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eupheme · 3 months ago

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— trouble will find me

[part ii | masterlist]

bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship

a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕

His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”

You can feel his eyes follow you.

Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.

But there’s something in the way he watches.

A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.

Indulging, almost. Unashamed.

You might have a crush.

You're trying not to think about it too much.

Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.

It's all bright lights.

The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.

He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.

Logan is so different from the ones before him.

Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.

Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.

It was exhausting.

Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.

Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.

It's not how you saw him, though.

His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.

You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.

Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.

You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.

Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.

He'll last longer than the others, at least.

More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.

An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.

You’ve been thinking about that for days.

There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.

But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.

It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.

The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.

With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.

A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.

Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.

You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.

Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.

A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.

There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.

"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.

A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.

"Come on, man. I saw her first."

Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."

Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.

"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."

And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.

The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.

You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.

Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.

"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.

His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"

Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.

"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.

"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"

That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."

"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.

Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.

You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.

The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.

There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.

But it hasn't been like this.

Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.

"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."

"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”

Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.

You break the eye contact first.

“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”

Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.

“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”

There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.

“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”

The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”

A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.

“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.

Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.

“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”

A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”

Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.

“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”

The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.

You’re undeterred.

“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”

Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.

“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”

All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.

The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.

Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.

“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”

Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.

“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.

The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.

Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.

It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.

“Making a mess.”

You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.

The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.

“That for me?”

Your head nods, “Logan, please-”

There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”

“Yes.”

You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.

“Ask me.” He coos.

“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”

Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.

The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.

His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.

The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.

Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.

“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”

He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.

The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open. A throaty groan when he sees you, one that he can't quite manage to bite back - the rough sound shooting straight through you.

You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.

Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.

The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.

“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.

Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.

His other hand taps against your thigh.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”

His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.

A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.

Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.

“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”

He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.

“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”

It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.

The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.

It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.

“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”

The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.

His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.

Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.

“Open.”

They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.

“Good girl.”

It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.

A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.

Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.

Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.

Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.

Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.

“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.

All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.

“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”

A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.

“I’m taking you home.”

ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x f!reader

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iamyourdailydoseofbi · 7 months ago

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RUN RABBIT, RUN RUN RUN. ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: DARK! King Aegon ii Targaryen x Common Folk! Reader prompt: Aegon has been watching you from years. Now that he is King, he intends to make his intentions clear. key: Y/n = Your name, R/n = Random name, E/C = eye color word count: 1, 000+ words

He was six and ten when he first met you, well more of, he saw you from a distance. You were a pretty little thing⎯well, for some common folk girl, you were pretty. From what he saw from a distance, you worked as a barkeep, cleaning tables and sometimes serving ale or whatever shitty drink they served at that tavern.

You were pretty, maybe growing more so in a few years, but enough for the other drunks to take notice as well. He didn’t like it. Even though he had never spoken to you, or really interacted with you at all. You were his pretty little barekeep to gawk at.

It took everything in him to not set Sunfyre upon all of them, burning the shitty little tavern up in flames. So then, he could take their charred remains and show what happened when others touched what was his. But, he digressed. For now.

Slowly sauntering into the tavern, he searches for you in the crowd of common folk, his gaze predatory and determined. Since his coronation as King, he had been busy, far too busy to leave the Red Keep to go to Flea Bottom. All he wished for now was to have a drink and watch you as he had done a dozen times before. He was sure if he was going to speak to you yet. It wasn’t that he did not have the courage to speak to you.

He was a Targaryen, and now King, he had nothing to feel ashamed of or worried about. But rather he liked the way you squirmed under his gaze. He liked the way you would grow stiff and then blush a soft pink when you realized that it was just him. It was adorable and a good ego boost to know that he could get you all flustered without even needing to speak.

“All hail the new King!” Some drunk slurs aloud, “From the King of Flea Bottom to the King of the Seven Kingdoms!”

“Aye!”

“All hail!”

Rolling his eyes at the drunken babbling that filled the tavern, he sits down at his usual table, kicking his feet up on a chair. Drumming his fingers against the table, he looks around for you, growing wary as he doesn’t see you in the tavern. Clenching his jaw tightly as his temper starts to rise, he holds back at lashing out, his mind running a million miles per hour.

“Where the hell is that damn girl?! Y/n!” A barkeep behind the bar rants, “Oi! You, go get Y/n.”

Not even the other barkeep’s knew where you were at. You weren’t here. You were always on time. Why the fuck were you not here? Where the fuck were you at?

Feeling his temper bubbling with each second that he doesn’t see you, the loud slamming of a door fills the tavern, nobody paying any mind to it. Seeing you walk inside all soaked from the rain, he instantly calms down at sight of you.

Slowly trailing his eyes over your soaked figure, you look ethereal like this. Hair all soaked and clothes sticking to you like a second skin, accentuating your curves. Feeling a presence beside him, he snaps out of his daze, seeing some other barkeep trying to speak to him.

“Can I⎯”

“No, no, her. I want her.” He orders, pointing at you.

Watching as you dried yourself off with a rag, he smirks at how your linen underskirt was practically sheer. He wondered, if he spilled his seed in you, would a bastard grow in your belly? Would then he be able to whisk you away to the Red Keep, far far away from the drunks and fools that surrounded you both? After all, you would be so grateful for him to do such a thing. You, some lowborn common folk girl, getting the luxury of carrying his child in your belly.

“Bring me her. I will take nothing but what she brings to me.” He orders.

Feeling a familiar pair of predatory eyes on you, you slowly turn around to see the now King, watching you. He sat at the same table as always, in the center where he and those silvery locks could be gawked at. Furrowing your brows in confusion, you watch as R/n walks away from the table, rolling her eyes hard with a scowl. Cocking her head to Aegon, you didn’t even have to ask to understand that he had rejected her.

Wiping your hands dry with the rag, your eyes locked onto Aegon’s, e/c meeting predatory violet eyes. Shivering at the gaze, R/n motions for you to go to him with a cock of her head, her iration clear as day at not getting any coin from him. Mustering up your courage, you walk over to him, coming face-to-face for the first time ever. He was a lot more handsome up close. Alluring violet eyes, silvery white Targaryen hair and pouty lips.

“Do you wish to make your King happy?” He asked, his voice rough and low.

“I do, your grace.” You nod, “ How can I be of service to you?”

“I can think of many ways.”

Growing tense at the lewd comment, you shift in place, unsure if he was jesting with you or if he was being serious. You have never spoken to him up to this point, just watching from afar or in passing. You could not tell. Chewing on your bottom lip a little nervously, he places a hand on your waist, letting out a full belly laugh. Weakly nodding unsure, he slowly trails his hand down to your hip, not quite inappropriate but not appropriate at the same time.

“Can I get you some ale, your grace?” You ask, attempting to change the subject.

“No.”

“Or mayhaps some bread from the kitchen?” You try again, “I am sure we can find something for you if that is what you desire.”

“No.”

Blushing under his intense gaze, he slowly stands up from his seat, looking like a predator stalking its prey. Tilting your head up as he towers over you, you resist the urge to cower, not wanting him to see your fear. In your time working here you learned men tended to like seeing women cower, it was like a game to them. Softly gulping as he digs his nails into your hip, a voice in the back of your head tells you to run away, that he was dangerous. But, your legs would not let you move.

“Your grace?” You whisper, your voice weak.

“Then you will not scream, cry, or protest as I take you back to the Red Keep.” He whispers, “I would hate to have to kill you when I have just gotten you within my grasp. Now walk, my little rabbit.”

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

#house of dragons x reader #house of dragons #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #house of the dragon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second #king aegon #aegon ii #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #hotd aegon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd season 2 #tom glynn carney

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theyluvlyss · 4 months ago

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𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 & 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲...

my head is all but consumed with thoughts only of wade wilson, logan howlett, and remy lebeau. they're all I can process in my head (besides shazam, but that's a given considering no one loves shazam the way I do, so🤷🏽‍♀️) and I y e a r n desperately for an influx in "wade x y/n x logan" fics and the "remy x y/n" fics... dare I even ask, humbly ofc, hear me out... for a splash of "wade x y/n x remy". genuinely, I'd kill for some of that ngl.

and I bet you're wondering, "lyssa, why not do it yourself🤔?"

short answer: I am swamped with requests, and even if I wasn't, I'm not ready yet lmao I fear I do not possess the skills to capture them in my writing perfectly😔 ... yet😈.

in the meantime, tho *😈evil little laughter😈* may I plz suggest the following prompts and pairings to and for anybody willing to work with them or wanting ideas (begging any writers that see this to please write these and tag me plz plz plz plz plz 😭🙏🏽😃plzplzplzplzplzplzplzpl-)...

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

⚠️trigger and content warning btw lol -

mentions of fighting/violence/bloodshed, death, gore, (like c'mon,,, bffr, look at who you're reading about😐🤨), anxiety/panic attacks, harsh words/themes/elements/physical injuries, abuse and/or negelct, separation anxiety, mental disorders, brief mention of sickness/illness, drugs (just 🍃 and painkillers), age gap (nothing illegal, chill out🤨✋🏽), use of a derogatory term (not used in a negative sense tho lol), and some semi-common smut themes that I won't list here, but be wary if that stuff makes you uncomfortable :)♡. also, these are all under the pretense that the reader is a cis girl, she/her/hers pronouns (so ig you could think of this as one, big, mass request to all writers willing from me lol🤭🥴🫶🏽).

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭/𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 :

- reader having a panic/anxiety attack and ofc being comforted (causes my vary; maybe right after a fight/battle, or because of over-worrying or too much pressure, maybe after a fight with another loved one, etcetc). definitely wanna see this with all three of them, but separately, tho. like, one fic or list of "preferences/headcannons" for logan, one for wade, and then one for remy.

- near death or death (followed by resurrection swift after). it could be reader almost dies or dies (then gets resurrected, get creative with it/how, fr, yk?) or the reverse; the POI (person of interest) dies, although given two of the three's abilities, y'all might have to get creative if you want it to translate for logan and/or wade so this one would be mainly for a remy x reader.

- I personally love a good "POI says sumn mean/outta pocket, hurts reader's feels, stuff happens idk, but they eventually kiss and make up" trope. I'd eat that up, especially cuz OHHH,,,, wade taking a joke or playful argument or something too far? logan being a little too mean/angsty to you for comfort?? remy saying something that gets lost in translation, so it comes out harsher than intended??? 😫😫😫‼️‼️ AND IF YOU WANNA GET MESSY WIT IT, RUNNING TO ONE OF THE OTHER THREE FOR COMFORT🙈🙈⁉️⁉️⁉️.

- a classic; reader getting injured (mildly or worse, doesn't matter), needing to be taken care of, but is stubborn about it?? always a good one.

- getting a little crazy and silly here, but I like a good "abusive and/or negelctful ex/current partner" trope. like hell yeah, one of you big, strong men get over here and save me, whisk me away and show me what I really deserve😻‼️. NOT romanticizing/glorifying it obvs, like no, I mean that wade, logan, and/or remy would not be the red flags in this scenario, they're the one(s) doing the saving FROM the red flag ex/current partner lol.

- getting a little crazier and sillier with this one, but one where reader gets snatched up🙂? oouuuu, miss girl got kidnapped?! once again, somebody come save me, and if "somebody" is not wade, logan, and/or remy, then don't bother, I don't want it. matter of fact, just gon' on ahead and leave me, I'll figure it out myself🙂✌🏽. I think I'd want these separate, actually, bc I wanna take in the individuality of their reactions, like,,, logan going feral?? pretty predictable tbh lmao but still hot. remy?? idek ngl, y'all gon' have to figure him out. BUT WADE BEING SERIOUS AND NOT AS TALKATIVE FOR ONCE UNTIL HE KNOWS YOU'RE SAFE???? OOOHOOHOOOOOOO, GIMMIE🖐🏽👹🖐🏽✊🏽👹✊🏽!!!

- ig this could be put in the panic/anxiety attack category, but I also feel like this might be it's own separate thing, so idk, but... separation anxiety on reader's part. whatever the circumstances may be to breed it, reader is just (not in a unhealthy way) attached to the POI(s), so them leaving for whatever reason is pretty hard on her (and the POI(s), too, because hello, they don't wanna make their reader upset, but things gotta get done fr yk😫🥲),,, lots of reassurance, comforting, and maybe distractions ensue??

- reader with an alter ego/inner beast, whether that be a result of her powers or a mental disorder (think like,,, split personality or maybe DID or something like that, but I do wanna say, if you're gonna go the mental route, make sure you do your research so that you're representing it - not only accurately - but you're not dehumanizing or dumbing it down as well) or just anything that would cause the reader to, as I said, have a different side of themself,,, werewolf type deal, yk? "normal" for the most part, but then has her moments where she be on demon time and then when she's back to herself, she's just like "???" while everyone else is like "!!!". I suppose this could then be followed up/solved with a "the sun's getting real low" typa thing/moment from the POI(s), but that's neither here nor there, do what feels right fr♡.

- reader (just barely) escapes cassandra nova??? that could be cool (a.k.a. very, very angsty bc surely the encounter has messed the reader alllll the way up both mentally and physically, especially knowing what typa timing cass be on lmao😃). love a good hurt/comfort, I can't get enough, actually. this one (given the movie context) may or may not work with wolvie and/or pool (again, up to the writer to get creative), but gambit?? he's been in the void his whole life, he knows cass, sooo it'd make more sense for him to have a higher understanding of the situation in full, but do what y'all want, I'm just the idea woman🤷🏽‍♀️.

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 :

- morning cuddles and softeness and ughghfhfhdjd♡!!♡!♡!!♡!♡!!♡!! and then the opposite, night/bedtime cuddles and softness and uugjfjdkwkfke♡!!♡!♡!!♡!♡!!♡!!

- height difference teasings and shenanigans. we can always stick to the classics, ofc, short reader, tall wade, logan, and/or remy. maybe its an advantage in fights - fast, lethal, and small + big, shielding, and strong - but sucks in more domestic/calm cases like reaching for shit on the top shelf or wanting to kiss somebody. but I'd also love some tall gworl reader type shit, miss strong, lean, runway model energy, stepping on any heads and wooing any men that are in her path🥴😻. bending down with a smile so she can hear him, mindlessly playing with his hair, occasionally makes a quip here and there on the difference without thinking lol and he haaaaateeees all of it (but he looooveeeessss all of it🤭).

- reader being THAT GIRL, literally being in a 1v26 or sumn crazy like that and she's just kicking ass and shit the whole time, and then there's the POI(s),,, gawking and in love like "damn that's MY GIRL fr\😻/!!".

- *imagine a vine boom after every bolded word, okay, go* teen/minor/young PLATONIC NONSEXUAL NONROMANTIC (literally I can not stress this enough) NOT DATING AT ALL EVER reader and one/two/all of them. I think it'd just be silly seeing them (wade, logan, and or remy) working/paired with/having a bond with this little gremlin yet sweetheart of a reader who's somehow able to tolerate/put up with/ignore/maybe even indulge in their craziness lmfao. maybe just as or is even more crazy than they are, chaotic and desensitized type shit. you could even get ansgty with it, have this teen reader need saving or something like that, yk?

- sparring match and reader BEATS POI(s) in said spar cuz she's cool, awesome, and mega baller like that. lots of tension and goofiness, especially from the reader, cuz she knows damn well she's the shit. or, a different route!!... total dumb luck that she beat him/both/all of them, and is very obviously playing it off/acting like she won on purpose lmfao, cockiness ensuing.

- can't go wrong with a sick-fic lol. who doesn't wanna be taken care of?

- reader needs/wears glasses🤷🏽‍♀️. it can be the discovery of actually needing them, reader always squinting tryna read/see shit, or nearly getting herself in and out of danger bc again, she blind lmao. or it's just the case of reader never wears them out and about, but in calmer moments (where she doesn't run the risk of breaking them) she'll put them on, so she decides to bust 'em out one day and it's just the POI(s) being like ":O...😻😻!!".

- *olivia rodrigo voice* JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY, YEAA-aAAH😫😫‼️ ... reader who just,,, she don't play that shit, man, lmfao it's called you can prove yourself either friend or foe,,, stay tf away from my man or get your ass beat. pick one. and it's the POI(s) just absolutely flattered and amused with this energy from reader lmfao, reassurance ensuing quick after ofc. or, if you wanna get silly with it (and by silly, I mean violent♡), reader with a girl who can't take a hint😀 *eye twitch* so she finally makes shit clear one way or another (one way; does sumn with the POI(s) that makes the girl uncomfortable so she fucks off. another; reader pretty much beats that girl up and it's the POI(s) laughing but also trying to pry reader off of her cuz "stop it, I'm yours, I promise, you don't have to kill her, she didn't know any better😭!"). or just completely switch it up, vice versa, role-reversal POI(s) get jelly and it's reader having to deal with whatever may happen after/due to the fact lol.

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 :

- shameless flirt reader!!!! she's not obnoxious or out of character/proper timing with it, but definitely a reader with helllllaaaaa rizz. is mainly on some "is somebody gonna match my freak?" type shi. wade would find it very silly and he'd match the freak ofc. logan,,, maybe he'd start off annoyed by it, then get used to it, only realizing you've actually grown on him once you start to pull back a little/stop completely? REMY WOULD LOVE AND BE AMUSED BY IT, so all I'm gonna say here is this: rabbits🐇🥰. iykyk♡.

- a smoke sesh leading to some good, old fashioned high/sleepy sex🥰. that's it, that's the prompt♡.

- lord, free me from my sins🙏🏽, plz don't judge me y'all😔 ,,, age gap😃? NOTHING CRAZY, CHILL, but yk, like,,, just a little young thing in her 20s or sumn being scooped up by one (or two🤭) of these older, more mature, aged like fine wine, and experienced men,,, that's all🥰.

- that moment when reader is a whore and is actually literally prancing around without a care in the world, fucking three different guys (wade, logan, and remy obvs) because "they're hot lol" - not necessarily behind their backs - but no one's saying anything or telling her no, nor does anyone seem to have any issues with it/are opposed, sooo😗🤷🏽‍♀️.

- do y'all think,,, because wolverine is yk...wolf-like-ish-whatever.... do y'all think that he,,,, that maybe he goes thru... a rut🙂?? lmfaoGDHAKXKPQPRR okay that's enough, that's enough🥴✋🏽-.

- you know how some smut has certain labels/themes/tags that are gonna be, yk,,, in said smut?? well, cuz I'm out of any specific ideas for smut, I'm just gonna leave some here, m'kaaaay, and whatever y'all wanna dooooo is up to youuuu, just as long as I get to seeee😗☺️🫶🏽~...

⚠️ also don't say I didn't warn y'all, I mean, there's literally a whole ass trigger warning at the top, so do not start fckn trippin' because you disagree with me or saw sumn you don't fw, cuz tbh, I don't care and you can honestly block me if it's that serious♡.

dom-sub, daddy/praise/breeding/spanking kink, knife/gun/blood play (and/or just mutant/power ability play in general hehehe), food/wax play, cnc (I don't suggest full blown non-con seeing as none of them seem the type to do such, no matter the circumstances, plus it's just not my thing personally but hey, I'm not currently writing for pool, wolvie, or gambit rn, so that's up to whoever is🤷🏽‍♀️), hunter-prey (y'all might see this and immediately think wolvie, which is understandable fr, but I beg y'all to get creative and let remy and/or wade hunt reader down, it can be done and done right, I promise, plz, I need it, 😫PLEASE!!-), friends with benefits,,, OHHH ENEMIES with benefits🫢🫢!!, overstim, jealousy/possessive/yandere, unprotected/creampie/oral ... that's all that comes to mind lmao wow what a crazy note to end this on, anyways-

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

yeah, so, do with all of this what you will (and plz spread this around, I genuinely do wanna see these get written and myself tagged like I am PINING for these fic ideas to be turned into reality😭🙏🏽), I just had to get my thoughts out before I forgot (at least in the fanfic department), because if someone were to ask me my thoughts on the movie itself !!!!! OMG I could run my mouth forever, but I don't wanna do that (lazy) so lmao for now, that's all lol byeeee~ /ᐠ-˕-マ!!

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spiderfunkz · 1 year ago

Text

✧.* FLOUR N COOKIES.

— summary : when baking cookies with natasha turns into a flour fight.

— word count : 0,6k

— warnings : fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, nat & reader live together, flour fights, pet names, nat being a tease.

a/n : it's october so the autumn-y fics r here !! also i am a firm believer that nat struggles to do basic cooking.

baking was something you've always loved to do, since ever. you loved the process of buying the ingredients, picking the flavours, toppings, decorations, everything.

you especially loved baking for other people. it's your way of showing that you love and care for them, a love language sort of.

and it's always been a tradition for you to bake fall cookies for your friends. today, you were baking them for clint.

it was the perfect time to bake. the weather was perfect, it was foggy but not too foggy since you could still see the reflection of sunlight. the music was playing in the background, and nothing could possibly ruin this you thought.

tying your apron, natasha walks in to help.

"you look good in that apron." she smirks.

you ignore the comment as you grab the eggs from the fridge. "stay focused, we need to finish these cookies."

"well, i'm more or so thinking that you should wear that apron more often." she teases. "these cookies are for clint. realistically, you should be taking the lead." you reply.

"i've never baked before."

"ever? in your entire life? not even once?"

"i'm pretty sure that's what the word never means." — "do you at least know how to crack open an egg?"

you were met with silence. is she serious?

"just crack these eggs to that bowl, please." you point. "like this?" she asks.

you stare at her in disbelief. she seems confused, possibly wondering what she did wrong.

"you know, maybe, without, the eggshells."

she looks down at the bowl, "i think we should leave it. crunchy cookies, you know? it adds more protein, so it's healthy." she awkwardly smiles.

"whatever, i'll just pick the eggshells out." you carefully grab the slippery shells.

"soooo.. what's next?" she wipes the egg residue on her pants. "i'll whisk the wet ingredients, you can help me by grabbing the flour and baking soda."

natasha nods, as she grabs the ingredients you asked for from the cabinets above. "you know i've always wanted to do this with someone." she says, toying with the bag of flour.

"yeah well, this feels more like a me effort instead of a team effort." you state. "there's no me in team." natasha replies.

"yes there is. there's an 'e' and an 'm'." you stated.

"you're so smart, detka. keep blabbering. see what happens."

was that a threat? you look up from the bowl to see her grab a handful of flour. "put that down. don't get closer." you commanded.

"or what?" — "or the cookies won't get done, and clint will have over-floured cookies."

natasha shuffles forward.

"nat. i swear. i just cleaned the floor this morning."

"i'm not even moving."

"i can see you shuffling towards me."

"i'm standing very still. actually, here, catch!" she throws the flour to you. your clean apron was now covered in flour.

"oh you are so gonna regret that, natasha."

you swiftly grab a handful of flour from the bag, throwing it right on her black top.

natasha gasps, before throwing another handful to your direction.

this went on for a good minute before natasha finally stopped it by grabbing the bag from you.

"okay, okay! time out. i've got to take a picture of you, you look like a ghost!"

"really? because you should really look in the mirror, natasha. i can barely make out the red in your hair right now."

she glances at the reflection of the fridge. "that's. rude."

"who looks like a ghost now?"

"you still do. if i poured the mixture on you with chocolate chips and put you in the oven, would you become a cookie?" she jokes.

"don't you dare mess with the mixture."

"don't worry, love. i'd still love you if you were a cookie." natasha smiles.

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laurfilijames · 1 year ago

Text

Breathe

Part 4

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 6.7k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Nightmare and anxiety attack. Unprotected intercourse. It's very, very sweaty 💦💦💦

Summary: You stay for an eventful night with Will, helping him through an anxiety attack brought on by a nightmare, all while learning more about each other and taking advantage of his amplified energy and restlessness.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

---

The room was completely dark aside from the faint glow of silvery moonlight shining in through the blinds, allowing you to see some of the things that occupied it, although your sleepy gaze was focused on Will.

It was unclear what had woken you up; the feel of a heavy body cast across yours that you weren't used to, the foreign sounds of a different house creaking as it settled into the subtly cooler temperature of the night, or simply every part of you rousing to tell you it needed more of him.

You were sure you wouldn't have fallen asleep if your body wasn't so exhausted, your mind buzzing from everything that had happened in the span of a few hours and what was meant to be a typical night at the gym, and although you knew you needed more sleep, there was no way it would come back to you now.

Feeling half-tempted to reach for Will's arm to check the time on his black watch still secured around his wrist, you decided against it, not wanting to wake him when he seemed so peaceful on top of you. To be honest, you would vow to never sleep again if it meant for nights like this, and you prayed there would be plenty of opportunities with him so that you wouldn't feel the need to stay awake in order to make the most of what time you were sure you did have.

You tried not to think of all the 'what if's' and questions about what this was or what it could be, but part of your mind couldn't help but remind you of the reality that Will likely wasn't ready to jump into another relationship any time soon, making you wonder what his earlier confessions of going all-in included.

Were you even ready to consider any form of relationship if that was what it turned into? Knowing Will came with some emotional baggage, could you put your heart at risk of being whisked away so easily while hanging on in anticipation of it being broken?

Will stirred slightly, his muscles twitching as he dreamt, his brow knitted tightly together while his breaths grew shallower and quicker.

Yes, you told yourself, smoothing your hands across his broad back, hoping to grant him some relief from whatever was going through his afflicted mind.

Terrified as you were to let yourself become so vulnerable, you also felt a sense of excitement at what was to come, your heart, body and mind all tingling in tandem that maybe you and Will would trust each other enough to explore everything possible together.

Your fingers idly traced patterns over his shoulder and at the nape of his neck, catching in his golden hair as you did your best to calm your own breathing, letting your eyes close in the process.

Somehow in the midst of your racing thoughts, you managed to succumb to sleep again, your body winning the war in prioritizing the exquisite comfort of Will's warmth and embrace over your restless psyche.

Will slowly blinked into awareness, differing from all the times he startled awake from a nightmare or the sensation of his sweat soaking his bedding until it became too uncomfortable to tolerate, a sigh of relief passing his lips the second he registered the cause for his rare, restful sleep. A weak smile formed on his lips, seeing you sleeping beneath him, your chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm at his sightline as he lifted his head up off your stomach.

He grunted quietly as he shifted, worried he would no doubt have made your legs fall asleep from the weight of his body trapping them for so long, the sticky mess left behind from earlier clinging to his lower abs and tangling in his pubes while the same coated all between your legs.

Christ, he needed to shower.

His skin was tacky, the sheets below you that remained undisturbed too hot to be under, the humidity from outside creeping into the house even though the temperature had dropped since the sun had disappeared. His workout alone had warranted a shower, and now with two rounds of intense sex on top of it, he was hardly able to handle the smell of himself. Had you been awake, he would've suggested taking a cool one together, but seeing as you were still sound asleep he moved to lay beside you, resting on his side so his front was facing you and helped guide you onto your own side where your bum nestled comfortably against his cock.

Will wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you closer to him, a lazy smile dressing his lips when you reciprocated by holding onto it with your hands. He buried his face in your neck; Fuck, do you ever smell good, he thought, no longer wanting to shower with you in fear your scent would be replaced by whatever body wash he had on the shelf.

A quiet hum passed your lips as you settled against him even more, warranting a kiss on your neck, and then another, and as he covered even more of your body with his, nudging your legs apart for one of his thighs to nestle between, he thought how a shower could never trump this.

The sound of a door closing somewhere in the house startled you awake, unused to hearing it and always fearing you would since you lived alone, but quickly found calm again in feeling Will's body still draped over yours, only on your back this time, making you smile at having found such a comfortable position in your sleep.

Your mouth felt dry, and you tallied how little water you had actually drank that day, remembering you hadn't had any after your workout on account of the distraction sleeping on top of you.

Able to see the time on Will's watch, you decided it best you get up to get a drink, fearing you would lay there thinking about how thirsty you were for hours since dawn was still a few away.

Will only stirred slightly after you slipped carefully out of his hold, leaving him sprawled out on top of the covers, taking a moment to admire how even in his sleep his limbs and especially his ass were still perfectly shaped.

With one glance around the room you remembered your gym clothes had been left discarded somewhere in the front of the house, and you weren't about to trot naked through the Miller's residence with Benny home.

As quietly as possible, you pulled open the top drawer of the wood dresser against the wall, finding it full of precisely folded t-shirts just as you hoped you would. You slipped one over your head, inhaling the smell of his detergent that somehow smelt fresher than yours ever did, now in need to find something to cover your lower half.

The next drawer over kept his boxers - again, with each piece neatly stacked - and you chose one of many navy blue pairs to slip your legs into.

Checking again to make sure Will was still asleep, you opened the door and walked down the hallway, following the sound of the tv coming from the living room.

It didn't surprise you that Benny had sharp hearing, having immediately looked over as you approached, watching his face change from confusion to amusement.

"Hello," he drawled, trailing out the word longer than it needed to be before taking a sip of the beer he held in his hand.

You gave a slightly awkward wave, suddenly feeling coy, before opening your mouth to back up your reason for walking around in his brother's underwear.

"I just need a drink," you explained.

"Help yourself," he permitted, glancing back at the MMA fight on the tv. You skirted around the couch, moving into the kitchen that had a partial wall separating the two rooms, allowing you to still have a view of where Benny sat as well as the tv.

His arm rested casually over the back of the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen as you opened a few cupboards in search of a glass.

"Far right," he advised, knowing you were struggling in your task without needing to look.

"Thanks."

Filling up the glass and downing it quickly, you glanced around, taking in the slightly outdated, but well-kept and tidy kitchen, beginning to feel guilty that you had made a mess of the entryway by leaving your sweaty, sex-stained clothes strewn about.

After refilling it, you started walking back through, taking another sip as you passed by behind the couch.

"Looks like you two had fun," Benny quipped, disguising his grin with his beer as you nearly choked and spit out your water. "Where's Will?" he asked, saving you from having to respond to his friendly jab.

"Sleeping," you answered, pausing in getting back to his room.

"Really?" he glanced over his shoulder at you, quizzically.

You nod and give a slight shrug, unsure why he seemed so shocked.

"You must've really done a number on him," he said slyly, his eyebrows raising on his head and his blue eyes strikingly similar to his brother's with how they held a playful glint in them, his grin nearly glowing in the light from the tv.

"Why do you say that?"

"Will doesn't sleep all that much."

Benny was so matter-of-fact in his statement, making you pause even longer than you intended to. He held your gaze, one side of his mouth turning upward in a smile that you thought might be in thanks before he turned back to the fight and put the can back up to his lips.

You forced your feet to move, hesitating for a moment again when you heard Benny's loose voice sound out again.

"Get some sleep."

His comment held some implication, and you matched his chuckle, continuing on your way and stooping to pick up both yours and Will's mess of sweaty gym clothes as you went, feeling your heart beating a little faster in hopes you would find Will still sound asleep.

You smiled when you opened the door to see him in the exact position as when you had left, flat out on his stomach with one leg hooked up, the moon highlighting the perfect curve of his ass and capturing the soft fuzz covering it, turning the tousled hair on his head silvery. Without sound, you carefully folded and placed your clothes on top of the dresser, gathering from how well the rest of the house was kept that he would appreciate the gesture, and slowly slipped back on top of the covers beside him.

Without missing a beat, Will draped his arm over your waist and pulled you into him, his leg falling heavily on yours to keep you there, his torso once again covering your back like a shield. The steadiness of his breathing helped settle you back to the same level of comfort you had experienced prior to getting up, making you close your eyes with the hope morning didn't come too soon.

He knew it would happen despite how much he prayed it wouldn't; the feverish temperature of his crawling skin making him jar awake, his breathing sharp and laboured as he struggled to get air into his lungs quickly enough, the sheets sticking to him uncomfortably. Will bolted upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed where he hung his head between his legs, running a hand over his forehead to collect the unbelievable amount of sweat that made it seem like someone had dumped water over him and flicked it down onto the floor.

He didn't flinch when he felt the mattress dip and your hand rest on his shoulder that managed to be burning hot and freezing cold all at once, sighing a shaky exhale in frustration that he'd woken you up and you were seeing him like this.

"I'm okay," he grumbled, clenching his teeth to try to feign away the flourishing panic attack; its persistence as steady as ever.

His hands gripped the edge of the bed so hard his arms shook, his inhales quickly turning into wheezes as he lost the battle against calming them, the sweet sound of your voice gently urging him to breathe like a distant echo in his ringing ears.

Even with his eyes open he couldn't focus on any single thing; the floor beneath his feet blurry, the visions of what had woken him up in the first place swirling about like the begrudging nightmare they always were.

"Will, look at me," you spoke, your words firm and coming in a little more clearly to him. You cupped his face and forced his head toward you, moving to kneel beside him, the sight of you in one of his t-shirts and pair of boxers confusing him and helping to bring him out of his head for a second.

"Breathe," you requested, exaggerating your own inhale with your lips puckered slightly, his eyes drawn to your chest that rose as it inflated. You exhaled slowly, and like he was participating in a fucking lamaze or yoga class, he mimicked you, the pain in his chest deminishing with each series of breaths.

He had never come down from a nightmare followed by a panic attack so quickly before, amazed at your ability to help without hesitation, his eyes finally able to focus on your face and the look of concern and understanding it held. Grabbing under your thighs, Will pulled you onto his lap, looking up at you wearily, but appreciatively.

"Thank you," he whispered, resting his nose against your collarbone through his shirt.

“Of course,” you assured, wrapping your arms around him once you knew it was okay to, feeling his tensed muscles flex as they attempted to relax the strain held in them.

In all the years Will had suffered these panic attacks and nightmares, no one but Benny or one of the guys ever comforted him as easily as this. His lips moved against the cotton covering your skin as he recalled all the times his ex would leave the bed in a huff and go sleep on the couch, upset with him for disrupting her sleep for yet another night, resulting in a blow up in the morning that he eventually couldn't see the value in taking the energy to fix.

The steadiness of your hands rubbing all along his slippery back held just the right amount of pressure to help him focus on that rather than the grief in his head, your respect in not asking if he was okay or what had triggered it making him feel inclined to share it with you anyway. The stark difference in how you didn't shy away or grimace as you carefully touched your lips to his sweat coated forehead compared to how his ex would immediately tear the drenched sheets off the bed was enough to make his heart warm and swell rather than increase its pounding speed that racked the top of his rib cage; her reaction causing his anxiety to climb rapidly as if he had any control over how his body responded to the terrors his mind provided while he slept.

Even if this was the one and only time he had you to see him through a nightmare, Will knew he would hold onto this comforting feeling as long as he could to help him through the ones that would inevitably come in the future.

He sighed deeply, his breath coming out hot against your chest as he held his face directly on it, inhaling the scent of your skin more so than his laundry detergent when he drew in another long, slow breath, the sound of your heartbeat now louder to him than his own. Rubbing his nose back and forth a couple of times before lifting his head from the asylum of your body, he looked up at you and smiled easily, seeing the worry on your face disappear.

"When did you put this on?" he asked, his fingers plucking the excess material of his shirt from the center of your chest.

You smiled back, a sense of relief in your voice. "I got up to get water a little while ago."

Will looked over at his nightstand, seeing a half-full glass sitting on a folded tissue, making him aware of how dry his mouth felt.

You leaned over and grabbed it, holding it between you for him to take where he downed it quickly, and lost in awe of him, you reached out and let your fingers trail down his neck where his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"Do you need more?" you asked, allowing your hand to rest on his chest.

"I'm okay," he said simply, extending his long arm to place the empty glass back on the table. He looked at you seriously, his blue eyes full of emotion, making you wonder just how much hurt lay beneath them, his gaze falling to your lips as his head tilted to the side. "What I do need is you."

He swallowed your small gasp of surprise when his mouth slotted with yours, his tongue delving into your mouth in a gentle, but confident demand. You arched into him as his hands carded up your back and beneath his shirt, the heat from his palms radiating onto your tacky skin, the sensation making you deepen the kiss and roll your hips on his bare lap. Growing quickly from your touch, his cock pressed up against your core, allowing the thin material of his boxers separating you to rub against your refreshed wetness.

You moaned into him, losing yourself in that craveable sensation, your hands moving more desperately on each other at the same time breathing became an afterthought.

Will whisked his shirt off of you, capturing your lips again to resume where he had left off, his beard feeling scratchier now on your chin that was already raw from too many aggressive passes of it. You couldn't care less, hoping he would burn the skin right off of you and steal your last breath if it meant him continuing on like this, his eagerness to taste you like a drug you would let consume you.

You reluctantly removed yourself from his lap, needing to feel his wanting flesh against yours, hurriedly peeling his boxers down your legs while maintaining the movement of your lips on each other. Strong hands gripped around your legs and guided you back onto him, your cry breaking the seal of your kiss as he seated you down on his length.

Will's chest rumbled beneath your palms as he growled in restraint before beginning to move his hips upward into you, feeling the strong muscles in his quads strain under your bum as he used them to power his thrusts. One of his arms supported him on the mattress while the other wrapped securely around your back, keeping you as close to him as possible and aiding in forcing you down onto him so your clit rubbed on his golden pubes.

Everything had you building up so quickly; the feel of his lips on your neck, his hand gripping you tightly, his cock berating your pussy that took him like it had already committed every inch of him to muscle memory, your body submitting to his every touch that made you almost feel weak for not being able to hold out longer before you were clenching around him.

"Will…" you whined, attempting to steady and slow yourself by bouncing up and down off of him instead of grinding, only to result in him bucking up into you harder to coax out what you tried to delay.

"That's it, come for me," he panted, putting out even more energy into ending you.

The way his voice spoke those words made you stop all efforts in preventing yourself from coming, finally giving in and letting your body sit heavily on his, riding him hard until that blinding, white heat barrelled through you and took control over every nerve in your body and your orgasm racked through you like electricity.

"Fuck, don't stop," he shouted, the roughness of his tone and the way he clawed at your back with his hand and nipped at your neck and shoulder signalling he was close to filling you up again. You didn't dare disobey him, desperate to feel him spill inside your walls, exhausting all your efforts to prevail in riding him until he told you you could stop.

"Keep going, baby - Fuck!" His growling demand and increase in pace threw you into a second climax, the feel of his cum slipping out of your tingling pussy and lubricating your swollen clit making you scream through it as he remained unrelenting in his fucking of you.

Still pulsing inside you, Will grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you to his mouth, roughly claiming yours and stealing your air before you were able to take another panting breath.

Your rocking movements eventually slowed to nothing despite your kisses increasing in fervor, instead squeezing him in a torturous rhythm that had him tug at your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled away.

"We need to shower," he stated, his eyebrows rising on his forehead as he looked up at you.

You giggled softly, "Hmm, yeah I think so," your hands slipping over his skin that was coated in another layer of sweat on top of all the other ones that had barely dried.

Staying inside you, Will wrapped his arms around your body and stood, holding onto you securely as he moved through the room, your head resting on his shoulder with your arms locked around his neck and legs snaked around his torso like a vice.

As you entered the bathroom, you could feel him begin to slip from you, and noticing the same, Will shifted and pushed you closer to his body to try to keep himself locked inside.

Reaching in the shower to flick on the taps, he wasted no time in stepping in, not bothering to wait for warm water to make its way out of the showerhead, using his body as a barrier as he placed himself between you and the water.

It came as a shock when you didn't hear a sizzling sound when the cool water hit his back that was still aflame, the blatant relief he felt from it coming out in a long sigh as he let his head tip back into the stream.

Realizing he was out of you now, you let your toes hit the floor of the shower, barely trusting yourself to stand on your shaky legs, admiring the relaxed expression on the face of the worn man in front of you.

Feeling his cum seep out of you and down your thigh and not caring to do anything about it, you reached for the bottle of shampoo on the ledge and squeezed some out in your palm, rubbing your hands together before lifting them up to lather it into his blond hair that was now darkened by the water and laying flat against his head.

After a few minutes of indulging in your nails running back and forth across his scalp, Will did the same for you, his blue eyes alight and vibrant again as he watched your skin react in a fury of goosebumps while suds rolled down your body.

Even though he was working on treating you, you couldn't stop touching him, roaming all across his porcelain skin languidly, your hands on him making him feel as if he hadn't had enough already, his veins still coursing with a lingering adrenaline that only seemed to grow the more your bodies contacted.

When he was finished washing your hair, he stepped behind you, pressing his body up against your backside to urge you forward into the water so your face came out on the other side of the stream and your hair was in direct line with it. His fingers carefully ran through your tresses to rinse the shampoo out, watching intently to your body's response to his caressess, your head leaning into his hands heavily as you tipped it to the side, letting the water fall onto your neck and shoulder where his gaze followed the rivers down your breasts.

Unable to resist, he attached his lips to the column of your neck, licking and sucking at your skin that still held a remnant of salt, his hands sliding down your sides to distribute the soap all over your body.

Peeling his hands off of you before he wouldn't be able to, Will grabbed the body wash and dispensed some in his hand, roughly lathering it all over his front and around his cock before pressing up against your back once more. He groped at you again, sliding his body up and down against yours, the way the soap made your ass slick making it difficult for him to keep a leisurely, controlled pace and not simply ram into you and start fucking you mercilessly. He was hard again instantly, his dick too easy to fall between your cheeks and threaten to slip into one of your holes, his freshly settled heart rate increasing rapidly and sending blood pulsing to his head that rubbed all along your soapy flesh.

Will growled against your shoulder, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses over to your neck, his hands alternating between squeezing at your hips and ass and up to your tits, pinching your nipples to make you moan and arch back into him. He felt wild, unable to focus less now than he had through his panic attack, his only mission to see how much your screams would echo in the noise of the shower.

Fueled by that thought and the way you ground your ass against his aching cock, he let his hand travel down between your legs, driving his index finger as far as it could inside you before adding his middle finger too, pumping them in and out only a couple of times until you were writhing against him, your head thrown back to rest on his shoulder. He knew you would be over-stimulated, your tight pussy already having taken a beating three times from him now, but the Captain in him was set on testing your limits. His fingers moved from between your folds up to your clit, harshly pressing on it as he stroked the swollen bud with brisk motions, causing you to shudder involuntarily and him to chuckle beside your ear.

"You gonna be okay, baby?" he asked, the tone of his voice betraying the genuinity of care in his question.

Your quick nod and the way you ground down onto his hand gave him all the permission needed to continue, and putting use to all the buzzing energy still going through his system, Will removed his hand from you and spread your cheeks apart, slamming into you in one brutal go. Adrenaline fed his pace, his thrusts quick and purposeful as he dragged his length in and out of your tight walls so forcefully he knew he would be making you sore, your wails of unhinged pleasure encouraging him to sink further into the space in his mind where he saw nothing but red.

Despite his barbaric treatment, you took him so well, begging him for more, your sweet voice calling for him to go harder while your body fit and molded to his like a missing piece, accepting each blow so well.

Sending him into a tailspin, you grabbed his hand that was tearing at the flesh of your breast and guided it down so his fingertips settled on your clit again, instantly making you rock your hips more to take even more pleasure from him, allowing him to feel your climax build as you clenched around him like a vice. He worked even harder, fucking through your tight pussy to reach your deepest point and back out again, his assault only progressing as he became intoxicated by your screams and the squelching sounds from both the water on your skin and his cock ramming into your soaked cunt.

Using what remained of the energy he had pent up from his anxiety attack, Will pulled out of you and turned you around, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist, his cock driving back into you as he pressed your back against the shower wall. He was desperate to kiss you, needing to feel your lips on his in a way that made this feral handling of you feel more intimate, even though he didn't let up on his pace. Your hands found his face and held it more tenderly than he deserved, deepening your kiss more, prompting him to growl into your mouth almost frustratedly as he gave his final thrusts and came with an exhausting force.

Will felt like he would crumble apart if it wasn't for your limbs wrapped around him as if you were holding him together, the slow roll of your tongue giving him something calm to keep his racing mind fixed on. He carefully pulled out of you and helped you stand on your own, still kissing you as he struggled to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling sharply. Pivoting his body slightly so you were both back under the stream of water, he let it rain down to wash you both, his hands massaging your skin in soothing patterns that was more for his own benefit to relax.

You jolted when his hand grazed your sex that was beyond sensitive now, his fingers stilling as he registered the hesitation in your kiss.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked quietly, his brows knitted together as he looked at you seriously.

"No, of course not," you reassured, "I'm just very sensitive and a little sore." Noting the guilt on his face you continued, "A good sore."

"Okay," he smiled weakly, resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. "I'll be gentle."

He made good on his word, washing you with a tenderness that made your heart sing, the way he held your chin with his other and stroked his thumb along your cheek making you vow to give this man the world.

Out of the shower and depleted of all energy, Will sauntered back to his room with you, not bothering to wrap himself in a towel or even dry off, his only goal now to hit his mattress and try to get some sleep in before the sun crept up with the passing hours.

The smell of sex and sweat filled the room, revealing just how much effort both of you had exuded in your time together, and seeing the dark stains on the top cover from his profuse sweating, Will tore it off the bed and crawled in on top of the lesser-tainted sheets.

You stood at the end of the bed, gently running your towel through your hair to soak up the excess water, watching as he settled in comfortably with his legs slightly spread, sighing out loudly when he put his arm above his head.

"Are you joining me, or what?" he asked, his eyes closed and voice hoarse, a loose smile tugging at one corner of his lips.

"Do you still want me to?"

Your question forced his eyes open and made him prop himself up on his elbow, looking at you both seriously and a little confused.

"Why would you say that?"

You shrugged, regretting saying it based on the wounded expression on his face. "I just don't want to overwhelm you, Will, I don't want to make you feel…suffocated, or like this is all moving too fast."

He scoffed, his smile and shake of his head worrying you.

"Do you want to go?" he challenged, the steeliness of his blue eyes making your mouth feel dry.

You shook your head no, offering your hand to him when he extended his out, allowing him to pull you closer to the bed where he continued to hold your gaze. "To be fair, I haven't checked if you needed to get home for any reason, and you don't have your car…"

You laughed when he did, letting yourself sink onto the mattress where you kneeled beside him.

"I'm not going anywhere, Will," you whispered, your words holding more promise than just being for the rest of the night.

His thumb smoothed over your knuckles, and looking down at the connection of your hands, he spoke freely.

"I may not be sure of a single fucking thing in my life right now, but I do know that being with you sure feels damn right." He looked up at you, the creases on his forehead brought out as his eyebrows rose up, the boyish look in his eyes and his crooked smile making your heart flutter wildly. "It doesn't mean I'm not scared shitless, though."

Appreciating his honesty, you gave his hand a firm squeeze before bringing it up to your lips where you kissed across his knuckles, not wanting to over-do it by telling him you would never hurt him but needing to show him in some way. You trailed down his arm, peppering your lips slowly across the one that bore his smaller tattoo of the eagle, feeling his eyes sear your skin as he watched you worship him, your tongue threatening to tell him how you thought every piece of him was a work of art and not just the parts decorated by his tattoos.

He settled back into the bed, his long exhale sounding like one of contentment to your ears, prompting you to slide your body down to rest beside him, your mouth traveling from his arm to his chest until you were face to face.

"I'm still all-in," he murmured, his nose nudging yours as he gathered your hand and placed it between your chests.

"Me too."

The sound of Benny messing around in the kitchen was unmistakable and undoubtedly what woke Will, his eyes adjusting to the bright morning light when he forced his eyes open. He groaned and peeled his heavy arm off the mattress to check his watch; 8:12.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself quietly, thinking how he hadn't slept this late since he was a kid, the reason behind it still sleeping peacefully beside him.

With a smile that he tucked between his teeth, Will got out of bed, keeping a watchful eye on you to make sure he didn't wake you up as he grabbed the towel you had used and wrapped it around his waist and moved toward the door.

He smiled again, noticing the pile of neatly folded, but dirty clothes on top of his dresser, and grabbed them before heading out the door.

The smell of something warm and sweet greeted him as he stalked down the hallway, his muscles feeling leaded with each step.

"Yo, Benny," he called, reaching the kitchen, but his brother was nowhere to be found.

A stack of freshly made pancakes sat on a plate beside the stove, a handwritten note left behind to explain them.

Chocolate chip protein pancakes

Heard you two burnin' a lot of cals…

Gym rats who fuck like bunnies gotta replace that lost protein.

Eat up.

Will’s stomach rumbled at the same time his chest did as he laughed, picking up one of the still-warm pancakes and folding it in half to shove in his mouth. The last time he was this hungry had to have been on a mission, but he thought how he would happily trade food any day for all the things he did with you last night.

Glancing around the kitchen in search of his phone, Will finally spotted it on the opposite counter where he usually kept it, no doubt having been placed there by Benny after finding it discarded on the floor along with everything else, his truck keys beside it.

You're a good man, Benny, he text after grabbing it, thankful to have his little brother around to look after him more than ever.

Making his way around the corner to the laundry room, Will lifted the lid on the washing machine and tossed his gym clothes in before sorting through yours and carefully checking the washing instructions on them. He dispensed the cheap, discount brand detergent into it and hoped the low quality wouldn't ruin anything, never really having to care too much about what would happen to his or Benny’s clothes.

Back in the kitchen, he reached for two mugs out of the cupboard beside the sink along with two water glasses and filled them up, once again appreciating Benny's generosity and attention to detail for putting a fresh pot of coffee on before leaving.

After rummaging through all the cabinets for a suitable tray to carry everything back to his room on and coming up empty, Will settled on a shallow cardboard box Frankie had brought fresh oranges over in the week before, placing the plate of pancakes, syrup, cutlery and drinks in it, and made his way out of the kitchen.

His phone buzzed as he passed it, and pausing to check the text displayed on the screen, he grinned and continued down the hallway.

Benny: I know

The towel around his waist hung loosely on his hips by the time he reached his door, pushing it open gently with his elbow and smiling when he set eyes on you still sleeping and all curled up in the spot he had been. The sheets were twisted around your bare body, tangled with your limbs and scarcely covering you, the way the cotton material cradled your skin looking so inviting and making him wish it was him.

Forgetting his hunger, Will set the box down on his dresser and untucked the portion of towel barely holding it on and let it fall to the floor, feeling the mattress dip to his weight as he kneeled on it and framed your body with his.

Unable to resist, he lowered himself until his face met your exposed thigh, pressing his lips against it once, and then again, ghosting them up until he reached your hip, having missed the sensation of your skin on his lips even though it hadn't been long since he last felt it.

He breathed in slowly, his eyes closing as your scent swam through every part of him, awakening his most primal needs once again.

Another kiss, another deep inhale, his lungs working to consume the smell of your slumbering arousal instead of taking in oxygen to calm his charged libido.

A split desire between wanting you to continue sleeping and needing you to wake up raged within him, his mouth watering with each kiss, his chest feeling constricted as his breathing grew more ragged even though he was desperately trying to control it. Reaching your waist, he let his tongue swipe out to lick up to your ribs, feeling your side contract as he tickled you, your sleepy moans and quiet whines resounding in his ears as you fought to stay asleep.

Slipping one of his hands between your legs, he slowly let it glide up along your inner thigh, your skin warm against his palm and impossibly smooth, his lips and tongue continuing to tease beneath your breasts and stomach until you eventually rolled onto your back.

Your eyes remained closed, but Will watched as a drowsy smile formed on your lips and your hand reached up to card through his hair, a contented sigh being his official greeting.

He needed you more than ever, set on making you feel as good as he possibly could, craving to taste every part of you.

Pushing your legs apart until they were flush against the bed, he settled between them, his lips marking a path upward that had you squirming beneath him already, and once he reached his destination, paused and looked up at you with a wildness in his blue eyes.

"Mornin', sweetheart."

---

Part 5

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @blairsanne @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered

#will miller #will 'ironhead' miller #will miller smut #triple frontier #will miller x female reader #will miller x reader #triple frontier fic #charlie hunnam

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chiveraccs · 13 days ago

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Whiskey: Rabbit Hole Heigold

Mi relación con el whiskey americano y más específicamente el bourbon aunque también con el Tennessee whiskey ha sido un poco complicada. Por un lado lo llego a apreciar mucho y me gusta tomarlo, pero me pasa que cada vez que lo hago tengo una necesidad absoluta de acompañarlo con un tabaco. Si revisara mi historial de veces que he tomado bourbon, no me sorprendería descubrir que nunca haya…

#Rabbit Hole #USA #Whisk(e)y

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therangersrespite · 14 days ago

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I am so excited for this whiskey, two of my favorite things in whiskey; peat and rye!

#whiskey #rye whiskey #whisk(e)y

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atinyslittleworld · 6 months ago

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Yeosang meeting his newborn baby

newdad!yeosang x newmom!reader

Genre: pure fluff

Warnings: none

Yeosang had always imagined this day, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it. He and his girlfriend had spent months preparing for the arrival of their baby, decorating the nursery, attending prenatal classes, and reading every book they could find on parenting. Yet, as he sat in the living room, idly flipping through a magazine, he realized how surreal it all felt.

His girlfriend, Y/N, was in the kitchen, humming a tune while preparing a snack. She was radiant, her pregnancy glow making her even more beautiful in Yeosang’s eyes. He loved watching her, seeing the way she tenderly cradled her growing belly, already so full of love for their unborn child.

"Yeosang, do you want some fruit?" Y/N called out, breaking Yeosang from his thoughts.

"Sure, that sounds great," he replied, getting up to join her in the kitchen.

Just as he reached the doorway, he saw Y/N’s expression change. She looked down, a mixture of surprise and panic on her face. "Yeosang, I think... I think my water just broke."

For a moment, Yeosang was frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks. "Okay, okay, we need to go to the hospital," he said, trying to stay calm. "Do you have your bag ready?"

Y/N nodded, already moving towards the hallway where their hospital bag was packed and waiting. Yeosang grabbed the keys and helped Y/N to the door, his mind racing with a mix of excitement and fear.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Yeosang kept glancing over at Y/N, who was breathing through her contractions, her face a mix of determination and discomfort. "You’re doing great, Y/N," he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "We’re almost there."

When they finally arrived at the hospital, the staff quickly took over, whisking Y/N into a wheelchair and guiding them to the maternity ward. Yeosang stayed by her side, holding her hand and offering words of encouragement. He was amazed by her strength and resilience, and it only made him love her more.

As they settled into the delivery room, the reality of what was happening started to sink in for Yeosang. This was it. They were about to become parents. He felt a wave of emotions wash over him—excitement, fear, joy, and love all mixed together.

The hours that followed were intense. Y/N’s contractions grew stronger and closer together, and Yeosang did his best to support her, holding her hand, wiping her forehead, and whispering words of encouragement. He felt helpless at times, wishing he could take away her pain, but knowing that all he could do was be there for her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doctor announced that it was time to push. Yeosang’s heart raced as he watched Y/N summon all her strength and determination. He held her hand tightly, his own hands shaking with anticipation.

"One more push," the doctor said, and with a final, powerful effort, their baby entered the world. The room filled with the sound of their newborn’s first cries, and Yeosang felt tears streaming down his face. He looked at Y/N, her face a mixture of exhaustion and pure joy, and he knew that this was the most incredible moment of his life.

"She’s here, Y/N," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Our baby girl is here."

The nurse placed the tiny, wriggling bundle into Y/N’s arms, and Yeosang leaned in close, his heart overflowing with love. "She’s perfect," he said, his voice filled with awe.

Y/N looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "We did it, Yeosang," she said softly. "We’re parents."

Yeosang nodded, unable to find the words to express the depth of his feelings. He reached out to gently touch his daughter’s tiny hand, marveling at how small and perfect she was. "Welcome to the world, little one," he whispered. "We’ve been waiting for you."

The next few hours were a whirlwind of emotions and activity. The nurses checked their baby, ensuring she was healthy and strong, while Yeosang and Y/N simply watched in awe. They couldn’t take their eyes off her, their hearts so full of love it felt like they might burst.

#kang yeosang #yeosang #yeosang x reader #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years ago

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International Whisk(e)y Day

Whiskey has a long and venerable history as one of the most recognizable forms of distilled spirits in the world.

The name for Whisk(e)y comes from the Gaelic language, where it was referred to as Uisce na Beatha, which means ‘The Water of Life’. It wasn’t long before the name was shortened to Uisce (Merely “Water”) and then the pronunciation slowly changed over time from Ish-Key, to Whiskey. And that pronunciation has remained ever since.

Now, it’s time to enjoy, share, and celebrate this day that is all about Whiskey!

History of International Whisk(e)y Day

The history of International Whiskey day is intrinsically tied to the history of the beverage, so that seems like a good place to begin. Whiskey is the result of a distillation process, a chemical/alchemical process known as far back in history as Babylon. While no one quite knows if they created a beverage quite as wonderful as modern-day whiskey, historians have confirmed that the process was available to them.

All whiskey starts with a ‘mash’, which is a mixture of grain and water that is slowly heated in order to break down the starch into sugars. The kind of grain that the maker uses will determine what kind of whiskey comes out as the end result. The result of this process is then known as wort and is just the beginning of this amazing drink’s life journey.

Aging in a barrel is usually part of the process as well. But the amount of time spent in the aging process is certainly worth it!

Here’s a quick rundown on the different types of grains that result in all of these unique types of whiskey beverages:

Bourbon starts from a mash that is 51% or more corn base, though it becomes a Corn Whiskey once it reaches 81%.

Malt whiskey is made from 51% malted barley.

Rye is 51% plain rye.

Wheat Whiskey, as one might suspect, is made from Wheat.

So where did International Whiskey Day come from? Well, it was first announced in 2008, and subsequently celebrated in 2009 at the Whiskey Festival in the Northern Netherlands.

This was all done in honor of a whiskey (and beer) connoisseur and writer, Michael Jackson. (No, not the King of Pop.) He was a man who was well known for his writings on Whiskey and who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. His whiskey-loving friends wanted to not only celebrate his love for whiskey but also help find a cure for this difficult disease. Since Michael’s birthday was March 27, the date is a nod to him.

So, the purpose of Whiskey Day isn’t just the raising of awareness of whiskey and its charms, although that is certainly a great reason. The purpose is also to spread awareness for Parkinson’s, a disease that whiskey aficionado, Michael Jackon, suffered from in his later years.

How to Celebrate International Whisk(e)y Day

The most obvious and practical way to celebrate this holiday is to either imbibe a favorite variety of Whiskey or to try a new one! Check out these ideas for celebrating Whisk(e)y Day:

Try a New Kind of Whiskey

Even better, get together with friends and introduce each other to your favorites, and maybe check out a few new vintages or styles. Look into these, for example:

Irish Whiskey. Smooth, made from a mash of malt, caramel-colored, and must be distilled for at least 3 years in a wooden cask.

Scotch Whisky (also called ‘Scotch’). Made with either malt or grain, must age in an oak barrel for 3 years.

Canadian Whisky. Light and smooth with a high amount of corn, must be aged in a barrel for 3 years.

Bourbon Whiskey. Made from at least 51% corn, aged in a new oak barrel, and must be 80 proof or higher. (Tennessee Whiskey is a sub-type of bourbon with special filtering step.)

Japanese Whisky. Methods and taste are similar to Scotch, often used with mixed drinks.

Learn How to Spell Whisk(e)y

It seems strange, but there are actually two correct ways to spell this word, depending on the context. Originally, Irish Whiskey included the ‘e’ and Scottish Whisky did not. Ultimately that carried out so that Americans adopted the ‘e’ version for their whiskey, but Canadians and Japanese Whisky makers did not! Thus, the correct, inclusive spelling is: International Whisk(e)y Day!

Grab a Whiskey at a Pub or Bar

Many different bars and pubs have gotten on board with celebrating Whisk(e)y Day. They’ll often provide drink specials, food specials, and possibly even opportunities to win door prizes–such as a special bottle of whiskey. So grab a friend and head over to the pub for a drink of whiskey (or beer will do just as well)!

Introduce Whisk(e)y to a Newbie

What could be more fun than opening up the world (and a bottle) to someone who has never tried whiskey before? Although it might be hard to imagine, many people are out there who are new to whiskey and have no idea how to enjoy it. Grab one of them, open a bottle, and reveal to them the myriad of reasons why Whisk(e)y Day is absolutely worth celebrating!

Donate to a Parkinson’s Disease Charity

Don’t forget to make a donation to your favorite Parkinson’s charity while you’re at it! Team Fox, the charity created by actor Michael J. Fox, who lives with early-onset Parkinson’s Disease, often teams up with various Whiskey Day folks to build momentum for celebrating the day and raising funds for the charity.

While you’re at it, be sure that everyone gets home safely. The best way to celebrate International Whiskey Day is drinking responsibly, and making sure everyone can talk about it again tomorrow!

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pennyserenade · 10 months ago

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the devil hath power

part three: the victor

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, coriolanus snow x you, coriolanus snow x nameless reader (no use of y/n) rating: e (explicit, 18+) tags/warnings: power imbalance, sex work/prostitution, degradation, smut, explicit sex, a little bit of violence, roughness, blood tw, hate sex, protected sex, handjobs, oral (female receiving), fingering, a general evilness for coriolanus snow is NOT a good guy. i hate to tag this as Dark Coriolanus because i think that's just who he is, but i will do so for the sake of this. word count: 7.9k+ summary: Coriolanus Snow is always the victor in his games. Or is he? a/n: this series was lots of fun to write and i can only hope that you all enjoyed reading this half as much as i enjoyed making it. i'll kiss you on the nose if you decide to leave a nice comment and/or reblog this, but if you only like it that's okay, too; i'll think of you fondly for having followed me on this journey regardless. no beta because life is hard but i did my best here.

part one | part two

The party did not conclude as much as it transferred to another location.

Tigris and her friends had begun to talk of a new nightclub some time after the conversation in the living room, and the idea whisked them away in their states of bubbly inebriation. They had kindly invited her along, with Tigris in particular trying to make a strong case, but she’d declined, citing early morning obligations. On the way out, Tigris had whispered to her that Coriolanus was too important for fun–but asked if she wouldn't try and help him have it anyway, being his old friend? She had promised she would and Tigris had kissed her cheek with warm affection before leaving. Not for the first time that night she could hardly believe that Coriolanus was related to the woman.

It was just as well for Coriolanus that they all left sooner than expected. He held the door open as they scattered out, delivering his charming goodbyes, but after they all had gone his amicable smile faded significantly and his shoulders slumped from the relief.

“Don’t you like them?” she asked, observing from the corner.

He wetted his lips, turning his head towards her. “Do you?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“Of course you do. They’re fools.”

She wasn’t surprised by his turn of attitude. In fact, she felt more at ease when he was like this: transparently mean. It felt less frightening to know what she was up against.

“Even Tigris?” she inquired.

“Of course not Tigris,” he answered irritably. He pushed his frame off the wall and straightened himself out. “She’s just vulnerable to those types of people. It’s not her fault.”

“Those types of people?” As far as she could tell, they’d all been fairly well-rounded individuals. Their only fault had been curiosity, maybe overfamiliarity, but she considered that much better than what he gave off: Pomposity, contempt, a coldness when he did not think to mask it. Coriolanus could be charming–she observed this multiple times throughout the night, as he had conducted side conversations and finished off stories–but he never seemed to strike anyone as sincere. She could sense that, could feel it in the way they talked to him, not like an old friend, but like a teacher. He wasn’t like Tigris. She was lovely.

Coriolanus did not entertain the conversation any longer, though. He instead took the needle off the record that had been playing softly in the background for some time, stopping the music in the middle of a song. It was then that her thoughts spun back to her music box—how abruptly, almost violently, he had shut it when they were inside her room–and her stomach began to churn. It wasn’t nerves; it was far more complex than that. His eyes seemed to beckon her closer, to draw her in.

Despite what she had said, she had hoped maybe all Coriolanus had intended to do was flaunt her around the party, to show her the life she could have if she worked hard enough for it. That had been foolish; she was experienced enough to know with men like him it never stopped anywhere innocuous as that. He looked up at her like he expected a performance.

“Finally down to two,” she said, sitting her near-empty wine glass on one of his ornate bookshelves. “Anything else you’d like to do while I’m still on the clock?”

He laughed mirthlessly, working the knot in his tie. “Is that all you think about?”

She watched him as he had her that first night: intent, serious, a spectator to a life she could not quite imagine, nor one she exactly envied. “I don’t know—is there something else I should be thinking about?”

He eyed her as she moved closer, almost as if he intended for her to pounce. His grin was derisive. “I don’t know–don’t you have your own thoughts?” he answered brusquely.

“I do, but I don’t think you’d like them very much, Mr. Snow,” she retorted. She could sense that he was not entirely in a good mood now–could see it in the tense way he held his frame, see it in the hardness of his azure eyes–but she wasn’t sure he ever was. At least not in her company.

“I can leave as soon as you give me my money,” she added.

“Thought you said you weren’t an escort,” he sneered. She watched as his fingers undid his cufflinks. They fell with a clatter on the table before him, disregarded with an unfettered ease. She knew they probably cost more than most people could ever hope to make in a lifetime in the Districts. If she stole them, would he notice?

“I’m not, but you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re well above paying for sex.”

“What? The game get too trying for you?” Coriolanus clicked his tongue. Though his words took on a more playful tone, his voice did not. “You almost had me convinced last week that you were a worthy playmate. So stubborn, so adamant. I thought to myself for a moment that I was lucky you were only a whore and not something as substantial as my classmate.”

Her eyes grew hard, despite herself. “So why are you trying to make me into something you so wholly believe I’m not?” she asked. “I don’t appreciate being left in the dark, Mr. Snow. In my line of business, it is best when all the cards are left on the table. When they are not I have the habit of leaving.”

He seemed to consider this as he opened the three buttons on his dress shirt. Already he had slung his suit jacket over the chair. “I’m not entirely fond of deception, either,” he said finally.

“I didn’t say anything about deception.”

“But I did. And you—“ he pointed a finger in her direction, “—know what you do is a bunch of thinly-veiled deception. I’ll tell you this: I think you could be an asset to me. You proved it tonight more than ever, with that charming little story about your Peacekeeper husband. You’re as quick on your feet as I’m sure you are on your back.” He quirked a mean grin. “But I’ll also say this: I also don’t like being left in the dark. If we are to work together the way I hope we will, I want to know your every thought as soon as you think it. I don’t care how banal.”

More than Coriolanus Snow liked conducting games, it seemed he liked winning them with an unfair advantage. Her lips twitched, daring to press into a grin. He didn’t find this amusing.

“You think I’m joking,” he gruffed.

“Quite the contrary.” She laughed, but it was more exasperated than mocking. “I think you’re serious. It’s just that you’re so goddamn predictable. You try to act above those men who come to me but you want what many of them do: power and control.”

The table that separated them lifted ever so slightly as he leaned his frame nearly all the way across it. “Of course I do,” his voice was rough. He was a frightening man when he wanted to be. She stumbled back. Anyone would’ve. “You do too. Don’t think I don’t notice just as much as you do.”

To make up for her temporary faltering and to show she was not intimated - though in truth she did wonder if maybe she ought to be - she leaned forward too, so close their noses nearly brushed. He smiled a wicked little grin that sent shivers down her spine. “You make me as sick as I make you. How's that for a thought?” she said.

No venom, no bitterness, just a fact. Her pulse quickened. For a flash, she considered the fact that he could very well kill her. That no one might know it. Was he capable of that?

She felt his breath fan across her cheek, warm, scented like roses. “I like you better like this. None of that doe-eyed, temptress act. Your fluttering eyelashes got you through the door, but only because I wanted to know more about what’s up here.”

She glowered. “You act high and mighty, Coriolanus, but I saw the tent in your pants last week. I know you liked it.”

Her mouth ghosted over his own, teasing, but he didn’t move; he smirked, brushing his nose against her cheek, daring her. Challenging her. A far cry from the Coriolanus of weeks past. His past words echoed in her mind, the gravity of them weighing on her for the first time: The game will be different next time.

She could not lose.

“You’re a petulant child, so afraid of what you don’t understand, contrary to what you say,” she whispered coldly, “And you want to fuck me so badly it terrifies you and you’re ashamed of yourself.”

He connected their lips; it was chaste, brief before he drew back. It surprised her, and she had to work hard to pretend it hadn’t. “You think that if I do, it’ll ruin me.” Another chaste kiss. “Maybe it might, but what of you? What if you like it? Could you live with yourself?”

Her eyes pressed close. The smell of roses was pungent but there was a heady scent mixed in with it; the sour-sweet smell of a clean sweat, of worry, of a long, long day. There too was alcohol. She had watched him consume a glass or two. She was sure she could take him on if need be. Certain that she had the willpower, the strength, to outdo him once more. “I’ve done far worse things and lived with it,” she whispered.

Snow’s fingertips grazed against her jawline. His eyes bore into hers when she opened them for him. “I believe that.”

Maybe it was meant to come across as condemnatory but it landed in a cushioned awe, wrapped in the quiet reverence belonging to a man who badly wants something he shouldn’t have. And he took it, his long fingers wrapping around the tantalizing column of her neck, pressing gently, an act of possession as his lips enveloped her own. There was no hesitation, no strain; he opened his mouth and she allowed his tongue to separate her lips. He tasted of roses, of wine, earthy and decadent, his lips plush and smooth as they moved hungrily against her own.

She was the one who pulled back first, searching for air, allowing his nose to bump against the tip of hers as he lurched forward for more. His eyes were closed but he still possessed enough of himself to laugh humorlessly at the impossibility of what was happening. It did feel like victory, albeit a small one. She kissed him again, hoping he felt the drip of regret straight down to the swell of his groin. Hoped he’d feel it for decades, that he’d remember this as vividly as she would: his thighs pressed into the wooden table, his fingers in her hair, on her jaw, on her neck, his want, thick and palpable - embarrassing - as he leaned closer for more, more, more.

He tugged her closer by the lapels of her jacket. There was no protest, not even the muffled sound of self-satisfaction as she crawled her way to him across the table. He held it down with his weight and watched expectantly as she came to sit before him. It was better this way, she told herself, so close. His pupils were blown wide, his lips red and bruised, whatever lipstick she might’ve still been wearing smudged against his. Even his carefully styled hair had begun to unravel. She could feel the full heat of his desire as her legs bracketed his waist.

“When I first began asking about you—“ Coriolanus’ fingers fiddled with the buttons on her blazer. She let him, leaning back on her arms, a present to be unwrapped. “—there was this man. Let’s call him Vitus.” The first button popped open, and he moved diligently to the next one. “I go to university with Vitus. He’s a wealthy young man, and arrogant, so it’s no surprise he’s on your list. Vitus spoke highly of you, but not kindly.” The other button broke open, revealing the bit of flesh before her breasts. He could see a peak of black, of sheer lace, and she watched as he reevaluated his expectations.

“Vitus,” she reminded softly. He shifted his eyes up. They were dark and unreadable. “Vitus—” he echoed, nodding. The third button slipped free. “—said you were a whore who got down on your knees for him. You sucked his cock so well that he shook. Said that was the best head he ever got, that you swallowed it down your pretty throat and left lipstick marks on his cock.”

Coriolanus’ lips twitched, as though this fact pained him. She furrowed her eyebrows, surprised by the way the words seemed to disturb him—as if he was angry that she had been with other men. He pushed her blazer open and draped it over her shoulders. His head drooped down and he took one of her nipples, which was clothed behind the sheer cup of her bra, and scraped it between his teeth.

She shuddered, one hand coming to his hair. Before it could, he pressed it back down onto the table forcefully. Her body got progressively more rigid beneath his.

“Another man said your cunt was tight.” He stared up at her with unfeeling eyes. “Tight. He said that word exactly. He was so vapid. He said you liked him. That you came on his cock not once but twice, and that you rode him until your knees gave out. And do you want to know what I asked them to get those responses?” Coriolanus pressed his lips gently on the place before her bra began. He began kissing downwards, right over the fabric. By her belly-button, he said, “If they knew who you were. Nothing else.”

He pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses at the waist of her pants. She pushed back the fawn of hair that fell over his eyes and he let her. Looking down at him, feeling the ghost of his lips, the presence of his breath against her skin, she realized he intended for her to comment.

“That doesn’t embarrass me,” she answered mildly. “I can’t stop what people choose to say about me.”

Coriolanus rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think it would. That wasn’t the point.” He began to undo the button on her pants now, too. “The point is that I wanted you to know—“ The button came loose and he carefully undid her zipper, falling to his knees before her. It was more reverent of a move that she would have figured he’d make. He nudged her exposed skin with the cold tip of his nose, letting his tongue trace lightly at the beginning of her transparent underwear. “—however well you did it for them, I want it twenty times better. This will be your best performance yet.”

His fingers gripped the underside of her thighs and he tugged her forward so abruptly, it caught her off guard. Her head rattled against the wood of the table. “Fuck!” she hissed through her teeth, her foot pushing outward to fling him back in retaliation. It worked; he jolted, his body falling flat onto the floor.

Her breath quickened, her body adjusting to the adrenaline now coursing through it. As rose on her elbow to inspect the damage, she frowned. Coriolanus sat before her, running his thumb against the bottom of his lip. When he inspected his fingers, he was overcome with quiet astonishment. They both were. There was a red droplet smeared on his finger, the blood fresh. The sight of it thrilled her. It did. She was not sorry to admit that. She only worried how he would take it, how he would respond. If he called someone, anyone important, she could be in trouble. What she did was not exactly legal.

“Coriolanus—“ she began apologetically. He rose a hand to shut her up. It was like blood on snow, the cream white of his hand smeared with the dark red of his blood. How ironic.

He rose to his feet, laughing coldly as he tongued the spot on his lip. It wasn’t terrible, but it’d be an injury he couldn’t hide. People would ask about it. She began to cower, drawing her knees up the closer he came to her.

“There’s no reason to be scared,” he assured, though the frenzied look in his eyes didn’t put her much at ease. His bloodied finger wrapped around one of her ankles. It melted in the fabric, but would no doubt stain later when it faded to rusty brown. This suit would be ruined. She tried her best to remain calm. She had survived worse. She was always surviving.

“What’s a little blood in a good game between friends?” he spoke levelly. The blood dribbled slowly down his chin and he let it.

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to—not like that. I just meant to—“ she sputtered. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No you’re not. What did I say about us not deceiving each other?”

His voice was low, angry, his eyes piercing. She carefully watched his fingers on her ankle, anticipating his next move. They remained still, loose. “Maybe I deserved it,” he went on, laughingly. “What’s the saying—an eye for an eye? Maybe that just makes us even.”

Before the blood trickled down to his white shirt, she moved forward to stop it, as if this would absolve what she’d done—helping him. It was just a dribble, barely anything at all. He flinched, though, when she lurched forth to wipe it. He pinched her wrist between his fingers.

Coriolanus inspected the spot on her finger like he had his own, his lips attempting to twitch into something resembling a smile. It was unsettling, and she was happy when she pulled back and he let her. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her softly again. He let go of her ankle.

She stared into his eyes until they finally became penetrable again. After she nodded in quiet acquiescence, Coriolanus took her hand back. He looked her in the eyes, wrapped his warm mouth around her two blood-stained fingers and moaned. It was so lewd, so unlike anything she could’ve imagined him doing, and she couldn’t help but show her shock; she yelped as his tongue grazed between her fingers.

Her slack jawed reaction offered him the reprieve he needed to get them back on track; his lips slid off her fingers and he pulled her closer, guiding her into another kiss. She could taste cooper on his tongue more than she could his roses now. This was against her rules, anything with blood, but it felt hard earned, like a reward on her part more than his.

Coriolanus took advantage of the fact that her slacks were unbuttoned and slid his hand down between their bodies. He spread his fingers through the patch of hair she had teased him with on that ill fated night, when he had come so close to giving in to her, reveling in the fact that he had her now. And it did feel like exactly that: like he had her, like a bird in a cage. He had her beneath his touch, he had her wearing the clothes he’d picked out, in the house of his own making, wearing the very blood she’d drawn from his lip. Even the slight pulsating feeling that resided there still only added fuel to the fire that she’d awoken in him.

She was a terrible thing, and he saw it in her eyes when she’d kicked him back—that frightening jolt of excitement that came from the illicit. The fact that she hated him, that he could see it in her eyes as clearly as he had been able to derive anything else from her, did not bother him. It comforted him. She was no Lucy Gray. Not even throwing poor Lucy Gray in an arena to fight to the death could make her half as jaded as the woman beneath his touch. She had done worse and lived through it. Yes, he believed her.

The simple truth of it was that if she wasn’t a whore and destitute, he’d marry her in a heartbeat. While Livia Cardew was a wonderful choice, and one he was close to sealing the deal on, Livia wasn’t like this woman. He knew that there would never be a danger of loving either of them, that his heart could never open the way it had for Lucy Gray for anyone so cold and cynical. But he knew, unlike with Livia, he could delight in life with this one—that she could make him better, not for all her surrender, but the process of wearing her down to it. He pictured it: the Presidential Palace of his dreams, expansive and grand, and her lying in a four-poster bed waiting for him after a long day in red silk sheets, wearing nothing but this black transparent set. When he entered her it would not be a chore, or something given, but a game hard won—and he knew she’d like it too, that the defeat would fill her with comfort because she knew the depths of true exhaustion and it wouldn’t be like that. He’d seen the hollowed home of hers, knew she lived through the Dark Days just as well as the rest of them and recovered about as well as his family had. To lose his game would be nothing; he’d cloth her and feed her and fuck her full of heirs no matter what.

He wouldn’t want Livia to do this. She wouldn’t do it half as well. There was a vulnerability to this woman that Livia Cardew didn’t possess, a vulnerability she tried hard to forge into strength and almost succeeded at. It was thrilling to watch, to see her hold her head up so assuredly beneath his hard gazes, to watch the devastating power she possessed when she needed something badly enough. He hated her but she no longer disgusted him; she thrilled him. He’d be happy to play this game every day for the rest of his life—would be pleased to shed blood for something as giving as this pursuit. He’d done more for less.

Her cunt was hot and wet, and rubbing a single finger through it relieved him more than he would readily communicate. But he didn’t have to; he slumped into her, gave way. She gripped at his arms, let him swallow her breathy little moans into his mouth as he teased over her core with his fingertip. He knew that when he entered her, it would change something—ruin him, maybe, the way she’d forecasted—and he didn’t yet want to do it. A part of him would lose and would remain lost forever, and he wasn’t ready to contend with that truth yet.

He gathered her slick on his fingers and began to grind down on her clit. Slowly at first, letting her adjust to the feeling, then quickly, delighting wholly in the way she couldn’t help but tighten her grip on his arms.

Coriolanus was not a man who liked self-imposed ignorance. After returning from District 12, he’d begun to undertake his study in sexuality, with nearly as much ardor as he had his education. He and Lucy Gray never had done anything beyond kissing and heavy petting. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to—he’d wanted to wait until she seemed eager, ready, when they could be alone, away from the Covey, from Sejanus—but it never worked out. He understood it to be for the best. If they had he’d probably be tethered to the foolish notion that sex had to mean something. When he got back, Coriolanus took to the female attention that had been directed towards him for much longer than he had wished it to be. It had started with Clemensia, for he had known he could trust her for her frankness and he found her to be the prettiest.

He knew what he was doing now—had undertaken many hours in the laboratory of women’s intricate, often complex forms. Sometimes men, too, he wasn’t ashamed to admit. There was nothing he did not want to know—especially about himself. Lucy Gray had taken him by surprise because he’d made the mistake of being unknowing, of not having a strong sense of his character and a fluid purpose. He worked through that, saw himself out to the other side: he knew what he liked, who he liked, when he liked it.

Well, mostly. She surprised him, but that was perfectly fine because he was solving this too, wasn’t he?

Her nails dug crescent shaped indentations into the pale of his skin, nearly cutting enough to draw blood again, but not quite. He nuzzled against her throat with his nose, taking to the sting of it. He went faster on her clit, harder. “You can never just play nice, can you?” he husked. He nipped alongside the edge of her jaw, ignoring the ache in his lip. “You’re so fucking wet. You like this. Like my blood on your tongue and my hands down the front of your pants. Makes you feel powerful doesn’t it?”

She covered his mouth with one of her hands, her face contorting into a fine pleasure-pain expression that sent jolts right down to his cock. He could tell she was close, that she was going to come any second based on the way she was drawing her legs together—or at least trying to. Her grip was fierce on his arm and she was uncaring of the wound she had given him, pressing her palm to it. If she drew fresh blood, he wouldn’t be surprised. Wouldn’t mind. He’d lick it from her palm, too.

He finally relented when he felt she was getting too close, and he sunk a single finger into her, keeping his thumb pressed steadily onto her clit as he did. She moaned, loud and audacious, her entire body arching up into him. With his free hand, he gripped her chin hard and, shaking off her hand from his face, pushed his lips into hers. She came, her fingers tugging on his hair, her nails clawing at his arm, her tongue touching his, exploring, tasting, lingering.

And then she slumped against him, sated and out of breath. He smirked, though she could not see it. This was his victory, and a sweet victory it was. Here she was: docile, collasped in his arms, pleased because he had made her so.

When he felt she had had enough time to recuperate, he took his finger from the welcomed heat of her cunt and placed it on her tongue. It did not shock her the way he thought it might’ve—the way he would’ve liked. She wrapped her lips around it without a second thought, drawing it in deeper, her eyes latching seductively onto his. His cock twitched at the sight and at the feel of it, knowing that she was tasting of herself and without a hint of shame or remorse coloring her. Good Capital girls weren’t ever so bold. It took awhile to get them to do things like this, or to even admit that they might like the idea of it.

And she knew he liked it—that what had been plebeian before now seemed desirable as he explored and touched and undid. The state she found herself in was not an unprecedented outcome as much as it was a detour. She would still end up where she had intended to be in the beginning. Coriolanus was better than she would’ve thought he could’ve been, sure, but it did not detract from the fact that at his core he was fundamentally the same as the rest of them. That in his eyes, which burned wildly of passion, and his mind, which no doubt thought single-mindedly of success, was like that of a million others before him. Unexceptional in his perceived exceptionalism.

She took her mouth off of him, sucking her cheeks so hollowly around his finger that she made a sweet popping sound. Coriolanus was like a spectator. That’s the best way she could perceive him: as an audience, taken completely with her and her unpredictability, hanging onto the edge of his seat, wondering what on earth she would do next. His eyes followed her movements closely. She thought of his Games—the one with the tributes that could be bet on, and watched constantly—and she wondered how much different this was to that for him. How sick of a man was he? Where was the line, as he asked her? Did he know it?

She guided his hand down to her chest. This he seemed to understand, taking the lead, catching her pebbled nippled against his palm as he massaged one of her breasts. She shrugged off the blazer—which had scarcely been hanging on for a while now—and tugged down her bra impatiently, exposing more of herself to him. He took the opportunity to lean his head down again. Coriolanus ran the flat of his tongue against one of her nipples, while squeezing the other between his fingers. The nature of it bordered on painful but he never committed to it, edging her up to the slight sting of too much pressure and then coaxing her out of it, sucking, rubbing lightly.

His lips were glossy when he perched up to kiss her. She smiled. “You’re awful agreeable when your cock is hard—though I guess I knew it would be. I think that’s why you hate whores like me: we excite you to the state of pliability.”

He took her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged at the flesh. “You’d like to think that,” He kissed over the spot, tending it with an affection that didn’t belong to him. It felt borrowed, stolen, an amusing role he was trying to fill out as not to startle her with the true depth of his cruelty. “I hate what you do but I understand it, don’t you see? I told you as much before. You whores — as you so crassly put it — are like a small stain on a good piece of fabric: some you can hide better than others.”

She yanked roughly at his hair, drawing a hiss from his lips. But his grin did not fade. “What does that make you, then?” she retorted, “With your cock hard for me? Paying to finger me?”

She palmed him through his slacks and Coriolanus let out a shuddery breath, shocked by the sudden relief of it. His next response was amused, his voice lighter. “But you’re not like other whores are you? There’s a hierarchy and you’re at the top of yours. The finest quality. If there’s ever a cunt to sink into, it’s yours—“ His eyes rolled back as she unzipped his slacks and slid her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. Her fingers gripped tightly around his base and his nose brushed against hers as he leaned into her touch, his palms flattening on the table. “—fuck.”

With her free hand she propped him up, laughing against his shoulder. “Oh, Coriolanus,” she purred against the shell of his ear. His shaft was leaking pre-cum and she rubbed some of it down his cock, taking note of his response to her grip; the way the muscles in his neck fluctuated, how his hips bounced back and forth, how his breathing labored. Her teeth tugged on his earlobe. “You ought to get a condom, before you make a mess of yourself in your slacks. I can tell you want it so bad, Coryo.”

His hand gripped her throat. “Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice low—ringing serious, desperate. She didn’t listen.

“Coryo, please,” she begged. His cock twitched in her hand and his hand tightened on her throat, threatening. It was a warning. She wanted to ruin him—wanted him to think about her forever, wanted to hate her as badly as she felt she hated him—but she couldn’t let him finish like this. She needed him inside of her, the truest defeat.

“I’ll show you how good I can be,” she coaxed, her tugs on his cock becoming more lingering. From the tip to the base, slow and teasing. He was decently sized. more girth than he was length. She was happy he knew what foreplay was. “I’ll show you how good we can be, and that’s what you really want, isn’t it? To know that I can submit to you as you’ve to me? And I can, Coryo.”

His eyes pressed closed. She kissed the side of his mouth. “You don’t want what those men want, do you? Not even in a better form. You want more from me. Something I’ve never given them. Isn’t that right?” She kissed him fully on the lips now and he let her—even opened his mouth to accept her tongue against his. A man heavily seduced. “I bet you’d like to fuck me with nothing on, wouldn’t you?”

She knew what he wanted. She needed him to say it to. To admit it for the both of them. His eyes looked so light, almost crystal, when he opened them again. He swallowed hard. “You’re such a cunt.”

“You’re not paying me to lie to you. You’re paying for my every thought, isn’t that right?” She gripped his cock tighter in her hand and he sucked in a breath through his gritted teeth. “I think you want to tell me what you’re thinking so badly it’s killing you. You shouldn’t be afraid of it, not anymore. We’ve already come so far. A little farther won’t kill you.”

“Such a dirty wh—“

“You told me, you said however banal the thought—“

“I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything. You’re just afraid of it—the depth of your want.”

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He rutted into her hand, the warmth of it beyond relieving after so much of nothing. She let him. As his hips pushed into her, into the table, she watched how the desperation took hold of him. Coriolanus' breathing became labored. She wondered how long it had been—if he denied himself this pleasure. He gripped tightly onto the edge of the table, drawing closer and closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

With an almost sickening amount of satisfaction, she let go of his cock. Coriolanus rutted into nothing with a harsh grunt, his head bouncing into her shoulders as he realized what she’d done and began to sag from the betrayal.

He gripped her face between his hands. “You think you’re so very clever—and you are—but you won’t win this. Not against me.” He squished up her cheeks, drew her closer to his face. His patience had thinned. “I’m not like those bastards you fool around with. Everyone knows you don’t fuck whores without a condom—even the most cunning ones. Don’t play the cards you don’t have because it’s beneath you,” he growled out before letting her go.

She watched with mild curiosity as he stalked away from her. It was an act she found equal parts amusing and hypocritical. He reminded her of a wounded animal, snapping at whatever it perceives to be a threat in blind rage.

“You like the game, don’t you, Coriolanus?” she asked him lightly.

He peered at her over his shoulder. “I have always liked the making of it more than I liked the playing of it.”

He had retreated back to his clinical tone; measured, calculated, clipped. She gathered her composure and slid off the table. He tensed beneath her when she wrapped herself around his torso, and his hands gripped onto her own. But he did not push her away. He was warm, still flushed from his desire, and she knew he did not have it in him to deny her. His cock was hard, leaking, and he allowed himself the room to want this. To imagine it. They were too far into this now.

She laid her head against his back and toyed with the buttons on his shirt. She slid her hand beneath the cool fabric. Her fingers explored the hardened expanse of his chest, dipped down to his abs teasingly. His heart hammered away in his chest—perhaps the most honest thing about him. His body began to ease, unintentionally, back into her own, and she undid the few remaining buttons on his dress shirt. He let it fly open.

Coriolanus turned around. He kissed her suddenly, and it wasn’t like before—not rough, but almost tender, all consuming. “I think we should go to my bedroom in case Tigris comes back. Sometimes she does that,” he whispered against her lips.

“Lead the way,” she responded. And he did.

Coriolanus’ room was luxurious, but sensible; it was obvious from the design it was a space meant to be slept in rather than inhabited: the four poster bed, the orange hued lamps, the heavy drawn curtains. Everything was the best quality, but it was plain, almost antiquated. Like hers, if she could have his money.

He didn't put much stock in how she felt about the room, though. When the door shut, they resumed their working relationship. He eased her out of the slacks and she relieved him of his shirt; he unlatched her diaphanous bra, and she tugged on his pants; he shimmed the underwear off her hips and he stepped out of his for her without protest, without thought. They were naked in seconds and seemed to understand each other better for it. She laid down on his bed and he stood at the foot of it.

His cock, which had begun to soften, sprung back to life now without aid. He touched his cock in lazy strokes, noncommittal but desperate. He did have a good looking cock, velvet soft and veiny. A terrible thing for a man so evil, so repressed, to be gifted with something like that. “No more tricks,” he demanded.

She opened her legs, the air of the room cool against her wet core. “No more tricks,” she echoed. Coriolanus devoured her before he touched her.

He moved methodically to the desk in the corner of his room. The condoms were stored in the second drawer, wrapped in gold. Before she could offer to help him put one on, he was already undoing the wrapper and lining himself up to the latex. She watched curiously as he did it. He was stately about it, not coltish or inelegant. In this way, he was unmatched. Men usually bowed to their desires but it seemed he led a disciplined existence. He was too important for fun.

Her stomach began to flutter with the anticipation of it. It was a betrayal, but not one she couldn’t contend with. Not one that she hadn’t before, in fact. This was how the body worked. This was work. This meant nothing.

“Are you wet enough?” he asked.

“I’d say so. I must say, you surprised me.” After a pause, she added, “You surprise me. Present tense.”

His smirk was unmistakable and predicted. “Isn’t it nice, not fucking men like Vitus? Don’t you see what a life you could have if you work for me?”

“Yes,” she cooed. Pliant, sated, prepared beautifully on his satin sheets. A dream he had long awaited and one he wanted so badly it would terrify him if he didn’t understand it throughly.

Coriolanus crawled between her thighs. He kissed her again, hard, urgent, and she responded in kind, sucking at the end of his tongue, tugging on his now unruly hair. His cock rested on the curve of her stomach, present, aching, seemingly growing harder by the minute. He worked hard not to rub against her. He refused to hump against her like some goddamn puppy who knew no better.

“Now,” she whispered. He nodded in assent. It was all done by his permission, by his standards. Her hand wrapped around his cock and she guided him to her core, but it was he who pushed in. He who teased the tip, he who slid so slowly that both of their bodies drew in a rigid sigh, he who bottomed out and he who drew up one of her legs to go a little deeper still.

He needed her and there was a certain release to being able to admit that. It was encouraging. It made him throb inside of her. They looked at one another, breathed in the scent of their sex, and it began. Coriolanus drew back his hips, then pressed forward. His movements were harsh but steady. He delighted in the way she looked up at him like that: like he was fucking her and she felt it, really felt it. And fuck, she was wet, so wet that he could hear it. His cock was a welcome entity inside of her; she clenched around him, seeming to urge him in, begging him to stay.

An unspeakable thing grew inside of him. The thing she had been right about. The thing that terrified him. His head hung and he watched the way his cock glistened with her slick, how it entered and exited out of her. “You’re mine,” he growled. It came from within and sounded frail. And it was. It belonged to a version of him he did not like. A version of him he could seldom control. He did not do this much anymore and it was for good reason. He had learned what he had needed to.

She gave a beautiful performance, though. Bleary-eyed with want, convincing as she raised her hips to meet him—like she might need this half as badly as he did. “Yes,” she answered. He hated her.

You hate her. You hate her. He repeated it like a mantra, his hips snapping into hers based on the unvaried rhythm of it. And he did hate her. She was a whore and she was a good one. His arms bracketed her head and said it. “I hate you.”

“Fuck,” was her response. Fuck. His cock pounded inside of her and she moaned. Her nails began to dig into his skin again. This he liked most of all. The nobility of having shed blood had grown on him since he had first killed a person.

He brought up the other leg. She gasped. It could not be any easier to push inside of her than it was now. God she was wet. He began to grind inside of her. She drew blood on his back. The sting of it was a relief. Penance. Fuck.

He didn’t bother with making her come. He thought about it but he felt she didn’t need to. Not again. He was paying her for this. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, not for someone like her. To come inside of her because of his own thoughts was one thing but to come because she did, because she was trembling with her own want and he liked it—

He came. His body went slack and it surprised them both. She wrapped her hands in his hair as he collapsed into her body, and he could feel the heavy thud of heart. Or maybe that was his. It was hard to tell where one began and one ended during these things. He hated that most of all.

Coriolanus drew out of her as soon as he could. He was not embarrassed. He was startled, but not embarrassed. It felt cleansing. But then he did something unforgivable. He did not leave her with her legs parted, did not watch with scorn as she laid in the filth of her occupation. Did not hate her because of what she was but rewarded her for it.

Her gasp was as genuine when his tongue parted her folds. He ate her out in earnest, his eyes watching the way his tongue made her react. When she played with her nipples, so unabashed about what she wanted, he put his mouth on her clit and sucked. He did want her to come. Because of him. For him. Her hips jerked and he followed along with the movements.

She tasted vaguely of him, but acidic, tangy, dangerous, too. Her fingers raked through his hair, and he entered two fingers inside of her. Clemmie used to like this. Livia would, too. He was good at it.

“Oh, Coriolanus,” she whined. He hummed against her and the vibration reached her core. She shook and tugged and pleaded, her hips doing their best to get away, but he wouldn’t let them. He felt her clinch around his fingers. “Coriolanus,” she gasped. She came once, twice. Three times would be too indulgent. This is where he drew the line.

He fell to her side with a heaving chest. They were both too warm, spent, surprised by the extent of what they had done to speak about it. In his mind he was building her a cage, and she was already searching for the key next to him.

After a while, he turned to her. She did not look at him but continued to stare blankly at the ceiling. “How much?” he asked her. It felt customary.

She wanted to say: More than you can give. She wanted to say: Everything you’ve got. She wanted to say: I will tell you no secrets, I won’t help you, I hate you. But she didn’t. She thought of home, what remained of it, and she said: “More than the first time.”

She was nothing like him but one did not need to be Coriolanus Snow to understand this: money was king, and he who had the most was the winner.

But she understood something far better than he did. She had taken something from him he hadn’t intended to give, and that was something money could not buy. His blood was beneath her fingernails. His cuff links were in the pocket of her blood stained suit. Tomorrow she would begin to make her house right again. Tomorrow she would tell him what she knew about the men she slept with—all of it. Turn them all against each other, hopefully, ruin the whole damn empire. Maybe she would steal something else, eat his food, fuck him again, see how far she could go before he noticed how much of his life she usurped. Would he begin to blur the line between performance and reality? She was sure he might. Already he had his hand on her wrist, tracing lightly against it.

He was the winner but now she was out for more than just a single victory. This was war and she was choosing her battles wisely.

Looking in his direction, she turned her lips up almost imperceptibly into a grin. Her eyes were soft, still teary from the sex. He seemed…at ease. Sated.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“This opportunity,” she said warmly. “I know it’s going to change things for me. I can see that.”

In his eyes it appeared: the propensity for being needed. He smiled, too. “It will,” he told her.

Yes, she was the victor and the crown had yet to feel heavy.

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