#marble cave
Text
"Efficiency" left the Big Three vulnerable to smart UAW tactics
Tomorrow (September 22), I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. Tomorrow night, I'll be in person at LA's Book Soup for the launch of Justin C Key's "The World Wasn’t Ready for You." On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.
It's been 143 days since the WGA went on strike against the Hollywood studios. While early tactical leaks from the studios had studio execs chortling and twirling their mustaches about writers caving once they started losing their homes, the strikers aren't wavering – they're still out there, pounding the picket lines, every weekday:
https://www.cnbc.com/2023/08/09/how-hollywood-writers-make-ends-meet-100-days-into-the-writers-guild-strike.html
The studios obviously need writers. That gleeful, anonymous studio exec who got such an obvious erotic charge at the thought of workers being rendered homeless as punishment for challenging his corporate power completely misread the room, and his comments didn't demoralize the writers. Instead, they inspired the actors to go on strike, too.
But how have the writers stayed out since May Day? How have the actors stayed out for 69 days since their strike started on Bastille Day? We can thank the studios for that! As it turns out, the studios have devoted so much energy to rendering creative workers as precarious as possible, hiring as little as they can getting away with and using punishing overtime as a substitute for adequate staffing that they've eliminated all the workers who can't survive on side-hustles and savings for six or seven months at a time.
But even for those layoff-hardened workers, long strikes are brutal, and of course, all the affiliated trades, from costumers to grips, are feeling the pain. The strike fund only goes so far, and non-striking, affected workers don't even get that. That's why I've been donating regularly to the Entertainment Community Fund, which helps all affected workers out with cash transfers (I just gave them another $500):
https://secure2.convio.net/afa/site/Donation2?df_id=8117&8117.donation=form1&mfc_pref=T
As hot labor summer is revealed as a turning point – not just a season – long strikes will become the norm. Bosses still don't believe in worker power, and until they get their minds right, they're going to keep on trying to starve their workforces back inside. To get a sense of how long workers will have to hold out, just consider the Warrior Met strike, where Alabama coal-miners stayed out for 23 months:
https://www.thenation.com/article/activism/warrior-met-strike-union/
As Kim Kelly explained to Adam Conover in the latest Factually podcast, the Alabama coal strikers didn't get anywhere near the attention that the Hollywood strikers have enjoyed:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvyMHf7Yg0Q
(To learn more about the untold story of worker organizing, from prison unions to the key role that people of color and women played in labor history, check out Kelly's book, "Fight Like Hell," now in paperback:)
https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Fight-Like-Hell/Kim-Kelly/9781982171063
Which brings me to the UAW strike. This is an historic strike, the first time that the UAW has struck all of the Big Three automakers at once. Past autoworkers' strikes have marked turning points for all American workers. The 1945/46 GM strike established employers' duty to cover worker pensions, health care, and cost of living allowances. The GM strike created the American middle-class:
https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-18-uaw-strikes-built-american-middle-class/
The Big Three are fighting for all the marbles here. They are refusing to allow unions to organize EV factories. Given that no more internal combustion cars will be in production in just a few short years, that's tantamount to eliminating auto unions altogether. The automakers are flush with cash, including billions in public subsidies from multiple bailouts, along with billions more from greedflation price-gouging. A long siege is inevitable, as the decimillionaires running these companies earn their pay by starving out their workers:
https://www.businessinsider.com/general-motors-ceo-mary-barra-salary-auto-workers-strike-uaw-2023-9
The UAW knows this, of course, and their new leadership – helmed by the union's radical president Shawn Fain – has a plan. UAW workers are engaged in tactical striking, shutting down key parts of the supply chain on a rolling basis, making the 90-day strike fund stretch much farther:
https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2023-09-18-labors-militant-creativity/
In this project, they are greatly aided by Big Car's own relentless pursuit of profit. The automakers – like every monopolized, financialized sector – have stripped all the buffers and slack out of their operations. Inventory on hand is kept to a bare minimum. Inputs are sourced from the cheapest bidder, and they're brought to the factory by the lowest-cost option. Resiliency – spare parts, backup machinery – is forever at war with profits, and profits have won and won and won, leaving auto production in a brittle, and easily shattered state.
This is especially true for staffing. Automakers are violently allergic to hiring workers, because new workers get benefits and workplace protection. Instead, the car companies routinely offer "voluntary" overtime to their existing workforce. By refusing this overtime, workers can kneecap production, without striking.
Enter "Eight and Skate," a campaign among UAW workers to clock out after their eight hour shift. As Keith Brower Brown writes for Labor Notes, the UAW organizers are telling workers that "It’s crossing an unofficial picket line to work overtime. It’s helping out the company":
https://labornotes.org/2023/09/work-extra-during-strike-auto-workers-say-eight-and-skate
Eight and Skate has already started to work; the Buffalo Ford plant can no longer run its normal weekend shifts because workers are refusing to put in voluntary overtime. Of course, bosses will strike back: the next step will be forced overtime, which will lead to the unsafe conditions that unionized workers are contractually obliged to call paid work-stoppages over, shutting down operations without touching the strike fund.
What's more, car bosses can't just halt safety stoppages or change the rules on overtime; per the UAW's last contract, bosses are required to bargain on changes to overtime rules:
https://uaw.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Working-Without-Contract-FAQ-FINAL-2.pdf
Car bosses have become lazily dependent on overtime. At GM's "highly profitable" SUV factory in Arlington, TX, normal production runs a six-days, 24 hours per day. Workers typically work five eight-hour days and nine hours on Saturdays. That's been the status quo for 11 years, but when bosses circulated the usual overtime signup sheet last week, every worker wrote "a big fat NO" next to their names.
Writing for The American Prospect, David Dayen points out that this overtime addiction puts a new complexion on the much-hyped workerpocalypse that EVs will supposedly bring about. EVs are much simpler to build than conventional cars, the argument goes, so a US transition to EVs will throw many autoworkers out of work:
https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-20-big-threes-labor-shortages-uaw/
But the reality is that most autoworkers are doing one and a half jobs already. Reducing the "workforce" by a third could leave all these workers with their existing jobs, and the 40-hour workweek that their forebears fought for at GM inn 1945/46. Add to that the additional workers needed to make batteries, build and maintain charging infrastructure, and so on, and there's no reason to think that EVs will weaken autoworker power.
And as Dayen points out, this overtime addiction isn't limited to cars. It's also endemic to the entertainment industry, where writers' "mini rooms" and other forms of chronic understaffing are used to keep workforces at a skeleton crew, even when the overtime costs more than hiring new workers.
Bosses call themselves job creators, but they have a relentless drive to destroy jobs. If there's one thing bosses hate, it's paying workers – hence all the hype about AI and automation. The stories about looming AI-driven mass unemployment are fairy tales, but they're tailor made for financiers who get alarming, life-threatening priapism at the though of firing us all and replacing us with shell-scripts:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way
This is why Republican "workerism" rings so hollow. Trump's GOP talks a big game about protecting "workers" (by which they mean anglo men) from immigrants and "woke captialism," but they have nothing to say about protecting workers from bosses and bankers who see every dime a worker gets as misappropriated from their dividend.
Unsurprisingly, conservative message-discipline sucks. As Luke Savage writes in Jacobin, for every mealymouthed Josh Hawley mouthing talking points that "support workers" by blaming China and Joe Biden for the Big Three's greed, there's a Tim Scott, saying the quiet part aloud:
https://jacobin.com/2023/09/republicans-uaw-strike-hawley-trump-scott/
Quoth Senator Scott: "I think Ronald Reagan gave us a great example when federal employees decided they were going to strike. He said, you strike, you’re fired. Simple concept to me. To the extent that we can use that once again, absolutely":
https://twitter.com/American_Bridge/status/1704136706574741988
The GOP's workerism is a tissue-thin fake. They can never and will never support real worker power. That creates an opportunity for Biden and Democrats to seize:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/18/co-determination/#now-make-me-do-it
Reversing two generations of anti-worker politics is a marathon, not a sprint. The strikes are going to run for months, even years. Every worker will be called upon to support their striking siblings, every day. We can do it. Solidarity now. Solidarity forever.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/21/eight-and-skate/#strike-to-rule
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Hunger | Coriolanus Snow
From the moment your husband introduces to President Snow, you're untethered, as if the very floor was ripped from underneath you.
Warnings: NON-CON, District 12! Reader, Covey! Reader, Housewife Kink, Manipulation, Somnophilia, Breeding Kink, Chasing
This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.
Nervousness wrenches your insides as you peer at the proceedings from afar. Another gala to raise funds in order to quell a budding rebellion in the Districts. The second one this year.
They always leave you feeling sour. It’s not like the Districts have no reason to start an uprising. The next reaping is fastly approaching and you’d rage too if your family was to go through that again.
You take a tiny sip from your glass of posca, mindful not to overindulge. The diluted, aromatic wine is far stronger than one would imagine. But a slight dash of intoxication is the only way you can see yourself getting through the night. Crowds always made you anxious, but a gathering of Capitol citizens stirs a particular discomfort in you.
You’re not one of them and you often wonder if they can tell, sense a whiff of District 12 on you. The foul stench of unbelonging. Perhaps in the manner you speak or your stance. You’ve never managed to perfectly mimic the way Capitol ladies carry themselves, born from a lifetime of practicing poise and etiquette. After all, you are an outsider, and always will be.
Regardless of how many galas you attend, fashionable dresses you order to match the quickly changing trends of the Capitol, effort you exert to erase your thick Covey accent…it seems someone can always tell there’s more to you.
It’s in that mocking glint in their eyes, that sneering lilt in their voice.
To them, you’ll never be more than District rabble.
Which is exactly why you despise these events. But your husband insisted. He’s working hard to impress his boss, the most important man in all of Panem, and you can’t let him down.
You must be the picture of charm. Laugh at every joke, nod your head when a serious topic is being broached, display interest when personal stories are being shared.
You place a hand on your roaring stomach, a frown creasing your brow. You haven’t swallowed a bite the entire day, too anxious about how tonight would go.
Your gaze darts about the room. The tantalizing spread of appetizers in the middle of the room seems to be calling your name. Your mouth waters.
Without a thought, your feet glide across the marble tiles. A little self-conscious, hesitation tingles at your fingertips as they drum by one of the silver platters. Another pang of hunger pierces your insides at the sight of the food. You cave in, picking up a tiny sandwich from a plate. Your eyes close, angels singing in your mouth as delicious aromas trickle on your tongue.
“Sweetie, there’s someone you must meet,” your husband chimes at your back.
Still chewing on a mouthful of meat and bread, you whirl. Your eyes bulge. Startled, you nearly suffocate on your food.
You quickly wipe your mouth as heat rushes to your cheeks.
You’ve seen his face before. The murky screens do not do justice to his dashing looks.
“President Snow. It’s a pleasure. Apologies, I was…”
A smile ghosts over his lips as he drinks you in, his cerulean gaze dragging over your frame. “No apologies,” he answers silkily. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the food. At least someone is.”
He picks up your hand and presses an ephemeral peck on the back of it. You turn to Henry. The shock adorning your husband’s face mirrors yours.
President Snow’s lips curl skywards.
He lets go of your hand and adds, “It’s nice putting a face to your name. Henry is always raving about you.”
You shake your head, eyes bashfully finding the floor. “Oh, I’m sure he isn’t,” you mumble.
The blonde hums as if to disagree. He bends close to your ear.
“He’s always lauding what a wonderful wife you are, dutiful, sweet…”
…Makes me almost jealous.
Your head whips up.
You blink at the whispered words, barely above a breath. Maybe you heard wrong. It’s hard to tell, the way Snow gauges you, that subtle smile still decorating his handsome face.
He asks you trivial questions about how you’re settling in and how you’re enjoying your life in the Capitol. You answer every time, ignoring the chill dancing at the base of your spine.
His scrutiny swells your unease.
So as soon as the conversation veers away from you and towards the topics of lawmaking and taxes, you snatch the opportunity to excuse yourself.
You give an apologetic smile to your husband.
“Henry, maybe I should go. I’m not feeling too hot.”
He scowls at you. “You want us to leave already?” Disappointment bleeds in his tone. A thick layer of shame settles in the pit of your stomach. You’re being a bad wife.
“You can stay, even if I go,” you try to offer.
“There’s still so many people we haven’t talked to…” Henry argues.
You deflate. You suppose it would be uncouth to leave too early.
To your surprise, President Snow’s smooth lilt interjects, “If your wife is unwell, you both should go.”
You gape at him. A strange glint bounces in his cerulean orbs and unease flutters through you once more.
Henry sighs, grabbing your hand.
“Alright. I’ll go fetch the car.”
He gives the blond a formal salute before dragging you away.
As the two of you leave, the heat of Snow’s attention prickles along your spine.
“Did he say something to you?”
Gasping, you turn to your husband. He pointedly looks at you and you shift awkwardly in the passenger seat.
“What?” you say, taken aback by his sudden question.
He studies you for a while before his gaze drifts back to the road.
“Snow. He said something to you, didn’t he?”
Your chest clenches. Faking nonchalance, you shrug and reply lightly, “Just a joke but I didn’t understand it.”
The days soar by, humdrum and uneventful. You file away the strange moment at the gala and return to your everyday life. Henry occupies most of your time but when you’re not catering to him, you tend to the house and read. And during stolen moments…you play and sing. Henry doesn’t know, of course. It’s a life you left behind, or are supposed to at least.
You’re the wife of a Capitol official, not some District balladeer peddling song for coin.
But you can’t help it.
Singing reminds you of home. Of endless green meadows and lazy afternoons by the river. Your life from before may have been uncertain but you find yourself missing it at times. Missing the freedom to do and act as you pleased.
An orphan like so many others, the Covey were the only family you ever knew. Then you met Henry. Henry who spoke so sweetly to you and gazed at you with warm brown eyes. And he became your family. He didn’t care that you were from a District or that your manners were lacking. He embraced you.
And now you wish to support him in all that he does. Even if it means tossing away parts of yourself.
The front door cracks open, halting the path of the needle between your fingers. A smile blooms on your lips as you place Henry’s shirt on a nearby table. You can resume fixing the buttons on it later. You rise from the armchair and make your way to him. You help him out of his coat, noting the excitement radiating off his frame.
He’s not usually this ecstatic after a day of work. You tilt your head in puzzlement.
He hugs you before announcing, “We have a guest tomorrow, a very important guest.”
“Oh,” you reply, tamping down your concern. The apartment isn’t exactly ready for guests, much less important ones. The fridge needs to be stocked and the furniture requires thorough dusting.
“Yes, I was mentioning what a wonderful cook you are and he said he hasn’t had a home cooked meal in a while.”
“Who?” you ask, your curiosity peaking.
“President Snow,” Henry replies with a victorious grin.
Dread and confusion collide inside you. Why would President Snow visit you and your husband of all people? While Henry’s been rising in ranks quite fast, you can’t picture the leader of the country making time for people like you.
But you don’t voice these thoughts, instead you inquire, “Are you sure my cooking will be enough for him? His palate is used to those fancy meals at the Capitol.”
He cradles your face and plants a kiss on your forehead.
“Don’t doubt yourself, honey. You’re an amazing cook.”
“I just don’t want to let you down,” you confess, anxiously chewing on your lip.
“You won’t,” he assures. His chestnut gaze dives into yours. “This could be a great opportunity for us. Imagine what being close to Snow could do for our lives. He could promote me. We could even move to a bigger place.”
Your brows knit. “I love our place.”
Henry laughs. “Yes but the day we expand our family, you have to admit it’ll be a little small.”
You peer at your surroundings. Every corner of the little house harbors a beloved memory. You’d hate leaving it behind, but you suppose he’s right. You might outgrow it one day.
Henry frames your chin to draw your focus back to him.
“Just be yourself,” he says. “Your kind, sweet, wonderful self and all will be well.”
Nodding, you give a feeble smile.
“Understood.”
The next day is spent meticulously cleaning every inch of the house. For hours you’re anxious, wondering what to say or do, how to behave. You don’t have the natural wit and charm to impress someone like Coriolanus Snow. You keep worrying you’ll speak out of turn and embarrass Henry. Preparing dinner is the only time your mind is at rest. You stir the vegetables in the stew, smiling as the delectable scent fills your nostrils. It’s simmered for hours to create a rich flavor. It’s only your second time trying this recipe so you’re a bit nervous. Henry adored it but he’s your husband. You don’t know if President Snow’s delicate taste buds will find your meals to his liking.
You’re slightly more confident about your strawberry cake. While you struggled with it at first, the frosting never quite coming out the way you wanted, it’s now turned into one of your specialties.
The doorbell rings and you freeze. You glance up at the clock hanging near the stove. Already? Time has flown and you didn’t notice.
As you approach the door, you smooth out the wrinkles in your apron and straighten your spine. You take a deep breath before opening the door.
A wobbly smile cants your lips upwards.
“President Snow, it’s an honor,” you greet cheerfully.
The tall blond crosses the threshold after your husband. You take him in, trying to girdle your apprehension. He casts an imposing figure with his slicked back silver locks and tailored purple suit, the signature white rose pinned to his left breast pocket as always.
An aura of authority seems to follow him wherever he goes.
“Please, the honor is mine,” Snow says. His sky gaze roams across the living room. His expression is unreadable and you feel a bit self-conscious. It’s likely not as luxurious as what he’s used to. But to your surprise, he looks right at you and says, “What a lovely abode.”
His nose twitches as he hums, “I smell something heavenly, for me perhaps?”
You nod.
“I made beef stew.”
“Wonderful.”
Your cheeks warm at the compliment.
“Shall we sit?” Henry says, escorting him to the dining room.
You rush to the kitchen and throw your apron on a chair. Inhaling a lungful of nerve, you slip on gloves and grab the pot from the stove. Slowly, you bring out the food. Your skin tingles with the weight of Snow’s eyes on you.
You ladle out the stew on each plate. When you circle the table to serve Snow, you feel the faintest brush of fingertips over your hip. You flinch.
When you look at him, an almost imperceptible smile hovers on his lips. You blink and it almost seems like it’s gone, as if you dreamt the entire instant. The ladle wavers in your hand.
Did he mean to do that? Once again, you question your own senses, your sanity. It was a fleeting touch, the accidental kind that occurs everyday. But somehow your nerves are agitated with this mere, insignificant second.
Quickly, you round the table and plop down in the chair next to your husband. He squeezes your hand beneath the table, his brown gaze spelling “good job”. Relief sits inside you. You spent all day agonizing over every aspect of tonight so it’s nice to know Henry appreciates your efforts at least.
Everyone starts eating, your husband and Snow engaging in topics you only listen to with half an ear. Instead you focus on your plate, swallowing tiny bites of the stew.
The flavor is nice and rich, just like you hoped, and pride trickles inside you.
“You’re so silent. Are we boring you?”
Snow’s abrupt statement yanks a sharp gasp from you. Your head snaps up. You realize both he and Henry are staring at you. Your face warms.
“N-No, I just don’t have anything interesting to contribute,” you stammer, your head dipping.
“My wife has no mind for politics, I’m afraid,” Henry chuckles.
Your mouth screws shut, your fingers tightening around your spoon. It’s more that your opinions differ vastly and there are things Henry prefers you don’t say aloud.
A crooked smirk blooms on Snow’s lips.
“Ah, a pretty, silent one. I believe you lucked out with this one, Henry.”
Your teeth grind as your brows twitch. Pretty and silent. You don’t know why the words chafe you, cutting into you as deep as a knife.
You rise from your chair and grab your near empty plate.
“I should go clean the kitchen,” you announce with a terse smile.
You don’t look back as you walk away, berating yourself with every step.
This isn’t how one should behave in front of him. But you also don’t think you can spend another second in his presence.
You rub the sponge over the top of the stove, satisfaction trickling inside you as the grease and sauce stains are wiped away. You bask in the calm, concentrated on your task.
A warm breath tickles the shell of your ear.
“You seemed peeved before.”
Sucking a sharp breath, you whirl on your heels. Your hand spreads over your chest as your vision is filled with the towering frame of President Snow. His stance is relaxed as he peers at you curiously.
“You scared me…President.”
He ignores your reaction, continuing his statement from before, “When we were discussing the next reaping.”
You shake your head. “I wasn’t peeved.”
“Your face, it did that thing.” Your forehead creases. He inches closer. The scent of roses, thick and heady, coats your senses. Your head starts spinning. “Like now. It bothered you.”
Panic flutters through you. This is a man who could have you hanged or jailed for saying the wrong thing. But something about his expression tells you he won’t relent, that he'll only take the truth and nothing else.
So your heart spills out of you.
“In an ideal world, we wouldn’t need the Hunger Games. They are…” You trail off, remembering yourself, who you’re speaking to. You bite down your feelings and go quiet.
But Snow bends over you, crowding your space as your back hits the edge of the stove.
“What? Barbaric? Cruel?” He chuckles and goosebumps rise on your flesh. “But we do need them, dove. Every single year. So the districts never forget their place, and most importantly ours.”
Your lip quakes. Snow’s gaze follows the motion, his lips slanting lopsidedly.
“Such a sweet soul,” he whispers.
He suddenly backs away from you. Air rushes back to your lungs.
“It’s late. I should take my leave. Thank you for a most…enlightening dinner.”
You resume your life and, for a while, everything is normal. Henry doesn’t talk about that night again and neither do you, the both of you bonded by that silent agreement. Maybe he saw Snow talking to you in the kitchen, maybe he didn’t. You’ll never know as he keeps his thoughts to himself, throwing himself into his work and acting like his usual self.
And if there’s a bit more distance between the two of you in the marital bed, you try not to let it bother you. With time, the strangeness will fade and you and Henry will be back on track, trying for a child and enjoying marital bliss.
Though one evening, things are anything but normal. In fact, the world all but ends.
Your husband peruses the notice letter for rent once more. The blood seems to leave his face.
He runs his fingers through his dark curls.
“I don’t understand.”
Hands resting on his shoulders, your heart skips a beat as you read the neat printed letters.
Rent in your building has doubled overnight. If you and your husband do not pay up by next week, you will be evicted. Houseless.
Hell, you might even be sent back to your district. Your heart plummets to your feet. Your knees buckle underneath you. Henry catches you before you fall, leading you to the sofa as panicked breaths rush through your lungs.
He hunkers in front of you and holds your hands.
“I promise you I’ll find a way. Take out a loan or-”
“A loan we won’t be able to pay back?”
His jaw clenches. “Just let me handle it, okay?”
Though doubts creep inside you, you nod.
The days race along, tension growing each day as the deadline is approaching. Only three days. In just three days, you and your husband will be evicted unless a miracle happens.
And you conclude from the dark circles under Henry’s eyes and the way he barely answers when you speak to him, that he’s as clueless as you are.
There is no solution. Once again, the Capitol and its arbitrary rules strike.
So you come to a decision.
A decision that leads you in front of the biggest mansion in the entire Capitol. President Coriolanus Snow’s house. You suck in a wide lungful, quelling a shudder at the sight of the blue-clad peacekeepers lining the walls.
You stride towards the massive entrance gates. White roses twine around the wrought iron, their thorns seeming as sharp as knives.
You gather your nerves and lift a tremulous hand towards the intercom.
Before you can even state your matter, a disembodied, feminine voice rises from the device.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asks stiffly.
Hasty words pour out of you. “No, but I just need a minute-”
“President Snow doesn’t accept any visitors,” she responds harshly.
Your heart sinks. Of course he doesn’t. It was naive of you to cling to the illusory hope he’d see you anyway. Just for one dinner he likely forgot about. He’s the president. There are crucial matters that perpetually call for his attention. A myriad of things bigger and more important than a single Capitol citizen’s rent issues.
Still, you elect to try again, remembering the imminent deadline.
“Please,” you beg. “It’s very important.”
A distorted sigh ripples from the intercom.
“If you do not leave the premises, we will be compelled to remove you from the property, miss.”
One of the peacekeepers posted at the gates looks straight at you, his hand tightening over the rear of his machine gun. A wave of ice spreads through your veins.
You swallow and step back, accepting your defeat. Burning with shame, you start walking away from the mansion.
But you’re hardly a feet away, as the same voice from before erupts again, much softer this time.
“My apologies, miss. I didn’t realize you were a close friend of President Snow.”
Your jaw hangs slack as you turn.
A woman with long dark hair appears through the open gates.
“Please, follow me,” she says as she approaches you. “The president will see you right away.”
Still steeped in utter shock, you acquiesce. You trail behind her. You can’t help but allow your eyes to wander as the woman escorts you through a dizzying series of hallways. While the front of the mansion is impressive with its lavish gardens and striking architecture, the inside is just as grandiose. You feel small as your gaze rests on all the sculptures and paintings decorating every corner of the house. Everywhere you look, there is something beautiful and eye-catching. The entire house is like a museum, meant to be admired rather than lived in.
Eventually the woman halts in front of a mahogany door. She tugs on the brass handles and stands to the side, making room for you to walk in. You mumble ‘thank you’ under your breath as you stumble inside the office.
President Snow’s blue eyes crinkle when they rest on you.
“Hello, dove. Why don’t you have a seat?” he offers, pointing at the chair before his desk.
Licking your lips, you do as he says. Despite the softness of the plush upholstery you sit on, your nerves flare up. You had an entire speech ready, one you practiced on the way here.
But now that you’re here, his intense focus pinned on you, you’re at a loss.
Shaky words trickle out of your mouth.
“President Snow. I know you must be so busy…”
“Nonsense,” he interrupts, leaning back in his leather chair. “I always find time for my friends.”
You swallow the lump in your throat.
“T-That’s a relief to hear,” you stammer.
A maid brings a kettle and biscuits on a silver platter.
“Tea?” Snow asks as he picks up the kettle.
“No, thank you.”
As Snow pours himself a cup, you ponder your next words. You don’t want to seem greedy but you can’t think of an elegant way to state your purpose.
So you settle for the truth.
“I came because…my husband and I are in a bit of trouble.”
Snow scrutinizes you for a while. Your stomach tightens.
He then gives a sluggish nod, bending forwards as his fingers lace together.
“Do tell me everything, dove.”
You do exactly that. Snow is silent as your trembling voice fills his office. No word leaves his mouth while he listens. You don’t skip out a single detail, making a point to emphasize what consequences could befall upon you and your husband should you fail to meet the deadline.
When you’re done, he sips from his tea cup and hums, “How unfortunate.”
“Can’t it be undone? I mean, couldn’t you…”
He chuckles along the porcelain rim of his cup. “I’m not responsible for every law and charter. I approve them, of course, but there are committees, councils. Each law serves the betterment of Panem as a whole. I can’t undo what has been done. I mean, how would this look to the rest of the Capitol? Like I have a different set of rules for my friends? I have to look impartial.” Heaving out a deep sigh, he sets his cup down. “Apologies, dove, my hands are tied.”
The world seems to collapse around you. Your stomach sinks.
You surmise it was too big an ask, even for the President of Panem. You can’t expect special treatment. It was silly of you to even come hoping for anything resembling that.
You were foolish. Now you must collect the pathetic remnants of your dignity and take your leave.
Gulping down the tears pressing at the back of your eyes, you nod.
“I’m sorry I asked,” you croak, already beginning to rise from your chair.
His deep lilt pauses your motion.
“But I suppose…there could be a solution. An alternative.”
Your brow furrows as you drop back on the chair.
“An alternative?”
“I could cover the difference.”
Your mouth nearly hits the floor. Snow using his own funds to help? It could be the very miracle you and your husband waited for. You would have to pay him back over time, of course. But for now, it would allow you and Henry to keep the apartment.
It’s a godsend.
“You would do that for us?” you mutter, shock stealing your air.
His reply is nonchalant. “Yes. I’d simply file it under my own personal investments.” Slanting his head sideways, he studies you. “I’d just ask for a small favor in exchange.”
“A favor?”
You wonder what kind of favor you could do for someone like Coriolanus Snow, the man who has everything and more. Gaping at him, you wait for him to elaborate.
He leans forward, crossing his arms over his desk.
“It’s not much but it would mean the world to me. The house needs some upkeep. Just a few light chores here and there. No cleaning, of course; I have an entire staff in charge of that. But the garden needs tending.” His inflection softens as he takes you in. “A home cooked meal every now and then would be nice, and I might sometimes ask you to join me for tea and conversation…” Mirth sways in his cerulean orbs. “As dreadful as that may sound.”
You move your head in assent.
“I think I can do that. But w-why me?”
He gives a long exhale, resting his jaw in his hand.
“Honestly dove? You’d be the one doing me a favor. All day, I’m surrounded by vultures.” Snow rolls his eyes skyward. “Sycophants who placate me with false smiles and honeyed lies.” His tone warms when his gaze falls back on you. “I simply wish to return home to someone genuine, someone who would never lie to me. And you wouldn’t, would you?”
“W-What?”
“Lie to me.”
Your skin heats under his scrutiny.
Trying not to squirm, you sputter, “Never, sir.”
“Music to my ears,” the young president croons.
It’s not sounding like more work than what you do at home. You can already hear Henry’s discontent echoing in your head. You won’t have as much time for him. That too will be yet another adjustment.
But what other option is there? Even the family of four above yours had to move, unable to keep up with the sudden rent increase. You and Henry could be next.
“I…W-When do I start?”
The corners of Snow’s lips tug upwards.
“How does tomorrow sound?”
“You’re going to work for him?”
Henry’s displeasure ripples through you. You twine your hands and cast him an apologetic look. He despises that you went behind his back; you know that. But Henry ran himself ragged trying to come up with a solution. You didn’t want him to carry the burden on his own. That is not what a marriage is.
“He needs a housekeeper, of sorts. And he paid this month’s rent and the next upfront.”
Henry’s brows crumple. “Still, that’s…” Shoulders sagging, he crashes onto the sofa. The built-up exhaustion of the last few days seems to return all at once. You know he hasn’t slept a wink this whole week. Heart squeezing, you join his side and cradle his hand in your lap. Henry’s voice is dripping with shame and regret. “The entire reason I moved us here is so you never have to want for anything, so you wouldn’t have to work or suffer another day in this life.” His head dips. “I failed you.”
You cup his face, plunging your eyes into his.
“You didn’t fail me. And I won’t suffer. Sometimes life throws you lemons and you just have to squeeze those suckers dry.”
A hollow chuckle slips through his lips.
You run your thumbs over his growing beard.
"Listen, I know this wasn’t in our plans, but it’s just for now. In time, we’ll figure something out but I have to do this.” You lean your forehead against his. “For us.”
“Okay,” he belatedly concedes. He pulls your hands to his chest, kissing your knuckles.
“Just come home when you’re done.”
“I will,” you promise.
The first day slogs forth without a hitch. A car picks you up in the morning and drops you off at President Snow’s estate. The dark-haired woman from before welcomes you, introduces you to the staff and walks you through your duties. You learn her name is Ariadne.
You spend most of the day busy in the garden and library. Snow’s garden of roses might be one of the hidden treasures of Panem. Taking care of it is a pleasure and you even give yourself some minutes to bask in the sun’s warmth.
The library shelves need dusting and you tend to this task as well, humming familiar tunes to yourself while working. It is no harm if no one is around to hear you sing.
You don’t get bored as there’s always a task requiring your attention in the massive house.
When stars begin to dust the darkening sky, you rush to the kitchen. You get started on dinner. Staff members give you space to work and you’re grateful. You don’t like being ogled while you cook. You marvel at the gold, high-end appliances as you knead your dough. The kitchen is pristine, like everything else in the house. You settle for something simple, hearty and warm. There is no point in pretending you’re some fancy chef when you’re not. If it’s what Snow desired, he’d have hired one. There’s a plethora of them in the Capitol for him to choose from after all. And they’d all line up outside his house in a heartbeat if he requested it.
You stand nervous, hands folded in your lap as the meal you prepared is brought out onto silver plates. You spent hours on it. Hopefully he likes it.
“This smells like heaven,” Snow purrs.
He then points at the chair next to his on the long table.
“Have a seat.”
Your eyes bulge. Not only are you stunned by his request, as there are so many other chairs on the gigantic dinner table, but you were hoping to return home to Henry once dinner was served.
“Oh, I thought…”
He smiles at you. “I hate dining alone.”
You consider arguing. But as you remember all that you owe him, your mouth squeezes shut. You give a meek nod and drag your feet to the chair.
“Of course.”
You pick up your knife and fork…one of the knives and forks. You choose at random, unsure what purpose each of the cutlery items serves.
A smile waltzes upon Snow’s lips as he watches you. Shame pools in your gut. You feel like you’re making a fool of yourself.
He takes a bite of food and hums low in his throat, his eyes closing.
“Your cooking never fails to amaze, dove,” he lauds. Blue eyes search your face. “Are you hiding other talents from me?”
Your eyes lock onto your napkin, following the swirl of the flower patterns sewn in the corners. “I don’t think so,” you mumble.
Dinner continues in silence, only occasionally shattered by Snow’s sounds of delight and words of praise. Your own bites are small. While you’re glad it turned out the way you wanted, you’d rather save your appetite for home.
When a maid brings tea after the meal, Snow raises a dismissive hand.
“We’ll have tea and cakes in the study,” he announces.
Your face scrunches. “But it’s getting late. I should-”
“I must insist,” he interrupts. He rises from his seat and offers you his outstretched hand.
His smile broadens.
“You would rob me of your company so swiftly, dove? How cruel of you.”
Reluctantly, you accept the hand he gives you. He helps you out of your chair and motions at you to follow him.
The both of you end up in his study, sitting by the fire. Tea is placed on the small table between you. Coriolanus takes a slow sip while you fiddle with your hands.
His cerulean gaze locks with yours.
“That song you were humming earlier.”
Your chest seizes.
The loud thudding of your heart fills your ears. You swallow thickly.
“A song?”
“Yes,” he says absently, adding another spoonful of sugar to his cup. He gives a small stir before bringing it to his lips again. “I heard it as I walked by the library.”
You try not to let your panic show, cloaking yourself in false nonchalance. You thought you were discreet, quiet almost.
“Ah, that. It’s nothing,” you elude.
“No, it was lovely. You have the voice of an angel.”
The compliment leaves you speechless.
But his next words tie your stomach in knots.
“I want to hear it again.”
“I don’t really…perform for audiences.”
“You mean since you left the Covey?”
Mouth agape, you stare at him. How did he find out? You don’t remember ever bringing it up. In fact, you wouldn’t. You expend great effort to hide your past on a daily basis.
Your reaction draws a snort from him. Amusement bounces in his orbs.
“Come on, dove, that accent…It might fool others but not me.”
“I don’t sing anymore,” you state firmly.
Even if you did, you wouldn’t do it for Coriolanus Snow. Not of your own free will.
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His inflection becomes sharp, all softness evanescing. “Remember when I told you that I hated lies?” His pointed gaze sends chills through your body. “Sing for me, dove.”
Your mouth goes dry as sand.
You understand his words for what they are. An order from your president. A strange order…but an order nonetheless.
You don’t get to refuse. You’re to sing for him, whether it pleases you or not.
Like a bird in a cage.
So you do it. Your lips fall open and clear, soft notes rise out of you. A traditional song your mother taught you. It tells the story of a girl who meets a boy with ocean eyes, how she drowns in them but the fall is like rising to heaven.
As your voice fills his office, Snow’s scorching gaze doesn’t leave you.
When the song is done, he doesn’t applaud or praise you.
Instead, his eyes bear into you for what feels like an eternity. You try not to move, though your heart thunders in your chest.
“See, was that so hard?” he asks, that cocky smile still adorning his lips. You don’t reply, your throat ablaze. It felt as if you didn’t belong to yourself just then. And it terrifies you. He slides your untouched cup towards you. “Drink your tea before it gets cold. Then, you can go home.”
Without a protest, you lift the cup to your mouth. One measly cup of tea and you’ll get to go home. Then this uncomfortable evening can end. Finally.
But as the liquid trickles inside your mouth, tendrils of darkness lurk in your vision. Your body gets heavier. So heavy you can’t hold the cup anymore, or even yourself. The porcelain dish vanishes from your hands. You sag into your chair.
Progressively, colors dim around you.
Then sleep drags you down into a rabbit hole of utter oblivion. And all is blackness.
Softness like you’ve never felt before greets you when you awake. Like being embraced by fluffy clouds. For a while, you linger in the comfortable sensation, humming against the plush blankets. But as your eyes land on the thin slice of sunlight spilling from the window, you unleash an audible gasp.
You bolt in a sitting position.
Your eyes widen as you find Ariadne observing you between the velvet curtains at the end of the bed.
Gripping the side of your head, you glance at your surroundings. Clearly, you’re in a room. But how did you wind up here? No matter how hard you try, you can’t summon a single memory from last night.
“Ariadne? What happened?”
She circles the bed to take a seat next to you. Her gentle tone alleviates your rising panic.
“You fell asleep,” she explains. “Master Snow brought you here so you can get some proper rest.”
You sigh. It does make sense. Though you can’t stamp out the trickle of embarrassment sitting inside you with that knowledge. You dozed off on the job, on your first day. Hopefully, Snow isn’t too offended.
“I must have been more tired than I thought,” you mutter, looking down.
“He’s gone now; he had urgent business at the Justice Building. But he insisted you eat a proper meal before you go.” She points at the golden food cart near the bed, every tray brimming with pastries, fruits, meats and cheeses. Way more than you could eat in a single meal.
The kind of decadent abundance the Capitol likes to indulge in.
You politely decline.
“I can’t…I have to return to my husband. He must be worried sick.”
Ariadne puts a hand on your arm.
“Word has been sent to him that you were simply tending to Master Snow’s needs last night.”
You purse your lips. It’s not ideal but at least he knows you were working.
“Good,” you reply, nodding.
You yank the blanket off your body, determined to stand up and leave. But as soon as you’re on your feet, you crash back down on the bed, a strange ache awakening in your limbs.
Your forehead creases. You hug your stomach, a vicious cramp creeping there too.
Ariadne’s immediately at your side, placing her hands over your arms.
“Take it easy, miss,” she warns. “You exerted yourself a great deal yesterday.” She beams brightly. “In fact, Master Snow has given you a few days off. He was very satisfied with your work and expects you in three days’ time.”
Your brows rise. “Oh, that’s very generous.”
Her grin expands.
“He is exceedingly pleased with your performance.”
Over the next few weeks, Snow keeps summoning you sporadically. The days you work for him are pretty much the same. You attend to your daily tasks, you cook for him and then the two of you have tea in his study. He has you sing for him sometimes. You’ve learnt to swallow your feelings and perform according to his whim. You don’t even sing to yourself anymore, the exultation you drew from it all but gone. It was a way to stay connected to your Covey roots, to keep your family close to your heart. Now you can’t do it without his icy gaze invading your thoughts.
You often end up incredibly tired on those days, your body aching and sore for hours afterwards. You never imagined working for Coriolanus Snow would drain you so much. Falling asleep in his house even turns into a regular occurrence, happening almost every time you show up for work.
Naturally, Henry isn’t thrilled with that. Every time you come back home, too tired to wait on him hand and foot like you used to, his displeasure grows.
But he’s also yet to find a way to fix the issue, so the two of you must keep working. You’ve already sold everything that you could, clothes, any belonging of slight value.
The gap is still too vast.
And the city won’t allow you to apply for another place to live, claiming the waitlist is already sky-high.
Though you resent it, Coriolanus Snow is your only hope.
“You’re not in charge of dinner tonight,” Ariadne announces one night as you fire the stove.
You turn the burners off, your eyes rounding.
“I’m not?”
A bright smile blooms on the brunette’s face.
“Master Snow is inviting you to dine with him as his guest, to express gratitude for your outstanding work.”
Your lips part in surprise. In the many weeks you’ve worked for President Snow, this has never happened. You have shared meals, of course, but you’ve never received such a formal invitation.
You suppose it’s all a game to Snow, and he simply changes the rules whenever he feels it.
She astonishes you further when she urges you to follow her to one of the guest bedrooms.
Utter dismay fills you.
A white dress lies atop the bed. The sleeveless evening gown looks more expensive than any dress you’ve ever laid eyes on. The delicate white silk flares at the waist, the gigantic, fluffy layered skirt making your head spin already. You imagine how hard it'd be to move in such a dress. Though you surmise it won’t be too much of a concern as you only need to sit through dinner with it.
“Master Snow expects you to wear this tonight,” Ariadne chimes.
She helps you slip on the dress, a task you undoubtedly would have struggled to complete on your own, the many layers of tulle, silk and lace of the huge skirt alone their own challenge.
Eventually, you’re dressed.
She escorts you to the dinner room. Curious eyes dart about the halls, noting their unusual emptiness. Not a single footman, maid or Avox in sight.
You’re alone.
“The house is very quiet,” you point out.
Ariadne beams at you from above her shoulder.
“The entire staff’s been sent home. Master Snow wants to wait on you himself tonight.”
Your stomach knots, a foreboding feeling swelling within you.
Still, you glide forward. It’s a little late to turn back.
When you enter the diner room, Snow’s face lights up. He makes his way to you. As usual, he’s dashing, his platinum blonde locks neatly combed back and his crimson suit highlighting his tall frame.
His gaze twinkles as he drinks you in.
“You’re a vision, dove.” He lifts your hand and brushes his lips over your knuckles. His eyes slam into yours. Time seems to hang still for a few seconds. “As I know you would be.”
Keeping your hand in his, he escorts you to your seat. He pulls your chair for you and you fumble with your skirt a little before finding a comfortable way to sit.
“So…no maids today?” you say lightly.
His lips slant. He removes the lid off one of the pots. The mouthwatering smell instantly reaches you.
“I thought it’d be nicer to enjoy a quiet, private dinner together, as a way to celebrate.”
Your face contorts into a puzzled expression.
“Celebrate?”
“Your last day as my housekeeper,” he replies cheerfully.
Your heart misses a beat. Is he firing you?
You attempt to tamp down the quake in your voice. You fail miserably.
“Really?”
He gauges you and his smile grows.
“Yes. In fact, you and your husband will never have to worry about rent anymore. Him especially. Everything’s settled.”
An audible exhale slips through your mouth.
“This is…I don’t know what to say.”
“You can say thank you.”
“Thank you, President Snow.”
His laugh resonates in the near empty dining room.
“Please, call me Coriolanus.” He ladles soup onto your plate before bending close. You tense as his warm breath ghosts over your temple. “We’re quite…close now, aren’t we, dove?”
You gulp down the lump in your throat.
“I suppose we are…Coriolanus.”
You wince. Uttering his name feels wrong, forbidden almost.
Satisfaction doesn’t part from his handsome features as he regains his seat. He gestures for you to start eating. You feel a bit self-conscious as he observes you intently.
Still, you do as he heeds, not needing to be told twice.
The quicker you eat, the quicker you’ll get to be home and out of the uncomfortable dress.
You groan as your lids flutter, a blurry shape rocking back and forth in your vision. Fatigue tugs at your heavy limbs as you stir. Your forehead scrunches. Your body’s hot, like a furnace, like you’re burning from the inside out. Tingles spark somewhere in you and you keen sharply, leaning into the sensation. Feverish whispers surround you, words you don’t comprehend in your daze.
The pull and tear. The pleasure mingling with the pain. You’re in a strange dream, maybe a nightmare.
Deep-chested grunts land in your ears. You awake further. It’s a voice you recognize, from somewhere…but not like this. Never like this. Something’s wong. Your forehead wrinkles. Something’s wrong but you’re so tired. So so tired. Your mind’s like cotton. Your limbs are as rocks.
As your lids sag, something slams into you. Fast, hard and vicious.
Your heart bounces. Your eyes snap open.
Your stomach drops.
A sinister smile you know too well by now welcomes you.
“Hello, dove. Awake, finally,” Snow whispers, his hips snapping into yours. Your breath catches as his cock grazes against your sweet spots. You clench around him and he chuckles darkly. “That angle always does it for you.” Smugness oozes off his hoarse timbre.
You look up at him. Sweat dots his brow, his tousled blonde locks clinging to his forehead. His blue eyes are cloudy with lust. His white shirt is half open, revealing a glimpse of the bare, glistening muscles underneath.
And as your gaze travels lower, horror flares inside you.
You gape with wide eyes as his veiny length disappears inside you. Again and again. The fluffy white shirt is bunched around your waist, your panties torn, exposing your lower body to President Snow’s lewd scrutiny entirely. His large hands dig into your hips, trailing crescent bruises in the shape of his fingernails.
Your shocked gaze finds his.
His smile expands.
“P-President Snow, what are you doing?”
You know it’s a stupid question…but you have to make sense of this. Because none of this can be real. Maybe it’s a nightmare and you’re still sleeping.
You gasp as he pushes you into the mattress, piledriving into you at an angle that has you seeing stars.
“Taking what’s mine, of course,” he says matter-of-factly, hooking his arm under your thigh.
He lifts you and spreads you even more. His darkened gaze follows the motion of his cock as he pounds into you, an insatiable look twisting his handsome features.
Reaching between your tangled bodies, he pinches your tender heap of nerves. He rubs against it, teasing it with maddening circles until your legs quake. You come apart beneath him, crying out as your back arches against the soft sheets.
“Please, stop,” you whimper, tears gathering in your eyes.
Snow’s pace quickens. Ragged moans tear from your throat. Your vision flickers.
He bends over you to lick one of your tears, humming in satisfaction at the taste.
His lips drag against yours as he asks, “Is it truly what you want? Because it’s kind of hard to tell the way your pussy hugs my cock.” His mouth curves upward against your cheek. “Like it does every time.”
A wave of ice spreads through you.
Every time? Realization hits you, knife-like as it pierces through the veil of denial.
Every time…
The pieces fall into place as you remember all those times you fell asleep, unable to recall how you ended up in bed. Tired, confused…sore.
A shudder shoots through your frame.
You twist your body as panic seizes you.
Coriolanus growls when you clamber away from him, heading for the edge of the bed. You curse the pesky gown and the way it hinders your movements.
He yanks you back with ease, gripping the back of your head and shoving you down into the mattress.
Lips graze your earshell as he snarls, “Where are you going? We’re not done. We have to make sure you carry the next Snow heir.” In one stroke, he sinks into you from behind. You choke on your breath, the pain snatching your air. With one hand cinched around the back of your neck, he starts rutting into you. Your bruised folds ache at the blunt invasion. Still, your core clings to him in a way that stirs shame in your gut. “Although after all these times…” You hear the smile in his conceited inflection “It’s a given, isn’t it?”
Your eyes swell with tears. Your lips part in a silent scream. The sick song of flesh against flesh fills the room, mingling with his feral moans.
Each time your walls tighten around him, bile rises up your throat.
“What have you done to me?” you sob against the drenched silk sheets.
“Oh, I think you know,” he purrs. His warm breath fans over your scalp. “You can feel it, can’t you? How well your body knows me now, dove.”
His hips stutter, his thrusts getting sloppier. His cock twitches inside you. As warmth trickles alongside your walls, you feel sick again. He remains nestled inside you a while, panting above you and shoving the excess back in as you remain still.
As you feel his digits poke and prod, a chill runs through you.
You can’t let him touch you again.
You keel over the edge of the bed, heading straight towards the floor. Pain ripples through your knees as they hit the carpet. You’re forced to ignore the crack resounding through your bones, awkwardly getting to your feet and dashing to the wooden swing doors.
Coriolanus’ wicked laugh echoes behind you.
“Oh, dove, if you wanted to play hide and seek, all you needed to do was to ask,” he taunts.
Terror grips your throat. You ignore it alongside everything else. Alongside the pain, alongside the uncertainty, alongside the fact that you can still feel him inside you. Like you never left the bed. Like you’re still caged in his embrace.
Your legs carry you, barefoot and panicked, as you run through the palatial hallways as fast as the bothersome white dress will allow.
The president’s deep voice bounces against the ornate walls.
“Ready or not, here I come, my darling.”
The blood rushes to your feet. Your head spins and your feet tangle. You trip. Immediately, you gather yourself. You lift the skirt and dive hastily towards the living room. You duck behind a sofa.
It’s a pathetic place to hide; you know it. But the lavish mansion is nothing but open spaces doused in sunlight.
There is nowhere to hide.
The clamor of your heart is deafening in your ears as you hear objects crash to the floor a few feet away from you. Hand over your mouth to keep every sound in, you jerk every time the racket grows on the other side of the sofa.
His frustration coats the air.
“Come out, come out wherever you are, dove,” he calls, his tone icier than before.
You freeze, holding your breath and wishing he doesn’t think to look where you are.
The minutes pass, agonizingly slow. The flimsy hope that he may have left even begins to bloom inside you.
Hot air suddenly breezes over your nape.
“Found you.”
Your heart leaps to your throat. You go still. Coriolanus hauls you from the floor, half-carrying you and half-lugging you across the living room. You try to bite and claw any part of him you can reach but his hand locks around your throat.
He slams you harshly against a wall. Your head rings, the lines of his face momentarily doubling in your vision. You bite his hand. Cursing under his breath, he bangs your head against the wall again. You go limp.
Through your hazy sight, you note the scarlet trail streaking the back of his hand. You drew blood. Even if you’re lost, you bask in the ephemeral second of victory.
He carries your unmoving form the rest of the way back to his bedroom. You loathe yourself for your stillness. You want to put up a fight. You want to claw. You want to bite. You want to kill him with your bare hands.
But all you can do is simmer in helplessness as he brings you right back to the very place you tried to escape.
He gently releases you on the bed then climbs over you. Goosebumps erect on your flesh as he caresses the side of your face, a strangely fond gesture considering everything he put you through.
“Please,” you mumble weakly. “You can have anyone you want. I have a husband.”
His face contorts into an expression of pure mockery, as if what you said was beyond ludicrous.
“I don’t want just anyone.” He lifts your chin, scorching blue gaze diving into yours. “I want you.”
“As for your husband…” His voice trails off as he traces your trembling bottom lip with his thumb. A crooked smirk drags his lips skyward. He leans over you to whisper, “Well I did say he’ll never have to worry about rent ever again, didn’t I?”
Your heart sinks. You can’t believe you trusted Coriolanus Snow. A foolish mistake. A dangerous mistake. One you’re now paying dearly. He not only trapped you…he also hurt Henry.
All because of you.
You will never forgive yourself.
“What did you do to him?” you ask, anger and heartbreak making your voice wobble.
A chill-inducing glint dances in his orbs.
“I haven’t done anything.” He cocks his head. “Rebels are criminals of the state and shall be sentenced as such.”
The world collapses around you.
A chasm of despair swallows you whole as quiet tears stream down your face.
As sobs shake your frame, President Snow plants soft kisses on your wet cheeks. You feel him grow hard against your belly as he hums, as if the taste of your hopelessness was ambrosia to him. Heavenly sweet.
He cups your face.
“Do not fret, dove. I’ll make sure you don’t miss a second of his execution.” The emptiness of his blue eyes staggers you, their depths as icy as a frozen lake. “It’s important for all citizens of Panem to learn from watching.”
The expression on his face turns downright diabolical. His knuckles sweep over the apple of your cheek.
“And I want you to learn as you watch the light go out in his eyes, dove, that this was inevitable, that I always win.”
His tone softens as his hands drag over your hips.
“I wonder how many children you’ll give me. Will they all sing as pretty as you?” The hurried rustle of his pants as he frees his cock freezes your blood. He bites his lip, lust already misting his gaze as he prods impatiently at your entrance.
“I suppose we’ll just have to find out,” he croons.
#dark!coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x reader#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#hunger games#tbosas fanfiction#dark!coriolanus snow x reader
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Simon Riley aka Ghost has returned home from work— his muscles sore and fingers cramped from the drills he had to teach the subordinates. It's not unusual, more so common than not seeing his position. He was passionate about his job, you could tell the way Simon Riley put his all into it, day in and day out.
Yet, that wasn't the only thing he was passionate about...nor was it the only thing he put his all into.
"f-fuck~" you moan out, hands slipping on the smooth marble counter, fingers scratching at the surface as your pushed forward. An ache settling in your mid abdomen from the counter being pressed against it.
"mhm..." Ghost groans, palming your right ass cheek before delivering a loud smack to it, "just like that," he encourages whilst his hips slam against your backside, slithering the same hand up to encircle your engorged hips, "take it just like that."
The deep velvety tone of his voice does nothing to help the slick trail dampening your inner thighs and lubricating you where you needed it the most.
With each push and pull you could feel the knot in your stomach growing— the pressure building up is unbearable in the best way.
You lean on your pointed toes, driving yourself farther up the counter in an attempt to put some distance between you and the pleasure.
"too much.." You whimper when your stomach starts to cave and your legs start to shake.
Ghost is quick to grab the back of your neck, pulling you back until you settle against his chest.
clicking his tongue, "you were doing so good." You hear him mumble closely to your right ear, lips brushing against your lobe "you want me to stop?" He questions rhetorically, settling into a slower pace.
"No!" You shake your head hastily—you never wanted him to stop—you try to push your pelvis back against his throbbing cock but the hand on your hip halts your movements.
A tremble sets into your body as you feel him pull all the way out until your pussy could only flutter against the tip.
"No?" He questions, circling the hand on the back of your neck to the front, grasping it firmly and angling your face towards his, "but you said too much." He teases, easing only a portion of his cock into your sopping cunt.
A chill slides down your spine at his dark unwavering gaze, "don't stop." You whine, desperation painting your face.
Ghost looks at you expectantly— he wasn't one to give commands to, if you wanted something you had to ask, or beg.
"please!" Your ass impatiently wiggles against his lower half but you couldn't back up enough to get what you craved, "please, I'm sorry! Please don't stop!" You beg him shamelessly, apologizing without reason.
Your body suddenly lurches forward, breath catching in your throat as he impales you with his cock, a groan leaving his lips as your cunt greedily welcomes him back.
"Then stop running."
𝐃𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: @deunmiu-dessie (I'm taking my ass to sleep friend but I owed you🩵)
𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫/𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫: @cafekitsune @pwixi
#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#ghost smut#simon riley smut#cod#cod smut#tf 141#task force 141#simon riley x small!reader#call of duty#simon ghost riley#cod mwii#ghost call of duty#simon riley x female reader#simon riley x f!reader#simon riley x you smut#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x reader smut#simon ghost riley smut#ghost cod smut#simon riley smut blurb#writers on tumblr#innocent!reader#call of duty smut
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Vampire König Headcanons
Warnings: Nondescript Depictions/Implications of Smut, Territorial König, Jealous König, Dominant König, Submissive König, Domestic König <3, Marking, Consensual Dub-Con, Restraints, Abuse of Vampire Powers, Feeding, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Injuries, König using Urban Dictionary, Petnames, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.
So domestic that it hurts.
6’10 military vampire boyfriend in a pink frilly kitchen apron that says ‘Love, Peace and Hope’ on the front of it >>>>
Seriously, though, he’s the most caring of his kind (if you exclude Simon) and is so gentle and loving that you could scarcely believe what he was until he showed you his fangs and his abilities.
Don’t be fooled by his kind nature, though; he’s given you more protection than you’ll ever need with his scary dog privileges. Ones which ward off humans and other supernaturals alike.
And, given how tall he is, you don’t see the death stares he gives to bystanders; all you see is a path being cleared in front of you, people scrambling out of your way in what you may construe as consideration. Or terror.
Speaking of König’s gargantuan proportions, he needs more blood to survive than the average vampire. More than you, or any other human, can possibly provide.
Luckily, he only feeds from animals. Mostly.
Their taste is not as exquisite as human blood, not being as clean by comparison (particularly in pests, like rats), but he makes do. Especially when it’s for your own safety; to protect you from his blood rage when he hits a draught.
But, regardless of his masterful self-control, there comes a point where his palette can no longer stand the taste of disease and death in his blood supply, his thirst becoming so dire that he needs human blood. Now.
The first time you saw him like this, you panicked, asked what was wrong.
He told you he was fine as he gripped the kitchen counter, crushing the marble – that he just needed to go to sleep, giving a vague smile and no explanation.
It was only after being grilled and your concern melting his resolve that König’s resolution gave out, and he confessed his greatest shame. His strongest vice.
And, without knowing how dangerous he could get while feeding, you, in all your kindness and virtue, offered yourself to him.
“I know it’s not much, but I can try to find you something else for you, too !”
Never has a human who has known of his true nature been so selfless as to put their life on the line for his own survival.
Long story short, he eventually caved to your generosity and, when he tasted your blood, knew there was no finer delicacy he could tear from any planet in any universe.
You are the only one for him.
In return, he’ll try to cook and care for you. And, surprisingly, he’s pretty good at it !
Has all your favourite dishes memorised. Whether you told him or not.
He tries not to use his mind reading abilities on you, though sometimes, it slips out, hence he knows so much about you despite you never having uttered the specifics to him.
Whenever he’s feeling fragile (jealous) about you liking an actor or a character you’re watching, he’ll use his powers to ever so slightly see what you’d like to do with them.
Or what you’d like them to do to you.
This often leads to some very specific practices occurring in the bedroom.
When König is feeling particularly dominant, he tends to get quite…forceful.
All within the realm of consent, of course.
This side of him is typically triggered by jealousy, though it is not a punishment.
Far from it.
This is your reward for being so loyal – so disinterested in the advances of others, whether supernatural or otherwise.
“Say that you’re mine,” König growls, his fangs slick and protruding against your throat, coated in saliva, as if he were rabid. The weight of spectral chains forcing your body to be still and subservient is heavy upon your mortal vessel.
His hands have torn through your underwear, your only barrier against the merciless ecstasy you will be subject to on this night.
“Or you won’t leave this night unscathed.”
Consensual dub-con and restraints <333 !!1!
Fr though, König would never use his telekinesis on you unless you expressly asked him to, because, unlike many of his kind, he’s got a human side.
One which he only shows to you.
This much is apparent when he puts himself in your hands and gives himself to you in his entirety.
Becomes the antithesis of the typical bloodthirsty, cynical, overlord vampire stereotype when he’s feeling submissive.
The type to say “Please, Darling,” when he needs you to touch him.
Pull on his hair and he’s D E C E A S E D (more so than he already is).
He’s been touch-starved his entire mortal and immortal life, never having found someone special enough to make him feel comfortable, so his imploring for you to touch him is, whether you know it or not, a big honour – and a commitment for König.
Speaking of, he adores cuddles.
Both giving and receiving.
Not that you know this, but sometimes he intentionally crushes you into his chest between his pecs because once you called him your “Big tiddie himbo”, and it’s stuck with him since.
Plus, you also like to motorboat them sometimes.
Yeah, he had to go onto Urban Dictionary to find out what himbo meant. No, he did not delete his search history afterwards, so now you know his second greatest shame; his lack of fluency with modern terms.
Sometimes, you’ll drop random turns of phrase to see what his reaction will be; whether he’ll pretend to know what you’re saying or if he’ll submit and tell you he has no idea what he just said.
“König, you’re so rizzular, you know that ?”
“Uuuhhh…yeah ! You…too…?”
He does get a little insecure about it, but that’s nothing compared to how he feels whenever his friends come and visit.
Other vampires and supernaturals, naturally. And, regardless of their status, he’s always on the edge of his seat, wondering if you’ll take one look at them and decide to leave him in pursuit of another.
It doesn’t matter how many times you try to reassure him; König is dead set on his doomsday premonition (a panic attack he had while asleep once) that you’ll leave him.
“Köni, Baby,” you say, voice gentle as you cradle his head to your chest, sat bundled in amongst the blankets on the sofa. “I’m never leaving you. Even when I’m a ghost, I’m going to haunt you forever !”
He has thought about turning you, btw.
A LOT.
But he can never seem to find the right time to broach the subject; especially when you’ve told him how you have no interest in being immortal. At least, not yet.
“You’re only human once,” you tell him, smiling. And, somehow, König can feel his heart skipping a beat.
Until his friends leave, König puts on the facade of someone who has never felt an ounce of panic in his life.
Mad territorial.
Keeps you sat on his lap or tucked away in a hidden part of the house for the duration of his friends’ visit.
And God forbid if any of them try to touch you.
There have been many an occasion where you and König have been left cleaning up blood spatters soaked into your carpet and walls because König’s instincts kicked in, causing him to disarm whoever had been stupid enough to make physical contact with you.
Yeah, König feels bad that he ruined your new carpet, but would he do it all again to protect your honour ?
Absolutely.
Yeah, okay, sometimes he does intentionally mark you up the night before the guests arrive. Yes, he does hide any articles of clothing that could cover his love bites up.
“I just want them to know that you’re mine,” he tells you, almost whimpering, his eyes wide and almost tearful when you give him a narrowed look.
“König, you’re mauled off enough hands that they couldn’t un-know that we’re together even if they tried !”
And, at the end of the night, you’ll either be met with a very prideful König, whose powers you can feel weighing heavier on your shoulders by the minute. Or, puppy König, who comes bounding over to you, his eyes bright with nothing short of a lifetime’s adoration.
Either way, König wants you to know that you are thoroughly loved, and no measure of mortality, or time, or distance will ever change that.
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist
Masterlist [Continued]
Masterpost
Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
AO3
Wattpad
#mw2#mw2 smut#konig x reader#konig mw2#konig smut#konig headcanons#konig call of duty#konig x you#konig x yn#konig x y/n#könig smut#könig x reader#mw2 headcanons#mw2 x reader#mw2 fanfic#konig fluff#konig fanfiction
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
please something about pregnant capitol!reader. maybe she's pregnant and coriolanus is over OVER protective?
watchful eye |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|
prompt: as requested above, pregnant!captitol!reader and protective!coryo.
contains: reader is pregnant. alludes to dom/sub themes. some talk of violence. protective/possessive coriolanus. mainly fluff.
“Are you alright?” Coriolanus' eyes scanned the room, a predatory gaze that commanded the room. His hand found the small of your back, a soothing rub over the material of your dress, pressing into the spot on your spine that was always aching lately.
“Yes.” You nodded, giving a forced smile in case others were watching. Your hand smoothed over the swell of your abdomen, prominent now.
You were surprised Coriolanus let you out into the public now that you were showing. He’d been so careful with the news, so cautious that others might find out and want to harm you. You supposed that's why he’d commanded more Peacekeepers to the Districts, curfews and whippings and hanging multiplied to anyone even seen with a rebel- to drive them out, make an example of them, scare the others. All to keep you safe, or so he told you.
With the next games coming up, you were at the annual party hosted before the Reaping tomorrow, full of Capitol socialites all fluttering with excitement at your news. Still, a haunting aura hung in the air, like they were all scared- perhaps it was because of the way Mrs. Bezel was drugged away to Dr. Gaul’s torment chamber for touching your rounded belly. Coriolanus hadn’t even batted an eye before the Peacekeepers were yanking the elderly woman away mercilessly, dragging her through the crowds of terror-ridden onlookers.
“If you need to take a seat-” Coryo started, waving over an Avox with a sharp flick of his wrist.
“-I’m alright, darling.” You hummed gently, placing a calming hand over his.
“You need to rest.” Coriolanus’ eyes narrowed lightly, the same stern look he always gave you with your defiance, one that told you to obey.
You hated the way it made you throb, you’d blame it on the hormones again. “I’m alright.” You smile sweetly. “I’m afraid if I sit, I’ll never get up again.” You tease lightly, a real, honest grin spreading across your face. It made Coryo’s heart skip.
“Are you tired, then?” Coryo asked, hand pressing into your back again, fingers rubbing the knot gently there. Your spine had curved, figure caved to accommodate such growth- the habitat of your unborn child.
“Only a little.” You admitted, looking down at your swollen stomach. “I can last, Coryo. I will be alright-”
“-Nonsense.” Coryo shook his head, waving over the lead of his staff. “Make the announcement and ensure everyone leaves.” He commanded, his hand still on you. “And we will see you tomorrow for the Reaping.” A chilling tone to his words that had you shivering, taking his hand gently.
“You didn’t need to do that.” You hummed, slipping out the side door with him, down the hallway towards your own private living quarters. Your heels clicking against the marble of the floor, half steps to keep up with Coriolanus’ own stride. “I would have been fine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Coriolanus rolled his eyes lightly. “You looked miserable.”
You frowned. “I did not.”
He snorted lightly, looking over at you, lips curled in a half smile. “Petal, you were restless tonight. Don’t think I didn’t see you slip your shoes off under the table.”
You pouted, a waddle of a walk beside him, still clutching his hand. “They hurt.” You huff, looking down at your heels, swollen ankles aching from the wear of the beastly things.
“I know.” Coriolanus smirked triumphantly. “I told you to let me know if it got too much for you. I’d have you escorted back.”
“I didn’t want to go back.” You huffed, a swing of emotions Coriolanus was still struggling with understanding. “You’ve kept me under lock and key for months, Coryo. I wanted to be out, see other people, and socialize.”
Coryo nodded, choosing not to chastise you. Not now, not with how your tone clipped, a warning that the floodgates of your angry, hormonal tears were not far behind. Instead, he turned the key to your wing, pushing the grand doors open, a hand ushering you in.
Inside, he helped you out of your dress, moved your heels back into place when you kicked them off. You giggled at how he tickled down your spine, unfastening the hooks of your dress, a soft kiss to your shoulder that had you swooning.
You lay on the bed, feet in Coryo’s lap, his thumb digging into the heel of your foot, smug at the way it had you sighing with relief, melting into the mattress. He told you the plans for the games, how he and Gaul had worked even harder to make them better than last year, the changes and added sponsors.
“I’m sure they’ll be wonderful, my love.” You muttered, eyes drooping with a heavy tug of your lids. He was lulling you to sleep, not that it was much of a challenge, you’d nearly exhausted yourself tonight.
“Do you want me to draw you a bath?” Coriolanus asked, scanning your relaxed features. “Would that help with your back?”
“No,” You shook your head, eyes fluttering open. “I’m fine.”
Coryo frowned. “If your spine hurts, you should let me-”
“-Coryo,” You cooed, eyes soft when they opened and met him. “I’m alright. I’m comfortable, just… just keep doing what you’re doing, please. It feels great.” You sighed, wiggling your foot back into his grasp, an accidental brush over his crotch that had him flushing.
If you weren’t so tired, he would have fucked you into that mattress. You were so sensitive with the pregnancy, insatiable nearly. He hadn’t expected to be so attracted, that his desire grew with every new swell and rounding of your features, yet he found himself buried in your cunt every chance he could.
Coryo had already taken you before the party, the glow in your features waved off as from the pregnancy instead of the way he’d ravished you before. He supposed that could have aided in some of the reasons you were so tired.
“Tell me more about your plans.” You muttered, rolling your head into the pillow to look at him over the hill of your belly, your foot in his hand. “Who are the mentors for the Districts this year? Anyone we’d know?”
Coriolanus’ heart swelled, boasting with pride. It was why he loved you so, the interest you showed him in his work, in his passions. His thumb circled around a knot in your heel, grinning at how you squirmed, answering your question sweetly.
#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow smut#tbosas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus snow x capitol!reader#coriolanus snow fic#coriolanus snow x oc#coriolanus snow x pregnant!reader#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus snow fanfic#coriolanus snow x you smut#coriolanus x you#young!coriolanus snow#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x female!reader#coriolanus snow x fem!reader#tbosas x reader#peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x reader#tbosbas x reader#tbosbas fanfiction#tbosbas#tbosbas fic#coriolanus snow blurb#dom!coriolanus snow x sub!reader#dom!coriolanus#ballad of songbirds and snakes
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
3:05 am | itoshi bros
— random scenarios for the itoshi brothers where you’re craving for ice cream in the middle of the night.
characters: itoshi sae x fem!reader, itoshi rin x fem!reader
genre/warning: NOT PROOFREAD !! fluff, suggestive and crack in sae’s part, reader is implied to be in their period (thats why i specify fem reader), swear words, uses of petnames, mention of period sex ?? idk do tell me if there’s more lol
a/n: i actually did this a few nights ago and my sister saw me LMAO she was like “tf u doing 🤨” 😭😭
itoshi sae
making yourself cozy on the aisle in the middle of the kitchen, the coldness of the marble surface touching your thighs barely gets to you when the ice cream you’re eating is what you solely focus on.
waking up in the middle of the night just to satisfy your period cravings seems a little childish but do you care? obviously not when you seem to be enjoying the sugary goodness a bit too much with the way you’re humming lowly, swinging your legs back and forth on the kitchen aisle while holding the ice cream tub in one hand with a spoon in the other.
too distracted in your own little world, you don’t notice the sound of feet padding softly down the stairs towards the kitchen.
“why the hell are you up at this hour?”
a hoarse and husky– probably due to the fact that he just woke up– voice stirs you up from your stupor.
turning around, you see your lovely, lovely boyfriend sae standing at the kitchen entrance with a frown on his groggy face, toned chest naked (because he unsurprisingly sleeps shirtless) and fiery hair messy from the bed he just got up from.
you stifle a smile at the endearing sight of him. “why are you up at this hour, sae? don’t you have practice tomorrow? go back to bed,” you poke fun at him, already knowing the reason why he doesn’t want to go back to sleep.
sae only gives you a deadpan look, “your side is cold, idiot. come back to bed.” you only give him a chuckle. “can’t, sae. i’m on a mission and that is to satisfy my absurd period cravings even though it is 3 in the morning. you don’t have periods so you don’t have a say in this, nuh uh.” you retort before shoving a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.
sae doesn’t reply, only watching as he starts approaching you. “what flavour is that?” he asks once he gets close enough to the point he’s standing in between your legs, warm hands landing themselves on your bare thighs to rub on the soft skin.
you try (and fail) to suppress a shiver, earning a small grin from the man standing in front of you.
“cookies and cream,” you mumble, avoiding his intense gaze. it’s unfair how shy he makes you even after years of dating him.
so unfair.
“can i have some?” sae asks, voice dropping to a lower octave, almost like a purr. you haughtily shake your head, moving your hands to hold the ice cream tub away from him. “no, this is mine.”
he raises an eyebrow. “but i bought it though. that’s my money you’re eating, sweetheart.” he counters. turning your face, you give him a glare with your narrowed eyes (finally you don’t really feel small now that you’re eye to eye with him when you’re sitting on the aisle).
after a second of silence with you two just staring at each other, you cave in when an idea pops up in your head. “fine. but in one condition.” you propose.
sae’s fingers suddenly yet lightly grip on your thighs at the mischievous look in your eyes. he nods for you to continue.
“do you know the bing chilling meme, sae?” you teasingly ask, and he immediately rolls his eyes. “no, we’re not doing that. better yet, you eat your ice cream. i don’t want it,”
you throw your head back in a laugh. “alright, alright! fine, i’ll stop. come here, i’ll feed you some, alright.” your hand grabs onto his bicep when he makes an attempt to walk away.
sae makes himself home in between your legs again, staring as you dig your spoon into the tub in your hand while waiting for you to feed him but rolls his eyes for the nth time when he sees you shove the spoon into your mouth instead.
“you’re still playing arou–“ the midfielder doesn’t get to finish his sentence when you pull his face closer, locking your lips with his.
cold, creamy sweetness explodes in his mouth as the two of you move your lips against each other, tongue intertwining while your legs cross behind his slim waist to pull him impossibly closer. sae’s hands move to slither up under your shirt, filled with the need to touch your skin everywhere, anywhere.
“fuck, baby. it’s so early and you’re this needy already?” he groans as he pulls away from you, hands resisting the urge to strip you bare right then and there.
you laughed. “i’m on my period, sae. we can’t.” the man only shrugs as his hands rest on the sides of your waist. “it’s always an option,”
this time, you roll your eyes like how he always does. “and i don’t think it’s appropriate right now, so stop that. also i’m still a little sleepy..” you drop your spoon into the tub, along with your head on sae’s shoulder.
a hand goes around to hug you tighter while another runs up to rake through your hair gently, “told you to go back to bed with me,” he grumbles.
“but i still want ice cream. join me, baby?” you pout.
“for fuck’s sake. you’re difficult, woman.” sae sighs as he pinches your cheek newly filled with ice cream, making you whine out in pain.
it’s fine. this is fine. bickering about trivial matters with itoshi sae at 3 in the morning while sharing a tub of ice cream is always fun. you’ve always loved moments like this.
god, how much you love him.
and of course, it’s never unbeknown to you how much he loves you, too.
itoshi rin
the floor is cold, and so are your hands as they hold the container of vanilla ice cream.
you don’t even know why you’re here in the dark kitchen, sitting crisscrossed on the floor in front of the fridge while wolfing down spoons upon spoons of ice cream in the middle of the night.
freaking period cravings. i hate you.
“y/n?”
a sudden faint voice calls out from the distance, making you jolt a little in surprise.
“rin? i’m in the kitchen,” you reply, not bothering to move from the floor.
a few seconds later, you find yourself eating ice cream on the floor with rin sitting close in front of you, knees touching each other’s.
the two of you don’t say anything as you stare at your boyfriend; his silky dark hair tousled from sleep, heavy teal eyes, nose, lips, everything that is him.
“are you in one of your moods?” rin breaks the silence, his tone slow and borderline breathy as if not to trigger anything out of you and yet your toes curl slightly from how deep and raspy his voice is.
with a spoon still in your mouth, you nod slowly.
if this situation isn’t so concerning, rin would’ve admitted to himself you look rather cute at that time.
you’re peacefully eating when out of a sudden, a wave of sadness washes over you (unprovoked?!). the corners of your eyes sting from trying to hold in your tears yet a small sniffle manages to escape.
oh no, not this again, you cry internally. damn, you hate these random sad episodes you always have whenever you’re on your period.
rin’s eyes widen slightly. not knowing exactly how to react, he holds out his hands to tug at your sleeves that you are currently using to wipe at your eyes. silently, you put the ice cream aside and crawl into his lap, his arms curling around your body to adjust your position comfortably.
for a while, the two of you just sit there in the dark kitchen, basked in tranquility as you draw random patterns on the fabrics of his shirt.
“rin?” you whisper out his name. “yeah?” he replies with a hum.
“can we go out and get ice cream?”
it takes a while for rin to process your words before he mumbles, “it’s 3 in the morning…”
“i know.”
“…”
“…”
“you have one sitting right there, y/n.” he tries again but you frown. “i know. but i want chocolate ice cream though..” you trail off.
it goes quiet for a few more seconds when rin finally sighs. “alright, let’s go. dress warm, it’s cold outside.” he says before gently pushing you away to get you moving.
your eyes almost sparkle in happiness as you turn to him, “then can i wear your hoodie, rin?” you request, pupils glinting in hope.
rin almost kisses you right at the moment from how pretty you look despite you two still sitting in the dark.
he looks away to hide the rising warmth on his cheeks as he mutters, “get two of them.”
“yes! thank you, baby. i love you! i’ll be right back!” you excitedly beam, grabbing his cheeks to give them a loving smooch before rushing towards the bedroom.
rin exhales and runs a hand through his hair, mind busy thinking about how he adores and is so insanely in love with you it’s a little hilarious that the fatigue has long gone to the back of his mind, teal eyes softening as he gazes at your disappearing figure.
as long as he gets to see you happy, itoshi rin does not care that he has to be up at ridiculously early hours of the day (plus ruining his perfectly organised sleep schedule) just to get you ice cream.
#rye.works#bllk x reader#blue lock#blue lock x reader#itoshi rin#rin itoshi x reader#bllk fluff#bllk imagines#bllk x you#itoshi sae#itoshi sae x reader#sae itoshi x reader#bllk scenarios#itoshi sae fluff#itoshi rin fluff#rin itoshi#sae itoshi#blue lock imagines#itoshi brothers
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Desperation
There's something wrong with Asmodeus.
ASMODEUS x afab!Reader
7.4k Words | NSFW | Smut with Feelings | Angst with a Happy Ending | First Time
Summary: You were bullied by another student at RAD. Asmodeus hasn't been the same since.
Content Warnings: Mentions of: anger, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive thoughts/behaviour, arguing and threats of violence, blood, brief bullying/harassment, bathing together, vaginal fingering, PIV sex. Reader uses gn!pronouns.
➤➤ Obey Me! Masterlist
The tub in Asmodeus’s private bathroom is more like a pool than any bathtub you ever used prior to coming to the Devildom. It’s as enchanting and mysterious as the demon himself. You’re not even sure how he fills it - it must have some magical charm that keeps it full. The fresh petals he adds to the water never seem to wilt or lose their scent.
You’re sitting with Asmo near the edge of the pool. You skim your fingers along the surface of the crystal-clear water and it ripples gently at your touch. Asmo sits behind you on the marble step and supports your weight while you lean against him. He hums gently into your ear while he runs his fingertips through the ends of your hair. His chest is warm against your back. He’s naked from the waist up, but he left his boxer briefs on - for your comfort more than his.
Normally you wouldn’t let Asmo see you like this - naked, vulnerable - in the bath or out of it. But earlier when he said he wanted to take care of you, his eyes burning with an intensity that left you speechless, he swept you away to his private bathroom. You were both still reeling from what happened earlier that afternoon, and you realized you wanted his comfort as badly as he wanted yours.
It was supposed to be an ordinary day at RAD: classes with the demon brothers, a student council meeting with Diavolo and Barbatos, perhaps breaking up a fight or two depending how well they got along today. You were sorting through paperwork near the front of the room while the demons bickered in their seats on the dais behind you.
What you didn’t expect was Solomon bursting through the doors, grinning when Thirteen followed him inside. He ducked behind you while he asked for her to be reasonable and you knew things were going to end badly. She screeched at him as she pulled some sort of black, metallic orb from her bag and tossed it with all her might.
The trap missed Solomon but it hit your arm instead before it dropped to the floor. It beeped menacingly at your feet and you felt the twinge of pain shoot through your arm when you raised your hands to cover your face. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for whatever was about to happen.
Thirteen ran over and disarmed the orb before it did whatever else it was supposed to do. She apologized to you but glared venomously at Solomon who was still hovering behind you. He rolled his eyes and tsked, completely unbothered by her fury when she continued threatening him for trying to break into her cave again.
Asmo came to your side before any of his brothers could and shouted at Thirteen and Solomon for involving you with their squabble and putting you in harm’s way. Lucifer followed him and reprimanded Thirteen for her irresponsible behaviour, and he blamed both her and Solomon for disrupting the meeting.
While Thirteen was being lectured by a very grumpy-looking Lucifer, Solomon turned to you with a sheepish smile and apologized for involving you in their little disagreement. You shrugged your shoulders to brush off his apology - it could’ve been worse, after all - but his eyes narrowed when you winced in pain.
“Are you alright? Here, let me take a look—“ he offered as he reached for the lapels of your blazer.
Asmo nudged you back, pushing Solomon’s hand away and effectively shielding you from him. “I think you’ve done enough,” he gritted out angrily. His expression would’ve scared anyone that didn’t know him better - he looked terrifying, and even Solomon must’ve thought so because he raised his hands placatingly and stepped back.
“Come on, let’s go home,” you suggested quietly, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to get his attention. Your arm throbbed and the room felt uncomfortably tense as tempers flared; you didn’t want to be there anymore.
He looked at you over his shoulder and the fire in his gaze softened. He put his hand over yours and squeezed, turning from Solomon without another word and guided you towards the exit. He paused outside in the hallway long enough to murmur a quick healing spell to lessen the pain in your arm.
The walk home was quiet and uneventful, a blur of typical Devildom nighttime noise but the demon at your side had a scowl on his face that had others on the street giving you a wide berth. It wasn’t typical for the Asmo you know. He draped an arm over your shoulders to keep you tucked into his side but you could feel the tension in his body when you walked together.
When you arrived home, you started to walk towards your room for a shower and a nap, but he held onto your hand and seemed reluctant to let you go. No matter what you said, you couldn’t convince him you were fine; maybe he knew you were lying to yourself.
Let me take care of you.
When you agree to use his private bath, you don't expect that it’s going to be both of you bathing together. You’re too tired to argue - and you’re genuinely worried about him too - so you finally relent and start to strip away the layers of your school uniform.
Asmo is visibly displeased when you ask him to dim the lights in a moment of self-consciousness. He reminds you that you have nothing to be ashamed of, but he does as you ask because he wants you to be comfortable.
While you undress, he gathers fluffy towels from a cabinet and sets them on the edge of the bathing pool. He grabs an empty basket and picks out bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He even picks up a small bottle of fragrant oil and adds a couple drops to the water, satisfied when the steam from the warm water starts to diffuse the light floral scent.
By the time you’re naked, he is standing in the tub, his underwear still on - you felt guilty that the silky material was probably being ruined by the water. He doesn’t seem to care about that or anything else except you. When you approach the pool hesitantly, a small smile graces his lips for the first time since the incident at school and he holds out his hand to you. When you place your hand in his, he keeps you steady while you step into the pool and wade through the water towards him.
You want to sink below the surface of the water or shield your body from him with your hands, both desperate attempts to hide as much bare skin from him as you can. He senses your nervousness because he pulls you into a gentle hug that feels warm and soothing.
When you finally start to relax, he pulls away and reaches for the basket of toiletries floating nearby. You dunk your head into the water to wet your hair while he grabs the bottle of shampoo. He rubs his hands together and massages the suds onto your scalp. He hums quietly and your body sways gently in the water. Your eyes slip closed at the pleasant sensation of his fingertips working through your hair, rubbing at the back of your neck and melting away the tension between your shoulders. He does the same with the conditioner next; he seems to enjoy the sensation of your soft hair between his fingers while he pampers you.
You recognize the scent of the hair products and realize he’s using his own. His taste in cosmetics is luxurious and expensive, more than what you would ever dream to spend on yourself. You feel spoiled, like you’re someone precious. You’re distracted by how relaxed you feel, and you realize too late that he’s pouring body wash into his palm and sudsing it up between his hands.
He reaches for your left arm first, lacing your fingers together with one hand while he smooths the fragrant bubbles over your skin with the other. He does the same with your right arm, pausing before he accidentally touches the purple bruise forming where Thirteen’s trap struck you. He stares at the mark, barely brushing his fingers across it like he’s afraid of hurting you even more.
You squeeze his fingers to pull him out of the worried trance he’s fallen into. “It looks worse than it feels,” you say quietly. You try to reassure him but he doesn’t look like he believes you. He bends his head and brushes his lips over the mark before he continues with his task.
He washes your back, kneading the skin gently with his hands as he moves them across your body. He doesn’t stray below your waist, and he only washes the delicate column of your throat and shoulders before turning around to give you privacy. He gathers his basket and sets it on the edge of the pool while you quickly wash your chest.
You rinse the soapy layer off your skin by the time he turns around and pulls you into another hug. The water was a bit tepid now and it’s covered with a thin layer of film from the bath products he used.
“We should probably get out soon,” you murmur, resting against his bare chest.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says and he holds you a bit tighter. “No one is going to bother you tonight.”
You run your fingertips across the water’s surface. “But the water’s getting cool and it’s soapy.” It’s one of the reasons why you normally don’t like taking baths and prefer to shower.
But Asmo holds his hand above the water and starts whispering an incantation you don’t recognize. His hand glows and the water around you ripples gently before it settles. You nearly gasp at the odd sensation of the water instantly warming up again. The bubbly residue from his bath products is gone too.
“Well, that’s a neat trick,” you say with a quiet laugh. He watches your delighted reaction with a smile.
Asmo walks back towards the edge of the pool and pulls you with him. He hops back onto the marble step and scoots backwards. He spreads his legs and pats the space between them where he makes room for you. After a moment of deliberation, you follow him and settle against his chest. His thighs are bracketing your hips and one of his arms is crossed over your front.
He smooths your hair back and brushes it out of the way, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh. He nuzzles your shoulder with his cheek. When you glance at him from the corner of your eye, you realize his eyes are closed.
“How do you feel?” you ask him in a near-whisper.
He turns his head towards you, humming in contemplation. You can feel his warm breath on your neck. “I should be asking you that,” he replies. He’s dodging your question.
You turn to face him properly - or as much as he allows with his arm still wrapped around you. “You were very upset with Solomon earlier,” you remind him. “You didn’t seem like yourself.”
Asmo’s eyes are open and they flash at the mention of the sorcerer’s name. “Did I frighten you?”
You shake your head because it wasn’t fear you felt in that moment. “No, I wasn’t scared of you. I was worried.”
Asmo rests his forehead against your shoulder and sighs. “I don’t think you understand how hard it is when–“ he starts to say, then he makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "I don't like it when someone else hurts you.”
Asmo is protective of you the way all the other demon brothers are, so his answer doesn’t surprise you. But you’ve known for a while now that something between you has changed, like there’s some gap neither of you are able to cross. Most of the time he seems like himself - carefree, happy, excited by all the wonderful things in the world that he loves. When he’s not himself, his eyes are cold and his tone is sharp.
Sometimes you forget that Asmo’s capable of rage or violence as much as his brothers are, even though he tries not to show you that side of him. The anger in his eyes earlier when he faced off against Solomon in your defense was very real. You’re surprised he didn’t shift into his demon form; perhaps he would have if you hadn’t gotten him out of there in time.
“Does this have to do with what happened a few months ago?” you ask hesitantly.
His body freezes for a split second but it’s enough for you to notice. His arm tightens around you ever so slightly.
“We never did talk about that, did we?” he sighs. He sounds nervous, uncertain - you know he’s trying to avoid having this conversation with you, but you don’t know why.
“No, but maybe we should. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I’m worried about you - and not just today. You’ve been…” you gesture vaguely with your hand, “…different lately. After what happened.”
The water is still warm but it feels like you’ve both overstayed your welcome. Asmo relaxes his hold on you and leans over to grab a towel for himself. He stands and quickly dries himself off. The boxer briefs he wears leave little to the imagination when the water-soaked fabric sticks to his skin. Your cheeks burn when you turn away quickly to give him privacy, and you hear him chuckle under his breath.
He sets the towel over his shoulder and grabs a second one for you. He holds it open in front of him and you stand quickly, stepping out of the pool and letting him wrap you in the towel like a blanket.
He tips your face up with a finger under your chin and looks into your eyes. He leans closer and his eyes dart to your lips for the briefest moment. Before you can even ask what he’s doing, he shakes his head and gestures for you to follow him to his room.
You dry yourself off quickly while he steps into the privacy of his walk-in closet. Your RAD uniform is in a crumpled pile somewhere and you wait for him to return, wrapping the towel tighter around yourself so you don’t get cold.
Asmo steps out of his closet wearing a bathrobe that’s tied loosely at his waist. You catch brief glimpses of his bare thighs when he walks towards you; it’s obvious he’s not wearing anything underneath. He hands you a spare bathrobe to put on as well, and he collects the discarded towels and tosses them in the laundry hamper while you shrug the robe onto your shoulders.
Asmo lays on his bed above the covers, sinking into the pile of ornamental pillows against his headboard. He raises his arm invitingly and you settle on the bed beside him, tucking yourself under his arm and letting your head rest against his shoulder. One of your hands is on his chest and he covers it with his own.
He peppers the top of your head with a few brief, barely-there kisses then sighs warily. He’s delayed this conversation long enough. “What would you like to ask first?”
You think back to nearly three months ago when a loud slam woke you up in the middle of the night. A yell echoed down the hall from your room and it prompted you to get out of bed quietly and tiptoe outside. What if someone was hurt? you worried at the time. The sound of hushed, frantic voices led you to the front hallway.
“Asmo?” you whisper, staring at the demon you barely recognized. Blood was splattered across his arms and face, his clothes stained and torn. He was speaking to Lucifer, but his eyes met yours for a moment before he looked away again. You took a hesitant step towards him, but Mammon appeared out of nowhere, blocking Asmo from view and gently pushing you back towards your room.
“You can talk to him tomorrow,” he said quietly, glancing at his brothers over his shoulder. “He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”
“What happened that night when I saw you in the foyer?” you ask.
“Diavolo finally agreed with Lucifer’s recommendation that the demon bothering you should be expelled from RAD.” Asmo hides his smirk in your hair. “Lucifer decided his punishment deserved a personal touch, so he sent me on behalf of the student council to make sure he went back to the corner of hell he came from. He might’ve been a little worse for wear, but in one piece.” Mostly one piece, anyway.
“Why did Lucifer ask you to do it?” you wonder, looking at him curiously. A thought suddenly occurs to you, and you push up so you can look at him properly. “Does that have to do with the fight you two had?” You weren’t sure what happened, but in the days leading up to that night, Lucifer and Asmo barely seemed to get along; they ignored each other at mealtimes and exchanged icy glares when they were forced to speak about official school business.
Asmo smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course it does,” he says. “You tried to hide it from us, but I knew that demon was harassing you. I was worried about you but Lucifer insisted on following protocol. I found his lack of urgency frustrating.”
“I think we need to reconsider allowing the new student to study at RAD,” Asmo said from his seat in Lucifer’s office, his voice quiet and serious.
Lucifer sighed warily. It wasn’t the first time Asmo spoke to him of his concerns regarding the new demon on campus but his accusations were vague and unsubstantiated. “I already told you that my hands are tied unless he does something actionable.” When Asmo opened his mouth to argue, Lucifer added quickly, “something actionable with proof.”
But something in Asmo’s tense expression made Lucifer hesitate. “What’s wrong?”
Asmo shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. That demon is dangerous.” He doesn’t say that he’s terrified something bad might happen, that he might not be there in time to save you if it does.
Lucifer leaned back and rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. “I believe you, but Diavolo needs some sort of evidence to justify expulsion if we want to to avoid any political repercussions. Your intuition simply isn't enough.”
Asmo stood from the chair with a frown and strode away. “If you don’t do something about him now, it could be too late.” He pulled the door open and glared at Lucifer over his shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he snarled before slamming the door closed behind him.
Asmo pulls you against him and rolls you both over. When you’re both laying on your sides, he wraps an arm around your waist. He smiles when you copy him.
“I thought it was something I could handle on my own,” you finally admit outloud. “I hoped things would get better with time. I didn’t want to involve anyone else if I didn’t have to.”
But since you didn’t tell Asmo about anything that was going on, you still have to wonder, ”How did you know what was going on if I didn't tell anyone?”
Asmo cuddles a bit closer to you and his eyes slip closed when he tightens his hold on you. “Call it a hunch.”
Mammon tried to explain it to you during your early days as an exchange student. You were curious about Asmo’s fixation on beautiful things - including himself. “It’s not just about beauty or sex with him - it’s about passion. Anger, hatred - he can sense those feelings too but that sorta passion’s ugly to him. That's why he focuses on the feelings that make him feel good. That’s why when he sets his mind to something, he puts in everything he’s got, every time. It’s all or nothin’ with that guy. He doesn’t do half measures.”
It was fortunate that you were still at RAD the day things spiraled out of control. The demon that was bullying you had you cornered in an otherwise empty classroom. He pushed your shoulders against the stone wall and hissed with explicit details how he planned to decorate the room with your insides. Despite all your power and education, you froze in the face of real danger. You were naive to think that there weren’t demons left in the Devildom that would still want to harm you.
Whatever the demon was about to do next was interrupted when the classroom door opened suddenly. The passerby yelled for help and within moments the demon was pulled off you. You slumped to the ground, overwhelmed by the adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins.
Afterwards, you would remember it was Asmo who picked you up and carried you to the infirmary, who sat at your side and held your hand while you were examined for injuries. It was Asmo who slept in your bed that night to help fend off bad dreams, who stayed home with you the next day while Diavolo and Lucifer finished their investigation.
You had all the pieces to explain what happened, the truth that you were too blind to see: it was Asmo that asked to carry out the demon's punishment because he threatened to kill you.
“What have you done?” Lucifer snapped angrily when he confronted Asmo in the front hallway. He expected his brother home hours ago.
“I did as you asked,” Asmo said in an eerily calm, detached voice. “He’s on his way back to the outer ring and we won’t have to see him ever again.”
Lucifer grabbed Asmo’s arm when he tried to walk away. “When I gave you permission to do this, I stated very clearly the limitations of what you could and could not do. We all feel the way you do, but–”
“I warned you this would happen!” Asmo cried, aura burning as his rage flared. He quieted himself, remembering the late time and not wanting to wake the others, or you. “He’s still alive. If I ever see him again, he won’t be so lucky.”
You knew Asmo was a powerful demon - he was a demon prince of the Devildom, after all - but you never realized his potential for anger or violence could match the intensity of his love and admiration for the things he held most dear. It overwhelmed you to think that he considered you something worth protecting.
But the more you thought about it, the more you realized you underestimated the depth of his feelings for you. He tried to tell you so many times in so many ways that you were important to him. He brought his manicure kit to your room so he could do his nails while you did your homework. When you finished, he would reward you by doing your nails too. He invited you on spontaneous trips to Majolish or your favourite cafe, refusing your offers to pay for the gifts he bought for you. He was always trying to take your photo, or he’d pull you to his side for selfies together. When you asked him why none of the photos ended up on Devilgram like most of his other pictures, he just winked and said he wanted to keep those pictures for himself.
He teased you playfully if other demons tried to ask you out, and he even encouraged you to accept sometimes - not that you ever had interest in any of those other demons, and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from giving you his usual pep talk before all of the dances you were invited to attend at Diavolo’s castle or The Fall:
“If anyone tries anything with you that you don’t like, blast them with some of that magic of yours. Or better yet, summon me and I’ll take care of it. No matter where I am, I’ll come to you. I promise.”
The realization dawns upon you and you feel like you’re drowning, emotions choked by the truth you’ve always known about his feelings for you, and your feelings for him.
“How long have you felt this way about me?” you ask him, your whispered voice breaking.
When he opens his eyes, they begin to glow as he gazes at you with so much love - it’s hard to breathe. His cheeks flush just the slightest bit pink when his lips slowly tick up in a small smile. “Oh, my precious darling, when have I not?”
You bury your head against his chest to hide the tears spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing and shaking your head, whispering apologies over and over again while your fingers clench the silky material of his robe.
“It’s alright,” Asmo says quietly, his hand rubbing your back in an effort to calm you. “I’m here. Everything is going to be fine from now on, I promise.”
You look at him through blurry, red-rimmed eyes when he pushes you back gently so he can see your face. “But y-you did all that for me and I didn’t know. Or I-I-I think I knew but I pretended I didn’t. Things have felt so off between us and it’s my fault. If I wasn’t so weak, maybe I could’ve—“
Asmo frowns slightly and puts a finger to your lips to quiet you. “Nothing that happened was your fault. I did what I needed to do to keep you safe. I’ll save you as many times as I have to.” He cradles the back of your head and leans forward to brush his lips against your brow.
“I love you,” he says when he lowers his head and kisses your cheek.
“And I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he whispers when his nose brushes against yours and he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth.
The kiss is soft enough that you can ignore it, giving you the chance to turn away, to pretend it didn’t happen. He’s giving you an out, you realize. But when you’re this close, all you can see is the faint glow of his clementine eyes.
The kiss you offer him in return is soft and sweet.
His eyes flutter closed as he moans quietly, and the way he tilts his head so he can slot his mouth against yours reminds you this isn’t a dream.
“Please,” he murmurs repeatedly against your lips. The quiet, needy pleas are muffled but you understand him perfectly.
When you nod, he doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, groaning when his lips move against yours harder and with more urgency. When you part your lips, he licks into your mouth, moaning between swipes of his tongue like he’s devouring you, starved for everything you can give him. His hand slides down your body, squeezing your waist gently before he pulls you tighter against him like he’s trying to blur the lines where you end and he begins.
When you start to roll onto your back, Asmo follows without hesitation, sliding a knee between your thighs and pressing his chest against yours. His kisses become sloppy and the soft, wet sounds are punctuated by your breathy moans.
You’re able to touch him more easily in this position and you tentatively skim your hands along his arms and across his shoulders until your fingers find purchase in his hair. There’s a rumbling noise that vibrates in his chest, and when you tug on his hair with just a bit more force, he breaks the kiss with a groan that makes the dull throb between your legs ache with need.
His hands are everywhere when he drags his lips across your jaw and down your neck. He’s panting between fiery, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. When he latches into the junction between your neck and shoulder and sucks with just a hint of teeth, you gasp.
He hums when he pulls back slightly to admire the mark he’s left on your skin. He raises himself up on his hands so he can look at you properly. You take the opportunity to explore him too, hands sliding down his chest slowly until they settle at his waist. You feel him shudder at your touch.
“I should be doing this properly,” he says suddenly. When you tilt your head in confusion, he explains, “getting dolled up for you, taking you out for a romantic dinner, seducing you afterwards.” He grins when you flush with embarrassment, but his smile falters after a moment when his gaze pierces yours. “You deserve that. I can give you that if you want. We don’t have to go any further tonight if you’re not ready.”
You cup his cheek. “Do you want to stop?” you ask curiously.
He turns his head so he can kiss the inside of your wrist. “Fuck, no,” he breathes, shaking his head. His hair falls over his eyes, totally unkempt. He’s beautiful like this.
Earlier it was hard to ignore the weight of his cock hardening against your hip, the stilted movements when he kept himself from grinding against you while you kissed. It makes you feel less self-conscious of your own desire, the way his pleased sounds made you feel hot with need. The insides of your thighs are damp with slick and you’re desperate for some kind of friction against your clit. You’ve been clenching around nothing, secretly wanting him to fill you but not having the courage to ask for more.
“I want you too,” you whisper, staring into his eyes and it feels like you’re finally being honest, trying not to let fear ruin the promise of what his love can offer you. You’re emboldened by the way his eyes are smoldering when he looks at you, the way you’re both trembling with need and the way your voices shake with so much emotion. You don’t want him to have any doubts about how you feel about him or about how desperately you want him too.
He only hesitates a moment before he pushes himself to his knees. One of his knees is still wedged between your thighs, not quite close enough to give you the friction to grind yourself against him. He undoes the knot holding his robe closed and slides it off his shoulders. The sight of his naked chest leaves you breathless.
Your eyes roam across his smooth, unblemished skin. Your fingers grasp the blanket when you feel the itch to grab him and pull him back down. You’re close to begging for him to touch you, and something must flicker across your expression because his gaze darkens. The sweet, somewhat bashful tilt to his lips sharpens into something a little more hungry.
He leans down, one hand clenching the sheets for balance while he slips his other arm between your bodies. You feel his fingers pull at the thin fabric of your robe and pry it apart and the sudden chill causes goosebumps to spread across your exposed skin. You resist the urge to cover your breasts when you feel your nipples harden.
“You’re lovely,” he whispers, kissing your cheek softly. “You’re so incredibly beautiful, I can barely stand it.” You tilt your head back when his nose grazes along your jaw and he scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin below your ear. He pulls your earlobe between his teeth and tugs, licking the skin in a mock apology when you gasp and arch your back against his chest.
“I bet you say that to all your dates,” you whimper. His desire is intoxicating but you can feel the self-doubts bubbling over, your inhibitions threatening to spill from your lips and ruin everything. Before you can say anything else, Asmo sighs his head and tilts your head so you’re forced to look him in the eye.
“None of that matters anymore, not when I finally have you,” he says quietly, like it’s some sort of oath. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He gives you a hard, quick kiss. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”
He shuffles closer and his cock hangs heavy against you. The tip is dribbling precum and it feels warm and sticky on your thigh. His head tilts back with a moan and he slowly rubs against you, painting your skin with his desire and leaving no room for doubt that he wants you.
You can’t stop yourself from reaching for him and you pull him closer as you spread your legs invitingly. “Asmo, please–”
He growls quietly and in an instant his lips are around one of your nipples while his hand snakes back down between your bodies. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud, and he sucks it into his mouth at the same time his long fingers dip between your folds. Your hips jolt when he brushes against your clit, puffy and wet with your desire and it’s all for him.
Asmo moans around your nipple when he feels the wetness between your legs. He kisses across your breasts as he starts grinding against you a bit harder than before.
“You’re almost ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, amazed by how utterly perfect you are, bare and needy under him. He licks his lips and you can see a hint of his fangs when he grins.
The way he looks at you makes you squirm underneath him. You move your hips and try to chase his fingers as he explores the soft skin of your folds. The delicious pressure of his fingertips rubbing against your clit is enough to make your thighs quake. You feel the beginnings of your release, but you whine when he suddenly moves his fingers away. Before you can ask him to touch you again, he slips a finger inside you and the sudden fullness makes you groan.
He’s hypnotized by the way your body moves in tandem with his, arching your back and undulating your hips as he pumps his finger inside. He’s being slow and deliberate, studying your face for every reaction, and when he adds another finger he thrusts them both in deep. You take the intrusion so well, like your body was made to be his, and he knows you're close when your moans pitch higher and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets.
“You feel so perfect around my fingers,” he murmurs, watching with half-lidded eyes as his fingers move faster in and out of you. He bites his lip when he feels you clench around him, and he’s nearly mad with the desire to have you finally wrapped around his cock. “You’re so responsive.” He strokes your clit with his thumb as his fingers stretch and tease your gummy walls, crooking his fingers inside you like he’s inviting you to sin.
The sensations drive you to the edge and you’re chasing your release, eyes closed and swallowing thickly after you choke on a moan that sounds suspiciously like his name. “I want you so badly,” you beg, and your voice sounds breathy and pathetic to your ears but you can feel the heat of his gaze on you when your body tightens around him. He keeps brushing over that spot inside that feels so good and you don’t want the feeling to stop, you want more. “I want you to come inside me, I want–”
You cry out as the orgasm crashes through you out of nowhere, wave after unrelenting wave of pleasure setting your body ablaze as his greedy fingers coax every last breathy moan from your lips. He savors the way your body flutters around him, like you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of his fingers still pumping inside you but your pretty little hole’s too greedy to let him go.
Asmo finally pulls his hand away when you try to clench your thighs closed to stop him from teasing your oversensitive nerves. He sits back on his heels and waits patiently while you catch your breath. Your skin glistens lightly with sweat and he can’t stop staring at you.
When you finally open your eyes, he brings his slick-soaked fingers to his mouth, licking your essence from his fingertips before sucking them both into his mouth greedily. Once they’re clean, he releases them with a quiet pop.
“You taste delicious,” he coos appreciatively. He’s so tempted to dive between your legs, to lap up every last drop of slick that clings to your folds. He wants to breathe in your intoxicating scent until it’s seared into his memory forever, to plunder your hole with his tongue until you can’t possibly give him more.
But as much as Asmo wants to make himself a new home between your legs buried tongue-deep inside you, or to pull you on top of him so you can grind against his face so he’s drenched in your slick, he knows that will have to wait until next time.
He’s been with hardly anyone else since what happened a few months ago. He was overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings for you - the fear of losing you, the need to claim you properly - and it sent him into a tailspin. He tried to pretend there was nothing wrong and he went to his usual haunts, but he didn’t want any of those other demons: none of them were you.
Now that he has you, he’s not sure anything can possibly be better than this: the way you looked swept away by pleasure; your loud, high-pitched sounds like music to his ears; and the way you fucked yourself on his fingers and begged for his cock inside you - it’s too much temptation for even the Avatar of Lust to bear.
When the sensitivity has ebbed and you’ve caught your breath, you let your thighs fall open again and Asmo doesn’t hesitate to shuffle between them properly. His cock bumps against you and when he lowers himself to his forearms above you, he teases you with the glide of his cock along your folds. He rolls his hips slightly so that the tip of his cock grazes your clit and then he pushes even lower, letting the head of his cock tease at your hole. He adds just enough pressure at your entrance that promises more, and that has you moaning in anticipation and spreading your legs even wider for him.
You lift your thighs so they rest against his hips to keep him in place, to encourage him to come even closer, to fill you so you never feel empty again.
His head tips back and soft sighs fall from his lips when he finally pushes inside. Neither of you seem to care about the way your body squelches obscenely with the slow drag of his cock along your walls. It’s a smooth glide until he finally bottoms out and he moans, but he blinks his eyes open rapidly, surprised at the sudden wetness clinging to his eyelashes. One of your hands is clutched to his back, the sharp grip of your fingernails a delightful mixture of pleasure and pain.
You cup his face with your other hand and wipe away the rogue tears that roll down his cheek. “I love you so much,” you say in a quiet, shaky voice, because there’s nothing more perfect you can say in this moment, not when his body cages yours and you feel so utterly wanted. When his cock twitches eagerly inside you, you wonder why it took so long to do this together; it feels like you were both fighting inevitability.
He nuzzles against your hand and kisses your palm before he rolls his hips with a few shallow, exploratory strokes. You both moan, and your other hand leaves his cheek so you can grasp onto his shoulder to brace yourself.
Asmo bites his lip when he rocks into you again. “You feel—“ he breaks off with a groan, wincing when your walls squeeze around him. “You feel so fucking good, I don’t think I’m going to last.”
Despite the pleasure gripping his senses, he feels the faintest ripple of embarrassment too. He’s worried about disappointing you after finally getting to have you after all this time. The longing for you festered so deep within him that even touching someone that wasn’t you didn’t really satisfy him anymore. He’s overcome by his desire for you even though he tried to ignore it, because he didn’t know if you wanted him, if you were ready for what he wanted to give you so badly—
But you breathe out his name and the unabashed lust in your eyes is unmistakable. You’re panting lightly, wetting your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue and he tracks the movement greedily. “I just want you,” you say when you tighten your legs around his waist, urging him even deeper.
That’s all the invitation Asmo needs. He braces himself on his hands and starts to move inside you with slow, controlled thrusts. The heat of your walls wrapped around his cock and your soft, needy moans and whimpers overwhelm his senses, and it’s hard to maintain the gentle rocking of his hips against yours when he feels the tethers of his self-control start to snap.
He puts more power into his movements, answering your whimpered pleas for him to fuck you, to give it to you harder and faster. You’re not commanding him, but you don’t have to; he obeys willingly with the rough snap of his hips as he fucks you into his mattress. He growls approvingly when you toss your head back in submission and pleasure, whining and choking on the moans he drags out of you with every push and pull of his cock claiming you from the inside-out.
The bed frame creaks from the force of his thrusts and the headboard bangs against the wall, but Asmo doesn't care, not when it feels like you’re both teetering on the edge of an abyss and he’s so close to falling. He’s determined to drag you down with him.
“Touch yourself,” he whispers in a rough voice when he feels his orgasm approaching. “I want you to come with me.” He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so desperate, but you reach between your bodies and start stroking your clit in time with his powerful thrusts. Your body clenches around him almost immediately and your back arches, and his cock is suddenly enveloped with even more slickness when you come for him a second time, his name falling from your lips in a broken cry.
He can’t possibly last after that and he doesn’t want to, and your pleasure rips the orgasm from him and he cries out when he spills inside you, marking you as his in a way no one else possibly can. His hips stutter as his thrusts become sloppy and shallow, and the desperate haze clears from his mind when satisfied exhaustion takes its place.
You both groan when his softening cock finally slips from your body. He collapses at your side to avoid crushing you with his weight, and he pulls you against him. You’re both hot and sticky and the air smells like musk from sweat and sex. Asmo knows there’s a wet spot drying on his sheets where your slick and his come pooled between your thighs.
He knows you’re both exhausted, but he hasn’t felt this content in weeks.
You nuzzle into his shoulder and sigh, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. You’re still trembling slightly, but you melt into his embrace and it makes his throat thicken with emotion.
“I think we need another bath,” you murmur sleepily. Your lips tickle where they graze his skin and he smiles.
“Later,” he promises and he wraps his arms around you. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispers.
Stay with me forever, he thinks and doesn’t say out loud. But when you nod and cuddle even closer to him before sleep claims you, Asmo believes he didn’t have to.
#obey me asmodeus#obey me x reader#omswd x reader#obey me asmo x reader#asmodeus x reader#obey me smut#omswd smut#asmodeus smut#obey me asmo x mc#asmodeus x mc#obey me asmo x you#asmodeus x you#obey me fanfic#omswd fanfic#x reader#afab!reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐈𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐬 - p.j
summary; who knew life threatening situations made you reevaluate your love life?
pairing; percy jackson x demigod!fem!reader
word count; 7.5k
warning(s); mild mentions of injury, spoilers for ttc
a/n; i'm guessing you meant the titan's curse? i changed a few things, but i hope this was what you had in mind. if not, feel free to send another request :)
the ending is schist. sorry.
You were on a dark hillside, shrouded in fog. Wisps of haze stuck and clung to your hair and clothes like cat hair, refusing to come off even when you tried to brush it away. Up above, you couldn't see the sky—just a close, heavy darkness, as if you were in a cave. From every direction, the same amount of pressure pushed down on you, like you were hundreds of miles below sea level. The place felt more like a deep-sea cavern than anything.
You felt like you were suffocating.
Thorn was long gone, you could tell. The smell of his disgusting cologne was nowhere to be found. A good thing, you supposed, as it really was rather horrible. On the down side, though, that meant you were completely stranded alone in the middle of nowhere.
"Thorn!" You called. Your own voice made your head pound. Raising a hand up to the back of your head with much more effort than you would like to admit, you felt something warm and sticky matting your hair. You grimaced. "Where are you? Why did you bring me here?"
You waited a minute or two before deciding that you were, in fact, on your own. Standing up only to drop back down, you hissed as you clutched your leg. Looking down at your calf, you gagged. Where one of Thorn's spikes had nicked you, the skin around the cut had turned a greenish-purplish colour, the cut itself scabbing over in a yellow-brown-black mess. He'd said his poison only causes pain; infections were a whole different problem.
You struggled up the hill, trying to reach the top. Maybe you'd be able to see if anything was around here from up high, though you doubted there would be anything for miles around. As you climbed, you vaguely noticed old, broken Greek columns of black marble scattered around, as though something had blasted a huge building to ruins.
Climbing over a section of broken wall, you finally made it to the crest of the hill. What you saw made your heart drop into your shoes.
On the rocky ground lay a boy with messy black hair and a tattered orange Camp Half-Blood shirt. He was crumpled like a soda can, and he seemed to be in pain. The blackness seemed to be thicker around him, the fog swirling hungrily. Squinting your eyes, you could see his eyes screwed shut with the effort of.. well, you couldn't quite tell. Whatever it was, it seemed horrible.
"Percy?" You whispered in shock, making your way toward him. As you walked closer, the air grew thicker and thicker, almost buzzing with electricity and the smell of ozone.
Percy's eyes cracked open when he heard your voice. Then they were wide with panic and relief.
"Y/N!" He called. "Help me! Please!"
You ran forward until you were no more than a few inches away from where he was standing—well, 'standing' is a strong word.. 'trying extremely hard not to be flattened into a Percy pancake' would be more accurate, now that you properly saw the state he was in. His hands were propped up next to his shoulders in an odd manner, like he was trying to hold up something massive and invisible.
Panic jolted into your brain as you registered his words. You reached out to touch his face.. then stopped at the last minute. He looked off; you couldn't tell why. Icy little needles prickled at the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine.
"Please, it's killing me." He said again. You took a step back.
"What happened?" You asked warily. Seeing Percy like this broke your heart, but something just felt wrong.
"They left me here," Percy groaned. You could've sworn his eyes looked almost yellow as he squeezed them shut again. He seemed to be struggling against some invisible curse, as though the fog were squeezing him to death.
Studying him closely again, you shook your head. You were just about to take another couple steps back when Percy's knees buckled. He yelped in surprise and almost toppled, but regained his balance in the last second. His face paled.
In the scarce light, Thalia's pine tree glimmered a soft green hue on one of the beads on his camp necklace. There was no Golden Fleece hanging from its branches.
The darkness above him began to crumble, like a cavern roof in an earthquake. Huge chunks of black rock began falling. You rushed in just as a crack appeared, and the whole ceiling dropped. You held it somehow—tons of rock. You kept it from collapsing on you and Percy just with your own strength. It was impossible. You shouldn't have been able to do that.
Just as the debris stopped falling, Percy rolled free, gasping. "Thanks." He managed. You clenched your jaw to steel yourself.
"Don't just lay there," you groaned.
Percy caught his breath. His face was covered in sweat and grime. He rose unsteadily.
Then, he flickered. Literally. His whole image flickered like the flame of a candle. You would've just brushed it off as something your brain made up from being put in such a stressful situation, but then it happened again. And again. Eventually, Percy flickered away..
..and Luke stood in his place.
"I knew I could count on you." He said, a crooked smirk twisting his face. He reached for his Camp Half-Blood necklace, and you realized there were glowing green runes etched onto every one of the six beads. Magic. Of course.
"Castellan." You spat, almost forgetting about the crushing weight on your shoulders as white-hot anger made your blood boil. "You prick."
"Nice to see you haven't changed," Luke said. He began to walk away as the trembling blackness threatened to pulverize you.
"Help. Me." You gritted your teeth. The words tasted bitter on your tongue. You knew it was no use; you were grasping at straws. But holding up literal tons of rock can make you do weird things.
"Oh, don't worry," Luke said. "Your help is on the way. It's all part of the plan. In the meantime, try not to die."
The ceiling of darkness began to crumble again, pushing you against the ground.
—
It's amazing how one perceives time when holding literal tons of stone.
At first, every second goes by agonizingly slow. Just when you think you're getting used to the weight, the ceiling cracks some more, piling more rocks on top of you until you're nearly squished like a bug. Once that cycle repeats a dozen or so times, you realize that a couple hours have passed, judging by the members of Kronos's army chatting amongst themselves while they stride by. You'd never been more relieved to hear dracanae making dinner plans.
Luke had said your 'help' was coming. You didn't know what poor soul was going to be trapped here next, but you couldn't help but hope they arrived quickly. As much as you didn't want anyone other than Luke to bear this weight, you were certain you'd die if they didn't. Maybe you could take turns once they arrived.
You were tired. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out at any moment. Your bones felt like they were on fire.
In front of you, a throne of black marble had been strategically placed in the shadows so that whoever was sitting on it wasn't really visible unless you got really close. Ugh, villains and their ambiance. It oddly resembled the chair from that one Lincoln statue, albeit a bit smaller in size. Fortunately, you were far enough away from it that you didn't have to look at the ugly face of whoever was on the throne.
Your eyes had been screwed shut for a while when you heard the clanking of chains drawing near. The sound scraped to a stop a couple feet in front of you. You peeled open your eyes to see what was about to go down.
A small girl with auburn hair was shoved forward by a meaty hand. She had chains of celestial bronze binding her hands and feet like some medieval prisoner. Her silvery dress was torn and tattered. Her face and arms were cut in several places, and she was bleeding ichor, the golden blood of the gods.
A goddess?
"How is our mortal guest?" A male voice boomed. Its force made the ground and the boulders on your shoulders vibrate. Your head pounded in protest. You'd compare it to a bass guitar, but that would be offensive to bass guitars.
Luke emerged from the shadows. He ran and knelt beside you, then looked back at the unseen man. "She's fading. We must hurry." You vaguely wished you could bite his hand off.
Hey, he's in range, just under the rocks.
You were tempted to just drop everything and let it crush everyone to death. You decided against it, only because of the goddess in chains. There was no way she'd be able to escape.
"You heard the boy," said the man in the shadows. "Decide!"
Shut up, you thought irritably. The world buzzed with every word he spoke, and you were not a fan of that.
The girl's eyes flashed with anger. You supposed she must have been either a minor goddess or extremely drained, because she didn't seem able to just will the chains to explode or make herself disappear. Maybe the chains prevented her, or some magic about this dark, horrible place.
The goddess looked at you, and her expression changed to concern and outrage. "How dare you torture a maiden like this!"
Maiden? You mused. The ceiling piled more boulders on you, and you almost crumpled, barely regaining your balance in time. Must be Artemis. You decided, groaning weakly. From what you recalled, Artemis was the protector of women. Besides, silver.
"She will die soon," Luke said. "You can save her."
Like you'd care.
"Free my hands," Artemis said.
Don't be stupid, you caught yourself thinking. You thanked the fact that the gods couldn't read minds. Well, most of them, anyway.
Luke strided over to her. He brought out his sword, Backbiter, and broke the goddess's handcuffs in one swift strike. You promised yourself you'd use the damn thing to stick him in the stomach if you ever got the chance.
Artemis ran over to you and took the burden from your shoulders. You collapsed on the ground like a pile of bones. You felt your spine creak as the pressure was taken off of it, and your limbs wouldn't stop trembling. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the bile from rising, but even that took so much effort.
The man in the shadows chuckled. "You are as predictable as you were easy to beat, Artemis." Oh, hey, you were right.
"You surprised me," Artemis said, straining under her burden. "It will not happen again."
"Indeed it will not," the man said. "Now you are out of the way for good! I knew you could not resist helping a young maiden. That is, after all, your specialty, my dear."
Your breathing grew more and more ragged with each word the man spoke. You felt something hot trickle down the back of your neck, leaving chills in its wake. Recalling your head wound from earlier, you grimaced. Had it not patched itself up? How much blood had you lost? Thinking about it made you dizzy.
Artemis groaned. "You know nothing of mercy, you swine."
"On that," the man said, "we can agree. Luke, you may kill the girl now."
Oh, you complete piece of–
Luke hesitated. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "She–she may yet be useful, sir.. Further bait."
"Bah! You truly believe that?"
"Yes, General. They will come for her. I'm sure."
The man considered. "Then the dracaenae can guard her here. Assuming she does not die from her injuries, you may keep her alive until winter solstice. After that, if our sacrifice goes as planned, her life will be meaningless. The lives of all mortals will be meaningless."
Luke gathered up your listless body and carried you away from the goddess. You would have stabbed him, but you weren't in any state to do much more than breathe, and even that was a bit of a struggle.
"You will never find the monster you seek," Artemis said. "Your plan will fail."
"How little you know, my young goddess," the man in the shadows said. "Even now, your darling attendants begin their quest to find you. They shall play directly into my hands. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a long journey to make. We must greet your Hunters and make sure their quest is… challenging."
A sudden surge of annoyance flooded your brain. It was always like this, wasn't it? The 'bad guy' knew everything while your friends had to wander, dealing with every freakshow that sprung up on the way. It wasn't fair.
The man's laughter echoed in the darkness, shaking the ground until it seemed the whole cavern ceiling would collapse. You suddenly sympathized with how Zeus must have felt when Athena was banging on his skull, demanding to be let out. It felt like you had a goddess trapped up there. You wished someone would take an axe to it. Not like anyone here would have much aversion to that.
Luke took you a little while away from where Artemis was. Among the ruins, there was a semi-intact room with about two or three walls, depending on how tall you considered a wall to be. He placed you with your back against one of them. You glared at him from where you sat.
"Don't look at me like that," he snapped.
"Rot in Tartarus." You replied. Surprisingly, your voice worked. It sounded like metal against metal, but it worked.
Luke rolled his eyes. Then, his expression softened, just a little. "The gods are using you," he said bitterly. You rolled your eyes. Not this again. "Do you honestly think they care what happens to you?"
"I don't give a flying fuck what the gods care about," you said. Luke raised an eyebrow at your choice of words. "I care about my friends. I care about my life. You know, all the things you used to have before you stabbed us in the back and ran away."
With a bit of effort, you turned your head and spat on the ground. "Coward." You muttered, your hand wiping your face to get rid of all the grime. It didn't do much other than smudge it, really. "Couldn't even face us after your little stunt."
You could tell he was just itching to draw his sword from the way his hand twitched. You smirked. He was just too easy to rile up.
"I could kill you, here and now." He threatened. Geez, his villain talk needed some work.
"Go for it." You said, turning your head to look him in the eye again. Seeing the scar under his right, you cursed whatever dragon had caused it for not taking out his entire eyeball. Luke's expression changed from anger to irritation as he took a step back.
"I don't have to deal with you right now.." He muttered, turning away and walking off. Half a dozen dracanae came up from behind you, four of them taking positions on your left, right, and center while the other two continuously slithered in circles around you.
"Turn tail and run," you jeered. It was quiet, but it was enough to make him hear you, from the looks of it. His posture stiffened as the words left your tongue, making him seem rather huffy as he marched out of sight.
When the top of Luke's head disappeared, you felt all the strength leave your body. Your need to poke and prod at him had been the only reason you'd even been able to talk, you were sure. Your eyelids felt heavier than the cave ceiling. It wouldn't hurt to just close them for a moment or two..
You slept like the dead.
—
Surprisingly, it wasn't all that long until Percy came around, simply because the days blended into one. The sun never rose here, which meant your biological clock was the only thing that told you what time it could possibly be. The dracanae assigned to be your guards—three batches of six, from what you could tell by some of their features—weren't really the chattiest of their kind.
Your head wound had turned crusty and gross during the time you were kept here. Your calf wasn't in much better condition. You were shivering most of the time, cold sweat drenching your clothes and making them feel uncomfortable and disgusting to be in. The world spun without any prompts now.
You were messing with your roughly once-a-day rations when Luke came to grab you. It was the first time you'd seen him since he left you here. He looked paler and weaker than the first time you'd seen him here, and that was impressive considering he had just gotten out of getting crushed to death back then. Even in your condition, you had no doubt you could have taken him if the guards weren't here. Maybe if you had your weapon...
Despite that, he had a smug smirk on his face that you would've loved to slap off.
"Get up," he ordered. You pointed at your tray.
"I'm not done with my slop." You replied. In truth, you'd never touch the stuff, maybe taking one or two glops out of it just to keep yourself alive before lobbing the rest at your guards.
Luke snapped his fingers at the dracanae. Two of them slid over to either side of you and harshly lifted you up by each of your arms. You let out a disgruntled groan. The slop you'd just choked down threatened to make a reappearance as everything turned blurry and twisty. You tried not to sway on your feet.
"I said, get. Up." He sneered. You made a face at him in return.
"Fine." You snapped. You pulled your arms out of the snake women's grasp, only for Luke to cuff your hands behind your back. You opened your mouth to complain, but he stuffed a gag in it. You felt like you were about to hurl. The thing tasted like sandpaper and mouldy gym socks.
He dragged you alongside him, walking—well, limping, in your case—downhill and circling the lower points before climbing his way back up. There, he joined half a dozen dracaenae bearing the golden sarcophagus of Kronos and a hulking man in a brown silk suit. You supposed this was the one who'd been sitting on the throne when Artemis was brought in. You waited for your vision to clear a bit before taking note of his appearance.
His skin was light brown, and his dark hair was slicked back in a (in your opinion) rather wet-dog-like fashion. He had a regal expression; a cold, proud look in his grey eyes, like a CEO who ran one of those huge companies that were responsible for the ice caps melting.
"My lady!" Someone cried at the top of the hill. The Hulk-man gestured with his hand for his forces to follow him up the hill. Ugh, villains and their grand entrances, too.
Luke pushed you forward as he unsheathed Backbiter. Once you reached the crest of the hill, he pointed the blade at your neck.
From here, you could see a small group of people who were definitely not a part of Kronos's army. There was Percy, Thalia, and another girl who was kneeling at Artemis's side. You grimaced. None of them looked like they were in much of a shape to fight. Especially the new girl—you could see the dark colour of blood soaking through her silvery clothes. The getup looked somewhat familiar.. where had you seen that before? Her skin, which you assumed under better circumstances would be a coppery brown, was slowly being bleached.
"Stop! It is a trap. You must leave now." Artemis groaned. Her voice was strained. She was drenched in sweat. The ceiling threatened to pile more rocks on her as one or two new cracks appeared.
Despite the goddess's warning, the girl tugged stubbornly at her chains. Of course, they didn't budge. You could see she was trembling, but whether that was from the blood loss or from crying, you weren't too sure. She really needed a medic.
"Ah, how touching." Hulk-man said.
Points for a moderate opening line, I guess.
The three turned around. Percy and Thalia raised their weapons as New Girl opted to position herself between Artemis and Hulk-man. Ah, must be a Hunter. You'd seen the pamphlet Annabeth had.
Your eyes met Percy's as he scanned the crowd. When he took in what was going on, the look of anger that took over his features was like nothing you'd seen before on him. The boy looked just about ready to commit war crimes.
As touching as that was, all you wanted was for him to get the hell out of here. Hulk-man, as much as calling him that made him sound ridiculous, wasn't one to be taken lightly, you could tell.
"Luke," Thalia snarled. "Let her go."
Luke smiled thinly. "That is the General's decision, Thalia. But it's good to see you again." He said. Thalia looked like she was ready to murder him, which she probably was. Honestly, same.
Thalia spat at him. The gag stifled your laugh. Luke rolled his eyes and pressed the blade of his sword harder against your throat. You tried not to wince as it cut shallowly through your skin. You could just see Percy's grip tightening on Riptide.
Hulk-man—'The General', whatever—chuckled. "So much for old friends. And you, Zoë. It's been a long time. How is my little traitor? I will enjoy killing you."
New Girl—whom you could only assume was Zoë—clenched her jaw. Her face was pale, and she didn't look like she was in a much better condition than Luke, which was saying something. Huh, she and the General looked kinda similar..
"Do not respond," Artemis groaned. "Do not challenge him."
"Wait a second," Percy said. "You're Atlas?"
Ah. Oh. Wait—what?
The General glanced at him. "So, even the stupidest of heroes can finally figure something out. Yes, I am Atlas, the general of the Titans and terror of the gods. Congratulations. I will kill you presently, as soon as I deal with this wretched girl."
"You're not going to hurt Zoë." Percy said. "I won't let you."
The General sneered. "You have no right to interfere, little hero. This is a family matter."
Percy frowned. "A family matter?"
"Yes," Zoë said bleakly. "Atlas is my father."
Percy's eyes flickered between Zoë and Atlas, taking in the new information. It was easy to see the family resemblance, even if one of them was an evil titan overlord and another was a Hunter of Artemis. His frown deepened as he made the same connections.
"Let Artemis go," Zoë demanded. She struggled to her feet, the look in her eyes so close yet so different from Atlas's.
Atlas walked closer to the chained goddess. "Perhaps you'd like to take the sky for her, then? Be my guest."
No, no, no, no, no. You thought. Look at the state you're in. You'll die.
Zoë opened her mouth to speak, but Artemis said, "No! Do not offer, Zoë! I forbid you."
Atlas smirked. He knelt next to Artemis and tried to touch her face, but the goddess bit at him, almost taking off his fingers. Pity, if only he were slower.
"Hoo-hoo," Atlas chuckled. "You see, daughter? Lady Artemis likes her new job. I think I will have all the Olympians take turns carrying my burden, once Lord Kronos rules again, and this is the center of our palace. It will teach those weaklings some humility."
Percy looked at you. Your eyes flickered between his and Zoë's bow. In situations like these, your philosophy was simple: first move, first kill. Whoever took the first shot was going to result the first casualty, and you hoped your friends were smart enough to know that by now.
Atlas was in a somewhat vulnerable position. If Zoë fired now, he'd have to take a second to stand. You bet it would take Luke by surprise, too. After all, if she was Atlas's daughter, she must be thousands of years old, with that much experience.
Take. A. Shot.
Percy just stood there, staring at you. His eyes lingered on the top of your head. Thalia muttered something to him that you didn't quite catch. Geez, was the wound really that bad? Could he even see it from there?
As if on cue, you stumbled, suddenly feeling like you were standing on a surfing board. You hissed weakly as the movement made Luke's sword slip across your neck. A trickle of blood slowly made its way down to your shirt.
"I don't understand," Percy said. His voice was slightly forced. "Why can't Artemis just let go of the sky?"
Atlas laughed. Ugh, shut up. The sound made your head pound even more than before. "How little you understand, young one. This is the point where the sky and the earth first met, where Ouranos and Gaia first brought forth their mighty children, the Titans. The sky still yearns to embrace the earth. Someone must hold it at bay, or else it would crush down upon this place, instantly flattening the mountain and everything within a hundred leagues. Once you have taken the burden, there is no escape." Atlas smiled. "Unless someone else takes it from you."
He approached Percy and Thalia, studying them. His back was turned to Zoë. Take a shot. "So these are the best heroes of the age, eh? Not much of a challenge."
"Fight us," he said. "And let's see."
"Have the gods taught you nothing? An immortal does not fight a mere mortal directly. It is beneath our dignity. I will have Luke crush you instead."
Luke looks like he'd fall over if you looked at him too hard, you thought. Then you internally groaned at yourself for being held hostage by him in that state. Ugh, being helpless felt gross.
"So you're another coward," Percy said.
Atlas stiffened. You were sure he would've punched Percy straight in the head if he wasn't so prideful. With difficulty, he turned his attention to Thalia.
"As for you, daughter of Zeus, it seems Luke was wrong about you." He said smoothly, although you could hear the clear irritation in his voice.
"I wasn't wrong," Luke managed. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see that he somehow looked even worse than he did just a couple moments ago. Beads of sweat made their way down his forehead (ew), and he spoke every word as if it were painful. You thanked whatever was the reason for his pain. "Thalia, you can still join us. Call the Ophiotaurus. It will come to you. Look!"
He waved his hand, and next to Thalia, a pool of water appeared: a pond ringed in black marble, big enough for a small seal. Percy took one look at it, then stared for a few moments like he was in a trance. He then shook his head a little and looked back at you with a rather stupid, blank look on his face. He looked like he'd broken his brain by thinking too hard, an expression you knew all too well from sitting next to him in English Lit.
"Thalia, call the Ophiotaurus," Luke persisted. "And you will be more powerful than the gods."
"Luke…" Her voice was full of pain. "What happened to you?"
"Don't you remember all those times we talked? All those times we cursed the gods? Our fathers have done nothing for us. They have no right to rule the world!"
Like the Titans were going to be any better. Could he not see that he'd be dead as soon as Kronos rose to the throne?
Thalia shook her head. "Free Y/N. Let her go."
"If you join me," Luke promised, "it can be like old times. Annabeth will see our side eventually. The three of us together. Fighting for a better world. Please, Thalia, if you don't agree…"
His voice faltered. "It's my last chance. He will use the other way if you don't agree. Please."
Okay, so maybe he did realize his life was in danger here. You weren't sure what he meant, but the fear in his voice sounded real enough. For one reason or another, his life depended on Thalia's joining his cause. You, for one, couldn't bring yourself to care about him after everything he'd done. You were afraid Thalia might, though.
"Do not, Thalia," Zoë warned. "We must fight them."
Luke waved his hand again, and a fire appeared. A bronze brazier, just like the one at camp. A sacrificial flame.
"Thalia," Percy said. "No."
You held your breath. Whatever they were talking about, it was clear you were out of the loop. But one thing was for sure—Luke, and by extension Kronos, desperately wanted Thalia to summon this Ophiotaurus thing, which meant you had to hope desperately that she wouldn't.
Behind you, a quiet, high-pitched humming noise grew louder as the air grew warmer. You saw a golden light cast on the boulders, presumably from Kronos's sarcophagus. As it did, you saw images in the mist all around you: black marble walls rising, the ruins becoming whole, a terrible and beautiful palace rising around you, made of fear and shadow.
"We will raise Mount Othrys right here," Luke promised, in a voice so strained it was hardly his. "Once more, it will be stronger and greater than Olympus. Look, Thalia. We are not weak."
Debatable.
He pointed toward the ocean, and Percy's expression turned into one of slight horror. With the whole being held at swordpoint and all, you couldn't look at whatever it was he was so afraid of, but it must have been horrible if it scared Percy like that.
"This is only a taste of what is to come," Luke said. "Soon we will be ready to storm Camp Half-Blood. And after that, Olympus itself. All we need is your help."
For a terrible moment, Thalia hesitated. She gazed at Luke, her eyes full of pain, as if the only thing she wanted in the world was to believe him. Then she leveled her spear. "You aren't Luke. I don't know you anymore."
"Yes, you do, Thalia," he pleaded. "Please. Don't make me… Don't make him destroy you."
Percy looked back at you. You nodded slightly, hoping he'd get the message already. He then looked to Thalia and Zoë, as if he were steeling himself for the fight to come.
"Now," he said.
Together, they charged.
Thalia went straight for Luke. The hideous face of Medusa glared at you as she ran, making you stand frozen in fear. Behind you, you heard panicked hissing and a loud thump as the dracanae ran away.
Despite his sickly appearance, Luke was still quick with his sword. He snarled like a wild animal and counterattacked. When his sword, Backbiter, met Thalia's shield, a ball of lightning erupted between them, frying the air with yellow tendrils of power.
As Backbiter left your throat, you did the least heroic thing you could think of.
You ran.
Tucking yourself behind a large boulder, you tried to wait out the battle. In your current state, you'd be a liability rather than an asset. From this new position, you could see wave after wave of monsters marching from the Princess Andromeda and up the mountain.
You hated that you could do nothing but hope that your friends would make it out alive. Preferably before the army reached the top.
"Die, little hero," Atlas said. You had a feeling he was talking about Percy. Your heart dropped a hundred miles below.
Screw this. You had to do something. Now.
Finding a jagged spot in the boulder you were hiding behind, you maneuvered yourself into a position where you could somehow strike your hands downward and theoretically break your cuffs on the rock. Assuming they weren't made of celestial bronze, that is. After about three tries and one painful miscalculation, the chain finally broke, and you ripped the gag from your mouth, spitting to get rid of the taste.
When you peered around the boulder, the fight was complete mayhem. There was Atlas in full battle armor, jabbing with his javelin, laughing insanely as he fought. And a blur of silver—Artemis?
She had two wicked hunting knives, each as long as her arm, and she slashed wildly at the Titan, dodging and leaping with unbelievable grace. She seemed to change form as she maneuvered. She was a tiger, a gazelle, a bear, a falcon. Or perhaps that was just your fevered brain.
Zoë shot arrows at her father, aiming for the chinks in his armor. He roared in pain each time one found its mark, but they affected him like bee stings. He just got madder and kept fighting.
Wait, if Artemis was out fighting...
Who was holding the sky?
Where was Percy?
Looking over to the dreaded spot, you saw Percy trying not to get crushed under the weight of the sky. His eyes were screwed shut, concentrating on anything and everything but the burden on his shoulders. Right before your eyes, you could've sworn a lock of his hair was turning grey.
Oh, hell no.
Not really thinking, you streaked across the battlefield with surprising speed. Rolling under arrows and narrowly avoiding Atlas's javeline once, you reached Percy, who was about to pass out. You rolled under the boulders—which you now saw were actually dark, heavy clouds—and braced yourself on your good leg, kneeling down. Reaching up with your hands, you took the sky once again.
Every cell in your body screamed in protest. The pounding in your head was worse than what Zeus felt in Athena's origin story; you were sure of it. You felt like the vertebrae in your spine were being welded together by a blowtorch.
Fortunately, though, two people holding the sky was evidently easier than doing it alone.
"What the–" You vaguely heard Percy say. He was cut off by a blood-curdling scream. You managed to open your eyes and saw Zoë leap between her father and Artemis, shooting an arrow straight into the Titan's forehead, where it lodged like a unicorn's horn. Atlas bellowed in rage. He swept aside his daughter with the back of his hand, sending her flying into the black rocks.
"Zoë!" Percy shouted. He looked frantically between you and the direction she flew. As much as he wanted to go help her, he didn't try to move, afraid you wouldn't be able to handle the full burden of the sky.
The cold weight of dread settled in your stomach. Zoë didn't get back up.
Then Atlas turned on Artemis with a look of triumph on his face.
Artemis seemed to be wounded. She didn't get up.
"The first blood in a new war," Atlas gloated. And he stabbed downward.
Just then, a voice spoke in your head. Get ready, Artemis told you. You realized she was leading Atlas closer to where you knelt. With great difficulty, you turned your head to meet Percy's eyes. You could tell Artemis had told him the same thing.
"Go." You said, your voice strained. You tried to tell him the goddess's plan, but your voice wouldn't work anymore, so instead you looked frantically between Atlas and the sky. Percy hesitated for a split second before ducking and rolling out from under the clouds.
As fast as thought, Artemis grabbed Atlas's javelin shaft. It hit the earth right next to her and she pulled backward, using the javelin like a lever, kicking the Titan Lord and sending him flying over her.
You saw him coming down on top of you, and you loosened your grip on the sky. And as Atlas slammed into you, you didn't try to hold on. You let yourself be pushed out of the way and rolled for all you were worth.
The weight of the sky dropped onto Atlas's back, almost smashing him flat until he managed to get to his knees, struggling to get out from under the crushing weight of the sky. But it was too late.
"Noooooo!" He bellowed so hard it shook the mountain. "Not again!"
Atlas was trapped under his old burden.
As for you, you didn't try to stand. Odd as it was, you could feel no part of your body and every single atom at the same time. You felt like you were literally burning up. Your head felt like someone was taking a dull axe to it over, and over, and over. Your leg felt like it was poisoned all over again.
After that, you don't remember much else. Hard to when you're unconscious.
—
Things were kinda hazy after that. You faintly remember waking up on a marble floor, a good-looking guy with a perfect tan and gold curls leaning over you. You thought it was Will, but this guy looked a lot older, and more golden, somehow.
"There you go, kid," he said, smiling widely at someone next to you. His teeth were so white, you were surprised it didn't make your head hurt worse. Wait.. did it even hurt at all? "God of medicine, at your service."
"Thanks." You heard Percy's voice mutter. He sounded relieved, but there was a bit of a point to his tone. Golden Guy—Apollo, you assumed—smirked knowingly and stood up, teleporting out of sight.
"Now for the Ophiotaurus," a voice said. Maybe Artemis. You fell asleep before you could hear much more of the conversation.
—
The next time you woke up, it lasted a lot longer. The familiar scent of the infirmary prompted you to open your eyes. When you did, the sight made you let out a breathless laugh. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting warm sunlight in patterns across the white sheets of the bed. On the windowsill, a small collection of potted plants sprouted soft green shoots.
When you tried to move your hand, you found that a slight weight held it down. Someone took a sharp breath, and their fingers tightened around your hand.
"Oh, you're awake." Percy said. You sat up. His face looked a mess. A couple scars here and there and some bruises (all covered in some sort of balm), plus dark circles like he hadn't had a proper sleep in days. His shoulders sagged as he scanned yours. "Thank the gods."
You must have looked confused, because he straightened up and started explaining everything that had happened at the mountain, then at Olympus. Mr. Chase was, surprisingly, not that bad. Something about Artemis's Santa Claus sleigh. Zoë had passed on. Apparently, you were an expert pegasus rider in your sleep. Golden Guy was, in fact, Apollo—though Percy seemed a bit miffed when you called him that—and was the one who had healed you before you came back to Camp. Will had still insisted you stayed in the infirmary for a day or two so that he could check on you to make sure you were alright.
"You really had me scared, you know?" He said, his cheeks growing red. "You were so dumb, taking the sky when you were like that. I had it."
"Yeah, sure you did, Ariel." You snorted. Then you squinted at him. "Your hair's grey," you informed.
"So's yours," Percy rolled his eyes. "Dude, I was scared you were gonna die on me, and the first thing you say is that my hair's grey?"
"Well it is," you simply said. He let out an exasperated sigh, and you put a finger on his forehead to push his head up. "You didn't have anything to worry about. Not gonna get rid of me that easily, Jackson."
He laughed, but then trailed off. He fiddled with your fingers a bit. You felt your ears grow warm as you realized he was still holding your hand.
"Seriously though... I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if you were gone because I let you take all of it. The sky."
"Yeah, well, I'm still here." You said softly. He smiled a little.
He took a breath, then paused, as if deciding whether or not to say what he was thinking out loud. "You know why I was so scared?"
"Because you thought your best friend was about to die?"
"No." He said. Then he quickly backtracked, "well, yeah, but not just that. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to tell you..."
He took another breath.
"I like you. Like, like-like you. A lot, actually."
Your heart skipped a beat. "Wait, what?" You asked, dumbfounded. Your face flushed as his sea green eyes met yours, suddenly very interested in the linen sheets of your cot.
"I've been in love with you since we were kids," Percy chuckled. "I used to make my mom pick out my clothes when we went to your place so that I'd look good."
If your face wasn't red before, it certainly was now. You grabbed Percy's hand in yours a little tighter and laughed. "You know, I used to make you watch all those Disney movies so that you'd kinda get the hint that I liked you," you mused. Percy perked up. "All the girl-gets-the-guy stuff. Now I kinda figure, I should've made you play Barbie and Ken with me instead."
"What, make me Ken?"
"Nah. You'd be Barbie." You laughed at his expression. He huffed as if he found the idea nuts. "I'd be Ken. We'd be married, maybe have a horse."
"A horse?"
"Hey, I lost all the tiny Barbie puppies!"
"Well," he chuckled. You could've sworn his eyes sparkled. "In that case, you'll be happy to know, since we were kids, I planned to marry you someday."
"Oh yeah?" He hummed in confirmation. "What did it look like?"
"I dunno. Like the first thing that pops up when you type 'wedding' on Google."
"Wow. Way to be generic, Perce." You deadpanned. He punched your arm lightly.
"Hey, I was like six!" He said defensively.
A light quiet settled over the two of you as you looked down, avoiding Percy's expectant stare and fiddling with his fingers instead. He had that stupid grin on his face, which you'd come to adore over the years you'd known him.
"So..what now?" You asked, slowly lifting your gaze to meet his. His face flushed, and this time, it was he who turned away. He muttered something under his breath—a prayer?—and looked back at you. He looked like he wanted to run away.
"D'you want to go to the fireworks with me? Like, as a date?" He asked. You giggled.
"That's like, six months away." You laughed. He shrugged.
"Yeah. I need six months to get ready, obviously." He said, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, obviously. My bad." You held back your laughter long enough to accept. "I'd love to go with you."
Percy was just about to say more when Will burst out of the 'doctor's office'. The boy stood up so suddenly that he almost knocked his chair over. Will walked over and shooed Percy away.
"Yeah, yeah, we all like each other. Can you please let me work now?" He said, and Percy's ears burned bright red. He muttered a quick see you later and practically ran out of the infirmary.
"We thought he'd never tell you," Will commented, checking the back of your head.
"We?"
"Uh, probably, what, half the camp? Maybe more," he said absentmindedly. Giving you a once-over, he nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Dad did a good job on you."
He gave you the go-ahead a minute or two later. As you walked out the door, you saw Percy talking animatedly to Annabeth near the volleyball court, his back towards you. The blonde had an amused smile on her face, and when she noticed you, she put her hands on Percy's shoulders and spun him around. Catching your eye, the boy gave you a small wave and a smile. You waved back, a grin of your own on your lips.
With his slight blush and bright eyes, it was hard to believe a doomsday prophecy was in his hands.
The end of the world never felt so far away.
#percy jackson#percy jackson fanfiction#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson fic#pjo fanfic#pjo x reader#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson books#pjo imagine#percy jackson x you#percy jackson x y/n
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
The Evening Star (1/2)
[ Hades • Aemond x Persephone • female ]
[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, kidnaping, sexual tension, obsession, incest, toxic relation ]
[ description: When the god of the underworld comes out of his caves once a year to admire his beloved constellation, he accidentally meets his niece, whom he has never seen before. Moved by sudden lust and desire, he kidnaps her, despite her despair and his brother's anger. Angst, sexual tension, dark and obsessive Aemond. ]
Part 2: The Moonlight Ray
The Evening Star & The Moonlight Ray
Persephone Moodboard
*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*
My others works: Masterlist
_____
He never understood his brother, hurling his lightning bolts from the heavens at defenceless people in a rage − he did not understand his volatility, he did not understand his irrepressible desire, his unlimited emotionality.
He did not understand how he could desire and feel so many things at once, having his sister-wife haunt and take other goddesses, nymphs, or even human women, begetting bastards on earth and in the heavens.
He did not understand him, for he was emptiness, abyss, coldness, the opposite of his impulsiveness, his eternal volatility − he was like stone, like white marble, soul as well as body.
The only desire he had ever known in his life was the desire for power, and for this his brother deprived him of one eye before casting him into a dark abyss where not even the light of the stars could reach.
Although he was a god, his brother's blow could not be undone and he was forever disfigured, the dark hole in his face filled with a precious stone, sapphire, shining with a disturbing blue light.
Accustomed to the darkness of Hades, he could no longer bear the intense light of the sun and rarely appeared on Olympus itself; he would wander through his dark caverns in his long, black matted robe and gaze at the river Styx, at its pale light and the contorted terrified faces of the souls who swam in it.
When word reached him that his brother had mated with their other sister, the goddess of the field crops, and that she had bore him a daughter, he was neither surprised nor interested − he did not come to celebrate her birth on Olympus or congratulate his brother.
His brother had often suggested to him that he should take a wife, that he should not be alone in the darkness of the underworld.
He, however, felt no such need.
Even his sister, known as the Goddess of Love and Desire, was unable to seduce him.
She touched his naked body with her soft lips and hands, but he felt nothing but embarrassment.
He left Hades only once a year, when his favourite constellation emerged in the sky − He would then stroll through the old, dense forest looking up at the stars, breathing in the fresh air, listening to the rustle of the leaves.
When this time of year came, when he left his caves and looked up, he felt contentment at the sight of the twinkling dots in the sky, the pleasant night breeze enveloping his cold body.
He strolled slowly and aimlessly, looking upwards, all around him only the quiet rustling of his robes and the sound of dew-wet grass lingering beneath his feet.
He froze as he heard someone's footsteps break a twig not far from him, he knew he was not alone and he was furious.
He thought that whoever this mortal was, he would flow right down his river of the dead.
He tilted his head to the side and saw a pale figure illuminated only by shy starlight, her body pressed against the trunk of a tree as if she wanted to take refuge in it, her face expressing helpless anxiety.
Her eyes were big, warm and as dark as his robe, her hair long, partly loose, partly decorated with rich braids encircling her head, small blue flowers woven into her hair.
Her full, moist, fleshy lips were parted slightly in an accelerated breath, her breasts which he could see perfectly through the thin, transparent material of her robe were rising and falling restlessly, her skin glistening like moonlight.
He stared at her, unable to move or make a sound, unsure if he had ever seen a being so infinitely beautiful in his life, luminous as the stars above his head.
He swallowed loudly when he saw that she had taken a step back to retreat, to escape.
"Is it the beautiful Evening Star herself who has left the sky to enchant me with her company?" He asked lowly, impassively, his voice though assured and direct trembled, betraying his desperation.
She stopped in mid-motion and looked at him again, surprised and embarrassed at the same time by his words − it seemed to him that he saw perfectly well how her cheeks flushed, giving her skin a rose tint.
She pressed her lips together watching him carefully, lifting her chin slightly as if probing him closely from afar, assessing whether he was a threat to her, whether he would hurt her.
He was unable to take his eyes off her.
"I will tell you who I am only if you tell me who you are." She whispered in a trembling, gentle tone.
A smirk appeared on his face at the thought that maybe she was a nymph who had ventured too far from her friends, and that she was at his mercy now.
He hummed under his breath and moved ahead, putting his hands behind his back, looking under his feet, moving unhurriedly towards her.
"They call me many names." He said with mischievous amusement, throwing her a piercing, disturbing look from which she shuddered all over, taking a step back again.
"My river, though water is a life-giving gift, brings death." He whispered once he was a few steps away from her, wanting her to solve the riddle herself, to exert herself.
She swallowed loudly, her eyes widening suddenly, as if she had just realised something.
"− uncle −" She whispered, and he froze, stopping in mid-step; for the first time in the thousands of years he had walked the world he felt his own heart pounding hard.
He looked at her in disbelief, and it was only at close that he saw that she did indeed have something of his brother and sister in her, though it was her she resembled more − he felt himself grow even paler than usual, his hands clenched into fists behind his back.
She, however, seemed not frightened about who he was, her face took on an expression full of contentment and warmth. She moved closer to him and now it was he who took a step back feeling a strange heat in his lower abdomen, his manhood throbbed suddenly as he caught a glimpse of the outline of her soft breasts.
"My mother told me a lot about you. About the sun hurting your eye." She said softly, and he swallowed loudly seeing that she was staring at his scar, at the stone placed where his eye once was.
He thought he was like Hephaestus, hideous, disfigured, and that she would never desire him.
He felt his jaw clench tightly, his body tense, hard as granite when she tentatively placed her soft hand on his shoulder, he felt the warmth of her flesh through the thin material of his robe.
He didn't know what was happening to his body, he felt tickling and tension in his lower abdomen, a strenuous need for some kind of relief that he didn't understand.
"Stay with me to watch the sunrise. Don't sink into darkness yet." She whispered as if in worry − he couldn't tear his eyes from her face, from her warm gaze.
He was unable to comprehend how any living being could be so beautiful.
"No." He said coldly, and then grasped her in his arms, his hands clenching on her soft, hot flesh like steel tongs.
For a moment she couldn't make a sound, terrified and shocked − she didn't scream when he threw her over his shoulder and headed towards his underworld, cold, dark, damp.
It was only when she realised what he was doing that she began to struggle and cry, calling loudly for help from her mother and father, begging him not to do it, to let her go, that she would not tell anyone about it.
He, however, decided to follow his brother's advice and take a wife.
The marriage required the oaths from both of them, but this did not prevent him from acknowledging her as his wife even though she refused to speak the words.
Even though he had given her his most beautiful chamber, on whose ceiling precious minerals shimmered like stars, in which streams of water hummed, in which she could lie on a great, soft bed, she did not want to see him.
He was not his brother.
He had no intention of taking her against her will.
It was enough for him that he could look at her every day.
Only him.
He bestowed new gifts on her every day, but she still cried.
He gave her a beautiful long gown of dark, translucent material embroidered with stones in which the warm light of the sun was encased after she said she longed to see it, but she didn't even look at it.
The blue flowers in her hair withered as did the warmth in her eyes − she was slowly becoming as pale as he was and was constantly shivering from the cold.
She would not let him embrace or touch her; she covered herself with the thick furs he had given her and turned away from him.
Occasionally something would awaken in her − she would then run up to him when he visited her and beg him to let her leave to see her mother.
"I promise you that I will come back and that I will be your wife. Please, let me see the sunshine and the fresh grass one last time." She begged, touching tenderly his cold cheek with her fingers, almost as if she loved him, and he almost gave in to her every time.
"I can't, Persephone." He replied coolly, feeling some kind of pain seeing the despair on her face, hearing her helpless sobbs again, her small hands clenched on his robe, her cheek hugged to his chest.
"My name is Kora." She mumbled with difficulty, as if enraged. He hummed at her words, lifting slowly his large, cold hand, taking unruly strands of her hair from her face, all red from crying.
"Persephone, this name, is my gift to you. For my sweet wife." He whispered, and she trembled, struggling to breathe, shaking all over.
"− please −" She babbled as he embraced her uncertainly and stroked her hair, relishing its soft texture, letting her draw on this substitute of comfort.
He walked with her through the interiors of Hades, wanting to show her that besides death, there was also beauty in the underworld − underground streams and lakes with crystal clear water, his three-headed, beloved Cerberus, who in his presence turned from a monstrous beast into a gentle, docile animal.
Sometimes it seemed to him that a smile adorned her face for a moment, but then the sadness came over her again − she shuddered with cold and fear hearing the wailing of souls floating in the Styx, she glanced nervously in that direction, swallowing loudly.
"Are they suffering a lot? Can they be helped?" She whispered, and he hummed under his breath, walking beside her with his arms folded behind his back.
"They are paying for what they have done in their lifetime. Their merits and transgressions have been weighed by Temida, who has issued a judgment on them. There is nothing I can do." He admitted with a glance at her, and she lowered her gaze, looking down at her hands.
"Are you afraid of me?" He asked her at last, and she lifted her large, frightened eyes to him, her lips parted but no sound came from her throat. He pressed his lips together, feeling a sting in his chest.
He asked her if she was afraid of him after he had kidnapped her and held her against her will.
What did he expect?
The wrath of his brother and sister was quickly getting to him − her mother distraught at her disappearance had fallen into a state of utter agony, people were being starved to death by the land's failure to yield crops, there were more souls flowing in the Styx than he had ever seen in his centuries-long life.
He felt a kind of satisfaction when his brother descended into the underworld for the first time since time immemorial; he hated to think about dying and passing, and could not grasp the meaning of such a short life, knowing only the meaning of infinity himself.
He came out to meet him sitting proudly on his black marble throne, thousands of skulls at his feet.
For the first time he looked down on his brother, a gigantic cave all around them, Styx surrounding them on all sides except a small bridge.
"Brother. I warn you for the last time. If you don't give me my daughter..."
"Then what? I should take a wife at last – those are your words, aren't they?" He asked with a sneer, sitting stretched out comfortably in his seat.
"I want to see her." He demanded, and his lips tightened at his words. "Or I'll take her away from you myself and you'll never see her again."
"I poured water from my river into the honey she drank. Like any soul who has already bound herself to the underworld, she will not leave Hades without my permission." He said calmly, and his brother's face flushed red, his angry low voice echoing around him so that the ground shook around them.
"I WANT TO SEE HER!"
He hummed under his breath and nodded to his servant to bring her in.
His wife came out of her chamber a moment later − when she saw her father she immediately beamed, ran to him and threw herself into his arms.
He looked at them coolly, feeling his heart pounding fast, his stomach twisting with rage.
"My sweet daughter. Did he hurt you?" He asked as if the welfare of any woman mattered to him, as if he hadn't raped an endless number of innocent girls, forgetting them quickly because they were dying in what seemed to him to be just the blink of an eye.
He swallowed loudly when his Persephone shook her head, tightening her lips, lowering her head.
"He's good to me." She whispered and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain he had never known before.
His brother looked at him accusingly, trying to contain his aggressive, abrupt nature.
"People are suffering hunger because of you. Her mother has gone mad with despair, the flowers are not blooming, the grains are not yielding. Let them be together at least a few months of the year and I will recognise your marriage in the eyes of Olympus." He suggested, and he furrowed his brow.
"No." He hissed coldly, his gaze icy, piercing, furious, his hand clenched into a fist. "She is my wife. A wife's place is with her husband."
His brother moved in fury, wanting to lash out at him, the ground shook around them again, but his daughter's hand stopped him.
"Let us speak alone, father." She said softly; his brother backed away, panting heavily, his jaw clenched tight.
He hummed under his breath when he saw his wife move towards him, climbing the black, cold stone steps to finally stand before him − his brother snorted and turned, walking away, furious.
He looked up at his Persephone massaging his chin, delighted to see the outline of her body shapes beneath her thin white robe.
He shuddered and swallowed loudly, shocked as she sat on his lap, his manhood throbbed suddenly feeling her body so close, her fresh scent like a cool morning breeze.
"− husband −" She whispered with a soft click of her pink tongue, her hips innocently rubbing against his hardness, his body shivered at the sound of that word.
She had never called him that before.
She touched his cheek with her soft fingertips so gently, tenderly, slow strokes of her hips teasing him so innocently, that he parted his lips, breathing with increasing difficulty, his palms tightening on his cold stone armrests.
He could feel his length pulsing and swelling with every motion she made, he didn't understand what was happening to him.
He didn't stop her when she reached up to tie of his matte black robe, he drew in a loud breath and closed his eyelids when her delicate hand tentatively touched what was underneath.
"I am yours. I will give myself to you of my own free will." She whispered in a sweet, warm, trembling voice, her gaze misty, her lips full, swollen, red from emotion.
A quiet, low groan broke from his throat as he felt her hand direct the fat head of his manhood between her thighs with a gentle movement, he could see through the translucent material as she slowly began to sink him into her body.
He tilted his head back with quiet moan, licking his lower lip, feeling her hot, fleshy insides squeeze him wonderfully from all sides − she was surprisingly moist and warm, her core throbbing with arousal.
He felt her put her hands on his shoulders, lowering herself onto him with a loud, sweet gasp, her plump lips parted wide.
His hands involuntarily gripped her hips as she began to move, rising and falling against his length so painfully slowly that he had to close his eyelids shut, panting louder and louder along with her.
"– gods –" He exhaled with difficulty as she accelerated, the loud, sticky slaps of flesh against flesh echoing through the dark cavern, his manhood throbbing and twitching inside her, all hard and swollen with pleasure.
Involuntarily, his cold fingers clenched on the hot skin of her hips − he rooted his manhood into her tight, moist insides with his desperate, pathetic thrusts, her sticky moisture dripping down her thighs.
"– for our marriage to be valid you must fill me with yourself, my husband –" She whispered, pressing her forehead against his, droplets of sweat glistening on her body like little diamonds, her sweet moans of pleasure, her slick walls sucking him inside made him loose his temper.
He gasped weakly at her words, he had never felt a woman's insides before, had never desired anyone before her.
He felt like his manhood was going to explode with desire and lust, his thrusts became faster and more brutal, her soft breasts bouncing in front of his face − he lifted his hand and squeezed it tentatively, a soft mewl of delight erupted from her throat.
"– Persephone –" He breathed out pleadingly, imploringly, and then she kissed him, her hot, swollen, moist lips clinging to his, cold, dead, the tips of their tongues licking each other.
"– please –" She mewled although he didn't know what she was actually asking him, and then he heard her cry loudly, as if surprised, her hot insides clenching against him greedily, her tongue deep in his throat.
He felt with each thrust of his hips that he was getting closer and closer to something he'd never experienced before in his life.
Fulfilment.
The wave of heat and pleasure, his seed that spilled inside her surprised him so much that his voice stuck in his throat, and then again and again a low, helpless groan broke from his mouth − both of them were panting as they looked at each other with their lips open wide, his hands clenched painfully tight on her hips.
"I'm yours." She whispered softly, sweetly − he was looking at her feeling only peace, only love. "I am only yours, so please, let me see her."
He felt the heat in his heart replaced by coldness, his brow furrowed in a sense of anger, of pain, of betrayal.
"No." He hissed, wanting to lift her up, but she shook her head, cupping his face in her warm, soft hands.
"I will never truly be your wife if you won't trust me. If I don't come back to you of my own free will." She said helplessly, pain, fear and suffering in her eyes again, his lips tightened into a thin line at her words.
"Nine months with my mother so I can enjoy the sun, and then three here, just with you, every night, every day, I swear." She whispered tenderly pressing her face against his cheek, her scent overpowering and stupefying him, her warm insides still pleasantly enveloping his already soft manhood.
He swallowed loudly at her words, his palms digging firmly into the soft skin of her thighs.
"You're lying. You will never come back to me." He hissed and groaned low when he felt her hips begin to move up and down again with a loud click of her wetness and his spend, his manhood pulsed involuntarily with pleasure, betraying him.
"I'll come back. I promise I'll come back."
As much as she wanted him to lead her away, he didn't want to watch her disappear beyond the borders of Hades never to return.
He didn't want to watch her run merrily towards the light, thanking the gods for his weakness and naivety, for how every woman in history had been able to exploit a man's desires.
He did not want her to see his expression, his suffering and all the other feelings he did not want to feel.
The day after she left, he went to her chamber and lay in her bedding, sinking his nose into her scent.
He found, with regret and pain, that with each passing month her scent grew fainter and fainter, her silhouette in his mind becoming more and more blurred, as if he had never really met her.
He touched himself thinking about her, experiencing both wonderful and painful fulfilment with the knowledge that he would never feel her again.
He preferred to explain to himself that it was just a dream.
That he had never met her.
He knew she would not return.
She would not return to her captor, to the man who had kept her in a dark underworld for months, deaf to her pleas and sobs, a man who was crippled, who was cold, frightening and empty.
Despite this, despite knowing it, when the day came he could think of nothing else − he watched as the sand shifted in the great hourglass constructed of bone and glass as he lay in his chamber, drinking wine, feeling like a demented madman, listening for her footsteps amidst the groans of the dead.
She did not come.
He stared at the empty hourglass, which turned and the sand began to shift again, counting down the time of the new day; he wondered how he could have been so naïve to wait.
For the first time in ages he felt an embarrassing, burning wetness under his eyelids − proof that he really loved her.
He shuddered when he heard the quiet rustling of robes − he glanced sideways and saw her standing in the doorway of his dark chamber, in her hair beautiful small yellow flowers, her face bright and warm.
She wore the gown he had given her, black, decorated with sun rays stones.
"My mother kept me. She couldn't let me go." She whispered, and he felt his throat tighten, his body freeze, unable to make a sound or make any movement.
He breathed hard, looking at her with wide eyes, his lower lip and hands trembling involuntarily as she approached him slowly, as her hands untied the bindings of his robe with a light, easy motion, revealing what was underneath, how much he wanted her, how much he waited for her.
"I have been counting down the days when I will see your face again." She whispered, running her fingers over his scarred cheek, sitting on top of him, gently taking his hard length in her palm, lowering herself onto the fat head of his cock as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He wanted to tell her that he didn't believe her, but instead a surprised, throaty groan of pleasure burst from his mouth − he tilted his head back, panting loudly, his hips involuntarily beginning to root his manhood into her fleshy, moist insides, her hands clenched on his shoulders.
"– fuck –" He gasped out looking at her with his lips parted, synchronising his thrusts with the rhythm of her body − he swallowed loudly as she slid the material of her robe off her shoulders, exposing her soft, plump breasts to him.
"– touch me, husband –" She cooed, and he lifted himself, immediately pressed his lips to her breast, sucking on it greedily, licking and teasing her nipple with his tongue, all hard with desire.
She sank her fingers into his long white hair and pressed his face against her chest, rising and falling on top of him with a loud click of her moisture, moaning so sweetly and loudly that he felt like his manhood was about to explode.
"– were you touching yourself? – did you touch yourself when you weren't with your husband? –" He hissed out in a trembling voice between flicks of his tongue, she kissed his hair in an attempt to soften his question and her answer.
"– forgive me, husband – forgive me, I've missed you so terribly –" She mumbled helplessly as he ran his fingers down her hips, twisting with her so that she fell on her back.
He gripped her thighs in his hands, looking down at her − her face all red with exertion, her hair scattered in disarray around her head, her body all bare before him, hot, beautiful, his.
"– I think I should remind you to who this body belongs to –" He growled, ending his sentence with a deep, brutal thrust, a loud, surprised moan escaping from her throat.
"– you are mine –"
Thrust.
"– mine –"
Thrust.
"– mine –"
Thrust.
"– repeat –"
"– I – I'm yours – I'm yours, forgive me, uncle –" She mumbled out with difficulty and drew in the air loudly as he spread her thighs shamelessly in front of him, looking down at the place where their bodies joined, her entrance clenching against him steadily, leaking with her wetness.
"– I forgive you, sweet wife –" He gasped, recognising this act of grace as an expression of his love and gratitude that she had not betrayed him, that she had returned, that he held her in his arms again.
"– I'll fill you with my seed and it'll be just as it should be –" He exhaled as he watched the perverse sight of their bodies slamming against each other with a loud slaps, his thrusts deep and sure, each time opening her wide on his thick, swollen cock.
He couldn't believe that she had come back to him, that he could smell her wonderful, floral scent again, that she was allowing him to possess her of her own free will.
Her fingers grasped his hand and sank it between her thighs − he felt her direct him to the small bud between her soft folds, she moaned when he touched her there.
"– here, husband – please –" She mewled and moaned loudly, throwing her head back as he began to rub her there, simultaneously caressing her inside and out, her core beginning to pulse greedily against him.
"– gods – stop clenching –" He exhaled with difficulty, rooting into her with quick, brutal thrusts of his hips, stretching her fleshy walls apart with the sticky click of her moisture.
He felt that if he went on like this he would simply come inside her, when he wanted to torment her, to prolong the moment of this immense pleasure and encounter after so many months.
"– I can't – I can't –" She sobbed loudly and he saw her fulfilment in all its glory, her hot, soft flesh went through convulsions, greedily sucking him inside, her lips parted wide in pleasure, her gaze misty and warm.
He cursed loudly, coming inside her so painfully hard that he clenched his eyes shut, panting loudly, rooting into her for a moment longer, the relief and delight that surged through his body was indescribable.
He looked at her beautiful face, her hands on either side of her head, her expression nothing but fulfilment and peace, her breathing uneven and ragged, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.
She looked up at him after a moment and smiled sleepily, raising her hand slowly − her soft fingertips ran over his scarred cheek and he closed his eyes, feeling pleasant, hot squeeze in his heart.
"What is my wife's name?" He asked in a whisper, kissing her warm, small hand, smelling of fresh grass and flowers. He heard her sigh sweetly at his question, her fingers sliding lower, running over his cold lips.
"Persephone."
_____
Aemond Taglist
@dc-marvel-girl96 @its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @verena-targaryen-writes @talesofoldandnew @happinessinthebeing @travelingmypassion
#dark aemond smut#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen#dark moodboard#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#hotd aemond#aemond x fem!reader#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell fanfic#ewan mitchell smut#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#hotd smut#aemond targeryen angst#aemond targaryen angst#aemond angst#hotd angst#aemond oneshot#aemond one eye#aemond one shot#aemond kinslayer#aemond#prince aemond#aemond the kinslayer#house of the dragon aemond#hotd fanfic#aemond fanfic
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
This was supposed to be for the Ladrien June prompt "morning", but I didn't feel like waiting another week or so 😂.
Excerpt:
[CW for grief/mourning and recent character death (Gabriel)]
Adrien cleared his throat. "I...ran into Chat Noir outside. He said he had to go, but he told me..." He took a deep breath, continuing in a whisper. "I know my father's dead."
It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and the words came out surprisingly clear. It was only afterwards, when they hung in the awkward silence following Ladybug's sharp intake of air, that he felt like they were eating him from the inside out.
Ladybug's grip tightened. "I'm sorry, Adrien. I'm so sorry."
Read on Ao3, or under the cut!! 💜
The rising sun hit Adrien's back as he forced his front door open, its light casting an eerie glow over the mansion’s battle-torn foyer. Half the ceiling was caved in. The staircase was all but destroyed. And scraps of metal amongst the wreckage glinted gold, like the dying embers of a fire. Like the end of an era.
It wasn't the victory it should have been.
As the door slipped from his fingers, Adrien squeezed his eyes shut and stopped to take a few steadying breaths—a dangerous idea. Police officers were still on site, gathering evidence amidst the wreckage. One of them could easily notice him, and then he might get stuck answering their questions. He needed to move. He needed to remember the simple instructions he'd outlined for himself before walking back inside.
Sneak into the kitchen. Grab food for Plagg. Get out.
Run.
He could cover his tracks later. It wouldn't be too hard to find an excuse for Ladybug as to why Chat Noir hadn't come back after he allegedly went outside to recharge. It would definitely be easier than facing her as his civilian self—as Monarch's son—right now.
But hesitation had cost him. "Adrien?"
Ladybug.
Unable to reply or to so much as glance in her direction, Adrien stared resolutely at a piece of rubble by his feet—a piece which he thought used to be part of the bannister. Tears burned the corner of his eyes, but he did his best to blink them away.
He tensed when he heard her approach, something he wouldn't have noticed so quickly if it weren't for the debris scattered about. Any other day, her footsteps would have barely made a sound against the marble floors.
Too soon, her feet stopped in front of him. He struggled to keep his breaths even, fighting to remain upright when it felt like the entire world was closing in around him.
"I...I thought you were at Nino's," she said.
Had he told her that? He barely remembered any of the excuses he'd made last night. It was hard to recall much aside from how he'd awoken a few hours earlier to find his father's body splayed unnaturally across the floor, his vacant stare somehow still bearing traces of disappointment.
The ambulance had pulled away maybe an hour ago, with no sirens to accompany its departure.
Adrien only realized Ladybug was probably waiting for a response when she grabbed his hand, pulling him back to the present with a gentle squeeze. His stomach swirled. Couldn't she have reached for his other side?
She deserved better than the hand he'd used to destroy his own father.
When he finally managed to look up, he only felt worse seeing the sympathy in her eyes. He quickly looked back to his feet, panic drowning out any response he tried to cobble together in his head.
"Has anyone told you what happened?" she asked.
Adrien almost said no—which would be the truth, technically. Nobody had told him, unless he counted the clarifications Plagg had provided after the fact, details of what occurred after Ladybug and Chat Noir fell victim to Monarch's Akuma. Part of him wondered how Ladybug would tell the story, which parts would she soften or leave out. He wondered what she really thought.
But maybe it was better not to know.
Adrien cleared his throat. "I...ran into Chat Noir outside. He said he had to go, but he told me..." He took a deep breath, continuing in a whisper. "I know my father's dead."
It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and the words came out surprisingly clear. It was only afterwards, when they hung in the awkward silence following Ladybug's sharp intake of air, that he felt like they were eating him from the inside out.
Ladybug's grip tightened. "I'm sorry, Adrien. I'm so sorry."
His gut coiled tightly with some unbearable emotion. He tried to think up something else to say, lips parting as he raised his head to look at her. But the second he met her eyes—so wide and blue and sad—speaking was a lost cause.
His lips quivered. A sob clawed its way up his throat, tugging another one up behind it before the first had even broken free. Ladybug's hand rubbed up and down his arm, and that was all the encouragement he needed to finally release the tsunami inside him.
Adrien had killed his own father.
For months he'd been suffering. Adrien had assumed, when Monarch reappeared from his brief hiatus, that he was okay. That the Cataclysm hadn't been fatal. Instead he'd had a front row seat to his demise—to all the times he cried out in pain while cooking breakfast, trying to pretend everything was fine whenever Adrien noticed.
But if it weren't for that Cataclysm, if Monarch's health hadn't been weakened, then the world might have ended a few hours ago, torn apart and rebuilt in his father’s image. With his parents and Nathalie still alive.
How was he meant to feel about that?
He didn't even know where he was supposed to sleep tonight.
But at least Ladybug didn't hate him. At least he still had one friend in this crazy, twisted world.
She pulled him into her arms as he broke down in tears, as he crumpled like the ceiling and shattered like the windows. As he was reduced to nothing but a shaky foundation, to the dying embers of who he used to be.
Adrien and his cold, lonely home finally had something in common.
...
"Here you go," Ladybug said, sliding a mug of tea across the kitchen counter as she settled onto the stool beside him.
Adrien wrapped his hands around the mug. The water was still too hot, but it took him a few seconds to notice. By the time he loosened his grip, his fingers already stung.
"Thanks," he croaked, his throat raw from crying. He wasn't really the biggest fan of tea, but it had seemed to make Ladybug feel better having some way to help him.
The least he could do was pretend she'd succeeded.
For a while they sat in silence. Adrien stared blankly at his tea, vaguely aware of how Ladybug kept shifting around like she couldn't get comfortable.
"Do you...have any questions?" she asked eventually.
He shook his head. None of his questions were for the living.
"Well," she said, "if you think of any later...I'd be happy to answer if I can. And if there's anything else I can do..." She reached out slowly to touch his shoulder, and it was all he could do not to shake her off. "Is there anywhere you'd like to go? Someone you'd like to see?"
Adrien fiddled with the string of his tea bag, watching it bob up and down. "Am I even allowed?"
"What do you mean?"
"To leave."
"Why wouldn't you be?" When he shrugged, her hand slipped from his shoulder. She slid her stool closer. "Adrien, you're not in trouble. Nobody thinks you had anything to do with any of this."
Maybe they should.
Adrien swallowed. "But...don't I have to talk to a social worker or something?"
"Oh. I, um...I don't know. I guess so, but there's nobody here right now, so...I don't think anyone would mind if I took you somewhere else to wait."
He nodded slowly, hand moving automatically to his pocket. He shifted to pull out the lucky charm he kept there, wrapping his fingers tightly around it. "Maybe I could go to my girlfriend's house."
"That sounds like a great idea," Ladybug said, jumping to her feet. "Let's go!"
Adrien remained glued in his seat, his stomach swirling. Seeing Marinette probably would make him feel better—at least on the surface. But how long could that last? Hiding his identity hadn't really come between them since they'd gotten together, but this was different. How could he hide the worst thing he'd ever done?
But what if he told her and she never looked at him the same way?
Ladybug's stool scraped against the floor as she sat back down, and she sounded upset when she spoke. "Do you not want to go?"
Adrien set the lucky charm on the table and watched the beads blur behind fresh tears. "I'm...scared."
"Why?"
"Because...what if Marinette sees me differently."
"Do you really believe she would?" Ladybug asked in a small voice.
He thought for a moment. "No? I don't know. Probably not, but...she could."
She grabbed his hand, and when he glanced her way there was an intensity in her eyes he couldn't interpret. "I'm sure she won't."
"You can't know that."
"But I do! I—she loves you, right?"
Adrien's stomach clenched, but he managed a nod as a hot tear rolled down his cheek.
"Exactly!" Ladybug said, gesturing nonsense with her free hand. "So there!"
He mustered a small smile for her enthusiasm, but it was short-lived. "It doesn't matter," he said, wiping his eyes. "Things are different now."
"Sure. But...that doesn't mean everything has to change, right?"
He didn't answer, trying to ignore the feelings swirling inside him by poking at his tea bag again. The water was cool enough now that it didn't hurt when he accidentally dipped his finger in, but the idea of actually taking a sip and swallowing seemed foreign. So he kept staring at it until a sniffle came from beside him. He turned to see Ladybug with one hand covering her mouth, tears trickling down her cheeks.
"My lady?" he said without thinking, reaching over to set a hand on her shoulder. Panic spiked through him when he realized what he'd called her, but she didn't seem to notice.
"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I didn't mean to...I'm f-fine! It's just that you—I just want to help you! But maybe I c-can't. And it's not f-fair, that you're hurting. And..."
Her next words were drowned out by a sob. She slumped down on the table, hiding her face in her arms. All Adrien could do was sit there rubbing her back until she calmed down, at which point she pushed herself up slowly, wiping her eyes.
"I'm sorry I let this happen," she said.
"What?" Adrien replayed her words in his head, certain he'd misunderstood. "It wasn't your fault."
"It was my job to stop Monarch from making the wish, and I...failed. Even if he didn't succeed...someone's still paying the price."
"That's ridiculous." It was his fault.
"Adrien, it's fine. You don't have to..." She drew in a shaky breath. "If you're mad at me, I understand."
None of the morning had felt real, but now Adrien was sure he must be caught in some sort of alternate reality.
Maybe the wish had worked. Maybe his mother would walk into the kitchen at any moment.
If only.
"That makes no sense," Adrien said slowly, still trying to wrap his head around things. "If anything, it's Chat Noir's fault."
Ladybug's eyes went wide. "Did he tell you that?"
How was he meant to answer that? "Not...exactly. But he told me about the Cataclysm, and—"
"Please don't blame him for that. I know he feels terrible enough already."
"Because Monarch's dead thanks to him. It's his fault!"
"It's not," Ladybug pleaded. "He was just following my plan, and Monarch caught us off guard, and then..."
"But...but you..." Adrien trailed off, his body shaking.
He didn't know what to say, because technically Ladybug was right. But he didn't blame her at all, and he certainly didn't want her blaming herself.
"It was my fault," he said, knowing it was true. He felt it with every inch of his body, with every useless breath he took.
The guilt consumed him.
"Adrien," Ladybug breathed. "It's absolutely not your fault. How could you even think that?"
Only once he processed her words did he recognize his own misstep. But she hadn't caught on yet. He could still walk this back.
But he wasn't sure he wanted to.
This secret took too energy much to hide.
"It was me,” he said shakily. “It was my..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. He could barely even breathe. But he could see in Ladybug’s eyes that she still didn't understand, so he raised his hand to mimic the motion, stretching out his fingers the way he would if he'd really called on his power. He tried to mouth the word too, but he wasn't really sure his lips obeyed. Slowly, he lowered his hand to the counter, letting it collapse into a fist when he made contact.
Cataclysm.
He watched as realization slowly dawned on her. Then she blinked hard, shaking her head as if trying to dismiss the idea. But her eyes flew to the ring on his hand, widening further.
“Chat Noir?”
"I did this," he said in a broken whisper. "I killed him."
"Oh, Chaton. No." Ladybug stood, wrapping her arms around him. "It was an accident. It's not your fault."
Adrien thought that maybe, if he kept taking breaths so small they barely counted, if he let his mind float away the way it had been threatening to do all morning, then maybe—maybe—he could keep from crying again. But Ladybug rested her head on his shoulder, her warm breath ruffling his T-shirt. And that was all it took for him to come apart again.
...
They ended up on the floor, wedged between both stools. Adrien wasn't sure if he'd fallen off his seat at some point or if Ladybug had carried him here. He didn't care. As long as he could keep lying here with his head in Ladybug's lap and her fingers in his hair, he could somehow keep the guilt at bay. He could stop it from devouring him whole.
But he couldn't stay here forever.
Marinette's lucky charm was clenched in his fist again, and he was afraid to let go.
"Should I tell her?" Adrien asked.
"Hm?"
"Marinette. Should I..." He closed his eyes. "Do you think she'd hate me if I told her the truth?"
Ladybug let out a shaky breath, her fingers freezing in his hair. "She won't hate you. And...yes. I think you should tell her."
"Okay. Maybe I will."
"How about this?" Ladybug said. "If she breaks up with you, I'll date you instead."
Adrien managed some semblance of a laugh. "What about your boyfriend?”
“Mmm." She twisted another strand of hair around her finger. "Somehow I don’t think he’ll mind.”
“All right then. It’s a deal.”
Her offer was a joke—he knew that. But somehow it still felt like a promise.
"Would you...like me to take you to her now?”Ladybug asked. “I still can, if you want."
"Maybe." He thought of the bakery. Of Tom and Sabine's welcoming smiles, the smell of croissants, and being wrapped up in one of Marinette's hugs. It sounded nice. "Give me five more min—" He broke off in a yawn.
Ladybug laughed. "Or you can get some sleep first." Her voice was gentle and steady and safe. "I'll stay with you."
He tried to reply, but his words were engulfed by another yawn. So he settled for mumbling his agreement, squeezing the lucky charm to his chest, and letting his eyes flutter closed.
Maybe in his dreams, the world wouldn't hurt so much.
#miraculous ladybug#coffeebanana fics#ladrien#angst#hurt/comfort#cw grief#cw character death#miraculeakless#adrien agreste#ladybug#marinette dupain cheng#long post#season 5 compliant (up to what's aired so far aka episode 20)
717 notes
·
View notes
Text
Incoming Marble Sky theory about the Marmors' origin planet and more! Spoilers ahead!
I think if we ever get to see their original planet, it might be a dark place (literally and metaphorically), with hives or cities built within ant-like cave systems. Their society also seems to work like those of ants with a queen (Moon), workers and drones.
I think the fact that the Marmors use a form of ecolocation rather than our traditional eyesight might imply that on their original planet, sight as we know it is not a viable option. Their planet might either have little to no light, making eyes redundant, or too much, which would also cause the same problem. I think their fur coloring might also be proof of this, as they seem to display bright colors with no patterns. (Patterns usually help animals, especially predators, blend into their environment, because a blotch of a single color is usually easy to spot). However, there is also a possibility that their coloring might be a result of them becoming the dominant species: We see this with domesticated animals- think cows or cats, with white patches of fur, that make them easier to spot. When colors no longer affect their survival, new color variations tend to pop up.
I also think the fact that they are bipedal (with tails) also tells us that like humans, they might have started walking on all fours and then went up. This allows the brain to become larger, because the neck can hold up more weight, boosting their intelligence. Animals that walk on all fours are usually limited in this aspect because the neck muscles do all the work, so their heads can't get heavier.
The existence of tails might imply that those are still required for balancing purposes. Humans used to have tails but we kinda didn't need them and they went away, but the tail bone still exists. The fact that Marmors still needed them might imply that they still had to climb a lot in their original planet - maybe they live on trees (there's some ants that build their hives hanging from them! Super cool tbh) or they build their homes on cliffs/mountains.
I personally think them living in mountains or cave systems is the more likely option. In the comic we have already gotten the comparison with ants, who tend to build their little hives with tunnel systems going in all directions. This would make their tails useful for climbing, as well as their special eyesight and connections useful for navigating the hive. I mean, a connection like the one we have seen in the latest update is not only useful for hunting but also for their hives, as they can quickly figure out where more "manpower" is needed vs where there's already enough of them in one place.
Also, they have both sharp claws and teeth. Obviously those teeth are stylized in the comic, but they seem very very sharp. Definitely made for ripping and shredding. So it's very likely that the Marmors are obligate carnivores, meaning that, unlike dogs or bears, they can ONLY eat meat. I mention this because those claws would also be useful for hunting and disabling prey BUT connecting this to the cave system theory: Those claws are big and sharp, whoch might also be useful for digging. The giant anteater, for example, has some seriously sharp claws. This thing does NOT hunt other animals, besides ants and termines lmao, but uses those sharp claws to dig into the really hard ground. And those claws are SHARP, boy. They use them regularly to wars off and ERASE jaguargs. Yes, jaguars. So maybe these sharp claws might be tools AND weapons for the Marmors, useful for deleting your prey and digging into the ground!
Going back to the ant comparison: ants society usually has a queen, her simps, and the worker ants. The queen lays the eggs. If those are fertilised by the male drones, they become female workers but if not, they become male drones (the simps lmao). Ecliptica mentions that she is tall because she is a female AND the center of their network. Obviously these are aliens, but I think we can draw parallels: she might be their queen, the only one that reproduces -which would also explain their "children belong to everyone and noone" attitude"- while the rest might simply be the workers. I say workers, even if they are male, because I think the drones might actually be something else. We have seen smaller Marmors like Shepherd's assistants. Now, they might just be small or younger, BUT they could also be the lower ranking drones.
So, to sum up: I think Marmors come from a planet with little light, where they build their hives/societies in ant-like cave systems, digging into the ground. They might also have an ant-like society, that revolves around their queen, the workers and the lower ranking drones, where everyone but the queen is a male.
#marble sky#marble sky theory#but that's just a theory... a game theory!! hahaha#not sure how much of this will be true but theorizing and analysing things like this is super fun#man i absolutely adore this comic hhhh
359 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! Could you do a snippet where the villain says, "I knew I would break you and I think I just found out how." Then the hero, in defeat, whispers, "I think so too"?
"I knew I would break you and I think just found out how."
"I think so too." The whisper of it was barely audible.
The villain heard, though, and smiled tenderly.
The hero's shoulders notched another inch tighter, another inch more protectively curled in, as if that might somehow save them. Or perhaps, it was the defeat, so heavy that they couldn't help but crumple and cave in the face of it.
In the face of them.
"But what to do with a broken thing?" the villain mused. "All the glistening vulnerability of you, cracked open and there for the taking. You're not beyond repair. Not yet."
The hero's vision hazed with a useless panic.
"Humans are remarkably resilient." The villain moved closer, dragging a thumb over the hero's bloodied lip. "People underestimate how difficult it is to break them beyond repair. At least, if we take death out of the equation. That is a certain kind of breaking, but by far the least interesting."
The hero said nothing. They couldn't remember a single word in any language. They numbly let the villain hold them, braced, for the inevitable.
"There are people who tell me I should break you properly," the villain continued, studying them. "They are eager for it. You didn't believe I could do it." The villain's head tipped. "You would make a beautiful example, wouldn't you?"
The hero met the villain's eyes.
"Do I need to break you?" the villain asked. "Or is knowing that I can enough?"
"I don't think it's about need," the hero managed. They finally dredged up enough resolve to wrench away, not that the villain's touch was more than a poison caress of a thing.
"No?" The villain let their hand fall.
The hero wet their dry lips. "I think it's about what you want."
The villain considered them, for a moment, with the loving violence of a sculptor first holding a chisel against untouched marble.
"What are the other options with a broken thing?" they asked. "Rearrange your insides and put you back again as something new, something else, something mine? Put you back together with the knowledge that all it would take is a tap and you would be shattered forever?"
"You'd know better than me. You've done this before."
"You have no opinion on the matter?"
"I'm trying not to."
"I think I'm going to break you properly," the villain said, confidingly. "I think it would be kinder."
"Nothing about this is kind."
"Alas, an opinion."
"Alas." The hero's heart felt waterlogged with loss. "You haven't broken me yet. Not beyond repair."
"No. But I'm told the waiting is agony. Is it?"
The hero said nothing. They closed their eyes.
"Yes," the villain said, oh so soft. "I believe it is."
Then they got to work.
598 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hazy Shades of Spring
Summary: A professor runs into one of her students.
Paring: Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader
Word Count: 3483
Warnings: Nothing too spicy, so please don’t report. ♥ There will be a part 2 though for the smut.
Author's Note: This is for the poll you all voted for. I hope you enjoy and a huge thank you to @sapphire-writes for your read over/feedback, your modern Aemond has definitely set the bar (for me anyway).
Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon
It was the fourth walk-by from your waitress when you decided to request your bill and just accept that you, in fact, had been stood up.
You were single and freshly thirty and dating had seemingly become a monstrous thing to attempt. You kept your humor with dating apps, but you also held a mild regret that curled in your abdomen that you ended things with Cregan; as amicable a break-up as it was, you were beginning to believe that complacency might have been the best option.
Now you only had yourself to blame because you finally caved to the incessant needling of your colleague, Johanna Lannister, when she cornered you, again, and pressed her suggestion of a blind date with her husband’s brother.
“It’s his twin brother,” she added to her attempt to make her point. “So you know he’s handsome…”
Your nose involuntarily scrunched with her closing statement, but you decided to set aside your judgment and agreed to it, if anything to shut her up.
Numbers were exchanged and you texted back and forth a bit; he was amiable enough with some wit to him, though not enough to laugh out loud, but it was enough to agree to meet for dinner. The semester had ended and you had submitted your grades, allowing you several weeks of freedom before the spring semester would begin.
He suggested and seemed adamant about the new upscale restaurant that opened up downtown, which was an old theatre that had been purchased and repurposed for fine dining. When you arrived, its renovation was breathtaking: the inside arched upwards and there was a new mural of brilliant colors on the ceiling, with marble columns that led to a grand staircase and red carpeting that was a walkway over the polished floors.
You knew it would be ritzy and opted for a black, flitted dress that complimented your figure and cut off just above your knees, with tights that showed a definitive black seam centering the backside of your legs and a heel with a clasp. You removed your cardigan before you approached the hostess, checking your phone to see the text, running late, be there soon.
Your grip tightened on the phone, with a fleeting moment to retreat homeward but you had put effort into your look tonight and you ignored the call of comfort for a baggy shirt and sweats. Instead, you get a table and order a glass of red wine while you wait.
The time rolled away and your glass neared empty; you checked your phone to see that the courtesy text you sent to see if he was still alive had been left on read. It sends a bolt of vexation in your chest and you finish the wine; you were nettled by the inconsideration being shown by the damn Lannister twin.
An annoyed sigh leaves you and you can feel the pitied look of your waitress. “We do have a bar upstairs,” she offers with a small smile. “It isn’t as crowded as down here.”
Fuck it. You tip her well and decide to climb the grandiose staircase, to make most of your night out as well as escape the music and murmur of the dinner crowd. The lighting was not as harsh and you seated yourself at the end of the bar, ordering a second glass of wine and retrieving a small notepad you have tucked into your purse. “Do you have a pen?” You asked the bartender and he is polite enough to retrieve you one.
You allow the new scenery and your new muse, the feeling of absolute annoyance, to help create something for your editor; lost in your scribble and half a glass later, you are interrupted with a question.
“Professor?”
Your hand stilled on the glass stem, your grip so tight you would think it would crack under the pressure.
Living centrally downtown did mean you would often run into students, present and sometimes past. You knew you were not as old and dusty like some of the other professors, but you kept your reservation with social interactions, giving a tight smile when they acknowledged you and looked for a segue out of any pleasantries they attempted to exchange.
It wasn’t that you did not care for them, it’s just that you did not want to be reminded of your occupation outside of your working hours.
This voice was familiar, with a distinct, low hum from the chest.
Aemond Targaryen.
He was one of the top students at the university; he was never late with assignments, would always push for extra credit, and would meet any opinion with his own educated intellection, which often led to heated debates in business law.
In the beginning, you struggled with your prejudice when he entered your classroom; you noted his gait and composure, how he held himself with an eerie elegance as opposed to his brother and his frat boy persona. Aegon had been a handful, often showing up under the influence of something and once making a crude pass when he asked about extra credit.
You halted the attempt immediately and pushed him from your office; the thought of fraternizing with a student never crossed your mind.
That was until you had Aemond.
His family was known in King’s Landing, their family empire owning most of everything and their standing revered, with a hand in everything within city limits. Aegon only had passed your class, begrudgingly by you, due to the family’s repeated and generous donations to the university, though he hardly deserved the lowest grade you gave him.
It was why you were not surprised when Aemond followed the same academic route, as it was expected for him to get a business degree of some sort and contribute. He had a different drive than his brother, he was present and moved with a determination, some unforeseen drive that pushed him and it gave him an almost arrogant air.
The interactions you shared throughout the semester was a stark contrast to his stern demeanor; his voice was low and commanding, with a genuineness to his tone. He was never inappropriate and you found you actually enjoyed the interactions shared.
He is also so very handsome, you cannot help but admit to yourself, your cheeks flushed when you turned to see him standing and watching you.
Despite the scar that marred his face, a childhood accident was all he shared with you, his mien was still breathtaking. It was apparent he came from old money with the sapphire stone chosen to replace his missing eye and you could still see the gash that cut through from above his brow into the sharp contours of his face. His lips were curled, his head with a slight tilt as he peered at you. Tonight, he wore dark, fitted slacks and button up shirt, with a cashmere sweater and dress jacket. His silver chain peaked underneath his collar and his long, silver hair was not knotted back in his usual low, messy bun, but instead was draped over his broad shoulders.
“Oh, hello, Aemond, how nice to run into you,” you are quick to tuck the notepad back into your purse. “What brings you out tonight?”
He always had this damnable, perpetual smirk that played at his lips, like he is aware of the effect he has on you. Aemond moved to take the seat next to you and you notice how the bartender is quick to serve him a drink. “My father insisted I help my uncle with the grand opening,” he explained, touching the glass but not drinking it. “I am shadowing the ordeal.”
Of course they own this restaurant, your cheeks burning with the realization, but before you could excuse yourself, he instead asks, “You look lovely tonight. What brings you here?” He looks around, “Were you meeting with someone?”
You fidget with your glass, clearing your throat. “Um, I was supposed to meet for a date and…” you faltered on the lie prepared on your lips and instead admitted, “I was stood up.”
His expression is unreadable and he shrugs. “This seems to happen to the best of us,” and he finally lifts his glass to you. “Cheers to the best.”
You give a small smile and the cheers allow you to finish your drink. Aemond gestures for a refill, but you push to stand. “Thank you, but I should probably leave. You are a student, I’m your professor…”
“The semester is over,” his voice is low, his expression almost amused and you note how his eye takes in your form when you stand up. You pull your cardigan on, but it does little to cover your black dress and you burn from his steady gaze. “I’m hardly a student, except for a few filler courses this spring, but then I will be done. And besides, I already turned in my paper and you, actually, already submitted my grade.”
“Oh, did I?” Of course I fucking did.
Aemond hummed. “Yes, in fact. I appreciate the good score.”
The bartender rests the new glass in front of you and you lift it, “Well, it was well earned. And cheers, then, to the semester ending and good grades.”
The soft plink of glass and you see his perpetual smirk playing on his lips again. “You do look lovely tonight and I am obligated to be here. Enjoy your glass of wine and keep me company until it’s finished.”
Since you had not eaten and were on your third glass of wine, it makes you agreeable to accept his company; you know your cheeks are rosy as you are swept up into conversation with him. Aemond always had a wit that would make you laugh, or maybe it was the wine, but either way you found you were enjoying yourself.
With your third glass almost gone, your eyes catch sight of the cigarette case he placed on the bartop; the embossed design glinted under the lighting. “It’s a family insignia,” he explains, pushing it towards you.
You pick it up, your finger trailing the dragon design. “This is in the mural in the lobby,” you muss and he nods. There is a satisfying click when you open it and the waft of cinnamon reaches your nose, which crinkles with your smile. “Clove cigarettes?” You cannot help but giggle with the discovery.
He narrows his gaze on you, but his lips are still curled upwards as he leans over to take it from your hands. “It is my guilty pleasure, a treat when the semester ends,” he closes it.
“We all deserve a guilty pleasure,” you agree, your attention falling to the empty glass in front of you. “I will have to ask for one, though,” you gestured towards the case. “I feel I need to indulge just a bit more, on this night in particular.”
Aemond stands up and pulls your chair back, his hand offered to you so you can find your balance on your heels. You look up at him through your eyelashes and notice that even with your heel, he is taller still.
He is gentle to take your hand in his own, his other hand on your lower back to guide you as you weave through the few patrons and staff. You eventually slip through a threshold that leads out to a secluded balcony that is decorated with lights, giving a golden hue.
With the approach of spring, the night air is crisp and you wrap your arms around yourself and your thin cardigan. “Oh, this view,” you cannot help but smile, despite your shiver.
Aemond hums his agreement, pulling off his dress jacket and handing it to you. You try to decline, but he insists, “I run warm. It’s a family trait.”
You pull it on, engulfed in the fine fabric and his scent, a mixture of clean laundry with an expensive cologne. He walked towards the ornate balustrade that stems around the balcony and leaned his elbows on top; you followed him, the soft clicks of your heels on the stone and rested on his visible side, peering out towards King’s Landing.
He pulled out the case and retrieved a black clove cigarette, lighting it and passing it to you, smoke pouring from his smile as your fingertips touch to take it. The drag is a mixture of the best and worst feeling; you allow your exhale to snake over your features and lick your lips to taste the cinnamon on them. “I haven’t had one of these,” you blush again. “It has been a while, but thank you, this is just what I wanted.”
You watch him pull another and balance it between his lips. Wordless, you tuck yours into the corner of your mouth and place your hands to cup the flame as he lights it. With his exhale, he says, “Thank you.”
The silence allows a moment to enjoy the city bustle below, but the sound of him clearing his throat brings you back to the balcony. “What about you?” You tilt your head to look at him, your brow quirked and he clarifies, “I had answered your questions and shared about my interests outside of my degree, but what about you and your passions?”
You take another drag to mull over your reply. “Perhaps teaching is my passion,” you reply, your brow raised at him.
He hums a moment. “I don’t think so,” his voice is so low that you need to turn to hear him, facing him and leaning one elbow on the bannister. His brow is cocked and his perpetual smirk playing on his lips. “I saw passion when you were focused on your notebook earlier, you had a glow with your penning.” Aemond blows the smoke above his head, “You do not have that same expression with your lectures.”
You turn away and focus straight ahead, hoping the city lights would wash away the embarrassment that rushed to your cheeks. He makes almost an aha noise and steps closer towards you, peering at you. “I am correct about your passion outside of your teaching,” his tone is teasing.
“Well, yes,” your mind is buzzing from the wine, the cigarette amplifying it ever-so-slightly. He graduates after the spring, you reason and then decide to share, “I enjoy writing.”
This confession breaks the levy and your passion spills as you babble about your love for science fiction and how your interests were piqued by the classics like Ray Bradbury and Kurt Vonnegut, plus his pseudonym. Then you stop, your hand covering your mouth. “Sorry, I am rambling,” you blush again.
“It’s cute,” he encourages. “Please, continue.”
You sigh. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much else to add. Science fiction does not have the same audience it once did and it definitely isn’t what sells as far as digital books,” you finish with a grim smile.
“What sells then?”
You focus your eyes on him and cannot stop the fit of giggles that spill from your lips; he peers at you, his cheeks dimpling with a pursed smile of his own. “Smut, mostly,” you confess and he chuckles. “It is all,” you wave your hand flippantly, “porn with plot and I happen to have a knack for it. Plus, I am very fond of the residual income from my sales,” you finish your cigarette.
“A knack for it?” His tone is still low and he flicks his own cigarette over the edge. “Like, the ability to incorporate it into any situation…?”
“I mean, within reason,” you are unable to hold his gaze, feeling almost childish in his large jacket, your fingertips playing with the button stance. “It depends on the ratio of porn to plot, really. It kind of comes down to a science with the method.”
“Oh?” He sounds amused and shifts himself, edging closer still, his gaze still locked on your face. “Enlighten me.”
“Well,” you hem for your words, your wine-addled brain unable to stop them from leaving your mouth. “Obviously, as a writer, you wish to set the scene for your reader, the build-up to the moment, but you also don’t want clutter it so much when they are obviously looking for one thing-”
Your words are stopped by the soft press of his lips to your own, his hands covering your hold on his jacket and bringing you against his chest. Your eyes widen for a moment before you relax against him, enjoying his taste, the mixture of clove cinnamon, smoke, and whatever whiskey he had at the bar.
His large hands move to your hips, pulling you closer with a soft squeeze and you moan into the kiss, your fingers curling around the back of his neck and tangling in his hair. Aemond presses against you and your back against the bannister; you can feel him through his dress slacks, your own body betraying you by the warmth pooling between your thighs.
“Wait, wait,” you break the kiss, your eyes wide again and looking him over.
The pupil of his eye is blown, almost black with his stare, and his lips curl upwards. “We should do this somewhere else,” he suggests, his tone velvet. “Take me home?”
You bite your bottom lip with your pregnant pause before nodding. You feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting your head to meet with his gaze. “I require verbal consent,” his tone still teasing you.
“Yes,” you say, your cheeks are red, and his usual stoic expression brightens slightly. He takes your hand into his and you follow, Aemond pulling his phone and texting, his grasp tight as he helps you down the stairs. You avoid the looks of the staff and follow him to exit the restaurant.
Out front is some black luxury car idling and Aemond moved to open the door for you, helping you seat yourself before closing the door and walking to the other side. Your eyes burn into the back of the driver’s seat, who turns and offers a smile, asking for your address before he closes the partition.
You can feel the shift in the back seat as Aemond sits next to you, his expression unreadable once again. A beat of silence follows as the car begins to drive and only then does your liquid courage take its hold. You reach to pull him towards you and his mouth finds yours. His lips are so soft, so warm against your own, his tongue moving into your mouth and yours meeting with his languid movements to continue to taste him.
He pulls you to straddle his lap, your dress bunching around your hips and his large palms are warm as they grab into the softness of your thighs, pulling you slow to grind against the growing bulge of his pants. A soft moan spills from your lips with the pressure and his mouth falls to your chest, his tongue following your clavicle and closing on the junction of your shoulder to your neck. You mewl when you feel his teeth bite into you, moving your hips against him which elicited a guttural groan from the back of his throat.
You had forgotten how much fun kissing could be, the intimacy of hands pawing with purpose and the soft pants from the passion. The car stops and when you realize it is parked in front of your apartment building; you break the kiss and fall into your seat, your hands moving to righten your skirt.
Another beat of silence follows and he finally says, “Is this your place?” His voice is gentle.
You nod your head yes, you mind whirring with what had unfolded this evening and your eyes falling to his hands; you watched his slender fingers slowly drum the leather seat between before moving to palm your hand, his thumb gentle to run the length of your knuckles and back. “Nothing more needs to happen,” he offered you an escape. “But could I ask for a kiss goodnight?”
Your eyes lock onto his, your tongue wetting your lips and leaning to find his mouth once more. His lips fit so perfect against your own, his tongue trailing your bottom lip with a soft nip before he pulls back.
You open the car door and climb out, hearing him shift in his seat to lean forward. “Goodnight, professor-”
But you turn on your heel, leaning over and well aware of your cleavage in this little black dress you wore tonight. “Aemond,” your eyes rest on his face, your cheeks growing warm once again. “Would you like to come up?”
With the familiar curl of his lips, he tells the driver to go home. He pulled himself from his seat and reached again for your hand. Your cheeks burn with the feeling of how your hand fits in his own and you lead him inside.
#hazy shades of spring#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x female!reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#hotd fanfic#modern aemond#there will be a part 2#for the smutty stuff#thanks for reading#♥
494 notes
·
View notes
Text
MARSHMALLOW — JOHN MARINO
john marino x fem!reader
12 DAYS OF KINKMAS
summary: in which y/n and her boyfriend get up to no good at the Devils christmas party
warnings: NSFW CONTENT, alcohol, cussing, extreme domination, heavy degradation, oral (m receiving), p in v (unprotected), i think that’s all? (3.6k words)
notes: welcome to day 4 of the 12 days of kinkmas! this is quite possibly the most degrading smut i’ve written so far, so if you ignore the warnings and go ahead and read it anyways, don’t come crying to me if you didn’t like it <3
“oh c’mon Johnny!”
Jack’s grating voice floats over the rest of the noise that bounces throughout the captain’s apartment, his hands gripping John’s shoulders as he shakes the boy from behind.
“you don’t wanna take a body shot off your smokin’ girlfriend?”
John’s head whips around to look at his teammate, a scowl resting on his face, “don’t call my girlfriend smokin’.”
“is she not?” Jack laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at the older boy.
“of course she is,” John states, shrugging Jack’s hands off his shoulders, “but you don’t get to think so.”
i roll my eyes at my boyfriend’s possessive nature, slinking closer to his figure, which stands besides the empty kitchen island.
“alright, alright,” Jack caves, “but if you won’t take the shot, someone else will.”
i can practically see the gears turning in John’s head, his eyes flickering between me and Jack.
“no, they will not.” i chime in. my hands come to rest on the defenseman’s chest, slowly traveling up to his shoulders before locking behind his neck.
“nobody else’s lips or tongue are coming anywhere near my body, baby.” i assure him, pulling his head down until his lips are mere inches from mine. “if you don’t want to, that’s okay. but you’re the only one allowed to touch me.”
“damn right, i am.” John gruffs, his eyes darkening as he pulls away. he pats the empty counter. “hop up, beautiful.”
a sultry grin pulls at my lips, hastily following his orders and pulling myself up onto the counter.
the kitchen full of hockey players cheer, any wives and girlfriends whistling as i pull my tank top off, leaving me in only a dark red bralette.
John’s hand connects lightly with my collarbone, gingerly pushing me backwards until the heated skin of my back makes contact with the cold marble countertop.
a shiver rolls down my spine, one side of his lips quirking up into a smirk. he takes hold of the ziploc bag of crushed peppermint candy cane from the counter, sprinkling a small bit on my sternum between my breasts.
Jack hands me a mini marshmallow from the bag in his hands, whilst Dawson hands his friend a shot glass of luke-warm cocoa with peppermint vodka.
“THREE!” the crowded kitchen counts down and i stick my tongue out, placing the mini marshmallow near the tip of my tongue.
“TWO!” John readies, shaking out any nerves as he prepares to down the muddy brown liquid.
“ONE!” i blink up at my boyfriend.
“GO!”
John clinks the shot glass against the counter before throwing the cocoa back into his mouth in one big gulp. his head dips down, his wet tongue dragging up my cleavage, collecting the crushed candy cane.
a shaky breath passes my lips, resisting the urge to throw my head back in pleasure at the feeling of his tongue and hot breath against my skin.
his face pops into my view as his tongue presses against mine prior to capturing it between his lips, sucking the marshmallow off of my tongue.
my eyelids flutter closed, eyes rolling back in my head. he releases my tongue, hastily transforming the movement into a deep kiss, his lips locking with mine before he pulls away.
Jack and Dawson shout, shaking their friend around as he smiles goofily.
“fuck yeah, Johnny!”
John rolls his eyes playfully, shaking his friends off. he steps back over to the counter while i sit back up, my legs hanging over the edge of the counter.
his hands wrap around my hips, lifting me off the surface and placing my feet back on the ground. he swiftly grabs my discarded tank top off the counter, shoving it into his back pocket as i press my chest to his.
“Johnny.” i breathe out to grasp his attention. he looks back down at me, his sight ripping away from Jack to find me gazing up at him.
my eyes are dark, pupils blown and breathing heavy as i sink my teeth into my bottom lip.
“baby,” he drags out, voice dropping in warning.
“that was so hot.” i whisper, lust dripping from my words as my hips push against him, his semi-hard bulge pressing against my pelvis; letting me note that the experience was just as sexy for him as it was for me.
“we’re at Nico’s.” he reminds me quietly, his lips grazing my ear.
“he won’t notice.” i state, my head nodding over to where his captain stands, immersed in conversation with Timo.
John scans the kitchen, finding everyone minding their own business, talking amongst themselves and paying no attention to us.
“fuck.” he curses, his hand grasping my own. he yanks my arm, pulling me out of the kitchen, down the hall to Nico’s guest room.
he shoves me into the room, slamming the door behind him. he steps closer, fingers digging into my waist as he spins us around, my back harshly meeting the door. his lips crash against mine, my hands holding onto his shoulders, straining on my tiptoes in order for my lips to meet his.
his tongue swipes across the seam of my lips, one hand sliding down to squeeze my ass, pulling at one cheek and making me gasp. he takes the chance to shove his tongue past my lips, tangling with mine while he uses his grip on my ass to pull me closer, his quickly hardening erection brushing against my heat.
i can feel my dampening panties stick to my core, making me let out a whine at the feeling.
John rips away, red swollen lips brushing against mine. he walks backwards, pulling his shirt over his head, throwing it onto the floor.
i follow after him until he stops near the end of the bed, hooking my fingers into the front of his jeans.
“on your knees, sweetheart.” he demands, taking pleasure in the way i immediately drop down in front of him.
his eyes darken, biting his bottom lip as he stares down at me. his fingers drop down to the button of his jeans, slipping the metal through the hole and unzipping before he pulls them down, his boxer briefs falling down with them.
his cock springs free, nearly slapping against his abdomen, tip red and angry, precum beading at the slit.
my thighs clench together, my mouth salivating at the sight.
“look at you,” he tsk’s, shaking his head. “such a fucking whore, clenching your thighs together.”
his hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back to look into his eyes and drawing a gasp from my lips.
“so horny, just from a fucking body shot.” he gruffs, “bet you’re fucking soaking. aren’t you?”
i mewl, nodding my head shortly.
“that’s what i thought.” he huffs in disapproval. “such a slut, i bet you would get worked up like this if anyone did that shot, wouldn’t you?”
he gives me no chance to answer before he speaks again.
“hmm? you’d get this worked up if fucking Nate did that shot, wouldn’t you?” he yanks at my hair again, my jaw falling open as my eyes roll back, shaking my head. “words, slut.”
“no.” i whimper, “no, no. just you. only you, Johnny.”
he hums in approval, his grip loosening in order to pet my fallen hair out of my face sweetly.
“yeah? prove it.” he croons, “suck my cock.”
my hand wraps around the base of his length, squeezing, and i begin to pump him slowly. my lips fall back open, my tongue lolling out as i lick up the underside of his cock, tracing the bulging vein that rests there.
when i get to his tip, he shoves my head down lightly, urging me to take him in.
“shit.” he curses as i slide him into my mouth, my warm tongue flattening on the underside of him as i relax my throat, bobbing my head. my hand stays wrapped around him, jerking what i can’t fit.
with each bob, his tip hits the back of my throat, coaxing a gag out of me amidst his moans.
the sound of christmas music and loud conversations still float through the crack under the locked door, covering our noise from the world outside of this room.
i peer up through my lashes, finding his chin tilted down, his eyes set on me. his jaw is slack, and i run my free hand over the ridges on his abs, feeling them tense under my fingertips.
a mix of saliva and precum drools from my lips, providing lubrication for his cock to slip farther with each head bob.
i pull off of him with a pop, my tongue darting out to lick his tip before my lips close around it, sucking gently while my tongue swirls.
his gasp is like music to my ears, his grasp on my hair tightening, pulling a moan from my throat. the vibrations travel up his cock, making it twitch, and he lets out a loud groan.
his hand slides around to cup my cheek, forcing me to look up at him again as my hair falls to frame my face.
“you think you can take it all, baby?” my lips leave his tip, my hand still jerking him, and i nod. his thumb traces my bottom lip as he speaks again. “yeah? you think you can be a good girl for me?”
i nod again and he takes my consent. his hand goes back to holding my hair up in a makeshift ponytail as he pushes my head further down, and i relax my throat, letting him thrust in until my nose touches his pubic bone.
i focus on breathing through my nose as he stills, basking in the feeling, but the moment quickly falls when i begin to gag. he uses his grip on my hair to pull me off of him, watching me as tears roll down my cheeks.
“again.” i whisper, my voice hoarse from the abuse of my throat.
“you sure?” his eyes are soft, but as i nod, they darken once more. he guides himself back into my mouth, making quick work of thrusting this time. rather than stilling, he begins to fuck my face.
moans pour from his lips, his head falling back in pleasure.
“you’re so good.” he hisses. “just a cock hungry little whore for me, aren’t you?”
i hum in agreement around his cock and his hips begin to stutter, his guiding of my head quickly stopping as he pulls me off of him for the last time.
i look up at him and his hands lock at the nape of my neck, tugging me up into a bruising kiss.
my body falls against his, my lips parting, and he slips his tongue in, tangling it with mine. my hands explore his body, smoothing along his bare chest and up to his shoulders.
“tell me what you want.” he speaks against my lips, his tongue flicking across them. “you want me to fuck you like the whore you are, right?
“you want me to use you for my pleasure; fuck you dumb until all you can scream is my name.”
his words go straight to my core, only making me wetter. a whimper resonates from my throat, a smirk growing on his lips at the sound.
“i need you to say yes, baby.” he lays kisses up my throat, leaving wet marks in his wake, until he reaches my ear. his lips ghost my outer ear as he whispers. “i need to know you want it before i treat you like the dumb, drippy little cock whore that you are.”
a shaky breath passes my split lips, my jaw relaxed as he continues his attack against my neck.
“i want it.” i tremble at his touch; his hands trailing up my hot skin. “i want it so bad, John.”
he pulls away, leaving goosebumps littering my body at the loss of his touch.
“strip for me.”
John takes a seat on the bed, staring at me with watchful eyes, and i’m suddenly insecure under his gaze.
my hands shake as i pull my bralette over my head, my pebbled nipples hitting the cold air and causing chills to wrack my body.
his eyes lock on my breasts for a moment before dragging down my body, watching as i pull my skirt down my body, my panties being dragged down with it.
his hand reaches out to pull me toward him, between his spread legs, and my hands thread into the hair at the nape of his neck.
he leans forward, pressing a kiss to my stomach. he trails up my body, leaving wet kisses in his wake. his lips follow a path between my breasts, agonizingly slow until he reaches my neck.
he nips at my skin, sucking and dragging his tongue over the spot before he pulls away, blowing cool air against the spot and making me squirm in his grip.
he stands, twisting me in his arms before spinning us around so my knees hit the edge of the mattress. he gives me a shove, bending me over the bed, and i brace myself on my forearms, my ass brushing against his dick.
“you’re glistening for me.” he remarks.
i jolt as his fingers swipe through my slick folds, spreading my wetness around my cunt, and he chuckles lowly when i cry out as he thrusts a thick digit into me suddenly.
“Johnny.” i sob out, rolling my hips down against his hand.
“god, you’re so fucking needy.” he grunts, pulling his hand away and making me groan in want. “i’m gonna ruin you.”
his hand closes around the front of my throat, his other wrapping around the base of his cock, guiding it through my moisture. my back arches when his tip hits against my swollen clit, a broken whimper dropping from my lips when he shoves into me.
“shhh, be a good girl and take this dick.” his grip on my throat tightens, his other hand grasping my waist.
he uses his touch to anchor himself as he pounds into me, his tip hitting repeatedly against my g-spot.
he swiftly hooks an arm around my leg, bringing it up to kneel on the bed in order to open my pussy even further for him.
tears already prick my eyes but this new angle brings a high pitched moan from my lips, my face falling forward and hair dropping down. my arms feel weak, shaking underneath me.
“this pussy was made for me. made for me to use; to get myself off in.” John’s voice is tight and strained, his hips slapping against my ass as he speaks. “say it.”
“i-it-” i stutter, struggling to speak over the sounds of his cock thrusting into my wetness.
“i-i-i-” he mocks me. his hand from my throat drops down to roughly squeeze my breast, “have i fucked you dumb already?”
“it was made for you.” i squeak out, back arching again as he twists and pinches at my nipple, “my pussy is yours to use.”
he drops down, his sweaty chest pressing against my back, his lips pressing against the nape of my neck before he brings them to my ear.
“good girl.”
he stands back to his full height, hands on my waist, using his grip to push me forward and pull me back onto his dick, moving me with his thrusts; manhandling me like his own personal sex doll.
“touch yourself.” he orders, “rub your clit like the needy little whore that you are.”
my hand dips down between my legs, making my upper half press into the mattress, and my middle finger slowly begins to rub the puffy bundle of nerves.
John gives my ass a harsh smack, coaxing a scream to bubble up my throat, and he hastily leans forward, shoving his fingers in my mouth.
“unless your screaming my name, you shut your damn mouth. do you wanna get caught?” he hisses.
“i- no- i-” i babble around his fingers, and he shoves them slightly deeper against my tongue.
“jesus, i really have fucked you dumb.” he spits, “i said to shut your mouth, do you understand?”
i nod my head as best as i can with it pressed into the mattress.
“good.” his thrusts speed up, urging my finger on my clit to rub faster, and i can feel a familiar pit forming in my lower stomach.
repeated murmurs of his name frantically form in my mouth around his fingers, my eyes rolling back and my body twitching as i clench around him.
“don’t come.” he demands, and i whimper as i try and hold back. “i’m close. don’t you dare fucking come.”
the pressure builds, tears falling from my eyes and onto the bed sheets as i try and hold back my release.
he fucks into me rapidly, losing his rhythm as his hips stutter, his dick twitching inside of me.
“come.” his one word spurs me to finally let go, my toes curling against the carpeted floor and my breath hitching in my throat as i finally release on his cock.
his cum spurts out in ropes, covering my insides and making further squelches as he fucks me through our orgasms. his fingers dig into my waist, surely leaving bruises, and a grunt leaves his clenched jaw.
he thrusts a few more times before pulling out, the empty feeling making me whine.
his hands begin slowly caressing up and down my back in comforting lines.
“hey.” he coos, using his strength to lift my frail figure off the bed. my legs wobble as i stand and he spins me around to face him.
his eyes are soft, filled with love and the familiar sense of home that i’m used to.
“are you okay, baby?” his hand cups my cheek, his thumb dragging to wipe the drool from around my mouth. i hum, nodding my head softly. “did i hurt you?”
i shake my head and he shakes his in return.
“i need words, beautiful. reassurance.” his voice is gentle, and he presses a light kiss to my forehead.
“you didn’t hurt me, Johnny. i’m okay.” i assure him and a small smile plays at his lips.
“how are you feeling?”
“good,” i start before adding, “sticky.”
he laughs and a grin spreads across my face at the melodic sound.
“let’s clean you up, and then you can decide if you wanna go home or go back out to the party.”
he guides me to the en-suite bathroom, gathering a few cottonelle wipes from the pack on the back of the toilet, and i bend over the counter, wiping the mascara smudges from around my eyes as he cleans me up from behind.
“you’re so beautiful.” he whispers, my still bare ass pressing against him as he leans forward to drop kisses along the tops of my shoulders. “i love you. you know that, right?”
i nod, peering back at him with puckered lips. he locks his lips with mine, twisting my body around mid-kiss in order to wrap his arms around my waist, locking them at the small of my back.
“i love you too, John.” i utter against his lips and he pulls away to give me a wide smile. i scrunch my nose at him, his head dropping back down to rub his nose against mine.
“let’s get dressed.” i nod, leading the way back to the bedroom, and we get redressed, John finally returning my tank top from earlier in the night.
“do you wanna go home?” he asks me once we’re fully clothed.
“no.” i shake my head, my hand resting on the wrist of his hand which cups my cheek. “let’s go back out and celebrate the holidays with our friends.”
“and then, when we finally do get home, we can take a bath.” i add, making him nod.
“whatever you want, love.”
his hand slips down to hold mine as he unlocks the bedroom door, opening it up and slipping back out into the still wild party.
“ayo! there you are!” Jack cheers as we find him in the living room, wrapping an arm around John’s shoulders. “was beginning to think you guys left with an irish goodbye to go home and fuck.”
John chuckles with Jack, shaking his head.
“nah, we’ve been around.” he assures his shorter teammate.
he slings his arm around my shoulders, my hand still holding his, and i peek over to look at Nico, who stands quietly next to Dawson, who speaks a mile a minute in his captains ear.
Nico finds my gaze, raising his eyebrows and smirking over the top of his beer bottle. my face flushes in embarrassment and fear that he knew what happened in his guest bedroom, but then his eyes dart to the side towards Dawson and i realize he’s giving me a ‘get a load of this guy’ look.
i giggle, burying myself further into John’s side, who gazes down at me mid-conversation and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“so, y/n,” Luke sidles up next to me, a spiked eggnog in his hand as he escapes the never ending flow of words that come from his older brothers mouth. “have fun?”
my head whips over to look at the young defenseman, a smirk resting on his lips. i tell myself that he’s just making conversation, asking if i’m having fun at the party, but then his eyes flicker between me and the hallway that houses the doors to the bedrooms and blood rushes to my cheeks.
fuck.
#faithlynn’s 12 days of kinkmas#john marino#john marino x reader#john marino imagine#john marino blurb#john marino fic#john marino smut#nj devils#nhl fic#nhl imagine#nhl smut#faithlynn’s writings <3
608 notes
·
View notes
Note
PEPSI… i caved and watched the gameplay for the one frame he’s in..
do you have any thoughts on the little garden they have set up for him…….
Short answer:
He is loved. To grow flowers so diligently, to have shades at his side should he ever need them, to keep pillars surrounding him, the erected marble standing strong and adorned with moss and vine, to shield from sun and sleet and storm?
He is loved. Where he was once a greeter, a passing face in a sea full of them, he is now merely himself. He was no more then a fixture in the hall, an accommodation, a door mat. Now he is relegated to the back, away from prying eyes of compatriots and Olympians alike. To get to Sleep, you pass the greatest their army has to offer. Who would dare risk themselves for such a humble god? And yet,
He is loved. His chair, plush and lavish, is an eye sore compared to the mild hammock but he is adored in his alter onto himself. With shades to keep watch, holding him safe and steady through any nightmare, or scare.
He is loved. The princess of hell and the last of her kin and kind visits him, hands clasped in prayer and want. Willing sleep to wake, to look at her and to be well. She promises him respite outside his rest, in the waking world even as war rages on.
He is loved, and he doesn't even know it.
Long answer: fic dropping soon.
277 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fabled Memories
—Steve Rogers x F!Reader
Summary: You wake up one evening, battered and bruised, but have no recollection of how it came to be.
Warnings: implied kidnapping, basement wife vibes, amnesia & character death. There may be more, but remember that this is a dark fic, so please tread carefully.
A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's Week Three Challenge: Something New and the trope I chose was Amnesia and Basement Wife. I've always wanted to write something that had the basement wife element and the thoughts just kept brewing. Plus, I've been antsy to write Steve again.
p.s. I may turn this into a mini-series.
Your feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support content creators! And of course, I hope you guys enjoy! ❤️
The silence that fills the cafe is a welcome respite after dealing with the onslaught of impatient customers during the morning rush hour. It’s already half past eleven when you glance down at your watch, taking it as a cue to wipe down on the counter and fill the machine with the coffee beans to prepare for the second wave of patrons for the lunch rush.
While stacking the display case with pastries and sandwiches alike, you hear the bell chime and recite on instinct your customer service spiel.
“I hope I can trouble you for a cup.” The familiar voice echoes in your ears and you look up, surprised to see Steve Rogers on the other side, smiling at you when your eyes meet.
“You’re early today, Captain.” You tell him and immediately make quick work of his usual order; a brewed coffee with two sugars and one cream. “You don’t usually stop by til after noon.”
“Yeah—well, Tony called in for a meeting today.” He huffs his response, propping his hand on his waist while the other rests on the counter, fingers drumming against the marble surface. “Wanted to discuss something about proper etiquette for the gala this coming Friday.”
That makes you snort, Steve looking at you curiously when you snap the lid on the cup and place it down on the counter. He looks at you expectantly and you shake your head instead, standing by the register to ring up his order.
“What is it?” He urges, though gently, amusement painting on his face as he keeps his eyes on you. “You’re laughing at what I said.”
“I’m not laughing.” You say in defense but the Avenger only raises an eyebrow in question. So you cave, “It’s just funny thinking Mr. Stark would be talking about proper etiquette when the videos scattering online suggests otherwise. No offense to him though.”
He laughs and so do you. “No offense taken, doll. Even Sam thinks the same.” The pet name still puts you off but you’ve gotten used to it over the year of making him his coffee. He slides a hundred to you after giving him his total and you count up his change. “Oh, you keep the change. You should know by now that I don’t take it.”
“I—” You stare at the bills in your hand before looking back at him. “But this is a little too much, Captain. I couldn’t possibly—”
“Of course you can. It’s a tip and you deserve it.” He smiles and takes the paper cup from the countertop, raising it up to you. “You make my coffee better than any of Stark’s fancy cappuccino machines and besides, I want to help you get that car you wanted.”
“Oh—you remembered that?”
“How can I not?” He leans closer. “You kept talking about it and the way your eyes sparkled when you did just told me that you wanted it so bad.”
You chuckle and give him a smile. “I already got it actually. My husband—he got it for me as an anniversary pr—Oh god!”
You gasp and take a sudden step back when his coffee bursts in his hand, immediately making your way to the back to grab the mop and walking to where he stands to clean up the mess. But your eyes widen and you feel an unexpected chill run up your spine when you see the discarded paper cup on the floor, crushed.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve apologizes in a rush, waving him off when he tries to take the mop from you. “I guess I didn’t know my own strength.” He blurts out and you try to keep your cool as you busy yourself with the task, picking up the cup from the ground and heading back to the counter to discard it in the bin.
“It’s alright.” You breathe, trying to keep the growing nervousness at bay. “Accidents happen. Let me make you a new one. On the house.” You tell him and quickly turn to make a fresh cup before he could even say anything.
The comfortable silence from earlier turns a new leaf, feeling an uncertain tension building around the both of you and making you move at a measured pace. You feel Steve’s eyes burning the back of your head and you fight to dismiss the unease, convincing yourself that it was indeed an accident. The serum couldn’t be that perfect, right?
“You never mentioned you were married.” His tone is calm yet somewhat accusatory, your fingers shaking as you add the sugar to the brew. “I never even saw you wearing a ring.”
“I—I’m not allowed to wear it during my shift.” You explain matter of factly, forcing a smile when you snap the lid and turn to face him. “Sanitation and all.”
“I see,” He nods and takes the cup when you hold it out to him, his fingers brushing against yours, lingering before he pulls away. “Well, your husband is one lucky bastard to have a pretty thing like you as his wife.” You can’t help the blush that creeps up your neck from the compliment.
You look to the door when the bell suddenly chimes, several of the working class customers lining up behind Steve while they look up at the menu to decide on their order.
“I guess I should let you go.” His serious tone is gone, replaced by a cheerful one yet you feel that his words mean so much more than just leaving the cafe. “I’ll see you around, doll.” He says with finality with another of his friendly smiles before turning to leave but not without the customers stopping to ogle him as he walks past the door.
You don’t see Steve for a week and you don’t want to admit it but you find his absence a relief. Your last encounter with him was awkward, something unusual for he seems to always be cool and collected when he comes over and gets his usual order. You’d dare to even say that the both of you are more than acquaintances with how much you’ve shared with each other while he waits for his coffee.
Even Caleb, your husband, is jealous that you get to meet the great Captain America—with him being a fan of the Avengers like they were movie stars. It did give you the idea of asking Steve if he could meet your husband, a small surprise you’re planning for his coming birthday. Though you’ll wait til he comes back and you just hope that by then, the tension between the both of you has completely subsided.
“Hey there, I’m looking for a pretty girl who works here. Answers to ‘my love’ and sometimes ‘Mrs. Stinky Butt.’” You turn your head as you lock the shop doors, laughing at Caleb's commentary before smiling when you see the bouquet of sunflowers nestled in his arms.
“I think she prefers ‘my love’ more, Mr. Stinky Butt.” You retort and greet your husband with a hug, humming softly when he plants a soft kiss on your lips and wraps an arm snuggly around your waist. “What are the flowers for?” You ask before leaning over and taking a whiff of their scent.
“Well, it has been a while since you did a closing shift and I know how tough it can be,” He begins, “So—I thought of a night full of activities to pamper my gorgeous wife so you can start your day tomorrow fully relaxed.”
You hum in thought while walking with him to your car. “I’m listening.”
“Okay, so the flowers were first and it has already succeeded.” He says proudly and you chuckle at the wide grin he gives you. “There is a delicious take out dinner waiting for you at home—”
“Number Nine?” You ask in anticipation.
“The very one,” He confirms and you bounce in excitement before urging him to continue. “I also got us some face masks we can indulge in and we can end the night with popcorn and a movie of your choosing.”
“Even the sappy romantic ones?”
“Especially the sappy romantic ones.” Caleb says and you quickly wrap your arms around him tightly, feeling your heart grow full with love for the man you call your husband. “Whoa—hug attack!” He exclaims and you laugh when he wraps his arms around you just as tight and spins you around.
“Thank you, Babe.” You breathe when he sets you down, basking in the warmth of his embrace as the night breeze surrounds the both of you. “You’re the best.”
“No. You are—” He retorts before nuzzling his nose against yours. “And the best only deserves the best.”
You watch the scenery of the night as you stare out the window, unconsciously lifting the flowers to your nose to take in their scent once again. A smile kisses your lips when you feel Caleb’s hand rest on your thigh but wonder why they feel tense. Slowly, you reach down and take his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to each of his knuckles before turning in your seat to face him.
“You have your seatbelt on, baby?” He asks, his voice strained as he keeps his eyes on the road. “Tell me you’re strapped in. Please.” He urges.
“I am—” You answer, feeling nervous when he only gives you a quick glance before turning back to face the road. “Is something wrong?” The way his grip tights around the wheel has your heart beat spiking. “Caleb?”
“I’m going to tell you something but you have to promise me that you won’t freak out, okay?” His voice is calm yet you can tell he’s nervous all the same. “Promise me, babe. I need you to stay calm and listen carefully.”
“I promise.” You choke out, your hand tightening on his fingers. “I’ll be calm.”
“Okay—I need you to call 911 and tell them we’re at the freeway on 71.” He starts, “Tell them that you’re in the car with your husband and that the breaks are not working.”
“What?!” You gasp and drop the flowers to the floor. “Caleb—wh-what happened?! What—why?”
“Babe, calm down. You promised me.” He coos, turning your hand in his before pulling it to him and pressing the back of your palm against his cheek. “Now, breathe for me, baby. Breathe then get your phone and make the call. And you have to tell them we’re running 80 miles.”
“Okay.” You nod, swallowing thickly as you try to quell your fear. “Okay.” With your free hand, you grab your clutch on the center console and take out your phone. Your fingers begin fidgeting as you dial the number as fast as you can, your knee bouncing as you wait for the responder to answer.
But fear encapsulates you in a tight cocoon, suffocating you when no one picks up. You try again, and again, but you still end up with the same result.
“Why is no one answering?!” You say in a panic and look over at Caleb, his eyes focused and his face only illuminated by lights from the lamp posts.
“Fuck!” He grunts and releases your hand, looking around after before facing the road. “Get out of your seat, babe, and I want you to go to the back and strap yourself in.” He instructs.
“But Ca—”
“No questions, babe. Just do it. Please.” He almost begs and you nod, quickly unbuckling your seat belt before climbing to the back and strapping yourself in once again. “Tell me once you’re done.”
“I’m buckled in.” Your voice quivers as you look ahead, whispering a silent prayer to the heavens. “What are we going to do?”
You hear the car rev before it starts to lose control, Caleb gripping tight on the wheel as he tries to center it on the road. You let out a scream when the car goes off road, several vehicles honking and swerving to get out of the way. Darkness completely shrouds the car as you enter, what you hope is a grassy field, a shriek escaping your lips when you hit a wired fence.
You try to focus on Caleb’s eyes on the rear view mirror, trying to look for a semblance of hope that you both will be okay. But when he meets yours, you see the fear looming in his blue irises.
Desolation suddenly washes over you when he no longer looks ahead, keeping his eyes on your face. You see him reach for you and you do the same, grasping his hand tight like a lifeline. But your heart shatters when you see the tear that escapes him, one that you mirror as you feel him silently bidding you goodbye.
“I love you so much, babe.” He whispers. “I’m so darn lucky to have met you.”
“Caleb—” You croak as you try to wipe your own tears. “What are you saying? We’ll be okay, right?” You whimper before looking around to try and see if anything would save the both of you yet all you see is nothing.
Before you can turn to face him again, wanting nothing but to look at him if this was indeed the end, a loud bang echoes through the open and you jolt forward, crying loudly and screaming when your head slams roughly against the ceiling of the car. You feel the vehicle turn over, rolling uncontrollably into the void until everything stops and goes dark.
The bright, white light glares harshly against your eyes when you open them, squinting as you groan and move against the bed you lay on, trying to decipher where you are. A soft beeping sound plays on your left, and an IV drip hangs on your right, to which you find connected to you, along with several other contraptions.
You have no recollection of what happened before you woke up, not even an inkling of how you ended up in the hospital room. You don’t even know what time or day it is, the window in the far right side of the room being the only source to tell you it’s night time.
Pain then rushes through your body as you try to sit up, seeing your left leg elevated by a sling that hangs from the ceiling and feeling a bandage wrapped around your head when you lift your hand to try and ease the ache hammering in your temples.
Panic quickly consumes you as you as questions fill your head. Why are you in bandages? Why are you here? Where the hell are you? The beeping at your side starts growing frantic, and you along with it, your heart beating faster and your hands clenching into fist against the white sheets of the bed, and all at once screaming for help, crying for anyone to come to your aid.
The door to the right suddenly opens and you stop when you see a blond man enter. Worry fills his face and you see his eyes brimming with tears as he walks over to you, only stopping mid way when you hold your arms out and try to push yourself against the pillow and away from him. But such actions don't deter the stranger, only having them push on and sit at the edge of the bed, his movements slow and gentle as he reaches over and caresses the side of your face.
“Thank God, you’re awake.” He chokes out a sob before taking both of your hands in his and pressing them to his lips. “I was so worried. The doctor said it might be months before you ever woke up.” He opens your closed fist and carefully places them on his cheek, leaning against your touch.
You study his face, his golden hair looking messy and his face in obvious distraught as his forehead wrinkles when his sapphire eyes meet yours. The sleeves of his black sweater are rolled up to his elbows, showing off the strength he possesses. You feel like you’ve seen him before but you can’t place it, all sense of knowing seemingly lost as you don’t even recall anything about yourself.
“Wh—who are you?” You ask, frowning when you see the shock form on his face.
“I—” He struggles to speak, his eyes closing as he squeezes your hand. “You don’t remember me?”
“I—I’m sorry—” You mumble. “I—I don’t—should I?”
“The doctors said this would happen but I was skeptical.” You see the tears flow from his eyes and you feel a pang of pain deep in your chest upon seeing his sadness. “But don’t worry, hon. We’ll get through this.” He says with surety before opening his eyes and facing you once again. “We can start small—your name.”
He says a name and tells you that it’s yours. You feel unsure but you latch onto his words, desperate to know more.
“I’m Steve Rogers.” He says next, lacing his fingers with yours. “And I’m your husband.”
I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.
#steve rogers#navy and roo's sleepover#steve rogers x reader#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#captain america#dark captain america#dark fic#fabled memories#au#mcu#shadeyspring fics
733 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sebantoniou
Seb Antoniou
i-just-got-here-5201314
What do I do?
admireroffatguys01
Jack Fatty - Admirer of fat guys