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oofthwoods · 10 months ago

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DEBUTANTE! ── ˙ ̟ the echo !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: derived from the french language, meaning “a first performance or showing.” the original word debutante referred to a new actress making her first appearance on the stage. or, the one where dreams come true in bahrain.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: just a little bonus, but i picture jasper as kingsley ben-adir (secret invasion, barbie). if this is the first work of mine you're checking, reader is a driver for porsche and the daughter of rubens barrichello!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 5.5k

NO ONE ASKED HER A QUESTION IN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.

Naturally, there were many questions about her. How did the drivers feel about a woman joining their ranks on the track? What were their thoughts on the growing number of female fans who were tuning in to watch Formula One, possibly due to the popularity of the documentary Drive to Survive or the historic moment of having the first female driver in decades?

She wasn't sure if this was better or worse than she anticipated. She vividly recalled her first press conference last year when she was still driving for ART Grand Prix. They asked her ridiculous questions like whether it was professional to wear skirts in the paddock (yes), who the most attractive driver was (herself, obviously), and even if her father was disappointed that she reached a milestone in motorsport before her older brother (Dudu, who raced with their father in Brazilian Stock Series. And no, he had already made it clear he was proud of both of them).

In the first few minutes, she assumed it was because she was a rookie. But then Oscar Piastri answered a fair share of questions while looking at her as if he didn't understand why people were treating her like an invisible presence. She would shrug her shoulders and the australian reluctantly answered reporters' inquiries.

She was sandwiched between Lewis, who seemed impatient as time dragged on without any questions directed towards her, and Max Verstappen, who quickly responded to his own questions and showed his eagerness to leave. Two rookies, two world champions, but only three drivers deemed important enough for interviews.

The world-renowned champion's frustration peaked when asked about his recent vacation activities.

"Is this a joke?" he asked. "Do you really want to know what I did on my vacation more than asking her interesting questions?" He gestured towards the girl beside him.

"It's alright, Lewis-"

"With all due respect, Hamilton," one of the reporters interjected with a sarcastic smirk on his face. "I can't imagine what kind of questions we could ask Miss Barrichello besides her makeup preferences or favorite clothing brands."

"How about the fact that I won four championships in a row as a rookie?" She responded with a fake sweet smile plastered on her face. She could accept to be ignored, but she refused to be underestimated. "Or maybe any questions about Porsche joining the grid this year?"

"I don't think winning a championship by such a small margin of points is anything to be praised." The reporter retorted. His expression implied that he wasn't expecting the young girl to comfort him, but he couldn't hold back.

"Really? So we should just say that the battle between Max and Lewis in 2021-" she indicated towards them "-was nothing worth celebrating? Such an uneventful year for this sport."

Verstappen leaned forward, observing the interaction between the girl and the reporter. This press conference just became much more interesting.

"Strong words from someone who has never stepped foot in a race car." He chimed in, agreeing with the youngest person in the room.

"That's not what I meant." The reporter stuttered, noticing the security chief slowly approaching him. The middle-aged man was one of many security guards in the paddock that had known the driver since she was a child, and she knew that one look in his direction and the man would be escorted out.

"Of course, of course," she replied sarcastically. "You mean it's not worth celebrating because a woman won, right? Please, if you're going to insult me, at least try to make it believable. Or better yet, don't speak if you have no idea what you're talking about"

The tension in the room was palpable as another reporter spoke up, "But Y/n, let's be real here. The races were mostly dominated by your teammate, Frederik Vesti or runner-up Felipe Drugovich. Your victories were purely tactical."

She leaned back in her chair with a smug smile playing on her lips. "Is that so? Yet somehow I managed to come out on top every time."

Verstappen nodded in agreement, "She's definitely got a point there."

The press room fell into an intense quiet, causing y/n to regret her decision to do this interview. She knew that this type of situation would become more common as her fame grew in the coming year. She also understood that Lewis would be praised for defending her while she would face criticism for simply standing up for herself against a man who was only doing his job.

The silence was broken by a female journalist in the back, hidden behind the larger, more muscular bodies of her male counterparts. But y/n could never mistake that blonde hair for anyone else. Mariana Becker was a veteran sports reporter, an icon in Brazilian journalism, and a role model for any woman breaking into a male-dominated field.

“I wish I had raised my hand earlier; I didn't realize it would take so long for someone to ask you a question,” she chuckled. "I don't think anyone will object to two questions, right?" The woman looked around the room, and the other interviewers avoided making eye contact with the veteran.

"So, y/n, you've been asked countless times about being a woman in a male-dominated world and the difficulties you face because of it. However, with such a successful junior career full of records, I honestly don't see the need to ask that question again. Instead, I'd like to focus on the positive aspects. What does it mean to you knowing that a new generation of girls can look up to you as an inspiration and be motivated to pursue their dreams?"

The girl's face lit up with gratefulness for the refreshing question and relief that she wouldn't have to answer the same question she had already answered countless times before.

"It's incredibly inspiring for me as well. Growing up in this environment, surrounded by racing cars, I was also discouraged from pursuing this career. But I can only imagine how much more difficult it must have been for young girls who were ridiculed just for dreaming of driving a go-kart. To know that I can play a role in encouraging them to follow their dreams without fear of judgment is truly exciting."

Lewis subtly raised his thumb in a gesture of approval while she chuckled.

"Excellent," said the reporter with a smile. "One more question, how did your father react when you told him you were entering the world of Formula 1?"

"He cried," y/n answered quickly, eliciting laughter from those in the room. "He's quite the crybaby, so I waited until we were together to share the news of my contract with Porsche. At first, he cried tears of joy, then fear, and eventually a mixture of both. That's when he realized that all three of his children were following in his footsteps as race car drivers and that he'd have to pay for everything he put his own father through."

The reporter chuckled along with y/n. Mari had interviewed Rubens back when he was in Formula 1, and remembers clearly how emotional the man always was. The conference went on like this for another half an hour, with y/n answering everything from her expectations for the upcoming season to her favorite tracks and how she dealt with pressure.

The balaclava, damp with sweat, clung tightly to her face as she stood at attention. Her race engineer, a tall black man with a buzzcut and a calm expression, waited patiently beside her. She smoothed down the folds of her crisp, red-and-black uniform, adorned with her country's flag on the sleeve.

"How was the conference?" Jasper asked.

The girl muttered something that Jasper couldn't make out. "That bad? Did they bring up the issue with wearing skirts in the paddock again?"

"They didn't ask anything at first, but then one guy made a comment about me winning the championship by a narrow margin of points not being worthy of praise. Except it wasn't even a narrow margin; Felipe finished about sixty points behind me., and Fred was more than a hundred points behind, despite driving the same car as me" She complained.

Jasper winced. The relationship between the engineer and the driver had been amazing during pre-season tests with the man acting like a friend and a mentor, and they had found a groove to envy.

"You'll need to come up with a strategy for dealing with these reporters," Jasper advised.

"I already have one."

"Really?" He glanced at the clock on the track and realized that time was running out. He handed her the helmet with both hands. She grinned and smoothly put it on. The colors of her country's flag stood out against the black and red of the car, making it impossible to miss.

"Yes. WWJD."

"What does that stand for?"

"What Would Jenson Do. Originally, it was "What Would Kimi Do," but I quickly realized that Kimi would just tell everyone to go fuck themselves, and I can't exactly do that yet."

The garage was a whirlwind of activity, with mechanics frantically making last-minute adjustments and drivers strapping into their cars. The scent of gasoline and burning rubber wafted through the air, adding to the excitement and tension that crackled in the atmosphere.

Everywhere she looked, there were people moving with purpose, each one focused on their individual tasks to ensure a successful first qualifying session of the season. The roar of engines being revved and tools clanging against metal filled her ears, drowning out any other sound. It was a chaotic but exhilarating scene as the countdown to the race began.

"Why not "What Would Rubens Do"?" He asked.

She chuckled. "My dad is too nice. In his only fight in his entire Formula 1 career, he told the mechanic who wanted to fight him to get someone else because he was too small."

Jasper's phone buzzed insistently, jolting him out of his thoughts and reminding him that only five minutes remained until the start of Q1. After the last few adjustments from the mechanics, y/n managed to squeeze into her car and secure her seatbelt. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might leap out of her chest, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through her body as she prepared for the intense competition ahead.

Jasper rested his arms on the halo. "Don't forget what we discussed earlier," he reminded her. "In Q1, six cars will be eliminated, followed by six more in Q2. This means that the top ten fastest cars will battle for pole position. Based on our data, we are definitely faster than Alpha Tauri, Alfa Romeo, Haas, and Williams - a total of eight cars."

The girl nodded eagerly, her eyes glued to the man as he continued. "At the very least, you and Mick should be able to make it into Q2. We're not sure how Alpine and McLaren are doing, but they don't seem to be as quick as us." He gestured towards the track outside where the other teams were busy with their own preparations. "But we can't let our guard down. Anything can happen during quali." The tension was palpable as they both waited for their turn on the track.

"So, we're trying for Q3 then?" She inquired, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and determination.

"Officially, I was instructed to tell you that Q2 is sufficient, but we can't know our full potential until we're on the track."

A sly grin appeared on her face, hidden behind her helmet. She pushed down her visor, ready to give it her all. "Well, I say let's aim for Q3 then. I want to see what this car can really do."

A gentle laugh escaped Jasper's lips, his eyes shining with admiration. "That's the spirit, echo. Show them what you're made of."

With one final nod, y/n shifted her focus, tuning out the noise and commotion of the pit lane. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, using all her senses to ground herself in the present moment. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline filled her nostrils as she visualized the track ahead. The deafening roar of the engine drowned out all other sounds, sending shivers down her spine.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio in her ear, sounding like a distant robot. "Radio check," he said, his tone serious and business-like.

She adjusted gloves as she responded, "I hear you loud and clear." Her hands were tightly gripped on the steering wheel as she followed Logan Sargeant's Williams out of the pit lane. It was a tight squeeze with the Porsche garage being the newest addition to the grid. She bit her lip, hoping that their placement in the pit lane wouldn't cause any trouble in the future.

"Great. Warm up your tires and then do a flying lap. We want to get a better idea of our potential and avoid any possible disruptions from a Red Flag," Jasper instructed.

"Roger that," she replied, trying to keep her breathing steady as cars started to move around her. She prayed that the onboard camera wouldn't catch her trembling hands as she prepared for her first real lap on the track.

The engine roared to life as she pressed down on the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel with determination. The car surged forward, its tires screeching against the asphalt, leaving a trail of smoke behind. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, heightening her senses as she focused on the task at hand.

The wind whipped through, carrying with it a symphony of sounds—engines revving, tires squealing, and the distant cheers of the crowd. Her heart pounded in sync with the rhythm of the track, each beat pulsating through her chest.

As the cars whizzed by, she made a conscious effort to stay out of their way while completing her out lap. It was her first Grand Prix, and she wasn't about to receive an impeding penalty. She could feel the engine roaring to life and her car responding with precision, its tires getting ready to set a time that would hopefully secure her from elimination in the initial round.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio once again. "Alright, you're good to go. Try your best," he encouraged, his voice filled with unwavering support.

"Copy." She smirked.

The pre-tests and free practice had prepared her for what was to come, but nothing could have truly prepared her for the exhilaration of sitting behind the wheel of a Formula 1 car. The engine purred like a fierce beast, ready to unleash its power at any moment. The sleek body of the car hugged the track, cutting through the air with precision and grace.

As she approached the first turn, she braked hard, shifting her weight to navigate the corner with precision. The G-forces pressed against her body, threatening to tear her away from reality. But she held firm, refusing to let anything distract her from the objective ahead.

She feathered the throttle, feeling the car respond to her slightest movements. The tires gripped the track, providing a sense of stability as she accelerated out of the turn, leaving her the other car trailing behind. Y/n's focus was unwavering, her eyes fixated on the next set of corners, mentally calculating her approach.

The flying lap was over in an instant, and the sound of the cheering crowd filled her ears as she crossed the finish line and set her initial time.

"Way to go, girl!" Jasper's voice crackled through the radio. "You've got P8, I repeat, P8. We're safely into Q2, but stay on track just in case. Prepare for another quick lap."

"How did Mick do?" she asked eagerly.

"P10, 0.78 seconds behind you," Jasper's voice was filled with pride as he responded. Despite his efforts to maintain professionalism, they were both rookies in the Formula 1 world, even if in different roles. "I got a great feeling about us, Barrichello. This could be the beginning of something legendary."

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as she waited for the race to begin and she started to feel claustrophobic inside her cramped driver's room.

Finally, unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere any longer, she stepped outside into the bustling garage. The sight of her team, clad in matching uniforms and working tirelessly on their cars, brought a small smile to her face. As she made her way through the maze of mechanics and equipment, she was greeted with reassuring smiles and words of encouragement.

This was not just her first race, but also the team's inaugural race. In a way, they were all rookies, feeling the pressure and nerves just as she was.

Standing outside, it was clear that several eyes were on her. Some, like the veteran Ferrari mechanics who had known her since she was a little girl, flashed comforting smiles and gave her thumbs up, wishing her the best of luck. Others raised their eyebrows with skepticism, as if they believed her presence on the grid was some sort of elaborate prank that hadn't been revealed yet.

Amidst a sea of red and black uniforms, the bright green outfit of the two-time world champion stood out prominently. Fernando paid no mind to the curious glances from his mechanics as he made his way confidently towards the girl.

"You're not allowed in here, Alonso." She teased, playfully crossing her arms in a gesture that made her seem much older than she was.

"Is that how it is now? You qualify in the Top 10 in your first race and all of a sudden I'm just Alonso, not Nando?" He responded with a chuckle. Clutching his heart dramatically, he leaned back as if struck by sudden agony. "What happened to all our pizza days? They meant nothing to you?"

The character she was playing no longer felt right to her, and the words she spoke didn't align with the expression on her face. She fought to suppress a smile as she continued, "That person you knew, Alonso? She is gone now."

As the man approached, she couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity wash over her. His dark hair and intense brown eyes were etched into her memory, but it was his infectious smile that brought back a flood of childhood memories.

Fernando rested his hands on her shoulders and held onto his helmet, which puzzled her. With only a few minutes left before the race began, he could have easily stored it in his own garage rather than carrying it around. But she pushed those thoughts aside as his gaze softened and he spoke.

"You were the size of a flea when I met you," he said with a chuckle. She smiled at the memory of their first encounter. She had been just six years old at the time, tagging along with her father to one of his races. She remembered being mesmerized by the speed and energy of the cars on the track, but also feeling a little intimidated by the loud noises and bustling crowds.

But then she saw him – Alonso – standing tall and proud in his racesuit. He had noticed her watching him from behind the fence and had flashed her a tight smile. Somehow, from that one interaction, she had become a fan. From then on, whenever she visited the track with her father, she would always seek out Fernando.

Initially, the Spaniard couldn't comprehend why the young girl found him so intriguing. He knew he was talented and quick on the race track, but children were not his forte. Alonso would often try to distance himself from the girl, offering only friendly waves and smiles. However, when she presented him with a drawing of himself on the podium with a trophy (which he still keeps today), everything changed.

"You used to avoid me like the plague," she recalled.

"That's not entirely true," Fernando denied, but quickly changed his tune when the girl raised an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe I wasn't too fond of being followed around by a little girl. Can you blame me? If anything happened to you, I would have to deal with your father, Michael, Kimi, and all the mechanics that you had wrapped around your finger."

He became somewhat of figure between an older brother and a father figure to her, always ready with words of encouragement and advice.

Now here they were, both grown up and about to race against each other for the very first time.

"I can't believe we're finally racing against each other," she said with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

"It's about time," Fernando replied with a smirk. "I've been waiting for this moment since you beat me in go-karts."

A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the moment. During one of his trips with her family to cheer her on during her junior career, they decided to have some fun and race go-karts. She had managed to beat him by mere thousandths of a second, and she made sure to remind him of it constantly afterwards.

"What's on the agenda for today, Mija?" He asked, looking around at the girl's garage.

"Hah, like I would share that with you. I love you, Nando, but now we're competitors." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You're just trying to take advantage because we're close."

"You got me." He chuckled, knowing it wasn't entirely true.

She sighed and crossed her arms with a hesitant expression. "Rule number one is to not crash into Mick. Number two is to avoid crashing into anyone else. Our team isn't expecting a stellar performance, so if we can maintain our starting positions, both cars will score points. That's our main goal."

"Oh, come on. Don't you want to try overtaking someone?" he prodded.

Y/N laughed. "Why? You want to see me in your rearview mirror?"

"Of course I do," he admitted. "Competing for a win with you would be incredible."

He pushed his helmet towards the girl, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Confused, she tilted her head in question. “I appreciate the gift, but I think you’ll need it today.”

Fernando laughed, memories flooding back to him. “Remember when your dad retired and you started coming to races with me?”

The memories flooded back, of her father's days in the high-stakes world of Formula 1. Though he had since retired, Fernando still managed to convince Rubens to allow her to travel with him to races closer to her home, and sometimes even to the grand prix in his homeland.

She quickly caught on to his request and playfully darted away from him before snagging the helmet. It had become a tradition since she was ten years old, and Fernando had unofficially taken on the role of her godfather. She used to do this same routine with her own father, so it felt natural to continue with the spaniard. He stood there, slightly perplexed, wondering if he had said or done something wrong. But just moments later, the young girl returned with her own helmet in hand.

"Wouldn't it be fair for you to do the same for me this time?" she asked playfully.

The two exchanged helmets and planted a kiss on the part of the helmet that would soon cover each other's foreheads.

"Stay safe, Nando"

"You too. Give us hell"

"It's an easy overtake for Barrichello in the Porsche, and she takes the position from Lance Stroll in the Aston Martin!" David Croft's voice rings across the circuit, and the crowd roars, the flags from her country and Germany flying around.

"Great job!" The voice of her race engineer appears in her ear, breaking through her intense concentration. "Russell is 1.2 ahead, close the gap to be able to use DRS when it is enabled."

"Copy" she nods, instinctively, her eyes never leaving the track ahead. She knows what she needs to do, and she pushes her car to its limits, weaving through the curves and straights with precision and skill.

As she closes the gap between her and the british driver, she can feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She's in her element, in the midst of the intense competition that she lives for.

"0.7. Go for it, elbows out" Jasper said again.

The cheers of the pit crew resounded in her ears as she used the extra boost to overtake the Mercedes. It was a challenge to defend against George's attempts at whiplash and reclaim her position, but once they were off the main straight, she managed to create a considerable gap between them.

The rest of the race flew by in a blur. The girl lost track of her position, constantly overtaking some cars only to be overtaken shortly after. However, Jasper's encouraging words kept her going.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio as she approached the final stretch of the race. "Virtual safety car, slow down," he instructed.

She quickly checked her rearview mirror, looking for her teammate. "Is it ours?" she asked.

"No, it's Leclerc in the Ferrari," Jasper replied, "which puts us in fifth place."

She could see Hamilton was more than five seconds behind, and the yellow flag meant that Alonso was slowing down ahead of her.

"As soon as the VSC is lifted, you'll have a clear shot to overtake," Jasper added.

Who would have thought that she would be right on Fernando's heels after all?

After a few laps of caution due to the previous incident, the green flags were waved and she wasted no time in accelerating towards the Aston Martin driven by the Spaniard. She steadily closed the gap between them until she was right behind him. However, just as she was about to make a move to pass him, he outmaneuvered Carlos Sainz's Ferrari.

In a swift and calculated maneuver, she positioned her car on the inside of Sainz, who seemed too focused on reclaiming his position to check his mirrors. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of attention, she quickly overtook him.

Jasper's voice was filled with excitement as he shouted, "That's it, echo! What a fantastic move!" She could almost hear the smile in his tone. "Alonso is already ten seconds ahead, so concentrate on defending now."

The final laps seemed like a blur, the girl steadily increasing the gap between her and the Ferrari with each lap.

"It's a flawless performance from Porsche, with both cars scoring points on this historic day. Mick Schumacher equals his best career finish with an incredible P6, and Y/N Barrichello takes fourth place, becoming the first woman to score in a Formula 1 race since Lella Lombardi and achieving the highest position for a woman in history!"

The sound of the bustling cheers from the Porsche garage fills her ears as she struggled to park the car with trembling hands. “Unbelievable! P4, y/n, P4! We scored 21 points and Mick got the fastest lap. What a start,” Jasper exclaims over the radio.

She stepped out of the car on shaky legs and is immediately greeted by Carlos, who had parked his car behind hers. “Where did you come from?” he asked with a chuckle. “I was trying to overtake Fernando, and suddenly you were right beside me.”

She took off her helmet and balaclava, her hair damp with sweat and sticking to her forehead and neck. She culdn't help but laugh. "Next time, check your mirrors," She teases her good-naturedly.

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she was suddenly enveloped in a warm embrace. The sweat that coated both of them didn't matter, nor did the fact that she still needed to weigh herself. She squeezed Mick even tighter and they both seemed too overjoyed to let go.

He took a step back but kept his arms around her. "Fourth place in your first race! I told you not to worry," the German exclaimed proudly.

"And look who's talking with the fastest lap!" She laughed in agreement. "We did it, Mick. We fucking did it."

A bottle of water suddenly appeared in her line of sight, and she turned to thank the person who handed it to her. To her surprise, it was Lewis with a smile on his face.

"If you had just overtaken one more person, you would have joined the club," he joked, pointing to Kevin Magnussem, who appeared to be deep in conversation with his teammate. "It was quite a race for the two of you."

"Honestly, I wasn't expecting to end up anywhere higher than where I started, so P4 is already a great achievement," she replied with a laugh as she took the cold bottle from him. The girl then turned to Lewis again and asked about his own race.

"P7. Mick managed to pass me on the last lap," he responded, glancing over at the young driver who chuckled in response.

The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins as y/n made her way to the weighing machines. She couldn't believe it, a P4 finish on her debut race. It seemed like a dream come true.

She stepped onto the scales, trying to calm her racing heart. The number flashed on the screen, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Phew, just made it," she muttered to herself.

Grabbing a towel to wipe off the sweat from her face, she quickly discarded her race suit at her hips, and made her way to her garage in her white fireproofs.

To an outsider, it might have seemed like the team had just won a world championship, not a P6 and P4. People were clapping her on the back and embracing Mick, and she struggled to decipher the various voices exclaiming with joy.

Jasper appeared in front of her with a bottle of champagne in hand. "Congratulations y/n, you did amazing out there!" he exclaimed before popping open the bottle and spraying champagne everywhere.

She laughed as some of the bubbly liquid hit her skin. "Thanks Jasper! I couldn't have done it without your perfect strategy. Great call with the tyres"

He grinned at her before turning serious. "But seriously y/n, you did a great job out there. We're all so proud of you." The rest of the team joined them in cheers and congratulations.

Before they could continue their conversation, Adrian, the team principle, arrived at their garage looking ecstatic. "Great job everyone! A double-points finish for our debut race, this is just the beginning." He raised his glass of champagne before taking a sip.

Y/n looked around and couldn't help but feel proud of her team. They had come a long way since their first tests together. And now here they were, competing in one of the most prestigious racing championships in the world.

Adrian turned to her with a smile. "Y/n, I must say you exceeded all expectations today. You have proven yourself as a valuable addition to our team." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Keep up the good work."

She couldn't help but blush at his words and nod gratefully. This was everything she had ever dreamed of - to be part of a successful racing team and make her mark in the sport.

As the celebrations continued, y/n couldn't help but think about how far she had come. From fighting for sponsorships to competing against some of the best drivers in the world, it felt like a dream come true.

But amidst all the excitement and joy, there was still one thing weighing on her mind - her family. She missed them terribly and wished they could be here to witness her success.

Just then, her phone buzzed.

"Muito orgulhoso de você filhota. Eu sabia que você ia arrasar! Me liga quando acabar tudo aí" — PAPAI. (so so proud of you, baby. i knew you would rock it! call me once you're done with everything there.)

Soon after, her older brother's name appeard on her phone as well. A quick congrats was followed by a video. Tapping on it, she couldn't contain the tears as she watched her father by the TV, holding tightly their flag and exploding in joy as the checkered flag was waved and his daughter finished in fourth.

He erupted with happiness, leaping and embracing her siblings and close friends who had gathered to witness her debut. He would excitedly point towards the television, shouting with pride, "There she is! My little girl!"

A big smile crept onto her face as she quickly replied back with an update on how things were, and a promise to video call her family as soon as she was cleared from the media.

"Time for the boring stuff now. Ready for the interviews?" Mick pulled her out of her thoughts. He had his phone on his hand, and she imagined he was also communicating with his family. "I can go first, if you want."

She took a deep breath, and smiled. "It's okay, i'll go. There's nothing they can say that could ruin my day. Not anymore."

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3) :: @studioreader, @fanficweasley, @stinkyjax, @namgification, @judespoision, @cha-hot, @disneyprincemuke, @itsjustkhaos, @trouble-sistar, @ihateyougunthersteiner, @treehouse-mouse, @cherry-piee, @fangirl125reader, @cassie0sstuff

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angelwonie · 11 months ago

Text

ME AND THE DEVIL || coriolanus snow

PAIRING: coriolanus x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers, angst (if you squint)

SUMMARY: Coriolanus Snow is a difficult man to please. And yet you have overtaken his mind—you, the only person in the academy who seems to have no interest in him. But he is also a persuasive man, and he usually gets what he wants. There's only one problem: falling in love wasn't a part of the plan.

WARNINGS: SMUT [unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, degradation, praise, overstimulation, manhandling, edging, crying, breeding kink, brat taming?, coryo is mean but down bad], canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and guns, morally gray coriolanus

It started with a change of seats.

In the academy, students were assigned a study partner meant to last throughout the year. The partners were to sit together in the lecture rooms, write each assignment together and support the other in weakness. The goal of this premise was to keep all students attentive and growing—the academy hardly accepted laziness and not at all incompetence. In the top class which consisted of, as the name suggests, the academy’s finest students, the hunger for success stood stronger, and tolerance for failure—lower. Therefore study partners were as close to a lifeline as a student could come.

Coriolanus had no problem with that. Working with others, as vexing as it could be, brought on more pros than cons, especially when he was allowed to take the lead. And if anything went wrong, he was free to blame someone else for the outcome—though Highbottom never really believed him.

The Problem, which currently he referred to with a capital P in his mind, had begun when Dr. Gaul suddenly announced a change in the seating arrangement.

It came as a shock to everyone and frankly, turned the whole orderly system on its head. Livia was moved away to sit with Festus; Gaius with a clearly disdainful Arachne; and he—with you, a girl just recently having joined the top class and taken the spot of a guy who had moved down in ranks.

Originally, you had seated yourself next to Sejanus, in the only empty seat in the room. When Dr. Gaul walked into the room, they all stood. She told them not to bother sitting again and began reading the names of what was to become new partnerships.

Coriolanus could hear Clemensia letting out a groan of frustration upon her name being read out alongside Sejanus’. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop his smile from spreading at the misfortune he had evaded.

But it didn’t last long, this state of contentment, because soon his own name was read aloud—with yours.

Your face, as he noticed upon looking in your direction, had no distinctive emotion written across it. Your brows were ever so slightly raised, the corners of your mouth straight. You spared a single glance in his direction—glimmering eyes meeting his blue ones—then, without much reaction, strolled towards the seat which Clemensia had yet to vacate.

“I think you’re in my seat.”

It was the first time he heard your voice. It was far from gentle, but not exactly rough; clear, but not exactly loud. You were standing with your back straight, your bag at your side.

The sound brought Clemensia’s attention to your figure for a solid second before she turned to Coriolanus, brows furrowed.

“This is so stupid. Why would she separate us when she knows how well we work together?”

He didn’t have time to answer before you took a step closer, this time letting your lips spread in a smile. It revealed your teeth, but no cordiality. “You’re still in my seat. You can question the authority of our teachers another time, right?”

Clemensia, a little stunned, stood unmoving until Dr. Gaul shouted at her from the other side of the room. She took her things and with a last look of disbelief cast Coriolanus’ way, moved towards her own designated seat.

You placed your bag by the desk and sat down, legs crossed at the knees. Coriolanus did the same, although his eyes drifted to his right just a little. You looked a bit like a Greek statue, with your posture and expression so much like his own.

Dr. Gaul clapped her hands anew. “Well, what are you waiting for? Introduce yourselves!”

Coriolanus cleared his throat and you turned to him, a somewhat bored look in your eyes.

“Coriolanus Snow,” he said, extending a hand.

You didn’t take his hand. “I know who you are.”

You didn’t speak to him any more that day. Or the day after that. Or the next.

All he had was your name and the (maybe feigned) looks of boredom you seldom sent him. And a growing annoyance which came about each time he politely told you good morning and you replied in a dull tone.

Nobody knew much about you, which resulted in what students do best when met with lack of information—they make up their own. Livia Cardew claimed you were from district 1. Clemensia whispered to Coriolanus about how your place in the academy was most certainly bought by your parents. Festus Creed was utterly convinced your arrival was a test to see how long they would last alongside a girl who showed no interest in anyone and yet walked with her head high.

But the only rumor which held any truth to it at all was Arachne’s hesitant scoff about how she knew you before.

Livia immediately picked up on the statement and leaned forward in her chair. “You did? So she isn’t from district one?”

“No. But she might as well have been.” Arachne looked to the rest of them for a dramatic effect. “She’s a total bitch, anyway. That’s all there is to say.”

That ended the discussion.

One day, perhaps a week after you and Coriolanus had become study partners, you walked into the academy wearing the tiniest skirt he had ever seen. It was the academy’s uniform, only altered to be shorter and tighter, framing your hips perfectly and ending just about halfway of your thigh.

Coriolanus heard Clemensia scoff from where she stood by his side.

“Attention seeker.”

“Is that even allowed?” Festus asked, though it was unclear whether he meant vandalizing the academy uniform or how otherworldly your legs looked in the skirt.

Whichever it was, the answer was probably no.

On a daily basis, you were already pretty. He knew it and he was well aware the other boys also knew it from the way they eyed you like hawks when you weren’t looking. And, let’s be honest, you were never looking at any of them. So there was a whole lot of staring which Coriolanus caught every time, while you remained either oblivious or too stubborn to acknowledge the attention.

Now, he thought, you must be aware of it—at the very least.

He, personally, was painfully aware of it. Like an embarrassing Victorian man whose mouth waters at the sight of a woman’s ankles, he felt his pants were suddenly too tight. It was in a state of panic that he adjusted himself, clearing his throat. His hand squeezed the desk he was leaning against as he mumbled an incoherent reply that was just enough for Festus and Clemmie to continue their conversation without his input.

From over Clemensia’s shoulder, he could see Volumnia Gaul and Casca Highbottom strolling into the room.

“Dr. Gaul’s here,” he said, pointing with his jaw.

“Oh, right.”

The two of them walked away and Coriolanus closed his eyes, rubbing his nose bridge.

Once he opened them again, he was met with your frame approaching—and he almost jolted in surprise. Your hair was hanging loosely down your shoulders, pinned back on one side to reveal golden earrings. You took a step in his direction and he wondered what for—the distance between you was close to nothing.

“Move.”

Taken aback, he fought the urge to look around and see if anyone else had heard. But no, you were too far and class was almost starting; everyone was busy with themselves.

“Sorry?” he asked with a strained smile.

You sighed, looking vaguely annoyed. “You’re blocking my way.”

He grit his teeth, moving aside. You sauntered past him and into your seat, which he only now realized he had been standing in front of. Your skirt flowed behind you; when you bent down to place your bag on the ground he almost caught a glimpse of your panties. Almost. But what he saw was enough to fill him with rage that didn’t subside for the rest of the lesson—along with his boner.

“I personally think she’s nice,” Sejanus offered when Coriolanus mentioned your poor behavior towards him during lunch. Of course, he said nothing of his dick hardening—oversharing wasn’t his forte.

“Well, you don’t sit with her.”

“I did. And she was nice to me.”

He sent Sejanus a death glare which worked effectively to shut him up.

Coriolanus didn’t really care about your demeanor. It didn’t mess with his work—when you had to be cooperative, you were. And outside of class, Clemensia was more than happy to cling to his arm like a koala. The same went for Sejanus. What bothered him was that look—of disdain, boredom—the lazy way in which you displayed your distaste, like he wasn’t even worth an effort to hate. Because you didn’t hate him.

You just… didn’t care.

You terrified him. You made him see red. You made him react physically, for God’s sake. And he had spoken to you all of twice. How pathetic was that? Enough to stay forever in his thoughts, that much was certain. He was never going to say a word about this to anyone.

But worst of all was this: you liked Sejanus.

Whenever he saw you talking to anyone, it was either your friends from your old class or him. Sejanus Plinth, from district two, with nothing but irritating opinions and a fortune to offer. He saw you laugh at his half-developed jokes, look at him in total focus while he spoke.

One day, about a month after it all, when Highbottom showed no signs of letting them switch seats ever again, he decided to ask you about it. Dr. Gaul was currently strolling about the lecture room, monologuing, which gave him enough time to lean to the side, towards you.

“Seems like you and Sejanus have gotten quite close,” he said, loud enough for only you to hear.

If you registered his words, you made no signs of it. His eyes trailed lower, to your tiny, tiny skirt and the plushness of your thighs which he was free to look at but not allowed to touch. He clenched his jaw and tried again.

“What is it you want? His money?”

At this, your head whipped in his direction. His cool, blue eyes bore into yours and he could see anger, clear like black on a white piece of paper, in your gaze. Your shoulders were tense, lips barely parted. But this only lasted a brief moment—a glitch in your composure—before you straightened your back and grit your teeth into a feigned smile.

“And you? What do you want from him?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Dr. Gaul’s piercing voice.

“Miss L/N and Mr. Snow! Perhaps the two of you will answer my question since you’re so deep in discussion.” The woman looked at the two of you sternly. “What is the point of the hunger games?”

You looked at Coriolanus, who seemed perfectly content in his seat. He had no intention of answering. Bastard. You folded your hands into fists and stood up. Everyone was looking, but only Coriolanus’ gaze made your heart thump against your chest. It felt as if you had something to prove.

“To keep the districts at bay.” With a glance towards Sejanus, you bit the inside of your cheek. “In a highly unethical way, of course. It hardly takes killing twenty-three children to prove a point.”

“District children. Remember that,” said Dr. Gaul. “You may sit.”

You obeyed, suppressing a sigh of relief.

At least it was relief until you felt a hot breath on the side of your neck, paired with Coriolanus whispering, “Liar.”

You looked at him, seemingly unphased, and let out a soft scoff. “If you didn’t like my answer, you should have said something instead.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, just that it was a lie. Don’t worry, though, I don’t think Sejanus can tell.”

Your jaw tightened indiscernibly. The boy whose curls were falling into his forehead gave a smirk, eyes trailing to where Sejanus was sitting and then back again. You just looked at him, unwavering.

“You know nothing about me.”

“And you know nothing about me,” he said, lips spreading to reveal his teeth. “Now we’re both liars.”

***

On the third of the month, the Plinths threw a party.

It was a large gathering, consisting mainly of the academy’s students and their immediate family. The occasion was unclear—unofficially, it was said the Plinths wanted to scout the students to see who was fit to win the Plinth prize. But it was just rumors. Officially, it was a celebration of the academy’s fiftieth anniversary.

After all it had endured—the rebellion, the war, Coriolanus Snow—a party seemed in order.

On the topic of Snow—you were terribly irritated by the way his words were swarming around your head like bees. Somehow, you had managed to remember his voice down to every shiver and for whatever reason, your brain wouldn’t let go of it. Even as your mother, with her eyes fixated on the mirror, smoothed out the length of your silky dress and asked if you liked it. Even as the two of you left the apartment. Even as you exited the car and walked up the steps to the academy’s ballroom.

“Nervous?” your mother asked.

“No.”

She pushed the doors open.

Coriolanus had showed up to the party in a fitted, dark suit along with his grandma’am right on time. Upon his arrival, he had scouted Sejanus somewhere in a corner with his overbearing parents, while Clemensia stood with Livia and her sister. You were nowhere to be seen as far as his eye could reach. His grandma’am dragged him around the room in search of conversation partners and somehow ended up deepening into a discussion with Mr. Plinth, leaving her grandson to fend for himself with Sejanus by his side. The farce lasted for about half an hour; he felt himself growing weary.

Then, you came in.

Fashionably late, as always, with your mother at your side, you strolled in like the entire party was thrown in your honor. And truly—he might’ve believed you if you said so, with the way your strapless dress sat around your curves.

In his peripheral vision, he could glimpse Sejanus swallowing hard. Coriolanus fought the urge to outright laugh at the ludicrous hope swimming in the eyes of his ‘friend’. He was reaching too high. Way too high.

“Y/N! What a relief, you’re here!”

It was the voice of Strabo Plinth that made you turn your head in the direction of their little clique. A smile spread over your face, but disappeared as soon as your gaze landed on Coriolanus. He watched carefully as you approached with your mother, the pearls on your neck glistening in the overhead light. Sejanus was still staring like a fool; Coriolanus felt his blood turn the slightest bit warmer, the tips of his fingers tingling.

“Mr. Plinth, Sejanus.” You sent the two of them a sweet smile, then cast a look at Coriolanus with your lips pulled tight. “Coriolanus.”

He nodded at you. “Sweetheart.”

You didn’t comment on his choice of word, but he could see your jaw tightening and your chest fluttering, pressing against the restraints of your dress.

Thankfully, it seemed nobody else had heard—Mr. Plinth was too busy gushing over yours and Sejanus’ friendship to notice anything else. Coriolanus’ shoulder bumped into yours and you shuddered. The conversation dragged on until Mr. Plinth was beckoned over by another group of people who looked like politicians, and wandered off with a cranky Sejanus in tow.

Left alone with Coriolanus and his grandmother, you began to plot your and your mother’s escape.

“Look, mom, there’s Livia. We should go say hi.”

You had taken less than five steps before Dr. Gaul’s voice reached your ears.

“Not so fast, miss L/N,” she said, a menacing smile on her face. She waved you and your mother over to where she was standing—right between Snow and his grandmother. “Surely your mother wants to meet the only gentleman whose grades are as good as her daughter’s.”

Your mother took the bait immediately, forcing you to follow her back to where you wanted so deeply to escape. “Oh, gosh, really? Coriolanus Snow, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He bowed his head, sending your mother one of his disgustingly gorgeous smiles.

“Now, Coriolanus and Y/N are my best students.” Dr. Gaul, more enthusiastic than you had ever seen her, pulled you and Coriolanus to either side of her, squeezing your shoulders. “And study partners, too. They work so well together. How about the two of you go for a dance?”

“Oh, I don’t dance—”

“Yes, Y/N,” your mother obliviously interrupted, “don’t let those five-year dancing lessons go to waste.”

Your face formed into a half-smile, half-frown. “Right.”

Coriolanus sent you a triumphant smile as he stuck out an arm for you to take. You hesitantly snaked yours through it, heart hammering as he led you onto the dance floor.

The song playing was irritatingly slow, and Dr. Gaul’s smile too wide for all this to be a coincidence, but you decided to let it slide—it wasn’t like you really had a choice. Coriolanus positioned you in front of him. From over his shoulder, you could spot Sejanus, to whom you mouthed a silent plea for help, but the boy proved useless when all he did was send you a smile and a shrug.

Coriolanus placed his hands on your waist appropriately and you hesitantly placed your own atop his broad shoulders. Although you made sure not to touch him more than you had to, the hardness of his muscles was prominent against your fingertips.

The distance between you vexed Coriolanus to no end—especially when he had seen you in a skimpy, tiny black dress all pressed up against Sejanus at Arachne’s birthday party. His fingers harshly tugged at your waist and he smiled in satisfaction at the way your body pliantly molded into him. A gasp threatened to escape you, but you held it back, instead swallowing quietly.

It turned out both of you were excellent dancers. Coriolanus sensed exactly when you were to make an unexpected move and was always able to maneuver you however he wanted.

Finally, you decided to speak—a five-minute song danced in silence would last an eternity. “Clemensia’s staring daggers into my back. Am I in danger?”

The blonde smiled. “Not at all.”

“How come?”

“I’ll protect you.”

You smiled incredulously, shaking your head. “I hope you have a knife underneath your blazer, then, because she looks dangerous.”

“I could snap her neck in half with one hand.”

The way he said it—no hesitation and total seriousness—made you choke on the laughter that was supposed to come out, replacing it with a burning sensation somewhere in the depths of your stomach. His hand, on the small of your back, fiddled gently with the lacing of your dress, then lazily moved back to your waist.

You cleared your throat. “I heard your father was a great man.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve also heard he was a terrible person.” You tilted your head to the side, putting on a curious expression. “So, which one is it?”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?”

At that, you laughed. Real laughter, with your head tipped back—laughter he had never heard before, not even when you were around Sejanus. Something swelled proudly inside his chest.

“Only you could say something so bizarre. But no, I suppose they’re not.”

He swayed his hips along with yours, then brought your hand up, signaling he wanted for you to spin. Whilst he swirled you around, you felt the tips of his fingers against your cheekbone, tucking something behind your ear. Once you were in front of him again, you brought your hand to touch the soft surface that felt like a flower.

“What is that?”

He raised one corner of his mouth. “A rose.”

“And why, pray tell, are you giving me a rose?”

He swirled you again, this time his fingers grabbing at the flesh between your clavicle and throat, pulling you against him. You felt his very fingertips, cold and soft, against your muscle, his hot breath against your left ear.

“To mark my territory.”

With that, he swirled you back and resumed the ordinary dance, with a deadpan expression and shining eyes, emitting an unidentifiable emotion.

Your cheek trembled, although you tried to hide it by tightening your jaw. “It’s picked from your garden, then, I suppose.”

“Grandma’am’s.”

“Really?”

Before you could do anything, he leaned forwards so the tip of your nose grazed his pulse. You stood stunned, taking a breath and being met with the strong smell of roses. You caught a glimpse of his collarbones, peeking out from underneath the two buttons he had undone in his shirt. He drew back before you could think to push him away, lips spreading into a smile.

“Those are also from our garden,” he murmured.

“Coriolanus…”

He liked the way you said his name this time.

Not arrogantly or carelessly, but like it was the most important thing in the world; a bar of gold in your hands. And the shiver in your voice—the thought it must’ve been the most delightful thing he had ever heard. He wanted— no, he deserved to hear it again, but it would have to wait. You were looking up at him the way he yearned you would, like he was impossible to ignore.

“Hmm?”

You smiled a strained smile, chest heaving. “The song has ended. I believe I should go dance with somebody else.”

Without awaiting a response, you released yourself from his grip and turned your back on him. He stood in somewhat of a silent shock.

And he felt it again, this immense anger because how dare you wrap your arms around Sejanus and convince him to a dance, when he’s standing right here, ready to rip anyone’s throat open to feel your body against him again.

After your dance with Sejanus, you scurried off to the bathroom, silently inspecting the rose sitting neatly in your hair above your ear. It was a piercing red, matching perfectly with your dress. You sighed into the mirror, rolling your eyes.

The rest of the evening was spent drinking champagne—too much of it, definitely, but who was counting the glasses which you picked up and later discarded?

Coriolanus, of course, but he was much too embarrassed to say anything and much too agitated and proud to even consider asking Sejanus to look after you. No, he’d rather see you pass out drunk than have Plinth take care of you—he could do that himself. But he didn’t. Not that day, anyway. He left the party somewhat early, assisting his grandma’am down the stairs although she claimed she didn’t need his help.

“What has gotten into you today? You’re too eager to help and you’re looking around like a lost district child.”

“I’m not, grandma’am. Get into the car.”

But before he could follow in her footsteps, he heard laughter—the same laughter he had heard for the first time just an hour earlier.

He turned automatically, without much thought, and felt rage well up in him as he saw you and Sejanus leaving the hall shoulder-to-shoulder, your respective parents in tow. You were clearly drunk, your steps unsteady.

Sejanus said something to you, apparently something you found funny, because you slapped his shoulder and laughed again. Unfortunately for you, the heels you were wearing weren’t exactly wasted-proof and gave out from underneath you when you moved your ankle to the side.

It took the slip of a second for you to tumble down the remaining four steps of the stairs, and another two for Coriolanus to catch you, his arms knitting tightly around your waist.

“Coriolanus,” you mumbled, at a loss for anything better to say.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You shook your head, but he went out of his way to sit you down on the stairs and inspect your ankle anyway.

“Stupid girl,” he said, landing a barely discernible slap to the side of your thigh as he stood, having concluded you were alright. “Why drink more than you can handle?”

“I have a habit of getting in over my head.”

He looked down at you, the disheveled hair and still present rose which you hadn’t taken out yet, and smiled. Slowly, Sejanus and the rest of them descended down the stairs and Coriolanus turned to get in the car. But first, he sent you a smirk over his shoulder.

***

Dr. Gaul’s experiments were always interesting.

In the best cases, they were innovative and in the worst—fatal. None of the academy’s top class knew which one this one would turn out to be when they followed Highbottom into the laboratory.

“What if she kills us?” Livia, who wasn’t particularly fond of you but neither did she feel a particular distaste for you, whispered.

“She won’t,” you whispered back. “We have the president’s son in our class.”

“Right.”

The lot of you walked inside, scattered randomly until Gaul reminded everyone to stick to their partners. You heard Clemensia let out a prolonged sigh upon Coriolanus escaping her grip and approaching you instead.

He smiled self-importantly. “Y/N.”

“Snow.”

The smile faded marginally.

Dr. Gaul ushered everyone closer. A servant dragged off the thick, two-meter long piece of fabric covering what at first sight looked like an aquarium, but later revealed to be a cylinder of rainbow-colored snakes. Someone gasped.

You furrowed your brows and took a glance at Coriolanus, who in turn looked back at you. You were quick to avoid his gaze, but not quick enough for him to miss it.

Dr. Gaul sent you a half-enthusiastic, half-manic smile. “Now, everyone give me something of yours. Come on, I don’t have all day.”

Coriolanus moved first, which you didn’t mind until he grabbed hold of you and pulled you along.

“What are you doing?”

“What, are you scared?”

His eyes twinkled and you tore away from his grip. But it was too late; the two of you were standing right in front of the open snake habitat. You swallowed hard.

He reached into his pocket and fished out a pencil—golden and engraved with his last name—before handing it to Dr. Gaul. You followed suit, albeit hesitantly, and handed her an embroidered handkerchief.

The rest of the class did the same. Dr. Gaul received all the items, stacked them and instructed everyone to sit. Then she gathered it all into one big pile and threw it into the cage. Immediately, the snakes swarmed around the items, licking and slithering.

“These snakes,” Dr. Gaul said, “are lethal only when met with a taste they don’t know. Meaning right now, when they’ve touched your things, they are harmless. Come say hi.”

Nobody, including you, moved a muscle.

Obviously, everyone was busy figuring out why this was even an experiment if they were harmless—from what Dr. Gaul said it sounded more like a visit to the zoo. Next to you, Coriolanus furrowed his brows and stared the cage down with his icy eyes, inspecting.

“No volunteers?” Dr. Gaul sighed. “How about Y/N and Coriolanus?”

You froze, looking at Coriolanus with wide eyes. “You first.”

He tilted his head. “Ask nicely.”

Forcing a smile, you swallowed your pride.

“Please.”

He stood from the seat and you forced yourself to disregard his grin and the way his uniform strained around his back muscles.

Just then, as your eyes followed his steps, you saw something by Dr. Gaul’s feet, something shimmering in gold. You squinted at the object. It was barely visible, currently hidden in Coriolanu’s shadow. Coriolanus walked up to the cage and the overhead light fell onto the object, revealing what looked like something engraved. The letter S. The letter N. The letter…

“Coryo, wait!” You shot up from your seat. Coriolanus looked at you in bewilderment as you grabbed his wrist roughly. “You can’t touch them. Your pen isn’t in there.”

“What?” His gaze dropped to the golden pen at your feet.

You looked at his face, as if to make certain he was whole, then at his wrist in between your shaky fingers. How embarrassing, the way your body had grown so hot and how tragic, the way you had made a scene. You wondered what Coriolanus was thinking, with his mouth parted and eyes on you.

Dr. Gaul clapping her hands together brought you back to reality. “Quite impressive, miss Y/N. I must admit, your reaction time was even faster than predicted.”

You turned to her in disbelief and maybe a bit of anger. “You did it on purpose? Why?”

“Why, to see if you were willing to save Mr. Snow here.”

“That’s absurd, I would have done it for anyone!” Your face grew hot as you ripped your hand away from Coryo’s wrist, as though burned by his skin. “And what if I hadn’t noticed?”

“Then I would have known I made a mistake letting you into the top class. Regard this as a little test, if you will.” She sauntered happily over to you, where she stopped to whisper in your ear: “And for your information, miss Y/N, yesterday these snakes got familiar with mr. Snow through an assignment. I would never put him in danger, so calm your heart.”

Dr. Gaul proclaimed the class dismissed and left—left you to stand in utter shock for at least ten seconds. Then, before any words could escape Coriolanus’ mouth, you followed in her footsteps, practically running out of the room.

After this incident, you avoided him.

He noticed immediately, the lack of you in the hallways when he walked through them and the tenseness of your expression in class. Every time you showed up in those tiny skirts and paid him no mind, he resisted the urge to throw you over his shoulder. You had to be put in your place, certainly so—with the way you were messing with his head. A threat, but he chose to look past that, just this once. What he couldn’t look past were your plush thighs, pretty lips and addicting aura.

Once, after school had finished, he cornered you in an empty classroom in which you were rummaging through your bag, clearly searching for something.

“Looking for this?”

You jolted back, looking at him over your shoulder and at the kays dangling from his fingers. As your face grew hot, you turned your back to him again, suddenly not so keen on finding the keys.

“They must have fallen out of my bag,” you mumbled.

He inched closer, until his chest was against your back and he could drop the keys into your bag. They rattled—the only sound in the room spare for your breathing.

He craned his neck to mumble against your earlobe, “How come you’re avoiding me, my sweet?”

You turned again.

“I’m not avoiding you.” You huffed at him, raising your head high. “Why would I avoid you? I simply don’t care for your presence.”

The side of his lips twitched. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I have class. I need to go,” you said, before realizing in terror that you’d both just had the last lesson of the day—of which he was fully aware. “I mean…”

He took a step and you went silent. His hand cupped your jaw harshly, pointer finger and thumb on each respective side of it. He pulled you closer by his grip.

“I thought I told you not to lie,” he said, squeezing your cheeks. “Did it not register in that pretty head of yours?”

Your lower lip trembled deliciously, eyes tinted with a hint of fear. “Coriolanus…”

“Call me Coryo. Like you did that day with the snakes.”

There was a change in your expression: widened eyes turning normal again, lips curving into a soft smile as you pried his hand off. He let you, god knows why. Maybe because everything turned uncalculated when he was around you or maybe because he wanted you to listen to what he said.

But you just said, “I’ll call you that when you earn it.”

His blood boiled.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, sweetheart.”

“Sejanus is waiting for me outside, Coriolanus,” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder teasingly. “I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

He grit his teeth. “Do you think this is a game?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Is it?”

He held his outburst enough for you to leave—then, he punched the nearest surface and let out a loud groan. A threat, definitely. A dangerous one. But he’d tear it out of you—these sensations similar to his that he knew you felt.

And how could you be of real danger to him when he was just as much of a threat to you?

***

When Dr. Gaul and Casca Highbottom announced an ‘educational school trip to district eight’, everyone thought they were joking.

They were, in fact, not. They took the train for almost ten hours—by the end of it, everyone was weary and irritable. Dr. Gaul told everyone to pay special attention and care to their partners and make sure they were safe, and despite the tiring trip, Coriolanus took on his task with the utmost importance.

“What are you doing?” you asked him as he, for the third time, slung his arm around you to pull you away from passing wagons.

“Protecting you, like Dr. Gaul told us to.”

You snorted a laugh. “I’m sure she didn’t mean from horses.”

“Horses can be dangerous.”

You just rolled your eyes. His arm stayed draped around your shoulders for the rest of the walk. When you arrived at the inn, Coriolanus leaned close to you abruptly and placed a kiss on your cheek. Before you got the chance to even think of protesting, he was gone.

The next day all of you were to join Highbottom in his speech in front of the district people.

It was a simple stage made of wood—the people stood spread out on a small square in front. There were almost too many to fit.

You, as students, were not supposed to do anything in particular other than stand there and look pretty. Coriolanus made the effort to assure you you were splendid at it already, his fingers fanning over your waist. It sent shivers down your spine, and he smiled in self-satisfaction. You cursed him for his perceptiveness as the two of you walked onto stage.

Coriolanus was far from relaxed as his eyes scanned the crowd. You just had to wear that godforsaken skirt in front of a bunch of starved men. If he could, he’d tear all their eyes out. Starting with that brown-haired asshole in the first row. As Higbottom began his speech, Coriolanus walked up to you and stood purposefully a bit in front, as though to cover you.

“Is it not impractical to wear a skirt today?” he asked, sending you a pointed look.

“It’s quite warm,” you replied, blinking up at him. “Do you not like it? I wore it for you.”

He clenched his jaw, heart swelling in pride. Of course he liked it—a little too much to be considered appropriate—but not for everyone to see. He leaned down almost indiscernibly, but you felt his hot breath fan your lips.

“When I’m president, nobody is going to see you in that skirt except for me.”

You grinned. “When you’re president? What exactly is the extent of your ambition, Mr. Snow?”

“You are.”

His pupils were expanded, fingers snaking to hold you by the waist. If anyone noticed, he didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter anyway. His fingers found their way under your uniform and he observed attentively as your eyes widened, teeth sinking into your lower lip when he caressed your bare side.

“Okay, everyone, let’s go,” Highbottom said, signaling his speech was finished.

Coriolanus let go of you. The lot of you moved, surrounded by peacekeepers until you reached the truck ramp. You walked first, carefully placing your steps.

But you only managed to take three of them before something—someone, to be precise—pulled your leg to the side and you fell.

Your brain barely registered the pain of your bare knee hitting the ramp before you were no longer on the ramp, but the ground. An ache spread along your side. Coriolanus shouted your name as he jumped down from the ramp, despite Highbottom’s screams at him to stay but.

The man who had pulled you down, who Coriolanus recognized as the hungry-eyed man from the first row, pulled out a knife from his pocket. He lounged just as you froze, unmoving spare for the trembling of your lips. Coriolanus grabbed him and pushed him down; but not before he had managed to sink the knife into your calf. He heard you scream.

“Help her!” he roared at the peacekeepers, who had their weapons raised at the man who was trying to get up from the ground, but weren’t firing.

Coriolanus, enraged, ripped out the gun from one of the peacekeepers’ hands. He heard some words of protest but ignored them entirely as he pulled the trigger. And again. And again. And again. Until the man was more holes than flesh.

“Help her, for fuck’s sake!” he roared again; this time they listened and gathered around you.

He spared only a glance at your bleeding figure, then turned to the rest of District eight’s crowd—the part of it that hadn’t thought to flee the scene—and fired again. He heard Sejanus shouting, he heard Highbottom shouting, he heard Dr. Gaul shouting, and the peacekeepers gathered around him like flies, but he listened to none of them. He fired and fired until the magazine was empty and someone tore the weapon out of his hands.

“Coriolanus,” you whispered.

Only now did he fully look at you, at the cut in your leg and at your frightened face. He ran over, relieved nobody tried to stop him, and kneeled next to you along with a clearly useless peacekeeper. There was blood on his white shirt, but not on his fingers when he ran them over your thigh gently. It didn’t look like a deep cut, but it was bleeding a lot.

“It’s okay, Y/N, you hear me? Listen to me!” He grabbed your tear-stained face with one hand and turned it so you were looking into his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay. Don’t close your eyes.”

When you didn’t reply, he shook you a little bit. “You’re alright, okay?”

“Okay, Coryo,” you said meekly.

He nodded and tore a piece off his shirt to wrap it below your knee. He was angry, unbelievably so, and felt if he didn’t look at your face now and then he might kill all of them: the peacekeepers, his fellow students, Highbottom. He bore a hatred for them all. But you were the priority; you needed saving.

He heard you whimper, using one hand to hold at his shoulder.

“Why did you…”

He cut you off. “Don’t talk. I’m gonna fix this. You’re okay. Keep your eyes open.”

You obeyed for as long as you could, for as long as it took for the medics to arrive and carry you away; then, you let yourself drift off.

***

When you first woke up, you were met with Coriolanus’ perceptive eyes staring back at you.

“Coryo?” you asked.

“How do you feel? Does it hurt?”

You wanted to answer, but your mouth felt as if it were made of lead. Coriolanus shouted for the nurses to bring you water, yet before he had even turned his head to you again, you were fast asleep. He sighed.

***

The cut wasn’t deep.

That’s what the doctors from district eight said, their heads hung low in shame. You were alone upon waking this time, spare for the nurse they had left to take care of you.

“Coriolanus,” you said. “Where is he?”

“He just left to get some rest, ma’am. We sent him away for an hour fifteen minutes ago. He’d been sitting here all night.”

“I want to see him.”

“It would be unwise to deny him his sl—”

You stood up and walked out, much to the nurses’ dismay.

After a ride to the inn in which all of you were staying, you walked into the hallway that you knew belonged to the boys.

You had no idea where Coriolanus’ room was, but thankfully you met Sejanus just as he was leaving his room.

His eyes lit up as he saw you. “Y/N! You’re okay, thank god. I was so wor—”

“Where is Coryo?”

He stopped, smile falling the littlest bit. “Last room to the left.”

You smiled and patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”

You knocked on the door three times and stood silent, waiting. After half a minute, you heard his voice—husky and deep—telling you to come in.

He was standing by the window, looking out at the desolate district eight. The back of his new shirt was just barely holding out the strain his muscles created as he crossed his arms.

You cleared your throat. “Coriolanus.”

Clearly not expecting it to be you, Coriolanus turned on his heel, sporting a smile as he saw your face. You had changed clothes—another tiny skirt and shirt adorned your body. You were walking without difficulty, just like the doctors had foreseen, perhaps even more confidently, with your head high.

He expected you throw yourself into his arms, or maybe pull his hair and kiss him, but he absolutely didn’t expect you to cross your arms over your chest and ask him:

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Sorry?” he asked, frowning.

You took a step back, biting the inside of your cheek. “What have you done? What have you done, Coriolanus?”

He looked into your eyes in search of disgust, terrified, but found only worry. You were worried for him. Not them, not that man, not your reputation and the rumors—you were worried for him.

His gaze flicked down to your bare legs, no scar left from the incident, and then up to where your stop was squeezing your tits together. Did you come in here to scold or seduce him? He really could not tell.

He took a step in your direction, reveling in the way your resolve was starting to fade, lower lip trembling. “I was protecting you.”

“You didn’t have to kill him! You didn’t have to kill them all like animals!”

At this, something switched. He snorted, almost mockingly. Against your will, you felt your panties getting sticky when he walked closer and closer, until he had you backed against the wall. One of his hands rested next to your head while the other he ran over your cheek, stopping to cup your jaw.

“You don’t think he would have aimed higher if he’d gotten the chance? You don’t think you’d be dead if it weren’t for me?” His hot breath landed on your lips and you swallowed. He dragged his finger along your lower lip and you opened your mouth obediently, making his lips curve into a smile. “Now be a good girl and say thank you.”

Your legs rubbed against one another subtly. “Thank you, Coryo.”

“For what?” He slapped the inside of your thigh, making you jolt.

“For protecting me.”

His fingers crawled up your thigh to soothe the place he had slapped, rubbing small circles against your sensitive skin. It was embarrassing, how damp your panties were and how you had to press your lips together in order to avoid letting a whimper slip. The poor lighting cast shadows on his face, blonde curls falling just above his eyes.

He was devouring you even though he’d barely touched you.

“You’re trembling,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“It’s the cut.”

He tsked, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “Liars don’t get rewards, sweetheart. I thought I’d made that clear.”

He saw your nipples straining against the thin fabric of your shirt and tightened his jaw. You were here to seduce him, definitely. His desperate little girl. Funny how you had such a dirty mouth until his hands were on you—then, you seemed to go entirely limp and thoughtless. One of his hands snaked to the back of your head, the other stayed touching your thigh—too far away from the place you wanted it to be.

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, standing on your tiptoes to reach him, but he just pulled you down by your hair.

“No. Not until you beg me for it.”

You scoffed shakily, reclaiming the very remnants of your dignity. “I won’t beg you for a kiss.”

He pressed his chest against your sensitive tits, pulling at your hair so your noses were touching.

“Don’t I deserve it after everything I’ve done for you?”

“I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“But you liked it,” he remarked, sliding his warm hand up your shirt, until he could fiddle with the hem of your panties. His fingers tapped against your clothed pussy only once, making you jolt, before returning to the spot between your hip and leg. “You liked having someone kill for you. Just as you like when I touch you and when I care for your attention.”

“I don’t—”

“I think you’ve had a little too much being a brat, though. Now it’s my turn.” He slapped your pussy through the fabric and this time, you didn’t manage to hold back a whimper. “Beg. Me.”

“Please,” you whispered, face hot.

“What was that?” He pretended not to hear, leaning down even more. You wanted to punch him for his self-importance, for his cruelty, but it was what you craved, too—you’d take everything he gave you, although you’d never say it out loud.

“Please kiss me.”

His hands left you entirely before they cupped either of your cheeks. Your heart hammered in excitement watching Coryo’s eyes feeding on the sight of you. He lowered his head slowly, connecting your lips so softly you almost didn’t feel it. You tried to grab his collar and bring him closer, but then he just pulled away and sent you a pointed look which made you retract your hands.

Then, he kissed you again—this time pressing harder against you, making your eyes flutter shut. His fingers held you softly, as though you could break any moment, but his lips enveloped yours like he had been waiting for the opportunity for years.

You opened your mouth immediately as he licked at your lower lip and he hummed in appreciation. His fingers tilted your head as he slipped his tongue inside. He was hot against your own tongue, swirling and exploring, not letting you breathe out anything except small, timid whimpers. He smelled like roses, tasted like them too.

Your hands wandered to his broad shoulders, then down his clothed chest, his solid muscles against your fingertips. They flexed underneath your touch, a throaty groan of Coryo’s disappearing in your conjoined mouths. Your mouth watered at merely the thought of seeing them bare, seeing him.

Coriolanus pulled away only when he had to take a breath—angry at this humane obstacle in his way but soothed upon seeing your swollen, parted lips.

“You’re nothing without me,” he rasped out, trapping your jaw between his thumb and pointer. “Say it back.”

You looked at him through hazy eyes. “I’m nothing without you.”

He pushed you against the wall, lips against your jawline. He sucked a mark into your neck and you mewled out his name, tangling your fingers in his hair. His tongue ran over your throat, then swirled around your collarbones as he pressed wet kisses to them and your stomach.

Once he reached the waistband of your skirt, he dropped to his knees, looking up. You felt something turn in your stomach; the heat between your legs intensified tenfold.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs languidly. Once gone from your body, he picked them up and dangled them in front of your face. You tried snatching them from him, but he just stuffed them into the pocket of his pants.

“For later,” he said, smiling. “To remind me what a desperate little girl you are.”

“I’m not—”

He cut you off by bunching your skirt up around your hips. The cold air made you shiver lightly, but his eyes set on the most intimate part of you like he was about to eat you didn’t really help, either.

Before you could look away from embarrassment, he dragged his nose through your slick folds. You let out a choked gasp as he came in contact with your clit. His hands slid up to your upper thighs, squeezing and prying them apart so you weren’t in the way for him to take his time. And he did take his time—painfully so.

After almost five minutes of aimless fingers trailing over your cunt but never touching for too long and never on your clit, you let out a loud whine, legs fighting against his grip to close. To no avail, of course—Coryo was much stronger than you and very intent on keeping you in place.

“Be patient,” he murmured into your heat. His eyes flicked up as a warning and you instantly stilled.

His tongue finally touched you in the form of small kitten licks on your clit that made your breath ragged and fists tighten. He saw you tightening around nothing, heard you whining pathetically for more and mercifully let his tongue enter your warmth. You clenched around him immediately.

He pulled his mouth off of you momentarily to look up at your pretty face twisted in clear rapture.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”

When you didn’t answer, he brought down his hand to swat at your clit disapprovingly. You squirmed at the contact, slick practically dripping out of your cunt. His eyes met yours and you quivered, suddenly afraid he’d stop.

“Yes,” you whimpered. “So much.”

As a reward, he pushed two fingers into your pussy, watching as you gasped for air, furrowing your brows. He scissored them a little bit, then dipped his thumb into the arousal coating your cunt and let it rub small circles into your already puffy clit.

Your legs felt weak already and he must have sensed this, because he grabbed your thigh and positioned it on his shoulder. This way, he could curl his fingers enough to hit the spot which made you whimper so loudly it was shameful.

Soon, his thumb was replaced with his mouth that sucked your tiny clit into his mouth.

He heard you moan his name and felt his pants tighten significantly. Part of him hoped everyone could hear the noises you were making, while another part of him felt the urge to murder anyone who dared even overhear these sounds that were innately his possession.

From his position, he could see your tits brushing against your thin shirt and cursed himself for not being in a spot that would allow him to play with them. He’d have to settle for playing with your cute little cunt.

Your legs started shaking when he added another finger to pump in and out of your dripping hole.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, hips bucking into his face. “Feels so good, Coryo, thank you.”

A guttural moan of his vibrated through your body and you cried out his name. A warm coil began tightening in your lower stomach. It was clear you were close—from the way your whimpers had grown unabashed and squeaky, the way you clenched around his long fingers, the way your hips stuttered against his tongue.

“Oh my god, Coryo, I’m so close— Can I come?”

So polite, he thought. Shame you only acted like this when his tongue was flicking at your clit.

His eyes glimmered as he looked up at you. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please, please, let me come, please, Coryo.” You let out a broken moan as his teeth grazed your clit. “Please.”

Your legs spasmed around his head as you felt it close, so close, and your eyes fell shut in pleasure.

But then it was ripped from you, this bliss, as Coriolanus pulled out his fingers and retracted his tongue, leaving you empty and stunned. You stared at him, lips parted, and at the self-satisfied smile adorning his features.

“What, you really thought I’d let you come when you’ve been acting like a brat?” He licked his fingers and something throbbed between your legs. “Stupid girl.”

He stood up, turning his back on you. You couldn’t see it, of course, but he was silently counting the seconds it took for you to protest against the treatment. Finally, you retrieved your consciousness in full and pushed yourself off the wall.

“Wait, Coryo,” you pleaded, grabbing his arm. “Please. I’m sorry.”

He turned, raising his brows. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna be a good girl now, I promise.” Your lower lip quivered; he saw the promise of tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m gonna make it up to you, okay?”

At this, you sank to your knees—a sight which made his adam’s apple bob. But he was getting impatient; his cock was aching painfully and when you looked at him with eyes widened and teary like this, he was willing to give you anything in the world.

“Get up,” he demanded.

You did as told, thighs trembling slightly, and his hands cupped your cheeks. Coriolanus led you to the bed in the middle of the room, hovering above you with his forearms on either side of your face. His hardened cock rubbed uncomfortably against the fabric of his pants. He laid it against your plush thigh for relief, but all he got was a slutty mewl from you and more precum leaking from his tip.

“Sejanus is next door, you know. You don’t mind?”

“No.” You shook your head eagerly. “I don’t care. Just want your cock.”

The side of his mouth lifted as his hands slipped under your shirt. You gasped as his fingers found your nipples and pinched them, tantalizing your poor clit to start throbbing harder. He pulled the skimpy shirt over your head and threw it away somewhere, letting out an audible groan at the sight of you. Next to go was your skirt.

He stayed staring at you for some time before he suddenly landed a slap to your cunt, making you jolt with a whimper. Then, he leaned to press open mouthed kisses against your throat, sucking the skin that covered your pulse into his mouth.

His lips grazed your jaw. “You want him to hear, then? Is that it?”

“N-no,” you whispered shakily, feeling the tips of his fingers teasing your perky nipples. “No, Coryo, just want you.”

“Say it again.”

“I want you, Coryo, only you. I’m yours.”

Coriolanus let your fingers slip under his shirt, letting out a shaky breath as you traced his abdominal muscles. He helped you pull it over his head, then he pulled down his pants and briefs as well. You watched hazily at his cock free from its restraints, certain if he’d tease you anymore you would start drooling for real.

Thankfully, he wasn’t in the mood for teasing—he slapped his dick against your clit once, twice, watching you squirm, then positioned himself at your entrance.

Your foreheads touched as he pushed inside agonizingly slowly.

“I’m yours, too,” he whispered against your mouth.

He was decently thick and longer than average—even lying still in your cunt, he reached places your fingers couldn’t dream of. Your eyes had a hard time staying open in facing the fullness which came with having him inside, but he was having none of it.

“Look at me when I fuck you,” he said.

“But you’re not even fucking me.”

You felt his cock pulse inside you before his hands roughly grabbed your thighs and pushed them up against your chest. This newfound angle was overwhelming in itself—when he additionally began thrusting his cock in and out of your cunt, you saw stars. You let out small noises, but he paid them no mind, leaning forward to have a good look at your face.

“Who knew the academy’s best student was such a fucking slut?” he tilted his head, ignoring your nails clawing at his biceps. “Guess words aren’t enough, hmm? I need to fuck that arrogance out of my sweet girl?”

You didn’t reply; he didn’t expect you to. His cock found that spot that made your toes curl faster than you could have expected. When he hit it for the first time, you let out a whimper close to a shriek in volume. Instead of slowing down, he just went harder, his hips slapping against yours in the otherwise silent room. He thought Sejanus probably was able to hear it all.

It was easy for him to slip his thumb between your parted lips; even easier to coax you with a gentle slap to your slack jaw to suck on it. Your mouth wrapped around it and he groaned, pushing your thighs further against your tits. He saw your eyes glossing over, felt your poorly suppressed moans against his finger.

And god, you were so compliant to his touch, so perfect.

“Spread your legs,” Coryo said, moving his hands away.

You obeyed to your best ability, practically letting your thighs fall limply at your sides. He spread them further and sank deep into your dripping pussy. Your slick had made a mess of the sheets below, creating a small puddle in the white material.

His fingers grabbed both of your wrists and placed them on your lower stomach. One of his hands kept them in place while the other played with your sensitive nipples, twisting them until a couple tears escaped your eyes.

“Don’t move your hands.”

When you nodded weakly, both his hands grabbed your waist, guiding you back and forth to meet his relentless thrusts. He could see the vague outline of his cock in your stomach, your tits bouncing deliciously before him with each abusing rut into your cunt.

“Good girl,” he mumbled, lightly tapping at your clit.

Your walls sucked him in like it was all you were made for, fluttering around his cock and leaving a creamy ring at the base of it. He wanted to fill you up—not only with his cock, but with his cum, wanted to watch it leak out onto this bed, wanted to hear you beg him to stop. Him, only him. He wanted you forever.

Coryo leaned down to connect his lips to yours, teeth napping at your lower lip. You were whimpering, mewling his name, and he tightened his grip on your waist. He pushed you further down on his cock, again and again.

“How does being the first lady of Panem sound, huh?”

You just nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks in reaction to his cock bullying the gummy spot in your cunt.

“Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, rubbing tight circles into your clit. “I’d give you everything you want. You hear me, sweetheart? Everything.”

His hips rutted into you so roughly your vision was hazy, but clear enough to grab at his sturdy shoulders. You had disobeyed what he said, but it seemed he was unaware, chasing his own high.

His cock was thrusting into the right spot repeatedly, fingers maneuvering your clit so that you almost screamed, slick practically gushing out of your hole.

“Fuck,” you whined out, feeling your pussy pulsating. “Coryo, I’m—”

“Yeah, I know. Come for me, sweetheart.”

You let go and so did he—seed spilling into your cunt as you clenched around him. You sobbed his name and in an attempt to soothe you, he planted kisses along your collarbones. He let you ride out your orgasm against his hand before he pulled out.

Vaguely, you could see his cum spilling out of you and onto the sheets.

Before you could even make an attempt at calming down your heart rate, he stuck two of his fingers into you again.

“Too much,” you whimpered, but he paid you no mind, stuffing his cum back into your swollen cunt. Too tired to move, you let him do it, only mewling his name softly from time to time.

Once he was done, he licked his fingers clean and smiled alluringly. You scooted closer to kiss him—he tasted of you and him combined. His hands cupped your face as you both lay down, facing one another.

“You’re nothing without me, either,” you said, running your finger down his exposed chest. “Mr. President.”

His grin widened. “That’s right, sweetheart.”

TAGLIST: @peterpan-neverfails @urfavevirgoo @sayyysss @hwajin @hoshiseon @atrwriting

also big thank you to kathy, kiza and lex for being my enablers! ilyy

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth smut #tom blyth x reader

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boowritess · 4 months ago

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notsobaddasssoldier!reader who is kinda a cunt

reader who just doesn't give a shit about the 141 rank or title.

"you think just cause your captain of some lil task force i'm gonna bend over backwards for you? be serious."

"cool you're lieutenant...and.... anything else interesting? like how you think halloween is 24/7, or...?"

"oh so it's a big accomplishment you're sergeant at your big age? tell someone who cares."

you're just so... eh about their ranks. but they get some power trip when you call them said rank. makes them feel some sort of way that depsite your snark, you still call them by rank. showing the clear difference of inferiority and superiority between you and them.

till you notice and shut that shet down.

"your so fucking stupid. it's like if i met The Pope. I'm gonna call him Pope because he's The Pope. I still don't give a shit though."

"or like meeting a Doctor and calling them Doctor. I don't give a fuck that the persons a Doctor. I'll still call em it."

"better yet. hate the king. hate the queen. but i still call them the queen and king. because their dumbassary is just linked to their 'ranks'. if you keep annoying me the same is gonna go for you."

you have so much sass and snark that it becomes a truly humbling experience. and it's like - damn. they could put you over their knee and really put you in your place but reader takes things from 0-100 real fucking quick.

"you wanna what you fucking freak?"

"excuse me-?"

"you're so fucking dumb. get a braincell dumb bitch. do it and fucking find out what happens."

"shot me in the head and watch my corpse not give a fuck because I don't."

and when the guys get a lil too fucking serious about putting reader in their place. reader suddenly has a gun pointed at their face. you see what I mean by taking things to 0-100 real quick?

"dummy. really tryna fuck with me when we're surrounded by guns? fuck outta here with that bullshit."

"matter fact I'd just kill myself-"

"NO!" *141*

it's obvious you may be young and perhaps a little too mouthy for your own good but it's clear you're not going to be pushed around.

but it's obvious you ain't here for the 'greater good' and just doing the work to get the paycheck. while the guys find your snark to be really fucking annoying.

it turns out that you definitely have some perks.

you may not be able to hold yourself very long in battle, just a very basic solider with basic skill sets- your mouth and attitude can really work wonders on people.

in particular, the egotistical rookie who things they're all that. taking their sweet time with basic tasks, belittling other recruits who can do the bare minimum. just in general, an asshole. that's when you step in.

"you ain't shit bitch cause at the end of the fucking day turdface, you ain't bullet proof. i can shoot you right now, and all your running and yapping will cease to exist. your corspe will rot. people will stop knowing you as the loudmouth rookie, and you will just become nothing. infact. you are nothing."

*the recruit opens their mouth. you interrupt.*

"Nothing."

*recruit tries again.*

"Nothing."

it's an endless cycle that ceases when your hardened glare doesn't stop and you pick up a rock intending to throw it at the recruit. the blank, dead, serious look in your eyes showing you are more than fucking serious.

what really works wonders though, is they way you aren't worried about putting a superior in their place. the other 141 have basically been beaten in and to not question anything. they have been made to believe they are weapons more than human.

that gets shut down real quick.

you all have just come back from mission, that was grueling. a couple of you were injured. everyone looked worse for wear. dirts, scratches, blood. someone no longer had their vest. a few lost weapons. barely had any inventory. needing food, sleep, and then a long shower shower.

but instead waiting for the task force, was a superior officer, holding the next mission file. a mission they were supposed to be getting ready for and practically leave as soon as they got back.

before price could grab for it, you intercept. grabbing the mission file and throwing it at the superior officers face.

"you giant fucking anal peice of dried solid dog shit. we're not fucking doing that. we just got back from hiding in a fucking forest for three weeks with enemy surrounding us to get intel from a camp- THAT WASN'T FUCKING THERE. so you better turn and take those pretty polished shoes to another task force."

"what is your name, soldier?" *superior officer growls.*

"Dolly Parton. Now Dolly has just worked longer than a nine to five and Dolly ain't got the patience for dealing with a man like you. i got two bullets left. one for you and one for me. and if you think i won't do it- well we can put it to the test now-"

perhaps it was the utter dead look in your eyes, or the gentle yet seething venom in your tone. the superior officer simply growls and turns on their feet, leaving the task force.

it's funny cause you do get the respect, you are barely a good soldier but dang you can get shit done when need be. so price doesn't transfer you. he still keeps you close.

ghost is the one who loves the feral little shit you are. gaz and you talk mad shit about everyone on base. soap just absolutely adores you, you're the little sibling he's always wanted.

a/n: inspired by the feral nature of gen z.

#boowrites #notsobaddasssoldier!reader #notsobaddass!reader x ghost #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #john price #johnny soap mactavish #notsobaddass!reader x 141 #notsobaddass!reader #notsobaddasssoldier!reader x 141 #captian price #captain john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mctavish x reader

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angstywaifu · 4 months ago

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Orders Gone Wrong

Garrick Tavis x Reader Request: Garrick is giving her some orders she doesn't think are okay, but she still follows them? She gets hurt, but doesn't want Garrick to find out, giving him the silent treatment, but the Dragons tell him, and he comes so fast, and she's ignoring him, but then they start fighting? Masterlist

“I need you to do another run tonight.” Garrick tells me as my fist hits the punch bag he’s bracing for me.

”I went last night, not my turn to go.” I tell him sternly as I throw another punch.

Garrick’s hand snaps in front of me, my first landing firmly in his palm as he moves in front of me. It was pretty rare for Garrick to pull rank on me. Especially in the case of supply runs. But I knew as he looked down at me he was. The look in his eye was one I had seen plenty of times as he commanded riders and squads.

”I know, but we’re short a rider for tonight so I need you to step up.” The commanding tone slipping into his voice.

I rip my hand from his, crossing my arms across my chest. I was absolutely wrecked. I’d only gotten an hour or two of sleep after getting back this morning. Paired with a full day of classes and training, I was wrecked. Everything ached. My body screaming at me to rest.

”Can’t someone else step up? I know there are riders who didn’t go last night and aren’t scheduled to go tonight.” My voice almost pleading.

Garrick just scowls down at me. “You know I don’t like pulling rank, but I need you to go. It’s an order. I need a more senior rider on this run.”

I sigh and slowly nod. I knew there was no changing Garrick’s mind. It was clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer. And he’d only see my fatigue as an excuse or complaining. Something he would tell me to suck up and deal with like I’d have to in the field.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

I should have pushed back. I should have said no. I should have stood my ground. But I didn’t. Did what was asked of me. And I’d paid the price. I knew I was too tired, too fatigued to do the run. But I’d gone. Gone and fallen off my damn dragon mid flight due to exhaustion. Luckily they’d caught me before I’d hit the ground. But the impact of landing in my dragon's claws had caused some damage. The impact had left a massive bruise down my side, spreading down my thing. A hiss escapes my lips as I prod it with my finger. Today was going to suck.

I muffle a moan of pain as I slip my jacket on. Thankful today was cooler, meaning I could hide the bruises on my arms with the jacket. I’d also convinced the other riders not to say a damn thing to Garrick or Xaden about what had happened. They didn’t need to know. I just hoped I could get through the next few days without them noticing. I wasn’t scheduled for another challenge till next week at this stage, no flying today and it wasn’t uncommon for me to miss the optional training after classes. Easy.

Or so I thought. As I step into the hall pain flares up my side. The few steps I’d taken around my room this morning were bearable. But this was agony. Shit. It was going to take all my concentration to hide this today. A few riders look my way as I make my way slowly down the hall towards the stairs, a slight limp in my step. I was essentially walking like I was crossing the parapet. Each step thought out and planned to stop the pain becoming too much for me to bear.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder as I enter the dining hall, clamping my mouth shut to stop the gasp of pain that threatens to escape. “Thanks for stepping in last night, I heard it went well.” Garrick’s familiar voice says next to me.

”Yeah, it went great.” I say, my voice tense, before roughly shoving his hand from my shoulder before walking as fast as I can to grab some fruit before heading to my first class.

”Is everything ok?” He says, quickly catching up to me in a few steps.

I look up at him and give him a tight lipped smile as I grab the apples. “Everything’s great.”

Something in my tone or face must tell him not to follow me. Normally he would. But all I feel is his eyes staring at my back as I do my best to walk away normally. I know he knows something is up. Hell, we were sent to the same foster home after the rebellion. He knew me better than anyone else here. There’s no way he doesn’t think my behaviour is off.

The next time I see him is battle brief. His eyes lighting up as soon as I walk in. His hand waving me over as it always does. I don’t miss the scowl that forms on his face as I remove my eyes from his, instead choosing to stand at the opposite end of the room with some of my squad. A spot I never go to. Even my squad mates look at me funny as I join them, noting the unusual behaviour.

”He needs to know”. My dragon drawls in my head.

”No. It’s better he doesn’t. I’ll be fine in a few days.” I retort.

”You nearly died. If I didn’t catch you-”

”But you did. So he doesn’t need to know.” I say, cutting them off before slamming my shield up.

I feel their attempts to get through. Each attempt getting closer to breaking through, but I put all my focus into keeping them up. I feel them huff down the bond before their attempts stop. My shoulders sagging in relief as I can shift my full focus off keeping them up. But I quickly find out why my dragon's attempts stop. The feeling of being watched washing over me. I turn my head and meet the piercing gaze of Garrick. Garrick who is pissed. So pissed that the other third years around him take a step back. Even Xaden.

”You told Chradh?!?” I snap down the bond.

”Yes, because he needs to know.” They snap back.

”No he doesn’t.”

”Well he does now.”*

I curse at them down the bond, but it's too late. My anger hitting a very solid wall as they raise their own shields. Great. The rest of the class all I can notice is Garrick staring at me down the line of riders standing at the back of the room, even with me facing the front of the room. All I can feel is his eyes on me. His eyes assess me for the damage I know he’s been told about. As Devera calls the end of class I do my best to make a run for it as Garrick starts pushing down the line of riders. I hear him behind me telling other rider’s to move out of this way, no doubt shoving some of them too. I barely get a few steps outside the door before his hand grasps my bruised arm turning me around to face him, a loud yelp escaping my lips that has him releasing his grip on me instantly.

”Why didn’t you say anything?” He nearly yells at me, the riders leaving Battle Brief scurrying away as fast as they can.

”Because it’s noth-”

”It is not nothing!” His voice echoes off the walls as he cuts me off, everyone stopping to stare at us now.

Garrick and I just stare at each other. His chest heaving as he breathes heavily. I can tell it’s taking a lot of self control to keep himself from yelling at me. His tell tale jaw tick catching me eye. His eyes quickly scan the hall and all the cadets staring at us. This was not the place to be talking about what had happened. Yes third years were allowed out at night and often got sent out for patrols, but last night wasn’t exactly a sanctioned patrol.

He quickly grasps my hand in his, probably wanting to avoid grabbing a part of me that could be bruised before dragging me out of the building. I struggle to keep up with him. Pain flaring in my body as I stumble after him. Eventually we come to a stop in front of the Gauntlet. With all first years now bonded to dragons and flight classes today, there was no chance of someone finding us out here. Garrick releases my hand, pacing back and forth as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Clearly still pissed and trying to process what he’s been told by Chradh.

”I’m f-”

Garrick comes to a sudden stop in front of me, his head snapping towards me, his gaze filled with such intensity that it has me taking a cautious step back.

”Don’t you dare say you’re fine!” He growls out as he takes a step towards me. “You nearly died last night and you didn’t think to tell me! You can barely walk!”

”But I didn’t. They caught me.” I say gesturing up to the flight field.

”And what if they didn’t!” His voice fuelled with an emotion I have never heard come from Garrick. An emotion that has my heart skip a beat.

Pain and fear. Garrick’s voice is laced with pain and fear. As are his eyes that have me pinned to the spot.

”We’re dragon riders. We die all the time.” I retort, my own voice shaking slightly with fear.

”I’m aware! But it doesn’t mean I’d be able to deal with you dying. Especially if it was because of me sending you out on a mission.”

”Every time you send one of us out we could die.” I say as I take a slow step forward, wincing as pain shoots up my side again. “Why is this time any different? Since when do you care what happens to a rider you send out?”

”Because it’s you! Because I couldn’t handle it if you died!”

I stumble backwards, my mouth opens to protest, but the words die on my tongue as Garrick's lips meet mine in a fierce, desperate kiss. My mind goes blank, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind, consumed by the passion of the moment. I lose myself in the kiss, every thought, every worry evaporating in the heat of his touch. My hands come up to clutch at his shoulders, anchoring myself to him as he claims my mouth with a possessive fervour. I feel his fingers thread through my hair, tightening in a way that makes me shiver. A small whimper escapes my lip as pain shoots up my side, causing Garrick to break the kiss to make sure I’m ok. He’d clearly forgotten my injuries in the moment, and the guilt is evident on his face. But as a grin spreads across my face, a giggle escaping my lips, he breathes a sigh of relief before chuckling.

”Despite how long I’ve been wanting to do that, and how much I want to keep going, we’re getting you healed first.” He says, trying to be stern. But there’s a slight giddiness to his voice he can’t hide.

”I’ll be f-”

”I swear to gods if you say you’re fine I will carry you over my shoulder to the healers quadrant.”

The warning is loud and clear, and I know Garrick will not hesitate to do that even if it would cause me pain. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for me. I purse my lips and nod at him before motioning to lead the way. I definitely owed my dragon an apology after that.

”You’re welcome.”

#fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #the fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #the empyrean #fourth wing imagine

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cafterdark · 11 months ago

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"What do you mean I'm being transferred!" You shout to your manager

"My supervisor has requested that you be transferred to the branch closer to her for more... direct communication." He says. His eyes are wide, a small tremor takes over his right hand. For a former Army NCO to be that scared, she must be something.

"Have I done anything wrong?" You say.

"No, in fact you've been the best worker here. That's why she wants you."

You pinch your nose. "Is there anyway out of this?"

"I'm afraid she's made it exceptionally clear that there isn't."

"Fine. What's the address."

"I'll write it down."

--------------------------

You arrive at the office the next morning. The first leaves on the trees are turning red. It's luckily a shorter commute than your old office, but you're still pissed. You had climbed up from the pit of internships into a cozy position and office. You were the first trans, no scratch that, woman to get into management. This was bullshit.

You step in. The front desk is empty. You sit down and wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, a blonde worker passes by. The first thing you notice is that her outfit is less than professional. She wears a skirt that barely goes below her legs. Her stockings hug her tights very tight. Her blouse is basically open, showing off her admittedly very beautiful tits in a pair of lingerie. If you weren't so pissed you'd be turned on. You're glad you wore slacks today.

"Hey," You call to her. "Do you know where..." You check the slip of paper in your hand. "Miss Maverne's office is?"

The woman looks at you. Her make up is ruined, lipstick smudged, mascara spilling down her face. Her hair is messy. You could swear that you can see the outlines of hands on the sides of her face. Her pupils eclipse her blue eyes. She looks as if she barely knew where she was. After a long pause of blank stares at you, she says, "Do you mean Mistress?"

"Uh..." You're paralyzed by the absurdity of the situation. Have you stumbled onto a porn set by accident?

After a long minute of the girl thinking where you could almost hear the AOL noises playing in her head, she perks up and says, "Oh, you must be new here! I'll take you to Mistress!"

Her hand shooks out and drags you through a set of doors and into the office. You look around. You see many workers with the same blown out eyes, dazed looks, and slutty office wear around you. All women. One of them is drooling at their desk while colors flash on their computer. You wonder what the hell is going on here. You arrive at a large set of doors. "Here she is!"

A secretary sits at a desk next to the doors. She's wearing what couldn't even be charitably called an outfit. Just a few strips of cloth prevent her from being fully nude. On the exposed parts are very visible hickies.

"I brought a new recruit for Mistress!" The blonde hair girl says

The secretary pouts "But Mistress isn't accepting anyone till..."

"That's quite alright secretary, thank you." A woman's voice says. You look to your right, then up. The woman is at least 6'2", and she's wearing heels. Her towering over you is an understatement. She is wearing the only proper work outfit of slacks, a blouse, and jacket. Still, there is an aura of lust around her, like she could wear anything and still look sexy in it. Two grey eyes pierce into your soul. She grins.

"You're both very good girls, you can leave now" She says. The two girls shutter and wander off. "Now, Miss Claire Hall, would you please step into my office."

You're led in and sit down in a very comfortable chair. Miss Maverne continues to look into your very soul and says

"You're probably wondering why you're here right now."

"Yeah I am, what the fuck is this?"

"This is your new office for the foreseeable future. I picked you because you're special. It's not often a woman rises the ranks of this business."

"Thanks?"

"Good Girl."

A blush strikes your cheeks. You're really glad you wore slacks today. That compliment shouldn't have hit that hard.

"Now did your old boss give you any information about your new position?"

"N...no" you stutter out, still in minor shock from the compliment. "Just the address and your name."

"Wonderful, well, you noticed that the front desk was empty right?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll be working as the receptionist there."

"What!" The rage breaks through your flustered mind like a hammer. "May I remind you that I have years of experience in programming, administration, planning, and managing under my belt?"

"So does every other worker here. You might've been a big fish in a little pond there, but here you're puny, and you'll start where you deserve." She stands up, and you can't help but internalize her words a small bit. Still your indignation burns it.

"I'm leaving. I don't deserve this humiliation." You get up and walk to the door.

"Stop." You freeze stiff.

"Walk back." You walk back.

"Sit and stare into my eyes." You sit back down into the extremely comfortable chair and stare up into her eyes. They looked grey before but now hints of green and blue scatter in. You can't help but dive into them, trying to discover their true color. It feels like you're sinking deeper and deeper into an ocean of warm homey

"Aren't my eyes pretty?" She says.

"Yuh." The words don't move right and come out wrong.

"Don't you want to keep having the privilege to stare into my eyes?" Her voice is so beautiful.

This time the words don't even come out, you just nod.

She pulls out a contract and pen. "Then sign this."

You grab the pen but it falls out of your hand. "Oops! Let me help." She says in that musical voice. She takes the pen and places it in your hand, then pulls it to the paper. She guides it into a passable signature, then smiles.

"Good Girl." You shutter.

"Right, so first things first, your breast enhancement surgery is next week."

Sanity floats up above the honey ocean. "What?"

"And that outfit is not approved. At least the four top buttons of your blouse must be unbuttoned. Pants are not allowed, only skirts that are above the mid thigh."

"Excuse me?"

"It's all in your contract."

"I didn't sign this!"

"Is that not in fact your signature on the paper?"

You look down and see a perfect replica of your signature. Fury boils in you.

"Fuck that! I'm leaving!" You get up.

"Where are you going Miss Hall?"

"Escaping this sex cult."

"Miss Hall, this is your 90 day review."

"What do you mean, I've only been here for..." You look out the window, it's snowing. You look down at your new pair of tits. Your blouse barely holds them. A cold breeze tickle your thighs. "What have you done to me?"

"Nothing." She says. "Now sit and listen." You crumble back into your chair.

"Now, both staff and guests have highly rated your performance with them in the last 90 days. You've really proven to be a capable fit for your position."

You feel heat building up in you and you don't know why.

"Good Girl." She says. Those two words hit like a truck. You almost moan. She smiles. She's smiling... about you! Excitement flutters in your chest. Wait.

"Something's wrong."

"What's wrong, Ms Cumdump?" Mistress says "Is it something you'd like to bring up for your 6 month review?"

"That name for a start, that's not my name."

Mistress sighs. "This again... Then what name would it be?"

"You know what it is it's..." You pause. Why can't you remember your name? You dig in deep but find nothing. Why can't you remember your name?

"Don't overwork that pathetic little brain of yours sweety." Mistress says. "Just check your name tag."

Oh right! It's that easy. Mistress is so smart. You look down and see your uniform. Lingerie with the required derogatory text sharpied across your body. You pull up your lanyard and read "Hypnoslut Cumdump, Receptionist and Fucktoy."

Ah, it was that easy. Wait, weren't you just in a blouse? You look up to Mistress. God she's so tall when you're on your knees. The hot late summer air sticks to your nude body. It's not amazing but receptionists aren't allowed to wear clothes and the rules are the rules. You stare into Mistress's pretty eyes and she stands and looks down at you. Mistress says

"Is there anything you want to tell me before we begin your first year performance test, Ms Cumdump?"

You try to think of what you were going to say. But your brain is soooooooooo empty that you can't remember. Probably about how beautiful she is. Yeah, that's it.

"You're sooooooooo pretty Mistress." You say.

She smiles. "Thank you, now..." She unzips her slacks and pulls out her massive cock. You're already drooling. She stands there, taunting you with it, before saying "Begin."

You take the cock into your mouth and begin worshiping it like a good fucktoy does. You hit the spot you know she's sensitive to. Mistress shutters and grabs your hair. "Good Girl." She says. You could've cum in the spot to those words if only she gave you permission. Before you could even question it, she pulls you in, and you're lost to your work.

--------------------------

Inspired by @anarqueeen :)

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catherine-sketches · 6 months ago

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I love how, with the way Full Moon went down, it makes the previous Fizzarozzie episodes serve as a great point of contrast.

It was not just “expanding Fizz and Ozzie character/relationship” episodes, it was also “this imp and high ranking demon love story is a narrative foil for our main imp and high ranking demon love story because Fizz and Ozzie actually TALK to each other while miscommunication runs rampant in the Blitz and Stolas corner” episodes.

Fizz is open about his insecurities, his broken horns, his fears. He has no problem vocalizing his feelings to Ozzie and he trusts him implicitly (hello hugging a fire demon while your limbs were lost in a fire because you KNOW that he would never burn you I’m still not over that)

Ozzie is over there using “I” statements (“I don’t like this” and “I don’t appreciate that” and “I think this is has gone way to far”) and trying his best to be clear of his support for Fizz even if he doesn’t like the whole pageant thing and making sex toys with his lover’s face on them.

(I’m a firm believer on the “Ozzie had a formal contract with Mammon to make the Fizzbots/Sex Fizzy™️ products making it everlastingly binding, and as long as Fizzy was the winner of the pageant and Mammons brand baby he couldn’t just stop production and tell Mam to fuck off. Meaning that it was up to Fizz to stop the whole thing by severing ties with Mammon. Which he did!)

And now in the new episode Fizz and Ozzie are work partners! They are designing toys together! Fizz is thriving and more carefree than we ever saw him before.

Meanwhile Stolitz have to learn (both of them) how to properly communicate with each other because GOD they do such a bad job of walking on the other’s shoes that it’s making my heart hurt

#helluva boss #full moon #blizø #helluva boss blitz #stolas #stolitz #fizzarolli #asmodeus #helluva boss asmodeus #fizzmodeus #fizzarozzie #these bitches have to learn how to TALK #COMMUNICATION 101 #TALKING WITH YOUR PARTNER FOR DUMMIES #you library is vast Stolas I bet those books are in there #M&M will probably buy Blitz his copies and shove them up his ass until he learns

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inbarfink · 7 months ago

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Ace Attorney Lawyers Ranked By Their Abilities in Physical Combat

Winston Payne: I’m pretty sure the average Tumblr user could kill Winston Payne with their bare hands.

Sebastian DeBeste: Look, the only reason why this wimp ranks higher than Payne is because he is so sopping wet pathetic that there is a significant chance that his opponent will just start feeling bad about kicking his ass and punch themself in the face instead.

Klavier Gavin: While Klavier is a physically fit young man who is known to keep his cool in extreme situations, he is also a giant law-abiding nerd who has never thrown a punch at anything that isn’t an inanimate wall. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to shove this guy into a locker.

Miles Edgeworth: Look, Miles is an even bigger locker-worthy nerd than Klavier. Anytime anyone, friend or foe, suggests a violent solution he just gets freaked out and begs for them to follow procedures. And no AA Lawyer is more easily thrown off his rhythm and startled than he is. He might have some bulk under the magenta and frills (or at least some impressive leg muscles from climbing 12 flights of stairs every day for like seven years), but he has no idea or will to actually use them in a fight. However, he did try and stare down a man who was aiming a gun at his back that one time and managed to keep his cool throughout all of this.

So like, he’d probably talk a big game and try and intimidate his opponent into not engaging - but if that won’t work he will get his ass thoroughly whooped. And then he’d try to sue them, which is what his threats were about all along.

Apollo Justice: Actually a considerable step up in power-levels from the previous ones. Apollo might be smol, but he is Done With Your Shit and this gives him Strength. Not to mention that one time he successfully tanked an explosion. His famous Chords of Steel can also serve as a tactic to confuse or weaken his enemies.

Kristoph Gavin: Although he is primarily known for his schemes and poisoning, he did kill a man with a single blow to the forehead with a bottle, showing he does have some decent upper-body-strength to use in a fight. And being known as ‘the Coolest Defense in the West’ means he can keep his calm even during hectic combat. But he’s also very pretentious and his constant pontifications might just be the perfect opportunity for someone to smash his face in.

Blaise Debeste: Okay, look, is Blaise a scary tall man who successfully stabbed a woman to death with a candelabra and constantly carries around a deceptively-powerful lighter and has like, implied, motorcycle gang background? Yes. But also I think anyone who encounters Blaise Debeste face-to-face is overcome with such bloodlust rage that it might give them an edge in the battle against him.

Mia Fey: Mia ranks fairly high on the Battle Scale considering the one time she was faced with a violent altercation she just tried to escape and it… didn’t end well.

However, in the two times we get to play as her it’s also clear that she wants to Punch. All of the Things. While Apollo is fueled by being Done With Your Shit, Mia has righteous anger - so I think in a situation where she is actually prepared to do battle she would be able to throw a few decent punches. Also assuming we are talking about Mia while she was still alive, there’s also her Spirit Channeling powers to account for. While we’ve never seen them on screen, Maya told us they are “first rate” and I believe her. Maybe she could channel the spirit of a great warrior to try and get an edge in combat?

Manfred Von Karma: While he also has the same Bloodlust-Inducing-Factor as Blaise, and he does seem less physically fit even though they’re about the same age - I feel like his cane could do more serious damage than Blaise’s lighter. And he has that dangerous fucking Stun Gun on him to easily neutralize opponents. Plus, he did tank that one gunshot he got in the shoulder. Manfred’s opponents might have Rage on their side, but also you cannot underestimate the power of his sheer Spite.

Godot: On one hand, Godot has shown an ability to keep his cool in very dangerous situations. He can smash a coffee cup with his bare hands and barely react, showing that he’s decently strong and resilient to pain. And he is yet another proud (?) member of the exclusive “Lawyers With a Body Count Club”. And while stabbing a waifish, 155cm college student (and part time-poisoner) in the back isn’t exactly the most epic demonstration of battle prowess in the history of Anime Lawyers - he did it (and moved the body and doctored the crime scene and prosecuted in court) while tanking a knife slash in his face, showing his pain-resilience once again, as well as general tenacity that would also be useful in battle. Also, he can summon an infinite amount of hot coffee mugs at will, which must make for a decent improvised long-ranged attack.

On the other hand, his health is also heavily implied to be deteriorating and that he’s basically dying over the course of the final case… possibly due to all of that physical exhaustion. If a fight goes longer than just a single backstab, I feel like these health complications are gonna harm Godot’s performance.

Phoenix Wright: Okay, so this is actually the hardest one to place. I keep flip-flopping on where to put him, especially compared to Mia, and Apollo. Because unlike most other lawyers currently ranked below him, he is a disaster when it comes to being on the offensive; Phoenix Wright is a total wimp who has never returned a punch in his life. However, he is also almost supernaturally durable, unbelievably lucky and deceptively strong. If a solid iron door, a raging freezing river and a speeding car didn’t manage to take him down, what chance does a fellow human, even a more combat-capable one, have???

Calisto Yew: She’s not even a real-lawyer! She’s a Secret Spy who successfully pretended to be a Lawyer for years! She’s got a gun, she’s got a knife, she's got crossbow bolt as hair decorations, she probably has some combat training from her time in Interpol… While she’s clearly more specialized for espionage and infiltration, and not as physically strong as Lang, she’s still got an impressive advantage over most of the regular people who went to Law School. In fact, her skill with barefaced lies and manipulation might also be a skill she could use in a fight to catch her opponent off-guard.

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: Nahyuta is, in fact, one of the few AA Lawyers to canonically participate in what I would unambiguously call a ‘fight’ (rather than a ‘murder’), when he single-handedly disarmed and apprehended a Defiant Dragon rebel in the sorta-canon ‘Spirit of Justice’ Prologue video.

Like, that rebel guy probably isn't the world's greatest warrior, but the Defiant Dragons have been around for enough time to give their members at least some basic self-defense/combat skills… more so than the average lawyer on this list at minimum. And Nahyuta very easily crab-stomped him. Showing that he has strong nerves, some amazing reflexes and the martial art skills to knock a man unconscious with a single blow. Not to mention the seemingly supernatural skills with his prayer beads, which he already uses as a sort of ‘weapon’ in court. Also that... thing he did to Apollo's bracelet that one time.

Nahyuta might be just straight-up Magic, that's pretty OP.

Franziska von Karma: Look, Franziska might not have official martial-arts, guns, or Literal Magic Powers - but what she does have is sheer determination and force or personality. Franziska von Karma has been intimidating grown men since she was a 149 cm tall 13 years old with a riding crop (I mean, one of those men was Miles, but still…..). She had once whipped Phoenix Wright into unconsciousness in a temper tantrum, and like I already mentioned that taking him down is quite a feat. She is also very resilient - while the shot to her shoulders was designed not to kill her, being up back on her feet doing investigation stuff a day after is still very impressive! Her whip might not be as dangerous as a sword or a gun, but she will not relent until she defeats you.

Simon Blackquill: Let me just give it to you straight, Simon Blackquill is 1.88 meter tall, he owns a katana and a trained attack-hawk (giving him both short range and far range advantage), he can break solid metal chains with his bare hands, he can cut your hair halfway across the room with a feather. Not to mention how he could probably use the whole psychological manipulation in battle to intimidate or goad his enemy. There’s not even a lot of funny or interesting points to bring up, he is literally an action movie character who just happens to also be a lawyer.

Athena Cykes: Athena Cykes is the strongest lawyer. One day, she’ll be stronger than whales. I believe in her.

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gghostwriter · 4 months ago

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Can I request a Lil fluff with the team (mainly Spence) where the reader had a massive potty mouth (like they're from a country that isn't so harsh about swearing, England, Australia, New Zealand?) But she's all very professional when need be but when talking with the team she's cursing up a storm (maybe the terms "good cunt" and "shit cunt" turn up?

Good cunt means someones great, amazing

Shit cunt meaning well someone's bad) and Spence gets anxious but she reassures him that she's not swearing AT him but more making sure her words hit to where they need to go?

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader Trope: Friends who Flirt (?) ; Fluff just fluff! w.c: 0.9k Warning: CM violence; citizenship inaccuracies idk A/N: Apologies again that this took a while! I am not from Australia so I had to search up some more slangs to use for this. I hope I did it justice and I had fun writing this, Anon! Thank you for requesting 💗 Main masterlist

Down Under. // Spencer Reid

It wasn’t your fault the Americans didn’t have ‘swearing’ programmed in their DNA. It was although your fault why you ended up in the FBI—receiving looks and eyebrow raises from the team—rather than in a bustling city of your homegrown country in the southern hemisphere, Australia.

But you really couldn’t blame yourself now could you? The idea of giving up your citizenship to be a part of the illustrious BAU was too good to pass up. So you packed your bags, entered the FBI Academy, and passed with flying colors—nearing perfect that David Rossi pulled ranks just to get you in the team even with how green you still were.

“So what do we have?” you asked, rounding into the conference room with Spencer in tow.

“Sadly, my precious koala, we have murder,” Penelope answered with the remote in her hand, flashing the photographs of numerous mutilated bodies. “Jacksonville, Florida reported a series of killings over the past month and it’s not looking pretty. Each victim had been dumped in alley ways and all missing a toe.”

JJ slightly reeled back. “Well, that’s a new type of trophy.”

“It’s not very common,” Spencer backed up. “Jerome Brudos, ‘the Shoe Fetish Slayer’ is the only known serial killer that kept a foot trophy from his first victim. He was only named as such because of his disturbing foot fetish and collection of women’s shoe catalogs that he considered as pornographic material.”

“Ah a shit cunt,” you remarked, making Spencer shift on his seat to look at you with inquiry.

“Y/N,” Emily warned. “Alright, wheels up in thirty.”

———

The case file was too thin for the team’s liking. How was it that a serial killer with five, possibly six, victims under his belt only had a couple of pages on it and with incomplete identifications and no missing or initial reports done.

“Emily, is this it?” Luke waved the slim folder up in the air. “I mean, I know the victims were all homeless but damn. Did they even walk and ask around?”

She sighed. “I called it in and the only reason we were invited is due to the upcoming elections.”

“Bogan coppers are they? Why doesn’t that surprise me at the least,” you scoffed

“Matt and Luke, you’ll visit the last location of the body—” Emily instructed before turning to the rest of the team. “JJ, coordinate with the media to get them to cooperate. Y/N and Reid, talk to the forensics. Rossi and I will settle base at the station.”

A series of hums and agreements echoed throughout the compact jet before settling into a lull.

Spencer shifted on his seat, turning to face you who was busy shifting through the papers. “Hey, in the office you—“ he cleared his throat. “said a phrase, what did it mean?”

You turned slightly, noting his nervous gaze. “You mean ‘shit cunt’?”

He nodded.

“It means someone bad, low life, scum of the earth—wait, you don’t think I meant you, right?”

“What—no, no!” He sighed, having spied your raised eyebrow. “Well, maybe? I didn’t know what it meant so I don’t know.”

You giggled. “Spence, if I was going to describe you it would be—pardon my French, good cunt.”

“For someone so tiny, you sure do curse a lot,” Rossi interjected.

“What can I say, us from down under just have colorful vocabulary,” you shrugged.

———

The team was finally back in home base after five days in the sweltering heat of Florida and you couldn’t feel any more tired than this moment as you waited for your sister to come pick you up. Granted you could taken the last train ride home but you just didn’t trust yourself to not miss your stop plus she volunteered so you hastily agreed—never one to say no.

“I think I’ll wait until your sister arrives for you,” Spencer volunteered, taking your go bag out of your hands.

“I am an FBI agent, Dr. Reid,” you teased. “Perfectly capable of taking care of myself”

“And I don’t disagree! I’ve seen you take down Luke in training and shoot multiple unsubs but you look dead to your feet.”

You blushed, grateful that the night made it less obvious. “So are you my knight in shining armor then?”

He cleared his throat, holding on to your gaze. “I could be.”

You sucked in a breath.

The temperature between you suddenly felt hot. Did that mean what you think it meant? Did that mean he liked you too? You opened your mouth to ask but was interrupted by a car halting to a stop in front of you.

It was your sister, what rotten timing.

“Oh please, stop caking and get in before I get ticketed or better yet make it worth it and just pash already!” She shouted through the rolled down window.

“Caking? Pash?” Spencer repeated.

“Well—I have to go. Thanks for keeping me safe, Spence.”

He stops you on your tracks, holding to your hand. “Wait what do those two words mean?”

You laughed, squeezing his hand in return, and felt a sudden burst of confidence. “Come find me when you figure it out.”

With a wink, you left Spencer dumbfounded and dazed on the sidewalk.

Some notes: Bogan - an uncouth or unsophisticated person Coppers - policemen Caking - flirting Pash - passionate kiss

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer Reid one shot #Spencer Reid oneshot #Spencer Reid fluff #Spencer Reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer reid

362 notes · View notes

luminiamore · 4 months ago

Text

CORPORATE ESPIONAGE.

synopsis: in a world where vampires run powerful corporations, satoru gojo is a high-ranking ceo and a highly respected vampire. you, working for his rival corporation, are sent to infiltrate satoru's company and steal valuable secrets. it didn’t take long for him for to catch you, and he’s not gonna let you go so easily.

warnings: vampire satoru x black reader, enemies to lovers kinda? vampires use compulsion, wall sex, office sex, eater toru

——-

“You want me to what?”

You manage to break the demeaning silence in your boss’s dimly lit office with your sharp voice. Your breath was erratic, almost enraged by the words that had just come out of his mouth. The fucking audacity to even ask this of you.

He groans, shaking his head as he buries his hands in them, “Spy on Kisetsu no Bi.”

Oh. So, you weren’t hearing things. He really expects you to do this- spy on the rival company. Isn’t that a crime somewhere? This is illegal, right? I mean, what kind of boss even asks this of their highest-paid employee? No. No way.

“If this wasn’t important, I wouldn’t have asked- especially because I know how much effort you put in-”

You scoff, “So, this is the thanks I get? A crazy request to do something illegal? I’m not a fucking-”

“This isn’t a request, ( ♥︎ ). It’s either you do it, or you’re out of a job; that’s final.” His voice gets lower in pitch, and you don’t even flinch when he slams his hands on the table, baring his fangs at you in a chilling hiss.

You stay in your spot by the door and allow the silence to simmer. He should know better than to raise his voice at you, even if he were your boss. His heavy breathing was all that could be heard. When he saw the furious expression on your face, he quickly sat back in his chair. Realizing this was not the right approach, he attempted to find another angle.

He clears his throat, “My bad, that was rude. I deeply respect you ( ♥︎ ), and you’re among the few people I trust. That’s why I’m asking for your help with this, for this company.”

You still don’t say a word, but at least a thousand thoughts are circling in your pretty head. Even so, you move slowly towards the chair in front of his table and sit down, crossing one of your brown legs over the other. You adjust your white blouse, covering the accidental peak of your black bra. A slight shift of your head lets him know that you are listening.

He grumbles, eyes trying to stay focused on your face and not your plump body, “You know our rival company is owned by a man named Satoru Gojo. We have always been second to that arrogant bastard, but if we—”

“By which you mean me.”

You watch Toji roll his eyes, “If you could find something, anything that could ruin him, it’ll finally put us on top.”

It sounds reasonable- to a large extent, but could you even get away with this? What if you get caught? What if the media covers this? Could it ruin you?. It’ll plummet this company to the ground. Though Toji may be second right now, he’s still highly respected, even overseas. Almost on the level Satoru is.

“Why don’t you hire a professional? Someone who actually knows how to do this might work better in your favor.” You mutter out.

At this point, you’ll create any excuse to get out of this.

“Everyone knows who I am, you can’t trust anyone to not spread it to the media- no matter how much you pay them.”

“Won’t he know who I am? I mean, I’ve worked here for like 4 years.”

A tired smile graces his face, “You work from home, sweetheart. You only come in once every month, 3 weeks if I’m lucky.”

“What if I get caught? Respectfully, this is insane, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your face twists into an exasperated expression. You didn’t sign up to be no damn spy.

A loud groan breaks you out of your thoughts, “Christ, I’ll triple your pay. Whether you get the job done or fail, you’ll be compensated for it.” There it is. Suddenly, doing this job didn’t sound too horrible. You try to fight the smile on glossed lips, but your boss can see right through you.

“Yeah? I should’ve started with that.” He chuckles.

This time, you roll your eyes, “Whatever. Quadruple it for raising your grown man voice at me.”

“Sure. You’re obviously going under a different name. I have your documents right here, and they contain everything you’ll need.” You watch him pull out a thick folder from under his desk.

When he hands it to you, you’re more than surprised at how much he put into this. There’s a fat document that explains your entire new persona. …Kami Smith? Really? There’s a fake Id, he even went got you a fucking passport. How long did he plan to drag this out? “Maybe change your hair a little bit, you never know if someone might recognize you anyway.”

“I change my hair every week, Mr. Fushiguro. How am I even gonna get a job there?”

He hums, pretending to ponder over your question, “You’re a pretty girl. Don’t get pissed, but apart from how smart you are, it’s the reason you got a job here.”

You narrow your eyes, and he winces, noticing immediately, “I said not to get pissed.”

“Is that all, boss?” You rise from your seat, ignoring his words. With another roll of your eyes, the yellow folder is clutched tightly in your left hand.

Though you want to pretend you’re thinking this over, you know you have no choice but to go through with this. At least you’ll be getting paid, and you don’t have much of a social life to worry about being on the media anyway. You just really hope you don’t go to court over this.

“That’s all, ( ♥︎ ). Be careful, yeah?” Toji jerks his head over to you, though subtle, genuine concern covering his features. It makes you smile, feel giddy even. Sue you for thinking your boss is hot.

You give him a pretty smile and a nod. Toji listens as your kitten heels clack on his tile floors, his eyes never once leaving your frame in that tight pencil skirt. He hates to see you go, but he loves to watch you leave.

He snaps his head up when your voice calls out once more, “Have a good night, Mr. Fushiguro.”

And with the soft click of his door, he’s alone in his office again. He huffs out a breath, spewing curses under his breath, when he accidentally nicks his lower lip on his sharp fang. “Damn.”

——

It turns out your boss was right. You are a pretty girl. Therefore, it didn’t take long for you to get an interview at his rival company, 2 days to be exact. You were rather impressionable, too, so much so that Satoru wanted to interview you himself.

Nervous was an understatement. Could you really pull this off? You never had a liking for Satoru. He was arrogant, self-centered, and a womanizer if the headlines weren’t so obsessed with him. You never met him, but you’ve seen enough online interviews for you to absolutely hate his personality.

His best friend and partner company is more tolerable, though. Even though he looks aloof and nonchalant, you could tell he’s just as arrogant - maybe even more than his white-haired companion. You pretended not to notice his piercing gaze the entire time you walked past him to the elevator, the one leading straight to the top of the skyscraper.

Your outfit was nothing short of professional— a tight dark grey skirt encompassing your wide hips and your burgundy Hermes Porosus bag hanging on the shoulder of your cream silk blouse. Your rouge heels clack on the tile floor with each step you take to the large white office, which the receptionist told you was at the end of the hall.

You lift your soft hands into a fist, and right before you’re about to knock, the door swings open. And lo and behold, there he is.

Satoru Gojo, in all his glory.

The top two buttons of his dress shirt are loose, and you have to fight for your eyes not to waver down to sneak a glance at his porcelain chest. He was attractive, you’re not stupid enough to try and deny that. His eyes had a pretty crystalline glow. They were penetrating- you felt like he knew everything about you with just one look. His hair was frosty, and it looked so... soft.

It was quick, a heated vision of your fingers running through them, tugging and—

“Enjoying the view, angel?”

You blink quickly, snapping your eyes away from his face when you cause a smirking dancing across his lips. Great, he caught you staring. “No. I’m here for our interview, for the job?”

His grin widens, and with a snicker, you hear, “You sure? Could’ve sworn you were drooling a bit there.”

“I was not.” You snap.

Satoru hums, obviously unconvinced, “You’re Kami, hm?”

Your loose curls shake as you nod. It was impossible not to notice- or overanalyze- the way he spoke. Almost like he was doubtful or suspicious of you even. Maybe you’re just overthinking it. There’s no way he already suspects you. Part of you thinks you’re also nodding to convince yourself of your inner turmoil.

He opens the door a little to let you in. An electric surge flows through your body when your arms graze his shoulder because he simply won’t budge until you completely come inside. He leads you to a soft couch with a swift grasp of your hand. As his fingers rub back and forth on your muscles, you can’t help but wonder if he does this to every new potential hire.

The room suddenly feels hot, and you find yourself slightly grateful when he breaks the silence as he’s rounding his own chair, “Where ya from, angel?”

You ignore the tingling in your stomach at the nickname “New York.”

Your answer is immediate. You and your best friend spent an entire day going over the document until you memorized everything. You covered all grounds. You're sure you can answer any question he throws at you about your background.

Another low hum as you watch him click away on his computer, “So, why are you looking for a job in Tokyo?”

“I decided to take my business degree oversees, I needed a new change of scenery.”

If you were pressed on the actual reason for your visit to Japan years ago, you would not be capable of giving an answer. Your memory has a gap between before and after you came. All you really remember is waking up in a Japanese penthouse with at least a million yen in your bank account.

Satoru abruptly stops his typing and leans back in his chair, his attention now and utterly focused on you. “You know, getting an interview here is not easy.”

Internally, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Yes, Mr. Gojo. Which is why I’m very grateful for this opportunity.”

The silence following your sentence is so loud you could hear a pin drop. It makes you shift your position on the couch, and Satoru doesn’t grant you the mercy of not noticing. His low eyes actually don’t leave your frame once. They move from your thighs to your lips, to the fat of your supple breasts, and finally to your neck. It goes straight to your core, and you can’t stand it.

You clear your throat, “I can explain my-”

“You’re hired.”

You blink, once. Twice.

“I-uh- what?” A sputter in your words makes him stifle a chuckle at your perplexed state. You’re too cute.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he repeats, “The position you wanted? It’s yours, angel.”

There’s that pet name again. “Just like that? You haven’t even asked me five questions.”

Was it that simple? His tone and quickness make you question whether there are cameras in this place. Too many red flags go off in your head, but you don’t seem to notice that brewing gut feeling in your stomach.

Satoru nodded, his smile almost blinding with how wide it was, “Don’t need to. You’re gonna be working in the office next to mine.”

This is convenient. It’s way too convenient.

“Next to yours?” You whisper as if trying to make sense of this, and the tall man in front of you finds heavy amusement in your reactions.

“Next to mine, angel. That won’t be a problem, yes?”

He’s toying with you. He has to be. A fake smile graces your face, “Of course not. When do I start, Mr. Gojo?”

Satoru had no idea how much he had missed you until he saw you again. Changing your hair, growing into your body, or getting a few more piercings were irrelevant to him. He would always recognize you. How is it that you’re even more beautiful? Even more delectable. He hates himself for leaving you and protecting you in the worst way possible. You don’t even remember him— how could you? He compelled you to forget him.

He doesn’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve been seeing, or what you’ve been doing. But he saw you, overseeing the admissions director when they pulled up your application. He couldn’t help but think, is this fate?

“Today. Let me give you a tour, angel.” Satoru isn’t letting you go a second time. He lost you once, and he’d be a fool to do it again after this opportunity presented itself to him. How I missed you, my love.

——

Two weeks. That’s how long it took you to actually start your task in the first place. That’s because the owner of this company won’t leave you alone for a damn minute. Everywhere you go, he’s right behind you. Every time you try and get a minute to yourself, he’s there— pestering you.

The workplace was crowded, but one of the perks of being next to Satoru’s office was being away from the crowd. You tried observing when he leaves for lunch, but whenever he does, he demands that you take your lunch with him. He’s a busy man; you anticipate that he takes as many meetings as Toji does in a day, maybe even more. But for each one, you were requested to accompany him.

At this point, you’re starting to think he’s obsessed with you.

Today, you have a chance. Satoru hasn’t been in the office since this morning, and amid the daily gossip, you caught word that he won’t be in the office all day. This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for; you just have to wait until everyone leaves by five.

4:55 P.M.

Your door creaks slightly after two soft knocks, “Hey, Kami! I’m leaving for tonight. Since you’re the only person in the office, you mind locking up?”

Shoko was always a kind person. She was one of the few people you spoke to every day when Satoru wasn’t corning you. You stop typing and glance at the gorgeous girl with a grin, “Not at all, you can just leave the keys on the door. Night, Shoko!”

The final ding of the elevator is what you wait for to get up from your seat. Even though you’re the only person here, you still try to make your movements as quiet as possible. You don’t question why Satoru doesn’t have a security code or why it’s open at all, but you are thankful for it.

His office is more.. organized than the last time you were in here. There are storage cabinets stacked on both the wall and his desk, as well as a bookshelf. You’re fast at getting to work. Starting near his wall, you open the first cabinet and shuffle through each folder. Blood supply contracts... NDAs.. employee files.. property deeds.

Nothing of importance is there, so your heels lightly clack on the way to his wooden desk. When you open it, the first thing you notice is a folder called The Red Files. Here it is, exactly what you were searching for. This file is stuffed with everything that could put him out of business permanently— money laundering, the files of all the individuals who were bribed and corrupted by this company, and even embezzlement.

You can hear a buzzing going off on your phone, and you’re confused when you read that it’s Toji calling you. He could have been phoning to check on your progress, but regardless, you decline and continue reading. The more you scan, the more you find illegal activities on top of illegal activities.

What the fuck kind of company is this—

“Find anything interesting in there, angel?”

You gasp, shoving the papers into his desk shelf instinctively as you stand up from your position on the floor. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re so fucked.

You try to stammer out a response, but it’s honestly embarrassing how you’re tripping over your words, “M-Mr. Gojo? I— what?”

His slim body rests on his open door, his gaze unwavering at your slightly quivering frame. He’s wearing a white dress shirt again, but when you look a little closer, you notice that more buttons are popped open. His skin is so smooth, it’s easy to tell where his abs start. Why did he have to be so fine?

He doesn’t seem upset if you’re going by the smile on his smooth face. He seems amused, rather. His voice is slow when he speaks to you, taunting sensual even, “Well? Did you, ( ♥︎ )?”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you’re certain that your breath has been taken away. Well, now you’re double fucked. You didn’t hear him, how did he even get here? Then you roll your eyes again at your ignorance. Vampire. Right.

“..I don’t know who that is, Mr. Gojo. My name is Kami.” Your voice is tense, awkward because… what could you even say? You’ll deny this as much as you can before you inevitably give in.

Satoru rolls his eyes, “Wrong. Your name is ( ♥︎ ) ( ♥︎ ), and you work for that idiot, Fushiguro.”

Now you’re sputtering as you respond, “That’s not-”

“You woke up in Japan a few years ago, too, didn’t you? No clue how it happened, but you had a pretty hefty amount in that bank account of yours.”

Silence. You believe you’re too stunned to speak. How does he know that? He could see the expression on your face, and it made him laugh at your expense. Satoru began walking towards you, and with every step he took forward, you took a step backward. Right up until your back hit the wall, and you had nowhere to go.

His proximity resulted in the scent of his cologne hitting your nose. He appeared more.. bigger in front of you, and you’re almost facing his almost bare chest. Those piercing eyes stare down at you intensely, with so much passion. You’re internally cursing yourself for how you seem to only have these reactions when he’s near you.

You breathe, “I- I have to leave.”

He ignores you and instead presses closer to you. As he leans down, his hair brushes against your cheek, and you hear him breathe deeply. The hotness of his breath when he breathes out is a pleasant sensation for you.

He has to remind himself that you don’t remember him, but he sounds so broken when he says, “You spying on me? Really, angel?”

Your thoughts are confusing, and with how many of them there are, it’s making your head hurt. Why is he saying it like that? Like he knows you? Like you really hurt him. This is your first time seeing this man, but he’s acting like he’s in love with you.

“Mr. Gojo-”

His fang grazes your neck, descending right down to your collarbone, “Satoru. Call me Satoru, angel.”

You’re gasping when his fingers grip your top, pulling and popping one button off. Why aren’t you stopping him? Why are you letting this happen? Your breath is shaky when you speak, “Will I get in trouble for this?”

“In trouble? You’re asking if I’ll take this to the media? Course not, Angel.”

Satoru quickly savored your blood flowing onto his tongue after a small peck to your throat and another one on your chest. You taste so fucking sweet, just like you did the first time.

He continues, “But I won’t let you off so easy. Let’s teach you a lesson, hm?”

Your back is arching in an uncomfortable position on your boss’s desk while your chest heaves from the sheer pleasure running through your entire body. On his knees, the white-haired man holds your thighs in a tight grip while his tongue slides up and down your gushing mound. You’re not sure what lesson you thought Satoru had in mind for you, but it definitely wasn’t this.

The same hair you’ve been fantasizing about running your fingers through is shaking from in between your trembling legs. There aren’t any coherent thoughts in your brain besides ‘Satoru’ or ‘more.’ You can’t hold back your sounds even if you try, and Satoru finds that he wants to hear more of your tunes.

He slurps, his long tongue easily slipping inside you and devouring everything you have to offer. “God, you still taste so good.”

You’re babbling when you respond, you don’t even register his words, “Oh! Yesss- Right there, Toru.”

You’re bucking your hips into his awaiting mouth, it’s so messy and wet. Each time you spasm and try to run away from his onslaught, it just makes him go harder- go faster. His tongue slipped out of you, but the pressure never went away because he quickly slid in two long, slender fingers and began pumping.

You choked, tears brimming in your eyes as he easily nudged your g-spot, “Always so messy, f’me.”

Always? A pitiful sob is the response you give to a sharp pressure on the side of your inner thigh, just where your fat lips meet. You tighten your grip on him when his tongue wraps around your twitching clit. As you’re huffing, tears begin to fall, and burning pressure builds in your core.

The way your hips are grinding against his hand and your arousal is making obscene noises in the quiet of the office are uncontrollable. He curls them, arching them at an angle to penetrate the deepest parts of you. And damn him for knowing how to eat it like this.

There’s a pulsing shock flowing through you with every squelching pump. Your body was filled with euphoria, and Satoru’s eyes were tightly closed, immersing himself in your essence- it was giving you sensory overload. The only thing keeping you grounded in reality at this moment is your harsh grip on his hair.

Satoru needed only three more strokes of his fingers to have your sweet cream covering him. You’re even messier when you cum, even louder, too- he always loved that about you.

“Such a pretty girl. You want more, angel? Want Toru to give you more?” He abruptly withdraws and slaps your dripping lips violently, causing you to scream and cry in his grasp. Instead of giving you an answer, Satoru presses his lips on yours in a furious manner, sucking up the air you breathe and eating every sigh that passes through your lips.

Your soft ass makes it easy for the desperate man to lift you up from the wooden desk with both hands. Your skirt is long gone, and your blouse is completely torn apart when you are pressed tightly against the wall.

Satoru grips your chin and puts your attention on him, “Look at me, angel.”

And with hazy eyes, you do. You experience a plethora of memories as your mind spins. Memories of you and Satoru on a silk bed, on a private plane. Memories of him lying on you and memories of his cock filling you up over and over again start coming back to haunt you when he utters the word ‘Remember.’

You blink rapidly, your mouth opening into a wanton moan when you feel Satoru’s thick tip slide past your entrance. Jesus, huge doesn’t even begin to describe him. Your hands are immediately pressing against his stomach, trying to push him back because it was entirely too much. He grips them both with one hand and effortlessly presses them above your head.

You’re almost distracted by the fact that you’re face-to-face with Satoru. Your Satoru. Your words are a mix of a dragged-out moan and a curious tone, “Toru?”

He is quick when he answers you, almost reassuring you that he’s here. With you, “Yeah, angel. S’me.”

His next words come out in a pained groan, “Come on, take some more f’me. You remember how to, right?”

You’re nodding before he can even finish his sentence, your trembling arms holding on for dear life around his neck as he presses his face into your chest. He’s pushing deeper inside you, and you find it hard to remember how to breathe when he slaps his hips against yours in one go. You’re wailing, breath heaving when you feel your arousal dripping down your thighs.

You’re so full, filled to the brim with 8 inches of fat dick. Satoru was a fucking problem; he doesn’t wait for you to tell him to move— pulls his cock at a slow, agonizing pace before he slaps against you once more. Your pretty pussy is on fire, and you swear you can feel him in your throat.

Satoru is stabbing your womb with each thrust, and he is so proud of you when you start pushing your pussy out. Yeah, you remember how to take him.

He’s panting against your mouth when you tremble out, “Missed you- missed you s’much, Toru.”

He groans, pressing his lips against you for another quick, sloppy kiss, “Oh, I missed you so much more, angel.”

The man above you was quick and precise with his movements. He was punching that spongy spot in you so good if you looked down, you’d be sure to see the creamy paste that started forming at the base of his cock. He just wouldn’t stop talking, “You take it so well, fuck. I’m in your stomach, baby. You feel me?”

His unoccupied hand moves down to your tummy, right where he was poking with every harsh thrust he fed you, “Feel me right there?”

Your eyes roll in the back of your head when Satoru kisses the ankle dangling by his head, and you try to gargle out an answer, “I-I feel you! So deep- so good.”

There was an itch inside you that only Satoru could ever scratch. He always treated your pussy so well, and you’re so far gone on the feel of him every time he slammed into you. Your boobs bounce with every forceful stroke, and when Satoru looks down at you, the only thoughts running through his brain are how good you look.

He can tell you’re close. Your screams are getting breathy, and your body is shaking more frantically under him. There’s no better feeling than this, he finds. No better feeling than your perfect cunt wrapped tightly around him as he fucks all coherence out of you. You didn’t look away from his eyes, from his face— he just looked so pretty when he was flushed and rutting into you like his life depended on it.

He breathes, his fangs poking right near your throat, “Looks like you’re gonna make a mess, angel. Gonna squirt all over me?”

“Y-Yess. Yes. M’gonna cum so-”

A groan in your ear makes you clench down harder on him, “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love how good I make you feel.”

You feel unapologetic when you desperately scream out, “Love it! L-Love the way you fuck me, I love you!”

“I love you, angel. Be a good girl and make a mess for Toru, yeah?”

You are being fucked out of your own soul as he goes even deeper than you imagined. When he bites harshly into your neck, your legs shake, and you can only gush all over him. He holds you like you weigh nothing as he holds the same pace, letting you ride out your entire orgasm.

Fuck, there's so much that it’s leaking on the floor, and that’s what does it for him. That’s all he needed for his balls to churn and for his breath to stutter as he dumps his thick cum inside your perfect haven. Your mind is so gone you don’t hear Satoru’s mindless whispers of how perfect you are.

You watch him as much as you can, as much as your orgasm allows you. You watch his perfect reaction, his brows furrowing, and the words getting stuck in his throat every time he twitches inside you from overstimulation.

Had it not been for the way he carried you and sat down in his chair, you would have assumed it was finished, but he ignored the juices leaking from you every time he moved. He’s still hard, painfully so— you didn’t have time to be worn out before he started slowly bouncing you on his erection again. Everything was messy, your fluids mixing and dripping beneath you two, and the blood from your neck dripping slightly onto your chest. You cried out on his shoulder.

You were aware that there would be a lot to discuss within the next few hours. How Satoru compelled you and forced you to forget him, and how you still legally worked for Toji. You had no idea what you would even say to him, but with each steady bounce on Satoru’s heavy cock, you just don’t find yourself caring at all.

masterlist

@shokosbunny

@megantheestallion-ismypresident

#jjk x black reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #geto suguru #geto suguru x black reader smut #gojo satoru x black reader #gojo satoru x blacker reader smut #gojo satoru smau #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x black!reader #suguru geto smut #jujutsu geto #toji fluff #toji x y/n #jjk toji #toji fushiguro x black reader #toji fushigro x reader

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