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thaleleah · 3 months

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𝓗𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Academy!Reader

Warnings: Dub-Con, Seduction/Manipulation, Oral (female and male receiving), Handjob, Food Play (feeding each other/licking stuff off bodies, but its more of a seduction tactic), Finger Sucking, Ruined Orgasm, Slight Overstimulation, Slight Dacryphilia Kink, Reader is spoiled and delulu, Sub!Coriolanus

**Based off this irl porn post (takes you to Twitter/X).

Word Count: 10K

A/N: Literally just started the book today so Coriolanus is probs wayyyy out of character but . . . just go with it lol. I wanted him to be ✨subby✨

Summary: When you find out that the great Coriolanus Snow is not as financially well off as he makes himself out to be, you can't help but take advantage of his vulnerability.

Hunger is a weapon - every Capitol citizen knows this.

It’s the most useful piece of knowledge used when carving down an enemy. The people in the districts need to be taught fear, obedience for their devastating betrayal to the Capitol. If they thought they knew oppression before the First Rebellion . . . well, they just didn’t know how good they had it.

Things are back as they should be now. The Capitol stands at the top of the hierarchy, the districts fumbling below in their failure as they suffer their punishments and try to make amends in order to have the favor of those in charge.

Your family was lucky, surviving the war with minimal losses and maintaining your excessive wealth in the process. It’s a life of luxury for you - one of comfort and ease. You want for nothing, desire for nothing that you can’t have in a split second with a snap of your fingers or a hopeful, doe-eyed pout at your father.

Nothing, except one thing.

Him.

Coriolanus Snow.

He walks with such confidence, lean body moving gracefully and an air of arrogant smugness following him around as he vies for the Plinth Prize. He’s smart, very smart - top of the class at the Academy, and you can’t help but admit that you find his intelligence extremely attractive.

He’s beautiful, angelic blond curls always strategically fluffed, the perfect contrast to the Academy’s rouge uniforms. And sometimes, when he’s leaning down to scribble in his notebook during class, a few rogue curls will fall across his forehead and into those eyes - those eyes that sparkle despite his constant controlled and put together facade. You want those eyes on you. Want them to see you, follow you around as you walk the halls of the Academy, never leaving your visage as you sit prettily in class, back straight and legs crossed under your desk - your posture a solid reminder of your high stature within society.

You want them wet with tears, pupils blown wide as he stares up at you while you ride him, hard and fast as his mouth begs for mercy despite his pretty blue eyes begging for more.

You’re a prize, he’d be lucky to have you - and yet, whenever he looks your way, it’s with disdain.

You’re a fucking goddess, beauty unmatched. He should be falling at your feet just to get a second of your time. But no, instead he ignores you, never once looking your way other than when studiously listening to your response to a question asked during class before those blue eyes make their way back to the professor. They never linger, never once. And that realization makes your blood boil.

He’s smart, but you’re smart too - spite and bitterness reenergizing your academic drive. He wants the Plinth Prize and you want him. So you do the only thing that you can think of that will ensure his focus lands on you no matter what.

You go for the Plinth Prize too.

You’re on his ass in academics - every test and every project leading you closer and closer to over taking him for the win. His eyes can’t leave you now, always following you, narrowed and hateful as you smile smugly back at him. Sometimes you think you can see fear in them, like he can physically feel your sharp, manicured nails digging into the vulnerable balloon of his dreams and can hear the shallow hiss of escaping air through the punctures.

You hope he can feel your metaphorical breath on the back of his neck.

The mid semester review comes around and classes are canceled for the rest of the day as professors meet with their students to go over their academic standings. You walk into the building just minutes before your scheduled meeting time, bag slung over your shoulder and a dried fruit bar in your hand as you climb the stairs towards Professor Rosebloom’s office. Normally, you would be at least 15 minutes early, punctuality and proper time management drilled into you from a young age. However, Professor Rosebloom likes her schedules, the exact measurements of time, and plans out each class and meeting down to the minute. It’s useless to assume there’s any wiggle room for early arrivals or dismissals. It’s not beneficial - not when the door to her office won’t open again until the very moment it hits your scheduled appointment time. So you take your time climbing the stairs, taking a bite of your snack bar when you see him.

He’s leaning against one of the pillars in the middle of the hall, back pressed against the rounded edge as he bites into a cookie. He looks stressed, body rigid as he chews, the back of his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth after each bite. You smirk, eyes narrowed in glee as you stalk towards him like a predator sneaking up on her prey. His mind is elsewhere, completely unaware of you coming up next to him until his gaze falls to your shadow overtaking his own along the glossy floor.

He has only a second for his brain to register your presence before you speak, a smooth and sweet, “Coriolanus,” that nevertheless has him jumping in his spot against the pillar.

You watch as he fumbles the cookie in his hand, the half eaten treat falling to the ground, breaking into smaller pieces under the impact. His face is rather comical as he stares down at the ruined cookie, eyes wide and mouth agape, and you swear you see his hand twitch just the slightest bit as if he was going to pick it up off the dirty floor before he takes a deep breath and those piercing blue eyes cut to you.

“What?” He asks, voice sharp.

“Aw, sorry to make you drop your snack,” You say, feigning sympathy. “It looked yummy,”

His eyes fall shut for a moment, long eyelashes creating shadows along the top of his cheeks as he fights for composure. “It was,”

“You should have saved it for after your meeting,” You say, stepping closer to him, just far away enough to still be considered a proper amount of space, but close enough for him to have to tilt his head downwards to maintain eye contact. “As a condolence for when you hear that I’m the top student and a shoo-in for the Plinth Prize and not you.”

A low rumble bursts from his throat and he pushes off of the pillar to tower over you, glaring down at your shorter figure as he growls, “That’s not going to happen,”

His closeness makes your heart race, and you want nothing more than to drop the fruit bar from your hand and tangle your fingers into his fluffy hair. You’d do it too - would risk everything, the perfect image you’ve cultivated and the resulting embarrassment of seeming needy - if only you knew he would reciprocate. But he’s stubborn, you don’t know, and your pride gets in the way of any impulsive decision you might make, no matter how hot the desire burns through your veins.

Instead, you bring the snack bar up to your mouth, perfect white teeth sinking into the sticky bar as you keep your eyes locked on his. Your intense focus on him is the only reason you see how his eyes falter from yours, the furious fire in them dimming into a softer need as they fall to your mouth.

Your glossed lips pull into a smirk. Finally, finally, he’s getting the picture. You knew it was only a matter of time. He was a man after all, and men are weak when it comes to the wiles of women. It was bound to happen, no one with eyes or any sense of a brain would be able to resist you for too long - Coriolanus was just a slight exception.

But you’ve got him now, can see in his eyes how badly he wants you. His eyes are locked on your lips, following the movement as they press together and move as you chew. The bright light in the hall is probably glittering off of them right now, making them look even more plush and enticing as it glistens off the thin layer of gloss that coats them. He’s probably thinking about how much he wants to kiss them right now. Imagining them wrapped around his cock and how soft they would feel as you plant sweet and teasing kisses along his shaft before taking him completely into your warm mouth. He’s probably kicking himself, wondering how he could have been so stupid as to push you away for as long as he has when he could have had you all to himself this whole time.

All the time he’s wasted because of his pride and ego.

The hand holding the fruit bar lowers slightly, teasing words of victory on the tip of your tongue as you open your mouth to gloat about your obvious success and his pathetic loss as he succumbs to his own desire for you. But you freeze when his wanting gaze doesn’t stay on your lips like you expect. Instead, they fall with the snack bar, following the food source like a puppy waiting for its master to grace them with a treat, and your words die before they can make a sound.

The food? Seriously? He was looking at the food?!

As if on cue, his stomach growls. He snaps out of his daze at the sound, a hand shooting up to press against his belly as if trying to quiet the noise.

You stare at him incredulously, eyebrow arched in disbelief. “Hungry much?”

He scoffs. “I missed breakfast this morning and now you’ve made me drop my snack. So, yes. I’m hungry.”

His words come out confident - practiced and dismissive in the way they would lead someone to believe his verbal jab in a heartbeat. But you’re too close to him right now for it to have the same effect that it normally would. You’re too observant, too eagle-eyed when it comes to all things Coriolanus, and now you're kicking yourself for not noticing it sooner.

The way his eyes flash with a moment of panic before they roll in annoyance, feigned annoyance, because there’s still nervousness clear in those beautiful blue orbs. The way they can’t help but flick just for the quickest of seconds towards the bar still in your hand and your own snap down to the movement of his stomach as he sucks in his belly, an obvious attempt at trying to use the muscle movement to starve off another growl.

The buttons on his shirt aren’t completely round, you notice. They do a good job at pretending to be, but under further inspection you realize that some are more oval than round. A couple are even slightly jagged. They remind you of the tesserae tiles you’ve seen in the maid’s bathroom - nearly a perfect match. Your critical gaze follows the rest of the length of his body, looking for anything else that suddenly seems off about the only son of the great Crassus Snow. Years ago, your father had mentioned rumors that the Snow family might not be in the most opulent financial standing. You hadn’t believed him at the time, the Snow family had always seemed very well off whenever you would see them around the Capitol or at events. Coriolanus had never once let on that they were living in anything less than a life of luxury during all your shared time at the Academy.

And yet, when you reach his feet, it becomes an undeniable reality. There, on the feet of the boy who you’ve been lusting over for the better part of two years, is a pair of too tight and just this side of too worn shoes.

You’re just barely able to hold back your gasp at the realization. He’s always been thin, but you chalked that up to him just being tall and lanky. But this? This is so unexpected.

Coriolanus Snow is . . . impoverished? Penniless.

Needy.

The idea comes to mind before you can even think about it, eyes sliding back up to meet his as you take another slow and mocking bite of your fruit bar.

“What will you do?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in question, slowly chewing the sweet treat. “When I win the Plinth Prize,”

“You won’t,” He answers quickly, and the raw determination in his voice makes you grin.

You take another quick bite of your bar and offer a small shrug of your shoulder. “Why don’t we be smart about this, Coriolanus? Put aside our teeth gritting rivalry in exchange for some good old fashioned, friendly competition.”

“What are you suggesting?” He asks, suspiciously.

“You can come to my home this weekend. We can study together. Make it a fair fight for our next exam,” And then, casual as ever, you add, “I’ll make sure we have lots of snacks at our disposal. Fuel for our brains, yes?”

Coriolanus pauses, clearly torn, and it’s unbelievable how someone who's always put on the face of confidence and self-assuredness can have their mask slip so carelessly so many times within a few minutes of interaction.

The door to Professor Rosebloom’s office opens and out comes a disgruntled looking Festus Creed. He glances at you and Coriolanus standing just feet away from the door, but surprisingly has nothing to say for once as he walks past and down the hall towards the grand staircase. Professor Rosebloom stands at the door, calling your name and gesturing inside her office with a sharp nod.

You look back at Coriolanus, a sickeningly sweet smile on your face as you walk backwards towards Professor Rosebloom. “Tomorrow, okay? See you then!”

The feeling of his eyes boring into you as you turn and disappear into Rosebloom’s office makes you feel unstoppable.

Coriolanus arrives at your house the next day around mid-morning.

He greets your parents respectfully, sharing a firm handshake with your father and nodding kindly at your mother, thanking them for allowing him into their home for the day and politely ignoring the looks of displeasure they both send him behind their masks of well-mannered hosts.

You guide him up the stairs to your bedroom and sit yourself on the bed, smirking when he stands awkwardly in the doorway, one hand gripping the strap of his messenger bag.

It’s so interesting to see him out in public, without the guise of an event or school trip to dictate what he wears. Today he dons a regular pair of pants, nice fitting around the waist and legs, but just a little too short around the ankles. You’re not sure if you would have noticed it had you not been looking. His sweater is a deep burgundy, thin lines of golden embroidery stitched around the collar and wrists to give an otherwise simple garment a taste of class. You don’t even want to look down at his shoes. If his nice dress shoes were looking tight and worn, you don’t want to see what his casual shoes look like.

It doesn’t matter anyway, everything he’s wearing is going to be on your floor in a little while anyway.

“Sit down, Coriolanus,” You instruct, pulling a book from your own bag and laying it out on the bed in front of you. “Don’t be shy.”

He takes a quick look behind him, checking to make sure your parents aren’t trying to spy from the hallway to catch them in the act of anything inappropriate despite this being a genuine study ‘date’ - at least on his part anyway. They won’t. Your father will be leaving for a lunch meeting in the city soon, and your mother will use the time to meet with her lover in one of the barely used guest bedrooms while he’s away.

Coriolanus clears his throat before walking over to the bed, sitting tall on the edge, one of his legs bent at the knee to twist himself to face you while the other leg hangs off the side.

“We should start with the top three points that we think are the most important of each chapter,” he says. He pulls his book and a small notebook out of his bag before placing it on the ground next to the bed and out of the way. “And then we can discuss and expand on each point together.”

“Sounds good,” You nod. “Let’s begin.”

Studying has never been difficult for you. You find yourself blessed with a remarkable brain and an even more determined sense of spite that makes remembering factual information simple. Thoughts of Coriolanus often plague your mind during your study sessions. He is, after all, the reason why you study so hard in the first place. But when the thoughts get too much, thoughts of kissing those plush lips of his, whispering dirty things in his ear and having him moan filth back to you - wanting to thread your fingers into his golden hair and push his head down so it fits between your thighs where it belongs . . . A power break, you call it. A moment of respite from studying in order to take power over your overflowing desire for the only man who’s been able to resist your temptations so far. Your hand would find its way inside your pants or underneath your dress, fingers dipping into your drenched hole and rubbing furiously at your clit imagining it was his until the pent up release sets you free and you're able to focus on your work again.

But with him actually being here, here in front of you, it’s a bit more difficult. Your pen stopped writing a while ago, eyes locked on the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks with each blink as he focuses on his notes. He bites his lip sometimes, teeth pressing into the plump flesh before he seems to catch himself and releases it, leaving behind twin red marks in the skin that you wish were imprints of your teeth instead of his. Your eyes travel down further to his throat, wanting to taste the smooth skin there under your tongue, and you can feel how wet you are already in your panties.

After about an hour, a maid enters the room with a tray of snacks. She’s right on time, entering through your doorway at the exact moment you had instructed her to, but you're so worked up from Coriolanus just existing a couple feet away from you on your own bed, that you glare at her like you want to bite her head off.

She doesn’t waste time, even more so when she sees your expression. The maid deposits the tray of food on the bed between the two of you and places a bottle of wine with two glasses on your side table before hurrying out of the room.

Coriolanus looks up from his notebook the second the food is placed in front of him, eyes immediately locking onto the tray. It’s obvious how badly he wants to go for it, but he holds himself back.

“Looks yummy, right?” You say, slyly, nodding to the small assortment of bread, cheeses, jams, and fruit. “Great brain food,”

He nods, throwing in an indifferent shrug as he responds, “Yes, it’s—it’s fine.”

You grab the wine bottle from beside you, uncorking the bottle with practiced efforts. “I also asked for some tastier things too,” You say, gesturing to the wine and the small bowls of chocolate sauce and whipped cream also adorning the tray. “A little reward to us for all of our hard work this semester.”

It’s funny watching him just sit there, struggling to appear calm and collected in the presence of such delicious foods. What do poor people even eat anyway? Maybe nothing. Maybe he survives on water and the lunches the school provides. What a shame, he’s too pretty to suffer. But if he is going to suffer, you're excited that you at least get to reap the benefits.

You pour two hefty glasses of wine, handing one to Coriolanus and bringing the other one between you, signaling for a toast. “To study dates and good food.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in an aborted smile, and, to be honest, you’re not sure if he means it or not, but nevertheless he clicks his glass against yours anyway. “To study dates and good food.”

You watch his face from behind your glass as he brings his own to his lips. His eyes flutter shut at the first taste of wine against his tongue, and you wonder how often, if ever, he’s had the experience before to make him make such a euphoric face. He licks his lips, catching the stray drops of wine on his upper lip before he clears his throat.

“It’s nice,” He comments, nonchalantly. “Sweeter than the wine I’m used to.”

“Oh, yeah?” You grin, swirling your wine gently in the glass. The wine aerates under your nose as you breathe in the sweeter notes of its smell. “The Snows prefer the taste of drier wines, huh?”

“Yes, we do,”

He cuts the conversation short, looking back down at the plate of food. He still has his pen in his hand, the other hand occupied by the glass of wine, so you take the opportunity to put the next step of your plan in motion.

“Keep writing,” You say, waving at his pen. You place your wine glass back on the side table and grab a small slice of bread from the tray. “You’re on a roll. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.”

He clears his throat again, pressing the pen to the paper, but he can’t write anything. His eyes are glued to where you're prepping his snack, spreading a thick layer of creamy cheese on the bread before topping it with a few swipes of spiced jam. You want to laugh at how his mouth practically waters for it, lips parted in want and his pupils are unusually large against the bright blue canvas of his irises.

“There we go,” You coo, holding up the savory treat between you both. “Open up, Coryo. The jam on top is to die for.”

You watch in glee as he opens his mouth, letting you bring the bread to his lips before he bites down on it. It’s quiet, too quiet, but the room is quiet too - so no matter how concealed he tries to hide his small moan of pleasure, you hear it anyway. And the sound shoots right to your dripping cunt.

You feed him another bite, and then another, and you’re a little shocked that he’s even letting you feed him at all without protest or a show of pride, but you don’t complain. There’s a small smudge of jam smeared at the corner of his mouth. His pretty blue orbs never leave yours as you slowly trace along the sticky corner with your thumb, gathering up the bits of jam and popping it in your mouth letting out a small moan of your own at the taste.

“So good,” You say again. He gulps, trying to hide his nervousness behind another long sip of wine. “You know what else is really good? This chocolate sauce,”

Your middle finger dips into the chocolate bowl, chocolate coating your finger as you pull it out, the excess dripping back into the bowl. You pop your finger into your mouth, humming at the rich taste as it soaks into your tastebuds. Coriolanus’s eyes follow your movements, still dark in want but also colored with confusion. Poor baby, you think. If you were a better person, you would feel guilty about manipulating him so badly.

But you’re not, and the bitch inside you roars in delight at how well you have him exactly where you want him.

“Hmm, so good,” You whisper, slowly dragging your now clean finger back and forth along your bottom lip. “It’s William Dean, the best chocolate connoisseur in all of Panem. His chocolates are the best luxury, I’m sure you know, but I always prefer the chocolate sauce to the chocolates themselves.”

Your finger finds its way back into the chocolate before hovering it in front of Coriolanus’s slightly parted lips. “Don’t you wanna try it?”

There’s hesitation on his face, eyes flickering with uncharacteristic uncertainty from yours to your dessert covered finger and back again as he thinks. In the end, the want wins out, and he opens his mouth more to let you slip your finger inside. The inside of his mouth is warm and wet, the strong muscle of his tongue licking along your finger as he sucks off every single bit of chocolate offered on it. His tongue vibrates under your finger as he moans, louder this time than the last, eyes fluttering shut at the taste. You wonder if it’s just from the taste of the chocolate or from the combined taste of your skin and spit too.

“Delicious, right?” You ask, slowly pulling your finger from between his plush lips.

When his eyes open again, his pupils are blown wide - only a thin band of blue around the edges - and you can’t help but smirk at yourself in their reflection.

He nods, as if dazed, letting out a low “mhm” in agreement.

“Here,” You grab a strawberry off the tray and coat it with the melty chocolate just like your finger. “Try it with this.”

He doesn’t even hesitate as you bring it up to his mouth, lips parting as his teeth bite into the red fruit. You almost can’t believe how blissed out he looks, just from a few bites of food. His chewing is slow, like it’s purposeful - dedicated to savoring every second as he enjoys what he never gets to have, eyes hazy with an almost far away look to them.

Poor Coriolanus Snow, how the mighty have fallen.

You quickly bite the other half, barely registering the sweetness of the fruit mixed with the richness of the chocolate before tossing the green leafy top back onto the tray. Instead, the visual of him licking the leftover chocolate left on his lips from the bite into the fruit sears into your brain.

“It’s probably the best you’ve ever tasted, huh?” The dig comes out without your permission, but it doesn’t matter because while normally his clever and quick mind would have had you scrambling for a response to whatever his snappy comeback would have been, he doesn’t seem to catch on to your implication.

He’s too drunk right now. Too drunk on the few sips of wine and small bites of food he’s had. Too drunk on savoring everything, desperate in the way his gaze drops back down to the small feast in front of him.

“Hey,” You call, bringing his attention back to your face. He looks like a puppy waiting for his next command. “Are you going to thank me for being such a gracious host?”

“Thank you,” He whispers.

“No, Coryo,” You say, a wicked grin pulling at your lips. “Thank me,”

Your previous dig might have gone over his head, but the unspoken demand doesn’t. Hazy blue meets your own hooded ones, a breathless moment between the two of you as your words sink in, and then he’s leaning forward - soft, pouty mouth pressing against yours gently.

Victory burns through your veins like fire. The urge to scream like a madwoman, the sound feeling stuck at the back of your throat, urging you to let it out just so you can relieve some of this overwhelming excitement that runs through you. But no, you have to be calm about this. Strategic. Don’t fuck this up, you remind yourself. Don’t scare him off.

But your hands itch to bury themselves in his hair, wanting to grip the golden strands between your fingers and tug hard enough to make him whine against your mouth. His lips feel like heaven against yours, the soft press of his bottom lip fitting between yours before he pulls back, breathing into your space for a moment, before coming back in for another kiss without you even having to tell him.

His lips move against yours with an intoxicating combination of shyness and want. He’s still gentle, way too gentle for your liking - you didn’t wait to have him for this long for him to be soft about it. You want the roughness, the passion, the desperation where he wants you so much that he can’t bear to not have his hands on you for even a second. But there’s also power in the shyness, in the nervousness that you have erupting from every pore of his body.

When he pulls back again, you don’t hesitate to move your lips to his cheek, kissing across the cool, smooth skin. His hand has long since dropped the pen by now, now choosing to fist into the lush fabric of your very expensive sheets while the other somehow still holds onto his half filled wine glass. His breathing is starting to get shaky - unsteady shallow breaths puffing out next to your ear as your lips trace the line of his jaw.

Without even having to look, you grab another strawberry, dipping it into the chocolate and bringing it to where your mouth is pressing hot, open mouth kisses to Coriolanus’s jaw.

He jumps at the first touch of the tip of the fruit against his neck, a confused grunt escaping his lips as he mutters a quiet, “What are you doing?” But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t pull back from the way your lips nibble at the sensitive spot behind his ear.

You drag the fruit down the long column of his neck, leaving a line of tempting chocolate in its wake as you whisper a soothing, “Just relax, Coryo. I’m eating,”

Your tongue finds the bottom of the trail, pressing flat and wet against his neck as you lick away the chocolate in one long seductive lick. You're quick to repeat the process, dragging the fruit down the column of his throat, a delicious line of sweetness you can devour while tasting the distinct flavor of him underneath it. His head tips back to allow you access to the trail of chocolate on his throat, and you reward his cooperation by holding the fruit above his upturned face so he can sink his teeth into it while you sink your teeth into him.

His throat bobs underneath your lips when he swallows.

The whipped cream still sits untouched in the bowl, and your neck still stays untouched with Coriolanus’s kisses. So you grab his chin, dragging his face back down to yours once again.

“You hungry, baby?” You ask, your eyes locked on his. “You wanna eat, too?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, nodding frantically against your grip. “I’m starving.”

Whipped cream sticks thickly to the spoon as you pull it out of the small bowl. The white substance sticks to your skin as you drag it down along your neck, your body heat melting some of it directly upon contact and small streaks of white drip down to your collarbone. The spoon isn’t even moved away yet when he leans forward, pink tongue laving eagerly against your skin as he licks up the cream.

His tongue is so soft, wet and hot against your neck, warm breath fanning across the wet skin as his tongue follows the scattered drippings down lower. You're quick to add more whipped cream to your body, smearing it lower across your chest and over the swell of your breast peeking out from the top of your dress. The feel of his mouth on your breast makes your jaw drop, breathy sighs falling from your lips as you watch him lick the cream off your chest. His pink lips look beautiful on the round swell, thick lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks as he latches onto the top to suck gently, still trying to get every last taste of cream onto his greedy tastebuds.

Gripping his chin again, you pull him back up to your face, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. He groans when your tongue pushes through into his mouth, sliding against his as you suck the taste of the whipped cream off his tongue. His hands come up to hold your face, one hand cradling your cheek while the other hand, still holding the glass of wine, reaches up to touch your jaw and helps to tilt your face up to his.

Your fingers grab the thin straps of your dress, pulling them down over your shoulders and freeing your breasts from the cups. You hate to drag your lips from his, teeth digging into his plump bottom lip and pulling as you pull back, grinning at the groan it rips from him in return. You grab the glass from his hand, arching your back slightly to puff out your chest more as you spill a little of the wine over it. Coriolanus groans at the sight of the red drink running down your chest, cascading over your breasts and dripping down further to soak into the material of your dress.

“F-fuck,” he whimpers, and immediately takes the hint, large hands gripping your waist to hold you still.

His pink tongue draws along your chest, cleaning the spillage from your skin as he nibbles along your breast. His plush lips wrap around your nipple, tonguing the hard bud with the tip of his tongue before sucking gently.

“Good boy,” You coo. You’re trying for a taunting tone, but the words come out more gritted than you would have liked as you feel your panties completely soak through. “Clean it all up for me,”

His pretty eyes look up at you as he sucks, dark with desire as he stares up at you through his lashes. He pops off your nipple with a wet sound, tongue dragging across the swell of your breast as he makes his way to the other one. When he’s done, your chest and tits are wet with his saliva instead of the sticky wine, and you shiver when his warm breath fans over the damp skin.

You lean back against the bed, holding the wine glass straight up as you lie down flat. His hands stay on your waist, seemingly unable to loosen their grip on your sides as he follows you down. He leans over over you, watching with wide eyes as you hike the bottom of your dress up so that it bunches up below your bust and out of the way. Your beautiful body is now on full display for him - soft, smooth, and well fed as his gaze feasts on the bounty now in front of him. His eyes lock onto your white lace panties, now practically translucent with how wet they are, but you steal his attention back with a quick call of his name.

With his eyes now back on yours, you tilt the glass over you, pouring the wine into the divet of your belly button and letting it pool there. Some of the liquid spills over, tickling your skin as it runs out along your belly and sides. Immediately, his head is at your belly, catching some straying droplets before they can soak into your sheets before his lips suction over your belly button, licking into it and sucking out the sweet drink from its makeshift cup.

Your fingers thread into his soft hair, locking into his fluffy curls, and when there’s no more wine to drink on your body, you push his head down further. His breathing is quick and excited as he allows you to push him down to your core, little pants of hot air hitting the drenched fabric of your panties as he peers up at you.

“Please,” He breathes, and you can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips from the sight of him between your thighs.

“Go ahead and eat your meal, Coryo,” You say, leaning up on your elbow to watch him better. Your other hand casually keeps the still occupied wine glass upright and out of danger. “If you’re good, I’ll let you eat plenty more.”

He’s a good boy, you always knew he would be. Despite his air of confidence and ego he tries to emit daily at the Academy, you’re good at seeing through people’s disguises. Coriolanus is soft - a lost boy trying to find a place among the vicious sharks of Capitol people.

Ready to follow your every command in hopes you deem him worthy enough to throw scraps to.

He licks over the lacy material of your panties, and you can’t help the deep shiver that wracks through your body at the tease. His nose presses against the lace, the tip brushing over where your clit sits beneath it before he hooks a finger under the material and pulls it to the side.

His tongue feels like silk against your drenched folds, the wet muscle flattening against your slit as it slides up the length of your pussy. His hands grip your thighs, using the leverage on them to keep you still as he circles your puffy clit. You briefly consider telling him to put his hands behind his back, just to add to the image of him serving you - being your ‘good boy’ - but the vision of him between your thighs, face finally pressed against your cunt where it always belonged, has you momentarily thrown for a loop.

He looks so pretty down there, blond curls messy where you had your hand in them. You’ve waited so long for this moment. Dreamed about how good he would look between your legs, disheveled and wanting as he begged you to let him eat you out. Begs you to grace him with the privilege of fucking you. And now here it is. The moment you’ve worked so hard for.

And the payoff is gorgeous.

His eyes are half hooded in pleasure, mouth licking and sucking greedily at your juices, moaning into your pussy like he was retasting the wine for the first time again. His moan vibrates through your entire body from where his lips are wrapped around your clit, more wetness leaking out of your soaking hole at the pathetic sound.

You wonder what you taste like to him. Probably like honey.

The sweetest kind he’s ever tasted.

“Do I taste good?” You ask, breathlessly. Coriolanus ignores you, seeming to not even hear you as he shakes his face against your puffy pussy, too intoxicated on your scent and taste for your words to penetrate through the fog clouding his mind. You grin, speaking louder to catch his attention. “Snow, eyes on me,”

Immediately, those baby blue eyes are focused on you and your breath catches in your throat in excitement. That’s right, gorgeous. Keep your eyes on me.

“I asked if I taste good,” You repeat.

Coriolanus nods, mouth never letting up on the suction around your clit as he hums out a little “mhm”. You squirm a bit, switching arms so your weight is being kept up by the elbow of the arm cradling the wine glass while your now free hand reaches out to nudge at his head to urge him down further.

“Put your tongue in,” You demand, fingers gripping his curls again as you shove him down. “Fuck me with your tongue.”

His eyes flutter as he follows your instructions, ever the diligent student, and your mouth falls open at the feel of the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance before it pushes inside, spearing you open around the thick, wet muscle.

“Yes,” You moan, fingers leaving his curls to rub frantic circles around your pulsing clit. “Fuck me faster, Coryo,”

His fingers dig into the plush skin of your thighs, fingertips sure to leave bruises as he desperately pulls you closer, tongue digging as deep as it can into your depths as you clench around it. The coil in your belly tightens, pleasure ripping through you as you bite back the loud cry wanting to burst from your throat as the coil snaps and you cum on Coriolanus’s face, squeezing tightly around his tongue.

You huff for breath, fingers still greedily rubbing at the sensitive nub trying to soak up every last shock of bliss from your orgasm, even as Coriolanus pulls his tongue from your insides, panting. His face is drenched in your juices - debauched and dirty because of you, and the sight alone makes you want to lock your fingers in his golden hair again and pull him back in for round two.

You sit up, listening to the desire to dig your hand into his hair, but instead of dragging him down again, you drag him up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before licking up the side of his face, tasting yourself on his skin as you clean him up. He’s still breathing hard when you get to his lips again, and your eyes meet his as you press small teasing kisses to his frowning lips.

He’s confused, you can see it in his eyes. Can see the gears in his brain trying to make sense of what just happened and how he’s ended up in the position that he’s in. He’s thinking too much. Coriolanus Snow - always thinking himself stupid. And you're clearly not doing your job right if he’s still able to think after a session with you.

“Hey,” You murmur against his lips. Your hand frees his hair, trailing down his chest and stomach before gently cupping the prominent bulge in his pants. A shocked puff of breath exhales harshly against your lips. “Just go with it.”

“Are you trying to distract me?” He asks, lips brushing against yours with each word. “Keep me from studying so you can with the prize money for yourself?”

“Oh, honey,” You giggle. “We studied plenty today, didn’t we? And besides,” Nimble fingers slide up the smooth line of Coriolanus’s throat, curling around his jaw as you kneel up, angling his face up towards you as you gaze down at him. “You won’t forget a single thing you learned today after I’ve finished with you.”

Your fingers dig into his jaw as you press another head spinning kiss to his lips, completely obsessed with the way they mold against yours, soft and yielding against your demanding mouth. When you pull back, it’s with a wild heat in your eyes that you can see reflected in his own.

“Lie back,”

You watch in muted glee as he does, lying back flat against the sheets even as he scoots back further towards the center of the bed. Your legs move with him, following him back as you crawl over his sprawled out body, taking a small sip of wine as you settle on his hips. His cock pulses in its confines against you, pressed tightly against your soaked panties as you slowly rock your hips along the thick bulge. Pretty moans threaten to escape his lips, only muffled by sheer willpower to not open his mouth to let the sounds out to their fullest potential. His golden curls are unkempt, fanned out against your silk sheets like a halo, and you can’t help but think he looks like an angel like this.

An angel you can’t wait to ruin.

“Hold this for me, won’t you?” You say, pressing the wine glass into his hand. He grabs it as if on autopilot, holding it up prettily with the stem between his middle and ring finger, like a proper gentleman.

Impatient hands paw at his burgundy sweater, bunching the material up as far up as you can get it to reveal his long, skinny torso. Immediately, your mouth is on his skin, lips brushing lightly over his side, soft enough to tickle as they brush over the all too prominent ribs. You look up at Coriolanus, meeting his baby blues as he watches you kiss each individual bump along his side. His eyebrows are furrowed, lips parted as if wanting to say something, and you can only imagine the nonsense that could come out. He has to know that you know something’s up - normal, well-fed young adults don’t clearly have emaciated bodies like this. You have to admit, he’s done an admirable job at keeping the Snow family misfortune under the radar, but you’re not about to let his pride and ego get in the way of you and your prize.

“It’s learning by association, right?” You say, cutting him off before he can form his excuse. You lick a long stripe across his belly, his very flat belly - warm breath fanning across the wet path as you pull back to speak again. “We’re in the classroom, right? And you’re stumped on a question. So you’ll look over the balcony and down one row to the left, where I sit, and see me sitting there all pretty and hard at work,”

Coriolanus lets out a shuttering sigh when you scoot further down his body, pressing another gentle kiss just to the right of his belly button. “You’ll stare at my glossed up lips, all shiny and tempting in the light, imagining them pressed against yours,” Another kiss to the opposite side. “And you’ll remember the date the Treaty of Treason was signed into effect.”

“F-fuck,” Coriolanus whines as you hold his hips, using your grip to keep him steady as you trail your kisses lower and lower towards the waistband of his pants. His cheeks are so flushed, red flaming at the pale skin even as he drags his hand over his face. He’s trying to hide - how adorable.

“You’ll remember the various ecological disasters that brought about the creation of Panem everytime you think about my tits,” You continue, nibbling along his jutting hip bone. You draw a playful heart on his skin with the tip of your tongue. “About how soft and perfect they are,”

Your eyes drop down to the bulge straining in his pants, the dark material only made darker by the wet spot on them made from your own juices.

“The five major economic benefits to a split District-Capitol government will pop into your mind whenever you think about how I tasted on your tongue,” Coriolanus moans desperately when you lick across his clothed erection, hips jerking despite your hold.

Excitement fills your chest as you work the front of his pants open, quick fingers easing the zipper down over the thick bulge and working his gorgeous, gorgeous, oh so gorgeous cock free from its prison. You’ve waited a long time for this moment, and your greedy eyes don’t let it go to waste.

His cock is every bit as magnificent as you knew it would be. It stands tall and hard, thick with the head already coated with precum as it springs out and slaps against his belly. He’s going to fill you up so good, fill you up until you’re so full you think you might just burst from it. You want it. You want it so badly that you almost hate that you’re going to make yourself wait for it.

His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, body just barely trembling enough with nerves that you're able to see it through your own distraction. Your fingers sneak their way towards him, loving the way both Coriolanus and his cock twitch at the feel of your fingers wrapping around the heated length.

“And when you need to remember which US states combined to make up the districts,” You breath, head lowering down, your breath fanning across his weeping tip. “Just think of my mouth sucking on your pretty cock.”

The sound he makes when your lips wrap around the head of his cock makes you want to laugh. It’s pathetic, a high-pitched gasp that rips from his throat as his back arches against the bed. But the taste of his precum coating your taste buds as you suckle on the reddened tip has you distracted. He tastes so good, so much better than you think is fair. He already invades your thoughts and dreams with his too pretty face and better-than-you attitude - he doesn't need to taste as good as he does on top of everything now that you’ve finally got him.

There’s a moment when you consider reaching over to grab a spoonful of the whipped cream still sitting on the now forgotten tray. The food isn’t for you, it’s a means to an end - but there’s a part of you that can’t help but want to see what it looks like smeared against Coriolanus’s cock. You can picture it in your mind already, the flushed tip just barely hidden under the dollop of cream, the heated skin melting the topping just enough for it to start dripping down the sides of his cock before you can lick it all up.

You don’t do it, not willing to part with the much tastier treat you’ve won. Your mouth stays happily in its place as you work your way further down his length, humming as his cock slides across your tongue and brushes the back of your throat. The sounds trying to erupt from him make you suck harder, sucking in your cheeks as you bob your head, tongue laving across the underside of his cock with each up and down motion, greedy to get its fill. His hand clasps over his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to muffle his moans of pleasure. A pang of irritation zips through you at the thought that even as he’s giving into you - giving you what you’ve always wanted - he’s still being a stubborn asshole and keeping you from fully enjoying your success.

Those sounds are yours. They belong to you. You deserve to hear each and every adorably pathetic whine and gasp that creeps its way up his throat.

You’ve earned them.

He’s trying, he really is, but even his palm can’t keep his tortured groan quiet when you press down just a little too deep, nose aiming for that soft patch of golden curls at the base of his cock but not quite making it there as your throat spasms around him - choking and gagging around the thick length as you use it to bully your own airway.

Thick strands of saliva connect your mouth to his cock even as you pull off. Your hand strokes to make up for your missing mouth as you lean up, only pausing to press a couple of teasing kisses to the underside of the swollen head as you go.

“Open your eyes,” You demand, waiting for him to comply before slowly teasing the tip of your tongue along the slit on the top, just to watch his eyelashes flutter as his pretty eyes roll back. The sight makes you grin, the smug pull of your lips present even as you sit up, hips straddling his thighs as you perch yourself up.

Your nipples are so hard, pebbled and begging for his attention. You wish he could read your mind right now, so he would know to reach out and grab at them - squeeze your breasts in his large hands, message them and play with the tightened buds between his clever fingers. You wish he would pull on them, twist them enough to make you gasp and arch your back, and you’d reward him with tightening your grip on his cock, wrist twisting your palm around his tip in mimic of his own action.

He doesn’t, of course, hand still clamped over his mouth like it is. Still muffling those pretty, clit-throbbing sounds that belong to you.

Your right hand slides around his cock, using the copious amounts of saliva you left behind as a lube, spreading the wetness around his pulsing length and getting it nice and slick. His wet cock glistens in the overhead light of your bedroom, and, honestly - you never thought a cock could look so beautiful. Your other hand reaches out to grab Coriolanus’s wrist, yanking his hand away from his mouth so you can hear his sounds, undisturbed, as you jerk him off.

“Stop that,” You hiss when he tries to pull his wrist from your grip. “Don’t hide them. Wanna hear you. Wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“Ah-hmm,” he moans, wrist ripping from your grip. But he listens, and rather than going back to cover his mouth, his fingers twist into the silk sheets instead, bunching them up in his fist as he watches you with wild eyes.

“Yeah, there we go,” You coo, fist stroking over his hot flesh as you work him faster. There’s a pearl of precum beading up on the tip of his cock, more pushing out the tighter you squeeze each time your fist gets to the top. Wet, slick sounds fill the room in time with your strokes, his pleasured moans cutting through the wet noises like a lewd symphony. “So much better, right?”

His thighs shake underneath you, hips stuttering and trying to buck up into your hold but the prison of your body weight on his thighs keep them pinned down. His moans turn into helpless blabbering - a endless string of ‘oh fuck, y/n, please, fuck, fuck–’.

The sound of him moaning your name sends a new gush of wetness into your already soaked panties. Your neglected clit aches for you to rub it, to grind the swollen nub on his thigh for relief - you think another wet spot on the dark trousers would look perfect.

You double down on your stroking instead, your other hand curling around his hip to keep it pressed against the mattress as your hand speeds up on his cock. Every time the wetness making him slick starts to dry up, you add more, leaning down just a bit to let another long line of saliva fall from your wet lips and onto the red flushed tip of his cock.

He’s so loud. The visual of you spitting on his cock is just way too much for his poor, inexperienced self to handle. The sounds coming out of his mouth are pure filth - hot and stomach clenching as you grin in satisfaction. It makes sense, you think. He’s loud and confident at the Academy, boisterous in his achievements as he speaks with a fake humility. It makes sense that he would be loud in the bedroom, unable to keep his voice down as he moans and whines like a slut.

“So loud, baby,” You tease. The hand gripping his hip finds the forgotten food tray, two fingers dipping into the almost empty chocolate sauce bowl. “You’re distracting me. Shh,”

Your fingers press into his open mouth, his lips automatically closing around your digits with a whimper. He sucks the chocolate off of your fingers like a good boy, eyes wide and wet making him look like he’s on the verge of tears. You want it. Want that push that’s going to make those pretty eyes spill out waterfalls over his flaming cheeks.

Just a little more.

Your hand moves faster on his cock, fist focusing cruelty on the top half of his shaft, palm twisting over the sensitive head with each stroke. The fingers in his mouth push back further and he gags, body jolting from the gag even as he moans around them again. The remaining wine in the glass sloshes from his jolt, but the crystal stays clasped between his fingers.

And there they are: twin trails running from his red rimmed eyes. You coo at him while the overwhelmed tears become victims to gravity. Instead of trailing down his cheeks like in the image in your head, one trails across his temple and soaks into his hairline while the other pools up along the side of his nose - and your empty, aching hole clenches tightly around nothing at the sight.

His cock throbs in your hand, hot and heavy as it twitches in the tight cage of your fingers, pretty red tip coated in a mixture of precum and spit disappearing and reappearing with each quick stroke of your fist. Fuck, you want it inside you so badly, want to feel him stretching you out. You’d make him cum within two seconds of being inside you, your pussy is just that magical. So warm and tight and perfect that men just can’t control themselves when they get inside of you - or so you’ve experienced with the other Academy boys who you’ve deemed worthy enough (although just barely) to have their moment with you. Poor pretty boy Coriolanus wouldn’t stand a chance. Frankly you’re shocked he’s even lasted as long as he has. You thought he might shoot his load in his pants while eating you out, although you’re glad he didn’t or this current playtime would have been unfortunately halted.

He’s so close, just a hair away from falling apart in front of your eyes. And you’re so hungry - so hungry for him.

The whines are muffled around your invading fingers, but they’re a constant now, no time wasted between them as he babbles around your fingers. The words come out garbled, but they sound a lot like ‘I’m gonna cum, please, please, fuck’. So you giggle, light and airy as you breathe, “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me,”

You don’t want to stop touching him. It’s addicting, making him moan and cry for you with just a few practiced strokes from your hand. You’d never stop if it was up to you. But your hand stops stroking his cock the second his eyes roll back into his head, just keeping a firm grip on the base to keep it still even as his body shakes. His cock twitches for a second, reddened head glistening before the first spurts of his release shoot out of the tip. They travel far, dirtying his stomach and splattering the smooth pale skin with white, some even making it as high up as his ribs, just barely missing the burgundy of his sweater. He cries around your fingers and you're sure the lack of stimulation is absolutely killing him. But he made you wait. He made you stress and work hard and put in effort just to get him. He needs to be punished for his crimes against your ego and libido.

He’s so pretty though, so so fucking gorgeous it makes you sick, and your willpower has just about been all used up. You stroke up his twitching length again, working him through the tail end of his orgasm, fist tightening and twisting at the top to milk out any lingering cum from the swollen tip. He’s still whimpering when you pull your fingers from his mouth, those same wet fingers moving to steal the glass from his hand, your eyes locking onto his as you finish the rest of the sweet drink in one last long victorious gulp.

Both of his hands find their way to you as his orgasm comes to an end, clutching at your thighs as the pleasure subsides but your movements don’t. He tries to push your hand away with a tortured groan, the stimulation becoming too much too quickly, but you easily slap it away. He’s weak, poor pathetic baby is too weak to make you stop - bones like jelly and brain still malfunctioning, no doubt. So you take advantage of all he’s worth even as you remove the circle of your fingers from around his cock and switch to palming the oversensitive flesh where it sits against his stomach.

“Ha- fuck, y/n, s-stop p-please,”

Your hand finally leaves his cock, choosing instead to wrap gently around his throat. Stop, he says? No. There’s no stopping now that you finally have him.

“You want me to back off the Plinth Prize, Coryo?” You rasp. “You’re gonna have to earn it,”

#𝑇𝑎𝑙 𝑊𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 ✎#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x reader smut #coriolanus x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent

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captainsophiestark · 7 months

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A Perfect Match

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Bridgerton

Day 19 Prompt: "What if we're wrong?"

Summary: Anthony and Y/N have been dancing around each other for far too long. Benedict and Colin decide to do something about that.

Word Count: 1,726

Category: Fluff, minor angst

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Benedict's POV

"Colin!" I hissed, poking my head into the study where my brother sat journaling about his travels. He looked up at me like he had no idea why I could be bothering him. "Lady Y/N is here."

"Oh!"

He shot out of his seat, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. We'd only been putting together our plan to get her and my brother together for a week. How he could've forgotten was beyond me.

"Alright, she's having tea with Eloise in the drawing room. I'm going to go get her and bring her to Anthony's study," I said as Colin and I walked through the halls. "You just be ready to come give me a reason to leave once we're in there."

Colin nodded, then paused.

"Benedict? What if we're wrong? About their feelings?"

I sighed. Anthony and Y/N truly did butt heads at every opportunity as if they hated each other. But it was hard to miss the longing looks and the way one of them got distracted just by the other walking into the room. I shrugged.

"Well, I suppose if we're wrong, they'll probably kill us."

Colin gave me a look, but I completely ignored it as I marched into the drawing room.

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

Y/N's POV

"Y/N!"

I turned from my tea and the book spread between me and Eloise at the sound of Benedict's voice, giving him a friendly smile as he entered the room.

"Hello, Benedict. Lovely to see you."

"Likewise. Actually, I was wondering if you could spare a moment to accompany me upstairs? Anthony mentioned needing to see you for something, and I told him that since I was on my way down, I'd bring you back up."

"Anthony wanted to see me?" I asked, working very hard to keep my tone neutral. Benedict nodded.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"Actually, we do mind," Eloise chimed in. "Tell Anthony he can get his own friend."

"Eloise, Mother wanted to see you as well," Benedict responded smoothly. "She's in the garden."

Eloise narrowed her eyes, and I watched the staring contest develop like a tennis match. Finally, after a few moments, Eloise gave in and stood with a sigh.

"Fine. I shall go find her. But if this is a ruse, Benedict-"

"For what purpose? You are entirely too suspiscious sister."

I hid a laugh behind my hand as Eloise glared at Benedict on her way out of the room. I truly loved the Bridgertons, and watching them interact was more entertaining than the most competitive horse race.

"Lady Y/N," said Benedict, offering his arm to me with a smile. I took it, my mind racing as Benedict and I made our way upstairs. Anthony and I had a rather unusual relationship, and although I'd never admit it, I had developed strong feelings for the Viscount over the course of knowing him. The curiosity over why he wanted to see me was eating me alive.

"Did Anthony mention what he wished to discuss?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

"No, he only asked me to hurry," Benedict responded. We reached the door, and Benedict held it open for me. "After you."

I stepped inside, feeling a bit nervous. Anthony was hard at work, scribbling away at papers on his desk, but he looked up when he saw me.

"Lady Y/N! Hello, uh..." He cleared his throat and shuffled some of the papers into a neater pile absentmindedly.

"Here she is, brother, like you asked," said Benedict as he came to stand beside me. Anthony's brow furrowed like he was confused, but Colin poked his head into the study before Anthony could say anything.

"Benedict!" said Colin. "Mother sent me, she needs to see you immediately."

Now it was my turn to be a bit confused, especially as Benedict grimaced like Colin had some something wrong. Before I could say anything, however, Benedict was moving quickly towards the door.

"Right, well, then I'd better not keep her waiting."

With that, he and Colin ducked into the hall, closing the door behind them. A moment later I heard the door lock, and then a sound like something heavy being pushed against it from the other side.

"Did they just..."

I stared in shock at the door for a few moments, whirled around to look at Anthony, then turned back to the door again. Benedict and Colin had just locked me in here, with Anthony, who looked as surprised as I did.

After a long moment of inaction, Anthony pushed back from his desk and quickly crossed the room. I watched as he tried the door and it didn't budge, then tried it again. Finally, he shoved it a bit with his shoulder as if it were stuck, and still nothing worked.

"Benedict! Colin!" he shouted through the door. No response.

"Anthony?" He whirled around to face me, eyes a little wild. "Did you actually ask Benedict to bring me up here to talk about something?"

"What? No, I haven't seen Benedict all morning."

I crossed my arms and shook my head, turning away from Anthony.

"I can't believe those two. I can't believe them."

"What are you talking about?"

I huffed an irritated sigh, then answered without turning around.

"Benedict dragged me away from tea with Eloise, telling me you'd asked to see me, right away. I don't know what on earth he and Colin were thinking, but now I'm stuck in here with you-"

I stopped abruptly, not trusting myself to continue speaking. Anthony and I butted heads plenty, but there was no denying how much I enjoyed spending time with him. Sparring with him when we disagreed and never feeling angry, just excited. Laughing as he complained about having to participate in the season but feeling jealous when one of the other girls or Mamas got their hands on him... I loved him. But I wasn't sure I wanted to admit it.

"Is it really so awful?"

Anthony's voice was thick, more vulnerable than I'd really ever heard it before. I turned around to fix him with a questioning look, and he held my eyes, although he looked ready to run at a moment's notice. Unfortunately for him, we had nowhere to go.

"Is it really so awful to be stuck in here with me?" Anthony continued when I didn't answer him. "Do you really hate me so much?"

My heart shattered in my chest, especially at the tentative sadness in his voice. My answer didn't come right away, and after a second or two of silence, Anthony turned away.

"I'm sorry. Forget I said anything-"

"Anthony no I- I'm sorry." I started crossing the room to him, but stopped halfway, thinking better of it. "I have fun giving you a hard time and arguing over silly things with you. But if I've done that to the point that you feel I truly hate you... then I'm sorry, I should never have let it go that far."

Anthony turned to face me again, a guarded expression on his face.

"So you do not hate me?"

"No. Quite the opposite, actually."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to say what I needed to say next. I trusted Benedict and Colin not to do this to me unless they had some idea that my feelings for Anthony were mutual. Hopefully, that trust wasn't misplaced, but even if it was, denying my feelings had only hurt Anthony and I both. It had to end.

"Anthony, I'm sure this will be considered entirely too forward for me to say as a lady, but... I rather think I love you. You challenge me in a way no other man ever has, and when we are aligned, our teamwork knows no equal. There may be other men who would treat me well, and there may even be other men who would respect me as a partner, but none of them would be you. You, Anthony... you are my perfect match. And if I've led you to believe I hated you, then I am truly sorry. I assure you I do not."

Anthony just stared back at me, not taking his eyes off me the entire time I spoke. He didn't respond right away after I finished, still just staring, his expression unreadable. I started to sweat and fidget, immediately regretting my words and wishing I could take them back.

"You know, Anthony, actually-"

Before I could finish the thought, Anthony rushed to close the rest of the distance between us, sweeping me off my feet and spinning me around in his arms. I yelped, but when he set me down, we both had massive smiles on our faces.

"I apologize. That was rather improper of me," he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. I smiled back and leaned into him a little more.

"No more improper than my confession, or your brothers locking us in this room together."

Anthony hummed, leaning into me and pulling me close to him again, one hand tangling in my hair as he murmured into my ear.

"I feel the same, you know. I have for some time. I just never imagined that you would care for me as much as I cared for you."

I smiled, wrapping my arms tight around Anthony and holding him close. After a few seconds, we pulled apart, and although I wanted to kiss him, badly, I held back. We'd already crossed quite a few scandalous lines, after all. And now that I knew he felt the same way as I did, I didn't think I'd have to wait long for our courtship to make quite a few more things I wanted to do 'acceptable'.

"I suppose we owe your brothers a thank you for getting us to confess our feelings to each other," I said with a sigh. Anthony scoffed.

"Absolutely not. They still tricked us and physically locked us in a room. No matter how happy I am with the results, they deserve some payback."

I grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Anthony led me back over to his desk where the two of us sat shoulder to shoulder, plotting and planning the downfall of his brothers. I had no idea how long they intended to leave us in this room, but every additional minute meant more time to plan revenge.

Happily, it also meant more time with Anthony. And with any luck, the rest of my life would be filled with more time with Anthony.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

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friendly-neighborhood-boricua · 8 months

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Squint And You'll See It

Summary: Sirius and his potions partner are trying to brew Polyjuice Potion for class, and he can't seem to figure out why she won't wear her glasses.

Notes: Sirius Black x shy!reader. All fluff, really. This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. I'm weirdly self-conscious about the sounds I make, how loud they are, if they could annoy/distract people, etc. so I wrote this just to comfort myself about it lol. I ended up using Y/N a bunch because using too many pronouns in a row makes my brain bristle so oh well. Still though, this is the sweetest thing I think I've ever written. Enjoy! <3

Y/N squinted up at the blackboard as Slughorn collected the class’s attention once again, and Sirius just about melted. The all-too-familiar scrunch in her nose and the crease between her brows gave him more comfort than he probably should have taken from her struggles to see the properties of Chinese Chomping Cabbage from so far back in the classroom. After an especially rapid flurry of blinking, she scribbled a couple notes on her parchment before fisting her knuckles in her eyes tiredly.

Sirius nudged her gently. As if it wasn’t already, the honey-doe eyes she gave him had his heart overflowing with a plush fondness.

“Your glasses, love,” he whispered, nodding to her book bag, which hung off of the back of her chair. Y/N looked at it, then blinked twice. The glasses were a new and quite helpful development—one she hadn’t quite gotten into the habit of using yet. She eyed the bag again.

“I’m alright,” she whispered back and returned to her notes.

Sirius frowned. “You sure?”

She nodded, giving him a light smile.

Sirius frowned slightly but returned to his notes when Slughorn chided him for having his eyes elsewhere. But how could he be blamed? Only a madman would rather learn about ingredients than watch her.

For a surprisingly long while, Sirius managed to stay focused on his notes, sometimes copying Remus’s, who sat on his right side, and only occasionally sneaking glances at Y/N, who sat on his left. After what felt like an eternity, Slughorn finally let the pair work on their Polyjuice Potion at a work table in the far back of the classroom. Sirius had come down with a nasty case of spattergroit several weeks previous and missed a week and a half of the brewing process. Unfortunately, Y/N had missed several days herself due to a family matter (now resolved with nothing to worry about, she had assured Sirius countless times), ending in the complete devastation of their original Polyjuice batch. And so, Y/N, unwilling to take a bad mark, and Sirius, ready to do just about anything to keep spending time with her, decided to make another batch.

“Do you want to gather the ingredients or shall I?” she asked as Sirius scooted his stool closer to hers (to better reach the cauldron, of course).

“I can get the ingredients,” he said, flashing what he hoped was his most charming smile, and she blushed.

“Alright, I’ll, erm … I’ll work out our next instructions …” Sirius nodded as Y/N fell into her reading, smiling to himself as her brows furrowed once again to scan the page.

Sirius skirted the classroom towards ingredient shelves, passing by James, Peter, and Remus, who all raised their brows at him with smirks. He simply rolled his eyes, rummaging through the shelves until he had gathered the correct ingredients. But when he turned around, ready to make his way back to Y/N and their Polyjuice Potion, he was met with a horrible sight: Remus, holding a tight-lipped frown in a near-futile attempt to ward off a smile, Peter, doubled over with laughing cramps, and James, turned around in his chair and arms wrapped around himself, raking them up and down his back in a sultry fashion as he pretended to make out with someone.

With a peeved sigh, Sirius chucked a bundle of knotgrass at James, seed pods bursting and small nettle-like seeds clinging to James's hair. Of course, the three burst into peals of raucous laughter. Sirius groaned, and quickly made his way back to the back work table as Slughorn chastised the rest of them.

“Sirius, are you alright? You’re looking a bit … erm, warm.”

Sirius’s ears burned even hotter, and his eyes flew to examine the grout between the floor tiles.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m perfect, lovie.” He set down his armful of glass jars and clay bowls, trying desperately to change the subject. “Found what we’ve got to do yet?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “Just here, it says we must add three bits of boomslang skin—”

“Got that here.”

“—crush the bicorn horn and add that—”

“Got that as well.”

“—and then there are some cooking instructions, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Sounds good to me, love.” Sirius smiled warmly.

The two worked in harmony, Y/N checking and double-checking that she was measuring everything correctly and Sirius adding the ingredients once she had prepared them. The two worked in sweet, warm peace, managing only one easily-averted disaster, all while keeping quiet as Slughorn continued to teach the rest of the class. There was a strange sort of domesticity to it that made Sirius’s heart skip beats, and he imagined himself with Y/N in their future home, huddled around a cauldron and brewing something to keep them warm on a Siberian night—

“How long should it be at a high temperature again?” Sirius asked, forcing himself from his daydreaming and adding the crushed bicorn horn.

“Erm …” Y/N’s nose practically brushed the page with how closely she peered at the instructions. With the smallest sound of annoyance Sirius had ever heard, her head moved to allow her eyes to travel along the far wall, where a dozen or so posters displayed recipes for a variety of potions. She sighed lightly, squinting heard and pushing herself on tiptoe (as if it would help).

“Use your glasses, love,” Sirius suggested but was quickly brushed off.

“‘M fine, really,” Y/N murmured, eyes still squinting.

“Sweetheart,” the word caught Y/N’s attention, and she fell back onto her heels, eyes barely meeting Sirius’s before drilling into the bubbling cauldron, “you’ll give yourself a migraine. Use your glasses.” Y/N glanced uneasily from Sirius to her bag on the back of her chair and back. Sirius’s brows furrowed. “What is it, love?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Then … wear your glasses,” Sirius reasoned, and she let out a little huff. “Why don’t you want to wear them, lovie?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to wear them, it’s just …” Sirius watched her with soft, almost concerned eyes.

Y/N sighed, pushing herself onto the stool with knees pressed together. The thought was silly, but she had known Sirius long enough to know he wasn’t going to let this go.

“The buckle on the bag, it’s …” Sirius’s knee knocked gently against hers. “It’s loud—it clatters about when I open it. Catches people’s attention. And my glasses are in the bag, so if I open the bag, people will stare, and then people stare at me when I have my glasses on anyway—not that I’m not grateful for the glasses! They’re a great help for seeing the board during cl—”

Sirius couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, and he almost felt bad at the pout Y/N dealt in return. “First of all, love, people stare at you and your glasses because you look fucking divine when you wear them. I should know.” He brushed her arm playfully with his, and she flushed a brilliant shade of red-pink. “And second, no one thinks anything about your loud bag buckles, I promise.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I just—I don't want to disrupt them is all …”

Sirius chuckled again, but still, Y/N didn't make a move for her bag. It took only a moment and a half of contemplation before Sirius burst into the most fake-sounding fit of coughs ever created in the history of this Earth. Nearly the entire class turned to stare at him as he seemingly hacked up a lung, and he hung himself dramatically off of the table’s edge to play it up just that little bit more.

“Mr. Black, are you quite alright?” Professor Slughorn asked, eyes slightly wide with concern.

“Y-yes, Pro—” Sirius coughed a dozen more times, discretely winking at Y/N, who seemed to get the point and quietly retrieved her glasses from her bag. Not a soul noticed.

#sirius black x you #sirius x y/n #sirius x you #marauders era #sirius black fluff #sirius x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x reader #sirius black x shy!reader #sirius fluff

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

Text

Your naga professor gives you a gift

General Plot: This is a longer, sloppy oneshot. You work at a library, frequented by a professor who studies amorous history and strike up a friendship with him.

Naga professor (Arion) x female reader

Word Count: 4k

💕 SFW MASTERPOST 💕

W: Yandere behavior, obsession, kidnapping, mostly sfw yandere fluff, there is a brief mention of cum, ambiguous ending

You never noticed the way he looked at you. The way his gaze lingered on you while you pranced around him pushing your little cart of books.

“Need help finding something?” you asked him, holding a pile of books in your arms. You were a librarian in a college for the magical arts, already graduated yourself. You’d been offered the job right out of school after you interned there so you took it and never left.

It was a great atmosphere and the college community was kind of nice. Bright, young students were funny and ever hopeful, getting into all sorts of hijinks with their magic. The week before a student had glued himself to the ceiling of the gymnasium with a spell gone wrong.

As a hedgewitch, you didn’t have much magical power yourself. Your witch blood hadn’t allowed you any boons but your short stature and wide eyes. You could do hearth magic and bloom flowers, but that was about it. Your mother always told you if you applied yourself you could be a brilliant chemist, but it wasn’t something that interested you. The library was quiet and peaceful. Just right.

You recognized the professor. He was a handsome naga who taught in the history department. He came to the library often, staying late into the evenings. He always sat in the same corner, his thick green tail curled over itself in fat loops as he read, scribbling notes with long, strong fingers. He was quiet and you hadn’t spoken to him much, except a few pleasantries in passing. That day, however, you caught him perusing a shelf. He seemed to be searching for something.

He turned to you, jumping a bit.

“Sorry to startle you,” you chuckled, putting out your hand and brushing his shoulder.

You didn’t know why you did that. Maybe it was because he was handsome and flustered you a little. He had beautiful hazel eyes behind his metal framed glasses and long dark hair, streaked with a bit of silver, showing his age. He had it braided over his ears in the traditional naga way, the rest falling down his back in a smooth sheet. You jerked your hand back immediately. That probably wasn’t appropriate. Your cheeks pinkened, hoping you hadn’t offended him.

His eyes widened slightly at your hand, but he gathered himself a moment later.

“Erm…yes,” he said, “there’s a book in the database that doesn’t seem to be on the shelf. Heart Magic of the Meridian Era. It says it's here and I can’t find it.”

“Let me look into it for you,” you said.

He slithered behind you to the counter and you pulled up the title on your computer. You didn't know that while he followed you, he admired your plump bottom and the cute little legs you tipped around on perilously.

“Oh I see,” you explained, “that book is part of the special collection. You can’t remove it from the library, but I can help you make copies of any pages and give you a private room to review it.”

“That would be perfect,” he agreed, smiling at you.

His smile was handsome, his fangs very long and sharp.

“Everything okay here?” your manager Levi asked, sidling up to you.

He peeked over your shoulder.

“That book is in the special collection. Have you set him up with a private room?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said tightly.

He wasn’t a terrible manager, but he could hover a bit sometimes and occasionally it annoyed you. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he gave it a little squeeze.

“Great job, (Y/N),” he said, “come find me if you need any help.”

He wandered away to engage in his favorite professional technique, managing by walking around.

You glanced up to see the professor’s eyes narrowed watching him walk away.

“Shall we go?” you asked, jotting down the book’s identification number on a post it.

He seemed to relax a bit and nodded at you to lead him on.

“I’m (Y/N), by the way,” you said, making conversation as you led him down the stone steps that went down a few floors to the basement where the special books were kept. They were books with dangerous magic that only professors and supervised graduate students could look at.

“I’ve seen you around the library, but we’ve never been introduced.”

He gave you a bit of a shy smile.

“Arion Dernald,” he said with a tip of his head.

“Wait here,” you told him, as you unlocked the door where the books were kept and went inside to retrieve the right one. When you’d found it, you brought it out with a pair of white gloves and led him to a private room.

You looked at the heavily engraved book, covered with reliefs of passionate lovers entwined in each other’s arms.

“Oh my,” you gasped, “what are you studying?”

He looked even more bashful and cleared his throat.

“Ah…Ancient romance spells,” he said, “I’m writing a book about how romance was seen differently in the Meridian era than it is now.”

“Oh?” you asked, as you laid the book down on some cotton cloth to protect the cover, “how so?”

“It was more…intimate, perhaps,” he said, “lovers owned each other’s hearts. They used many varieties of magical bindings to grow closer.”

“That’s what’s in this book?” you asked, looking down at it.

“Yes,” he said, “mostly…and some aphrodisiac spells.”

You weren’t sure why, but the contents of the book made you squirmy. Any kind of binding spell was illegal in the modern day. You gave him a hesitant smile.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” you said, “please use the gloves so you don’t damage the pages. The oils on your fingers break down the fibers.”

You handed him a matching pair of white gloves and hustled out of the room.

Glancing up a few hours later, you saw him carrying the book to you, a few pages marked with scraps of paper.

“Could you make copies of these pages?” he asked, “then I’ll be done with it for today.”

You agreed, taking the tomb from him and heading back to the copy machine. Flipping open the pages you glanced at the first spell, reading a few lines. It was a proximity binding spell, not allowing the person to leave a certain area around them. The next one gave you pause. It was almost like the proximity spell, but much more serious. It bound two souls together in this life and the next. The two parties couldn’t be too far apart from each other for too long or they would start to waste away and eventually die.

The spell guaranteed that your souls would find each other in your next reincarnations. The idea was that lovers would rather die and be reunited in the next life than be parted. Who knew if it really worked. Ancient magic like this was spotty, mostly derived from sloppy experiments before the time of the scientific method.

Still, the concept of being tied together through death made you shudder a bit. It was a dangerous spell to make a copy of, but there was no rule against it. As a senior professor, the naga was authorized to copy any spell in the library.

You quickly made the copies and shuffled back to the naga, who was waiting patiently at the front desk.

“Here you go!” you said, cheerfully, handing him the stack.

He thanked you and slithered away. You watched his broad back as he left, unsettled for some reason.

–

“I don’t like him,” Levi said quietly as you checked in books at the front desk. You followed his eyes to the corner, where the naga was curled up reading again.

You drew your brows at him.

“That’s not like you, you like everybody,” you snorted, “what’d he do to you?”

He glared across the library.

“Something about him is creepy,” he said, “he’s here more than anyone else. A lot more and I looked up his browsing history on the public network. It's weird, all binding spells.”

You glanced over at him. He seemed perfectly normal to you, focused on whatever he was reading.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, “he’s a professor. They like to study and this is a library.”

“Just…be careful around him,” he warned, “tell me if he says anything weird to you.”

You nodded and he walked away.

You shook your head of the bizarre interaction. Levi was normally a pretty affable wolf. It was weird for him to just not like someone for no reason.

As if to test his instincts, you scooted your cart by him as you went to return books and stopped to say hello.

“How is the research coming?” you asked.

He looked up from his notes and pushed his glasses up his nose with a long finger.

“Oh, excellent,” he said, “I think I’ve made a breakthrough in the translation. What experts have thought to mean blood is actually semen. They’ve been wrong for years.”

You blushed.

“Oh,” you said.

His cheeks darkened and he cleared his throat.

“Erm…it’s a completely different reading of the text,” he mumbled on awkwardly, looking away.

You couldn’t stifle your giggle and his eyes widened on you a bit.

“What an interesting thing to study,” you laughed, “ancient cum spells.”

He smiled too and the tension lifted.

“I suppose it is,” he chuckled, “but it’s for a good reason. We can learn a lot from the Meridian era. Partners were devoted back then, willing to risk it all for the ones they loved.

"Dating today is all apps and lies. It’s so plastic. My students hook up once and then never see their partner again only to do it the next night and the next night. Never any real connection. No real investment to speak of.”

His eyes sparkled at you.

“There’s something magical about true devotion,” he said, “and I think we’ve lost that romance with our technology.”

“I guess I never thought of it that way, but you might be right,” you tilted your head, “People are always going on about not getting too attached.”

He waved his hand.

“That’s what I’m saying,” he said, “nowadays people conflate real love with red flags. Obsession, they call it.”

You weren’t sure you’d go that far.

“Well there has to be a limit, I guess,” you said.

He shook his head.

“True love knows no limits,” he declared.

You smiled at him, charmed he was so passionate about his work.

“That’s quite a topic for an academic paper,” you chuckled.

“Yes,” he said, settling down.

“My department head isn’t thrilled with my pursuits, but I think it will make a brilliant book. “The Return of Romance” I want to illustrate how beautiful Meridian era romance was and how we can apply their principles to modern times. I already have a publisher lined up and he’ll change his tune when the University is mentioned in the press release.”

“That sounds wonderful,” you said.

He beamed at your praise revealing his fangs and you felt something brush your ankle. Looking down you realized the tip of his tail had wrapped itself around you. Your heart fluttered at the contact.

“Um,” you murmured, lifting your foot.

He blushed, clearing his throat.

“S-sorry, it just does that sometimes,” he stammered, unwinding it.

“I-it’s okay,” you stuttered back, “I-I should get back to work.”

After that day you started seeing Arion more frequently, only not only at the library. He seemed to turn up random places where you were. You would see him at a coffee shop on a Saturday or at the grocery store after work. He made the excuse that he lived nearby so you brushed it off without thinking. It was kind of nice to have a handsome neighbor to bump into that always had a smile for you. You had no complaints.

He even started bringing you little presents at work. It started with a cup of coffee. He apologized that he didn’t know how you took it, but made you tell him for next time. Then it was a book, a small picture book of Meridian era artwork. Some of it was quite pornographic. You should have seen that as a red flag, but he was an academic. You figured he didn’t have the same hang ups as you. This was all research to him.

It came to a head when he brought you a bracelet. It was tucked in black velvet and looked very old. It was a gold bangle with some strange script carved into it.

“What’s that?” Levi asked, peeking over your shoulder to Arion’s dismay at the open box he was handing you.

“It’s a gift for (Y/N),” he said, “none of your business.”

Levi frowned.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be giving my employees gifts, (Y/N) is on the clock and you are also an employee of this university.”

You waved your hands trying to diffuse the situation.

“It’s nothing Levi,” you said, “just a friendly gift.”

“Jewelry is not a friendly gift,” he snapped, “I’m going to have to ask you to stay out of the library if you continue to harass my staff.”

You weren’t used to him being this protective.

“Levi!” you exclaimed, “you can’t ban him over this. It’s harmless!”

“(Y/N), I think there are some boxes for you to unpack in the basement,” he snarled, ordering you away and ending the conversation.

You gave Arion an apologetic look and shuffled to the stairs.

Levi apologized later, saying he just didn’t like guys who harassed women at work where they couldn’t escape and he didn’t feel comfortable with him taking an interest in you. He explained that it was his job to protect his staff from those sorts of things.

He even went as far as giving you a pamphlet on harassment in the workplace and told you he was reporting the interaction in the morning so there would be a record. You thanked him for taking it seriously and assured him it was just a casual friendship but he left for the night still determined to report it.

Oddly, he didn’t come in to work the next day. He didn’t call or text and when you called him it went straight to voicemail. When he didn’t come in the day after that you went to HR wondering if you should call the police. When you finally were given permission to call them they just took your information and told you they would look into it, but that was all you could do.

“You look anxious, (Y/N),” Arion said, as he slithered up to the front counter, “what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, frowning.

“Levi’s been missing for days. I just can’t help but be worried about him. This isn’t like him. What if something bad has happened?”

Arion narrowed his eyes for a second before giving you an encouraging smile.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” he said, then pulled the box from before out of his jacket pocket, “I have something that will take your mind off of that.”

He showed you the same bracelet as before. You fingered the pretty piece of jewelry, running your finger over the gold before picking it up.

“Go ahead,” he said, “try it on.”

You snapped the bracelet on and it conformed to your wrist making you jump.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he assured you, “there’s a bit of magic in it…to... make it your size.”

“Oh,” you said, relieved. You looked at the script written on it.

“What does it say?” you asked.

“Sweet nothings,” he said, smiling, “just Meridian era poetry. There isn’t really a good translation of it in our language. Maybe something close to ‘the strings of endless devotion bind us’, but not quite.”

You nodded slowly.

“Do you like it?” he asked, hopefully.

“It’s lovely,” you said, “thank you for thinking of me.”

You were a little shocked, it was such a nice gift. You didn’t realize Arion thought so highly of you.

“I think about you a lot, (Y/N),” he admitted, then blushed as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

You smiled shyly.

“I don’t mind if you think about me,” you shared, your heart skipping a beat.

“Really?” he asked, his eyes widening.

You giggled.

“Sure, think about me all you want.”

If only you knew how frequently that was, you might not have said those words.

A customer cleared her throat, tapping her foot impatiently and Arion winked at you, giving you a little wave before he slithered back to his corner.

–

Things went smoothly for the next few days, though Levi still hadn’t turned up. You knew how to manage the library on your own, so not much changed during the workday except you had to go to HR to get your timesheet approved instead of Levi.

Arion brought you cups of coffee the way you liked it and pastries every day, his eyes always lingering on the bracelet on your wrist. You hadn’t taken it off. You’d tried the first night, when you showered, but the hinge was stuck and you didn’t want to break it trying to get it off yourself. You’d given up, figuring you’d take it to the jeweler over the weekend to have it fixed. It was such a nice gift you didn't mind wearing it and it appeared to be solid gold so the water wouldn’t change the color.

“Good morning (Y/N),” Arion said, slithering up to you as he usually did, “what are you so busy with?”

You were elbow deep in books, trying to get through the backlog.

“I have to finish all these before my vacation,” you said, “the temp won’t know how to check them in right and it will be a nightmare to sort out when I get back.”

“The temp?” he asked, his voice dropping and growing perhaps a bit more growly, “you’re going somewhere?”

You smiled up at him, completely oblivious.

“Oh yeah!” you beamed, “I’ve been saving up my PTO to take a trip to the ocean. I haven’t seen it in years. I’m catching a plane Monday morning. I’ll be back in a week.”

You noticed Arion seemed genuinely disturbed.

“Is everything okay?” you asked.

“Erm…yes,” he mumbled, catching himself, “just thinking about a problem with my research.”

He gave you a little wave before slithering over to his corner, his brow drawn. For the rest of the day he seemed to be frantically working something out, not looking at his books but instead his laptop and phone. You were too busy to go question him and it really wasn’t any of your business, so you just went back to checking in books and brushed it off.

That night, however, on your walk home, you had the distinct feeling someone was watching you. You’d hurried into your apartment and locked the deadbolt, pushing it a few times to make sure it was tight. Closing the curtains, you let your magic light the stove and fill the kettle, setting it to boil.

Hearth magic wasn’t usually taken very seriously though it really made your life easier. If anyone asked you, which they didn’t, it should be taught in college. Instead there was just a special interest club. It was considered a lesser magic, so easy and insignificant that there wasn’t much research done on it.

You started some soup on the other eye of the stove and were beginning to relax when you heard a thunk that made you jump. It sounded like something heavy had fallen in your bedroom.

You didn’t have any pets or roommates so there was no reason for anything to make any sound at all. Your mind immediately went to robbers. Gulping, you grabbed a baseball bat you kept by the front door and crept towards the bedroom.

“H-hello…” you murmured, nudging the door open with your foot.

The curtains were closed and the room was pitch black. You slid your fingers up the wall to find the lightswitch but something stayed your hand, making you jump a foot in the air.

“AHHHH!” you screamed, jerking your hand back.

Two large hands emerged from the darkness and clamped down on your shoulders, drawing you deeper into the inky room. You swung blindly with the bat, but whatever was there jerked it easily out of your hand.

You struggled as it pulled you under its arm, whispering strange words at you. Your body went limp and gradually the room began to fade. The last thing you saw was Arion’s face illuminated by the slice of light spilling in from the hallway.

–

You woke with something tight wrapping around your waist. You shifted, your eyes still closed, and found you couldn’t move. You blinked, taking in the dim room around you and the naga sitting next to you reading in the lamplight. His coils were wrapped around you, pinning your arms to your sides. He wasn’t squeezing very tight, but you had no hope of fighting the thick, solid muscle of his tail.

“Arion?” you murmured, your head a little fuzzy, “what…where am I?”

He gave you his soft smile, folding his book and laying it on the side table. The smile you had grown to like, so much.

“You’re safe here.”

For some reason him saying that you were safe made you feel the exact opposite. You started struggling, even though there was no hope of you breaking free. Arion cocked his head at you, sliding his glasses off of his nose and tapping them on his chin.

“You’ll only tire yourself out like that,” he told you and squeezed you just tight enough to make his point without hurting you, “and I’ve been waiting so long for you to wake up. It would be a pity.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind muddled and not entirely sure what was going on.

“Why am I here?”

He slid his glasses back up his nose and leaned in to you, frowning.

“I didn’t want to do it this way…but you made me,” he said, “you can’t get away from me.”

“Away from you?” you murmured, “what are you...y-you mean…my vacation?”

Realization bloomed in your mind as it sharpened.

“You did this because of my vacation?”

He narrowed his eyes at you.

“You did this,” he clarified, “why would you ever want to leave me? If you wanted to go to the ocean, you should have asked.”

“Asked?”

He was speaking as if you were a couple or something.

“Arion, I’m confused and you’re scaring me,” you said, “can you please release me so that we can talk?”

He squeezed you tighter.

“No,” he said petulantly, “I’ve spent enough time without you in my coils. I’m not letting you go now. I wanted to take things slower, but you’ve made me accelerate my plans. It’s as if you wanted this all along.”

You swallowed thickly, trying to slow your racing thoughts. The shy, quiet professor you’d come to favor was a complete nut job!

“My touch is not such a burden to you?” he almost pleaded, sliding you closer to him.

You grimaced and tried to pull away.

“Don’t touch me! You’re insane!” you screeched.

He growled.

“You don’t mean that,” he assured himself, “you’re just a little frightened, but everything is going to be okay, darling. Your beloved is going to make everything all right for you.”

“B-beloved?” you sputtered, unsure why your mind was hanging on that word.

His reptilian eyes looked at you, his pupils blown out and a little wild.

“I know you love me, (Y/N). You told me I could think of you as often as I like and I find that is all the time,” he said smiling, “we don’t have to hide it anymore. I’ve taken away any obstacle that could get in our way. You belong to me now.”

You whimpered. This was truly a nightmare.

“You don’t have to do this, Arion,” you whispered, “we can do this the right way. You can take me on a real date! We’ll have a nice time. You don’t have to do this!”

You were lying to his face. If he believed you and let you go, you were going to run straight to the police, but you would say anything. He gave you his gentle smile again, his eyes more lucid.

“Don’t worry, we’ll go on lots of dates as soon as I know you aren’t going to try to run from me,” he said, “I know you don’t really mean it, but I still have to be sure. I’d hate for you to hurt yourself running away from your destiny.”

He brushed his hands through your hair.

“You’ve been taught devotion like this is wrong, brainwashed, really,” he clucked, his long fingers carding the strands, “but I’m going to teach you true love, love stronger than life itself.”

“W-what do you mean by that?” you whimpered, a cold stone dropping in the pit of your stomach.

He jerked your wrist from where it was pinched between his body and yours, holding up the bracelet.

“I’ve bound you to me,” he said with pride, twisting the metal, warm from your body heat, in his fingers, “the spell I’ve been researching worked! The binder has fused to you, it'll never come off.

"Now we can be together for this life and the next. We can’t ever be parted. We’ll die and meet again in the next life if we spend more than a day apart. ”

He chuckled.

“To think all it took was a little bit of semen, that was what the spell has been missing for thousands of years. It’s the breakthrough of my life, honestly!”

He nuzzled your trembling body as the realization of what he was saying sunk in. The spell. The one you’d copied for him!

“You can’t do this, Arion,” you hissed, “it’s illegal! It’s…It’s slavery!”

“No, no, my love,” he said, “that’s what they want you to think. They want to control your mind. What we have is so, so special. No laws can bind us.”

Desperation had become anger and now anger was turning to despair. You sank into his coils, resigning yourself to your future. You were no magician. You had no power to fight this. You could make pots and pans dance, but that was about it. You were so far out of your depth. Tears plummeted down your cheeks in hot streaks.

“That’s alright, darling,” he said, rubbing your back and pressing your head into his neck, “get it all out. You’ll feel better after a good cry and then we’ll have a snack.”

You breathed in his disgustingly delicious scent and hated that on some level it comforted you.

#monster x girl #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster romance #yandere headcanons #yandere fluff #male yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #naga #naga x read #naga x reader #monster fluff

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cocteaucherry · 4 months

Note

Gojo giving his f!partner his blindfold because she has a migraine 🥺

stop this is so cute 😭 I love it sm <33

these past weeks have been stressful for you, sure you weren't on the frontlines exorcizing curses but filing the paperwork that had come with eliminating them seemed to be your breaking point, Autumn; curses had been popping up left and right, and with that meant files of reports needed to be filed by the end of the week. Your eyebrows seemingly stuck in a permanent furrow as your pen scribbled into the dotted lines. When it was time to clock out, your boyfriend Satoru always made an appearance at your doorway at exactly 6:04, “Heyyyy!” his voice broke you out of your trance. “Hey,” you mumbled tiredly rubbing your eyes, you had the lights in your office dimmed due to the recurring pain that would strike behind your eyes.

“You okay? Kinda dark in here,” he said, switching the lights on which made you wince loudly, “ Oh God turn them off!” you exclaimed quite loudly as Satoru made quick work of switching them off immediately making his way over to you, “Hey, you okay?” he spoke softly, running a hand over your back. You let out a tired laugh as you stared up at him with tired eyes, “honestly no.” you said rubbing your fingers over your temples, even moving your eyes too much to set the pain off.

Even though Satoru Gojo seemed like an absolute ass he learned rather quickly to observe people, he observed the growing worry in your voice as the days passed on, the tiredness in your eyes, and the way your eyes would usually avoid bright lights. “Overdoing it huh?” he asked, continuing to massage your back.

“No choice if I wanna get these papers filed by the end of the week.. Everything is too much.. The writing, the lights..” you mumbled incoherently as Gojo continued to listen.

“y/n hold your head up for a minute.”

“Huh?” you asked, getting pulled from your trainwreck of thoughts, he repeated himself, his hands pulling as his blindfold, a peak of his snow-dusted lashes and eyebrows making an appearance, you nodded, sighing with an okay as you held your head up. He stepped behind and part of you wondered what he was planning.

All of a sudden you felt the draping of a soft cloth grace the bridge of your nose and then your sensitive eyes, he made a loose but secure knot. “How’s that feel?” he asked and by the tone of his voice you knew he was smiling, you couldn't help the smile that crept on your face as you responded. “Better.” Gojo grinned, placing a kiss on your forehead as he stepped back, “Great! Now m’lady shall we get home? I would love to enjoy the company of my girlfriend and her amazing cookies.”

You let out a giggle as you stood up, “Of course Satoru-” you were cut off as your hip hit the side of the desk which resulted in you letting out a groan, “Careful, kinda hard to see.” he said grabbing your hand gently, “Guess you'll just have to hold onto me for the rest of the night.” he feigned playfully with an overdramatic pouty face.

“I guess I will Satoru.” You hummed gripping his hand tightly as he led you out of your office.

~ʚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ɞ~

#jujutsu x reader #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #fluff #gojo x y/n

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kivino · 6 months

Note

MORE ROOMMATE!SOAP PRETTY PLEASEEE!!!!!

ROOMMATE!SOAP HEADCANONS

my masterlist

Word counter - ~900 words

Tags/Warnings - pure fluff!

A/n - ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ANON <33 i can't really post a complete fic rn because i'm working on another midterm essay so here y'all go! I also have another fic with Roommate!Soap planned out, so stay tuned sdkflskdfjs

You two met through his sister, you, being her college friend, visited her and her family during breaks many times, and that’s where you met Soap. You two were on pretty good terms, and he would sometimes call you when he or his family were not able to get ahold of his sister when she would go out to parties (usually accompanied by you). However, the two of you became roommates only later in the future, when he decided that he didn’t want to live with his family anymore, but leaving an apartment all empty for months on end would just be foolish. So that’s when he decided he needed someone to co-exist with, and you casually made your way into his life.

Whole Task Force 141 plus Laswell know about you, because of how homesick he gets sometimes! And you don't always respond to messages, you have your own life after all (plus, Soap knows you're not good with texting back, so he tries not to pressure you). However, unintentionally he starts to remember or mention you in unrelated conversations. And that's how everyone around him knows that it's time for him to go on his leave.

Not a lot of people are allowed to call him Johnny. He still gives his older sisters shit for calling him that sometimes. You and Ghost, however, are both allowed to do it. Not like his discontent would’ve stopped you though.

More often than not talks about you in a way that makes it appear like the two of you are together, with how he’s all smiles during these conversations. Describes you like he’s an infatuated teenager and then gets confused when someone assumes Soap is talking about his significant other. It's not that he is oblivious to his feelings, or a dumbass, of course not, it's that his feelings lasted for so long that it's very much normal to him and he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary with it.

The love language that you both share is bullying and insulting each other relentlessly. Soap is less harsh with his words, but you’re just merciless. Sometimes it also grows into play fights and roughhousing between you. Soap tries to be careful, because he knows that he’s stronger (he’s in the military, duh), but he still won’t go down without a fight. So he goes easy on you.

We know that Soap has a whole sketchbook, filled to the brim with many drawings of various quality, his thoughts, and different garbage he picks up when he has the opportunity. A pretty leaf? Snatch. A random receipt from when you got groceries with him together? Snatch. A note you scribbled for him to finally wash his damn dishes? Sad snatch. When he's on leave he takes the opportunity to sketch you as much as possible, so he remembers every single detail of your face, the expressions you make, or the way you position your body. Soap does it to be able to replicate it when you’re not around him. He has millions of sketches where you’re napping on the couch.

When he’s absentmindedly doodling something during the briefings and meetings he draws small figures that resemble Task Force and you. One time he bought some colored pens so he’s not bored out of his mind on base, and the assigned color to draw you was blue, while he drew himself with a red pen. Gaz got green and Ghost he draws using a black pen, both Laswell and Price share the fact that Johnny draws them with a pencil.

One of the small traditions that you have when he’s on leave, is cooking something for each other while some show you’re not paying attention to plays in the background. The kitchen in the apartment is pretty modest, so two people cooking and moving around at the same time is a bit too much for such a small amount of space. When you get too into the process of mixing or cutting something and Soap needs to squeeze past you, he gently puts a hand on your lower back and you instantly know what he wants, because of how much he does it. It’s never arrogant or invasive, instead, it’s gentle and a bit playful.

Johnny’s very sociable and likes going out to drink frequently. You, however, prefer to not get involved in his escapades as often, so you stay home, instead telling him to call whenever he needs you to pick him up. On multiple separate occasions, when he came back home a bit tipsy, he would stumble into your room and fall on your bed, getting knocked out almost in a second. Soap’s snoring is pretty loud when he’s drunk or has a stuffy nose. Plus, he’s as heavy as a damn rock and you can’t move him because of it, so instead you sleep on the couch, sacrificing the health of your back for Soap’s sweet dreams.

Johnny is pretty good with his hands. If anything broken needs fixing, or anything heavy needs lifting he’s always happy to help. He’s also a decent cook, so if you’re not feeling like cooking dinner after you’re back home from work he’s ready to throw something together for you no problem. Partially because he knows that you’d do the same for him if he asked. And, well, he just cares about you. He’s ready to cook dinner for you for the next decade if it means you’ll feel better.

Your texts with him are filled to the brim with stupid videos and photos you send each other. If Johnny sees something that reminds him of you, what you like, or some random inside joke – you best believe he’s already snapping a photo and sending it to you.

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request/comment!

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lsk3nn3dys · 8 months

Text

𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐧

Neuvillette x Afab!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: sorta dub con, consent is sorta implied, petnames (little one), soft dom!neuvillette, oral sex m!receiving, blowjobs, size kink, throat fucking, and cum swallowing

A/N: Forgive me, this is VERY self indulgent

“The verdict has been decided,” The Chief of Justice announces, and everyone waits in anticipation over the decision. He opens the small note, reads it to himself for a second, and then looks at you. You stare back at him from your podium on the court, waiting for your punishment. You only committed a small, minor crime. Really, nothing major. You docked your friend’s small boat in the wrong docking area, which is reserved for trading vessels only. It wasn’t like you were a seasoned criminal. In fact, this is only the third time you’ve been in the courthouse. Your eyes have continually stared at the pointy-eared Chief Justice while your thoughts were swimming, wanting to hear his words.

“The defendant must pay a fine and log their crime into the archives,” Neuvillette announces. You sigh in relief as this outcome is leagues better than what could have happened. The crowd murmurs about the verdict.

“Huh, getting off pretty easy,” one person in the crowd says.

“I’m glad it wasn’t too harsh,” someone else says.

“Well, well, well,” Lady Furina bursts. “As the Chief of Justice, Neuvillette has stated, you must pay a fine and archive your crime. Please find Monsieur Neuvillette after this and hold up your end of the punishment.” Neuvillette sighs deeply as if he’s nonverbally complaining to the Archon for repeating his words without much reason. You only nod as you want all to end as swiftly as possible.

As everyone begins exiting the courtroom, the guards escort you to the courthouse entrance, where Monsieur Neuvillette awaits you.

“I can take it from here,” he says to the guards. “I doubt the defendant will try to run.” The guards reluctantly agree and leave the two of you to venture to his office so you can pay your fine and archive your crime. Seeing him up close is a luxury you never thought you’d see. He’s really a sight.

“Shall we go?” he asks, and you nod, following him to his office. The walk there is quiet as you follow him. You’re unsure if you’re allowed to speak to him or if you’re allowed to walk by his side. He just seems so out of reach to someone like you. So, you just stay silent.

When you finally get to his office, you sit on the chair before his desk as he gathers a few things from the shelves.

“I assume you will be paying your fine with a check?” Neuvillette asks.

“Uh, yes, if that’s alright,” you reply, and he hands you a blank check with a pen. As you write, you feel the Chief Justice’s eyes on you. It makes you feel small. Not to mention you’re alone with such an important person. However, despite your circumstances, he has an incredibly calm presence. Once you’re done, you hand the check back, and he asks you about the trial and everything that happened with your crime.

“My friend had asked me to dock their boat for them since they wanted to spend time with their husband,” you begin, and Neuvillette writes what you say. “So, I met them at their destination and drove the boat to the loading area near the entrance elevator.” Neuvillette listens and carefully writes your side of things.

“I had no idea that the ships had corresponding docks, and I think my friend mentioned it, but I forgot about their warning on the day of the docking,” you continue. “So, I took a free space that seemed to fit the boat and left it.”

“And then the Plaintiff saw you leave the boat there and not stay to take responsibility,” Neuvillette finishes for you.

“Yes, that’s correct, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you say, not wanting to overrule the court ruling. He scribbles a few more things before looking back at you. The intensity of his gaze makes it hard for you to hold his stare.

“Is that all you need from me, Monsieur Neuvillette?” you ask.

“Actually,” he begins. “I do not think the Oratrice Mecanique made a punishment for your other sin.” Your eyes widen at his statement.

“What?” you ask. “What do you mean ‘other sin?’” Neuvillette gives you a small scoff.

“Did you think I did not notice?” he asks. Your silence tells him you don’t know what he’s talking about. He shakes his head as if he’s disappointed. “That I would not notice you staring at me the entire trial.” You can yourself heat up from this. You had no idea he caught you.

“Oh, that,” you say quietly.

“I felt your eyes on me the entire time. It was…” he trails off for a moment. “Distracting.”

“Uh, distracting?” you’re surprised. “I’m really sorry Monsieur Neuvillette. I just…” You aren’t really sure what to say. He narrows his eyes at you, waiting for you to finish. However, you do not.

“I think I understand,” he says. “Humans are complicated in some cases but easy to read in others.”

“Oh,” is all you reply with. He gets up from his desk and goes around to where you are. You stay in your seat, staring up at him.

“I think you know what you have done,” he says.

“Uh, I do?” you ask.

“Yes, you do,” he affirms. He takes your chin with his hand and brings your gaze up to his eyes. You look into his serious blue coral-colored eyes and begin to understand what he means.

“I think I understand, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you admit.

“That is good to hear,” he says. “You are in luck, Y/N.” Your eyes widen both from his words and from hearing him speak your name for the first time since the initial trial.

“I am?” you question.

“Correct. I know of a way for you to repent for your little sin,” he tells you. You look up at him with pleading eyes. “Would you like to rectify your sin?” You only nod your head. He gives you a small, dark smile. “That’s a good little one.” His thumb lightly brushes against your lips.

“I think I know what to do,” you say boldly.

“Oh?” he asks, amused. “Well, I will not stop you.” You move his long jacket to reach his pants as if rushing to get him out of his clothing. You can already see his hard cock tenting up. Confirming that he wanted this just as much as you did.

“Those pretty little eyes of yours had quite the effect on me, as you can see,” he says. The compliment makes you feel hot, and you can feel your arousal for the Chief Justice grow. You trace his length with your hand, and his breath hitches. “You really should not tease me.”

You carefully move his pants to allow his cock to be freed from the fabric. When his cock springs up from its confines, your mouth waters. Both from nerves and anticipation. As if he can read your mind, he gives you some reassuring words.

“You can handle me,” he tells you. Since receiving this new confidence, you take your hand and begin pumping his cock. He groans above you, and it gets you hotter. You start licking his tip and looking up into his eyes. His eyes are burning with his desire, but he doesn’t want to rush or hurt you, allowing you to go at your own pace.

You wrap your mouth around his tip and suck it while looking at him. You swirl your tongue around, and his eyebrows furrow together. You go slow with your movements because of his size.

“You are doing amazing, little one,” he praises you. You want to do more for him and make him feel even better. You start to lower yourself on his cock; your mouth taking more of him. Neuvillette lets out a surprised moan. He wasn’t expecting you to try and take him. You move up and down his cock slowly, your throat closing around him. When you feel his big cock start to touch the back of your throat, you back up and catch your breath.

“You do not have to push yourself,” Neuvillette says. “Just your hand and tongue is enough.” You unlatch yourself off him to speak to him.

“But I…I want to make you feel good, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you plead. He gives you a soft smile.

“You are already doing that, Y/N,” he tells you. His hand caresses your cheek, but you’re determined. You wrap your lips around him again and suck harder. Neuvillette groans lewdly from your actions. “Ah, fuck, Y/N.”

You bob quickly as your tongue glides along his length, feeling the prominent veins on his cock. Your saliva spreads all around him and helps you with your pace. You use your hand to pleasure the places your mouth can’t reach. Neuvillette grips the table that’s beside you to keep himself grounded.

You can feel his cock grow and twitch from inside your throat. He’s getting close.

“Fuck,” he curses again. “Are you sure I can…” he can’t even finish what he’s saying before groaning again. You hum your approval for his question. The idea of swallowing his cum has you practically drenched in your underwear. Neuvillette rests his other hand in your hair to keep you on him. His groans and moans become louder as he gets closer to his orgasm. He instinctively begins to thrust into your throat, chasing his high. You feel your eyes start to tear up, but you can’t help but look at Neuvillette’s face. “You look so…fuck…beautiful like this.” He moves his cock to the tip of your mouth, and you open it as Neuvillette shoots his cum onto your tongue. His cum tastes salty, but it’s warm on your tongue. Neuvillette moves his cock away and touches your lips with his fingers. His eyes soften as you swallow his cum.

“Did I do well?” you ask. He chuckles.

“You most certainly did,” he praises. “Now, would you like me to return the favor?” He flashes a sexy grin, showing his fangs. “Because I think I should repent for my own sin now.”

●❯────────────── ∘ ──────────────❮●

Networks: @enchantedforest-network || @planetonet || @trailblazernet || @themovingcastlez

#genshin impact x reader #gi x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #gi smut #genshin smut #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut

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transmascaraa · 5 months

Text

bf!lyney headcannons!

you've been in class for a while now and your boyfriend texts you saying that he's "bored" ... what shall you do to help him?

bf! lyney x m!reader

author's note: i knew this would win the poll. anyway, have fun reading this cuz it was fun to make<3 (btw this might be a start to some spiciness which might make me less embarrassed to make smut in the future)

"now that class is over, let me have my fun... "

-it's like the middle of the lecture and both of you are clearly bored

-he's spent the last 10mins trying to get you to look at him using some type of telekinesis (which of course didn't work cuz you were too focused on biting your pencil)

-and you've been scribbling in your notebook(you've been sketching lyney<3)

-suddenly, he decides to text you

-"hey, mon amour, what's up??? :))"

-and you can just feel his gaze on you as you see the notification

-"nothing really, i'm just bored and yeahhh just drawing smthn"

-"what are you drawing??? is it meee?????"

-you practically just know that he's seen your sketch by now. it's not like you two sit that far away

-"maybe" you reply to his text, turning off your phone, thinking he he'll stop texting you

-but then, you get more notifications. a lot. you turn off your sound for notifications and open your messages with lyney.

-oh boy, he surely was clingy.

-not that you had a problem with it

-the messages went like this:

-"yeah well i'm boreddd"

-"should we do something??"

-"mon cœur???"

-"hello???"

-"bonjour?"

-"did i do something?????"

-"[name] i'm boredd"

-"oh dear boyfrienddd"

-"i wanna kiss you so bad rn"

-you finally calm down your blushing face and reply to him

-"bro we're in class"

-"idc let's talk over text<33"

-he's so persistent but you can't help but put a little smile on your face

-"fine" you replied to him

-"yayyy" you looked at him and he was smiling like an idiot at you

-you roll your eyes and text him again

-"anything specific you wanna talk abt?"

-"hmm yeah but how long until it rings"

-"idk like 10mins. possibly 5."

-"great then!"

-"why"

-"i have my plans ;)"

-that was the line. you blushed and hid your face, but you made it look like you were "focusing on the lecture"

-he smiled at your reaction and texted you again

-"c'mon the teacher said 2 more mins"

-you just look at him and nod, as a sign of a "yes" and also a sign for him to stop texting you so he nods in return

-after those 2 mins, and the bell rings, you two meet in the bathroom, well, he was waiting for you there first

-"what did you want, lyney?" you ask him as you walk into the school bathroom

-"just... you~" he pulled you into one of the bathroom stalls and held you by the waist, his hot breath against your neck

-"dear archons... i've missed you for these 45 minutes..." he chuckled breathly into your ear, sending shivers down your spine while he smirked against your neck

-he kissed it softly and gently, making you squirm a bit

-soon enough, he was very touchy and very needy, all thanks to you.

-"this is what you get for biting that pencil so attractively~..."

-you had only been hoping that nobody caught you there.

~~~~~

oh how i love this oneee it's so cute lmao

thanks for reading and imma be on my way now lol

thanks to everyone who reads my work at all<3

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hier--soir · 1 year

Text

under the night | three

summary: what's dinner between two friends? + joel makes great parsnips pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ only, minors dni] language, smut, oral [f recieving], protected sex, age gap [20ish years], disappearance, angst word count: 8k part two | series masterlist | main masterlist

Fungus.

“That’s not fucking funny, man,” Ellie stared at you, as you tried, and failed, to contain the grin spreading across your face.

You held your hands in the air in faux sheepishness, smirking. “Well,” you said triumphantly. “It’s worth 10 points, and it’s on a double word score square, so 20! Fungus is a winner, I say.” You grabbed the pencil and scribbled your score down, staring victoriously at the scrabble board on the platform between you.

Joel’s front porch was cramped as it was, just enough space for two chairs facing outward; but Ellie had determinedly wedged a small stool between the chairs for you to play on. Scrabble had been her idea, after she came across the old box at a friend’s house a few days prior. It had taken a few trial runs for her to fully get the hang of the rules, and on game four, she was really beginning to enjoy herself. Sitting out in the cool afternoon air three quarters of the way through winter, you were relieved you’d worn a thick beanie. It was crisp out, and after 2-hours of playing, the board had an icy layer of condensation settled on it.

“Sorry, kid,” you winked. “Gotta find a way to use that shit to my advantage somehow.” You took a long sip of your steaming coffee, leaning back in your chair to watch Ellie begin her turn. The girl was taking a painstaking amount of time trying to figure out the correct spelling of her next word, when she grew distracted from noticing Tommy wandering down the street with the newbie by his side. He gave the two of you a wave and sidled up to the bottom step of the porch.

“Kiddos,” he grinned fondly. You huffed lightly at the moniker, considering you were in your thirties yet being grouped in with a teenager. “Y’all met Lincoln yet?”

The man behind Tommy was short and slim, with a shaved head and an easy-going smile that never seemed to leave his face.

“I’m Ellie,” she said, eyes trained on her letters.

You introduced yourself with a polite nod, giving him your undivided attention to make up for Ellie’s lack-there-of.

“Mighty fine to meet you both." His voice was low and hoarse, in a way that sounded like he used to smoke a pack of cigarettes a day, and now it surely hurt him to speak.

Tommy butted in quickly. “He came all the way here from Canada, so I thought I’d be hasty with introducing him to some friendly faces.”

“Ooh Canada,” Ellie gave a poor attempt at enthusiasm, and you tried not to laugh at how clearly the girl wanted to end the conversation and play her next word.

Tommy gave her an ungrateful eyeroll, and asked, “Joel in?”

As if by clockwork, the front door of the house opened and the man in question peered out curiously. When he spotted Tommy, he emerged fully, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Tommy grinned, reaching out to grip his brother’s hand quickly. Joel made eye contact with you ever so briefly and offered a small smile, before looking back to his brother.

“Doing a newbie tour?” he queried.

“Y’met Lincoln yet?” Ellie asked, to which he gave a quick nod.

“Please, call me Linc,” the man told them all, his gaze resting on your face for a second longer than the others’. “All my friends do.” You couldn’t tell if you’d imagined it, but you swore you heard a low scoff come from Joel.

“So you came all this way by yourself?” Ellie asked him, finally putting down her letters and giving the group her full attention. Her voice seemed to shine with a sort of curious respect.

Lincoln nodded, his face drooping somewhat. “Been alone for a long time now. My girls, they died a long time ago, in those first few months. By myself ever since.” You noticed Ellie shot a quick wary glance in Joel’s direction, who had turned his face away from the conversation to stare out into his neighbour’s front yard. Weird. “I try not to dwell on things though!” Lincoln said, that cheery smile returning.

You didn't offer up any kind of response, as you mulled over his words. His story wasn't so different from most of the people you knew, but you allowed a short moment of empathy for the stranger. You couldn't imagine the loss that would come from losing a child.

“Well,” Tommy broke the silence. “Let’s continue this tour.”

“I’ll head out with you, I gotta stop by and see Maria,” Joel started down the porch steps, and you tried not to stare at his back as he walked away from the house.

It had been almost two weeks since the night you and Joel had almost kissed, and since then the pair of you had never been alone. It wasn’t purposeful, at least on your part. But you were acutely aware that he would only appear in your presence when he knew there was going to be other people present.

When you thought back on that night, your heart would swell remembering the soft way he spoke to you; the care in his eyes. But it was directly followed by the memory of how you rejected his kiss. Your chest ached with longing at the thought of getting a do over.

The cycle of avoidance ended at last when he noticed you walking the streets by yourself one afternoon.

“Hey there,” he murmured, falling into step beside you. “Where you headed?”

“Just wandering around,” you replied slowly, staring at him in something akin to shock.

“Care for some company?”

“Well, who’d you have in mind?” you teased in an attempt to act casual, ignoring the quick thrum of your heart.

“This grumpy old Texan,” he chuckled. “He doesn’t get out much, but he’s great once you get to know him, I swear.”

You turned your head to grin at him. “Sounds like a riot, I’ll take him.”

The pair of you roamed aimlessly around town for an hour, talking and catching up. Your stomach filled with warmth; you had missed speaking to him. Missed the way your name sounded coming from his mouth.

“Y’know,” Joel began after a batch of silence. You had almost reached your house, and it seemed the walk was coming to a natural end. “I was wondering if you’d come to the house for dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” you said in surprise, stopping and staring at him. He ground to a halt a few steps ahead of you, and turned awkwardly. "You're asking me to dinner?"

"I am."

"Was this Ellie's idea?"

Joel rubbed his hands together in front of him. “No, uh,” he paused thoughtfully, not quite meeting your eye. “The kid's out tonight. It would… it would just be you and I.”

“I see,” you said, trying to read his expression.

“I understand if-“

"You've been avoiding me." His eyebrows twitched into a frown, and he licked the corner of his lip.

"Not on purpose," he said.

"You've been accidentally avoiding me?" you asked, knowing the wrinkle between your eyebrows was no doubt identical to his.

"I thought you wouldn't want to see me," he finally admitted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I felt like a fuckin' ass the other night. I overstepped-"

"Joel," you tried to interrupt but he shook his head, continuing.

"No, you needed support, and it wasn't the time or place for that shit, I shouldn't have.... I shouldn't have."

Your heart beat wildly as he spoke. Arms wrapping around yourself to protect from the cool wind, you nodded slowly.

"I appreciate that."

The pair of you were silent for a beat, just watching each other. Joel's eyes seemed to roam over your entire face, and then downward. He stared fondly at your frame wrapped up in his old black jacket, and then said, "Let me cook us dinner."

“That sounds lovely. I’ll be there, Joel.”

His eyes lit up softly, and sweet crow’s feet appeared beside them as he smiled at you.

“It’s just dinner,” you mumbled to yourself in frustration, willing your feet to move. Your legs were locked as you stood on the road, staring at Joel’s front door. “It’s dinner, you love dinner.”

Taking a deep breath, you propelled yourself forward and rapped your knuckles sharply against the door. Your skin was hot underneath the layers of clothes you wore.

When it swung open, relief washed over you like cold water, and you were delighted to see Joel standing there. Damp hair slicked back, with a clean bottle green shirt hugging his body. Most times you saw him he'd be dressed in the same old clothes, with dirt and grime smeared across his skin from long days of work. The difference was stark, and it made your throat feel tight. So fucking handsome.

He said your name simply, staring you down.

“Joel,” you imitated his tone, holding back a laugh at the odd greeting. “Hope you remembered inviting me over.”

He rolled his eyes, and you swore you saw a faint flush rise in his cheeks. Clearly, he’d been expecting you; that much could be told by his appearance, and by how clean the house was when you stepped inside.

The cushions on the couch were fluffed and placed neatly, rather than haphazardly like normal. It even looked like he’d dusted the bookshelves.

“Something smells delicious,” you inhaled deeply, turning to see him wringing his hands nervously. He nodded his head towards the kitchen, encouraging you to follow him.

“It’s almost done, just needs some finishing touches.”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Rabbit.”

You enjoyed the smells of roasting meat as he worked in the kitchen. He piled the food onto two plates with careful precision, before picking them up and leading you to the table. With a swell in your chest, you saw that he’d already set two places with cutlery and glassware. Seeing this side of him, this domesticity, was almost unnerving. It was like a trapdoor had been opened, and he’d ushered you inside quickly, exposing a secret, soft, part of his personality. You felt privileged to have it bared to you.

“This looks lovely, Joel, thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” he replied brusquely.

“Well, I will anyway,” you retorted. “This looks better than anything I could ever cook.” You dug in eagerly, and an involuntary moan slipped past your lips as the flavour of the rabbit hit your tastebuds for the first time.

While you ate, you took the time to notice more details of his home. It wasn’t very cluttered, but small sentimental items were placed around. It felt so intimate to be there. You’d been in the house before, but it had always been brief. A pause in the kitchen while Ellie grabbed her bag from the bungalow, or a quick rifle through the pantry for a tea bag before you returned to the porch. Being able to sit, and take it all in, felt so good.

You discussed his patrols, your work at the stables. He asked if you'd made anymore friends, and smiled when you told him Ellie was your favourite person in Jackson. The conversation was light, and non-committal. Where you both avoided chit chat with everyone else in town, it seemed to be all you could do for that first hour in each other’s company.

And amidst it all, the silent tension between you seemed to have spiked again. All your shy, private interactions around Jackson for the past few months. All the smiles, and hushed laughs, and eyerolls. All the times you’d shamefully admired his looks, his strong hands. The almost kiss and the conversation from earlier danced around your mind while he spoke to you. Was tonight the night it all came to a head?

“So,” he said. “How was the rest of your day? After your walk, I mean.”

“Well,” you shrugged. “To be honest, I was just waiting around the house before I could come over here.”

“You could’ve come earlier,” he said.

“And crash your spring-cleaning session?” you scoffed teasingly. “I couldn’t possibly.”

That flush returned to his cheeks, and he took a quick sip from his glass of water. “No shame in keeping a clean house.”

“No shame at all,” you murmured with a smirk, knowing damn well you and Cal’s house looked like a pair of wild animals lived in it. Clothes strewn haphazardly around; dirty mugs littered across the kitchen counter.

You ate in silence for a while after that. The food was incredible. A medley of herbs and spices speckled the tender meat, and he'd glazed parsnips in honey and thyme. They were sweet and sticky and reminded you of something your mom made when you were a kid. You savoured every single bite.

Unable to help it, your eyes fell closed and you hummed happily, sinking back into the chair. Cutlery clinking against a plate made you look up, and you found Joel with an empty plate, watching you with a fond expression.

“What?” you reddened, placing your knife and fork carefully onto your now sparkling clean plate.

“Nothing,” he murmured. “It’s nice to… to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” Joel seemed to struggle for the words, scratching his beard absentmindedly. “… happy. It’s nice to see you smilin’.” His eyes flicked ever-so-slightly down, and you knew he was looking at the scar on your cheek.

“Oh,” you whispered, mouth slightly ajar with surprise. You went to say something, anything, but he interrupted quickly, chair scraping against the hardwood floors as he stood up.

“Are you finished?” He took your plate before you could answer, and stalked into the kitchen.

As you rose to follow him you flinched at the sound of metal clattering against the ground. Joel was crouched in the kitchen, picking up a knife from the floor. He grunted with the effort, knees cracking sharply as he straightened up.

“I feel like such an old man sometimes,” he grumbled, tossing the cutlery into the sink.

You sidled up beside him and rested your palms against the counter, gazing at the side of his expressionless face.

“Well, how about I wash, and you dry. Sound good old man?” you winked, using his own words against him. He cracked a half smile and looked over to you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “Sounds good.”

You worked in a comfortable quiet, cleaning the dishes and tidying up his kitchen. For a minute, you began to worry that maybe the two of you had finally run out of mindless topics to entertain yourselves with. Your stomach twisted faintly at the thought of the night coming to an end so quickly.

But in the instant that the kitchen was restored to its natural order, Joel squashed down that feeling.

“Stay for a whiskey?” he offered, and you revelled in what you thought was hope in his tone. Your mind flashed back to that night weeks before, when you’d been desperate for him not to leave your home. You could stay a bit longer if you want to.

“How about a wine?” you smiled bashfully.

“Let’s see what I got.”

He disappeared up the stairs and returned a few minutes later holding a dusty bottle of red wine up in the air. You let out a low whistle, nodding in approval. Joel removed the cork with ease, and soon enough you were reclining beside each other on his couch, enjoying the deep fermented berry flavours of the wine. He’d started a small fire in the hearth, and it crackled quietly, offsetting the awkward tension permeating between you. You could feel sweat dampening your palms, but you pushed down the feelings of nervousness, hoping he wasn’t noticing the effect this prolonged alone time with him was having on you.

“I can’t remember the last time I drank good wine,” you sighed wistfully, licking your lips greedily. You heard him clear his throat, and caught him staring at your mouth with dark eyes.

“Been a while for me too,” he admitted, eyes lifting to meet your gaze. “Stick with liquor most of the time. But this… this is definitely nice.”

You hummed happily into your glass.

“You know,” he started. “What you were saying earlier, about just waiting around before coming over here… you could have, you know?”

“Could have what?”

“You could’ve come over,” he cleared his throat. “This place is… you’re always… you’re welcome here.”

“Well, that’s sweet and all, but I wouldn’t want to impose on you or Ellie.”

“Ellie adores you,” he stated firmly.

Your mouth moved without your permission, forming the words too quickly for your brain to register. “And you?”

He frowned slightly, “And me?”

“I’m welcome here because Ellie adores me…” you trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the gap. Half a glass of wine, and it seemed you were more forward than you’d ever been with him. But the game of cat and mouse was getting old, and you figured maybe this was your chance to gain some clarity on the situation.

Dinner and wine between…two friends? What was this?

“I think you…” his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, before turning to face you front on. “I think you’re lovely.”

His big brown eyes shined with earnest, gazing endlessly into your own.

“What does that mean?” you pushed further, grip on your wine glass tightening. You couldn’t read his face. Those eyes seemed to darken, and he took a deep breath.

“It means you’re always welcome here.” He was talking in circles, and he seemed to realise it too, shutting his eyes and grimacing. “I’m no good at this,” he admitted with a humourless chuckle. “What I’m trying to say is that I like it... when you’re around. I like being near you.”

You could tell from how tight he gripped his glass, that it wasn’t an easy admission for him to make. Yet his voice was laced with sincerity.

He continued softly, “I don’t… talk to people, the way I talk to you. I didn’t think it was something I could do anymore. But it feels so… easy, with you. Easy to just be around you. It don’t make sense to me.”

You could see the weight of Joel’s honesty; how it manifested in his hunched shoulders. He was scared to say these things.

“I like being near you too,” you reciprocated, body instinctively shifting toward him. You were perched precariously, with your chest tilted forward, all your weight balancing on your right hand that gripped the sofa cushion in between you. “I was worried I made you think otherwise.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, eyes darting wildly across your face before his gaze settled solidly on your mouth. Intuitively, your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip. “I like being near you,” he repeated slowly. “And… I gotta say, I’m nervous as hell to try my luck at kissin’ you again.”

Heat flared inside your stomach, and that was all you needed to push forward and press your lips against his.

Joel’s lips always looked chapped, but they were soft, and pushed eagerly against your own. For a moment, that was all it was. Your lips pressed gently against each other's, soft breaths rushing from your nose. He pulled back, and stared at you with a contemplative expression. Smiling shyly, your hand landed on his knee and squeezed it gently.

And then he placed his hand on your cheek, tilting your head ever so slightly to the side, and kissed you again.

You sighed as his tongue swiped along your bottom lip, before eagerly pushing into your mouth. The taste of red wine and parsnips invaded your mouth, and you reached up to place a hand on the side of his neck. His thumb stroked your cheekbone softly, fingers drifting into the hair behind your ear, cradling your face. You could feel his pulse racing under the skin, and gasped wetly into the kiss as his free hand landed on your waist. Devastated to break the moment, you pulled back for a breath of air, scraping your teeth across his bottom lip, and nipping it gently.

Joel grunted, gripping your waist and pulling you across the couch so you were above him, hovering over his lap. While you took deep breaths, he pressed sweet kisses along your cheek, down your chin, and to the skin of your neck. He was insatiable, not taking his mouth off you for a second.

You trailed your hands through his dark hair, smiling at the soft groan that he let out in response to the sensation. You did it once, twice more, wanting to hear the noise again, but suddenly he pulled off from your skin. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, and he ran his fingers lightly along your clothed hips while staring up at you. His eyes were heavy with longing, lips wet from your kisses, and you were certain it was the most attractive he'd ever looked.

“What are we doing here?” Joel asked quietly, licking his lower lip. A laugh sprinkled from your mouth, and he joined in, the sounds mixing beautifully in the air. He was chuckling, but his eyes shone with uncertainty, searching yours for clarity.

“What do you mean, Joel?”

“I mean, what are we doing?” he echoed. It clicked. The last time you'd been this close you had trusted Joel, told him about your past. And here he was, giving you an out. He was saying, you’re the boss, you tell me what happens next. You could feel your pulse thrum between your thighs.

“What you say goes,” he said softly, reaching up to trace his fingers over the scar on your cheekbone.

“I want you,” your voice cracked on the third word, and if your cheeks weren’t already red from the excitement of the kiss, you would’ve blushed at how needy it sounded. But your tone was sure, and Joel nodded once, his grip on your waist tightening slightly.

He pulled you closer so your chests were flush against one another, and you rested your forehead against his. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you saying those words.”

You shook your head at him in mock exasperation, but really, you just didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead of speaking, you kissed him again. You looped your arms lazily around his neck and pushed your tongue into his mouth, stealing the breath from his lungs. He made you feel desperate.

Joel’s hands drifted from your waist down your back, resting carefully just above the waist band of your pants. You reached back and took his hand, pushing it down to rest lower. Quickly, he slid both of his hands into your back pockets, gripping your ass through your pants.

You whimpered into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily. He removed the space between your lower halves, pulling you down so you rubbed against him. The feeling of him, firm beneath the zipper of his jeans, sent a jolt through your system. He ground up against you, breathing heavily against your lips, eyes open and watching your reactions. For a moment you felt a wave of shyness rush through your system. For years, no one had seen this side of you. The vulnerability was intense, and you tucked your face against his neck. Joel gripped your chin and pushed your face back into his line of sight, shaking his head.

“Let me see you,” he breathed. “I don’t wanna miss a single thing.”

Holding eye contact, he dragged his fingers across your belt, and started undoing the leather strap. Your hand stopped over his.

“Not here,” you said. “Upstairs.” He gripped the back of your thighs and stood up from the couch in a swift movement, walking you up the stairs. You peppered kisses along his neck, swiping your tongue along the pulsing artery under his tanned skin.

Once he reached the landing, he used his back to nudge the bedroom door open, and you couldn’t help but pull back to look at your surroundings. You tapped his shoulder absentmindedly, and he lowered you gently to your feet. As if Joel no longer existed, you let youe eyes roam across the room, hungrily taking in all the details of his most private space.

Passing by a walk-in closet, you trailed your fingertips overtop his bedside table, landing on a pair of glasses folded up beside a book. You lifted it carefully.

“An Idiot’s Guide to Space,” you read aloud, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for the type.”

He was leaning against the wall, one hand propped on his hip, with a leg jutted out in front of him. His chest rose and fell quickly as he struggled to catch his breath. Irresistible, but not as irresistible as going through his things.

Sheepishly, he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Ellie loves space,” Joel told you. “Helps if I can understand a little of what she’s talkin’ ‘bout.”

“You really love that kid, huh?”

He didn’t respond, but his eyes were soft, staring at the book when you placed it back down.

A large window covered the wall opposite his bed, with a chest of drawers beneath it. You spotted two picture frames sitting on it and wandered towards them. But before you got too close, Joel’s arms had wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

His lips tickled your earlobe, his hot breath making goosebumps raise along your neck. “I want you,” he repeated your words from earlier.

You spun in his grip and pushed him into a seated position on the edge of the bed, undoing the buttons on his shirt. With the skin of his torso revealed to you, you gripped the hem of your shirt and pulled it up over your head. Joel’s lips were on your chest, kissing along your collarbones, along the tops of your breasts, as his hands fiddled with your bra strap.

After a few seconds of struggling he sighed in frustration and looked up at you. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.” You grinned, and undid the strap yourself, throwing the bra somewhere behind you.

A heavy exhale fell from him, and he trailed his fingers over your pebbled nipples. The cold air in the room did you no favours, but Joel seemed exhilarated, pinching one between his fingers, and leaning in to flick his tongue over the other. You squeezed his shoulder and gasped at the feeling of his teeth gently nipping at your bud. As he licked and sucked, his hands drifted down to finish undoing your belt. He tugged and pushed your trousers down your legs, and your underwear went with them. Within a second, you were completely naked in front of him. Joel pulled back and let his dark eyes run over your body.

“I want you on the bed.”

You settled yourself in the middle of it, head tucked into his soft pillows and stared up at him in anticipation.

Under his intense gaze, your skin felt hot. Like whispers of a flame were tickling along your body; heat rising everywhere his eyes roamed. Joel kneeled on the mattress in front of you, and his large hands gripped your knees, pulling them apart. The urge to lean down and cover yourself was strong. But then he reached out and traced his fingers along your torso, from your collarbone, past your belly button, to the dark hair above where you wanted him most.

“My god,” he whispered in what seemed like disbelief. “You’re a dream.”

He pressed teasing kisses down your stomach, along the inside of your thighs, dragging his tongue tantalisingly, making goosebumps ripple out across your flesh. Puffed breaths were whispering along your skin everywhere except where you needed his mouth to be, and you were aching. You clenched around nothing, and let out a pitiful whimper when he finally exhaled over your wet heat.

Suddenly, his tongue licked a solid stripe all the way along your throbbing core, and you cried out. Finally.

“Fuck,” he groaned, inhaling deeply. His tongue was strong, shifting between swiping back and forth across your pulsing clit, and gently prodding into your entrance. Joel pulled one of your thighs up onto his shoulder, and held his palm against the other one, pinning it to the bed. His fingers dug into your skin, and the pressure only added to the sensation of his mouth on you.

“Joel,” you breathed heavily. He moaned into you in response, rubbing small circles over your clit with his tongue.

“Oh fuck,” you whispered, eyes rolling back as you rocked your hips up against his face. “Fuck.” His hand moved from your thigh up to your chest, pinching and playing with your nipples as he fucked you with his mouth. Joel was ravenous and unrelenting, and after living so long without being touched by another person, you felt yourself close to orgasm within minutes.

“Give it to me,” he begged. “Cum for me, baby.”

After a few more seconds of his tongue dragging gloriously over you, you let out a deep moan and shuddered into the sheets, thighs tightening impossibly around his head. Your fingers raked through his hair, holding his face into you as you rode out your high. Somewhere through the pounding in your ears, you could hear Joel moaning with you, and feel the vibrations running through your core. When you finally came down, your thighs relaxed over his shoulders, but he wasn’t done. His tongue flicked lazily over your clit, cleaning you up. He pulled your aching bud between his lips, and gave it a soft suck. The sight of his face pressed into your dark curls made you feel like you were going to cum all over again.

“Joel,” you gasped, grabbing his hair to tug his face away from you. He looked up, slack jawed, with a deep frown across his forehead. His mouth and beard were shining with your slick, and your stomach tightened at what a vision he was.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I need to feel you,” you implored, and the frown disappeared. He leaned in and pressed one final sloppy kiss against your clit, before sitting back on his heels. You sat up hastily, helping him undo his belt, and then watched with heavy eyes as he stood up and removed his final articles of clothing.

His cock slapped up against his stomach, and you couldn’t help the way you hungrily stared at it. It didn’t surprise you that he was big. Something about the way he carried himself; so confident, so sure of himself. He was thick, and long, and your mouth salivated when you noticed precum leaking from the ruddy tip. You watched as he got back onto the bed, trailing his fingers down the length of it before gripping it at the base, and sighing in relief.

You flicked your eyes back up to his, exhilarated to see how intensely he was staring back at you. “I want to taste you,” you breathed, but he shook his head, bicep tensing as he lazily stroked his cock. “Please.”

“Trust me,” he grunted, eyebrows furrowed. “I hate myself for saying no, but you’ve got me so on edge already, darlin’. Had to stop myself from finishin’ with your thighs wrapped around my head.”

Your core throbbed painfully and you pushed forward, kissing him firmly. The taste of your own cum on your tongue made you moan softly; licking the tang off his lips, and swallowing it down.

You pulled away and slowly lowered down until your head hit the pillows. Joel stared down at you with parted lips and shook his head slowly.

“What?”

“Nothin',” he murmured, still shaking his head. “So beautiful.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you turned your face into the pillows. He hovered over you and pressed wet kisses along your exposed neck, his teeth nipping harshly at the juncture where it met your shoulder. You hissed at the pain, but sighed softly in forgiveness when he lapped his tongue soothingly over the spot. You watched Joel pull a condom from his bedside table, leaning back to rip open the packet, and slide the latex down onto himself.

With his cock in his fist, he pushed his tip between your folds, and you exhaled in unison at the feeling. After dragging his head along you a few times, he finally nudged his tip against your entrance. Your head was pressed back into the pillows, eyes shut and mouth wet from his kisses. You were blissed out already, but fluttered your eyes open slowly at the feeling of his fingers running over your left eyebrow.

“You with me?” he murmured, the soft look in his eyes almost too much for you to handle.

You hummed, turning your head slightly to press a kiss against his palm.

“Gotta relax for me,” he urged softly, tracing his fingers down gently over your collarbones, wanting to feel every bit skin that had been revealed to him.

You eased your tense muscles as much as you could, taking a deep breath before letting it rush out of you slowly. And with your exhale, he slipped inside you with one smooth motion. You gasped at the feeling, mouth hanging open in an 'O' shape at the sharp sting.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses to your eyelids. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” you groaned, relaxing your furrowed eyebrows. “It’s just been so long.”

The pain was already shifting into a faint, dull ache, melding beautifully with the pleasure of being so full. He readjusted his legs, and the movement caused his tip to prod gently into the deepest part of you, and you cried out.

“Fuck,” he gasped, moving to pull back, but you gripped his shoulders tightly to keep him in place.

“Feels good,” you gasped, licking her lips. “You’re so big, filling me up so well.” He swallowed back a pitiful moan.

Joel was thick and heavy inside you, and he knew better than to move too quickly. He let you adjust to him for a few more moments, enjoying watching the way your nose scrunched up and your chest heaved with harsh breaths. You were wet and hot around him, and he felt like a teenager losing his virginity again after his few years of celibacy. But he was determined to give you his all.

“God, please move,” you finally groaned, reaching up to play with your nipples out of desperation.

Without any more encouragement, he pulled back slowly, until just the tip remained inside, before pushing himself forward into your heat. You moaned in unison, your hands travelling down to his biceps. He started a steady rhythm, his eyes floating down to stare hungrily at the way your chest bounced with the force of his movements. Joel leant down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, circling it with his tongue and groaning as you pulsed around him. Your fingers pulled his hair painfully tight, and the feeling made the muscles in his stomach tingle.

He was so deep inside, and yet you ground your hips up towards him, wanting to feel him even further. It had his hips stuttering against yours, and he let out a low vibrating groan. Joel’s hands gripped against your hip bones and pressed you down into the bed, seemingly holding you away from him.

“Baby,” he ground out, and it was more of a warning than anything else.

“You can’t do that,” he panted. “I’m not gonna last if you keep doin’ that.”

You smirked lazily up at him and pushed your hips up against his weight again, meeting him stroke for stroke. There was no pain anymore, just a heavenly feeling of fullness, and you were desperate for him to let lose. “Maybe I don’t want you to last.”

“God, woman,” he scowled. “You’ll be the death of me, I know it.”

He pulled out and then thrust back into you with enough force to knock the breath out of you, and you bit your lip to hold in the high-pitched moan trying to escape.

“Let me hear you,” he ordered. “I want to hear you cum for me again, just give me one more, and then I’m yours.”

You let go of your bottom lip, letting whines and sighs fall easily from your mouth. The fire in Joel’s chest roared, loving the way you allowed the tables to turn, and obeyed him so quickly. It was so out of your character to be submissive to anyone. The thought that he had as much of an effect on you as you had on him made his cock throb painfully.

The feeling was so overwhelming you could barely keep your eyes open. He was fast, and strong, but you weren’t afraid, you were activated. Your abdomen was tight with the pleasure, and he pounded into you relentlessly. Suddenly, his cock was pressing into that spot again, and you let out an urgent exhale of his name.

“There?” he growled, angling his hips to hit it again, and again, and again. You moaned desperately, spreading your thighs wider to give him more access.

You’d forgotten every word except for Joel’s name, and you said it over and over. He had reconnected you to something so deep, so animalistic inside of you. Desire was something that hadn’t properly crossed your mind in years, only for brief moments when you rubbed one out quickly in rare moments alone. Not for a long time had you felt wanted – nor had you wanted someone the way you did with him.

Without warning, his fingers met your clit and began rubbing messy circles on it while he snapped his hips. It was all too much, and you cried out harshly as the tightening in your abdomen grew.

Your mouth was on his neck, and all you could taste was Joel’s salty skin when you finally came. Your body wracked with convulsions, the muscles in your stomach spasming intensely as he fucked you through your high.

His thrusts grew sloppy, and his face looked pained, sweat rolling down his biceps. He shifted so his elbows were in the pillows beside your head, and his forehead knocked against yours with every shift of his hips. One of his hands tangled in the hair at the back of your head, holding you in position while he pressed a sloppy kiss to your open mouth. Your orgasm was prolonged as he pounded against the spongy spot inside of you, and you were twitching, close to becoming over sensitive.

“God,” he moaned into your mouth. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”

You mewled weakly at his words, purposefully clenching around him in response.

It didn’t take long for Joel to follow you off the edge, mouth ajar as deep groans spilled from his lips. His face dropped into your shoulder, and you sighed at the feeling of him spilling inside you. He said your name softly, delicately, into your ear, his voice more gravelly than normal from exertion. For a moment, with sticky skin pressed together, and eyes closed in exhaustion, your heavy breaths were the only audible thing in the room.

Slowly, you cracked your eyes open to look around, and admired the way the moonlight shone through the window and hit his bare back. You trailed your fingers down his spine, enjoying the way goosebumps rippled across his flesh and he shivered.

“You ticklin’ me?”

You laughed into his hair. “Just enjoying all this skin.”

He hummed thoughtfully, lifting an arm to trail his hand along your side in reciprocation. “I’m enjoyin’ it too.”

He pushed up onto his elbows and slowly pulled himself out of you. Your breath hitched at the sensation, the pain from earlier returning ever so slightly now that the heat of the moment had dissipated.

“You good?” he asked softly, falling back onto his heels.

“I’m great,” you smiled, watching him pull the condom off carefully and duck into the bathroom to dispose of it.

He padded softly back into the room a few moments later with a cloth in his hands, and used it to gently wipe down your skin. You flinched at the feeling of the warm cloth between your thighs, and he apologised in a hushed tone, working quickly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, staring at him fondly. In that quiet moment, you took the opportunity to admire him properly. His body was thick and strong, all muscles underneath scarred, tanned skin. He had large strong thighs and biceps, but his stomach was soft, and you liked that.

“What’re you lookin’ at stud?” he raised an eyebrow and you smirked cheekily.

“Admiring you is all.”

He shook his head, disappearing off to the bathroom again. You tugged the covers up over yourself and laid there alone for a moment, head clear of thoughts, and sleep so close on the horizon.

“You’re staying?” you heard him, and looked over to see him standing in the doorway.

Your eyebrow jutted up questioningly. “Joel Miller, if you think I’m walking home after all that, you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

He let out a quick laugh, and pushed himself under the covers beside you. His hand slid from your thigh up your body before resting gently over your ribcage, thumb stroking along the underside of your breast.

“Good,” he mumbled into his pillow. “Don’t want you to go.”

You woke with a sharp inhale, eyes flicking around the room slowly. Still in the chokehold of a deep sleep, you yawned into your elbow and sat up slowly. The night before came rushing back to you, and you turned to see Joel sleeping soundly beside you. He slept on his front, with one arm tucked underneath his head, and face squished up into the pillow. Lips puffed out, deep breaths inhaling and exhaling through them. You stared at him for a few moments, admiring how peaceful he looked in his slumber.

He let out a sudden harsh breath, and an incoherent murmur escaped his mouth.

“What are you dreaming about?” you whispered. Reaching out, you let your fingertips whisper along the skin of his back, down his spine as far as you were allowed, to where the blanket covered him. You traced a line over a particularly bad scar on his back, and cringed to picture how he’d gotten it.

“Was dreamin’ bout you,” he said suddenly. “Until you woke me up.”

You gasped, sitting up straighter.

“Christ, I thought you were asleep.”

Joel smiled, eyes still closed.

“And what was I doing in this dream of yours, Miller?”

His tongue slipped out to wet his lips, before settling back into a lazy grin. Slowly, Joel’s bleary eyes opened to look up at you. “Was a continuous replay of last night. I wish you hadn’t woken me up, actually. Was quite enjoyin’ myself.” His voice was husky from sleep, and it sent a jolt of heat through your stomach.

“Oh, is that so?” you jokingly huffed, pushing the blankets off your body. “In that case, I’ll get out of your hair and let you sleep.” But before you could get off the mattress, his arms snaked around you, slamming you back into his chest.

“Not so fast, soldier,” Joel mumbled sleepily, pressing gentle kisses onto the skin behind your ear and tugging the duvet up over your heads.

The stairs creaked loudly as you walked down them, an hour later. Your clothes felt stale on your body; stiff after being discarded on the cool hardwood floors overnight. Your skin was cold, begging you to climb back into the bed where Joel still laid naked, tucked up under the covers.

You were halfway to the front door when Ellie’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Fucking finally.”

You turned quickly, trying hard to display an expression of stoic nonchalance. She was splayed across the couch with her legs kicked up onto the arm rest, grinning over a copy of Savage Starlight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.”

“Sure, sure,” she chuckled, lifting the comic up to hide her face behind it. “I may be a kid, but I know what it means to sneak out of someone’s house at 8 in the morn-“

“I’m not sneaking out,” you interrupted coolly, your face flaming at the insinuation. Ellie lowered the comic just enough for her eyes to be visible, and raised one eyebrow at you.

“I see.”

“Shut up,” is all you could get out, and threw yourself out the front door, Ellie’s loud laughter following you onto the street.

It was a particularly chilly morning, and you gripped your black jacket around yourself tightly. You’d promised Maria the day before to stop by for a tea, and although you longed to be at home for a moment before work, you headed quickly to Tommy and Maria’s.

Knocking once on the front door, you let yourself in, calling out a quick “hello!” so as not to alarm anyone.

“In the kitchen!” Maria’s voice shouted back, and you rubbed your red hands together for warmth, traipsing through the house. When you reached the kitchen, you were surprised to see Maria wasn’t alone. A young woman sat at the dining table, gripping a steaming mug and staring at the table. Her face was red and blotchy. You lingered awkwardly in the doorway, glancing at Maria for direction.

“It’s okay, have you met Rose?” Maria ushered you in.

“No,” you replied slowly.

“You work at the stables,” Rose perked up suddenly, her stare firmly stuck on you.

“Yes,” you replied dumbly. Your mind was blank as you stared at the stranger, wondering who she was and how she knew anything about you.

“Have you seen Milena?” you asked desperately.

Your hackles lowered slowly, and you glanced at Maria curiously before shaking your head no. Milena worked at the stables with you. She was one of the women who taught you the ropes, and helped you get familiar with grooming the horses.

The tension in the room was thick, and you looked away quickly when Rose sniffled, and reached up to wipe a tear from her eye. I shouldn’t be here.

“She’s m-missing,” Rose stuttered out wetly. Maria walked up behind her and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Rose found a note that Milena left for her,” Maria explained softly. “She’s been gone for a day now.”

“She didn’t write that note,” Rose raised her voice. Your heart raced in your chest. You stared at Maria’s face, and tried to gage how you should be reacting to the information. Sweat slicked your palms when you noticed the warily anxious expression the woman wore. “I swear she didn’t, she wouldn’t write that shit. She wouldn’t leave me here alone. Not after,” she paused as a sob wracked through her body. “Not after everything we went through to g-get here.”

“She left Jackson?” you asked. “Did she say where she was going?” Milena hadn’t mentioned anything around the stables about planning to leave the settlement. And Milena was chatty. You had often shied away from her when you shared a shift, because of how much Milena tried to pry into your personal life.

Rose didn’t respond, dropping her face into her hands, shoulders wracking with sobs. The display of emotion set you on edge. You felt like an intruder on such an intense moment for Rose and took a step backward into the doorway.

“I’m going to go,” you murmured when Maria made eye contact with you. She nodded in understanding, leaning down to whisper in Rose’s ear. You spun on your heel and walked quickly toward the front door.

“Please believe me, Maria,” you could hear Rose saying. “To just leave without saying goodbye? Milena would never do that.”

You let the door fall shut behind you.

part four | series masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #my writing #under the night

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kikiiswashere · 1 year

Text

Waltzing for Three

Summary: You're impossibly pregnant and uncomfortable. Luckily, Silco and Jinx are there to help you out.

Warnings: None/SFW

WC: 2.7K

SilcoxAFAB!Reader, established relationship, found family fluff

Notes: I have no idea where this came from, but this little drabble wouldn't leave my brain. So, please enjoy some domestic, soft Silco

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It seemed entirely improbable that a human should ever fit into the tiny cloth you held up between your hands. The onesie was freshly laundered, the fabric impossibly soft under your fingers. You smiled, flipping it, and placing it against your swollen belly like a sticker. The pull of your lips broadened, revealing your teeth in a bright grin as your womb’s occupant gently patted their small feet or fists against their future wardrobe. Peeling the onesie away, you folded it and set it on the growing pile that had been started on the coffee table.

Nesting, they called it. A deep, primal urge to ready one’s space for a new baby. You hadn’t completely written off the people and books that had mentioned this phenomenon, but you were very surprised at the insistence and intensity of the inclination as you breached your third trimester. Especially since the pregnancy wasn’t planned, and since you and Silco were cautiously excited and anxious about the little one’s arrival. You figured your nervousness may sway nature’s tendencies; alas, she had a stronger pull than you realized.

A groan rattled through your teeth as you reached for the next article of baby clothing. Despite the happy anticipation with which you waited; your body was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The first trimester was marked with nausea and tender, growing breasts; the second, digestive woes seceded and your bump bloomed proudly before you. You had felt beautiful and divine (and Silco had told you as much). Now, in your third, the glow of pregnancy was wearing off. You couldn’t breathe. You had to pee all the time. Your once confident and saucy gait had been reduced to a gimping waddle – like a fat whump. It hurt to exist; you and the baby fighting for space in your stretched out body.

Silco looked up from his desk at the displeased sound.

His scratching pen paused and he asked, “Are you alright, lovely?”

Internally, you felt your eyes cross. While you appreciated his doting behavior, part of you was sick and tired of being treated like a fragile, delicate thing. As your due date neared, every single utterance you made had Silco checking in. When you cleared your throat in your morning shower, he’d pop his head into the bathroom. When your inhale hitched up as you attempted to take a deeper breath, he looked at you expectantly. Once, you had stifled a wayward burp and he had shot up from his desk, looking at you with wide, waiting eyes.

“I’m eight and a half months pregnant, Silco,” you sighed, folding the onesie you had just plucked from the laundry basket. “I’m tired and it hurts to move. It hurts to be still. My hips and lower back are killing me.”

“Shall I pour a tub for you?”

Sitting back on the red tufted couch, you smiled appreciatively at your partner before lifting your gaze to the large window behind him. While the Undercity was always darker than the surface, you could tell by the light glowing behind its many panes that it was only early evening. If you took your nightly tub now, it wouldn’t be long before you fell asleep. Which would mean the baby would kick you awake in the predawn hours.

“No. Thank you, though. I don’t want to get ready for bed quite yet.”

An understanding hum rolled through the back of his throat. He put his pen down and pushed his chair away from his desk, making to stand. Setting the carefully folded onesie on top of the others, you reached into the basket, pulling out one that made you smile with soft fondness. It was black, with bright scribbles of blue and pink dancing in jagged designs across the fabric. It was an utter relief to you both that Jinx was just as excited about the baby. Given her traumatic past with siblings, you and Silco were initially nervous about sharing the news with her.

However, per usual, she surprised you with her reaction. When you had told her (being very mindful to repeat the fact that you and Silco would not love or cherish her any less), she tittered with excitement and fidgeted more than usual in Silco’s lap as she gazed at you with awe, her big, blue eyes tracking between your face and your (then, still unassuming) belly. Her small hands twitched and flexed, and she bit her lower lip.

“You can touch them,” you had chuckled. “But you won’t feel anything right now. Not yet.”

In a flash, Jinx’s hands were on your abdomen, inspecting.

“Gentle, Jinx,” Silco reminded.

She heeded his instruction, but her attention was fully on your stomach. Her small but dexterous hands padding over you in wonder.

“I’m the big sister,” she whispered, and both you and Silco shared a look over her head. She leaned in closer, lightly pressing her cheek to you. She wrapped her skinny arms around you and said, “I’ll never leave you. Okay? You can count on me.”

Your throat tightened and your eyes welled at her promise. Cursing your raging hormones, you pulled the girl into your chest for a tight hug. Once she was settled, you reach over her and pulled Silco into the embrace with a tug on his tie.

The soft, fuzzy sound of music flowing through Silco’s gramophone pulled you from your memory. Your head swiveled around to see him lift his hand away from the needle. He pivoted the sound horn just so before turning and walking over to you. Reaching out, he gestured for the onesie in your hands. You gave a quizzical look, but handed the garment over. Deftly folding it, he placed it on the pile and then held both hands out to you. Your eyes rolled and a playful scoff tsk’d behind your teeth. Nevertheless, you gripped his offered hands, and using your combined strength, hauled your massive, front-heavy form to its swollen feet.

You groaned as Silco steadied you, your skeleton adjusting and succumbing to the pull of gravity.

“I don’t know how good of a waltz partner I’ll be right now,” you sighed, waddling to the center of the office.

“Never fear, my lovely. I won’t hold it against you.”

Silco slid in behind you, nestling his front to your back. He wrapped his arms around you, but lower than usual. Before you could question it, his hands cupped the underside of your belly . . . and then hoisted up.

Janna’s sweet tits . . . the relief!!

It was immediate and euphoric. Your jaw dropped, head lulling back onto Silco’s shoulder. You were simultaneously melting and floating. The weight of your huge stomach being lifted off the aching and stretched cradle of your hip bones was heavenly. A long, loud, rattling groan tore through your mouth.

Silco chuckled. “Is that so?”

Weakly nodding against him, you matter-of-factly said, “If it wasn’t such a chore to get down and back up again, I get on my knees and blow you right now.”

A deeper laugh rumbled through his chest and he kissed your temple.

“Perhaps I can get a raincheck, then?”

A gooey smile, stupid with reprieve, spread across your face. You turned to look up towards your partner, and he was quick to kiss you. His lips were warm and firm against yours, just like his hands on your belly. Your and Silco’s lips molded seamlessly against one another; top and bottom lips taking turns puzzling against their neighbors. It was lovely, intimate, easeful, and unassuming. Giving him one last, lingering kiss on his scarred lip, your head lulled into the crook of his shoulder and neck. Silco readjusted his hold on your belly, and you both kept swaying to the music softly warbling through the office.

After a few minutes, the babe within you wriggled into a new position, punching, or kicking, across Silco’s wide hands. You felt his hold tighten and his chest swell. The fact that he was so quietly excited made your knees wobbly with adoration.

“They’re a good dancer,” you whispered. “Just like their dad.”

Silco huffed a small laugh and you were thrilled to see the color rise in his cheek out of the corner of your eye.

Before he could administer a witty retort, there were a series of thumps and mutterings above your heads. Then soft, shuffling scratches and mumbled thoughts traveled further through the ceiling. Both of your heads followed the noise, bodies gently turning in time with the sway of your feet, until you were both facing Silco’s desk.

From the rafters, you heard a small voice take a deep breath and whisper, “Okay . . . Three, two . . . one!”

Jinx leapt from her platform and tumbled onto Silco’s desk. Even though this was not a new behavior for the girl, what was new was the way your heart leapt in your throat, and the way you winced at her clumsy landing. A few times, you had read how a parents’ brain (especially the parent that carried the child) changed; how things that never used to bother or scare them suddenly mattered when it came to the safety of their little one.

You had expected it, but you were not looking forward to the ‘worrying’ part of parenthood – especially in a place like Zaun. Especially in the positions you and Silco held. Especially since Jinx did not seem to have any sense of self-preservation.

She dusted her knees off and leapt up. “I finished it!” She proclaimed, flourishing a large piece of white parchment with scribbles all over it.

“Oh? Let’s see then,” you said, awkwardly leading you and Silco toward the desk, making sure he still held up the weight of your bump.

Jinx flopped onto her seat on the desk’s top, kicking her gangly legs over the edge. Adjusting the paper in her hands, she thrust it forward proudly for inspection. Your heart swelled at the sight of it, and it was a weight you were glad to hold within your bosom.

For the past week, Jinx had been designing the baby’s room. What color it would be; where the furniture would go; what art she was going to put on the wall; where the toys would live; where she was going to keep a sleeping bag and pillow in case she and the baby decided to have a slumber party.

Excitedly, loudly, and quickly, Jinx began to take both you and Silco through each detail she had laid out. You listened attentively, still weaving to the music.

“And this is where his toys will be stored . . . over here is his dresser . . . this is his changing table. I’m still trying to figure out how to create a super-sealed-smelly bin in case his diapers are extra stinky . . . “

As beautiful and sweet as it was, your heart couldn’t help but tap a little nervously as Jinx went on about ‘his this’ and ‘he that’. You weren’t sure what the sex of the baby would be – and you, annoyingly, felt like you never got a good, motherly sense of it. Somedays you were certain it was a boy; then a few days later, it felt like it could be a girl; then you wouldn’t be sure at all. Regardless, you both had tried over the last several months to temper Jinx’s insistence that she would be having a brother. But she wouldn’t hear it.

“I don’t want another sister!” she would cry, stomping her feet.

Of course, you and Silco would be happy with either, or whoever the baby turned out to be. But you were quietly hoping that Jinx would get the brother she was expecting.

As she continued explaining the sorting system of the dresser, a knock came at the office door. All three of you paused, Jinx’s face falling into an aggravated expression at being interrupted. Silco guided you both to turn toward the door.

“Come in.”

At this time of day, it could be only one person; and, indeed, Sevika let herself into the office. She froze at the sight before her. It wasn’t new per say – this domestic scene – but it clearly wasn’t one she was getting used to. She huffed and closed the door behind her.

“We have an issue,” she said, stepping forward.

Again, you felt the pads of Silco’s fingers press more firmly against your bump. Whether he was conscious of the way his arms stiffened to pull you closer, you weren’t sure. It made your heart melt regardless.

“An issue that you cannot sort on your own?” he asked. You could hear by his tone that he was sneering at her. As your due date grew nearer, Silco had made an effort to delegate as many tasks as he could so he could be close.

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Sevika replied, barely keeping her temper in check. “Marcus is on his way. About that Councilor’s kid OD-ing on Shimmer.”

A gruff sigh passed through Silco’s lips. He rolled his eyes and said, “Very well. Go get the VIP booth in the mezzanine ready. I’ll be there shortly.”

Since you had become pregnant, Silco no longer took meetings in his office. It didn’t quite make sense, since it was not a secret that you two were expecting. But it seemed to bring him some modicum of peace, so you hadn’t questioned it.

“Good night, Sevika,” you called as she turned to leave.

She nodded and half-heartedly waved a hand in your direction before leaving and closing the door. Silco let out a gentler, more forlorn sigh once she was gone.

“I’m sorry, my lovelies,” he said, addressing you, Jinx, and the baby, you realized, as his hands gently caressed your bump. “Duty calls, unfortunately.”

“No!” Jinx cried. “I wasn’t done showing you his room!”

She brandished the blue print at him, her blue eyes going big and watery.

“I know, child,” he cooed, leaning his head toward her. “I would love to see and hear the rest if I am finished before your bedtime. If not tonight, tomorrow over breakfast. Agreeable?”

Jinx’s shoulders and lower lip slumped forward, but she nodded.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Silco whispered against your temple before planting a kiss there. Your daughter was already laying on the guilt pretty thick, so you restrained your reaction and merely nodded in understanding.

“Ready?” he asked, indicating his hold on you.

Something between a whine and groan pealed out of your throat at the thought of being saddled with the weight of your giant belly again. You began to nod, but Jinx jumped off the desk with renewed excitement.

“Let me! Let me! I can do it!”

She jockeyed in next to Silco, awkwardly wrapping her arms around you.

Your partner’s soft chuckle vibrated through your chest, and he said, “Come stand over here, Jinx . . .”

You stood dutifully still as Silco patiently guided Jinx into the correct stance, placing her arms and hands appropriately and instructing her to widen her feet to accommodate her shorter height.

“Ready? I’m going to let go. Don’t drop them.”

“I won’t! I won’t! I can do it!”

You felt Silco’s hands and arms recede, transferring the weight of you and the babe to Jinx. A small laugh escaped you as you felt the small girl behind you squeak and brace herself. To her credit, she did manage to keep your womb off your hips.

“Oh my gosh! Why is he so heavy?” Jinx exclaimed.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Jinx,” Silco applauded as he rounded you both.

He brought a hand up to your face and held it against your cheek, looking you in the eye earnestly.

“I am sorry.”

You leaned into his hand and shrugged, as you and Jinx began to sway to the music again.

“You can make it up to me later,” you said coquettishly.

That sliver of a smile that was reserved only for you (and now Jinx. And soon, baby) cut across Silco’s lips. He leaned forward and kissed you.

“Good luck,” you said as he broke away. “Give Marcus my best.”

Silco rolled his eyes, ocean and fire flicking up to the ceiling. He reluctantly took his hand from your cheek and strode for the office door.

“Give him hell!” Jinx grunted from behind you.

You laughed, patting her hands with yours. Silco did not respond, but you saw his shoulders quake with amusement as the door closed behind him.

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Notes: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please comment and reblog!

#silco #silco fanfic #silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco x afab!reader #silco x pregnant reader #soft!silco #found family #silco fluff #jinx #sevika #domestic fluff

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