#it was practically handed to me on a silver platter
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wiverly · 1 year ago
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Mihawk: I’m proud to identify as morosexual. I’m attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses exclusively.
Shanks: Gloomy son of a good woman I could still take you and with one arm tied behind my back.
Mihawk: *already taking his clothes off* Akagami, you’re so fucking stupid!
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bigboobyhalo · 1 year ago
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“it’s all your fault” is nearly two years old but I still think it owns
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echthr0s · 6 months ago
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every time a mage does some shit you don't like, messing around with the forces of life and death or summoning demons or whatever, these motherfucking guilds are quick to pull the banishment card. yeah, that makes sense -- instead of keeping them close so we can keep an eye on them and maybe reduce the possible harm they can cause, let's turn them loose into the world and let their madness run unchecked! that can only work out for the benefit of the world-- oh, what's that? the weird guy who was making flesh golems in his chambers at the academy and got expelled for it is now trying to destroy the world? my word! NEVER would have seen THAT coming 🙄
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uwu-twistedthorn-uwu · 2 years ago
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thank goodness this event has free ten pulls, because I still have like no gems left after Azul's birthday
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cloudwisp · 4 months ago
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𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 · 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦
contents: smut. minors dni 18+. reader wears a nightgown to subtly get the message across. attempt at seduction. lots of teasing and kissing. first time with him. size difference. fingering. borderline overstimulation. vaginal penetration. mostly sweet lovemaking but implications of leading to rougher sex. sylus has a huge dick (he is standing at 6’2 after all). 2.9k wc.
꒰ note ᰔ based off of this arranged marriage sylus x wife!reader post but can be read as a standalone. smut writing is never one of my strengths but I had fun with this one!! and I can only hope it’s an enjoyable read to those who were anticipating a sequel 🤍꒱
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“Doing a little late night reading?” Sylus glances at your form through his peripheral as you enter his bedroom with a light skip in your steps. He’s perched at the end of his bed with a high profile report in hand, and with a tilt of your head and prying eyes you hover over the document between his fingers as you stand before him. You skim through a few lines before he tosses it aside, murmuring that it’s nothing of importance when something more interesting happens to catch his attention and you feel the heat of his gaze doing you a once-over.
Your cheeks warm and you feel a tad shyness wash over you when he quietly appraises your body clad in a gorgeous silk slip with lace embellishments. He hums in appreciation, a slow smirk curling on his lips before he reaches out to grasp your waist and pull you forward onto his lap. He secures one arm around you to keep you in place and his thumb sweeps over the delicate sleepwear and the bare skin of your thigh in a soft, languid motion. “You’ll catch a cold in just your nightgown, kitten. Or did you wear it for me?”
“Maybe I just wanted to change into something a little more comfortable.” You respond with a coy smile and playful shrug of your shoulder which causes the thin strap to fall from just a whisper of movement. He enjoys your little display and act of innocence if this is your way of telling him that you want to deepen the relationship through shared intimacy like normal marital couples do during this time of night. And truthfully, he’s been waiting far too long for this moment to come but he didn’t expect you to offer yourself on a silver platter. What a sweet and precious wife you are.
“I’m sure you could find something more suitable than a flimsy nightgown.” His knuckles brush up along your arm and hooks the fallen strap around his finger to slide it back into its proper place. “But then, perhaps you wanted to tease me, too?”
You click your tongue in disappointment. No matter what you do he was always two steps ahead of you—it’s thoughtful yet infuriating especially when you want him to act more surprised. “Nothing ever gets passed by you, it seems.”
His large hand slips under the lace trimmings of your nightgown and moves closest to your backside for a firm squeeze. “You should know by now how badly I want you, sweetheart. And with you sitting in my lap, looking breathtaking like that. I’m tempted to just rip this little thing off of you.”
You purse your lips into a small pout that’s adorable to him and grunt in disapproval. “What if this night dress is one of my favorites? Don’t I get a say in what you can and can’t tear?”
He arches a brow as though to challenge you by putting the theory into practice. You keep forgetting that he could read you like an open book, and he loves nothing more than proving you wrong at every chance. “Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy it if I did? I’ll buy you new ones. Better ones.”
You mull over at the thought. “Sounds troublesome. I’ll have to keep making these frequent shopping trips.”
“I just mean the nightgown is in the way of me seeing all of you. You’re more than welcome to wear it any other time, but right now… I want it off.”
“Well, it’s only fair you make the next move.” He groans lowly when you shift your weight in his lap and rest your head against him. You drag your manicured finger down his chest and gently flick at the silver chain looped between his collar. “I did come all this way just for you.”
He understood your meaning and leans down close enough so his warm breath fans over your lips when he tilts your chin to look at him. “If you want me to take off my clothes, you’ll have to undress me yourself.” The soft spoken words in his deep voice send a tingle to the back of your brain, and the lingering kiss he places on the corner of your mouth adds a fluttering sensation in your stomach.
“Still making me work for it? And here I thought I would be cherished and wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” You bring yourself upright and shove him down onto the bed to climb over him and straddle him. He gives you a knowing smirk at the sound of your cute gasp when you feel just how hard he is for you against your clothed cunt. You make quick work of undoing the underlay of buttons tucked beneath the thick fabric of his tailored dress shirt and remove it entirely to reveal every bit of lean muscle. His build akin to that of a spectacularly sculpted marble statue down to the details of his veins on his strong arms.
“Making you work for it is half the fun, kitten. But just remember who will be putting in the most work tonight.” His hand wanders up your thigh again and moves along the curve of your waist, the expensive silk bunches under his touch and he gropes the fullness of your breast. You feel the strap loosen around your shoulder once more. “Are you liking what you’re seeing? You’re allowed to mark what’s yours, you know. But I’d like to be able to mark you as mine too, wife.” His hungry eyes slowly roam over your matching panties and midriff before he returns your gaze.
Your smaller hand covers his knuckles meanwhile his thumb brushes across your nipple and he revels in the feeling of the bud hardening over the material. “You’re just always so straightforward, aren’t you?” You sensually wrap your finger around the other strap that’s perfectly intact and at your cue Sylus glides his hand down to the small of your back and watches as the dress cascades down to your midsection.
“And you’re so beautiful.” You’re a heavenly sight to behold with the way his amorous stare commits your very existence to his memory, particularly the swell of your lovely breasts that’s heavy with lust and begging for more of his attention. He gently reaches for your wrist and his fingers smooth under your palm to bring your hand up to his face. His thumb runs over the wedding band that binds you to him laying a light kiss against your knuckles, then places your hand over his shoulder waiting for your next move.
You don’t waste another second closing the distance between you two and crash your lips against his for a needy and desperate kiss. Your fingers tangle into his silver locks and your heat grinds against him hoping for some semblance of relief from the ache that’s building inside you. You feel him envelop your breasts fully with each caress and tender squeeze and a little bit of nipple play.
Sylus tastes faintly of sweet, tannic notes from the lingering aftertaste of red wine as your tongue meets his through parted lips. His arms and hands alternate between hugging your body and grip tightening on your hips, bucking himself up into your heat. You feel yourself needing more, wanting more and being closer to him so you hurriedly unbuckle his belt and suddenly the sound of fabric tearing reaches your ears.
You muffle in surprise against his lips and push him back just enough to see him wearing a smug expression. “I should’ve known you’d go against my wishes.” You scoff in disbelief and yet there’s a grin playing across your features that betrays your earlier words. You hate to admit he was right from the start—that you’d find the ripping more attractive instead of being carefully unwrapped like you both have all the patience in the world.
Sylus discards the now ruined piece of clothing aside. He lifts you with ease and your back embraces the cool sheets when he drops you down on the mattress and returns to his full height. “I was never one to follow rules. Besides, you look perfect like this.” You support yourself up on your elbows to follow his movements, and any smart comeback you have dies in your throat when he picks up where you left off by unfastening his belt and stripping out of his trousers. His boxer briefs follow suit and he thinks it’s adorable how you look mesmerized from this performance alone.
Your eyes settle on his huge cock. Almost gawking at it and you unconsciously clench your thighs together. It’s perfectly proportioned to the rest of him—long and notably thicker with an upward center curve and a few prominent veins here and there. He flushes a pretty shade of red that’s gradient from the head down and his pubes are neatly trimmed.
“You don’t have to look so scared, kitten.” He rasps an amused chuckle, and he feels you tense slightly when his hand scales up along your knee to your inner thigh and he dips his fingers between your legs. “I’ll take my time with you so you can handle me.”
Your breath hitches when he feels how drenched you are through your panties. He offers a gratified hum, his handsome face and broad shoulders become your main focus as he closes in on you. “Spread your legs wider.” He murmurs into your ear, and as soon as you give him more access he delves into your mouth for a bruising kiss and chases you down onto the bed. His ministrations on your clit feel absolutely sinful yet so wonderful and your arm wrap around his back meanwhile your hand explores the muscled panels of his upper body and the areas that are within your reach.
A string of saliva connects you both then disappears as your lips come apart. But he doesn’t stray far when the exquisite look on your face is a breath away and he pulls your panties aside to collect your arousal with two digits sliding through your puffy folds. Your lustful sounds escape in a warm exhale as soon as he slowly inserts his thick fingers into your tight pussy, and you’re quite the vision arching your back so tastefully.
“Mmh, that f-feels so good, Sylus.” Your eyes glaze over when he steadily pumps in and out of you, curling so deliciously at your sweet spot and he marvels at the way your cunt is greedily sucking in his fingers. There’s nothing else like him, the way he stretches you and reaches the deeper parts and hits the bits you can’t yourself. He adores the breathless sighs and mewls of his name when he pushes you to the edge even more while kissing you senselessly.
“You sound beautiful. I love the way my name tastes on your lips.” You can feel him smirk against you, but you’re too immersed in your pleasure to respond in words that aren’t broken syllables. He trails open-mouth kisses down to your jawline and along the column of your neck, grazing his teeth and softly sucking on your skin until hues of velvet purple form. Your head burrows into the soft cushion of the mattress, hips squirming as your hand clutches onto his forearm from tension coiling inside you.
“M’gonna come soon, Sy—!” Your pretty moans and pants grow heavier each second, and he loves feeling your body quiver when you’re pressed under him. He’s still knuckles deep inside you with every intention of bringing you up to heaven and back down to him. After all, he doesn’t believe in doing things halfway but can’t pass an opportunity to tease his darling wife.
“You’re getting so close already? I barely got started with you, sweetie.” He chuckles lowly yet his cock twitches as precum oozes and leaks down from the slit of his tip. “Don’t hold it in now. Let go and come for me.”
He’s met with your gorgeous o-face when the euphoric bliss courses through your entire body as your walls tighten around his fingers. Your moans turn into squeals and you try to shove his hand away to soften your orgasm but he doesn’t budge from being much stronger than you. The feeling is more than you can handle when your thighs clamp together to stop his movements. But you don’t want the addictive sensation to leave just yet when he borderline overstimulates you, turning you into a trembling and writhing mess.
You barely have a moment to catch your breath when a chortle escapes you from watching him bring his fingers coated in your cum to his mouth for a curious taste. “Mm. Sweet, just as I thought. You did great, kitten.” He leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead, and the first wave of your drawn-out release slowly ebbs away. “Don’t you think you deserve one more?” Sylus pulls your soaked panties down your legs and casts them aside, leaving you completely bare under his gaze.
“I should hope so. Been wanting for you to stuff me with your fat cock tonight.” You’re still a little breathless when your finger glides down his toned chest in a sensual and playful manner. He makes a content hum at the sound of that with an upward quirk of his lips.
“What a bold and resilient wife I have on my hands. As long as I have you, I’ll never be bored again.” He gladly hoists your leg to wrap around his waist and spits down, giving himself a few strokes making it slick before aligning himself to your dripping cunt. His precum mixes with the remnants of your previous climax with the heavy drag of his tip from your opening up along your clit. He revels in the way your body responds with a little spasm. “I won’t have you going back on your words now.”
The flutter of your lashes steers away from his deep and enigmatic eyes, a nervous gnaw of your lower lips as you anticipate the painful stretch from taking him. “Go slow, okay? Because you know…” He knew you were implying about his sheer size, and you feel him grab hold of your hand and press your interlaced hand against the bed beside your head.
He captures your swollen lips that feel entirely too sweet and intimate, replacing your worries with a gentle tangle of his encompassing love and adoration that seeps into your soul. “I wouldn’t dream about hurting you. That’s a promise. But you have to let me in first.” Your breath hitches when his aching tip probes your entrance, yet the tension doesn’t leave your body until he tells you to focus on him with the exchange of kisses laced with a growing insistence. “You’ll let me know if it hurts, kitten? I want to make you feel good.”
With that said, your sharp nails dig into his shoulder blade and draw red lines at the burning stretch that feels too much yet so good at the same time. Your soft sighs and whimpers fill the hazy room and he’s fucking you slowly with just the tip to help ease the initial discomfort. He searches your face every now and again making sure you’re okay before he continues, letting out a guttural moan when he slips in a little more with each thrust until he carves his way into you completely.
“You’re in too deep—hah. Feel so full and good.” You shudder when he stills his movements, throbbing cock nestled inside you to the hilt and kissing your cervix. There’s a carnal desire brewing in his stomach seeing you pinned under his weight keeping him nice and warm. He wouldn’t mind spending the entire night with you, any plans and commitments he had prior be damned the moment you swayed in through the double doors. “Want you to m-move, please.”
The sound of your polite begging makes him twitch involuntarily, and he could only imagine what desperate pleas you have in store for him tonight and he’s looking forward to it. When your pretty lips implore him to fuck you faster and harder he won’t be able to hold back. After all, he has always been ready and waiting to give himself to you that aligns with your willingness to accept him. There is no love purer than his, this craving he has reserved only for you. “You know you only have to ask, and I’ll give you everything you want. Just be careful what you wish for, sweetie.”
Sylus chuckles at your cute whine shortly after—such a needy little thing you are. He falls into a sweet and slow rhythm that makes you feel each thrust, the head of his dick down to its shape and following the shaft that caresses the underside of your pleasure endings so incredibly good. Your legs wrap around his back and you pull him in deeper because close just isn’t close enough for you. You need to feel the heat of his body sear against your skin as you hold him, and in turn you feel him squeeze your interlaced hand. “Tonight, you’re all mine. Forget anyone else in the world but me.”
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perlelune · 11 months ago
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Hunger | Coriolanus Snow
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From the moment your husband introduces to President Snow, you're untethered, as if the very floor was ripped from underneath you.
Warnings: NON-CON, District 12! Reader, Covey! Reader, Housewife Kink, Manipulation, Somnophilia, Breeding Kink, Chasing
This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.
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Nervousness wrenches your insides as you peer at the proceedings from afar. Another gala to raise funds in order to quell a budding rebellion in the Districts. The second one this year. 
They always leave you feeling sour. It’s not like the Districts have no reason to start an uprising. The next reaping is fastly approaching and you’d rage too if your family was to go through that again.
You take a tiny sip from your glass of posca, mindful not to overindulge. The diluted, aromatic wine is far stronger than one would imagine. But a slight dash of intoxication is the only way you can see yourself getting through the night. Crowds always made you anxious, but a gathering of Capitol citizens stirs a particular discomfort in you. 
You’re not one of them and you often wonder if they can tell, sense a whiff of District 12 on you. The foul stench of unbelonging. Perhaps in the manner you speak or your stance. You’ve never managed to perfectly mimic the way Capitol ladies carry themselves, born from a lifetime of practicing poise and etiquette. After all, you are an outsider, and always will be.
Regardless of how many galas you attend, fashionable dresses you order to match the quickly changing trends of the Capitol, effort you exert to erase your thick Covey accent…it seems someone can always tell there’s more to you.
It’s in that mocking glint in their eyes, that sneering lilt in their voice.
To them, you’ll never be more than District rabble. 
Which is exactly why you despise these events. But your husband insisted. He’s working hard to impress his boss, the most important man in all of Panem, and you can’t let him down.
You must be the picture of charm. Laugh at every joke, nod your head when a serious topic is being broached, display interest when personal stories are being shared.
You place a hand on your roaring stomach, a frown creasing your brow. You haven’t swallowed a bite the entire day, too anxious about how tonight would go.
Your gaze darts about the room. The tantalizing spread of appetizers in the middle of the room seems to be calling your name. Your mouth waters.
Without a thought, your feet glide across the marble tiles. A little self-conscious, hesitation tingles at your fingertips as they drum by one of the silver platters. Another pang of hunger pierces your insides at the sight of the food. You cave in, picking up a tiny sandwich from a plate. Your eyes close, angels singing in your mouth as delicious aromas trickle on your tongue. 
“Sweetie, there’s someone you must meet,” your husband chimes at your back.
Still chewing on a mouthful of meat and bread, you whirl. Your eyes bulge. Startled, you nearly suffocate on your food.
You quickly wipe your mouth as heat rushes to your cheeks.
You’ve seen his face before. The murky screens do not do justice to his dashing looks.
“President Snow. It’s a pleasure. Apologies, I was…”
A smile ghosts over his lips as he drinks you in, his cerulean gaze dragging over your frame. “No apologies,” he answers silkily. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the food. At least someone is.”
He picks up your hand and presses an ephemeral peck on the back of it. You turn to Henry. The shock adorning your husband’s face mirrors yours.
President Snow’s lips curl skywards.
He lets go of your hand and adds, “It’s nice putting a face to your name. Henry is always raving about you.”
You shake your head, eyes bashfully finding the floor. “Oh, I’m sure he isn’t,” you mumble.
The blonde hums as if to disagree. He bends close to your ear.
“He’s always lauding what a wonderful wife you are, dutiful, sweet…”
…Makes me almost jealous.
Your head whips up.
You blink at the whispered words, barely above a breath. Maybe you heard wrong. It’s hard to tell, the way Snow gauges you, that subtle smile still decorating his handsome face.
He asks you trivial questions about how you’re settling in and how you’re enjoying your life in the Capitol. You answer every time, ignoring the chill dancing at the base of your spine.
His scrutiny swells your unease.
So as soon as the conversation veers away from you and towards the topics of lawmaking and taxes, you snatch the opportunity to excuse yourself.
You give an apologetic smile to your husband.
“Henry, maybe I should go. I’m not feeling too hot.”
He scowls at you. “You want us to leave already?” Disappointment bleeds in his tone. A thick layer of shame settles in the pit of your stomach. You’re being a bad wife.
“You can stay, even if I go,” you try to offer.
“There’s still so many people we haven’t talked to…” Henry argues.
You deflate. You suppose it would be uncouth to leave too early.
To your surprise, President Snow’s smooth lilt interjects, “If your wife is unwell, you both should go.”
You gape at him. A strange glint bounces in his cerulean orbs and unease flutters through you once more. 
Henry sighs, grabbing your hand.
“Alright. I’ll go fetch the car.” 
He gives the blond a formal salute before dragging you away.
As the two of you leave, the heat of Snow’s attention prickles along your spine.
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“Did he say something to you?”
Gasping, you turn to your husband. He pointedly looks at you and you shift awkwardly in the passenger seat. 
“What?” you say, taken aback by his sudden question. 
He studies you for a while before his gaze drifts back to the road.
“Snow. He said something to you, didn’t he?”
Your chest clenches. Faking nonchalance, you shrug and reply lightly, “Just a joke but I didn’t understand it.”
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The days soar by, humdrum and uneventful. You file away the strange moment at the gala and return to your everyday life. Henry occupies most of your time but when you’re not catering to him, you tend to the house and read. And during stolen moments…you play and sing. Henry doesn’t know, of course. It’s a life you left behind, or are supposed to at least. 
You’re the wife of a Capitol official, not some District balladeer peddling song for coin.
But you can’t help it. 
Singing reminds you of home. Of endless green meadows and lazy afternoons by the river. Your life from before may have been uncertain but you find yourself missing it at times. Missing the freedom to do and act as you pleased.
An orphan like so many others, the Covey were the only family you ever knew. Then you met Henry. Henry who spoke so sweetly to you and gazed at you with warm brown eyes. And he became your family. He didn’t care that you were from a District or that your manners were lacking. He embraced you.
And now you wish to support him in all that he does. Even if it means tossing away parts of yourself.
The front door cracks open, halting the path of the needle between your fingers. A smile blooms on your lips as you place Henry’s shirt on a nearby table. You can resume fixing the buttons on it later. You rise from the armchair and make your way to him. You help him out of his coat, noting the excitement radiating off his frame.
He’s not usually this ecstatic after a day of work. You tilt your head in puzzlement.
He hugs you before announcing, “We have a guest tomorrow, a very important guest.”
“Oh,” you reply, tamping down your concern. The apartment isn’t exactly ready for guests, much less important ones. The fridge needs to be stocked and the furniture requires thorough dusting.
“Yes, I was mentioning what a wonderful cook you are and he said he hasn’t had a home cooked meal in a while.”
“Who?” you ask, your curiosity peaking.
“President Snow,” Henry replies with a victorious grin.
Dread and confusion collide inside you. Why would President Snow visit you and your husband of all people? While Henry’s been rising in ranks quite fast, you can’t picture the leader of the country making time for people like you.
But you don’t voice these thoughts, instead you inquire, “Are you sure my cooking will be enough for him? His palate is used to those fancy meals at the Capitol.”
He cradles your face and plants a kiss on your forehead.
“Don’t doubt yourself, honey. You’re an amazing cook.”
“I just don’t want to let you down,” you confess, anxiously chewing on your lip.
“You won’t,” he assures. His chestnut gaze dives into yours. “This could be a great opportunity for us. Imagine what being close to Snow could do for our lives. He could promote me. We could even move to a bigger place.”
Your brows knit. “I love our place.”
Henry laughs. “Yes but the day we expand our family, you have to admit it’ll be a little small.”
You peer at your surroundings. Every corner of the little house harbors a beloved memory. You’d hate leaving it behind, but you suppose he’s right. You might outgrow it one day.
Henry frames your chin to draw your focus back to him.
“Just be yourself,” he says. “Your kind, sweet, wonderful self and all will be well.”
Nodding, you give a feeble smile.
“Understood.”
The next day is spent meticulously cleaning every inch of the house. For hours you’re anxious, wondering what to say or do, how to behave. You don’t have the natural wit and charm to impress someone like Coriolanus Snow. You keep worrying you’ll speak out of turn and embarrass Henry. Preparing dinner is the only time your mind is at rest. You stir the vegetables in the stew, smiling as the delectable scent fills your nostrils. It’s simmered for hours to create a rich flavor. It’s only your second time trying this recipe so you’re a bit nervous. Henry adored it but he’s your husband. You don’t know if President Snow’s delicate taste buds will find your meals to his liking.
You’re slightly more confident about your strawberry cake. While you struggled with it at first, the frosting never quite coming out the way you wanted, it’s now turned into one of your specialties.
The doorbell rings and you freeze. You glance up at the clock hanging near the stove. Already? Time has flown and you didn’t notice.
As you approach the door, you smooth out the wrinkles in your apron and straighten your spine. You take a deep breath before opening the door. 
A wobbly smile cants your lips upwards. 
“President Snow, it’s an honor,” you greet cheerfully.
The tall blond crosses the threshold after your husband. You take him in, trying to girdle your apprehension. He casts an imposing figure with his slicked back silver locks and tailored purple suit, the signature white rose pinned to his left breast pocket as always.
An aura of authority seems to follow him wherever he goes. 
“Please, the honor is mine,” Snow says. His sky gaze roams across the living room. His expression is unreadable and you feel a bit self-conscious. It’s likely not as luxurious as what he’s used to. But to your surprise, he looks right at you and says, “What a lovely abode.”
His nose twitches as he hums, “I smell something heavenly, for me perhaps?”
You nod.
“I made beef stew.”
“Wonderful.”
Your cheeks warm at the compliment. 
“Shall we sit?” Henry says, escorting him to the dining room.
You rush to the kitchen and throw your apron on a chair. Inhaling a lungful of nerve, you slip on gloves and grab the pot from the stove. Slowly, you bring out the food. Your skin tingles with the weight of Snow’s eyes on you. 
You ladle out the stew on each plate. When you circle the table to serve Snow, you feel the faintest brush of fingertips over your hip. You flinch.
When you look at him, an almost imperceptible smile hovers on his lips. You blink and it almost seems like it’s gone, as if you dreamt the entire instant. The ladle wavers in your hand.
Did he mean to do that? Once again, you question your own senses, your sanity. It was a fleeting touch, the accidental kind that occurs everyday. But somehow your nerves are agitated with this mere, insignificant second.
Quickly, you round the table and plop down in the chair next to your husband. He squeezes your hand beneath the table, his brown gaze spelling “good job”. Relief sits inside you. You spent all day agonizing over every aspect of tonight so it’s nice to know Henry appreciates your efforts at least.
Everyone starts eating, your husband and Snow engaging in topics you only listen to with half an ear. Instead you focus on your plate, swallowing tiny bites of the stew. 
The flavor is nice and rich, just like you hoped, and pride trickles inside you.
“You’re so silent. Are we boring you?”
Snow’s abrupt statement yanks a sharp gasp from you. Your head snaps up. You realize both he and Henry are staring at you. Your face warms.
“N-No, I just don’t have anything interesting to contribute,” you stammer, your head dipping. 
“My wife has no mind for politics, I’m afraid,” Henry chuckles. 
Your mouth screws shut, your fingers tightening around your spoon. It’s more that your opinions differ vastly and there are things Henry prefers you don’t say aloud.
A crooked smirk blooms on Snow’s lips.
“Ah, a pretty, silent one. I believe you lucked out with this one, Henry.”
Your teeth grind as your brows twitch. Pretty and silent. You don’t know why the words chafe you, cutting into you as deep as a knife. 
You rise from your chair and grab your near empty plate. 
“I should go clean the kitchen,” you announce with a terse smile.
You don’t look back as you walk away, berating yourself with every step.
This isn’t how one should behave in front of him. But you also don’t think you can spend another second in his presence.
You rub the sponge over the top of the stove, satisfaction trickling inside you as the grease and sauce stains are wiped away. You bask in the calm, concentrated on your task. 
A warm breath tickles the shell of your ear.
“You seemed peeved before.”
Sucking a sharp breath, you whirl on your heels. Your hand spreads over your chest as your vision is filled with the towering frame of President Snow. His stance is relaxed as he peers at you curiously.
“You scared me…President.”
He ignores your reaction, continuing his statement from before, “When we were discussing the next reaping.”
You shake your head. “I wasn’t peeved.”
“Your face, it did that thing.” Your forehead creases. He inches closer. The scent of roses, thick and heady, coats your senses. Your head starts spinning. “Like now. It bothered you.”
Panic flutters through you. This is a man who could have you hanged or jailed for saying the wrong thing. But something about his expression tells you he won’t relent, that he'll only take the truth and nothing else.
So your heart spills out of you.
“In an ideal world, we wouldn’t need the Hunger Games. They are…” You trail off, remembering yourself, who you’re speaking to. You bite down your feelings and go quiet.
But Snow bends over you, crowding your space as your back hits the edge of the stove.
“What? Barbaric? Cruel?” He chuckles and goosebumps rise on your flesh. “But we do need them, dove. Every single year. So the districts never forget their place, and most importantly ours.”
Your lip quakes. Snow’s gaze follows the motion, his lips slanting lopsidedly.
“Such a sweet soul,” he whispers.
He suddenly backs away from you. Air rushes back to your lungs.
“It’s late. I should take my leave. Thank you for a most…enlightening dinner.”
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You resume your life and, for a while, everything is normal. Henry doesn’t talk about that night again and neither do you, the both of you bonded by that silent agreement. Maybe he saw Snow talking to you in the kitchen, maybe he didn’t. You’ll never know as he keeps his thoughts to himself, throwing himself into his work and acting like his usual self. 
And if there’s a bit more distance between the two of you in the marital bed, you try not to let it bother you. With time, the strangeness will fade and you and Henry will be back on track, trying for a child and enjoying marital bliss.
Though one evening, things are anything but normal. In fact, the world all but ends.
Your husband peruses the notice letter for rent once more. The blood seems to leave his face.
He runs his fingers through his dark curls.
“I don’t understand.”
Hands resting on his shoulders, your heart skips a beat as you read the neat printed letters.
Rent in your building has doubled overnight. If you and your husband do not pay up by next week, you will be evicted. Houseless.
Hell, you might even be sent back to your district. Your heart plummets to your feet. Your knees buckle underneath you. Henry catches you before you fall, leading you to the sofa as panicked breaths rush through your lungs.
He hunkers in front of you and holds your hands.
“I promise you I’ll find a way. Take out a loan or-”
“A loan we won’t be able to pay back?”
His jaw clenches. “Just let me handle it, okay?”
Though doubts creep inside you, you nod.
The days race along, tension growing each day as the deadline is approaching. Only three days. In just three days, you and your husband will be evicted unless a miracle happens.
And you conclude from the dark circles under Henry’s eyes and the way he barely answers when you speak to him, that he’s as clueless as you are.
There is no solution. Once again, the Capitol and its arbitrary rules strike.
So you come to a decision.
A decision that leads you in front of the biggest mansion in the entire Capitol. President Coriolanus Snow’s house. You suck in a wide lungful, quelling a shudder at the sight of the blue-clad peacekeepers lining the walls.
You stride towards the massive entrance gates. White roses twine around the wrought iron, their thorns seeming as sharp as knives. 
You gather your nerves and lift a tremulous hand towards the intercom.
Before you can even state your matter, a disembodied, feminine voice rises from the device.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asks stiffly.
Hasty words pour out of you. “No, but I just need a minute-”
“President Snow doesn’t accept any visitors,” she responds harshly.
Your heart sinks. Of course he doesn’t. It was naive of you to cling to the illusory hope he’d see you anyway. Just for one dinner he likely forgot about. He’s the president. There are crucial matters that perpetually call for his attention. A myriad of things bigger and more important than a single Capitol citizen’s rent issues.
Still, you elect to try again, remembering the imminent deadline.
“Please,” you beg. “It’s very important.”
A distorted sigh ripples from the intercom.
“If you do not leave the premises, we will be compelled to remove you from the property, miss.”
One of the peacekeepers posted at the gates looks straight at you, his hand tightening over the rear of his machine gun. A wave of ice spreads through your veins.
You swallow and step back, accepting your defeat. Burning with shame, you start walking away from the mansion.
But you’re hardly a feet away, as the same voice from before erupts again, much softer this time. 
“My apologies, miss. I didn’t realize you were a close friend of President Snow.”
Your jaw hangs slack as you turn.
A woman with long dark hair appears through the open gates.
“Please, follow me,” she says as she approaches you. “The president will see you right away.”
Still steeped in utter shock, you acquiesce. You trail behind her. You can’t help but allow your eyes to wander as the woman escorts you through a dizzying series of hallways. While the front of the mansion is impressive with its lavish gardens and striking architecture, the inside is just as grandiose. You feel small as your gaze rests on all the sculptures and paintings decorating every corner of the house. Everywhere you look, there is something beautiful and eye-catching. The entire house is like a museum, meant to be admired rather than lived in.
Eventually the woman halts in front of a mahogany door. She tugs on the brass handles and stands to the side, making room for you to walk in. You mumble ‘thank you’ under your breath as you stumble inside the office.
President Snow’s blue eyes crinkle when they rest on you.
“Hello, dove. Why don’t you have a seat?” he offers, pointing at the chair before his desk. 
Licking your lips, you do as he says. Despite the softness of the plush upholstery you sit on, your nerves flare up. You had an entire speech ready, one you practiced on the way here. 
But now that you’re here, his intense focus pinned on you, you’re at a loss. 
Shaky words trickle out of your mouth.
“President Snow. I know you must be so busy…”
“Nonsense,” he interrupts, leaning back in his leather chair. “I always find time for my friends.”
You swallow the lump in your throat.
“T-That’s a relief to hear,” you stammer.
A maid brings a kettle and biscuits on a silver platter. 
“Tea?” Snow asks as he picks up the kettle.
“No, thank you.”
As Snow pours himself a cup, you ponder your next words. You don’t want to seem greedy but you can’t think of an elegant way to state your purpose.
So you settle for the truth.
“I came because…my husband and I are in a bit of trouble.”
Snow scrutinizes you for a while. Your stomach tightens. 
He then gives a sluggish nod, bending forwards as his fingers lace together.
“Do tell me everything, dove.”
You do exactly that. Snow is silent as your trembling voice fills his office. No word leaves his mouth while he listens. You don’t skip out a single detail, making a point to emphasize what consequences could befall upon you and your husband should you fail to meet the deadline. 
When you’re done, he sips from his tea cup and hums, “How unfortunate.”
“Can’t it be undone? I mean, couldn’t you…”
He chuckles along the porcelain rim of his cup. “I’m not responsible for every law and charter. I approve them, of course, but there are committees, councils. Each law serves the betterment of Panem as a whole. I can’t undo what has been done. I mean, how would this look to the rest of the Capitol? Like I have a different set of rules for my friends? I have to look impartial.” Heaving out a deep sigh, he sets his cup down.  “Apologies, dove, my hands are tied.”
The world seems to collapse around you. Your stomach sinks.
You surmise it was too big an ask, even for the President of Panem. You can’t expect special treatment. It was silly of you to even come hoping for anything resembling that.
You were foolish. Now you must collect the pathetic remnants of your dignity and take your leave.
Gulping down the tears pressing at the back of your eyes, you nod. 
“I’m sorry I asked,” you croak, already beginning to rise from your chair.
His deep lilt pauses your motion.
“But I suppose…there could be a solution. An alternative.”
Your brow furrows as you drop back on the chair.
“An alternative?”
“I could cover the difference.”
Your mouth nearly hits the floor. Snow using his own funds to help? It could be the very miracle you and your husband waited for. You would have to pay him back over time, of course. But for now, it would allow you and Henry to keep the apartment.
It’s a godsend.
“You would do that for us?” you mutter, shock stealing your air.
His reply is nonchalant. “Yes. I’d simply file it under my own personal investments.” Slanting his head sideways, he studies you. “I’d just ask for a small favor in exchange.”
“A favor?”
You wonder what kind of favor you could do for someone like Coriolanus Snow, the man who has everything and more. Gaping at him, you wait for him to elaborate.
He leans forward, crossing his arms over his desk.
“It’s not much but it would mean the world to me. The house needs some upkeep. Just a few light chores here and there. No cleaning, of course; I have an entire staff in charge of that. But the garden needs tending.” His inflection softens as he takes you in. “A home cooked meal every now and then would be nice, and I might sometimes ask you to join me for tea and conversation…” Mirth sways in his cerulean orbs. “As dreadful as that may sound.”
You move your head in assent.
“I think I can do that. But w-why me?”
He gives a long exhale, resting his jaw in his hand.
“Honestly dove? You’d be the one doing me a favor. All day, I’m surrounded by vultures.” Snow rolls his eyes skyward. “Sycophants who placate me with false smiles and honeyed lies.” His tone warms when his gaze falls back on you. “I simply wish to return home to someone genuine, someone who would never lie to me. And you wouldn’t, would you?”
“W-What?”
“Lie to me.”
Your skin heats under his scrutiny. 
Trying not to squirm, you sputter, “Never, sir.”
“Music to my ears,” the young president croons.
It’s not sounding like more work than what you do at home. You can already hear Henry’s discontent echoing in your head. You won’t have as much time for him. That too will be yet another adjustment.
But what other option is there? Even the family of four above yours had to move, unable to keep up with the sudden rent increase. You and Henry could be next.
“I…W-When do I start?”
The corners of Snow’s lips tug upwards.
“How does tomorrow sound?”
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“You’re going to work for him?”
Henry’s displeasure ripples through you. You twine your hands and cast him an apologetic look. He despises that you went behind his back; you know that. But Henry ran himself ragged trying to come up with a solution. You didn’t want him to carry the burden on his own. That is not what a marriage is.
“He needs a housekeeper, of sorts. And he paid this month’s rent and the next upfront.”
Henry’s brows crumple. “Still, that’s…” Shoulders sagging, he crashes onto the sofa. The built-up exhaustion of the last few days seems to return all at once. You know he hasn’t slept a wink this whole week. Heart squeezing, you join his side and cradle his hand in your lap. Henry’s voice is dripping with shame and regret. “The entire reason I moved us here is so you never have to want for anything, so you wouldn’t have to work or suffer another day in this life.” His head dips. “I failed you.”
You cup his face, plunging your eyes into his.
“You didn’t fail me. And I won’t suffer. Sometimes life throws you lemons and you just have to squeeze those suckers dry.”
A hollow chuckle slips through his lips.
You run your thumbs over his growing beard.
"Listen, I know this wasn’t in our plans, but it’s just for now. In time, we’ll figure something out but I have to do this.” You lean your forehead against his. “For us.”
“Okay,” he belatedly concedes. He pulls your hands to his chest, kissing your knuckles.
“Just come home when you’re done.”
“I will,” you promise. 
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The first day slogs forth without a hitch. A car picks you up in the morning and drops you off at President Snow’s estate. The dark-haired woman from before welcomes you, introduces you to the staff and walks you through your duties. You learn her name is Ariadne. 
You spend most of the day busy in the garden and library. Snow’s garden of roses might be one of the hidden treasures of Panem. Taking care of it is a pleasure and you even give yourself some minutes to bask in the sun’s warmth. 
The library shelves need dusting and you tend to this task as well, humming familiar tunes to yourself while working. It is no harm if no one is around to hear you sing. 
You don’t get bored as there’s always a task requiring your attention in the massive house. 
When stars begin to dust the darkening sky, you rush to the kitchen. You get started on dinner. Staff members give you space to work and you’re grateful. You don’t like being ogled while you cook. You marvel at the gold, high-end appliances as you knead your dough. The kitchen is pristine, like everything else in the house. You settle for something simple, hearty and warm. There is no point in pretending you’re some fancy chef when you’re not. If it’s what Snow desired, he’d have hired one. There’s a plethora of them in the Capitol for him to choose from after all. And they’d all line up outside his house in a heartbeat if he requested it.
You stand nervous, hands folded in your lap as the meal you prepared is brought out onto silver plates. You spent hours on it. Hopefully he likes it.
“This smells like heaven,” Snow purrs.
He then points at the chair next to his on the long table.
“Have a seat.”
Your eyes bulge. Not only are you stunned by his request, as there are so many other chairs on the gigantic dinner table, but you were hoping to return home to Henry once dinner was served.
 “Oh, I thought…”
He smiles at you. “I hate dining alone.”
You consider arguing. But as you remember all that you owe him, your mouth squeezes shut. You give a meek nod and drag your feet to the chair.
“Of course.”
You pick up your knife and fork…one of the knives and forks. You choose at random, unsure what purpose each of the cutlery items serves.
A smile waltzes upon Snow’s lips as he watches you. Shame pools in your gut. You feel like you’re making a fool of yourself.
He takes a bite of food and hums low in his throat, his eyes closing.
“Your cooking never fails to amaze, dove,” he lauds. Blue eyes search your face. “Are you hiding other talents from me?”
Your eyes lock onto your napkin, following the swirl of the flower patterns sewn in the corners. “I don’t think so,” you mumble.
Dinner continues in silence, only occasionally shattered by Snow’s sounds of delight and words of praise. Your own bites are small. While you’re glad it turned out the way you wanted, you’d rather save your appetite for home.
When a maid brings tea after the meal, Snow raises a dismissive hand.
“We’ll have tea and cakes in the study,” he announces.
Your face scrunches. “But it’s getting late. I should-”
“I must insist,” he interrupts. He rises from his seat and offers you his outstretched hand. 
His smile broadens.
“You would rob me of your company so swiftly, dove? How cruel of you.”
Reluctantly, you accept the hand he gives you. He helps you out of your chair and motions at you to follow him.
The both of you end up in his study, sitting by the fire. Tea is placed on the small table between you. Coriolanus takes a slow sip while you fiddle with your hands.
His cerulean gaze locks with yours.
“That song you were humming earlier.”
Your chest seizes.
The loud thudding of your heart fills your ears. You swallow thickly. 
“A song?”
“Yes,” he says absently, adding another spoonful of sugar to his cup. He gives a small stir before bringing it to his lips again. “I heard it as I walked by the library.”
You try not to let your panic show, cloaking yourself in false nonchalance. You thought you were discreet, quiet almost.
“Ah, that. It’s nothing,” you elude.
“No, it was lovely. You have the voice of an angel.” 
The compliment leaves you speechless.
But his next words tie your stomach in knots.
“I want to hear it again.”
“I don’t really…perform for audiences.”
“You mean since you left the Covey?”
Mouth agape, you stare at him. How did he find out? You don’t remember ever bringing it up. In fact, you wouldn’t. You expend great effort to hide your past on a daily basis.
Your reaction draws a snort from him. Amusement bounces in his orbs.
“Come on, dove, that accent…It might fool others but not me.”
“I don’t sing anymore,” you state firmly. 
Even if you did, you wouldn’t do it for Coriolanus Snow. Not of your own free will.
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His inflection becomes sharp, all softness evanescing. “Remember when I told you that I hated lies?” His pointed gaze sends chills through your body. “Sing for me, dove.”
Your mouth goes dry as sand. 
You understand his words for what they are. An order from your president. A strange order…but an order nonetheless.
You don’t get to refuse. You’re to sing for him, whether it pleases you or not.
Like a bird in a cage.
So you do it. Your lips fall open and clear, soft notes rise out of you. A traditional song your mother taught you. It tells the story of a girl who meets a boy with ocean eyes, how she drowns in them but the fall is like rising to heaven. 
As your voice fills his office, Snow’s scorching gaze doesn’t leave you.
When the song is done, he doesn’t applaud or praise you.
Instead, his eyes bear into you for what feels like an eternity. You try not to move, though your heart thunders in your chest. 
“See, was that so hard?” he asks, that cocky smile still adorning his lips. You don’t reply, your throat ablaze. It felt as if you didn’t belong to yourself just then. And it terrifies you. He slides your untouched cup towards you. “Drink your tea before it gets cold. Then, you can go home.”
Without a protest, you lift the cup to your mouth. One measly cup of tea and you’ll get to go home. Then this uncomfortable evening can end. Finally.
But as the liquid trickles inside your mouth, tendrils of darkness lurk in your vision. Your body gets heavier. So heavy you can’t hold the cup anymore, or even yourself. The porcelain dish vanishes from your hands. You sag into your chair.
Progressively, colors dim around you. 
Then sleep drags you down into a rabbit hole of utter oblivion. And all is blackness.
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Softness like you’ve never felt before greets you when you awake. Like being embraced by fluffy clouds. For a while, you linger in the comfortable sensation, humming against the plush blankets. But as your eyes land on the thin slice of sunlight spilling from the window, you unleash an audible gasp. 
You bolt in a sitting position. 
Your eyes widen as you find Ariadne observing you between the velvet curtains at the end of the bed.
Gripping the side of your head, you glance at your surroundings. Clearly, you’re in a room. But how did you wind up here? No matter how hard you try, you can’t summon a single memory from last night.
“Ariadne? What happened?” 
She circles the bed to take a seat next to you. Her gentle tone alleviates your rising panic.
“You fell asleep,” she explains. “Master Snow brought you here so you can get some proper rest.” 
You sigh. It does make sense. Though you can’t stamp out the trickle of embarrassment sitting inside you with that knowledge. You dozed off on the job, on your first day. Hopefully, Snow isn’t too offended. 
“I must have been more tired than I thought,” you mutter, looking down.
“He’s gone now; he had urgent business at the Justice Building. But he insisted you eat a proper meal before you go.” She points at the golden food cart near the bed, every tray brimming with pastries, fruits, meats and cheeses. Way more than you could eat in a single meal.
The kind of decadent abundance the Capitol likes to indulge in. 
You politely decline. 
“I can’t…I have to return to my husband. He must be worried sick.”
Ariadne puts a hand on your arm.
“Word has been sent to him that you were simply tending to Master Snow’s needs last night.”
You purse your lips. It’s not ideal but at least he knows you were working. 
“Good,” you reply, nodding.
You yank the blanket off your body, determined to stand up and leave. But as soon as you’re on your feet, you crash back down on the bed, a strange ache awakening in your limbs.
Your forehead creases. You hug your stomach, a vicious cramp creeping there too.
Ariadne’s immediately at your side, placing her hands over your arms.
“Take it easy, miss,” she warns. “You exerted yourself a great deal yesterday.” She beams brightly. “In fact, Master Snow has given you a few days off. He was very satisfied with your work and expects you in three days’ time.”
Your brows rise. “Oh, that’s very generous.���
Her grin expands.
“He is exceedingly pleased with your performance.”
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Over the next few weeks, Snow keeps summoning you sporadically. The days you work for him are pretty much the same. You attend to your daily tasks, you cook for him and then the two of you have tea in his study. He has you sing for him sometimes. You’ve learnt to swallow your feelings and perform according to his whim. You don’t even sing to yourself anymore, the exultation you drew from it all but gone. It was a way to stay connected to your Covey roots, to keep your family close to your heart. Now you can’t do it without his icy gaze invading your thoughts.
You often end up incredibly tired on those days, your body aching and sore for hours afterwards. You never imagined working for Coriolanus Snow would drain you so much. Falling asleep in his house even turns into a regular occurrence, happening almost every time you show up for work.
Naturally, Henry isn’t thrilled with that. Every time you come back home, too tired to wait on him hand and foot like you used to, his displeasure grows.
But he’s also yet to find a way to fix the issue, so the two of you must keep working. You’ve already sold everything that you could, clothes, any belonging of slight value. 
The gap is still too vast. 
And the city won’t allow you to apply for another place to live, claiming the waitlist is already sky-high.
Though you resent it, Coriolanus Snow is your only hope.
“You’re not in charge of dinner tonight,” Ariadne announces one night as you fire the stove.
You turn the burners off, your eyes rounding.
“I’m not?” 
A bright smile blooms on the brunette’s face.
“Master Snow is inviting you to dine with him as his guest, to express gratitude for your outstanding work.”
Your lips part in surprise. In the many weeks you’ve worked for President Snow, this has never happened. You have shared meals, of course, but you’ve never received such a formal invitation.
You suppose it’s all a game to Snow, and he simply changes the rules whenever he feels it.
She astonishes you further when she urges you to follow her to one of the guest bedrooms.
Utter dismay fills you.
A white dress lies atop the bed. The sleeveless evening gown looks more expensive than any dress you’ve ever laid eyes on. The delicate white silk flares at the waist, the gigantic, fluffy layered skirt making your head spin already. You imagine how hard it'd be to move in such a dress. Though you surmise it won’t be too much of a concern as you only need to sit through dinner with it.
“Master Snow expects you to wear this tonight,” Ariadne chimes.
She helps you slip on the dress, a task you undoubtedly would have struggled to complete on your own, the many layers of tulle, silk and lace of the huge skirt alone their own challenge.
Eventually, you’re dressed. 
She escorts you to the dinner room. Curious eyes dart about the halls, noting their unusual emptiness. Not a single footman, maid or Avox in sight. 
You’re alone.
“The house is very quiet,” you point out.
Ariadne beams at you from above her shoulder.
“The entire staff’s been sent home. Master Snow wants to wait on you himself tonight.”
Your stomach knots, a foreboding feeling swelling within you.
Still, you glide forward. It’s a little late to turn back.
When you enter the diner room, Snow’s face lights up. He makes his way to you. As usual, he’s dashing, his platinum blonde locks neatly combed back and his crimson suit highlighting his tall frame.
His gaze twinkles as he drinks you in. 
“You’re a vision, dove.” He lifts your hand and brushes his lips over your knuckles. His eyes slam into yours. Time seems to hang still for a few seconds. “As I know you would be.”
Keeping your hand in his, he escorts you to your seat. He pulls your chair for you and you fumble with your skirt a little before finding a comfortable way to sit. 
“So…no maids today?” you say lightly. 
His lips slant. He removes the lid off one of the pots. The mouthwatering smell instantly reaches you. 
“I thought it’d be nicer to enjoy a quiet, private dinner together, as a way to celebrate.”
Your face contorts into a puzzled expression. 
“Celebrate?”
“Your last day as my housekeeper,” he replies cheerfully.
Your heart misses a beat. Is he firing you?
You attempt to tamp down the quake in your voice. You fail miserably.
“Really?”
He gauges you and his smile grows.
“Yes. In fact, you and your husband will never have to worry about rent anymore. Him  especially. Everything’s settled.”
An audible exhale slips through your mouth. 
“This is…I don’t know what to say.”
“You can say thank you.”
“Thank you, President Snow.”
His laugh resonates in the near empty dining room.
“Please, call me Coriolanus.” He ladles soup onto your plate before bending close. You tense as his warm breath ghosts over your temple. “We’re quite…close now, aren’t we, dove?”
You gulp down the lump in your throat.
“I suppose we are…Coriolanus.”
You wince. Uttering his name feels wrong, forbidden almost.
Satisfaction doesn’t part from his handsome features as he regains his seat. He gestures for you to start eating. You feel a bit self-conscious as he observes you intently. 
Still, you do as he heeds, not needing to be told twice. 
The quicker you eat, the quicker you’ll get to be home and out of the uncomfortable dress. 
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You groan as your lids flutter, a blurry shape rocking back and forth in your vision. Fatigue tugs at your heavy limbs as you stir. Your forehead scrunches. Your body’s hot, like a furnace, like you’re burning from the inside out. Tingles spark somewhere in you and you keen sharply, leaning into the sensation. Feverish whispers surround you, words you don’t comprehend in your daze.
The pull and tear. The pleasure mingling with the pain. You’re in a strange dream, maybe a nightmare.
Deep-chested grunts land in your ears. You awake further. It’s a voice you recognize, from somewhere…but not like this. Never like this. Something’s wong. Your forehead wrinkles. Something’s wrong but you’re so tired. So so tired. Your mind’s like cotton. Your limbs are as rocks.
As your lids sag, something slams into you. Fast, hard and vicious.
Your heart bounces. Your eyes snap open.
Your stomach drops.
A sinister smile you know too well by now welcomes you.
“Hello, dove. Awake, finally,” Snow whispers, his hips snapping into yours. Your breath catches as his cock grazes against your sweet spots. You clench around him and he chuckles darkly. “That angle always does it for you.” Smugness oozes off his hoarse timbre.
You look up at him. Sweat dots his brow, his tousled blonde locks clinging to his forehead. His blue eyes are cloudy with lust. His white shirt is half open, revealing a glimpse of the bare, glistening muscles underneath.
And as your gaze travels lower, horror flares inside you.
You gape with wide eyes as his veiny length disappears inside you. Again and again. The fluffy white shirt is bunched around your waist, your panties torn, exposing your lower body to President Snow’s lewd scrutiny entirely. His large hands dig into your hips, trailing crescent bruises in the shape of his fingernails.
Your shocked gaze finds his.
His smile expands.
“P-President Snow, what are you doing?” 
You know it’s a stupid question…but you have to make sense of this. Because none of this can be real. Maybe it’s a nightmare and you’re still sleeping.
You gasp as he pushes you into the mattress, piledriving into you at an angle that has you seeing stars.
“Taking what’s mine, of course,” he says matter-of-factly, hooking his arm under your thigh.
He lifts you and spreads you even more. His darkened gaze follows the motion of his cock as he pounds into you, an insatiable look twisting his handsome features. 
Reaching between your tangled bodies, he pinches your tender heap of nerves. He rubs against it, teasing it with maddening circles until your legs quake. You come apart beneath him, crying out as your back arches against the soft sheets.
“Please, stop,” you whimper, tears gathering in your eyes.
Snow’s pace quickens. Ragged moans tear from your throat. Your vision flickers.
He bends over you to lick one of your tears, humming in satisfaction at the taste. 
His lips drag against yours as he asks, “Is it truly what you want? Because it’s kind of hard to tell the way your pussy hugs my cock.” His mouth curves upward against your cheek. “Like it does every time.”
A wave of ice spreads through you. 
Every time? Realization hits you, knife-like as it pierces through the veil of denial. 
Every time…
The pieces fall into place as you remember all those times you fell asleep, unable to recall how you ended up in bed. Tired, confused…sore.
A shudder shoots through your frame.
You twist your body as panic seizes you.
Coriolanus growls when you clamber away from him, heading for the edge of the bed. You curse the pesky gown and the way it hinders your movements.
He yanks you back with ease, gripping the back of your head and shoving you down into the mattress.
Lips graze your earshell as he snarls, “Where are you going? We’re not done. We have to make sure you carry the next Snow heir.” In one stroke, he sinks into you from behind. You choke on your breath, the pain snatching your air. With one hand cinched around the back of your neck, he starts rutting into you. Your bruised folds ache at the blunt invasion. Still, your core clings to him in a way that stirs shame in your gut. “Although after all these times…” You hear the smile in his conceited inflection “It’s a given, isn’t it?”
Your eyes swell with tears. Your lips part in a silent scream. The sick song of flesh against flesh fills the room, mingling with his feral moans. 
Each time your walls tighten around him, bile rises up your throat. 
“What have you done to me?” you sob against the drenched silk sheets.
“Oh, I think you know,” he purrs. His warm breath fans over your scalp. “You can feel it, can’t you? How well your body knows me now, dove.”
His hips stutter, his thrusts getting sloppier. His cock twitches inside you. As warmth trickles alongside your walls, you feel sick again. He remains nestled inside you a while, panting above you and shoving the excess back in as you remain still.
As you feel his digits poke and prod, a chill runs through you. 
You can’t let him touch you again.
You keel over the edge of the bed, heading straight towards the floor. Pain ripples through your knees as they hit the carpet. You’re forced to ignore the crack resounding through your bones, awkwardly getting to your feet and dashing to the wooden swing doors.
Coriolanus’ wicked laugh echoes behind you. 
“Oh, dove, if you wanted to play hide and seek, all you needed to do was to ask,” he taunts.
Terror grips your throat. You ignore it alongside everything else. Alongside the pain, alongside the uncertainty, alongside the fact that you can still feel him inside you. Like you never left the bed. Like you’re still caged in his embrace.
Your legs carry you, barefoot and panicked, as you run through the palatial hallways as fast as the bothersome white dress will allow.
The president’s deep voice bounces against the ornate walls.
“Ready or not, here I come, my darling.”
The blood rushes to your feet. Your head spins and your feet tangle. You trip. Immediately, you gather yourself. You lift the skirt and dive hastily towards the living room. You duck behind a sofa. 
It’s a pathetic place to hide; you know it. But the lavish mansion is nothing but open spaces doused in sunlight. 
There is nowhere to hide.
The clamor of your heart is deafening in your ears as you hear objects crash to the floor a few feet away from you. Hand over your mouth to keep every sound in, you jerk every time the racket grows on the other side of the sofa. 
His frustration coats the air.
“Come out, come out wherever you are, dove,” he calls, his tone icier than before.
You freeze, holding your breath and wishing he doesn’t think to look where you are.
The minutes pass, agonizingly slow. The flimsy hope that he may have left even begins to bloom inside you.
Hot air suddenly breezes over your nape.
“Found you.” 
Your heart leaps to your throat. You go still. Coriolanus hauls you from the floor, half-carrying you and half-lugging you across the living room. You try to bite and claw any part of him you can reach but his hand locks around your throat.
He slams you harshly against a wall. Your head rings, the lines of his face momentarily doubling in your vision. You bite his hand. Cursing under his breath, he bangs your head against the wall again. You go limp.
Through your hazy sight, you note the scarlet trail streaking the back of his hand. You drew blood. Even if you’re lost, you bask in the ephemeral second of victory.
He carries your unmoving form the rest of the way back to his bedroom. You loathe yourself for your stillness. You want to put up a fight. You want to claw. You want to bite. You want to kill him with your bare hands. 
But all you can do is simmer in helplessness as he brings you right back to the very place you tried to escape.
He gently releases you on the bed then climbs over you. Goosebumps erect on your flesh as he caresses the side of your face, a strangely fond gesture considering everything he put you through.
“Please,” you mumble weakly. “You can have anyone you want. I have a husband.”
His face contorts into an expression of pure mockery, as if what you said was beyond ludicrous.
“I don’t want just anyone.” He lifts your chin, scorching blue gaze diving into yours. “I want you.”
“As for your husband…” His voice trails off as he traces your trembling bottom lip with his thumb. A crooked smirk drags his lips skyward. He leans over you to whisper, “Well I did say he’ll never have to worry about rent ever again, didn’t I?”
Your heart sinks. You can’t believe you trusted Coriolanus Snow. A foolish mistake. A dangerous mistake. One you’re now paying dearly. He not only trapped you…he also hurt Henry.
All because of you.
You will never forgive yourself.
“What did you do to him?” you ask, anger and heartbreak making your voice wobble.
A chill-inducing glint dances in his orbs.
“I haven’t done anything.” He cocks his head. “Rebels are criminals of the state and shall be sentenced as such.”
The world collapses around you.
A chasm of despair swallows you whole as quiet tears stream down your face.
As sobs shake your frame, President Snow plants soft kisses on your wet cheeks. You feel him grow hard against your belly as he hums, as if the taste of your hopelessness was ambrosia to him. Heavenly sweet.
He cups your face.
“Do not fret, dove. I’ll make sure you don’t miss a second of his execution.” The emptiness of his blue eyes staggers you, their depths as icy as a frozen lake. “It’s important for all citizens of Panem to learn from watching.”
The expression on his face turns downright diabolical. His knuckles sweep over the apple of your cheek.
“And I want you to learn as you watch the light go out in his eyes, dove, that this was inevitable, that I always win.”
His tone softens as his hands drag over your hips.
“I wonder how many children you’ll give me. Will they all sing as pretty as you?” The hurried rustle of his pants as he frees his cock freezes your blood. He bites his lip, lust already misting his gaze as he prods impatiently at your entrance.
“I suppose we’ll just have to find out,” he croons.
5K notes · View notes
jaegerbby · 1 year ago
Text
➳ my soul searches
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--͙[naoya zenin x female! reader]-͙-
╰┈➤ word count; 6512
╰┈➤ rundown; you might be ignorant about anything concerning naoya zenin but somehow he knows everything about you.
╰┈➤ caution; mean! naoya, DUBIOUS CONSENT, virginity loss (mentions of blood), dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, no prep, choking, use of the words slut, whore, bitch (degradation), MISOGYNISTIC ideologies mentioned, manhandling, 1 thigh smack, cum eating, cunnilingus, fellatio (head pushing & rough), belly bulge, throat bulge, size kink, mentions of fingering, hair is referred to as 'cascading' on one occasion. sex on a futon (just so it won't be confusing).
if there are any more warnings i should add please let me know. not proof read!
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naoya is awful.
he is a horrible man.
everyone knows it.
whether it be due to the countless stories everyone gossips about or witnessing firsthand the vicious things he does.
you were privy to outrageous hearsay spreading but you did not care enough to understand.
as far as you know, he is a powerful man.
and in your clan, you bow down to powerful men.
you have been fed lies that you do not have much to offer.
women were responsible for wifely duties and child bearing.
it is all you learned your entire life.
you are surprised when there is news of a member of the zenin clan's impending visitation. the people within your district make countless preparations and take any precaution necessary to ensure they meet naoya's standard. the last thing they want is to face his acrimony.
there are rumours of a potential alliance and it seems exceedingly promising to be closely associated with such a powerful family.
the day of his arrival, everything looks auspicious. you are shocked at the innumerable women adorned in luxurious clothing and decked in lavish jewellery.
you certainly do not understand all the fuss about him. you swore everyone hated him.
the welcome is extravagant and curiosity gets the best of you because you find yourself tip toeing to catch sight of him.
he is definitely not what you expected. he is young, his expression is all too smug. you never had the opportunity to see him before but he is gorgeous. in every sense of the word.
he is the definition of it.
sharp narrow eyes were lined, push pink lips with a barely visible cupid's bow and a straight nose although the tip was slightly upturned. his brows were thin and straight. if anyone looked for long enough and he smiled you could see the indents of dimples. he was truly pretty.
naoya tells the head of your clan that an alliance will only be formed provided he receives something. that whatever he wishes must be granted to him for congruity in return.
somehow, someway he pinpoints you in a crowd of too many people.
you were astonished when his stony eyes found yours. you try to tell yourself, you are not the one. it must be someone else. it has to be! you are proven wrong when your mother grips your arm and drags you up to him.
she bows, her hand roughly shoving your head down while you fidget. his stare is heavy, it makes you want to hide away. your parents practically offer you to him on a silver platter.
your eyes look everywhere but at him while he requests a room. unabashedly he speaks for everyone to witness.
his fingers find your chin, tipping your head back to look over your face. he towers over you. "dress her up." his voice is raspy and deep. he speaks to your mother though he does not spare her a glance.
you are speechless, you can only imagine what it means. an uncontrollable amount of thoughts pile into your head as your mother takes you away.
virginity means everything to a young girl like you. you need to be one to get married. it is your clan's way of life so why do your parents not care? your mother dresses you in the finest silk, something they could never afford before. she knots your hair in a bun and it hurts when she pulls at the strands.
decorative pins are stuck into your hair, some nicking your scalp. she drapes a heavy chain around your neck and squeezes your hand as she forces bracelets onto your wrists.
you look just like every other woman that dolled up for naoya zenin in anticipation of his attention.
you realise your parents do not care for your dignity as they usher you into an intricately decorated room.
they crave the validation of everyone else more than they care about you. you always knew that but you never thought they would go to this extent.
"be good and listen to everything he says." your mom commands. she shoves you to your knees on the thick layers of satin.
"this is for everyone's betterment." your father adds like it would make any of this right. you have no choice in the matter.
they were giving you up for naoya to do whatever he pleased because they were greedy for admiration.
you worry what it meant for you afterwards. you worry what people would think once you left these four walls.
the door slams shut upon their exit, you nervously shift. you wonder if you could run away. the weight of the jewellery feels uncomfortable, the clothes are so thick you swear you are sweating. they seem impossible to do anything in.
it feels like an eternity when naoya enters. his broad back faces you as he closes the door. his presence is intimidating, his aura is immense.
you swallow hard.
you are only to speak when spoken to.
yet you want to ask what took him so long.
why did you chose me?
what are you going to do to me?
you cannot question him. that is not your place.
you are sitting, hands anxiously twitching where they rest on your thighs. your eyes drop to the floor as he faces you.
he draws closer, your breathing stops as he circles you. he does it slowly, intently like he wants to memorise you from every angle.
you feel like prey, you are awaiting your predator to strike. there is absolutely no escape. his gaze sears into your being.
in a way he is scary. "strip." his deep voice instructs. your body tenses, breathing more laboured. you are unmoving as he steps closer. he cups your head, it is softer than you expected. he tilts you back to look at him, you are made aware of his bulge right in front of your face.
it is when he grips your hair, disheveling your bun that you realise it is all pretence. you shriek as he forcefully lifts you to your knees. the way you reach for his hand is futile because you cannot stop him no matter how hard you try.
"don't make me speak twice, y/n." you wonder how he knew your name. you were no one. you were not anyone important to this clan or world. "now take your fucking clothes off before i do it myself."
he shoves you back, you just barely brace yourself. his nimble fingers reach for the laces on his robe as he undoes them with ease. tears prick your eyes, you shakily tug at your bracelets. your movements are frantic enough to send them scattered across the floor. you rip the necklace from your throat, it stings where it nicks your skin.
your hands endlessly tremble when you pull off the layers of heavy fabric draped on you. you are too busy removing your clothing to see that he is already bare.
once you are rid of anything that preserves your modesty, you fold your arms to hide your body. a man has never seen you like this and you never thought the first time would be under this circumstance.
naoya's eyes trail over you, he is already hard. it is borderline painful. he was hard from simply thinking about you obediently waiting for him.
you feel his presence behind you, he lowers himself to his knees. his hands reach for your shoulders first. they are large and rough, they elicit goosebumps across your skin as he trails them down to caress your arms.
he pulls you into him, the hardness of his chest meeting your back. his arms surround your body and you tense at the feeling of his heated cock brushing your skin. his dexterous fingers remove the pins from your hair, he undoes the bun to allow the strands to cascade down your back. he brushes it over your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your nape.
you are shocked by the softness of them. he trails more kisses down the upper part of your spine. it is mind muddling.
"i can tell you haven't fucked before." you jolt at the sound of his gruff voice. his warm breath meets your skin and you shiver. his forearm comes around your front to keep you flush against him.
"spread your legs, let me see your cunt." he speaks without any shame. you hesitate and his displeasure is evident because his palm connects with the flesh of your thigh so hard that you shriek. your skin stings.
you have no choice but to open your legs for him. he slips his hands between them, his wide palm cupping your cunt.
you cannot breathe. it is all so overwhelming. you notice the evident veins on his lower arm as his hand covers your sex completely. it dawns on you that you have never had this intimacy before. you have never even touched where he would be.
he clicks his tongue, his presence makes you anxious. everything he does makes you tense.
he grimaces, you are not wet. not in the slightest.
naoya removes his hand to spit into his fingers, the fluid is pressed to your clit as he strokes it. he does not like the way you bite down on your lip to muffle your sounds. he hates it.
he rolls the bundle of nerves, pinching it before he slowly trails his fingers down your slit. the tip of his finger prods your entrance, gliding along it though he does not enter.
your smaller hands grip his forearm and for some reason it makes him hug your body tighter.
you breathe shakily in anticipation of his next move. it is a foreign feeling to be caressed but you can hardly complain. it is the furthest thing from unpleasant. it annoys you how good it feels.
"i'm shoving my cock in here." he huffs. the length of his finger coaxing through your lips has you writhing.
"going to stick my dick in this little hole and make you my bitch." his words are vulgar. the obscenity of his remarks have you furrowing your brows.
"it sounds good, right? having your pussy filled to the brim. i'll even fuck my cum into you." his jaw presses into your temple and you unsurely blink. he is so big, you feel like you are tucked into him.
he pinches your clit and you choose to focus on that rather than what he is saying. it feels good, enough to make you squirm. each time he does it, your cunt leaks with liquid. his entire palm strokes up and down, smearing sticky liquid over your cunt.
"naoya." you mewl. he has you spread open on his lap as he strokes your dripping pussy. he knows one thing for certain, your pretty voice forming his name is the greatest thing he has ever heard. he loves the sounds you make because of him.
you are so wet now, you are drenched and leaking. the sticky liquid trails out of your slit endlessly. his fingers steadily collect it and your lips part when he pulls away. your eyes follow his hand as he brings the sodden liquid digits near his mouth.
it is dirty. it is gross, it must be. somehow, you find yourself entranced. his tongue slips out to lave over his drenched palm.
"so fucking messy." he grits his teeth, he tilts his head to you. his wet hand grips your jaw, "you always taste so good." he presses his mouths to yours.
you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he aggressively kisses you. despite your inexperience you try to replicate him.
his expression looks irritated as he wetly separates from you. he forces you onto your back, leaning over you. his eyes glimpse at your cunt and they trail up your body.
you are on display for his prying eyes. he gropes your breasts, kissing and licking down your sternum. you are delirious as he sucks on your skin. he kisses all the way up to your jaw before he covers your mouth with his.
he licks into your mouth until you are a breathless mess.
"i'm not prepping you. m'not." he squeezes your jaw. "the first thing i'm stuffing in your pussy is my cock and it's gonna hurt. it'll hurt a lot but you deserve it." he airily speaks, his eyes dark.
you stare in confusion, panic sets in your chest. what wrong did you do? you wonder what warranted having your virginity stripped with no compassion.
you were more than aware he did not care for you.
as far as you know, you are suppose to pride yourself in your virginity. you were to save it for your husband and no one else. the man between your legs is a stranger, the man telling you such nasty things is nothing to you.
you swallow hard as you stare at his intimidating size. the head of his cock is purplish and dripping pre cum. his shaft is thick and it seems to go on forever. you wonder how it is suppose to fit inside you.
naoya grasps his aching cock to tap the head on your clit. you try to move away, you really do but he is so strong. he is completely unmoving. he coats his tip in your slick before pressing into your hole.
despite how tight you are, despite how big and thick he is. you shove at his abdomen, his abs flexing under your palms. "naoya please." tears stream down your cheeks but he relents. he cups your thighs to bring them over his and spread you open.
his rough fingers find your perked clit, rubbing it in aggressive circles. you hate to admit it but it feels too good. your hands clamp down on your mouth to mute the moans escaping you.
you gush on him with no fanfare. this entire circumstance makes you feel like an easy slut. he presses more into you, reaching the ridge where his cock and shaft meet. your legs jolt the further his girth fills you.
your insides squeeze and clamp down trying to deny his intrusion, you make naoya crazy. "fucking stop." he hisses. you are like a vice around his pulsing cock.
he says what you should be saying. you should be telling him to stop but you do not. you should be screaming and crying, telling him to get off of you but that is the last thing in your head.
it feels good. more of him is pressed into you and your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. it is an unfamiliar feeling but the pressure in your abdomen is more pleasurable than painful. you find yourself adjusting, you are still so tight that naoya loses his mind.
he presses down on your clit an inch accompanying the motion and you shriek at the feeling. he continually rocks his hips, slowly coaxing over your bundle of nerves. your hands find purchase in the sheets, panting while you try to gather your bearings.
the stimulation has you fidgeting, it has you moaning his name endlessly. your thighs tremble on either side of him and your expression is contorted at the feeling. he looks down at your body, tongue slipping out to coat his lips and you find yourself wishing it was in your mouth, on your skin. anywhere you wanted him.
he leans down, his muscles rippling and the flesh along his abs bunching in little rolls, his biceps are almost as big as your head. you feel like he was strong enough to lift you with one finger. he seemed that way, strong and mighty in all that he did.
his hips shallowly move to thrust the portion of his length he has managed to shove into you. "you're fucking me." you stutter, your voice barely audible. you have never spoken those words, have never even conjured them up.
naoya's eyes flash, his large hand spanning over your stomach, trailing between your breasts and then gripping your throat. "m'not. but i can, i can fuck you so deep you feel it here." he squeezes the sides of your neck, eyes glancing to your leaking cunt that soaks him even though he has not gotten to the hilt.
the warmth and tightness of you makes him ache to have his entire cock deep in your pussy but you are little and you are looking at him with the sweetest eyes.
he wants to hurt you, he wants to make you cry but you are so adorable. "i can fuck you and have your belly bulging every. single. time. i shove my cock in your dripping cunt."
you have never had someone speak to you like that. you never heard those words strung together nor spoken in such a depraved tone.
you wonder how he could be this handsome. you wonder what led him here, with you.
"i'll make this pussy mine whether you want it or not but you want it, don't you? you want me to fuck you, you want me to have you shaped to my cock and mine alone" he pants. you nod your head, you swear there is cotton between your ears, there is empty space perhaps but there is surely not a working brain.
not after he painted such an image of him fucking you like you were his and turned it to mush. "say it. say it all, say you want naoya zenin to fuck you." you whine, he squeezes your throat, his grip so strong you swore he could crush it to dust.
you whine and babble and your hips move to get more of the stimulation as he shallowly fucks you. your hands find his broad shoulders, just barely gripping them and he leans down. no you could never move someone like him, he let you. he conceded because it is you.
his face is so close, he is composed and collected while you are a mess beneath him. "i want naoya zenin to fuck me" your voice is broken by a moan as he forces more of himself into you.
you whine in his face "i want him to claim me, break me. i only want him in my cunt." your voice is a warbled mess and for some reason naoya did not expect you to be so nasty. to tell him those things. claiming you is one thing but breaking you?
he would do more than break you. he would wreck every inch of you, destroy and decimate it all, there would be no way to return you to what you were.
"then loosen up, slut." you cannot mute the scream that escapes you when the thickness of his girth is pushed entirely into your walls. your legs desperately hook on his hips, so tense they feel sore.
it burns, it hurts and stings but it feels unbelievably good, it did not feel like something you could fathom in a real world only in fantasy.
why, why, why? why does it feel so good? you had no expectations of sex. absolutely none.
when the women spoke they did not entertain such topics. was this what they did behind closed doors? did such depravity remain hidden while they portrayed themselves as saints?
he is so hot, you feel him everywhere. he is nestled inside you like he belongs there, he throbs into your gummy walls.
his large palm graces your tummy, gliding to your lower abdomen. he presses down and you sigh in unison. your eyes wildly look down. "look where my cock is in you, you really are too small to take it."
he is not your husband, he should not have stuffed his cock all the way inside you that his head impresses in your stomach. what right did he have to lay claim?
it does not matter, not anymore. he has your cunt wrapped around him and your body does not protest. no, your body welcomes him with endless slick. it yearns and begs for him. it felt like you were just waiting for him to come and take you.
he pulls out until only his leaking head is enclosed by your cunt. his expression is pleased at the sight of red streaks along him. "got your blood all over my cock. y'know what that means?"
your head is too empty to hear, to function. you cannot quite make out his words but the sound of his voice makes you mewl. you are soaking him again and again.
"means you're all mine." you eyes roll as he shallowly pumps into you. you swear you cannot see beyond him.
his hands grope the perimeter of your waist. "i haven't even fucked you yet and you already look like a brain dead whore." he coos but his eyes are dark.
he is caught up in the sight of your dripping slit stretched around the girth of his cock. his strong thighs flex, you shriek when he starts pounding into you.
naoya bullies his cock into your pussy that will not stop pulsing around him. you are so tight he sees stars. your insides are gooey and warm. he wants to be wrapped in you forever.
his abs strain, his cock is coated in your juices. slick strands are covering him. the more he slams into you the nastier sounds your pussy makes.
"shouldn't be this tight or feel this good." he huffs, he uses your body like a sex doll. he holds you down and thrusts into you so hard your skin stings. every loud collision of his flesh with yours hurts.
"you're my slut, fuck, you're the only bitch i want." your entire body shakes with the weigh of his movements. your eyes water and you fist the soaked sheets.
naoya looks too good above you. the sweat on his forehead dampens his hair and his muscles shift every time he sinks back inside you.
you are delirious, he did as he said he would, he makes your stomach bulge over and over again. he turns your brain into useless chum.
your cunt sputters liquid, his movements are flurried and aggressive. your sex loudly squelches. you never thought it would feel this good.
every vein on his cock slides along your gummy insides, you feel like you are about to pass out. "a whore like you doesn't deserve to cum but i need to feel you gripping me. i need to know how tight your pussy gets when you're cumming." his fingers find your buzzing clit.
"m'not a whore."
"you're getting fucked like one."
all you can focus on is him, he rolls your clit with experience. a part of you hates that despite him being nothing to you. your vision is blurred by tears but blinking them away allows you to see him.
his body seems like a sculpture. every muscle is evident for prying eyes. beads of sweat leak down his temple and his jaw is locked. he looks unreal. you wish he was yours although you do not know him. you have no relation but he is stretching out your cunt and making it his.
your hand grips his, head thrown back as you writhe on the sheets. you breathe in exasperation as his much larger fingers intertwine with yours. he is holding your hand. he is holding it while he pummels your insides.
you are too sensitive and too overwhelmed. when you cum, your entire body trembles. your eyes squeeze tightly and you clamp down on him like a vice. you cream on his cock your entire body coated in sweat while you shake.
the sight of you throws him over the edge.
"shit, fuck, no one is as good as you. no one." he grits his teeth, eyes fluttering. his length is soaked in you, strands coating him and the harder he pounds the more frothy cream collects at his base.
"want you like this forever." his body covers you completely. his arms wrap around your waist to hold you tight to him. all his weight is pressed into you, desperately thrusting his hips as he chases his release.
despite how you whine and cry at the excessive stimulation. your nails digging into his flesh and scratching lines down his skin.
you seem to mark another area of his back every time he pounds into you.
his movements have your body jerking and his muscles flexing. your cunt feels like it is forcefully drawing the orgasm from him, his teeth grit and his eyes flicker as they threaten to roll back.
he is so powerful but right now he looks like he is losing it. his mouth roughly presses into yours, his tongue and spit in excess and his hips stutter for a moment before he slams into you so hard your cunt squelches.
his hips rock as he stays flush to you and for the first time you are getting filled up. it is even hotter than his cock, it sears along your walls, endlessly pouring and leaking as he grows soft.
"you take it so well for a virgin." he pants before his lips claim yours in a nasty kiss.
he says that like he has not already stripped that title from you.
his weight crushes you beneath him but somehow it is comforting. somehow you like it. you like that there is no space between you and him.
your arms reach around his neck, tears streaked down your cheeks while your mouth desperately returns his kiss.
he briefly parts before leaning back in. it is unfair that he has everything. he is too pretty and he seems to be good at everything.
you whine when he sits up on his knees, your hands losing their grip on his muscles. his eyes train where his cock still fills you.
you wince while he slowly pulls out, the cum still dripping out of you. you feel empty without him.
he takes in the cum leaking from your used cunt. all he can think about is doing it again and again. without tire or care. a surprisingly gentle touch swipes your hair from your face before he strokes your cheek and leans down.
his soft lips though swollen softly move along yours. he breathes a bit more laboured as his hands touch and squeeze along your body and his kisses make their way from your neck to your sternum and tits.
you are panting while he trails open mouthed kisses on your skin. his eyes do not leave yours and they are so golden you swear they glow.
your body grows tense when he drifts lower than your belly and suddenly he is kissing right above your cum filled slit and your inner thighs.
"you're so soft." you did not expect it. was that a good thing? his breath is so close to your pussy, it is weird to think he was just inside you.
you squeal, a hand covering your mouth as his tongue swipes over your cunt. "naoya, that's dirty." your voice is muffled beneath your palm, all he does is clamp his mouth on your clit and suck.
laughing into your cunt before his tongue is gliding up and down your slit endlessly.
a man of his calibre was between your legs with his mouth in such a place. it did not make sense. his heated muscle slips into your pussy, saliva coating you in excess.
your feet lift onto the tip of your toes while you moan. you moan for naoya like you were made for it, made for him.
his fingers gently caress the back of your thighs, all while he sloppily sucks up your messy cunt.
he does not want to stop, his cum is inside of you, it is in your pussy.
he came there. he came within your silky walls and he will never stop thinking about it, about you. he pulls back, licking his lips and nipping the flesh of your thigh before trailing his tongue along your slit.
his cum is still seeping out despite the amount he lapped up from your hole. there are sticky strands of liquid on his jaw and mouth as he brings his face to yours
"it's not dirty. what's filthy, is that you let me fuck you like a cock hungry slut." his large palms grasp your tits while you are speechless.
"is that what you are, my cockslut?" you find yourself nodding your head, whimpering in agreement.
you just want to be something to him.
his thumb strokes over your lips while he grips your face, you are so much smaller his entire hand seems to hold it. "you think you can suck me off? get me nice and wet in that little mouth and make me cum?"
you stare up at him with the prettiest wide eyes. you were crying for so long. you cry so much it makes him hard. "i can." you softly whisper and naoya cannot help but kiss you sweetly.
he nips your lips, laving his tongue over them before he sits next to you.
you swallow, he helps you up by a firm grip on your upper arm. your head feels light.
you are surprised when his hand cups the back of your head and shoves down. his erect cock presses against your cheek. "c'mon, don't waste time."
your hand unsurely surrounds the base, you cannot believe something like this had managed to fit inside you. naoya sighs at the softness. your tongue clumsily laps at his slit, the taste of his cum and your juices filling your mouth.
your lips enclose just before his shaft, your mouth insanely warm it makes naoya pant. "take more of it, i don't fucking care if it's your first time." he gruffly says. you are perched on your knees with his cock in your mouth.
moments before you had never seen one in your life.
you are so unsure, you lower on him but the second his tip brushes the back of your throat you gag. you lurch, the muscles constricting around him.
you pull back frantically, coughing as you clutch your throat. naoya finds your eyes more teary. "so fuckin dramatic." he tuts.
his tip presses against the seam of your lips and you have no choice but to open up.
you really do try to be good. you try your hardest to take more but it seems never ending. you gag so much desperately trying to get him seated deep in your throat. but you can't.
that tight little throat of yours can hardly get even half of him in on your own.
"you're shit at this." he laughs airily. you are drooling so much it is insanely messy, he never had it like this before.
every bit of him says to bruise the back of your throat, to fist your hair and fuck into your mouth so that every inch of him feels the silky walls of your throat.
he listens.
at first, his fingers gently caress through your hair. it lasts for a second before he is pushing your head down. your throat constricts and he shudders. he cannot tell which liquid that drips onto his skin is your spit or tears. 
he is vicious and rough. constantly bobbing your head along his cock regardless of how you choke. the sloppy noises are all he needs to get there. the feeling of your gooey throat objecting his forceful intrusion. your muscles resisting. "fuck you're such a good bitch. little baby throat s'taking it all."
his body tenses, hips stuttering to fuck into your mouth. he does not usually come this fast. he shoves you down until your lips surround his base. he swears he can see your throat bulging from his cock. your hot sticky saliva drip all over him as he shallowly ruts his hips.
naoya grits his teeth, moaning loudly before he spews cum down your throat. you jerk in confusion but he does not release you. your hands scramble. he feels you swallowing around him but it is not enough.
liquid spills past the perimeter of his cock.
he tugs you off, your mouth wetly separating with a sticky pop.
"you look pretty like this." your hair is knotted, tear streaks coat your cheeks, your lips are swollen from sucking his dick and his cum is spewed in your mouth in a sticky web. it drips down your jaw but he still kisses you.
still does it all sweetly and cups your cheeks as if he is a nice man.
you eagerly accept it. you kiss and kiss and his salty cum is messily exchanged. you are a breathless mess when he pulls away with spit still connecting you.
"so stupid." he shoves your forehead with his forefinger. you want to cry. he leaves you sitting while he lies on the sodden sheets.
it hurts to hear. you sniffle, looking at him. you let all this happen. you slept with him. this is not some lucid sex dream, it really occurred. he came in you, he touched you everywhere.
he had you in way a man never did before.
you are crying for a different reason now. when the lust that clouded your brain finally dispels you realise everything is ruined.
"do you have any idea what you've done?" tears are profusely coating your cheeks, you tug the blanket to your chest.
you are hiding your body as though he has not violated every inch of it. as if his desecration has not tainted you in the form of bruises and cum.
naoya breathes, his eyes rolling as he folds his arms under his head. "i fucked a bitch, s'all."
your face contorts in more pain. this was never supposed to be your life. you meant nothing to the man who was just inside you.
you were nothing to him. "i can't get married now."
naoya looks angry. the muscles in his arms flex, eyes flitting over to you.
in a second he sits up, the expanse of his palm covers your throat. it draws a sound of shock from you. his face is all too close and you wince at the flashes of him fucking you as they are forced into your mind.
how can you forget it? especially when he is at this proximity, when his hands were all over your body and now he simply held your neck.
his gaze flits downwards, he is angry without a doubt. it is hard to not see it when his skin is flushed red and his jaw is locked.
he rips the sheet from your body before he roughly shakes you.
your eyes flash in panic as you grip his tightening hand. "you have me and you want to marry some lowlife prick from your shitty clan?" he hisses into your face, his nose brushing yours over the nonexistent distance.
you gasp for air because he holds too tight. "you weren't a good fuck. not at all." his hand slips between your legs to cup your cum filled cunt and you blanch.
"you're just a prissy little virgin but you're pretty. i'll give it to you, you're gorgeous." without any warning his digits slide inside of you.
it is forceful and rough as he repeatedly thrusts his long fingers into the soaked walls of your pussy. you grit your teeth. it should not feel good. it should not but you cannot help the uninhibited movement of your hips.
your legs practically part for him on instinct despite how badly you want him to get away from you. that is what you want, right?
you should not want him and your eyes that are trailing all over his defined muscles should be looking to the heavens for some hope.
they should not be gleaming at his pretty features or his damp hair. "and you'll be one hell of a bitch but you gotta prove it to me before i marry you." marriage.
oh marriage, marriage, marriage.
it had been on your mind since you were a little girl. you have ached and dreamed and wished upon the stars for it to find you.
"how?" his brows tilt at your broken voice. he shoves you down until your head meets the wooden flooring and your back stings at the impact.
he is over you, his shadow casting along your figure. "let me fuck you. submit yourself to me alone. if ever you touch another man, i'll know."
his voice is deep, his expression dark. he is terrifying, you wonder how someone so pretty could look so horrific. you swallow hard.
"i'd kill him and i'd kill you." his eyes do not leave yours for a second. he brings your legs around his narrow waist, the weigh of his erection digging into the flesh of your inner thighs.
"but if you be good, i'll marry you. i'll take you away from this place."
you want so desperately to escape, you want so desperately to be anywhere but here. you want to be with him even if he is awful.
"will you marry me?" your fingers itch with the urge to draw him closer, your voice a warbled mess. your legs tighten around him, you want him close. so close.
it seems he knows because he nears until his body is flush to yours. until you are engulfed by his scent and the hardness of his figure.
"i swear it." his eyes flick to your lips, so close to him that they brush with his words. his admission has you gripping his cheeks and kissing him.
it's an inexperienced and sloppy kiss but you do as best as you can and naoya finds your mouth one of his favourite things.
tears leak from your eyes as he shoves his entire length into you and your body tenses.
for the second time that night he claims you.
---
despite wanting to be angry at him, you cannot. not when he kissed every bruise he left on your skin, not when he pressed his lips to yours like you meant something to him.
not when he tugged you into his side and you find revery in his scent.
something about naoya is so comforting you find yourself falling asleep with no issue.
or maybe it is because he used and exhausted your body.
he has you wrapped in his arms with familiarity. your face mushed to his chest and your leg thrown over his waist.
his thumb coaxes along your back, his face nuzzling your hair. you look adorable, you look too precious. even in your sleep you press into him more.
naoya wants to burn the sight into his brain.
you are his forever.
"my soul always searches for yours but you have never remembered mine. not once." he whispers into the air although you cannot hear it.
although you do not respond.
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isn't he so dreamy ^^
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heavenbarnes · 7 months ago
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simon's fave past time is seeing you ride his abs and thighs ITS CANON
you can expand on it if you want
the concept of riding abs has me going fucking nutty, THANKS VERY MUCH 🫶🏼
when it comes to pleasure, to older bf!simon, it’s entirely about you. he lives to serve in every sense of the word.
serve his country, serve his task force- serve you.
to him, his very existence is an answer to you.
the question being, ‘what do you need?’
that is to say that there isn’t a part of him that we wouldn’t willingly give up to you, all you had to do was ask- really, you didn’t even have to say a word.
he was already offering himself up on a silver fucking platter.
so, for simon, there’s no place he’d rather be than under you. for him to lay back, look up at you and see you eclipsing his sun.
he likes the way the bedroom light illuminates behind you like a saint, staring down at him like he’s your worshipper (he is).
it’d been lazy, half pressed to his chest as your legs tangled with his- making out in your bed like you were back in school.
simon’s perfect day.
you’d felt it digging into your stomach, he’d been hard from the moment you’d touched lips. as was his standard, there wasn’t a lot you could do that wouldn’t get him rock solid.
tongue in his mouth, spit on your chin, your hand had been sandwiched between the two of you as you stroked it through his shorts.
maybe it was because he was about to blow a load in his undies.
maybe it was because he could feel you rutting into his thigh.
whatever it was, it had him dragging you up his body and situating you on his abs. pulling his hoodie out of the way, you could feel the firm lines of his stomach beneath you.
“g’head, use me sweet’art”
so that’s what you did.
bottoms discarded, shirt hiked up so simon could have one hand play with your chest while the other held your waist. hips desperately rolling against his abs.
every time he tensed them, stomach going rigid so you could rub yourself against him- your eyes rolled back in your head.
“look s’pretty up there, made f’me”
something about the way he felt under you, maybe even the way he was gazing up at you like you were made of stars. it had your mouth running off without your brain.
just straight from the heart.
“yours, si- all yours”
you felt his grip on you tighten, pulling you down harder onto him- practically dragging you against him to draw more of those heady moans out of you.
this was where he was meant to be.
under you, serving you, offering up every inch of himself to you. ask him? he was the happiest man alive.
didn’t matter that he’d already cum in his shorts.
didn’t matter that he was already chubbing right back up.
didn’t matter that he could go crazy feeling you rutting against his skin.
as long as you looked this happy? sounded this sweet? felt this fucking good?
“take whatever y’need”
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fartistt · 30 days ago
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cute, cute, cute!
skully x gn!reader
@lolitsleia's post made me start shaking like a rabid dog honestly - 💌
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It was almost too easy—that was the only thought in your head when you stared at Skully's face. You arrived at a point where you started wondering if you were that charming or if Skully was just easily embarrassed, although you think that both could be true at the same time. Still, with the way he flamboyantly kissed your hand during your first meeting, you certainly didn't expect him to be so rattled by a compliment of all things.
“Why… Why thank you!” He barely kept himself together when he gave that response. You swear that he was more composed than this but considering the possibility of him acting strange because the compliment came from you of all people made you slightly embarrassed as well. Skully placed a finger over the tip of his nose, trying to hide his embarrassment.
“You don't sound too well. Are you alright?” Perhaps it was mean of you to dwell on the situation but it was his fault for showing an adorable response to mere words.
“Of course! Don't worry, I’m simply…” he trailed off. He pinned his gaze somewhere else, trying to avoid yours. “—just not used to it.”
You didn't expect him to answer honestly. That caught you off guard. He gave you a bigger reason to continue the conversation. He was practically serving himself on a silver platter.
“People don't tell you you're cute?”
He turned red again. The vibrant colour stood out on his deathly pale complexion. It was a good colour, you think.
“Not at all.” You could tell he was struggling.
“That's unfortunate.” You tilted your head slightly and crossed your arms. “You're really cute after all. I can't believe people don't tell you that.”
Cute, cute, cute—that’s all you thought of when you looked at his face again. You let out a childish giggle when he tripped over his words, you could tell that he didn't know how to reply. You wished that he was reacting this strongly because of some sort of hidden feeling that remained a secret. You wished that if it was anyone else who told him that, he'd react normally with his usual tone and a gentlemanly smile.
The answer to those wishes remains a mystery. But you're fine with that, for now. You can make do with his flamboyant reaction on display in front of you. Hands cupping his cheeks in embarrassment and lips that were slightly agape, not knowing how to reply.
Yeah, the sight was fine for now. Everything else can come later.
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leebitofficial · 8 months ago
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spoiled it
hyunjin x reader, fluff - wc: 566
barging into the studio, you’re shakily greeted by a confused christopher bang.
“where is hwang hyunjin?” you ask sternly.
“i- i don’t know… probably in the practice room across the hall…” he replies, a bit disoriented after your sudden burst through the door.
you thank him before quickly leaving, forgetting to close the door behind you. chan grumbles as he gets up to close it himself.
opening the door to the practice room, you immediately lock eyes with your lover through the mirrors on the surrounding walls.
“y/n? you’re supposed to be home resting by now, what are you doing here?” he questions, quickly standing from where he was sitting on the floor to greet you.
“don’t be mad.” you hesitate.
“why would i be?” he replies.
“well… you know how we were gonna wait until the baby’s born to know whether it’s-”
“y/n! don’t tell me you spoiled it!” he interrupts.
“i’m sorry! i swear it was an accident!” you exclaim.
“don’t tell me! i don’t wanna know!” he tells you, putting his face in his hand and turning away from you.
“hyunjin… i know you wanna know.” you tease, creeping up behind him as he remains facing away from you.
“you’re right… i do wanna know… but i’m still mad.” your boyfriend sighs, turning to face you once again.
he remains still, his head tilted downward with his dark hair in his face. you kiss his pout away, brushing his soft hair from his forehead. he instinctively wraps his arms around your middle.
“tell me.” he speaks amongst the silence.
“i thought you didn’t want me to?” you tease again.
“y/n… you’re not gonna be able to keep it from me for two more months. you might as well tell me now.” he huffs.
“i know, i know.” you reply as you continue to brush your fingers through his hair.
“she’s already given me lots of attitude, and people always say first born daughters are most like their fathers, so i had my suspicions.” you whisper as if there were anyone else in the room.
at first he doesn’t say anything, processing what has to be the second most life-altering news he’s ever heard (the first being when you’d told him you were pregnant at all. it was all very unexpected considering you hadn’t even made plans for marriage yet).
your delivery of the news may have seemed a bit backhanded in a way, yet hyunjin thought it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.
“it wasn’t an accident, was it?” he asks softly.
you give a weary laugh. “i couldn’t help myself.”
“i think we were both gonna break at some point anyways.” he giggles.
as the news settles, hyunjin’s eyes brim with tears that threaten to spill. he doesn’t know how to express his excitement so he’s resorted to this.
“i can already tell she’s gonna be such a daddy’s girl.” you tell him.
that broke him. he whines, tears beginning to fall as you pull him close. it's ironic that he's the emotional one right now, considering you're very pregnant and always moody, and he's always the one to comfort you.
if he’s honest, he was hoping for a baby girl. he was hoping that one day he could pick flowers with her, dress her up, keep her as his lock screen, dance with her, draw with her, laugh with her. and the answer to his hopes was handed to him on a silver platter.
then chan walks in, confused as ever.
“what the hell did you do to him?”
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shrtcakeprncess · 3 months ago
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𝒫𝐸𝐸𝒫𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝒯𝒪𝑀—ryomen sukuna
─── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ──
mdni,18+
you peel your tired eyes open, blinking a couple times to adjust to the darkness. a soft yawn escapes your lips as your hands roam the plush queen-sized bed, finally finding your phone. you click it on, the bright light brutal against your eyes, and you hiss, cursing softly. 3:39 am. you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, it’s three in the morning and he’s been at it for hours.
"seriously, sukuna?" you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you roll over, trying to muffle the sounds with your pillow. it’s no use. the shrill voice of the unknown woman echoes through the thin walls, her cries of "oh,sukuna!" piercing the night. you groan, pulling the pillow tighter around your head, but it does little to drown out the noise.
you never thought you'd be living with a man twice your age. but,the cost of living was getting out of hand, and you didn't have the luxury of having parents who handed everything to you on a silver platter. not to mention most of your checks went towards tuition, most? who were you kidding. all, your checks went towards tuition.
you think back to when you first moved in, how skeptical you had been. the ad on craigslist had seemed too good to be true. a large room in a nice apartment for a price you could actually afford? it had to be a scam. but when you met sukuna, all your doubts vanished. he was extremely nice, clean, and, let’s face it, fucking sexy. the entire time he’d shown you the apartment, you couldn’t help but eye-fuck him, your mind wandering to places it probably shouldn’t have.
he’d insisted on helping you move all your belongings in, not that you had many, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. "just relax," he’d said with that charming smile of his. "i’ll take care of everything." handsome and a gentleman.
you couldn’t believe your luck.
four months had passed since then, and living with sukuna had been amazing. he was a great cook, often whipping up dishes you couldn’t even pronounce. he was always offering to buy you things while he ran errands—chipotle, candles, and once even a hello kitty plushie because he knew you liked those. it was like living with the perfect older brother, if older brothers were drop-dead gorgeous and incredibly thoughtful.
but then there were the nights like this. the nights when sukuna brought women home, and you were left trying to sleep through the symphony of passion coming from his room. you weren’t the jealous type, but hearing those screeches of sukuna’s name all night until the early morning was such a damn nuisance. you always wondered if his dick was really that good; it had to be, the way these women moaned his name.
"ugh," you groan, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. there’s no way you’re getting any sleep now. you grab a hoodie and pull it on, deciding to head to the kitchen for a glass of juice.maybe the cool liquid will help calm your frayed nerves.
as you tiptoe down the hallway, you can still hear them, the sounds of their lovemaking echoing through the house. you shake your head, a mix of frustration and curiosity swirling in your mind. reaching the kitchen, you fill a glass with orange juice and take a long sip, the coolness soothing your dry throat.
just as you’re about to head back to your room, the noise stops. the sudden silence is almost deafening, and you pause, wondering if it’s really over. you sigh in relief, hoping that maybe now you can get some sleep.you hear footsteps behind you.
"couldn’t sleep?" sukuna’s deep voice startles you, and you turn to see him standing in the doorway, shirtless and looking way too good for someone who’s just been... busy. his inked toned body glistens with sweat, pink hair pulled to the back. he’s wearing a pair of red checkered pajama pants that hang dangerously low on his hips, so low you could practically trace his v line that led to a small patch of pubic hair.god, he looks so fucking sexy.you notice you’re staring and cough sheepishly.
you shrug, trying to play it cool. "yeah, something like that."
he steps closer, a smirk playing on his lips. "sorry about the noise. i didn’t mean to keep you up."
you wave it off, though your heart is pounding in your chest. "it’s fine. i’ll survive."
sukuna chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "you’re a tough one, aren’t you?"
you can’t help but smile, despite the situation. "i try."
there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and you can’t pin it, he’s staring at you with those beautiful iridescent eyes, and you can’t help but shift under his gaze.sukuna would never admit but he found you cute, there was another woman in his room that he’d just fucked and yet here he was thinking about you.you had a pink hoodie pulled over your curvy frame, ass peeking out from the bottom. it was just enough to make his imagination swirl to life, he wanted to take you right here on the kitchen counter,have you beg his name as he fucked you so hard you cried.
you look so fucking pretty, dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, pieces framing your tired face.your pretty white teeth are gnawing at your plump lips in anticipation.he makes you nervous, he can tell. he likes watching you squirm under his gaze, he finds it adorable how easy it is to get you flustered.
“well, goodnight.”
as he turns to head back to his room, you catch yourself staring at his back, the muscles moving beneath his skin. you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts.he was literally upstairs, fucking another woman and you’re here drooling over him.now it’s just you alone in the kitchen, cicadas outside singing in harmony.you down the rest of your orange juice before rinsing out your cup and switching the light off.
your curiosity gets the best of you and you can’t help but press a ear against his door as you’re passing by, you can make out grunts.they’re too high pitched to be hers, they’re his.you find yourself getting wet at the sound, they’re deep and guttural and so damn sexy.you feel like a creep when you find your hands inching towards your panties, pushing them aside and rubbing into your wetness.you almost moan, god, you’re so fucking horny all of a sudden.
you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan when you slip a finger inside of you, a soft squelch filling your ears as you eagerly move your finger inside your wet pussy.this is so wrong you think, but it feels so good and the way sukuna’s moans are filling your ears has your head spinning.your head lulls back as you add another finger, stretching your tight hole wider.you’re desperate, other hand finding your throbbing clit.you rub in time with the creaking of the bed,your pussy pulsating around your fingers.
“you like this huh?” you hear sukuna whine, spurring you to move faster.the wetness of your cunt leaks down your fingers,and you want to cry out loud as your finger finds its way deeper and deeper inside of you.tears threaten to spill from your watery eyes as you ravage your poor clit, flicking, rubbing, squeezing the tiny bud between your fingers.
“you think i don’t see the way you look at me? i can tell you want me to bend you over.”
if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was talking to you, but it’s not possible. he doesn’t know you’re outside listening in on him, fingering yourself to his moans, his voice.a part of you wish he did, but part of you knew that it’d be extremely taboo to have relations with a man double your age.but fuck, did you want to so bad.
you can feel your stomach churning with that familiar feeling,legs buckling as they threaten to give out.”are you gonna cum?” sukuna asks, his voice is dark and you can hear the smirk in it.you nod your head as if he’s talking to you, hips now meeting your fingers.you want to cry out as your orgasm takes over you, back resting against the wall as you shake with pleasure.
“good girl.” you once again hear sukuna, realizing what you’ve just done you quickly pull your fingers out of you.god, was your sex life this pathetic? you shake your head and make your way to the bathroom to wash your hands.once you’re finally settled back under your pink covers your phone pings.
sukuna: promise to let me taste next time?
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likes+ comments+ reblogs are appreciated <3
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theemporium · 4 months ago
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[22k] in attempt to bridge the decades old rivalry between the two gangs, a marriage of alliance is proposed between the new jersey devils and the new york rangers. the last thing you expected was to find yourself offered on a silver platter to your enemies. and you certainly didn't expect your future husband to be the likes of the devils leader himself, nico hischier.
new jersey mob masterlist || nhl mob masterlist
warning: this is a mob au. topics and themes such as violence, blood, murder and gun use are prevalent and constant throughout the fic. please keep that in mind if you choose to proceed with this fic and the whole series.
read part one here
.
It was chaos the second you walked through the door.
You had never seen the house in such a state: orders being yelled out, people pushing past each other, guns and weapons being loaded onto belts and into bags, screams so loud they were basically incoherent. 
Somewhere in the mess, Nico had taken your hand and refused to let go. You couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away just yet either. 
He tugged you through the bustling crowd of people, pulling you towards a large dining room in the back of the house—the one used for the weekly family dinners—when the incoherent screams began to make sense. You could hear each of their voices so clear, so distinct, so angry. 
It made something in your own chest tighten and twist into something ugly.
Jesper was the first one to notice you both. Or maybe he was the only one willing to tear his eyes away from the heart-stopping sight in the middle of the room. 
You had seen Jack in many states. You had seen him in his usual everyday, bubbly and loud moods where he was charming and sweet and a little sassy. You had seen him drunk and clingy and throwing himself around like he was unstoppable. You had seen him silent and angry and huffy when things didn’t go his way, when he messed up or didn’t do something up to his personal standards. 
You had seen him so many ways and yet, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of him now. 
He looked dead. 
There was no other way to put it, no way to sugarcoat it. He was laying out on the dining table they used for family dinners: his face was black and bruised and cut up, his clothes were ripped and wrecked, his shirt was practically nonexistent and giving you a clear view of his torso. 
It was shredded. 
You had seen men die in a million different ways, fast and slow and easy and torturous. You had seen men on the brink of their life, begging and pleading and praying to a god that wasn’t watching over them. You had seen men beg for mercy. You had seen men so arrogant they could barely finish their sentence before the bullet was put through their head. 
But you had never seen something like this—or maybe you had never seen someone you care about like this.
There were large gashes spanning across his stomach. They were huge and deep and gruesome to look at. And it was bloody. So bloody. So much blood seeping out of his wounds and staining his skin, his clothes, the table, the wood. 
Everything. 
And his body was unresponsive. His eyes were closed. His skin was pale. 
And he looked dead. 
Jack Hughes looked dead and it made you queasy. 
It hadn’t even clicked to you where the screams were coming from, or rather who they were coming from before you heard Jesper talking.
“They can’t do anything to help him until he moves,” Jesper rasped, something quite like fear lacing his words as he spoke. “Nico, he’s freaking out and he’s—”
“I’m not leaving! I-I can’t! He can’t leave me!” 
Your eyes snapped over Jesper’s shoulder, finally spotting Luke being held back by Kurtis and Kevin with sombre looks on their faces. He was thrashing against their hold, angry and worried and upset. For the first time since you met the boy, it hit you just how young he really looked when his emotions really took over. 
“Get him out of here,” Nico hissed, short and snappy but the concern could still be heard. 
“We can’t,” Jesper repeated, exasperated. “We tried—” 
“Let me,” you spoke up, not even waiting for a response from the two boys before you headed straight towards Luke and the others.  
“He can’t be dead,” Luke yelled, his voice raspy and broken. “He—He can’t!” 
“Luke,” Kurtis tried, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “They need to—” 
“He’s not allowed to die!” Luke pleaded, his voice almost sounding like a choked out sob. “He…we…he can’t!”
“And he won’t,” you said in a firm voice, even if the words tasted like battery acid on your tongue. “He won’t die if you let them help, Luke.”
His eyes snapped away from Jack, away from his dying brother on the table, to look at you and it broke your heart. It broke your heart to see the fear and anguish and misery, a haunted look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite understand but shattered the pieces of your heart into dust regardless. 
“I can’t do this alone,” he whispered, no longer tugging against the hands pulling him back as he stared at you with a hopeless expression. “I don’t want to do this without him.”
“You won’t,” you said it like a promise. 
Luke shook his head, his eyes red and glossy from tears. “You don’t know that—”
“I do,” you interrupted. “I do know that. It’s scary, I know. But you’re not alone and neither is Jack. The doctors are going to do everything they can, Luke.” 
A small ‘ooft’ left your lips as the boy stumbled forward, as his body fell into yours and you caught him as best you could, letting him press his face against your shoulder and let the fight leave his body. 
“Let’s give them space, okay?” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
“Stay with me?” 
“Of course,” you murmured, squeezing him tighter. 
You had spent almost every day with Luke Hughes for the better part of the last four months.
You had seen the younger child charm in him, the slightly awkward but endearing allure that captivated a part of you. You never had any siblings, destined to be the only child your parents had, but you liked to think in another world you had a younger sibling quite like Luke: one that was good-natured and irritating and sassy and witty. 
You liked to think that in this world, in this lifetime where you met under unwanted circumstances, that he was more than the boy appointed to be your bodyguard under Nico’s command.
Even from day one, he had never seemed like the young, obedient henchman following the instructions given to him by his boss in an eager attempt to please him. He became a friend, even if it took him a few weeks of wiggling his way into your life until you accepted it. You cared for him more than you ever cared for the younger boys back in New York that made feeble attempts to get on your good side to get an in with Jacob.
You had been denying a lot of emotions and feelings and truths to yourself over the last few weeks and Luke was one of them. You cared for the younger boy. You saw him as a friend, as a brother even. It hurt when he was upset with you, ignoring you for a few days. 
And it hurt seeing him now, so broken and hopeless and a shell of the boy who was usually finding new ways to get under your skin. 
“He’s all I have left,” Luke murmured, his cheek squished against the pillow beneath his head. “I know the Devils are a family but—”
“I know,” you assured him before the guilt of his words could swallow him whole. “He’s your brother. No one is judging you.” 
“I should be beside him,” Luke rasped. 
“What Jack needs right now is the doctors,” you murmured, pushing some curls away from his face and watching his eyes flutter shut. “And you need to rest.” 
His eyes snapped open. “I can’t—”
“You will,” you said with a pointed look. “You can stay here. If he wakes up, I’ll wake you up.” 
Luke swallowed. “Promise?” 
“Promise,” you said with a soft smile.
“You’re a good person, Rogue,” he whispered as he slumped back down against the pillow, no longer fighting the exhaustion. 
“Yeah, you too, kid,” you said fondly. 
You didn’t move from your spot until the boy had fallen asleep, his breaths slowing and his face looking a little more peaceful as he rested. And even then, you remained for a little longer just in case. It was only once you were sure Luke was asleep and okay that you moved to stand up, throwing a blanket over him before you snuck out of your own bedroom. 
You almost jumped out of your skin when you turned around to find Nico leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for you. 
“Sorry,” he shot you a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 
“I didn’t expect anyone to be outside,” you admitted, slumping against the door as you mirrored his smile. “How’s Jack?” 
“He’s gonna be okay,” Nico said, and you felt the relief hit you like a truck. Even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it out loud (especially around Luke), you were terrified of the other outcome, that Luke would wake up to his brother gone. “Probably won’t be happy he will be stuck on bedrest for a few weeks.”
You snorted, despite yourself. “He will be bummed but at least he will be alive.”
“How’s Luke?” Nico asked, a crease between his brows as he tried—and failed—to hide his concern. 
“He’ll be okay too,” you said with a soft but sad smile. “I know Jack is his brother but…god, seeing him like that was heartbreaking.” 
“Thank you,” Nico murmured, watching as your face morphed into one of confusion before he nodded towards your bedroom. “For what you did for him.” 
“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you said, the emotions of the last hour or so finally catching up on you as you tried to ease the suffocating feeling around your throat. “I always wanted a roommate,” you added, though the joke fell flat. 
Nico frowned. 
“Sorry,” you winced a little. “I was just going to sleep on the floor anyways—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nico quickly intercepted. “You can sleep in my room.”
You paused, raising your brows. “I thought that wasn’t until we were married.”
His lips twitched. “We can make some exceptions.” 
The second you stepped into his room, you almost wanted to laugh. 
Maybe it was the rush of emotions or maybe it was the fact that after four months, some things about Nico Hischier were so predictable to you and his bedroom was one of them. It had dark wooden floors and matching furniture. It was black silk sheets and a door that led off to a walk-in wardrobe where you could almost imagine all his suits neatly hung up. It was fit for a mob boss. 
And then there were the things that did genuinely catch you by surprise. 
The bookshelves stocked with a variety of titles you both recognised and had never heard of before. Trinkets dotted around the room like small reminders. Photo frames holding pictures that almost made him seem like a normal person, like he was just some twenty-something year old who wanted to decorate his space with sweet memories. 
It was just another one of those things that made your chest tighten. 
You had been staring at a photo on his dresser—one of him, Jonas and Timo grinning shamelessly at the camera whilst they sat in some bar—when you heard the man let out a sigh. He was slumped against the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair and almost looking out of place in his casual wear from the picnic. 
And he looked exhausted. Dejected. Crushed. 
Your feet were moving before you could stop yourself, before you could second-guess your actions. 
Nico lifted his head as you stood in front of him, his legs spreading a little wider as you stood between them and replaced his hand with your own. His eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the feeling for a few moments before you spoke. 
“Jack and Luke will be fine,” you murmured, nails lightly scratching against his scalp as he let out a deep sigh.
“I know,” he swallowed harshly. “I just worry. They have been through so much and today could have been avoided and—”
You lightly tugged on his hair for him to continue. 
Nico looked contemplative before he spoke. “Did Luke ever tell you about Quinn?”
Your brows furrowed together. “Who’s Quinn?” 
“He was Jack and Luke’s oldest brother,” Nico said, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
You blinked. “Was as in…?”
“Dead,” Nico confirmed with a nod. “They used to live in Toronto. They got into some shit with some bad people up there but Quinn never made it out alive. Jack and Luke were lucky to make it to New Jersey.” 
“Oh my god,” you breathed out, the realisation hitting you like a punch in the gut. His freakout went beyond just caring about his brother, it was about potentially losing his second brother. “How old were they when—”
“Luke was thirteen or so,” Nico said with a blank face. “Jack turned sixteen a week after it happened.”
“Fuck,” you swore. 
“Yeah,” he flashed you a sad smile. “Fuck indeed.” 
You frowned. “They came to New Jersey alone?” 
“I remember the day I first met them so clearly,” Nico murmured, swallowing back the thickness in the back of his throat that made it hard to mutter out the words. “They were so young and hopeless and—” He paused for a moment. “I promised myself I would never let them feel like that again. I know what this world is like and I know it’s impossible to put that on myself but I never wanted to see them or any of the others look like that again. And that was exactly what I saw in Luke today.” 
“Nico,” you whispered softly.
“M’sorry,” he huffed out, tucking his head down as he let out a sad, pitiful laugh. “You just spent the last hour comforting Luke, you don’t need to do this again.” 
“You care about them so much,” you murmured as you tugged his head back, as his chin rested on your stomach as he looked up at you. “And you put so much pressure on yourself to be the one they can lean on. But you need someone who takes care of you too.”
“I like taking care of them,” he whispered, soft and honest. “I like taking care of you. The Devils are my family and it’s my job to look after them, to be the one they can always rely on.” 
“Let me be that to you,” you whispered back, your thumb lightly stroking against his cheek. “You don’t have to do this alone.” 
He leaned into your touch. “This is enough. This is all I need.” 
And it felt hard to ignore when he whispered those words to you. It felt hard to push down the feelings you had been having for the last few weeks, to ignore what you think you had known for a while but couldn’t quite admit to yourself. It felt hard to ignore the truth. 
You lowered your hands until both hands were cupping his face in your palms, your eyes meeting his warm gaze, your body trapped between his legs. It was close but not close enough and you never wanted to leave the twisted embrace. 
It took less than a second before you leaned down to press your lips against his. 
In an instant, Nico’s arms were winding around your thighs and tugging you closer. He kissed back like it was instinctive, like he had been waiting for the moment to approach. He kissed you like he loved you, in a way you had never experienced before. He kissed you like you had the rest of your life ahead of you to live off of these kisses. And you found that you really wanted that.
“I want to marry you,” you whispered, watching his expression change with the admission. “I don’t care about the wedding. I don’t care about finding the perfect venue or getting the most expensive flowers or any of it. I just want you. I just want to marry you.”
Your thumb pressed against the dip of his dimple as he smiled at you. “Yeah?” 
“Yeah,” you nodded. 
His hands gripped your thighs, tightening his hold. “God, if I knew all it would take was one kiss, I would have made a move sooner.”
You snorted, trying to push him back but he just pulled you closer. “Shut up.” 
“I’ve been waiting for you to catch up,” he added, but there was something affectionate in his voice.
“We may have been a little unconventional in the way we got here but I mean it,” you said, your palms still holding his face. “I want to marry you, Nico.”
“I can’t wait to marry you, baby.”
You weren’t shocked to find Luke already in the room, sitting by Jack’s bed where you had expected him to be since he woke up the following morning.
You were shocked to find that Jack was already awake.
If you were being completely honest, he didn’t look much better than when you last saw him, bleeding out on the dining table. But he was awake. His eyes were open, there was somehow still a smile on his face—even if it was a little tender—and he was talking, which was more than you were expecting to see. 
He had been the one to spot you by the door first, flashing you a somewhat sheepish smile as he nodded you to come in. 
“Found time in your schedule to see lil’ old me? I’m honoured.” 
You shook your head, though it was almost fond. “Good to see they didn’t break your sense of humour.”
“Gonna need to do more than almost kill me for that,” he joked, the words leaving his mouth before he even realised. 
Your eyes instantly snapped towards Luke. There was a mixed expression on his face, one you couldn’t quite figure out but it was giving you the same overbearing need to hold him in your arms like you had done the previous night. 
“Too soon,” Luke grumbled.
“Sorry,” Jack murmured, his eyes softening as he reached for his little brother, as he took his hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Like a reassurance that he was still there.
“Well, there will be no more attempts because Nico has put you on bedrest indefinitely,” you quickly chimed in, crossing the room to stand by where Luke sat. 
Jack’s jaw dropped. “What? No fucking way.” 
“Yes fucking way,” you snapped back, giving the boy a look. “You’re out, Hughes.”
“This is unfair,” Jack huffed, leaning back against his pillows and trying to hide his wince as he did so.
“It took us twenty minutes to get you to sit up,” Luke deadpanned. “For once in your life, listen to Nico.” 
“Whatever,” Jack huffed. “I get jumped out of nowhere and yet, I am punished for it.”
“Nico is already on it,” you told the boy. 
“If this is just going to be the same argument, I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Luke muttered as he stood up from his seat, wincing a little as he stretched his legs. “Do you want anything?” 
You shook your head. “I already grabbed something with Nico earlier.”
Luke shot you a curious look but didn’t say anything before he left the room. His brother, on the other hand, was less than subtle. In fact, he was just downright blunt. 
“Since when did you and Nico become so close?” Jack retorted, the pout long gone and replaced with a smile that oddly resembled the Cheshire Cat. “Anything you want to tell me?” 
“He’s my fiancé,” you retorted. “I am bound to be close to him, aren’t I?” 
“Oh, he so wore the white tank in front of you,” Jack snorted, only to wince a little afterwards. And yet, his injuries didn’t stop him from being a meddling gossip. “Did his plan to make you love him back finally work? Am I finally free from his two hour rants about which cufflinks you’d notice?” 
You rolled your eyes. “Rest, Jack.” There was a small pause before you continued. “I’m happy you’re okay.”
His face softened. “Thank you for looking after Luke for me.”
“Anytime,” you murmured, giving him a soft smile. You hesitated for a moment before you reached out, squeezing his hand the way he had done with Luke earlier. “For both of you.” 
Jack didn’t say anything but he nodded like he understood and, for now, that was more than enough for you. 
It was the following Sunday when you received the call from Jacob Trouba.
It was ironic how much could change in a short space of time. Just a few months ago you were cursing his name for not reaching out after you stepped out of that meeting room, spent nights almost wishing he would finally reach out. The alliance was about bringing the Devils and Rangers together, and yet you just felt iced out from your previous life.
And now? 
Now, you were staring at his name on your phone screen and you felt…indifferent. The feelings of awe, admiration and respect you once held for the leader of the Rangers was now gone, replaced with a sort of irritance that left a crawling sensation under your skin. 
You waited three rings before you finally answered the call, lifting the phone to your ear with the oddest desire to hang up and end the call already. But you were curious and you knew he would never speak first.
“Calling on God’s day,” you mused. “This must be important.”
“It’s nice to hear your voice, Rogue.”
“Surprised you remember my name at all,” you snapped back, your fingers tracing over the spines of the books on Nico’s bookshelves. Despite the fact your room was now free, you had spent every day since in his room. You didn’t see that changing any time soon. 
“Don’t be like that.”
You knew he was goading for a reaction. You could imagine the scene so clearly with him sitting in his office, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk on his face. You almost rolled your eyes at the thought.
“Is there a reason you’ve phoned me?” You asked, straightforward and blunt. 
“Always so straight to the point. I’ve always liked that about you.” 
This time you did roll your eyes. “Jacob.” 
“Oh, c’mon, baby.” Your jaw clenched a little at the nickname, your stomach twisting in disgust at the word leaving anyone else’s mouth but Nico’s. “Don’t tell me you’ve become all stuck up and boring over there.”
“I thought I wasn’t your problem anymore,” you chimed, fingers fiddling with some random trinket as you spoke. 
“I’ll always care about you, Rogue.” 
“So you called to be sentimental?” You deadpanned. 
“I apologise for wanting to catch up with my best girl.” 
“Not your girl,” you gritted out. “Never have been, Trouba.”
“Oh, Trouba now? Guess Hischier has really gotten into that head of yours. It’s fine, you’ll snap out of it when you come back home.”
You froze, your brows furrowing together. “Excuse me?” 
“I am breaking the alliance. The deal is off the table. You’re coming back to New York.” 
You scoffed. “No, I’m not.” 
“I do not permit you to marry him anymore.” 
“I don’t give a fuck what you permit me to do,” you bit back, your irritance growing into something more angry. “You can’t just break the alliance, Jacob, you signed a contract. You both signed—”
“I don’t give two shits about the contract or the alliance or any of it. I expect you back in New York by Wednesday.” 
You laughed, dry and unamused and severely pissed off. “Jersey is my home now.” 
“So that’s it? After everything I do for you, and this is what I get in return?” 
“Oh, cry me a river,” you retorted. 
“Fine. Stay with the fucking rats.” 
“You’re the one breaking the alliance!” 
“And your future husband is the one that sent his pretty boy sniffing around my territory!” 
Your jaw clenched. “It was you who attacked Jack?” 
“Yes. A shame the bastard is alive. But that’s what I get for sending a couple of idiots to do the job.” 
“And you’re responsible for just Jack?” You questioned, something quite like dread and anticipation swirling in your stomach. 
“I look forward to seeing you crawling back to me, Rogue. I bet you look pretty on all fours.” 
The line went dead before he finished his sentence. 
The click of your heels were frantic as you approached Nico’s study. 
You hadn’t bothered knocking, pushing the door open with the words ready on the tip of your tongue, only to find a handful of people already in the room. You froze for a moment, taking in their various expressions of concern, annoyance and contemplation. Your shoulders practically sagged in relief when your gaze caught Nico’s.
“You already know.” 
He nodded in response. 
“How?” 
“The shredded alliance contract left burning at the front door was telling enough,” Nico answered with a frown. 
“Fuck,” you muttered. 
“He has someone working for him,” Nico continued. “Someone feeding him information. From Candy to the warehouses to Jack. Someone was telling him everything and we didn’t even fucking know.” 
“What?” You shook your head, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. You were in his circle for years, someone he trusted, someone he confided in. You would have known about a spy in one of the Rangers’ biggest enemy territories, especially long before he was contemplating the alliance. “No, that’s not possible. I don’t know how he—”
“Do you not?” Timo questioned. 
You blinked. “What?”
“Do you not know how?” Timo continued, something written across his expression that you couldn’t quite work out. “You’re close to Trouba, no? One of his lackeys?”
Your eyes narrowed. “Are you insinuating something?” 
“Does a duck quack?” He retorted.
“Enough,” Nico interrupted, his lips turned downwards. “We don’t know for sure who—”
“Jacob Trouba is practically flaunting around New York that he gutted Jack,” Jesper chimed in. “He has someone he trusts—someone we trust too—whispering in his ear.” 
“And you think it’s me?” You spluttered out, your shock clearly written across your face. “Are you fucking serious?” 
“I am just pointing out the facts,” Jesper responded.
“I wasn’t even here when half of the attacks happened,” you retorted. “I didn’t even know I was coming here until that day in the meeting room.”
“So you say,” Timo muttered, eyes narrowed. 
“I have spent every day for the last four months here,” you gritted out through clenched teeth. “What do you think I was doing? Sending carrier pigeons to Trouba?” 
“You have a phone,” Timo pointed out.
You let out a humourless laugh, throwing the phone towards the boy as he effortlessly caught it. “Check it if you’re so sure.”
“We are wasting time,” John spoke up, having stayed mostly silent as he stood by the desk, brooding as he usually did. “And arguing is getting us nowhere.” 
“Wherever he is leading you, it will be a trap,” you pointed out, ignoring the glares some of the boys were sending you and, instead, focusing on the one man you could rely on. “Nico, please. I know him. I know how his head works.” 
Nico’s jaw clenched, a pained look in his eyes that made your heart twist in discomfort. But it was his words that cut through you, leaving it a little harder to breathe as he spoke with a blank face.
“Maybe it’s best if you stay behind.”
“You think I’m the rat?” You whispered, your voice cracking despite your attempts to keep it even.
He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye after that.
“Not you too.” 
Luke didn’t say anything, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.
“Are you serious?”
Luke remained silent.
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” you muttered under your breath as you threw the book down on the bed beside you, a failed attempt to distract yourself from the sick feeling in your stomach when you thought about what Nico was going to walk in to. “They need the fucking babysitter! They are the ones walking straight into a trap!”
Luke still remained silent.
“Do not fucking do this now,” you grumbled as you pushed yourself to stand up, rounding the bed and walking towards the boy. You almost scoffed as he moved just as quick, stepping in front of the door, blocking your way out. “You don’t seriously believe I’m the rat?” 
“I am just following orders,” Luke stated.
“Luke,” you stood in front of him, your hands on your hips. “Do not fucking play with me right now. We spent every fucking waking moment together, do you really think I would do any of that?”
His eyes snapped down to you, a conflicted expression painted on his face. 
“Do you really think I would do that to Jack?” You continued, your voice a little softer and you watched as the boy swallowed harshly.
“No,” he rasped, his voice rough but honest. “But there is a rat. Someone did do that to Jack and I—”
“I know,” you murmured, winding your arms around his torso. It didn’t take much for the boy to return the hug, to find comfort in your embrace. “We will find them. I promise. And I will personally let you be the one to give them what they deserve. But we need to help the others first before Trouba gets to them.” 
“How can I help?” 
You pulled back, a somewhat sheepish expression on your face. “Depends. How well do your puppy dog eyes work on Jack?” 
“Absolutely not.”
“Jack—”
“Nuh uh. Not happening.” 
“Dude, come on—”
“It’s bad enough that I am stuck in this bed whilst everyone else gets to go have fun,” Jack huffed, though the pile of pillows surrounding him did little to help sell the angry expression on his face. “I am not giving you my baby on top of everything else.” 
You shot him a look. “You boys and your motor toys.”
Jack blanched. “She is not just a toy, she is—”
“A motorcycle,” Luke intercepted, shooting his brother an apologetic look.
His eyes narrowed. “Why can’t you just take one of the cars?” 
Your gaze wandered to the floor, slightly sheepish as you shrugged. “I can’t drive stick.” 
“Luke can.”
“Luke isn’t coming.”
“Wait, what?” Luke snapped his head around to look at you. “Yes, I am. You’re not going in alone.” 
“It is bad enough that the rest of them are already there,” you bit out. “I am not letting you risk yourself too. You saw what he did to Jack.”
“I was caught off guard,” Jack grumbled.
“I am going alone and I am not arguing about this,” you said, hands on your hips as you waited for the boy to do the exact opposite and start arguing with you. 
And just like clockwork, he did.
“How the hell am I supposed to help from here?” Luke questioned, a crease forming between his brows and the beginnings of the classic upset Hughes’ pout starting to show. “Jack is the injured one, I am completely fine!”
“Stop reminding me,” Jack sighed deeply.
“You can help from here,” you stated. 
Luke shot you a look. “How?” 
“I don’t care how you do it and I don’t care what lies you have to tell but get on that phone and get the others back as fast as you can,” you said, your face remaining serious. “Nico wouldn’t have taken them all. They are probably waiting somewhere as back up. Call them and get them back here. Lie, bribe, blackmail—do whatever.” 
Jack blinked. “You really think it’s that bad?” 
“I think killing them would be too easy for Trouba,” you said honestly. “I think there is a bigger picture we are not seeing and tonight is not the night to figure out what that is. At least not under Trouba’s discretion.” 
Luke stared at you for a few moments. “Fine. But stay safe or whatever.”
You smiled, playfully patting his cheek. “Don’t worry about me, kid. I can handle myself.”
“So, she was right.” 
Nico slowly turned his head to look at Timo who was on the chair next to him, his arms and legs tied tightly just like his were. He shot the other man a look, his face remaining blank and unimpressed. 
“Got yourself quite a wife there, Boss. Smart lady,” he continued, flashing Nico a slightly strained smile. 
“Your ability to act like we aren’t completely fucked is admirable,” Jonas deadpanned from his spot on the other side of Nico. “On the off chance we get out of here alive—”
“Which we probably won’t,” Timo supplied. 
“—Nico will kill you for that comment alone,” Jonas finished.
“I wouldn’t,” Nico spoke up. “I would let her.”
Jonas snorted. 
Timo nodded. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
“As endearing as this whole moment is,” another voice spoke up from the other side of the room. “You are really making me regret not bringing gags with me.” 
“Kinky,” Timo mused. 
Nico shot him another look. 
“My bad for trying to make our last moments enjoyable,” Timo huffed.
“Would be enjoyable if the ropes weren’t tied so badly,” Jonas grumbled. 
“God,” Jacob growled, pushing himself off the desk and walking towards where the three of them were currently stationed. “I don’t know how that little bitch could stand you for months. Thirty minutes and I don’t know if I want to put a bullet through your heads or mine.” 
Nico’s jaw clenched. “Watch your mouth.” 
“Aw, touched a nerve?” Jacob smiled as he closed the distance, crouching down a little so he was face to face with the Devils’ boss. “Possessive over your wannabe wife, Hischier?”
“Keep her out of this,” Nico growled, his teeth gritted. 
“Hm, it’s cute you think you have any power here,” Jacob commented, his next movement a flash of blurred colours. It wasn’t until the pain erupted in his nose and he could feel the blood starting to drip down his face that he realised Jacob had smacked him with the handle of his gun. “Don’t make me muzzle you like a fucking mutt.” 
“Bite me, Trouba,” Nico snapped back. 
“He might be into that,” Timo murmured.
“Dude,” Jonas hissed. 
Nico let out another groan, his head snapping to the side as Jacob pistol-whipped him once again. 
“Hey!” Timo exclaimed, the legs of his chair scuffling against the floor as he tried to fight against the restraints. 
“You were annoying me,” Jacob said with a shrug as he stood back up. “And his pretty face annoys me.” 
Nico lifted his head, spitting the blood pooling inside his mouth in Jacob’s direction before flashing him a smile. “You think I’m pretty?”
Jacob shot him a blank look. 
“My wife thinks I’m pretty too,” he continued, something almost sadistic written across his face. “Remind me, did she ever think you were pretty?” 
“I think,” Jacob began, the telltale click of the safety lock being removed echoing through the empty office space. “I’m sick and tired of having your lot become such a problem for me.” 
“Yeah, I could really tell from that alliance you signed,” Nico deadpanned. 
Jacob let out a dry laugh. “There is no honest man in this life, Hischier. You’re a naive bastard if you believe anyone other than yourself.” 
“He does know contracts are legally binding, right?” Timo muttered. 
“Yeah, because everything we do is so legal,” Jonas drawled, unamused.
“Why sign it?” Nico questioned, his eyes trained on the man in front of him. 
“It was fun messing with you,” Jacob said with a shrug.
“Bullshit,” Timo snorted. “You just laid back for four months for fun? Yeah, sure.” 
Nico glanced at his friend before returning his gaze to Jacob. He noted the way his jaw clenched, his eye twitching a little in frustration. He tried—and failed—not to take pleasure in the small signs of annoyance. 
“Because the plan didn’t work out the way you intended,” Nico guessed, and assuming from the small, irritated huff Jacob let out, he was right. “Because you had to hold back and work out some things but, like a petulant child, you ran out of patience. That’s why the attack on Jack was so messy. You threw caution out the window.”
“You seem far too interested in the fine details for a man in your position, Hischier,” Jacob grumbled. 
“Call it a dead man’s curiosity,” Nico retorted with a smile.
“Speaking of death,” Timo piped up. “You are keeping us alive for a surprisingly long time.” 
“Because he needs something from us,” Nico assumed.
“You think you’re so smart,” Jacob hissed. 
“Well, he knows how to tie a better knot,” Jonas grumbled under his breath.
Nico shot him a look, only for Jonas to shrug in response. 
“I’m just saying, you can tell he doesn’t do the dirty work.” Jonas added.
Jacob looked unimpressed. “I don’t typically lower myself to dirty work.”
“How noble,” Timo snorted.
“What are you waiting for?” Nico poked, his eyes narrowing a little with determination. “Why keep us alive? One bullet through my head and you would have everything you want. But you’re hesitating.” 
“You done with your conspiracies?” Jacob bit back.
“Whatever it is you want, you’re not going to get it,” Nico told him, so sure of himself. 
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jacob responded.
Nico shrugged as best he could in his restraints. “I would.” 
As a Ranger, you were one of Jacob’s top enforcers. 
It was the unexpected factor that made you effective. The others were tall or buff or intimidating, but you were able to get away with a lot more—call it taking advantage of the inherent and ridiculous misogyny within the mob life. 
But your effectiveness and skill was the exact reason why Jacob Trouba trusted you, why he let you in on the private meetings, why he kept you so close within his circle. It was also one of the main reasons why the initial arranged marriage caught you off guard. 
You weren’t made for marriages of alliance, you were made for this.
The forty-eight floor office building in Lower Manhattan was an abandoned project that failed extensive safety acts but was too expensive for the city to knock down—in the books. Off the books, it was a grey area the police tended to look away from and not prod too much. It was the perfect place for someone like Trouba—who controlled the majority of the crime and underground businesses in New York, who didn’t like any more eyes on him than he allowed. 
It was a building you were familiar with, one you had spent many days and nights in for the years you stood in Trouba’s circle. You knew the ins and outs, the various corridors to sneak around and hide. You knew the exact rooms where the screams and pleas of a man would be deaf to the bustling city outside. You knew which floors were reserved for the kind of things people with weak stomachs tended to avoid. 
And, for the first time ever in your life, you stepped into the building with a sense of dread lingering over your head. 
Every time you had ever stepped into this building, you were indifferent. You were there to complete a job and you always did so. You never hesitated or second-guessed yourself. You went in, you did your job and you left. 
Because never once had there ever been the life of someone you cared about on the line—never once had you ever feared you wouldn’t be able to save someone’s life, rather than being the one to end it. 
And yet, the mere idea of walking into one of these rooms and finding out you were too late was eating you alive as you made your way in through the side entrance, trying not to take the lack of men stationed around the building as a sign that you weren’t fast enough. 
At least, it was eating you alive until you were distracted by your phone buzzing in your pocket.
“You better have a good fucking reason to be calling me right now.” 
“First of all, that was rude. I am bed-ridden and lonely. You could at least say hi.” 
You rolled your eyes. 
“And second of all, I wanted to make sure my baby is okay.” 
“Your motorcycle is fine, Jack,” you deadpanned. 
“One scratch on her and we are going to have problems.”
“However will I escape your wrath when you are bound to your bed?” You questioned, the sarcasm dripping from your words as you made your way through the corridors—one hand holding your phone and the other clutching your gun. 
“That was also rude.”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes again. “Why did you call, Jack?” 
“Well, there’s good news and bad news.”
You paused for a moment, straightening your back. “Good news?”
“We got everyone back. Jesper is a little pissed. John is really pissed but that is on Luke for lying about—”
You quickly interrupted. “And the bad news?” 
“Timo and Jonas are with Nico, so you are now on a three man rescue mission—”
“Which would have been easier if you let me come,” Luke yelled from somewhere in the background.
“And he is waiting for someone. Supposedly. We are assuming whoever the rat is.” 
Your brows furrowed together. “How can you be so sure it’s them?” 
“According to the dude Kurtis bet up for some information, Trouba has been sending money to the rat for months. Today was meant to be the day they met, and supposedly Nico was the price they demanded.”
“He doesn't even know who his rat is?” You scoffed. “I’m assuming there’s no real name attached to the account.” 
“Unless you know a Barbra Parker who lives in Brooklyn and attends weekly zumba classes for senior citizens and sometimes attends church when she wants to gossip, then no. We have no name and no more clues towards whoever Trouba has been paying.” 
You let out a sigh. “Great.”
“On the bright side, Jesper did admit he was wrong for accusing you and I got the admission on video for you to blackmail him with.” 
You laughed a little. “Thanks, Jack.”
“We got your back, Rogue. You’re a Devil. But if Nico asks, this was totally my idea and he owes me dinner at that fancy steak place I got banned from three years ago.” 
This time you did roll your eyes before hanging up. 
Nico watched as Jacob Trouba paced the room, the nerves emitting from him like a bat signal for weakness as he kept glancing down at his watch. He had never seen such obvious and badly concealed emotions from a man like Trouba, it was almost off-putting to watch if he weren’t trying to work out the little puzzle in his head right now. 
Most of the pieces were there, but there was something glaringly obvious that Nico was missing and it was starting to irritate him.
“It’s actually quite sad to watch,” Timo commented. “He looks like a distressed polar bear.”
Jonas flashed him a confused look. “What?” 
“You know, those videos where the polar bear is in a zoo enclosure and gets really stressed and starts exhibiting weird behaviours?” Timo said, only to receive blank expressions in response. “What? I literally sent you the video a few weeks ago. Assholes.”
“You sent it to me when I was down in Philly,” Jonas retorted.
“Excuses,” Timo huffed. 
“We really need to discuss your hostage conversation topics when we are back,” Nico deadpanned. 
“Hard to have that discussion when you three will be dead in a few hours,” Jacob spoke up, turning to finally look at them for the first time in the last thirty minutes. 
“Seems like you’ve been stood up, Trouba,” Nico assumed, the amusement clear in his voice despite the fact he was the one who was restrained. “It happens to many men, you’re in good company, I’m sure.” 
Jacob clenched his jaw, rounding towards him. “You little—” 
“Watch how you talk about my husband, Trouba.” 
All four pairs of eyes snapped towards the entrance. 
You stood there, your hands holding onto your gun tightly and pointing it directly at your former boss—your former friend—with your finger on the trigger. It was an odd feeling, one you had never really experienced before. Because as much as you wanted to tell yourself you felt indifferent towards Jacob—that maybe even a part of you despised him for the way he treated you over the last four months—there was a louder, more vocal voice in your head reminding you just who he was to you. 
Just who he used to be to you. 
And it was so fucking disorienting. 
Something quite like surprise and elation crossed Jacob’s face. “Rogue.”
“Drop the gun,” you nodded towards the gun in his hand. “Right now.” 
He smiled, his head tilting a little. “You know I’m not going to do that. And I know why you’re really here, you can drop the act.” 
Your eyes narrowed. 
“Not quite on your knees,” he continued, his grin growing when Nico let out a string of curses. “But I knew you’d come back to me.” 
“Your ego is truly astounding,” you mused, your eyes glued on Trouba. You couldn’t look towards Nico. Not right yet. Not until you had dealt with the man in front of you. “Almost as pathetic as your mind games.” 
Jacob cocked an eyebrow. 
“I mean, of all the people to choose as your rat,” you continued, watching as his face dropped a little as the lie passed your lips. “You really thought I wouldn’t find out?”
Jacob huffed out a laugh, dry and a bit tense. “Rogue—”
“Meanwhile, you don’t even know who your rat is,” you added.
His jaw clenched a little. “I do.”
“Do you?” You questioned.
“You were always the smartest one in my ranks,” Jacob mused.
“And yet, you sent me away,” you finished for him. 
“But you came back,” Jacob grinned, as though he had planned this all along, as though he was the mastermind. “Like I always knew you would.” 
“And you need your ears checked because I think I have made myself very clear where I stand,” you gritted out. 
“Don’t tell me you have gone soft for him?” Jacob scoffed,  looking at you in a mix of disbelief and amusement. But when your gun remained pointed at him, he only laughed. “Yeah? You expect me to believe you’re going to do it? Fine then.” 
You watched as his gun moved away from Nico, watched as the barrel of the gun was pointed towards you instead. Something prickled under your skin, your hair standing on the nape of your neck. You have watched that gun in his hands kill so many people and now it was directed at you. 
It felt so wrong and, yet, you didn’t lower your weapon either.
“Is this what you wanted? Some noble showdown to prove yourself to them?” Jacob goaded. “They will never trust you. You will never be one of them, no matter who you marry or who’s dick you suck. You will always be an outsider. You will always be a Ranger.”
Your jaw twitched. “I stopped being a Ranger the second you sold me off like fucking cattle.”
“Rogue, baby, you never stopped as long as I say you haven’t,” Jacob smiled, all-knowing and smug. “Now, put the gun down. The game was cute but it’s getting a bit dull now. You’ve put on your little show, you’ve made your point. It won’t happen again. Scout’s promise.”
You stared at the man for a few moments, stared at the person you once knew so well. “You know the difference between me and you?” 
He raised his brows. “What?”
“You’re far too sentimental over shit that doesn’t ultimately matter anymore,” you said, your finger pressing down on the trigger before you even finished your sentence. 
Jacob let out a pained exclamation, his body falling towards the floor as his hand instantly went to the bullet wound now oozing blood from his thigh. His grip on his gun was still firm but before he could even raise it, you shot him once more on the opposite shoulder, letting his cries of pain bounce through the room. 
“Take this as my one and only mercy, Trouba, for the man you once were to me,” you spoke, blunt and indifferent as you approached the man. Your foot was pining his wrist down, letting you throw his gun towards the other side of the room before you turned back to him. “Next time you even touch a hair on my family’s head, I’ll put a bullet through yours. Remember that.” 
Jacob didn’t even get a chance to reply to your threat before you slammed the handle of your gun against his temple, knocking him out cold as he laid motionless on the ground. 
“Fuck, that was hot.” 
Your head snapped around, finally settling on the three men tied to the chairs in front of you. You took a quick glance over Jonas and Timo, happy to see a limited amount of blood on them before your eyes finally stopped on Nico. It was almost embarrassing the way relief drowned you at the sight of him smiling at you. 
“Fucking hell,” you murmured out, your body moving on autopilot as you stumbled towards him. You took his face in your hands, unbothered about the blood drying on his face as you leaned your forehead against his. “I fucking told you I was right.” 
Nico huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, baby, you did. Should listen to you more often.” 
You smiled a little. “You have time to learn.” 
“All the time in the world, Rogue,” he confirmed, his nose nudging against yours. 
“This is really cute and that was really badass but could you two please stop so she can untie us and we can go home?” Timo spoke up. 
“Please, it’s insulting having these terribly tied knots holding us down,” Jonas added.
You laughed, pulling away to look at the other two with a fond smile. “Yeah, let’s go home.” 
“You know, I am pretty sure it’s considered rude to sneak away from the party when the party is for us.” 
“I don’t see you trying very hard to go back to the party.” 
“Well,” Nico said with a heavy sigh, trying to bite back his smile as he let you pull him towards the counter you were currently sitting on. “I am a weak man when it comes to the whims of my beautiful, cunning, scheming wife—” 
You snorted, your arms wrapping around his neck as he stood between your legs. “So dramatic.”
“You still married me though,” Nico grinned, his hands on your thighs as he shamelessly played with the edge of the little white dress you put on for the occasion. “You’re stuck with me, baby. I’m all yours.” 
“What a tragic life sentence,” you mused, your eyes softening a little as you leaned in to press a quick kiss against his lips. “What have I got myself into?” 
“Hm, let’s see,” he started, puffing his cheeks a little before he let out a sigh. “We are basically at war with the Rangers and all their allies, there’s an unknown rat in our ranks that knows we are on their tail and one of my best men is still out of service until further notice. Add in the fact that we have a handful of rocky aliases to strengthen across the country, especially the west coast, and you have a pretty big fucking mess you’re walking into.”
“But it’s something we will solve together,” you said in a determined voice, your hands moving to cup his face so you could stare into his eyes. “Me and you. In sickness and in health and in huge fucking messes.”
His lips twitched. “I don’t remember that in the wedding vows.”
You shrugged. “I’m paraphrasing.” 
He laughed softly as he fisted the material of your skirt in his hands. “There is no one else I would rather have standing by my side, Mrs Hischier.” 
“Good,” you huffed, lifting your chin a little as the mischief shone in your eyes. “Because in the wise words of a smart man I know, you’re stuck with me, baby. I’m all yours.” 
His grin widened. “And that is more than enough for me.” 
Your smile pressed against his as he leaned in to kiss you again, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you sunk into the embrace. The music thumping through the speakers could still be heard, even so far from the actual party, but in the arms of your husband is exactly where you wanted—no, needed—to be. 
You huffed out a small laugh, though you couldn’t find it in yourself to bat his wandering hands away as he squeezed your thighs before tugging you closer to the edge of the counter. You pulled back a little, taking in his flushed cheeks and shining eyes and felt something quite like fondness explode in your chest. 
“I am so in love with you, Nico Hischier,” you whispered, like a soft confession shared just between the two of you. 
“I’m glad you’ve finally caught up, baby,” he whispered back. “It’s about time people know.” 
“Know what?”
But his grin only widened, the love and adoration he held for you so clearly written across his face as he cupped your face in his hands. “That my girl is a Devil, through and through.” 
And as you stared back at him with a similar expression on your face, there were a few things you knew for certain: Nico Hishcier was the leader of the New Jersey Devils, he was a kind and fair man despite the world you lived in, and that you were truly and utterly in love with him.
And you knew that you would stand by his side whatever the world threw at the two of you. 
For better or for worse. 
Until death do you part. 
.
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hitomisuzuya · 1 year ago
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Hi could you do a smut , dom!pussydrunk scara, where reader is wearing fishnets and he just rips them open
Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Cunilligus. Degradation. Pussy drunk Scara with a tongue piercing. Dom!Scara
This request😳 also as promised, rest assured, Roma is feeling better. She is curled up next to me asleep as I type this. Probably dreaming about getting in the trash no doubt.
Scaramouche almost couldn't stand how hard his cock was getting. He was practically drooling as he watched you bend down to pick something up that you dropped. That gave him an extra nice view of your legs in those fishnet stockings.
It was starting to drive him almost insane with lust. How dare you wear something like that in front of him? He couldn't get enough of it.
The only warning that Scaramouche gave you that he was going to toss you down onto the bed was a hand on your hip. You suddenly flung backwards, landing with a soft 'omph' on the bed. "Sc-Scara? What was the for?" You protested, you swore your heart stopped in your chest when you saw the dark look of lust pooling in his beautiful eyes.
Followed the sound of your tights ripping between your legs.
"Be quiet," Scaramouche hissed, groaning when he felt how wet you were once he pushed your panties aside. "You put yourself on a silver platter to me wearing these fishnets, now I am going to enjoy my meal," He promptly peeled your panties off and spread your legs, making the hole between your legs bigger.
You looked down at it with a momentary look of horror. "I'll buy you new ones, but I probably tear the shit out of those to," Scaramouche would foot the bill for a new pair every time just so he could devour you like this in them.
Spreading the lips of your cunt, his tongue flicked out to kitten lick your clit. He groaned like you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He spent a few long moments licking up and down your cunt, swirling his tongue around your clit.
You let out a strangled cry of pleasure. The way his tongue piercing scrapped across your clit made it throb. Scaramouche shivered in utter bliss before he plunged his tongue inside of you.
His hands found your hips, holding your cunt against his mouth. He ate you out like a starved mutt and you were his last meal before winter made food almost impossible to find.
Every lick and lap of his tongue made you feel wetter. You feebly bucked your hips up into his mouth, making his tongue feel somehow more greedy than it already did.
Scaramouche took great care to nurse his piercing against the most sensitive parts of you so he could relish in the way your body seized up in pleasure. The way your legs shook and trembled when he pressed it against your clit when he sucked made his eyes roll in the back of his head.
In his blissed out state, he suddenly noticed something. His eyes narrowed into a glare, working his tongue piercing on your clit again. "Why are you holding yourself back?" He demanded, growling as he latched his lips onto your clit.
"Yo-you told me to-ahh-be quiet," You whimpered. Your hands shook. Putting them on his head, you tugged on his hair, pushing his mouth down onto your cunt. His mouth felt so good you could hardly speak.
Scaramouche laughed, rumbling it across your clit. "What an obedient slut. You aren't cumming until you moan for me," His fingers tightened on your hips to remind you of your place.
He hooked his finger through one of the holes in your fishnets, letting smack back against your leg before sweeping his tongue back inside of you.
You couldn't hold yourself back then. The way his tongue piercing was scrapping between your walls was starting to make you see stars. Your walls clamped tight around his tongue. His sucks on your clit were insatiable.
Scaramouche wanted more and more from you. He wanted you to be loud while you came undone on his tongue. It was something he never got sick of. He would eat you out all day and all night until you couldn't cum anymore, or at least you cried that you couldn't.
"Squirt all over my tongue while you scream, whore," His cock was straining harder in his jeans. Your mewls and cries of pleasure as you grasped his hair tighter as you writhed was winding him up. His tongue wasn't going to be the only thing you would beg for.
"Please, please," You pleaded, the pleasure was so intense you were even having a hard time bucking your hips into his mouth.
"Please, please," He mocked, laughing as he swirled his tongue around your clit. "You should hear how pathetic you sound. Scream my name, slut."
"Scaramouche!" You were almost breathless, your orgasm threatening to snap apart.
"What a good slut I have," He purred, tapping his fingers on your hips, teasing his piercing on your clit. "You know what to say next if you want to cum."
"Master!" You screamed, earning you a husky groan of bliss against your cunt. He plunged his tongue back inside of you just in time to taste you squirting on his tongue.
To say this man slurped up your release was an understatement. His tongue was ravenous. You could barely breathe when he crawled on top of you to kiss you just as sloppily as he had eaten you out.
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actuallysaiyan · 10 months ago
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HI BACON!! 🥓💙 glad to see your requests are back open so will you please do headcanons for Vegeta, Goku Black and Piccolo walking in on their horny! s/o masturbating? anyways hope you are doing well and stay hydrated 😊
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warnings: smut, unprotected sex, masturbation, slight dub con, Piccolo has a diccolo, vaginal fingering, oral sex(fem and male receiving) word count: 1.1k pairings: Vegeta x Fem!Reader, Goku Black x Fem!Reader and Piccolo x Fem!Reader
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Vegeta comes in from a long training session, expecting to find you in the kitchen. He grows frustrated when he doesn’t find you there and begins calling out your name.
The minute he opens the door to your shared bedroom and sees you on the bed, hands between your thighs and moaning out his name, Vegeta is very stunned and red in the face.
You spot him and you buck against your hand even more, your excitement growing now that your husband is here. Vegeta is stammering and stuttering, desperately trying to come up with something to say.
“Like what you see, my prince?” you pull your fingers from your cunt, beckoning him closer. Vegeta sputters something about this being so inappropriate but you see the growing bulge in his spandex.
Slowly, Vegeta begins approaching you. The scent of your essence is getting the better of him. He’s unable to pull away from the situation that has been presented to him. You’re basically being offered up on a silver platter.
He crawls onto the bed, pinning your wrists above your head. You see that lustful animalistic look in his eyes as he leans in to kiss you hungrily. The moment your tongues touch, Vegeta knows he has to take care of you.
“Poor little human wife,” he growls as he begins leaving kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone. “Couldn’t wait for her husband to come home, huh?”
You shake your head, begging for him to stimulate you. It does not matter what he does, you just know you’re so desperate for it right now. He laughs at you, mocking you a little.
“Poor little woman needs her prince…” his voice is teasing you now, but you know he’s going to make you feel much better. He’ll take good care of you.
With one smooth movement, Vegeta is balls deep inside of you. His lips are firmly pressed against yours as he begins his fast and deep pace. If you ever decide to pull this trick on him again, he might punish you even worse.
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He’s somehow become attached to you. You keep him company and he finds some sort of amusement and entertainment with you. It took very little time for him to become intimate with you.
One day as he comes home, he doesn’t find you waiting for him in the doorway. This bothers him as he begins to wonder if you’ve just decided to leave him be. This is exactly what he was worried about.
But then he finds you on the bed, desperately trying to cum from just your fingers. He tuts at you, finding you so damn pitiful and pathetic. Humans really are this naive and foolish.
Yet the smell of you makes his cock so hard. He knows that the Saiyan part of him makes him weak to these sorts of mating practices. He wants to bury his face between your thighs and pull pleasure from you until you cry.
“Aren’t you just the foolish little human?” He asks, making you whine for him. You’re grinding against your hand so desperately, it makes him mock you in a very mean tone of voice.
He then snatches your hand from between your thighs and brings it to his lips. You watch through lust-filled eyes as he sucks on them and makes a big mess of your fingers. Then he shoves them back to your pussy.
“Show me how badly a needy little human like you needs to cum. I’m not entirely convinced that you deserve my cock just yet. I need to be convinced, little human.” He smirks as he watches you get into it so much more.
You’re inspired to work your hand against your clit even harder and faster, pitiful and pathetic moans falling from your lips as you try to show Goku Black just how needy you are for him. It’s a desperate attempt.
The more you grind against your own hand, the more you begin dripping all over the sheets and your own fingers. Goku Black watches you, making sure you aren’t faking your emotions and feelings for him at this moment.
Once he’s pleased successfully, he will strip off his clothes and give you exactly what you need. You’ll be so full, you can feel his cock in your lower tummy. Your eyes will roll back as he fucks you until you’re desperately crying for him to stop.
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Piccolo doesn’t exactly understand romantic and sexual relationships at first, but soon he gets the gist of it when you give him a blowjob. He becomes quite addicted to it, to the point where he allows you to do it while he meditates.
Even without that, Piccolo begins craving other things. You’ve made this previously thought to be asexual Namekian addicted to sex. That’s why when he finds you in your bedroom, the vibrator on your clit, he’s already salivating.
“Hmph, couldn’t wait for me, could you?” His deep voice pulls you from your pleasure, and you’re blushing deeply. You try to make up an excuse, but he’s already pulling off his clothes and approaching you.
“You want to be filthy and touch yourself instead of coming to me for pleasure? Fine, open up!” He commands you as he begins to stroke his cock. Then as you open your mouth, he stuffs his cock in and watches as you struggle to adjust to it.
You feel one of his hands coming down to place the vibrator back onto your clit. You really never would have thought that Piccolo would be the type to be into this sort of thing, but you’ve shown him a world of pleasure he’s not used to.
He lets out the sexiest moans and groans as you relax your throat and allow him to use you as his personal little fleshlight. It’s so exciting to you to allow him to use you like this. It’s a whole new side to him.
He works the vibrator on your clit in such a teasing way, making you moan around his cock. All of this is turning out to be just so perfect. Catching you touching yourself was the perfect excuse for him to start something sexual like this.
“You’re a filthy little human,” he teases between moans and groans. “Such a needy little thing,” his words make you dribble even more nectar from your neglected hole. He loves watching you like this.
It’s not long before his balls are drawing up and he feels his orgasm building even faster than intended. So he pulls out and gets on his knees between your thighs. With one look up at you, he leans in to lick a stripe from your hole to your clit.
Piccolo stays between your thighs, lapping up your juices and using his fingers to curl up against that sweet spot that leaves you breathless and seeing stars. He’ll do it until you’re just begging him to stop.
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hairmetal666 · 1 year ago
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Eddie's supposed to be writing. The guys, they all agreed they'd each come to practice armed with two whole new songs they could pick from to add to their set list at the Hideout. And he's got his pen, and he's got his most recent trusty Composition Book, and all his lyrics are fucking bullshit about golden tanned skin and honeyed eyes and tracing constellations in freckles and moles, pathetic lines about being twisted in bed sheets, and the hopeless love he found himself in.
For the fifth time in an hour, he rips out the offending page, crunches it into a tight ball, and throws it across the room.
He can't write about Steve Harrington for the rest of his life; spend his nights aching for the boy who established himself as a fixture in Eddie's life and then just disappeared.
The worst of it--the very worst--is that Eddie knew better. Steve was never his, not in any real way, no matter how many times they fucked. He's Steve Harrington. Straightest guy in Hawkins. Popular. Rich. Whole fucking life laid out for him on a silver platter. And Eddie fell for him. It's the Munson curse, he supposes; always wanting what you can't have.
It started the way these things usually do, "got any weed?" and "come back to my place, Harrington" and "I got this stupid job at the mall, meet me there?" and lying "hey, guys, can't make band practice, gotta help Uncle Wayne" and "Munson, I really want--can I kiss you?"
In every other fantasy Eddie's ever had, it ends there. Steve gets his kiss and they never see each other again. But Steve Harrington--he's full of surprises. It catches Eddie off guard, makes him want, makes him trust. Because it's not just kisses. It's hands and mouths and "anything you want, Eddie. Let me make you feel good."
Maybe it wouldn't have hit so hard--maybe Eddie could've stopped from falling--if Steve hadn't been so good. Bitchy, sure, but genuine and kind. Had this whole gaggle of junior high kids he babysat, like what the fuck. Would hang out with Wayne and shoot the shit about whatever sports nonsense was on tv. Harrington never was as mean, as spoiled, as superficial as Eddie suspected.
Then Starcourt. That's when it all changes. Steve stops coming around then, in the aftermath. It hurts, but Eddie tells himself it's for the best. Now, he knows it would have been.
Two weeks with no contact, and Steve shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Eddie winces at the healing bruises and cuts on his face, can't imagine how much worse they were to start. He steps aside, lets Steve in, plans to say that he can't be whatever they are anymore.
Steve kisses him. It's a hot, needy thing, wild with teeth and tongue, nothing like before. Eddie is helpless to it, helpless to the way Steve grinds against him, already hard. He should slow it down, check-in that Steve is in the right headspace for this, but Steve is moaning low in his throat and Eddie can't think.
They're in Eddie's bed and Steve says, "fuck me, Eddie?" and Eddie says "are you sure" because he can't stop himself. Steve rolls his eyes (beautifuly bitchy), says, "I need to feel you inside me, baby."
How can Eddie say no?
Eddie's never done this before, but it doesn't matter. It's everything--Steve is everything--he could ask for.
The next morning, he expects Steve to be gone. Thinks they'll never see each other again. But he finds Steve in the kitchen, in his boxers and Eddie's Iron Maiden shirt, making eggs and talking to Wayne like it's the most normal thing in the world.
The next month and a half are the best of Eddie's life. He and Steve spend more time together than they do apart. Nights at Eddie's trailer, in Eddie's bed. Days lounging at the Harrington pool and driving around the nothing that surrounds Hawkins. Sometimes they'll stop in the middle of nowhere, climb on top of the van, and just--be. Steve takes his shirt off, and Eddie traces their names in the sun-soaked freckles, thinking maybe he really gets to have this, have Steve.
It ends as quickly as it started. One morning in September, Steve is cupping Eddie's neck, pulling him in for a goodbye kiss, saying, "sorry, baby, gotta get home for my parents. I'll see you later tonight, yeah?"
Except Eddie doesn't. Eddie doesn't see Steve that night, or the night after, or the night after that. He stops coming around and all Eddie is left with is a broken heart and these piss poor excuses for songs.
He rips out the latest page, waxing lyrical about the wonders of August, and time slipping away, and the boy he'll never forget. Crumples it into a ball and bats it into a pile of junk accumulated in the corner of his room.
Eddie needs a break.
He flies into the living room, snatches up his keys from the floor by the coffee table, and flees his house and all those memories of Steve. It's not like he has anywhere specific to go, so he drives around town, with his windows down and his music up.
His tires screech as he rounds the corner to the video store and arcade. He's not planning on stopping, but honestly, maybe a few rounds of Space Invaders is exactly what he needs.
The van hasn't even come to a stop in the parking spot when his eyes fall on Steve Harrington. He's standing in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by a gang of kids (including some of Eddie's new little sheepies) and Robin Buckley. Steve wears a sunny yellow sweatshirt, tight jeans, and his hair is perfectly coifed, falling in an elegant wave. His hands are on his hips, mouth and brows pinched stern. He's gorgeous, perfect.
It's an assault, an attack, Eddie's entire body shakes as the months they spent together crash over him. He has the van in reverse before he consciously thinks to do so, flooring it out of the space hard enough to burn rubber.
The noise, the speed, it draws the entire group's attention to him.
His eyes meet Steve's.
Time stops and so does he, idling in the middle of the parking lot. For a second, one moment in time, Steve's face falls. His mouth loses that grumpy pinch, his eyebrows drop, his beauty transformed by grief, by fucking longing.
Steve takes a step forward, and Eddie hits the gas, van screaming out of the parking lot. He watches the group shrink in his rearview mirror, sure that he imagined the sorrow in Steve's face, anyway.
They're nothing to each other.
Never were.
By popular request: Part Two
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readingbookelf · 8 months ago
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The Defense Rests - Spike
Summary: The Scooby-gang holds an emergency meeting when they find out you're dating Spike.
Pairing: fem!reader x Spike
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You’re at Giles’ home, currently being yelled at by Xander, who apparently saw you kissing Spike last night. Instead of just talking to you about it, in private, he called an emergency meeting. Hence the yelling while everyone else just stares at you.
“Spike is a psychotic killer and you’re handing yourself to him on a silver platter. Have you forgotten how he came into our lives? What he was going to do to Buffy for his precious Dru? Who is also nuts in the head, I might add,” Xander practically yells in your face.
“I did not forget, but I’ve used my eyes these past few months. Spike has helped us out more times than one, even when he didn’t need too. Also he hasn’t attacked anyone in months…” you trail off at the end knowing the only reason he hasn’t attacked anyone is because of the chip the Initiative has planted in his head.
Xander scoffs, ready for round two, but Buffy jumps in.
“Xander, you have to admit he’s helped us out… a lot in the past few months. Figuring out who the initiative is, what they do, even fighting demons or helping out with the latest threat. I’m not pro-Spike and I still don’t trust him, but if he makes y/n happy then that’s enough for me. Also I’m the last one to condemn anyone for dating a vampire,” Buffy finishes with a wink towards you.
“Thank you, Buffy,” you whisper.
“So we’re going to ignore the fact he would kill us all if he didn’t have that chip in his head,” Xander asks.
“Xander, last week you admitted that Spike has grown on you. What about all the times you spoke about ‘everything we’ve been through together’ just to try and convince Spike to help out? Don’t you think you’re being hypocritical,” you ask softly.
Xander scoffs but doesn’t make another move to convince you Spike is the devil incarnate.
“And on that note I’m out of here. I’ve got a bed that’s calling my name,” you say before getting up.
“Don’t you mean a certain someone who’s waiting for you in your bed,” Willow quips, wiggling her eyes.
Everyone groans.
-----
When you walk through your front door, you find Spike on your couch watching a movie.
“Home already or you haven't left yet,” you ask the blond man.
“Home for the night,” he replies while smiling at you cheekily.
That smile never fails to make you weak in the knees. You let yourself fall onto the couch next to Spike while letting out the biggest sigh of your life.
“The scooby doo-meeting was that bad, huh,” he asks. “The end of the world again,” he chuckles.
You look at Spike and see the concern shining in his eyes. He puts his arm around you and pulls you close into his side. You let your head fall on his shoulder and nuzzle close.
“The end of the world for Xander,” you scoff.
“What do you mean,” Spike asks.
“You were right that someone was watching us last night. After seeing us together Xander followed us and saw us kiss. Hence the emergency meeting,” you explain.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Spike exclaims while jumping up.
Immediately your hand circles around his wrist. You give a little pull to make him sit down again. He sighs and sits down next to you once more.
“Who does he think he is? He’s dating a vengeance demon for god’s sake,” Spike spits out.
You rub his shoulder trying to calm him down.
“There was a discussion. I defended you. Buffy jumped in. Everyone is more or less okay with it. I’m kind of done talking about this, Spike. Xander’s opinionated. I’ve seen the way he was with Buffy and Angel.”
You shake your head at the end. The uncomfortable memory resurfacing. He was so mean to Buffy. It’s hard dealing with the supernatural world as a human. You realise how fragile your life really is. It causes Xander to act out like this, and it’s not an excuse, but it gives him some leeway when he explodes.
“I still hate that you had to sit through that meeting all by yourself. I should’ve been there. I’m part of this relationship,” he says fiercely.
You take his hand and squeeze.
“You were. There was this little annoying voice that sounded a lot like you edging me on while I was defending you…and calling Xander names I won’t repeat,” you chuckle.
A twinkle lights in Spike’s eyes. He presses his lips firmly on yours. A moan slips past your lips by the sheer force of it all. Slowly you pull away.
“I like you. You like me. And everyone else can suck it,” Spike says before kissing you once more.
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