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moonlinos · 11 months ago

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Don’t let me love you (Siren part II)

♡ Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Camboy!Hyunjin, friends with benefits to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), sex work, mentions of smoking, drinking, oral sex (female receiving), orgasm delay/denial, sex toys, marking, nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, choking (only a little tho)

♡ Word count: 15.7k

♡ Synopsis: Hyunjin has been a camboy since he turned eighteen and a host since the age of twenty. His life and line of work had him building up a fortress of walls to keep himself safe, but he’s powerless as he watches you unknowingly break them down. Although he knows you deserve better than him, he battles with a selfish desire that wants nothing more than to allow himself to love you.

♡ A/N: Part two of what was supposed to be a one-shot, but people made my brain think things and I wrote 15.7K WORDS. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that so many people actually wanted a part two of something I wrote, so I wanna say thank you 🩷

← part I

Your situation with Hyunjin has been going on for almost eight months now.

Some things have changed; he’s undoubtedly more clingy with you, and you started hanging out with no intentions of having sex. What remains unchanged, however, is the fact that he’s still the same old egotistical idiot.

The thing is, you somehow grew to like that about him. It’s amusing to you just how much he loves himself, gloating about his conquests at the club or bragging about maintaining his number-one spot on the camming website. Although this only makes you even more certain you would never entertain the idea of being with someone like him, having the man who makes you come so hard also make you laugh just as much is a nice bonus.

Hyunjin began coming over to your apartment around two months ago, gradually wearing down your resistance with a lot of pestering until you finally let him in. Your home was almost sacred to you. Hooking up in his apartment was one thing, doing that in the familiarity of your home made it feel almost too intimate. You’ve fucked on the couch, on the kitchen counter, in the shower, but you never allow him into your bedroom. You’re not entirely sure why, but it would feel as if you were tainting your favorite place if he were to fuck you in your bed.

You’re getting ready for a date in your bathroom with Hyunjin sitting on the floor behind you, claiming the view of your ass from that angle was optimal. He lets out a loud chuckle as he watches you dab yet another layer of concealer on the hickey he left on your collarbone earlier tonight.

“Fuck off,” you snap at him. “You think this is funny?”

“Well, yeah, ‘cause it is,” he simply says, and you see him shrugging in the mirror, a grin tugging at one corner of his lip.

Hyunjin has the maddening habit of marking you. Although you told him numerous times how much you hate it, he conveniently ignores that when you have sex, and you’re always too clouded by lust to say anything about it.

“What are you doing on your livestream tonight?” You ask after finally making the small, red blotch on your skin imperceptible.

Watching Hyunjin cam has become your go-to de-stressing method after work. Sitting in a corner far away from the camera, you watch him do his job with ease, like it’s second nature to him. It’s almost intoxicating how he seems to always know what to say to get his viewers going, knowing exactly when to be mean and when to play the role of a caring boyfriend. It makes you clench around nothing, hungrily watching as he makes himself come all over his stomach so deliciously it has you eager to be fucked as soon as he’s done.

He hums. “Well, they really seemed to like the toys I tried last weekend, so I guess that’s what I’m doing for the next few weeks.”

“Ooh, so you’re sticking to the toys now,” you tease him with a grin.

Last Saturday, you watched as Hyunjin opened fan gifts he had received in his PO box during his livestream. Some were extremely questionable (if you had a nickel for every time he pulled out used panties from a box, you’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice), while some were exactly what you would expect to be sent to a camboy. A variety of BDSM gear, kinky costumes fans wanted him to wear, and of course, a lot of sex toys.

Hyunjin shrugs again, leaning on his left hand and staring up at you through the mirror. “I kinda have to do whatever my viewers want to keep my number one ranking.”

“And are you going to the club tonight?”

“Nah,” he yawns and rests his head against the wall. “Took the day off. My spot there is secured,” his lips upturn into a grin. “No other guy at that club can compete with me.”

That’s another thing you learned about Hyunjin these past months; his club and website rankings are extremely important to him. You also learned he has an Only Fans account on the side where he shares videos and pictures of himself, and he pesters you about making any type of content with him every couple of weeks. You were tempted after seeing the enticing amount of money that was in it for you, but your decision was unswayed.

Your confidence wasn’t like his. You’re sure having your performance and appearance scrutinized by strangers would make you go insane.

Nonetheless, you struggle to conceal your jealousy toward Hyunjin’s jobs, as they seem so damn perfect in your eyes. How great would it be if you could essentially work only when you felt like it? Not to mention the fact that both his jobs are basically having orgasms and looking pretty, which certainly seems heavenly when compared to your headache-inducing corporate job.

He even delayed the starting time of his livestream tonight for the sole purpose of tormenting you while you get ready.

Jihoon is your first proper date in almost a year, as you only allowed yourself the luxury of dating after getting the promotion you were working for. He’s in your company’s finance department, and you two have been casually flirting for three months. You tried your best to ignore him for a couple of weeks, but not only was he ridiculously good-looking, he was also the breathing definition of boyfriend material. He was kind, holding doors open and helping other workers carry heavy boxes with a smile on his face. He was caring, always arriving at the office with coffee for his coworkers, having memorized everyone’s order.

Not to mention the whispered rumors that echoed through the hallways of the ninth floor. Your friend, who had recently moved into the finance department, shared them with you after a drunken night out. Jihoon was apparently amazing in bed, all while being a perfect gentleman. The perfect blend of rough and sweet, and never one to kiss and tell — all these rumors apparently coming from women in his department who had dated him and couldn’t keep themselves from gushing about their unforgettable experience with him.

But it would be a lie to say you were excited about this date because of him.

It was the prospect of how much this could vex Hyunjin that really got you eager.

A couple of nights ago, you joked with Hyunjin about how Jihoon was the complete antithesis of him, hence why he was the ideal candidate for a boyfriend. Hyunjin’s reaction was exactly what you anticipated, with him becoming visibly annoyed and grumbling about how Jihoon probably talks a big game but does the bare minimum in bed.

You simply laughed because the mere thought that another man could be just as good, if not better, than him in bed was what ticked Hyunjin off. Never mind that you said Jihoon was perfect because he was everything he was not.

“You know,” Hyunjin suddenly says, “We should make a bet.”

And you hesitate for a beat and a half because you know Hyunjin.

Still, you sigh and answer, “Sure. What kind of bet?”

“If this guy is really that good in bed, then I’ll pay for your next date myself,” he vows, his smirk only growing as you turn to look at him through the mirror. “If he’s average, you go on a date with me.”

You silently look at him for a few seconds before laughter bursts out of you.

“Hyunjin, do you fucking hate me?” You ask, turning your body toward him. “I get shitty sex then have to endure a date with you?”

He shrugs, rising to stand in front of you. “This just proved to me how much faith you have in your date,” he calmly says. He then leans into you, caging you against the countertop, hands beside your body. Hyunjin bends his face to yours, his breath tickling your skin as he speaks, “Just admit you know no guy will ever be a better fuck than me.”

You scoff at his arrogance, pushing him until his back hits the wall.

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Hyunjin follows you when you leave the bathroom to grab your purse in the living room, loudly clicking his tongue behind you.

“Why’d you dress up for him?” He huffs, and you turn to look at him with a raised brow. “This fucking short dress and shit.” He rakes his eyes over your body from head to toe, tugging at his bottom lip. “I should make you dress up for me, too. You look hot.”

By now, you’ve learned that the best course of action to follow when dealing with Hyunjin’s monumental ego is to ignore it altogether. It’s also quite entertaining to purposefully give him answers you know will vex him, so you sweetly smile at him.

“Thank you,” you beam, your fingers toying with the hem of your short dress, pulling up the fabric. “Hopefully Jihoon thinks the same.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his body. He harshly presses his lips to yours, undoubtedly smudging your lipstick. His tongue pushes past your lips, brushing against your own. It’s almost like an act of possessiveness — leaving his taste on your tongue before you go off to your date with another man.

He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer. But just as you’re getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the sound of your doorbell echoes through the room, and your eyes widen. Pulling away, you promptly push Hyunjin back and wipe the corners of your mouth. You stifle a chuckle when your eyes land on his face; red lipstick smudged all over his lips.

“Stay in the bathroom until I leave,” you tell him while grabbing your purse from the couch. He rolls his eyes again, this time with a scowl contorting his features.

You smile at Jihoon when you open your door. Barely giving him the chance to say hello, you hurry him toward the elevator, reminding him of your reservation. You know Hyunjin, and you wouldn’t put it past him to show up behind you simply to stir up some drama.

But that’s the thing; you know Hyunjin, yet you still choose to stay in this strange arrangement with him. Because it’s the fact that you know him, for some reason you’re unsure of yourself, that makes you actually like him a little bit.

Hyunjin ends his livestream as usual, saying goodnight with a promise of seeing his viewers again tomorrow night. He never acknowledges tips and addresses no one by their name or username. Some cammers wear masks to conceal their identities — this cavalier persona, uncaring and nonchalant, is Hyunjin’s mask.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he goes on to do the arduous task of cleaning up the fleshlight he used tonight. It was a gift from a viewer, who begged him — with quite a lot of tips — to use it for her. What was initially meant to be a one-time thing has now become his new routine, as his viewers couldn’t get enough of it.

Hyunjin hates this part of his camming job: the incessant need to please the people who watch him, lest they abandon him and move on to a new cammer. He doesn’t mind the sex toys — although cleaning them makes him want to throw his entire collection out the window — but he’s had to do a lot of shit he really didn’t want to, all in the name of maintaining his number one spot.

He was eighteen when he first started. In desperate need of money after moving out of home for college, one of his friends suggested he sell his nudes to people around campus. When Hyunjin scowled and asked why the fuck that was his first and only suggestion, the boy laughed. He remembers his words to this day:

“Hyunjin, you know you don’t really have anything else other than your looks. Your grades are shit, and you’re lazy as fuck. This is pretty much the only way you can ever make money.”

And by that age, that was nothing new to Hyunjin, as he had heard different variations of that same speech his entire life. When he was a child, his parents urged him to become an idol or a model, going so far as to motivate him to ignore his schoolwork to attend auditions (even when he whined about how much he hated them).

His mother always said his face had the power to make people love him while studying would only lead to success.

“It’s much better to be loved, Hyunjin,” she told him when he was ten. “Anyone can reach success if they try hard enough, but being loved is a privilege only special people can have.”

By his late teens, when his reputation began to precede him after countless hookups during high school, his friends assured him he could make a lot of money off of sex.

Either way, the consensus was always that the only thing Hyunjin had to offer were his looks and body.

At first, he hated it. He wanted nothing more than to be appreciated for anything other than what his face looked like, or how good he was in bed. He got his grades up, excelled in hobbies he actually liked, and even set goals for himself after college. But Hyunjin never heard a word of praise from his parents, and his friends were always more interested in who he was hooking up with than how he got to the top of his class. After a while, he realized he was simply fighting a losing battle.

So he accepted that truth, because it couldn’t hurt him if he were the one to incentivize it.

That was why he decided to follow his friend’s asinine suggestion.

His first endeavor was with simple videos of himself jerking off in front of his mirror, the shitty camera of his phone certainly hindering his attempt at making the whole thing pleasing to the eyes. He would promote them through text messages to acquaintances he’d met at parties at first, later creating a Twitter account dedicated solely to selling these videos. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was certainly more than his friends made while working monotonous shifts at coffee shops.

Only four months later, he coincidentally entered the world of camming through a girl he had been hooking up with.

They were in her bedroom, just about to have sex, when she giggled against his lips and told him she could make a lot of money if he fucked her during one of her livestreams. He said he could make a lot of money if she let him record them fucking.

They ultimately reached an agreement, and Hyunjin appeared on his first-ever livestream that same night — a mask covering both their faces and the money made split evenly between them.

He recalls how his eyes were glued to her computer screen the entire time. He was used to praises and compliments, but there was something different about having a stranger openly say they’d do anything to be in that girl’s place, that they would pay to have him fuck them, or even something as simple as telling Hyunjin how good he was. It had a rush of euphoria cursing through his veins.

It was as if, for the first time in his life, he had found something he was truly good at, something that he was entirely in control of. He was a natural, and he enjoyed every moment of it, easily slipping into the persona he wears to this day.

He got drunk on that validation and was desperate to have it again.

After that night, he created his own account, with many of his hookup’s viewers following him immediately. He dropped out of college soon after he started, as the money he made from camming along with selling his content on Only Fans already exceeded the estimated salary in his field of study.

Hyunjin was good, and he loved being good. Most importantly, he loved knowing he was good.

That’s why he simply ignores the few times he’s had to do things he wasn’t all that keen on doing. Because at the end of the day, that’s the only thing he’s good at — pleasing people, no matter the cost.

After a long shower, Hyunjin walks back into his room and sinks into his bed. He’s glad he took the day off from his job at the club since a viewer tipped him $300 to edge himself for as long as he could tonight. After an hour of that, the only thing he wants is to curl up in bed and sleep for hours.

He buries himself under his blankets, but just as his eyes flutter closed, the sound of laughter echoes through his room. Your laughter.

He sits up in bed almost immediately, a grin etched onto his lips. He still remembers the day he found out his walls were paper thin; the day you touched yourself while he was streaming. He knew you were so sure you had been quiet — only letting out small whimpers and sighs — but he heard you regardless, and your pretty noises made it even easier for him to come that night. He initially assumed you were simply masturbating, but when you came knocking at his door the very next day to complain about how noisy he was, he knew you were touching yourself to the sound of his voice.

Hyunjin has fucked many women in his life, but for that silly fact alone, none piqued his interest quite like you did.

He rests his back against the headboard, ready to listen to you complain on the phone to some friend, grumbling about how fucking awful your date had been. But a masculine voice suddenly permeates through the wall, filling his room with the sound of your date’s obnoxious laughter.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” he slurs, clearly a bit tipsy.

“Me too,” you giggle, and Hyunjin’s face twists into a scowl. Since when do you giggle like that?

He hastily yanks the covers off his body, rushing to settle into his computer chair in a shameless effort to hear your conversation more clearly.

“Sorry I laughed when you spilled your drink on your dress,” the guy — whose name Hyunjin frankly didn’t care enough to memorize — apologizes before adding, “Do I make you that nervous?”

And it’s like Hyunjin can hear the smirk in the man’s voice. Why the fuck must this annoy him so much? Couldn’t you go back to his place to fuck? Maybe you’re pissed at him over the bet, and this is a desperate attempt to prove you’re right. He scoffs, running a hand through his hair before reclining on the chair.

Just means you’ll be having mediocre sex while he listens.

“Of course I was nervous,” you reply. “Look at you, this shirt’s been driving me crazy since you picked me up.”

The man snickers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you state matter-of-factly, “Kept looking at your arms the entire night. Couldn’t think straight,” your voice drops to a whisper, and Hyunjin could recognize the alluring lilt that envelops your voice from a mile away.

You use it with him almost every night.

Your date hums. “Oh, you like my arms?”

And Hyunjin can just picture the man flexing his muscles. What a fucking idiot.

His room is filled with the creaking sound of your bed, and he physically cringes. He can’t believe you’re really gonna make him listen to you fuck another guy. He especially can’t believe you so easily let this fucker into your bedroom. Hyunjin has known you for eight months, and you still adamantly insist that your bedroom is off-limits.

Maybe this is his long-overdue punishment for making you lose sleep for a month.

Your room suddenly falls into an odd stillness. All Hyunjin can do is sit in the dark, consumed by the incessant ticking of his clock, unable to tear his gaze away from the wall in front of him. His mind becomes his own worst enemy, flooding his imagination with vivid images of you laid out underneath this man, his arms you seemingly love so much caging you between the mattress and his body while his lips explore every inch of your skin. Or maybe you’re on top, rolling your hips in that slow, tantalizing rhythm that drives Hyunjin mad while looking at him with lust-clouded eyes.

The sound of you softly whimpering shakes him out of his thoughts, and Hyunjin subconsciously clenches his fists. Despite hearing the guy talk to you again, all he makes out is a jumble of garbled, muffled sounds.

He isn’t sure how long he stays there, eyes boring holes into the wall until his vision goes blurry and gnawing on his lips until he tears at the delicate skin. His ears sting with the sound of your bed frame hitting your shared wall, and your sighs and moans he loves so much only seem to mock him.

When the sardonic symphony eventually fades into silence, Hyunjin remains where he is. He feels powerless; he can’t stop how his heart weighs heavy in his chest or do anything but feel the scorching flame of anger searing his veins.

He’s memorized your date’s name by now — Jihoon, as your voice repeatedly called out.

For the first time in so long, Hyunjin was no longer in control.

Hyunjin struggles to conceal his annoyance when you show up at his door the next day as if nothing had happened. The hickey he gave you no longer being concealed by makeup and your ever-present grin only added to his aggravation, as if you were relishing in his agony. He wants nothing more than to fuck that smug grin off your pretty lips, but he can’t bring himself to touch you. Not when his ego is bruised by how easily another man could please you.

After all, that was all Hyunjin had to offer. Why were you even here in the first place? If you had already found someone else to fuck you, he had nothing more to give you.

Sitting on his couch, Hyunjin’s frustration gets the best of him, and he’s the first to break the silence.

“I don’t even gotta ask if you had a good time last night,” he sneers, and you stifle a chuckle, trying but ultimately failing to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, the restaurant was nice.”

Hyunjin can’t contain the scoff that escapes his lips, his mouth curling in disdain. “You know damn well I’m not talking about the restaurant.”

You cock your head to the side, brows knitting together as you put on your best act of naivety.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” You ask, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Hyunjin is pushing your body onto the couch before he realizes what he’s doing, the rage he felt last night no longer laying dormant in his bloodstream. He cages you against the cushions, his hands resting beside your body. You instinctively spread your thighs to accommodate him.

“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?” He asks, bending his face to yours. You shrug with a contented sigh, lifting your arms to wrap around his back.

Hyunjin scoffs, and you let out a yelp as he abruptly hoists your legs over his shoulders, fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs. He leans down to kiss you, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth but pulls away before you can register to kiss him back, leaving you to chase after his touch.

“Is this how he fucked you?” He asks with a hum, his lips hovering mere inches above yours. His hold on your thighs becomes bruisingly tight as he waits for your answer. “Hm? Did he fuck you good?”

“We were both tipsy,” you murmur, breath hitching as he pushes his hardening member against your clothed core. “It was okay.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips, and Hyunjin mockingly pouts. “So he wasn’t the sex god you were promised, baby?”

You roll your eyes. “I just said it was okay.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, his gaze transfixed by the way your eyes look up at him while you subtly roll your hips up into him. He’s not stupid, he knows the reason why you have such an infuriating effect on him. He’s never going to be good enough for you outside of being a good fuck, yet he feels a blooming yearning inside of his chest that makes him selfishly want to keep you to himself. Even if he has nothing else to offer you.

So he chooses to swallow his pride, just this once, to prove to you why you should choose to stay and stop searching for pleasure in other men — because Hyunjin knows you will find much more than that in them. Much more than what he has.

“‘Okay’ isn’t what you deserve,” He tuts, his mind slowly fogging over with desire as you roll your hips harder against his length. “Isn’t what you’re used to after all these months, is it? Hm?” He urges, raising a hand to lightly brush against your jaw before gripping it. “Answer me.”

Hyunjin knows you’re struggling not to give in; that’s one of his favorite things about having sex with you. The push and pull, how you try so hard to act tough and unbothered but ultimately melt under his touch every time. Even so, he was only able to truly break you for the first time a couple of months ago. You’re obstinate, he’ll give you that.

You shrug again, and he knows it’s the only answer he’ll get from you for now.

“Are you gonna see him again?” He asks instead.

You let out a quiet sigh as Hyunjin lazily grazes your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t think so.”

“Yeah?” He asks, arching a brow almost knowingly. “I can’t help but think you only brought him home to make me listen to you.”

And you giggle at that. The same overly sweet, coy giggle Hyunjin heard through his wall last night.

“I guess you’ll never know,” you simply answer, running a hand through his hair and lightly gripping a fistful while your eyes flicker down to his lips.

Hyunjin wastes no more time talking to you — he knows your conversations usually lead nowhere. He crashes his lips into yours, fingers gripping your jaw once more and forcing your lips open, his tongue slipping inside your mouth. You whimper into the kiss, a sound he knows slipped past your lips unwittingly. Your tongue swirls against his, and he savors your taste with a low hum.

You tilt your hips up, chasing after him again and whining when Hyunjin moves out of reach. He smiles.

“You want me to give you what you’re used to?” He asks against your lips, and you’re quick to nod. “So fucking greedy, made me listen to you get fucked last night only to come running back to me.” He slides his hands under your ass and picks you up effortlessly, carrying you toward his bedroom with an exasperated sigh. “Would’ve been easier if you just admitted no guy will ever be as good as me, wouldn’t it?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snarl, but your words are cut short as Hyunjin throws you onto his bed and promptly walks to his wardrobe. “At least Jihoon got to it quick. I’m not one of your viewers, I don’t care much for your chatter.”

Hyunjin lets out a hearty laugh, retrieving a small blue box from among his clothes and sitting at the edge of the bed. “He got to it quick? Is that your way of telling me your date was a one-minute man?”

You open your mouth as if you’re ready to refute him but ultimately close it and cross your arms over your chest, willing him to do something. Hyunjin stifles another laugh.

“Good thing you have me, then,” He mutters, the goading lilt to his voice impossible to disguise. Placing the box on his nightstand, he hovers over your body once again. “I got all these toys, and we never got around to playing with them together.”

You visibly shudder, nodding slowly as Hyunjin looms over you. He slots your lips together once more, this time much more softly. Your tongue lightly brushes against his bottom lip, licking into his mouth as your thighs wrap around his hips, hooking your ankles behind him and drawing his body flush against yours.

With each languid and deliberate stroke of his tongue, Hyunjin revels in the way he can feel you grow more impatient, tugging at the fabric of his shirt and rutting your hips against his. His hands slip under the hem of your shirt to grip your waist, easing your movements. The way his cock strains against his sweatpants becomes impossible to ignore as his hard length presses against your warm core harder and harder with each roll of your hips.

Hyunjin’s hand glides from your waist to your stomach, caressing your skin before finding its way to your cunt, fingers harshly pressing against your clothed wetness. You whimper into the kiss as he lazily circles your clit over the fabric of your shorts.

“Let’s make a deal,” Hyunjin whispers as he pulls away. “You admit I’m the best fuck you’re ever gonna have, and I might let you come.”

He punctuates his words with a firm press of his fingers to your clit, and he can visibly see your resolve crumbling before him, but you still force out an indignant huff.

“In your dreams,” you shakily breathe out.

Hyunjin shrugs, his fingers leaving your core and traveling over the expanse of your stomach. He promptly rids you of your shirt, and you hiss as his hands brush against your sensitive nipples, Hyunjin watching as they immediately stiffen in response.

Your habit of not wearing a bra nearly drives Hyunjin insane — even on the first day you came knocking at his door, he remembers having to fight the urge to glance down at the way your nipples peaked beneath the fabric of your white shirt.

You’ve been driving him crazy since you walked into his line of sight.

Hyunjin lightly massages your breasts before grazing your hardened nipples with his thumbs, swiftly sucking one into his mouth, causing sighs to spill from your lips as your hand tangled in his hair. He flicks the stiff bud with his tongue before grazing his teeth over it, and you roughly tug at his roots. He smiles against your skin, nudging the peak of your nipples with his lips and sighing.

“Say it,” he calmly tells you, but your only response is tugging harder at his hair. “You’re so stubborn,” He chides, tugging his shirt over his head. “I told you, you’re only coming if you fucking admit it.”

He slowly moves onto the foot of the bed, his hands roaming along your legs with featherlight touches. He places wet kisses from your stomach to your inner thighs, sucking lightly at the skin until his lips hovered tantalizingly close to your still-clothed, aching cunt. And then he stops, instead pressing a kiss to your hips.

“Hyunjin,” his name falls from your lips as a breathy whine. He looks up to find your gaze already on him, eyes silently pleading. He grins, thumbs drawing circles on your inner thighs as you push your hips into his face, but he promptly pulls away. “Please,” you finally whisper, although barely audibly.

Hyunjin hums, satisfied, pressing a wet kiss to your core through the fabric of your shorts before sliding them down your legs along with your panties. He hisses through his teeth at the sight of your wetness, thumbs gliding up and down your folds before spreading you before him. His tongue immediately pokes out to travel up your slit before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit, sucking harshly, and your hand soon flies to rest on his head.

He lifts his eyes once more, humming against your folds as he finds your head rolled back onto his pillows, lips falling open as you softly mewl. He could listen to your sweet sounds all night, reveling in the way every flick of his tongue made you become louder and louder until you were all but screaming his name.

But he has to teach you a lesson tonight.

His tongue delves deep into you, gliding against your slick inner walls, causing even more arousal to flood his lips. His eyes flutter closed with a pleased hum, lapping up every drop of your wetness.

“Fuck,” you rasp, and Hyunjin knows you’re close.

With a wicked grin, he slips two fingers into your warm cunt, curling them just the way you love while his tongue expertly circles your clit. When you roll your hips against his lips, yanking his head toward your body, Hyunjin pulls away.

He watches as your eyes shoot open and you frown at him, but he simply grins, thumb wiping at his glistening mouth before slipping the digit into your agape lips.

“Say it,” he repeats, unrelenting, and stifles a laugh when you groan loudly.

You hook a leg around his waist, bringing his body close to yours again, the heat of his thick cock pressing against your soaked cunt. Hyunjin sucks in a breath, focusing on reining in his emotions, determined not to let you win. His mind is already completely clouded with lust, desperate to fuck you into the mattress, but he refuses to give you the satisfaction of watching him give in to you.

He bends his face to yours, gasping out a curse as he watches the way you swirl your tongue around his finger with a hum, lazily sucking it while maintaining your eyes locked onto his. He presses the pad of his thumb down onto your tongue, and your lips obediently fall open before upturning into a taunting smile.

You still think you’re in control.

Hyunjin shakes his head, his resolve coming back to him.

His fingers fall from your tongue, and he presses his lips against yours. You melt into the kiss, hands traveling down the expanse of Hyunjin’s abdomen, then back up to wrap around his broad shoulders. He lets you do as you please, rummaging through his box until his fingers brush against what he’s looking for. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, ultimately distracting you, and you let out a small whimper, which grows into a loud groan as he presses the blunt tip of the massaging wand to your clit and switches it to the medium setting.

“What the fuck,” You all but growl into his lips, and Hyunjin hums.

“Does it feel good, baby?”

You let out a shuddering sigh. “T-Too much,” you whimper, hands scrambling for Hyunjin’s arms in an attempt to ground yourself, but ultimately clawing at his bedsheets.

He glides the wand along your drenched folds, moving up and down, eyes transfixed on the way your arousal drips out of you and coats the toy. Your entire body jolts when he harshly presses the vibrating tip directly onto your clit. He could come just by watching you squirm underneath him, loud groans falling from your lips. How he wished Jihoon could be in your room, listening to how beautiful you sound when you’re actually being taken care of properly.

Hyunjin feels his cock twitch every time your body shudders, trying to escape the relentless vibrations, sticky precum gathering in his sweatpants and increasing his discomfort. He desperately wants to fuck you.

With a low grunt, he leans in closer to you, pinning your arm to your side and flicking his wrist as he presses down harder on your swollen clit.

“Got no idea how pretty you sound, do you?” He hisses, “If only you weren’t such a fucking brat and just — fuck.”

His words dissipate when your free hand wiggles between your bodies and pulls down his sweatpants, freeing his cock. Your fingers immediately wrap around his length, squeezing him tightly before frantically stroking him. The sounds that echoed through the room were lewd, unmistakable evidences of both your arousals.

Hyunjin pulls the wand from your clit, turning down the vibrations and letting it rest against one of your peaked nipples while he grips his cock in his fist, the swollen tip prodding at your entrance, just barely pushing in. You whimper loudly, clutching his arm, fingernails digging crescent moons into his pale skin.

“Come on,” he growls, cock now gliding up and down your slit. “I know you wanna come, just fucking say it.”

But you’re unrelenting, staring into his eyes and weakly shaking your head.

Hyunjin stops his movements altogether, his shaft nestled against your soaking cunt, the head of his cock resting heavily on your clit. He presses the wand down onto his length, increasing the intensity to the highest setting. A loud, broken moan falls from your throat as your shaky hands grip his wrist, your back arching off the bed. You try to push the toy away, but Hyunjin’s free hand wraps around your neck, effortlessly pinning your pliant body down onto the mattress.

He presses his forehead to yours, his sweat dripping down onto your breasts as he fights off his orgasm.

“Fucking say it,” he hisses, tears gathering in your lashes. The unyielding vibrations from the wand traveling through his cock and going straight onto your clit, coupled with the way his hand tightens around your throat, finally have every bit of your resolve crumbling.

“You,” you choke out, “Best fuck I’ll ever fucking have, Hyunjin, god — I wanna come, please.”

Hyunjin feels satisfaction enveloping his entire being, and the pleasure intensifies tenfold, his cock twitching and a low groan reverberating from the depths of his chest.

“Come for me, baby,” he breathes out, giving your neck one last squeeze, and your climax erupts from you with a loud cry. As your entire body convulses and your head tilts back, Hyunjin can feel your release coating his cock before dripping onto the sheets below.

As you struggle to catch your breath, your grip on his wrist tightens and your body squirms away from the vibrations, but Hyunjin only presses down harder, seeking his own release. He soon comes with a sigh, eyebrows scrunching together, his cum landing all over your cunt.

He turns off the vibrator, labored breaths mixing with yours as you two come down from your highs.

“You’re fucking insane,” you chuckle after a beat.

And Hyunjin’s lips stretch into a lazy smile. “And you owe me a date.”

You were reluctant at first, having assumed it was simply Hyunjin’s ego talking that night, only teasing you because you were going on a date with someone else when he proposed that odd bet. However, you eventually found out he wasn’t at all joking and actually wanted his ‘prize’ — as he called it — for winning the bet.

Figuring out a date was an aggravating task, given that Hyunjin worked on weekends and you worked on weekdays. You told him numerous times to just let it go; you could simply hang out in his apartment like you usually did and call it a date. It wasn’t anything serious, just another one of his whims.

But Hyunjin’s persistence was unwavering, and he settled for taking yet another day off and canceling his livestream altogether so he could take you out on a Saturday.

Although you weren’t looking forward to it at first, you unknowingly smiled whenever you saw the day marked on your calendar alongside your endless work assignments. It was ridiculous, and you wouldn’t admit it to him, but deep down, you were actually excited about this date. You wanted to know what it’s like to have a conversation that doesn’t end in you two bickering, wanted to know what it feels like to hang out with him without the thought of fucking looming over your heads.

You were strangely excited to get to know Hyunjin outside the four walls of your apartments.

But the Sunday before your date, disappointment washed over you like a cold bucket of water when Hyunjin told you he had to cancel.

What did you expect? You knew Hyunjin. This should’ve been the obvious outcome from the start, but you were stupid and allowed yourself to be swept away by a hope that proved too good to be true.

He waited until he finished his livestream to tell you — as if canceling less than a week before wasn’t already bad enough. Your irritation reached its peak as you sat in his bed and listened to him insist it wasn’t his fault.

“One of the other hosts had a family emergency so he’ll be gone for two weekends,” he explained, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his words. Family emergency. Of course.

“Hyunjin, you say that like you don’t take countless days off with no issues,” you refuted, and his frown deepened while he shook his head.

Just say you don’t wanna go on this stupid date.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “It’s not like that. We have rules to follow,” he insisted. “Only one host can be absent at a time. I don’t have a valid reason for bailing on Saturday, so I’m forced to go.”

“Or you’ll lose your precious number one spot?”

“Or I’ll lose my fucking job.”

And you simply shrugged as you ultimately realized that was yet another pointless conversation between you. You then went on to have sex, as you always did when confronted with the threat of a serious conversation, and the topic was forgotten.

At least by Hyunjin.

You spend the next days avoiding him to the best of your abilities. Deep down, you know you’re behaving like a child, but the way you allowed yourself to get excited over something as stupid as a date with him still makes you feel pathetic. It’s impossible not to feel like he raised your hopes only for the pleasure of shutting you down. All because you went out with someone else, and you know that was a blow to his ego.

You two have never been anything more than friends who hook up — and even using that term feels almost comical, seeing as you two can’t have a conversation without it turning into a petty argument or an ego battle — but his insistence on this date, and your own eagerness seemed to hint at something more.

Clearly, you were mistaken.

You brought Jihoon back to your apartment hoping to have mind-blowing sex after a nice date. Plus, you knew Hyunjin would hear you, and you terribly wanted to deflate his ego. A win-win situation in your book. Instead, you had mediocre sex at best. Jihoon skipped foreplay entirely, simply pounded into you, and finished far too quickly while leaving you hanging.

Maybe he was too tipsy to perform well, or maybe the women in your office are living in a depressing reality where a guy’s ability to find the clitoris means he’s a god among men. Either way, even after putting on your best performance, Hyunjin still saw right through you.

And the worst part is, even you can’t explain why you did that. Your mind argues it was all for the pleasure of vexing him; he’s been annoying you since he first moved in next door, after all. But your heart is quick to jump in with a list of facts and reasons why that can’t be the case — all while presenting some valid arguments that lead you to believe you might like Hyunjin more than originally planned.

But he was still Hyunjin at the end of the day. Your egotistical idiot neighbor whose fragile ego you hurt, so he’s retaliating.

After three days of successfully ignoring Hyunjin, one of your friends at work makes all your work crumble with a single phrase.

“I can’t believe we still haven’t gone back to The Siren,” she grumbled during lunch, and you stabbed an innocent piece of broccoli with your fork.

That was all it took to ignite your curiosity.

You sit at your desk later in the day and look up that damn club, telling yourself you simply want to find out why your friends are so desperate to go there. This has nothing to do with Hyunjin.

Upon entering their website, you realize The Siren wasn’t a nightclub as you had imagined; it’s an elegant lounge with a lavish-looking bar you’re sure charged $5 for a bottle of water. As you read the club’s About Us page, the entrance fee almost has you choking on your coffee, despite it being expected for such a place. Among several rules, one catches your eye:

The club allows a maximum of twenty attendees per night, offering a choice of twenty-five hosts.

You gnaw on your bottom lip at the realization that perhaps Hyunjin wasn’t lying, and that was the reason only one host could be absent at a time.

Eventually, you find your way to the Hosts section of the website. You’re a bit taken aback by how these men are presented as amenities, like products displayed at an online shop, with nothing but their names and a picture along with their price.

They’re divided into tiers: gold, emerald, and platinum. Hosts in the gold tier are younger, most likely having just started on the job, and their prices are the most affordable. The emerald tier is more expensive, with some hosts who look old enough to be your father. The disturbing realization dawns on you that these men’s values diminish as they age.

On the platinum tier, only five hosts are displayed, and you blanch at each of their unique prices. Hyunjin is the most expensive, at $500, excluding extra fees. You click on his black and white picture, and a myriad of photos of Hyunjin flood your screen. You’re struck by how different he looks in these shots; his styled hair and impeccably tailored suits look nothing like the man you see at your apartments every day, lounging around in sweatpants and loose t-shirts.

A description sits at the top of the page, short but still enough to make you grimace.

Hyunjin has held our club’s esteemed number-one position for two consecutive years now, and rightfully so. Complementing his striking good looks is an alluring personality that will make you feel cherished throughout the evening. His undivided attention will undoubtedly meet your satisfaction, and his additional services will leave you breathless.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting — you were already aware of the nature of Hyunjin’s job as a host — but the club’s portrayal of these people as mere products leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your curiosity has morphed into frustration as you return to the homepage, but a message catches your eye just as you’re about to exit the website. Three spots are now available for Saturday night due to the absence of one of their hosts. And before you can even process your actions, you’ve already booked these spots for you and two friends.

Thank you for choosing to unwind at The Siren! We will contact you individually regarding further details, including host orders.

Host orders? That is enough to make you close the website.

You can’t believe you’re going to do this. You know for a fact Hyunjin will be upset, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If he wants to toy with your emotions, you have every right to show up at this club.

You wait for Hyunjin to leave for work to get ready on Saturday. You weren’t able to avoid him this afternoon and spent the day lazying around in your apartment, binge-watching some new reality TV show he’s obsessed with.

You expected Hana and Naeun to eat you alive for buying tickets to this overpriced club without consulting them first, but their excitement overshadowed any anger they had. You also played up your excitement, although, by the time your shift had ended, you mostly felt regret for spending all that money purely out of spite.

The email you received explains The Siren has a strict dress code, not allowing any client in unless they’re dressed to their standards.

The patrons are required to match our club’s overall atmosphere.

You rolled your eyes. At least their arrogance fit their ostentatious price.

As you skim through their several other rules, you find out that booking a host isn’t mandatory, and often, hosts will seek out patrons themselves if they’re free for the night.

Be prepared to be approached by one of our available hosts at any given moment. Should you be fortunate enough to capture their attention, that is.

Among the rules, you’re also explicitly told that tipping the hosts anything beyond their set prices is strictly forbidden. The more you learned about this club, the more you struggled to understand why Hyunjin held it in such high esteem.

You bring out your best dress from the back of your closet, hoping you ‘matched the club’s overall atmosphere.’ You let out a heavy sigh as you make it past the What Not to Wear crew guarding the entrance alongside the bouncer, and you are officially in.

“This is your first time here, right?” Hana asks you, linking your arms together. You nod, and she grins before adding, “You’re in for a treat.”

The Siren is exactly what you saw in the pictures, only the dim glow of purple neon lights illuminating the extravagant chandeliers, corner sofas, and opulent decorations you know cost more than your month’s rent.

The owner herself personally escorts every single patron to their seats — a tradition spanning over a decade since the club was first inaugurated. Briefly introducing herself as Taeyeon, the beautiful woman leads you through a long corridor adorned with the hosts’ pictures on the walls. Finally, you arrive at a sofa, where a champagne bottle nestled in an ice bucket already waits for you. She informs Naeun that the host she ordered for the night will be a bit late due to personal reasons, before bidding you goodbye with a smile.

You awkwardly shift in your seat as Hana leaves to fetch you drinks from the bar, and your eyes scan the lounge as it slowly fills up with people. You notice a few of the men you saw on the website parading around the club, a grin etched onto their lips as they lock eyes with a few of the patrons. Other hosts are already tending to their ‘dates,’ sitting beside them on the sofas and attentively listening with warm smiles.

Hyunjin wasn’t lying when he said his job was making lonely women feel wanted.

The club itself is rather boring without the satisfaction of a host pampering you. The slow jazz music playing softly in the background makes you feel almost drowsy, and the dim lighting does little to help. For an hour, you watch as hosts come and go. Some lead their clients toward the bar area, partaking in drinking games with other clients and hosts. Others guide women up the black, shimmering staircase at the back of the club, leaving you to wonder where they could possibly be off to. Thankfully, you’ll have Hana to keep you company when Naeun undoubtedly disappears off to somewhere with the host she ‘ordered.’

Your gaze falls on the sofa in front of you, where a host’s dimpled smile lights up his face as he playfully strokes a woman’s cheek, eliciting a shy giggle from her lips before she continues her story. His intense gaze remains fixed on her face, his hand soothingly trailing down her back while he nods, seemingly enthralled by their conversation. It would be a lie to say coming here after a tiring week at work wouldn’t seem like stepping into a dream. Even if it’s all a well-constructed lie, having a handsome guy cater to your every need and listen to you complain without uttering a word is almost fucking idyllic.

Your eyes then wander toward the back of the club, where a small group of hosts is huddled around a circular table, quietly laughing among themselves. Sitting at the center, Taeyeon’s intent gaze oversees her club’s activities while engaged in a heated phone conversation, her scowl deepening with each word she mutters.

You assume these hosts weren’t booked for the night or are still waiting for their clients to arrive. Just as you’re about to advert your gaze, Hyunjin emerges from a door on the left. His hair is meticulously styled, slicked back to reveal his gorgeous face, and his tall figure is dressed in a white button-up shirt tucked neatly under an expensive-looking black blazer.

Hyunjin has always been beautiful in your eyes, but seeing him exude so much confidence stirs up something inside of you.

His mere presence captivates you so strongly you find it impossible to look away, even as his gaze meets yours. A look of utter bewilderment washes over his face as he stills his movements, looking almost startled. You two fall into an impromptu staring contest as if you’re attempting to communicate with your eyes alone until Naeun taps your shoulder, snapping you out of your haze.

“He’s so fucking hot, isn’t he?”

Your brows knit together. “What?”

“The host you’re ogling at,” Naeun giggles, “I saw him on their website the first time we came here, but I was too late so I couldn’t get him to myself. I’m so glad you asked us to come tonight ‘cause I got to order him before he was booked,” she explains, and you feel as if all the air has frozen in your lungs. Hyunjin is the host your friend ordered. “I’m fucking broke now, but I know it’ll be worth it.”

You inwardly grimace at how she talks about Hyunjin, almost like he’s only a shiny toy she couldn’t buy in the past. That, coupled with how booking a host is so casually referred to as ordering, makes you feel a bit nauseous.

Hyunjin eventually walks over to your table, as you knew he would. He’s Naeun’s host for the night, after all. As he slowly strides toward your sofa, his focus remains solely on you. For a split second, his eyes flicker with something akin to sadness before he quickly resumes his usual persona.

He immediately takes Naeun’s hand, kissing her knuckles with half-lidded eyes and a sultry grin. The way he looks at her has the knot in your stomach tightening, aching with the realization that it’s the same way he always looks at you. You were never anything special or significant to each other — you’re well aware of that — but the sting you feel is unbearable for some reason.

Hyunjin sits beside Naeun, and his focus shifts entirely to her. His wandering hands leave a trail of goosebumps from her arms to her bare legs, while his whispered words make her cheeks flush a rosy pink. And it feels as if he’s completely ignoring your presence, which is such a foolish thought you almost feel ashamed. This is his job, but reminding yourself of that every couple of minutes somehow only makes you feel worse.

Because this isn’t a one-time thing, this happens every single time he works.

At some point, while you were too busy engrossed in Hyunjin and Naeun, Hana got a host of her own. With his bleached blonde hair, a constellation of freckles on his cheeks, and a deep, gentle voice, it seems he’s done his job at captivating her. Each host seems to embody a specific persona. From his less-touchy demeanor to the softness in his eyes when he looks at Hana, it’s clear that this guy is going for the caring boyfriend type.

As you remember how available hosts sometimes approach clients themselves, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. If they’re available, no one has booked them for the night, meaning they won’t earn a single dollar. Their focus will undoubtedly be on finding the wealthiest available patron. Hana came from old money, only working at your company after falling out with her family, but her head-to-toe Chanel attire radiates wealth. It’s no wonder this host so graciously chose to sit beside her.

Eventually, Hana is led to the large bar by her host, and the atmosphere in your little space becomes increasingly uncomfortable for you. Your neglected drink is now lukewarm, leaving a damp spot on the hem of your dress as condensation seeps through from where you rested the glass on your thighs.

Hyunjin leaves a few minutes later, taking Naeun by the hand. He briefly turns to look at you, his gaze now nearly unreadable. Only disappointment — or was it hurt? — flashes in his brown eyes before he walks away to lead her up that stairwell.

You sit alone for what feels like an eternity, the once bustling lounge slowly falling into a deafening silence around you. Jealousy and hurt intertwine inside your brain, spinning around in an endless cycle and making your head throb.

You’re only waiting until you’ve finished your way too expensive Cosmopolitan — far too warm to be enjoyable now — when a figure suddenly sits beside you. To your surprise, it’s a host. His styled dark brown hair is messy as if he’s been running his hands through it, and his black button-up shirt has the sleeves rolled up, exposing the veins running along his forearms. He’s hot, there’s no denying, but your sour mood won’t be solved by some eye candy.

“Seems we’re both alone tonight,” he starts, a smile slowly spreading across his lips.

You simply hum, taking a final sip of your drink before placing the glass on the table. You’re not really in the mood to entertain this conversation, so you uncross your legs, ready to leave.

But your movements halt when his hand gently rests on your knee.

“You seem so lonely here all by yourself. Why don’t you come with me?” He offers, and your eyes narrow. He lets out a hearty laugh. “No need to act so suspicious, I’m just making an offer. We’re both alone. What’s the harm?”

To say you were skeptical would be an understatement. You clearly remember his face from the website as he was right beside Hyunjin, at the number two spot of the platinum tier, his price only slightly less offensively expensive.

“I’m Minho,” he offers his hand, which you reluctantly take after telling him your name. After your awkward handshake, you try to pull back, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he places your clasped hands on your lap, his thumb drawing circular shapes on your skin as he continues, “I waited all night for my client to show up. I could really use a distraction.”

Of course.

You take a deep breath, and your gaze shifts towards his face.

“I don’t have money to order you, sorry.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Minho’s lips, his hand leaving yours and finding the skin of your thighs. “How about I make this my treat, then? My client has this habit of ordering me and then ghosting me,” he sighs, “Isn’t that cruel? Taeyeon said she won’t let it fly anymore and is refusing to give her a refund for tonight.”

As Minho’s soft touch glides along your skin, his fingers inching closer to the hem of your dress, your mind replays the scene of Hyunjin’s hand on Naeun’s legs. The way he touched her mirrored how he had touched you so many times, and it replayed in your mind like a flickering film. It ignites the flame of ugly jealousy inside of you once more.

“Your treat?” You whisper, and Minho’s face inches closer to yours, your noses brushing together.

“I’d hate for a pretty girl like you to go home unsatisfied,” he whispers.

You’re walking up the gleaming steps of that staircase before you can make sense of what you’re doing. Minho’s hand doesn’t leave your skin for a second, fingers now gliding across your arms as he leads you down a wide corridor. You eye the place curiously, taking in the row of closed, dark wooden doors lining both sides of the hallway.

Minho leads you toward the only door that has been left ajar, and it finally dawns on you what happens on the second floor of The Siren.

The room is not large; a round bed occupies most of the space between the small bar and the dark velvet couch. Following your initial conversation with Hyunjin about this job, he consistently evaded any further questions you asked until you eventually gave up. You always assumed he found the subject boring, much like you did when forced to talk about your own job.

You knew his job as a host meant pampering women, making them feel wanted and tending to their every need throughout the night. It seems your brain conveniently failed to remember that it also implied having sex with them.

“I only fuck them if they’re willing to pay, and I’m expensive.”

You feel a shudder run through your body as those words ring inside your mind. That’s what extra fees meant.

Hyunjin led Naeun up those stairs. It doesn’t take much imagination to know what they were doing at that exact moment.

Minho locks the door behind you, and his strong arms circle your waist, drawing you closer to his body. His gaze drops to your lips, and a smile spreads across his face.

“Is this okay?” His voice is gentle, with no pressure lingering in his words. You know you could say no, go back home, and wallow in your self-pity for the rest of the night.

But you don’t want to do that.

Because you know Hyunjin is currently fucking your friend. And, despite the rational side of your brain screaming that this is his job, it does little to extinguish the searing fire of jealousy that burns under your skin.

So, you allow yourself to fall into bed with Minho.

His touches are almost feather-light, his kisses gentle, and his movements deliberate as he fucks into you.

It feels good, but it’s not what you’re used to.

It’s not Hyunjin.

Hyunjin returned home as soon as he possibly could after his shift.

Any anger was dampened by the sadness and shame he felt because you had to see him at the club. It’s his job, but it’s a job he never truly loved. He feels vulnerable and powerless as a host, a stark contrast to what he feels when camming.

Taeyeon personally scouted him from his livestream. He was twenty and already making enough money to provide for himself. He didn’t need a new job, but the allure of the validation he knew it would provide him was enticing. Compliments and adoration fueled Hyunjin throughout his entire life. He knew it was a bit pathetic, but that was how he was taught to be.

During his training period, Taeyeon and the older hosts instructed him. They taught him how to erase his true self to fit into what would most appeal to clients. That was easy for Hyunjin. He’d already been doing that for most of his life.

He wasn’t tricked into anything. He was given a meticulous explanation of every minute detail of the job and was allowed to set hard limits for anything he wasn’t comfortable doing. Taeyeon treated the hosts like her family, like older and younger brothers she cared for. She provided apartments for those who came into the job with nothing, paid off student debts, and was always willing to listen to their problems.

She would be the perfect boss if not for her love of money.

Every host receives only 5% of any money they make for the club. Hyunjin, as the highest-paid host at The Siren, only makes around $100 per weekend — if he’s lucky enough to have clients booking him for extra services every night.

He knows he’s being exploited but can’t bring himself to quit.

When he first discovered the ranking system at the club, he turned to smoking because of pressure. Naturally, he started at the lowest tier but needed to climb as fast as possible. He was determined to do whatever it took to reach that number one spot. He bleached his hair, splashed out on clothes he didn’t like, and even took up groups of clients per night. Hyunjin had always found comfort in sex. He had complete control of the situation and the satisfaction of knowing he was the reason someone felt good was just another form of validation, like he was loved for as long as the sex lasted.

Sex at the club was never like that. It was a chore, something he did because he had to. It wasn’t anything like camming, and it wasn’t like having sex with someone he actually cared about.

It wasn’t anything like having sex with you.

Seeing you that night only made it harder for him to drag himself up those stairs and do what was expected of him.

Hyunjin got home that night and fell asleep on the couch. He couldn’t be bothered to do anything, especially shower, as the thought of facing his reflection in the mirror was unbearable. Different emotions swirled inside him like a tornado until they ultimately consumed him before he finally dozed off.

He thought he could trust you, thought you knew him well enough to understand why he wanted to keep this part of himself hidden from you. The night he first told you about this job, he put on a mask — like he always did — and put on his best act, playing up his arrogance despite how scared he felt. When you told him that same night he wasn’t anything worth falling for, and that you could be together only until you found something better, he felt as if his heart had shattered for the first time in his life.

That was the night he realized a mask couldn’t protect him from everything. Especially his own heart.

It wasn’t intentional — liking you this much hasn’t been exactly enjoyable. It simply happened. Because you were the only one who ever chipped away at his impenetrable wall and saw the closest thing to the real Hyunjin, yet still chose to stay.

You hadn’t stayed because of his looks; you two never cared about impressing each other.

You hadn’t stayed solely for the sex; you two often got together simply to enjoy each other’s company.

Hyunjin couldn’t be blamed for assuming you had stayed because you knew him. Not the mask he wore or the persona he showed to the world — the real him.

But tonight, even among all the designer clothes and expensive drinks, he felt as if you had just witnessed him at his lowest. And he could only hope you still chose to stay after that.

You’ve barely been awake for an hour when a knock echoes through your apartment. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, because there’s only one person who could be at the other side of the door.

After your jealousy-clouded brain made the asinine decision to sleep with Minho, you’ve locked away any and every thought into a pretty little box inside your mind. You didn’t want to think about what you had done because you knew the remorse would slowly erode your mind. You certainly didn’t want to think about Hyunjin, as even the faint memory of his eyes from the previous night would dig at your heart until it shattered.

But there was nowhere you could hide outside of your mind.

Hyunjin is quiet as you open the door, and he remains quiet as you two sit together on your couch. Your tea sits forgotten on your coffee table, and you focus on the swirls of steam rising from your mug as you endure his silence.

You force yourself to speak when your tea finally goes cold.

“I’m sorry,” you simply say.

Hyunjin’s hands tug at the sleeves of his sweater, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. “Why did you come to the club without telling me?”

“I was angry at you,” You bite your lip, knowing your reasoning is ridiculous. “Because of the date…” you trail off, and Hyunjin turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he walked into your apartment.

“So you thought coming to my work would be a good idea?”

You shrug, instinctively looking away as you feel the intensity of his eyes on you. It was just like when you first met him, only it made you ashamed instead of flustered. You missed that initial lightness, but you knew that was long gone now. Sorting out your issues with Hyunjin was necessary if you ever hoped to have a healthy relationship. If every conversation turned into an argument that would only be avoided through sex, there was no point in dragging this on.

“I wasn’t thinking,” is all you can say.

Hyunjin scoffs. “That was kinda obvious.”

The biting tone in his voice makes you rise to your feet, shaking your head. You put as much distance between you and him as possible.

“What? You wanted me to be rational when I thought you were just playing with me?” You throw your hands up as you blurted out, exasperation consuming any remaining trace of pride within you. “When I thought you were having fun acting jealous and proposing dates only to come up with shitty excuses to shut it all down?”

“Playing with you?” Hyunjin mirrors your words, eyes narrowing as he closes the distance you had created. “I thought you knew me enough to know I mean it when I say something. I wanted to go on that date with you, and I was fucking jealous. That night you forced me to listen to you fuck another guy made me wanna punch my fucking wall.”

You open your lips, but no words come out.

You’re embarrassed. Going to The Siren wasn’t the first childish thing you had done out of spite because of Hyunjin. But your anger was never directed at him. It was always you; for allowing yourself to become so attached to him and like him so much that it drove you mad.

Going on that date simply to rile Hyunjin up, showing up at his job because you felt entitled to when your mind insisted you had been wronged — that was all you and your stupid mind being incapable of accepting the fact that you have fallen for the guy you swore would never be of any significance to you.

The guy you so proudly declared unworthy of falling for.

“Are you really not gonna say anything?” Hyunjin lets out a weak laugh, and when your eyes meet again, his expression leaves no room for doubt this time. Sadness swims freely in his eyes while they well up with tears that he vigorously fights to hold back. “I thought you knew me,” he reiterates. “Thought you stayed because you knew…” He trails off, shaking his head.

As he turns to leave, you instinctively reach out for him. After nine months of knowing each other, you hold his hand for the first time.

“I do know you, Hyunjin,” you blurt out, squeezing his hand when he refuses to look at you. “I stayed because I know you. Beyond your rankings, beyond that club, beyond this damn wall you built around yourself. At least a little bit, I know you.”

He takes a deep breath before his eyes lock on yours again. “I feel like you’ve been tearing down brick by brick of my wall.” He’s the one to squeeze your hand this time. “I kinda fucking hate that.”

You attempt to stifle a chuckle, but it escapes your lips nonetheless. Hyunjin smiles.

“I’d love to know you even more, beyond this mask you wear all the time,” you confess. And you’re tired of hiding behind your own mask, so you tell him, “It’s tiring feeling like I only know half of who you truly are when I already like you so fucking much as it is.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen, surprise eclipsing any trace of his initial sadness.

“What? You like me?” He sputters, and you bite your lips as a smile spreads on your lips.

You cannot believe this is the same Hyunjin whose ego made you want to punch his face.

“Well, no shit,” you chuckle. “Why do you think I put up with you for so long? Don’t you think if I was looking for something better, I would’ve found it already?”

Hyunjin’s lips crash into yours before you can say anything else, his fingertips barely brushing against your skin as he cupped your face.

Your lips part for him, and a low hum resonates from his chest. You wrap your free arm around his shoulder, your hands still tightly intertwined, and pull him closer to you. It’s an awkward position, but neither of you is willing to unclasp your hands.

Hyunjin’s tongue glides languidly into your open lips, making you clutch at his arm as your mind goes dizzy. You had never kissed like this — always too impatient and lust-drunk to savor the feeling of each other’s lips properly.

It sends your entire body ablaze.

He’s pulling away far too soon, tugging at your bottom lip with a small smile.

“I’m not something better, but I’m gonna be,” he mutters against your lips. “For you.”

But you shake your head. “Just let me in. You’re already more than enough.”

In order for your efforts to work, you and Hyunjin established three crucial rules: absolute honesty, open communication, and no fucking until significant progress is made.

You start slowly, with that unfulfilled date that had been the catalyst for you two finally confronting your feelings.

Hyunjin was nervous. The few times he’s gone on dates, his mind was set on wrapping it up as soon as possible to take the person home. It didn’t matter where they went or what they did; every date inevitably led to his bed.

This time was different.

You certainly weren’t expecting to have a picnic on a Saturday afternoon. Your surprise was evident as your eyes widened at the sight before you: Hyunjin, standing at your door with a picnic basket and a digital camera slung around his neck. When you jokingly commented on how that was the most un-Hyunjin thing you had ever seen him do, he nonchalantly shrugged.

As you two sat together under a tree, however, he told you he’s always loved picnics. Growing up near a park, picnics became a family tradition that started when he was just a kid and still happens whenever he visits his parents. The silly smile that was etched onto your lips lingered throughout the entire day. Hyunjin’s closed-off nature made that small piece of information feel like a precious gem you had just collected. It was far greater than any of the pointless conversations you two had in the last nine months.

It felt like watching another brick from his once towering wall shatter to the ground.

Hyunjin quit his job at the club a month after your first date.

He didn’t elaborate on it at first, simply telling you it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. You had now learned it was best to give him space, as his tendency to shut himself off only worsened if he felt pressured. Deep inside, Hyunjin yearned to share every little detail about himself with you and hear your own stories in return. However, years of keeping everyone at a comfortable distance hindered his ability to open up without feeling vulnerable.

So you only pulled him into a hug, running your hands through his hair as he let out a heavy sigh. You two then set off for your date at a bakery close to your apartments, with the subject seemingly forgotten.

Until Hyunjin suddenly told you the entire truth under a lamppost in front of your building. He whispered that he didn’t want to go home yet, and you found yourselves sitting on the sidewalk as you listened to his story. You weren’t exactly shocked at the information dumped on you, but it still made your heart sore. He was taken advantage of because he longed to feel accepted, to feel loved.

During the elevator ride, you could tell Hyunjin was struggling to hold back tears with every ounce of his strength. You know he was eager to be alone when he pressed a weak kiss to your forehead before heading towards his door. So you reached out for his hand once more and pulled him toward your apartment despite his protests.

That night, Hyunjin struggled to suppress his tears until they ultimately overflowed out of his eyes and down his cheeks as you held him on the couch. Before you knew it, tears unwittingly streamed down your face as well. It was as if your emotions were a mirror image of his.

Another brick down.

You discover Hyunjin’s love for photography by accident.

Everywhere you went together, his camera was draped around his neck. At first, you paid little attention to that detail. His job consisted of being in front of a camera; it wouldn’t be outrageous to surmise he simply enjoyed documenting his daily life. You teased him about it one day as he stopped in front of a flower shop to snap yet another picture. He shrugged, casually telling you he’d been taking pictures since his teenage years, later majoring in photography before dropping out of university.

Unable to tame your nagging curiosity, you urged him to show you his pictures. Nestled deep inside his wardrobe were several boxes filled with photographs he had taken over the years. Most captured the simple beauty of ordinary places and simple things, like the pretty flowers he saw at the shop you walked past, but some showed people candidly laughing while immersed in the happiness of their daily lives in parks or museums.

He wore an unabashed grin on his lips when he opened another box, this one containing around ten developed pictures of you. Among the small pile of photos, one catches your eye: your smiling side profile beaming at a group of kids, a hand shielding your eyes from the sun. You turn the picture around, and the words “First date. I was so nervous, and she was so pretty” are scribbled in black sharpie. Hyunjin groaned beside you, telling you he just jotted down something stupid without much thought. It made you smile like a kid.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a weak chuckle, “I never show them to anybody. None of them are really good, anyway.”

You furrowed your brows at his words, studying his face for any hint of sarcasm. His pictures were beautiful, perfectly depicting how happiness and mundanity often blended into one unbeknownst to people. But Hyunjin noticed, with his camera always ready at the right time for the perfect shot, even with things as small as a snapshot of your first date.

“They’re amazing, Hyunjin,” you told him matter-of-factly. “This is the kind of thing you’d find in art galleries. I can’t believe you keep this talent hidden.”

He shrugs your words off at first, taking a photo in his hand and studying it for a few seconds. His lips curve into a small smile, shyly at first, until his face is beaming as he looks down at his work. You can’t help but smile along, noticing how his cheeks blushed for the first time since you met him.

Another brick down.

In two months, you and Hyunjin went from meeting only at your apartments to going on weekly dates and from pointless bickering to actually understanding each other. The more he opened up, the more you found yourself being vulnerable around him as well.

You learned Hyunjin’s confidence was truthfully a part of him; he simply played it up to a maddening degree to protect himself. He is a confident man, but he’s certainly not the egotistical idiot you once believed him to be.

Your suspicions about him secretly being a softie were also confirmed as you witnessed him cry nearly every time you watched the romance movies he sheepishly confessed to loving. At first, he would sniffle, rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat, before excusing himself to the bathroom. A few movies later, he allowed himself to openly cry in front of you for the second time. He’s proven to be a certified crier since then, often laying his head on your chest and silently shedding tears while you played with his hair.

At the end of the day, Hyunjin was a flawed, complex person like any other. He wasn’t always soft and sensitive, but he wasn’t only a cocky and smug little shit, either.

You found you loved both sides of him equally.

Your rules proved to be exactly what you needed, as you only felt closer to Hyunjin each passing day.

But a particular rule became your number one enemy after a month.

Your pent-up sexual frustration seemed to escalate with each passing day, fueling an increasing desire to just say fuck it and climb on top of Hyunjin. It certainly didn’t help that he was even clingier now, long limbs always tangling with yours when you lay on the couch, or his warm body pressing against you while you were cooking. Not to mention that you listened to him livestream every weekend. You opted to wait in his living room — because watching him would just be masochistic — but it felt like you had been transported back in time. Sitting alone for hours and listening to him moan was still as torturous as the first time it had happened. Even if you touched yourself to the sound of his voice, it was never enough.

You knew what you needed, but you have been essentially blueballing yourself for a month now.

As you two lie on your bed, watching another sappy romance movie, you can feel the heat rising inside your body, like a thermometer reaching its peak. You were fully expecting Hyunjin to cry, but this movie turned out to be far more erotic than romantic. His persistent need to have his lips on you — be it with a kiss or with lazy nibbles on your neck — also certainly doesn’t help your suffering.

You power through as you watch the love interests making out while Hyunjin lightly presses his lips to your neck, his body all but caging you against your bed. But the moment the couple heads to the bedroom, hastily undressing each other with heavy pants and sighs, you absentmindedly part your legs. Hyunjin is hovering above you before you can make sense of what’s happening, your laptop carelessly thrown to the side. His body pressed against yours, fitting perfectly between your thighs, as his darkening eyes bore into you.

“Hyunjin,” you have half a mind to say, “Our rule.”

He simply nods, and goosebumps ripple across your body when you feel his hardening member brush against you.

“We made progress,” he states with a grin. “You even let me into your room now.”

“It’s not enough to justify fucking again.”

As much as you were desperate for it.

He swallows slowly, nodding and bending his face to yours. “But our rule says no fucking,” he reasons. “If I make love to you, then it won’t even count.”

“Love?” You whisper, and the thermometer shatters as he presses a long kiss to your open lips.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin smiles between kisses, brushing his lips against yours. “Love.”

It’s not a clear confession, not a beautiful I love you whispered between kisses — but you know Hyunjin, and the sincerity in his voice says everything.

Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt as you pull him even closer to you, and he promptly presses his mouth against yours, his tongue teasingly gliding across your bottom lip. Each roll of your hips ignites the heat within you like scorching lava, your desire swallowing you entirely after so long of craving this.

His tongue presses against yours, effortlessly taking control of the kiss, capturing your bottom lip with his teeth before releasing it and traveling toward your jaw. He sucks the sensitive skin into his mouth with a hum, drawing out a whimper from your lips while he moves down the column of your neck. Smiling against your collarbone, Hyunjin alternates between harsh nibbles and soft kisses, leaving blooming rosy spots on every inch of your skin. He travels toward your chest, his hands slipping under your shirt and brushing your skin before tugging off the fabric.

Hyunjin’s hands cup your breasts, your nipples tightening under his attention, and his lips move down your body, placing kisses from your chest to your stomach. His hand eagerly kneads the soft skin of your chest while the other pinches your nipple, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingertips.

“I missed this,” he whispers, voice muffled against your skin, and you let out a shaky breath as a response when his fingers toy with the waistband of your sweatpants. “That was a stupid rule.”

“Shut up.” You let out a breathy laugh. “It was a great rule, it helped us make progress.”

“Fuck progress,” Hyunjin groans, tugging your sweatpants off.

He wastes no time hoisting your legs over his shoulders, causing you to shudder and goosebumps to ripple through your body when his lips close around your clit without warning. His tongue licks long stripes up the length of your slit, his fingers spreading you open so he can lap at your arousal with a low hum. Hyunjin’s thumb rubs circles around your clit as his lips find your inner thighs, sucking and biting at the skin, leaving another blushing trail of his yearning for you.

His tongue delves into your wetness, savoring you with tantalizing, pleasure-filled groans that travel through your cunt. The insistent throb between your thighs intensifies, your hand tugging at his hair and your hips rolling into his touch as you arch your back. Hyunjin’s fingers dig into the skin of your thighs while you reach your peak, his teeth pulling your clit gently as you come with a broken cry.

Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are heavy with lust when he looks at you, his firm grip keeping your legs over his shoulders.

“You still think that rule was great?” Hyunjin gives you a lopsided grin that almost has you rolling your eyes, only he presses one last kiss to your sensitive clit, rending you unable to do anything but mewl and tug at his hair. He chuckles, pressing his lips to your inner thighs once more, his eyes still locked onto yours.

You needed him closer, his strong arms surrounding you and his scent enveloping your senses until you felt dizzy. The mere thought of his cock has you clenching, arousal trickling down your slit, and you tug at his hair harshly with a whine.

Hyunjin climbs over you again, tugging his shirt over his head in one fluid movement and crashing his lips into yours, the taste of your release swirling in your mouth as your tongues meet.

“You’re so fucking needy,” he chides. You simply hum, his thick length brushing against your core as he leans down to kiss you again.

“You’re one to talk,” you smirk, breaking the kiss and rolling your hips up into his erection. Hyunjin scoffs, his hands capturing your wrists and pinning them over your head, his eyes darkening as he looms over you.

There’s no more push and pull between you two during your daily lives, but it’s something you hope never fades away during sex. You’re sure Hyunjin’s need to have control, coupled with your taste for riling him up, will make sure that never happens.

But Hyunjin has no intentions of making you beg tonight — not after so many weeks of making himself cum to the thought of your pretty cunt, knowing that damn rule kept him from actually having you.

He tugs his sweatpants out of his way, one hand still pinning your wrists to the mattress. You bite your lip at the sight of his cock hanging heavily, tantalizingly close to your sopping cunt. Hyunjin strokes himself hastily, clearly having grown impatient, precum dribbling from the ruddy head of his cock and easing the glide of his fist.

The swollen tip slides against your wetness, and he lets out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours. The delicious stretch as he presses inside has your hands instinctively reaching out to him. But his grip on your wrists only tightens, keeping them in place as he leans into you, stretching you further with a hiss.

“Fuck, I missed being buried in your cunt,” Hyunjin mumbles, and you moan as his teeth nip at your earlobe. “Always so tight, like you were made for me.”

He sheaths himself inside of you completely, and you arch your back with a groan as his cock twitches inside your sensitive spot.

“Made just for you,” you choke out as Hyunjin slowly thrusts into you, agonizingly slow and deliberate movements making you dig your nails into your palms. “Hyunjin,” his name dissipates into a whine as he pushes his cock in and out of you languidly.

He chuckles against the shell of your ear, and you wrap your legs around his torso, rolling your hips faster against him. The drawn-out moan that escapes his lips has your cunt clenching and leaking more arousal around his length.

“D’you still like the sound of my voice that much?” He hums, and you nod with a sigh. His slender fingers wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly. “Yeah? Like it when I moan in your ear?”

He finally picks up the pace, pulling back before snapping his hips forward. His lips swallow your moans as he kisses you once, his hand finally releasing your wrists and digging into your hips as he pumps his cock into you. He leaves a trail of wet kisses along your sweaty skin, tracing his tongue along the marks he left earlier.

“You’re mine,” he groans against your skin. “Been dying to say this for so fucking long.”

You gasp at his words, your body jerking when he slips his hand down to circle around your swollen clit. “‘M yours,” you whine, “Fuck me like I’m yours. Please—”

Hyunjin groans, your words igniting a fire within him, and his hips fall into a ruthless pace, pistoning his cock into you while his fingertips expertly stroke your clit. The hot coil of desire in your stomach tightens, finally breaking as your climax surges through every fiber of your being, a million stars bursting behind your eyelids.

“Fuck, you always feel so good,” Hyunjin rasps out, his movements shifting into a messy tempo. “Gonna fill you up, okay?”

You nod with a whimper, your overstimulated cunt clenching around his cock as his thrusts remain unrelenting. With a low grunt that ripples through his chest, Hyunjin’s hips slam into yours, his cock twitching and his grip on your throat tightening. He paints your insides with a final testament that you were his.

He stills on top of you, pressing featherlight kisses to your cheeks and lips, his cock softening inside of you as you stay that way for a while. When he pulls out, his fingers promptly smear his cum over your cunt as it leaks out, two digits thrusting his release back into you with a contented hum.

“Can we still fuck now that I found something better?” You ask him with a grin, and he laughs, burying his head in your neck.

Your mind is wholly clouded with bliss — both from your orgasm and the feeling of love that courses through your veins. You inwardly laugh. Hyunjin fucking you in your bedroom had definitely not tainted it. He had basically transformed your bed into a sanctuary.

Hyunjin helps you shower, gentle hands wash and caress your body before coaxing your third orgasm out of you under the soothing cascading water. He makes you a cup of your favorite tea the way you love it — which he made sure to memorize — and insists you two finish watching the forgotten movie before going to bed. It feels awfully domestic, and it would be a lie to say you hated it.

That night, you fall asleep beside Hyunjin in your bed for the first time; inside a little sacred space you are slowly building with him.

It was never your intention to be his. You were certain Hyunjin was the type of man who would never allow himself to be vulnerable, to truly fall in love with someone without his ego getting in the way. By keeping him at arm’s length, you believed you were guarding yourself from inevitable heartache.

Behind his cocky smirks and self-assured words, an amazing man hid himself out of deep-seated fears of rejection, unworthiness, and not being loved for his true self. Each day, he allowed glimpses of himself to shine through the cracks in his fortress. He became an enigma you were dying to unravel because you knew he was worth it.

Because you knew him.

And unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin has been yours all along. From the moment you walked into his apartment with a scowl and frustration-filled words, it was as if his heart became wired to crave you. He was simply hoping and waiting for you to become his as well.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie, @vlctorriaa, @yongbokkiesworld, @kiensecent, @redstayrosie, @wormieieie, @soonie1010, @dessianna1, @minimin1993, @idontlikecoffeeortea, @ashleighland, @oddracha, @sushiinmidnight, @lailac13, @badmaeda, @hynjinniesworld, @iheartjazz444, @cypher-girlx, @isagerada, @leviathanlee26, @sailor--sun, @binniesbabygirl

#stray kids #hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin x you #stray kids smut #skz

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moonpascaltoo · 5 months ago

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james potter

MASTERLIST • THE MARAUDERS • 11/29/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs two

james potter one

𑣲 in another life part 2 I @astonishment

In another life, you and Pietro would have happily spent the rest of your years together. In this life, he died right in front of you. Adjusting to your new world and mourning his loss wouldn't be so hard if it weren't for James Potter; the funny, charming, caring, annoyingly persistent man that looks just like the love you lost.

𑣲 love letters I @amiableness

Y/n starts receiving love letters, and James doesn't handle it well, leading to him writing his own.

𑣲 dad!james universe I @/amiableness

𑣲 kiss and makeup up I @/amiableness

James ruins reader’s date and attempts to make it better.

𑣲 speak up I @mischievousmoony

reader talks very quickly and quietly and often is told that she needs to speak up.

𑣲 haywire holiday I @/mischievousmoony

you have trouble sleeping when you unexpectedly have to share a bed with james on your holiday

𑣲 building blocks I @/mischievousmoony

𑣲 i know you I @/mischievousmoony

𑣲 new romantics I @pretty-little-mind33

When your "friends" play a dangerously stupid prank on you, James is the last person you'd think would help you.

𑣲 afterglow I @/pretty-little-mind33

James is threatened by how good you are at Quidditch which means he hates you. And what emotion is closer to hate than love?

𑣲 timeless part 2 I @/pretty-little-mind33

James wants to take you out to one of his families' fancy parties. However, he underestimates how cruel people can be when someone is different.

𑣲 enchanted I @/pretty-little-mind33

Three weeks after his devastating break up with Lily, James wanted Remus and Sirius to bring him to a muggle bar in central London.

𑣲 beautiful I @sun-kissy

𑣲 in another life I @/sun-kissy

𑣲 sunlight I @/sun-kissy

james is your best friend, and you tell him you love him as more than that

𑣲 request I @ellecdc

𑣲 he shoots and he scores I @/ellecdc

𑣲 bsf!james I @ddejavvu

𑣲 good luck charm I @/ddejavvu

James is convinced that you’re his good luck charm, so before every quidditch game, you find yourself at his mercy in the locker rooms.

𑣲 request I @/ddejavvu

𑣲 my girl I @alwaysmoncheri

no one makes james potter feel the way that his girlfriend does and he definitely knows it

𑣲 roommate!james series I @moonstruckme

𑣲 roommate!james I @/moonstruckme

𑣲 vampire!james I @/moonstruckme

𑣲 short scenario I @curseofaphrodite

where you, the Hogwarts Newsletter editor, wrote a less-than-praising piece about Gryffindors losing the recent match.

𑣲 lifeguard!james I @g1rld1ary

𑣲 don’t want you like a best friend I @moonlightspencie

James is nervous about his inexperience with girls. Luckily he has a best friend who's more than willing to help.

𑣲 do it for me I @morwap

𑣲 bonding I @marauroon

you’re convinced james has separation anxiety. the boy can’t even let you shower in peace.

𑣲 from now on I @rainydayathogwarts

James Potter gives head for the first time, and it quickly becomes an obsession.

𑣲 request I @theemporium

𑣲 teacher!james part 2 part 3 part 4 I @lupinsweater

𑣲 best!friend remus with no boundaries leave you alone with james I @mallowsweetmiri

𑣲 james with american gf hc I @s0urw00lf

𑣲 concussions 'n confessions I @sleepiexx

James quickly realizes his feelings for you— shortly after you’re struck directly in the head with a bludger.

𑣲 something he'd overheard I @/sleepiexx

James finds himself head over heels when he sees you defending a first year student.

𑣲 one of the guys I @thatdammchickennugget

you have always been one of the guys, but what if you don't want to be anymore?

𑣲 not saying i love you prank I @iamgonnagetyouback

𑣲 awkward dates I @/iamgonnagetyouback

When James stays quiet, too quiet, on your first date, unwelcome thoughts start clouding your mind.

𑣲 animangus!reader I @/iamgonnagetyouback

who he picks up thinking as stray and lets in on a secret

𑣲 genuine I @kquil

your boyfriend finally takes a role who has a romantic interest but his expression is hardly convincing; only you can get a genuine reaction from him

𑣲 did i mention? I @hemmingsleclerc

james declared himself to yn during a quidditch game in the most ridiculous way possible

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter series #james potter fluff #james potter smut #james potter angst #james potter x y/n #james potter imagine #james potter fic recs #james potter fic #the marauders #prongs

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rosemariiaa · 2 months ago

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𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 02, 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

𐙚— pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚— synopsis: the feeling of regret

𐙚— rosie’s note: hi :), sooo don’t yell at me y’all know i’m sensitive, but yes apologies this was supposed to come out wayyy sooner but i’ve had a lot going on with my personal life i barely had time to write but luckily i finished this up! ik almost people were confused on the cliffhanger so i hope i explained it well in this chapter :) happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚— themes: hurt/comfort, guilt, angst

enjoy!!!

march 21, 2014

The cursor blinked at me, expectant. Judging.

Her name sat on the tip of my tongue. Not the one she introduced herself with, not the nickname she had tossed at me under the swing set like it was armor. Her real name. The one she’d trusted me with just days before everything shattered.

I hovered over the keyboard. How many times had I visited this account in the past two months? More than I could count. The anonymity she clung to should have been enough to keep me from connecting the dots. But the username—UnicornPuppy35—was a clue I couldn’t ignore, not after that rainy night, not after the slippers and the shirt that practically screamed it.

Azzi.

The realization should have made me stop, made me put down my phone and walk away. She didn’t know it was me. She didn’t know I was the one lurking, soaking up every word she wrote, piecing together her sadness, her anger, her loneliness. And she couldn’t find out—not like this.

If she did… God, if she ever found out, I wasn’t sure what would happen. She’d hate me more than she already did, and I couldn’t stand to see that look on her face again.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my face. The memory of her tears still burned, sharp as glass.

flashback ⤑ february 13, 2013

The rain came down hard that night, the kind of downpour that soaked through your skin and left you raw.

I didn’t know why I left the house. Maybe it was the yelling, or maybe it was the silence that followed. Either way, I ended up at the park. The swings creaked under the weight of the wind, and the only other person there was huddled on one, head bowed as rain dripped from her curls and onto her bright pink unicorn shirt.

I almost walked away. She looked like she wanted to be alone, and honestly, so did I. But something stopped me—a tilt of her head, maybe, or the way her shoulders shuddered even as she sat still.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. The ground squelched under my shoes.

She looked up, startled. Her eyes, wide and brown, met my baby blues for half a second before darting away. “What do you want?”

I hesitated, shrugging. “Nothing. Just… didn’t think anyone else would be out here.”

Her laugh was bitter, like she didn’t believe me. She didn’t say anything else, just looked back down at her feet, the tips of her sneakers brushing the muddy ground.

I should’ve walked away. Instead, I sat on the swing next to her.

Over the next two weeks, those nights at the park became a ritual. When the lights in our houses went out, we met under the cover of darkness, sharing pieces of ourselves with kind of fully unraveling almost everything.

She told me about the girl at school—the one who dunked her head in the toilet and called her the f-slur. Her voice cracked when she said it, and my chest ached with something I didn’t quite understand.

“She’s just a bitch,” I said, reaching out without thinking. My hand landed on her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie rough and wet under my palm. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at me either. “It’s not just her,” she muttered. “It’s… everyone.”

The night Azzi told me about the girl at school, something in her broke. Her voice cracked, a sharp edge slicing through the usual monotone she used when talking about her day.

“I didn’t even do anything,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. Her breath came out in shivers, her curls dripping rainwater down her back. “She just—she said I was looking at her skirt, and the next thing I know, I’m—”

Her voice wavered, and she stopped. She didn’t have to finish. I could picture it: the cold porcelain, the laughter, the humiliation.

“She has to be insecure or something,” I said quickly, fumbling for the right words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Azzi. She’s just taking her misery out on you.”

Azzi didn’t look convinced. Her lip trembled, and she pressed her face into her knees, hiding the tears I knew were falling.

I sat there, helpless. I wasn’t good at this—comforting people, saying the right thing. But I didn’t want her to feel alone.

“You wanna egg her house?” I joked, my voice soft. “Or, I don’t know, slash her parents tires?”

She huffed a wet laugh, the sound muffled by her hoodie. “She’d probably call the cops.”

“She’s a snitch, too?” I gasped dramatically, hoping to coax another laugh out of her. “That’s it. We’re definitely egging her house.”

Azzi peeked up at me, her eyes red and puffy but lighter somehow. “You’re stupid,” she said, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face.

——-

A few nights later, that’s when things fell apart.

I was at the park first, waiting for Azzi, when a group of girls from my neighborhood showed up. I didn’t know them well, but they were loud and funny in that kind of way that made you want to laugh along just to fit in.

We were sitting on the picnic table, their chatter filling the silence, when one of them asked, “Hey, Paige, why do you always hang out with that girl?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Who?”

“You know, that Azzi girl,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Nobody hangs out with her.”

My stomach twisted. “Why not?”

The girl snorted. “Her mom’s, like, weird. Always with a new boyfriend or whatever. It’s embarrassing. She’s just a weirdo and looks weird.”

My jaw tightened. Before I could respond, another girl chimed in, laughing. “And her hair! It’s like, doesn’t she know what a brush is?”

The table erupted in laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to join in. I glanced at the path leading to the swings, my heart sinking.

“Paige,” a voice said behind me.

I froze.

Azzi stood there, her face pale and her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shook her head, stepping back as if I’d physically struck her.

“Azzi, wait—” I started, scrambling off the table, but she was already turning away.

“Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Just… don’t.”

I ran after her, catching her arm as she reached the edge of the park. “Azzi, I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” she snapped, whirling around. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice rising in anger. “Wasn’t laughing at me? Wasn’t sitting there while they trashed me?”

“I didn’t say anything!” I protested, my chest tight.

“That’s the problem!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “You just sat there, Paige. You didn’t even try to stop them, you let them say those things.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Forget it,” she muttered, yanking her arm free. She wiped at her face angrily, her curls sticking to her cheeks. “I should’ve known better.”

“Azzi, come on,” I pleaded, my voice softer now. “It’s not like that—”

“What’s it like, then?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty clear. I just don’t understand after all those nights I cried to you P.. how could you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. By the time I found the words, she was already gone.

present day 2014

It’s been weeks since Azzi and I started talking online, just the two of us, anonymously. We’ve gotten comfortable—well, as comfortable as we can with the fake names and hidden identities. I try not to think about the lies I’m keeping from her, but I know deep down it’s the only way I can stay connected to her. She has to trust me, or she’ll leave. And I can’t handle that. Not again.

It’s the last day of school, and I’m practically buzzing with excitement as I head to the bus. I can’t wait to get home, and send Azzi a message—anything really. I don’t care if it’s about her puppy or the weather or something ridiculous. I just want to talk to her.

I find a seat on the bus and pull out my phone. As the bus rumbles on, I open up Blogspot. I scroll through the messages Azzi and I exchanged earlier, just before school started. I can’t help but laugh at the part where she told me her dog, Stewie, peed in her shoe. That image—her tiny, brown wiener dog peeing in her brand new sneakers—was so perfectly her. Her humor, her frustration, her charm.

I giggle, but then it hits me. The guilt. It crashes over me, sudden and sharp, like a wave I didn’t see coming. My thumb freezes over the screen, hovering over the keyboard. I look at the conversation, at the funny banter we shared this morning, and my chest tightens. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.

If she knew who I really was, if she knew the truth about why I was pretending to be someone else… she would never look at me the same way again. She’d leave me. She would never trust me again.

I feel the tightness in my chest grow, and I look out the window, trying to distract myself. But it’s no use. The guilt is like a weight on my shoulders, pressing down harder the longer I sit with it. Every word I’ve typed to Azzi, every moment I’ve shared with her—it’s all a lie. And I hate myself for it.

But I can’t stop. I can’t let her go again. It pained me the first time…it won’t happen again.

I stare at the phone in my hand, biting my lip. What if she finds out? What if she figures it out before I can come clean?

What if? What if? What if?

The thought is too much. I set the phone down on my lap, staring out the window, hoping the weight in my chest will ease.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrates in my lap. A new message.

unicornpuppy35: p, i just got home and stewie’s tryna eat my shoelace again. i swear this dog’s scheming.

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. My thumb hovers over the screen again. I want to reply, want to send something funny, something comforting, but all I can think about is how this isn’t real. None of it is real.

boogers_p: obviously. stewie’s prolly like, “shoelaces are phase one. world domination’s next.”

unicornpuppy35: no fr, this little dude really thinks he runs the place.

boogers_p: i mean… does he not? u literally pay rent in shoelaces and snacks.

unicornpuppy35: and socks. don’t forget the socks. he got one of mine this morning smh.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh too loud as I typed back.

boogers_p: rip to the sock. gone but not forgotten.

The typing bubble popped up and disappeared a few times before finally settling on:

unicornpuppy35: ur so ridiculous, p. u know that?

boogers_p: i’ve heard rumors.

I paused, smirking at the screen. Then, a thought hit me, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

boogers_p: ok, real question. what’s stewie short for? or did u just look at him and go, “yup, that’s a stewie”?

There was a pause before Azzi’s response came through.

unicornpuppy35: named him after breanna stewart.

I blinked at the screen, my smile softening. Of course she did.

boogers_p: oh damn, respect. stewie’s a legend fr but no surprise you chose her.

unicornpuppy35: p, language. and duhh, hence the name.

boogers_p: my bad my bad, but u really said, “lemme name my dog after greatness.” iconic move, puppy.

I knew the nickname would get to her. It always did. The reply came fast.

unicornpuppy35: stop calling me that!!!

boogers_p: nah. it fits too good. also, it’s cute. like u.

Shit. There was a long pause before I saw the typing bubble flicker again.

unicornpuppy35: u really know how to get on my nerves, huh?

boogers_p: talent, tbh.

Azzi’s response came slower this time:

unicornpuppy35: sometimes i wonder why i even talk to u.

Paige snorted, her thumbs moving fast.

boogers_p: cuz i’m funny. and charming. and u lowkey love me. just admit it.

The reply took a moment.

unicornpuppy35: …maybe stewie loves u. that’s as close as ur getting.

I barked out a laugh, the sound drawing a curious glance from the kid across the aisle.

boogers_p: i’ll take it. tell stewie i’m his #1 fan.

unicornpuppy35: he’ll probably steal another shoelace to celebrate.

boogers_p: a king. truly.

I stared at the screen for a second longer, my chest feeling warm and tight in a way I couldn’t even describe.

unicornpuppy35: u good, peanut? u seem kinda off lately.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard, my mouth forming into a small smile at my nickname. Azzi always asked. I didn’t know how she managed to carry so much and still notice the little things about me. God.

boogers_p: yeah, i’m straight. just tired, you know?

unicornpuppy35: don’t let it get to u p. me and stewie got ur back.

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat, her reply coming slower this time.

boogers_p: thanks, puppy. u and stewie the real mvps fr.

Pup- I mean Azzi’s reply was just a string of eye-roll emojis, but I could picture the grin on her face. I wish I could just see it for myself.

boogers_p: love u too.

So much.

I send the message, knowing I can’t keep lying forever. But for now, I’ll hold on.

——-

Paige walked into her room, shutting the door with a quiet click, as if any louder might let her thoughts escape into the world. Tossing her bag into the corner, she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her clothes, leaving a trail toward the bathroom. The hot water scalded her pale skin, but she barely noticed, the familiar ache in her chest louder than the pounding spray.

When she came out, dressed in an oversized T-shirt, her damp hair sticking to her neck, she flopped onto her bed. She should sleep. She needed sleep. But instead, her hand reached for the scrapbook tucked under her nightstand.

Opening it, her heart clenched as she stared at the first photo—Azzi on the swing set, caught mid-laugh, her curls bouncing wildly as she leaned over, her dimple deepening with every giggle. Paige could still hear the sound of it, bright and free, almost as if Azzi were right there in the room with her.

The second photo wasn’t much better. Her and Azzi at the diner for her 15th birthday, Azzi’s arm slung around hers like it belonged there. Paige could almost feel the ghost of Azzi’s touch, the warmth of her hand on her arm, the way Azzi’s voice would soften when she scolded her for cussing too much.

She flipped the page closed before she started crying again. It didn’t help.

Her fingers brush over the closed scrapbook, tracing its edges. She knows it’s pathetic to feel this way, to let herself get so tangled up in someone who probably doesn’t even think about her anymore. It’s dumb, she knows that. But it doesn’t change the way her heart clenches at the thought of Azzi laughing somewhere else, with someone else, as if Paige never mattered.

Because the truth is, she’s never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this. Not about their friendship, or whatever it used to be. Friendship doesn’t even seem like the right word anymore. It feels too small, too simple for something that made her feel whole in a way nothing else ever has.

Will you miss me, Azzi? Paige swallows hard, her jaw tightening as tears blur her vision again. Will you miss what we had? Because I do. I miss you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes closing as the words spilled from her heart. God I think I’d miss you even if we never met.

Paige dragged a hand over her face, trying to will the tears back, but they came anyway, hot and relentless. She clutched the scrapbook tighter to her chest. I miss you. Every day. Every second of every day. I miss you so much it’s pathetic.

She let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob halfway through. “It’s so dumb,” she muttered, shaking her head. But no matter how many times she said it, it didn’t make it any less true. It’s the realest thing she’s ever felt.

Because no one had ever made her feel like Azzi did. Not before, not since. She wasn’t sure anyone ever would.

She wipes at her face, but the tears won’t stop. Because no matter how much she misses Azzi, Paige knows it’s her fault she’s gone. She clings to the scrapbook, the pictures inside the only pieces of Azzi she has left. And as much as it hurts, she knows she deserves this. Every ache, every tear, every lonely second.

Because she let her go. And that’s something she can never take back.

——-

Azzi sat quietly in the backseat, her hands clammy as she rubbed them over her shorts, trying to calm the nerves that had been with her all morning. Her brothers had hyped her up about making the team, calling her the coach’s “princess,” but it didn’t help. She was still terrified. What if she didn’t make it? What if she wasn’t good enough?

She whispered to Stewie, who was in her lap, his small body a source of comfort. “What if I don’t make the team, huh? I know it’s stupid, but it keeps running through my mind… what if I mess up?”

Her mom glanced back at her from the front seat, a soft smile on her face. “You’ll do fine, Azzi. You always do.”

But Azzi couldn’t shake the unease, the thoughts spinning in her head as the car pulled into the gym parking lot. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her heart raced in anticipation. They arrived early, her mom wanting to meet the coaches first, so Azzi was the first one there.

She stepped out of the car, still trying to calm her breathing. As her mom led her inside, Azzi forced herself to smile and greet the coaches, though her mind was a hundred miles away. She excused herself once the introductions were made, eager to find the locker room and settle in before tryouts started.

The gym was empty when she walked in, the silence amplifying her every step. She meandered down the hall, her fingers grazing the walls as she took in the pictures of past players, their smiles frozen in time. She felt her nerves rise again, the pressure of what was to come weighing on her.

But as she rounded a corner, her body collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Sorry!” Azzi blurted, quickly stepping back. But when she looked up, her breath caught. There, standing in front of her, was Paige. She froze, heart pounding in her chest. Her mind screamed for her to move, to say something, anything, but her body just wouldn’t cooperate.

Paige stood there too, her mouth slightly open in disbelief, her eyes wide. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then, almost as if the world had shifted, Paige finally spoke her name.

“Azzi?” she whispered.

Azzi’s stomach churned, but she couldn’t stop staring at her. How? How could she be here? How had she found her, of all places? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not here, not now. Not ever.

But Paige was looking at her like she hadn’t missed a beat, like the time apart hadn’t meant anything. Azzi could see the recognition in her eyes, the same as she felt in her chest.

It was instant. Her face was older now, sharper, but it was still her. Those blue eyes. The way she stood. Even the slight tilt of her head when she was unsure of herself. Azzi hadn’t expected it to hit her this hard.

A year ago, she swore she’d move on. Swore that she’d forget what Paige meant to her. But now, standing here, all she felt was the sharp twist of memory and the burn of anger.

How could she not recognize her? Paige had been the first person to make her feel seen, to make her feel like she mattered. But she had also been the first person to hurt her more than anyone else had. Azzi couldn’t forget that. Not the way she laughed with her, not the way she’d come after her with apologies she could never quite believe.

Azzi had convinced herself she was past it. Past Paige. But now, here she was, staring at her as if nothing had changed. It was too much, too fast. Does she really think I’ve forgotten?

Paige stepped forward, her movements tentative, unsure. Azzi almost wanted to take a step back, to run, but she couldn’t move. She stood there, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between them pressing in on her.

“Azzi,” Paige said softly, her voice almost hesitant.

Azzi blinked, her heart racing. She forced herself to act like she didn’t know her, even though everything inside her screamed that she did. “Sorry,” Azzi said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “Do I know you?”

——-

rosie’s note: well..yeah!

taglist ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @imaginespazzi @pazzilover101 @makethemhoesmad @pboogerswbb @kmoneymartini @mrsarnold @absolutelydreadful @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme @ashortyluvsports

#asks ❣︎#pazzi #halfway strangers fic #fic talk #paige x azzi #rosie’s works 🎧⋆｡ °⋆

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hidden-poet · 9 months ago

Text

Commander Snow; 9

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death, sexual assault

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

chapter 9

Chapter 10

When you woke in the morning, the feeling of crushing weight had been released from your chest. The cold mountain air was easy to breathe, and you were now at ease with your loved ones so close.

It had been three weeks since you had escaped. Not a soul had bothered you here. The mountain was too steep and difficult to search.

You felt safe with Edmund here. Like the nightmare was finally over.

Each morning when you woke, Edmund was the first you would look for. You often found him just outside your cabin door by the campfire.

This morning was no exception.

“Good morning,” he greeted. He was chopping large blocks of wood into smaller pieces for the fire.

“Hey. Did you need a hand?” You walk down the steps of the cabin to where he worked.

“Sure. Can you make a pile from the wood?”

You trip over the sole of your broken boot. They were too old to survive the mountains. Edmund stops his work to watch you trot over, trying to kick your shoe back in place.

“I was going to go down later this morning to pick up some more flour, and fruit. I’ll see if Vincent’s daughters have any spare shoes.”

You hated when he went down the mountain to get more supplies. Always sure that he wouldn’t return.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” you comment.

“Even if they’re not your size, it’d be better than what you got.”

“I meant to go down. It’s dangerous. Peacekeepers are still looking for us.”

“Ah, I’ll be right.” Edmund takes up his work again, swinging the ax down, “They’re looking in the wrong spots anyway. I had Frances tell a guard you were hiding in the canal beneath the wash house. They’ll be searching for weeks.”

You imagine Coriolanus wading through dirty water and laugh at the thought.

“In any case. My shoes will be fine. I don’t want you wasting your money on me.”

“My money? It’s you who got Snow to send the money to your mother. Boy, was I glad to get that letter!”

He stands tall and pulls an imaginary letter out of his pocket, pretending to read it.

“Dear Edmund, I think of you every day. Wishing, wanting, waiting for you to come to me. I dream about how handsome you are. Strong and smart too.”

You laugh at him.

“I think Snow wrote that one.”

He laughs with you but all too soon the mood turns back somber.

“I was really worried about you, you know? We all were."

He reaches out to take your hand into his.

“I was so worried about you!” You twist his hand so you can place a kiss on the back of it.

“I kept thinking about you trapped with him. I had no idea what he was doing to you.”

You knew what he was insinuating and the thought of it made you shudder. You were his. Would he want you less if he believed that Coriolanus had already touched you? Was that why he had reverted to treating you like a kid? He hadn’t touched you like lovers do since you have been here. Was it because Coriolanus had already marked his territory?

You push his hand away, irritated at the thought.

“He didn’t do anything to me.”

He reaches back and brushes over the almost healed bruised spots on your neck. You recoil in embarrassment. The night in the kitchen fills your mind. You felt a pool of embarrassment form in your stomach. You should have hated it all but as you remember it, your legs squeeze tighter. It felt good, and you didn't feel like a victim because of it.

“You know it doesn’t matter. What he did or didn’t do. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Shut up,” you beg. “Let's just agree to never talk about him again. He’s gone, or will be. Dead to the district and to us.”

“Okay,” Edmund agrees. “I am sorry.”

You felt bad for lashing out at him when he was only trying to help. You had promised yourself just days ago to be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“I’ll go cook breakfast, alright? ‘’

Edmund had caught some fish just yesterday. Even scaled and prepared them for you. And this is how you repaid him?

You go back into the cabin and start to warm up the hot plate in the corner. Coriolanus was far away, yet he still seemed to haunt you. Sometimes you felt his fingertips graze your skin.

He came to you at night mostly, when Edmund wasn’t around to distract you.

You would wake up swearing that you could feel his weight on top of you. You would wake up checking for bruises from where he held you down but your skin was clear.

You thought the clear air would push him out but he was stuck and you couldn’t shake him out.

Would it always be like this? Would your life with Edmund be plagued by thoughts of Coriolanus?

No. You just need to focus more on Edmund. Time would take care of the rest.

You push any other thought apart from cooking the fish out of your head. Preparing the food to perfection would exonerate you from your earlier thoughts.

—-

Nights were colder up in the mountains then at the compound. Edmund lent you a jacket but it did little to keep out the cold. It added to your sleep troubles. Some nights you would only get an hour or two. Some nights you wouldn’t sleep at all.

You toss and turn next to your mother, trying not to wake her. You felt unsettled. Too unsettled to sleep.

Edmund slept on the floor beside you thinking that it might help you sleep.

You found yourself wanting to be held. After nights with Coriolanus you had gotten used to being coddled.

You move off the bed and onto the floor next to Edmund.

“Hey, stranger,” he whispers.

A lazy arm is thrown over you but it isn’t enough.

You push closer. “Tighter,” you demand.

He obliged but it still wasn't enough. Coriolanus would hold you so tight, you felt like it was hard to breathe. You used to hate it but as it turns out you can’t sleep without it.

Edmund smelt nicer. A soft woody smell.

He treated you nicer too. Let you choose what you did. You could be angry with him if you chose to. He wouldn’t seek to punish you for it.

Coriolanus tried to buy your love. Edmund tried to earn it.

You would learn to sleep without needing to be held in time.

In the meantime Edmund would be there to support you.

—-----

You sit with Edmund by the campfire while the others sleep. Edmund had paid a informant handsomely to relay District information. He came once a week, late at night to avoid being caught.

You throw a stick into the fire, your boredom and irritation building the longer it takes.

“Do we have enough money for him to keep coming up here to tell us the same thing? Peacekeepers are still searching, Snow’s angry. I could tell you that.”

“Roger has his use. He only needs to give us one piece of crucial information to make the money worth it.”

“And if we run out before he gives it to us?”

Edmund throws his own stick in the fire, watching it burn.

“We’ll be right. We still have the three panams from Snow. I have a little left in savings, by the time all that runs dry, it’ll be mining season again.

“Mining season? Surely this will be over by then. We can’t hide here amongst everyone.”

“What choice do we have, Y/N? The Peacekeepers haven’t let up. We can’t go back to the District. When you mine together, you become family. They wouldn’t betray me.”

Betray him, sure. But you were no one to them. You open your mouth to argue this point but the sound of kicked rocks draws your attention.

A little man in gray, worn clothing and a cap covering his bald head is lightened by the fire.

“You’re late.” Edmund comments.

“Yeah well, Peacekeepers have doubled patrolling the area at night. I come late or I don’t come at all.”

“Well?” Edmund pushes. He stands up with the coins in his hands.

“Ravenstill’s dead. Snow’s gone back to the Capitol,” the man spits out on the grass before continuing talking, “Saw him get on the train this mornin’ myself.”

You sigh in victory. He was gone. Now all that was left was to wait out the attention span of the Peacekeepers.

“Hold on now. I didn’t say he was staying away. Peacekeeper tells me he’ll be back by the time the week is out with the new Commander.”

“But then he’s gone, right? District 12 can’t have two Commanders?” You rise next to Edmund.

The older man shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe. He’s offering a large reward for your capture.”

“Yeah, well I’m offering your life.” Edmund’s voice is hard and threatening. He throws the coin pouch at the man who catches it.

“Settle, boy. I ain't no traitor. I am just saying it seems unlikely that he would offer up such a price only to walk away.”

“Keep us updated on the movements of Snow and the areas the Peacekeepers are targeting.”

The man opens the coin pouch to look inside before nodding his head and turning back the way he came.

You take hold of Edmund’s arm. You worried for his fate if you were found. You worried for your own fate. He was unbearable when you failed to escape. Now you have succeeded, what laid ahead if you were to return?

—------

You began to have nightmares of Coriolanus finding you. You would wake with your mother's arms wrapped around you, and Edmund calling your name.

The dreams always ended the same, no matter how they started; with everyone dead at your feet.

You would run and hide from him in the forest like the night at the cabin. He would find his way into the cabin late at night and crawl on top of you while your protectors slept. One time he dropped from the sky.

But you woke to find he hadn’t found you yet.

You avoided going to sleep. Your mother joined in solidarity, despite your protests. She would stay up with you to chase the bad thoughts away.

Edmund's mother stayed up too. She didn’t want to be the only adult asleep.

You all wait for the update Roger will bring.

You sit next to Edmund watching the flames. You don’t hear the man approaching until Edmund's mother greets him. The man offers a head nod back but his attention is for Edmund.

“Peacekeepers are still searching. Mainly in the city blocks. Rumor that she was seen selling cupcakes in town.”

You scoff at the thought. At least it kept the Peacekeepers preoccupied.

“Alright,” Edmund throws the money to Roger but the man doesn’t disappear, “Was there something else?”

“Her brother,” your heart stops beating. “They got him locked up in the Capitol jail.”

You shoot up from the log in a panic.

You feel Edmund grab your hand but can’t hear the words that he is telling you.

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” he finally breaks through, “They won’t hurt him. He’s all the leverage they’ve got.”

“God. Edmund, what if they do? It’ll be my fault.” Your tears choke you as you speak.

“They won’t. He’ll be safe, okay. He wouldn’t kill him unless he knew you knew.”

“What are we going to do? I have to go back. He’ll let him go if I-”

“Don’t be stupid. If you go back now, he’ll use Archie to keep you in line forever.”

“We can’t leave him there.”

“We won’t. If he wants the presidency he’ll have to go back to the Capitol. We wait him out, and when the new Commander comes, he’ll see Archie was kept for no reason and we will buy him back.”

Your mother sat sobbing and you joined her.

Dear God, what have you done?

“From what I was told, they ain't hurt him.”

“See?” Edmund says, “So long as you stay hidden, there would be no point in hurting him.”

Edmund’s mother comes over and wraps her arms around her elder son. Archie was special to her too.

You had put all her sons in danger. In her heart, there was no more room for you.

—------------

The news of Archie’s arrest had dampened spirits. The days were long and everyone was irritable.

Edmund feared for his friend. You feared for your brother.

He had spent all his life protecting you, now only for you to get him killed. You wished you were still a little girl waiting by the door for your older brother to come home from work. It was a similar feeling to now. The dread of him not coming home filled you.

You wondered how Coriolanus got him on the train. Was it under threat? Did he beat Archie into submission? Or did he lie and deceive Archie?

Your mother was adamant that his capture was not your fault. Even if that was true, Archie’s detention was. You knew Coriolanus would let you trade yourself for your brother. But Edmund was right, if you folded now your family would always be ready for capture to be used against you.

Edmund’s mother was less sympathetic to it all. You had dragged her family into this and now the boy she considered a third son was rotting in jail because you were too precious to submit to the Commander like the rest of District 12.

She was cold to you, never speaking directly to you and only offering glaring stares. Being treated so terribly oddly felt validating. People should be angry with you. You had put them in danger.

You look at Edmund's little brother across the other side of the campfire. He clung to his mother's skirt, resting his head on her lap. He was just a boy, you couldn’t bear it if a hair on his head was harmed. And yet you have asked him to hide in a mountain with you. Leave his school and his friends behind.

No one had spoken for hours as you sat together around the camp, so when Edmund moved suddenly it caught everyone's attention.

He shoots up from where you rested upon him on the log to gaze out as smoke ringlets circle the sky.

“Get your things. Make sure to leave nothing behind.”

None of you move, perplexed at his outburst.

“Now!” he shouts, “Move!”

His anxiety caused you all to jump up and follow his command. He kicks dirt over the campfire to make it look unused while the rest of you pack what little you have.

You came with nothing so you focused on the pots and pans, and stripping the beds.

He joins you as you work with his mother and brother to clean their room.

“What’s going on?” His mother demands but doesn’t stop her work of shoving clothes into a sack held by her youngest son.

“Peacekeepers are searching the mountains.”

“Where are we going to go?” you panic. They would search all of the mountains.

“The mines. They won’t search there. Too unstable for people who don’t know what they are doing.”

He takes the bag of pans off you and throws it over his shoulder.

The mines were a dangerous place to hide, and there was no certainty that the Peacekeepers wouldn’t search them. If they did you would be trapped. They would just keep pushing forward until your group reached a dead end.

Nevertheless, Edmunds leads the group to the trail that leads into the mines.

You couldn’t decide what would be worse, dying by a Peacekeeper or in a mine like your father.

But with Edmund’s hand in yours, at least the rocks of the mountain would let you keep him. The Peacekeepers would tear you from him only in death.

Even with the bags of stuff, the trail is tread quickly.

The cave is dark and so, so cold. You hide in the shadows with your group. Edmund stands to the front once he has herded the group into safe standing.

It is completely silent for what feels like a lifetime. Nothing but the birds in the trees and the wind. It lulls you into a false sense of security. Maybe Edmund was wrong. Maybe his source on the other side was mistaken and blew the smoke prematurely. But soon a distant sound of heavy tire treads could be heard rolling up the hill.

You ignored the first sign of people approaching. But as they got heavier and the talking got louder, it got harder to assure yourself that you wouldn’t be found.

You clutch Edmund's arms. You feel it move to reach for the pocketknife in his pocket.

Peacekeepers call to each other. They were close, you could hear clearly as they spoke.

“Hey, let's go.”

“Commander Snow said every inch”.

“You lookin’ to get killed? Those mines collapse all the time.”

You hold your breath waiting. Should you walk out now to save everybody else?

“Come on, man. No one’s here. We’ve still got half the forest to get to. Come on.”

You feel Edmund relax under you as the Peacekeepers walk away.

None of you move. The threat remains in the woods. None of you were safe until the Peacekeepers were out of the woods and had reported to Coriolanus that nothing was there.

The mountains were large, you wondered how many Peacekeepers had been spared to search it. Even if thirty men, it would take a whole day at least.

It was a whole day spent in the cave, waiting for the Peacekeepers to come back. But no sound was ever heard.

Night falls before Edmund makes the call to investigate.

His mother kisses him before he leaves.

You cringe under her stare. You had put her baby boy in danger. It was your fault that she now had to hide in the mountains away from her home.

It will be a rocky start once all of this is over. How could you work to earn back her affection after all the pain you have caused her?

Edmund's little brother had taken over the role of protector. He stood at the front of the cave, tall and fierce like his brother had. He clutched his knife and looked out into the night with a hunter's eyes.

Edmund was gone for hours but his little brother never tired of his role. If Peacekeepers turned up, the little boy was ready.

You watch over him as his mother makes what little she can from the food.

A dark figure cast into the cave, and you grab the little boy, pulling him back against you to protect him. It was too tall, too broad for Edmund. You shrink back into the shadows as it approaches, reaching down to pull the knife from the boy. On instinct, you open your mouth to scream but it is Edmund's voice that calls you.

“They are gone. Cars are gone, and there are no markings to pick up the search. They won’t return.”

You shake the fear out of you and release Edmund's brother from your protective hold.

Coriolanus had weaved himself into your mind. Every shadow; every sound was him.

You needed Edmund to take his place, but he often acted like a ghost to you, touching you only in reproach.

You wanted to keep something from Coriolanus' reach. To give some shred of you to Edmund that could never be given back.

You started by hugging him tight.

—---

You had decided to sleep with Edmund at the first opportunity after the scare yesterday.

It was hard to pin him down between his hunting, working around the camp, and his family.

You felt like his shadow as you lingered, trying to single out his attention.

He would offer you a smile every time you saw him but wouldn’t stop his work.

You followed him into the woods but his brother would insist on coming to learn how to shoot.

Back at camp, his mother blocked you from his attention. It seemed impossible to gain an audience with him.

You tried to tell him what you wanted but the words would never form in your mouth. He was always too busy to hear them anyway. Telling you to wait until back at camp to tell him what you were trying to say. But camp was too crowded so you always pretended to forget what you wanted to say.

It took three days of pining before the mothers took the washing to the lake. It would take them all day to rinse and dry the clothes and sheets. Normally you would go and help but today you had a goal in mind.

You hide Edmund’s catch from this morning and tell Edmund’s brother that another animal had run off with dinner tonight. You had asked him to go catch fish but he was determined that he could catch actual prey. He was a hunter like his brother, he insisted.

Whatever got him lost for a couple of hours. He didn’t actually have to catch anything but you hoped he did. You would boast about him at dinner. He was a good kid and deserved more attention.

“Hey,” Edmund greeted you. He had gone to collect more firewood and you had grown impatient waiting for him to get back.

“Where is everyone?”

You don’t answer him. He looked so handsome, slightly covered in dirt from his work.

You wanted this to be the moment you remember forever. If Coriolanus did find you, you wanted to at least have this memory of Edmund.

He looks confused as you grab his arm and pull him into the cabin but follows your direction.

You slam the door shut and push Edmund up against the wall, cementing your body like what had been done to you on so many occasions.

You kiss him hard, letting him know how badly you need him.

He stills you with a firm grip on your shoulders, tilting his head higher out of your reach.

“What are you doing?”

“I want it to be you. Not him.” Even on your tippy toes, you could not reach him.

“Not now,” he scolds.

“Yes now,” you refute, “I can feel him getting closer every day.”

Edmund looks down upon you, taking your face gently in your hands.

“You’re safe. He’s not going to get you. I’ll keep you safe.”

You knew he would try but you felt Coriolanus in your bones. You knew he would catch you.

“Please,” you whine. Your hands reach for his belt but he traps your hands.

“You are not going to give me this under threat. He’s not going to persuade you to do something you’ve had the past few years to do yourself.”

“I want to,” you protest. You manage to capture his lips again and he mercifully kisses back.

His barrier was weak. You were sure you could break it down. His hands held your hips and not your wrists, almost giving you permission.

“Edmund! Edmund!” The sound of his little brother's voice was heard only seconds before the door opened.

You separate. Edmund looked almost relieved. He eyes you by his side but gives his attention to his brother. You had broken down his wall but he was saved by the bell.

“Look!” the little boy proudly held up a small dead rabbit. You wished you insisted on the fish.

“Good job, buddy.” Edmund moves from you to his brother, straightening his jacket as he walks.

“I’ll help you dress it.” Edmund doesn’t look at you as he leads his brother back out to the open.

“I can do it!” The little voice demanded.

“I know, buddy. But we can’t afford to lose any meat.”

You could cry at the sense of rejection. Edmund wouldn’t give you another opportunity. You had just wanted to show that you loved him but he would have to settle for words.

—----

You were cold to Edmund the following days, even as you tried to let it go. You wouldn’t look at him as you passed him his meals. Would only speak to him to answer a question. You wouldn’t say more than what was needed.

He still slept on the floor next to you despite your behavior.

You knew he was trying to protect you by his rejection but it stung.

Coriolanus had made you feel desirable. He performed extraordinary measures just for a kiss. And here you were throwing yourself at Edmund, begging him for just that, only to be tossed aside.

Was Edmund's affections real or just a product of Coriolanus interference?

You felt stupid for making the first move. You should have just forgotten the whole thing. Edmund was loyal. He just got confused, and you played the fool. Now you had put him in an uncomfortable situation that could risk any relationship with him after this ordeal.

You loved him but you should have stayed silent about it.

Half of you hoped that Coriolanus would find you and take you away. Maybe Edmund would feel guilty about his rejection, and regret it.

You roll over in bed towards where Edmund is lying on the floor.

No, that’s not true.

You’d rather be Edmund’s doormat than Coriolanus' bride.

—---------

Coriolanus stood backstage at the presidential show. They would perform now for the audience. Answering questions, and charming the crowd. Coriolanus should feel on top of his game. He was known for being charming. It was all he had for the longest time.

Augustus stood at the other side of the stage, Coriolanus could see him through gaps in the curtains talking to his campaign manager.

Coriolanus couldn’t bear to talk to anyone until he was forced to.

His thoughts were occupied with you. All of the District was searched, and all he received from it was rumors. A few whispered leads but nothing to truly go on.

He needed to shake you out so he could focus on his night.

He hated you now more than ever. It was one thing to betray him, it was another to interfere with his presidential campaign. You should have been here now to support him.

But instead, you had run off with another man. He should have killed Edmund when he had the chance. Coriolanus had kept him as a pawn but Edmund had turned himself into a knight.

Lucky was warming up the crowd to introduce the candidates. Coriolanus couldn’t be thinking of this now. You were here. You had gone back to the apartment and he found you there. There was no hole in the fence Peacekeepers failed to find, and Edmund was dead.

When he went back to the Snow penthouse tonight, he would find you there. Drinking tea with Grandma’am and Tigris.

Coriolanus hears his name being called and he enters the stage with a smile.

District 12 was a small place, you couldn’t hide forever. Coriolanus would take the first train back tonight and follow every lead himself.

—----------

You were adding spices to the stew when wildflowers popped up under your face.

Edmund stood behind you with a shy smile.

“I am sorry. Please stop being angry with me,” he begs.

You take the flowers from him to show you are not hostile.

“I am not angry. I just-” you pause your words unsure on what to say, “You haven’t kissed me or even really touched me since I’ve been here. If you don’t feel the same way that's fine, Just-”

“You’re really stupid. You know that?” he cuts you off. He takes a step towards you. You take it as an invitation to place your hands on his arms.

“I’ve loved you since I can last remember. And you take me giving you a little space after you’ve just spent a ridiculous amount of time as a hostage to a man who thinks torturing is the same thing as courting, as a sign I ain't interested?”

You kiss him gently and he allows you to. Your heart swelled under his words. He loved you.

“I meant what I said though. I ain't touching you under threat. When the time’s right, and it’s just the two of us, I’ll give you anything you want. But allow yourself to heal first. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

You kiss him again to show your gratitude.

“Thank you. I am sorry, Edmund. I love you.”

“I love you too, stupid.”

Coriolanus shakes Lucky Flickerman's hand as the crowd cheers for him. Presidency was close even if you were far.

—------

Despite not having a choice, camp life was agreeable. You worked closely with Edmund, helping him where you could and supporting him where you could not.

Your mother seemed happy too, despite her son being in the Capitol jail. But plans were already forming to get him out. And he was safe, or at least relatively safe. You had no idea what he faced but you knew it would not be death. Not yet. Not without Coriolanus knowing that you knew what had happened to him.

The new Commander of District 12 was sworn in yesterday. Coriolanus was there to hand over the title. Roger had said he seemed uptight and disinterested in the affair. You were sure Coriolanus would be gone soon.

Back to the Capital where he belonged. An air of victory floated around you. He would be president and you would return to District 12 where you belonged, but as Mrs. Flair.

You no longer had nightmares of Coriolanus. Soon this memory would fade into a distant dream.

But it all happened so fast; a loud banging noise woke you, and dozens of pairs of boots stomped across the floor. Edmund woke too, tried to fight them off but there were too many of them. All in protective gear and all with weapons.

They drag him and your mother out. None of the Peacekeepers touch you even as you hit and yell.

It was early morning, the sunlight had just been cast over the mountains but the ground was still frozen and wet with condensation.

Edmund and your mother were thrown on the ground and held down while their hands were cuffed behind their backs. Edmund's mother and brother soon followed.

You grapple with a Peacekeeper trying to cuff Edmund's hands. He does his best to avoid you but no one pulls you away. Your hands remain free and none of the Peacekeepers make a move to trap you.

“Please,” you beg amongst the crying and Edmund’s yelling.

You almost don't recognize him. His hair had grown out, and he wore an expensive red coat instead of his Commander uniform.

But his eyes remained the same. Blue and fierce they gazed down at you. You had run straight past him without noticing.

You rush to him in panic, falling at his feet and grabbing his black pant leg in a tight hold.

“Coriolanus, please,” you beg him, “Please I’ll go back. Just release them.”

He ignores you. Nodding to a Peacekeeper who takes a long length of rope from his belt and throws it over the branch of a tree. Another two bring Edmund to his feet, pushing him as he resists.

His mother wails, joining your begging.

“No! No! Wait please!” They continue to set up the rope.

“Coriolanus, please!” you had time to beg as the Peacekeeper does the knot.

He continues to watch Edmund, listening to Edmund's insults rather than your cries.

“Commander, please. I won’t ever do it again. I’ll be perfect.”

He still ignores you. Not even glancing at you as you beg him from the dirt.

“No, no.” The Peacekeeper finishes the knot and fastens it around Edmund's neck.

You go to reach him. You would hold him up if you had to, but Coriolanus caught you by your hair and held you in place.

Edmund kicks like a fish out of water as the rope is pulled by two Peacekeepers on the other side.

You pull against Coriolanus' hold, almost yanking your hair out trying to reach him.

Edmund looks at you as he struggles. His hold body shook, and he kicked at the air in hope. His lips half form your name but it never quite parts from his lips.

Coriolanus does let you go but it was too late. Edmund had stopped kicking. Stopped blinking. Stopped breathing.

You run to him anyway, dropping where he hung.

You reach out and touch his foot as it sways.

“Kiss your mother goodbye, and let’s go.” His voice shoots ice down your spine.

You wanted to scream and yell and cry, but you could do nothing but stare at the dirt in front of you. The sound of crying filled your ears. Dear god, this was all your fault.

Coriolanus doesn’t ask you again, just grabs a fistful of hair and yanks you to movement.

You felt too disorientated to fight back.

He drags you past Edmund's crying mother and brother who couldn’t tear their eyes away from the tree.

You wanted to reach out to say something, but Coriolanus was in a rush to get back to the Capitol.

“Mum,” was all you could call out as you pass her.

He drags you along to a parked patrol car and throws you in the cage used for rebels.

It felt as if the earth had swallowed you whole. There was no fight left in you. All you felt was despair.

Coriolanus had no pity for you. He barely glanced at you as he locked the cage and closed the door.

You lay in the back in your borrowed nightdress and Edmund’s jacket. You bring it up to your face as you sob. He was dead. All hope of a happy future was gone with him. You would remain Coriolanus’ slave until the day you died.

The journey throws you around as they speed down the hill and back to the city section of the District.

You sob the entire way. Edmund was dead because of you. Your brother was in jail. Your mother is now all alone in this world. You wanted to die too. It would be kinder than this existence.

Edmund was dead because of you. His family left without their provider because of you. Your heart ached. Your grief suffocated you. You gasp for air but your sobs block any from reaching your lungs.

What have you done? Why did you think you stood a chance of escape?

You begged the universe to turn back time. You wouldn’t go to the jail. You were trying to do the right thing but your kindness had led to your world being ripped apart.

Why did you have to do it, you thought to yourself. Life could have been so sweet if you weren’t so foolish.

What would your life be like now? Coriolanus wouldn’t be taking you back to the Compound now there was a new Commander. Were you going to the Capitol so soon?

You had a hard time adjusting to life at the Compound. How would you ever survive the capital?

Would you survive the Capital? After Coriolanus had finished with you, would he keep you around after you had betrayed him?

He seemed a different man. Could he still say he was in love with you? Or has that game now ended?

The car stops at the train station. Talking and car doors slamming cut through the business of the station.

The harsh light enters when the door is yanked open by Coriolanus.

You don’t want to get out, hoping to get shot for your resistance.

Coriolanus drags you out by your ankle, taking a tight hold of your arm as he gets you upright and pushes through onto the train.

You don’t struggle against him as he leads you through the busy station. What would be the point?

You enter first class, and the doors get locked by maids behind you.

The only word you can say is “no”, over and over again.

This couldn’t be happening. Was this just another bad dream? Please, just let this be a bad dream.

Coriolanus shoves you into a booth, and you slump against the window. He sits next to you trapping you in. You had no energy to move. Only sob against the cold glass.

You should have just saved yourself the trouble and stayed. Why did you have to anger him?

With the most important passenger on board, the train moves out of the station.

“Enough,” he tells you. But you couldn’t follow his command even if you tried.

You watch the District shoot past you. How you wished you could open the window and throw yourself out.

The rocks pass, and the trees begin to blur into one another. Coriolanus is silent for hours as you cry against the window still.

You could feel him sometimes looking at you but otherwise, he just sat there. Fixing the jewelry he wore. A gold pinky ring with your ring stacked on top of it. His coat buttons were dipped in gold. He had a new watch, a present from Tigris for returning home.

It was only when you shifted from the window and slumped over the table did he speak.

“We were supposed to be in the Capitol weeks ago.”

The Capitol. His presidential run. You had just lost everything you had ever known and he talks about being behind schedule.

You sit up to face him. He was no longer the Commander you knew but something far more fearsome.

“You think I care about the Capitol?!” You cry, “You took everything from me! You ruined my life,” you scream at him.

He grabs your jaw in his hand and pushes your head back against the glass. The glass is solid and cold as you are pressed against it.

“Your mother has joined your brother in the District 12 jail. I would be very careful what you say to me. Did you think this was a game? Did you think I wouldn’t search for you? Wouldn’t find you?”

The door slides open and Coriolanus releases you. A servant walks in with breakfast, and another behind her with juice and pastries.

They set the food and cutlery down in silence. You notice they don’t look up or around, only at what they are doing.

Coriolanus doesn’t thank them as they leave. He doesn’t eat either.

“Coriolanus, are they going to be okay?”

“We could have just left, Y/N. No one had to get hurt.”

You turn back to the window as you speak, “I know.”

The food sat at the table for five minutes untouched before Coriolanus called for it to be taken away again. The servants come quickly and the food is taken away in the same manner it was delivered; quickly and silently.

“It’s three days to the Capitol.” he stands up as he spoke to you, “Two days after that they will announce the new president of Panem. Whatever this is, it’s finished. You do the slightest thing to displease me and your family will follow Edmund.”

You flinch at his name. Edmund would haunt you for the rest of your days. You hoped he would.

“Do you understand me?” he asks.

“Yes, Commander.”

He flinches at the name but doesn’t comment. He clears his throat and walks away into the other carriage.

You pick up on your crying again. You should have known that your rage only ever backfired on your loved ones.

Your throat ached and your eyes were puffy, soon you had no more tears left to cry.

You try a door to see where it leads but it must have a sensor on it because it didn’t open as easily as it did for Coriolanus. He had trapped you in the room. This was your life now. Waiting for Coriolanus to decide what to do with you.

You curl up on the seat and let the train lull you to sleep.

The servants must have come back in during your nap for when you woke the table was filled with food again. A large jug of water sat on the table. You finish all of it and lay back down again.

Coriolanus returns much later, around dinner time.

“You’re still there,” he observes as the door lets him through.

“Where else could I go?”

His hand presses a large button and what you thought was a wall slides to reveal a bedroom.

“You should wash up for dinner. You have dirt all over you.”

You did want to take a shower, but you didn’t want to lose Edmund’s jacket.

Coriolanus steps forward to grab you, but you rise upon seeing him move. Nothing he said was ever a suggestion.

The room was large, with a queen-sized bed decorated in a rich, heavy fabric of deep blue. There were four large pillows and a set of smaller ones with the Panem emblem on them.

A wall was built to hang clothes. You could only see three sets of Coriolanus’ clothing and a dress and a nightgown for you.

On the other side, there was door to a spacious bathroom. You had thought the commanders apartment bathroom was impressive but now you could see why the Capital looked down at the districts.

This bathroom alone was almost as big as the bedroom in the Commander's quarters. Beautiful gold and white titles lay across the floor. A white marble sink with a gold tap. You reach out to touch it.

‘‘Take your clothes off.” Coriolanus demanded. He reaches for the buttons on his own shirt causing the panic to rise in you again.

What would it matter what he did to you? But still, you felt too frozen to move.

He gets halfway through the buttons on his shirt to see you still dressed. His eyes darken as he reaches out to you.

You shrink back against the marble countertop as he yanks Edmund's jacket from your shoulders and throws it to the ground. Your eyes follow it there, as Coriolanus slips your borrowed nightdress off.

You expected more of a reaction from him after all this time. But he seems uninterested in your naked body. He takes your arm and pulls you to the shower head where he fiddles with the tap until the water is to his liking.

He throws you under the hot water while he finishes undressing. The clothes are left on the floor as he joins you in the shower.

You move out of his way to let him have the water but he pulls you back under and reaches for a soft sponge hanging against the wall.

“Look at you,” he mutters. He scrubs the sponge under your nails to get rid of the dirt that had caked under them.

Satisfied he scrubs the sponge up your arms to your neck and down your back. He scrubs too hard. It feels as if he is peeling off your skin.

He is quick along your stomach. Not spending too much time before moving on.

You flinch when he crouches down to scrub at your legs but he stops mid-thigh and returns to full height, dragging the sponge up your leg and resting on your left hip.

“Are you going to do it now?” It was important that you were clean for him, you supposed.

He drops the sponge, using his hand to wrap around your throat and force you back into the glass.

You don’t look at him as he stares at you. He steps closer, wrapping his arm around your waist and bring you against him.

He rests his forehead against your collar bone, the steam filled the air and fogged your view. He is so still and silent. He had made no move to grope you. You couldn’t tell if he even looked at you. He just held you close and breathed deeply.

The room became hard to breathe in as the water turned into steam. But you were too scared to voice even that complaint. He moved from your collar bone to rest his chin on your shoulder but then went still again.

“Coriolanus?” His name was barely a breath on your lips.

“I am so angry at you,” he said softly. You feel the hand on your throat tighten.

“How could you do that to me?’’ He lifts his head off of you to look you in the eye.

“Augustus has been opening hospitals and amongst the Capitol people, while I have been chasing you around District 12. Do you have any idea how that made me look?’’

You think of your family in jail as you speak. “I am sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Not good enough.”

He looked so different with his blonde wet hair pressed down on his forehead. The ends curled slightly towards his face.

“You won, Coriolanus. What more do you want from me?”

“I don’t feel as if I have won. I feel as if I have been betrayed.”

Your eyes twitched with irritation. He felt betrayed? You were astonished you that he felt like the victim after causing you so much pain. He was the only bad thing to have happened. The cause of his own misery.

“You killed Edmund,” you sobbed, “You killed him.”

You bring a fist against his shoulder, but it landed without true force.

“I let him live once. Remember?”

The memory of target training at the train station flashes through your mind before you could block it.

“What made you think I would make the same mistake twice?”

He releases you to turn off the tap. You stood frozen as he dries himself.

His anger had lit yours so when he exited the bathroom, you followed, wet and dressed only in a towel.

“Edmund was a good man.”

Coriolanus was readying himself for bed. He spared you a irritated look.

“And now he’s a dead man.”

His sentence stung you.

You wiped the running tears off your eyes. “He was a good man,” you repeat.

He was the only man for you. The love of your life, now dead and gone.

“How did you know? Did Roger rat us out?” you ask.

“You did,” you wait for him to elaborate as he dresses in his pajamas, “Your letter to your brother. People disappear all the time up there.”

You feel your heart drop at his words. A new wave of guilt comes crashing over you.

“He was smart hiding there. He knew the area well. And the smoke signals? Very good. I never did find out who was sending them, but what use are they if you don’t see them.”

Was. Knew. No more.

“Well enough to fool my Peacekeepers, but I thought, why would she put that in a letter to her brother? Unless it was to warn him. Why else tell him not to come back? You love your brother, of course you would want him back.”

Tears well in your eyes again.

“Is he okay? Have you hurt him?” you accuse.

“It would serve me no purpose to hurt him.”

His movements are hard and sharp as he puts on his satin button-up shirt.

“So you’ll release him? Both of them?” They served no purpose to him in the Capitol.

“When I can trust you again.” He spat.

It could be years before a paranoid Coriolanus decided he trusted you.

“You can trust me. I promise. I’ll make it up to you, just please let them go.”

You walk over to him, reaching out to touch him. It normally worked to disarm him. He is receptive to you, taking a hand and placing it against your face.

“You know why I can trust you? Because I have your family locked in a cage.”

He disappears along with his touch, going over to the cupboard and throwing a deep blue matching nightgown on the bed.

He says nothing else before returning to the dining room and leaving you in the bedroom alone.

You cry as you dress, and don’t stop as you throw the small pillows across the room and sink into the mattress.

Everything you did was wrong. People were hurt because you weren’t smart enough to protect them. Your mother and brother sat in a dirty jail cell, and you had put them there.

They bore the consequences of your stupidity.

Your mind ran and ran with your anxiety. Images of your mother and brother being beaten in a small cell. Edmund’s family slowly starving to death without him. The memory of Edmund as he swayed from the rope.

You wallow in bed for an hour before Coriolanus rejoins.

You feel him slip into bed beside you. He wraps his arms tightly around you and for the first time in months you fall asleep easily.

You woke the next morning with the feeling of crushing sadness.

Coriolanus was awake next to you. You could hear him practicing a speech as he laid beside you. You don’t move. You weren’t even sure if you could.

A knock on the door stops him, and he bids the person to come in.

You don’t have to look to know it was a servant with a breakfast tray.

Coriolanus reaches for your shoulder to turn you over. You follow his direction and he props a pillow up behind you so you could sit up.

You thank the person as they put a small table over your lap.

You felt nauseous just looking at the food. But asking them to take it away may cause trouble for them so you wait until they leave to reject the food.

You place the table on the floor and roll back onto your side. Your bones felt like cement, and your eyes welled with tears but you didn’t have the energy to cry.

Coriolanus said nothing to you as he eats.

He mutters his speech between sips of coffee. Soon that was finished too, and he rose for the day.

He crosses your eyesight as he approached the wardrobe, and you watch him dress. It seemed odd to see him in anything other than his Commander uniform.

You had never seen Capitol fashion before. It was full of layers and tiny details. The buttons on his shirt had a silver swirl design that caught the light. His shirt was crisp and white with a design of two black flowers on either side, reaching from the end of the shirt to his shoulders.

“I have some work to do. Interviews and thank you letters. So, if you decide to come out be quiet.”

You had no plan to leave your spot, but you nod in understanding.

He doesn’t look or speak to you again as he leaves the room.

You felt as if you had died too. There was no life in you anymore.

You lay for hours in the same spot. Occasionally you could hear Coriolanus as he spoke.

The weight on your shoulder caused it to ache but you couldn’t make yourself move.

The only time you shifted during the hours was when the servants returned to serve you lunch. They took the dirty dishes but also the dirty laundry.

You lunch up to stop the women carrying out Edmund’s brown coat.

“Wait, please!” you grab the worn material off her, “Not this. Leave this.”

The two women look between each other, unsure.

“Mr. Snow said to take everything.”

You swing the jacket over you, positioning yourself in it.

“He didn’t mean this.” Edmund’s faint scent lingered on the fabric. He gave it to you to keep warm at night. You had come to associate it with the feeling of protection.

The young girl bows to you and the other follows suit. As they leave, you know it’s to tell Coriolanus.

You sit and wait for him on the bed.

Coriolanus storms in not moments later.

“The jacket,” he demanded.

“No, Coriolanus. Please let me keep it.”

He launches at you, tearing at the jacket trying to pull it off you. You fight against him, cementing your arms to yourself and trying to wriggle free.

He gets it half off your shoulders. But he grew too frustrated to finish the job. He pulls you up towards him by the collar of the jacket.

“Take the jacket off or I’ll tell them not to bother feeding your mother tonight.”

Edmund was right. Coriolanus was always going to use your family as a weapon.

But the needs of the living overtook those of the dead. You had to make sure they were as safe as you could make them.

He gets off you and you get up to give him the jacket.

As he takes the jacket with one hand, he smacks you with the other.

You make a startled sound but Coriolanus is gone before you finish it.

You return back to your spot and sob into your pillow.

With the jacket now gone, you had truly lost every piece of Edmund.

And with him, you have lost every piece of yourself. Only Coriolanus remained.

————

Three hours after lunch, Coriolanus came to sit on your side of the bed next to you.

“I’ve brought you a cup of tea.”

“Thank you. I don’t want tea.”

Coriolanus’s face is tense as he places the cup on the table next to you.

“They tell me you didn’t have lunch either. Is that your plan? To starve yourself to death before we reach the Capitol?”

“I have no plan,” you admit.

“Well I do. I have lots of plans, and you’re through with delaying them. So Sit up and drink your tea.”

He reaches out to your neck to help you sit up. The tea is placed into your hands but it is him you stare at.

“You look so different.”

His hair was a soft white color as it grew out. His clothes were fashionable and colorful. Nothing of the District 12 Commander remained.

He runs his fingers through his hair, combing it back.

“I am still the same.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” You didn’t think it was possible but he was colder, held himself with somehow more confidence. This was the new leader of Panem.

“What would you know? You never bothered to get to know me.”

“I think I know you better than anyone else.”

He showed you parts of himself you were sure he hid from others. The nightmares. The secret yearning to be taken care of. The heartbreak he carried from the loss of his mother.

“Think, think, think. What have I told you about thinking? You’re no good at it. I’ll do it. Now drink your tea.”

You take a sip of the scalding tea. It quenches some of your thirst.

“Will I ever go back to District 12?” you ask.

You weren’t really sure you would want to.

“No.”

“What’s going to happen to me once we reach the Capitol?”

He sighs, ‘‘That depends on you.”

“Will it be like the compound?”

He laughs humorlessly, “Nothing is like the compound.”

“I meant being locked indoors.”

“Will I let you roam free around the Capitol? No.” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. His eyes move around the room, looking at the subtle details.

“But if you are well-behaved, and do enough to earn it, I will show you all the Capitol has to offer.”

His eyes move down, back to you.

“You’ll grow to admire the Capitol. You won’t hate it forever.”

You go to refute his statement. Nothing in the Capitol could fill the gaping hole left in you from being torn from your home and family. But a servant knocks on the door, taking Coriolanus’s attention.

He commands them to come in but the small girl only steps upon the threshold and never through it.

“Sir, you have a call.”

“I’ll be right there.” He answers back.

She bows and doesn’t rise until the door is shut again.

“Duty calls,” you taunt.

“Yes.” His eyes are back to being everywhere but on you, “I want that tea finished before I get back.”

As soon as he leaves, you get up and pour the tea down the bathroom sink.

—----

The next morning was the same. You laid in bed for hours, unmoving.

Only this morning they didn’t bother to bring you breakfast. You wondered if you would have eaten it, if it was offered, but your guilt still felt so heavy.

Lunchtime came around and Coriolanus disrupted your wallowing.

“Get up. We reach the Capitol soon.” He orders.

He plucks a dress off the rack and lays it across the bed, just under your feet.

It was a blush pink satin gown that tied in a low ribbon at the back. Matching heels that wrapped around your ankle were placed on the floor below.

You sit up to touch the fabric of the dress, and Coriolanus sneaks behind you with a hair brush.

He begins to untangle your hair but he pulls it too harshly. You could feel the tender spot on your head from where he had pulled it just two days before.

“There will be cameras when we step off the train. Fashion is very important in the Capitol. You’ll have to get used to not wearing the same dress every day.”

He pulls a knot too harshly and you let out a cry of pain.

His hand moves yours from the spot and massages it gently.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you had gotten up at some point.”

He returns the brush to the carry bag and returns to you, holding out his hands.

You take them and he pulls you up out of the bed.

His hands move to your nightdress and he pulls it off to place the pink satin gown over your head. He spins you around so he can tie it in the back.

“Put on your shoes and meet me outside.”

He places a kiss on the back of your shoulder before leaving you.

The shoes are hard to walk in. While not overly tall, the heel itself was narrow. Trying to walk felt like a balancing act. You could only manage small steps.

Coriolanus sat at the booth looking out of the window.

The landscape had changed from long stretches of dry dirt to tall buildings.

You sit down opposite him and gaze out the window at it all.

It seemed unreal.

Every building shined. The Panem flag was hung wherever possible. The sky seemed extra blue.

You had never felt homesick but now you realize why Coriolanus was so eager to get back home.

The scenery disappears as you enter a tunnel and stop at your destination.

Your hand is tugged as Coriolanus heads to the exit with the servants and the bags just ahead of you.

You could hear a commotion as you got closer. Voices overlapped and snapping sounds of flashing cameras joined the noise.

The lights were blinding as you exited the carriage.

Coriolanus seemed in his element. He waved and smiled as he lead you through the sea of cameramen and reporters.

They all shouted at him as they held microphones up to his face. But he didn’t stop to make a comment.

More people surrounded the outside. Peacekeepers made a path to a sparkling black car with their bodies blocking the crowd.

He was hailed a king here, and a tyrant back in District 12. All for the same thing.

The scene was overwhelming. Not only were you in a foreign place without your family, but you felt yourself suffocating amongst the crowd. If one were to break through, the rest would follow ending in a catastrophe.

You were a stranger, an enemy. You did not belong here.

You wanted to turn back to the train but Coriolanus’s hold prohibited such action.

Someone opens the car door for him and he lets you enter first.

The silence that greets you helps to settle your nerves. With a final wave, Coriolanus joins you in the car, and it takes off from the crowd.

He sighs and readjusts his jacket so it falls in front of him.

Your hands shake so you keep them clamped together on your lap.

Coriolanus doesn’t speak to you as you peer out the window.

You felt as if you had stepped onto another planet.

The streets were colorful, both in design and people. Cars gilded next to you and in front of you. There were statues and water fountains on every corner.

All gained from the hard labor of the Districts.

Still, you couldn’t take your eyes off the passing scenery. You are hypnotized for the 20 minutes that the car drives. But it soon stops in front of a large brick building.

“Do you live here?” Was this your new home? You wondered.

“No one lives here,” he answers shortly.

He exits the car, holding the door open for you. Following him out, you hear the voice of a man greet Coriolnaus.

“Mr. Snow. Welcome.”

The man was a little overweight in a suit that was finely tailored to him. He had bleached his eyebrows and mustache, and wore many pieces of jewelry.

“Thank you for meeting with us.” Coriolanus shook the man’s hand but returns it to yours as soon as it ended.

“Of course, Mr. Snow. We were happy to accommodate you. Please, follow me.”

The man leads you both into the building and through the halls but only talks to Coriolanus about the history of the building.

It was a beautiful building that housed artwork and portraits along the walls.

You could tell Coriolanus didn’t care but remained civil. His fingers squeeze yours as he is ushered into a room.

Like everything in the Capitol, it is unnecessarily large and grand. Gold candle holders, rows and rows of pews made of expensive wood, oil painted artwork of important men loomed down at you.

“Just over this way, if you would please.”

The man leads you to a table on a small front stage. There was only one chair in front of it which Coriolanus pulls out for you.

The man passes Coriolanus a pen and tells him where to sign.

He does so quickly and elegantly.

“And now for you, Madam.”

Coriolanus passes you the pen but only small writing covered the page and you were hesitant to sign it.

“What is this?” You look up to the man, who rocked slightly side to side.

“It’s a marriage certificate.” Coriolanus answered for him.

“Marriage?”

Did marriage in the Capitol have the same meaning as marriage in the Districts? What did marriage in the Capitol truly entail and why was Coriolanus so eager to have you sign it?

“Yes. Marriage. Now sign the paper.” His hand curls around yours so you don’t drop the pen.

“Coriolanus-” Your words are cut short when his hand latches itself under your chin and yanks it up, keeping your hand directed at the paper. He forces your hand closer to the line.

“Sign the paper,” he commands. With his hand enclosed around yours, you sign your simple signature next to his cursive.

He releases you once you do.

“If you wanted a wedding then you shouldn’t have run off.” He spat at you.

Your hands shake uncontrollably and your eyes water but no sympathy is given by either man.

“You’ve robbed the Capitol of the wedding of the year, truly!”

“I think the Capitol will survive.” You feel Coriolanus tug you up, and the man follows his lead out the door.

“I am sure you are eager to get home and rest before election day.” the man spoke. His voice echoed through the large halls.

“May I just say what an honor it was to marry you two today! You two kids will set a trend. I’ll have young lovers knocking my door down to elope.”

You sob at his words.

“Forgive her. The journey was long.”

“Of course.”

With only three more steps until the door, the conversation died.

Coriolanus is quick in pace, and propelled you to move faster than you could in your heels.

You could hardly see through the tears in your eyes, so you reach blindly until you feel the car underneath your fingers.

“Thank you, sir.” He shakes hands with the man once again.

“Anything for our future president.”

Coriolanus opens the door and guides you inside as he says goodbye to the man.

He allows you to cry until the car pulls up outside of the apartment, at which he tells you to stop.

He pulls a handkerchief out of breast pocket and wipes the tears from your face as they fall.

From the outside you could hear the driver collecting the bags from the boot.

“You need to stop crying. We are home now.”

You take the handkerchief off him and dap your own tears. He longingly stares out the window.

He almost bounces in his seat. Eager to get up the stairs and back home.

Marriage is not the worst thing to have happened to you, nor the worst thing he could do.

It didn’t really mean anything, you told yourself. The Capitol probably wouldn’t even recognize a marriage between a Capitol citizen and District.

You push his patience as far as it would go before you are able to collect yourself.

“Ready?” he asks.

You give a curt nod and he swings the door open.

The driver passes the bags to a servant dressed in the same white dress as the ones on the train. They take them back into tall metal building.

It reached the sky in height, and a whole community of District 12 in width.

Coriolanus knew his way well. With all the wall ways, and feature spaces of the hotel, you were sure you would get lost escaping the building, yet alone the Capitol.

An elevator you knew as you stood in front of it. They had them in large government buildings that you would sometimes ride as you delivered material from work.

The elevator door opens and he hits the top floor.

As it goes up, you feel your stomach drop. Once you reached the top floor, would you ever go down again? Was your life now confined within this building?

It reaches the penthouse too fast. Your feet refuse to move as the door opens.

Coriolanus tries a gentle tug but as the doors try to close again, he motions turn into a pull.

“We’re almost there.” He digs in his pocket for a key.

His key ring that used to carry so many keys now only held three.

The sound of an opening door is met with a loud pop of streamers.

You flinch as the colorful tissues attack you.

A high pitch scream precedes a weight being thrown at Coriolanus but he catches it easily and with great joy.

You take the chance to jump back out of the way.

“Hey,” he laughs.You watch the cousins embrace. You had once promised yourself that letters would be as close as you got to Tigris and now she stood in front of you.

“Coryo! You’re finally home,” she captures his face in a loving embrace and he smiles back.

A crooning sound overtakes the moment and an old women takes the spot of Tigris.

“My boy. Future president of Panem.”

He leans down and kisses her on the cheek. She turns her head for him to do so, coming eye to eye with you.

She turns to you as Coriolanus releases her.

“Don’t just stand there, child. Come forward, let me take a look at you.”

Grandma’am eyes you, causing you to curl further into yourself.

Coriolanus clears his throat and places his hand on your lower back to move you forward.

“May I introduce Mrs. Snow.”

“Mrs. Snow! Oh Coryo!” Tigris gasps, “How could you?”

“We had too. The media would never have left us alone if they knew. But-” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box, “We saved the most important part for you: the rings.”

He takes a ring out of the box. Your hand shakes but he holds it steady as he slides the ring on.

Fifty small rectangular diamonds cover a gold band. It was shiny and heavy on your finger.

Tigris gasps upon seeing it but you have no reaction.

He then passes you a gold band and holds his hand out to you.

You push the ring on his finger quickly.

It was enough for Tigris who claps and jumps.

She wraps her arms around your neck while her grandmother lifts your hand up to inspect the ring.

As they give you space, Coriolanus takes it, bringing you back into his arms.

“I want to hear everything!” Tigris says.

She walks to the living room table and takes a bottle of champagne out of a bucket of ice.

It could have been the lack of food and water over the past three days. It could have been the pure overwhelming feeling of it all. But as the cork of the champagne is opened, your knees give way and you collapse unconscious.

Coriolanus manages to catch you and you feel his hard arm under your head.

You hear him call out to you before the darkness fades your vision.

—----------

You wake at midnight in a fright.

You knew you were in a bed but everything was pitch black.

Was everything a dream? Was Edmund alive and just below you?

The answer was no. Coriolanus woke with your fast movements and worked quickly to pull you into his arms.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re alright.”

You struggle against him in a panic.

“You’re alright. You’re safe,” he consoles.

“No, no, I’m not.” You feel his face under your fingertips and push against him.

He retaliates by capturing both your wrists in his hand, pulling them down.

“Stop it. Calm down now. You’re alright.”

His weight tugs on your wrists as he leans back to flick on the bedside lamp. It cast a yellow light in which you could see him clearly.

He had gone to sleep in only his underwear again. His old Commander ways were still clawing on.

You register that you had been re-dressed into cotton pants and a large top.

“Please, Coriolanus. Let me go. I haven’t done anything,” you cry.

He pulled you closer by your wrists so your body was leaning against his.

"Please, I am sorry,” your tears soak his bare chest but he doesn’t move, “I am so sorry.”

He moves his arms around you so you were cradled but it did nothing to help soothe you.

“No, no, please,” you struggle but his hold was tight. “I never did anything wrong.”

You tried so hard to be good. Now you were being punished for it.

“I know. I know that,” he insisted, bringing you closer.

“It’s okay. Just go back to sleep.”

You can’t. The image of Edmund swinging in the wind haunted you.

“Oh Edmund,” you cried. It wasn’t his fault. He was only trying to protect you.

Coriolanus made no comment given your state.

“It’s alright. Everything is alright,” he repeats. He hums softly, a song that his mother used to sing when he was a child. He was surprised he still remembered it, or most of it at least.

He used to hum it during his school years when academic pressure hindered his sleep.

It rose his anxiety levels just from the association with those years, but it worked to settle you so he continued.

Your mother used to hum you to sleep as well. When you had bad dreams, she would sit on your bed and run her fingers through your hair as she hummed.

It was easier to pretend that you were only a child back in your bed with your mother next to you, protecting you from all the horrors of the world.

—--------------

The next morning you woke as Coriolanus finished dressing for the day.

Your movement gains his attention, he finishes putting on his coat and comes to sit next to you on the bed.

“Hey, how’d you sleep?”.

He runs a warm hand over your face. You sit up to brush him off.

“I’ve told Tigris and grandma’am to leave you alone today so you can rest.”

Your stomach drops at the thought of being isolated again. You couldn’t be left alone with your thoughts today.

Already it’s racing with guilt.

You latch onto his arm.

“No. Coriolanus please, don’t lock me in here.”

He looks to weigh up his options before deciding.

“I won’t. But you need to show me that you can behave. I won’t have you upsetting Tigris or Grandma’am.

“I won’t,” you promise.

“They don’t need to know the full extent of us. Only that we are happy to be here together.”

“Ok, Coriolanus.”

You shove the thick blanket off and swing your body off the bed.

You follow Coriolanus to the kitchen table where Tigre’s and grandma’am sat eating breakfast.

Tigre’s rises as you enter into the room. She keeps her distance so not to overwhelm you.

“Y/N, how are you feeling?” She asks.

“Much better now. Thank you. I am sorry if I offended you yesterday. I wasn't feeling well.”

“No! Of course not.” Tigris exclaims, “God, you’ve been through so much. I couldn’t even imagine how you are feeling right now.”

Your eyes flick to her. Coriolanus had made it seem like her and Grandma’am knew nothing of the truth, but could she know at least part of it?

“You must have been so frightened when those rebels took you to the mountains,” Grandma’am commented between a scone.

Your eyes shoot at Coriolanus, who was already looking at you, silently telling you to be quiet.

A twisted truth is as good as the truth itself in his books.

“Yes, I was. Everyday. But I knew Coriolanus was coming.”

“Our Coriolanus isn’t scared of coward rebels!” Grandma’am exclaims.

Coriolanus was quick to change the subject at the first sound of silence, “Tigris, she hasn’t had breakfast yet.

The breakfast table is near silent as everyone ate.

It was a relief when Coriolanus kissed you goodbye. The company of Tigres was much easier to keep.

—-----‘

Coriolanus was busy now that he was home. Interviews and meetings took most of his time now that the elections were coming up.

You saw little of Grandma’am, but Tigris almost always was in the apartment.

She tried to be kind to you. She often went out of her way to check on you. But you avoided her. Staying in the room you were placed in. If you said the wrong thing to her, it was sure to make its way back to Coriolanus, and your family was to pay for it.

Your days before Coriolanus returned home were filled by looking out the window, or preparing an item of clothing for Coriolanus. He always wanted to have at least one thing on that you had some part in preparing.

He tore off his buttons so you could sew them back on, you shined brand new shoes that didn’t need it, ironed shirts that had already been ironed for him.

You didn’t argue when he asked you to do it.

If you performed an action in the way he wanted, he would give you updates on your family.

From what you gathered, they were fed and allowed an hour outside together.

The day of the election came fast.

It felt as if it happened overnight, but it had been three days since your arrival in the Capitol.

The election was called at eight o'clock which meant the entire day was filled with buzz. People came in and out all day. Coriolanus spent the entire day on the phone, or in between breaks talking to the people in the room.

You sat in his chair as he worked standing. You watched the people as they came in and out. They looked different from people back home.

They all had something unusual about them. Funny color hair, a piercing that stuck out of their face. One thing they all had in common was their high quality clothing. Nothing like the sacks District clothes are made out of.

Grandma’am and Tigris had gone out to prepare themselves for the election. It was nearly night but they had been gone since the morning.

Coriolanus was in the middle of getting a haircut when two females came up to you and requested that you followed them.

Coriolanus told you to do so from where he sat. You didn’t ask why as you followed them to the bedroom.

With the door shut, they tell you to shower and come back so they can dress you for the election.

The news causes you to tense. You were not ready to face the Capitol.

But with no choice, you take a shower and return for them to do their work.

They only talk to each other as they work.

They dress you in a white strapless gown that split up the side to show more white sparkly tulle, and white heels that were shorter and easier to walk in than the pink heels that you had at the train station.

They gossip about elite members of the Capital. Who was cheating on who. Who wore what.

One burns you with a hot iron as she curls your hair because she leans forward to laugh. No apology is given as she continues to talk. She pins small white roses throughout your hair. The pins scrape your head as they enter your hair but you make no complaint.

You were grateful when they finished dressing you. As soon as they begin to pack up, you exit the room without a goodbye.

You run into Coriolanus, still with his team in the living room. He stood in front of a tall mirror as you had taken the main bedroom.

He matched you in white. Admittedly, he looked gorgeous in a double-breasted suit with his white shirt peeking out from it. The first few first buttons were undone and a silver chain with your ring hung around his neck.

He was fixing a white rose to his chest pocket when his eyes caught you in the mirror behind him.

“We are finished here,” he tells the room, who pack up immediately.

He looked nervous, and you supposed he should be. All his life had been leading up to this moment.

He talks low to you so the others don’t hear as they leave, almost whispering in your ear.

“Just a few more hours and you’ll be looking at the President of Panam.”

Your hands shook, and you flexed them to try and shake the nerves out.

Coriolanus, always hyper-aware, noticed, capturing your hands and bringing them up to his face to kiss.

“Shouldn’t I be the one shaking?” he jokes.

“I don’t want to go. You don’t need me there.”

“I do need you there.” He releases you, annoyed at your resistance.

You sit down on the couch as the people make their way to the door.

“Do I need to remind you that your performance tonight is crucial to your family's survival?”

“No,” you say softly, “That’s never left my mind.”

He crouches down in front of you, resting his hands on your waist.

“Good. Now people know you are District, but you’re not to mention it. If anyone mentions it to you, you tell me straight away.” He flicks your chin up so you are looking at him and not at your lap. “Hey, straight away.”

You nod your head in understanding. You had no plan to talk freely with any of the Capitol brood anyway.

“As first lady of Panem, you’ll be required to attend performances like these from time to time. I need to know I can trust you not to embarrass me when you do.”

You nod your head once again, “You can.”

You remember Ravenstill’s wife. All she did was smile and sit pretty. You could do the same, regardless of the pain you felt.

He raises himself slightly to press his lips against yours before rising entirely.

“The car is waiting down stairs.” You rise with him and he takes your hand in his through the walk.

The car ride is silent. Coriolanus began to practice his speech again as you stared out the window.

The Capitol seems quieter than usual. No car buzzed around as you drove. One or two passed but they seemed to be in their own rush. Not a person roamed the street.

All of the Capitol held their breath as they waited for their new President.

The car stops in front of a huge fountain surrounded by a large field. It was out of place amongst the sky scrapers. It was filled with people, all wearing peculiar colorful clothing. Nearly all of them wore a white rose upon their chest.

They surrounded a large stage lit up with bright lights.

Rows of chairs were lined across the back of the stage. People hovered around them, all wearing white like you. They greet Coriolanus as he walks through. Some of them even greet you, but you hate them all the same.

You see his grandmother and cousin sitting directly behind the podium. He seems to be trying to make a beeline to them, but people keep interrupting them.

He keeps his temper, politely dismissing them as he wades through the crowd.

His grandmother jumps up to kiss him. He uses his spare hand to bring her in close.

“President Snow, we salute you,” she says sincerely.

“I’ve not won anything yet, Grandma’am,” but his smirk told that he knew he was about to.

Grandma’am wore a hat of white roses but a simple white dress suit and pearls.

Tigris rose as well to hug her cousin now her grandmother was out of the way. Her strapless white dress hugged her curves right down to her ankles where the dress dissolved into white tulle. You could see the outline of white roses on her dress too. Her makeup was centered around the pale pink eyeshadow that was blown out towards her temple.

Finishing with Coriolanus, Tigris turns and hugs you, but you couldn’t manage it back.

Coriolanus leans down to whisper in your ear, “All you have to do is sit down next to Tigris and smile. Can you do that?”

Your families life depended on it, so you smile back at him to show that you could.

The Panem national anthem began to play bringing a hush over the audience as they all go back to stand in front of their seat and sing.

Coriolanus stood next to you, still holding your hand as he sung. The camera flashed in your face and you decide it was better to sing along.

The song finishes and the large screen behind you switches to a man with a microphone on one side and another man in a field similar to Coriolanus. You assumed the latter was his political opponent.

It was the cue for the people on stage to take a seat. You take yours next to Tigris and Coriolanus walks up to the podium.

Smaller screens are prompted up along the front of the stage so that no one on the stage was facing backwards.

You watch as the man with the microphone gives his introduction, introducing himself as Lucky Flickerman before the screen flashes to Coriolanus, and then cuts to Augustus.

You eye the open field. The guards were all focused to the front. There were a few people off the side but they looked mostly like stylists and operation managers. They would hardly put up a fight for you.

You could make it. At least on to the street. But how would you make it back home? How would you free your family? How could you live with yourself in District 12 without Edmund?

Tigress reaches out and entangles your hand with her in comfort. It brings you back to the election.

Lucky performs a few magic tricks as the final votes are counted.

“Now for the moment we have all been waiting for.'' An assistant runs up and places an envelope into Lucky’s hand.

“The results are in people! Who has Panem chosen to be our new leader? The savvy businessman or the fearless Commander? Let’s find out!”

Not a word was spoken as the man opened the envelope. It must have been the result he wanted, for he broke out into a grin and began to shake his head.

“Just as I predicted. Ladies and gentleman, the new President of Panem: Coriolanus Snow!”

The crowd erupts in cheering around you. Loud popping sounds precedes colorful confetti dropping from mounted cannons. Tigris lets go of your hand to clutch Coriolanus.

She sprang up from her seat and captured his head between her arms. His grandmother is next up to crowd him. He brushed off people quickly, he had a speech to make.

You wonder if you should get up but there were already too many people around him. You would only be in the way.

He makes his way to you, bending down to place a kiss on your cheek before turning back to shake hands with those around him.

The win came as no surprise to him but he wore a large smile, and seemed almost giddy at the news.

He turns back to the podium and people quieten as he gives his speech. You heard him mutter it a million times. You could almost recite it for him.

“Today is a new day for Panem,” it began.

You eye your freedom just down the stairs but remain seated and smiling.

You’re not sure how long Coriolanus spoke for, but the applause and cheering told you he had stopped.

Before you knew it he was standing in front of you with an outstretched hand. You take it and he stops to kiss his family, giving them instructions as to where they should now go before he leads you down the steps and into the crowd.

You shrink back as they gather around him. His grasp hurt. Your bones in your hand felt as if they were about to pop out of place. But it was too easy to get lost in the crowd, so he wouldn’t loosen it.

Too many voices overlapped to hear any single one. A few pats on your shoulder was all the attention you received while Coriolanus was drowning in a sea of people.

You couldn’t make out his words over the people and the music. You let yourself be overtaken with the senses.

You smiled and nodded at people as you passed them. It was Coriolanus’ big night, you couldn’t even fathom the punishment if you were to make a mistake tonight.

You stay close to him, just over his shoulder.

He looks back to check on you one or two times but never opens his mouth.

Confetti had been hidden in his curls. You focused on counting the pieces.

The whirl-pool of people seemed to never end. As soon as one person faded another took their place.

It must have been half an hour before Coriolanus made the small distance to the apartment block.

It was 30 stories with a roof top bar that was pumping with lights and music.

The rest of the people would mingle down below with food and drinks. Huddling around the colorful glass standing tables.

You reach the entrance, guarded by two peacekeepers, and Coriolanus leads you in front of him as he presses the button for the elevator.

It was quick to come and Coriolanus pushed your hips to make you move inside.

He lets go of you as you enter and gives a wave to his fans as the door closes.

The elevator is dead quiet. Only the faint sound of pumping music could be heard.

You think he is too wrapped up in his victory to pay you any mind now you were out of sight of the public.

You were relieved almost to be out from under his attention. But he moves quick to push you up against the wall and smash his lips onto yours.

His hands steady your face as he assaults your lips.

He leaves you out of breath and grins at you widely for it.

The door dings open, and he pulls back from you. Only taking a loose grip of your hand.

Another cheer for the President was heard over the music as he steps out.

You look around the room at all the people in white. Supporters of a maniac.

Tigris and Grandma’am were offered a lounge chair as they ate and drank.

“Look,” he spoke to you, taking a green drink off a tray offered to him, “The apple pie drink you wanted. I requested it especially for you.”

He passed you the drink as a man approached him.

You managed to get a “thank you” out before the stranger began to talk.

Coriolanus paid you no more mind the rest of the night. He spoke and joked freely with the party goers while stringing you along behind him.

A few spoke to you about mundane things but Coriolanus was quick to end any longer talk then a few seconds.

The drink did taste like apple pie. A low rate apple pie. You could bake one much better. But for a drink it was fine. You ended up drinking three before Coriolanus snatched the fourth and placed it on a nearby table.

Tigres caught your eye a couple of times. You knew she was making sure you were alright. She was kind, and so ‘un-Capitol’.

Grandma’am was more true to her up-bringing. She insisted on teaching you the ways of the Capitol, and training you out of your ‘District ways’.

“It'll be our secret,” she told you over breakfast this morning, “I’ll defend you against the District rumors.”

In a way you supposed it was sweet of her. Although her intentions could very well be for Coriolanus' benefit rather than yours.

The later it got, the quieter it got.

People began disappearing. Others passed out on sofas and lounges.

Coriolanus' energy never seemed to drain, but Tigris’ and Grandma’am’s did.

Tigris had come over and interrupted Coriolanus' conversation. She offered to take you home with her and Grandma’am but Coriolanus was resistant.

“She’s fine, Tigris. I’ll bring her home with me.”

If you had been on equal standing with Coriolanus, you would have protested and just left but you were mud under his shoe, so you smiled at Tigris and told her you would see her in the morning.

Tigris kissed both of you goodbye. You hold on to her for too long. You could tell from the way Coriolanus squeezed your hand.

The party continued long after she had gone.

Your legs hurt from standing in the heels and your dress was too tight to have eaten all you did over the course of the night.

Coriolanus could sense that you were nearing the end of what you could take, so he began his final lap of victory around the room.

You were beyond grateful when he ushered you into the car.

You sighed as you sunk down into the plush leather seats, taking off your heels instantly.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said as the car entered the main road which had returned to its normal state of business even late at night, “You were very well behaved.”

“Congratulations on your win,” you return.

“Snow always lands on top,” he talks softly as he gazes out to the city.

The car rolls through the city smoothly. Coriolanus watches it pass from the window.

You feel half-asleep resting your head back on the seat.

You feel him move you down to a lying position and your eyes shoot wide open. His fingers brush your skin as he slides the skirt of your dress up.

“What are you doing?” You catch his hands and he lowers his head.

He hushes you as he slides your panties off your hips, “All the drivers talk.”

Trapped in a car in a city that kills your people for entertainment, you lay back and don’t make a sound.

You clutch the back of the seat in a tight hold as Coriolanus begins.

Edmund was barely cold in the ground and here you were, being eaten out by the man who killed him.

You try not to focus on it as Coriolanus' lips and tongue work. It pulls a moan from you and Coriolanus hits your thigh.

You press your tongue between your teeth to avoid making noise. A hand makes its way into Coriolanus’ curls and tugging on them gives you a sense of satisfaction.

It encourages him however and his movements become more targeted and passionate.

The car pulls to the curb in front of his house by the time you had made a mess in the backseat.

You lay back with your legs spread as you come down from your high.

A chill shoots through you as the door is opened by the driver but Coriolanus pulls it closed before he could see the scene.

You get up despite not being ready too. Coriolanus grabs your shoes and pockets your panties, taking your hand when its free.

You both emerge from the car as if nothing had happened.

It was late and cold. You thank the driver as you pass him.

The building was huge. Nearly all the floor was covered in titles and your feet made a sound against them.

You try to slow your walk to quite the sound, but Coriolanus was eager to get up to the apartment.

He storms across the lobby, and courtyard before reaching the steps that lead to the elevator.

He presses the button too many times. It doesn’t make it come any faster.

The house is dark and silent as you enter. The women went to bed hours ago, and you were hopping to follow suit.

Coriolanus leads you to his bedroom which is large and not yet decorated.

You pull free from him as you enter. Immediately you tear all the pins and roses from your hair.

You hear Coriolanus drop your shoes.

He clears his throat to gain your attention.

“Your brother and mother have been freed from the compound.”

Your fingers freeze in your hair. It felt as if he had lifted a great weight off your chest. You turn to him in gratitude.

“Thank you, Coriolanus.”

He smiles down at you before stooping down to your height and placing a firm kiss to your lips.

You push back against his shoulders after the kiss continues past a normal amount of time.

He pushes back, bracing you against the bed with him on top of you.

His lips turn to your neck as he unzips the back of your dress.

“Coriolanus, please don’t,” you beg.

He slides the dress’s straps off your shoulder as he responds, “Please, just give this to me. Don’t make me take it.’’

The dress is taken off you, and Coriolanus strips it off with kisses.

Only when a kiss is placed on your hip do you begin to struggle.

This man had tormented you for months. Starved you. Robbed you. Killed the man you loved. You would give him nothing freely.

You kick and push him away, but he is stronger.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” He pulls you upward by your wrists to the pillows.

“No! Get off of me!”

“Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads.

You continue to fight but he persists.

“Please, don’t make me do this.”

“No. No. Edmund! Mum!”

“Shut up,” it was less of a command and more of a plea, “Please, shut up.”

You do. What would your resistance gain you? A few more seconds until the inevitable.

His grip loosens as you are still beneath him.

With only a weak hold of your wrists, he pulls off his clothes. You can hear the movement but can’t force your eyes to open.

Tears leak down your cheeks but you refrain from making a sound.

“It’s alright. I’ll take care of you.”

He lines himself up and pushes in with ease. The pain was subsided due to your wetness from the car ride but the first slow thrusts felt slightly painful and uncomfortable.

You whine slightly as you adjust to the intrusion. You fight to release your wrists from his hold, you wanted to push back on his shoulders, feeling as if he was too deep.

“It’ll only hurt for a little bit,” he promised, continuing his slow movements.

He kisses you as you let out another whine.

Soon the pain did stop, and an enjoyable sensation began to form.

Coriolanus tried his best to remain slow, but as he got lost in his own lust, he forgot about your pain.

It felt as if he was bruising you. But his mouth never left yours so you couldn’t voice a complaint.

Your hips jerk away from him, trying to ease the pressure but his spare hand stills your hip, making you take the full brunt of what he wanted to give you.

He pulls his head back from yours and groans.

“Ah,” he grunts.

“Coriolanus-” you had wanted to ask him to slow down but you feel yourself tightening around him as you come.

His hand moves from your wrists and intertwines with your hand. He presses his weight down as he picks up his pace to chase his own high.

“Wait, wait!” you were through. Every second after was too much.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he grunts.

You groan from the pressure as he continues.

“Almost there, darling.”

His last few thrusts are hard but the pressure turns into a warm pool between your legs.

Coriolanus is still as he rests his forehead upon your shoulder. You don’t move either, unsure of what to do.

A few moments later and he raises his head, repositioning himself so his arms cage around your head.

He drags a finger down the bridge of your nose and it runs off your cheek like a tear.

“Welcome to the Capitol, Mrs. Snow.

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#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth #hunger games #dead dove do not eat #commander snow

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physalian · 11 months ago

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What No One Tells you about Writing #3

Opening this up to writing as a whole, because it turns out I have a lot more to say!

Part 1

Part 2

1. You don’t fall in love with your characters immediately

But when you do, it’s a hit of serotonin like no other. I’d been writing a tight cast of characters for my sci-fi series since 2016 and switched over in a bout of writer’s block this year to my new fantasy book. I made it about ⅓ through writing the book going through the motions, unable to visualize what these new characters look like, sound like, or would behave like without a ‘camera’ on them.

Then, all of a sudden, I opened my document to keep on chugging with the first draft, and it clicked. They were no longer faceless elements of my plot, they were my characters and I was excited to see what they could accomplish, rooting for them to succeed. Sometimes, it takes a while, but it does come.

2. Sometimes a smaller edit is better than a massive rewrite

Unless you’re changing the trajectory of your entire plot, or a character’s arc really is unrecoverable, sometimes even a single line of dialogue, a single paragraph of introspection, or a quick exchange between two characters can change everything. If something isn’t working, or your beta readers consistently aren’t jiving with a character you yourself love, try taking a step back, looking at who they are as a person, and boil down what your feedback is telling you and it might demand a simpler fix than you expect.

Tiny details inserted at the right moment can move mountains. Fan theories stand on the backs of these minutiae. One sentence can turn a platonic relationship romantic. One sentence can unravel a fair and just argument. One sentence can fill or open a massive plot hole.

3. Outline? What outline?

Not every book demands weeks upon weeks of prep and worldbuilding. I would argue that jumping right in with only a vague direction in mind gives you a massive advantage: You can’t infodump research you haven’t done. Exposition is forced to come as the plot demands it, because you haven’t designed it yet.

Not every story is simple and straightforward, but even penning the first draft with your vague plan, *then* going back and adding in deeper worldbuilding elements, more thematic details, richer character development, can get you over the writer’s block hurdle and make it far less intimidating to just shut up and write the book.

4. It’s okay to let your characters take the wheel

I’ve seen writing advice that chastises authors who let their characters run wild, off the plan the story has for them. Yeah, doing this can harm your pacing and muddy a strong and consistent arc, but refusing to leave the box of your outline greatly limits your creativity. I do this particularly when writing romantic relationships (and end up like Captain Crunch going Oops! All Gays!).

Did I plan for these two to get together? No, it just happened organically as I wrote them talking, getting closer, getting to know each other better in the circumstances they find themselves in. Was this character meant to be gay? Well, he wasn’t meant to be straight, but you know what, he’d work really well with this other boy over here. None of that would have happened if I was bound and determined to follow my original plan, because my original plan didn’t account for how the story that I want to tell evolves. You aren’t clairvoyant—it’s okay if it didn’t end up where you thought it would.

5. Fight. Scenes. Suck.

Which is crazy because I love fantasy and sci-fi, the actiony-est genres. Some authors love battle scenes and fistfights. It comes naturally to them and I will forever be jealous. I hate fight scenes. I hate blocking and choreographing them. I hate how it doesn’t read like I’m watching a movie. I hate how it could take me hours to write a scene I can read in 5 minutes. I hate that there’s no way around it except to just not write them, or put in the elbow grease and practice.

Whatever your writing kryptonite is, don’t be too hard on yourself. It won’t ever replicate the movie in your head, but our audience isn’t privy to that movie and will be none the wiser of how this didn’t fit your expectations, because it’s probably awesome on its own. It could be a fight scene, sex scene, epic battle, cavalry charge, courtroom argument, car chase—whatever. Be patient, and kind to yourself and it will all come together.

6. Write the scenes you want to write first

And then be prepared to never use them. It can be mighty difficult working backwards from a climax and figuring out how to write the story around it, but if you’re sitting at your laptop staring at your cursor and watching it blink, stuck on a tedious moment that’s necessary but frustrating, go write something exciting. Even if that amazing scene ends up no longer working in the book your story becomes, you still get practice by writing it. Particularly if you hate beginnings or the pressure of a perfect first page is too high, you’re allowed to write any other moment in the book first.

And with that, be prepared to kill your darlings. Not your characters, I mean that one badass line of dialogue living rent free in your head. That epic monologue. That whump scenario for your favorite character. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out anymore, but even if it ends up in the trash, you can always salvage something from it, even if that’s only the knowledge of what not to do in the future.

7. “This is clearly an author insert.” … Yes. It is. Point?

No one likes Mary Sues, because a character who doesn’t struggle or learn to get everything they want in life is uncompelling. The most flagrant author inserts I see aren’t Mary Sues, they’re nerdy, awkward, boring white guys whose world changes to fit their perspective, instead of the other way around—they don’t have anything to say. I’m not the intended audience to relate to these characters and I accept that, but I don’t empathize with the so-called “strong female character” who also doesn’t have flaws or an arc either.

A good author insert? When the author gives their characters pieces of themselves. When the “author insert” struggles and learns and grows and it’s a therapeutic experience just writing these characters thrown into such horrible situations. They feel human when they’re given pieces of a human’s soul. They have real human flaws and idiosyncrasies. I don’t care if the author wrote themselves as the protagonist. I care that this protagonist is entertaining. So if you want to make yourself the hero of your book, go for it! But make sure you look in the mirror and write in your flaws, as much as your strengths.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fantasy #scifi #what no one tells you about writing

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kanatajelly · 1 year ago

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birthday gift

yandere!jade leech x reader x yandere!floyd leech

author's note: it's a little late, but i wrote this for jade and floyd's birthday! i was originally gonna write something fluffier for their birthday, but then i came up with this idea and just had to write it ehe. hope you guys enjoy it~

warnings: general yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, obsessive and possessive behaviour, forced isolation, implied forced marriage, power imbalance, dehumanization/objectification (reader is referred to as a gift), non-consensual touching/kissing, biting, some mentions of blood, suggestive themes, implied non-con, reader is essentially sold to the leech twins, honestly jade and floyd are their own warnings

word count: 5582

One thing to remember about the Leech family’s two children was that, despite being twins, they had significant differences; the most obvious of which being how Jade’s polite and reserved demeanour starkly contrasted with Floyd’s brash and outspoken nature. However, another important thing to highlight was that they never wanted the same thing on their birthdays.

You often questioned why this was something you needed to remember, but your questions were always answered whenever you saw how skittish and desperate your parents were whenever the date of the Leech twins’ birthday approached. Due to owing quite the large debt to Mr. Leech, your parents always felt that they had to do everything possible to get on the family’s good side, including buying birthday gifts that catered to the twins’ differing tastes. And that was pretty difficult when they never wanted the same things. You wished they weren’t so fickle.

For several years now, your parents would enlist your help in choosing birthday gifts for the two menaces. You’re the same age as them, so you’d be able to pick out things they would like better than us, is what they would always say to you. You hated it; half because you really wished your parents wouldn’t have to live the rest of their lives in fear of upsetting the Leech family, and half because you were incredibly uncomfortable around Jade and Floyd.

Ever since you’d first had the displeasure of becoming acquainted with the Leech twins, they seemed to have taken an interest in you. During every single one of the events that your family was invited to, they were always hovering around you in some way. You didn’t know who you hated more: Jade, who always seemed to have an eye on you regardless of if you could see him or not; or Floyd, who always insisted on touching you in some way whenever you were within his line of sight. Actually, speaking of those aforementioned events, you had begun to suspect that your family had only been invited to many of those because of you.

During the past few weeks, your parents hadn’t been rushing about to try and find something to buy for the twins, despite it almost being their birthday. However, you had noticed that they seemed almost awkward around you, rarely looking you in the eye and avoiding you as much as possible. It saddened you, as you had always been very close with your parents. They were all you had, even more so since you’d lost most of your friends due to their unwillingness to associate with the Leech twins. That being said, you didn’t want to give them anything more to stress about, so you kept your mouth shut and didn’t confront them about the issue, no matter how much you wanted to.

It was the day before the twins’ birthday party that your parents sat you down on your house’s sofa to talk to you. Their fearful and somewhat guilty expressions only added to your overall feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. “We know that this might be difficult for you to accept…” said your mother in the smallest voice you’d ever heard her use, “But… Mr. Leech has informed us that Jade and Floyd have requested something specific from us for their birthday this year.” Furrowing your eyebrows, you replied, “Something specific? Don’t tell me it’s something expensive. I swear, those two are so…” You stopped yourself before you could say more. Your father gave you a stern look.

“It’s actually quite the opposite,” your mother continued, her voice wavering. She looked like she was about to start crying. Seeing that his wife was having a hard time, your father picked up where she’d left off, “Mr. Leech has offered to overlook our family’s debt to him if we provide his sons with what they have requested.” Instantly, your face brightened. “Then what are we waiting for?! No matter how ridiculous it is, we should find it! If we can get rid of our debt, then we’ll be free,” you exclaimed happily. However, your face fell as soon as you saw that your parents’ expressions hadn’t changed - rather, they had become even more somber.

Your mother began to quietly sob now, clutching onto her husband’s arm for support. Your father put an arm around her shoulders gently, then turned back to you and revealed, “Although it is true that getting rid of our debt is a good thing, there is… another problem. This is because… the birthday gift requested by Jade and Floyd this year is… you.”

Suddenly, you felt like time stopped around you. You couldn’t hear the sound of your parents’ sobs, nor the ticking of the clock hanging on the living room wall. All you could hear was your own heartbeat, gradually picking up in speed and volume. “...What?” you whispered, your voice almost inaudible. That was impossible. In the first place, the twins never wanted the same thing for their birthday - but your father had specifically said that this request was from both of them. And besides, was it really possible to request for a human being as a birthday gift? That was morally wrong on so many levels… but that being said, since when had the Leech family cared about morals? You were sure that they’d done even more morally dubious things in the past, so perhaps the ethics of this situation was something you shouldn’t have even been considering.

Once you had calmed down enough to be able to reply, you questioned in a shaky voice, “...And if I refuse?” Your father’s pained expression told you everything you needed to know. There was clearly some sort of consequence set out for your parents if they couldn’t fulfill the Leech twins’ request. Besides, even if it was to get rid of their debt, you were pretty sure that your parents wouldn’t agree to sell you off if there wasn’t some sort of punishment for not doing it. They loved you. It just so happened that the price for refusing this demand that had been thinly veiled as a “request” was too steep - steeper than giving up their only child to a pair of horrible people.

You were scared, terrified, of what would happen if you accepted and walked right into Jade and Floyd’s arms; but at the same time, you didn’t want anything to happen to your beloved parents.

And the latter sentiment outweighed the former.

You forced a bright smile onto your face and embraced your parents, patting their backs in a way that you hoped was reassuring. “It’ll be alright! Jade and Floyd clearly like me more than most people, so they surely won’t do anything too bad to me. And I won’t be gone forever! I’ll still visit whenever I can, and you’ll get to see me at those dinner parties we always go to… Don’t worry. I can manage this,” you told your parents, putting all of your effort into keeping up the confident tone you had taken on despite your fear. Your parents scrutinized your beaming expression for a moment, before they attempted to mirror the smile, albeit a little shakily. Your mother whispered, “Yes… You’re right. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

So that conversation was what led you to this way-too-fancy room the next day, where a handful of maids forced you into a way-too-fancy outfit (after thoroughly bathing you, much to your discomfort) and made you put on some way-too-fancy makeup and accessories in preparation for the party. It honestly felt more like you were going to a wedding than to a birthday party. The idea made you sick to your stomach.

The party venue was lavishly decorated. You would have called it nice if it wasn’t for the situation you were currently in. This year, the birthday party was taking place on land, at one of the many buildings owned by the Leech family. You remembered the first time you had been forced to go to Jade and Floyd’s birthday party - that year, it had taken place under the sea. Seeing the Coral Sea had been incredibly awe-inspiring, despite how much of a hassle it had been to acquire the items needed to go underwater. You found yourself hoping that this year’s party would have been under the sea as well. That way, maybe it would have been easier to distract yourself from your impending doom.

…Was that a bit too dramatic of a description? Maybe. But you found it fitting either way.

You were made to sit in a room by yourself for quite a while as the party started outside. Eventually, someone would come in to get you and bring you to Jade and Floyd. You just had to wait until then. To be honest, you wished that they hadn’t left you by yourself for an extended period of time. It only made you think about everything more, increasing the intensity of the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. There were many worrying implications about being given to the Leech twins as a birthday gift, none of which you wanted to think about for too long. But all you could do right now was think.

Finally, the door opened. Your head shot up towards the direction of the sound, and you met eyes with a pair of heterochromatic ones. “My, my. Were you waiting for me? It’s quite lovely to know that you were looking forward to this as much as I was,” said the person who entered the room, hiding a toothy smile behind one of his gloved hands. It was Jade who had entered, which surprised you, as you had been expecting one of the maids from before to be the one to fetch you. Before replying, you couldn’t help but scan your eyes over his form. He was wearing an elegant suit that really looked good on him. You hated to admit it, but he was quite attractive.

“Like what you see?” Jade asked in a teasing tone, finally revealing his sharp smirk, “Heh. I must say, you look absolutely wonderful in that outfit of yours. I see that I picked well.” Stunned, you mumbled, “...You picked this outfit?” He nodded, then closed the gap between you and him in a few smooth strides. Offering you his arm, he suggested, “Well then, shall we get going? Floyd is also quite excited to see you. We shouldn’t make him wait.” Your eyes darted between Jade’s outstretched arm and his own eyes. There was a certain glint in them, almost as if he was daring you to defy him. Deciding that it would be best to go along with the situation for now - more for your parents’ sake than yours - you swallowed your refusal and gingerly linked your arm with his. He gave you a pleased smile, then began to lead you out of the room.

The room you had been in connected directly to the party venue, which you had also passed through earlier to get to said room. Most of the party guests were busy talking amongst themselves, so not many noticed your arrival to the venue. You spotted Mr. and Mrs. Leech in the far corner of the room, talking with a silver-haired lady who you remembered seeing at a few of the other events you’d been to previously. However, you couldn’t find your parents anywhere. Where were they?

Suddenly, your thoughts were cut short by someone tackling you in a strong hug. “Shrimpy! Theeeere you are~” exclaimed the person that was currently squeezing the life out of you. You didn’t need to see his face to know that this was Floyd. He was the only one who called you by that ridiculous nickname (sure, you might have looked small next to the twins, but you weren’t that short) and gave you bone-crushing hugs like this one. Once he had gotten his fill of hugging you for now, Floyd pulled away and grinned widely at you. However, despite the fact that he had stopped hugging you, he still kept an arm around your waist. You wished he wouldn’t.

Jade came to stand on your other side, placing a palm on your shoulder. You really didn’t like the close proximity that both twins had to you, but you refrained from saying anything in fear of making them upset. Leaning down, Jade whispered, “Don’t you have anything you want to say to us, darling?” While he spoke, you could feel his breath on your ear, making you shiver. He moved his body so he was facing you, and Floyd went to his side, the both of them smiling down at you eerily. You took a moment to think about what it was they wanted you to say, and eventually, you settled on saying, “Um… H-Happy birthday.”

The twins’ expressions told you that you had indeed said the right thing, which made you relax slightly. However, you tensed up again when Floyd grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the two of them, allowing both of them to wrap their arms around you in an embrace. At first, you didn’t hug back, but as soon as you felt one of them squeeze your hip painfully (likely Floyd), you hastily reciprocated, wrapping one arm around each twin.

The hug lasted for much longer than you wanted it to. Eventually, Jade pulled away, giving you a closed-eyed smile. However, Floyd stayed as he was, latched onto your side. All of a sudden, you felt something brush against your cheek, and then you noticed all at once just how close Floyd’s face was to yours. Your eyes widened, and you froze. However, before Floyd could do anything, Jade cleared his throat and reminded, “Floyd. Please save that for later. We should take them to see Father and Mother now.” Floyd whined annoyedly, but listened to his brother and moved away from you, instead slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Aight, let’s go then,” he responded, “I wanna get this stupid party over with so we can get to the real fun.” The implications of his words, as well as the sleazy grin he gave you after he finished his sentence, made you want to disappear then and there.

The Leech twins guided you over to where their parents were. Mr. and Mrs. Leech were still where you’d seen them, along with that silver-haired lady and a young man that looked a lot like her. You assumed that was her son, who you’d seen around the twins quite a few times. Your arrival made the attention of all four people turn to you. Mrs. Leech was the first to greet the three of you, giving both of her sons a quick hug before outstretching her arms towards you and saying, “It’s so nice to see you again! You look adorable in that outfit, sweetheart. It seems my Jade really does know your clothing taste.”

Although you didn’t want to accept her hug, something told you that refusing it would be bad, so you forced a smile onto your face and approached Mrs. Leech. After your short embrace, you replied to her, “It’s nice to see you too, Mrs. Leech. I was very, um… e-excited to come to the party today.” She beamed at you and clapped her hands happily, exclaiming, “Oh, I’m sure you were! Also, sweetheart, there’s no need for the formalities. You can just call me mother.”

A cold sweat ran down your back as you heard her final sentence. You opened your mouth to retort, but you were cut off by the silver-haired lady, who said, “Ah, so this is the person who Jade and Floyd are so interested in. It’s nice to meet you! You may call me Ms. Ashengrotto. My son is good friends with Jade and Floyd.” You nodded politely to Ms. Ashengrotto, desperately trying to keep the smile on your face. Then, your eyes wandered to the young man next to her, who gave you a smile as fake as your own and greeted, “My name is Azul Ashengrotto. I’ve been friends with Jade and Floyd since childhood. It’s delightful that they’ve found a suitable partner for themselves, truly.”

As Jade turned to Azul and addressed him in a hushed whisper, you were approached by Mr. Leech, who extended a hand to you for a handshake. You accepted, saying, “H-Hello, Mr. Leech… How are you?” Mr. Leech had always been a stern and quiet man for as long as you’d known him, so you were surprised when he cracked a small smile and replied, “Good. Yourself?” You answered that you were also good, despite that being a total lie, and then proceeded to engage in small talk with the Leeches and Ms. Ashengrotto. Floyd kept an arm around your shoulders the entire time, but was oddly quiet. At some point, Jade and Azul also joined the conversation, but you couldn’t focus much on the content of it, simply autopiloting through it and trying your best to ignore your ever-mounting discomfort.

You spent a few more hours at the party, being paraded around like some sort of pet as Jade and Floyd introduced you - although you’d rather describe it as them showing you off - to the guests at the party. The guest list included many of Mr. Leech’s associates, as well as some people who had attended high school with Jade and Floyd. As pleasant as those people were (you especially liked the one who introduced himself as Kalim Al-Asim; he seemed like a very sweet person), the twins barely allowed you to talk to anyone for more than a minute at a time.

Of course, Jade and Floyd themselves and their parents were exempt to this rule - as was Azul and his mother, though Floyd would show signs of getting annoyed whenever you spent too long looking at Azul specifically. You hated the way he would roughly squeeze at parts of your body and mumble to you in a scary voice whenever he was displeased. However, you also hated the scrutinizing way Jade looked at you the entire duration of the party, as if he was picking each of your interactions apart piece by piece to find something to punish you for later.

During the party, you kept searching for any sign of your parents, but had no luck finding them. At some point, you asked Jade of their whereabouts, but he only shushed you and told you not to worry about it. You had been so close to blowing up at him in the middle of the venue; and you were convinced that he wanted you to, judging by the glint in his eyes and the upwards curve of his lips whenever you showed signs of reaching your limit of patience. This only further encouraged you to keep your calm, as you had a feeling that letting your guard down would only be playing into some sort of devious trap that Jade had quietly set out for you.

Eventually, the party came to an end, and you could safely say that the only thing you liked about it was the food, especially the cake. Floyd was very pleased when you expressed that you liked the cake, and attempted to force-feed you copious amounts of it until Mrs. Leech stepped in and advised him that maybe he should not be doing that. You had expected Jade to have been the one to step in, but he had simply watched with a grin. Perhaps he had also wanted to force-feed you the cake, who knows. It was impossible to read him.

After the party was over, you were led by the twins to an expensive-looking car that had been parked in a specially reserved place in the garage. The car was apparently Jade’s, as he was the one who began to drive the two of you and Floyd to some other location. Floyd was sitting next to you in the backseat of the car and was in a positively giddy mood, acting no different from a child whose parents had agreed to buy him his favourite toy.

“Uh… So, where are we going?” you asked, finally breaking the silence that had previously only been filled by the soft jazz music playing in Jade’s car. “Home,” answered Jade simply, not taking his eyes off of the road. Furrowing your eyebrows, you questioned, “What do you mean by that? Are you driving me back home, or…” Jade chuckled amusedly, but Floyd was the one who replied, “Don’tcha get it yet, Shrimpy? You’re ours now. Your old home isn’t your home anymore! Your new home’s with us, ehe~”

You felt tears spring to your eyes, but furiously willed them not to fall while digging your nails into your palm. You absolutely could not allow yourself to show any weakness in front of these two. They would just eat it up and use it against you later down the line. Suddenly, you felt something touch your thigh, making you jump. It was Floyd, who had splayed his palm across the upper part of your leg. He looked at you with a razor-sharp grin, drawling, “Aww, is lil’ Shrimpy gonna cry~? Thaaat’s okay! You can cry with us. You’re safe.”

Floyd’s words finally caused the metaphorical dam holding back your emotions to collapse. You shoved his hand off of your thigh and screamed, “Safe? Safe?! How could you possibly suggest that I’m safe?! I should be at home, with my parents, doing whatever the fuck I want with my life… instead of in a car with two monsters who have no regard for my feelings! Why did you two even want me anyway?! I should be worth nothing to you, so… Give me back my life!”

Through your outburst, you hadn’t even noticed that the car had stopped and the three of you had arrived at your destination. As you sobbed and sobbed, angrily pushing away any attempt Floyd made to touch you again, Jade’s smooth voice cut through the air, “Please stop being unreasonable. We have arrived, so exit the car and follow us to your new home.” Clutching at your chest, you yelled, “NO!” Floyd frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by his twin, “Floyd, can you go and unlock the door? I’ll deal with them.” Begrudgingly, Floyd complied and got out of the car, leaving the scene.

You continued to cry in the backseat as Jade exited the driver’s seat and walked over to the back door of the car, opening it and reaching in for you. You flinched away and reflexively swung your arms outwards, hitting him in the chin. He showed no reaction to your punch and leaned towards you, undoing your seatbelt and picking you up with ease. Although you struggled as much as you could, you were no match for Jade’s strength, and he was able to carry you inside the building you had arrived at with little to no trouble.

A few moments later, Jade set you down on a soft surface, and it was then that you finally opened your eyes to observe your surroundings. You seemed to be sitting on a sofa in a very fancily furnished living room. Floyd was next to you, staring at you with an impassive face. His lack of emotion scared you; you were so used to his hyper-expressiveness, and the fact that he was currently poker-faced couldn’t mean anything good. Jade soon joined the two of you, coming into the room from a hallway that you supposed led to the entrance of this house.

“I believe now is a good time to set out some guidelines that we expect you to follow,” Jade began speaking, regarding you with an expression as neutral as his brother’s, “As Floyd said during the drive here, you belong to us now. That much was established in the deal that your parents made with our father: in exchange for giving you to us, their debt would be waived. However, as I’m sure you have guessed, there will be consequences for both you and your parents if you break any of the rules that we will set now.”

Having mostly calmed down from your outburst by now, you faced Jade and asked, “...What kind of consequences?” He gave you a cold, mirthless smile in response. From behind you, Floyd rested his chin on your shoulder and answered in place of his twin, “Weeeell… Nothin’ too bad will happen to you, Shrimpy. But for your parents… You wouldn’t wanna see ‘em dead, would ya?” You froze instantly at his words. “You wouldn’t,” you whispered, fear seeping into your tone. Jade laughed and then grinned at you, showing off his inhumanly sharp teeth. “We would prefer not to, yes. After all, they will be our in-laws soon. But if the situation calls for it, we won’t deny that it is a possibility,” he declared, carefully observing your reaction.

“In-laws… D-Do you two intend to marry me? I… I don’t understand any of what’s happening!” you exclaimed. Now that you had already shown your emotions to them thanks to your patience reaching its limit in the car earlier, it was pointless to hold yourself back anymore. Floyd giggled eerily, his breath tickling your neck. You tried to move away from him, but his arms seized your waist in a vice grip, preventing you from shimmying away. “I dunno why you haven’t gotten it yet, Shrimpy. You’re kinda stupid, huh? That’s okay, though. I like you anyway~” he started, teasingly, running his lips along your neck and making you shiver. You swallowed down your discomfort and questioned, “W-What do you mean…?”

Chuckling, Jade reached over to take your hands into his. You of course attempted to pull away, but he tightened his grip enough so that you couldn’t. Now that you were caged between both the Leech twins, you felt worse than ever (which was really saying something, considering all the mental turmoil you had been going through for the last twenty-four hours or so).

“Floyd’s not wrong, you know. One would have to be incredibly dense to not have realized the reason behind us requesting you as our gift… But that’s alright. Your cluelessness is endearing too, I suppose,” Jade remarked in a mocking tone, then cleared his throat and continued in a more serious voice, “But since you seem to have trouble grasping the answer, it would be cruel of us to withhold it from you any longer. The reason why Floyd and I have brought you here is because we love you. And naturally, since we do love you, we wanted to have you, which is why we asked our father to make a deal with your parents. Do you understand now?”

Jade and Floyd… loved you? No, that wasn’t right. This wasn’t love. This was…

You opened your mouth to retort, but you were quickly silenced by Jade pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. Since your mouth had been open, he was able to stick his tongue into it, coiling it around your own. You tried to turn your head away from him, but one of his hands shot up to hold your jaw in place firmly. His other hand pinned both of yours down to your lap. While Jade kissed you, Floyd’s lips ran over your neck from behind. You could feel his smile against your skin, which made you sick. Suddenly, Floyd stopped at one area of your neck and bit down harshly. Your cry was swallowed by Jade’s mouth as he refused to let you pull away even though you were beginning to feel the need to breathe. At the same time, Floyd’s arms tightened painfully around your waist, and you were sure that bruises would soon form there, as well as on your jaw where Jade’s fingers held it in place.

After what felt like ages, Jade finally pulled away from you, leaving you gasping for breath. Floyd also removed his teeth from your skin, licking at the bite mark he left behind with an airy giggle. “Now that you understand the situation, allow me to continue the topic of rules,” said Jade. He had a slight blush over his countenance as he spoke, which was quite unusual to see from him due to how put-together he always seemed.

“First of all, outbursts like the one you had earlier will be punished accordingly. However, since the one earlier today was your first, we will let that one slide,” Jade continued, lowering the hand that he’d had on your jaw back to join his other one on your lap, “Secondly, you are not allowed to contact anyone outside of our family. Yes, this includes your parents; however, if you prove to us that you intend to be good, you may be allowed to see them again in the future. And finally, you are to stay in this house unless you are accompanied by one of us. Is that clear?”

To be honest, you had expected more rules than just three (though you supposed that those three were pretty restrictive in and of themselves). Still taken aback from the twins’ earlier actions, you simply nodded in response, figuring that it was better to agree for now. This earned you a laugh from Floyd, who commented, “Look Jade, they’re speechless! Didja like our kisses that much, Shrimpy~?” You turned back towards Floyd to snap at him, but stopped yourself midway. He smirked at you, as if challenging you to say what you wanted to - probably because he wanted an excuse to punish you. When you showed no sign of falling for the bait, he pouted.

Standing up from the couch, Jade offered you a hand and suggested, “Well, it is getting quite late, and we’ve had a long day. Shall we all retire for the night?” You glared up at him and attempted to stand without accepting his “help”, but yelped when Floyd abruptly picked you up and started walking out of the living room on his own accord. “Put me down!” you hissed, narrowly missing Floyd’s cheek with a punch. “Nah, don’t feel like it~” he replied liltingly.

Floyd brought you down a hallway and threw open a door at the end of it. Once he had done so, he waltzed inside the room and plopped you down onto a bed. Your eyes widened as you took in the room. It was furnished exactly the way you liked it. The colour scheme was exactly like the one in your bedroom at home, and there were even some of your personal items that you recognized among the decorations. The only difference was that the room was much larger than yours, and so was the bed - it was so big that it looked like it could fit three people.

Using your confusion to his advantage, Floyd joined you on the bed and pinned you underneath him in a matter of a few seconds. The grin that he flashed down at you was downright predatory, and he declared, “Now it’s time to do what I’ve been waiting to, ehe~” You heard the door close and lock as Jade entered the room, taking a seat on the bed next to the two of you. “Surprised? I designed this room for you. I thought you would like it,” he remarked casually, as if the fact that he’d gotten the design nothing short of perfect wasn’t creepy. It was like the outfit he’d chosen for you for the party: perfectly catered to you in every way possible.

Before you could reply, Floyd crashed his lips onto yours from above, taking your breath away. You moaned in discomfort as he pressed the weight of his body down onto you, completely restricting your movement. His tongue shot into your mouth and explored every corner of it as his teeth clacked against yours and left bloody scratches all over your lips. No matter how much you struggled, you couldn’t win against him. Just as you thought you were about to pass out, Floyd pulled away, moving into a sitting position. His lips had splotches of your blood on them, and so did his teeth when he shot you a toothy smile.

You were so focused on recovering from the rough kiss Floyd had given you that you hadn’t noticed Jade approaching you and beginning to undo the buttons on your outfit. Your hands grasped at his, trying to stop him, but Floyd joined him and quickly held you down so you couldn’t do anything. “S-Stop! I don’t want this!” you shouted, putting as much effort as you could in attempting to get away, however fruitless it may be. Jade ran his lips over your now-exposed collarbone, murmuring, “You had no choice in the matter from the start, dearest.” At the same time, Floyd grabbed your jaw and turned your face towards him, all while adding onto what his twin had said, “After all, if you’re ours, we can do anything we want to ya~ Prepare yourself, Shrimpy. It’s time to have some fun!”

It had always been important to remember that Jade Leech and Floyd Leech never wanted the same thing for their birthday. And now that you were caught in their hold, unable to escape, you found yourself wishing that that fact had never changed.

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arieslost · 1 year ago

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certified haters | ln4

summary: you and your boyfriend hate valentine’s day.

word count: 634

masterlist — join my tag list here!

if there was one thing you hated more than the stupid groundhog that could hardly ever predict the season changes properly, it was the so-called “holiday” that followed a couple weeks later: valentine’s day.

when you started dating lando, you made it perfectly clear that you refused to celebrate such a dumb, performative day. you’d expected more pushback considering how clingy and doting he was before the two of you even made anything official, but to your surprise he’d launched into a whole rant about how much he hated it too.

“i don’t need a specific day on the calendar to show you how much i love you,” he’d concluded, sitting back down on the couch and pulling you into his arms. “if you don’t know that every day of your life, then i’m doing something wrong.”

that was why, while other couples were being sappy and having breakfast in bed or something, you were more than happy to be freezing your ass off at silverstone as your boyfriend prepared to get behind the wheel of his 2024 car for the first time.

you honestly couldn’t imagine doing anything else— lando had seemed a bit hesitant when he asked you to come, like he thought you’d say no, and watching his eyes light up when you enthusiastically agreed was better than any valentine’s day gift.

you rubbed your hands up and down your arms to try and bring some heat back to your skin. lando, always so attentive, noticed immediately.

“are you cold?” he asked, and didn’t even wait for your response before he was putting his helmet down and shrugging out of his mclaren jacket. “put this on. c’mon.”

“no, lan, it’s fine—” your argument was pointless as he gently put your one arm, and then the other, into the sleeves of his jacket before zipping it up.

“can’t have my valentine freezing on me,” he could hardly get through his sentence without giggling, and it morphed into true laughter when you smacked him with an oversized sleeve. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry!”

“get out of my sight, norris.” you rolled your eyes, reaching for his helmet and shoving it into his chest.

“ready?” one of the engineers asked as he handed you a headset, and lando gave a thumbs up in return, flipping his helmet over as he walked toward the car.

“oh, wait!” you called out before he could put it on. “i almost forgot.”

he already knew what you were going to do before you did it. it was tradition; you always did this before he got in the car, no matter what. he closed his eyes and puckered his lips cutely in anticipation as you ran into his arms and kissed him.

“good luck, have fun, don’t die,” you said, smiling as he mouthed the words along with you.

it was what you had said before the first race he brought you to. you’d tried to come up with something profound, but you were so nervous that those six words came out instead. now you say them every time.

“i love you,” he pressed another kiss to your lips, and then your forehead. “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

he donned his helmet and climbed into the car as you put the headset on, stepping back so the engineers could do the final preparations on the car.

right before he drove out onto the track, he stuck his arm out of the car, formed a sign with his hand, and waved.

i love you! you knew he couldn’t turn around to look, but you signed it back.

you and lando hated valentine’s day, but the two of you were just as sappy with each other every other day of the year— why should today be any different?

note: this was fueled by my own hatred of this silly little day and i wrote this on mobile (thus the lowercase) in maybe two hours. the title ended up being more ironic than i thought it would be; i wish lando was my valentine and this got fluffier than i’d planned. hope u enjoyed!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @architect-2015 @maddie-bell @athena-artemis-dorian-gray @noreri @bwormie @alltoomaples @maximoffsimp @peargaslyyy @alicedebate @esserenorris

#blurb #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #lando norris fluff #valentines day #ln4 fic #ln4 fluff

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ktsumu · 1 year ago

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FIFTH TIME’S A CHARM

cw: suggestive content, nudity happy valentine's day ᡣ𐭩

This year, for the first time ever, Tooru doesn’t buy flowers for his valentine. You are the only witness to the crime.

His first girlfriend, back in junior high, got roses. She got him roses, too, with a chocolate bar he ended up giving to his sweet tooth sister. They were real, shockingly, smelt good too.

They were discounted, and it’s a basic gift, but he was twelve and had only been seeing her for three weeks.

(And they broke up two weeks later, so he has no regrets about the roses that cost his mom less than fifteen bucks.)

The second girlfriend was a little more serious.

Tooru thinks he might’ve been fourteen for that one. He liked her—she was kind, pretty, had a nice laugh. He remembers holding hands in the hallway at school and their first kiss (well, peck) was surrounded by a bunch of classmates, screaming like it mattered more to them than it did to him.

He forgets how long they lasted, but he’s sure they started dating in November and made it to Valentine’s Day. He bought her tulips, her favourite, and a stuffed bear, because it was right beside it in the store. With his own money, too.

His second girlfriend—he really, really feels bad about not knowing her name anymore—got him chocolate. He gave it to his sister again, but he kept the card she wrote him, saying she loved him three months in like either of them knew what that meant.

And to be fair, he said he loved her, too. Just not to her face. Many, many times to Hajime, though.

Tooru and Girlfriend #2 broke up in May. He wasn’t even planning on it, either. She just moved to a different country and he wasn’t looking for a penpal, and she said she didn’t wanna cheat on him.

The third girlfriend is where his small list gets serious.

He gave romance a break after the one that got away. He just flirted with people up until his first year of high school, the big leagues, which is when he actually got too much attention.

It’s a huge deal when you’re sixteen and your girlfriend is seventeen. He was crowned royalty of his class, the chosen one. The only one that could possibly score an older girl and act like it’s no big deal, and then proceed to blow her off to watch a game taping or something. On top of the world, and yet so below the standard.

She was pretty good to him. Makki always said he was a moron and she was gonna dump his ass, and Tooru probably knew that, too. Hajime said he was wasting his time, and every time he’d deny it, he’d think about how right he was.

He and the third girlfriend—Hana, he remembers—had one Valentine’s Day together, but it was so close to two that he almost wants to count it as such for the hell of it.

He got her wildflowers because she always said she hated roses and tulips. Basic flowers mean they don’t care, or something like that. He didn’t understand it fully, but he was happy when she leapt into his arms, that was for sure. It felt pretty good when she kissed him stupid and said he was the best, but that high didn’t survive the Spring Tournament the next year.

That’s how close he was to two Valentine’s Days—January. Fucking brutal.

She dumped him and he swore off girlfriends in senior year; probably even blamed it on something stupid like ‘bad omens.’ He graduated with D1 offers, though, so he counts it as a win.

That tallies up to three successful Valentine’s Days, so far right? Yeah, right—all with flowers.

The fourth bouquet wasn’t a bouquet at all, it was actually orchids in a pot, left on the kitchen table of the apartment he lived in when he moved. He was twenty, her name was Riko, his first almost everything. First I love you, first time—name it, basically.

He did make it to two Valentine’s Days with Riko, which is something so impressive for him that confetti emojis were everywhere in the groupchat he kept with his friends from high school. Hearts, confetti, eggplants, whatever else.

The first one was admittedly better than the second, though. The second one, he got a really serious offer overseas, and he didn’t even ask about it. He just told her that he loved her, and that he’d be in Argentina by August.

(Safe to say that he was the only one packing for that.)

That was the last time he bought flowers on Valentine’s Day, because it was the last time he consciously celebrated with someone. He sent his friends funny clips or pictures just to tease, taunted them whenever they could keep a girlfriend to celebrate with, but he gave up himself.

(It’s just so much easier to relax—he’d have no problem getting a girlfriend if he wanted one. His issue is keeping them.)

He’s twenty-seven and solo.

Mostly solo, he should say. You come around a lot, stay the nights with him. You typically collect your clothes and leave the next morning with a wave and maybe a ‘text me if you wanna do this again Friday,’ but he hates how he’s lying when he grins and says he just might.

Tooru is so used to being the one to leave, or to sabotage himself until someone else does, that he’s forgotten that it actually sucks when you don’t wanna be left alone.

The whole point of you and him is to keep it casual, but Tooru can barely keep it cool.

He likes to consider himself experienced. It’s why he gets so fucked up when he kisses you for longer than he realizes, or how he finds himself holding back words he thinks might be too much for casual sex.

You two are functional together, at least. He just puts the system at risk a lot.

When he wakes up today, February fourteenth, he doesn’t even know what day it is. He’s naked, in his own bed at the very least, and he can see his jeans on the floor through the light of the bathroom dripping through the door left open. Dawn peeks through the curtains.

The room is quiet, the window’s open so the birds can talk to him, and to his left, you’re still here.

“Hey,” he says, yawning.

“Good morning,” you say back, a small smile on your face as you stretch. He can’t help but smile back, with his grin and smile lines, eyes drifting to the hem of the sheets that try and cover you up. Okay, naked too. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Woah.

“It’s Valentine’s Day?” he replies in a hurry, leaning up on his elbow as he grabs his phone. Yes, very much so.

You raise your brows. “What? Got a wife you forgot about?”

“Very funny.”

“I know, I’ve been waiting,” you say. It’s your turn to yawn now, moving to lay your head on his chest, hand pushing him back down into the bed. “What’s the panic, then?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just … forgot. It's weird.”

“Hm. So where are my roses, huh?”

Tooru scoffs, glancing down at you as he rests a hand on your waist. “They’re being delivered, obviously.”

“I figured.” You cock your head. “What’s up with Valentine’s Day, huh?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never not gotten flowers for someone when I’ve had them.”

“Are you talking about me?”

“What, I can’t get friendly flowers?” he asks, raised brows and attitude waking up with him. “You’re naked in my bed, that must constitute something.”

The way you pout your lip in thought makes him wanna reach out for your hand. Is it weird to do that? Can I do that?

(You do it first, but he holds you tighter.)

“No, this is fine.”

“Fine?”

“Better,” you quickly correct. “I’d rather just stay in bed and say it once. I prefer acts of service, anyway.”

Looking at you, laying on his bare chest, the sun creeping in over yours, he doesn’t care all that much about how he’s breaking tradition anymore. Maybe it’s not even tradition, maybe it’s just a cycle he’s breaking; a vicious one, at that.

You’re an unconventional valentine in the sense that you’re not even his, but maybe when the day’s passed and he doesn’t feel it looming over him, he might bring it up again.

“Acts of service, you say?”

You snicker, being pushed onto your back as he looms over you. He’s looking at you like Cupid hit him; bullseye.

“You wouldn’t happen to know of those, would you?”

“Just tell me what you want, already. Let me make up for the flowers.”

You take him by the back of the neck, pulling him down to kiss you like he means it. Tooru speaks in tongues the two of you best understand.

For the first time in four official Valentine’s Days, Tooru doesn’t buy his valentine flowers. But, for the first time in four official Valentine’s Days, it feels so right that it doesn’t even matter he’s doing it ‘wrong.’

(Next time, when you’re hopefully here again, he doesn’t think he’ll get flowers, either. This'll do.)

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu!! x reader #kit writes

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blitzyn · 1 year ago

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relax

alhaitham x m!reader

Request: well, since requests are open, perhaps I could request an alhaitham X male s/o where s/o has been really stressed lately with school and has been overworking himself. Because of this, alhaitham being the caring boyfriend he is comes to comfort and relax his beloved s/o with sex and aftercare. If possible, pls let alhaitham call his s/o a 'good boy' and just a praise kink in general, tysm!! 💕 — @ezraelo

a/n -> this mf reminds me of my dad so i kinda wrote what I think he'd say if i was in reader's situation tbh. NOT THE SEX THOUGH. anyways pgr fic first then hate sex w/childe next its been decades since I've done him (⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠) sigh sometimes i forget i don’t have to write so damn much

wc -> 3.6k

cw -> soft alhaitham (heart eyes pt2), anal fingering, anal sex, praise, not beta read

merry christmas and happy holidays!!

To say you were tired was an understatement—you were exhausted. Stressed. Angry. It felt like everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

First, you accidentally woke up late, was scolded by your teacher when you arrived and made the "perfect" example on what a scholar from the Akademiya should not be. Then you had to study for several hours for a few of your upcoming exams and evaluations—all while having to take some more tests the following week.

And as if that wasn't e-fucking-nough, you had done horribly on one of your essays so now you had to redo it for a better score, on top of needing to start yet another one regarding... Something. You forgot what the prompt was. Honestly, you forgot to do a lot of things. Like eat. Or drink water. Which was something that really didn't help to improve your mood.

You stumbled through the door trying to pry your uniform off, haphazardly tossing your hat to the side. You felt like shit and wanted nothing more than to flop on your bed and stay in there for the rest of your miserable life. But, like the universe was trying to give you the biggest middle finger ever, one of the loops on your clothes got caught on the corner of a counter. While you'd normally just take it off and go on your merry way, you weren't having it today and just yanked yourself forward, tearing the loop and the fabric it was connected to.

Finally making it to your room, you flopped on the bed face-first, muffling the loud groan that came from you. You stayed like that for a moment longer before turning your head, remembering to breathe deeply.

Two knocks came from the door. "You okay?" Your boyfriend, Alhaitham, asked, leaning against the frame as he stared at you.

"You're smart. Figure it out yourself," you muttered bitterly, wincing at the accusatory tone in your voice. You sighed, deciding to face him. "Sorry."

He shrugged, walking to sit on the edge of your shared bed. "What's wrong?" He questioned, his expression unchanging even when he watched your brows furrow in irritation.

"It's just... Ugh," you grumbled, rolling your eyes childishly. "Just a bad week. It feels like everything's going against me." You rolled onto your back, arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish. "I don't think I can catch up."

"You're in the Akademiya," Alhaitham said, giving you a look that made it seem like he didn't know why you were complaining. "Obviously it's going to be hard for you."

"'For you,'" you repeated, glaring at nothing in particular, but it was getting increasingly evident that you were beginning to direct your anger towards him. "Of course you don't get it. You've been smart your whole life."

He was quiet for a moment, letting you try to calm yourself before speaking again. "Don't sell yourself short like that. It's unhealthy."

You huffed. "It's not selling myself short if it's actually true." You pressed your palms against your eyes until you saw faint fireworks coloring the darkness. "I have to redo an essay because apparently it didn't go with damn prompt. Then I have to do another one, and I don't even know where to start, and—" you listed off your problems, your voice getting higher in pitch until you were on the verge of shedding tears, overwhelmed with the sheer amount of work you accidentally accumulated.

"Hey," he interrupted you, leaning to place a hand on your thigh. "Calm down." He gave you an unimpressed look when you snapped your mouth open to retort, watching you begrudgingly close it in defeat. "Breathe. You're getting worked up over things you can change."

But when you could hardly focus on utilizing the breathing techniques he taught you, he decided to take a different approach. "Let's have sex, then."

"What? Why? 'Cause of the post-nut clarity?" You sighed, rubbing your temple to stave off the impending headache after staring at him incredulously. Damn. Sometimes you forget how straightforward he could be.

Alhaitham gave you a look. It was deadpan—because when was it not?—but you could still sense the slightest bit of confusion. "If that's how you want to word it, yes," he said, before elaborating. "Sex can also help you relax and improve your immune system."

He quickly looked you up and down, and despite not saying anything, you knew what he was trying to imply. You looked like a mess.

"It can also help improve your quality of sleep," he added, crossing his arms against his chest. "It has a few other benefits than just feeling good, you know." He watched you ponder his suggestion, chewing on your lip absentmindedly before giving in with a sigh.

"Fine. But you're doing all the work," you said, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him better.

"That was the plan." The corners of his lips quirked up in a brief, subtle smirk as he leaned to place his hands on your shoulders to gently push you back down. "Just relax."

He continued when you nodded, running his hands along your body, gently caressing every curve and contour of your frame. An eyebrow raised in question when he felt the torn patch in your clothes but decided against mentioning it as he guided you out of your suffocating uniform with practiced ease. Already, you seemed a bit calmer than earlier, giving yourself a well-deserved stretch that made you remind him of a cat.

You felt the tension beginning to seep out of your body with every article of clothing that was carelessly tossed to the floor, reaching your hands out to tug him closer. He obliged without hesitation, sighing in satisfaction when he melded his lips with yours. His hands slid below your underclothes, snaking them upwards until they found your chest. He tweaked and pinched your nipples as he moved his way downwards, placing kisses along your jawline and neck.

You softly moaned, brushing your fingers through his hair that had him leaning into your hand. He removed your shirt, trailing appreciative kisses down your sternum. A hand made its way down your front toward your pants, slipping a hand inside to wrap his fingers around your flaccid dick. Your breath hitched, instinctively widening your legs to give him better access, much to his pleasure.

He was gentle; his hands were soft and careful, and neither of you were in a rush. You felt your eyes flutter shut as your lips parted with every quiet gasp and sigh that left you, and he couldn't help but stare.

It annoyed him how little you thought of yourself when he could clearly see you as something more. Sure, it irked him how you complained about things that could easily be changed if you put your effort into it, but you were also right. He always had it academically easy and often found it hard to connect with others or understand their problems on a level that wasn't with you. He was well aware of this issue, knowing that it often hindered his ability to comfort, and—for the first time in how long?—it frustrated him.

Even if he had no idea how to properly soften his words around you or to consistently change his facial expressions, he always showed he cared by spending time with you, teaching you new things, or helping you understand foreign concepts. But even then, he was willing to try to tell you that you were more than what those pompous Akademiya professors reduced you to, that you were better than what you said you were.

"Look at me," he said, his voice soft and smooth, coaxing your pretty eyes open. He slipped his hands out of your shirt and cupped your cheeks tenderly, ensuring your focus on him. "It doesn't matter what everyone says about you when they don't understand that you have strengths that rest beyond the traditional Akademiya expectations."

"But that doesn't—"

He gave you yet another stern look, to which you quieted down with a huff. "It's okay to struggle. Everyone does at some point. Even those professors found something difficult before they became what they are. But you know what they did?"

He paused, gauging your reaction. He was aware that what he was saying probably didn't make you feel better or make the most sense, but he hoped that you could feel the sincerity in his voice. "They took a step back, took a deep breath, and figured out what they were doing wrong. They didn't do that overnight or by working themselves to the bone. That's what you need to acknowledge."

"But all my other colleagues are doing fine, and I'm the only one struggling..." You appreciated his words, truly, but they did little to quell your worries.

"Are you? How do you know that for sure?" He countered, sliding his hands down to caress your hips. He watched you pursed your lips, squirming slightly under his gaze. "Point is, you shouldn't try to compare yourself to everyone around you and overwork yourself because that only leads to bad work and a bigger hole for you to climb out of. You have everything else to be proud of—not just your academic qualities. Understand? Besides, you made it into the Akademiya. That's something very few people can do in the first place."

You looked away with a frown, but you nodded softly. Even though it sucked knowing that you weren't the best, he did have a point. Wallowing in your own failure did nothing to better yourself, as much as you hated to admit it.

"Thanks," you muttered, sniffling a little. His thumbs swiped underneath your eyes, clearing away any of the tears that happened to escape you.

"Don't let them define you. Define yourself," he said finally, leaning back down to kiss you again. It was soft, tender, unhurried, like he wanted you to feel every ounce of affection he harbored for you. He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against yours. "Do you still want to do this?"

You nodded again, giving him a quick peck to the lips before wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "Mhm. I really need those benefits." Plus, you didn't favor being horny and sad.

Your lips curved in a smug grin when you saw his own quirk upwards in amusement, but he didn't comment on it. He sat up to tug your pants and underwear down, revealing your semi-hard cock. You shivered instinctively but kept your focus on him, waiting in anticipation for him to continue.

He leaned over to grab a bottle of lube from your nightstand, squeezing a generous amount on his fingers before pressing one into your hole. You sighed, sinking your teeth into your lower lip. He only offered a few pumps of his hand before adding a second one in, gently spreading them apart in a scissoring motion.

He wrapped his free hand around your cock, slowly jerking you off. He rubbed his thumb over the tip to smear the precum across your skin as wet sounds gradually filled the room. You noticed his eyes locked on your face and the expressions you wore, committing them to memory. He added a third finger for good measure, feeling you tense reflexively before relaxing just as fast.

"You're doing so good, [Name]," he praised, his voice low. He curled his fingers, pressing them against your prostate. He could feel his cock twitch in his pants at the sound of your moan, straining against the fabric. "I'm almost done. Then we can start."

You nodded, inhaling sharply through your nose when he began targeting the sensitive spot inside you. You could practically feel every surge of heat shoot up and down your spine, ending at your fingertips. Alhaitham could feel it too, every time your cock throbbed in his hold.

Your body felt warm and tingly when he moved both hands away from your body, wiping them off using a few tissues atop your nightstand. He grabbed the lube again and poured some on his palm to coat his cock, using his free hand to spread one of your thighs a bit wider. He peered up through his lashes, subtly raising an eyebrow in question. He continued as soon as you nodded, slowly pushing himself inside you.

You both let out a satisfied groan as he filled you, grasping onto his wrists as he held onto your hips.

"Fuck," he hissed, pushing further until he bottomed out completely. "You're such a good boy. You're taking me in so well." He perked up in attention when he felt you tighten at his words, noting how your eyes fluttered shut like you were savoring them. He wasn't overly aware of this newfound information, but maybe you had accidentally brought it to his attention now that you're stressed?

Either way, he didn’t comment on it, instead deciding to continue. “You feel so good, [Name]," he praised, leaning down to press his lips against the skin underneath your earlobe. You could feel the low rumble of his voice vibrating in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. He let you take a moment to adjust to him before moving, gently thrusting his hips.

You noticed him moving away again as you opened your eyes, finding yourself enamored with the way his muscles flexed in every movement of his. Soft gasps and moans left your lips when you looked up, instantly noticing his gaze on you.

“Stop staring at me,” you mumbled shyly, squirming a bit. It wasn’t that you hated having him look at you—frankly, that’s all you longed for sometimes, it’s just that what you did hit you. Being as vulnerable as you were wasn’t something you preferred, even when Alhaitham didn’t berate you for it.

“You were staring at me, first,” he countered swiftly, and you could hear the rare undertone of his amusement in his voice. It was your favorite sound. “Besides, what’s the harm in looking at the most handsome man in Sumeru?” His monotony nearly made his words laughable, but you could see that he was genuinely trying. Knowing that sent butterflies in your stomach all over again.

You looked away, effectively flustered with all his attention. “It’s embarrassing…”

“Only because you make it embarrassing,” he said, sliding a hand upwards to toy with one of your nipples. He subtly shifted his hips, angling them so that his cock better pressed against your prostate. He watched you intently when you let out a throaty moan, feeling his dick throb inside you.

You reflexively clenched your thighs tighter against his hips, sinking your teeth into your lower lip. You snaked a hand down to your leaking cock, wrapping your fingers around the base to give it a squeeze. “You can go faster,” you muttered, looking down to watch the way he slid in and out of you.

He nodded with a quiet hum, adjusting his grip on your waist to shift the weight on his knees to sacrifice his slower, deeper thrusts for quick and shallow ones. Moaning, you jerked yourself off in time with his movements, unable to tear your gaze away from him, even for a moment. Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you brought your free hand up to bring him closer to you by the back of his head. You kissed him needily and fervently, letting out noises that mixed in with the wet sounds that came from your hole. Your body rocked gently, listening intently to the rustling of your bedsheets and Alhaitham’s deep, husky breaths.

Suddenly, he lifted a hand up to place over your abdomen, lightly pushing down on it just as he buried himself balls deep inside you. He paused for a moment, sighing as he watched you squirm at the sudden stop before continuing, feeling himself move in and out of you. You could feel the heat in your belly intensifying with every thrust to your prostate, back arching, legs tightening around his waist.

“Fuck, I’m…” you panted, clenching tighter around his cock. “I’m so close, ‘Haitham.”

“I know. I can feel you,” he said, gently moving your hand away from your leaking cock to wrap his fingers around it. Quiet slaps mixed in with your soft noises and his breathy grunts as he fucked you a bit harder, eyes fixated on the blissful expression on in your face. His dick throbbed inside you as he eagerly chased after his own orgasm, leaning down to press his lips to your jaw, kissing up towards your ear.

“C’mon, [Name], cum for me,” he whispered, sending yet another wave of heat shoot up and down your spine. You could hardly stop the stream of moans that spilled from your lips as he focused on the tip of your cock, rubbing his thumb on the sensitive spot just below it, as if trying to coax out your cum.

“Oh god,” your voice was strained as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten to an unbearable degree, trying to hold out just a little longer. “F—Fuck! Alhaitham!” You moaned in ecstasy when you finally came, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. You tensed and trembled as your dick spurt cum on your stomach and his fingers as he helped you ride out your high.

“You’re so beautiful when you orgasm,” he groaned, his thrusts beginning to lose rhythm as he neared his own climax. He dug his fingers into your waist tighter, muttering praises into your ear when you began squirming at the discomfort of your overstimulation. It didn’t take much longer for him to finish as he stilled, gritting his teeth when he quickly pulled out to stroke himself to completion. He sighed in satisfaction when his orgasm subsided, leaving your abdomen coated in ropes of his cum.

“Wh—Why did you pull out?” You panted, wiping a bead of sweat off of your forehead.

“Isn’t it annoying to clean up afterward? You're always complaining about it whenever we have sex,” he questioned after a moment, taking a second to bask in the afterglow before getting up to reach for a tissue to clean your skin. He put his pants back on, gathering your clothes to put them in a laundry basket.

You shrugged. “I mean, sometimes. But I’m gonna take a bath either way.” You blinked in confusion when you saw him quirk a brow, fidgeting a bit when he didn’t stop staring at you.

“No. You’re going to sit and wait here while I make you something to eat, first,” he instructed, leaving no room for negotiation. “Afterwards, you’re going to go to sleep. Then you can take a bath when you wake up.”

As if on cue, your stomach growled audibly, quickly reminding you that you haven't eaten anything since yesterday. "But then I'm gonna be all sticky and gross when I eat," you said, knowing how much he disliked having dirty bedsheets for too long. It surprised you when he shrugged, leaning against the doorframe as he waited for you to decide.

"If you want to take a bath first, then I'll help you," he offered. You swiftly nodded, wanting to eat clean and comfortably. He nodded and told you to wait for a moment as he prepared the water for you, leaving you by yourself for a while until he returned. The two of you walked into the bathroom where a bathtub of warm water awaited you. But just as you raised your leg to enter, a sudden wave of dizziness overcame you. Luckily, Alhaitham was there to keep you from falling with a firm hand on your arm, carefully helping you into the water.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his eyes darting across your face for any sign of distress. He relaxed upon seeing nothing but waited for your response for further confirmation.

"Yeah. It's just something that happens when I get too hungry, y'know?" You explained sheepishly, splashing some of the water onto your arms and back.

"No, I don't know." He ignored the way you rolled your eyes. "I'll be right back, then."

You hummed to yourself, not minding his absence as you savored the warmth surrounding you, resting your head against the edge of the tub. You nearly fell asleep in the time it took for Alhaitham to return, jumping in surprise at the sound of his voice.

"Hey," he spoke, returning to your side with a bowl in his hand. "Eat this for now."

He kneeled down, bringing the bowl close enough to let you reach in and take whatever was inside. They were fruits, you saw as you happily grabbed one, tossing it into your mouth. You had to stop yourself from grabbing a handful and eating it all in one go, forcing yourself to appreciate every bite. You noticed him shifting behind you, leaning forward instinctively when he began cleaning your back with a small, wet towel.

The two of you basked in the comforting silence for a while as you let him take care of you until you turned your head to face him. "I love you," you said with a little grin.

"I know," he replied, putting the bowl onto the floor.

"Say it back." You pouted, but you knew he was only teasing.

His mouth quirked up in a faint smile, leaning forward to give you a quick peck on your lips. "I love you too."

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gleefullypolin · 8 months ago

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Stacy's Tipsy Musing's - Colin Bridgerton Hot Takes - Part 1

Ok boys and girls, we need to have a little chat about Colin Bridgerton.

Part 2 has been out now for a couple of days and there have been a lot of hot takes to come out of the season. A LOT of hot takes. I’m going to break this down into 4 parts. 4 questions that I'm seeing really bad hot takes about Colin.

Now none of this is new, I gotta say before Season 3 aired Colin was a hot button topic anyway. He seemed to be the Bridgerton brother that lots of people love to spew hate takes on anyway. But damn I gotta say its painful seeing the Polin fandom have so many bad takes falling from their lips.

So, I figured...having a little drink tonight, sitting down for Father’s Day (Happy Father’s Day, Colin) I’d give you the opinion on some of these takes that you didn’t ask for...Mine!

Ok let’s start with the hottest take. Question 1:

Does Colin really believe that Pen entrapped him in marriage?

“Perhaps that was another part of your planned entrapment”

Ok I have to say, I have never seen one line inspire SO MANY BAD TAKE FANFICS IN ALL MY LIFE! Let’s start at the beginning...he found out about Lady Whistledown by following Pen because he noticed she and his sister run off together and disappeared. His sister who was not speaking to Pen previously from his knowledge. So not only is he suddenly feeling betrayed by his future wife, but also his sister.

Now add to this, his trying to reconcile this lie in the middle of planning a wedding to the woman he thought he knew most of his life as quiet little Pen, who just weeks earlier he was trying to teach how to flirt and land a man. He is confused and angry.

But that’s only 2 layers of hurt. Let’s keep adding to that. Layer one, we have the lie. Layer two, we have a woman he thought he knew. Add in Layer three, the Marina situation.

The original LW lie for him was about Marina’s lie. The original entrapment. An entrapment that Colin was willing to look past. He was still willing to marry Marina despite her deception. He still checked in on her post marriage to Phillip to ensure she was happy, to see if she regretted NOT marrying him. Colin always regretted his behavior to Marina’s entrapment. An entrapment that LW pushed into the light and forced a different decision for him. I don’t think he cares about Marina now, he never once accused her of taking Marina from him, he never loved Marina, but she took his agency, his decision.

Now for the fun of it, let’s add layer four. Portia’s already accused Pen of entrapping Colin during his confrontation with her. An accusation he strongly defended her against. An accusation which led to him telling her he loved her for the first time and them sharing their first time together. Which he is now reminding her of. “I’m a man of honor. And we were intimate.” Colin knows how to hurt Pen. We always know how to hurt those we have known for a long time, and they are of course the oldest of friends. He is striking her where he knows it will hurt her the most. Because he is hurting, and she caused the blow.

So let’s talk about the biggest blow of them all. “Perhaps that was another part of your planned entrapment” He doesn’t look her in the eye when he says any of this. He can’t, because he KNOWS he’s being an asshole. He knows its below the belt. But she hurt him. He’s angry, hurt, lashing out.

Because of Layer five...Hot anger at what she wrote about him at the beginning of the season. This person who knows him better than anyone else, wrote truth to page. No one knows the real Colin the way Pen does. His brothers toasted him when he returned home because of his new female attention, his friends said he was more fun this season. But Pen called his new persona a ploy for attention. She saw him for what he was. A fraud. If he is to forgive Pen, he is to also start to acknowledge that there is truth in things she says that perhaps Lady Whistledown does not tell lies.

But then there is layer six. Jealousy and shame. Colin has sat in all of his emotions, yes he’s angry about what she has written,but we get to the heart of it, he’s jealous of her and that makes him ashamed of himself. That’s very Book!Colin coded who was very ashamed of his jealousy, so much so that Pen mistook his silence and brooding as shame of her. But this Colin is brooding in his own shame and jealousy and lashing out at her.

And then we get to layer seven. Colin loves Penelope above all else. And with this love and hurt and shame and jealousy, there is nothing that will stop him from marrying her. And in part, that is where his ire in this pointed cut comes from. He’s reminding her that they will marry. This will happen. This woman who is a successful writer, something he thinks he will never be, will marry him. Because he has laid claim to her. He has bedded her. They were intimate, she was compromised, and they have entrapped each other. But above all, he loves her, and Lady Whistledown will not change that decision for him this time. This time, he will marry.

Seven layers of lies, deception, past hurts, parental pressures, anger, jealousy and shame, and above all love sat on his tongue and wormed through his thoughts for days until they cut out at the small woman beside him that he needed to hurt in that moment. The woman he had been avoiding for that very reason.

Colin is not a hateful man. He was a kind man. He was rarely angry. But when he was finally put in a place where anger was his only emotion, he avoided Penelope, so that he didn’t hurt her, so he would not say things that were unkind and would hurt her. But when put into the place that he could not avoid her, he lashed out. He made it very clear how things were going to go and he pouted, and he brooded and he said unkind words.

And he was ashamed. And after that he did his best to avoid her, (by being out drinking, sleeping on the couch, avoiding intimacy) so he would not lash out at her again. Because he was ashamed.

Stick around for Part 2.... Why would Colin send Pen home alone after finding her on the street at night?

#colin bridgerton #polin #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton #stacy's tipsy musings #hot takes #you cant make me hate him

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doctorbitchcrxft · 7 months ago

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Houses of the Holy | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ;) )

Warnings: MNDI 18+ ONLY, canon violence, canon gore, SMUT, breast play, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this irl pls and thanks), dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, clit spanking, descriptions of religious trauma (there’s a lot of talk of the two things you should never talk about in here: religion and politics)

Word Count: 5892

A/N: need i say it again, goodbye, minors!!! Be gone!!! please!!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

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Every twenty or so minutes, you reloaded the FBI’s database you’d managed to tap into. You were getting incredibly anxious about Dean’s presence on their radar following the bank “robbery” the week prior.

Sam went out to pose as a psychotherapy nurse to interrogate a woman whose personality seemed to have changed overnight after killing a man, claiming an angel led her to do so. You were placed on “Dean duty” after Sam insisted his brother stay here to avoid being seen. You were right on board with that idea, but you needed to stay behind to make sure Dean didn’t go stir crazy and leave stupidly.

A thousand thoughts swirled through your head as you wrote in your journal.

“When I was on my own, I was a fucking expert at staying away from police,” you wrote. “Now, suddenly, I’m on cases with these two where every time I turn around, a cop is on my ass. I’m not super crazy about that idea. However, I don’t wanna leave them. They’re my best friends, and I know Dean is something more to me. I don’t wanna give that all up just because I’m starting to sweat a bit, y’know?

“I am not one to shy away from trouble, and I’m loyal. Those are two qualities I’m super proud of,” you continued writing, “I just am worried. And I feel like that’s completely normal. But it’s a different kind of worry. I’ve never had to be concerned about two other people when I’m hunting. This is the first time I’ve had partners who are just as good as I am. And I’ve never cared about my partners this much. And in a way, that sucks.

“And what the hell was I thinking promising Sam that I’d kill him if necessary? Am I out of my fucking mind?? I don’t know what I’d do if Dean hated me. But I’d still rather him hate me than hate himself. I can go it alone again. I really could. I just don’t think I want to.”

You dropped your pen and scrubbed a hand over your face before pulling it through your hair.

“Sweetheart. C’mere,” Dean groaned from the other end of the room. He was laying on a vibrating motel bed with his headphones in his ears. He’d been obsessively fueling the “Magic Fingers” machine with quarters.

You headed over to him just as the bed stopped vibrating.

“Damn, that was my last quarter,” he huffed, taking his headphones out of his ears. He seemed not to notice you until that moment. “Oh, hey.”

You sat on the bed next to him, and he was still laid out in the center of the bed on his back.”Whatcha need?”

“You,” he said, smirking.

You laughed as he pulled on the ends of your— his— shirt, trying to get you to lay on top of him. You happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him. Between kisses, you giggled, “Dee, we already fucked this morning. You’re seriously ready again?”

He hummed against your lips. “Always.”

You rolled your head away from him. “I have sex with you once, and suddenly, you’re insatiable.”

“I can’t help it,” he smirked. “You’re gorgeous.”

You faux-pouted. “That’s it?”

He rolled on top of you and kissed up your neck. “And smart.” He kissed you again, moving to your left cheek. “And badass.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “And sexy.” He kissed your lips. “I hate how much I need you.”

You mocked offense. “Why do you hate it?”

“ ‘Cause I don’t like to need anyone,” he replied.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I need you, too.” You leaned up to him and pecked his lips before leaning back down on the pillows. “And not just sexually,” you clarified.

He chuckled. “Same here,” he told you earnestly.

You grinned widely, pulling him back down to your lips by the nape of his neck. He eagerly bit your bottom lip before trailing his lips down your neck. He sucked a dark spot on your collarbone, making you tug his hair and moan. He groaned against your skin before hiking the shirt up your body, swirling his tongue around your nipples. Still sensitive from your activities earlier in the morning, your back immediately arched into him and you keened, encouraging him to keep going. He switched to your other breast and chuckled as you continued writhing underneath him. “Wonder if I could make you cum just like this,” he said, looking up at you.

“Stop teasing, Dean,” you whined, shoving his shoulders down to your pussy.

“Hmm, but it’s so much fun,” he replied. Dean skimmed his fingers down to the band of your underwear, playing with the hem. You sucked in a sharp breath and squirmed beneath him. “Why would I do what you want when this is so much more enjoyable for me,” he chuckled darkly.

“Dean!” you cried out. “Please!”

“Fine,” he responded. The man above you pushed your panties down your legs before dipping his fingers into your cunt. “So wet for me already?”

“Fuck you,” you murmured in embarrassment.

He tsked. “Is that any way to talk to the guy who made you cum three times this morning?”

“It is if he’s being a fucking tease,” you replied, running your nails over his abs just above his V-line.

He groaned at your actions before grabbing your wrist and pinning it next to your head. “Now who’s being a tease?” Dean used one hand to pin your wrist above your head and the other to grab your other. He pinned them above your head, instructing you to keep them there.

He moved back down your body, stopping when he reached your core. He eagerly ate you out like a man starved, and your hands flew to his hair. He immediately stopped.

“What’d I say?” he asked gruffly.

“Sorry,” you replied sheepishly, grabbing the headboard above you to keep your hands there.

He moved back to your pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth and making you grip the headboard tighter. “Fuck, Dean!” you cried out.

He curled two long fingers inside you, groaning at the slick pooling between your thighs. Your orgasm was quickly approaching as he hit your g-spot with the tips of his fingers and continued harshly sucking your clit, every now and again swirling his tongue around it.

“Fuck, fuck, please, I’m gonna—” And then he was gone. “What the fuck?” you whined at the feeling of his fingers leaving you.

“You don’t get to come until I say,” he growled. “You understand?”

You nodded eagerly, still white-knuckling the headboard. You spread your legs wide, fully displaying your pussy to him. “Fuck me, Dean.”

His hand came harshly down on your clit. You yelped in surprise.

“You don’t make the demands here, I do.” He spanked your clit one more time for good measure before shoving his fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them in earnest, closing your eyes as you licked them clean. Dean groaned at the feeling and freed his fingers from your mouth, gripping your throat as he bent down to kiss you.

Before you knew it, Dean’s cock was inside you, making you gasp into his mouth. He sheathed himself fully inside you, and you locked your legs around his hips. He rocked into you roughly, each thrust making you come more and more alight.

“Can I touch you?” you breathed out. “Please?”

“Beg,” he replied, still keeping his thrusts even.

“Dean, please let me touch you. Please, please, I need to touch you,” you groveled through shallow breaths.

“Hmm…” he smirked, rolling his hips into yours roughly.

“Dean! Please! Please!” you cried, gasping. “I need to feel you, Dee.”

“Okay, sweetheart, you can,” he said.

You were on him in an instant, one hand in his hair and the other winding around the underside of his shoulders. You kissed your way down his neck and nipped at the base of it, careful not to leave any dark marks; even though you really wanted to. Dean’s pace began to falter as you felt his cock twitching inside you.

“Cum with me,” he instructed you. He reached down to your clit, drawing rough circles, before burying his face in your shoulder. “Cum with me, now, (Y/N).”

You came with a high-pitched moan, your orgasm crashing into you suddenly. Your legs locked around the base of Dean’s spine, keeping him inside you as he came. You moaned again at the feeling of his cum spilling inside you. His thrusts slowed, and he pulled out, causing you to whine at the loss. Dean laid on your bare chest, breathless.

You took a few minutes to linger in this feeling which you decided was your version of heaven. No monsters, no fighting, no police run-ins— just Dean laying on your chest, breathing in time with you. However, you knew Sam would be coming back any minute now.

“Dean,” you said, trying to wiggle out from under him.

“Hm?”

“We gotta get up, Sam’s gonna be back soon.”

“Who cares.”

“Me!” you squealed as his grip tightened around you. “I don’t really want Sam to see my bare tits!”

He kissed between the valley of your breasts, nuzzling your left one with his cheek. “But I wanna keep lookin’ at ‘em.”

“Dean!”

“Alright, alright.” He finally let go of you, and you pulled your clothes back on. This time, you put your jeans and the shirt you wore before you and Dean fucked for the first time that morning to avoid Sam knowing what had been happening. You headed back over to your laptop, and reloaded the FBI’s database page.

“What is so important over there?” Dean asked, coming over to you.

You turned your laptop to face him.

“Seriously? You’re gonna drive yourself crazy lookin’ at that.”

“Well, sorry, but I’m trying to keep you from getting arrested,” you scoffed.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know.”

You looked away from your computer and back up to him with big doe eyes.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that,” Dean growled.

You tilted your head in confusion. “Why?”

“ ‘Cause I’m not gonna be able to control myself if you don't,” he replied.

Despite your earlier activities, heat flooded once more between your thighs. “Dean—”

At that moment, Sam burst through the door. “Hey.”

Dean jerked away from you, and you awkwardly returned to the computer in front of you.

“So, did you get in to see that crazy hooker?” Dean questioned, scratching the back of his neck.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Gloria Sitnick. And I'm not so sure she's crazy.”

“But she seriously believes that she was... touched by an angel?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. Blinding light, feelings of spiritual ecstasy, the works. I mean, she's living in a locked ward and she's totally at peace.”

You scoffed. “Definitely completely sane. What about the guy she stabbed?”

“Uh, Carl Gully. She said she killed him because he was evil,” Sam explained.

“Was he?” Dean asked.

The brunet shrugged. “I don't know. I mean, I couldn't find any dirt on him. I mean, he didn't have a criminal record, he worked at the campus library, had lots of friends. He was a churchgoer.”

Dean paced around, all-business mode. “Hm. So then Gloria's just your standard-issue wacko. I mean, phew, she wouldn't be the first nutjob in history to kill in the name of religion. Know what I mean?”

“No, but she's the second in town to murder because an angel told them to. Little bit odd, don't ya think?” Sam countered.

“Well, little odd, yes, supernatural, maybe. But angels? I don't think so.”

“Agreed,” you chimed in.

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“ ‘Cause angels aren’t real,” you replied.

“(Y/N/N), there's ten times as much lore about angels as there is about anything else we've ever hunted,” the younger brother reminded you.

“Yeah, you know what? There's a ton of lore on unicorns too. In fact, I hear that they, they ride on silver moonbeams, and they shoot rainbows out of their ass,” Dean grunted.

Sam sat down across from you, deadpanning, “Wait, there's no such thing as unicorns?”

“That's cute,” Dean monotoned, “I'm just saying, man, there's just some legends that you just, you file under ‘bullcrap’.”

“And you've got angels on the bullcrap list.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause I’ve never seen one,” you chimed in.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “So what?”

“So I believe in what I can see,” Dean argued.

“Dean! You and I have seen things that most people couldn't even dream about.”

“Sam,” you started, trying to mollify both brothers. “I think that’s his point. We can actually see that stuff. Hard proof, y’know? We don’t have hard proof of angels.”

“This is a– a demon or a spirit,” Dean continued. “You know, they find people a few fries short of a happy meal, and they trick them into killing these randoms.”

Sam sighed. “Maybe.”

“Can we just— I'm going stir-crazy, guys. Hey, let's go by Gloria's apartment, huh?” Dean begged you and Sam.

“I was just there. Nothing. No sulfur, no EMF…” Sam trailed off.

“You didn't see any fluffy white wing feathers?” Dean deadpanned.

“But Gloria did say the angel gave her a sign, right beside Carl Gully's doorway,” Sam huffed.

Dean perked up at that notion. “Could be something at his house; it's worth checking out.”

“I don’t love that idea, Dean. Please… stay here, okay? Sam and I can handle it,” you argued.

Dean groaned. “(Y/N), I’m going fucking crazy in here. Please?”

You crossed your arms. “No.”

He went to say something again.

“No. Sam, you’re on Dean duty. I’ll be back in a few hours,” you stated firmly.

“(Y/N)—”

“Dean,” you warned. “I’ll bring you back some beers, okay?”

He huffed.

“I’ll throw a burger and some quarters in there, too, okay?”

Dean huffed again, but said nothing in response.

You tugged your boots on, and Sam tossed the keys to you.

“Not a scratch, (Y/N),” Dean told you firmly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

***

About two hours later, you returned with a six pack and burgers and fries for the boys.

“Oh, (Y/N), thank god,” Sam exclaimed when you returned.

“What, has he been that bad?” you asked.

“I’m right here, y’know,’ Dean grumbled. “You bring any quarters?”

“Told you I would.” You chucked the roll of quarters and his car keys back at him.

You put the six pack down on the table and began distributing the food between the brothers.

“Woman, you’re fucking awesome,” Dean groaned as he took a bite of his burger.

Sam laughed. “So, what’d you find out?”

“Well, Mr. Gully had some pretty dark secrets,” you began. “I found three sets of bones buried under his house. Poor babies were kids from the local college who disappeared about a year ago. And get this; all of ‘em were last seen at the library.”

“Sick bastard,” Dean grunted.

“So Gloria's angel—” Sam started, only to be cut off by Dean.

“Angel?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay. Whatever this thing is…”

“Whatever it is, it's struck again,” Dean jumped back in through a mouthful of food.

“What?” you questioned.

“Dean hasn’t put down the police radio since you left,” Sam told you. “There was this guy, uh, Zach Smith, some local drunk; he went up to a stranger's front door last night, stabbed him in the heart.”

“And then I'm guessing he went to the police and confessed?” you asked.

“Yep. Roma Downey made him do it,” Dean quipped. He took a post-it note off the mirror. “Now, I, uh, got the victim's address.”

“Dean—”

“(Y/N), I am not staying here again. Just this one thing? Please?”

“No, Dee. I’m not taking that risk. You have got to lay low,” you insisted.

“(Y/N), how are you gonna stop me from doing my job?”

“Because if it involves putting yourself at risk, then it’s not happening,” you protested.

“My whole job is risk,” he argued, stepping closer to you. “There’s just… an added level now.”

“Exactly. Which means we have to be that much more careful. Especially considering we have the feds on our ass. I’m not letting this happen,” you shot back.

“Hate to say it, Dean, I think (Y/N)’s right,” Sam jumped in. “I’ll go check out the vic’s house. (Y/N), stay here.”

“Fine by me,” you said.

Dean grunted in aggravation, and flopped down on the bed after putting a few quarters in the Magic Fingers machine. You knew he’d probably stay angry with you for the rest of the evening.

After a few minutes of silence and when the rumbling came to an end, you spoke up again. “Dean,” you sighed. “I’m not trying to be a huge ass, okay? I’d be angry with me, too. But this is just… It’s a lot. And I’m trying to keep you boys as safe as possible. And I wanna help Sam with this case, but I can’t if I’m worried about you not staying put, okay?”

Dean didn’t respond, and you thought for a moment that he’d fallen asleep. At least, that was until you heard him murmur, “Okay.”

*** Sam informed you and Dean that the most recent victim had been planning to meet with a thirteen-year-old girl. Your stomach turned when he told you, and Dean looked like he would’ve kicked the guy to hell and back given the opportunity. Sam also told you that both victims went to the same church called “Our Lady of the Angels.”

“That’s funny,” you’d commented.

Following last night’s conversation with Dean, you felt more comfortable leaving him to his own devices. And so, it was up to you and Sam to go talk to the priests at said church.

“So you're interested in joining the parish?” the priest, who’d introduced himself as Father Reynolds, asked you.

“Yes, sir,” you replied.

“Where'd you say you lived before?”

“Fremont, Texas,” you said without missing a beat.

“Really? That's a nice town,” Fr. Reynolds noted. “St. Teresa's parish, you must know the priest there.”

“Yes, sir. He’s wonderful,” you nodded.

“You know, we're just happy to be here now, Father,” Sam broke in.

“And we're happy to have you, we could use some young blood around here.”

“Hey, listen, I gotta ask,” you began hesitantly. “No offense, but uh, the neighborhood?”

Fr. Reynolds sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Well, it's gone to seed a little, there's no denying that, but that's why what the church does here is so important. Like I always say, you can expect a miracle, but in the meantime you work your butt off.”

“Yeah, we, uh, heard about the murders,” you acknowledged.

“Yes. The victims were parishioners of mine, I'd known them for years.”

Sam quirked his head to the side. “And the killers said that an angel made them do that?”

“Yes. Misguided souls, to think that God's messenger would appear and incite people to murder. It's tragic,” the priest sighed.

“So you don't believe in the whole ‘angel’ thing?” you questioned.

“Oh, no, I absolutely believe,” he chuckled. “Kind of goes with the job description.”

Sam nodded toward the painting on the wall. “Father, that's Michael, right?”

“That's right. The archangel Michael, with the flaming sword. The fighter of demons. Holy force against evil.”

“So they're not really the Hallmark card version that everybody thinks? They're fierce, right? Vigilant?”

“Well, I like to think of them as more loving than wrathful. But, uh, yes, a lot of Scripture paints angels as God's warriors. ‘An angel of the Lord appeared to them, the glory of the Lord shone down upon them, and they were terrified’,” the priest finished.

You nodded sagely. “Luke two nine.”

The priest seemed surprised you knew that. “Yes, actually.”

You laughed uncomfortably. “My, uh, my mom was a pretty zealous Catholic,” you explained as Fr. Reynolds began leading you out of the door. “She’d quiz me on the bible verses every now and again.”

You could feel Sam’s eyes on you while you began heading down the steps of the church.

“Well, thank you for speaking with us, Father,” the brunet said.

“Oh, it's my pleasure. Hope to see you again,” the priest nodded.

You noticed a collection of tribute items at the bottom of the steps; candles, flowers, pictures, and rosaries. “Hey, Father, what's, what’s all that for?”

Fr. Reynolds deflated a bit. “Oh, that's for Father Gregory. He was a priest here.”

“Was?” you questioned.

“He passed away right on these steps. He's interred in the church crypt,” he explained.

“When did this happen?”

“Two months ago. He was shot for his car keys.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” you told him.

“Yeah, me too.” The priest couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from his friend’s memorial. “He was a good friend. I didn't even have time to administer his last rites. But like I said, it's a tough neighborhood. Ever since he died I've been praying my heart out.”

“For what?” Sam asked.

“For deliverance. From the violence and the bloodshed around here. We could use a little divine intervention, I suppose,” he replied.

“Thanks, Father. We’ll see you around sometime,” you nodded solemnly. He headed back inside.

“Well, it's all starting to make sense. Devoted priest dies a violent death? That's vengeful spirit material right there,” you noted.

Sam seemed a bit uncomfortable.

“And he knew all the vics, because they went to church here,” you continued. “In fact I'm willing to bet that because he was their priest, he knew things about them that nobody else knew. Reconciliation and all that jazz.”

“Then again, Father Reynolds started praying for God's help about two months ago, right? Right about the time all this started happening?” Sam countered.

“Sam,” you sighed. “I know you wanna believe, but I’m not really sold on this whole ‘angel’ idea. Why do you seem so convinced?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “But I do know that I pray. Every single day. I have for a long time.”

You startled a bit. “Really? I had no idea.”

“And what about you?” he asked. “What made you stop?”

“Well, like I said, my mom was always a bit of a zealot,” you began. “And… let’s just say I saw how well prayin’ worked out for her.”

Sam shot you a puppy-dog-eyed look.

“C’mon, let’s go check out Fr. Gregory’s grave.”

Sam followed you down to the crypt. It was a bit of a maze of stone hallways lined with numerous stone angel statues. You headed a little ahead of Sam deeper into the crypt. You turned back when you noticed Sam wasn’t behind you, and then suddenly felt the ground beneath you shaking.

“Oh, fuck,” you murmured before running to where you thought Sam may be. “Sammy?” you called. “Get the rocksalt out—” You halted momentarily when you noticed Sam’s slumped over form on the ground. “Hey! Sam! Wake up!” you cried, grabbing his face in both your hands. He jerked awake as soon as you touched him. “You okay?!” you asked worriedly.

He looked past you at the angel statue behind you. “Yeah. Yeah. 'm okay.” He seemed a little startled.

You helped him to his feet and led him into the sanctuary. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, (Y/N), I saw an angel,” he said.

“You—” You shook your head, unsure how to approach this situation. “So. What makes you think you saw an, uh, angel?”

“It just, it appeared before me and I just, this feeling washed over me, you know? Like, like peace. Like grace,” he explained.

You swallowed harshly, feeling suddenly unsettled. “Wh—” You laughed uncomfortably.

“I know this is a lot, but I’m telling you, it spoke to me. It knew who I was,” he said.

You shook your head. “Spirits can do that, though, y’know that, right?”

Sam didn’t seem convinced.

“Okay, let me guess,” you tried. “You were personally chosen to smite some sinner. You've just got to wait for some divine bat signal, is that it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Sam nodded.

“Great. I don't suppose you asked what this alleged bad guy did?”

“Actually I did, (Y/N). And the angel told me. He hasn't done anything. Yet. But he will,” Sam nodded.

You started pacing. “I don’t believe this.”

“(Y/N), the angel hasn’t been wrong yet!” Sam protested. “Someone's going to do something awful, and I can stop it!”

You scoffed. “You’re supposed to do something awful, too. Does that mean I’m just supposed to nuke you right now?”

“Y’know what? I don't understand! Why can't you and Dean even consider the possibility?”

“What, that this is an angel?”

“Yes! Maybe we're hunting an angel here, and we should stop! Maybe this is God's will!”

“Y’know what, Sam, if that’s what you believe, fine,” you sighed. “If faith is what helps you sleep at night and brings you a little peace, then, that’s great and I’m happy for you. But I cannot rationalize worshiping a god who’s gonna condemn me to a pit of fire and suffering for the simple fact of non-belief. I mean, think about it, man. He knows exactly what it would take to get every person to believe, and he still chooses not to show it to us.” You began to pace faster. “And, and? Why would homosexuality be the thing he chooses to put his foot down on? And if you are this great and good god, why is that love wrong? And if people believe in other religions, why does that mean they’re going to hell? What if they’re Buddhist and an exceptional person; they still have to go to hell? Hindu? I don’t fucking get it, Sam. And if my options are going to heaven with all the churchgoers— who are mostly hypocrites and these fuck-os who are abusing kids and murdering on Tuesday after just leaving church the Sunday before, then send me straight on down to hell. I’ll take eternity with actually decent people over these yuppies and troglodytes any day.” You stopped, taking a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Sam seemed shocked. “It’s okay,” he said, despite himself.

You huffed, scratching the back of your head. “Anyway, I got some hard proof we’re dealing with a spirit.” You led him over to Father Gregory’s grave. It was crawling with mangled vines, and you crouched down in front of it.

“That looks like—”

You cut Sam off. “Wormwood. Plant associated with the dead; specifically the ones that are not at rest. I don't see it growing anywhere else, except over the murdered priest's marker. It's him, Sam.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged.

“Maybe?”

“I don't know what to think,” he said honestly.

You sighed. “Okay. You want some more proof? I'll give you more proof.”

“How?” Sam asked.

“We'll summon Gregory's spirit,” you responded simply.

“What? Here? In the church?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just need a few odds and ends and my journal for a séance ritual.”

“Oh, a séance, great. Hope Whoopi's available,” Sam quipped.

You deadpanned at him, “Cute. Seriously. If Father Gregory's spirit is around, a séance will bring him right to us. If it's him, then we'll put him to rest.”

“But if it's an angel, it won't show. Nothin' 'll happen.”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “And then we’ll know for sure. And then I can grovel in front of Michael or Zachariah or Castiel or whichever the hell angel it is and beg for their forgiveness before they smite me.”

“The hell kind of angel’s named Castiel?” Sam’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Angel of temperance and serenity. Not traditional Catholicism, but I digress. I told you, my mom was a complete Jesus-freak,” you snorted. “Alright, let’s go get my journal. Hopefully Dean’s still there. I swear to god, I’ll send him to hell and back if he’s not.” *** Thankfully for Dean, he was right where you’d left him. He looked bored out of his skull, but he actually listened to you. “Jesus, how fuckin’ long does it take to talk to a priest?”

“Not right now, Dean. Sam’s a little, uh, possessed? Cursed? Don’t know what the right word is in this situation. Divinely inspired?” you continued.

“What? He saw it?”

Sam nodded.

“We don’t have time to rehash all this. Now, Dean, you comin’ or not?” You turned to the elder brother.

“Wait, you’re letting me out?”

You scoffed. “Dean, you’re not a hostage. C’mon. We could use the help especially now that Sam’s been angel-drugged.”

Dean chuckled.

“What?” you asked.

“Sam got touched by an angel,” he snickered.

You burst out in laughter, and Sam just deadpanned.

***

Your next stop was a small grocery store that you hoped didn’t have security cameras that would be able to identify Dean. Sam bounded out of the store holding a paper sack and chuckling. “Guys. I'll admit we've gone pretty ghetto with spellwork before, but this takes the cake. I mean, a Spongebob placemat instead of an altar cloth?”

“We'll just put it Spongebob-side down,” Dean shrugged.

Sam’s laughter subsided suddenly as he stared at someone across the street.

“What is it?” you asked him.

“It’s him,” he replied. “That's the sign!”

“Where?” Dean questioned.

“Right there, right behind that guy! That's him, Dean. And we have to stop him,” Sam pleaded.

Sam started after him, but you and Dean held the giant man back.

“Wait a second,” you stated.

“What are you doing? Let me go,” Sam grunted.

“You're not going to go kill somebody because a ghost told you to, are you insane?” Dean hissed.

“Dean, I'm not insane, I'm not going to kill him. I'm going to stop him.”

“Define ‘stop’, huh? I mean, what are you going to do?” Dean pressed.

“Dean, please, he's going to hurt someone, you know it.”

“Alright, come on,” Dean said finally. You moved to the other side of the car, and Dean quickly shoved you down into the backseat.

“Dean. Unlock my door,” Sam commanded, still standing on the sidewalk.

“You're not killing anyone, Sam. (Y/N) and I got this guy, you go do the séance,” he nodded.

“Dean!” Sam called after you, but Dean was already pulling away. He followed the man who’d been holding the yellow flowers down a short distance down the street before the guy stopped in front of a girl. She got in the car with him, and your heart sank as you climbed into the front seat.

“I don’t like where this is going,” you murmured.

“Yeah, me neither.” Dean gripped the wheel tightly and started trailing the blue car again.

The allegedly evil man soon turned down a dark alley, and you temporarily lost sight of him. Dean cursed, “Dammit!” and slammed the steering wheel in frustration.

“Dean, Dean, follow him, c’mon,” you begged, and he slammed his foot on the gas, turning down the alley he thought he’d seen the man head down. Thankfully, his guess was correct, and you and Dean quickly ran to opposite sides of the man’s car. You could hear the young woman crying and the man shouting at her as you approached. Dean punched the window, and you took that as your opportunity to quickly pull the girl out of the car.

“Are you okay?” you asked her, grabbing her shoulders.

“Thank god!” she cried, surging forward to hug you.

You called to Dean as the man sped off in his blue car. “Dean! I got her, you follow him! I’ll catch up with you later!”

Dean nodded, sprinting back to the Impala and following the man out of the alley.

“Did he do anything to you?” you asked her.

She shook her head, still crying.

“Do you have any friends nearby? I’ll walk you to ‘em,” you told her.

The woman nodded. “Yeah, um, my friend—” she hiccuped, “my friend Sarah lives around here.”

“Okay, can you call Sarah? Let her know you’re on your way?”

She nodded again, and you rubbed her back with your hand to soothe her while you started walking toward her friend’s apartment.

You got to know her as you walked to help her calm down and distract her from what had just happened. Her tears slowly subsided, and you seemed to have calmed her down by the time you arrived at her friend’s apartment complex. She hugged you tightly after announcing the two of you had made it.

“Thank you so much,” she told you.

“Anytime,” you told her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She nodded and headed up the front steps. She turned to you when she reached the door, waving goodbye one last time.

***

You somehow managed to get back to the motel. Surprisingly, Sarah’s apartment hadn’t been too far from it. You only needed to walk about thirty minutes before you stumbled upon it.

“Hey,” you said as you opened the door to the Winchesters’ room. Both Dean and Sam were packing. “How’s everybody doin?”

Sam looked demoralized. “You were right. It wasn't an angel. It was Gregory. I don't know, guys, I just, uh—” he sat down on the bed. “I wanted to believe… so badly. It's so damn hard to do this, what we do. You're all alone, you know? And there's so much evil out there in the world, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up—”

Dean sat next to him. “Yeah, well, don't worry about that. All right? I'm watching out for you.”

The brunet smiled. “Yeah, I know you are. But you're just one person, Dean. And I needed to think that there was something else, watching too, you know? Some higher power. Some greater good. And that maybe…” he trailed off.

“Maybe what?” you asked.

“Maybe I could be saved.” He suddenly realized what he admitted and chuckled nervously. “But, uh, you know, that just clouded my judgment, and you're right. I mean, we've gotta go with what we know, with what we can see, with what's right there in front of our own two eyes.”

“Yeah, well, it's funny you say that,” Dean said.

“Why?” you asked.

“Gregory's spirit gave you some pretty good information. That guy in the car was bad news. We barely got there in time.”

“What happened to him?” you questioned.

“He's dead.”

“Did… Did you?” Sam asked.

The older brother shook his head. “No. But I'll tell you one thing. If— The way he died, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes I never would have believed it. I mean— I don't know what to call it.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? Dean, what did you see?”

“Maybe… God's will.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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starkeygirls · 2 months ago

Text

i n v i s i b l e s t r i n g

chapter 2

rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: still working on writing this well - we'll get there when we get there.

wc: 4.1k

warning: none!

a/n: well, i wrote this whole chapter to hate it, start over and then still not be 100% happy with this one. hope this is at least okay! thank you all so much for taking time to read my silly little re-write! as always, please show your appreciation with reblog/comments/etc (reminder that it's really helpful to those who write ◡̈ )

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3

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Thoughts swirled in your head as you laid in your bed, seemingly sending flirty texts to none other than Rafe Cameron. The same Rafe Cameron that spilled beer on you without apologizing. Rafe Cameron, who seemed to fight your friends at every opportunity he could - with or without a reason. The Rafe Cameron who ended up being the reason your commission was so good during a dud week.

What the fuck were you doing? Watching as the three dots type and turn into a message, one that had the corner of your lips pulled up as you read it. Disgusting.

You two didn’t speak after that.

Waking up the following morning, you didn’t respond, and he never double texted. Better off that way, you thought. And it was solidified as you thought back to the party last night.

You paid no mind to the boy who walked along the beach like he owned it. Your eyes didn’t look for his in the crowd, and you couldn’t help the huff that escaped your lips as he cut you in line for a refill on beer.

Your head was pounding as you regretted nearly every thought you had to agree going to the party. Your sunglasses hadn’t left your face since you entered work, the lights were far too bright, the music was far too loud, and each and every customer was far too annoying. Typically, Saturday was your favorite day to work, but this was brutal. A part of you almost hoping that your boss would pop in and send you home for being out of dress code.

JJ’s voice rang through the small shop, your name echoing off the walls and piercing your hungover ears. Pulling yourself from the back room, your eyes rolled behind your sunglasses as he came into sight.

“You’re so fucking lucky there aren’t any customers in here?” You spat, also happy your shift mate was out grabbing lunch.

“That’s no way to greet someone in this fine establishment.” JJ teased, eyebrow raising as he turned his attention to the clothing hung neatly in place, pulling it from the rack and holding it up to his body. “What’s the verdict? Fashion icon?”

“The verdict is you would never buy that because it costs more than a day of work and you would stain it two hours.” You conveniently left out that it was a skirt he was mistaking for a tube top, there really wasn’t a thought in his brain. A giggle escaped your lips as you watched his eyes widen as he looked at the price tag, promptly putting it back on the rack and attempting to smooth it out as if he had never touched it.

“Anyway,” he started nearing closer to you, taking a glance around the small shop. “We were all meeting up at the dock, we were going to chill, drink some beers, swim a little. When do you get off? It’s clearly extremely lively in here, a real bustling shop.. Would be a shame if you closed early.” His shoulders shrugged, smile tugging on his lips as his brows raised.

“You know I can’t just close early. I don’t have the power to do that.”

“Please, you’re like vice president here and you work every day, you could pull some strings with Big O.” Your lips pulled into a small smile as you shook your head.

“I’m assistant manager, I have plenty of days off - in fact, my last day off you were too busy hooking up with some tourist to hangout, might I add, and Mrs. Overton would not like you calling her ‘Big O’, or like if I closed early.” Jeez, when did you become such a buzzkill? After your third hour of being hungover, that was for sure. JJ’s bottom lip jutted out, you wouldn’t shut him down without a fight and he wouldn’t leave willingly without seeing a text to your boss with the request.

–

Sitting on the side of the boat as John B drove, you assumed when JJ said “we” he hadn’t meant Kiara, Pope and Cleo, but instead, you found yourself with only JJ and John B.

“I can’t believe I convinced my boss to close early to hangout with you two..”

“I have such a way with words.” JJ’s cocky tone was enough to make you roll your eyes and send a middle finger in his direction. In reality, YOU had a way with words. The way you respectfully pointed out that sales had been down that day, in fact, they had been down the last few weeks. If you were able to leave, you could showcase what was on the floor in person, and you would be able to show up to your shift tomorrow with a new outlook on the sales for the week. You strategically left out your raging hangover, that was neither here nor there. Mrs. Overton quickly agreed, saying you needed to enjoy one of the last beautiful Saturdays of the summer before Autumn came in. She was too sweet for her own good.

“Did you notice Topper didn’t even look at me last night? Sarah was with me-”

“She was hanging on you.” You corrected, JJ reaching out to tap knuckles with you as John B cut the engine, dropping anchor in the middle of the marsh.

“Whatever, we were talking the whole night, and Topper didn’t make a single comment, no dirty looks, nothing.”

“Rafe and Kelce didn’t try anything last night, either.” JJ added quickly, peering over the sunglasses that covered his eyes as he cracked open a beer. You shooed it away as he offered it in your direction.

“Yeah well, Rafe cut me in line for a beer.” Shoulders shrugging, attempting to grasp at any bit of normalcy from the interaction you and Rafe hadn’t even shared.

“Well shit, call Shoupe. How dare he!” John B teased, JJ quickly laughing at the comment.

“Why did I agree to hangout with you two today?” Tone teasing, but they were lucky your hangover was dwindling as the time went on.

“Because we’re your best friends.” John B’s voice was a matter of fact, shoulders shrugging.

“Maybe Sarah had a talk with them. If you’re seeing her, I can’t see why she would let her brother and his friends fight with you guys.” There was a small murmur amongst the three of you, clearly that must’ve been the answer, right? You were just happy JJ had dropped the teasing he had been giving you, and happy he didn’t know about your late night texting - it still felt like a fever dream.

–

Floorset day.

It was the worst day, right ahead of shipment day. Having to unpack all of the new clothes, unwrap them, put them in size order and backstock was a nightmare. But you would rather do that than completely rearrange the store and dress mannequins.

You were fighting with a mannequin arm to try and put it back in its socket, you had already been whacked in the head, nearly tackled by a plastic person, and now you were standing with an arm between your legs, trying to shove the other one on. Letting out a huff as you continued to struggle, you heard the ding of the door. Of course someone had to come in right now. It’s always how it happened. Always when you were on the ladder changing a light bulb, or fighting with the mannequins- they couldn’t just wait ten more minutes to buy some overpriced clothes. Pulling the mannequin arm out of the polo shirt, you placed it on the table, turning to look at the door and who had just come in.

“Hi! Welcome in! I apologize for the-” You stopped, eyes glancing over Rafe who was looking right at you. Pulling your hair that had clung to your lipgloss, you stumbled over your words. “Uh- apologize for the mess. We just got in some new items.” Taking a deep breath, you smiled. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

He was alone, and if it wasn’t for his behavior, you would have written it off, and turned your attention back to the mannequin, back to the ipad with how the floor needed to be set up. And despite your best efforts to pull yourself from the thoughts of Rafe Cameron that consumed and confused your mind, you couldn’t help but watch as he moved around the store. An internal fight broke out inside of you, wanting to just let the kook do whatever it is he came here for. He had already picked up his items- he came in empty handed so he wasn’t returning anything. Hell, you had told him to let you know if there was anything you could help him with, so why were you still watching?

You hadn’t seen him in a few days, your last interaction, if you could even call it that, was at the party a few days ago. No texts, not that you really expected any- it wasn’t like you had previously texted him on a regular basis.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to walk in on you manhandling your boyfriend.” He smiled. And you swore your heartbeat picked up. What the hell was going on with you? Distance makes the heart grow fonder or whatever bullshit Shakespear would have said? Your life was not some cheesy romance movie.

“It’s okay, I prefer when I have an audience. I think it teaches him more of a lesson.” His lips pulled further into a grin, looking down to the floor in an almost attempt to hide his reaction. He paused by the rack of new items you had gotten in the day prior, eyes flickering to you as if silently asking if he was allowed to look through the racks. “Wait, actually there’s something we got in and I thought of you when I opened it.” You pulled the mannequin arm from between your legs, heels clicking as you stepped closer to him.

“You thought of me?” His brows raised and you felt a heat take over your face. You did what you did best and ignored his question, eyes trailing down the rack as your finger lightly ghosted each piece of clothing until you pulled the sweater out.

“So this is similar to that shirt you got before, but the fabric is a little thicker for when it gets colder. This color is a good transition color for going into fall, but-” You paused, pulling out another color. “This one is going to let you transition from fall into winter with the deeper tone. Not to mention you can put a button up underneath it to dress it up and also give you another layer. The style is also going to last you a while since it’s a staple piece, and if you like the color enough, it doesn’t matter what colors are in, you know?” You could feel his eyes on you instead of the sweaters you had pulled out, but once your sales side came out, there was no shoving her away. This is what you were good at, it was how you made bigger commission checks. “I noticed you wear more bright colors when you’re out during the day, assuming the country club? And then you wear darker when you’re with friends or at a party. And don’t flatter yourself with me saying I take note of these things, I like clothes. Anyway, you’re obviously not going to wear this sweater out with your friends or anything like that, it’s cashmere and wool- you would be sweating but I don’t know if you’re really going for pink sweater vibes either.” You grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the second rack. “I think this striped one is so nice. The navy and white stripes but not all the way up? It’s nautical but also just yells fall, paired with some brown pants-” You stopped yourself, almost embarrassed with how much you had rambled.

You watched as Rafe’s blue eyes scanned the clothing you had tossed his way, along with the newest sweater you had brought his attention to.

“New shoes I bought have navy on ‘em, right?” His brows furrowed, turning his attention to you. Your face perked up a bit.

“They do, and if you have the plain white, which everyone on The Eight does,” you paused, pulling at the original sweater you had shown him. “This would go, obviously because they’re white. They go with everything.”

---

You weren’t entirely sure how it happened, but Rafe was now helping you shove the arm onto the mannequin. He had bought almost all of your recommendations, despite the brown pants you reassured would be a good choice. He had nearly laughed in your face, but said he would be back if needed. He would be back when he realized you were right.

“So you’re the only one here today?” The brunet asked, a popping sound happening from the mannequin before he slowly released the arm, it staying in place on the torso. You nodded, arms up, ready to catch the arm should it fall.

“Yeah, they trust me to run the store?” You laughed, shaking your head as the concept still baffled you. Lowering your arms, you smoothed out your blouse, running your fingers through your hair as you looked around the store. It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting near the end of the day and the last thing you wanted to do was start another project and stay later than you needed to. “I’m not supposed to be the only one working since I lock up and could obviously take something, but I think my boss knows I need the money and I would be dumb to steal and lose my job.”

He nodded, taking a seat on the arm of a chair. Looking lost in thought, your own mind began to wander. The hour or so you had just spent with Rafe was actually… nice. Throwing different clothes his way, laughing as he huffed in the fitting room, mumbling a few “absolutely not’s” and rolling his eyes as he came out in a few of the ‘older’ styles, as you called them. He had even convinced you to try on a few outfits, and you couldn’t help but laugh at one of the combos he had chosen. You both laughed until your stomachs hurt.

It was almost domestic in a way, like the two of you had been friends for years. If you were being honest, the past drama, or whatever it had been was nowhere near on your mind. The way your friends teased you, the way Rafe and his friends had caused more trouble than good in your lives - the only thing you felt was happiness. You never expected to find yourself laughing with Rafe Cameron, never expected to have anywhere near a good time with him.

And now you found yourself locking up the shop, Rafe waiting for you outside as you set the alarm code and locking the back door. Your heels clicked along the cement, and with the fresh air hitting you, that’s when what you were doing really hit you. You were going to be seen out in public with a kook. Not just any kook, but Rafe Cameron. He seemed sure of it, had rattled off the two of you going to Duke’s a small restaurant that you had heard had amazing food, not that you could ever convince any of your friends to go. You accepted without much of a second thought.

But the second thought was hitting now.

“Did you want to put your things in your car?” Hands fumbling to put your keys in your purse and grip onto your sunglasses. He nodded as you slid your sunglasses on, he followed your motions, take his own off his head and covering his eyes with the shades. Following him to his car, you slid your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’. While a small bit of worry was coursing through your veins at the thought of getting dinner with Rafe, the last thing you needed was your friends bothering you- or figuring out where you were and making fun of you for actually giving him the time of day.

“You look nice today, you know.” Rafe’s voice was casual as he tossed the large bags into the backseat of his Range Rover. 2022 you assumed, maybe 2020, but there was no way it was any older than four years old. Despite the people you imagined getting in and out of it, it still faintly smelt like new car. You wondered how he kept the smell lingering around for so long. “You looked nice the other day, too. But I don’t know if cashmere is really something you should be wearing in the summer. You’ll sweat.” Oh, so he wanted to tease you now about what you had said to him earlier? Eyes rolling at his comment, you couldn’t help the corner of your lips pulling into a bit of a smile.

“It’s August, Cameron. It’s basically fall, and it was feather cashmere, anyway.” Your hand waved him off, a light giggle escaping your lips. “But thank you. I’m usually fighting the mannequin in a skirt or dress, but I learned this time.”

“You mean to tell me that Paul puts up a fight every time?” Of course he remembered you telling him how you had named all the mannequins, because why wouldn’t he? How could he possibly make himself anymore desirable in the moment? He couldn’t- you were sure of it.

It pained you, if you were being honest. The way he effortlessly made you laugh, and the way you were able to tease each other, firing back at one another. It reminded you of your nights with the pogues, though the sexual comments were yet to be found. He was actually respectful, which surprised you. Was it because he was alone? Why was he alone? Were you just some last resort when all of his friends were busy? You couldn’t think of that right now, no matter the reason, you had already spent time with him, you had already had a good time. You had already agreed to dinner.

–

Dinner had taken longer than you had expected- but it wasn’t in a bad way. You had actually learned a lot about Rafe, which was something you never thought you would say. That he’s a lefty golfer, which was a bit weird since he was a righty. You learned that despite living in Kildare his entire life, he didn’t have his boating license, and he was allergic to strawberries. You learned he was in the process of helping his dad with his company, but he couldn’t quite get all the trust he had hoped for.

Your cheeks hurt from how long you had been smiling. When was the last time you had smiled that much? You couldn’t exactly pinpoint it, not that it really mattered.

He smacked away your card as you attempted to tell the waitress to split the bill, a huff escaping your lips as you glared towards him. “I could have paid, you know. At least half.”

“Could have, but aren’t going to.” He said simply, flashing you a toothy grin.

“Well, I’ll leave the tip then.”

“Or, you could let me handle it.”

A huff escaped your lips, sliding the card back into your wallet, arms crossed against your chest. His lips pulled into a grin as he watched you admit defeat, your motions mimicking that of a child who didn’t get their way.

“Contrary to popular belief, we can actually pay for our own meals.” Your words were sour as they left your lips, feeling a sense of pity radiate off of him. His brows had furrowed. “If this was some charity case it can stop here.”

“Woah, woah.” Rafe’s hands found themselves up, confused at this sudden attack after a meal spent with laughter and aching cheeks from smiles. “I seemed to have missed where I insulted you? I think you left the station and took a hard left because where did I insinuate that you couldn’t pay?”

“When you decided to not even let me tip.”

“I did that as a kind gesture.” He added quickly. “Do you always attack people after they pay for your meal?”

“Only when they don’t let me tip.”

“Then I look forward to more arguments in the future.”

His words shocked you, your hands getting clammy at the thought of seeing him again, of sharing a dinner table with him again. A part of you believed this was just a nice gesture after spending some time together, surely he had just gotten hungry and decided to invite you along as opposed to eating alone.

Perhaps you were wrong.

“Thank you.” You finally mumbled, eyes meeting his. Suddenly your rings were the most interesting thing on the planet, toying with them on your fingers as you felt embarrassment creep up at your outburst, though also feeling a flush creep on your cheeks. Thankfully, the restaurant was dimly lit and you were certain Rafe wasn’t able to see the effect of his words. More arguments in the future, please.

The walk to your car was once again filled with laughter and teasing, something that you hadn’t been sure would be possible with someone like Rafe, someone who had always been so different from you and your friends. Someone who didn’t seem to understand the world you came from - not that you could understand his world any easier. As much of a facade as you put up in your fancy clothes, you were still from The Cut. You still had to work, and work hard at that, for everything that came your way.

But there was something easy about being with Rafe - not that you would admit that to him or your friends. Ever.

“Well, thanks for the clothing recommendations, still honored you thought about me as you pulled them out of the boxes.” You pushed his shoulder slightly at his words, a small ‘oh please’ mumbled under your breath at his words. “And I’m grateful the server took the knives away before I refused to let you pay.”

Reaching for your keys, you rolled your eyes at his remembrance of your outburst, you proclamation that yet again, there was a clear line in the sand from where you both stood on the island. That line in the sand becoming more apparent, yet again, as you unlocked your car which was strikingly different from Rafe’s flashy one. He didn’t mention it, but thoughts were once again flying rampant around your mind at just how different the two of you were.

“No, no. Thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to get that arm on without you, and I’ve dying to eat at Dukes. Really, thank you.” Your words were sincere, and Rafe was almost caught off guard by your lack of jokes. He kept it cool, as he had the whole time you spoke to him, in fact, as he had every time you spoke to him the last few days. A part of you wondered if that was just who he was, or if he was better at hiding his emotions than he lead on - at least with your friends.

As the two of you approached your car, you half waited for him to lean against the door, for the two of you to keep speaking for another hour. And a part of you almost wanted it.

“See you around?” He offered, an easy exit.

“See you around.” You confirmed, reality creeping in as you watched him nod, tapping the top of your car. Rafe offered you a simple ‘get home safe’ before turning on his heels and heading in the direction of his car.

Climbing into your car, you sat there for a moment, the whole day swirling around your head. You drove home with the radio on low, still trying to understand how you had really ended up at dinner with Rafe in the first case.

Not a date. You kept repeating to yourself, because while you had known of Rafe Cameron all your life, the Rafe Cameron that had sat across from you at dinner was brand new. Pulling into your driveway and making your way to your room, you finally pulled your phone from your bag, taking it off Do Not Disturb. Your phone flooded with messages from your friends, but none from him.

----------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @p0gue420@khaisdrz@marrleyss@sadgirlxangel@alorsxsturn @hoelesslyt @mattyskies @percysley @eolsens @saintsir4n @honeybee270

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagines #outer banks imagine #outerbanks #outer banks #obx #drew starkey #outerbanks imagine #rafe cameron #obx imagine #obx imagines #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction

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cattordi · 2 years ago

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a/n part 2 to what i wrote the other day!! glad u guys enjoyed the other

summary two weeks later, it’s memorial day and your parents throw a party. they invite all your friends and family but unexpected guest shows up.

pairings brothersbestfriend!mechanic!bucky barnes x collegestudent!reader

warnings smut, fluff, breeding, praise, not proofread, face fucking, choking, jealous!reader,foul language, orgasm denial, arguing, sir kink, rough sex, etc. 18+ MINORS DNI

part 1

pretty girl

you never thought you’d be more uncomfortable around your family, mainly your brother, than you were when bucky barnes walked in.

it’s been 2 weeks since the car debacle and you haven’t spoken since. until now, “it’s good to see you y/n.” he says absentmindedly.

you force yourself to not roll your eyes and instead give a small smile, “bucky i never got to thank you for helping my girl out the other night.” your dad says and you almost spit out your lemonade.

“no need to thank me. if y/n calls i come.” he says in the smoothest way possible, you wouldn’t suspect anything happened.

more of your family begin to arrive as the day sets in and you couldn’t be more happier.

well yeah you could be, if the most beautiful man you ever saw wasn’t burning a hole in the back of your head.

you could literally feel his gaze as you talk to your cousins by the man made fire pit.

though you couldn’t lie, you’d thought about bucky. a lot more than you’d let on. the feeling of him inside you made you wet just at the thought.

squeezing your legs together, you finally look at bucky and he’s smiling, but not at you.

at your cousin.

jealousy filled you as you took another sip of your drink and set the glass down a bit louder than you intended. “y/n, you good?” your brother ask when the sound of the glass hitting the table; catches his attention.

“i’m fine.” you say in a way so he doesn’t ask anymore questions. “just fine.”

with that, you get up and walk inside; not before sending a look buckys way that your cousin just barely missed.

you hated that he made you feel things. mentally and physically. “what have i gotten myself into?” you say as you walk into the kitchen in search of ice.

“me.” a stern voice says from behind you and you don’t have to turn around to know who it is. “y/n, are you jealous?”

“over you? no. i’m enthralled.” you begin while filling your cup with ice. a warm body comes up behind you, “lose the attitude.”

“i don’t have an attitude, i’m really en-“ you begin but his hand snakes up your chest and to your throat, “that mouth in you is gonna get you in a world of trouble with me, babydoll.”

pleasurable tears brim your eyes as his lips meet you neck. “i’ve missed you and i know you missed me.”

“in your dreams.” is all you can mutter out before you’re bent over the counter.

“what’d i tell you about that mouth?” he ask, with his grip tightening on your neck. “maybe i should put it to better use?”

nodding your head quickly, he looks around the kitchen before placing his hand under your dress and finding your uncovered pussy, dripping.

“no panties… and you’re already so wet for me.”

“yes sir.” you say and he smiles like an idiot. “oou i like that. so tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty face of yours?”

rubbing your legs together between his hand you nod before a harsh smack is landed on your ass. “words baby. i want words.”

“yes sir, i want you to fuck my face.”

with that, he releases your throat and pushes you towards the floor. when you’re done undoing his jeans, his dick springs out at you: hard and leaking precum.

“open up darling.” he groans. as you begin opening your mouth, he plunges his length into your mouth. more tears fill your eyes as he begins thrusting into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat everytime.

his dick is so long and wide that only half of it fits in your mouth. “y/n your mouth feels so fucking good. so good.”

his movements get faster and faster. “you’re such a good slut.“ he praises and that makes you even more wet. “i’m getting close darling. don’t move.”

he slows his thrust down before removing him from your mouth. looking up at him, your makeup ruined, you pout. “you were close, why’d you stop?”

“because i’m not coming unless i’m in that tight pussy so get up.” roughly, he pulls you up and bends you over the counter again.

he bends down behind you and you can immediately feel his hot breath on your slit. “don’t move or make a sound. you cum when i tell you too. you wouldn’t want everyone outside to hear you getting fucked like a slut.”

“yes si-“ but before you can get the rest of yours words out, his mouth is on your clit, sucking and licking on you every which way.

“fuck fuck fuck fuck.” you whisper to yourself as his tongue gets faster. your knuckles are beginning to turn white as you grip the counter.

very soft moans fill the kitchen as bucky continues to eat u like a starved man. “i’m so close.” you moan and bucky slows down.

“hold it darlin.” he says while moving his head which makes his stubble run against clit. “you taste so good.”

he continues fucking you with his mouth even when you tell him you have to come. “hold it.” is his only reply.

“buck i’m gon-“ you begin but before you finish your sentence he rips his mouth from you. “holy shit darling if you have to come so bad, i wanna hear you beg for it.”

his mouth is back on you before you can reply and you let out a gasp. “can i please please please come?”

“no.” he hums on your clit. you let out a much louder moan which is rewarded with a slap to your thigh. “didnt i say don’t make a sound?”

“yes sir.” you moan out. “can i come now please sir, please.”

“hmm, come on my mouth sweet girl.”

with that, you come in his mouth with moans that are quickly hushed by his hand. “sweetheart you taste so fucking good. so good.” he says all while lapping up all the wetness rolling down your thighs.

while coming down from your high you can feel buckys hands on your waist, positioning himself inside of you. “i’m only gonna remind you one more time, don’t make a sound and don’t move. if you do so, i’m gonna have to bend you over and spank your perfect little ass.”

before you can respond, he’s pushing into you with all his force. you moan into your hand as he begins fucking you so hard every thrust moves you across the counter.

“you’re so tight darling.” he groans, “but you feel so fucking good.” his hips snap into your ass repeatedly.

“i’m getting so close buck.” you moan as his hand snakes around the front of your body to rub your clit; adding fuel to the fire.

he pulls you into his chest making him hit a different angle with every thrust, “oh fuck right there.”

“sweetheart i feel you squeezin’ me so well.” he moans slowing does his thrust.

“i’m gonna come bucky.”

“come for me sweetheart.” he says and you do.

you throw your head back at the feeling of you milking his cock. your moans get louder and louder by the second, causing him to cover your mouth and land a smack to your ass again.

the feeling of the smack makes you tighten around him again. “oh my goodness, you’re so fucking tight. making me come.” he groans as he fills you with his cum.

the warmth you feel inside is like no other as he continues to fuck through his orgasm and your own.

once you’re both down form your high, he slowly removes himself from you and gives one more slap to your ass.

nervousness takes over your features as you guys pull yourselves together. “what’s wrong sweetheart?” he ask and you shake your head.

his calm facial expression turns stern quickly, “what’s wrong?”

“this can’t happen again. my brother would murder you if he found out and my parents would disown me.” you say.

“sweetheart we’re both adults, so who says we can’t do this.”

“i thought it was common knowledge. but whatever, just know this can’t happen again.” you say and quickly head back outside. “make sure not to wait like 10 minutes before going back outside.”

no matter how much you say it’s not gonna happen again, we all know it will.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky fanfic #seb stan smut #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #bucky barnes x wife!reader #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader

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joelsprettyprincess · 1 month ago

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Taming of the Shrew - Part 2

Pairing: dark!Arthur Morgan x f!reader Summary: Although you've ended your relationship with Arthur, he gets you to agree to one final rendezvous. Series-wide tags: Toxic relationships, manipulation, obsessive behavior, smut, secretly unprotected piv, babytrapping, pregnancy, canon-typical violence, slight canon-typical misogyny. Wordcount: 3.7k A/N: I was not expecting that much love on part 1! I'm so glad yall enjoyed! Here's part 2 and where things get juicy 🤭. And before you ask, yes they had condoms in 1899!! They just weren't very good.. Also, I do not profess to be an expert on pregnancy, I just looked things up and hoped for the best. 😭 Sorry if anything's inaccurate. This chapter contains smut. And as always MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Tags: @dandelion-ranch @i-will-give-you-love @amaranth-writing @heloixe @buneio @warmsideofthepillow03 @thoughts-of-bear @luzzbuzz

Part 1 Part 3

Several days had passed since you told Arthur to never speak to you again.

You didn’t mean it. You couldn’t have. Your love, though short, had burned like a phoenix: though it was currently snuffed, Arthur knew it would soon rise again.

He knew better than to approach you again, though. So he wrote a letter.

My love.

My darling, my princess. I am in pain while writing this. Not because of any physical injury, but because I miss you badly indeed. My heart burns for you, for your touch, your skin on mine, even just one last time.

I am certain you feel the same way. If you do, please meet me at our spot near Ringneck Creek at noon next Monday.

I swear this will be the last time I will contact you. If you don’t show, I’ll know your decision is final. However I know you will. I know our love was something real. Please don’t make a fool of me.

Forever yours,

Arthur

Arthur posted the letter on a Monday, giving you nearly a full week to make a decision. He was on edge after that, wondering if you would actually show. Would you bring your father, or even a bounty hunter, to capture him? Or would you just not show at all?

Thankfully most everyone in camp left him alone; the news of your loud departure had spread fast. There was the occasional ribbing from Micah, but he was like a mosquito buzzing in everyone’s face. Arthur paid him no mind.

Dutch told him it was a waste of time.

“Women are a complete mystery, son,” he told him Sunday night, puffing on his cigar. “Trust me, you’re better off being single forever.” He didn’t seem to care that Molly was behind him in the tent, hopefully sleeping.

But he didn’t know the inner workings of Arthur’s mind. Didn’t know what he planned to do.

Monday morning, he bathed and trimmed his beard. As much as he hated to admit it, Arthur was nervous.

He scoffed. Headshotting O’Driscolls barely raised his heart rate, but the thought of seeing you again had him jumpy like that Kieran boy.

Arthur rode over to the spot early. It was a good isolated spot a little ways away from the creek, where you two had slept together a couple times.

He spread down a blanket and cleaned his guns while he waited for you.

About half an hour later, he heard the crunching of leaves and turned around. Your familiar form entered his field of vision; suddenly, Arthur was breathless.

You were here. You’d actually come. And you appeared to be alone.

You hitched your horse next to his, then came down to the blanket. “Hey,” you said, smiling softly.

“Yes, well.” You smoothed your skirts. “Just can’t help m’self, I suppose. But listen, Arthur…this is the last time I’m seeing you. Seriously. I don’t even know why I came here–”

Arthur pulled you down beside him. “You came.” He cleared his throat. “I knew you would.”

“Alright, shh,” Arthur interrupted, taking your hand in his and softly pressing his lips to yours.

“Mm,” you sighed, immediately melting into his touch. He might be rough around the edges, but Arthur surely knew how to treat a woman. You’d already forgotten what you were gabbing on about.

Arthur wasted no time in deepening the kiss and pushing his tongue past your lips. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured, one hand cupping your cheek and the other on your hip.

You spent a few minutes exploring each other’s mouths and letting your hands wander. Eventually your positions shifted so Arthur was nearly laying on top of you. He spoke again.

“Come back,” he whispered. “I can’t live without you.”

That voice. It was sweet as honey. It made you want to follow him to the ends of the earth.

You avoided his gaze, pursing your slightly swollen, glazed lips. “Arthur, I can’t–”

“You love the bloodshed,” he spoke in your ear. His hand went under your skirt and ghosted over your bloomers. “You crave it. Stop actin’ like you don’t.”

“No–”

Arthur silenced you with another kiss, capturing your lips and claiming them as his, as he had done so many times before. Yet it never got old; the lusty looks and burning touches lit you on fire.

You whimpered as he slipped his hand inside your bloomers.

“We both know this doesn’t lie,” he murmured, barely grazing your folds. He kept his bright eyes steadily focused on you while he used just one finger to tease you.

A quiet moan escaped your lips.

Arthur seemed eager to get on with it. He lifted your skirt and removed your underthings, carefully setting them beside you on the blanket.

“Did my pretty girl miss me?” he breathed, massaging your thighs. You whined just a little, already anticipating his touch.

Arthur traced your bare cunt, enjoying watching you squirm.

“Arthur,” you whispered in a choked voice.

He shucked off his pants, then laid down between your legs.

Arthur was gentleman enough to service you first. He put your legs on either side of his face, and breathed in the natural scent of your pussy, again barely grazing the already soaked lips with his finger.

“S-Stop teasing me, dammit,” you moaned. He smiled. It was almost fun to see how quickly he could get you to come undone, begging for his touch.

Arthur started with small licks on the inner parts of your thighs. Your legs immediately tried to come together, but he held them apart and kept licking. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to stay still.

He traveled up your thighs and paused just before he got to your cunt. Taking two fingers, Arthur spread your lips apart, marveling at the amount of slick already coating your entrance.

“Ah- ah, d-don’t- mmgh,” you cried. His touch was so depraved and satisfying.

Arthur dove in, pushing his tongue into your warm, sticky entrance. He gripped your thighs with his hands and held them up as he fully ate you out. He got messy with it very quickly, suckling on everything he could get a hold of.

You cried out and gripped his hair hard, bucking your hips. This kind of pleasure was completely unheard of and forbidden for girls like you, and that made it all the more filthy. You loved it. You loved every second of it. No man had ever touched you like this before, and you doubted any man ever would.

He removed his mouth for a second and rubbed circles around your sweet spot. “You’re lovin’ it, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

You breathed in and out loudly. “Yes,” you whined shamelessly.

Arthur pushed his tongue back in, appreciating how your walls tightened around him. He swore he could feel your heartbeat, pulsing in time with his.

You grinded against his face, spreading your juices everywhere, going crazy at the lewd noises being produced.

“Arthur– oh, Arthur, yes, please–”

You were getting close. It never took long for you to cum, but apparently you were touch starved right now.

Abruptly, Arthur pulled back from your pussy, breathing heavily and licking his lips.

You panted too. “Why’d you stop?”

He paused, then quickly pulled off his boxers. Oh.

Arthur pushed you down again and rubbed his girthy, veiny cock up and down your soaked pussy.

The thick mushroom head was poking at your entrance, and you wanted to let him in, but…

“Do you have…protection?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Course.” He pulled a condom packet out of his pants pocket. A primitive thing, to be sure, but it was part of the plan.

Arthur pulled it on, then nosed his tip so it was just breaching your entrance. You sighed loudly, spreading your legs a bit more.

He pushed in. A creamy noise was produced, but even louder was your pained moan. It was a stretch to fit him in, even when he had prepped you first.

This was only the second time he’d gone all the way like this. There was no reliable way of avoiding pregnancy, so you simply didn’t allow him to do it. But this was a special occasion. After this, you were done with each other, forever.

Arthur sighed and pushed into you even further, watching your pussy lips greedily suck in his cock.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Letting me in so nicely.”

He started to thrust in and out slowly. You threw your head back and panted, whining loudly and mumbling his name.

His cock repeatedly filled you to the brim and you squeezed your tight walls around him. Your juices quickly coated the condom, allowing him to more easily push the rest of his cock in.

Soon he was pushing in and out, all the way to the burst of hair at his base. Arthur groaned lowly, biting your shoulder and holding onto your hips with his big hands, kneading your ass.

After a few minutes of bliss, he shifted positions; Arthur pressed your legs almost to your chest and held them there, hitting deeper and deeper into your sticky cunt.

You moaned loudly, finding his hair again and holding it tightly. His full balls slapped against your ass.

“Like that?” he muttered. “You like that, you uppity little–” He groaned loudly, going faster and rougher.

“Arthur, Arthur,” you sobbed, curling your toes. “Please, I’m g-gonna–”

With a muffled cry, you came undone on his cock, toes curling, legs shaking, cunt spasming and letting out more of your juices all over his cock and the blanket.

“That’s right, let it out, sweetheart,” he gasped. “I’m close too, baby, shit–”

Arthur pressed himself into you and stilled, panting, eyes tightly shut. You could feel his cock twitching as he rode out his orgasm in your soaked through cunt.

His lips collided with yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss, and he slowly thrusted a couple more times before pulling out.

The condom was smeared in your juices.

Arthur sighed. “Hopefully it didn’t break. I tried to get a good one.”

You chuckled nervously. “Hopefully not.”

He helped you clean up, wiping you down and putting your clothes back on. You hoped his smell (it wasn’t a bad one, just distinct) wouldn’t cling to your clothes.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” you told him as you prepared to remount your horse. “But if you ever decide to stop being an outlaw…you know where to find me.”

“I love you,” Arthur said simply.

You flushed, and looked away.

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

You rode off.

Arthur waited till you were out of sight to smile.

You were really gullible. A condom, seriously? Even pulling out was more reliable. These things broke more easily than a cheap lock. Even if it hadn’t, he’d cut a small hole into the tip that ensured he’d painted your walls white. If it dripped out, you would probably just assume it to be your own juices.

Now it was just a waiting game.

Two months later.

Your maid, Elisabeth, stared at you frightfully as you bent over a bucket for the 3rd time this week, vomiting horribly. You breathed heavily, then vomited again. There was nothing even in your stomach, which made it so much worse.

“Are you alright, ma’am?’ she squeaked, standing by with a towel.

You were too nauseous to answer. You clutched your stomach, head spinning and mind racing.

Your stomach had been in shambles this week and the last, and it was getting concerning.

After a few labored breaths, you grabbed the towel and wiped off your mouth. “Let's visit the doctor.”

Elisabeth gave you some cool water to sip, which helped a bit but not much. You could hardly stand to get on the carriage, and then it was like you were on a merry-go-round with the way it was hitting every bump in the road.

You leaned over the side and emptied your stomach yet again.

It was possible this sickness had a terrifying explanation, one that you couldn't even begin to imagine. Lord, protect me, you prayed despairingly.

One agonizingly slow and nauseating ride later, you pulled up next to the doctor's office. Elisabeth had to coax you down, and she was clearly scared you would projectile vomit on her. The world was swimming around you and had a hazy feel.

You stumbled into the office and leaned against the cool wall.

“You alright, ma'am?” a voice asked. It was Dr. Williams, an older gentleman who'd been in Rhodes for years.

“I-I think I have a fever,” you whispered, fanning yourself. “Been throwing up everywhere.”

He quickly escorted you to a room in the back, and you collapsed into the chair.

Dr. Williams examined you, looking inside your mouth and pressing various points on your body.

“Any symptoms besides vomiting?” he inquired.

You shook your head. “Don't believe so.”

“When did they start?”

“I'd say…maybe two weeks ago.”

He hummed and thought for a bit while examining you. “Is there a chance you could be with child?”

You started, then stopped, then froze.

No…

“Err,” you stuttered.

He waited for your answer.

“I-I-...well, I suppose it ain't impossible,” you admitted fearfully.

Dr. Williams nodded. “Unless you have some strange fever, it is my opinion that you're suffering from morning sickness.”

Your heart dropped to your feet and started beating like a jackrabbit's. No. No. Lord, please.

“That can't be true,” you said desperately. “It-It- was so long ago…I don't…”

“It takes a bit for symptoms to present,” the doctor explained.

“B-But I can't, I can't be,” you cried, panicking. “You don't understand, my life is over if I'm with child. Over!” You stood up and started pacing around.

“Admittedly it’s still too early to tell for certain,” Dr. Williams allowed. “However, I have seen this many times before. There are options–”

“No! There are no options!” you snapped. “I am the daughter of an oil baron and a society lady! J-just imagining the shame, the disgrace–...my mother will kill me. And if she doesn't, I'll be sent away to the corners of the earth.”

You burst into tears at this declaration, falling to your knees and covering your face in shame. Dr. Williams hung back, perhaps sensing that you needed a minute.

After you collected yourself and stood up, you said in a quiet, cold voice: “There is no way I am pregnant. I thank you for your expertise, Dr. Williams, but in this case you are incorrect. I simply have a fever. Good day.”

You swept out of the building with your head held high, collecting your maid and getting back on the carriage.

The two of you had barely left the town borders before you broke down and started crying again. Pregnant? A child? You? It could not be true. It could not.

And…and definitely not by Arthur, of all people. He was like a firecracker, burning hot and dangerous, the exact opposite of a…father.

Even that word burned acrid on your tongue.

“Do you need somethin’, miss?” Elisabeth asked tentatively.

You sighed, wiped your face, and shook your head sadly. “No…no thank you. I'm alright.”

The ride back home was silent save for your sniffles and forlorn sighs. You refused to accept this possibility.

You felt you would rather be tarred and feathered than even think about telling your mother about your condition. Your outburst at Dr. Williams had barely covered it; your parents were continually telling you to act perfectly, to never step out of line. Even though they were far from perfect.

Your mother was the biggest hypocrite you knew. She thought you didn't see her inviting the help in for "tea". Well, you did, not that you cared much. It was just sickening that she set expectations for you that she herself had never reached.

She'd threatened you with the nunnery before, after catching you with one of the stable boys. Said that “wicked girls were destined for the deepest pits of hell.” Hmph. She was definitely an expert on the subject.

As for your father, well, he wasn't much better. Though he didn't verbally abuse you like your mother, he viewed you more like a liability among his property. You were certain he would marry you off if it would benefit his emerging empire. He would see this…predicament as something that could damage his reputation. If your mother chose to send you away, you doubted he would make much of a fuss.

Thankfully, the churning in your stomach faded on the way home, and only your mind remained in shambles.

You tried to avoid your mother when you arrived at the manor, but of course she was in the front room, waiting for you.

“What did the doctor say?” she inquired as you put down your things.

“Just a mild fever,” you replied shortly, then power walked to your room. But she followed.

“Are you sure? Do you have a temperature? Did he give you any medicine?” she pressed, following your impatient footsteps right up to your bedroom door.

“Mother, I'll be fine. It's not serious,” you said angrily, then closed the door behind you firmly.

You waited until her heels clicked away down the wooden stairs, then collapsed on your bed and sobbed some more.

My life might be over.

A month and a half later.

Your life was over.

Completely and utterly.

The nausea had not stopped, and in fact it got worse the week after you went to the doctor. That had been the peak of pain, but it still remained for another two weeks afterwards, lurking like some shadowy beast.

Your dresses, tailored exactly to your measurements, had become just a little bit tighter. At first you had brushed it off as an indulgent diet, or just stress weight, but even your mother had commented on how your dress was pulled tight over your torso.

After that, you took care to hide your body under the heaviest dresses you could manage. But it was summer by now, and staying out of sight was a tall order.

Your mother repeatedly asked you to go to the doctor again, and perhaps seek out a second opinion, and you refused, insisting that it was just a fever. But you could tell she wasn’t believing you. She gave you strange looks when you said you felt nauseous yet again.

It was a stormy day in June when you finally had the courage to take off your clothes and examine your body in the floor-length, gilded mirror in your boudoir.

A mistake.

Your blood turned to ice as you saw the unmistakable bump that was forming.

Your breathing accelerated along with your mind, thoughts racing and jumbling and colliding, coming to one stunning, awful conclusion:

I’m pregnant.

You were pregnant. With child. An expectant mother.

What a joke.

You? A mother? What a ridiculously absurd notion. You would sooner be a clown in a traveling circus.

And…that man was the father. The man that haunted your thoughts and your dreams, the man whose scent still clung ever so faintly to one of your riding dresses. The man whose mere name sent shivers down your spine.

Arthur Morgan.

You put your clothes back on, then left the room, intending to get a snack, but before even making it to the stairs your mother pounced on you.

“Alright, I simply must insist that you tell me what is really going on,” she declared. “No fever lasts this long, and you have no temperature at all.”

You tried to dodge her, but she blocked your path, clearly dead set on getting an answer from you.

“It’s nothing, Mother, I told you before,” you said, irritated. It absolutely was not nothing, but you needed time to plan your strategy.

“If it’s nothing, why have you been nauseous for the past…” She paused, then narrowed her eyebrows.

Before you could step back, she poked your stomach with one finger. You of course involuntarily jumped back.

“What- What are you doing?” you gasped, nervous.

“Let me see your stomach.”

“What?”

She pushed you towards your room. “I said, let me see your stomach, girl. Lift up your skirts.”

You scoffed, heart pounding like a drum. “Why would I do that?”

You were forced back into your bedroom, and your mother closed and locked the door behind her. “I just want to look at it.”

This was quite a pickle.

“I- I really don’t think that’s necessary, Mother-”

She grabbed at your skirts, impatient. You jumped back. “Stop it! Fine, I will.”

She was going to find out eventually.

Your mother crossed her arms and waited with anticipation as you slowly lifted your skirt. The blood was rushing in your ears and you prayed to God that you would survive the next five minutes.

Eventually your skirt revealed the still developing but definitely noticeable bump you had.

The room was dead silent. Your mother stared at your belly in shock, lips slightly parted.

Then her mouth closed and formed a hard scowl. “Would you care to explain the meaning of this?”

You blinked several times, trying to find your voice, but it was lost and long gone.

“Are you-” She swallowed hard. “Are you…with child?”

She stared at you. Her glare kept you still and pinned you down like a bug on display.

You eventually nodded, wordless and terrified.

“And who is the father, pray tell?”

You just stared at the ground.

“Answer me, girl,” she said sharply.

There was no way you were going to tell her that. It would genuinely be better for her to assume you were so loose you couldn’t even pinpoint the father.

Your mother pinched her nose, and sighed, shaking her head. “We’re going to have a little talk with your father when he comes home. Remain in your room; I have no desire to see you anymore.” With those pleasant parting words, she stomped out, slamming the door behind you.

Once her footsteps faded away, you sat on your bed, numbly thinking of what to do.

Your father was sure to agree with any punishment your mother dreamed up. He was more like a manager than a father, and he had no qualms about letting a bad employee go.

Or…or maybe he wouldn’t? Perhaps his indifference would work in your favor, and he would tell your mother not to bother? Maybe he’d even pay someone to take care of it.

These were all hypotheticals. There was no telling what would really happen until it actually occurred.

Your father was due home soon. It was just your luck that he was taking a half-day in the office.

Ugh.

End of Part 2.

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