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aklaustaleteller · 6 months ago

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heyy how are you! i have this idea that wont leave my head, the reader is scared of love and runs away from it and keeps pushing anyone that tries anything away, but klaus does everything to prove to her that his intentions are pure, and after he does with a little while, she find out about him being a hybrid (maybe she gets really scared) and he has to grovel his way into her life

Mendable Inside Your Ribs

Y/n, all her life, had reached for love and then felt her white-knuckled dying grip on it slip. Then suddenly, Klaus comes in her life looking like the light at the end of the tunnel – and maybe, just maybe, their monsters have more in common than they originally thought.

Warnings - Mentions of animalistic urges, monstrosity, blood, wounds and bruises but it's all in a metamorphic manner (well, except for the blood)

Word Count - 3.2k

Masterlist | please reblog the fic if you like it!

Finally, Anon, I'm posting your request! I'm so sorry I took so long, but I truly hope that you find the wait worth it once you're done reading this! I could've written this in an entirely different and simpler manner, but I was already half-way through it already written it in a poetic/metamorphic way, so I hope you guys still enjoy it for I am quite proud <3 Please do tell me if you do!

Y/n, all her life, had reached for love and then felt her white-knuckled dying grip on it slip. So many times had it happened that now she was found sat with her hair tangled, dried blood and dirt on her face and inside her nails with crooked teeth, clawing at her own skin sitting in a corner, rocking herself back and forth to comfort herself as she saw love creeping towards her with a smile so sinister that it could make shivers run down the devil’s spine.

From her parents shaming her for wanting something so simple as love, to her romantic partners who’d always stumble a couple steps back upon realising just how hungry she was for love – how animalistic she could get just for an ounce of it.

All of it turned her into a person as cold as a tombstone standing over a dead person’s grave, unfeeling and unmoving.

But when she would feel, it felt like her own heart was pushing her head under the water, holding her in there until she had only one more breath left in her. It made her want to snarl and to hiss, to bite and to claw at the person who made her heart leap out of her chest.

Which would then make her turn and run the other way as fast as her feet could carry her, back to the corner where she belonged. Sometimes she would raise her head and look at the walls inside of her, reading the numbers she had madly tally-marked on them to keep track of just how many days she had kept herself chained there. And somewhere along the passing time, she’d begun defeatedly losing count.

Yet as she sat in that very corner and raised her head this time, she saw something bright. Almost like a light at the end of the tunnel. So she’d gotten forward on her hands and moved on her knees, curiosity pulling her forward until she reached the border which she’d have to cross to get to the other side.

And that’s when she saw him standing there – Klaus Mikaelson. Smiling down upon her like she was the cutest lamb he’d ever come across, instead of falling backwards because he actually saw the love-hungry animal that she was.

So, she had taken it upon herself to back off, and ran away from him. But horror crept over her and held her tight when she saw that he had followed her back inside, back to her corner where she resided.

“Love,” she heard him whisper as he brought his open hands in front of him, wanting her to place her own calloused ones in them and come with him.

But she never did, always turning away with a growl so that he’d leave. But every time she’d look his way to check if he’d finally left, she’d find him still standing there, with that same smile and those same open arms.

“Go away, Klaus,” she said coldly, looking away so her dead eyes wouldn’t have to witness hurt flash through his starry eyes.

He wanted nothing more than for her to see herself the way he saw her. Wanted for her to know that he was the one who’s undeserving of her love, actually. He was the animal here, not her.

But she profusely denied all of his pleas and begs, holding herself strictly uptight so that she wouldn’t fall into pieces upon him and crush him under the weight of all her grief, anger and tragedy.

He just couldn't seem to get through to her, no matter how hard he tried. So he just decided to remain persistent, and show her how truly pure his intentions are via small acts. Like buying her gifts that he knew would matter to her, such as those small plants that never grow, or random postcards that he knew she put up on her walls, or books that he’d annotated for her to get her to take a glimpse into the way he saw her.

But sometimes, those acts got rather intimate. Like that time he brushed her hair for her for a week long when she had broken her wrist, or that night when he took her feet in his lap to massage them gently after she’d given her best performance on stage. Hell he’d even gone as far as to cook for her on especially hard nights so that he could feed her his love.

And maybe he was just growing delusional now, but he was beginning to feel like she was taking down her walls around him brick by brick. She no longer glared at him with those ice cold eyes when he would enter into a close proximity to her, nor did she sneer at him to go away.

Instead, he saw her eyes grow a little wider when he’d enter the same room as her, the dead stare tucking itself away for other people as some life took a dive in her eyes. And he heard a lullaby in her voice when she’d greet him back, her body turned towards him and eyes on him to give him all of her attention.

That’s how he knew that he had brought her away from that corner and back to the very border, again. And he also knew that he now had to tread carefully so that she wouldn’t go back, tumbling away from him.

And Klaus didn’t know if the Salvatore brothers telling her all about the supernatural world, about who The Klaus Mikaelson was, was his fault or not.

But what he did blame himself for, was for lowering his guard when he’d brought her just one step away from crossing the border and loosened his grip on her because the moment she was told about his past, not only did she go fumbling back but she also left crescent moons dug in his shoulders from when she’d been shaking him, sobbing loudly and crying out for him to tell her that all of it wasn’t true.

But Klaus couldn’t lie to her, so he’d stood frozen with tears spilling from his eyes as she ran back to her corner, tally-marking another day after so long that her eyes had taken a moment to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her again, this time, more like an evilly laughing capturer instead of holding her in it’s arms like a pitiful mother.

Y/n awoke this morning with her eyes puffed up, it happened every time she went to sleep exhausted out of her mind. And as the flashes of last night began reeling through her mind again, her eyes grew moist and her vision grew blurry while she climbed down the stairs to go into the kitchen.

Grabbing a glass of water she chugged it down, leaning over the sink and mumbling to herself that everything was fine, that she was fine. Her eyes remained shut but tears slipped out regardless, sniffling sounds echoing through her house as she tried not to retain any of the information that had been dumped on her.

“He’s a …hybrid,” Stefan had said, looking at her through his lashes like he was talking to a child about how tooth fairies aren’t real.

“And what’s that?” She asked, a feeling in her gut telling her that it was, in no way, a sweet creature.

“He’s half vampire, and half werewolf,” Damon finished saying behind her.

Breath was knocked out of her lungs at that. She’d always had her suspicions about some certain people surrounding her, like Stefan and Damon themselves, but never once had she felt anything remotely scary when Klaus would stand in front of her.

Perhaps it was because of his big starry eyes, and those unruly blonde curls that he kept trimmed for some reason. Or those dimples that would shy away from her gaze and that mouth which would always stretch into a smile upon her sight. Or, those hands that held her so gingerly, and those feet that held the weight of her body as he carried her home.

And maybe it was the fact that he’d never once told her about this himself, that hurt the worse. He had lied to her, or kept the truth from her, dare she say to defend his honour. But it felt like a punch square in the chest when she learned about the blood that stained his hands, his clothes, his face and his mouth.

Despite that horrifying revelation, she had run straight to his home and shouted at him to come outside. And the moment he had, she was pushing and shoving at him, putting her hands on his shoulders and shaking him, crying – “tell me they are lying! Tell me that you aren’t what they say you are, that you have no blood on your hands!”

“Tell me!” She had broken down, resting her head on his chest as she let out the sobs.

“Tell me this wasn’t your intention!” She shook him again and Klaus had opened his mouth to agree with her, but she had fallen to her knees then, looking up at him with tears staining her cheeks and blood swirling in her eyes.

“Please don’t take me home,” she had told him despite the hot tears streaming down her face and fog settling in her mind. “I can never go home now,” she whispered, scared.

Home was something that was supposed to be a constant in one's life, that one returned to every single day. And there hadn’t been anything like that for her until Klaus. And now that the shelter of his frame had been uprooted and thrown away, cold rain scraped at her skin all over again as she scrambled around to find her corner to go back to.

She didn’t want that corner to be her home but time and time again, it was proven to her that it was – whether she liked that or not.

Taking deep breaths to gather herself, Y/n went back up to her room to get ready for the day – knowing that all she was going to do was read and write and water her dying plants and maybe bake some biscuits that she was never going to get Klaus to taste now.

And just as she came back to make her first cup of tea, she heard a hissing sound and turned to see a paper that had been folded into half. It had been slipped in through the crack underneath the door.

She picked it up and opened it, immediately recognising Klaus’ handwriting.

Y/n,

I know I’ve wounded you deeply by keeping who I truly am from you. But spending so much time with you, I’d somehow mistaken myself to be just the Klaus Mikaelson that you saw. I'm the one who’s wrong at that part, forgive me for it. I never meant to lie to you, perhaps, I was waiting for the right time. But it’s never the right time, is it? I’ve learned that now.

And while I’m sure the brothers told you enough, I’d still like to introduce myself to you all over again. This time, by laying all my defences down. I should’ve said it then and there, but something came over me and I couldn’t form words. But I hope you’d believe me when I tell you that hurting you was not my intention – it’s something far far away from what I truly do intend.

My family is hosting a traditional ball tonight. Please save this sick lover of yours a dance. And, you need not fret for I have brought you a dress, come outside?

Yours truly,

Klaus

A deep weight rested itself on top of Y/n’s chest as she slowly walked towards her door, and opened it. She’d been expecting to see Klaus, but instead there was a box on her porch with a silk bow resting on top of it. She sat down and brought it to her lap, opening it to reveal a blue dress, folded neatly inside the box.

She knew she was going – there was no doubt about that. But what did gnaw at her, was the chance of what would happen when she’d get there. She wanted to accept the feeling that told her he wouldn't hurt her. And yet, a tremor coursed through her body as she sat and sipped on her tea, waiting for the evening to roll around.

She wanted for him to unleash himself and show her who he truly is, so that she can love him for him. She didn’t want to fall in love with just his bruised upper skin – no. She wanted to get to know him, inside and out. Wanted to know what his guts found intimidating and what his soul found peaceful.

But if he wasn’t going to show her that, then nothing could ever make her clean herself up and rid herself of all the wounds that had been inflicted upon her, so that she doesn’t bleed on him from the cut that he didn’t inflict. She had a feelling that maybe, just maybe – there monsters had more in common than they thought they had.

There must be a reason behind the blood tainting his skin, perhaps, it was thrust upon him for all she knew! Maybe he didn’t want to be the monster that he had been turned into.

And if that’s true, Y/n wondered if she would still want to unravel him if it turned out that he was just a monster that had no other driving force apart from some personal fun.

So she dressed herself up for the night. Prepared to listen to him and ask him questions if he wouldn’t have answered them already in his explanation.

Entering the mansion that she always ran far away from, Y/n took a huge breath before wandering her eyes around to search for the one and only. And It didn’t take long before their eyes locked, with him already looking at her with rather guilty eyes and a relieved smile for she had shown up.

Walking to her, Klaus took in a shaky breath as he fixed his suite. He was nervous, hell, scared even. Honestly, terrified that tonight might be the final time he would see her and the final memory he’d have of her would be of her sprinting away from him for she couldn’t bear the sight of the ugly monster he had ended up growing into.

“You came,” Klaus smiled, looking at her with those same starry eyes except tonight they were shining because of the sheen layer of tears glossing them up.

“You asked me to,” she shrugged faintly, her mouth cold to sight but her eyes were big and almost smiling up at him.

With her hand still in his’ from when he had bent down to kiss the back of it, Klaus walked her over to the vacant balcony – nothing to witness the tragedy but the sky that had itself gotten dressed in its best constellations and ornament, the moon.

Klaus wanted to believe his heart when it told him that she would listen to him and try to love him, but his head’s juxtaposition was not gentle. It prepared him for the worst, reminding him of how no one had ever loved him before, and no one would now. For all that was true, he had only gotten worse over time.

“To hurt you, was never my intention,” he whispered, his big eyes looking into hers.

“It is true that I am a Hybrid – a vampire and a werewolf. It is also true that I’m covered in blood from head to toe, from my bones to my skin, I am drenched in it.”

His legs were growing jittery and breathing was becoming harder to do than it should be. But his hold on her hand only tightened, tears collecting on his bottom lash line.

“It is true that I am a monster. One with a heart that doesn’t beat and a soul that feasts upon the love it never gets,” with his free hand, Klaus wiped the tear as it slipped down the slope of his cheek.

She only stood still in front of him, urging him with her eyes to go on. Her own breathing ragged as she began seeing him and listening to him

“But I need you to know, before you leave tonight,” his voice shook as he stole his eyes from hers for a second to gain back his courage, as all of it had been spent the moment he mentioned her inevitable departure. “That I would never hurt you, I never can, hurt you,” he assured her, searching her eyes for anything.

“I truly am in love with you. And I will take forever to show you that if that’s what you’ll ask of me,” bringing her hand to his chest, he rested it there. “I want you to lay yourself bare in front of me so that I can show you that even your ugliest is loved by me,” he whispered.

“Say something, please,” he almost cried, his voice cracked, not having anticipated her departure to come so soon.

“I –,” Y/n began, her voice hoarse due to not having used it for so long. “I think I can love you, Klaus,” she uttered, looking away from his eyes, fearing that he was going to deny her heart upon realising just how ugly and bruised and beaten it is.

Upon the realisation that sure, her insides are a million colours – but they are all shades of blue.

And when the deafening silence got too much for her to bear, she turned away from him to make a run back home.

But her hand felt to have gotten caught in something and she was pulled right back, into a hard and vulnerable chest as her mouth felt something soft press itself hardly against it.

Klaus’ mouth.

His mouth was on hers and one of his hands was curled against the back of her neck while the other cradled her face with force.

Everything inside of her erupted into flames as she tilted her face to better mould it against his’, and fisted the curls on the nape of his neck, pushing him further into her while bending her back to accept the force.

“Say it again,” he breathed, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead on hers, his tears slipping from his eyes and falling onto her cheeks.

“I think,” she exhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath while her eyes remained stuck on his mouth. “I think I can love you,” she confessed again, instantly moving her lips in sync with his’ as he kissed her desperately, finally.

“My heart – it is shabby and broken but it’s already yours,” she choked out. “And it’s only mendable inside your ribs,” her shoulders shook as she cried, now fisting the shirt of his collar to keep him close to her.

“My love, your heart – it, it is safe with me,” he breathed with her, trying to calm his racing heart down. “And my heart will forever beat on your command,” sniffling, he tucked her hair behind her ear, gently lifting her face to seal his confession by breathing in her breath and letting her take away his’ as he pressed his mouth against hers, once again.

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flowerandblood · 4 months ago

Text

White Marriage (2)

[ Kingdom of Heaven • King Baldwin x female ]

[ warnings: fingering, virginity loss, sex content, poetic smut, angst, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]

[ description: After their nuptials, the court becomes even more divided. The King, however, wishes to spend the last years of his life experiencing the joys he finds in the closeness of his wife. His bride was never to lose her maidenhood, however, is what the King has proclaimed to his subjects what he really craves? ]

Author’s Note: After the warm reception of the first part, which I didn't expect at all, here is the second part of their story! I have to admit that I had a great time writing it and I love them. I tried to leave some realism and not forget about his illness and the fact that it is contagious.

Part Two of Paradise Fruit. Can be read as a standalone story.

Word count: 4.600

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Their nuptials were humble – apart from the Archbishop, who gave them his blessing, uniting them for eternity, they were accompanied only by Sibylla and her husband, enraged, thinking that the King was just fulfilling his sneaky plan.

He truly believed that he would have exposed her to such danger, condemning her to the cruel disease that tormented his members to try to beget an heir.

She was grateful to her Princess for lending her one of her beautiful, gold-embellished robes that day – Sibylla knew what purpose this marriage was intended to serve and that it would not change the order of succession.

She was to be his comfort, a moment of relief and solace, nothing more.

Nevertheless, she smiled, feeling happiness filling her heart, her king's gaze tender and full of affection, from which she felt warmth in her chest.

She thought that she had fallen in love with him.

Their marriage was announced to all and sundry, and she became a king's wife, but not a queen.

She was not bothered by this.

She was assigned a chamber right next to his – she could now visit him whenever she wished and did not have to worry about the King's honour.

As she walked into his quarters, clad only in a thin night robe, a smile of happiness adorned her face. Baldwin, though tired, also seemed pleased and rose at the sight of her.

"Wife." He said, entwining his hands behind his back.

His figure was all clad in white as usual, though the material of his wardrobe seemed thicker to her, a silver mask on his face.

To her surprise she noticed that his gloves were black, apparently made of leather.

She bowed to him, recognising that she was not intending to think about it now.

"My King. My husband. You are the man of your word." She whispered warmly, looking up at him from above her long lashes, feeling a pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen meeting his gaze, hot and dark.

"I am." He replied. "I couldn't deny myself this pleasure. It was an act of my selfishness, not my greatness."

She blinked, cocking her head, feeling for some reason amused by his words.

"Does it matter now?" She asked lightly – something flashed across his gaze, she thought he smiled.

"No. Not in the slightest."

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his orders – he had announced that because of his disease he would not take her maidenhood and their marriage would be white, however, after what had gone on between them earlier, she did not think her husband would want to remain an ascetic in every aspect.

"Let me see you." He said finally, his voice like a sigh.

She knew what he meant, she knew what he wanted – she could see it in his gaze. Her hands rose to the small knot above her breasts, untying it, slipping the thin material of her nightgown off her shoulders in a light, gentle motion, remaining bare before him.

She shuddered, feeling the chill of the chamber surround her body despite the flames burning in the fireplace beside her, her lips parted as she noticed her king's gaze shift, misty and filled with a familiar, hot desire.

For a moment he looked at her with his head tilted, as if he was simply admiring her, nothing more.

"My physicians have said that the leather material, as opposed to linen, will ensure that you are protected from the touch of my bare skin and what it may cause." He said, tentatively extending his hand to her, and she felt her heart thump harder in her chest with joy.

She could touch him.

They both drew in a loud breath as she placed her fingers on his palm, letting him pull her a little closer, the spot between her thighs all swollen with desire, slowly growing moist with her wetness.

Her lips parted with her gasp of surprise as his other hand touched her cheek – she snuggled her face into it, placing affectionate kisses of her lips on it.

"I would give all the treasures of this chamber, my possessions and my gold coins to feel the taste of your lips on mine." He gasped, looking at her as if she were a precious jewel, a spring water that quenches thirst, an olive tree that feeds whole nations.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the sizzling fire and their hitched breaths as his thumb ran over her full, lower lip. She parted it before him and let him slide it deeper, between her teeth. Her lips clamped slowly around his finger, looking up at him with desire as she began to suck.

A low groan escaped his throat at the sight, clearly imagining that he was forcing something completely different down her throat.

He placed his other hand on her back, at the same time pulling her closer and holding her at arm's length, apparently afraid that even his breath was dangerous to her, possibly dooming her to his fate.

She moaned when he gave in, when his mask pressed against her forehead, his eyelids all red around his bright pupils.

"– forgive me –"

She didn't know why his words, filled with so much sadness and desire, made her throw her hands on his shoulders, her lips clinging greedily to the unpleasantly cold, silver structure of his mask.

She closed her eyes, hearing his gasp of surprise, placing lingering, hot kisses full of her saliva and tongue on the surface of it, imagining he was able to feel it, his hands sinking into her hair.

"– touch me, husband – I crave you –" She mewled helplessly, running her hands over the material beneath which was his head, his hair, his jaw and neck.

She squealed when he lifted her suddenly by her buttocks, the quiet hiss that escaped his lips made her understand that this sudden movement must have caused him pain.

She stroked the back of his head as he moved towards his bed with his face nestled between her breasts, not wanting to show him any sympathy now that he wanted to be a strong man in her eyes.

He let out a breath as he laid her down on the soft sheets, his gaze full of tenderness as he looked at her face.

"– lie on your stomach and spread your thighs –" He said calmly and gently, however, something in his words and their undertone made her feel a heat in her lower abdomen and a wonderful tickling sensation.

She obeyed his command immediately, feeling her legs become stiff as he caught her around the waist and lifted her hips, forcing her to buck her buttocks in front of him in a shameless manner.

She heard his heavy breath as he positioned himself behind her on his knees, running his leather-gloved hands over the soft skin of her buttocks, herself panting hard, knowing where he was looking now.

"– the reason why Paris abducted Helen of Troy – the cause of the downfall and delight of all mankind locked deep between my wife's thighs –" He whispered in such a sensual way that she moaned pathetically, clenching her eyelids as his thumb ran over her leaking, throbbing womanhood.

Apparently he liked the sound she made, because one of his hands slid into her hair, holding her in place, reassuring him that she wouldn't take advantage of his weakness and try to expose him in an act of pleasure, endangering him and herself.

"– lie still – shhhh, my love –" He whispered, hearing her innocent cry of desperation as his fingers began to trail around her oversensitive, swollen bud, waves of tingling and tickling sensations spreading through her body dulling her mind, causing her to emit uncontrollable sounds.

She could hear him panting as she watched what he was doing to her, his fingers digging into her delicate folds with a loud click of her wetness, barely teasing her – her hips began to roll back and forth, responding to his treatments, trying to find a better source of rubbing.

"– have mercy on me –" She mumbled with difficulty, her lips parted wide in a girlish moan when, at her request, the tip of his middle finger burst into her fleshy, hot interior.

The experience was at once full of discomfort and delight – at first the material of his glove was cold, but in time her body temperature enveloped him with its heat.

"– God – so warm –" He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion, in some involuntary, primitive reflex forcing her to take his finger deeper inside her, meeting resistance.

"– yes or no –" He breathed out, making her gasp.

Yes or no.

She froze, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad, knowing that he had lied: he had only declared their marriage as white so that after his death his sister's husband would not attempt to kill her out of fear that she might be carrying his heir.

The future King.

"– yes –"

Her fingers clenched on the fabric of the sheet beneath her as he pierced something inside her in one aggressive motion, along with her squeal taking her maidenhood.

She began to wriggle under him with sweet whimpers of delight as his first finger was joined by a second, opening her wide for him only to fuck her before his eyes.

Tears of pleasure and shock ran down her cheeks as she moaned like a mere whore, spreading her thighs wider, his fingers thicker and longer than hers, stretching her so wonderfully.

"– please –" She whimpered, responding with her hips to each thrust of his hand, the tips of his fingers hitting the sweet spot deep inside her with startling precision again and again, while his thumb teased her little pearl between her folds with reluctance.

She bucked up more, panting loudly along with him, feeling the drops of her own wetness begin to run down her thighs one by one, soaking his hand, the fingers of his free palm clenched in her hair.

"– go on – please your King –" He commanded in a low voice from which her weeping cunt clenched around his fingers in convulsions of ecstasy, the sweet, stupefying pleasure making her cry out loudly, her legs bent at the knees quivering all over from the exertion.

"– a-ah –" She mumbled out, her face red with emotion as her body shook with a fulfilment so strong that her leaking, hot walls began to simply suck him inside. He felt it and moaned in a boyish manner, stopping moving, keeping his two fingers slipped deep into her body, just wanting to feel how it pulsed around them.

"– yes – just like that – easy now – easy –" He praised her, slowly sliding them out of her, and she swallowed hard, letting her body fall back onto the bed, panting loudly.

She sighed as he turned her onto her back and spread her thighs, looking at her with eyes black with desire, his hand slipped under the material of his robe.

Only then did she notice that his garment had a slit in the area underneath where his manhood was.

Although he had not allowed her to look at it then, now that he had grasped it in his hand and directed it at her throbbing womanhood, she saw the fat, pink head of it, dripping with his desire.

His hand clamped down on her soft breast, careful, however, not to cause her pain as he began to squeeze his swollen erection in his palm, with sharp, aggressive strokes from the very base to the tip chasing his fulfilment.

She moaned innocently, surprised, tilting her head back as his thumb ran over her hard, sensitive nipple, playing with it, something like satisfaction flashed through his gaze when he saw that this kind of touch was giving her pleasure.

"– my wife is so eager – so devoted to her poor husband – hm? –" He gasped, his breathing heavy as he accelerated, already squeezing only the base of his manhood, rocking his hips back and forth, struggling to restrain himself from opening her up, from sinking into her, from feeling her.

She rolled her hips forward encouragingly, rubbing her moist cunt against the thick head of his erection, drawing a low, almost animalistic groan from his throat, his silhouette moving slightly away.

"– no –" He growled with pain and anger, involuntarily returning again and again to her warmth, letting the tip of it push against her swollen, thirsty slit.

"– please, my King – put inside me –" She begged, but he shook his head and simply came with a loud moan of pleasure, his pearly, sticky spend spewing onto her womanhood.

He stared at this shameless sight, his head bowed low, his breath heavy as if he had just accomplished some heroic feat.

"– you need to bathe in hot water – immediately – dress yourself, I'll call the servants –" He exclaimed, rising abruptly from the bed, covering his manhood back with his robe, wiping his hand sticky with her wetness into its material.

She stood up quickly, horrified that he was surely angry with her for not listening to him, hastily dressing her nightgown over her shoulders, bursting into sobs.

"– forgive me, my King – forgive me, do not send me away –" She begged, but he did not listen to her, ordering his servant to immediately bring the tub into his chamber and fill it with hot water.

Although it slightly burned her skin when she stepped inside, her husband-king explained that the heat killed whatever was spreading his disease, and the oils and herbs that were thrown in were to prevent any other infections.

She looked at him with big eyes as he sat beside her, dipping his leather-gloved hand into the water along with a piece of cloth, sinking it then between her thighs, making sure not a single drop of his seed remained on it.

"– will you forgive me, my beloved? –" She muttered pleadingly, watching his face. He looked at her with a chastising look and sighed heavily.

"– it is I who should beg your forgiveness – I have allowed myself to be carried away by my desires, which have suppressed my reason – do not fear, it will not happen again – after your bath you will return to your chamber and will no longer visit me in the evenings –" He said calmly, looking away.

Her heart stopped in her throat, her brow arching in pain and disbelief at his words.

"Are you sending me away?" She muttered with difficulty. He looked at her, surprised apparently by her question and reaction, his hand froze in mid-motion.

"You can't sleep here because I am here. My breath, my proximity are deadly. I am exposing you even now. Before sleep, my physicians pull off most of the fabric that covers my body. I will never let you see this." He said and swallowed hard, seeing as tears one by one began to run down her cheeks.

"You break my heart. At least let my bed be placed next to yours. Drape it with curtains so that I may not see you or your body at night, but that I may at least hear your voice, hear your presence in the same chamber." She said pleadingly, touching his beautiful silver mask with her hand, his gaze tired and sad, filled with pain.

He hesitated.

"The chamber is not locked. Place my bed by the windows, by the fresh air. Do not condemn me to solitude, show me mercy, my King." She whispered, once again placing a kiss on his mask, on his cold, silver lips, his sigh testifying that he pressed his lips on the other side, reciprocating her caress.

"You are my doom."

At his command, her bed was moved to his chamber, raising voices full of resentment from some of the monks and priests, commenting on the fact that her maidenhood might be called into question.

"White marriage, to my knowledge, does not mean that husband and wife live separately. On the contrary, we should indulge in prayers together and be each other's comfort by day and night."

Honour Knights and Lords were concerned about what kind of comfort his little wife was to him.

Each day, the physicians sent by King Saladin checked the condition of her body and whether there were any signs of infection – her husband watched it from the sidelines in horror, relief in his gaze each time he heard from their lips that his wife was in good health.

However, taking advantage of the fact that the King had left the chamber after her examination, returning to his duties, one of his medics approached her, pale.

"My Lady. Spending so much time in the King's company, you will certainly contract his disease. Often its first symptoms do not appear until years after infection. It is possible that it is already too late." He muttered, bowing before her.

She swallowed loudly, looking at him calmly, feeling discomfort in her stomach.

"Would my husband live to see the time when the first symptoms could be apparent? If it turned out I was infected." She mumbled, and he shook his head.

"No, my Lady."

She smiled at his words and nodded.

"Thank you. Assure my King that I am well and can abide with him as before."

The man looked at her, in his eyes disbelief but at the same time a kind of admiration, compassion and warmth from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

"My Lady."

The days in Jerusalem were often sunny and hot, and as her husband rejoiced at the sight of her bare body, she walked around his chambers naked, feeling like a Greek goddess, Aphrodite or Artemis.

She would read old volumes, play the lute or embroider while spreading out comfortably on large cushions so that he could see her, and he would admire her from afar like a nymph.

"– my wife is like a fruit of paradise – like a goddess born of the sea foam –" He murmured, looking at her contentedly, bent over the dozens of parchments spread out on his table.

The servants knew that they could not enter his quarters without permission, for although he was gentle and affectionate in his manner, he did not wish to share this shameless sight with anyone.

However, what most of their days consisted of were conversations.

Her husband was a great speaker – they were discussing the Bible, faith, philosophy, poetry, art, war and history for long hours.

At nights, when he couldn't sleep from his pain, hearing his sighs and quiet moans that he tried to suppress for her sake, she would ask him questions.

She couldn't touch his hands or embrace him – his body needed rest, to breathe to keep from rotting and for at least a few hours a day it was supposed to be uncovered.

"Christ says to the adulteress: go and sin no more. However, he knows, as God incarnate, that this is not his command, but a recommendation. Sin is the fatal disease of every human being and we all sin in thought, in speech, in deed, in neglect. This is no reason to be sad. Christ is merely saying: live in such a way as not to cause yourself or others suffering, try to live with dignity, in harmony with yourself and your Father in Heaven."

"Is it known what happened to her afterwards?" She asked quietly, looking at his silhouette, seeing only its outline on the other side of his bed.

"Some identify her with Mary Magdalene or Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus. But it could also have been a person not mentioned by name in the Gospel. She certainly followed Christ and became one of his disciples." He said, his voice clearer without his mask, calm and soft.

"Do you think God considers me an adulteress?" She asked in a trembling voice and heard him shift restlessly in his bed.

"Why should such an unjust and harsh judgment fall on my wife? Because she is devoted to me with her soul, heart and body? Haven't you done everything I asked of you and even more? You are as pure as the sheet I lie on, as the delicate fabrics I wear on my skin. Your beauty makes me even more aware of my ugliness." He whispered with pain that made her swallow hard, shocked by his words.

"To me, you are the most beautiful of men. Before I met you, I swore to God that I would never marry, that I would not share Sibylla's fate. He showed me mercy, filling my heart with a burning feeling for you, my beloved."

He was silent, but she heard him exhale loudly, his trembling sigh full of suffering.

He cried.

"If only you could look at my face, see what a disgusting caricature of a human I am, you would understand what a great mistake you made." He howled, choking on his own tears, clearly letting out what had been weighing on his heart for weeks.

The fear that if she accidentally saw his face, she would scream in terror and run away.

"Is your faith in me so weak? I hoped you think of me with respect." She mumbled, heartbroken, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

She heard him swallow hard at her words, clearly terrified that he had offended her.

"I do, my love. Forgive me."

"I fell in love with a human, not an earthly shell." She said, but he didn't answer her.

She watched the silhouette of her husband and his physicians each evening through the curtains, seeing them only as through a fog in the candlelight, their shadows dancing around her.

She could hear his hisses and cries of pain as they treated his wounds, see the outline of his head, always with his back turned to her.

When they were finally left alone and he lay down on his bed, she heard his sigh of relief, his face, though she couldn't see it, turned towards her.

"My sweetest?" He whispered, and she smiled warmly, feeling a wonderful delight in her heart every time he called her that.

"I'm here, my love." She murmured, twisting comfortably in her bed.

"I desire you."

She swallowed hard, feeling her warm womanhood throb around nothing.

"I desire you too, my beloved."

They were both silent for a long moment, the tension around them palpable in the air.

"– one of my physicians –" He began in a trembling voice. "– at my request, he created something that I can – put on my length so as not to touch you directly – from what I understand, he made it from the intestine of some animal and disinfected it – he assured me that it would be safe for both of us, but –"

"– yes –" She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like crazy at the thought that he wanted to do this to her.

"– you know it's a risk –" He said, his voice quivering with longing, the shadow of his silhouette turned towards her.

"– I knew it from the very beginning – I don't care what happens to my body – I just want to feel my beloved husband inside me –" She whispered with embarrassment and that seemed to be enough for him.

She heard him stand up, quickly putting the cloth and mask over his head as he appeared on the other side, beside her bed, looking as he usually did – the same black leather gloves on his hands, his fingers clenched on a small wooden box.

"– undress –" He commanded, and she did so, literally ripping off herself her nightgown, laying down on her stomach.

His silhouette was instantly next her, kneeling behind her buttocks, his breath hitched and quickened when she heard the rustling of something and another strange, sticky sound.

After a moment, his fingers tentatively and gently ran over her swollen, pink folds, collecting her wetness, which had already managed to trickle down her thigh.

"– no other treatments are needed – my sweet wife is leaking like a forest stream –" He hummed with delight and admiration, she felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment.

They both sighed as she felt something thick and hard begin to push against her puffy slit, opening her wide – despite her lack of preparation her cunt pulsed in delight, moist with desire.

The feeling of him deep inside her, so intense and definitive, of how hard his long, thick erection stretched her fleshy walls was shockingly pleasurable and terrifying at the same time, as if her body no longer belonged to her.

"– yes, yes, yes –" She mewled as she felt his hands clamp down on her buttocks, spreading them apart as if he were tearing a piece of fruit, another determined thrust of his hips sinking him completely into her hot core with their moans of pleasure.

"– fuck –"

She wasn't sure if he had ever cursed before, but then, as his hips immediately began to pound into her with loud slaps, nothing more than their panting, grunts and words insulting to God left his mouth.

"– we'll do it frequently – so that you can remember this feeling well – your husband deep inside your warmth –" He exhaled in a way from which her little cunt began to squeeze him greedily, sucking his erection inside, her lips parted wide in a loud, helpless whines of pleasure so strong that she had to close her eyes, her hands clenched on the bedding.

His gloved fingers dug into the delicate structure of her hips, imposing a more aggressive pace on her, his fat manhood bursting deep between her fleshy walls without slipping out of her, hitting again and again her sweet little spot.

"– yes – yes, I love you, I love you, I love you, please –" She cried out, feeling the tension in her silky womanhood reach its zenith, the pleasant tingling in her belly testifying to the fact that she was about to reach her peak with him and dreamed of nothing else.

He moaned low, slamming into her like mad, feeling her weeping core clench around his twitching length more and more, his manhood hard as a rock with desire.

"– G-God – oh, fuck, yes, yes, my sweetest, let me, ah –" He gasped in delight, coming deep inside her, filling the thin material overlying his manhood with his release.

Her eyes closed and her mouth parted wide as her peak came down on her like a thunderbolt, shaking her body with convulsions of delicious delight.

They both moaned and panted, rocking their hips for a moment more with the loud click of her slick cunt, his hands soothingly kneading the skin of her buttocks.

"– I will order more of this to be prepared – so that I can fulfil my marital duty every night –" He sighed with satisfaction.

She involuntarily smiled under her breath, looking up at him over her shoulder, the moonlight shining outside the window reflected in his mask.

"– what kind of white marriage is this? –" She asked teasingly, rolling her hips, feeling his half-soft manhood pulsate inside her again.

"– our kind – do not fret – I will explain it to God once I am before him – I will tell him that I loved my wife too much –"

_____

Author's note: Between their wedding day and this next act, weeks actually pass during which he doesn't touch her (she mentions the days spent in his company and how she is examined every day, how he watches her naked, but apart from that nothing happens between them). He is afraid that if he tries to touch her again, he won't hold back (he had already had difficulty not taking her on their wedding night), so he tried to think of something so as not to touch her directly with his manhood. Their intimacy is an act of their desperation, the pain of knowing that their marriage will last a year or two at most. The desire to touch her and feel her is as strong in him as the desire to protect her and push her away. Their love is tragic and complete to me, and she knows what she is risking (she knew from the very beginning).

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 months ago

Note

:33 can you imagine Ford reading his book trying so hard to focus on the paragraph but like- He’s so distracted by Reader’s kisses and snuggles like like they’re acting like a cat and Ford just kalskskdjskdk

Ford was trying his hardest to get through the paragraph, he really was, but when you were sleepy ford found that you tended to become more affectionate. As was the case when he felt you snuggle up into his side as closely as you physically could while pressing tender kisses to his jaw and side of his neck.

‘Beloved.’ Ford said softly.

‘Yes my dearest?’ You purred, nuzzling your head into his chest, pressing a kiss there because you felt like it, that and you didn’t think you give Ford as much affection as he deserved…also the little hitches in his breathing were delicious.

‘I’m- im trying to read and you’re being quite-‘

‘Distracting?’ You asked and you could see the blush spreading across his face as his fingers toyed with the corners of the pages belonging to the book he was reading. For someone as smart and eloquent as him, you lived for the days where you got to see him be flustered and unsure of himself when it can to displaying affection, especially seeing as he had went without such for a good majority of his life.

‘I’m afraid so my dear, you know how easily affected I am by your preferred form of affection.’ Ford replied, feeling his mind falter and freeze upon feeling your lips once again kindly greet the skin of his jawline, little kisses scattered across it that it almost felt ticklish. He knew you were smiling and feeling proud of yourself because he could feel it pressed up against the pulse point of his neck.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about my sweetheart,’ you spoke against his skin, closing your eyes as you felt his skin grow warmer under your lips as his pulse pulsed against them as though eagerly reciprocating your kisses with his quick it was going, ‘I thought a man like you could keep his composure.’ You added with a chuckle, knowing from firsthand experience that wasn’t the case at all.

‘I’m afraid that does not count when in the presence of a true beauty of a person such as you may love.’ Ford felt you stiffen as he smiled to himself, yes he could be poetic as they come, he had to read Jane Austen’s books for a class once in college and could recite anything from that book off by heart from how often he annotated the poor book front to back, and in incredible depth too.

‘Who knew you’d be a man of such flattering words Stanford.’ You teased as you were now practically half sat on his lap that Ford had to lay a hand against the small of your back to keep you pressed against. Ford chuckles as he hurries his face into your head, hiding his sweet smile, ‘only for you my dear, only for you.’ He chants softly and you couldn’t help but thank whom ever for bringing Ford to you, for he was the best thing to have ever happened in your life, and you would gladly dedicate yourself to showing him just how much you adore him; it was the least you could do for the man you loved to death.

‘You deserve to be caressed by words, not showered in them. kissed, not smothered. Praised with words whispered in your ears rather than out loud in public as though it was a spectacle. I want to love you in moments like these, soft, slow, forgettable to most but memorable to others who don’t live life in the fast lane and forget to cherish the quieter parts in life.’ You tell Ford sincerely as you positioned your head back to rest against his shoulder, while his hand absentmindedly stroked your side softly, slowly; his book long forgotten as you both decided to enjoy each others company without making a freaks spectacle out of it.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #ford pines x you #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #stanford pines x reader

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eraenaa · 7 months ago

Text

So High School

Inspired by the song "So High School" by Taylor Swift

Athlete Rafe Cameron x Scholarly Reader Tag List

Summary: He knows how to ball, you know Aristotle

Warnings: Jealousy, Dry-Humping, Fluff, Not Proofread

Word Count: 4,638

A/N: Re-upload because I wanted to add a bit of spice and a few more elements inspired by the song. And I wanted to clarify that the Rafe here is heavily inspired by Zach Maclaren

You’ve never considered yourself as a cliche. You did love to read, watch, and think about cliches, you would sigh longingly when you see the differing variations be reproduced in media. The kisses in the rain, the jocks getting with the nerds, the popular girls kissing the geeky boys. All of them were great in theory, but you could never see yourself taking part in one of them. Not until you met him. Rafe Cameron.

You’ve never had a high school romance, nothing that even resembled it. If you recall your high school days, nothing remote to a teenage romance was achieved. You went to balls without a date, only the company of your friends; no flings were made nor ambiguous relationships achieved and could be added to your trophy case. You were not even certain you had a crush— sure, you would find someone attractive, but not so much that you would look forward each day to seeing them in the halls or classroom. It sounds horrid and sad now that you say it out loud or when you share it with any of your uni friends, but you truly did not mind. You were just not destined to have a high school romance.

In truth, you preferred it that way. You’d rather avoid immature attachments. The shallow jealousy and petty fights you had witnessed over and over again. However, you were always curious about how they felt. How did it feel to look forward to going to school to see the one you liked or even loved? How did it feel to be a blushing mess just because they glanced back at you? What did it feel like to hold the person you wanted’s hand as you walked down the hall? What was it like to have your friends tease you for being so love-struck that it went straight to your heads? How does it feel to be down bad for someone while still being filled with the naivety of youth? But you suppose you don’t have to wonder at all anymore. The cliche things they say in the movies; your stomach filled with butterflies, your heart pounding hard on your chest, your skin tingling with electricity— you thought were just exaggerated reactions, romanticizing further the romances they produce, but they were right. Those are the exact things you felt with Rafe.

You never saw him coming. He was an exchange student from the States, admitted into your university’s football team. He was a few years older, but with his commitment to the sport, he was taken back a few years and started off in the second year. He was your seatmate on the third day of class of the term. He took a seat by your right and sheepishly asked you for a pen at the start of the lecture. You were set to mind your own business, lend him the pen, and focus on the lecture, but you could not help but notice him leaning closer to you, trying to copy down the notes you typed furiously on your laptop. You thought twice before you decided to be a good samaritan, shifting your laptop screen more clearly toward his view.

You tried not to get in between him and the professor as he was grilled to answer a question about Aristotle’s Poetics, the whole class’ eyes upon him as he stuttered and flailed to answer the lecturer’s question. You sighed and bit your lip, quickly typing up the answer as he was being shamed by your professor for not doing the readings. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, motioning for him to look at the screen and recite out loud the answer you had written. “Thank you,” Rafe whispered, leaning closer to you, who saved him from further embarrassment. You just nodded, but Rafe did not return to his place; he kept the rather close proximity of the both of you for the rest of the class. You just took his actions as his way of copying more of your notes.

When the class ended, you quickly gathered your things and tried to exit the lecture hall, but Rafe blocked your way. “I’m Rafe, by the way,” he introduced himself, letting out his hand for you to shake. You did, and he swore he felt electricity at your touch; you, too had felt it but mistook it for static. You quickly introduced yourself and tried to sidestep to get to your next class, but he was quick to block you again. “I just wanted to say thank you again,” Rafe said, trying to catch your eye, but it kept flying towards the door. You flash him a small and almost forced smile, “It’s just recitation. It’s no problem.” You said and finally looked him in the eyes. You felt your heart stutter at the smile that crossed his lips, and you once again mistook it for something else, anxiety, perhaps that you might be late to your next class that was all the way on the other side of the campus in a building without an elevator and your classroom conveniently placed on the top floor.

That was when you noticed that Rafe had still not let go of your hand, nor did he have the intention of letting you go too quickly. “I’m sorry, not to be rude or anything, but I really have to go to my next class,” you say, the tone of your voice a bit frantic so he’d buy into the guilt and finally let go of your hand. Rafe bit his tongue to prevent a grin from slipping his lips; you had the most melodious voice and the most adorable accent he heard while he stayed in your country. “Yeah, no problem… see you next week,” Rafe finally unblocked your path and let go of your hand, watching as you hastily walked out of the classroom, leaving him grinning at himself like a fool.

You were walking down the halls of your university the next day. Your headphones covered your ears and made you a tad oblivious to the surroundings around you. Rafe caught you by the side of his eye, and quickly ended the conversation he was having with his friends to get to you. He was calling your name, avoiding the sea of students who were venturing to their next class. Everyone’s head turned to him, their attention on him as he called for you, but you were oblivious to him. Rafe finally caught up behind you, grabbing the headband of your headphones to finally get your attention. You yelped in surprise at the sudden actions, turning behind you, ready to take the blow of your attacker, but you were only met with Rafe, who had an amused grin by our wide-eyed and startled state.

You breathe out a quiet sigh of relief when you realize it was not a complete stranger who had done that abrupt and rather rude action. You watch with a slight furrow in your brow as Rafe wears your headphones, momentarily listening to the song you were listening to. “What is this?” He asked with a confused look, “Patti Smith,” You answered as he returned to you your headphones. “Never heard of him,” Rafe shrugged, and you bit your tongue, “He’s a she,” You said and looked around the corridor only to realize that the two of you stood by the middle of it. Earning curious and even annoyed glances from other students because you and Rafe obstructed the pathway. You stepped to the side, and Rafe followed; you looked up at him in curiosity, “Did you need something?” You asked, wanting an explanation from him for startling you in the middle of the hallway.

“I…” Rafe trailed, not truly having a concrete reason for calling for you. “Uh… where are you going?” He asked instead, and you felt your brows twitch into a quick frown before you recomposed your expression. “The library,” you say, and he nods. “Come on, then,” He said, taking hold of the handle of your shoulder bag and carrying it for you. Your lips agape, not at all certain what is happening; you watch him walk a few steps forward, but he stops in his tracks and turns to you. “You might wanna lead the way; I’m kinda new here,” You bit your lip as you wanted to laugh. You nodded, and the two of you walked side by side on the way to the library.

“What’s your degree?” You asked him as you walked through the hallowed halls of your university. Rafe still carried your bag, and you could not help but notice the curious glances pointed at the two of you. “Finance,” you nodded but grew rather curious as to what he was doing in your literature class, so you then proceeded to ask him the question swirling in your mind. “Oh… I ran out of units; either I take that class or be underloaded,” he shrugged and opened the door of the library for you. “So you have no idea nor interest about what we were talking about the other day?” You asked and felt your stomach weirdly twist when he pulled out the chair for you and assisted you to sit. “Not really, no,” He said and took a seat across from you. “Thanks again, by the way, for giving me the answer,” Rafe said in gratitude once more. You flashed a quick smile and took your bag from him, taking out the readings for your other class. It took a few minutes of you reading your course material before you realized that Rafe was just sitting there, watching you. “Don’t you have any requirements to do?” You asked him, eyes locking with clear ocean blue ones. “Nope,” he shook his head, his lips popping the ‘p.’

“Then what are you doing here…?” You asked. Rafe refrained from letting his grin turn wider. He just shrugged and watched you furrow your brows; a cute little pout of confusion appeared on your lips. He was uncertain if you were truly oblivious or just pretending to be. What was supposed to be a productive day of reading and staying above your requirements turned into a day of laughing fits and jokes. You both tried to stifle your laughs caused by your random conversations and anecdotes, but it was proven impossible, resulting in both of you being ushered out of the library. “Oh god—“ You laughed as you recalled the stern look of the librarian as they pushed you and Rafe out. In other circumstances, you might have died in embarrassment for having to be escorted out of the library, but somehow, right now, you felt thrilled.

Rafe watched you as your laughs died down. His gaze studied the crinkle on your nose and the sides of your eyes, the way you would bite down on your lip to stifle them, but it would be to no avail because your melodious laughs still blessed his ears. “Do you want to go to grab lunch?” Rafe suddenly asked, and your laughs finally halted. You looked up at him, his expecting gaze on you, hopefulness in his ocean-blue eyes that you could not shatter. You smiled and nodded, your heart stuttering when he took the bag on your shoulder once more. His warm hand brushes with your skin, causing a jolt of electricity in you that you never thought could happen. You followed him out of campus, your mind in a hazy battlefield as to where this was leading.

You bit your lip as Rafe waved at you during their practice; you could barely make out his face through the obstruction of his helmet, but you would guess there was a boyish grin on his lips. It had been a week since the incident in the library, and quickly after that, you two found a deeper understanding between each other. You realize the cliche they insisted upon that said ‘you'll find love when you least expect it’ was quite true. You never expect to meet anyone like Rafe.

“There you are,” you hear your friend arrive, having him see you on the football field because he needed to brow your notes for a class. “What are you even doing here? I practically had to drag you here the last time I wanted to watch a game,” He asked in deep confusion, entirely uncharacteristic of you to be by the field. “Uhm…” you trailed, not having told him about Rafe yet. “I met someone,” You started, watching as his eyes grew wide in surprise. “A player?” He asked, and you nodded, “Which one?” He asked in great interest. You squinted your eyes and looked for Rafe’s number, not wanting to have to point. “The one from the States!? You’re dating a Yank?” He asked as if it was a scandal. “A Yank? Seriously? They’ve stopped calling Americans that for almost a century,” You said, trying not to laugh.

Rafe turned to you, surprised you were no longer alone on the benches. Instead, you were laughing along with some dude who sat a bit closer to you. It made him rather… curious. A good alternative feeling as he did not want to overstep with his emotions and admit to himself that he was quick to grow jealous. “Hey, good game, mate,” Rafe’s teammate complimented and clapped his back, and he returned the compliment, but he could not help but notice that his teammate’s gaze was flying over to you. “What is it?” Rafe asked as he removed his gloves, "Are you… with her?” He asked hesitantly, and Rafe turned to you, who was still enveloped in conversation with the man who was a stranger to him.

“Yes.” He said even though it was too soon and neither of you had a discussion about where the week of dates you two went on would lead. Rafe watched as his teammate’s brows shot up in surprise. “Do you know her?” Rafe asked, and his teammate nodded. “Yeah, I went to secondary school with her,” He said, and Rafe was in the midst of thinking another question to ask when his teammate spoke once more. “Good luck to you; the word is she has very high standards. A bit stuck up if you ask the other lads in our school.” His teammate and Rafe frowned in confusion. “What?” He asked, “Yeah. She was notorious in our school for being the girl no one could get. A lot of blokes fancied her rotten, but not once did she pay them mind. She was never in any relationships or flings, for that matter— and if I remember correctly, she did not even take a date to the balls.” Rafe’s teammate explained, his gaze flying to you, remembering how the boys at your school would always follow you around or try to get your attention, but you’ve always ignored them. “Anyway, congrats to you, I guess. Never knew her type were Yanks,” Rafe heard his teammate mutter and once again clapped his back before leaving.

You turn away from your friend as you hear Rafe approaching, flashing him your beaming smile that you only bestowed upon the most deserving of people. You’ve only known him a week, but you felt that your genuine smile was made to be pointed at him and as well be caused by him. “You ready to go?” Rafe asked, ignoring the presence of the guy who sat next to you because he knew himself, and if he acknowledged the guy next to you, his jealousy might shine through. “Uh… yeah, this is my friend, by the way,” You say as you see Rafe was a bit reserved at the moment. “Hey,” your friend greeted and stretched out his hand for Rafe to shake, “Hey,” he muttered and barely turned to your friend. There was a pause of steely, awkward silence that you were not certain the cause of. “I’m gonna go… thanks for the notes,” Your friend quickly excused himself, and you turned to Rafe. “Are you okay?” You asked, and you heard him let out a grieved exhale. “Uh, yeah, just tired,” he fibbed, not wanting to bring out the subject of his jealousy that was quick to stew.

“Oh, that’s a pity. My friend you’ve just met— he and his boyfriend are throwing a party tonight and I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come. But if you need to rest, that’s completely fine,” You said and watched as his lips agape slightly, “He… he has a boyfriend?” He asked slowly, realizing his jealousy was completely out of place. “Erm, yeah, why?” You asked and found it odd how the almost grumpy expression on his face quickly turned into a smile. “Nothing. Of course I’ll come with you to the party,” Rafe smiled and draped his arm around your shoulder as you two walked off the stands.

You came to the party with the thought that perhaps you could help Rafe mingle with the others in your year. He could find other friends in this foreign land, but as cliche as it was, you two were lost in each other. Everything faded, and all the two of you could focus on was each other. It was later in the night when you and Rafe’s close proximity was interrupted by your friend. “Come on, we’re going to play spin the bottle,” Your friend pulled at you, who reluctantly stood and stepped away from Rafe. “Spin the bottle? Isn’t that a bit juvenile?” You asked as you were forced to sit on the floor; Rafe was being led by your friend’s significant other to sit across from you. He flashed you his charming smile. You bit your tongue to not let the giddiness in you shine through.

“Rules first,” Your friend replied. “As always, whoever the bottle lands to, you must kiss that person, but if you do not want to, you can play for truth or dare. Your friend says, and all in the circle nod. “Okay then. Who goes first?” Rafe asked, and you turned to your friend, “Well, seeing you are the guest here in our lovely land, you get the honor to go first,” Rafe shrugged and smirked, leaning forward to spin the bottle and prayed that it would land on you, it didn’t. You turned to where the bottle pointed to a girl from your secondary school who licked her lips and looked positively excited at the prospect of kissing Rafe. You bit your lip and sat quietly in your seat, making sure that your face was rid of any reaction.

Rafe warily shifted his gaze between you and the girl, “I’ll do a truth,” he announced and saw from the corner of his eyes as the strange girl pouted and her shoulders deflated in rejection. “A truth it is,” Your friend said; there was a quick silence whilst he thought of a question. “Why did you choose truth?” They asked Rafe, and you fiddled with your fingers, raising your gaze towards the boy you had been seeing for the past week but had no label to call him. “Just… just didn’t want a kiss,” He shrugged, his gaze flying to you, who quickly avoided his. “Okay then, next,” Your friend said, and you waited for your turn, already knowing in yourself you’d skip the kiss part if it did not land on Rafe.

“Truth or dare?” You were asked and paused for a moment. Usually, you would quickly pick ‘truth’, not having the nerves to choose the other option, but somehow, right now, you were leaning towards picking ‘dare’, so that is what you had done. You hear ‘oohs’ from your friends, surprised by your boldness. “Dare, then. Okay… I dare you to kiss the person you fancy in this circle the most,” Someone cruelly said, and your eyes widened, cheeks blooming with color as you quickly regretted your choice. “No! I chose ‘dare’ to skip the kissing part! That’s unfair,” You countered, but they only shrugged and replied with “Rules are rules,”

You pursed your lips and looked around the circle. You already knew who you wanted to kiss, but you lacked the courage to do so. “Okay, everyone, close your eyes, and you pick who you want to kiss,” Your friend decided, showing you kindness, for he knew that the situation was quite too much for you. Rafe chewed on his cheeks, heart beating loudly in his chest, praying to anyone who would hear that you would choose him.

You took a deep breath and glanced as everyone had their eyes closed. You gathered whatever courage and nerve you had to stand from your seat and lean closer to Rafe. Admiring his handsome face for a moment before placing a quick, chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. You feel him twitch in surprise, and you quickly return to your seat as he opens his ocean-blue eyes. His lips were agape in shock, and he was being tugged into a wide smile that showcased his dimples. His eyes crinkled as he beamed at you, filled with romantic giddiness. The game went through a few more rounds until everyone eventually got bored, and you and Rafe were left in each other’s company once more.

The music was blaring; the chatter was loud, but not a single noise was heard by the two of you as you had been enveloped in conversation. You quickly grew entranced by how random your topics were. It could be a deep, philosophical engagement, one where you were both perplexed and engrossed by the subject, then the next, you were clutching your stomach because you were laughing so hard at one of his jokes.

“Where’d everybody go?” Rafe suddenly asked as he reluctantly rested his gaze on anything else other than you. Your lips agape as you saw the flat was cleared out, the remnants of the party and the mess it caused still present but not those who had caused it. You let out a bubbling laugh as you two were now the only ones present; not even the hosts of the party could be accounted for. “We should probably go home, huh,” You say, your eyes shifting between Rafe’s gaze and the floor that was riddled with confetti and spilled drinks. “Yeah, come on, I’ll walk you home,” He said as he stood, reaching out his hand for you to take as he assisted you to stand.

“Rafe,” You called as you two stood by the entrance of your flat. “Yes, pretty girl?” He asked with a grin, and you bit your lip to hinder yourself from grinning like a lovestruck fool. You took a deep breath before you spoke, “Not to sound so high school, but I… I really like you,” You confessed. You did not know how to relay how you felt seeing he was the first one to spur this type of giddiness in you. You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes twinkled with mirth and the smile on his lips widened. You held your breath as he leaned in and kissed your lips. It was a chaste kiss, just like the one earlier, but it was still capable of leaving you both grinning.

Your eyes alight with newfound affection as you and he stood below the pale moonlight. You sighed happily as Rafe placed his warm hand on your cheek, caressing your skin before ultimately leaning in to kiss you once more. A different, more fervent, and deeper kind of kiss than the first one shared. You feel your heart flutter and your body turn warm as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush towards him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him downwards to your height, feeling him smirk against your lips.

When you parted for air, you bit your lip as a wide, cheek-aching smile spread upon it. “I think like you more,” He said against your lips. You knew it was a line, a cheesy one at that, but your stomach flipped in violent delight, and you stood on your toes to feel his lips against yours again. “Do… do you wanna go in?” You asked him as your lips parted again, your mind spinning from the way he kissed you and pulled on your waist. “Yes,” he said a bit too eagerly, the tips of his ears growing red a he realized the slight desperation in his voice, but you simply found it endearing.

When in the privacy of your flat, you grinned against Rafe’s lips as he gently pushed you against the wall, his large frame flushed against yours. Your fingers reached to run themselves through his hair as his hands on your waist strayed hesitantly higher. “You sighed as his lips moved to place kisses on your neck, “I hope you know I didn’t offer to walk you home for this,” Rafe sighed against your neck, breathing deeply your scent as his need for you bulged painfully in his jeans. “I know,” You smiled and whimpered as you felt him nip your skin.

You were not certain if you should warn him of the truth that you’ve never done anything such as this and that you have never reached this level of intimacy with anyone. But you swallowed the words as you feared you would run him away. You gasped as Rafe effortlessly hoisted you on his waist. Your mind spun as he deeply kissed you and led you to your sofa, him sitting on the cushion and you straddling his waist. You panted as you felt his need against your core.

Rafe swallowed thickly as he gazed at you, your lips swollen and eyes filled with need for him. “I… I don’t have protection,” He sheepishly, regrettably said, and you could blink. “Oh,” Was all you could say, uncertain if you should move from the position you both were in even though your body screamed for you to stay put. “I’m sorry, I—“ He started to speak, and you shook your head, “No, don’t be,” You rested your palm on his chest and felt the erratic beating of his heart, a rhythm that matched yours. Rafe took in a deep breath and lowered his gaze as if in shame; you chewed on your lip and spoke. “Maybe uhm… maybe we could do something else?”

“Like what?” He asked hesitantly; you couldn’t really verbalize your intent, so instead, you showed it to him. Rafe’s jaw slacked as you started to grind your hips, your core rubbing against his length. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and placed small kisses on his skin as you tried to stifle your sighs of pleasure.

Rafe’s hands found home at your rear, guiding and aiding your movements. Rafe let out a hiss as he felt himself quickly be led to climax. You finally vocalized your moans as you, too, were on the precipice of your peak; your hand moved to grip Rafe’s dark blonde locks as you came, calling his name. Rafe moved to take your face into his hands and intertwine your lips as he came undone, his seed spilling out in his trousers. He never thought he could come undone so harshly with ought actually being touched by someone.

When your lips parted, and the hazy want in you subsided, you grinned widely at Rafe, who let out an amused breath. The both of you stayed silent, but Rafe’s thoughts screamed loudly in his head. Would it be cliché of him to say that he had fallen so quickly? That seeing you in the lecture hall was love at first sight, and now, even only knowing you for only a short time, he knew you were the one.

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pricegouge · 4 months ago

Text

Haul

Part Three MDNI

Master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

chapter cw: noncon nudity, noncon touching, graphic depiction of injuries

It takes some test runs, but you eventually figure out your arm and shoulder are okay, though your collar bone likely isn't. You're lucky there - as far as you can feel, if it's fractured at all, it isn't compounded and you'd much rather heal a clavicle than a shoulder. Your cheekbone's fucked though; you can feel how it sinks into your face in a way it never has before, and blood pools in your sinus cavity, infects your saliva. It's likely going to need surgery, though you doubt your current ride is headed to a hospital. If you survive this, you'll end up with a pretty lopsided face, you figure. If you survive this indeed, though.

You count distance in the taste of fabric on your tongue. As hours and miles pass, the cotton fades from heavy copper, to salt-lick piquant. The trailer heats with the rising sun, metal hull hotboxing you in. The tight space you're kept in is padded, probably for sound proofing though you're almost grateful for it, given how it prevents you from burning yourself on the corrugated siding.

It's hard to guess how much time passes. It feels like days, but the trailer does not go through a cooling cycle, nor do you die of dehydration, so you assume only a handful of hours pass. You spend them drifting in and out of consciousness, wishing you had enough wherewithal to try escaping. Unfortunately, with the heat and the dark comes exhaustion, and with the adrenaline crash comes intense pain so you do little more than catalog injuries when you can concentrate enough to do so.

If you survive this indeed, though.

Poor Ash. She may have been a pain in the ass, but no one deserves to go out like that. It's hard to stop the tears when you think of her but you try anyway, knowing full well that further inflaming your face isn't going to do anyone any good. You wonder why they kept you alive - why Ash didn't make the cut. Or, did, you suppose. Maybe they felt two victims would have been too difficult to deal with. Maybe they thought Ash, who was still able to get around quite well, would've been too much of a handful.

Maybe you're trying to reason with hurricane season, as it were, find rationality where there was none. These men were motivated by something you'd never understand and perhaps it was best not to waste your efforts on it. Still, it's hard to move past Simon and Gaz's brief exchange.

'For cap?'

'For all of us.'

The thought of being shared by them made your stomach turn, but the thought that there was another one - one they evidently often brought victims back home to - that was even worse.

'Captain,' you sneer. You can't help but picture some old geezer who couldn't pull his own victims anymore; real Texas Chainsaw shit. The boys would probably have to hold you down so he could wax poetic at you about what a good hauler he used to be, help him lift a tire iron so he could get his rocks off. It would be enough to make you laugh, if it didn't feel like the tire iron was already whaling on you.

Still, you suppose knowing your fate lies with an old man and his lackeys is better than the alternative; even in your current state you know a truck with a soundproofed false back generally spells human trafficking for anyone with the misfortune to find themselves stuck in one. Your prospect doesn't make you happy by any means, but you suppose the enemy you know is better. Even if that enemy is a group of known killers.

It's not too long after the trailer starts to cool that the quality of the roads changes; long, smooth interstate giving way to potholed, winding highway. You grit your teeth each time you're jostled, groan every time you remember your jaw is actually your biggest source of pain.

The passiveness with which you wonder about our whereabouts surprises you, but you're so exhausted you don't hold yourself too accountable for that. It's not until the truck slows to a stop that you sit up straighter, heartbeat hammering when the back up alarm confirms your fears that you have arrived at your destination. They let you sit for a while after. Long enough to get cold. There's the occasional sound of air brakes firing and you figure you're in some sort of lot. You try yelling for help a few times, but between the gag in your mouth and the soundproofing around you, your cries go unanswered.

At least you hope that's the reason. Otherwise this entire lot is filled with people who are in on this potential trafficking ring and Simon's words echo even more ominously in your ears.

A quiet rattling form the end of the trailer tells you when they open the doors hours later. The truck engine roars to life seconds after, backing up the final few feet necessary to slam into the loading dock hard enough to make a gruff voice from within yell.

It's unfamiliar, makes you steady yourself harder against the unknown quality of it. You figure this must be Cap, feel some small sense of satisfaction when the old, ragged voice matches what you'd pictured. You listen intently as pallets are cleared away, the loud clatter of the jack ringing even through your soundproofing. There's a lower murmur of laughter, the boys regaling the older man with a story you can't quite hear but can definitely infer. When the truck is fully unloaded, their heavy boots tread the short runway - Johnny's truck, then; you'd wondered who you'd been riding with -, their voices coming clearer as they draw near.

"- banged up, but mostly from the crash," you hear Simon rumble.

Johnny's next, his grating brogue echoing within the trailer, "Well, except her nose. We can thank Gaz for that one."

"She can thank herself for it," Gaz snarks back, and you would bite your tongue if you could. There's a beat of silence. You can almost feel the heavy gaze their silent captain turns on Gaz, prompting him to elaborate, "She ran. Not very fast. When I caught up, she tried bite me so I headbutted her a little."

"A little!?" Johnny cries, but is cut off by a gruff scoff.

"No way to treat our new guest, Kyle. Go on, make it up to her. Bring her out here."

You expect something dramatic, like a flood of blinding light or strong hands reaching in to yank you out. Instead, when the panel is pulled back, the indirect light from the building is mostly blocked by the row of bodies in front of you, and Gaz squats off to the side, body language friendly and inviting despite the coldness you can feel radiating from him. This man hates you, you can feel it. You remember how he wanted to kill you, wish you could tell him the feeling was mutual. Rather, you stare at him loathingly until he tires of your inaction, leans in to grab you by the zip ties that bind your feet and cuts them with a knife you didn't even see him pull. When he grabs your wrists and pulls, you resist as much as you're able but in the end you're no match and he pulls you from your hideaway with little more than a grunt of pain and annoyance when you elbow him in the ribs.

"Feisty one, is she?" the captain's low growl observes and you turn to the newcomer with fury in your eyes which stalls out when you take him in properly for the first time.

You're disappointed to discover he's not as old as you'd been expecting. Nowhere near, in fact. Mid forties most likely, early fifties at absolute most. And densely built enough to speak of a physicality far younger. None of them were small, but the captain still managed to look big among them - nearly as tall as Simon and just as broad as Johnny, though it looked a little leaner on him given his height. You think the worst part about him is how genial he looks. Like Gaz, he's a brand of handsome that comes with charm and approachability, and you wonder how long it will take for that facade to crack like Gaz's did. Worse, if it ever will.

Certainly, his voice is disarmingly sweet when he greets you, coos and calls you a dove. "Weren't lying were they, love? Did a number on the poor girl, Ghost."

Simon - Ghost? - grunts in acknowledgement, motions for you to step closer. You don't, of course, and get a sharp shove from Gaz which sends you stumbling toward the larger men, caught by a firm hand on your bad shoulder. You yelp, breath heaving behind your gag as Cap adjusts his grip, studying you by your hip instead as his eyes dart to Simon.

"Shoulder. Maybe collar bone. Happened when she flipped her car." When you flipped it. Right.

The older man tuts dissapprovingly. You try to swat his hands away but stumble without his support. He ignores you anyway, hand returning easily while the other reaches up to carefully grip the edge of the duct tape. "Can't be easy to breathe in there, can it doll? Not with that poor nose. Let's get this off, shall we? Easy," he soothes, voice a low pur. His task hurts like hell anyway, the sticky strip pulling your tender, swollen skin. He's gentle about it at least, murmuring sympathetically when you can't contain your whimpers. You don't judge yourself too harshly when a few tears slip through, but do very much so when his thumbing them away twists your stomach unexpectedly.

It's just because you haven't seen tenderness all night, you reason, and resolve yourself against him, even as he removes the gag with utmost delicacy.

"That better, dove?" he asks when your breaths come quicker, deeper. It's like resurfacing after being submerged for too long, clarity coming to you like a cold breeze on soaked skin: this is a calm meant to put you at ease, but you will die here if you become complacent.

So when Cap tells you to call him John and asks what your name is, you spit at him, blood and mucus staining his shoes.

The boys go quiet, like a record scratch moment in an old b-movie. You stare up at John defiantly, waiting for him to scream at you, hit you - anything.

Instead, he just pulls a pocket knife from his pants, grabs your bindings when you go to flinch away. "You've had a long day, love," he starts as he slips the thin blade between your wrists. Your skin is tender there, rubbed raw from the tight binds. The cool blade feels sharp despite the care he takes to aim the edge away from you, never once letting it touch your skin. "You've had a long day, so I'm going to let you get away with that this time." When he pulls against the zip ties, they cut into your skin briefly before giving with a sharp twang. He pulls one of your wrists into his free hand, rubs the raw skin there with a calloused palm before taking the other wrist in his grasp and giving it the same treatment. "But the next time you misbehave will not go well for you. Understood?"

Of course, you don't listen. Fuck this guy for real, you figure. What's the worst he can do? Kill you?

This time, when you go to spit at him, he catches it against his palm, wide hand slapping over your mouth so hard you're breifly concerned for your good cheek. You gasp in shock and pain, nearly choking on your own spit. John steps closer, one boot knocking your foot wide to let himself between your legs. He's so close, if he moved his palm you'd be breathing the same air.

As it stands, you can barely breathe at all, nose flush against the fat side of his hand. His own breath fans across your skin, heavy and hot as a bellows. The quality of it is thick, humid. You're glad you can't smell anything because it feels like it reeks.

"Simon, she give you a name?"

Ghost's uncomfortable movement is obvious in its silence. "Took to calling 'er Betty."

"Betty," John repeats, lips curling in amusement. "Like an old timey, proper little wife. That you, pet?" You wanna shake your head, fear for your sinus cavity if you do. "Not yet, eh? Gonna have to train you up first. Ease you into it." As if in demonstration, his body sags into your own, presence oppressive. "That's okay, pet. We'll start you off easy. Get you nice and clean, get you fed. In the morning, Kyle will help with your injuries and when you feel more like a proper lady, we'll try again, hm?"

You can't say anything, so you don't.

"But in the meantime, I can't let that kind of behavior go unchecked. Boys," he calls, eyes still boring into you. "Which one of you wants to help our guest clean up?"

The general din of excitement makes you flinch, eyes going wide as if pleading with the man who holds you so cruelly will do any good. When Johnny suggests they play rock paper scissors to decide who gets the honors, it's suddenly, belatedly clear to you that your murder would almost be a kindness. No, the worst thing this man could do for you would be to keep you. John sees it the moment you realize this. His grip eases, eyes softening in some gross perversion of kindness. He strokes your cheek soothingly when Simon goes out in the first round, smiles condescendingly when you flinch at Johnny's crow of victory. John tuts at you, but says no more as he turns you toward the Scot.

"All yours, Soap," he rumbles, pushing you not ungently toward the other man. "Spic and span, you hear?"

"Aye, sir. Thank ye, sir." Johnny's hands are much harsher than John's when he guides you from the trailer, giving you no sympathy when you flinch under the harsh warehouse lighting. You try to take stock of your surroundings as you're pulled along: spare, dusty racking; a forklift in need of repair. There are multiple loading docks, most of the viewports obscured by backed up trucks. One sits vacant and you briefly wonder if there's even more of these monsters waiting in the wings before you're pulled past a dank little office. You catch sight of outdated equipment - a rolodex, a CB - but it's the shadow boxes full of military honors that your eyes lock on the longest.

Of fucking course.

The door Johnny leads you out through is tucked off the side of the building. You stumble when he pulls you down through the door, feet unsteady where they kick up dirt. It's cold outside, colder than it had been in the dankness of the trailer. You can't help but shiver, bite your tongue as best you can when your companion takes that as invitation to draw you in close and rub a big, solid hand up your arm.

"We'll have ye warmed up in no time, lass," he promises, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. This man murdered your friend with a crowbar and dragged her around like a slaughtered animal. You expect no kindness from him.

He orders you to strip before turning to a small station built into the side of the warehouse. You do not strip, electing instead to take off running in the opposite direction, cursing as the gravel churns loudly under your shoes. Soap swears, his own heavy boots following at a pace you didn't think his burly body capable of. Your breaths burn your chest, each pull coming labored in your blind panic but you refuse to slow or relent, ignoring the flaming pain in your shoulder every time you swing your arm forward for propulsion.

Well, you ignore it until the ground comes tilting up to meet you, your body crushed beneath the considerable weight of one grunting, cursing Scot. You sob at the pain, or maybe the fear - hard to tell. When he levers himself off you, he wastes no time grabbing your ankle as he stands up, towering over you. If you were capable of stringing two thoughts together, you'd wonder if this was the last thing Ash saw: pale blue eyes gleaming in the low light, the cruelty that twists his face. Instead you wonder how likely your arm is to maintain full mobility after a night like this.

Not very, you decide, sobbing in pain as he drags you back to the warehouse. He's muttering something above you, but you can't hear him over your own cries. When you kick at him futilely, he yanks on your ankle until you fear for it and you don't try it again. Not even when he gets you where he wants you, back under the wan outdoor lighting of the station he'd turned to before, crouching down next to you to rip at your shoelaces.

"Please, don't," you murmur instead, fear churning in your belly as he continues to strip you. You'd known it would come to this, known the moment the captain had mentioned something about a wife. It doesn't make it easier, doesn't make the prospect of the gritty sand underneath you any more comfortable, or your repulsion for the man above you any less sharp. "Please, please, please let me go. I could -."

"What? Suck me off?" Soap laughs harshly, "Think ah'm gonnae ge' tha' anyway, hen."

You were going to say keep your mouth shut, but you suppose that never works anyway.

The sound you make when he pulls your pants off is wretched, but the shriek he earns when he pulls a knife on you is worse. His laugh is mean, reveling in your fear for a moment before cutting your shirt from you with one deft movement. He's pulling you to your feet before you can really process why and shoving you against the metal siding of the warehouse.

"Stay there," he warns and you're unsure if his tone or the throb in your shoulder is a more effective threat. When he walks back toward the station he'd been after earlier, your gaze turns to follow until you catch sight of your own shoulder at the bottom of your field of view and you draw short, taking in the severe swelling there. You prod at the edges of the mottling, wincing at your own ministrations.

Absorbed in your own injuries, you don't notice when Soap turns on the spigot, or when he aims the nozzle of the high pressure hose at you. He calls for you to hold your breath, but gives you no more time than that which is necessary to look up, confused, before he's spraying you down.

It's freezing, the flow hard enough to bruise where it jets against the fatty bits of you; feels like it might sheer straight through hide where your skin thins around joints. You gasp, get a mouthful of aerated hose water. Spluttering, you try blocking the stream with your hands despite it feeling like your palms are being struck by a thousand rulers.

"S'wha' we use tae wash the trucks!" Soap calls, cackling loud enough to be heard over the spray that engulfs you. You can't get away from it no matter how much you fold into yourself, catching the jet alternatingly on your hip, your ribs, your ass. It does a better job of indexing your injuries than you did, the blooms of pain where you accidentally turn a bruise toward it letting you know that the hip which took the brunt of the collision is sore, that there's a spot on your good shoulder where Gaz tackled you which smarts. Your knees and elbows are all scuffed up, dirt grinding in before being stripped away. You feel like you're being sandpapered down; buffed until you're gleaming despite knowing how the dirt he kicks up clings to your skin wherever the hose isn't actively being pointed.

Soap keeps it up for another minute or so, only turning it off when your shaking gets so bad you think you're like to fall apart. "Quit yer whinging," he warns, creeping closer as he adjusts the nozzle to another setting. "Jes' havin' a laugh, bonnie, no need tae get all bent outta shape."

You want to tell him you're not laughing, but a small voice in your head says you should be grateful he didn't turn that hose on your face, so you keep quiet to prevent him getting any ideas.

When he's close enough to touch, Soap reaches out and grabs your wrist, spraying your pebbled skin down with a softer shower of water that would set you at ease, if not for how cold it is. From your arm, the stream moves up over your head, mussing your hair beyond recognition before trickling down your battered face. Here, the cold water feels good against heated skin and despite yourself, you heave a sigh of relief, tilting slightly into the unexpected relief.

"Like tha' hen?" he asks, and you hesitate briefly, wondering how much satisfaction you want to give him. He doesn't give you a chance to decide, ruining your brief moment of reprieve by reaching out and tweaking one hard nipple.

You squawk, swatting at him. Johnny laughs long and loud, letting the stream from the hose fall dead as he watches you fume, shaking.

"Look like one ah them wee doggies, lass," he chuckles, "angry cause ye cannae even bite properly." The bastard flicks your cheek, feigning a sympathetic coo when you flinch away. "Tha's righ', bonnie, nothin' ye can do tae fight back," he murmurs, gliding his fingertips against your cheek in a move he probably thinks is soothing. "Ye jes' remember tha', eh? Might keep you alive."

You swallow back the lump in your throat, eyes boring a hole into his shoulder because you can't stand to look him in his terribly cold eyes. When Johnny moves again, his touches are back to the easy, soft caresses from before as he hoses you down. He's surprisingly good at it, despite being armed with only a shammy and a gnarly looking bar of soap. At least he knows to avoid your hair once he realizes he'll need conditioner. That damage is already done, but you appreciate him not dragging his fucking fingers through it on top of everything else. You try taking the soap from him once but he just tuts at you warningly so you go back to shivering, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to preserve body heat and keep yourself marginally modest. You can't decide if he's being obstinately particular just to torment you longer or if he's genuinely just like this until he raises your good arm above your head and finds your armpit overgrown.

He grins, sending you a delightfully scandalized look. "See Ghost chose well. Cap's gonnae love ye," he chuckles, and you feel your panic heighten when you think of the threatening older man again. Soap notices. "No need tae worry, hen. You jes' keep bein' good fer us and Cap'll be good tae ye."

For some reason, you don't trust this man's definition of being treated well.

After getting you all washed up, Johnny marches you back into the warehouse where the other men gather around a small, dingy breakroom table pecking at microwaved burritos. They're laughing uproariously as you arrive, Gaz talking animatedly about a loading mishap back in Arizona. The noise drifts off when they spot you, eying you over like a scrap of meat. There's no covering everything and despite yourself, you're almost grateful when John stands, bringing you a blanket he had folded on the seat beside himself.

"Feeling better, doll?" he asks, patting you dry with a gentleness you didn't expect from the big man. He frowns at the swelling of your shoulder, eyes darting between you and it with an exaggerated level of concern that makes you want to hurl.

You avoid his gaze, your own flickering around the room as you ignore John, trying to gather your resolve enough to appease him. It's a struggle until your eyes find Simon's, apathetic as always despite the disapproving set of his scarred mouth.

"Yes, sir," you murmur, watching raptly as Simon disguises a quick nod as a glance at his plate. Your heart rate picks up, an impossible tendril of hope slithering up your aorta when John hums contentedly at your words.

"That's a girl, love," he starts, warm palm falling heavy on your back as he starts to guide you back through the warehouse. "Gaz, bring the soup. You're hungry, right pet?"

You are, but Gaz doesn't wait for confirmation, falling in stride as John guides you toward the quaint office you'd caught a glimpse of earlier.

"Now, one day, you'll be able to stay up here with us," John promises, gesturing magnanimously across the dingy warehouse as if it contained all the gold of El Dorado within its rickety racking. "But until then, we're going to have to keep you below."

Gait faltering, you glance up at the older man fearfully but he pays you no mind at all. "Don't worry honey, only temporary. And I'll have the boys visit you daily to keep you nice and stimulated, hm? Gaz," he barks before you can reflect too much on his choice of words. Kyle, evidently knowing exactly what's expected of him, places the soup bowl he's been carrying on the cluttered desk before moving some chairs, rolling the rug back enough to reveal a cutaway door in the cement slab.

You still, every muscle in your body tensing up when John tries to coax you along. "'S'not so bad, sweetheart, I promise. Come look, yeah? Think you'll have a nice little time if you just give it a try."

Like hell you'll give it a try, knees locking up so tight you look like a GI Joe when John guides you first down the stairs. It's cool, the descent marked by the wet gradient of the cement slab as you pass further underground. It's deeper than you'd expect, the dug dirt bottom damp under your feet when you alight on the landing. There's a short hall ahead, braced by rotted-looking timber. A lone door on the opposite end, braced on one side with a long line of bolts and locks. A single light hangs from the short ceiling, low enough you could smack your forehead off of it if you're not careful.

"Had Simon come down while you were out, get it nice and ready for you," John brags. You doubt the room on the other side of that door could be made live-in ready even if Simon had been given three years to work on it, but you know better than to say as much.

This time, when John prods you forward, your legs don't obey. "CanIsleepwithyou?" you blurt, a last ditch effort you're not sure you want him to accept.

But John just chuckles. "Eager, eh pet? Don't worry, you'll earn that right soon enough. Now go on, I'm sure you'd like some nice new clothes to put on, hm?"

Damn him, but you do, so you slink forward, ducking under the hanging light as you pass. The door creaks when you pull it open, weight heavy despite how meager it looks. It feels solid, unbreakable, and you notice quickly that you won't be able to barricade it if you have to pull it open. John does not notice your hesitance, following you into the room with a proud little smirk on his mustached face.

"Well, what do you think?"

Not much. The floor isn't finished, just cold tile pressed into the dirt. The walls and ceilings are, though, and you briefly feel grateful for it until the batting on the door registers and you realize it's for soundproofing purposes. There's a bed in the corner, larger than you need yourself and made up in cutesy sheets with a strawberry motif. A pile of heavy quilts sits folded at the foot and despite yourself, your fingers twitch eagerly at the prospect of sleeping soon, warm and snug under all that weight.

"We've got some clothes for you here," John continues. You get the feeling he doesn't need a lot of input so you stand there quietly as he opens a foot locker for you, tattered and olive green. Inside sit two neat stacks of clothes, battered looking but approximately the right size. You remember Johnny's comment about the Captain liking your pits and wonder if they always bring him back a certain type.

And if so, where they are.

"G'on love, pick out something you like," John leers, and you realize you won't be able to get away with waiting until he and Kyle leave to get dressed.

There's a marked efficiency to your movements. Grabbing the first top you see, you briefly check the tag before doing the same with the bottoms at the top of the pile. Close enough for rock and roll, you figure, dropping your blanket to the cold floor and pulling the clothes onto yourself as quickly as possible. Kyle's eyes are heavy, John's heavier. Your skin crawls, the goosebumps which never really went away after your little bath returning with a vengeance. To your immense displeasure, John has to help you pull your bad arm through the sleeve and he tuts sympathetically when you whine.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'll bring you down some button ups tomorrow, yeah? You nod when he pauses too long, realizing you're not going to be let off the hook without a proper answer. You creep toward the bed when he hums in acknowledgement, but he tuts in warning again, nodding toward a little desk shoved off to the side of the room. You sit obediently, thanking him with a little murmur when he ferries the bowl of soup from Gaz to you. He hovers, watching raptly until you bring a spoonful of the room temperature meal to your mouth.

"Good, right?" he asks, before you can even get a proper taste of it.

You take your time swallowing, playing up the pain in your cheek as you try to suss out a good response. It's just microwaved soup as far as you can tell, but you figure saying as much won't garner you any favors. Instead, you hum appreciatively and shovel in another bite before John can ask you any more questions.

It works, mostly. John takes a quick lap around the room instead of standing over you, sighing now and again at whatever he finds while Gaz continues to stand in the doorway, evidently unamused.

"It needs work, I'll give you that," John eventually concedes as you slurp at your meal. You hadn't realized how hungry you were until that sweet sweet MSG hit your tongue. "It needs work, but if you're good, we can spend some time down here fixing it up for you. Would you like that?"

You stall, spooning through some of the chunkier bits at the bottom of your bowl. It was kind of them to give you soup, you registered belatedly. Solid foods would have undoubtedly fucked up your mouth. Instead of answering, you ask John what would happen if you were to be bad and watch as his genial nature flips like a switch.

"Got a couple of news articles upstairs if you'd like to read 'em and find out."

Next>>

#dark fic #dead dove fic #141 x you #141 x reader #haul #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #Kyle garrick x you #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john price x reader #john price x you #poly 141 #💷🔪

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minisugakoobies · 5 months ago

Text

Whipped | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (no agab)

Genre: fluff, idiots to lovers, slightly crack-ish, non-idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: Mingyu's a stubborn idiot, but he's also the softest human alive, Minghao's kind of a jerk tbh, use of they/them pronouns for reader, this is honestly just fluffy nonsense meant to give you warm fuzzies

Word Count: 3.9k

Disclaimers: Obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: No matter what his friends say, Mingyu is definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not whipped for you.

A/N: Yep, another Mingyu fic. I can't help it. 🤷‍♀️

Unbeta’d as usual. If you liked this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

Kim Mingyu is not whipped.

This is what he forcefully reminds himself when you walk into Minghao’s party, looking sweeter than a spring day, a phrase which if he’s being honest is maybe a little more poetic than he’d normally use. That’s okay. He can be a little dramatic if he wants. Why not? Seokmin does it all the time and no one bats an eye.

In any case. Mingyu is not whipped.

That’s why he turns his head, pretending he doesn’t see you dazzle everyone around you with your beautiful smile. While he’s pretending, he also acts like he can’t feel his own lips tug upwards at the soft chime of your laughter, a Pavlovian response to your happiness. No, his smile is unrelated to whatever you’re doing. He’s just in a good mood, one that didn’t suddenly ascend to the heavens when you entered the room.

Mingyu’s not whipped.

He sinks further into the couch where he’s sitting, a little off to the side of where Minghao, Jeonghan, and Seokmin are talking. Theoretically, he’s part of the conversation, adding the occasional hum or laugh, but he’s really not contributing much of anything. He’s too busy thinking about you. Not like that.

(But not not like that, either.)

In any case, Mingyu remains firmly unwhipped - solid, unshaken, definitely not falling apart over you. He’ll be absolutely fine, as long as you stay on the other side of the room, where your charms can’t reach him. Except that he can’t stop watching you, and now you’re looking at him, and even though he averts his eyes, it’s too late. He can sense you walking towards him, his heartbeat increasing with every step you take.

Not. Whipped.

“Hey there, stranger.”

Instinctively, at the sound of your voice, he glances up at you, like a flower tilting its face towards your light. He nods at your greeting, mumbling a hello of his own. The others sitting around him all greet you as well, but you merely nod in reply, your full attention on Mingyu.

“Do you wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

If Mingyu had a list of things he loved about you, which he does not, being straightforward would be near the top. Of this totally fictional list that does not exist. He admires it, actually, the way you have no patience for dishonesty or deception.

Even though your question is blunt, your smile remains soft as you wait for his response, and Mingyu rethinks his ranking. Item number one on that imaginary list - the way you smile, at him, specifically. It’s so warm, like being hugged by the rays of the sun itself. It makes him happier than he ever thought possible. He wants to curl up like a cat and bask in the feeling. If he’s not careful, he might start purring right now.

He’s totally super normal about you.

“Me?” he asks, stalling for time, praying that a somewhat reasonable explanation falls into his lap in the meantime. He’s only a fair-to-moderate bullshitter, so his hopes are low. He can feel the others staring at the two of you, very obviously listening, because no one in your friend group seems to respect boundaries. It’s not helping. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you chirp back, and he does, he knows exactly what you mean, just like you know exactly what he’s doing. “You’ve been ignoring my texts. What’s going on?”

What’s going on is that Mingyu is not whipped, even if it feels like his insides are turning to melty goo beneath your inquisitive gaze.

“I’m not ignoring you. I’ve just been busy,” he shoots, aiming for breezy and landing just shy of nonchalant.

“Busy doing what?”

“You know. Stuff.” Oh god, he really sucks at this. “And things.” Jesus Christ.

You fold your arms, and Mingyu thinks it’s cute the way you’re squinting at him, one eye closed as you assess his response. Unbearably cute, actually, and getting worse the longer it goes on.

“Yeahhhh, that’s not good enough,” you inform him, and with one hand on his arm (Mingyu ignores the electric current that lights up his nervous system when you touch him. It’s just static and definitely not anything else), you pull him to his feet and lead him out of Minghao’s apartment and into the empty hallway. He follows, not because he’d follow you anywhere, but because he’s curious.

Once the door is closed behind you, you turn to him, a serious expression on your face. “Gyu. Be honest with me.” Always, he thinks reflexively. “This is about what those guys said the other night, isn’t it?”

Of course you know exactly what it is that has his head spinning right now. The two of you have been friends for ages, but Mingyu still can’t get over how easily you always seem to read him.

A few nights ago, Mingyu and you had been out to dinner with a few others, and it had been like any other time you were hanging out with your friends, lots of laughing and teasing and just being happy dumbasses together. Only on this particular evening, the food had taken a very long time to arrive, but the drinks kept coming in the meanwhile, and you’d gotten a little drunker than usual, and a little clingier, sticking to Mingyu like a magnet.

Not that Mingyu minded having you hanging on his side all night. Nor did he mind keeping a close eye on you, making sure you were drinking your water and eating to help soak up some of the alcohol. None of that bothered him at all - you were his best friend; why wouldn’t he take care of you? Especially when you smiled at him and thanked him for being so sweet, so good to you, over and over.

(He can’t even begin to explain how that made him feel.)

The others noticed. And commented. Mingyu tried to ignore them, but they just wouldn’t shut up. By the time they joked that Mingyu was your trained puppy, suggesting you buy him a pretty collar and a leash to go with it, he’d had enough.

And when he tried to express that, Minghao had shut him down with a scoff, a wave of his hand, and one word.

“Whipped.”

Mingyu admits that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a whipped man. He’s not. He’s not, no matter what the others say. No matter how you’re looking at him right now, concern etched all over your lovely face, lip tucked between your teeth as you wait for his answer. He’s strong. And proud.

(And maybe a stubborn idiot, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He considers just not responding at all, but he knows how persistent you are, so he settles for a half-shrug. You sigh, leaning back against the wall, arms crossing in front of you.

“You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” you say softly, shaking your head. “They were joking. They said so! And you know I didn’t take it seriously for a second.”

“You didn’t hear everything they said!” he protests, crossing his own arms. You’d missed most of the barbs flying his way that night, too busy enjoying yourself. Which weirdly made him happy. He hated the thought of those guys ruining your night. “They said I was your pet!”

“So? Jeonghan always tells Seokmin he’s got the zoomies when he gets hyper. He knows he’s not actually a dog! It’s just stupid jokes! Our friends are dumb!” you laugh, throwing up your hands. “That’s what we like about them!”

Mingyu can’t help it, he starts to laugh with you, but then he catches himself, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

How can he help you understand, when he’s not entirely sure he understands it himself, this storm inside him, clouding his mind?

“I…” He glances wildly around the hallway, but there’s nothing out here to help him. He can hear the bass from whatever song is playing inside the party, a low, steady thrumming that contrasts the erratic thumping of his heart. “I don’t like being called weak.”

You tilt your head. “Is that what they said?”

“Yeah. Or I guess… they implied it. When they said I was whipped for you.” He lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing he’s pouting and it doesn’t help his defense, but it’s just his default setting. “But I’m not.”

Because he’s staring into your eyes as he speaks, he catches it - the quick expression of sorrow that pinches your brow at his explanation - but it’s fleeting, gone in an instant. If he weren’t watching your face so intently, he would’ve missed it.

“Gyu,” you sigh, the corners of your mouth lifting in what is clearly meant to be a smile, except it doesn’t reach your eyes, and for a moment, the confusing tide of emotions inside him still, and he feels only sadness. That’s not how you smile. “Can you please let it go? Everyone was being an idiot. That’s nothing new! Besides…” You trail off, staring at the floor.

He waits a beat. “Besides what?”

You huff and shrug. “It’s nothing, forget it.”

The uncertainty in your tone unnerves Mingyu even more than your fake smile. Where’s that directness of yours?

“No, tell me. Besides what?”

With a deep breath, you look him straight in the eye. “Besides, I’m not delusional. I know you don’t like me like that. I’m not your type.”

Your voice grows quieter at the end of your sentence, just as the music coming from the other side of the door fades out, and to Mingyu, the silence only amplifies your words, leaving them ringing loudly in his ears like a sonic boom. You’re not his type?

He blinks rapidly, as if that will somehow help.

“You - you’re not - “ He pauses, searching fruitlessly for the end of his sentence, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Right. I’m not.”

The laugh you let out sounds so fake that he winces, and a terrible realization hits him. You’ve taken his stammering to be a complete thought - a confirmation of what you’d said, that you aren’t someone he’d like like that. Curling in on yourself, arms wrapping around your stomach, you shrink away from him, only a few inches but the distance feels so vast.

“Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

Mingyu’s speechless. As his silence grows, so does the space between the two of you, until you’re standing by the door, hand on the knob. He feels like he should be doing something right now, snapping into action of some sort, but his brain is still stuck on your declaration.

“Okay,” he finally croaks, because it’s clear that you’re waiting for him to speak, and he doesn’t know what else to do but agree with you, because you’re usually right and he usually agrees with you.

“Right,” you say again, but you look slightly unsure, and it rattles Mingyu, making him feel even more unsettled than before. “Okay.” And then you open the door and slip back inside Minghao’s apartment.

Alone in the hallway, Mingyu slumps against the wall. Well. That was a spectacular failure. He’d tried to explain how their comments upset him and all he’d done was upset you. The shift in your demeanor was so obvious to him, a flashing neon sign basically screaming “you fucked up!” in blazing red light.

He gives himself a minute to try to pull himself together, then he returns to the party. As soon as he’s inside, he scans the room, until he finds you standing in the corner, hanging out with another friend, Chan, talking and laughing like everything is fine. Which, as Mingyu feels deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows it is not.

His previously vacated spot on the couch remains open, so he slips back into it, ignoring the curious looks of his friends. He doesn’t want to answer any stupid questions right now, doesn’t want to deal with any of their crap while he tries to wrap his head around what just happened in the hallway.

Naturally, his friends immediately start nosing into his business.

“What was that all about?” Minghao asks, turning to face Mingyu. Seokmin and Jeonghan both twist towards him, eager to hear his answer.

“What was what about?” Mingyu replies, eyes flitting to you again. Chan must be bringing his A game with his jokes tonight, because you’re giggling Mingyu’s favorite giggle, the one that makes your nose twitch like a little bunny’s. It always makes him swell with pride when he coaxes it out of you with one of his dumb jokes, so seeing it right now and knowing he’s not the cause of it, well, it’s not exactly helping improve his mood.

“What was that dramatic exit?” Minghao gestures towards the door.

“It was nothing. We were just talking.” Again he looks at you. And again, your attention is focused solely on the man beside you. Mingyu doesn’t understand. Can’t you feel him looking at you?

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Jeonghan drawls, miming the crack of a whip with his hand. Seokmin and Minghao crack up beside Mingyu, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy trying to catch your eye. He wants to see you smile at him. Just one smile. That’s all he needs to make him feel better.

His friends lose interest in teasing him when he doesn’t respond, and the conversation moves on. As does the evening. Mingyu bonds with the couch, not leaving except to grab refills of his drink, but otherwise he’s a fixed point in this party, unlike you, who are constantly moving, floating from friend to friend, spreading joy across the room.

Spreading joy to everyone except him, that is. No matter how much he watches you, your light never shines on him again, not like it did earlier. He knows what this is. You’re the one doing the avoiding now. And oh my god does he hate it. He feels cold and lonely, withering away, dying for your attention. For your affection. Because he needs it to thrive.

Oh.

Oh wow, he’s stupid. The others are right.

Kim Mingyu is whipped.

For you, and you only.

Like it has been every few minutes since he returned from the hallway, his gaze is drawn back to you, and this time, it’s different. Because the mask you’ve been wearing all night finally slips, and Mingyu sees the wrinkle of your brow, and the slight downturn of your mouth, and he understands. You’re just as miserable as he is.

That absolutely will not do. He needs to fix this right now.

Mingyu rises to his feet again, not even waiting for Minghao to finish the story he’s been telling, not that he’s been listening anyway, and starts walking towards you. When he’s a mere arm’s length away, it occurs to him that he doesn’t have any plan, just an urgent need to make you look happy again. And also pay attention to him, because he needs your attention just like he needs you, so he panics, and grabs your hand.

You look at him in surprise as his fingers slip between yours.

“Come with me. Please,” he adds, a bit hasty in his anxiousness, already tugging you out of the room and into the hallway. A pair of voices follow you both out, as Minghao and Jeonghan both jeer loudly at the sight of Mingyu dragging you away, but thankfully the door drowns them out, letting only the beat of the music through. Which would be a good thing, except that now it’s just Mingyu and a very quiet you. With your hand still in his.

“Is everything o-”

“You are my type.”

You start speaking at the same time he does, but he’s louder, blurting his entire sentence out before you can finish yours. Your mouth freezes in an ‘o,’ and oh, Mingyu can’t believe what a dumbass he’s been for so long. How did everyone else see it but him?

“I just. Wanted you to know. That you are the type of person. That I like.” Why can’t. He complete. A whole sentence? “Smart, funny, gorgeous….”

You glance away from him, suddenly shy at that last word, and it just reinforces Mingyu’s point.

Unfortunately, it does not make it any easier for him to say what he’s trying to say.

“But you’re not just my type? You’re the person I like. Hao’s right. They’re all right. I am whipped for you.” He frowns. “Damn it, I hate it when Hao’s right.”

That makes you laugh, a quick “ha!” that makes your eyes light up, and Mingyu finds himself feeling stronger, so he doubles down. Might as well own it.

“But he did, he got this one right. I’m down bad.” He brings your entwined hands up, clutching them in front of him, maybe pressing his luck a little, maybe laying it on thick, but it’s barely an exaggerated version of the truth if it’s not pure simple fact.

“‘Gyu,” you groan, rolling your eyes, but there’s a twitch in the corner of your mouth that won’t cease, and it makes his heart sing. “Knock it off. I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t think you do.” He takes a deep breath and steps forward, backing you into the wall behind you. Your hands are caught between you, and he presses the palm of yours against his chest, wondering if you feel the spike in his heartbeat when you inhale sharply.

“Maybe you should tell me,” you say, eyes wide but voice calm, and again, he marvels at how you strike straight at the heart of the matter, and he decides he can do the same.

“I’m telling you that I like you.”

The next few seconds are the longest in Mingyu’s life. Nothing has ever lasted this long in the history of time. Entire civilizations are built and fall within the blink of your eyelashes. You keep looking back and forth between his eyes, and he hopes that you see whatever it is you need to believe him, and tries his best to convey clearly what he feels. Even if he’s having trouble speaking his thoughts, at least his gaze can express it.

“You like me…”

He nods. “A lot.” Now that he’s said it out loud, it’s hitting him just how much.

“You like me…” you start again slowly, frowning slightly, “but you don’t like it when others point that out?”

“I just - “ Mingyu breaks off, a sharp puff of breath exploding out in frustration. How to explain it? “I didn’t like them saying it the way they did. It… it made me feel like they were calling me weak or something.” Your frown deepens and he stumbles on. “But - but that’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid. And I - I don’t care anymore.”

He clings to your hands, a lifeboat in a sea of turmoil, the warmth of your fingers locked between his giving him hope that this isn’t going completely downhill, this sudden confession of his. It’d be just like him to ruin this with his impatience. He’s always too eager.

“So what do you care about?” you ask, gaze burning into his.

And then there’s you. Always so calm and direct. God, he adores you.

“You. How you feel.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, you lower your eyes, in the briefest of glances at his mouth, and Mingyu feels that electric shock again, tingling all the way to his fingertips. He barely breathes as he waits for you to speak.

“If you really are whipped for me,” you finally say, “you should go tell them that.” You jerk your chin in the direction of the door.

If that’s what you want, then that’s what he’ll do. Without a second’s hesitation, Mingyu spins, his hand gripping yours to pull you back into the apartment with him.

Seokmin gawks openly as Mingyu stomps across the room. Minghao and Jeonghan exchange a glance that last night would’ve set Mingyu spiraling, but now rolls off him like water. Mingyu comes to a stop directly in front of his friends, squaring his shoulders, trying frantically to corral his thoughts into something coherent.

But before he can open his mouth, Minghao leans forward, placing his chin in his hand. “Shhh, guys, I think the puppy’s going to speak!”

“Hao, shut the fuck up.”

Minghao bristles when Mingyu snaps at him. Jeonghan and Seokmin both cackle, but then Mingyu glares at the two of them, and they fall silent. He takes a deep breath.

“I just wanted you to know that I don’t care what you guys say about me anymore, because I like YN.”

The words spill out of him so easily, not even the tiniest nudge needed. He glances at you to find you wearing a delighted expression and his heart goes buoyant again. He decides to ride the wave.

“They’re amazing. I’d do anything to make them smile, so if that makes me whipped, then I guess I’m fucking whipped.”

He’s facing you now, not caring if the others can see the obvious lovestruck look in his eye as he keeps talking, not to them, but to you. Aware that they’re probably all smirking at one another, because they figured it out before he did, but he doesn’t give a single goddamn.

“I can’t get enough of their smile. And the way they laugh. I like how sweet they are. How honest.” Mingyu can’t stop talking at this point. It’s all gotta come out. “But never mean about it. Even when it’s something you don’t want to hear. Especially when it’s something you need to hear.”

Your hand twitches in his with every sentence he states. He squeezes back gently as his statements get louder.

“I’m not kidding when I say I’d do anything to make them smile. I’d walk the ocean floor for them. Climb a volcano and surf the lava down barefoot. Capture a star fr-”

“Oh my god, we get it, you like them!” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Enough with the bad poetry.”

“Also? We know.” Minghao snorts. “No need for the dramatic announcement, it’s not news.”

Mingyu barely hears him, too lost in the way you’re smiling at him now. Forget his earlier rankings. This smile beats all the others. Shoots directly to the top of the list, which, now that he thinks about it, he kinda wants to write down and give to you, maybe framed. Or maybe he’ll stick it on his fridge - with a heavy magnet, of course, because it’s such a long list.

He completely loses all interest in the rest of the room, even though he’s pretty sure most of the party is staring at the two of you. Instead, he finds himself hanging anxiously on the breath you take, hoping for you to say something, to give him an indication of where things stand between you now. Because he knows you’ll be straightforward and get right to the point, whatever’s on your mind.

You step closer, close enough for him to feel your soft laugh on his lips as you give him a look that sends his pulse rocketing. You’ve never looked at him like this before.

Forget a list. He’s gonna write a whole book.

“Come on, whipped boy. Take me home.”

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #mingyu #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #mingyu x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #mingyu fluff #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #fic: whipped

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licorice-tea · 10 months ago

Text

Could I Be Loved By You?

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x reader, Roronoa Zoro x reader, Trafalgar Law x reader (separate)

Content: pure fluff<3

Word Count: 0.7k (total)

A/N: short head cannons are something i haven’t really written before, so i hope these are still good! im in class rn but i got bored so i just finished writing sanji’s lmao- please enjoy! :)

Part 2

What happens when you ask them; “Do you think we’re together in every universe?”

Vinsmoke Sanji - 0.2k

“Sanji, sweetheart-“

“Yes, love?”

You smile softly at him before continuing. “Do you think we’d be together in every universe?”

Sanji doesn't even take a moment to consider his answer- he simply blurts out; “Yes. Always.”

A giggle escapes your lips, which come to press a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know what other answer I could have expected from you.”

“I have more to say, if you'd like to hear it of course.”

“Mhm.” You nod.

Sanji clears his throat with a flourish, as if he's about to present some grandeur speech. “You are the love of my life- and of all my lives. Without getting to love you and be loved by you, I don’t think I’d be able to go on. So, naturally, we would be together in every universe. If not; it must be a world where I don’t exist.” Then, he takes your hands in his. “My love, I’d be yours in any universe you’d have me in.”

Your gentle smile grows into a full blown grin and, naturally, your lips are drawn to his.

Roronoa Zoro - 0.2k

“Do you think we’re together in every universe, Zoro?”

He shrugs, and starts fiddling with his swords. They lean against the same wall that the two of you are sitting on, his legs crossed around the spot where they hit the floor and yours pressed up against your chest.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re together here.”

You simply hum in response. It was unreasonable to except something poetic from him in the first place.

“But I hope we are.”

At this, your ears perk up. You turn to face him with wide eyes.

“I just mean… I hope I’ve done enough to deserve you in other lifetimes.”

The corners of your lips quirk up in a smile, and your arms encircle his much larger and more solid one. “You do more than enough in this one. Don’t worry about that.”

Zoro smiles too- not only at your words, but the tickle of your breath against his neck when you speak.

He really doesn’t care to imagine other universes- not when a mere moment with you is enough to take up all the space in his mind for hours on end- but Zoro will still always indulge your whims.

Trafalgar Law - 0.3k

“Law.”

He looks up from his book at your urgent tone. “Yes?”

“Do you think we’re together in every universe?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, of course.”

You tilt your head, silently urging him to continue. He doesn’t though- and he won’t indulge your curiosity without verbal reassurance. So, you give in.

“Why? I was expecting a full thesis with supporting evidence from you, smartass.”

Law shuts his book. “Ahem; Then, I believe that we would be together in every universe because… well, we’re together now. It’s the natural order of things, so why would that change in a supposed parallel universe?”

He’s such a nerd. You want to kiss him.

But instead, you just shrug. “Things happen.”

“Then I’d like to think that our relationship is still a constant.” He finishes off the topic with that. What reason could you have for wondering if you would still love each other in other universes, anyway? The answer is so glaringly obvious- to him, at least. He continues, this time teasing you. “Now, did you have a genuine question, or are we just proposing hypotheticals tonight?” Law smirks at you, but his cheeks are growing pinker by the second. It’s a futile attempt to cover how endearing he finds the thought.

With a satisfied shake of your head, you turn on your heel. “Nope! That was all.” And when you reach the hall outside his office, you poke your head back in. “Love you!”

Law pulls his hat down further, props his book up higher, and sinks into his chair. His voice is a quiet mumble as he returns the sentiment. “Love you too.” Which, he really does; he’s just a little shy.

#fanfic #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece x you #x reader #law x reader #law x y/n #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #sanji x you #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #trafalgar law #roronoa zoro

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corroded-hellfire · 4 months ago

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Prompt Day 23: Up and Coming

Word Count: 999

Rating: M

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

CW: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, f receiving

Summary: After a show the audience might be calling for their favorite Corroded Coffin lead singer, but he only has eyes for you.

@corrodedcoffinfest

“Thank you, guys! Thank you!”

Eddie opens the door to the tour bus, ushering you inside before him as the crowd that waited outside the venue cheers and screams.

The moment you’re both inside, Eddie shuts the door and locks it behind him.

“Thank God,” he mumbles as he steps into the living area.

He pins you up against the nearest wall and uses his large ringed hands to hold your arms above your head.

“Something you wanted?” you tease, lifting your chin in defiance.

Your boyfriend smirks and lowers his head to press feather light kisses to the side of your neck. A soft hum rumbles against your skin.

“Been waiting to get you alone since I stepped on stage tonight,” he murmurs as he makes his way up your jaw.

“Well, now you’ve got me.” You close your eyes and bite your lip as Eddie starts kissing the spot on the side of your neck that drives you crazy. It’s getting harder to keep your composure and your slightly bratty facade.

“And I don’t intend to let you go until I’m finished with you,” Eddie whispers against your neck, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive area his mouth was just attached to.

“What about when I’m finished?” you ask breathlessly.

Eddie drops your wrists and roughly grips your waist. He yanks you into the bedroom at the back of the bus and snaps the door shut.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Eddie croons, backing you up until the mattress meets the back of your knees. You fall back on the tacky yellow floral blanket and your boyfriend crawls over you. “You’re gonna finish at least three times before I’m done with you.”

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you murmur, your eyes dropping down to his plush lips.

A mischievous smile lights up Eddie’s face.

“What a wonderful idea.”

So quickly that you gasp at the movement, Eddie drops down to the floor and gets to work undressing you. First the boots, then the fishnets, and lacy panties. He leaves your skirt on though, letting it bunch up around your hips as he slips his hands under your knees and tugs you to the edge of the mattress.

You can feel Eddie’s breath on your inner thighs as he hooks your legs over his shoulders.

“Fuck, been waiting for this all night,” he murmurs. “All I could think about.”

“Could be because of the song you wrote about my pussy,” you laugh.

“Hey, it’s coated in metaphors,” Eddie teases. “Very poetic shit.”

Your responding chuckle is cut off as Eddie licks a stripe up your folds. His tongue flicks over your clit and you grip the ugly blanket below you.

“Fuck,” you whine.

Eddie smirks and spreads your legs wider so he can really go to town.

And he does.

His mouth devours you, tongue expertly prodding at your hole while his nose brushes your clit over and over again. The grip he has on your thighs is bruising but you couldn’t care less.

Over your labored breathing and the obscene wet sounds coming from Eddie’s mouth, you hear a dull roaring. Curious, even as you experience euphoria, you try to make it out. When it clicks, it somehow makes this moment even hotter.

“Edd-ie! Edd-ie! Edd-ie!”

The fans outside are cheering for him. For their favorite rockstar who just performed his heart out for them. Who currently has his tongue inside you.

They’d all kill for a second of his attention, but he’s giving it all to you.

The thought mixed with the sinful dance of Eddie’s tongue has your orgasm coming in hot.

“E-Eddie, fuck, I’m gonna, I-I’m gonna…”

He hums against your pussy in acknowledgment and the vibrations send you over the edge.

Sparks dance behind your eyelids. Through every strangled breath that escapes you, Eddie works you through it all.

“Mmm, that’s my girl,” he says as he pulls back.

Your slick covers his mouth and chin. The sight mesmerizes you as Eddie lets your legs drop and begins crawling over you again. He helps you scoot yourself up towards the pillows before he leans in and claims your mouth with his own. The taste of you is mixed with cigarettes and spearmint from gum he had earlier.

Too soon for your liking, he breaks the kiss. He gazes down at you with an adoring grin and it’s all you can do not to burst into flames at his undivided attention.

Eddie ghosts his right forefinger down your jaw and uses his thumb to gently cup your chin.

“You’re my good girl, huh? Always such a good girl for me.”

If his gaze was kindling, his words are the steel flint. Fire roars through your veins and somehow you feel even hotter where Eddie’s skin meets yours.

Your hands reach down and fiddle with Eddie’s belt. His cock is straining so you quickly free him from the denim prison. As he kicks them all the way off, you yank his shirt over his head. The rest of your clothes come off next until it’s only Eddie in his boxers—but he promptly removes them too.

Your bodies know how to move in sync with one another, sensual and lustful. Eddie lines himself up and slowly pushes in.

Twin moans fill the air as the two of you are joined. Eddie rests his forehead against yours as he begins a steady pace, going deeper with each thrust.

“I love you,” he whispers through his labored breaths.

“I love you too.”

“Edd-ie! Edd-ie! Edd-ie!”

He hears it too this time. A smile quirks his lips, growing even larger when he sees that you’re enjoying the chanting.

“Like that they’re cheering me on?” he asks.

“No.” A whimper bubbles out before you continue. “They’re all cheering for you. They all want you. But you’re inside of me. You’re mine.”

The possessive look in your eye makes Eddie’s cock twitch.

“All yours, baby girl. All fucking yours.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #CCF

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cherrrydragon · 5 months ago

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➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SEVEN: INHIBITION (OR LACK THERE OF)

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SUMMARY ↳ The three C's (carnival, chaos, and cuddle pollen). Jon lets you drag him away, looking back to see Damian squinting at him through the mask. Making your way out of the venue you catch onto Ivy’s parting words. "In a world of violence and chaos, my cuddle pollen offers a moment of peace, a false but blissful reprieve. It's almost poetic, isn't it?" Fuck. Your. Life. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: mentions of having sex (as a joke/none is actually had), cuddle pollen (kind of non-con cuddling and kissing, but reader really doesn't mind) wc: 4.4k

Nari wakes you up by screeching in your ear. You groan and roll over, snatching him up and gently throwing him off the bed. You sit in bed and contemplate if you really have to get up and function as a normal person, but alas, you do. Grabbing your phone, your eyes widen a tad. Jesus, you slept till ten? Good thing it’s the weekend.

You have the day off from work, so it’s up to you to find something to do. You feed Nari, making sure to give him a bunch of apologetic kisses. Maybe you’ll swing by the Den today. It won’t hurt to work some more on the badassium.

You groan and stretch, doing some warm-up exercises. Nari perches on your back as you do push ups. He weighs nothing, but it’s the thought that counts. Karen pipes up from your laptop.

“I’ve done you the liberty of adding Victoria’s contact info on your phone.”

You release a fond sigh. “Bit of a meddler, are you?”

“I am simply saving us time.” You snort. You grab your phone, changing Victoria’s name and shoot her a text.

sugar mommy

whats good how we doing

i dont need anything just wanted to say hi

also its [name] btw

Her response comes a minute later.

[Name]???

How did you get my number?

karen did

shes kind of my guy in the chair

does all the super cool behind the scenes stuff yknow how it is

I thought I was your ‘guy in the chair’

fym ur my sugar mommy

Her only response is a money bag emoji, making you chuckle. She’s got personality and it makes you smile. A knock at the door catches your attention. Probably May coming to make sure you’re not dead. She’s gotten used to leaving early now. The lock clicks as you open the door.

Oh, it’s not May. It’s Jon .

“Jon!” you say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles, a friendly one. “Hi, [Name]. I was just visiting Dami, but he seems to be in a mood… so I was wondering if we could hang out?” he asks, hopeful. “If that’s okay with you?”

You coo internally. You’ll never get over how sweet he is. “Yeah, of course. Just text me next time, yeah?”

He nods, stepping inside as you open the door for him. Nari trots over to him and rubs against his ankles. “What time did you get up? I don’t think Metropolis is that close to GC.” You feel a little evil, putting him on the spot because you know he flew here.

He pauses, thinking of an appropriate answer. “Uh, I don’t know. Six, maybe?” he winces, hoping that answer makes sense. You don’t have it in you to do the mental calculations so early in the morning, so you nod. You wouldn’t actually out him like that, anyway.

“Got any ideas are we just gonna have hot sex the whole day?”

Jon, to his credit, only lightly blushes. He’s long gotten used to your sense of humor. “There’s that carnival that just opened.”

“Mmm, maybe later. Carnivals always look better when it’s dark.”

“Then…” he thinks, “...let’s just go for a walk. See what we find.”

You grab your keychain with far too many charms on it and your other essentials, hooking your arm in Jon's. “Lead the way.”

May doesn’t have any outward reaction save for a knowing look as you exit the building. You squint your eyes at her in response. The noise of the city greets you as you walk out. People around you go on with their days, each living their own complex life.

It’s silent for a moment as the two of you walk. You take the moment to just think for a moment. You thought life was crazy when you found out you had crazy spider powers, but then you turned it around and made it into something good. You thought life was crazy when you got asked to officially join the avengers, but then you found a family in them. You thought life was crazy when you found out about the ‘spider verse’, but from that you realized you weren’t alone. You should’ve known better than to think it couldn’t get any crazier than that, but here you are. Very far from home.

You just wonder what will come out of this .

“You’re quiet,” Jon notes, voice barely a murmur.

“Just thinking.”

“That’s not good,” he jokes. You scoff and consider flicking him, but it would probably hurt.

“Just thinking how hard it’ll be for Damian to look me in the eye the next time I see him.”

Jon raises a brow. “What… happened between you and Damian? Is that why he was in a mood?”

“So crazy story, he walked in on me making out with my kind-of bully.” Jon’s eyes widen incredibly. His pace stutters and he chokes on air. You grin as you watch his flail. “Making out might be generous, but it was pretty passionate.”

You continue, “God, you should’ve seen the look on his face. He genuinely stopped functioning for a sec! He’s a bigger virgin than I thought. Or maybe it was just that it was with Tori of all people. It’s okay though, she’s not all that she seems.”

Jon stops walking altogether, accidentally yanking you to a stop as well. You blink at him.

“Ok…” he starts, “first of all, you kissed your bully?” he asks incredulously.

“Well, like I said, she's not all that she seems,” you shrug. He nods, still looking at you in disbelief.

“So… what? Are you guys… dating?” he hesitates to say the word.

You scratch your nose, looking down. “Nah… we talked it out, she uh…” you trail off, “...it was a spur of the moment thing, we’re just friends. Now, anyway.” You feel bad saying you rejected the girl who was in love with you, but you also can’t say everything that went down.

You look at Jon, seeing him also looking down in thought. His brows are furrowed, you wonder how strange it is to Damian if it’s so strange to Jon. He nods after a bit, continuing his walk. His arm holds yours a bit tighter.

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met,” he laughs disbelievingly.

Probably because this isn’t your universe. “Probably because I’m so awesome all kinds of people want a piece of me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” you grin.

For as drab as Gotham City is, at least this carnival provides a little bit of color. The vibrant lights provide an enchanting atmosphere. You can’t help but grin. Jon watches you with a smile.

“What do you want to do first?”

“Pie eating contest.”

He blinks. “Okay?” He’s a little confused by your quick and confident reply. Now don’t be alarmed, you usually eat three meals a day. The meals are just… well, some might argue if they’re actually meals or not. Tony estimated that you should be eating five proper meals a day to combat your increased metabolism. You’re not starving or anything as you are now, but if you ever get injured your increased healing won’t help.

“I wanna eat,” is your only explanation as you drag him to the stand.

Jon chuckles as you drag him along, his smile widening at your enthusiasm. “Alright, I’ll join you,” he smiles, matching your energy. The two of you approach the stand where a small crowd has gathered around a makeshift stage. A lively carnival barker stands at the front, rallying contestants and spectators alike.

“Step right up, folks! Who’s got what it takes to be the pie-eating champion of Gotham tonight?” the man announces enthusiastically, his voice carrying over the excited chatter of the crowd.

You and Jon sign up eagerly, taking your places at the contestant table. The rules are simple: eat as much pie as you can within a set time limit. The pies, piled high with whipped cream and fruity filling, look delectable under the carnival lights.

The contest begins, and you and Jon dig in with gusto. The pies are delicious, each bite bringing a burst of sweet flavor. The crowd cheers and laughs as you both devour your way through the pies, alternating between bites and glances at each other, each trying to outpace the other.

Jon manages to finish his first pie just as you’re halfway through yours. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, grinning at you challengingly. “You’re pretty good at this,” he remarks between bites.

You flash him a competitive smirk, determined not to be outdone. “I eat a lot,” you quip back, mouth full of pie.

The contest continues, the pace quickening as the time ticks down. Cheers and encouragement from the crowd spur you on, adding to the thrill of the competition. Despite the messiness and the rapidly filling sensation in your stomach, you keep going, driven by the desire to win and the sheer enjoyment of the moment.

Finally, the timer buzzes, signaling the end of the contest. You and Jon set down your forks, breathing heavily but grinning broadly at each other. The man approaches to determine the winner.

“And the winner is…” he declares dramatically, waiting. After a tense moment, he announces, “It’s a tie!”

You and Jon exchange a look of surprise and then burst into laughter, both of your mouths covered in pie and thoroughly satisfied. The crowd applauds, appreciating the spirited effort you both put into the contest. You fancy yourself smug, seeing as you kept up with a kryptonian.

Jon wipes his hands and face with a napkin, chuckling as he looks at you. "I can't believe we tied," he says, shaking his head in amusement.

You nod, still grinning widely. "Yeah, I can’t believe you kept up with me.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

The man hands each of you a small prize—a colorful ribbon that declares you both "Pie Eating Champions of Gotham City Carnival". You both accept the ribbons with good humor, pinning them onto your shirts proudly.

As you step away from the contest table, Jon nudges you playfully. "So, what's next on our carnival adventure?"

You glance around, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling carnival. The vibrant lights of the rides beckon in the distance, and the aroma of cotton candy and popcorn fills the air. "Let's hit the Ferris wheel," you suggest, pointing towards the towering structure adorned with sparkling lights.

Jon nods eagerly. "Sounds good to me. Let's go," he says, grabbing your hand as you make your way towards the Ferris wheel.

The line isn’t too long. The worker wishes you a good ride as the two of you step into the brightly colored gondola, slowly ascending to the sky.

As the ride reaches its peak, you both fall silent for a moment, taking in the view. The city skyline looms in the distance, a stark contrast to the colorful and carefree world of the carnival. For a brief moment, you feel a sense of peace and contentment, grateful for this simple yet memorable night with Jon.

"This is nice," Jon remarks, leaning back comfortably in his seat. You nod in agreement, admiring the view.

Jon looks at you, thinking. There are a million things he wants to say, wants to admit to you. He wonders how you would react to each and every one of them. With only positivity, he’s sure. You’re the type to go with the flow, whatever happens, happens. He’s certain he could trust you with his life, eventually.

He takes a deep breath, unsure what’s about to come out of his mouth. “[Name]–”

The Ferris wheel rocks violently for a heart stopping moment. For the other riders, mostly. You and Jon immediately stiffen to attention, because Ferris wheels aren’t supposed to do that. Jon crosses over to you, locking you in his embrace as he looks over the edge. You try to look as well, but a simple tense of his arms prevents you.

A threatening green is making headway across the carnival grounds, sending people running. Vines bloom, crawling over stands and attractions. Poison Ivy, looking as prickly as ever, strides in gracefully.

"This carnival is a blight on this land," Ivy declares, her voice carrying over the chaos. "You trample on nature for your own amusement, but no longer. Tonight, the Earth fights back."

Oh, great. You can’t do anything because you’re stuck in the air with Jon. Jon can’t do anything because he’s stuck in the air with you. You sigh, leaning back against him.

With a wave of her hand, flowers bloom amidst the destruction, a stark contrast to the panic around her. Ivy's plants begin to dismantle the carnival, reclaiming the area for nature. Her message is clear: the environment will no longer be taken for granted, and anyone who harms it will face her wrath. Vines crawl up the Ferris wheel, wrapping around the gondolas in a nightmarish display.

“Um. Any bright ideas?” you ask Jon.

He says pulling out his phone, he pulls it out of your view and begins to type furiously. You bet a hundred bucks it’s Damian and Jon is furiously texting him to haul ass and get here now .

A vine thrusts itself into the box, making Jon yank you both to the floor in the middle. It spreads slowly, hauntingly, slowly encompassing the gondola. Flowers bloom… ah shit—

Jon shifts the two of you, blocking you from the flowers. Also putting himself directly in front of them. “Jon don’t–” you warn, because regardless of his heritage, it can still affect him. Even more so since he’s only half. He presses your face into his chest right as the flower coughs, releasing the spores right in his face.

“Don’t breathe them in,” he growls. Thanks, you weren’t planning on it anyway. You hold your breath, anyway.

He’s getting antsy. “[Name],” he mutters gravely. “Please. Close your eyes and trust me.”

You internally sigh, preparing how you’re going to act like the most aloof fool after this. You nod and close your eyes. Jon picks you up, arms under your knees and around your back. You wind your arms around his neck and rest against his chest.

Jon, to his credit, doesn’t just fly down the ride. You feel him jump down the bars of the Ferris wheel, making sure to keep you secure in his arms. His landings are precise and calculated, avoiding the chaos below. You hear the gasps and shouts from the people around you as Jon navigates through the mess of vines.

Finally, you feel the solid ground beneath you as Jon gently sets you down. “Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he says softly.

You open your eyes and find yourself standing amidst the carnage, the Ferris wheel towering above you. Vines continue to spread, and the air is filled with the panicked cries of carnival-goers trying to escape. Jon stands protectively beside you, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Ivy.

“We have to stop her,” you blurt. He looks at you incredulously. You ignore it and look around, trying to find a way to do this without Spinnerette. Eyes narrowing, you spot something in the distance.

“There.” You point at a nearby water tower. “If we flood the area, it might disrupt her control over the plants.”

“Good plan. You should leave it to the professionals.”

You blink, turning around. It’s Robin who spoke, arms crossed and looking at you. However, it’s the sight of the 6’2 emo bitch dressed in a bat fursuit that makes you stiffen.

“Robin! You came!” Jon brightens, before coughing into his fist. “I mean. Of course you came, you’re Robin.” The urge to roll your eyes at his silliness is strong, but you resist.

Batman doesn’t react, though you’re sure he just sighed on the inside. “You should get to safety with the rest of the civilians,” he grumbles out in his Batman™ voice.

You nod rapidly. “Yup yup. Yessir Mr Batman.” You grip Jon’s wrist and drag him away. Fuck that, majorly. If he says leave it up to him, you’re perfectly fine with that. You’re pretty sure he’s gonna take what you said and connect some dots, and you don’t wanna be around when that happens. He can take his theories and shove it up his ass.

Jon lets you drag him away, looking back to see Damian squinting at him through the mask. Making your way out of the venue you catch onto Ivy’s parting words.

"In a world of violence and chaos, my cuddle pollen offers a moment of peace, a false but blissful reprieve. It's almost poetic, isn't it?"

Fuck. Your. Life.

Jon is looking just a tad bit worse for wear (you’re lying, he looks haggard) when you arrive at your apartment. May, thank god, wasn’t at the desk, so you managed to get by without having to deal with that. You shove Jon onto the couch, wincing with a small apology. Frantically typing, you google how to deal with cuddle pollen.

The number one suggestion is to visit Gotham General Hospital, but given Jon’s less than human nature, that's a no go. Other results suggest drinking lots of water and sweating it out to dilute its affects.

You throw your phone somewhere and quickly fetch some water for Jon. Nari meows at Jon, sensing something is wrong. When you make your way back you see that Jon has trapped Nari in his arms, cooing unintelligibly at him.

“Drink,” you tell him urgently, lifting his chin. He leans into your touch, obeying. You make sure he drinks every last drop. When he finishes you turn around to get some more water, only to be yanked back. You crash into Jon’s arms, watching as Nari trots away, happy to be free. You wish you were Nari right now.

Jon nuzzles into you, humming contently.

“Jon…” you warn.

“Yeah, baby?” he hums. Jesus.

“You’re under the effects of cuddle pollen. Your mind is scrambled. Just let me get you some water–”

He hugs you tighter at the mention of you leaving, standing up with you in his arms. You try to get free, holding your own for a bit. But alas, he wins. Stupid kryptonian biology. He carries you to the bedroom, setting you down on the bed.

You blink. “Okay, hang on–”

Jon belly flops right on top of you, earning an ‘oof’ from you. He wraps his arms around you, snuggling into your collarbone. He sighs in content as he relaxes on you. There’s no hope for you to escape, is there?

“Jon, come on. Let’s… do jumping jacks or something. Sweat it out of your system. You can even hold my hand!”

Jon grumbles, burying his face in your neck. “I know something else we can do to get sweaty.”

You blink. Then snort. Damn, is that the cuddle pollen talking or is your influence taking effect? You feel Jon smile against your neck.

Sighing, you acknowledge that you’re not getting out of this situation. You hesitantly rest your arms around him. You feel his grin get wider, and then he surprises you even further by laying a goddamn kiss against your neck. You grumble and mutter, “I am going to make fun of you so hard after this.”

Laying there, you think. If you didn’t just compromise yourself to Batman, then hopefully you won’t be approached when you next patrol. Or worse, when you're just being a regular civilian.

You blink, deciding you’re gonna be a little shit.

“Jon,” you say, “give me your phone.”

Jon reaches into his pocket, unlocking his phone and handing it to you. It’s got a couple cracks in it, and his wallpaper features a photo of a sunset over a vast farm. You scroll through his contacts, clicking the one that says ‘damian !! (stinkin loser)’. You click the call button, hoping he’s done superheroing and has time to answer.

He answers on the third ring. “Jon, you fool, what were you–”

“Damian,” you interrupt before he says something you’re not supposed to know. The line goes quiet on the other end. “I’ll keep it brief. Jon got absolutely fucked over with a face-full of cuddle pollen and he won’t let me go. We’re at my apartment, so if you can pull some rich people strings and get an antidote or something I would very much appreciate it.”

“...He won’t let go of you?”

You roll your eyes and snap a picture of Jon wrapped around you. “Help,” is all you say after you send it.

You hear him sigh. “I’ll be there in fifteen,” is all you hear before the call cuts. Jon yanks the phone away from you, throwing it somewhere in the room as he flips the two of you over. You lay on his chest now, feeling his chin rest on your head and his hands come up to rest on your waist, fingertips creeping up under your shirt.

Your phone is in the other room and you didn’t see where Jon threw his, so you’re left to stew in his arms until Damian comes. You begin to hum a song, for your own peace of mind, ignoring the way Jon’s hands rub your skin in a back-and-forth motion. Jon removes one of his hands and places it on the back of your head, pushing you into his neck. The bastard lays another kiss on your head, muttering comforting words.

Damn, you think you’re starting to fall asleep. Sue you for feeling safe in his arms, he’s literally Superboy. It doesn’t help that you're lying in bed and he's rubbing your back so softly you feel like he’s your boyfriend comforting you after a long day.

You hear your door kick open, and the only reason your fight response doesn’t kick in is because you’re still stuck in Jon’s arms, and because you know it’s Damian. Jon on the other hand, immediately sits up, glaring hard at your hallway. When Damian shows up in your doorway, bag in hand, he relaxes. He lies back down in the bed, snuggling in to you.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

He ignores your weak greeting, digging into his bag and pulling out a syringe filled with what can only be the antidote. You pointedly make a note to definitely not mention how the needle is green.

“Just be careful he doesn’t grab you. He’s… really strong,” you mutter.

He grabs Jon’s head, pushing it aside to bare his neck. You’re surprised Jon lets him, but cuddle pollen does leave people without inhibition. Damian sticks the needle in, making Jon groan. You watch the fluid disappear, feeling peaceful knowing that this will soon be over. Damian finishes administering the antidote and takes a seat on the bed.

“Thanks for… coming through,” you say. You don’t know what else you can really talk about right now.

Damian just looks at you. “What were you even doing there?”

He means the carnival. You furrow your brows. “Hanging out? Sorry we didn’t predict that Poison Ivy was gonna be there. Maybe you should talk to Batman about that.”

“You could have been hurt. Jon did get hurt.”

“It’s just cuddle pollen, Dami,” you reassure, placing a hand on his arm. He grasps it tightly. “You gave him the antidote, he’s not hurt.”

Damian’s grip on your arm is firm, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re lucky it was just that. It could have been worse.”

You nod, understanding his concern, but feeling a bit annoyed at the same time. “I know, I know. But we’re fine now. Jon’s going to be okay.”

Damian's expression softens slightly at your reassurance, though his concern is still evident. He looks at Jon, who seems to be coming out of the pollen's effects, his grip on you loosening. Damian then turns his attention back to you, his gaze intense.

"You shouldn't take unnecessary risks," he says, his voice low but firm. "Especially not with someone like Jon."

You raise an eyebrow at the implication in his tone. "Are you implying something about Jon?"

“Jon is… brave, but restless. Just be more cautious.”

You give him a playful smirk. "Are you worried about me, Damian Wayne? That's almost sweet."

He scowls slightly, clearly not amused by your teasing. "I'm serious, [Name]. This city is dangerous enough without getting caught up in avoidable situations."

“I promise to be more careful in the future,” you say, eyes earnest. It seems to settle Damian, for now.

Jon groans under you. He sits up, taking you with him. You fall to his lap as you look at him. He blinks for a moment, taking in his surroundings. You hear his heartbeat slowing, calming. He looks at Damian, looks at you. Stares at you, whom his arms are around, in his lap.

He freaks, shoving you out of his embrace and scrambling back. Damian catches you, growling, “You fool, Jon, careful!”

“I’m so sorry!” he cries. “I was… oh my god, I’m so sorry–”

You hold out your hands to placate him. “Jon, it’s okay! I’m fine, I don’t care. You weren’t in control. You didn’t do anything.”

“I should have left when I got hit,” he growls to himself.

You sigh, looking at Damian for help. “What’s done is done. No use in whining about it now,” he huffs, shifting you to sit up.

Jon purses his lips, looking like he wants to cry. You open your arms, “Come on.”

He hesitates, so you grab him and haul him into your embrace. He stiffens, before wrapping his arms around you. He melts into your embrace.

Damian clears his throat, making Jon pull back with a sheepish expression. “I should really get home before my parents worry.”

You nod, patting his arm. “Of course.”

He thanks Damian as well on his way out. You don’t hear the door open, so you figure he just got antsy and couldn’t stay in the room longer. You don’t blame him. You sigh when you see he left his phone, grabbing it and handing it to Damian.

“Thank you,” you mutter. You look into his eyes, he looks back. In a moment of weakness, you place a hand on his cheek and lean in, pressing your lips to his other one. The kiss is chaste, barely lasting for a second before you pull back. “You’re paying for my door.”

Damian says nothing in response, simply watching you. He raises his hand, clasping yours and gently bringing it down. He nods.

“It was nothing.” And then he and Jon are out the door. You sigh, laying down in your bed that smells like Jon now. No patrol tonight, again.

notes: jon was about to risk it all on that ferris wheel just saying

#damian wayne x reader #jon kent x reader #dc x reader #robin x reader #superboy x reader

187 notes · View notes

reverieblondie · 1 year ago

Text

Clumsy Kitty: Part 2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Blackcat Fem!!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, oral (fem receiving), Teasing, Spanking, Inquiries, slight angst? Unprotected Penetrative Sex, Miguel dosen't communicate well and neither do you.

Summary: After your night with a specific grumpy spider you test the limits to your new found...relationship?

A/N: So I rewrote this a lot because this originally wasn't supposed to have a part two but here we are! Hope you enjoy!

Part 1

Word Count: 6,157 (I wish I knew how to write smaller fics!)

Eyes still shut you are leaning on the warmest thing you have ever felt. It's so silky soft you can’t help but nuzzle your face deeper. The smooth breathing and the sound of a steady heartbeat lolls you further into a relaxed state.

Very gently you feel the solid warm mass being replaced with a cool pillowly feeling, you feel yourself pout from the loss of warmth but you're too exhausted, your body feeling too drained to even muster a protest. The warmth is back for a single moment, it softly brushes from over your swollen lips to your cheek. The soft touch makes you drift further into the sweet darkness of rest.

Almost as quick as it was to slip into your slumber you are rushing to awaken from it. Opening your eyes abruptly you are met with the sight of your room, lying in your sheets, wrapped in your comforter smelling like the detergent you used to clean all your clothes. Blinking for a couple of minutes your brain goes over everything that happened last night.

Going to lean up your now awake body feeling painfully sore, Plopping back down you feel the soreness everywhere your arms, your legs, your throat, your aching sex. Spider-Man or scratch that Miguel did a number on you. Though you would do it again, you plan to do it again.

Stretching your arms you hear your bones pop and the soreness stretch through your shoulders, where's the damn Tylenol? Getting up, the rest of your body aching from standing awake you finally look over to your nightstand where a note catches your eye. A paper folded to stand says ‘Take me’ and there's an arrow pointing down to a pill. Ah, plan B smart.

Grabbing the pill and the card you walk to your restroom, examining the card you assume to be from Miguel you take in how nice his handwriting is, and turning the card over you see another message for you, ‘stay out of trouble’. A small chuckle leaves your lips and you stand in your small bathroom.

“Stay out of trouble huh?” you say with a smirk, looking back to the pill you laugh slightly again before unceremoniously dropping the pill in the toilet and flushing it down.

Probably should tell Spidy you're on the pill, no plan B needed, and also there is no way in hell you're going to be staying out of trouble now, not when you've got so deliciously rewarded for your little escapades. Now the trick will be how to see him again…you know now where his little clubhouse’s location and you could always do your tried and true getting into trouble, though what if you should try to see him out of the suit, like just regular people…would that even work? Could you even find him?

Losing yourself in thought you run through the possibilities, though one thing rings in your mind, does he want to see you again? Whelp, that's just something you will have to figure out.

Taking a deep breath you look at your reflection in the mirror, time to get ready for another mundane day. Though your day was sure to be as mundane as any other, the excitement of what the night could hold has you looking forward to your day.

Now, you might be crazy or just too dickmotized but going into the same museum that you had first met Spider-man seemed like an almost romantic way to meet him again. Poetic really. Walking through the museum you walked around looking for something good to snatch up. Your eyes fall on some relic-looking thing in a glass box with lots of lasers to set off, perfect!

Public eye hot your tail, and you're running from them hoping from building to building then finally slipping to the underground, a place they are sure to lose you in. It worked but you're a bit disappointed, Miguel failed to appear. Now stuck with some relic you don’t even want you to start to make your trek back to your apartment.

Swinging from building to building, you stop to rest in a dark alley, you need to work out more if you're going to keep this up. Taking your breather you fail to hear the person sneaking up behind you.

Suddenly a large hand is placed over your mouth while the other wraps tightly around your waist. Being pressed against the solid body of your capture you only panicked for a moment before feeling that familiar warmth. Turning your head you see that it’s the masked vigilante himself pressing you close. Dragging you further into the ally, and you let him lead the way. Finally being secluded enough to his liking he releases you. While he releases you he grabs the relic from your hand.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of trouble?” Miguel places the relic to the side before he crosses his arms, you know under that mask he's giving you that furrowed brow look of disappointment.

“Oh well you know old habits die hard,” You say slowly getting closer to him. You reach your hand out to touch his chest but he quickly grabs your wrist before you can touch him. Looking at him you're a bit confused but filled with anticipation.

Pulling you closer he causes you to crash into him holding you tightly, more bruises for your already sore body. You can't help but feel that familiar excitement from the last time you two were this close.

“Kitty, I told you to keep out of trouble, if you keep up this bad behavior I will be forced to do something about it…”

Oh, this is perfect, he is definitely into your bad girl behavior, “Well then do something abou-” Before you can even finish your sentence, you are turned around and quickly pinned to the nearest wall.

“You're in trouble now gata, now count…”

“Count-” Right as you're saying the word back to him you feel a hard slap across your ass. Mouth hanging open in surprise you don’t even know what to do. The rush of excitement makes your lower stomach tighten as you feel that familiar tingling. Hands grip hard to the wall and you brace yourself.

“Count…” his gruff voice demands in your ear.

“One” turning your face still against the wall you see that he’s still in that damned mask. The eyes narrow at you then another spank strikes you making a quick moan escape you. Your body shakes in excitement, “Two”

Miguel's large hand can be felt running up your body from your hip to your breast massaging gently. It's a completely different feeling from the sharp slap following the gesture. “Th-three” you stutter out, the spanking is degrading enough but forcing you to count, it was making your slick pool in your panties.

A fourth slap and you're starting to feel the stinging pain welling up on your cheek. After mewing out “four” you feel him rub his large hand on the plush flesh of your bottom. The sweet gesture has you arching yourself towards him feeling his length straining in his suit.

As you're grinding your ass against him, he moves his hand away, reeling back. Knowing what’s going to follow you shying away from the incoming spank before he’s even done it.

Soft lips are then pressed to your neck and his hand moves from your breast to grip your chin. Feeling his desperate open mouth kisses burning against your neck, your eyes rolling as he approaches the shell of your ear, nipping slightly.

“Don’t shy from it now bad girl, take your punishment…” nodding your head slightly you still yourself as best you can, clenching your thighs and shutting your eyes tightly, bracing for the delicious sting.

The fifth spank comes down, but it’s gentle still felt but not as hard as the other four. The warmth of his body moves away from you and you can’t help how you almost whine missing his warmth so close to you. -you’ve got it bad…

Turning around still pressed against the wall you see his mask is off and he's smirking at you, clearly proud of himself. And he should be, your body is heated, face flushed, and panties are ruined. If the goal was to turn you on and take you in the alley it was working and you were willing.

Though, to your disappointment, he grabs the relic you stole instead of ravishing you further.

“Was that supposed to teach me a lesson? I think you could have done more than that” you tease trying to get a reaction.

“What do you even need this for?” Miguel tosses the relic in the air and catches it casually.

“To lure you out spidy” Danm, getting good at this confident banter.

Miguel shoots you a look that you easily read as he silently says ‘really’, you can’t help but laugh, “You're the one who keeps rewarding my bad behavior” This gets a soft chuckle from him. -Hell yeah! Fall for my charm spidy.

Miguel's mask goes back over his face and before he goes to swing off into the night Miguel tosses the stolen relic back to you, “Make sure you be a good kitty and take that back.”

Going to grab the relic, you're trying your best to catch the priceless artifact. However, you have never been good at catching.

The relic fumbles in your hands before it crashes onto the ground breaking into pieces. The impact makes your hands fly to cover your mouth to hold in your yelp, this is not good… Slowly you lift your eyes to Miguel as he stares down at the ruined artifact before he slowly rises to view your shocked face.

“Really…” his voice says dryly

“I wasn’t expecting you to throw it!”

Breaking a priceless artifact and then haphazardly gluing it back together before returning it to the museum was not one of your prouder moments. Can’t say it didn’t fit in with the bad girl persona, even without trying you were slipping into your naughty girl ego. Though Miguel didn’t exactly seem happy about a priceless relic being destroyed. -whoops

You would just have to make it up to him. Did it involve you breaking into somewhere and stealing? Yes, but you made sure to steer clear of anything too irreplaceable so you opted for Alchemax, a place that every time you sunk it Miguel was a forsure arrival.

It was the chase that had your mouth watering, barely slipping through Spider-Man’s fingers as you ran away with whatever bullshit seemed important. Honestly it didn’t matter, he was chasing you with that taunting tone of come back and you were swinging and climbing barely out of reach. Miguel could have caught you easily, he was stronger and way more agile in the air than you, but something told you he was enjoying chasing his prey as you led him closer and closer to your apartment.

Spider-man catches the bad blackcat to face justice, and if the place he so happens to catch you in was your apartment then so be it. Sure the neighbors would be confused about who this so-called Miguel is as they file a noise complaint about you. But he had to be rough with you slamming into you over and over as you begged for forgiveness and promised to be a good girl. How else would he teach such a bad girl a lesson?

Too lost in the thrill of the chase and the fantasy of the night in store for you; you don’t notice that your grappling claw is releasing at a delay. So, once you jump off the side of the building and shoot for the next, it jams.

Panicking, you're trying to release it but it's not reacting and now you're falling. The ground is fast approaching as the neon lights of the city blur in your vision. You're quickly trying to find something to grab or something to land on. This is something you have never thought would happen and now it’s happening, you should have planned better. Trying not to panic you can’t help how you slip a cry of Miguel's name, slipping his identity is a major no no but you don’t know how else to convey you are in trouble.

Though your outing of his name isn’t even registering to him right now, he just sees you falling to the ground; panic consuming him. In an instant, he's jumping down, crawling, falling, then grabbing you in a bone-breaking embrace. The force of him hitting you in such a desperate attempt has you both crashing into the nearest building's window. Breaking and entering unintentionally.

A throbbing pain can be felt on your head and talons can be felt piercing through your suit and skin, holding you so tightly in his burning warmth. The blazing warmth of the tight embrace almost has you not registering how the blood weeps from your wounds. Breathing in a stutter from the adrenaline and from how he is almost crushing you, it only tightens further until you can relinquish one steady breath that eases him. Pulling away from him you can only imagine what's behind his mask in this moment, anger, happiness, relief, fear?

Suddenly a sharp pain makes your brows furrow and your hand shoots towards the pain, placing your hand to your side you feel it then looking down you see it. A shard of glass embedded into your side blood coating the transparent intrusion. Not used to such injuries you scream then almost faint but Miguel is swift to catch you in his arms. An injury like this is nothing to him you assume from his apparent calm demeanor.

“Really I will be fine” You sat on the couch as you heard Miguel shuffling around your bathroom muttering to himself. With his mask off, you see that it is not a calm or even a pitting demeanor; he’s irritated and it seems to be pointed at you.

Coming back into view you see he has managed to scrunch up some supplies to help take care of you. Laying all the supplies on the table he doesn't meet your eyes. Feeling guilty about the whole situation your eyes fall to the floor, this was not what you had in mind for the evening.

Fingers caress your chin making you look and meet his eyes, those eyes…absolutely hypnotic…you can’t help how you slowly lean in wanting to kiss him. But he moves his head back slightly avoiding your advance, looking down at your side still impaled with the glass and his face twists into further irritation.

“This might hurt,” he says dryly.

“What?” swiftly Miguel pulls the glass from your side, honestly not all as deep and bad as you had originally thought, But the sudden yanking out of you is painful.

“Son of a bitch!” you yipe at the sting. The stinging pain was quickly dissipating as Miguel worked tentatively to patch up the wound. Honestly, him playing doctor with you was making your stomach swarm with butterflies.

Wanting to flirt and tease him you decide against it as you look down at his face. Seeing him with a serious face was nothing new for you but in this moment there was an air about him that was making you walk on eggshells. Miguel had hardly said anything to you this whole time, he was just speaking under his breath or just giving sharp commands.

“Okay strip, I need to patch the rest” Miguel demands as he stands away from you.

Gently you run your hand along your side where he had bandaged you up. Looking up at your hero, he’s refusing to meet your gaze as he is prepping alcohol on a cotton pad and setting up more bandages for you.

Standing carefully you start to disarm your gadgets and slip off your suit letting it pool onto the ground beneath you. Having to strip down in front of him has your face blooming in a deep blush. Yes, the man has seen you naked, hell he’s been inside you but the situation still makes your stomach flutter.

Once stripped to your underwear Miguel gently turns you around to observe the inquiries to your back. Softly his hand traces where his talons had punctured and scratched your skin. The dried blood trails down your back and he is extra gentle as he cleans you up with a rag. Applying the alcohol to the wounds makes you tense releasing a hiss, the sting disinfects and cleans the marks. Tension in the air is thick as he gently begins to patch your wounds with bandages, you hear him faintly whisper an apology as his large hands work on you. Unsure if he meant for you to hear the apology you just hum softly.

Once you're finally patched up he moves away from you and starts packing away the supplies. Softly you thank him and he only hums in response still avoiding meeting your eyes. Awkwardness makes you fidget and you excuse yourself to your room to put on something. Miguel is always quiet and sure he is not the most commutative but he’s acting strange, even if he was mad at you from past experiences with him you know he wouldn’t shy away from telling you that he was mad at you, so what's his deal?

Quickly you slip your shirt and shorts on returning to the living room. Sat on the couch you see Miguel looking down at your suit and gadgets neatly folded and placed on the coffee table. Seeing him still in your apartment has you surprised, with the way he has been quiet you were sure he was angry with you and would have slipped out but he’s still here…Maybe he wants to stay and look after you for the night! That would be a welcomed surprise!

“Can I get you some coffee?” you ask eagerly while rushing towards the kitchen, but as you are rushing to make coffee you stub your toe on the couch leg as you are passing it; letting out a sharp cry as you hold your foot. How did this hurt more than the glass?

“You can’t even walk in your apartment without hurting yourself.” Miguel laments, shaking his head as he walks past you making his way to the kitchen.

Shortly after Miguel is placing a hot coffee in front of you as you sit on the couch favoring your foot; he even places down sugar and creamer on the table. Looking up at him you see him drinking his coffee, steaming hot and black you assume based on his personality.

“Than-”

“I’m taking the suit and the stuff with me…” he interrupts sharply

“What? Why?” you ask confused.

“Are you serious? You almost died today! Look at you!” Miguel's eyes are piercing you as his body tenses further.

Deep down you know that Miguel was right, your inquiries could have been a lot worse if he wasn’t there, you understand that, but taking your suit to prevent you from being Blackcat was overreaching.

“Look what happened was scary but I am okay and I’m going to make sure to fix it where it doesn't happen again.” Reaching your hand out you step closer to him, but he backs away from you.

“So am I,” Miguel says dryly, staring daggers into you, unwavering in his decision.

Opening your mouth to further protest you are cut off by Miguel's watch beeping and his holo agent appearing. “Miguel, we have a situation that needs back up”

Miguel's eyes stay on you roaming over your figure watching the bruises slowly blooming on your skin and the patches he so tentatively wrapped you in.

“Tell them I’m on the way…”

“Right away~”

Miguel swiftly grabs your suit and gadgets from the coffee table heading towards your window to make his exit.

“Miguel, wait! You can’t leave now! This isn’t over!”

“That's where you're wrong…it is over…”

Stopping dead in your tracks you feel a sharp sting in your chest from his sharp words. Does he mean the conversation or does he mean…

“Wait!”

Halfway out of the window he turns to look at you cutting you off again, “Just finish your coffee and for once listen to me.”

The pain and confusion must be evident on your face because, for a split second, you see his face go from irritated to concerned before his watch goes off again, making him break his stare and slip out your window into the restless night. Taking your alter ego with him leaving your head whirling.

Who does he think he is? Taking your stuff and leaving! Taking away the one thing that was keeping your life entertaining! If he thinks he can just take your stuff without consequence he has another thing coming! Plus what did he mean by over? Does he mean your crimes or did he mean…you two?

It had been two days and you had healed up and couldn't take it anymore. Sneaking into his HQ you were ready to enact petty revenge. It was a lot easier to break in this time, maybe it was the fact that you had done it before or the fact that you were driven by your anger but you were a cat on a mission!

Miguel taking the things that you worked painstakingly hard to create was driving you mad, little did that grump know you made an extra set of grappling claws for emergencies like this. Though you didn't have another suit you had to just settle on an all-black ensemble, not as super thief looking but the hoodie was comfortable.

Starting off sneaking in, were you quickly seen by multiple spider-people? Employees? Whatever, they didn't seem to care about you being in there very much, a few even waved at you saying “Miguel's cats here” or some cat-related pun. You weren't listening, just focused on getting to his office.

Finally making it to the dark office you can’t help how your chest aches from being in the place that took your criminal x superhero relationship up a notch. Up to a level that you were not exactly sure what it was or how to define it. Complicated? Enemies with benefits? though now that the two of you were upset with each other you were even more confused.

How do you even talk to him about this? Do you talk to him about this? Shit, are you here making an idiot of yourself? Just had to like the hero ....you're not good at this bad girl game…

Rummaging around his office you do not care if you're making a ruckus or even a mess. You wanted Miguel to show his stupidly handsome face, and give him a nice verbal thrashing of all the things you thought to say after he left.

There was a part of you that wished this would end up like the last time you were here, ending with you wrapped in his arms…growing closer…this alter ego is how you got to see him after all, it's not like you have ever met as civilians, hell, you didn't even know how you two would find each other…you didn’t even know his last name.

Stopping with a sigh you start to think of the word “over”. Was that his way of ending things, this, whatever it was with you…the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Now here you are so desperate for his attention, to keep it going after he told you to stop…there is no way this ends well right?

“He’s not here” A voice suddenly startles you. Looking around you try and pinpoint where it’s coming from then you look up. Walking casually on the ceiling you see a lanky-looking man in an odd-looking spider suit with a pink robe, he smiles at you before he drops down in front of you.

“Where is he then?”

“He's been out on a mission, I think he’s coming back soon though. Do you want to wait for him? Or I can call-”

“Don’t!” you say quickly cutting him off, he gives you a quizzical look.

“We aren't exactly on friendly terms right now”

“Then…Uh whatcha doing here, stray?”

“Stray?” you quickly shake off the comment “There was a slight accident, and he got all grumpy spider and took my suit and gadgets, so I am just getting revenge. Don’t try to stop me.” the man seems to only laugh at your comments so you look around for something to take till something catches your eye “How about that white and red suit? Seems important…”

“Yeah, I would advise against that. I think taking things is only going to escalate things.”

Huffing you lean against a nearby desk crossing your arms. “Then what should I do?”

The man laughs before he speaks, “Cat, you're asking for advice about a very complicated guy…”

Sighing you feel a mixture of emotions swell through you, the man leans against the desk next to you, “Have you tried talking to him?”

“This isn’t exactly a very communicative relationship, I don’t even know if he even likes me or if I am just entertaining him…”

“Oh, he likes you,” you can’t help at how you light up at that comment looking at him with pleading eyes, wanting to hear more.

“He has been in such a better mood with you around, and get this, he doesn't even mind the cat jokes. Plus..” He leans closer to whisper in your ear “I’ve seen him looking at pictures of you”

“Really,” You try to hide your enthusiasm but it seeps through making the man laugh and nod yes.

“If you ask me he seems to like you”

“He said this was done, and the bastard didn’t even bother to elaborate on what he meant!”

“So why don’t you ask him? The first time you confronted him worked out for you, why not do it again?”

“Yeah but…that was confronting Spider-Man, not Miguel whatever his name…”

The man thinks for a moment then a smirk stretches over his lips before he snaps his fingers “I have an idea!”

Either this Peters guy’s plan was completely brilliant or completely idiotic. Here you are, broken into Miguel's apartment in Babylon Tower. Waiting for him to come home to talk to him. Talking to him in his office you thought would have been better but Peter was instant that you come here. Something about forcing Miguel out of his Spider-Man ego and the shocked look on his face.

Sitting in his apartment was pretty surreal. You two have only met in costume, and now here you are unmasked and waiting for him. This felt like something people in relationships would do, not whatever you two are.

As you sit waiting in anticipation the moment finally arrives. You hear Miguel's front door opening with his holo agent greeting him and informing him that he has a visitor in the living room. Miguel rightfully looking confused approaches the room quickly, stopping in his tracks when his crimson gaze falls on you.

Watching his face contort from confusion to irritation back to confusion he finally starts to ask a question but you are the one to cut him off this time.

“I need to talk to you and…this is what your friend Peter suggested.”

Miguel rolls his eyes “Of course he did…”

Placing his eyes back on you he approaches. Coming closer, you're able to see him in his normal attire out of the iconic Super-suit, oddly he’s still as intimidating. Muscles still bulging with every movement. The shirt he was wearing was basically crying against his wide chest, One sharp movement and you're sure it would rip into a bunch of tiny pieces.

“I’m guessing you're not here to talk about getting your stuff back considering you broke in here without issue” -Okay not seeming mad this is a good start.

“Actually I do want those back but that’s a later conversation. I’m here now to talk to you about…us?” you can’t help but cringe at your own words sounding so pathetic.

Miguel on the other hand seems unfazed, “what about us?”

“Are…Is this thing over? Or was this not ever even a thing? I mean you're a hero and I'm just a thief and not even a few good one either…” As you're rambling on you fail to notice Miguel inching closer keeping his cold gaze fixed on you.

Once you finally look up Miguel has moved so close to you that he is practically pinning himself against you. All your words begin to die off as he lifts his hand to cup your cheek gently stroking your soft skin. It's almost like he’s petting you to soothe you.

“Cat…”

“Spidy…”

Leaning down his warm breath fans across your face, those blazing eyes burning into yours.

“I couldn’t be done with you even if I tried”

“Mig-”

True to himself he cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is different from your first kiss, it’s gentler. Holding onto you as if you were made of glass, Kissing you as if you are precious to him. And you are…

Beginning to move his lips against yours he opens your mouth effortlessly, then capturing your bottom lip between his teeth he pulls back and lets go making your lip pop back and swell instantly from the teasing bite.

The sensation makes you moan pressing yourself flush to his body, that warmth of his is still intoxicating to you. Moving your head to expose your neck he kisses your sensitive skin with hot open mouth kisses that lick and bite at you. Shuddering at each kiss you feel yourself getting slick between your thighs.

“Your Mine” His rough voice purs before he's lifting you effortlessly causing you to curl your legs around his narrow hips. Miguel bounces you up and down a few times just because he can. The Motion has your cunt rubbing against his strained cock tenting his pants.

Miguel carries you to his bedroom commanding Layla to dim the lights. Pressing kisses desperately against each other you finally make it to the bedroom. Crashing into the mattress doesn't stop the pursuit of each other's lips. Getting drunk on one another's taste you're making quick work to get each other naked as quickly as possible pulling and tearing at the clothing. Mouth-watering as you finally pull away to admire Miguel's body shows his sculpted physique and perfect skin, you can’t help that you start licking up and down his chest making him shamelessly whimper.

Once he can’t take anymore he's tasting your skin but kissing from your neck, licking at your collarbone, then finally finding his place at your breast. Miguel is quick to latch his mouth onto your nipple, licking and biting causing you to moan out as he continues to suck, moving from one to the other and trailing his saliva all over you, practically marking you. His other hand fumbles with the button and zipper of your pants as he snakes his fingers underneath the hem to strip them off you.

Releasing from your swollen bud he is pulling your pants off completely. Looking down at you he spreads your legs apart to watch that glistening stain on your panties. Without reservation, he's leaning down lapping at your clothed cunt eating you through the thin fabric. Feeling him sucking and rubbing his hot tongue against your bundle of nerves has your toes curling and throwing your head back. Practically begging at this point you're pushing your sex against his face selfishly wanting to chase your high.

Popping out his talons he quickly disregarded your panties, throwing the remains to the floor. Lifting his eyes to meet yours he sees your desperate eyes lidded and mouth pouting for him to taste you fully, his lips curl into a grin.

“Such a needy girl.”

Whimpering at his taunts you spread your legs wider for him then take your hand to slide across your folds to spread yourself for him.

“My girl is begging like a damn slut…You want me to take care of you, baby?”

Nodding quickly he's quick to take care of you. Leaning down he flicks his tongue on your clit making you lift your hips off the bed. Keeping his tongue working on your clit he probes his finger into you, starting with his index finger and then moving in his middle both plunging knuckles deep, curling against your gummy walls. The closer you are to your orgasm the more you tangle your hands into his thick hair, Pulling him into you more. He was right, you are needy.

Feeling that familiar quivering of your cunt and the shakes from your body he’s licking faster, getting that white-hot pleasure rushing through you as you cream on his fingers. You swear you hear him chuckle before he pulls out his digits to lick up your essence.

Once he's done he's moving away from your weeping slit, already aching for more. Discarding his pants quickly he’s already crawling back on to you. The tip of his cock bobs up and down nudging along your cunt. Leaning down he kisses you desperately making you taste yourself on his tongue. Pulling away he pumps himself as he lines up to your entrance.

“Your mine…all mine…”

All you can do is nod and hum as if you're too drunk in anticipation to give out actual answers. Sliding in you gasp at the overwhelming stretch. Your cunt is so desperate to be filled you could feel yourself practically sucking him in and the feeling is not lost on him.

“Damn…if you keep sucking me in like that, I’m not going to be able to resist filling you up,”

Mumbling out a string of yes’s you curl your legs around him as he draws his hips back to where only the tip was in. Leaning down he nudges his nose against yours probing you for a kiss, arching forward to slide your lips hungrily against his.

Thrusting upwards he hits that sweet spot deep inside you causing you to break the kiss with a moan.

“That's my girl” Pulling out and rolling into you deeper he keeps praising you “My good, good, girl,” with each word he thrusts into you deeply making you shake and cry.

“So, tight..and mine…” his words slur together dripping with lust as he continues to fuck himself deeply into you. Both of you are approaching your highs feeling his cock throb in you as he continues to moan a symphony of ‘mine’ as he ruts into you.

As you begin to feel yourself clamp around his thick cock you hear him softly say your name making you clamp down harder humming to him.

“Say your mine,” His thrust began to speed up.

“I’m yours, always,” with that he rolls into you deeper making you squirt on his cock, making a creamy mess all over him.

Groaning and grinding against you, his orgasm finally washes over him. Miguel cummed in you, it was deep and hot like the first time setting your insides ablaze. Unhooking yourself from him you're surprised to feel him lean further into you, keeping himself in you.

In this position, you could feel his racing heartbeat.

“Say I’m yours…I…I need to hear you say it” looking up at you with his intense eyes and flushed face. The sudden vulnerability makes your heart skip. He made it clear that you were his but he wanted you to want him as much, and you did.

Cupping his cheek he leans into the soft touch, “Your mine Miguel…”

“You know, this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being Blackcat,” you say resting your head on his warm chest. Miguel just chuckles slightly as he lazily traces your side, carving your figure into memory.

“Yeah, I figured you still wouldn’t listen, But maybe you can be helpful to me instead.”

A huge smile stretch’s on your face, “Are you going to let me join the spider society?”

Miguel gently creases your chin and pulls you closer to his face, “perhaps if you learn not to be so clumsy” he quickly teases before he places a kiss on your nose.

Huffing you are not entertained by his teasing. Watching him with a pout you see that perfect body of his roll off the bed heading towards the bathroom.

“You know, you're not funny Mr.-” you stop. -Shit after all that you still don't know his lastname…

“O’Hara” His smooth voice breaks your thoughts.-O’Hara, huh?

“Now come on, I want to take a shower with my pretty girl before I have to go back to HQ”

“Your leaving me already?”

Miguel approaches wrapping his arms around you pulling you closer to his bare body. “Don’t worry pet, I plan on taking you with me.” Leaning down you feel his hot breath against the shell of your ear making a familiar heat shoot down to your stomach.

“Maybe I will even let you sit on my lap while I work…”

Tags:

@xspideyxx

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alavestineneas · 11 months ago

Text

Poisonous bites

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader

summary: It's a shame, really, to kill her so soon. He was almost enjoying her—the way she trembled under his touch, the way she whispered his name in ecstasy. But that was the way of the world. There could be only one winner, and Coriolanus knew better than to believe his wife when she promised to always be loyal. If your dog bites you, someone else is feeding it. warnings: mentions of minor violence, mentions of cheating, not really canon-compliant, blood and shitty people in shitty relationships word count: 3,7k

Part 1 is here

author's note: part 2 of Losing Dogs is here! thank you for the love and support that you showed for the first chapter - hope you enjoy this one too! we all love some twisted people in fiction :)

She knows.

It's in his mind when they get into the black car, away from the president's party and obnoxiously loud music, with a few new cuts on his hands and faint blue marks on her neck.

She knows.

It's the only thought in his head when it hits the pillow at almost midnight, as her warm body lays beside him, breathing even so faintly. His brain almost explodes under the pressure of guessing her thoughts, hidden behind the soft smile and gentle touch. She, the ghost wrapped in opulent sheets, is a new figure on the chessboard. The crippling fear of being watched cuts his forehead in sharp, taunting pain.

YN, the blind lamb with sharp teeth, knows.

He did everything right. A whisper here, a bribe there, and no one noticed how a small, silly rumour grew into a threat almost overnight, pointing its sleek, twisted fingers at the President. Corrupt, illegal activities—that's what the press called them, but the truth was much less poetic. Some lines shouldn't be crossed, and some people shouldn't be trusted.

It was supposed to be a simple payback—let the bastard simmer in his own venom, betrayed by people he considered allies. But then it became something bigger: the sacred place is never empty, and the herd of sheep is always in need of guidance. That's when Coriolanus knew what he had to do for the better future of Panem. For the pride of his family. For the satisfaction of his hunger.

He is deep in his thoughts when YN appears in the doorframe; she is careful not to make too much noise as she waits for him to look up. Beautiful, like death herself— Coriolanus saw her enough times up close to recognize the dark glimmer in her eyes.

''Come here,'' he motions, clearing the space on the table for her to sit.

She does. YN's steps are light, even in the heels she always wears. There were a lot of things money couldn't buy, and class was one of them. Nobody came close to her upbringing; therefore, nobody could come close to him.

''Here,'' he hands her his speech, a careful combination of neat letters. Coriolanus watches with starved eyes as she reads, studying every expression and passing of emotion on her dolled-up face. ''What do you think?''

''It's good, really good.'' YN nods, a small smile covering her lips. ''You were always great at this type of thing, since the academy.''

Coriolanus feels a cold sting in his abdomen; she knows him. Before he became a man, before he got a chance to truly be the person he was destined to be, YN remembers a peckish, awkward boy who was pathetic enough to let an animal fool him.

''Thank you,'' he says, placing a hand on her thigh and slowly sliding it up. He likes the way her body reacts in response, leaning closer.

It doesn't matter who he was before. He won, and he is almost at the top—a few steps, and there won't be just her body underneath him—the whole country will be in his hands.

Her husband is messed up. The way he fucked her in the dining hall hours before the guest arrived, in the same dining hall where they stand, brings a smile to YN's face. Nobody suspects a thing, not even her closest confidants, who now sipped from the stylish tall glasses beside YN, conversing on everything and anything but the swollenness of her lips.

Coriolanus wants to play in politics now that he has had enough of game-making. Like a small, pouty child tired of his old toys. The thought of her husband in a one-piece strikes her as funny; her mind is drawing the picture vividly. He was, for sure, a mama's boy. He still is.

It's cute, the way he kisses her aged picture when he thinks YN can't see him, or the way he buys the rose female perfume nobody ever uses—its smell still lingers in the air every time the maids change the sheets. The only woman who can truly love is a mother, he told her one day. The only woman he thought was deserving of loving back.

YN watches as he approaches the group of men with confident steps. The people are right, the way is wrong—if it were that easy to fit in their circle, it wouldn't be as important. Just like she predicted, he is quickly cast aside to the benches of dialogue; the tall figure of her husband lingers silently, waiting for the right moment to strike.

It's entertaining to see him slowly boil, which goes unnoticed by everybody else in the hall. YN observed him for years to crack his facade as swiftly as she does now. A few moments, and he will decide to walk away, unable to swallow his pride back anymore, and there will be no chance of meeting the people he desperately needs.

''Excuse me for a moment,'' YN smiles at the women beside her, placing her glass on the gilded trail. They are good people—sure, some a little less bright and some a little less assertive as she is, but still, most of the information she finds useful comes from them—silent furniture, as they often joke. They are noticed no more than vases in the corners of their grand mansions; just like their houses, their husbands come in different shapes, and just like houses, the inside is always the same. Empty.

''Good evening, gentleman!'' she chirps, putting on one of her many expressions. She never felt bad about changing her face to fit the situation better; after all, they were all just different versions of her. ''I believe you already met my husband.'' YN delicately diverts her gaze from the black mass of suits to her husband's face, sending a loving smile his way.

The men are smitten, as usual. Who could've thought the young lad was the owner of this house? YN doesn't pay them much attention; they are never the driving force behind connections. Instead, she turns to the only woman in the bleak company.

''Missis Nej, what a lovely broch! You have to tell me where you got it; the details are incredible!''

It was true—YN sees no point in lying about liking something when the compliment is right there—a beautiful dove broch with sparkly gems instead of eyes, placed on a delicate lace.

The woman's face lights up at her words. ''I made the design myself, and then my seamstress pulled it together. I am glad you like it—isn't the stitching so fine?''

''It is! I wish I was as creative as you are; my imagination is only enough for the table centerpieces.''

''You know what? I have many other drafts at home; why don't you and your husband stop by for tea for a few hours? To see if my seamstress could come up with something for you?''

''Oh, that would be absolutely wonderful! What do you think, Coriolanus?''

What can he think? Her husband is happy things are going his way, of course, but there is something else in his gaze that makes YN's heart skip a beat. Suspicion. The only thing she should be scared of was her husband's mind—the deadliest of the weapons, his paranoia. It, like a vicious exotic, has to be put away from his reach; it sinks its teeth in everything Coriolanus feeds to it, and if he does not, turns onto him.

He smiles and nods, wrapping his hand around her bare shoulders. YN thinks she ought to be more careful; it was her job to keep him on a leash, like a beat she signed to care for. Whose fault would it be if the wild thing did what wild things do—bite?

He almost doesn't have any opponents left. Those who dared not to support the young candidate from the party were quickly silenced, and those who tried to get their hands on Snow's place were eliminated. What was better was that nothing could be traced back to the blonde male in a red suit. YN didn't worry about that.

She had to work overtime to make sure their paths didn't cross. Coriolanus never told her his plans so she could build hers. Oh, no. She had to scurry, like a rat, searching for his ideas to make sure they didn't clash with hers because, just like her mother told her, you can't put on everything best at once.

That's why YN sits in the dim, foul-smelling room on the outcast of the city during what was supposed to be a lunch hour. She almost laughs at the thought of her Coriolanus finding out where his wife spent this afternoon— in a brothel, in clothes that weren't even hers, without her usual jewellery and signature scent.

The door to the room opens quickly, but YN doesn't even bother looking in its direction. She knew what she was going to see there, so why bother?

''YN,'' the man in his forties breathes out, ''you came.''

Jerome. A tailored suit of dark brown, matching his hair. Wealthy, pretty enough, and damn stubborn. One of the few who refused to step down in elections, one of the few who still had a huge chance at winning them.

''Of course, I did—how could I not?'' She sheds a tear, breathing in his scent and hiding her face in his lean chest. ''I missed you, J; I missed you so much.''

They used to fuck before she married Coriolanus, ever since she turned eighteen. He even wanted to marry her for some time before she married Snow. YN was quite popular with the suitors; her husband was a fool for thinking other men didn't notice her. They did.

Jerome crushes her lips with his, leaving no time for talking. He was a serious man—a tough man, even—the type to endure the hardships of life without complaining. He is the type to get what he wants, no matter the obstacles. YN thinks he could've been on top instead of her dear husband if she only chose to marry him, but Jerome is too human for her. He is a man, a man who takes pleasure in her, and YN can't stand it. She likes her lovers without weaknesses, and Jerome isn't like that.

When an hour passes, YN thinks it is time to return home; she kisses Jerome goodbye one last time and waits for him to exit the room as quickly as he enters. That's the agreement: he pays for the room under his name; he deals with hosts and room service. YN just has to be, and he is happy with that.

She waits exactly fifteen minutes before she picks up her coat from the floor and puts it on—fifteen minutes is what was needed for a junkie she hired to stab Jerome in the ally seven times—for every year of their age gap when he first kissed her at her birthday party. Symbolic: She pays attention to the details, not only on her high-end dresses. YN imagines the headlines in the papers tomorrow morning: a respected politician found dead near the whorehouse. A death fit for a pig.

She leaves the building in a good mood—one more step to being the first lady of Panem—and she still has an hour before Coriolanus returns home. YN has everything in check, down to the smallest gist, except for the blonde man in the telephone booth across the street.

Coriolanus is mad. Another man, behind his back, even if for the sole purpose of eliminating him. He doesn't like that YN makes arrangements when it is he who is the man of the house, the driving force behind the successes. She forgot her place, and if he has to remind her, he will. Coriolanus always liked YN better with her mouth shut.

''How are things at work?'' YN asks, twirling in front of the mirror in their bedroom. It's like she doesn't notice his annoyed stare or his jealous eyes following her every move.

Coriolanus doesn't answer. He pulls her closer and takes off her robe in one swift motion. It falls on the floor, light blue fabric pooling around his feet. He searches for something—anything—to indicate another man's presence near her body or in it. Nothing—her skin glows under the faint light of lamps, free of any marks or scratches.

Coriolanus sighed with relief, his hands letting go of YN's hips. She looks at him, confused.

''Is there anything wrong? Why did you stop?''

He wants to slap her. To make her apologize, to make her beg for his forgiveness. But something in her deep eyes and painted lips makes his head cloud, stirring around a familiar mix of emotions. Anger. Lust. Fear. Maybe she was the death herself—he wouldn't know. The way YN laughed as he kissed her exposed skin, pressing a little too hard for it to be enjoyable, made blood rush to his body. ''Tell me,'' Coriolanus whispers in her ear. "Have you ever killed?"

YN grins, holding his reddened face in her hands. ''No, never.''

Coriolanus chuckles softly, diverting his gaze to her chest. A lie.

He turns her around, pushing her body on the bed before getting on his knees. That was the night he knew she had to die.

It wasn't hard to make her fall in love with him. Flowers on the doorstep of the mansion just in time for her to leave the house, along with a handwritten note declaring his undying affection. Make her less alert; make her more vulnerable. YN gave him the key to her demise easily—it was always him.

Coriolanus was good at ensuring everyone benefited him, and his wife did nothing better than play right into his hands. YN willingly planned her own funeral with her every move—she knew too much about his secrets and had become a liability. If only she knew better than to play with fire, she might have stood a chance.

It's a shame, really, to kill her so soon. He was almost enjoying her—the way she trembled under his touch, the way she whispered his name in ecstasy. But that was the way of the world. There could be only one winner, and Coriolanus knew better than to believe his wife when she promised to always be loyal. If your dog bites you, someone else is feeding it.

''New wine?'' YN motions to the tall bottle on the table as they eat dinner. ''Is this the one from the Darians?''

Coriolanus shakes his head. Darians. It was like fate was testing his patience, as if one headache wasn't enough. The only one of his possible opponents in the upcoming elections held a good amount of votes, mainly because of his recognizable name. The Darians were wine magnates, with at least forty vineyards under their name. Of course, they gifted wine bottles for holidays, and of course, it was nothing but a slap in the face—Coriolanus could very much afford to buy his own bottles.

''I bought this one yesterday. Would you like a glass?'' he pours before YN has time to agree; the dark red liquor fills their glasses, turning the transparent walls slightly pink. Coriolanus watches as his wife takes a big sip, surprise evident on her face.

''It's sweet,'' she announces but quickly corrects herself. ''But it is good. Unusual, but quite nice.''

''Really?'' He acts surprised and takes a small sip, not to raise any suspicion. ''It indeed is.''

They continue their dinner as usual, with occasional remarks here and there. Everything goes according to plan, with YN drinking from her glass more than twice more. Until it doesn't.

Fifty-five minutes.

This is how long he has before the poison kills him. Given that YN weighs less and consumes more, she should start to portray the first symptoms. She doesn't.

Twenty minutes pass, and Coriolanus feels a slight nausea. Twenty-five—his head starts lightly spinning. He watches his wife put down a fork and stare at the sky through the open window. If she faints now, he would still have time to drink the antidote, but she doesn't. Instead, she smiles at his wandering gaze and asks for dessert.

When thirty minutes pass, Coriolanus feels a stream of blood travels down his chin onto the freshly washed shirt. He can't keep himself on the chair, sliding down from it on the carpeted floor. The surrounding furniture stands as if in a haze, and the only thing he can make out is the nearing steps of the heeled feet.

YN says something, kneeling beside him and putting his head on her lap, although he can't understand the word she utters. It hits him like a brick wall—the smell of roses radiating from her, the same perfume his mother wore. Her hands, although adorned with more rings than his mother could've possibly owned, are just as gentle when they touch his forehead.

''I'm sorry,'' he tries to choke out, but all that comes out of his mouth is hot, thick blood.

When Coriolanus wakes up in the hospital, he is frantic. The only thing he was familiar with was the only thing he tried so hard to escape. Fear. It spreads through his body, paralyzing his limbs in the white room of a singular bed. It chocks him, tugging the strings in his throat to leave hot, burning holes each time he swallows. It burns, and bites, and twists in his stomach; if he survives, YN will get her revenge.

That's why she kept him alive—to taunt and mock. He lost, once and for all, and got himself into a corner with no escape. There is no point in begging, no point in lying—his wife knows everything he did, and she won't hesitate to let the whole country know. Outsmarted, outplayed. Alone.

His eyes wander across the room in a last resort—he will take his own life, and she will have no power in making him a laughing stock. But the hospital room is empty; the only thing besides a small coffee table and bed is a pile of newspapers. Coriolanus stands up and almost falls in an attempt to reach them, yet manages to grab one. Just like he predicted, on the front page of it is the perfectly painted face of his wife; the beauty of it is disturbed only by a single tear rolling down her cheek.

POISONING ATTEMPT ON A FAMOUS POLITICIAN

Three days ago, an attempted poisoning took place in the Snow's family's mansion. Our correspondent was lucky enough to ask a few questions to YN Snow, the wife of the victim.

''Tell me, Miss Snow, why do you think you and your husband were the targets of this crime?''

''I think it is rather obvious that motive was political; we all know that my husband posed a serious threat to Ethan Darius because he was estimated to win instead of him. That's why he decided to kill him in that dirty way, like a snake, with poison, instead of losing to him in a fair competition like any gentleman would!''

''And do you think there are any correlations between Mister Darius and a string of suspicious murders of civilians and people higher in power?''

''As far as my knowledge goes, the court is still deciding on the matter, but one thing I know for sure: if Ethan Darius went as far as to try to kill his opponent, what indicates he wouldn't have done the same with others? ''

''People of Panem were moved by the love you and your husband seem to hold for each other ever since your wedding, but the way you fight for justice made many wonder - will we see you as a first lady of Panem soon?''

''I just do what any person would—it is my duty as a wife and as a citizen to advocate for those who were wronged. As for your question, I do think this happening only solidified that our country and political scene need change. And change is what my husband stands for.''

''And lastly, is there anything you wish you could say to your husband right now?''

''I would want to remind him of a simple truth: the one who is more afraid always strikes first. Thank you.''

Coriolanus didn't need to read anymore. YN made sure she wasn't going anywhere if he did something like that in the future—the public loved her before, but now they will go crazy. But that didn't bother him too much; on the contrary, he was rather impressed. Coriolanus felt fear leave his body with every breath. His place took something else, something he couldn't quite name yet—the feeling of stillness in his stomach. He wondered if that's what fullness felt like. A sweet, honey-like sensation in his veins.

The hall of the president's house is filled with what seems to be hundreds of people. Tables are overflowing with the most exquisite dishes, and laughter fills the air.

''Corio, look! The kids are dressed as little snowflakes—for us! Oh, isn't it so cute?'' YN coes, motioning at the girls-ballerinas in white tutus. They twirl on the stage, their movements mimicking the ones of snow falling outside.

He doesn't care if they are dressed as giant cockroaches, but he still nods in agreement. Coriolanus watches as YN steals one white rose from the piles decorating the balcony and throws it on stage, laughing in delight when girls start to argue over it.

There are flashes of cameras capturing every interaction between them; he knows that, so he places his hand on the back of the chair YN sits on. She looks as beautiful as always, perfect from every angle. His wife might be poison, dangerous, and lethal, but he is the one who knows that, when handled with care, it brings much more benefits to its owner than any other weapon.

Coriolanus already envisions their photo as the headline tomorrow morning—beside them, the big, bold letters.

Panem today.

He feels YN place a kiss on his cheek, staining it a little with her red lipstick.

Panem tomorrow.

Coriolanus smiles and brings her closer, whispering a compliment in her ear.

Panem forever.

The hall erupts with applause and cheers, some even going as far as shouting words of admiration for the new president and his wife.

They are the guard dogs, and they are the house dogs guard. And, until the last brick of it is there, they will bite.

tag list (do tell me if I'm doing it wrong) @aemondsb1tch @cecekcecekceckceckceck @queenofshinigamis @julesandro

#coriolanus x reader #imagine #hunger games #corio snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #character x you #coriolanus snow imagine #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games x reader #hurt/comfort #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #coriolanus snow #president snow #tbosas x reader

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hoony2k · 2 months ago

Text

Is jake here?

Shakespeare says "tis was written in the stars before they even met"

-You're lost in life and move to Seoul where you find your peace in a boy. Jake's in a band and is looking for a girl he's been obsessed with ever since she appeared in his dream. You're both broken but maybe you can learn to be better through each other.

Pairing: Sim Jaeyun x reader

Genre: scott pilgrim au!, band au!, set in 2000s, he's kinda silly.

Cast: Sunghoon, jay, sumin (stayc)

Warning: reader smokes once :(

Word Count: 2k

Notes: this is for neo127's event! this was genuinely so fun to write, thank you for the fun event! this is actually a deleted scene that I love sm, i wanted to be so poetic but i had to stop my demons cause this is a movie with tom foolery and deep meaning. also i'm kind of stupid and saved this in drafts and not queue.

masterlist

Take 1

There was a ringing in Jake’s mind that alerted him of the dangers awaiting him, but the allure of your presence removed all prior warnings. You came into his life like a dream, filled the hollow void in his soul. None of his past attempts at experiencing euphoria or reaching infinity worked, but with you around entertaining his unfunny jokes, he was consumed by the black hole in one clean swoop.

In other terms, you were the little riff he needed in the song, the extra healing ability granted to his game characters, you were a dream. The warning, the future and the rest was history. It was only you and him in the whole universe. By your side, Jake finally felt like the world wasn’t against him.

Or so he thought.

Seven little exes, not seven little kisses.

Take 2

Jake forced his body to move. “Left right, left right”, he mumbled and mechanically trudged up the stairs, bumping into drunk partygoers without an apology. He caught a glimpse of you the other day and he prayed the next time you saw him he’d be taller and looked way cooler, not desperate or down bad at all. Hopefully, he’d find the courage to approach you in privacy. It had been ages of simply dreaming about you.

Not even the buzz of the party could get your eyes and nonchalant expression out of Jake’s mind. The thirst to reunite left him dry to the bone and in dire need of the washroom due to pure boredom sparked by the party. His drink sploshed in the red up, spilt over the rim and onto the cuff of his new jacket. He winced at the sticky and cold sensation.

At this point, he was willing to manifest you into appearing.

Jake reached the landing and felt Comeau call out to him. “Wanna drink with us?”

He shook his head and slightly pouted. “No, I don’t drink”.

Comeau frowned at him, “What do you mean you don’t drink?”

Jake offered a non-committed shrug and lightly waved his arm around.

“This is just iced coffee”.

His friend’s frown deepened. “What does that mean? I distinctively remember you being drunk-”

“Hey you know everyone, right?”, Jake swiftly brushed off the memory and swayed Comeau by the compliment. “You know this one girl with hair like this?”

His pout was replaced with a determined look and pulled out crumpled paper with a poorly sketched one-lined drawing of what appeared to be a face with no evident features or expressions. There was no possible way to understand the scribble immediately.

His friend rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know her. That’s Y/N-“

God was real. The universe loved him and perhaps this was good karma for all the okay things he had done in life. His friend continued to ramble trivia about you but it all flew over Jake’s head until he heard I heard she was going to be here tonight and it brought heat back into his veins. All it took were those mere words to become the catalyst of his insanity.

Jake dove into the crowd, and took in the sight of numerous strangers with unfamiliar hairstyles and smiles. He searched for your dyed hair in the crowd and despite unsteady breathing and shaking hands due to anticipation and nervousness, his gaze met your frame leaning on a wall. Hair pink instead of blue and you were alone holding a cup which served as a friend. You appeared bored out of your mind, glancing at the drunk bodies dancing around in bliss. Jake wondered asking you if you wanted a refill.

He slid on the dirty wallpapered wall and inch close to you. As he felt heat radiate off your body, he took it as a sign to halt. Though he tried to be subtle, his desperation to talk to you poured down his body in a giant tidal wave. Jake turned his honey eyes to your figure, it was party concealed under his locks that covered an eye. You stared right at him.

“Do you like pac man?”, the words stumbled out of his lips before he realised.

What? No-no, that’s not-

You gave him a slight nod then shifted your attention back to the crowd. Uncommitted but it did not discourage him.

He shuffled closer to you; the creases of his oversized jacket bumped into the bag strap on your shoulder. You didn't move away.

Jake cheered internally; this was going well.

Jake took it as a sign to continue. He puffed his chest out. “You know the original name for Pac-Man was Puck-Man. Not because he looks like a hockey puck. But it's Paku Paku. Means flap your mouth."

He planned on offering you a detailed history of the game, a topic that the pair of you apparently shared and enjoyed. That was before you placed your full untouched cup on a table and turned to him.

He hadn't realised you moved to look up at him.

"But they thought people would scratch out the "p" and turn it into an "f" like-"

Jake's voice died in his throat and his eyes blinked at the intensity of your gaze. You stared up at him with calm wisdom, hiding all the secrets in the world in your gaze.

He observed how there was a thin sheen of sweat on your hairline despite the cold season of decay. With so many bodies running, dancing and chatting away, the house was bound to get humid.

Jake could barely hear your voice over the thump thump of his heartbeat. The tips of your hair that clung onto the apples of your cheek moved when you spoke.

You took a step closer to him and whatever confidence he had evaporated. Jake fumbled with the end of his jacket and then promptly shoved his hands inside his pockets.

You did not look displeased at the sight, in fact, nothing changed in your eyes but Jake swore he saw a hint of a small smile. However, his fear and nerves got the best of him.

"I'm going to leave you alone forever now-"

"Wanna get out of here?"

Take 3

The sky was dark again. The winter nights crept up quickly, shunning the sun away but Jake liked it.

He liked how the night sky reminded him of you, the simple serene moments spent either in silence or secrecy.

You brought light into his life. It was dark elsewhere.

He saw a shadow of a figure dressed in several jackets a couple of feet away and only when he walked closer did he realise who it was.

"What are you doing here?", he called out to you, referring to the time.

You quirked up an unamused brow.

"Dude, I was waiting for you."

Immediately Jake felt apologetic. And maybe a bit pathetic that he came late (on time) to the hangout (unofficial official date). Or maybe he felt giddy knowing you didn't show your nervous attitude yet cared deeply enough for him to arrive on time.

"I'm sorry. I thought you assumed you were too cool to arrive on time", he confessed. It was easier with you.

He didn't have to lie about where he went like how he did whenever Sunghoon asked him about his whereabouts or skirt around in conversations where Sumin decided to target him (all for reasons that proved he deserved it).

He didn't need to pretend he was someone better, a moralistic ideal version of himself or someone worse, an edgy rockstar who had a strange code of rules to live by.

With you, Jake could be transparent. All his unpolished edges, raw mistakes and life missteps were seen and never judged.

You were like him and he was like you.

Maybe there was a reason he saw you in his dreams long before. Maybe the two of you were interconnected in a cosmic way. He didn't know.

You looked at him up and down before turning and beginning to walk near the middle of the park.

"Well, you were wrong".

Jake quickly walked beside you and fell into the same rhythm. "Do you wanna get a bite? Or watch a movie? We could get pizza before watching something. We could flip through the records I have at home".

You gently shook your head and Jake couldn't help but pout at your dismissal.

"What's wrong?" He asked, too impatient.

You sighed softly; air comes out in puffs of smoke.

You point at nearby empty swings. The chain was rustic and seems strong enough to carry two adults.

"Follow me", you whispered in the late night. There was no one around. The park was deserted, filled with snow to the brim. The swing seats squeaked when you brushed off the sleeping snow from them.

Jake sniffled, shoved his hands in his pockets once more. He didn't mind the silence until it stretched on for more than a minute, maybe...maybe it was less but Jake hated silence.

"This is nice", he shuffled and lightly kicked his feet off the ground. The metal shrieked and he swayed back and forth.

You nodded and mimicked his actions.

"This is nice".

Jake turned to look at you once more. He noticed how often he'd stare at you only to look away when you caught his gaze. There was something that had been on his mind for days. He tip toed towards the topic.

"So, why'd you come to Seoul?"

Immediately you look down at your shoes, then swing yourself higher than before.

"I wanted a change of scenery. Needed a reset and got a job here so I thought, why not?"

It was an honest reply.

The sound of gravel grabbed his attention, the metal squeaked again and you paused the pendulum to fish out an item from your pocket.

He had to squint in the minimal lighting and Jake had to hold in his surprise as you pulled out a cigarette and lit it easily.

A hand covered your lips and the tip of the cigarette, the small flame decorated the end of your nose and chin in a scarlet hue. Jake stared at you in awe, doe eyes widened.

"You smoke?", he couldn't help it. You did wonders at surprising him each time you met.

You inhaled it slowly and turned from Jake's direction to blow the air. Two fingers toyed with the cigarette.

"On special occasions". Your lips stretched a bit and Jake saw how the gloss shone under the moonlight. God, he was doomed from the start.

He didn't mind the bounce in his voice, he tiled his position and brought his swing next to yours until the metal chains halted him. The scent of slight smoke and your citrus perfume filled his senses.

It felt like he was on stage once more, guitar in his hands, flicking away at the strings with inhuman speed. He felt the high he experienced on stage; the surge of emotions that made him giddy. He tapped his foot unconsciously, imitating the vibrations the band would feel when Sumin hit her drums.

"Is this a special occasion?"

Your eyes hadn't stranded him and his lovesick expression finally pulled a laugh out of you. You were satisfied when you moved to Seoul, but the buds in your stomach began to blossom, Jake made you crave for more than satisfactory.

"I don't know. You tell me", you teased him and Jake's smile got wider. His eyes crinkled adorably and you could see the gums of his teeth with how wide he was smiling.

Then, for a split second, something flashed in his eyes, something serious. It paused your arm mid-way from bringing the cigarette to your lips.

Jake averted his gaze, his dark brown bangs covered his face from view, and you could only see the tip of his tall nose and his red ears. Perhaps from the cold, perhaps from you.

He took a deep breath.

"When I'm around you, I kind of feel like I'm on drugs. Not that I do drugs. Unless you do drugs, in which case I do them all the time."

When he finished, Jake turned to you and the poor swing squeaked once more. His face was determined, shoulders no longer hunched like usual but his eyes wavered, swam across your form to see a hint of disgust or discomfort from you.

You laughed in his face.

"Hey!", Jake shouted and it echoed in the night.

Loud laughter bubbled from your lips, you tried to hide your mouth behind your free hand but Jake quickly grabbed it so he could defend himself. Seeing how delighted you were, your entire body buzzing with giggles, Jake felt himself relax and giggle with you. Though he didn't let go of your arm.

He saw the fallen cigarette on the ground, you probably forgot about it when you began to chuckle. He leaned forward and stepped on it.

When he landed his attention on you, you were more composed but the shaking did not stop. It was a futile attempt at covering your glee, Jake was obsessed, he was probably feeling the L-word (love) as well but he wasn't sure.

Though he understood from all the times he couldn't concentrate in practice and Sunghoon or Jay would have to call his name loudly to pull him out of daydreams of you and back to reality, when Sumin stopped questioning his intentions with you and replaced her usual indifferent glares with mild fascination, Jake knew he felt something more than like for you. He felt like he was hypnotised by your melody, your casual demeanour, overflowing confidence and assured attitude. It sucked him in from the night he dreamt of you.

Jake's hand slithered down from the curve of your elbow and slipped into the warmth of your hand. Your laughter had finally ceased, now replaced with a tender look. Jake smiled like he had never done before. You interlocked your fingers together and squeezed him palm.

It would be okay, the future would be more than okay-probably. He'd still have to go to practice, get yelled at by his sister and then get yelled at other bands when Sunghoon irked them on purpose. Maybe he'd have to eventually confront your seven exes. Nothing about you was simple, everything was too intricate, it was like he had entered a game and had to win all rounds before getting crowned "official boyfriend".

But it was more than okay because Jake knew you were worth it-you liked him and he liked you. There were no mind games, this was the simplest love he had experienced. He couldn’t stop thinking of you and you couldn’t stop ringing his landline. By your side, Jake concluded that even if he wasn’t the strongest, he’d figure out a way and fight the world for you.

Thank you for reading. Please do not edit/translate

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