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#I have more to add I think but I’ll come back to it

cameronspecial · 2 days

Note

Need the rafe and reader locked up in a room 🙏

Don't Stain The Carpet

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and Heated Make Out

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

Masterlist

Topper and Kece were sick of the fighting. It was happening all day, every day now and they just wanted it to stop. They might even prefer the days when the two would be caught in a heated makeout session instead of an argument. So, they devised a plan to get the exes on a more cordial playing field. “Dude, I don’t know what’s wrong with it. One moment it’s running fine. The next, it won’t start,” Topper complains, leading Rafe down to the basement. The other boy grumbles, “Yeah, yeah. Just show me where your laptop is. I don’t know why you called me for it. I’m not fucking IT support.” Topper throws him a sheepish smile over his shoulder. “But you are good with computers.” Rafe rolls his eyes, “Stop being a kiss ass. I’m already here.”

Once at the bottom of the stairs, Topper shuts up and steps out of the way so Rafe can pass through first. The tall man thinks nothing of it and enters the finished basement; however, when he is face to face with his ex-girlfriend, suspicion overcomes him. It is too late though because as he turns to leave the room and ream Topper out for this setup, the door is locked behind him. He rushes to the door, trying to open it even though he knows it is locked. “Topper, you little shit. Open this door.” He is met with silence, so he steps away from it and turns toward Y/N. “What are you doing here?” he questions.

She rolls her eyes, “Top said he needed help picking out a gift for his mom. Why are you here?” They both know they have been lied to. It’s obviously from the fact that a laptop isn’t in sight and two separate reasons as to why they are there.

He glares at her. “Oh, you know, Top said I could meet the Queen of England so I thought wow, I gotta get there. Why does it fucking matter? It was a lie.” She scoffs, “See, that. That is why I broke up with you.” He chuckles and runs his hands through his hair. “One. The breakup was mutual. Two. What. What is the reason you ‘broke up’ with me.” She holds out her hand and motions up and down, “Because you are an ass. That’s why. You only care for yourself and that’s it.”

“Oh, please. We both know that isn’t fucking true.”

“Right, sorry. I forgot about drugs and alcohol. Those might be pretty high up your list.”

“STOP PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH!”

His yell has her flinching back and he takes a deep breath while running his hand down his face “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.” Her arms cross and she stands straighter. “You shouldn’t have,” she chastises. “Look, just because we are locked in here together doesn’t mean we have to talk to each other. I’ll go see if a call can get through. I mean we really should’ve seen this coming. His basement doesn’t get any signals.”

With her final mutterance, she storms away from him. Her back hits against the wall and she slides down it. He observes as she pulls her phone out, hearing the familiar music of the cat game she enjoys playing sounds through the room. He smiles at the memory of her turning onto her stomach after an eventful night of love-making to play the game. He would always make fun of her and then rest his chin on her shoulder to watch her play over her shoulder. She used to get so excited when she would find the cat she was looking for. A crease in her forehead forms and he laughs. The noise has her staring at him over her phone. “What?” His hand extends toward her hand, “Didn’t get the cat you wanted?” her gaze flicks down to her phone with a frown. God, she hates how much he knows her. “Yes,” she whispers, slouching in embarrassment.

Silence occurs on them. He shuffles over to the couch and decides to stroll down memory lane. His thumb swipes through the pictures. Her smile is so bright in this one and the sun hits her just right so it adds an extra shine to her eyes. He should’ve deleted all their pictures together when they broke up but he couldn’t bring himself to delete them. So he hid them away in a folder and promised to never look at them again. He hates that a distance has grown between them. He has to fix it.

“The only thing I ever cared about other than myself is you,” he mumbles. “Hmm,” she sounds out, not looking up from her phone. He clears his throat, “I cared- I mean I still care about you. Maybe even more than I care about myself.” He takes a second to think about it. “Actually. I definitely care about you more than myself.” The tone shifts in her room and she puts her phone down. He heads over to her, settling on the floor beside her. She looks him in the eyes and her vision has blurred. “Then why weren’t you there? You promised you would be after all the other things you skipped. The worst thing was that you wouldn’t tell me where you were.” He bites the corner of his lip and reaches into his pocket for his keys. He grows through his keys and holds them out to her, “I was out getting this. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.” She takes the key ring into her hands and a shiny diamond stares back at her. “You were buying me a ring,” she murmurs. He nods, “I wanted to marry you and I know that this wouldn’t have made up for all the other things I missed, but I was hoping it would show you that I was committed to being with you.”

Everything she has felt for him for as long as she has known him comes cropping up and she takes a chance. “Do you still want to marry me?” she questions. His hand rests on her cheek, “More than anything else in the world.” She grins at him with tears leaking out of her eyes. “Then let's get married.” She presses their lips together and swings her leg over him. His fingers lace through her hair, pulling her in closer than possible. As she begins to grind down into him, a loud crash comes from behind him. “I wanted this to work. However, I didn’t want this to work this well,” Topper gripes. Rafe’s eyes narrow at him. “Get out,” Rafe growls at Kelce and Topper, who are standing in the doorway with wide eyes. Kelce and Topper look at each other with a nod. Topper grabs the doorknob and pulls the door closed. “Don’t stain the carpet!” Topper’s voice pleads through the door, causing the newly reunited couple to laugh together.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader

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yooglefics · 2 days

Text

The casual type: 02 . The guys are annoying

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader Wordcount: 3,252 words Genre ( for the whole series ): AU. College!verse. Strangers to friends with benefits to ?????. Eventual smut. Hurt / comfort at times. And fluff for cute friends. Summary: ( Series ) • Hobi and his girlfriend set you up with a friend of hers to help with whatever happened months back. However, no one really expected things to end the way they did. ( Ep. 02 ) • Deciding to move on from the blind date, you go to a party with your friends expecting to have some fun, but things take a turn after a confession is made. More warnings under read more.

Warnings ( for this chapter ): People drinking. People fighting, don't worry, no one gets hurt physically, just some feelings. So I guess also: some angst and comfort. Author's note: Last chapter hit 100 notes yesterday, so I thought I’d drop this as a thank you to all who commented, liked and reblogged, it means a lot <3 Let me know what you think about this one and as always, thank you for reading!

Hearing Ms. Han talk about the syllabus and grading system is particularly boring today. Not only have you heard and read pretty much the same information numerous times just the first week of your second year at university, but friday night's events keep replaying in your head and provide much better entertainment.

Until you get to the part where Yoongi rejects you and walks you back into the bar, of course.

Frustrated scribbles appear on your notebook once again and you add little question marks around it for good measure. An accurate representation of your emotion, perhaps you can turn it in as one of your assignments this semester.

At lunch, you make your way to the cafeteria, joining Jimin and Taehyung at your usual table in the corner right by the big windows. They acknowledge your presence with a smile in your direction and you return it sitting down.

“How was your date last friday?” Jimin is the first to ask, but you know both want to know.

“As good as blind dates go,” keeping details out is your strategy.

But Taehyung isn’t having it. “What did you guys talk about? Did you dance?”

Thankfully Hoseok and Jungkook arrive to your rescue, the youngest one leaving a food tray in front of you before taking a seat to your right. Neither of you remembers exactly when it started, but sometime in highschool you agreed that whoever arrived first would get lunch for the both of you.

“Mai wants to know if you guys want to go to a party on friday.”

“If you guys go, I’ll go,” is always Tae’s answer.

“Whose party? The sports guys are throwing one too and not to be biased b–”

“You’re biased, but we forgive you,” Jimin interjects Jungkook and everyone laughs because is true.

“Well, it's the first party of the semester so it’ll be epic. I think we should go.”

Parties organized by a bunch of athletes wouldn’t be your thing if only for the fact that your best friend is a member of the soccer team and the group pretty much gets a special invite by association.

“She says that’s fine if she is allowed to come,” Hobi says, eyes still on his phone. “And if she can bring someone, a student here.”

Jungkok nods, “Just give me their names to put them on the list for nice drinks.”

“She has a friend that goes here? Why haven’t we been introduced?” Jimin asks before you can.

“Yeah, Yoongi. He just transferred.”

Your head picks up at the name. Looking at Hobi to ask why he didn’t let you on that information when they set up the date. Before you kissed him and got rejected making a fool of yourself.

“Wait, wasn’t that your—”

“I have to go check something about my room assignment,” you stand up before Tae can finish his question. Or starts an interrogation, per se. “See you later.”

There are things you actually have to do, so you don’t feel completely bad about running away from the conversation. And maybe this school year you should add making a female friend to your vision board because having to deal with a bunch of guys keeps proving to be difficult at times.

Quicker than you would like, friday rolls around and so does the afternoon and the party. Jungkook reminds in the group chat that someone has to drive you since he’s busy helping with setting up and Hobi replies with a time you should be ready at, so he can pick you up after going to Mai’s.

You sit cross-legged on the bed your roommate is supposed to occupy doing your make-up, different products set around you trying to decide what, and even if, you should add something else. With a dramatic sight, you declare that as another reason why having a roommate (and hopefully a friend) to share the place with, would be nice. For now, Jimin is the best help you can get and your phone buzzes with his answer to the pic you just sent, telling you to add the sparkly eye shadow he helped you choose last time at the mall. You thank him and do as told.

While putting everything away, wasting time while waiting for Hobi, the red translucent tub of cherry lip gloss caughts your eyes and before you can start another indecisive spiral that would need Jimin's help, you apply it to your lips and throw it into your bag just in case. Telling yourself that you’ve decided to be open to whatever life gave you even before the kiss with Yoongi happened, and a university party is the first place you should be prepared for anything.

Relief washes over you when Yoongi isn’t in the car with Mai and Hobi, glad you don’t have to spend time with him around the cavity-induced couple. And Mai calms your curiosity about her friend’s whereabouts even when you don’t wonder out loud, saying he is already there.

You hang out with your friends for a couple of hours, but getting nasty looks from the ones who are trying their luck with them turns from funny to annoying rather quickly tonight, and you wonder if it is going to get worse as the semesters go on. Or maybe is you who is becoming less immune to it all.

“Can I get you a refill, sweetie?” recognizing the voice is the only reason you aren’t mad at the pet name straight away. Instead, the corners of your mouth turn up into a smile.

“If you would be so kind, please.”

And he is. Bogum always is. You met him last year, and even after turning down a date invitation because you thought he was making fun of you, he didn’t push, nor stop talking to you or being nice, like others of his teammates have done after rejection. Bo is kind, and sometimes you wish he would invite you out again.

While Bogum reaches the fridge’s door and takes a bottle of beer, you take the rest of the one in your hand and leave the empty bottle on the counter the basketball player was just leaning in.

He opens the beer with the help of his keyring before handing it to you. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, sweetie,” he smiles, dimple flashing. “Oh, your eyes sparkle!”

You giggle at the surprise in his voice. “Yeah, is the eyeshadow. Isn’t it cute?”

“Yes. They are.”

Is your turn to be surprised, turning away in an attempt to hide your blush, and mentally thanking Jimin for his advice. Maybe tonight would end with—

Yoongi?

Brown eyes look your way from the other side of the kitchen island. Closing the alcohol bottle, he nods when they catch yours. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Oh, hey,” Bo’s attention is finally taken away from you, “Yoongi’s new, he is trying for the team. This is—”

“Y/n” Yoongi finishes.

“You know each other?”

“Something like that. His friend is Hobi’s girlfriend,” you explain before Yoongi can say anything else.

“Mai?” You nod, and the next question is directed at Yoongi. “So, are you like… close with Hoseok and the guys?”

“Mostly Hobi, but yes, I would say we are friends.”

“O-okay,” Bo nods twice in understanding, before excusing himself to check on the drinks supply outside and leaving you two alone in the kitchen. Is not even his team’s party, so you find it a little odd at first before blaming it on his kind personality, and assuming he is probably just helping.

Sipping your beer, your eyes lose Bogum in the crowd and go back to Yoongi and his grin behind the red cup.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he dismissed, but the feeling of you missing out on something is even bigger now.

“Why do you look like the Cheshire cat, then?”

“Of all the cats you had to compare me to him?” he makes a face, as if that is the most important thing now. “He is creepy.”

“Spill it out. You clearly know something.”

“Oh… you don’t?”

Eyes narrowed, can’t tell if he is making fun of you or not. Is frustrating. Not only him but the feeling of being out of the loop. That’s the only thing you hate sometimes about hanging just with the guys, when they get all secretly about their hookups and what not, changing the topic when you are in the room. You get it, they get nervous and respect you, even overprotect you with those things, but it doesn't matter how hard they try, or maybe you just got really good at it, you still catch their silent communication. The looks thrown that mean an inside joke.

“Boys are annoying,” you murmur, frustrated.

“So you do know? He just cares about you.”

“Who?”

“Hobi…?”

“What?” confusion lasts a few seconds, washed away when the conversation with Bogum plays back in your head. The mention of Hobi before he excused himself. And…

Oh.

Oh, no.

Heck no.

Feet move before you realize, Yoongi’s voice feeding out as you push past people who don’t seem to even notice and just a couple who throw you an annoyed look when you walk between them. You don’t care, the only thing on your mind is finding your friend.

And there he is, in the middle of the improvised dance floor that is normally a living room. “Come with me,” you request pulling on his arm.

“Did something happen? Are you okay?”

You don't answer, reserving explanations until you're in the hallway away from the music.

“Y/n, what happened?”

“What did you say to him?”

“To whom?”

“Bogum. What did you tell him?”

“I-I don't know,” Hoseok is avoiding your eyes now, a clear indication of being caught on something. “What did he say?”

“Well,” trying to calm down, you take a breath before continuing, “he said my eyes are pretty and then—”

“What happened?” Asks Jimin, appearing at the hallway’s entrance followed by Taehyung.

“Are you fighting? Why are you fighting?”

“Hoseok did something and doesn't want to tell me,” perhaps having the others on your side to put pressure on the dancer would be a good strategy.

“What did you do?” Taehyung asks and not even three seconds of silence go by before he continues, “oh… she found out.”

“You knew?!” To heck being calm. “You were all on it? What's wrong with you guys?!”

“It's all on me, don't blame them.” Hobi defenses, his voice much softer than yours.

“No, no. Even if we found out after, we agreed it was a good idea, babe. I'm sorry.” Jimin corrects, and an apology by Tae follows.

“What did you say to him?” You insist.

“Listen, after that night,” Hoseok begins, referring to that spring night you cried in his living room until your head hurt and then some more because of the headache. Just the memory makes you squirm a little. “I knew something went on with one of them, and I knew you wouldn't tell me but also that I couldn't let it happen again. That I wasn't going to let it happen. So…” he pauses, looking at the others before coming back to you, “I told them to better not get close to you.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times in shock, “To the whole team?!” Is your first question because, well, is he insane?

“I guess? It was at practice so most of them were there.”

“And the ones who weren't found out later. Word travels fast and even faster if it's about someone threatening to break their noses for messing with a girl.” Taehyung adds, taking your attention away from Hobi.

“Is that what this is about? Me being a girl?” You argue, “because that's bullshit! And misogynistic. Why can you go to parties and kiss whoever without me making a big deal? Why do you get to tell people to not talk to me, and they actually listen, but I have to sit in class hearing about my hot friends? Or even give advice on how to talk with you guys?” Glancing around at them, your arms fall to your sides, defeated, “Do you have any idea how many people have tried to befriend me just so they could be close to you?”

Three pairs of eyes are on you, making you incredibly aware of the volume of your voice over the music playing through the walls, being a few rooms over making it softer than in the living room, and you can't tell if it's the alcohol or the anger making you go on that rant, the only thing that you're sure about is the pain on your chest and the tears threatening to fall.

Ever the proudest, you refuse to cry in front of them. Not this time.

“Whatever. Go back to shove your tongue down someone's throat and then don't tell me about it.” Pushing between Jimin and Taehyung you leave your friends in the hallway, holding your beer in a fist to prepare to cross the sea of sweaty people once more.

The breeze of cold air is interrupted, and you complain out loud, sure that the probably drunk student isn't going to pay attention anyway.

You're sitting on the sidewalk in front of the soccer house, hands on your knees and head on top of them, thinking about calling Jungkook and asking him to take you home. Good thing you didn't freak out on him.

But maybe you should. He probably knew too.

You groan again, lifting your head ready to ask whoever to move so you can keep enjoying the night's breeze and calm down, but your complaint stays in your throat when Yoongi and his leather jacket welcome you to reality.

“For a second I thought you were sleeping,” left corner of his mouth curves up slightly.

“It would be a nightmare.”

“Are you saying that because is me or because of whatever happened inside?” You don't answer, and he continues, “Hobi is looking for you.”

“Yeah? And he sent you over? Apparently you're best friends now.” The annoyance in your voice is even surprising to you, so when his smile fades you don't blame him.

“He just told me to keep an eye out for you, tell him if I saw you.”

“You did?” You gesture to the phone in his hand.

“Not yet. I wanted to apologize first.”

Another pause, and you don't move while he sits down by your side.

After Hobi’s confession and the fact that Yoongi appeared to know back in the kitchen, you wonder if your friend also said something to him, if that's the reason he pushed you away last week.

“I don't need an apology, I just want people to be honest,” you look at him, “can you do that?”

“I want to give you one, though. So, I'm sorry,” he offers, sincerely “and yes, I promise to be honest.”

“Thank you.” The wind blows your hair, and you tuck it back behind your ear before questioning, “Did he threaten you too? Is that what the apology is about? why you said you couldn't do casual with me?”

“Kind of. I mean, he didn't ask me to stay away, he and Mai planned the date, after all,” is true so you nod. “But he told me about what he did and why he did it, and I… I couldn't bring myself to have something like that with you and it turning out bad.”

“Because you are scared of Hobi?” You scoff. Stupid boys.

“No. Because I didn't want you to get hurt.” He looks at you, “I don't know the details, but for Hobi to act like that it sounded like it was bad, whatever happened. And I'm just a guy, but I've had my heart broken too and don't want to cause that pain to anyone.”

“I'm not gonna get my heart broken because you don't want something serious, Yoongi.” Yes, you were upset he cut you off that day, but he told you he didn't want a relationship since the beginning so you knew not to take it seriously. To take responsibility if you did.

“Still. You can't really be mad if people try to look out for you, can you?”

“Is… is not that. Is about people not even letting me make my own choices,” you correct. “Is authoritarian and patronizing. And coming from my friends? It feels like they don't even know me.”

“I see…” Yoongi gives you a small smile that makes you realize the tiny pout on your lips. “But as someone who has been on bad nights with his best friend crying over stupid boys, sometimes it feels impotent and we want to make it all better. Even if that means threatening the whole university.”

“Are you on their side, then?”

“I'm just saying that I understand both sides. And that guys can be erratic and dumb when it comes to protecting the people we care about. But, if you ask me, you have the right to call us out. Because again, we are dumb,” that gets a smile from you.

“I think I got too far, though,” you admit, feeling bad now. Yoongi is right, even if it was dumb, your friends had good intentions. They just need a better way of protecting you.

“I heard you guys fought.”

“More like I screamed at them and ran off.”

“Was that on purpose? So they would be worried?”

“What? No. Of course not.” You're quick to deny, the simple idea of it is absurd to you.

“Well, then maybe you should answer their calls and tell them you're okay. They are worried about you.”

And that seems to be the night's theme, but you're confused because your phone hasn't been ringing all this time. Wondering if perhaps you accidentally put it on silent, you take it out of your bag only to realize the battery is dead.

“Damn it.”

“Here,” Yoongi offers you his, Hobi’s contact information on the screen.

“Thanks,” you smile, calling and putting the phone against your ear, covering the other one so you can hear over the noises around the garden.

“Hey, did you see her? Can you stay–”

“Hey,” you cut him off, “is me.”

“Oh, is her!” Mai's content voice after he announced is barely audible and you're glad she was by his side. But also feel bad about worrying her too. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I'm outside. I wasn't going to go anywhere else in the middle of the night by myself, I'm not dumb,” oh, you're still angry.

“I know. I know you aren't. I was just worried.”

“I know, I'm sorry.”

“No, no. I'm sorry, it's my fault. I'm so sorry.”

He sounds genuine and the worry in his voice gets to you, incapable of being as mad as before.

“I… think we should talk about it. Like, the whole thing.” You hope he knows you mean including the night months back, “but not here and not tonight.”

“Of course, whenever you want.” He pauses, “Want me to take you home? Or talk with Bogum and come back?”

You smile at the last suggestion, “Thanks, but no. I'll ask Yoongi to take me.” You look at him, still sitting at your side, and he nods.

“Will do. And I'll text him when we arrive.”

“You heard that?”

“Yes. Tell him I say thank you.”

Author's note: I'm accepting theories on what you think happened with Reader and about anything, to be honest, just would like to know what you think, so hop to the askbox asdf <3 ♡ Tag list: @n33mesis , @mggv97 , @wobblewobble822 , @bbou-doir , @m00njinnie , @nariee02 , @sexytholland , @itsmina29 , @ktownshizzle .

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daydreaming-nerd · 16 hours

Text

Our Girl (Bat Boys! x Female! Reader) Sneak Peak

Based off this ask

AN: thought I would give you guys a little sneak peak of this so if anyone wants to be on the taglist for it I can add them! I'll probably finish Azriel's bonus part in The Prophecy and Young Love Old Money part 14

(how do we feel about this mood board? I'm not sure I'm wild about it?)

“Are you ready to meet them?” Rhys asks with a glint in his violet eyes.

I nod.

“Good I’ll go preface in, come in when I call you,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to my brow.

Gods this man was incredible. Paycheck aside, I think I would bend over backwards just to hear him call me a good girl again. Something told me I would be doing just that for the foreseeable future.

Rhysand opened the double doors and slipped in, the moment he closed it I pressed my ear to the door so that I could hear him.

“Rhys what’s this about? I have business to attend to,” I hear a deep voice rumble.

Rhys’ signature chuckle echoes off the walls, “I assure you Cassian that this is well worth your time.” he says. “Az you look tense,” he jests.

“That’s because I am.” groans another voice. “We’ve been running all around the court righting all wrongs while you sit holed up in here doing paperwork.”

“As I am well aware,” Rhys starts again. “And I don’t want to be known as the High Lord that merely takes, especially from the two males I consider to be my brothers. So, I got you a little gift.”

A pause of anticipatory silence fills the room.

“Darling won’t you come out now?” Rhys beckons me.

I open the door to find Rhys standing before two Illyrians sitting on the couch, both of them relaxed like this was their own home, and perhaps it was.

“Huh?” asked the slightly larger one, with longer black hair.

“She’s your gift, well, our gift,” Rhys said, pulling a hand around my waist. “I just hired her from the pleasure house in town, she is the best of the best. I know we all haven’t been able to visit the establishment since I came into power and I’m sure you’re both just as…frustrated as I am.”

“How long do we have her for?” the same Illyrian asked, the one beside him seemingly more quiet.

“She will be living with us. Use her as you’d like. Dress her however you want, but keep it classy. She’s as much yours as she is mine” Rhys smiles tilting my chin to meet his gaze and I swore my knees trembled a bit. “Though I’m sure she’ll remember who pays her?” he teases.

“Yes my Lord,” I say seductively, it used to be an act, but not anymore.

“My Lord,” he repeats. “I quite like the sound of that,” he purrs, looking over to the males sitting on the couch.

The one with the red siphons smirks, throwing his arms over the back of the couch and spreading his legs. His thighs alone were the size of my head and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to get myself off on them alone.

“Come here princess, sit on my lap,” he purrs, patting his thigh.

I slip out of Rhysand’s grasp and pad over to perch myself on the Illyrians leg. The rippling muscles under me tensing. His hand comes up to brush a stray hair from my face as he takes in every inch of me.

“You are a pretty little thing aren’t you?” he smirks as his other hand comes to support my back.

Oh I was in for it, I was so in for it.

(needing more Bat Boys content? Check out my other smutty Bat Boys fic)

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @crystalferret202, @batboyrhyrhy , @kennedy-brooke , @sunshineangel-reads , @lilah-asteria , @evergreenlark

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slaingelo · 3 days

Note

pride headcanons and boy do I have a fuckin lot so take your pic ig, (oh yea they’re all transmasc hcs ofc so I’ll just list it)

transmasc Ruto, Botw paya and Zelda, Cia

oh also Botw Zelda and Link are Transmasc for Transmasc, they are very gay and very in love

feel free to draw which one you wanna or not one at all you don’t have to answer this!

this might've made me go a bit insane ok. first thoughts upon seeing this; LACE UP BINDERS T4T BOTW ZELINK HELPING EACH OTHER LACE THEM UP PROPERLY. gotta draw that, might come back to do those other ones though bc boy do I have thoughts about those also !

second thoughts. holy Fucking shit this gives me an excuse to go off about trans masc zelda and how inherently interesting that can be to the entire narrative. and then realizing how amazingly it could mesh with botw zelda's story specifically into a queer retelling.

THANKS ANON THIS ALONE MADE ME ACTUALLY LIKE BOTW ZELINK WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME

zelda's role is to take up the powers of hylia. zelda has always been a girl, a woman. of course all of them would be. hylia is a goddess. the first zelda was hylia's personal vessel.

botw zelda [ going to call him zel here on out in this post for clarity lol ] would have to come to terms with how his feelings don't align with his self-perceived role. at first, he thinks his yearning to be a boy is more to do with hating his responsibilities. i think his relationship with both his gender and his role in destiny is an incredible complicated one because of all of this.

meeting link, the other destined one, probably really fucks him up more. link being a trans boy himself, on a surface level, one might think would bring zel relief; someone like him, so close to him. but it does the opposite. link has always been a boy. this link, being assigned female at birth, is a boy as well. to zel, this reaffirms his thoughts that destiny has locked their genders into place.

in general, i don't think transphobia is a huge thing in the loz universe. it's like, a very niche kind of bigotry thankfully. it's MY childhood fantasy games and i get to mostly poof it out. i think the big exception to this would be those associated with destiny, prophecies, and of course, the reincarnation cycle.

zel is pressured to not only be a good daughter and princess, but to take on the powers that should be blessed to him by the goddess herself. everything just drives him further into hating everything, including link early on.

a big part of zel being able to actually unlock his powers would be both what i think happens in game [ desperation to protect ] as well as acceptance of himself. zel's inner turmoil over his own identity, where his duty as holder of the triforce of wisdom starts and right to be himself ends.

of course, there's no actual reason for the holder of wisdom to be a woman; as there is none for the holder of courage or power to be a man. it just so happens that it tends to be like that.

i think a retelling like this could add such a strong layer onto zel's character arc. it's so good. augh. thank yuo i hope any of this is somewhat coherent. they kiss in the end

btw i think generally trans masc zeldas go for the name sheik [ thank you OOT sheik you walked so the other tran masc zeldas could run ] but botw zelda specifically would take the scientific name of like, a small critter or plant, and alter it so it sounds kind of like a hylian name. OR just go by 'zel'. or both ! idk.

#botw #botw link #botw zelda #zelink #botw zelink #my art #inbox

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aroacebrucewayne · 1 day

Text

when I grow up, I want to be nothing at all

CHAPTER 1.

summary: ‘Bruce hasn’t looked at himself properly in the mirror for months.’ {batman? more like notman.}

a/n: 1. character referred to w he/him pronouns for a while because she doesn’t realise she’s transfem. She’s also Misgendered because the batfam doesn’t know yet. 2. I haven’t read any comics except for the first one w/ penguin in it!! All my knowledge is from other fanfics!! Do not come at me for not knowing lore please!!! 3. Story title is from “the end” by mcr because I’m cliche trash. 4. yes, I know Dick lives a city over. Why he’s randomly returning to Gotham on this day is unknown to me. But I have gone on overnight trips to visit my grandparents in the past and they live in another city too, so I guess it’s fine. Maybe he missed his family :) [also if you’re wondering where everyone else is/what their roles may be: patience. I’ll add to this au soon hopefully!]

5. Enjoy! Idk when I’ll be writing more for this but uh. Yeah. Have fun :)

Bruce hasn’t looked at himself properly in the mirror for months. He figures that it’s the scars crossing his body, riddling his torso and limbs with a map of his past victories and losses. Sure, he looks at his face to shave and occasionally cut his hair, but that’s about it. He’s still pondering this when he his phone chimes sharply.

Tim: hi bruce. dickhead coming for dinner 2day

The text, short and to the point, only reminds him to hurry up with his dressing. The batcave, while cool, isn’t an “acceptable substitute for fresh air and human interaction, Master Bruce.” So he swiftly pulls on a sweatshirt and pants, and goes back upstairs to wash the dirt, grime and facepaint off his face.

The bathroom tile he rests his forehead against is cool against his flushed skin, offering slight reprieve from the steady pounding in his skull. Bruce forces himself to look up at the mirror. Heavy dark circles, downturned mouth, and tired eyes stare back at him, and he trudges out into his bedroom.

The room isn’t really messy, he’s never allowed it to be. But there is a jacket flung over his full-length mirror, and a chair shoved in front of it, and both of them obstruct the full view of himself. He pushes the chair aside and grabs the jacket, convincing himself with some difficulty to look at himself fully and truly.

He looks normal. Maybe a little beaten down and weary, but otherwise he looks like a normal, regular, alright guy. The moment the thought manifests in his mind, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ward off the feeling of WRONGWRONGWRONG thrumming under his skin.

Fuck. Fuck. Maybe there is something wrong with him, something twisted. Self hatred is nothing new to him, but this feels different. More painful. He takes one more look at the mirror - Face your fears - and leaves the room, jacket tossed to the floor. He can’t waste time thinking about himself: Dick’s coming for dinner, Tim and Damian are coming home from school soon, and the sky is clear and cloudless. It’s a beautiful day, and Bruce has spent most of it in the cave, burning case details into his mind.

The thought makes his headache spike up again, and he casts his mind to other things. Chiefly, the sound of voices coming from the dining room. Tim and Damian are sitting at the table, eating sandwiches, while Tim chatters excitedly about his day to Alfred.

Bruce steels himself for a moment before he enters with a smile, jumping into the conversation with ease. All his worries and anxiety melts into the background, his chief attention being on this sliver of his family, here and now. His mind hones into the present, and he drops his earlier train of thought with ease.

He can always figure that thing out later.

#batman #bruce wayne #fanfiction #ray writes #tim drake #damian wayne #damian al ghul #alfred pennyworth #transgender #transfem #trans bruce wayne #transfem bruce wayne #when I grow up au #dick grayson

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dragunflies · 2 days

Text

⤯ 𝐈𝐧 𝐊𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲 -> 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢

Ellie Williams X Fem Reader

(tlou concept art from pt 2 art book) part 2! lmk if I should add anything specific next part, I'll work on it tonight and it should be up by tmr, I hope, maybe, I dunno. AND I KNOW THIS IS A LOT OF WORLD-BUILDING I JUST NEVER LIKE READING ANYTHING THAT IS JUST SMUT I NEED WORLD-BUILDING. TRUST THE FUN STUFF WILL BE SOON I SWEAR. Ok bye wash your hands and be safe ok love you! <3

❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧

You walk up to her, expecting to be ignored or just simply brushed off. But no, Ellie peered from the small crowd in the alleyway and turned her gaze to you. Her sight lingered on the conversation until turning her full attention to you. It almost startled you how much she suddenly cared.

“Hey Y/n,” Ellie stated from the small collection of people, causing them all to pause their conversation. She turned her gaze to the figure approaching the small clique. “You’re the girl I have patrol with, right?”

You stood confused, “Yea?” You state, looking at the rest of her group, standing beside her, annoyed.

“Oh.” A couple of people scoffed.

Meanwhile, Ellie looked you up and down. Her hard gaze; you could feel it looking at you. Her judgmental stare was harsh but still slight. What was she looking at you like that for?

“Uhuh,” she rolled her tongue over her teeth as she looked back up to your face, connecting her gaze to your line of sight again. “So-”

“How come Maria only chose you?” One of the crowd folk interrupted.

You froze, not necessarily knowing what to say. “Because I’m stronger than I look” No, who the fuck would say that. Going through the possible responses you could return with, Ellie speaks yet again,

“We’ll be fine.” She states, hesitantly, but still confidently.

“We?” One of the side-kicks replied the rest of the small crowd whispered to each other in response, “I know you can survive on your own, not too sure about Nurse Joy over here…”

You scoff, your quick tongue getting the best of you, “I know what the fuck I’m doing.” You snap, stepping forward once, your pupils contracted. Don’t make this weird.

They collectively look at each other, laughing under their breaths, Ellie, looking at them with a stone-cold stare as the collectively contain their side conversations.

“Alright, listen,” She stated, rolling her eyes and shooting the remainder of the group beside her a stern look, shutting them up. She pulled you aside for a moment, lowering her voice for a split second. Her auburn hair fell from being held behind her ear and swept into her face, she lowered her gaze, tilted her head down, and looked at you with those damned green eyes. Although you were taller than her, her personality alone made her seem like the bigger person, always, “I’ll meet you at the gate around 10:00 so we can get all of our shit together, I’ll see you then.”

You look at her and back at the people behind her, making comments to themselves.

“See you then.” You respond, walking off immediately.

Ellie watched you completely cold shoulder her, leaving with honestly the lack of a response. She huffed a slight laugh before then turning back to the conversion she originally had running, returning like they weren’t even on pause.

You made your way back to your house so you could gather some loose ends before the patrol. With such a long trip it’s bound to take more than a day. The two of them should be back by morning tomorrow, but it’s best to be safe than sorry. So, you packed your bag with the necessities. Your gun, your medications (ibuprofen, Tylenol, etc), lighters, notebook, knife, ammo, all the loose ends and needs for a trip like this.

But as you pack more and more, you just think about those green eyes. How her hair complimented her warm skin and freckles that lingered from last summer, suited her so well. The look she gave you when speaking to you privately suddenly made you feel like butterflies were dancing in your gut. So much so that you felt nauseous. Like you were going to throw up your feelings, yet you reached for a water bottle nearby and inhaled a swig of water. You shook your head forcefully and threw your hair into a low ponytail. Your long dark brown hair swept your shirt as it fell from your shoulder.

With the final zip up from your shoulder, you refill your water bottle, throw it into the side pocket, and grab your coat as you leave your front room. With the door locked behind you now, you have no choice but to head to the gate, to see the green-eyed girl for your excursion north.

Upon arrival, it was now 10:15 am. 15 minutes past the agreed time. Of course, you were late, why wouldn’t you be? You overheard the calling for attendance of patrols for the day.

“Matthew,” says one voice. “Chris,” says the same monotone voice, “Ellie” continued the attendance, each name followed by a “Here.”

Shit, you were late. Immediately and without a second to spare, you grab your horse. It was a black bay mare you had named Challenger. So you lay your saddle on the horse, swung your back on top, and walked yourself and Challenger to the meeting circle. Grabbing your assigned rifle and scurrying to the meeting area, you begin to look around instantly at the patrols trying to spot Ellie. Then you found her build instantly. Her short and lean structure was quickly recognizable. The way you saw her standing there looked like she was fully prepared to go out all by herself. Her body language was fed up, and her eyes fell heavy as she already appeared to be ready to be home.

“Hey.” You approached her whispering your acknowledgment. She turned her head to you but not her eyes, they were fixed on the details being played out by Jesse.

“Why are you so late?” She asked, her gaze still fixed on Jesse.

“I was busy.” You replied curtly.

No reply.

“I want Y/n and Ellie to go to the outlook in Kelly like Maria said before.” Jesse announced, “You two will need to check up on the farm and lake over there as well, it’s another 2-hour trip from the center of Kelly.”

You both rolled your eyes. Ellie held her neck as she rolled her head and closed her eyes, groaning in anticipation of traveling such a far distance. You look over, Ellie biting her lower lip as she awaits her next task handed to her or the signal of send-off. You looked down from her green eyes and watched her soft pink lips roll around. Your face became flushed, getting blushed pink cheeks that contrasted with your pale skin.

Fuck.

Then, without paying attention, the announcement of the gate opening and hooves galloping away snapped you out of your trance.

Ellie jumped onto her horse and you jumped onto Challenger.

“Ready?” Ellie asked, looking over to you. Those exact eyes you were dreaming about earlier, looking back at you again.

Your face matched hers, “Ready enough.”

With a nod, you two were off. The galloping of hooves brought up loose dirt behind the two of you as you headed north and the rest of the patrols headed west. Soon enough the gate was nothing more than a checkpoint now, and off to Kelly, you guys went.

❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧

Taglist!:

@boobdrug , @ariariarr

Comment to be on the next tag list! xx

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sendinthehuskies · 2 years

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as an england nt historian could you pls provide background for john/joe hart as both an irl working partnership and a fictional ship? bc i have been deep diving 2016/2018 internationals content to forget about the upcoming one and i see there is a lot of....well intimate touches and looks going on. not on a disgusting and marital level as with stonesford but still noticeable. the 'caption this' vid john did with dele ft. harty walks and lallana (remember him lol) is a strong blatant example. sidebar but my deep dive has also taught me that dele and walks had some animosity at england camp back in the day which does not seem to come up much in fic of the time, kind of funny to me. how was this our 3lions squad and our vibe only 4/5 years ago too? it feels like over a decade, completely different times

Joe Hart was an England stalwart and wore the Number 1 jersey for nine years from 2008. He was with City and a double premier league winner for 12 years from 2006.

For John coming up through the England youth teams, Joe was iconic. He has been vocal about the fact that he was a fan growing up and how special it was for him to get his first call up in 2014 to finally play alongside Joe:

“I couldn’t believe it; I’d watched Harty for years as a young guy; playing for England. Obviously training with him was something special.”

John didn’t get a whole lot of time playing for the senior team when he was first called up, but it didn’t matter - he was there, and Joe Hart rated him. At the World Cup in Brazil, Joe said:

“I think we’re all incredibly excited. We’ve all worked really, really hard as a unit – I include John Stones and Jon Flanagan in that, they’ve been absolutely fantastic and a great example of people who want to be involved in this World Cup.

“We want to make them proud, we want to make the people at home proud as well.

“I’ve got a role whether playing it’s John Terry playing in front or whether it’s Stonesy starting his international career,” he said.

“I’m always going to try and fulfill my role in the team.

“But I trust every single one of these players at this level. They’ve proved it at their Premier League clubs and deserve to be in the squad.”

Joe took John under his wing and they absolutely clicked from the get go. At a time when John wasn’t too highly rated and was extremely junior in the England NT, the goalkeeper that he’d looked up to for so many years was determined to see him succeed.

Things changed in 2016 when Man City hired Pep Guardiola. Hart was excited that Pep wanted to sign John but he didn’t know that he wasn’t to be included in Pep’s plans himself:

“Joe Hart personally convinced his friend, John Stones, to join City and the “ambitious project” in 2016 - only to be shipped out on loan to Torino the same month.”

Still, when John arrived at City - very nervous and without people like Kyle Walker - Harty was there for him:

“John Stones on the first player he met at City: “I think it was Joe Hart. I came in with Harty, I didn’t know the way to the training ground. So I rang Harty asking if I could come with him.

I was nervous. Very nervous. I had friends from England, Raheem Sterling, Fabian Delph and Joe Hart - he especially made it so much easier. It's a big period as you know where nothing is, like the canteen, where to be, what time to get there and he coached me through, putting an arm around me. I've still got a note in my locker from him when he went to Torino - I won't read it out as it has some naughty words - but he told me to just be me and not change who I am.”

Joe was gutted to leave City but he didn’t anticipate that he’d then be let go from England. He was part of England’s qualification for the World Cup in 2018, but after an injury ruled him out for a game, Jordan Pickford was given a chance to step in. He did not fumble his audition and was given the number 1 spot for the World Cup. Harty said:

“Not going to lie, I'm gutted. After two years of trying to make the most of a really tough situation, this is hard to take.”

A few months later, he posted on Instagram ahead of the World Cup:

John smashed it at the World Cup, and so did Pickford, and arguably it was the way they played together that made them do so well. It is unfortunate that this connection is what would ultimately cement Pickford as number 1 and see Harty dropped for good:

“Jordan’s positioning allows the team to stay spread and dispersed a lot wider. When we have the ball, he becomes what you might call a ‘second-pivot,” explains Dittmer.

“When you play with a back four, you can use the goalkeeper as the pivot to bounce the ball around. When you play with a back three - like we have done in Russia - you already have that pivot there with the central player which has been John Stones.

“As a goalkeeper behind a back three, you need to become the second pivot.

“You have to position yourself between the central defender and one of the two outside centre-halves to offer receiving positions to help the team play out.

“Those positions are quite complicated and complex to take up but he’s done that really well.

“Jordan’s positioning stops the centre forward from just closing down one option.

“If the forward runs towards Jordan, he’ll play through the pressure. If the attacker presses the central defender, there’s an option to use Jordan and get out round the other side.

“It gives the team more opportunities to play out from the back and retain possession.

“His understanding of positioning has really helped the team stay dispersed, rotate the ball and play forward in a positive way. It’s great to see and it has given confidence to everyone.”

But Joe and John stayed obsessed with each other. When they met at Tottenham years later they were physical and friendly, and Joe always has kind words to say about John - never once has he not been John’s biggest cheerleader.

Joe will always be John’s first England number 1. He was pivotal in John’s City career and the love between them has never dimmed. They will always be famous. The end

#this is so #I have more to add I think but I’ll come back to it #this doesn’t even include the caption this video!#John looking up at Harty through his eyelashes! filth!#they’re fascinating cos in a way John’s success ensured hart’s demise but there was no resentment in it #and for John who loved Jordan Pickford from years of playing with him… thank god he did or he might’ve resented Jordan for replacing Joe #there just isn’t enough fic about them but I’ll be honest I haven’t read much #on my way to do a deep dive #John stones #Joe hart #long post

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evilratfag · 1 year

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here’s all the useful/random things i’ve found on the internet in one place (i’ll also be updating this from time to time to add new stuff)

piracy:

(btw make sure to AT LEAST have a few ad blockers before u start pirating and if u can get a vpn)

nikfilecabinet — their entire account has a lot of useful shit ive just mostly used their piracy section

does the dog die — u can look up triggers that are in movies/tv shows (not directly related to piracy but though id throw it in here anyway)

books:

communist manifesto — it like 50 pages just read it

stone butch blues —

it is frequently discussed as a difficult yet essential work for LGBT communities, as it "never shies away from portraying the anti-Semitism, classism, homophobia, anti-butch animus, and trans-phobia that protagonist Jess Goldberg faced on a daily basis—but it also shows the healing power of love and political activism."

fucking trans women — (cw for lots of nudity obviously)

a zine by trans women, about the sex lives of trans women. It is an educational and instructional tool as much as it is a creative exploration of how we have sex.

all animorphs books — kids are able to morph into animals and have to save the planet or something idk i haven’t finished the first book yet

spanish for beginners — speaks for itself

an indigenous peoples history of the us —

it describes and analyzes a four-hundred-year span of complex Indigenous struggles against the colonization of the Americas

electronic furby manual — a l l h a i l f u r b y s

misc:

native languages — they have lots of reliable info on native things and links to tribal sites

scarleteen — they have articles on tons of important things relating to sex ed, including things on queer sex, stuff relating to being trans/intersex, having sex while disabled/having a disabled partner, safe sex, consent, u get the picture

mending/fixing/taking care of clothes — they also have stuff about “upgrading” clothes (remaking, resizing, etc.) (also i got this from this twt thread that has other stuff too if u wanna check it out)

breast cancer self exam patient education for post mastectomy trans patients — just in case twitter finally blows up here’s the pdf

#mostly making this so that i have a reference post to come back to but figured other might find it useful #feel free to send me anything else u think i should add #and if any of the links break pls tell me so i can try and fix them #i’ll probably redo this post later once i’ve collected more but this is good for now #piracy #pirating #free books #useful #reference post

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creativitwin · 1 year

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i don’t know if anything will beat the feeling i had during april 2020. i was heavily hyperfixated on tss and especially the creativitwins, and then thomas dropped the roman playlist. to this day 3 years later i still think about it

second song on that playlist was wonderboy by tenacious d and i was immediately like ‘haha that sounds like that’s about remus. cool how they team up in the end’ but oh well, i didn’t think that much about it in that moment. the song can easily be about virgil too

i’m vibing to the rest of the songs and then humility by gorillaz comes on and. did the song straight up say twin??? bro that fucking song is about remus. that song is about remus there is no way around it.

i’m not smart enough to directly analyze the songs (plenty of people have already done so. here’s my favorite one) but all i can say is holy fuck yippie doodle this shit still makes me ballistic.

i mean in the series all roman seems to show is hate for remus!! looking at remus is like looking into a funhouse mirror, he’s literally his biggest insecurity, his biggest fear. and yet, (correct me if i’m wrong) i don’t even think there’s a song on there that even implies his hatred of remus. the playlist is all about how he wants to be free of his morality restrictions..

idek man. if the day comes in 2050 when the creativitwins reconcile i will be there in the first row.

oh and also. fun fact about the wonderboy song (and also the entire roman playlist)? thomas and joan purposefully made roman’s playlist into 5 sections: i want songs, character establishment, rising action, climax, and falling action. they didn’t specify how exactly these sections were split up* but that doesn’t even matter. wonderboy is the SECOND song in the playlist, meaning it’s definitely an I Want song. do with this information what you will

*ok if you want my opinion, theres 20 songs, and 5 sections. the math would show that each section would consist of 4 songs, and i think this definitely holds up with the vibes of the songs, too.

conclusion: ieirjrwndijekwfowhhdeh idk. roman and remus are the twins ever and the only main reason i still care about sanders sides after all this time.

#roman sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #creativitwins #side tracks #perry posts #btw i’m sorry for not really talking about remus’ perspective here. he has similar sentiments in his playlist too #see: tranz by gorillaz #i didn’t rlly talk about it in this post mainly bc iirc he hasn’t been shown to Hate roman in the show #like i don’t rlly think remus likes roman but i can’t remember anything he’s done that can’t be excused by ‘remus things’ and cain instinct #idk. if u have Thoughts about remus’ perspective (or anything abt this post) please feel free to add on to this #i feel like the playlists are the only place where all the sides have Finished Arcs. sad.#note: i haven’t watched anything past that 5 Year Anniversary video in 2021 so idk what those guys are up to in those asides and ad videos #i’ll catch up if the finale comes out (or if they put remus in rswr there’s so much potential with that but that’s another post)#edit: i fucking caved and watched the fucking ads and asides. and despite the um. mediocre (to say it nicely) writing at times…#my dumb brain is hyperfixating so i’m back. got more thoughts about these fuckers than ever <3 #‘if u have thoughts about remus’ perspective please add on’ GIRL I JUST MIGHT I GOT SO MANY

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tenacious-minds · 2 years

Text

Mike Wheeler of Hawkins

Paladin—

Oath of Redemption

(prev- Oath of Devotion: Broken)

Half Elf

Knight

Weapons—

Skilled in the use of close by objects, such as: wrenchs, a branch, a lamp.

Words.

Born to human mother and an uninterested elven father, Mike grew up mostly in the human world. After encountering strange creatures from the other world, he decided to venture further out into the world with his party, where he was reunited with elder sister Nancy. The party continues the grow as they come across new friends and old foes, with small sub-parties forming within.

#dnd character cards #my art #mike wheeler #stranger things #ensemble cast #disclaimer: I barely play dnd so these are created after lots of research #and also guess work and a bit of creative liberty #if ive done something egregiously wrong pls feel free to lmk!#i wanted to create modern characters to keep true to their personal senses of style.#i think I would have liked to add a bit more fantastical emlements but I am a) bad at it and b) had no idea what to do.#maybe I’ll come back and add details a bit later #yes the weapons is a refrences to canon I stg that boy always has the most RANDOM OBJECTS in his hands when preparing to fight #Ive for sure seen him with a wrench and I’m pretty positive there was a lamp at one point

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perlelune · 4 months

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NDA | Coriolanus Snow

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

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

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

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

She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.

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

She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re dismissed,” she says.

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

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

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

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

The sudden collision threatens your balance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.

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

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

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

“Are you here for the nursemaid position?”

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

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

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

Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow.

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

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

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

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

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

Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close the cabinet and beam at him.

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

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

You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

“Stop it.”

You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.

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

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

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

“Laertes…”

He shakes his head, his expression firm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did it go?”

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

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

Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

“Finish your plate before going to your room.”

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

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

“Yes. Very,” you cheerfully respond.

He gathers his books and strides towards his room.

Your voice rises.

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

“I…love you too,” he mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a deep slow breath before reading it again.

This time, a squeal escapes from your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.

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

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

A weary sigh ripples behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.

“Hi. You’re Martius, right?”

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

You turn to Pandora.

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

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

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

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

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

You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.

“I-I understand. I’m sorry I asked.”

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.

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

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

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

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

She was a fairytale princess come to life.

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

Until one day, Livia Cardew simply…vanished.

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

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

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

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

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

Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why is that?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re leaving again?”

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

You hunker down to his level.

“My little brother’s expecting me.”

His forehead puckers. “Stay…”

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

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

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

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

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

Laertes’ well-being matters more than your curiosity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

“Really, why?”

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

Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. “Congratulate me?”

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you settling in well?” he asks.

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

“I hear my son is very fond of you.”

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

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

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

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

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

Your head rises. “What’s strange?”

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

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

“No fiancé?”

“No, sir.”

“A lover then?”

Warmth rushes to your face.

“No…”

He laughs, mirth dancing in his cobalt orbs.

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

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

“But…”

Your mouth dries.

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

His eyes twinkle. “Or financial stability?”

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

“I know, I’m an idiot.”

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

He chuckles but it’s bereft of amusement.

“Really? What happened then?”

His gaze locks with yours.

“I grew up.”

Confused, you frown.

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

Another laugh bursts from his chest.

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

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

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

“I…yes.”

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

He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.

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

“Y-Yes you are, sir.”

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

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

His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.

“Liar,” he mumbles.

Your pulse quickens.

He leans back and nudges your chin upward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, President Snow, s-stop…”

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

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

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

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

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

“P-President…”

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

Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His teeth nip the skin of your neck.

“...But I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not my mom.”

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

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

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

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

“Martius-”

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

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

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

“First Lady, I never meant-”

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

Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.

You shiver, waiting still.

But it doesn’t come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take her away,” Coriolanus instructs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is for the president,” you announce.

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

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

All of it feels wrong.

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

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

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

Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.

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

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

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

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

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

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

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

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

You toss a questioning look at the driver.

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

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

Peacekeepers.

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

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

The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.

Your fearful gaze rises to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir…”

His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.

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

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

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

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

Chills dance over your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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yanderenightmare · 5 months

Text

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: suggestive noncon, threats, Sukuna in general

gn reader

Thinking about sorcerer ! reader – only instead of having a really offensive technique, it's purely defensive.

A power to pacify. Creating the ultimate stalemate. All attacks are nullified – people can’t even throw one measly punch your way.

– which obviously means you’re the ultimate babysitter for trigger-happy curses like Sukuna.

The only issue is…. you don’t at all behave in accordance with your technique.

You are perhaps the most childish and bratty sorcerer he’s ever been forced to share air with. Even worse than that white-haired prick. Where with him – he could at least spar. But you? You just monitor him while making the most meaningless and ever-so-grating conversation.

“I read in an old book that you’re a cannibal.” You muse with a smile. Eyes vibrant with curiosity – playful even – as though the prospect of him eating human flesh shouldn’t be making your own skin run raw with goosebumps. “Is that true?”

His brow raises at your eagerness. His mouth is a prim line before muttering an unenthusiastic. “Yes.”

“Really?” You jump. “Why? Does it taste good?”

It’s an awfully stupid question – he thinks with an ever-growing wrinkle furrowing his brows. But suppose explaining to you how it’s meant to strike fear into people’s hearts would only make you laugh.

He huffs.

“Tastes like meat.”

“Right~” You sing-song as though it was a satisfying answer – but then almost immediately add onto it. “So, like chicken or beef?”

You really are such a nuisance, he thinks. Grumbling. “Pig.”

You hum – then smack your lips. And he feels another onset of annoyance – expecting another moronic query to come pouring gracelessly from your lips.

“You’re a little disappointing – you know that?” You say instead.

He picks his head up at that – finally looking back at you through the bars of his cell to where you sit opposite way on a chair – looking straight back at him, fearing no harm.

There are about a million seals covering the walls, keeping him trapped. Though you’d feel just as safe without them.

“I’d thought you’d have more to say, but…” You pout. “Turns out you’re just boring.”

His nose makes an offended scrunch – eyes narrowed. “Watch how you speak to me.”

You laugh – your chuckle in itself is something that makes the hairs at the back of his neck rise out of ire. That smug smile on your face enough to have his fists ball at his sides – and at the moment you lick your lips, saying, “Or what?” he’s already on his feet with his hands wrapped tight around the bars – knuckles turning white in his grip.

His skin sizzles from the cursed energy imbued in the metal – like holy water to a demon – and still, he doesn’t let go. Four eyes, blood red, glaring at you with a look that’s nothing short of deadly. If he could, you knew he’d have your heart in his hand forever ago. But the fact that he doesn’t – the fact that he can’t – only makes your grin ever sharper.

“Wow~” You tease. “Look at that face~” Giggling. “So scary~”

His nostrils flare as he releases the bars. Hands healed shortly after. “One of these days, brat – I’ll have you on your knees.”

You feign a gasp. “Sukuna~ so indecent~” Your grin lessens into a coy smirk. “To think the King of Curses is flirting with little ole me~” You bite your lip, looking kittenish – eyes amused while watching him recede into the dark of his cell.

You break from the act with another laugh.

Beginning anew. “I do have a question, though.”

“Naturally.” He mutters, stretching his arms – all four – one pair above his head and the other behind his back.

“Are you double-packed down there as well? The same with the rest of you? Or~”

His spine cracks between tensed shoulders – and you think, to be a thousand-year-old specter, he’s awfully easy to rile up.

But then he laughs – a throaty, low-tuned snicker that echoes against the cell walls.

“As I said – one of these days…” He walks up to the bars again, his chin fitting through them. “You’ll find out.”

There’s another chuckle – his eyes slim with something that makes you feel naked. Suddenly flushed – smile gone – you watch him lick his lips.

“And to answer your next question, you insufferable brat.”

You gulp.

“I think you’ll taste like peaches.”

#yandere sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sukuna #yandere ryomen sukuna

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