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casualhedonists · 1 year ago

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✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter five)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder/violence mention (but no actual murder) , MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, lots of switching between dom/sub dynamics, oral sex, thigh riding, face sitting, degradation, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, roughhousing, eventual piv, one chapter specific dubcon scene (pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

chapter: 5/6

words: um. 9.5k (sorry? but also you're welcome??)

chapter warnings: this chapter contains a scene that falls solidly into dubcon territory, so please proceed with caution, stay safe out there.

moodboards

series masterlist

a/n: WELL. here we are, almost at the end of our little rollercoaster ride. i've lost brain cells over this chapter, almost cut it up into smaller chunks, but ended up leaving it as long as i originally planned (longer, in fact. whoops). as always, feedback is very welcome + encouraged (i love hearing/reading your thoughts as things progress) buckle up, please do take note of the dubcon warning, prepare for the angst, and most importantly, enjoy!

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

He was back to ignoring you again.

But this time, the feeling was mutual. You’d never felt as thoroughly rejected as you did the night he had you walk back to your room, legs weak, wrapped in nothing but his shirt.

Once upon a time, this scenario would have been one you dreamed of, but reality often falls flat on its face. You wouldn’t have dreamt of walking away from him like this if you’d known it would feel this empty.

Humiliation ran rampant through your body, starting with the tears you blinked away as you left his room, closing the door behind you, and then flooding over as you stepped into your own room, slumping on the bed, curling up into yourself and weeping, pressing your still aching legs together but too upset to finish yourself off.

You kicked yourself for getting carried away, for getting too loud, too possessive with his face between your thighs and your hand in his hair. For getting so caught up in the moment, briefly forgetting your games, and for believing even for a second that you would be on the same page.

This push and pull had begun to wear you thin, and you were tired. So, you slept. Until nearly midday the next morning, when Lucille knocked on your door to remind you it was time for your monthly PR debrief.

The good news, though arguable at this point, was that your arrangement hadn’t been affected by recent events. At least, not on paper. Cordelia ran you through each gala, public appearance, and dinner, barely noticing your preoccupation, rambling on about speeches, coordinating outfits, dates and times of events, what to say and how to say it.

For you - and you could only imagine, Coriolanus too - everything had changed over the span of a month.

Your shame made you abnormally quiet, head hung low, gaze averted, nodding along as Cordelia prompted either a response or approval from you. Snow just stared, glancing at her only when completely necessary, but otherwise, he didn’t take his eyes off you.

He was enjoying this. The sick fuck. You were glad when the meeting ended and you could scamper into the library, eager to lose yourself in a story of any kind other than the one you were living.

This went on. By day, you barely looked at him; by night, you tried over and over to prove that your own fingers were enough to keep you satisfied. To convince yourself that you just wanted him, you didn’t need him.

Because if you needed him, then he called the shots. He would win. And victorious as he may seem, the game wasn’t over yet. You’d slipped up in a moment of vulnerability, he’d tricked you into a corner just to prove his point.

You wanted him, you didn’t need him. But if you did… well.

He was going to have to need you more.

You held back this time. Keeping your cards safe, close to your chest. In a strange way, you found a kind of solace in your arrangement. Recent events had caused it to feel unstable, breakable even, but the meeting had ensured that it was all still on the right track. It allowed you to take a small piece of what you wanted from him without guilt or repercussions. After all, it was planned out to benefit you both. Then, when you were ready, and with a gentle hand, you began to weaponise it, loading it up in the barrel of a gun aimed directly at Snow.

You didn't have much left, but you had this. You knew where your promiscuity had led you. This time, you wanted to pull on his heart strings. Make him feel remorse, or whatever similar emotion he was capable of. Make him soften to you. Torture him with almosts that were never enough.

So when you took, you took cautiously, tentatively. You deepened your usually light kisses to what was just past socially acceptable, only to pull back when Snow began to lean in, turning away and smiling at the people surrounding you, or full-on entering into conversation with somebody else. You'd brush your thumb against his when you held hands, waiting for him to look at you, drawing your hand away when he did. You'd offer smiles to everyone but him, talk and laugh a little louder when you could feel him watching.

You pretended he didn’t exist. You could feel him begin to simmer. It wasn't as brazen as your usual game, but it was working.

Until it wasn’t.

“Something’s wrong, what is it?”

Lucille’s face dropped, her shaking hands lowering from the zip she was struggling with. You were getting ready for a luncheon, and you’d picked out an emerald green dress, one of your favorites for daytime events.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice, ma’am. I apologise. It’s my brother, he… it’s getting worse again.”

“Sit down for a second. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You listened to Lucille open up uncomfortably, visibly nervous that you would offer your financial support as you’d done before. But you didn’t, sparing her from having to turn you down.

Lucille was stubborn - she would never accept your charity. She was more than happy to work for her wages, and frequently worked longer hours. As months went by, you’d brought her pay up as high as you could without her noticing. But now things were getting more critical, and you knew there was only one thing you could do.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go and see your brother.”

“But you’re not dressed-”

“I’ll take care of it. Go home, Lucille. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She smiled softly.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

You’d tried with the zip, you really had. You didn’t want to have to knock on Snow’s office door with two favors to ask instead of one, but the dress was tight and the zip kept getting jammed. So, there you stood, dress half undone at the back, heart in your throat. You counted your blessings; at least it wasn’t his bedroom. You didn’t think you could face him at all in there. You heard typing from inside.

“Come in.”

You pushed the door open, feeling like an intruder.

“Sorry, I just… Could you help me with this?” Your hand tightened behind your back, holding the dress together.

He narrowed his eyes. He was already in his suit, typewriter on the desk in front of him.

“Lucille forget how to do her job?”

“I don’t need snide right now. Please, Coriolanus? I’ll explain when I’m not half naked. It’s drafty in here.”

You tried to make it clear in your tone that this wasn’t some ploy. You weren’t sure you had many of those left to offer.

“Fine.” He sighed, and stood, making no motion towards you, so you crossed the room, gripping onto the fabric, turning your back to him.

His hand came to rest on your waist as the other took the zipper, and you tried not to flinch at his touch. You pressed your lips together as he carefully zipped you up, cold metal sending a chill down your spine. Or maybe that was just him. You felt your eyes slide shut and your lips part as his hand lingered on your waist. You couldn’t hear anything but your heartbeat and the tick of his grandfather clock.

“Is that okay? Not too tight?” His breath on your neck gave you goosebumps, you hoped desperately that he wouldn’t notice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

The second his hand fell from your waist, you missed it. You carefully met his eye; he was looking at you like you had something he wanted.

So why hadn’t he wanted you? You’d been right there, and he’d turned you down.

He cleared his throat.

“I should finish this letter before we leave. Was there anything else?”

You paused.

“Actually, there is. Could I ask you a favor?” You glanced off to the side, suddenly very interested in the knots of wood on his desk. What helped was that you'd never seen inside this room before, and you hid behind your curiosity like it was a lifeline.

“What is it?”

“It’s…” you lowered your voice, “it’s about Lucille. Her brother, actually. He’s in the hospital again. The family can’t afford the medical bills to keep him in for as long as he needs. I’d like to foot the bill, but I can’t do it anonymously. I thought… well, I was wondering if you could pull a few strings.”

You were overexplaining, something you weren’t at all used to doing, but these days, just being in the same room as him made you nervous. You stared at his desk, at the lack of photographs on it, the single pen laying to the side, the smoothness of the glaze.

It was quiet for a moment.

“Consider it done.”

You looked up.

“Really?”

“Did you think I’d say no?” He asked.

“I- no, but…”

“It’s something that matters to you.”

You blinked, dumbfounded at how simply he put it.

“Yes. It is. Thank you, Coriolanus.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll make sure it’s anonymous.”

“Thank you. Or, I mean…”

He looked at you, and you wanted to melt. Wanted to throw strategy out the window, god, but -

You couldn’t. It hadn’t worked last time. You’d hoped to avoid a stalemate, but here you were, sat right in the middle of one.

“The car’s coming in a half hour. Are you almost ready?” He asked.

“Yes. Almost.”

The luncheon was going well, at first. You were at the head of a large table, sat beside Snow, straightening your salad fork as he stood up to make a speech. You’d been glancing at him throughout the afternoon; it wasn’t so hard to anymore. It felt like his willingness to help Lucille without question, just because it was what you wanted, had more of an effect on you in five minutes than the entire week of your teasing had on him. One conversation, and the tides had changed.

As he began talking, you started to realise that your gentler approach may have been affecting you more than it had him. The party was transfixed; people loved to hear him talk, and you were proud. He had a certain way with words; you knew better than anyone. You’d fallen victim to them.

You weren’t sure why his words affected you – you’d been there, you’d agreed when Cordelia had suggested he say something nice about you in this particular speech, really make the crowd swoon, lay it on thick - but when he started to talk about you, about how proud he was to have you by his side, how strong you were-

You knew he was just reciting a script written for him, but you couldn’t help it. The tears began to quietly fall. You thanked whatever higher being was listening for not letting anyone notice.

Or so you thought.

It was just typical that out of all the people that could’ve noticed, the one person who knew better was the only one who did.

The rest of them would’ve brushed it off as you simply being moved by emotion, honored by his kind words. You blinked away your tears, taking small, polite sips of your wine. It was painful because you knew it wasn’t true. None of it was, you knew he could never say those words and mean them.

And he knew that too.

It was dark when you got home, and you trailed behind him awkwardly on your way upstairs.

“Can I have a word?” his voice was gentle, and it set you on edge.

“Sure.”

You stood awkwardly in the hallway, then he led you into the office. He leaned against his desk, and you shifted your feet where you stood, eyes on the floor, on the art on the walls, on anything other than him.

“You were upset today.” He started.

You swallowed.

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” you kept your voice steady. He paused.

“If that was my fault, I apologise. If I took it too far, if I upset you-”

You weren’t sure which part he was talking about, but you finally looked at him in a sort of distant defiance.

“Do you even care if I’m upset?”

“Of course I do. Especially when it’s something that affects you… publicly.”

You huffed, forcing yourself to stare him down.

“Because that’s all that matters, right? What the public sees?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it is. It’s okay, Snow. I’m a big girl. And I can take a hint, too. So don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine. Business as usual, right?”

He just stared, puzzled. You took a breath.

“Look, it’s been a long day. Can I go, or are you going to keep me here all night?”

The silence was like smoke, clouding between you. His brow furrowed, calculating. Then he sighed, long and heavy, and you tried not to let it phase you.

“Fine. Go.”

You nodded.

“Goodnight.”

You’d never been more relieved to get away from him. Your broken walls were starting to build back up. You wouldn’t let him break you, you couldn’t. You were stronger than this.

That night, for the first time, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was truly what you wanted.

“Darling, you look ravishing.” Lilian drawled. “It’s a pity Snow is so far across the room, and can’t appreciate you. If I dressed half as nicely as you did, perhaps my dear husband wouldn’t be screwing the maid.”

A scandalised chorus of giggles erupted from the group. It was a pretty dress, one of your best. Long and smooth black fabric, ruched at the waist, with a deep cut up the leg that was just acceptable for an evening gala. You stood tall, champagne glass in hand, gossiping with your friends.

Well.

Friends was being generous. You kept few true friends, and they would hardly be gossiping in a circle like this.

Acquaintances was a better fit. Pawns if you were being brutally honest. Politicians’ wives, senators’ mistresses, a chancellor’s daughter or two. Pieces of chess, really, in this bigger game. Anyone who could help you climb higher, whisper carefully spun words into open ears at your whim.

“I just know George would rip that dress off me the moment I got home. He might not even be able to wait, and just pull me into a closet here instead.”

Another eruption of giggles.

“Well, I’m flattered, my darlings.” You smiled. “This is one of my favorites. Coriolanus treats me well.”

“I’m sure he does,” a suggestive glance from Lilian, “in all the ways one would expect, I assume?”

You gasped in mock modesty.

“Lilian,” you drawled, “I certainly hope you’re not suggesting I disclose our-”

“Oh, just tell us dear, please. We’re all dying to know. You’re always so coy about it. What’s he like?”

You pulled your lips into a knowing smile, your perfectly painted face helping you slide into this facade. You scanned your eyes across the ballroom, across to Snow. He stood talking to a group of men, colleagues of his. You recognised their faces.

It had been four days since the luncheon. Four days since your outburst. Four days of hiding away. You’d been dreading tonight’s gala, but it gave you an excuse to dress nicely, and as soon as you’d arrived, you and Coriolanus has gone your separate ways.

“Well,” you hummed, masking your uncertainty as anticipation, “he can be a slight tease.”

A few dramatic gasps sounded through the group, and you turned back to face them, their eyes wide and expectant.

“Salacious. Do tell.” Another voice piped up with a giggle.

“He can be fun to toy with. I do enjoy pushing back, but sometimes he takes it… a little far.” You said carefully.

“My, who would have known? But you get what you want, my dear, surely.” Lilian asked.

You smiled, glancing back at him, suit pristine with a white rose in his breast pocket. You hated how good he looked. He was smiling politely at the group of men around him, but you could tell from the tick in his jaw that something was bothering him.

“Sometimes, I do. Others, I wait for my chance to push his buttons right back.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? I don’t suppose,” she pressed, “that you’re in one of those… entanglements at the moment?”

“Lilian, darling, you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Another giggle sounded from the group.

“Oh, my.” Lilian repeated, glancing between the two of you. “I do hope you’ve been making him suffer.”

“Well, I’m playing a longer game this time, so I’m afraid there hasn’t been as much fun lately.”

Lilian sucked in a breath, like the perfect idea had just dawned on her.

“Well, I see no moment like the present. You’re here, you’re dressed marvellously, I propose you walk right over there and show him just what he’s missing.”

A chorus of yes and do it and we’ll cheer you ons rang out. Loosened by the champagne, you looked across the room at him again. You could do it. He wouldn’t be able to react, it would be the most perfect torture. You suddenly decided that you were done making small moves, done playing it safe like this was some schoolgirl crush. It was time to step up to the mark again. Take your power back.

Your group could sense the newfound determination in you. You smiled, slow and cunning.

Show him what he’s missing.

Simple. It’s what you did best.

“Watch and learn, ladies.”

A hush fell over the group as they watched you run a hand through your hair, handed your glass to one of them, and pressed your lips together. Before you’d left the house you’d added a swipe of red lipstick, dark red, almost bloodlike. It always made you feel more confident and tonight, you needed the pick me up.

The middle of the ballroom was practically empty; the dancing was over, and everyone had long since gathered in groups to the sides. So you turned heads when you stepped out, the only one on the floor, black satin hugging your frame like a second skin. You didn’t look at them, you made a steady beeline to Snow. You felt more and more eyes on you as you crossed the room, heels clicking on the floor. They all watched, waiting for… something. Coriolanus didn’t look up until you were a mere few steps away, now deep in some conversation he was going to forget very shortly.

Blue eyes flashed to yours with a confused apprehension, but you didn’t give yourself time to think about the twitch of his brow, or the looks on the faces of his colleagues. You didn’t think about the way he opened his mouth as if to say something, only for it to be swallowed away.

You didn’t think about any of that.

Because your lips were on his.

Hot and hungry, teeth clashing, your hand grabbing the back of his neck as he leaned in, surprised at first, then warm, wanting. Lips tugging at yours like he was starving.

It was sinful.

You’d never been kissed like this before. Your fuzzy brain wondered how you’d gone through life not knowing what this felt like, the press of his lips devouring yours, heated and messy.

He kissed you like breathing, like you were his oxygen supply. His hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, and you heard the echoes of chuckling coming from around you, morphing into a few light claps.

Then, just as you felt him fully melt into you, your hand slipped higher to the nape of his neck, grabbing a fistful of perfect platinum curls, and tugged.

It was nothing but an affectionate display to the people surrounding you, but a brazen reminder between the two of you. It was your way of showing you hadn’t forgotten, that you wouldn’t be made to feel ashamed, to cower in a corner while he got the better of you.

Not in this lifetime.

The second it happened, his breath hitched, and his hand tensed on your waist. You were the only one who caught it, getting high off the satisfaction, finally pulling away.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a prettier sight; his blown-out eyes, his face stained with scarlet.

How’s that for tasting your own medicine.

Watching him attempt to collect himself was sweeter still. Watching him reset his face into one of distant amusement. He let out a small laugh, glanced at the rest of the party.

“Everything alright, doll? Had a little much champagne, perhaps?”

His colleagues chuckled, but you didn’t look their way. You stood your ground. Offered a sweet smile, but he could see your slyness.

“Oh, I’m swell. And I think I’ve had just enough, actually. I’m gonna go freshen up.”

You turned on your heel and made your way through winding halls to the bathroom, riding an adrenaline high. You picked up a glass from a server’s tray along the way – the champagne had dried out, all they were serving now was posca, which while disgusting, worked a treat to take the edge off. It wasn’t long before the door swung open and you saw Coriolanus appear behind you in the mirror.

“This is the ladies’ room, handsome.” You looked away, continuing to reapply your lipstick.

He stepped closer.

“What was that kiss about, sweetheart?” Straight to the point.

“Nothing.” You shrugged.

“Didn’t feel like nothing.”

“That’s called acting, Snow.” You rolled your eyes, vaguely aware that your words sounded a little jumbled. You put the tube of lipstick away. “We had an audience. A rather expectant one at that.”

He folded his arms.

“I don’t like it when you catch me off guard like that. Not with people around.”

“Seemed to like it plenty to me.” You mumbled.

He didn’t answer, pacing past you to the other sink, grabbing a towel and wiping it against his face, where the red had stained his skin. It only served to spread it around further, and if you weren’t already smugly entertained by the marks you’d left on him, now it was just plain funny.

He glared at you when you laughed.

“Don’t give me that look. Here,” you offered, stepping across to him, taking the towel and wetting it, “let me.”

You wiped at a patch, but he snatched the towel back and took over.

“No, you’re rubbing it too hard. It’s-” he glowered at you – “fine. Do it your way.”

You went back to lean against your sink and took another sip of posca, admiring the ornate decorations in the room. A little excessive, a little new money for your tastes.

There was a rap on the door.

“President Snow?”

“Just a minute.” He said coolly.

“You’re in a mood tonight.” You remarked, and he huffed.

“Running a country can get exhausting. Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Right.” You said flatly. “Because I’m just a brainless pawn like everybody else.”

He looked over at you, at the drink in your hand.

“How many of those have you had?”

You shrugged again, and he tossed the towel into the sink, walking over to you.

“Answer me.” His voice was stern, and for a second, you soaked it in, drenched in the danger as he approached, closing in. Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips, and your eyes followed his as he moved to stand in front of you.

“Shame you don’t have someone to let all that frustration out on, isn’t it? Sounds like that could be helpful.”

His eyes pierced yours.

“Doll-”

“I’m just saying, it’s a pity you don’t.” You moved to bring the glass to your lips, anticipating the burn in your throat, but he gently stopped your hand.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

“Posca? It’s my first glass.” You smiled, eyes batting.

“You know what I mean. I think you should stop.”

You looked at the glass, then back at him, and pried your hand away, slowly and pointedly taking another sip.

“Sweetheart.” He warned.

“What, are you punish me? Gonna make me beg for you then kick me out again? Already did that once.”

He gave an incredulous half-laugh.

“That’s what this is about? You’re not really going to be mad about that forever, are you?”

“That depends. How long is forever?”

The door knocked again, and he worked the glass out of your hand.

“Drink some water. Sober up. We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

You sighed, heading for the door, but glanced back at him, his face still a stained mess. You brushed a finger against your own cheek to mirror his.

“You missed a spot.”

You sat in silence in his office, feeling a little like a schoolchild caught misbehaving. His typing was the only sound in the room. The seat was low; almost as if it was there to point out his authority over anyone who sat in it. Knowing him, it probably was.

He’d managed to clean off the rest of your lipstick, but his face looked rubbed raw, uncomfortable. A tall glass of water sat on the desk in front of you.

“Thought you said we’d talk.”

“Not until you finish that glass. I’m not talking to you inebriated.”

“Seriously?”

He shot you a look from behind his typewriter.

“Fine. Whatever.” You reached for it and took a few sips. He looked back down again. A few folders cluttered the desk, and in your boredom, your eyes scanned them. They looked complicated; legal.

“What are you writing there anyway? Or am I too dumb to understand?”

He offered another unimpressed glance.

“It’s a new bill I’m trying to pass. Except apparently, I’m the only one around here with their head screwed on enough to work on it.”

You waited as Snow pushed the typewriter’s lever, carriage sliding the page as he began writing the next line. You sipped your water.

He sighed. “One day I won’t have to mingle with these idiots anymore. They’ll just listen to me, and obey.”

You took that in.

“Do you feel that way about me?”

He studied you for a second, and stopped typing.

“No. Not really.”

“But you wish I’d be more… compliant.” You stared at the floor.

“Not necessarily.”

“You sure? Didn’t seem to like it the other night.”

His eyes narrowed. Knowing this conversation was a game of chess like any other. But lately the stakes were higher than ever.

“Never said I didn’t like it. Just that you were out of line.”

“And where is that fucking line?” You snapped. “I’m serious, Snow, because we’ve never talked about it.”

“You want to talk, all of a sudden? Okay, sweetheart. Fire away.”

You put the glass down on the table, heavier than intended.

“I just don’t understand you, Coriolanus. I mean, first you don’t want me, then you do want me, then you don’t again. And now what? I don’t know what I’m supposed to think when you don’t give me anything to go off.”

He watched you carefully, and you wanted to shake him, to scream, anything that would give you answers. You stood, unable to sit still, and started pacing.

“You know what’s worse? I don’t even know if you want me here anymore. I don’t know how to act around you because I never know what you’re thinking. At first I thought all this, the whole push and pull, was just some control thing. But-” you laughed, airy and insane, “you know what I realised? You’ve had me fooled, Snow. All this time I thought we were equals, but now I think I finally realise.”

He frowned, waiting for you to continue.

“You pay for my company, if you think about it. We trade services, don’t we? You get something from me, I get something back. I live in your house, eat your food, wear nice clothes. At the end of the day, that’s just it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

You shrugged, tears filling your eyes as bitterness took over, so strong you could almost taste it.

“I’m no better than a whore myself.”

You’d never heard a louder silence. If that hadn’t just taken everything out of you, you’d have begged him to say something. Instead, you just stared, eyes blurry with tears, as he seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, and you gave up trying to read his mind, because his expression was indecipherable.

After what felt like hours, he took a long breath.

“Sit down.”

You glanced at the floor, then took a step towards your chair. He stopped you.

“Not there. Here.” He nodded at the desk in front of him, and you swallowed thickly, stepping around the desk, getting awfully close to him, and pulling yourself onto the desk, legs pressed together. He stood, looking down at you.

“That’s really what you think of yourself?” He asked, voice steady and controlled.

You kept your eyes averted.

“Am I wrong?”

He lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips against your jaw, tipping your head up to look at him. And when you looked at his eyes, you knew exactly what he was feeling. He wasn’t hurt, or upset.

He was mad.

“Tell me something. What do you think I’d do if I heard someone talking about you that way?

“I don’t-”

“I’d have them executed. And you expect me to stand by and let you talk about yourself like that?”

You felt a tear spill down your cheek.

“I don’t know, Coriolanus, you tell me. Am I disposable to you?”

“Of course not."

“But you’d replace me if I left.”

“What makes you think I’d let you leave in the first place?”

A chill caressed your spine.

“That’s right. I’m keeping you here, doll. If I made you doubt that, I apologise. But you’re no whore. Though sometimes, I…” He trailed off.

“What?”

His eyes were on your lips again, hungry. You wondered how someone could switch from distant to depraved and wanting this quickly.

“Sometimes I wish you were. Because it’d make it a lot easier for me to take what I want. If you were, then I’d have no hesitation in ripping your clothes off right here. Fucking you on my desk, or up against the wall, not caring if you cum. Not caring if you enjoy it. If you were a whore, I’d have fucked you in every room in this house, twice over. I wouldn’t let you sleep.”

His hand was on your thigh, the now-creased fabric of your dress crumpling as it slid up. You weren’t sure when your eyes had fallen shut, your hot breath mixing with his as his thumb rubbed against your skin.

Your voice was pathetically quiet.

“Then why don’t you?”

He sighed, tone shifting into something tense, something you could cut through with a knife.

“Because you’re fucking impossible, you know that? I can barely think when you’re around. I don’t know where the games begin or end. I don’t… I don’t understand this power you have over me. I thought you knew, you must know that you’re under my skin. I don’t know if you’ll ever stop playing with me. It drives me fucking insane.”

You opened your eyes, hand gripping his wrist and pulling it from your thigh. You slid off the desk and took a step away from him.

“You think I’m playing with you? The only time you pay an ounce of attention to me is when you’re trying to fuck with my head, Snow. I said my piece, you heard me and you still didn’t care. So please, for both our sakes, stop torturing me. Just… come find me when you decide you want me again, okay? Let’s leave it at that.”

You made for the door, which you slammed with such an impressive force that it even took you aback.

You replayed his words in your head that night until you fell into a deep sleep, and when you woke, you felt like your dreams made more sense than he did.

“Tigris!” you exclaimed, catapulting into the blonde’s arms. The people who stood scattered around you in the manor’s large ballroom spun their heads around at your display. A few even dodged to the side as the momentum that you’d built running down the stairs nearly knocked her over.

A few days of silent glances and fewer exchanged words had passed. And now, you were just happy to be hosting in the comfort of your own home, and to finally see Tigris again. You wondered if she noticed how you hugged her, if she wondered - like you did - if you’d ever let go.

“I’m so happy you’re here. How’s your Grandma’am?”

“She’s quite well, she’s sorry she couldn’t make it. You look beautiful as ever. It’s been too long!”

“I know! I don’t think I’ve seen you since your birthday, which makes me the worst friend ever.” You groaned, scrunching up your face in shame.

“It’s okay! I know busy Coriolanus keeps you with all these functions. You must be going out of your mind by now. How are you holding up?”

The two of you walked to the edge of the room, where prying eyes had settled down after your greeting.

You looked at Snow, stood across the ballroom, dressed in a pristine suit with a champagne glass in hand, talking to yet another group of men who worked for him – ministers and such, a little higher ranking than the group from the other night – and spared you the occasional glance. As if he was keeping tabs on you. It wasn’t long before Tigris caught on and politely inquired.

“I don’t understand him, Tigris. I think he hates me.” You sighed.

“What? No, he could never. He has a soft spot for you, really, and I have it on good authority.”

“I’m not so sure anymore. I think I’ve pushed it a little far this time. I think… maybe we both did. I’m in uncharted waters, here.”

“Look, I know I don’t know all the ins and outs of how this thing between you works, but I don’t think he could ever hate you for doing anything. Coryo – I mean, Coriolanus, he does care, contrary to popular belief. It’s just that his way of showing it can get a little…”

“Fucked?” You offered, and she laughed.

“Yes, exactly. Now, I’m not going to lie to you and say that he’s an angel on earth, he’s had to do things to get to where he is now. Things that even I don’t know the extent of, and they’ve… changed him.”

You rarely got the chance to speak with Tigris alone these days, with Snow usually playing chaperone, or keeping one or the both of you busy, but it had always been easy to slide right back into conversation with her like you’d never been apart.

You’d first met Tigris at a Plinth gala years ago, on the same day you’d met Snow. The two of you had talked and laughed and she had an easiness around her, she wasn’t shallow and judgemental like a lot of the girls you’d grown up with, though you never knew why until many months later. Snow had placed a large wall between his life before the Plinth endorsement, and after. Few people knew the conditions he’d grown up in, but after countless hours with Tigris, you’d begun to assemble small pieces. Despite your closeness with her, you knew from her warnings that Snow had a sort of temper when it came to this topic, so you approached it with caution.

“Changed him how?” You inquired, finally.

“Well… It wasn’t always fancy balls and lunches with him. It never was, with any of us, as you know, but especially for him. He’s… had a different experience. Grandma’am and I, we’ve known hard times, but we haven’t seen what he’s seen. Not even close.”

“What kind of things?”

She glanced over her shoulder, making sure nobody was hovering.

“He’d kill me for telling you.”

“You know I won’t say a word. But you don’t have to tell me, if it’s too much to ask.”

She took in a breath, and sipped her drink, voice dropping to a whisper.

“This stays between us, okay? Coriolanus has… been out there. In the districts, I mean. Before all this. And I can’t go into detail, he’d have my head if I…”

You swallowed.

“The districts? But… why? I don’t-”

“Tigris, lovely to see you, it’s been so long.” A male voice interrupted, and you quickly excused yourself, slipping away to let the two of them talk.

After mulling it over in your head and making small talk with a few more guests, you snuck out of a side door and into the hallways, winding upstairs until you were finally met with Snow’s bedroom door. The sound of voices and music a mere echo below you, you pushed tentatively, and stepped inside. It was strange, being in there alone, for the first time since he’d turned you away. But you paced the floor, looking for something, anything, that would answer the questions you had. Why the districts? Why couldn’t Tigris tell you what had happened there?

Glancing back at the door, you began thumbing through his closet, peeking inside drawers. You’d already given his room a once over, but you worked more meticulously this time, every corner you unsuccessfully turned over only fuelling your curiosity. You walked around the room again, getting frustrated.

You headed back to the door, scanning the place, and retraced your steps a third time. Knocking a little on cupboards and anything that appeared the slightest bit odd or out of place. It was a perpetually tidy room, neat as ever, save for the desk which contained folders you were sure weren’t for your eyes, but that didn’t stop you. You kept on, trying your best not to leave any stone unturned, and most importantly, trying not to move anything out of place.

Eventually, you moved to the smaller desk drawers again, rifling through them haphazardly, annoyed by the lack of evidence you were finding. One of the two drawers had very little inside it, just a pencil and a pocket dictionary, and as you pushed your hand further inside to feel for anything else, you noticed it felt smaller than the first. Shallower. When you knocked, it was hollow.

It had a false bottom.

Your father used to keep his cigars beneath one of these when you were growing up, so you knew what to look for. You felt around the edge until you touched a small, metal handle, then emptied the drawer, hooked your fingers into the handle and pulled. You frowned at first, there was less in the hidden compartment than there was above it. But you peered inside, and there lay two items: an old photograph, and a silver dog tag.

Suddenly, it all made sense. His efficiency, his drive, his orderliness.

Military. The districts. The dog tag.

You unfolded the photograph, caked in a layer of dust, and it hit you like a ton of rocks.

Coriolanus was a peacekeeper.

But why? When? And why keep it a secret?

In the photograph, his hair was buzzed, and he was in a uniform you recognised immediately; if only because of the annual reaping ceremony shown in every building in the Capitol. He was standing next to a boy with dark hair, also buzzed. You recognised him as Sejanus Plinth, you’d never met the kid but you’d been to his funeral with your family, and had seen enough pictures to know.

You knew that the Plinth family had backed Coriolanus’ education, that he became their new heir, a protégé of sorts, but not that he’d been friends with their son. Not that they’d been this close, at least. They weren’t smiling in the photo, stood pin straight and alert in what looked like barracks.

You folded the photograph and placed it back where you found it. Your hands lingered on the dog tag, though, despite the logical side of your brain screaming at you to put it back, leave the room and pretend you didn’t see this. But the louder part egged you on as you pulled it out of the drawer, examining the engraved words, running your hands over the name SNOW and, further down, DISTRICT 12.

You’d heard bedtime stories from your mother while growing up, about the war, the Hunger Games and why they existed, and why it was never safe to set foot in the districts, not even the richer ones.

They’re beneath us, she’d said. They’re dangerous. Barbaric. And 12 was notoriously the poorest, most dangerous of them all.

Coriolanus had now become more of an enigma to you than ever before, and a thousand new questions flooded your head.

You closed the drawer halfway, holding the chain, pulling out a chair in front of the mirror to sit down. You turned the tag over in your hands, as if it would start giving you the answers, if only you looked hard enough.

Why was he sent to 12? Why couldn’t he talk about it?

Despite the conditions Snow grew up in, there was respect behind his family name. It didn’t make sense why someone of his social standing and education would leave to be a peacekeeper, of all things, and in 12, of all places. A strange sort of pity filled you, wondering what he could’ve seen out there. What he could’ve done. It all drew you in as you got lost in a world of what ifs.

Despite yourself, you pushed your hair from your neck, and as if in a trance, wrapped the chain around it. It fell heavy and cold against your skin, sending a chill through your bones. You were so busy staring down at it, so lost in thought that you barely noticed the sound of the door pushing open. Or the floorboards lightly creaking. Or his reflection in the mirror. You didn’t notice any of that, until the door swung shut with a bang.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Coriolanus had had a long day, most of which he’d spent simmering over work and you. He’d kept his eye on you that evening; on the way you’d thrown yourself into Tigris’ arms, and talked, transfixed, and he hated not knowing what was being said. A strange feeling set in as he saw the two of you get deeper into conversation from the other side of the large room, a deep-seated uneasiness stirring him up as he drowned out the tales of his associates’ incompetence. It felt like a breath of relief when he sent someone your way to interrupt whatever talk you were having, pretending that Tigris had been looking for him earlier. He focused on your brief tour of the room when the distraction worked, eyes flitting around like you were preoccupied.

When he saw you dart away from the ballroom and up one of the stairwells, he followed you as soon as he got the chance.

He’d wondered if you might act up today, but this wasn’t what he was expecting. When he saw you, the all too familiar glint of silver around your pretty neck, something shifted in him. Something he’d done a very, very good job of keeping at bay during his first few years of presidency.

Rage.

Your eyes met his in the mirror.

“Coriolanus, I-”

His hands were on you before you could finish your sentence, hauling you out of the chair, fingers wrapped in a death grip around your arms, squeezing as he pushed you to the wall with a satisfying thud.

“What, you can explain? I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, I just-” You gasped as he squeezed tighter, gripping your wrists.

“Do you even know what this means?” He seethed, dog tag pressed between his fingers, chain pulling at your neck.

The forest. The birds. The gunshots that deafened him for weeks.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry. I never knew you were a peacekeeper, Coryo, I-” He flinched, saw the way you winced the second it passed your lips.

Snow may have been cold, but his eyes were fire. And you were only stoking it.

“So I’m Coryo now? Who the fuck told you call me that? Was it Tigris? I saw you talking to her, don’t lie to me.”

“No.” You shook your head. “She didn’t tell me anything, I promise. Please. It was just me.”

He moved in closer, eclipsing you altogether, grip on the chain so tight he was certain you’d be able to feel it pinching the back of your neck, digging a mark into your flesh. He let the sadistic part of his brain take delight in it, in the way your eyes widened, face pleading.

Whatever this game was between you, you’d gone too far this time.

“How did you find this?” He snapped.

You were crowded against the wall, unable to move. Tears started to brim, and you didn’t answer, he wasn’t sure you could. You just shook your head over and over, repeating I’m sorry like a broken record.

“Take this off. Now. Take it off.” He ordered, dropping it back to your chest, stepping away a little so you could lift your shaking arms over your head, removing the chain. He snatched it from you, gripping it in his palm, looking down at it, and you breathed out in relief.

“I didn’t mean to… I was just looking. I had so many questions. I didn’t know what I’d find.”

“And? Are you fucking satisfied now?” His voice chilled you to the bone as he looked up at you again.

You shook your head. Apologised again. Wished you could apologise in any way that would matter, but it was too late. You’d never been more afraid in your life, anticipating what might happen, remembering echoes of rumors you’d heard, of Snow poisoning his enemies, of sending them to hang. Some you knew to be true, but others you boiled down to rebel gossip.

Now, you weren’t so sure. These were the eyes of a man who’d dropped his mask, and it was like staring into a dark void. You could get lost in it, and never find your way back.

“Please. Don’t… I won’t tell anyone, I promise. You can trust me.”

He scoffed.

Stupid girl. Hadn’t you learned by now, that trust meant nothing?

“Like I trusted you in here? I don’t think so. Can’t believe you had me feeling sorry for you. Probably just made it up so you could lower my guard then turn around and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I didn’t, Coriolanus, I swear.” You pleaded. You were crying, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’ve been very patient with you, little girl. But this is where I draw the line. You have no idea how far you’ve pushed me. And you don’t even realise it, you’re so caught up in your little crush. Do you know how easy I’ve been going on you? The things I’ve let you get away with… I’ve killed people for much less.”

“You’ve…” You trailed off, barely hearing your own words, barely processing a thing. He laughed, low and dark.

“Does that scare you, sweetheart? Does it make you afraid?”

Eyes frozen open, you just stared. You felt your jaw go slack.

“Good.”

Coriolanus toed an invisible line, one that had never been crossed before. You wanted him to show you he wanted you? Fine.

He looked down at the chain wrapped around his fist, but he didn’t pocket it, or place it to the side. He unwound it, and slowly pulled it over his own neck.

Your eyes dropped to where it sat in stark contrast, heavy and shining, garish against his fancy dress shirt. You felt your blood run cold.

“Get on your knees.” You heard him say. Your eyes darted back up.

“What?”

When he spoke, it sounded like someone else was talking. Someone you didn’t know at all.

“You heard me. Get on your fucking knees. Right now.”

What could you do? This was what you’d wanted. Just… not like this. Not when your hands were shaking in fear, and you had no idea what this Coriolanus was capable of.

Your head said yes; your heart wept. But you were far past listening to your sorry heart.

So, you obeyed. Legs all but giving in as you lowered yourself to the ground, knees meeting cold hardwood as the chill cut through your dress.

His fingers slipped under one of the straps.

“Take this off, baby.” He murmured, distant, like he wasn’t all there. Your head hung in shame, eyes on his feet as you pushed the straps from your shoulder, top half of the dress falling down. You heard his zipper slide down, and you shivered. No longer sure if it was in fear or anticipation.

“Head up. Look at me. Good,” he said, when you obliged, “now let’s see what this pretty mouth’s really good for, shall we?”

More tears welled up as his hand brushed your jaw, hooking a thumb to your bottom lip, pushing your mouth open. You couldn’t help the way your tongue grazed over it, tasting salt, whining when you realised it was the taste of your own tears. When your eyes fell open again, you finally caught a look at him, hard and tip weeping, and your brain filled with nothing but want, eclipsing your fear for a mere second, enough to bring Coriolanus to the ground again. He may have done terrible, unspeakable things, but he was still a man. A man who wanted you.

And why did that make your heart beat out of your chest? It thrummed like a hummingbird as you took in the sight of him, unbuttoning his shirt as he waited for you to move.

You’d seen how big he was from a distance. You’d felt him between layers of fabric, and you’d imagined this a million times over. But now, as he stood waiting in front of you, you hesitated, because it all finally felt real. Your mouth watered despite yourself, seeing the mess he’d already made, any more and he’d start dripping -

“Go on, sweetheart. It’s not gonna suck itself.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you let him past your lips. The heady taste of precum filled your mouth as you ran your tongue along the shaft slowly, trying to start steady. He wasn’t having it. His hand twisted through your hair, pulling you in closer, making you gag a little. You instinctively lifted a hand up to his thigh to brace yourself, and he laughed.

“Giving up so soon? Thought you’d try harder than that.”

He pushed further, and the indignant sound you made as you adjusted only served to spur him on.

You tried to focus on breathing through it, but he slipped in and out your mouth unevenly, and faster than you could think, catching you off guard. He looked down at the way your mouth struggled to take his length as if you were a piece of art, like he was mesmerised by it, and that feeling was encouragement was enough to keep you going. His hand twisted harder in your hair, making a fist, and he swore when you hummed in discomfort.

“Look at you.” He said, strung-out and shaky. “You strut right in here from your silver spoon life, and think you can call the shots? You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, sweetheart. You have no fucking idea what the world is really like. What people are like. What they have to do to survive.”

He moved faster, and you let your jaw go slack. You were barely moving now, he was starting to fuck your throat like he owned it. You’d started to cry again, and when you looked up at him, it was a blur. The furthest you could see was his chest, shirt unbuttoned and falling to the sides, and the dog tag, silver catching in the low light, swinging against his chest as he moved. You closed your eyes again, trying to go somewhere else in your head. Trying to breathe through your nose, to focus on being used, on how good you were making him feel, on finally being his. It was all you had left to hold on to.

But he was unwinding you with his words, knowing just where to press to make it sting, to make the tears fall harder.

“You don’t have any fucking shame about it either. Touching yourself on my bed and wearing my clothes, like you’re – fuck, that’s it - like we’re married or something. Like you’re worth more than everyone else. But look at you. Maybe you were right after all. Maybe you are my whore.” he gritted out.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried desperately to catch your breath between sobs.

“I mean, you sure look like it now, on your knees for me, making a mess of your pretty face. So fucking good. You’re sucking me off better than she did, and you’re barely even trying.”

You hated it. Hated the way his thumb brushed painfully gently against your cheek, dusting away a tear as his cock bruised the back of your throat and you tried not to gag around him. Hated the way his words twisted around in your head, and how fucked up it was that your broken brain took it as praise instead of punishment.

Most of all, you hated the throb between your shaking legs, panties soaked through and probably ruined. Humiliation seeped through you as you imagined it dripping down your legs and onto the floor. Your salty tears spilled down your face, mixing with your spit and his precum. Hating every second, until your head went blank, and you didn’t feel much of anything anymore.

You weren’t sure exactly how it happened.

One second, he was pulling your hair, twitching in your mouth and spilling down your throat, and the next, in what felt like a flash, you were on the floor, loud, wrecked sobs spilling out of you as you held your knees to your chest, face hidden. He was on the floor too - when did he get down? - and his voice was soft, oh so soft and gentle, saying something you couldn’t quite make out, dull and repetitive past your ringing ears.

“- so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I know I - I didn’t… I took it too far. Can you hear me, sweetheart? Look at me. Please, look at me. I’m right here.”

You pulled your head from your hands, and through blurred eyes, you looked at him.

This wasn’t a face you’d seen on him before. His brows knitted, lips apart as he stared at you, like you were some wounded animal he wanted to save.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Please.”

“I can’t…” You trailed off.

“You can tell me.”

Another wave of choked back sobs took over you. He held your jaw up like you were something breakable. Like maybe you’d broken already, and he was holding you together.

“I can’t do this.” You whispered. “Not like-”

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek.

“Okay. It’s okay, baby. Tell me what I can do for you. Just say the word.”

You caught your breath, and he flinched a little as you collapsed into his arms. The cool metal of the dog tag pressed into your cheek.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You cried.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t realise how far I’d pushed you until… I know I can’t make it up to you, but I’ll try. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. If you want to leave, I understand. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“What? No, that’s not…”

He cut you off, looking into your eyes.

“Decide tomorrow, okay doll? You don’t have to think about that now.”

“I didn’t know about… about the districts.” You hiccupped. “About you. You didn’t want me to know. I ruined everything, I-”

“Listen to me. It doesn’t matter anymore, I promise you. It’s okay, baby.”

You nodded into his chest.

“Here.” He leaned away from you, and you looked up in a question. He took the chain from his neck and placed it in your palm.

“You can have it. So long as nobody sees. You can throw it away, wear it around the house, whatever you want. It’s yours.”

You pressed it between your fingers. It cooled your hot skin like a salve.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Your head sank back onto his chest, and when you spoke again, it was barely audible.

“Coryo?”

He tensed for a second, but relaxed again just as quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

His hand brushed gently against your hair, and you relaxed into it.

“Of course you can.”

a/n: baby's first dubcon scene!! (screams cries and throws up bc navigating that was scary as fuck) p.s one more chapter left!! do we think they'll get their shit together?? who knows!! (i know)

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904 @pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @snowlandstop @badbleep88

(more tags in the reblogs/comments)

if you’d like to be tagged, pls comment on the series masterlist (helps me keep track of everyone!!) 💌

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #snow x reader #snow x you #attention #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games #x reader #x you smut

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awearywritersworld · 1 year ago

Text

the boy spurned as evil and the girl of his youth

sukuna x reader w/c: .6k tags/warnings: angst, i'm afraid. young!sukuna. depictions of blood. ur dad's an asshole. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: please check out the lovely artwork by @demonzaemon that inspired this piece!!! i'm definitely down to write a second part about a reunion, so let me know if that would interest anyone! masterlist read part two here

thinking about sukuna at 10 years of age— he's been abandoned by his family and scorned by his village because of the strange way he looks. he has to steal stale bread during the night to survive. he has to take shelter in the ruins of an abandoned home. he has to bear the harsh elements. he has to do it all alone.

that is, until he meets a curious little girl by the riverside during the spring. he'd found an old, frayed fishing net the day prior, and while he hopes to catch something he can eat for dinner, he catches your attention instead.

and you marvel at him as if he's the most remarkable thing you've ever laid eyes on. you're poking at the harsh lines that mar his skin. you're pulling at his pink hair because you're convinced it's fake. you're counting his arms as if the extra two will eventually disappear.

he doesn't mind though. he's too caught up in the fact that someone's touching him. that he can feel the warmth of your skin against his. he can hardly believe it when you scamper off, calling over your shoulder gleefully, "i'll meet you here again tomorrow!"

after that, everything changes and he finds himself in your company more often than not. you sneak your meals out of the house each day, even though your portions are meager. you bring him a few of your blankets, even though it means you're cold at night. what he appreciates most though? the fact you look at him like he's human.

then, what is simultaneously the best and worst night of his life happens. you fall asleep beside him in the overgrown grass near the river. its early autumn by now and the stars are twinkling in the sky, so your body clings innocently to his, seeking his warmth.

he takes the opportunity to study you in the moonlight. to commit every detail of your face to memory. he considers the fact that you feel safe enough to fall asleep beside him, even when every other person in the world has deemed him evil and sinister.

eventually he's lulled to sleep by your slow and gentle breaths, but not before coming to the decision that he is yours and you are his. and while you're the only thing in the world that the young boy has to his name, he's okay with that.

then, all too soon, he's awoken by yelling and it's not a moment later that you're ripped from his arms by your father. he's screaming about how you've defiled yourself by associating with such a despicable fiend.

"no, he's my friend! he's good!" you wail, your arms stretched toward sukuna in a plea for help. "don't let him take me! please!"

and he tries. he really, really tries. he runs after your father, beating at his back in an attempt to free you, but he's just too small. his body is weak from years of malnourishment. the older man pushes him to the ground with little effort and sukuna's palms slice open upon the sharp stones protruding from the earth.

crimson spills from the wounds, but he can hardly feel it. the ache in his chest is too consuming. too agonizing. it's unfair that such a little body should house so much pain, but that seems to be the story of his relatively short life.

so as he calls out to you, his voice broken and desperate, he knows it's the last time he'll ever see you and he's forced to come to terms with the universe's cruel edict— that he deserves to spend his life alone.

#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst

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giuseppe-yuki · 3 months ago

Note

Imagine Kimi going missing and everyone from Mercedes going to try and find him to eventually find him in the sun laying curled up with his tiger girlfriend laying on her and cuddling her tail wrapped around him

omg that is such a canon thing for kimi to do!

not-so-small blurb below:

picture credits from pinterest :)

kimi antonelli x tiger!shapeshifter reader + cameos of other drivers and their shapeshifter!gfs

w.c.: 2.9k

t-minus 60 minutes

”what do you mean you lost him? go find him!“ toto exclaims, with a dismissive wave to pedro, kimi‘s engineer. “the meeting is one hour, and i expect to see kimi to be sat in front of me at exactly when it starts so we can discuss some important plans.”

toto turns his attention back to his “pet” wolf, who continues to curl in figure eights around toto’s legs protectively and blinks her sparkling eyes at pedro, as if she was amused at his evident distress.

with a gulp, pedro nervously leaves the room, leaving toto in his office, gently petting his purring wolf, and heads to the merc garage.

“well, have you tried texting him?” an engineer suggests helpfully, watching pedro pace around the garage.

pedro was basically cooked if kimi didn‘t show up for toto’s meeting, as he was put in charge of watching over the young mercedes driver after an incident that involved kimi crashing one of the mercedes golf carts when attempting to give his “pet” tiger a ride around the paddock. it wasn’t even pedro’s fault that he lost kimi- he had literally just stopped to talk to say hello to a fellow coworker, when kimi and his tiger just straight up disappeared!

”yes! of course i have,“ pedro exclaims, exasperated. “he‘s not responding!”

the engineer gives him a look of pity while she neatly packs up her papers and laptop in preparation for the meeting.

“well, i would probably check with the other teams, in case they saw kimi after he disappeared,” she says, hefting her mercedes-branded backpack onto her shoulder. “good luck!”

with a groan, pedro packs up his things and beelines his way towards the closest garage- redbull.

“give that back!” kimi just about screams, causing a few engineers walking out from the redbull motorhome to look over in concern.

grinning, you sprint away down the sparsely populated paddock, clutching the cookie that kimi stole from hospitality in your jaws. your tail flicks mischievously behind you, as if taunting your boyfriend. when you reach an acceptable distance away from him, you turn around towards kimi and purposely swallow the cookie whole.

kimi stops in his tracks, eyes wide. you just ate the cookie that he stole, fair and square.

“how dare you!” he explodes, charging towards you. “i’m gonna catch you and then i’m gonna shave off all your fur- not even ollie can save you now!“

you laugh internally. you both knew full well kimi didn’t have the guts to do that, but you humor him. with a soft growl, you scamper away from him, claws scraping against the concrete because of how fast you turn on your heels.

kimi bolts after you with surprising speed.

t-minus 50 minutes

when pedro scoots his way towards the redbull garage, white team kit clashing with the tell-tale navy blue of the redbull engineers, he tries his hardest to look inconspicuous. it doesn’t work, of course, the silver three-pointed star sewed on his t-shirt immediately giving him away.

“hey!” a redbull strategist shouts when she spots pedro, “you aren’t supposed to be here!” narrowing her eyes, she sends him a suspicious look. “i hope you haven't come here to steal our strategies-” she lifts up a shiny wrench that she seemed to have pulled out of nowhere- “i have a weapon and i’m not afraid to use it!”

pedro quickly hefts his hands up in surrender, signaling that he means no harm.

“woahwoahwoah!” he exclaims, trying to disperse the situation. “no! not at all! i’m- i’m just trying to find kimi! have you seen him?” the woman’s face softens immediately.

“oh,” she remarks, placing down the wrench on a side table. “erm, not really.”

she gestures further into the garage.

“you might want to ask max though- maybe he’s seen kimi?” pedro gives the strategist a light thank-you, one for not attempting to kill him, and two for the slightly helpful tip, before scooting further into redbull’s garage.

after wedging himself through a group of rather shocked-looking redbull engineers playing cards on the floor of the garage, he comes to a stop in front of max.

max doesn’t notice him at first, more focused on cutting up a piece of fish for a pampered-looking “pet” ragdoll cat next to him. it isn’t until the cat meows softly and paws at his arm does he look up to find pedro standing there awkwardly.

he raises an eyebrow and sends nods towards pedro to acknowledge his presence, but continues to focus his attention on cutting the raw fish into perfect squares with the precision of a surgeon while periodically stopping to feed the cat a piece.

“hi max…” pedro says nervously, “er, so i was told you might know where kimi is? i need to find him in like, half an hour for something really important.”

max thinks for a bit, before shaking his head no.

“i have no idea,” max says, at the same time one of the engineers playing cards notes, “i saw him with his tiger in the paddock like ten minutes ago!” pedro whips around, profusely thanking the engineer, before bolting out of the garage.

your claws scrape roughly on the concrete ground of the paddock as you bolt towards garages. kimi yells behind you, shaking his fist in the air as if he was one of those old grandpas in the movies you watched so often together at home. luckily for you, the walkway leading to the garages had barely any people, like the paddock, so you didn’t have a chance to run into (and accidentally run over) any poor team employees like last time you ran around the paddock with kimi.

as you sprint down the pit lane, you approach your final destination- the ferrari garage. an employee chats up charles near the front of the garages, who was clutching a hedgehog close to his fireproofs. the employee, on the other hand carried a giant bucket of water, most likely for polishing the front of the garage, judging by the squeegee that he animated swings around as he talks to the charles.

an idea pops into your head.

the ferrari driver’s eyes grow wide when he sees you approaching, and he stumbles back a few steps, but you’re not here to hurt him. gingerly, you snatch the bucket with water from the employee and haul it straight at kimi, who was gaining on you with a speed like max in brazil 2024.

the bucket narrowly avoids his head, but the water splashes on him dead center. he immediately starts screeching, and you feel just a little bit bad, but then, you remember that he threatened to shave off all your fur, so you were basically even.

the ferrari employees and charles gape at you in shock. next to you, you hear a honking laugh that could only belong to daniel ricciardo, who points to a soaking wet kimi as he walks past the scene with his girlfriend in tow.

t-minus 40 minutes

pedro is exhausted by the time he arrives at the paddock all the way from the red bull motorhomes. everyone seemed to forget that he wasn’t a built f1 driver or an energetic 18 year old who could run back and forth without passing out from exhaustion. even if the walk from the garages was brisk, perhaps five minutes, pedro was huffing and puffing, especially with his backpack chalk full with kimi’s racing data.

where the hell was kimi???

honestly, thinking about it, it was amazing how he managed to lose a well-known star and a giant tiger in the paddock.

pedro snoops around the hospitalities along the paddock for around 10 minutes (almost getting security called on him by aston martin and stake kick sauber for looking suspicious) before collapsing onto a bench by vcarb’s hospitality. he had half a mind to give up right this moment. a slight yelling session by toto for “losing kimi” wouldn’t be so bad right?

just then, a dampened bang sounds from behind a mysterious closed door behind him. the door creaks the slightest, but stays closed.

pedro’s mind immediately shoots back to kimi. maybe he was behind that door! yes, it was a vcarb building but kimi always seemed to get himself in weird situations, so it wasn’t a far cry.

kimi’s engineer yanks the door open.

what he sees is definitely not kimi. instead, he sees none other than daniel ricciardo making out with his girlfriend in what looks to be a janitor’s closet on the side of the vcarb motorhome.

hurriedly, pedro tries to shut the door to preserve whatever shred of dignity he has left from witnessing this rather scandalizing moment, but before he can, the driver seems to take notice.

he pulls away from his girlfriend, who turns quite red, and flashes his signature grin at pedro.

“hiya, mate! how can i help you?” he asks, as if pedro did not just interrupt his makeout session in a damp closet.

“s-s-sorry!!” pedro manages to utter out, face as red as daniel’s girlfriend. “i thought- you were.. um, kimi…? er, yeah, i think i’ll go, yeah, sorry again!”

daniel, still concerningly unbothered, nods understandingly.

“no problem, really. i saw him around the ferrari motorhome with his ‘tiger,’ so if you’re looking for him, you can check there!”

pedro nods quickly, wanting to get out of the situation as fast as possible, but grateful for the help.

he thanks daniel profusely, but before he can leave, daniel points to the wide-open janitor’s door, a mischievous grin splitting his face.

“i’d appreciate it if you’d shut that for us again, thanks!”

“i’m sure she’s sorry- look at her sad cat eyes!” ollie says to your boyfriend, patting his shoulder.

you manage a sad whine towards your boyfriend that you surely do not mean.

kimi now sits, a little less sopping wet, wrapped a ferrari blanket that a kind engineer provided, on a stack of tyres in the ferrari motorhome. his usually fluffy brown curls stick slightly flat to his forehead.

he still pouts, back towards your imposing figure sat on the floor of the ferrari garage.

“yeah, right,” he snorts, “she started the whole thing by stealing my cookie first!”

ollie adjusts his “bear cub” in his arms before sitting down next to kimi on the tyres.

“oh, come on, don’t be like that, kimi! go to the shops and like, share an ice cream or something- that always helps when i’m feeling a little bit disgruntled with my girlfriend!”

ollie’s bear cub nibbles softly on kimi’s pant leg in agreement.

kimi spares you a glance, to which you respond by giving him a lick with your rough tongue as a ‘sorry-for-taking-a-water-bucket-and-almost-killing-you-and-soaking-your-entire-body-with-freezing-water’ type of apology.

he seems to take it, because he gives you a soft kiss on your head and points out to the exit of the garage.

“lead the way, then, baby,” he says.

the walk there is pretty light- it’s only past the garages, through the paddock, and to the shops. you spot the ice cream parlor, that display the words, ‘pit stop ice cream parlor’ lights in shiny letters with a big fat scoop of ice cream next to it. now, you were getting a little hungry. you take off into towards the half-crowded shop. unfortunately, you have to skid to a stop because carlos sainz walks by with his “meerkat” on his shoulder, holding a board that is suspiciously in the shape of fred vasseur, but you continue bounding towards the shop after they pass. what flavor should you get?

t-minus 20 minutes

from mercedes, to redbull, to the paddock, and now all the way back to ferrari garages? kimi was going to be the death of him, pedro swears. how has this boy even managed to travel this quickly, he would never understand.

once again, he finds himself awkwardly standing in front of a garage that certainly did not belong to his team. pedro slowly shuffles forward towards the entrance, accidentally soaking half of his shoe in a rather random puddle of water on the floor in the process.

to his relief, he sees ollie peep his head from the side of the garage with his “bear cub” clinging to the side of his pant leg. since he was part of prema, ollie was well-versed in kimi’s wild acts of mischief on the grid, which meant he ought to be helpful in his quest to find kimi.

ollie smiles at pedro, giving him a friendly wave.

“hi pedro!” he chirps. “what are you doing here?”

“hello to you too, ollie,” pedro says, nodding in acknowledgement, “and to your girlfriend as well!” he exhales one big breath before continuing. “i was just looking for kimi- we have a meeting in like, less than 20 minutes!”

ollie’s bear cub blinks her little brown eyes at pedro and waves one her stubby arms back towards the paddock.

“yeah,” ollie says, scratching his head. “like she said- i might have told ollie to go all the way back towards the paddock, to the shops, to get some ice cream…?”

he gives pedro a sympathetic look, seeing how kimi’s engineer just deflates after hearing he has to walk all the way back towards the paddock to find kimi.

“thanks, ollie- i guess,” pedro says, hefting his heavy backpack closer to him, and getting ready to trek back towards the paddock.

however, when he turns around, he just about screams. pedro comes face to face with none other than fred vasseur himself. he almost instinctively swings a punch straight at fred’s face, but he realizes it is made out of…cardboard?

carlos sainz’s amused face peeks out from behind the cutout of the ferrari team principal, along with a chittering meerkat.

“ha! got you!” he cackles, his “meerkat” mirroring him.

pedro groans. when he found kimi, he was going to force kimi pay him for all the emotional turmoil he experienced during this absolutely ridiculous timed hunt.

you purr in content as kimi sets down a giant bowl of strawberry ice cream that you take a giant lick of right away. he himself take a bite of his own stracciatella ice cream. you both eat in comfortable silence. ollie was right, you suppose, cause the love of ice cream really did bring you both together.

kimi even lets you take a nibble of his stracciatella ice cream, (a tiny nibble, as large doses of chocolate are lethal to tigers) which he never does, usually.

the sun shines brightly above you both, allowing kimi’s curls to fluff back up into its regular state as you both bathe in the warm light, full from the ice cream.

“i’m kind of sleepy,” kimi says, and you can’t help but feel the same.

you're not quite sure how you end up on the open top floor of the merc motorhome, laying on one of the sun chairs with kimi. you faintly remember dragging kimi sleepily back towards the paddock by his shirt…up the stairs…? you do know, however, how content you feel right now. with full bellies and the warm sun wrapping like a soft blanket around the two of you, it feel so nice. kimi is already knocked out, curled in your warm fur. he clutches to your tail in his arms as if it’s a stuffed animal. you stretch your paws, and your eyes slowly flutter shut.

t-minus 10 minutes

with ten minutes left until the meeting, pedro can’t help but frantically run around the shops and paddock area to look for kimi. he checks just about everywhere- gift shops, food stalls, ice cream shops, but they all seem devoid of a certain mercedes driver.

he almost gives up, like he did half and hour ago at nearly the same spot by the vcarb building. but, that’s when he sees it, on the glittering roof of the mercedes building. the giant form of a tiger and-bingo- andrea kimi antonelli. you can call him the flash the way he sprints up the two flights of stair onto the top floor of the mercedes building.

“tell kimi to get up right now!” kimi’s engineer shouts, nearly deafening your sensitive ears. kimi still naps on through pedro’s shouting, his entire body still layed on top of your fur. unamused, you gingerly untuck one of your paws from underneath kimi to try and bat pedro away. couldn’t he see your boyfriend was sleeping so peacefully?

he has the audacity to brush your paw away. “no!” he yells angrily. “you do not know what i just went through! i ran in legitimate circles around the entirety of the property, got caught in a weird situation with daniel ricciardo, soaked my entire shoe in this stupid ass puddle, and then got jumpscared by carlos sainz and his stupid poster! i am not about to be yelled at by toto!” without another word, he takes his water bottle out of his merc backpack and uncaps it. and, for the second time in the span of half an hour, your boyfriend is soaked in freezing water.

t-minus 1 minute

with one minute left to spare, pedro leds a disgruntled half-wet kimi into toto’s full meeting room. you scamper in next to kimi as inconspicuous as you can, which is kind of hard considering you were a tiger, after all. toto clears his throat, looking at your boyfriend’s appearance weirdly.

“can someone please tell me why my driver is sopping wet, please?”

a/n: i hope the concept and the way i worded it isn't too confusing 😥

#anais talks🎙#💬#kimi antonelli x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female reader

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theemporium · 7 months ago

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congrats on 10k lovelyyyyyy!!! truly deserving, your works are some of my favorites on this app 🫶🏻 may i order a 💜 "I can't smile at you, I'm mad." with nico hischier ?!! lots of love for youuuu

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

1."I can't smile at you, I'm mad."

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Nico shot you an unamused look as he held the door open, long enough for the nurse in the room to sense the tension in the air and quickly scamper off. He flashed the nurse a thankful smile before letting the door close behind her, turning his attention back to you.

“This isn’t funny,” he said eventually.

“It’s a little funny,” you countered, watching as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, but in my defence, I didn’t think anything bad would actually happen.”

“How is that your defence?” Nico countered with a frown.

“It’s all I could think of in the twenty minutes it took for you to arrive,” you admitted with a sheepish expression.

“Baby,” he sighed heavily.

“Is this the part where you tell me I told you so?” You asked, still lighthearted and teasing as if you weren’t currently sitting on the hospital bed with your ankle all bandaged up from an accident that could have very easily been avoided.

It was a running argument between you and Nico for the duration of your time spent in the apartment. You had moved in together over a year ago and it was absolutely perfect, minus the fact the top shelves of the cupboards were just out of your reach.

It wasn’t too bad, considering most of the things on the top shelves were things you and Nico barely used in your everyday life. It was rare for you to reach for them, and even when you did, Nico was usually in the flat to help grab them for you.

The argument stemmed from the day he came back home after practice to find you on the kitchen counter. Nico deemed it too unsafe, that you could fall or slip off when straining to get something from the shelf. You said he was being a bit dramatic, that you had done it plenty of times before with ease.

The boy near had a heart attack every time he witnessed it in person.

Now, here you were in the hospital, ankle wrapped up with an x-ray confirming it was broken and an odd sense of embarrassment towards the fact that Nico was right, that it was unsafe, that this all happened because you had the urge to bake and the cake tins were right at the back of the shelf.

The doctors had called your emergency contact—Nico—after the x-rays had confirmed the fracture.

“Babe,” he said once again, his brows furrowed together as he shook his head. “I’m not happy about being right, you know that, right?”

“You have to be a little bit smug though,” you countered.

“My girlfriend broke her ankle and had to find her way to hospital alone,” Nico stated as he rounded the bed, like he needed some reassurance that you were okay as he reached for your hand. “Nothing about that sentence makes me feel happy or smug.”

“Nico, baby, I’m fine,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand before patting a spot on the bed for him to sit down. “It’s not the end of the world and, overall, it’s funny. Now, c’mon, smile for me.”

“I can’t smile at you, I’m mad,” Nico muttered but took a seat on the bed, perched at the edge like he didn’t want to take too much space. Which was just comical with the size of him. “What if I was away on a roadie? Or what if something more serious than a broken ankle happened? What if—”

“You know why I love you so much?” You cut him off, watching as the boy flashed you a confused look. “Because you care so much. You had such a big heart and you are so, so sweet.”

His cheeks flushed a little. “Stop trying to butter me up.”

“I’m only telling you the truth,” you retorted before squeezing his hand once more, tugging him a little closer so you could lean in and peck his lips. “I’m sorry for worrying you. And I’m sorry for not listening to you about the kitchen counter. You were right.”

“I’m sorry for being so hard on you,” he murmured in reply, leaning in for a longer kiss before his shoulders dropped a little in relief. “I swore my heart stopped when I saw all the missed calls and voicemails. I think Jack had to catch me a little when I realised it was from the hospital. I thought something really bad had happened and—”

“Instead it was just your pretty girlfriend busting her ankle whilst trying to bake?” You finished for him, a smile on your lips. “God, at least I never managed to get anything in the oven or we would have bigger problems to deal with.”

Nico snorted despite himself. “Shut up.”

“There’s that smile I love,” you grinned happily, your finger lightly poking the dimple of his cheek. “Plus, look at the bright side.”

Nico raised his eyebrows. “And what’s that?”

“I now have an excuse for you to carry me around,” you joked, something in your stomach twisting to see that dimple once again.

Instead, his expression softened as he raised your hand to press a kiss against your knuckles. “I’d carry you wherever you wanna go, baby. Gonna take care of my girl,” he said with so much sincerity.

“My own knight in shining armour,” you sighed happily.

“More like a sexy nurse,” he corrected, something quite like amusement shining in his eyes. “If I was your knight in shining armour, I would have caught you when you fell. Easy.”

#cece's cocktail celebration #nico hischier #nhl #new jersey devils #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier fic #nico hischier one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

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idkyetxoxo · 22 days ago

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Gwayne Hightower - A Chance Encounter

Summary - A mother's fear for her son's safety leads to an unexpected encounter with a charming stranger. A subtle connection sparks revealing deeper layers of grief and the promise of new beginnings, a delicate flirtation unfolds, offering a glimpse of hope and romance.

Pairing - Gwayne Hightower x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2063

Masterlist for Gwayne • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

"Doran, get down this instant!" I snapped, my patience fraying as the young boy clambered higher into the sprawling branches of the ancient oak tree..

The wind rustled the leaves, and my heart pounded in my chest, torn between anger and fear.

"If you fall, I'll have to kill you myself!" I shouted, my voice cracking as the fear clawed at my throat. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, my knuckles turning white as I struggled to contain the swirling storm of panic and frustration.

Each second Doran remained aloft felt like a personal assault on my sanity.

Doran glanced down, his bright eyes widening in realization as he saw just how high he had climbed. His small face twisted with fear, and he clung tighter to the branch.

"I can't!" he cried out, his voice quivering as he looked down at me, trapped between the height and his own bravado.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, scanning the empty surroundings for help. Of course, it had to be deserted now that I needed someone.

"Alright, sweetling, just hold on tight. I'm going to find Ser Merrick," I reassured him, stepping backwards but keeping my eyes fixed on his trembling figure above.

My back collided with something solid, and I spun around, startled, only to find myself face-to-face with a broad chest.

"I apologize!" I blurted, looking up to meet the amused eyes of a strikingly handsome stranger.

"No need," he replied smoothly, his gaze flicking up to the tree. "Seems someone's in a bit of a predicament."

"Yes," I sighed, grateful for the unexpected help. "Please, my lord—"

"Ser Gwayne," he corrected, his eyes twinkling with kindness. The corners of his mouth lifted in a reassuring smile that somehow eased the tension in my chest, if only slightly.

Without hesitation, he began climbing the tree with the grace and confidence of someone used to such feats. Watching him move with such ease was oddly reassuring, and I found myself holding my breath, mesmerized by his fluid movements.

When he reached Doran, he lifted him down with effortless strength. Doran ran to me, wrapping his small arms around my legs, his face streaked with tears but otherwise unharmed. I knelt, pulling him close, my heart swelling with relief.

"You shouldn't worry your sister like that," Gwayne said gently, crouching to Doran's level. Doran looked at him with watery eyes, then glanced back at me.

"She's my mommy," he said, his little hand clutching my dress. Gwayne's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the revelation.

"My apologies, my lady," he said, standing up and bowing his head respectfully. I waved off his apology, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.

"It's quite alright. Thank you for helping," I said, pulling Doran close as he nestled against me.

"Next time you fancy climbing a tree, perhaps ask your father to help you up," Gwayne said lightly, trying to ease the tension with a chuckle.

The remark hit me like a punch, and I saw his smile falter as he realized his mistake.

"Doran, sweetling, go find Alicent or Helaena for me," I instructed gently, nudging him away. Doran hesitated but eventually scampered off, leaving us alone.

"Did I misspeak?" Gwayne asked, his tone laced with genuine concern. I exhaled slowly, my eyes momentarily clouded with sorrow.

"Doran's father passed when he was just two summers old," I explained quietly. Gwayne winced, visibly remorseful.

"I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright," I interrupted, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "It's been three years now." I turned, the ground beneath my feet feeling oddly firm as if anchoring me back to reality.

As I made my way toward the path, Gwayne fell into step beside me, his footsteps barely making a sound on the gravel.

"You mentioned Alicent and Helaena. Are you familiar with them?" he inquired, his tone curious, but there was something guarded in the way he spoke, as though measuring his words.

"Yes, I am," I replied carefully, eyeing him with mild suspicion. He hadn't used their titles, and I wondered why.

"Alicent is my sister," he revealed, and I stopped, realization dawning on me.

"So you're the brother she spoke of—visiting from Oldtown."

"Yes," he said, inclining his head. "I am Gwayne Hightower." He extended his hand, and I took it, surprised by the gentle brush of his lips against my knuckles.

"And you are?" he asked, his gaze lingering on mine.

"I am a close companion of the Queen," I said, meeting his eyes. The unspoken understanding between us seemed to deepen, creating a bridge of shared recognition.

"What brings you to King's Landing?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"I've lived here for the past three years," I explained. "After my husband passed, Alicent asked me to stay with her for a while to heal, and I never left."

"Your husband?" Gwayne inquired, picking up on the weight in my voice.

"Prince Qoren Martell of Dorne," I said, watching his eyes widen in recognition.

"So I just rescued the young Lord of Sunspear from a tree?" he mused with a light-hearted laugh, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"No," I clarified. "Doran will not succeed his father. Qoren's brother took the title with my blessing. I did not want that burden placed on my son at such a young age. Should he wish it one day, the doors of Sunspear will always be open to him."

Gwayne nodded, thoughtfully absorbing my words just as Ser Merrick appeared, breathless and flustered. "My lady, I am so sorry! I only turned my back for a moment—"

"It's alright, Ser Merrick," I assured him. "Ser Gwayne was kind enough to help."

Gwayne inclined his head, modestly deflecting the praise. "It was my pleasure."

"Well, Ser Gwayne," I said, feeling the pull of duty and motherhood calling me back. "I must take my leave. Doran is likely off finding new trouble as we speak."

"Of course," he said with a soft laugh. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"And you as well," I replied, feeling a warmth in my cheeks as I turned away, my heart lighter for the first time in a long while.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A week had passed since my unexpected meeting with Gwayne, and it seemed our paths were fated to cross with remarkable frequency. Whether by sheer coincidence or some twist of fate, Gwayne always appeared just as I was going about my daily routines, even when I was not in the company of his sister, Alicent.

This particular afternoon, I was with Alicent in the garden when a sudden, startled gasp escaped my lips.

"Doran!" I exclaimed, seeing him emerge from behind a shrub, covered head to toe in thick, clinging mud.

"What happened?" I asked, crouching down to his level, my concern evident in my voice.

Beside me, Alicent's laughter rang out, a melodious sound that contrasted sharply with the dishevelled state of my son.

"I fell," Doran explained with a sheepish grin, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.

Just then, the source of much of the mud and mirth appeared, Gwayne, emerging from the same shrubbery, equally plastered in muck. His flustered expression only added to the absurdity of the scene, and I couldn't hold back the laughter that escaped me.

Gwayne stood before us, looking both embarrassed and amused, while Doran beamed with pride at the state of his new companion.

"And what happened to you?" Alicent asked, her eyes dancing with amusement as she regarded her brother, who was struggling to contain his own laughter.

"Doran and I had an... unplanned fall," Gwayne admitted, his voice tinged with a barely restrained chuckle.

"Silly boys," I said affectionately, reaching out to ruffle Doran's muddy hair. His giggles were contagious, and soon, we were all caught up in a moment of light-heartedness.

"Come now, darling," Alicent said gently, extending her hand to Doran. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Her voice was soothing, and the way she looked at my son showed the deep affection she held for him. It was clear she cherished the innocence and kindness he embodied, qualities she longed to see in her own children.

"I must apologize," I said as I stood up, turning to Gwayne with a wry smile. "I assume Doran is the cause of this muddy predicament?"

Gwayne looked down at his muddied attire with a sheepish grin. "You could say that," he said, trying to brush off some of the dirt with minimal success. "But it was worth it to see him so happy."

I shook my head, still smiling. "Well, thank you for your... enthusiastic supervision."

"Of course," Gwayne replied, his gaze meeting mine with a warm glint of camaraderie. "It was a pleasure, even if it was rather messy."

As Alicent led Doran away to be cleaned up, Gwayne lingered for a moment, his eyes reflecting a quiet appreciation for the simple joy he had shared with my son. I couldn't help but feel a sense of ease in his presence, a comfort that was becoming increasingly rare in my life.

"Well, it seems our paths continue to cross," I said, my tone light and friendly.

"It does seem that way," Gwayne agreed, his smile widening into something more personal and intimate. He took a moment to glance around, then fixed his gaze back on me with a thoughtful expression.

"It seems we're destined to find each other in these delightful messes," he said with a playful lilt, his eyes sparkling with mischief. I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his boldness.

"Destined, you say?" I replied, my voice carrying a hint of amusement. "That's quite a romantic notion. I suppose it's one way to look at it."

"Indeed," he said, taking a step closer, his smile growing warmer. "And if our paths are to continue crossing, I wouldn't mind it at all, especially if it means having the chance to get to know you better."

A mixture of surprise and shyness flitted across my face. "You're quite forward, Ser Gwayne. I didn't realize you had such an interest in our... unexpected meetings."

"Why not?" he said with a teasing lift of his eyebrows. "After all, it's not every day you encounter someone so... breathtaking."

The compliment made my cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. I tried to maintain my composure, but his words stirred a blend of warmth and embarrassment within me. The gentle flirtation in his voice was both thrilling and unsettling, stirring emotions I had long kept in check.

"Careful now," I joked, trying to lighten the moment. "You might give the impression that you are quite fond of me."

"Perhaps I am," he murmured, closing the distance between us with a confident stride. His nearness sent an electric shiver through me, the space between us charged with unspoken possibilities.

My pulse quickened, a delicate dance of anticipation and hesitation unfolding in the closeness of his gaze.

In that moment, I struggled with the remnants of grief for my late husband. The thought of moving on felt like a betrayal, yet I was reminded that he was gone.

How long would I allow myself to be anchored by the weight of my sorrow?

Gwayne's presence offered a glimpse of something new and hopeful, but the conflict within me remained. I wanted to embrace the possibility of new beginnings, yet the shadows of the past loomed large.

"Ser Gwayne," I said softly, my voice trembling slightly as I searched for the right words. "I must admit, this is... unexpected. I'm still navigating through my own complexities."

"Of course," he said gently, his eyes filled with understanding. "I didn't mean to rush you or make you uncomfortable. I merely wanted to express that, should you find yourself open to it, I would be delighted to explore what might be between us."

His words were a balm to my conflicted heart, and I found myself both relieved and intrigued.

"I appreciate your honesty," I said, allowing myself a small, tentative smile. "And I am grateful for your company, however unexpected it may be."

Gwayne's smile softened, and he took a step back, giving me space but still holding my gaze with a warm intensity. "Whenever you're ready, I'll be here. Until then, I look forward to the next time our paths cross."

"Me too," I said, feeling a delicate flutter of hope amidst the uncertainty.

As he took his leave, I watched him walk away, a part of me eager for what might come next, while another part remained gently anchored to the past.

A/n - I'm so fascinated by Dorne I wish there was more we got of it both in HotD and GoT, I also have a whole completed fic written about this oneshot I just need the motivation and energy to post it!

Gwayne tag list - @deniixlovezelda @randomnerdyfan @callsign-blue

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd s2 #team green #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower x reader #ser gwayne #ser gwayne hightower #gwayne x you #gwayne fanfic

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writerquil · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, can I request a one-shot of Jax with a ballerina! reader? 👀, it can be romantic or platonic (she/her pronouns)

Jax x Ballerina Reader (FEM READER)

You'd tried your very hardest to avoid Jax ever since you'd first met him. And it wasn't just because of Ragatha's firm suggestions, it was also because the first time you'd interacted with him he'd smashed your porcelain arm and played it off as an accident.

Caine luckily could fix your arm with just a snap of his fingers but it offended you nevertheless and you'd made a point to stay away from him ever since.

Unfortunately for you, it just intrigued Jax further and egged him on.

He didn't directly approach you anymore and let you distance yourself but conducted mischievous pranks on you from afar instead.

It began with him laying a rat beneath your sheets, so when you uncovered it during night, it left you shrieking and hobbling away from your bed, drawing the attention of many other characters.

You slammed backwards onto the floor, holding out your fragile palms to steady yourself. Luckily nothing on your body had seemingly broke or cracked, but you barely acknowledged it as you jerked your head around the room in an attempt to watch the rat flee.

To your annoyance, the rat had scampered away just as they all peeked in.

Jax, who had joined the gawking characters at the entrance, cocked his head and grinned directly at you, eyeing your fallen position on the floor.

"Wow, rather ungraceful for a ballerina." He quipped smugly.

You glared right back, connecting the dots immediately.

You attempted to explain to the others that he'd planted a rat in your quarters but as Ragatha searched your room alongside you, in search of the pest, she discovered nothing.

"Maybe you just imagined it?" Ragatha guessed.

"You don't believe Jax would do such a thing?" You sighed back, smoothening down your leotard and grimacing.

"Well... he definitely would." Ragatha admitted. "I'm just surprised he's done it to you of all people."

"Why wouldn't he do it to me?" You asked in annoyance, placing your hands on your hips. "He's a prick."

Ragatha shrugged, giving you a slight smile.

"He just hasn't really insulted you much, not even behind your back."

You frowned; but shook it off.

Insults weren't needed when you tormented people instead... as annoying as it was, that was probably Jax's logic.

All you could really do now was prepare yourself for the second prank.

But this one was different.

You strolled through the circus, eyeing the combustion and flurries of colours with wary eyes. It was always overly colourful but these walks tended to help you clear your head and escape from Caine's wretched adventures so you took them anyway.

But of course, all things must come to an end and you reached the edge of the tent pretty quickly. You were preparing to swing back around again when suddenly voices rang out distantly from behind a green block.

You frowned. Who else could possibly be these deep into the tent as you were?

"...Somebody has to tell Caine to stop using Gloinks..." Ragatha grumbled.

"Doubt he will, he loves them." Zooble deadpanned. "Do you think that the newcomer will get swept away by them like me someday? She's really breakable."

You pressed up against the block, resisting the urge to peek.

"Hmm... maybe you guys will go back down to the queens nest together then, killing two birds with one stone." Jax said pleasantly.

Zooble audibly scoffed.

"Whatever. You'd come down to save her anyway. Your stupid little soft spot for her is so obvious!"

Jax's snarky protests were drowned out by Ragatha's giggles and eventually their footsteps echoed away until their voices finally faded completely.

You tried not to feel too special but it was a little difficult to drop the possibility of Jax even caring slightly for you and as you walked back to your quarters, narrowly avoiding gloinks, you could barely suppress the urge to beam or smirk triumphantly.

As you nudged your quarters door open suddenly you heard metal clink from above you and you glanced up to see a can of yellow paint, tipping straight over you.

You tried to avoid it but you were practically a deer caught in headlights at this point and it washed over you, leaving you to spit out paint.

Footsteps breezed by you accompanied by cheerful whistling, no doubt Jax.

But this time, you didn't feel as angry as you were before.

#the amazing digital circus #tadc x reader #tadc jax #tadc #jax #the amazing digital circus jax #jax x reader

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demonic0angel · 3 months ago

Note

Writing prompt time!

Fenton!Damian stealing pieces of Skulker's mech suit as they get knocked off during fights, eventually building his own ghost robot suit.

Danny blasted off Skulker’s arm and tried not to scream and draw attention to the fact that his little nephew was scurrying within the battlefield between them while carrying blown off pieces of metal. Damian scampered back and forth, picking up ectoplasm-infused metal sheets and ghostly copper wires from the floor. Shadow loyally followed along with things in its mouth, the both of them dodging all projectiles in the middle of the fight.

By the time, Danny was finished dismantling Skulker’s suit and capturing him in the thermos, Damian still wasn’t done, shoving a bunch of screws into his pocket.

“Alright, you little gremlin!” Danny said, in a teasing tone, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Damian giggled and looked at him with big eyes covered by the goggles that Danny once bought for him. “Shopping.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Danny said, poking him on the nose. “It’s dangerous to be here while I’m fighting, you know that. Where’s Jazz?”

“Mom gave me permission to see you.”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “… you didn’t tell her I was in the middle of a fight?”

Damian smiled with all of the mischievousness of a pre-teen boy and the cunning taught by a woman who learned from Spectre. “Nope. But it’s okay! Shadow is watching over me.”

The ghostly Ancient-turned-dog blinked its big, bulbous eyes.

“You are a little monster,” Danny said, pinching his cheek and pulling. His nephew was the cutest, most adorable child to ever live, but by the gods, was he a little manipulative brat. “You’re gonna be in soooooo much trouble.”

“No, I won’t!” Damian beamed.

“No, you won’t,” Danny conceded with a sigh. Because knowing Damian, what he was going to say next was—

“I’ll show you what I’m building if you keep quiet,” Damian said.

Danny rolled his eyes, but nodded anyways, since he wanted to see. “You show everyone your inventions to keep them silent. This is coercion, y’know, you’re making me an accomplice.” Damian began leading him towards Jazz’s house and into the basement door located in the backyard.

“I’ll sue you for slander,” Damian said pleasantly, “And as long as you don’t tell, no one will know.”

Danny groaned aloud. “Jazz turned you into a growing mob boss.”

Damian giggled again and finally flicked on the switch. Danny’s jaw dropped. In the middle of the basement floor, which was unofficially designated as Damian’s lab, was a mech suit that was partially completed. Danny turned to stare at Damian with wide eyes and a still open mouth.

Damian grinned. “Pretty cool, right? So you won’t tell Mom that I snuck around while you were fighting?”

Danny clicked his mouth shut. Once Jazz found out, she was going to freak. “Deal.”

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #ask #vangreer #ty for the ask <3 #damian grows up as a fenton au #damian wayne #jazz fenton #jazz + damian duo #jazz has a shadow friend

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bunny-jpeg · 4 months ago

Text

kink-o-ween - day 5

logan sargeant - shower sex

cw: smut/pwp, domestic smut, shower (bath) sex, reverse cowgirl, intimacy, slight body worship & breast play, established relationship

kink-o-ween: formula one edition - call of duty edition

you loved baths. ever since you were a teenager, scampering back from school at the end of a tiring day. you enjoyed the ritual of a bath, everything from the lights lowered to the soft scents of the soaps. while your selection as a teen was the local pharmacy or dollar store. now as an adult, the allure of a lush store sometimes got to you, which only added to your collection of sweet smelling bath items.

and when you started to date logan sargeant, you'd eventually turn him on to baths as well. especially with you.

logan hadn't really had a bath since he was a kid. he was more of a shower man, he loved a good hot shower after a day of racing. to feel the warm spray against his achy skin. but after the miami grand prix and back in the apartment you shared, he was a little more willing to indulge in your little habit of taking a bath.

you giggled a little, "see, it's not horrible." you squirmed a little bit in his lap as you got seated in it. the lights in the bathroom were low, you had lit a candle that was sitting on the sink counter and the room felt muggy in a good way.

your boyfriend kissed your cheek, "i might have to steal some of your things when i go to imola next week. have the guys wonder why i smell like lavender."

you kissed him once more, "it's not the worse smell in the world. it's a hell of a lot better than that one axe smell you bought where it smelled like lighter fluid." he tightened his arms around you and kissed your neck.

logan was an attentive lover. you had to give him credit for that. he always had a keen sense about you that honestly surprised you. you had never dated an athlete before you, but you heard stories. but, even with distance and time zones, he made sure that you knew he was thinking about you. from a photo of a sunset that reminded him of you to a place in some far off place he wanted to take you to sometime. you felt part of his world, even while back in america.

however, having him close physically was the best part. when he was home, he hung over you like a shadow. even now, with his lips at your neck and his arms around you. you felt secure against your lover, even with his cock prodding against your backside.

"i love you." he said softly as he took a small bite into your shoulder.

you moaned and steadied yourself with your hands on the edges of the tub. you replied, "i love you too." and looked over your shoulder. he looked at you and dropped his hands against your waist. you said, knowing where this was going, "we don't have a lot of room."

he replied, "that's fine. i don't mind." then watched you as you spread your legs a little further to allow him to slip his cock in under the bubbly water. you leaned a little forward with your hands on the edges of the tub.

it was hard for him to see past the bubbles to sink into you. but, he knew that feeling like a second skin. the feeling of his beautiful, stunning, amazing, perfect girlfriend sinking down onto his cock. the snug fit made him clench his fists so he didn't react too much. the space was small.

"fuck." he panted. he held onto your hips, feeling your soft skin and the water as he leaned forward to kiss the center of your back. it felt good. you felt good.

then again you always felt good. that wasn't a surprise. he moved his hips a little bit to meet your pace. it wasn't a rapid fire pace. steady rocks of your hips against each other. his kisses lingered onto your skin and he felt hot all over.

the sound of water gently splashing filled the bathroom paired with the echo of your soft moans and heavy breathing. you said to your lover, "logan. shit. honey. you feel so good. it feels like you've gotten bigger since you left. did you do something stupid to your cock." you choked out a small laugh and logan gripped your thigh tightly for a moment which made you clench around his cock.

"i just think you're not as used to me since i've been gone." he kissed the nape of your neck as you continued to move against him. the air of the room grew hotter and even the scent of the bath products felt stronger.

you whined, "well, it's not like i'm going to fuck anyone else. not even my toys feel as good as you feel." you arched your back a little as you felt the pleasure course through your body. it felt so good all over, it made your heartbeat skip with how it all felt.

the water lapped right up against the edge of the tub, threatening to spill over due to your motions. this felt good, good in a way that your nipples felt hard. logan only knew that they were because his large hands started to knead at them lovingly.

"next time." he said, "we're going to do this the right way. i want to see your pretty face and those pretty tits of yours."

"tits?" you giggled as you continued to move up and down his cock, you leaned a little further to get an angle that made you see stars. your eyes closed as you panted heavily. your heart pounded in your chest and the heat radiated off your body.

"yeah, they're pretty. i'm obsessed with them. remember when you wrote my name across them and i almost lost it?" you remembered that fondly and it made you giggle a little. he held onto them tightly, "i'm sorry. you're breasts. you're beautiful breasts." he laughed a little even though the pleasure was deep in his system.

what was the point of fucking a beautiful woman if you couldn't laugh a little. and he would describe your relationship with you as full of laughter. he kissed you once more and continued to move against you. you felt like a dream around him.

he wished he could pack you up and bring you around the world with him. see every corner you could go. but someone needed to finish their graduate program and logan wasn't getting in the way of that. so for now, it would be long distance but, he'd enjoy every second he got to feel close to you.

to be intimate with the woman he loved.

the water splashed over the edge of the tub from your faster movements. you clutched onto the edges of the tub for leverage to make sure that you were working his cock perfectly. logan's cheeks were stained pink. he could feel the leap in his chest as you continued to move against him. even if he couldn't see your face, he knew that it was twisted in pleasure. the wrinkle in your nose as you really got closer to your climax.

you finished first with a loud moan and logan picked up the pace to make sure he reached his climax as well. his cheek pressed against your back as he worked your sweet pussy. his praises for you were heavy and they made you feel warm all over. you felt loved by him, he was your beating heart as he could feel it through your back. the angle you were in felt good even if your knees were a little sore as was his back side from being in the tub for so long.

"fuck." he said as he finished inside of you with one final thrust. he clutched onto your hips to keep you up against him and you both heavily panted together. the swirl of pleasure in the humid bathroom felt good, but left your bodies feeling tacky.

you rested up against him and he wrapped his strong arms around you. he rested his chin against your shoulder and held you. his softening cock still inside of you.

you panted, "well, i guess we have to get clean again."

he sighed dramatically before he kissed you neck softly, "too bad. i like smelling like you. reminds me of home."

"i don't know if lavender can cover up the smell of sex." you giggled.

he held onto you tighter and you squirmed which made water hit the floor beside the tub. he kissed you and said, "well, one way to find out." <3

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imagine-darksiders · 1 month ago

Text

Angel of Highway 49 - chapter 4.

No Good Deed.

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Summary: You find out who put that money in your account. Optimus just wants to help. You're not sure it's ever that simple.

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

It’s a very rare thing for the ever-stoic Prime to lose his composure.

So rare, in fact, that in the months he’s known them, the children have never been privy to a single slip – not even when Jack and Bumblebee’s little fling with street-racing was brought to his attention.

Even then, as Optimus stood tall over his scout and the young teen under his care, he’d trusted his voice to remain even, stern, and steady whilst he told them, in no uncertain terms, just how disappointed he was in the pair of them.

He can still recall the little ‘oof,’ Bulkhead had mumbled nearby, and the sound of Miko sucking air through her teeth from up on the recreational platform.

Here, however, parked in vehicle mode across a dusty, country lane with his engine still thrumming forcefully in the wake of a very, very close call, Optimus isn’t sure he trusts his glossa not to falter if he attempts to speak.

He’d heard your question, of course, though his hidden gaze remains fixed attentively on the horizon line, and for several seconds, he has to concentrate on reeling in his alarm, quelling the drumfire of his spark as it lashes against its chamber.

That had been close…. Far too close.

The Prime’s overwrought processor trips on a single line of thought, replaying the same words over and over in a feedback loop that he struggles to disrupt.

If he hadn’t been travelling along this road at the right moment… If he’d arrived even a few seconds later… you might’ve-…

A firewall is brusquely slammed down in the middle of the runaway circuit, breaking him free of his own ruminations.

Ah… But it doesn’t do well for a Prime to brood on things that haven’t come to pass.

‘It’s those ‘what ifs, Optimus,’ Ratchet used to tell him, ‘They’ll drag a mech down to the Pit if they’re given too much deliberation.’ This all said in a knowing and pointed tone at the back of Optimus’s helm when the medic caught him gazing up at the stars a little too wistfully.

The passage of time creeps on with its usual indifference, and as the seconds fritter by and the desert wind gently carries the roar of Knockout’s engine further and further away - away from you - Prime’s defensive codes finally begin to ease, and the flared plating on his roof flattens down, slotting back into place as seamlessly as they had been before they sprang out in an attempt to make himself look larger for the Con threatening you.

He almost lost you, he realises. An innocent. A human whose only offence was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time…

In a sudden burst of haste, he tears his sights off the skyline and subjects you to a thorough once-over, sweeping his optics up and down your body from head to toe.

Twin plumes of air shoot from his smokestacks when his scanners flag the specks of blood beading on your elbows, and the hand you’ve curled over your right shoulder that betrays an injury laying below your epidermis.

You, however, have no idea you’re being so closely examined. All you know is that your timely saviour has been exceptionally quiet for quite some time, save for his truck’s engine growling in your ears. In fact, your question as to who the man in the Aston is goes unanswered for long enough that you eventually manage to drag your eyes away from the now empty horizon and glance up at the blacked-out windscreen of Optimus’s Peterbilt.

Even with the sun-baked tarmac throwing ample heat up all around you, you still feel a prickle of ice scampering up your spine as you peer up into that flat, impassive pane of glass.

The Aston’s windscreen had been just as dark, if you recall.

“… Optimus?” you fret, tinny and hesitant.

Another bout of silence drags on until you start to wonder if the truck’s speakers are malfunctioning because of the crash. But a moment later, the vehicle beside you promptly shudders around its metal frame, and its engine kicks out another deep, reverberating growl.

“That,” Optimus chews out at last, punctuating the word with a quiet but decisive grunt, “Is someone you will never have to worry about again…” Then, after a beat, the flinty edge to his voice turns soft and velvety once more as the man behind the microphone heaves a weary sigh and adds, “Not if I have any say in the matter.”

Privately, you have to admit that it’s a relief to hear his gentler cadence again.

Turning back towards the road, your brow furls into a subtle frown and you blow a noisy breath through your pursed lips in an attempt to disguise the tremor in your limbs, shivering despite the sweat still prickling at your temples. “Hmm…,” you utter, troubled, “I hope to god you’re right.”

At least he’s confirmed what you suspected; whoever was behind the wheel of that Aston Martin is dangerous.

So… why did he turn tail when Optimus pulled his truck up?

Slowly, as the moment stretches on and all you can do is bask in the bitter relief of being alive, the hand on your shoulder rubs tenderly at the bruise you just know will be forming in the next few hours.

You nearly jump out of your skin when a careful presence nudges at the same arm, warm and solid against your elbow.

Snapping your head sideways, you blink widely, surprised to find that Optimus has somehow managed to inch his enormous Peterbilt forwards so heedfully that the metal of its grill presses up against your side with the barest sliver of pressure, lending you a surface to lean your weight against should you need it.

In spite of the circumstances that have just transpired, you can’t quite refrain from raising your eyes over the top of the grill and offering the windscreen a small, wobbly tilt of your lips, letting your body rest against the humming metal with a grateful exhale.

All at once, Optimus’s voice spills into the space around you, filtering through his invisible speakers and buzzing pleasantly inside your chest.

“Are you hurt?” he asks in as gentle a timbre as you’ve heard from him yet, a far cry from the authoritative, borderline savage tone he’d used to fend off the Aston driver.

You ponder his question, sparing a glance at your tender shoulder and rolling it experimentally, only to suppress a wince at the ensuing twinge of pain. For Optimus’s sake though, you stiffen your upper lip and offer a shake of your head that you’re not even sure he can see.

“I’ll live,” you say blithely.

His ensuing hum smacks of discontentment. “That is not what I asked.”

“I’m fine,” you reiterate, physically flapping away his concern, “It’s Tom who-... Oh, god. Tom!”

In an instantly regrettable move, you use your sore arm to shove yourself up off the truck’s grill and clamp your mouth shut to smother a pitiful whimper.

“There was another with you?” Optimus asks urgently.

Shaking off the pain, you fist a hand into your hair and tug anxiously at the strands, marching several paces away from the truck to stare down the road with a lip stuffed between your teeth. You can’t even see the shire horse anymore, your line of sight broken up by sparse bushes and pillars of orange rock.

Is he heading back to the dairy?

You can only hope so.

“Tom! He’s my horse,” you explain miserably, “Well, not my horse. Terry’s horse, but I was borrowing him to do a job for Terry, and then I fell off when that maniac sped by and I – I-!” You have to stop and suck down a shaking breath, your eyes stinging and blurring over with tears that you furiously swipe away with the back of your wrist. “I can’t believe I lost him! God, Terry’s gonna kill me!”

“He’s going to what?” Optimus demands as another burst of smoke erupts from the Peterbilt’s stacks.

“Hopefully not literally,” you add as an afterthought, mostly to yourself, “He gave me one job… One job, and I managed to cock that up as well.”

Optimus is silent behind you, but you can hear the crackling sand under the wheels of his truck as it rolls forwards, and you start to feel the warmth of its metal on your back.

“I hope you are not suggesting that any of this was your fault,” he informs you pointedly.

You can’t resist a derisive scoff at your own expense, turning around to face the truck and tipping your palms helplessly towards the ever-darkening sky. “You see anyone else around here to blame?” you ask with a hitch in your voice.

He might have said something in response, but your brain doesn’t register the words because at that moment, you catch your first glimpse of the other side of his truck, and a gasp jumps out of your throat, interrupting his satiny reassurances.

“Oh, Optimus,” you lament, laying a hand over your heart and venturing slowly back to the Peterbilt where you hesitate at its side, blinking wetly down at the warped metal and flecked paint; battle wounds from a vehicle that had borne the brunt of a violent collision. Your voice is thick with regret when you choke, “Your lovely truck!”

Said truck’s engine kicks out a sudden rev before it settles again, and Optimus clears his throat. “Ah, the damage is merely cosmetic,” he reassures you, “I am–… My vehicle’s systems are functioning optimally.”

And then, for some reason, his semi rolls back a few yards, bringing the tall bonnet of the vehicle level with you again. “It is you I am concerned about,” the driver adds sternly.

“Well, you shouldn’t be…” Suddenly anxious for an entirely different reason, you meander sideways back down the length of the truck and stretch out your fingertips, touching them gently to the crumpled metal and drawing them in a careful stroke along to the seam where the driver’s side door opens.

Blowing out a harsh breath through your cheeks, you flick a glance up to the window and say, “It looks bad, Optimus. This’ll be an expensive repair.”

Beneath your tiny fingertips, the engine pulses with powerful, steady beats, like the metal itself is has a working heart.

“Y/n…” he rumbles.

But you’re not finished.

Something has just dawned on you; the ugly truth that if it weren’t for you, none of this damage would be here.

“I… This is…” Stepping backwards, you lower your gaze to your wringing hands, brows pinched together and squeezing towards the centre of your forehead. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t have to save me…”

The gears in your head start to turn, and after a trembling inhale, you force out, “It’s my fault, so I… I should pay for the repairs.”

You aren’t expecting him to snap your name so jarringly.

“Y/n.” Spoken, not shouted, but nonetheless his voice cuts through you like a hammer strike and sends you jerking back a step, mouth agape as you stare up at the driver’s window.

“Do you truly believe-” he starts, taking an audible pause as if to keep himself in check. Your eyes drift to the noticeably shuddering smokestacks. “- that I would value currency over the pricelessness of a human life? Of your life?”

For an awkward stretch of time, your mouth falls open and clicks shut as you flounder for a response. Befuddled, you squint up at the darkened window as if you might find some insight in the reflection of the desert landscape.

The truth of the matter is you simply don’t understand him.

He doesn’t even know you. In an ideal world, of course a life is more valuable than money. But your world is far from ideal. Growing up, it was impressed upon you that if you broke something that belonged to someone else, you paid to replace or fix it.

Hell, even going as far back as your school days, you can still remember the time you kicked a friend’s football over the fence where it bounced onto the main road and was promptly squashed by a passing car. The very next day, you went out to buy him a new one.

‘It was your fault,’ your father told you gruffly as he watched you upend your piggy bank and count out your hard-earned pocket money through watery eyes, ‘So you gotta pay for it.’

And yes, you recall thinking, that made sense.

The logic still carries over here, years down the line, albeit in very different circumstances with very much more money potentially involved.

If you hadn’t fallen off Tom, you wouldn’t have antagonised that driver, and Optimus wouldn’t have had to sacrifice his own truck to stop you from getting crushed flat by a drugged-out trafficker.

“But…” Rendered supremely uncertain by his conviction, you try to impress upon him the seriousness of the damage by gesturing to it with a weak flap of your hand. “But your truck…”

“-Can be repaired,” he responds patiently, if with a barely-there touch of exasperation, like you’re the one baffling him, “A life is not so easily replaced. And I will not have you paying for any damage I have sustained. I do not need, nor do I want your money.”

Is he suggesting that you get off Scot-free?

Well. That’s just…

Dumb.

It’s dumb. How are you supposed to learn from your mistakes if you never have to pay for them?

It’s the kind of thing someone for whom money is no object would say.

Perhaps, a small voice in the back of your head suddenly pipes up, briefly forgotten in the chaotic swirl of adrenaline and emotion, this is for the best.

It’s laughable, really. Here you are, offering to pay for repairs to a truck when you don’t even have enough money to pay for a-….

… Oh.

The weight of your phone suddenly begins to burn a hole in your pocket, as does the mysterious sum sitting prettily in your bank account.

In all honesty, it had entirely slipped your mind.

All at once, the air around you grows charged, unspoken words hanging between you and your timely saviour like blows ready to be traded.

The smokestacks on top of the semi shudder and kick out twin plumes of light grey fumes.

“Optimus,” you begin slowly, your voice tired but guarded, and just a little colder than intended, “There’s… something I need to ask you.”

And even though you half-expect it, you still flinch when the driver’s door suddenly pops open, swinging out wide in invitation.

“I will answer as best I can. But first, I am taking you somewhere safe,” Optimus tells you, and at to begin with, his tone is stern and leaves no room for argument. But after a second, you hear him sigh heavily, and the truck’s body creaks on its axles as its driver lowers his voice to gently prod, “You require medical attention. There is a clinic in town that…”

He trails off as you fold your arms over your chest and pointedly disregard the open door, instead levelling a severe frown up into the cab, standing your ground. “Out of the question.”

“Y/n…”

“I’m only getting into this truck if you promise to take me straight to Terry’s Dairy,” you say, “Otherwise, I’m walking.”

A light on the dashboard flickers brightly for a second before Optimus softly points out, “You are injured.”

Clicking your tongue, you ignore his very valid observation to primly retort, “Oh, don’t be daft. I fell off a horse, I didn’t break my leg.” And to prove your own point, you turn on your heel and begin to wander stiffly up the road.

Perhaps that had been foolish, given how surely you’re going to feel those blossoming bruises in the morning, but it’s far too late to draw to a halt now and show your hand.

As you might have expected, it’s not even a second later that you hear the hiss of brakes being decompressed, and the rumble of the semi’s engine as it pulls onto the road, rolling along behind you for several paces while Optimus calls, “If you will insist upon not seeking medical expertise, then I will, of course, bring you back to the Dairy. But… please, do not exacerbate your injuries.”

That, at the very least, gets you to stop. Privately, you’re relieved to. A fresh twinge in your knee suggests you may have bumped more than just the one shoulder. And in all honesty, you’re not exactly keen on traipsing up the same road that speedster had just driven along, all by yourself.

And there’s still the matter of the burning question you’ve been meaning to ask Optimus…

Hanging your head, you brace a hand on your hip and sigh through your nose as the massive truck coasts to a gentle stop beside you, shading you from the setting sun.

Without having to look, you know the passenger door now sits open, waiting for you to embark.

In your heart of hearts, you’re already praying that you’re wrong about all of this. That Optimus isn’t the person who put that money into your account. But the more you hear from him, the more it strikes you as something he might just be able - and willing - to pull off.

But why?

Nobody is that nice. Nobody gives ten thousand to a stranger they just met. You can’t help but wonder if he has an ulterior motive?

‘Paranoia is unbecoming,’ your mother told you after you complained that the latest in her string of lovers was paying just a little too much attention to the contents of your laundry basket.

You don’t mean to be paranoid, it’s just….

“Ahem…” Somehow, he manages to offer the politest cough you’ve ever heard.

Innocent until proven guilty, right?

“Right,” you decide under your breath, pivoting towards the truck and finding that, yes, the door is indeed wide open in invitation.

Inclining your head to peer up at the cab, you reach out for the grab handle and say, “Straight back to the dairy, all right?”

Optimus doesn’t hesitate, perhaps knowing that any pause would be immediately noted.

“You have my word,” he tells you solemnly, unable to resist adding, “Though I think it would be prudent of you to reconsider.”

With a half-hearted tut, you slide your fingers around the warm band of metal and haul yourself up onto the first step.

Or at least you try to.

In hindsight, it was rather stupid to grab the handle with your right hand. The hand connected to your right shoulder. The same shoulder you landed on when you fell from Tom, and again when you threw yourself to the ground to avoid becoming a smear across a handsome, scarlet bonnet.

You’re not even in the air for a second when a shooting streak of agony lances straight across your shoulder blades and jabs an unseen, red-hot poker into the muscle just below your neck.

Your eyes bulge open wide, and your mouth parts to suck in a choked gasp. But worse still, your fingers promptly go slack on the handle and then slip off as your entire body begins to tip backwards, one foot still in the air behind you, and the other perched precariously on the truck’s step.

It wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t been falling at such an awkward angle, but right as you squeeze your eyes shut and prepare for yet another painful jolt through your coccyx-

“Ough!” A clumsy shout is knocked from your lungs when something snakes around your left forearm and goes taut.

Just like that, your impromptu tumble comes to a jarring halt.

Your eyes flash open, blinking widely up into the cab.

You can still feel the leg extended out behind you, dangling uselessly above the ground. And you’re still aware that the heel of your other boot is balanced on the hard metal edge of the step. You’re being held in place, anchored to the semi by the thin, grey seatbelt that’s whipped out to wrap itself several times over around your forearm.

Did you…. Grab it? Somehow? When you…

But no.

It had to have moved. It had to. Hell, it’s still moving.

Even now, you can feel the fabric shift and tighten against your skin as it reels you steadily in towards the door, like it has a mind of its own…

“What… kind of truck did you say this was?” you ask dumbly, letting your hand fumble for the door handle when it’s guided there by the belt.

“Fully remote-accessed,” Optimus rumbles cryptically.

And yeah. You can see that.

The belt is still looped around your arm when you’re half tugged, half helped into the cab proper, and it only comes loose when you gather enough wits to actually pry it off, picking at the fabric with shaking fingers until it goes slack, and you can slide it over your lap and into the catch with a ‘click.’

Slowly, you withdraw your hands, eyeing the belt as if it might spring to life again at any moment.

“Remote-accessed seatbelts?” you breathe dubiously, quirking a brow at the empty driver’s seat for lack of anyone to make eye contact with.

Sensibly, Optimus doesn’t reply, and soon enough, the uniform purr of the truck’s engine kicks up underneath you as it starts to drive, settling into a deliberately sedate pace along the road to Terry’s farm.

“… You had a question for me,” Optimus prods no more than a few seconds after you’ve driven off.

Straight and to the point. He isn’t beating around any bushes, not like you are, apprehensive of a potential confrontation.

It… quite suddenly occurs to you that you’ve just entered the truck of a man you’ve interacted with exactly once before today. A man who apparently has… an unusual amount of control over his own vehicle…

Jesus, no wonder Terry thinks you’re a dunce.

And yet you’re not here to marvel over the wonders and advancements of modern technology. You’ve never been especially tech-savvy. You know your way around a smart phone and a computer just as much as the next person. But you’re well aware there are concepts out there in the works that you simply haven’t fathomed yet.

You shift uncomfortably in the clean leather seats, eyeing the dried manure that’s caking the sides of your boots, and grimace. “I did,” you finally say in response to Optimus’s prompt. Then, straightening up a little and dragging your eyes up to the road ahead… “I do.”

You’re not sure about the question any more though. Suddenly, you feel unprepared. While you’d resolved to confront Optimus about the money, you realise now that you never actually gave any thought as to how you’d react if he confirms your suspicions.

And now that he’s most likely just saved your life, you find yourself in an even more unenviable predicament.

“Look, before I say anything else,” you start, scrubbing your hands over your thighs, “I wanted to say thank you. For showing up back there. I really am grateful. Sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

Optimus’s gentler-than-average tone seeps into the cab, surrounding you in with its deep, warm hum that distracts you from the lingering ache in your shoulder.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he tells you sincerely, “I would do it again in a sp-… in a heartbeat.”

You chalk up the skip in his voice to a speaker malfunction.

Lowering your stare to the footwell once again, you purse your lips and click your tongue, feeling guilty now that you’re about to accuse him of anything. Optimus is, as you figured last night, the good sort. He wouldn’t be so underhanded as to invade your privacy like that, would he?

Only one way to find out…

“Optimus,” you begin, hooking your thumbs over each other and squeezing, “Last night, when I managed to charge my phone, I saw something odd.”

All he does is make a soft sound of affirmation through his speakers, coaxing you wordlessly to continue.

“It was my bank account,” you say in a rush, “There was some money in there… A lot of money. Money that, ah… wasn’t in it yesterday morning.”

“Mm,” he hums, curious. Innocent.

You start to doubt yourself.

“You wouldn’t…. happen to know anything about that, would you?”

You’d been expecting any number of responses.

Maybe an incredulous laugh? Maybe some sort of flimsy excuse if he was the culprit.

What you aren’t expecting, however, is for Optimus to offer a very mellow, very straightforward, “Yes. I sent it to you. I hope it sufficed.”

Everything, absolutely everything – the drug-dealer, nearly being the victim of a hit-and-run, the lost Shire horse, the trouble you’ll no doubt be in with Terry when you get back – it all gets shoved to the wayside, and your mind comes to a screeching halt.

Very stiffly, you lift your head, staring with unseeing eyes through the windscreen.

“You what?”

The worst part about it is, he really has the gall to sound confused when he elaborates, “I sent it. I have no use for the money. With you, I thought it would be put to good use…”

“It was you,” you realise quietly, incredulous.

And then, as if your head wasn’t already reeling. “I… apologise if ten thousand was an insufficient sum,” he murmurs.

Insufficient.

Insu-fucking-ficient?

“Ten thousand….” Your lips peel back over your teeth, gradually exposing the gums as you twist your neck around to aim a baleful glare at the driver’s seat. “You dropped… ten thousand into my bank account…” Then, balling your hands into fists, you let out a derisive laugh and bellow, “Are you out of your goddamn mind!?”

The steering wheel suddenly rolls to the side as if it’s flinching away from your unexpected outburst, and in doing so, the whole vehicle veers out into the middle of the road before righting itself once more, smoothly drifting back over into its lane.

For his part, Optimus is firstly mortified that he’d made such an erratic movement that could have further worsened your injuries, and secondly shocked at the sudden outcry from the little human in his cab.

Of all the responses he expected from you, he didn’t anticipate one that would be quite so explosive.

At once, he angles his rearview mirror towards your face, relieved that you don’t seem to notice the motion, and analyses the expression darkening your delicate features.

Lips drawn back to reveal your teeth – a typical human threat display. Eyes wide and wild, pupils small even in the dim light of his cab.

He’d write it off as anger… if anger and fear didn’t look so much alike. He’s seen plenty of both, enough to recognise one from the other if he pays attention.

In an instant, Optimus’s frame wilts around him, his tyres slowing to a crawl on the dusty road.

He’s frightened you. Again.

Though this time he isn’t sure that he understands why.

It seldom happens that the Prime is lost for worst, but right now, the diplomatist in him can’t come up with anything more than an inelegant, “Pardon?”

Which, judging by the thunderous cloud that descends over your eyes, was the wrong thing to come back with.

If you would just tell him what the problem is, he’ll fix it, in any way he can.

He braces himself for another shout, but is surprised when your voice doesn’t reach that same crescendo again. Apparently, you’d even startled yourself.

Even so, there’s still no shortage of venom in your tone when you snap, “You can’t just-! Just GIVE ten thousand dollars to someone! And right after I told you I wasn’t a charity!”

Ah… He wonders if this is a matter of pride…

“You needed it,” he tells you calmly, sending a soothing pulse through the air before he once again recalls that you’re not a Cybertronian, “I did not.”

“THAT-!”

Back to shouting. He’s usually better at this.

“-IS COMPLETELY BESIDES THE POINT!”

Optimus finds himself tied for words again. If he could just explain to you that human money really has no value to him, you’d probably understand. The US Government give him a relatively generous stipend to spend on certain necessities should the need ever arise.

He’s barely had to dip into it at all though, and only ever for things like the base’s monitors, some structurally sound sofas for the children, that new laptop Rafael couldn’t afford but had somehow turned up in the boy’s backpack regardless…

All things that barely made a dent in the sum Optimus currently has sitting in limbo.

What better use for unspent funds than to give them to someone who really needs them?

If you would only allow him to help you-

“You were totally out of line, doing that!” you continue, breathing hard, “Not only was it a… a gross invasion of my boundaries, but it also looks completely suspicious!”

Briefly, Optimus wonders if you ever studied medicine. There’s a certain medic he knows who would get a kick out of seeing his old friend being scolded by somebody one-twentieth his size.

But your words do give him pause.

An invasion of your boundaries… That, he finds most concerning. Thinking back on it, you did say you’d have to respectfully decline his offer of financial assistance…. But he only meant to….

Ah. He may be starting to see where he’s put a foot wrong.

It isn’t for him to decide why you shouldn’t be upset. It’s for him to acknowledge that you are, and that he’s the reason for it.

“I mean, do I even want to know how you managed to pull off a transfer like that!? Wait! Don’t even tell me! I don’t!” you steamroll over the plausible excuse he was about to give you, “Just-! Just do me one favour.”

Optimus is only too happy to jump on the opportunity to make things right again. Again, he can hear Arcee scoffing in his audials, deriding him for needing the approval of a human he’s just met. Regardless, he pushes her snark to the side and speeds up as he earnestly replies, “Name it.”

The look you’re giving his empty seat is as fearsome as you can no doubt make it, but that doesn’t disguise the moisture building behind your delicate eyelids. Something about what comes next is hard for you. He doesn’t miss that.

“Take it back,” you try to say evenly, squeezing the fabric of his seatbelt between quivering fingers.

Optimus’s spark twists with indecision. You need the money. He knows it, you know it. What are you punishing yourself for? “… Are you certain?” he stresses.

“You got it in there, you can damn well draw it out again,” you bark, giving a hard sniff that does little to stop the tiny bead of salty water from spilling onto your lashes, “Take it back!”

You won’t let him help you.

The Prime’s EM field hums, troubled. He’s only slightly glad you can’t pick up on it like his team could.

‘This human is not your charge, Optimus,’ a voice that sounds suspiciously like Ratchet’s pipes up at the back of his processor.

But if not his, then whose? You’re all by yourself out here, you confirmed that much last night.

But this distress… This isn’t what he wants. If trying to help you like this only leads to suspicion and upset, then he’ll have to take a step back and reassess his angle, like any good pragmatist.

You jump a few inches off the seat when the phone in your shirt pocket vibrates with a shrill ‘ding!’

Casting a chary glare at the truck’s steering wheel, you fish the phone out and tap its screen with your thumb, lighting up the interior of the cab in cool, blue light.

There’s a message on the screen. Short, and bittersweet, headed by the name of your bank.

‘£8,000 has been withdrawn from your account.’

A single eyebrow slides up your forehead. “All of it please, Optimus.”

“….”

‘Ding!’

‘£2000 has been withdrawn from your account.’

There. It’s done. You feel a crushing weight lift instantly from your chest.

“Thank you,” you sigh loudly, sagging backwards against his seat with a tiny smile.

“If it is of any consolation,” he begins in that soft timbre of his, “Causing you this undue distress was the furthest thing from my mind.”

You… think you believe him. Or maybe you just want too badly to believe that there are really people out here who only want to help. You want to believe him, which is why it hurts so much that you don’t.

Because something else has just occurred to you.

That Aston driver… you’re fairly certain he’s caught up in bad business. If not the drug trade, then some other equally awful affair. And he’d driven off the moment Optimus arrived. But he’d shown up less than twenty-four hours after Optimus put all that money into your account? For no apparent reason?

There are dots here. And you’re connecting them with flimsy, frayed string, but they all seem to be coming together… somehow. Because this can’t all be a coincidence, can it?

A mysterious truck driver just happens to find some drifter walking into town without a penny to their name, someone who had left their entire family behind them to start a new life. Someone who wouldn’t necessarily be missed. And that drifter just happens to have a suspicious amount of money dumped into their account one day, only to get attacked by a faceless driver the next?

You don’t know what Optimus is hiding….

But you’re starting to smell a rat.

Blearily, your eyes drift over to the windscreen and you focus on the view beyond, noticing that the sky is far darker now, and the twinkling lights of Terry’s dairy have risen up over the curve of the road to meet you.

“You can drop me here,” you murmur, spent from the relief and from raising your voice, “I can walk the rest.”

“I wish I could comply with your request, Youngling, especially after what I’ve done, but… regrettably there is a matter of grave importance that I must bring to your attention.”

You wheeze out a subdued laugh. Of course there is.

“That… driver,” Optimus continues, “I’m afraid he is more dangerous than you realise.”

“Yeah… yeah I’m well aware of just how dangerous he is,” you grumble, scratching the bend of one elbow and grimacing at the dried blood under your fingernail, “Whatever. I’ll call the police and they’ll track him down.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t quite that simple,” he explains with the pointed patience of a man trying to explain something rather simple to a child, “You see, that… driver now knows your face. And worse still, I fear, he knows that you and I are acquainted.”

You don’t know if you’re imagining the quiet whine of his engine when Optimus sighs deeply and adds, “It is entirely my fault that you are now in danger, but I could not just… I would never just sit back and allow him to hurt you.”

Danger?

Your stomach sinks down through the soles of your boots.

Son of a bitch, you knew this guy was too good to be true.

With your suspicions all but confirmed, you give a sudden jab at the seatbelt catch, barely pausing to see if it’s come loose before you twist in your seat to give the door handle a sudden, vicious yank, though the whole thing remains sealed tight.

You don’t hear Optimus grunt in surprise.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Let me out,” you tell him as calmly as you can.

Optimus’s brakes engage, but he doesn’t open the door, preoccupied with trying to coax you back into your seat. “Y/n, please listen to me, I am trying to help you understand-“

“-Understand what!?” you blurt, still fruitlessly trying the handle, “That your buddy back there wouldn’t have tried to kill me if he didn’t know you’d stashed the money on me?”

“I-… I beg your pardon?”

“Save it,” you snap, giving up on the handle and instead trying to pry the lock out of its slot beside the window, “Just let me out, and I’ll forget about this whole thing. You’ll never have to speak to me again. I won’t tell anyone just-!”

Alarm flares through the Prime’s circuitry. This is quickly getting out of hand. You’ve misunderstood in perhaps the worst way possible. He doesn’t want to never speak to you again. Quite the opposite, in fact-

A fist suddenly connects with his dashboard, startling Optimus into returning his focus to you, and to your frantic, haggard expression.

“Damnit, Optimus!” you yelp, curled up as close to his door as you can get, “You let me out of this truck right now!”

And Optimus, registering the high levels of cortisol flooding into your system, doesn’t delay a moment longer, unlocking his passenger door with a dull ‘click.’

You’d have fallen straight out of him if he hadn’t kept the door hinges stiff to catch you against it, opening it just gradually enough that you can shove against it in your haste to scramble out, but not fast enough to lose your balance and topple head over heels onto the sand.

‘Fix this,’ a whispering voice tells him, his own, no doubt. And he will, for your own safety, he has to.

But right now, you’re shutting his door with more gentleness than he’s sure you want to exert, and staggering away from him, rounding the back of his vehicle mode rather than move up front. Whatever conclusions you’ve drawn, you’ve drawn in tight, and you don’t look like you’re willing to let them go.

“Listen,” you start with a gleam in your eye that’s trying so much to be hard and unaffected, but to the Prime’s scrutiny only seems scared and betrayed, “Thank you for saving me, thank you for trying to help, but whatever it is you’ve got going on, Optimus, I want nothing to do with it.”

“Y/n,” he calls after you, rolling off the road after you as you veer in a straight line towards the start of the dairy farm’s drive, “Please-“

“-Leave me alone!” He doesn’t miss the hitch in your throat.

Dejected, Optimus’s wheels grind to a halt on the sand, and there he sits, watching you retreat further and further into the darkness with a limp to your step and one hand cupped over your wounded shoulder.

The Prime’s matrix is roiling in his chest.

Heaving a mechanical sigh, he sinks on his metal struts and pulls up the last few minutes of conversation to the forefront of his processor.

With your face now undoubtedly fixed in Knockout’s crosshairs, there’s no question that you’re already more involved than he ever intended for you to be. Guilt… isn’t something he should dwell on. But the tears in your eyes… put there by Optimus himself…

The engine of a great semi-truck roars to life, and the metal titan carefully backs out onto the road behind him, never once taking his optics off the tiny figure in front of him as it disappears into an old, tumbledown farmhouse.

#I need to proof read this when I get back #Optimus Prime #Transformers #Reader #Fluff #protective Optimus #Whump #Worry wart #Dadtimus Prime #hurt/comfort

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synamartia · 4 months ago

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“ Need A Hand … ? „

�� Let's make your thoughts a reality … „

synopsis ┊ ◜ For the weeks following your one-night stand, Alastor was beside himself with a desire still fairly new to him - his mind constantly occupied with thoughts of you and your shared evening. Night after night, he would watch you from the shadows, a familiar ache in the pits of his belly winding tighter and tighter as you tried to recreate the very same event in your mind's eye with your silicone toy. Eventually, having had enough of your failed attempts at self-gratification, Alastor takes pity on your tortured soul and decides to offer his assistance . . . ◞ wc ┊ ◜ 4,130 ◞ warnings ┊ ◜ Alastor x Reader ✧ Afab!Reader ✧ Non-sex repulsed Alastor ✧ No pronouns or Y/N used ✧ Explicit / 18+ Only / MDNI ✧ Sexual situations ✧ Slight Stalker!Alastor ✧ Shower masturbation (Reader) ✧ Mutual masturbation ✧ Vaginal fingering ✧ Tentacles ✧ Hand job ◞ notes ┊ ◜ Can't believe we're already two weeks down! Time sure does fly when you're having fun, huh? Go check out last week's work linked down below on the Coven's Kinktober 2024 masterlist, and don't forget to give some likes, a few reblogs, and a follow to my darling wives~! Heaven and hell knows they deserve it! And to all my Haunted fans: this was a scene I had planned out for Haunted, but decided to cut it after writing 4+ chapters of pure smut. I wanna try to focus on the plot real soon! But don't worry, there will be more sexy times in that series! So for now, enjoy this little snippet~! ◞ links ┊ ◜ syn's masterlist ✧ coven kinktober 2024 ◞

It was only supposed to be a one-night stand; a friend helping out another friend; a one-off occurrence contingent entirely upon your careless mistakes and Alastor's prowess as a deal-making sinner. Weeks had gone by, and you hadn't uttered a single word to one another about it, dancing around the subject almost as if you were afraid to speak of it. As if talking about it outside the safe confines of Alastor's bedroom would make the heated memories disappear and any unspoken thoughts or desires evaporate into thin air, along with the few scraps that remained of your now tattered business relationship and friendship.

But you still found your mind wandering back to that night, struggling to hide the way your cheeks would flush a bright red at the memories flooding your brain; how your voice would crack with both nervousness and excitement when speaking to him about an issue with the hotel or a resident; or how you would rub your thighs together for the smallest bit of friction when he would enter the room and flash you that wide grin of his, the knowledge of your endeavors dancing behind carmine irises.

And in the late hours of the night, after everyone in the hotel had long since gone to bed, you would desperately try to recreate your experience in your mind's eye as your fingers drew fast circles on your clit, your silicone toy plunging deeper and deeper into your needy cunt - Alastor's voice at the forefront of your mind, coaxing you closer and closer, just as he did back then. But you failed every single time; your imagination was simply not enough to get you there, your fingers and toy nothing but a cheap imitation.

It had become a nightly ritual of sorts; when it wasn't done properly, Alastor felt more restless than usual - unable to read more than a single paragraph of his favorite book or properly hunt the deer scampering through his bayou pocket dimension without it. At the end of the day, after all of Charlie's redemption exercises and your basic duties as an employee, you would immediately slink off to your room under the false pretense of exhaustion from a long day's work.

Although you were none the wiser, Alastor was never far behind, slipping into the shadows as you stripped yourself of the hotel's uniform the second you heard the lock on your door click into place. A rush of pride would wash over the Radio Demon when he noticed that you were wearing the new undergarments he'd gifted you, to replace the ones he'd made a mess of so many nights ago - followed by a sense of possession when he eyed the faint bruises and scratch marks on your thighs and breasts that had yet to fully heal.

Once completely nude, your discarded clothing laying in a heap at the foot of your bed, you would saunter off to the connected bathroom, turning the knobs of your shower until steam filled the small space, obscuring your view of anything more than five feet away. He'd listen quietly as you washed off the day's dirt and grime, the hot water relaxing your tense muscles and lulling you into a false sense of security and solitude, the now all too familiar scent of your shampoo wafting through the air and clouding his senses. And he would wait patiently for that tell-tale sigh; the same one you made when he touched you, signaling that his new favorite broadcast was about to start.

The steam was thick, making it so that your silhouette was all Alastor could see as you removed the detachable shower head from its hook, tracing the steel object down your front until you felt it against your heated core. Excitement coursed through his veins as he imagined the expressions you were making, hands gripping tight his microphone as his own muscles flexed beneath his now much too restricting clothes. Eventually, you would begin to moan quietly as the pleasure began to build, raising your leg high enough to rest your foot on the grab bar, using your free hand to spread your folds apart and turning the head until the warm water sprayed directly on your clit.

And when he caught a faint whisper of his name as it fell from your lips, he would sink his teeth into the inside of his cheek to keep himself silent. It was a grand symphony, the sounds you made, and the last thing Alastor wanted to do was interrupt such a beautiful performance before its crescendo and climactic end. He waited with bated breath as your moans rose in volume, your hips moving involuntarily as you chased that elusive high, but like so many nights before, it wasn't enough. Your body felt tense once more as you teetered on the edge of release, unable to push yourself off that cliff despite your intense desire for the freefall into ecstasy.

Soon, the pleasure died down, your orgasm eluding you once again and you eventually gave up on the shower head, a frustrated groan slipping from your throat as you moved to shut off the water. Alastor dissolved into the shadows just before you stepped out of the tub, reaching for a towel folded neatly on a nearby shelf and wrapping it around your body. Careful not to enter your line of vision, he manifested nearby and admired your skin, beads of water rolling down your body to be absorbed by the plush fabric wrapped around your torso and upper thighs, or the bath rug beneath your feet.

For a split second, Alastor had gotten distracted by a faint bite mark behind your left ear made by him during your escapades, and barely avoided being caught in the mirror when you wiped away the thick layer of steam and condensation blocking your view.

Blissfully unaware of your company, you went about your usual nighttime routine, starting with your dental hygiene, then your skin care, then your hair. By the time you finished gently raking your brush through your damp tangles, your skin had dried almost completely despite the humidity of the steamy bathroom, and you discarded your used towel in the hamper near the door as you reentered the main room of your suite. Your frustration was clear by your stiff movements as you made your way to your wardrobe for a fresh set of undergarments and pajamas.

He almost felt bad enough to end your nightly routine in that moment, to help you reach your end that you had been chasing after so desperately night after night. But the promise of an even greater, more illustrious second act in an already superlative performance helped him to steel his resolve and remain hidden from your eyes. And just as he had watched you do so many times before, you closed the doors after picking out something to sleep in and turned on the balls of your feet, walking over to the side of your bed and tossing the clothes on top of the duvet.

Alastor had memorized this scene, eyeing your naked form as you grazed one hand over your abdomen, letting it drift up to your left breast and cradling its weight, slender fingers pinching the sensitive bud between your thumb and forefinger. With a light tug followed by an experimental twist, you sighed as you squeezed the squishy mound, your other hand coming up to mirror its twin. Another sigh, followed by your eyes closing shut and your head lolling back, and then another frustrated groan after a few seconds of teasing your own nipples.

"I should just go to bed..." you would whisper to yourself, your hands dropping back down as you reached for your panties and slid them up your legs. He eyed the way the lace bit into your flesh where the elastic wasn't as stretchy, baring his teeth as he fought back the urge to reveal himself and tear the offensive fabric from your body. Then you reached for the oversized tshirt, pulling it over your head and slipping your arms through, pulling it down until it covered the panties hugging you close.

Alastor wasn't sure why you bothered with clothes - you would end up removing them later on during your efforts. But who was he to question the mind and the methods of an artist as talented as you?

You stood there for a few minutes, looking between your bed and the table beside it, contemplating if you should even make an attempt tonight. You were almost positive that you would fail, just as you had the night before, and the one before that. Maybe if you tried a visual aid, that might help?

With another groan, you didn't waste any more time thinking about it and turned to the night table by your bedside, reaching into the bottom drawer for the obscene toy that had worked wonders for your tense muscles and stressed mind before he ruined your vivid imagination. Tossing it onto the bed, you slid your panties back off before climbing onto the soft mattress, crawling to the center and lying flat on your back. Spreading your legs open, Alastor inhaled sharply when he saw the glistening sheen of your slicked hole, his fingertips overlapping the shaft of his microphone and digging into his palm.

You sighed again, placing one hand on your clothed breast and giving a gentle squeeze, trailing it downwards until you touched bare skin. Grabbing hold of your toy, silicone heavy in your hand, you lowered it to your aching cunt and rubbed the tip between your folds.

Alastor's brows furrowed together in confusion when he realized you had skipped a step, not teasing yourself with your fingers like you had so many nights before. You seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, which was odd but not entirely out of place for your behavior throughout the day. You skipped breakfast that morning, rushed through your work, barely ate any food during the communal dinner Charlie forced everyone to attend, and you had excused yourself much earlier than usual - now you were skipping steps in your nightly endeavors? Something was wrong. Perhaps he had waited too long to initiate a second encounter, and you were beginning to lose interest? Or perhaps you had fallen ill.

"Alastor..." you whispered, rubbing the length of your silicone toy against your clit for a moment or two, then lowered it until it was lined up with your entrance. Part of you wanted to give up before you even tried, knowing full well how this would end from past experience. Closing your eyes, you pushed the toy inside, wincing at the painful sting caused by the stretch, silently cursing yourself for not preparing before this step. But you thought, maybe switching it up might help in the long run, even if it was painful at first.

Alastor watched you from the shadowy corner of your dimly lit room, shamelessly palming himself through his slacks as you took your time in sliding the toy deeper into your aching heat. Part of him wanted to wait longer, to see how long it would take you to come to him, to ask for his assistance. But several weeks had already gone by, and he was beginning to lose what little sleep he was able to get just watching you try and fail over and over again. As much as he wanted to hold out, his impatience was getting the better of him.

"Need a hand?"

"H-huh-?!" you yelped, eyes shooting open and head snapping to your left at the sound of Alastor's static filtered voice. At first you thought you had imagined it, expecting there to be nothing there when you turned your head. "Oh my god!" you screeched when your eyes locked with Alastor's, your entire face turning a brighter shade of red than his hair. He was laying there on his side, head propped up on his elbow and eyes teasing, reveling in your scared reaction.

"Not even close, dear."

In a panic, you pulled the toy from your core and threw it to the side in an attempt to hide it, your legs slamming shut as you moved to sit up. But Alastor stopped you with a single hand to your chest, pressing you back down into the bed as he cradled his own with his free hand. "A-Alastor, what the hell are you-?!" you started, but he only pressed a single clawed digit to your lips, the corners of his mouth pulling up even further than usual. He waited until you were completely silent, then trailed his finger down your chin to your neck until he reached the collar of your t-shirt, tugging on the hem as his eyes traveled further south.

Humming to himself, Alastor looked back up at your face and raised a single brow at the confusion he saw in your eyes. Were you actually confused, or were you just pretending to be shy and embarrassed to get a rise out of him? "Let's not beat around the bush, darling. I know what you've been doing every night since our last encounter," Alastor told you, causing your face to flush an even brighter red, looking away from him as you fidgeted beneath his gaze. "I don't... how?" you asked, only to have him raise a brow at the question, as if he were asking you, 'really'?

Grinning wider, Alastor let his gaze travel back down along with his hand, slipping between your thighs effortlessly and grazing two fingers over your slick entrance. He didn't miss the gasp of surprise tumbling from your lips followed by that same delectable little sigh he'd come to enjoy so much - the same one that had him crossing his legs during Charlie's redemption exercises or pressing himself into the side of the island countertop to hide his growing arousal when you would taste test his dishes.

Dipping his fingers inside your quivering hole, Alastor gave a few shallow pumps before retracting his hand altogether, raising it up just enough for you to see your own slick glistening on his fingers. "Would you like me to help you?" he asked you as calmly as he could possibly manage, enunciating each word as he patiently waited for the consent he just knew you would give.

Releasing a shaky sigh, you didn't hesitate in making your decision, a rush of exhilaration you hadn't felt since the last time you were together coursing through your veins. "Yes," you whispered, staring at his face as something carnal took over, wanting nothing more than to feel his hands on you again, to have his lips pressed against yours, to feel the burning stretch of his cock inside your needy cunt as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.

"Very well, dear. But first," Alastor responded, letting his hand slide between your legs again. "My price."

Of course. You knew Alastor was going to want something in return, which was why you didn't go to him after your first week of struggling to reach orgasm - there was no telling what he would ask of you, and seeing as his motives for even being at the hotel in the first place were still very much so a mystery to everyone, you were being overly cautious. And then there was the whole deal-making sinner Overlord thing. But something else that was plaguing your mind: why did he have to say it like he was taking pointers from your resident porn star? "Okay, Angel. What do you want?" you asked, unable to resist teasing him a bit by emphasizing the name.

"Ha! Funny," Alastor said, and suddenly his hand was gone from between your legs and your cheeks were being squished together between his clawed digits as he gripped your chin tight. "I want you to tell me all the naughty little things you thought about each night while you were fucking yourself with that toy," he spat the last word, almost as if he were offended that you chose a piece of plastic over him. And for a while, he was - which is one of many reasons why he waited so long to initiate a second encounter. He wanted you to suffer the burning ache of a lost orgasm every time you decided to use that thing instead of coming to him and asking for his assistance.

Alastor wanted you to be completely dependent on him for your pleasure, and until you learned to swallow that silly little pride of yours, he had planned to let you suffer every single night - plagued by the blissful memories he'd given you, unable to recreate them no matter how hard you tried.

But oh, best laid plans and all that, right?

"S-seriously?" you squeaked, your face somehow becoming an even deeper crimson as Alastor stared into your eyes, face unchanging as he rubbed his index finger against your bottom lip. "Deadly," he responded, pupils changing to radio dials for a split second, pushing his finger past your lips and against your tongue to let you taste yourself. A black tendril out of your line-of-sight slithered between your legs, prodding at your wet entrance unexpectedly. "Ah! Huh-?!" you gasped, looking down between your legs at the sudden contact.

It was only a second, but it was enough to have him gripping your chin once more and forcing you to look back at his face. "You know better than to look away, my dear," he chided your simple mistake, pushing a second finger into your mouth and pressing both of them flat against your tongue. When the tendril pushed past the first ring of muscle into your dripping cunt, you whimpered around his fingers, sucking gently at your fluids that still coated them.

Fuck, he's barely touched you and you're already so much closer to an orgasm than you had ever gotten by yourself.

Reaching up to grab hold of his wrist, you pulled his fingers from your mouth so that you could speak. "Alastor..." you started, a soft moan interrupting your speech as the tentacle pushed deeper into your core, a squelching sound filling your ears as it pumped slowly, your juices coating its black surface.

"Tell me, did you think about me?" Alastor asked, urging you on as he moved to wrap his hand around your neck, squeezing gently when you nodded your head. "Yes," you admitted, your walls clenching around the tentacle when it began to pick up speed. He hummed at your response, his hand moving further south to the bottom hem of your shirt and sneaking under it. "Did you think about me touching you like... this?" he asked, his fingers pinching the hardened nub of your breast, making you inhale sharply at the pain followed by the pleasure of him kneading the soft mound.

"Yes," you answered, your moans progressively becoming louder as the tendril began to move with more force, now pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. "Y-yes, Alastor... I thought about you," you breathed, digging your fingers into the duvet you were laying on. "About the way your voice sounded when you would praise me," you continued, inching your mouth closer to his as he released your sensitive bud, pulling it from beneath your shirt entirely, much to your dismay.

"Is that all?" Alastor asked you, to which you shook your head no, taking a moment as you searched for the confidence to continue with this debauchery.

"I thought about... how your lips felt on mine, and your tongue on my skin," you whispered, hearing the sound of his belt buckle being undone, but you dare not look away as the pleasure began to build higher and higher with each pump of his black tendril.

"And...?" he urged you on, his own face inching closer to yours as he pushed his trousers and briefs down far enough to free his leaking cock from their confines.

"And I thought- ... fuck-! Hahhh..." you moaned, fighting the urge to look down as you felt his hand take hold of yours. You were so, so close! The last thing you wanted to do was irritate him in any way, potentially risking him edging you even further than you had edged yourself night after night. "... I thought about the way you fucked me with your hand, and your tongue," you moaned when you felt a second tendril bump against your clit, rubbing up and down on the sensitive little bud.

"Keep going," Alastor told you, guiding your hand to his hard length and wrapping your slender digits around it, urging you to pump him - slowly, at first. But as your pleasure built higher and higher, your moans becoming more frequent and louder in volume, he gradually gained speed, wanting to match the pace of the tendrils as they pushed in and out of your squelching cunt. The sounds you made were divine, so much more beautiful than the ones you made with that thing now laying on the floor, completely forgotten by you.

Faster and faster, they moved, and soon it became difficult for you to form a coherent thought, focused solely on the way the tentacle stretched you open wide and the other applied the most delicious amount of pressure to your throbbing clit. "I thought... I thought," you tried to speak, jaw falling slack as you were right on the cusp of release, your walls quivering and thighs shaking as the knot wound tighter and tighter in the pits of your belly. "... I-I thought... about your cock in me," you gasped, your hips rising from the bed just barely and grinding down against the tentacles involuntarily, desperate for that blissful release.

"Don't stop..." Alastor whispered as he lowered his head, his lips mere centimeters from yours as he began to buck into your hand, his own orgasm not far off as he forced you to tighten your grip on his aching cock. Taking a little initiative, you angled your wrist and pressed your thumb to his leaking slit, smearing his precum and using it as lube to pump his cock faster. With the way that he gasped and how his hips jerked forward, you knew he was close to his own release.

"I thought about how you..." you swallowed hard, it was becoming difficult to keep your thoughts straight, to follow his no-looking-away rule, to keep jerking your hand up and down his hardened length as your muscles contracted almost painfully the closer you got to your end. "I thought- ... oh fuck, I'm gonna cum, Alastor-!" you gasped, eyes barely open as you reached with your other hand to lace your fingers in his hair, nails raking over the backs of his ears.

"Say it! Say it, and I'll let you cum," Alastor promised, his breath hitching in his throat as his cock twitched painfully in your hand, a third tentacle joining the first inside your wet walls and pounding into you roughly now, coaxing you closer and closer. Your eyes began to water as you felt the first tether snap, signaling your end as you opened your mouth to do as he obliged.

"I thought about the way you filled me up, and how you made me yours," you said, arching your back as you inhaled deeply, pulling his head further down until your foreheads were pressed together. "A-and about how you made me cum on your cock, over and over aga- ahhn, fuuuck!" you cried when, finally, the coil snapped, and your release crashed over you, your walls clamping down on the tentacles and your vision going white.

"Marvelous..." Alastor praised you as his hips bucked wildly into your hand, his own wrapped around yours and forcing you to maintain your tight grip through your orgasm, chasing his own as you rode yours out. It wasn't long before he was spilling his seed all over your hand and duvet, some of it landing on your bare hip as his own stuttered through each spurt.

"Fuck, fuck..." you mumbled, trying to regain your senses as you tried to come down from your high. You couldn't make sense of the world around you yet, barely taking notice of the tentacles retracting from your pulsing heat and his body from your own. When your vision finally cleared, you looked around for Alastor, soon finding him sitting on his knees between your legs. One clawed hand was stroking his half hard cock until it stood at full attention again, the other pressing against your overly sensitive mound, drawing lazy circles into your clit and sending jolts of pain and pleasure through your whole body.

"Let's make your thoughts a reality, my dear..."

story ┊ ◜ synamartia ◞ header ┊ ◜ synamartia ◞ dividers ┊ ◜ kodaswrld ✧ strangergraphics ◞ summoning ┊ ◜ @hazelfoureyes ✧ @minkdelovely ✧ @sugoi-writes ✧ @fraugwinska ✧ @macabr3-barbi3 ◞

Please do not copy or repost as your own! Thank you!

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unstatedmartini · 12 days ago

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still stuck on carlos passed out face down on the couch, shirt on the coffee table, boots where he pulled them off after navigating the living room at 3:30 in the morning by muscle memory and the dim glow of jonah's nightlight, meaning to get up and go to bed but falling asleep before he could. stuck on carlos control freak reyes ignoring his buzzing phone bc he knows deep down in his dreams that he'll be woken up with snuggles and pancakes when it's time

thinking about how filled with tension their home was, despite his and tk's very best efforts, as life threatened to overwhelm them. thinking about how every single meal was freighted with meaning and every single missed meal was freighted with more, and tk going to sleep alone and carlos waking up alone, and how they Were Supposed To Sleep In and what did it all mean if they couldn't even sleep in together, and every buzz of the phone threatened to go off like a bomb, and now they're here. they made it to the other side, and it's all so messy and real and GOOD. sure their schedules don't always line up bc they're in a chaotic season of life right now, but that's okay! everyone is getting the sleep they need, everyone is eating well, everyone is feeling safe and seen, and they're figuring out the rest as they go bc they make a pretty good team

and the shirt will eventually make its way to the laundry and the chocolate chips will get swept up, and the little voice in the back of carlos' head that whispers that gabriel reyes never left his boots in the living room, never cried at the sight of a lumpy pancake, never took time off on a workday to go to a party, will get quieter than the voice that says 'hey dad, i hope you're seeing this. I know you would have loved it.' there will be so much warmth and light and love along the path tk and carlos have chosen and keep choosing, over and over, to walk together, and when someone asks jonah 25 years from now to describe his childhood he's going to flash back to sunny mornings in the loft with carlos drooling into the couch cushions and lou 2 scampering across the floor towards a tipped over cowboy boot and tk humming in the kitchen and of all the wild wonderful words that will occur to him in that moment, disciplined will not be one of them

#911 lone star #carlos reyes #he gets to live the dream he did not allow himself to have 😭

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evieelyzabethh · 2 years ago

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Sugar and Spike

pairing(s): Spike x fem!reader

summary: after a night of patrol goes wrong, Spike starts noticing some changes in himself, mainly that Buffy's sweetest friend won't leave his mind and that she would never look at him the same if she knew what he wanted to do to her.

warnings: smut!!! a smidge of yandereness, kinda a sex or die fic, possessive spike, handjob, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral (fem receiving), praise kink, biting/marking (mentions of blood), a little bit of spanking, overstimulation, riding, fingering, veryyy little plot, and I think thats about it.

In hindsight, they should've kept a better eye on him. It was an odd night of patrolling, the usual gaggle of vampires being a demon or two this time around. Big tall thing that appeared out of nowhere and left as soon as it came. Spike, always with little regard for the consequences of his actions, ran right in. Ran so hard he went right through the demon as it went into smoke. He breathed it in before going into a coughing fit, as if he could feel it in his nose and lungs, spreading in his chest like a vine that pulled everything impossible tight before releasing him like he was never in its grasp . Red flag one.

It fell on him like rain, some clumping into what looked like pink sparkles in his hair, on his jacket, his worn boots. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling away expecting to see it gunked together, but there was nothing there. It felt like his hair had been hit by my mist, slightly damp and cool. It seeped into his exposed skin, adhering itself into a pink sheen which also disappeared after only a few minutes. He remembered trying to brush it off, expecting it to feel wet but it was just slick. It was admittedly infuriating, especially since the feeling wouldn't go away. Red flag two.

“Buffy!” He shouted, rubbing his hands on his jeans as if it was going to wipe away the phantom feeling, but his complaints were met with apathy.

“There’s nothing there, Spike.” A groan bubbled in his chest.

“Astute observation, Slayer, but it feels like something’s there.” You were there beside him, something that would’ve gone unnoticed had he not been hit with your scent as your fingers brushed against his hand. He pulled away quickly out of instinct, not as subtle as he would’ve liked to because you noticed and scampered off in between Buffy and Giles. The distance between you and him got larger and the two of you talked about a mall trip you had planned and Willow was the only one to stick with him. She humored him, allowing him to shower at her place and taking a sample of skin only to find nothing. No residue, nothing abnormal, nothing had changed at all. Red flag three.

But he was sure it was fine. Nothing had really changed. You had been a bit cautious though.

You were prone to worrying, and he couldn't blame you. There was a lot to worry about when your best friends hunted demons and one of them was a literal creature of the night. You worried about Buffy so much he genuinely feared you would collapse from all the stress you put yourself under. Pursuing a nursing degree so they could avoid hospital visits unless absolutely necessary because none of you had the money. Having him train you in basic self-defense because you hated feeling like dead weight. You took up Latin and all of the other dead languages in those old dusty books just so you could be useful. You tied yourself in knots just to be sweet. God, you were so sweet. Even to your own detriment, like pure sugar that was going to rot his teeth eventually.

The more time you spent together, the more the rot seemed to take his brain than his teeth. His mouth never got anywhere near you; Buffy made sure of that. He wished he could say it was because she was babying you too much, that you were also tired of Buffy making Spike seem like the biggest mistake you could ever make. To be fair, he hardly knew you. He knew of you; he knew of the pink wardrobe and the fluffy socks and the pretty shoes. He knew of you as Buffy's cute neighbor who stopped by so often that you might as well live with them. You weren't being a baby, you were being cautious, even more now. He almost wished you didn't believe him as much as you did, maybe you'd keep visiting him. He hadn't seen you in days and it was really starting to take a toll on him. His leg bounced and he got in the bad habit of biting his nails, which was starting to get annoying with how often he had to repaint them.

If you were here, you would repaint them. You would sit your pretty self on his busted couch, and you'd have a little bag with you with all your pins and charms that jingled like the earrings that dangle from your ears. In your bag would be at least three shades of pink, a range of blacks and greys, and a wild card or two, maybe a blue or a green. You'd let him pick his color, despite knowing he always went for black. You asked anyway, just in case he decided to go with pink just to humor you. Had you walked through right now, he would've obliged. He would've done anything you asked him too. It wasn't even that he was lonely, but it was getting to suffocate in here. It was getting hot, like a fire was spreading. Each breath felt smoke filled, his skin was on fire, his skin was getting damp, like the dust had fallen again. His hand was shaky as he put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, surely the smell would break him out of what had to be a daze.

If you were here, you'd make a joke about him needing to air the place out. He'd probably open the door and call that enough air, but he liked his privacy, and he didn't like the idea of anyone just being able to waltz right in. You would want to make a joke about no one wanting to visit him, but you’d bite your tongue at the fear of being too harsh. You always got that look in your eye when you thought something that could be misconstrued as mean. You took your lip into your teeth and your pretty eyelashes flitted and you looked away. He thought about what it would be like to bite your lips, wanting to see what they looked like, all red and even prettier than they were before. Just a taste, that's all he wanted, a taste.

He got up to open up the door only for that phantom feeling to return. All over his body, it felt like he had stepped out into the sun, like every molecule that made up his body was vibrating and mere seconds from combusting. His breathing got ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his brain going into overdrive. He squeezed his eyes shut as if it would make it go away, but even from behind his eyelids, you were there. The idea of you, your smile, your laughter, fuck the very way you said his name. It sounded so nice coming from you.

The way you said it when he got injured in a fight when you would patch up his wounds and have a bag of blood for him to replace what he lost. “Spike.” you would say. Like he should’ve known better than to just throw himself into danger. Not even bothering to consider the possibility that he did it to look heroic, or maybe in your care with your hands over his chest. There’s no reason for him to be this beaten and bruised from some baby vamp; William the Bloody. Spike? He had pride, but not as much as Angelus. It was easily quenched by the fact that he was in no way losing with your delicate hands tracing over faded scars on his chest and feeding him blood while they were just dust.

“Spike.” Buffy would say, her tone laced with less concern and more disapproval. She knew something was up. After all they had gone through together, vampires should’ve been nothing for him. He had to space out his “fuck ups” just to get her off his back, just to get her voice out of his head. She didn’t say his name like you did.

There wasn’t much better than how you said his name when it was just the two of you. Being together in his crypt, sometimes in your own bedroom which you had invited him into much to Buffy’s chagrin. “It’s Spike,” you had said, “how many times have we saved the world with him? I think he’s earned it.” It sent shivers down his spine. He would’ve saved the world so much sooner if it meant being able to be in your space. If it meant getting to hear you say his name through fits of laughter, trying to regain your breath while still finding enough to utter his name. “Spike.” you said, your hand over his while you giggled. He felt that heat now, felt the heat of all your touches culminating right now. All over his skin, tensing his muscles, holding his chest as he fought for breath himself.

While he had the chance, he should’ve raided your underwear drawer. Now he was left to fist his dick with just the memory of you. You wouldn’t notice a pair or two gone, surely you wouldn’t. It was the type of small thing you would overlook because really what is a pair or two. You wouldn’t want him to be in pain, hearing his situation now, you’d feel like it was all your fault. The least you could spare was a pair of your prettiest panties for him to wrap around his cock while he fisted himself to the thought of you and how you would say his name now.

The closest he’d gotten would be after a big battle. You had taken a beating, by the time you had gotten to a safe space you had lost a dangerous amount of blood, but the sounds that came out of your mouth were so delicious. And you trusted him to carry you to safety, your bloody hand wrapping itself around his bicep to maintain some tether to consciousness. “Spike.” your voice dripping with pain, but even that wasn’t enough to mask how pretty you sounded. He felt bad then for how hard it got him, but there is such a thin line between pain and pleasure. The only difference now would be circumstance, and he would never hurt you. This would be good for you, the both of you, you just had to let him. You just had to say his name.

“Spike?” In that moment, he knew there had to be some high power looking out for him when he heard your voice. Dream-like, and soft, like the wind could have blown it out and away from your lips. “Spike?!” you said again. He couldn’t tell if it was his shred of restraint or his body’s unwillingness to listen to his brain that kept him glued to his couch.

“Now really isn’t a good time, love.” He tried to keep his voice level, he really did, but it was too much. And you weren’t stupid, he heard the heels of your shoes against the hard floor and smelt you before he even saw you. And fuck you smelt heavenly.

“Are you okay? What happened-” You looked like you had a halo above your head, or maybe he was much further gone than he had thought. You cut yourself off in shock. When you had walked in, you hadn’t expected to catch Spike with his hands down his pants.

“You know what, I’m just gonna go a-and come back later.” You tried to smile in an attempt to make the situation less awkward than it needed to be, but he grabbed you by your wrist.

“Wait-I just need-fuck. I just need you to stay for a bit. I don’t feel good.” Your eyes met and you saw the sheen of what you assumed to be sweat covering his chest and face. His pupils blown out, his hair out of place, his labored breathing, like he couldn’t catch his breath. Oddly enough, the sheen had a pink tinge, and despite the fact that his fangs were protruding, his vampire face hadn’t appeared. You reached out to touch his forehead to surprisingly find a temperature. He groaned at the contact, both wanting to melt into your skin and like it physically pained him.

“What happened?” He declined the answer, instead pushing his head more into the palm of your hand, tipping his head to sniff the inside of your wrist. “What are you doing?” You tried to pull away and put some distance in between the two of you, but he pulled you back, even closer than before.

“You smell so good.” He nosed his way past your wrist and up your arm till he made it to your collarbone, trying to find where he could hear your blood pump the loudest. “Stop it!” you pushed against him as soon as you felt the tip of his fangs attempting to break skin. To both of your surprise, he let you. It looked like it pained him to do so, his eyes screwed shut and his hand gripping the arm of his couch until the wood snapped.

“If this is about the demon thing, I’m gonna go get Willow, okay? You just need to stay right here.” The authority you had laced in your voice was cute.

“Just stay here with me, yeah? There’s no need to get Willow. We don’t need Willow.” His voice had dropped an octave, his pupils blown and his brain damn near empty. Anything went in one ear then out the other as he held your hands in his, staring through you as if daring you to defy him.

“Spike, you aren’t well.” You had tried to reason, but all he heard was that you weren’t saying no because you didn’t want this. You were concerned for his well being, even when he had you pinned down and his teeth at your neck, each breath moving you closer to him drawing blood, you were saying no because you were concerned he didn’t want this. You somehow thought he didn’t want you.

“I’ve never felt better, baby.”, he said-practically fucking growled. Hell if he wanted you, he needed you. He pressed himself into you, his hands grabbing at anything he could to ground himself, his left at the base of your scalp and his right bunching the fabric of your skirt in his hands. He breathed into your neck, nipping and nicking at bare skin then soothing it with his tongue and kisses. He worked himself up over you, taking and taking until he was drunk, his tongue lolled out as he put his head on your chest.“Can I fuck you.”

You had been caught in a daze yourself, his words had barely registered. You had more sense than he did at this point, finding enough resolve to shake your head. “Please.” he begged, groaning it out through clenched teeth. “I need you to make it feel better, please God just make it feel better.” He had pushed his hips into your hand, his weeping cock leaking onto you, pleading with you to touch it. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear, just be my sweet girl, yeah? Just make it better.”

You experimentally rubbed the tip, and he whimpered. His hand grabbing your wrist so fast a look of shock flashed across his face. You took that as a sign to pull away but he put your hand back around him, pushing your hand up and down his base. “Too much too quick, love.”

Any hesitancy you had was swallowed as he smashed his lips into yours. It was urgent and quick, almost bruising how hard he kissed and held you as if you were going to disappear at any point. He tugged at a handful of hair, catching you in a moan that he used to force tongue into your mouth, sucking it as you pumped his dick at a painfully slow pace.

His kisses made you breathless, and it was then you realized that he likely forgot in his haze that you actually needed air. He moaned into your lips, the sound spreading throughout your body and shaking you to your core. It wasn’t lost on him how damp your underwear had gotten, had he had the strength to pull away to touch you he would, but the mere seconds his skin would be off yours was enough of a deterrent to keep him in place.

You tried to move away, but his hand kept you in place. “Don’t move.”, he rushed it out, a tone that otherwise would’ve been more commanding had he not been weak himself. “Keep going.” His hips bucked and stuttered, his movements becoming erratic the more faint your touches became. Like it was a warning; let me up for air and I’ll keep touching you. He whined at the thought of you pulling away. That wasn’t fair.

His lips parted from yours, settling for the corner of your mouth before moving to your jawline to your neck, then just under your ear. You gasped for breath, you numb with the ecstasy of air and the feeling of his rushed kisses. He was getting close. Your hand was covered in his sticky pre-cum, his cock even more so as your hand moved alone over him, his own hand now grabbing at your shirt at the feeling. You squeezed at the bass, a motion he clearly enjoyed with how his body tensed up. A series of obscenities flowed from his pretty lips as he came, spurts of his cum getting over your pretty pink skirt, an image Spike would get himself off to later.

You didn’t get long to sit in what just happened when he was on you again, laying you on your back and ripping your skirt clean off. You moaned something that sounded like “My skirt!”, but neither one of you were really worried about it.

His lithe fingers were quick, rubbing you through the fabric of your panties, while he kissed up to where you wanted him excruciatingly slow. His hands rubbed and teased at the soft skin of your thighs, marking bruises everywhere he went.

He moaned into you, sniffing you once again, before finding a place he wanted to dig his fangs into. Maybe it was how delicately he stuck in his teeth, maybe it was the lust blown fervor, but it didn’t hurt as much as you anticipated. In fact, you moaned at the intrusion, unable to know what to do with yourself as he sucked and lapped up the blood he had drawn. Your fingers wove into his hair, as if he could be pulled any closer to you than he already was. “You taste so good. So good.” And he let you know as such. The obscene noises that flew from the both of you, the slurping and whines, the pop of his lips as he traveled from one spot to another. But that’s not how he intended to eat you whole.

You were unbelievably wet, soaking through your panties and even Spikes fingers before he took pity on you and decided to pull them aside and plant his fingers into you. Now, you weren’t a virgin, but you had never had sex that felt as good as this. Never had someone in you that had hundreds of years of practice beforehand.

“You’re doing so good, Sweet Girl. So good, can’t get enough of you.” What was an attempt to calm your nerves, had you keening and over the moon, the praise bringing tears to your eyes as you ground yourself in his hand. That didn’t move him along any quicker, his tongue still collecting anything you would give him like he hadn’t been fed in years.

“Spike!” You called out, which finally seemed to get his attention. He saw the glass-like look your eyes had taken and the pout on your face. You looked like you were about to cry. Poor thing, so desperate. He said he’d take care of you, make you feel good. No point in denying the inevitable.

You whined when he pulled out of you just to choke when he began to devour you. His nose at your clit and his tongue plunging into. “Thank you.” he muttered into you, like this was some divine gift to him. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” The combination of his praise and how good he was giving it to you made that coil in your belly tighten and tighten until it threatened to snap. And he just kept going. Completely in his own world, the only thoughts in his mind being about you, how you smelled, how you tasted, god you were so good to him. Letting him eat you out like this, helping him like this. He shouldn’t have expected any less from his girl. His sweet girl. No one else's, you couldn’t be anyone else's after this. His grip tightened around your thighs at the very thought. “Mine.” he said, the vibrations hitting your core deliciously. “Mine.”

“Yours Spike, all yours.” He hummed in approval, inserting two fingers back into you while he kept up his electric pace. He held your hand as it began to be too much, your back arching off the couch and your thighs closing around his head as he just kept going. You called his name as you came, high and higher until it became too heavy on your mouth and you couldn’t say anything at all. The grip you had on his hand had loosened, but he hadn’t let up. He still rambled into you, “Again. Again. Again. Please.”

You didn’t know if your hips were bucking into him or try to wiggle away from him. Either way, both attempts were unsuccessful. With how hard he pulled on your panties they had snapped and had been thrown to the side for the simple crime of being in his way. His forearm lay on your hip keeping you in place. Your hand still laid in his, him squeezing it as if it was any comfort from the inescapable feeling of his tongue licking your thoroughly soaked pussy.

Your toes curled in your frilly socks as you came again on his tongue, and you foolishly expected that to be enough. You would’ve asked him to stop if you could pant out anything more than whines. You would’ve pushed him away if you could manage anything more than weak taps on his forearm. “No more.” you whispered out. “Can’t.” His fingers rubbed your hand as some form of encouragement.

“Yes you can, love.” You shook your head weakly, scooting your hips back only for him to swiftly smack your pussy. You preened on the contact, and he drank in the arousal that gushed out just from that. “My sweet girl isn’t gonna disappoint me, is she? She’s gonna make me all better, isn’t that right?” Your brain was so fogged out you couldn’t even produce a response. You just groaned and squirmed, unable to brace for impact when he smacked you again.

“Spike!” You cried out, but he didn’t care. Heknew you were feeling good from how much you gushed while he tongue fucked your cunt. It was just a bit too much for you right now. You would feel better, you just needed to let go some more. He tried to relax you, tried rubbing mindless shapes on your skin to calm you down as he worked you through your third orgasm, but you just heaved. Your tits bounced with how heavily you breathed, and yet after all of that, he still didn’t feel better. Why didn’t he feel better?

Despite the relief that came from him pausing his abuse, you still whined as he sat up from behind your legs. With your taste still on his tongue, he kissed you. You sighed into him, the feeling of his large hands moving from your hip to under your shirt to touch your tummy and rip your bra in half. You didn’t even notice him moving you into his lap and setting your thighs on either side of him so you straddled him. He thumbed your nipples, pinching and rubbing over them while he relished in the feeling of you cunt so close to his dick.

You didn’t seem to catch on either as he slid in between your folds, too lost of him finally kissing you again. You moaned into this kiss as his fingers dipped to toy with your clit before he whispered in your ear. “Just one more.”

In one fluid motion, he slipped his dick into his cunt, catching you as your limbs went weak. He was so big you felt your eyes water with the pressure of him being in you. You could tell he was struggling to stay still, but the haze had worn off enough for him to regain some sense. He still waited eagerly for you to adjust, brushing the fallen tears from your eyes and kissing your checks to make it all better.

“Too big. It’s too big.” You stuttered. It was all you could manage to mutter out. He cooed at you, his dick growing harder than he thought possible at the feeling of it all and the praise.

“I was made for you, Pretty Girl, you can take it.” You yelped as he jerked his hips into yours, but he just couldn’t help it. You were so pretty like this, all fucked out and dumb. Not a thought behind those eyes of yours and the only thoughts he was capable of was you. How warm you were, how wet you were, how tight you were. You were squeezing him and milking him dry and as much as he tried he just couldn’t stop him self from fucking into you.

“I’m sorry.” and he meant it. You weren’t ready and he couldn’t even tell if he was ready, his body had a mind of his own and he felt himself just slipping into the feeling of being enveloped by you. “Just too good. You’re too good. My good girl. You’re gonna take all I give you, aren’t you, love? You gonna be my sweet girl and take it?” His voice was breathy and low and impossibly hot.

All you could manage was a soft ‘mhm’ as you took him in. It wasn’t like you had any other choice as you bounced on his cock, gripping at his chest and taking in each moan you earned as you drew blood from your scratches.

You felt every inch of him, felt the tip of his dick hit your cervix and kept pounding at it like it was his job; like he would die if he didn’t. You can’t do anything but take it as you screw your eyes shut and just try to breathe as everything in your body fights to hold on to some feeling. It was impossible to think, not when Spike’s hands were all over you and his touch was so incredibly hot. Even stranger, a pink glow began to emanate from him, that or you were closer to passing out than you originally thought. .

He kept you close to his chest as you both chased your impending highs together, your lips meeting in the middle as you moaned and sighed into each other's mouths and he was a goner, rambling like a mad man in your ear, thanking you endlessly for something he couldn’t put his hands on. Maybe it was your release, that you felt coming like a truck. He squeezed at the fat of your hips, pulling you even closer until neither one of you could tell where the other started and ended and you came like that, so close that you were almost suffocating, but a different kind from before.

He came not long after you, his dick still inside spurting his cum inside you and keeping it in there with little intention of coming out any time soon. That pink glow had faded from before, fading away until there was nothing there and the slight pink tinge from before was gone too. His eyes drooped a bit, his blue irises that you hadn’t realized you had missed finally reappeared, his pupils returning to normal and his fangs retracting.

He hung his head in your neck and you felt his temperature drop a bit, no longer boiling hot. He refused to move his head from his spot though. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was ashamed of what just happened.

After the both of you had a moment to catch your breaths, he removed himself from inside you, stalking off to find something to wear now that your outfit was completely ruined. He even had the decency to turn around while you changed, granted he had a hard time looking at you anyway.

“You’re gonna wanna deep clean that couch.” You said to break the silence. You were surprised you got a chuckle out of him.

“Yeah. I don’t normally do this sort of thing on there.” Another moment of silence passed between the two of you.

“You know, we can go back to my place and I can fix your nails. I can tell you’ve been biting at them.” He didn’t need to be told twice either. The place still stunk of sex and his head was feeling clearer than it had in days, he couldn’t stand to be there right now.

“About all of this…you won’t tell Buffy, right?” You giggled.

“Not if you don’t.” And that was more than enough for him.

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