done,” you say, sympathetically.

“How reassuring.” He doesn’t bother to look your way again.

Sukuna is used to doing things forcefully. If there’s something that he wants, he’ll pluck it out of the hands of another, regardless of if it’ll affect that person or not. If there’s a crowd of people around him, he’ll push and shove them out of his way, not caring whether someone gets trampled or not. And if there’s anyone that inconveniences him… he doesn’t hesitate to kick them down, until they’re crying on their knees for forgiveness.

And yet…. And yet…

Here he is, standing behind a table, wearing a tacky apron over his dashing suit as he dishes out soup for an old geezer, using a ladle. There’s a smile on his face, but a vein popping out on his forehead. The littlest inconvenience could make him lash out at somebody here.

He pours soup into the tray for the next elderly woman that is in line.

He wordlessly gives her a third scoop.

“More please,” she asks of him.

“Alright, sure,” he tells her, doing his best to sound friendly. Another scoop.

“Again,” she says.

“I want more!”

Her tray is already filled to the brim with soup, any more and she’ll end up spilling everything on her way to a table.

Sukuna is about to lose it.

She complacently walks off to find a seat somewhere, holding her tray.

“Ma’am, if you get any more, you’ll end up spilling it over. You can always come back for seconds. Promise we’ll still be here,” you butt in, before he blows over a fuse.

“Oh… alright then.”

You can barely contain the sigh that nearly spills out of your lungs.

“If you explain it to them clearly, they usually listen,” you tell him with a low voice, after she’s gone.

“Too bad I don’t wanna explain shit,” he very graciously responds.

Shortly after, you and Sukuna get your own portions of the same meals given to the elderly for lunch.

He kisses his teeth loudly and chucks his spoon down onto his tray, before getting up abruptly.

“Everything is lukewarm,” he comments, frowning.

“Can’t be helped. It’s a safety precaution, in case they burn themselves.”

You clearly note how the direction he heads towards is not where the restrooms are.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom,” he lies without hesitation.

Fuck this whole event. Fuck this place. He considers leaving for a moment, but is quick to discard that idea, knowing he’ll hear no end of it from you afterwards. Only a few more hours to go, anyway. He steps outside, taking a quick scan of the area to make sure nobody is around before pulling a cigarette and lighter out from his pocket.

Lodging it between his lips, he uses his lighter against the end, but it seems to fail at producing any flames, adding on to his frustration.

He ignores you, because at this point, he knows nothing nice will come out of his mouth if he starts talking now. Why isn’t this goddamn thing working?

“Useless piece of shit,” he mutters, continuing his frantic attempts at the sparkwheel.

“Smoking is prohibited in this area,” a voice that he knows all too well comes from behind.

You stand beside him and hold something up with your hand. He sees that it’s a lighter.

He lights his cigarette, returns your lighter and then takes a big puff. He looks more noticeably relaxed.

“...You smoke?” he asks, taking it from your hand.

“Used to,” you tell him, crossing your arms.

“Just this once. Make it quick,” you tell him, looking around for people.

He lets out a short, curt hmph and blows another gust of smoke out.

“So what did you follow me all the way out here for? To babysit me?” Sukuna asks, still being quite moody about the situation.

“Looks like you already know. I thought it’d be best to keep an eye on you.”

He was going to shoot back with another snarky response, but a couple of voices could be heard coming from somewhere nearby. Before he can say a word on it, you’re suddenly grabbing his hand and dragging him away, elsewhere. The two of you end up in the area behind the building.

“Feel better now?” you say.

“Barely. Let’s finish this and go home already,” he grunts, dropping the cigarette butt onto the ground and putting it out with his foot.

“You should probably pick that up.”

All because of that… he thinks. Sukuna watches as you peer around the place, seeing if anyone is around again. A smirk slowly crawls up onto his face.

“Why the hell did we need to run? We could’ve just gone back in,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“If they approached us, they would’ve smelled the smoke. You still reek of tobacco.”

“You sure that’s the only reason? Dragging me all the way here. By the hand, not to mention.”

He corners you against the wall behind you, trapping you between his arms.

“Who knows, I might even behave a little more if you help me relieve some stress,” he continues, looking down at you with sultry eyes. You don’t look flustered in the least, which kind of irks him.

To his confusion, you grab something out of your pocket. It’s packaged in plastic, and you make quick work to unwrap it.

His eyes then widen, when you grab his face and slip something inside his mouth, pushing it past his lips. Swiping his tongue over it, he realises it’s a mint lolly.

“Stop joking around, and chew on this instead. Maybe that’ll pipe you down,” you tell him, as you slip out from his trap by ducking underneath his arms. “And it’ll help get rid of the smell, while it’s at it.”

“Come. We’re going back inside.”

His eyes follow you as you begin walking back already without him. He even considers spitting this lolly down to the ground. But he doesn’t.

Sukuna was very dismayed once they had gotten back. They found that lunch break was over and there were dishes to be done. By them.

He gnaws on the lolly as he shoves the last tray into the dishwasher. It gets shut, and with the press of a button, it begins its work. Turning around, he sees you at the sink, manually washing some dishes up, because there’s only so much that a dishwasher can contain.

“Look at you, doing such a good job. You should do this professionally,” he comments, coming up from behind. He really has nothing serious to say today.

Your flat reply kills his playful banter immediately, and he can’t help but narrow his eyes as the last of the lolly melts away in his mouth. He aggressively puts on some rubber gloves and pushes you aside at the sink.

“Mind lending a hand?” you ask him, without looking back.

“I don’t know if I feel like helping.”

“Alright - don’t, then.”

There’s a smile that blooms on your face when you look at him in this moment, and it’s genuine, which is kind of rare, coming from you. Your reaction makes the dishes worth doing for just a bit, at the very least. He thinks.

“We’ll take years to get back home at your pace. Not doing it for you, so don’t misunderstand.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

Not long later, someone comes along inside – the same old lady that had asked for extra soup from Sukuna earlier on. He’s never been more appalled to see someone again.

“You missed this one!” she says, holding up a dirty spoon.

She approaches slowly, but somehow misses a step and stumbles a little, causing the spoon to smear over Sukuna’s suit, just below the shoulder area.

“Oh… dearie me. My legs don’t work the way they used to,” the woman mutters, looking down at her limbs. After dropping the spoon off in the sink, she pats him on the back.

“Sorry, young man,” she says, before trudging away again.

The two of you stand in silence, with Sukuna having a darkened expression on his face.

Your stifled laughter breaks it, and he whips around to see you enjoying this shitty situation.

“That hag…” he mutters, popping out a vein again on his forehead.

He hears another chuckle from you.

He’s left alone with his simmering anger for a few moments, until you come back holding a packet of wet wipes. Adjusting his position by grabbing his shoulders, you begin wiping away the…remnants of what was on the spoon from his clothes. He grimaces with disgust.

“Quit laughing! Fuck’s sake, I’m gonna leave-”

“Wait here,” you cut him off, degloving yourself.

“Alright then, as you wish.”

“You wore a dark colour today, so it should be fine.”

“Fine? Nothing will be fine until I get back at that old witch.”

“Don’t be like that to a frail old woman. I’ll buy you a new suit if it bothers you so much.”

“...Forget it. I can buy my own suits without your help,” he grumbles, getting back to the dishes.

After wrapping up the day with the remaining formalities, you and Sukuna exit the facility, into the car park. You crack another smile when he immediately takes his jacket off and chucks it at Uraume, who catches it gracefully, being accustomed to this sort of behaviour.

“Get it cleaned thoroughly. For now, I want it out of my sight,” he says sternly, loosening his tie. He wants to go home and shower. Never coming back to this godforsaken place again.

Just a few days later, the finalised draft of the article that is to be published online is sent to your email. It mentions the volunteer work you and Sukuna had done during the day, and also talks briefly about the generous donation that was given to the facility – just the way you’d requested them to. Sukuna won’t be too happy about the photos that show him wearing that apron, but it’s a well worth sacrifice to make. It's during these times, where you’re grateful for the connections you have with the media. You send them the approval email in response.

Once the article is published, you forward the link for Sukuna to see.

He skims through the blocks of uninteresting text on the site, and abruptly stops scrolling when he gets to the photos that have been added in.

There are key moments that had been photographed; when they were serving the food, when they were helping with the dishes, and when they shook hands with the one in charge of that facility. But the image that stands out to him the most, is the one taken when they were manually washing some trays together.

His own face isn’t visible because he has his back to the camera, but your genuine smile, as you’re looking at him, can be seen clear as day.

“The photographer deserves a raise,” he speaks to himself.

When’s the next time he’ll ever get an expression like that out of you again?

…He shuts his laptop screen down. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s not here to try and make you happy, after all.

-- To be continued --

Masterlist

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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cherrsnut · 9 months ago

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Hostage - Chapter 5

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 15.4 k

Previous // Next

Chapter 5

You tried to ignore the buzzing pain of your head, but it was close to impossible, and you were far from being able to leave behind the awful feeling. Each buzz was burning another nerve cell into calcination, and each time without fail, earned you a stinging flinch. It was exactly the same as the typical insects under the scorching summer weather back home, in District 4. Those little biting monsters were truly the epitome of persistent, and it made them extra worse when they seemed to follow you around until you satiated their hunger at your expense, which consisted of those itchy neverending biting marks along your skin.

You rushed through the sensory doors, and looked around the salon in need of urgent explanations.

Everyone you had seen the day before were there, all in their usual forms. Vito and Finnick were wearing clothes from a fabric that screamed the expensive taste of the Capitol’s citizens. Scarlett was the one who was flauting her clothing style more though. The two men were simply one colored shirts, green and white, with the natural material of sheep’s wool that was tinted black, with the few details for the botton’s up that Vito was wearing.

Scarlett on the other hand was wearing a garnet long sleeved top, and just like the very same day you met her, her shoulders were on display. The only way the shirt could hold itself, you speculated, was from its thigh hold it had on the voluptuous skin from her breasts and abdomen. The line of the red textile run along the lower part of her shoulder, to the beginning of where her breasts started, only to finalize its race to the other shoulder in parallel height with the with one.

She accompanied that with a pale-like yellowish colour long skirt of cotton. And with the brief encounter you had with her, you were surprised to having found her wearing a much simpler outfit. Her makeup followed her simplicity, red dark lipstick and a pair of eyeshadows that was only eye catching because of the colour, that exactly matched with her tinted lips.

Everyone was sitting down by the large table, the Avox girl standing with a metallic tray weighing down of her hands. She was serving breakfast, fried eggs with a side of some sausages and hot baked beans.The girl all in red had stopped in her tracks slightly to the incoming guest, but after finding you she deemed you not important enough to stop her from performing her task.

Your sight came in contact with the view of the table, with many vases with drinks from water to many types of juice mixes, like strawberry with banana, and grape with apple. And of course, Scarlett’s absolute favourite had to be there, English tea and neatly placed next to it was another cup with many sugarcubes.

“Finally, you’re awake! I was about to send someone to come pick you up!” Scarlett said, and it oddly felt like she was reprimanding you for waking up later than she’d be pleased with. In that very moment though, you couldn’t even think of the words that came out of her mouth. The pain from the side of your head, only seemed to grow thicker and stronger by the minute, and you felt yourself not paying attention to anything until that was resolved.

“Can someone tell me just what happened to my face?” you demanded a valid explanation of your new bruised area. Your voice was strong. The pain had been the one to rise you from your sleep, and it instantly woke you from your fuzzy mind with a boost of pained energy.

Your plea sounded more like frustrating anger had crept its way out of your tongue. You squinted your eyes and flinched again. The bursting pain from the side of your head was not holding back, and in fact doubled it burning effect.

The way you woke up was everything but proudful. Your eyes had suddenly woken up at the burning sensation that covered your whole face. You had expected it from to be the huge hangover from participating in the drinking match of the night before, and your suspicions following a valid lead when you found yourself not remembering much from your encounter with Finnick. So when you went back to the nostalgic bathroom to clean your features up, because you knew you weren’t going to be looking your best, a huge purple bruise appeared at the side of your forehead, and that's when you decided to come running to the salon car.

At the sound of your voice, Vito’s heart rushed in culpability. The night before, he stayed in his room awake for a few more hours, still in his empty trance while his blood run cold. Every living second was a plea he was making to whoever to grant him the wish of letting him come out alive, and soon return to his family. He understood your words, and the inner voice of his mind kept repeating him that you were right, that he needed to come back for the sake of his sisters, and to stop his father from encouraging his much younger siblings into believing the Hunger Games was some sort of competition of proud victors between Districts.

He would lie if he said he didn’t want to live, in fact he was terrified at the idea of dying. He didn’t want to die under the harsh arena, and that thought came crumbling back to you. Because if it meant he lived, you were going to die, and there was no compromise he could do change that outcome.

He meant those words from last night; you were definitely more important. There weren’t many doctors back in District 4, at least not as manny as there should.

And that hurt more, having to choose between his own selfish desire or the good of the injured men by the port. The logic in his brain told him the answer, but the idealistic side of him pretended to come up with excuses to take away your life, and make your death less detestable for his soul. But he knew that was simple a fantasy. And he solemnly was accepting the idea of letting go of his own life, so yours could be properly used into helping others.

His eyes crossed to the disturbing colour from your bruise, and flinched just as he could feel the pain by just having seen it. Scarlett gasped in horror at the piece of art of your face, very much loudly and with her exaggerated undertone, that could lead anyone to believe she had for the very first time seen an art canvas filled with the very real representation of war, and finding out for the first time about the big tragedy that carried that short word.

She didn’t give you much time to think though, because she came running down to inspect your skin decoloration. Her careful gloved fingers caressed your jaw and tilted it up, so her tall figure could inspect it further with the professional eyes of Capitol’s refined delicate perception..

“Oh. My. God. What happened?” she demanded the very same answer, you wanted to satiate your dismayed pure confusion running along the veins of your brain. Still astonished as to how this could have happened in the first place.

The tip of her nail slightly brushed past the outside of your bruised head, which earned you gurgled grunt from the explosive pain, that pulsated like the vibrations of an early volcano eruption.

You looked at her, your murderous glare turned your pupil icy red as a warning of your pure hostility. If you could, although it would’ve definitely been looked down upon, you would have put into use your aggressive energy to break her fingers in that very instant, so she would never have the unpleasentry of having to disturb anyone’s bruises again.

“OW! Don’t touch it!” you groaned in the fiery fury from the pure idiocy of your escort. Your hand came in crashing to your head, almost as if protecting it from the unexpected attack. You weren’t surpsried the bruise had become scalding hot in that very instant.

Finnick face contorted in pain just like Vito had done earlier. It was no stranger to him the sight and pain from those nasty bruises he constantly got while working with his family and training to become a fighter. So when he centred his eyes on the pained area, he got the full view of the severity of the visible lump that was forming on the side of your head. It was only purple on the outside, like those outer ripples from a disturbed still lake. But the inside was the true main character of your agony. It was in a mix of both pale green and yellow, and it didn’t convince him in the slightest if someone was trying to persuade him into thinking you were alright, especially not when those colours reminded him of dried off cod fish, its putrid smell indicating him it was far past its edible stage.

But he also felt somewhat guilty in being slightly amused by seeing your situation plan out. Afterall, he was present from last night’s affair. One where he was the sole witness of the unecesarry assault that the bathroom tiles had done to you. Although, if he thought about it carefully, it was your charging body collapsing to the floor that made the tiles rightfully defend themselves in the form of a nasty blow to your head.

A frustrating sigh escaped between you teeth, although it very much sounded like a little whine when you exhaled your breath. You closed your eyes and moved away from Scarlett, unable to give her a second chance to redeem herself from her unforgivable action.

Your feet made quick work with your desperate mind. And soon, you found yourself by the kitchen counters, wondering where the hell where the medical supplies. The hundreds of cupboards stacked were already confusing your mind that was slowly recuperating itself. You coudn’t help but think just how you were in this very situation when you made that very bad decision-making from last night, when your where hunting down after that white wine bottle.

You turned to the Avox who was simply standing two feet away from you, her head hunged low with her usual somber expression. You needn’t think twice about your biggest desire in that moment.

“Get me a medical kit” another grunt escaped your very mouth. You squinted your eyes in pain, before fully closing them altogether as a failed attempt to wash off even just if was the slightest amount of pain.

Since Scarlett decision on touching the sensitive area of your skin, a move that could only be considered as genius, the pulsating waves spread throughout your body, the ripples of pain got further and further away, and danced in the same rhythm as your heart beating organ. It was a horrible migraine, which only worsened your hungover. You bet the heat radiation from your forhead would be equal to that of a life threatening fever. Just my luck.

Scarlett on the other hand was having some sort of existential crisis in the background. You already felt personally annoyed by her, so you coudn’t blame your mistreated brain from wanting to unconsciously turn to look at her, to have many more reasons as to why you were irked by her very presence. But you denied that passing thought. Because you knew the moment you’d deviate your attention to her tantrum, all stemming from her fear of the judgy stares from the public of the Capitol. An emotional outburst over your displayed physical beauty, and not from the deaths that was going transpire soon; you knew you’d have an additional migraine on top of all the head aches you were suffering. And you weren’t the type to indulge yourself in masochism.

You flinched your already closed lashes further down, so much so the corner of your eyes made wrinkles from the excess of muscle use, still hoping this would help in some way or another in slowing the burning away. Every single curse floated in the inner depths of you mind, making sure to bite your bottom lip as to not let any of the words slip away in the breeze and into the ears of everyone present. But it was made difficult when you had an angering comment just on the tip of your tongue, to reprimand the Avox from her extremely slow pace, so much so, it seemed she was doing it on purpose.

Vito appeared in your eyesight, just as you were blessing the Sea Gods when the girl in red uniform finally placed the medical kit next to you on the kitchen counter. She then disappeared somewhere in the room, as to not let herself known and disturb the lively train ride that was occurring in that very moment.

Vito’s tanned hands, one that were full of scars, that anyone with a deep understanding in open wounds, such as yourself, could tell were from working with very sharp blades. He opened up the box, which contents you considered as your life saviours.

His charcoal eyes moved to you for a second, before going back to rummaging through the white box until he found what he was looking for. He knew just which remedies to use for this type of bruises, like he had gone through the same type of injuries many times before. You guessed it came from the depressing context from his family teachings and disturbing perception of the Hunger Games.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it” he reassured you. His tone was consoling, and you obeyed the hidden meaning of just staying put, and let him help with with your headache.

You could feel your soul scream in a cheering manner as his paled scarred fingers wrapped around the yellow cream you had been so desperately waiting to find. The distressing pain almost bolted, the soon realization you’d fight back against its merciless tirany, with clear determination to stop further physical hurt from happening in that moment.

The contents where nothing but a splurg of white, very thick and sticky against his poinyy finger, creating a big circuled blob against it.

Vito looked at you momentarily, his eyes concentrated in carrying out his task. He repeated most of Scarlett’s previous actions, afterall he was smart enough not to make the silly mistake to touch the injury point blank, only doing it with the gently applied cream of his finger for the burning that was forming a lump on the side of your forehead.

His dried fingers brushed past, walking against the bone of your jaw, to hold it by the sharp corner near your ear of your jawline. It was so lightly, but its presence was still aching for your attention to notice his slender fingers. He tilted your head up, earning him better access to the big bruised area he surprised himself, finding it much bigger what what he had anticipated earlier. His transparent body gave away what his soul was thinking, and by the look Vito was making, you knew it would take up days for the bruise to fully heal.

His close inspecting eyes were too focused on the task he had placed on his own shoulders. However in that moment, your head could only spin at the high temperatures it was reaching. It surpassed and defied the limit if your body heat, and you had to, for the very first time, question Edna’s nursing book she had given you barely two weeks after you had been placed under her wing.

You closed your eyes. His features where very much close to yours. The proximity made you rather uncomfortable for your liking. He was probably used to this type of closeness growing up three younger sisters. But all the years alone made you withdrawn from this type of human contact. Afterall, its not like you had anyone to practice this tense claustrophobia-like feeling. Which only worsened when your realized, his arm had unknowingly made its way onto the counter to lean his weight against, and find stability to get proper reach of his taget, all for the sake of your bruise. Which only worsened your claustrophobia anxiety as it felt exactly like you were being trapped in a confined space.

That only distracted you a little from the pain. You realized, because as soon as that thought entered the cage of your mind, the heat of the innerworks of the churning volcano, in full crusty magma energy, ready to burst out at any moment hurt your brain again. Its core from the purple nasty coloured bruise.

You ignored the warm breath of Vito that was tickling your nose, when the bruising cream made contact with your sensitive pained area. The freezing cream explored all the way of the ice, having the volcano-like feeling, and you amused yourself further with the thought of the cold overtaking the radiant magma. The silent cold spoke bigger words with its actions, as it rapidly wiped out and froze every fury rage from your lump, into a never ending winter season. Its daily forecast seemed to have a threatening snowstorm, and you were finally glad your full bruise’s violent kingdom had come to an end. That amazing feeling run on every vein and cell, its refreshing sweet frozen rush swam across your body like a vase of pure cold slush.

Your features relaxed every muscles in delight, and Vito smiled up at your relieved face.

“Feels nice, huh?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. His tone had become a tone lower from the closeness from the two of you. Your mind was still feeling that cold rush sedating feeling, from pain’s punctuating reach. The relaxed irises of your form opened and moved to meet his, and to his question your responded with a weak smile hanging from your features. It was evident to anyone in the room, that Vito was the person whom you had bigger affinity over.

“Thanks” you said in the same husky tone as his. He grinned wider at your confirmation.

There was a moment of silence. Vito's creeping thoughts was slowly coming back to haunt him. He’d mean to come and help you as an excuse to talk to you again. He still had a sour taste in his mouth from the way he screamed at you last night, something it nailed his brain in self agony as the train traveled through the stillness of the night.

“Hey, about yesturday…” he started, picking up your quick attention to him. You weren’t mad, not after everything that had transpired before you went to sleep. Your argument with Vito would have been long forgotten if he hadn’t mentioned it.

The inside of your skull had a million puzzle pieces missing, and now that your burning was cooling down at the nice friction from the cream, you were desperately trying to find the void gaps of your memory puzzle from last night.

“I’ve been thinking what you said to me” his voice had become weaker. You were glad at the very least you remembered the dispute well enough to understand the point he wanted to make.

“Yeah… ?” you dragged the word out, the intonation very much asking the question as to finding out whether he had changed his mind or not. It seemed unlikely though, not even a day having passed to properly process your argumentative point. And it seemed hard to think he had enough time to break it down and to analyze the pieces behind your reasoning, and to fully comprehend them. But then again, its not like you had willingly done it for him either, and thus your doubt about his possible mind change.

The words got stuck in his throat. He admired you then, just how freely you could say those sacrificing words without a hint of poison gurgling up at the back of your tongue. He thought then, that maybe you had that pessimistic thought for a while know, the idea and acceptance of your own death in the cruelest way possible. But what he had failed to realize is that you still haven't accepted it fully. Your body and soul still lingered onto that thread of hope for you to come out alive, it still put your hair straight on end at the idea from the many ways you could die. And you were sure it would defenitely be more painful than the headache you were feeling, which seemed silly if you compared the two together.

And yet his voice retreated back into the pit of his stomach. He just coudn’t say the words without a hard struck feeling that squeezed his neck, as if it rejected and plead to overthink over that self-destructing idea. The mind worked very similarly to everyone’s head, it’s purpose to self-protect one-self was the last thing to linger before you had successfully torn your soul apart, and Vito found it increasingly difficult to say the words of his own sacrifice. But you were looking at him, expectant as to what he wanted to say.

“I still haven’t changed my mind” he opted. And it helped him in his emotional turmoil. He internally sighed, and was grateful he could voice the stubborn decision with a change of a few words.

You looked up at him. You knew he wasn’t going to agree with you so soon, but somehow his very stone hard deciding words, the one spoken from a tone that let you know there was nothing that you could do to change his mind, left you with a dumbfounded look in your eyes. With one of your eyebrows slightly trembling, perplexed at his decided thoughts that left no room from a second opinion, aka, your opinion.

“Vito I swear to Go-” you started, the voice very evident on your annoyed stance. But you remained limited on that level of frustration, you didn’t want it to surpass it like last nights’ after-dinner event. Still, you gave him an unpleasant look.

But he cut you off before you could go on and repeat the same words from before, because Vito had already heard you loud and clear. He simply just didn’t fully agree with them, not when he stubbornly thought your extended existence would be of greater benefit.

“Know, that I accept that part of protecting you, though.” His voice got lounder in self confidence, and you could swear there was an amusing tone hidden behind those white teeth of his. You looked at him, your mouth still open ajar before he could let you finish.

Your eyes announced his betrayal by not letting you speak your mind, so you recomposed your body, getting on a more straightened pose. Your features formed into an evident silent scowl. Maybe five seconds had passed from your unpleasant glare, resting your eyelids so your eyes looked smaller, but the pupil were charged with incessant energy.

And suddenly, your suspicions got confirmed. Vito let out a chuckle that felt very much a mock at your persona. His eyes got back to yours after he had cheekily escaped the grasp of your gaze, and he had the audacity to plaster a victorious small smile on his lips, a smirk. Fucking bastard.

You opened your mouth to retort something back, but the man well known as the Capitol’s Darling interrupted both of your banter. You looked at your right, and found Finnick leaning over the beige paper wall, too simple for the Capitol’s luxury you thought, but you weren’t the type to get easily judgemental over physical things like that, so you let that slide.

His bronze hair shined along the sun’s light that transmitted across the window. He was looking at the both of you after having called both of your names. He made a quick gesture, pointing at what laid beyond the moving picture of the transparent crystal. His crossed arms unwrapped themselves as his eyes returned at the two of you again. And with an amused small smile he spoke. “Looks like we’ve arrived at the Capitol”.

The way you had been welcomed to the Capitol was… interesting to say the least. You didn’t see much of the Hunger Games, especially since Edna was one of the few people of District 4 that hadn’t made you believe it was some sort of proud rivalry between Districts , but rather a death game that tried to disguise itself as a sport competition. Although, it definitely resembled that of Hunting Competitions, this version though, the weak players were the hunted trophy of the Careers, and you were sure you’d be categorised as their prey once they had seen your skills, or better said lackoff.

However, you were surprised when they had led you into a completely painted milky walls, everything was void of any colour, which already felt out of order from the Capitol’s hyper fixation with “bringing life” to their purchased items. And before you knew it, you were carried to your Prep Team station.

You shoudn’t have been surpsried in the slightest. You considered your brain to be level headed and sane, something you coudn’t help but wonder just how have the people in the Capitol been so rewired into believing the Hunger Games were “fun”. So your little brain coudn’t grasp their further audacity. It wasn’t enough they were essentially forcing you to die out at the arena with other adolescents, many of them being children that could have had a fulfilling life. So you knew your appalled features were justified. But in addition, they had to beautify you, all in Capital standards of course. You had seen some of the clothing styles of past Tribute Parades, and they had been questionable, to say the least. Many were simple outrageous costumes, a silly representation, and not the deserved recognition of hard work we put in to fuel their food, clothes and luxurious lifestyles. We were like a freak show to them, to smile and laugh at our expense. Which only worsened your nauseating feeling of your hungover.

But nothing could beat your experience with your assigned Prep Team. They had properly washed your every corner, stripped away of any black heads that was stuck in the pores of your nose, had applied moisturizing cream that could’ve easily have been originated from the slime of the snails, waxing every part that deemed “too much hair” to be ladylike, and of course, brushing off the wild split ends of your hair you hadn’t bothered to care enough to deal with for some months now.

You shoudn’t have been surprised at all, that and their snobby attitude towards you. Of course you would be deemed dirty from the get go, looking down at you as they coudn’t comprehend as to why you woudn’t take care of your appearance, ignorant of the simple fact that you were coming from a working District, of course you wouldn't prioritize boosting your physical attractiveness over keeping yourself alive.

Still, you hoped the good relationship with District 4 would give you some sort of better treatment, considering it came from a Career District. Unfortunately, you were dully disappointed. Your Prep Team coudn’t help but give you a snide eye occasionally, like you smelled like dead fish that had been dried by the shore from disgusting muddy water. Totally unaware of the fact, that the very delicate three star michelin dishes ingredients, mostly come from the sea surrounding District 4. I wonder if they know where their fish and seafood comes from…

Although you assigned stylist was nice nice enough. She was very young and petite, coming across, at least five years younger than her actual age. She was squealing constantly at the sight of your presence, once her eyes had roamed and anylysed your body whole. A playful smile decorated her lips just as she was repeating her excited words to be working with a Tribute of District 4.

Apparently her brother was a Peacekeeper stationed in your homeland, always sending her many sea shells, of all sorts of sizes and colours. But what she absolutely loved the most was the thick fragrance of the ocean that never left them.

“I had to do some last minute changes” Athena said. “Scarlett let me know you were a Healer, and couldn't help myself but change some of the decorum for you, and only you” she later added.

You coudn’t slip in any words into the conversation. Her lively and energetic persona made her social engine be filled with a never ending fuel, which for her downside, would be in the need to cough from time to time, to fill up her air ways with oxygen.

You found her endearingly adorable, she was a nice break from the hard hitting reality. She was definitely the type of person you could spend talking, or not, for many hours. Giving you a chance to restore your sanity back into its usual normal. A drop of melancholy splattered to the pit of your belly, you would’ve liked to have met her in different circumstances, although you weren’t sure if that could even happen, being apart by many kilometers of territory, and in between Districts. She was those type of people you’d end up surprising yourself in getting along. And you’d later wonder in those three a.m hours, just how many more people you would have ended up, unexpectedly building up a friendship with, but can’t due to the fact you both are so far away from each other.

It was time to meet back with the Prep Team, and you weren’t prepared for the second most isolating and tense situation you had been in, the first one being the Reaping by far. The Prep Team of Hell, you had titled them, and that was being generous.

The very first thing they did once you had sat down, was comment about the bruise in your forehead. To be fair, they had already mentioned it earlier when they were exfoliating your skin, asking you as to how it happened in the first place, and many disappointed sighs running after your made up a quick convincing enough excuse.

The moment their focus was on your face, to turn you into a beautiful swan, or how Athena had put it, they were running their mouth at an uncontrollable speed, and there was no sign they seemed to want to hit their brakes.

“Distusting thing” was their recurring comment. And soon enough it had become a term to refer to your purpuled bruise; like it was a completely separate entity from yourself, like it wasn’t attached to you in that very moment. It wasn’t a great feeling, having someone make not so passive, but very much aggressive remarks about your physical appearance. It made you feel worse because it didn’t come from a personal choice, but it was rather from an accident. Something that was out of your own control, only for them to keep their judgement louder.

“God, its so dark. Its gonna take ages the get rid off it” the one with especially thick long eyelashes said, while her makeup brush pigmented your face. You looked at yourself in the mirror. Two were on either side of you, taking care of your face to bright it up with vibrant colours, while the other was brushing her fingers through the scalp of your head, readying herself to make the hairstyle she had been ordered to do.

You were in awe at the sheer magnitude of the so many little vases of skin colours, an even wider range of colours you had to guess were for painting your lips, and, if that was even possible, even more colours in the form of light flowing powder stacked inside transparent thin boxes.

“I better get a recommendation card to a film studio after this. Cuz, I refuse to put hard extra work into nothing” said the man with curled dark blue hair, his words coming stomping on your face as he was curling up your lashes with black tint.

The ginger with a bob cut, the hairstylist that was finishing up the hair strands that fell onto your shoulders, sneered and made a passing comment. “If one day I woke up with that thing, I’d just stay at home, honestly. No need to embarrass myself like that”

However in the end everything turned alright, you supposed. It definitely topped your list of most awkward experiences you’d been in so far. It was always tough being in that sort of situation. Having to walk into a room timidly, scared and confused of what’s going to happen to you, only to have three pricks to have something negative to say about you. Even when they didn’t know your on a personal level, they were still against you for whatever reason.

Once you finally left, you shook your shoulders in an attempt to brush off every single passive aggressive comment, along with their judgmental eyes and sneers that had nothing else smart to contribute further, but to agree with them and their saliva-poison to fill and infest the insecurities you hadn’t thought of to be a problem to begin with.

Maybe it was lowering yourself to their ugly mindset. But the moment the pained hurt from embarrassment made its way to form little prickly tears in your eyes, you reminded yourself that the citizens of the Capitol were nothing but vacant lots, void of any deep emotion. In desperate need to fill their empty hearts with superficial things. Their atacking words may work here, but back in District 4, you knew they would be the laughing stock for having such a mediocre way of thinking while the rest were simply trying to survive.

However they made you feel was soon going to going to be lost anyway. Trying to catch up to you through the breeze, in desperate anguish as its pointy nails tried to reach back to your mind, just as it started realizing they weren’t going to have a prominent role within the depth of your memories.

Your fingers were slightly holding onto the chariot. Now, you were more confident of letting it slightly go, having positioned your feet and body weight to adapt to the power of the white horses pulling you.

As soon as it had pulled onto the platform, your feet made a clumsy movement and almost feel out of the nicely decorated white charriot. It was your quick receptive hand that quickly took a hold onto the smooth surface of the cockpit to stabilize yourself, before you would been rather aggressively be flown out a few feet away behind you. Leaving you behind as the show went on accordingly, and they woudn’t have stopped only for your miscalculated thinking. You also thanked Vito for being at your side, his hand wrapped around the back of you waist and took a hold of it. Applying so much force so you would have fallen off, and in the off chance you could’ve hurt yourself… again.

Your retina reflected back the explosion of colours that engulfed you whole. There were hundreds, no, thousands of expectators of the high society of Panem, properly welcoming you into their home of the Capitol. They were screaming and cheering at the sight of all the Tributes, throwing paper shaped symbols of each District into senseless air currents bursting in different directions. It slowly came back down to your peripheral vision, floating and dancing through the air currents that each carriage made. So small it carried out its second task dutifully, as a means to congratulate this worthy of a celebration day, and to throw away their money on merchandising for this very event in the form of confetti.

You could have been revolted at this very sight. People with born privilege, so far up their ass to even care about the harm their were causing on other human beings. And its not like you were on a different continents either, so you coudn’t understand as to why the close proximity of the territories coudn’t at the very least fill them up with some sort of empathy.

But in that very moment, all that putrid feeling disappeared. The gnawing of your heart could only look further at your own surroundings, your scanning eyes curiously looked every single Capitol citizen your passing view could get a hold to. Oddly, there was something so fulfilling about the way they were welcoming you, something that left you stunned and almnost petrified. You were like a little kid, going to its annual town fair for the very first time, curiously wanting to see everything they had to offer, from rollercoaster attractions to winning prize stands. You were simply an awe, every frequenting solemn thought disappeared in that moment, and you internalized that moment of pretty colours around you. At the very least, you weren’t in your depressed form, and you wanted to distract yourself further, even if it was for a little bit. You wanted to remember this scene, even if they were going to only be bite sized memories.

Vito squeezed your hand suddenly to gain your attention. He moved his head, a gesture to point at the several screens, that laid hanging at the high ceiling. They were were in paralleled pairs, and some rows behind them that followed that exact pattern, each one for a Districts Tribute and their partner. You saw Vito through the monitor, him looking down at you. And the screen beside it was you, or a version you coudn’t recognize of yourself.

You could only see the portrait of you, but that was sufficient to note on the magnificent work the Prep Team of Hell had done to you. Even when you didn’t want to admit it after their unlikeble attitude, you understood why they had been picked to style you for this grand event.

They had successfully gotten rid of the purple bruise without leavin traces behind it, impossible to see that you might have had it to begin with. They placed longer lashes on your eyes, however it wasn't exaggerated like the Capitol’s beauty standards. It made the the corner of your eyes seem similar of the wings of a dove. Your lips had been painted white, with a slight tint of blue powder mixed with one of a golden sun.

The hairstylist hadn’t failed either. The many strands of hair were all wrapped up in beautiful knotted updo, leaving you with a clear face everyone was able to see. In addition, to give you a more pure outlook, many hand made chrysanthemum flowers pierced through your strands like hair pins. There were many flowers stems there, so much so it was like a bouquet a the purest white of the chrysanthemum, that was neatly placed by the nape of your head. Some of the petals were flying away into the wind from the force, but it created an interesting look on you, like a girl who was wearing the wings of freedom, like a girl who tamed the oceanic winds of District 4.

You looked back at Vito. He gave you a small reassuring smile, before speaking some words you weren’t able to hear by the loud of the immense optimistic crowd. He repeated again, coming closer to you. You took that moment to see his moving lips, trying to read off what he wanted to say to you. You managed in one word, and you only needed that to understand the plan he wanted to share with you. “Sponsors”

You gave a determined pointed look. Tangling further your fingers into his, finding a comfortable pose before you showed your hands for the world to see. A demonstration of both of your corageous hearts, a witten meaning that the both of you woudn’t back down without a fight. The sneaky smile appeared on both and your faces through the big monitors, earning you the desired outcome of the cheers that had become joyful screams of praise and encouragement.

This year, District 4 woudn’t miss the triumphal proud looks of the fighters, the recurring yearly message that you’d gladly participate in the hard stones of the arena without a hint of fear in your eyes. This was for display of course, but you woudn’t feel guilty about lying your true crumbling emotions. You were still trying to figure out if they really believed anything that you’d give them; but it didn’t matter, in the end all they wanted to see was your performance, and to make them forget about their empty souls. And you heard their silent plea, the show must go on.

Vito tilted his head to look up at the screen that was live streaming across each forgotten corner of Panem. He knew his dad would be looking at him through the television of the plaza. He gave a smirk at him, not from playfulness, with a much pessimistic context and background roaming on his head.

“Is this what you wanted?” was the thought that came across his mind. He wished he could see his father, he hoped at the very least he’d be smiling at him proudly. After many years of his usual scowl directly at him, for Vito’s expressed disinterest for the Games. He at the very least hoped his dad would be looking at him proudly. Because this was all that he could provide in return for their familial pride.

You on the other hand, hadn’t taken notice of his sour mood. You looked at the screen again, instead of the closeup pictures of both of your faces, they were displaying the heart-warming act of delighted ilusion that the both showed with proud perception.

An idea popped in your head, if they wanted this you supposed a little flirty action coudn’t hurt. You looked up ahead, just where President Snow’s figure was increasingly becoming bigger and more clearer.

With a shy smile, you placed the tip of your cold fingers by the base of your lips. With a swift movement you gave a small peck, and through your hand, you gave the Capitol the little present of your actions. The corners of your lips increased cheekily hearing the roar of the crowd, the blowing of you kiss curated their hyper consumistic heart, filling them up with another type of love that superficial wants coudn’t satiate. Even if it didn’t come from a place of genuine love, they still felt satisfactory with nothing else other than playful desire.

Both of your’s and Vitos attire matched each other, even when the two had distinct changes between them. It made sense, what the stylists were looking for, at least the ones assigned for your District. Your gown was that of the colours that reminded you of your home. A corset-like top squeezed your lungs tightly, leaving the lines of your breast more squashed and with that lovely round form, the rest of your chest was exposed, showing off the attractive images of your free neck and arms. Although your arms weren’t totally naked, they had a piece of clothing attached to your tricep, in a golden bracelet. The long solitary pieces of cloth waved down in a zigzag pattern, the length running down to meet at the distance of your shoes, that laid hidden away from your skirt. It was laced and finished with a golden thread, giving it a more luxurious outlook.

Your skirt was the eye catching essence of your dress. Upon many light layers of clothing, it smartly casted darker shadows of blue by the bottom of the dress. The top, where the beginning of the skirt hugged the bottom arch of your waist, was more of a shiny sky blue. Like the visual representation of the sea levels, from the shiniest to the darkest of the sea bed.

The uneven layers were light, so much so it flied with the wind that caused the carriage, moving and floating through the air, almost like signalling the upcoming waves of an incoming tempest.

Your form was trapped within, like some sort of sea ententy that had resurcaed from the unforgiving sea lands, all coverend in specks of blue like dripping water was what that engulfed your form.

An added item that coudn’t come uncouted for was the little transparent wings stuck out from both you and Vito’s back. Making a direct representation, not only for the fishing industry that Disctrit 4 exhaled at, but also for it exotic fishes that came through the summer. The wings were exactly the same as the exocetids, or better known at the flying fish of the sea.

Just like the hair decorum, your dress was filled with that of chrysanthemum flowers, the flowing petals were being carried away by the currents, and the festive confetti. The smell resulted so familiar as you thought Athena’s earlier words, “last minute changes”. You smiled at the memory, chrysanthemum were known to have many healing properties, so much so it seemed your clients had grown dependent of Edna’s recipe. It was used to fight back many daily pains, such as dizziness and headaches; fever and colds for the fishermen who stayed until late at night under the starry sea night sky. It was even used to treat the beginning of complex diseases such as chest pains from angina, high blood pressure that was starting to become chronic, as well as Type 2 Diabetes. She had hit the jackpot.

Vito’s suit was similar in colour coordination. A button up shirt from a light blue, to his trousers that had gradually become darker as navy blue. Although he experienced other differences, by his neck hanged a rope that hanged down to attach itself to the white corset holding onto his waist. The rope was that of a thin brown colour, wrapping itself in braids of knots the experienced fishermen of District 4 would not struggled to accomplish.

That was your separating factor. Athena along Vito’s stylist decided to make a more unique overall look from the other Tributes, because their designes weren’t just the representation of your homeland, but also a brief display at both of your roles in town. That change of philosophy is what made you two rise into a more higher position along the likeability of the sponsors. Because you weren’t just Tributes from District 4, you both were more than that, not just annual sacrifices, but rather normal people with emotions, hopes and fears. And that simple change made the higherups feel closer to you on a personal level.

You were baring your teeth out into the biggest smile you could muster, the one you had trained yourself to seem friendly for the clientele of the apothecary shop. One that you had perfected it so it would be convincing enough within the barrier of stranger to stranger relationship.

And soon enough, you were glad both of your focus had disappeared. And for a moment a drizzle prickled down cold drops to your heart, but you quickly took care of it, and ignored it altogether.

You were only left greedy because you never had that much attention to begin with. So before you went out to seek for it, you’d shut it down as a simple momentary want, and not an important necessity.

“Welcome” started President Snow at the altar, his pragmatic way of speaking, very much trained to voice at any given moment. You coudn’t quite see him, being so far up, and you found yourself not being able to see clearly his features, and especially not the pin of the white rose that was stuck to his chest, like it was some sort of national emblem of Panem.

“Tributes, we welcome you”

“We salute your courage and your sacrifice” he followed his speech. And just as if he just proclaimed his sudden change of the current systematic oppression, like he had just announced he’d donate and free Panem from hunger and thirst, as well as unchain the District's handcuffs to the Capitol. The crowd of many coloured important guest, shouted in joyful fun at the devastating words you had to obligate yourself but slowly reconcile with them within the short time span of your Reaping.

You looked at Vito, and he slowly moved his gaze to meet yours. You silently agreed with each other. Maybe the two of you should have shared that nauseating thought, disgusted from the their putrid smell that came from their rotten mind. The both of you were slowly getting used to that though. But rather, his irises spoke the poem of a standing family waiting for their little soldier to come back home from war, and yours sang a ballad of a goner that still held onto that thread of hope, even when she had lost everything.

“And we wish you-” Snow’s words echoed through the Parade's hallway in the absence of silence, that the Capitol seemed to quiet down once their leader wanted add a few more words in.

Coryolanus Snow smiled at his audience, that awaited patiently at his next words. He looked at at the Tributes, and you swore he lingered his eye contact on your eyes for far longer than he should’ve.

“Happy hunger Games” the burst of his voice resonated the way a bigger smile quirked the corners of his mouth, not from delight, but finding great pleasure of his unnerving malicious intent from the creation of the Hunger Games. Resentment was only a piece of the puzzle of the great painting behind his reasoning of the death scheme. He wouldn’t compromise with anyone who pointed his way of thinking as simple bitterness or indignation, he was never the type to act when his emotions were still burning bright in its aggressive nature. But rather internally boasted himself in the way he had a more cold calculated view of his plans, like the forming icicles inside the deep maze-like subterranean icy caves. Or more accurately, like the slow snowflakes within the stilled night of a neverending forest. Frosting even the most savages of wild animal that lurked around the shadows in an attempt to hunt down their next prey.

“And may the odds be ever in your favor”

“In two weeks, twenty three of you will be dead.” spoke your trainer. All the chosen Tributes were lined up and facing her, paying close attention to the words of Linnen. Well, that’s encouraging…

It still made you rather uncomfortable, seeing the big sized differences between each Tribute, especially at the sight of a little brunette with messy waves tied in paired braids. Her face had nothing else but the knowledge that her sweet innocence would soon be taken away in the most horrifying way. She coudn’t have been more than twelve, and you supposed she had been unfortunate enough to being picked in her first Reaping.

“One of you will be alive.” You listened further to her, trying to take in as much information to may be of use in the Arena, for when Vito would need it. You didn’t have much skills to be of use out there, so you might as well try and help with anything you could.

The clear black skin of Linnen shone with the artificial lights hanging loosely above the all of you, like the shimmering stars against the beautiful starry night sky.

“Who that is, depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days, particularly with what I’m about to say.” Her monotone voice gave away the practiced lines of the repeated times she had said the same words, and you wondered just how many years has she been the teacher of the Training grounds. That thought followed another, just how many people had she known and possibly witnessed, that now are already dead from past Hunger Games? Her dull stare gave you a good enough anwer. It seemed she had conditioned herself, so the deaths woudn’t eat away her soul. She had seen many undeserving people die there, even more so she had seen a large quantity of children succumbing to their wounds from a feral Career Tribute. “Too many” is what the unignited fires of her charcoal eyes said.

“First, no fighting with the other Tributes” Linnen further explained the rules, whilst she stalked each one of your eyes. Like an intimidation tactic to give her subordinates the careful respect she was rightfully owed from all of you. Seemed easy enough.

“You’ll have plenty of time for that in the Arena” your amused thought was cut short after that threatening comment. You gulped down thick saliva, just as one of the many avalanches pressured your mind, the noises of crumbling rocks hitting each other too loud in your ears, but completely silet to the rest of the people surrounding you. You had to calm yourself before you’d slowly become insane from the fictional sounds your brain binded you to hear. They weren’t real, and still, since the train ride to the Capitol, it seemed that was everything you were hearing.

“There are four compulsory exercises. The rest will be individual training” Vito’s hand snaked to grab your writhing wrist, already feeling the overwhelmed electrifying vibe that you were expulsing through your tiny pores. His hand was warm, and with that, the affectionate drawing of circles from his ticklish fingers by the lines of your veins comforted you slightly. He was in a way, trying to pay you back from what you had done to him two days ago. To be the strong stilling pillar and grab your form, holding onto you so you’d be able to stand on your own two feet without falling over, and driving yourself further away from your sanity.

You let him reassure you, as some invading thoughts swam across your mind. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, you’d started understanding the phycology of a human’s touch, and although a part of you still recoiled at the closeness, you let him be. It was time you changed your bad habits, especially now when you were going to die soon anyway, might as well make it easier for the rest that had to endure you.

“My advice is, don’t ignore the survival skills” Linnen walked over closer to you, looking at every single Tribute one on one, crashing her eyes on Vito’s before she noticed your timid irises. She stayed for a moment before leaving, and just then, it was like an emotion that wasn’t scripted flashed her eyes. Like she felt bad about you. The very same emotion she had for many other Tributes that fell under the Grim Reaper’s grasp.

“Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes.” She rolled her eyes away from you, before she’d hurt herself again, once you’d die by the hands of an unmerciful vitcor. Her eyes followed back to the rest of the line, with her monotone eyes appearing again, trained to be void of any sympathy.

You noticed the stare of someone else on you, a boy, but from his physique you should be referring him as a man due to his much bigger body, than many of the other Tributes.

He looked very much like Philip, Emi’s older brother back in the Reaping. He was a blonde, dark brown eyes just like the wood of immense oak trees, planted powerfully in the middle of a valley, just near a mesmerazing lake.

You thought he had to be the male Tribute of District 2, if you remembered correctly. Just like how you found Emi’s endearing freckles to be the cutest trait of her face, you though the same for the man’s creeping eyes face sparkles. And that was it. Because the way his very eyes you complimmented on your mind, were locked on yours like a predator, even after giving you a knowing squint after you had demonstrated you had noticed his perforating stare on you. The blonde was taking in your presence, scanning you whole trying to find your weaks points. Which by the way his stare had a drops of cockiness swriling around his irises, you knew he was thinking of the many way to attack you, that you were an easy target to kill.

He was wearing a scowl, but his sight screamed in animalistic determination that threatened your livelihood among many other menacing warnings. You knew you were doomed, and you had to wonder just how did you end up becoming the target before the training even commenced. You justified the fear you had the day before, because he had properly marked you as his prey, and you’d be wary of your hunter.

“10% from infection, 20% from dehydration,” Linnen brought out the statistics, and you obligated yourself to look at her, whilst trying to ignore his tormenting stare.

You found yourself dismayed at the high mortality rate of the natural causes, which your quick mind went on and think this new piece of information over.

Considering the Arena was out there to kill you, you could come up with significant ways the participants of this death game would go through and make many wrong mistakes over the coarse of the days trapped inside. Mortal-like mistakes. So following by what Linnen had said, that could also mean the were chances of injuring yourself by weathering factors, like perhaps that of aggressive thunder storms, or territorial fires. You woudn’t be surprised if they somehow managed to submerge the Arena underwater just to create a nice show.

“Exposure can kill as easily as a knife.” Her passing comment stuck to you like a needle. Maybe you should use that to your advantage, maybe your could protect Vito that way. You didn’t have many skills, but you still had interesting cards under your sleeve that could come in handy if the right situation presented itself.

But for now it was best to stay low, to let the blonde and whoever else whose arrogance clouded their eyes to see you as weak and fragile as a porcelain doll, which frankly you were. But you could play a sneaky card in outsmarting them. That was your best bet now anyway.

The first day was uneventful, aside from the stare off of the blonde, that you’d later on you found his name to be Birch. The remainder of the day he had been trying his intimidation tactic on you, but his brilliant plan after many hours being of confined in the same breathing space, was starting to fail its initial effects it had on you. You simply grew used to it, and soon enough, it left you with an annoyed feeling from his creeping eyes. It was due to the fact that he coudn’t exercise his inner desires now, that the presence of the Peacekeeperes was present at all times, to keep Tributes from starting fights with each other.

Just like a lost puppy, you followed whatever you thought that could take care of you, and that was Vito’s broad muscular body silhouette. The both of you were standing by an exposed wall, full of thinly sharpened weapons that could easily sever you finger away if you weren’t careful enough while toying with them.

Vito didn’t wait, and quickly chose his prefered choice of weaponry. It was among the many axes and long swords, choices that were only provocative to a murderous arrogant’s perspective. Vito, against his big built, wilded the handle of two hunting knives. Its design quickly gave away as to which animal it was targeted to, with a bear pawprint at the base of the newly sharpened small weapon in comparison. .

“Knives?” you voiced. Vito didn’t seem to mind your clinging company on him, in fact he preferred having you stick my his side. He didn’t want you making yourself the target of many more Tributes unnatural thirst of violence that they so longly craved. He’d seen just how Birch was looking at you, and that only grew his protectiveness over you. He made a promise to you, and that simple act weighed him down with the context behind your deal, and he refused to break that bond that had created from your mutual agreement.

But he also felt at ease being in your presence, everyone else was a total stranger to him. So having the kindness your heart beside him was enough to calm his unnerving nervousness, even if it was just slightly.

“Yes, my dad drilled my head that this would be my best bet when out in the wild” he spoke to you. The heaviness from the knives would have been noticeable on untrained hands, such as yourself, but for Vito it was as light as a feathers ticklish touch.

“They’re small, light and easy to handle” he informed you with so much ease, with so much knowledge that was so unknown to you. Your eyes roamed to the drawing design of it. It was long, and thicker in width than normal kitchen knives. They were from shiny drak greys that could be also considered as the black tones from the void. It had a sharp line that run along the first three quarters of the dangerous cutting edge, finishing its race with little scooped oddly round shapes, and you supposed it was to make cutting up pieces of meat easier, as revolting as that sounded.

“Huh… Could you teach me?” you had asked of him, but you already knew his answer. He smiled softly at you, his tanned skin from the hard labour he had unfairly been subjected to, only to be later picked in the Reaping, was made beautiful under the dull artificial lights. “Gladly” he chuckled.

Day three, and you were just starting to get used to the garnet room placed just above the training grounds. It was always filled with many people, old men were the ones in the great majority. Their suit spoke their importance of the Capitol, with an uniformal-like attire that the only thing that was made similar between them, was the repeated pattern of the same boysenberry colour.

The different elegant cocktail vases, from the ones with conelike shapes, as well as some having a taller design that recreated the form of a lifting tower; was a hint on itself of the many riches that were tucked under their first class shirts.

Purple was the colour of royalty, especially ones that reached darker tones. Bringing all the pieces together, you thought you had enough circumstantial evidence to point a finger at them, and proclaim them as your possible sponsors. Probably on the look for the Tribute they wanted to place their bet on, in the form of bottles of water or candy bars ou in the Arena.

You had left Vito’s side for a moment. Making your way to approach another Tribute, trying to come up in a friendly manner. You hadn’t thought this through, it was as if your mind had turned into a spider and altered you of your surroundings, and before you knew it, you were quietly stalking to meet a total stranger, a towel and an axe in your hands. Just then you bitterly appreciated the weight of the doubles blades that Vito was teaching you to maneuver. You thought they were weighty from their solid and dense material, but you soon realized the weight came from the heavy burden you’d have to place on your self if you were in the need to use it to puncture someone’s lungs with it.

The fall was maybe eight feet from the unhelpful loops. Somehow he was able to gather up on his own, and dragged himself away into a solitary chair. The doctor in you made a quick calculation and got everything you needed to do to patch him up. You fully worked from the deep of your subconscious self, by the looks of it, all your healing expertise was in an eternal switched on conductor, making your movements more automatic, and without worrying that you might forget the knowledge of the books you had read oh so many times.

He looked at you, indecisive of your actions, with reasonable doubt across his features, you supposed. He made a quick question with his gaze, starting off with Who the hell were you? And What do you want?

His agitated gaze stopped you slightly. Bringing your usual self out, one with many fears and doubts clouding your mind. That was enough to paint all your actions with insecurity, and it made you feel that maybe what you were doing was inadequate in these types of situations.

You gaze rolled to the floor, where his leg stood. And that was enough to bring your robotic self back functioning. By his feet laid a picture you had encountered so many times you had stopped counting at the large quantity, which meant you had a lot of experience in dealing with these injuries. You hissed at the view of the forming swollen feet, getting increasingly bigger and redder. A sign that something bad was definitely going on.

“Looks like your ankle is sprained. You should rest it for a while” You comment on his current physical restraint. He rose his eyebrow at you, as if you had just mocked him. Which later it would be revealed that you were right after he scoffed at what you had said.

“I’m fi-” His good leg was the pillar that helped him up, putting much more force, and overexerting it with his muscles. The bold escape he tried to do had failed by your presence and doctoral disapproval. You cut him off.

“I said. You should rest it.” You repeated in pure annoyance from the oh so many experiences of having to deal with men’s irritable stubborness when it came to physical injuries. It was still a mystery to as to why they coudn’t just let you heal them, afterall you were a doctor, its not like you’ll make it worse. And you were dismayed at countless times injured fishermen came running with truly untolarable pain; pain that could have been easily avoided if they had just listened to you to begin with.

It wasn’t the best remedy, but it was the best you could do for now. The axe your hand held was frosten cold to the touch, since the metallic material was a especially good conductor of cold. All the weapons that were hunged in the exhibitor, one with advanced technology it expelled freezing air, as cold as freezing point achieved.

You wrapped the towel around the cold weapon as not to cause harm to the boy, from chilling arched sharp edge.

You managed the makeshift icepack, at least whatever your attempt in doing one was, and handed it to him, so he could apply it however comfortably he wanted, to stop or at the very least, slow down the swelling from the inflammed area.

A look of disbelief, one with a drop of distrust was swimming across his grey irises. Your hand was starting to get heavy, with the axe hanging from it. Because he still didn’t give the hint he was going to grab the item.

Your knees felt the surface of the smooth floor, momentarily resentful he made you crawl down so you had to be his caregiver for the next few minutes. You sighed in annoyenace, but the irritation that was pinned by the pit of your stomach wasn’t enough for you to stop your actions, and in fact you proceed further.

The nice cold left the male with a hitched breath from the electric spark that began from the initial contact. Like an odd fire was placed on his inflamed ankle. You had taken note of the way his breathing calmed down after the nice relieving feeling kicked in, so cold it sedated his pained body from further damage.

The boy whose number was printed on his back was that of District 7, looked up at you again. Embarrassment and a feeling you knew very well, he was also a victim of isolation, like the both of you were trapped in an isle of flightless birds; it left him voiceless. You didn’t mind him though, already sympathetic over him.

“Leave it like that for half an hour, you should be fine after that.” You advised him, and you only hoped he would listen to you, unlike the many fishermen that came crawling back with an amused smile at seeing your scowled expression.

His fingers walked to his ankle, and he took the newly homemade shabby icepack, if you could even call that.

“Why?” He asked, looking up at you, genuinely wondering where did that merciful act originate from.

“Becasue I’m a doctor. That’s what doctors do, right? Heal people” You returned his gaze, a small smile decorating your lips in reassurance. His doubts about your true intentions clouded his mind, and only left him with a closed tight lipped line.

The untrusting pupils of his, filled you with nervous awkwardness, washing your mind blank, unable to say anything. When your next words came out, you cursed at yourself from the robotic way it sounded.

“My name is Y/N. What’s yours?”

“I’m Carter” His monotone voice only rewired your brain more. The cells of your brain were desperately trying to know where your social cable connected to, and you were left standing there as you mind coudn’t grasp at the simple concept of human communication, all because of the awkwardness you accidentally obligated your brain to experience.

“Nice to meet you.” You said with a weird smile appearing on your face. One with tense edges that created a tight feeling at the corner of your mouth, from your nervousness.

“I’ll see you around then…” You continued, trying to end this conversation and go back to the only familiar thing in the training ground, Vito’s presence and protective body.

However, you jolted up at a yet another sudden thought, and you hoped the comment hadn’t come across in bad taste. All the while, your thought process run miles, screaming at you to leave this despairing situation in that very instant.

“But, hopefully not in the Arena. Lets not see each other in the Arena” Carter quirked up his eyebrow, amused by that random comment. The corners of his mouth slightly twisted up, only so slightly if you hadn’t been scanning his face you wound’t have noticed.

And then, silence. Eternal disturbing silence filled every gap and hole of your body. Right then you understood the meaning behind phobias. You hand an irrational fear of being trapped in this types of situation, and you wanted to leave inmediately.

“Gotta go now. Bye then!” you practically escaped the scene the best you could. Walking over to Vito who was trying not to let his laughter be known to you, however his contorting expression was betraying him.

That only filled your body whole with flustered embarrassment, so you went on and bark back words for him to shut up. Making yet another mental note to never be in this types of situations again. Because you weren’t sure if you’d be able to survive it next time.

You were in the sight of the meticulous buildings, all in many shapes and sizes, and although it came across as odd to you, not quite what you’ve been used to from the trapped years in your town, you could still find the charm behind them. From spheres to tall pointy towers that scraped the clouds, even with your dislike for the Capitol, you had to admit that was sight worth remembering.

You huffed air out. It seemed that the most important buildings here were the highest ones, standing gloriously and looking down at the rest, an on point reflection from the human behaviour throughout Panem. The Capitol being the highest ones, deciding play the big almighty entity, and you were merely an ant sized building for them.

The luxurious spacious complex you were staying at, spoke in bold letters about its high-ranking prestige. Its sole marketing brand was directed at the citizens from the Capitol, often boasting about thie yearly contract they had with the trownhall. To use their residential services for the Tributes of the Hunger Games; and of course, in this capitalistic society, they doubled the prizes for the rooms that the victors had stayed in, and tripled for those who were well-liked among the city, such as your mentor Finnick Odair.

It was chilly outside, as cold as it should be when you were far up into the sky. There were many colours visible from the buildings, but the purple and magenta of a certain smaller structure was what caught your eye. You supposed it was some sort of promotion for this young and upcoming singer. The lines of her skin were that of a pinkish purple of a neon effect. Her hair was noticeably just been under the influence of her personal Prep Team, as her luscious short electric blue hair had just been straightened, into a nice and smooth cut. They had given her dark purple contact lenses, something that contrasted the edited purplish lines of her skin.

She was dancing, swinging her hips from side to side with a flirty wink among her features. Just by the way of the costume design had prepared for her musical promotion, you knew who her target audience was from get go. A light pink dress hugged her body tightly, so short you were able to see her underwear, from the few scenes when the film director thought it would enhance popularity with that of the tilted camera angle from a lower perspective. It didn’t come from an improvised thought process from a sudden new creative view for the video, but rather it had been planned all along. You knew that, when you saw her underwear with the very same celestial electric blue, the same colour as her eye catching hair, to aesthetically match each other.

In the background played an upbeat song, and the short verses she was was willing to show upfront revealed her cute voice. It increasingly disturbed you further, the way her playful child-like attitude in front of the camera.

With a young appearance, you could guess she could be eighteen. That specific age, because you refused to believe she was a minor and her marketing team thought it would be best for sales for her to expose herself like this to the world; with a personality the very much of the oversexualized idea that creeps had imagined that of young, playful and lively girls. Makes me want to vomit.

You looked away, the uncomfortable feeling crawling up your back, creeping its every steps on

every bone of your vertebral column. Little tiny pest insects running around, and hinding in the gaps of your joints. You shook your shoulders, trying to get rid of the feeling just as the hair of your back got pointy alerted you of any incoming threat.

The trembling pupils of your eyes roamed through the city. The isolation had stubbornly taken over your mind, the same feelings of emptiness forming bigger gaps of void in the pit of your stomach.

At least the noises of the night ambience filled that pit, it seemed like a long well, shrouded in darkness and creaking monsters. The moving cars, only to disappear soon after, was made peaceful in your soul, their drifting sounds very much smooth an quiet, something that you absolutely needed.

Again, her memory came running back to you. This past days, she was everything you could think of, your dead teacher, the owner of the Herbal Shop, the one you had considered as your grandmother. Edna filled your mind ever since her death one year ago, and her passing only left you lonelier.

Edna was terrified of the idea you'd be picked in the Reaping, you were at least glad she didn’t have to experience that level of distress anymore. She already had a long sorrowful life, and it seemed fate had different path for the both of us. They wanted her last remaining years to be alive and well, and you coudn’t escape the written decision of your early death. You supposed then that’s why they had taken her last breath that early, so you could carry out your last living task.

“Cruel and cold” The huff of your breath left the words to be just above a weak whisper. The memory of Edna always followed back to your childhood, the little shards of memories inside the depth of your mind.

You had been adopted by Edna, and she never failed to remind you the day you had been found by at the beach, screaming and crying like a crazy banshee, she always said. You coudn’t bring that piece of nostalgia back to your head, and especially not the memories from further back of your first family, and what might have happened to them. The first room of your house of memories started with Edna, just as if she was part from your biological family, like she was the family that was meant to be yours.

“Like the winds of the sea” It seemed like the city liked the song you started to play. The noises slowly quieted down into nothing but low whistles of the cold breeze surrounded the prison tower you were staying in. It seemed the Capitol liked the lullaby of District 4.

“Will you ever return to me?” You huskily sang, and it definitely seemed like a murmur.

You may be a good doctor, all thanks to Edna, but you weren’t given the doting lovely skill of having a beautiful voice, and especially not to sing in front of a crowd. But it was enough for yourself, as a way to reassure your mental stability back in check.

This is was what your boss sang to you to calm away your senses, and to let your mind drift away from the thought of the imaginary monsters that didn’t lurked in the shadows. That you were safe under her very care, and nothing bad would ever happen to you.

“Hear my voice, sing with the tides; My love will never die. Ten long years, I've waited to go by; My love will never die. Come my love, be one with the sea. Stay with me for all eternity. Play the song, you’ve sang all those years ago; and wherever, the storm may blow, you will find the key to my heart. We’ll never be apart. In your sealed fate, my love will never end.”

The lullaby follows the story of the lovesick siren. It starts when a woman who awaits for her lover, after he embarks on a journey and bring back a treasure so they could enjoy the delicious riches until the end of their lives.

Everyday, the woman waits for him to come back by the shoreline. She slowly goes closer to the ocean, until her legs have been covered with nothing but the saty water the sea. And for the next ten years, she sings a song for her lover to come back home safe.

The story follows when the oceans heart breaks apart after listening to the woman’s sorrowful broken voice, and takes pity on her prolonged pain. The sea foam turned her legs into a siren tail, granting her wish for her to embarc on her journey to find her true love.

That’s how it ends, with an open good enough ending for the children's telltale imagination. A fable to teach the younglings the importance of loving devotion and eternal patience.

But of course, Edna wasn’t like the doting parent from the many families of your District.

Edna was convinced that the siren did eventually find her lover. He was floating through the oceanic currents, drowned and in his skeletal shape from the many years he had been submerged underwater. She always insisted it was a ballad of losing the one you love, a lesson what the sudden loss of someone can do to one’s psychology, to always be prepared to never see your loved one again. Because if you don’t, you’ll make process of your mind’s deterioration.

The memory woke something in your thought process. It was like Edna was trying to give you a heads up from the very beginning of your mother and daughter relationship. Like she knew this could happen to you, and she was trying to implant in an invisible seed in the soil of your mind, about her eventual death.

“My mother used to sing that me when I was a child” The incoming voice of a male jolted your muscles. You were so deep in your head, his sudden presence earned you a quick jump from the little heart attack he had given you.

You looked at him, the man in his full glorious persona, Finnick Odair had made himself aware in your presence.

All his features were darkened by the night sky, creating sharp shadows on his cheeks and eyes. The look on your face said the words you didn’t dare to say to him, because they originated form of a curse. It wasn’t something personal, although it was starting be. You just coudn’t understand as to how something like hard shadows, things that make your face not be as delightful to see, still made him be in usual Thunderous God form. You truly just coudn’t comprehend how much God or whatever entity liked him so much, they made him to always stay this beautiful in every passing second. It was like he repelled all the attacks that targeted his beauty, like he been given a shady an anti-unattractive potion and somehow it worked. You made a mental note, to ask him just where did he find that antidote, because you definitely wanted it.

You didn’t say anything, biting your tongue so you inner thoughts wouldn’t spill out accidentally. He got beside you, and formed the same corporal position as you. His elbows tapped against the railing, and his eyes looked at the neon light show that the night city provided the two of you. He was showing you his profile, the view of his sharp jaw, with the shape of his curled blonde hair was truly as sight to behold. Without mentioning the bubble of his Adam’s Apple sticking out, which made you feel certain things you could only but hide from the world, and you would definitely not tell him the things his physical appearance was making you feel.

“Although, it wasn’t exactly the same” He continued. You were glad he hadn’t bothered to see your face, because it definitely was a piece of art that would amuse him and further and grow his cockiness. You weren’t sure when you were just taking in his features, but his ethereal face had a lot of information you simply needed to take a moment and appreciate. And soon, your mouth opened agape, an expression that only showed true disbelief from the work sculpture, you knew the artist filled inspiration stemmed from nothing else other than great desire.

You recomposed yourself, looking away from him. He had noticed your stare on him, and to that he brought a smug smile to his lips. He had gotten used to it, the very gaze on incredulity many people had given him, asking the very same question you were thinking.

“There’s like, a million versions of this songs. Seems fitting we wouldn't have listened the same one” You responded. You considered his welcoming tactic as a blinding attack, a sneaky move to leave you vulnerable and lost. You needed to focus again. It was incredible just how this man was able to change your gloomy state, only to make a three sixty, and almost make your heart jolt out of your chest. Get. Your. Shit. Together.

“Yeah… This one’s not exactly child appropriate” He mused, the raspiness of his voice increasingly getting stronger and thicker at the base of your ear drums. It was increasingly harder just having to act nonchalant when the man was a powerful weapon against you.

“Edna was never exactly ‘Child Aproppiate’ to begin with” You went on. The bone of your back started to make little-not-rights, the last warning that it was going to start hurting soon. You straightened up, stretching your back as much as you could, only to later lean against the railing.

“Especially when it came to raising me. She didn’t want me to have a wrong perception of reality” You guessed, already done from the countless times you had tried to come up with an answer, as to why Edna had chosen such a particular way of parenting.

“Sounds lovely” Finnick added sarcastically, which earned you a breathless giggle. There was silence again. The brezee flied through the hair of the both of you. Swirling over his curls only to whisk through yours. The breeze hit your shoulder, and you internally whined for not bringing a jacket with you under the nightly weather.

Finnick simply looked out on the whereabout of the city, but he didn’t take in the scenery, too opreoccupied to make up the thoughts that swirled his mind. The words he had convinced himself to come and tell you personally.

“Heard you helped the boy from Tribute 7” He started after a long pause neither of your wanted to break away, that was until Finnick’s mind wrapped itself up. He looked up at you. The breeze affected his nose, as it slowly started to turn red, giving him a more endearing look, if that was even possible.

“You’re a good person for that” He added.

“I’m not a good person” You debated. The tone of your voice as cold as the tight lipped scowl that was forming in your face. You didn’t look back at the man that created explosive emotions inside you, especially after you could barely remember bits and pieces of him carrying to your room while wasted. Memories that were hard to forget.

“No. You definitely are” He counter argued. Which only left you to slowly blink your eyes in annoyance. You coudn’t see the spark of determination that electrified his green eyes, and he knew it would take a lot more than that to convince him otherwise.

“And why is that? If you don’t mind me asking” You asked, recomposing you shoulders once again. Your eyes slowly found his, and the fiery want to be right was cutting away shards of your energy. You internally sighed again. Men…

“By this point, most Tributes are wary of each other. So when someone gets injured before the Games start, its gives everyone else an advantage” His sweet voice filled with the sugar of the fruits and honey, dancing around in the air as if trying to mock you, from the delicious and addicting contents you knew if you took the bait, you would fall under its spell and grow dependant on it.

You quirked an eyebrow upwards, in pure dumbfoundedness.

“That just means I’m dumb” You plainly said, the tone of your voice like and that of an ice stone.

“Maybe. But I think its because you’re a good person” He gave you an fake innocent look. He really was just going to go on about this, and you were too exhausted to entertain his banter further. He was really going to get under your skin.

You sighed in the absence of noise between the two of you. He was still looking a you, a smirk slowly coming up his features as a triumphal look sat across his eyes. Your silence indicated to him that you were waving that white flag in surrender, which meant he’d won.

“Has anyone told you just how annoying you can be?” You filled in the air the both of you breathed in. The energy of your frustration very present in Finnick’s ears.

“Only when I’ve made my mind up” He winked. That flirty comment from the context behind his persistence. Not only did it not work, but it left you with a stoned expression.

“Whatever you say, King” You sighed.

You chuckled through the air, in the end you coudn’t help but find the situation light hearted. Finnick felt the pureness of the feathers surrounding you from, your genuine laughter. Nothing stained that, cleaned from any trace of dread or agitation you’d been feeling the past few days. His eyes locked on your closed ones, taking you in and drawing a pretty portrait of youserlf in the back of his mind. His gaze turned fondly at the look oof your tender expression, it was hard for him not to think of you as anything but amusing.

Upon noticing his stare down, you returned the sentimental look you were receiving. A bright smile revealing your baring white teeth. Another husky breeze flowed around you, unable to consider the both of you as challenges on the road; and with the icy breeze, your noise left to join in its adventurous journey.

And soon you spoke again, your eyes fixated on a skyscraper with golden lights.

“Who could’ve thought the Capitol’s Darling could be so painfully persistent…” You talked to yourself, a small smile lingering under the little city lights. That from Finnick’s perspective, found you to be like an untouchable illusion.

“Who could’ve thought District 4’s Doc could’ve had such a pretty smile” He made the flirtatious remark, and he surprised himself when you moved your head and displayed a playful smile, whilst giving him a knowing look. He hadn’t realized he had said it out loud, and he looked away from you. A shy smile forming after a huffed breath. The lines of his refreshing smile, you thought, was one the things you were surprised, but welcomed the feeling of longing and want, for you to be able to see it again.

“Okay-” you snorted, still in your chuckled trance. You opened your mouth again, to retort back something sarcastic about his flirty personality. But another voice interrupted the both of your livelihood. Vito had called your names, shouting something about dinner.

Your hand reached to tap his shoulder. The touch very much welcomed with the warmth of his skin. Your pumping heart received that homely information, and sent away the blood leaving you in the warmth that Finnick had provided you. Melting the ice of the cells that had been frozen for the chilling attack of the breeze.

“Seems dinner’s ready. You should come inside, Mr. Prince Charming” You said, your voice sounding so sweet and soft in his ears, like the calming waves of the preferred beach he liked to visit in the early hours of the morning, where everything was quiet and peaceful. Your fingers brushed away, just as it left its touch on him, and he coudn’t help but yearn for your suave fingers on him again.

Your body walked away, into the residence the two of you would be sharing for the remainder of the days before the Hunger Games started.

The cells scattered across your body, thanked Vito for having called you, finally coming inside with the warmth the heater radiated without a problem. But even in the external heat, your heart wasn’t fully satisfied, and it longed for that fire that could only be found from inside of you, and it seemed Finnick was the only one that could set its blaze alight.

On the other hand, the victor from two years ago, was looking straight to where you pupils had rested earlier. It was a pretty sight, but he found himself only wanting to visualize your presence. In his silly mood, he didn’t want to think of anyone else but you in that moment, to be able to prolong it as much as he could. But to his disappointed, the weather didn’t listen to his pleas, and soon, the warmth of your body washed away any trace that you had been with him that night.

He hadn’t realized it then. The way you were creeping up on him like a tame spider to keep him a lovely company; how he saw your laugh to be ownerless because it belonged from another planet, as sweet and pure as the tastefilling sugarcubes he’d learn to slowly love.

OH MY GOD, IT DONE!!!!! FINALLY!!

Also, I'm not so fond of the Tribute Parade scenes, idk I just find them quite boring. So I thought I'd add more scenes of the Training, some with Vito, and of course, with my little cookie pookie Finnick. Hope you liked it ;)

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TagList: @marvelescvpe @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @thegr8estpuff

#finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #finnick #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #the hunger games #thg finnick #thg x reader #thg

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idontplaytrack · 23 days ago

Text

Whispering

Lilette Suarez x fem! reader

Warnings: age regression, sickfic, fluff, mentions of vomiting

“I’ll be right beside you, holding your hand.”

You were currently in the middle of an eight-hour shift. Sometimes, you’d be bored out of your mind because no customers come in at all, other times it’s so busy you had no time to catch your breath. All in one shift. Thanks to a lack in manpower lately, you’ve been working several consecutive shifts per week for the last few weeks.

Saying you were exhausted was an understatement. However, you didn’t want to just be home all day. You could never sit still if you were home just doing nothing. At least you could earn some income while at work. At home you were just…resting. When you could’ve been productive. You were at shift four out of five for the week. And even though the job didn’t require a lot out of you, it was a heck of a lot of dealing with people. Having a customer service job at this (dying) cinema had its perks. But five days a week times 7 to 8 hours? Once you got home your whole body ached and you just felt like crying because you were not an extrovert. Why this job? This was the only place that got back to you out of the countless others you applied to.

Waiting for the time to go by was like torture. It feels like you’ve been stuck in an endless loop, living the same day over and over again. Little things were starting to set you off, you were growing irritated very easily and you had to physically stop yourself from ‘giving attitude’ to a customer.

“y/n! The iPad’s been going off for so long— do you not hear it?! Accept the order and make it!” Your co-worker yelled from the little break area in the back. You snap out of your daze, doing as she told you to, on autopilot. You were even thinking. You just went up to the iPad, hit the ‘accept’ button and made the snacks then brought it to the outside of a hall to meet with the customer.

Then, silence. You stood in the concession stand/box office, back leaning against the countertop staring at your shoes. A few seconds later, abrupt laughter from the same coworker startled you. Your heart began to race momentarily, so you took deep breaths. Which…turned into a sigh, honestly.

The staff door slams, jolting you as your head snapped towards the direction. Coworker number two has returned from their lunch break. Well, extra break. They went to smoke outside.

“Can I go for my lunch break? I get off at five and I usually don’t go this late.”

“We have a lot of patrons coming in for the next show. Go after that.”

You inhaled sharply, biting the inside of your cheek, “Right. Gotcha.”

You made it through that showing, then was finally on your lunch break. What made you lose it was dropping one of your gummy bears on the floor. You literally started weeping as you sat at the table. Then your phone rang, which you answered without checking.

“What?” You sniffled.

“Are you okay?”

Shit. It was Lilette. You thought it was your mom calling to talk to you about something absolutely redundant. Lilette doesn’t call you while you were at work, ever. She knew you couldn’t be using your phone at work other than during break times.

“…no.”

“What happened, baby?” She asked.

“I’m just tired.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you sniffled. “It’s been too much. I feel myself wanting to regress but I can’t— Lil, I can’t be doing this.”

“I can come get you.” She offered softly, “Do you want me to?”

“No— no, I— I’m not allowed to just leave like that. I have two and a half hours left.”

Lilette sighs quietly, “Will you let me know if you need anything at all? Stay online with me, alright? Text me whenever you can, we don’t have to stay on call.”

“Kay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You confirmed feebly.

“Okay, baby.” Lilette said before you hung up and finished your lunch then went back to work. Like you’d promised her, you chatted with her via text as often as you could while you worked. It was honestly a way for her to figure out how you were doing without directly asking you. She knows from the way you text how regressed you are.

You knew she was worried about you, but there really was no stopping her from doing that. You’d be telling her that you were okay but Lilette could see right through you all the time. After clocking out, you grabbed your bag and just sped out the door before anyone could stop you. You didn’t even take off your name tag. You were simply focused on getting the hell out of there.

“Hey.” A familiar face causes you to stop in your tracks.

“Lilette?” You squinted at her. “Why—”

“Wanted to pick you up.” She leads you to her car. You sat in front with her, like usual. She buckled your seatbelt before you could and then got into the driver’s seat and promptly started driving— to her apartment. She knew after all, she knew you wouldn’t be able to get any rest at your own home since you still lived with your family. They always wanted you to do something, so Lilette took you to her apartment instead. Plus, they didn’t know where she lived so they could never locate you.

————

“Baby— your name tag. Take that off first.” She reminded you, your grip on the hem of your shirt loosens and you removed the pin from your shirt. While you did that, Lilette got a change of clothes ready for you. Took her a moment to consider, but she quickly decided on a comfy pyjama set. You followed her instructions without saying a single word. Lilette watched you closely as you carried out the task, her worry for you was immense. Her knowing exactly why you were in such bad overall condition was because you have been seriously overworking yourself.

You plop onto her bed, sitting with your legs on the side and looking up at her. You pout your lips, doing grabby hands to get her attention. Not that you needed to because she was watching you very closely. It was almost instantaneous, that switch flipping in your mind—metaphorically.

“I got you, mamita.” Lilette swiftly sat next to you and wrapped her arms around you. “I got you. It’s okay, you can rest now, baby. D’you wanna lay down?”

You shook your head, burying your head in her chest, tears just falling from your eyes with no pause. “Don’t feel good.” You hiccuped, struggling to even get those words out in the first place. She shifted herself so she wasn’t sitting on the side of her bed, then urged you to move up too. You did that, then you were swiftly attaching yourself to her side once again. “You don’t feel good?” She asked, running her fingers through your hair and massaging your scalp. You nodded, one hand clutching at the fabric of her shirt.

“Is it your head? Or your tummy?”

“My head.” You could barely talk, your voice was shaky and you were trying your hardest not to cry. The motions of her fingers on your head proven themselves to be helpful are several minutes, because she saw that you had nodded off. So she tried to remove herself from the spot beside you and go grab you your meds from the kitchen just to have them on standby for when you woke up. You got startled awake though. Then you were crying once again, so she got shocked and rushed back to your side. “Honey, what’s the matter? Hey, I’m right here, alright? I’m gonna stay right here, I promise.”

Yep, she wasn’t going anywhere now.

“Baby, stop pulling your ears—” She says, but you were wailing. So she stopped talking, hands holding onto your wrists.

You were completely incoherent even when trying to tell her something. Eventually after a full minute of full tears and snot, you went ‘ow’. Lilette sat up straighter, hands now off your wrists.

Gently cupping your face in her hands, she swipes your tears away with her thumb. “Hey.” She shushed you softly, “Hey, baby, look at me.”

While blinking profusely, your eyes slowly looked up into hers. “Your ears hurt?” She asks, pointing to her own to make it clear to you.

You nodded, sniffling. She wipes your nose clean with a tissue before asking, “Can I take a look, mamita?”

You nodded again, lips still quivering. She was being very careful not to pull on your ear to hurt you even more. “Can you close your eyes for me one sec, baby?” She requested. Once your eyes were closed, Amber took a peek into your ears with the help of the flash on her phone to see if there was any visible redness. She couldn’t see any of that so she figured it must’ve been an inner ear thing.

“Baby, you have to see a doctor.”

Oh boy, you heard that last word and begged her not to take you.

“You’re not feeling well, baby. We need to make sure that owie goes away.” She strokes your cheek, “I want you to feel better.”

“…’m scared.” You revealed timidly, choking on a sob.

“I’ll be right beside you, holding your hand.” She whispered, “I promise.”

You agreed, so she immediately took you back to her car after making sure you had your ID with you for registration. Oh, and your favourite plushie(that she definitely had to wash later). But her priority was making sure you got checked out and had the medication to improve your ailment. “Here, baby.”

“Thank you.” You told her in a quiet voice.

Rubbing your back, her hand stayed there as she led you to her car. “Alright, we’ll be back home before you know it.” She very cautiously shut the doors because she noticed that louder sounds and noises hurt your ears right now. Thankfully, you managed to doze off on the twenty-minute car ride to the nearest clinic so it went by without a hitch.

Hugging onto your purple tie-dye stuffed frog tightly, she held onto your hand after locking her car doors and walking with you towards the clinic. You were wearing a flannel of hers that she’d left in her car since you were cold— the infection had you running a fever. As if it wasn’t already going to be a heck of a few days, maybe even a week. Lilette signed you in and told the front desk what was bothering you when they asked. They told you both to go sit down and wait. From the second you walked in, you’ve been staring at the ground. Only accidentally making eye contact with the nice lady at the front desk. She smiled at you.

You two wound up waiting for nearly half an hour before you were called in. As promised, Lilette hasn’t let go of your hand once.

Lilette knocks on the wooden door, only opening it when she hears a ‘come in’. “Hi there. They said you were having an ear infection?” The doctor asked immediately. While looking at you. You obviously were not going to be answering that. You never talked to strangers when regressed because you didn’t want to, or just didn’t feel familiar and comfortable enough with them. “She does.”

The doctor quirked a brow, gesturing for you to sit down on the examination bench. You don’t budge, then of course Lilette told you to before you went ahead. “That’s…an interesting thing to have here, isn’t it?” The doctor looked at your stuffed frog, “How old are you— 22. Oh.” He scoffed.

Lilette squinted, “Excuse me?”

“Yeah?” The doctor glances at Lilette as he reached for the otoscope.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That comment you just—” Lilette bit back her words, pulling the curtain by the bench to shield your eyes from that anger bubbling up within her. She didn’t want you to see that. “Your job is to make sure a patient gets the help they need. No matter who they are and how they’re like. Who is she harming by bringing a stuffed animal into this doctor’s office? It’s an intense, scary place to be in. You don’t have her medical history and anything else related, you have not a clue what she’s been through. So just focus on what’s being presented to you that’s actually a problem you can and are supposed to help with. Do your job, care for your patients, not make fun of them and make them feel bad when clearly it’s the last thing they need.”

The doctor was silent. Lilette opened the curtain slightly, “Baby, could I borrow Ellie for a sec?”

“I’m sorry.” The doctor answered flatly.

You furrowed your brows together in thought, but handed it over. Lilette pulls the curtain open more. “Are you sorry? No, are you afraid of this harmless thing being in your space?” Lilette held it up, scoffing, her eyes nearly rolling in annoyance. “Take a good look at it, watch.”

The frog flies a short distance and hits him in the face before falling onto the floor. He didn’t react. At all. But his facial expression showed his embarrassment after Lilette’s words. Lilette hands the toy back to you, “Thank you, baby.” You smiled at her, confused. Then he just silently checked your ears then told Lilette the situation. With your hand back in Lilette’s and her brushing her thumb over your knuckles, you braved through it. Soon, he was writing you a prescription then sent you on your way.

Buckling you in the seat, she studies your face. “You good, bubby?”

“Wanna sleep.” You mumbled.

“That’s okay, mamita. Go ahead, hm? We have to pick up your medicine on the way so it will be awhile. I’ll wake you up when we get home.”

You murmured an ‘okay’ then just went to sleep, head resting on the frog’s. Lilette parks in the lot outside the pharmacy, right by the entrance so she could see you. She didn’t want to wake you up because you absolutely needed as much rest as possible. Thankfully, she was in and out of the pharmacy quite quickly.

————

You unwillingly got out of your seat and had her lead you back to her room once home. You were so ready to just get back to sleep but she had to get you showered, or at least change into a fresh set of clothes and take the medications. “Mamita, I’m just gonna need you to stay awake for me a few more minutes, please?” Lilette coaxed. “What snack do you want, baby?”

“Wanna sleeeeeep.” You sulked.

“I know, baby.” She bites back a sigh. You needed to have something in your stomach before you took the painkiller and antibiotics— your stomach was sensitive. And the latter tended to be quite harsh on your stomach, too.

“I’ll be back in a minute, okay? Lemme get you some milk.”

You laid down cautiously since the pressure hurt your ears. Also, your beloved stuffed frog was gone from your sight since Lilette left it in the kitchen to wash in the machine. So you settled for a teddy bear instead just to have something to hold onto. You hear her in the kitchen, the fridge door opening and closing. Then footsteps. She’s returned with your sippy cup of milk and the meds. You started to cry again while she convinced you with every way possible to drink them. “y/n. Your owie’s gotta go away otherwise you’re just gonna be not feeling good for a long time. Please? I’ll get you a popsicle when you wake up later?”

You didn’t say anything back, so she didn’t say anything and simply handed you your sippy cup. You were defeated, and honestly? So tired thanks to being sick. Lilette fed you both medications when you had drank half the cup of milk before she let you finish that off. “Ellie’s in the wash, okay? She’ll be all clean and dry tomorrow.”

You only gave her a nod as you handed her your sippy cup, your eyes were closing. Lilette however, sets your cup back down instead of bringing it to the kitchen so she could hold you while you slept. Without you mentioning anything whatsoever, she propped her own pillow under yours so your head was elevated hence taking the pressure off your ears and alleviating the ache. She sighs softly, watching your face. “You’ll be okay.” Lilette says while soothingly patting you to sleep.

Somehow, you were still in tears. It was such a pitiful sight, Lilette herself wanted to cry. Yeah, it was going to take a bit of time before the painkiller kicked in. The constant nagging ache coupled with the occasional sharp stabbing pain in your ears was like a combination from hell. Quite frankly, your whole head felt like it was going to explode and it scared you so you were basically clinging onto Lilette for dear life. “You’ll be okay soon, I promise.” She whispered, her hand continually going up and down your front in a comforting manner. You were now laying on your back, closing your eyes again like she’d asked. It was difficult to fall asleep being so uncomfortable.

“I love you, baby.” She presses a kiss to your cheek.

“…luv you too, mama.” You sulked, she cups your cheek and gave you another kiss.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, sweetie.” Lilette’s thumb still stroked your cheek. “Go to sleep. I’ll be right beside you, holding your hand.” She intertwined her fingers with yours and squeezed your hand, “Okay?”

“…‘Kay.” You mumbled, finally giving into the exhaustion. You fell asleep in seconds. But much to her shock, you woke up two hours in all flustered. Shit, the nausea you would get after taking antibiotics.

Lilette rushes to you from her desk, bringing the trash can to your feet. You swallowed thickly but it was terribly hard and painful to fight the urge after your stomach swiftly did that somersault. Before you knew it, you were bent over and spilling your guts into the trash. Lilette cringes internally but did what she had to do and rubbed your back. She’d luckily put your hair into braids earlier so it didn’t get dirty with the throw up. You didn’t have much in your stomach either, it was obvious. After a short while, you were dry heaving and crying your eyes out from how sore your stomach felt after the fact. Lilette was shushing you and whispering sweet words of assurance into your ears. She was whispering, yes. Terrified to be too loud and hurting your ears. Hurting you.

She helped you up to go rinse out your mouth in the bathroom. Once that was done, you basically just turned around and wrapped your arms around her, leaning your chin on her shoulder. Lilette’s palm reflexively found its way again onto your back. “You wanna sit down? I’ll get you a popsicle. A purple one.”

“Uh-huh.” You answered, nodding your head, your voice unclear and shaky.

She unwrapped her arms and walked you over to the couch to sit before grabbing that exact popsicle for you. “Here you go.” Lilette knew that it would soothe your throat for sure but definitely needed some more food in your system— actual food that could fill you up. Even if just for a little bit. So you weren’t even more uncomfortable from hunger.

“Thank you.” You gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Want some soup?” She suggests hopefully. You agreed, she was expecting a ‘no’. Or more crying, to be honest.

————

While she was cooking in the kitchen, you stayed curled up on the couch hugging that same teddy bear for some level of comfort.

“How you doing, mamita?”

“…m okay.”

“That’s good.” Lilette hums.

After awhile, Lilette joins you on the couch when the soup was simmering on the stove. “You want a hug, baby?” She asks, smiling at you adoringly. Without a doubt, you leaned onto her and let her wrap her arms around you. You were cuddly when regressed and she knows and loves it. “Do you wanna watch some TV?”

You shook your head.

“No?” Lilette stroked your hair— which was slightly sweaty, from the day you’ve had. Carefully, she took off the hair ties and was massaging your scalp for you. It gave you some more relief, so you happily let her.

After turning the stove off, she decides dinner could wait and helped you with a shower instead while the fever reducer/painkiller was still in your system. You were too sick to object so you just let her, it went by faster that way. Because you were back on the couch soon enough, now watching some cartoons while she got dinner for both of you from the kitchen. You sat down on the floor when she walked back, so she did the same and both of you ate the food in relative silence. While you were engrossed in the show, Lilette slips away to prepare the next dose of your medications. Not forgetting this time that she had something to settle your stomach too this time. She found it in the medicine cabinet in her bathroom.

“Would you wanna do some colouring, my love?” Lilette smiled at you proudly when you swallowed the meds in no time. “Good girl.”

You smiled back at her, chuckling. Lilette pulled out a colouring book from the low shelf of the coffee table along with a box of crayons. “I’ll be right back, okay? Just need to wash these little cups and put the bowls in the sink right there.”

“Okay, mama.”

Not gonna lie…her heart melted whenever you called her by that term. It was sweet, there was a complete sense of trust she felt that you had for her. Helping you heal has been helping her too, she’s created a calm and loving environment for the both of you. Taking care of you made her feel a great sense of comfort and you being so cute just made her happy to see you smile. She’d do whatever it takes so you were happy especially when you were regressed. It heals. Both of you. There was no anger, no resentment, no unnecessary screaming. Just love and care and support.

She could feel you watching her. So she turned around and looked over her shoulder. Lilette smiles when she sees your face. “Hi, baby girl.” She grins. You laughed happily, the first time all day. Maybe all week, or all month.

“Hiiii.”

Lilette chuckles, “I’m coming, you cutie pie. Just one second.”

She kept the tiny medicine cups back into the cupboard then returned to her spot next to you. Actually, she even pulled you onto her lap after a short while, watching you colour while resting her chin on your shoulder. “That’s a really pretty colour, mamita.”

“It’s purple.” You beamed.

“It is, honey. Good job.” Lilette chuckles over her words. ”Who’s your favourite?”

“Mmm.” You hummed in thought, “The little ones.” Flipping through some pages, you stop at the sticker page. Peeling one off of the said character and sticking it onto Lilette’s arm, “That one.”

Obviously tickled, she laughs, “Oh, this one? Kinda reminds me of you, baby. Apple Bloom’s so cute.”

“Am I gonna fhrow up again?” You wondered.

“No, mamita. I promise, that medicine you took will help with that, alright?”

“…’Kay.”

“Okay.” She plants a kiss on your shoulder.

It started raining soon after, causing you to feel a little too cold for your liking. “You want a blankie?” She asks, palm against your abdomen, the warmth was comforting so you didn’t want to leave you alone even for just a moment to let her grab the blanket for you. “You don’t want me to get up, baby?”

“No.” You pouted.

“Baby.” She chuckles. “How about you sit here just for a second and colour?”

“Noooo.” You whined, clinging onto her tighter

Defeated, she picked you up. She actually picked you up for the first time and carried you then walked to the cupboard to get you a blanket. Granted it was only a few feet, but you didn’t want her to leave your side even for just a minute. “Alright, here you go.” She says while sitting down on the couch with you on her lap. She drapes the blanket over your shoulder then hugs you again, letting you snuggle up against her while you two watch the rain falling outside.

She kisses your cheek, “Do you feel a lil better?”

“Lil bit.” You smiled, showing a tiny space in between two fingers.

“I’m so glad, baby. Do you want me to read you a story?”

“No.” You said.

“You just wanna watch the rain?”

“Yeah.” You sat on her left thigh, both your legs resting across her lap as you nestled your head in the crook of her neck.

“Let’s do that.” She agrees.

“Thank you.” You sat up straight, holding her face in your hands and squishing her cheeks. Lilette chuckles, “Don’t need to thank me baby.”

“You help me.” You said, still holding her face, “I need say thank you.”

Lilette smiles, “You’re so welcome, mamita. I love you.”

“Luv you toooo.” You giggled, squishing her cheeks harder, so she laughs harder and peppers soft kisses all over your face. When she stopped, you kissed her back on the cheek.

“You’re so sweet, baby.” She smiled. You were just happy to be called baby, “Hehe.”

“If you wanna sleep, just sleep, hm?” She whispered, once again, her palm was going up and down your back very easily coaxing you to sleep. You were comfortable— the weather was nice and cool, it was the perfect way to fall asleep for the night. “Don’t fight it.” Lilette continues, “Rest up. You deserve the rest, baby. We have all the time in the world to do everything else once you feel better.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

💭A/N:

Part 2 for the regressed Regina fic is still in the works. Enjoy this one that wrote on a whim and somehow became 4K words😭

#auli'i cravalho #lilette suarez #fanfiction #wlw fanfiction #nbc rise #drama high #alternate universe #gxg #reader x character #reader insert #reader imagine #queer fiction #wlw sfw #fluff #sickfic #hurt/comfort #age regression #reader discretion advised #Spotify

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youmarin · 5 months ago

Text

Now Recruiting! ft. Inarizaki VB Boys - Part 10: Fall Festivities

Summary: Miss Manager shows up for a friend. Then it's time for the school festival! Of course there's more volleyball, and more encounters!

Word count: +9.4K [including extras 14 - 17]

A/N: This baby is long af. You're in for a ride I'm sorry lol. See more notes at the end of the post.

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PART I

Ding!

It’s around 9:00p.m. You’re in your room. Checking your phone, you see it’s a message from none other than Tendou Satori, who you’d met last summer during training camp and with whom since then you’d kept in touch now and then. He’d done most of it, him being the extrovert and pulling your attention.

[9:05 p.m.] T: Spring High Qualifier Finals tomorrow!

You smiled at the screen, typing a reply,

[9:05 p.m.] Congratulations!

[9:06p.m.] T: Thanks! :D

Typing bubble. Nothing. Typing bubble.

[9:08p.m.] T: Wouldn’t you like to come see us?

You stare at the message, a little taken aback.

[9:10p.m] I’d love to. But you know, it’s quite far.

It’s far as hell. How would you even make it in such short notice?

[9:12p.m.] T: I found cheap train tickets.

You raised a brow. He’d already been thinking about it.

[9:13p.m.] T: I’ll get them for you and you can come!

[9:13p.m.] I won’t let you buy me a train ticket to Sendai, Tendou.

[9:14p.m.] T: Oh. If it is about the money, don’t worry about it! The boys lost a bet to me so it’s not all mine HAHA!

Speechless, it took you a moment to think of a proper reply.

He beat you to it.

[9:17p.m.] T: C’mon! Think about it as a present from the team.

[9:17p.m.] Why would you guys do that?

[9:18p.m.] T: Because you’re a friend, duh! And trust me, they’d rather I spend it on something like this.

[9:18p.m.] I can’t bail club.

It was a Saturday and the boys had morning practice.

[9:19p.m.] T: One morning practice without you won’t kill them, would it?

You weren’t too sure about that.

[9:20p.m.] T: It’s like a manager thing.

True, you could get intel on the next possible rival and visit a friend at the same time.

[9:22p.m.] I’ll ask Kita-senpai. If he says it’s okay then I’ll go.

[9:22p.m.] T: Yay!

You leave Tendou’s chat and open Kita’s. The text is sent and a couple of minutes pass before he reads it.

Kita calls.

The tickets were cheap, alright. The first train, early as fuck in the morning, with like three stopovers. So there you sit with your bag in tow, getting ready for a trip of more than four hours. Thinking about having to do the same to return makes you wanna cry, so you take a deep breath and empty your head. You should catch some sleep during the ride anyway.

You’re on time when you finally arrive in Sendai City. Opening your messages app - speaking of, your phone hasn’t stopped vibrating in your pocket with incoming messages since around time to get ready for practice back home. Most of them from Atsumu. -, you let Tendou know you’re there and he cheerfully sends you the location of the gymnasium. It wasn’t far from the station. Still, you got lost, having missed the first minutes of the game when you jogged up the steps to the stands, probably looking terrible by having run all the way there and lack of sleep.

What’s worse, there’s a very good looking guy sitting in the top row. He notices you coming and for a moment seems to try and hide his face. You think he’s either shy, or wants to save you from embarrassment. You take a seat leaving one row between you.

Shiratorizawa gets another point, they have the lead, and you cheer. You hear someone click their tongue behind you, then start to grumble under their breath. When the other team, Karasuno, gets a point, it’s the same thing.

Is he rooting for any of the teams?

“Nice serve, Goshiki!” You shout when Shiratorizawa’s first year heads to the end line and starts his serve ritual.

The boy behind you scoffs.

Okay, seriously,

What is wrong with him?

You whoop, “Go, Tendou!” after he spikes and earns a point. Somehow amongst all the noise, he hears you and turns to where your voice came from. You wave your arms wildly and he spots you, waving animatedly at you.

She seems to know the guys from Shiratorizawa well, but she’s not from their school, is she?

“Do you support your own team like that?”

You turn around slowly, doubting for just a second that he’s talking to you but honestly there aren’t too many other options. This section is not crowded and you’re the one sitting the closest to him.

When you see the smile he’s sending you, his words get a different meaning:

Does your own team suck?

You fight the frown that wants to take over your face, smiling instead and brushing off what he really means.

“Yes, a whole lot more.”,

then can’t help to ask, “Which school are you from?”

“Aoba Johsai High.” He answered proudly.

“Never heard of them.”

“What about you?”

“Inarizaki High.” you answer very much as proud as him. You too have your attitude. And he’s right, you’re not from around here.

Arms crossed, he brings his index and thumb to his chin, pretending to think, “Hmm, never heard of them either.”

“Has your team never been to Nationals?” You asked because you really didn’t know, clueless of how you’d just stricken a nerve.

Just what did he do to deserve this? He’d purposely chosen an empty section of the stands to not be bothered - or spotted - while watching his biggest rivals on the court -where he should be- , then in comes Shiratorizawa’s number one supporter and starts attacking him?

You stare at him for a little longer but given his silence, you turn back to the game.

You see that Karasuno is a formidable team. However, their tall middle blocker is still adjusting the timing of his jumps to block, and their libero can barely pick up Ushijima’s spikes. Yet he’s persistent, and he might. Youn lean over your seat when Ushijima receives Karasuno’s number 10’s attack -seriously, that orange head boy can jump-, then goes for a spike and ends the first set. You shout encouragements to the purple team.

Tendou starts the second set on fire with his creepy guess blocking. You’re as impressed as always but it’s also a little irritating how good he is, and think how you might have to deal with it depending on today’s results. Then in a flash, Karasuno’s number ten spikes the ball right over Tendou’s head. The next rally, he’s fooled by him being a decoy at first but as they return the ball to their court, he runs trying to keep up with him. He recovers, making it as if he’s about to follow #10 and switching to go after #5.

Later on, Karasuno’s number eleven surprises everyone by stuffing Tendou’s spike. You can see the tension sparks from where you’re sitting. Rintaro would enjoy watching the redhead getting pissed off. Their coach loses it when Goshiki and Yamagata both hesitate to dig a spike resulting in the ball slamming onto the floor right between them. You grimace, knowing that Goshiki’s getting the end of it. Another surprise: Karasuno’s number eleven is switched out for their number two and when it comes their turn to attack, the starting setter switches spots with him and the rest do their starting runs for a spike, leaving no one to cover for a follow up. It’s a risky trick yet it earns them the point.

Shiratorizawa reaches twenty first, “Way to go, Goshiki!”

If they win this one, it’s going to be way more difficult for Karasuno to pick themselves up.

Karasuno subs in a pinch server. He goes for a jump floater, but his momentum is shut down at once when their blockers fail to stop Ushijima’s powerful spike and he’s back out. Both teams keep catching up to each other and can’t get a break. Then it happens: they corner Ushijima with a wide three man block, obliging him to do a straight shot directly to their libero and the ball goes up. Being a critical moment of the game, Tendou seems to guess they’re going to set it to their ace but number nine chooses the middle.

Karasuno gets a service ace, but just when they might get ahead, Tendou smacks the ball down on their court when it crosses the net after one pass. Shirabu does a setter dump, taking the opponents by surprise. Their tall middle blocker manages to react and touch it, but they can’t follow up. It’s match point. Then it’s deuce. Karasuno’ s setter gets back at Shirabu also going for a setter dump and it’s a stare down. None of them manage to end the set.

Karasuno reaches thirty points.

Finally, they claim the set when Shirabu sets to Ushijima and their number eleven shuts him down. The crowd bursts in an uproar around you. They’re unbelievable. Both of them.

Could Karasuno do the unexpected and steal the win from the prefecture’s favorites?

Shiratorizawa doesn’t seem to delve into the question as they get back taking the third set. The silent reprimand of their coach seemed scarier than yelling and Shirabu goes back into the court as sharp as ever.

Goshiki was maybe a little too fired up, starting the fourth set with a serve that went out of bounds.

“Yes, Kawanishi!” The second year was able to read through Karasuno’s synchronized attack and stopped their ace.

Karasuno kept working around a way to deal with Ushijima’s attacks. The blockers narrowed the path, while the players on the back row stepped back, expecting the spike to land close to the end line given its sheer power. Their strategy proved effective, nonetheless, when their number five went for the spike Tendou was there to block him. Your redhead friend relished the cheers. You chuckled, cheering yourself.

The next plays were a flurry of the orange head jumping around. Since he’s short, he goes for blocks as if he was doing a starting run for a spike.You think that might take a toll on his stamina, but it’s the fourth set. They have to win it if they want to keep playing.

A voice behind you, a deeper one, gets your attention.

“Oh. You’re here too.” From the corner of your eye, you spy as its owner jumps over the back of the seats to take a place next to the brunette with the glasses. “You said you weren’t going to come because it’ll piss you off no matter who won.”

That explains a lot.

“No matter who wins, I’m gonna be able to see the other team’s faces when they lose.”

Your face scrunches up. If you have to admit it to yourself though, it was kind of funny.

“You really are a piece of crap.”

So you laugh, then catch yourself a little too late and slap a hand against your mouth.

Your face burns, feeling the gaze of both boys on you. Yet a curious look takes on the boy’s features. He seems amused, even, one corner of his lips twitching up almost imperceptible but there. It’s not often a girl makes fun of his best friend.

“Right, meet Shiratorizawa’s cheerleader.” The first boy says and Iwaizumi’s face falls. Not everything’s perfect.

You turn towards both of them. Getting a good look at his friend stops you from snapping back (why are you falling for this and picking a fight with a stranger in the first place?). He’s handsome, and seems more serious.

Wait. you realize much too late with dread, Is he a third year? Are both of them third years?

You only grow more embarrassed.

Oh well. You’re in too deep now. And you probably won’t see them again when you cross the doors out of this gymnasium.

“You’re friends with Shiratorizawa?” The other asks.

You nod, unsure, “I’m more like acquaintances with the team. Satori is my friend.”

“Number five?”

“A weird friend you have.”

“Hey!” you frown, “Like it’s so normal to come to a match to hate on both sides.”

The spiky haired boy snorts.

“What are you laughing about? You’re here too!”

“Unlike you, Shittykawa, I didn’t come here with any foul motives!”

Your laughter and their arguing is cut short with the jitters of the crowd. Ushijima notices the holes in the opponent's defense and takes advantage of it. His hits had been reaching the back, so they placed the defense there. Now, he aims at the open space they left. Karasuno’s setter starts showing his exhaustion. It affects his form and as a result he’s not as precise, giving way for a couple mistakes. But he refuses to back down. For a moment, you thought that Shiratorizawa would get the win right then, but Karasuno takes it by a hair’s breadth.

“If you play a disappointing match, you’re going to be running back to school from here!”

Tendou flinches.

You feel a chill down your spine and turn sharply to find with your eyes your redhead friend on the side of the court.

The fifth and final set begins. Goshiki does a great serve but Karasuno cuts him off from the start. It’s only a fifteen point set, so it seems to go by in a flash. Ushijima surges with new determination. The crows number eleven’s blocks have improved throughout the game, getting a lot of one touches to help the defense. After touching one of Ushijima’s spikes, they stop everything for a moment. He’s injured. Getting him out this far sure will hurt his team. That, and that their number nine is currently out.

They seem to push on through alright, keeping the point gap narrow. Tendou gets chewed out when he fails to react for a block, too caught up in his train of thought when trying to guess. The bell signalling a player switch goes off and number nine is back. And he seems glad to be back. He goes straight to serving and sends a strong one. Yamagata receives it but it’s long and heads back to Karasuno’s side of the court after his pass. Then their setter takes the first touch and number ten slams it down. Shiratorizawa gets back with strong serves of their own, Semi getting a service ace. Just two more points. Both cheering squads get louder.

They catch up and turn it around. Shiratorizawa gets two points in a row and it’s match point. A deuce. Ushijima scores. Is that Karasuno’s eleven coming back?

The score is way past fifteen points now. Karasuno’s number ten seems to be reaching his limit and isn’t able to jump for a block, leaving an opening for Goshiki who earns the point for his team. But there’s no time to beat himself over it, as pretty boy behind you remarks.

Will it all really end now? It looks like it when Shirabu’s serve touches the net and it’s as if the ball falls in slow motion. Karasuno’s libero does an amazing safe but it’s long. Goshiki jumps and smashes it down. Directly to the libero’s arms again and the ball goes up!

“Either one is going to piss me off, they should lose.”

“You really are a crappy guy.”

“Could you stop calling me a “crappy guy”?”

“Pick between that or a “shitty guy”.”

“Well, then I guess I choose “crappy”.”

How is one better than the other?

You shake your head at their nonsense.

After a very long rally in which each team gave everything they had, Karasuno stunned everyone by winning the Spring High Qualifiers and now are headed for Nationals in January.

Apparently, coach Washijou had threatened the boys with making them run their way back to school earlier before the last set started. Pleased with their performance, they’d avoided that fate - something you were grateful for. You didn’t want to run your way back with them and were thankful for the bus ride. It wasn’t enough to save them from hitting a hundred serves as soon as they got back to the Academy.-.

Now, you've stopped at a restaurant. The coaches were treating the team for lunch. You’d hesitated to join, not wanting to meddle, but Tendou refused to let you go so soon and wanted to at least spend some time together. There was still plenty of time before you had to go back home. With all the excitement from the match (and you weren’t the one playing), you hadn’t noticed how hungry you were until the smell of food filled the air. You didn’t have time to eat a proper breakfast.

You were sitting beside their manager, who looked for words to cheer up Goshiki. She kept her composure, and you suspected she was doing everything she could to not break down in front of them. The other boys, you knew, were also feeling down even though it had been a great match. They didn’t think they would lose, not when it was supposed to be the start of things. It was the last match for the third years. The whole ordeal was very emotional.

Tendou was sitting across from you, Ushijima by his side.

“Y/n- chan.”

You hummed, having your mouth full.

“You should say something to Tsutomu too.”

“Me?”

“Sure!” he grinned, “I’m sure that’ll really cheer him up.”

You looked at the boy. Goshiki was pretty hung up at every word their manager was saying. He seemed much better.

Before you knew what he was up to, Tendou was opening his mouth again, “Right, Tsutomu!”

“Tendou-san?” his kouhai looked at him to pay attention to what he had to say. Oh Goshiki, always so willing.

“Y/n was telling me how cool you looked today on the court!”

“Re-Really?”

You side eyed Tendou, then sheepishly gave your response, “Yes! Your straight shots were super sharp!”

Your words hit the target, striking him. He turned so red you worried if he was even breathing.

Out of all the restaurants they had to come to this one,

Oikawa thinks as he stands with Iwaizumi at the entrance. He’s about to turn and leave but the owner spots them and welcomes them with a smile.

“Welcome!”

Iwaizumi yanks him by his collar before he can still think about it, “We’re already here. And I’m hungry.”

The place isn’t so big, so it’s not long before they're spotted at a nearby table. Oikawa wants the earth beneath him to open up and swallow him.

“Oh! It’s Aoba Johsai’s Oiwaka and their ace!”

You turn at Tendou’s outburst and follow his line of vision.

It’s the two guys from earlier in the gymnasium.

So much for not seeing them again.

“Hello, Oikawa.” Ushijima greets him cordially. “Would you like to join us?”

“We’d rather die.” you choke on your drink. Tendou holds in his laughter but still helps you, patting your back comfortingly and asking if you’re okay.

“So rude.” Semi mutters.

“So, how do you feel after your defeat?” He was pissed earlier seeing that Ushijima didn’t look as upset as he would like. If he had to go through this he’d at least try to get a reaction.

“I don’t know, you probably know better than us.” Tendou bites back. You’re not sure you’re going to survive past this meal but you can’t tear your attention from what’s happening.

“We’re very disappointed.” Ushijima answers truthfully yet his face gives nothing.That seems to get more on their nerves than what Tendou said. You think a vein from their temples might pop.

Damn you, Ushiwaka.

“Why does he hate you?” you whisper the question to your friend.

“He’s bitter he never beat us.”

“Is he good?”

“Oikawa is a great setter.” Wakatoshi answers for Tendou, having heard your conversation, “He should’ve come to Shiratorizawa.”

“There he goes again.” The brunette rolls his eyes, “Stop saying that!”

Lunch goes well despite the momentaneous clash. You thank the staff and the owner for the food and gather your things to head outside. The boys still have to head back to the Academy and go through serve torture, as Tendou calls it.

“Hey, you two!” Tendou calls from behind you to Oikawa and his spiky haired friend as they make their way out shortly after you. “I know you heard me!”

Oikawa takes a deep breath.

Iwaizumi answers before he can. “What do you want?”

“We still have to go back to school. You can walk Y/n to the station.”

“Tendou!” You hiss.

“Ah. Sure.” Iwaizumi answers a bit awkwardly.

“You don’t have to. I can get th-” you try to turn them down politely.

“Of course they have to! We have to make sure you get there safely!” He shakes your shoulder a little too brusquely, then wraps one of his arms around them and gestures with his other hand, “You are the princess, and they’’re the two knights that will make sure the princess takes her carriage back home!”

Right.

You look at Iwaizumi. The role sort of fits him. Then you look at Oikawa, his arms crossed and chin turned up.

He seems more kingly to you.

You shake your head to stop Tendou’s scenarios from getting to you.

“Thank you for your support!”

“Come see us again!”

“It was nice meeting you both.” you say to the two boys once you’re at the station and it’s time to go.

“You too.” Iwaizumi answers shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You aren’t so bad.” Oikawa admits, “Just need better taste.”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight a smile.

“You’re going to keep playing volleyball?”

“That I will.”

“Maybe one day I can watch you play.”

“Oh you better be ready. I’ll be better than Ushiwaka and the boys from your school.”

You wave goodbye.

See you again next time.

PART II

High school life was as busy as always. Since the beginning of the month, students had been getting ready for the school festival. First, second and third years all had something to do. Nervousness, perhaps a little anxiety over it lingered in the air, but also eagerness and excitement.

Amongst the second years, you’d heard that the twins and Gin’s group would put up a cafe. Suna’s classroom apparently would have a photo booth, with different props according to several themes. They had also this raffle going around that you had been basically forced to get a ticket from a bunch of girls as they giggled away. You tried not to think much about it. You made a mental note to ask Suna about it later.

The leader of the twin’s group event project had thought about it with her minions. They had Atsumu and Osamu Miya. Safe to say they were amongst the most popular of the grade and probably the entire school. And loved by a bunch of the girls. So them being just girls too, their minds had run a little wild creating the perfect scenario. Atsumu Miya, the host of the cafe, would be dressed up nicely with a suit, and receive the patrons with a dashing smile. And Osamu, one of the waiters, making sure everyone was comfortable and pleased. The girls were swooning just imagining it.

But she was abruptly brought back from her daydream when Atsumu turned the offer down, “Can’t do. Ya know, volleyball club.” He also had the perfect excuse.Clubs had their own activities, so they weren’t obligated to participate in their class event.

“I can try to make a little time to help.” That was Osamu’s response. Ginjima had agreed with Osamu to look to participate.

“Sure ya can.” His twin said. Osamu knew what he meant by his tone alone. Some crap about him being indispensable and it not being the same in his case.

Later, during the evening after practice ended and they gathered in the club room, the volleyball team discussed what they could do to get the rest of the student body’s, visitors and possible new students’ attention. Apart from helping with whatever you guys settled with, you also thought about the future and how the club would need a new manager when you were gone. There was still time for that, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. It was all for the benefit of the team.

Usually, they would split the team and have a friendly match. It was enough for the people to get to know the team members and their performance on the court. To interact with the public, they could take some time to talk about the fundamentals of the sport, maybe get practical and give a short lesson. Last but not least important, let them know they welcomed new team members.

“So, what’s your class doing?” Suna asked after the small meeting was called out before you all went home.

“They wanna do a play.”

“Are you participating, Y/n-san?” Kita asked, seemingly interested.

“I would like to. We still haven’t picked which yet though. And there’s the club too.”

“Don’t worry about us if you wanna do it. We’ll be fine.” Aran told you.

“And we could go see ya. Even if you end up playing rock #3.” Atsumu said jokingly.

“If I remember well, which in this case I do, you said you were busy with club so you couldn’t help our class, and you have time to go see Y/n?”

“She’s our dear manager! Of course we can make a little time, right?”

“Sure.” To everyone’s surprise, the captain agreed with Atsumu. “We should show our support to Y/n if we can.” then he added, which you found a little funny, “And rock #3 is just as important as the lead, Atsumu.”

“Yes, Kita-senpai.”

Then came the day when they put the title of the play to vote.

And the winner:

“Beauty and the Beast”.

First, the characters were laid down for volunteers to pick. You were looking for a minor role so you could leave most of your focus for club. Maybe you could just help prepare the stage.

Atsumu was striding down the hallway coming back from one of the vending machines near the stairway, a lollipop in his mouth and two bags of chips in his hand. There he saw the director of the play having a breakdown. Against his better judgement, he stopped and stared, debating if he should help or keep walking.

“Uh, you doing okay?” In fact, nothing was. None of the boys settled to be the male lead, throwing names around only to be rejected and passed on to the next. And it wasn’t fair to change the title after the votation.

She froze, mortified, then hurried to fix her hair and wipe her eyes. She put her glasses back on. Oh it was worse than she’d thought. It was the setter of the volleyball team.

Wait.

“Atsumu- kun!” Suddenly, every trace of despair was gone from her face, replaced by such brightness he swore he saw stars dancing around her. “Would you like to be part of our play?”

Ah, that again. Festival’s driving everyone crazy, he thought. He opened his mouth to reject once again, then stopped. The play. Your class was the one doing it.

Without thinking it through, Atsumu gave his response. He clearly didn’t take it that serious either, as he said, condescendingly, “Sure. But if it ain’t the lead I ain’t taking it.” Then, a little too late, it seemed to register, “By the w-“

He went from amusing himself to almost choke on the candy in his mouth, as the overexcited girl dragged him the rest of the way to your classroom. When they crossed the threshold, he saw you standing on the front. Your conflicted look morphed into confusion as you saw the setter barge in with the director.

“Everyone! Atsumu-kun accepted to be our lead!” There was a mix of surprise, cheers and whines of regret -you thought you heard someone start to cry-.

“What?” your eyes widened in surprise, turning to look at him again.

“Oh! We just got Y/n to agree for the Belle role!”

Your silence as you mentally debated what task to take on played against you, getting the attention from the group and resulting in them picking you as the female lead. You tried to turn them down but it was settled.

Atsumu looked at you, then read the big writing on the center of the board, finally learning the title.

Him and his big mouth.

—

The members of the volleyball club had to take a moment as they laughed their asses off picturing Atsumu as a prince/Beast, especially the other second years.

“Serves ya right.” Osamu told him, wiping the tears from his eyelashes. Suna’s face was flushed with how much he’d laughed. You couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself, looking at the three boys and the pout on Atsumu’s face.

Since both the leads were part of the club, it was a given that the whole team would try to attend.

Then it was time for rehearsals.

“I gotta go see that.” Rintaro sneaked out of his classroom while they did their own preparations and headed to the school auditorium.

They had been at it for half an hour already when Rintaro walked in. He took a seat on the front row and held up his phone, capturing Atsumu’s bad delivery while you stood there trying not to laugh. This frustrates him and consequently, the rest of the cast and crew while the boy starts whining about it to you, who finally stops holding it back and laughs. As you compose yourself feeling sorry for the rest of your class and a little embarrassed for behaving that way, the scriptwriter spots the middle blocker and an idea pops in his head. It’s not like he wasn’t sticking out like a sore thumb anyway.

“Suna Rintaro!” He lowers his phone but not before he saves the video. Everyone turns to look at him.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Atsumu mutters and before he gets off the stage to throw himself at Suna, you grab hold onto his arm. Suna snickers and you glare at him when you make eye contact for purposely pissing Atsumu off.

He’s preparing himself to be chewed out for sneaking in during a private rehearsal, but when the scriptwriter opens his mouth again ignoring Atsumu, it’s not something he was expecting. “Since you seem to have free time, take Atsumu’s place.”

“Wait, what? Me?”

And just like that, Atsumu was fired.

Think again.

“No way. Why are ya replacing me with him? He’s no better!”

Oh yeah? Let’s see about that.

“Just,” the boy breathes, “Just take a moment to rest. Maybe you’ll come back better after watching someone else.”

Suna walks onto the stage a little awkwardly but set on making Atsumu bite his words back. Someone else hands him a script and lets him skim through it for a few minutes before starting again.

“Time’s almost up for today. Let’s move forward to the ballroom scene.”

You take a deep breath, “Here we go.” you say a little nervous. You step closer to each other. then, “Rintaro.”

“What?”

“Stand up straight.”

“He probably be better at playing Quasimodo with that posture.” Atsumu cackled, disrupting Suna’s focus for a second.

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of your hands in his and carefully places the other on your waist.

“I’m not a very good dancer.” He says, and you notice by his voice that he’s also nervous.

You smile at him tenderly. “Don’t worry, I’m not very good either.”

You dance, and luckily don’t step on each other's feet. Then comes the scene when the Beast tells Belle she’s free to go.

“What scene comes next?” There’s a pause so Rintaro can check again.

“The confession scene.”

Oh.

Right. Now you had to tell Rintaro- the Beast, that you loved him. That story was a little weird.

He was supposed to be at the brink of taking his last breath. You do your best to remain in character as you stare at him lying there on the floor and hurry to crouch down beside him.

“Wait-Please, don’t leave me.” There were tears in your eyes as the words left your mouth almost desperately. “I love you.”

Damn, you were good. He almost bought it. Maybe you should audition for drama club. For someone who was about to die there was a lot of color on his face, matching your own blush as you internally freaked out a little.

At last, the spell was broken, the Beast turned into a handsome prince and there was just one last scene: the kiss.

You and Rintaro stared nervously at each other, then started getting closer. And closer. The girl directing glanced at the scriptwriter boy.

Are they kissing for real?

Everyone was just staring at you two. The other actors, the ones in charge of the scenography. Atsumu’s jaw dropped.

You could feel Rintaro’s breath tickling your face, your eyes shutting tight. His own eyelids were closing, your lips almost brushing.

The bell rang, signalling the end of rehearsals for today. You took a couple of steps back putting some space between each other. Suna stared at you a little longer, at your lips, before he cleared his throat and his gaze darted across the room avoiding yours.

“Okay, everyone, let’s continue tomorrow. Atsumu-kun, you better be ready.”

—

You stared at the poster for the play. It was the first day of the Inarizaki High School Festival. Which in turn meant the big day had arrived. You really hoped everything went alright. Honestly, Atsumu hadn’t gotten much better during rehearsals, always using the wrong tone, stumbling over his words or entirely forgetting his lines. But you didn’t have to worry about that until the evening. Right, they had pushed the play until evening so the different activities’ time didn’t overlap and everyone could go watch. Which meant more people might go. Just great.

On the bright side, you could carry on with the club’s activity without rush and stop by the different stands and classrooms afterwards.

Before opening the gym doors, you’d made sure everything was neat and all you might need was at hand. Students from the school, their families, alumni, students from other high schools, junior high students, and people from the community showed up to meet the volleyball team. Kita received everyone with a warm welcome, and you watched as he taught a couple of kids how to place their arms out correctly for a bump before Aran softly threw them the ball for them to make a pass. The little ones adored them, cheering when they got to make the pass back directly to the ace.

The experience hadn't been the same with a certain boy. When Atsumu tried to speak with the kids, they scurried away, intimidated. You felt bad for him while he tried to figure out what had he done wrong. But there was a little someone who wasn’t afraid of approaching him. As soon as your little brother arrived with your mom and spotted his target - they’d come directly from his school after he finished his own presentation-, he’d been following the setter around everywhere.

After the match, the boys thanked everyone, bid their goodbyes and split up to get ready to help their class or walk around campus to enjoy the rest of the festival. When you finished cleaning up and putting everything away, you did the same and went with your family. First, you stopped by a food stand to eat something while you still had an appetite - you weren’t sure if you'd feel like eating anything later as the minutes ticked by and show time got closer-.

You went ahead alone after a while, curious to see how the boys were doing.

“Y/n! You’re here!” Gin cried out when you reached the home econ. classroom they’d turned into a cafe.

“Is something wrong?” You looked him over, worried. “Is everyone alright? Where’s Osamu?”

The boy in the kitchen had accidentally burned himself and was taken to the infirmary. Osamu went from tending to the tables to taking over his place, and they were short handed in staff.

Ginjima apologized a hundred times while you assured him it was okay as one of the girls working as a waitress pulled you away after you asked how you could help. In a moment you were dressed up and got to work. With the new skills you’d acquired being the manager of the team, you’d noticed how to be more time efficient and the orders were taken out and delivered in no time. People left happily and more came to visit, attracted by one of the Miya’s being in the kitchen and surprising everyone as being a good cook, and by a certain maid’s unexpected arrival.

—-

The next stop after your impromptu shift was Rintaro’ s classroom. Obviously you weren’t going in to get your picture taken. You just hoped his class had been doing better than Gin’s and the twins. In the back of your mind you were also wondering where Atsumu had gone to.

When you walked in, you saw none other than Suna himself taking the pictures. You thought the task couldn’t suit him more.

“Hey.” He greeted you once he stopped to take a break and a girl took over. “Wanna get a picture? I could take it for you.” He was about ready to tell the girl to move over if you said so.

“No, but thank you.” You smiled at him. “I just came to take a look around.”

Everything seemed to be going alright.

Suddenly, you remembered you never asked him about the mysterious ticket.

“Ah, Rintaro, what’s this ticket for?”

“You got one of those too?” whatever those girls were plotting had Suna surprised at you being tangled up in it.

“You don’t have one?” You frowned, inspecting the piece of paper.

“No.” One of his classmates had asked to exchange it and then he just decided to throw it away, not interested in participating.

“What’s it for?”

“Um,” He began, uncomfortably, “a kissing booth.”

It was then that you noticed the other booth at the opposite side.

The closing of the event would be said kissing booth. It wasn’t a raffle. They had given away tickets with a number on it. The couple that had the same number should go into the booth and kiss.

Did none of the teachers learn of this?

Suna saw you begin to panic when the time came and they started calling numbers.

“Now, it’s the turn of couple number 6!”

A girl stepped forward, and looked around expectantly. Then her eyes landed on Rintaro. The boy whom he’d swapped numbers with looked over at him too, then said. “I thought Suna had that number.”

He squinted his eyes at the boy, then looked over at the girl.

Oh he was not falling for that.

“Nah, that one ain’t mine really.”

“What do you mean, “really”?”

“Exchanging numbers is cheating, right?”

“Yes.”

“He swapped his with mine.” He jabbed a finger towards the boy. “You have 11, right?” The boy jolted in place at his bold accusation. A gasp escaped you, looking down at your own number to double check.

“Y/n?” Suna turned to you, “what is it?” And he finally paid attention to your own ticket, the number 11 glaring back at the two of you. You looked up at him, face burning, and saw his own stunned face.

“But!” the girl spoke up, getting their attention, “Since you’d already done it, why not just go on with it?”

The rest of the students glanced between Suna and the other two, while Suna glanced at you, the ticket in your hands and the boy that was holding his.

Then, the girl organizer spoke up, “Where’s the ticket with number 6?” seeing as Suna didn’t have it in his hands. “If you give it back you can get your original number. If not,” she turned to the girl, “You two are out.”

Suna walked to the back of the classroom, towards a desk near the window. He grabbed his bookbag, recalling the last time he’d seen the damn piece of paper was when he carelessly tossed it in. He still didn’t want to participate at all. It was just that you were there, and there was a boy who thought that he could kiss you for fun. You probably didn’t even know his name!

He rustled the contents of the bag and in the end held it upside down, tossling everything into the desk and clattering to the floor.

It wasn’t there.

So that left Suna and the girl out. The girl scowled as she sat back down on a desk and things moved on.

Then, they called for couple number eleven.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Suna told you earnestly, his firm hold on your upper arm stopping you and making you look up at him again.

“C’mon, Suna, don’t be a drag.”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That’s all they want, right?

The words were out right as they flashed through his thoughts.

“Kiss me.”

“W-What?”

Was this, what? The second time in less than a month that this happened?

“It’s just a kiss, right?” He smiled at you bashfully.

Shyly, you nodded. He brought a hand up to gently cup your face and you closed your eyes.

It was just for an instant, you felt his lips touch yours.

Then it was gone.

“What is going on here?!”

Hastily, you all turn to find their teacher standing there, eyes wide with disbelief and wrath.

The kissing booth officially shut down.

—

It’s all dark and everyone murmurs in anticipation. The Inarizaki Volleyball Club -minus the stars of the night- secured the front row, saving a spot for your mother, your brother, mother Miya and their relatives that had shown up. Rintaro holds a video camera, while Osamu holds a bag of popcorn he’d already eaten halfway through and the show hadn’t even started yet.

Then it’s curtains up, light floods the stage. The scene shows a castle, and there stands Atsumu in his prince costume. There’s a collective delightful sigh from the girls present, though the prince glowers with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Suna doesn’t miss the tint to his cheeks as he zooms the frame and both him and his brother guffaw. Atsumu hears them, his eyes roaming the audience until he spots them and his frown deepens. His eyes caught movement from somewhere else, and he sees you peeking out from backstage, encouraging him and sending him a thumbs up.

“Go, baby!” That. That was his mom. His face burns in embarrassment and his teammates just about die stifling their laughs.

“Once upon a time,” the narrator* starts, “a handsome young prince lived in a beautiful castle.”

*“Although he had everything his heart desired, he was selfish and unkind.”

Enter the beggar woman.

“Please accept this rose in return for shelter this night as it is cold outside.”

“Take your rose and get movin’!” Atsumu sneered.

Everyone stared, stricken.

He was a natural!

“You should not be deceived by appearances.”

“Yeah right.”

“You are really up to turn me away?”

“Darn right. Ya heard me.”

*“After being dismissed for the second time, the old woman revealed herself to be truly a beautiful enchantress.”

The girl took off the cape she was wearing. She looked pretty indeed, her hair styled up nicely paired with her makeup and dress.

“I ain’t apologizing to anyone.”

“Very well then, you spoiled brat,” For a moment, his counterpart ran out of patience and also went out of script, “I’ll cast this spell over you and your castle to teach you a lesson, until you learn to love and earn another’s love in return.”

The lights went out for a moment, and when they turned back on, the two were back. Atsumu had been transformed as the Beast: there was a wig with a pair of horns and some dog-like ears attached to his head, a beard on his face to match, a pair of pointy fangs protruding from his mouth and his shoes are gone, now having claws for hands and feet. He didn’t look scary at all, looking more like he was a wolf than a beast. The public laughed.

“This rose will bloom until your twenty-first year. If by then you haven’t found love, the spell will remain and you’ll be cursed to stay a Beast for all time.”

It was time for your appearance. You show up, wearing a simple blue day dress topped with an apron. And you surprise everyone by singing a little, getting applause from the audience.

The story moves on, and now Belle has taken her father’s place as the Beast’s prisoner.

“I’ll show ya to your room.”

“My room? But I though-”

“If ya wanna stay here, fine by me!” Atsumu says harshly, then looks at your tear stained face. He knows you’re just playing your part, but he actually feels bad about having yelled at you. “I me-”

*“The Beast leads Belle to her room,” Atsumu deflates as he gets interrupted by the narrator.

He’s relieved when not long after, there comes the ballroom scene, which means the whole thing is almost over.

The audience gasps as the spotlight falls on you dressed in a ball gown at the top of a set of stairs to the left side of the stage, while you’re too busy carefully descending the steps. You’re afraid you might trip on your heels. Or get your feet tangled in your skirts and roll down instead. When you reach the center of the room, it’s Atsumu’s turn to make his way down from the other set of stairs on the right.

He’s right in front of you and now that the light shines upon you both, he can fully take in the image of you.

The song begins to play and you dance. There’s no dialogue, but he still speaks.

“You look pretty.” He smiles sheepishly.

Staring at the cute ears on his head, you let out a small laugh, looking radiant, “Thank you.”

Belle returns after being set free with a new revelation, and Atsumu is your next victim when the confession scene rolls in. The audience is moved to tears by your delivery and stare expectantly when the lights go out, meaning the spell was broken and the return of the prince.

Atsumu hurries backstage for the outfit change, gladly to finally get rid of the ridiculous costume. He takes off the itchy claws, his shirt, the fake hair around his face that tickles, the fake fangs that hurt his lip earlier, and off goes the wig all with horns and ears.

You start to worry when Atsumu doesn’t come out and you’re there standing in the dark for more than you should. The audience starts to murmur, also wondering what’s taking so long for the play to continue. In the shadows, the team sees you as you pick up the skirt of your dress and run following the same direction he went.

“What happened?” You ask as soon as you get backstage.

Everyone turns to you. Atsumu stands in the middle, sitting on a chair, shirtless, almost all parts of his costume gone except his pants, and well, the wig. One of the girls from the costume department stands close, trying one more time to yank it off.

“Ouch!” He yelps, swatting the hands away. “I told ya to stop that!” Then his eyes meet yours through the mirror in front of him.

He blushes in embarrassment but turns to you, “The stupid wig doesn’t come off!”

Why was this happening to him? After he accepted his fate and went through being part of the stupid play now there’s a stupid wig that won’t come out of his head. Did they put glue on it? He didn’t want to be the bald twin.

“What do we do now?”

You stare at Atsumu and see his frustration.

“Don’t worry, we’ll fix this. It’ll be fine.” you encourage him, holding one of his hands with yours.

“Y/n? Atsumu?”

“Kita-senpai!”

“Is something wrong? Oh, we brought this. For you.”

It’s then you notice the flower bouquet he’s holding. He hands them to you.

“Thank you.” You say as your heart melts a little. He was so sweet.

You move on to tell him what’s wrong and see his genuine concern but everyone’s worries vanish with two words.

“He’s perfect!”

—

The lights come back on, you’re back on stage with

Kita?!

The girls grip their chest as if they’re hearts have been stricken and it’s too much to take. What they’re witnessing is utter perfection. A third year - and it’s not any third year-, Kita Shinsuke, stands there as the Prince who seems to shine without the need of the limelight. As if fallen from heaven itself. It brings some of them to tears as hearts seem to float around them.

It’s the final scene, the kiss. You stare up at your upperclassman, flustered, then he leans in and kisses you. On the cheek, close to your lips. Because you didn’t need to kiss for real.

When he pulls back, he dedicates you a soft smile which you return.

The audience erupts in applause and you hear your friends whoop and holler.

The curtain closes.

–

Last night, you were exhausted and surrendered to sleep without problem. Today, you were back up again for day two. But this time around, you were going exclusively to enjoy the last of it as a visitor along with the rest of the volleyball team.

You ate, took group photos, saw the different projects and exhibitions, and participated in different games and contests.

Now for the big closing, there will be fireworks.

“Where’s Y/n? She’s going to miss it!”

“I think she went back inside.”

“I’ll go look for her.”

Atsumu headed back inside the school after you. The hallways were dark, soft moonlight seeping in from the windows. There was yellow light coming from one of the classrooms, escaping from the panel on the door and from under it.

“Y/n? What are you doing here? We found a good spot.”

“Ah, Atsumu. I just- It’s a little windy outside and I forgot to bring a jacket.” You admit. He nods in understanding. The nights were beginning to get a little chilly. Atsumu wasn’t a fan of the cold. At that moment it’s impossible for him to ignore that he’s not wearing one either, and so he can’t lend it to you.

“We can ask one of the others to lend you one.”

Absolutely not, “It’s alright, really. But you can go back with the others.”

“I’ll stay here with you.” He moves to sit next to you near a window.

As you begin to complain back and forth -you telling him it’s alright and that he can go while he argues that he doesn’t mind and won’t leave you alone-, you had tuned out everything else and for a moment you had forgotten what was about to happen. You jump in place and nearly fall from your seat when the first bang is set and then follows an explosion of colors in the sky.

Atsumu moves and catches you, but it’s so sudden you both end up falling on your asses. You managed to miss him, landing between his spread out legs instead, and you laugh, turning your head slightly to look back at him. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” He holds back a grimace and smiles back at you. You both don’t make a move to stand up. Instead you turn to look out the window excitedly, the sparkles filling your vision, mouth open in awe as you take in the scene. Atsumu stares at you at first, then leans back on his arms contentedly while he stays there watching the fireworks with you.

As long as you’re with your friends, any spot could become a good spot.

Extra 14: Chef Miya Osamu and Miss Maid Manager: The Miracle Duo! [223]

You’re sitting nearby Osamu in the makeshift kitchen after the rush has died down. There’s this mouth watering smell in the air from whatever the boy is making. You’d seen hearts floating around the cafe all the while you’d tended to the tables.

Osamu steals a few glances at you. Seeing you dressed in a maid outfit was not on his bingo card for today. He’s sure there’d be chaos if the others were here. Especially his twin who had a thing for dramatics - so dramatic but for what he’s heard apparently he sucks on stage. He laughs inwardly to himself but can’t help to pity you a little for what you’re in for later-. He noticed though, while you’re sitting there resting you’d quite spaced out, a content look on your face.

A plate is placed in front of you, and you return to planet Earth, still in work mode.

Osamu stops you, “It’s for you.”, and chuckles a little at your surprise.

“Oh. Thank you. But you didn’t have to.”

He scoffs, “Please. I think I’ve heard your stomach grumble at least twice.”

Your face reddens in embarrassment.

When you try it, Osamu stares expectantly, awaiting your reaction.

There are more hearts floating around the kitchen, this time coming from you as you hum in delight. Osamu smiles with pride, satisfied.

Extra 15: Sorry for the blur, my camera doesn’t focus on the fake [201]

A few days pass, and Rintarō’s class starts to get complaints after they've delivered the pictures to everyone that went to their class for the photo booth.

The pair of photographers are sitting in front of their class organizer. She’s ninety nine percent sure of who’s responsible, but to make it fair and not jump to accusations, she drops the question.

“Which of you is responsible for the blurry pictures?”

The girl side eyes Suna, positive she wasn’t.

“What?” Then, he grabs one of the pictures. A blurred faced girl. He turns to his partner, “That girl was awful. She was mean to you while asking only for me to take the photo. And this guy,” He turned to the organizer, “skipped the line.”

“What about this one?” She holds up a group photo. Among them is the boy who’d swapped his ticket with his, face blurred. Being petty, he’d ruined it after the kissing booth deception attempt.

He shrugged, answering simply and sincerely, “I just don’t like him.”

He takes out his notebook for class, and doesn’t notice a crumpled paper slip peeking at the bottom and about to fall from between the sheets.

When it did, there was a ticket with number 6, never to be seen.

Extra 16: The Villain of the Story [140]

“Okay, girls, I heard there’s a kiss scene in class A’s play. We have to stop Atsumu from kissing the volleyball manager.”

“Are they kissing for real for the play?”

“Of course they are! And if we didn’t know, would you wanna risk it?”

“No…”

“Okay, then. What should we do?”

“Why don’t we drop a barrel of paint on them?”

“We don’t want to ruin his hair!”

“Drop the curtains?”

“Nah, they might fix it up too soon. And it’s too risky to get up there and down without getting busted.”

“And we could hurt someone down on stage.”

“That too.”

“I got it! One of you is going backstage to mess up his last costume change. With the flurry of people going to and fro, they won’t notice if someone that isn’t part of the team sneaks in!”

Extra 17: And He Huffed and He Puffed

“If only you were triplets, you would've been perfect for “Three Little Pigs.””

“Ha,ha. Very funny.”

They’d come to almost do it in junior high ( someone had slipped that into the suggestion box) but nobody else needed to know that.

“You could still do it for Halloween.”

“No way.”

You snorted, imagining Atsumu dressed in costume.

“What if y/n was the third one?”

“What? Why are you involving me?”

They ignored you, “Would you do it then?”

Guess he would. And you all did, grudgingly.

“Just so you know. I own the brick house.”

(Rintarō was the big bad wolf).

A/N: We've reached part 10! I can't believe it. Just reaching part 6 was a stretch (does any of y'all remember my struggles back then? XD). Thank you so much for reading this story and showing it love. Means a lot.

The name of this chapter is word play. “Fall” as in the season, “Fall” as in, did I get you to fall for something that didn’t happen (probably once or twice XD)?, and “Fall” literally. There was a lot of falling here heheh. I wrote the first part second. I never imagined I'll write this much for Shiratorizawa and here I go narrating most of their match. I just love Tendou sm. And Oikawa!! Still not sure if I write him good enough but I was dying to find a way to introduce him here.

So much to say about this and that but don't want to make a long ass note like I tend to do.

Anyways, hope you love this one. I went insane and wrote for days beginning right after posting the previous part.

Until next time! - Youmarin

(don't be surprised if I disappear for a while again. I might've fried my brain working on this one).

P.S.: Atsumu ran into your mom and your brother after you split up in festival day 1.

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