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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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m4ttslvr · 4 months

Text

˳ ៚ Good Girl

soft dom!matt x fem!reader

one shot: where Matt likes it when you do as you’re told otherwise he punishes you ;)

warnings: long smut!, spanking w belt, bruising, choking, tying hands, unprotected s3x, lil bit of degradation, pet names, use of y/n

You laid fully exposed beneath your boyfriend Matt, panting. Your pussy was drenched, soaking the sheets beneath you since Matt had been teasing you for over 45 minutes now— and he hadn’t even taken his pants off yet.

He had spent his sweet time marking up your entire body— your breasts, your stomach, your hipbones, the insides of your thighs. Every inch of your skin was stinging and on fire.

His facial hair had given you beard burn, causing the skin to sting when air hit it. You loved it when he let his beard grow for that very reason. He was purposefully neglecting your pussy though, loving to make you squirm and beg. And squirming and begging you were.

You were wrecked and he hadn’t even taken his pants off for god’s sake. By the looks of him, you could tell that all this teasing was affecting him as much as it was affecting you.

His broad shoulders took up your entire line of vision above you and his chest was coated in sweat, making his muscles glisten and his tattoos appear darker. His hair hung low above his eyes, some of it plastered to his forehead with sweat. His cheeks flushed, his lips swollen red, and his cheekbones prominent from the shape of his trimmed beard.

Still, he maintained a cool and collected demeanor that turned you on even more. You knew you had to earn what you wanted from him. He would let himself moan and whine once he was satisfied with your obedience.

He was currently sucking and biting on your right breast while he squeezed your left breast, flicking your sensitive nipple. He licked the bruised skin one last time and began lifting himself off of you. You whined and writhed beneath him as the loss of contact made your desire spark even more.

“Shh shh shh” he said with a finger to his lips and furrowed brows as if your whines were unprompted. You pouted and sighed with desperation. You were starting to lose your mind, having been teased for almost an hour, that you felt tears start to well up in your eyes. You looked up at him with pleading eyes and mouthed “please please please”, feeling so weak your voice wouldn’t come out. Still, you knew that he was going to give you what you wanted whenever he wanted. You just had to be a good girl and comply to his commands.

“Let me take what I want from you” he said, making you moan. “Your turn will come”.

He was kneeling between your legs with his hands on your knees— that was the only thing keeping them up since they felt like jelly. You whimpered , desperate for his touch.

“I know, I know babygirl, shh” he reassured you, his voice low and gentle. Those puppy eyes he gave you were the only thing keeping you sane. “You’re being such a good girl, letting me mark you,” he kissed your knee, a smirk forming on his lips. “just be patient.”

“I’ll be your good girl Matty”

He began reaching for his belt, and your eyes wandered from his veiny hands, to his happy trail, and to the big bulge in his pants . You’ve been dying to see his dick that you knew was rock hard since it had been pressed against you the whole time he was biting, kissing, licking, and bruising your body. Your mouth watered and you bit your lip.

He noticed your gaze and smirked as he undid his belt, “my baby, so eager”. His voice was so deep and low with desire, but with an amused and teasing tone. You began rubbing your thighs together, desperate for any sort of friction on your pussy. “Fuck me already Matt, please fuck me senseless” you begged.

He was undoing his belt painfully slow, his smirk only growing wider at your filthy words. You groaned, patience leaving your body, and you sat up to reach for his belt to undo it yourself. You weren’t thinking, your body just reacted out of pure desperation.

He quickly stopped you by grabbing both your wrists with one hand, “what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice hard.

You looked up at him with regret all over your face, “i’m sorry” you wanted to say, but your voice barely came out as a whisper. “need you now” was your excuse.

He shook his head, “you were being such a good girl, letting me mark you up and tease you” he raised your hands above your head, laying you back down against the pillows. “and i’ve played nice letting you dig your nails in me”

Your eyes are wide. You didn’t realize you had done that. Matt presses your wrists into the mattress, his chest rubbing against your extremely sensitive nipples, “i’m sure you drew blood”. Your brain turns to mush. His dominance is incredibly attractive and you can’t think.

You gasp when he suddenly grabs your by the jaw with his free hand, snapping your attention back to his words. “Are you listening to me?” he asks, his lips gracing yours. You nod your head fast “mhm”. The need to kiss his swollen lips is making it extremely difficult to listen but you want to be his good girl so he can fuck you senseless already.

“I don’t believe you,” he says.

Your heart drops.

“By the way your grinding down on my leg and staring at my lips, I know you’re not listening” he ssighs and roughly lets go of your face, “guess i’ll have to teach you a lesson.” Your jaw drops.

“Keep those hands there,” he commands, you listen. Your eyes follow his movements as you’re frozen waiting to see his next move.

Punish me? You could cum just from the thought. You loved it when Matt was rough with you. Maybe being a bad girl was a good move sometimes.

He pulled his belt off completely in one swift motion, held it in front him folded in half and whipped it together.

Oh.

Fuck. Yes.

“Since you wanted this belt off so bad” he said, “you’re gonna get this belt”.

Your pussy only got more wet and throbbed hard.

He gripped your thighs and pulled you down towards him and held your knees up with your feet in the air, exposing your bare ass cheeks to him. He slid the folded belt up your ass all the way to your thigh. It was cold against your hot skin, which made you hiss, goosebumps forming all over your legs.

“This is what happens to bad girls” he said, and a beat later a wave of pain made you see white behind your eyelids and a yelp escaped your throat. He had whipped both your ass cheeks with the belt. Your head went from being fuzzy to now being wide awake and hyper aware of every sensation on your body. The concentrated heat that the contact of the belt left on your skin sent a wave of pleasure through your entire body.

His eyes were on your face, checking to see if you were liking this or not since this was something he had never done before. Based on your expression that looked like you were orgasming, he continued.

“Three things y/n,” he started. “Three things you need to learn a lesson about.” Matt rubbed the belt where he had hit you.

“One, you don’t make your boyfriend bleed when all he’s doing is taking pleasure in kissing your body”.

You bit your lip trying to hold in your moans. His pupils were blown out and his chest was heaving. Even though his voice was steady, you could tell this was really getting him worked up. So much so that he was now pressing his bulge against your legs. You couldn’t wait to have that dick pounding into you.

“Second,” he slid the belt on your skin, making you shiver, “you listen when i’m talking to you.”

Smack.

Another wave of heat and pleasure. Your head involuntarily turned into your arm, and you bit down letting the pain wash over you. You were becoming undone without Matt’s dick even being inside of you, it was incredible.

He waited for you to open your eyes to read your expression. Yes yes yes yes was written all over your face.

“Thirdly,” he groans since he is rubbing his erection against your leg now.

He is so close to giving in. Finally.

“You wait for me abuse that pretty pussy of yours whenever I want—“ SMACK.

This time he hit so hard it made me see white and my throat could only muster a a small squeak.

“not whenever you want” he said in one breath, dropping your legs, and quickly pulling his pants down.

Your eyes shot open when he spread your legs apart and pounced on top of you between them. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping it hard as he ravaged your lips like a starving animal, moaning and whining into them. Your tongues were sloppy all over each other’s mouths.

His dick was rock hard against your wet pussy. He moaned at the way your juices were seeping through his boxers, coating his dick. His heavy breathing gave air to your lungs and the desperate noises escaping his throat gave you life. When Matt gave in, he gave in completely. At first he liked to be in control because when you did what he wanted and earned what he gave you, you were showing him how much you wanted him and the thing he loved most was to feel wanted by you. As much as he wanted you.

He was showing you how much he wanted you right now. His hand that had just been holding your wrists tightly and punishing you with his belt, was now snaking down your belly all the way to your wet pussy, between your folds, circling fast on your clit just the way you liked it.

You moaned into his mouth and he whimpered in return. The hand that had just been bruising your thighs and gripping your face, was now at your mercy pumping two fingers into your pussy making you moan his name repeatedly. He moaned your name back, his head hung on your shoulder.

“Fuck princess, you’re so wet for me”, he said breathlessly into your ear.

“Yes Matt, yes yes yes” you were moaning so loud, but you didn’t care who heard. You were getting just what you wanted and it was always better than the last time. Matt always made it better— it made your brain melt.

He stopped suddenly, pulling his fingers out of you. You whined, looking up at him in confusion.

“You still need to be punished some more”. He held your wrist together and put them above your head again. “These hands have been very naughty” he said as he began wrapping the belt tight around your wrists. You back arched with pleasure. Matt’s expression was wild, admiring the reaction your body had to him. “Now you’ll learn to be a good girl for me princess”.

“Fuck yes” you moaned.

He kissed down the line of your stomach as he pulled his boxers down, his dick springing free. He licked up your stomach as he flung the boxers across the room.

And without warning he shoved his dick inside of you, making you scream. Matt wasted no time finding a fast rhythm and pumping deep inside of you, his balls snaking against your pussy and his thighs hitting your sensitive ass cheeks. You could feel the girth of his dick stretching your walls open, and it twitched inside you whenever you moaned his name. It felt heavenly.

“My sweet babygirl,” he groaned, “so fucking good for me” his voice sent shivers down your spine and your legs quivered. “The best girl,” he panted, “deserves the best fucking”.

He felt them quivering, so he grabbed them and placed them above his shoulders. The new position allowed for him to hit that sweet spot inside of you that made your eyes roll back and your breath hitched. “There there there,” you moaned. “Faster Matty, please” tears were streaming down your cheeks since the pleasure was overwhelming you in the best way.

He was pounding into you at an incredible speed all you could do was scream his name repeatedly. You started to feel the pleasure pool in your belly, you knew your orgasm was close, your walls tightened around his dick which made him whine loudly in your ear.

He slowed his pace down, making you whine “no no no”. You could start crying.

“Shh baby,” he reassured. “Turn around for me” he pleaded.

You wasted no time, when he pulled out you turned on your side and he positioned behind you. In a heartbeat he rammed his dick back into your throbbing pussy, and pounded mercilessly from behind.

You head fell back into his shoulder, your arms still stretched above you, your wrists burning in the best way.

Matt leaned down connecting your lips, while at the same time he hooked his arm under your leg, lifting it and letting it hang in the air so he could pump that much deeper into you.

Your ass was now as red as ever and each pound felt like the strike of the belt on your cheeks. His free arm snaked under you and his hand gripped your neck just the way you like it. His hand restricted oxygen from entering your lungs and your head went fuzzy. Tears streamed down your eyes and you felt pure euphoria.

“Such a slut for my dick” he said. “Get so desperate for it you let me tie you up”. His taunting making you clench your pussy around him, earning a loud whimpers from Matt. Every inch of his body was touching every inch of yours and the noises he was making were sending you over the edge.

“‘m gonna c–cum M–Matt” you managed to say, your voice strangled and broken.

“Cum on my dick babygirl,” he said breathlessly, his pace unwavering, hitting me just right. “You earned it” he said and pressed his hand against your belly so he could feel himself inside of you.

That sent you over the edge, your orgasm sending heat flashes from your pussy, up your belly and spreading all over your body. It was pure ecstasy. You creamed on his dick and your perfect moan sent him over the edge, his dick twitching inside of you and shooting hot cum deep inside you, coating your walls.

“Fuuuuck” he groaned out, as you both rode your orgasms out. His thrust slowed and he stayed inside you, his balls pressed tightly against your ass. Both of you completely limp and wrecked. Only heavy breathing filled the room.

You were still seeing stars when he slowly pulled out of you, with a hiss and a groan. He draped his arm around you, neither of you separating . He kissed your temple, and laid tight behind you with a sigh.

“Love you babygirl” his deep voice only a whisper. Your heart felt warm.

“Love you too Matty.” You managed, a soft smile on your lips as you drifted off, feeling pure bliss.

a/n: MY FIRST SMUT AHHHH. I needed to write this because everytime Matt wears a belt around that slutty little waste I imagine unspeakable things!!!>_<

teehee, hope u enjoyed<3

₊━ִ─ LEV ᡴꪫㅤ·⠀·

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo fandom #fanfic #y/n #y/n smut

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decibly · 11 months

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Barry was hungry. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, as he could just grab some snacks from the kitchen, but he was watching a movie, and he was comfy. He really, really didn’t want to try and wriggle back to where he was now

“Phantom?” he called out hopefully.

A white glove emerged from the wall behind him, dropping an unopened bag of chips on top of his head. When Barry reached up to grab it, he saw that it was salt and vinegar, which explained why it was still uneaten. Phantom seemed to refuse those chips under all circumstances.

Barry didn’t really get it, because salt and vinegar was awesome, but that didn’t really matter. The point was, Phantom was a great person, even if he probably wasn’t human, and it didn’t matter if Barry hadn’t ever actually seen more of him than his arm, and he had told Barry his name by leaving a piece of paper on a table when he turned his back for three seconds after asking if there was a name for the ‘friend in the walls’, as Wally had called him.

“Thanks, Phantom!” The hand stuck itself out the wall again, forming a thumbs up.

***** ***** *****

Diana had found a bit of a problem. It wasn’t a big one, and was honestly more of an annoyance than anything, but her paper copy of Earth’s current standing with all known alien civilization was missing. She could get access to it again in a few hours, once the security upgrade to their computers was finished, but she had been intending to review it for a few weeks now and could use the extra time.

An idea came to her suddenly, and Diana quietly asked, “Phantom? Are you here?” In answer, a chilly breeze blew through her hair. He was, then. “By any chance, would you happen to have seen my copy of th-” Interrupting her, the very papers she was looking for appeared out of nowhere on her desk. A green sticky note was stuck to it, reading ‘This? Sorry for taking it, but it was really interesting’

Diana smiled, hopefully in the ghosts direction. “Yes, that. If you want, I could see if I could get you your own copy?” Another green sticky note appeared on top of the first, this one just oozing the feeling of happiness. ‘YES PLEASE!!!’

***** ***** *****

Bruce… didn’t really know what to do about the teenager floating just outside the Watchtower. He looked like Phantom, from the few times anyone had actually seen the ghost, and he appeared to be enjoying himself in the vacuum outside instead of dying painfully, which was another point of evidence for that theory. Unsure of what else he could do, he knocked on the window on the off chance that he could get Phantom’s attention that way.

The ghost immediately vanished from view, and a strong, freezing cold breze blew in from the direction of the window Phantom had been outside. Bruce shivered violently from the unexpected chill.

Next time he would leave Phantom alone. Being out in space seemed to make him happy, and it was best not ruin that.

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yawnderu · 5 months

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K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Chapter IV

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

What's a Lieutenant if not someone you can use as a stress reliever

Being a gifted medic comes with free rewards

You weren't the only one catching up on some sleep. Simon was awake throughout Johnny's entire surgery despite having slept four hours the previous night, wanting to be available in case you needed his help, finally getting some much-needed rest after being practically forced by Price.

He wakes up six hours later, a small groan escaping his lips at the light entering his window. His burly arm comes up to cover his eyes, shielding them from the bright sun.

''Fuckin' hell.'' He muttered, getting up from bed and putting on a black balaclava. Shit went down yesterday, with Johnny almost dying, and Makarov is now free, able to continue killing civilians until they're finally able to catch him. At the very least, his best friend is alive and stable last time he visited.

Simon leaves his room, walking to the cafeteria to get a bottle of cold water and a few granola bars before heading to your quarters, knocking on the door softly in case you're asleep. No reply. He knows better, but... what if something happened to you? He uses the pathetic excuse to justify his actions, hand turning the doorknob carefully before stepping inside, footsteps surprisingly quiet for someone his size.

What a fucking sight. He stared at your sleeping figure for a while, taking in the details of your face when it wasn't pulled into a scowl or a bored expression, a small smile tugging on his lips at how peaceful you look before he realized how creepy he was being. He shook his head softly as if to snap out of it, putting the water bottle and granola bars before turning away to try and leave.

Try, because a much smaller hand wrapped around his wrist, almost making him flinch because of how sudden it was. He looks down at you only to find your eyes boring into his, tugging him closer by the wrist. A confused Simon followed like a lost dog before his feet rooted on the ground in front of your bed, giving you a questioning look with his eyes.

''Come lay with me.'' Your voice is much gentler than usual, laced with something he can't quite recognize yet. Simon knows better, really he does, but who is he to question the medic he's been pining on for months? He hesitantly removes his boots and climbs into bed with you, keeping a respectful distance despite his behemoth frame taking over half of the bed. His muscles tense up when he feels you cuddling up to him, being a painfully fitting piece against his body.

''What are you on bout, doc?'' You don't reply, simply examining his eyes for any hints of hesitation. You find nervousness, curiosity, doubt, and even the smallest hints of fear, but no hesitation at all. Your hand sneaks up to the bottom of his balaclava, pulling it all the way off before your lips crash into his hungrily. It takes him a few seconds of pure confusion before he kisses back, arms wrapped around your waist, and whatever questions he has on why you're doing this all of sudden pushed to the back of his mind.

Your hands grab at anything they can reach— muscle, skin, hair... anything, holding onto his much bigger body like a lifeline, his warm hands running up and down your back. He has fantasized about this moment so many times, yet the real thing is so different in a good way.

''Tell me I can touch you, bird.'' You simply nod your head and try to go back to kissing him, but he pulls away, gently squeezing your waist to make you look at him.

''Use your words.'' His words are almost pleading, wanting to make sure you want the same thing.

''I want you to touch me, Simon.'' Not a second passes before his lips are back on yours, tongues wrapping around each other's as his hands start to drift down, grabbing a handful of your ass. His touch is so desperate it almost makes you laugh, one of your hands sneaking down his shirt and feeling him up, defined muscles flexing under your touch. His slightly shaky hands fumble with the button of your jeans, breaking away from the kiss just to look at you and make sure you still want it. The half-lidded look you give him is enough confirmation, pulling down your jeans and getting on his knees, between your legs.

"Been wanting to do this since I saw ya." He confesses, too excited for his fantasies finally coming true to even feel remotely bashful about his words. He lifts up your shirt enough to reveal your tummy, gentle kisses planted on every single inch of skin his lips can reach as he slowly descends, planting open mouthed kisses over your clothed cunt.

"Fuck—" Your back arches at the feeling, eyes screwed shut as your hand goes to the back of his head, pushing him closer. His tongue is warm and wet, saliva mixing in with your growing arousal. He pushes your panties to the side, looking down at your gleaming pussy before digging in, tongue lapping the wetness before he latches onto your cunt, sucking and licking away like a starved man.

"You taste s'fucking good." He praises before going back down, the flat of his tongue moving around your cunt before slowly going inside, your whiny moans and hands gripping his short hair are all the encouragement he needs. He latches onto your clit next, long fingers teasing the entrance of your cunt, spreading your arousal all over them before he slowly enters you with one.

His fingers are thick and long, whiny moans escaping your lips as he adds a second one, making scissoring motions as he fucks his fingers deeper and deeper into you, tongue alternating between licking and sucking on your clit before hesitantly letting go.

"Sit on my face." It's not even a request, it sounds like a plea, though you quickly listen to his words for the first time ever, cunt hovering above his face as soon as he lays back down. He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing the plush and pulling your body down to his face, eating you out like a starved man. His hands let go of your ass to unbuckle his belt, barely having the strength to pull his hard cock out of his jeans, eyes closing as he focused on the dual sensation of pleasuring you with his mouth and pleasuring himself with his hand, pre staining his fingers as his hand moves up and down his shaft faster.

"Fuck— Just like that, Si." Si. You never call him anything other than Simon. Sometimes Ghost, when you're needed during missions and hang around them in the helos, but the way you say his name... so much affection, even if it only comes from making you feel good. He's pathetic— God, he knows he's being pathetic, cock twitching in his hand at the idea of you reciprocating his complex and strange feelings for you, ropes of thick cum shooting out into his hand and stomach, a low growl coming out of his lips as he squeezed his cock dry of cum.

He focuses solely on you now, tongue swirling and flickering all over you, his clean hand coming up to rub your clit with his thumb while he assaults your dripping wet cunt with his lips and tongue. Your hands go down to his head, fingers pulling on his short hair while you use his face to feel good, getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Si, I'm gonna cum—" But he doesn't stop. Hell, his thumb moves even faster over your sensitive bud, tongue-fucking your pussy as deep as he can until he can feel your body shaking on top of him, thighs closing in on his head and squeezing as the intensity of your orgasm washes over you, his waiting mouth taking in all your juices, lapping at them greedily until you pull away from the stimulation, shaky legs managing to position yourself next to him, head against his chest.

"You hear that? Price is calling you." You lie, unable to contain the smirk on your lips as he flicks your nose.

"Piss off, doc." His burly arms wrap around you, a loud groan of protest escaping your lips when you realize you're forced to cuddle with him.

[PREVIOUS]

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rodolfoparras · 1 month

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Oh power imbalances are very much a real thing in professor student relationships but what if you take that dynamic and play around with it specifically in the fictive world, where the professor is the tormented and the student is somewhat of a tormentor.

Thinking about a grumpy old man of a professor yearning after you, a much younger student in his class whiles you see him as nothing but a plaything in your never ending collection.

Thinking about getting the sweet professor to do the most embarrassing things because if he obeys and does as you say, you’ll fuck him right? Thinking about getting the older man to tell you what’s on his mind, when he sees you in class, spewing lewd words he’d never used before til his face burns and he can’t look you in the eyes anymore, getting him so hard and promptly urging him to jerk off before the lecture starts only to watch in amusement as he scramble to clean himself up before the students start rolling in, growing more amused as you spot the cum stains on his pants and the way the buttons on his dress shirt lay undone.

Thinking about telling him to show up to uni in a lingerie of your choice and with a couple of toys, frail fabric neatly hidden under appropriate work attire, cock and tits restrained in fabric dyed your favorite color and with a plug buried in his ass riling him up through racy texts maybe even through glances and whispered words til his cock is painfully hard and he has to sneak away to his car to jerk off, hastily crawling over to the passenger seat in broad daylight before wrapping a hand around his cock uncaring of the teachers and students that might catch him in such a lewd act.

Thinking about letting him tell you or show you how much he wants you, down on all four, with your big cock shoved down his throat, fat tears trickling down his cheeks drool dripping down his chin and using his hand for where his mouth can’t reach, wanting to prove to you just how well he can take your cock or even having you cum in his morning coffee and watch him eagerly drink it up, just to prove how much he wants you, going as far as to record moments like these, making sure to cut out his face but keeping his pretty lips in frame and showing it to anyone who’s interested

#dom male reader #top male reader #bottom male character #sub male character #x male reader #male reader #this was in fact price inspired #call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x male reader

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userlando · 8 months

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Oh that made me think of lando and bestie play fighting and he puts his hand around her throat as a joke and then she just thrusts into him and it’s a moment ?? You know… I’m thinking too much brainrot toniight

I hope you don’t mind that I wrote a little something on this because whewwww the way it made me feel 😭

lando norris/female!reader (937 words)

Lando is bored. He’s got your feet in his lap, you’re wiggling your toes and the movement of them under your socks is more entertaining than the movie you’d chosen to watch. It wasn’t that he didn’t like romcoms, he just needed to do something else or he would literally die of boredom.

But still, the wistful sigh that escapes your lips makes him look up and you’re not even looking at him; Eyes trained on the television screen as Sally and Harry interact.

“What?” Lando asks because clearly you’re thinking about something and he’s dying to know what.

You gesture vaguely at the screen without tearing your eyes away, like he’s supposed to know what you’re sighing and fawning over. Lando pinches your big toe and you wiggle them out of his grasp in annoyance.

“He’s so fit.” You say simply and Lando glanced at the Harry character.

He’s sporting a funny looking beard now and there’s clearly been a time jump in the movie that Lando wasn’t paying attention to. He eyes the man dubiously before arching his brows at you.

“This guy?” His voice goes up an octave. “He looks like a nut.”

That makes you look at him, rolling your eyes in fond exasperation and something expands in Lando’s chest when he realises that he finally has your attention. If only for a brief moment. He thinks that it should probably concern him how needy he is to get your attention, but he can’t bring himself to care much.

“He does not!” Your voice goes high too, in indignation and it makes him stifle a smile. “You’re just jealous because he can grow a beard and you can’t.”

Now it’s Lando’s turn to look offended, smacking an open palm against his chest as if your words physically wounded him and it makes you smile despite yourself. You point your foot and jab your toe into his stomach softly.

“How fucking dare you.” He says with no real heat behind it, biting back a smile when you giggle. “My beard is scrumptious.”

“Scrum—“ You guffaw and throw your head back. “You call that a beard.”

“Oh, you better take that back.”

He sits up straighter now, gleeful that you’re not hushing him for speaking over the movie you’d quite literally seen a million times before. You retract your legs from his lap when you realise that he’s flexing his fingers dramatically, and you know what’s coming before he even makes a move.

“No— Oof.” The breath punches out of your lungs in a squeal when he jumps, landing painfully on you and it feels like he’s reached into your throat and pulled out your lungs when he starts tickling you.

The squeals of laughter triggers his giggling, and you know that you must look like a pair of maniacs as you squirm around on his bed with unintelligible words being screamed out between breathless laughter.

“Mercy! Mercy!” You yell, doing your utmost to kick him off but he only fights harder.

He’s clearly fully intent on making you pass out from the lack of oxygen and just when you’re about to buck him off with all your might, he stops.

There’s a moment where you pant, grinning at each other and he looks like an idiot as he looms above you; Hair in disarray and cheeks flushed. But you figure that you’re looking very much like him and the thought of it makes you giggle.

“Do you take it back?” He asks and it takes a second for you to understand what he’s talking about, shaking your head.

“Never.” You reply, as if he hadn’t just tickled you within an inch of your life.

You squirm when he tickles your sides, way more gentle than before and there’s uncontrollable laughter bubbling up your throat when he reaches a hand out to circle it around your neck. He digs his fingers in a little and you swear that the room spins for a moment as he stares down at you.

“Say that I have a better beard.” There’s a threat in his tone that makes you giggle nervously, placing your hands on his forearm in an attempt to keep him from reaching down to tickle your sides. “Say it.”

“I’m not a liar.” You grin up at him when he narrows his eyes playfully, the blues disappearing into slits and it looks so funny that you squirm to stop yourself from laughing.

He puts a little pressure around your throat and the feeling that zips down your spine shocks you, so much so that you buck your hips up in a poor attempt to get him off of you. But it only makes him press right against you and the unexpected hardness you feel makes you both pause.

“Are you…?” You trail off, looking between his eyes as his cheeks slowly turn pink. “Are you hard?”

“No?” He says a little too quickly and you purse your lips to keep the smile from your face. “Piss off.”

He’s quick to scramble off of you, sitting down next to you with a bounce on the mattress and you stare up at the ceiling in silence. Your heart is hammering a little too hard and you chance a glance at Lando to find him already looking at you. He averts his eyes and you smile.

“For the record…” You clear your throat when he inconspicuously grabs the nearest pillow and places it strategically in his lap. “You do have a nice beard.”

“Knew it.” He muttered, but there’s a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun writing a drabble. it’s been a while but we back baby!!

#zee’s asks 💌#lando brainrot #lando norris x reader #lando norris blurb #lando norris

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bg-brainrot · 2 months

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One thing I, personally, can't relate to when discussing BG3 companions: not loving each and every single one of these little weirdos.

Obviously, Astarion's my favorite (gestures at, well, everything on my blog), but I love all of the companions SO much. They're each so unique, so flawed, so painfully relatable.

Now, a quick disclaimer: by all means, these aren't the only or even the best reasons to appreciate these characters, but they're some of my personal favorites!

Some reasons to love them...

Astarion, even against two centuries of torture and trauma, for breaking that cycle of abuse and learning to become his own man.

Gale, despite her reigns on his past, on his power, for going against his goddess's wishes and living on to rectify his mistakes, rather than dying for them.

Karlach, even after everything she's ever done, after finding no catharsis in the act of revenge, for keeping her head, her ax, and her hopes high.

Lae'zel, despite realizing that her entire reason for living is a lie, for fighting on to find new meaning and build a world she'd be proud to fight for.

Shadowheart, even after finding out that her very existence is a lie, for stumbling forth into a new world, one where her devotion is hers to share.

Wyll, despite his deep, undying love for his father, for learning that he needn't sacrifice everything for the ones he loves, he has those who love him in turn.

Halsin, who for all intents and purposes doesn't need to bother with all of this, for caring enough about people, about you, to do whatever he can to help.

Minthara, after being brainwashed, betrayed, destroyed, for ultimately rising from the ashes of herself to follow and support you in anything and everything.

Jaheira, who had all but given up on passing the torch, who after love and loss decided to go out fighting, for trusting you, a kindred spirit to let her rest.

Minsc, with not a single thought behind those eyes, for understanding friendship and loyalty so deeply, that he joins your crew faithfully on Jaheira's words.

It's been a long time since I loved every single one of my companions in a game like this (maybe DA2?), and I'm so weirdly grateful to them for helping me understand myself better.

Anyway, I just think they're all super neat, interesting characters. You definitely don't need to love them all, but I certainly think it's a blast!

#listen im a sap #and i have plenty of love to go around #(not all romantic love though sorry to the rest but astarion and karlach have my heart)#bg3 #Astarion #gale #karlach #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll #halsin #minthara #jaheira #minsc

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ghulehunknown · 6 months

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Papa Headcanons - 🐱👅

WARNING!! - NSFW

All the Papas love going down, but they each have their own style

Primo

Prefers to get you nice and worked up, so he’ll spend a painfully long time kissing and caressing you before actually going down on you (so when he does use his tongue it feels explosive)

Says “My, my aren’t we a wet little thing?” everytime, knowing FULL WELL he did that to you

Soft and slow, very gentle

Long, painted strokes along your entire area

Massages your breasts while flicking his tongue around your clit

Uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit to give his mouth a break but doesn’t stop until you’ve cum at least once or twice, preferably in his mouth

Secondo

Roughly fingers you while eating you out

Spreads your legs wide so he can eat every inch of you

Loves to eat you from behind so he can finger your ass too

Grabs onto your legs and hips so he can pull your body closer to him

Wants to take his time and edges you - so he’ll alternate by doing other forms of foreplay (sucking on your nipples or pinching them, making out, fingering you)

Praises you (“brava ragazza”) for being so patient as he takes his time torturing you (“You will be rewarded, tesorina”)

Wants to do all the work so he’ll scold you if you start to grind against him

Loves to see his Papal paints smeared all over your thighs

Massages your ass and tits while eating you out

Terzo

Would die happy drowned in pussy

Wears the smell of you like a badge of honor the whole day

Desperate to eat your arousal and drink you if you squirt

In fact it’s a little game he plays with himself, to see if he can make you squirt (he’s almost always successful)

Dying to get you off this way before he fucks you hard into the mattress

LOVES when you ride his face; he wants to be smothered and barely able to breathe

Also into 69ing - you on top or laying on your sides

Favorite cunnilingus position is you on your back with your legs spread and one hooked over his shoulder while he finger fucks you and sucks your clit

Massages your g-spot when he knows you’re close to cumming

Darts his tongue in and out of your hole a lot (“Amore, how could I waste a single drop of you?”)

Suctions/sucks on your clit a lot and alternates that, flicking his tongue, and using the flat part of his tongue

While each papa has their talents and are very good at doing down, Terzo is the Prince of Cunnilingus - a cunt connoisseur, if you will

Immediately wants to kiss you during (so you can see how aroused he’s made you) and after because sometimes he’s sweet like that

Usually wants to fuck right after you’ve cum (while you’re still breathing heavily)

Copia

Kisses every inch of you

Moans as soon as he has you in his mouth; he can cum just from eating you out (pathetic little rat man)

Can’t help it and will stroke himself while going down on you, unless you have him tied up (to punish him for being a dirty, needy man)

Loves being submissive to you while pleasuring you - either kneeling underneath you while you’re standing or sitting on the edge of the bed/couch, or tied up to the bedpost while you ride his face

Wants to be used like your sex toy

Would gladly spend all day down there as long as you’re getting off

Heard somewhere that spelling the alphabet with his tongue will get you off, so he does that and stops at whichever letter or motion gets the loudest response

He’s got a little bit of washing machine syndrome going on - very sloppy and all over the place at times

Finds a steady rhythm, position, and stroke and sticks to it because if it always works why change it

Listens to your breathing get heavier and stays consistent with his speed and motion when you grip his hair and tell him “don’t stop!”

Wants to cuddle you after and kiss you and feed you snacks (one time he hand fed you fruit snacks while he was down there)

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heerinnie · 3 months

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𝐌𝐯𝐧𝐜𝐡

𝐒.𝐉𝐘

SYNOPSIS: Jake is a munch. That’s it.

WARNING: Pure filth, no plot basically just porn, oral (f receiving), Jake finishes untouched, fem!reader, oral fixation.

WC:

^^ NSFW UNDER CUT, MINORS DNI (not proofread)

Read under cut

Jake is a mean menace. More than a menace actually, he’s an evil fuck because as soon as you two became official he would use any excuse to get you riled up enough to the point of suffocating him with your plush thighs chasing that sweet release. He's like a chaotic mastermind- or rather what you call him ‘Horny Megamind’.

He’s so pussy drunk he needs it every day, every morning and every night. When you're out at a party or even visiting his childhood home in Australia he will find time to nestle between your legs like a baby bird in its mother's nest. Your cunt is like alcohol to him.

Jake was such a pussy driven maniac that if he didn't get a taste of you he would become cranky and agitated. He described the feeling as if bugs were crawling under his skin and he was dying. The only solution was to treat him like your good, pretty boy and give him his reward to satisfy his craving.

As much as he loved teasing you, the moment you would tease him back he would become visibly annoyed and shocked. You could see him biting back any words or noises that threatened to escape from his mouth, as he poked inside his cheek with his tongue. On the other hand, for you, it really was entertaining to watch, especially when you were surrounded by your group of friends or worse, at a family dinner. The way he tried to stifle his annoyance and soften his growing bulge was both amusing for you and embarrassing for him, making you eager to know what he’s planned to do about it once you reach your shared apartment.

Things only got more interesting when you two talked about things that you’d want to try out in the bedroom. Your mind scattered to times your eyes caught Jake mid-munch rutting his very obvious and painfully hard boner against your bed frame trying to get himself the same release he’s giving you at the moment. Personally you found the thought of Jake being so in love with you that he could cum just by eating you out so attractive that you had to mention it to him, no friction no touch, just him thrusting his bare hips up trying to get attention to his pulsing dick, only to be met with the nothingness of air whilst pathetically grinding his nose into the clit above his face.

You made a promise to yourself that you would eventually convince him to try cumming without touch, and the thought of him doing so of his own free will fills you with joy. However, you know that once he sets his sights on something, he becomes obsessed with it like when he was so adamant on making you squirt. So for the time being you kept that fantasy to yourself, waiting for the perfect opportunity to present itself.

AN: okay I'm actually back now, I'm planning a long fic about doctor!hoon and just know you'll be sobbing at it ☺️ And this is just a filler for those who were waiting, also urmh2 is in the planning I'm out of ideas for the part 2 plot but I do know who i want in the LOVE TRIANGLE?! (ik you weren't expecting that were you 😍)

anyways thanks for reading mvnch <3

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xysidhequeen · 1 year

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The King and his Red Knight

DPxDC crossover fic

Part 1

Really sorry to everyone who suffered through the fact that I didn't know about the existence of readmore. I can't fix the thread now but the individual posts are better? Sorry I have like a very rough idea of how this site works 😭

Check the: The King and his Red Knight tag to find all the parts

"Go here, Danny. Go then, Danny. Go to a random cemetery in the middle of the night for no reason, Danny." A voice grumbled, accompanied by the sound of sneakers rhythmically tapping stone.

Danny Fenton, currently Phantom, sat on a gravestone, his white hair a beacon in the dark night. There were no stars in the sky for him to gaze upon, their light hidden behind swaths of smog and neon lights playing off the gray clouds.

Clockwork had dumped him here, with no explanation for why. Not that he ever really explained much when he sent Danny off on his tasks. He supposed he should be grateful, at least he was in the same when rather than being transported a thousand years into the past.

"Wait here King Phantom. You will understand in time." Danny mimicked his mentor's voice as he let himself float off the grave he'd been dumped on after Clockwork shoved him out of a portal. His body floated higher until he could flip around, his legs crossing. He sat upside down, his chin in his palm as he glared petulantly at the assembled gravestones surrounding him, his toxic green eyes glowing.

"So far all I've seen is a concerning amount of ecotplasm for a city without a ghost portal and some blob ghosts! How long am I supposed to wait here?" Danny asked the air, and the aforementioned blob ghosts who were hanging off his body, soaking in the ambient ecotoplasm he radiated at all times now.

Neither provided him with an answer to his question and Danny let out a frustrated groan as he lowered his still flipped body to look once more on the gravestone he'd been tasked with waiting on.

Jason Todd, the name read. The dates, too close together, made something in Danny squeeze painfully. He'd been young, barely older than Danny when he stepped into the portal. Only for this teenager there had been no ectoplasm to bind to his dying body and repair the damage of death and force him back into a semblance of life.

"Who were you and why did Clockwork send me to you?" Danny asked the gravestone, one clawed finger tracing the words before he pulled back with a sigh when the gravestone gave him no explanation. The dead didn't always speak, not even to their king.

Turning his body Danny looked over the rest of the cemetery. It was empty, as most usually were this time of night, of the living. There were a few shades wandering around, circling closer to him, drawn by his presence. No full ghosts though, but oddly enough there rarely were in cemeteries. This was where the dead came to rest. To remember, if they wanted to. Cemeteries were sacred spaces to the dead, much as a temple or a church would be for the living who were religious. Ghosts who still clung to life, to their obsessions, did not frequent cemeteries, did not dare trespass and disturb those who had already found their peace.

Danny himself was an oddity. He had never shied from cemeteries, enjoying the peace he found in them, the guarantee of safety offered. And perhaps, he mourned that he himself would never have a gravestone for the living to place their flowers and their tears at. Who would make a grave for someone who was both alive and dead? There would never be a body to bury for him. His human half would continue to live on so long as his ghost core remained and could fuel it.

Maybe that was why he found peace in cemeteries, for all his whining that Clockwork had dumped him here. Cemeteries were for the living and the dead, one of the only places both existed in harmony naturally. For someone who was as much dead as he was alive such a place held a certain degree of belonging for him.

Danny straightened out in the air, letting his body lie above the grave as he folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the covered sky. He complained and whined about this task, but he was secretly glad that Clockwork had given him something to do. Even if it was just 'hang out in a random cemetary'.

Ever since he'd graduated high-school, revealed himself to his parents and discovered how deep prejudice and hate could run, and he'd run away to the Infinite Realms for sanctuary while his friends moved forward with their lives, he'd felt unmoored. A ghost with no haunt. Bored was too light a word for the gaping emptiness he felt in his chest, for the loneliness clawing at him. Clockwork, Wulf, Pandora they could help chip at the ache inside of him but not banish it. Not now that his family, his friends, were spread so far apart and so distant from him.

Not that he resented their choices, their distance, in fact he'd fought for them to do just that, to get out of Amity Park, to go to college, to become more than overworked teen superheroes. Still he missed them, even if he could visit them whenever he wanted. It was becoming clear as time moved forward that the world they belonged to and the one he did were two different things.

Danny Fenton couldn't go to college when his parents had declared him dead. Danny Fenton didn't exist as far as the government was concerned. Danny Phantom couldn't return to Amity when those same parents were waiting to capture him and tear him apart 'molecule by molecule'. Danny Phantom couldn't go back when the GIW were crawling over the town like ants.

So neither Danny Fenton or Danny Phantom returned to Amity after that day. And he made sure they couldnt follow him when he ensured the portal that took his life to function never opened again. He didn't need the portal any longer to get in and out of the Infinite Realms, and it was safer for the ghosts, his subjects, if the temptation of the Fenton portal was gone.

The world of the living was not yet ready to accept that the dead didn't always stay dead. And Danny would keep his people safe until they were.

Danny jolted from his lazing state of reverie when a pulse of emotion rocked through him, the strength of it stealing his breath if he had any to take.

Fear/Trapped/Dark/Fear/Help/HELP pounded into him and Danny frantically flipped around, head swiveling, poisonous green eyes wide as he triedf to locate the source. The emotions, the plea for help, burned his core, his Obsession screamed at him.

Help/SomeonePlease/Dark/Trapped/CANTBREATHE/HELP another wave of messages, of emotions pushed themselves at Danny and this time underneath the onslaught he could hear a rhythmic thudding. Danny looked down, horror filling him when he realized the thudding was coming from under the ground. From the grave he'd been hovering over for an hour now.

Danny flew down, sending back a wave of I'mHere/HelpIsComing/I'mComing to the boy trapped in his own coffin, feeling the intense wave of relief and hope sent back before he dived into the earth as if it wasn't there. Danny paused for a moment when he passed the thick wooden coffin, seeing a boy in the dark with wide, panicked blue eyes and fingers tipped with shredded nails and fresh blood.

"Hey, I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" Danny told the boy, keeping his voice gentle, soft. The boy jolted, fixating on the only source of light, Danny's growing green eyes. Danny hoped his smile came off as calming instead of 'freaky AF' as Tucker liked to call it. He grabbed the boy, Jason, as carefully as he could and then let his intangibility wash over the terrified teen as he lifted them both out of the coffin.

When they emerged from the coffin and the ground Danny set the teen down, leaning him against the gravestone, his own gravestone, and pulled back a bit. The boy was gasping in air as if the fetid, polluted air was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

Danny tilted his head as he watched the boy ground himself. Now that the emotions were leveling out and his Obsession was purring in contentment rather than growling in a frenzy, Danny could feel something off about the boy.

Disregarding the fact that he'd just come back from the dead, of course. But that wasn't the oddest thing Danny had seen in his afterlife. No the boy felt... not like a normal, living human. Not even like an Amity Park resident, who all felt more than slightly liminal. No this boy, this Jason Todd, felt closer to liminal than even Jazz, Tucker or Sam, who were three of the most liminal humans Danny had ever been around.

Jason felt almost...like a ghost. But not. Danny could feel the tickle in his throat that proceeded his ghost sense but the tell-tale mist never emerged. It was as if Jason was...like him. But Danny couldn't sense a core either. Even halfas had cores.

"Who are you?" Jason spoke, breaking Danny from his thoughts and examination. Jason was looking at him with a mix of gratitude and suspicion. Which, fair. Danny had just pulled him from his own coffin and there were so many questions that could stem from all of this, disregarding all the weirdness that was just Danny himself.

"I'm Danny, Danny Phantom. Or just Phantom. I go by either. And you're Jason, right?" Danny asked, smiling at the teen and oops, yeah that was definitely his scary smile based on the slight flinch there. It wasn't his fault his teeth were too sharp now and his lips split a bit too wide.

"How did you know that?" Jason asked, blue eyes narrowing. Danny nodded at the gravestone the boy was leaning against with a raised brow. Jason turned and almost toppled over from the movement. Danny frowned as the boy caught himself on his gravestone. His skin was still pale, too pale, and as Danny watched Jason swayed again.

"Shit. You're fading. You didn't form a core and your body isn't stabilizing." Danny cursed, moving towards the boy who scrambled back, only to be stopped by his grave.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jason asked, hands fisting as he tried to rise only to fall back to the ground when his legs refused to hold his weight.

"Saving your life. The dead aren't supposed to come back. There's always a price to pay, a balance that is struck. Currently, as you are, if I don't get enough ectoplasm in you to form your core, you'll fade and turn into a brain-dead husk." Danny told Jason, tone stern and no nonsense as he grabbed him. Jason made an effort to break free, but it was weak, and even at full strength, he wouldn’t have been able to break Danny's hold. Few in this realm could.

If they had the time, Danny would've approached this situation in a far different manner, but this close he could hear Jason's heartbeat, a weak flutter in his chest, skipping beats as it tried to fuel a body that was past saving. Jason didn't have the time for Danny to approach this gently and kindly, to coax trust out of the teen like he would a feral cat.

Jason had minutes left before his ectoplasm starved body consumed itself trying to make a core and failed because while wherever they were had more ambient ectoplasm than most places, it was far from enough to sustain the birth of a halfa. Maybe if Jason had stayed dead for another year, he'd have naturally formed a core and risen as a proper ghost. But that wasn't what happened, somehow he'd gathered enough to fix his body of whatever wounds or illness had put him in that coffin to begin with and come back to 'life' but without a core to sustain his body he'd be dead, again, in minutes. And Danny was not about to watch while a teenager, another teenager, died.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Jason hissed as Danny pushed his arms down and laid his clawed hands on Jason's chest.

"You don't. But you don't have another choice." Danny said with a shrug. "Now are you going to let me save your life or not?" Danny asked, not moving his hands. He'd save Jason either way but this would be easier if Jason worked with him.

"Fine." Jason spat and Danny smirked as his hands began to glow a toxic green that matched his eyes.

Ectoplasm pooled out of his hands and rushed into Jason, filling him until the boy glowed bright enough to rival the neon lights of the city around them. The green light flared around him like an aura, slowly shrinking but getting impossibly brighter as the glow centralized around his chest until a small glowing ball of green, like a trapped star, blazed from his chest.

Jason gasped, back arching as Danny pulled his hands away and the light vanished under Jason's skin. For a moment Jason's blue eyes burned green and his hair flashed snow white before returning to black, with one single lock of unearthly white left above his forehead. Jason collapsed back against his grave, chest heaving. Danny watched, eyes full of a sad understanding.

"What the fuck was that?" Jason panted out.

"Welcome to the world of the half alive, half dead." Danny said with a smile. "Want to get a burger and talk about it?" He asked, standing up and dusting off his hands.

"Make it a chili dog and you've got a deal."

~~~~~

Fixed some typos added some lines

Maybe I'll continue this AU. Maybe not. This scene was in my head for days and I wanted to share

#dc x dp #Clockwork:And the new Fright Knight is born #Danny said im going to adopt kids from cemetaries now its my thing #Clockwork thought Danny needed more friends so he located the teenager closest to Dannys age and most compatible to being a halfa #Dani: Does this make him my brother or an uncle or what?#Bruce isnt getting this one back #not for awhile anyways #Danny has to teach Jason the ways of the halfa #He gets Jason ghost guns and Jason is very content with that #also with all the fighting he gets to do because thats like how ghosts say hello #Jason also takes one look at Fright Knight's sword and says: I want that gimme #Fright Knight and Skulker take to Jason very quickly and enjoy training him #Jason and Skulker shootouts range half the ghost zone and Danny is just amused #Eventually Jason asks Danny if he wants to help him prank his family and Danny is 100% on board #the red hood arrives back in Gotham with 100% less heads in a dufflebag but 1000% more chaos #Jason and Danny legit haunt the mannor for a few months and convince everyone BUT Alfred theyre conventional ghosts #Danny also adopts Tim during this time because Bruce obviously cant take care of this neglected child and Danny said bet this is mine now #danny phantom #jason todd #batfam #dp x dc #danny phantom au #phantom au #danny phantom fic #The King and his Red Knight #The King and his Red Knight AU #TKAHRK AU #Red Knight AU

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ennas-aesthetic · 6 months

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What the fuck is Jesus up to in Good Omens season 3?

This is a question I've been thinking long and hard these past couple of days and I have some THOUGHTS SO. Buckle up.

Aziraphale and Crowley watching the Crucifixion (Good Omens, 2019)

First off. The answer to the question posited is relatively simple. What is Jesus up to in GO3? With s2's ending in mind and with the hints we've gotten for 668: Neighbor of the Beast over the years, we know he's descending to Earth to initiate the Second Coming. And that Aziraphale would probably make that happen - or do everything that he can as Supreme Archangel to sabotage it.

But I wanted to examine on how Jesus might fit into Good Omens' overall narratives and established themes - about morality and humanism and free will, and. I'm just saying, there are A LOT of fascinating routes they could do for his character.

(Disclaimer as usual: this is a theory that I obsessed over when I was stuck at the cemetery during All Souls' Day and must be treated as such. In no way am I insisting this should be how canon events must happen. I am just doing this for the funsies.)

The THING about Jesus if you situate him in the world of Good Omens (with the assumption that most of the pop culture Christology mythos associated with him remain intact) is that in this context he very quickly becomes: 1. Adam Young's narrative foil; and 2. an Aziraphale parallel.

Now, the first one is obvious. Of COURSE he is Adam Young's foil, duh. Adam isn't called the ANTICHRIST for nothing. Brought into the world just for the sole purpose of ending it. However, when the time comes for him to fulfill the Will of his Satanic Father, Adam flat out REFUSES.

Both the book and the show attribute this to Adam's human upbringing. He was raised as a human, and because of that he has the trait that the book uses to DEFINE human beings: free will. At the end, Adam had the AGENCY to reject the destiny planned out for him.

'Adam stood smiling at the two of them, a small figure perfectly poised exactly between Heaven and Hell.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm. "You know what happened?" he hissed excitedly. "He was left alone! He grew up human! He's not Evil Incarnate or Good Incarnate, he's just… a human incarnate—"'

- (Good Omens, 1990)

That is NOT what happened to Jesus.

Adam Bond as Jesus in Good Omens (2019)

Like Adam, he was raised as a human -- being a human incarnate was his WHOLE DEAL in Christology. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us... yada yada yada.

UNLIKE, Adam, though, Jesus wasn't able to REJECT his Destiny of Dying Really Horribly and Painfully on the Cross. Narratives in the Bible also made it clear that the Crucifixion was NOT his Will, but that of God's. Like... him begging to be spared from torment but ultimately following God's Will is such an important event entire devotional practices are made out of it.

"39 And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt."

- (Matthew 26: 39, KJV)

We get a glimpse of that in s1ep3 of Good Omens, too:

"JESUS

(muttering through the pain)

Father, please . . . you have to forgive them . . . they don’t know what they are doing . . .

Crowley, in black, comes up next to Aziraphale.

CROWLEY

You’ve come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?

AZIRAPHALE

Smirk? Me?

CROWLEY

Well, your lot put him on there.

AZIRAPHALE

I am not consulted on policy decisions, Crawley."

- (The Quite Nice and Fairly Accurate Good Omens Script Book, 2018)

SO. Here we have the character of the Christ whose free will and agency had been STRIPPED from him in the guise of a "noble sacrifice." He comes back again on this Earth to fulfill another "inescapable destiny."

Aziraphale and Crowley need to stop him. The solution the Good Omens narrative offers to "inescapable destinies and systems" (both in s1 and s2) is for the character to realize they have the freedom to choose their own fates. It happened with Adam, and it happened with Gabriel, and perhaps it will happen to Jesus.

(At this point my sister frowned and said: "Are you telling me you think Aziraphale and Crowley are going to help Jesus realize he has agency and that him Dying on the Cross for the 'Great Plan' was kinda fucked up actually?" which sounds crazy when you put it like that BUT NEVER SAY NEVER BABIE.)

Because that brings me to my second point: if this all happens, Jesus becomes an AZIRAPHALE parallel.

In the same way Anathema is an Aziraphale parallel and Sergeant Shadwell is an Aziraphale parallel. Here is a character stuck in a suffocating status quo. To save the world, he needs to know he can escape that status quo and decide for himself. In the same way Anathema has to learn how to stop being a descendant or Shadwell to stop being a Witchfinder, or Gabriel to stop being an Archangel, and Adam to stop being an Antichrist, perhaps Jesus has to learn he can stop being... Well, the Christ, as well.

And this, of course, supplements Aziraphale's journey of letting go of the idea of being an idealized vessel of God, so he could finally enjoy the freedom of personhood and choice on Earth, with Crowley.

Or they could turn Jesus into a cackling villain who Aziraphale and Crowley need to kill in season 3, and I'd probably eat that up, too.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #this was such an insane meta post to make but i had to do it #putting my religious trauma to good use iktr #enna rambles

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buoyant-breeze · 1 year

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I think u were sent by the heavens BECAUSE THE HICKEYS/NECK KISSES ONE WAS TOP TIER?? (mwah 😩👌) I WAS PRACTICALLY DYING WHILE READING THEM, CAN U PLEASE DO KAZUHA AND SCARAMOUCHE I WOULD LITTERALLY BUILD A SHRINE FOR YOU 🧎🧎

part one (albedo, thoma, xiao)

authors note ⊱ sorry this took me so long ive had this in my drafts for months (crying)

characters ⊱ kazuha, scaramouche

warnings ⊱ completely safe! enjoy!

rating ⊱ themes of smut, mdni / view discretion advised

kazuha

he thinks neck kisses are sweet, romantic, intimate; all three being things he enjoys. and it also leaves him a little heated, itching with desire

the moment your mouth is over his throat he’s letting out an airy giggle, finding your lips ticklish. he always eagerly tilts his chin up, offering his neck over like it’s nothing, even though it truly isn’t; it’s a very vulnerable place, but perhaps that is why he gives it so easily

but it isn’t long before he gets a little noisy, breathy sighs turning into soft “ah”s, shivering with every wet noise, shaking with every suck

he sometimes bites his lip, but his entire face will always flush a rosy red

and this is certainly one way to get him riled up, but he isn’t really much of a pillow princess unless you order him to be

the moment you start displaying actions like this, he’s seeking you out, too, eager for more, wanting to touch

he’ll brush hair behind your face, cradle your head as you sink your teeth and he gasps, or whine as you press a leg between his thighs

but the best part is when he can find an opening to do the same, bringing one of your arms to his mouth, kissing sensually at your wrist, turning the tables until it’s your throat against his lips

he loves, loves, loves being marked, and is not embarrassed about them

he will be a little shy and blush, but he’s not ashamed of them at all. if anything, he looks a little pleased someone noticed, given he’s pretty proud of you and your relationship with him

scaramouche

the thing about scaramouche + neck kisses is that usually it = biting

and he’s the one biting you most of the time, if you allow it

don’t get it all wrong; it can just as easily be affectionate as it can be erotic. he has a habit of nipping idly at your fingertips and then sucking them, staring up at you through strands of soft hair and pretty lashes, eyes sometimes set into a piercing glare

it’s almost like a ‘stimming’ action: he wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder just to feel it, or to bite up the length of your throat just to fixate on the suction of your skin in his mouth or the marks that he can taste along his tongue; memorizing how it feels, almost desperate

neck kisses on their own, towards him, though: well, he wants to be bitten back

you have to be rough with him. this isn’t some pretty little fairytale where you can make him melt with just an affectionate peck to the throat. no, no. it has to be sensual. you have to work for it.

if you want to leave him gasping and shuddering into you, grasping for you with his fingernails, leaving scratches along your arms, then you have to kiss and suck and bite like he’s your last meal, like you’re trying to seduce him, or else all you’re getting is a blank face and a shrug; he doesn’t respond otherwise

he’s not the type that just will get kissed and then, boom, you have him melting over your lap.

it needs a little more: he needs the depth of the interaction, he needs teeth and he needs tongue, he needs you to suck his skin like you mean it, like you’re trying to eat him alive, in a way that is nearly romantic, and painfully intimate, but in a way that hurts (which is what he wants)

talk dirty to him, rough by his ear, and it adds onto it

mouth at his collarbone with the intensity of someone eating him out, and he’s shaking; dig into his throat, and he’s rocking his hips into yours with a grunted growl between his teeth

and if you’re not leaving hickeys, what’s the point? he wants you to go all in or don’t go for it at all

no one really notices when he has any, since he wears sleeveless turtlenecks, which covers the general hotspots; if anyone did notice, though, he gets unexpectedly angry and grumpy and embarrassed, all at once

#kazuha x reader #kazuha smut #wisteria fragrance #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #kazuha fluff #scaramouche fluff #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x gn reader #scaramouche x gn reader #kazuha x gn reader #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x gn reader #kunikuzushi smut #kunikuzushi fluff

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psychedelic-ink · 4 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ⸻ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

⌜HOW MR. MILLER STOLE CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST⌟

genre: christmas, enemies to lovers, romance, fake dating, minors dni

word count: 0.6k

chapter summary: the fireflies are dying one by one and you're desperately seeking a way out.

warnings: age gap, canon typical violence, spoilers for the season one finale

**dividers by @saradika

You smell blood. Feel it almost. The heat, the stickiness of it. Despite the clean walls and the sterile smell you know something is wrong. Something is very wrong—the fireflies are dying. One by one. Their light snuffed out, left to rot.

You knew this would happen. After all of what you’ve done, what Marlene has done. It was wrong, and karma always hungers after those who wronged her—Killing a little girl to save the world. . . hiding it from her. . . It was the trolley problem come to life. You never could answer that question, never could decide what was deemed right and wrong in that situation. Now, it seemed like all of you had chosen wrong. And you were being punished for it. The Angel of Death sought to claim you all.

At least it’s better than getting infected. At least the bullet would be shot right between your eyebrows and you’ll be dead before you can blink.

Your finger presses stubbornly against the trigger as you move. You still have the boldness of youth. Maybe you can escape. Maybe you can be free. You wanted out a long time ago, just scared to be out there all on your own.

Your lips press tightly together upon seeing a body, you don’t know his name, don’t dwell on it as you jump over his corpse and head for the exit. You hear gunshots. Screams. Shouts. You smell blood—such a persistent smell—You smell fear. Death is coming for you. Your footsteps gain momentum, you feel his breath on the back of your neck and the nuzzle cold against your forehead.

Then you see him. Just as you’re turning the corner, heart beating in your throat and sweat beading out of every pore, you see him—the angel of death.

And fuck—you know you shouldn’t think it, but the mass killer is beautiful.

Without even thinking you drop your gun and raise your hands. The best way to survive is to expose your neck to the beast. Showing you mean no harm. You don’t kick a raging lion.

He doesn’t seem to see it though. His eyes stare right past you. He barely blinks, blood of the fireflies coating his already dirty shirt. He cocks the gun and you know he’s ready to shoot, your eyes go wide. You don’t want to die. Not yet. Not without finding any semblance of peace or belonging.

“Please don’t,” you blurt out. His eyes seem to focus then, dark soulless gaze flitting across your face, noticing your raised hands. “I just want to leave. She’s on the top floor, at the end of the hall—Please don’t shoot.”

He observes you a beat longer. From the way his muscles tense you think he’s about to shoot, why wouldn’t he? What made you different from all the rest?

You close your eyes, chest rising painfully. There’s a loud hum in your ear. Maybe it’s the rush of blood? You think about your life, of all the death surrounding you. All you remember is the outbreak. Every memory tainted with curling cordyceps ever since you were six. You remember your mother holding you by the hand and yanking your arm so hard you thought it would be ripped off the socket. Your father trying to protect you both, leading the way—You remembered the day Marlene found you, time spent with the fireflies, the excitement when the immune girl was found. . .

The train of thought would end with a measly bullet.

A bullet that never came. A gun that never fired.

When you open your eyes he was gone.

You have no idea what it was—maybe it was the fact that you were significantly younger than the other soldiers, maybe it was because you were already out through the door when he pointed a gun at you— no matter what it was you were miraculously spared from the bloodshed.

The angel of death has spared you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller series #hbo the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year

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Sunday Scaries

(Pre!outbreak Joel Miller x female reader)

A/N: this is for my darling, @loquaciousferret as she deals with her ‘Sunday Scaries’ after a fun weekend out (;

Summary: after a long night out with your girlfriends, you’re suffering through the worst hangover of your life. Your boyfriend Joel is there by your side taking care of you all day long.

~word count: 2.7k~

Warnings: mentions of drinking, established relationship, soft! Joel, he’s so sweet your teeth are going to rot out! Joel, comforting themes, caring for you while you’re hungover, light teasing, praise kink, nicknames, very very light smut, whole lot of fluff! It’s so stinkin cute. (+18) minors dni !

You weren’t sure what time it was exactly when you sent your boyfriend Joel a text message with zero context. You knew by now that he wasn’t the best at reading between the lines. Your text to him was one word: dying. You must have not even realized you had hit send before your head flopped back down on the pillow. You were out late last night with your girlfriends out drinking. You had a few too many vodka-crans, and by the time you had gotten home, you were too drunk, and too tired to even bother taking your little skimpy dress off.

You were rudely awoken by someone banging heavily on your apartment door the following morning. Unbeknownst to you, behind the door was your incredibly concerned boyfriend. When Joel woke up to your text, he didn’t waste any time with quickly getting dressed and snatching his keys to his truck and driving to your apartment. He was definitely driving way over the speed limit but did he care? Not one fucking bit.

You let out a groan as you pulled your pillow over your head to block out the incessant banging. When it didn’t cease, you wrapped yourself up in your thick quilt and forced yourself out from under the covers. You nearly tripped over your discarded strappy heels from the night before as you trudged out of your room. You looked, and felt like the living dead.

After reaching your apartment door, you unlocked it with a grumble and you stepped back slightly as it swung open, revealing your worried out of his fucking mind boyfriend.

“Jesus fuck, Joel. What are you doing here?” Your voice was raw from all the singing you had done with your friends as you rubbed your temples with the pads of your fingers. Your brain was pounding painfully in your skull.

Joel had let out a visible sigh of relief when he saw that you were very much alive in front of him. “What am I doin’ here? Baby, you texted me at like the crack ass of fuckin’ dawn, sayin’ you were dyin’! I raced over here as fast as I fuckin’ could. Thought somethin’ terrible had happened..”

“Oh fuck. I’m so sorry baby I don’t even remember sending you that message honestly. I’m sorry. I was super fucking drunk when I got home last night and I must have sent it around that time. I’m okay, Joel. Just suffering through the worst hangover of my life is all.”

Joel took in your full appearance then. He saw the makeup streaks under your eyes and the smeared left over lipstick. Your hair looked like an absolute rat's nest. Despite looking like hell, you were still the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

“Oh, honey..it’s okay. You don’t gotta apologize, okay? I just wanted to make sure that you were alright..did the vodka crans get to ya again?” he teasingly asked as he leaned against the doorjamb of your apartment door.

“Shuddup Joel. My head is pounding and I really wanna just curl up and fucking die in a hole somewhere..” you grumbled as you turned on your heel and started to head over to the couch. You wasted no time to plop down, face first, with your head buried in one of the pillows.

Joel let out a soft sigh as he watched you plop down onto the couch. He stepped inside your cozy little apartment, closing the door behind him softly as he hung his coat up alongside yours. “I’m sorry you’re havin’ a rough time right now baby. Hangovers can be real fuckin’ nasty.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. I’m regretting all of my decisions right now.” You grumbled into the pillow

You could hear his footsteps approaching where you laid on the couch as he slowly sank down along the corner of the cushion. He gently placed his hand along the small of your back, through the thick quilt that was wrapped around you. “I’m gonna take care of ya, okay? Will you let me do that my sweet girl?” He spoke softly.

“That sounds wonderful. I’d love it if you did.” You turned your cheek to the side so you could see his face before you slowly sat up and brought your arms around him, hugging him tightly with your cheek pressed against his warm chest.

“Let’s get your makeup off first, yeah? You don’t wanna go walkin’ around with raccoon eyes baby.” He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you as he held you close and kissed the top of your head.

“Don’t make me punch you in the fucking balls right now cowboy.” You warned him.

“Shhh. Don’t go sayin’ stuff like that okay honey? Where are your makeup wipes, my love? Bathroom..under the sink yeah?”

“Mhmm..”

“Alright, sugar. You sit tight, okay? Gonna go grab them. You still in your clothes from last night?”

“I was too drunk to take them off. I don’t even know how I got my heels off either. They were an absolute bitch to take off.”

He chuckled softly as he gently rubbed soothing circles against your lower back before he reluctantly released you from his grasp. “M’proud that you made it home in one piece and took them off by yourself. Good job baby.”

You let out a huff when he was no longer holding you and you kinda just flopped back down against the side of the couch like a dead fish.

“Gonna take your makeup off, and run you a nice hot bath. Kay? Then we’re gonna get you out of those clothes and into something much more comfortable.” He gently patted your exposed knee from under the blanket before he walked over to your bathroom.

He easily found your makeup wipes from the cabinet under the sink. He returned to you minutes later, setting the bag of makeup wipes on the coffee table before he was gently grasping your thighs in his warm hands and coaxing you to sit up. “You gotta work with me a ‘lil here. Okay honey? Would it be more comfortable if you sat in my lap?”

“How the fuck did I get so lucky?” You mumbled as you sat up, scooting over so you were close enough to wrap your legs around his waist. Your arms draped around his back, interlocking your hands together as you held yourself against him.

“Mmm. Shouldn’t that be the other way around sugar? I’m the lucky one here. Wouldn't want to spend my Sunday any other way than here, takin’ care of ya.” He said with a small grin creeping onto his lips as he looked at you lovingly, with those big brown puppy dog eyes that you loved so tenderly.

You watched as he pulled out a couple makeup wipes, and he grasped your face in one hand, gently holding you still as he began to wipe away at leftover residue of your makeup along your skin. “You’re such a fucking sap, Miller. I love you.”

“Ditto, honey. Now close those pretty eyes for me, okay sugar? I don’t wanna get this stuff in ‘em. That would really fuckin’ hurt.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at his request because he was just too damn adorable right now. Your lashes fluttered shut as he gently wiped away what was left of your eyeshadow. His tongue was poking out between his lips slightly as he was extremely focused on the task at hand.

Once he finished getting most of your makeup off, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. Nibbling on it lightly as he elicited a sweet giggle to slip past your lips. “Does that feel a little better baby? Man, that stuff is a pain to get off huh? Let’s go run that bath for you now sweet girl.”

He was gently scooping you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom while you clung to his strong, broad frame like a koala.

He set you down on the edge of the toilet seat and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before he started the water for your bath. He checked the temperature periodically to make sure that it wasn’t too hot for you.

You watched him with complete adoration in your eyes. Joel Miller was what any girl would want in a boyfriend. God, you were so lucky that he was yours.

“Can feel ya starin’ at me.” He looked over his shoulder at you and shot you a playful wink. “Enjoyin’ the view darlin’?”

“Absolutely. I love seeing my man bent over my tub like that.” You giggled.

“You’re adorable.” He mused as he straightened his back and walked back over to where you were sitting. He gently unwrapped your thick quilt from around your body. “Gonna get you out of the dress okay? It’s so pretty..but I can imagine it was uncomfortable to sleep in all night.”

“I couldn’t get the damn zipper down, Joel. I tried multiple times and it wouldn’t fucking budge.”

“I know honey. It’s okay, I’m here now, pretty girl.” He spoke as he gently coaxed you to your feet. He reached around you, grasping the zipper between his fingers before he slowly dragged the metal down, as the material pooled at your ankles, along with your panties. He had you step out from it before he bent down and picked it up, hanging the dress along the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

“Will you hold me in the tub please?” You asked him softly.

“Of course honey..I was gonna be a gentleman and ask. I didn’t wanna go and assume y’know?”

“Are you trying to make me fall in love with you more than I already have? Cause if that’s the case..it’s totally working.” You watched as he effortlessly pulled his shirt over his head.

“Gasp. You really think I’d do such a thing like that?” He chuckled.

“Don’t lie Miller. You absolutely would do something like that baby.”

“Yeahh, alright. You got me there darlin’”

He scooped you up once more as he carried you to the tub and gently set you down into the soothing water. He discarded the rest of his clothing in a pile before he climbed in behind you. He gently wrapped his arms around you as he brought your back against his chest so you were comfortably laying between his strong thighs. “This alright for you baby?”

“This is perfect.” You let out a content sigh as you rested your head against his chest and placed your hands over his under the water, where they rested comfortably along your stomach.

“M’happy to hear that my sweet girl.” He spoke softly as he rested his chin along your shoulder. “You want me to wash your hair for you as well or just hold you?”

“Oh, please. That would be wonderful, thank you.”

He hummed in response as he reached around you and grabbed your favorite bottle of shampoo. Shortly after, you could feel his fingers working the suds into your hair. He was giving you a full on scalp massage as your eyes fluttered shut.

He had continued to softly hum as he gently scraped his nails against your scalp. He loved these little moments of intimacy that he got to share with you.

Once your hair was washed, he gently tipped your head back into the water before he washed the shampoo suds out of your hair.

You were in a state of complete bliss with your boyfriend taking care of you like this. It was wonderful to have him here with you. Your head still pounded painfully but it was nothing a little aspirin couldn’t fix. “Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah baby? What’s up?”

“Never let me go out drinking like that again.”

“Baby..you said the same thing last weekend..” he chuckled.

You muttered something incoherent under your breath as you turned around between his legs to look up at him. “Shhh. I know what I said last weekend but I’m serious. Don’t let me do that again because I feel like dog shit.”

He was gently grasping your chin between his fingers, brushing the pad of his thumb across your plush lower lip. “M’sorry you’re still feelin’ like shit baby. You and I both know your girlfriends are gonna be textin’ you next weekend and askin’ you to go out. Maybe just don’t drink as many vodka crans next time?”

“Hmm..next time I’ll bring you out with me. You can be my moral support..” you said with a grin, leaning in for a kiss.

“Ohh I’d love that. I’ll make sure you’re being good. Still want you to have fun though..Kay sugar?” He removed the pad of his thumb from your lips and replaced it with a kiss.

His kiss was sweet, warm, and comforting.

“If your head is still hurtin’ real bad..I think I might have a solution for you baby. Only if you’re interested..”

“What did you have in mind, baby?” You mumbled against his lips, kissing him languidly.

“Considerin’ I’m a real gentleman and don’t wanna see my girl in any pain at all, I can ease your mind off of it..”

You breathed a soft sigh against his lips as you relaxed against his warm chest. “You wanna get my head spinning in a different way?..”

“Yeah. I’d love to if you’d let me.” He breathed out as he gently cupped your cheek in his warm palm, stroking his thumb against your cheekbone comfortingly.

“Yes please.” You whispered

“Sit back between my thighs, baby. Get nice and comfortable, okay? Gonna take care of you..” he whispered as he broke away from the kiss.

You slowly turned back around so you were resting against his chest once more. You could feel his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he pressed a soft kiss to your pulse point.

Your eyes slowly fluttered shut as you felt the pad of his fingertips dip down between the valley of your breasts and over your navel. Your thighs instinctively fell open as his fingers brushed over your clit, eliciting a soft sigh to slip past your lips.

His fingers began to move in gentle circles against your clit as he continued to press soft kisses along your neck.

He didn’t apply nearly as much pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he usually would. His movements were gentle, tender as he coaxed you into a soothing orgasm with just his fingers alone. “Shh..that’s it. That’s my good girl. I’ve got you baby, it's okay. You’re such a good girl for me.” He whispered against your skin as your hips bucked up against his hand as you chased your impending orgasm.

“Joellll.” You let out a sweet, soft moan as your eyes rolled back into your skull.

“I know baby..I know. Feels good doesn’t it? I love playing with your pretty little pussy like this..always know how to get her purring for me..”

“You’re the devil..” you breathed out as he continued to gently ruin you with his fingers. Once the sensation became too much and your thighs were trembling, you grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers together as you came down from your high. Your mind was all fuzzy and didn’t hurt nearly as much now.

“Too much?” He let out a soft chuckle seeing that you were spent in his arms.

“Just a little..but I loved it. Thank you baby.”

“Anything for my girl.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Once the water was no longer comfortable, and yours and Joel’s skin was pruning up, he gently helped you out of the tub and wrapped a nice fluffy towel around your body.

He had some comfy sweats and a hoodie waiting for you as he helped you get dressed and carried you back to the couch. He let you sit between his thighs once more while you used him as your own personal pillow. You napped together for the rest of the afternoon. He made sure you drank water every now and then and when you were feeling a little better, he even made you some soup.

Joel Miller made your hangover, and the Sunday Scaries, not so scary anymore. Despite this, you still called off work the next morning, and your boyfriend happily spent the night at your place with you between his arms.

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