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damagdsnow · 5 months

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Fix my reputation

Pairing: young Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

Summary: You and Coryo are together for mutual benefits, he needs a well known woman by his side to look reliable and loving during the presidential elections and you need your reputation to be fixed after your unforgivable scandal.

Tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, fake dating, arranged marriage, manipulative/soft Snow, strong and independent reader (as she should), fluff, angst, power play. eventual: smut, fingering, thigh riding, switching sub/dom, degradation, denied orgasm, piv, dirty talk, overstimulation, oral (fem/male receiving), praising public sex

Chapter 1, chapter 2;

aesthetic chapter one, aesthetic chapter two;

Tw: Snow being Snow, mention of alcohol, panic/anxiety attack, eventual: mention of blood

Word count: 6.7k

Note: English is not my first language so if you see mistakes please feel free to correct me in the comments! It is also my very first time posting here on tumblr, I’ve always wanted to post my writing and finally I am now brave enough to do so, enjoy!

You hated that man.

If there was something you were sure about, it was that you didn’t want to be here with him, at the same table having lunch. You could feel his perking blue eyes staring into your soul even though he was not looking at you, he was meticulously cutting an apple with his long fingers and a shiny knife.

How did you get here? The man you so wholeheartedly hated, was now part of your life, and you couldn’t do anything about it. You felt like that apple he was cutting so carefully, peeling your skin, your essence, the way he was holding it seemed he was scared it could run away. You could run away.

The problem was, you would never run away. Run away to whom? To your mother who disclaimed you? To those friends who didn’t help you out? You had no choice. Now the only thing you had was your reputation ruined for a fatal mistake that could have been avoided. That was not enough, the only way to clean your image was to be with Snow. The charismatic, intelligent and kind Coriolanus Snow. Or this was what people said about him. What The Capitol said about him.

You didn’t think the same. You knew who he really was, you saw what they couldn't see. He was evil, he was the one who got the games so popular with his ideas, the one who didn’t mind sending children to death.

You and Coriolanus had only one thing in common. Maybe two or three. One of them was that you both needed each other’s influence in society for different interests. His strategy to win the elections included a woman by his side to make him look reliable and sensitive, but he mostly planned on taking advantage of your popularity to make his own name. You, on the other hand, just needed someone who could clean your reputation after a little incident.

Who better than the master manipulator Coriolanus Snow? You weren’t thrilled with the idea of spending time with him. But it was going to be just for once. The gala before the official beginning of presidential elections, the most awaited event in the Capitol.

The agreement was playing the part of two lovers who not by chance people already knew, his name was well known. Yours? Still on the news. It was just a ball, you could do a night of pretending.

“Tigris said you haven't tried your dress on yet,” his voice interrupted your thoughts, and you looked in his direction to see his expression.

He still had the apple in his hands and he was cutting it in half-moon shapes, he took one bite in his mouth and he directly stared at you while chewing. You tried to hide your disgust as Snow's eyes met yours, his smile sending chills down your spine. It was as you had imagined, or even worse, you felt his blue eyes dissecting you in pieces, like he was examining you, looking for your deepest secrets. You knew that staying calm and composed in his presence was crucial.

“I don’t want to, it fits me.” You didn’t even look at that dress, it was even sent to your house but you refused to open the box knowing that he chose it.

“I hope it will,” Coriolanus didn’t take his eyes off of yours. “At least try to read how you should answer the questions, many people will be there,” he then said while standing up from his chair. His tall frame loomed over you, and you couldn't help but shiver under his intense gaze.

“Are you giving me homework to do now?” you said, looking up at him.

“I’m simply providing you with some advice,” his voice tinged with subtle amusement. “Oh, you think it’s going to be simple after all you did? “The Capitol won’t forgive you easily,” then he walked away, leaving you alone in the dining room.

This day felt longer than ever. The morning before you had received a letter from Snow’s manor telling you that someone was going to pick you up to prepare you for the event. It was signed by his publicist, Iris. You met her a couple of times before: a well dressed woman who knew too much about anyone's business in the Capitol. It was her idea to have lunch with him, “just to get to know each other more,” she said, but for you it was just a reminder of his real personality. They even gave you a room for the day, two chambers away from his, quoting Iris’s letter “this way you can feel comfortable,” you thought she was too attentive and kind to work for someone like Snow.

Iris was the one convincing you to take part in this gala, she explained to you that someone cherished like Coriolanus would draw the attention away from the scandal. You two just had to pretend to be together, “the Capitol loves unexpected new couples,” the publisher said to you the first time you saw her, “the young aspiring president and the woman everybody talks about.” Iris was convinced that this way Coriolanus was seen as the devoted partner who wasn’t afraid of your bad reputation, and you as the woman ready to rise from the ashes.

You ran into your room and slammed the door so loud you hoped he could hear you. You found a big envelope on your bedsheets, and you hoped it was some sort of -hey remember the incident? It’s not your fault, everything it’s okay!-thing, but unfortunately, it was not a free pass to the world. It was a sheet listing all possible answers to some questions you might be asked today at the gala. It was like a script to follow to save your face, to look good in front of the cameras, in front of the-very-judging-elitè. In that sheet, you could find any imaginable question they could ask, where your dress was from or who your family were.

“Did you do that on purpose?” It was one of the questions, and you thought this was something Snow would ask you. He didn’t say a thing about what you did, in the few times you talked he never asked you directly about the scandal. He could have wanted explanations, the real version of the story from you, but he never said a word. You read the answers on the sheet, and they were all perfectly written, so meticulously explained using the Capitol-vocabulary, elegant words and a candid tone.

“How did you meet Mr. Snow?” Your heart skipped a beat, you didn’t consider being asked about your fake relationship with him, it was all new to you.

“…it was love at first sight, who couldn’t love an extraordinary man like him, I immediately fell in love.” You had to read the full answer twice to be certain you weren’t hallucinating.

You would never have said those words, never in a billion years, not even under torture, of course you were ready to lie, but lying to this level? It was too much. You knew it was him who wrote this answer, you imagined the grin on his face while typing those words about him. You were mad. The answers about your dating life with Coriolanus were filled with romantic moments and exaggerated gestures that made you feel uncomfortable reading their unrealistic nature. You tried imagining those things happening in real life, but it felt completely alien and artificial. It was difficult to believe that anyone could genuinely experience those events. With Coriolanus mostly. You read the pages, over and over, a book would have been better because there was too much to read, but instead, you were stuck with a bunch of printed documents detailing your supposed love story.

He also put dates on when things happened: your first date in the lake house in July, the time you had dinner in a fancy restaurant in August and the day you moved in his place. Lies. Lies. Lies. Apparently you officially started dating three months ago. Three? You scrolled over the pages, hoping not to read what you were thinking.

“…after the incident, Coryo was very supportive, always there to comfort and reassure me even though all I did. I felt like I betrayed him too, but he always said we could get through it together, and I found myself falling for him all over again.” You knew none of this ever happened, and yet here it was, staring back at you in black and white. It was as if the words were playing tricks, as if the words were there to pretend instead of simply put on paper.

You sighed and closed the file, feeling a mix of frustration, confusion, and irritation. He was never there for you. Nobody was. You were all alone. After that day, you cried every night, and you were the one reassuring yourself, lying in front of the mirror saying ‘it’s going to be okay’ while your sense of guilt was slowly eating your guts. He wanted to appear like the perfect partner, but you knew the truth. It was all a façade. Deep down, you knew the real him, and it took all your strength to acknowledge the reality. You threw the stack of files on the floor, it was all too much.

You got up from the bed, and you went directly to his room, determined to confront him about the distorted reality that had been painted in those files. You didn’t even knock on his door, and you felt surprised when you noticed it wasn’t locked. You open the door, and you close it from behind, entering the room. He was standing close to his bed, completely oblivious to your presence. It was like he expected you to burst into his room out of nowhere.

“You finally read the file,” he said, looking at his wrist without making eye contact.

He was focusing on buttoning his cuff links, his fingers fumbling with the buttons, his white shirt still open and his blonde hair wet from the shower. His normally confident demeanor was replaced with vulnerability as he waited for your response, the tension thick in the air. It was the very first time you saw him not perfectly dressed up, without styled hair and shiny shoes. The sight of him standing there, so different from his usual self, caught you off guard.

“Yes, I’ve read your fabricated tale,” you said, trying not to look at him, at the droplets of water sliding down his temple, his fingers still struggling with the shirt. “You should have become a fiction book writer, you got talent.”

"I just wanted to impress you," he admitted, finally looking up to meet your gaze. “I can see I got a reaction from you,” he definitely succeeded in catching your attention, with those iper-articulated lies, not even close to what really happened.

“The agreement was that I won't say anything bad about you, just be by your side as a trophy-fake-girlfriend in this stupid gala, inventing absurd stories won't win my reputation back," you said firmly, crossing your arms.

He reached his desk where there was a glass of some alcohol sloshing around, poured himself a drink and took a long, deep swig. “They won't believe you if you only stand by me like a mannequin, you have to be an active member of their social life, so they can get to know you, sympathize you and maybe forgive you,” he said in a calm tone, you could see his profile while he was again drinking from his glass, his shirt still open that showed his toned body.

You immediately looked away taking a deep breath. “I won't be a part of any false narrative you wrote,” was the only thing that came to your mind.

He scoffed his head, “Just for the period of the presidential campaign, nothing more.”

“Are you suggesting that this ridiculous act is going to take longer than just a day?”

“I know you don’t like me, you just need to pretend you do. I’ll do the same,” he took another sip of that liquor while looking at you, “the publicist said just one appearance at the gala isn’t going to be beneficial to either of us.”

“Why are you telling me this now? The plan was slightly different,” you said

“Oh I knew you were going to be reluctant about the idea of pretending to live here, just for show,” he was serious, his fierce eyes looking at you waiting for a reply.

“I almost tolerated your presence at work, and now you want me to live in the same house as yours?” You asked

“After the gala, they are going to focus on the ‘new couple’, our performance has to be something they really believe in,” he leaned his head at the same height as yours, “we already don’t have that chemistry, at least they are going to think we live together,” Coriolanus said to your ear, his curls brushing your cheek.

“I simply decline your proposal, find someone else.” You said with a fake smile.

“Didn’t journalists harass you every time you left your little apartment? How exhausting, isn’t it?” He whispered in a sarcastic tone, making you remember all those times you ran away from photographers. “I got peacekeepers here, no one is going to bother you anymore, as long as you don’t bother me,” he turned to the desk, placing the empty glass in a tray, “strangers in real life, lovers on the outside.”

“The problem is that I despise you, I cannot do this for one more day,” you couldn’t see his expression, just his white see-through shirt displaying his back muscles.

“No, the problem is that you don’t understand how fucked up your situation is,” he was now facing you, “I know people who were condemned for way less, you are lucky,” his words were sharp as blades.

“Lucky to have you? It’s a punishment,” you said and he laughed.

“Then don’t come at me crying at why people still hate you,” he took a few steps closer to you

“So you can comfort me like you did a month ago?” You asked him pointing out the most absurd lie in that file.

“Oh, so you read every single page, you really did your homework.”

You stood your ground, refusing to be manipulated any longer. He was doing that purposely, just to provoke you, saying those things just to see how far you could take. Coriolanus was looking at you with his piercing gaze, attempting to intimidate you, he expected you to buckle down and crumble in front of him, but you would never give him such satisfaction, you were already in hell, so why not play with fire?

“Why me?” you asked him, and you saw a sense of surprise in his eyes. “Why, of all the girls in Panem, you decide the only one who can give you trouble?” You took a step closer to his figure, “there are so many good girls from rich families and intact reputations, why me? I’ll just ruin you.” You said, trying to catch his eyes looking back at you. But you could only see his frowning eyebrows, his wet messy hair and a droplet of water trailing down his neck, you were so close to him, you could hear him breathing.

“Everybody knows your name, bad press is still press,” his eyes finally met yours. “You are the center of attention,” he took a step back, as if momentarily distancing himself from the tension. “The presidential elections are extremely competitive, it’s not a race for who’s superior to whom,” he licked his lips, “but who is going to perform better for these people looking for distractions. “We are going to be their little show”

“So tell me Coriolanus,” you stepped closer as you were before. The height difference was such that it made you look up at him, you took one side of his shirt in your hand and you buttoned up with the other, feeling his warm torso on your fingers. "How exactly do you propose to fix my reputation while bolstering your own?” you finished, a sly smile dancing on your lips and your eyes looking for him.

Coriolanus was looking down at your fingers still brushing his skin, he had his lips parted and he softly whispered, “just play the game,” his eyes still fixed on you. He was talking about making everything right again, but it felt like there was something more behind those words.

You stepped back, trying to compose yourself. “I’m just giving them another reason to hate me with this bunch of lies,” you were looking down at the floor when you heard him stepping closer to you. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his eyes on your face.

He lifted your chin with two fingers and made you look up at him, “I’ll make them fall for our lie,” he said, his voice was so deep and calm.

“You are a master manipulator,” you whispered back, looking down again as if the floor was more interesting than the man standing in front of you.

You heard him chuckle, and he leaned closer to your ear, “and I’m going to teach you how to be one too.”

Your first public appearance after the scandal was going to be at this gala. Everything was calculated in detail, the dress you wore had to be long and white, as pure as snow. Your hair had to be loose so it could cover your exposed back, and apparently you had to memorize pages and pages of answers you could give. After your intense conversation in his room you decided to play the game seeing how far you could take, how far you would do to take everything back. He wanted you under his spell, he was trying to shape you how he desired, for his own interests.

“Dear, why aren’t you dressed yet?” The publicist said to you while you were sitting on the smooth sheets of your bed. You had your bathrobe still on, it’s been thirty minutes since you had a shower but you had your head in the clouds.

You couldn’t stop thinking about your conversation with Coriolanus, his wet hair, the words he said to you, his naked torso, his manipulating eyes. You repeat to yourself that he was Coriolanus Snow, and not any man, he probably told you half the strategy he really had in mind. Being with him was like playing chess blindfolded, you had to trust him but he could mess up your moves, change your plans.

“Come here I’ll help you,” Iris said, she seemed like a good person, she had a comforting smile and an elegant manner with everything she did. She was wearing a short coppery-brown color dress, it was shiny as her nails, decorated with tiny gold stones. You took her hand and you stood up, making the bathrobe fall on the carpet. The silk of the dress soothed your skin like a petal, you looked at the mirror and the weak light coming from your window gently reflected on your bright dress, almost making it shine.

“It is really pretty,” you said astonished while turning to see your exposed back. Then your smile disappeared because you remembered it was him who picked the dress.

“You are making it pretty, my darling,” Iris stated as she fastened the zip on your side. It was a simple dress yet delicate and impressive, it embraced the shape of your body effortlessly.

“It is just a little loose here on your waist,” the woman said, touching the excess fabric on your side. You remembered the conversation early this morning when you proudly said the dress fitted you.

“I’m going to tell Tigris to fix it,” Iris said and you immediately looked at her reflection in the mirror.

“No please,” she changed her expression, “it is bad luck to mend a dress the same day it is worn,” your mother always said that to you, maybe it was not a popular saying considering the publicist's face.

She tilted her head with a confused smile as she touched the yellow-butterflies-clip in her voluminous red wig. Now that you were thinking about it, you sewed your skirt the day it happened, ‘it’s just a coincidence, I don’t believe in these things’ you said to yourself, you were not superstitious but at the same time you avoided superstitions, just in case.

“Whatever you want,” Iris said with a soft smile.

You touched your neck and you thought how a shiny pendant would look good. “Iris, do we have some necklace to match this dress?” She stepped closer to you looking at your chest.

“I think you shouldn’t wear any jewelry tonight,” you tilted your head in confusion, “see, today is your first appearance after the,” she paused, “incident.”

“And what is it supposed to do with jewe—“ she didn’t let you finish your sentence.

“You could wear pearls or diamonds but what would the elite think? That you want to appear, that you want to show off,” she walked behind you so you could see her reflection in the mirror. “How you present yourself is the way they perceive you,” Iris brushed your long hair on the side, exposing your neck, “you are wearing a white dress, ‘how pure!’ No diamonds, ‘how modest!’ “try to think like the socialites, once you enter their minds, your act will get a standing ovation”. Her words put everything in a different perspective, she really knew what she was doing.

You heard a knock on the door, “the party starts in an hour!” A muffled voice said from the corridor.

“Thank you Ariandes, we’re almost done!” Iris said in a loud tone.

In less than sixty minutes you had to put on your best mask and try to change the mind of a thousand people about yourself, with Coriolanus by your side, pretending he is your supportive lover. You felt a rush of anxiety on your chest, like a weight pressing against your heart.

“I don’t think I can go,” you whispered with a trembling voice. Iris made a worried look.

“Oh sweety, I can only imagine what you have been through,” she took a lilac glass flask from the desk beside the mirror, “you are a strong woman,” she sprayed a lavender fragrance on your neck and she smiled.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, and with all your strength you tried to keep the tears that threatened to spill over. “Iris, how do I fake being so interested in someone?” You asked, thinking about what was written in that file.

“Have you ever been in love?” She asked with a soft gaze.

You didn’t know the answer to that question, you had a couple of boyfriends in your university years, but were you in love?

“It’s when every atom of your body's only desire is to burn at the mere thought of being with that someone,” Iris looked up, like she was thinking of somebody, you felt even more disoriented with her answer.

You couldn’t identify that feeling with anyone, you’ve never met someone that made ‘your cells burn’. What would that even mean, you thought.

The door opened and you turned your head to see Ariandes, the political advisor, “We gotta go,” he said looking at Iris. The man had his hair pulled back in a long braid, dark as his skin. You walked in his direction and you followed him.

The moment you stepped into the car you felt a sudden tension, it was dark outside, only one side of Coriolanus’ face was lit up by cars passing by. He was wearing a red coat that covered the rest of the outfit, his blonde locks were lightly falling on his temples and you noticed he was wearing a ring on his left index finger.

“Act as natural as possible,” Coriolanus said and he looked at you, it felt like he was inspecting your body and you wished to be in his mind at that very moment.

Was everything going according to plan?

No, you didn’t want to know what it was like to be in his head, it was torturing enough being on the outside.

“I’m not very good at lying,”

‘not as good as you’, you wanted to say.

He looked at you like he read your mind, luckily you couldn’t see his expression. “Don’t be impulsive, smile and never leave my side,” you felt he was giving you orders, “what 's going to happen at the political campaign depends partially on today’s gala.”

“You know, Mr. Snow,” you started “I tried reading your fiction-book but it was so,” you tried examining his face, “unrealistic,” he scoffed and looked the other way, “you want me to paint you as the man you aren’t and never will —caring, affectionate and respectful “I can’t do miracles, people won’t believe my lies forever.”

Coriolanus clenched his jaw, “at least the whole Panem doesn’t hate me,” he said close to your face.

“Yet,” you added, hoping to maintain eye contact one more second.

“And just a reminder,” he said, “without me you would have been at home, crying and begging for forgiveness,” he whispered in a bitter tone in your ear.

“And without me you wouldn’t have the attention you crave so much,” you replied, feeling the tension in the air.

Coriolanus was too close to you, like an animal before hunting his prey, you could see his facial features reflecting the weak light outside. The engine stopped, and the driver opened the car door.

“Mr. Snow” he said and Coriolanus stepped out of the car, he didn’t even look at you.

‘He would slam the door in my face if he could’, you thought.

You took the driver’s hand, helping you get out with your long dress. Coriolanus took his maroon coat off and he gave it to an avox at the entrance. You could see him from his back, he was wearing an ivory jacket and trousers, his suit matched your gown. He calculated every single detail. Unexpectedly, Coriolanus waited for you as you stood by him in the hall, he extended his arm and you looked at him.

“Do I have to?” You asked and you noticed a white rose on his breast pocket.

“It’s just an act,” he replied and you took him by the arm.

Let the play begin.

The ballroom was lit by magnificent chandeliers and the air was filled with whispers and laughter. The atmosphere was comforting and energetic: people with colorful wigs, glitter dresses and sugary drinks. There was not a face you could recognise, it was not what you were used to, even though you have been living in the Capitol for all your life, you’ve never experienced a party like this. You walked through the crowd with Coriolanus by your side, arm by arm, while everybody was looking curiously at your direction. You’ve heard someone saying his name, and something about the girl he was walking with.

Why her? Since when does Snow have a girlfriend? I’ve heard really bad things about that woman.

And there it was, the gossip, the uncertain glances and how they looked down on you. On the other hand, people were praising him.

He’s so charming! White suits him well! Future president of Panem.

You looked at Coriolanus, the warm light was making his eyes brighter, or was it the crowd? He looked at them so proudly, with a confident smile, he was living for that moment, being the center of attention. He met your gaze, then his blue eyes looked at your dress, but not the same way people did.

It felt different.

Was he judging?

Admiring maybe? It was a mystery, nothing was black or white with him.

Coriolanus greeted a couple of his acquaintances, introducing you as his partner, then calling you his date and it once slipped from his lips calling you his girlfriend. And you actually were, in that moment, you had to act as his beloved girlfriend who had a well known bad reputation. He never let your arm go away, he was acting so well, playing the caring boyfriend who couldn’t leave you alone.

“Here they are, the couple of the night!” A loud voice came from behind, it was Flavius Windbuzz, one of the most famous tv hosts in the Capitol. His voice was recognisable from miles away, it didn’t matter if you watched television or not, he was everywhere and it was impossible in Capitol City not knowing his name.

He stepped closer to you with a glowing smile and a glitter microphone, he had his hair gray, more like silver. “Everybody is talking about you, the new Capitol lovebirds,” a camera was pointing at you and your heartbeat was getting faster, everyone stopped talking and stared at you both. “So tell me Mr. Snow, who is this young lady you are showing off?”

“You said it right Flavius, she is my girlfriend,” he did it again, Coriolanus said girlfriend, this time broadcast on tv.

“What a pleasure to meet you,” the host said to you, he took your hand and kissed it. These exaggerated gestures were the usual in this type of parties, especially where a silver-haired-man was interviewing the guests. He asked about your family, if you liked the food —you didn’t touch any but you lied, and who was the designer of your dress, everything as the script said.

“Honey, you are a really interesting woman but I have to ask you something,” Mr. Windbuzz said, “people are talking and it is my job to satisfy their desires. “So tell me, are the rumors true?”

You expected a much worse question, you stopped breathing for a moment and Coriolanus noticed that because you tightened the grip on his arm. “You tell me Flavius, what do the rumors say?” You answered with a soft smile hiding your discomfort.

“I know that during the last edition of The Hunger Games, something really unfortunate happened,” you noticed he had purple contacts on, and that was something that made you even more nervous. “Is it true that you took part in the incident we all saw live on TV?” He asked and you felt like your heart was beating outside your chest.

“It is true,” the crowd gasped, and your pulse increased.

“So tell me, how did it feel when you killed those poor and innocent tributes?” The question was worded differently than what you read on that file.

Killed.

Poor and innocent.

You couldn’t get out of your head their lifeless faces, the foam coming out of their mouths and the sound of the cannon echoing in that room. The hall started spinning, you saw the interviewer’s face, a mix of compassion and concern, as the crowd started whispering more and more you felt your head cold and heavy. The microphone was pointing in your direction but you could not even stutter a syllable, blank pages wandered in your mind and you felt a sense of emptiness. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned your dizzy head to see Coriolanus who started talking for you.

“She was more than devastated, I remember—, ” you saw his lips moving like the time had slowed down and you were not listening to his words, his voice echoed in your ears as you never took your eyes off of him.

His grip on your shoulder tightened and his eyes looked at you as he tilted his head suggesting you both could go away. You followed him even though your ears were still ringing and your sight blurring, Coriolanus was walking too fast so you took his hand in yours or you could really faint on the ground. At that action, he looked at you with a confused stare, his hand grip was firm and steady as he dragged you in the bathroom. After checking no one was in there, he leaned against the door so no one could step in. You stood in front of him, his curls falling on his forehead that was a little sweaty, then he began talking, but the sound of his words were just an intense ring in your ears. He placed both his hands on your cheeks trying to have your attention, and you woke up from your hypnotic state.

“They are just hypocrites, they are the ones who watch The Hunger Games on tv, they send money to help their favorite to kill.” Coriolanus said looking in your eyes, and you started sobbing. “They are not better than you, “stop crying and play their game.”

You felt the warmth of his hands on your skin, he never touched you this way, it was intimate, nothing you could expect from him. For a moment, you brushed your hand with his but he instantly removed it, walking away from your sight.

“He was too indiscreet,” you heard him whisper, “I should’ve expected that from him.”

“No Coriolanus, I should’ve expected this question,” your voice was still trembling, “you said it wasn’t going to be easy, I deserve this, “do you still think this act is a good idea?” You asked him.

His tall figure leaned against the green tiles of the bathroom, he had his hands on his pockets and he was looking down, thinking about who knows what. Now that you were seeing from a distance, he resembled an angel. His white suit, his blonde curls and the perking blue eyes. No, there was nothing pure and heavenly in him. You thought he was probably thinking about how you ruined his plan, how he had to intervene to save your umpteenth failure and he was now calculating another strategy.

‘Not an angel, a fallen angel, the next Lucifer of Panem.’

“The night is still young,” he said while stepping to the door. He didn’t answer your question, was he regretting meeting you?

Everything was as you left it. The party was still going and no one seemed to have noticed your panic attack. That was a relief. You tried distracting yourself, you couldn’t stop thinking about what happened before. The interview, the crying, his hands on your face. Everything was worse than you had expected. You and Coriolanus were in the hallway next to the massive columns that supported the ceilings, on the other side people were dancing to a classical melody. You wanted to stay there, outside their sight, because to you the dance floor was more like an arena where people were going to attack you.

“Shall we?” Coriolanus extended his hand suggesting to go dancing with him.

“I’m not good at dancing, I could step on your feet,” you hoped it would’ve been enough for him to give up.

“I’ll take the risk.” That was his plan, acting like nothing happened and putting his best smile on to be the charming man everyone adored.

You took his hand, the same hand that wiped your tears off your face was now intertwined in yours. Every time you looked for an excuse to not like him. As if you had to remind yourself that you hated him. Did you? He was dancing with you so naturally, holding you like you had known each other for a very long time, his hand on your waist as if he was used to it. There was nothing evil in him on the outside, and that was the problem.

“I’ve just saved your face, thank me later.”

You rolled your eyes at Coriolanus’ words. “I’m used to humiliations so next time don’t bother yourself.” you replied.

“Oh but I’m not used to it and don’t worry, there will be no next time.” Without a notice, he made you twirl around.

“When will this thing end?” You asked annoyed.

“I hate it as much as you,” he pushed your waist closer to him, this way you were face to face, noses touching.

“What the fuck Coriol—,”

He interrupted you, “for the cameras.”

You turned your head and you saw a bunch of flashes, blinding your sight. Coriolanus leaned over you and your lips were brushing, you couldn’t push him away because of the photographers. You had no time to tell him something, that he kissed you. It was for a second, just one second where your lips touched. It was cold, dry and unexpected. Just like him. Snow by name, snow by nature. If only eyes could talk. You’d probably say to him how you wished you weren’t there, with him, and you wondered what his blue eyes would say to you, probably the same. After that moment, Coriolanus didn’t say a word to you. You were there, smiling at photographers hoping to drop your mask as soon as they’d left.

The rest of the night went according to plan. Flavius interviewed all the future candidates and Coriolanus had the opportunity to make his well prepared speech, he also got invitations from influential members close to the president Ravinstill, not to mention the many sponsor offers he had. At least something was going well, for him though. The ride back home was painful. You and Coriolanus were looking outside the window, his crimson coat was the only barrier separating your bodies.

“Did they ever tell you how bad you are at kissing,” you hated silence so much you could say the stupidest things that came to mind just not to hear your thoughts. You turned your head to see him and his eyes were already on you.

“Mhm, girls usually compliment me for other qualities,” he chuckled, “and then that wasn’t me kissing, remember it’s just for show,” he whispered looking at the driver hoping he wasn’t paying attention.

“Well, no one believed your poor attempt to look in love,” you said and he untied the knot of his white tie.

“I was caught off guard,” he said looking at you, cars speeding in the window behind him, “and I can’t just kiss how I would normally do.”

You tried not to laugh at his words, ‘what would that even mean?’ you thought. “Just try to convince them, because you didn’t even convince me.”

“How should I kiss you then?”

He put his hand on the back of your head, with his thumb brushed your temple and he pulled you closer, his lips touching yours softly. You knew what was going to happen, but you let him do it.

The way he kissed you, like he was starving for your lips, hungry for your taste. Was he the same man that kissed you before? You melted in his touch, his hand slided down your neck, his fingers pressing on your throat, making you shiver even more. He tasted like mint and posca, his hair smelled of roses and his skin was warm under your touch.

Coriolanus pulled away from your lips but you came closer to cut the gap separating you. It felt like an instinct, like you were not satisfied enough and you could feel a sense of heat down your core. He pulled away the coat that was between you and his other hand was now on your exposed back, keeping you closer, his tongue still dancing dangerously with yours as you intertwined your fingers in his locks.

“Coryo” you said between kisses.

He wasn’t intending to stop and neither did you, but you remembered who was the man who was holding you that way, whose hands were making you shiver, whose lips were making you want for more and what nickname you just whined.

“I think we should,” you managed to say, trying to stop yourself from doing something you were going to regret. You broke the kiss, his lips were swollen still too close to yours.

He whispered, "I told you, I can be convincing when needed.”

🦋 A/N: I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, let me know what you think in the comments! I’ll probably explain the details of the scandal and how they met next time, it’s way more than you can imagine from here. Also I KNOW there is no smut here, but bear with me, it's a slow burn and trust me in the next chapter I’ll add some ✨ spice ✨. In this first chapter I wanted to set up the atmosphere.

A special thanks to Freddie Mercury and the song “Play the game” that helped me when I was stuck, to the poet Taylor Swift who reminded me of the many ways you can say the color red. PLEASE let me know if you want to be tagged next time 💌

ask me questions here !

@gracieghost36955 @annavatar @ghostlyloversworld @badbussylol @gracieroxzy @coolcatyarb @coriosgf @xxrougefangxx @devils-blackrose @wearemadeofstardust0

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #slow burn #enemies to lovers #young coriolanus snow #coryo x reader #coryo smut #coryo snow #coryo x you #tom blyth #the hunger games

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californ1asnow · 7 months

Text

Call Me Up Again - pt. 2 Mike Schmidt x Reader

Part two of All Too Well Angst!!! So much angst everyone I've decided to turn this into a miniseries, this post being the second part. I'll continue to link chapters as I post them This is also being updated on ao3 (cough cough) No warnings this time 1.9k words

Snowflakes fall silently, coating everything around them in a white dust. The wind blows with a crisp chill, nipping at all the rose-pink noses. It sends shivers down the backs of those who dare be out in this weather. The pumpkins and fake graveyard decor that had once littered every home’s front yard has long since been swapped for tinsel garlands and pine wreaths.

The Schmidt residence beams with colored string lights and holiday music. A tall, sturdy evergreen sits patiently by the window. Its branches are decorated with years worth of homemade ornaments, ranging in all size and age from both Mike and Abby. The red skirt beneath it falls relatively empty of presents, only donning the few small ones Mike could afford to buy this year. They’re wrapped pathetically in an old birthday paper, the only wrapping Mike could find to reuse.

Usually, the tree is so full that he’s had to store things in his closet, but that was when you were still a part of their Christmas. Stockings hung happily above the fireplace and a love so innocent it wraps the house in a warm glow. However, it’s void of that feeling now, instead Mike is left to pick up the pieces that you once fit together. Abby doesn’t understand why you don’t come over anymore, or why Mike has been so quiet lately. All she knows is that something went wrong, and now everyone is upset. She’s stopped bringing up your name in conversation when talking to Mike, because it always ends with him withdrawn and retreating to the solidarity of his room.

That didn’t stop her from drawing you, though. Sometimes she’d sit at her desk, tears collecting in the well of her eyes, and doodle old memories of the three of you. She remembers them being happy, but by the time the crayons were set aside and the picture was finished, it was a glum mess of dark blues and frowning faces.

After a drawing is finished she’d slip past Mike’s room, quietly tiptoeing out the front door, and make a break for the house across the street. Your house. She’d work fast, her feet carrying her quickly to and fro. It was unclear from her perspective whether you paid attention to what she’d give you, but by the time she slipped a new piece of paper underneath your door, the old one she had gifted you was gone.

Mike was unaware of it all.

He had found a new job in town where he could bury all his thoughts. It was working construction for a local contractor, a job that certainly wasn’t ideal but it paid better than what he’d been used to. Unfortunately, it required longer hours and ate up all his free time, meaning Abby needed a new babysitter. A job that was once happily filled by your company, now replaced with an afterschool program suggested to him from a flyer he found at work. He hated the thought of her sitting in essentially another classroom, surrounded by strangers and snotty kids, but it was his only option left.

With a third of his paycheck dedicated to it, Abby now spends her weekdays at the nearby YMCA.

The first time he told her about the new program didn’t go over very well. He remembers it clearly.

“Abby please,” his irritated voice interrupts her incessant protesting, “listen, it’s the only place that can watch you.”

“No it’s not!” She yelled at him, her finger pointing to your house across the street, “I want her back!”

A pang of guilt struck his chest at her words. The lack of your presence has clearly been taking a toll on the both of them, but it’s the first time Abby’s ever been so vocal about it. He crossed his arms with a sigh, watching his little sister stare up at him with solemn eyes. Her lip quivering ever so slightly, evident that she’s holding back tears.

He crouches down to her level, just like he had done to you so many nights ago, “I’m sorry,” he pleaded with her, “but she’s not coming back right now.”

Her head shook with disbelief, stubbornly stuck in her spot, “Then make her come back.”

–

You’re not sure when the Mike shaped hole in your heart stopped aching, but it’s significantly less sore compared to a fresh wound. That’s not to say the constant reminder of him and Abby living across the street from you doesn’t sting. It’s hard enough to ignore all his calls, but trying to get to your car while avoiding his gaze is even worse. Eventually, he gave up on contacting you by the third month of radio silence. It hurt both of you, but you knew deep down neither of you could continue functioning like how you were.

The back and forth pull of his affection took too big of a toll on your mental well being. You can remember every moment down to the exact detail of how much you craved for him to just do something, anything.

All those times you held him in your soft embrace whispering sweet nothings in his ear, reassuring him everything will be okay, just for him to turn around the next day and never bring it up again. Or when you’d run your warm fingers through his hair to calm him down after a panic attack, and he’d let his head rest in your lap. Words of affection dripping off his lips like a rich honey, warming you up from the inside out. Then he’d disappear for a while, claiming he needed some space to figure stuff out, all the while you’d beg and plead for him to tell you what’s on his mind, only for him to give you nothing back.You stood by him regardless though, keeping a silent promise that you’d always be there for him when he needed it, a love that was never reciprocated back.

A long sigh escapes from you, eying the new delivery that just appeared by your door. You shuffle towards it weakly, unsure if you really wanted to torture yourself by looking at it. It’s one of those things that curiosity will drive you to do, unable to ignore it like a pedestrian passing by a car crash. The paper crinkles under your touch, unfolding it reveals the familiar childlike style of Abby’s drawings. A man drawn in green crayon frowns up at you, holding hands with an equally sad looking child. Your gaze drifts over to the other side of the paper, highlighting a person relatively similar to you standing alone with their arms crossed, angry. Your heart hurts at the sight of it, knowing that Abby is implying that you’re angry at the two of them. You shake your head quickly, trying to evade any tears that threaten to spill. It’s not fair for Abby to be caught in the middle of whatever is going on between you and Mike, and you realize that.

The sound of your phone ringing breaks your train of thought, and when you check the caller ID your breath hitches. Standing in the middle of your living room frozen with indecisiveness, you stare at the screen while chewing on the bottom of your lip. Without thinking, you accept the call.

“Hello?”

There’s a sound on the other end of the line, somewhere in between a choke and a gasp, and then your name is mumbled out in disbelief.

“I didn’t think you’d actually pick up…” Mike’s voice is still a little startled, mimicking the internal panic in your chest.

You suck in a deep, steady breath before answering, “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.” There’s a slight pause from both of you, unsure how to continue the conversation. It’s felt like years since you last heard his voice.

“Are you…doing okay?”

“...Yeah.” Your answer is unconvincing, but Mike doesn’t have any ground to be able to question it. So it’s left like that, timidly dangling in the air between you both.

You hear shuffling in the background, and a smaller voice asking a question before he dismisses it. Your heart lurches thinking about how Abby is there, trying to figure out who her older brother might be on the phone with. It almost makes your cool demeanor crack, urging you back into your savior complex.

“Uh, sorry about that,” your phone crackles back to life, “anyways, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh okay.”

“Can you,” he stops, leaving you on edge, “meet me somewhere?”

The lack of response from you causes him to start rambling, going on about how it would be better to talk in person, and how it would be easier if you could see each other’s expressions. Soon afterwards, a string of apologies ensue, and you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.

“Okay Mike. Promise me this will be worth it.”

“I promise.”

–

A young waitress stares nervously at your booth. Orders continually piling up, hungry customers giving her rude looks whenever she ignores their impatient huffs. It’s been a good thirty minutes since you first showed, and she’s checked up on you at least a handful of times by now. Mike had suggested this little diner down the street from your house, and you agreed to meet here.

However, it seems like you’re the only one who showed up.

Your back is pressed against the uncomfortable foam board of your seat, a leg bobbing rapidly out of habit. You pick at the pills on your sweatshirt sleeve, trying to avert your gaze from the sympathetic waitress. Prior to your predicament, she had asked if you were dining alone, and you told her no. However, It’s starting to look like you just might be. With anger bubbling inside of you, a voice in the back of your head is saying you should have seen this coming. It’s so typical of Mike to make promises that he’s unwilling to keep.

The air smells like grease, mostly from the old fryers sitting in the back of the kitchen. Oil bubbling and brooding in their tanks, waiting for someone to drop a morsel of food so it could shrivel in the scalding lard. Stomach stirring with disgust, a wave of nausea washes over you. It’s unclear exactly what’s causing it, you’d like to give credit to the sleazy restaurant, but something deep down points to the lack of a certain person’s company.

You keep your attention trained on the dwindling heat of your coffee. Both corners of your mouth scrunch downwards at the smooth ceramic now held in your cold hands. When did watching a cup of coffee become so interesting?

“Would you like some more?” The sweet but timid waitress asks you, now back at her spot beside your table.

A joyless smile flashes across your face, a futile attempt at masking your dejection. Pushing the cup forward, silently accepting a fresh refill from her kettle.

“He’s not worth it.” She adds, tipping off your mug. Her eyes refuse to meet yours as she does so, and you are thankful for that fact.

“No,” you respond back, “he never is, I guess.” Your voice is shaky, as are the hands that are folded in your lap.

Mike is not worth the years of being hurt and pushed away. Not worth the tears that fall after coming home from a night spent at his house, inconsolably sobbing because you know no matter what you do it leads back to the same thing. To give up all your time, love, and patience just to receive nothing in exchange.

It’s not worth the unrequited love.

“Can I have the check please?” You ask quietly, still avoiding the gaze of the girl next you.

Her head shakes with pity, fingers wrapping around the arm of the kettle, “it’s on the house.”

TAGLIST - @wriothesleysbimbo @psbc @victimsofadownn @that1lxnlybxch @callsignwidow

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt angst #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x y/n #taylor swift #all too well #angst #fnaf

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konigsluvr · 2 months

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SWEET 『cigarettes after sex』

MASTERLIST

popular girl x quiet nerd simon

warnings: kissing, horny and simp simon, cuming untouched. And sweetness ♡

cute little series I'm starting. I hope you like this as much as I do. Enjoy and leave any comments on where I can improve, but please be nice, I'm sensitive 💋 this isn't proofread as its currently just past midnight and I'm sleepy and don't want to overthink about posting this. xxx

『★』

Simon thought you didn't notice him staring at you all year. You're popular and he's... a nerd. The amount of picking on you would endure if you did anything with him... you didn't want to think about it.

Yet you couldn't help but smile at your Math teacher as he assigned Simon - the top of the class - to help you with your studies.

Here's the catch, you act dumb and stupid to fit in with your friend group when in reality, whenever there's a test, you never fail to achieve the A+.

"You won't be disappointed," you respond, heading out of class to see it empty.

None of your friends waited for you after class but you brush that aside, looking around for Simon. A minute later, you find him by his locker, taking all of his books and transferring them into his bag.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. "Hi Simon," your sweet voice rang out.

He jumps, dropping his bag, his books scattering on a pile at your feet. He stumbles over his words, eyes wondering over your gorgeous face. His mind was reeling at the fact you knew his name?!

"I... uhh..." he clears his throat, gathering himself. His crush, his godamn crush since forever, is talking to him. Him. "Everything okay?" His voice steadies out, playing it cool.

Your lips quirk, not realising his voice was so deep. You have to look up, yourself standing at 5'5 and him standing at 6'2. You're both 17, so there's still growing to occur.

"Yes, everything's good," you speak, unable to stop your gaze to trailing to his arms. Its so obvious he works hard at the gym. "Mr Barnes assigned you as my study partner."

His eyes widen slightly, taken aback. "Me and... you. Study partners?" He speaks slowly.

He sees your eyebrows furrow. Fuck sake, idiot, he curses in his mind, being an asshole isn't the way to go.

"Um, yeah, for Maths. My grades have dropped so..." You trail off. Does he not like you? You were so sure. He's always glancing at you.

His pause makes you reinforce the idea he's never liked you. "I'll get a new partner," you speak, beginning to step away.

He grabs your wrist, and your eyes snap to his. God, your eyes and politeness... is he still grabbing you? He is! Fuck! Think, think, think!

"Tomorrow after school?" He questions, way too nervous. He bets you can feel his hand shaking. "Your place?" Too bold, Simon.

But you smile, warm, lovely. "Sure, meet here after the last period?" Your unable to tear your gaze from his stunning chocolate eyes, so attentive and aware.

He finally let's go of your hand, relief filling him. He nods, feeling much too shy to speak.

You return the smile and walk by him. As you walk to the main doors, you turn and wave goodbye, and he is already looking at you. You see his lips form a small grin and wave back subtly.

『★』

"Today was so boring," you huff out to Simom as he sits in the passenger. He sits too still, scared to make the wrong move in case you would call off this whole thing.

You find it funny he didn't respond. So you ask a question as you turn out of the car park and drive to your house, which is fifteen minutes away. "How was your day?"

He takes a few moments to reply, "good," his deep voice speaks. You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't. The truth his, his day has been terrible but his mood is ecstatic (on the inside) about being with you.

Fifteen whole minutes, he had to sit there and pretend he didn't care. Staying silent like a complete douchbag. The smell of your perfume, your pretty outfit - a black jumper, faded blue jeans, Converse, pretty earrings, hair, and makeup. Just you simply being next to him made him hard, his mind running wild.

No, no, no, no. He needs to respect you. He's 17, not a little boy. He is a virgin after all, you definitely were not. The amount of stupid boys that took your attention will never deserve you in all the lifetimes. He's stronger, more respectful, just so, so much better for you. He noticed your smile was strained and he wanted to punch every asshole that made you like that. He covers his crotch with his hands, hoping you don't notice his hand placement.

He's so wrapped up in his own thoughts that you opening your car door and exiting snaps him out of it. He ushers out, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he takes in your families property. A simple, modern but classy home. Adorable. His gaze quickly returns to you, pausing as he sees your looking at him already.

"You work out?" You question, noticing he's wearing a black sleeved long sleeved gym shirt. He wore it just for you. It shows off his muscles perfectly.

"Six days a week," he speaks, trying to show off a little. Douche, again. But you smile and he smiles back.

"I do pilates sometimes," you reply, walking up to your front door. Pilates, Simon thinks of you doing the workout, so feminine and simple.

You both enter and you close the door behind you both. "Would you like a drink?" You ask innocently, looking up at him. You knew you were standing too close.

He swallows thickly, his gaze glancing down to your lips for a sweet second. He got even harder. For fuck sake, Simon. Answer the damned question! "Water would be nice, thanks."

You nod. "My room is upstairs, down the hall to the right," you speak, turning and walking to the kitchen.

He stands there silent for a few moments, watching your body sway. He shakes his head. Stop it now, he thinks. He walks up the stairs as he takes in everything about his small journey. At the end of the hallway, there's a picture of younger you.

He always knew you were an only child, makes sense how much you're put together with your parents attention focused on one child. He can't help but smile, seeing how cute you are. You must've been around 5 or 6 he's guessing, your eyes still the same sweetness.

He enters your room and sits on the edge of your bed, looking around once again. Clean, tidy, and... pink. Lots of light pink and white everywhere. Now he knows what your favourite colours are. Bingo.

He hears your soft footsteps coming up. He takes a quick breath, needing to calm his nerves desperately. Just your presence has him all giddy. You enter the room and close the door behind you.

"Here you are," you talk softly, handing him his water. You sit further up on your bed so you're in the middle of it. He thinks for a moment, copying you timidly. You face him. "I hope you like popcorn."

He nods, looking down, noticing you have a bowl of popcorn. Now he knows your favourite snack. Bingo, again!

You relax for a little while, scrolling on your phone as you chew on some popcorn while Simon takes sips of his drink here and there.

You come off your phone and hear your mother coming into your room. You have no time to prepare yourself or to even warn Simon, but he's already looking at her.

"Hi sweet girl!" Your mother exclaims happily, entering the room, hands on her hips. "How was school-" she cuts herself off, finally noticing Simon. She grins. "And who is this handsome boy?"

"Mom!" You scold, stepping off your bed, ready to usher her out, but she pulls you into a hug, kissing your cheek. You turn back at Simon, and he's gazing with a gentle expression, happy to see you and your mother's bond. "His name is Simon," you respond, pulling out of the hug.

Simon feels a slight blush form on his cheeks, shy once more. Your mom stops gazing at him too fondly for your liking and whispers in your ear, "he's a sweet one, I can tell."

You smile at her and glance back at Simon. "He's helping me with Math," you reveal.

Your mother's face brightens. "That's amazing, honey! Anyways, I'll leave you two to it, don't forget to lock the door-"

"Mom," you scold firmly this time. You love her dearly and you know she can tell that you like Simon.

She winks at you and leaves. You close the door and lock it. Simons muscles tense. You locked it? He doesn't want to think any further but he can see a blush on your face too.

『★』

Two hours. Two whole hours, Simon has spent one on one, simply inches away from each other. He easily covers his straining cock by having the popcorn bowl in front of it. He holds back jolts when you reach your hand for a snack.

You spent half the time looking at him and the other half wondering how his voice is so matured and dreamy. You did all the questions from your homework book and you played dumb on a few so he could lean in and explain it.

Simon grew comfortable in your presence. You are warm, soft and gentle. Everything he loves is you.

The thing he didn't expect at all was when you kissed him. You fucking kissed him. You and him! Kissing! He was explaining the most boring equation of all, leaning in more close, taking the pencil from your hand, your hands brushing together. He talks and continues talking when you catch gazes, noses nearly touching.

He wasn't sure whether Math turned you on? Or having someone tell you what to do? He was completely at loss, but once your lips touched his, the gates of heaven opened. You tasted of strawberries, sweet and addictive.

It was such a brief kiss, lasting a few seconds at most. His jaw goes slack afterwards. It was just a kiss, you don't want anything else. Maybe your thanking him for helping you? Both your hands stayed down at your lap, same with his. He's afraid if he touched you, he would never let go.

Should he confess? You've been staring dumbly at each other for about 30 seconds now.

"You're getting the hang of everything," he whispered smoothly. You sigh, feeling yourself growing wet. He was so good-looking and kind, too kind. He was huge, height and muscle wise, but his hands were so gentle.

In the moment, you place the popcorn on your beside table and climb on his lap. His eyes blow wide open as you take his face and lock your lips together once more. He moans into the kiss, making you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.

He opens his legs, hands hesitantly holding onto your waist. Should he push you away or hold you closer? You deserved so much better than him. He's never kissed anyone before, and he's probably doing horrible. But he picks option two, he pulls you closer, fingertips pawing at your waist. He was right, warm, and soft.

You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, poking your tongue into his mouth, and he let's you, opening his lips, getting drunk off your taste. You sigh into the kiss. He's really good. You wonder how many girls he's been with, jealousy plaguing your mind.

You grind down on him, hips moving back and forth, needy to calm down your pulsing clit. He was rock solid. You swallow up his strangled moan, hips bucking up into yours like a pathetic mess.

Your hands move behind you, taking his hands and placing them on your asscheeks. He squeezes, becoming lost in everything you're doing. He wants to be in your mind, what are you thinking right now?

He pulls away and you look at him confused. His expression was pure pleasure. "Shit, no- fuck-" he groans, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

"What's wrong?" You speak softly, stroking his hair. Due to you leaning more down, your clothed pussy was right against him. He felt his stomach tighten, pleasure rippling through his body. Don't cum, don't you fucking dare, Simon. If you speak once more with that honey voice of yours he's done for.

"Simon?" You whisper, hearing his breathing come out in quick pants. He whines into your shoulder, and you stare at your wall, completely confused. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you down onto him as he jerks his hips up a few times, riding out his pleasure.

"Are you..." you pause, thinking about the situation. You saw he was hard, it was obvious with the grey sweatpants he was wearing. But did he seriously just cum under a minute of kissing?

You wait until his breathing goes normal, his body relaxing. You try to get up off him, but he holds onto you tightly.

"I'm sorry," he speaks, the most embarrassed he's ever been. He's made you uncomfortable. He knows it. A disgusting pervert, that's what he is. He pulls his head from your neck, missing the smell of you. He looks up at you half-lidded.

Your hands stroke his cheeks. You grin. "Did you cum?" You speak gently.

He swallows, wanting to look away, blushing furiously. "...yes."

"Don't think you weren't so sneaky with the popcorn bowl," you respond, laughing as you watch his reaction to you catching him out.

He groans, resting his head against yours. He's dreading at the thought of letting you go. The prettiest, sweetest girl ever. So soft and warm, he thinks, sighing.

You laugh, making his head snap up at the sound. "Thank you."

He wants to throw himself off a cliff. He said that out loud. For the love of-

"I take care if my skin," you respond, cupping his face, "all over."

He feels himself grow hard again and that's when he can't be close to you anymore. Crossing boundaries is something he doesn't do, especially around you.

You yelp as he lifts you off him, not a muscle straining, carrying you like your as light as a feather. He places you on the bed and he stands up, covering the dark patch on the crotch of his sweatpants.

You giggle, covering your mouth. "I can give you a t-shirt of mine to cover up."

He nods. "Thanks."

You get up, grabbing a random t-shirt and handing it to him. You gaze up at him, tilting your head. He didn't understand how you were looking at him so happily, he was an asshole to you and was disrespectful-

"Would you like a ride?" You question.

He allows his eyes to admire you for a while before responding. "It's okay, my house is just five minutes away."

"It is?" You question, your smile widening.

He swallows. Damn you, you're teasing him. "See you tomorrow," he grumbles, walking to your door.

"Wait!" You exclaim, grabbing his book bag and handing it to him. You lean up, holding the back of his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

His right hand itches forward to hold you, but he stops himself. No, you've already taken enough from her. What have you given her? The fucking creeps.

He simply nods, keeping his feelings to himself and walks down the hall. It takes every cell in his body to not look back at your face. He can feel your gaze trailing on him.

"Thanks for letting me stay," he thanks your mother, giving her a nod. But she squeals, hugging him close.

"My little love likes you, I can tell," she speaks hushed, not wanting you to hear. Don't give him hope, don't. His mind still races, even your mom can see it, your gaze with more shine as you look at Simon.

He nods again, brain running a million miles an hour to even form a sentence. He walks away from the kitchen and leaves through the door. He closes it behind him and walks down the drive.

He waits until he's completely off the property before grinning and laughing, all while holding your t-shirt to his crotch. The street is quiet, not a soul around. He walks away, an extra leap in his step, happiness fulfilling him.

All in one day, you met up with him, you drove him to your house, you studied in your room, you kissed and he... he cringed hard, not wanting to think about it. You had him wrapped around your finger. He keeps smiling, though. Next Thursday, he'll be with you again.

『★』

EEEEK SO CUTE!!

Guys, Simon is NOT a perv!! I just wanted to include his conflicted thoughts because he loves her so much and doesn't want to make her uncomfortable 🤧. I'm not sure how many parts I'm hoping on doing, mayyyyybe 4... or 5... 😙. For you smut girlies, yes, there WILL be smut in upcoming parts and I hope my writing will be up to your expectations. Have a lovely day💗

Also!! Please note I am not trying to sexualise the characters at all, they will be turning 18 soon and it isn't a shock to anyone that they are doing these kinds of this at 17🤭

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #ghost cod #ghost #simon riley #simon riley x you #fluff #new series #cute #konigsluvr

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lanadelnegan · 8 months

Text

My Past, My Future - Part 5 (Final part)

Negan x Reader x Daryl

part four here / part one here

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst

Note: I'm sorry this took so long for me to post. Been kinda out of it lately, but probably gonna start posting regularly again.

Red = Negan / Blue = Daryl / Pink - Reader

"Negan..." Your jaw lowers slightly in disbelief as you look up into his tired eyes. Before your brain has time to stop you, you lunge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and inhaling the familiar smell of him. "God I am so glad you're okay." A tear falls from your cheek as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck and holds you tight.

Pulling back slightly after a moment too long, you clear your throat awkwardly and drop your hands to your sides. You quickly wipe the tear slipping down your cheek as Negan tilts his head at you empathetically. "Baby.."

"No..." You shake your head, remembering how Negan left you - alone and worried to death. "Negan, I - I don't understand. Why? Why did you leave?" You ramble, letting the hurt and anger wash over you all over again. "I looked for you for three weeks straight. I didn't eat.. didn't sleep.. just cried until I couldn't anymore."

"I saw you two.. kissing.. I thought -"

"You thought wrong, Negan. I wanted it to be you. I told Daryl that after the kiss. I came back to Alexandria that night to tell you, and you - you were gone. How could you do that to me? Just leave and not even look back like I never meant anything to you?"

"C'mon, You know that's not true... Was I supposed to just stay there and fuckin' watch you be with him?!"

Before you can respond, the front door swings open behind you and Daryl quickly appears at your side, wrapping his arm protectively around your waist.

Negan scoffs, glancing down at Daryl's hand gripping you possessively. "Seriously? You two are a thing now, huh? And you expect me to believe you were gonna fuckin' choose me?"

"Believe what you want. It's the truth. Not that it matters anymore. You left. You made your decision."

"Yeah." Negan nods. "I guess you did too."

"You dunno what the hell you're talkin' about. Got no right to talk to her like that when you just up and left." Daryl's jaw clenches as he glares at Negan.

"Seems like it worked out for you. I dunno why you're fuckin' complainin'."

"Cuz I'm not selfish. I wanted her to by happy."

"And I'm selfish? For leaving behind the love of my fucking life just so I wouldn't get in the way of her and another man!? If anyone's selfish it's you! Throwing a fit because the girl you were too scared to admit your feelings to wanted me and not you."

You grab Daryl's wrist, pulling him back as he lunges forward at Negan. "Enough! This is too much. I can't - I can't deal with this right now." You cry as both men reach out to comfort you.

Negan lets out a long sigh. "Look, it's getting dark. And I know you're tired. Let's call it a night and sort this out tomorrow."

Daryl hesitantly nods, accepting Negan's offer when you look to him for an answer and you both follow Negan into the house. It's old and wooden and Negan's smell fills the air. Your heart aches at the thought of Negan here by himself all this time... he is here by himself right?

"Do you.. live here alone?" You ask, looking around for any signs of other company.

"Nah. Girlfriend should be back any minute."

You roll your eyes at the teasing tone of his voice, trying to hide your smile when he winks at you.

"Hungry?" He points behind himself to the kitchen.

"No.. thanks. Just tired."

"You two can take the bedroom.. I'll sleep out here on the couch. Just let me clean up and change first." Negan says before heading to his bedroom. "Make yourselves at home." He calls out before shutting his door.

Six months ago you were confessing your love for each other and having sex on your couch. Now he's offering up his bed to you and another man? Daryl rests his hand on your lower back and you turn around to hug him, laying your head on his chest.

"Daryl.. I want you to know you have nothing to worry about. We'll leave in the morning."

"Not worried." He reassures you by planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. He knows he is, but the last thing he wants is to put more stress and pressure on you right now.

Negan enters the room again, announcing his presence with an awkward clearing of his throat. "Room's ready. Changed the sheets."

Daryl leads the way, bumping past Negan rudely as he disappears into the master bathroom. You walk past Negan, brushing your hand against his before he gently wraps his hand around your wrist and looks down at you. "The idea of you in my bed with another man fucking infuriates me. Everything I do.. everything I did.. was for your happiness. Not mine... Just so you know." His hazel eyes fall to your lips for a moment before he slowly looks back up into your eyes. You restrain yourself from kissing him, remembering the way his soft lips felt against yours as his stubble pricked at your face. You can't deny you miss kissing him. Having long deep conversations with him.. Fucking him. All your memories together flow through your mind as you stare up at him.

"Are you happy with him, y/n?" Negan's eyes dart back and forth between yours.

"...Yes."

"Good..." He nods before walking away and you watch him sink to the couch as you enter his bedroom. You find Daryl already laying in bed and immediately climb in the bed behind him to comfort him. You know this must be difficult for him. You nuzzle your face into the back of his neck. "Baby.. I told you not to worry."

He doesn't say anything as you run your fingers comfortingly through his thick strands of hair. "I love you, Daryl."

"You love him too." He says matter-of-factly.

You don't respond, knowing you'd be lying if you tried to argue with him. So instead, you wrap your arm around him and settle into the sheets. The pillowcase smells like Negan as you shut your eyes and drift off quickly, dreaming of a world where you don't have to choose between the two men you'd die for.

As soon as Daryl hears your light snore, he slips out of bed, quietly finding his way into the living room where Negan is wide awake on the couch staring at the ceiling.

"We need to talk."

Negan's chest rises and falls as he lets out a long sigh. "Nothin' to say."

"Oh.. now you wanna stay quiet?"

"Now you wanna fuckin' talk?"

Daryl ignores Negan's comeback, sitting in a chair across from the couch. A long moment passes before Daryl finally speaks again.

"I know you love y/n. I know you've changed. But I'll never forget what you've done. When we came back to Alexandria and realized you were gone... I hoped you'd never come back."

Negan huffs, leaning back further into the couch before Daryl continues.

"Until I saw how much it broke her. She wouldn't eat. Wouldn't sleep. Unless I made her. Was so worried about her I couldn't let her outta my sight. You did that to her."

Negan gulps down, fighting back tears as he hears how much he hurt you.

"And for some stupid reason.. she still loves you."

Negan scoffs, shaking his head slightly before gazing back up at the ceiling. "...When Lucille passed, I knew I wouldn't be able to love anyone the way I loved her. Lucille was.. my everything. Hell, named a fuckin' baseball bat after her just so I wouldn't have to say goodbye... You know where that bat is now?"

Daryl grunts, waiting for Negan's answer. Negan's head nods towards the fireplace, as they watch the wood crack underneath the flames for awhile.

"I said goodbye to Lucille that day because I finally found someone I could be happy with again... When I made the decision to leave, that was for y/n. Not for me. I knew you'd be there to take my place, and I thought that's what she fuckin' wanted. But me? I didn't eat either. Didn't sleep. Worried about her every day. Still fuckin' do."

Daryl's head drops forward as his elbows rest on his knees, carefully taking in Negan's words.

"She misses you."

"Why are you tellin' me this?"

"Cause I want the same thing as you. Just want her to be happy."

"So what? You're.. giving her back to me?" Negan's head shakes sarcastically, mocking the idea.

"In your dreams.... What I'm sayin' is, we love her and she loves us. Why make her choose?"

Negan's nose scrunches as he looks to Daryl, sitting up now and leaning forward. "Wait, wait, wait. You're not serious. Are you seriously suggesting a... throuple?"

"Nah. I ain't gay." Daryl grunts. "It's not about me and you. Just her."

"Too bad. Thought you were finally comin' around." Negan raises his brows suggestively, making Daryl stand and roll his eyes annoyed. He stops at the bedroom door, looking back to Negan expectantly. "You comin'?"

They both quietly enter the bedroom and slide in bed on either side of you. Still asleep, you snuggle against the warm body in front of you, roaming your hand along his stomach before stopping suddenly, realizing it's not Daryl. Your eyes jolt open to meet Negan's gaze in the dim lit room as he smirks down at you.

"Wha-"

"It's okay, babe." Daryl whispers in your ear from behind.

"You still love me, baby?" Negan asks, tilting your chin up and hovering his lips over yours.

You answer him by pressing your lips to his, closing the small gap. You can't help the involuntary moan that escapes your mouth as you taste him again for the first time in so long.

Negan's hand cups the back of your neck, bringing you closer as he deepens the kiss and flicks his tongue against yours. His mouth opens slightly as a throaty groan escapes and you almost whimper at how turned on you are. Finally turning your attention to Daryl behind you, your arm reaches behind you to grip his hair and pull him in for a kiss. He kisses you back hungrily as his rough hand glides down the side of your body, tracing your curves before reaching your ass and firmly squeezing.

After a moment, you pull away from his mouth to adjust yourself, leaning up for a moment to remove your shirt and bra before laying flat on your back between the two of them.

You stare vacantly at the ceiling, blinking a few times as you attempt to wake yourself from the obvious dream you must be having. But to no avail, your men remain pressed against your body as they nip at your skin and tease you with their fingers.

Shifting lower in the bed, they both take a hardened nipple into their mouth, making your head push into the pillow below you as you bite your lip to suppress your moan.

Negan flicks his tongue lightly over the sensitive bud, while Daryl's lips suction around the other, sucking over and over. You can't hide your noises anymore as you let them hear what they are doing to you. "Ohh my god. Fuck... that feels good."

Negan grins, letting his teeth gently squeeze your nipple before lowering his hand. He easily pops open the button on your jeans before roughly pushing them down your legs. Daryl raises to his knees, helping you get your pants and underwear off your ankles until you're completely bare in front of them.

You've been with them both one on one on multiple occasions, but this feels.. much more intense with both of them at the same time.

As Daryl bends down, getting ready to position himself to eat your pussy, Negan stops him. "Look man, not tryna be selfish here. But I've been deprived of that pussy for way too long. So please, allow me." He pleads.

Daryl glares at Negan for a moment before finally moving out of his way and letting him devour your cunt. Negan's face is buried between your legs the second Daryl gives him the go ahead and your jaw lowers as you make an o-shape with your lips at how good his mouth feels. His stubble tickles your inner thighs while his tongue repeatedly flicks deep inside of you.

"Fuck!" He comes up for air, before pressing his nose to your hole and inhaling the smell of you. "Goddamn I missed this sweet pussy."

"Move." Daryl demands, taking Negan's place and tossing your legs over his shoulders. His fingers spread your pussy lips apart, allowing him better access to your clit and sucking it harshly, urging you to orgasm.

Your gaze is focused on Negan as he stands by the bed, quickly discarding his clothes.

"Daryl!" You moan his name as your orgasm rushes through you, letting your eyes stay locked on Negan's, hoping to bring out his possessive side. A smirk appears on Negan's face as he chuckles darkly, knowing you're trying to make him jealous.

Just as Daryl comes up for air, wiping your juices from his chin, the bed dips as Negan crawls over you, taking your lips in his.

"You tryin' to tease me, baby? Cause it's fuckin' working."

He kisses you rhythmically before pulling on your lower lip with teeth and grinning at you. While you're busy locking tongues with Negan, Daryl positions himself on his back beside you. "Come mere baby. Need you."

You roll over on top of Daryl, letting your knees rest on either side of him as you hover your wet opening over his hard length and slide down slowly and completely, filling your cunt to the brim as your head falls back in pleasure.

Negan settles in behind you, bumping his hard cock against your ass. His hand wraps around your long strands of hair as he pulls, bringing your head back further and exposing the front of your neck.

Chills run down your spine when Negan whispers throatily in your ear. "Think you can take us both sweetheart?"

You answer him with a frantic nod and he chuckles, biting at the sensitive spot behind your ear and making chills spread over your arms.

"Fuck. Bend over him. Now." Negan grunts, pushing your back until you're laying over Daryl with his cock still inside you.

Negan's hand spreads one of your ass cheeks as he leans back slightly, watching you slide up and down on Daryl's cock. "Goddamn. You are creaming all over his fuckin' dick, darlin'." Negan's thumb reaches out, gathering a line of your juices from Daryl's shaft and bringing it to his mouth. He groans at the taste, eyes rolling in the back of his head as he sucks his own thumb. "Fuck." He whispers, dropping his thumb to your tight asshole now and circling it slowly. "Where do you want me baby?" He asks, pushing this thumb through your tightness. You cry out at the unfamiliar feeling.

"In.. in my pussy." You whine.

"Yeah? Such a big girl, so confident that you can take two big cocks in your little cunt at the same time." Negan chuckles darkly, pulling his finger out of your ass and rubbing his tip through your folds from behind as Daryl's breathes loud and heavy while you ride him.

Negan's hand grips your waist tightly, holding you in place as he guides his cock to your already filled hole. He slides his tip along Daryl's length before ultimately pushing through and burying himself deep inside you. Daryl grunts, adjusting slightly at the feeling of Negan's dick against his own.

You cry out as your walls are stretched further than they've ever been, and the thought of your men rubbing their cocks together inside of you makes your stomach flutter.

"Oh my goddd." You cry, overwhelmed at the intensity of being so full. Not only are your walls stretched to their limit, but both of them are painfully deep. Pressure and heat build in your abdomen as you feel yourself embarrassingly close to coming already.

“Holy shit, feels so fuckin’ good.” Negan whimpers, dropping his head back heavily as he thrusts into you.

Daryl’s jaw clenches as he stares up at you through glazed over eyes. “Is it too much babe? Tell us to stop if you need-“

“No. Please. Please don’t stop.” You beg, crashing your lips against Daryl’s as you moan into his mouth. Negan brings his hand down roughly, smacking your ass cheek and making you yelp into Daryl’s mouth.

Negan grunts, grabbing the back of your hair possessively and pulling your back against his chest. Your head turns as he kisses your lips sloppily from the side, bringing his hand around to wrap firmly around your throat as his throaty whisper flows in your ear. “I might be willing to share, but kissing another man when I’m balls deep in this cunt? Not gonna fuckin’ happen, doll.”

From this angle, one of their tips press repeatedly into just the right spot, making your cheeks burn hot. And Negan’s filthy words are just what you need to send you over the edge.

"Daryl! ... Negan! Fuuuck." You scream out, feeling warm liquid rush out of you. Both men groan at the feeling of you soaking their cocks as Negan's moans become faster and louder and Daryl grows quieter - an indicator that he's close.

"Come in me..Please.” You breathe out.

"Who?" Both men say in unison.

"..Both."

"Can't hold it anymore. I'm comin' baby. I'm fuckin' coming. Ahhh, fuuuuck." He lets out a long groan, spilling deep inside of you.

Daryl groans at the intense feeling of yours and Negan’s warm liquids surrounding his cock. He bites his bottom lip as he shoots his load in you, following each pulse of his dick with a mix of raspy whimpers and moans.

Negan slides out of you as you lift yourself off Daryl, falling to the bed next to him. When Negan joins you on the other side, you lace your fingers in both of their hands as you lay there out of breath.

"What the hell just happened?" You chuckle, not able to hide the ridiculous smile on your face.

"We don't wanna make you choose. Just want you to be happy. If you want us both, you've got us."

"But.. that's.."

Negan leans in, kissing your cheek before settling into the sheets and closing his eyes. "There's no rules in the apocalypse, baby. Shoulda learned that a long time ago."

tagging my babies: @loganlostitall @chaospossum @negansbabydoll66 @redqueenphoenix @n3g5nx @crustyweirdo @youngpersonaathletebear @sadgirlzluvdilfs @ilovebill-and-gustav @neganscumbucket @manipulatorpoem @im-a-goddamn-cat @raininhell @mahogany-cherry-wine @daryldixmedown@munsonslovergirl @sanctuaryforthelost @thelauraborealis @carlgrimesbbg @c3linesworld @blueheisenbergtragedy @dekuumademecumm @midnight-dixon @arthi-s

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clockwork-ashes · 2 months

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All You Have Is Your Fire - Part V

Find Part I here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge, huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who literally deserves all the credit and whose post inspired me to start writing this. I could not stop thinking about this head canon, and it was so kind of you to let me try and make a story from it :) And a huge thank you to everyone reading!

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe

Part VI >>

Jesminda had been killed on a night like this, Lucien thought.

The sky had been clear of any clouds, a blue so deep it was nearly violet. Stars had sparkled to life in the distance, and Lucien had been able to see them, jewel-bright, when he had looked out of the arched windows of the throne room.

His father had been wearing a crown of golden oak leaves, his brothers had held him down with rough hands, and Lucien had begged for his lover’s life to be spared.

Lucien had turned his head in the end, a betrayal in itself, but watching Jesminda’s execution would have been unbearable. Her screams, sharp and grating like knives on marble, still haunted his worst nightmares. Lucien knew he had failed Jesminda then, the female he had claimed with such certainty as his mate.

When the High Lord’s guards had taken him from the dungeons, Lucien had been quick to think that Eris had been unable to convince their father of sending him back to the Night Court. The Mother’s scales of justice balancing once more for what happened to Jesminda, a sense of fairness to it all.

Not for a moment had Lucien even considered that Elain, lovely and quiet and sheltered Elain, had prompted his release from the suffocating cell in the deepest parts of the Forest House.

Alarm choked him at the feeling of Elain pulling at the thread connecting them, horror gripping him as the memories of Jesminda flashed clear as river water in his mind.

Lucien’s eyes met Elain’s from across the room and her unease washed over him.

She looked out of place in Autumn, the light blue dress she wore more fitting in Spring or Day, Lucien thought. Loose curls framed her beautiful face, lips parting in surprise and relief. Her slippered feet made no sound as she took a few careful steps towards him, eyes flicking desperately from his injuries to his bound wrists.

Elain was an excellent actress, Lucien noticed. If not for the emotions of dread and apprehension flooding their bond, even Lucien would have been convinced at how well she played the part of a concerned mate.

“Lucien,” Elain called, her voice cracking in distress.

The way his name rolled off her tongue clashed loudly in Lucien’s ears, metal against metal. He wanted to be near her, he wanted her to be as far away from Autumn as possible. Both reactions warred within his mind.

Why was Elain in the Autumn Court?

Lucien could not find it in him to believe that Feyre and Nesta would have let their sister throw herself into unquestionable danger for a male she barely talked to. Rhysand must have considered him a very important emissary if he was willing to risk Elain’s life.

Elain looked like she would rush to him, and Lucien wondered if she could feel the bond’s pull just as he did. Lucien only noticed that Eris was standing beside Elain when his eldest brother put out his arm to prevent her from moving.

He was unable to stop the low snarl from escaping his lips, the guards tightening their hold on him. Who else would be to blame for Elain’s arrival in the Forest House but Eris, Lucien asked himself. He silently prayed that if anything happened to his mate, Rhysand would do him the favour of ending Eris’s miserable existence.

“Look, Lucien,” his father’s voice rang out in the near-empty space. “Your mate has come for you.” Lucien turned his attention to Beron with great effort. He did not want to take his eyes off Elain for a moment, barely trusting his own senses.

His father’s grin was cruel, almost knowing, as he waited for Lucien to respond. When Lucien kept quiet, Beron shrugged, not deterred by the silence. Lucien saw as his mother tightened her grip on the armrest of her throne, knuckles white.

“Your mate wrote to Eris, her words bleeding with concern for you, my son.” Lucien had to hold his back straight so as not to rear back at the words. Beron had not addressed him as such in decades.

Lucien was trying to piece everything together, knowing that he was missing valuable information that would prove navigating the conversation with his father difficult. He cursed Eris for not having warned him at least.

“Being apart pains us,” Lucien offered, hoping it would satisfy Beron. He glanced at Elain and tried to relax, to calm his nerves. She clung to Eris, surprising Lucien with how trusting she seemed. He had to remind himself that she was merely acting, doing her best to do as the Night Court had obviously pushed her to.

“She thinks she has a claim to you,” Beron shook his head, false sympathy carved into the frown on his face. “But you know Autumn’s laws, an unaccepted mating bond means nothing, a seed not yet planted.”

Lucien responded on instinct, everything about it familiar, as if no time had passed between his exile and his current presence in the throne room. “Yes, High Lord.”

“It was a great betrayal to see you siding with Spring at our border, Lucien,” Beron continued, “but the young lady’s concern for you has been touching.”

“Let her return to Night,” Lucien interrupted, agony clawing at him. To lose a mate would be torture, and he knew his father well enough to guess he would be taking Elain’s life first. “Rhysand would thank you for it.”

Beron replied, bitter but not angry. “You never could hold that tongue.”

“Owing the High Lord of Night and his Lady would be of great use to us,” Eris intervened, his words always holding more weight in their family. Briefly, Lucien was thankful, was reminded of how often Eris had put himself in the way of Beron’s wrath when they were both so much younger.

Beron cast a long look at Eris, clicking his tongue, before he faced his youngest son. “I ask only that you answer one of my questions, Lucien, and I will grant your mate her wish.” Lucien heard Elain’s sharp inhale, but he kept his eyes on Beron. The metal one whirred in anticipation, pausing into place when his father spoke once more. “When is your mating ceremony?”

Lucien felt as though someone had pulled the rug from beneath his feet. He was unsteady, his answer needed to be quick, natural. “We wanted a spring wedding,” he blurted, the response dragged out of him. He did not know what possessed him to refer to it as a marriage, but he would have bet his life on the fact that Elain would not have talked about a mating ceremony.

Beron raised a dark eyebrow, but by the way his frown deepened, Lucien guessed the response was correct. “We’ve set the date for the equinox,” Lucien added as he felt relief from the bond, Elain’s emotions influencing his own. “On a night with a full moon.”

Lucien watched as the Lady of Autumn reached for her husband’s arm, her fingers clawing at the sleeve. “Beron,” she murmured, a quiet plea for mercy.

Lucien was unsure if his father had even heard his mother, but he turned away from Lucien, a clear dismissal, as he addressed Elain. “In Autumn, marrying on the night of a full moon brings blessings.” Beron cocked his head to the side like a wolf, “Did you know?”

Elain shook her head in response, choosing honesty. Lucien could barely see her the way Eris was standing, as if he too was ready for the worst case scenario.

Time itself seemed to still as they all waited for Beron to declare his wishes. Lucien attempted to ease Elain’s nerves, tried to comfort her through the bond, but he was not sure if he was successful. Moments or hours could have passed, and Lucien would not have noticed.

“My son,” the voice of the High Lord, never that of a father. His words the toll of a bell as he spoke to Lucien once more, breaking his silence. Beron stood from his throne, “We should let bygones be bygones, what happened all those years ago was unfortunate, but your mate is here now.”

Lucien wondered if Beron understood just how much those words made his blood boil. Lucien had begged for Jesminda’s life to be spared, had claimed she was his mate at the time. He had been so sure, and it was like a blow to have his father mention it. Lucien could feel his face heating with anger, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Let this be my gift to you,” Beron gestured with his hand to the windows, stars winking. “Have your wedding in Autumn, Lady Elain Archeron of the Night Court, and I will lift your mate’s exile. He would be free to come and go as he pleased.” The High Lord smiled, wicked, “and it would be a great honour to see one of my son’s married.”

Beron did not even look at Lucien, embers in his eyes flaring as he focused solely on Elain. Lucien wanted to scream.

Elain flashed his father a smile, it seemed so genuine that Lucien was taken aback. “How kind,” she stepped past Eris, curtsying elegantly. “You have my thanks.”

Elain sounded so very fae, Lucien remarked. With a wave of his father’s hand, the guards removed the binds from Lucien’s wrists. As soon as Lucien was freed from his restraints, Eris moved out of Elain’s way so she could run to him.

She threw her arms around Lucien’s neck as though she had done it countless times. He could do nothing but put his hands to Elain’s waist.

“I was so worried,” she spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear, but it was still soft, as though she had only meant for the words to be heard by Lucien’s ears.

Like she was his lover, Lucien breathed in deeply, held Elain close. “Everything’s alright,” he murmured, lips pressed to her hair.

We both lie so well.

The thought was like a knife to the chest, but Lucien hoped that the two of them had been able to dispel Beron of any doubts. Lucien knew his mother was convinced, he could see it in her russet eyes. For a moment, Lucien felt guilty, but he pushed the thought aside.

Elain was the first to pull away, a scarlet blush staining her pale cheeks. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear with one hand, but the other held tightly to Lucien’s. It was smart of her to look embarrassed, Beron would have found their affection distasteful otherwise.

Lucien wondered if Elain knew how perfectly she had played her part, that she could have convinced kings to kneel if she set her mind to it.

Elain certainly seemed to have the High Lord of the Autumn Court wrapped around her finger.

“Take some time with your mate, Lucien,” his father declared. “Two nights from this one, we can celebrate your return home.”

Lucien wanted to be back in the human lands, he wanted to be in the home he had made with Jurian and Vassa, the unlikeliest of friends. Instead, Lucien bowed his head. “Thank you, High Lord.”

Beron angled his chin, “The guards can show you to your rooms.” Flames flashed in his father’s eyes, familiar enough to make Lucien flinch. “I must speak with Eris.”

The guards pushed Lucien forward, the gesture rude but not painful. They kept a respectful distance from Elain, and Lucien wondered if they had simply been too charmed by her to even consider treating her poorly.

Together, they were escorted from the throne room, Elain still holding tightly to Lucien’s hand.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #eris vanserra #beron vanserra #the lady of autumn #autumn court #i wanted to include more in this part but it was too long #elain and lucien talk more in the next one #is this a slow burn? yes i think it is #ashes writes sometimes #all you have is your fire

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months

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Kinkslump Linkdump

This is my dozenth linkdump! The world comes at you fast, and even though I'm writing 4-5 essays a week for this newsletter, many's the week that ends with more stray links than will fit in that format. Here's the previous ones:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

I managed to turn out five posts last week, despite being on tour with my latest novel, The Lost Cause, a hopeful solarpunk novel endorsed by Rebecca Solnit, Bill McKibben and Kim Stanley Robinson. The tour went great – the book's now a national bestseller on the USA Today list! Here's an essay I wrote explaining the structure of the feeling that the book is meant to convey:

https://www.torforgeblog.com/2023/11/14/cory-doctorow-the-swerve/

This is a climate emergency novel full of rising seas, terrible storms, wildfires and zoonotic plagues, and yet – it is a hopeful novel. What makes it hopeful? It depicts a future in which we are treating these phenomena with the gravitas and urgency they warrant, with our whole society's focus shifting to moving coastal cities inland, weatherizing and solarizing our housing, and creating permanent housing for internal refugees.

While it would be infinitely preferable to live in a world where none of that is necessary, that's not the world we have. This is an sf novel, not a fantasy novel, so all the climate harms we've locked in through decades of expensively procured inaction are present. But the difference between disaster and catastrophe is how and whether we address those harms. Sure, this is a world where superstorms wipe away whole cities and Miami is a drowned mangrove swamp, but it's also a world in which oil executives do not chair UN climate summits or complain that oil companies are being "unjustly vilified":

https://www.cnbc.com/2023/11/27/opec-says-oil-industry-unjustly-vilified-ahead-of-climate-talks-.html

I write a lot, and it's not just this newsletter. Writing transports me from my anxieties and aches. That's how I came to write nine books during lockdown ("when life gives you SARS, make sarsaparilla"). Lost Cause was one of three books I published in 2023.

I'm going to greet 2024 with another novel, The Bezzle, a sequel to 2023's Red Team Blues, about the hard-charging, high-tech forensic accountant Marty Hench:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

The Bezzle is a story about the shitty technology adoption curve – the way that the worst technologies we have are first rolled out on the people least able to complain about them. After these bad technologies have their sharp edges sanded down on the bodies of prisoners, refugees and kids, they move up to blue collar workers and discount store shoppers, and so on, until we're all living under their thumb.

In The Bezzle, a dear friend of Marty finds himself serving a long sentence in a privatized California prison that flips from one private equity fund to the next, each with even worse, more extractive ways to use technology to bleed prisoners and their families dry. You can read the opening scenes in a just-published excerpt on Tor Books's site:

https://www.torforgeblog.com/2023/11/20/excerpt-reveal-the-bezzle-by-cory-doctorow/

The period immediately before a book's publication is always a tense one, as the first reviews trickle in. Library Journal's Marlene Harris is the first out of the gate, with a spectacular review:

https://www.libraryjournal.com/review/the-bezzle-1802415

Marty’s reminiscences range from obscure financial machinations to heaping helpings of social commentary but always move the underlying thriller story forward in a backwards heist tale that delivers a righteously satisfying ending to the surprise of both the reader and the villain. This novel, like his previous outing, rides on Marty’s voice. He has a jaundiced view of everything, but he tells it with such style and verve that readers are caught up and ride along on the surface until the shark beneath the water jumps out and bites the villain where it hurts.

I'm headed into Skyboat Media's studios on Monday with @wilwheaton to record the audiobook for this one, directed as ever by the amazing Gabrielle de Cuir. Keep your eyes peeled for a presale crowdfunder in January!

I am often asked how I decide when to present an idea through fiction and when to do so with nonfiction. The answer is a complicated one, and I got into it in some detail on Nature's Working Scientist podcast, in discussion with Paul Shrivastava:

https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-023-03394-8

When it comes to politics, fiction and nonfiction are intensely complementary. Nonfiction can convey the data about a social phenomenon, but fiction can convey the meaning of the data. It's one thing to see a chart about inequality, and another to inhabit it through fiction. Marty Hench's narrative adventures are a way into the feeling of living in a corrupt oligarchy.

There are other ways into that feeling, of course. Take Barry Bowen's "Lifestyles of the Blessed & Famous: Preacher Homes Sold in 2023" for The Roys Report:

https://julieroys.com/lifestyles-blessed-famous-preacher-homes-sold-2023/?mc_cid=9678383b64

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then carefully staged realtor drone shots ganked from the Redfin listing for a "pastor"'s $3.5m mansion in Newport Beach is a full-on sermon about the corruption of the Hillsong megachurch:

https://www.redfin.com/CA/Newport-Beach/503-30th-St-92663/home/12363926

Narratives and photos are all well and good, but there's always room for some data. The USA's weird breed of federalism and devolved power makes for some very interesting data. Writing for The American Prospect, Paul Starr rounds up several studies evaluating the "natural experiments" created by enacting very different policies in otherwise similar states:

https://prospect.org/health/2023-12-08-life-death-cost-conservative-power/

The data is in: conservativism kills. Living in a red state shortens your life expectancy. The redder the state, the worse it is. The bluer the state, the longer you're likely to live:

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/1468-0009.12469

The exemplars here are Connecticut and Oklahoma, whose life expectancies were at par until they began to diverge in policies. Oklahoma got more conservative, Connecticut got more liberal. Today, the average Oklahoman will pop their clogs at 75.8, while a Connecticutensian can expect 80.7 years.

Different scholars have parsed out different policy outcomes. Giving Medicaid to children, for example, shows benefits for the next 50 years:

https://www.aeaweb.org/articles?id=10.1257/aer.20171671

The big one, of course, is gun control. Here's the topline: "restrictive state gun policies reduce overall gun deaths." Water also wet:

https://journals.lww.com/epidem/fulltext/2023/11000/the_era_of_progress_on_gun_mortality__state_gun.3.aspx

Fact-free spiritual beliefs like "an armed society is a polite society" are key to conservative policymaking. Pesky progressives who confuse the issue with relevant facts are playing dirty, pointing out reality's unfair leftist bias.

But after 40 years of neoliberal deference to corporate power, the worm is turning. Somehow, a world on fire, filled with megapastors in megamansions who brief for lethal policies, has finally inspired a global vibe-shift (and not a moment too soon!). One of the most tangible expressions of that shift is the revival of antitrust, which has been in a coma since the Reagan administration.

All over the world – the EU, the UK, Ireland, Australia, and the USA – there are new competition enforcers challenging corporate power in ways that were unthinkable just a few years ago. If I'd written an enforcer like FTC chair Lina Khan in 2010, critics would have slammed me for wish-fulfillment too unrealistic for science fiction.

But today, Khan is taking big swings at corporate power, fighting against a calcified edifice of decades of bad, pro-monopoly precedent. The pro-monopoly press hate her, which is why the WSJ keeps publishing sweaty op-eds insisting that she is wasting her time and that monopolies are good, actually:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

But she is still out there, fighting for all of us. After a pro-monopoly judge stymied the FTC's bid to block the rotten Microsoft/Activision merger, Khan re-filed, appealing the decision:

https://www.reuters.com/markets/deals/us-ftc-tries-again-stop-microsofts-already-closed-deal-activision-2023-12-06/

Critics insist that she's on a foolish errand, but Khan is tackling the most promising face of a sheer cliff, and the plainly anticompetitive merger between one of the world's largest console makers (a convicted monopolist!) with one of the world's largest games publishers is the right place to start. If she can get her piton into one of the hairline cracks in that face, her arduous climb gains a solid anchor for the next stage of her assent.

Of course, Khan's highest-profile action is her case against Amazon, the omnipresent, dystopian poster-child for enshittification, a platform we can't avoid, but which is so haphazardly policed that the bestselling bitter lemon energy drink you order might be bottled piss harvested from its immiserated drivers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/20/release-energy/#the-bitterest-lemon

In a world of murderous, community-destroying monopolies, Amazon stands out for the sheer number of ways it makes the world worse. Amazon maims its warehouse workers and kills its drivers with impossible quotas. It poisons Black and brown neighborhoods with truck exhaust from its giant depots. It destroys small businesses that sell on its platform. It was part of the studio cabal scheming to destroy actors and writers' livelihoods with unfair contracts and AI. Its audiobook monopoly stole at least $100m from independent authors. It makes goods and services more expensive at every retailer (not just Amazon), and price-gouges on its own storefront:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

Keeping that scam going requires a lot of skullduggery. A new set of leaked internal Amazon documents shed some light on how that inedible sausage gets made:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/wxjbm9/amazon-brags-it-cultivated-california-mayor-with-donations-in-leaked-policy-document

Amazon's "Community Engagement Plan 2024" brags about buying off small-town mayors and astroturf groups in its bid to resist regulations that would limit warehouse delivery van emissions in communities of color (Amazon calls this "philanthropic work"). Coincidentally, that "philanthropy" targeted Perris, a town where residents voted for a warehouse tax to repair the roads that had been trashed by fleets of Amazon vans.

But the real focus of Amazon's "Community Engagement" is California's AB1000, a bill that will limit the construction of supersized, 100k+ sqft warehouses near daycare centers, schools or rec centers. Secondarily, Amazon is hoping to get California to make it easier to advertise alcohol around kids, to "unlock" California's liquor market.

This kind of shameless, mustache-twirling villainry can only go on so long before it meets resistance. One of the longest-running, hardest fought struggles against corporate malfeasance is the farmers' right ro repair fight against John Deere. Deere boobytraps its tractors so that after a farmer repairs a Deere tractor, they have to wait for days, and pay hundreds of dollars, for a Deere technician to come out to the farm and type an unlock code into the tractor's console:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

Despite multiple state right-to-repair initiatives and a pending rulemaking from the FTC, Deere is still fucking around. Now, they've found out. US District Court Judge Iain Johnson just handed Deere a scathing, 89-page memo rejecting the company's bid to kill a class action suit brought by its customers:

https://www.reuters.com/legal/litigation/deere-must-face-us-farmers-right-to-repair-lawsuits-judge-rules-2023-11-27/?ref=404media.co

The memo hearkens back to company founder John Deere, "an innovative farmer and blacksmith who—with his own hands—fundamentally changed the agricultural industry":

https://www.404media.co/a-massive-repair-lawsuit-against-john-deere-clears-a-major-hurdle/

Judge Johnson tells Deere's lawyers that the real John Deere "would be deeply disappointed in his namesake corporation," and calls out their lying. You love to see it.

This kind of thing is happening all over the world as policymakers, regulators and lawmakers take aim at corporate power. The Australian government just announced that it would force Apple to open up iOS to alternative browser engines:

https://open-web-advocacy.org/blog/new-digital-competition-laws-for-australia/

This is obscure and technical, but that's why it's so exciting: rather than mumbling broad platitudes about competition and user choice, the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission's regulation targets a critical leverage point where a small change will deliver huge benefits:

https://www.accc.gov.au/media-release/consumers-and-small-businesses-to-benefit-from-proposed-new-regulation-of-digital-platforms

While there are many browsers in Apple's App Store, they're all just reskinned versions of Safari, all running on the same core engine, Webkit. Webkit is ancient, undermaintained and feature-poor. Crucially, Webkit does not implement the parts of the HTML5 standard needed for WebApps, which would allow app developers a safe channel to offer apps that don't go through Apple's App Store monopoly chokepoint:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/13/kitbashed/#app-store-tax

Now, there's a big jump between announcing this kind of regulation and enacting it. As Mark Nottingham points out, Australia's had an "in principle" commitment to enact a privacy regulation for two successive governments, with no actual regulation in sight:

https://techpolicy.social/@mnot/111546662237364754

So we can't take these announcements as a sign to declare victory and stand down. The policymakers who announce these proposals deserve our accolades for the announcement and they require our constant vigilance until they make good on their promises.

That's the case in Ireland, where the Coimisiún na Meán has just published a fantastic regulatory proposal for recommendation systems, requiring recommenders to be turned off by default and that recommendations based on "political views, sexuality, religion, ethnicity or health" have to be switched off by default:

https://www.cnam.ie/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/Draft_Online_Safety_Code_Consultation_Document_Final.pdf

It's especially significant that this is coming out of Ireland, a corporate crime haven that has successfully lured the world's tech giants into flying its flag of convenience, with the guarantee of tax evasion and lax regulation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

This rule won't enforce itself. It'll require constant vigilance and pressure. There's plenty of ways to do that on a part-time, voluntary basis, but if this kind of thing enflames you enough to make a career out of it, here's a tenure-track job for an infosec professor at Citizen Lab, fearless slayers of high-tech corporate ogres:

https://jobs.utoronto.ca/job/Toronto-Assistant-Professor-Information-Security-ON/576463017/

That's all for this week's linkdump. It's time for me to go hole up in my office and wrap presents. When I do, I'll be tuning into the latest Merry Mixmas MP3 of Christmas mashups from DJ Riko:

http://www.djriko.com/dls/DJ%20Riko%20-%20Merry%20Mixmas%202023.mp3

Riko's Christmas mashups have been part of my holidays for more than two decades now. He's been making them for 22 years! That's a lot of great holiday mashups:

https://www.djriko.com/mixmases.htm

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/09/gallimaufry/#marty-hench-rides-again

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jasmineeeeeeeeesblog · 12 days

Text

I don’t know if anybody reads these anymore 😭 but this is a Klaus imagine. I’m also on Wattpad I’ve written one shots about Jeremiah fisher and Klaus on there. My name is unknown_writ_er if you wanna check it out. I have a few stories I won’t post on here cause they’re fluff but you can check them out if you’d like. Also I’m open to request so just send me them! Also I can write fluff on here but I don’t see a lot of it.

CONTROL

‼️SMUT‼️

Summary: Klaus was busy and you were bored so you thought you’d dance with someone? A dance never hurt anyone…

——————

I spent the whole night sitting down at the party. The whole thing was just for him to make plans and talk to people. I haven't seen Klaus the whole night. Everyone was just dancing and having fun. Klaus invited me as his plus one. He always does that because he always needed me by his side as his last hybird. We weren't dating or anything special. He gets mad though when I talk to other people especially boys because I can get 'attached' to them and spill all his secrets but I honestly didn't care too much about this rule because I honestly liked Klaus. I seen the good out of him through all the bad but at times like this I do get bored.

Damon Salvatore. He walked up to me with his fit and tall figure, Black hair, and blue eyes staring at me. He walked up to me and asked to dance. Dancing wouldn't hurt anybody. I wouldn't catch feelings for Damon he's an ass and he's in-love with Elena. He's probably just tryna to use me to get closer to Klaus but I didn't care I was so bored. I grab his hand and get up a slows song turns on. We dance he his hands on my waist I had my hands on his shoulders and he was smirking at me. I would be lying if I said Damon wasn't hot but I just wasn't attracted to him like that. He kisses my hand then sends me off to go to my next dance partner is was this random guy. I've never seen before. He was just a random new guy.

Then Klaus came and compelled the dude to go away. Then started dancing with me. "Now what did I say Y/N" he says. "It was just a dance" I say rolling my eyes. He grips on my hips harshly. "You still disobeyed me." He says. "It was only once just get over yourself" I say as I walk away. He grabs my hand "go get in the car I will deal with you in a second don't disobey that order" he says sarcastically. I decide to ignore him. I go to the kitchen and get a glass of wine. I then hear Klaus say his goodbyes then leave. I knew he'd be in here in a matter of seconds as he realizes I'm not out in the car. As I expected Klaus was in there in the matter of seconds he grabbed my arm and ran back to the car he threw me in the back seat.

He closed the sliding window that connects the drivers to the passenger. He got in. "Why do you not listen to anything I say" he yells. "Because I was bored and I just wanted to dance I'm not inlove with Damon." I yell back. I've never yelled at him the shock look on his face turned to anger. He pinned me against the seat "DONT ever yell at me again Y/N and I'll make you regret it." He says. "And do exactly what I'm your last hybird you won't kill me since you can't make anymore" I say. "There's things worse than death, love" he says. "But I don't think I'd ever be capable to do those things to you" he mumbles. My hearing going in and out for his low tone. "What did you say." I said. "Nothing" he says. "You know whatever I'm walking home" I say as I get out. "Fine walk home dont be surprised if I don't let you in" he says.

It was cold but it obviously didn't matter I was a vampire. I walked home instead of using my vamp speed because I didn't wanna see Klaus and he probably didn't wanna see me now. I soon get home after 2 hours it was like 11 by time I got home. I sigh as I knock on the door. It was locked of course it was. I just yell "Fine I'll just go to the Salvatore's boarding house" I say as I start to walk away. Before I got to the stairs of the porch I heard the door open and someone grab my arm, slam the door, and pin me against it. It was Klaus with messy hair, eyes bags, his sweatpants hanging low so that can I see his v-line, and his shirt off. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want him right now.

His hands were on the side of my head his body wasn't that close but his face was. I smirked. "Why don't u want me at the Salvatore house so bad" I said. "I already told you" he says. "That can't be the reason you let me in the house after you told me you wouldn't." I say. "You know I could protect myself but you just like to have control over me" I say. He Just stares at me without saying anything. I didn't think I was right so the shock on my face when he didn't disagree or deny it. " oh so that's what it is. You like how you know you could do anything to me at the snap of your finger." I say smirking. I put my hand on his torso. Tracing his abs. His face still staring straight but I could still tell by his eyes I was affecting him. I rubbed my hand further down to dick. He let out a gasp and I could see him get hard. He backed up from me and then kept walking back and forth.

"Y/N stop messing with me" he says staring at me. "Who says I messing with you" I say smirking. "You better lose that attitude you know you're defenseless against me" he says. "Yeah I think you like that. You can control everything I do. You like that I have to listen to you" I say getting closer to him and I push him on the back of the couch and climb on top of him. "I barely touched you and you got hard" I say smirking. He flips us over "you just had a whole thing how I'm in control and now you want to try and be. Not happening love" he says as he holds my wrist in one hand and tears my dress with the other one. He sits up with his legs on either side of my hips and kissy sits admiring me. My arms were still pinned. I managed to get out of it as he wasn't holding that long and I flipped us over. He was just smirking at me amused. I started leaving hickeys down his neck and torso.

(IK that vampires heal quick but just imagine hickeys stay‼️)

As I got to the waistband of his sweatpants. I pulled them down along with his boxers. His dick hit his stomach. I bring my hand to it and start stroking it. He threw his head back. I bring his tip to my mouth and start licking it. I started taking him in my mouth. I took us much as I could then stroked the rest. I kept bobbing my head and Klaus soon grabbed my hair pushing me down more and more. He then pulled me off. I could tell he was about to finish. "Y/n you drive me crazy" he says breathlessly while flipping us back over. He started kissing my neck leaving hickeys all down me. "Now I'm about to fuck you better than anybody can especially Damon." He says as he kisses down to my breasts and unclips my bra. And starts sucking on my nipple. One of his hands slide up to my neck. The other slides down to my panties and slides his hand in. I let out a gasp as he rubbed my clit.

He inserted 2 fingers in me while rubbing my clit. I was moaning. He moved his mouth to my other nipple. When he found my G-spot I screamed his name. He looked up at me and smirked. Then kept going at a fast pace there. He then stopped attacking my breast then kissed me. He took my moaning to slip his tongue in my mouth. "Klaus I'm about-" I was cut off by a moan as he went faster then I finished all over his fingers. He pulled them out then licked the juices off his fingers. He then slid my panties off. Then aligned himself against my entrance. "Is this okay" he whispered in my ear. My breath hitched feeling him so close to my core. "Yes Klaus" I said breathlessly. He slowly pushed into me. He leaned onto my shoulder then slowly starts going in out.

"Faster" I said with a moan. He starts going faster hitting my g-spot. I was scratching his back. He started leaving hickeys on my neck. As he kept going faster he started rubbing my clit as I finished all over his dick. I was sensitive now. He kept going and my legs were shaking. I was squeezing against him he looked like he was about to come undone. He went at a faster pace and I finished for a third time all over his dick then he finished deep inside me then rode out both our highs. He planted a kiss on my forehead then he left I thought he was just gonna leave me here. Was I just a random fuck? He came back with a blanket, a tshirt, and towel. He had put some boxers on. He cleaned me up then threw the tshirt on me then threw the blanket over me then got next to me wrapped his hand around my waist and laid his head on my neck and we fell asleep.

———————

This is more soft version but I could make another story kinda like this and make it rougher if y’all liked.

#vampire diaries #the originals #klaus mikaelson #tvd klaus #elijah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #klaus smut #klaus mikealson x reader #Klaus #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikaelson smut #smut

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