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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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fictional boyfriends (e.m.)

summary: eddie gets jealous of your newest fictional boyfriend from a game he got you into.

warnings: kinda sweet. kinda cringe. eddie is jealous of astarion. twilight reference jumpscare. not edited. biting and vague mentions of sex at the end.

wc: 2.5k+

a/n: this is the dumbest, cringiest thing i have ever written. but on this side of town, we embrace the cringe <3 happy valentine's day, enjoy me combining my current favorite fictional men (astarion and eddie) for my own personal delight. maybe one day i'll write a serious fic regarding the biting kink

It’s not that biting had ever been off the table with Eddie, per se.

Nips between kisses, using a little more teeth when he’d kiss across your neck, a joking sinking of your teeth into his shoulder when you were vying for his attention — they were all normal occurrences between the two of you. There was just never much discussion about it. No conversation explicitly had in which the two of you said, “Why, yes. This is something I’d like to bring into the bedroom.”

Until that damn game.

When Eddie introduced you to Baldur’s Gate 3, the last thing he expected was to watch all your free time you used to spend pestering him suddenly handed over to some fictional vampire. He thought it’d be a game you tried, grew tired of, lost interest in, and that was that. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t expect a sudden competition for your goddamn affections.

“Baby, please come to bed,” he all but whines as he drapes himself over your shoulders, trying to nudge off your headphones. He could feel just how warm your ears had grown beneath them. He swears he can feel your back crack from the slightest bit of his weight on your shoulders. And, sue him — he was tired and he wanted to cuddle.

“One more minute,” you mumble the same phrase to him that he has used a million times on you; he instantly knows it’ll be far more than just sixty more seconds if he agrees, “Let me just finish this-“

“No,” he’s still whining, but it’s more stern now as he properly removes your headset, earning a glare from your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been playing this game all afternoon, sweetheart. I think I might die if you don’t offer me some immediate attention. Truly.”

For emphasis, he lays more of his body weight on you, your chair creaking from holding up both of you now.

“Eddie,” you moan out, wiggling beneath his dead-weight, “I swear to God, get off of me-“

“I’ll get off of you if you come to bed.”

You pause. Your hands hover near your keyboard and mouse, but you’re no longer walking your avatar across the world of Baldur’s Gate, and he knows he has you considering it.

More weight. More groans. At this rate, he’s questioning if your chair won’t break from his outrageous method to get your attention.

“Fine.”

The small yes he lets out only earns him a punch to the shoulder. But it gets you off the game, and that’s still a win for him.

He doesn’t even care about appearing over eager as you follow him back to the bedroom. He’s gone as far as preparing the bed, pillows fluffed and comforted pulled back while awaiting your arrival. He’s already washed his face and brushed his teeth (something he usually fights you on as you nag him before bed), and the moment he’s got you in the room with him, he’s dragging you right onto the mattress with him.

“You’re gonna hurt us!” you yelp as he wraps his arms around you and flops down, dragging you with him, but it’s through a laugh. He knows you really couldn’t care less — he’d never deliberately injure you, irritated about your newest fictional boyfriend or not.

“Oh, no,” he mocks, rolling so you’re laying on top of him, “What ever will you do if I injure one of your precious wrists, and you can’t use it to flirt with your new boy toy tomorrow?”

“Astarion would be devastated,” you giggle into his chest, not moving off of him despite all your protests. It’s nice — to feel the full weight of you, to just get to bury his nose in the crown of your head as he shamelessly inhales the sweet lingering scent of your coconut shampoo, “He’s even needier than you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you serve as his functional juice box.”

“I do not!” you wiggle against him, and it only makes him tighten his arms, “He’s needy because he loves me.”

“Well that makes one of us.”

Your head lifts off his chest in an instant, faux offense shadowing your features, “You tryin’ to say you don’t love me, Munson?”

He smirks, pressing his lips together tightly, making you huff in frustration.

Of course he loves you. There wouldn’t be a ring in his sock drawer that he’s terrified of you finding if he didn’t.

You pout, subtly and adorably so, starting to lift off of him, “If you’re going to be mean, I’m just going to go back to someone who appreciates me-“

“Mean?” he scoffs, enjoying himself far too much. He’s missed your attention, your affection. The effect it has on him is similar to a high, making him dizzy on serotonin as he rolls over and pins you between him and the mattress, “Oh, baby, that’s not me being mean. I can show you mean, if you want.”

He’s always thought you looked prettiest like this. Under him, eyes wide as you look up at him as if he’s the only thing in this room worth looking at. Worth more than your prized bookshelf, more interesting than all the various posters the two of you have hung on the walls. You look at him as though he’s the greatest thing to exist in these four walls, and he doesn’t take it lightly when your favorite albums and candles are right there.

“You don’t have a mean bone in your body, Munson,” you whisper softly, face going soft for him. The two of you are still surely joking around, the playfulness of it all thick in the air, but there’s something genuine in your words that makes him even more enamored with you.

He should have predicted you’d fall for Astarion when he showed you the game. You had a thing for people who put up the tough front, but who really just needed a little extra softness and patience under the surface. He was living proof of it.

Unlike your fictional vampire boyfriend.

“Yeah?” he taunts, leaning down until the tip of his nose brushes yours. His hair works like a curtain, messy as ever as he shields the two of you from the outside world. One of your hands have crept up so that you palm rests against his cheek, and he can hardly remember that flare of jealousy that had gnawed at him when you’d spent your entire afternoon absorbed in the game instead of him, “I bet I could be meaner than Astarion. Although, I’m not sure just how mean that man has ever been to you, given all the war crimes you commit for his approval-“

He’s cut off when the thumb of the hand cradling his face trails up, pressing on his bottom lip. It only makes him grow even closer to you, pressing in, drawn by your touch.

You squint your eyes at him jokingly before cooing, “Someone sounds jealous.”

“Damn right,” he doesn’t even try to deny it, caught in the web of your trap with ease, “Does your pixelated lover even know what a catch he’s got?”

You snort adorably at that. He pulls away to see the full force of your laughter, lifting up into his elbows to admire how your face scrunches with your smile. He bets Astarion would make some sarcastic comment about it — about the crinkles by your eyes that he aches to pepper with kisses, about the indents in your cheeks when you smile this wide, about the sound of your genuine laughter when you unrestrained and entirely comfortable like this. But there’s not a single joke forming on Eddie’s tongue. He’s all but hypnotized.

God, he fucking loves you. So much so he’s jealous of a video game character.

“I’m not sure I’d consider this,” you lift the hand not holding him carefully still to motion at your current state of being, “A catch, my love.”

He has to disagree. Messy hair or not, wrinkled pajamas or not. You’re the greatest catch of this entire existence; not just Eddie’s, but the Universe’s. Nothing you could say or point out would deter him from this belief. He loves you, mess and all.

“My love?” he chooses to tease instead, all the words of affection threatening to choke him if he so much as considers letting them pour out, “I like the sound of that. If that’s the Astarion effect, maybe he isn’t so bad after all.”

His elbows are sinking deeper into the mattress. With every passing second, his face is dropping closer to yours, and he’s not sure if it’s by instinct or choice. But when his lips finally brush yours, he decides it’s all the same — it doesn’t really matter what sort of gravity is at work here, as long as it keeps bringing him down closer to you.

“Shut up about the game and kiss me, Eddie.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

The kiss is as sweet as ever. A comfortable dance that still sends shivers down his spine. If either of you looked closer at his arms bracketing your shoulders, you’d see the goosebumps raising as you eagerly returned all his affection.

You taste like the chocolates you’d been snacking on during your gaming. You taste like the greatest gift ever given, and he doesn’t care if he’s exaggerating or not. You’re divine — his favorite good morning and his only goodnight.

And he’d say all that, but you’d probably accuse him of trying too hard to be like Astarion. Probably bring up that ridiculous line the character once said about you being made by the Gods, just to ruin him.

You were, though. Made by the Gods, specifically to ruin Eddie. Fuck the game.

“You know,” he whispers against your lips, breaking for air as he adjusts positions. Your thighs open up and welcome him home, letting him slot right between your legs comfortably. He’s not trying to seduce you, but he can’t even be mad about it. He feels like a starved man now that your attention has been divided as of late, “If you wanted a lover who bites, all you had to do was ask, darling.”

If you weren’t so wrapped up in the kisses he was pressing down your jaw and along your neck, you would have ripped him to shreds for the awful impersonation.

But you’re already far gone, lost in his touches and his adorations. You let the half-assed attempt at a British accent slide, and you even bare your neck to him at the minute threat.

Biting had never been off the table, per se, and Eddie was really fucking glad for it.

When he presses one, two, three greedy kisses to that sweet spot just below your ear, he has one intention in mind. Not his usual sucking and nipping and soothing, not leaving behind one of his ordinary love bites. No, he lets himself get caught up in the moment, and when he catches that quiver of excitement the moment he drags his teeth over your neck carefully, he’s fully committed to his decision.

He bites.

Not hard enough to draw blood, or even be terribly painful. He knows it’s nothing like the game or any of your subsequent fantasies you might have had from it. His canines are fairly dull, even as they dig carefully into the skin of your neck, holding for a moment for effect. But your legs tighten around his hips, and he almost wishes he was a damn vampire, able to actually pierce your skin in the moment. Drink your blood. Whatever the allure was with the origin companion.

You let out a soft gasp which has him keeping your skin between his teeth a few extra seconds, and then he’s letting go. Lifting his head and looking into your eyes, a silent exchange of is this okay?

If the glazed over look is anything to go off of, it’s more than okay.

He returns with reckless abandon, switching between his usual desperate kisses and the newer, sharper ones. He has one goal in mind: to mark you up as his, to the point in which you’ll be scolding him in the morning. It’s like a drug, to feel you writhe beneath him as he paints the picture.

Love notes of freshly born bruises, the imprints of his teeth – a letter across your delicate skin that reads, he was here, and he loved you, more than anyone else in this Universe may ever be capable of.

“If I had known how much biting would rile you up, I would’ve started doing it ages ago,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, finally pausing his assault.

He settles for softer presses of his lip, peppering the affection where he had been a bit more violent.

Your hands that had taken to tangling into the curls at the nape of his neck have gone more relaxed, no longer tugging but instead just lingering. Pulling him closer. Touching him with softer hands than he’s ever felt deserving of.

“Guess you’ve got a certain vampire to thank for that,” you tease, but he can hear just how breathless he’s left you. He had sworn he could feel the pulse of your facing heart beneath his lips, even if just for a moment. Even if he just imagined it.

“Please. Astarion is not getting the credit for that,” he scoffs, lifting up onto his elbows again to just look at you. His lover, his favorite person. It’s nice to see your face when it’s not washed over with the cast of a computer screen. “That was all me. And even if it wasn’t, I won’t forget that you had a Twilight phase.”

Your hand quickly drops between the two of you, only to smack at his chest. The thump holds no weight as you whine, “I told you that in confidence.”

He dips down, capturing one last kiss, “It’s okay, baby. It’s good to know that you have a type.”

“I do not-”

He cuts you off with a more playful bite to your neck. Less about marking you, and more just to make a point.

“Just,” another nip, “admit,” another graze of his teeth, “it.”

You’re fighting a smile when he looks down at you again, impossible to hide behind your mask of annoyance. “I am not admitting that I have a thing for broody, pathetic vampires.”

“Well, I’ve got broody and pathetic down-”

“Eddie,” your thighs still bracket him, one hand still clinging to the back of his neck. When you say his name, the game is over. “We can spend all night bickering over the fictional men I love, or you can give me a reason to forget their names. It’s up to you.”

His eyebrows jump up his forehead, and he’s just about to give up the bit, but not before one last snide remark.

“Kind of hard to do that when I share a name with one of them, but as you wish, sweetheart.”

Another bout of beautiful laughter from him. Another smack on the chest from you. It’s good – it’s everything Eddie has ever wanted, and it is good.

He does, of course, make you forget their names. And if you find it difficult to get out of bed the next moment, dramatically unable to make the walk to your gaming computer, well – he won’t try to hide his smug smile in between the soft rays of morning light.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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#my writing #ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #this is truly the dumbest thing i've ever written #i almost made it into proper smut but couldn't take the end seriously i'm sorry

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loregoddess · 2 years

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haunting some forums and I love how my brain was like “why the fuck is Lambert alive suddenly” when watching the trailer this morning, and then someone in one of the forums was talking about Rufus and I was like right...he exists....

#I forgot he existed bc he plays so little a role in the original game never gets a character model and also dies offscreen #rip my good dude I didn't know who the hell you were to even guess at your surprise appearance #even though I pretty much IDed Holst and Caspar's unnamed dad in like...seconds...#anyhow I'm not playing the demo until I finish LoD #well at the rate I'm going it's hard to say if I'll complete LoD before Hopes comes out but I'm almost 75% complete so #we shall see #but I have no qualms about seeing some spoilers bc I wanna see if the writers are gonna clown or not #oracle of lore

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munv · 3 months

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𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡 𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗦𝗬

𝗜𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗕𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗜𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗦𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗲𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗷𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂? 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗶𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼?

could you tell kaiser brain rot won? could you tell? could you tell?

September was just starting, but now looking back..you were already sick of it. Taking care of Sae was a journey in its own right, but your mother expecting a baby in possibly a few days? You needed some fresh air.

So that's exactly what you did.

At least..that is what you thought.

"Where are you going?" Sae's voice rang out through the living room. Staring at you with intent, trying to figure out what exactly was your game plan for today. Your Maine coon "Miko" was currently purring at your feet. She circled you in a way that made you feel caught. Which was scary in its own little way.

You shook a bit at the type of duo they both became, always seemingly to catch you in the act. "I'm going for a walk..I'll be back"

Sae gave you a stern glare in response "You said we'd play soccer this week" he stepped closer with each word before he was just inches in front of you. He looked up at you judgmentally. Miko let out a small 'meow' in agreement.

The sick little shit, you would have never picked her ass up from the street all those years ago if you knew she would pick sides. "I'm taking a walk Sae, and I said this week not today." You said stepping out of the circle Miko called home before putting on your shoes.

You ruffled his hair before opening the door, "I'll be back soon. Kay?"

"Hmph" Miko let out a dissatisfied mewl before trotting back on over to sae. "Alright love you!" You shut the door on him once again.. just like a particular chapter.

The small boy flushed before walking away from the door "Nee-San is so weird..isn't she miko?" The cat purred in content before making way to her corner of the house once again.

It was a random park, very random indeed. How you ended up in this neighborhood? Not even you have the answers to that question. You walked aimlessly, at truth. It was a little bit windy but nothing that couldn't be handled.

A few birds, a cat here and there, a small stall you picked up teriyaki from, nothing beats this type of routine. Which was the initial thought before your teriyaki was snatched out of your hands "HOLY-" The culprit? A soccer ball in all its glory. 'a soccer ball...just..took my teriyaki? am I finally reaching insanity?...oh my god, is this the world getting payback for not playing soccer with Sae?' what you failed to notice was that there was a voice calling out to you.

before you was a young boy, most likely around your age, with messy blonde hair almost completely spilled over his shoulders with a generous shade of blue to shade his eyes. He was only a little bit taller than you, but other than that he seemed worried at your downcast expression. If the boy didn't see what the soccer ball did to your teriyaki, he would have thought he hit your dog and killed it on the spot!

"Geht es dir gut? Oh Gott, habe ich dich irgendwo getroffen?!" at this rate he was shaking with despair and worry. Snapping out of your senses, you realized he wasn't exactly speaking Japanese, and by the time he finished spluttering, he probably had a self-realization he wasn't exactly speaking Japanese either. Now, you weren't any language on a star, but you were smart enough to know this kid was probably German or something.

But from the worry in his voice, you could at least pick up that he was probably asking if you were ok and a hint of extra sorry's in there. "uh.." you didn't have much to say, but being on your second life did have its benefits, for you studied a bit of french and german here and there. Though French was much easier you were grateful to have at least put a bit of effort into learning German. "Mir geht es gut, danke?"

The blonde boy looked surprised, which worried you by a hell tone. Did you say it right? oh shit, did you accidentally curse him out? he gave you a small smile before waving and picking up his soccer ball to run off to..wherever he was beforehand.

So, you lost your teriyaki, met a cute German boy, and almost got spiraled into the pearly white gates in the process by the same soccer ball that took your teriyaki; but..looking back that hit could have been a serious one, that kid had some serious potential to become a striker.

You've decided from the short encounter today that you've had about enough, and it's about time to start your mini trek home. Well, that was the old plan before you ended up looking at Google Maps. You weren't lost! no no, it was simply called..adapting to your new surroundings, you know. The little einsteins shit where they have a destination in mind but end up soaring somewhere weird. Maybe the magic school bus would explain this better, you know where you ended up where you wanted to go but got up in a small situation and lost. This was you we were talking about though! Not lost, just a little clueless.

You turned a corner and managed to spot the same little guy from earlier, you realized that you could've pulled out Google Translate but that would've been rude. So sucking in your ego, you approached the blonde boy and tapped his shoulder.

You weren't all too sure as to what he was doing, just holding the soccer ball and all but he seemed pretty lonely, and you were pretty clueless right now so it was a win-win situation. Not to assume he doesn't have friends or anything right?

He looked at you with surprise again, Jesus, it looked like he wanted to express himself so badly but just couldn't. I mean, if you were in Japan with little to no Japanese skills you don't think you would be able to speak German expecting almost anyone you meet to understand you.

quickly hoping to get this over with, you typed out something on your phone and showed it to him. Thank God your parents actually trusted younger you with a phone and an even bigger plus you knew how to use it properly this time. he looked back at the translation on your phone before looking back at you and nodding. He took it from and you carefully typed out a few responses, and to be frank with yourself, the boy you learned whos name is "Kaiser" suited him.

If only your Sae was this nice..you wouldn't have a stroke every now and then. he gave a small laugh to one of your snarky responses on google translate before finally leading you down a path, the more you two walked and talked (more like typed) the more fun it was.

something in the conversation went like "you have a little sibling?"

"yeah, i got another one on the way right now too."

"what's it like?"

"wouldn't you like to know?"

and some more that went into depth like

"it's ok to feel in the dumps yknow, but you should always carry some self-respect and discipline too"

"you sound a bit old, but..i'll think about it. thanks"

"i'll ignore the 'old' person comment and your welcome"

By the time you finished sharing your last laugh, you had arrived at your destination. Waving a small goodbye and a quick hug you made it inside your home with a small content sigh.

ITOSHI OMAKE "why."

Sae's face was adorned with a frown while staring at his mother, sometimes his eyes would stray down to the round belly she had, where his new sibling would soon come from. But that wasn't today's topic. His tone was demanding for someone of his age, and his father had to remind him sometimes of how he sounded, but he knew his son couldn't help it.

He was just naturally blunt he supposed.

He just needed to know why.

"sae, sweetheart..you're saying it as if your older sister isn't allowed to be happy?"

That's not what he was asking, and she knew that. He wanted to know the reason why you felt so off when he went to bother you earlier.

You weren't even gone for that long! Miko told him everything and those two have an inseparable bond, so he would know what she was saying, and she told him you met a male. Not a boy, whoever interacts with his nee-san is stripped of the same title as him. Therefore by default, he is above all those bone-picking fiends that have tried to come close to you so far.

With a huff he got up and marched his way upstairs with his cat companion, opening your door to little to no knocking whatsoever.

"who is it."

he questioned

you looked confused, of course, you'd be confused, whatever boy turned fiend it was, screwed up your perfectly healthy and beautiful brain that would help him with homework, and now you've taken a liking to it. He can't believe it! it was just a couple of days ago you rejected one of those things too!

Did they swarm you and infect you regardless by chance?

"Sae..what on God's infected earth are you talking about?"

"That's the exact problem. It's infected, and you've become one of them." he sighed.

what the fuck was he talking about?..

"miko, hold her down, we must bring her to her senses."

before you could react, a big white main coon had already jumped unto you and suffocated you in her fur as you wriggled for air. "WHAT THE HELL?"

Sae closed the door behind him as he approached your already struggling figure.

"don't worry nee-san..we'll fix you."

Your parents sat on the couch that day listening to screams and cries for the rest of the day.

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pennyserenade · 3 months

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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.

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x reader #young coriolanus snow #thg #the hunger games fanfic #tbosas fanfic #tbosas fanfiction #tom blyth #tom blyth fanfic

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turtleybeachin · 9 months

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Okay I have finally thought of an ask! Not sure if you remember me or not but that's okay. It kinda has to do with the summoning through pacts. I was wondering if you could write something along the lines of an MC who is usually calm, but a MC having a panic attack or is just scared and accidentally summons a brother? I'd like to request all of the brothers or even the dateables but I don't want to ask that much. Do whoever you want with this ask if you do it at all! ❤️❤️

Hi I totally remember you and never forgot this but got way too in my own head about it. I think I crawled back out now. Thanks for being patient with me. ♥ So first of all, I love the concept of accidentally summoning someone to you. Sure, the actual summoning spell is great, but the idea of panic-summoning and maybe not even fully intentionally? Amazing. I started writing how they'd comfort you but got too in my head trying to do everyone (and not feel like i was rehashing Burnout), so I have a few that are spawning future updates to Burnout (for the new side characters), and then some one-offs I'll share as I finish them as well. But! Here are some thoughts I had on alternative summonings when upset.

Characters: Everyone! :) and a GN!MC (reader) Rating: G Word Count: ~2.3k Tagging: references to MC struggling mentally/emotionally, some fluffy affection, mostly a think piece on unintended summoning. Spoiler warnings for OG game, most notably for end of season 2, a bit of season 3, and vaguely part of season 4. Nothing too big, but there nonetheless.

Lucifer's Ring of Light is a perfect fidget piece. Spinning it around your finger, rubbing your thumb along the band, pressing on the edges of the stones to let the dull pinch ground you. It's always there on your finger, always present, always twinkling in the corner of your eye as a reminder you aren't alone. It is not his any longer, but that doesn't mean he isn't still aware of it, that a little piece of him isn't still present in a little piece of its inherent magic. And when you're spinning it and digging it into your palm and distressed, he feels an echo of that pain. It pulls him to you. Perhaps, in your own way, you're admitting you need his presence, his strength, his help, and he is not about to start abandoning his loved ones now.

With Mammon's keychain of that chocolate lizard, your thumb knew all the grooves, the smooth spots and the rough ones, the little spot where paint was chipped away that you knew you shouldn't pick at but it just happened anyway, your nail catching on the rough edge. You fidget with it when anxious because you know Mammon used to fidget with it just the same, and isn't that comforting, to know that even a powerful ancient fallen angel would run his thumb along the very same ridges you do? It's almost like you can still feel the warmth of his touch there. And you can't really think your First Man ain't gonna know you as well as he knows himself, can you? That he doesn't know when you need him, when you're tuggin' on the pact like that?

Leviathan's script he gave you? You've memorized it by now. In times when everything is spiraling, you remember your favorite lines, the ones that remind you to stay strong. You recite them to yourself between shaking breaths. Because when you can't be strong and cool and calm yourself, sometimes it helps to put yourselves in the shoes of Henry, the shoes of the Romantic Lead, the shoes of the characters written to always have a happy ending. It is, you realize, the same way Levi puts himself in the shoes of the Lord of Shadows, wrapping the cool-clever-badass-strong cloak around him as an armor. There's no Lord of Shadows without his Henry, and there's no you without him. And just like how in book six, the Lord of Shadows gets accidentally bound to Henry with a spell and is able to feel when Henry's in need and the Lord of Shadows leaves his lair without knowing where he's really going just knowing that he's needed and he ends up following this magical instinctive pull to find Henry and get to him just in time to save him from his enemies who were-- ...well, let's just say that Levi won't leave you to fight your mind alone for long.

Satan wasn't wrong that cats are perfect for calming the emotional storm inside you. They're good little listeners, and their company is a great distraction from the voices in your head. Watching the little fuzzballs roll around, or nap in a sunbeam, or prowl through the grass, it distracts you from all the frustration and anxiety and worries. Whether it's watching neighborhood cats, or visiting a cafe, or popping into a shelter, you've taken to Satan's favorite hack for handling your wayward emotions. On the really bad days, it's nice to know you can vent and cry to them and they won't judge you or tell anyone your secrets. But did you forget, MC, the stories about cats that traverse the realms? They won't ever tell anyone, but they might wander from you to their favorite place in the Devildom and they might headbutt a certain blond demon's shin and chirp for him to follow them. They are, after all, very good listeners. And so is he.

With Asmodeus, you look at the photos of him on your phone, at your selfies together and how big you smiled beside him. You blink away burning tears to focus on how he looks not at the camera but at you, his body angled not to show his best side (which is every side of course) but to press always closer to you, and how no matter where you two were or what was happening your smiles were always so bright and genuine with him. When everything feels like too much and not worth it and you feel trapped and cornered by situations beyond your control, you find yourself clutching your phone and swiping through hundreds of pictures of laughter and kisses and hugs and twirls and snuggles and you whisper a promise that one day, soon, we'll be together again. Sooner than you expect, of course, because did you really think that he wouldn't feel your burning need for him across realms, hon?

Beelzebub just has to be comfort food, our precious glutton. When life without your demons is getting you down, it's the salty snacks, the sweet treats, the tubs of ice cream with the chunks of something extra to dig for like buried treasure. And whenever you indulge, you can't help but think of your gentle giant and what he'd have to say about everything. He'd be happy you're eating, of course, and then what would he think of your human world snacks? Which makes you think of your favorite Devildom snacks, and that just hits you with a fresh wave of homesickness. But somewhere out there, a realm away, one particular Avatar just gets this feeling, you know? Like the way he knows when Belphie is craving quetzalcoatl brains, or is napping in the garden. Just that instinct. And his instinct is telling him you need your favorite cupcakes. Surely Lucifer will understand how vital it is he takes these three dozen cupcakes to the human world right now. And if he doesn't, well, that argument with his brother can wait until after your craving is satisfied.

Belphegor of course is our star-gazing boy, and while you like the idea of looking into the sky to seek out any possible shared stars to look at with him, you can't always see the stars at night everywhere, and the human realm has day and night cycles that hide them for at least half the day anyhow. For Belphie, you have a pillow from him (that he either gifted or didn't complain about your stealing) that you keep with you -- not for sleeping, but for comfort. A pillow to smother your tears on the rough nights, a pillow to pummel on your frustrated days. A pillow you curl around and snuggle for a memory of contact now distant. And when you drift off in those fitful sleeps of exhaustion, you wander in your dreams to another dream unknowingly. He's with you when you rest, and the moment he can get away from Lucifer's watchful gaze, he'll be there to tug the pillow out of your arms to crawl into your embrace himself.

With Diavolo, well, he knows things. Usually it's because of Barbatos, or Lucifer, or his familiars, but you? MC, you're so much more precious than the 'usual'. If asked by anyone who doesn't know him well enough to call him out, he'd say the charm he placed on you was simply for matters of Devildom security-- after all, you know possibly too much, and that could make you a target to the wrong people! (Barbatos politely does not point out that it's because he misses you so much and wants to see what you're doing.) It's not that he wants to intrude on your life or anything, it's important you have the chance to be as wonderfully human as you are, but he just worries. Are you alright? Are you comfortable? You'd mentioned once the extravagance of the brothers' lifestyle, do you have enough income? The charm is just a minor thing, a little thing, just to make sure you're well. And when you aren't? Well, paperwork and meetings will wait.

With Barbatos, he's just such a badass god-like time lord, we don't even need a pact to be connected to him. You had brought up the idea of a pact once, and he had just given you that dangerous smirk and demurred that it wasn't so much a pact you desired, surely, as his company and his attention, both of which were already yours. It seemed like such a smooth line at the time, but you didn't realize the extent of it. How you're a bright twinkling point on every timeline for him, how you are the center of every universe he knows, how he orients himself in any reality by looking to you. So when something is wrong, when you're falling apart or in danger, it's like the spiderweb crackling of a timeline splitting. Like an itch at the back of his throat, an ache behind his eyes. The choices are to let you suffer alone, or to teleport himself to your side and help you through. Do you even have to wonder which option he chooses?

Simeon may have a complicated relationship with his blessing and his celestial light, with his place and his purpose, but one thing has never felt complicated: you. Every baked good he ever made for you was made with pure love, and every gift he bestowed -- from a little sheep plush sewn by hand to earrings made from his own feathers -- had all of his hopes and wishes and prayers for you inside them. Maybe that's why squeezing the soft little plush fills you with such warmth and comfort, and why the brush of the feather against your neck feels like a kiss. When you're struggling and upset, the gifts from Simeon make you feel grounded just a little more. And perhaps it's a prayer answered for him, too, that he just has a feeling when it's time to go visit you.

Solomon has been watching out for you longer than you know. It started in the little ways, simple defensive spells and barriers to protect you, reminding demons who looked a little too closely at you who precisely he was and what he could do. It graduated to teaching you to defend yourself, and gifting you various magical trinkets and charms to help focus and direct your growing magics. You still don't really know all the ways that he keeps an eye on you. But he does. Nothing is more important than you. When one of his spells alerts him that you're upset or in distress, well. He just so happened to be in the neighborhood, MC, and what a lucky coincidence that is!

Luke is such a literal perfect little angel baby. One who gave you his blessing, to protect you even when he can't. Everyone teases him for being so young, but he knows that you are the one human he wants to guide and shelter and protect. And sure, when he gave his blessing, it was under the assumption you might need protection from demons or fae, from magic and shadow. But that doesn't mean his blessing doesn't also guide and protect you in times of need that aren't external, MC. When you're at your lowest and feeling completely alone, he feels the pull, feels your pain, and what sort of guardian angel would he be if he left you alone?

Mephistopheles you don't have a pact with (yet?), but imagine your magic ripping open a portal to him without your conscious intent when you're feeling small and lonely and just so badly miss him and want him with you. Maybe you think of him because of the kindness he has shown himself capable of; maybe you think of him because you know he's the least likely person to tell the brothers or anyone else about you having a meltdown. And he's startled and confused when this portal opens before him, the magic somewhat familiar but certainly not demonic, and he warily steps through half-expecting some idiotic prank of one of the brothers only to find you curled up and small and fragile and all of his complaints and questions can wait. After all, clearly you can't even manage your own magic right now, so someone has to keep you from causing trouble.

With Thirteen, it's the little conversation crystal that she gifted you during The Three Worlds' Fair. Perhaps you turned it into a pendant, or perhaps it's just always in your bag or pocket, kept close as a charm for good luck and reminder of the fact you aren't alone. You don't think it would actually work across realms but still hold it tightly and whisper your frustrations or fears or doubts into it just to get things off your chest. But between your magic and hers, it does still connect, and she does hear your outbursts. And at first she just lets it happen, quietly charmed and amused you would use her gift as a secret diary. But when you're really struggling? Well. Reapers are meant to move between realms, you know. There's nowhere she won't go for you.

And Raphael is not an angel to be summoned on the whim of some human. But he is incredibly observant (even if he sometimes doesn't 'read a room' well). He is the one who reads between your lines more than you expected, more than you intended, more perhaps than you want. He sees the tension you hold, the dark circles under your eyes, the way your smiles are just a little slow and empty; he hears the silences where he expects to hear laughter or humming or conversation. And he nearly ignores it, because it's not his business, and you have plenty of other devoted fans already flocking to you, but then he realizes that in those moments you don't. In your pain, you are alone, and that is the most jarring observation of them all. So perhaps it is up to him to correct this cosmic error, and be the one to support the human who supports everyone else.

I hope you still enjoy, even if it's not exactly what you had in mind! ♥ and when i get around to the other little things this spawned, i'll tag you if you'd like.

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syrikif · 7 months

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Gamer Etiquette

Kodzuken x Streamer!Y/N

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader

Genre: SMAU + Written, Strangers to Lovers, Romance, Fluff, Humor, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Streamer/Youtuber AU

Content Warnings: Sexual jokes/content, mention of death threats, mature language

Upcoming content creator/streamer, Y/N, has gone viral for lots of things. Her infamous dumb moments, her blended cookie recipe (which tastes better than it sounds), the way she rages at her friends during games, and about a hundred more.

But her most recent viral moment? Accidentally knocking famous streamer, Kodzuken, off the Bedwars map and making him lose his two year winning streak.

Now with more attention (and hate) than she ever asked for, her only option left is to go to the source: the man himself, Kenma Kozume.

Created: October 6, 2023 Completed: (Ongoing) Update Schedule: I’m currently in the process of moving so just whenever I can :)

Masterlist:

Important Profiles: Y/N's Group Kenma's Group Prologue: Daddy Kink Cat Distribution System Chapter 1: Thirst Trap Hospital Food Chapter 2: Bedwars 🖊 Boredom 🖊 Chapter 3: Trending One Game Chapter 4: Calm Guilt 🖊 Chapter 5: Unhinged One in a Million Chapter 6: Cuddle Buddies 🖊 Casual Chapter 7: Rating The Cat Girl Chapter 8: A Dozen Men Little Things 🖊 Chapter 9: Scaredy Kitten Disappearing Act Chapter 10: Chapter 11: tbc . . .

Author's Notes:

Hey guys! This is my first post on Tumblr and the first SMAU I've ever written. Which, kudos to everyone else who makes SMAU's because they are a lot of work.

Just some basic info before you begin reading:

Y/N uses she/her pronouns and is feminine presenting.

Every chapter will have two parts, one part from Y/N's point of view and one part from Kenma's; the order will differ depending on the chapter.

Every update will be a double post so make sure you know you’re reading the correct one first, and reading both of them.

Time stamps don't really matter unless explicitly written by me so you can just ignore them :)

There will be both written and social media elements; written parts will be marked with a pen (🖊).

And I'm gonna be honest, while I love the anime I haven't actually watched it in a long time and I was never able to finish season three. That being said, if anything I write seems out of character for anyone just bear with me I'm trying my best lol.

Please feel free to give me any feedback and/or criticism to help me improve. And if any of the links aren't working just let me know and I'll try to get it fixed ASAP.

If you have any questions, don't feel too shy and reach out if possible; I promise I'll answer to the best of my ability.

(Also, just comment if you'd like to be on the taglist.)

Hope you enjoy the story :)

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fredweasleysprostitute · 4 months

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Nothing to prove// F.W

Summary: you don't feel like you belong at the burrow and do everything that you can to impress his mom Molly Weasley

Universe: Harry Potter

Rating: mature

Warnings: brief mentions of insecurity

It was a warm, hot summer day at the Weasley residence and rays seeped through the glass and onto the skin of your shoulders. Your hair was tied up into a messy bun, your hands clad in a pair of golden rubber gloves as they worked to scrub each dirty dish. Mrs. Weasley's dinner was delicious but left quite a mess to clean. So you made sure to offer your help when she cleared the table after dinner.

You sighed as you took a minute to admire their home. Peering out the window and into the front yard, flowers bloomed from the Weasley garden where the plants were watered without any aid. The red-headed family seemed to be preparing for a game of quidditch. As a very talented yet competitive household, you weren't really surprised to see the twins on different teams. Fred's skin toned muscles peeked through the fabric of his scrimmage clothes as he walked to the front door. Even after each one of his practices, the sight never failed to cause butterflies.

"Why don't you come outside, Darling?" Fred chimed, his arms wrapping around your waist. He rested his chin against your shoulder, being sure to leave gentle kisses in it's wake.

"I'm almost done with the dishes. I promise I'll join once they're dry and put away," you smiled, letting out a tired breath as you slowly rinsed Ron's plate. You felt as Fred hugged you closer to his chest. Taking your chin, in his palm, he turned you to face him.

"What's wrong, Baby? You seem a bit stressed," Fred whispered as you allowed your sponge to sink into the soapy water of the sink. His gaze had the power to unlock every little emotion you had were bottling up.

"I'm fine, Freddie" you sighed, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I just promised your mum that I would help and I don't want to disappoint her."

"Baby, is that what this is all about?" He spoke gently, causing your eyes to soften and your smile to slip.

"I'm just- I'm just terrified she doesn't like me" you mumbled, allowing your eyes to hang low. Your thoughts drifted to Hermione and Angelina, who were so easily accepted into the family. They were perfect for the Weasley boys. What did you have to offer?

"Y/n, sweetheart. I promise you my mum absolutely adores you! You have nothing to prove my love."

He watched as you reached for another dish, beginning to scrub away it's contents. He could tell you were pushing back tears, searching for something to distract you with. He didn't want him to be the reason they spilled. You were startled as a quaffle from outside was launched into the wall, which caused you to jolt backwards and drop the soapy dish on the floor.

"Shit!" You shrieked, dropping to the floor instantly to inspect the mess. You sobbed as you saw the Weasley's china broken into several shards. You begin to hyperventilate, completely ignoring the wand in your pocket.

"I broke it Freddie! Oh, she was telling me all about how she adored these plates," you cried, frantically removing your gloves and searching for a broom.

"Hey Hey, Baby, it's okay. See?" Fred chimed, fixing the mess with just a flick of his wand. You felt stupid as you watched the plate become one once more, before all the dishes were set to wash themselves.

Fred took you into his arms, frowning as he heard you crying against him.

"My darling, don't cry," he cooed, lifting you to sit with him at the table. He began to stroke your hair, mumbling sweet nothings in your ear.

"You know I love you more than anything, right?" He mumbled pressing a kiss to your forehead. He was happy to see you nod, though your eyes remained closed

"Why don't I help you finish the dishes? Then we can join everyone else, how does that sound?" His tone was soft and gentle as he caressed your sides. He always knew how to calm you down.

"Is everything all right in here?" Mrs. Weasley sang as she peeked through the front door. She gasped at the sight she found, immediately rushing to help you.

"Oh dear, what happened? Did Fred do something, oh he can do his own laundry if that's how he wants to behave!"

"Oi! it wasn't me!" Fred scoffed, avoiding the fierce look in his mother's eyes. He smiled, when he heard you giggle.

"Would you like to come on a walk on with me dear?" Mrs. Weasley offered, paying no attention to the sink full of dishes behind you.

"That sounds absolutely lovely, Mrs. Weasley."

You released a shaky breath, smiling as Fred helped you up and squeezed your hand in his.

"Oh please. Call me Molly, dear!"

"I told you she loves you," Fred whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he walked out the door with you by his side.

Your arm joined Molly's as you walked alongside one another, glad to have finally feel that you had a place in the Weasley family and you owed that all to Fred.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x oc

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jeewrites · 2 months

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Hold Fast | Ch. 1 Will Squat for Dinner

Series Master List

Inspo: In an IG reel @ tashabraziliano asks a guy at the gym to play a game where if she squats him he has to buy her dinner at Nando’s.

Rating: M for this one shot, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

A/N: Thank you to @bloviating-vy for being my beta and my write or die! Grateful to everyone who voted in my poll and @katareyoudrilling for encouraging me to post. In the Hold Fast AU all the guys make it back from S. America, additional details TBD if this ends up being a series

Word Count: ~4.0k

Tags: no y/n, gymbff!Benny, alcohol, swearing, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), alcohol, brief body insecurity and Frankie being down on himself, Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, alternating POV with one brief Benny POV

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The first time you went to train at Pope's Gym, Benny wouldn’t stop talking your ear off during your workout. When you finally got a word in edgewise, you made a bet with him that if you could squat him, he would shut the fuck up and let you finish your workout in peace. To his amazement, not only did you squat him, you repped him 3 times before setting him down to raucous applause. You’d been gym besties ever since. It didn’t hurt that he was nice to look at with his dirty blonde hair and penchant to go sans shirt so he could flaunt his abs as frequently as possible. Plus, his big golden retriever energy never failed to brighten your day.

Benny liked to tease you about the gym you used to go to that had vanity lighting, a smoothie bar, and chilled eucalyptus-scented towels. While Pope's had the most lifting platforms of any gym in town, you were adjusting to the lack of central A/C and other amenities you were used to. Pope’s was housed in a large warehouse space, bare metallic bones, with multiple commercial rolling doors instead of a proper HVAC system. Besides the rows upon rows of platforms, a selection of assault bikes and ergs lined one wall of the gym, while a section of accessory machines collected dust in the corner.

You learned which platforms got the most airflow depending on which rolling door was open and which ones the massive fans covered best. You had made the switch because you had outgrown your old gym which catered to the general public. The bougie public, Benny liked to remind you. You had started lifting heavy and wanted to lift heavier, so you found yourself signing up at Pope's after Pope himself had given you the tour around the space. You learned that Pope had started the gym after coming back from Colombia wanting to promote health and strength in the community while getting into better shape himself. Looking at the peach shape of his ass you could bounce anything off of, you knew Pope had been putting the work in.

Benny worked the front desk at Pope's between training and fighting MMA. His older and blonder brother Will would come by to work out, but he was often leaving when you were arriving so you didn't know him well beyond a friendly wave. Plus, it seemed like Benny used the majority of the word quota between the Miller brothers. Pope's grew on you and you got to know the regulars who trained the same time you did; enough that you gave them cute identifying nicknames in your head (often without knowing their actual names) and worried about them when they missed more than a session or two.

Benny was surprised to see you walk into Pope's one night an hour before closing since you always trained in the mornings. You had given him a short head nod instead of your usual big smile before stalking to a platform and slamming your bag down.

"Yooooo, everything ok?" he asks as he walks over.

"Does it look like I'm okay," you huff, aggressively wrestling your knee sleeves on. Glancing at him, you immediately apologize when he hesitates and takes a step back.

"Sorry, Benny. I'll be a lot better after I pick up some heavy things and put them down."

"Might help if you want to talk about it?" he ventures leaning against the barbell.

You finish tying your squat shoes before looking at him again with dejected eyes and sighing.

"I just went on a crappy date with a guy from one of those dating apps," you sigh again. "He spent the whole time talking about himself and how much he works out. Then he had the fucking audacity to question me when he asked how much I could lift."

"Fucking asshole!" Benny feels himself getting steamed.

"He just stormed out of the restaurant and left me with the bill when I refused to change my answer," you shrug, but Benny sees your jaw tick. "Apparently, I squat and deadlift more than he does and he couldn't date someone who could do that." You roll your eyes and huff.

"WTF! What a total loser. You don't need a guy like that who doesn't appreciate you," Benny replies incensed. He sees your face fall for a moment, eyes downcast and tight.

"I just — I've been trying to put myself out there again and it sucks," you mumble, cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It's also been kinda lonely since I moved here, and I guess I could just use more friends, too."

"I'M YOUR FRIEND!"

"Yeah, my gym friend! We don't do anything outside of this hot, sweaty box Benny," you remind him with a small smile and playful shove to get him off your barbell.

Benny decides this is completely unacceptable and immediately remedies this by inviting you to the next hangout with him and his ex-Delta Force friends at Redfly's, a local bar nearby. "You know Pope and Will already," he reassures, "Tom's the owner of the bar and he's an asshole, but he's our asshole. And there's Catfish — we call him Fish for short. We've been trying to get him to come work out here, but he's been busy with his new pilot job for the hospital. And he shares custody of his 3-year-old daughter with his ex."

He could see your brain turning over all the information he was throwing at you. You don't seem to react either way to the news that Fish has an ex and a daughter. As you adjust the bar height you respond, "You sure? Don't want to crash a regular thing that you have with your guys."

"Nah, it'll be great! They'll love you!" Benny's determined to get you to come.

You hand him your phone. "Well... okay. Text me the details?"

With your phone in hand, Benny puts his number in to text himself and then convinces you to show him your dating profile. Between sets of squats you both take turns swiping on possible matches, Benny teasing you on your picks. Ever observant, Benny notices your preference for profiles with tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed candidates. As you work through your next set, Benny sneaks his phone out and immediately texts Fish.

Redfly's was what you expected for a bar run by an ex-delta force asshole. Dimly lit, buncha mismatched tables and chairs, lots of dark grain wood, and an air of neglect despite being quite clean. It was mostly empty except for a few grizzled guys who screamed regulars, nursing beers at the bar. Lots of beers on tap, but not so much for cocktail options. Not that you were a big drinker anyway. If anything, all the training made you an extremely cheap date. But damn, if you were going to drink, you wanted it to be a solid cocktail.

"THERE SHE IS!" Benny bounds over to you before grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the table in the corner. He introduces you to Tom who was standing by the table chatting with the guys. Tom gives a half-hearted greeting before stalking off back to the bar. Pope gives you a big smile and hug, "Good to see you hermosa, don't mind Tom. That was downright friendly for him." You snort as you settle into your seat next to Pope. Will also greets you with a small wave and an offer to pour you a beer from the pitcher.

"That's okay, I'm not much of a beer drinker." You wince, wrinkling your nose.

"I thought you said she was cool," Pope teases Benny who rolls his eyes and looks at you with faux betrayal.

"How about I buy shots for the table? Would that make me cool?" you smirk, getting up to go to the bar.

"Only if I get one too," says a warm, baritone voice from behind you. A tall, handsome man slides into the last vacant seat across from yours. Soft brown curls threaten to escape the Standard Oil cap nestled on his head. The warmest brown eyes smile at you as he holds your surprised gaze. "Hi, I'm Fish. Sorry, 'm late."

You want to trace the golden skin stretched deliciously along the column of his neck. Run your fingers through those curls that look so, so incredibly soft. And the strong curve of his nose... You snap out of your reverie before you respond with your name. "Better get those shots then," you say, trying not to trip over your unexpectedly shaky legs. Holy shit, why the fuck didn't Benny mention his friend Fish was gorgeous?

When Benny bugged him to come to the Friday night hangout at Redfly’s, Frankie hadn’t given it a second thought. The exuberant text from Benny, “You coming this week right? Got someone from Pope’s coming to meet you guys!!!” had two too many exclamation points for his taste. He figured Benny had a new lifting partner he wanted the guys to meet and his attendance had been pretty spotty between the new EMS pilot gig and balancing shared custody with Vanessa.

So when he walked into Redfly’s and overheard you say “… shots for the table?” He just assumed Tom had finally hired some help in the form of a very cute new waitress.

It wasn’t until he asked the guys when Tom hired you, eyes not leaving your form as you walked away, did he realize the absolute error in his assumption. “That’s my friend from the gym, Fish. SHE’s from Pope’s,” Benny rolled his eyes.

“C’mon hermano, you know Tom’s too cheap to hire help and too much of a pendejo for help to stick around,” Pope added.

Frankie pulled his cap low over his eyes and slid down his seat. He could feel himself flush. Fuck, he thought. Just made an ass out of myself demanding a shot from a total stranger.

You had frozen for a moment after he introduced himself before offering your name with a bit of a grimace. He thought you were gorgeous though and smelled incredible, fresh and citrusy with hints of something sweet and floral that lingered even after you had walked away.

“So, whaddya think, Fish?” Benny prods. "She’s smart, pretty, super strong, and a total sweetheart. Should ask her out."

Frankie flushes a deeper red. “S’outta my league Benny.”

“Aw, c’mon Fish, you gotta get back out there,” Benny persists. "Made it easy for you too. I happen to know you’re exactly her type."

“What, she into out of shape, 40-year-old, divorced, single dads with a toddler?” Fish grumbles. He hadn’t dressed particularly well tonight either, just his usual worn khakis and old faded navy t-shirt. Hadn’t suspected Benny was going to try to set him up tonight, although with Benny you never knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Might’ve mentioned summa that to her. She didn’t even blink, Fish. You got a shot and you should take it.”

Frankie finally tears his eyes away from you. You had just said something that made Tom smile ever so briefly and he wanted to know what you said. Frankie didn’t even realize Tom smiled anymore.

He sees Pope giving Benny that look that said Pope knew Frankie was indeed interested in you, but needed some extra encouragement and to get out of his head. How a single look conveyed all of that spoke to the years and shit they’d all been through together.

“Gonna help her bring over the drinks,” Benny says, popping out of his chair before Frankie could tell him to keep his big mouth shut.

He lifts his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t even tried to comb his fucking hair before coming out tonight. He slides the cap back on hoping it catches the more unruly curls.

“You’re a total catch, Fish,” Pope says, pouring him a beer. “Don’t count yourself out before even shooting your shot.”

“Could just be a coffee date. Don’t overthink it,” Will seconds.

Frankie takes a big pull of his beer. Easy for these two to say. Both Pope and Will worked out regularly at the gym and had the physiques to show for it. As much as Frankie had insisted everyone needed to get back on their game when they got back from Colombia, he was the only one out of the five of them who hadn't.

At least it didn’t feel like it with his achy back and bad knees. Sure, he had finally gotten his pilot’s license reinstated and now shared custody of his daughter. But he was self-conscious of his soft stomach, especially next to Benny whose abs were definitely the example given in the dictionary next to “rock-hard.” What did he have to offer you besides a mountain of baggage and PTSD? Maybe if he just kept his mouth shut everything would be fine and he’d survive tonight without embarrassing himself.

At this point, you are willing to brave Tom the asshole to collect yourself before sitting across from Frankie and his big brown eyes again. Tom raises an eyebrow when you order six shots ("One's for you asshole," you say to Tom with a teasing glare) and ask if he could make an Aviation. You swear he gives you the faintest smile before grumbling about ridiculous froufrou cocktails, but he wasn't born yesterday and yes he could make you one.

Benny sidles up to you at the bar as you wait for Tom to finish making your drink, offering to help you carry the drinks back to the table. "You doing ok? You seem nervous," Benny observes as you tap your fingers on the bar.

"Why didn't you warn me Fish is fucking hot?" you pointedly whisper back.

Benny grins at you as he leans back on his elbows against the bar, "Fucking knew it. Totally thought he'd be your type, girlie."

"You trying to set us up??" you glare at him.

Benny shrugs with exaggerated innocence. "Maaaaybe."

You huff, "Does he know that? Am I even his type?" You cringe inwardly at your insecurity.

"Well considering he hasn't taken his eyes off you since you left the table makes me think you are," Benny smirks. The smug look stays on his face.

For once you're glad you took more than five minutes to put yourself together before walking out the door. You picked a pair of jeans that hugged your curves and a fitted top with a very complementary neckline. Black-heeled booties gave you a few inches and made your legs look longer than they were. Worth the hassle of walking in at least for one night. The lightest dusting of make-up, mostly eyeliner and glossy lip balm, highlights your facial features.

"So maybe I should shoot my shot then, hmm?" you wink at Benny with a knowing smile.

"If you're thinking what I'm thinking…," Benny grins thinking back on the day you two met.

"That's very purple," Fish observes as you and Benny set down the drinks for the table.

"It's an Aviation. You might like it considering you're a pilot, mmh?" you respond with a smile. Okay, you've collected yourself. Sort of. Let's see if you remember how this flirting thing goes.

"What are we taking shots to celebrate?" Pope asks.

"How about to new, strong, friends?" you quip.

"I'll cheers to that!" Benny raises his glass.

Conversation is light and fun with the guys. You marvel at their connection and closeness as they teased and talked like people who have been through some shit together over the years. You convince Fish to try the Aviation to which he declares it a "very fancy purple" and keeps sneaking sips much to your amusement. They fold you into their conversation, asking about your training, and what competitions you might try this season. They praise Pope about how the gym has flourished and rib him about his ever-revolving door of beautiful women.

"What about you, Fish? You thinking about getting back out there and dating?" Benny asks before flicking his eyes over to you. You remind yourself to thank Benny profusely for being the best wingman ever.

"'Dunno. Not sure where to even start," Frankie mumbles into his beer, casting his eyes down.

"I have an idea," you give Frankie your best coy smile.

"Yeah?" he breathes looking up at you. Those damn brown eyes.

"I have a game for you," you offer before taking a breath. “If I squat you, you get to buy me dinner.” Your heart is thrumming in your chest and you feel your cheeks flush, but damnit, you were going to shoot your fucking shot. "But if I can rep you, I want the whole nine yards. Pick me up at my place, flowers, dinner and dessert."

"You — you think you can squat me?" Fish looks a bit surprised, "I— it's, it's not that I don't think you can. But 'm... A lot bigger than you... 'm out of shape." His ears pink at the last part as he cups one hand over the back of his neck.

"I know I can. Do we have a deal?" you smile at him with encouragement and extend your hand across the table. Fish hesitates, but you try not to assume why.

"Jesus, Fish, if you don't take her up on it, I will," Pope winks at you.

Fish glances between you and Pope for a brief moment.

He reaches out and shakes your hand. "Okay, deal." You try not to get distracted by the way his large hand engulfs yours.

"Let's go, brown eyes," you tell him as you stand up from your chair and whip your hair up into a high ponytail.

"You're going to do this in heels?" Fish asks as he gets up from his chair with a grunt. Christ, he's so tall. And broad. You shrug and look up at him through your lashes, “I mean, Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.”

You move so you stand with your side towards his front.

“I'm going to put my hand here,” you gesture to his right inner thigh just above the knee. "Is that okay?"

"Yep."

"Alright, you ready?"

He nods.

You carefully slump him over your shoulders in a fireman's carry, gripping tightly to his upper arm and thigh. You can feel the warmth of his body pressed deliciously across your shoulders. He's so warm.

You brace.

Benny's out of his seat, whooping and hollering. Pope's leaning forward, elbows on his knees, clapping, "Let's go, let's go!" Will's grinning and shaking his head in amusement. The regulars at the bar sneak glances over in your direction.

Frankie catches himself remarking on the particular shade of purple out loud when you return to the table with Benny bearing shots and a suspiciously purple beverage. He realizes after you respond and the dazzling smile you give him that you’re flirting with him. He thinks?? He’s so out of practice. God, he’d do anything for you to smile at him like that again.

When you slide your drink over to him to try he surprises himself by taking a sip. He’s even more surprised that he likes it. Crisp juniper dances across his tongue followed by a delicate floral sweetness and a touch of citrus with a spiced cardamom and anise finish. This very purple drink tastes the way you smell. And the giggle you give him when he calls it a “very fancy purple” blooms warmth through him, settling low in his core. He can only think about how he can elicit that sound from you again.

Which is how he misses Benny asking him if he’s thinking about getting back out there and dating. Fucking Benny and his goddamn big mouth.

But then you’re smiling at him again, telling him, single-dad, divorcee Francisco Morales, you have an idea. He’s looking at you and he can barely breathe as your eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint and your plush, glossy lips propose a game.

For a moment he’s confused. Did you not want to go out to dinner with him? Because if he’s honest, he doesn’t think you could squat him. He’s so much bigger than you. And he’s pretty sure if he tried, he could put you in his pocket. But then you’re brimming with confidence and extending your hand out to strike a deal.

It’s when Pope — fucking Pope — threatens to play your game in his place that Frankie is engulfing your delicate hand in his large one. You surprise him with a firm handshake and it’s then that he can feel the callouses across your palm. Callouses from many, many reps with the barbell.

Frankie finds himself towering over you, realizing you’re about to try and squat him in heeled booties. He vaguely hears you ask for consent to touch his inner thigh just above his knee before he finds himself suspended horizontally in the air across a set of firm shoulders, anchored by two small hands. He can feel when you brace, feel your entire core expand. The muscles across your shoulders and back flex underneath your fitted top. And suddenly he’s moving up and down, steadily with control.

You end up squatting Fish five times before setting him back down gently with a breathless giggle. He's towering over you again and you just want to press yourself into his broad chest and envelope yourself in the smell of his body wash.

"Dinner?" you smirk up at him.

"Wow, yeah, dinner on me," Fish flushes, impressed and a little dazed.

"It's a date then," you quip, poking him in the rib before you sit back down at the table. You notice his brown eyes spark with realization at your comment.

Will, Benny, and Pope all high-five you. Cheeks still pink, Fish pulls his chair around to sit closer to you. Tom wanders back over to the table grumbling that Redfly's isn't that kind of establishment with theatrics like you just pulled. But he also sets down an Aviation along with another pitcher of beer before returning to the bar.

"He's just jealous you didn't try to squat him," Benny laughs. You giggle in response as the conversation around the table picks back up.

Feeling Fish's gaze on you, you slide your cocktail over to him. A frisson of electricity shoots up your entire arm when his fingers brush against yours as he takes your cocktail glass.

You tilt your head towards him, your eyes meeting his warm brown ones, and whisper, "By the way, my favorite flowers are dahlias."

Frankie lost count by the time you repped him the third time. Just awed by you having the strength to carry him like this. He decides to just enjoy the rest of the ride.

When you set him back upright he almost melts into a puddle at the breathless giggle you let out. He catalogs that sound in his mind. He wants to brush back the hairs that have escaped your ponytail and he already misses your touch, wants to close the space between your bodies somehow without being creepy.

He gets lost in your eyes when you gaze up at him, he’s definitely over a head taller than you, and ask, “Dinner?”

Frankie is pretty sure he responds in the affirmative, still a bit dazed and very impressed.

It’s when you confirm it’s a date that his brain fritzes, reboots, and takes a minute to come back online. He blinks several times at the realization. He has a date. With you.

next chapter>>

Notes: Dahlias symbolize elegance, creativity, positivity, and growth. It also represents inner strength, likely due to the plant's ability to tolerate harsh conditions.

"Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.” — Ann Richards

🙏🏽 Thank you so much for reading my first fic! I'm bad at tumblr and new to tags/warnings/fan fics in general, so if I missed something please let me know.

I am open to constructive feedback but please be gentle with this baby powerlifting writer, yeah? I might be able to squat you, but I'm a big ol' softie.

Aaand I'm thinking about expanding on these characters and making Hold Fast into a series if anyone would want to read it. I may or may not already have a Frankie POV at Pope's Gym where he gets to see reader in her element. 👀

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #pedro pascal cinematic universe #hold fast a frankie x powerlifting!reader fanfic #happy frankie friday #frankie friday

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sdr2lovemail · 8 months

Text

Rating KNY characters on how well they can play rhythm games!: Upper Moon Edition!

This came to me in a vision and I must share!

Kokushibo 0/10

Kokushibo can kill. He can slay hordes of demon hunters without breaking a sweat. Put a tablet in front of him? He's done.

In battle, he's quick on his feet and a fast thinker. But something about the bright shapes flying across the screen got him pressing them three years after they pass, even with six eyes.

It's a challenge to get him to even play. Saying that human games are trivial to him and does not wish to partake. Will probably get a few seconds into the song before quitting.

"This is pointless. Goodbye."

Douma 9/10

Scarily good. After the initial "shock" of seeing a tablet, Douma is clearing songs with ease.

He's got a good sense of rhythm and can keep up with the notes. He prefers games with female casts as well. They're just nicer to look at in his words.

Scratches the screen of your tablet with those nails of his. Be cautious when using it after he's done with it, you might cut yourself on the glass.

That is if you can get it out of Douma's grasp. This screen is so interesting, you can't just take it away!

"Hey, I'm still using it... Come on, just one more song!"

Akaza 2/10

He can keep up well enough, but his sense of rhythm outside of fighting is awful. He's too focused on trying to hit the buttons that he can't keep up with the beat.

Akaza will get frustrated very quickly. He'll keep trying as he keeps getting mad. Saying he'll beat the next one. He's not stopping until he beats a song, or until your tablet is in pieces. Whichever comes first.

You can offer to put the game on an easier setting, but he wants to play on an even harder setting, just to prove he's better than a scrap of metal. It's a never ending cycle of frustration.

"No! I don't need it to be easier! You know what? Make it harder. I'll show you!"

Hantengu 0/10

(Might include clones in a different post)

Bad all around. No sense of rhythm and can't keep up with the notes. Hantengu gets angry to the point of tears, which makes it even harder for him to play. Didn't even want to try at first.

While he's quick in battle, he's still an old man from the Taisho Era. The bright, flashing graphics of the game overwhelm him and he just can't focus on one thing.

Another one to scratch the screen with his nails. He'd press down hard too, leaving pretty deep scratches.

Gets too frustrated and rage quits, not even finishing a song.

"I-I don't want to do this anymore!"

Nakime 9/10

Amazing sense of rhythm and can keep up with the notes like a seasoned player. Not a fan of most of the song choices. She's a fan of traditional sounds. Modern day pop, electronic, etc. is not for her.

It's a challenge to get her to play as well. She doesn't acknowledge your asking for a while. You really gotta pester her if you want her to play.

Nakime is skilled with her biwa even with her nails. She gets a bonus point for not scratching the life out of your tablet.

"Fine...I will try your music game."

Gyokko 5/10

Thinks he's above anything you'd have to offer, even if it was from modern times. You'll have to really butter him up for him to even think about playing.

With multiple hands comes quick reflexes and the abilities to do multiple things at once. He's able to keep up with the rhythm and notes with ease.

Gyokko is docked points because he'd just be bitching the whole time. Saying how ugly the art and graphics are or how he finds the music/vocals grating against his ears. Overall allergic to fun.

"How childish! Makes sense that someone like you could be so distracted with flashing colors."

Daki 3/10

She would actually be good at the game if she didn't throw a tantrum every time she lost her combo. She has a good eye and sense of rhythm, but gets too in her head about playing. Takes forever to pick a song.

Daki would throw your tablet across the room or slam it into the floor in a fit of rage, don't expect to get it back in one piece.

There's two reactions depending on how well you play. If she doesn't like you all that much, she blow up on you in an act of jealousy. If she does like you, she begging you to tell her how to get better.

"Wah! This is stupid! I clicked that note! I hate this!"

Gyutaro 0/10

Gyutaro doesn't even want to entertain the thought of him playing such a stupid game. He says that he has much better things to do. In the small chance you do get him to play, he sucks.

His lack of skills brings an onslaught of self deprecation. Groaning about he can't even play some dumb human game.

Doesn't scratch the screen too bad but he does scratch himself, leaving bloody stains all over the tablet.

"Nehhh, I can't even keep up. How pitiful..."

Kaigaku 2/10

Proudly boasts about how well he could play and how he could beat any score you could manage to get. Is promptly humbled the second the song starts.

Kaigaku would want to play on the hardest difficulty, but gets mad when he misses a note.

His stubbornness doesn't allow him to quit. He's going to keep playing until he can get a full combo. Don't tell him that all perfect combos exist, you'll never see him again.

"Stop trying to take it from me! I'm not done yet!"

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #kny x reader #upper moons #kimetsu no yaiba #kokushibo #douma #akaza #hantengu #nakime #gyokko #daki #gyutaro #kaigaku #headcanons

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the-fiction-witch · 4 months

Text

Blue Butterflies

The Media The Maze Runner AU

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating SMUT AF

I sat on the sofa playing video games online with the guys, my jeans a little tight but I didn't wanna be a dick and take them off, my orange Schrodinger shirt and my white button down over it, controller in hand, headset over my ears listening to the sounds of the game, and everyone yelling,

"You have to crouch thomas. Crouch. it's one button you idiot." Gally yelled,

"I keep telling you that button is sticky on this controller!" Tommy answered,

"Then use Teresa's controller so we can finish the damn map!" Ben yelled,

"I'm not using hers, it's pink," He answered,

"Who cares if it's pink! the button works just swap controllers," Minho complained,

"Her's is worse her buttons are all stiff because she only uses it to play animal crossing."

"I swear to god Thomas I will come over there and shove an AK up your ass if you don't pick a controller and finish this damn map already I got wings smoking man!" Fry yelled,

I laughed a little at the chaos as we continued with the map, for a little longer, until something caught my eye.

Y/n came out of her room, not sure what she had been up to. But I was distracted by her as she walked to the kitchen, barefoot, bare legs, in a white long-sleeve crop top with some cute cats all over it, and a blue and yellow plaid suspender skirt, her hair up in a ponytail as she went to make herself some tea.

My roommate, and... I admit I had a bit of a crush on her.

I mean my crush isn't helped when she walks around out flat dressed like that...

"Hey, newt?" I heard Minho ask which brought me back into the game or well half into the game and half on her little skirt as it barely reached her mid-thigh,

"Yeah? Yeah sorry I'm here." I answered,

"Let me guess Y/n just walked in the room?" Ben laughed,

I was sheepish turning my volume down in case she heard through my headphones, "Yeah..."

"We know." Gally sighed,

"We all know," Fry sighed,

"Yeah We can hear you biting your lip through the mic." Minho laughed, "How does she look?"

I couldn't help looking as she turned to lean on the counter with her tea giving me a faint smile,

"Umm..." I couldn't help but whine,

"I swear to god newt if you're jerking off right now I will get in my car, come over there and punch to in the dick," Gally warned,

"Ohh slim it!" I complained getting on with the game, I did try and force her from my mind but that wasn't easy,

I Caught a glimpse as she bent over to look in the pantry for a snack, and I saw them.

Little white cotton panties with little printed blue butterflies, and blue lace around the edges.

My jaw dropped to my feet, my eyebrows high, my eyes wide. My heart pounding, my blood was racing, and my breath was sharp and jagged.

I died in my game but- I didn't care! I never wanted to look away!

Everyone was yelling at me but I couldn't even hear them.

As she picked a snack and stood up I quickly shook myself out of it and headed everyone yelling.

"Sorry sorry guys I uhhh.... I think my Wi-Fi lagged out." I told them, "I think I'm gonna get some dinner now maybe I'll come back on in a bit."

"Yeah yeah, we believe you" Minho laughed,

So I shut the game down and took my headphones off trying to keep my head straight.

"Hi newt," Y/n smiled leaning on the counter top eating some popcorn.

"Hi Y/n."

"You okay?"

"Yep. yep. Fine."

"You sure?" She asked,

"Yeah."

"Alright," she shrugged coming to sit beside me on the sofa, "You're not going for dinner yet."

"No, I just uhh just got sick of playing."

"Fair enough, So what you gonna do with your afternoon?"

"Y/n can I say something!"

"Uhhh... sure Newt what's up?"

"Please don't be mad at me."

"I'm not promising that and you know it,"

"Please don't be... too mad at me."

"What is it."

"I saw your panties!"

"oh." She said,

I mentally prepared to be murdered but

"Alright," She said returning to snacking on her popcorn and watching the tv,

"Uhh... I don't know if you heard me, I saw your panties."

"Yep Heard you." She nodded,

"... Why aren't you killing me? Aren't you mad at me?"

"Not really no." She said, "Do you want me to be mad at you newt?"

"... Kinda."

"Why?"

"Becuase I was being a perv, I was being weird, and gross, and awful, and I saw your panties!"

"Yeah? newt you're my roommate. We live together. We share a bathroom. I couldn't care less if you see my panties."

"You... you... Really?"

"Yeah, I go out like this why would I care if you see me like this."

"You- You go out dressed like this!"

"Well, I add shoes."

"You go out like this! And people don't... stare at you?"

"People stare at me no matter what I do, might as well do what I wanna do."

"But What if it makes people.. you know."

"That's their problem."

"You really don't care?"

"Not really no."

"Oh." I nodded, "I see..."

"You want me to care?"

"No no, I guess I'm happy you don't care, it's just... kinda strange. So... You ready don't care I saw your panties?"

"Nope."

"Then... Could I see them again?"

She glared a moment but I stayed still "Alright" She shrugged

"Really!"

"Yeah?"

"You're fine with this?"

"Yes newt."

"Okay!" I smiled not wanting to argue with her

she smiled lifting her skirt to show her little cotton panties with blue lace on the hems and the cotton printed with little blue butterflies

"oooohhh my god..." I gasped, unable to even blink

"Happy newtie?" she asked setting her skirt back and kissing my cheek,

"MHM!" I nodded almost whining,

"Good," She smiled eating her popcorn again,

"Can uhhhhh... can we make out?"

"Why?" She asked

"Why else because I'm literally going insane right now! Please y/n!"

She rolled her eyes set her popcorn down and opened her arms, I didn't waste time I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed her like there was no tomorrow, she kissed me back out kisses quickly turning into an intense make-out, we kissed for what felt like hours and hours but I didn't care all I wanted was her lips, and those cute little panties. After a while I couldn't resist, my hands slipping down to stroke up her thighs and under her skirt I stopped before I fully slipped under her skirt and she nodded in our kisses, so I smirked and held her hips making her stand between my legs kissing her stomach as my hands slipped up to stroke the soft cotton of her panties,

"Newt, you really are excited about my butterflies aren't you?"

"I adore your butterflies Love," I told her between kisses as I stroked the soft lace on her panties before I gripped them and tugged them down her legs kissing her thighs once I tugged them down my kiss getting higher as I tugged her panties lower, my head pushing up her skirt until I was just a single kiss from her-

"Newt!" She said grabbing my hair to push me back

"Ohh uhh sorry... guess I uhh I got a little-"

"It's alright," She smiled moving back and hiding herself under her cute little skirt, and I had to admit it only made me worse knowing she had nothing under it, She took her panties off her legs and balled them up before setting them in my hand, "My room. Five minutes." She smirked kissing my head before she walked to her room intentionally shaking her hips as she went,

"COMING!" I yelled shutting her panties in my pocket and bolting across the apartment after her.

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umadosedepascal · 4 months

Text

LOSING GAME | Pedro pascal x f!reader | PART II

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner by @ithedevilsbaby

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: You meet Pedro again not just to take back your panties. He wants to play a game, who’s going to lose?

wc: 4.2k

rating/warnings: [unprotected sex] [spanking ass] [let's play] [smoke] [oral sex f receiving m receiving] [masturbation][beg for me] [creampie] [Smut] [Pedro fucks you wearing glasses] [Pedro rubbing the armchair]

He sits on the edge of the bed just wearing boxers, scratching his beard and thoughtful, still a little sleepy he picks up his phone and send me a message “Hi my dear, you better come here to regain dignity instead of your undies...😉"

He throws his phone on the bed, gets up and goes towards the bathroom, while looking at his reflection in the mirror he picks up the shaver, turn it on and thinks aloud "what am I doing? Yeah.. right.. I have to.." taking off his boxers he enters the shower, feeling the hot water caress his skin, Pedro closes his eyes feeling the water run down his face, and memories of what happened on that flight yesterday. Pedro doesn't even notice, but when he opens his eyes he sees that he is smoothing his cock, up and down, squeezing a little when his hand reaches the tip, he shudders at the thought that maybe you have already answered his message. Pedro rests one hand on the wall of the box and with the other jerking with a little more force, the water falling into waterfalls on his back, he closes his eyes and remembers how you squeezed his cock with your pussy, a low moan escapes from his throat. The tip of his cock is dripping pre cum, lateral vein pulsates every time he squeezes his cock. Pedro feels a heat rising through his tummy, his balls contracting while his hand works firmly on his cock, jets of cum run along the water down the drain. Pedro takes the soap and trying to keep some sanity he finishes the bath.

He comes out of the bathroom in his black robe and sits in the armchair next to his bed, reaching for a silver box next to that he lights a cigarette, letting the smoke flood his lungs, the smoke coming out slowly through his mouth, he feels the droplets of water drip from his hair, scratching his neck until they flock to the fabric of the robe. He picks up his phone next to him and sees the message he just received:

"Oh that sounded a little threatening to me... I like it. Send me your location and maybe in 40 minutes I'll be at your door."

Pedro can't help the smile on his lips, he sends location and gets up to dress himself. White box briefs, old jeans, white shirt with sleeves up to the elbows with only first button done and he leaves his hair drying naturally, giving that sloppy and lazy feeling.

He goes downstairs towards the kitchen for some caffeine, while watching the coffee fill the mug, Pedro thinks about how incredibly crazy the week was, things he didn't do when he was young he is doing now. He laughs alone as he puts another cigarette between his lips, he goes up again to the room, grab her black panties and puts it in his pocket, when he is almost out of the room he hears the doorbell, his heart accelerates, his breathing getting heavy automatically.

He goes down the stairs in a hurry, when he opens the door face to face with you and soon he remembers how hot and tigh you are.

Pedro rests his left arm on the door frame, while his right hand takes the cigarette from his lips. He stares at you in silence, just smiling like hell while releasing the smoke.

He could not deny that his heart was slightly racing, that delicious nervousness that he thought only teenagers could feel, but on the outside he was always good at acting, perhaps mask up what he feels. He would be lying if he said he didn't know that playing like that and lure at the same time didn't work.

Of course it worked. But you never let it lie and smile back to him with eyes half-closed.

Pedro could feel like he was starting to get silly with you, but he wouldn't admit it. Not now. No way.

“Hi sweetheart!”

You look away, still smiling. You like that nickname.

“Am I late?”

He stared at your lips. That lipstick.

“Definitely not.”

He responds, immediately taking you softly by the arm, while putting the cigarette in his mouth again. He brings you into the house without deflecting his eyes from you at any time.Your heart accelerates with the scene, the few words, that look. If you played dirty, hidding panties in his pocket, showing up with that fucking smile and a tempting look at his door, he would also do way worse.

Pedro offers a drink, you accepts, but you both know where it will end up.

He hands the glass of wine and sits on the couch next to you. He stretches a little and puts his hand in his pocket and there it hangs between his fingers, your panties.

Pedro looks at you as if he wanted answers, you just smile and the next moment he pulls you to his lap, making you put your legs around his waist, he gets up and slowly climbs the stairs with you on his lap.

At no time, he smooths you, no kisses, he doesn't even say anything, he just looks you in the eye, you can see that brown sea on fire.

You begging from the inside, but this time he won't give in, not so fast. Pedro kicks the bedroom door, and throws you on his bed and says with a perverse smile

"Do you like games? Let's see how much you can handle...”

Pedro takes your panties again and climbs on top of you, taking your wrists and putting it on top of your head, he ties your hands with it.

You move around in bed, boosting your body against his.

- I’m going to lose this game! -

"Be quiet! Let me see how good you are." he says in your ear, a low and hoarse voice.

Pedro kneels on the bed, your legs stuck in the middle of his and in a sudden movement Pedro holds your shirt and tears it, you scream, you feel on your body in shock, feeling your pussy pulse, your panties already wet.

-You gonna to lose-

He grabs your breasts tightly, his big hands and fingers pinching your nipples, he looks at you with a motherfucker look that makes you weaken. Take a hand to your face and subtly goes down until it reaches your neck.

Pedro squeezes hard, making you moan, and that makes him squeeze more

"Are you enjoying?"

His hand is so warm and soft, and every time he caresses your breasts it's as if all your skin is burning.

"Do you think you gonna win this game?" You say with a malicious smile, he smiles and puts his hands down to your pants, taking it off so fast, his hands returning to your hips, squeezing hard, I feel his fingers playing with the sides of your panties, his eyes watching the moisture in the fabric, he pulls his panties down your legs, throwing it in any corner. You move your hands forcing the fabric that holds them, when I feel the fabric tear, you smile at him, his eyes widen seeing that you let go. You felt in bed, running your hands over his body, his white shirt, thin almost transparent fabric, you can see his nipples shiver with your touch.

You push him on the bed, sitting on top of him, reversing the game and instinctively slowly rub your groin on his, feeling his already hard cock under his jeans and slowly approaching his face you say:

"I didn't come here to play, but since you want to, I'm letting you know that I never lose..”

Your left hand goes down his tummy, playing with the waistband of his jeans you ask "what did you do with my undies all this time?"

He begins to stutter saying "I just realized was inside my pocket and and and.. I went to the plane washroom.. and I jerked of thinking about you.. and jizzed all over it" talking almost whispering in your ear, your hand slowly rises until it reaches his neck, caressing feeling the vein pulsating, and you say "what now?" He widens his eyes, scared remembering the other woman and gets lost, you repeat "what now?" Your lips shaving his hair, feeling his beard pinch your face, you run your tongue through his hot neck.

He says "now you got me..you can do whatever you want with me" maybe he's feeling a little bit of guilt.

You smile against his neck, biting his skin and then licking, straightening on his lap and dragging your hands through his chest and tummy you pull out his shirt, throwing it to the side, you go down your lips again to his neck, licking and biting, you pass your tongue through his collarbone, listening to his breath get heavy, you bite the exposed skin a little stronger and hear him whispering breathlessly "what are you going to do with me?" You don't touch him, just down anymore, getting on your knees between his legs, looking into his eyes you unbuttoned his pants, lowering the zipper so slowly, while whispering "you are going to suffer motherfucker..." Pedro smiles but his eyes show lust, curiosity and anxiety.

You move away and he tries to move, pulling you, you say in a low tone:

“Don't move honey”

You move your hands to the waistband of his pants and pull them throwing them to the floor, the volume in his underwear is tempting, there is a small pre cum stain spotted, you bite your lip in anticipation.

You run your fingers through the waistband of his boxers and pull it and let go, hearing the noise of the elastic hitting his skin, he gruni low

You say "come babe, sit there on that chair" pointing to the armchair next to the bed.

He obeys you, he seems stunned, confused but doesn't say anything.

You kneel between his legs and run your nails through his cock over his boxers, looking into his eyes you hook your fingers on the sides of his undies and pull down, 7 in cock jumping out hard, light pink head reddish with drops of pre cum accumulating. You carefully pull his underwear to the middle of his thighs.

"How much do you want my mouth, Pedro?"

"Fuck, just suck me" he moans

You smile and say again very slowly.

"How. much. do you want, Pedro? Say it"

“Fuck.. I need it now, please"

You moan to hear him beg, you drag your hands around his thighs and hold his cock by the base, he is throbbing in your hand, shining pre cum running down, you run your thumb over the head spreading and then looking at him you suck your finger. He has his mouth open, you can hear his breath panting.

You bend over and put his cock in your mouth as much as you can, you feel it hit your throat and choke, you go back to the head and spit watching it drip and say:

"You're hot as fuck..."

You suck harder and Pedro moans, his cock pulsating on your tongue, the sweet and sour taste of pre cum flooding your tongue, every time you suck only his head he moans, his thighs tense.

You feel your pussy throbbing, but it's not yet time to give yourself up, you want to see him suffer for you.

It was certainly an incredible sight for Pedro. You keep sucking him, until you realize the rhythm that made his hands press the arms of the armchair harder. It was so exciting to see him like this, sometimes he couldn't keep his eyes open, his breath failed, his head thrown back, but it was even better when he just surrendered and kept looking down, the pleading look.

The constant rhythm was taking him to the apex. You could tell by the way he tried to stretch his legs and from time to time he slightly arched his hips, wanting to fuck your mouth.

You still like this, same rhythm.

“Fuc-k... just like that... you're so…”

He takes a deep breath, getting lost in his words.

“...Fucking good...”

You caress his balls with one hand while the other strokes him, sucking only the tip of his dick , enjoying every desperate moan that comes out of his lips

“.... I-I'm... I think I…”

-No you're not - you thought.

You slow down on purpose. So slowly that he lets out a loud, frustrated sigh.

“Hmmhp... Fuuuuck...” He moans, grabbing the arm of the armchair once again.

You wanted him to suffer, but at the same time you wanted to take the time he was there. You wanted to drive him crazy, but you couldn't deny that you were salivating, loving to feel him in your mouth. You wanted to prove it more, you wanted to get him out of your mouth from time to time and watch his gaze begging just feeling your hands, you wanted to play, you wanted it to last for hours, the absurd horniness that you were feeling just by getting on your knees in front of him.

When he realizes the way you look at him, so innocent, going down his mouth and going up slowly, something tells you that he understood. Obviously he was dying to cum, but the idea of lasting longer was not all bad. Sometimes you would just let your lips pass over his head slowly. You noticed that he took a deep breath, sometimes he repressed the moans. Until he starts caressing your hair. You just let your head turn a little aside, his hands run down yout cheek, your chin, while you keep sucking on him slowly, moaning with him in your mouth, enjoying every second.

"You like sucking me, huh?" - He says biting his lip, smiling a little, his hands making a torturous caress on your face, then your hair again.

You wanted to say yes, that you loved it, that it was wonderful. That you wanted to stay there for hours. But you couldn't give in like that.

Pedro realized that he was delivered into your hands, that that angelic look and the way you played with his cock was too much for him. He was trying as much as he could to recover from the "almost" orgasm he had. You looked so beautiful like that, kneeling to him -such a little whore...- he thought, his fingers running down your face, letting you torture him as much as you wanted. Then you say:

“I like when you beg”

“Ok. Now you gone too far” Pedro says…

You talk while you smile at him and run your tongue gently on his cock again, it was enough for all that desire he was feeling to fuck you like that night at the hotel to come like a fire and burn his whole body. He grabs your hair with his left hand, pulling you head up while holding your neck tightly with his right, tou can feel his fingers stuck in your neck so hard that your breathing fails, so he slowly approaches your face and says

"Do you think you have control of the situation, babe? "

He pulls you a little higher, taking you towards your body, still with his hand on ypur neck. And before you can answer he smiles, a malicious smile

“I love watching you trying, but I'll suck you until you scream my name..."

Bringing your face closer to mine. "and then I'm going to fuck you so hard that you're going to beg to stop, my little bitch"

You let out an inevitable moan as he gets up from the armchair and pushes you towards the bed. You fall on your back and feel his hands caressing your thighs while he opens your legs, fuck, you’re already so wet, and feeling his hands near your pussy makes it pulse even more. He then slowly brings his face closer to your entrance, you can feel the warmth of his breathing, he kisses your thigh, biting and licking the inner part getting closer and closer to your pussy, this makes you grab the sheets to contain the moan as he kisses and gets closer, you can no longer contain the moans that come out quietly feeling your pussy soak, when he finally has his face between your legs, he raises his head looking at you, while I arch, gives a corner smile and says…

" I want you to beg me to go on, say..."

He looks at you seriously, both of you paralyzed in bed in the same position. He with his face stuck in your legs, you don't open your mouth, you don't beg. He gets up and puts on his glasses, lies on your side and says "are you kidding?" And you say... "I didn't come here only for my undies, you know?"

And he asks "for what then?" So you climb on top of him and rub your pussy on his hard cock and say "I came here to tease you only... just tease you..."

He staring at you without saying anything begins to slide his hand on your body up and down he distributes slaps on your ass, squeezing so hard

You rub yourself on his cock without letting him penetrate you say "you look so fucking hot wearing those glasses.. you look like a daddy.."

Without thinking twice he says panting "yes, I'm your daddy! Please let me get into you...”

You feel your body shaking at his request, but you won't give in yet "this way is good. I like teasing.. I can have an orgasm just doing it.. easily”

He holds your ass tightly, so strong that you know you will have marks he whispers so low “let your daddy get inside you..."

So you approach his mouth, with your lips almost touching each other you say between smiles "do it, daddy...but fuck me hard"

And in a fraction of a second, Pedro completely changes his attitude, his eyes darken, his jaw locks. He is silent, his hands stuck on you, grabbing your ass, he goes up one hand caresses your hair and tells you softly:

"Get up baby girl" you get up and he surrounds you like a lion wanting his hunt.

Pedro grabs your neck with his right hand and his left he stretches on the bed and takes your panties, he looks into your eyes and laughs, it's low sounds a little diabolical. With your panties between his fingers he says so low that for a second you thought you were hallucinating

"You little whore do you really think I would let you control me? I was lying to you, now you will see how I do it. Open your fucking mouth..."

You blink scared of the sudden change of attitude, but your pussy beats, your heart racing, you think he could hear it from here.

You open your lips and he smiles as he kneads your panties and puts it in my mouth, patting your cheek.

"You'll handle it quiet, right?"

You moan nodding your head.

He so slowly descends his hands down your neck, breasts, on your nipples he passes his fingertips so soft that it hurts. Then you feel the burning of his fingers squeezing them, he moans in approval every time your back arches, you rub your thighs into each other, feeling your excitement slide.

His hands go down to your belly, his nails scratching harder.

-ok, he wants revenge-

"Do you really think you can come to my house and control me?"

You whimper begging for more touch.

Pedro pushes you on the wall, turning your back to him, your tits crushed on the cold wall, the contrast makes you moan. You feelyour heartbeat in your ears.

And then the loud and dry sound, a slap, but it's not just any slap, it's a burning one that makes you scream and choke with the panties in your mouth.

"Do you know how that ass looks pretty red?"

And then one more, two, three, four and you lose count of how many slaps are gone. You feel tears in your eyes, but it's not pain, it's horny, it's despair, you need it.

You try to stretch your hand behind your back in the hope of touching him, he holds your wrist tightly and says to your ear

"Don't move baby girl, daddy will take care of you"

And then he kneels and you feel his breath on your ass and another slap, now he squeezes and crushes the flesh of your ass, hits your thighs. You never thought a beating would be so hot.

You moan every time his fingers smooth the burnt skin.

Pedro opens your legs and passes a finger on your pussy and moans…

"So fucking wet for me….you really want my cock don't you?”

You moan louder feeling him remove his fingers

"I'm ready daddy please fuck me" you murmur with your panties stuxk in your mouth, feeling him stand behind you with his cock rubbing on your back. He can't leave you like that, you feel like you can faint at any moment. Pedro caresses your hair, your cheek and says

"Shhhh shhhh don't worry baby.. you can take it. Like last time. Papi can make it fit"

He holds his cock by the base and rubs it at your entrance, teasing you, you raise your hips in an attempt to have it deeper.

"Get on your back for me" he says so calmly, fear runs through your spine making you shiver and tremble.

You position yourself and he moves away again, taking a cigarette from the ashtray he lights up and brings it, I hear his breathing holding and releasing the smoke from his lungs.

Pedro approaches the bed and his two hands frame your ass, he smoothes and gives several pats, goes down his nails down your thighs causing them to open more and your face to be glued to the mattress. You hear a noise and you deduce that he spat on his hand to jerk off.

"Look at you.. you really thought you were going to control me and now look at you little thing"

And without any warning Pedro sticks his face in your pussy, you feel the frame of his glasses pressing your ass, he growls and takes it off throwing his glasses on the bed. His tongue walks all over your pussy going up to your ass. His mustache tickles you, every little touch makes you hotter.

With one hand he opens your folders and sucks your clit, the sounds of his lips around you, his tongue rotating in your clit and then sticks it in your entrance.

You feel like you can cum at any moment and he seems to notice how your legs shake, he rises with his tongue passing through your ass again and leaves a strong bite on your right buttock.

"Now daddy tagged you baby girl"

You moan begging…

"Please Pedro fuck me now I can't wait anymore, please"

Pedro fits his cock into your pussy and puts it all at once, taking a loud moan out of your throat.

He starts to stock up hard, the sounds of his hips hitting your ass, his hands holding you tightly. One of his hands slides to tour back until he finds your nape, he pulls making you closer.

He moans loudly, cursing disconnected things, but that makes you more and more wet and make you squeeze his cock.

"Fuck! Me encanta when you squeeze me like that do it again"

You squeeze your pussy on his cock a few more times and you feel the orgasm coming into your body. The sweat soaking your back, you feel his hands slide and squeeze you more, his fingers stuck in your skin like a tattoo.

Pedro moans louder and then orders you

"Touch that pussy and cum on my cock little girl"

You put my hand between your legs and press your clit, it doesn't take so many movements, you’re so sensitive. With a loud moan you cum on his cock, feeling your whole body shake.

"Oh fuck... you take my cock so well... fuck.."

Your orgasm slows and makes your body so sensitive that you think you can break it, Pedro holds you by the waist and doesn't stop getting in, it's too much, it's agonizing.

"Fuck feel my cum in your tight pussy... Take it all"

Pedro cums so much that you feel it running down your thighs, he moans loudly your name.

He throws himself next to you, I turn your head to look at his eyes and there are those puppy eyes again.

He brings his face closer to yours, kisses you and bites your lower lip. So you smile and say in a dragged voice

"I stole your piercing"

He laughs out loud and straightens up to get closer to your ear, he says..

"I know and I'll get it back... Now let's go take a shower"

—————————————

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110 notes · View notes

r2d2lover · 11 months

Text

5 Galleons Pt. 1

Pairing: Fred Wealey x Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: THIS PARTICULAR PART CONTAINS NO SMUT. Fluff and angst with smut in pt. 2, slight praise kink, blowjobs, unprotected sex, PIV sex, Fred bets that he can bed you by the end of the week. Cheesy Amortentia bit. Honestly was just a brain dump of a Fred scenario I've been wanting to write.

Summary:

The Hufflepuff Princess becomes the focus of Fred Weasley’s newest dare.

---

This is posted on Tumblr combining Chapters 1+2 and Chapters 3+4 for easy reading.

"Oh, you could never, Weasley," McLaggen challenged, pulling his Gryffindor jumper over his head. Fred flexed his fingers, unable to back down from a dare.

"Yeah, what makes you say that?" Fred smoothed down the front of his button up, a devious spark lighting up his eyes. George slapped the back of his brother, in a way that Fred thought he was trying to expel his bad thoughts.

"The Hufflepuff Princess? She makes Hermoine Granger look like a party animal," George laughed. Fred snorted, letting his mind wander to the girl they were talking about.

The sixth year student that was tonight's focus of the Gryffindor locker room was nicknamed the Hufflepuff Princess because of her uptight academic nature. She and Hermione were best friends, spending countless hours in the library studying together. Really, they should've been Ravenclaws.

But, Merlin, was she beautiful. Fred shared Potions and Charms class with her, but of course he sat in the back poking fun of the lecture while she sat attentively in the front. He would admire her neat, almost sterile appearance, but mostly he admired how her golden robes fitted her body. Fred thought back to the time they were paired up for a Potions assignment and he accidentally stirred clockwise instead of counter, making the concoction explode all over her robes. When she shed her stained robes, Fred couldn't take his eyes off of the way her white button-up cinched her waist, accentuating every curve. Not to mention how her old skirt was getting ever-so slightly too tight and too short. Unfortunately, according to the locker room, everyone else noticed her behind her rigidness and wanted a chance at loosening her up.

Fred was determined that he would get her to fold. Surely, he had the best chances since he had actually talked to her and if he didn't soften all his attempts at getting to know her with bad jokes, they might even be friends.

"Let's make this interesting. 2 Galleons if you can do it, mate," McLaggen pursed his lips. This caused Fred and George to laugh with great delight. The other members of the Quidditch team were listening in with matched curiosity.

"Say, 5 Galleons if I can do it by the end of the week. This Friday after the Hufflepuff Gryffindor game," Fred boasted, which caused a chorus of bewildered coos. Fred felt powerful leading the group to the Great Hall for dinner, but he felt even more powerful knowing that they doubted him.

"I'll take that bet. There's no way you bed her at the end of this week," McLaggen laughed, holding open the door for Fred.

"Oh, you'll see."

---

He tried to talk her up in the Great Hall during dinner, but the Gryffindors were watching like it was a show unfolding.

"Hey," he said in a cool tone, sitting down beside her and her friend that he had never met. "Did you, er, finish the Potions homework?"

She set down her goblet with an amused look on her face. Fred was fixated on the way her hair was pulled back and out of her face, not a single strand out of place.

"I haven't started it. Why? Do you need help on it?" She looked embarrassed because her friend started giggling uncontrollably. Fred smirked, deciding to go in for the kill.

"Yeah, I've been struggling with it. I can't say no to some one-on-one tutoring. Are you free tonight?" He locked eyes with her, hoping that she wouldn't say no. Her stammering caused a flutter in his chest. Fred quickly glanced over to the Gryffindors that had their eyes trained on him, but looked back at her quickly with a grin, praying that she didn't hear the laughs and not-so-silent cheering from the other table. Luckily, her back was to them.

"I- Yes. I'm free," She said sheepishly, looking back down at her plate. As Fred stood up to leave, he decided to add a little flourish for the onlooking crowd. Fred lifted her face with two fingers, tilting her head up to look at him. He clenched his jaw while dirty thoughts started to swirl around his mind.

"Sounds like a date," Fred smirked, leaving her stunned and her face as red as the Gryffindor's table runner. When he walked away from the Hufflepuff table, he threw a wink to Cormac and George.

---

You gathered up all your Potions notes nervously, checking the clock for the third time already. Your best friend laughed at the disheveled sight of you, a certainly welcomed change.

"I can't believe you're acting like this over Fred Weasley. You know, he's not even going to pay attention. He's going to be too busy trying to get in your pants," you threw a pillow at your friend who turned into a giggling fit. "Don't worry, I'll cover you when the other prefect does bed checks!"

You descended down into the Central Hall, looking around the large mermaid fountain for Fred. You couldn't help but think of your friend's comments, despite the larger nagging feeling of wanting it to be true. Fred Weasley was truly the antithesis of who you were: handsomely disordered, outspoken, and popular. You convinced yourself that he was this way with every girl, thinking back to the time he made a lame pass at Angelina Johnson at the Quidditch Pitch during an open practice for everyone to see. You found Fred attractive the reason you found Muggle Studies interesting: the mystification of the entire idea. You shook you head with a silent laugh to yourself. How could you be interested in a boy you compared to an extracurricular class?

"Sorry I'm late, love," Fred crept up behind you, making you jump a little. You turned around with a small frown on you face. He was only carrying his potions book, with his wand and quill sticking haphazardly out of his pocket. His shirt was half untucked, with no tie adorning his neck. You couldn't help but get distracted at how the unbuttoned top of his shirt highlighted his collarbones and- Before you could come up with another thought, you cleared your throat.

"It's fine. Shall we?" You gestured towards the library doors. Before you turned your back towards him to head towards the library, you swear you could see a smirk on his face. He swiftly moved past you so that he could open the door for you. "Oh, what a gentleman."

"I try," Fred let you lead him to your favorite part of the library, your own little study corner. It was a secluded nook with two large plush chairs that faced a large window that overlooked the grounds. You were surprised that it was always available to you when you wanted, probably because it was so far back into the library.

"This is cozy," Fred plopped down on one of the armchairs, enchanting the other one closer to him. "And so far from the prying eyes of the public."

You ignored his suggestive tone and opened your potions book to the lesson that was covered today. Admittedly, you had trouble with brewing Veritaserum, due to its maturing phase. You were sure you had it down, but you wouldn't know until the next lunar phase. While the class was to wait for the potion to be ready, you had to memorize its other properties. It was easy enough to go over it with Fred, making you wonder why he needed your help in the first place. He had paid attention for the past hour, asking you strictly academic questions that made you actually flip through your notes for the answer.

"Virtually water... Makes one confess...," Fred mused aloud, penning down his notes. He looked up at you with a devious grin. "And what kind of secrets would you be spilling if you had a sip of Vertiaserum?"

You felt your face get hot as you looked up from your own writing to meet Fred's watchful gaze. You bit your lip nervously, trying to think of something to say.

"Probably something better than any secrets you're hiding," You said, feeling pretty lame at your answer. You couldn't possibly outwit the king of wit himself. Fred chuckled and seemed as if he was reaching a hand out towards you, but restrained himself.

"Ahem. Should we be absolutely studious and get a head start on tomorrow's lesson," Fred said, out of character. You were surprised at his suggestion, but flipped forward to the lesson prepared for tomorrow. Fred laughed at your reaction to the heading title of tomorrow's chapter: Amortentia.

｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★.

The class gathered around the cauldron that bubbled with a pearly substance. "Does anyone know what potion this is?" asked the professor, looking over at the eager crowd. You raised your hand ready to answer, but much to the class's surprise, Fred blurted out the answer. He had moved closer to where you were standing, probably to say something witty during the lesson.

"Amortentia," Fred smirked at you, causing you to look away quickly. You turned your attention back to the shimmering liquid, hypnotized by the way it moved. The professor looked happily surprised at the way his goofiest student was able to answer the question.

"Very good, Mr. Weasley," He praised, giving a nod of approval. "Really, it was all thanks to her," Fred complimented, patting you on the shoulder. The rest of the class looked at you with the same surprise as the professor's but you simply waved you hand dismissively.

"Ah, clever as well as humble. Very well. Points to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for being so studious," the professor smiled. "Now, we are studying this potion today because it is the most powerful and dangerous concoction known to wizard kind. It doesn't create real love, however, but instead an obsessive infatuation to the drinker. Its scent also differs for each person, drawing on what the person finds attractive. Now, go ahead and take a whiff. How about our scholars first?" The professor invited you and Fred up to the bubbling cauldron. Fred stepped up first, taking a deep breath. He frowned and looked back at you, waving a hand to signal you to step back.

"What's wrong?" You asked, stepping even closer.

"Nothing. Could you back up? Your perfume is overpowering anything in this caul-" Fred began, stopping mid-sentence when he realized the rest of the class started giggling. His face heated up, almost matching the color of his hair.

"I didn't put on any perfume this morning. I was running late," You said in a low, shaky voice. Your heartbeat was racing. Fred quickly stepped back from the cauldron, making his way back to the class to hide in the sea of students. You took a big gulp before stepping up to smell the cauldron yourself. A mixture of leather and grass as well as firewood filled your nose. You didn't want to admit it, but you thought you caught a small whiff of a musky pine cologne. The leather grassy smell brought you to the Quidditch Pitch and you shook your head trying to focus on the lecture instead. You ignored the urge to find Fred in the crowd, instead pulling out your Potions notebook. Once the class dismissed, you quickly left the classroom, hoping to avoid Fred. You decided that he was simply making a joke for the entire crowd and you ducked your head as you walked to Divination class.

---

When you told your friend about what had happened in Potions class, she squealed with such delight, even the Ravenclaw table looked over at the two of you. You thanked Merlin that the Gryffindor table was on the other end of the Great Hall. You wanted to be the first to tell your best friend about what happened in an attempt to beat the rumor mill.

"That's so cute!What did you smell?" Your best friend gushed, completely forgetting her dinner. You felt your face get hot, shoveling another bite into your mouth in order to distract yourself.

"I think he was just making a joke. He's like that. Remember Angelina Johnson? Anyways, I smelled the Qudditch Pitch, you know, leather and grass. And fire. I have no idea what that means though," You shrugged.

"I think you know exactly what it means," Your best friend beamed.

"Ah, you're talking about Quidditch? Does that mean you're ready for this weekend's game? It's going to be a tough one. I've been telling people that Hufflepuff is on the up and up," Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain, leaned over into your conversation. You hoped that the Amortentia was actually about Cedric, your longtime friend and childhood crush. You felt like there was always some tension between you two, but since the both of you felt too close to let something frivolous ruin your relationship, the both of you agreed to be friends. That didn't mean he was one of the handsomest boys in your grade, though, and being the Quidditch house captain only added to his attractiveness. You looked over at the Gryffindor table where Fred was telling some grandiose story with both his hands, trying to deflect your thoughts. Tonight, your had asked your friend to switch seats with her in a not-so discreet attempt to see if Fred would tell the other Gryffindors about class today. He didn't seem like he was informing his other housemates of his embarrassment during class, but he did catch you staring and threw a wink at you.

"I think I'm going to get started on my homework now so I can get it all done before this weekend," You stood up after Fred winked at you, rushing out of the Great Hall. Your friend waved you off as you exited through the side doors into the outdoor courtyard. You decided to take the long way back to your common room in order to avoid any unwanted questions. Unfortunately, before you could make it halfway across the courtyard, you turned your head at the sounds of the Great Hall doors opening after you. Fred emerged from the doors, humming happily. You took a deep breath, weighing your choices between running and hexing him.

"Hey! Can we talk?" Fred called out. Your body decided to freeze and all you could do was turn around slowly and nod. "Come on, walk with me. We'll need a little more privacy than this.

Fred lead you to the side of the courtyard corridor, then backed you up into the corner, effectively pinning you between the wall and himself. He leaned against the wall on one shoulder and pushed his hair out of his face, giving that famous Weasley smirk. You felt like you could barely breathe from the nervousness. You swear you could hear his racing heartbeat as well.

"I think everyone has said everything they possibly could about what happened in Potions today. I don't want to talk about that. Instead, I want to propose a bet," Fred stared intently at you, pleased at your bumbling state. You cursed him in your head. You never wavered to anyone, why was he so different?

"Oh? And what's that? Hopefully something about how you'll finish all your assignments on time?" You asked, meeting his gaze. Fred laughed and stood up straight.

"Yeah, right. No, it's about this weekend's Quidditch game. If Gryffindor wins, you have to come to our afterparty. And wear your hair down," Fred wagered, flicking your ponytail jokingly. Your face turned red, but you hoped that the firelight of the nearby brazier hid it. You could nearly gather your thoughts, however, you couldn't let Fred's smugness continue.

"Alright. What do I get if Hufflepuff wins?" You countered, fixing your hair.

"Love, we know that won't be happening," Fred laughed when you pushed on his chest defensively.

"How about you do my Potions homework for two weeks?" You really couldn't think of anything that wanted from him.

"Ugh, pick something fun," Fred groaned.

"Fine, if Hufflepuff wins, you come to our afterparty. Without my help sneaking in, so I hope you don't get sprayed by vinegar," You suggested, crossing your arms. As the words left your mouth, you wished you never suggested that. The whole ordeal seemed to be in his favor. You would just have to make sure that he didn't know the password to your common room so that you could see him doused in vinegar. His smirk made you less confident.

"Oh, deal."

Part 2

#fred wealsey fic #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #amortentia #partners in potions #Jock!Fred Weasley #5 Galleons

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