#translate Well good for you too glad that you back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artdcnaldson · 4 months

Note

okay but PLEASE elaborate on Olympics!Art AU

TeeHee

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), feral obsessive behavior, infidelity

A/N: And you would do it too, that’s all I’m saying. Also IMPORTANT note: I love Tashi, she is a mother to many. However this fic has a very obsessive reader who just wants to fuck a married man, at Tashi’s expense

Maybe you were a bad person.

You’d met Art and Tashi Donaldson before— a year back at an event held for Tennis’ rising stars. That was you, some other guys who had done well in the Juniors, a girl from an Ivy League, and more people that fell into the blind spots of your interest..

You must’ve looked so sweet in your formalwear, approaching the couple with shaking hands so you could say just how big of a fan you were. You had no ill intent then, not when you were face to face with two people you’d idolized since you were twelve and watching the Junior US Open. That night you’d taken a deep breath as you stared at the ceiling of your home, feeling like you’d made it.

Sure, Art was handsome, and you’d lived the past decade harboring a massive celebrity crush on him, but he was married, he was untouchable. Art Donaldson oozed that sweet, devoted husband shtick. Anniversary posts, birthday posts, Valentine’s Day posts, Mother’s Day posts. He had a daughter, he posted about how much he loved being a dad.

You were fine accepting that your fantasies of fucking Art Donaldson were strictly fantasies. But that was before you qualified and had to see him every fucking day.

Art Donaldson, who held open doors for you, who talked to you casually, like he might an old friend. Art, who stood in the long line in the food court with you, ate something he probably shouldn’t have, and asked that you don’t tell Tashi.

And you’d smile conspiratorially, and assure him his secret was safe with you. The implication being that you’d keep that secret, and more. As many as he’d ask you to, really.

You’d see him on a practice court, running drills with his wife, and feel the heat of jealousy in the pit of your stomach. You’d turn away, focus on your own game, practice until your hands were aching and sore.

“Where’s Mrs. Donaldson?” You asked one night after you’d been sexiled and had to sit out in the hallway waiting for your roommate to finish up. Art leaned against the wall, standing tall above you, so you had to crane your neck. You liked that point of view, on your knees looking up at him, you wondered if he liked it too.

“Oh, she’s staying in a very nice, very expensive hotel room with our daughter right now,” he said with a grin. “As soon as my events are done, that’s where I’ll be too.”

“Oh,” you said, bringing an easy smile to your lips. “Well, we’re all glad you’re here now.”

“We?” He questioned.

You gave a coy smile, batting your lashes so sweetly. “Maybe just me.”

There was a strange expression on his face for just a moment. Then he laughed like it was nothing. He wished you a goodnight and good luck in your matches the next morning, and disappeared into his own room.

You medaled in women’s doubles. They published photos of you and your partner biting the silver between your teeth. That same day, Art Donaldson took home gold. You were there to see the very end of his last match— every single collision of racket against ball, every step, every grunt of exertion. Your thighs clenched as you watched, fists balled up in the fabric of your skirt.

You wanted him in a needy, desperate sort of way. Like a groupie for a rock band, or a virgin being sacrificed on a mountaintop. You watched him celebrate with a kiss from Tashi and felt that same need like an open wound. Jealousy was festering in you like a rot.

The dive bar wasn’t what you’d expected. Something Art had found with a quick google search and a few minutes with a translation app. He’d knocked on your door to invite you, wearing the beaming smile of someone on top of the world.

“So you’ll come?” He asked after he told you all about it.

“Mhmm,” you said, heart hammering against your ribs. “I’ll come.”

And there you were— in a dress that hardly qualified as such— standing so close to him that you could smell his expensive cologne. His arm would brush yours, he’d glance over and apologize with a warm hand to your arm. You’d clench your thighs together and peer at him through your lashes. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.

A few of the other players disappeared to play darts, or watch the late night coverage of the other sports still competing. You stuck by Art’s side, happily allowing his attention to fall on you completely.

“I saw parts of your doubles final,” he said finally. He was drinking a brand of beer you’d never seen before— something local, you supposed. “You looked beautiful out there.” Your eyes lit up, and then he added. “The way you were playing, I mean— it was phenomenal.”

“Well, I’m no gold medalist,” you said. You let your hand rest on his arm, and looked up at him. The fingers on your other hand toyed with the edge of the medal, warm from where it had been flush against his chest.

He swallowed. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, but he didn’t discourage it. Not one fucking bit.

It wasn’t lost on you that Tashi wasn’t there. Not that it was really her type of venue, from what you had gathered. It wasn’t lost on you that Art Donaldson was at a dive bar, drinking random Brazilian beers, instead of celebrating with his wife, with his daughter. Fuck all those posts on his instagram— if he really was a good husband, a faithful one… that’s the only place he’d want to be.

“I saw your match too. I ran right over after my ceremony to watch,” you confessed. It was hard to concentrate on anything else— you were standing so close to him that you were nearly pressed completely into his body.

His lips twitched in interest. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Mhmm. It was incredible. You were so dominant out there, just taking what was rightfully yours.”

He swallowed again, gravitating closer. Your tits were practically spilling out of your dress— he probably got the perfect eyeful when he eased you closer with a firm hand on your lower back, when he looked down at you through blown pupils.

“You looked so fucking hot out there, Art,” you said, lips brushing against his jawline. “You can’t even imagine how it felt sitting there, watching you win. How turned on I got… how wet.”

Art exhaled a shuddery breath. “Jesus Christ.”

It must’ve been a while since he had someone want him this bad, you thought. Clearly he needed it— needed a pretty, sweet thing to tell him just how much they wanted him. You could be that. You could do that.

“I’m not wearing panties,” you whispered in his ear. His grip on you tightened and you had to suppress a giddy smile. “You can feel if you want. I won’t tell.”

He swore under his breath and glanced around. Everyone was too occupied or drunk to give a shit about what the two of you were up to.

He grabbed your hand, pulled you away into the bathroom. You looked pretty even then, in the flickering lights, sat up on the edge of the sink eagerly awaiting his attention.

When he wrenched your thighs apart, he was greeted by the pretty sight of your glistening cunt— sticky with arousal and need. His hand fit there perfectly, right where you needed it.

“Fuck,” you gasped. His fingers rubbed through your slit— wet and hot and aching for him. Your head fell back, knocking against the dirty mirror. “Want you to use me— whatever you want, just take it.”

And you meant it too. This was your teenage idol— a man you’d touched yourself to the thought of countless times. He owned your body, your sexuality, as much as you did. It was only fair he took from it whatever he pleased.

You watched with hungry eyes as he fumbled with the button of his pants, then shoved them down just enough to free his dick.

Your mouth fucking watered with the need to feel it on your tongue, nudging against the back of your throat. You weren’t opposed to begging— you nearly started before you got it into your hand.

Warm, thick, pulsing. Precum beaded at his tip, so you smeared it around the sensitive head of his cock with your thumb. He groaned, bucked into your fist once, twice before he moved your hand.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he said, slapping the inside of your thighs. You obeyed wordlessly, spreading yourself out invitingly. He pressed closer, so you felt him rutting his dick against your pussy, coating it in your arousal. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

The words came out with equal parts disgust and awe. He probably thought you were a slut with the way you were throwing yourself at him. You wished he’d just call you that, spit it in your face.

Your cunt pulsed with need, aching to be filled up finally. The culmination of years of fantasizing. Art pressed himself against your entrance, sinking himself into you with the slow reverence of a man who liked making love.

He buried himself inside of you and had to stop moving to keep from cumming then and there. He was a perfect image of restraint— the way his fingers dimpled the flesh of your hips in a bruising grip.

Art wanted to be a gentleman— to give you time to adjust to the size of him, to ease you into it and let the pleasure be a slow, soft burn. He pulled out nice and easy, slid himself into your wet, throbbing cunt. That was all fine and good, but you knew it was just pretense. You were laid out and wanting, begging for him to use you as his own personal toy.

“I’m not your wife, Art.” You met his gaze, locked your ankles around his waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The first thrust, the first real one, knocked the air from your lungs. That silence didn’t last long— because you got what you wanted— he was really fucking you, bullying his cock into your pussy with the same need and desperation that you felt.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve— fuck— you’ve got no fucking self respect, huh?” He pounded into you, leveraging his grip to pull you against him, really impale you on his dick.

The moan that escaped you was pornographic. If he kept talking to you like that, if he kept fucking you like that, you’d cum.

“You don’t even care, do you? This fucking pussy’s squeezing me so tight— you fucking love this,” His voice was strained, interrupted by groans and pants.

You moaned, eyes rolling back. “Love this,” you echoed. When you looked down, at the sight of him splitting you open, of the ring of creamy arousal circling the base of his dick, you felt dizzy. Like you were standing on top of a tall building and looking down. Sort of out of body, tethered in the present by brutal thrusts into your pussy and the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies joining.

Your fingers moved between your thighs, rubbing needy and insistent at your clit. So close to finishing that you wanted to cry and just ask to start over again, that you’d savor it more a second time.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned suddenly. You felt him start to pull out, to leave. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— not yet, you didn’t want it to end like that. “I have an IUD,” you lied through your teeth. You used your legs, pulled him closer, deeper. “Just keep going, don’t stop. I’m right there.”

He moaned against your throat— holding you tight, fucking into you with animal need. Your fingers moved against your clit with an insistent need. It didn’t take much to push you over the edge. Your moans so loud that Art had to put his medal between your lips to shut you up.

And you were so pliant— letting him drill into your aching, used cunt, your mouth tasting like metal. You felt his rhythm falter— one, two harsh thrusts that knocked muffled moans from you until he came, painting your insides thick, creamy white.

He stayed buried inside of you for a while— panting, doing his best to catch his breath. You spat out the medal and it fell back against his chest, spit slick and shining. You reached up, ran your fingers along his face, reverently, sweetly. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and you tucked it away with delicate fingers.

When he pulled out, you felt that sinking feeling of loss and jealousy in your chest. He redressed in silence, turned away like he couldn’t stand to look at you, or the mirror. Shame rolled off of him in waves that you wanted to brush away.

It wasn’t bad, you’d assure him. You’re a tennis star, you’re the greatest in the world. You should have whatever you want, whenever you want it.

But you didn’t say that. You just tidied yourself up as best as you could and slipped back out into the bar. If anyone noticed, they said nothing.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers fanfic #challengers x reader #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson smut

1K notes · View notes

factual-fantasy · 2 months

Note

Heya Factual! Been a bit! Hope you're having a good day! Really been enjoying your slime rancher Submas AU, and I'm. Glad to see the group's made it through the (presumably) hardest bit of their time on the ramge, and it's sweet to hear you intend to draw them some more in the future! Here's to hoping we get some more wholesome antics to recover from all the angst...

Also, since it's been such fun watching you craft this new universe these past weeks, I of course had to tailor my Asks to it- the first of which is: is this version of the far far range souly home to Pokemon inspired slimes, or does it still house a mix of the original slimes as well? And can the Pokemon slime become largos too? If so, is it perhaps part of their evolution? Are their slimes for every legendary? Is there an Arceus slime!?

And on that topic, do you think any other characters would translate over to this universe? Would there perhaps be slime versions of Grimace and the gang hopping about? maybe I'm overthinking it, but could team Rocket perhaps persist as a slime smuggling syndicate? With Jessie, James, and their loyal slime Meowth!?

Thank you!! I'm glad you've been liking my slime rancher AU stuff!! :DD Now as for your questions...

I'll be replacing all the in-game slimes with Pokémon. Its not exactly like "this Pokémon takes the role of the tabby slime, and this slime takes the role of the honey slime". Its just all random. Although I did want there to be a "pink" slime of sorts. (A common slime that could eat anything.) And so I made the Trubbish line take that "role" <XD

And in case you're wondering which Pokémon will be added? I plan to just have the Unova region Pokémon present. With only a few exceptions here and there. Its makes sense considering all the humans in this AU are from that region <XD Here are some more examples of Unova region slimes! :)

As for if the Pokémon can become largos? I haven't really figured that out yet.. I feel like it would be cool if the base slime to largo transformation mirrored Pokémon evolution.. buuut I'm having trouble figuring out how that would work as you can see here..

This also begs the question of reginal variants. Maybe it would work like this..?

Ahhh Idk, I'm still thinking everything over <XDD

Also, "Is there an Arceus slime?" Well he doesn't look like your typical slime.. but he's there!

While we're on the subject of legendaries, the ones from the Unova region exist! And I know Giratina isn't in Black/White, but since I added Arceus.. I let him take the place of Tarrs...

I haven't decided if any of the Pokémon slimes can even turn into Tarrs or not. I kind'a like the idea of Tarrs being these unknown beasts that are separate from slimes.. hmm.. who knows <XD

And lastly, Grimace and the gang? And team rocket? I don't think I'll be adding them in canon.. although I did draw a slime Grimace and Sylvester the other day! :DD

Aaaanywho, thank you for the ask! It really got my creative drive going for some reason XDD I've been pretty distracted these last few days working on my live Violet dex.. but I'd still like to come back and draw more for this AU sometime! Thanks again! :))

#my response #long post #slime rancher #submas #pokemon legends arceus #pixel art #beta arceus

501 notes · View notes

casualhedonists · 8 months

Text

✩ 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

1K notes · View notes

sarah-yyy · 4 months

Note

Jie jie, what is The Double about?

hahahahahaha i was waiting for someone to ask!! mr r has bailed on me at work again and bossman has the man flu so it's just. me at the office today. working my ass off for partners who are trying to Kill Me™.

what: period cdrama // completed // 40 eps, roughly 45 mins each where: youku (standard disclaimer that i don’t watch with subs so i don’t speak to the quality of eng subs) // i think viki is picking this up?

this is xue fangfei. daughter of a small town magistrate. married a poor scholar for love against the wishes of her dad. this turns out to be a bad, bad, bad decision because he ends up burying her alive in the mountains sometime post-marriage. :)

this all happens in like ep 1, we're just getting started.

xff ends up being rescued by jiang li, who is the prime minister's kinda-sorta-exiled daughter. jl has been stuck in a kinda-sorta-nunnery in the mountains for the past 10 years because of her evil stepmother.

i'll skip past all the other bits because there is a bit of a backstory about what happened to jl, but long story short!! jl dies (kinda-sorta-because of xff). xff decides to get justice for both herself and jl. her plan is:

1. become jiang li 2. go back to the capital 3. ?????? 4. profit make everyone pay

this is xiao heng a.k.a. su-guogong (the translation is duke su but it sounds weird to me so i'm going to stick with su-guogong). he chances upon xff while he's trying to catch a criminal.

xff, who is in the process of executing her Escape Plan, decides eh, any way to escape will do and lets s-gg arrest her to take her back to the capital for interrogation.

(yes, this is wang xingyue who played zhang zhe in kunning palace. yes he looks a++++++ in this show. i am obsessed.)

side bar, counsels, for a bit of very important information -

su-guogong recognises xue fangfei!! he knows 100% that she is not jiang li and that she is going to cause some chaos. he is Committed™ to watching this drama play out.

ANYWAY. this is the loose premise of the show. it's been fun to watch, and i'm enjoying this a lot!! why should you watch the show?

wang xingyue looks so good in this!! the fans? the capes?? i am obsessed!! everyone in the costumes department deserves a raise.

the story moves quickly and doesn't really drag on. so far, it's been nothing complicated and interesting to watch - i wouldn't say this is a plot-heavy show, just a v good 宅斗 for now, but i'm only like 10 eps in.

the torture my ex-husband who murdered me by showing up in front of him and saying all the right things to remind him of me and the fact that he killed me is so good - normally when this happens, the person looks nothing like their former self, but!! xff's looks haven't changed!! so she's just out here going - hi i am jiang li now and oh btw do you know how cold it is in the mountains where you killed me :)

look i'm......intrigued by this whole shen yurong (ex-husband) and the zhang-gongzhu storyline. i want to see how this whole thing plays out!!

eta: quick post-watch thoughts (may contain spoilers)

a v enjoyable drama!! this is a 爽剧 for reals, like all the plot points get wrapped up and we get a few cute snippets into their happily ever after!! i'm a bit :/ about the way the last few scenes were done in ep 40 (the side character deaths??? extremely unnecessary 🙄🤬 actually the whole war scene was unnecessary but i'm not complaining too much because it gave us That Scene), tbh the whole thing looked more OE leaning BE than HE to me, so the 番外 was quite important to me!! glad we got that!!

shen yurong and zhang-gongzhu both turned out to be so much more interesting than i thought!! a+++ villains, v well-written, and both actors played them beautifully 👏🏼

still an 8.5/10 rec tbh, started strong and held my interest the entire way through

#tv rec #the double #cdrama

415 notes · View notes

bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 9 months

Text

Embarrassment - T.Nott

Summary - Because they stayed at Hogwarts this year, the Slytherin gang and their significant others spend time together in the common room as they exchange gifts and enjoy each other’s company. However, the two Italian speakers in the group quickly find out that they aren’t the only ones in the building.

Word Count - 920

Warnings - Italian Speaking!Reader, female reader, use of Y/N, swearing, Snape makes an appearance, Italian sentences but they all have the translation, not proofread

Author’s Note - Day Eighteen! One more week left! My Italian is very rusty so I did use Google translate for most of the sentences. I haven’t used Italian in a long time so I thought it was time to dust off and get back to using it. I hope you enjoy!

my masterlist

25 days of fics masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

It was officially Christmas at Hogwarts, the Scottish Highlands coated with a blanket of white snow as more fell from the clouds above. It was a picture perfect Christmas morning, the Slytherin gang all getting up and meeting in the great hall for breakfast first before they started their gift exchanges. Theo’s girlfriend, Y/N, had been the last to join them at breakfast, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she sat down beside the aforementioned boy.

“Buongiorno amore, come hai dormito?” Theo greeted his girlfriend in Italian. (Good morning love, how did you sleep?)

“Buongiorno tesoro, bene, tu?” She yawned as she leaned into his side. (Good morning treasure/darling, good, you?)

“Enough Italian you two, we would like to understand you too you know?” Pansy teased the couple, earning a flip of a certain finger on his hand.

“Bene. Mangi(you eat) amore. Happy Christmas,” The boy whispered to his girlfriend before planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Happy Christmas, Theo.” She kissed his cheek before eating her breakfast consisting of pancakes and eggs. As the ending of breakfast came, the group made their way back to the common room where they agreed to exchange their gifts. They gave their friends gifts first before significant others, Y/N running up to her dorm to get Theo’s gift. As she came back down to the common room with a wide grin, she held out the gift for him. “Per il mio principe,”(For my prince) She smiled, pecking his lips as he grabbed it from her.

“Grazie principessa,”(Thank you princess) He thanked her before tearing the gift open. She had gifted him a watch that he had been eyeing up the last time they went to Hogsmede together. “I love it, grazie bellissima." He kissed her gently before hugging her tightly. As they pulled away from the hug, he handed her his gift.

She tore it open to reveal not only a gorgeous golden necklace with a diamond encrusted crescent moon but also a photo of them on their first date that someone had sneakily taken. “Chi ha scattato la foto? Lo adoro, Theo! Grazie, grazie, grazie!” (Who took the photo? I love it, Theo! Thank you, thank you, thank you!) She asked her boyfriend as she threw her arms around his neck to pull him into a loving embrace.

“Draco preso(took it). Sono felice che ti piaccia, amore(I’m glad you like it, love),” Theo replied before connecting their lips again. They only pulled away because their friends were fake gagging.

“I heard my name and I would like to know why,” Draco insisted.

“The picture, Dray, thank you for taking it,” Y/N assured the boy before letting go of her boyfriend to hug her friend.

“In that case, you’re welcome, I’m glad I was able to take it without you noticing.” She giggled as she kissed both his cheeks in thanks once again. She made her way back to her boyfriend as they began to chat in Italian.

Much to their friends’ dismay, they continued to speak Italian back and forth. Their friends had given up telling them to try and speak English so they could all talk together. Pansy found it sweet that her best friend had found a guy with the same native language as her and a guy that treated her well. Blaise on the other hand was practically sick because Theo was constantly talking about his girlfriend when they weren’t together. Deep down he loved seeing his friend so happy but he would rather be mad at Theo for his constant rambling.

The couple had switched back to English as they were readying themselves to talk with the whole group rather than just each other. They got teased by their friends for the switch but it was all in good fun. The rest of the day was spent with their friends, joking and fooling around, playing some games and exchanging embarrassing stories about each other. The Slytherin common room might have been nearly vacant but it was more lively than ever as the friends mucked about. They had only quieted down after Snape had stormed in to tell them that some of their housemates had complained about their volume.

“Cazzo in culo(cock up your ass)!” Y/N swore, causing Theo to burst out into laughter.

“Posso parlare anche italiano(I also speak Italian), Miss Y/L/N. Detention for a week once the term begins, same for you Mr. Nott. Happy Christmas,” Snape spoke before exiting the common room.

“What did you say to piss him off?” Draco asked with a chuckle.

“Cock up your ass,” Y/N muttered.

“What was that?” Pansy asked, not hearing her friend.

“Cock up your ass. I didn’t know he spoke Italian! Sono così imbarazzato(I’m so embarrassed), Teddy!” She whined to her boyfriend.

“I know you’re embarrassed, principessa, but you should probably watch your mouth around professors. I do have to say that was the funniest thing I have ever witnessed in my life,” Theo teased her. She let out a groan as she hid her face in his warm chest, their friends laughing along with him in agreement. Y/N joining in sooner rather than later, the embarrassment going away quickly.

Although their Christmas was spent at Hogwarts away from family, the Slytherin gang had enjoyed spending it with each other. Having fun with no responsibilities for a couple weeks and having nearly the whole Slytherin common room and dorms to themselves. It was the best Christmas any of them had ever had.

#theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott #theodore nott #slytherin boys #harry potter #pro snape #harry potter fandom

843 notes · View notes

kyushiblast · 8 months

Text

⤷ 〝 jealous much? 〞

➞ pairings : grusha , arven , & jacq ( separate ) x gn! reader

➞ summary : how they react when jealous.

➞ genre : fluff

➞ cw / other : nothing

➞ a/n : need requests y��all

❝ grusha ❞

— ♥ the incident of his career hadn’t just affected him physically, a mental toll was in state along with it including his bit of possessiveness for you.

— ♥ he can’t help it. after all, you’re on his list of most cherished. and as cheesy as it sounds, he’d hate losing someone so precious to him as he’d lost his occupation.

— ♥ so when he sees this person shamelessly hitting on you, of course he’s going to step in and say something.

— ♥ glaseado mountain has a few forms. sometimes calm, sometimes sharp and unforgiving as if mad at the people climbing its skin. grusha’s cold persona towards the person embodied that.

— ♥ would probably threaten to pokémon battle. just because he’s an ice type gym leader doesn’t mean that he’ll just have ice type pokémon on hand every time, so he’d most likely use varieties including those you’ve traded with him.

— ♥ he’ll be levelheaded as much as he can until the other person initiates a snap or an aggressive show, but either way in the end he’ll definitely come up to you and ask if you’re okay.

— ♥ expect a brief hug after, and maybe a few kisses or two. he’s not too big on pda, especially if some people come by to watch him battle and he’s waiting for the area to clear up.

— ♥ but the best part is him being in denial about being clingy afterwards. that’s when teasing him is essential.

❝ arven ❞

— ❀ he’s the type to be suspicious and accusatory first, ask later.

— ❀ will cross his arms and be sassy. maybe something like, “is this person bothering you, (y/n)? i can deal with ‘em.”

— ❀ when he’s jealous he’s obvious. he’ll pull you in more, scowl and throw sarcastic comments at the other person, and he’ll suggest to go somewhere else.

— ❀ WILL throw in a regular pokemon challenge to the other if it gets to that point. like might as well make it a tradition or smth to go up to someone and challenge them whenever lmao ,, wait that already happens

— ❀ arven would also grasp onto your arm or sleeve subconsciously, afterwards backing away and apologizing after the person’s gone for just grabbing your arm.

— ❀ “i hate it when people just keep persisting on someone even when they’re obviously taken…” arven would sigh, “…but hey, it means you’re hot stuff if people keep coming to take you away from me!”

— ❀ then he’d offer to go on a picnic or something, whatever you’d like. he’s just glad that you’re there with him, no matter what.

❝ jacq ❞

— ☾ the other person isn’t gonna take jacq seriously. i mean, he does look like he just woke up, with his laid back attitude and ruffled clothing. but the charm in it was something you could admire, and clearly the other person didn’t see that.

— ☾ he’s a lil irritated. not just because this person’s competing against him, but also because they have a solid chance.

— ☾ they looked better and dressed better, they were smooth with talking, and in no way did jacq feel as if he could compete properly against them.

— ☾ you seemed to sense his thoughts, holding his hand comfortingly. his heart, as if a weight was pushed off of it, immediately lightened.

— ☾ THEN he had the confidence to say some things. and after you both left the scene, a semi-heartbroken person left behind, he’d kiss you on the forehead thanking you for everything.

— ☾ sure, it was just a small scenario that doesn’t hold much significance in one’s eye. but it strengthened your relationship in the end, and as dorky as it seems, it mattered.

— ☾ jacq’s a good person. he just needs you there to remind him of it. give him one compliment and he’ll pay back tenfold.

work of kyushiblast , please do not translate , copy , or repost here or on any other platform !!

619 notes · View notes

calmlb · 6 months

Text

“Does Chuuya believe that Dazai is human?”

someone on twitter proposed this question, specifically referencing this scene*:

this scene is so interesting because Dazai is pretending he doesn’t care about what Shibusawa is doing. he’s pretending he does care about reaching executive. he’s pretending he doesn’t have a plan.

everything he does in this scene is intentional, to set Chuuya on track for his plan to take down Shibusawa… which includes riling him up.

yes, Chuuya believes Dazai is human— that’s precisely why it’s such a sensitive subject for Chuuya. he projects onto Dazai what he’s scared of becoming because Dazai is a mirror for Chuuya. when Chuuya looks at Dazai, he sees parts of himself that he tries to ignore staring back at him. (the same is true for Dazai— Chuuya is his mirror)

so Dazai sees this topic as an easy way to get Chuuya mad— to storm off & leave him alone for a few days so that Dazai can go get himself captured (so that Chuuya will have to come save him, putting him in the perfect position to use Corruption & end the conflict once and for all).

but when Chuuya realizes Dazai’s plan (like he always does), he sees through Dazai’s front. honestly part of the reason he’s always so annoyed when he gets to Dazai is probably in part because Dazai keeps pretending to be heartless when he’s really not. Chuuya doesn’t understand why Dazai lets people think he’s “bad” when, in reality, he’s doing something good.

so actually, Chuuya is one of the few people who sees and knows that Dazai isn’t heartless.

he does care.

he is human.

Chuuya’s own projection just gets in the way of him remembering that most of the time (which is totally understandable considering his backstory & the fact that he’s only a kid).

*just for reference, the official translation’s version of those panels reads:

“Well, that was mean of you. I’m human too, you know?”

“Like anyone believes that. Just be glad I didn’t kill you.”

#i could talk skk analysis all. day. long.#rambling about bsd again #bsd #bungou stray dogs #skk #soukoku #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #bsd dead apple #dragons head conflict #bsd analysis #bsd meta #character analysis

422 notes · View notes

cuubism · 1 year

Text

The thing is.

Hob understands that Dream cannot be hurt easily. He is an ancient, powerful, nonhuman being. Hob has, in fact, heard a story from Matthew about when some foolish human wannabe-magician had attempted to stab him when Dream had gone to retrieve a spell book that had slipped from the Dreaming library. According to Matthew, the knife had simply gone through his chest like he was made of smoke and left no mark at all.

(Hob still wishes he had been there. He’d have snapped the guy’s arm. Or worse.)

Barring luck and a magical binding, like what happened with Roderick Burgess, Dream can’t be hurt by mortal means. Hob understands this. Hell, he can hardly be hurt by supernatural means either. Only a few very powerful beings would be able to manage it, or else the very laws that govern his existence, coming down upon his head.

The thing also is.

Dream bruises so easily.

Sometimes.

Like now, when Dream is actually limping across the floor of the Inn. Long coat, which usually does not come with him to the waking world, wrapped tight around him. A dark bruise blooms along his cheekbone. Hob doesn’t understand how it’s possible. It shouldn’t be, not when Dream can take a knife to the heart like it’s a gust of wind, but the fact of the matter is that it is possible, apparently. And so Hob’s got to do something about it.

He meets Dream halfway across the room, braces him by the arms. “Jesus, Dream. Are you hurt?” Well, evidently he is. “How badly?”

“I told him he should stay home and rest,” grumbles Matthew from where he’s hopping along the floor at Dream’s side. Hob hadn’t even seen him there, he’d been so focused on Dream. The fact that Matthew’s not even riding on Dream’s shoulder is not a good sign.

“I did not want to miss our meeting,” Dream says. Which is a hell of a thing.

“Come upstairs, then,” Hob says, and doesn’t quite realize he’s grabbed Dream’s arm and is right pulling him along until he’s already done it. But Dream just follows him. Matthew follows, too, which, again, is not making Hob feel confident about Dream not being too badly injured.

“What happened?” Hob asks, as he sits Dream down on the couch, perching carefully at his side.

“A minor altercation,” says Dream.

“He was thrown into a wall,” says Matthew. “The wall cracked, by the way.”

Hob winces in sympathy. “Thrown by who? Or… what?”

Dream says, “It’s of no consequence.”

Matthew says, “I don’t know, but it had a lot of limbs.”

Hob’s kind of glad Matthew’s here as bullshit translator right now.

“How badly were you hurt?” he asks again. Not badly enough to keep him from traveling, evidently, but badly enough that he is limping. As a measly little human, Hob might find himself limping for a while just by twisting his ankle going down the stairs— but he does not like that intersection of facts when it’s someone like Dream.

“I am fine,” says Dream, and then winces as he shifts his weight on the couch.

“Bullshit,” say Hob and Matthew simultaneously, after which Matthew adds, “Uh, I mean, bullshit, your lordship.”

Dream slants a reproving glance over at him, then back to Hob. “Can I see?” Hob asks, more gently. “I’d like to help. If I can.”

Gingerly, Dream shrugs his long robe off his shoulders. Underneath, he’s wearing his usual black t-shirt, and at Hob’s urging he pulls that off over his head, too, though evidently with some pain. His chest and stomach seem uninjured, the unnaturally pale and smooth skin is still just that, unnaturally pale and smooth— so Hob tugs on his shoulder. “Can I see your back?”

Dream turns, and Hob tries not to think too hard about Dream doing his bidding like that—it’s tender and troubling and arousing all at once, and he’s definitely not going to think about that last bit—and sucks in a breath.

His back is a map of bruises, nebulae arcing over his shoulders and the nape of his neck, curling down over his spine like a coiled dragon. Dream bruises prettily, even like this, periwinkle and dusk blue, the purple of sunset clouds. Another reminder of how Night, too, lives within him.

“I told you,” Matthew says, hopping up onto the back of the couch by Hob’s shoulder.

Dream makes a grumbling sound, but doesn’t deny him this time.

Hob traces a light hand along his shoulder blade and the deep, spilled-watercolor of the bruise there. Thrown into a wall, Matthew had said. Ouch.

Dream shivers at the touch, and Hob says, tentative, “Do you usually bruise like that, love?”

He’s seen it before, though not this bad. Lines of strain on Dream’s hands. A red, banded mark on his arm on one of the few occasions he’d taken his coat off in Hob’s presence. He wants to hear it from Dream, though.

Dream says, tentative now, hunched on the couch like a wounded physical thing rather than what he is, “I… suppose.”

Sitting only in his tight jeans and boots, hair a mess, the mark on his cheek makes him look hunted. Hob touches that too, with light fingertips. Dream leans into his hand with a little sigh, and… oh. That’s something.

“Hey, he got the shit kicked out of him like a few days ago and just walked away like it was nothing,” Matthew complains, as if Dream’s I suppose answer is ridiculous. “And then obliterated the other guy, too.”

“Sorry, when was this?” Hob is still holding Dream’s cheek, but Dream doesn’t turn further to meet his eyes. “Why are you getting beaten up all the time, exactly?”

He’s not Dream’s minder. He’s not. He’s not. Hob forces himself to remember that fact.

“In my absence many have forgotten the might and sanctity of the Dreaming,” says Dream, and if Hob’s not mistaken there’s a little whining petulance in his tone which is… endearing, almost. “Other realms have become… impudent. Entitled. I am simply. Reminding them to show respect. Sometimes physical conflict is necessary.”

Hob sighs. “Well, Your Majesty, maybe it’s time to take a break from the ritual dueling, yeah?”

“…Perhaps,” Dream says, which is as much of an agreement as Hob ever gets.

He supposes he’ll take perhaps. Though the more he thinks about it, the more distressing it is to imagine Dream going around getting hurt. Even if he thinks he’s doing it for some important cause.

“Well, there’s not much I can do for these right now,” Hob says, and can’t keep the concern out of his voice. “Other than letting them heal on their own.”

“I see,” says Dream, and if Hob’s not mistaken his voice is small. And he reaches for his shirt, and—

“Hey.” Hob grabs his wrist. Dream freezes. “That doesn’t mean you have to leave?” He hates that it comes out as a question.

Dream wavers. Then he says, “Matthew.”

It’s loaded with more than just Matthew’s name. An order. Matthew squawks indignantly. “Boss! Come on. You’re really gonna send me back like that? When you’re like this?”

Dream just looks at him.

Matthew sighs, fluttering his wings. “Fine. Have your special private time, then.”

Special private time, Hob mouths to himself.

Matthew lifts his wings for takeoff. “You better not send him back with more bruises, Hobert.”

“Excuse me?”

Then he’s gone, winging out a window that Hob hadn’t realized was open. Maybe it wasn’t a moment ago. Who knows.

Dream looks after him, and sighs with real fatigue. “His insolence only grows.”

“Special private time?” Hob says, and Dream glances at him, and then away.

“He is under the impression that you are my…” he says, and trails off.

Oh. Well.

They’re not like that. But.

But?

Dream looks despondent now, staring off into the corner of the flat, back still turned to Hob’s chest. Hob’s become certain that he wants something, he came here for something, not just to make their usual meeting time… but he still doesn’t know what.

Probably he should ask. Not that that ever works with Dream. Probably he should anyway.

Instead he presses his lips to the curve of Dream’s shoulder, where the bruise is deepest blue.

Dream shudders, and then goes slack in his grip, his shoulders caving. “Hob…”

“Is that what you wanted?” Hob says against his skin. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He can’t believe Dream is letting him. “Does it hurt very badly? Is that helping?”

“It…” Dream muses, and sighs. “Is. Helping.”

Hob takes Dream’s chin between his fingers and turns his face enough that he can kiss his cheek, over the horrible sprawled mark of the bruise. Dream’s eyes flutter shut. He braces a hand on Hob’s thigh as he twists back to lean into Hob’s touch. Hob could use his grip to turn his head further and kiss him properly, he thinks, with a trip in his chest. Dream’s lips are right there, soft and open.

Instead, he leans his head on the back of Dream’s neck. Lets his hands fall to Dream’s bare waist, lips brushing his skin as he says, “You don’t… really bruise, do you?”

Dream still has his head tipped back; Hob’s hair brushes his cheek. “It affects you to see it,” he says quietly.

“Of course it does,” Hob says, equally hushed now. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

“Even,” says Dream, almost tentative, “if I am not truly hurt?”

“You are hurt,” Hob says, and finally draws the strength to lift his head from Dream’s neck. Dream is still looking at him, over his shoulder. His eyes are very dark in the dim light, rimmed red, he looks soft and fragile as a flower petal and Hob would do anything for him. “You were thrown into a wall by ‘something with a lot of limbs’, after all.”

Dream huffs. “Matthew exaggerates.”

“It’s okay if you want it to matter,” Hob tells him. That’s what it is, isn’t it? “To… be seen.” He slides his hand over Dream’s where it still rests on his thigh, twines their fingers together. A flicker of stillness runs through Dream’s body, the way a human’s breath might catch. Hob thinks he might pull away.

Instead he yields, and Hob exhales hard, a breath that had coiled far too tight in his lungs unwinding. Dream caves into him, and Hob wraps his arms around him, pulls him close, kisses the curve of his shoulder and watches a bruise disappear in the echo of that touch.

“Just wanted a hug after a rough day, in the end?” Hob says, and Dream huffs again as if such a desire is offending even to imply. He doesn’t move away though.

“Is it that easy for you?” Dream’s face is close enough that his hair brushes Hob’s temple as he speaks.

“And what if it is?” What if Hob had wanted to hug him when he first spoke of his imprisonment, and held back, and still regrets it? And what if it’s so easy to fall into it now? To slip into a world, this world where he can pull Dream into his arms, like he’s wading into the ocean for the first time, into foreign currents powerful beyond imagining but primordially known. Resonant as a familiar dream.

In some sense it would be accurate to say that Hob has known Dream all his life—he is, after all, dreams. But Hob doesn’t think of his friend as dreams. Maybe it’s a limitation of his human mind not to see the endless scale of the picture. But when he thinks of Dream, he doesn’t think of all of life or anything like that.

Instead, he goes back to their meeting in 1689. When Dream had thought he might no longer want to live, and Hob swore he saw a tear nearly break that usually stern countenance. Hob had always been fascinated by him, but he thinks that was the first moment he really saw him, beyond the cloak of distance and fantasy Dream liked to wrap around himself.

He’d like to think that Dream saw him then, too.

That’s the Dream he thinks of. The Dream he’d like to say he knows. The person, not the incomprehensible entity that Dream sees himself as. An incomprehensible entity can take a knife through the chest and dissipate around it like smoke, but not a person.

“If it is,” says Dream, pulling back to properly look at him, “then perhaps I might… impose.”

He looks so… cautiously hopeful. How can he not know already? “You think it’s possible for you to impose?”

“Imposition is easy,” says Dream, quietly. Hob lifts a hand to cup his cheek, and at the same time, as if of the same mind, Dream leans in and fits his face to Hob’s palm, eyes falling shut again.

He looks so gaunt now, with his bruised cheek and shadowed eyes, sharp collarbones and the swooping curves of his ribs. Hob had thought it had gotten better since his imprisonment, but now he’s not so sure. Maybe it’s just that without the shielding of his shirt, and his robe, he looks smaller than Hob’s used to thinking of him, and angular and fragile. He’s still so impossibly beautiful, delicate like a tree glazed in post-storm ice.

It makes Hob feel unexpectedly bold. His heart trips over, but he leans in and kisses the corner of Dream’s mouth.

Dream makes a quiet, surprised sound. Turns his head, blind, seeking, and then their lips connect properly.

When Hob had let himself imagine the possibility of kissing Dream, he had seen a force of nature. His friend would kiss with the chill of the rain that night he’d left Hob standing behind the White Horse. With the encompassing darkness of the night sky. The full experience of him would be overpowering and that was okay, because even a taste of him had already turned the course of Hob’s life.

But this Dream caves. Tips his head back in Hob’s hand, opens his mouth under Hob’s. Stiffness bleeds from him, regality flees him, and what Hob has left in his hands is a soft, horribly bruised thing leaning in for a deeper kiss.

So he kisses Dream deeper. Swipes his tongue into Dream’s mouth. He tastes slightly metallic, like he might have bitten his tongue and bled, were he human, and he makes a soft sound as Hob breaks the kiss for an unfortunate but necessary breath.

He keeps Dream close, hand to his cheek. Dream, eyes still closed, says, “A kiss just to comfort me, Hob?”

It hurts, just a little, that he thinks so. “How about a kiss just because I wanted to kiss you? You really think I’m more selfless than I am.”

Dream chuckles. “I see.”

Finally, he opens his eyes to look at Hob again properly. He looks tentatively happy now, it’s there in the slight crease at the corners of his eyes, the little spark that’s returned to them. Hob’s heart swells to see it, to think that he could do that.

“What then,” says Dream, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, “would you do… selfishly?”

“Same thing,” says Hob, and kisses him again. Dream hums into it this time, pleased. “And tell you to bring me with you next time you’re asserting your dominance around the galaxy or whatever.”

“Why?”

“There’s some guys I want to throw into walls,” Hob says.

Dream huffs, but Hob thinks he looks secretly pleased. “I am not certain ‘guys’ is an accurate description.”

“You think just because the fifteen-armed thing is a lady that I won’t—”

And Dream actually laughs, a startled choking laugh. “Your definition of chivalry is—” he gathers himself— “appalling.”

“Take it or leave it, Your Majesty,” Hob says, grinning. Nothing feels better than getting a rare laugh out of Dream.

Mirth sparkles in Dream’s eyes. “I will take it,” he says, turning his head to kiss Hob’s palm, “of course. When you offer me haven and defense both, how can I not?”

Hob presses his kissed palm back to Dream’s cheek, over the dark bruise there, watching it start to fade. “Bring me your bruises, darling,” he says, “and I’ll protect you.”

Dream leans back in, and rests his forehead against Hob’s. He doesn’t need to ask for another hug. Hob just wraps his arms around him, and lets Dream’s contented sigh be its own question, and answer, at once.

#'you've written about dream manifesting physical injuries to reflect his emotional turmoil before' and i will again!#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #one short wip finished 5 billion wips to go

1K notes · View notes

mixtape-racha · 10 months

Text

cw: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, mentioned seungmin, fem!reader

getting pounded by minho while the other members are in the next room over, his hand clamped over your mouth so tight your head is spinning and you adore it

all you can hear is the slapping of skin and minho's grunts, accompanied by your muffled whimpers and the way he pressed kisses against your shoulder has your eyes rolling back

he's so deep you swear you can feel him in your pelvis and you've been going at it so long your bodies are practically glued together with the sweat dripping off of both of you

soon enough, the boys will get concerned that it's been quiet for so long and come looking - there's only so much a stupid movie playing in the background can cover up

you clench at the thought of one of the members catching you like this, and you pray that minho won't notice, or care enough to question it

of course, he's smarter than you give him credit for and he chuckled against your skin, the lines of his smirk practically imprinted on you

"thinking about them coming to find us, hmm? seeing you like this, all spread out for mine like you should be?"

god, you hate that he knows you so well

"wouldn't that be a shame? probably traumatise poor felix. jeongin would move out. but what about seungmin, huh?"

your eyes rolled again, and you're just glad he can't see your face right now or you know he'd tease you forever

"now, seungminnie... i bet he'd like it. maybe a little too much, if you know what i mean?"

of course you did, but you weren't going to stop him talking now - not with the way your stomach was twisting and your chest pounding

his hips almost seemed to speed up as he continued talking, and it was then that you knew you had something to use against him

"maybe i'd let him watch. let him jerk his pathetic cock at me fucking you... or maybe we'd switch. maybe i'd let him take my place, and you could put on a show for me."

your thighs shook as you pushed your ass back against him to meet his thrusts, orgasm so close that you could almost taste it

"i reckon you could ruin him. have him whining and whimpering the way you usually do while you ride him. make him a complete bitch, yeah?"

you cried out into his hand, knowing he was close to his release too and wanting to finish together, but holding back was so, so hard

"you wanna make seungminnie a messy slut, yeah? put on a show for me, show me how much of a good girl you really are-- oh fuck, c'mon, baby, cum for me-"

your knees buckled as you came, the feeling overwhelming as minho's load shot inside of you

he took his hand away from your mouth, peppering you with kisses as he pulled out, but the silence couldn't be kept for long

"i'm gonna clean you up, and then we're gonna talk more about this, yeah?"

(a/n: scheduled post!)

-> don’t forget to reblog or comment if you like my works ♡ please refrain from modifying, translating, or copying my work. - © mixtape-racha

tags ✮⋆˙ : @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @taeriffic @mits-vi @chanssmiles @5kayzee @queen-klarissa @torixx80 @fawnpeaks @bangtanmix73 @savluvsmingi @boi-bi-ahaha @skz-streamer @demetrisscarf @manj1ro @linocvpid @alextheweeb7 @chans-american-slave @unsweetenedpeatea @carpioassists @bangtancultsposts @reiheis @happilydeepestwonderland @leemidnightmoon @watariisbestboy @hwangrimi @weedforthoughtz @ivyisnotokay @yevene @puckmaidens @poody1608 @vampcharxter @ilcveyouu @yeetmehome @prettymiye0n @bratty-tingz @diorrxluvskz

#mixtape-racha #mixtape-hard thoughts ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗#143 i luv queue ✮⋆˙#stray kids minho #stray kids fic #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz fic #skz smut #lee minho fic #minho smut #minho fic #lee minho x reader #lee know fic #lee know smut #lee know x reader #aria: lino fics 🎧✮₊˚⊹#aria: skz fics 🎧✮₊˚⊹

678 notes · View notes

victorbutnotreally · 3 months

Text

YOU WHAT??? - OT8 x Male Reader

Four times Mn surprised the members with his ~mysterious past~

A/N: Inspired by me constantly getting told that I "randomly drop lore". My friends didn't know that I played the piano until one day I saw a piano at my friend's place (her dad is a piano teacher) and I decided to play a nocturne. Hope you enjoy!

warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive, sometimes it may not make sense (but we're here to have fun), chan's room (rip), google translated french

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

One

"What is one thing you always carry around with you?"

That question was directed towards Mn. He snapped out of his trance of staring at Minho who was looking a little too pretty.

"Me? I always carry..." he pulls out a compass from his jean pocket. It was black and gold. "...this compass."

The members have seen a compass in Mn's pocket or in his bag while rummaging through it for snacks, but they didn't know he always had it.

"Why though?" was the question of a confused Jeongin.

"My neurophysiology professor gave it to me when I graduated. It means a lot to me since I didn't really receive a lot of gifts when I was younger. And he was such a good teacher."

The answer was met with gasps and widened eyes from the members. They didn't know their goofball of a member learned neuroscience. Hell, they didn't even know he went to university.

"WHAT?"

"PROFESSOR???"

"NEUROPHYSIOLOGY? THE FUCK??"

Two

Mn appeared as a special guest in Han's live. He was ranting about Achilles Come Down which was the song he recommended to be played on Chan's room last week. That's when he noticed a comment.

"Je vous aime tellement les gars ! Tu es honnêtement le meilleur et je ne peux pas te le dire assez"

He reads it out without a struggle and replies back in French.

"Merci beaucoup! Cela signifie beaucoup et j'espère que vous apprécierez également notre prochain album"

Han's eyes widened in surprise.

"Hold up, what?"

The comments started flooding in as well, completely thrown off by the sudden language change. No one knew he spoke French. They should've gotten used to the random lore dropping from Mn, though.

"OH MAH GAWDDDD"

"LORD HAVE MERCY THIS MAN CAN SPEAK FRENCH"

"i didn't know you spoke baguette!"

"just when i thought Mn couldn't get any hotter"

"get ready for the edits, y'all"

Jisung could only shake his head in disbelief.

Three

"Come on, hyung. I'm taking you back to the dorms and you're going to bed. Now."

"Just this one-"

"I slept more in university than you do now. And that's saying something, cuz I was busy!" He really was busy, with the neurology major, but that little smirk, the slight flush of his cheeks, and the bit of regret in saying that last statement was what made Chan raise a brow. There were a lot of times were Mn held his tongue when asked about ahem...experience.

"Yeah? What were you so busy with?"

"..My major, obviously. Now, get up."

Chan chuckled, getting up from his chair. "Nothing to smirk about in neurology, I'm sure."

"No one finds out about this, or I'll use my shooting skills on you."

"Your what now??"

Double lore drop. That's new.

Four

Mn was sitting with the rest of his members to react to his first solo song's MV. He wasn't exactly overjoyed by the idea, feeling awkward about seeing himself on screen. If it was a group MV, he could at least roast the others to get rid of the embarrassment of seeing whatever the directors told him to do on screen.

The screen fades in to a beautiful stage, an empty concert hall, occupied only by Mn who was painted with beautiful makeup and doing ballet. Gracefully, but the pain and insanity in his eyes is evident. Black Swan was the song.

"I...didn't know you did ballet."

Mn shrugged. His dance trainer knew, and honestly, he was glad the members found out this way. It was funny seeing their reactions.

341 notes · View notes

aayakashii · 4 months

Note

Can I please request the late night headcanons you did with Zenji but for Alan instead?!🙏🏾🙏🏾

BANQNWNAJDBNA I actually wrote that in such a rush (idk why!!!!) so I went to reread it, and there were SO MANY TYPOS AUUGHH I am so sorry... but I'm glad you requested something similar!!

Anyways without further ado, let's talk about

Late nights with Alan headcanons

Again, caution: NSFW!!! MINORS DNI!!!

Unlike Zenji, Alan is quiet and introspective, but don't get him wrong – he is desperate and needy for you and your touch.

Alan is a man who is afraid of his own strength, and that translates to his encounters with you.

He is afraid of touching you, afraid of hurting you, so you're gentle and reassure him of your trust – you tell him you know he would never hurt you.

And so, being mindful of his fears and insecurities, you take the initiative and touch him first.

You run your hands over his body and watch the goosebumps on his skin while you kiss his neck, his jaw, the corner of his lips.

He is so desperate to be touched by you, his face is flushed and hot just by having you plant feather kisses on his chest.

His hands tremble slightly while he takes off your clothes, mouth dry as he pants at the sight of you only with your underwear.

He licks his dry lips, looking at you through half-lidded eyes – silently pleading to let him eat you up.

He is eager to make you feel good, clenching his hands beside your thighs as he sucks the life out of you.

Your moans go straight to his dick – he humps the air slightly while humming against your most sensitive parts, the vibrations of his low voice sending you over the edge.

The tent in his pants is already wet and his face glistens with your cum.

His chest swallows with pride, seeing how you look so messy after he made you cum on this tongue.

He is so desperate to fuck you senseless and you are so desperate to be fucked as well.

Alan is still careful though, doing his best not to hold you too tight, nor grab you as he enters your hole.

He fists the sheets, almost tearing the fabric apart as he starts moving, the tightness of you making him roll his eyes and gasp with all these sensations in his body.

All he wants is to grab your hips and drill himself into you like a mad man.

But he can't, so he doesn't.

You, however, can hold him as much as you want, and this brings him even more pleasure.

You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, bringing yourself closer to him, letting him reach deeper and deeper inside you.

Alan rests his forehead against yours, and you capture his lips in a sloppy kiss that doesn't last long.

Soon, your moans are too hard to control when his thrusts begin to feel erratic – both of you are close to the edge.

The wet sounds of your bodies connected and the smell of sex fill his room, obscuring anything else besides you two and how you make each other feel.

Alan grunts low, forehead still resting against yours and face scrunched while he cums deep into you and you milk him dry.

You keep holding him tight long after you two have orgasmed, your bodies still connected, while your hands make circles against his back and caress his soft hair.

His hands tentatively snake under you, keeping you locked in his embrace, but not at all tight enough to constrict you or hurt you in any capacity.

He still feels unworthy of you, of your attention, and of your soft hands. He doesn't feel like someone violent like him deserves this much gentleness.

Regardless, he considers himself blessed to have you touch him so lovingly and will work his hardest to keep you safe.

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #tokyo debunker alan mido #alan mido #alan mido x reader #ask

179 notes · View notes

archiveikemen · 4 months

Text

Ikemen Villains JP "Black Wedding" LINE Chat

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Warnings and FAQ

I vow my eternity to...

William:

"You are a very brave little robin to vow your eternity to me.

Thank you. I'm glad that you're willing to make this vow. ... I love you too.

Until the finishing line welcomes us—— let's enjoy life unreservedly."

Harrison:

"You have strange taste, vowing your eternity to a liar like me.

No, rather, your judgement skills aren't half bad.

Because I was thinking of choosing you too. Perhaps I've surprisingly fallen in love with you."

Liam:

"I'm so glad you chose me... I'm losing my mind.

I'll make everything that upsets you disappear, and give you anything you want.

... So let's continue loving each other until the very last breath."

Elbert:

"Thank you... I was thinking that I want you to choose me. ... I want your eternity to be mine.

I love you too. I love you so much that I want to swallow you whole and become one with you. I'll forever... never let go of you."

Alfons:

"You're quite an eccentric person to vow your eternity to me.

I like that you made this foolish decision despite having no trust in me.

Looks like it can't be helped... let's have fun together until both of us have a change of mind."

Roger:

"Eternity, huh. Is that something you should be vowing to someone so easily?

Well then, this just means that you're destined to be toyed with and brought to tears by me forever.

Haha, no take backs. I've already decided to take your everything from this point on.

Jude:

"What? Forever? Does that mean you'll stick to be until death? You have awful risk management skills.

... Fine, whatever. If that's what you want, then I'll work you hard until you die. I'm not letting you run away till the very end, so you'd better do a good job serving me."

Ellis:

"... You like me? Mm, let's be together. I like you too.

I think I can bring you much, much more happiness.

Stay by my side and be filled with lots of happiness. And then... we might find our eternity."

Victor:

"You have a good eye for choosing me! As expected of my little robin.

Now that you've chosen me, I must reciprocate your love and sincerity.

—— Are you ready to receive the love of this man who devotes his evil to evil?"

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikevil translations #ikevil misc #william rex #harrison gray #liam evans #elbert greetia #alfons sylvatica #roger barel #jude jazza #ellis twilight #victor

167 notes · View notes

wearebarca · 4 months

Text

5. Captured // Alexia Putellas x Original character pt. 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

synopsis: Rosalie has never stayed too long at the same place. When the opportunity of a lifetime presents itself critical moment in her life, the photographer decides to once again leave behind what she knows and joins the staff of Europe's best football team.

Word count: 4,6k

18+ (eventually)

A/N: Spanish is from google translate so please be nice. French is my first language so all should be good on that part. Tell me what you think, be nice, enjoy.

The return to Barcelona wasn’t as smooth as their arrival trip. Rosalie had ended up with a seat next to Lucy, which was good because Lucy knew how to handle the younger brunette on a plane, but she couldn’t shake the slight disappointment she felt when she realized that she wouldn’t be sitting with the captain. Nonetheless she was still happy with her flight partner since she hadn’t seen much of the English woman during this trip.

Lucy had shown up at six at the photographer’s door, in full training gear and running shoes in her hand, and had forced the brunette to go out on a run with her to relax a little before the flight. They had ended up in a park with a track that circled a nice football pitch, and Lucy decided that it would be a great idea to challenge the runner on a race. Rosalie might be an experienced runner, but explosive speed was the older woman’s strength and an hour later, they were both lying on the field, panting like dogs, with Lucy undefeated. Running back was a completely different story for the defender who had used most of her energy on beating the younger woman in sprints. She was glad when she could see the hotel in front of us but groaned when the photographer lightly shoved her and yelled “ Race you there!”

At breakfast, Rosalie sat with her usual group, sandwiched between Keira and Ingrid, who made sure the brunette was occupied with conversation the whole time. Their goal was clear to the photographer who knew that they wanted her to focus on anything other than the plane trip ahead. Unbeknown to the pair, the task of keeping her distracted was already being fulfilled by the blonde sitting a few seats away from her.

Rosalie’s perception of the blonde had changed since their dinner the night before. Being able to spend some time with the captain without the pressure of work or football allowed Rosalie to see another side of the blonde that she hadn’t encountered before. Now, Alexia intrigued even more the photographer who wondered just how many sides the footballer keeps hidden.

Her daydreaming was interrupted by Keira who had been trying to get the French-Canadian's attention for the past minute. “ Hey, Frenchy are you still here with us?”

“ Oui, yes I’m sorry I was caught up in my own thoughts.” The brunette said, turning towards her friends.

“ It’s ok really, we just wanted to know if you were coming to team building night with us?” Ingrid said.

“ Isn’t that for players only?” the brunette said confused. Back with Arsenal, she never got invited to this sort of night, even if she was, or she thought, one of the player’s girlfriends.

“ Not necessarily no. It is just a normal night with friends and we’d like for you to come.” Keira said, smiling at the photographer.

“ I’d love to.” Rosalie said, turning towards Ingrid. “ When would that be?”

“ We were thinking about two weeks from now, after the game against Levante. I’m just trying to see how many we’re gonna be so I can make a reservation at the restaurant.” The Norwegian said, picking up her phone to look at options. The rest of the breakfast was spent organizing the supper, allowing the photographer to forget about their approaching departure. Unfortunately, her feeling of dread and anxiety came rushing back as soon as she picked up her luggage from the bus and walked towards the terminal. The flight went relatively well for the brunette, who stayed wide awake this time, leaning against Lucy while a bad comedy was playing on the small screen in front of them.

Alexia, who was a few seats behind the duo, could not help but wonder how the smaller woman was fairing and finally succumbed to her urge to make sure the photographer was alright by getting up and quickly trying to find something to say to justify her presence next to them. As she arrived at their seat, a small smile crept on her face at the sight of the brunette bundled up in her oversized hoodie, with her hood engulfing her head almost entirely. She crouched down next to her and took her hand in her own to give it a light squeeze. Without letting the photographer’s hand go, she turned her attention to the defender. “ Could you remind me again of yours and Keira’s departure dates for international break?” She asked the English woman who seemed surprised by the question.

“ Yeah sure mate,” she said, pulling out her phone to check her emails. “ Why do you need to know so soon? Isn’t it in almost two months?” she asked

“ Uhh, I’m just planning ahead.” She said, hoping that the older woman would not see through the real reason for her presence here. Meanwhile, the photographer had significantly relaxed since the captain had arrived next to her, and was putting all her focus on the way the blonde’s thumb was tracing soothing patterns on the back of her hand.

Too soon for the brunette’s liking, Lucy found the email with the dates she was looking for and gave them to Alexia, who had no more reason to stay with them. She gave one last squeeze to the photographer’s hand and walked back to her seat. Lucy, who was far from dumb, had a good idea of exactly why her captain had come to their row, and it surely wasn’t to know their departure’s dates. She sent a look to the younger woman, who simply answered with one that clearly said, : “Not now Luce.”

It was the middle of the afternoon when the brunette finally stepped in the comfort of her small apartment. She refused to let it show too much during their trip, but she was truly exhausted from the strain two plane rides in such a short amount of time had had on her, and as soon as her body hit the bed, she was gone and did not wake up until the morning after. The rest of her weekend was spent mostly working on the editing of the shots she had taken during their day off and training. She decided to go check out the Olympic pool near her place and swim a few laps to allow her body to recover from the week's intense running sessions.

For the players, the week after a match was always slower than their usual training, but for the rest of the staff, it was when their schedules would be the most hectic. Rosalie started her week by following a few players on a media appearance for a foundation that helps little girls persevere in sports, then it was media day which took by storm the whole training complex. Various interviews and fun videos were being filmed all over the facility and Rosalie’s job was to roam from station to station and capture the girls during their appearances. On top of that, the brunette had her usual training content to shoot and edit.

This week’s workload meant that coffee with her favourite couple wasn’t possible, which saddened them even though they understood why. Rosalie also postponed her night with the English couple who were very eager to bombard the Canadian with all the questions they had so nicely kept to themselves during the trip. It was a relief for the brunette, who knew that sooner or later, she would have to go through her best friend’s interrogation.

Weekend couldn't come soon enough for Rosalie. Friday would be a bittersweet day for the photographer who had to finish and send the media day content tonight at the latest for their release the next day, which most likely meant a late night at the office again. Her hunch turned out to be right as she checked the clock around four and realized that she wasn’t nearly done. The girls had already left and the training facility was dead silent when the photographer left her office. Rosalie almost jumped at the sound of her ringtone echoing in the empty car park. The name that lit up her screen made the brunette’s eyes roll as she picked up the call.

“ Non.”

“ Oui.”

“ Non, je viens de finir de travailler, Je suis complètement brûlée, pas ce soir.” Rosalie said in a whiny tone as she all but threw her bags in the backseat of her small sedan.

“Too late, we're already at your place darling.” Lucy said laughing. Rosalie could hear Keira whine in the background for her to come quickly because she was tired of waiting to eat. “ We brought your favourite, now get your arse here, we’ve got questions that need answering.” The defender didn’t even wait for the younger girl’s answer and hung up.

“Mais quel enfoiré.” Rosalie took all the detours humanly possible, just to annoy the older woman. At the sight of Lucy waiting by the stairs of her apartment, Rosalie felt like a child getting scolded by her mum. She took a deep breath and climbed the few stairs that were left between her and her apartment.

“ Took you long enough.”

“ Traffic, ya know”

“ Fuck off you cunt you did this just to fuck with us.�� Lucy said as she followed the Canadian back in her flat.

“ Woah woah votre langage madame Bronze.”

“ You’re lucky we like you Frenchy.” She pulled out the bags of fish and chips she had brought while Rosalie pulled out beers for everyone. She eagerly took the plate that was handed to her and made a face at the first bite.

“ I know, it’s not like back home.” Keira said, stealing a few chips from Rosalie’s plate.

“ It doesn’t taste bad, it just does not deserve the title of fish and chips.” Rosalie said, bringing her plate and beer to the couch. The two women followed her, Keira beside her on the couch and Lucy on the ground, on the other side of the coffee table.

“ Ok I’m done waiting so now, what the hell is going on with you and Alexia.”Rosalie almost choked on her fish at the younger English woman’s question.

“ There’s nothing going on”

“ What do you mean? There’s nothing going on. She keeps staring at you!” Keira said in an animated tone.

“Rosalie, you fell asleep on her shoulder, in the goddamn plane.” Lucy added. The brunette was cornered, she could not lie to these girls, they were her family, they knew her too well.

“ She’s just.. she’s easy company you know. We get along nice.” She said, hoping that would be enough for them, but she knew it definitely would not be.

“ We all saw how you were looking at her on the last morning of the trip. You haven’t looked at anyone like that before, not even…”

“Don’t,” Rosalie quickly interrupted. She didn’t want to compare Alexia, even in the slightest bit, to the Irish defender. “ She’s just very intriguing, you know. I haven’t quite met anyone like her before.”

“ She’s a pure soul, that one,” Lucy said, staring at her best friend who was currently looking everywhere but at the two friends. “ She’s shy and closed off but once she opens up, she is truly one of the most authentic girls I’ve met.” She said with a fond smile playing on her lips.

“ Why are you guys telling me all this?” Rosalie asked. Sure, she understood that these women were her family and they simply wanted to know what was going on but this felt like more than the usual interrogation she would be subjected to. It almost felt like they were encouraging the photographer to pursue whatever was going on between the brunette and the blonde.

“ No reason in particular, we just want you to be happy.” Keira said, trapping the brunette in a hug.

“Ok you can let me go now, you’re crushing me” they stayed silent for a moment, contempt in eating their food and unwinding after their week, until Keira decided to break the silence.

“ She talks about you, you know? With Mapi and some of the Spanish players. They think I’m not good enough in Spanish to understand when they speak fast, but I’m better now, and I can understand some stuff.” Keira said, happily stealing more chips from the photographer’s plate, who was too stunt by the woman’s statement to react. Lucy on the other hand, could not hold back the laugh that came out when she saw the look on the younger woman’s face. A deep blush formed on her cheek as she got off the couch and walked to the kitchen to put away her plate.

“I’m sure it was probably something about the shoot or the most recent post.” Rosalie said, trying to occupy herself until her face would turn back to its original colour.

“ No, no I heard your name, than “guapa” was somewhere in there and then they all agreed.”

“ Kei seriously, that could be about anything.”

“ I’m telling you, they were talking about you.” Keira said with a wide teasing grin on her face. They went back and forth like that for a few minutes while Lucy was laughing at the interaction. The couple ended up staying over until past midnight before finally deciding to make their way home.

“ By the way, you’re coming to the beach tomorrow, I’ll send you the time and address!” Lucy said as she stepped out of the brunette’s apartment and closed the door behind her, not leaving time for her to give an actual answer.

The next day she woke up with a text from Lucy only containing a time and an address for a beach not too far from the city. Rosalie had no idea what to bring for this occasion so she assumed that since they were meeting up around lunch time, she should probably pack some food, a quick call to Keira confirmed her suspicion and allowed her to also add beer to the list of things to bring. She put on her favourite bikini with a pair of linen shorts and a swimsuit cover, grabbed her camera bag and her backpack and hopped in her car.

The Canadian had never gone through this part of the city and decided to go explore it on her next run. Her GPS led her to a small parking area in front of a path in the woods. She parked between Lucy’s Cupra and another car that looked similar to Lucy’s but wasn’t familiar to the brunette. On the other side of the car park, she spotted Mapi and Ingrid’s car as well as other nice vehicles that probably belonged to Barça players. When she arrived on the beach, Rosalie realized that this was more than just a hangout between a few friends. Lucy and Keira were here, along with Mapi and Ingrid, Patri, Pina, Vicky, Jana, Aitana, mariona and finally, Alexia.

Barking was heard along with the sound of rapid little steps coming her way. She was greeted with a small white dog she knew very well, along with a small pomeranian. Narla jumped around at Rosalie’s feet, too excited for the Canadian to pet her, but the small pomeranian kept scratching at her leg. The photographer bent down and picked up the small fluffy dog, who immediately licked her face.

A chorus of “Hola”’s and happy cheers was heard as the French-Canadian made her way towards the group, with the small dog still in her arms. “ Finally! We were starting to think you got lost on your way.” Mapi said, hugging her friend tightly and taking the bags in the brunette’s hands so she could greet the rest of the girls.

“ Blame Lucy, she told me to be here at twelve.”

“ I see you met Nala.” Ingrid said, approaching the photographer, hugging her gently to not crush the ball of fur who was getting comfortable in the brunette’s arms.

“ Oui, she’s a little angel,” She said, kissing the top of the dog’s head, “ Who’s the lucky owner? Gotta know who I need to fight in order to bring her home.” She said laughing.

“She’s Alexia’s.” Mapi said, with a cheeky smile, “ She usually takes a while to warm up to people.” Rosalie could feel the blush that was creeping up her cheeks.

“ Good to know…”

“ Ok, can we eat now? I’m starving.” Mapi said as she turned around, to make her way towards the coolers. Ingrid smiled at her girlfriend’s antics and beckoned the French-Canadian to follow her towards the rest of the group. She helped Ingrid and Aitana set up the little potluck while the rest of the girls were setting up some beach chairs and towels around. The sun was high in the sky and not a single cloud could be seen, the heat was quickly getting to the Canadian who decided that the swimsuit cover was not helping cooling her off. She got up and took off the shirt, her actions not missed by a certain blonde, who was in the middle of a game of touch. The action made Alexia completely miss, which made the little group snicker at their captain.

“Capitán, debería limpiarse la baba de las comisuras de la boca.!” Patri said, laughing at her captain 's flustered face.

“ Oy, callate idiota!” To be fair, Alexia was not the only one staring. The photographer had put on a dark green bikini that complemented perfectly her tanned skin and showed off her athletic figure.

“ Ella es muy caliente.” The comment came from Pina, who received a sharp slap to the back of her head.

“Behave”

“ Si Capitana.”

The food was finally set up and the group was called back by the rest of the girls to come eat. Rosalie mainly stayed with Ingrid and Aitana since she still wasn’t used to being with this many new people at once. She quickly found out that there was absolutely no reason to be shy around the girls. The atmosphere was very playful and the air was filled with laughter and bickering in broken English since they all knew that Rosalie and Keira weren’t completely comfortable in Spanish.

“ Rosie! If you want to make your Spanish better, I know someone who’s a very good teacher.” Patri said with a shit eating grin.

“ Si, si very patient, very good teacher. She would love to teach you, right Capitana?” Pina added, trying to hold back her laugh. The look the captain sent the girls would have scared anyone in their right mind, but the younger players were too busy laughing to notice their captain’s wrath coming their way. A sharp cry and a whine was heard when the football connected with the side of Pina’s head.

“Cállate, te lo merecías.” Alexia said as she pushed the younger girl towards the area they had been playing previously.

“ I don’t know if they were serious or not, but I kinda really do need help with Spanish. The online courses I’ve been taking are little to no help with understanding native speakers.” The brunette said as she set up her towel between Ingrid and another towel.

“I’m sure she would love to help.” Ingrid said with a knowing smile. The light sound of little paws hitting the sand caught the attention of the photographer who turned her head to see Nala strut her way. The little dog came over to the photographer to get a few pets then made a beeline to the towel next to her to pick up a little chew toy. Nalla then turned to make her way back to Rosalie to lay right in the middle of her towel. Rosalie laughed at the little dog’s antics while Ingrid smiled and turned to her friend.

“Now that your spot has been taken, you should go show these children how it’s done.” She said, motioning to the little group playing a game of touch. Mapi’s head shot up at her girlfriend’s words.

“ Yes, yes, let’s go, I want to see what you are capable of.” Rosalie let Mapi drag her up and to the group. She stood between Patri and Mapi and after a few passes, she was just as excited and hyped as the rest of the girls. They played for a while, working up a sweat with the sand sticking to their skin. Even though the brunette was focused on the game, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the blonde captain. She looked gorgeous in her light blue bikini, tanned skin glowing in the sunlight. She looked so carefree and genuinely happy. Their eyes met and both the women smiled wildly, until a particularly daring kick sent the ball straight to the ocean.

“ Rosie! You are a runner, si?” Patri said, lightly shoving the brunette to get her attention. “ The first to get to the ball gets to dunk the other one in the ocean!” She yelled, already taking off full speed towards the waves.

“ Hey! Non, that’s not fair!” She said laughing as she took off behind the midfielder who had too great of a head start for the Canadian to be able to catch up to her.

As soon as she reached the ball, she felt hands grab her by the waist and hoist her up only to launch her straight in the water. The photographer let out a loud shriek as she hit the cold refreshing waters. She could hear behind her the cheers of the rest of the girls who had made their way to Patri.

Rosalie walked out of the water, slicking her hair back with a sinister smile as she approached Patri, who was still caught in an uncontrollable laughter. She jumped on the player’s back and dragged her down in the water with her. Alexia saw this as an opportunity to get back at Pina for the teasing and grabbed the younger player, hoisting her on her shoulders and walking off in the water to dump her near the two other women who were busy splashing each other.

They all stay in the water for a while, teaming up against one another in a slashing battle. Patri and Rosalie against Claudia and Alexia. The footballers weren’t playing around and Rosalie quickly realized that she was in over her head. For the second time today, a pair of hands landed on her hips but this time, the touch sent shivers down the brunette’s back. She went still which allowed Alexia to swiftly pick her up as she carried the photographer away from the two other Spanish women, too busy bickering and slashing each other to notice the absence of their friends.

The midfielder set Rosalie down, but her hands on her hips stayed until she decided the woman was stable enough on her feet. “ I am sorry, I thought that you looked a little overwhelmed out there," she said, smiling at the smaller woman.

“They do play a little too rough for me.” she said, following Alexia as she started walking deeper in the sea. She was silent, only looking at the water stretching endlessly in front of her. Rosalie could see that something was bothering the blonde. Her beautiful smile had faded and her eyes held a worried look. “I can sense something is not right.” She said softly to the blonde who turned to look at the photographer.

“ It’s just that, the euros are getting nearer, national camp is in a few weeks and the girls are a little on edge with everything that has been going on lately.” The photographer was aware of the tensions in the national football scene in Spain. She knew that the players were fighting for better conditions and better treatment from the coaches, and she knew that this fight had cost some of the girls their chance to represent their country in some of the most important sports events. It was hard for the girls who had to stay behind . It was also hard for the ones who had decided to stay with the team but were enduring the poor treatment from the staff and management. Seeing these girls today, so happy and carefree, she could not fathom just how much pressure was resting on their shoulders.

“ Days like these are important, you know,” The photographer said, getting closer to the captain. “ They help unwind, allow you to forget about everything you know?”

“ I’m not very good at relaxing.” The blonde said, chuckling.

“ What do you like to do on your days off?”

“ I don’t know, I don’t get a lot of those.”

“ Ok, so what would a perfect day off be for La Reina?” The photographer said with a cheeky smile. Alexia gave the photographer a big eye roll before answering.

“ Probably going to get coffee, walk around the market. Maybe buy supplies to cook a nice supper and relax with a movie. Something simple I guess.” Alexia said with a distant look in her eyes. In this moment, Rosalie wished she could take all the pressure on the blonde’s shoulders and carry it for her for a little while, just so she could catch her breath. Unable to do such a thing, the brunette thought of the next best thing.

“ Tomorrow there’s no training right?”

“ Si, no training.”

“ And you don’t have anything planned?”

“ I was gonna train alone and work on some side projects, why?”

“ No you are not, because tomorrow, you are bringing me to your favourite coffee shop and to that market you talked about. Then you are coming back to my place and I’d like you to show me how to make Paella. I've always wanted to try making it but my cooking skills are horrendous.” Rosaie said in a tone that left no space for arguing. Alexia smiled at the smaller woman, she was surprised by the French-Canadian’s proposition but could not be happier with the turn this conversation took. She took the brunette’s hand and brought it to her lips. The action made Rosalie freeze on the spot as she felt the blonde’s lips graze the back of her hand, which sent a shock wave that traveled her whole body and made her breath hitch.

“ It is a date then.” Alexia said, letting the brunette’s hand go and walking back to the beach with a wide smile plastered on her face. Rosalie on the other hand, was still frozen at the same spot, trying to gather exactly what had happened between them. A deep blush had crept on her face and the woman felt hot all over. She lowered herself in the water, dunking her head to try and cool herself off, or wake up for this dream, but she emerged at the same spot, with the silhouette of the footballer walking in front of her, almost reaching the rest of the group, who was now sunbathing.

Walking back to her towel, she could see that Nala had moved to the top of Alexia's towel, near the blonde’s head. She was laying on her stomach, which allowed the photographer a clear view of the multitude of tattoos on the captain’s back. The photographer got comfortable on her back and shoved one airpod in her ear, leaving the other one free to hear the crash of the waves on the sand. She felt something fluffy brush against her hand and opened her eyes to see Nala had changed spots again, deciding to lay between the two women, making sure she was touching Alexia and Rosalie’s hand at once. With the soft music playing in her ear, the sound of the ocean and Alexia’s calming presence, Rosalies quickly surrendered to the week’s exhaustion and let herself drift to sleep.

#alexia putellas #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #keira walsh #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #ingrid engen #mapi leon #alexia x reader #alexia putellas x y/n #futfem #lucy bronze

172 notes · View notes