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wntrs0ldier · 9 months

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AN OFFER II · 05

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,3k warnings: mafia, language, violence (graphic descriptions), minor character death, mature themes, dark themes, angst, smut, toxic behavior, blood and injury, abuse and sexual abuse, hurt/comfort,

Taking his eyes off you, Bucky turned to Sam. “Go get Clint,” he ordered, his voice — just like his stare — lacking a particular tone; it was emotionless, perhaps with a hint of cooling anger, the seed of which got there completely naturally. Then he looked at Steve, his jaw clenched again. “Get her out of here.”

series masterlist

The exhibition, crowning the last few months of your work, was going surprisingly well for something you had initially occupied yourself with just to pass the time.

It all started with Bucky’s absence and now he was there — keeping his hand on your lower back, stroking it in a comforting manner, he made you forget about all the things that could go wrong. You watched some people admiring the artwork you’ve collected, exchanged some words, shook some hands, and Bucky didn't leave your side for a second.

At some point, Tracy appeared right next to you, touching your shoulder to get your attention. “There’s a call from Connie. She couldn’t reach your phone, so she called the gallery. I put her through to your office.”

Your friend, whom you had fortunately dissuaded from the idea of using her leave to attend the exhibition, was currently enjoying her free time on a real vacation. It certainly would have been nice to have her around, but it wasn't worth it; besides, you had solid support coming from not only your husband, but also Steve, Sam and Clint.

“Thanks,” you said, and when Tracy left, you turned to Bucky to hand him your glass with the wine you haven’t had the chance to finish. “I'll be back in a few minutes. An hour tops,” you informed, smirking.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirked up. “Sure. Got any knives I could juggle?” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, to entertain your guests.”

You sized him up, your eyes narrowed. “Do you really know how to juggle..?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged casually. “I can show you somewhere a little more private.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed, smacking his shoulder.

Bucky’s mouth stretched into a much wider smile as your laugh reached his ears. “I’ll be waiting here,” he promised. Still grinning, you cupped his face and kissed him, then went to the stairs.

Having hurried into your office, you got to the phone. “Connie?” you spoke with undisguised excitement.

“Hi, babe,” Connie giggled. “How’s the exhibition? How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, the exhibition is fine…” you sighed, resting your free hand on the desktop. “I have a lot of buyers, actually. It's better than I thought.”

“Is one of those buyers your filthy rich husband?” she asked, and if she was here, right beside you, she would probably pinch you teasingly.

A bright smile came to your lips. “He’s banned from doing that, and is here only for support.”

“That’s really great,” when you heard that, you also heard her smile fade away. “I'm sorry I can't be there for you.”

“Oh, come on, Connie. We talked about this. You deserve a rest, especially from those uptight bankers.”

Connie said something else, but you got distracted by the sound of the door opening. You looked over your shoulder, and to your surprise, saw Adrian.

“Y/N? Can you hear me?”

“Uh, Connie? I’ll call you back, okay?” Without waiting for your friend's answer, you hung up the phone. “Can I help you..?” you asked flatly, turning to Adrian.

“Have you made a decision? About Paris?”

Your eyebrows rose; you secretly hoped that Adrian would eventually use his common sense, and as a result, realize how ridiculous the idea was. “I told you already. I can’t come to Paris with you.”

In a moment of weakness it crossed your mind that, perhaps, you should agree for the sake of the gallery. But Bucky was right — you couldn't sell Adrian your time; not when he was pushing the limits that way, treating you like an object he could do whatever he liked with.

“You are making a mistake. Big mistake,” he stated slowly, and just as slowly covered the space between the door and the desk.

You understood that you were just a woman — a fragile, weak woman, left alone with an offended man; the only thing in that room more fragile than you was only Adrian's pride. And yet, when he approached you, you didn't even flinch, didn’t take your stern gaze off him.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” he questioned, giving you the last chance to change your mind. “Are you sure what you are doing? You are rejecting the opportunity of a lifetime. And it will cost you a lot. Can you afford it?”

He grabbed your forearm rapidly. Twisting it, turning your body, stiff and paralyzed with sudden panic, he pushed you, then pressed against the desk. The moment you collided with the hard surface, the air abruptly spilled out of your lungs, leaving you breathless, and the hit your chin took from crashing onto the desktop cut your bottom lip open; the rusty taste of blood settled on your tongue.

One of Adrian's hands, which had wrapped around your forearm earlier, moved to the nape of your neck and pressed your torso down to the glass surface; his legs pinned your thighs to the edge, at the same time opening them for easier access. His other hand struggled with the fabric of your dress until it finally gave in and chose to betray you with a deep rip on the side.

“Adrian,” you grated, your breath heavy as you unsuccessfully tried to fight back, “get the fuck off me.”

“Stand still, bitch,” he hissed, pressing your body even harder. You were losing your breath again, since your chest didn't have enough room. “And shut up.”

Struck by the sudden return of panic spreading at an alarming speed, you became numb when Adrian lifted your dress. His sickeningly cold and wet hands, touching your skin directly, without any additional layers protecting your body, turned your stomach sick.

Until that moment, you were clinging to the hope that you could get out of it, or that Adrian would come to his senses. But now, it didn't appear that either of those things were going to happen; Adrian was going to get his way, he was going to take something from you, to break you.

Despite the shock of realizing what your fate would be, you swept your hand over the desktop to scan the area. In the process, you knocked down the phone, which Adrian considered to be continued attempts to fight, and eventually found something that, judging by its shape, was a stapler — an useless tool. A moment later, your hand felt something thin and oblong. A pen. Without much thought, you clenched it tightly in your palm and, pushed by adrenaline, blindly slammed your weapon into whatever happened to be behind you. All you knew was that it went in deep.

Adrian let out a loud, inhuman noise. The pressure of his hold loosened enough that you were able to break free. You darted to the door, and when you opened it, you ran into Bucky standing on the other side, clashing with his body. With your heart beating painfully fast, you lifted your gaze to him — your eyes still carried terror and distress, but there was a little room for relief as well.

In Bucky's case, it was different. With his forehead creased and his lips parted in devastation at what he had in front of him, he examined you closely — the ripped dress, the broken shoulder strap, the cut lip. His mouth snapped shut in a hard line, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could easily see that familiar twitch below his cheekbone, his nostrils flared. And although just a moment ago his eyes expressed so much — helplessness, fear, disbelief, disappointment — in a split second they became cold, dead. They passed you, as if you weren’t there anymore, and switched to Adrian.

Adrian looked around in a frantic search for an escape route, but the only exit from the office was blocked by you and Bucky.

Having placed his hands on your arms, Bucky moved you carefully to the side, then made his way to Adrian. You immediately looked over your shoulder, and the rest of your body followed.

“Hey, man, let’s talk-”

Bucky rammed into Adrian, and the kick that reached his stomach was charged with force so powerful that the man crashed into the cabinet standing against the wall. There was glass splattered everywhere — it came from the cabinet door, and from broken bottles; a few pieces cut Adrian's skin harmlessly, although it would have been better for him if one had killed him instantly. Bucky didn't wait for his target's reaction; he got on top of him, and, heedless of protests, pleas or pathetic screams, punched him in his face. Again, and again, and again.

“Stop. Please, don’t-” Adrian managed to choke out. He tried to defend himself, but was unable to block Bucky's blows, driven by tremendous power and speed. “I can pay you! I can pay you a-”

To Bucky, his words meant nothing, his money worth nothing. What really mattered to him — what kept replaying in his head, boiling the blood in his veins, steering him to the only possible ending — was the fact that some man, no matter who he was or how much he had to offer, hurt his wife. He touched her. He touched in a way that made her too terrified to even cry.

With each repeated punch, a little blood sprinkled out — Lancy spit and choked with it, coughing and screaming, but Bucky still didn't pay the slightest attention to it; he stopped feeling his own hand — the pain spread through his metacarpus at first, but that soon went numb — instead, he felt Adrian's bones break and crumble under his fist; he felt his nose snapping, his jaw cracking, his cheekbones collapsing. He felt only that; no shame, no regret, no remorse. Why should he, when none of these things were shown to you?

Bucky did what he had to do — he beat the life out of Adrian Lancy with his bare hands. But to Bucky, he was no Adrian, no young investor with a bright future. He was a scumbag that attacked his wife and before that, put her on a short leash.

Breathing hard and slowly, Bucky stood up. For another brief moment he stared at the lifeless body, feeling a little less disgust. Despite the fact that instead of his face, Adrian now had a bloody, still steaming hole, he no longer evoked such disgust in Bucky.

He turned around. Blood covered his hands, especially the right one; crimson specks now decorated his face and his white shirt. You didn't feel the slightest need to run away, and if any shiver ran through your body, it was a shiver of admiration, of delight.

You didn't know when exactly, but at some point Steve and Sam showed up; Steve stood right next to you, Sam stayed somewhere behind your back.

You've lost track of time; you haven't checked it once since you and Bucky separated. Staring stubbornly, and without any purpose, at the darkness outside the bedroom window, you stood frozen, numb, wearing his t-shirt, that wrapped around you like a safe embrace.

Your skin was still aching from the almost burning water and excessive rubbing — you tried to deeply wash off Adrian’s scent and touch, but you could’ve sworn you still felt him. His smell — unpleasantly strong, hitting your nostrils aggressively — lingered in the air, and his hands, cold, sweaty, driven by evil intentions, remained on your body. A repulsive tingling plagued the places where he touched you, making you sick.

The door opened carefully, letting in some warm light from the corridor. You turned away from the window; Bucky entered the room, and then, keeping his eyes on you, came closer with a cautious step. And this time he scrutinized your figure intently.

In contrast to his shirt, there was no trace of blood on his face or hands. He washed it away along with the memory of that man, so it wouldn't clutter his mind. Instead, he knew that he would never forget that he had failed you; that he should have protected you better.

Without any words, you started unbuttoning his shirt; your fingers worked quickly and smoothly — you, too, wanted as soon as possible to get away from everything that reminded you of the events of a few hours earlier. When you were done, and the shirt tails opened, showing Bucky's tensed stomach muscles, you cupped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. By instinct, he placed his hands on your hips and pressed his body against yours, his tongue slid into your mouth, and despite your lip stinging, you eagerly accepted it, meeting it with yours. You already knew the way you could wash Adrian off you.

Bucky bent his knees to lower himself a bit; he moved his hands under your ass to lift you, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He walked to the bed and sat down; Bucky, as well, was fully aware of what you needed.

He laid down, pulling you with him — without breaking away from his lips, relishing the taste of the man who had done something so thrilling for you, to the point of intoxication, you began rubbing against his crotch. Both of you breathed heavily into each other's mouths as your core, now wet and throbbing with desire, grinded on Bucky's bulge. But it wasn't enough — you needed him inside you, immediately.

You backed away just enough to be able to unzip his pants. He raised his hips, lifting you along with them, in order to slip his pants lower. At that moment, neither of you thought about taking the time to remove all your clothes; it was only about gratification, about forgetting, about pleasure.

You rose, wrapped your hand around his engorged cock and guided it to your entrance, then sank down on it slowly, a quiet, breathy moan leaving your lips. At first, Bucky looked at you with concentration, as if making sure you could handle it without his help, and when he got the proof, he relaxed slightly. Feeling your pussy swallow more and more of his cock, he groaned, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, but soon returned his gaze to you. He had to — there was nothing that could draw him away from the pleasure of watching you.

You grabbed the ends of the t-shirt you were wearing and stripped it off. Seeing your body almost in all its glory, feeling it on his own, Bucky pressed his lips together, the devotion and worship visible in his stare only deepened.

Now, it was you who had the control you so badly needed to regain; you needed to regain yourself, and that's what seemed to be the best way to do it. Bucky's dick was plunging into you with your every move, penetrating you, hitting that sweet spot just right, but it was you who was fucking him. The bliss overpowered you enough that, forgetting the previous damage, you sank your teeth into your bottom lip. Bucky kept looking at you — your face overtaken by delight, your body moving up and down, the way you were riding him flawlessly — and the view alone would have been enough to make him cum.

Lifting his torso off the mattress, Bucky sat up. Your back arched as you propped your hands somewhere behind, your hips rolling in circles. Bucky slid his tongue between your breasts up to your neck, leaving a wet trail on your skin. With his hand supporting the back of your head, his mouth traveled all over your face and jaw, dropping sloppy kisses.

Sensing some weakness creeping into the dynamic you had set up, Bucky returned on the mattress, taking you with him. And you let him, knowing it would be worth it.

“Take my hand,” he whispered between heavy gasps. You followed his request without a second thought; the hand that only a few hours before had brought death was now holding yours. His fingers, intertwined with yours, reminded you that he was here for you; fully consciously, voluntarily, not just to satisfy some animal needs.

Bucky's spare arm embraced your back, pressing you as tightly as possible to his body. His hips began to move fast but not violently, he was moaning softly, pumping his cock into your cunt. It was hard for you to concentrate on anything other than that delicious sensation of being filled like that — your brain was melting, making you nothing more than a body to fuck, but the same brain told you to look at Bucky. So you looked at his lips, parted, swollen, in that familiar deep shade of pink they had turned from biting, and finally decided to occupy them with yours, devouring his warm, plush mouth.

The space between you, if such a thing had any right to exist, was filled with Bucky's loud breaths and grunts, your soft whines and his name — the sweet promise that you belonged to him only.

Bucky went still, letting out an interrupted whimper. A single, strong shiver ran through his body, his seed filled you up. When his mind regained a small percentage of sobriety, he continued thrusting into you. You straightened up to the sitting position, but still held tightly to Bucky’s hand. The tension building in your stomach released — orgasm shook your body, sending it into strong spasms, throwing your head back, squeezing only a heavy exhale out of your lungs.

Bucky looked up at you; he admired your jawline, your arched neck, the blue gemstone of the chain he gave you hanging in the middle of your collarbones, the single drop of sweat running down between your breasts. You were the most beautiful creation he had a chance to experience.

You gazed at him too, tears shimmered in your eyes, one of them dropped unexpectedly on Bucky's chest.

He furrowed, and, gripped by a burning panic and worry looming over, sat up; one of his hands was instantly on your cheek, the other brushed a few strands of hair away from your face. “It’s okay,” Bucky said softly. Sniffling, you nodded, the tears still streaming down your cheeks. “It’s okay…” he repeated more to himself, his eyes studying your face nervously, helplessly. With his thumb, he quickly wiped off another teardrop that escaped from your eye, then leaned closer and kissed away a new one, the salty taste smeared on his lips.

“Nothing-” you sobbed, then took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me,” you choke out. Bucky's jaw clenched, his eyes filled with sadness. Nothing like this has ever happened to you, and now that you were his wife, it did. On his watch. He was convinced that the blame lay with him, but he didn't admit it out loud — he wasn't going to make a victim of himself, all that mattered was you. “I shouldn't have let him-”

“No,” Bucky interrupted you strongly. He looked you in the eye. “It's not your fault, Y/N. You hear me?”

In response, you only sniffled again, dropping your gaze. “You told me something like this could happen. And I didn't listen.”

“Hey,” he said to get your attention, his voice gentle, but you didn't have the courage to bring your eyes back to his. Yet, with his hands on your cheeks, he made you look up at him. “Don’t do that. That fucker had no right to touch you even with his finger. That’s not on you.”

You weren't sure about that — your mind wasn't in a place that would allow you to believe Bucky's assurances. The wounds were still too fresh, the memories too vivid. However, one thing you were sure of; you had washed Adrian off of you. Bucky's scent clung to your skin, but your body was also marked with his sweat, his spit, his cum.

You started crying all over again — you needed this kind of purification. Bucky got that, so he wrapped his arms around you and pressed to his chest. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, stroking your hair.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

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maevesheart · 9 months

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tolerate it

CORIOLANUS SNOW X CAPITOL!READER

note: hiiiii… guess i’m back from a brief hiatus… coriolanus snow has done something to me so i must write about it. this is set before the mentorships, reader is from a very prominent capitol family—also, i changed some things around and made felix’s father the president instead of his uncle. // also.. should i write more with this oc (sort of) and corio? i like the dynamic

summary: your relationship with felix ravinstill is anything but satisfying. thus, when you find yourself intoxicated and in a room with the ever-charming coriolanus snow, tensions run high.

wc: 5.4k

tw: alcohol, reader being drunk, cheating… oh! and of course, smut ;))))

The President’s Palace was filled with only the most prestigious and wealthy people that occupied the capitol.

You entered with Felix, your arm, adorned with only the finest gems in all of Panem, was linked tightly through his, as he lead you through the ornate doors into the ballroom.

The two of you had been together for a little over 6 months now, and to say the relationship was running its course was an understatement, to say the least.

You hated him, to put it simply.

He was arrogant, and displayed you like a shining new toy that no one else could touch.

How dare he! You seethed with anger for him. Your mother was the heiress of the Cardew fortune, spanning back decades of successful bankers. Livia, your cousin, was wealthy as well, but when your mother’s inheritance collided with your fathers, there was no comparison.

Your father, Hyades Mars, was the wealthiest man in all of Panem. Serbo Plinth could not even compare.

The Mars fortune could be attributed to both a long history and incredible reputation in the Panem military, and the production of precious metals that the country needed so badly.

Your ancestors had begun Mars Manufacturing, the biggest ore manufacturers in all of Panem. When the rebellion occurred, they moved to gun and bomb production, leading President Ravinstill to forever be in the debt of your family.

After all, Mars bombs had won the war.

It was baffling to you how Felix treated you like a mere object, nothing more.

You were far more intelligent, the most beautiful girl in all of Panem, and the labeled “Panem Princess”. Felix was a fool.

However, for your family’s sake, you must play the part. Or your father would die of embarrassment.

You plastered the sweetest smile onto your lips, and let Felix parade you around the room. You greeted the Cranes and Flickermans, making small talk with them before you spotted your mother and father speaking with your uncle in the center of the room.

Ushering a quick goodbye to the guests, and assuring Felix you’d be right back, you rushed for your family.

“Daddy,” you placed a peck on your fathers cheek as he placed a hand on your back.

“Hello, shining star.” His nickname for you caused your cheeks to redden, the pounds of makeup on your face covering the blush.

The Mars were the brightest stars in the entirety of Panem. And your father would never let you or your siblings forget it.

You greeted your mother, and then your Uncle Heracles, your father’s only sibling.

A quick kiss and hug, and then two of you were deep in conversation. Heracles was always your favorite. He never married, so all his money was spent on you and your siblings.

Beautiful jewelry, bags, clothing, anything you could dream of. He loved you as his own.

You threw a quick glance behind your shoulder, meeting the similar eyes that bore the same color as your own.

Heracles and you parents gently smiled as they watched your face take over with recognition.

“Percy?” You questioned, a beaming smile now on your lips.

You rushed away from your family, and straight into the arms of your elder brother, Perseus Mars.

“I’ve missed you dearly, little star,” he chuckled as you slammed yourself into him.

You hadn’t seen Percy in over a year. He joined the military right when he graduated from the Academy, and quickly climbed the ranks. He now bore the responsibility of Major, touring around the country and serving the capitol.

Every male in your family before him had done his duty in the military, but never rose as quickly as Percy. You were filled with pride.

“Well you look just beautiful, shining star.” Percy compliments you, making you do a little twirl.

He was right, you looked marvelous.

Your mother had a custom ruby red dress made for this occasion. It was strapless, and showed your chest off perfectly. It was a thick yet flowing material, that fell to the floor. A long slit accompanied the left side, leaving little to the imagination.

You paired the gorgeous dress with black heels, and a low updo sat on the nape of your neck. Your makeup was simple and timeless, accentuating your striking eyes and full lips. You couldn’t look more beautiful if you tried.

“How has it been in the districts? I cant imagine it’s been nice,” you ask, leading him to dive into a long speech about how it’s brought him wisdom beyond his years.

“Let’s get a drink, yes?” Percy finishes, linking your arm through his. He leads you to the ornate bar, and the two of you each receive a China glass, filled with shining red liquid.

You bring the concoction to your lips, and swallow down the rich taste of cherries. As obnoxious as the Ravinstills were, they sure knew how to throw a party.

Suddenly, Persephone, your older sister and Percy’s twin, appeared in front of the both of you.

Her hair was now suddenly pink, a different shade than from the last time you saw her.

Persephone had a strange fixation with constantly changing her appearance; your mother blamed it on her eclectic boss and vibrant coworker: Fabricia Whatnot and Tigris Snow.

“Hello, Perse.” Persephone smiles, giving Percy a hug.

“Hello back, Perse.” He smiles, rubbing her back. The two of them called each other Perse, crediting their shared names of two famous Greek heroes.

Your father loved mythology, and found it only appropriate to have children named after his favorite hero and goddess.

As your siblings fell into animated conversation, you excused yourself and made your way back to Felix.

He was now with his father, his head thrown back in laughter.

You placed your hand delicately on his back, alerting him of your presence.

“Oh, hello, darling,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You smiled and curtsied to the President, before he took your small hand and brought it up to his mouth, leaving a haste kiss.

“Hello, Miss Mars. Pleasure to see you,”

“Pleasure is all mine, Mister President.” You smile.

The three of you fall into easy conversation. Felix and you soon break free, making your rounds to the many other guests, and friends from the Academy.

Soon the familiar sound of Panem’s Waltz began to play throughout the large room, and Felix lead you into the middle of the dance floor, taking your hand into his.

The two of you lead the waltz, other young couples joining in as the adults watching with pride blossoming onto their faces.

You wished the floor would swallow you whole.

Felix aggressively twirled you around the room, his hand rough and burning through your dress, and his other hand squeezing the life out of yours.

He spun you around and around, not delicately like Percy or even Festus Creed would’ve done.

Your eyes quickly met with Arachne’s, who gave you a solemn nod, knowing how much you hated him. You frowned back, and she mouthed “dance”, to encourage you to take lead and show him who was boss.

You quickly moved your feet in the motion of the foxtrot, causing Felix to follow your lead. The other couples soon followed, Arachne sending you a beaming smile.

Felix struggled to follow your lead, he never quite got the hang of any dance other than the waltz, and you knew this would cause an argument as his jaw tightened, and slightly stuck out his foot, sending you stumbling into his arms.

A smug smirk took over his features as you gave him a death stare, pulling yourself back into place and straightening your dress.

The other couples continues to dance while the two of you had a staring contest, before you shoved him slightly and went to leave the dance floor.

His hand harshly grabbed your arm, and pulled you back into his chest. Before you could comprehend it, you shoved his chest, and caught the attention of the entire room.

“Please excuse us, I’m afraid Miss Mars has had one too many drinks,” he laughed, causing the rest of the room to join in, soon making you into a joke.

You knew they weren’t truly laughing, having all drank a little too much themselves, but you refused to let Felix make you into a fool.

“I’ve just got to freshen up in the bathroom is all. I’ll be back momentarily. The foxtrot was never my best anyhow,” you smiled your sickly sweet grin, everyone believing the words falling from your tongue.

“Now, excuse you,” you shoved past Felix, letting your shoulder hit his as you passed him.

You were left with an awful taste in your mouth.

You grabbed a glass of something on your way out, tipping the glass back to empty all of the liquid into your throat.

What you failed to notice was the script Morphling enhanced written on the Avox’s tray.

You immediately felt calmer, the tension leaving your body.

After you finished the glass, you decided that was enough, and made your way through the crowds, needing some fresh air.

You found yourself in a deserted hall, and tears soon found themselves in your eyes. You told yourself to keep it in, but the mix of anger and morphling caused the hot salty tears to pour out of you.

You wailed, and slapped a hand across your mouth to stop the sound of more, eyes darting throughout the hall to make sure no one saw you.

The hall was empty, thank Heavensbee, and you leaned your head back against the portrait of some past Panem military leader, a string of tears passing down your cheeks.

Felix treated you like a fucking doll, and you weren’t some porcelain plaything that if he let go of would smash into millions of pieces.

You were a lady, a strong, beautiful, intelligent lady, who would not be defined by an ignorant, stupid, man-child who didn’t know his right foot from his left.

With that, you pushed off the wall, and headed towards the south end of the hall, which held two large doors that lead straight to the Royal Garden.

You exited to the garden, beautiful flowers lit by the light coming from the ball room. A small bench sat between the rows of colorful exotic plants.

A shadowed figure was hunched on this said bench, elbows on his knees and head in his palms.

You stumbled on your way over to him, picking up your flowing dark red dress to get to this figure quicker.

As you get closer, you notice the sharp black tuxedo and blonde hair. Immediate dread overtakes your body and you stop dead.

Coriolanus Snow.

Of fucking course. You scoff and let go of your dress. Coriolanus looks up, eyes widening as he takes in your distressed figure.

You and Coriolanus were once friends, but his ego got in the way and you found yourself parting ways from him. Sure, he used to be a sweet boy, but now his ego was as tall as he was, and his last name gave him power others could only dream of.

“Y/N Mars.” Coriolanus nodded, standing up and adjusting his cuff links.

“Coriolanus. Long time no see,” you rolled your eyes, morphling continuing to make your blood hot and coursing.

“Enjoying your party?” He asked, venom laced within his words.

You scowled. “My party? Funny.”

“Oh you don’t know? Felix plans on proposing. I supposed six months is the new six years,” a smirk adorned Coriolanus’s face as he watches yours twist with anger and confusion.

“Wha-… Why?” You spurt out. Suddenly you felt extremely sober.

“I couldn’t guess either. Who would want to marry you?” His words were bullets, hitting you right in the chest.

You couldn’t believe it. But as you thought into the night more, it all made perfect sense. Percy coming back from active duty, all of Panem’s most respectable being there, and Felix showing you off to everyone. He had never been that attached to your hip before.

Tears threatened to slip once more, the last thing you wished to do was marry Felix Ravinstill, but you knew once he was down on that knee, your father’s eyes would bore into yours. You wouldn’t have the heart to let him down.

Desperately wishing to change the subject, you placed your head up high and made eye contact once more with the mean boy in front of you.

“Why were you out here all alone, Coriolanus?”

Was that a hint of… of worry across your face? No, it couldn’t be, Coriolanus thought.

He found himself taken aback by your worried tone and soft eyes after he had repeatedly thrown insults your way.

“Some fresh air, that’s all,” he clears his throat, trying his best to suppress his feelings he had fought for so long.

Insulting you, hiding away. That was all he could do. He had be mean to you your entire life, teasing you, stealing your first kiss on a “dare”. He had never once been nice.

But you were Panem’s Princess, and he could not be in love with Panem’s Princess, so he shoved down his feelings and refused to admit them. After all, why would a rich girl like you be with a poor boy like him?

“I haven’t seen you once tonight. It’s freezing out here, come inside and get some warmth,” you take a step closer to him, causing him to sit up straighter on the bench.

Why were you acting like you cared? Did you know his secret? Or did you truly care? Were his feelings mutual?

“You must have been too preoccupied with Mister President Junior to notice my presence. Naturally, we don’t like each other.”

His statement caused you to take a step backwards. The cold radiated off his skin.

You had deep feelings for Coriolanus, and you assumed he knew. You had only given him your first kiss years ago, just to find out it was a dare from Clemensia.

It shattered your little heart, and you had sworn him off since that dreadful night.

So, to find him so cold and mean when you were so vulnerable, it felt like that night when you were 13 all over again.

It seemed Coriolanus had a specific talent for breaking your heart.

“Alright then. You can be miserable by yourself, Snow. All I’ve done is try to help.” You sniffled, turning brisk on your heel and marching back to the doors you had came out from.

Coriolanus leaned slightly back, wondering what he had just done.

The girl he had been pawning over for years came outside and was trying to comfort him, how could he have been so stupid as to turn you away?

On your solemn walk back through the hallway, you figured Felix could be a good husband. The future president of Panem, and not terribly unattractive.

But deep down, your heart yearned for a certain boy with blue eyes and pale hair, a certain boy who had crushed your heart countless times.

Instead of returning to the ballroom, you headed up the large marble staircase, and straight to the first bedroom.

You threw yourself onto the ornate golden bed, undoing your elaborate bun from the nape of your neck.

Your hair flowed down your back, and you stood in front of the mirror, wiping below your eyes. No one could see you like this.

An abrupt knock came from the other side of the door, and your head snapped.

Surely no one had seen you go upstairs. And there was absolutely no way Coriolanus had followed you.

Opening the door, the familiar face from the garden stood in front of you, eyebrows laced and fret covering his face.

“Coriolanus?” You whispered, the tears once more threatening to spill.

“Please, I am not in the mood.” He felt the crack in your voice deep in his core, and felt a pit begin to form in his stomach.

“Can I come in?” He whispered. You stepped aside and his broad frame crossed the floorboards onto the lush green carpet you stood atop.

“What is it now? Come to insult my dress as well? Tell me that my makeup has smeared?” You sat on the edge of the bed, and placed your face in your hands.

Coriolanus stood in silence for a few moments, then he got onto his knees before you and gently moved your hands from your face.

His fingertips gently traced the sides of your cheeks as they moved your delicate hands, and then he cupped your left cheek and you found yourself leaning in.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never been more sorry for something in my life.” His apology surprised you, and your eyes went wide.

“It’s alright, nothing I’m not used to with you,” you mustered a slight smile.

“No, it’s not alright. I’ve been a fool, Y/N.” Your eyes began to narrow, was this another aspect of his cruel games?

“I’ve been a fool for a long time. Trying to convince myself that I don’t love you. But the harder I try to fight my feelings, the harder they come back and burst into my heart. I love you more than a man could ever love a woman. And I’ve been terrible to you, utterly awful. And you deserve someone who treats you the right way, and I know that Felix cannot love you the way I can. Felix could never give you the things I could, he could never make you feel things I can make you feel.” Coriolanus is stroking your face, his eyes soft and glossy.

You want to believe him, you truly do, but he has never given you a reason to.

You brush his hand away from your face.

“Coriolanus Snow. You have tormented me for too long, knowing my feelings for you. You take, and take, and take, and I have nothing left. Felix, sure he’s not the brightest nor the most doting, but he makes a suitable choice at this point. I haven’t got anything left to give to you. So please, leave me alone.”

You go to stand up, but Coriolanus is pushing you back down.

“Cant you see, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember!”

“You’ve never given me a reason to believe that, Coriolanus!”

The two of you were yelling at this point, and you were very thankful for the loud music down below.

“I know, I know. And I’m so deeply sorry. I should’ve been better, I know.”

“Yes, you should have. And you cannot have me just because you decided ten minutes ago that I was suddenly appealing.”

“You’ve always been beautiful, Y/N.”

You shake your head, looking down to the ground.

“Please, give me a chance. Just one. I won’t mess it up.”

You look up and meet his eyes. You debate his plea in your head.

You could give him a chance and dump Felix, a win-win. But what happens if he goes back to his old ways and hurts you again. He would make a fool of you and there’s no way you could ever beg Felix to take you back.

Before your mind can decide, your heart picks.

“Alright. But just one. No other chances.”

“No other chances. I love you, Y/N.”

You cant stop yourself from smiling, truly believing his words this time. “I love you, Coriolanus.”

A grin splays across his face and he places his hands on either side of your face, delicately tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“May I kiss you?” A small nod is all you offer before his lips come crashing down onto yours, feeling the exact way they did 5 years ago when the two of you sat in a dark closet.

His lips are cold, but they melt together with your warm ones. The kiss is passionate and slow, the both of you taking your time, cherishing the moment.

Soon, he is standing and pushing you back onto the bed, your head lightly hitting the pillow.

The kiss turns rushed and heated, the both of you breathing heavily. Your hand moves from his bicep to his hair, tugging, earning a groan from deep inside his throat.

He slots his legs between yours, and your thighs latch onto his sides.

You move your hands down to his shoulders, digging deep into his back, feeling the tough muscles contract beneath your perfectly polished red nails.

He pulls back briefly, with lust blown pupils. You assume yours look the same.

He takes your hand and examines the nails, the finest ruby ring around your middle finger, with diamonds forming a crown.

He brings your hand up to his mouth and sucks on your middle finger and ring finger, before pulling them back.

You watch with big eyes and a slightly open mouth, feeling your panties pool down below.

“I’ve only ever dreamt of having you like this.”

You don’t respond, just swallowing roughly.

He moves back to your lips, but only briefly, then moves down your neck, taking his time leaving marks. You’re sure you’ll need extra concealer and powder in the morning, but that is a worry for later.

The only thing you can focus on now is the way his lips feel against your sensitive skin.

He looks up while sucking your collarbone, his eyes dark and seductive. He had you exactly where he wanted, writhing beneath him.

His tongue finds its way down your cleavage, pecking the visible skin. “Such a pretty dress,” he whispers, you silently begging him to continue.

He’s soon shrugging off his tuxedo coat and undoing his bow tie.

You sit up and try to unzip the back of the dress, silently struggling.

He unbuttons his white collared shirt and throws it onto the ground before moving to help you, sliding down the zipper with ease.

He rips the dress down your body, throwing it to the floor. He sits up on his knees and assesses your whole body, suddenly bulging against his pants as he takes in your uncovered breasts.

“No bra? Naughty girl,” he tsks, placing his hands on either side of your waist.

The only part of your body covered is your genitals, a simple black floral lace thong sitting on your hips.

You start to wiggle, desperate for him to do something again.

“Use your words, pretty girl.” He taunts, running a finger across the band of your panties.

“Please,” you whisper, taking his hands into yours.

“Anything for you, my love, tell me what you want,” he leaves a quick kiss to your lips, pulling back to allow you to answer.

“Your mouth.” You’ve never given requests like this before. Ha! You’ve never even been listened to during your few times with Felix. He always had you go down on him or be on top. You had never been eaten out before, and you thought there was no better person than Coriolanus.

A smirk overtakes Coriolanus’s face as he realizes you’ve never had someone go down on you before. “Of course, love.” He shuffles down the bed, laying on his stomach.

You sit up on your elbows to get a better view of him, watching with your breath held as he pulls down your thong with his teeth.

You could melt on the spot.

He throws the panties somewhere over his shoulder, and begins to kiss the inside of each your thighs, taking his sweet time.

“Please, Coryo,” you pant, your chest rising quickly.

Before you even have a chance to close your mouth, he is on your skin, sucking on your clit. The feeling is unbelievable and you throw your head back in pleasure.

His tongue glides between your folds, exploring wildly as you try your hardest not to scream out in pleasure.

He continues to suck, and sticks a finger in while you’re mid-moan, leading to a loud, “Oh, Coryo,” falling from your parted lips.

He smirks against your swollen clit, adding a second finger, pumping at an almost impossible speed.

You feel the pit in your stomach start to come undone and once he feels you begin to wiggle he knows you’re close.

“C’mon, princess,” he urges in a hoarse whisper, adding a third finger.

You’re undone in seconds, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from screaming his name for all of Panem to hear.

He laps up everything you give, and sticks his fingers into his mouth to ducks off your juices.

His legs are back in between yours, swollen lips quickly reattaching to yours.

He wipes the few stray tears that fell, a sense of pride blossoming in his chest, knowing he was the first man to make you feel that way.

“Coryo, let me please you,” you beg, hands fumbling as you undo his belt and begin to pull down his velvet dress pants.

“Next time. I want to focus on you,” he simply states and your heart soars, no man has ever said that to you, especially in these circumstances.

“I need to feel you, Y/N,” he simply states, hands on your hips.

You nod, ready to feel him inside you. You can only imagine how good it will feel.

“Use your words, baby. I need verbal confirmation,”

“Please, Coriolanus, I need you,” you grab his face, pulling it back down to meet yours. You then move your hands down to his boxers, the both of you pulling them down and flinging them off to join your panties.

His impressive length bounces back, standing straight up against his stomach. Your eyes widen with shock and your clit throbs imagining it inside of you.

Felix is nothing compared to Coryo.

“You’re so big,” you mumble, likely the alcohol from earlier speaking.

He chuckles at your comment, watching you size him up. “Don’t worry, pretty thing, I’ll fit,” he smirks, cupping your face once again.

He lines himself up with your slick folds, bringing your hands down to push himself in.

His large hands cover your small ones, and he watches your face as he slowly pushes in.

Your face first twists with pain and he immediately halts his movements, beginning to pull out before you urge him to continue.

“No, no, it feels good,” you whisper, lightly hissing.

“Just tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop immediately,” he reassures, pushing his full length in.

You gasp as he fills you up, your tight folds holding his cock so well, Coryo’s head falls back in pleasure, a light groan falling from his lips.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whimpers, going down onto his elbows so he can be closer to you.

“I love you,” he kisses the corner of your mouth before pulling out and going right back in, your hands finding his back.

“Fuck, Coryo, I love—“ a moan interrupts your sentence as he roughly pushes his full length in at once, filling you up in ways you’d never imagined.

He continues to flick his hips into yours, your ankles crossing behind his back, pulling him even closer to your body. The both of you are panting and sweating, chests rising into each other.

Your body trembles in indescribable pleasure as he continues thrusting in at an incredible pace, your head thrown back against the pillow and your eyes closed.

You scream out, his hand slapping down over your mouth to keep you quiet. This turns you on even more, and you begin to move your hips with his, allowing him to push in even deeper.

The slapping of skin and your shared groans fill the air, and Coryo’s lips find your sweet spot against your neck, filling you with even more pleasure.

“Coryo,” you moan, fingernails scratching down his back.

Somehow, his thrusts get harder and faster, pounding into you like a fuck doll he couldn’t get enough of. Arousal drips out of you, and Coryo begins to pull all the out before slamming right back in.

You felt like you were going to explode from pure bliss, the feeling of Coryo’s lips on yours, his strong hands holding you in place, and the feeling of his cock deep inside your pulsing walls.

You feel the pit begin to form again, and Coryo knows you’re close when you begin to tighten around him, and you feel his thrusts get sloppier.

His cock twitches as you whimper underneath him, and he grunts, “I’m close, princess,”

“Me too, Coryo,” you moan, hands gripping his biceps.

With a final thrust, the both of you come undone together, Coryo collapsing onto your chest.

You kiss the side of his face, weakly smiling as his eyes meet yours.

He leaves a kiss to your lips before pushing himself off the bed and going into the en-suite bathroom, quickly running a wash cloth under water and coming back.

He wipes it down your legs and over your privates, kissing your knees as he does so.

He lays back down with you, stroking your face and examining the features he’s loved forever.

“You are beautiful,” he smiles, brushing your hair back.

You blush, shaking your head, “I’m probably a mess right now,”.

“Never.” He kisses your forehead and sits up, “but we do have to go back down there.”

You groan with the realization, quickly being snapped out of your bliss bubble with Coriolanus.

He helps you off the bed, steadying your hips. You assure him that you can walk, and he helps you slip into your dress and heels.

He pulls back on his clothing as you try your best to salvage whats left of your makeup in the bathroom.

“I’m ending it with him when we get down there.” You take Coryo’s hand, lacing it within yours.

“Don’t leave my side, please,” you beg.

“I would never.” He reassures you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

The two of you quietly exit the room, slowly descending the stairs.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been up there, or if the party is still going on.

The loud music assures you that it is, and Coryo stands directly behind you as you enter the ballroom, all eyes falling onto you two.

You catch Percy’s eye first, his face twisted with confusion. Persephone is behind him next to Tigris, the two of them size both of you up, worry evident in their features.

Felix makes his way up to you, and the Capitol citizens act as if they aren’t watching any more, despite the stolen glances and almost hushed conversations.

“Y/N. Where were you,” Felix grips your arm harshly, and you let out a whimper.

Coryo is between the two of you in seconds, his brooding frame easily towering over Felix’s cowering body.

“Don’t touch her.” He threatens, eyes narrowed.

He knows he is teetering in dangerous water. The Snow’s are almost nothing, and the Ravinstills rule all of Panem. Felix could have him dead with the snap of his fingers.

But all Felix does is laugh, brushing Coryo off.

“She is my girlfriend, Coriolanus, don’t overstep now,” Felix chuckles, shaking his head.

“Not anymore,” you say loudly from behind Coryo, who slightly shifts to let you have access to Felix.

Felix gives you a confused look, raising his eyebrow.

“Felix, I cannot be with you anymore. You treat me as if I am a porcelain doll who is only for you to show off. I am a woman, and I am no one’s to parade around.” You say, the large room dead silent.

Your father grins in the back, Uncle Heracles joining. Percy is as well, Pride swelling for his baby sister.

“What?” Felix chokes out, looking as if he’s seen a ghost.

“You heard me loud and clear. It’s done. And I will be leaving now.” You hold your chin up high, and march out, passing President Ravinstill.

You give him a small nod, thanking him once again for having you.

Coriolanus trails you, and you are sure everyone must suspect what happened upstairs. But that doesn’t matter to you at all in that moment.

As soon as the two of you are outside the Palace, and in one of the carriages, Coryo is holding your hand, and kissing it endlessly.

“I’m very proud of you, my love.” He says, and you tuck yourself into his side. “I’m happy it’s done. After all, I’ve got my Coriolanus Snow now, don’t I?” You ask, earning a chuckle from the man you love and a giggle from your own lips.

#imagine #angst #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #corio snow #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus x y/n #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #panem #smut #coriolanus x oc #coriolanus snow x reader #maeve writes 🎀

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sanzaibian · 12 days

Text

This is part of the Secret TF Writers Swap, a small "secret santa" event between writers organized by the lovely @alphajocklover.

Thank you very much for organizing it !

================================================

To @fafnir19

You sat at your desk, readying yourself for yet another soul-sucking day of office work.

You may be writing loads of stories on the internet, of people growing in and out of wealth, of demons and creatures, and most of all of transformation, but back in the real world, everything feels so much more static. Yesterday’s problems are today’s problems, and today’s problems are tomorrow’s problems. A never-ending series of crisis after crisis, which somehow always swap roots yet never swap effects. You can at least consider yourself fortunate that your pay is comfortable enough so that you can weather these, even if it means having to look in the eyes of someone who has little, and answer their request for starting something greater in the negative.

But today, there seems to be some agitation in the office. A change in the routine. Something to bring you out of the intensive mundane and the boring busyness.

So you ask the colleague with which you share desk a part in today’s gossip, and what he answers may surprise you :

“Nathaniel Nostitz has come here ! I don’t know why he’s here, but I’m sure everyone wants to bag him !”

Now, as a banker, you do keep an eye on the important fortunes in your area, and the Nostitz family is one of them – if not the most important. You know that their family comes from Silesia, but that there was recently some family drama with his son, or at least that’s what the few articles of showbiz about him that some colleague forced you to read said. You don’t actually care, but you do know that such an important family coming to see a standard local bank is quite… unusual.

But you know to keep your head down and not cause unnecessary problems. You won’t be able to convince him to do anything with you, and he may be tempted to destroy your career if you’re too annoying. Therefore, you go back on working on your computer, some case of investment account or something. Boring, but safe.

That’s why you were surprised when, suddenly, you hear a deep sultry voice speaking right next to you.

“Greetings. I think I have a proposal that may interest you.”

You look up to suddenly see a middle-aged looking blonde man, impeccably dressed and styled, sporting a bit bushy beard.

Is he… actually Mr. Nostitz ? He looks quite a bit younger than you expected… and more attractive… but it may be due to him having access to all the best treatments money can pay, after all. However, as he looks right in your eyes, you suddenly understand that the proposal – a business proposal, you guess – was aimed at you.

“Oh, er…” You stumble, not having expected this turn of events. “Greetings to you too, sir… what is that proposal about ?”

He smiles when you call him ‘sir’. Somehow, this smile seems almost… predatory ? Of some kind ?

“I’d be willing to place some of my fortune in your care… therefore in the care of this bank, if you were willing to grant me a few... favors.” He smiles, trying his hardest to look innocent while he is, in effect, holding you hostage to your company’s expectations. - I… I’ll think about it, sir…” You answer evasively, taken by surprise. - Of course, of course !” He smiles, looking even more predatory and threatening than before. He gives you a black piece of cardboard paper. “Here’s my business card, for when you’ve taken your decision.”

On that not-so-subtle order to accept, he takes his leave, leaving you confused in-between the jealous and judgy eyes of your colleagues. And as expected, you’re immediately summoned by your boss. He urges you to accept without delay, promising you a share of the high profits that a share of the Nostitz fortune will bring the bank.

And the door if you dare refuse.

That’s why you’re now here, in front of this huge manor, as ready as you can manage to be to throw yourself in the lion’s den.

The manor is very big, and very beautiful. Its fine architecture betrays its age, which shows how entrenched the Nostitz familly is, around here. A butler welcomes you inside, and leads you up to Mr. Nostitz’s office, though not without ridding you of your coat. And as you stand in front of the old wooden ebony door, you gather your courage before knocking.

“Enter.” The low and sultry voice orders.

You follow suit, opening the door, and finding Mr. Nostitz reading some files on a well-organized desk, with only a suspicious brown mallet throwing the neatness off.

“Hello, Mr. Nostitz.” You start, but as you’re about to continue, he cuts you with his authoritative voice. - Greetings. So you’re here to discuss my… proposition, are you not ? - Y-yes, sir, I am.”

He puts his files down, and stands up, towards one of the racks on the wall, looking through binder after binder.

“You see… ever since my son decided that our wealth was… problematic, I had a little project in mind. And when I saw you, I knew you were the perfect candidate for it.”

Son leaving ? Wealth problematic ? You the perfect candidate ? … it seems like the family drama you desperately wanted to know as little as you could about comes back to bite you in the ass…

“I’m sorry sir, I-” You start backing off, but he cuts you once again, his mere presence silencing you. - I want to do a little experiment on you.” He says, having found the documents he was searching for, reaching for the mallet and opening it in front of your eyes. “These… potions, you may call them, have some effects that I want to study. And you’re the perfect man for it. - Sir, I’m sorry to say that, but I don’t know if I want to risk my health with an untested substance !” You start refusing, tampering it as much as you can. - Of course, your refusal is to be expected when presented with so few information.” Somehow, this felt like a jab at you. “However, I guarantee that it is safe, it has been tested on numerous animals, and it’s been proven to be safe for humans. Besides, the papers I brought out here make me liable for any disease related to this… treatment.”

At least he was thoughtful, and didn’t ask you to jump in with full faith. However, he does ask you to jump in blind, which is more problematic.

“And, this treatment…” You interject, finding an opening in the conversation. “What does it do ? - Ah, yes, a most important query.” He comments, yet again preventing you from going further in your thought. “Let’s just say that it may trigger a few… changes in your body. Most importantly, it will make you look younger.”

Changes ? Younger ? These are two keywords that draw your attention, as they usually belong to that other part of your life… You are quite a bit more excited than you should be, but the chance to experiment with at least part of one of your oldest dreams, one that felt like it could only ever belong to fiction, clouds your judgment.

Such was Mr. Nostitz’s plan.

“I… I’m interested.” You finally manage, feeling it’s safe and enviable enough to throw the remainder of your caution to the wind. - That’s perfect. Then, I’d ask you to sign those papers, please.”

You skimp over them quickly before signing, hopefully catching anything big that would be lying in the text, but you find none. Assuming that no surprises remained, you sign. On that, Mr. Nostitz smiles maliciously, yet again looking like a predator, before reaching in the mallet and drawing a small glass flask, half-filled by an opaque cyan liquid.

“Then we should start now, don’t you say ? Please drink this.” He orders with his deep, authoritative voice. - O-okay…”

You were not expecting to start this so soon, but you’re quite weak to the strength of his voice… So you drink it. It doesn’t taste good, a bit too salty to your taste, but it’s not that bad. You know foods that tasted a lot worse. As you feel it coursing down your esophagus, you start expecting some effects, standing in silence, looking discreetly at your skin. But this just makes Mr. Nostitz elegantly laugh.

“Are you expecting instantaneous results ? You should wait until tomorrow, at the very least !”

You blush of shame from this, before deciding to cut this meeting there, since the treatment has already been administered. But before you can properly address your salutations, he stops you :

“I’m sorry, but now isn’t the time to go. See, it’s already late, so you won’t be able to go back to work.” He is correct, it is 7PM already, but you don’t understand why he’s stopping you like that. - I’m sorry, sir, but I… should really go home.” You say with the utmost care, not wanting to appear rude. - My, don’t you know you that, during the duration of the experiment, you agreed to lodging here ?”

You freeze.

You didn’t know that. Was it written in the document you signed ? Did you not notice it ? You did skimp through it, but surely such a motion would have jumped to you… However, taken in surprise, you improvise, lying to try and save face.

“Y-yes, of course, but I… need to get some things from home ! I can’t stay here with only what I have on me !” Hopefully he will buy your excuse. - Don’t worry, we have everything necessary on hand here. It might not be what you’re used to, but… everyone needs a bit of luxury in their life, if you catch what I’m saying.” He snidely smiles to you. - I’ll… see what I can do with…” You admit defeat, though surrendering to luxury isn’t the hardest thing to do. - That’s great ! The butler will lead you to your room.”

On that, the butler opens the door, and urges you to follow him. He leads you through beautiful corridor after beautiful corridor, all stinking money, until you reach another door. Inside is a spacious bedroom suite, likely bigger than your first flat, even without including the bathroom. It looks quite a bit more modern than the rest of the house, but with no less old money woody tones.

The butler leaves you alone inside, where, immediately after putting down the few things you were still carrying, you rush to the bathroom. However, you’re disappointed when you look inside the mirror and… it’s still you on the other side. Well, you expect it to still be you, but still, not seeing any change does bum you down.

This taken care of, you look around the room to get a bit more familiar with it. If it’s where you’re going to stay in the near future, you’d want to know where to find things of interest.

You start by the bathroom, finding a lot of hygiene stuff, including products for the skin and for the hair, as well as multiple bottles of expensive cologne and, weirdly enough, condoms… that are too big for your dick. Great. You move to the closet, in which you find a wealth of clothes, all fitted to your size – though they’re a bit loose on you, not by much, but noticeable enough – as if Mr. Nostitz knew you’d come. However, you’re surprised by their diversity. While there of course are the dress shirts and suits you’d expect, as well as polos, sweaters and other preppy clothes, there’s also some more young – for lack of a better word – clothes like a collection of jackets, t-shirts and even tank tops.

You close the closet back up, thinking to yourself that you’d never need this much clothes, but that you appreciate the thought. Having barely closed that piece of furniture, the butler invites you for dinner. He leads you to a grand dinner room, outfitted with a long wooden table, on which only two places were set.

You take place in front of one, while Mr. Nostitz takes place on the other side. On that follows a floury of expensive dishes, served as if you were at a high-grade restaurant. While you ate each of the courses, you entertained a lively discussion with Mr. Nostitz about investment, and about how his money would be taken care of, now that it is in your care.

That is, after all, the primary reason of your stay. Even if it got eclipsed by another.

Once the meal was finished, Mr. Nostitz waved you goodbye, and the butler accompanied you to your room. You did as usual, preparing yourself for bed, changing into your nightwear, brushing your teeth and all that. But as you were doing that, you noticed that your hair looked a bit… brighter than usual ?

It must have been the lighting, you think to yourself as you fall to sleep in the giant and extremely comfortable bed.

You are woken up by the butler at an early hour, as he tells you that breakfast will be served before you go to work. Ah… yes, right, you forgot, with how comfy the bed was, that you weren’t in holidays. So you stretch a bit, but as you enter the bathroom, something doesn’t look right…

It takes you a moment before you manage to figure it out.

Your hair was now blonde ! And curly !

You look out to your bedroom, but the butler isn’t here, so you look back in the mirror. God, that hair looks so healthy… You pinch yourself a few times, before you decide that you’re actually in the real world, and that this is now your hair.

A bit confused, you look in the myriad of products, and see that all the products for the hair are made for wavy or curly hair… how fortunate… So, you put some in your hair, hoping that they will make the mess that you woke up with more dignified, before continuing your morning routine as you usually do.

However, now the fact that there actually was a transformation makes you all excited for whatever comes next. You’re actually living your fantasy ! The one you thought wasn’t impossible in the real world !

Jovial, you eat, and enter the limousine, before being dropped off in front of your bank. You’re so happy about all that that you don’t even register the fact that you’re coming to work in a limousine, and sporting a healthier, curlier and blonder hairstyle than you ever had in your life. Though your colleague don’t ignore that, as you do manage to overhear people gossiping about those very things, you… really couldn’t care less. It just felt quite unimportant, really, when compared to everything else.

The day of work was over pretty quickly, and before you could even worry about going back to the manor, you see the limousine that drove you to your bank stationed in front, disturbing traffic in the meantime. You’d usually feel a bit guilty of being the reason of other’s frustrations, but somehow, you’re so happy that you just don’t care. Yet again.

As you enter, greeted by the chauffeur, it even starts feeling a bit normal, how you’re greeted with the utmost deference, how you are given privileges, how people are waiting for you…

You shake your head. This state of affairs is temporary, do not get used to the luxury. In a week, you’ll be back to your usual grind.

Arrived at destination, you enter the manor, expecting to see Mr. Nostitz, but he is nowhere to be found. That’s weird, you haven’t seen him in the whole day… you were eager to show him the golden curls you acquired… You furrow your brow at your sudden thought, finding them a bit out of character until you remember that you’re in an experiment. Of course the one responsible for holding the experiment should keep a close look on their patient.

But here you are, on your bed, not having seen him anywhere. You had the time to explore the mansion further, to write part of your next story, and relax, yet when the butler called you to go eat, you still hadn’t seen him. Taking place at the table, you also noticed that there was only one place setting. None for the elusive master of this mansion.

Adding insult to injury, before the first course, the butler comes back with a small flask, of the same kind that you took yesterday, filled in half with yesterday’s opaque cyan liquid. You sigh of frustration and take it from the butler’s hand, a bit more aggressively than you wanted to, and drink it, before unleashing your growing anger at the poor employee :

“Why isn’t Mr. Nostitz here ? He should be eating with me ! - Sir, Mr. Nostitz’s schedule is very busy, you were fortunate to have been able to share a dinner with him yesterday.” Explains calmly the butler, as if he’s seen this kind of tantrums many times. - That’s… understandable…” You answer, starting to calm down.

You eat each subsequent course in silence, trying to understand the reason of your anger. It’s not as if you really cared about Mr. Nostitz… he hosts you and runs this experiment, but you have only known each others for two days, and it’s not like it was love at first sight… After finishing your meal, you come back to your room, hoping to have a quiet evening after that feat of anger.

And as such started to create a bit of a routine for yourself.

On the morning, you checked the mirror for any change, noticing that you got taller, younger, more muscular and handsomer – for lack of a better word. You then take breakfast, ride up the limousine to your bank, slog through a workday becoming progressively boring as the days go on, and get relieved to find the limousine waiting for you in front of the building. Coming back to the mansion, you drink the flask, and then come out of your shell more and more, watching TV on the huge one in the living room, playing the latest Fifa if the urge takes you, going for a walk in the big gardens or even working out in the private gym, that seemed suspiciously new. And before sleeping, you use a progressively bigger amount of beauty products, noticing the odd few additional changes like your dick enlarging or your eyes taking on a blue color.

This life is becoming progressively comfier – not that it was painful by any means – and you feel more and more at home in the giant, faceless manor that you inhabit. Having a butler take care of you, being driven by a limousine, eating the finest foods, wearing the finest silk… all that luxury is starting to become second nature. The week flew by, and it was already time for the weekend. The last days of your experiment, the last days of a luxury that you will surely miss. And all that, without even having caught a glimpse of Mr. Nostitz.

You are now basically unrecognizable from the tired banker that came in this mansion. Now a handsome young man with blonde curls, all the fancy clothes that were bought for you fit like a glove thanks to the new muscles. As you take a last photo in front of the estate’s forest, you wonder if you should try opening an Instagram account. After all, your good looks aren’t going away, and work is just getting so boring...

But suddenly, your butler asks you to come urgently. Nonchalantly, you follow him to the mansion, where there seem to be a lot more people than usual. Is there a party of some kind happening ? You stroll in, finding Mr. Nostitz at the center of a small crowd. Finally ! He is here ! He will finally be able to see what you became !

So you hurry in his direction, drawing the ire of some of the guests. But you don’t actually care, they shouldn’t have been in your way in the first place. You are now in hearing distance from the architect of your experiment, but as you’re about to make yourself known to him, his voice overpowers you. However, it isn’t addressed to you, but rather at a guest.

“Cassandra, why must you raise this issue in a day of rejoicing !” As he told that, he looked briefly at you, noticing your presence. - Nathaniel, you cannot continue this charade ! Leandra has long passed, and even your own son agrees that you can’t continue claiming the fortune ! You are not part of our family anymore !” A well-dressed woman – Cassandra, you assume – with long curly dirty blonde hair insisted, angrily. - This son of mine isn’t able to manage our fortune, you can at least agree with me on that. Besides, I was married to Leandra, my beloved, so you know the implications. - Quit trying to act as if you’re part of our kin. We will need to see you in court, if you do not heed this last warning !” She said ominously, although it only drew Mr. Nostitz’s smile. An evil and predatory smile, as always. - If you’re talking like that… then I assume you are not acquainted with her second son.”

Second son ? You thought he only had one ! … and clearly, so did the rest of the room, who fell silent, looking at Mr. Nostitz with incredulity.

“Stop inventing excuses. If Leandra had another son, I would have been aware ! - Well, in this case, we may make introductions !”

He suddenly strides towards you, grabbing you by the arm, and as you stand there incredulous, he announces :

“I present to you my son. Leandra’s second son, and my second son. The true heir of the Nostitz family.”

A gasp of shock sleeps through the entire room, which would have included you if Mr. Nostitz hadn’t squeezed your arm at the right moment. Just what is he playing at ! Last you checked, you remember your parents, and none of them seem to belong to the Nostitz family that stands here, and you’re quite sure that Mr. Nostitz is in no way your father.

Yet, after the initial shock and denials, you hear people in attendance starting to notice similarities between you and your supposed parents. Some point out the curls like Leandra, or the blonde like Mr. Nostitz, some say your face looks like one member of the family or another, and other say you stature reminds them of Mr. Nostitz.

Out of them all, Cassandra, although she was just as shocked as the others, if not more, was the first to speak out against this assertions.

“This… is ridiculous ! You can’t just invent a new son to keep a hold of the money ! - I’m not inventing anyone. He was just… raised in another family to prevent him from being corrupted like his older brother. - This is pure and utter nonsense ! I require proof ! Irrefutable proof that he is your son, and Leandra’s son ! - All in due time, I knew you would react like that, so I prepared all the necessary prerequisites to make a paternity test. I wanted to present him to you all to continue this process.” Suddenly, he looks at you in the eyes. “Of course, my son will be enchanted to cooperate in your quest for proof, isn’t he ?”

His look was a dare. A dare to start living a life in a lie. A dare to continue living in the mansion you inhabit. Although he neglected you during your whole stay, although you have a life outside this mansion, although you have actual parents and family, you… can’t seem to be able to refuse his request.

Is it the luxury that drew you in ? Or the transformation, making you become a whole new person altogether ? Or is it Mr. Nostitz’s authority that you don’t want to defy ? Whatever the actual reason, you smirk, and cannot help but say, in the most proud and obnoxious voice that you have :

“Yes, of course, father.”

You pose, as your butler takes a picture in front of your vineyards.

You are dressed in an expensive shirt, with a luxury watch and obnoxious Gucci sunglasses. And you wouldn’t expect any less than this display of wealth. Because even though you don’t actually run those yards, your father being the one to generate all the wealth that you benefit from, you still own them. You also own a lot of other things, noteworthy between all these possessions being the Nostitz mansion.

However, now, you don’t work a day in your life. You quit you banker job as soon as the DNA test results came in, showing that you were indeed the son of Nathaniel Nostitz and Leandra Nostitz, as this life wasn’t yours anymore. Rather, you now spend your time on Instagram, modeling and throwing party after party with your new famous or otherwise wealthy friends. These activities let you earn a surprising amount of money, although it is just a drop in the ocean of all your wealth.

But you know that you are only a puppet, living a life of hedonism while your father cultivates power on your back, created with the only aim of holding on to a fortune. And you couldn’t care less. Hedonism is fun, once you give in, and it makes you happier than you have ever been. If the price for that is any sense of life achievement… then you are more than willing to pay it all.

Besides, it’s not as if you could actually say no to your beloved father.

#male transformation #male tf #secret tf writer swap #twunk tf #preppy tf #jock tf #hairstyle tf #mental change #identity change #transformation #tf story #collab tf

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sgiandubh · 2 months

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C might mean well, but I find businesses using charity to sell suspicious.

Dear Provocative Anon,

What you say deserves an audio (there have been two of them two weeks ago, compensating for last week's silence). I have many things to tell you and please excuse the delay:

They really can't win, with people like you, can they? And that goes for both C and S, mind you. No matter what they do and try to promote as a side project, there is always going to be someone unhappy and vocal about it. When it's not you complaining 'business using charity to sell' is 'suspicious', there's the other fuckwit asking recently why S hasn't given all MPC's profit to charity, as Paul Newman did with Newman's Own.

So, I will be brutally honest with you, Anon. I have thoughts and questions about your own point of view and this is partially why it took me so long to answer you. It would seem you are not familiar at all with what is called 'corporate social responsibility' (CSR), since at least the Sixties. Which means, in a nutshell, companies who choose to focus part of their activity and dedicate part of their profits to charitable projects. It is done with various degrees of ethics, success and bona fides all around the world, and it is often used as a strong marketing and sales argument.

Think about these people, whose brand is probably immediately recognizable wherever you go, spare perhaps Pyongyang:

I just picked this Coca Cola Foundation recent CSR project in Brazil totally randomly, using Google. Some might think it's just another cynical diversion: one of the world's biggest corporate profiteers, happily contributing to the current obesity pandemic (including in Latin America), suddenly showing one of its biggest markets they do have a conscience, after all, and a social one to boot. And addressing, at the same time, one of the continent's post-colonial bleeding wounds, which is to say, the organic imbalance between rich and poor, as far as access to means of production, land ownership and use and sales opportunities go. 480 farmers benefitting from Coca Cola's magnanimity is probably but a tiny drop of hope in an ocean of dour social injustice, but the truth is, Anon, if nobody does anything good, then nothing good will happen at all. It is as simple as that, and while their modus operandi is probably not exactly my cup of tea, you will have to admit it works, at least to some extent and for some people. Plus it greatly enhances the company's do-good, sensible and reliable global image, because of course, what happens right now in the state of Minas Gerais is but a tiny part of a bigger strategy.

Might I add that even those robber barons, à la Cornelius Vanderbilt or Jay Gould, who made their ruthless fortunes building the railroads of a still very young United States of America, ended up giving a very small part of their same fortune to various charities. It wasn't nearly enough what we would consider as 'reasonable', in 2024, but it did start a philanthropic trend, that took considerable speed after the 1919 Boston Molasses Disaster. The Sixties have just added more pragmatism and gave a name to what was, at its very start, quite an opportunistic endeavor.

Even so, Vanderbilt and Gould themselves did not invent anything, really. One should look to good old Europe to find what is probably the first big CSR project in human history, still going strong since 1521. May I introduce you to the Augsburg Fuggerei:

[for even more pious charity: https://www.fugger.de/en/fuggerei]

Renting one of those wonderful Hansel and Gretel houses for less than one euro/year, plus three daily Hail Mary is something to behold, right? Jakob Fugger the Young, the guy who had this brilliant idea (which, might I add, is still run and operated by the Fugger banker family, even nowadays) was literally a ruthless kingmaker, a colonial trade and exploration pioneer, but also a religious bigot who flatly refused to extend his charity to Protestant families. Still, his pious dream goes on - the Fugger Family Foundation even actively plans its next 500 years. This is Germany, after all 😉.

Those people’s money stinks more of corruption and crime than S or C’s ever could, Anon. Still, they are remembered as benefactors, by many. History is seldom cruel to those who are willing to pay for their posterity.

But you know what, Anon? Compared to the Fuggers and the Vanderbilts and the Goulds, S and C are really small fish in an even smaller, fickler pond. I think they are doing it out of their good heart and I think they are honestly, genuinely responsive to the idea of giving a chance to young, struggling artists. But, in the process, are they also trying to market themselves as more approachable and less controversial, considering the (oh, I shall never tire to repeat this, with gusto) cosmic amount of bullshit plaguing their respective public images? My somewhat cynical answer is also yes, Anon. To which may I immediately add that it's not even important: all that counts are the tangible results of whatever good things they do with their booze and/or fitness profits.

Results and helping trigger a change in one's life is all that really interests me, Anon. It seems to bother you, though, so I will cheekily end this long rant with a couple of questions: do you have a problem with poverty? do you believe in giving people a (second) chance, or do you think only the rich are worth considering and valuable?

If so, I honestly pity you, girl. For the real indigent in all this might be you.

#anon #fandom #shitshow #booze wars #CSR #business #weekly audio

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fairwellersmustache · 2 years

Text

Thinking about a Leverage Regency AU and how easy it would be…

The place is London. The year is 18—

Rev. Nathaniel Ford: a disgraced Irish vicar. (Sorry Nate, I couldn’t make the Catholicism work; you’re a Protestant now 😔✊) Fell out with God after losing his son, Samuel. Then he subsequently fell out with his patron, an Earl, who would not fund an expensive surgeon for Sam’s care, and finally with his wife, Margaret. Displaced from his station, his credibility, and power as an agent to nobility, Nate moves quietly to London, hoping to realize his revenge or to drink himself to death - whichever comes first. His parish is now being preached to by a Rev. James Sterling.

Mrs. Sophie Devereaux: a spy through and through. She might actually be a duchess, but didn’t you see her in that terrible play on Drury Lane? No one’s really sure. In society, she’s viewed as an eccentric and slightly mysterious salon hostess, but that cover allowed her to play the British and the French governments throughout the end of the 18th century. A metropolitan girl at heart, she’ll never be found in the country unless planning to procure a particular pièce d’art from one of the gaudy estate manors there.

Mr. Elliot Spencer: began his career at 9, as a cabin boy for a naval vessel. He saw the world twice over, but also witnessed the cruel hierarchy between officers and sailors first hand. He roved through the navy and the army doing little more than grunt work, but studied the martial and combat techniques of every place he went. Now he’s just trying to live the quiet life in London as a bruiser for hire.

Mr. Alec Hardison: a man who has lived many lives —aided, of course, by his job as a private banker, moving around the wealth of London at his leisure. In his line of work, he has picked up the ins and outs of all the governing bodies and businesses in the empire. Add that to his virtuosic ability to pick up any form of study and Mr. Hardison could bleed London dry, given the right reasons. For now, he enjoys the high life thanks to the fortunes of his “betters”.

Parker: an urchin, a waif, the stickiest of fingers in the nicest of neighborhoods. Once the apprentice of the notorious criminal, Lord Archibald Leech, the Gentleman’s Thief, she’s since left his tutelage and is now operating unseen in the big houses of Grosvenor Square as a scullery maid, putting enough bits and bobs aside to graduate from service and to never look back again.

#leverage #leverage au #parker #Alec Hardison #elliot spencer #sophie devereaux #nate ford #ask me about my Leverage : Redemption regency hcs #see Alex write #I mean I probably won’t end up writing for this #👀👀 unless….#leverage: regency

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infiniteimaginings · 6 months

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hello, good afternoon. Forgive my English, it's not my language so I use a translator. I would love a romantic story between Monty Montgomery with a male reader who also loves reptiles (especially snakes). It could be with a happy ending, with Monty and the male reader taking care of the Baudelaire brothers. thanks in advance 🤗

Caretakers (Monty Montgomery x Male!Reader)

Summary: You and your husband meet the Baudelaire children and take care of them! Pronouns: You/Yours, He/Him Warnings: None Word Count: 2.3k A/N: This is just sweet, I promise. Thank you for requesting. lots of love! <33

The Baudelaire children Violet, Klaus, and Sunny were all taken to their new caretaker's home by the banker Mr. Poe. They were quite wary of their new caretaker as their previous one, Count Ola, had only been chosen through manipulation in order to steal all of their fortune that their parents left for them. All they new about this new caretaker is that his name was Dr. Montgomery Mongomery and that he was their father’s cousin's wife's brother.

As the old styled, baby blue car pulled into gates, Violet looked out the window, Sunny in her lap securely. She saw the clouds of white in the great blue sky, different from where they last stayed. The sky had been gray, dark, as if the area had not seen light for years.

Violet's brother, Klaus, did the same as she did, looking out the window. Once his eyes gazed to peer out the old car window he was met with lucious green shrubs in the shapes of reptiles. The designed lawn simply continued so the boy shifted to look out the front windshield, VIolet noticing and doing the same.

The three Baudelaire children observed a large stone house they were getting close to, the driveway was quite long, and they passed by beautiful shrubs and a large center piece of green and flowers. The exterior of the home only made the children smile, though they did, they still didn’t get their hopes up. They didn’t know who Dr.Mongomery was, they didn’t know how he acted, or what he would do with them.

Mr. Poe parked in front of the few steps at the front of the car, exiting the vehicle. He gestured for the children to do the same, to which they did.

The four of them walked up the steps and Mr. Poe rang the doorbell, mouth covered with his handkerchief to cover up his cough. The doorbell was ever so loud, ringing in their heads in an echo, Klaus’s hands came to Sunnys head to muffle it for the baby who babbled about the doorbell being unpleasant and deafening.

They stood at the front door for a moment, no one coming to open the door quite yet. Before Mr. Poe got the chance to ring the blaring doorbell again, the brown, wooden front door opened.

When it opened completely they were met with the sight of a man. He was slightly short, he had slightly dark skin, black hair, brown eyes, and a mustache that looked like squiggles at the ends. He had a wide smile and light in his eyes when he took notice of the children, barely paying mind to Mr. Poe other than a friendly nod.

His energy was warm, bright, very different from Count Olaf. When the door opened the scene of cookies and tea filled their senses, and they weren’t even in the home yet. The Baudelaires couldn’t help the hopeful smiles that etched onto their expressions, sighing out a breath of relief to such a kind looking man.

From the way Mr. Poe wasn’t concerned at the sight of him, the children assumed this was Dr. Montgomery. He nodded at a thought he had, “Hello hello hello! You must be the Baudelaires!” He spoke with a seemingly British accent. He was welcoming, his teeth showing as he made silly faces to Sunny who giggled.

Mr. Poe nodded and responded with a ‘yes’, the man in the doorway nodded as the answer, standing straight, showing more of his striped button up. “This is perfect timing, because my husband has just finished frosting this delicious coconut cream cake.” He explained, turning and grabbing forks, telling everyone to take one as he walked into the house.

Everyone followed him, looking around. The entryway had burgundy carpet, a stained-glass light fixture on the ceiling. It was a large entry room and had a grand staircase that led to the second floor.

Violet sniffed the air, smelling the baked goods with a smile. She looked to Klaus who had the same look on his face, everything seemed nice so far. She moved her hair behind her shoulder, “Thank you, Dr. Montgomery.” She spoke, following behind him to wherever he was walking, Sunny on her side in her arms.

Dr. Montgomery turned, shaking his finger with a grin, “Please, call me Monty!” He suggested, opening his mouth to say something more.

“He doesn’t like fancy titles unless they get him a discount at the movies.” A voice said from behind Monty, interrupting him. When the man turned around his eyes softened, at the sight of you. His smile turned from excited to gentle and he walked over to you as you emerged from what seemed to be the kitchen. He wrapped his arm around your waist, kissing your temple softly. You held up a plate of cake since your husband's arms were around you. He continued to hold your waist as he turned to the children, “He’s right." He spoke quietly before turning his attention back to the children, "Do you like going to the movies?” He asked the three who nodded.

The conversation didn’t go much further into that topic other than the promise that they would go a lot. Monty introduced you to the Buadelaires who said their Hellos, you offered them pieces of coconut cream cake.

“You must be Violet, the inventor.” You spoke, handing her a piece of cake to which she took with a smile. Monty unraveled himself from your side, taking a different slice to give to Klaus, “And you are Klaus, the reader.” He hummed and Klaus nodded, taking the cake gently.

You looked at the baby in Violet's arms and offered a piece of cake, “And you must be Sunny, would you like some cake?” You asked but Klaus answered for the baby.

“My sister prefers very hard food.”

The answer was unusual and strange but it wasn’t strange enough for the couple standing in front of them.

Monty nodded, “That’s unusual for a baby, not so for many snakes. Perhaps Sunny would prefer a raw carrot?” He offered and the baby happily took it, munching on it as everyone continued to converse.

There was another piece of cake left that you offered to Mr. Poe who politely declined, saying he should get going. You smiled at him and walked to the kitchen, placing the rest of the cake into the kitchen. “There are plenty of treats, drinks, and snacks in the kitchen whenever you all want some.” You hummed to them and the Baudelaires thanked you quietly. They were polite, but they seemed nervous, you understood that quite well.

Mr. Poe was telling the Baudelaires how they could call him if they needed anything as you walked back in but Monty interrupted him with a genuine smile, “They won’t need anything from you, they are in our care now and we will dedicate ourselves to them.” He spoke, his tone was kind enough, but the implication that Poe had thought they would not be taken care of seemed to have irked him.

Klaus noticed this and quickly spoke up, “Our parents' fortune can't be used until Violet comes of age.”

The comment surprised the two of you, you furrowed your brows in confusion, looking at Monty. He frowned at you, putting a hand on your shoulder, “I understand you all have been through a lot with your previous caretaker.” He spoke softly, eyes showing truth to his words. You nodded, “But, we don’t care about your parents fortune.” You explained to them, the comment made the three a bit skeptical.

You walked to them, crouching down a bit to be leveled with them, “We do not need your fortune, we only care that you all are safe, and feel cared for.” You continued on, your smile was sad, as were your eyes but you were genuine.

The Baudelaires seemed visibly relaxed at your words and that was enough for you to back away from them.

Mr. Poe had noticed it was time for him to leave and Monty hastily rushed him out of the home until the door was closed. “Apologies if I seemed rude to the…banker.” He spoke, stopping himself from rolling his eyes. “He just strikes a small nerve with me, he was the reason you were placed with that-” He was going to continue to speak until he noticed the look on your face. A look he was familiar with, a look that said ‘be quiet’, and he did.

The older two followed his gaze to your hard look that softened when they looked at you. You clapped your hands, “How about we show you all to some rooms and you guys can decide which rooms you would like to stay in?” You offered, the idea made everyone in the room nod and follow you. Monty gently whispered to the group as you walked up the stairs, “Some of the rooms have his touch in them, he really wanted you all to like it here.” He told them, rushing up the stairs to catch up. Violet and Klaus walked up with them, a bit excited. Sunny bobbled along in Violet's arms, curious to see what was in store as well.

The day went on with you and Monty showing the children to their rooms, feeding them, showing them pictures, giving them a tour, and telling them stories. The two of you answered any questions the Baudelaires had for them. They asked anything along the lines of how did you guys know their parents, how you guys met, and what you do for work.

You two happily explained your line of work had to do with reptiles, but more excitedly for the two of you, snakes. The two of you were Herpetologists and met while doing fieldwork to study an extremely venomous snake.

“What kind of snake?” Klaus asked, looking through some of the study books through the reptile room his new caretakers were showing him and his siblings.

Your eyes lit up at the question, “The saw-scaled viper.” You answered quickly, standing in the middle of the room, keeping your eyes on Violet who was near the cages, and Sunny who was on the table near Monty.

Monty nodded, “It’s one of the deadliest snakes found in the middle east.” He explained, showing Sunny some images of snakes as he gave her another carrot.

Violet's fingers ran along the metal of the cage, a bit of her was fearful of grazing the scales of the snake. You noticed her fear and reassured her, “None of the snakes in cages with metal bars are venomous, especially not that one.” You told her, walking over to the area. “This one is an african egg eating snake.” You explained, opening the cage, but looking at her before you opened it any wider.

Violet gave you a nervous look but you assured her with a nod that it was okay. She eventually took a deep breath and let you take the snake out the cage. It wrapped around your hand and you held the head gently, showing her that the snake had no fangs. “She only eats eggs, she’s no bark and no bite, I promise.” You told her and she smiled as she observed the reptile.

After a while in the reptile room the Baudelaires all washed up and headed to bed. You and Monty said goodnight to each of the Buadelaires together, telling them that they could come eat and come get one of you whenever they needed something.

After putting them to sleep, you and Monty went downstairs to eat the last slice of cake.

After a bit of silence you suddenly started chuckling and Monty looked up at you with a raised brow, “What is it?” He asked you, chewing at the cake. You shook your head, “You looked terrified.” You told him, laughing a little louder before clasping your hand over your mouth as to not wake the children.

Monty looked at you bewildered, eyes wide as he swallowed his cake harshly. “You could tell?” He asked, his body deflating. He was now completely leaning on the counter and you laughed even more, rubbing his shoulder. “Of course I could, they couldn’t though, believe me.” You explained to him and he just looked up at you with nervousness in his eyes. You rubbed your hand in circles from his shoulder to his back, “They were nervous too, don’t worry.”

Monty sighed, puffing air out of his cheeks as he slowly slid to the ground, you sitting next to him when you noticed what he was doing. “I just want them to feel safe, I mean Olaf just…” He trailed off, putting his face in his hands. You put your head on his shoulder, holding his hand to remove it from his face. “They will be safe, I know we haven’t taken care of actual children before but…” You began, sighing with a smile, “I know we’ll make them feel safe and happy.” You told him quietly.

He turned his head to you, moving your noses together, “How are you always so right and amazing?” He asked you, his brown eyes looking deeply into yours. You smiled at him, rolling his eyes, “Well one of us has to be.” You teased, he laughed a bit at your words. He moved forward, pressing the two of your lips together gently in a gentle kiss that tasted of coconut cream pie and lemonade from earlier.

Through the silence and soft kisses, the two of you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps retreating back up the stairs. Klaus and Violet, who was holding Sunny, were smiling at each other in their pajamas. They wanted to look around a bit, curious to see if the two of you were genuine in your intentions but that was all they needed.

Violet put Sunny back to sleep in her room, closing the door quietly, face to face with Klaus. Klaus adjusted his glasses, “I think this will be good for us.” He spoke in a hushed whisper, Violet nodded. “They’re nice.” She spoke with a grin and Klaus was the one who nodded this time.

The two walked to their respective room doors, opening them slightly.

“Goodnight Violet.”

“Goodnight Klaus.”

For the first time since their parents died, they were excited to wake up the next morning. Almost too excited to go to sleep once they reached their beds, smiles hurting their cheeks. This would be good for them, to live with the uncles who were happy together. Maybe the Baudelaires could be just as happy with them.

#asoue #asoue x reader #a series of unfortunate events x reader #a series of unfortunate events #monty montgomery #monty mongomery x reader #Infinite Imaginings

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mollymauk-teafleak · 6 months

Text

but I'm more than a need

So. What happened was @minky-for-short told me about her idea for a painter Husk/model Angel AU and things spiralled from there. Enjoy!

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of drug use, alcoholism, mentions of sexual abuse

Please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3 if you enjoyed!

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Angel Dust had expected this to be easy. Wasn’t it his job to be stared at?

When Valentino had told him his schedule was being cleared of clients two days a week for a ‘special assignment’, his tone had been sickeningly magnanimous, like he expected his star performer to fall to his knees and shower him with thanks at the prospect. And Angel would, if he didn’t know better.

Being taken off the roster did mean a break from an otherwise endless parade of men with bad breath and bruising hands, reeking of the alcohol they’d needed to overcome their shame at wanting to fuck another man, a break from being so buzzed that he’d disconnect entirely from it all, not noticing how they’d hurt him until he came crashing down. But at least that was the devil he knew, intimately enough to know the taste of its tongue in his mouth.

Time away from the brothel usually meant that Valentino had something much worse in mind.

So when Angel finally arrived at the address on the card, after trekking across what felt like ten fucking blocks from the spot Valentino had him kicked out of the car, and saw it was an abandoned looking brownstone on a shady street corner, he wasn’t surprised. That part of him that never learned to sit down, shut up and accept his shitty life told him to turn and walk away.

But whatever was in that house, Valentino would be worse. So he’d gone up, knocked on the door and was thoroughly surprised when a paint streaked, grouchy man appeared, blinking like he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks and growling that Angel was late, did that asshole pimp not know that paint fucking dries?

And Husker hadn’t stopped surprising him since.

Angel still rolled his eyes at it. Of course Valentino wanted a fucking portrait of his favourite whore, the creep was probably going to hang it in his bedroom. It was so like him, wallpapering this old money aesthetic over the newly minted wealth he’d gained selling other people’s flesh. Angel wouldn’t even mind that Valentino had made a small fortune pimping him out, or how he spent it, if he didn’t treat him so cruelly. He’d signed on willingly, at first, believing the sugared words and promises of finally being free to fuck how he wanted without shame, of being able to drown the nightmares left over from the war in as many drugs as his body could take. But those promises had dissolved away to nothing on his tongue, leaving his teeth rotted and his nerves shot worse than ever.

And now Angel’s pain would be immortalized in oils and hung in a gilded frame.

But at least it would be a proper break. And it would be easy, all he had to do was stand there looking gorgeous, pinned under the gaze of an older man who never had a bottle far from his hand. No different from his usual job except he got to keep his head clear and his clothes on, if the costume Valentino wanted him painted in had enough fabric to count as clothes.

And it was easy. But not for the reasons he expected.

There was really only one reason actually and his name was Husker, Husk for short, an odd name but he hadn’t given Angel any other. At first he’d thought it was a good fit, the painter was grizzled, surly, his eyes hard and his tongue sharp, with hands that shook unless they held a brush or a bottle. He was a hell of a far cry from the rich businessmen and upper class bankers who paid for Angel’s time, who tried to impress him with gifts that Val would take and sweet words that didn’t soften their hands any, but apparently his paintings had once sold for thousands.

Angel couldn’t possibly comment at first, the cramped little studio space had oddly bare walls, but when he’d gotten glimpses of his portrait, he realized just how great Husk must have been back in his day. In nothing more than rough sketches, he was making something almost beautiful out of Valentino’s slightly nauseating ideas.

Which did beg the question, if Angel Dust was finding this so easy, why was Husk finding it so hard?

“You’re moving again, Legs.”

“Am I fuck…” Angel retorted with a grin, which of course meant he was, in fact, moving.

“Hey, you want this to look like shit, it’s no skin off my nose,” Husk looked at him over the edge of his glasses, “I got no reputation to maintain.”

“Good look trying to get this to look like shit,” Angel lifted an eyebrow, brushing his hands down the vaguely Grecian drape of silk that was preserving no modesty. The freckles dusting his skin covered more.

“Don’t underestimate how much I can fuck something up, kid,” Husk grunted, transfering his pencil to the corner of his mouth, picking up an ink brush instead, “I’ve had a lifetime of experience.”

Angel couldn’t help another grin, even as he tried to stay still. That was one of the things he liked about Husk. He didn’t try to be perfect, he didn’t hide his rough edges.

The way his arm muscles flexed as he drew, looking unfairly sexy now he’d pushed his sleeves to his elbows, Angel liked that too.

“Next question,” Husk whipped the brush back and forth across the sheaf of paper on his easel, “Think it was your turn, kid.”

Angel blinked, realizing how long he’d been quiet before Husk spoke. It was so easy for his mind to wander here, with the comforting smells of paint and paper, the soothing whisper of sleek bristles on canvas, the warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. And more than anything, the feeling of safety, knowing that quiet here really just meant quiet, come by honestly, not just waiting for the next blow. He’d been embarrassed the first time he’d dozed off in Husk’s studio, his body jumping at the chance for some real rest and shutting down without asking Angel to give the order.

But after the fourth time of waking up on the battered sofa in the corner with a musty but cozy blanket over him, Angel had found it in him to stop caring.

But he didn’t want to sleep now. Because as much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, he and Husk were on borrowed time, he was at the edge of this peaceful eye in the storm he lived in.

The portrait was almost finished, colors starting to appear at Husk’s elbow as the first draft took shape. Soon Angel wouldn’t be needed in the studio anymore, he’d go back to the stage, back to the brothel, back to living under Valentino’s thumb. And Husk would go back to…well, nothing, by the look of his bare, dusty life. The thought made Angel’s heart ache.

He pushed the thought away, refusing to chew on it. But he wouldn’t sleep away the rest of their time together, either.

“What kind of music do you like?” he eventually asked.

Husk chuckled at that, seeming to let his hands create independently, flying across the paper while the rest of him moved at a lower tempo, “Easy, jazz. I used to play when I was younger, actually. There was a club not too far from where I lived, I’d sneak out and go all the time. A guy there taught me, pretty sure just to keep me away from the bar. Looked old for my age back then…and now.”

“Shut up,” Angel perked up interestedly, “What did you play?”

“That’s two questions now,” Husk reminded him, smirking but he answered all the same, “Sax. Was a fun time but I ain’t cut out for being in a band, don’t play nice with others. Realized I was better at making art for the eyes rather than the ears.”

“Makes sense though,” Angel hummed, adjusting the angle of his arm as the silk started to slide, “You paint the way jazz sounds.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he blushed, realizing how dumb it sounded, like he didn’t know shit about art or music. Which he didn’t, but something about Husk knowing that made his face burn.

But Husk’s eyes brightened, his wry mouth turned up in a genuine smile, “No one’s ever put it quite like that. But thanks.”

Angel had to roll his eyes at himself, just a little. He’d thought crushes were from a time he hadn’t known any better, another thing his hard life had calcified until he couldn’t make it work anymore, that real, genuine attraction had gone the way of imaginary friends and daydreams. But Husk had cracked right through to that giddy, naive part of Angel, he’d let it stretch and unfurl itself and fly. You could argue it was the part that had gotten him into so much trouble but, in Husk’s studio, it didn’t feel dangerous. It was fun again, simple, pleasant. So he let himself stare, he let himself get butterflies, he let himself blush and laugh and embarrass himself. It wouldn’t last, it wouldn’t mean anything but Angel had never been one for saying no to temporary pleasures. Especially ones that made him act like a damn fool.

“You can ask me two questions,” he hummed with one of his best flirtatious smiles, “Seeing as I snuck an extra one.”

This had been their game for the last month and change. Husk had said he couldn’t paint a stranger, if he was going to put him on canvas then he needed to know him. The thought had got Angel’s back up so Husk had promised it would be an even exchange. He’d ask a question, Angel would answer it and then they’d trade. He’d even said that they didn’t have to be truthful answers, he’d understand enough from whatever lies the younger man chose to tell.

And they’d started as lies, the standard sanitized version of his past Angel gave to any johns that wanted to fake like they’d taken him on some grand romantic date, rather than paid to fuck him in the tackily decorated back rooms of a downtown bordello. But, without even really noticing, he’d grown comfortable with Husk and the truth started slipping in. Now Husk knew more about him than anyone else left in the city and, Angel suspected, he knew just as much about the older guy. He could taste lies, thanks to his profession, and as far as his tongue could tell, Husk had given him nothing but truth, bitter as it was.

“Always one to push it, aren’t you, Legs?” Husk chuckled, switching to a different brush, taking a pull from the bottle of amber liquid before continuing to paint. How he knew the difference between that and the water he cleaned his brushes in, without even glancing at them, Angel had no idea.

“You know it, sweetie,” Angel purred, recognising the color Husk picked up as the color of his own eyes, “Ain’t a proper game if you don’t try and bend the rules.”

Husk shook his head in amusement, choosing his questions without a pause, like he already knew which ones he needed to ask to make the next brushstroke perfect, “What was your biggest fear when you were a kid?”

“Before I turned thirteen? Spiders,” Angel wrinkled his nose, though there was an odd fondness to the nostalgic fear, “Nona’s apartment was full of them, I used to be frightened they’d crawl on my face when I slept. But she loves them, even named them all, the mad old bat.”

“And after?” Husk’s brush hesitated and changed direction at the last moment.

Angel gave a dry laugh, “Father finding out I was a pansy.”

Husk made a sympathetic noise but there was no pity in it, another point in Angel’s book. He sat back suddenly, frowning, “Come tell me what you think of this.”

Already? It hit Angel like a blow to the chest, enough that he staggered as he stepped off the little platform he posed on, enough that his mask almost cracked, “From your tone, I’m guessing you’re not happy?”

Husk gave a grunt, “Not me who needs to be happy with it…”

“Well it ain’t me either, baby, it’s Val,” Angel let the fabric fall, shrugged on a robe and came around to the other side of the easel. The sudden shock of color and movement on the other side of such a plain, gray nothing hit better than some highs he’d had.

Angel didn’t know how to talk about art. He’d seen plenty of it when he was shipped out in France but he’d had other things on his mind then, it had all just been set dressing in this brand new world of dizzying highs and terrifying lows.

So when he saw Husk’s work, he didn’t know how to describe the way it made him feel, he just felt it, in a rush like a wave that took him off his feet. It was the way he took moments in time and fixed them to the paper, turned them into something Angel could actually touch if he wanted, and made them so beautiful in the process. For someone who had so many gaps in his memory, parts of his life eaten away by drugs and pain and terror, it may as well have been magic.

The painting was gorgeous, that wasn’t the problem. It was just a gorgeous painting of a vindictive, controlling pimp’s sex fantasy.

When he first started working on this particular commission, Husk had asked Angel if he was really okay with what his boss had requested, showing him the list of demands with a knowing air, the older man fully aware of what answer was true and what answer he would get. And Angel hadn’t surprised him, glancing over what Valentino wanted and saying that whatever he’d asked for, Husk had better deliver. That’s how Angel had kept most of his teeth.

From the way Husk’s eyes had tightened, he hadn’t found the joke very funny.

But Angel knew what he’d see when he looked at the paper but an image in his own mind and something realized in ink and paint, brought to life by Husk’s clever hands, were two very different things. The Angel on the page was much truer to his name, he was angelic, pale skin glowing, freckles scattered across his skin like flecks of gold, eyes bright and blue and innocent behind flaxen hair. But he was a fallen angel, chains securing his hands to some part of the background that Husk would draw in later but, even without it, they looked inescapable, raw chafe marks in a wincing carmine visible below their cuffs. And the fabric looked somehow even less, like a rough hand was in the process of tearing it away to leave him naked and flushed. And there wasn’t a single scar on that perfect, porcelain skin.

It wasn’t him. It was the role he was supposed to play for Valentino, the fantasy he was forced into. And seeing it in front of his eyes, he could almost feel the weight of those chains on his own wrists and, fuck, they hurt.

“It’s exactly what he wants,” Angel said truthfully, making himself smile at Husk, “You’ve done a great job.”

But the older man’s frown just deepened, etching the lines around his eyes and mouth more firmly. Angel realized then that he wasn’t looking at the painting, he was only looking at him.

“It’s shit.”

The sudden sound of the paper tearing away from the pad made Angel flinch but he couldn’t deny there was some catharsis in seeing it crumpled in Husk’s surprisingly strong fist.

But he was the one who had to fight for his own misery, “Husk, no, it’s good! It’s really good, Val will love it.”

“You don’t,” Husk pitched the failed painting into the dented old furnace he’d light whenever he noticed Angel shivering.

Angel opened his mouth but no words came out. It wasn’t so easy to lie to Husk as it was to lie to everyone else in his life.

“That isn’t the point,” he finally managed, “Husk, honey, if you take any longer with this, he’s gonna start getting mad.”

Like it wasn’t already too late.

He’d seen it in Valentino’s gaze every time he left the club for Husk’s studio, the building jealousy, the brewing sense of danger that Angel was so depressingly familiar with. They were meant to have been done inside a week but that week had rolled on and on, Husk getting to this point in the process, the moment where he should have let Angel go, and then starting over three times now. Every painting had been gorgeous, it had been lecherous, it had been exactly what Valentino wanted, and each one had ended up in the furnace as soon as Husk had seen Angel’s reaction.

And if his boss’s simmering fury had just been directed at him, he wouldn’t have minded, the daydream was worth it. It was what he’d said about Husk that worried him.

“It should be the point and I’ll fucking well tell him so,” Husk reached for the bottle again, draining it in one swallow that left his voice a smoky growl, “Valentino can get as mad as he wants, I ain’t scared of that up jumped pimp.”

Panic tasted bitter on Angel’s tongue and sharpened his words, “You should be. If you don’t realize how dangerous he is, you need to learn fast, Husker, because I’ll be damned if I let you get hurt because you stuck up for me. I’m not worth it.”

Husk’s eyes darkened, his voice softening, “You really believe that, kid?”

Angel realized he’d said more than he’d meant to, feeling more naked than he had when there was only a swathe of fabric between him and Husk’s gaze.

“I have to,” he said eventually, voice trembling ever so slightly, “There ain’t another way through.”

Husk looked like he was going to say something, like there were some words pulling at the tip of his tongue, desperate to fly. But suddenly the fight went out of him, shoulders slumping, the words becoming a low groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I need another drink,” he muttered, “Gimme a second…”

He went into the back room of the studio that served as his living space, that rickety, sagging bed and chipped wardrobe and lopsided bookcase apparently holding all he owned in the world. But Angel knew there were several bottles of whiskey under the bed, enough that he didn’t need to ask whether Husk had served in the war too. Only a soldier needed that much poison to hand.

Selfish tears threatened to choke him the moment he was alone. He’d done the right thing, he knew he had, but it still hurt like a bitch. He let himself have a moment to almost cry about it before scrubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and moving to the furnace. He’d fish out the draft, he’d tell Husk to use that painting and he’d be done with this. The daydream had been nice but it needed to end, before someone other than Angel himself got hurt. He could see that now.

There were several balls of crumpled sketchbook paper in the furnace’s grating, he couldn’t remember which one he needed. He came up with a handful of them, as well as an annoying smear of soot on his fingers, pulling a face of irritation as he unrolled one at random.

And felt his heart stop in his chest. It was a drawing of him but it wasn’t the one he was looking for.

It was a quick, hurried drawing, like Husk had done it on impulse, something to keep his hands steady or to keep them off the bottle for just a little longer. Angel wasn’t dramatically posed, dressed up in silk, he didn’t look alluring or otherworldly, it was just a sketchy of him from the neck up. He was doing that grin he tried not to do because it made his nose turn up and his teeth look huge but the way it was drawn here, it looked…adorable. Natural.

He looked so happy.

It was dizzying, seeing the way somebody else could look at his flaw and find beauty in it. Not Valentino’s warped, fake idea of it but real, actual, honest. Angel didn’t think he’d known the difference before looking at this drawing.

He knew what he should do. He should drop the sketch back in the furnace, pretend he’d never seen it. He should light it up himself, let that version of himself blacken and curl and become nothing, go back to Valentino and the devil he knew.

But his hands weren’t connected to his brain, reaching for more balls of paper the way he reached for the next pill or line of white powder, the next bad idea that would be sweet in the moment then do him more harm than good.

Some pages just had one drawing, some had a few. The sketch of him asleep on the couch was full body but around it were isolated hands, eyes, a smile, every inch of him noticed and practiced until it was perfect. Angel was smiling, he was lost in thought, he was yawning hugely, he was guarded and wary, he was alight with playful mischief. He could match the expressions with memories of the last few weeks, stories he’d told Husk or bad jokes he’d made. Things he’d said and done so offhandedly but apparently they’d mattered enough for Husk to commit them to pencil and paper.

Finally, after pages and pages of careful studies of himself, he found the draft painting done for Valentino. Seeing them side by side, it was heartbreakingly obvious, like he held night in one hand and day in the other. How he looked to someone who wanted him and how he looked to someone who loved him. Who he had to be and who he wanted to be. Angel Dust and Anthony.

Angel didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

“I’m sorry, kid, I shouldn’t have stormed off like that, I…Angel?”

He felt his stomach drop, whipping around, arms already drawn to his chest in defense and eyes screwed tightly shut, “I didn’t mean to look, it was an accident, I’m sorry.”

But the blow he’d learned to expect never landed. There was no anger, no explosion, just a long pause where the only sound was the city outside the windows shifting into evening, oblivious to the two of them.

“Angel…fuck, I’m sorry.”

Surprise made him open his eyes, Husk just leaning in the doorway, slumped like a man too tired to fight anymore.

“I never wanted to put you in this position,” his voice was rough, heavy, in a way that had nothing to do with the drink, “I swear, those sketches…they were just be trying to get this fucking lunacy out of my system, I was never gonna act on it. I don’t want to be just another deluded old idiot leering at you like he’d got any damn right to.”

“Husker…” Angel breathed, unsure what to do, holding onto the pages of sketches like he was afraid someone would take them away.

“I just…it’s been so long since I talked with anyone, since anyone wanted to hear what I had to say,” Husk ducked his eyes, wincing, “I shouldn’t have let you in, I should have known better but you’re so…” he shook his head like there weren’t even words but it was there on the page, “I’m an old fool, Angel. That’s all. I’m sorry, I understand if you want to leave.”

Angel felt the weight of the choice. Again, that hard learned fear was pulling at him, telling him what he should do, what was safe, what was smart. Telling him that he didn’t deserve it. But for the first time in his life, he was able to drown that voice out, his grip on the pages, on his hope, tightening.

“I don’t want to leave,” he murmured, taking a step closer to Husk.

The older man’s eyes widened, looking like he didn’t know whether to believe what he’d just heard, “What?”

“I want you,” Angel said it again, feeling the truth in it now, feeling it steel himself.

He put the sketches to one side, resting his hands on Husk’s chest, letting himself have what he knew now he’d wanted for so long. Maybe even longer than he’d known Husk.

“Angel,” Husk’s own hands responded, settling on his hips like nervous birds, “You have a right to know, when your boss came to hire me, he…he offered me you. For a discount he said I could…have you while I worked. And I didn’t take it, I never would but I just…I need to know that this is what you want, not something you feel like you have to do just because I got a stupid crush on you.”

The news didn’t surprise Angel in the slightest, Val had used him as sugar on top of deals plenty of times before. What did surprise him was Husk’s mouth twisting in disgust at the idea, the restraint holding him back until he heard Angel’s answer. What surprised him was finding himself in the arms of a truly honest man.

“Baby,” he smiled, as big as he wanted to, not caring how it looked, “Believe me, I know what a bad idea this is. I know what I’m risking, I know what I’m asking you to risk. But I’m here anyway, ain’t I? So I know how much I want this, how much I've been wanting you since I walked through your door.”

Apparently that was all Husk needed to hear. His hold on Angel became certain, pulling him that last inch closer until their bodies pressed together, “Then I’m yours, baby. For however long we got.”

The moment their lips met, Angel knew the answer was not long enough. He knew in an instant that he’d never get tired of the way Husk kissed him, of that taste of second hand whiskey and those strong arms around him, feeling safer than anything had for a long damn time. He didn’t hurry, he didn’t want to press forward into the next thing, he just reveled in kissing Angel like if it stopped right there, it would still be enough. Angel found himself nearly climbing Husk, gasping and whimpering in between hurried breaths, nearly screaming when the older man shifted and pressed his leg up between Angel’s.

“Fuck me,” he moaned desperately, needing Husk more than he needed air, so much he as burning with it.

“You got the kit for that?” Husk’s voice had become a growl, something Angel felt as much as he heard.

“I’m taking the fact that you have to ask as a professional insult,” Angel smirked, only the promise of having this man inside him able to make himself let go.

He scrambled for the bag he’d left in the corner along with his clothes, Husk dropping back on the sofa to wait, warm golden eyes never leaving him. With that gaze pricking pleasantly across his skin, Angel shed his robe, stepping out of the pool of pink silk and coming back to Husk wearing only a lopsided grin.

“Fuck, look at you, baby…” his hands were as reverant as his gaze, both stroking down Angel’s narrow body, drinking in every freckle and angle and scar with as much adoration as he settled in the older man’s lap.

“Now you,” Angel tugged impatiently at Husk’s suspenders, “It’s my turn to stare.”

“Ain’t gonna be half as pretty,” Husk warned, the skin on his cheeks darkening a little but he didn’t resist as Angel yanked down the collar of his shirt and pulled open buttons, kicking off his shoes and shoving down his trousers.

Under the slightly bedraggled clothing, Husk had scars of his own. Everything about him seemed designed to contrast Angel, dark skin where he was pale, strong where he was wiry, thick black hair across his chest and down between his legs where Angel just had a dusting of gold down, the curve of a beer gut where drugs had left Angel nearly concave.

He wasn’t pretty. He was fucking gorgeous. Angel had to drag a fist across his lips to check he wasn’t drooling.

Husk’s blush only deepend but now he was grinning rather than looking anxious, “You have weird tastes, baby.”

“Guys who are nice to me? I know, I’m a hopeless degenerate,” Angel cackled, before pressing the small jar into his hand, “I want you to do it…”

“My pleasure,” Husk rolled his hips, letting Angel feel the press of his erection against him, beaming when it made him tremble and whimper hungrily.

Even slick with Vaseline, Husk’s fingers were fucking big. Angel found himself squealing like a fucking rookie when his hole finally opened for him after a few coaxing strokes, burying his face against the curve of his neck as he pressed inside. But Husk knew his business and in a moment it was bliss and nothing else, making Angel cling to him so fiercely that there would be an impression of the other man’s dog tags on his chest when he pulled away.

When Husk curled his fingers against that sweet spot inside him, the pleasure took on an edge of panic, almost too much between that blinding pressure and his cock trapped between the warmth of their stomachs, the pre he was spilling like a fountain making it slick and hot.

“Gonna…fuck, Husk, I can’t hold it…” he gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“You say that like it’s not the aim, baby…” Husk purred smokily, tongue tracing the curve of his ear.

“Not like this,” Angel begged, voice strangled as it had to shoulder past gasps and moans and pleas, “On your cock. Need to feel you, wanna make you feel good too…”

The arms around him became soothing, like he was being rocked, Husk shifting to give him what he wanted, “You do, baby. You do. You’re doing so good.”

Those words set his nerves alight as much as the fingers crooked inside him until Angel almost sobbed, “Please…”

“I got you,” the loss of the fingers was heartbreaking until he felt Husk’s cock press against his entrance, thick and hard and hot enough to burn, “Breathe, baby, you’re so tight, you gotta let me in…”

Those strong hands slid down to Angel’s hips, holding tight so he couldn’t force himself back and take him, damn the pain. It was slow, careful, but the reward was all the sweeter for it, Angel’s eyes nearly rolling back as he sat on Husk’s dick, feeling so full he didn’t know how he wasn’t unraveling completely.

“Fuck…” Husk’s voice cracked, a hand sliding up to tangle in Angel’s hair, the other draping around his hips to keep him close.

“As good as you imagined?” Angel panted, nuzzling at his shoulder.

“Better…”

Husk rolled his hips like the sweetest music was playing in his head, purposeful, rhythmic, wanting Angel to feel every inch. At first Angel couldn’t even scream, everything in him utterly surrendered, every cell in his body devoted to chasing after that feeling. But he soon realized he didn’t need to, Husk would give it to him and give it gladly, as sure as the tide. He fucked into him slow but the pace built gradually, leaving Angel free to moan and shriek and beg. He couldn’t let Husk mark him, as much as he wanted it, but he could sink his teeth into him, sucking hard until he’d have something to look at in the morning and feel less lonely.

Angel knew how to read people’s bodies, he knew they were about to fall. Husk throbbed deep inside him, his own cock was stiff as a board and trembling between their bodies. He wanted to beg Husk to hold on, to wait, just a few seconds more because even those would be sweeter than anything he’d ever get again. But he might as well have wished for the moon.

So Angel did what he’d always done and took a hand in his own destruction.

He moved his hips faster, grinding down hard on Husk’s dick and whispered in his ear, “Come for me, baby.”

Husk did, with a yowl like a cat in heat. Angel was a second behind, painting both of their chests and crying out his lover’s name, letting his voice shatter on it. They were both left ruined, gasping, only held together by the other’s arms around them.

It was a long time before Angel trusted himself to speak, morning back to rest his forehead on Husk’s, “Will you draw me? Like this?”

Husk’s smile was warmth itself, “I’ll do my damndest, baby.”

It came out beautiful. Of course it did.

Afterwards, when their lovemaking was just an ache in his hips and a slick feeling between his legs, Angel sat back in Husk’s arms and looked at the sketch like he was trying to etch it onto his brain. The pencil version of himself wore Husk’s shirt rather than his own, eyes heavy lidded, his smile crooked and blissfully tired, happier than Angel had thought his own face would ever look.

Even if the moment had ended for them, he’d always have this. He had this proof that someone had loved him.

“Can I keep it?” his voice was raw and shaky, “And some of the others?” In case I come to my senses and never see you again.

Husk kissed the side of his head, squeezed his hand gently, like he’d heard the words left unsaid, “They’re yours. But I’ll draw you better ones if you like? Ones that didn’t spend a few days in the furnace?”

Angel smiled up at him, seeing that some of the soot from his fingers had smudged on Husk’s cheek, “I think these are perfect the way they are.”

“Then they’re a good likeness,” Husk murmured, pressing the next kiss to his lips.

Angel leaned into it, letting himself have another temporary pleasure, letting himself have a moment to not think about anything but Husk. What he’d do tomorrow, fuck, what he’d do in the next moment, he had no idea. But he wouldn’t think about it now.

“It is stunning, isn’t it, Angel? Who’d have thought the old drunk had some talent left clinging to him…”

Valentino’s voice was full of smug satisfaction and smoke, faintly red billows of it hissing from between his teeth and scratching at Angel’s nose. He didn’t flinch, he’d grown used to it over the years.

“It’s exactly what you asked for,” he hummed in what would sound like agreement, looking up at the painting now slotted cozily into its new home on the wall of Valentino’s office.

The frame was a tacky travesty, of course, gilded and overblown but he supposed the image inside was as well. Husk had delivered exactly what he’d been asked, once Angel had convinced him to. It was exactly like the draft piece that nearly ended up in the flames, just more polished and done in rich, sumptuous oils, his wanton blush more rich, his eyes shining brighter, his pose more tempting. Valentino was nearly salivating looking at it.

“You’ve never looked more tempting, my dear,” he crowded Angel closer, voice almost warm though his hands were like vices on his shoulders, “In fact, I can think of no better advertisement for our little club, you’ll have the deviants of the city flocking to our doors just for a glimpse of this…and then they’ll pay through the nose for the real thing.”

“Yes, Valentino,” Angel hummed, not taking his eyes off the painting.

“I believe I’ll take Mr Husker up on his kind offer, now I know his talent hasn’t faded along with everything else. A few pieces like these in the hallway, my profits could triple…and with the discount he mentioned, well, I don’t know what you showed him or shook in front of him but the old fool’s half in love with you. Very nice work, baby…”

Angel shrugged, gaze still fixed on the painting, “Just a generous guy, I guess.”

“Don’t make me laugh, sweetling, you’re not good at it,” Valentino said curtly, “I want you on stage in ten. With how much time you’ll be spending in that studio, you’ll have to make it up to me. Double shifts for the rest of the week and I don’t want to hear you bitching.”

Angel flinched a little but he didn’t take his eyes off Husk’s painting, not even when the office door closed with a slam designed to put him on edge, “You won’t…”

Of course Valentino hadn’t noticed it. But it was the first thing he’d seen as soon as he’d stepped into the office after Val had called him in so he could gloat over it. Husk hadn’t let him see the final piece, just reassuring him that it was finished and that his boss would be happy with it. And now Angel knew why.

Valentino didn’t look past the eyes, the beckoning gaze, the perfect body begging to be ruined. But Husk did. And that's why one of the chains in the links that bound the painted version of Angel was cracked. Almost all the way through, about to break entirely, if he just pulled hard enough. Valentino saw him chained but in Husk’s painting, Angel saw himself fighting and, against all the odds, about to win.

It was a nice dream.

Angel turned away from the painting, thinking about where this had begun. It was supposed to be easy. It should have been easy, it was Angel Dust’s job to be stared at.

But this was the first time he felt like he’d been seen.

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