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perlelune · 3 months

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NDA | Coriolanus Snow

When you get hired as a nanny for President Snow and his wife's firstborn, you’re beyond thrilled and grateful. But quickly, the perfect facade melts, revealing the ugly truth of what actually goes on in the Snows' house.

Warnings: NON-CON, Capitol! Reader, Innocent Reader, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Power Imbalance

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your worried eyes track the frenzied glide of the woman’s quill over the notepad. You squint, hoping to discern some of the words she’s scrawling that way, but they are indiscernible…just like the stone-cold expression of the bespectacled woman on the other side of the desk.

She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.

As her sharp green gaze zeroes in on you, you clear your throat and shift in your seat.

She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.

“So what do you think sets you apart from the other applicants?”

You chew on your lip. When you arrived to offer your candidature this morning, you naively believed you’d be early. Instead, you were forced to join the tail end of the massive waiting line stretching far outside the Snows’ estate. It didn’t hit you before that moment, how prized the position is. Each of the women and girls you saw radiated excellent breeding and impeccable manners. Many probably attended the University and could double as a tutor if the need presents itself.

This isn’t your case. Your parents left you and your brother Laertes with nothing when they suddenly passed away in a rebel bombing. You couldn’t blame them. This wasn't the plan. Who plans on dying and leaving their two children to fend for themselves?

Still, you now have a list of bills the length of your arm coupled with a massive mortgage to pay every month. And as Laertes’ sole caretaker, you must ensure you can afford to send him to University once he completes his education in the Academy.

Circumstances denied you that chance. Despite being of university’s age, you couldn’t afford the cost of tuition and had to drop out as soon as you got accepted. You want better for your little brother.

So as soon as you heard the news that President Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew were in search of a nanny for their son Martius, you jumped on the opportunity to apply. You rose before the sun, rummaged through your mother’s closet to find her best dress, and hailed a car to come here.

It’s a long shot, of course. You’re not as polished and impressive as some of the other women. You’re also noticeably younger. But the wages promised alone compelled you to take a chance despite the odds being unfavorable.

Fiddling with your hands, you meet the woman’s impassive stare head-on.

“What sets me apart?” You mull over your answer. You could paint a false, august portrait of yourself, your skills and your accomplishments. Or try to at least.

But what would be the point of pretending to be someone you’re not only to be found out later on? So you elect to tread the path of honesty.

“Nothing,” you say. “But I’m a hard worker. A very hard worker. In fact, I already have three jobs, one at a bakery, another as a clerk in an antique shop and I assist Fabricia Whatnot at her boutique sometimes.” Panic quivers inside you as the woman quickly jots something down on her notepad. You swiftly specify, “...But I’ll quit all of them if I get the position, of course.” You lick your lips as knots tie your stomach. “I can learn everything there is to learn on the spot. I love children, and…” You trail off, gaze traveling to your lap as you muse if you should reveal more. Your fists clench as you add, “I have a little brother who’s a few years older than Martius, and I’m really hoping I get this opportunity so I can give him the life he deserves.”

An unnerving quiet occupies the air. The wait is agony, your nails digging painfully into your palms. The jagged drumming of your heart bleeds inside your ears as she studies you.

Eventually, she leans back in the velvet chair, her face betraying no thought or emotion.

“You’re dismissed,” she says.

Your heart plummets to your feet. You shakily rise, dispirited as you drag your heels towards the door. You steal a glance above your shoulder. The woman’s attention has already drifted away from you as she shouts for the next applicant.

You sourly exit the office. You try to swallow your dejection as you note how many women are still waiting in line, each of them likely more qualified and experienced. It’s obvious you tanked the interview. Shoulders slumping, you take resigned steps through the elegant, palatial hallways of the Snow’s mansion. You get lost in admiring the crystal and gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. There isn’t an inch of the house that doesn’t scream excessive, unattainable wealth.

You take your time soaking it in. Chances are you’ll never step foot in such a place in your lifetime ever again.

Distracted, you don’t notice the person in front of you before it’s too late. You bump straight into a hard, inflexible body.

The sudden collision threatens your balance.

Fingers coil around your wrists as you stagger back, preventing your impending collapse onto the marbled floor.

As your attention drifts skywards, your jaw drops at who fills your vision.

“P-President Snow, my deepest apologies, s-sir,” you stammer, flames licking your cheeks.

As if you didn’t make yourself look dimwitted enough before, you now carelessly crashed into the leader of all of Panem. Just when you thought the day couldn’t possibly get worse.

You take him in. It truly is him. Shock fills you.

Tall and dazzling in a crisp white shirt and crimson vest that hints at his lean physique beneath the clothes, his signature blond waves slicked away from his face, he looks every bit the important figure that he is.

The flickering TV screen you own at home doesn’t do him justice.

A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.

“It’s quite alright. I’m not made of sugar,” he jests.

“No…you’re not, your highness…majesty...I mean sir.”

Your blunder expands his smile. His cerulean gaze drags over your frame.

“Are you here for the nursemaid position?”

“I am, sir.” You unleash a deep exhale, his inquiry tossing salt on the fresh wound. The interviewer clearly wasn’t impressed by your less than stellar performance. Maybe you should have tried to mimic the way the girls with whom you attended the Academy behave more. They carry themselves with such confidence, wading through the world with the certainty of their destinies being secure, bereft of hardships unlike district dwellers.

You envy how carefree they get to be. Everyday you wake up worried you’ll come up short on a bill and you and Laertes will be forced to leave your family home. No matter how diligent you are at work, there never seems to be enough money to sustain the two of you. Even with three jobs, you’re barely eking out a decent living for you and your little brother. Many times, you’ve gone to bed hungry just so Laertes would not.

You don’t even realize tears have filled your eyes to the brim until a handkerchief is daintily pressed into your cheeks.

Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow.

“Thank you,” you exhale, stunned by his kind gesture.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

You search his eyes. Genuine interest lights up his pellucid blue orbs.

Without much thought, you confess, “I just don’t think I did very well with my interview.”

As he scrutinizes you in silence, cocking his head sideways, embarrassment rushes through you.

Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.

“God, I’m so sorry, spilling my problems to you as if you’re not an extremely busy man, sir.”

He shakes his head. “It’s quite alright. And do not count yourself defeated, sweetheart.” Your pulse stutters when he bends over you to whisper, “You may have left a stronger impression than you think.”

He nudges the pocket square between your hands. It’s still damp with your tears. You gape at it in awe. President Snow’s initials are elegantly etched in the left corner of the fabric.

“Here. Keep it. Though I’d much prefer it if you didn’t cry.” He pauses, studying you. “Girls as lovely as you never should.”

His words send your heart into a frenzy. For a while, you’re too stunned to move. You then shake yourself back to reality, noticing you’re now staring at the empty space where he used to stand. He’s gone. You look ahead. He’s already miles away from you, wrapped in conversation with who seems to be an assistant of his.

Your thumbs press against the soft fabric of the pocket square. Cheeks ablaze, you hold it to your nose. It smells like roses, the same delicate scent that wafted from him a few minutes ago. Your back prickles. You pivot and are astonished to find the envious glares of some of the applicants still waiting in line zeroed in on you. Self-conscious, you rush to continue your exit, fleeing away from the hateful stares.

As the outside gates come into sight, you can’t suppress an elated smile. It’s not everyday someone meets President Snow and receives such a gift from him. Shoving the handkerchief in your pocket, you vow to place it somewhere safe and always cherish it.

When you return home, your brother’s already sitting in the living room, his tiny brows scrunched in concentration and his nose buried in his books. Your stomach sinks. Everything you did today was for him. You can’t help but feel you missed out on a huge opportunity, one that’d have changed the course of his life forever. You glance around at the apartment. The walls are crumbling. The wooden floors are creaking. The pipes in the kitchen have been leaking for weeks, a measly bucket you must empty every morning the only thing preventing a flood. And at night, the pitter-patter of rodents’ paws resonates from the ceiling.

Every inch of your family home is in dire need of repairs.

Unfortunately, every penny you earn goes into rent and food, meaning the house falls apart a bit more everyday. Perhaps one day, you and Laertes will awake beneath the rubble of what’s left of your childhood home. Nightmares of that sometimes keep you up at night.

“How was the Academy today?” you chime, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Worry twists your chest. There isn’t much left. You’ll need to make do with cabbage and whatever other veggies are left. Perhaps you could toss in some leftover dried meat and make a stew.

“My teacher signed me up for advanced trigonometry,” your brother announces.

You close the cabinet and beam at him.

“Oh, that sounds hard. I’m proud of you.” It doesn’t exactly surprise you. Laertes’ always been exceptionally smart. Even his teachers noticed how gifted he is from an early age. Unlike you, he breezed through middle school and now the Academy.

It’s why it’s crucial you make sure he can go to the University. A mind like his shouldn’t be wasted.

You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.

“It’s fine.”

You rush to him. You wrap your arm around him playfully and hug him in his chair, pulling his cheek like when he was little. You know he hates when you do that but you can’t help teasing him a bit. It’s your duty as a big sister after all.

“Don’t downplay it. My little brother’s a genius.”

He wriggles his way out of the hug, rolling his eyes.

“Stop it.”

You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.

“I’ll make you something,” you say, smiling at your brother.

His brows knit. “Make something for yourself first.”

You nibble your bottom lip. You truly hoped he wouldn’t notice, how much smaller than his your portions are. But he’s growing; he needs it. Much more than you. Besides, how can he focus at the Academy and be the brilliant boy he is supposed to be with a growling stomach? You won’t allow it.

“Laertes…”

He shakes his head, his expression firm.

“No. You always do this. This time, we split whatever is left.”

Heaving out a resigned exhale, you nod. You whirl to resume preparing dinner.

You gather a boiling pot from the overhead cabinet and place it on the stove. With the ease of practice, you begin chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot. You add spices and water. The mouthwatering aroma quickly fills the kitchen. Pride swells in your chest. Your cooking skills have improved so much in the last year since your parents passed. You now manage to bring flavor to the blandest of meals.

Once the stew’s ready, you pour a portion in each bowl, putting just a little more in your brother’s and praying he will not notice.

You place the steaming bowls on the table and take a seat opposite him.

“No books at the dining table,” you admonish, mimicking the exact tone your mother used with your brother. Admitting defeat, Laertes sighs and sets his homework aside. The tiny victory tugs your lips skyward.

He tells you about his day at the Academy while the two of you eat. You’re delighted to hear he’s making a lot of friends and he’s at the top of his class for most science subjects. He’s struggling a bit more with his poetry and ethics classes, but you encourage him by reminding him he can just ask the teacher for extra assignments to keep his grade up.

“I interviewed for a new job today,” you reveal, stirring the spoon in your bowl while waiting for your brother to eat more of his food.

“How did it go?”

“Well, it pays really well so I’m hopeful.”

The hope dancing in his eyes makes your chest ache. You don’t have the heart to tell him you made a fool of yourself today. You may not be gifted like your brother, but you want him to know he can rely on you at least.

Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.

“That’s great. It’d be good if you didn’t have to work as much.”

Your smile falters. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

“Okay.”

His dour tone stirs your concern. You wish you were better at hiding things from him, making his childhood as normal as possible. But your brother’s twelve now, and that’s old enough to sense when things are wrong.

He rises from his seat. You frown as you note there’s still food left in his bowl.

“Finish your plate before going to your room.”

Annoyance pinches his features but he still picks up his bowl and hastily guzzles down the remainder of his stew.

“Happy now?” he says, wiping his mouth.

“Yes. Very,” you cheerfully respond.

He gathers his books and strides towards his room.

Your voice rises.

“Don’t stay up too late to study, okay? I love you.”

“I…love you too,” he mumbles.

You bask in the moment as you clean the table. Thankfully Laertes is still at an age where he says it back. One day he might not. So you must cherish every instant. Every conversation, every hug, every ‘I love you’. Because it could all vanish in a second. You learned that the hard way a year ago.

The day of the interview recedes to the back of your mind as you keep living your life. Work is harrowing, as usual, but you tend to your tasks as best as you can. Your arms ache as you knead the dough in the back of the bakery. You give yourself a second to wipe the sweat off your forehead. It’s been a hectic afternoon. There’s a massive pastry order for some Capitol heiress’ birthday due tomorrow. So you’ve been racing between the front desk and the kitchen in the back. A baker called in sick today, leaving you with twice the workload.

You know it won’t take much to crash into your bed and fall asleep tonight.

To make matters worse, the day hits its nadir when you get your pay that day. You peer inside the envelope for the umpteenth time. An anxious chuckle peals out of your lips.

“I’m sorry I don’t want to complain, but…this doesn’t match the hours I put in.”

The owner scratches the back of his neck, a contrite expression etched on his face.

“I’m sorry too. With the new taxes imposed by the Capitol, I had to cut your salary.”

Slack-jawed by the news, no word leaves your mouth as you stare at him. He sighs.

“If it’s a problem, we can find someone else-”

“No, no,” you interrupt, blinking in panic. “Please, I need this job.”

He acquiesces and you’re forced to thank him despite feeling cheated. You actually scaled back your hours for your other part-times since this one paid more. What a waste.

Dispirited, you return home. As you give the driver a bill for the fare, your insides wrench. Every bill counts. Perhaps you’ll need to walk back home from now on. The streets of the Capitol are notoriously dangerous but you can’t see any other way to save your dwindling wages. You already know you’ll need to request an extension for rent this month. How will you pay it, however?

You suppose you’ll have to figure it out. You always figure it out.

These are the somber thoughts swaying in your mind as you check the mailbox.

Bills. Bills. And more bills. Your already sour mood plummets even more. But a slim, silver envelope sticking out from the pile corrals your focus. Curiosity surges inside you. It looks fancy and there’s a wax seal with the Capitol’s symbol keeping it shut. You rush to open it, heart fluttering in strange anticipation.

You unfold the neatly folded letter inside. As you read the words, you gasp, dropping the letter. Still trembling from shock and excitement, you bend to pick it up.

You take a deep slow breath before reading it again.

This time, a squeal escapes from your lips.

You read it many more times to make sure your eyes aren’t just conjuring wild fantasies.

After a while, you realize they aren’t. It’s true.

Holding the letter to your chest, you toss yourself on your bed and kick your feet excitedly.

You then place your palm on your forehead. In disbelief, you beam at the ceiling.

Somehow…you’ve been hired to work for the Snows. You actually got the job.

Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.

You fidget before the iron gates, smoothing absent wrinkles on your skirt. It’s one of the best outfits you could find on short notice that wasn’t moth-eaten or visibly overworn. You pray it’s enough. You let your gaze wander. The Snows’ estate truly is majestic. The lush gardens. The beautiful architecture. You feel a little small as you admire the mansion.

Remembering yourself, you pivot to the man who drove you there. You fish inside your pocket for a bill and hand it to him. He stares at you blankly from the driver’s seat.

A weary sigh ripples behind you.

You turn, your eyes widening. It’s the woman who interviewed you that day. She wears the same stern expression.

“You don’t need to pay him,” she explains, dismissing the man with her hand. He nods and drives away. “He’s your assigned driver. He’ll pick you up each day and take you back home.”

“Oh.” You offer your hand. “Nice to meet you…again.”

She gives you a lengthy onceover, completely ignoring your gesture. Then she motions at you to follow her. You let your hand fall to your side. Heat blooms in your cheeks. Perhaps, you were too enthusiastic just then. Straightening your spine, you try your best to keep pace with her quick strides.

“I’m Pandora. I supervise most housekeeping duties for the president. I’ll show you around the estate. Then you’ll meet the young Master.”

She gives you a tour of the mansion. You’re even more amazed than last time though you try to suppress your awe and not stare excessively. She shows you the garden as well. The sea of snow-white roses makes your head spin. She specifies that the only part of the house that is off-limits is the west wing of the mansion, as these are the First Lady’s apartments and she must have rest and quiet.

She ends the visit by taking you to the nursery. A smile spontaneously finds its way onto your lips. A toddler plays with his toy train on the floor. With his blonde curls and bright blue eyes, he bears a striking resemblance to his father.

“That’s him? He’s so cute,” you whisper. Even the stern woman’s expression thaws a little as she looks at the child, softening ever-so-slightly. You send her a questioning glance. She gives you a nod of approval.

You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.

“Hi. You’re Martius, right?”

He lifts his head and beams at you. You’re immediately endeared. Again, his smile reminds you of President Snow. You suppose one could probably take over the world with a smile like that.

You turn to Pandora.

“Is his mother around? I should probably introduce myself.”

Her face pinches. “Mistress Livia has been unwell as of late. She is not to be disturbed today as she is quite tired.”

“Of course.” Your lips squeeze shut for a few seconds but curiosity gets the better of you. A question burns on your lips, one that nagged you ever since you got the job. It slips out before you can think it through. “Is this…Is this why the president and his wife require a nanny? The First Lady is sick?”

Pandora glowers at you. You flinch as she steps further inside the room, her searing tone like a whip.

“You are here to do your job, and nothing else. Mistress Livia’s health is no concern of yours. Do you hear me?”

You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.

“I-I understand. I’m sorry I asked.”

“This reminds me. You have to sign this,” she says, handing you a pen and clipboard. A thin stack of papers are attached to the clipboard. The front page spells ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement’ in bold letters at the very top. You scowl as you flip through the pages.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a contract, one signed by every one of the President’s employees.”

“I don’t understand most of what’s written here…”

A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.

“I’ll make it simple for you then. For the duration of your employment here, nothing you see or hear must ever leave this house. You are here to care for the young master, that is all. Nothing else should concern you. Is that clear enough?”

You swallow thickly. It doesn’t sound hard at all. Discretion is essential in every job, isn’t it? But the way Pandora makes it sound, you’d assume there are bodies buried beneath the Snows’ estate. You’d laugh if her death stare weren’t so disquieting.

You peruse the contract, perplexed by most of the legal mumbo jumbo filling the pages. None of it rings any bell. You understand the gist of it however. You must preserve the president and his wife’s privacy. While you don’t know the specifics of the first lady’s condition, her public appearances have been few and far between in the last few years.

She used to be the envy of every woman in the Capitol. Beautiful, young and married to the dashing President Snow.

She was a fairytale princess come to life.

Then their son Martius was born. And when they held him up from the balcony of their mansion for all of Panem to gaze upon, they truly seemed like the perfect family.

Until one day, Livia Cardew simply…vanished.

She was noticeably absent from all the events of the season, some she even hosted herself. Tongues wagged of course, rumors and wild theories spreading like wildfire.

But no one knew the truth of what had happened to her.

The matter seems delicate. You promise yourself not to bring it up again.

You click the pen and scribble your name at the bottom of the very last page.

“I’ve…never signed a contract like that before starting a job.”

Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.

“Well, you’ve never worked for President Snow.”

As promised, you quit your two other jobs to focus solely on Martius. You’re hesitant at first. Your departed parents taught you never to put all your eggs in one basket. And it’s exactly what you’d be doing by trusting the Snows. But when you receive your first paycheck, long before the end of the week, every qualm you had fades. It’s more money than you’ve ever had, more money than you expected. Rent isn’t an issue anymore. Neither is food.

Besides, gifts keep coming from the estate. Clothes mostly, for both you and Laertes, but also jewelry, perfume and other fancy things you don’t need. Overwhelmed by President Snow’s generosity, you try to send some of it back, but you don’t have the heart to return everything when you see your brother’s happy face when he opens his wardrobe one day.

You’ve caught the self-conscious glimpses he casts at his classmates sometimes, when not wearing the Academy uniform. Their clothes are always brand new and custom, perfectly tailored while his are stitched back together by your clumsy hands whenever they fray at the seams. You’re not a seamstress but you’ve always done your best. But you know your best doesn’t compare to the access and privilege those kids have.

Other than those blessings, your time with Martius has been a breeze. Only hazy memories of your brother as a toddler linger in your mind, but you don’t recall him ever being as sweet and calm as the little boy is.

It hardly feels like work, caring for the small child. You spend the day playing along with his games, reading stories to him and, as the day nears its end, the two of you feed the ducks in the massive pond behind the mansion. He even gives them names and gets upset when they fight with each other.

“Lily doesn’t like James anymore,” he whispers to you one day, a sullen pout scrunching his tiny features.

“And why is that?”

“I think she’s angry that he steals her food.”

You chuckle and ruffle his golden locks. The little boy always has a story for everything he sees. At all times, his world must make sense. So if he cannot find a reason to explain what fills his gaze, he’ll weave a tale that matches it. His stories are each more wild than the other and he sometimes utters words you’ve never heard a four year old use.

But you surmise it is expected from the son of the president. When he isn’t with you, the little boy is often with his private tutor. Even at his tender age, the importance of manners and eloquence is impressed upon him.

Martius tugs at your skirt when you make your way to the door. You look down. His blue eyes are pleading.

“You’re leaving again?”

You heave out a long exhale. The little boy wasn’t so clingy before but with your bond growing, he’s been expressing more sadness from watching you go at the end of every day.

You hunker down to his level.

“My little brother’s expecting me.”

His forehead puckers. “Stay…”

“I told you before, Martius. I have a brother. He’ll miss me if I’m not here.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, giving a begrudging nod. Tears already swim in his eyes though. Panic flows through you. You didn’t want to upset him. You pick him up and bounce with him in your arms to try to soothe him.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry, sweetie.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nearly squeezing you to death when he wraps his arms around your neck. His loud, tearful sobs swell in the room. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow like always, okay? So I need you to be brave for me.” His grip on you loosens as he sniffles. You put him down and the two of you pinky promise that you’ll return. Your heart twists at the sight of his tear-stained little face.

You give his hair one last affectionate pat before rushing outside. If you stay, he might throw another tantrum. No matter what, you can never get mad at Martius. He’s just a child. In the absence of his mother, he’s bound to grow attached to any woman filling a role adjacent to hers. You loathe that you’re taking those moments from the first lady. Though it pleases you to have a steady job and spend time with the sweet boy, it feels wrong that she isn’t there. She should get to see her baby grow up. She should hear his inane ramblings and eccentric stories.

As time wears on, you’re dying to meet her and tell her about Martius. Is she truly so sick that she can’t even see him for a mere few minutes? You’re itching to break the rules and visit the west wing of the mansion. Sometimes you hear blood-curdling screams and wailing coming from the dark halls but you never dared venture through them. You know that if you did, Pandora would crucify you.

Laertes’ well-being matters more than your curiosity.

Humming absently, you halt in your tracks in the middle of a hallway. Confusion has you blinking. A peculiar noise bounces faintly against the walls. Your gaze drifts sideways, where the noise seems to come from. You’re clocking out. Whatever’s going on in the house isn’t any of your business at this hour.

But what if someone needs help? What if it’s something bad? You’d feel awful if you learnt something happened the next day and you pretended to ignore it. So you gingerly approach the wall. Your fingers graze the tapestry covering it.

Your eyes widen when the wall moves, a tiny crack forming in it.

Your eyes bulge. It’s an ajar door, you realize. A secret door one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t aware it was there. Light spills from the slight opening.

Confining your breath, you bend over the crack in the wall to get a glimpse of what’s behind it.

The vision crowding your sight makes the blood in your veins freeze.

President Snow rutting into a maid with his pants down to his ankles. His usually neat blonde locks are tousled, a few damp curls kissing his forehead. His massive cock glistens with the girl’s essence, disappearing into the girl’s spread lips over and over again. Her body is bent over the railing of the bed and her maid outfit is bunched around her hips, exposing her ass, the flesh trembling with each of the president’s harsh, pointed thrust.

Each time he snaps his hips he draws a broken moan from her. One of his hands is around the back of her throat while the other’s on the small of her back. He grunts low in his throat as she clenches around him, thrusting into her even faster than before.

The obscene sound of their coupling rises, coalescing with the feral grunts spilling from the president’s mouth. In that moment, he’s not the poised gentleman you’re used to seeing, he is an animal in rut chasing his high.

A shocked exhale escapes your lips. Your hand flies to cover your mouth. President Snow’s head snaps up, his gaze landing straight on you.

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

You jump back from the door and push the secret door closed. You dart across the hallway, determined to find the exit as quickly as you can. You don’t glance back, your steps hasty and panicked.

Pandora was right. It’s best not not to hear or see anything, to become a tomb in which secrets are buried.

You can only hope he didn’t recognize you through the tiny crack in the door.

Though you’re shaken to your core, you continue your work as a nanny. You still need money. You may have set aside everything you made thus far, but it will only sustain you and your brother for a month or two. Besides, you’ve already handed in your resignation for your other jobs. The positions have likely been filled. You can’t exactly show up out of the blue and ask for your former job back.

No. So you convince yourself that it’s alright. You have a good thing going anyway. You’re making more than you hoped. The child is happy. You’re happy. All is well. Or it would be at least.

…If you could conjure the memory of President Snow railing into the maid far away from your mind.

You want to forget it, bury the moment so deep in the abyss of your thoughts, it can never be unearthed.

But it isn’t so easy. Because every time your mind wanders even a little, you see him again. Skin glistening with sweat and blue eyes alight with lust. The image is tattooed into your brain.

You wonder if the first lady knows. Perhaps it’s why she’s hiding away. The weight of her husband’s indiscretions may have grown too heavy to carry. It sours your heart. President Snow seemed so kind, good and noble. He was nice to you. You still have the breast pocket he gave you tucked away in a drawer. You loathe to think he’d do that to his wife. No woman deserves this.

You lift your head when your name is uttered. You get to your feet. Adrift in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Pandora was in the nursery.

“Yes?”

“The president wants to see you in his office.”

Dread wrenches your gut. It’s exactly what you feared. Does he know? Did he see you? Your pulse picks up. What other reason would there be? He never summoned you before.

“Really, why?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m assuming it’s to congratulate you.”

Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. “Congratulate me?”

Pandora heaves out a weary sigh. “Well, you’ve done much better than we thought,” she begrudgingly admits. “The young master smiles all the time.” She rolls her eyes. “Even if we must deal with his tantrums when you leave.”

A sliver of pride flutters through you with her admission. Pandora made her doubts about your capabilities plain and obvious from the beginning. It gladdens you that you may have changed her mind a little.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She turns to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s a small price to pay for his happiness.”

Your smile vanishes as she adds, “Now let me escort you to the president’s office. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you trail behind her. The entire trek to the president’s office, your stomach’s in knots. You keep wondering if it’s the day you’ll lose your job for being too nosy. You should have walked past the noise. You shouldn’t have peeked.

You inhale a lungful of nerve as Pandora opens the door to his office and frees room for you to enter. Your clammy hands wrench in your lap. He’s sitting behind his desk. You stagger further inside the room as he motions for you to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks the same as the first time you stumbled into him, disarmingly handsome in an impeccable shirt and pants that flatter his long legs.

A sharp contrast to the version of him that has plagued your thoughts lately.

His sky gaze follows you as you take a trembling seat.

“Are you settling in well?” he asks.

“Hm, yes,” you stammer, anxiously twining your fingers. “It’s pretty much the perfect job. I get to be around a cute child all day.”

“I hear my son is very fond of you.”

You bashfully dip your head. “He’s very easy to like. He’s such a good boy, sweet, kind, and curious. You and your wife are raising him well, sir.”

He hums in thought. “I can’t take much credit for that. I’ve tried my best to carve out time for Martius…but work’s kept me busy. As for Livia...” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well she isn’t quite herself these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He places one hand under his chin, scrutinizing you. You try not to twitch beneath his stare, your insides tight with dread.

“Hm, it’s strange,” he states after a minute that goes by like an eternity.

Your head rises. “What’s strange?”

“A girl like you.” His lips drag upward. “Sweet, nurturing, beautiful. Shouldn’t you be married already?”

Your lips part in astonishment. This isn’t the line of questioning you expected. “I-I’m not.”

“No fiancé?”

“No, sir.”

“A lover then?”

Warmth rushes to your face.

“No…”

He laughs, mirth dancing in his cobalt orbs.

“You must pardon me for being so forward but I simply find it astonishing. No suitors? It’s hard to believe since you’re so lovely, sweetheart.” He tilts his head. You shift in discomfort, his attention making you feel see-through. “I mean, a husband would have made your life easier than it’s been thus far, wouldn’t he, dove?”

A long exhale flows from your lips. “I’ve had offers, after I graduated from the Academy. There was even this boy, he was so kind to me.” The memory draws a small smile from you. “He proposed. I’m sure he’d make a great husband, but…”

“But…”

Your mouth dries.

“I know it’s probably naive and unrealistic but I want to marry for love, that great, life-changing love, like in those romance novels my mom used to love, not money or status.”

His eyes twinkle. “Or financial stability?”

Shame gathers in your chest. You know it sounds silly when uttered aloud.

“I know, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. It’s sweet that you still believe in love.” He appears lost in a faraway memory, his gaze hazing over with remembrance. “I used to believe in it too. I used to think, ‘Who needs wealth and success and power when love conquers all?’”

He chuckles but it’s bereft of amusement.

“Really? What happened then?”

His gaze locks with yours.

“I grew up.”

Confused, you frown.

“But aren’t you and the first lady in love?”

Another laugh bursts from his chest.

“God, you’re sweet.” His tone lowers to a dulcet whisper. “It’s like none of the world’s ugliness has gotten to you yet.” He reveals matter-of-factly, “My wife and I hate each other.” His smile widens at your flabbergasted expression. “Always did. It’s best that way, more…efficient. Of course, there was a time, when we had…passion.” He licks his lips, something you can’t pinpoint flickering in his gaze. “But not anymore. She’s far too gone for that.”

He rises from his chair. You stiffen as he circles the desk, making slow steps towards you.

“Which is why I must…satiate my needs wherever I can,” he mumbles, fingers lurking under your chin, forcing your eyes to fall upon him. “Do you understand my meaning, dove?”

“I…yes.”

Discomfort flares within you. Tension hangs in the air, so heavy it clogs your airways.

He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.

“Do you really? With that innocent look in your eyes, it’s hard to tell.” His thumb sweeps over your shuddering bottom lip. “Men have needs. And am I not a man, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes you are, sir.”

He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “You saw everything that day, didn’t you?” Your heart stops.

Flames lick your face as you bow your head. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.

“Liar,” he mumbles.

Your pulse quickens.

He leans back and nudges your chin upward.

“Since my wife fell sick, I’ve been very lonely. And sometimes…” He looms over you, crowding your space as you peer up at him, fingers squeezing the arms of the chair. “I need something soft and warm to forget that feeling.”

President Snow slowly falls to his knees in front of you. His fingers find your thigh, starting to creep under your skirt. A devilish glint sparkles in his cobalt gaze. He finds your center, pressing the sheer fabric into your folds. You gasp. He chuckles at your reaction. He starts teasing you through your panties, tracing your slit and dragging over your tender bud. Your breath hitches as the air around you grows hotter. You grow slick beneath his finger, your thighs shaking as tingles bloom on your flesh.

“Sir…” you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes.

He pushes further inside you, adding another finger, and you unleash an audible breath. You try to close your thighs. He places his other hand on your knee to keep you open for him.

The air in your lungs grows thinner as he rubs your core through your soaked panties. The friction is a delicious torture. Pleasure pools in your belly causing your face to burn with shame. You’re getting embarrassingly wet with President Snow’s attention.

“I just want a little taste,” he murmurs, his deep timbre bleeding lust. “Just one time and it’ll never happen again,” he promises fervently as his lips graze your ankle. You find some relief when his fingers disappear from your drenched center. But your respite is ephemeral. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs at your panties.

Panic widens your eyes. Cheeks ablaze, you pull at the material between your legs with both hands. But he’s stronger than you and effortlessly drags the fabric along your legs. A wicked smile plays on his lips as tears glisten in your eyes. It’s soon down to your ankles. You squeal when the president yanks the panties off your foot, tossing them aside. Cool air sneaks beneath your skirt, swirling over your bare folds.

Hands over your knees to keep you spread, his wolfish gaze sweeps over your glossy folds.

Your skin heats, embarrassment gathering in your chest. You’ve never been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anybody before.

“Please, President Snow, s-stop…”

“But you’re dripping, sweetheart,” he states smugly, sinking a finger inside your weeping core, as if to make a point. Your breath hitches. He takes his finger out sluggishly. You clench when he grazes one of your sensitive spots. “Just as sweet as I expected,” he hums, obscenely licking your essence off his long digit.

Without a warning, he buries his head between your thighs. A sharp exhale leaps from your mouth. His cool tongue traces a wet trail over your folds. President Snow traces maddening patterns over your swollen bud causing your eyes to roll back.

You card your fingers through his silken platinum locks, hoping to push his head away. But the delightful sensations grow too overwhelming. You unravel beneath his sinful ministrations, your limbs twitching as the thread of your thoughts comes loose.

Your grip on his hair weakens. Your belly tightens, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

You jolt as his tongue flickers over your tender heap of nerves.

“P-President…”

He purrs against your folds and the vibrations rock through your core. You squirm in the chair. Your thighs quake. Your vision dims, your mind blank as waves of pleasure swaddle you in their tide. Protests scatter on your tongue, replaced by wanton whimpers and moans.

Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.

Bliss engulfs you and your legs turn liquid. Shame swirls in your gut as your juices coat his tongue. He drinks your nectar, elation rumbling in his chest.

When he lifts his head, you hardly recognize him. The feral glow in his gaze chills your blood.

There is no time to collect yourself, realize what just occurred, as the blonde gathers your limp frame from the chair and places you on his desk. Documents and papers are flung to the ground as he grabs your thighs and presses his throbbing hard-on against your cunt.

He hastily unbuttons his pants, freeing his hard length. He fists his cock and guides it through your wet entrance. Your back arches, the sudden intrusion robbing you of air. He reaches the hilt of you in a few seconds, giving you no time to accommodate his thick girth. You collapse over the desk, weak whimpers leaving you as your walls are stretched to their limit. He drags out of you, his pupils flaring as they trace the motion of his length in and out of you. Coriolanus leans over you. He snaps his pelvis into your hips, each of his thrusts tearing tearful moans from your throat.

When you turn your head, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, he grabs your chin so you’re forced to meet his lustful stare. Bracing himself on the desk, he reaches between your bodies to pinch your swollen clit. He plucks at your soft bud until you shatter around him with a sob. His throat bobs, a look of sheer bliss flitting across his face when you clench around him.

“I’ve been dying to fuck you the minute I saw you,” he confesses, trailing soft pecks over your collarbone. A sinister chuckle peals from his lips. “The way you looked at me with those sweet, innocent eyes…it made me rock-hard.” He tilts your chin towards him, his thumb skimming over your parted lips.

Satisfaction glimmers in his eyes as they flick over your prone form.

“You should thank me. Those boys at the Academy wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you…” His cock twitches inside you. Sticky warmth spills from him, painting your walls and dripping past your hole. Drops of his seed leak onto the desk. A throaty sigh pours from President Snow’s throat as your cunt flutters around him.

His teeth nip the skin of your neck.

“...But I do.”

After what occurs in his office, you hope to avoid President Snow. Those hopes are swiftly dashed however. President Snow lied to you. It doesn’t happen once. In fact, you begin to lose count of the actual number.

Every time the president finds a little spare time, he summons you.

Sometimes you end up bent over the desk in his office as he pours the frustrations of the day into your warm hole. Sometimes he prefers you sprawled on your back in one of the multitude of luxurious beds in the mansion while he devours you as if you were his very last meal. And at times, he grows even more impatient and simply shoves you against a wall before ravaging you.

More than once, a maid or footman has walked in on the two of you, and you’ve had to swallow your shame and embarrassment.

As you’ve come to learn, the entire staff is aware of Coriolanus Snow’s insatiable appetite and none of them seems to care.

You feel sick, desperate, trapped in something twisted and awful you never signed up for.

But how does one say no to President Coriolanus Snow? The entire Capitol yields to his every whim. And you are the same. Here to bow and smile and lie back whenever he demands it.

You long to focus on your job, to care for Martius and nothing else. Whenever the boy looks up at you with those innocent blue eyes, eerily similar to his father’s, your stomach wrenches. You pray he never comes to learn what kind of man his father is. You wish he’d stay just as kind and sweet as he is now.

Those are the thoughts drifting through your mind as you watch Martius play with his toy trains. Your eyes wander towards the window. Outside, orange and purple hues are bleeding into the sky, the afternoon nearing its end. Your stomach coils. It’s during times like these that President Snow often seeks you out. You’ve tried to run away from him but it’s all a game to Coriolanus, and he always delights in chasing you through the hallways.

Your brows crumple as you note that Martius has stopped playing. He drops his toy and rushes to your side. Confounded by his behavior, you’re on the cusp of asking him what’s wrong…but your gaze follows what caught his attention on the other side of the room.

You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.

“Martius. Come here, my love,” says the blonde woman in a white robe and nightgown, her arms wide open.

Time stands still for a few seconds. It takes you a while to realize who stands before the door. She looks so different, more ghost than woman, her glassy blue eyes hollow and sunken. But her likeness is unmistakable. Even with her graying, limp tresses and ashen complexion, you recognize Livia Cardew. The president’s wife.

You bolt to your feet. Arms still open, Livia takes slow steps towards Martius.

“I’m your mom, sweetie. Don’t you remember me?”

The little boy’s fists clutch your skirt as he hides his face against your leg.

“You’re not my mom.”

A stricken look twists Livia’s features as she shrinks. As if her own son just drove a knife through her heart. Your chest twinges. While her abrupt appearance is a shock, you can’t imagine how she must feel. You place a hand on Martius’ back and try to nudge him forward.

“Martius. It’s the First Lady, your mother. Go on, hug her,” you urge softly.

He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he hides behind you even more.

You’re stunned. Has it truly been that long?

“Martius-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, Livia lunging at you, her eyes wild with fury.

“You! This is all your fault,” she hisses. She points at you and scoffs, “You’re his new whore, aren’t you?” Her mouth wobbles as she grips her head. “First you take my husband, now my son.”

Martius begins to sob. His loud cries overlap with his mother’s frantic yelling. You cover his eyes, tossing Livia an apologetic look.

“First Lady, I never meant-”

Before you can explain yourself, she grabs a nearby vase and smashes it. White roses scatter on the floor. Stomping all over the petals and broken glass, she collects one of the shards and races towards you. Terror numbs you. You freeze as Livia aims the shard at you, scarlet droplets dripping on her nightgown as she squeezes her fist around the glass.

Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.

You shiver, waiting still.

But it doesn’t come.

“Livia, darling, that’s enough. It’s time for you to sleep and take your medicine.”

The familiar sound of Coriolanus’ voice causes your eyes to snap open.

You watch him restrain a struggling Livia. She curses at him, fighting him with all her might. It’s a painful spectacle.

“No, don’t touch me!” Other staff members rush into the room. It takes several people to hold Livia down, colorful expletives pouring from her mouth as she punches and kicks whoever comes close. “You’re killing me! You bastard! Give me my son back! Martius! Martius!”

The child trembles against your skirt, his tear-filled gaze stuck to the floor.

Eventually someone manages to stick a needle into Livia’s neck. She instantly goes limp, arm still reaching for her son in her last conscious second.

“Take her away,” Coriolanus instructs.

The first lady’s flaccid form is dragged out of the room. Still shaken by what you just witnessed, you don’t move a muscle. President Snow approaches you, worry swimming in his blue orbs.

“Are you alright, dove?” He cups your cheeks, his brows crumpling as his gaze settles on your neck. “I’ll have Doctor Gaul look at you. She has an ointment for that.” He caresses your cheeks, smiling. You gape at him. How can he smile at a time like that? “It won’t even scar. I promise.”

You graze your neck. Your fingers come away bloody. Oh. Livia nicked you with the shard but you didn’t even feel it. Perhaps adrenaline numbed you to the pain.

“Dada,” Martius chimes, lifting his chubby arms.

Coriolanus’ face warms as he picks up his son. He tosses him in the air and catches him. Martius giggles through his tears.

“My sweet boy. That was very scary, wasn’t it?” he says, balancing his son on his hip. Martius nods and wipes his nose. Coriolanus flicks his cheek, beaming at him. “Don’t worry, son. The scary lady won’t bother you anymore in a few months.”

A wave of ice blows through your veins. You wonder why the president uttered those words with such certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Almost as if he knows exactly when the grim reaper will come knock on his wife’s door.

The next day, you hand over your resignation to Pandora. Her expression is skeptical as she gauges the manila folder you give her.

“This is for the president,” you announce.

She unleashes a deep exhale. “You should reconsider, sleep on it.”

You almost laugh. Sleep on it? You can hardly find rest, the picture of a disheveled Livia Cardew crying out for her son haunting your nights. Whatever befell upon the poor woman, you wouldn’t be surprised if her husband somehow had a hand in it. It broke your heart, seeing her like that, her own son unable to recognize her. You also despise the role Coriolanus forced you to play in erasing her memory.

All of it feels wrong.

And most of all, you don’t want President Snow to use you to satisfy his lewd desires anymore. He took all your firsts, all the moments that should have been beautiful, and made them a nightmare you have to relive every time he touches you.

You respected him; you admired him. Now you can’t be in his presence without dread whispering through you. What will he make you do this time? How will he make you small and powerless again?

“I can’t…I can’t do this anymore. He can hire someone else to care for him.”

Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.

“It’s really not that simple. The president has developed…a fondness for you.”

You bristle. “I have to go back home. Laertes is expecting me.”

“You won’t like what comes next, trust me.” Her gaze narrows. “No one leaves the president.”

Ignoring the shudder elicited by her daunting words, you pivot and make a beeline towards the exit. Pandora’s voice echoes down the hallways.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Depleted, you glumly make your way to the gates. You enter the car that takes you back home everyday. Your thoughts wander as the Snow’s house grows smaller through the car window. You were thrilled when you got this job. It felt like kismet after the year you and your brother had. A rainbow after the rain. A slice of hope.

How it all went to hell so quickly. You’re still reeling from it. You’ve no idea what you’ll do next. The only thing you know for certain is that you will not step foot into the Snows’ estate ever again.

The car suddenly halts. You bump your head into the passenger’s seat. Wincing, you grip the sides of your head. As you retrieve your senses, you look around. You stopped.

You toss a questioning look at the driver.

But before he can respond, the car door opens and you’re yanked outside. Two pairs of strong arms drag you away from the car.

You take in the blue uniforms of the men. Terror pulses through your blood.

Peacekeepers.

Noting the guns at their sides, you stop trying to resist. There’s no fighting against them, ever. They are the Capitol’s fist and carry the President’s will. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you likely never did. You slump in their grip, despair thrumming inside you.

They escort you to a black car with tinted windows. Your pulse soars. You’ve only ever seen one individual step out of this car.

The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.

Your fearful gaze rises to him.

He casually sits in front of you, his eyes narrowed.

“You disappoint me, dove.” He lets out a weary sigh. “After everything I’ve done for you…you try to leave me. I thought you were smarter than that.”

You twine your hands, sputtering, “I-I’m not the right person for this job, sir.”

He slides his fingers under your chin, tilting it upward.

“Oh but you’re perfect. My son loves you. You’re sweet, dutiful and most importantly…” He smirks. “You are mine. Mine to hold, spoil and fuck whenever I please for however long I please.”

The prospect fills you with dread. He wants you to be his toy again, submissive, available whenever he pleases.

“Sir…”

His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your brother could attend the University, free of charge? A bright young mind such as his, I believe he deserves it.” His blue eyes twinkle. “Instead of, let’s say…end up in a District, his name chosen as a tribute in the next Hunger Games.” Your heart sinks to your feet. “That’d be awful, wouldn’t it? So cruel…” he mumbles, stroking your trembling bottom lip.

“No, please,” you beseech, tears swelling in your eyes. Your brother’s all you have left in the world. Nothing can happen to him.

Coriolanus fondles your cheek, the tender gesture a sharp contrast to the wicked words rolling off his tongue.

“It’s all up to you, then, dove. As long as you behave, I’ll give you the world. But if you act like a little brat again…” A threat lurks in his soft tone, a glint of madness swaying in his cobalt orbs. “I really don’t know what I might do.”

Chills dance over your spine.

“I promise to never do it again,” you blurt out.

He pulls out a square from his breast pocket. It’s identical to the one he used the first time.

But a lifetime seems to have passed since that moment, the world now so different from what you imagined, and the man before you…even more so.

“Good girl,” he lauds while swiping away your tears.

He shoves the pocket square back in its place. Coriolanus then beams at you as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants.

“Now, I’ve had a long, exhausting day. So how about you get on your knees for me and make it better with that sweet mouth of yours, dove?”

#dark!coriolanus snow #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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porcalinecunt · 29 days

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𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ‘𝐄𝐌 𝐔𝐏!

🎀 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wondered what boothill has that lasso for . . ♡

·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

cw — ftm!reader. mean dom!boothill. crossdressing. bondage. fingering. (reluctant) praising. dumbification. squirting.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : boothill brainrot has me going hogwild for him hmmphmmammm. my last post abt him has been popping off lately, i hear your cries boothill nation and i'm here to serve! enjoy ~♡

“quit whinin’ boy, will ya?”

he rasped, swallowing another bullet. the taste of lead spread in his mouth, crunching noises from the ground up ammo made you flinch a bit.

your wispy gown was bunched up to your thighs, held in place with the rope he uses as a lasso outside of the bedroom. every curve was shown in it’s full glory, soft flesh suffocated from the harsh material. you sat on your knees with your wrists tied tightly behind your back, rendering you helpless as you couldn’t even close your legs. you could only watch helplessly as the ranger pumped his metal fingers in and out of your soaked cunny. his cold palm pressed up against your clit, overwhelming you with an electrifying friction no other man could give you.

“mm..b-boothi–”

smack!

you flinched as your thighs instinctively tried to press themselves shut, much to the amusement of your robotic boyfriend. a shit eating grin spread across his lips, flashing his shark-like teeth.

“what did i say baby..? too cute to understand now?”

the bullet between his teeth moved up and down, his speech slightly glitched at the very term ‘cute’. if only he could spit out what he really ment, but then again, his sarcastic tone dripping with faux sympathy spoke volumes. boothill was a sweetheart at his metal core, but if you asked so nicely, he might flick his own switch just to see you fall apart at his touch. you were too adorable to turn down.

you shook your head, syrupy eyes stared back into his bloodshot ones. a silent beg for release, added on by your impatient grinding. two teasing fingers were no longer enough for you, no, you needed him to do his absolute worst. fucking you while bound like the good little minx you were for the hunk of steel. to hear his annoyed tone forced to say sweet nothing while his body said otherwise. maybe, he might get the gun involved. none of it mattered.

through mindless babbles and high pitched whines, you pleaded for more. the ranger’s eyes flicked up towards your fucked out face as he swallowed the last bullet. you were pulled forwards by the rope, forced to face boothill’s mean grin.

“use your words doll.”

you tried, you really did, but whatever you wanted couldn’t come out right. almost like you short circuited, spitting out all of your desires. from him fingerblasting you ‘till you soaked his whole forearm to being stuffed to the brim by his synthetic cock, his ridiculous girth stretching your cunny till you cry. as you begged, his fingers quicked until the noises were too loud to even hear him praise you in your ear. you cracked your eyes open and almost orgasmed at what was being done to you. three fingers pumping themselves in and out of you, with boothill using the strength from his forearm to dig himself deeper until he touched your cervix. your thighs shook violently, shifting the rope to reveal the marks it’s already left on your soft flesh. you were close, and he could tell so easily. the way you clenched around his fingers to how quickly your moans subsided into lewd silence was made so stupidly obvious.

“nasty one aren’t ya? y’gonna cum already?”

he chuckled, nipping your earlobe as the final knots in your stomach finally snapped. tugging onto his leather vest, you came and came hard. your vision blurred and your legs went numb while you sobbed out in both shock and pleasure. boothill drank up the view in front of him, his pretty baby fucked out and dumber then a lost trotter. your once flawless sundress now ruined at the bottom with the top slipping off of your shoulders. of course, the rope that’s definitely gonna leave some lasting marks, which is exactly what he wanted.

after all, you’ll come running back with it in hand the moment they fade. ♡

#𓆩♱𓆪 — porcelaincunt !#boothill x reader #hsr boothill #boothill hsr #boothill #boothill x you #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr smut #hsr x male reader #boothill smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #ftm reader #x ftm reader

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cevansbrat0007 · 13 days

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What's Eating You, Mr. Barber?

Summary: You decide to test your man's patience with a prank you saw on TikTok. CLICK HERE to check out Ari Levinson's reaction to the same prompt.

Warnings: Mature Themes, References to Smut, Andrew Barber Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, TikTok Hijinks, Bickering, Manhandling, Ass Slapping, Daddy Kink, Allusions to Oral Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Prompt brought to you courtesy of a Reader Request. This fic features Andrew Barber from my Growing Pains Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It’s hard for you to put into words just how much you love playing pranks on your unsuspecting husband. And after downloading TikTok, you’d discovered that the app was home to an online treasure trove of practical jokes designed to make your loved one’s head spin. While it had taken a few days for you to settle on the right prank, you were pretty confident that the one you’d chosen would earn you a fun reaction from Andy without you having to risk your ass in the process.

You find yourself grinning as you take your time prepping dinner, humming a little tune as you peel and press even more fresh garlic for your homemade tomato sauce. Tonight’s family dinner of spaghetti and meatballs promised to be very interesting. Which was why you’d also taken the liberty of setting up two hidden cameras – one in the dining room and one right here in your kitchen.

As of now, you had no plans to post this on your channel. But you also didn’t want to miss a minute of your man’s reaction. Until then all you had to do was play it cool for a couple more hours.

Later that Evening…

“Baby Girl, are you sure you don’t need any help?” Your husband asks after watching you make what easily had to be your third trip from the kitchen into the dining room.

Any other night you would’ve said yes, but not this one. Tonight you were flying solo. The cameras were already on and recording – you’d taken care of that before you’d started setting the table – and so far Andy hadn’t noticed a thing.

Hopefully you’d be able to keep it that way until it was time for the big reveal.

“No thanks, Big Man. This Mama only has to make one more trip and then we’ll be ready to eat.” You tell him before sitting two plates on the table in front of your two youngest children. You were down a kid tonight thanks to your oldest, Bianca, being away at a sleepover.

Andy nods before leaning over to adjust the small hand towel you’d previously tucked into the front of your three-year-old son’s t-shirt. Not that it really mattered all that much since you were positive he’d be swimming in sauce before the meal was over. But what kind of mother would you be if you didn’t at least try?

Biting your lip in anticipation, you scamper back into the kitchen to grab dinner for you and your husband. Andy’s plate was piled high with a generous serving of spaghetti and meatballs. Meanwhile, you give yourself hardly any.

And therein was the so-called prank. Earlier this week, you’d spent the better part of several hours gleefully watching as dozens of girlfriends and wives proceeded to serve their man impressive looking portions before sitting next to them with virtually empty plates for themselves. Many of the reactions had ranged from hilarious to heartwarming, with only a few dickish exceptions.

Glancing over your shoulder to ensure you weren’t being watched, you pick up various pans and quietly place them in your oven and out of sight. For this to actually work, Andy would have to believe that there wasn’t enough for seconds or leftovers. Once that’s done, you square your shoulders and confidently march back into the dining room with dishes in hand.

“I’m back.” You announce, placing a piping hot plate in front of Andy before taking your own seat at the table. “I tried something different with my sauce this time, so everybody dig in and tell me what you think.”

Andy absentmindedly rubs his palms together as he stares down at the fragrant heap of spaghetti before him. Silently, you will him to look over at what you’d served yourself, but you force yourself to remain quiet so as not to give yourself away.

“This smells amazing, sweetheart.” Your husband tells you, reaching for a piece of garlic bread. “I’ve been excited for this meal since you told me you texted me at 10:00am.”

“Glad to hear it, Daddy” You pick up the little bowl of parmesan you’d set out and hand it to your middle daughter, Katrina. “What does everybody else think?”

You take a brief glance around the table while you wait for feedback. And although you make a point of not looking at your husband, it’s impossible to miss the way he’s now staring at your nearly empty plate.

“Ooh.” You inwardly squeal, stopping just short of clapping your hands. “It’s starting!”

“What’s up with this?” His tone is rife with confusion, which only grows when you decide to ignore him in favor of dipping a small piece of bread into some sauce. “Hey – stop!”

“What?” When you finally deign to return his gaze. You have to choke back a laugh as you watch a bewildered Andy comically gesture between your two plates.

“What the fu–fudge,” he swiftly corrects, “is going on with your plate?”

“What do you mean?” You aim to keep your tone light and breezy.

Your husband lets out a frustrated sigh. “Where’s the rest of your food?” He jabs at your plate with his fork, holding up the half of a meatball you’d allowed yourself.

“This was all that was left.” You tell him with a shrug.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His confusion continues to mount even as pauses long enough to grab a napkin to wipe at his son’s increasingly messy fingers. “There was plenty of spaghetti left on the stove.” While he’s occupied you quickly check on little Rory, who appears to be faring slightly better.

“Not really.”

“Baby…” Andy pins you with a knowing look, one that you readily return.

“What? I…” You trail off, pretending to think. “After I realized BiBi wouldn’t be here tonight, I made some adjustments to the recipe. Turns out I didn’t make enough, so…” Another shrug. “This was all there was after I made everyone else’s plates.”

Andy is uncharacteristically quiet as leans back in his chair. Meanwhile, your children are busy staring at you, each of them sporting tiny, furrowed brows. Pursing your lips, you set your fork down on your plate and reach for your drink.

“You can have some of mine, Mama.” KitCat offers before sweetly pushing her plate towards you. The unexpected gesture touches your heart in more ways than one. Not to be outdone, your three-year-old twins also follow suit.

“That’s okay, babies. I’m perfectly fine.” You reassure them, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Besides, this is all I need and –”

“Thanks kiddos.” Your husband kindly interrupts as he places his napkin on the table. “That was very sweet of you, wanting to take care of your Mama like that.” His brilliant blue eyes beam with pride as he speaks. “But Daddy’s got this one.”

You’re momentarily taken aback when he stands, picking up his plate as he does. And you’re even more surprised when he motions for you to do the same.

“Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?”

“Andrew, sweetheart, it’s okay. I promise.”

“Now, please.” It’s an order, that much you know. But at least your handsome ogre has enough sense to take on the word “please” at the end of it.

“Fine.” You huff before standing and following him out of the room, although not before encouraging your children to keep eating while you’re gone. Just because it was Friday doesn’t mean it was time to dispense their normal bedtime routines.

You were only playing a prank, not embracing total anarchy.

Once in the kitchen, you each take up residence in opposing corners. But of course, you’re careful enough to avoid blocking the view of the camera.

“Baby Girl.” Andy exhales, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Do you really mean to tell me that there’s no food left? You really made all that pasta and there’s nothing?”

“Yes, Andrew.” You lie without missing a beat. “I already told you. I trimmed down the recipe because –”

“Because Bianca is gone. Yes, I heard you.” He sets his dish down on the counter, openly scrutinizing it.

“So then what’s the problem?” You rest your back against your pantry while you wait for him to respond.

“The problem – my problem –” Andy is quick to amend, shaking his head. “– is that you expect me to sit back and watch you starve while everyone else eats. And I don’t like it.” He scrubs a weary hand over his beard. “Hand me your plate, beautiful.”

“Why?” It’s impossible to keep the suspicion out of your voice.

“Because I don’t need all of this.” He grunts, taking the plate out of your hands when you don’t comply fast enough. “In fact, I don’t need any of it. You eat and I’ll order myself a pizza after we put the kids down.”

“Andy!” You scoff, which comes out on the heels of a laugh.

“What?” The man is clearly confused by your dismissal of his offer. “I am capable of handling myself, okay? My hands work just fine.” He grates out, making a show of holding up a large, lightly calloused palm.

“But I…I made that plate for you.” You were seconds away from caving and you both knew it.

“And I’m telling you, my wonderful wife, that I want you to have it.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to –” You begin, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was time to fess up.

“Fine.” Andy breathes, taking a second to roll his broad shoulders. “Then we’ll split it.” He reaches for your hand, pulling you into his warm embrace so that he can whisper in your ear. “And then, after we put the kids down, we’ll order ourselves a pizza. Maybe open up a bottle of wine while we wait.”

“Yeah?” You murmur, relaxing as you bury your face in his chest.

God, he always smelled so good.

“Mhm.” He continues, nuzzling his nose against your curls. “And then, once we’re all giggly and buzzed, I’ll convince you to let me make love to you in front of the fireplace. We can even set up a booby trap so that we pretend like the children don’t exist.”

“Wow.” You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles its way past your lps. “Andy Bear, that sounds amazing. But I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?” He rumbles as his brawny arms tighten around your smaller frame. You were pushing your District Attorney beyond his breaking point.

“Because.” Squirming out of his hold, you dance your way towards the oven in preparation for the big reveal. Hopefully your husband would be a good sport about all of this.

“Because?”

“Because…” You draw out the word, even as you go to open the oven to show him what’s inside. “There’s actually plenty of dinner leftover. See?” You throw your arms wide, but force yourself to stop just short of adding spirit fingers because you suspected he wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Baby, I swear…” Andy sighs, his hands slowly sinking into the pockets of his charcoal-colored slacks as he rocks back on his heels. Most likely to keep himself from strangling you, his lovely wife. “Why–what would possess you to lie about something like this?”

“First off, sweetheart, it’s called a prank.” You bridge the gap between your bodies so that you can wrap your arms around his trim waist. “And secondly, I saw it on TikTok. Ever heard of it?”

He glares down at you, which has you instinctively clenching your thighs together. That’s part of the reason you loved riling up your Big Man.

Being a brat got your motor running.

“I take it you have.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss away his frown. “Well, I fell down the rabbit hole the other day while the kids were napping. There’s this whole, like, subsection that’s just pranks. And the latest one involved these women pranking their guys by serving them a huge plate of food, and then pretending like there’s nothing left for them to eat. The reactions were super entertaining, so I figured I’d test it out, you know? Just for fun.”

You grace him with your most dazzling smile, but unfortunately, he’s still having none of it. His frown only deepens as he tilts his face up towards the ceiling in an effort to summon all of his remaining patience.

“Are you mad?” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip while you wait for his answer.

“Yep.”

“C’mon, Andy Bear!” You pout before placing your hands on his biceps to give him a light shake.”Where’s your sense of humor?”

“Pretty sure I lost it the day you decided torturing me was your new favorite pastime.” He grumbles, although there doesn’t appear to be any heat in his words. “In fact, I have a feeling you just gave me several new grays.”

“Oh, don’t you dare blame me for those.” You tell him, playfully rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “I’ll have you know that you came home with those. I spotted ‘em the moment you walked through the door.” Your sassy response earns you a sharp crack to your ass, making you wince.

“Ow!”

“Brat.” He grouses, even as he presses a sweet kiss to your nose.

“Guilty as charged.” You hum, weaving your arms around his neck. “Besides, I had a feeling you wouldn’t let me starve.”

“Not sure it’s even possible to fail that challenge, Baby Girl. I mean, you’re my wife. My partner in crime. Did you really expect me to just let you go hungry?”

“You’d be surprised.” You mutter, making a mental note to show him a few videos featuring some of the men who’d actually failed the test. “But thankfully you didn’t. And neither did the kiddos. Which is why I will graciously allow you all to sleep inside tonight.”

You let out a tiny yelp when Andy suddenly grabs your ass with both hands, squeezing hard as he lifts you up. Unsure of what else to do, you immediately lock your legs around his waist. Right now you were just going along for the ride.

“Now is that any way to talk to Daddy?” Andy lovingly captures your mouth, lightly stroking his along the seam of your lips. “Especially after you played such a mean trick?” His once clouded blue eyes are now filled with mischief.

“Oh, I’m not sorry. But if it helps, I am willing to delete the video.” Your husband’s eyes go wide, letting you know that he hadn’t even considered the prospect of being recorded. So you keep talking, hoping to distract him. “And I still wanna get you drunk and take advantage of you after we put the children down for the night.” You run your fingers through his neatly coiffed hair, lightly scratching at his scalp with your nail.

“I don’t know if I should trust you.” He eyes you warily, making clear that he still hasn’t quite recovered from your earlier betrayal.

“What if…” You lean in close, lightly nipping at his earlobe. “I could find it in my heart to apologize between then and now? How does that sound, Big Man?”

“I mean I might be interested.” Andy shrugs, gently setting you on the counter before bracing his muscled arms on either side of you. “Out of curiosity, just what kind of apology are we talking about?” He gazes at you with lust-filled eyes, eagerly anticipating your response.

“The kind that’s best offered while on my knees, wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of thigh highs and garters.” You know you’ve got him when you hear him groan low in his throat.

“Fucky, baby.” Your husband hisses, burying his face in the valley between your breasts as his imagination suddenly kicks into overdrive. “Can you be sorry enough to wear the heels too? You know the ones I’m talking about.”

Oh. You knew exactly which ones he was talking about.

“I think so.” You murmur, stroking a tender hand along his back as he struggles to regain his composure.

“Then we’ve got ourselves a deal.” He grips your hips before kindly helping you down. “Now let’s go get those kids fed and off to bed.” Andy grabs your hand, tugging you behind him as you head back to the dining room to see about your babies.

“Slow down, Andrew.” You laugh as your legs scramble to keep up.

“No can do, Baby Girl.” He grunts, picking up his pace. “Daddy’s really looking forward to that apology. So be sure to eat up because…” He trails off when he comes face-to-face with his sauce covered little ones. “...You’re gonna need all of your strength.”

“You can count on it.”

END

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save-the-villainous-cat · 24 days

Note

Hello cat, may i request a hero who's had a string of bad relationships and a villain who's absolutely in disbelief that that could happen. Like they're absolutely flabbergasted that multiple someones didn't like the hero.

Have a good day! Drink water and rest :>

With the villain's knife nearly digging into the hero's shoulder, they looked up at their enemy, panting and exhausted. They knew the villain loved the thrill, the damn sparring.

It was all a game to the villain, a funny and meaningless game when they toyed with the hero. They liked to watch them fight, loved to challenge them.

The villain seemed way more relaxed than the hero did, after all the hero had a bunch of responsibilities on their shoulders that had an actual weight. The hero was 90% sure the villain was some millionaire with too much time on their hands.

"Quite the intimate position, dear," the villain whispered. They winked and leaned down, making their knife press a little harder against the hero's shoulder. "You look lovely today, by the way."

"Your pick-up lines get worse, do you know that?" the hero asked. They tried to wiggle and somehow get away from their nemesis but it was to no use. The villain sat down on their hips and pressed them into the ground. Their smirk never faltered.

"Oh, come on. You love it."

"Just a little," the hero said. They were pretty sure all of this was a big joke. And even though that was true, even though the villain pretended to like them, the hero welcomed the effort.

It made them feel special. Especially when the villain got jealous.

"Don't tempt me," the villain said. However, their smirk fell when they saw the hero's sad smile. "What is it?"

"What? Nothing, nothing. Where were we? You wanted to stab me?" The pressure faded and the villain looked quite puzzled.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because you're the only interesting hero in this boring city. Would hate it if you actually fought me."

"I am actually fighting you."

"You're holding back, don't think I am that dumb, please."

The hero sighed. They supposed it wasn't a good idea to tell the villain what kind of troubles they got into when they weren't in costume. It wasn't smart to reveal that much of themselves, was it?

They took in another breath.

But wasn't that why they kept their identity a secret?

"...it's kind of pathetic," they said.

"I commit crimes to get your attention. That is pathetic," the villain joked and somewhere deep down, the hero felt more secure. It was strange how the villain could be such a stranger yet the person the hero was closest to.

"I'm just enjoying this more than I should. I'm not very good when it comes to personal relationships, so your efforts are really refreshing."

"You are not good with personal relationships? You with all your conflict-resolving talk and your words of encouragement and your helpful nature? You?"

"Yeah...can't seem to keep a partner."

"You're kidding. You've kept me for three years." The hero smiled. Whether it was intentional or not, the villain managed to calm their anxiousness.

"I guess I am too needy. Or too distant. Too pushy, I don't know. Maybe I am one of those people who doesn't end up with anyone." They shrugged and the irony of saying that while the villain was sitting on their hips only occurred to them later.

"Oh please, people must be throwing themselves at you. I mean, hello!?" The villain looked down the hero's entire body, suggesting that the hero was some kind of royal everyone drooled over. This time, the hero felt their cheeks burn.

"Ugh, stop it. You're so annoying." They pushed the villain's face away, partly because they wanted to touch them, partly because they didn't want the villain to see their glowing face. But the villain only looked amused.

"You're totally lovable," they said. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

With that they winked at the hero and disappeared into the night.

And the hero realised they had a terrible crush on their enemy.

#h-hopital #tossing this like a chunk of meat into the cage (to my followers)#writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

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sugumii · 6 months

Note

Could I request Honkai Star Rail boys receiving a huge bento from their s/o because they worry about the boys working themselves to the bone?

HSR Boys reacting to reader giving them a bento

Ft. Jing Yuan, Blade, Sampo, and Gepard.

Warnings: None.

(Also I do apologize for taking so long. I’ve been extremely busy with college. I’m a nursing student.😭)

_______________________________________________

Jing Yuan:

"Hm? What's this, my beloved?"

The general raised an eyebrow at the box you had placed down on his desk in front of him. It was a dark brown color with a cute red ribbon on top that resembled the one in his hair. It was a rather large box and quite unexpected.

"A bento box. Knowing you, I'm positive you haven't eaten anything besides breakfast." You place a hand on your hip giving the general a scolding glare while he grinned at your nagging. It was another thing he loved about you. "Am I right, general?"

"So you are, but please. No need for such formalities, my love. It's just you and I here alone." His golden eyes glinted mischievously at the annoyed sigh you let out.

"Open it."

Jing Yuan wasted no time carefully untying the crimson ribbon and opening the box, revealing a large assortment of foods. Inside the bento box were different kinds of sushi and egg rolls, all neatly laid out. Some even had cute faces drawn on, making the faintest blush rest on his face.

"So... do you like it?" You nervously ask, twiddling with your thumbs. You were a bit scared of his reaction since you weren't used to doing something like this often.

Jing Yuan snapped out of his trance and offered you the loving grin you had fallen in love with before. His eyes held that same tender warmth reserved only for you. The look on his face made your heart beat rapidly and all your previous worries fade away in an instant.

"Like it? My beloved, I love it. I have yet to even taste it yet I find myself falling for you more. He grabbed your hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of your palm, causing you to blush. He flashed you a wide grin and began to dig in.

"I love you. Thank you ever so much, my beloved."

Blade:

The tall raven-haired swordsman sat dumbfounded at the box you had presented to him. Well, more like shoved into his hands. He looked down at the container filled with various foods, then at you, then back at the box again.

"What's this?"

"A bento box, silly." You stated bashfully, looking up at your lover with a blush. You noticed his red eyes observing you with slight confusion at the unexpected gesture. This caused you to feel somewhat embarrassed as you quickly added, "Kafka told me you've been overworking yourself with missions lately. I wanted to make sure you're eating properly so..."

"So you made me a bento box?" Blade finished, voice as emotionless as ever. You nodded shyly.

"Yeah."

You watched how the raven-haired man let out a 'hm' and picked up the chopsticks, grabbing a sushi roll and putting it into his mouth. His expression remained indifferent, but you could tell he liked it by the way his eyes had lit up slightly. Something only you were able to notice given how long you've known him- a perk really. You were able to notice any slight change in expression he made. It was something you adored about him.

"So... do you like it?"

You were eager to hear him voice his opinion of your food. You watched as he continued to devour the entirety of the box's contents before neatly placing the chopsticks back inside and placing the lid back on, before handing it back to you. He looked down at you and placed a gentle hand on your head, patting it with a minuscule smile.

"Yes." He paused for a moment as if thinking before continuing. "It was delicious."

"Thank you for the meal, darling."

Sampo:

For once, Sampo was truly bewildered.

His violet eyes were wide in shock and amazement at the sight of you right in front of him- holding a cute little Japanese styled bento box.

And what was inside was even better.

From all types of cutely decorated omelettes to wraps- it had what looked like a taste of everything.

All his favorites wrapped in cute and tiny rolls right in front of him. His purple eyes looked up at your face and soaked in the adorable blush tinting your cheeks.

"You made this... for me?" Was all he could think to

say.

You nodded with a smile. "I noticed you've been working harder with the trailblazer, so I wanted to make sure you're eating well at least."

It was such a small act of kindness but it was enough to make Sampo's heart swell. He's used to doing things for people in exchange for something back, but the fact you went out of your way to care and worry about him so much that you cooked this for him?

You've stolen not only his heart but his breath a second time.

He gratefully accepted the lunch from your grasp and hugged you much to your surprise. Sampo was usually more private with his affection in fear of his enemies finding out about his secret lover, but he couldn't help it this time.

You were just too precious.

You let out a gasp and squirmed in his strong arms that engulfed you.

"Sampo! What if someone sees?"

He buried his head into your shoulder and grinned.

"No one will see, sweets. The great and ever so intelligent Sampo Koski can assure you."

If he says so... you decide to trust his word and return his hug, relishing his warmth.

"Thank you, sweetie. What would I do without you?"

He winked, kissing you on the cheek before devouring your delicious food in an instant.

Gepard:

"W-what's this?" Gepard questioned with a blossoming blush adorning his face.

It was now lunch time and the Silvermane Captain finally got his desired break. He had went outside the gates of the guard station to meet up with you as he always did. Despite his busy schedule he still tried to spend as much time as possible with you. When he had suggested that he could spend his lunch break with you, you were ecstatic. Because then you could ensure your lover was eating well! Given that it's important for someone as important as him to be energized to be able to defend Belobog. He was no stranger to overworking himself.

That brings you to where you are now, holding a large bento in front of your lover who was a blushing mess, unsure of what to even say.

*I wanted to surprise you with something different this time." You say happily, watching your boyfriend carefully accept the lunch from you.

The two of you go to sit down at a bench together, thighs gently touching each other as he opened the box. His eyes lit up at the sight of the meal you had cooked him; meat and vegetables. A high protein meal with a sufficient amount of carbs he needs.

Perfect for his diet.

He picked up the chopsticks and began eating slowly as the two of you talked. He was polite and nodded along with a small smile as you rambled to him about your day. He'd take the time to finish chewing before replying. A cute and polite habit he's grown up with.

Truthfully, he loved watching the way your face lit up whenever you talked about something good that happened or the way your lips were in that adorable pout whenever you mention how your older brother Sampo would tease you. He'd also take a small mental note to scold the man if he were to ever catch him in the future. The time flew by before you realized you practically rambled the whole time and forgot to ask about Gepard's day.

"So thats how my day went. How was yours, darling?" You grinned sheepishly at him and adored the way his cheeks were puffed a bit with food. He finished chewing and swallowing before replying.

"Same old same old. Also, the food was delicious.

Thank you, love." He wasn't big on PDA but he cupped your cheek and placed a quick kiss on your forehead before getting up and walking back to the guard station. You watched with a shy grin.

"It was amazing."

"Just like you."

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reds-writings · 3 months

Text

jealousy, jealousy!

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: hello! welcome to my first bout of writing! feedback is greatly appreciated and i hope you enjoy! there isn't much rust content on here so i figured i'd create it myself lmao

warnings: cursing, steamy scenes but nothing too crazy, sorta sexism, marty hart being himself, rust being pigheaded, mentions of sex, etc etc let me know if i missed anything (minors just don't bother interacting regardless thank you!)

word count: around 5.8k

-----

Never did you think that sitting in the passenger’s seat of Rustin Cohle’s red Ford pickup could have you seething as it did now. This wasn’t at all how your night was supposed to go and the culprit of said unsavory evening was sitting right next to you, cigarette pinched between tense fingers and eyes set hard on the dark highway ahead. The stubborn bastard had made no move to turn on the radio to save you both from the borderline unbearable silence. All you had was the humid Louisiana air from his rolled-down window flowing into the truck’s cabin and you couldn’t quite find it in you to be grateful for the fact he seemed to have kept in mind you detested the smell of that sour burning tobacco.

Just who the hell does he think he is?

The question that repeated itself a mile a minute in your Coors-addled brain as it fought to catch up with all that just occurred not even a mere hour prior. Rust, as you already well knew, did not bother himself much when it came to others unless it strictly involved the endless trials of his work. That was the line he drew on a daily basis. Nothing could be clearer than the fact that Rust had little to no capacity for getting truly personal with most who existed in his orbit.

It was something you dealt with a bit better than the likes of your other partner Marty day in and day out at the CID. Though he may be one mystery wrapped in a more or less fucked up enigma, Rust’s way of functioning stayed relatively consistent. You didn’t dig often given that he wasn’t up and ready to offer much in the first place. He was sharp and strong-minded. Possessing most qualities that make well for a good investigative partner. Lines didn’t get muddled. It was how you preferred it. Up until recently, that is.

You didn’t have much nerve or will to go down that route right about now.

Earlier in the day…

Your fingers were cramping at the end of typing the last dregs of the day’s reports. This recent case was starting to weigh heavier and heavier as an influx of countlessly cryptic details revealed themselves with each milestone of the investigative process. Something about this being darkly occultish as it was made it all the more daunting. There was a sense of underlying dread that this was something bigger than all of you. A sentiment you found yourself sharing with at least one of your partners: Rust. Marty on the other hand was still on the fence, not totally in the business of believing this was more than just some twisted piece of shit who had nothing better to do with his time. You wish you had half the mind to reduce it down to something so simple.

Strange things were not that of an irregular occurrence around these parts. Though said strange things didn’t have the habit of making it to the limelight as the Dora Lange case had. This wasn’t the type of case where one could be fine with just leaving it at work and picking it back up when they returned the next day as normal. Its disturbing details twisted themselves into every fiber of your daily life since that poor girl was found posed in Erath. It was better to eat, sleep, and breathe this case so that it may be solved all the more quickly.

A world with one less monster like the one capable of committing a murder such as this is was a world where you could maybe sleep a little more soundly.

Rolling your shoulders back, you twisted your aching neck side to side, resounding with an aching series of pops. God, I need a drink. You thought to yourself as you leaned back into the roller chair at your desk. The clock on your floor’s wall read 6:02. With all the work on your part done you figured you could slip out with much complaint. Stiffly rising from your spot, you started to pack away any necessary belongings into your well-loved messenger bag. Marty glanced up from his notes with a small quirk of his brow, “You headin’ out?”

Throwing your hair up to save yourself from the impending humidity from outside you replied, “Yeah. Need to wash the day off me and go grab a drink or somethin’. Bein’ out talkin’ to them church folk in the heat nearly all afternoon then witnessin’ Rust make that one boy shit himself was enough for the day.”

Marty snorted to himself at that while Rust made no move to acknowledge your statement from his spot as he analyzed his comically large ledger. The blonde sipped his evening coffee as you finished gathering your things, “Don’t get too crazy tonight now. Lots to do in the days to follow I reckon the more this case stays befuddlin’ as is.”

You scoffed lightly, “I don’t doubt that. I’ll probably just head to that Blue Gator joint off the highway. Grab a few beers. Maybe a dance should one be willin’. Need’ta let loose is all.”

“I’m sure any fella would be delighted to spin the night away with the likes of you, darlin’. Leave it at just dancin’ will ya?” Marty snickered a bit as you scowled and flipped him off idly. You notice in your peripheral Rust go still with a pen in hand but he didn’t make any move to look up or participate in the conversation.

Continuing, you fix Marty with a half-hard look, “I’m sure you have your extracurricular activities beyond the job so it ain’t a sin to have my own. Anways, this is hardly an appropriate conversation to have betwixt coworkers, Martin. Keep your nose outta it.”

Marty let out a surprised guffaw and placed an offended hand over his heart. Rust still hadn’t moved an inch from his position. When you let your gaze drift over towards the silent half of the duo you were met with that cold blue stare of his. The mere instance of contact left you feeling funnier than you’d prefer as of late. Things were starting to blossom into something a little different between you two after the few months of being in each other’s presence. He had been starting to open up in a manner he hadn’t bothered to when he first transferred to the CID here in Louisana. His presence had been quiet but no less intimidating, leaving you and Marty at a loss of what to do to prompt him out of his self-imposed shell.

Now, as this new case unfolded it seemed to trigger a sudden release of the deepest tidbits of his…intense opinions and values that went on within the inner workings of his mind. Marty often found himself wishing that Rust never bothered to open his mouth at all. Anything coming from the brooding Texan seemed to offend Hart on some deeper level one way or another.

For you, while it was not all that pleasant to constantly hear how fucked up we as a collective were and how life had little to no meaning, were intrigued nonetheless. You believed that Rust was just as human as everyone else despite him pushing himself as far away from that narrative as possible. He was just broken in a way that couldn’t ever be truly reversed. So while his infinitely dismal ramblings left you feeling more defeated about life than anything else at times, you couldn’t find it in you to really hold it against him.

When it came to your dynamic, he seemed to have more of an unspoken respect for you than most of your colleagues did within the department. It wasn’t some radical declaration made by him that clued you in on the matter. He mostly just treated you the same as everyone else. Not inherently negative nor too positively outgoing where others could accuse him of giving you some form of special treatment. He listened to you and took your input into genuine consideration which was more than you could ask for when it came to working alongside any of your other male counterparts. However, there were these little instances within the recent weeks that had your mind (and heart) taking another route when it came to how Rust Cohle just might regard you.

First, it started with fresh coffee materializing on your desk by the time you’d be strolling in at morning time. Two sugars with one cream and always in your favorite green mug ordained with hand-painted daisies. Very specific and not at all a detail that Marty ever bothered himself with remembering about you in the time you’d known each other. Not that you ever really cared. No one else here would ever think to offer you a damn thing unless it was maybe the lovely receptionist up at the front.

It wasn’t until one night you had forgotten your keys at your desk and made your way back inside the assumingly empty department only to find the Rust Cohle with sleeves pushed up to his elbows in the small office kitchen cleaning your daisy mug that you’d left haphazardly in the sink before leaving. You watched in silent awe as he had set it gently aside after drying it for what you assumed was for the next morning where he’d be the one who dutifully made your memorized coffee order in secret before your arrival. To him, the act was probably meaningless.

To you, the simple scene made your heart squeeze in a way you didn’t think was possible.

Next, it occurred when he started offering you rides to and fro after your car suffered a nasty rear-ending thus needing to have it sit in the shop for the time being. At first, it was a little nerve-wracking to be in close proximity without Marty present to break any drawn-out silences but after a while you’d found yourself in a rhythm you could call your own. Sometimes you’d talk, sometimes you’d sit and listen to whatever old country cassettes he had stowed away in his glove compartment. It was never dull to you.

Each car ride had you piecing together factoids that unfurled into the evergrowing idea that was your new(ish) partner. You still found yourself sharing more about your own life than he did more often than not but you were okay with that. Even if he wasn’t the most reactive of men, you knew he held on to every word. Anything he decided to sparingly share had you doing the same with a reverence you weren’t sure you carried for anyone else.

After getting your car back and no longer needing his chauffeur services a silent agreement had followed. Neither party was completely ready to let go of the pleasant thirty-three minutes permitted to be spent together outside of work. It was decided that he’d drive you home on nights you happened to leave late, deeming it too dangerous to be traveling home at odd hours in the night although you had already been doing so plenty before he manifested into your life.

Eventually, he even found himself at your house one day after having determined that your porch steps needed fixing…or that your gutters should be cleared…or that the lawn was looking a little too overgrown than what was acceptable. Small acts where you felt that maybe he wanted to be in your presence a bit longer than normally desired when it came to his usual limits of socialization.

Seeing him working around your property with that sweat-soiled wife beater of his and those lithe, god-given arms made that squeeze in your heart reach new heights and your tongue feel like lead. Who knew such pictures of domesticity could have this intense of a hold over you? You usually prided yourself in not being so easily affected by men. Though it wasn’t necessarily news that Rust was his own brand of a striking handsome that stood out against most men you’d come across. The sweet tea you’d supply for the dreadful heat when he’d carry out his projects ended up being more for your own benefit than his.

You caught yourself feeling greedy for more of his presence as he made himself an increasingly present fixture in your life. Which realistically…couldn’t lead to any sort of good.

Bringing yourself back to now, his gaze held an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Hell, most times it was hard enough to know exactly what he was thinking unless he outright declared it. Maybe it was disapproval? Judgement? It wasn’t likely that he wanted to hear about your potential escapades. You probably wouldn’t want to hear of his either (not that he ever does speak of it if he even engages in that sort of activity) but you’d be coming from a different place on that matter. He returns to the pages of his ledger after deciding to break the staring spell, “I don’t see what sorta grand company could be found at an establishment such as the Green Gator.”

His tone came out a bit too passive for your liking. Bordering the ugly lines of judgy which was something that rubbed you wrong entirely, “It’s the Blue Gator-”

“Oh hush up, Mr. High and Mighty. Not every man is as intellectually driven as you find yourself. Most men want fun and ain’t gonna pass it up when it’s in front of em’. They don’t need nearly as much as you do to get their rocks off.” Marty angles himself towards Rust in his chair, already willing to bat for you in his more than unhelpful way.

Rust just scoffed and shook his head slightly, “Wouldn’t expect a thing from anyone in this vast shithole…buncha ignorant shitheels with no sense of fuckin’…” He muttered the rest of his ramblings detailing the severe lack of intelligence that the people of Louisiana seemed to hold while bringing his attention back to his ledger.

His shoulders were set in a harder line than usual. Marty got a kick out of it all, reducing Rust’s distaste to not being able to participate in normalcy like anybody else in the world could.

On your end, it struck a nerve that he clearly found your plans more than dissatisfactory. It left an unpleasant taste in your mouth to be on the potential receiving end of Rust’s ruthless judgments.

“You forget him, y/n. You have yourself a good ol’ time with whatever strappin’ young man of your choosing should he be lucky. Don’t let grumpy guss piss on your parade.”

You find yourself grimacing at how much focus on you and the prospect of potentially getting laid has been put. You look back to Rust but he seemed to be no longer interested in your presence, back in his own world and on the case. Patting Marty on the shoulder you finally make your way to head out, “G’night. I’d love it if we never brought any of this up again. Page me if anythin’ comes up.”

“Y’got it, darlin’. You stay safe.” Marty points at you a bit more seriously and you nod in slight exasperation with a soft ‘got it’ before officially leaving. Rust hadn’t said another word which left you feeling all sorts of confused. Relieved he didn’t further insult your plans for a night out? Disappointed he didn’t put up much of a fight when it came to you maybe trying to avoid any of your current problems with the company of another man? You don’t know what you expected but you did know that you needed to get it together and just let this shit go even for just one night.

And what a night it would be indeed.

Night at the Blue Gator…

The night was proving to be a bit more than uneventful. Perhaps uneventful was just about the only thing your mind could handle at the given moment with everything else going on. The lingering feeling of Rust’s disapproval had also left you more affected than desired. With a few Coors in your system, you find your gaze a little hazy as it passes around the kitschy establishment.

Some George Strait song filters through the bar on top of the active chatter of the patrons taking up a surprising amount of space for a Wednesday night. The cute little black dress you managed to find in your closet and squeeze into was becoming less than ideal as you found yourself hearing the siren call of just calling it quits and crawling into bed back home. Clean sheets and reruns of something like The Golden Girls…absolute fucking heaven right about now.

Briefly pressing your perspiring bottle to your forehead, you soon enough were roped into a dance as some lively Brooks and Dunne tune came on. The fella who managed to drag you on the dancefloor was decent enough. A bit short and plenty bald… with maybe a tad too eager of hands for your tastes that left you feeling a bit removed from the experience as a few more songs went on. You weaseled yourself out of the crowd after ‘promising’ baldy (named Rex or Tex but who’s to really care) you’d make your return after grabbing a refreshment.

Making your way to the bar your legs come to a sudden halt at the sight of a familiar figure slouched on a stool. After your brief shock shifted into a brewing irritation, your feet found themselves mobile again as you sidle next to Rust and order yourself another drink. He put out his cigarette as soon as you were near his side but made no motion to speak so you find yourself shooting first.

“For a place you couldn’t bother gettin’ the name right of you can color me surprised to see you here.”

“A man ain’t allowed to drink after work?” Is his flat reply.

You put your hands up in mock defense, “No need for my permission. Just didn’t think you’d grace the simpletons ‘round here when you can have a drink for free and in peace in the comforts of your own home.”

Rust didn’t have anything to say to that, instead lifting his own drink to his lips, “That man sure had a grip on ya. Doesn’t seem the type you’d to give the time of day to. Less’ you’re that compelled to blow off steam.”

The thinly veiled nonchalance of his insult didn’t go past you. Instead, it caused you to bristle only in the way you could when you had a few drinks in you, a bit more sensitive and a helluva lot more confrontational. Who was he to judge how you spend your time? Let alone who the hell you spend it with? You set your new drink down with more force than necessary and felt your face starting to get hot.

“I can dance with just about anybody.”

“That’s been made clear.”

“And why in god’s name do you care exactly just who it is I dance with?”

“Don't remember ever givin' the implication that I quite cared.” Calculated blue flitted over you as if bored. But you knew better.

“I’m sorry, did you just come here to make me out to be some desperate whore for drinkin’ and dancin’ when I’m a grown-” That got his expression to fall with something closely resembling alarm.

“That ain’t-”

“Last I checked I can do whatever I so fuckin’ please. Do not go insertin’ yourself in the aspects of my life in which you are not fuckin’ concerned. Some of us are lonely and tired and can’t take comfort in stupid murder manuals or severe stretches of solitude. Call it my shitty programmin’ but that’s just how it is for most people. If I wanna drink and let a greaseball feel me up then that’s entirely up to me! Shit, it might be dumber than hell but it’s not like I’m gonna sit and wait around for you to make a move! That’s if you even feel a speck of the way I’m startin’ to towards you. Knowin’ you you’ve probably noticed and just like to see me embarrassed or somethin’.”

Everything was coming out like one big bout of word vomit. There was an even deeper change in Rust’s demeanor but you were too tipsy and too angry to pay much notice. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger as you threw up a finger to jab at his shoulder,

“It is not up to you to judge people for the shit they do that you deem is beneath you every chance you get. You’re not perfect yourself and I know you know it. But thanks anyway for making me feel like a fuckin’ stupid loser-” Your heated rant was interrupted by a fat mitt of a hand making its way around your waist.

“This fella botherin’ you, honey?” The hot whiskey-riddled breath of Tex or Lex or whoever the fuck immediately made your nose wrinkle in disgust. Your patience had run its due course for the night as you roughly shoved him off you,

“Oh come off it, Dex-”

“It’s Rex.”

“I don’t care no more I’m leavin’.” You threw a couple bills on the bar’s surface before making your move past both the offending men. Rex had different ideas and made the choice of gripping your arm tightly without much remorse despite your loud protest.

“You still owe me a dance, bitch. Where d’ya think you’re goin-”

“You best get your hands off her, boy.” Rust’s glare was off-putting even to you. Rex was either too stupid or too drunk to really care as he attempted to yank you back towards him. With your heart racing, all you could think to do was take your heel-adorned food and stomp on his booted one hard. The short bastard yelped as he let you go, giving you the room to skirt past him far enough just in time for Rust to take him by the collar and send him reeling with a swift punch.

Rex surprisingly regained momentum and took his chance to get a lick back at Rust but his opponent was already plenty steps ahead of him. Rust took Rex’s fist, twisting it behind the shithead’s back, and slammed his head into the bar countertop with a sick thud. A commotion had well enough formed by now and it was your obvious cue to start hustling your way out. Rust spit on the man who now had made a home on the sticky floorboards before turning to you. Your chest was heaving as you made way to open your mouth but he wouldn’t hear it as he grabbed your arm and started leading you out.

The bar doors slammed open and the persistently thick air of the South drove you further into rage. You yanked your arm a few times until finally freeing yourself from his clutches. He didn’t stop to acknowledge you, instead making his way toward his truck as if expecting you to faithfully trail behind.

“Where exactly do you get off?!” You demanded, struggling to keep up in your heels which then had you electing to nearly fall over yourself trying to rip them off.

No answer.

“I’m talkin’ to you! What the hell is wrong with you?” Your feet were finally free on the warm pavement of the parking lot. You still received no reply.

“RUSTIN.” Your throat nearly felt raw at the volume of your hollering. He stopped at his truck’s passenger door and opened it. The blood in your veins thrummed while your head and heart felt like they were going to burst out of their respective places.

“Get in the truck.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re drunk-”

“You ain't one to talk. Don’t think I ain’t seen those bottles of cough syrup in your car or them pill bottles you got! I’ll make it just fine-"

“Y/n.” His low baritone left no room for argument, nor did his hard stare. You felt like a petulant child staring back at him with your arms crossed.

Your will to break was unshakeable but you had the inclination that if you pushed him hard enough he’d have you in that passenger seat even if you came kicking and screaming. Huffing out a harsh breath you half stomped your way over and climbed in. Grabbing the handle for yourself you slammed the door before he had the chance to close it for you. You felt a lick of petty satisfaction when you saw his shoulders drop and a hand come up to squeeze the back of his neck. It wasn’t often you could catch Rust off-guard, let alone see him visibly exasperated.

After a moment or two, he rounded his way to the driver’s side and got inside with noticeably less ruckus than you did. He lit a cigarette as he pulled out of the parking lot, but not before rolling down the window in consideration of you. Bastard.

“My car better find its way back into my damn driveway come morning.”

He remained silent for the rest of the way.

Back to the present…

Pulling up to your house, the truck hadn’t even made a complete stop before you unbuckled and hastily hopped on out. You only stumbled a bit as the old Ford squeaked behind you in what was probably the harsh fashion in which Rust must’ve slammed on his brakes at your sudden escape. You heard the truck get thrown into park and a heavy slam of a door shutting as you quickened your pace up the pathway to your front porch. Your heaving breaths were drowned out by the frogs and nearby cicadas that created their own little symphony on your property. You knew Rust was following you but you naively hoped you’d make it up to shut the door in his face just in time.

'Fuck, I forgot my shoes.’ Was your narrow thought as you fumbled for your key ring in the endless depths of your purse. Rust’s footsteps grew closer causing you to whip around and shove him back with a clumsy force much to his surprise.

“Don’t you come followin’ me! I’ve had just about enough of you!”

“Listen-”

“No you listen! Never have I been more embarrassed than you’ve made me tonight. Never have I felt more stupid and small all because you decided today was the day I’d be on the shit end of your scathing criticisms! You can fuck right off with that mess. I’m goin’ to bed.” You turned to start your trek before he spoke up again,

“My intentions were not to come by and make you feel stupid.”

A near-jarring laugh clawed its way from your system, “Oh, so that’s your twisted way of makin’ a girl feel cared for. Is that it?”

He let out a frustrated sound, “What’d you mean by startin’ to feel a certain way towards me. Back at the bar.”

Your heart nearly dropped out of your ass just then. Did you really blab on about that somewhere in the middle of your tirade? God, you could just about go feed yourself to the gators right now. Work would no doubt be complete hell after this nightmare of an outing.

“Take it how you want it. I know with you being as perceptive as you are it shouldn’t come as a mystery what I might feel. You do plenty towards me that’s had me foolishly thinkin’ there could be a one in a million chance of somethin’ but no dice. So what I want to know is why did you follow me out. Why did you come all this way to ruin my night.”

The silence was biting as he offered up no explanation. He seemed to be trying to figure out that answer himself. Instead of the petty satisfaction you felt from seeing him at a loss earlier, he seemed well and truly bothered now which left a sinking feeling in your gut. The thought of the immovable force in front of you being this bothered when it came to matters involving you just made you all the more disoriented. There was only one other plausible explanation as to why he went through all this trouble to insert himself into the mix.

You could almost fall to your knees laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of your creeping realization. It couldn’t be. There was just no way. But given the miserable look of Rust’s obvious inner battle on what he should decide to say to you had you gawking.

The man was jealous. Rustin Cohle, feeler of nothing and believer of none, was jealous. A fit of giggles made their way out of you before you could help it. It might’ve been in poor taste during the seriousness of the moment between you both but you couldn’t stop. Rust seemed all the more distressed as if he’d been caught red-handed. Stripped bare in front of you despite no real accusation of his behavior being made quite yet.

“If I knew any better I’d say you were plain jealous, Rust. Can’t say I see you bein’ capable of actin’ so irrationally. I thought entertainin’ such primal notions was too beneath you. Especially should it involve lil ol’ me.”

But he was indeed more than susceptible to all the irrational factors of his so-called programming when it came to you. You were beautiful. Mind, body, and soul. Your presence brought things to the surface he didn’t believe he could ever have the experience of feeling again. It scared him shitless. Having to face what was making his old tired heart beat into a lively rhythm again after convincing himself things of that nature were abysmally futile. Even as you stood in front of him now, with eyes and hair looking something fiercely wild, feet bare and dirtied from your lack of shoes in that high-cut black ensemble you had on. He absolutely knew that he couldn’t bring himself to deny what his programming was demanding of him when it came to the unknowing hold you had over him. Flexing his shaking fingers as if to render them steady he took a slow approach to you.

This was a moment where you had neither the sense nor the imagination to anticipate what he’d do next. It was as if your heart had forgotten how to keep itself beating. This was the closest you had found yourself in his proximity. Being able to see every fine detail of the tragically beautiful man in front of you could have left you speechless for the rest of your days.

A large, calloused hand came to cup your jaw then the other followed. Both nearly took up the entire sides of your face, and their warmth made you feel as if you were on fire. His grip was firm… more so intenful if you were to put a name to it. Eyes searched each other in the most tortuously bated moment you’d ever found yourself being victim to. If you were to move an inch or look away the spell might be broken forever and you think you might just collapse if that were to happen. When had you gotten this dramatic?

Kiss me. God, kiss me. Just kiss me. You thought over and over as if willing it into his mind. Then, as if he heard you through some unspoken link, he did.

It was like being let in on one big universal secret that couldn’t be fathomed by most. Never had you thought a kiss could wield as much power as Rust’s did. For being such a hard and withdrawn individual, the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on your plush ones felt nothing short of soul-bearing and endlessly warm. Trailing your hands up his broad chest, the quick pitter-pattering of his heart didn’t go past you. Drawing your palms up further you reach to lace deft fingers into the sandy waves that you’d secretly been aching to touch for a while now. His breath faltered as you pulled back for a brief moment. It wasn’t long before the invisible magnet between you both had you returning for more.

The kiss turned more intense, bodies pressing and molding into each other as if you could become one entity. His tongue traced the seams of your lips and you had no qualms with letting him invade your senses further. The need for air was becoming harder to ignore but no force on earth could rip you away. The desire for him was something you’d not felt for another person in you’re not sure how long. If not ever. His breath held traces of the Lonestar he’d been cradling and the cigarette he’d deeply pulled on the way here and it had you absolutely hooked as it curled into your mouth. You didn’t know how long the pair of you stood on your porch necking like a bunch of desperate teenagers but by the time he pulled away you felt dizzy at the sight of his flushed complexion and swollen lips. Possessiveness gripped your being at the thought of being able to have such an effect on him. You. No one else.

Rust’s grip loosened on your heated face as he planted one last sweet kiss on you before stepping away entirely. It was a shock that you had any remaining strength to keep yourself upright. His expression seemed a bit more relaxed, a bit too casual for what just transpired. There was a brief pause.

“Don’t go out dancin’ anymore.”

With that, he turned and made his slow descent back to his truck. Snapping out of your daze once the words sunk into the crevices of your Rust-drunk brain you quirked a brow,

“If that’s your odd way of layin’ claim on me I think I’m gonna need to ask for a more straightforward redo, mister.”

You saw his shoulders shake slightly in amusement as the night found itself ending on a more playful albeit confusing note, “G’night, y/n.”

“I’m bein’ serious, Rust. You can’t just kiss a girl like that then waltz on out. I have questions.” You pointed.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow.” The cowboy gave a slight wave and then got into his truck. Oh, you could wipe that subtly growing smirk right off his stupid face. His dry sense of humor made its presence known at what you thought was the most inopportune of times. You stood there watching his truck disappear into the night, the ghost of him sticking to you like molasses. Your fingertips graced your buzzing lips and you could’ve started giggling again like some schoolgirl. How ridiculous indeed.

You were so not letting any of this go when you got into work tomorrow.

#rust cohle #rust cohle x reader #true detective #marty hart #true detective imagine #rust cohle imagine #true detective season 1 #matthew mcconaughey

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sourlove · 7 days

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Wedding Crasher ~ Part II of 'Street Rat' YANDERE BAKUGO KATSUKI

TW: OBSESSION, KIDNAPPING, MURDER, VIOLENCE, GORE, YANDERE THEMES

A/N: This was in very high demand so I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for all the support xxx

READ PART 1 HERE

(Female Reader)

One cold, dark evening, Bakugo Katsuki walked away from the store you worked at and never came back.

Part of you couldn't care less. Another annoyingly persistent part of you cared far too much. It didn't make sense to you. Katsuki was nothing, and yet you still found yourself searching for those scarlet eyes in a crowd. The eyes that never drifted away as if they were anchored on your visage. Sometimes, in the quiet of your mind, you wondered if anybody would ever look at you like that again.

"Y/N, smile!"

Your cheeks hurt as your lips pulled into a wide grin. When you thought back on it, agreeing to marry the first wealthy man that asked might not have been the best idea.

"You lucky bastard!" One of Yuto's drunk friends laughed loudly, as he slung an arm around you carelessly. His breath stunk with expensive alcohol when he leaned in too close to you. "How did you end up pulling a girl like this when you look like that?"

The group laughed at that and you tittered along dutifully. Yuto smirked. "Laugh all you want but she was all over me from the start."

His friend (what was his name again?) groaned dramatically and your resisted the urge to push him off. Just a few more hours, you thought, and we can go home.

"Come on man, just tell us what you did!"

Yuto shrugged and sipped his drink. "You know girls like her. All they need to see is you throwing some money around and they practically throw themselves at you."

Everyone laughed again, voicing their agreement as if you weren't standing there, still smiling like a fool. It was true that Yuto and his friends were in a much higher tax bracket than you but it wasn't like he thought you were some kind of gold-digger.

...right?

The drunkard, whose name you still couldn't recall, leered down at you, bony fingers digging into your hip. "So she's that kind of girl huh?" His breath reeked. "Tell you what, I've got a five dollar bill, do ya think she'll let me get lucky tonight?"

This time, the only people that laughed were Yuto and his smelly little friend, though by the way his hand kept creeping downwards, you could tell it wasn't a joke. The crowd sort of chuckled awkwardly, many of them glancing at you, and you realized you had stopped smiling for the first time since morning.

Kenji. You remembered his name now. When you looked at him, all you could see was your reflection in the display area of the shop, looking down with a pompous, self-satisfied smirk. As if you were untouchable. The only difference was that you were the one being looked down on. The same way you looked down on Katsuki.

Kenji was still laughing when you swung, fist hitting his throat dead on. You watched impassively as he choked and coughed, eyes bulging nearly out of his sockets. Someone screamed and the creep gaped at you, holding his throat. You hoped it would bruise.

"Your breath fucking stinks," you hissed, just as Yuto pulled you away into the garden, away from the wedding reception. You stumbled and tripped but your husband's harsh grip on your arm kept you moving, deeper and deeper into the dark garden maze. The thought of a steamy escapade in the dark of night would have been promising any other time. But not this time.

You expected Yuto to be angry but you didn't expect him to slap you across the face. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Do you know who you just hit right now?!"

"I could ask you the same."

The sudden voice made both of you jump. What you thought was a shadow shifted, revealing a large, broad frame of a man. He towered over Yuto, who was fairly tall, to his credit, but you could barely make out any features other than his light colored hair.

"And who the fuck are you?" Yuto snarled. "This is a private garden!"

The figure didn't move but Yuto surged forward, perhaps in some convoluted attempt to seem threatening. You wanted to tell him to stop, that something felt dangerous about this man but the stranger beat you to it.

There was a loud crack and you gasped when Yuto fell, struck down by the stranger's weapon. He stepped closer and a beam of moonlight fell over his face, highlighting chiseled yet familiar features. Your breath halted in your chest.

Bakugo Katsuki squatted down and fisted Yuto's hair, dragging him up to face level. "I asked you, do you know who you just hit?" The bat he used was covered in nails and a dark red substance you figured was blood, part of which was flowing from your husband's head.

"P-please," he stammered, all bravado gone. "I didn't d-do anything..."

A scowl marred Bakugo's features and he released Yuto's head, standing up. "Wrong answer, asshole." The spiked bat curved in a powerful arc in the sky before landing on Yuto's face. Again and again and again until he stopped screaming and only gurgled noises came from the mess of blood and flesh that used to be a human face.

You were paralyzed with fear, from the beginning of the assault until Bakugo finally locked eyes with you. Your knees gave way and you slumped to the ground, tears spilling uncontrollably. "Oh god, oh god, p-please- don't kill me...!"

Those eyes, those terrible scarlet eyes that you had stared down at from your pedestal, darkened. "Y/N..."

He recognized you. You sobbed and curled up protectively. "Please I'm sorry, please j-just don't kill me, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I-"

This was it, the moment he would take his revenge on you for all those years of dismissal and mockery. Bakugo frowned and moved towards you but you immediately scrambled up, intending to run further into the garden. You had to at least try to get away.

But Bakugo was much faster and stronger than the scrawny kid you remembered. You barely took two steps before he had caught you, hooking a thick arm around your neck despite your screams and struggles.

"Don't worry, baby, everything will be okay once I take you home."

Darkness creeped into your vision and the last thing you saw was the scarlet blood on your dress that only reminded you of those terrible, terrible eyes.

READ PART 3 HERE

A/N: if you liked this, please like, repost and drop a comment or request!

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adviceformefromme · 2 months

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What is that little voice in your head telling you on a day to day? Is it kind, sweet and supportive? Is it judgemental as hell, pushing you like a strict mother, making you feel as though nothing you do is ever good enough? Does it whisper how beautiful you are in the mirror as you wash your hands or point out the acne you're desperately trying to get rid of? Your inner voice is the soundtrack to your daily life and needs to be on your side, like a best friend, not your worst enemy. But how do you shift your inner voice from cruel to kind? I actually had to do this last week. I felt like nothing I was doing was good enough, especially as I'm in a chapter of self-growth. It was exhausting me. Thoughts like, your clothes are terrible, you desperately need botox, your bank balance is in the gutter, you need to do more, be more, become more...you are not good enough.My inner world was literally dragging me down day in day out. Full to the brim of judgmental thoughts. It was fucking exhausting. So what did I do to shift the gears ? 1] I noticed what was going on - this might happen immediately, but you could also be living with negative inner chatter for months if not years. So if you’re feeling icky and in a low vibe state take some time out to become aware, this means sitting in silence, or a guided meditation to take you out of your head. This little mental break will give your inner critic some rest bite so the real you can see what the hell has been going on.

2] I journaled, I wrote and wrote and wrote. I know journalling is not for everyone, but if you can. Just start asking yourself some questions mine was something like ‘why is nothing I do enough, I am trying my best, I really am, why is nothing I do is ever enough’ after some digging, the answers always reveal themselves.

3] Make a new pact with yourself to be kinder and more loving. I wrote myself a little love letter and decided I will be kinder. I will be more loving, I went deep and used examples of how and this worked like magic. It’s been a week already and my inner voice is more gentle and loving.

Sometimes a little check in with yourself to re-align is all that’s needed.

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dca-prompts · 5 months

Note

the boys are separated into different bodies (as a lot of stories go) but they tend to...forget....for the first few weeks

like Moon'll be out on patrols or something and notices how...QUIET. it is in his headspace, so he pokes gently at sun's code to see what's goin on, only to find that there IS no sun.ai present.

And so he at first thinks that maybe sun's offline, but then sun continues not speaking and moon starts getting more and more panicked, fans starting to overwork themselves in the effort to keep his system from overheating because sun's not there, sun's not there and moon doesn't know where he IS and it's too quiet it's never this quiet something's wrong something's missing something's different-

and

is it that strange feeling from before, t-that fog that filled his vision, that sick, twisted static that clung to his very being, nestled into his core, haunted every dark corner of his mind? Is he in the before again? Was the future all just a desperate dream to slip from his fingers like smoke, a facade formed by a being so broken it fabricated a realm to hide away in?

(...do garbled lullabies still sing in a padded-white room, masked by the sounds of now-silent screams?)

Sun'll be cleaning the barrels or sticking googly eyes to a felt puppet while humming the daycare jingle before the Daycare doors burst open and Moon's face appears. Sun turns and starts to ramble on about the day and show off his puppet before taking in the deep sense of wrongness embedded in his counterpart, the frantic look in his eyes, the claws that dig a little too deep into wood, and he instantly knows now is not the time to talk about googly eyes and puppet shows.

(And maybe a small seed of doubt enters his mind that perhaps that thing is back, that if he approaches the lunar animatronic the happily ever after he was so certain was real this morning will be snatched from him like a curtain pulled away to reveal that the jingle he hears all day has been the only thing he's heard, over and over and over again, with no children's laughter and no silly dress-ups and play-pretends...)

And before he can even ask, Moon is flinging himself at Sun and hugging him almost too tightly, sharp hands shaking against the brighter animatronic's casing, muttering on and on about how he didn't know where he was and how sun's never allowed to be that quiet again, and makes sun promise to ping him on the system during patrols after that, and sun just nods and rubs his back gently, listening to the cheery Daycare jingle loop the whole night long.

(sorry I accidentally made this a ramble instead of an idea that's on me, not sure if I conveyed that properly but anyway yeah here's this for ya)

ㅤ

#dca prompt #dca fandom #(scenario prompt)#(au prompt)#GOES BONKERS ? GOES BONKERS GOES BONKERS GOES B #angst #hurt/comfort

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chirpsythismorning · 2 years

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I want to come clean and say I’m in the camp of fans who believe Mike is still oblivious to Will’s feelings...

I agreed with a lot of the skepticism initially after Vol. 2 premiered, but I also have reasoning that might give fans some insight into why it wasn’t that difficult for me to believe Mike was still clueless, even before it was officially confirmed.

For those that aren’t aware, early on in the promotion circuit for season 4, Finn himself stated repeatedly in interviews that he thinks Mike is oblivious to Will’s feelings. And since it was something he mentioned more than once, it’s likely he was advised to say this specifically, or at least given permission to.

And after Vol. 2 was released, the Duffer Brothers themselves finally came out to confirm that Mike is indeed still oblivious.

And one specific pushback I did agree with at first, was the fact that there’s this recurring theme of Mike always being really perceptive to Will’s feelings, but Vol. 2 especially seems to have contradicted this.

Even in Vol. 1, we get a few hints that Mike might still be perceptive to Will, ie. “-You were rolling your eyes, you were moping, barely talking! You basically sabotaged the whole day! ”

This is such an interesting slip-up on Mike’s end, because it means that all those times we saw Will doing these exact things in that episode, from what it looked like initially, Mike wasn’t even looking at Will. But now, we know that Mike was indeed paying attention, it’s just that the show itself wasn’t willing to make us aware of this fact until Mike himself admitted it. We also know that although Mike appeared to be smiley and happy that whole day, he also just admitted here that Will being visibly unhappy sabotaged his ability to enjoy the day. Which means Mike wasn’t really feeling smiley and happy deep down, but he was acting as if he was.

Basically, we’re not getting the whole picture, because the show isn’t willing to give us Mike’s full perspective.

Also, the time that Will catches Mike looking at him in the junkyard is just one of the many moments which the audience can chop up to Will being the one who is looking and staring longingly at Mike, because we've got a lot of moments like that this season. But I would argue this is another slip-up on Mike’s end, which fits into this concept of what the earlier slip-up reveals. Which is this idea that Mike might also be looking at Will when Will isn't looking. And the way Mike reacts here, does arguably give this impression that he’s been caught, which is why he haphazardly rushes back to digging like nothing happened.

And I think getting these little hints gave Bylers hope that Mike is still paying attention to Will, which in turn made the scene of them in the van feel out of place almost? Like if Mike is still so perceptive, even with them being so distant, then why the hell didn’t he notice Will crying beside him??

But what we’re conveniently forgetting is a concept Vol. 1 introduced to us, and it’s something we already saw hints of during the events of season 3, which is that Mike has this tendency to worry too much about El, only to lose Will in the process.

And in season 4, we are quite literally witnessing one of El’s most worrisome experiences to date. Not only that, but her and Mike just had a big fight and Mike still feels indebted to her and responsible for her, at this time when she presumably needs him the most. And so he is yet again, too worried about El and is in turn of course losing Will in the process.

But I also think the explanation for why this scene might have went down exactly the way it did, is actually quite simple.

Which is that, I don’t think they expected Noah to pop off like that...

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the intention was for it to be this very emotional scene, but I highly doubt the emotion Noah ended up pulling off in that specific take, was something they expected to be so overwhelming. And so once they got that take and eventually looked at it among the others, I can’t imagine them considering any other option besides this one for the final-cut, even if it meant not choosing a take where Finn came off slightly more believably oblivious.

Another thing fans are aren’t considering, is the fact that Will crying in front of Mike isn’t exactly a rare occurrence. Will cries pretty often in front of Mike, whether he’s happy or sad, and Mike never seems to mind. I can think of at least 2 other occasions this season alone where Will has had visible tears in his eyes in front of Mike and each time Mike didn't really pry or push Will into telling him the exact reason for why he was crying.

So, although it’s possible Mike saw Will teary eyed or heard a sniffle or something of that nature in a split moment, that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily out of character for him to not question the specifics for why Will is crying, as this is normal Will behavior. Will cries and Mike sits there beside him and that’s always been enough, at least it used to be.

Now, when it comes to the van scene, try to think about all their other scenes in Vol. 1 and how we interpreted them, and then try to apply that same logic here.

When they reunited for the first time at the airport, Mike couldn’t hug Will, even though Will was excited and moving in to hug him. This means that something internally was going on with Mike that, in his mind, had more to do with himself and his own feelings, and not any presumed feelings Will could have for him .

Then (In the Closet) at Rink-O-Mania, Mike says “We’re friends. We’re friends!” And it was surprisingly easy for a lot of Bylers to read between the lines here.

Which is that Mike is practically jumping to defend himself, even though Will wasn’t even implying anything, he was just asking Mike honestly why they’d stopped doing best friend things together.

The problem is, Mike doesn’t read doing those things with Will as best friend things, at least not anymore.

We saw him have no problem hugging any of the other party-members, only Will exclusively was an issue for him. Which proves that he believes doing these friend-like things with Will specifically to be inappropriate in some cases, things he shouldn’t be doing with Will, but his girlfriend. This is why BECAUSE SHE'S MY GIRLFRIEND, WILL and WE’RE FRIENDS X2, feels like a call out to himself!

So how does this all effect the way I interpreted the van scene?

Well, this scene starts with Will joking about them playing D&D and Nintendo for the rest of their lives.

And Mike seems... somber about this.

I’m not sure how the rest of Bylers interpret Mike’s reaction here, but if this post hasn’t made it clear already, it is now canon confirmed that Mike is oblivious to Will’s feelings, which means Mike’s reaction here cannot have anything to do with any assumptions he may have about Will’s potential feelings for him!!

That’s why I would interpret this scene as Mike himself mourning the fact that him and Will are not an option. He genuinely believes it’s not possible for him to live out this reality with Will, a reality he put in our heads back in s3 by the way. So he’s mourning this loss of what could have been, but never will be.

Without many of us realizing it, we’ve seen this repeated scenario all season. Where Mike is having these doubts about him and El, trying to find any and all reasons for them to not be together, and he’s voicing these doubts directly to Will for some clarity.

And instead of Will agreeing with him, Will pushes Mike even closer to El each time, and he does it in ways where his words somehow also relate exactly to not only how he himself is feeling, but how Mike is feeling as well, without either of them even realizing what’s happening.

When Will says, “What if they don’t like the truth,” Will is talking about himself and his own feelings for Mike, which he assumes are unrequited, and so it’s a truth he believes Mike will not like.

Mike hears this and he is thinking about how telling El that he doesn’t love her in the way she wants him to, is a truth she won’t like.

And especially in this moment in the van, when Will makes this comment, we see it trigger Mike into going into yet another spiel about how him and El are anything but fate.

And AGAIN, instead of agreeing or trying to find at least some semblance of truth to what Mike could be saying here, Will tries instead to find a way to give Mike hope for him and El. And he uses his painting to do it.

I think Mike initially did in fact assume that this painting was for a girl Will liked, just as El had mentioned in her letter, which would explain Mike’s awkward mention of it at the airport.

But now, maybe it’s not so hard for Mike to believe that El was lying about this too, even if for a surprise, considering the events of this season and the last, which is that Mike and El do sort of have a track record for lying to each other.

Whereas Will, never lies to Mike. So in Mike’s eyes, if this is what Will is saying happened, then it’s what happened. Period.

That’s also why it’s so unbelievably hard for Will to lie to Mike in the first place here. He literally has to look away as he says this, because he can’t face Mike, knowing he is going to believe everything he says.

This is Will's first lie and his first I love you to Mike.

I believe a big part of Mike is also distracted by relief in this moment, because he has been scared of losing Will, who he is now finding out is technically still gifting him artwork, albeit not directly from him, technically from El, but still!

I just want to drive home this reminder, yet again, that it's now confirmed Mike has no idea Will has feelings for him, which means the only thing that could possibly explain all of this behavior, is that Mike secretly has feelings for Will himself and is under the assumption that those feelings are unrequited.

This fits into the true explanation for why Mike can’t tell El he loves her in the first place, because he relates a lot to these extreme emotions she seems to have for him, but he just doesn’t have those feelings for her, he has them for Will.

And for a long time, Mike felt it would be wrong to her and himself to take this step if he didn’t mean it in the way she did.

This is why he grew so distant from Will and it’s why he’s kind of always had to pick between the two of them, ever since they’ve both been in his life simultaneously.

Mike's gotten used to associating his relationship with El getting more serious, to losing Will. And that has not changed.

And when it comes to Will’s speech, Mike is yet AGAIN, as he has been all season, getting something out of it separate from what Will intends, with both Mike and Will assuming they are on their own in having these unrequited feelings.

This behavior has been such a common trend for Mike this season, and so I don’t see why fans aren’t more in tune with his response being like this. Where he goes from emotional and captivated with Will’s words, and right back to grappling with the fact that he has to accept that it’s El who loves him this way, not Will, and that he just needs to get over it and move on.

El is a literal superhero. If Mike can't love her that way, then what the hell is wrong with him? He's having a hard time accepting why he can't love her, but...

Just like Will, Mike is also using El in place of Will to make himself understand this situation better.

What Will Says: You’re scared of losing her?

What Mike Hears: You’re scared of losing me?

Then Will goes into his monologue, perfectly describing how Mike has been feeling and acting towards Will, because if anyone has been mean to anyone this season, IT WAS MIKE TO WILL!!

And although Mike is interpreting Will's words in this way that highlights his own feelings for Will, more-so than El's, and his expressions throughout do give this impression, that doesn’t necessarily mean Mike thinks Will and him are on the same page.

Again, Mike assumes his feelings are unrequited, so he’s mostly distracted by hiding his own feelings, while having to confront the reality of his situation. He must accept the fact that Will is just trying to help him realize that it's El who feels all these things for him.

Mike needed Will’s explicit support and approval and constant praise, up until the very last second, in order to tell El he loved her. None of this was for Will’s sake, but for his own.

BECAUSE MIKE WAS PIGGYBACKING OFF OF HIS FEELINGS FOR WILL IN ORDER TO SAVE EL!

But honestly, I think the most obvious proof of all for why Mike is still clearly oblivious to Will feelings, is that Mike has had no reaction whatsoever to this revelation if that’s the case.

No sympathy or acknowledgement or anything that could resemble how he should react to his best friend technically coming out as gay to him, even going as far as to admit he loves him...

I don’t care how bad his internalized homophobia is, if Mike Wheeler has feelings for Will Byers, which he thinks are unreciprocated, only to find out that they aren’t, he’s going to lose his shit.

He’s going to quite literally revert to a version of himself he has repressed for a long time, a version that loves Will wholeheartedly.

AKA the true Michael Wheeler we all seem to be missing lately.

I do think that in season 5, when Mike inevitably finds out the truth (most likely from El), and becomes aware of Will’s feelings, all those things that were slip-ups or hidden in the subtext up until this point, wont be so hidden anymore.

All we can hope for now, is that when Will inevitably finds out Mike returns his feelings, that it's not too late...

#byler #stranger things #stranger things spoilers #byler evidence #byler st4 #byler proof #byler season 4 #byler tumblr #byler is real #will byers #mike wheeler #noah schnapp #finn wolfhard #duffer brothers

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musclemanveryregular · 2 months

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Anyway read this please

Mordecai is unphased when Shazzan magics up them some ice cream flavored like his happiest memory but rigby is amazed at how quickly the magical man can do it. Mordecai insists that, "dude, I've already seen that trick a hundred times."

"Yeah, whatever, man. It's just cool! He uses magic, how many other people do you know who can do magic?!"

Behind him in line three other magical characters (Winnie Witch, The Great Gazoo, and Magic Rabbit) all scoff while mordecai and rigby just walk away.

They get back in their golf cart and begin digging for the food. Right as they're about to open their to go bags to grab their ice cream (both in convienent packages to keep back at the House), they get a call from their boss benson over the phone and as mordecai answere it the talking gumball machine man greets them with, "you guys better get back here and clean this awful mess you made in the kitchen or youre both fired," loud enough for them both to hear him off speaker phone, extra emphasis on the word fired.

"Ugh, okay benson we're already on our way, sheesh!!" Rigby says as he holds his ears shut while approaching the phone.

"Good, you better be." A click sound is heard and mordecai also closes his phone.

They buckle in and rigby retorts, "guess we better step on it then.

They're speeding down the road with abandon until they come to a stop at the light. There next to them a talking buggy approaches their vehicle, he sputters at them, "Been checking out your ride there slick, how'd you like to make some cash in an underground racing ring?"

"How much cash you talkin?" Rigby asks as Mordecai punches him in the arm.

"Dude you can't be seriously be listening to this car can you?? He said it's underground! As in illegal man, we can't enter that benson would kill us!"

"Ugh fine! Whatever mordecai! I won't enter just don't hit me!!"

They turn down the buggy and he gives him their card with his wheel, telling them to call him.

They race back home and there they report to benson. He yells at them more about how late they are and not to do that again and they get to work after putting their ice cream away in the freezer.

Later that night after mordecai and rigby lay down to go to sleep, rigby sneaks off to join the race with the golf cart. He finds himself in a racing ring that is actually underground and appears to be completely legal because even the mayor is there.

And then he finds out it's for charity, with a small prize for the winner. And it really is actually on the books legal.

Rigby, who has just been paid an actual paycheck, up front for entering the race, is now racing in an actual on the books race.

He's taken back at first, with several opponents such as Doggy Daddy and his daughter in a mini van, and jabber jaw and loopy in the company car, this race had some fierce competition.

But the little raccoon knew he could make even more money by winning.

So he raced.

And he won.

And then he found himself there every night. He couldn't stop himself from going.

---

One night a noticeably upset Mordecai greets him outside the door as he's attempting to slink off. Mordecai has found out that rigby is moonlighting as a world famous thrill seeking racer. In Mordecai's bed, to Rigby's curious reveal, is several pillows and a basket ball.

Rigby sighs and reluctantly cuts mordecai in on a deal, that they'll both go 50/50 on the driving and the winnings. They each get to take home $25.50 each night.

Their combined skill invites the curiosity of more and more racers. They find themselves up against titans on the track like the world famous Penelope Pitstop, a fashion mogul who is wearing the latest trend and driving an incredibly high tech fancy car.

The cart manages to hold its own and even take home the gold in the end if by a hair.

But their victory dancing was cut short by thunderous clapping as the sky opens up and out comes the god of racing. A Zeus like glowing figure with a steering wheel for a head in a souped up car that looks like it was built for premeditated vehicular manslaughter. And they challenge mordecai and rigby to a race.

"Play you punchies to determine who gets to race this loser?" Mordecai smirks at Rigby. But rigby turns him down, "no mordecai. Rock paper scissors, you always win at punchies!"

They begin their showdown, "best 2 out of 3?" Mordo says to rigby, as he readies his fist.

Rigby has his hand locked and loaded, "on three." He retorts, the question was retoracle as he planned to win twice.

He throws down rock and beats the scissors in the first round. They stare off for another two seconds then throw again and mordecai hits him with the scissors and the rigbone's paper does nothing to protect. Rigby finds himself staring down mordecai again. This time they both pause as the weight of the situation bears down upon them. Another second goes by and they both throw down and rigby's rock crushes mordecai's scissors into dust.

And as that dust settles.

The race is on.

----

#long post #jellystone #regular show

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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 9 months

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Hero Darling- Part 2

Part 1

Hero skated through the city with their powers, leaving a little trail of ice behind them. It started to snow, and Hero smiled as they caught snowflakes on their tongue. Suddenly, Hero stood on a frozen lake. Children laughed and beckoned Hero to skate with them. Hero was just about to join them when their eyes fluttered open. They saw the canopy covering the top of the four-poster bed, and they felt leather digging into their skin.

Oh.

Hero and Villain clashed on the rooftop, Hero's ice shattering against Villain's electricity. Hero cried out as a strong bolt hit them in the side. They crumpled to the ground, twitching and spasming.

"And here I thought you'd prove a challenge, the way the other criminals talk about you."

Villain stalked closer. Hero began to push themselves off the ground when Villain hit them with another bolt.

"Gah!"

"They all said to stay away from you," Villain cackled, stalking closer, "but what do I have to fear from- AUGH!"

Villain's body erupted in flames as a fireball hit them squarely in the back. Villain screamed in agony, trying in vain to extinguish themselves. Hero looked up to see Supervillain, who sent two more fireballs at Villain's writhing form.

"You should've listened to the others," Supervillain said, landing on the rooftop, "they did warn you not to touch them."

Villain's screams died down as they quickly lost consciousness. Supervillain stepped over their body, stalking closer to Hero. Hero watched helplessly with wide eyes. Supervillain crouched down and cupped their face, eliciting a hard flinch from Hero.

"Don't be afraid, Hero," Supervillain said softly, "I won't hurt you."

Hero tried again to push themselves up, but began to crash back down. Supervillain caught them before they could get hurt and lowered them down slowly.

"I don't want to fight you, darling," Supervillain said, "I just want you."

"W-what?"

"Shhh," Supervillain soothed, "I've let you have your fun, but it's time to bring you home now."

Hero's heart was racing. Before they could protest, there was a sharp pinch in their neck. Supervillain carded a hand through Hero's hair. Hero tried to speak, but their tongue felt heavy in their mouth. They blinked slowly and their thoughts slowed to a crawl as they drifted off.

More tears streamed down Hero's face as the memories flooded back. They tried to keep their sobs quiet lest Supervillain should hear them. Hero's tears slowed as they drifted between wakefulness and sleep.

...

Supervillain jumped out of the inferno and tackled Hero to the ground. Their touch burned white-hot and Hero cried out in pain.

"You're mine, and you always will be. Mine, mine, mine..."

Hero bolted upright in bed with a scream, Supervillain's voice still echoing in their head. Footsteps thundered outside their room, and the door swung open to reveal their captor themselves.

"Darling, what's wrong?" Supervillain asked, their features etched with worry.

Hero looked at them with tearful eyes.

"N-nothing," they said in a quiet voice.

Supervillain's features softened; they strode over to Hero's bedside and sat down.

"A nightmare?" they prompted.

Hero nodded hesitantly.

"About me?"

Hero looked away. Supervillain sighed.

"They'll go away soon, my little Hero."

Supervillain reached out to hold Hero, but they flinched, which was impressive considering their restraints. Supervillain's face fell.

"Darling, how many times are we going to talk about the flinching?" Supervillain asked, "I need you to be good for me."

The master criminal procured a syringe. Hero's eyes widened and they shook their head quickly.

"N-no, wait-"

"This is the only way you'll behave," Supervillain said, depositing the contents into Hero's system, "there now, it's going to be alright."

Hero choked on a sob as the room became blurry. Whether it was from unshed tears or the drugs was hard to say.

"Oh, darling."

Supervillain pulled Hero into their lap. Hero was becoming far too out of it to flinch. Their head lolled against Supervillain's chest. Hero's last lucid thought before the drugs took full effect was that they needed to play along, or they were never getting out of here.

ko-fi

tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm

#hero darling #yandere supervillain #hero x villain #hero x supervillain #hero x villain community #yandere community #writeblr #writing #creative writing #whump #snippet #heroes and villains #kidnapping #drugging #noncon drugging #nightmare #yandere x darling #captivity

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thetrashbinseries · 4 months

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— Fahrenheit ( bangchan x reader )

rated - mature | minors dni

parts - one, two (explicit)

warnings - idol universe, name changed idols, mature themes, drug use, alcohol use, sexual themes, mentions of mental illness, slight angst

x x x

“It’s not rocket science, Chris."

My annoyance hits the roof. What the hell is his problem? Why's he turning this into a damn soap opera?

"You're back in LA. New York—yes or no?"

Chris tiptoes the line ever since last year's scandal close shave. I get playing it safe, but I'm alone in a six-bedroom Jersey fortress. In the U.S. media game, I'm golden. No cancel threats, not yet in my rising career.

But the spotlight got hotter after the last single went viral. Chris, in the crosshairs of relentless management, dances a careful routine.

He's the big shot, leader of the world's hottest K-pop group. His company would shoot themselves in the foot by axing him. Yet, Mr. Libra doesn't dig rocking the boat.

"-I want to, babe, but it's too risky right now."

I sigh. Twisting my computer chair, neon lights bathe me in purples and reds. I'm in the studio, bullshitting on songs for the third album.

I've had it. "Catch you later, Chris." The call drops, facedown on the desk, anger swirling.

"Seriously, fuck you." I spit out, taking it personally.

Being a foreigner feels like the snag. His industry would call me a disgrace tagging along.

I don't need that energy.

Am I settling as his 'little secret'? I'm 29, he's 27 – grown folks. Pings remind me of him, but I silence the noise. Facetime interrupts, Jake, the friend with benefits. Games or busy, no time for emotional plays.

Warner signed my band, deep in commitments, mind racing. A shrink's gift? Adderall for my ADHD.

Now, even less time for the BS.

"Hey, daddy." I purr, thickening my accent.

Jake’s smile fades as he eyes me. "What?" I giggle,

"Stop playing with me like that, y/n."

"How am I playing with you?"

"You're gonna end up with your legs cocked back like last time, girl, cool it."

Laughter ensues. I glimpse his background – a parking garage stairwell. We catch up every couple of weeks via Facetime.

"Where are you at?" I squint.

"Recognize it?" Jake turns his phone, revealing the New York City skyline.

"You're out here? Aw, shit." I lean back in my chair, a half-cocked grin, tongue behind my lower lip.

"Aw, shit is right! What's up? What are you up to tonight?"

I chuckle, rolling my eyes. "Nah, uh, Jake. We gotta play nice. I got a good thing going on right now."

He sighs, exasperation audible. "You two still a thing? Thought you were photographed over there, outside the JYPE building?"

"I was."

"They ain't letting that fly, you serious, y/n?"

"I mean, they're being hard on him, but we're still trying to make it work." I express more hope than Chris does. Jake’s viewpoint is valid – he's been through the K-pop circuit, burned out, went solo, and found massive international success.

Which is why he bitches about it.

It's unfair.

"I do wanna see you, though," I admit, the need for an adventure kicking in.

"That's my girl. Hey, I'm about to hop in the car. Should be able to make it over in twenty. You at your spot in Jersey?"

"Yes, I am, Jake, but don't come in on no bullshit."

"I'm always on bullshit. See you in twenty."

Jake hangs up before I can fight back.

Why is my grin so wide? I roll my eyes at my own excitement, surprised at how genuinely thrilled I am to be around someone who wants to be with me. Scanning Chris's messages puts me in a better mood.

babydaddy: there’s no way you just hung up like that -_-

babydaddy: this is my life…my career…

babydaddy: why can't you be more patient?? this is hard for me too…

babydaddy: we need to talk tomorrow…

babydaddy: about us, and where this is going.

The last message triggers something in me. My stomach twists like it always does before bad news. It doesn't change, whether in poverty in my hometown or a small Jersey mansion. The same sunken gut reaction. We've been going back and forth, but this sounds... final. At some point, he'll grow sick of it. I know I have.

Yet, there's so much I love about Chris. Selfishly, I don't want him with anyone else. He's the man of my dreams, flawed as he is, he’s human. My human. I panic, feeling like my boat has sprung a leak, desperate to plug it somehow.

Knowing myself, I turn my phone upside down, placing it on my desk and stand up, distancing myself from the setting. Something else would trap me; all I want is not to reply to him with charged emotion. It wouldn't help anything.

Jake’s on his way over.

I take a deep breath, letting my anxiety settle. I'll talk to him; he always has good insight and wisdom beyond his years. I look at myself in the mirror. I'm in comfy mode, barefoot, walking across hardwood floors.

Entering the dimly lit kitchen, I brew hot chocolate, curling my toes against the balls of my feet, cracking knuckles as I chew my lower lip, mind drifting to Chris. Resistance is weaker now; the reasons to text back sound more convincing. I shake my head, trying to clear my mind, grab my cup, and sip as I walk past my bearded dragon's tank. It's late; he's asleep, tucked into his pink bed. I stare at each plant, trying to keep my thoughts in check.

My outdoor motion detection buzzes the smartwatch on my wrist, signaling someone's arrival. I glimpse headlights through my foyer. My grin widens; I bite my lip, urging myself to behave.

"Alexa, shuffle my evening playlist on Spotify, downstairs."

The nearest speaker obeys, filling the space with music. My dog scurries around my feet as the doorbell rings, and my bigger dog's deep barks echo throughout the house.

“Hey, cool it!" I shout at them, stepping over the little one weaving through my legs, nipping my ankles for some ungodly reason. I open the door, visibly exasperated, while my larger dog bellows from the top of the stairs.

Jake points to her behind me, furrowing his brows dramatically. "I thought we were friends!"

My dog hurls another final, loud bark before slowly making her way down the stairs. I let Jake in, lock the door, and he takes off his shoes, grabbing a disposable guest pair from the basket by the front door. I turn, starting down the hall, and Jake’s full body weight slams into me from behind, arms wrapping around my body, causing me to stumble. Seemingly unpredictably, he stops us from falling while laughing. I catch my footing, give him a firm shove, swipe stray hair behind my ear, and correct the other side, giving him a side-eye.

"Now, you know damn well I'm too clumsy for some stupid shit like that," I scoff, turning into the living room. I walk over to the glass coffee table near the sofa, grab the nearby gold electric candle lighter, tip it into the wide, three-wick candle, and light each of their blackened tips. The scents of apple-cinnamon, cedar, sandalwood, and vanilla fill the room, complemented by the warm orange glow of well-placed LED lights. I sit on the edge of the sofa, and Jake takes his favorite spot on the oversized black beanbag chair nearby. He pulls his hood off, followed by his knitted beanie, ruffling his dark brown hair.

I've got to say, Jake is a handsome guy, no doubt about it.

But I've got problems, and I've caught heavy feelings for one of my biggest headaches lately—Christopher Bang.

We're in this so deep, at least on my end.

I start to think a little harder, trying to see beyond the rose colored glasses for a moment. His text plays through my head as I scroll on my phone, my excuse being searching for another song to skip to on Spotify. But, of course, I get back to the messages Chris sent earlier.

"About us, and where this is going…"

We'd never had an official conversation about being exclusive. We met by chance, fell for each other, and started sneaking around together. I consider Chris my boyfriend, and I’m saved in his phone under ‘baby.' That's got to mean something, right?

The horror begins to set in—has this been a situationship this whole time? Is that why he never went public?

Anxiety creeps in.

"Yo," Jake snaps his fingers, waving his fingers. Damn, I must've been really distracted, crinkled brows as I stare into my phone, thumb tapping against the glass but not doing anything. I look up at him, raising my brows as if I had just briefly missed something he recently said.

"Hm?" I ask.

He's sitting up more, his left hand stroking one of my cats. "Talk to me, girl," he gestures to the marble ashtray with half of a joint, "And pass it."

I lean forward, grabbing the pink joint and placing it between my lips. I use the lighter nearby, sparking it, blowing a few times, the smoke thick and pungent, rising into the air. I tap it into the ashtray and lean over, passing it his way. Jake takes it graciously, placing it between the center of his pink lips and taking a big inhale. He holds it in, nodding, looking down at it as he blows the smoke out the side of his mouth.

"Chris and I got into it again. He told me they were coming to LA for a show over at KCON, and he was like 'maybe I can fly over to see you,' trying to fit it in, delaying his trip to Korea by like three days, which didn’t seem like a big deal. But then after everything ended, he was just hyper-aware of the attention on them and changed his mind," I begin to explain. Jake has taken a few hits during my story; he's leaning forward, passing me the joint again. I take it, hitting it.

"Did he say why?" he asks. Jake’s voice is low, even-toned. He’s invested in my story and the way I’m feeling, I can tell by the way his laser focus is on me as I speak. His eye contact is intense, fiery, the Aries in him.

"No, he didn’t, and that’s what frustrated me, so we got on a call tonight. He like—called me and was dancing around it, and I was like 'look, it’s not hard, are you coming to New York or not.' I was just... over it," I reply, pausing to take another hit before passing it to Jake once more. "He was all 'I want to, baby, but it's too risky.'” I mock his Aussie accent, and Jake can’t help the cough of smoke that comes out from trying to repress a laugh. He turns his head, full-on coughing a couple of times before he catches his breath again.

"Do you need water?" I ask, successfully holding back my own laugh. I don’t wait for his reply, instead, standing up and taking a few steps over to the mini-fridge and grabbing a bottle of spring water, handing it to him.

Plopping back down on the couch, I sigh. "So I didn’t even let him get the rest of it out. I was like 'ok, I’ll talk to you later' and like, hung up."

Jake places the burnt-out joint tip into the tray, effectively ending our puff-puff-pass session, making us both more relaxed and a little spacey. "Oof, y/n, this is... such a unique situation that very few people go through, and even fewer non-K-idols. I mean, I don’t agree with any of it, right? But it’s not me, and Chan, he’s in like–the peak of their career as a boy group, dude." Jake shakes his head, sitting back, my cat jumping from his lap, considering him having moved too much for his comfort.

"I don’t—care," I blurt.

Jake’s head drops back with a sigh before he picks it up again. "That’s probably part of the problem. Chan’s risking his career; Korea is no joke when it comes to this shit. I promise you, unless you’re physically in the industry as an idol over there, you have no idea. It’s so obsessive, and these companies, the management, they will not let you breathe, and the bigger you are—the tighter they hold onto you because there’s so much more to lose at that point."

He only leaves a half second of pause before he says, "I don’t think you’re compatible with—nor do you deserve, that kind of relationship with anyone."

Ouch.

It hurts that much more because—he’s right

"Now that doesn’t make Chan a bad person, or you a weak person. He’s got a right to this life he’s worked super hard to get to, and you’ve got a right to someone to love you the way you want to be loved, especially while you’re in the beginning stage of becoming great yourself. It’s a huge distraction—maybe not a relationship, but like, that kind of relationship."

I can do nothing but sigh, throwing my hands up and sitting back onto the couch, feeling, well, defeated. Can you blame me? It fucking sucks, the reality of it all that I was trying to avoid.

"Fuck," I finally say aloud.

Jake’s looking at me; I know he feels bad for breaking it down so plain, but he does it because he cares about me and wants the best for me, and I know that. “You still do what you want; it’s your life. Whatever you two decide is what you two decide, but that’s just—my limited experience.”

I scoff with a roll of my eyes, “Limited experience. Yeah ok.”

He laughs.

We both understand the subtext of the brief exchange.

“He says we need to talk tomorrow, about us and ‘where this is going’,” I say with air quotes.

“I mean, hey, it’s an opportunity to get your concerns out there, listen to his, and decide what’s best for you. He’ll decide what’s best for him. If that’s being together, great, if not, great. Either way, you’ll be ok. That’s how I like to see these kinds of things.” Jake says, his words profound and his perspective valuable to me. He leans forward, “We’ve known each other like what? Almost a year now?” I nod to confirm, and he continues, “In that short period of time, I can just—tell that you’re a strong person; you wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t. If you ever need someone to talk to, my line is always open.”

I let another long breath go before laying across the sofa on my stomach, bringing myself closer to Jake as I lazily hug a pillow, resting my chin atop it. His advice is logged in my thoughts. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore—the way he phrased it did something to lower my anxiety so I was going to let sleeping dogs lie. “What about you, huh? What’s got you on the East Coast? You’re never over here, rarely in America anymore for real.”

“Yeah, I’ve been—busy, but it’s a blessing, you know? I’m so grateful that so many people support me, as a solo artist, doing my own thing, my way.” Jake never fails to acknowledge those around him that have supported him, and keeps himself grounded and humble somehow through being an international celebrity. “But I was at the Versace show over in Soho. I’ve got a couple of other shows to see for New York Fashion Week, but I touched down and had to come see you.”

I lift a brow. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Jake.”

Without hesitation, he fires back, “I’m not asking you to, y/n.”

It’s enough to drag a snort from me.

He laughs, “The hotels get lonely, and most places I go, I don’t know anyone. I like it here; you’ve done a lot since the last time I was here.” Jake looks around at the decor. He points to a painting of a cat skeleton on a black canvas. “That’s new, I like it.” He says.

“Yeah? I do too; it’s simple but it matches the vibe of the space, I found it by accident one day.”

When Jake says the hotels are lonely, I believe him. He often confides in me about how lonely his lifestyle can be and how it can drive him so crazy that he’ll call everyone through his phone until someone answers, and when that person hangs up, he’ll keep going. More often than not, he doesn’t have anyone to call, despite my insisting that I was an option. Some nights, when it gets really bad, he’ll have a tendency towards drinking, which is something I don’t like, and we’ve talked about ad nauseam. Of course, he’s always welcome in my safe spaces.

“So what’s new with the band? When you texted me the other day, you had like, tons of shit going on that you were freaking out about.” Jake cracks open the bottle of water, taking a gulp.

“I’m flying out to LA next week for a couple of events, but we’re like focused on album three right now; I’ve been locked in the studio just writing.”

“Ok, ok, you got anything for me to hear yet?” He seems to perk up to ask this question.

“Eh, nothing I’m ready to show or anything, just fragments of songs right now. The label is really pushing the work we did with album two to build the hype up for album three, and that’s the one they funded.” I kick my feet slowly in the air behind me as I talk.

“We should do a song together.” Jake says, quite suddenly. He can tell I’m taken aback. I mean, creatively, Jake and I get along great, but we had never discussed merging on a record before. “An official song, I think it could sound incredible.”

I immediately want to agree, of course, but I have a couple of hurdles I know I need to jump now that I’ve gotten to this point in my career. I hated that. I used to be able to agree to a collaboration immediately. But Jake had even more hoops to jump through; he couldn’t commit to something official now either.

So why was he proposing it?

“I gotta ask the label—”

“Fuck the label, dude.” Jake waves his hand, “They don’t have to know anything, not yet. We’ll just work together and see what happens. Whaddya say?”

It takes no thought for me to reply,

“Let’s do it.”

—

Jake wore me down enough to bring him down into the studio, insisting he didn't have anything important to do until tomorrow evening. I don't want to encourage his drinking, but when he spots the whiskey decanter, he gestures to it as I sit down in the main chair in front of the soundboard.

"What’s in there? Hennessy?" He answers his own question as I spin around in the chair to see what he’s talking about. He’s already over at the mini bar, opening it up and whiffing.

"Yeah, but I rarely drink it. I got it for guests." I turn towards my soundboard again, powering it up and waiting for the two large screens to load. I add another thought to the end of my sentence, albeit, to myself. Not like I have guests anyway.

Jake comes over with a glass, the brown liquor sloshing around as he tilts it in my direction. I roll my eyes, taking it, and he’s already got his glass, which he holds out for a toast.

"To the music," Jake says.

"The music." I oblige, clinking his glass and taking my gulp down a lot less gracefully than he does his, before he pours up another for himself. "Don’t overdo it; you’re gonna have a nasty hangover, and I won’t be the one to blame for it." I press a few buttons, and the house lights lower, back to the blue and purple hue I was sitting in earlier.

"I am a grown man that knows my limits." Jake states, matter-of-factly. He sits in the rolling chair at the table alongside me, pulling himself up to the soundboard and sitting back in his chair, sipping his drink as his eyes dance across the screens while I click around, pulling up my digital audio workstation of choice.

I point to the keyboard nearest to him, "Press a key for me?" He does, confirming it's connected and functional, the note ringing out through the monitors.

"Aw yeah." Jake sits up, setting his glass down on the designated cupholder space on the edge of the mixing table as he places both hands on the keys, beginning to fiddle with the limited random keys and chords he had learned how to play while being forced to learn as a trainee. "Damn, it’s been so long." He says, a half smile on his face. I can tell he’s reminiscing, I just can’t tell if it’s good or bad. "You’re so lucky to have control over your music, you know that?" He says, looking over at me before focusing back on the instrument again, slender fingers of his right hand climbing up the keys.

"I don’t really have total control, not anymore. Not sure I ever did." I say with a sigh. "It’s always been like—an Eli and me thing, not just a ‘me’ thing. I just get a little more attention because I’m the one out front, singing." I continue to explain. Jake’s stopped playing, instead choosing to lean in his chair and eye me over the top of his glass as he sips, listening to me with an empathetic nod. "Now with a major label involved, there are so many other factors now."

"You get the final say though, right?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I do." I say with uncertainty, not because it isn’t true, but because it still feels like the decisions I make have to be based on what everyone else thinks is best for us. If I vehemently object, I’m persuaded down to the decisions of others. Sometimes, it feels like I’m being gaslit. But I don’t have much time to ruminate on that, since everything is moving forward at top speed.

"Guess it’s complicated?" Jake concedes.

I nod.

"Girl, you got it," Jake croons in his gruff voice, eyes closed, fingers snapping to start a rhythm. "And I know it, baby, why don’t you?”

I nod, sliding him away from the keys as I hit some chords to match his singing. Unsure if it's a freestyle or something pre-written, I catch the composition unfolding. Music flows through me effortlessly—my natural talent that's brought me this far. It didn't happen overnight, but creating is the part of music that feels like pure joy, a distraction from all the BS.

Soon, we're vibing out a hook, laughing for hours, blending funk with '90s groove, a nostalgic fusion. My phone rings, freezing me in place. The weight of unresolved problems crashes over me. Jake senses it; I bolt before he protests. His eyes speak understanding; he knows when to let me deal with my demons. I answer the phone, attempting to steady my voice.

“Hello?”

“You answered.”

It’s Chris.

His voice is tired, ironic, as if he couldn’t believe it himself but didn’t care.

It irritates me. Why call back so soon if compromise isn't on the table?

“I just called to say, that I’ll be there in about four hours.”

A lump forms in my throat; I glance around for a clock. Holed up in the studio with Jake, time escaped me.

“But you said—“

‘First class, you are now welcome to pre-board flight 917 to Newark, First class, you are now welcome to pre-board flight 917 to Newark.’

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you in a few, yeah?”

“Y-yeah.”

The phone beeps, leaving me in stunned silence. The studio's muted song hums in the background. I'm not ready to face it yet, still figuring out what this sudden visit means.

“Said I wouldn’t do this.” I mutter, pressing my fists against my forehead, heaving a frustrated sigh. I vowed not to let another man stir my emotions, yet here I am—almost having a meltdown. But my feelings are valid. No explanation after a heated argument, and suddenly he's on his way here?

Maybe he got another perspective from the members or his friends. Maybe he thought about it. Either way, he'll be here in four hours. We can hash it out then.

I muster the calm to return to the studio. Jake sits back, his chair turning towards me. “Well?”

I plop onto the nearby sofa. “He’s boarding a flight here now, said he’ll be here in four hours.”

Jake’s brows lift in surprise. “See? I told you…this was going to push you two in some direction it needed to go. Four hours? My man, okay BangChan!” Jake laughs, toasting with his glass. “So I added some drums, check it out.” He plays the track; the groove multiplies.

“You added that part too?” I notice another musical flair, and he nods proudly. After a few seconds, he turns it off, a slow fade of the volume knob.

“I think that’s enough for me to work with for now, what do you think?”

"The skeleton is definitely there, but what about more instruments?" I question. Jake pushes his chair back, picks up his hoodie, slipping it on as he stands up.

“It’s enough to write to; we can come back to it; if Chan’s on his way here, the last thing he needs is to see another guy here late night.” He slips on his shades, his phone reflected in them as he orders an Uber Black. I didn't think he cared like this, feeling closer to him; he did what he felt was best. I was freaking out about how to get him out in time, and Jake took the initiative.

A relieved sigh escapes me. “I owe you.”

“Absolutely nothing. You don’t owe me anything, sweetheart. I had a good time here tonight.” He tucks his phone in his jacket pocket. “Twelve minutes.”

I nod. “Follow me upstairs, I made some cookies yesterday; you can take some with you.”

“Ooh what kind?”

“Chocolate chip.”

“A classic.”

#bang chan #bangchan x reader #chan x reader #chan x you #bangchan smut #chan smut #skz fic #stray kids fic #kpop smut #chan x y/n #chris bang #skz smut #jackson wang #jackson wang x reader #jackson wang fanfic #idol fic #crossover

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marleyybluu · 1 year

Text

Massage

Rio x black!fem!reader Summary: You and Rio finally get some alone time while the kids are with their grandmother

Warnings: sexual content, oral (fem receiving),fingering, creampie, unprotected sex

Word count: 1.9k

YN let out a long sigh as she waited for her husband to come back into the room. With no kids for the night, the couple was enjoying some much-needed alone time. Between their rugrats and busy schedules, it felt like they never got to each other, so Rio's grandmother offered to watch them for the night while they did something special.

A night that had started off sweet and romantic, with flowers piled onto the kitchen island to a lovely date at a restaurant YN had been dying to go to and then a little drive around to get some ice cream and a bottle of wine.

Once that bottle was empty they headed upstairs for a shared shower, with her husband offering a massage right after and that's what led her to be laid out on top of a towel on the bed, she had another that was draped over bare ass. She hummed along to the music in the background, her anticipation grew as she heard footsteps making their way to her location. Rio came back with a bottle of oil in his hand and a sneaky grin on his face.

"You okay?" He asked, she nodded looking over at him. YN found it a bit cute that he wanted to do this, even though they both knew where this was going to end up. "Alright," He moved the towel that was covering her and delivered a playful smack to her cheeks, she giggled and shook her head.

"You won't even make it to my legs before you start trying to fuck me." She challenged. Rio arched his eyebrows knowing she was all talk but was quiet as a mouse when the time came. He remained silent deciding to allow his hands to talk for him, he covered her back up and popped open the bottle, he picked up his phone and changed the song to 'Up Late' by Ari Lennox and it seemed to set the atmosphere just right.

He poured some oil onto his hand and rubbed it between his palms. YN relaxed when his warm hands came in contact with her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered feeling him really dig into her small knots, he wasn't doing too bad so far. Rio took his time making sure to get between every curve and roll on her body, eyes passing over her various tattoos-- some of which he helped her pick. Soon enough he got to her lower back, he smiled removing the towel so he could begin his quest past her hips.

Another land of tattoos to discover just below, his favourite one was above her right ass cheek, his name written out in cursive. It wasn't too big and it wasn't too small. Though she swore up and down that she'd never tattoo a significant other on her, she found herself breaking that rule on their second wedding anniversary, only for him to reveal he got one with her name too-- in sync as the two seemed to always be.

He leaned down kissing the ink, a gesture of appreciation. She hummed in satisfaction. His hands rubbed over her plump cheeks, kneading her like dough, a bit rough but it felt good.

As time passed and another song came into rotation, he was finished with her back and told her to flip over. YN was now on her back, her eyes stayed closed. Rio's eyes turned to hearts, he loved her body-- to him, that woman was crafted by the Gods themselves with no help from the angels, he would drool over her back then and after two kids he was salivating even more.

He proceeded to do the usual, oiling down her body, admiring the work beneath him. He moved from her neck down to the valley of her breasts, taking one in each hand to gently massage them as well. YN squirmed a little bit, her throat flexing as she swallowed thickly. Her nipple became erect. "You doin' good mama?"

A question that didn't necessarily need an answer but he wanted to see what he'd get. "Mhm."

He shook his head rolling her nipples between his thumb and pointer finger. "I need a full answer baby, you know that."

She mentally rolled her eyes, "Yes baby, I'm good."

"Mhm." He mocked playfully, she sucked her teeth not bothering with a response. He left her titties alone and made his way to her torso, admiring her belly button piercing that she got impulsively, she always talked about wanting one but he was surprised she actually acted on it.

He glanced up at her as his hands ghosted her pelvic bone, he'd save that part for last. He continued down her thick thighs, her lovely legs that he couldn't wait to have sitting on his shoulders. YN felt growing wetness between her legs, her body was caving in before she had the chance to protest, she wanted Rio to forget the damn massage and come massage her insides. The man knew she was ready but he just wanted to tease her a little more. Her acrylics impatiently tapped against the sheets. "You have something you want me to do darlin'?"

She shuddered. "No." She lied. The last squirt of oil and Rio closed the cap setting the bottle on the nightstand. He used both hands to apply oil around her pussy lips. He almost moaned at the sight and her scent, he loved the way that woman smelled. If he could live between her legs he would. His hands gliding from her clit down to her hole and back up, he'd push his hands together making her clit poke out from between her lips.

"Shit." YN bit her lip in hopes he didn't hear that, but with those big ass ears, it wasn't likely. Soon his slender finger finds its way inside her soaking folds. "Who's trying to fuck now mamas?" He cockily asked using her words against her. "You're so -ouuu." He cut her off with another stroke of his finger. "You smell so fucking good, you look so fucking good."

YN felt the bed dip, her legs soon coming off the soft mattress, her thighs being pressed against her torso and knees to her head. "Hold 'em." She whimpered at the task of having to hold her own legs open. Rio continued to massage around where she yearned for him, his hands passed up her inner thighs. He groaned nudging his nose against her throbbing clit, tongue finally gliding in her folds.

She sighed smiling. He dove his whole face into her core, slobbering all over her clit as he licked and sucked her soul out. YN let her legs go so they could rest on his shoulders but one hard smack from him was enough of a warning to keep her legs up. "Fuck!" She whined. Her body was on fire, her pussy was pulsating and she wanted nothing more than for him to stretch her out. With her mouth slightly open a beautiful melody of moans bounced off of the walls. Rio felt himself grow harder with every gasp of his name. He reached down and slid off his sweatpants, his hard cock thumped against his stomach, he removed his tongue and replaced it with his fingers.

YN's eye twitched as he made the transition, he was bringing her closer to where she needed to be. "You love talkin' all that shit just to have nothing to say later." He chuckled leaning down and pressing his lips against her pillow-soft ones, she smelt so fucking good. He took away her pleasure for only a second before he placed his hands on the back of her thighs pushing down so she couldn't move them, he drove his hips forward dragging his shaft against her swollen nub, another thrust allowed him inside her wetness. She moaned within the kiss, their tongues sliding past each other, swapping tastes.

"You're so pretty baby." He mumbled against her lips. Penetrating her slow and deep, feeling every slick inch of her walls, his tip continuously pushing against her sweet spot. She couldn't formulate words, barely even thoughts. He moved one of his hands that was wrapped around her thigh and placed it around her neck. He squeezed, but not too hard. He was amused by her many love faces, her eyes threatening to close from the intense pleasure she was receiving.

Rio pouted playfully, "Talk to me, how that feel huh?"

He was killing her. Each stroke somehow felt better than the last, "So fucking good. You're so good to me daddy."

He smirked, her nails clawing at his chest with cries for him to slow down or ease up but he loved seeing her worm around under him, he liked watching her eyes become glossy like they were now, tears breaking their barrier."Christopher." She sounded so desperate, and wimpy and it was only making him harder. Her legs locked around him like a non-verbal way of begging. "Shit! Oh right there!" She cried.

Yn's vision was beginning to get hazy, her eyes slowly crossing as she felt an all too familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach, she was leaking onto the bed but thank goodness for the towel under her. "Rio... Rio!"

He went harder, his pelvis brushing against her clit only added to the intensity and soon he felt liquid on his skin, her body had gone limp, her legs losing their grip— she was overflowing with juices, showering him in her cum. She couldn't even give him a warning beforehand. Her back arched as he continued, her head turned to the side and her hands squeezed his biceps. It was too much.

"Keep goin pretty girl." He encouraged. The constant convulsing from her walls was starting to get to him. "I can't... please!" Yn started to feel overstimulated, a second orgasm daring to pass. "Cumming again?"

All she could do was nod, he smirked slowing down his pace and eventually stopping, he pulled out and looked down at her creamy pussy tempted to dive between her legs again.

"Turn around."

→→→→→→

Saturday morning was paying for Friday night's activities. Yn couldn't move, hell she didn't want to, but the lights that seeped through her curtains were forcing her to move, her body still naked and sore, some bruising on her thighs but it was all in the name of fun and pleasure. The bed was empty but the muffle of music behind the door let her know Rio wasn't too far away. So she wrapped herself in her robe and trickled down the stairs, she was greeted by his back—too wrapped up in his music to feel any sort of presence behind him.

I Wish You Love by Sam Cooke belted through the first floor. She smiled hearing him sing along. She crept behind him dragging her nail down the middle of his back. "Good morning." She muttered. "Mornin' baby." He returned sounding a bit too cheerful, you could tell he was basking in the glory of last night. "I was just about to bring this to you, why don't you go back upstairs?"

She raised her eyebrows. "What's gotten into you?" He shrugged planting a kiss on her cheek. "Upstairs please."

Yn drooled. She obeyed and headed up to their room, she turned on the tv trying to decide what to catch up on. It wasn't too long before Rio walked through the door frame with two plates of food, "Here you go darlin."

"Thank you." She puckered up her lips for another kiss and he delivered. "I love you."

He beamed. "I love you. You can wanna go somewhere today?"

"I thought the kids were coming back today?"

He shook his head. "They're practically begging to stay there and she's fine with it. So it's just us this weekend."

She liked the sound of that. "We don't have to go anywhere today. Besides, I'm tired."

"You want another massage?"

Just sumn quick If you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, comments and reblogs help and are appreciated.

I’ve officially reached 100… well 108 followers and I wanted to say thank you to everyone for following my nonsense. I posted on this account not really expecting a lot of engagement but y’all came in like a flood🤣❤️

Hopefully finishing and uploading more content later or tomorrow but for now

Be cool🤝🏾

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