#I MISS ACQUIRED TASTE ALL THE TIME | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vamph00n · 5 months ago

Text

Facial ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ᡣ𐭩 mdni! femreaderxroomatehee

ᡣ𐭩 wc: 3k

ᡣ𐭩 synopsis: heeseung as a roomate? he’s fine, as a friend? better. it’s just heeseung, just the dude who happens to watch you fold and put away your underwear, and happens to watch you change when the bathroom door is slightly cracked open. he’s just your roomate. so what if he plays would you rather with explicit options occasionally?

ᡣ𐭩 smut tags under the cut.

ᡣ𐭩 consume what you can handle

smut tags: heeseung is a creep, reader is clueless, throat fucking, bj’s, facial duh, dubcon?, mentions of panty stealing and masturbation, mentions of bodily fluids, cum, cum eating, nasty make out, uses of the word angel,

lmk if i missed anything 🫶

enjoy!!

“no, not in a million years.” is what you said in response to a slightly unconventional question. but then again there’s no such thing between the two of you.

his arms rose in mock surrender, tilting his head at the validity of your reaction. “guess that type of thing isn’t for everyone.”

and it's not , he had just hoped that maybe you’d say something different. something to get his little computer fried brain working, running off of more than just the thought of an iniquitous act but an actual idea that was based in reality. that thing you’d hypothetically be doing. it would’ve fulfilled his nightly one handed habit better than using his left one to scroll through porn. knowing you’d do it? or have done it? that’s all he needs.

although met with disappointment, in that moment as you put away your neatly folded garments, heeseung captures a look of distaste and curiosity on your face. one that reads a lack of experience, not a lack of will. your nose scrunched at the idea, but the subtle way your lips pressed in a straight line told him. ahh it makes sense now. maybe it’s not that you’ve never considered it, but rather you’ve never tried it.

at your inconvenience, he’s still sprawled out on your bed despite demanding him to keep off. at times like this, you wonder, maybe it was a bad idea to find your roommate online, because you grossly underestimated how particular you were when it came to cleanliness. it’s not that germs freak you out, it’s that you’re rooming with a man. a recluse of one at that. yeah, he didn’t go out a lot and it’s not like he was rolling in a pile of shit; but you swore he wore the same sweater for two weeks straight without washing it, and used a three in one body wash. in a small apartment with one bathroom? those exemplar instances only lead up to future disagreements.

with the ability to ignore these minor quirks, you’d say that despite your differences you managed to become quite comfortable with him. so much so, that you seemed to brush off the fact that he was always in your room when you put away your underwear, how it went unnoticed by you when he lingered a little too long in friendly hugs, and smelled your hair a little too strongly when he’d ask what shampoo you used. cause why would you? it’s just heeseung.

maybe one of the biggest things you ignored was his odd game of would you rather. which is how we’re led up to the very question the man himself finds so interesting. initially you weren’t shocked by the ask, as he was just poking fun at how extensive your skincare routine was minutes prior.

“would you rather, not put all that gunk on your face or… let a guy give you a facial?

it’s not as outlandish as some other questions he’s asked, or as scandalous as experiences you’ve told him about. you already figured that he was just socially inept and thought nothing more of it. after all, he was an acquired taste. so of course you replied, and of course you would never because it’s nasty? at least maybe you thought it would be, because you’ve never tried it.

after lingering in your room for a bit longer, still pressing on about the question, it leads into a minor dispute. “seriously? why do you need that much stuff for your skin?” the boy sighs as he stretches out on your bed. you smack his face with a nearby throw pillow, and reiterate the same things you always tell him. maybe stuff like that didn’t matter to him, but to you it does because well, it makes you feel pretty.

whenever you talked like this, he couldn’t help but let his mind drift. if he could, and it didn’t mess up the established bond between you two; he would’ve totally told you how beautiful were.

but the idea of being “just heeseung”, a friend and a roomate; it was like a free pass to act perversely.

leaving him to his own devices, you wash up ignoring that the door was slightly cracked open. yet another thing you overlook, heeseung is a man. you knew that from the way he kept himself groomed, but otherwise? not so much. he knows how to get what he wants by being sneaky, and knows when not to be. although he’s starting to doubt that it’s just his scheming nature that’s aiding his desires, it’s the fact that you overlook everything he does.

his room, located at the nice spot in front of the bathroom, let his imagination run wild. the small gap in the door you left was occasionally big enough that he’d get a glance of your boobs in the reflection of the foggy mirror. those were nice times, and when you asked him to get you a towel because you forgot? even better. he watched intently and waited as you got out and dressed yourself in those pretty lace panties he held himself back from stealing.

pushing open the door as you lathered different serums onto your face, he couldn’t help but notice a certain resemblance of your white night cream. only making him wonder what else looked pretty spewed on your features. were you absolutely just in a shirt and underwear? yes but then again, it’s just heeseung. in the midst of your therapeutic regime, he starts fiddling with a bottle, confused with its contents.

“is this like water? what is it?” he says while sloshing the liquid around.

you snatch it from his grasp and say “it’s a toner.”

he nods placing it back where it was, and you take note of his hand placement. his arms snaked behind your back onto the counter locking you between his form. it’s nothing that you're entirely fazed by, it’s the intent stare he’s giving you through the reflection of the mirror as you look at the glowyness of your face that makes your heart jump.

heeseungs eyes darken, and he leans close to your ear still staring at your reflection.

“you said all this makes you look pretty, but I know a couple of other things that’ll look much better…”

you feel your heart stutter at the wispyness of his melodic voice saying suggestive things into your ear. in that moment he draws back his hand, and laces it through your hair grabbing it into a ponytail. you try to look over at his gaze from the side, but he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at your reflection.

“look at yourself angel, maybe it’s the face that counts, not what you put on it.”

as you watch through the glass, his lips tug at the corners, the sight of your hair fisted into a ball in his grasp not ever being something you thought you’d let anyone do. let alone have heeseung do it. his free hand grips your hip, and now is when you start to notice how underdressed you were before him. his hand travels down your lower half, groping your ass, then he plays with the band of your undergarment. he feels the slight raise in your skin, and a look of anticipation on your face tells him all.

he released your hair, and pressed his hips against your backside, trapping you in place. he smells your shampoo, and feels the softness of your skin. momentarily, you don’t know what to feel, the only thing you know is that the man before you has rendered you compliant.

you feel his hands grip your hips, as his roll into you. hard, and restrained, you feel his length through the thin material of your panties. taking your shaky hand, and feeling it, oh man. it’s hot, and heavy. heeseungs chest rises and his body flinches, he hisses at the feeling. grabbing you in a stern manner, he spins you to face him.

the way you comply, the way you just sit before him in fear and possibly regret, he takes his hand to caress your face. maybe he feels bad because tears are welling in your eyes waiting to fall, or because he hasn’t even touched you yet, your body is tense in his grasp, scared at the mercy of him. it’s something he doesn’t want to admit turns him on. not yet at least.

for a second you find yourself staring into his eyes, a weird feeling of fear and arousal course through you. heeseung, just heeseung. he weighs his hangs on your shoulders, pushing you to the floor in which you land on your knees. he backs up, locking the door behind him.

“hey what the fu-“

then, when you tried to rise to your feet, his hands hold you down at the top of your head as you wince. without much thought, he drops his pants.

maybe you’re the creep, but you’ve seen his cock once. passing by his room late at night to get water, he had it out as he stroked it with one hand. you’ve stored that memory in the back of your mind, thinking that you were the one being perverse. or maybe he wanted you to see that, maybe he saw as you watched and let you, hoping you’d come in to help him.

with that memory playing back, it’s much bigger than you remember. looking at his glistening tip, and veiny shaft, you just admired it. the hazy feeling this situation had you thinking “no way this is real.” wondering what’ll happen when you wake up from this wet dream. for a little longer you ponder whether you’ve ever actually thought of heeseung in any way like this. no, you haven’t, but will you pass on the opportunity?

his figure casts a shadow over you, he looks down at his dick, and back at you.

“are you going to do something about it?”

this isn’t a dream.

you inch closer to his hips, and take your shakey hands to hold his member. a little shudder down his spine and an encouraging nod paired with a low moan, you wrap your lips around the head of him. tasting the large amount of dripping precum as you swirl your tongue, he throws his head back, the sensitivity not only shocking you but himself as well.

so no, you won’t pass on the opportunity.

the sounds he elicits as you work your mouth on merely the very tip of his girth, it makes you think less of how you got here; but rather how you want to draw this experience out longer. your delicate fingers caress the remaining that hang out of your mouth, feeling the grooves and patterns.

it’s tantalizing the way you tease at his vulnerable state, him becoming a mess under your control. only, you can’t tell he is, you just keep going. the vicious mix of your saliva and the filth seeping from his cock were a display that he wanted to burn into his retinas. at this point, if you kept going he might—

then, in a second a small wave of delirious ecstasy wash over him as you take hold of his neglected balls, feeling them up as you lick the little slit on his tip.

knowing, and feeling a bit ashamed he wouldn’t last long if you kept going, he pulls away. leveling with you on your slightly reddened knees, the sappy liquid seeps from the corners of your mouth, and he pulls you in for a kiss.

all you can think is how crazy this is, how crazy you are for just… enjoying it more than you thought you would. him looking that attractive, moaning out little slews, and jumbled bits of your name while doing barely anything? oh yeah, you’re right to be on your knees. it had your panties clinging to the sticky uncared for mess brewing within you, that all you could do was hope he didn’t notice you grinding back on your heel. a kiss, a nasty one at that, tied with the mix of his secretions and yours as his tongue explored your mouth; it was like a porn like.

as he draws back, you see the little glistening string of spit, and he wipes away the residue forming on the corners of his mouth. as you tilt your head, like you didn’t almost rock his world; he fucking knows your enjoying this, and wants to shut you up before you start to get too cocky.

still hard and erect, he stood and you look up. the corner of your lips pull, and god heeseung knows he’s gonna have fun with you. he gives his length one small stroke before peering at your glassy eyes stare.

“think you can take this all of this in there?” he ask rasplily, as he brushing your lip with his thumb parting them.

with your mouth wide open, insistent you can; do you ever recall being so nasty? maybe there was a time, but really, did you ever think it would be with just heeseung? no.

a more than satisfied look casts on his face, as he lets the tip of his dick rest on your togue. the way you salvate in anticipation, and him enjoying it makes your cunt wetter, and throb more than any foreplay you’ve had.

it only makes you hope this isn’t all he’ll be doing.

sliding his member slowly into your mouth inch by inch, you wonder when it’ll stop. it’s to much, in girth and length. he’s maybe half way in when you feel the salty tears form in your eyes as his tip hits your throat. the garbled gag provoked by him, makes heeseungs jaw go slack in awe.

once you’ve adjusted to the monster, that is his manhood, you find it difficult to suck. with so much he had going on, you didn’t know what to do with all of it. yet with how slow each movement is, he seems to bask in it. the feeling of your mouth being stretched, and the feeling of your teeth grazing his shaft, all of it you enjoyed. letting out small hums as you lick, and suck.

“mm, so good at sucking cock,” he moans.

his hips press forward, shocking you a bit, causing tears to roll down your face.

“shh, shh. let me” he says before your life practically flashes before your eyes.

he starts to thrust into your mouth. it being obvious you can’t handle someone of his size, he takes the lead. you sit there, looking absolutely fucked as he ruts into you, you look up at his form.

it makes you so wet, you wonder how long he’s wanted to do this. how long it would’ve been till you thought about him like this. panted breaths draw from him, as he fucks your throat. all he could think as he moved is how pretty you were, how perfect you were.

thinking about how wet you are just watching him, knowing you have to be because he saw the discomfort in your panties. just that made him write. all these months he’s wondered why hasn’t he done this sooner, and wondering if your going to let him fuck you ever after this. he doesn’t know if that’ll happen, so he treats this like the last, even though it won’t be.

his thrusts become quicker, and your throat starts to hurt. his knees feeling like they’re going to buckle, he bites back a loud moan and you bask in his weakness. hoping he’ll be this way buried in your cunt, wanting to watch him as he falls apart trying to keep his composure.

heeseung feels the rise, and force course in his dick, aching for release. pulling it out of your mouth, and stoking it aggressively above your face he asks:

“youll let me cum all over your face right? just me?”

you nod, opening your mouth and closing you eyes wating for it.

he grunts, and strokes faster, the mix of saliva and precum keeping it lubricated. breathy pants are elicited from his dry throat, and his tip rages with a blushed red color.

“shit—“

he cums all over your face, it’s hot, and all that lands in your mouth gets swallowed. his chest rises and falls, and he looks like he’s just about done, but not before he fists your hair pulling you up from your weak knees.

he faces you towards the mirror, making sure you see yourself. your face painted white, all sticky with his semen, it arouses you, it's unexpected. it hurts how much this turns you on.

heeseung grabs your chin and playfully shakes your head.

“see, look how pretty” he smirks.

you want to roll your eyes and protest but you can’t. the brain fog you have because of how much your sopping cunt hurts has hindered you.

he continues to tease “hm, so not in a million years huh?”

you can’t think of anything else, and at this point your dignity is gone, but the need you have for him is carnal.

you pull him in close, and press his chest against yours. “i need you”

and just like that, heeseung knows this won’t be the last time this will be happening.

a/n: make sure to stream XO!! 😘

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enha #enha imagines #heeseung hard thoughts #lee heeseung #heeseung x reader #heeseung hard hours #heesung enhypen #enhypen heeseung #heeseung smut #enha heeseung #heeseung

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hotchscoffeecup · 5 months ago

Text

from across the bar

summary: an observation here and a sarcastic retort there is a sure fire way to catch agent hotchner’s attention at the hotel bar. after sharing a drink, he invites you to his hotel room where he gives it you just the way you ask for it: rough.

tags: light bondage, minor self-degradation, hand sex, oral sex, p in v sex, ass slapping, rough sex

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

rating: m, mdni

word count: 4.2k

Goosebumps bristle across your skin; the sharp bite of winter’s wind whipping against your cheeks and tossing your hair about your face. You fold your arms across your chest, tucking your hands beneath your biceps and thinking you ought to have worn a thicker coat. The thin suede Calvin Klein duster you’re wearing flutters about your ankles as the doorman tips his head in greeting and pulls the door wide. Heat rushes out to greet you and you smile in thanks as you cross through the threshold.

Friday night at The Ritz-Carlton is as busy as any bar or restaurant in DC. Men and women dressed in exorbitantly priced suits and dresses mill about, laughing and cavorting over drinks; standing at cocktail tables or seated at the bar or sleek leather seated areas interspersed throughout the modern space. Recess lighting creates a dim ambience that gives Hollister a run for its money. Your lips twitch and you have to fight to school your facial expression. The opulence is unnecessary, but you roll your shoulders back and situate yourself at the bar anyway, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you do so.

“Something to drink?” a bartender asks, placing a drink menu in front of you.

You smile politely and push the menu away. “A riesling, please.”

“Riesling? That’s awfully sweet, isn’t it?”

Your brow arches in response to the deep tenor rumbling a few seats down from you. You spare a glance in his direction and note the way in which he swirls the scotch in his hand. You’re half convinced that no one actually likes scotch; that it’s more about men establishing dominance around other men while they all pretend to enjoy a drink that tastes like paint thinner.

He is quite handsome though; from the strong set of his jaw to the dark slash of his brow, everything about him exudes leadership and power. A lawyer, perhaps. His suit is tailored to fit his lean frame, an expensive watch peeking out from beneath the cuff of his dress shirt.

You thank the bartender as they place a long stemmed glass in front of you. You take a long slow sip, enjoying the crisp white wine.

“Careful, big shot” you warn, not looking in his direction. “Sweetness often masks the taste of poison. You ought to know,” you say, inclining your chin toward the glass in his hand.

He chuckles wryly and sips his whiskey, “Scotch is an acquired taste.”

You roll your eyes and check your phone, noting the lack of text notifications or any sign of a missed call and slip it back into your coat pocket.

“Not the message you were expecting?” he asks and he seems genuinely curious.

“It’s the lack thereof,” you grumble and take another sip of wine. Five minutes late is one thing, fifteen is a different matter altogether without any attempt to reach out.

“Stood up on a Friday night,” the man arches his brow and blows out a slow breath. “That’s rough.”

“I was not stood up!” you counter defensively. You take a quick breath and actually turn to face him. Your heart stills momentarily as you take in the amused look in his dark brown eyes and the smirk tugging at his lips. Quickly coming back down to Earth, you blink several times and cross one leg over the other.

You feel his eyes level on you and you struggle to come up with some quippy retort. As he sips his whiskey, you can’t help but notice how strong his hands look; his wide palms and long fingers dwarfing the glass in his hand. For a split second you wonder what it would feel like to have those fingers wrapped around your throat or tangled in your hair.

“Wedding ring,” you almost blurt out.

His brow furrows and you point to his left hand, indicating the tan line on his fourth finger. His hand flexes around the cup before he sighs. “Divorced.”

“Ah,” you say, taking another sip of your wine. “So, that’s why you’re drinking alone on a Friday night?”

“I’m not alone,” he replies coolly, arching a brow as he regards you.

His keen stare forces a rush of heat to flush to your cheeks. A smirk tugs at his lips in response to the obvious scarlett trailing across your face and neck.

Taking a deep breath, you finish your glass of wine, stand, and shuffle down to occupy the seat beside him, your high heeled boots clacking against the tiled floor. With a newly emboldened confidence, you place your hand flat against his thigh, boosting yourself up onto the barstool as you level your gaze on him from beneath curled lashes.

His eyes widen slightly, but you see a spark of a challenge flare to life inside them. “What’s your name?” he asks.

You reach for his tie, gently tugging on it. You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. “Forget my name,” you say coolly. “You clearly came out tonight looking to meet someone and it looks like my plans have changed.”

“I have a suite on the 7th floor,” he says.

You offer him a wicked smile, “Then what are we still doing here?”

•

As the elevator doors pings, signaling its arrival in the lobby, the man extends an arm, holding them open for you to enter first.

“A gentleman too,” you remark as you slide past him letting your body brush against despite the ample room to avoid doing so. The heady scent of his cologne sticks to you and you wonder if you’ll be smelling it on your skin here soon.

He steps inside and presses the button for the seventh floor. As the elevator doors begin to close, someone rushes toward them, trying to get on but the man doesn’t move to hold them. “Take the next one,” he says as they seal shut.

He pounces the second they do, one hand curled around your waist and the other tangled in your hair; your combined body weight thudding against the paneled wall of the elevator. His lips crash against yours, and your lips instantly part for him; groaning into his open mouth. This only seems to drive him further and you feel his erection pressed against your thigh.

“Eager, are we?” you breathe against his lips before nipping at the shell of his ear.

His left hand curves around your ass to cup it in his large hand as his other curls around the back of your neck, using his thumb to angle your chin up towards him. “You have no idea,” he says, voice husky as he moves to suckle the hollow of your throat.

You fist the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer to you. You moan against his mouth eliciting a deeper one from him. As the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the seventh floor, you peel yourself off of him and slip through the doors right as they open leaving him panting and aching for more.

Giggling to yourself, you don’t wait for him as you head toward his room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls after you seductively. With a breathy laugh he adds, “You don’t even know which room it is.”

“Oh, don’t I?” you tease. Without turning back, you raise your hand in the air, his key card tucked between two fingers. “You really outta keep better track of your belongings.”

The sound of him slapping his pockets and grumbling curses brings a cheeky grin to your lips. You slap the key against the keypad and buzz inside the hotel room, slamming the door shut just before he reaches you.

A dark laugh rumbles from beyond the door and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Undoing the belt at your waist, you shrug out of your coat and toss it over the nearby sofa. He knocks on the door and in a voice just above a whisper he starts to detail what he’s going to do to you once you let him inside. Your black high waisted trousers accentuate the curve of your waist, the black lacy corset teddy you’re wearing underneath pushes your breasts up and out.

As you move to open the door, you swipe his badge from your coat pocket, the other item you’d managed to swipe from his suit jacket.

He opens his mouth to chastise you, but instead he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes drop to the swell of your breast. He leans into his arm that’s stretched up above him where he holds onto the doorframe.

Pouting, you fold your hands behind your back and rock back and forth on your heels. “I’m sorry for locking you out,” you say coyly. “Tell me though,” you say, leaning forward, looping your arms around his neck. “Do you have a pair of handcuffs somewhere on you to go with this badge, Agent Hotchner?”

Pulling your one hand free from around his neck, you flip open the leather bifold and dangle his own photo in front of his steely gaze.

His lips press together in a firm line as he looks from his badge to you, though the smile doesn’t slip from your mouth. He pushes his weight against the door frame and peers over both shoulders before taking his forearm and pushing it into your chest, forcing your back against the doorway and knocking the air from your lungs. Your chest heaves and your abdomen clenches as you bite your lip, eyes flicking from his mouth to his eyes. He dips his chin so his lips are level with your ear.

“I don’t need my cuffs to keep you at my mercy,” he growls.

The breath in your lungs stills and you feel your pulse increase, thrumming inside your neck. Wrapping his tie around your knuckles, you gently tug him towards you. “Then give it to me, rough, G-man.”

He wastes no time. Releasing the door frame, he drops it and loops it around your waist before yanking you against his muscular frame. He walks you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and the door automatically locks.

His grip on your hips is bruising and you love the ache of his hands on you as he guides you to the bed. His lips seek yours out and when they find them, you slip your tongue between his lips. You can still taste the scotch on him. As you fold your hands into his hair, you gently suck on his lower lip, grazing your teeth along it and savoring the moan that elicits from him.

When your ass touches the edge of the bed, he pushes his pelvis against your hip, his erection digging into your thigh. You yearn to feel that hard length inside your pussy, but you know it won’t be that easy. You’ve played too many games with him tonight to win him over that easily. You lower your weight onto the bed and wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

“So?” you ask, offering a flirtatious glance whilst skirting the toe of your boot up the length of his leg. “What’s the verdict on those cuffs, Agent?”

His fingers curl around your bare shoulders and toy with the straps of your teddy. “I’m not carrying them tonight,” he says after a while. He moves to loosen his tie and your belly clenches as you wonder what he plans to do with it.

“Hands out,” he orders, and the authority in his voice is so natural you immediately feel compelled to listen.

He slips his tie from around his neck and winds it around your wrists, tying them together snugly, but not so much to cut off feeling to them. He grips the loose end and aggressively tugs you towards him so that your chest is flush with his.

You splay your fingers out against his chest and try to reach for the collar of his shirt to start working on the buttons when he yanks your wrists away.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs. He releases his hold on your makeshift restraints and shifts both hands under your ass. With a grunt, he picks you and shifts your weight so that you’re sat fully on the bed.

“Lay down,” he commands. “Arms above your head.”

As you slowly do as he asks, your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Yes sir, Mr. Hotchner.”

He emits a low groan as his name tumbles from your mouth and you know his cock is straining in his pants. Again, you try to tease him through his trousers with the toe of your boot, but his reflexes are too quick and his hand snaps out to catch your ankle. He arches one dark brow at you before focusing his attention on unzipping each one at a relentlessly slow pace. Your pussy throbs in anticipation of what’s to come and you bite your lip as he straddles your waist, one knee on the bed as his other foot remains on the floor. His eyes are fixed on yours as his fingers make quick work of the buttons of your pants. As his fingers curl around the hem and begin to wind them down your waist and hips, you can’t help but reach up and try to run your fingers through his hair.

Immediately, he snatches your wrist from midair and slams it into the mattress. You gasp and try not to giggle, excited by this show of brute force.

“Don’t move.” His voice is low. “If you can’t follow instructions, there will be consequences.”

You push your lower lip forward, “And I hate to suffer those at your big,” you enunciate each word, “strong, hands.”

Hotchner keeps his obsidian eyes, sharp as knives, daggered on you for a second longer, before releasing your wrists and sliding your pants down and off your legs.

“Now this,” he says, trailing a finger down the lace up front of the corset styled teddy. “Makes accessing want I know you so desperately want me to touch a little difficult, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe, you should check again Mr. Hotchner,” you reply with a flutter of lashes.

He regards you curiously, but there’s a dark amusement glinting in the depths of his irises. His hand slinks around your calf, and that alone elicits goosebumps up and down the length of exposed skin. As his hand trails up the inside of your thighs, your muscles quake as you allow your legs to fall open for him.

His lips part as he discovers the missing fabric between your legs. His brow curves as he regards you with keen interest. “One way or another you knew you were getting fucked tonight.”

“One can never be too prepared, can they?”

“No,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. You squirm as he presses his hand flat against your belly, fingers splayed out as he slowly drags them down toward your center.

“Now let’s see just how ready you are, shall we?.” He sinks one long finger inside you and you groan. “So wet,” he murmurs, slowly sinking another finger inside of you. You feel the moisture pooling, how quickly the torturously slow rhythm of his fingers heightens your arousal. When his thumb presses against your clit and begins moving in slow circles, your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Oh, Aaron,” you say, dragging out his name. Your hands fumble to grip onto the sheets as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, maneuvering his fingers each time to strike your g-spot in rhythm with the circular motion around your clit. The wet sounds of his hands wringing pleasure from your body alongside him murmuring filthy things is too much. You need more.

“Please,” you say, arching your back against the mattress in an attempt to draw his fingers in deeper. “I need more.” You hook a leg around his waist and pull him against the edge of the bed, not missing the way his throat strains and eyes roll back at that thought. He increases his speed and without warning withdraws his fingers. You immediately miss their presence, but then suppress a scream as he dives face first into your pussy. His tongue delves into your center, devouring your pleasure. His slick tongue finds your clit, swirling and sucking on the sensitive nub and your pleasure centers are firing on all cylinders.

You dig your elbows into the mattress and push your hips into the air, pressing yourself against his mouth and he moans against your pussy. You feel the deep tremble reverberate against your walls and cry out as it becomes too much to bear in the best way possible.

He grips your hips and you kick you legs up around his neck, drawing him in as if he could get any closer to you. You clench the sheets above your head and cry out, his name on your lips as pleasure builds in your abdomen, pulsing through you all the way to your core. He shifts then, and before you can wonder what he’s doing, he takes a breath and sucks your clit between his teeth. You hiss at the unfamiliar sensation and swear you see stars when his fingers plunge deep into your pussy.

You come instantly, your orgsam surging through you like electricity. You feel it through every inch of your body, from the tips of your toes to the ends of your tousled hair. The aftershocks are still coursing through you as Hotchner tightens his hold on your hips and with a grunt of effort, flips you onto your stomach and yanks you closer to the edge of the bed. The sound of a belt unfastening and zipper coming down is all the preparation you receive before he slaps your ass and the hard length of his cock slams into you. You cry out with ultimate ecstasy as he fills you.

Turning your face into the mattress, you gasp and grunt with each forceful thrust. Your pussy clenches around his thick girth. The slap of flesh on flesh is all that can be heard as he pumps himself in and out. He releases a sharp breath and winds his fingers into your hair, tugging on it. You cry out and moan as you turn to look at him over your shoulder, finding great satisfaction when you watch him melt under your sultry smokey eyed look.

“Come on, baby,” you urge and you see his restraint crack. “Take what you want.”

His brow pinches and unfurrows as his grip starts to falter.

“Use me,” you push, delighting in the way his lips press together as he fights to hold on to his release.

You press your ass higher into the air, allowing him to plunge deeper into your core as his thrusts become less controlled and his pace becomes erratic.

“You don’t,” you grunt and moan as he strikes your g-spot again and again, “even know my name.” You breathe out and groan as you turn over your shoulder once more. “Let me be your whore, Agent Hotchner.”

Hot, thick ropes of cum erupt from his cock into your pussy. He holds onto your hips so tightly, you know you’ll have bruises in the morning. You relish in his pleasure as much he relished in yours. When he stops shaking, he slowly lowers your hips onto the mattress and smooths his fingers over the tender flesh there.

Easing you on to your back, you feel his cum slip down your inner thighs as he clambers over you and tenderly kisses your face and neck. When his lips brush yours, you taste yourself on him.

You reach up and hands still bound, brush the hair from his forehead. He smiles as he reaches up and undoes the knot with one swift move. The tie instantly unravels and he casts it aside. You place your hands on either side of his face, thumb stroking the sharp curve of his jaw.

“Let me help get you cleaned up,” he says gently, eyes soft.

You nod, “I think I’d like that.”

He cradles you into his arms and carries you to the shower where he places you on the tile floor and cranks the water on. As steam begins to fill the room, he helps you out of your negligee. Without words, you turn and push his blazer off of his shoulders. You do the same with his dress shirt and let him kick out of his shoes and socks before curling your fingers around the hem of his pants and underwear and kneel to draw them down over his ankles.

He loops his arms around your waist as you stand and kisses you slowly as he guides you back into the walk-in shower. The warm water cascades over your skin, soothing your taut muscles. You close your eyes as he tilts your head back and smoothes your hair away from your face. He places feather light kisses along your jawline as he pumps body wash into his hand from the dispenser on the wall.

“How do you feel?” he asks as he lathers the soap between his hands and smoothes it over your shoulders.

You release a moan of a different sort as his fingers massage the soap into your neck and back. You turn around and lean against the wide plane of his chest as he curves his hands around to wash your breasts and stomach.

His voice is amused when he speaks. “That good, hmm?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm.

He laughs softly in your ear before pressing a kiss to your temple. He continues to wash your body, treating each limb like a holy object the way he handles you with such delicacy and adoration. When he finishes with you, he washes himself quickly and exits the shower to retrieve two plush towels from beneath the sink. As you work to try yourself off, he fetches the robes provided to each guest from the closet in the main room.

You admire the softness of his stomach contrasted with the hard angles of his face and lean musculature of his arms and legs. He really is a beautiful man.

“Thank you, Agent.” You say with a wink as you take it from him.

He laughs. “You and titles. I thought we’d agreed on no names.”

“I said you didn’t need to know my name. I never said anything about yours. What can I say? I love a power play. After all, you must be used to that in your big, bad FBI office, hmm?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Something like that.”

You continue to towel dry your hair and smile back at him. “I guess this game of ours has reached its end. I gotta say, I had a wonderful time.”

“It doesn’t have to end,” he says with a suggestive arch of his brow.

Tilting your head back and forth, you weigh your options. “How about this?” you say, taking a measured step toward him. His eyes widen, surprised by your sudden prowess. “You and me,” you say slowly and stand on your toes so you can purr directly into his ear, “drop the ruse, order room service, and watch a movie on Netflix?”

He pulls away, expression unreadable for a moment. You keep your eyes on him, waiting, and then smile when his posture visibly relaxes. “Honestly, that sounds great, babe, I’m exhausted.”

A grin pulls across your cheeks as you dash into the room and grab your purse. Returning to the bathroom, you reach deep into your bag and unzip the pocket in the inner lining. You fish out your wedding rings and place Aaron’s in his hand before slipping yours back onto your finger.

“The crotchless lingerie was a nice surprise,” he says as he adjust the simple gold band on his finger.

Your lips quirk into a grin, “Yeah, I thought you’d like that little surprise.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss you. “Seriously though, how’d I do?” he asks. “I’m not used to using my office persona around you. It’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be. With you, it’s so easy to leave work at the office and relax.”

“Well I certainly hope you don’t do that at the office.”

He chuckles. “You know what I mean!” He waves his hand absentmindedly. “The hardened exterior, the stern, hard voice, expressionless. Dominating. I’m never like that with you.”

“Naturally,” you tease, voice light. “I’m so full of fun and whimsy. It’s hard not to come back down to Earth from your Bureaucratic cloud of murder and mayhem when you’re with me.”

He loops his arms around you, hands flat against your back. “Five years of marriage and you still manage to keep me on my toes, more so than some of the men and women I’m paid to track down and put away.”

You pull back and look up at him. “You love the sex bucket list, be honest.”

He can’t fight the grin that tugs at his lips as he nods. “Role playing as two strangers that meet at random is definitely up there with the things we’ve done so far.”

“More fun than when we played naked Twister with the body paint?”

“Ooo, don’t make me choose.”

He dials room service, ordering plenty of food and desserts to refuel after your exciting adventure into role play and as you climb into the California king bed with him and snuggle against his chest, you silently thank whatever divine forces exist in the universe for every opportunity you get to spend with him like this; your lover, your husband, your everything.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotch smut #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x y/n

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firewalkzwit · 2 months ago

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chemical world || simon / john q. x reader (dinner in america)

just a blurb because im up the ass with school and the one-shot i wrote was rubbish sorry. "x reader" might be a stretch its just hqs and stuff i think of simon with song sneaks in the middle coz when do i not

Chemical World - Blur

Simon of extreme hedonistic beliefs above all prioritises nothing other than pleasure, and takes pride in the aesthetic disruption this signifies. Having a shower around won't be enough to pinch his personal hygiene urges, even if it is for the sake of others. He'll bathe if he can and if he wants to.

This obviously extends to his deliberately controversial haircut. It amuses him to watch the discomfort and confusion it creates in those who see him. It's neither a mullet nor a mohawk (matter of fact, he despises either of the groups who wear such hairstyles), but rather his own third thing.

Obviously he's slightly taken aback when you fancy him for it. Not that it has ever prevented him from getting laid (he would have eventually buzzed it if it did), but the occasional compliments and caresses on his greasy hair from your tender hands never fail to remind him that he too is just a mere mortal beneath things like female affection.

Saints - The Breeders

He praises womanhood just as much as he teases it. There is an adolescent air in the way he speaks derogatorily about your mother, or even when he gets turned on out of insulting you in bed. Still, slurs that come and go only wind up humiliating him when he kneels before you, eyes wide open and hungry.

He's very versatile in that department, he'll take any place in bed as long you ask. Nothing is more arousing than your gratitude. He won't be picky about how you express it, but he has favourites; the scratching of nails in a useless attempt of grabbing the wall makes him feel like he really did his job well.

I Am the Resurrection - The Stone Roses

Not having to be functional to work timings or tedious 9 to 5-s allows Simon to have an ample disposition to, what he calls, "fuck around" any day, anytime. Although he resents the fact that you occasionally choose your adult responsibilities above him, he'll hardly hold you to it for too long. Instead, decompression is highly recreational and experimental. A wide range of psychedelics, psychotropics, psycholeptics... all to be found in some dubious corner of his backpack.

Frankly, open-mindedness is one of the few must-have traits to date him. He wont tolerate uptight or rigorous personalities. This does not imply that it was ever a requirement for you to be an avid drug consumer, but he'll take no reprimands if he chooses to pop a Percocet.

Simon's open-mindedness policy is fairly restricted when it comes to music. Not that he only listens to one genre, as his enthusiasm for punk has inevitably derived in enjoying all of those that influenced or derivate from it, but he believes most are acquired tastes. Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr., Melvins and Fugazi sit around in his record collection.

He loves it when you ask about his records, and far from judging you if you ever don't know, he'll sit down on the floor with his back rested against the bed and his records in hand. Encyclopedic narrations of the socio-cultural context of the origin of most of his favourite bands could be biography-worth if it weren't for all the "fuck"s between them.

"Fuckin' Christ, Pink Flag? That fuckin' invented post-punk. Would I care for that shit if it didn't? Probably not, but because of fuckin' Wire now I have to give a fuck about these snobby fucks from Bauhaus and the idiots in PiL."

Strange - Galaxie 500

The record player in your room is mostly crowded around by his own collection, which was homeless up until recently. There's many things Simon likes about you, but taking in his records was to him what to others is a ring on their finger.

In a relationship with someone who thinks music is sacred, you cannot miss his gigs, they are mass. He loves to parade you around backstage to his bandmates and sing to you when they play, loves that you take your friends with you; so they can see you seeing him. Nothing makes him feel more desired than spotting you in the crowd mouthing his lyrics.

Post-shows getting wrecked in a local bar until they kick you out is his favourite thing to do, but he'll take backseat sex if he sees you're in the mood for it, subtly letting everyone know as he guides you holding you by the wrist. On colder seasons, the night dew will curtain the windows of the pick-up truck he borrows just in hopes that you'll give him the special look, inviting him for a quickie before heading home letting you pick the radio station.

Just Like Honey - The Jesus and Mary Chain

#dinner in america #simon dinner in america #john q #john q dinner in america #simon dia #simon x reader dia #simon x reader dinner in america

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anniebeemine · 4 months ago

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too drunk to drive- s.r. x reader

based off of my favorite hey, nothing song

warnings: alcohol consumption, reader and Spencer are disgustingly in love, like get a room fr

Laughter and music filled the air, glasses clinked in cheers, and the warm light of the bar cast a golden glow over everyone. Despite your usual preference to avoid noisy parties, you had decided to join in the festivities. After all, this was a special occasion, and you weren’t about to miss it.

You sat at a high-top table with the rest of the team, your chair pulled close to Spencer’s. The two of you had been inseparable since the moment you met, your friendship deepening over time into something that others often speculated was more than just platonic. But whenever anyone asked, you both laughed it off and insisted that you were just friends. And you believed it—most of the time.

The bar was crowded, with people scattered around in groups, nursing beers and sharing stories. You, however, had never acquired a taste for beer, so instead, you were doing shots with a few of the others. It started with a toast, then another, and before you knew it, you were a few shots deep and feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol warming your veins.

Spencer, who was more of a wine and cocktail person, was two drinks behind you. He wasn’t a big drinker, but he was enjoying himself, his usual reserve melting away as he laughed and talked with you. The noise and chaos of the bar seemed to fade into the background, leaving the two of you in your own little world.

You leaned closer to him, your elbows resting on the table, and nudged him with a playful grin. “You’re falling behind, genius. At this rate, you’re going to have to carry me out of here.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you always found endearing. “I think I’m okay with that. Someone has to make sure you don’t try to start an impromptu dance-off again. You were limping for weeks.”

“Hey, I’m an excellent dancer,” you shot back, laughing. “Besides, I learned my lesson. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m a perfectly adequate dancer,” he defended, lifting his glass in mock seriousness.

“Adequate,” you repeated, shaking your head. “Maybe after another drink or two, you’ll be brave enough to show me.”

“Only if you promise not to judge too harshly,” Spencer teased, his smile widening.

The playful banter flowed easily between you, the kind that came from knowing each other so well. It was like the rest of the bar didn’t exist; all that mattered was the conversation, the laughter, the way you felt completely at ease in each other’s presence. Despite the room full of people, you were entirely focused on each other, lost in your own little world.

At some point, someone at the table raised another toast, and you both joined in, clinking your glasses together with a shared smile. As you drank, you couldn’t help but notice the way Spencer’s gaze lingered on you, a warmth in his eyes that matched the one in your chest.

“You’re so pretty,” he said softly, barely audible of the cheers as two men arm wrestled at another table.

The soft confession caught you off guard, especially in the middle of the lively bar, with the clamor of cheers and arm wrestling happening nearby. Spencer’s words, barely audible over the noise, sent a warm rush to your cheeks. You blushed deeply, feeling your heart skip a beat. Without thinking, you placed your hand over his.

Spencer’s face flushed almost immediately, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t quite intended to say that out loud. He glanced down at your hand covering his, then back up to meet your gaze, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something more. But the words didn’t come out.

The moment lingered, sounds fading as you kept contact. Your eyes locked and you fought everything in your body to lean over and kiss him. Penelope’s hand landed on your shoulder, calling you away for another shot.

Eventually, you both realized how late it had gotten, the noise around you growing more chaotic as the night wore on. With a shared look and a mutual understanding, you decided it was time to tap out. You both stood, a bit unsteady on your feet, and started making your way toward the door.

Outside, the cool night air hit you, a welcome relief from the warmth of the bar. You stumbled slightly as you walked, laughing at yourself, and Spencer was right there beside you, steadying you with a gentle hand on your arm. “I’m definitely far too drunk to drive,” you joked, your words slurring just a little.

Spencer chuckled, his own steps a bit wobbly as he tried to walk in a straight line. “I’m also out,” he admitted, giggling at the realization. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

You laughed, the sound echoing down the quiet street. “We really are.”

Your apartment was just a few blocks away, and you both decided to walk it off, enjoying the cool night air as it cleared your heads a little. The city was quiet at this hour, the streets nearly empty, the distant hum of traffic the only sound besides your own voices.

As you walked, the conversation came easily, as it always did between the two of you. You joked about the night, about how ridiculous the arm wrestling contest had been, and about how you’d never seen Spencer drink so much before. Each laugh seemed to bring you closer, your shoulders brushing occasionally as you walked side by side.

When you finally reached your apartment building, you stopped in front of the entrance, both of you swaying slightly on your feet. Spencer looked at you with that same soft gaze from earlier, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you again. Spencer smiled tightly, breaking into a fit of laughter as he stared at you. You laughed with him, pulling him into a hug by his shirt. You wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder. He let his head fall into the crook of your neck.

The movement was natural, easy, as if you’d done it a thousand times before. Spencer didn’t hesitate, his arms wrapping around you in return, holding you close. The world around you faded even more.

Spencer’s gaze locked onto yours. The alcohol had stripped away the usual hesitations, leaving behind only honesty and the raw truth of what had been simmering between you for far too long.

He chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a mix of nervousness and affection, his eyes shining under the dim streetlights. “You know,” he began, his voice a little shaky but resolute, “I don’t want to spend another minute, another second without you.”

The words hung in the air between you, their meaning sinking in slowly, like a realization you had been avoiding for longer than you could remember. The vulnerability in his voice struck a chord deep within you, and you felt your breath catch in your throat, the weight of what he was saying hitting you all at once.

You giggled, the sound light but tinged with disbelief, trying to process that this was really happening. “Spence… are we really doing this?” you asked, your voice soft but filled with hope.

Spencer nodded, his cheeks flushed, whether from the alcohol or the emotion, you couldn’t tell. “I think we are,” he replied, his tone laced with a giddy sort of relief. “And honestly, I’ve wanted to say that for a while now… I just didn’t know how.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. “I guess… I’ve been feeling the same way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment. “I didn’t realize it until now, but… I don’t want to be without you either.”

Spencer’s face lit up with a smile that was equal parts joyful and incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You mean it?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. “I do. I really do.”

There was a beat of silence as you both let the gravity of your admissions settle in. Then, almost simultaneously, you both burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up from the joy and relief of finally being honest with each other.

“This is crazy,” Spencer said between giggles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made your heart skip a beat. “We’ve been in love this whole time and didn’t even know it.”

“I know, right?” you replied, still laughing, the absurdity of the situation hitting you full force. “How did we miss that?”

Spencer shook his head, still smiling, his hand finding yours as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t know,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But I’m really glad we figured it out.”

You squeezed his hand in return, your heart fluttering in your chest as you looked up at him, feeling more connected to him than ever before. “Me too, Spence. Me too.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reidx reader #spencer reid fluff #fanfic #spencer reid x you

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on-a-lucky-tide · 3 months ago

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Captain Price is completely oblivious to how attractive he is. Until Nikolai reminds him. For @lookoutrogue .

cw: none.

“He has no feckin’ idea,” Soap groused, slurping another mouthful of lager.

“Not a scooby. Pretty sure she could stick her tongue down his throat and he’d think she was lookin’ for advice on resuscitation technique.” Gaz slumped his chin into his palm and squinted.

“I mean, how’d’ye get tha’… oblivious?”

They had spent the last forty-five minutes since their arrival watching their captain entertain—or rather, be entertained by—a gaggle of young men and women seeking his attention. They were in one of those posh bars in central London where everyone seemed to want to get in everyone else’s knickers and it was nearly nine quid a pint. It was a bit bougie for their tastes, but it was one of the few places with a spare table near to where they needed to be.

“Dunno, but if she touches any further up his thigh she’s gonna end up grabbing a handful,” Gaz murmured, swirling the ice around in his gin and tonic.

“They’re hangin’ off his every word, like,” Soap threw his hand up in exasperation, “he’s talkin’ about sandin’ a feckin’ fence. Sanding. A. Fence. He ripped a lad’s throat open with a crowbar and rescued a foreign attaché of diplomats three days ago, but nope, it’s the Black and Decker that’s more interestin’.”

“That was a classified mission,” Ghost said quietly, cutting in with the low, unobstusive rumble that somehow snapped both Gaz and Soap to look at him. “Not exactly pick up line material.”

“Come off it, L.T. Like ye’ve never spun a yarn tae entertain,” Soap scoffed.

“Never.”

“Actually, I believe him,” Gaz said. “‘Sides, in that mask, it would come off more like a serial killer explainin’ how he’s gonna murder you than hot military hero. No offence, sir.”

“None taken.” Ghost sipped his bourbon and rolled said mask back down his face.

“Ye’ve known ‘im longes’,” Soap looked at Ghost, clearly desperate for answers, “has he always b’en like—“ he fluttered a hand in Price’s direction as the two young women and a fluffy looking twink hanging off his every word broke into raucous laughter at a joke that wasn’t even remotely funny, “—that.”

Ghost shrugged. “To get to where he is, he had to work hard. Gym, range, classroom, paperwork, mental preparation. You don’t graduate top of your class, praised to be the best in your field, by dossin’ around with skirt. Not a lot of time for… fraternising.”

“You have such a way with words, sir,” Gaz said, mildly amused.

Soap smirked wryly. “Aye, I c’n see that. But still, I c’n see why it took Nik a feckin’ decade. I wouldnae be surprised if he had tae be balls deep before—oh, hey, Nik! Over here!”

Soap stood to wave as a familiar looming figure in a brown leather jacket elbowed his way through the crowd, and spread his arms wide. “My brothers, you came!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, mate,” Gaz said with a grin as he stood to receive the offered hug; Soap got a clap on the back of the shoulder and Ghost a shake of the hand. “So, how’d it go?” Gaz asked as he sat back down.

“Well,” Nik patted the right side of his jacket, slightly padded out with an envelope of paperwork, “it is official—I am now a British citizen.” Despite his smile, all three of them could see the sadness in his eyes. The kremlin had seen fit to strip his citizenship. He had said he was surprised it took them so long, but they had finally linked his alias, a face and a name on their records. It was difficult to maintain anonymity in retirement, so acquiring British citizenship had seemed the natural step to take given the last five years. He would always be Russian in body, heart and soul, but all three now belonged partly to someone else…

“Congratulations. We’re lucky to have you,” Ghost said, lifting his glass.

“Da, thank you,” Nik nodded, and then looked at the empty seats either side. “Where is the captain?”

“Holdin’ court,” Soap nodded towards the bar, “Ah’d get over there before he invites 'em over tae see his fish tank 'n loft conversion.”

Nik followed Soap's eye line and raised an eyebrow. He was a laid back man in most things, but when it came to John Price he had precisely zero chill. His back straightened and his shoulders squared, fingers twitching at his sides as he inspected the three people crowding around Price, lingering on the hand that was currently on his knee. “Please excuse me,” he said quietly.

Gaz smirked into his drink. “Get ‘em, mate.”

“Ahh, Nik!” Price beamed as he approached, swivelling on the bar stool to face him. “This is uhm… Jessica, was it? Derek and.. uh, sorry, I forg—Stacy? Stacy. I was just explainin’ how—mmph.”

Nik went straight in for the kiss without preamble. His hips slotted as easily between Price’s legs as their lips did together, his tongue sweeping into Price’s mouth to stake his claim. The hot flush went from the tips of Price’s ears to the v-neck of his t-shirt; he didn’t usually do public displays of affection, but Nik felt it was an equitable sanction. As he pulled away, Nik was happy to note that the three had drifted a little further down the bar, mumbling their excuses. Price didn’t notice; he only had eyes for Nik.

“What was that ‘bout?” Price croaked.

Nik hummed as he took Price’s left hand from his waist and held it up between their faces. “And here is the problem, no?”

“Ahh, Nik, it wasn’—I’m just—“

Nik ignored Price's flustered excuses as he grabbed the chain of his dog tags and pulled them from inside his shirt. The ring rattled softly against the stainless steel as Nik yanked the clasp open and extracted it from its customary place next to his heart. A lesser man might have thought ill of the whole thing, but it had been Nik’s idea; the risk of de-gloving on an op was high, and it would only get lost if shoved in a pocket or at the bottom of a duffel bag.

“It is better this way,” Nik had said softly late one night, “because they will bring it back to me if—“

“N’aw,” Price had replied, “I’ll always bring it back myself, right? Along with my sorry arse, no matter what state it’s in.” It had been an empty promise given Price’s job, but Nik had kissed the comfort from his lips as he’d said those words anyway.

At home, however, it went back on. Price was forgetful. Too much going on behind those pretty blue eyes to think of such a small adjustment. Nik slid the ring back onto Price’s hand and then kissed the back of his knuckles. “Better.”

“I forget, ’m sorry, that wasn’t—“

“I know,” Nik said. “But it will put off the predators.”

“Predators?”

“Johnathan, they were ready to eat you—vodka, on ice,” Nik glanced at the barman only briefly as he gave his order, returning to Price’s eyes as they glittered up at him.

“Eat m—? We were chattin’ about gardenin’.”

“You were discussing gardening, they were not here to discuss.”

Price’s mouth clicked shut. “Ah.”

“Ah, indeed.”

“Well, thanks for the exfil…”

Nik smirked. “Always.”

“How’d it go?”

Nik reached into his pocket and extracted a dark navy passport, flipping it open so Price could see the identity within—Nikolai Price, M, British Citizen.

“Well, bloody hell, would’ya look at that?” Price took it in both hands, thumb drifting over the photograph affectionately. “You know, I’m surprised you changed to your alias, and didn’t keep—“

“I am not that man anymore,” Nik said. “I am… everything we have built together, and will continue to build. I prefer it this way.”

Price smiled, folding the passport closed to slot it back inside Nik’s jacket. He studied Nik’s face closely, saw the sadness there but also the relief. His home had been taken from him the moment he had turned, but he had slowly, and at times painfully, built himself a new one. With Price. Fuck, they could be on the other side of the world, and Nik would still be ‘home’, because ‘home’ was a man, not a place, and Price had come round to the same line of thinking. It had just taken him a little longer to realise.

“I love you, Kolya,” Price said softly.

Now it was Nik’s turn to flush, his cheeks tinging a soft pink as he processed the open affection he was still growing accustomed to. “And I you, captain.”

“Oi, lovebirds, use that officer’s salary and get a round in, L.T.’s bein’ a tight-fisted bastart!’

Nik chuckled and reached into his pocket for his wallet. “This one is on me, as they say.”

“I’ll take a double scotch then. We’ve got some celebratin’ t’do.”

“Ofiget… da, da, barman!”

#captain john price #cod nikolai #pricenik #nikprice #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #cod #call of duty

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hopesangelsprite · 7 months ago

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Too Sweet 🍭(Illumi x Reader)

Summary: Illumi never really liked sweet things... until he met you, of course.

Pairing: Illumi x Chubby!reader

Warnings: manipulation (duh-), violence, mentions of blood and murder, obsession, etc. (let me know if I missed any)

Note: Best read while listening to "Too Sweet" by Hozier ;).

It can't be said I'm an early bird It's ten o'clock before I say a word Baby, I can never tell How do you sleep so well?

Illumi had become accustomed to certain kinds of diets throughout his years. He knew how to eat like royalty as well as how not to eat at all for days on end. That was simply how he was raised. This diet of his not only applied to food but to people as well. He'd acquired a taste for the strong, bitter types; the ones almost as barbarous as he was. If there was one thing he almost never had a taste for, it would be sweets.

You keep telling me to live right To go to bed before the daylight But then you wake up for the sunrise You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

He'd noticed how out of place you were instantly. The club he frequented was a haven for assassins, thieves, crime bosses, and other unsavory types of the lowest lows. Most people here didn't want to be seen and made an effort not to be, clothes dark and eyes darker. Yet there you stood behind the bar, hues of soft blue and yellow brightening your work attire, eyes brighter and purer than stars. His eyes followed you as you made your rounds across the club, eyes focused on your plush thighs and wide hips. It made him sick how soft and weak you looked. Most of him wanted to brush of your existence, to him you were an anomaly and nothing more. The other more sinister parts of him wanted to break you, to watch that innocence in your eyes fade into nothingness.

Don't you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake? Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze? If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great But while in this world

I think I'll take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

Against his ingrained desires, he let you be. There was no use in him breaking you, in his eyes it wouldn't be long before someone else would anyway. So, Illumi carried on with life and ignored the small craving he was developing for you. It only grew deeper with each visit he made to the club. It wasn't often he was there either, his missions carried him all over the world for extended periods of time, but you never failed to be working each time he took his seat in the far corner of the building.

Illumi tried to drown out the yearning with whatever he could: bloodshed, money, women, etc. Still, he found himself watching night after night, taking note of the things that made you smile and the things you didn't smile as much at. Your interests became delicacies he dined on whenever he could. It wasn't long before he found himself wondering if your palate could handle the depth of his own flavor.

I aim low, I aim true and the ground's where I go I work late where I'm free from the phone And the job gets done But you worry some, I know

But who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate The rest of you like you're the TSA I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

The first time he approached you, he was unassuming. he took a seat at the bar far enough to watch but not close enough to get caught. He nursed the whiskey he'd order earlier in the night, not particularly interested in the taste of it anymore. It seemed you were a little more confident tonight, meeting the eyes of other patrons unlike your shifts prior. You offered polite smiles and gentle chuckles as you carried on conversing with a man Illumi knew to be violent murderer no doubt priming you for the kill.

A whisper in the back of his subconscious told him to follow the brown-haired male out tonight, ensure he'd never get the chance to savor in your sweetness. He washed away the thought with the last of the amber liquid in his cup deciding he'd use him to his advantage instead.

Illumi wrapped his knuckles against the dark oak of the bar drawing your ears and eyes toward him. Another warm smile replaced the questioning look you'd donned upon the interruption after noticing his empty glass. You pulled his favorite brand of whiskey from the shelves before making your way over to refill it. He watched your movements, keenly taking note of your body language. Once the glass was filled, he nodded in appreciation. You nodded back, preparing to resume your previous conversation, only to pause upon noticing the ring on his finger.

"That's a pretty piece you've got there, sir.", you chirped over the loud music, "Must've cost you a fortune!". So, you had a thing for jewelry, huh? Illumi took a mental note before shaking his head. "It cost me nothing if you don't count my life as currency.", he mused while looking over his family's crest at the center of a jeweled band, "It's an heirloom, a part of my birthright.". You hummed in understanding while taking his hand in yours to get a closer look. A shiver ran down Illumi's spine at the softness of your skin against his. For a second, he wanted nothing more than to kill everyone in the building and have you all to himself.

You gently placed his hand down before displaying another one of your million-dollar smiles. "Well, I guess that makes you the priceless one then.", you spoke smoothly before leaving him for the murderer. From that moment forward, the seed had been planted and obsession had taken root within Illumi's dark heart.

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait Until that day

I'd rather take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

Two months passed before he decided it was time to carry out the rest of his plan. He'd spent the past few months at the very end of the bar making small talk with you and keeping you company when the nights got slow. He learned many new things from talking to you; how you were only a few years younger than him, your favorite foods and alcohols, the apartment complex you lived in. You seemed to be the most open with him when there was no one else around. He made you feel safe.

He'd also built rapport with you, taking out time to keep other criminals off your back and walking you out of the bar every night. Tonight, however, would be different. Instead of waiting with you for your taxi arrival, he ducked back into the bar with the excuse that he'd forgotten something of his. He crept his way to the back of the club eventually finding the stairwell to the roof. Illumi perched himself on the balcony and watched a shadow approach you from a rancid looking alley. He'd known the serial killer you been so kind to at the beginning of your job here would be waiting for you to be left alone just like any other night.

He listened to closely as the brunette rounded the corner and struck up a conversation. Not to his surprise, you kept it going smoothly in spite of the growing discomfort altering your tone. A beat and a half passed before your muffled screams fell upon Illumi's ears. He looked on patiently as the dark-haired man ambushed you and drug you into the alley he'd emerged from.

He followed closely behind from the rooftops, listening to the sounds of your struggling and crying. He fought hard to keep himself from intervening too soon and waited until the two of you stopped progressing into the maze of dark, damp passages. You'd been dragged into a dead end and unceremoniously shoved onto a pile of rotting trash. Illumi made note to have a bath drawn for you as your attacker drew closer with a long blade in hand. He waited for it to be raised above you before dropping down far away enough not to be noticed. Before any more harm could befall you, Illumi swiftly took control of the situation he'd manufactured and killed your would-be murderer.

I take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

Illumi disposed of the bloodied blade before turning to face you. He braced himself just quick enough to catch your sobbing figure falling into his arms unbothered by the blood covering them. He sank to the ground with you in tow and held you close while whispering the promise that you were safe into your shaking frame. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck before gently rising to carry you to the safety he promised. As he cast a final glance toward the body of your dead stalker, he smiled.

All of you belonged to him, now.

He could indulge in your sweetness forever.

#illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #hxh illumi #hunter x hunter #illumi headcanons #hxh headcanons #hozier #song lyrics #songfic #too sweet #chubby reader

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afewfantasies · 8 months ago

Text

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ -V- Spellbound

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.7K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: The Baron and Bene Gesserits are sniffing around, you and Feyd grow closer in spite of the danger - until it comes to a head. You will get your full real taste of Harkonnen brutality.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: sex (p in v), breeding kink, invasion of privacy, mentions of bruising and soreness from sex (for the reader), NSFW

MASTERLIST

_________

Part V - Spellbound

The sprawling halls of the palace seem foreign to Feyd-Rautha for the first time as he traverses them. The darkness is in stark contrast to the colors sprinkled into your room. The muted halls now feel sterile in contrast to all the life and beauty you have brought to his life. He now had his na-baroness, you. The union had been consummated and he felt married to you in every way. Ceremony be damned. He’d woken up next to you, laying there peaceful, vulnerable and complete with the evidence of his markings all over. Feyd fought against his instinct to stay, instead he left you there untouched and peaceful. He had begun his day with his morning training sessions and a debrief on all Arrakis’ affairs. After his morning session he’d been intercepted by the Harkonnen Mentat on the Barons orders. Stretching his arms as he walks down the halls, people whisper and ogle him. Unlike before, Feyd is no longer interested in dipping in and out of the ladies within the palace, no longer interested in acquiring concubines and pets. There's no room for further distractions. Straightening to a regal posture Feyd enters the throne room seeing one of the Bene Gesserit Reverend mothers standing near the Baron. With a breath he removes all evidence of irritation from his expression, he places a pleasant smile onto his lips nodding at the witch before averting his gaze to his uncle.

“Baron” he says, holding the gargantuan man’s eyes. The Baron's thin lips flatten further into a smile. His labored breathing and suspension machine filled the uncomfortable silence. Feyd catches a nervous twitch from the Bene Gesserit sister.

“Feyd… there’s been some developments. According to the Reverend Mother three of her sisters have gone missing. A Lady Margot Fenring, a healer and sister Y/N” The Baron comments.

“Would you like my assistance in their retrieval efforts, is the emperor indisposed?” Feyd asks, playing dumb.

“No of course not, but I’d like to know if you came across any of them?” She says making Feyd genuinely smile. They were on to him but they had not effectively done their homework. In his search for you he’d learned how instrumental Leia had been to your adjustment. Four Bene Gesserits were missing now at his hands. Only two of them would continue to draw breath. The bitch that tried priming him for Lady Fenring’s seduction was dead along with her conspirator.

“Why would I?” He asks.

“Where are they?” the sister hisses using the voice, Feyd feels the reverberations in his head. Only, as it had been with Margot Fenring the compulsion is ineffective. Swallowing he shakes his head hyper aware of his uncle’s all seeing eyes. “My betrothed is in my company, I have not come across Lady Margot Fenring. The other, well unfortunately she got a little close after my fight in the arena” Feyd snarks, pretending to be frustrated by the manipulation. Looking up out of anger the Reverend mother senses no deception from him.

“You have been betrothed to Princess Irulan” the Reverend Mother responds, correcting him. Understanding the weight of their scrutiny he raises a brow. Too much affinity for you would expose his weakness making you a further target, he’d rather all attacks be aimed at him.

“Irulan” Feyd nods, looking at his uncle the Baron with a nod. He’d never been more bored by the prospect. Everyone knows the Emperor’s oldest daughter is an astute student of Reverend Mother Mohiam. He had no use for the schemes of weak men who’d rather use marriage rather than taking what their hearts desired.

“Are you satisfied?” The Baron asks the Bene Gesserit. Casting a look at Feyd she nods again leaving with a few guards. There had been a plot and now the hags were on the hunt for their rogue agent, only she would never be found and he would never be made a fool of. Feyd relaxes a touch turning to the devil he knows suspended on his throne. The Baron’s gaze is critically assessing his nephew, he too wanted to know what had become of Margot Fenring, but there would be no way for Feyd to resist the voice. How could the Baron know that the attempt on Feyd-Rautha’s life by the Atreides soldier had the opposite effect. Instead of making him more vulnerable to suggestion, he had become immune to their trickery. It strengthened the bonds between the two of you.

Feyd-Rautha’s love and admiration of you had only grown in the moments following the arena. The way you had clung to him, the fear in your every touch, the fortitude in your commitment to his well being. It was everything. You had shared your blood and body with him connecting the two of you on another level.

“How is your newest pet?” The Baron asks floating down from his throne at the very moment Rabban emerges through the doors. Turning slowly Feyd-Rautha’s eyes narrow in on his brute of a brother, hands itching to draw his knives. Rabban had been at the helm of the brutal attack on you and Leia and would pay for it.

“Good, now that both of my nephews are here. Rabban, Feyd-Rautha will be taking over on Arrakis” the Baron’s words cause a chain reaction. The Beast groans out of anger and rage, his breaths become shallow and he draws inward flexing his muscles as he makes a desperate attempt to withhold a tantrum.

“That is not necessary” Rabban snaps at the Baron. It’s all the disrespect Feyd can take. He strikes fast, slashing his brother across his face. Rabban tries and fails to get the better of his younger brother. Feyd out maneuvers the bigger man landing a kick that leaves Rabban on the floor blood dripping through out of his newest scar.

“Kiss or die” Feyd smirks knowing that this is just the beginning of his punishment. He would make sure he was dead once it was safe to do so without inquiry or repercussion. Looking down, Feyd watches his older brother inch closer and place his lips on his boot. Smiling Feyd-Rautha withdraws, casting a look back up at the Baron and striding out.

Feyd had risen early as was expected. Risen and left without the opportunity to wake you slowly, enjoying a morning with his na-Baroness. It angered him to have to put his inheritance ahead of you but it was the inheritance that would ensure his safety. Feyd spent hours assessing the land masses on the live map, his plan would need to be fool proof to release the spice. As soon as he could do that the more time he could have fucking you. He’d prepared a bath soak for you to ease the tension and aches from your body. Aches he’d put there, aches you welcomed as he went deeper inch by inch. Your safety was the only reason Feyd forced himself out of bed instead of allowing himself to be lost in you. He had made the mistake of dismissing your warning before and it had potentially cost him his mind, genetics. Potentially even you, there was no way to be sure what Lady Fenring could have achieved with his mind. Poisoning his mind against you or worse sanctioning your eradication. Feyd would do his best to give a semblance of normalcy because once on Arrakis and away from the Baron he could spend as much time as possible in throes of passion with you. He needs time to watch your back arch coming off the bed, your nipples pointing up at him ready to be sucked and played with. The way your breathing looks on your stomach as it contracts and swells at the sight of him thrusting inside of you. The bounce of your ass and tits as he increases his vigor. Your hands reaching to him for support, championing his insatiable desire for your pleasure. He’d never loved a body the way he does yours, he’d never felt so connected to a woman before. The chemistry between the two of you heightened to a point of senselessness, it had been pure instinct, autopilot. There’d been no blood left in his brain to process anything but the pure pleasure he felt and the feast for his eyes of you were laying there naked and sullied in front of him. The chorus of your moans of pleasure etched into his mind - his new favorite melody.

Last night had made it real. There was no denying it or passing it off as a simple preoccupation, he would never tire of you, he would do anything to keep you safe the same way you’d rushed to his aid. Rabban and the Baron would reach untimely deaths at his hand for their treachery. Irulan too if she would be foolish enough to insert herself into a relationship with him. The Empire be damned, he would find his way on the throne if it was what he wanted. He’d inherited Arrakis without schemes, he was simply the best for the job. Unlike the Emperor and the Baron Feyd had never been a coward, he always welcomed a good fight. He’d heard whispers about the sanctioned assassination of Duke Leto Atreides. He’d heard about the Emperor’s jealousy and the Baron’s grasp for power. Timing had been perfect, while all eyes were on Arrakis Feyd’s were on you and somehow now he would have both.

Sliding his hand in the reader Feyd enters into your quarters. The bath is drained and he finds you and Leia sharing a late lunch. Leia turns first nodding at him sheepishly before you turn to him with a smile. The feeling that washes over you is one you aren’t likely to forget. Relief, happiness, home, there’s a magnetism in your heart at the sight of Feyd. He comes over embracing you and you can smell his slightly musky scent.

“I’m going to freshen up” Leia stands not wanting to interrupt.

“Take one of the rooms in here, stay with the na-baroness” Feyd instructs getting your attention. Leia makes herself scarce and Feyd-Rautha sits on one of the chairs. Cautious of your soreness you sit on his knee, his arms hold you instinctively and you relax into him. You’d missed him dearly this morning, he had said goodbye but you wanted to wake up still tangled in his arms, body to body, feeling his heat, his strength, his vitality, his insatiable appetite for you and his reverent gaze. Everyone had been wrong about Feyd-Rautha, fear wasn’t the first thing you felt when you laid eyes on him. It was the opposite. The way he looks at you makes you feel special, powerful, dangerous, sexy, unstoppable, untouchable. There’d been no shame in the way he made love to you.

Feyd’s hand roams up the length of your leg under the silky fabric of your robes, you can see the need in his eyes. Breathing in your eyes flutter as his lips take yours in a kiss. He’d longed to have you in his arms for so long it hardly felt real to him. Somehow the real you was better than he could have ever imagined. Better in so many ways. How could another woman ever make such a major miscalculation. How could Margot Fenring or anyone else think they could sway his attention. Letting his head rest in the curve of your neck Feyd breathes you in. Resting your head against his, your hand hovers over his face wanting to touch him. Something makes you hesitate, his hands and chest seemed like fair play but his face… There’s something about his energy and dominance that makes you hesitate. Seeing your contemplation Feyd looks up, kissing your palm with a knowingness, his dark eyes daring you to continue. Reaching for him you withdraw a touch making his smirk deepen. His eyes sparkle and you reach for his face again touching him, you run your thumb along his cheek. Feyd kisses the inside of your wrist in a permissive gesture. His skin is soft and smooth, unlike the hard ridged edges of him.

“I only need you to follow my direction down to the detail when we’re making love, or there’s an emergency. Otherwise you are free to do as you please” Feyd explains.

“And if I make a mistake?” You ask, remembering the sting of his spanking last night.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again” he smiles, it thrills you a little.

“How?” You ask curiously and Feyd’s smile deepens, his eyes sparkle brighter at the prospect.

“Well if I tell you, it’ll kill the surprise” he comments suddenly in a much better mood. You withdraw a little but he secures you in place amused slightly. “How did I make you feel last night?” Feyd-Rautha asks with his lips to your ear. The tickle of his words make the tiny hairs on your neck stand.

“Incredible” you respond honestly.

“And I always will, even if you make a mistake” he promises. You relax into him again enjoying the closeness and ease you feel with the na-Baron. “Did your bath soothe the aches?” He asks.

“Yes, but I’m still sore,” you confess.

“Where?” Feyd asks giving you his hand, you place them on your hips where he’d held you, sliding them down to your thighs where he’d tested your flexibility to its limits trying to make adequate space for himself. Unsure again you place his hand over your center. Feyd’s eyes close at the contact of your hands drawing his between your legs. Deep appreciation for your trust of him and deep regret in the reality that he cannot be inside you again tonight. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead enjoying your warmth as he lets his hand rest comfortably over you.

“It’ll take time” Feyd says regretfully, it had never been a consequence before. His rotation of concubines left him sated, if one was indisposed he could call on another.

“Will you leave me for your pleasure slaves tonight?” You ask, unsure of how things work. You hope he won’t, it’s all in your eyes, against your training and better judgment you can’t withhold the sentiments of hurt his abandonment will cause.

“No, I will be at your side tonight if you will have me” Feyd whispers, holding your gaze. “I will have you” you nod blushing slightly. A contraption beeps and he takes it, ending the noise with a smile.

“I have to leave you now but I must inform you that Margot Fenring attempted to seduce me last night, she paid with her life. Her body will not be found, your sisters are looking for her and they continue to try to seduce me with the Empire through Irulan” he whispers, his hand still nestled against your heat.

“What say you?” You ask.

“They’re desperate and I do not jump to please the desperate, they aim to please me” Feyd reckons with a smug smile. “We’re to leave for Arrakis within the week.” He adds getting your attention. You turn to him with an unease, reminded of your vision.

“Arrakis is at war with a Fremen prophet” you tell him having heard the whispers.

“I will bring the Fremen to their knees and then you may decide if you’d like Irulan as a pet. You will sit beside me on my throne and we will make the rules from a position of strength.” Feyd whispers into your ear. After years of powerlessness it’s an attractive proposition. Frowning a curious thought comes over you.

“How were you able to best Lady Fenring?” You ask.

“The late lady tried using the voice, unfortunately my na-baroness ensured I cannot be manipulated hours prior” he says just as another string of beeps follow. He silences them standing and placing you on steady feet in front of him. You turn searching his eyes only to see its the truth, smiling you laugh a little, he does the same. He secures his blades before turning his attention to you.

“You’re the sharpest one,” he mutters, peering into your eyes. It’s high praise considering how much he reveres his weapons of choice. “The most beautiful, the most dangerous and the most rare” he adds looking down at you. Pride fills you, it's been so long since anyone valued you as he did.

“I’m thankful our fathers had the foresight to ensure we would have each other” you confess and Feyd-Rautha stands upright, straightening as pride fills him from your words.

“The sweetest too, so sweet you don’t even feel the sting” he says holding you gaze with mutual admiration and gratitude. Taking your hands he brings them to his lips placing a kiss on them. He turns leaving you awash with a variety of emotions. Your feelings for him are growing increasingly as the days pass. You place your hand against your stomach wondering if there’s a quickening in your womb. If the feelings would manifest by multiplying.

…

You had long wondered how losing your father had affected your mother, why she had never come back for you if she had survived. Hands running along Feyd-Rautha’s muscular back, you sense the deep loneliness that must exist within her as he sleeps on top of you, his heavy body anchoring you to this world. The warmth of him heating your own body. Looking down at Feyd you smile to yourself, the dream of him is disguised in the nightmare of his reputation. There was more depth to the man aside from brutality and cruelty. The same attentiveness that made him a dangerous adversary made him an excellent lover. As did the knowledge of the human body he’d long used for means of torture. Turned on its head it made for a lover that excels at the delivery of pleasure. The same for pain, after years of brutality he knew better than anyone how hard to push, how long to go, when to stop and when to be unrelenting. Here and now, he was completely relaxed over top of you, his slow breathing and soft breaths like that of a small child but far more peaceful. While asleep he didn’t look dangerous, he seemed to just be a man, like all the rest. He stirs turning his head, his arms tightening around you in a gesture of possession. When behind closed doors Feyd-Rautha was incapable of resisting the need for touching you. He needed you as close as possible, a piece of you touching him in some way. When there were no other eyes on you he wasted no time assuring you how much you meant to him.

He’d spent the last few days pouring over maps of Arrakis for hours while Rabban tried and failed to bring order to the desert planet. Feyd’s plans remained close to the chest so that his brother's spies would have no opportunities to undermine his objectives. He also had the foresight to keep you tucked away in your quarters. There were no margins for error, no room for distractions - he would need to ensure the flow of spice to gain enough power to make demands and have them met. He wouldn’t allow himself to be used as a pawn in the power games the Emperor played, he wouldn’t not allow himself to be in a subservient position like the Baron, to a man lesser than him in every way. He would never allow himself to be in the position where he needed to sell off his daughters and sons to improve his station. The games of advantage displeased him even more now that he’d been privy to the realities of a love match. He also knows you would never welcome it, trading the children you bore out of love for advantageous positions. Stirring to consciousness he flattens his hands down over your stomach. He’d emptied his desire in you on three occasions now and there was a strong likelihood of an offspring quickening within you. Feeling your gentle caresses he places a kiss on your sternum lifting his head from between your breasts and inching up to the pillow. He pulls the blanket over your bare form to keep you warm in the absence of his body heat. His eyes drink you in with an insatiability, he never seemed to tire of your flesh. You smile at him as he readjusts getting between your legs.

“Feyd” you whisper in anticipation. “You have training, you're already late” you remind him sensibly.

“I can be quick” he whispers, needing you to start his day. “Cum for me” he whispers sliding in. Your eyes close as you accept him inside of you, he fits so well. “Look at me” Feyd demands and you do. “Make a mess for me” he instructs finding a torturous rhythm, he’s right it will be quick. He turns you on like a light, everything about him driving you there in no time, the slapping of skin to skin becomes wetter and wetter as your body accommodates his size, pleasure oozing out of you. “That’s my good na-baroness” he hisses, thrusting harder. The monster is inside of you and you love it. The nightmare capable of slaying all others. Your body welcomes him, drawing him closer as the head rush of your orgasm starts. Your eyes lock and he wears a smile, his chin moves in an encouraging nod allowing you to let go of all inhibition and decorum. “Let it out” he smiles as sweat beads on your forehead.

“Feyd '' you moan as he slows, breaking the rhythm. A powerful thrust follows, and another and another. Your hands squeeze around his arms needing to be grounded. His mouth lingers open above yours whispering dirty pleasantries, the sweetest filth promising your undoing. His smile is mocking as he edges you to oblivion. He needed his balls empty before starting his day if there was any hope in him being effective in his tasks. The more he has you the more he needs. You’re in his every thought, in his every desire, in every decision and breath. Feyd’s sure it's Bene Gesserit witchcraft but wrapped so tightly around his cock he welcomes it in all forms. Watching you come for him he knows the ecstasy is pure. Burying himself deep he lets his orgasm flow into you. Only one Bene Gesserit would bear his children. Any others who’d seek to insert themselves between you and him would be collared, leashed and be made your pets, surviving purely off of your generosity. He would teach you how to take care of traitors. He would teach you everything.

“Feyd” you call again shuddering as more aftershocks rip through the both of you. You live for the moments you’re both satisfied and connected, body to body, flesh to flesh. His head bows and you raise yours to meet his full beautiful lips.

“I love you” he says slipping out of you. He moves from between your legs pressing your knees together, wanting you to keep as much of him inside you as possible. Smiling, you rest your head on his chest as he lays on his back. You rest, catching your breath and slowing your breathing.

“I love you too” you tell him back.

“We made a mess” he says with pride but the smirk fades to horror in moments he jumps out of the bed in a flash, his cock bouncing still hard. Your heart races as he throws the sheets over your bare body. The doors open and your heart stops at the sight of the Baron. Only his eyes are not on you but Feyds manhood as he puts pants on.

“What are you doing in here!” Feyd growls pulling the curtains of the canopy bed just as the Baron’s head turns to you. You pull the sheets to your chin, trembling.

“They said Feyd-Rautha missed his training session. I said no way, as long as he breathes he’d be with his blades'' the Baron said through labored speech. A sickeningly sweet and rancid odor fills the chambers. You find yourself trembling under the weight of such a terrible man's gaze. All of Feyd’s hard work to bring you pleasure is eroded by the rotting abomination of a man in this chamber with Feyd and yourself.

“Out uncle” Feyd snarls, terrifying even you.

“I wouldn’t mind laying eyes on the pet that’s keeping you preoccupied and away from the others every night” the Baron says and you pull the sheets over your face although the poster bed’s drapes already conceal you from the two men.

“Don’t” Feyd snaps, stopping his uncle from pulling the drapes. No one would ever lay eyes on you indisposed.

“I can ready Rabban and the staff, put on a show dear nephew. Show the rest of us how your whore has come to pleasure you, taking away valuable time from your tasks at hand” the Baron yells.

“Get out” Feyd responds trembling, looking at his uncle for the first time he wants to spill his blood everywhere. Every attempt at hiding his possessiveness and predilection for you is out of the window. Feyd fights for control trying not to expose further weakness.

“Show us Feyd, we want to see the work she does with your cock that is more important than your inheritance” Baron Vladimir Harkonnen taunts glancing at his nephew's groin area.

“No” Feyd responds, setting his jaw. Murder apparent. The Baron taps on his shield, well aware of the heightened state of his nephew. The doors open and guards enter. Without his shield or weapons Feyd is at a disadvantage. Murder will have to wait. Cornered, Feyd’s thoughts turn to you. “I missed the training because I've exceeded all instructors” he says attempting to subvert the truth. The Baron chuckles knowing the potential poison love could be to his progeny and the Barons own ambitions. He’d been getting more reports regarding his heirs preoccupation with his inadequate betrothed.

“Someone will have to pay for this deliberate disobedience. Will it be you or your whore?” The Baron chides seeking to provoke Feyd. His disrespect of you in public sealing fate, now Feyd would kill his uncle. It would happen.

“I will” Feyd rasps. Nodding the Baron smirks.

“Bring the whore to watch” the Baron says before turning away and eroding Feyd’s confidence. Every instinct in Feyd wants to beg, he wants to plead for absolution. He could take any punishment but subjecting you to brutality and violence … he … he couldn’t fathom its effects. He’d grown up with the barons' malevolence, his brutality and cruelty. But Feyd had watched you become undone by a minor cut on his back. The way you would care for it and caress it daily was evidence enough to know this would break you. You would be unable to witness the cruelty of punishment according to the Barons machinations. The mocking, the jeering, the humiliation, the whippings, the hours of fighting until he could no longer defend himself, the scars, the weeks of soreness. He took them in stride, becoming increasingly vicious every time. But that was before he had you to consider, before he’d known real love. The baron had tried everything in his arsenal to break the boy with no success. Smiling as he floats away he knows he has now, the look in your eye could only be explained as one thing.

Love

And love could, and would always be the easiest emotion to exploit. the most powerful impulse. Even if his nephew had a mind of his own and the wherewithal to rebel, after today he was sure you would keep Feyd away out of love. He would make you feel culpable for the brutality Feyd will face. Exploiting all the kindness and empathy housed in a loving woman. The spice will flow, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen will become emperor. The Baron is committed to ensuring you will be disposed of. He’ll use you to his advantage if need be, he’ll break you, he’ll have you beg Feyd to marry Irulan. His machinations will be fulfilled by any means necessary.

Authors Note: Sorry this one is a little shorter than the others. how do we feel about the Baron and his sick and twisted treatment of Feyd? How will you react to Feyd's punishment? How do we like the developing relationship between the two?

Thanks for so much reading 🩶 don't forget to like comment, reblog 😘

TAGLIST:

@elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22 @meetmeatyourworst @jojoclown69 @lillypink @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @avidreader73 @emeraldsgirl33 @strawberryfieldsforevermore @rose-are-royal @delusionsofnostalgia @szapizzapanda @palomavz @mcswan02 @slutforsmut4ever @emeraldsgirl @jackiekae @sarahhelpimsinking @maat-the-prescriptive @moonsoulk @katherineswiftie2017-blog @melancholicmelanin @littlebugs @alexa4040 @unicoreads @mimsie95

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diejager · 6 months ago

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Reader poisoning konig and horangi

✌️😗~🐝

Cw: DARKFIC,DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, poisoning, non-con drugging, implied murder, implied death, crime, tell me if I missed any.

It was a daring act —reckless and stupid. Pushed to make an ultimatum, to decide to poison your stepfather and his best friend. To slip rat poison - easily acquired and rarely inquired about the purchase of it - into their drinks whenever they were looking. You looked it up when you went to the library, one of the few places they didn’t follow you, and searched all types of poison under another’s account to keep yourself clean and innocent. It’d take small doses on a long period to make it seem natural - or as natural as it would seem - and absolve you of any crime.

You had it all planned, and, despite how reckless it was, you still went with it. Hiding the distinct taste of rat with the strong burn of alcohol in their hard liquor and serving them when König waved his hand at you. You cycled through a metal phosphide and an anticoagulant, thinking that one would corrode the body from the inside, killing them slowly and painfully. A fitting revenge. While the other would staunch the production of vitamin K and make the smallest bruise life threatening, causing them to bleed internally until they were administered a shot of vitamin to start the production of it.

It seemed full proof —perfect. Weeks turned to months of planning and spending your hard-earned cash to buy small amounts over the months of use and committing to it while you swallowed down your nerves and anxiety about it. The small tremble in your hands when you mixed the powder into their drinks, watching the fine powder dissolve into nothing, the once heterogeneous substance calming to a bright, homogeneous amber.

But how were you supposed to know they had the nose of a bloodhound? They were soldiers, cautious and like-minded with killers of their calibre, but how? How could you know that they were instinctively familiar enough with rodenticideto sniff it out in the whiskey you poured for them. It was scent less and tasteless, and yet they knew —they knew of your little plan and weren’t happy about it. Amused, yes; entertained by your brawl, yes; but happy? No, not on the attempt on their lives.

Praising your brilliant, but failed plan, they hounded you to your room, reminding you that they were in control and that you wouldn’t be able to escape them. They murmured it, screamed and lashed you with the words with every drive of their hips, ramming their slick girth into you to teach - teach once more - your the lesson you seemed to forget. Their hands bruising your hips and thighs with big, purple palms and their teeth bleeding your shoulders and throat, latching onto your skin until you every part of you was marked.

Left battered and exhausted, limp and motionless between them with your sheets and body covered in slick, cum and blood, you wouldn’t forget this lesson any time soon.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

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cursed-cube · 7 days ago

Text

So a common headcanon/theory I’ve seen floating around is that when Okarun shifts into his yokai form, the personality shift he undergoes is representative of a “truer” inner self. I can see the line of logic that led to this, but the more thought I’ve put into it, the less I’ve agreed with the premise. And I’ve put so much thought into it at this point that it’s had to become its own whole post separated from the analysis it was originally a part of, so strap in.

Disclaimer: if this is your personal headcanon, I’m not here to try to prove you wrong or make you change your mind, I’m more so discussing this from the theory side of things and what I think will happen as the manga continues. Also slight manga spoilers for up to chapter 172 !!

So as the theory goes, the personality that comes out when Okarun’s transformed is a more genuine version of himself, where his yokai form removes his anxieties and allows him to act more confidently and openly show the depression and pessimism that’s lived in him the whole time. On a surface level this tracks, as being in this form does make him more confident, blunt, and he completely drops the formal way he speaks to people, going so far as to adopt a cute nickname for Momo.

I don’t think this fully makes sense for a number of reasons, though. Firstly is that throughout all 175 chapters that are currently out, I can’t recall any moments where Okarun ever acts in a way that would hint at his real inner workings reflecting the personality and behavior that come out when he is transformed. I could have missed something, of course, but when so much of Momo and Okarun’s relationship is built on them being their genuine selves around the other (more on that in this great video I saw), I’m inclined to believe that there isn’t going to be another shoe to drop nearly 200 chapters in.

To explain my other reasoning, I’m going to have to go into a little bit of a side tangent about Aira, and first I want to establish why I think comparing Okarun to her in this instance makes sense. So up until the cursed diorama arc, the only character that really has comparable yokai related powers to Okarun is Aira. They acquire these powers in different ways, and Seiko says Okarun has Turbo Granny’s “spiritual power”, whereas Acro-Silky says she gave Aira her “aura.” Given the contexts of the scenes these are said in I would assume they are meant to be two different concepts, however it’s not ever explicitly stated or shown how the difference there affects them or their yokai abilities, so I am treating them as functionally the same thing for this analysis. Regardless, the similarity between them seems to be that in one way or another, they have been left with the spiritual energy of their respective yokai, which allows them to transform in very similar ways. Their transformations affect them both physically in making them taller and stronger, as well as their personalities, with Okraun becoming less formal overall, and Aira becoming more formal in the way she addresses people.

Even though they are affected by their transformations in very similar ways, I haven’t seen any kind of headcanon or theory that the way Aira behaves while transformed is how she truly is or feels, which makes perfect sense considering her first character arc. From when she’s introduced, she’s shown to have a dynamic with Momo, Okarun, and her other peers at school, where even before she’s able to use Acro-Silky’s abilities, she’s pretty two faced. In chapter 51, Momo even says, “There’s our Aira!” when she and Okarun pull Aira away from her class and she immediately shifts to her more snarky attitude towards Momo. The manga makes it quite clear that the way she acts at school, and on occasion towards Okarun, is an act, and that her genuine personality is a little nasty and rude (which she is loved for! By other characters and audience members of taste). And with that established, of course no one put that much emphasis on how her behavior changes when she’s using Acro-Silky’s powers. She’s still the same person, her mannerisms and the way she speaks are just altered slightly, which is also pretty much how I feel about Okarun’s yokai form.

That being said, I don’t want to fully dismiss that the shifted personality could mean something, and in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if Okarun did still have some repressed feelings and pessimism from his time growing up without any friends, but at the current point in the story I’m not sure if I could see that being shown explicitly tied to his yokai form. As of chapter 165, Okarun gets his final ball back, and as per his end of the deal, he returned Turbo Granny’s spiritual power to her, and she left with them and hasn’t made an appearance since. Okarun no longer has access to his yokai form, but at this point he’s surrounded by friends, he’s confessed his feelings to Momo, and he’s even grown physically strong enough to hold his own in a fight without any powers. As far as what we’ve been shown, Okarun has developed and his life has changed so much that he doesn’t really have any of those reasons to be a pessimistic downer that he had before the events of the series. Not to say he has no reasons to be sad, of course, we still haven’t been given even a hint of what his family and home life is like, and I expect something will happen with that eventually. But with where the story has gone so far, I don’t see this theory being true or narratively compelling.

TLDR: There’s not much evidence going for this theory, and several things against it, so I personally don’t see it going anywhere in the canon series. The way Okarun acts and the feelings he expresses in his yokai form could still potentially mean something, so I won't completely dismiss it, but with where the story is currently I don’t think this theory being true would add much or be a compelling element of the plot.

#dandadan #okarun #ken takakura #momo ayase #aira shiratori #dandadan manga #dandadan spoilers #dandadan manga spoilers #dandadan analysis #cubed analysis

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luveline · 2 years ago

Text

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

three | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Julianna is a real princess. As a granddaughter of the Queen, step-daughter of a prince, her title is official. She’s been a princess nearly all her life, and it’s a detail you can’t miss.

James’ hand is hot but amicable against your shoulder blade. He hasn’t stepped away from you since Julianna arrived, though what threat she poses has yet to be seen. She doesn’t seem particularly volatile. You can’t imagine her in all her dewy skin and fine clothing lifting a finger, let alone her fist.

“Mama says you’re an artist,” she drawls.

“Not really.” How her mother knows anything about you is a mystery. “It’s a hobby, is all.”

“And you didn’t finish university?”

“No.” You don’t owe her anything. You know you don’t. But it’s not just her you want to defend yourself to, not when Remus is sitting by the window of the parlour and James is close enough to hear your heartbeat. “I tried to, obviously, but I couldn’t, uh, afford to not work.”

“Ah.”

You don’t expect her to understand it. You know most people don't. Studying and working, the majority can handle both. You’d been ashamed of yourself for failing, but you’d come to the realisation that it was sink or swim. You could sink —resent yourself for needing more time, more space, more accommodation— or you could swim. Accept your ‘shortcomings’. Make the most of what you have.

Find yourself in a foreign country surrounded by the highly educated and the ridiculously wealthy. People who might never comprehend why you’ve struggled, or how.

In that moment, you decide to treat this heart-wrenching trip as nothing more than a holiday. James is nice to you. The food is free and apparently plentiful. The grounds…

Fuck, the grounds. The scenery. The royals aren’t currently living in their most famous residence, Loswell Castle, but are instead mourning the Prince at the more private and more subtle Bellaverden House. Subtle, yet gorgeous. The grass is green and stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions, broken up only by the silhouette of the alps to the east and the shimmering Lake Orlo to the west. The palace itself is nothing like you’d expected, and so far from the capital city of Genovia it is no surprise to find that the royals let their personal tastes bleed into every corner. It’s tasteful, silent wealth, no crystal chandeliers hanging from the eaves but instead a Rembrandt in the hallway. No solid gold cutlery, but instead Noritake porcelain tea cups and their matching exorbitant saucers.

“Loswell is the gaudier of the two houses,” James had said, evidently pleased by your wide-eyed surprise.

A nice boy who’s being paid to spend time with you and his funny friends. All you have to do is survive the paparazzi (check!) and your suspicious possible relatives (less so).

Any hour now, the paternity test will come up negative and they’ll be shepherding you home in search of the actual princess, wherever she may be.

If she exists at all.

“You haven’t eaten anything today,” James says softly, for your ears only. “Should we go down to the kitchens?”

It’s hard to describe the true and daunting scale of Bellaverden House, but James’ use of ‘kitchens’ rather than ‘kitchen’ sums it up nicely.

Julianna rolls her shoulders, reaching for a black telephone on the side table. “No need. We’ll have it brought up. What do you like? They have yards of fresh pasta prepared by now. Doesn’t matter, I’ll ask for some of everything.”

“Oh, no,” you say, stepping out of James' reach. “I don’t want to be an imposition while I’m here.”

“That ship has sailed,” she says neatly.

Ouch. You look back to James without intending to, an automatic movement. He’s become your safety net too quickly. His job is to protect you from harm, not your catty maybe-cousin’s mild disdain.

“Sit,” Julianna says. “James, you can take up station in the hallway. Go on.”

Her voice possesses all the snobbish airiness you’d expect it to. She’s regal, elegant, and rude. James’ hand stretches toward yours, your fingers not quite touching. You think it might be his silent way of saying he won’t be far.

He gives you a reassuring half-smile. “If you need me,” he says.

“Tutor,” Julianna adds once James is at the door, “you can leave us.”

“Remus, please.” You smile at Julianna appealingly, piping up before she can steal your last lifeline. “I need him to tell me what silverware to use. If I have any hope of catching up, I’ll have to start learning about proper etiquette straight away.”

You look to your tutor to make sure he’s on board. Remus gestures for you to sit and crosses the hardwood floors between you, his footsteps soundless. Julianna sniffs, your suggestion agreeable but tiresome for her, and pulls the telephone receiver to her ear.

Remus settles into the chair next to yours at the table.

“Don’t worry. We won’t leave you for wolves,” he says.

You’re grateful. You nod to the book in his hands. “What are you reading?”

He turns the book around. A Comprehensive History of Contemporary Genovia.

“I’ve never had to educate someone who didn’t already know a very specific, very intricate history of our country,” he says in his melding voice, the barest hints of his accent peaking through. He says our country like you already belong as he does, not native but citizen anyhow. “I provide supplementary education for the well-educated, I… I’m like a second chance for rich slackers. You’re neither, and so I’m not sure how I can make this easy on you.”

You admire his thinking. You’ve been lucky to find yourself in the care of people who put your comfort first. Remus, James, Sirius, even the ambassadors of the country, and the matron you’d been introduced to upon your arrival here, they’ve all been so conscientious.

But it won’t matter.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says.

“You do?”

“You’ve made it clear how much faith you have in the current situation. I believe…” that you’re who we suspect you are, you think he might say, but he parts his legs to bump his knee into yours. “I believe we’re going to be good friends.”

That is… “Thank you,” you say softly.

The telephone jingles as Julianna slams it down. “So, what’s with the bruise?” she asks. “And the bad makeup. Mean boyfriend back home?”

Her cavalier attitude chafes. “I was a little too close to the door when someone opened it,” you say.

“Ah.”

Again with the Ah. Extra syllables must be at cost.

Positivity, you remind yourself. This is a vacation. This inane and insane need to constantly prove yourself to the people around you is going to make you crazy, especially when all of this is temporary. Who cares what princess Julianna thinks of you now when, in a day or two, she’ll remember you as nothing more than the girl who they brought by mistake? And wouldn’t it be nice to just… not care? Who cares what Julianna thinks?

You stand and walk to the door where James is standing, because calling for him would make you feel like an entitled dick. He turns his head to you obligingly.

“Would you come back inside? The painting is giving me the jeebies.”

“That’s a portrait of your great great grandmother.”

“She’s scary.”

He claps your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “If the test comes out negative, I’ll happily commit royal espionage for you and fix the results.”

“That is not a joke you should make,” Remus calls mildly.

“Probably not. I’ve made it now. Sit down, Princess, the food’s arriving.”

The food they bring up to you is Genovian specialty cuisine, recipes borrowed from the Italians hundreds of years ago, and how fortunate you are for that. You have no clue where to start, surrounded by rich smells of broth and stewed vegetables, the spritely aroma of white wine and tomatoes so fresh their roasted skins split under the gentle bottom of your spoon.

James refuses to eat with you, as he’s on the clock, but Remus sits down at the table as promised to guide you through the fascinatingly intricate etiquette it takes to be a new royal.

“That’s Cioppino,” Remus says, pointing to a dark red stew bragging large pieces of crab, smaller chunks of a white meat you’re unsure of, and the distinct dark brackets of mussel shells. “It’s actually an Italian-American dish. It’s served with sourdough or French bread, but in our case, where you can’t necessarily use your hands, we’ll go without.”

“There’s nobody here I need to impress, right?” you ask quietly.

You swear you can hear Julianna twitching.

Remus doesn’t respond to your comment, though his voice is riddled with amusement when he continues. “It’s more common for the crab to be served in its shell, but I don’t suppose they want the royals using crab forks and crackers." He points to a second bowl. “This, from the looks of it, is a variation of stufato di capra e fagioli, Italian for ‘stew of goat meat and beans’. Self explanatory. It’s very popular here in the winter, it’s,” —his voice drops to a lower register— “Sirius’ favourite. Shoulder meat, onions, carrots, celery, white wine and white beans. I don’t suppose I have to tell you what that is.” He nods to a heaping bowl of gnocchi coated in a green, buttery sauce, and its familiar wingman — fettuccine alfredo.

“Now there’s one I know,” you say with a smile.

“I think they’ve gone easy on you,” Remus says. “Given you something they knew would be familiar. The head cooks, Marlene and Marsha, hardly ever serve fettuccine without ragù di pollo. Chicken ragù. It’s a sacrament in Marlene’s eyes to separate the two.”

He moves so easily from English to Italian. You wonder if he speaks Genovian. Is there a Genovian language? You’re too embarrassed to ask, instead piling a mound of unadventurous fettuccine into your bowl.

Julianna picks up the telephone again and you let yourself relax as her conversation begins. She pokes at her food and talks in Italian down the line, staring straight at you as she says the word, ‘principessa’. You don’t have to be a linguistics expert to know she’s talking about you. Eventually, her attention fades. Remus loosens at your side.

“This spoon,” he corrects, before opening his book and sagging into his seat.

You're famished, yet all the rich food makes you nauseous. You toy with your fettuccine and a little of the cioppino. Weirdly, you miss the ordinary smells of your kitchen.

A figure moves behind you, James’ shadow shifting to cover your hands. “Unladylike as it might be,” he says, “you’ll regret it if you don’t try the bread, Princess. Freshly baked, soaked in pesto, it’s what us peasant folk fight over at the end of a shift.”

You hold your hand to a beautiful sliced baguette, “This one?”

“That’s the one.”

You pull the bread apart and enter a stodgy, olive oily sort of heaven. The only thing better than how it tastes is James' happy sound when you set aside a huge slice in a napkin and usher it behind your back, as inconspicuous as you can possibly be. He has no choice but to take it. A telltale crunch comes quickly and poorly smothered.

Julianna excuses herself, and a maid comes to take her plates and dirtied cutlery on a silver cart.

You lean toward Remus with a hand over your mouth. “What do you call them? The ladies in uniform?”

“Princess, you can call them whatever you want to,” James butts in, returning to your side now Julianna is absent. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and sits in one of the chairs facing the door.

“But what’s nicest?”

“You’ll learn their names in time,” Remus says easily. “You’ll be fine. Officially, they’re ‘attendants’. Maids, cleaners. Oh, you’ll have a lady in waiting–”

“A what?”

“A personal assistant,” James says.

Your face heats up like an instant flush, all hot pinpricks and embarrassment, “No,” you beg, standing up, “please, that would be entirely unnecessary, it’s not like I’m some sort of–”

“Princess!” A familiar voice shouts. Sirius has weaselled inside the door and closed it tight, his back pressed against it for a moment like he’s keeping someone out. He wears an exuberant smile and a brilliant dark ensemble with fine pinstripes that mess with your eyes as he approaches. He’s practically running. “I’ve spoken to Delilah who’s spoken to Beau who’s spoken to Lily who’s been in contact with the legal team in charge of your care here in Genovia, and they’ve heard from the medical team who have been fighting tooth and nail to be put in talks with you,” —he looks at you emphatically now, and there’s something about his expression, part wide-eyed awe, part sympathy, that freezes you to the spot— “because it’s technically your care, and–”

“Sirius, get to the point, please,” James says. He’s looking at you in a different way. Like he’s waiting for you to fall over.

“Your father,” Sirius says, promptly deciding to start again. “The paternity test is positive. Your DNA is a conclusive match for the Prince, may he rest in peace. You’re a princess. You’re the Princess, by blood. You are a Renaldi.”

There’s a stretching silence. You wrap your hand around the back of your chair and stare at the velvet upholstery of the seat.

“Terrible last name,” he adds sympathetically.

You don’t want to be the girl who faints. That would be ridiculous, to fall over and crack your head. So, though you hate to ask for anything, you mumble, “James?”

He wraps a shapely arm behind your shoulders and under your armpit before you lose the feeling in your legs.

“I think I need to sit down again,” you say.

“Reckon you do," he agrees, as he pulls the chair around with his foot and arranges you in it efficiently, the tip of his thumb pushed into the pulse point on your neck. “We’ll get you something cold, Princess. You can breathe.” He gives you a little shake, hand spreading wider as it drags down your collar. The pressure is like the safety release of a suction cup. You take in a huge breath. “Breathe, lovely.”

“I’m fine," you say meekly.

“It’s alright,” he says, with his impossible softness. He’s unafraid to be kind even when there are people watching.

“I’m fine. I–” You can’t finish your sentence. You’d wanted to say you’ll be okay. That this is just some melodramatic episode, but it isn’t. This is a human reaction to unbelievable news. Because you’re a– you’re a princess.

You cover your face with both hands and curl in toward your thighs. Silence pervades, your ears abuzz with white noise. You aren’t sure how long you sit there paralysed, but soon James’ gentle murmuring and shushing cuts through the ringing. “It’s alright,” he’s saying, his hand at your elbow, “I swear, it’s alright. You take as long as you need.”

“Mickey’s at the door,” Sirius says.

“Good. Tell him to radio in a level two security detail and stay there for now. Who else knows, Sirius?”

“By now? Everybody in the castle. Including government officials.”

“And you’re sure?” Sure said severely.

“Of course I am.”

You’re trying very hard to keep your pasta down. This can’t be happening. It can’t be right. Their test is wrong. They swabbed the inside of your mouth wrong, or got it mixed up with some other person test, or the doctors are lying. Not once in your whole life has there ever been any indication that you are more than the nothing you’ve always been. All your worst insecurities rip to the surface. Not me. Not me.

“Level two isn’t as bad as it sounds,” James says, still so gentle. He’s been talking to you again. “All it means is that I’m not at full attention, and I need someone else to watch the room. That’s all it is.”

“I’m not,” you say.

“You’re okay.”

“I’m not a princess,” you say, peeking at him through your parted fingers.

His hand curves around your arm. He pulls it toward him. Encouraging rather than demanding. You let him.

“Whatever it is that you are,” he says, meeting your eyes, “I’m here to take care of you. Okay? Try to calm down for me.” He nods, hoping you’ll nod back no doubt. You worry at your lip, your teeth scratching delicate skin.

“Sorry,” you say.

“No one’s expecting you to feel a certain way right now,” Sirius says.

The urgency in his expression has departed completely. He has an air of regret about him now, an uncomfortable set to his jaw.

It’s not just James in the room witnessing your wobble. You cover your face again and try to become one with the furniture.

James stands off of his knees, having seemingly decided that you aren’t in any mental peril. He stays hovering behind your chair. You think you might’ve found them all at a loss for what to do.

The door opens. You imagine a nightmare, Julianna coming to play nice, but it’s the British ambassador Lily once again. She looks as perfect as she did when you saw her last with an immaculately straightened sheet of hair fluttering behind her, her steps hurried. Despite her speed, she doesn’t look unhappy. She’s smiling. The Genovian ambassador Emmeline follows behind her.

You try to straighten up.

“We have wonderful news,” Lily says.

“You’re the Princess!” Emmeline squeaks, her tiny stature no bounds for her excitement. “Welcome home!”

She begins clapping. It slows when nobody joins in.

“What?” she asks cluelessly. “Has something bad happened?”

That’s what you’re trying to work out.

—

James can hear you sniffling.

He rests his shoulders against the wall by your bedroom door and sighs. You'd held in tears for hours after the announcement. Sirius' last announcement has toppled you over. You have to meet your grandmother tomorrow to begin preparing for your father's funeral. James thinks you might have reached your breaking point. He can't imagine the grief of losing a father you didn't know you had, and the stress of being pulled out of your life so suddenly, carted across Europe and left under the judgemental eyes of royals and officials with little direction. Now that the paternity test has been found positive and checked by many, many professionals, your confirmed identity should provide a more stable schedule. From James’ perspective, the days ahead will be easy. For you, they are going to be very, very hard.

You'll meet the Queen tomorrow at breakfast. The plans for your permanent residency in Genovia will be decided. Your entire life is about to change, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Well… James doesn't really want you to stop it, but it's not entirely true that you can't. You could reject your heritage and go home to your flat, your art, your degree equivalent classes. Maybe you're crying because you're scared you don't have options.

James thinks about knocking on the door to talk to you. He meant it when he said he has a duty to all aspects of your health, the mental as well as the physical, but it's difficult to define the line between professionalism and being friendly. He's already crossed it.

He sighs and rubs his weary head. He's tired. Today has been the longest day ever. You'd slept for an hour in the car from the airport to Bellaverden Castle, and James had watched you half jealous and half enraptured. He won't mind looking after you no matter how you look, but your being easy on the eyes is a brilliant plus. Well, when ignoring the huge bruise staining your cheek.

"Fuck," he says.

He hasn't been doing very well. Honestly, his failure to keep you from harm in your flat (even if the harm had been him) and then his screw up with the paparazzi has left him off kilter.

James pulls out his pager. He should swap with one of the night guards, and he trusts them all, having picked them himself, but he won’t feel right walking away while you're crying.

He clicks in Remus' code and waits until he hears it back. It's shorthand between them: if Remus wasn't awake or didn't want to see James, he could've ignored James' page and there'd be no hard feelings. But he answered. Tonight, once James has made sure you're okay, he'll crawl into Remus' bed like when they were kids in a cold dormitory and missing home to sleep for a glorious eight hours. He might even tell Remus how stressed he is. He knows his friend will listen.

He'd invite Sirius, of course, (and that's assuming he isn't already there) if it weren’t well past ten. Sirius is definitely asleep.

James hasn't had a proper night's sleep in a week. He feels poorly. He misses his mum. He's hungry. This job is great, he loves what he does; he gets paid to take care of people. It's also too much. It eats at him.

"Fuck," he says again.

"James?"

He flinches hard.

There it is, his third mistake. He's very lucky that the chief of royal security is busy making funeral arrangements, because if Mary were here she'd gut him.

You've crept up on him in his distraction. How could he not notice your footsteps across the floor, or your door handle's heavy metallic thunk?

"Princess," he says, biting his tongue when you wince. He'll have to call you something else. "I'm sorry, I–" James squints at your sore eyes.

"It's okay. I just wanted to ask… are you alright?"

"Am I alright?"

“I just heard you and I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. You sounded… stressy."

"You don't have to worry about me. That's my job." He frowns at the remnants of your tear stains, dampness shining at the corners of your eyes and your lashes sticking together in darkened triangles. "I was just about to come and see you, actually. I know today's been hard, and I know I haven't helped. I'm so sorry, again, for hurting you. And at the airport, I know the scuffle with the photographers didn't help your nerves. I know," he stresses, "this is hard. I swear things will be smoother from now on. You have my word."

You rub your elbow wordlessly. He's about to backtrack, perhaps dig himself a bigger hole, but then you give him one of the softest smiles anyone's ever given him in all his years.

"It's forgiven. Believe me, James, this is the least of my worries," you say, gesturing to your cheek. It only takes a second for shame to stick its hooks in you, yanking your gaze to the floor. You're wearing an expression he's seen a thousand times on the people closest to him.

He flicks you under the chin gently.

"Things are gonna get easier. I swear it," he says.

You plaster a smile on. James figures he can push it some more and wipes the smudgy shine of old tears off of your cheeks.

"There. Looking good, angel. Why don’t you try and get some rest now, yeah?"

He keeps getting this odd feeling like you're an old friend and not his charge. It's fleeting and it's making him stupid. This and the sleep deprivation. He swears to himself he'll be better tomorrow.

You bid him goodnight. James listens to your night time motions until another guard comes to release him from duty, rushing to his room for a shower and a cereal bar, giving his teeth a half-hearted brush before he sets off for Remus' room halfway across the castle. Remus and the other scarcely employed scholars don't have to sleep in the servant quarters like he and Sirius do. Schmucks.

He finds the door unlatched. Mercifully, James decides to spare them both the safety-related lecture. He tries to be as quiet as he can, a head of sandy brown hair turning his way just two steps into the room.

"James?" Remus asks, his voice thick with fatigue.

"Sorry. You can go back to sleep."

"I was waiting for you. Drifted off."

James scrubs a hand through his damp hair and closes the door. He can find his way in the dark.

"Sirius isn't here?"

"James…"

"What, are we still pretending?"

"James."

"I'm sorry. Forgive me, Moony."

"Yeah. Don't lean on my left side. I'll move over."

"What's wrong with your left side?"

"I don't know. Maybe from carrying the bags. Maybe not."

James slides into the warm space Remus has made for him and tries not to feel overprotective. Loving someone who's constantly in pain can be confusing. You don't know how much love you're allowed to give before it starts to be patronising. Remus can take care of himself, but he doesn't need to.

"Anything I can do?" James whispers.

"Tell me what's bothering you."

"Oh, you know… Everything. Nothing. I'm so happy we're all together again, I mean, what are the fucking odds? How long has it been since I could come and see you guys after work without making an appointment? … I didn't love the Prince, but I hate that he's dead, and I…"

Remus turns his head to James. They're a pillow apart. When James looks at him, he can't remember what Remus looked like when they were young, but he can feel the years of knowing one another stretching out between them. A straining cast of light from under the door catches the edges of Remus' features. James can see the corner of an uneven smile.

"Go on," Remus says quietly.

"She's nice. She's really nice. I don't want her to get hurt, but I don’t know that I’m up to this, Moony."

"James, you're up for everything. Always have been."

"I thought this was a demotion."

"Isn't it?"

"If it is, it's one I deserve. I deserve another one. Once Mary sees the mess I've made…"

Remus reaches across the sheets to pinch James' bicep. "Nobody is good at their new job. Sirius didn't touch up the princess' bruise when we got off the plane, and while they're paid off for now, someone who needs the better payout is going to publish those photos, and soon. Sirius should've been doing his job, but he was too busy looking after me."

"I tried to cover it–"

"I know. You did a good job and I'm not blaming you. My point is that he made a mistake. Does he deserve a demotion?"

James wrinkles his nose. Hate you.

"And I should've better prepared her for meeting Princess Julianna. It was my fault that she felt embarrassed. I tried my best to fit in some coaching for breakfast tomorrow but the poor girl doesn't know a butter knife from a paring knife."

"That's not true."

"No," Remus agrees. "I'm making her seem less educated than she is to prove my own point… James, she isn't a princess. She has the blood, and soon she'll get the official title, the land and the money and the education and maybe some of the bad bits, as well. But right now, she's new to being a princess, and she's not very good at it."

"I get it."

"Yeah, I know."

Remus readjusts in bed. James almost misses the pain in his friend's exhale under the sound of crunching fresh sheets.

"Are you sure I can't do something for you?"

"I wish," Remus says. He isn't depressed. The opposite, he sounds way too spritely for the time. "You could stop hogging the blankets, for starters."

James feeds Remus some more blanket and sighs. The mattress is heavenly. The quilts and sheets and pillowcases are soft and thick. By all means, James should've fallen asleep the second his head touched Remus’ pillow.

"You've asked Mickey to look after her tomorrow, right?" Remus asks.

James had radio'd Mikkelson after his shower to put the early morning shift and protocols in his jurisdiction temporarily. That means James will hopefully be able to sleep until his body feels like it can hold itself together again. He doesn't like leaving you to face the Queen by yourself but it's not as though she'll hurt you, and Sirius will see you bright and early to help you get dressed. James isn't worried.

"I have. How did you know that?"

"You're the only one of us who knows how to properly take care of themselves," Remus explains easily. "Good. I'm glad you did. You haven't been sleeping."

"How do you know that?"

"I love you. I know everything about you."

James smiles at the ceiling. There is nothing quite as valuable to him than his family. He would do more to keep them all safe and healthy than he should admit on the record, so he keeps it tucked inside and out of view. It's terrifying and freeing at once to look at someone you love and know you're going to do something awful one day if it means they'll come out on the other side of it alive.

"Not everything," he murmurs.

"Everything, James."

"Yeah? How many fingers am I holding up right now."

"One."

"Which?"

"Middle."

"Lucky guess." James laughs at their childish squabbling. "I love you, too. I'm really glad we're in the same place again."

"What did you say? What are the fucking odds?" Remus quotes, so tired now that his words are running together. "I'm not sod enough to do the maths, I think it's gotta be deep in the decimals. Lily's and Mary's involvement definitely helped, but to have someone come along who needs security detail, special education, and a lady in waiting is unfathomable."

James laughs and feels his abdomen shaking. "I'm telling Sirius you called him a lady in waiting."

"Sorry," Remus says, and James knows his friend is genuinely repentant, though Sirius would've laughed himself if he'd heard the joke. "I'm not trying to put him down. He's worked so hard, he– He's working so hard. He thinks it's easy work because he's good at it. He doesn't realise it's easy because he worked hard to be good at it."

James has to chew it over for a moment to understand what Remus is saying. Once he understands, he vehemently agrees. Sirius is skilled in many areas. He's a media liaison, a sleuth, a sweet talker. He understands the inner workings of Western media — Sirius can deduce the honesty of a smile from a precursory glance. He may not always trust what he's seeing, but he sees it undeniably. And he can dress well.

"He's the best of us," James sighs agreeably, stretching down the length of the bed until his spine pops and his calves burn. "Shit. I need to start working out properly again now we're here."

"Tomorrow. We'll figure it all out tomorrow, James. Go to sleep."

James is obedient. He falls asleep, and doesn’t wake until the sun is warming his cheeks. His hair is still damp at the back and he feels awful in a new way. Better for having slept with someone close by, and catching up on the hours he’s been missing. But his back is stiff.

He goes back to his room. His neck aches as he brushes his teeth. He does a workout and stretches his rigid limbs until he feels human again.

The black telephone on his nightstand starts to ring.

“Hello, sir,” Lily says cheerfully down the line. James can picture her sweet smile. “I couldn’t help but notice your absence this morning.”

“How did it go?” he asks, trying to tug on a new pair of socks one handed.

Lily hums. “It wasn’t awful. It wasn’t good, but it could’ve been worse. Her majesty liked her. Y/N was quiet, she was awkward, but we all know they prefer quiet to mouthy. The last thing they wanted was another Julianna. I felt kind of bad, really. Like I was handing her over.”

“She…” James sighs. “She didn’t seem upset, did she, Lils?”

“No, I actually think she was feeling good. Your boys took good care of her.”

“Brilliant. Oh, and to answer your unasked question, I’m being slovenly. I’ll be back on duty by noon.”

“Slovenly,” she repeats. “I’ve never known you to be any sort of lazy.” She laughs. James is happy that the sound doesn’t break his heart anymore. “Alright, James. I’ll see you later.”

He appreciates what she’s doing, letting him know you’re okay while he’s away. It’s uncanny how fast the people in charge of your care can band together, and Lily has always been kind.

James gives himself a minute to wipe away yesterday and prepare for today. He closes his eyes and shakes his head ferociously, his hair flying every which way. He sorts through all his worries one by one, letting that anxiety eat at him methodically —he’s a bad bodyguard, he’s a bad friend, he doesn’t call his mum enough, he’s chicken shit scared of dying alone, the works— and then pushing it away. Today is a new day with new opportunities. He can prove to you and to himself that he’s good at his job, he can make sure his friends are doing alright, he can call his mum tonight before dinner, and dying alone? He isn’t dying today. That one’s on the back burner.

He makes his way from his room in the quarter and into the main building, wary that he might come upon a duke or duchess. His radio, clipped as it always is against his left shoulder, chirps with chatter. He bites back a scolding about keeping the line clear and looks out of a Goliath glass window at the grounds below. A marble water fountain spurts proudly at the foot of the stairs, and an elaborate hedgework stands at pruned attention. It’s a nice day. He wonders if you’ll be up for walking.

He looks for you in the secondary parlour, the den, the library, the dining room. He swings by your room, and when you aren’t there he admits defeat and unclamps his radio, cutting through an inappropriate joke unapologetically.

“Afternoon. Location on Princess Y/N?”

He imagines his subordinates scrambling to answer, embarrassed by their unprofessionalism, but it’s likely they just don’t know where you are.

“If I don’t get an answer in the next five seconds, you can all expect to be running laps tonight. That includes you, Mikkelson, I don’t care how much overtime–”

“Sir, this is Daniels. Me and Roma are with the princess in the south wing.”

“Why?”

“She wanted a pencil sharpener.”

James grins to himself. The south wing (or, as James might put it, the guest wing), houses the scholars, the ambassadors, and whatever government official the royals are trying to butter up at the time. He’s feeling positively joyful when he finds you sketching, your face pressed to the window. The Genovian mountainscapes take shape on your page one confident stroke of graphite at a time, a small leather bound sketchbook pressed flat to your knee.

“Settling in?” he asks.

You raise your head but not your eyes. “You could say that.”

“How was meeting Her Majesty?”

You frown.

“That bad?” he asks.

“No, I mean. You know. She’s a queen. It was terrifying.”

Despite your unhappy mouth, you look as relaxed as you have since the moment he met you, dressed in a casual Genovian dress with subtle but remarkable stitching a shade darker than the dress itself and a squared neckline. Your calves are out and glossy in the daylight. They’re rather distracting.

“You look good,” James says carefully.

“I’ll miss the fancy lotions,” you say. Your pencil scratches away.

James’ hands falter where they’re clasped behind his back. “What?”

You meet his eyes properly. He hadn’t realised you’d been avoiding his gaze until you weren’t, your face ringed with guilt, an explanation slow to come.

“I’m not staying. I can’t be a princess, James.” You shake your head mildly. “I’m going home.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thanks so much for reading! oh no, you want to go home!! rest assured, james and co aren’t letting you go too easily. i hope you enjoyed, reblogs are always appreciated, a thousand kisses for all of you either way <3<3

#james potter fic #james potter #marauders era #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #the marauders

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swappedandtrapped · 2 months ago

Text

Rent Help - Part 3

As always, character consistency is hard for me. Just go with it.

I wake up again. Every time I wake up, I have about a minute of peace before my brain starts to boot and realizes where it is. That minute of bliss is what has kept me going recently. It's the only part of the day when I don't feel so… Wrong.

Waking up unwillingly, I go to the bathroom to wash my face. When I arrive, I realize it's been about a week after the car crash and I still can't get used to seeing Roy when I look in the mirror.

I study my new reflection. I stare at my skin blemishes on Roy's dark skin. My big Brown eyes underneath my thick eyebrows. My nose in the middle of the face that is now mine… When I open my mouth to brush my teeth, I see a crooked array of yellowish rectangles. I cringe realizing I'm actually tasting Roy's mouth and teeth 24/7. Roy didn't have a spare toothbrush, so I had to use his old one. Disgusting. I hate this so much. Why doesn't he take care of himself?

When I return to his room to get dressed, I sigh in frustration. During the last few days, I finally understood why Roy felt comfortable walking around without his shirt on. I was just too hot. ALL THE TIME. The meat and fat of his stocky body type kept the heat trapped within me. If I had a shirt on for more than 5 minutes I would start sweating and smell Roy's scent even more.

So just like he did, I elected to spend the day shirtless again. It's not like anyone would see me. Well except for… Me.

After trying to explain to Roy in my body what happened, he's gotten cold. I mean, I would too. I was practically begging him to remember, but when I'm in Roy's body, it's pretty hard to convince someone who he really is.

"I'm coming back late." He states in a premeditatedly cold intonation. "Ok," I reply in the same manner. I didn't see the point to initiate another argument. convincing him is impossible. "I might bring someone back with me. Please don't be weird when she's here." "Ok. I reply again. But missing any sense of my old self, I ask: "Someone I know?" "None of your business Roy." I cringe at the sound of that name. "And also, you don't know any of my friends. They're MY friends. Even if you… Think otherwise…" He goes out, leaving me alone in the flat.

Like a punch in the fucking gut.

Which reminded me, I'm hungry. I order an extra-large Pizza so Roy's stomach would leave me alone. Roy had an apatite I couldn't ignore easily. At first, I fought off his habits, unwilling to accept the new situation. But as the days went on, I gave in to most of Roy's habits. Like eating too much of this junk. I look at my body and feel shame as I admit I lost the battle against Roy's needs.

Later, I lay on the sofa, investigating Roy's phone. Thankfully, he locked his phone with Face ID, so I didn't have to guess any passwords and was able to unlock it. Every time I have some time off, I study his phone and learn a bit more about Roy's schedule and connections.

You see, I did swap bodies with him, but I didn't acquire his memories. So, I try to avoid all contact until I get the hang of whatever relationships he had in his life. "Yes, it's me. I'm Roy." I say to myself, trying to fake his tone. Even though I hear his voice, it still feels fake.

But today, after going through all his texts, I began looking through his notes app. I find there grocery lists, names of bands he wanted to check out, some foreign language I still can't read, and also something with the title… "Research"? What's this?

I open the file and my eyes widen. It's a long note, riddled with an assortment of semi-related bullet points regarding… "POWERS"!?

POWERS

possible timed cooldown? variable? Tested times: 5 days (17/05) 8 days (15/09) 6 days (12/11)

only post 24h mark???

ignore. no cooldown. instance of instant swap back. There's another condition.

Note the eye glow at optional swap time. Starts fading. Possible relation to condition?

Ignore. Doesn't fade.

Best swap triggers: visualize face, focus on identity

He was researching his swapping power. I guess Roy didn't receive a handbook with this ability, so he tried to mark the triggers and limitations he confirmed to be true. This was a goldmine. Maybe there's a limit on how long we can stay swapped?

Wait. If I'm Roy… I have his powers! I can swap us back!

I read the whole file, attempting to figure out exactly what conclusions Roy had and what I needed to do to return to my body. It looks like he could just will the swaps to make them happen, but there was some sort of condition that prevented swapping back at some times. Roy named it "The Condition", and going by his note, he didn't figure out what it was.

I immediately try to follow his technique and will the swap to come. I visualize my body, focus on my identity, but 20 minutes later, I'm still stuck in Roy's flesh. When I looked in the mirror, I still see his regular brown eyes. No glow or anything.

Does this 'condition' he mentioned apply to my situation? Am I just a moment away from retrieving my life back? I need to figure out what it is.

Going over Roy's notes I began piecing together a picture of Roy's swapping experiences. Some were willing, some were not. Some were functional, but some were for no reason at all other than to swap. But after a few hours of going over the cases, I started noticing a pattern.

While swaps were able to occur at any time, reverse swaps would never work on days of a full moon or new moon! That's the only explanation! It fits in every swap Roy documented in this file. This must be it!

But then I stop. Wait, today isn't a full or new moon. Why am I not able to swap us back?

A new fear rushes in as I hear the apartment door open. "Yeah, and then we… Oh, hey Roy," says Roy in my body accompanied by a girl I used to know. She waves politely at me with a certain reservation. I guess he warned her about me… "So it's the last door on the left." He points to the bathroom. "Thanks. It'll be just a minute." She says, closing the door after her.

Roy in my body leans silently on the wall, checking his phone for messages while he waits for her to finish. I look at him with envy.

But then I see it. His eyes. That Glow. It was subtle, but it was definitely there.

I don't have Roy's swapping power.

He does.

It swapped along with his body.

Tears start forming in my eyes as I realize the only hope I had of getting back was never an option. Roy looks up from his phone to me. Seeing my pathetic face in ruin. He makes an expression I can't decipher. Maybe empathy, but probably pity.

My friend exits the bathroom. "Hey," Roy turns to her. "Wait for me in the car, ok? I need to close a small thing with Roy. "Sure. Don't be long." She said going out the door. "I won't." He answers.

We look at each other for a few quiet moments. "Listen, are you gay or something?" "What?" I ask confused. Still in tears. "You want to be me. You cry when you see me with girls. I can add 2 plus 2 you know." "Fucking ass." I spit out. He duped me into this mess. He should rot in hell. "Don't be a bitch man. This can't-" "Bitch!??" I cut him off. "This is all your fault! I'm like this because of you!"

I charge towards him. I'm stuck like this because of him! I needed him to know how much I suffer because of his recklessness! But Roy was quick enough to get out of the way.

"Ok Roy. Fine. You started this." "Fuck off!"

I charge again, and Roy slips to the side again. I stumble and crash onto the living room floor and feel great pain in my back. I scream in pain and frustration. This fucking weight. I start sweating again and smell Roy's body stench, but I can't concentrate on it. I feel my body grounded by another body.

"That's IT Roy!" He yells at me from above. He prevents me from getting up. God dammit why didn't Roy ever go to the gym? "Get off of me!" I shout. "Say your name." He commands me as I struggle. "Say your name Roy." "I'm telling you! I'm not Roy!" I cry out. "It's the deal man, it's the swap deal!"

My face explodes with massive pain. Roy punched me in the fucking face.

"SAY YOUR NAME." "You can still have it! You can still swap us back! Please! Remember!"

Bam. Another one. I hear my nose crack and start feeling the blood.

"This is going to keep happening until you say your fucking name Roy." "You're hurting me! Please! Your eyes! I can tell you have your power!"

This time it was a punch from the right. My head is spinning.

"You know what? Even if I did have this power, I would never swap with you!" He shouts at me. "You are PATHETIC." Punch. "You stay to slob at home. You have no friends. You're an ugly motherfucker that can't even accept who he is!" Another punch.

But he's right. This is me now. I can say whatever I want but the fact remains. I'm in his body, and I'm here. Permanently. And even if he could swap us, he will never do it after this."

"For the last time. Say. Your. Name." "Roy." I whimper. "Louder." "Roy." "Now the whole sentence. Shithead" "My name is Roy."

He lifts me and pushes me in front of a full-length mirror.

"Now say it like you mean it. Tell it to yourself"

I look at my pathetic excuse for a body. I see a chubby guy with a bloody face. I see black hair all over covering a dark skin.

"My name is Roy Alamin." "And don't you fucking forget it."

#body swap #male body swap #male body switch

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lorena12me · 1 year ago

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My little contribution to Bernard's AU as part of the court of owls!

Even if I was a thousand years late for the Coo! Bernard AU but in my defense they are an acquired taste lol I had to slowly get exposed to the idea of Bernard as part of the court of owls but damn I love it now!

Ok, so for this Au, Bernard and Tim are a couple, Tim hasn't told Bernard that he's Robin but he knows (due to court of owls surveillance stuff), but instead of Bernard wanting to hurt Tim or turn him into a Talon and that, what Bernard wants most is to see Tim shine.

He wants to see his Robin save the day, he wants to see him capture the villains, save Batman's life, solve the mysteries, he wants Tim to be the center of a show just for him. But he wants all reactions Tim has to be genuine (what's the point of the actor realizing he's onstage?), so he'll manipulate everyone and everything around Tim just to see how they react and deal his couple with these situations.

Things get out of hand when Bernard orchestrates an escape from Arkham for Tim to deal with, but Tim was supposed to fight Ivy! Joker wasn't supposed to be there! Joker was supposed to go after Batman, in his usual way repetitive eternal battle of order against chaos. Joker decides to torture Tim and broadcast it live to the whole city as a way to hurt Batman (and maybe he was planning to do something like Joker Junior), but Bernard won't allow it. If it had been any of the other Batfam members, Bernard would have been entertained by the show and supported Tim's efforts (behind the scenes) to get the missing member back, but he wouldn't have interfered. But he's not going to let his main star go out like this. It's time for a cut scene.

It's time for the owls to enter the stage! The court's maze looks like a good place to start the next act! (after healing Tim, of course).

How will Robin deal with them? Bernard is excited to share the stage with his beloved Tim!

#tim drake #timbern #bernard dowd #timber #red robin #dc #tim x bernard #my art #robin tim drake #tim drake x bernard dowd #Coo! Bernard #coo bernard #court of owls

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coltishcaterpillar · 8 months ago

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Unmasked / Platonic!Father Alastor x Teen!Daughter Reader

Chapter I: Introduction

Summary:

Two days after the Extermination, a bored Emily reads through private records of Heavenly residents and sinners alike.

During her mindless scrolling, she comes across a vintage diary smelling of old paper, from the late 20s-early 30s. It details the life of the teenage adopted daughter of the Radio Demon; up until her death at aged 16 on January 11th, 1934.

WARNINGS: Mentions of Racism

April 4th, 1932

Have you ever seen a top hat, what one really looks like on a person?

Neither have I, until today. At the end of Merritt Street, there’s a small accessories store that sells jewellery and clothing alike.

I used to frequent there, but I’ve never been a fashionable girl. I’m a larger fan of browsing; just admiring the beauty of art from afar, rather than acquiring it.

I never realized how much I missed the little establishment until I saw my favourite businessperson; Anne Brewster. A short, tout woman she was. Her skin had a grey tinge to it, a pointy nose that popped out her features; bright brown eyes and hair as white as pearls, short and thin as straw.

I greeted her with my usual demeanour. Quiet and curt, a straight wave and a superficial smile. The woman has a tendency to chatter; most of the time I don’t have time to interject, so I just listen.

I went in the shop with Elbert Graves; a fellow classmate of mine in mathematics. He’s not my ideal source of company, I’ll admit. I get along much better with other girls, but this helpless boy is always on my tail, and I can’t bare to tell him to get lost.

We came across a jet-black top hat with a golden ribbon wrapped around its rim. It was on display, but there was no glass so we assumed we could sample it. Elbert looked utterly ridiculous in it; far too flashy, and way too gigantic for his pea-sized head.

I managed a small laugh, as that’s the reaction he would’ve wanted from me. Ever the jokester…

I took a seat on the cushioned chair in front of the store’s entrance. Whilst Elbert was fooling around with other gadgets, Anne took to speaking with me.

She spoke a great deal about her grandchildren, and then inquired me about Papa.

Pa doesn’t usually wander about these places, but he knows Anne from university; they attended the same one in Shreveport, in September of 1908. Pa wanted to become a broadcaster post-secondary (to which he achieved) and Anne wanted to edit the local newspaper part-time; she was getting old, but didn’t want to stop working. She didn’t end up pursuing it, however, she dropped out her third year to take care of Rachel (her eldest grandchild who was 5 at the time.) Then, she inherited this business when Mr. Brewster, her father, died. He owned the shop.

She asked about his job was working out for him. Pa never speaks about work when he arrives home; usually he’s more interested in my daily activities. I don’t listen to Pa’s radio channel anyways, because the subjects he covers doesn’t appeal to me.

I just told her he was thriving; because in a way, he was. Pa was rarely in a sour mood. Of course, he gets moody when I do something out of line from time to time, but his attitude is always uplifting.

Elbert excused himself to the restroom at the back of the desk; that’s when she started talking about adolescent things. Boys…..

“Elbert is a such a handsome boy, don’t you agree?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“His chin is too long, and his head is too small for his broad shoulders. Not to mention his personality isn’t to my tastes. He’s far too extroverted and cheeky.”

“Oh, come now, my lovely. Surely, we can’t all be picky! What ever will you do when you grow into a young woman? Who will be around to take care of you?”

“Pa will, no doubt.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Your father will be far too senile to care for you when you’re in your prime! You need a strong man!”

“Too senile?! Surely, you jest. Pa may be lanky, but he’s very capable. He was only twenty-five when he adopted me, he’ll only be middle-aged by the time I’m an adult.”

“You say Elbert is cheeky, but I see a lot more cockiness coming from you than I ever have with him.”

“Only an outside observer can properly assess my personality. Perhaps you just see my persona differently than I.”

“Is that so?”

The bell hanging from the door rang; in came a man, dressed in a business suit, a large briefcase held in his right hand. He had been more wrinkly than I had last seen him: Anne’s partner, Mr. Devereaux.

He has a very thick Yorkshire accent; Anne and him met while she was on vacation in London; Mr. Devereaux was studying photography. When they first met in late 1864, they weren’t sure whether or not they could ever be together. Anne is a very brown woman, you see. Very. Mr. Devereaux is about as white as a sheet. People often look down on….colourful couples…? More harshly. They aren’t allowed to be married, so they had to improvise.

Forgive me for not mentioning this sooner, but Anne is actually good friends with my Grandma. Pa is half-Creole, you see, and my Grandma’s roots come from there. So, the Brewsters are actually well-acquainted with my family.

Mr. Devereaux sat his briefcase beside the door, across from where I was seated. He flashed me a toothless smile; quite literally, since they all rotted out of his mouth due to age.

I gave him a curious look back.

“Back from business, old man?” I tease.

He chuckled; giving me an affectionate pat on the head.

“Oh, well, look at you! Already at it with the nosy interrogation, I see! I’ve missed you, sweet girl.” He smiled.

I narrowed my eyes. He didn’t answer the question….

He turned his attention to Anne quite quickly. Leaning over the desk, he planted a kiss on her forehead.

“The trip went smoothly,” He told Anne, “Janice sent you a letter. It should be in the mail soon, my darling.”

Janice was their daughter.

“Lovely.”

He turned his entire body so it faced me, with an inquisitive look on his face. He then turned and whispered to Anne,

“Al is out late again?”

“I don’t know, my sweet. I’ve seen her out and about all day with Elbert, he must be. It’s nearly nine.”

“I thought his radio shows were done by four?”

“Perhaps the schedule’s changed, dearest. Let’s not be nosy, it’s not our business.”

I let out a deep breath through my nose, standing up. Pa likes to hang around a few stores after work, so I tried my best not to let their observations get to me. Perhaps he was already home!

Anne leaned over from behind Mr. Devereaux.

“Could you go check on Elbert, hun? He’s been in the restroom for quite a while.”

I sigh. Without a response, I head toward the back desk, into the small hallway that had the restrooms.

I knocked on the door, firmly.

“El?” I addressed him by nickname.

“Mhm?” His hun echoed off the door.

I raised an eyebrow. “What have you been doing in there these past fifteen minutes? It was eight-forty when you went in, it’s five to nine already!”

Within seconds, he came out of the door, an awkward smile plastered on his face. A blush dusted his cheeks as well; I narrowed my eyes at him. Did he have the runs?

“Finished?” I asked him without judgment.

“Yes.” He said, curt.

I lead him back to the entrance of the store, passing Anne a smile. I turn my gaze back to Elbert.

“I’m going to be leaving now. I hadn’t realize how late it was. Will you be alright on your own?” I asked, a tint of concern in my voice.

“Of course. See you later?” His tone was hopeful.

Without a pause, I said, “Yes, I’ll see you later.”

I said my goodbyes to Anne and Mr. Devereaux, and sent my regards to Janice.

When I exited the store, it wasn’t as dark and drab as I thought it would be; I still heard birds chirping, and I could see my way almost perfectly. Just another perk of springtime, I suppose.

When I arrived home, Pa was indeed on the couch, his legs crossed, with a newspaper in hand; black coffee was situated on the side table.

“Home at long last, my dear!” He put his newspaper down; and I ran over, kissing him on the cheek.

“Sorry, Papa. How long did you have to wait?”

“Oh, not long at all!” He chuckled heartily.

I turn over to the rounded wooden table in the dining room; a large cloth bag sat on it; my eyes lit up in curiosity.

“Now, now,” Pa waved his finger, “I know that dangerous gaze. Don’t go peeking around my things, dear.”

I put on a thinned-lipped smile, leaning on the armrest.

“What, do you have something to hide, Papa~?” I leaned in, teasingly.

It was meant to be a joke. A rhetorical question. Yet, I couldn’t help but notice his fist clench up, if only for a moment. His body language was saying something different than what his mouth was.

“Is it really too much to ask to keep yourself out of my business?” He bit his lower lip.

When Pa took that tone with me, I knew it was time to pipe down. I decided to change the subject, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Elbert and I took a stroll around the avenue.” I said, tracing along the armrest.

I could FEEL Pa’s eye roll without even looking.

“Out with that wretched boy again, are we?” He took a casual tone as he sipped his coffee, but I knew the mere thought of Elbert irked him.

Pa has never interacted much with my friends, so I thought El would be another drop in the ocean. I think his hatred of him has something to do with that one time he came over here.

Everything was alright until dinner time.

The few hours earlier, Grandma treated us with a generous amount of Jambalaya. She always makes the best, after all.

Elbert made an….observation? While we were eating and it made Pa freeze.

“This is some slave food! Who made it, a peasant?”

All I remember was Pa’s grip tightening so much on the fork. I leaned over to where he was sitting and rubbed his arm a little.

I disliked the comment too. That was my Grandma he was speaking about….

After El left, I noticed Pa staring at the wooden spoon on the shelf. I know that blasted piece of cutlery all too well….

Pa is good at discipline. Even when my other friends came over, he’d always make an effort to chastise them if they didn’t say please or thank you.

Long story short, I think Pa wanted to beat El. That’s probably why he was showing such immaculate restraint at the table. I can’t imagine another person disciplining somebody else’s child would go…smoothly, anyway.

He had valid reason to hate him, I suppose. I’m not fond of Elbert either, but…how do you find it in your heart to say no? I suppose I’ve never really had a backbone, but…it seems that he’s really fond of me.

“How was work?” I asked with a smile.

“It held all of its classic theatrics! You should find it in your soul to listen to my shows, my dear.” He beamed.

I was deep in thought.

“Don’t I hear enough of your voice already?”

Pa chuckled his little chuckle that always made my chest warm.

“You can never have too much of your father!”

Time went on as usual; a few moments later I decided to pack up for bed; Pa went upstairs to get his radio ready to listen to. He always does before he sleeps.

I took that as an opportunity to ponder; I turned my gaze back to the bag on the table. Pa notoriously hunts, but it was far too late for food, so it made me wonder.

I slid toward it with my socks against the hardwood. I breathed in deeply; perhaps there was a certain scent? All I could smell was the dusty fabric; nothing more.

With a sigh, I decided to leave it for now. Maybe it’s….best that I don’t.

Y/N

——————

Emily blinked once. She recognized the background; that this child of one of the hotel staff in Hell.

Taking the historical piece of literature to St. Peter, she inquired,

“St. Peter, hi! I was just wondering if there is a girl here in Heaven named Y/N L/N?”

St. Peter smiled in delight, getting out his holy book, scanning through all the people with your name; going roughly by last name. His face fell as they came to an end.

“Unfortunately not, Em! It’s…strange, considering the circumstances. Sixteen is very young for a person to end up in Hell…but she isn’t in Heaven.”

Emily frowned, eyeing the diary in her hands. Perhaps she’d find the answer in there….

#hazbin hotel #1930s #alastor #platonic alastor x reader #alastor x reader #child reader #fanfiction #hazbin hotel emily #implied murder

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innerwriterwonderland · 5 months ago

Text

My girl only breaks her favorite toys ☆

Avox!Coryo x Reader

Summary: Just as you're about to give up on finding Coriolanus Snow, your school nemesis, he falls right in your lap, in quite the condition.

Warnings: Canon level violence, threats, non sexual choking, attempted drowning, mention of bruises, cuts and other injuries, mentions of masturbation, the reader exhibits predatory behaviors, mentions of past bullying, homophobia and prostitution (pls feel free to tell me if i missed anything).

Author's note: this is a based on this small headcanon i made some time ago, but it can be read alone. It isn't meant to be a series, but i'm thinking of a part 2 in the future.

Word count: 2843 words.

It was your 18th birthday. A weird thing if you were asked. You got the prize, a way to University, all the honors of top student, despite not being picked as a mentor for the games, and still it didn't sit right with you. All these things were never yours, at least you never thought they would be.

They were Coriolanus Snow propriety. He set his claim on it all a long time ago, maybe even before he was conscious of it. But weirdly, the Snow heir had vanished into thin air after the 10th Hunger Games. Disappeared from the Capital's streets completely. No one knew where he went, or why he went, or even when exactly he left.

All that was said was that one day Coriolanus was celebrating his tributee's victory, and then the next one, he just couldn't be found anywhere. And the strangest thing was the lack of cover up story. How no one bothered masquerading his absence.

But, alas, here you were. Exhausted from the longest, fanciest, loudest party your parents could throw. Feet sore from the high heels you wore all night, and head buzzing from all the noise. It was nice how happy they were for you, but sadly, you felt too lost in your party to enjoy it.

There was one more gift according to your parents, waiting in your room. "To end the night on a high note!" your mother said, "It must be expensive!" you replied. Your mother had certainly acquired a taste for Capital opulence, and so had you. The heels, and clothes, and jewels in your bedroom accounted for that.

The double doors opened silently, and you went through in a mess stumbling feet, and energetic laughter. You might also be a bit tipsy, too much champagne for a night.

Then your body turned cold and rigid, eyes wild like you'd seen a ghost. Well, maybe you did.

Coriolanus Snow stood not a meter away from you, with sunken cheeks, and dirty platinum curls, and eyes too blue to be real. And, strangest of all, in a rose Avox tunic, looking sick and beaten.

Most certainly this was some illusion, you were hallucinating!

Coriolanus Snow, who – despite not having a coin to his name – walked through the Academy halls like he owned the place, and everyone inside it, was standing in front of your very eyes in a servant's clothing. Not any servant, an Avox, a criminal without his tongue, forced to do labor to atone for his crimes.

You were clearly losing your marbles! That's the only logical conclusion.

Yet, a gargled sound came out of the Coriolanus shaped thing in your bedroom, and it's eyes were the very blue you couldn't erase from your mind. It was him! By some heavenly miracle, of whatever this was, that was him.

"Snow?" You whispered almost scared as you reach your hand to him. Months of gathering whatever littlest information you could find on him, of using every last favor you had to look for clues on where the hell he was – just for Coriolanus to fall right into your lap.

He shrinks away from you, one step after another as you get closer. Now you could smell the foul scent that glued itsetf to him, disgust!

His back hit you vanity as your hand connects itself to his swollen cheek. Had they hit him before bringing him here? You doubted the Snow heir would come quietly to serve you, what he called "a district whore". Well, not like he had any choice now. A mean smile painted your lips at that.

"Snow, dear" You purred, getting closer to him, something he clearly didn't enjoy. "Looks like you were roughed up!" Sharp manicured nail traced the purple bruise close to his eye, and you watched as his eyebrows drew in on pain. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you now!"

It was twisted, what you felt for him. You couldn't hate him more, yet he was your longer lasting obsession. Maybe it was some underdog complex, as a born district girl, envying the Capital pure breed boy might be natural. But in your opinion it was more than that.

Coriolanus had chosen to haunt your life for as long as you've known him, no mercy to spare after letting the Plinth boy walk free of judgment it seemed. His insults and acid jokes echoing behind your back anywhere you went.

But now he seemed so weak, and fragile.

Snow had always been a bit short for his age, too skinny, pale and underdeveloped, but all the boys in his generation were. But he had a regal posture to compensate, as graceful as a lynx, Snow was quite easy on the eye, if you were honest. Attractive, but intimidating, in equal parts.

Your nails graze the recent cut on his forehead as you brushed his curls away from it.

"Poor, poor Snow" Soft as feathers, your hands trailed down his temple, and came down to hold his face between your palms "Let's get you bathed, huh? Wash all this dirt away?" You talked to him like a child, condescending.

With his wrist tightly enveloped by your hand, you pulled him into your bathroom. A spacious and luxurious room, with a delicate porcelain tub in the middle. "Undress" You ordered, with a stern voice Snow had never heard, before leaving him there and going to change yourself.

Snow thought for a moment after undressing that he should thank you for giving him such privacy, but only lasted 'till you came back into the room. In a short baby pink slip dress and a silk robe on top, hands working on tying up a bow to close it. Your eyes ran over his body, taking notice of the many bruises.

"They really hurted you, didn't they?" You asked, putting your hair up with a claw clip, and opening the faucet to fill the tub "But the real question should be why? What did you do to deserve this, huh?" Snow fumed at that, knowing he could not answer "Cat got your tongue? Oh, no, the peacekeepers did!" Your laughter echoed in the ample space.

Once the tub was full, you mentioned for him to get in and he obeyed. Just that simple act of submission made your skin tiggle. The Snow you knew would rather die than follow your command, he couldn't even handle to be beneath you in anything. Once, at the Academy he had choked and threatened you after you got a grade higher than his.

You never forgot the feeling of his cold fingers on your skin, his blue eyes looking right into yours, his breath fanning over your face. You went back to that moment many, many times, late at night, when you were alone and needy. As said before, your feelings around him were never so simple.

Snow sinked down slowly into the warm waters, humiliated to be following your commands. How ironic that he's pride was to blame for this. If he hadn't cheated for Lucy Gray to win, he wouldn't be at your mercy, if you had any. His eyes burned you as you knelt down beside the tub and began to bathe him.

Smiling up at him, all sickly sweetness, you brought the sponge up to rub his back "You know, I used to watch you, back at the Academy. So smart and bright, always around those rich, influential friends of yours. Always leaving me behind, look where that got you" The faux pity in your voice made his skin crawl, the rough sponge brushing against his bruises making him wince in discomfort "But it's okay, I'll take care of you now, as long as you obey me."

Your hands let go of the sponge to grab the shampoo and scrub it into his dirty platinum curls. Fingers trailing down to hold his shoulders, so he couldn't move away, as you nuzzled into his neck.

"Your skin's still soft, smells like lavender" You whispered into his neck, then pulled away to look into his baby blue eyes "I know you prefer roses, but all I have right now are my own products. We'll buy you some rose scented ones soon. You will smell like a girl, Snow!" You couldn't help but giggle girlishly at your own teasing.

Snow stiffen under your hold, as the insinuation sank in. Oh, how hated you. And the feel of your warm breath on his neck, and your hand moving down his body, across his chest, towards his stomach, and your soft voice as your said:

"You know I like those, right? Girls. 'Course you do! Used to tease me about it. Call me dyke. Say I ogle at the girls in the changing rooms." You sank your nails into his bruised skin, scratching bright red lines across his blue and purple belly. Despite the pain, he couldn't say he regretted the words now, if he could, he would do it all again. "But I like boys too, Snow, I'll prove you that in time." The smile showed him now was all teeth.

Snow's blood ran cold at the threat in your words. He wanted to curse you. Tell you what a disgusting whore you were, but his lack of vocal chords stopped him. Only a grunted sound of protest left his plump lips. He'd never been touched like that, all his romantic experience resumed to the quick kiss Lucy Gray gave him before the games.

As horror took over him, your hand went back to his shoulders. "Underwater, go, need to rinse your hair." Before he could even process the words you pushed him into the water, holding him down for the pleasure of watching him squirm.

His eyes went wide as he sank. Hands gripping the edges of the tub to try to pull himself back up. His mouth opened and you watched as the water filled and he grew panicked with his lack of breath, as air in his chest was being sucked away in the water, frantically trying to push your hands away. You wait until he begins to lose his energy to bring him up, with a hand on his throat and the other on his forehead.

"Shh, shh, calm down" You said in a soothing tone. Keeping him pressed to your chest as he coughed out water, breath heavy and labored as the panic slowly went away. Fucking psycho, Snow thought you were. "You're okay, just let me wash your hair." You brushed the damped curl away from his forehead before letting go get the conditioner to finish washing him.

Disregarding the horror of his situation, it almost felt nice to have your soft hand run through his hair to apply the other products. He barely had anyone take care of him these days. It made him miss Tigris, she always cared for him, despite all her own pains.

"Okay, go down again" You lightly patted him, but that was enough to bring the fear back, and Snow tense as he waited for another drowning.

But it never came, so he went down, quickly, coming back soon before you tried to suffocate him again. The smirk in your face made him want to choke you.

You stood up after that, telling him to finish his bath as you went to grab him a change of clothes. Snow almost felt grateful as you left. He washed his body and grabbed one of the soft white towels of the rack to dry himself, pleased with it's texture against his bruised skin. Looking in one of the many mirrors, he found himself unrecognizable, thin and frail like a ghost. A twisted reflection of who he used to be.

"Still so pretty" He heard your breathy voice before he saw through the mirror.

You had a piled of male clothing in your hands - a white formal shirt, a pair of crimson pants and some underwear - that you extended to him. "Here. These are my boyfriend's, not sure if they'll fit, but try it."

With a small nod he took the clothes from you and began changing. Uncomfortable with how you stared at him, eyes trailing his body as he got dressed. The clothes' fit was barely good, the pants' legs were too short, and so were the cuffs of the shirt. This was just another way of humiliating him, as if he wasn't degraded enough already.

You thought it was good enough. "That's enough for now, I'll buy you some more fitted ones in the future."

Snow kept his eyes downcasted as he left the bathroom behind you. The new clothes felt nicer on his skin, expensive and softer, and he felt clean for the first time in a while. Yet, Snow never felt more dirty and loathsome. Even the size of clothes seemed to mock him. Dean Highbottom was right, snow was falling, and now he felt like he'd hitted rock bottom.

But you? You have never been happier! Snow was all yours, and he was broken down enough to follow your every word. Enough to be your own little toy to play with however you wanted. You couldn't help but appreciate his new state. Delicate little thing was he, ghastly almost. Yet those blue eyes and blond hair could never be anything but beautiful.

"Think I'll ask for some cake to celebrate! It's my birthday, you know?" You looked at him with too bright a smile and sparkling eyes, that wided as you heard his stomach groan "You hungry, Snow?" Even with his hunger you played.

What pitiful excuse of a life Snow had now. You toyed with his needs, but made sure he was always dolled up before. He only nodded before you called the maid to bring you something from the party buffet.

"You're used to it, aren't you? The hunger" You mused quietly watching as he sat down on the floor, head bowed "Heard your cousin used to sell her body to feed you, so you must be used to going hungry longer than most." He contemplated ripping your neck to shreds at that.

How dare you insult Tigris like that, even if it was true. You found out about that when you were searching for him. It seemed the Snow's had quite a few secrets since the war ended. He only hummed in response, not even looking at you.

"The Snow household was left in shambles after your disappearance, you know?" You prod hoping for a reaction from him "Your cousin, Tigris, became a stylist for the next hunger games - they are trying to follow your legacy of creating a show it seems - but cutted all her connection to the Snow name. And that old woman in your house, no one has seen her since, the penthouse is completely abandoned." You let the poison drip from your tongues and analyzed how his jaw clenched "It's for sale now. Maybe I'll buy it for you."

You knelt down beside him and took his face in your hands "But you don't have to worry about any of it anymore! Now, you have me to take care of you." As soon as you finished talking his hand wrapped around your throat.

Snow pushed you down on the ground, choking you as his weight caged you. You had to concentrate to not moan. His baby blue eyes now burned with pure unfiltered hatred, just as you remembered. Slender fingers gripping tightly, knuckles white. You hoped it would leave a mark.

Your hands held onto his wrists. He wouldn't kill you, Snow didn't have it in him to be a murderer. Or at least, that's what you thought.

Snow, on the other hand, was ready to end this here. To end your spoiled bratty ass and his humiliation. He sank his fingers into your flesh and watched you turn purple. Disgusted by the glint in your eyes and the smirk in your lips. Your lack of fight was weird, but he blamed it on you trusting the security of your home.

Vision blurred from the lack of oxygen, you forced a laughter out of your swollen lips, but no words came out thanks to his grip. You let go of his hands, wondering if Snow really thought he could kill you in own house. Poor foolish Snow. Your hands pushed at his waist to get his body off the top of yours. And when you failed you sank your nails into his bruises.

He winces in pain and falters his hold on your neck, letting you get away from under him. Bending over coughing. "Oh, that was fun!" You giggled between heaving breaths "That was really fun!"

The look of shock in his face was priceless. You prayed for more chances of seeing it again. Little did Snow know the game he had just got into with you. It would be so fun to break and build him up, again and again and again. Snow was now your new favorite toy to break.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coryo snow #coryo x reader #tbosas fic

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