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yutaholic · 6 months

Text

smells like teen spirit (M)

PAIRING: Jeno (NCT) + reader (female)

SUMMARY: Jeno keeps getting on your last nerve, but you still end up in his arms with your tongue down his throat.

WARNINGS: strong language; some drug use; explicit sexual content

NOTES: 8.6k words; this is part two of a rose and her thorns, but can be read as a standalone one-shot

Chicago, 1991

A tale as old as time. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

That was our life that summer. Some of us in different doses than the others.

You sat on the bed with your legs bent, resting the notebook against your thighs as you scribbled out another page of the band’s escapades.

Though there was a connection with Mark, we agreed to keep things simple for the rest of the summer. Nothing could be allowed to interfere with the band. God forbid we earned a reputation like Fleetwood Mac’s.

Unfortunately, this agreement caused some awkwardness and I handled that the way I always did - with distance. If Mark couldn’t help but complicate things, then I would do him a favor and give both of us the space we needed.

It felt like shit, but I was used to being the villain.

Turning the page, you kept writing in the eerie quiet of the van. Haechan was bouncing his leg up-and-down at a mile a minute, thoroughly annoyed by Jeno’s delay. Mark was dozing in his seat, trying not to fantasize about you and the fucking heaven between your thighs, but he couldn’t help but watch you jotting down your feelings, your grievances, your hopes and your dreams.

He prayed that he was part of the latter.

The silence broke when the van door opened loudly, followed by a disheveled Jeno stumbling inside. “Goddamn, I am getting so much pussy on this trip,” he huffed, running a hand through his overgrown and severely damaged blond hair.

“Jeno, I swear to god,” you barked, scratching out the compliment you had given him at the top of the page. “If you give me an STD this summer, I will set your drums on fire.”

“You would destroy my child?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Jeno grumbled something under his breath about how you always rained on his parade of pussy and shut the doors. “Let’s get on the road,” he said irritably, shooing Haechan out of the driver’s seat and jerking the van in gear.

“We’ve been waiting for you, dumbass,” Haechan sniped. He’d been getting so annoyed and impatient he threatened to leave the bastard drummer behind and never look back. That bitch can walk, he’d declared moments before.

Mark stayed quiet in the passenger seat, sluggish with sleep. He looked to you again, watching you write in your journal and wondering what you were saying about him.

About all of them.

Jeno drove fast, but not a soul complained. The gig in Chicago was the most highly-anticipated of the trip.

The van hurtled down the highway, not stopping for several hours until you begged for a bathroom. After a quick gas station run, you put some fresh snacks into the cabinet and wrangled your hair into a bun on your head.

Jeno came in with a bag in hand and said, “I bought more condoms.”

“Good for you,” you deadpanned, wrinkling your nose.

“Although I heard Mark didn’t have to wear one,” Jeno added, tsking his tongue. “One of the few perks of being innocent and pure, I guess.”

Your voice was razor sharp. “Careful, Jeno.”

Both pleased and annoyed by your tone, Jeno asked roughly, “Did you at least remember to get your birth control?”

You wanted to shoot daggers into his face with your eyes, but refusing to afford him any looks was better. “Yeah. I got my Depo shot two days before we left.”

“How long does it last?”

“Three months.”

Jeno smiled wryly. “Well, isn’t that convenient.”

“That’s the whole point,” you mumbled. He was trying to get a reaction out of you, prodding at your buttons, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

There was a pause. “I’m ready when you are,” Jeno flirted, wiggling his brows at you.

“Who said I even wanna screw you?”

“You did. Many, many times.”

True, but no longer relevant. All things considered. You returned to your notebook and said, “That was before you became a penis petri dish of death and disease.”

“Ouch.”

My relationship with Jeno could best be described as rivalry. He never gave an inch and neither did I. It was my job to keep him humble.

And damn, what a full-time thankless job that was.

Jeno had been going out of his way to rile you up after your night with Mark. He couldn’t stand seeing you sulky. Mark’s pouting was beyond remedy, but yours could be managed with well-placed jabs.

He had you down to a science. Lighting a fire under your ass was all Jeno knew how to do. The more he prodded at you, the more flames escaped. And when you were angry, you couldn’t be sad.

Because there was nothing Jeno hated more than seeing you cry.

“Can you try to stay on beat this time?” Jeno chided, spinning a drumstick nimbly between his fingers.

Having been testing the microphone, you whipped around and snapped, “Fuck you, Jeno.”

An argument swiftly ensued, petty and heated. No surprises there. Mark and Haechan stood with their guitars and watched the back and forth with no end in sight, even as people poured into the club.

“Those two are going to kill each other,” Mark said under his breath.

Haechan scoffed. “Or make a ton of babies.”

Mark almost choked on the lump that shot into his throat.

You stomped over to Haechan, pointed at Jeno and said, “I can’t deal with this douche canoe anymore!”

To which Jeno shot back, “Just shut up and sing, ice crotch!”

Your eyes went wide with rage and you spun in Jeno’s direction, ready and willing to claw out his eyes. Haechan grabbed you by the arm and steered you back over to the microphone, officially sapped of all patience.

“In ten seconds, me and Mark are going to start playing,” he said hurriedly. “And both of you are going to look like losers if you’re not ready.”

You huffed a swear or two under your breath and gripped the microphone as Mark and Haechan got into position. Then you heard the tapping of drumsticks behind you followed by the roar of Mark’s electric guitar.

By the time the show was over, you were utterly exhausted. Between Haechan and Mark, your arms draped across their shoulders, the three of you sang tiredly along to one of your songs as the boys essentially dragged you down the hall toward the back door for some well-earned sleep.

Turning the corner, you saw Jeno with two beautiful blondes. You bristled with annoyance. They were giggling at every little thing he said like they were getting dick after, which you quickly realized was the case.

Not on my watch.

“Let it go,” Haechan said, but he knew it would make no difference.

Jeno did not deserve pussy after how badly he stressed you out. You wriggled out of Haechan and Mark’s arms and made a beeline for the drummer.

“Oh my god,” you said in a loud, obnoxious voice, greeting the girls as you cuddled up to Jeno and patted his chest. “You guys look so cute! But unfortunately, Jeno is only halfway through his chlamydia treatment.”

Wide-eyed, the girls looked at you in horror before sending vengeful expressions at Jeno, who set his jaw and bristled with anger.

You held your hand beside your mouth, pretending to whisper a secret, “Very contagious through bodily fluids.”

The pair of blondes scurried off. One of them gave Jeno the finger.

“I hate and despise you,” Jeno hissed, trudging down the corridor.

You were hot on his heels, ready to resume the argument from earlier. A moniker like Ice Crotch was not going to be forgotten. “Haven’t you had enough threesomes?”

“There’s no such thing as too many threesomes,” Jeno replied, heated. “And I’ve only had four.”

Haechan asked curiously, “You keep track?”

Jeno snorted. “Don’t you?”

“One is easy to remember. I wasn’t into it.”

Mark fell in line beside them and said, more so to himself, “I have questions.”

“I don’t,” you spoke up, backhanding Jeno’s burly arm to get his attention. “Jeno, you’ve got pussy brain and you fucked up the tempo.”

Jeno went quiet, which was the last thing you expected.

Everyone was tired and raw. We were a well-oiled machine, steaming ahead like a freight train, but with time, gears start to grind. When gears grind, they tear through flesh and bone.

I know my boys. It sounds cliche, and I agree, but I know them. We’ve been friends for so long and crossed hundreds of lines of intimacy reserved for soulmates. They can’t hide anything from me.

Especially the things they intentionally try to hide from me.

You knew you had struck a nerve, but you weren’t sure which one. You dug your heels in regardless, but you were miffed when Jeno said nothing and made for the door.

“Did he just storm off?” Mark questioned, equally bemused.

“He never does that,” Haechan said softly, turning to you.

You didn’t hesitate to stomp after him, and Mark and Haechan didn’t follow this time. When fire fought with fire, it was best to keep a distance to avoid getting burned.

The cold of Chicago’s night was bitter on your cheeks when you stepped outside and you pulled your jacket tightly round you. Jeno hadn’t jumped into the van yet. He was lingering in the lot, scraping his shoes across the asphalt as he puffed on a cigarette.

Closing the distance, you called, “The hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” he replied, avoiding your eyes and blowing out smoke.

“You’re out of sync and you’re acting weird.”

Jeno narrowed his eyes at you. “We were all out of sync tonight. Why am I the only one getting called out on it?”

As usual, no matter how angry he made you, your first instinct when things were too tense was to smooth his feathers. His surface was rough, but at his core, Jeno was tender. You brushed your hand down his arm and said sweetly, “Because you’re the rock…”

"We’re all built on," was going to be the end of that sentence. Unfortunately, I never got to say it.

Jeno cut you off. “I don’t want to be your rock,” he lashed out, hissing your name. “Don’t you feel pathetic leaning on me all the time?”

You recoiled like you’d been slapped and that was when you noticed his eyes. They didn’t belong to the Jeno you knew, but to the monster that stole his mind and would eventually give him back by morning.

Wrapping your arms around yourself in comfort, suddenly much colder than before, your breath pillared into the night like the smoke from his mouth when you whispered, “I didn’t. Until you said that.”

Jeno blinked, realizing too late that he’d hurt you.

That was the thing about me and Jeno. We both thought the other to be fearless and unbreakable, but also knew who we were at each other’s cores. I was his mirror image and he was mine. The broken kids; the kids that just wanted to be loved. The pair everyone knew to be demons, but never stopped to think how we became them.

The fallen angels.

Anger faded from his face in an instant. “I didn’t mean it,” Jeno started, flicking away the cigarette and reaching for you.

You stepped back, not wanting to be touched. “You’re at your most honest when you’re high, baby,” you said sternly, fixing him with a look that rooted Jeno in place. “Don’t lie to me now.”

Jeno swallowed the lump in his throat. How could you always see right through him?

You wiped the tear that spilled down your cheek and escaped into the van, your safe place, your little haven. Jeno ran a hand down his face and cursed, “Fuck,” for hitting you where it hurt.

The rest of the night was tense and awkward, only slacking when sleep took hold. Everyone was painfully exhausted. Chicago had exceeded expectations and pushed all limits. The show was insane. The energy was incredible. I would remember that performance for the rest of my life.

Me and the boys may have been a little out of sync, but each of us gave it our all. We left nothing on the floor and held nothing back.

Haechan curled around you in the bed, keeping you warm. You claimed the bed together more often than not. Mark slept like a vampire, on his back on the floor with his arms at his sides. It was the weirdest thing you’d ever seen, but it worked for him somehow. He slept like a baby, the whistle of his snores filling the van.

Jeno sat in the driver’s seat, looking up at the stars, exhaling the smoke from a joint. He was wide awake, couldn’t sleep. An unfortunate side-effect of the shit he took to get high. The marijuana wasn’t simmering him down as hoped. He’d probably stay up all night and sleep the day away.

Glancing over his shoulder, seeing your pretty face made him smile. You looked even cuter when you slept, but it was frustrating as hell.

No one else noticed he was high but you. Did you really know him that well?

Of course she does, Jeno thought. You were his better half. That’s how it worked. He could never escape you. There was a point of no return when it came to intimacy. Not so long ago, you and Jeno soared past that point. Two reckless teenagers, young and wild, that found all their highs and lows with each other.

Jeno propped his legs up on the dash and closed his eyes, watching the memories like a movie in his head. Mark shredded the electric as if his life was on the line; probably to vent his sexual frustration. Haechan was a whirlwind of energy despite playing that boring ass bass. And you, beautiful you… Mark wasn’t kidding when he said you were a god on stage.

Chicago delivered on the show, but not the after-party. Instead of drinking and fucking the night away, Jeno was in the stuffy van watching the stars go by when he wasn’t stealing glances of you. He wanted to be in your arms, needed you to kiss him and tell him everything would be okay.

You were the fix he craved most of all.

In the time it took him to blink, dawn broke. The sun shone across Jeno’s face. He lifted a hand, shielding his eyes. He grumbled a little and turned in the seat to get comfortable, cursing at the awkward angle his back was in.

Your hand touched his shoulder gently and Jeno lurched in surprise, peering up at you. He’d never looked so weary and drained, but you could see the animal was gone from his eyes. “You’ve been up all night?” Your voice rang with compassion, and Jeno felt utterly undeserving.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed, unable to keep them open any longer.

You tugged at him, getting Jeno to his feet and ushering him to the bed, where he basically collapsed onto the mattress. Mark and Haechan were up, crawling around in search of coffee like a pair of zombies. Meanwhile, you let Jeno situate and draped the blanket over him, tucking him in, and brushed some of his hair back from his face.

Jeno took your hand and laced his fingers through yours. “Tell me you love me,” he said in barely a whisper.

“I love you,” you replied without hesitation, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles. You stayed propped over him, wanting to be close so you could be sure he finally drifted off. You left a chaste kiss on his brow and coaxed, “Go to sleep, baby.”

Mark turned away. It wasn’t jealousy he felt, just longing. Seeing you so gentle with someone you were viciously fighting with the night before made him want you more. No matter what was said and done, there was too much love in this cramped little van.

When Jeno’s breathing leveled out and his hand went slack in yours, you finally relaxed. You’d be damned if he went days without sleep. There wasn’t much you could do, but the boys had their limits and you did your best to make sure they weren’t crossed.

Without another word, you clambered into the driver’s seat and turned the key, driving out of the club parking lot and onto the main road. You found a shopping center where Mark and Haechan could run errands while Jeno was out, and you pulled in.

Jeno slept well into the afternoon, stirring when the smell of hot food filled the van. Haechan used some of the gig money to splurge on delicious Chinese takeout.

You pulled out a foldable table from behind the cabinet and stood it up on the floor. The four of you sat around it and ate in silence, stuffing your faces until your bellies were full. You and Haechan gabbed a little, but not much. Mark and Jeno didn’t mutter a single word, both of them stuck in their feelings.

A far cry from how they would be that night.

One last show in Chicago. You were back on the same stage as before. It was the first time the band would perform an additional night at a club.

Jeno and Mark were squabbling, which was a rare enough sight to see. The two generally didn’t like to fuck with each other. It always resulted in fists flying and both were surprisingly really good at scrapping.

You looked to Haechan and rolled your eyes. Your best friend was smiling, on the verge of a laugh.

“We’re doing the third set,” Jeno said firmly.

“She can’t,” Mark replied, anger rising. “Her voice is fried from last night. The third set could knock it out for weeks and we’ll have no singer.”

Jeno shrugged. “She can take it.”

You were thoroughly annoyed. “She’s standing right here,” you spoke up, folding your arms. The audacity they had. It made you bristle, because you knew it had nothing to do with your voice and had everything to do with your body.

“What do you want to do?” Mark asked, softening his voice for you.

Jeno cut in, “Don’t ask her. You have to push her.”

You shot him a nasty scowl. “Stop pushing me.”

“Or what?” He smirked.

You shivered with irritation crossing dangerously toward rage.

“I don’t think you can do the third set,” Jeno said, challenging you, his smirk deepening. “Prove me wrong.”

“I’m not falling for that reverse psychology bullshit.”

“Coward.”

A smug look washed over your face as you hissed, “Don’t you feel pathetic leaning on me?”

The smile fell off Jeno’s lips. “I said I was sorry.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you snapped, but you definitely cared. The wound was still fresh and stung.

Haechan tilted his head when you looked at him. He was always your anchor in the rough seas of Mark and the violent winds of Jeno. “I’m with you, whatever you choose,” he said.

If I ever walked off that stage, my boys would follow. No questions asked. They would follow me into hell and back. Though the four of us would probably just live there indefinitely.

You straightened your shoulders and your tone left no room for argument. “We’re doing the third set.”

Jeno beamed victoriously. Haechan nodded. Mark gave a look mixed between concern and awestruck.

You sang until you were spent; brutally, wholly, and everything in between. Your legs felt like jelly when you walked off stage and your chest ached, lungs taut. The adrenaline, like a performance-enhancing drug, had run its course and you were officially on empty.

It wasn’t unlike you to push yourself to the absolute limit. You loved the stage. You worshiped the power that surged from your voice when you sang into the mic. Pipes for days, Haechan always said.

The dressing room was a sight for sore eyes. You dropped heavily onto one of the sofas and let your head fall back, closing your eyes. Your throat felt like you’d swallowed razors.

“Try not to talk,” Haechan said, holding up his hand when you shot him an irritated look. “I’m not telling you to be quiet. I’m suggesting you let your voice rest.”

You nodded and sunk back into the sofa again.

Mark was vibrating, the energy of the show still pulsing through him. Brimming with energy (the excess turning into courage), he walked over to you and bent down, pressing a lingering kiss to your brow.

You smiled, knowing it was Mark without opening your eyes.

Jeno finally deigned to grace the rest of you with his presence, bursting into the dressing room and exclaiming, “Holy shit, you killed it!”

“And this is where you take all the credit,” you rasped, wincing at the sound of your own voice.

“I’ll wait till you go to bed and then I’ll take all the credit.”

You lifted your head and narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t you have some ass to chase?”

Jeno licked his lips. “Nah. I only got eyes for you right now.”

“Pluck them out for all I care.”

“You wanna fuck me so bad you look stupid.”

You waved him away, settling down and closing your eyes again, and wheezed, “Have fun with your hand.”

Haechan sat beside you, picking up your legs and draping them over his lap. “I’ve never seen you so mad at him.”

“He just doesn’t stop,” you huffed. “You know when to leave me alone. Mark never pushes my buttons. Jeno just keeps fucking digging.”

Haechan chuckled. “That’s all he knows how to do.”

“Whatever.” You shrugged, feigning indifference.

Mark suddenly asked, “Do you love him?”

You sighed. “I love all three of you. He’s definitely my least favorite though.”

Mark gleamed proudly at Jeno, who scowled back.

“So, if we were drowning, who would you save first?” Haechan asked mischievously.

“Mark. Obviously.”

Mark’s grin widened, while Haechan gasped and put a hand over his heart like it was the ultimate betrayal.

“You can swim,” you said, patting Haechan’s arm over your legs. You opened your eyes and gave Jeno a vicious sneer. “Jeno’s the only one drowning.”

Jeno’s lips squared into a frown.

“What’s that mean?” Mark asked curiously, but Haechan stayed silent. He knew.

“Leave it,” Jeno warned, darker than ever.

The three of you did. Unlike Jeno, you knew when to quit.

Some people did drugs. Others did rock music. A few did both.

The boys dispersed momentarily. You were relieved when the dressing room was empty, leaving you to your thoughts and the searing pain in your vocal chords. Rubbing at your eyes, smearing your makeup, you didn’t hear someone come back in as you muttered to yourself, “God, my throat fucking hurts.”

“It’s probably raw as shit,” Jeno said, making you jolt. And roll your eyes. He cleared his throat and switched his tone to add, “Speaking of raw…”

“No.”

“You let Mark in raw,” he whined loudly.

You cut him a glare. “I wouldn’t let you raw me if you were the last man on earth.”

Jeno pouted. “Ow.”

With a scoff, you decided to turn the tables on him. “Why are you so hard for me the past few days? I can’t even brush my teeth without you humping the air around me.”

There was no shame to be found in Jeno. “I haven’t had you in weeks,” he groaned.

Your lips parted in surprise. “You’ve had every other girl in the country.”

“It’s not the same.”

You stood and crept close to him, close enough to ghost your lips over his mouth. Jeno went boneless, every inch of him fixated to you and what you would do next. He wanted you so bad he couldn’t see straight. So, you decided to yank the metaphorical rug out from under him, sniping, “You’re pathetic.”

“Are you really going to hold that against me forever?” Jeno asked, tensing.

No. It was just easier to be mad at him. That was the only way I could have some defense against the power he had over me.

“I’ll make you a deal,” you said, sliding your hands over his shoulders and winding your fingers into his hair. “Answer one question for me and I’ll forgive you.”

Jeno was one more breath away from kissing you. He knew it was a trap. You were luring him in and he was happy to swallow the bait. “Fine,” he replied in a husky voice, eyes on your lips. “Ask your damn question.”

“What are you taking?”

“What do you mean?”

You hardened your gaze on him and tugged on his hair. “Don’t play that with me. I know better.”

Jeno studied you a moment. You would keep yanking this thread until it unraveled. He pushed, you pulled. The two of you could play tug-of-war with each other’s heartstrings forever. Jeno decided it was better to rip the bandage off and get it over with it.

He reached to the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a bag, and handed it out to you.

You took a split-second look at the bag and your jaw dropped, your arms falling as you snatched it quickly. “Cocaine? Are you fucking kidding me, Jeno?”

Jeno stole the bag back in the time it took you to blink, returning it to the safety of his pocket. “We’re supposed to do drugs,” he defended, rather unconvincingly. “We’re rockstars.”

“We’re teenagers that just graduated high school with barely enough cash for fuel and chips!”

“How I spend my cut of the money is my business,” Jeno shot back.

“This isn’t about the money.” You folded your arms, scolding him like a mother would a child; oscillating between angry and worried. “You know how dangerous that shit is.”

Jeno shifted his approach too, ever your mirror. “It’s the only way I can perform, babe. If I don’t have it, I can’t focus and I get too nervous.”

You softened even more, like Jeno knew you would. “We can get you something else,” you said gently. “Something better. Safer.”

He scoffed. “With our gas and chips money?”

You sighed, accepting a temporary defeat, but you pressed, “You’re doing it to get high. Not to concentrate.”

Jeno went slack, equally defeated, and reached for your waist. “I’m just trying to have a good time. We know this won’t last. We’re going nowhere.”

You lowered your head. “I know.”

The summer was half over and we hadn’t been scouted. Hope was replaced with disappointment and eventually, disappointment would flip to resentment. We never put it into words, but it was like a cloud following us, day and night.

Jeno took your face in his hands and tipped your chin up until you met his eyes. “Let me have this summer,” he whispered sadly. “Mark got you. I got this.”

Something inside you broke a little.

Yes, when the summer was over, you were Mark’s.

But the summer wasn’t over.

Jeno smiled in surprise when he felt the warmth of your lips on his, but he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and deepen the kiss. Feeling the heat of your body against his was what he’d been craving, wanting you to burn him alive.

My first instinct always was to comfort him. I would chip away at myself and give him every piece if it meant he could use them to stitch his wounds.

Believe it or not, Jeno was my first love, but a first love at fifteen means nothing in the grand scheme of things. He was my first everything, but we just didn’t work. No matter how hard we tried. There was a mad and intense connection between us, inseverable, but in the confines of a relationship, we were wild animals forced together in a cage.

I know few will understand us. Hell, even I don’t understand how I could have so much passion and fire for someone that stretched me thin and forever kept me at the brink of insanity.

But I was beyond questioning it.

Jeno slipped his tongue in your mouth and you grabbed his hips, pulling him flush against you. His kisses were surpassing hungry and landing somewhere near ravenous. The intensity must have scared him, because Jeno suddenly parted from you and took a step back.

You rubbed your lips bashfully, not realizing you were panting until it was the only sound in the quiet dressing room. And Jeno was breathing just as heavily.

“What’s wrong?”

Jeno shook his head. “I want you so bad.”

You snickered. Here you were on a silver platter and he was the one that put distance between you.

Though you opened your mouth to say something snarky, Jeno spoke up, “But you’re going to leave me.”

Your heart sank. It dawned on you; this summer was the end to a lot of things. Youth was ending. The band was ending and with it, all of your dreams.

And the tie between me and Jeno would have to finally be severed so my life with Mark could start.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. You didn’t want to think about Jeno and his broken heart. Or that the drugs you scolded him over were what he used to fill the void you left behind.

Jeno respected the hell out of you for having the strength to leave him. He never could walk away from you even though he knew it was for the best. You would spend your whole life trying to fix him while he would always use you as a crutch.

It wasn’t fair to either you or him.

“Mark is good for you,” Jeno said in barely a whisper, his eyes glistening.

You shook your head. “I don’t want to talk about Mark.”

Jeno swallowed the lump in his throat. Seeing his pain reflected back at him on your face was too much. “Get high with me.”

Your eyes went wide. “Why?”

“You’re my person,” he said, vulnerable. “The only one I’ve ever wanted to do it with.”

This was what you struggled to put into words - the hold this boy had on you. He was bottomless ocean depths.

“It’s always you and me. We do everything together,” Jeno continued, reaching for your hand and leaving a kiss on your knuckles.

You let him pull you back into his arms and asked, “What if I die?”

“I’ll bring you back,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your brow that completely melted you.

“What if you die?”

“Let me go.”

Your eyes suddenly shone with the threat of tears. “Never.”

Jeno leaned into you, stealing a kiss from your lips. “Just this once, babe.”

You paused, thinking it over. Everything inside you screamed, “Yes!” Jeno never failed to bring this side out of you - the reckless, starved one that didn’t give a damn about consequences. You always feared if that was the real you, the true you. “Just this once,” you said quietly, closing your eyes as Jeno sealed his lips to yours again.

The idea of getting high reached out to you with gentle, caressing fingertips, promising to banish the pain and numb the hurt.

Tearing himself away from you once more, Jeno walked over to the door and locked it.

Yet another first time with Jeno to add to my list.

You were caught off-guard at how fast the high kicked in and never before had you noticed how tense your body was until it wasn’t anymore. Your mind was even lighter. There was no more torment. You could feel that it was there, but it didn’t ache any longer.

The sensation was indescribable. You were whole, perfect, immortal and invincible all at once.

And that was how you found yourself on the couch with Jeno, pawing at each other like animals in heat.

“Jeno?”

“I know.”

You sucked in a breath as he nipped at your neck and asked weakly, “Am I going crazy?”

“Babe,” he said, meeting your eyes with a smirk. “You been crazy.”

You laughed and the sound was music to Jeno’s ears, making his smile widen.

Time blurred together. It could have been the next day or the next year for all you cared. All you knew was this moment with Jeno and how it lasted a lifetime.

You sank deeper into the sofa beneath Jeno’s weight. Your thighs were hooked on his hips, hands roaming his taut, muscly back. Both your shirt and his tee were somewhere on the floor, along with your bra.

Jeno kept grinding into you, each movement rougher than the last. “Fuck,” he swore, lips brushing your ear. “I just know you’re getting so fucking wet right now.”

He wasn’t wrong.

A wanton noise of pleasure escaped you and Jeno ate it up. You were burning by a thousand degrees, it was almost painful. You had never craved someone’s body on such a primal level before.

With Mark, it was love, but this? This was lust running wild with abandon.

The doorknob wiggled. You didn’t hear it over the loud thumping in your ears and neither did Jeno, who was far too busy bruising your neck whilst he kneaded your breasts, pinching your nipples to make you squirm. Haechan didn’t need to try the knob again to know what was going on. He turned to Mark, who was coming down the hall, and led him away.

“They’re working out their issues. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said hurriedly. Mark hesitated, but didn’t argue. He was none the wiser. With the way you and Jeno had been at each other’s throats, it never crossed his mind that you would fuck him.

Meanwhile, you were discovering new uncharted levels of arousal, undulating beneath Jeno, trying to match his movements, which were getting faster and harder. The drugs in your system made everything feel more intense, all-consuming. There was no tension, no insecurity, just instinct and pleasure.

Jeno was definitely waiting for you to give him the green light, and you were enjoying keeping it from him, but the throbbing between your legs was unbearable.

You planted your hands on his thick chest and pushed, making Jeno prop over you and look into your face. “Wanna fuck now?” you asked sheepishly.

His pupils dilated. “I thought you’d never ask.”

You whined when Jeno clambered off of you, standing next to the sofa and unfastening his pants. Before he drew them down his thighs, he pulled condoms from his pocket and dropped them on your lap.

“Two?” You snorted. “My lucky day.”

“One for each girl. You know, the ones you chased away from me.”

Licking your lips as his hard cock sprang into view, you grabbed him by the hips and purred, “I called first dibs on that dick years ago.”

Jeno chuckled, but his expression changed on a dime when you leaned in. He watched you drag your lips over his abs, kissing and nibbling along his happy trail. His breaths stuttered as he said, “Whenever you want it, it’s all yours.”

You peeked up at him hotly. “I want it now.”

While Jeno fitted himself with a condom, you shimmied out of your pants and underwear, and the moment they were on the floor, you turned onto your knees, braced yourself on the arm of the sofa, and arched your back, sticking your ass in the air.

He wouldn’t be able to resist it for a second.

“Fuck you,” Jeno hissed, getting into position behind you and raking his cock between your folds, gathering your slick from tip to base.

You wiggled your hips. Your brain was clouded with lust and drugs, and something purely hungry for Jeno. Like he was your favorite meal. “Gimme it,” you huffed, glancing over your shoulder. “What the fuck is taking so long?”

Jeno gave your ass a smack, making you squeak. “You need to calm down,” he chided with a grin, still sliding his length between your slit. He was so riled up his hips jerked against you involuntarily.

You reached between your legs, getting a hand around his dick and steering it into your aching pussy. Jeno let you, biting his lip and smirking at how goddamn horny you were for him.

The head of his cock pressed into your entrance and you grasped the arm of the sofa with both hands as Jeno began thrusting forward, working himself inside until he impaled you on every last inch of his girthy cock. You buried your face in the couch, biting down on the stressed leather.

Jeno gripped your waist tight and drew you to him until he was balls deep in your tight heat, feeling your walls stretch and flutter around his length. The drugs amplified everything about you; your warmth, your scent, your sounds. He barely noticed the condom at all.

When he drew back and shoved his cock back into your cunt, you lifted your head and cried, “Fuck!”

“You’re so wet,” Jeno growled, sinking in and out to hear your slick pussy welcoming him back.

You whimpered. “Fuck you and that big dick,” you mumbled, but you didn’t mean a word of it. You weren’t sure how much you could blame the drugs anymore. You wanted him to plow the living shit out of you until there was nothing left.

Jeno took that personally. As a challenge more than anything. He squeezed your waist in his hands and smacked his hips into your ass, driving his cock into your core and giving you something to really whine about.

It was all you could do not to scream as he took you for all you were worth. You fisted the couch in your hands until your knuckles ached and you threw yourself back to meet his strokes, a noise escaping on your hoarse throat with every rushed breath. Sex was a drug all its own. It just felt too damn good.

Jeno kept his hard pace, making sure he landed flush against your heat every time, and brushed his hands up your body to wrap them around your throat and tip your head back. “Yeah, that’s my good slut,” he taunted, the smack of his body colliding with yours getting louder. “She’s taking all that dick, huh?”

The sounds you made were humiliating, but they only made Jeno harder. His grip on your neck had you slack-jawed, your eyes winched closed. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him!

It wasn’t fair that he had that kind of power over my body. With him, I felt desired and powerful, and between that - untainted. Unbroken. Jeno never saw me for the damaged goods that I was. To him, I was always perfect. He completed me. No matter how unhealthy it was, I wanted it.

I didn’t need drugs. Jeno’s love was my high.

“Don’t stop,” you choked out, his hands heavy on your strained vocal chords. “Don’t ever stop...”

Loving me. Though the words wouldn’t come, Jeno knew them.

“Never, baby,” Jeno said, releasing your throat in favor of your waist, draping himself over you and burying his face in your neck. His hands wandered your breasts as he plunged in as far as he could go and stopped, leaving a few scattered, reassuring kisses across your shoulders.

Your body trembled when he bottomed out, aching with need and overstimulation. You swallowed to wet your throat, panting for air, and asked, “Why are you…?”

“You’re so fucking high, baby,” Jeno crooned, touching you gently and affectionately. “Just trust me.”

He was right. You were high on drugs and his body. You were a nerve laid bare, every brush of his hands enough to make you shiver. Your body pulsated, like you were being dangled over the edge, the pressure becoming too much to bear.

You held yourself up on hands and knees, tortured by the fact he was no longer moving inside you, but his hands playing with your breasts and his lips on your neck had your attention. The stimulation was sending more shudders across your skin, making you lean into his touch as your core throbbed for him.

“Part of you will always be mine,” Jeno whispered into your neck. “I know you’ll pick him over me, but part of you will always miss me.”

You tensed with unshed tears and cried, “I know.”

“I need you to know it’s okay,” Jeno said, turning your head and kissing you with so much pain and pleasure it knocked the wind out of you.

You kissed him back, reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair. It was a cruel curse - to love someone so deeply that was bad for you.

Jeno broke the kiss and rocked gently into you, staying in deep and lilting his cock inside your walls, the head of him kissing your cervix. Normally, you would have pushed at his hips for some mercy, but the high made you impervious to pain.

Suddenly, he thrust in hard but slow, arching his hips. You staggered out a moan and reached out to steady yourself, almost knocked off balance by his strength.

He did it again and again.

Tears pricked at your eyes. Jeno was hitting you with those drawn-out, domineering strokes, making you feel every inch of him slam against your sweet spot. He may have agreed to never hold you choosing Mark over him against you, but he was going to give you one final reminder of how absolute his control of your body was.

“I’m coming,” you warned, his name a mantra on your tongue as you took all he had to give. You were grateful for the roar of music coming from the other side of the wall, drowning out your cries and Jeno’s moans.

Jeno fisted a hand in your hair while the other still tugged and rolled your nipples. He kept his pace, hips slapping into your ass at a perfect rhythm, knowing you were on the edge of orgasm with the way your walls clamped down on his cock.

“Fuck!” Another brutal thrust sent you into ecstasy. You shook and swore, trying to crawl away from him, but Jeno was on you, shoving you into the couch and riding out your high.

“Good girl,” Jeno hissed, watching you writhe beneath him. He went still and tipped his head back, letting out a tiny moan.

You blinked to clear your eyes. You could feel the bruises forming in your skin as Jeno pinned you to the couch. It only turned you on more. When you realized he was still hard, that he hadn’t come, you mumbled under your breath. He was supposed to finish with you.

Jeno’s eyes flickered. Another moan escaped him as you rolled your hips, desperate for friction. He drifted his hands to your hair, gathering it all in his fists.

You sat up and went to work, fucking him as best you could in your position. Despite the condom, your pussy wanted to milk every drop of cum out of his dick. Post-nut clarity hadn’t set in. Either the drugs or the orgasm made you even more feral for this dumb boy.

“Oh, fuck,” Jeno groaned, watching you throw it back, bouncing your ass on him, taking him like a fucking champ. His abs tightened as he tried not to pound the fuck out of you. Instead, he reeled his hand back and slapped your ass, goading you.

“Come for me, baby,” you said darkly, the room echoing with the loud, wet clap of your bodies meeting.

Jeno growled a low curse in this throat. Suddenly he was on the edge, driven by your command and that tight fucking cunt.

You shrieked in surprise when he flipped you over roughly, the sound devolving into a moan when he steered his cock back into your pussy, grabbed your waist, and drilled into you like he would never get the chance again.

He didn’t last long at that pace. Jeno threw his head back and came, one moan after another tumbling from his pretty mouth, each one more ragged than the last as he emptied himself into the condom.

You brushed your hands over his thighs and hips, whispering little nothings as he came, feeling him shake like a leaf as he buried himself inside you. Once Jeno settled down, you touched his chest and asked, “Holy shit. Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” he wheezed, voice cracking, all the air knocked out of him.

Biting your lip to fight a laugh, you failed to hide the smug grin taking over your face.

“Don’t,” Jeno said weakly, rubbing at his eyes.

“You just came so hard you cried,” you teased, pinching his nipple for good measure.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

Feeling him about to pull out, you reached for his waist and held him there, joking, “I will remember this, forever and ever, and I will bring it up every time you get on my nerves.”

“You’re the worst.” He sobered, leaning in close. “And you’re the best I've ever had.”

You smiled as he kissed you, sealing his words on your lips. Then you giggled as his mouth traveled over your chest, sucking on a nipple. Your buds were still stiff and Jeno couldn’t resist.

“I see how easy it is to get addicted,” you said when Jeno got up to discard the condom. “That shit is intense.”

“Told you.”

Sitting up, you ran your hands through your messy hair. You could only imagine how you looked; makeup smeared, glistening with sweat. “You know you have to stop,” you told him, making your voice gentle.

Jeno afforded you no looks. “Eventually.”

You were too tired to argue, sore and spent in the best ways. When Jeno returned to the couch, you welcomed him with open arms, pulling him close and steering him to lay his head on your naked chest. You stroked your fingers through his hair and over his broad shoulders, and whispered, “I’ll never let you die, Jeno.”

He stayed quiet.

“You’re not allowed to leave me.”

“Stalker.”

You snorted back a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Jeno lifted his head and nuzzled your cheek, teasing, “I just think it’s cute how obsessed you are with me.”

You kept touching him. His skin was just so hot beneath your fingertips, like caressing an open flame. “Are you really okay with dying?” you asked after a moment.

Jeno shrugged. “It’s unavoidable. I don’t see the point in sweating over it.” As he spoke, Jeno kissed at your neck slowly, curious if he could get you riled up again.

Your lashes fluttered and you shifted underneath him. Though he left you more than satisfied, the longer he kissed over your pulse and palmed your breasts, the quicker the ache in your core came back, ready to be filled up again.

Jeno reached down to cup your sex, running his finger over your swollen clit and swearing under his breath when he felt your soaked entrance, thinking how easily he could slide right back in and make you feel good. Both of you.

“If you died,” you stammered, struggling to form words as he touched you. “I don’t think I would ever smile again.”

Jeno was caught off-guard. He stopped pawing at you to look in your eyes, wondering if you realized just how heavy a thing that was to say. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he told you innocently, kissing the corner of your mouth with affection.

It was the first time you’d seen him so serious. Not hiding behind his usual humor.

Jeno was surprised when you pushed him away and reached for your pants on the floor. He watched curiously as you rifled through your pocket and withdrew a balled-up piece of paper and handed it to him.

“For the memoir?”

You nodded, watching him unfurl the page, your heart thumping harshly in your chest. “Yeah, I’m constantly jotting stuff down.”

Jeno’s eyes drifted over your words.

I can’t stand him. He infuriates me. He makes me crazy. But Jeno is the one person that knows me - the good and the bad, and accepts them both.

I love my boys, but he’s the one I don’t think I could ever live without.

Jeno peered at you with glassy eyes, shining with tears. “Damn it,” he groaned, crashing his lips on yours.

As expected, you made use of that second condom.

Jeno hooked your legs in the crooks of his arms and thrust languidly, staring down at you. Your eyes never parted as he gave you release once more, knowing when the summer was over, he would never get to touch you again.

When all was said and done, the two of you slumped into opposite sides of the sofa, soaked with sweat. Once you caught your breath and Jeno returned from tossing the condom, it was your turn to clamber on top of him, using his chest as your pillow. You rested your head on his shoulder and traced senseless patterns over his collarbone with your fingertips.

Jeno said your name. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I want, but I know I can’t give it to you. I tried.”

You closed your eyes. It would keep the tears at bay. “I know.”

“I feel sorry for you, loving all three of us. It can’t be easy.”

“It’s what I was made for,” you said softly, tightening your arms around him, lest he fly away from you and never return.

Jeno changed subjects before it broke him. “I’ve never felt so self-aware of how it feels to be young. And how it doesn’t last long.”

You nodded slightly. “This time is precious.”

“I wouldn’t say precious. Definitely fun though.”

You snickered, relieved to hear his humor coming back, but a somber feeling rushed over you. “Do you think we’ll ever get tired of it?”

“Of what?”

“The performing, the fucking, and… the drugs.”

Jeno paused. “You mean each other.”

You sighed tersely. There was no hiding it from him.

My biggest fear was that my boys would hate me. That I would be a bitter reminder of what could have been, how close we were to our dreams before crash landing back on earth, broken and bruised forever from the fall.

Jeno brushed his fingers up and down your back, and kissed the top of your head. “I don’t think we’ll resent each other if this fails, babe,” he said in a low voice. Some things just aren’t meant to be, he thought sadly. Like you and me.

“If that happened, I think I would die,” you whimpered, burrowing your face in his chest.

“Don’t talk like that,” Jeno said, running his hand mischievously over your thigh. “But stop being so afraid of death. You’ll waste your life running from something that is going to catch you no matter what.”

You tipped your head back to kiss him. “I just know the devil dreads meeting us. We’ll steal his throne.”

Jeno kissed you back hotly. “Hell yeah. I can’t wait to fuck you on it.”

You laughed.

Hard to steal something that already belongs to you, Jeno.

#nct #nct smut #jeno #jeno smut #nct dream smut #jeno x reader

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doll3tt33 · 2 months

Text

Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer ♡

(colin zabel x under arrest!reader)

Summary: once again, you find yourself being arrested by Colin, adding to his piling stress from an unsolved case. However, you discover that a tiny favor for the detective might bring him some much needed cheer…

Wordcount: 5.7k

Warnings: oral sex (m receiving), car sex, coaxing, reader is under the influence of alcohol, brief mention of a bar fight, aggressive and rude reader, rly vague implied age gap, technically abuse of authority (it’s obvious, but I’m still putting it out there. I advise not to read if any of this makes you uncomfortable)

A/N: sorry for the major inactivity guys, I’ve been busy! And this fic ended up being longer than I expected, but I hope it’s good enough quality. My first ever smut, so hope u guys enjoy <3 (also sorry if any typos btw T^T)

You stood motionless, reeling from the adrenaline coursing through your veins as the alcohol's effects faded. The rush of emotion receded to an eerie calm. As your vision adjusted in the dim light, the scene came into focus - onlookers surrounded you and a woman now being helped from the floor. Through the buzz still clouding your mind, one detail emerged with painful clarity: her bruised and bloodied face, a stark reminder of the harm just caused in a moment of impaired impulse and from your god awful temper.

Now the woman who you beaten black and blue, almost to the point of passing out, wasn't the focal point for dispelling the haze of your impulsive rage. Nah, this lady had it coming when she slut shamed you for being oh-so-bold enough to wear a tank top tonight. No, it was the bright flashing hues of blue and red seeping through the windows that acted as your wakeup call.

Just like that, a realization hit with sobering clarity - “Shit. Cops.” Without pause, you shoved through the crowd, desperation driving every move. Bursting through the door, the frigid night air raised goosebumps across your skin. Damnit, maybe the tank top wasn’t the best choice after all. Intoxicated or not, you were in no shape for an arrest. Stumbling at first, you found your footing and picked up speed, putting distance between yourself and the scene of the incident you started. You were gonna make it through! You were gonna outrun those pigs and they would never get their grubby hands onto you!

…That was until, a loathsome voice sounded from behind.

“Hey- hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

Before you knew it, you felt hands locked around your arms, yanking you to a halt. The telltale jingle of metal broke through your panic and with a sharp click, cold steel encircled your wrists. A glance back confirmed your dread. You weren’t being handcuffed by just any stinking cop - it was that good for nothing detective Colin Zabel arresting you once more, and for what, the third time this week? That’s one hell of a streak.

You sighed inwardly, the fight draining from your limbs, knowing any attempt in resisting would be in vain. “Goddammit Zabel, can’t you give it a rest?…” you muttered under your breath, as he hauled you back to the police car.

"I know, I know - save your excuses," Colin cut you off wearily, the smile not reaching his eyes. “Jus’… don’t start, ‘Kay? Do me a solid and quietly get in the car.” He opened the car door to the backseat, gesturing for you to step inside. Despite his perpetual mask of affability, you detected an edge of irritation - his good humor and patience clearly worn down by your repeated encounters.

“Whatever man…” you sighed as the door clamped shut with finality. Through the window you watched Colin slip into the driver's seat, releasing a long exhale as if to shed the stress of your latest encounter. At least you provided some diversion from his endless paperwork, though you doubted he'd admit as much.

True to his by-the-book nature, he slinked the seatbelt over himself, securing it with an assured click. Out of habit, he craned his neck over his shoulder, asking out of the goodwill of his heart. “Oh! Almost forgot. Do ya need a lil’ hand with fastening your seatbelt too?“ he offered warmly, “Don’t want any extra accidents happening tonight, am I right or am I right?” A hearty chuckle followed, dying abruptly once he took in your expression - eyes hooded and mouth set in a grim line.

“Fuck off Zabel.” you growled in response, fixing your stare out the window. He felt tension coil in his gut but forced it down with a hard gulp. As a veteran officer, he had faced far worse than you, yet something about your unpredictable defiance unsettled him. For a moment, under your glare, an angry retort rose to his lips but he bit it back, sensing it would only stoke the flames. Best to let the dust settle, he decided. Starting the car, he pointedly kept his eyes forward and drove in loaded silence.

“Alriiiighty then, no seatbelt it is. I’m just gonna… ah- y’know….” He cleared his throat, voice petering off into a nonsensical mumble as he shifted gears.

An uncomfortable hush fell over the car, only the revving of the engine permeating the stillness. Colin tapped the wheel, wishing for a distraction from the tension. His mind raced through possible conversation starters but came up blank. A stolen glance in the mirror found your stony profile unchanged. With a sigh, he focused back to the road, flicking on the radio more for the static noise than any musical preference.

Colin hummed softly to fill the silence, earning another kick from the backseat - your fourth such outburst. He was the pinnacle of what it meant to be a pushover, but he still stood his ground when needed to… in his own unique way. “H-Hey, Cut it out kid! And be nice,” he let out a weary sigh, peeking up at your vexed form through the rearview mirror “You know, I’m not a fan of this attitude you’ve got going on. Haven’t been for the past week.”

You sank lower into the seat, glowering. “First of all, old man, lay off the ‘kid’ crap. I’m not a child.” You rolled your eyes at his feeble attempt at reprimand.

Colin bit back another retort, clenching his jaw. Pride demanded he have the last word, if only to reclaim a shred of dignity in his own vehicle. “Hm no, I think I’ll call you a kid. ‘Cause you know why? You’re acting like one, like right now.” he replied evenly, bubbling frustration leaking through his amicable veneer, yet he still maintained some semblance of civility between him and your not-so-good of a temper.

As you drew your breath to speak, Colin beat you to it. “Look- all I’m sayin’ is, this isn’t good for you. This is the third time this week I’m haulin’ you in here. The third time!” Weariness tinged his laughter as he splayed his fingers out in front of him, only to reclaim the steering wheel in a swift motion. “Not only is this not doing you any favors kid—-“

“I said don’t call me kid.” You interjected sharply, cutting him off this time.

Colin continued on autopilot, fatigue chipping away at his usual cheer. “It's also not doing me any favors either. I've got a case to crack, but Mare - my partner - thought it’d be best if I dealt with you while she took charge of the investigation for the night…”

His shoulders slumped, eyes downcast as a cloud of disappointment settled in. As a county detective, he longed to prove himself with this investigation, not play referee to petty disputes. But saying no had never come easy, especially when others mistook his calm demeanor as weakness.

Silently, your eyes veered away from the passing scenery outside the car window, finally taking notice of his careworn features in the mirror. Attuned to the new lines of fatigue etched upon his face, you perhaps began to understand that this was wearing him too.

“Must suck being everyone’s errand boy.” You observed, tone lacking its usual bite.

Colin offered a tired nod. “Comes with the job, I guess…” his words trailed off, accompanied by a somber tone as his gaze returned to the road. “But y’know what they say- it is what it is.” he added softly, punctuating the statement with a self deprecating laugh.

Surprisingly, a twinge of sympathy tugged at your heart - a rare reaction to the shithead county detective. For all his attempts at camaraderie, which admittedly grated, you had to respect his resilience in the face of your unrelenting hostility. Hell, that time you clocked him during arrest, most would've thrown the book - but not Colin. His patience and optimism seemed a superpower, weathering your worst without breaking stride.

A strange blend of sympathy and guilt surged through you, as the realization struck you hard like a freight train - you had subjected the poor detective to a relentless barrage of undeserved hardship, oblivious to the weight of his personal burdens. Your chest tightened, and a foreign sensation stirred deep within as the reflection in the rearview mirror held your gaze captive.

The need for redemption gnawed at your conscience, but how could you possibly make things right? You've been a real pain in the ass to him for a good while now. Within the depths of your alcohol-induced haze, a daring idea began to take shape - could you perhaps make amends through a little bit of... shared pleasure?

It was pure insanity. Drunken impulses (and drunken you) are the epitome of idiocy. Vivid images flooded your thoughts, projecting the sheer horror that would contort his face if you dared to make a move now. It was likely that he hadn't experienced the touch of a woman in quite some time. And yet, that was precisely the point. The poor guy may have been deprived of any intimate encounters since his fiancée abruptly left him, and the growing urge within compelled you to do something about it.

Undeterred, an unwavering determination fueled your decision to make a bold move and test the waters. Shattering the silence, you adopted an uncharacteristically sweet tone to conceal your true intentions. "Hey Colin, think I could sit up front? It's kinda cramped back here."

Colin glanced over, clearly skeptical of your politeness given past rides. "Not sure that's protocol..." he began, ever the rule-follower.

Your lips formed a slight pout, an innocent plea. "Aw c’mon, I'm starting to feel queasy. Just to the station, what's the harm?"

“Uhh….”

Colin's head snapped in your direction, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized your expression. Despite his suspicion, a flicker of genuine concern crossed his face. The thought of you unleashing your 'gastric distress' all over his car seemed to be a genuine fear he really wanted to avoid. He did not need an extra pukefest tonight.

Reluctantly, he caved in to your request, his voice colored with a mix of resignation and caution. "Ah, jeez... Look, you're not supposed to sit in the front, but fine, I'll make an exception this time." He maneuvered the car to the side of the road, stepping out to open the door for you. As you settled into the passenger seat, he retook his place beside you.

"Jus' promise me you won't end up throwing up in the car, 'cause I'm not looking forward to cleaning up that mess." With a playful smirk, he wagged his finger at you, but there was an underlying seriousness to his words.

"Chillaaaax, Colin. Don’t even worry, you won't see me hurling tonight. I've got it all under control," you declared, gracing him with a reassuring smile. The unexpected warmth of your expression caught him off guard, contrasting sharply with your usual snarky demeanor and the piercing death stares he had grown accustomed to.

However, Colin’s initial reservations melted away, reciprocating the gesture as a warm smile played across his face. He resumed his position behind the wheel, ready to continue the drive. But just as he was about to press the gas pedal, you captured the moment and took action. It was officially reckless business o’ clock. You sank down from the car seat, your knees grazing along the surface as you shifted toward the detective.

Colin's eyes widened comically, his mouth agape, utterly taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. "K-Kid, what on earth are you—"

Cutting him off, your slurred words emerged with a hushed urgency. "Shush. And I told you not to call me kid. Just wait, let me..."

Your words trailed off as you grappled with the cramped space of the car. Hindered by the handcuffs that still restricted your movement, you struggled to find a way to support yourself without the use of your arms. Nonetheless, you persevered, inching your way beneath the steering wheel and between Colin's legs.

You released a sigh of relief as you settled comfortably onto your knees. “Phew! Crawling around is no walk in the park without some arms. Anyways...”

“Hi.” An impish grin spread across your face, your eyes flickering upwards, locking with his apprehensive gaze.

“Wow hi, haha!“ his smile, already awkward, stiffened further as he involuntarily sunk deeper into the car seat, attempting to create as much distance as possible between the two of you. “So um… is everything okay? I mean, what’s happening right now? What are you… doin’ down there, specifically?” His words tumbled out, laden with confusion and a touch of concern.

“What do you think I’m doing?” you giggled, thoroughly amused by the sight of the detective squirming uneasily in his seat. A delicate flush of pink tinted his cheeks, a detail that didn't escape your notice. Your voice dropped into a low purr as you continued, relishing in the tension that swirled between you. “Weeeell... I had this little thought, you see. I wanted to make amends. You know, for being such a pain to you over the past few weeks."

A coy little shrug followed your words, as if you were merely toying with the idea. “And I figured, what better way than to help my favorite detective relieve summa his stress off his shoulders.”

You awaited his response with a wide grin, but all that greeted you was a dumbfounded Colin, his face now aflame with a deep shade of crimson blush, eyes wide and unblinking. The sound of his breathing, short and heavy, filled the tense silence, leaving you to wonder if perhaps you had made him uncomfortable. Although a certain part of his body seemed to betray a different sentiment, stiffened and undeniable.

As both of your gazes inadvertently dropped, your eyes locked onto a conspicuous tent forming beneath Colin's slacks. A mix of surprise and amusement flickered across your face, mirrored by the silent murmuring of the word 'crap' that escaped his lips. “Hah… that’s uh- real strange. Don’t know why that’s happening,” He gulped. “Good ol’ keys in the pocket, huh? They’re a pain, especially when they decide to stick out in weird angles. It's like, whoa, things can get a little… funny, you know? Awkward, even.” He added, his voice revealing a hint of panic as he desperately attempted to maintain his composure, all while his raging boner was in plain sight.

“Oh for god’s sake,” you groaned, impatience tracing a light furrow on your brow as the restraint of the handcuffs exacerbated your frustration. "You're not seriously trying to play dumb with me, are you?" You said, annoyance and amusement bleeding through your words. The power dynamics had shifted, leaving you unable to take the lead, and instead relying on the nervous wreck of a detective before you.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, taking in a deep breath to steady fraying nerves. Determined to take a gentler approach, you decided to navigate this delicate situation with care.

"Come on, Col..." you cooed, leaning forward as far as you could, resting your head gently on his thigh. Your voice took on a soft, persuasive tone. "Let me do this for you." With a subtle flutter of your lashes, you batted your eyes, mimicking the innocent charm of a puppy seeking its owner's attention. Colin flinched, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of your sudden touch. Yet, he remained motionless, his eyes fixed upon you in mounting suspense.

A smile curled upon your lips as you sensed his lack of immediate resistance, emboldening you to press forward with your gentle coercion. "Just once," you whispered, your voice filled with earnestness. "Let me do this once, and I promise you'll feel so much better afterward."

“..Jesus, I don’t know ‘bout this… I….” Colin mumbled, trailing off with a heavy uncertainty.

He sat frozen in place, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His bottom lip bore the marks of his nervous chewing, while his brows knitted together in a hesitant frown as he weighed his options.

He knew he shouldn't, he reaaaally should not. It was morally wrong, a breach of professionalism, and could jeopardize his career if discovered. His eyes darted frantically outside the car's windows, scanning the desolate darkness that enveloped the streets in secrecy. But technically, no one would find out, would they?

And god, it had been a long while since he had been with a woman, especially since the bitter end of his engagement. And there you were right now, on your knees, your eagerness to please him palpable. Just the sight of you pouting sent his stomach into a frenzy of uncontrollable flutters, a reaction unexpected even from someone with a volatile temper like yours.

Bewitched by your feminine wiles, he barely registered how his hand had crept onto the top of your head, his thumb caressing your scalp with a tender touch. The throbbing heat in his pants intensified, overpowering any remaining restraint. With cautious swiftness, he glanced around, scanning the surroundings for any prying eyes, before his gaze settled back on your face - your smile, a comforting anchor in the sea of his conflicting emotions.

He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "F-Fine... Jus’ promise me you won't breathe a word of this to anyone, alright?" His hands returned to himself, fingers trembling as he loosened the clasp of his belt. The once ironclad resolve that had held him together began to crumble like fragile dust, succumbing to the pull of the moment.

“You have my word Col.” you reassured, your voice a soft murmur teeming with exhilaration.

Colin proceeded to undo his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing through the confined space. As he shoved them down, the dim glow of a distant streetlight seeped through the car window, casting a faint illumination on the scene. You couldn’t see all that clearly in the dark, but you did catch a glimpse of the outline of his cock protruding beneath his boxers, the fabric adorned with a telltale wet spot. Needless to say, he was far more excited than he was letting on.

Your mouth watered in anticipation, your core aching with need. Your senses heightened, thighs instinctively clenching as you awaited his next move. But just as Colin's thumb looped under his waistband, he hesitated, uncertainty settling over him like an icy veil. Restraints confined your hands, the itch of frustration crawling beneath your skin. In this moment, the immobility of your arms felt like a punishment far worse than being thrown into a holding cell later that night.

Unable to physically intervene, you relied on the power of your voice to guide the hesitant detective. "It's alright," you coaxed, tone laced with soothing encouragement. "Shake those nerves off, just this once. No one will ever find out..."

Colin's response came in the form of a hesitant nod - quick, uncertain, but nevertheless a nod. With painstaking slowness, he mustered the courage to give his boxers a small tug, gradually lowering them at an agonizingly slow pace. The measured movements seemed almost teasing, as if he were intentionally prolonging the moment. However, the truth was he basically personified a bundle of nerves, as though he was a schoolboy experiencing the thrill of his first make out session, unsure and skittish in his actions.

"How about we ditch these stupid handcuffs and let me take charge?" you suggested, your tone cutting through the air with an assertiveness that bordered on demand. Colin's head snapped up, surprise briefly shadowing his features as he registered the sudden shift in your demeanor and the scowl that tugged your lips. He couldn't entirely fault you for your impatience - he had been taking his sweet time with dropping his boxers. However, a part of him harbored a lack of trust, as dubious as it may sound. The restraints provided a sense of comfort and security, keeping you in check.

Colin's throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Ehh... sorry, but that's a no-can-do," he deflected your proposal with his trademark easy smile. "You understand, right? It's nothing personal. Jus’ think it's... better this way."

“Ugh…” you grunted, eyes rolling in annoyance. You relinquished your desires, holding back any further comments or demands.

After what felt like an eternity, Colin steeled his nerves enough to continue, no longer willing to delay the inevitable. In a swift motion, he grasped the waistband, sliding it down until his cock sprang free, bobbing slightly in the air. Your gaze, once fixated on the crop of brown pubic hair adorning the base, now traced the veiny pathways that ran along his thick length, leading to the swollen tip—flushed red and leaking. For a seemingly meek police detective, he sure had a nice looking dick.

You smiled as you leaned in, tilting your head closer. Your eyes, brimming with excitement, darted back and forth between his face and his erection, gauging his reaction as you tested the boundaries. Despite his initial apprehension, there was a glimmer of delight in his gaze. Encouraged by his response, you inched closer, your lips ghosting the underside of his shaft, your warm breath teasing his sensitive skin, coaxing it to twitch in response.

Colin squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the moment. “Crap, look- in case it wasn’t obvious enough, it’s been a while for me,” he blurted out shakily, already roused by the sight of your pretty lips caressing the heat emanating from his dick, sending a wave of warmth sweeping over him. His legs parted further, an unspoken invitation for you to draw nearer. “So sorry if I…. Y’know.. too early.” He stammered with urgency.

“I mean, you already look like you’re ready to burst before I even touched you,” you shrugged with a light chuckle. “But I kinda like that.” You flashed him a playful smirk.

He remained speechless, his face flustered and turned away, a deep red painting his features in the stillness of the moment.

Regardless, you took the plunge, gently pressing your lips against the sensitive underside of his cock. A soft, almost inaudible moan escaped his lips, a clear sign for you to continue. From top to bottom, you peppered his length with tender, soothing kisses. His hand immediately reached for your hair, his fingers finding solace in the roots to distract himself from cumming too fast, careful not to exert too much force and risk hurting you.

"And sorry about the whole hair-holding thing. I, uh... need something to hold onto when I'm really focused," he confessed, his bashful laughter intertwining with his words. His face still burning a deep scarlet hue, the admission both vulnerable and endearing. "Habit," he added, his lips twitching with shy sincerity.

“You can grip my hair as hard as you want. I don’t mind a little rough treatment.” you shot a wink, a giggle escaping your lips. Lowering your head, you tilted it to the side, your tongue tracing a stripe against his sensitive balls. Eagerly, you pressed your face forward, your lips latching onto one of them, suckling on it with a gentle yet insistent rhythm, each release elicited a small pop.

“Mmff!— fuck..” Colin‘s jaw went slack, a deep groan rolling off his tongue the moment your mouth made contact, his resistance melting away under the spell of your touch. His dark brown eyes dilated, glazing over your form below him. “Yeah, jus’ like that… jus’ like that…” he managed to utter out, his heaving breaths punctuated by muttered words of approval. His fingers entwined with your hair, massaging the crown of your head in a visceral gesture of pleasure.

“Ooh, you like that don’t you?” you remarked, a playful lilt in your voice as you pulled back slightly, savoring the sight of the detective's face contorting with undeniable bliss. “I wanna hear it baby, tell me how much you needed this.” You crooned, face colored with a teasing grin.

“Okay-okay fine, I won’t lie…” Colin huffed, admittance causing eyes to flutter away. Amused, you chuckled, flattening your tongue against his length, gliding it along a long and deliberate path, coaxing the rest of his words to spill out. A delicious shiver of electricity ran down his spine, sending a cascade of goosebumps rippling down his skin from his erection being teased. “Agh!- y-yes I needed this, I really… really needed this.” he babbled out, his breath hitching with the weight of his confession.

Satisfied, you continued. Your kisses swept from the base and drifted all the way up to the tip of his cock, tongue salty with precum as it expertly caressed the ridges. Colin's body quivered, responding with an urgent jerk of his hips, a wordless plea for you to take his cock into the warm and wet comfort of your mouth. You could feel the urgency in his veins buzz with an electric fervor, beckoning you to go further. For the sake of soothing him, you pressed your lips right onto the swollen head, treating him to small kitten licks on his sensitive slit.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous...” Colin moaned, teetering on the edge of a whimper. His hips bucked forward once more, ramming his tip deeper into your mouth. Each squirm of his body against the supple leather of the car seat produced a small squeak, almost serving as a subtle backdrop to the moment. “God, you scare the living crap outta me... but f-fuck, you’re sososo p-pretty!” He choked, another whimper caught in his throat.

“Mhm… that’s what I do best detective…” you mumbled with a full mouth, the warmth of his fluids clinging to your breath.

The evidence of your arousal was just as indisputable as his, your panties most definitely soaked from the act of using your mouth on the detective alone, cunt weeping from the lewd noises leaving him with each stroke. Your lips glided further down along him, accommodating his warm slickness as you relaxed your jaw. “Ohmygod- holy shit you feel so good...” he groaned. He slumped back against the backrest, head lolling over his shoulder as he fought to stifle a moan. “Ngh- so good f-for me…”

Despite the discomfort that knotted your knees and the soreness that gnawed at your back from kneeling on the unforgiving car floor longer than you should’ve (all while handcuffed too!), that fiery bundle of elation simmering in your belly powered you through it. After all, Colin was all you could focus on, eclipsing everything else. His raw groans, the incoherent praises that spilled from his mouth, and the way your name danced off his tongue like silk - it was all you needed in the moment, utterly invading every fiber of your being.

However, it wasn't just you who was losing yourself in the moment. Colin's mind short-circuited completely, overwhelmed by the mounting pleasure that had him seeing dazzling stars. Your heavenly skills had transformed his body into a molten state of arousal, practically dissolving into a puddle of liquid. In this state, his thoughts scrambled like a glitching, outdated computer, and your lack-of-hands situation compelled him to take the reins in a mindless frenzy.

"Hope ya’ don't mind if I jus’..." he mumbled hoarsely, his words stumbling out spontaneously. His hands cradled the sides of your head, anchoring you in place, hovering inches above his seat to steady his rhythm. His cock delved deeper into the confines of your throat as his hips undulated to the flow of his ragged panting. His heart galloped like a wild stallion, synchronizing with the rhythm you created, while he sunk himself further into the depths of your wet heat.

“Mmh!- ‘m almost there! Need a lil’ l-longer.” Colin sputtered out, throat straining to keep as quiet as possible. He could see the glistening of tears stinging your eyes, whimpers muffled out around him. He truly never intended to subject your poor mouth to such rough treatment, his tip bullying the back of your throat with each jerky thrust until it was sore, pushing so deep that your nose buried itself in the tufts of hair on his pelvis. Despite the guilt welling up in him, he couldn’t help himself at this point. His body was now like a machine, moving on its own accord to milk every ounce of pleasure he could get.

Even then, you didn’t even break eye contact, not even once. Not when this police detective who nursed a hidden disdain for your tempestuous presence behind faux smiles, was now coming undone right before you - His once neatly styled chestnut brown hair now clung to his sweat-drenched forehead, strands falling over his flushed, pale features. His lips, now parted and glistening, revealed a glimpse of vulnerability, while his doe eyes sparkled with a feverish glimmer. Everything about him in this moment was enthralling, leaving you no choice but to be mesmerized.

The rippling tremors jolting through Colin's frame reminded him that he was nearing his climax, fire pooling low in his abdomen ready to erupt. Between heavy panting, he plucked up the courage to voice his request, his fretful eyes scanning the confined space of the car. “Hey sooo uh- you um… y-you don’t mind if I don’t pull out… right?” he asked, vulnerability threaded through his tone. He definitely wasn’t eager to see his load spray onto anything inside his police car.

Your nose scrunched up in clear disapproval, a glare shooting daggers at him, clearly not a fan of swallowing. He clicked his tongue in disheartenment, head tilted to the side “C’mon, do me a favor will ya?… Not really lookin’ forward to making a mess in the car.” He pleaded breathlessly. To his relief, no signs of protest emerged, though a sullen mask adorned your face.

As he noticed your lack of resistance, he seized the opportunity to follow through with his words. “‘m sorry!- So sorry. I-I’ll make it up to you later. Really!” Colin bleated, tone brewing with guilt and that familiar undercurrent of pleasure.

Squeezing his eyes back shut, he rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell the tightly coiled spring in his belly, yearning for release. His balls tightened, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turned sloppy. Consumed by a blinding, searing white that engulfed his senses, his mind completely blanked. With one final forceful pump, he held your head close, ropes of cum painting your mouth white. Trapped in his surprisingly strong grip, you gulped down the bitter torrent, suppressing the almighty urge to gag as your tongue battled with the assault.

Once you swallowed every last drop of his cum, Colin released his firm grip, withdrawing his now softened cock from your mouth. His hands fell limply to his sides, the air in the cramped car heavy with sweltering breaths, as though the two of you had just completed a grueling marathon on a hot summer’s day.

Gradually regaining his composure, Colin peeled his eyes open, his gaze fixed upon your chest rising and falling, your lips swollen and glistening with wetness. “Jeez uhh, are you okay?- I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Post orgasm clarity rushed over him like a gust of fresh air, his lips downturned with genuine concern. He hastily reached into his coat pocket, digging out and opening a tissue packet, gingerly dabbing away the saliva and residue from your chin and mouth.

You blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the unexpected act of care from the detective. Well, that was a first - no one had ever wiped your mouth for you after a blowjob, but then again, your hands were bound, rendering you immobile. “Yeah I’m fine, you didn’t really have to do that, but I appreciate the gesture.” you replied in a hoarse voice, head shying away from him.

Colin's face brightened with a smile, a wave of relief washing over him. You were right - the weight of his once overwhelming stress seemed to dissipate. In fact, he felt like a brand new man! It had been a long time since he had been intimate with a woman, so this encounter meant more to him than you could ever know.

In an unexpected twist, he scooped you up from the car floor, strong arms cradling your waist as he pulled you into a tight embrace, cocooning you on his lap. In that moment, the softie within him had taken over, aching to shower you with affection and gratitude for the pleasure you had shared.

Your shoulders tensed in his firm grasp, your wide eyes betraying a mix of surprise and alarm. You couldn't help but wonder if he always got this sentimental after engaging in intimacy, and you couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Woooow okay, so we're hugging now huh? Someone's feeling affectionate tonight," you noted with a touch of sarcasm. Yet, despite your initial resistance, you allowed him to hold you, gradually surrendering to the warmth of his arms. Deep down, buried beneath layers and layers of pride, a part of you secretly enjoyed this, even if you'd rather be drawn and quartered than admit it.

“Yeah, hope you don’t mind. It’s jus’ that… you did such a good job.” Colin chuckled, his hand gently caressing the small of your back. “And hey, would ya’ look at that! I really do feel so much better now. So, genuinely, thank you.” His words resonated softly against the crook of your neck as he rested his chin there, his arms remaining securely wrapped around you.

You allowed the weight of the moment to sink in, basking in the warmth and tenderness enfolding you. Then, an idea suddenly sprang to mind, and you couldn't resist voicing it. “Say… since I did one hell of a job, does that maybe mean I’m off the hook now?” You pulled back, a sly brow raised as you awaited his response.

Colin let out an exaggerated huff, his smile filled with amusement as he ruffled your hair into a delightful mess. “Nope,” he replied teasingly. “You’re still getting your butt thrown into the station for the night.“

Your expectant smile swiftly dropped into a deep frown, prompting a hearty pat on the back from the detective as he erupted into a fit of laughter. “Sorry kid,” He said between chuckles. “Now chop-chop, time for you to get in the back!”

-------☆-------

I’m aware I made Colin more pathetic than he actually is and I apologize- Idk I just could resist 😭😭 Hope the aftercare made up for it tho??

🤍 only tagging one person cuz idk who else wants to be tagged:

@lacucarachapisser

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bluemerakis · 5 months

Text

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ I’m the guy mothers warn you about, the son they’re afraid to have ❞

⇀ Word count: 15k words (sorry ☠️)

Guess who finally mustered up the courage to write a Coriolanus Snow fic, and holy shit, this might just be the longest once-off I’ve ever written.

My dear @quicksilversg1rl , this fic goes out to you 100x over. I hope this makes up for the fact that I couldn’t put Tom under your tree ☹️ I hope that it’s enough that I put him in your dreams instead <3

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WARNINGS:

dom!coriolanus, some out-of-pocket makes-you-go “wtaf💀” Coriolanus moments, smut, swearing, possessiveness, manipulation, toxic relationship, choking, pet names, degradation, edging, lots of italics and dashes (sorry I was feeling myself (not literally you sicko) ), masturbation, unprotected sex, cockwarming, dryhumping/wethumping(?), fingering/fisting, oral sex f receiving, the therapy you’ll need after reading these warnings

‼️DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THE ABOVE-MENTIONED WARNINGS‼️

SYNOPSIS:

Coriolanus had always known you held potential to win the games, from the day he’d laid his eyes on you at the 10th annual reaping. You were the key he’d been missing all these years, and how he saw almost every opportunity unlocked by your presence at that year’s hunger games.

The secret of how he’d risen into power? The answer was much simpler than anyone had expected. You. Sure, Coriolanus had done his fair share of treason and murder to contribute to his status, but it was your victory that had granted him access to the Plinth fortune and made his ambitions possible. He wasn’t a man that liked to share credit, but he thought your performance in the games a worthy enough candidate.

To show you just how thankful he was, he’d invited you to live with him after the games, for however long you pleased, and he’d made it his mission to show you all the pleasures the Capitol and his lifestyle had to offer. He liked having you near him at all times, and he liked it even better when he was inside of you.

What he didn’t like, though? When you flirted with other men, especially when it served to get a rise out of him.

Coriolanus Snow doesn’t like sharing, and he doesn’t tolerate disobedience, either. You’d learn that lesson the hard way.

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Coriolanus was a man bred for purpose, like his father before him, and it was a purpose he often reminded you of—a means to keep your neediness at bay, to tame your urge to be at his side every waking hour of the day, a ploy to remind you just how little value you posed to him outside of a night of fleeting pleasure. He marvelled in the opportunity to make you feel insignificant, a false promise too-quickly forsaken the moment your existence captured another man’s desire—a man that wasn’t him.

In the midst of a party he’d rather not have attended, he watched you from a quiet corner of the venue hall, conversing away with a man he hadn’t had the displeasure of meeting just yet. He didn’t know whether you were honestly that painfully oblivious to the desires of the man before you, who clearly wanted nothing more than a taste of one of the renowned hunger games victors, or whether you had deliberately struck up a conversation to get a rise out of Coriolanus.

But when his eyes narrowed on your hand that reached to move a strand of your hair back to the security behind your ear, he knew then exactly which particular game you were playing.

You always did that when you felt subconscious—when you knew you were being watched. It was a tell that Coriolanus had come to identify the more time he’d spent observing you. He’d needed to—it was necessary in order to know the truths you would not tell him. Not out loud, at least. But now, he was pretty fluent in your body language, in more than one way.

He watched you tilt your head to the side in the slightest manner, an act that often sent all the conservativeness of men toppling over the edge. Your lip suctioned into a concentrated bite as you offered small, attentive nods—you were getting him to think you’re interested in what he has to say, pretending not to notice the way his eyes traced your lips and occasionally flickered across your peeping breasts.

The sight stirred an anger in Coriolanus, his fingers tightening around the glass of wine clutched in one hand. He lifted the wine to his lips, taking a sip as though it would somehow quench the imminent fire that threatened to take control of all reasonability. He couldn’t let you get a rise out of him, not in public where he had an image to uphold. Goddamn you and your games, he hated being the one to play it. That had been the fate of you and the districts, not him—Capitol-born and rich beyond imagination. Was this his retribution to pay? Sentenced to your little games after all he’d brought upon you?

You moved a hand to caress the man’s shoulder, offering a sweet giggle. And then there it was, the slightest glance in his direction, fleeting but an obvious beckon for attention. Coriolanus clenched his jaw as you purposefully turned your back on him, his eyes boring into your exposed shoulder blades, framed by a dress that paraded all the right aspects of your body—a dress he’d picked out for you. He hadn’t gone through all that effort to make you look so ravishing, only for another man to enjoy it. It had been for him, a reminder of what his prize would be after enduring this insufferable party.

He’d planned to rip it from you, as mercilessly as he could offer, to toss it onto the floor and you onto the bed, naked and accessible to whatever he desired. However, you seemed hellbent on denying him a good night. He watched you reach for the man’s hand, your motion suggestive as you tugged on him and began to lead him away from the mayhem.

Coriolanus knew exactly where you were taking him.

He watched you weave your way through the dancing bodies, the music falling into the background as he trailed your every move—the way the man blatantly admired the curve of your ass. What an unacceptable circumstance, to think his favourite toy was not his own limited edition—one only he could afford to play with. After all, why had he endured the battlefield of this unfair life to claim a reward that promised power and money and control, only to feel so helpless in his infatuation over you. He hated what primal need controlled him, rendered him incapable of letting you go.

What had it all been for? The poison, the betrayal, the heinous crimes he’d committed—all to prove that he bore no seal of humanity, felt no obligation to love, until you came along, making him look the fool each time you batted a devious lash or wrung those perfect lips around suggestive words. Each time you spoke was like fragments of an enchantment, slowly being made whole and taking its magical toll on his entire being, beginning to claim everything he was—making him obsess, making him weak.

The day he’d gotten you as his tribute, you’d had been nothing more than a mission—a means to secure a prize that would set him for life. But there had been something about you, something that had drawn him in like a sudden whirlpool, now he couldn’t escape the obsession you’d cursed him with. He’d never before felt the burden of caring about another person’s life, needing to know what they were up to at all times.

Coriolanus recalled seeing you for the first time, the day of the reaping, after the tributes had been transported to the Capitol. He remembered seeing you thrown into the zoo display—the way you had instantly found your feet and ran a hand through your hair, made unruly by a rough and sleepless night. Your brows were knitted closely together with unmistakable anger, a look that promised vengeance to the Capitol despite the silence on your lips. Your dress had been made ragged to match your hair, evidence that the bats had showed no mercy toward your pretty privilege. Maybe it had been your looks that had drawn them in, after all.

He’d been ready to deem you a lost cause, disappointed that once again, he’d been stuck with rigged odds. He had been convinced that somewhere beneath that shredded fabric on your skin, you bore the kiss of rabies, doomed to die like countless before you. But he’d seen a few of the other tributes, bearing the same tells of their struggle with the bats in their shredded clothes and tired eyes. One of those amongst the suffering had been your fellow district twelve tribute, Morgan Lark, and he had possessed the worst wounds out of all the affected.

It’d been less than a few hours until the wounded tributes started retching up fountains of white, their eyes glassy and their movements frantically lost on them. Yet there you had sat, watching with perfect control and composure as they had dwindled into mere husks of the people they used to be.

Coriolanus knew then that you had been different—stronger, a tribute that might just prove the risk to be worth it. He’d insisted on investigating the cart you’d been transported in, eager to know the truth behind your journey. Had you truly been strong enough to evade the consequences of the bats? The mystery of it all was pressing enough to consume his every thought. He needed to know. His future depended on it, depended on you.

That evening, after much persistence and a bribe that he honestly couldn’t have afforded, he’d gained access to your cart. There wasn’t much to look at, given that it was nothing more than an empty container, without even the courtesy of a blanket. The scene was almost hauntingly familiar, personal. Nonetheless, he’d paced the walls, eyes searching every aspect of the metal, every dent and hole in the floor. He’d found nothing other than a few rusty nails—nothing interesting, that is until he’d picked one of them up and inspected it closer to find its apex crusted with blood.

A few of the nails were identical in their blood-coating, not a coincidence. Coriolanus gathered them up into his father’s handkerchief, almost regretting the decision as the rust stained the symbolic, white fabric. He placed them cautiously into his blazer pocket, scanning the cart one last time before making his departure. He made a beeline to the morgue, where the bodies of the five infected tributes had been placed shortly after their passing. He needed to see Morgan Lark’s body, to know what secret you could have hidden in his death.

Once he’d gained access to the corpse, he’d pulled back the white covering. A strong waft of formaldehyde greeted his senses and burned his eyes teary. He had been surprised that the body was being preserved, though he didn’t doubt that Dr. Gual had plans to somehow extract and weaponise the rabies in the next games. The chemicals had instantly become so overwhelming that he had to pull his handkerchief from his pocket, empty the rusted nails onto the tray and cover his mouth and nose with the fabric to keep his nausea at bay.

Coriolanus studied the corpse, struggling to contain his pressing disgust as he laid his eyes on the shredded flesh. The bats had gone to town on Morgan, leaving little sections of skin intact. He’d mustered up the courage to get close enough to inspect the wounds, noting that the scratches embedded along his body were not all the work of the bats. No, some of them had been too deep of a wound for a bat’s claws to commit. He had a very good idea of the origins of those wounds, his eyes flickering to the rusted nails on the tray.

He knew then that it was not strength or immunity that had protected you from the touch of death, but your keen mind and craftiness with sharp objects. Coriolanus had pieced together a rough picture of what had happened: you’d managed to get close enough to cut Morgan with the nails, ensuring wounds that were deep enough to bleed profusely, which attracted and encouraged the bats to attack him. You hadn’t been so lucky to go completely unnoticed by the bats, hence the disheveled dress, but you had sure as hell been lucky enough to have been spared from their bite.

What a clever girl you were, perhaps too much for your own good.

Coriolanus had to admit that he’d been impressed by your cruelty—your drive to survive. It gave you an edge, a promising reason to win. He liked those odds, you were becoming a plausible risk to him. Just what would you have been willing to do to a tribute you’ve yet to meet, if you’d so easily betrayed a fellow district partner?

As he’d left the morgue that evening, he couldn’t deny the smirk that had wound his lips the entire trip back. He knew then that, for the first time in all his years as a mentor, this might be the year that he’d finally claim the Plinth prize.

What a worthwhile pick you had been. He liked good investments, and you had proven to be the best one yet. You’d taken that entire game, playing it smart, staying lost in the shadows and gathering what scraps you could make into a worthwhile means of defence. You weren’t the strongest or the most skilled fighter by any means, but you were smart, and that was a quality lost on many of the tributes.

They all marched around, boasting their strength as some sort of show of dominance. They thought it made them ferocious, earned them another hour of life, but Coriolanus knew that it only drew attention, that they were stupid in bringing about a speedier death. You had known that, too.

Coriolanus slipped out of his mind, watching as you’d stopped by one of the tables to grab a snack, making a point to be sloppy so that the strange man would feel honour in being able to wipe your lips clean, spurring on his ego and his erection. You had pulled that trick on Coriolanus many times. He hated seeing you provide that same sort of attention to anyone else.

His attention was diverted to a pair of Capitol business men, who had approached him and were attempting to bombard him with pitches he couldn’t have been more arsed to consider, not when he had something more pressing on his mind—not when you had deliberately stolen his attention away.

How incredibly selfish that you should demand his time even when you were not at his side, or laying below him with your legs spread open and cunt practically begging for his generosity. He didn’t tolerate time-wasters of any regard, so he’d ensure that you made up for it.

He lifted a dismissive hand toward the face of one of the men, who fell silent with a look of indignation, but even he wasn’t fool enough to unleash his temper unto the heir of the Plinth fortune. Had Coriolanus known that murdering his best friend would have come with so many perks, he’d have made a point to bring about that particular death benefit much sooner.

He lifted the glass to his lips, draining the rich wine that had been marinating the depths of the glass for far too long. He beckoned over one of the runners, placing his empty glass onto the tray before turning his attention back to the business men.

He offered an insincere dip of his chin. “My apologies, but I’ve more pressing matters to tend to. Please, do enjoy the beverages,” he slipped between their dumbfounded bodies, before adding, “and the women, if it’d please you.”

Coriolanus manoeuvred his way through the crowd, his eyes not once leaving you, even if he had to watch you relentlessly flirt with the other man. Not only were you good with your hands, but you unintentionally weaponised your beauty, too. He had always thought you to possess an innocence that seemed to frame your features, a natural gift that kept eyes focused on the contours of your face rather than on the schemes of your hands. That had always been your advantage—in the games and in your everyday interactions.

It made him angry that you’d remade his mind in this way. No matter how much Coriolanus tried to remind himself of the purpose he’d been bred for, all that he’d done to get to where he was now, all the people he’d carelessly murdered—there was no denying the truth:

No matter what higher, callous deity he claimed to be, he was only just a man, carved from anger and burdened with otherworldly jealously. All because of you.

Just as Coriolanus had managed to push past the last of the dancing bodies that had been blocking his path, he spotted you leaving through the doors, dragging your new pet behind you. His footsteps were brisk as he made for that same doorway, his fists balling at his sides as he stifled the urge to redirect his anger unto the unsuspecting door man. No, he’d best save that anger for you, transform it into something that would make you suffer, as he’d been forced to endure this evening.

He slipped through the doors, instantly greeted by a much quieter atmosphere, the laughter and music of the event muffled behind the now closed doors. Across the room, he saw you slip into the elevator, glimpsing just a hint of a smirk on your perfect lips as the doors slid closed and engulfed his view of you.

Annoyance pricked at his chest, he’d have to wait for the elevator to come back down. That was too much time gifted to you, time that could easily be used to bring you one step closer to coming undressed for that man. He’d never found himself wishing for a stairwell more than he did right now, but Capitol architecture stupidly insisted that stairs were a concept made only for the districts.

Coriolanus trudged his way over to the elevator, running an impatient hand through his hair as he watched the countdown of the various different floors commence on the monitor. His residence was the topmost floor, an expensive suite that the Plinths had gifted him on his day of recognition. He’d been kind enough to allow you to stay in one of his rooms, to have you in his proximity at all times where you’d more than once enjoyed the free luxury of his lifestyle, and this is how you’d repaid him—by bringing other men into his sacred space.

He couldn’t help but imagine what you were up to at this instant. The thought of you trapped beneath the man on one of the sofas overlooking the city made him bite the inside of his cheek—those were the sofas he’d so often pinned you to, forcing you to admire the view as he admired you, demonstrating his praise for your beauty through the actions of his fingers in your cunt.

When Coriolanus had first met you, he had thought you hated drawing attention, especially when it warranted a much speedier death in the games. You’d always been so reserved, so hellbent on silence as you kept a calculating eyes on anybody who wasn’t you. He’d like that quiet air about you, it was a call for guidance, a plea for somebody to claim your trust—he knew he could have given that to you.

But now, Coriolanus could have laughed at that thought.

You, hating attention? What an odd facade he’d so easily been fooled by—but he’d grown smarter since your first encounter. He knew the real truth now. What a glorious night that had been, the first time he’d taken you to bed.

He could still smell the desperation that had trailed from your cunt as his nose burrowed into your swollen and beckoning clit—the way his hands had squeezed the skin of your inner thighs a faint blue in his attempt to trap them against the bed. They’d been so eager to wrap around his neck, to make him prisoner within your euphoria. He’d shown his disapproval by wedging your thighs further apart, an action that earned a shocked moan from you, coupled with a gasp at the growing aggression of his tongue inside of you.

How he enjoyed being the puppeteer of your body, pulling your limbs every which way until you’d been contorted and opened up for him to exploit. You often needed reminding that you were sentenced to his will, made prisoner to his desires.

He could still feel the faint traces of your arousal that had painted pictures across the sharp lines of his jaw, mercilessly freed by the way his tongue had ravished your folds and plucked from you what little dignity and silence you had managed to fashion up until that very moment. No matter how much you’d pretend to feel indifferent to his attention, your body had always betrayed you—it was unashamedly and passionately thankful to his ministrations.

Your pathetic moans still echoed on a loop in the dark corners of his mind—an ear worm he couldn’t discard of, though he couldn’t honestly admit that he’d want anything of the sort. It spurred him on, serving as a constant reminder of his pretty possession, and just how much you needed him—his touch, his validation, his attention. He was the poison-kissed oxygen that you couldn’t help but inhale, fooling yourself that it would somehow replenish the air in your lungs and give you the freedom of living, existing, all the while your every bodily cell came closer and closer to becoming his. It didn’t take much for him to claim all that you were and all that you could be, only the right words and that glorious goddamn night in bed.

He’d completely remade you in his image, branded you with his bedroom generosity, always leaving you with just enough to satisfy, but never enough to last for more than a few hours. You always came back begging for more.

What an attention whore.

At last, the elevator dinged its arrival, the doors opening to welcome Coriolanus inside. He slipped in almost instantly, moving to press the button of the top floor. When the doors finally closed, he became trapped in the air lingering inside, noticing a trace of your sweet perfume. He’d come to admire that scent, thought of it as a way to identify every place you’d been in. But your sweet scent had fused with the musky odour of that strange man, an unpleasant smell that suffocated your own in mere seconds. He could only imagine that same odour plastering itself to your neck and all across your clothes as the man forced himself onto you, enjoying what didn’t belong to him.

After a few minutes, the elevator came to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal two intertwined bodies at the other end of the lobby. You were pinned against the doors to Coriolanus’ suite, the man’s hands wandering beneath your dress and up your magnificent thighs, shrivelled lips sloppily searching the skin of your neck. Your head was tossed back against the wood, eyes sown shut as you let slip the sweetest of moans, a sound that Coriolanus had claimed as his own.

He barged through the elevator doors, the sound of his angered footsteps earning your attention. You lowered your head to him, watching with a playful smile at what was about to unfold. He ignored it, the satisfaction in that grin, the sense of achievement at your ability to control him, have him trailing after you like a dog on a leash. He’d let you have this moment, to savour its short-lived existence because once he was through with this man, he’d show you just how much trouble you’d caused him.

Coriolanus grabbed the oblivious man at the collar of his shirt, too far gone to think with his brain rather than his cock to notice he’d appeared, and plucked him from you. He shoved the man away, who stumbled backwards with his footsteps serving as clear evidence of mild intoxication. The toad began protesting, before his eyes finally found Coriolanus and his lips clamped shut on a look of realisation.

“You come into my house, drink my wine, enjoy my woman, all without a trace of shame?” Coriolanus snapped, his voice gruff with built-up anger.

The man fashioned an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean any offence, Mr. Snow, I swear by it!” His hands made frantic gestures, eager to exonerate himself. “It was her that came onto me, she invited me back here, suggested we get to know each other better—“

Coriolanus lifted his chin, his glare cold as he stared down his nose at the man. “Are you implying that it’s her fault?” It most certainly was, but if Coriolanus had to endure all that had just happened, he intended to have some fun with it.

The man stilled with a look of uncertainty that passed between you and Coriolanus, his hand moving to scratch the back of his head.

“Are you even a man at all, if you’re so easily influenced by a girl that bats her lashes at you and caresses your arm one time?” He had to ignore the irony in that statement; he could’ve almost been talking into a mirror. “You’re pathetic, blaming your lack of control and better judgement on her,” he said, eyes hardening as he took a step forward, the man simultaneously retreating a step with a gulp.

“Go find whatever excuse of a manhood you claim to have in somebody else’s cunt, and don’t let me catch you back in this building. It wont be words that warn you off next time.” His hands clenched into fists at his side, itching to grab the fleeing man and grace him with a well-earned punch—but he wouldn’t gift you that satisfaction, too.

When the elevator doors closed on the stranger, Coriolanus turned to face you. You were picking at your nails busily, as though the entire interaction had bored you beyond interest.

“What were you thinking?” He snapped at you, inching closer to glare you down.

You glanced up from your hands, offering a mere shrug as you crossed your arms and glanced up at him cheekily. “I wasn’t thinking at all, really,” you admitted. “Just wanted to feel some good things.”

Bitterness found its way onto Coriolanus’ tongue. “Do I not make you feel good enough?” He scolded coolly, his eyes searching yours angrily. “Would you rather I call that prick back and have him stick his two expired inches inside you?”

A hint of hurt seemed to widen your eyes, your expression shaped with confusion. “Didn’t think you cared what I got up to,” you muttered, glancing off to the side.

Coriolanus knew that to be complete bullshit, a feeble play at attempting to settle your own insecurities. He knew what you wanted to hear from him—that you mattered to him, that he wanted you to himself, that the mere thought of another man touching you would send him into inexplicable rage. To an extent, those were all true, but not in the way you'd wanted them to be, not in a way he was capable of giving.

He restrained the anger he felt towards you, knowing that he needed to take a gentler approach. You weren't in a state fit to endure his anger, not now. He needed to coddle you, to keep your emotions intact, otherwise he risked losing you. He couldn't have that.

“I care,” he said at last, moving a hand to grip at your chin. He’d forgotten how soft your skin was, it’d been weeks since he’d been permitted to touch you, business keeping him away from your warmth. He moved your face to his, searching between your eyes and your lips. “And you know that I care, too, or you wouldn’t have put on this little display.”

“You don’t care—not really, Coriolanus,” you snapped, your hand plucking his from your chin. “You constantly remind me that I’m nothing more than pleasure to you, an object you love to parade around, so as long as it’s your name engraved on me.”

Correct, he thought, his hand returning to his side. He gazed at you, the cogs of his mind reeling busily as he cautiously selected his next words. He couldn’t be angry with you, not now when you were so fragilely being kept together by emotion. It mattered what he said to you, even if the words weren’t honest. He knew that you needed reassurance, something akin to love to cling to, to keep you satisfied beside him. The condition that came with having a toy he loved to play with, was having to look after it, to ensure it didn’t break or wear with time.

That was exactly what he had to do with you, so he fed you whatever conniving words he could to keep you indulged in whatever illusion you’d had about your relationship with Coriolanus. A necessary evil to preserve his hold over you. He was selfish that way, but you were far too entertaining to let slip, and he did rather enjoy you—your company and your body.

Truthfully, you did have some sort of hold over him, and he’d let just enough of that truth show to control you, to convince you of his love for you.

“In all my years of existing, I've never once felt compelled to share my life with somebody else," Coriolanus told you softly. He moved his hand to return that same rogue strand of hair back behind your ear. "Not until you. I can't explain it, the way the mere thought of you with another man sends me into an unparalleled rage—to think that he could give you something I couldn't. The thought of somebody touching you the way I touch you. . . It's unbearable, unacceptable."

He placed his hands on either one of your cheeks, lifting your head to face him. His words had too easily buttered you up, moulded your face with a look of infatuation. “If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t have followed you all the way up here. I’d have let you fuck whoever you want, whenever you want, however you want. But the fact is, I care—a lot.”

You still harboured a certain look of uncertainty in your eyes, those damned eyes that made him go feral. He could tell that you wanted to believe him, but you had reservations that he hadn’t yet satisfied with his words. He needed to say more, do more.

“Do you see me chasing after any other girl the way I chase after you?” He pressed on, grabbing your face a little more ferociously, just to sell the point. “You’ve consumed me, reduced any ounce of respect I’ve once had for myself to nothingness. I could’ve had you pawned off the Capitol after the games, to do whatever bidding they demanded of you, but I chose to keep you by my side, to spoil you with everything you deserve for winning the games. Tell me one person who’d be willing to do the same for a district nobody that they held no care for?”

Your eyes had grown teary at his words, your bottom lip quivering beyond your control. You had meant to look tougher, Coriolanus could tell, unmoved by his words, but you were only just a naive girl burdened with the need to be loved. So you believed it, every poisonous word dripping from his lips—lapped it up hungrily like a douse of honey, in fact. Perfect. He was gaining back your trust.

You caved into Coriolanus, his hands falling from your face to wrap around your body and keep you against him. His one hand curled around the nape of your neck while the other wrapped around the small of your back, so perfectly shaped to accommodate his arm. How could he be convinced that you were not made just for him, when every aspect of your body seemed to be carved just for his touch? The hand on your head began to move with rhythmic strokes across your hair, his lips moving to place a kiss on the crown of your head. He rested his chin where he’d placed his kiss, as though sealing in the sensation, before he spoke up.

“You were incredibly selfish tonight,” he murmured. You pulled back subtly to glance up at him with slightly furrowed brows, and he lifted his chin from your head to gaze back at you impassively. “You put me through hell, making me watch as you flirted with that man, touched on him all over as you promised him sex. Do you think that was fun for me?”

Your eyes glinted with a hint of guilt, your lips parting with a soft no.

“No,” Coriolanus agreed, his eyes undeniably annoyed as he glared at your guilt-ridden expression. His fingers ventured along your back, finding the zip to your dress, the only thing keeping your body prisoner in the fabric. He tugged at the zip, harshly at first, his need to punish you poking through his actions, but he had to refrain from that for the time-being. More slowly, he began to pull the zip down your body. “I think it only fitting that you should be punished for your little games, don’t you agree?” His eyes flickered back up to yours coolly, almost challenging you to disagree.

The fabric of your dress grew loose on your body, the straps beginning to slide along the slope of your shoulders. You glanced up at him in silence, not wanting to admit the words, but the neediness on your expression told him that you were all game for your punishment—not that it ever was something unpleasant. Coriolanus was always generous when it came to putting you in your place.

“Glad we’re on the same page, dove,” he said, the dress releasing your body at last. It pooled onto the floor around your heels, leaving you barren save for the bra suffocating your breasts. He glanced down at your lower half, faintly surprised to find that you’d neglected the courtesy of wearing any underwear.

"Was this supposed to be an apology?" He asked, glancing back at you through a charming smirk.

A smile broke through onto your lips. "I thought it'd make undressing me quicker," you replied, lowering yourself to remove the heels from your feet. You were glad to be free of that hell. They made your calves look good, but they were torture on your feet.

"Well, aren't you considerate?" Coriolanus responded, then paused before adding. "So you knew how this night would end, with you and I nothing but a sexual amalgamation?”

"It was more of a hope,” you replied as you straightened yourself up.

Coriolanus' constraint gave in at your insinuations, his hand moving to caress your cheek, his eyes lowering to your perfect lips that he craved to taste in that very moment. You reached up to deliver the unspoken need onto his lips, but he kept you grounded with a hand around your collarbone. "You're not kissing me with those lips," he told you. “Not after that prick has wiped his saliva all over you.”

His hand left your body to reach into his blazer pockets. He pulled out a key, his hand snaking around your waist to slip the key into the door hole. His face was intentionally leaned close to yours, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of concentration as he struggled to unlock the door, and because he could smell the man’s cologne clinging desperately to your skin. He’d need to take care of that before the evening could proceed, it was a detrimental hinderance to his cock. At last, the doors gave in with a loud click, and he pulled the key from the lock.

He leaned back with a curt beckoning of his chin. "After you,” he said, placing the key back into his blazer, his eyes not once neglecting yours.

You gave him a long stare, almost daring to be disobedient before you clearly thought better of it. You bent over to collect your dress and your shoes before turning to push the doors open. Coriolanus dropped his attention to your ass, which practically begged for his approval as it bounced with your every step. He entered inside after you, closing the doors behind him.

You ventured a few steps into the well-furnished living room of the suite and tossed your clothing onto the nearest sofa, your eyes trained on the glass walls that offered a breath-taking view of Panem. You’d always marvel over the cityscape as if it was your first time seeing it, but in all honesty, it was the fact that the lights of Panem fashioned a different colour each night, and it always seemed to illuminate new buildings and views that you’d never noticed before.

Coriolanus watched you, your hand absentmindedly reaching to hold your elbow as you admired the view—one that you’d already seen countless times before, he thought. He wondered whether you were contemplating your circumstances in this instant, as if the reality of what you’d done had finally started to sink in, and what the consequences to follow would be. He could read you fairly well, but there were still moments that your thoughts were lost on him.

“Are you scared?” He asked, his voice echoing throughout the empty space.

You turned to face him, your hands falling to your side. The lighting was dim, but the amusement etched onto your features were clear. “Scared? I didn’t survive the games only to be scared of you, Coriolanus Snow. Besides, this is hardly our first rodeo. I can’t imagine there’s much more surprises you could spring on me.”

Coriolanus cocked his eyebrows, smiling at those words. He appreciated your effortless wit. Most of Panem’s ladies were annoyingly submissive in their conversation, saying only what they thought he wanted to hear, as though it’d make them more desirable to him. You didn’t need to be told what to say, you just said it, and he was glad for it. Control could be exhausting, especially when he strove to maintain it in almost every aspect of his life. It was refreshing to know that he didn’t have to control your personality, too.

“Good,” he said, inching closer until he could reach out a hand to grab your arm. He turned you around forcefully, cool fingers teasingly tracing the skin of your shoulder as he made his way down to the clasp of your bra. He undid the hook, freeing your breasts from the pretty white lace, before tossing it onto the sofa beside your other discarded items. He turned you back to him, his eyes instantly lowering to the hardened nipples crowning your soft breasts. “Somebody’s eager,” He jested, his voice a soft rumble as his eyes rose to meet yours. “Did you want something from me?”

“You know I always do, Coryo,” you responded, taking your lower lip into a subtle bite.

Coriolanus’s eyes hardened at that nickname. “Don’t call me that,” he demanded. That version of himself had died a long time ago.

Your eyebrows cocked at his tone, your lips momentarily pursed before you asked, “should I call you Mr. Snow instead?”

“Just Coriolanus,” he replied, rolling his shoulders to remove his crimson blazer. Your eyes were stalking his every move. He could tell that you wanted nothing more than to reach out to what little clothing remained on his body and tear it away mercilessly—that you wanted him to take you right here at this very instant. But he was faintly impressed at your patience as you decided against any reckless action, instead opting to wait for his next command.

He folded his blazer and draped it over his arm, his free hand beckoning for you to follow him to his bedroom. “Come on.”

Your eyes followed his footsteps, your disbelief keeping your feet glued to the ground. Coriolanus glanced over his shoulder when your footsteps didn’t commence behind him. Your reaction was justifiable. He’d never once once invited you into his room in all the months you’d lived with him. He knew that you were foolishly thinking that this moment marked an intimate milestone in your relationship, that this act was an attempt for him to show just how much you meant to him.

“Problem?” He asked.

You willed away the dumbfounded look on your face, offering a half-hearted no as you caught up to Coriolanus. As if the sentiment was fragile, you merely walked ahead of him in silence, afraid that one wrong word would revoke the invite.

He trailed behind you as you approached the door to his bedroom. You tossed a glance over your shoulder as you sought out confirmation in your actions. Coriolanus gave a small nod, an encouraging smirk poking through. You smiled back, turning your attention to opening the door. You slipped inside, your attention instantly flying to the furniture that occupied the space. It was modest, very limited to necessities.

The bed, needlessly big, was slightly undone, the comforters left untidy as though he’d just climbed out of bed and the covers half pulled from the pillows—a picture frozen in time. A plate and a mug was stacked onto the bedside table, the previous day’s clothes draped across the sofas near the windows. Your eyes were fixating every detail around the room, as though burning a mental picture into your mind as a souvenir for later.

Coriolanus moved to place his blazer beside his other clothes on the sofa. “Sorry for the mess,” he offered, moving to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. “As I’m sure you know, I don’t usually have the worry of entertaining guests.”

You turned to face him, your eyes lowering to his skilful fingers. “I like the mess,” you responded, making your way over to him. “It feels personal, seeing this side of you—allow me to.” You shooed his hands off the waistcoat, taking his place in undoing the buttons. You glanced up at him seductively, your eyes flickering down to his full lips.

He watched you undress him, slowly but surely, knowing that he could’ve done a much faster job. But he allowed you to take on the role, knowing that it made you feel important, that your body would show him just how thankful you were and how much these little details meant to you. Once you had unfastened the last button, you removed the waistcoat and admired his toned and broad physique, painfully concealed behind his white shirt.

Coriolanus glared at your wandering eyes, wondering whether you were trying to picture him naked. He’d never been fully undressed in all of their little rendezvous, it was something far too intimate for him. And there had only been a few occasions where he’d fucked you with his cock and not his fingers or his mouth. He’d found himself deriving the utmost pleasure when he got to solely focus on how you came undone for him, how powerful his every movement upon you really was.

When your hands moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, he grabbed at your wrist. “Not yet,” he told you. “You still reek of him.” You frowned at his words, your hands falling to your sides in disappointment. “Come with me,” he said, moving past you toward the bathroom. “We’re going to take a little bath.”

Your interest peaked at his words. “We’re going to bath together?” You asked curiously as you followed after him.

“You’re going to bath,” Coriolanus corrected as he reached the large alcove bathtub. He leaned over to turn on the tap. “I’m going to watch.” His hand trailed the many soaps and balms that lined the rim of the bathtub. He’d made it a mission to collect every scented product he could manage once he got his hand on the money, simply because he could, and he liked smelling good.

“Sounds perverted,” you shot at him, crossing your arms as you watched him draw your bath.

He grabbed ahold of a rose-scented oil and began pouring it into the water. “You didn’t agree to live with me because of my normalcy,” he said distractedly. “But because you knew just how much my so called perversion had to offer your pathetic, little, touch-starved body.”

He tossed a glance at you over his shoulder, satisfied by the red gleam that had snuck onto your cheeks. He turned his attention back to the tub, reaching for a bottle of bubble bath. He began adding it to the water, a few droplets reaching up to stain his shirt.

“In any case,” Coriolanus continued. “It’s the least you could do for me after tonight’s shit-show.” He placed the bottle back against the wall, closing the tap once the water had reached an appropriate level. He unbuttoned the cufflinks of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves, taking a few paces back. He jerked his head at you. “Go on,” he demanded.

You unfurled into a dramatic stretch, parading your breasts as you faced him. “Join me.”

He fixed you with an unwavering stare, not so keen to play into another one of your games. “Get in.”

With one last glare, you turned and dipped one leg into the bath, instantly pulling back with a hiss. Your head snapped to face him. “It’s too hot,” you protested.

Coriolanus moved to retrieve a chair from the corner of the bathroom, placing it a few inches from where you stood. He sat himself down, offering a mere shrug to your words. “Good observation.”

“I’m not going to burn myself bloody just so that you can get off,” you spat.

“Then let’s kill some time while we wait for the water to cool down,” he suggested, his eyes once again tracing over every inch of your exposed body with keen interest.

You looked open to his request. “What did you have in mind?”

Coriolanus’s eyes flickered back up to you. “Touch yourself,” he said earnestly. You paused at his words, suddenly looking self-conscious, before you hesitantly began to caress your breasts. He watched your fingers squeeze and grope at your skin, imagining that it were his own hands in their stead, only he’d be a lot less kind in his touch. Your fingers trailed teasing circles around your nipples, further hardened at your own toying and his intense observation.

“Lower,” he ordered, feeling frustrated at your lack of venturing into your lower extremities.

Your eyes glinted at him, a look that seemed to say greedy. Yes, he was. Who could blame him? He’d grown up starving for most days of the year, now he’d take as much as he wanted.

His eyes fixated the hand that lowered in a painfully slow motion across your stomach, reaching that sweet spot housed between your legs. As your fingers began to fondle with your clit, you threw your head back with a pitiful moan. He knew he could’ve extracted a louder sound. He almost felt obliged to take over, but he had to remind himself that you were undeserving of his touch, that you needed to be punished with the urge to feel him, yet be denied that pleasure.

A few minutes of your fondling had passed before your ministrations eventually became too overwhelming to maintain control over your body. You lowered yourself to the bathmat, your hand not once leaving your cunt. You spread your legs open, offering a broader view to Coriolanus. Your eyes were glazed over as you glanced at him. He tilted his head slightly in approval, feeling his own cock growing interested at his view of your pathetic situation.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he praised, noting the way your eyes lowered to his pants. He parted his legs slightly to take the pressure off of his growing erection, eager to hide his arousal. He didn’t want you to notice just yet how much he was truly enjoying this. Your movements eventually became more erratic, incoherent sounds spewing from your lips.

“I need you, Coriolanus,” you managed to blabber out, your tired head resting onto the rim of the bathtub, eyes periodically fluttering closed as you alternated between consciousness and whatever universe of pleasure was found behind your eyes. “Please,” you begged.

“You’ll have me soon,” he said, “when I see it fit.”

“I’ve been good for you,” you protested breathlessly. “I’ve done everything you told me to.”

“You have a lot to atone for,” Coriolanus pointed out, his eyes lowering to where your hand had slowed its movements. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

You glanced at him past your tired lids, but you obliged nonetheless, adding a finger inside of your cunt to increase the pressure. He supposed it was fair, if he had refused to place his own fingers inside of you. He couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto lips as he watched a stream of white begin to trail from your opening, recalling how good you tasted. It was a shame, really, that it would go to waste onto the bathroom mat instead of onto his appreciative tongue. From the sound of your pathetic mewling and your ragged breathing, Coriolanus knew that you were growing close to your high. He didn’t intend for the fun to end just yet.

“I want you to continue until you feel like you’re going to cum,” he told you, though he wasn’t sure you’d heard him past you own noise. “And then I want you to stop just before that happens.”

“That’s mean, Coriolanus,” you managed to say.

“You haven’t seen mean yet, dove,” he said. “Now stop talking and focus.”

Your fingers picked up their pace with a newfound eagerness, the knot in your stomach growing inescapably larger, the urge to come undone becoming harder and harder to contain. Coriolanus wasn’t sure you’d obey his command at this point, you looked too far gone to resume control over your own actions. His eyes narrowed, watching closely at what fate you’d choose to follow. Much to his disappointment, you practiced constraint, your hips shooting up with anticipation, only to sink to the floor as you denied yourself the orgasm.

You glanced at Coriolanus past your teary lashes, a silent request for praise. He heeded your need, rising from his seat to crouch beside your slumped figure. He combed the loose hair from your face, wiping away the beads of sweat that dotted your forehead.

“You’re too good for this world,” he murmured sweetly. He felt as though he could have choked on the banality of his words, but the soft look in your eyes as you gazed up at him made it worthwhile. He nodded to your hand, still resting on your cunt. “Show me how good you felt.”

You pulled your hand from its playground between your legs, creamy white webs entangled on your fingers. They pulled a string along your stomach as you lifted your fingers for Coriolanus to study.

“It almost looks like you don’t need my help,” he chuckled, his hand fastening around your wrist to bring your fingers to his lips. His blue eyes bore down into you as he took each of your fingers into his mouth. One by one, his tongue hungrily weaved around them, claiming your juices from your skin.

You gazed at him with a wild look ablaze in your eyes. “Don’t I deserve a taste?” You said. “After all, I did all the hard work. I deserve to taste the fruits of my labour.”

“You should be modest,” Coriolanus said once he removed your fingers from his mouth. “Nobody likes a brag.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” you retorted lightly, your eyes glinting with exhaustion. “I like you.”

“Mhm,” he offered softly, placing your hand gently onto your chest. He reached his hand between your legs, an action that caused your thighs to stiffen around him. “Relax,” he cooed, pressing his palm into one of your thighs, encouraging you to open up to him.

“Sorry,” you said, easing off the defensiveness. “I’m sensitive down there at the moment.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, gazing at your fragile expression. Fuck, he could take you right here. His fingers moved with caution as they glided along the folds of your drenched cunt, gathering up your cum into untidy clumps. He followed a trail of arousal that had traveled down into the cleft of your ass, pressing a teasing finger into your asshole.

You gasped at the sudden invasion, and Coriolanus’s throat rumbled with a chuckle. He removed his fingers and brought them to your lips. You glanced at his slender fingers, not needing much convincing to take them into your mouth. You turned your attention to him as you began to suck at him suggestively, exaggerating your head bobbing as you made a point to cover the entire length of his fingers.

He watched you with a lopsided smirk, enjoying the whore-like behaviour you so willingly offered him. Now and again, he’d thrust his fingers a little too deep, more than what your throat could handle, which caused you to gag around him. Strings of your saliva had begun to slither down his exposed forearm, pleasantly warm on his skin. He imagined his cock in the stead of his fingers, enjoying the same warmth and wetness your mouth had to offer.

When you’d decidedly had enough of licking his fingers clean, you pulled your lips from him with a characteristic pop. Coriolanus reached that hand over the bathtub, dipping it into the water to feel its temperature. It had cooled down considerably, but it was still warm enough for a worthwhile soak. He withdrew his hand and wiped his fingers onto his shirt.

“The bath will get cold soon,” he told you. “Get in.”

“Is that all?” You asked disappointedly.

“Get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll show you what I’ve got in stock for you.” He straightened up and took a few paces back as you perked with new resolve and found your feet.

He backed up to reclaim his position on the chair, crossing his legs as he watched you. Your back was momentarily on him as you climbed into the bathtub, the water sloshing a welcome. You submerged yourself into the warmth almost instantly, a content groan reverberating in your throat. His eyes lowered to your hand, which had began to spread the foam of the bubble bath across your bare chest and breasts.

“The water’s so good,” you murmured.

“Don’t get too relaxed,” he warned.

“Why don’t you join me, Coriolanus,” you said, your eyes fluttered open as you moved to fold your arms onto the lip of bathtub. You rested your chin onto your arms, glancing at the erection he could no longer conceal. “I’ll take good care of your little cock, that should keep me on my toes.” Your expression beamed at your choice of words, deliberately chosen to get a rise out of him.

Coriolanus merely scoffed at your teasing. He had many things to prove, but the size of his cock was not one of them.

“You sure you could handle me, since you’re still so sensitive down there?” He asking mockingly. He leaned back into his chair, his hand coming up to clench his chin, the other grabbing his elbow.

You tilted your head prettily to one side. “Only one way to find out,” you murmured, leaning back against the wall of the tub as you kicked your foot out and onto the edge. Water splashed partially onto the bathmat, but most had been caught by the bare floor.

Coriolanus lowered his eyes to the puddle. “You’re making quite a mess for someone who’s been in here for less than half an hour.”

“Give me an hour and you’ll see just how much of a mess I can make,” you challenged.

He lifted his chin to face you, his eyes narrowing the slightest. This side of you was something he’d never experienced before; you were a lot more daring, undoubtedly brought on by the importance you felt at being allowed the opportunity to bathe in his bathroom and in his company. He’d like to test just how long you could keep up this illusion of bravery, and how quickly you’d drop it when he had you sprawled onto his fingers.

“Come here, then,” he said, uncrossing his legs and spreading it as an invitation for your thighs.

Your eyes snuck a peak at his hard on before you broke away from your slutty pose and climbed from the warmth of the tub. You took a few steps toward Coriolanus, water and soap slithering down the curves of your body and onto the floor.

You stopped short of his legs. “You’re sure?” You asked, eyes making a point of the shirt and pants he still wore. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with a little less on?”

Coriolanus grunted from a place of impatience, reaching out his hand to grab at your wrist. He pulled you into his lap, rough hands guiding your hips to comfortably straddle his clothed thighs. The soapy water coating your body began to bleed into his clothes, his pants the most affected, but he could hardly be arsed in this moment. He just needed to feel you, needed to use you. His fingers gripped at your thighs, his heavenly blue eyes boring down onto your strained expression as he began to forcibly guide your bare cunt over his bulge.

Coriolanus’s movements set a generous pace, endorphins bolting through your core each time his bulge struck your sensitive clit. The texture of his pants was harsh on your skin, creating a friction that seemed to generate copious amounts of heat—screw sticks and stones, this method of fucking could have started all the fires in the world. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your lower half instinctively beginning to cooperate as you rocked back and fourth in sync with his guidance.

Your head came to rest in the chiselled crook of his neck, his earthy fragrance fucking heaven-sent on your senses, further engulfing you in bliss. His throat vibrated against your ear with strained moans, they came as subtle grunts that prompted his hands to speed up the pace. He was so eager to feel you, to settle his drawn-out erection. You winced as his fingers burrowed into the skin of your thighs. He’d neglected all caution in your handling, his need to control your movements overpowering what slither of consideration he’d held for your comfort.

It didn’t take long for the stinging sensation to blend with your pleasure, slurred moans pouring from your lips as you felt cum begin to leak from your entrance. It lubricated the fabric of Coriolanus’s pants, offering some relief from the coarse material. You screwed your eyes shut and pressed your face into his shirt, eager to muffle the mewls of pleasure you seemed to have zero control over. His chest rumbled with a breathy fuck, and you felt his body momentarily convulse with the overwhelming feelings your bodies shared.

You turned your head, your nose brushing against the skin of his neck. Your eyes fluttered open, drinking in the view of his adam’s apple, so prominent and manly. It bobbed as Coriolanus swallowed a moan. You brought your furthest hand forward to hook the side of his neck, pulling him against your lips. He didn’t resist, it’s almost as though he was too focused on his own work to pay attention to your own dealings. You littered sloppy kisses all across his neck, placing extra emphasis around his adam’s apple. You kissed all around the bulge before giving into your thoughts and dragging your tongue over it, leaving a sloppy trail in your wake.

The warmth and wetness of your tongue on his throat made Coriolanus release an unexpected groan, a hand leaving your hips to wrap around your throat. You let slip a chuckle at his action, and he held you out in front of him, his cold eyes glaring into yours as he decided to brutalise his movements. You moaned loudly, the sound strained as you forced it past his suffocating hold on your neck.

“Coriolanus,” you choked out breathlessly, your hands sliding along his broad shoulders. “I need you inside of me.”

“You’ve waited this long,” Coriolanus muttered. “You can wait a little longer.” His hold on your throat grew tighter, your vision starting to blur behind a mixture of fresh tears and your compromised oxygen.

He watched your eyes flutter closed and your teeth clench as you inched closer and closer to your edge, your nails digging through his shirt and into his shoulders, steading yourself against his aggression. His singular hand on your hip began to cramp at his incessant groping and steering, but he was beginning to feel his own orgasm approaching, and that was motivation enough to push through—that, and your whorish desperation.

He released his grip on your neck, the air returning to your lungs as a cough and a splutter. He hooked the nape of your neck and pulled you into the comfort of his shoulder, urging you to rest your tired head there as he finished you both off. With both hands once again firm on your hips, he picked up the pace. He rested his chin onto the crown of your head, his eyes fluttering closed as he allowed the scent of your conditioner to swallow his senses.

With each movement, he brought you down harder onto his cock, craving rougher strokes. The squelching of the cum coating your folds and spreading along his pants was music to his ears, and he gritted his teeth to bite back his ragged breathing so that he could continue to hear the way he’d transformed your cunt. He could feel his own pre-cum trickling from his tip, the warmth spreading along his shaft by the generosity of your wet folds. Fucking hell did he yearn to be inside of you, almost as much as you craved him, but he had to be stronger than his own desires.

It didn’t take long before every nerve tracing the length of his cock began to fire rapid impulses, the prolonged stimulation proving to be too overbearing. His lips parted with strained breaths, the black abyss behind his eyes beginning to birth a cosmos of anticipatory stars. The image built and built until he thrust you one last violent time along his cock, his hips rocking up into you, delivering just the right ounce of pressure before white engulfed his vision.

His grip on your hips loosened, his ears buzzing with the aftermath of his high. He hadn’t even realised that you’d come undone before he had, your whimpers and vulgar pleas lost in his concentration. The only evidence of your orgasm was the new patch of wetness that had marked his pants, a generous mixture of squirt and cum.

Your breathless voice sounded at his ear as you moved your head from under his chin. “I want to feel like that all the time.”

“That can be arranged, dove,” he chuckled hoarsely.

You felt his hand leave your hip, the skin there instantly growing cool. He dragged his fingers repeatedly along the wisps of your hair. It was as though he were petting a dog, only his touch was a lot gentler and more intimate. You allowed your eyes to flutter closed, your lips parting with a content sigh as you waited for the ecstasy of your orgasm to dissolve. You rested your chin on his shoulder, listening to the calm of his breathing, focusing on his hand caressing your hair.

You pulled back to glance at him, his eyes questioning as he returned your stare. Your attention moved to his lips, they looked so soft and plump, not nearly red enough. You’d been robbed of the opportunity to nibble on them, to contort them between your own lips, to taste the wine he’d downed at the party. You didn’t think you’d be properly satisfied until you got your wish. Did that make you ungrateful?

Coriolanus offered a faint smirk, your thoughts loud and clear. How selfish of him, he’d forgotten to kiss you during your little ride. Not a train-smash, he had the entire night to make up for that. His hand on your hair tightened there, forcing you into his vicinity. You wanted to protest at the hairs pulling at your scalp, but you hadn’t gotten the chance, not when his lips silenced yours in a hungry tumble.

He didn’t kiss you as often as you would’ve liked, but when he did, it was always imbued with passion, his movements erratic like he’d been starving and you were the first source of food he’d encountered in days. You got lost in the movement of his lips, the pace so fast that you couldn’t properly match it, though not for lack of trying. You allowed yourself to be swept up in his kiss, accepting that he was in control.

Coriolanus moved his hands to grab ahold of your breasts, his attention marvellously divided between fondling them and tracing his tongue along the inside of your mouth. You moaned into him, the sound muffled and lost to your entanglement. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, offering a sharp nip that caused you to wince in surprise. You felt his lips broaden in a smug smile, his hands neglecting your breasts and trailing a seductive path down your waist to deliver a crisp spank to your ass.

The skin stung where he’d struck you, but he was so quick to soothe the ache with gentle rubbing. The curves of your ass fit so perfectly into his palms. He pulled his lips from yours, not sparing even an instant for you to process his movements before his sharp nose found sanctuary in your cleavage. He littered kisses there before moving to plant a trail around the circumference of your breasts.

“Coriolanus,” you moaned, your head lolling back.

He hummed against your skin, a halfhearted acknowledgement. His hand found its way between your thighs, his middle finger sliding between your labia where beads of your brand new arousal waited to greet him. He slathered his fingers in your juice, lubricating the skin before he slid his finger into your entrance.

Your entire composure collapsed at that, the built up suspense of needing him inside you satisfied at last. Your entrance clamped around him at first, the sensation always forgotten with how few and far apart these glorious moments were spread, but within a fraction of a second, you melted onto his finger.

You nibbled at your lower lip, the bite deepening as Coriolanus’s teeth found your nipple. He alternated between tugging at your hardened buds and swirling his tongue around and all over it, mischievously marking steaks of saliva along your skin. A few seconds later, his ring and index finger joined the party within you.

Your grip on his shoulders lowered down his back, eagerly clawing at the hard and chiselled muscles, but his damned shirt got in the way. You pulled back, Coriolanus’ lips robbed of your breasts. He glanced at you, his fingers continuing their thrusts. Your hands flew to tug at the buttons of his shirt. The first few you’d managed to undo, but you had finite patience for the others, resorting to an aggressive tug that split the buttons from the fabric.

“Are you going to pay for that?” Coriolanus jested lightly.

“I’m sure there’s plenty more shirts where that one came from,” you said hastily, yanking the sleeves down his broad shoulders.

You instantly dove in to kiss at his chest. He’d never been excessively muscled, but he was still strong and toned, his frame broad and absolutely mouth-watering to gaze upon. Your hands wandered along his chest, sliding along his shoulders and down his arms. You attempted to tug his shirt all the way off, Coriolanus aiding your motion as he momentarily pulled his fingers from inside you.

He rolled his shoulders and removed his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. You glanced at his torso, now completely exposed to you. You couldn’t stifle the smile on your lips, thinking that he looked a lot like a male stripper—bare-chested yet still clothed from the waist down, presenting himself on a chair. All he was missing was a sexy dance of some sort.

Coriolanus frowned at your gawking. “What’s on that mind of yours?”

You pursed your lips. “Nothing,” you answered, placing a kiss on his lips. You moved to murmur in his ear, “now If it’s not too much to ask, would you kindly stick your fingers back inside of me?”

When you withdrew to look at him, Coriolanus wore a wicked smirk. “What a slutty thing to say.” His fingers returned to your cunt, but instead of easing his way inside, he opted for his whole hand at once.

You didn’t know whether you were more shocked at his gesture, or the way your cunt had easily welcomed him. His movements were considerably less cautious than before, but you didn’t care about that now, only that he was finally inside of you. You let out a lengthy moan, so eager to verbalise your appreciation. Your hands moved to cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading them together as you tilted your head back.

You closed your eyes and focused on his hand inside you, how each thrust grew deeper and closer to your sweet spot. It’s as though he’d already mapped out your insides, his fingers knowing exactly which way to wander. Gods, you truly didn’t know whether you or Coriolanus enjoyed this more. He kept up a regular pace for a while, and you’d quickly grown impatient and needy for his brutality.

“Faster,” you complained.

Coriolanus slowed his movements, coming to a complete stop. He wholly expected the miserable look on your face as your head snapped down to face him. How could he allow you to think that he was here to serve you, as opposed to you serving him. He wasn’t just going to hand you what you wanted, life certainly hadn’t been that generous with him. No, you’d have to work for it.

“Okay, we can go faster,” he said, cocking his head slightly. You regained a spark at those words, but it quickly blew out at what came next. “But you’ll do it yourself, since you’re unsatisfied with what I’m giving you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—“ you attempted to protest, but Coriolanus cut you off with free his index finger pressing against your lips, his lips fashioned in a hush.

“No talking,” he murmured. “Just get to work.” He beckoned down to your cunt, his hand motionless inside of you.

Devastated at having to do the work yourself, you crossed your arms around his neck, your expression adorably resentful as you lifted your hips and began to ride him. Coriolanus lowered his free hand to rest at your hip, his attention wandering to your breasts. He couldn’t have ignored them even if he tried, not when they were bouncing inches from his face and calling out for attention. Your moans quickly commenced, your hips already starting to tremble with your next orgasm. You tossed your head back, your movements becoming uncoordinated, like your body had already started to give up.

Coriolanus felt your walls begin to clench around his hand, glancing up to glimpse your face. “Look at me,” he called to you. Your head lowered to face him at once, your eyelids drooping. “Are you going to cum?” He asked, and you nodded eagerly, followed by a strewn out moan.

Good, he thought. His hand on your hip began to press against your movements, interrupting the pace you’d managed to get going. Your eyes widened as your orgasm retracted into a dissatisfying gasp, the high that had been building instantly collapsed at your sudden lack of movement.

“Coriolanus,” you snapped, your tone coming across as a whine. You’d become frustrated with his teasing, and your body shared the sentiment. Your clit ached now, exhausted tremors seizing every muscle of your body. “You’re being a dick!”

“No,” he countered, pulling his hand from your entrance. He looked condescending as his eyes flickered across you face. “I’m punishing you, just like I promised. You’re getting exactly what you deserve, but you’re spoiled and used to getting your way.”

You didn’t have anything to retort, so you glared at him in silence, ignoring the hurt that his words had inflicted upon you.

“Don’t pout,” he murmured, wiping his wet hand along your thigh.

Then, without warning, he hoisted you up at the thighs and manoeuvred you bridal-style from the bathroom towards the bedroom. He lowered you onto the undone comforters of his bed, leaning down with you to place a swift kiss on your furrowed brows. He straightened up at the foot of the bed, his hands reaching for your calves.

“You want to cum?” He asked, his fingers wrapping around your legs to pull you down the bed and closer to where he stood. “I’ll make you cum, over and over again.” That was a promise.

Your lips parted with shock, words scattering from your tongue as his hands travelled over yours knees and grabbed at your thighs. He pried your legs apart, exposing your cunt to him. The last view you captured of him was the way his eyes traced your exposed lower half, a barely noticeable smirk pulling at one corner of his lips. Then, his head dipped into you, his tongue flat and rough on your folds.

You threw your head back into the sheets, your fingers instantly curling into the material as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded and preventing you from getting carried away into another universe. Coriolanus was conscious to strike his nose against your tender clit every so often, clearly enjoying the way it sent a jerk through your body. It was like his own personal control-switch to play with. You were too exhausted to limit the noises that you produced for him, so everything came out a loud and blabbering mess. You didn’t ever want to stop being touched this way.

Coriolanus was a clean man. He liked to keep his hair tamed, his jaw void of any developing beard that he felt would deface his appearance. But it had to have been a week since his last shave, you thought. You could feel the faint stubble poking through, grazing your intimate area as he ravished you below. It was the perfect addition to your arousal, adding just enough noise to push you into overstimulation.

You fought the urge to lift your lower half from the sheets, to greedily claim a deeper thrust of his tongue. He wouldn’t take kindly to that, and you didn’t think you had the capacity to endure any more teasing. Instead, you opened your thighs even wider, your hands releasing the comforter to grip at your breasts.

Coriolanus approved of your behaviour, his praise coming in the form of his tongue up your entrance. You let slip a breathy gasp, your jaw clenching at the lightning that seemed to obscure your vision.

“Fuck, Coriolanus,” you drawled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Please—let me cum!”

He hummed against your clit, the vibrations serving as the fucking icing on top of this sex-themed cake. You core knotted, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes screwed shut, the pressure building and building and threatening to spill over as Coriolanus’ tongue picked up the pace. He twirled your clit around, his fingers pinching at your thighs, and just like that, your body released all the tension of the evening.

Your chest bobbed up and down with heavy breathing, not feeling as though you could bear to open your eyes. It’s only when you felt Coriolanus’ warmth withdraw from your thighs that you lifted your head to glance up at him. He straightened up and met your gaze with an impressed look, his perfect lips offering a smile—a genuine smile. The sight set off butterflies in your stomach. He was proud of you and your performance.

“You did well, dove,” he praised.

You beamed at his compliment, words not easily extracted from him. The sheen on his jaw caught your attention, your heart jolting with shame to see him absolutely doused in your juice. It trailed well down his neck and onto his chest, making a point to follow the natural contours of his pecs.

“I’m sorry—“ a hand flew to your mouth, hardly believing that you’d produced a mess of that magnitude.

“Sorry?” Coriolanus mocked, his perfect teeth flashing in a laugh. “Don’t be. It’s a compliment. You show your appreciation like a real woman, just the way I like it.”

You watched as his hands lowered to his red trousers, his fingers moving to undo the button. You glanced back at him in alarm.

“You didn’t think we were done just yet?” He asked, his smile turning wicked as he unzipped his trousers and pulled it down. “I edged you twice,” he explained. “And I’d like to think I’m a fair man. So,” he paused and lowered his underwear, which freed his erection. “I owe you another good time.”

He stepped out from the last of his clothing, towering over your body as he inched his way toward you. “I won’t lie, though,” he murmured once he’d reached your ear. “I’m doing this mostly for me. I think I’ve waited long enough to feel you, really feel you.”

You glanced up at him, your eyes large and pleading like a pathetic mutt begging for scraps. “I don’t think I can take any more, Coriolanus.”

“Did it feel good, what you did just now?”

“It felt like heaven,” you told him softly.

“Then this time will feel like being completely reborn,” Coriolanus insisted, his hand relocating hair from your sticky face. “And even if it doesn’t, you’ll push through because this is your punishment, and punishment is not always meant to be enjoyable.”

You glanced off to the side, hating how much the cold look in his eyes stirred something inside of you.

Coriolanus found satisfaction in the way his words kept you silent. He grabbed your chin and turned you back to him, his thumb pressing into your lower lip before he planted a hollow kiss in its stead. He placed his forearm beside your head, leaning onto that side as his other hand reached down for his cock. He gave a lazy pump across his hard length, a pathetic attempt at spreading his pre-cum. He didn’t need to do any better, not when your drenched cunt offered enough lubrication for him to enter without a struggle.

And it did, without a single hitch, as he pushed himself inside of you. Your soft gasp sounded in his ear, his attention still trained below. Once he was sure he was properly inside of you, he turned his head up and placed his arm on the other side of your head. You felt so warm and welcoming, definitely a lot more relaxed than the previous times he’d stuck his cock inside of you.

He began to thrust, not having much patience to start slow and gradually build up the pressure. This entire evening had been leading up to this moment, the opportunity for him to be in this exact position. He’d spent all of his patience, now he just needed to finish what he’d set out to do. He was pleased to feel your hands snake beneath his arms and take up a hold on his back, that is until your nails suddenly sunk into his skin.

He let out pained moan, his gaze growing fierce at the satisfaction on your face. Two could play that game. He withdrew his length a far way out, his tip almost slipping from your entrance entirely, before he rammed himself back inside with an animalistic thrust. His tip collided with your g-spot, a harsh and sudden greeting to the sensitive area.

You let out a scream, your stomach lifting against him. Before you could process the shock, he rammed into you again, and again, and again. Each time, he returned with the same force, and not once did he fail to miss his target. Your nails in his skin continued to sink deeper, the both of you reduced to nothing more than grunting and gasping.

The bed creaked with every movement, the room echoing with the raw percussion of your skin-on-skin contact. Coriolanus bucked into you with such aggression that he began to moan with every sway of his hips. His hands, trapping your head on either side, slipped behind your head to grip at your hair. He yanked, opening up your neck to him. You moaned as his lips buried against your skin, the tip of his nose flattening into you as his teeth sought out your skin.

His movements became jerky, his teeth gritted as he grunted against your neck. You slipped a hand from his back to bury it into his hair, fastening your fingers around his blond wisps that had turned curly from the sweat of his activity.

“I’m going to cum,” he breathed into your neck, his hand flying to one of your thighs. He pulled it up to wrap around his lower half, his thrusts growing violently needy. “Fuck,” he spat, then called your name desperately. You felt too good, especially now that your walls seemed to clench around him—he knew that you were close, too.

Your second orgasm arrived, the hot wetness pooling around his length. He couldn’t maintain his control anymore. At last, he gave himself over to his pleasure, his movements becoming sluggish as he felt his release inside of you. He didn’t stop his thrusts, not until he felt himself empty every last drop inside of you.

Coriolanus collapsed beside you, his hand finding your cheek and pulling your head against his chest. For many minutes, nobody spoke, each one struggling to regain their breath. His other hand held your lower body against him, keeping his cock secure inside of you. He could feel your mingled juices leaking along his thigh and onto the sheets, a mess he didn’t mind right now.

You burrowed into Coriolanus’ arm, a tired sigh leaving your lips. “Fucking hell,” was all you could manage to say after an ordeal like this. Tonight had been his most brutal fuck thus far.

Your body ached everywhere, and you weren’t sure your swollen clit would ever forgive you for what you’d brought upon it. You supposed it served you right for trying to make him jealous by flirting with another man. You’d never stupidly test his limits that way again, that was for sure. You two laid in comfortable silence, riding out the last of your highs.

“Coriolanus,” you called to him softly, your fingers playing with his. “Do you love me?”

Coriolanus tilted his head down to you, his eyes widening at the sudden question. His lips parted to say something, but he quickly bit on his tongue. It was clear that your need for his attention had grown into something more profound, that you’d started to care about him in more than just what he had to offer your body. He turned his gaze up to the roof. “My position doesn’t permit me the time to love,” he answered carefully.

Your hair shuffled against his arm as you sat yourself up to face him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He turned his gaze back onto you, calling your name softly. “I have goals to achieve in this world. It leaves little time for relationships.”

Your eyes held disappointment. “Then what’s the point of all of this?”

“The point,” Coriolanus said, taking your hand into his, his thumb rubbing comforting circles across your skin. “Is that we keep each other company, offer a comfort that others couldn’t gift us even if they tried. We satisfy each other in ways that only we know how to.”

“So I’m just a source of entertainment to you?” You snapped, attempting to pull your hand from his, but his grasp on you tightened.

“Am I anything different to you?” He asked, his tone level, his cool eyes challenging. “Don’t mount a high horse, not when you entered this knowing exactly what you were in for. I take care of you and I make you feel good—that’s plenty more than you would’ve gotten back in the district and in any other location in the Capitol, for that matter. Would you rather go back to your district, back to a cold bed and an empty stomach with nobody to rely on? Maybe you’d rather I put you on the market for as some Capitol slut looking for her next sponsor. I can make that happen—“

“No!” You interrupted, your hard eyes thawing with a look of horror, like you’d recalled all the terrible memories of your life in the district. It was far from pleasant, a past you’d have liked to forget for good. You had nobody, nothing to return to.

As for the Capitol, you knew that there were infinite weirdos and perverts that would marvel at the opportunity to get their hands on a hunger games victor, especially one that had been branded by Coriolanus Snow more than once. You could only imagine what sort of prize that made you, a collectible to be displayed. The thought made your stomach turn.

“I don’t want that,” you said, your head lowering in defeat. “I just want you.”

Coriolanus’s eyes raked across your figure, so slumped in submission and hopelessness. He realised then just how much he’d broken you, reshaped you into a lapdog that would only eat directly out of his hand. “Good,” he murmured. “I want you, too. Only you.” His free hand moved to cup your chin, tilting it to face him. “And maybe. . . you could teach me how to love.”

Your eyes widened at those words, the hand clasped in his going stiff. He tugged at you, pulling you into him. Your head found its way nuzzled into the crook of his neck, his chin moving to rest atop your head. He continued to play with your fingers, his other arm cushioning your neck and holding you against him. He felt your breathing slow into an easy sleep, your warm breath flushing against his chest. He closed his own eyes, breathing deeply at the sweet scent radiating from your hair. He allowed it to lull him to sleep, mulling over your interaction.

He’d known the truth for years already—that his heart bore no capacity for love. It had saddened him, at first, made him feel as though he’d been formed wrong in the womb. His father had loved his mother enough to bring him into this world—his cousin, Tigris, had loved him, too, to the point where she’d have sacrificed everything to ensure that he’d survived the war. Sejanus, too, had loved him like a brother, trusted him with all that he was, and it had ultimately killed him.

All his life, Coriolanus had been cradled with love, but he’d been forever cursed with the inability to return it. It had taken him years to accept it, until one day, everything had clicked into place.

Perhaps he wasn’t meant to love, not when the world had become a disastrous mess in need of order, in need of somebody to bring it to that stage. He knew then that he could offer the order that Panem needed. Peace came at the cost of blood, and blood came at the cost of strength. Strength meant that love had no place and no say in the hard decisions to be made, for its love that made you vulnerable, and vulnerability was a weakness. He didn’t bear that weakness, and he never would.

As for you? Well, you were somewhat of a complicated matter as of now. When it came down to it—the decision between you and his destiny, he’d choose destiny without a doubt. But for now, he’d keep you close. He’d shower you with attention, spoil you with his touch, offer you everything you’ve ever wanted in a partner. And once you’ve lost all worth to him, he’d discard of you.

Coriolanus knew that his path was one headed straight for the top, to claim the title of president of Panem. All that he’d done to get here, everything that he’d achieved up until now, it was all just the beginning. He was glad now—that he could not find it in himself to love anyone. It left him free of any liabilities, gave his enemies not even a fraction of power to hurt him.

For it’s the things we love most that destroy us.

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You MUST know I had to include that iconic line

Anyways, I’m sincerely sorry that this fic is like 15k words. I always tell myself to keep it simple but I’ve literally got no say over what happens once my fingers start typing away. I hope you all have enjoyed this read. I’m not TOO sure how I feel about it, but I think I’ve just gotten to the point where I’ve proof-read it so much that I honestly can’t stand it anymore.

This is my first every coryo fic and it was incredibly daunting to write, considering that he is such a complex character to portray and because I unintentionally resorted to flowing between his and the reader’s perspective, which I usually hate, but shit happens. I’ve never read the books (I am getting them for my birthday yay) so it was difficult to get inside of his mind given that I’ve never trod there before. In any case, I hope that I did his character justice in this blabbering mess, even if I did add my own sadistic twist lmao.

MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVELIES🎄

Your comments & reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you!! ~

I take requests (so long as I’m comfortable writing it) <3

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#tom blyth #billy the kid #young coriolanus snow #tom blyth x reader #coryo snow #coryo x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus imagine #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #coryo smut #coriolanus fanfiction

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biohazard-warning · 2 years

Text

Another vent post here…

Warning…it’s got some triggers I think

Had a rough night last night. Went to a party at my aunt and uncle’s camp. My my family was there and I brought my best friend. We were all having a good time. My friend and I got to hang out with my brother and his boyfriend who we don’t get to see often. They were staying at my parent’s place for the weekend. So we were all drinking, but my brother’s boyfriend was going a little too hard on the alcohol. My brother was trying to get him to slow down and have some water. His boyfriend didn’t listen. So my parents went to leave, and they were my brother and his boyfriend’s ride. But they wanted to stay a little longer so I offered to give them a ride back to my parent’s place. So we’re getting ready to leave, but my brother’s boyfriend was kinda flirting with some other guy who was there and went to go have a cigarette with him (he doesn’t smoke). This made my brother pretty mad, so he took the cigarette from him and we went to get in my car to leave. So my friend was on the front seat, and my nether and his boyfriend were in the back. His boyfriend seemed to really wanna drive for some reason, but he was wicked drunk so there was no way that was happening. The ride back to my parent’s place was quiet, you could cut the tension with a knife. My brother was PISSED. Then his boyfriend pukes all over my car and my brother kinda lost it. We get back to my parent’s house and they get out of the car and start fighting. It was getting physical so I ran to break up the fight. I got between them trying to stop them from going at each other and begging his boyfriend to just go in the house and lie down. He eventually backs off and so does my brother. I ran inside to get my parents and at that point I’m freaking out. My mom goes outside to talk to them and my friend was inside with me and my dad. I’m having a full blown panic attack at this point. I couldn’t breath. My friend and my dad are both trying to help me calm down. My brother’s boyfriend came inside and went to go wash up and change. He then comes to talk to me while I’m with my dad and my friend. I honestly didn’t really wanna be around him at that point…I eventually calm down mostly and me and my friend go to leave. She drove us back to my place. While we’re heading back we see my brother walking down the road, he just want some space. We stopped to make sure he’s ok. We asked him to back to the house, even if he just sat outside to have space. So then my mom comes driving down the road with my brother’s boyfriend and he wants nothing to do with them. He was pretty mad that my mom got involved. The worst part is, my dad said this has happened before. My brother’s boyfriend has gotten super drunk, puked in the car, and they fought. This was just the first time I saw it. My dad wasn’t sure what to do. So me and my friend leave. (We have all the windows down in the car because the puke smelled awful…) and when we got back to my place we texted my brother to make sure he was ok. He said his boyfriend and our mom could go fuck themselves…I barely go any sleep last night because I was so worried about my brother and panic attacks really mess with my body. I was so tense and in pain and I wanted to throw up. I guess my brother pretended it didn’t happen today (that’s what my mom told me anyway). I’m just really worried about him because this has happened before…my brother said he’s fine but idk…anyway, I just needed to type this out. Idk if it made me feel any better…maybe it did, idk…

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snipersfucker · 11 months

Note

As someone new to transformer fics, I'd love a fic where Mirage and the reader learn what the others name for body parts are (hand/servo, etc.) And obviously Mirage uses it as an opportunity to put the moves on the reader.

yall are so creative with these i legit opened my mouth when i read that...... such a good idea omg lets go (im so deep in that shit i legit remember most robot names for these body parts without having to look em up lmao)

"That's a chassis."

You let out a sigh as Mirage pointed at another part of his metal body. You knew you wouldn't be able to remember all these ridiculously strange names, but still wanted to be a good student, especially because you asked him to teach you.

"Mine's a bit bigger than the ones your little boys have."

And there it was. His constant bragging, showing-off, comments that indicated he was damn aware he was better than humans.

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, not having to look up that much because he was sitting on his... aft. Or something.

"Helm, face plate, optics, pedes, tank..." He kept pointing at random body parts of his, naming them as fast as he could just to get to the most interesting ones he could use to finally rizz you up.

"'m surprised you don't have a diploma for being the best teacher ever, Mirage," you muttered under your breath shamelessly, sarcasm dripping from your tongue as you stood there with your arms crossed on your chest.

He liked the way you said his name, even if it wasn't in a particularly nice tone.

"No speaking unless you're being spoken to, miss," he reprimanded you like a strict teacher would, using his best Optimus Prime voice. Then, before you could talk back, he extended his left arm, putting it right in front of your face. He made a fist but allowed his middle finger to stay up, "What's this called?" he asked you, even though you haven't gone through this particular body part yet.

"Flipping someone off, sir," you answered in an overly eager, sweet tone, as if you were trying to sound like the teacher's pet.

You calling him sir made his spark skip a beat or two.

"Wrong." He lowered his hand and placed it on his metal thigh with a soft clang. He shook his helm in fake disappointment, letting out a long sigh. "It's a digit. And what do we do with digits?" he continued in a teacher's voice, making a specific motion with his servo to encourage you to answer his question, even though he automatically did so in his mind.

We put them inside disobedient girls.

"We flip people off, sir," you responded in a fake innocent, childish tone, straightening your back and smiling widely as if waiting for praise for giving him a good answer. It made you cringe internally but you also thought it was funny so the choice whether to continue talking like that or just leave was easy to make.

He snorted at your words, shaking his head in amusement once more as he brought his servo to your body and flicked your arm gently with his two digits.

"That's what we do with 'em."

"Oh, fuck off." You smacked his servo before he could pull it away from you. Even though you could barely feel the flick of his robot fingers, you still massaged your arm, hoping it'd make him feel at least a little bit bad, and he'd stop bullying you.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" He raised his optical ridge at your words, not being able to fight back a teasing smirk forming on his lips.

You could kiss me with that mouth.

As soon as the thought appeared in his mind, he immediately got rid of it, not letting it distract him.

"Tibulen, cadulen..." he began naming other body parts, and there was no way in hell you'd be able to remember those. "Glossa..." He stuck his metal tongue out, pointing at it lazily with his index digit.

A question popped up in your head, "You got saliva?"

For the first time, you were actually curious about something, expecting an actual, truthful response, but instead you got what Mirage was best at. Sarcasm.

"Oh, yeah, our saliva's made out of corrosive acid actually. Cool stuff." He shrugged nonchalantly as if what he just said was nothing. "Want me to spit on you so you can get the drill?" he asked overly casually, already slightly leaning in your direction.

He was having so much fun...

You grimaced at his question, even though you knew he was most likely joking. Most likely.

"Pass," you murmured under your breath.

"...But there are other ways you could... feel it."

His time to shine has come which he was very much aware of.

His unnecessarily mysterious tone made you snort quietly, an eyebrow involuntarily raised as you asked him with amusement dancing on your tongue, "Care to share?"

He tilted his head with a very, very sly smirk on his lips, which partly gave you an answer to your question. The realisation almost made your face drop but you contained yourself, and just rolled your eyes at his silent offer, pretending not to notice the heat spreading across your own cheeks.

"No."

"I didn't say anything," he responded in an amused, innocent tone, raising his servos in a defensive gesture.

"Yeah, but your eyes said a lot," you argued, the sudden shift in your confidence making you unable to find the situation as funny as before.

He made an unbelievable amount of butterflies awaken and fly around in your stomach, and as pleasant as it felt, you couldn't show him that.

"Optics," he corrected you immediately, playful superiority in his tone coming back just in time to crush you once more. He leaned in, making the gap between your faces a lot smaller than before. "And I'm pretty sure you're just imaginin' things," he added teasingly, the smirk almost challenging you.

His plan was working.

"Am I?" You tilted your head slightly to the left, your gaze never leaving his blue optics.

The intensity of your eye contact made him back off just a bit, before he shook his head in both amusement and surprise at the sudden comeback of your confidence.

"We're not done yet," he just said, which may have sounded like a warning but you felt like he was talking about something else than this game you were both playing. "I didn't show you everything," he explained, even though this lesson about his anatomy was the smallest thing occupying his mind at the moment.

You refrained yourself from frowning, feeling pretty sure that he'd already named every single body part of his possible, but you didn't want him to notice how little attention you were actually paying. So you just nodded, getting ready to hear more of that very interesting stuff.

"...Ever seen a metal dick?"

Your jaw almost dropped when your brain registered his shameless question. You couldn't even say anything to that, just unsurely shaking your head to show him that you, in fact, have never seen a metal dick.

And you thought he was about to offer to present one to you just now, but he just let out an amused noise. "Too bad."

And with these words, he transformed into a silver Porsche and drove past you towards the exit of the garage, leaving you confused, breathless, and wanting something more...

might make a part 2 for this with smut if you want

#this one is disappointing #didnt go as planned tbh #i will rewrite it someday i promise (remind me)#mirage x reader #mirage x you #mirage #mirage rotb #mirage x my pussy #transformers rotb #mirage transformers #rotb #transformers #wattpad

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rs-hawk · 5 months

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Your dullahan boyfriend isnt home and won't be for a long time... good thing his head is at home, right? What harm will it do if you make your boyfriend watch you fuck yourself silly with a toy. Even better when you make him clean you up after. Just imagine him hurrying home with a hard on. You're definitely not gonna sleep tonight.... thats for sure

(Okay so I need y’all to understand that I’m a Cultural Anthropology major with a major focus on religion and folklore, and a minor focus on human pop. You know what that means?? My mythology obsessed ass has read so much shit about Dullahans and the only one THE ONLY ONE I’ve ever sexualized is the Headless Horseman. You have opened my eyes. I have been a FOOL. Thank you.)

You and your Dullahan Boyfriend got into a bit of a tiff before he had to run off to “take care of some business for the Fey Court”. It’s always his excuse, and this time, you decide to give him some payback.

As soon as you’re sure that he’s too far away and too tied up in whatever it is he’s doing, you grab his head, setting it on the edge of the bed. One perk of him being so far away is that the further his head is from his body, the less he’s able to speak from his head. He narrows his eyes as you start to strip with that toy tossed on the bed, obviously displeased that you’re going to touch yourself without him.

He tries to protest, but it comes out as a weak breath, making it easy for you to play off that you didn’t even hear him. You lay on your back, your legs spread widely so he can see as you press the tip of the wand to your clit. Your wet little hole tightens slightly as you moan quietly, then louder, and louder, until you’re on the edge of finishing. You don’t want to stop his show just yet, but you know you get all sloppy when overstimulated, so you ease the wand off, pressing the head now inside yourself, letting him see you stretch to accommodate it.

“Fuck that feels good,” you mutter under your breath, lifting your hips up slightly as if to meet the toy.

You push it in and out until you’re basically dripping on the sheets before pressing the vibrating head back to your clit. As you finally get yourself off, you let out a whiny moan, bucking your hips up. Your eyes are squeezed shut in pleasure until the rolling of your stomach settles down. As you take a few deep breaths, you glance down at your boyfriend’s head. He looks pissed and turned on at the same time.

An even more evil idea makes you smirk as you pick up his head. Settling it between your legs, you relish the feeling of his fevered tongue lapping at you. Angry but excited by the show you put on. You don’t even realize until at least the second orgasm he’s given you that you can hear him too… which means his body is getting closer.

Before your hazy brain has much time to react, your Dullahan Boyfriend’s body busts in. In seconds, he has his lips pressed against yours as he lifts his head and slams it against your face, you hold his face in your hands, easing back as his body hurriedly stripes, nearly tumbling with his eagerness. As he finally sinks into you, you moan against his lips. He stretches you better than any toy.

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lasciviouspoison · 1 year

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my first full length smut fic! this shit took weeks to edit ngl, but it was worth it. with that being said, there are probably still some mistakes so excuse those, lol. tw: breeding, eren calls himself “daddy”, word “mommy” is used, reader and eren are extremely (heavy emphasis on extremely) frustrated. not a tw, but like i always say, this is for my chubby black women, but all are free to read <3

eren has loved you for an extremely long time. he’s spoiled u, fed u, he’s even dressed you head to toe while you were sick.

yet, all of this spoiling and caring for u, does not warrant your brattiness right now.

he’s been studying tirelessly for his midterm for about 2 weeks now, finally on his last day of review before his test in a couple of days. yet, he can’t seem to focus because you keep coming in and out of your shared study every three seconds.

“‘ren, where are the extra washcloths?”

he looks up from his textbook, glasses falling off his nose a bit. you’re even dressed like a brat, skimpy little white tank top and baby pink panties. it makes his head hurt worse than the passage he’s read over 4 times now.

“there’s no way you’re asking me where fucking washcloths are right now. there’s no way.” he says with some bite to his voice. he just needs to finish these last two pages and the longer it takes him, the more it kills him.

your arms cross over your chest, pushing your bra-less chest up and exposing a bit of your chubby stomach. “does it look like i’m joking with you? where are they?”

he clenches his jaw and in a very clipped tone, he responds that they’re under the sink. you scoff slightly and walk out, making an effort to slam the door a bit harder than necessary.

he sits back in his chair and throws off his glasses, big tattooed hands wiping his face. eren knows he’s been neglecting you, and it’s killing him just as much as you. he’s tired of coming home from class too tired to touch you. he’s tired of you having to tell him to go lay down after his head rocked one too many times over his dinner plate.

he’s tired, but he’s not gonna let you act like a bitch just to get what you want. simply because it’s fucking working.

he pushes up from his desk and walks out of the study. he hears the bathroom cabinets opening, so he does everything but sprint to get there.

you peer over your shoulder at him and roll your eyes, “they weren’t under the sink. in fact, they’re all dirty cause, you know, you act like you can’t help with laundry anymore-“

erens grabbed you by the nape of your neck and brought your body close to his. you can hear his semi-heavy breathing despite still being bent over, which caused your heart to race a little. although you knew eren would never hurt you, it doesn’t mean that his pent up energy won’t go to waste.

“a couple things: one, don’t talk to me like i’m a fucking child. two, i do still help with laundry, there’s a whole basket full of folded shirts sitting on the bedroom floor that i didn’t get the chance to put away. and finally, you that cock hungry, or are you genuinely mad at me?” he finishes with a finger running up your spine, back arching at the feeling. he knows this rills you up, which is perfect for him. you don’t get to frustrate him and remain unscathed.

your eyes widened a bit, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop eren’s hand from moving. you could feel just how hard he was and it made you think that he almost had it worse than you. however, that doesn’t mean your just gonna lay here and take it.

“get the fuck off me eren” you said through tight lips. his hands now steadily making their way under your top, with you making no advances to stop him.

he bent down towards your ear as his body almost covers yours entirely, with his fingers now gently pulling at your nipples.. “you know what’s funny? you can act mad at me all you want, but this pretty pussy is never ever mad at me. maybe i should gag you and let her do the talking, at least she’s not a fucking liar” at this point, eren’s hands feel like hot coals against your body. while they slowly make their descent back down your body, you can feel your resolve slowly melting away under his touch.

before you could reply, his fingers begin to softly move along your covered slit, causing your breath to hitch. you push your hips back a little and eren gives you a breathless laugh in return.

“i know i’ve neglected you pretty baby. daddy’s really sorry, just let me make it up to you. i promise, you can have me all night if you just tell me what you really want”. sometimes, you swore that you could hear the smirk on eren’s lips.

you shook your head no and felt a soft slap to your pussy. you wanted to scream at him and tell him just how badly you missed him, but your mouth refused to open. you bit your lip once he began touching you again, attempting to coax a confession from your pretty lips.

you felt him bend over once again, this time to place small kisses behind your ear, kisses that started to travel down your neck and onto your back. the entirety of his ministrations were torture, but it was when he stopped kissing you and replaced his lips with his tongue to lick a stripe up your back that you really wanted to cave.

eren’s middle finger finally found your bare clit, the initial contact causing you to jump hard against his body. small whimpers leaving your lips as you tried to maneuver on his fingers before he stilled your movements.

“m’not doin anything more till you tell me the truth. what do you want from me baby? tell me and i’ll give it you ya”.

you try to grind against his fingers once again before a hard smack to your ass forces you to stop. his grip on your hips tightening, letting u know that he’s really gonna deprive you until you speak.

“want you to touch me ren! wan’ you to fuck me so fucking bad!” you finally scream out.

every gives you a small chuckle before his middle and index finger burry themselves into your cunt. his body almost shakes at warmth you provide. blood rushing straight to his dick, making him indescribably hard.

“that’s it baby, that’s all i wanted to hear.” he sounds breathless, almost like he’s the one that’s been getting teased.

he’s pumping his fingers in and out of you, a small squelching sound coming from your sopping pussy. your grip on the cold marble counter top has your knuckles turning white. at this point, you’re so desperate for more that your meeting his fingers half way.

with tears threatening to run down your chubby cheeks, you make pleas for more. “ren please, please gimme more. i’ll be good i promise!”

he feels so bad. you’ve never acted like this, even when the two of you were still forced to live separately on campus. the desperation in your voice is surprising him just as much as it’s surprising you.

because he knows you like it when he fucks you with his hair down, he pulls his hair from his already loosening bun and all but rips his sweats off. dick hitting his bare stomach with a heavy thud.

he takes his fingers out of you and rips those pretty pink panties off, he makes a mental note to buy you another pair.

he rubs himself between your sticky folds till his cock is shiny, hitting your clit a couple of times in the process, drawing more whines from you. all he can do is look down in awe. it’s amazing to him just how wet you get from just a couple of fingers, but who can blame u? his dick’s been throbbing for four days straight.

he finally anchors himself and spits, emitting a soft puh before he smiles. you’re such a mess underneath him and he can’t wait to make it even worse. he finally starts to push in, but your tight little cunny won’t let him in no matter how gentle he tries to be.

“lemme in baby… please lemme in” his voice is so strained it’s making u gush even more.

“i’m tryin!” you say with a pout, tears running down your face.

eren knows you’ve always been big on eye contact when the two of you fuck, it’s almost necessary… so, he hooks his fingers into the side of your mouth and forces your head to lift. finally you were able to see that tattooed chest and pretty face, and he was able to see those pretty eyes and beautiful tear stained face.

almost immediately do you loosen up and he accidentally on purpose pushes all the way in, causing the both of you to moan loudly.

“there you go baby, take it for me ya spoiled fuckin brat”. his hands have found purchase on the fatness of your hips, his grip so tight that you think he’ll bruise you. not that you’ve ever cared.

“fuckfuckfuck” is all you can say as you watch his facial expressions through the mirror. his hair is down and there’s tiny beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. he’s gone slack jawed while stroking you, a relaxed expression gracing his pretty face. no matter how many times he’s buried himself in your warm walls, he’s never gotten used to how good u feel. once his green eyes make contact with yours and that smirk graces his face, it makes u realize just how in control he is no matter how gentle he may look.

“squeezin’ me so tight baby.. u miss me that much?” he says with a breathless laugh, voice dripping with sarcasm. the both of you know that going this long without touch was both odd and frustrating. it caused the both of you to miss each other equally, hence why this could be categorized as some of the best sex you’ve ever had.

at this point, he knows you’re gonna cum soon, he can feel your walls pulsing and eren feels like his dick is gonna pop.

“g’nna cum rennie, g’nna make a mess on yo- ugh fuck!” your little hands balling into fists as he hits that spongey spot in you. you can hear just how hard he’s thrusting into you, each stroke sounding more sticky than the last. it’s making your eyes cross and toes curl.

your convinced he’s gonna kill you with that horse dick of his one day.

“let it out baby, i’ll clean it up the mess, wanna feel you cum on me.” even he’s getting whiny now, so it’s only a matter of time before you-

“-ohmygod eren!” you cum so hard that your body’s shaking and your knees are buckling. thankfully, eren’s always there to catch you.

despite chasing his own nut, he desperately wants to see you ride out your orgasm. he’s so desperate that he’s picking you up by your hips, forcing you to do small circles against his waist cause he knows it drives you crazy.

however, it doesn’t take long before he’s digging deep into you again, the force of his thrusts causing your head to bounce a little harder than intended.

“god i’m gonna cum so hard in this pretty pussy. i’m so fucking sorry i neglected you baby.. never again, god i’ll never do it again baby i promise. gonna fill you up okay? awe, you like the sound of that yeah? make you the prettiest mommy for me. promise i’ll take care of you forever. god i love you”. he’s rambling and his voice is getting rough. it’s only a matter of time before he cums.

after finding some strength, you finally look back and smile at him and that’s all it takes for eren to cum. his face screws up and his warm hands slide up your back to make you arch a little deeper. you wish you could run your fingers through his hair so badly, but you couldn’t ask for a better view of your beautiful boyfriend.

after a few moments of silence, eren finally comes down from his high with a big huff of air. gently, he spins you around so you face him. he moves your curls from out of your eyes and gives you a slow kiss on the lips, hands resting gently on your chubby, tear stained cheeks.

after a few moments of silence, he starts to speak, “i meant what i said. i’m sorry i left you alone for so long baby. i just gotta pass this test.” his eyes full of remorse.

“i know eren, i just wanted some attention… it’s really easy to miss you, even if we live together”. small smiles find both of your faces and eren finally pulls out to run the two of you a warm bath.

he strips you out of your tank top and carries you over to the tub, where he holds you tightly.

after some comfortable silence, you can’t help but look over your shoulder and ask the question that’s been plaguing your mind, “you really wanna get me pregnant?”

he looks towards the ceiling and let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “i mean, eventually yes. right now? fuck no”

the two of you fell into laughter while the smell of lavender filled your noses and achy bones were finally allowed to rest.

#eren #eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager #eren smut #eren x chubby reader #eren x black reader smut #eren x y/n #damn….. i love writing for this man

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formulaforza · 6 months

Text

—everywhere, everything

keep my hand in yours ('til our fingers decompose) pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: parent death, angst, language, driving under the influence, underage smoking/drinking love, mackie... 6.6k. part two of this guy (but I think can be read stand-alone). I hope I make u all sad enough that you never ask me for a part two ever again <3

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine—the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

— —

Danny is notably absent from your mom’s funeral. Granted, he is in Budapest at the time, and he had two races this weekend. You know this because you still keep tabs on him, even if he’s not yours to keep tabs on anymore, even if there’s nobody to blame for that but yourself.

If you didn’t know better, hadn’t spotted Grace, Joe and Michelle a dozen or so people back in line to greet you and your dad, you would have been able to convince yourself Danny didn’t have a clue your mom was even sick. She went quick, less than eight months from her death sentence to… well. From death sentence to death.

Two hundred and thirty-one days since her diagnosis means two-hundred and twenty-eight days since you broke things off with Danny. So even if he was in town, you probably wouldn’t have seen him. You wish you would have though, that he would have appeared in the plethora of grieving faces. Not for you, but for her. She always loved him, even before you did.

Grace’s arms feel like the light at the end of a dark tunnel when she finally gets to the front of the line. She squeezes you tight, the only way a mother knows how to, and you cry in her arms. Grace doesn’t tell you how sorry she is, or that your mom loved you so much, or that she’s in a better place now. She just hugs you and wipes away your tears.

“Danny wishes he could be here,” she tells you, but you don’t want to think about him and you don’t want to believe her.

“Tell him I said ‘thank you?’” you say, a forced smile on your face. It’s got to be the hundredth of the afternoon. If there’s one thing your mom is—was. If there’s one thing she was, it’s loved. Tell him I hate him, is what you wish you could say to Grace. Or maybe tell him I love him.

A million and two hugs later and you find yourself missing his arms more than you should. He was always a good hugger, and you could use a good hug right now.

— —

You showed up at the property fifteen minutes after the event started. You’d hoped to slip in and out, to at least be able to say you went, that you tried. You had no intention of trying to find Daniel, and you figured it would be easy to avoid him, especially if you showed up after everyone else did—it’s his show, he’s the man of the hour, everyone will be fighting for his attention.

You don’t even know why you came, really. Maybe it’s to figure out how the hell Daniel even got your address to send the invite in the first place. You’d moved half a dozen times since he last knew you. Or maybe it’s that you don’t believe, even after seeing it with your own eyes, that somebody actually had success with growing berries in the heat. It could be that you just… It could be simple, that you miss your Mom, and that everything about that place reminds you of her.

Whatever the reason, you put on a long, flowing sundress, tied your hair back, and slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers and a denim jacket. You didn’t even bother to tell your Dad—knew he’d want to catch up with Daniel, or maybe want to strangle Daniel. You didn’t want to give him the chance to do either. You park on the dirt road that leads to the vineyard, because the parking lot is overflowing, a pattern you’re beginning to notice since he’d taken over.

The place looks the same as it did last time you were here. DR3 Wines still adorn the fleet of ATVs out front, and the wooden letters on the perfectly red barn are still perfectly white. You give your name to the woman working the door, regret it as soon as you catch her announcing your presence over the radio-headset she wears.

Momentarily, you consider turning around and walking right back to your car. But, you aren’t one to waste a good outfit, not if you’d gotten all dolled up like this, so you walk into the Barn with your head down.

It smells the same inside; wood, lavender, citronella and alcohol. There’s candles burning to make it feel cozy, but they do a poor job at changing the aroma in the air. The walls are still hung with photos, and the counter is still that slab of wood. It’s exactly the same as it was a few months ago, and manages to remind you of the place you grew up without wearing your childhood memories like a costume.

Daniel has always been easy to find in a room. He’s loud, his voice and his laugh vibrate off the walls of whatever room he’s in. He’s loud and he’s confident and sometimes it feels like he’s the only person in a room that’s really alive. That’s how it felt then, at least.

It’s been thirteen years since you last shared a space with him, but the fact you can hear his laugh on the other side of the crowded room assures you that while everything has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same.

You can’t see him, but man can you hear him.

You sign the guest book—proof, in case anybody asks. Proof that you did show up. It’s the top of a wine barrel, DR3 2023 branded into the oak—two tops, because so many people are here. It’s covered in signatures and messages from people he loves. You feel guilty even signing it, but you do.

Congrats Dan—your marker pauses. You scoff at yourself. Congrats Daniel. Time flies, 13 years! The place looks beautiful. Wishing you continued success, you write, finishing it off with your signature.

He still wears the same cologne, you realize, when you look up and he’s leaning against the table watching you write. He wears the same cologne, and the same smile, even if less crooked. Everything else about him is different. His hair is shorter, eyes older. His arms are covered in art, face is all together thinner, and his five o’clock shadow is less of a pipe dream and more of a full-fledged beard. He’s taller, maybe. Or you’re shorter. It doesn’t really matter, you suppose.

You purse your lips into a curt smile. He matches—you didn’t even know he could smile like that. “Hi, honey,” he says, leaning over to read your message.

“Hi.” “Who’s Daniel?” He teases, the smile on his face growing into one you’re much more familiar with. You look back at your writing, but you don’t laugh. If anything, you’re sure you look a little scared. “I’m teasing.”

“I know,” you nod.

“Okay,” he nods right back, slow, apprehensive over your apprehension.

“Sorry,” you force out a chuckle. “I’m being so weird,” and you adjust the strap on your dress. He shoves his hands in his pocket, rocks back and forth on the sole of his shoes. Do you know how weird it is to be face to face with someone you were head over feet in love with? It’s really fucking weird. You put your best smile on your face, “Hi, sorry,” you continue, opening your arms for what you think might be the most awkward hug you’ve ever given.

He’s quick to pull his hands back out of his pocket, like he’s worried if he doesn’t act fast enough you’re going to rescind the offer.

His touch is uncanny; familiar and comforting and unsettling. It melts the years away and you feel just like you did some twelve years ago when you wished so desperately for one of his hugs. You’re nineteen again, and he’s twenty, and everything feels like it’s going to be okay.

“How are you,” he asks quietly, his arms tight around you. “You look great.”

“I’m okay,” you say over his shoulder, and then again, as if you’re trying to convince yourself: “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, pulling away from the hug, gesturing your question away. “Same old, same old.”

“Yeah,” you nod, even though you don’t know. Even though it’s been eleven years since you forced yourself to ignore his existence, since you last kept any sort of tab on him. You can’t get over how different he looks. How you’d still recognize him without a second glance. “You look different.”

He laughs, looks down at himself. At his arms, his hands. He can’t look at his face, but it’s different, too. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?” He keeps looking back at you every time he laughs. He makes sure you’re laughing, or smiling at least, before he lets his slip. “Is your Dad here?”

“No. He uh, he wasn’t feeling well.”

Once upon a time, Daniel could spot your lies from the other side of the vineyard. You get stiff and stuttery, he told you, it’s easy when you know what you’re looking for. That was once upon a time, though, and this is now. Now, you don’t know if Daniel remembers any of those little things about you.

His eyes go momentarily soft, worried, almost. “Just a cold, yeah?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, can I get you a drink? Give you a tour?”

You look around the place—not much to tour. Not when it used to be yours, not when one of his teenaged employees gave you a tour a few months back. He seems so excited about the idea, though, so you go along with it. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Nice, awesome,” he says, looking around the place like he forgot where everything is. He claps his hands together, pulls them apart into a snap, and points at you with both hands. “Stay here? I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you chuckle, and it’s genuine. “Staying here.”

“I know you, Bee,” he says, walking backwards away from you. B. He totally knows you’re full of shit about your Dad having a cold. “Don’t try to sneak out while I’m gone.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

You nod. “I promise.”

— —

You, Daniel, and your Mom worked the closing shift that night. When he was around, that’s almost always how it went, because the two of you were the only ones who’d worked there long enough to know how to properly close up without a babysitter.

Your Mom worked tediously in the office counting all the money—she was the slower counter of your parents, but it wasn’t like anyone was ever sitting around waiting on her. There was always something to be done, and Daniel was always good at making sure those closing tasks took up more than a chunk of the evening.

You’d cleaned inside, swept the floors and vacuumed the rugs and cleaned the tables and the counters. You washed glasses behind the bar and restocked displays. The landline on the counter rang while you were writing up the day’s inventory, and you almost didn’t answer it, but your parents had told you to improve on your customer-service skills, even when you or the customer weren’t on site.

To your surprise, the voice on the other end was Daniel’s. He was calling from the cellar, is too lazy to come over there to get shot down. “Is your Mom finished counting?” He asked, and you pulled the phone away from your ear to try and listen past the office door.

“I think so,” you say, bringing the phone back to your ear. “We should be heading out soon.”

Sometimes you feel like you can hear Danny’s smile. “You wanna do the lock check with me?”

You slot the phone between your shoulder and your ear, returning your hands to the task of finishing up your paperwork for the night. You needed to be done when he got here, or there was no chance your Mom let you go with him. “How do you know I’m done with my shit?”

You can hear the lull of the old beat up golf-cart engine in the background, can almost feel the vibrations, can see clear as day Danny sitting there, lounging on the leather seat—tanned skin, unruly hair, toothy grin. “You always finish fast so you can daydream about your boyfriend,” he says, turning the last word into his own little sing-songy ballad.

Your pen pauses on the paper, and you roll your eyes. “Jake isn’t my boyfriend.”

Danny laughs, and you roll your eyes again, pretend like you aren’t smiling. “Oh? But you knew who I was talking about!”

“Because you never shut up about him being into me.”

“Because he is!”

You set the pen down for good, now, grab the phone again because you want to make sure your next words come across loud and clear, even if it is the millionth time you’ve told him. “He’s my friend, Danny!”

“Oh, come on!” His laugh intensifies. “I don’t think a guy has ever been just friends with you.”

“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

His laughter quells, and you’re sure he’s picking on the plastic of the steering wheel. There are so many scrapes on it from the same thing. He’s always picking at it, ever since you told him to give his poor nails a rest. He has to destroy something, you suppose—teenage boy and all—but you prefer a destroyed golf cart steering wheel to a destroyed Danny, so you let it slide. He sighs, and then he clears his throat, and the memory of your question dies in the silence. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“Are you coming to get me?”

— —

The air is chilly—nippy almost, especially with the sun dipping below the horizon like it is. You’re walking stride for stride with Daniel over the gravel path to the cellar, glass of sweet pink wine in your hand. He’s taking you to the strawberry field, per your request, because even after tasting it, even after telling you which field it’s in, you still don’t believe him.

“So,” he asks, one hand deep in his pocket, the other hanging in the space between your bodies. He’s very hesitant with you today, you’ve noticed. It’s nothing like the brash boy you called your first love. He’s gentle, softer, like he’s scared of his next words. “Who finally put that ring on your finger?” The threat of a smile is weak, but the idea of it alone is charming.

You look at your free hand, carefully decorated with several different rings. “Which one?”

He drops his head to his shoulder, gives you a pathetic smile and a matching chuckle. “The only one an ex-boyfriend would ask you about, Bee.”

The sunlight—the little bit that’s left of it—catches the diamond on your ring finger. “Oh,” you shrug, dropping it back to your side. “It’s Mom’s.”

“I know,” he nods solemnly, and your head shoots over to look at him. You don’t know why he would remember that. “Who put it there, though?”

A smile pulls on your lips, and you bury it in the lip of your wine glass. “I’m not engaged, if that’s what you’re asking,” you laugh. “I just wear it… I don’t know, it makes me feel close to her.”

Sunsets at the property have always been gorgeous. When you were younger, you thought that maybe it was the most beautiful place in the entire world. The blues and the pinks and the yellows all mix together into some grand watercolor and tonight is no exception.

The silence that lingers in the air should be awkward, but it’s not. It should be harder to be here, to watch the sunset, to walk the paths you have memorized, to stand next to Daniel after all these years. It’s not hard, though. It’s comfortable, like it was when you were sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and barely nineteen. Like it was all the time you knew him, even before you loved him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally speaks. “She was really cool.”

You chuckle softly. It’s a familiar routine, consoling those attempting to console you about her death. “That’s what everyone says,” you say, even though Daniel might be the first person to posthumously describe your mom as cool. Lovely, you’d gotten more times than you could count. Beautiful and kind and oh honey, she loved you so much, you knew already. She was really cool, that’s a Danny-original if you’ve ever heard one.

“I should have been at the funeral.”

“It’s okay,” you nod, because his presence wouldn’t have changed that your Mom was lovely and beautiful and kind and that she wasn’t around to be any of those things anymore. There wasn’t anything Daniel could have done to remedy that reality. “You were busy. We weren’t together,” and before he can come back with something, insists that it’s a bigger deal some decade later than it was, you change the subject. “What about you, though? Putting rings on anyone’s fingers these days?”

He laughs. A person can only get poetic about Daniel’s laugh so many times before it’s easier to just leave it at that. He laughs, everyone around him lights up, and he laughs some more. “Believe it or not, my work-life balance isn’t super great at fostering long-term relationships.”

You don’t exactly know what Daniel’s work-life balance looks like. The last time you paid any attention, he was racing with Toro Rosso. Every update you’d heard since had been one you weren’t looking for—commercials and posters and billboards and word-of-mouth; more than a couple ex-boyfriends and a few stray friends.

You never cared much about racing. It was Daniel you cared about.

There aren't a lot of specifics you remember about Daniel’s schedule, but you remember that he was almost always coming or going. There wasn’t much staying, and that was before he’d even made it to the big show. “You mean, women like it when their partners are around for most of the year?”

“They do, yeah,” he nods, dimples digging into his cheeks. “Crazy, right?”

“Crazy.”

— —

Danny didn’t go down without a fight. He caught what had to have been the first flight home—home, you’re not sure that he can call Perth home now that he doesn’t live here. He caught the first flight to you, threw wood chips at your window at three-in-the morning. He didn’t need to wake you up, it’s been two weeks since you had any kind of meaningful sleep. You spend the majority of your time in bed looking at the ceiling fan spin or staining the sheets with your tears.

You let him throw mulch for twenty minutes though, hoping that maybe he’ll give up and leave so you don’t have to face him.

You’d done the breaking up over the phone for a reason. It wasn’t that you couldn’t wait until whenever he was home next. You could. It was that you couldn’t break up with him while looking him in the eyes, and you knew it.

Eventually, though, you pull your pajama-clad frame out from under the warm covers, drag your feet the entire way to the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to confirm what you already knew—that it was him in the driveway. His entire face relaxes when he sees you there, forcing the window open. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing?” He scoffs. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You cross your arms over your chest. The night air is cold and your pajamas are scarce. “I’m trying to sleep.”

He rolls his eyes, always dramatic, always over-the-top. “Come down here, honey.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You stand there in silence, shivering in your bedroom window. He stands there in silence, thick jacket on and a handful of wood chips from the garden in your driveway. It’s a stalemate, and you don’t know which of you is more exhausted. Appearance points to him, but you dread that fact that you’re standing, that you’re tired enough to give up the fight this quick.

“Fine,” you relent, and it’s less than two minutes before you’re running into him on the back porch, slowly closing the sliding patio door behind you so as to not alert anyone else in the house of his presence. “What do you want?”

“Where are your clothes?” He asks, and is already taking his coat off to wrap around your frame. You huff and puff the entire time he’s doing it, because your lack of clothing was a choice—you were hopeful that he wouldn’t keep you long if you were shivering.

“What do you want, D?”

“I want you to talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

Your lip trembles, and you bite down on it to try and stop it, chew on the skin until you taste copper and then it still trembles. You don’t look at him, you can’t. “You can’t fix it.”

“No, no,” he argues, grabbing your elbow in a plea, stepping closer to you, speaking hardly above a whisper. “Just tell me, baby.”

You yank your arm away, tone a direct contrast to his when you insist: “You can’t fix it this time, okay!? Nobody can fix it.” You point an accusatory finger, like there’s actually something he’s done to deserve this. There isn’t, there never will be. “You can’t fucking fix everything just because you want to.”

He matches, points his finger at you, presses it into the middle of your chest. Your heart races. “You can’t just fucking break up with me because you want to.”

You swat his hand away, offended by the accusation that you wanted this, that any part of you is enjoying this, finding relief in this. You hate this. Fucking loathe it, but it doesn’t change any of the facts. “I don’t want to,” your lips downturn into a frown, all pathetic and trembled, and your voice cracks and shakes half as much as your lips. The tears that burn in your eyes are reflected back in his, tired and bloodshot and wet.

“Then don’t do it,” he pleads.

You gulp around the lump in your throat, voice leaving your body meekly through tears. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” he assures you quickly, his hands slotting on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs wiping your tears, his fingers locking into the hair at the nape of your neck. He shakes his head before he speaks, brown eyes searching yours, begging you to change your mind. “You don’t.”

His hands on your face are what push you over the edge, turn you from poised and sniffly to half-wrecked—choking on sobs and swallowing snot. It all hits you at once, all the weeks of testing, the days of trying to come to terms with a diagnosis, the hours spent grappling with the fact that nothing will ever be the same about you. You’re changed, now, and you’re only going to continue to change. It’s not Daniel’s responsibility to see you through any of this fucking shit. “I do, I do,” you sob. “I have to, I’m so sorry, I have to.”

He presses his forehead against yours, your tears mixing with his every time your noses bump. It calms you, if only slightly, and your eyes close, mind focused on remembering this, on remembering what it feels like to have his skin on yours, to feel his voice in your bones, to breathe in the same air, the same space, the same atoms.

Your breath is shaky, but the pattern is steady. In, out. In, out. Your nose is so stuffed you can’t breathe through it. Your lips are all but touching his, a stray tremble holding the power to force them together. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or not, if it would make things better or so much worse.

He swallows hard, pulling your faces apart. “I love you,” he mutters softly, like a wounded animal, and then he presses a long, hard kiss into your forehead.

You sniffle, your hands holding onto his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, drops his arms, your hands falling into his. “Yeah.”

He lets your hands go, lets you go. You feel like you might be sick watching him walk down the steps of the patio, along the path of pavers to the gate. A shiver runs up your spine, and you pull his jacket closed over your chest. His jacket.

You wipe a new set of tears from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Your jacket,” you sniffle, “hold on.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn back to face you. “Keep it,” he says, unlatching the gate and slipping through to the other side. You sigh, and then you cough, and then you cry some more before finally finding the ability to move again, to go back inside and up to your bedroom, and that was that. That was the last time you saw Danny. The last moment that he was yours.

— —

You’re walking back from the unbelievable strawberry field, quickly approaching the still lively barn, people and smiles and conversations pouring out into the adjacent spaces. Someone appears in front of you with a camera, with two cameras—one professional, and one a cheap polaroid. Smile, they said, and you laughed, your cheeks burning red.

Daniel slinks his arm over your shoulder, and you step closer to his side. He flashes a toothy grin and a shaka sign to the camera. You hear the shutter of the camera take a dozen photos, and then the photographer holds up the polaroid—one for the road, she says, and Daniel pulls you that little bit closer, you blush that little bit harder.

There’s a flash, and then you both relax, the photo printing out of the bottom of the camera. She holds it out Daniel, but he nudges you with his elbow to take it. You do, even though you aren’t sure you want it.

You shake the polaroid while the two of you make your way into the barn. “What do I do with this?” You ask, looking carefully at the developed print.

Daniel shrugs, leaning over. You flip the photo in his direction so he doesn’t have to lean as far, but he still does. “It’s cute,” he says. “You don’t want it?”

“I mean, I’ll take it, but…” But. But I’m going to throw it away when I get home. But it only reminds me of you. But it only represents what won’t be.

He looks to the wall of photos behind the counter, eyeing the display carefully. You follow his sight line, your eyes going to the exact place you remember the photos of you being. You don’t know why you’re surprised that they’re still there, like you knowing they exist means they’d vanish. “Hang it up,” he says.

You laugh. “Where?”

Daniel shrugs. “Anywhere you want.”

— —

The best part about only being able to afford cheap workers, was that you spent every day at the property with a new teenager looking to have just as much fun as you were. Between that, and the plethora of college kids that were constantly leaving to go back to school, to get a grown-up job, to get any job that paid more than your family could offer—there was always an opportunity for going away parties. And party, you did.

You and your coworkers turned friends had slept down by the river more summer nights than you could count, hiding six-packs in the staff locker-room and hiding ziploc bags of joints behind the six-packs.

Tonight, the going-away party is to honor someone whose face you won’t remember in a year, much less thirteen. He’d worked there for the holidays and not much more, and there wasn’t much memorable about him.

The bonfire on the back of the property snaps and crackles, sparking off into the night and lights everyone in flickers of orange and yellow. The breeze has picked up after dark, and the tank-top and shorts you’d donned earlier in the day aren’t appropriate any more, one of Danny’s hoodies—a purple one that sits in his locker just for you to steal and smells like weed and wood from all the past nights just like this one—takes the chill out of the night and keeps the goosebumps off your exposed legs.

The sky is clear and cloudless, a big moon staring back at you and a million shining stars fill the night sky. It’s times like these you think there’s no prettier place on Earth, nights like these where you feel completely rich.

Two joints are being passed around the circle lazily, laughter and conversation filling the air. The first one comes your way from the left, from Daniel. He takes a long hit, the embers at the end of the paper burning orange with his inhale. He holds it in, nodding his way through someone else’s joke, and exhaling into a laugh.

He looks at you, hesitates to hand it over. “I really don’t want a lecture from your parents tomorrow morning,” he teases, playful smile pulling on his lips, mischievous glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes. “They won’t know,” you insist, to no avail. Daniel chuckles, but holds his resolve and passes the joint around you to the next person.

Undeterred, you keep your eyes on the joint that moves clockwise, that comes to you from the other direction, a path with no Danny-sized roadblock. With practiced ease, you take a hit, exhaling slowly, savoring the warmth in your chest. You meet Danny’s eyes on exhale, find them half-amused and half-concerned, brows raised and smile drawn.

“Whatcha got there?” He laughs, gently taking the joint from her. “I told you not to,” he continues, taking a hit himself before passing it along again. You grin, a wave of giddiness washing over you. It always goes like that when he laughs—makes you all warm and fuzzy and silly.

“It’ll be okay, Danny-boy,” you laugh, leaning against him. Lazily, without hesitation, he tosses his arm over your shoulder and pulls you that much closer. You like being closer, can feel his laugh instead of just hearing it. You like the way his arm rests on your shoulder, the way his fingers trace patterns over the fabric of his sweatshirt, every touch echoing on your skin for minutes. You like being close, even if it makes your palms a little sweatier and your heartbeat a little faster. You could get used to being closer, you think.

The fire is starting to die out now, and the air gets colder. You wonder how long your parents waited up for you to get home. The original excuse was that Daniel had forgotten the lock-check, that you wanted to come along and really, it’s no problem to drive her home. After about fifteen minutes, you’d snuck away from the newly-built fire to make a phone call, to let them know you were grabbing food on the way home and don’t wait up for me. You’re sure they did, though, even if only for a while longer.

Anyway, the air is colder and the joints have been smoked through and the beers have been drunk—not by you, you’re too messy when you’re crossed. And not by Daniel, either, who refuses to drive drunk but insists on driving high.

You yawn under Daniel’s arm, find a way to somehow lean in closer. “Sleepy?” he asks, and you nod. Carefully, like he’s done it a million times before, he presses a kiss into the crown of your head. It’s not the millionth time, it’s not even the second time he’s kissed any part of you. It’s the first time you've felt the press of his lips and you think that you’ll feel it there forever. “You wanna go?”

“No,” you say. “I’ll stay, make sure the fire gets out and everything.”

It’s not much longer, anyway, until the fire is being doused with water bottles and beer and everyone is taking turns spraying the same perfumes and colognes over their clothes in a poor attempt to mask the smell of smoke and weed.

Daniel drives you home. It’s not the first time you’ve been the passenger in his old Ford Bronco. It’s not even the first time you’ve been in the truck while he was high. Usually, car rides with Danny consist of cranked down windows and loud music, of louder conversations and excessive laughter. This drive is quiet, though.

His hands are steady on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no music, the windows are up, and he doesn’t talk. You watch him carefully from the passenger seat, study him in your paranoia. You haven’t done anything, you don’t think. There’s no reason for him to be mad at you. Unless there is.

“Did you have a good time?” You ask. Danny nods. “That’s good.”

He turns to face you at a stop sign. “Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m trying to focus.”

“It’s okay,” you nod.

“It’s harder,” he explains. “It’s hard with you here.”

— —

The evening you’d anticipated is far from the evening that unfolds. Fifteen minutes, maximum, in and out. That was the plan. But then Daniel—Daniel, and all the far-fetched dreams of him making himself at home in your life, all the passing thoughts you’d had over the years about the what-ifs; the grocery bills and the taxes and the white wine and the rusty barn doors. He glues you to his side for hours that feel like minutes.

The event is winding down, people keep coming up to him, firm pats on the back and handshakes and hugs goodbye. They tell him how great the place is, how great the wine is, how great he is, and you move around like his shadow, smiling awkwardly whenever someone catches your eye and waiting for the next joke Daniel has to crack quietly, just to you.

You stand at a high-table next to him, elbows on the tabletop, shoulders bumping everytime one of you moves. There were people around the table, a reason—an excuse—for the proximity, but they’re long gone now. “You know,” Daniel says quietly, dropping his head against his hands, speaking to nobody in the room but you. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Yeah,” you nod, speak just as softly. “Me too.”

He takes a long drink from the wine glass in front of him. Liquid courage, you know now, for what he was going to do next. The glass returns to the tablecloth with a soft pat, and he lets out a heavy exhale. “I heard there’s a new coffee place opening in Northbridge?” He asks, and you assume it’s because he knows your neighborhood, wants to know more about it. The wine has made you naive, or maybe you’d just pushed the reality of his implication so far from your mind that it’s an impossible thought.

“Yeah,” you nod. The new coffee shop in Northbridge is a seven minute walk from your apartment, and is on your way to work. You’ve been eyeing the place since the empty building went up for lease. “It’s got this super cute bakery right next door,” you add. “I think they opened last week.”

Daniel nods. “I’d love to try it out.”

“Yeah,” you continue, still genuine and naive and oh-so silly. “You should. I’ve heard good things.”

He laughs, then. Laughs this specific kind of Daniel laugh that you used to get so excited to hear. It meant he was going to do something for—or to—you. He’d laughed like that before he kissed you for the first time, and he’d laughed like that while orange juice ran down his arm and he asked you out for the hundredth time. He’d laughed like that on every anniversary, every birthday, every holiday. It’s Danny’s you laugh. “I’d need someone to go with, though,” he says. And the laugh and the words and the whole thing clicks. Daniel is trying to ask you out. “I don’t really know my way around Northbridge.”

A lie, objectively. One that confirms the assumption you’d just jumped to. Daniel’s first apartment was in Northbridge. He lived eleven minutes from where you live now. He knows the place like the back of his own hand, knows the streets like he used to know you.

You nod into the bottom of your wine glass, watching the liquid spin around the clear glass. “You don’t?”

He purses his lips, looks all deep in thought. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Oh,” you frown, your eyes meeting his. It’s really hard to mess with him when he looks at you like that. Hard, but not impossible. “My dad’s usually around.”

He chuckles. “Your dad, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, a smile pulling impossibly hard on your lips. “Retirement and all, you know.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I guess…” you shrug, stop spinning your glass and set it down altogether. You push it slowly across the tablecloth towards the center. “I could always show you around, too.”

He leans back, stands up straight and scratches his beard, makes a piss-poor attempt at wiping the dimpled smile off his face when he cocks his head to the side and says, “As much as I like your dad…”

“As much as you like my dad.”

And, because Daniel was never really Daniel, because he’s always going to be your Danny, no matter the time or the distance or anything else that should get in the way, he says: “You’ve always been my honeybee.”

— —

“Don’t call me that, Mom,” you shouted from the office, gathering your morning gear. You were working tours with Danny, today, and the two of you had spent all morning bickering over who gets to be lead and who has to be secondary guide. While you shoved the batteries into the walkie-talkies, you could overhear Danny successfully pleading with your Mom. Honeybee, she’d called out to you. Let Danny take Lead today, won’t you?

She laughs. You roll your eyes, slipping behind the counter where she leans, where Danny lounges on a stool. You toss Danny’s walkie at his chest, and he catches it before it hits him. She raises her brows pointedly, meets Danny’s eyes in some shared language, a shared silent remark about you. “Why not?”

“Because. It sounds like something Grandma would say.”

Your mom smiles, twirls the end of your ponytail around her finger. “But you’re so sweet”

Danny chokes on his laugh, shooting up straight in his seat to clear his throat, to cough into his elbow. “She is NOT sweet.”

You scowl, shove his shoulder gently. It only makes him, and your mom, laugh harder. “Hey!”

“You make my life sweet, baby girl,” she hums.

Danny nods, falling back into his comfortable spot, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re kinda like a bee,” he says, leaning back even further. Your entire day would be made by him losing his balance and falling flat on his ass. “You make her life sweet but for me…” he pauses. “You’re just this annoying little buzzing I can’t shoo away.”

Silently, you hold up both middle fingers to him, walking backwards out from behind the counter, towards the back door. Your mom only laughs at you, always laughs at you and Danny. “Love you, Bee,” she calls to you, and winks at Danny.

“Yeah,” he calls, the stool creaking underneath him as he properly stands up. “Love ya, Bee!”

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queenimmadolla · 1 year

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𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

(dad!eddie x mom/pregnant!reader)

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 ─ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 ─ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑 • more of the pennyverse here.

Summary: . . . After your eventful labor and delivery, you and Eddie can only wait to see what fate holds for your newborn son as you two finally decide on a name. warnings: angst, a whole lot of angst, near death experience, difficult pregnancy, early labor, preterm birth, talk of loss of infants, birth defects, happy ending.

a/n: we have finally reached the rainbow at the end of the storm, my friends. wrapping this up feels so bittersweet, i'm going to miss all the interactions! i don't think i've gotten to talk to this many people here before and i hope it doesn't stop after part three. from the bottom of my heart, thank you. and a HUGE thank you to my partner in crime, @kitmon, for beta-ing this (all three parts) bad boy for me. while Wayne's World is finally over, i'm excited to continue writing for this little family. on to the next thing! word count is 4kish. happy reading! and for the people mad about the long post, sorry, had the 'keep reading' tab on but it kept fucking with the format and eating chunks of it. you're gonna have to scroll. let me know what you think? ◡̈

While Eddie was out like a light, your doctor had also dropped in for a visit to inform you you’d be staying at the hospital for at least another day, which you weren’t too excited about. You were prescribed medication to take during your stay and so long as you felt good, you were allowed to roam about, meaning you could visit your son.

Wayne had also dropped by, with a bag he’d packed full of Eddie’s clothes and things he thought he would need. He hadn’t wanted to wake Eddie up, either. After making sure you were okay, he ended up taking Penny home with him. You’d debated on letting her stay, but you figured Eddie would be vehement on staying with you and she’d want to play with her toys soon. Wayne had promised to bring her back for visits.

Then it was just you and your sleeping husband. Eddie slept through the morning, past the afternoon, and into the evening. You were just about to run out of patience—eager to see your baby—when he finally woke up.

“Wha’ happen?” He rasped out, voice groggy and eyes squinted almost shut as he stretched, letting out an inhuman grunt.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you glanced at the clock on the wall, “or goodnight, I guess.”

“Night?” He followed your gaze, eyes shooting wide open when he realized how late he’d slept. “Oh, shit. It’s seven.”

“I’m aware,” you were entirely amused, “Your breakfast, lunch, and dinner are on the counter.” You pointed over to the counter and cabinets lining the wall.

Eddie was starving, he tossed the blanket aside to get up and made quick work of all of his meals, to your surprise.

Watching Eddie eat was always so entertaining. He ate so chaotically, messy like a gremlin. And not just when he was starving.

“Where’s Pen?” He asked through a mouthful of food.

“With Wayne and Maude. He stopped by and dropped off some things for you.” You pointed this time to the duffel bag resting near his makeshift pullout bed.

The burger you’d got him for lunch was clenched in his teeth, the wrapper around it preventing its contents from falling out, as he rifled through it, pulling out a clean shirt, a pair of sweats and some boxers.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He asked, again with a mouthful of food as he unbuckled his pants, pushing them down his legs.

You watched as he struggled to get his feet out of them without using his hands, aggressively shaking them off his right ankle. He cursed under his breath once they were off and you couldn’t help but elate in the fact your husband was still a dork.

“You were tired, snoring up a storm—’’

“—I don’t snore.”

“—And looking like you were in a coma.”

Eddie snorted as he devoured the rest of his burger before he was able to go put on the clean boxers (you’d made sure to lean forward so you could get your eyeful) and yank on the sweats. Then he pulled his shirt off and you responded by clapping your hands appreciatively.

“Now, give me a little twirl,” you swirled your finger downward, with a smirk and Eddie laughed as he threw the shirt at you.

“Knock it off, six week waiting period still applies to you so you’d better not tempt me.”

You whistled as you pulled his shirt off your head, holding it to your chest, “You might have had the dinner but I definitely got the show.”

“You’re incorrigible,” but he was still grinning as he yanked the clean shirt over his head.

You waited until he was comfortable, with his food, on the pull out before you informed him, “My doctor came by, too. Said I’m stuck here for another freaking day.”

Eddie pulled the fry he’d been about to eat away from his mouth so he could tease you with a pout. He was actually glad, you’d be surrounded by medical professionals so if for some reason something happened, they’d be able to take care of you. Plus, he’d be by your side every day until then. This was his last day off, but he’d call Norm in the morning and let him know he’d have to take the next couple of days off. He’d saved up more than enough paid time off at the shop, something he’d chosen this particular one to work at for offering.

Of course, when he’d gotten the gig as a teenager, he’d only been concerned about using that time to try out a new strain or micro dose.

You rolled your eyes and slumped back into your bed, “Jerk. She also said I could move around. After you finish eating, will you take me to go see him?”

Fuck, Eddie would take you right now. He was about to set his tray aside when you hissed.

“Eat.”

He held his hands up in defeat, but finished off his food a little faster.

While he finished eating, you’d gotten out of bed (yes, he almost had a heart attack and you had to threaten him to keep him from hovering) to freshen up. By the time you were done, so was Eddie.

You’d dug around his bag until you found one of your favorite shirts of his and put it on, under the stupid hospital gown, along with a pair of his sweats.

And you hadn’t wanted to, like really, really didn’t want to, but you allowed him to push you to the NICU in a wheelchair. It was the only way you were allowed to leave your room. Why didn’t you want to? Because Eddie insisted it was a game, full on running to propel the wheelchair, even spinning you around in it, when he wasn’t pretending to crash into things. It was fun, but you were sure the hospital staff didn’t appreciate it.

When you finally got to the NICU and the nurse placed your baby in your arms, you knew everything you’d been through was worth it. Every single second you got with him was precious and worth the possible sorrow that may follow.

“He does look like Penny,” you agreed, lifting him up to press a kiss to his forehead. He was in better looking condition than you recalled, not pasty or almost blue, and breathing. You remembered the shock of fear that had shot up your spine when he hadn’t been after you’d pushed him out.

He was small, smaller than Penny had been for obvious reasons, and while it made you sad that you hadn’t been able to keep him in you to develop more, you were still happy to have him.

“Although, I think their noses are different,” you mused and gently stroked your finger over the small tip of his nose, tubeless since he’d been removed from his incubator to be placed in your arms. He scrunched it up at the contact, and you were delighted with his response, “he’s got your’s, Eddie.”

“You think so?” Eddie was taken with that nose scrunch, absolutely entranced. He’d seen you do it in the wee hours of that very morning.

“Oh, yeah. He’s perfect. I wonder whose eyes he has.” Selfishly, you hoped a pair of big, brown baby cow eyes, like his father’s and sister’s, were under the eye cover.

“You can take it off,” The nurse hovering nearby informed you, he was handling another baby but he’d heard your comment, “he’s done with his phototherapy. The lighting in here isn’t harsh either, so he’ll be just fine.”

He stopped what he was doing to hand you a couple of wipes, “Just moisten the edges and it will come right off.”

You did as instructed, Eddie hovering over you in anticipation. Once the edges were saturated with the warm wipe, you carefully peeled the eye mask away, heart squeezing as your baby boy blinked them open. Well, that was a stretch, he blinked them into a squint.

He glared up at you like that for a few more moments, before his blinking became rapid and then they were finally open, forehead scrunched up in curiosity as he stared, little mouth just barely parted.

“Hi,” you giggled out, absolutely ecstatic to see a pair of familiar dark eyes peering up at you.

“Guess that answers that.” Eddie’s smile was soft as he watched you press another kiss to his head, your fingertips mingling with the fluff on his head. He couldn’t help but notice how enthralled his son looked with you, little fists curled near his face.

“You are so perfect,” you cooed down at him, finger stroking his cheek, he blinked at the contact, gave your hand some serious side eye for surprising him then returned his awed stare to your face. “I love you so much, my little grump. You’re gonna be okay, yeah? ‘Cause you’re just like your daddy, aren’t you? Gonna make it out even when you’re dealt the shorthand.”

Was Eddie Munson about to cry again? Yes.

“Perfect, perfect, perfect,” You enunciated each one word with a kiss to his head, “We still have to name him.”

The morbid image of a potential name for his son, etched into stone came to the forefront of his mind and Eddie felt a stabbing pang in his chest as he forced the image away.

“You know, I technically chose Penny’s,” you drawled, craning your head to look up at him, “I think it’s only fair you name him. Since you won’t let me name him Eddie Jr.”

Eddie stared back at you, gaze intense before it shifted down to the little bundle in your arms, at the face peeking out from the blankets.

He hadn’t wanted to name his baby after him, wanted him to be more than just a namesake. With Penny, well, her name meant something to him. Unconditional love.

It didn’t actually translate to that, but it had belonged to the one person in his life—other than you—who showed him affection, emotion.

The baby’s eyes moved away from your face, catching Eddie’s stare and something about it prompted a thought, a fact really.

Eddie was wrong. He was so, so wrong in his thought process. The weight of the realization almost had his knees buckling as he stared back at that little face.

For the first time, Eddie thought of his son’s name. Etched in stone or not, it was the only one worthy of him.

You’d let the nurse know and he retrieved your son's birth certificate for you. You loved the name so much and since Eddie had been the one to decide on it, you insisted he write it on his birth certificate as well. It had to be the neatest thing Eddie had ever written.

It hadn’t been easy to let the nurse take your baby back, away from you and you had teared up, afraid it would be the last time you’d see him.

Eddie had been upset too, in the last few moments you were allowed with him, he’d let his little guy hold onto his finger and reminded him of their earlier talk. He had to make it through tonight, so he could go home with them. After a few parting kisses, tears and reaffirming your love to him, he was whisked away to his incubator and you and Eddie made the sullen trip back to your room.

He held you in your bed while you both cried.

And cried.

Eventually, the two of you fell asleep, the sheer emotional exhaustion too much for either of you.

When you woke up, it was to sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains and the nurse taking your vitals. Eddie was still lightly snoring into the side of your head and just as the nurse finished, both Dr. Eisenberg and Dr. Houseman entered your room.

“Good morning!” Dr. Eisenberg chirped. Dr. Houseman silently made herself comfortable leaning against the counter.

“Morning,” came your groggy reply as you shook Eddie awake. He peaked an eye open to glare at you but the moment he caught sight of both doctors, he snapped awake.

“Sorry to disturb you two, we just figured you’d want to hear the news. Mrs. Munson, although I know you must love your hospital bed, today’s looking like your last day here. Which means I want to hear about you doing lots of walking today. I’m gonna check on you again tomorrow, but if all is well, you’ll be discharged then.”

Halle-freaking-lujah.

Dr. Eisenberg stepped back, nudging Dr. Houseman’s shoulder enthusiastically to take her place.

“I believe this is the first time we’ve met, Mrs. Munson,” she regarded you with kind eyes before acknowledging Eddie, “Mr. Munson. Nice to see you’ve gotten some rest.”

Eddie tried not to feel personally attacked.

“I come bearing news of your son. He made it through the night, with no issues. He’s out of phototherapy, responding well to feedings—that’s very important—and while his breathing is fast, it’s also a good sign. It doesn’t leave him breathless, so it may just be his excitement at being in the outside world and getting to use his lungs. He doesn’t tire more than would be normal for a newborn, either. We’re gonna keep him a little longer, let him develop a little more and ensure the hole starts to heal up, but I give it no more than two weeks before he goes home.”

The amount of weight lifted off both your shoulders and Eddie’s was almost disorientating. Your baby made it. You’d get to take him home! You wanted to cry, jump around, do backflips, but you settled for leaning into Eddie, who was blinking an awful lot.

“Alright, I think we served our purpose. We’ll let the two of you have some peace.” They both gave you grins as they made their way out of the room, though Dr. Eisenberg stopped, effectively halting Dr. Houseman as well, “By the way, LOVE the name you gave him. Really fits the little guy.”

Dr. Houseman nodded in agreement before she was ushering Eisenberg out of the room.

You held each other again as you cried, this time tears of joy and relief.

Wayne stopped by again, this time with Penny and a bag of necessities meant for you (packed with care by Maude because Wayne was too embarrassed to go through your drawers). She’d begged Eddie, literally wrapped herself around one of his legs until he agreed to take her to see baby brother. He hadn’t wanted to, would much rather have them meet at the trailer when the two of you could finally bring him home and not when he was still in an incubator, patched up to machines, but he relented.

Wayne kept you company while he took her to see the baby. She hadn’t asked any questions about the babies, only stating the stork must be getting ready to take them to their mommies and daddies because they were in boxes.

When he’d pointed out her brother, she couldn’t look away, placing both hands on the glass as well as her forehead to stare at him.

“My little baby potatoes.”

“He’s not—alright, sweet pea.”

“I getta keep him, huh, daddy?”

“Yeah, you get to keep him.” Eddie found himself blinking away tears, comforted to know he wasn’t lying to her, didn’t have to be obtuse to avoid telling her the truth anymore.

“Okie dokie, les take ‘em home.”

Eddie chuckled and pulled her a little ways from the glass to press a kiss to her cheek, “He has to stay here for a few more days, but he’s gonna come home.”

“Pomise?”

“I promise.”

She eyed him suspiciously, “You won’t fuwwet ‘em?”

“Forget,” Eddie corrected but Penny didn’t amend the word like she would normally do when reminded of the proper pronunciation. She still had a little difficulty with her ‘r’s so if a word had the letter in it and she said it right the first time, great, if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be fixing it, “And that was one time, sweet pea, I came back for you like a minute later.”

Penny maintained an impressive, nonstop commentary about all the things she was going to teach her baby brother to do during the walk back to your hospital room. At some point, she’d asked Eddie to swing her the rest of the way, which he scoffed at because that would make him look ridiculous to the staff.

Needless to say, by the time they got back, Eddie was sure the staff would be making fun of him.

Wayne hadn’t asked to see the baby, he was content knowing the little fella would be coming home with you. He still had that image of him in the truck stuck in his head, and he’d rather replace it with a baby in a car seat instead of an incubator. He and Penny stayed a while. She took your doctor’s walking orders (that Eddie foolishly mentioned in front of her) seriously and demanded you walk back and forth around the room with her. It was no problem until it just got annoying but you entertained her anyways.

Then all your friends had shown up, waiting strategic intervals of time to slip into your room as small groups so the nurses wouldn’t notice. They’d brought tons of gifts and Eddie had to sneak them to the NICU entrance, a few at a time, so they could see your baby through the glass.

After what a c-section was had been explained to the boys, Dustin’s respect for you skyrocketed, which you hadn’t thought would be possible considering his high opinion of you in the first place, and Lucas thought you had to be some kind of superhuman to survive that, he was amazed. Poor Will and Robin looked like they wanted to throw up when Steve’s girlfriend explained how some of your insides had been briefly removed to get to the baby.

It had been Nancy and Jonathan who got the group out of the hospital, and just in time. Your main nurse had come to check on you with all the suspicious hallway activity. Wayne and Penny left when visiting hours were over and you convinced Eddie to sleep on the bed with you, you always fell asleep fast when you got to cuddle up to him and you needed the night to pass already so you could get discharged.

You were impatient the next morning, Eddie watched on in amusement as you got ready, fluttering about the room until you finally slipped into a shirt and some comfortable pants with a high waistline (nothing was pressing into your scar until that bad boy was healed), then put your hospital gown over them and climbed into bed to disguise your getaway outfit.

Your plan was of course foiled when Dr. Eisenberg arrived and had you walk across the room a couple of times. She’d been amused with your expectations, but stuck to her promise and a nurse was wheeling you out after you were discharged.

Wayne, Penny and Maude greeted you when you arrived home, and while you were pleased to be in your own clothes and trailer, you wanted your baby with you.

“What happened to the spot?” You’d asked Wayne, at some point while Maude and Penny were showing Eddie a new dress Maude had made for her.

You were referring to the stain you were sure your water breaking had left—unfortunately, rather bloody as well.

“Maude got rid of it. Took ‘er a couple ‘a days but she managed to scrub it out, ‘s why she couldn’t come see you, reckon she figured you wouldn’t wanna see it.”

The widow from a couple of trailers away—and Wayne’s lady love—was shy as hell, but you were positive you loved her.

You and Eddie made sure to visit your son as often as possible. While Eddie worked, you spent most of your mornings and afternoons at the hospital, learning from the nurses about his improving condition and how to care for him. You’d learned he was fed a couple of special formulas, though they still encouraged you to breastfeed. On day seven of his hospital stay, you got to nurse him for the first time.

It was difficult, he wouldn’t latch properly no matter how hard you or the lactation consultant tried at first. It took him a while to get the hang of it, and it had been mildly uncomfortable for you, but eventually he did start latching. Day eight was spent encouraging him to latch each time. You knew you’d have to feed him those special formulas, but that was the extent of sharing him with a bottle you were willing to go. It was 50/50, and they’d informed you as soon as he caught up in development, and started gaining weight, the need for the formulas would lessen and you wouldn’t have to share him.

GOOD.

On day nine, you and Eddie got to bring him home. It hadn’t been completely planned, Dr. Houseman had suggested it the day prior, hadn’t guaranteed it and hadn’t been expecting you to have a carseat and anything else you might need for the ride home, but when she mentioned that he was good to go—though he’d have to be seen regularly to ensure his heart was in healthy condition and healing—Eddie bolted to retrieve the car seat he’d had waiting for his little dude and came just about running back.

“Don’t look so sour, baby,” He cooed as he tucked his little baby in and secured the harness around him. His son’s face was scrunched up, glaring at Eddie while he buckled him in. Clearly, he wasn’t a fan of the car seat, but he changed his tune when Eddie gently squished his cheeks between his thumb and index finger, the baby immediately relaxed, eyes wide as he stared up at his daddy. Then Eddie was tucking a blanket around him, and lowering the visor to protect him from the cold air.

It was wonderfully symbolic how peaceful the drive home from the hospital with your son had been compared to how chaotic the drive to the hospital, with him, had been.

Wayne, Penny and Maude were waiting for you again. Penny practically attacked Eddie’s legs as soon as he made it through the door with the car seat.

“Whoa, sweet pea! Careful, daddy doesn’t want to step on you.”

“I wanna see ‘em!”

“You will,” You promised as you shut the door behind you. Wayne and Maude were perched on the couch as Eddie placed the car seat down and squatted so he could carefully take the baby out of it. Penny’s energy seemed to disappear, she was stock still, watching as Eddie lifted the visor, removed the blanket, unbuckled the baby and finally pulled him out.

Maude’s reaction was instant, sounds of adoration slipping past her lips as the baby scrunched his back while Eddie lifted him, tiny arms pulling up near his head.

Wayne laughed, relieved to see the baby looked nothing like he had when he’d first seen him. In fact, if he didn’t know better he’d think Eddie brought home the wrong one.

“You wanna hold him?”

“Bring ‘im ‘ere.” Wayne held his hands out and Eddie carefully placed his newborn son in them.

“Well, ‘yer in better shape, ain’t you?” He commented down at the little guy. As soon as those eyes were on him, he knew there had been no baby mix up. He was Eddie’s kid.

“‘Shoot, another one with ‘yer eyes?” Wayne chuckled and Eddie’s chest puffed with pride. His next joke was directed towards you, “He’s lookin’ like Penny did when she was a baby, you sure you ain’t a copy machine?”

“Not anymore,” You scoffed, smiling at the sight as you leaned into Eddie’s side. He slipped an arm around your shoulders, hand moving to the side of your head as he pulled you even closer to kiss.

“He’s a cute lil’ fella. What’s his name?”

Eddie smirked against the top of your head before he answered him, “Wayne.”

“Hmn?” Then, without looking up from that little face, Wayne figured Eddie hadn’t heard him and was asking him to repeat himself. “‘Said what’s his name?”

“I heard you, his name is Wayne.”

Wayne looked up at the two of you then, eyes wide and unbelieving.

“Wha—?”

“His full name is Wayne Edward Munson,” you had to make sure they knew Eddie compromised and was willing to allow you to use his name as his son’s middle name, the smile on your face was smug. “Wayne.”

Wayne cleared his throat, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips.

“‘S really…” He trailed off, throat thick as he swallowed, head nodding a couple of times.

“I didn’t always imagine myself as a family man growing up,” Eddie confessed, “but when I did, I imagined having these crazy, weirdo kids who I’d love and who would love me back. Teach them to play the guitar, how to appreciate good music, play Dungeons and Dragons with. Was already afraid I’d mess up, though. And they’d stop loving me.

“When we had Penny and she,” Eddie pressed another kiss to your head, “suggested we name her after my mom, I thought it was perfect. Naming the baby I was afraid would one day stop loving me after someone who never did was perfect to me. I was struggling real hard on names for him, didn’t think Edward was worthy of him. Then he looked at me. In that moment, all I could think about was how much I loved him. I couldn't help but wonder if that was how you felt when you saw me.”

Eddie wasn’t the insecure kid he used to be—well, not as insecure. He’d been unsure of it at the start of his stay with Wayne, the older Munson was never very vocal with his emotions, though he had on occasion told Eddie he loved him. It wasn’t a machismo thing, Eddie was sure Wayne just didn’t know how to express emotions. It was how he’d been raised. Regardless, Eddie knew Wayne loved him.

Loved him when he was a baby, born from the woman he loved and not even his own son. Loved him when he saw him sporadically throughout his early life. Loved him enough to try and fight to keep him when his mom died, though the law gave him back to his dad. Loved him when a social worker showed up on his doorstep with him in tow, a broken shell of a boy. Loved him in those few awkward first interactions as they learned how to be around each other again. Loved him when he started getting in trouble, when police officers started escorting him home, when he’d had to pick him up from the police station, when he knew he was selling things and partaking in a business Wayne didn’t particularly approve of, loved him through it all. By blood, he might have been an uncle. By all other means, that man was his father. And his name was the only name worthy of his son. No rock star could compete.

“So, we named him after the other person in my life who never stopped loving me.”

Eddie could see the shine on Wayne’s eyes as his mouth set in a firm line.

Finally, Wayne managed to rasp out, “‘Ye’ah, you’re right. Not for one secon’.”

Not for once second had he stopped loving his boy.

Wayne looked down at little Wayne, whose stare was no longer scrutinizing, “You got ‘yerself a good pair ‘a parents. ‘Couldn’ta asked to be born in a better family.”

“Uhm, ‘scuse me, I fuwwot his name. What’s he called?”

“Wayne, baby.” Eddie chuckled and Penny leaned against Maude’s legs, craning forward to get a good look at her brother.

“Waynie. I like it! Can I put ‘em in my stoller now?”

“No, Penny.”

After the flood of emotions that your living room became that morning, Wayne and Maude had stuck around for a couple of hours before they said goodbye to Penny and baby Wayne and made their way home. So, about a three minute walk, tops.

You settled onto the couch, next to Eddie who had Penny curled on his lap, with baby Wayne, ready to nurse him as Eddie searched for something to watch. You’d just gotten Wayne to latch when Eddie made a pleased sound and you glanced up to find out what had amused him.

On the tv was an episode of Saturday Night Live, specifically the beginnings of one of Mike Myers’ most popular sketches as Eddie’s favorite character from the show.

“Just in time,” At the mention of his son’s name on screen, Eddie glanced down at the baby attached to your boob, whose gaze flickered to the side to meet his as if he was aware of gaining his dad’s attention.

The corners of Eddie’s lips twitched as his big eyes stared at him, “Yeah, yeah. I know. Welcome to Wayne’s World.”

2K notes · View notes

lyak12 · 2 months

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Food Poisoning

A/N: I've read a few days ago that our one and only Lucy Bronze played with food poisoning in the 2015 world cup quarter finals... I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, and @helen-with-an-a and I have been talking this through for a good while, haha. I mean, Lucy is basically super human at this point, but I still had to rewrite it. It takes place at the semi-finals of the last World Cup and I'm really putting Sarina on the spot here and making her a bit of the bad guy... I just want to clarify that I don't have anything against her. I just needed a bad guy and she happened to be there. Also you're in for a long one, we're talking almost 7k... my longest one yet. I hope you like it though and thanks again for the help @helen-with-an-a 💕

w/c: almost 7k

Warnings: Throwing up, pain, a bit of Angst and arguments

It is the world cup and you won the quarter finals. Tomorrow is the big day. The semi finals. It's not your first world cup but you're still a bit anxious. You want to win this. You want this not only for the team but especially for Lucy. She finally deserves the world cup title.

Tomorrow however were the semifinals and they were at least just as important if not more than the final itself.

Lucy and you have been dating for a while and it's openly known in the team but that also means during tournaments you usually get diffrent roommates. Which neither of you mind since you're there to play football not to share a room. You're currently sharing a room with Leah and you love it. You two get along so well.

As you wake up that morning the nerves in your belly are already building. You're an early bird so you're getting up before Leah and take your time in the bathroom. You're also always the first to text your girlfriend good morning.

Today however instead if receiving a good morning back LJ, Lucy's roomie, texted you if you're awake already. You immediately text back, wondering why she's texting you this early but with the next message you understood why.

'I don't know what's wrong but Lucy is not feeling great. She didn't want me to text you but I think you'd want to know and come check on her' - LJ texts

'I'll be right there' - you immediately text back and grab your stuff before jogging over to their room. LJ lets you in and you ask "What's wrong?" However Lauren doesn't even have to answer as you hear Lucy throwing up in the bathroom. You quickly throw your things on the bed before making your way into the bathroom.

"Shh, it's okay. I got you, love", you say as you gather her hair that fell out of the bun and start to rub her back. She just retches again before she coughs and says "I told LJ not to text you." "Yeah well, I'm glad she did. Are you done?", you ask softly and she just nods. You help her up and guide her to the sink as you flush the toilet.

Looking at your girlfriend, you can tell she is still feeling like utter shit. "Shh deep breath, what's wrong Baby?", you say as you slip your hand under her shirt and rub her back slightly. She feels a bit sweaty but you put that off on the throwing up.

"I don't know, I'll be okay. I just need a second", Lucy says trying to convince herself she's fine. You hand her some water and she drinks a few sips before the both of you make your way back into her room.

"You okay, Bronzey?", Lauren asks softly and Lucy just nods but Lauren can see in your eyes that you're worried. Lucy quickly gets dressed before all three of you make your way to breakfast. You can see that your girlfriend is still nauseous and you honestly don't know what she wants at breakfast but if there's one thing, it's that Lucy has her own mind.

In the elevator you rub over her back slightly and she gives you a weak smile, trying to act like she's fine. Before you get in to the dining hall you pull her aside a bit and ask again "Baby, I can see you're not okay. Are you sure you want to get breakfast? We can go lay down again for a bit if you like." Your eyes betray how worried you are but Lucy just shakes her head and smiles softly before saying "I'm okay, we need the fuel for the game this afternoon."

You just sigh but know better than to fight with her right now. Maybe she'll feel better after breakfast. You have until lunch to rest and do some more recovery. Maybe Lucy will feel fine again in a few hours.

You can hope right? You sit with her at breakfast and your eyes are constantly on her as she slowly eats her food. You can tell it's getting harder for her to swallow with every bite. "Don't force it, Babe", you say softly as you rub her thigh but she just answers "I need the energy for later."

You just watch her worriedly and Leah and Keira, who are sitting at the table with you share a concerned look too. Lucy's free hand rests on her lap, holding her stomach as she forces herself to take another bite.

You can see Lucy starting to get really nauseous again as her chewing slows down. She's just desperately trying to swallow but you're scared she's about to blow again. Her breaths are deep but a bit to fast for your liking. However you're not saying anything as she tries her hardest to battle her stomach silently.

Before you know it she gets up and quickly makes her way to the bathroom with you right behind her. She barely makes it to the toilet before she throws up her breakfast and even a bit more. "Shh it's okay, Luce. I'm here", you say soothingly as she gathers her bearings, seeming to be done for now.

You grab some toilet paper and rub her mouth gently as she takes a few deep breaths. Getting up she walks to the sink before holding on to the the counter and grabbing her stomach slightly. You flush the toilet and walk up to her, resting a hand on her back gently before you carefully lay your hand on her belly. Stroking it gently with your thumb you feel her abs clench as her stomach cramps.

"Oh Babe, you're really not looking too hot", you say softly and press a kiss to her temple. "I'm okay", she just says and gets herself back together. "Luce, that was the second time you threw up. You're not okay", you say gently but she just looks at you seriously and says again with a bit more force "I'm okay."

You just sigh as she freshens up for a second and you both make your way back to breakfast. She sits back down and continues to eat as you just watch her concerned. "You okay, Bronzey?", Leah asks and Lucy just nods, the look in her eyes telling Leah to let it go. After breakfast you quickly talk to Leah and LJ that you'll spend time until lunch with Lucy, just to be there if something is wrong and they just nod. LJ telling you that she'll stay out of the room to give you two some privacy, eventhough that's not what you asked for.

As you knock on their door LJ opens it before grabbing her stuff and saying quietly to you "Make sure she's okay." You just nod and thank her before walking fully into the room. Lucy sitting on the bed with her iPad rewatching the last Australia game to prepare some more for the game this afternoon.

"Didn't you want to roll out your muscles?", Lucy asks confused as she sees you standing in the room. "I can do that while I keep an eye on you", you say, lifting up your blackroll. "Y/n/n, I'm fine", she tries but you immediately say "Lucy, save that for someone else. I can tell you're not. You're pale as a sheet of paper and I can tell you're in pain."

She just looks up at you as you pause the game and put her iPad aside, sitting down next to her. "Be honest with me", you say softly as you rest a hand on her back and one on her hand on her stomach, which she was still holding tightly.

She's silent for a few moments as she sorts her thoughts. She grimaces slightly as her stomach cramps and closes her eyes for a second, the fact that you saw that let's you know that's he's willing to let you in, at least a bit for now. You gently rub her hand with your thumb and ask "Why don't you lie down and rest a bit?"

She immediately shakes her head and says "I'll get sick again if I lay down." Your heart breaks at that. Its been a while since you've seen her physically so unwell. You slide a bit closer and say "Lean against me then." She does without much hesitation as you start rubbing her back. You can tell that she has been getting increasingly more nauseous since you first stepped into the room. "Shh deep breaths, you'll be okay", you say softly as you kiss her head.

She lasts about five minutes before she peels out of your arms and jogs to the bathroom once again. Finding yourself holding her hair back and rubbing her back again, you sigh softly. Why today?

"Oh love, what's wrong with your stomach? You think it's a bug?", you ask softly once she calms down a bit. She just shrugs as she rests her head on her arm, still unbelievably nauseous. Coughing a bit she gags again harshly. You get up and drench a cloth in cold water before coming back and resting it on her neck.

She slowly calms down a bit more and takes a few deep breaths. "Shh, good job, love, you're doing so good", you say softly as she leans back into you a bit. "This doesn't seem like a bug", she mumbles and you know what she means. You've seen her with a stomach bug, but she has never thrown up so much.

You grab the cloth and gently wipe her face as you say "Maybe it was something you ate?" She just shrugs as she tries to relax into you a bit. "Why today? How am I supposed to play my best like this?", she asks and you frown before you say "Babe, you're not playing like this." She turns around and looks at you as she says serious "I am playing, this is not up for debate."

You decide to not argue with her right now so you just sigh and ask "Are you done for now love?" She just nods and you help her up and to the sink where she freshens up.

She sits down on the bed and you hand her some water and electrolytes. That's one thing you never have to worry about, thankfully, she'll always drink, even if it comes right back up. She sips on the drinks as she grabs her iPad again and continues watching the game.

You can't help but sigh at that. You know how stubborn your girlfriend can be. You walk over to her and press a kiss to her head before deciding to roll out your muscles. There is no way for you to stop Lucy in watching that game. Might as well do your own recovery so you're ready for this afternoon.

"Will you please at least lean against the headboard, honey?", you ask as you move to the floor with your roll. She looks at you before complying hestiantly. "Thank you", you say and take off your hoodie, leaving you in a sports crop top because doing this in a normal shirt gave you the ick.

You focus on your own recovery and roll out your tense muscles while every once in a while looking at Lucy. And more than not you find her looking back at you. "I thought you wanted to watch the game?", you tease gently trying to not worry so much and keep the tone light. "Looking at the screen makes me dizzy", Lucy admits and you just frown.

"I really don't think you should play", you say as you keep rolling out your muscles and Lucy just warns "Y/N." "I'm just saying", you say again and focus on your recovery. Lucy turns off her iPad and keeps watching you as you do your recovery.

Every once in a while she sips on her drinks but you can tell she's feeling pretty crappy. Once you're done you, you get up and sit back down next to her. She just looks at you and you sigh softly before taking her in her your arms.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well", you mumble and kiss her head. You can feel that she's slightly warm. She doesn't say anything but you can tell she's about to throw up again. "You want me to get you a bucket or bathroom?", you ask softly but she just gets up and runs back to the bathroom.

Sighing again you get up and follow her once more. Lucy is coughing and gagging harshly again as she throws up the water and whatever is left from her breakfast. "Oh Baby", you say softly as she rests her head on her arm and catches her breath. It's this moment where the cramps are really settling in. She grabs her stomach and retches again before spitting into the toilet once more and flushing.

You rub her back and ask softly "Done?" She just nods and you help her freshen up and back in bed. "Are you sure you don't want to try to nap, love?", you ask gently but she just shakes her head as she curls up because of the cramps. You gently pull her into your arms and rest your hand on her belly. "May I?", you question and she nods hesitantly.

You had about half an hour before lunch, so you spend the time rubbing your girlfriend's belly, trying to make her feel a bit better somehow. Eventhough she relaxes a bit Lucy's cramps don't really get any better.

As it's lunch time Lucy is adamant to join you, and you just let her even if you want nothing more than have her lay down. LJ and Leah look at Lucy worried, she looks like crap but she still sits down and eats with them.

"Lucy, you really should lay down and try to get some rest. Playing is not a good idea", Leah says and Lucy just answers "Thats not for you to decide." Leah wants to argue but you just shake her head. Lucy is not in her right mind.

You don't have much time after lunch before you're meeting at the bus to drive to the arena, so you quickly escorting Lucy back to her room, followed by LJ. She barely makes it there before she throws up her lunch again. She's shaking slightly.

"Alright that's it. You're staying here", you say but Lucy answers with her head still over the toilet "I'm not. I'll not sit this one out."

"Are you serious?! Lucy, you can't keep anything down!",

"And?",

"And?! That's fucking insane to even think about playing? You're obviously in no condition to play!",

"I'm FINE", Lucy says but only throws up again.

"You're not fine, stop lying to yourself!", you yell and she just looks at you, before saying "I will play today, deal with it."

You just stare at her. "You know what? Fine. But I'm not gonna be there to scratch you off the floor when you collapse", you say and get up before you step out of the bathroom. You walk past Lauren and out of the room before making your way to your own room.

Everyone knows that's a lie. You'll take care of her but you'll still be mad.

"Is she coming? Did she get sick again?", Leah asks as you storm into the room. "Yes she is and of course she did", you say as you throw your hoodie on the bed and angrily pack the rest of your bag. "Hey. This is not your fault. That's just how Bronzey is", she says softly as she puts a hand on your shoulder. You look up with tears in your eyes and say "But that's just reckless. She couldn't keep anything down today, Leah. Nothing. She's in no state to play. Why can't she understand that?"

Leah sighs softly and says "I don't know but I know you did everything you could. Maybe Sarina doesn't let her play." You just sigh and sit down on your bed. Tears are still running down your cheeks as you mumble "I'm just scared something will happen to her." "I know, but she'll be okay. And if we're lucky she'll learn out of it?", Leah says and you just look at her with a raised eyebrow. You both laugh softly before Leah wraps her arms around you and pulls you in a hug. "She'll be okay Y/n/n", "I hope you're right", you mumble and calm down a bit.

You get dressed and ready before you head to the bus. Asking one of the medics for some of these emisis bags you sit down next to Lucy. Eventhough you freshend up and washed your face Lucy can still tell that you've cried and eventhough she's feverish she knows that it's her fault.

Talking to you isn't an option now though because you had your headphones on. Lucy knows you needed the drive to the stadium to sort your head so she just keeps quiet and looks out the window instead. Her stomach still cramping quiet badly but she tries not to show it. However, you can tell. Turning to her slightly you open your arms and let her lean on you before rubbing her belly softly. You still won't talk to her but you don't have the heart to let your girlfriend suffer.

You're about halfway there as you can tell Lucy is about to throw up again. You hand her the bag without a word and she throws up as quietly as she can to not disturb your teammates. As you finally reach the stadium you get up and move to the locker room. You all sit together in the locker room, changed, Lucy clearly miserable but she seems to be focused as your manager and the rest of the coaching staff comes in.

After looking around Sarina asks "Are up okay to play, Lucy?" Lucy just nods and you can't help but snort at that, shaking your head that Sarina would actually let Lucy play. "Something wrong Y/N?", she asks and you just shake your head again. You're part of the starting XI as well, you don't want to risk that spot because you argue with Sarina.

You all head out for warm up before you sit down on the bench to have some water. It's about time to line up. However before you can focus on that you hear Lucy starting to throw up again two spots down. You quickly walk over and rest a hand on her back, rubbing it softly as she throws up some water, clutching her stomach.

You look at her worried but once she's done you're more pissed than worried again so you just get up and head for the tunnel. Everyone can tell your pissed but lucky for them, you're an even better player when you're pissed.

The first half moves along greatly with you scoring at 36 minutes, getting your team in the lead. You're hot and playing well.

During half time break Lucy gets violently sick again on the bench. She's starting to become really feverish and you're really starting to be worried out of your mind. You can tell how bad the cramps are and that she can barely breathe deep without another cramp rocking through the brunettes stomach. "Lucy, this is getting ridiculous! You need to rest!", you say loudly. "I'm fine", she says weakly and you just huff angrily. "Can you continue Lucy?", Sarina asks and your girlfriend just nods. "You can't be serious?!", you ask Sarina angrily.

"Y/N, when Lucy says she can play. She can play", she says and you just look at her surprised before looking at the medics who just shrug. "You're seriously gonna let her play after she once again threw up everything in her? She's shaking and feverish! Do you know how reckless that is?", you ask in disbelief before you hear Lucy from behind you "Babe, calm down." "Oh don't you dare to tell me what to do. We will talk about that later", you snarls at your girlfriend, God you were angry. "You're some reckless people and I honestly don't know how you can even think about letting such a sick player play. Risking her health for what? Since when is winning more important than your players health", you spit at Sarina and the coaching staff.

You know you crossed a line probably but right now you don't give a shit. Leah having heard snippets of it, she walks over to you and pulls you away. "Come on, let's take a breather", she says and you look at her, wanting to yell at her too but her look makes you stop. You let her pull you away and she says "I know you're angry, but yelling at Sarina will only end in her pulling you of the field." You try to calm down but you can't stop the tears in your eyes once again. "I know, but have you seen Lucy? How can they let her play like that?", you ask as you try to swallow your worry. Leah stops moving and takes you in her arms again, holding you close to let you calm down. "I don't know, she'll be okay. You can't do anything for now. Get your head back in the game okay?", Leah says softly and you nod as you take a deep breath.

You get your head back in the game and try your best to not focus on Lucy as the second half starts. In the 59th minute you play another cross which almost ends in a perfect goal from LJ. Almost.

However in the 63th minute Sam Kerr breaks through and you break out in a sprint to catch her. Which you do, however, as she fakes to the right you slip on the artificial turf and fall to the ground. You still manage to kick the ball away slightly but not hard enough. Sam saves the ball and scores, making you even. You just sit on the ground with your head in your hands as you catch your breath. A few of your teammates come over, including Lucy, and help you up, telling you it's not your fault and especially Lucy asking "Are you okay?" You just nod, it had been a bit painful but nothing you can't push through.

Not even two minutes later you get subbed off. You look confused, you've been playing really well. You look at the sideline and see Sarina shaking her head. You walk off, let Alessia come in for you, walking to the bench without looking at Sarina. Did she really pull you off because of one mistake that you couldn't even stop?

You throw yourself in the seat and sip at your water, angry tears burning in your eyes. "Hey, its not your fault", Georgia tells you but you can't really trust that right now. Sarina obviously thinks it is.

You watch the game continue, pissed off. However as Lucy goes down after a tackle you jump up, looking at her worried. She sits up again so you know she didn't pass out but the game continues, also with another goal for you. Everyone on the bench is cheering except you. As Lucy slowly slides of the pitch and the medic makes her way to her you break out in a full run and run to your girlfriend. You can hear Sarina yell your name and tell you to stay but you don't give a shit.

You're there after the medic who is already looking at her knee. "Are you okay, Luce?", you ask worried as you squat down behind her with your hands on her shoulders. She pulls her legs up slightly as another round of cramps wreck havoc in her body. She just shakes her head. "Everything hurts, I can't even breath without my whole body cramping up", she mumbles as the medic gives her some electrolytes. Once she drank something it almost comes right back up. "Yeah you're done, love", you say and the medic nods. Lucy is pissed but knows you're right. That's when the ref stops the game and walks over to the three of you.

"You can't be here", she says to you and you just look at her confused. "I'm off the pitch, what's the problem?", you ask pissed. "Players can't be next to the goal, it doesn't matter if you're playing or not", "I'm checking on my teammate!", you yell at her. She picked the wrong moment to mess with you. Lucy is just staring at the ground trying to keep ber bearings.

"Don't talk to me like that!", the ref says strictly and you just snort before saying "You make a big deal out of nothing. You stop the game with no reason. Go do your job and let me take care of my teammate!"

You crossed a line and you know that.

She blows the whistle and pulls out a yellow card, giving it to you. "Are you serious? What's your fucking problem?", you start to argue again but the ref isn't having it. Before she could do anything else Leah runs between you two and tells you "Y/N get it together! You'll get carded again and miss the final! I know you're upset but shut your mouth!" By the time she finishes talking, Lucy is on her feet again, stumbling but on her feet. You turn away from the ref and rest a hand on Lucy's back as you guide her to the bench. Lucy gets subbed and you sit down on the bench as she almost immediately starts puking again. "Shh you're okay love", you say soothingly as you rub her back. The medic hands you a cold towel and you rest it on her neck, calming her down. "Y/N what the heck was that?!", Sarina says stomping towards you. You just roll your eyes and keep your attention on Lucy. "Don't ignore me!", she yells and you just look up and say clearly, "I'm not gonna apologize."

You can tell she's about to send you in the locker room but then your teammates score another goal. Your focus still stays on Lucy, it's great your in the lead with two but right now you're worried about your girlfriend. She's trembling and tensing every few moments because of the cramps, the heat here not helping. "Shh you'll be alright, my love", you say gently and press a kiss to her warm temple. As she rests her head in her hands you squat in front of her and hold the cold towel to each side of her face, hoping to lower her fever a bit. The final whistle is blown and you press a kiss to her forehead. "We won, Luce. We're in the final", you whisper and the brunette smiles softly.

"I really don't feel good", she mumbles and your heart breaks at that. "I know, let's get you in the locker room", you say gently before looking at the medic and he just nods for you to take her.

You help her up and steady her as she sways. "We gotta get your fever down", you say and she just nods but you can tell she's pretty out of it. You help her undress and guide her in the shower, only taking off your shoes, shorts and shirt. Getting in with her to make sure she doesn't fall. You stay in for almost 20 minutes but by then her fever dropped at least a little. You are pretty cold but you can care less right now.

Your teammates are mostly in the locker room already as you guide Lucy back to her bench and help her get dressed. "Baby, you're cold", she says but you just ignore her. "She's right, we don't want you getting sick before the final", Leah says, laying your towel around your shoulders. You smile softly at her, thanking her.

Once Lucy is dressed, you quickly change yourself. You will shower at the hotel again. You just pull your shirt down as Sarina knocks at the door. Leah tells her that she can come in and by the look on her face you know she's not done with you.

"What the hell were you thinking, Y/N?!", she yells at you. Leah wants to intervene but you're too quick to answer "What was I thinking?" "You got a yellow because you couldn't keep your mouth shut eventhough you weren't even playing!", she yells at you. "Well I wouldn't have if you wouldn't have been so reckless! What on earth made you think it's okay to let Lucy play?", you ask back loudly. You'd not back down and even Leah knows that intervening now will not end well.

"Lucy said she's fine to play!", she yell and you just laugh angrily. "Everyone knows that she doesn't know when to stop. For fucks sake she couldn't keep anything down all day. Any person that can think logically knew that this was a disaster waiting to happen!", you yell and she just looks angrily at you. "Y/N", Lucy tries, not completely out if it anymore but you just turn to her and say "You better be quiet, Bronze. I'm not done with you either." The fact that you last namened her lets her know she's in trouble so she just shuts her mouth.

"I'm not letting you chew me out because I got a yellow. The ref has been waiting to do that all game and we all know that. You subbed me off because I opened my mouth at halftime. I couldn't have prevented that goal and even if I still feel guilty for it, you of all people should know that it was not my fault!", you yell angrily, you're fuming. "You got a yellow, you're lucky you're not suspended for the final!", she yells back.

"Yeah well if you would've acted with the health of your players as top priority, non of this would've happened!", you spit. "Careful or you'll find yourself on the bench for the final!", she threatens and that when Leah knows she has to step in as captain. "Okay that's enough. Let's go all back to the hotel and calm down before we make any hasty decisions", Leah tells and Sarina just glares at you once more before she leaves the locker room.

"Y/N", Lucy tries again but you just warn, "Don't." "I think it's better if you're quiet, Bronzey", Leah says quietly but you can see her trying to hide a smirk. It's rare to see Lucy Bronze not having a cheeky remark. Leaving the seriousness aside, it is kinda funny so you get Leah.

You head to the bus and sit down next to Lucy again. Now that you're calming down, you're starting to feel your knee a bit from that slip but you'll be fine. You're still pretty pissed so you grab your headphones and put them on, closing your eyes as you lean your head back. You can feel Lucy shifting next to you and not settling in the slightest, so you open your eyes and look at the brunette. You can tell she's feeling sick but the cramps seem to be worse than ever. You sigh softly and turn slightly, before you say "Come here." She looks at you unsure and you say again "I may be really mad at you but I still love you. You have 5 seconds to decide if you want my comfort or not."

It doesn't even take one for her to cuddle into you. Most people wouldn't think that but Lucy is a snuggler. Especially when she's not feeling well. You pull her close and hand her one of the bags you have left, just in case before you gently rub over her belly, trying to soothe those angry muscles.

You end up stuck in traffic and thanks to your soft touch Lucy dozes off a bit. Your eyes are closed again and the music kept the other voices from disturbing your peace. "I thought Y/N is mad at Lucy?", a fairly new teammate asks. She's not been on the team for long enough to fully get Lucy's and your relationship. "Oh she is, she's pissed out of her mind", Keira chuckles softly. "But they're cuddling?!", she asked even more confused. "You must know, Y/n/n is that kind of person where she can be unbelievably mad at you, but she'll still make sure you're okay. No matter what. Lucy can mess up badly like right now but Y/N will take care of her until she feels better because she loves her. She would never in a million years let Lucy suffer on her own or not be there for her just because she's mad. They have a special kind of love", Leah explained as a few of your teammates smile at you guys softly.

You feel that you're being stared at, so you open your eyes to find several teammates quickly look away, but not Leah, Keira and LJ. You see their smile and look down to see Lucy asleep on you. You can't help the smile you crack. Your girlfriend is pretty adorable but you'd never let her see that smile right now. You press a soft kiss to her head and lean back again. Eventually, you make it to the hotel and make your way inside. LJ and you switching rooms for the night, so you can make sure Lucy is okay.

You let Leah know that neither of you will attend dinner tonight before you bring Lucy in the room. "Come on, change and then bed", you say and Lucy wants to argue but your look makes her close her mouth again before following your orders. Lucy is about to lie down as Lauren bring you your bag, before grabbing hers and making her way back to Leah. You start boiling some water in the kettle in the room before fishing the hot water bottle out of your bag. Heat often helps your muscles and Lucy too even if she doesn't want to admit it, so you usually bring it. Once you are done prepping it, you sit down at the edge of the bed, lift the blanket and place it on Lucy's stomach. She sighs softly in relief before she looks up at you with teary eyes.

You know that she hates it when you're mad at her. You sigh softly and caress her cheek, before you say "Don't cry, Luce. Everything will be okay." "Do you still love me? I'm sorry", she asks insecure and it breaks your heart. That's definitely mostly the exhaustion talking. "I will always love you. Even when I'm mad, love. Now do me a favor and get some sleep okay? I'll join you after a quick shower", you say as you kiss her forehead lovingly. She doesn't have to be told twice. Not even a minute later she's already dozing off.

You smile and shower quickly, before joining her in bed. You cuddle your sleeping girlfriend for about an hour until there is a soft knock at the door. It opens a second later and you see Leah waking in with a tray. There is some dinner on it for you and some crackers and fresh ginger for tea for Lucy. "I figured you'd be hungry. How's our Bronzey?", she asks softly to not wake Lucy.

"Thank you. She's okay, I think. I'm glad she's sleeping. She's exhausted", you say as you look concerned at your girlfriend. Leah walks up to you and squeezes your shoulder before she says "She looks a bit better already. She'll be okay. Now eat something yourself please okay?" You sigh and nod before you thank her. Leah leaves again and you eat your dinner. You're just done eating as Lucy stirs. You gently push a piece of hair out of her face and ask "How are you feeling, love?" "A bit better", she mumbles and leans into your touch.

You press a kiss to her forehead and ask "Do you think you could keep down some tea?" "I can try", she says with a small smile, so you get up and finish some tea with the fresh ginger.

Once it's done, she sits up and you hand her the mug before sitting down across from her. You can tell the fever is gone and she seems a lot clearer than earlier.

"How mad at me are you?", she asks softly as she looks up at you. "Pretty mad", you say before you sigh. "Lucy, you cannot be so irresponsible. This could've ended badly and you know that", "I know, I'm sorry", she says quietly. You know own she means it but that just isn't enough. "I know you are but you're sorry because I'm mad now. Lucy I need you to understand that I'm not mad because you acted against my wish. I was fucking worried about you. You could've gotten seriously hurt. I need you to be okay and I don't know how often I can go through such a day like today", you say seriously, close to tears. She knows your biggest fear is losing her.

She quickly puts aside the mug and opens takes your hands in hers. "Hey y/n/n, look at me and listen please. I know I messed up. I know I worried you and scared you. And I'm sorry for that. I can only imagine how anxious you must've been all day and I never wanted to be the reason you're feeling like that. We both know I have a problem to know my limits and I know I should've listened to you. I'm truly sorry and I need you to believe me. I try to listen to you next time", she says as she looks into your eyes and you just nod before she takes you in her arms, letting you calm down and let those tears and anxiety out.

"I'm still mad at you", you mumble in her shoulder. "I know, I deserve that", she chuckles softly and kisses your forehead. After a few minutes in her arms, you sut up and say "Now drink that tea." "Yes ma'am", Lucy just say causing you to roll your eyes smiling.

Grabbing the hot water bottle from her stomach she pouts dramatically and you just laugh before you tell her "Relax, I'm gonna make a fresh one for you."

Getting up you limp a step before putting the water back in the kettle and turn it on, shaking your leg out slightly. You're definitely feeling your knee and Lucy can tell immediately. "Let me look at your knee", she says but you answer "Lucy I want you to rest and drink your tea." "Yeah, well I don't want my girlfriend to be in pain either when she takes care of me", Lucy tells you seriously. She'll not back down, you know that.

You sigh, finish up the hot water bottle and make your way back to bed. Laying the hot water bottle next to her she gets up and tell you to sit down so she can check on your knee. If there is one person to know everything about knees it's Lucy. She can tell how tense the muscles are, probably overstretched a bit. She massages them a bit, which is pretty uncomfortable but ultimately helps.

"Make sure one of the physios takes a look at that tomorrow and gets you taped up", she says softly and you nod, before you thank her. "Not for that", she says and presses a kiss to your knee before getting back in bed. You cuddle up next to her and place the hot water bottle back on her stomach.

Both of you head to sleep pretty early but she does finish her tea and even eats a few crackers without throwing up again. The next morning, you wake up in her arms. You turn off the alarm and she opens her eyes to look sleepily at you. "Morning, I missed this", she mumbles before kissing your head. "Me too", you say smiling before gently rubbing over her stomach. "How's your tummy?", you ask and she answers "Sore but definitely not as queasy anymore."

You just smile satisfied and cuddle for a few more minutes before you get ready for breakfast.

Once down in the dining area you kiss her cheek and say "Sit down already, I'm gonna get us something to eat." She nods and sits down next to Leah. You come back a few minutes later with two plates only to find Lucy and Leah looking at Leah's phone watching the game from yesterday. More precisely the scene where you got a yellow.

"Why are you watching that?", you whine slightly as you place a plate of toast, some cucumber and some watermelon. "I don't remember much of the game yesterday, I wanna know why you got carded", Lucy says grinning and you just roll your eyes. "The ref has been waiting all game for that", you grumble and Leah just chuckles before she says "And thanks to her you're also on bad terms with Sarina." You just sigh and rub over your face, all of that making your head hurt slightly.

Lucy rests a hand on your thigh and makes you look at her. "Thank you for standing up for me", she says softly. "You're welcome, but you better don't do it again, Bronze", you say with a raised eyebrow. She winced slightly at being last named again. "Understood", she says before pressing a kiss to your temple

#lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #woso fic #woso x reader #woso community #lionesses #lionesses x reader #wwc 2023

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the-s1lly-corner · 1 year

Text

How they react to you telling them you're pregnant

Obligatory reader is afab but like most of my posts they're gn/gendered pronouns aren't used

Slenderman;

Cue the confusion

Pregnant?

Surprised more than anything, he didnt think that he could get you pregnant considering you're both different species

And also he didnt think he was fertile; at least not in the normal sexual reproduction way

Kinda just

Accepts it

Now do I think he would be a good dad?

Maybe? He wouldn't be horrible or absent, but some human things are still foreign to him, including raising a child.. so hes probably going to need a decent amount of guidance

I feel like he'd also be a helicopter parent? He already watches you like a hawk, he'd probably start doing the same with his kid as they get older

"Hey (kid name) who's that tall white boy following you??" "Oh that's my dad"/j

Becomes more protective of you during the pregnancy and the weeks after

Takes it in stride tbh

Splendorman;

Pause

Before you start to worry he scoops you up

Also thought it wasnt possible, but is hyped when he finds out the news

He WILL pamper you... may also dip into overbearing territory, though

He just doesnt want you or the baby to get hurt

He says goodnight to the bump later on in the pregnancy tbh

Oh you know hes gonna be decorating their room and giving them loads of toys

Would be a good father but may dip into unhealthy habits

This dude struggles with toxic positivity imo, so that's definitely something that's gonna need to be addressed

Laughing Jack;

Okay obviously ALL of them are probably going to be sat down and told the news, but Jack is gonna need the most talking to given that he probably doesn't grasp the gravity of it

He KNOWS what pregnancy is, he KNOWS what a baby is; but he doesn't know the intricacies of pregnancy if that makes sense

Like he doesnt know about the soreness, or cravings, or how fragile those tiny human beings actually are. Dude already struggles with being gentle with adults

So it's going to require a long and in depth talk about everything that's going to happen if you guys decide to keep the kid

Reaction wise, he takes it seriously. Kind of uncanny compared to his usual silly demeanor

Again, due to him being a lil dumb hes almost under reacting

As a parent I think...

Okay he'd probably kinda suck

He would love the kid but he would be so so so irresponsible I'm so sorry

Gives the kid candy for meals (bro cant cook)

Get that man into some parenting classes PLEASE

Eyeless Jack;

Another "I'm surprised because I deadass thought I was infertile" one, given my whole lore/Hc for EJ

The most worried out of them all

"What if they're like me and are cursed? What if they hate me? What if they grow to hate me? What if-"

He baby proofs his cabin... before insisting that the baby stays at your place primarily (if you haven't moved in with him) because he's scared of his whole... eating people thing

Please give him loads and loads of reassurance, hes gonna need it

He'll work hard to be the best father he can be, though!

He takes the kid out for walks in the woods, teaches them different plants and bugs and tells them which are dangerous

"Oh I don't want to hold them, what if I hurt em?" *falls asleep while holding his baby after reading them a story*

Masky;

You gotta baby proof him and the house im sorry, hes feral

Another "you're gonna have to sit him down and lay down the rules" type deal

Hes already mellowed out around you but he needs to mellow out a touch more for an infant

Hard to gauge his reaction but he seems.... excited? Hard to tell when hes sitting still and wearing a mask

When the baby comes he, like slenderman, also watches them like a hawk

You will walk in on him sitting over their crib at 3am/hj

Surprisingly gentle when it comes to handling the kid, just casually walks around with them and shit

Great for looking after the kid during the night while you rest

Hoodie;

V similar to Masky but he's already naturally calm

Putting this here now before I forget but he would take his mask off to make faces at the baby to try to make them laugh

Mf doesn't take his mask off for you though ☝️🙄/hj

Surprisingly good at calming down screaming infants for some reason

Similar reaction as Masky; hard to read but way easy to guess its positive since he lightly boinks where his mouth would be under his mask to your cheek while papping your stomach

Hes a lil silly

But hes got the spirit

Good dad, me thinks

#creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #slenderman x reader #splendorman x reader #laughing jack x reader #eyeless jack x reader #masky x reader #hoodie x reader

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slasherscream · 4 months

Note

I don't normally like make requests from people if it's obvious I'm sorry for my awkwardness.

Anyway you were saying how you were really into Jordan li recently so am I and I've read every single fanfiction or every rant there is about them and I crave more. I have been in a angst/fluff mood and I haven't seen anyone do this idea either. I was thinking thinking maybe Jordan and reader gets into an argument (not really picky about what) and the argument gets really heated (you know how jordan shifts into their male form to Intimidate or get their point across) Jordan shifts into their male form which scares reader (I'm thinking reader doesn't have a good past with angry men) and reader backs away from them in fear Jordan notices and tries to comfort them but reader flinched when Jordan touches them. Reader then asks them to leave so they do but Jordan spends like a week trying to make the situation better.

(I would also like to put reader isn't scared of Jordan more so the action of the blatant Intimidation tactic they tried to use against reader. Reader is angry that jordan would try to scare them even if it wasn't on purpose it still hurt)

Jordan sorta just spends a week following reader around Like a lost puppy trying to treat reader like a absolute queen even if reader won't really acknowledge them until Jordan has an breakdown while drunk coming to readers dorm begging for forgiveness.

Again if its obvious I don't know how to make requests I'm sorry this has just been on my mind for so long.

A/N: this request is absolutely perfect, and exactly to my tastes. thank you for sending it, doll!

WORD COUNT: 4k+ under cut | hurt/comfort and angst/fluff

It’s hard sometimes, knowing when to push and when to just let Jordan be. Not at all a skill you learned over night. You’d gotten good at the push and pull of bringing them out of their shell back when the two of you had just been friends. Better at it than anyone else, at least. It was a slow process, but every second was worth it.

Now on the good days you don’t have to push at all. A hand on their arm. A coaxing smile or two. Any act of connection, no matter how small, enough to make them tell you what’s on their mind. Even if they scowl the entire time they let it out. It’s the letting it out at all that counts. Progress!

Today you miscalculated. It’s been a bad week. Jordan hadn’t dropped in the rankings, but their points took a small dip. They hadn’t been very active on their socials, busy doing work as Brink’s TA. But the point gap between where Jordan sits at #2 in the rankings, and where Andre sits at #3 is still a wide open chasm.

It’d take something truly disastrous to knock Jordan from the spot they’ve held for three years now. But the rankings are more important than anything to Jordan. No matter how gently you try to bring logic into the situation, Jordan gets irritated quickly, accusing you of not taking it seriously. You often wonder how that could be, considering you’re in the top eight yourself, but you bite your tongue and don’t bring it up.

The group had tried to go out for lunch. It was okay at first, everyone making an effort to ignore the storm cloud Jordan cast over the table as they picked at their food. Then Andre had made some type of stupid joke. Not even about the rankings, but enough to make Jordan snap at him. The situation escalated so quickly that Cate had threatened to take off her glove and make everyone shut up. You paid your portion of the bill and dragged Jordan out before anyone could start up again.

And now you’re here, somehow also on the shit list for not being supportive enough. As if being supportive isn't everything you do. Day in and day out.

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side. You don’t honestly think it was an innocent comment, do you?” Jordan snaps, standing up from your couch to pace the length of your dorm room.

“You know how Andre is. He gets sarcastic when he’s hungover, and he was packing a double whammy. He did coke and got drunk last night. He was just a little off. He wasn’t making a real dig at you.” You defend your friend, knowing Jordan will regret what she said at lunch once she’s calmed down.

“Oh, so we’re all just supposed to tiptoe around his highness? If he was gonna be a dick during the entire thing he should have just skipped coming out with us.” Jordan’s eyes narrow in on your expression, the sudden pursing to your lips and looking away. “What?” She snaps.

You take a deep breath at the tone, “Well, Jordie, if you want me to be honest Andre wasn’t the only one who wasn’t on their best behavior today.”

A beat of silence.

You look up and there goes Jordan rolling her shoulders back, eyebrows practically in her hairline and you sigh. You definitely should have brought up her attitude later.

“You really are taking his side!” She scoffs in disbelief.

“Nope. No, I am not, there are no sides. We’re all friends. Friends fight. I’m just trying to remind you that you actually are friends. You can’t just…” You trail off, uncertain.

“I can’t just what?” She throws up her hands, volume raising.

“You can’t act like this every time the rankings do something that isn’t spectacular for you. I know they mean a lot to you but you can’t take the numbers out on the people who care about you.”

“You just don’t get it-”

“But I do get it! We talk about it all the time. Your feelings are completely valid, the way you react to them isn’t. You’ve been giving Andre looks that could kill all week and he didn’t even do anything. If he was a little snappy at lunch, maybe he’s upset that his friend has been treating him like shit over something he barely cares about.”

“Well if I’m so-” Jordan shifts, pitch of his voice deepening, on the verge of yelling, “-fucking awful why don’t you go run to Andre and cry about it together?”

He only takes two steps towards the couch before you use your powers. It’s instinct, the way the forcefield bubbles up around you.

Whatever Jordan was going to say next shrivels up and dies on his tongue. The only sounds in the room are the quiet hum your powers make when you use them, and the scared, panicked gasp you make from inside the forcefield you put up to protect yourself from him.

There’s a second where the two of you just stare at each other. Both in shock.

“Baby-” Jordan tries taking another step forward, a small, barely there shuffle of his foot. His face falls when the forcefield gets a little louder, glows a little brighter.

Jordan looks close to tears. It’s that expression that pulls you out of the animal state of fear you’d fallen into. You look away from them. Take a few heaving breaths. Do your best to not mix up faces of the past with your present and future.

Your forcefield flickers out slowly. A concentrated effort.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- I would never ever-'' Jordan shifts again. She rushes too fast into your space to kneel on the ground in front of you, her hands reaching for yours, desperate and clumsy.

When you flinch away, moving so you’re perched on the armrest of the couch, still trying to calm yourself down, she’s left with her hands grasping at air. “Baby, look at me. Please? Look at me, I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry that I… I’m sorry. I would never hurt you. I fucking swear I wasn’t-”

“I know, Jordan.” You shake your head, trying to stay calm. “Could you please….leave? I… I can’t calm down right now. I’m trying. I know you didn’t mean to… to scare me, but I need you to go.”

“Baby, wait, fuck. Fuck, wait! I’m sorry. Let’s just talk. I can’t leave you alone like this. I’m sorry.” She’s panicking now, throat feeling like it’s closing up.

She doesn’t try to reach for you again, but her hands feel like they’re burning from the effort it takes to keep them away from you. It’s instinct to hold you, to make it better, to pull you closer. She’s always been the place you run to when you’re scared, the shield you step behind when you need to feel safe. She doesn’t know what to do when you don’t even want to be near her.

“We’ll talk later. I’ll… I’ll have Cate come over so I’m not alone. Just.. leave.” Your voice breaks on a sob, and you’re begging her to leave, and that’s what makes Jordan head to the door, legs shaking. She’s never made you cry before.

She’s glued to her phone the rest of the day, waiting for you to call. You don’t.

⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊

You’ve been best friends since you were freshman. You haven’t gone longer than two days without talking in all that time since. No matter how busy you are. No matter how shitty either of you feels. Jordan doesn’t know what to do with the hours of the day that you usually fill.

She breaks on the second day when you show up to class and move to sit by Luke on the other side of the room instead of with her. You don’t even look at her as you walk by.

Class doesn’t start for another five minutes. The teacher isn’t even here yet, and she’s always late. Jordan moves to get up, already feeling like she’s choking on all the words she needs to say to you to fix this, but is stopped by a firm grip around her wrist. She’s about to snap when she realizes it’s Cate, taking up your usual spot in the seat that isn’t up for grabs because it’s Your Seat.

“Don’t make the situation worse. She just wants to go to class. Don’t hound her, Jordan.”

“Hound her?” Jordan’s voice raises, incredulous. “She’s my girlfriend. I need to talk to her.”

“You need to apologize.” Cate bites. “Dick.”

“That’s what I was trying to do before you stopped me.” Jordan speaks through gritted teeth.

“How about you try apologizing after she’s done all her classes? That way, when you inevitably upset her, she doesn’t hole herself up in her room all day crying. And feel bad about missing class on top of it. You know… the way she spent all of yesterday?”

“She cried all day?” Jordan’s shoulders sag, voice getting smaller.

Cate softens, patting Jordan’s hand. “It’s not just about you, and you know that. Triggers like this really fuck with people. And she’s also pissed that she’s triggered in the first place. Let her cool off.”

⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊

He makes it a few hours before he’s trailing after you.

He can tell by the tension in the line of your spine that you know he’s there. But you don’t outright tell him to get lost, so Jordan can’t stop himself from following you around. Even if you don’t want him there.

He sits across from you as you study in the library. Makes puppy dog eyes at you the entire time. He can’t be bothered to unpack his bag. It’d be useless to pretend he’ll do anything besides watching you.

Two hours in, he gets up and leaves, hating the way your shoulders relax as he turns to go.

He comes back twenty minutes later with your favorite foods and drink from the best local coffee shop. You don’t reach for any of it. He’s always loved how stubborn you are, how you stick to your ideas. Your principles. How steadfastly you make up your mind. Right now he’s just a little terrified of that same stubbornness. Remembers when you’d only been friends, that first year of peeling one another open, feeling each other out.

(“I’ll never do it, Jordan.” You’d whispered vehemently, drunk and mad and beautiful.

“Do what?”

“Be with anyone who tries to fucking cow me into submission. It’s fucked. I won’t do it. I’ve had enough of it.”

You’d passed the bottle you’d just had pressed to your lips and Jordan had tried not to think too hard about it, even when he tasted the remnants of your sticky, sweet lip gloss beneath the vodka.)

He doesn’t get up to leave again until you do.

Jordan walks you to your dorm, but trails a few steps behind you. He tried walking directly beside you at first, but your hands brushed together and the look you gave him was cold enough to freeze blood.

So-

-behind it is.

Jordan doesn’t get the chance to say goodnight before you slam the door in his face as loudly as possible.

⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊

Jordan doesn’t push her luck by trying to walk you to your classes the next morning. She does wake up extra early to buy you the biggest bouquet of your favorite flowers she could find. She leaves them outside your door and goes to class, hoping you’ll at least acknowledge her, the next time you see her.

During your first shared class of the day you walk in holding the bouquet of flowers. Jordan perks up in her seat, holding her breath. You do finally look at her. You make direct eye contact as you throw the flowers into the trash can at the teacher’s desk.

Jordan does not break her pen in half when Andre whispers “yikes” under his breath.

⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊

Two more days and Jordan feels like he’s going insane. He knows you feel worse. One glance at the carefully nonchalant expression you’ve worn all week tells him that. Putting on a mask is nothing for you. That look is the first thing you learned how to do in the top ten.

You’d never hidden the way you felt around him before. Not like this. His skin keeps buzzing with the urge to corner you. Jordan needs the two of you to talk about what happened. But he’s already walking the world’s thinnest line.

And he knows he can’t force you, if you’re not ready.

Another thing he knows: when you’re this upset you don’t clean. Simultaneously, when your room gets messy your depression gets worse. He skips one of your mutual classes of the day and lets himself into your dorm with the key you gave him during first year.

Jordan looks around, wincing at the chaos. You never let it get this bad. Not even during your most soul crushing finals. He starts by throwing away the trash. The tissues you wiped your tears with. The takeout containers. Pages of your notebooks you ripped out, carelessly thrown around the room. You take awful notes in class when you’re distracted. He hates that he’s distracting you.

He wipes down every surface with your favorite scented cleaner. Dusts your books. Sweeps and mops. Changes your sheets and grabs the brightest, happiest color comforter you have stashed in your closet to put on the bed. As he adjusts the pillows he thinks about how often you spend the night at each other’s dorms. Jordan wonders if you’ve been struggling to sleep like he has.

He hesitates, but goes to his room down the hall to grab his cologne. He spritzes it lightly over the bed and hopes you still find the way he smells comforting.

Next is your laundry. He starts up a few loads, irons and puts away the clothes that were sitting in a wrinkled heap on your couch. You’ve always hated doing your laundry.

He’s heading back to your room, a full laundry basket of clean clothes under each arm when you run into each other.

“Are those my clothes?” You ask, forgetting that you aren’t exactly speaking to him in your moment of confusion.

“Yeah… I’m… I was cleaning my room. Doing some stuff. Figured I’d do a few of your loads too, while I’m already at it.” He shoots for casualness, knows he fails miserably.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You say, words stiff and uncomfortable.

“I know I just…” Jordan shrugs, relieved to be standing within a few feet of you after days of silence, and feeling pathetic over how happy something so small makes him. “Why don’t you go get something to eat with Cate while I finish up here?”

“Finish up what?” You ask.

“I still gotta put these away.”

You sigh, wanting the conversation to end, “You don’t have to put my clothes away, Jordan. Or wash them. I’m quite capable of doing it myself.”

Jordan takes a step back when you make a reach for one of the baskets under his arms. “I know that! Just let me do it. Doing your laundry always pisses you off. I’ve got it.”

A battle of wills ignited. You, staring him down. Jordan, trying not to squirm. He wants to try apologizing again but doesn’t know if he’ll only make it worse.

“Please, baby? Go somewhere nice with Cate. My treat.” He puts down a laundry basket (behind him, so you can’t take it) to grab his phone from his pocket, and does something you can’t see.

When you hear the particular chime your banking app makes when you get a Zelle deposit you roll your eyes. You don’t bother checking your phone and seeing how much he sent. You know it’s too much. But if you say anything he’ll just say you and Cate have expensive tastes (which…true.)

“Maybe you can catch a movie too? I still gotta finish up with your bathroom.”

“Jordan.”

“Just,” Jordan shifts, putting down the other laundry basket and slowly reaching out to grab your hand with hers. She could almost cry when you let her touch you. “I know you’re fucking pissed at me. And I know you’re still too upset to talk about it. But…. fuck, please just let me take care of you. Please. I have to do something. I can’t just sit around, after I made you feel like this. It’s driving me nuts. I’m supposed to-”

You stop her, putting a hand on her cheek and sighing, “Okay, Jordan. I’ll go hang out with Cate while you finish.”

“Don’t ‘hang out’, go get dinner. You haven’t eaten all day.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.” She says, sullen and staring up at you, playing with your fingers while you’re still letting her touch you, the first time in days.

“I’ll head to Cate’s.”

“Nah, head to Luke’s. They’re studying together right now.” Jordan takes a risk, stepping into your space slowly, giving you the time to move away. She leans in and kisses your cheek, gentle. When you don’t move away she can’t help herself, kisses the edge of your lips too.

You don’t kiss her back, but you give her hand a squeeze as you pull away. You stop halfway down the hall before you turn back to look at Jordan. “Call Cate and tell her she better not be fucking Luke by the time I get to his dorm.”

Jordan laughs. Your face is a little more relaxed as you turn away this time.

⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊

On Friday the group goes out to the club. They chose one of your favorite haunts, hoping it would entice you enough to join. You still declined the invitation. Everyone knew you would. They still wanted to try.

You claimed you had a lot of work to catch up on.

“She hates me. She fucking hates me.” Jordan groans into his hands, already three drinks and two shots in.

“Well, let’s not panic.” Luke says.

“Or be dramatic.” Andre snorts, taking a shot of his own. “You two are obsessed with each other. Relax.”

“Relax?!” Jordan tenses, “My girl won’t fucking talk to me. How am I supposed to relax?”

“She talked to you yesterday.” Andre drawls.

“That wasn’t anything. We usually-”

“-Spend every free second of the day together? We know.” Luke teases. When Jordan doesn’t even smile he winces and slides him another shot.

“She’s not even that mad. She’s more upset than anything.” Cate says, cuddling into Luke’s side.

Jordan’s eyes follow the movement and he swallows at the distinct lack of your own weight leaning into him. You always get touchy when you’re tipsy. Climbing on top of him, clinging to him like glue. It’s his favorite part of nights out together. That and the playful booing you guys get from the group.

Andre cuts back in, “I’m serious, dude. Relax! You guys have been together for how long now-”

“Three years.”

“-yeah, exactly. Since the fucking building of the pyramids. You two will be fine. She knows you didn’t mean anything by it. One fight won’t kill you.”

“This wasn’t a fight, though. I fucked up! You didn’t see the look on her face. When she used her powers… I mean, fuck! You know? She was scared of me.”

“You know that’s not true, Jordan.” Luke protests.

Jordan runs his hands through his hair, ruining the carefully slicked back style.

“Let’s just get you another drink. Come on, dude.” Andre wraps an arm around Jordan, hauling him to his feet and pulling him towards the bar.

⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊

You get woken up by the sound of knocking on your door. Loud knocking. You keep your eyes closed, hoping whoever it is will go away. You don’t even want to be awake. Let alone socializing.

The knocking gets louder. Exhausted, you drag yourself out of bed. You glance at your phone on the bedside table as you get up. It’s three in the morning. Now you’re exhausted and pissed.

You stomp over to the door, wrenching it open, prepared to cuss someone out. You deflate when you see who it is. “Oh, hey.”

Jordan is leaning heavily on the door frame, staring at you with watery, red eyes. She looks like the walking dead. “Baby. Fuck, did I wake you up? I thought you’d still be awake. You said you were pulling an all-nighter.”

“I was tired. Just wanted to sleep.” You shrug. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Still at the club, took an uber back. Too fucked up for anything else.” She mutters.

“That’s good, Jordan.” You say.

“You haven’t called me Jordan since freshman year. What happened to Jordie?” She sighs.

Your face softens. “Baby…”

“No, wait, just let me…” Jordan leans her forehead against the door-frame, closing her eyes tight. “I’m sorry. I fucked up big time. I’m sorry that when I get pissed I take it out on everyone around me. I’m sorry that I don’t fucking listen when you’re just trying to make me feel better. I’m sorry I yelled… I’m sorry I shift-”

“Whoa, hey.” You cut her off, shocked. “You shifting isn’t the problem, Jordan. Fuck, come inside, honey.” You say, taking her hand and pulling her inside.

You sit the two of you on the couch, clicking on the light so you can see each other. You move so you’re facing each other, pulling her hands into your lap. “First off let’s set one thing straight. You shifting is never the problem, okay?”

“You got so fucking scared.” Jordan looks away, hair falling into her face.

“Not of you.. Just the fucking… optics of it! I don’t ever want you to be something you’re not. And you’ve got the incredible gift of being able to be whatever you feel like being any time you want to.” You reach out and touch her cheek, guiding her to look at you, “I don’t want you to not do that. I wouldn’t ever want you not to do that, okay?”

“Okay.” She says. There’s a moment of silence, then Jordan shifts. He looks for any sign of fear or hesitation, holding his breath. When he doesn’t see any he relaxes. “But I scared you so bad you used your powers.”

“Yeah, that did happen.” You nod, caressing his cheek with your thumb, “Maybe it’s just a little scary when someone bigger and stronger than me starts yelling like that. Also, invulnerable. Let’s not forget that. Food for thought.”

He closes his eyes, “I’m an idiot.”

“For yelling at me? Yeah, just a little. Don’t yell at me like that no matter what form you’re in. That's always scary. Couples talk. They don’t yell. Most of the time. We can’t be the couple that does that.”

“I’ll never yell like that again. Either form. I promise.” Jordan says, “Can I hold you? It’s been a fucking week. I’m losing my mind.”

You laugh, climbing into his lap and Jordan sighs, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can. He tucks your head into his neck. “I missed you like fucking crazy.”

“Missed you too.” You sigh, “Stay the night?”

“You’re not leaving my sight for the next two months.” He laughs, pulling you closer.

“Only two months? That’s fucked up, I thought you missed me.” You tease.

“Shut up.” He scoffs, kissing the side of your head.

You snuggle closer, letting the tension of the week drift away.

“You yell at me like that again and your only hope is being invulnerable, actually. I’ll put you through a wall.” You kiss his shoulder cheerfully.

“I’d do it before you got the chance.”

You burst into laughter and he pulls your head away from his shoulder so he can see you the way you’re supposed to look around him. Happy. Content. He can’t stop himself from kissing you. You can’t stop yourself from kissing back.

#jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine #jordan li #gen v x reader #black!reader #first full jordan li fic! super fun to right nonny i am kissing you on the mouth this was INSPIRING #if you see any grammar or spelling errors no you don't lmao

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