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igotanidea · 11 months

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Told ya! : Jason Todd x fem!reader

request: why was it so hard to believe she had a boyfriend? Why was her friend constantly teasing her about it? At least until he finally decided to show himself and said friend were forced to listen to some action......

Warnings: sugestive at the end, but nothing explicit, swearing, sexual tension and teasing.

Italics are flashbacks in the first part and sounds in the second.

****

„Let’s go out and party tonight” Leah was splayed on the couch on her back, facing the ceiling and absentmindedly fiddling with her hair. Y/N could almost see the wheels in her friend’s brain turning as she was masterminding a plan. “Maybe you can finally meet someone to actually become your boyfriend.”

“Leah….” Y/N sighed deeply rubbing her forehead, leaning on the kitchen counter nearby “I told you already, many, many times, that…..”

“That you have a boyfriend” the other girl lift herself up, facing Y/N with a raised eyebrow, teasing smile and a twinkle in her eyes “Sure, I heard you loud and clear. A boy in another state? A Canadian? That one? The one I never get to see or meet?”

“Leah…..”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. You know you don’t have to lie to me, we are friends. No shame in being single. You just gotta you know…..” Leah shimmied her chest a bit “bite the bullet, baby. Get some action.” now she also buckled her hips a bit in a very suggestive gesture.

“STOP IT!” Y/N could feel her face becoming bright red and burning. God, Leah was her best friend, but she could also be a bit too …. emancipated, leaving Y/N flustered and ashamed.

“god, you’re so cute and innocent when it comes to talking about sex” Leah smiled brightly “like a little girl. I know, I know, it can be scary when you’re a virgin, but it is in fact quite pleasurable and ….”

“I’m done with you! I’m out! I …. I gotta get to work, so …. Have a good day or whatever, Leah.” Y/N threw her hands in the air in frustration over her friend’s behavior, grabbed a jacket and a backpack and left the apartment, banging the door.

“Don’t be mad at me!” Leah yelled after her “I only mean the best for you! I love you, Y/n!”

“Screw that.” Y/N thought, gritting her teeth. At this point she should already be used to Leah’s teasing. The girls knew each other since their high school years and she was always like this. Like two sides of the same coin – Leah always got the fire that pushed her forward, making her a shining star, always on the spotlight, while Y/N preferred staying in the background, shy and easily intimidated, not really wanting any attention.

But.

The matter of the fact was that she did have a boyfriend.

In the same state. In the same city, to be honest.

He was just ….. busy.

Busy with being a vigilante, fighting crimes at night and yeah, you guessed it , former Batman’s sidekick. With the breath of danger constantly on his neck, there were never a good time to bring him into contact with her friends. Not that any of them wanted that, but it gave Leah plenty of arguments to call Y/N a liar, a confabulator and storyteller. Damn it! That wouldn’t be so frustrating if it wasn’t for the fact that to up the teasing, Leah would constantly put Y/N into other man’s arms and the shy girl being himself had absolutely no idea how to oppose. Sometimes it resulted in a highly awkward situation.

***

“It was supposed to be a casual coffee!” Y/N hissed at her friend, dragging her away from the table in the café. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Um, not what, but rather who” Leah corrected “Tom.”

“Why did you bring him here?!”

“To show you how fun boy’s company can be. We got together a couple weeks ago and he is just so good at making me feel good.”

“Leah!!!”

“Chill, sunshine. I’m just giving you a taste of what you can have. There’s no need to thank me. Now, can we please go back to the table? I don’t think I can last long without his hands on me….”

“I hate you…..” Y/N muttered, but putting on the brave face, smiled and approached the guy.

“Tommie…..” Leah sat as close to him as possible, almost on his lap “Please, forgive my friend. She has no real experience with boys and hence the shyness and strange behavior.”

“It’s all right, love. Not everyone is as …. bold as you. it’s actually quite cute so see a girl standing on the other side of the barricade. I heard a lot about you, Y/N.”

“You did?” Y/N’s eyes went wide at the simple thought of what words Leah could use to describe her.

“nothing wrong, I swear.” Tom raised his hands in defensive gesture and smiled sympathetically

“Just about giving you a little show of hugging and kissing and …..”

Oh my god…… Why?

***

“Jace?” the ringing of the phone woke her up in the very early morning(though some people would call it very late night). She swore she would stay up, knowing he was dealing with a particularly hard patrol, but cramming for exams and burying herself in the textbooks did nothing to help her keep that promise.

“hi, baby…..” he mumbled with that hoarse voice and her sleepiness was gone in a second.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” she was already one leg out the door, forgetting being dressed only in pajama shorts and old T-shirt.

“I’m fine, princess. Just needed to hear your voice.”

“I miss you, Jason. Where are you?”

“I’m actually outside your apartment.”

“What?” she let out a scream, but immediately put a hand over her mouth, not to wake Leah “Where?”

“Right here” a gentle tapping on the glass got her attention and once she spun around she noticed Jason in his civilian clothes.

“Jay!” she rushed to open the window, longing to have him in his arms, wanting nothing more than to hold him, kiss him, touch him.

“What are you doing?” the door opened suddenly and showed Leah with disheveled hair, blurry eyes and print of the pillow on her cheek. “I thought I heard you talking to someone?” she yawned widely

“Yes.” Y/N smiled, her gaze flickering to her friend and then back to window, noting Jace already gone. “My boyfriend.” There were zero chances Leah would believe it in her current state, so Y/N did not risk any exposure to Jason’s presence and alter ego.

“Mhmmmmm.” Leah mumbled “that’s quite the imagination you have there, Y/N. You truly are desperate if you’re using Camila Cabello song as an excuse….”

“What?”

“He comes alive at midnight…..”

“I don’t….”

“damn it girl, you need to get laid.” Leah laughed a bit “I wouldn’t mind a bit of sounds coming out of your room, you know. Anyways, I’m going back to bed. And you should do too.” She closed the door and went to her room, leaving Y/N alone.

“Why didn’t you tell her that you do have a boyfriend?’

“JESUS CHRIST! JASON!”

“Sorry.”

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?! I told her, she just doesn’t believe it. Not that I blame her. You are practically a ghost to everyone I know. “

‘I know it’s not ideal, but …..”

“I don’t care, Jace. That’s the whole point. I can handle the teasing as long as it keeps you safe. As long as you are only for me.”

“I am. But it’s not fair and you should not go through this shit only for my benefit.”

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?” she interrupted him, pouting and crossing her arms.

“Thought you’d never ask.” He grinned and dragged her out to the emergency exit, enveloping her in his warmth, shielding from the cold night air.

****

She meant what she said that night. She did not mind the teasing. And that was why Y/N finally agreed to go out and party with Leah. Knowing exactly what to expect.

But.

She never planned getting the attention of one of the snippiest guy on the campus and spending the night running away from his sticky hands.

“Don’t hide from me, pretty one!” he yelled chasing after her, while Y/N was swinging between the partying people, desperately searching for any kind of shelter. That was until she bumped into someone’s chest and a pair of arms wrapped around her waist, making her squeal and struggle out of instinct.

“Relax, princess, it’s me.” Familiar voice made her look up, meeting with those angel green eyes.

“Jason….” she whispered, clinging to him, immediately feeling safe in his arms.

“Who is this fucker?” Y/N’s chaser came into view and eyed Jason with a stern expression “Are you bothering my girl?”

“Your girl?” Jason laughed viciously “You should really be careful with words. And who the fuck are you calling fucker?”

“Um…. I don’t know? You?”

“You want a fight?” Jason took a step forward leaving Y/N behind. None of the boys realized that the crowd already circled around watching the scene. Some people has already started recording. “Want me to remind you how many bones you have in your body? Cause I swear if you laid a finger on my girl, fuck, if you did as much as throw a glance her direction I will break each and every one of them.”

“Jason……” Y/N tugged at his jacket desperately “Let’s just go home. Please. There’s no need to make a scene. I’m tired, please, Jace….”

“I got my eyes on you, you piece of shit.” Jason hissed, relenting to his girlfriend pleas “And if I ever hear you came near her.” He dragged a finger on his throat before turning around, grabbing Y/N’s hand and leading her out the party, straight to her apartment. They both forgot about Leah, but that girl knew well enough how to take care of herself. She came into the flat half an hour later, demanding explanation.

“Y/N!!!”

“Leah! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I left you there!”

“Fuck that” Leah shook her head “who the hell is this guy?” she peeked behind Y/N’s shoulder and eyed Jason “hi, handsome. I’m Leah, Y/N;s roommate.”

“I know.” he mumbled, without any smile or friendly expression.

“You did?” Leah’s voice turned seductive “how?”

“My girlfriend mentioned the teasing you gave her.”

“Wait, girlfriend? You mean….. Y/N…. what?”

“Yeah. Apparently I’m very real. And honestly, quite pissed that everyone decided to torment my little princess.”

“Y/N…. I …. I ……” Leah mumbled, her face screaming shock and dumbfoundedness “I’m sorry… I ……”

“It’s all right, Leah” Y/N put a hand on her shoulder “I told you. Guess next time I say something you will believe me.”

“Yeah…. I …. I guess.”

“good.” Y/N smiled brightly “now if you excuse me, I would rather take care of my boyfriend once I have him. Or maybe…..” the girl shot Jason’s a glance and his eyes sparkled, blown with lust “let him care of me…..”

Neither Jason nor Y/N waited for Leah’s response, disappearing inside her room and closing the door tightly.

What was it that she once said?

I wouldn’t mind a bit of sounds coming out of your room?

***

“Jason…..” she moaned, the door doing nothing to muffle the sounds and Leah prayed to whatever god or other entity were up there to make them stop. “Yes, please, more…..”

Her whines and ragged breath was subdued for a moment. Maybe they were done for the night?”

“Yes! Yes! Right there! Give it to me!”

“Princess.’ Great, now his deep silky voice joined hers and embarrassingly, Leah started getting wet. God, this Jason guy was so hot and sexy and now she was forced to suffer, imagining things that she would never have. “you feel so good. Mhmmm” he groaned and she whined much louder “so tight.”

“Please, Jason….. Baby…. Please, I’m so close. So close. Don’t stop.” The bed cracked and Leah clearly heard the slap of skin on skin and the sound of banging the headboard. “Ah!!”

“Come for me, baby. Cum on my cock, I want to feel you.” judging by the sounds he thrusted into her more and more and more and ….

“JASON!!!” holy fuck, her scream must have been heard on the whole campus. Her orgasm definitely was intense, and that assumption was quickly proven by ragged breath and panting.

Hopefully, that was it. After all, Leah had her fair share of guys and none of them lasted more than one round…..

“got another one for me, princess?” he asked and Leah heard him loud and clear through the thin wall, not that he was keeping his voice quiet. It was like he wanted to be heard. Apparently Y/N nodded because they started going again. Moans, whimpers, whispers were going to keep Leah up all night.

***

“Good morning”a few hours later, Y/N full of energy came into the kitchen when Leah was currently eating breakfast. Hickeys and marks all over her body and Jason’s shirt draped all over her speaking for itself. “Did you sleep well?” she teased

“I….um…..”

“oh, you are just so cute and innocent when it comes to sex.” Y/N ginned watching her friend turning red, for once in her life the situation turning around on Y/N’s benefit.

“He….. he’s good isn’t he?”

“Oh, my dear friend…… Let me tell you all about it…..”

Now, finally, it was Y/N’s turn to tease. And Jason’s getting up and coming into view, shirtless showing his perfectly sculptured body was enough to make Leah shut up for quite some time.

@ultravioletqueen

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clavissionary-position · 19 days

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(Translation) Gilbert's Beast Manual His POV Story

The final installment in Gilbert's current party event.

Spoilers. I'm not a translator, I just throw stuff into online translators, so expect errors. Case 1 | Case 2 | Case 3 (I recommend you read these beforehand for the full experience.)

Please be aware that this installment contains some heavier emotional content as well as sexual content later on—MDNI. As a final note, I recommend you have read Gilbert's proposal event beforehand. Just in case. (Technically I'd also recommend you have read his physical exam event too, but not to the same degree.)

—

I couldn't tell the little rabbit the real reason I had her accompany me on official business.

I'd most certainly earn a scolding and remonstration if I did.

I felt like I wanted to be scolded at least once though, since the little rabbit was the only one who could truly rebuke the conquering beast. However...

"I want the little rabbit to be able to survive in Obsidian even if by some chance I were no longer here."

Those were not words I could simply tell her, because I knew just how devastating they would be for her.

(That being said, today's been worse than ever.)

Crimes of the older generations continuing to go unchecked, signs of rampant bribery within the military...

The little rabbit's beautiful eyes were exposed to so many of these things.

(What is it about this country that when one rotten thing disappears, three more take its place?)

(Maybe everyone's got a death-wish. Yet they still beg for their lives once they're weeded out.)

(...It's incomprehensible to me. If only they'd all just die to save me the trouble.)

Emma: Gil, are we done with official business for the day?

My darkening thoughts must have breached containment; as the little rabbit walked beside me she entwined her fingers with mine.

Her warm hand permeated the cruelty staining across my heart.

Gilbert: I don't have any plans, but is there anything you'd like to do?

Emma: Is it alright if I come to your room? I feel like your bookshelves are calling for me.

Gilbert: Of course it's alright.

(...You probably have a lot to think over.)

Her face only spelled out joy. There was no deceit to be found.

She didn't change her usual demeanor, not even when faced with an irritable beast.

(I've known Walter and Roderic for a long time and even they're prone to checking my complexion on days like this.)

Of course that certainly didn't mean she hadn't noticed a thing.

In fact, the little rabbit, with her keen insight into other people's emotions, should have already pinpointed mine.

[flashback to Case 1]

Gilbert: Anyhow... was it written on my face?

Emma: ...Yeah, it was.

Gilbert: Hehe, well that's no good.

Emma: Isn't that what I'm here for?

Emma: To help give you even a little peace of mind?

[end flashback]

(That's what you said this morning, right?)

(...Truly, you're so gallant for a baby rabbit.)

The little rabbit immediately leapt at the books once she arrived in my room.

Although she'd probably learned by now that concentrating on the books alone would make this troublesome beast very jealous.

So she picked out only one before walking over to the bed and sitting down beside that beast.

Gilbert: ...What's this? Political science?

Emma: I felt like doing some studying today.

(Oh, I see...)

(Someone with a truly pure heart doesn't get tainted after experiencing filth. But rather, they lament their own helplessness.)

(...That's just so like the old me.)

A young boy who'd once learned about corruption and then tried desperately to change the status quo.

And after he'd finished reading all the books available within the country, he'd asked a book dealer to regularly procure ones from other places so he could vigilantly instill the knowledge into himself.

That was back when I'd still foolishly believed that no matter how corrupt a person was, there was an alternative to killing them as long as you engaged with them sincerely.

(Things didn't work out so nicely in the real world though.)

(...But I want the little rabbit to stay like this, just as she is.)

Gilbert: [smiling as he watches her read] ...

Emma: ...

Gilbert: ......

Emma: ......Gil.

The little rabbit looked up from her book, appearing as though she might cry.

Emma: Are there any easier political science books?

Gilbert: Ahaha... I knew it.

Gilbert: The book you're holding is so philosophical that even I found it difficult to understand.

Gilbert: Would you like me to recommend something aimed at beginners?

Emma: Yes, please, if you wouldn't mind!

Gilbert: And what should you do when begging me?

Without hesitation, the little rabbit placed her hands my shoulders and kissed my cheek.

Emma: ...Please, Gil.

Gilbert: It's boring if you do the same thing you always do.

Emma: Then how about...

When I sensed her trying to bite my ear, I pulled back.

Gilbert: Really now... So that's what you're gonna do.

Emma: Aren't you always biting my ear? It's a show of my affection.

Gilbert: But you're already aware though, of how sensitive my ears are?

Emma: ...

Gilbert: Oh, I almost forgot. I still have to discipline you.

Emma: ...W-what are you talking about?

Gilbert: Are you playing innocent? You still haven't made up for sneaking medicine into my food during lunch.

Emma: Um, I did make up for it!? Didn't you have your fun teasing me for it?

Gilbert: That was just a bit of playing around. You see, my real punishment—

I grabbed the little rabbit's hand as she tried to run and forced her onto the bed in a roll.

Just like that I gathered her wrists above her head and bound them with a nearby cloth.

(I hadn't really planned to do something like this...)

(But the little rabbit's been a bad girl, so I've got no choice.)

Emma: I was... going to study...

Gilbert: I'll have a beginner's book picked out for you by tomorrow.

Gilbert: Or rather, if you're interested, I can teach you myself? After all, training people is my forte.

I undid the collar of her dress and ran my fingers directly over her bare skin.

The little rabbit's cheeks turned as red as the sunset when I placed my hand over her breasts.

Emma: But don't you have things to do, Gil?

Gilbert: It's up to me how I choose to use my limited time.

Gilbert: You really don't have to be so overly anxious. If I can't manage, I'll say so.

(Although there's nothing that should be getting higher priority over the little rabbit's requests.)

The little rabbit started rubbing her legs together as I caressed her over and over again.

Purposely ignoring her mounting frustration was, of course, all part of the plan.

Emma: In that case... Thank you, Gil.

Gilbert: You've certainly got funny tastes to be saying thank you at a time like this.

Emma: That's not what I mean... mn... ah...

She suddenly let out a lewd cry when I lightly poked the hardened tip of her breast.

Emma: This afternoon, too, you...

Gilbert: I let you have your release right away this afternoon, didn't I? I wouldn't call that a punishment.

Emma: ...

Gilbert: It's no use being wistful either.

When I turned up the hem of her dress, I didn't even have to touch her to uncover the stain on her underwear.

Just a light swipe up the thin fabric and my fingertips came away damp.

Gilbert: Now then, you're going to have to suffer a lot.

Emma: ...At least... let me take my clothing off please.

Emma: I can't bear to... ruin the dress you made for me.

(Jeez, you truly are...)

Gilbert: I'm not listening to you.

Emma: Ah...

I thrust my fingers into her wetness as if I was trying to scrape out every last drop of nectar.

The dress pinned underneath her quickly became sullied.

Emma: Gil... mn...

Gilbert: If the dress gets dirty, you'll be just be reminded of something embarrassing whenever you put it on, won't you?

Gilbert: This is punishment, so you've got to resign yourself and accept it.

Emma: .......You're so mean.

Gilbert: And who exactly do you think I am?

(For the world's greatest villain to let you off with meanness and nothing else... that just means you're special.)

After the punishment, the little rabbit, thoroughly sullied, headed for the bath.

I honestly wanted to chase after her, but there was still work to be done today.

Roderic: Pardon me, sir.

Gilbert: I figured you'd come.

When I got to my office desk, Roderic immediately selected a document from the stack and handed it to me.

Roderic: ...I thought I might be turned away.

Gilbert: I'm in a good mood right now so I'll forgive you.

Roderic: That's surprising. I thought a storm would have been raging these past few days.

Gilbert: Ahaha, everyone has the little rabbit to thank for that.

Roderic: ...They can't thank her enough.

Gilbert: Neither can I.

I briefly glanced over the document before picking up my quill.

[I'm not gonna paste all the cutaways from the CG like I did in Case 3]

Gilbert: I see. So they've already completed their draft. Excellent, excellent.

Roderic: It seems experiencing your wrath this morning made them respond accordingly.

Gilbert: I'd like for them to submit the draft before it ever gets to that point next time.

Roderic: It's only because nobody can come up with out-of-the-box ideas like you.

Gilbert: They're all conclusions one can arrive at rationally. It's not like I'm making unreasonable demands of anyone.

(We're in trouble if they can't grow to the point where they can keep the older generations in check even without me.)

While talking, I read through the document and noted down points of concern.

Gilbert: ...Also, the draft was poorly-constructed. With this there's too gaps for us to drive that old man into a corner.

Roderic: Then I'll have it returned to you in such a way that we can.

Gilbert: I only appreciate haste. You help them too, Roderic. I'd like to have the contents finalized before our next regular meeting.

Gilbert: If we leave that old man unchecked, he may soon start a losing battle against neighboring countries.

(Up until now I'd left him to go and self-destruct on his own but... it was a promise to the little rabbit.)

Roderic: ...Understood, sir.

After completing my review, I handed it back to Roderic.

Gilbert: What's the next document?

Roderic: It's here, sir.

Gilbert: ...I know I keep asking, but is there more still?

Roderic: There's a mountain of things I'd like you to look over.

Gilbert: I thought I'd delegated my authority out.

(And it's not like they're even required to check in with me before proceeding.)

Roderic: This just means that Obsidian needs you.

Gilbert: That's certainly a problem.

Roderic: No, sir, it's not.

(I've got no intention of dying now that I've decided to live, but...)

(The everyday life that's persisted until today may not necessarily continue on tomorrow.)

(Because of the position I'm in, I have to assume the worst and act accordingly.)

Gilbert: ...[sigh] Unless we can get everyone past the idea that failure is some sort of capital crime, won't it be difficult for you and I to manage all this work on our own?

Gilbert: It seems like my presence is a hindrance after all.

Roderic: Please don't say that!

Gilbert: Fine, fine. If you don't like it, then go give out this PSA.

Gilbert: "As long as there's no fraud or corruption at work, I won't kill you over a simple failure. So please rely on your own judgement more."

Roderic: ...Very well, sir.

(Even so...)

I'd felt someone's passionate gaze trained on me even while we were talking.

The person in question may have believed they were well-hidden.

But I couldn't help but notice the hem of her negligee flickering from her hiding spot.

Roderic: ...Sir, let's deal with the rest of this tomorrow.

Roderic may have noticed as well since he was giving up on the rest of the documents.

Gilbert: Hey. You definitely didn't see anything, right?

Roderic: I saw nothing and I noticed nothing.

Gilbert: Is that so? That's fine, then. Thank you for your hard work.

(Narrowly escaped death, didn't you...?)

The door closed behind Roderic and I stretched out my arms as though to relax.

Gilbert: Now, then, little rabbit.

Emma: ...So you'd noticed me after all.

Gilbert: Well that's a given.

Once I beckoned, the little rabbit understood my request exactly and climbed onto my lap.

Gilbert: You were throwing Roderic such a passionate look.

Emma: I was looking at you!?

Gilbert: He was positioned in the same line of sight.

Gilbert: As you know, you have a very troublesome man on your hands. So you're aware of what you should do at a time like this, right...?

Emma: ......

The punishment from earlier seemed to have taken effect as the little rabbit kissed my lips instead of my ear.

I lightly bit her lip on her way out, imparting a bit of pain.

But rather than get angry, the little rabbit's eyes only seemed to soften with joy.

(Looks like I was able to soothe you after all.)

Emma: ...Did I interfere with your official duties?

Gilbert: [pouts] Roderic's the one who interfered. Showing up at this hour with documents for review.

Emma: That's probably because you were busy during the day.

Gilbert: [grins] Hehe... I showed you a lot of things I don't like about Obsidian today.

Emma: ...And I want to know about even more of those things from now on.

Emma: Because I'd like to be able to assist you as well.

Gilbert: Ahaha, that's reassuring.

(...Hm?)

The little rabbit had begun to frown as she spoke.

(Have I said something wrong?)

I hadn't the faintest idea what it could be, so I settled on comforting her for the time being by stroking her cheek, still warm from her bath.

Gilbert: You're pulling such a long face even though your words are so reassuring,

Emma: ...I wasn't lying.

Gilbert: I know that. So what's eating at you?

Emma: ...I can't really put it to words.

Emma: It's just... I'm envious of Roderic.

(......)

Emma: He's able to assist you more than me, and he knows everything...

(...So that's what was on your mind while you were eavesdropping.)

(The little rabbit is jealous of Roderic.)

(The sweet little rabbit of all people.)

Gilbert: Wow... I'll have to give Roderic a bonus.

There's no way I wouldn't be happy to be shown such love to the point of jealousy.

This was an event that completely overturned all the depressing stuff from today.

It was practically a miracle.

Emma: ...I get it now. So this is what you've been feeling all this time.

Emma: Hehe... What do I do? I'm really jealous here.

Jealousy was supposed to be a negative emotion by nature yet the little rabbit took it in as though it were a good thing.

I felt like she'd gotten a glimpse of how this beast dealt with his jealousy on a daily basis.

Gilbert: Serious jealousy is nothing like this though, you know?

Emma: Are you saying there's more to come?

Gilbert: Yeah. Your jealousy's in the early chapters.

Gilbert: The more and more you come to love me, the less you'll be able to contain that kind of adorable jealousy.

Emma: I'll work diligently then.

Gilbert: Hehe... I can't believe you've cheered up this much just from turning into a jealousy fiend.

(It's just like Roderich was saying. I definitely shouldn't have been able to show any kindness toward my surroundings these past few days)

And yet, what occupies my heart now at the end of the day is pure happiness.

(The reason I had Emma accompany me on official business was in preparation for a day that might possibly come...)

(At least that's what I'd thought, but perhaps in reality I'd only wanted to be healed.)

(...Nothing in this rotten world can change a thing about the beautiful world that Emma brings.)

(Maybe I'm just spoiled by the comfort in that.)

(...I may be a lot more dependent on Emma than I realize.)

When I laughed despite myself, Emma began to gently stroke my hair.

Gilbert: Taming the conquering beast is difficult, isn't it? But it might be easy for you.

Gilbert: Because I'm so madly in love with you.

(I'm sure I could cherish you endlessly.)

(That's why... I wish this daily life could go on forever.)

----------

Translation references: 無理矢理 1 | かと 1 2 | 感謝してもしきれません 1 | あなたなら 1

#ikemen prince #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri translation folder

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drabbles-mc · 4 months

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Nowhere To Be

Opie Winston x F!Reader

For one of my favorite people, @justreblogginfics with the prompt: The party was great but now it’s time to find their way home, in the middle of the night in the freezing cold in high heels and a party dress.

For @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo 2023 prompt: New Years

Warnings: 18+, language, implied/referenced smut, pining

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I have missed Opie so much, so thank you for giving me the inspo and the opportunity to write this fun little somethin' for him! Happy New Year! 🥰💖

SOA Taglist: @espieviolet99 @littlekittymeow @i-just-read-stuff @fuckyeahopie @withmyteeth @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @frattsparty @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @darqchilddaydreamz @nessamc @garbinge @winchestershiresauce (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

“It is cold in California!” you said, exasperated.

Opie chuckled as he stood beside you. Part of him wanted to make a comment about the fact that you knew that, that you’d grown up in Charming just like him. Sure, you’d been on the East Coast for a few years but it wasn’t nearly long enough to wipe your memory clean of it. Plus, you’d been back in Cali long enough to have not made this mistake—you were just too tempted by the idea of a party and getting dressed up and going out.

He wanted to say all of that, could have, but instead he just said, “Yeah, it is.”

Turning to face him, you huffed out a sigh. “Why is it cold in California? I thought it was supposed to be all beaches and sunshine here.”

“You probably wouldn’t be so cold if you didn’t—”

“I look good,” you cut him off, knowing exactly where his sentence was going. “That’s not the issue here.”

“I mean,” he shifted so that he was pressed closer to you, his fingertips dragging up the side of your leg that was left exposed by the short dress that you’d worn to the party, “this feels like it might be part of the issue.”

You rolled your eyes, glad that you could say the goosebumps breaking out over your skin were because of the cold and not because of the feelings and thoughts that were coursing through you at just the slightest touch. Despite your initial impulse, you swatted his hand away.

“You didn’t seem to think it was much of an issue about an hour ago when we snuck off to the bathroom and—”

“Alright,” it was his turn to cut you off, chuckling as he did so.

He shrugged off his leather jacket, one of the million layers he always seemed to be wearing whether it was the first day of January or the last day of July. He held it out for you to take and for as much as you liked giving him a hard time, you weren’t quite committed enough to that endeavor to turn down the opportunity for some extra warmth. You snatched it out of his hand and slipped your arms into the sleeves, feeling relief not just because you immediately felt warmer, but also because the jacket smelled like him and there was comfort to be had in that too.

“Thank you,” you said, leaning into him, hands pressed against his chest.

He smiled. “Welcome.”

You tilted your head just a little farther back so that you could get a better look at him. He had one arm draped around your waist, hand resting on the small of your back. His other hand was placed on your hip, not holding you too tightly but it also would’ve taken some effort if you really wanted to pry yourself away. Not that you had any interest in that.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked.

He scanned your face for a moment, wishing that he had any idea at all where your next sentence was going to go. He knew what he wanted you to say next, but he also knew better than to hold his breath over it. Plus it was New Year’s Eve, or rather New Year’s Day by hardly an hour. And you were drunk not just off the alcohol you’d both had all night but also from the energy of the party. He knew better than to get his hopes up, and yet.

“Confessing crimes already? Year just started,” he joked.

You laughed and shook your head. “No, no crimes.” You leaned a little more onto him, taking the weight off one of your feet. “Ugh, these heels are killing me. I can’t even think.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s why you can’t think.”

You laughed, giving him a playful shove. “Shut up.”

“What’d you wanna—”

You cut him off, not meaning to, but you were already moving onto the next thing. “We gotta get back to the hotel. Because if I have to stay in these shoes any longer, I’m gonna,” you laughed, “then I’m gonna commit some crimes to confess to.”

He chuckled. “You remember how to get back?”

You turned and looked at him. You tried to hold in your laughter and failed. “No.”

He wanted to be annoyed but he had sort of seen it coming. It wasn’t surprising, to say the least. “This was your idea,” he teased as you pulled out your phone.

You waved him off. “Going out was so much easier before.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

You looked up from the GPS on your phone for a moment so that you could look him in the eye. Keeping your tone and facial expression as serious as ever, you said, “Because all the streets in New York are fuckin’ numbered, Ope.”

The statement hung in the air for a second between the two of you before you both started laughing. Opie shook his head at you, knowing that if it had been anyone else he would’ve left them to their own devices awhile ago. But it was you. He wasn’t going anywhere if it was you.

By the time you got yourself somewhat back under control, your GPS had loaded directions for how to walk back to your hotel. Lucky for you, it wasn’t as far away as you thought that it was going to be.

“I got it,” you said as you showed him your phone.

“Let me see that,” he replied, reaching to take the phone from your hand.

You swatted him away. “Hands off! You don’t think I know how to get us back?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “You want my real answer to that?”

You rolled your eyes. “I know how to follow a map.”

He shook his head, reaching for your phone again. “You don’t even look like you know how to follow a sidewalk right now.”

You gestured angrily at your heels. “That’s because of these shoes. Honestly, you might just have to carry me back.”

He chuckled, following behind you as you set off down the sidewalk in the direction your map was telling you to. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You looked over your shoulder at him. “That, or you can just drag me behind you like a caveman.”

He fell into stride next to you. Draping his arm over your shoulders, he said, “That sounds more like me.”

“Yeah, goes with the caveman beard you’ve got going on now,” you joked, reaching and toying with the ends of his beard for a moment. It was so much longer than it had been the last time you were home. Jury was still out on how you really felt about it—it took away the last of his baby-face.

He shook his head, knowing that you were always going to come up with something to give him grief about. Of the many things that had changed over the years, that was something about you that had remained constant. Infuriating and amusing all at once. He let you have that.

“Stick around long enough and you’ll get used to it,” he finally said.

“I told you,” you leaned deeper into his side for emphasis, “I’m back for good.”

He liked the sound of that, but he knew better than to buy too heavily into it. He pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head. “We’ll see.”

“Where else am I gonna go?” you asked, your mock offense not landing the way it should’ve when you were nearly tripping on the gaps in the sidewalk concrete.

He steadied you without having to give it a second thought. “Don’t know.” He chuckled. “Right now I don’t even think you’re gonna get us back to the hotel.”

You gave him a shove, not enough to really make any difference. Even on your best day in much steadier shoes it would be difficult to get him to move if he didn’t want to. All the Winston’s were like that. Your half-attempt only served to make him pull you tighter into him, which worked better for you anyway.

His hand was still resting on your shoulder, fingers pressing into the leather of his jacket that was yours for the present moment. Like it was a reflex, you reached up with your free hand and threaded your fingers with his as the two of you walked. You gave his hand a light squeeze as the two of you reached the end of the block. You gave him no warning that the two of you were turning rather than continuing forward and using the crosswalk. You knew it, too, laughing as you made a sharp right turn and pulled him with you.

You were lucky enough to catch him mid-stride, knocking him just enough off-kilter to make him follow your lead. You hadn’t been expecting it to work, and you nearly stumbled and fell in the process. Laughing, you took another half-balanced step until you felt your back rest against the side of the brick building behind you. Opie had followed your steps, his palm bracing against the wall beside your head, one leg positioned between both of yours. Your shoulders shook as you tried to hold in your laughter, your face heating up so much you were certain that if Opie touched you, he’d be able to feel it.

You placed your palm against his chest. There were words caught in the back of your throat, things that you wanted to say, things you’d been wanting to say all night, but you couldn’t get them out. You opened your mouth, hoping that would force them out, but all that came out instead was laughter that faded into a hum as you tried to get yourself under control.

When you finally resigned yourself to not being able to say anything, you slid your hand up from his chest so that it was on the back of his neck. You pulled him down into a kiss, one that he gave into easily and eagerly, pinning you between him and the wall behind you, his hand that wasn’t bracing him against the wall gripping tightly onto your hip.

His hand slid down from your hip onto your thigh, and he was about to start sliding it right back up and underneath the thin fabric of your dress. You could feel it in his movements, the way that he had to convince himself to stop. You couldn’t help but to smile into your kiss, eventually letting the laughter bubble over when he pulled his lips off of yours.

Your body was still pinned, not that you had any desire to really be anywhere else in that moment. You let your hand stray from the back of his neck. Your fingertips ghosted along his cheek, brushing along the edge of his beard. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

“Never gonna make it back at this rate,” Opie finally spoke up, not that he really seemed like he was in any great rush to go.

You laughed, head resting back against the wall behind you. “Got somewhere else you need to be?”

He smiled, shaking his head before snagging another kiss from you. “No. I got nowhere to be.”

#storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023 #sons of anarchy #soa #soa fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction #opie winston #opie winston fanfiction #opie winston x reader #opie winston x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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sweetracha · 9 months

Note

I'm about to enter work but I just had a thought.

That convo about poly minsung where MC was in love with Jisung but he was dating Minho but also has feelings for her, while Minho is aware of this and despises MC initially because of it? MC can't stand him either but tries her best for Jisung's sake, who's her beloved friends first.

Hate fucking between MC and Minho?

Fight so dirty, but you love so sweet

Sugar Content: Spicy Sweet (SMUT), Sour Sweet (Angst)

Allergy Warning: Female Pronouns, Enemies to lovers, verbal fighting, sexual scenes, hate sex, scratching, slight choking, mixed emotions, and poly! Minsung (Han only mentioned)

This fight was the biggest blowup either of you had ever experienced. Both of you were red in the face and your lungs screaming for air. Neither of you would ever get physical with each other but cutting one another down with words and guilt was completely on the table. As you two went back and forth, spewing absolute filth in each other's faces, poor Hannie was left to sit and watch.

Han and Minho have been the partners in crime for years now. The two met back in university when Han was a freshman in Minho's hall. They knew the relationship was scandalous, but they couldn't deny the attraction. It started one night when everyone was out partying, Minho wasn't looking forward to the paperwork the next morning. As he did his nightly walk, he saw a lone figure sitting in the living room under a single blue light. He knew the student was Han, he would never forget a face like that.

"Why are you out here all alone?" The poor boy jumped out of his body when Minho spoke. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"

"It's fine" Han held a hand over his heart. "Everyone is gone so I thought I'd visit the community living room…when there is no community"

The two laughed at Han's slight joke. Minho decided to join the boy for the remainder of the night until he decided to go to bed. Ever since that day the two spent every night together, and soon every day.

Han taught Minho a lot about himself. For starters, Minho was very much attracted to Han. He never really aligned with any sexual orientation, it wasn't something that concerned him but when Han asked who he had a crush on, he said the first thing that came to his mind. Han, he wanted Han.

There began their relationship, who was Minho to question it? Around 2 years later, just before Minho's graduation, Han confessed he had been attracted to some women around campus. Not that he was going to cheat but maybe he was more Bi than he thought. Again, Minho didn't give it any thought and kissed the sweet boy to stop his babbling. That was until you came along.

Han met you during a mandatory art class in your final year. Instead of paying attention to how art had evolved over the years you two focused on evolving your friendship. Class conversations turned into text messages and partner projects bled into late-night pizza parties. Every time you two hung out, it was always at the Minsung apartment. Minho couldn't stand it; he couldn't stand you.

At first, he didn't really mind you, thinking it was nice for Han to have a new friend. As time went on, however, the emotions in him grew. It wasn't until Han came to him, expressing the idea of taking you out on a date, did Minho boil over. He had never felt so strongly about anyone as he felt towards Han and you. Where he loved Han, he had to hate you. That was the only logical explanation for why he couldn't get you out of his mind late at night.

The fight only broke out because Han slipped up. He wanted this to work out so badly. Jisung saw the way Minho looked at you and the smile that graced his face when you were half asleep on their couch. Han knows Minho didn't want him to see how he gave you the nice blanket off their bed when you spent the night. Minho swore he hated you, but Han knew better.

"y/n! Shut up, you picked the movie last time!" Han yelled out as he dodged your popcorn assault on him.

"Last time was like 3 weeks ago, I say we start over" You went to snuggle up into your blanket more.

"Can we completely start over? Han didn't need that art class anyways" Minho spoke under his breath next to Han. You were blissfully unaware but Han heard everything.

"Minho stop. I needed an elective you know that" Your head perked up at the old couple bickering.

"But you had to choose the same one that the pretty girl from the cafe picked?"

"HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW SHE WAS TAKING IT"

"Well maybe it wasn't you, maybe she did it to follow you. She seems to want to be in every aspect of our lives." Minho was quick to quip back.

"Did you guys forget I'm here? I would apricate if you two would acknowledge me if you are going to talk about me" Both boys jumped a bit at your announcement. Minho wasn't fazed long.

"Admit it! You wanted to be a home wrecker, you want Han all to yourself! You are so sad about your own life, you need to destroy someone else's."

"LEAVE ALREADY! WE DON'T WANT YOU HERE!" Minho was red from his head to his feet.

That is when the yelling broke out. No one was sure when this turned into a standing argument. Han had given up on butting in, he would fix it later. Right now he was focused on how your hand reached for the front door.

"Minho…like I told you last night…Let Han make his own choices." With that final statement, you left.

Han looked up at Minho, heart visibly broken in his eyes. What did you mean by last night?

"Don't start baby boy, I don't want to get into it"

"Min, what was she talking about"

"I was just protecting us"

"What was she talking about, Lee Minho" Han never used his name like that.

There was a beat of silence as Han took in what Minho was saying. He had had enough of this bullshit. Why couldn't Minho see he was self-destructing?

"Last night she asked me something about trying to make this work for your sake. I told her if she cared for you, she should leave you alone"

"You" Han broke the silence. Minho's eyes shot up in fear. "You, if she cared about you! You can't handle the fact your emotions are mixed again. You are pushing her away like you did me! You like to think our love story was perfect but it wasn't, it was messy. I had to keep breaking down your walls until you finally let me in. We have a good thing with her Minho, don't lose that"

Minho was left alone in the living room as Han had called it a night. It was unspoken but clear that Minho could make this right or sleep on the couch. He didn't know what else to do but go find you. He grabbed his keys and hoped you were home.

He knocked on your door with a shaky stutter, contemplating if he should just leave. He was so sure about his feelings for you, this was stupid. Han was just being a bleeding heart again, wanting everyone to be happy. But you were the reason this was all wrong! He never had issues with Han until there was you. You were the issue.

"Y/n" he let out a heavy sigh. "can I come in"

"Minho?" A questioning voice sounded from the slightly open door. A quick motion wiped away the wet streaks from your puffy eyes before

Minho could see.

"Why, so you can call me desperate and depressed again? No, thank you."

"Y/n wait! For Han, can we talk for Han" It took a moment but the door finally opened.

The conversation was off and on for at least an hour if not more. You sipped on your drink as Minho picked at the skin around his fingers.

"For Han" you agreed.

"You shouldn't do that. It could get infected" The change of tone alarmed Minho.

"Why do you even care? I can't stand you and you still care about my hands?"

"You say you hate me but yet you came here to apologize."

"Talk, I'm not apologizing."

"Whatever you came here for" You sat down next to him on the couch and scooted a little closer. "I am here for you"

Minho looked deep into your eyes. He never noticed how he could read your emotions like a book in them. You wore your heart exposed to the world, like Han. Everything he loved about Han he could see in you. Why did he hate you? That was a question that he was never able to answer. He just knew he had to, you wanted his lover. But when he looked in deeper, maybe you wanted him too. Overwhelmed with his own emotions, Minho did the only thing he knew to quiet them. He kissed you.

You jumped back but didn't pull away. When it felt safe you moved back in. It started slow and cautious but quickly became heated. Minho wasn't sure if he wanted to make love to you or fuck you back into your place. He just knew right now; he was lusting for you.

Minho pushed on the small of your back, indicating he wanted you on him. You straddled his legs and settled into his lap. It was evident what was about to happen by his growing hard-on. You pulled away from his lips to catch your breath. His expression looked lost.

"Minho, we don't have to. We can just forg--"

"No, I want to, fuck I want you so bad. I don't know why I want you I just feel so--"

"Pent up?" He nodded as you were the one to now finish his sentence.

"Let it out. Fuck me the way all of your thoughts want you to. After we will pretend nothing happened. But right now, I need you just as much as you need me."

No words were said, none were needed. Lips smash into lips. It didn't matter who made the first move what mattered now was that it was beginning to heat up. Long slender hands wrapped around your waist. The fingers on those hands played with the edge of your shirt.

Minho needed to be in control. He needed to cloud out his thoughts with lust. The image of you whining under him gave him a rush of relief. You had to be trapped in his arms.

His first attempt at control left him empty-handed. Your tongues fought for dominance, and he could quickly see himself losing the battle. Like the sly cat he was, Minho played dirty. With a bite to your bottom lip and a tug, you moaned out. This was when he attacked. He took over the hungry kiss and slipped his hands under your shirt, one on your lower back and another inching its way to your chest.

"Cat got your tongue, baby girl?" Minho found his confidence when he saw nothing behind your pretty glass eyes. "You were all bark earlier tonight, yet I'm the one who had to bite."

His adventurous hand thumbed the underside of your chest. He was pleasantly surprised by the missing article of clothing.

"OH look at this baby, you were expecting me weren't you"

"No! I was going to bed. You just showed up looking for---hmm!"

"I think the kitten liked that didn't she" Minho rolled your hardening bud between his thumb and index finger. "I think that bed you mentioned might be a better place to continue, seeing how I'm already losing you."

You were tossed onto your plush bed, and both of you let out a small laugh as you bounced back. Your shirt and pj shorts were discarded somewhere in the hall along with Minho's black tank top. He was currently trying to tear off his sweats while you reach down for your panties.

"Don't." You looked up and were met with deep and dark lustful eyes.

"What?" You asked in honest confusion.

"Always doing things your way. That's what I can't stand! You always get what you want like a princess. Not tonight kitten, your listening to me." He stepped out of his sweats and lowered down to your eye level. "Dont. Touch. What's. Mine"

Before you knew it, two hands circled your ankles and anchored your feet to the bed. With your knees perfectly bent and legs opened, Minho laid a fat wet lick to the cotton of your panties. The gesture was more possessive than anything else. He did it a few more times waiting until you bucked up with impatience. When you did just that his hands grabbed the waistband of your underwear. You lifted your hips to help him but the sound of tearing fabric caught you off guard.

"Minho! What the fu-"

"Shhhhhh, always complaining. I'll buy you a new pair, a thousand pairs even! I just need you"

In that moment he sounded so desperate. You were so clouded by his dom persona. You forgot the man he was battling in his mind. He wasn't doing this out of pure lust and anger. There was a third element at play and he needed to be in control to figure it all out. You submitted to him.

Starved for you, Minho attacked your exposed sex. His mouth took purchase on your clit while his fingers explored your cunt. Just the tip of his middle finger poked in and out while he sucked on your bud with full force. It was like the two sides were fighting each other. It didn't matter to you as you were fighting for your life up on the mattress.

When your tense guard softened to an open state Minho's position stood tall. There was a silent understanding that floated through the room. Minho was allowed to do whatever he needed to. Right now, that was tasting you.

"Fuck, look at you. You taste better than your attitude would lead on. All you needed was some attention, right? Mhm, just admit it. You wanted my attention all along" You were about to answer but were cut off by your crying moan. "Oh, it looks like I found it. Good girl, just feel it. Feel the man you hate making you feel better than anyone has before. Oh, so good baby. Atta girl, just cum"

Your hands found their way into Minho's hair and took hold, the extra length helped you stable yourself. With a slight pull out of pure pleasure, Minho sat back and moaned. Before you could say anything he shoved two fingers into you.

And cum you did. You never knew you could finish so hard from someone's fingers alone but the way he spoke to you sent you over the edge. He seemed hesitant to degrade you but praise didn't come easily either. Whatever the intoxicating mix was, you were drunk on it.

So gone in fact, you didn't notice Minho looking around like he had lost something.

"I can't find my wallet" he seemed stressed and panicked. It was nice getting little glimpses of the man underneath the monster.

"Condoms left drawer. No no, the one under the light. There you go" Your response should have been comical but the heavy breathing showed its true desperate intention.

Minho opened the drawer and reached in for the familiar foil packet when his eyes found something far more interesting. A teal rabbit vibe that was worn from use. He brought the toy to life and you were immediately embarrassed by the buzz.

"This? Do you use this? This pathetic little thing. Please tell me you can take more than this, or baby I'm about to break you." Minho turned the toy to the highest setting and laid it down on your bare clit. "See, I bet I could make you moan so much louder if I just did this--" Minho replaced the toy with two rough finger pads and slightly pinched your clit. You yelled out in both pain and pleasure. "Ha, thought so"

Minho threw the toy behind him, not caring if it hit the wall and shattered. You didn't need it anyways when he is about to give you the real thing. After adjusting the condom, Minho lined up with you and slowly began to push in. The voices yelled at him to shove it in fully, to claim you, to make you pay for the words you so eagerly spewed in his direction. Then he saw the squinted look of pain in your eyes and his heart screamed for him to comfort you. For once he was going to listen to his heart.

Sweet lips found the side of your face and left little lingering kisses. A hand distracted you by toying with your previously abused bud. Your voice hitched and was overtaken by unsteady breathing as he further pushed into you.

"Shhhhh, it's okay. You are doing so well baby, taking me like a good girl. Shhhhh no no it's okay, you are okay, I got you." He was able to fully seat himself inside of you. "Pretty girl? Mark me all you want, got it?" With that Minho placed your hands on his shoulders and wrapped your bent legs around his waist.

His pace was slow and steady. He fought back the need to ruin you, especially as your claws dug into his skin. It felt like a heavenly sin to him. You were an angel, he couldn't see your halo until just now as the light illuminated your blissed-out features. Maybe he was the devil in the situation?

"More"

"What?" Your whine brought him back to reality.

"More Minho, fuck more please" you begged. Who was he to deny you?

Minho set a rough and steady pace. Pulling all the way back to the tip and then forcefully resetting his position. Over and over until you tightened around his cock. He took both of your hands in one of his and pinned them above your head. Your legs were removed from his waist and pressed into your chest. Minho took a moment to slowly test out the new angle. When a slight thrust made tears of ecstasy pool in your eyes, he set the pace.

It wasn't long before his groans and moans mixed with yours. His were laced with the smallest of whimpers, he was getting close. His free hand caged your neck and ghosted pressure to the sides. Looking deep into your eyes, Minho spoke.

"Cum"

You all but screamed out as you came on Minho. Your thighs were drenched and his torso glistened to match. You whined as you felt yourself become empty. A small chuckle left Mimho's lips are you frantically searched for him. He appeared at the side of your bed, a hand slipping into your hair. Holding the roots tightly, Minho positioned you how he wanted you.

"Eyes on me, mouth open" You were too far gone to question him. "Good girl"

Minho's eyes fought to stay open and he yanked on his still-hard cock, using your wetness as lube. He threw his head back in pleasure and bit his lip at his last few feverish tugs. Minho came all over your face, missing your mouth almost entirely.

He caught his breath quickly before running over to grab his shirt and clean you off. You pulled away as the fabric smeared the drying cum into your skin. He found a half-full bottle of water and wetted the unsoiled side of the tee. He cooed and shushed as he cleaned you.

Once you two were back to the world of the living the room fell silent. There was an unanswered question that choked you both. It was obvious the night wouldn't move on until it was addressed.

"Look" Minho spoke softly, unsure of what he wanted to say. "I didn't know I could feel this way about someone…well, I guess about two people. I took my confusion out on you, I'm sorry." A small sniffle followed.

"Minho, it's okay. I understand how confusing it can all be. To be honest I think Han might be the only one who is sure of himself here." That got Minho to crack a smile.

"If you wanted, we could make this a thing. Us, the three of us. I think we could really do it this time." Minho's eyes shined with a thousand hopeful stars.

"Minho…" and those stars burned out at your dishearted tone. "I'd like to but I can't forget everything you've said to me in the past. They hurt and I know I hurt you too. You can't deny that. I'm not saying no, but I think we need to work on it"

"How does a date sound" Minho placed a gentle hand on your bare thigh.

"A date sounds nice"

Sweetest Tags: @goblinracha, @xx3rachaslutxx, @j-onedrabbles, @lixiesweetbrownie,@marrivmel, @lyramundana, @channieandhisgoonsquad, @2chopsticks2eyes

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung #lee know #lee know smut #minho x reader

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beansricejc · 2 months

Text

"need him to pull me forcefully onto his lap and ask me where the fuck i think i’m going."

john wick x f!reader ICYMI! note: due to a bit of goofy formatting on my part, this is a reupload from 10/2023. i wasn't able to see any sort of interaction with my one-shot, so if you haven't read it, here it is! pls lmk what you think of my 100 day old baby :') warnings: voyeurism, brief drug use, dubcon(?), exhibitionism, cursing, mean name calling, slut shaming, not proof read!

need him to pull me forcefully onto his lap and ask me where the fuck i think i’m going. - yandere-chan

you don’t ever go to clubs, the only reason why you’re actually here is for a friend’s birthday party. the flashing lights and blaring music were intimidating to begin with, but after popping some sort of chocolate shroom candy, you’re having the time of your life. the way your body is feeling the rhythm of some sort of Billboard Top 100 remix, flowing with the hundreds of other dancers on the floor.

it’s the way your skirt hugs your thighs and ass as you dance is what gets his attention.

john’s here tonight celebrating an old friend’s bachelor party. he’s used to clubs like this. whether it’s for finishing a job or accompanying some sort of high level crime lord for a meeting, he’s quite immune to the vibration of the floor from the huge speakers. he’s unimpressed by the bottle girls that he’s seen come and go over the years, but if someone’s buying, he’ll indulge in a paid blowjob behind a curtain. after helen, he’s given up on romance.

but he’s not exactly known for actually enjoying his night as a regular patron. john’s four whiskeys in, definitely feeling the buzz as his legs are a bit more loose than he’s used to. he’s not on a job. not on duty. fuck it, might as well have fun. this is what he tells himself as he’s nose deep in a line of white powder on a table, his fellow bachelor party members cheering him on in a rowdy manner. the groom himself is getting a lap dance from a bottle girl in their booth behind the curtain, and john takes the opportunity to snap a quick picture of it, just for shits and giggles.

john doesn’t exactly remember how it happened, he just remembers that the woman that he was ogling on the dance floor was now being led behind his group’s curtain. of course this was you, along with a handful of your friends who were also very pretty in their own way. it seemed like the best man of the bachelor party had taken a liking to the birthday girl of your group, and you tagged along for the ride.

he can’t seem to pry his eyes from you. the way you fidget with your soft fingers while your dilated eyes roam across the back room. the way you smile and chat with his buddies as your friends introduce you, john can smell that you’re out of your element. he’s a master at reading body language, it’s part of his job actually. all signs are pointing to that you are quite inebriated, and are clearly not a party girl, despite the fairly convincing front you have on.

you smile politely as you shift your legs. you don’t know why your best friend even followed that guy back here, sometimes you want to smack her for being so stupid. but you’ll smile and bare it for now.

“and this is our buddy, john.” the best man gestures over towards the assassin. of course you don’t know of his profession yet. your shaky eyes drift to his position on the couch. the well dressed middle aged man’s eyes are stuck on you, the way that black skirt looks has him struggling to keep his composure. but he’s a professional, even if he’s not on the job. john has seen and been with his fair share of women.

now he’s picturing in his head of what he’d like to do to you. nothing exactly romantic or gentleman like.

if it weren’t for his own morals, he’d probably stand up and grab you by your pretty little neck. make you gasp for air and tremble under his touch and looming height. john has killed dozens in a single blink of an eye, man handling you and throwing you over the table wouldn’t be an issue. maybe you’d yelp at the feeling of your body being forced down by the dangerous man. maybe you’d even like it. john’s calloused and bruised hands would immediately hike that black skirt up, just to show off your beautifully crafted ass to the entire group of men, and even your friends. maybe you’d plead for him to stop, maybe you’d beg for him to keep going. who knows, perhaps you were a little slut that liked the thought of this happening.

john imagines how the fat of your thighs and ass would feel in his death grip. the strong hold that has strangled the soul’s out of countless adversaries, now grabbing and pawing at your fleshy things before giving you a hard and swift smack on your poor rear. he wonders if you’d struggle or if you’d bite your lip and arch your back. he doesn’t know which response he’d like more.

“it’s nice to meet you.” was the sentence that sucked him out of his head, along with a little smile and wave of your manicured fingers. he notices the polish. a deep burgundy, a vampy color that goes well with the season. so you’re fashionable. he could already tell with the cute outfit that you were donning, but this confirms it. john can appreciate a woman who takes care of herself.

but now there’s an image of those pretty fingers gripping his hard cock, wrapping around the width of his shaft and dragging up and down while a glob of saliva from your plump lips dribbles onto the head. the thought of you licking your lips as your small hand jerks him off, your bare knees earning gorgeous blue and purple bruises from scraping on the marble floor as you do your job oh so well. maybe your teeth would dig into your bottom lip as your eyes would blink up at him, giggling as he moaned out your name.

“come here often?” is what john asks you in return. your head turns to him again and tilts to the side, you didn’t expect the silent and brooding one of the group to ask you a question from the comfort of the velvet couch.

you chuckle and shake your head.

“not at all, actually. it’s my first time here.” you admit, shrugging your well defined shoulders while you peer at him from across the vip booth. you’re still standing in those uncomfortable looking heels, john notes that there are no bruises on your knees. maybe he can change that.

john smiles slightly at your honesty. the way his mouth upturns as his strong looking hands run through his slick back dark hair make your stomach church. you internally curse at yourself, you’ve already had your heart broken by so many men before, and you wouldn’t let this one even get close to trying.

or so you thought.

john’s brown eyes look to your uncomfortable looking feet again, and he situated himself so he’s not totally man spreading on the red couch. his hand then taps the space next to him on the cushion.

“those don’t exactly look pleasant to stand in.” john nods his head towards your heels. you blink in surprise, peering down at your own feet that have been killing you this entire time. so you chuckle and shake your head.

“yeah, doctor scholl probably doesn’t approve of these.” you retort, making john laugh at loud at your statement. you join him on the couch as he’s still chuckling at your expression.

“you’re funny.” john comments, silently noticing the way that damn black skirt rides up your thighs so deliciously as your legs cross. he realizes he’s been caught when those fingers of yours snap in his face, reverting his attention back to your face. john’s face goes a bit red when he sees the scowl you’re giving him, along with a little eye roll.

“oh i’m sure you say that to every woman you want to stick yourself into.” you tell him, there’s a silent agreement between you two that he’s been checking you out this entire time.

john’s shocked by your snarky statement though. he didn’t think he was being that obvious, but on second thought maybe he was. dammit, he was trying to be a smooth criminal with you, only to end up looking like a pervert.

“you sure are confident in yourself, huh?” he sarcastically says back to you. “trust me honey, if I wanted you, you’d know.” he’s forcing himself not to bite his lip at the scent of your perfume, some sort of vanilla cookie type of smell that was lingering in the air between you two. it was going to drive him crazy.

while he says this, you’re busy applying another layer of lip gloss in your compact mirror. John’s breath hitched at the sight of your lips rubbing together to make sure the coat is even, the shimmer on them making his pants a bit tighter.

he wonders how that lip gloss would look on his hard cock as your mouth wraps around his head. maybe that color would look good against his shaft from you placing delicate kisses against the veins of his length. the thought of your pink tongue swirling around his throbbing tip before taking his entire cock down your throat, his hand grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing your face down just a little bit deeper than you’re comfortable with just to assert his dominance over you.

it’s all making his toes curl in his leather oxfords.

he soon noticed that your delicate fingernails, the vampy colored tips, were dragging along the bulge in his pants. his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he grips the leather couch cushion, not daring to making a sudden move. apparently you are much bolder than you made yourself out to be.

oh what he would do to put your in your place. to wipe that shit eating grin off your beautiful face. to whip out his cock and think back to when he hypothetically had you bent over the table for all of his and your friends to see. ripping whatever colored panties you had on, off, and tossing them to the side. one hand firmly shoving your head into the table, another lining up the tip of his dick with your entrance, before mercilessly pounding into your cunt. punishing you for even daring to speak to him in such a manner, in front of his buddies no less. maybe his friends would cheer him on, a few taking out their phones to take a video of it. maybe your friends would be slightly turned on by the roughness and lack of decency john is showing to you. even the thought of your cunt squeezing around his length and cumming from his despicable act might make him burst.

“yeah? you like that? fucking whore.” he’d say to you as he would pin your arms behind your back, giving you another hard slap on your ass. you’d let out a moan and a grunt from the roughness of it all. “tell me you fucking love it, be a good girl for me, come on.” john would growl in your ear, the positioning of him reaching that far would force his cock to be all the way inside of your pussy. the sudden feeling would make you gasp and cry, tears rolling down your makeup covered cheeks as you babbled about how much you loved it.

john suddenly feels the lack of touch on his erection, looking up from his daydream.

“come on dude, we’re all getting shots and then going on the dance floor.” the groom of john’s party calls to him, his group laughs at john’s lack of awareness as most of the crowd exits the vip booth from behind the curtains.

you’re the last to stand up, grabbing your purse and smoothing out your skirt before you joined the rest. you believe you’ve won this round of teasing with this complete stranger.

oh how wrong you are.

a surprised squeak escaped your glossy lips as you feel john’s strong hands grip your hips and waist. his nails dug hard through your clothing, using those unstable high heels to his advantage. your balance in those was subpar at best anyways, and now, he could easily snatch you up, even from where he was sitting.

“h-hey!” you squeal, john could fucking care less. your ass falls straight into his lap, with you immediately feeling how hard his is, and how wonderful it feels against your throbbing pussy. even if you did have underwear on, it didn’t matter. sitting in him was definitely going to leave a wet spot.

john gives you a dark and satisfied grin, leaning towards your ear with his hands beginning to hike up your skirt. your heart pounded as he was getting ready to have his way with your poor body.

“where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

#john wick #jw #keanu reeves #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #john wick imagine #keanu #john wick one shot #john wick fanfic #keanuverse #jw4

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years

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Danny had been following...ok, stalking his bio dad for a while now. He didn't have anywhere to go after Amity blew up and Clockwork just came out of no where almost a week after the initial incident to pretty much say, "Hey! You're adopted! Also you're a clone baby! This is the name and main alias of your parent and here's how you get to your home dimension!" Then he was gone.

Ancients.

Again, its not like he had anywhere to go and he had nothing better to do. So following around his fourteen year old father (his original?) and his scary bat mentor around a gross crime filled city at night seemed better than nothing. It felt kinda wierd calling him dad in his head but at the same time he didn't want to call him anything else. His inner Jazz said it might be his subconscious grasping for any safe or familial connections it can find, but whatever. He'll call him dad. Who will ever know?

He knows Clockwork told him not to interfere with any of the battles here. He was only ever meant to be a fly on the wall (actually he wasn't even supposed to be here but the old stopwatch couldn't really stop him) but it was so frustrating to see this Red Hood guy appear one day and start hurting his dad and not being able to do anything without exposing himself.

But nothing prepared him for the new Robin.

He hated the new Robin. He had everything Danny ever wanted and he chose to treat his family like that? The anger he felt towards RH was nothing compared to what he felt towards the new little bird. Damian would look around whenever he was alone, likely feeling they eyes on him from Phantoms intense glare. Good. He wanted the kid to know he was unwelcome.

Danny may have died at eight and become a superhero, but that didn't mean he couldn't hate another child vigilante if he was given enough reason to. Danny stopped aging after the explosion that ruined his afterlife and his inner Jazz had a lot of theories about that but in reality he knew why.

He had been waiting.

He knew the bats were mortal and one day Batman would be too old to fight and Robin -now Red Robin- would need a protégé of his own, right? Then he'd pop in and reveal himself as Tim Drakes long lost clone son and everything would be perfect.

Damian didn't just put a wrench in those plans. He ruined them entirely! If Batman is replaced by Damian than Red Robin will likely always be a sidekick.

And sidekicks don't need sidekicks of thier own.

So Phantom made it his afterlifes mission to make Damians stay in Gotham as miserable as possible to make him leave. He would make sure Damian would go back to whereever he came from at the first available opportunity, even if he had to possess the whole city to do it.

----

Danny took cover with some other kids in a nearby clothing store. The riddler was one of Batmans common rogues and was dangerous. He and the others watched in horror as a third party, likely a gang of some kind that didn't appreciate a hero battle on thier turf, stupidly fired a freaking rocket launcher at the two of them. The projectile missed the mark by a large margin and hit a nearby business tower, sending rubble and debris down of the two fighters. Riddler was quickly pinned while Batman eventually got pinned after a few really cool evasive maneuvers. Red Robin went to assist while Robin went to fight the gang members. A lucky shot from one of the gang members got RR in the leg, sending him down momentarily.

Danny managed to rally the other kids to help dig Batman and Riddler out from where they were trapped by stealing a bunch of black hoodies for them to wear and ripping up a black shirt for them to wear as blindfolds. They could see out of them just fine, but it would hide thier identities from all parties.

Together they rescued the pair and Danny silently rejoiced at helping Red Robin limp away and treat his wound at a safer location. As much as he wanted to let this interaction last, he knew he had to bouce once RR started asking him questions.

Phantom later looked at himself in the reflection of a piece of building material. He had been told before that a ghosts appearance could change based on significant events in thier afterlives. Seeing his former symbol on his chest had disappeared and the smooth crisp edges of the black blindfold that had materialized on his face he knew what had happened. And he knew he would do anything to be with his father again.

His efforts to get rid of Damian intensified.

#fanfiction prompts #prompts #dp x dc #danny fenton #danny phantom #robin #damian wayne #tim drake #red robin #batman #bruce wayne #oh boy #tim drakes clone baby #stalker clone baby phantom au #danny: why wont you go away?!?!#damian: i swear someones out to get me!#tim: its probably bad karma for all the stuff you did

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dotieeee · 3 months

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The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 8

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 8 Warnings:

Noncon elements, drugging, somnophilia, Snow being creepy af, experiments conducted on children (because it isn't Hunger Games without it lol), jealous Snow if you squint, violence

Replay Level 7

Ready? Level 8 Start:

You’re startled back to your senses when your communicuff beeps in your pocket. Not even halfway through the week and you’re already feeling the effects of not getting enough sleep since you began working for Coriolanus Snow. Even during the weekend before, when you were supposed to be resting, or going out for coffee or shopping, or whatever the hell it is that young adults such as yourself do during their spare time, you were hiding in your room, paralysed with worry for the direction your uncle’s project has gone to.

His name and yours, now part of the mindless slaughter of district children whose only crime was to be born poor in the wrong place.

You get nightmares almost every day now since you began working at the Citadel. Not that you can remember any of them; they slip from your grasp like smoke the moment your Uncle Cas wakes you. Every time he gently shakes you back to reality and tells you that you’ve been crying out for your parents again, all you see is his face, worn beyond his years of working, toiling, taking care of you, worrying about you, making sure you were happy. Knowing what you already know about where his life’s work is heading, kills you inside just thinking of telling him.

You play the voice message, thankful it isn’t from your tyrannical new boss who always seems to find new ways to hog your time all to himself. It’s embarrassing enough you got woken up by him to find his coat draped on you, with F3 arriving for his shift just in time to see him plant a kiss on your head. This morning, you had hardly placed your bag down on your desk when F1 made teasing remarks about you being in denial.

What’s the old saying? About denial not only being a river in Egypt? Did it also say anything about being willing to drown oneself in it to be put out of misery?

The message you play is from F2. She says there’s a shipment waiting at the gates for Acacius Innis, which they suspect are the drives your uncle supposedly ordered for his station, and you need to sign off on it as his replacement. Maybe he ordered them before discovering he was going to be promoted.

You take your barely coherent self to the entrance where a man in courier uniform flipping through receipts on a clipboard is waiting for you, a few medium-sized boxes stacked by his feet with the Innis Tech logo and a District 3 seal. He looks up from his clipboard and greets you with a smile as soon as you get near him. You know that greying hair and the lines at the corner of his eyes.

The bartender at Strabo’s party.

“Sign here, please,” he says as he hands you his clipboard and a pen.

He doesn’t seem to recognise you, but even in your sleep-deprived state, those features are unmistakable. He acknowledges your signature with a tip of his hat, a small ‘thank you,’ and walks away.

Maybe he works two jobs, you surmise. You think nothing of it any further as you head back to your work, while a couple of peacekeepers lug the boxes along. They take them to your office where you pore through their contents – as expected, they’re just empty drives, plus a single floppy disk with a blank label. You stow the disk in your drawer, thinking it must’ve been just a freebie or some playful inside joke between your uncle and his ex-wife.

It's almost nine by the time your final batch of unit testing is finished, and when Coriolanus Snow arrives in your office to check your progress, you give him the news he’d been waiting for:

“We’re ready for integration testing.”

The perversely delighted expression that grows on his face is something you’d never like to see in many other circumstances.

This night’s sleep proves elusive, just hours of tossing and turning, drifting in and out, only for you to fall asleep then wake up again with your uncle’s worry-plastered face, your lack of proper rest affecting the both of you. In the end, you don’t get any more shut-eye aside from the three or four hours you already had.

As you take your third cup of coffee at a quarter past eight in the morning on a Wednesday, that’s when you know you’re eventually going to crash. You just hope to anyone who bothers to listen that it doesn’t happen during your presentation to Volumnia Gaul.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re making your way to the designated testing room a few doors away from your office. The night shift crew from last night scrambled to finish the set-up according to the end-of-day report from F3, and since you’re early anyway, checking for last-minute adjustments can’t hurt.

You flick the lights on inside the room, gasping at the sight that greets you.

The space is humongous, with its high ceilings and carpeted floors. The room slopes towards a flat centre which has already been fitted with several computer sets, just like you instructed, arranged in the form of a pyramid, with the three in the middle set-up with multiple screens. The entire set faces a total of twenty-nine monitors built into the wall: twelve on either side, with four more below the largest one at the centre. To your left are three windows made of glass, covered from the inside with curtains you can’t see through. You find it peculiar that three more sets of computers are installed just before the windows, but you decide to ignore it, thinking it might just be something they couldn’t remove before this day. The thing is massive, after all.

You look around, your eyes landing on the glass observation deck where you assume Dr Gaul would stay. From that cushy little box, she would observe the entire experiment with her piercing, mismatched eyes, revelling in the future horrors your work will bring about.

The door to the testing room echoes as it opens, making you almost jump in place. You can’t tell whether it’s the nerves, or the caffeine, or the lack of sleep that’s making you more agitated than usual, but also maybe it’s because of the person who had just arrived, taking calculated steps towards you with his footsteps echoing despite the carpeted floors.

“Good morning, Nellie,” Coriolanus Snow greets you with a tilt of his head and a smile, and as warm as that greeting might look, it’s often hard to tell what lies behind that mask of his. Whatever it is isn’t good.

Still, you greet him back just as warmly as if the fact that he’d be evaluating your performance today isn’t bothering you at all. “Good morning, Coryo.”

Your mentor comes close inches before you, invading your space as always. He peers into your face with those striking blue eyes before worry etches into his. “Sugarplum, you have not been sleeping well,” he deduces correctly. “Are you okay?”

You wave off his concern with a shake of your head. “I’ll sleep better when the tests are over.”

“Tell me about it,” he says with a chuckle. He pauses for a while, his gaze never straying from your lips. You quell the need to move away from him. As an afterthought, he assures you, “You’ll do perfectly today; I know that much.”

You wish you had the same confidence he has in you as you have for yourself.

The twins arrive for a final inspection thirty minutes before your presentation to Dr. Gaul. You spend the rest of the remaining time inspecting the equipment with them, ensuring everything is in place. Every monitor mounted on the wall is turned on, and the computers begin powering up, prompting the screens to flash the Hunger Games screensaver. They check the computer facing the glass windows last, which as far as you remember, isn’t on the list of equipment you had asked them to prepare. You ask them why it needs a look over, but their response is vague.

“It’s the first agenda for after lunch’s presentation. Mr Innis supervised the testing for this before, so we’ll take care of the demo,” F2 says.

Volumnia Gaul arrives exactly at nine, escorted by two stoic peacekeepers in their grey-blue uniforms. Today, she wears her usual lab coat, pristine white morphing into scarlet, her gloves made of leather of the bloody shade. You join in when everyone in the room welcomes her.

“Mr Snow.” Her drawling voice greets your mentor. “You have been hard at work, you and your little apprentice,” she glances at you, drumming her gloved fingers together her smile widening in anticipation. “Now I gather you’ve a little show for me, Mr Snow. Let the theatre commence!”

At her cue, Coriolanus officially welcomes her to the integration test, while you initiate Begin Game on the main command console.

You step aside so you can show Dr Gaul the main command console’s user interface: everything from camera control, drone management software, motion tracking and the tribute odds system, the vital signs tracking software, and overall game environment controls software, each displayed on a single monitor hooked on main – everything you and your uncle spent blood, tears and sweat on, contained in a single computer station.

“...In other words,” you conclude, “The main command console is the brains of the entire operation. It oversees everything, even the consoles used by the gamemakers, the mentors, and the operators. This is what we use to begin the Game, and it’s programmed to automatically save game data when only one tribute remains, which it detects because of the vitals tracking device. Override requests go to this console, as well.”

Dr Gaul’s eyes are glowing, but you know that it isn’t because of the lights on the monitors. A despicable grin dances on her features as she chuckles lowly to herself.

“My, oh my, what a promising start, Ms Innis,” she says softly with delight, her eyes shifting only from screen to screen. “This is just magnificent.”

You move on to the console beside the main, the one you’ve programmed as the gamemaker console which F1 will demonstrate. She navigates the interface while you expound the functions: the ability to shift camera angles, alerts for donations made to a tribute on the tribute status screen, tribute status and odds percentages onscreen...

“...and most importantly, the game environment control. Basic commands such as the activating of traps and releasing of any mutts...availability, of course, depends on the environment.”

F1 chimes in, “If I may direct your attention to the test arena being flashed on the monitors, please.” He waves a hand to the camera angle showing the Citadel basement: nothing but grey walls and decommissioned equipment archived or otherwise abandoned.

“Putting that useless old space to use, I see,” Dr Gaul smirks.

“The team has installed several mini explosives in the space, which we can activate with a single click,” says F2.

“That, and an artificial weather control system – bring on the heat, or the cold, or the rain,” F1 adds proudly. F2 runs a command on the console, letting artificial rain down on a small section of the makeshift arena, which darkens the grey walls and initiates a spark in one of the abandoned equipment.

“Some of those might still be plugged into an electrical source, which could prove hazardous,” you comment, but F1 brushes off your concerned look.

“Oh yeah, we hooked it up to a separate source,” he just replies vaguely.

“Add acid rain.”

Everyone’s heads turn to Dr Gaul at her suggestion. Her smile just widens, revealing her white teeth, her eyes brimming with barely contained excitement. She drums her fingers together and elaborates, “Acid rain, acid rain; melt their skins, o what great pain!”

You turn away to feign browsing through the console’s tabs, while Coriolanus clears his throat and casually suggests adding burn medicine and burn relief ointments to the mentor inventory.

F1 and F2 merely nod, and you three move on to the mentor console.

“We decommissioned the bulkier communicuffs from the previous games to make way for this,” you gesture to the computer F2 navigates. A wave of nausea hits you, but you attempt to mask it by leaning into the back of a computer chair for support. “The mentors will be assigned one of each console, which they will use to send items and gifts and track their tribute’s odds.”

You go on further by establishing the best modification yet to the way the mentors send their items: mentors can now send multiple items at once, with a maximum weight of five kilograms.

“That way, we minimise drone damage and repair costs. Also, before the mentor hits send, they will get a preview of how their tribute’s odds will approximately change when they receive and use the items, thus helping drive mentors’ decision-making in looking out for their tributes and ensuring their win.”

Your boss’s boss tilts her head in curiosity. “I just love it when they get competitive – that drive, you could almost smell in the air, it just makes it all the more fun to watch.”

You nod once at F2, who clicks on a bottle of water and a slice of bread on the inventory and hits send, and all of you watch with bated breath as the drone circles the area and drops it gently on a flat surface, directly on top of an ancient analogue computer.

“We don’t have a tribute registered as an official player yet, but once we do, it will deliver the goods just like before, but with better accuracy rates owing to enhancements in the facial recognition software,” F2 explains.

Dr Gaul hums. “And what of the sponsor system?”

F1 takes care of the operator console demo, and your mentor chooses this moment to draw closer to your side, his face radiant with pride. I guess that means he likes your performance. His eyes then hone on your hand still clinging to the chair’s backrest, but before he can say something, you approach F1 and look over his shoulder as he explains how the last console works.

Pretty simple, actually: the operator receives a call for a sponsorship; they enter the sponsor’s bank account details, the amount or the item on the system and their designated benefactor, the system alerts the mentor who received the gift and gets an alert on their console, and an alert goes to the gamemakers’ and the main as well.

F2 adds helpfully that the operator console should be run by a representative from the Citadel’s finance department, to which Gaul agrees.

You surmise it’s the same entity running the betting system where the Games rakes the most money.

To finish the demo, you mention the existence of backup computers on standby in the event of a hardware malfunction. While it’s unlikely as all the equipment is brand-new, it’s something your uncle would do: to be one step ahead of everything.

Something you wish you would’ve done before ever engaging with Coriolanus Snow.

The first part of the integration tests finishes with you and your team opening the panel for questions, which you all answer with practised ease. When she seems satisfied with everything, she announces lunch on her, and within minutes, you’re being driven by a large van to The White Knight, where you’re all waited on graciously by the restaurant staff. Everyone takes their seat at a rounded table, with you beside Coriolanus, who has taken you here for dinner a few times since last week.

And all of those times, you made sure to order the angel food cake.

Today, however, you can’t bring yourself to eat that much, so you skip the cake, thinking it doesn’t deserve a half-assed digging-in, and opt for an affogato instead. That counts as dessert, right? Still, the ever-observant Coriolanus squeezes your thigh gently under the table, making you peer into his face, subtly questioning you. You just flash him a smile and concentrate on your dessert. You could slap that hand off too, but then he takes it off slowly, dragging your skirt up a little in the process.

You lose whatever remaining appetite you have, but you push through. Only half a day left, and you can maybe just hand in your resignation tomorrow and forget about this whole thing. And then maybe live in the woods, after.

Everyone is taken back to the Citadel at twelve-thirty, and Dr Gaul gives the go-ahead for the second part of the integration test at one.

Nursing an incoming headache courtesy of the espresso from lunch, you miserably accompany F1 and F2 to prepare for their demo on the computers right before the glass windows. Dr Gaul makes her entrance on time, so you stand back and watch with Coriolanus as the siblings take the reigns on the stations they set up before the windows.

F1 runs a command on his computer, which turns the lights on behind the curtains before they’re drawn to the side, and what you thought were initially windows reveal a shocking sight – something else you hadn’t been expecting to see.

Behind each glass pane, separated by thick walls, are three captives, one male and two females, all of them looking not much older than in their late teens. They seem to have been awakened by the sudden blaring of lights inside their enclosure and are stirring awake from their cots. They look a little thin and pale, but there is not an ounce of confusion in their expressions, as if they had been there for a while and are used to being woken up like so. The brown-haired male mouths something that you read on his lips as ‘hello.’

You could feel your own eyes widen at the sight of them, your mouth opening on its own accord to let out a protest, but your throat dries up as a cold, firm hand closes on yours. Coriolanus Snow’s cold cerulean orbs, pinning you to place, spell a single, well-understood warning:

‘Don’t.’

F2’s voice floats in the space as she introduces the second stage of the integration test.

“What you’re currently seeing is one of our many additions to the game interface: we’ve inserted a microchip into the test subjects you see in the windows which transmits real-time data to our system: heart rate, pulse, blood pressure, and other vital signs, plus levels of cortisol, serotonin...”

F2 drones on with her explanation of how the microchip works, just as you watch while the three teens are served food through a small slot at the far end of their cells.

“We will spend the next three hours observing how the chip works and how it transmits data that could influence audience betting, sponsorship, and decision-making. Mr Innis designed a learning algorithm that makes use of motion-tracking software to study the tributes’ every move in real-time, which contributes largely to the accuracy of the odds on our screen. We hope to gather their responses to a number of stimuli we’ll be exposing them to within the said time to demonstrate the software’s capabilities.”

When they begin eating, F1 begins explaining to Dr Gaul, who approaches the computer screens to look at the data, how the system measures hormones related to food intake, among others.

You could feel your head start to throb and can’t help wincing at the pain. Coriolanus’s hand is still on yours, he feigns looking over at the computers then meets your eyes, shooting you a questioning look.

Are you okay?

You blink once, indicating you’re fine and break the eye contact just as he releases his grip on you. He doesn’t really care, you know that much; his only concern is the success of this presentation, and you’re not about to fuck it up for him. Instead, you peer curiously at the food they served the three teens, noting how little they’re given: a slice of stale, brown bread, a small bowl of soup, and a single bottle of water.

The male, however, finishes his meal rather quickly and raps on the glass impatiently, mouthing something you can’t quite make out.

“Their enclosure is soundproof, even their walls so they can’t hear each other; they can’t see through the glass, either. In each cell, however, we placed a screen on a corner of each wall, where they could see and hear us individually when we address them through the intercom,” F1 says. That’s when you notice that each computer station is equipped with a small, built-in camera on top of the monitor.

F2 nods and elaborates, “We figured they’d be more likely to cooperate if they see a face guiding them through the experiments.”

You take the remaining computer station beside F2, activate the teenage male’s intercom and place him on speakers.

“...Hey, hey, I can see you!” He shouts at the screen, waving frantically. “Can you hear me? Been talkin’ for a while now, did anybody get that?”

“No, I’m sorry...” you say through the microphone. You scan through his uploaded background information on the computer. “Callahan, you’ll have to say that again, please.”

“Whoa,” Callahan stares in wonder at the intercom screen in his room. “Uh, I was just askin’ when ya’ll’re gon’ let me out, but...it’s nice to hear from anyone, really. Been cooped up here a long time.”

You inhale sharply as you turn off your mic. This is going to be a long three hours. “Honestly, I don’t know,” you confess to him on the mic. According to all the files on the test subjects, they're promised a sum of money and a year’s worth of grains once they’re sent home. In seventeen-year-old Callahan Brody’s case, home is District 3.

Where the Innises began building their empire.

“Our timetable is based on the success of the experiments you’re recruited for,” you add.

He bats his eyelashes at the monitor, his eyes innocently bulging in awe. It’s odd to see him ogle at the piece of tech, knowing he’s seen much more impressive stuff in his line of work if his file is to be believed. “Hey, as long as...I’m not talkin’ to meself all the damn time.”

Coriolanus approaches your side, placing his hand on the back of your chair.

“Whoa, you’re really pretty.” Callahan chuckles bashfully at the screen. “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ stuck here for days if it means I get to see you.”

He was staring at you and not the tech, you belatedly realise. Your glance automatically goes up to your mentor, whose hardened eyes betray his displeasure at the interaction, no matter how blank he keeps his expression.

“Flattery won’t get you out of this sooner,” you say.

F1 casually mentions an increase in oxytocin and testosterone levels detected by the software on Callahan’s profile tab.

You could feel Coriolanus’s ire radiating off him in waves.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Callahan asks through the intercom.

You give him a false name for the experiment’s sake. This a scientific pursuit, you remind yourself. You and the siblings take turns getting him to talk about himself, so the software can continue logging his vitals in the process.

He tells you that his favourite food is roasted chicken and gravy, but that he only gets to eat it on special occasions. During his spare time, he likes taking apart the family radio and the old television that he inherited from his grandfather, and he had two siblings who’d help him put them back before their father got home. He says he used to work for one of your family’s factories before he came here, confirming the data logged on his file. He talks about the assembly line he was a part of before A.I.-powered machinery replaced him, rendering his job, and him, obsolete. He says he was just one of the hundreds laid off and replaced by robots.

Does your uncle know about this?

“I used to be a computer technician,” he continues. Really? That isn’t on his file, you note. “But then I lost my drive.”

You had to put your hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh brought about by that unexpected joke.

“Nerd.” F2 pokes your arm teasingly as she laughs along.

F1 verbalises a spike in endorphins in between soft bouts of laughter. “Sorry,” he tells Dr. Gaul, whose eyebrow is raised in mild amusement. “We’re a sucker for puns.”

“Of all the people they could get from the districts, they settle for another nerd,” F2 says under her breath.

Callahan seems to be delighted to entertain. “Hey, I got ‘nuther one: why do programmers hate going outside?”

F1 quips excitedly. “Ooh, I know that!”

“Because outside’s full of bugs.”

F1 and F2 both crack up, with F2 suggesting ‘we should keep him.’

You decide to play along with Callahan if only to get a rise out of your mentor, the only one who isn’t finding anything amusing out of the exchange.

“What’s a computer’s favourite snack?” you ask him on the intercom.

“What?” He and your computer engineers ask in unison.

With suppressed smile you say, “Chips.”

The laugh you get out of your subject from District 3 records the spike, while Coriolanus rolls his eyes in exasperation. He suggests moving on to the other test subjects, and the three of you oblige, repeating the same experiment.

The girl beside Callahan’s cell is significantly more reserved, and it takes a while for the three of you to elicit a response from her. Tansey Page, barely fourteen with her curly red hair and wide, almost scared eyes, is from District 11. Based on her file, she’s been living with an aunt, her only living relative, since her parents perished in the war. Her aunt had been unable to work due to a bad fall from a nectarine tree from which she never recuperated, and Tansey had to earn a living for both of them at the age of nine. As your software does its job logging spikes to her vitals, you can’t help but think about how dire her situation was that she had to enlist for this test and leave behind an aunt who barely seems to have the capacity to take care of herself.

Once Tansey opens up, you discover she’s a soft-spoken, sweet girl who loves jellied blackberries. She says she loves to read, but since they couldn’t afford books, she would often copy stories by hand on paper from borrowed books. Hearing her recount this pains you, but you follow the siblings’ example and not let it affect you. Besides, there isn’t anything you can do for her at this point but succeed in the tests so they can all go back home to their families in the districts with the payment they’re promised.

The third and last subject, Audrey Mills, blond and pale with shifting reddish eyes, is the most difficult to work with out of the three. She barely looks at the screen in her cell, just huddled on her bed with her knees to her chest, only tensing slightly when she hears anyone of you three ask her a question through her intercom. The uploaded file tells more about her than she does: she’s from District 7, aged sixteen, abandoned by rebel parents who are presumed dead, and raised by her grandmother who recently passed away. She was targeted by a trafficker nicknamed ‘The Wolf,’ probably due to her unique features, but she fought him off and murdered him by bashing him on the head repeatedly with a blunt axe. It took four peacekeepers to haul her away from the body, and unlike the other two teens, she didn’t willingly sign up for the tests and was sent here with only the promise of being pardoned for her crime.

In the end, F1 gives up with an annoyed sigh, and having only an hour left for the tests, he decides to move on to another pursuit.

“This last portion of the test will showcase the software’s ability to record vital signs in the event of negative stimuli. The subjects will be injected with a slow-acting compound laced with a hallucinogenic that targets the amygdala, or the fear centre of the brain, and mimics anything the test subjects may define as hostile. We hope to gauge the effectivity of our software by recording any physiological and hormonal changes on each subject as they would in a natural, stressful environment.”

F1 fishes out a walkie-talkie from his lab coat and through it, he says, “Begin with Test Subject 3.”

Even before you can open your mouth to object to the experiment, two peacekeepers enter Audrey’s cell from a concealed door behind her bed, followed by a female nurse carrying a large syringe. Audrey puts up a fight and tries to evade what to her would be an unknown chemical being forced upon her, but her weakened state proves no match to the peacekeepers who pin her arms and legs to the floor, while the nurse injects her with the compound. She just lies on her belly, presumably screaming, and they eventually leave her alone in her cell, having done their job. She gets to her feet and back to cowering on her bed, visibly shaken by the way she was manhandled.

These are the kind of tests Uncle Cas had to endure conducting under his supervision.

F1 commands through his walkie-talkie for Test Subject 2 to be injected with the same compound.

You and F2 exchange looks. She explains, trying to keep her voice straight, “We’re dosing them at the same time because it takes about fifteen to thirty minutes for the drug to take effect,” she glances sideways at her brother and asks, “Aren’t we going to give the dose to Test Subject 1?”

F1 considers the question, but replies, “No, we leave him as control. Besides, he’s the only one that didn’t piss me off today.”

You watch numbly as the peacekeepers and the nurse from a while ago enter Tansey’s cell. Compared to Audrey, Tansey keeps perfectly still, her eyes fearful and wary and darting from between the peacekeepers’ guns to the syringe needle. She exposes her arm mutely to the nurse, who promptly sticks the syringe into her before stepping out of the enclosure and taking the peacekeepers with her. The wait begins – a long, depraved contest of who gets affected first between Test Subjects 2 and 3.

Tansey’s breathing rate begins to increase at the fifteen-minute mark. She slowly rises from her perch on the cot while she stares with wide eyes at something in the air. Her heart rate increases, according to the system, along with rising levels of adrenocorticotropin.

“Cortisol levels are also rising,” F2 observes aloud. “Test Subject 2 exhibiting signs of stress.”

“What are you seeing, Tansey?” you ask the teen.

But all you get from her is panicked screaming, so you put her to mute at once, helplessly watching as she flails her arms and runs around in her cell in an effort to swat away whatever she’s seeing, which seems to be attacking her from the air in all directions.

“I think she’s seeing tracker jackers...” you whisper to no one in particular. “Which makes sense, given her work environment...”

You’re about to ask if they also developed an antidote for this compound, but a dull thud on the glass startles you – Audrey just banged on the glass with her palms, her vitals are a disarray, and her blonde hair is matted with sweat. She keeps glancing behind her and screaming and hitting the window with her balled fists, almost like she’s begging to be let out.

F2 urgently asks through the intercom, “Audrey, I need you to describe what you’re seeing.”

For the first time today, Audrey opens her mouth to speak, her voice hoarse and filled with despair. “The Wolf.”

“She’s hallucinating her attacker,” F2 says as she turns her mic off.

“That means the drug is working, and the software seems to have an accurate read on all physiological and hormonal spikes. Control subject is fine and his vitals are stable,” F1 notes in a matter-of-fact tone. “Everything in their cells, by the way, is being captured by our motion tracker and being fed to the algorithm in real time.”

But, what for, when you’ve already covered that portion in the first part of the integration tests?

You spend the last fifteen minutes of the tests completely dumbstruck, petrified and wishing everything to be over so you can put this horrible job behind you and move on with your life. You keep stealing glances at Coriolanus, but his face is as stony as ever, and Dr Gaul just seems to be having the time of her life watching the test subjects run about in their cells letting out screams only they can hear, tormented by horrors only they can perceive.

By the time F1 declares the tests a success, you’re barely paying attention to his words – you just stare at the computer monitor, waiting for the save progress to reach a hundred percent before you can shut it down. Coriolanus places a hand on your shoulder, which you take as your cue to stand while your department head gives her verdict.

The Head Gamemaker dons a pleased smile as she delivers her final feedback. She seems absolutely thrilled with the tests so far and commends everyone hard at work on seeing the program to completion.

Dr Gaul clasps her hands together as she asks, “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I heard your team mention a trial Hunger Games using the test subjects?”

It can’t be, it just might be your physically and emotionally exhausted state mishearing her. You just blink, careful to pay more attention.

F2 gives an affirmative nod as she adjusts her glasses. “It’s called grey-box testing. The idea is to pool in end-users, ideally those who have partial knowledge of the internal structure, to help us test the software. We have F3, whom we’ve already asked prior to this, and Mr Snow has also volunteered himself and his apprentice, Ms Innis, to participate as test mentors.”

Dr Gaul nods her head in approval. “Indeed. I am glad that your team understands the exigency of this project, Mr Snow. The Twelfth Hunger Games is upon us, and I’d like to see this thing of beauty put to great use.”

Your world is in a tailspin. Your grip on the back of your computer chair is the only thing that keeps you from falling. Your hands are shaking even as you pretend you only had to grab the bottle of water on the station behind you to dissuade your mentor’s worried looks.

So, this is what they were recording them for, you conclude. To top it off, your boss has enlisted you as a test mentor, which means you will be responsible for the death of one or more of the teenagers you had just observed minutes ago being needlessly tortured so more could take their place this July.

Unable to control your lightheadedness any longer, you fall sideways with nothing to break your descent but the chair you had been sitting on.

A pair of strong arms is on you at once, gathering you and carrying you bridal style, ignoring your weakened protests. Everything is a blur, and you get dizzier in its hold, but you fight to stay conscious no matter how fleeting. The world only steadies when you’re set down on what feels like soft leather.

You wince at the bright light that floods your eyes. There’s a muffled voice you can make out that seems to be calling your name. When your vision and hearing clear, you finally make out the source of that blinding light: a penlight held by Dr Gaul herself, which she turns off; that voice belonging to none other than Coriolanus Snow whose hands are clasping one of yours.

“There she is, your little pet. Poor thing is fatigued, by the looks of her,” Dr Gaul chuckles lightly and raises an eyebrow at him. “You ought to keep your hands away from her every so often.”

Coriolanus merely exhales in relief, but his jaw remains tense. “She is merely preoccupied with the program, Dr. Gaul. She hasn’t been sleeping very well for the past weeks.”

The woman simply clicks her tongue in impatience. The sound of peeling latex gloves breaks the quiet in the room momentarily, followed by the opening of a sliding door shelf, the clinking of glass bottles and the closing of said shelf. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the doctor hand your mentor something you can’t see.

Gingerly, you sit up on the infirmary bed, and Coriolanus helps steady you by placing his hands on your shoulders.

Dr Gaul’s voice echoes in the room. “I’d like you to be in tip-top shape, Ms Innis, so I will give you the day off tomorrow. I will delay the trial, but only for a day more. Take her home, Mr Snow. Get some rest, both of you. Come this Friday, we’ll continue.”

She turns on her heels and walks away. Coriolanus’s sharp eyes follow his mentor’s retreating form until she disappears from the room. He then turns to you, his concerned blue orbs raking your form.

He cups your cheeks as he whispers, “You gave me quite the scare, my sugarplum.” He kisses you on the forehead, then asks, “Tell me what you’re feeling. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Other than my head pounding? I’m fine, I guess. I just need some sleep,” your hushed tone says. And other than your tights sustaining a rip on the right thigh from your fall on the computer chair, everything else on you seems to be intact, so you try to stand. The floor seems to move the moment you get to your feet, and Coriolanus catches you before another stumble.

“You’re coming with me to my place,” he says firmly.

You begin protesting, “Coryo, I can just go home –”

You’re interrupted by your own yelp of surprise – to your mortification, he carries you in his arms just as he did when he brought you to the infirmary.

He raises a chastising eyebrow at you. “I’m having none of your complaints. You’re in no state to walk, or to go to your home – it’s too far. My apartment is closer.”

You can’t find the words to argue this logic, so you burrow your face further into his coat in embarrassment. He carries you to his car and instructs his driver to head to his home. You count a few blocks before you arrive at the entrance to this new luxury apartment building. You remember this building from a flyer; despite its ridiculous markup, it targeted uni students, promising luxury features that somewhat rival that of The Corso’s.

It takes a while for you to assure him that you can walk fine on your own, but he relents in the end with a purse of his lips. You could tell he’s displeased by your refusal to be carried like a damsel in distress, but he settles for putting his arm around your shoulders as he walks you across the building’s fine lobby and to the elevator. It’s his private elevator, he says – a perk of owning the largest penthouse spanning the entire top floor. That and exclusive access to the rooftop, he adds.

All this extravagance bought and paid for by the family of a man he presumably betrayed, you bitterly think.

This begs the question: how much longer you can overlook the possibility that he had Sejanus executed?

You silence that snide voice in your head, only because it just served to amplify your pain.

He’s greeted by a maid right in his foyer, who takes both your coats, before he instructs her curtly to make some tea. With his hand on your lower back, he leads you to his spacious living room with windows overlooking the Capitol bathed in the orange gleam of the setting sun, and you can’t help but look around you in amazement at the sheer elegance of his unit. You could see why it would appeal to students; it certainly favoured contemporary interior decor compared to that of The Corso’s art deco leanings. He ushers you into the velvet crimson loveseat in a corner near a window adorned with silky throw pillows.

“Take your shoes off and lie down if you want,” he suggests. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

You lean against the backrest with a sigh of relief. Finally, a friendlier surface than the computer chair you’d been lounging around in all day. You’re almost tempted to do as he instructed and make yourself comfortable, if it isn’t for the fact that you’re technically in enemy territory, and you’re a war prisoner being lured with the promise of freedom in exchange for betraying your side.

Instead, you make do with hugging one of the pillows, cursing yourself for landing in this situation – after all, it’s partly your fault that you’re here instead of home where you’re sure you're safe, and most importantly, away from Coriolanus Snow’s clutches.

Coriolanus is back within minutes, taking a seat beside you. He’s taken off his waistcoat and unbuttoned his white shirt halfway through, you observe. He rolls up his sleeves as the maid enters with a steaming teapot, cream, and sugar bowls on a tray along with two sets of teacups. She sets them all down on the coffee table in the middle. He instructs her to bring out the cake from the fridge as she exits.

He pours you a cup of tea, the inviting aroma of a rooibos and valerian root blend drifting in the living room air before he adds just the right amount of milk and sugar as you would make it yourself.

“Drink this, sugarplum. It’ll help, trust me,” he says as he pushes the teacup towards you. He pours some himself, only adding two cubes of sugar and a lemon wedge squeeze, as is his occasional preference. You watch him take a sip before you do.

And of course, your cup tastes perfect. It’s almost scary how he knows the littlest of details, including how you take your tea, of all things.

The maid arrives with what looks like a matcha-flavoured angel food cake from The White Knight before he instructs her to go home early for the night.

You try not to be nervous at being left alone with him in��his apartment and focus on the tea.

Coriolanus takes the liberty of slicing you a piece of the cake and placing it on the empty plate the maid had brought in. He urges you to eat.

“I noticed you didn’t order that angel food cake you seem to be partial to when we had lunch. I thought you might like to have a bite after such a successful day.”

The smile he gives you is full of pride, while you feel nothing but shame at the abomination you had just willingly participated in. Still, you take a few bites of the cake to placate him. You’re in his turf where his rule is absolute, and heaven forbid any missteps on your part that would warrant any sanctions.

He watches you quietly for a short while over sips of tea while you contemplate the best exit strategy. Even with your slice of cake gone and your cup of tea empty, you come up with nil excuses. Surprisingly, the food helped a bit with the nausea, and you could feel your limbs starting to relax further into the couch. You can’t even fight your yawn, only stifling it with your hands, as you sink into the pile of throw pillows.

Okay, maybe just a little nap…surely, he wouldn’t mind.

The last thing you see as you drift off to blackness is Coriolanus and his lopsided grin, his slender fingers brushing off the hair framing your face.

According to Coriolanus’s watch, it took about thirty minutes for the sleeping draught he put in the milk bowl to take effect, but he allows ten more minutes to make sure you’re deep in your sleep and won’t be waking in at least a few hours. He still had some of the draught in his medicine cabinet as he’d used in the past, making sure not to touch the other bottle he’s supposed to give you courtesy of Dr Gaul.

He spends the rest of the ten minutes just admiring your face, finally deep in your own little world, blissfully unaware of your reality. For the first time in a long while, he’s completely alone with you, so allows himself this little treat of brushing your cheeks and stroking your hair. He wonders what you dream of. He wishes it was filled with the things you love. He wishes he was in it somewhere.

He eventually decides that this loveseat is no place for his sweet, little sugarplum to spend the night in.

He carefully removes your shoes and places them neatly by the foot of the couch. He carries you with ease like a prince claiming his princess bride before walking off to the sunset. He is gentle when he sets you down on his bed. He doesn't need to close his door; it’s just you and him on the entire floor, after all. He straddles your hips as he climbs on top of your sleeping figure. His eyes greedily take you in: your hair spread out on his pillow, your lips slightly parted, the curve of your neck beating your pulse...it’s what he’s dreamed of for so long; you sprawled underneath him ready for his taking...

He finally just lets his intrusive thoughts take over and licks that enticing pulse point of yours.

The moment his tongue latches on your skin, Coriolanus knows he wants more. He hurriedly unbuttons your blouse and gently peels it off your torso, exposing the swell of your breasts, modestly covered in a cream-coloured bra. Watching your exposed bosom rising and falling in steady breathing has his blood rushing from his head to his groin.

And then you had to let out a tiny, adorable whine from the back of your throat.

Coriolanus groans in frustration as he wipes a bead of sweat off his temple. The rational part of him tells him to stop, put your shirt back on and keep away from your sleeping figure because he’s aware your first time with him shouldn’t be while you’re asleep and unable to respond to his touches. He knows you’re a virgin and he’d prefer that you remember your first experience with him, and that taking you on the night of your wedding means you’d have no reason to refuse him as your husband.

But there’s this other side of him – primal, impatient, irrational, and ravenous, that part of him he normally conceals from you, most especially – that’s threatening to surface. The part of him that knows he’s been so good to you, and he’s waited long enough for even just a taste of how right at home you’d make him feel when his rock-hard cock is burrowed deep inside you...

As his gaze dips further down the skirt you’re wearing, now slightly hiked up and revealing your stocking-wrapped thighs, a thought successfully marries his rational and irrational side: he doesn’t have to fuck you tonight – he can still save you for your wedding night and still get to taste you and satisfy that painfully growing erection of his.

He seals your lips with a searing kiss, which eventually dips to the valley between your breasts, which he then squeezes through your bra. He fights the entire time not to suck on your skin and leave bruises, figuring you’d easily see if he did. He kisses and licks and massages every part of your body he can reach, while his hand travels underneath your skirt. He gathers the material to your waist, revealing your lower half and peels off that pesky pantyhose, careful not to aggravate that little tear.

And once again, Coriolanus pulls away to admire the sight of you, on his bed, in your underwear, his breathing turning shallow in anticipation.

Just a taste, he assures himself, as he removes your panties, leaving your cunt bare to him and sending more blood to his already-engorged cock. He hastens in taking your legs apart and hooking them under his arms, and from there, he begins his worship.

The kiss he plants on your inner thigh slowly travels downwards, and he allows himself to suckle on your soft skin while still avoiding any visible welts. He does the same with your other thigh, but this time, he suckles and bites down on a tender spot near that hole in your stocking, and he only stops when an angry little red blotch begins to bloom on the flesh. He kisses it one more time for good measure, just before he dives in to feast on his main course.

Coriolanus moans indecently when his tongue begins to part your folds. He chuckles to himself when he feels you jerk a little in his hold – his sweet, delicious sugarplum, so sensitive to his touch...

What was that thing they used to say as children? I licked it, so it’s mine.

He runs this tongue over his lips before continuing his quest of lapping at your cunt, making sure he takes everything you offer him. He sucks on your clit as he listens to your breathy little whines, your body tensing in your sleep as he drinks and licks your juices – you taste just like honey on his tongue – he’s parched like he’s been that way since he can remember, and your cunt is the only thing that could quench that life-long thirst, and he doesn’t stop drinking you in until your entire body is tensing up and your thighs are quivering in his arms. He pulls away in time to watch your pretty face, frozen in pure bliss, your mouth parted as you let out those airy little moans and whines.

Did he just give his little sugarplum her first-ever orgasm in her sleep?

Your limbs relax eventually as he releases your thighs. Still drunk on the taste of you in his mouth, he quickly takes his shirt off and wastes no time unzipping his pants. He can only ignore his raging erection for so long, after all.

Like he’s done countless times, he takes his cock in his fist and begins pumping himself as he watches you – as per usual, he indulges himself in fantasies about you, moaning and screaming his name, writhing underneath him in pleasure and making a mess of his bedsheets, except your face in his mind is clearer than ever before, now that he’s seen the expressions and the sounds you’d make as he makes you come around his cock again and again. He imagines himself taking you over and over even as you stay limp underneath him, too fucked out to moan anything coherently.

It doesn’t take Coriolanus long to reach his peak. With a loud, guttural groan, he finishes on your stomach, making sure he doesn’t spill anywhere else even amidst the waves of pleasure engulfing him. He brings his forehead close to yours as he steadies his breathing and lets his high fade. Once he’s regained his composure, he pulls away from you, zips his pants back up and gets off you completely, opting to sit beside you as he leans against the headboard to collect his thoughts.

He knows he couldn’t leave you in your half-dressed state for long lest you catch a cold, so he begins to erase any evidence of the little bit of fun he had with you. Shame, really, when you look so inviting covered in his spend.

He starts by gently wiping his cum off your stomach with a damp towel, ensuring that he leaves no trace of himself on you. He finds wiping you clean easy and satisfying, vaguely wondering what it would be like to have the two of you soaking in a bathtub together and doing the same for him. The next task, getting you back in your stockings, isn’t as easy as the previous, given that he has to arrange the run on the cloth back where he remembers it to be. Miraculously, he too, gets that task out of the way, and putting your shirt back on proves way less challenging. By the time he’s done, the only sign he’d been on you is the little love bite he left, now purplish-black, conveniently camouflaged by that little tear on your stocking you’d be quick to dismiss it as a byproduct of your fall.

For now, that little beast in him has been sated and has retreated to the far corners of his psyche. He kisses your crown as he tucks you in the covers, but notices how troubled your expression looks.

Are you having a bad dream, he wonders?

You stir in your sleep as you turn away from his side of the bed, muttering a word he couldn’t catch. He climbs back in beside you, leaning against the pillows, his eyes landing on the vial of smelling salts on his nightstand. If this worsens, maybe he could use that to tear you away from the dream that’s bothering you.

Then he hears sniffling.

You curl up in a ball beneath the sheets as the sniffling grows more audible. He peers further into your face, finding fresh trails of tears on your temples.

Coriolanus almost internally panics.

Did he do this to you? Had he somehow given you a dream you’re now struggling with because of what he did? He rubs his face as he thinks of the possibilities.

Maybe you’re dreaming of Sejanus. Perhaps in this dream, he’s breaking your heart, or he’s hurting you, maybe even cheated on you and you had caught him in the middle of messing around with another girl.

Things Coriolanus would never, ever do to you.

He finds comfort in the thought somehow, and he can at least hope this dream version of himself would come in and punch the daylights out of dream-Sejanus for making you cry.

“Mommy…”

It’s faint, but he hears it.

“Mommy, wake up, please…We have to find daddy..."

Ah, you’re dreaming of that day.

Coriolanus recalls the day Sejanus approached him with good intentions (like always, he couldn’t help his nature) and began talking to him about you. It was one of his many deluded attempts at igniting friendship with him. He didn’t really care back then whatever he had to say, much less about you, but then he had to reveal how your parents died.

Such needless deaths brought about the vindictiveness of rebels who were bitter about your parents choosing the correct side.

And Coriolanus knew, better than anyone, and certainly better than Sejanus, what it was like to lose a parent the way you did.

For a moment there, he sees his younger self in you, calling out for his dead mother in the middle of the night and waking up realising she’ll never come back.

His heart wrenches at your pain, so he gathers you in his lap as you sob in your slumber. He’d never thought he’d see you this vulnerable around him, so it gives him an odd sense of ease knowing he’d seen a side of you you’d normally hide from him, and making you feel safe in his arms like this is something a dutiful husband would definitely do.

He almost ignores the phone ringing in his living room in favour of keeping you in his embrace.

Except the call drops and the phone rings insistently three more times, making him gently peel you off his lap and wanting to yank it off the plug.

Instead, he picks it up. What compelled him to do so, he doesn’t know, and he can’t pinpoint whether it was a good or a bad decision.

“Coriolanus. This is Acacius Innis.”

Fuck. Just when he’s finally got you to himself.

Acacius Innis inquires more persistently on the other line. “Is my niece with you?”

“Yes, Mr Innis. She –”

“Why?”

Coriolanus does not appreciate Innis senior’s tone, nor the way he just cut him off. “She almost passed out at work this afternoon, sir,” he says. “My place was the closest I could bring her to.”

A pause on the other line. “I’m coming over,” says Mr Innis.

“I can bring her over instead, sir –”

“No, I’m picking her up,” Innis says, as sounds of scuffling are heard in his background. “I know where you live. And, young man, if you so much as try anything funny with my niece, if you dare lay a finger –”

“I have no such intentions, Mr Innis,” Coriolanus replies with just as much conviction.

My tongue did all the work. He licks his lips, extremely pleased he could still taste you on them. “Nellie is safe with me; you have my word.”

“Good to know. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Coriolanus hears the click of the receiver, followed by the dial tone.

The meddling prick.

A sharp sensation in your nose stirs you awake, followed by fingers softly stroking your hair to help you come out of it.

“Sugarplum, I’m sorry to have woken you up, but you were crying in your sleep.”

The compassionate voice of none other than Coriolanus Snow makes you rise at once and assess where exactly you have ended up.

You remember falling asleep on his couch, and yet, here you are, on a bed with his shirtless self, and a just few seconds ago draped all over his lap, apparently crying in your sleep again.

"What was I saying?” you ask as you wipe your tears with your palms.

“You were calling for your parents,” he explains. “I assume you were dreaming about the day they died.”

Damn this day. You just had to fall asleep in his presence. It’s a stupid move, you berate yourself. You extricate yourself at once from what obviously looks like his bed. Coriolanus's eyes follows you with a doleful look. “I had no idea you still had nightmares about them.”

He too, gets to his feet, picking his shirt up from the sheets and putting it back on. What the fuck even was it doing off? He approaches you with eyes cold enough to freeze your blood. “And we know gave us this pain, Nellie. We’ll make them pay for it. Every single one of them.”

You’re relieved when he finally leads you away from his bedroom and back to the living room where your shoes are. You sit on the loveseat so you can put them on, but he’s on his knees at once, assisting you with your shoestraps.

“Your uncle knows you’re here,” he says as he ties your laces. “I told him you had a long day and you were resting. He’s on his way to pick you up. He also mentioned a subtle, tasteful threat of bodily harm if I ‘tried anything funny.’”

He looks up at you, smiling as he brushes his knuckles on your cheek.

“Like I’d ever harm my little sugarplum.”

The two of you retrieve your coat in the foyer, and you quietly thank him for letting you stay at his home. Instead of responding, he just fixes your hair and wipes your cheeks with his thumb, which later brushes over your lips.

Please, don’t let him kiss me…

“Coryo? Please…” you whisper shakily.

But then he releases you, donning a satisfied look. “There, all better.” When you look at him with questioning eyes, he adds, “I don’t think your uncle will ever forgive me if he thinks I made you cry.”

“Th-thanks.”

“You can thank me by getting better,” he says lightly. He leads you to the elevator with his hand on your back. “You have the entire day off tomorrow, so get all the rest you need. In fact, I have something that may help you get better sleep.”

He fishes this small, crimson vial from his pants pocket and places it in your hands. The cork stopper on the bottle is still sealed with wax.

“That should help. Take a teaspoon before you go to bed. It’s a non-addictive formula they developed at the Citadel. Tell me if it works for you so I can get you more.”

You nod and mutter your thanks. “Coryo, can I ask you something?

“Of course, sugarplum.”

“When do you think I can start working for my uncle again? Now that I’ve already finished fixing the code?”

His eyes darken at your question, but he blinks and it’s gone, replaced by simple curiosity.

“Why, sugarplum? Are you that eager to wriggle free from me?” he jests.

“No,” you deny, no matter how much his observation rings true. “It’s just that he’s been looking unwell lately, and he won’t tell me anything. He’ll never tell me if he’s sick or what, and I worry about him.”

What you said is partly true, but you also just want to be done with everything that has to do with him. If you don’t work for him anymore, you won’t ever have to interact with him ever again and be part of whatever he’s building. He’s not your friend, no matter how much he tries to make it look like so. He’s dangerous, you know that, and the faster you can keep him at arm’s length, the better.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sugarplum. I know the past week has been stressful for you. For both of you. But you don’t want to leave the program now, do you? Not when we’re so close to accomplishing what your uncle had started. And if you really want to help your uncle, finish his work, and help build his legacy.”

So, it seems you’re stuck with him, and you’ll still be participating in the trial Hunger Games this Friday.

The air is knocked out of your lungs as you’re pinned against the cold, steel walls of the elevator, and the gasp you let out is silenced by Coriolanus’s mouth latching onto yours.

Having caught you off-guard, you attempt to push him off, but he’s always been leagues above you in physical strength. As his tongue finds yours, you simply close your eyes and let him.

However, just as soon as it happens, he releases you, just in time for the elevator door to reveal the lobby with a ding.

“How about I recommend people I know who’d be perfect as his apprentice?” he suggests as if nothing happened. “After all, I have a track record for finding the perfect one. I’ll have it sent to his desk next week.”

You’re exhausted beyond words, not having the will to snap, so you just nod along. Through the glass doors, you spot your uncle leaning against his car with his hands inside his coat pocket, looking more cross than you’ve ever seen him in public. Still, you have never been more relieved to see him.

You open your mouth to greet him as you step outside, followed by Coriolanus, but Uncle Cas’s eyes land on the tear on your stocking. Acacius Innis’s eyes harden, and the next thing you know, he’s lunging at the younger man behind you. You hear a dull thud, indicating he landed a punch somewhere.

“Uncle Cas, no!” You squeal, wrapping your arms around his torso and attempting to wrench him away from Coriolanus.

“What the fuck did you do, you little – !”

“Uncle, I fell, and I tore my tights. He didn’t do anything!”

Uncle Cas simmers down upon hearing your words. “Is this true?” He asks Coriolanus.

Your friend holds a slightly bleeding lip with his thumb, but he smiles just as disarmingly as if he wasn’t at all fazed by your uncle’s outburst. “Yes, sir. It was merely an accident.”

Your uncle huffs to himself. For a moment, he seems like he's considering punching him again with the way he furls his fist, but then he dips his head in apology. “Then you’ll have to forgive me, young man. I truly am sorry for jumping to conclusions. Are you alright?”

Coriolanus merely chuckles, but it's bereft of any humour. “I was a peacekeeper once, sir. I have certainly taken much worse.”

This was a clear challenge, and you wish with all your might that your uncle wouldn’t take the bait. Fortunately, the older man just tenses his jaw and nods. “Once again, you have my apologies. I thought you had hurt my niece, and it was wrong of me to not reign in my temper.”

Snow straightens to his full height and graciously replies, “I completely understand, Mr Innis. I’d protect Nellie just as ferociously as you would.”

Your uncle all but drags you to the car’s passenger seat and follows you inside, taking his place in the driver's seat. Now, even with everything that happened that day, this is a bizarre sight, as Acacius Innis has not driven a car himself in a long while. You remain quiet as the engine roars to life, almost swearing to yourself that you hear him mutter “insolent fucking cunt” under his breath as he drives off at full speed.

Enter Level 9

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!

Sorry for any typos, I am not the best of health rn and I will be editing this when I wake up 😊 please stick around!! Snowball has more tricks up his sleeve 😈😈😈

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #x OC2ndPOV #or #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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bonefall · 7 months

Note

It feels like one of those riddles. How do you seat the dark forest demons at the dinner party where they’re all happy? Yes, you must include all of them. No, there is only one table. Leopardfoot wont do sitting near her father or Pinestar. Ryewhisker and Cloudberry must be sat together. Darkstripe is cooking.

Sounds like a fun logic puzzle lmao. I have to be quiet for the next couple days because I'm studying for some exams so, here, I'll give you 12 dramatic Dark Forest demons and you can play around with it.

(Elder Bones rolling out the CRT TV on the big-metal-rolly thing and bonus credit worksheet because he has to be his own substitute teacher that day)

Maximize happiness by scoring yourself with this; Seating next to a requested cat is +1. Seating next to a disliked cat is -1. Penalties and bonuses stack.

Givens;

The layout is a circle

There are 10 seats, and every seat must be filled.

Darkstripe is cooking next to Seat 1, he does not occupy any of the 10 seats but cannot be moved.

Cats; (Closest political ideology next to name. TL = Thistle Law. FA = Fire Alone. O = Other)

Darkstripe HT (Tigerstar's bumbling ex-minion, finally finding himself in death) He will only interact with the cat in Seat 1. Ideally, he would like to be next to Leopardfoot or Ryewhisker. He dislikes any Thistle Law supporter that is not Leopardfoot.

Cloudberry FA (An ancient conscientious objector who was forced to witness her love become illegal after her mate died defending her) Must be seated with Ryewhisker. Likes Pinestar, Morningstar, and Houndleap. Will fight any cat who doesn't like Morningstar.

Ryewhisker FA (Ancient conscientious objector who died defending his lover) Must be seated with Cloudberry. Likes Pinestar, Morningstar, and Darkstripe. Doesn't want Houndleap seated next to Coudberry. Can talk about collecting blood syrup.

Morningstar FA (Pacifist leader of ThunderClan, violently overthrown by his Cleric) Just wants to talk to Pinestar, comforted by Ryewhisker, appreciates Cloudberry but her aggression gives him anxiety so he will get a -1 if seated next to her.

Thistleclaw TL (Father of a hateful ideology, left StarClan in protest of Bluestar's acceptance) HATES any cat who is not from ThunderClan and also Morningstar, AND anyone who does not support Thistle Law. Likes Adderfang and Leopardfoot.

Adderfang TL (Mentor of Thistleclaw. Left StarClan with him.) Easily annoyed by "weakness," including non-violent cats. Does not want to talk about cooking.

Leopardfoot O (Mother of Tigerstar who followed Thistleclaw into the Dark Forest after Bluestar's trail) Doesn't want to be seated next to Thistleclaw, Pinestar, or Adderfang. Likes to talk about food.

Pinestar FA (Condemned for leaving his Clan to become a kittypet.) Does not want to be seated with anyone who was part of ThunderClan in his lifetime.

Snowtuft TL (Damned self willingly after killing children in the Crusades, from ShadowClan) Will discomfort any cat who had children. Does not like talking about politics. Has a good pudding recipe.

Houndleap FA (Damned for siring a ton of HalfClan kits) Will inevitably flirt with a cat on either side of him, "neutralizing" a character of your choice, but causing no impact on the character on the other side as if the seat is unfilled.

Leopardstar O (Bludgeoned to death by Mistystar after encouraging the second rise of Thistle Law in RiverClan.) Disavowed TL and doesn't want to hear anything about it. Also hates FA cats. Dislikes any cat who was damned for a non-violent crime. Likes to talk about carp recipes.

Fenneldust O (A girlie from ThunderClan with a penchant for dying, walked into the Dark Forest willingly with her friend Batear) Brings up whatever politics will piss you off the most, unless you have something food-related to talk about. Will die halfway through the night and be replaced by the cat of your choice. Every point of annoyance she wracks up will become a positive point when this happens. Any positive points she wracks up will remain, unchanged.

#BB!Dark Forest #Fennelposting #Logic puzzle #Better bones AU

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traumxrei-archive · 1 year

Text

【 stepping toe to toe with you 】

prompt #2: They were dancing together but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and now they were both standing here, awkwardly staring at each other (ft. jade leech, trey clover, ace trappola)

gn! prefect (you/yours), drabbles, word count: 860 words

a/n: hello it is so late i wanna sleep but i was also determined to post this today. so here we are. if there are spelling mistakes forgive me everyone, but i hope you enjoy :D

Jade Leech

Jade was never one for dancing, per se, but a very enthusiastic Prefect looking at him with puppy eyes was a good enough incentive as any.

"C'mon Jade-senpai," You said, tugging him to the middle of the hall. "They don't have parties like this everyday." And you were right, parties seldom happened in Mostro Lounge. But he was Jade Leech after all. He could indulge in you for a few minutes of mindless dancing.

That was until the music drastically shifted into a slow song. Jade froze. He swore that he saw Floyd standing near the sound booth with a smug smile on his face.

"Do you know how to ballroom dance, senpai?"

"Regrettably, I do not," Jade said shortly.

"Well, do you want to try?" With such an expectant smile on your face, how was Jade to refuse?

It wasn't long before Jade was flushing down his neck after stepping on your feet for the nth time.

"For someone who moves elegantly, your coordination is terrible," You teased and Jade was mentally preparing to roast Floyd on a spit.

"If you'd like to dance, Floyd would be happy to accompany you," Jade reasoned quickly. "He is more than competent dancer—."

"Senpai~" You drew out the last syllable, tugging till he was chest-to-chest with you. "It's you that I want to dance with, okay?"

And Jade shut up at that. His hand squeezed yours as he clumsily continued to blunder through the steps. Maybe dancing wasn't so bad, especially if it was with you.

Trey Clover

Trey had never been the one to listen to music in the kitchen, but you were. That was exactly why he was getting tugged along with you in a clumsy sort of dance. You laughed when he narrowly avoided bumping into a counter.

"Wow, senpai, where'd you learn those moves?" You asked, the teasing light on your tongue. He flushed lightly at the words, before grabbing your arm and pulling you into a spin.

"Give a guy a break," Trey mumbled, eyeing the clock. "I'm trying not to burn the cake."

"If it burns, then can I eat it?"

He sighed as you tugged him into another spin, "I spoil you too much."

That was when the music shuffled into a soft, orchestral tune. He froze in his spot, his hand lamely limp in yours are he looked everywhere but at you.

That was when you let go, bowing deeply, "Ahem, may I have this dance, Sir Clover?"

Trey took one look at the grin on your face and placed his hand in yours, "I hope you know how to lead, because I'm not well-versed in ballroom dancing."

You laughed, bright and colorful, "All you gotta do is hold on to me, alright, senpai?"

"Alright," Trey's reply was almost automatic, his heart fluttering. "I'll make sure never to let go." It sounded like a promise. And it was. It was a promise he was intent on keeping, after all.

Ace Trappola

Ace was having the time of his life. There was a smirk on his face as he entwined his fingers with yours, leading you through the crowd.

"Ace Trappola! We're– We just left all the others behind!" You scolded over the noise of the crowd.

"Oops, my bad," Ace said, clearly not feeling bad at all. "Those boring losers didn't even want to dance."

Your brows furrowed, "Those 'boring losers' are gonna end up getting kidnapp—"

"Relax," Ace drawled, pulling you into a spin. "Have some faith in Jack, will ya? 'Sides, it'd be a crime not to dance, Prefect." You looked two seconds from hitting him with a tirade of insults but he watched as your shoulders slumped.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Ace hummed the familiar tune, watching as you finally started loosening up. That was when he heard a voice booming over the speakers, "Alright folks, we got a request from Trappola Sucks to put on a slow song! Hope you enjoy it, Trappola Sucks!"

The song shifted to a slower one and you all but laughed, "Fifty thaumarks that it was Epel and Deuce."

"This is so not funny," Ace muttered, but he still pulled you closer. All the others around you had paired up, and he would be damned if a stranger came to take you away.

"May I have this dance, Mr. Trappola Sucks?" You asked, and he couldn't help but fondly roll his eyes.

His heart almost jumped up to his throat when he noticed just how close you were to him. Sevens, his palms were sweating.

You huffed out another laugh as you let your head fall on his shoulder, "Where'd all that bravado go? Don't tell me you've finally fallen for my charm?"

Ace pouted and before he could process what he was about to say, he blurted, "So what if I did? Are you gonna do anything about it?"

You hummed, squeezing his palm, "I would take you on a date?" And now Ace wasn't sure who was being swept off their feet. He was sure he confessed, but the way you took initiative made him speechless.

"Is that a yes, Trappola?"

"Fuck you. Of course it's a yes."

thank you so much for reading ! if you liked my work, go and check out my other writings in the masterlist <3

#/trau writes #jade leech #trey clover #ace trappola #jade leech x reader #trey clover x reader #ace trappola x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace favoritism #his is the longest #i wanted to make jade's longer #but i liked it as it was #behind the scenes he's roasting floyd (real)#also trey *starts sobbing profusely* he's so ?? warm ????

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joshusten · 10 months

Text

love me in spite (guy/honey, redacted audios)

Guy and Honey get into an argument early into their relationship.

(angst, hurt/comfort, arguments, fluff)

3k+ words [ao3 link here!] [masterlist]

[CW and notes: swearing, arguing, insecurities, overthinking, breakdowns, descriptive?? crying?? I think??, idk they’re both having a bad time. probably a lot of grammatical errors lmao. also honey is implied to be empowered!!]

Honey doesn't remember the last time they felt like this, but they’ve always known their personality would bite them in the ass someday.

“Aww, is my beloved mad again? Oh, pray tell, which heinous crime did I commit this time, officer? Robbery? Public indecency?” Guy stroked his chin, pretending to rack up his mind on any possible offense he could have made. “Hm…jaywalking?"

“Guy.”

“Oh! Or maybe—just maybe—it was wanting my ever-so-affectionate lover to stop their pretty head from fussing over me?”

"Guy, can’t you take this seriously for once?”

“But I am! It’s just not that big of a deal, baby! Look, a manuscript can’t just write itself, y’know? Especially one with a little flair from yours truly!”

“You haven’t slept properly for days now, you work overnight most of the time, and on your days off you pull all-nighters writing!”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!”

“Well, this one’s more serious! I haven’t even seen you eat a proper meal and anything I offer you gets left out cold!”

They continued to have a back-and-forth confrontation, voices raising and words getting crueler as time goes on, with both parties not intending to back down anytime soon. Honey thought it was the first time they ever heard Guy let out an actual annoyed scoff and they noticed the slightest change in his demeanor.

“Jesus, Honey. Of all the times you can finally act like you care for me, why now? Hm?” There was a playful smile on his face. It almost made them believe he was still joking around but his words were laced with an unmistakable annoyance.

But something inside Honey snapped. Their chest tightened at the thought of their partner thinking they didn’t care. They felt themselves flinch from the comment and Guy seemed to notice that too as his smile drops. “Shit. Honey, I didn’t–”

“I’m–,” They scrambled to get their bag, keys, wallet, anything they would need because they just want to be anywhere but here.“I’m going out. Let’s finish this later. I-I just can’t fucking do this right now.”

They didn’t mean that. Didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh. Then again, they don’t mean to sound so harsh most of the time but end up doing so either way. Grumpy. Mean. Intimidating. A common descriptor from most people. But Guy wasn’t like most people. ‘Unless,’ they think, ‘That was just a lie you told yourself to believe in.’

Honey shuts the door behind them, leaving the building and the warmth of their partner.

The pain in their chest almost distracts them from the exhaustion currently catching up to their body after a long day. They can feel the telltale signs of a migraine coming as they rub their temples gingerly with one hand, the other guiding the steering wheel. ‘Damn, it started to rain too. What a great way to lighten the mood,’ they think bitterly. Their mind eventually goes back to the fight earlier.

“Of all the times you finally can act like you care for me, why now? Hm?”

They do care. They care for him so much it scares them . He knows that, right? Even if they groan at his flirtatious quips and innuendos or if they grumble at his (very creative) attempts to give them as many hugs and kisses as they would allow, he knows that that’s just how they are, right?

Maybe that wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe that never was enough to begin with. Maybe Guy finally realized he deserves better than an ill-tempered partner who doesn’t even know how to properly show any affection to their own fucking boyfriend.

A sharp car horn snaps them out of their thoughts. Shit, it’s a green light. They continue to drive until they see the familiar soft glow of a nearby 7-Eleven sign despite the persistent rain.

Honey's entrance was signaled with the chime of the bell above the glass door. It’s relatively empty save for what they recognize to be a few D.A.M.N. students buying some late-night study snacks. Walking through the aisles while the pop song they heard their partner hum before softly plays in the background, slowly but surely calming them down. Muscle memory makes Honey reach for Guy’s favorite snack and they wonder how he’s doing.

---

Guy doesn't remember the last time he felt like this, but he’s always known his personality would bite him in the ass someday.

Sure, he and Honey had their disagreements, but they were all accompanied by playful slaps and teasing laughter. Never had it gotten to the point of an actual argument that caused them to spit such venom toward each other like the one they just had.

“I’m going out. I-I just can’t fucking do this right now.”

The door closes and Honey leaves, bringing the warmth of their shared apartment with them. Guy lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and starts to get to work. He wordlessly distracts himself by cleaning the living room—picking up stray plastic chip bags, vacuuming crumbs that settled on the cheap shag carpet, and fixing up the pillows on the couch that he’s been nesting on for the past few days while he works on the final draft of the project he was writing.

Piles of paper littered their second-hand coffee table. Every inch is covered in Post-it notes and wrinkled pieces of paper filled with ideas that he had haphazardly scribbled in an attempt to record them before it leaves his mind. Most of them, he recalls, are just random doodles of spirals and honeybees that he absentmindedly drew as he was typing away on his laptop. The spaces left exposed on the table were adorned with faded mug rings on the old dark oak wood.

He tries to compile them into a neater collection, pausing as he notices a doodle he made of his Honey. It was far from a masterpiece, but the cute cartoony style paired with heavily exaggerated furrowed brows in order to replicate their partner’s usual expression pulls a smile from his lips. There was even a jumbled-up line inside a small text bubble next to it to symbolize the adorable grumbles they always make.

Fuck, he misses them so fucking much.

A sudden wave of exhaustion almost makes him drop the stack of papers he’s holding and it dawns on him how much he really has been neglecting his own health for this project. The stress of trying to find a job where he can utilize his degree and finally get out of that godforsaken pizza place has been taking a toll on him. All Honey was trying to do was for him to take a break that he so desperately ( and, he embarrassingly admits, unknowingly ) needed. And he just treated it like some silly joke. Granted, it really was because he wasn’t used to being coddled after, but, it definitely wasn’t an excuse to dismiss their worries like that.

The guilt builds up in Guy’s throat like bile. He feels worse now, especially considering how much they struggle with expressing themselves like that to him in general, even if they don’t say it aloud.

He finishes cleaning up but the restlessness doesn’t leave him as time passes by with no word from his partner. Maybe this is it? Maybe he fucked it all up like always? Maybe they finally came to their senses and got fed up with him. It wasn’t uncommon for people to think he was a bit too much. Too chaotic, too irritating, too overwhelming. He ever minded those comments in the first place, but the thought of Honey possibly thinking like that too makes him sick.

It’s getting late and he can hear the rain outside get louder. The anxiety that has been settling in their stomach flares up. He reaches for his phone to message them before concluding they might not want to be bothered right now. Shit, he’s feeling a little sluggish.

Guy begrudgingly trudges to the wardrobe of their shared bedroom to get a change of clothes. He glances over as he pulls a familiar-looking hoodie from the hanger. Their double bed, adorned with a pizza plushie that Honey had given to him as a joke gift, was more inviting than usual. Maybe he should just take a rest and go to sleep.

No, no, no, they might want some space from that too. Guy wants to talk this out with them instead of sleeping it out. If this persists, he isn't sure how his poor heart could take it. He ultimately decides to go back to the couch, stay up, and (at the very least) greet them when they come back.

If they come back. God, please come back.

What if they don’t?

The thought felt like a mere whisper in his head but it left him numb. Guy's aware of his tendency to overthink but before he knew it, he was lying down on his side, hand clamped to his mouth as he forced his eyes shut. He lets out a quiet sniff. His breath hitches. Then he hears himself choke out a small sob.

Then another.

And another.

The dam breaks, his eyes water and he heaves as much air as he can into his lungs. It suddenly became a struggle to breathe and it definitely became a struggle to calm the ugly thoughts that plague his mind. Shaky, broken sobs fill the room, he cringes at how pathetic it sounds. He hates this. He hates this feeling. Just come back, I’m sorry.

After what felt like hours, his sniffles slowly died down. With heavy eyes and a heavier heart, he finds himself drowsy from all the crying. The hot tears streaming down his face had begun to dry, but, the warmth on his cheeks reminds him of his Honey and the thought of them finally lulls him to sleep.

---

Honey returns, a little haggard but with a calmer mind. The drive around Dahlia and their quick run to the local convenience store definitely helped lighten their mood but the guilt still followed them around like a shadow. Shaky hands find their way to the lock of their shared apartment and Honey opens to a dim living room, with the forgotten hanging bulbs from the kitchen barely providing a sense of light. They noticed the place was tidier than they remembered.

It was eerily quiet, as well. The wrinkling sound of the paper bag that they were holding filled the room.

"Guy?" Fuck, they can hear their voice getting wobbly.

"I'm home. You there?" A shift from the room was all they heard accompanied by a sniffle. Honey suddenly becomes hyper-aware of the soft snores matching the rise and fall of a figure on the couch.

They couldn't really explain why their heart started to pound with their pulsating headache. Why they made a beeline inside their apartment. Why they started to get down on their knees in the living room despite the protests of their tired body. Why their chest sank deeper as they saw their partner all bundled up on their battered couch.

They don't miss the frown on his face and his tear-stained cheeks.

Fuck. Tears? Guy was crying?

Honey quietly (urgently) sets down the paper bag from their grasp and slowly places a hand on his shoulder, patting it ever so gently.

"H-hey? Guy, what are you doing over here?" They noticed how cold they felt to the touch and remembered their thermostat wasn't working that well. "It's freezing. You're freezing. "

After a few gentle pats and caresses (and reminders of how it's cold here, the bed is warm. Take it, please. ) Guy manages to blearily open his eyes, rubbing away the sleepiness and the few tears that managed to slip.

Cute. His eyes are so cute. Honey would have thought if their mind wasn't filled with thoughts and questions. Why was he sleeping on the couch? Was he waiting for me? He didn't need to do that. Why was he crying? Did he cry himself to sleep? Was it because of me?

Did I do this?

"Honey?" Guy's voice croaked and Honey's heart aches after hearing how hoarse it was. It aches a little more to see him smile at them despite the argument they had earlier.

"You're back…" he mumbles, slightly adjusting his body to prop himself up with his arm. He was wearing their hoodie again.

"Guy, why are you sleeping here? It's cold," they repeated, the worry in their tone becoming more and more evident.

This had Guy fully sitting up, giving his full attention to their Honey with a slight grin that was preparing to give out a smug reply before dropping his smile and deciding otherwise. If he noticed that their eyes were starting to get just as glassy as his, he didn't mention it. “I-I mean, you’re…mad, right? I thought you’d want some more space from me or something…”

“N-no! I mean, yeah, thank you for that but that doesn't—” Honey cuts themselves off with a groan. Why can’t I just say what I want to say? What do I even want to say? Guy immediately notices their partner’s frustration and sits down beside them.

“Hey, hey, it's okay. You’re okay, Honey,” he says with a reassuring smile and slowly raises his hand near their cheek, “Can I touch?”

Honey immediately nods, almost melting at Guy’s warm hands. The familiar calluses from working countless graveyard shifts and delivery jobs all over Dahlia for Max’s kept them grounded. They notice a newly formed bump on the ring finger of his dominant hand from the number of handwritten notes he’s been doing recently.

After a few moments of soft breaths and the sound of Guy's rough thumb gently gliding across their cheek, Honey let out a weak laugh but the words that followed were by no means a joke to them. “You’re so good for me.” Too good. I don’t deserve you.

It was Guy’s turn to let out a confused chuckle. He felt anything but good to them at the moment.

“What do you mean by that, hon?” He caresses their cheek and he forgets how much his chest hurts when his Honey leans into his touch. “Hey, c’mon. Do you…do you wanna talk about what happened?”

Honey nods once more. "I'm…I'm sorry," they choke out as if the words got caught up in their throat. Everything was overwhelming again. The sound of the remains of the rain, the ticks of the wall clock, and most of all, Guy's unwavering attention to them. They avoid his gaze.

"I know that…I'm…I dont have the most…pleasant attitude," The nervousness in their tone was obvious but the quick squeeze of their hand from their partner was enough for them to go on. "And I know that you didn’t mean that. About me…not caring,” They felt him give another squeeze, a bit tighter than the last. “Fuck, god knows you’ve put up with me long enough for me to know you wouldn’t mean that.”

Honey manages to finally look him in his eyes again, they think it's their favorite color. “I…I just don’t know why I act like this. Why can't I just…care for you in a normal way.”

“Oh, Honey…”

“I’m just so fucking sorry. I really, really care for you, please know that,” they sob out. Guy thinks he’s never seen them this vulnerable. His arms slowly circle and stop around their body as if he was waiting for their permission but Honey beats them to the embrace, burying their head on his chest. He knows they can hear his heart speed up.

“Hey, I know, I know,” The hands that were once on his partner's cheeks find their way to their back, rubbing circles and tracing shapes. “I’m really sorry for what I said too. The stress from work and writing these past few days is catching up but please don’t let that ever be an excuse for me to talk like that, especially to you and especially if it makes you think of all these lies.”

“And all this talk about…caring for me in the ‘normal’ way. Don’t say that.” Guy slowly pulls away to tilt his partner's chin up for their eyes to meet again. The way his Honey looked so distressed was a sight he decided he never wants to see again. “What matters is that I know you care and I want you to know that the way you show it is… fuck, I’ve never felt so cared for like this until you, Honey. Okay?”

“I’ll work…on not neglecting my health too. If it weren’t for you, I might’ve actually collapsed from exhaustion,” he adds, lips upturned into a sheepish smile. “So, thank you.”

Guy isn’t prepared for the way their Honey finally graced him with a soft smile. He’s had them laugh and grin at his…eccentric behavior before, but this smile held so much fondness and sincerity (directed towards him of all people! ) that made this moment all the more intimate.

I think I'm gonna have a fucking heart attack. He doesn't recall having butterflies for lunch but he definitely feels them flutter up and about in his ribcage. He wants to treasure this moment. He wants to treasure them.

Honey looks down, uncharacteristically flustered and Guy’s heart soars again. “Thank you,” they whispered. “For that.”

“Of course, Honey. Though, I must say,” he grins. “Although your methods of conveying your love for me are a bit… unconventional , you could say I’m on the more bizarre side, too. I guess we make a perfect match after all then, don't we?”

Honey snorts, a reaction that's endearingly familiar to him and he smirks even wider. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Well, for the record, if anybody here is fucking stupid, it would be you!” Guy shoots back, “Hi, hello, I’m stupid, by the way, ehh– Ow, ow, ow!”

The pair continues to laugh and banter at each other like before, but, as they comfortably settle down to cuddle on the couch, they both don’t miss the way the grip on their entangled hands tightened for the slightest bit.

---

hope you enjoyed!! please let me know if i had any mistakes or just some feedback in general!! i kinda wanna continue doing these kinda stuff :DD

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted guy #redacted honey #redacted fanfic #redacted guy/honey #angst #hurt/comfort #sten writes!#i enjoyed writing this a lot!!#eheuhuehd guy my silly goose i need him to cry (and get comforted after ofc)

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