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dancedance-resolution · 9 months

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i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?

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Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.

“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”

At that moment, Kara saw the painting.

She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.

Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.

Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.

It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”

Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.

“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.

“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”

Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.

“What’s the title?”

The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

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Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.

Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.

At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.

She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.

The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.

The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.

With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.

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The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.

But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.

Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.

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The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.

She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.

The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.

A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.

Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.

They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.

While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.

Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”

The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.

“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.

Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.

Kara watched her every step.

Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.

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There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.

After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.

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Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.

Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.

---

Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.

#again i have no intention of finishing so be forewarned etc #supergirl #supercorp poalof au #i have been feeling a bit weird going through my old work bc. i don't think i've really improved in the three years since starting this???#and i quite literally haven't written anything in 2023 other than like the 1000ish words to finish up this final chapter of tree of my song #&those thousand words genuinely feel worse than my old writing #because i'm out of practice i think #it's weird bc writing is something i think of as super important to me - like in less than a month i'll literally be at community college a #ain despite how bad my experience was last time with it bc i theoretically want to take classes that will make me a better writer #so like blah blah blah do i want to dedicate more of myself and my energy towards writing long term or do i just like the idea of being a #writer.#blah blah blah if i had to do a rose colored glasses on this all it would be. since january i have read 60something books and before this y #ar i hadnt been an avid reader in ages. and most of those books have been in the genre/niche i want to end up writing in #so i was learning writing by reading in that sense #hmm etc etc #i should probably stop taking myself and all of this so seriously lol idk #i'm theoretically back into writing and trying to prioritize it more again so (thumbs up emoji)

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oh-meow-swirls · 1 year

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i like the wiki just saying this n not elaborating.

#puppy rambles #yo-kai watch #whisper #me going to whisper's page thinking i could figure out for 100% sure if he was sealed in the crank-a-kai for 190 years or 290 years #it says nothing about it-#i've been saying 290 the whole time in my rewrite but the anime says 190 n i cannot remember if that's right or not aaaaaa-#i only replayed 1 a few months ago i should remember this-#it's not that big a deal but i am trying to keep this stuff accurate okay-#i'm at the point in my 1 rewrite where i just want to get to 2 already #(i love my rewrite in general but i have lots of ideas for 2)#BUT I CAN'T GET THROUGH THE FUCKING EXTREME DARE CHAPTER #i have rewritten it like three times n i cannot get it to a point where i like it. though i think i'm close this time #third time's the charm-#anyways i'm rambling. rewrite chapter 11 coming soon probably #n then i'll probably go through n edit the previous chapters so they're accurate to the version i have on my google doc #n make other minor changes #(i.e. actually specify the parts in the timers & more chapter)#n then i'll work on chapter 12. which will probably all be one chapter #i want the last main chapter to be 13 (cuz haha unlucky number go brr etc etc) but i'll probably have to split it in half-#annoying thing about the rewrite is that i have ideas for 3 even #i'll try to get chapter 11 out before friday because after pokemon comes out i will be fixated on that for like a week at least #probably more klsfdjfkdlsjfsd-

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woulddieforloki · 1 year

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guess who's finally back on a roll with her frostiron fic after spending two weeks in the same chapter after spending two months on the chapter before that one? (hint: IT'S MEEEE)

#i know pretty much exactly what happens in the next three chapters (or 2 1/2 bc im halfway through this one)#and then a general idea of how the next few go #which is fan-fucking-tastic if i do say so myself :D

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ranger-kellyn · 2 years

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in lieu of diantha not really having any alternate pokemon here's some headcanon pokemon i have for her:

Hattrienne, Missy, who cannot be out at the same time as Gardevoir because it is On Sight with those two.

Galarian Rapidash, Cerise, nicknamed for her mane which tends to be more red hued

Obstagoon, Janis [Joplin], a pokemon she caught and kept if only to spite her mother during a "rebellious" teenage phase.

Nicknames for her main team:

Gardevoir - Sylvia

Hawlucha - Eleanora/Nora

Goodra - Sophie

Gourgeist - Sabine

Aurorus - Belle/Blue-Belle

Tyrantrum - Brutus

#i have a whole host of pokemon she goes through in the hisui fic i'm working on #but that's its own thing #headcanons #started working on a fluff fic idea of cynthia and diantha introducing all their pokemon and whatnot #so i picked out nicknames for just about all pokemon #and i almost brought the three headcanon pokemon in for getaway car #but that's going to be left as a Lost Chapter lol #i nEED to write diantha's obstagoon one day tho #the image of diantha with one just makes me happy #also even though i've given cynthia her kommo-o from masters #i'm not giving diantha keldeo bc.....i dont give mythicals to people

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aparticularbandit · 5 months

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starting a new spooky valentines fic like it isn't winter holidays right now.

#musings #bandit writes fic #the valentines #like i don't have prompts to fulfill!#why am i like this!#(i love them and i'm not sorry)#((tomorrow y'all get a prompt /chapter/))#but i really should go back to finishing that one.#so right now it's between that and this fic and the next chapter of #viv westview fic #those are the three focuses at the moment #and then eventually back to thrall for its last chapter #but i'm still puzzling out how to companion the last chapter of kisses for that #i have ideas!#but the last chapter of kisses was so much of 'wanda learns what agatha was really up to' and that's.#that's what the whole of thrall has /been/#so i know what agatha /should/ be finding out through that conversation but like #it's probably also going to be different i'm just not sure exactly how #anyway #december banditnanza 2023

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thatonebjp · 5 months

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Rare and mythic sagas

#custom cards #pretty sure there were things I was gonna mention #but I'm tired and I forgor #oh yeah planeswalkers #as you can probably tell from that last one I'm going through with I idea of making the world's gods into planeswalkers #12 in total #10 three color ones at rare and 2 monocolored at mythic #I do want to split the three color ones in two groups #that work differently mechanically #but I wasn't sure if I wanted to seperate them by flavor or by ally vs enemy colors #decided to go with flavor #the gods that belong to one group work one way and the others another way #if I had gone with ally vs enemy colored #the last chapter of The Great Enlightenment would've been a Planeswalker emblem #also I'm just realizing how many of these are titled “___ of the ___” lol #but whatever #custom cards 1

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ohproserpine · 3 months

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v. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and bloof, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder

"THAT SLAG!"

Velvette's piercing scream echoed through the meeting room, slicing through the air. Vox and Valentino jolted, turning their gazes toward the source of the disturbance.

"Good-for-nothing piece of shit twat assistant!" Velvette paced the room, her movements agitated and frantic as she angrily tapped away on her phone.

In a sudden surge of anger, she flung her device across the room, sending it flying above Valentino's head. A crash punctuated the air as it collided with a window, the impact shattering the glass into shards that rained down onto the floor.

"Velvette, darling," Vox raised an eyebrow, his voice calm as always, "What's got you so worked up?"

He took a sip of his coffee, the rich aroma wafting up from the steaming cup as he idly scrolled through his laptop. "Is it that showgirl situation again?"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Velvette rolled her eyes. "Of course, it is, you git! It's been literally the ONLY thing I've been banging on about this week!"

Valentino's sigh cut through the conversation as he adjusted his sunglasses. Holding his glittering firearm up to his face, he pressed rhinestones on it with tacky glue, unfazed by Velvette's anger.

"It's just some performer, babydoll. We can find a replacement."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Velvette seethed as she stormed toward them, her heels clicking loudly with each step. With a forceful slam of her hands against the table, it shifted forward, jolting the items on its surface. With a hiss of pain, Vox recoiled, his hand jerking back from the scalding coffee he had spilled on himself.

"The boutique opening is in three days! How on earth am I supposed to find a girl who's got the looks and a set of pipes in time?!" she exclaimed.

Valentino looked up from his bedazzling, a raised eyebrow visible above the rim of his sunglasses. "Have you tried one of my models? I got a lot of pretty little chicas who can charm the socks off anyone. No need to stress yourself out."

"Your models? Do you have any idea how much time and effort it's going to take for me to wrangle those little amateurs into something remotely resembling a professional performance?" Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Sod off!"

Valentino snarled in response but turned away with a huff, muttering under his breath, "Have it your way."

"If I may," Vox spoke, wiping his hand with a grumble, the sting of the burn still lingering. He tilted his head slightly, raising a single brow. "Have you tried scouting?"

"Have I tried scouting?" Velvette mocked, her hands waving around in frustration. "Of course I have! All I've come across are bloody singers around here, and they all look like they've been dragged through the dirt backwards!"

"Well, have you tried the back district?" he offered, tapping his claws on the long glass table. He watched as Velvette pulled out a pocket mirror from her purse, visibly cringing at his suggestion.

"Why in bloody hell would I go there?" Velvette grimaced as she re-applied her dark lipstick. "I'm not about to waste my time scouring the back district for some dime-a-dozen talent. I need someone who's got class, not gutter scraps."

"Well, there's this performer," Vox insisted, snapping his fingers. A screen materialized with a whiz, displaying a video of a figure in a sparkly silver dress singing and dancing. As the video drew to a close, the camera zoomed in, capturing a close-up of the woman's face. Her features were radiant, a smile gracing her lips as she gazed out at the audience.

Velvette snapped her mirror shut with a flick of her wrist, interest sparking in her eyes. She leaned in closer, studying the performer's features.

"Who's this?" she quipped.

"Dolly, at least that's what they call her," Vox hummed, sliding the screen over to Velvette. "She works at Mimzy's Lounge."

Velvette's expression darkened, strands of hair falling over her eyes as she took the screen in her hands, leaning down to view the image again. The glow of the projection illuminated her face, casting shadows that danced across her steely expression.

"Mimzy?" she uttered the name slowly, her lips dripping with venom. "That's the cunt who tore up my best showgirl!"

"Drama," Valentino chuckled, spinning his bedazzled gun around his fingers.

"Well, this Dolly girl is her biggest star, and she's been making quite a name for herself there," Vox drawled, gesturing toward the screen. With a tap of his claw on the screen, he zoomed in closer. "She's got the looks, the voice, and the stage presence you're looking for."

"And she's managed to shine even in the shadow of that cesspool," he added with a sardonic grin as he sipped from his coffee.

A flicker ignited in Velvette's eyes as she straightened. "Then it's settled. I'll pay her a visit."

"Sounds like you've got a plan brewing, my dear. Care for some company?" Vox spoke with a smirk playing on his lips.

Velvette shot him a knowing glance before a grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "Why not? I could use some of your charm."

"Cher? Dearest? It's time to get up," the radio atop your bedside table rumbled, your husband's voice crackling through the air.

Grunting in protest, you burrowed deeper into the warmth of your blankets, seeking refuge from the harsh bite of the morning. But Alastor's persistent calls refused to be ignored.

"Mon cœur? Cher? W̷A̴K̶E̴ ̶U̸P̷!̶" it blared, the words amplified by hissing static, demanding attention like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly peeled yourself away from the cocoon of comfort that had enveloped you. Sitting up, you felt the blanket slip from your shoulders, pooling around your hips. Memories of last night flooded in, and the remnants of Alastor's romantic gesture still adorned your room. The bouquet sat atop your dresser, with scattered white roses delicately strewn across your bed like whispers of affection.

Despite the tender atmosphere, a throbbing headache reminded you of an unwelcome guest that accompanied you into the morning—the hangover.

Dragging yourself to the side, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to ease the discomfort. Then, pushing yourself to your feet, you padded across the room, the cool floorboards sending a shiver through your bare skin. You picked up the radio, its incessant blare akin to an annoying alarm clock, with Alastor's voice still grating on your nerves.

"Alright. Alright. I'm up, love," you grumbled, rubbing at your eyes which still felt thick with sleep.

The radio rumbled with delight at your response.

"Hellish morning to you, my dear!" Alastor's voice boomed through the speakers, his jovial tone slicing through the early morning gloom. Despite your grogginess, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the sound of his voice.

"Hellish morning to you too, darling," you returned, laced with affection.

"I trust you had a restful sleep?" Alastor questioned.

"As restful as one can get with a noisy radio blaring in their ear," you sighed, already feeling the weight of the day bearing down on you.

"Hah!" Alastor laughed, the sound making you roll your eyes. "But where ever would you be without my dulcet tones to serenade you awake?"

"Probably catching a few more precious minutes of sleep," you muttered, already regretting the start of another day. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

"Ah, but that's why you love me."

Back in his hotel room, Alastor chuckled to himself as he shrugged on his suit jacket. From his microphone, he caught the rustling of your clothes, followed by the gentle rush of running water.

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned a gramophone, its boxy form materializing atop his dresser with a soft thud. Soon enough, the needle gently descended onto the spinning vinyl record, releasing a soft, nostalgic melody that filled the room.

I'll never smile again Until I smile at you I'll never laugh again What good would it do?

As Alastor began to sing along, his smooth voice seeping through the rusting speakers of the radio, you paused in the middle of washing your hair, caught off guard by the unexpected serenade.

"Stupid, stupid man," you muttered under your breath with a shake of your head. And yet, despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, warmth creeping into your heart.

For tears would fill my eyes My heart would realize That our romance is through

Exiting the bath, you toweled yourself off and approached your wardrobe, humming softly as you selected your attire for the day. After scanning through the hangers, you settled on a vibrant red hooverette dress. With matching stockings and white heels, you completed the look, the final touch being a few roses plucked from the bouquet Alastor had given you, tucked behind your ear.

I'll never love again I'm so in love with you I'll never thrill again To somebody new

Dressed and ready to face the day, you returned to the radio, the soft strains of music and Alastor's voice still lingering in the air. As the final notes faded into silence, you stood for a moment, savoring the fleeting illusion of domestic bliss for a moment longer.

With a pang of sadness, you glanced at the clock, realizing that it was time to go.

"I have to head out now, darling," you spoke into the radio, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. "My shift starts in a while."

"Ah, until we meet again, mon cher," Alastor's voice replied warmly. "Do take care of yourself."

In response, you leaned down to press a kiss against the speakers, a gesture of your affection. The soft sound of the kiss was barely audible, but Alastor's ears perked up and caught the gentle touch against the metal surface. He chuckled softly, then, with a soft click, the radio fell silent.

As you slipped your purse over your shoulder, a thought crossed your mind—should you bring the radio along? The temptation to have Alastor's voice with you throughout the day was strong, but the risk of further damaging the precious device gave you pause. With a sigh, you decided against it, opting to leave it safely in your room, where it would patiently await your return.

Heading out of your room, the lounge was already buzzing with the hustle and bustle of customers and staff. Although no singer graced the stage yet, the speakers blasted with the familiar tunes of Hell’s Top 10 Hits.

"There you are!" Mimzy's voice cut through the lively atmosphere, her smile failing to reach her eyes as she bounded towards you.

"Mimzy," you greeted flatly, acknowledging her with a nod.

"How are ya doin', doll? Just the person I was looking for," she purred with a bat of her eyes. "Alright, listen, I've got a marvelous idea for a performance."

You sighed inwardly, bracing yourself for whatever scheme she had cooked up this time. Mimzy's requests were as extravagant as they were challenging, always pushing the boundaries to maintain her club's "reputation" and squeeze every last dime from these sinners' wallets.

"Let's hear it," you replied, mustering a polite smile.

"So, I was thinking," Mimzy began, tapping her finger along her chin, "how about a duet? A throwback to the good ole days, sharing the spotlight. It's bound to be a performance these wayward fools are going to talk about for ages!"

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the relatively tame suggestion. The blonde wasn't exactly known for her subtlety or restraint when it came to showmanship. At most, a duet with Mimzy was sure to be a spectacle, for better or for worse.

"And when is this going to be held?" you grinned tensely, hands at your hips. There was bound to be a switch somewhere.

"When else? Prime time tonight!" Mimzy giggled as she threw up her hands with a flourish.

And there it was.

"Tonight?" Your eyes widened, shoulders squaring in shock. "Miss Ma'am, that's cutting it a bit close, don't you think?"

"Bushwa! We'll make it work," Mimzy replied dismissively, waving off your concerns with a flick of her hand. "And I've already got the perfect song in mind. It'll be a real humdinger, mark my words."

"Alright," you sighed, hoping for the best but bracing yourself for the chaos that was sure to follow. "Tonight it is."

"That's the spirit! Hell, why don't you take the morning off?" Mimzy grinned as she hurried off down the hallway to make preparations. "I'll see you tonight! Make sure to be here by sunset!"

Standing by the stairs as stiff as a pole, you watched her skip off with an unusually chipper air. It struck you as odd, but you pushed the thought aside, eager to have the morning to yourself. As you turned away, however, your head throbbed once more, the reminder of your hangover cutting through the moment.

"Looks like a ciggy is in order," you muttered to yourself, rubbing at your throbbing temples. Making your way outside, hoping to smoke away the edge of discomfort.

Trudging along the filthy backstreets, you did your best to avoid the muck and other questionable liquids that lined the roadside. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, assaulting your senses with each step you took.

No one spared you a glance as you passed; the citizens of hell were absorbed in their own pursuits or concerns, and you blended into the backdrop of the grim landscape.

Finally reaching a clearer stretch of street, you took a seat on one of the benches, the worn wood groaning under your weight. The city bustled around you, a mix of sounds and movements that seemed to blur together.

With a weary sigh, you reached into your bag in search of company—nicotine.

Fingers fumbling through the contents of your purse, you felt the familiar shape of the roll, and with a hum, pulled it out. However, as you continued to rummage through your belongings, a sinking realization settled in.

Your matchbox wasn't there.

Dropping your head into your hands with a scowl, you could feel the stress mounting within you, bubbling up like a simmering pot ready to boil over.

Wallowing in your misfortune, you failed to notice someone approaching you from behind. A sudden tap on your shoulder jolted you, and as you turned, you found yourself face to face with a tall and slender spider-like demon. His frame was practically drowning in a plush white fur coat, the color almost blending into his skin. It contrasted sharply with the sleekness of the black bodycon dress clinging onto his curves underneath.

"Need a light?" he asked casually as he held up a pink-colored lighter.

You eyed him skeptically for a moment.

In hell, kindness often came with a price. Whether it was a favor owed, a debt to be repaid, or simply a hidden agenda waiting to be revealed, nothing came for free. However, when your head throbbed again, you sighed and relented with a nod, accepting the offer despite your reservations.

Angel Dust ignited the lighter, the flame pirouetting gracefully and flickering in the wind. Drawing closer, you leaned in, offering the tip of your cigarette to the flame. With a gentle hiss, the tobacco caught fire, wisps of smoke curling into the air like ethereal dancers. As you took a deep, shaky inhale, the saccharine poison of the smoke flooded your lungs, leaving a bittersweet taste lingering on your tongue. Shutting your eyes, a sense of calm washed over you as you leaned back, letting yourself be carried away by the fleeting tranquility of the moment.

Remembering you had company, you grounded yourself and opened your eyes. "Thank you ever so much, dear. Can I have your name?" you asked, tilting your head up at him. The stranger moved to sit down next to you, the worn wood of the bench creaking under his weight.

"Angel Dust," he said, and your eyes shot wide open, lips forming an 'O' shape.

"The porn star?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"Didn't take you as the type to watch my shit, toots," Angel laughed heartily as his grin widened from ear to ear in response, his golden tooth gleaming at you like a wink.

"Well, I may not be your typical fan, but your name does tend to make its rounds in conversation," you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. Taking a drag from your cigarette, you gestured with it casually. "I saw you in my husb—erm, the Radio Demon's commercial. Hazbin Hotel, was it?"

"Yeah, and don't worry, I know. Dolly, was it?" Angel Dust replied smoothly, his demeanor surprisingly nonchalant given the situation. Extending his hand for you to shake, he continued, "Nice to finally put a face to the name."

His confession caught you off guard, but you shook his hand firmly nonetheless. "How did you—did Alastor tell you about me? You two must be close."

Angel Dust hesitated, a grimace crossing his features. His crimson eyes darted away briefly, as if weighing his words carefully.

"Let's just say... word gets around in our circles," he replied vaguely, tugging his coat closer around himself.

"I don't know him that well, though," Angel Dust admitted with a shrug, his gaze drifting off momentarily. "Sometimes he can be a bit..."

"A pompous dick with a sadistic streak?" you suggested, exhaling smoke as you raised an eyebrow at Angel Dust, testing the waters.

Angel Dust laughed genuinely, throwing his head back. "Something along those lines, toots," he grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Well, it's good to know I'm not the only one who sees it," you remarked, a wry smile playing on your lips.

"Believe me, ya ain't alone in that," he agreed. "So, ah—What brings ya out here? Aside from the obvious need for a blow."

"Just needed some fresh air," you admitted with a shrug. "Plus, I may have indulged a bit too much last night and woke up feeling like death warmed over."

"I hear ya," Angel Dust replied, nodding sympathetically as he raked his eyes over your worn-out form, noting the slump of your body and the dark circles under your eyes. You looked so different from the sparkly performer he had seen on stage days ago.

"Hey, I actually caught one of ya shows the other night," he piped up, attempting to shift the conversation to a lighter topic.

"Did you?" you cooed, surprise evident in your voice.

"Yeah," Angel nodded, stretching out on the bench, spreading both his arms across the back of the wood. "Gotta say, ya put on quite the show up there. I mean—ya had the crowd eating out of the palm of ya hand."

A faint smile crept onto your cheeks at his praise, a swell of pride rising within you.

"Well, thank you," you bowed your head in gratitude, momentarily forgetting your fatigue in the warmth of his words. "It means a lot coming from someone like you."

Angel Dust waved off your thanks with a casual flick of his hand, lips jutting out in a playful pout.

"Ah, c'mon. I call it like I see it," he grinned with a shrug. "N'trust me, I've seen my fair share of performances."

Lost in the easy flow of conversation, you surrendered to the comfort of the moment, finding solace in the presence of your spider companion. Hours passed, and before you knew it, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the park in hues of golden warmth.

A jarring ringtone shattered the moment, causing Angel Dust to glance down at his phone with a whistle. His brows furrowed as he scrolled through a flurry of notifications, irritation flashing across his features.

"As much as I'm enjoying our little chat, duty calls," he sighed, flicking away ash from his cigarette. "Can't keep the boss waiting."

You nodded in understanding, offering a wave as he rose from the bench. "No worries, Angel. Catch you later."

"Looking forward to it, dollface," he replied with a wink before sauntering off into the city streets, leaving you to enjoy the peace alone. After a few minutes of watching the sunset, you decided it was time to go. You stubbed out your cigarette and rose from the bench, making your way out.

As you approached the streets leading to the lounge, the neon lights of the city burst into life, casting vibrant reflections on the pavement. Climbing the stairs to the entrance, you were enveloped by the familiar sights and sounds of the establishment. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cigarette smoke, mingling with the pulsating rhythm of the music from within.

Mimzy was nowhere to be seen, which came as a welcome relief. And with a last scan to ensure she wasn't lurking anywhere nearby, you made a beeline straight to your dressing room, eager to ready yourself for tonight's performance in peace without a certain blonde talking your ear off.

Taking a seat at the vanity, you began to prepare for the evening ahead, carefully applying your makeup and fixing your hair into place.

A sudden knock broke your routine, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the door. With a quick twist of the knob, you swung it open, revealing an imp demon. White blotches adorned his skin, and he sported sunglasses perched high up on his nose. In his hands, he held up a box, his expression expectant as he waited for your reaction.

"May I help you?" you murmured, tilting your head at him, curiosity coloring your tone.

"Yeah. Are you Dolly?" the imp asked, his tone curt and impatient.

"Yes?" you replied, a brow raised.

"Great. This is for you, lady," he said, thrusting the box of jewelry toward you. "If you could just sign here so I can get the hell out of this shithole, that'd be great."

You accepted the box from the imp demon's outstretched hand, eyeing him warily as he thrust a pen and clipboard in your direction. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly took the pen and scrawled your signature on the dotted line, handing the clipboard back to him with a curt nod.

"Thanks," he muttered, barely sparing you a glance as he turned on his heel and hurried away, disappearing into the crowded hallway of the club.

Interest piqued, you turned your attention back to the box in your hands. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingers along the surface and lifted the lid of the box. Nestled amidst folds of satin lay a pearl necklace, the orbs gleaming as if moonlight itself was captured and trapped within. At its heart, a rose pendant bloomed, its petals of silver.

Taken aback, you reached for the small card tucked within the box. Gently retrieving, you turned it around to see the words "From Al" penned gracefully in elegant script.

"Oh, you cheese…"

With a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you delicately lifted the necklace from its satin-lined cocoon, feeling the cool weight of the pearls in your palm. As you draped it around your neck, the pendant nestled against your collarbone.

Feeling as giddy as a teenager in love, you turned away from the vanity, your heart fluttering with excitement. With a skip in your step, you crossed the room to the wardrobe, fingers dancing over the array of neatly hung dresses.

Before your fingers could grasp onto a dress, a sudden deafening explosion tore through the air. The sound was thunderous, shaking the walls and causing the ground beneath your feet to tremble violently. The shockwave slammed into you with palpable force, knocking you off balance and sending you crashing to the floor amidst a cloud of dust and debris.

Alarm flashed across your features as your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river. With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up from the ground.

What in hell was that?

Staggering to your feet, you ran out into the lounge. As the dust settled, you could see the entrance of the lounge now reduced to a gaping maw, the doors blown open by the force of the explosion. The familiar sights and sounds of the club were replaced by a scene of utter devastation, with debris strewn haphazardly across the floor and smoke billowing out into the night air.

Two ominous figures cast dark shadows amidst the panicked frenzy of staff and customers.

Struggling to discern the figures amidst the chaos, you squinted, trying to make out the details. One of them was a slender demon, dressed immaculately, with cedar-brown skin and long, fiery red curls tied into neat pigtails.

A sinking feeling settled in your chest as you recognized her as one of Hell's infamous overlords. Your heart plummeted further as you caught sight of Mimzy, ensnared in Velvette's vice-like grip, fear twisting her features as she struggled against her captor.

But it was the presence of the figure behind Velvette that truly sent a shiver down your spine.

The TV Demon, Vox.

His gaze swept over the room with a detached coldness, as if the pandemonium were of little consequence. Suddenly, his icy eyes locked onto yours, freezing you in place.

"Mimzy, dear," Vox's voice buzzed with deceptive sweetness as he addressed the shaking blonde. "Why don't you go and have a little chat with your esteemed employee about our... conditions?"

Wide-eyed with fear, Mimzy frantically nodded, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Make it quick," Velvette scoffed, releasing her grip on Mimzy's throat. The blonde stumbled toward you, her movements shaky and unsteady.

"What is—" you started, but Mimzy cut you off, panic evident as she began to drag you backstage. Without a moment's hesitation, she pushed you into your dressing room, swiftly locking the door behind you.

"Mimzy, what in hell is going on out there?" you demanded, leaning down to her height and shaking her by the arms.

Mimzy's breaths came in ragged gasps as she leaned against the door, her eyes wide with terror. She struggled to find her words, her entire figure trembling as she tried to compose herself.

"It's Velvette," she finally managed to choke out.

"Why is she here? What does she want from us?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your tone as you searched Mimzy's face for answers. But her response only added to your unease.

"You need to go with them," Mimzy decided abruptly.

"Go with who? What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice turning breathless with disbelief.

"She's out for payback, see? And she won't stop until she gets it," Mimzy explained, her tone grave yet determined, like she had some ace up her sleeve. "I gotta level the playing field, doll. She wants a replacement, and she's chosen you."

"I can't just go along with this!" your voice rose to a shout as you began to shake her again, nails digging into the chiffon of her glove. "My contract with you ends in a year. If I go with them, I'll be their pawn for all of eternity!"

"I can't just risk Velvette destroying everything I've built!" Mimzy defended herself, her tone devoid of remorse. "Do you have any idea how much work it took for me to get this place running?!"

Anger surged within you, fueled by betrayal and fear. "What about me? What about Alastor?"

"Oh, him again!" Mimzy shook her arms away from your grip and pushed herself off the door. "You've been so obsessed with that radio fool, you've forgotten who's been with you since the very start! Ever since you got hitched to him, you stopped caring about a damn thing!"

"I cared! And I still bloody well care, Mimzy!" you shot back, your voice rising with anger. Your eyes blazed with fire, cracks beginning to form on your face as your demon form threatened to break free. "But you were an empty, hollow shell of a woman with naught in her head but money! You'd sell out anyone, even me, to get what you want!"

Mimzy recoiled slightly, her façade momentarily cracked by your words. "You-You think you're any better? Running off with your precious Alastor, pretending like he's the savior of your life. But I know you've heard his broadcasts. I know you've seen the news. He's no better than me, playing you like a puppet while hiding behind his façade of being a good man!"

Enraged, you lunged forward, tackling her against the wall. As fury consumed you, your form contorted and twisted, taking on a monstrous semblance. Your features morphed, sharpening into angular lines, while cracks spiderwebbed across your skin like shattered porcelain. Limbs stretched and warped, turning jagged and broken, resembling the joints of a marionette. Teeth elongated into razor-sharp fangs, and as you bared them in a snarl, your lips curled back in a grotesque mockery of a mouth. "Say that again! I fucking dare you!"

"I'll say it as many times as I damn well please!" Mimzy spat, her voice trembling as she locked eyes with your hollow gaze. "Until you get it through your fucking thick, cracked skull!"

The blonde's hand darted to a nearby object, seizing hold of a picture frame within reach. With sudden, fierce motion, she swung it, the weighty wood and glass connecting with your transformed flesh in a sickening thud.

"Mph—!" Biting your lip to stifle a scream, you staggered backward. Thick blood dripped from the wound, pooling on the floor and mingling with the cracks in your porcelain-like skin.

"You've got some nerve!" Mimzy's voice thundered as she stood over you, her pale face flushing crimson with anger. "You wanted that fame, and I made it happen. Now you don't?! Fuck! Some ungrateful brat you are! Willing to throw it all away for some man! Do you really think what he feels for you is love?!"

As Mimzy's tirade continued, her words cutting through the haze of pain and anger, a sense of disorientation washed over you. Her words struck a nerve, stirring up memories that you had long tried to suppress.

Rain poured down, drenching your hunched form. The world around you blurred into a chaotic whirlwind of colors and shapes, disorienting and suffocating.

Beneath the fabric of your dress, your knees throbbed painfully, raw from the harsh scrape against unforgiving concrete. Your hands desperately fumbled in the darkness, searching for something to anchor yourself to. Then, finally, your fingertips brushed against the familiar texture of rusting metal.

With a ragged sigh of relief, you realized you had found the gate of your house. Summoning all your remaining strength, you clasped both hands around the cold, wet metal bars and attempted to pull yourself up.

Through the haze, you felt rough hands sneak around your waist, and as your vision cleared slightly, your husband's face emerged from the blur. His once impeccable suit now clung to him like a second skin, soaked through by the downpour. Strands of his usually neat hair stuck to his forehead, dampened and dripping onto his glasses. Cursing like a sailor under his breath, he scooped you up into his arms, expression turning tense as he felt the icy chill of your body against his own.

If you weren't moving he would have thought you a corpse.

"Cher?" Alastor's voice cut through the fog in your mind, but your response was sluggish, your gaze glassy and dilated. "Merde. Did you drag yourself here all alone?"

Without waiting for an answer, he moved, cradling you in his arms as he hurried back toward your house. Once inside, he wasted no time in laying you down on the sofa.

"Al," you finally spoke, whimpering softly as you raised a shaky hand towards him. Alastor immediately moved towards you, hushing your cries as he pressed a deep kiss on your lips.

Your husband moved to cradle your face in his rough hands, and what he saw shattered whatever fragments of his heart were still intact. Bruises and dried blood stained your body, your skin clammy and pale. Streaks of mascara carved paths down your tear-stained face, and your limbs twitched involuntarily. The taste of whiskey still lingered on your lips, and the fearful haze in your eyes mirrored the terror of a rabbit cornered by a wolf.

"Who did this to you?" he growled, his pupils dilating with anger as he knelt before you, gently slipping your torn stockings and muddy heels off your feet.

"Mimzy," you sobbed out, curling into yourself, the weight of it all feeling too heavy on your shoulders.

"I tried to quit. She didn't let me. The bar. She gave me a drink. More and more. I couldn't stop. I was just so upset." Your words were fragmented, broken by the wrenching sobs that shook your fragile form, vulnerability laid bare before him.

"Mon cœur," Alastor hushed, rubbing circles into your ankle with his thumb. "Calm down. Take your time."

You made an effort, though the first few attempts were shallow and rushed. Eventually, you managed to draw in a deep breath, releasing it in a rush before taking another. And another.

"That's it, my dear. Now, what happened?"

Summoning all your strength, you opened your mouth and began to recount the harrowing events of the night.

Earlier this evening, you had mustered up enough courage to hand in your resignation letter to Mimzy. However, her reaction was far from pleasant. An argument erupted, filled with less than savory words being thrown around like daggers.

Before you knew it, Mimzy's rage boiled over, and she tackled you, raining blows upon you with a fury that bordered on madness, beating you with an inch of your life. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

Her demeanor shifted drastically, morphing from a raging storm into a gentle breeze. With a sickening sweetness, she offered you a hand up, as if nothing had happened. Weak and disoriented, you allowed her to lead you to her private bar, where she poured drink after drink, urging you to indulge.

As per habit, you found yourself consuming the alcohol with reckless abandon, the burning liquid dulling the pain and blurring the edges of reality

Alastor's heart clenched at the anguish in your voice, his expression darkening with a mixture of concern and simmering anger. Slowly, he rose from his seat and lifted you onto his lap, cradling you gently in his arms.

Taking your hand in his, he leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur.

"Let me take care of everything, doll," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "She won't ever bother you again."

The tenderness in his voice caused your breath to hitch, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to fall into the reassurance of his presence. It offered a fleeting sense of security amidst everything surrounding you. Yet, slowly as the puzzles fell into pieces, a gnawing sense of dread clawed at your insides.

"Alastor, no," you whimpered, withdrawing your hands and pressing them against his chest, pushing him away with trembling fingers. "Please don't tell me it means what I think it does."

Your gaze pleaded with him, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance, any glimmer of hope that what you feared was not true. However, your husband's smile remained unchanged—comforting yet chilling—as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your lips.

"I would kill for you," Alastor murmured against your skin, his thumb tracing the contours of your wedding ring. Bending down, he pressed a tender kiss against the golden band, sealing his vow with the promise of bloodshed, lips lingering against the cool metal. As he drew back, you found yourself ensnared by the intensity of his gaze, pools of brown reflecting a manic fervor.

"Please let me kill for you."

Tears blurred your vision as you bowed your head, the weight of his words sinking deep into your soul. You knew Alastor's devotion knew no bounds. Whether it meant causing pain, shedding blood, or delving into the darkest corners of his being, he would do it for you without a moment's hesitation.

A warmth trickled down your cheeks with each blink, tracing a path along your skin. Your eyes burned fiercely, tears cascading down your flushed cheeks and silently dripping from your chin like dewdrops. As you attempted to draw deep breaths, your body shook with a desperation to escape, though you couldn't quite grasp what it was you were fleeing from.

A ragged sound echoed through the room, grating against your senses. It took you a moment to register that the noise came from your own lungs, your breaths torn and jagged as they struggled to find a rhythm.

"Okay," you whispered, the weight of that single word heavy with the burden of guilt and a future tinged with blood.

There was a soft chuckle, accompanied by the gentle touch of a hand moving to caress your cheeks. "Good girl."

Snapping back to the present, you found yourself staring at Mimzy as she raged around the room, her fury unleashed on the surroundings, wrecking anything and everything in her path.

A man who kills for you. A man who dirties his hands for you. Is that not love?

A kick from her sent your vanity toppling over, causing bottles of your perfume and whiskey to crash from its surface. The glass shattered upon impact, releasing splintering sounds that pierced your ears. As the bottles broke, the air filled with the pungent scent of flora, mingling with the rich aroma of spilled whiskey.

It must be love.

With a hand trembling from adrenaline, you ran your fingers through your hair, the sticky feeling of blood staining your palm. Rising unsteadily to your feet, you turned to face Mimzy, strands of damp, bloodied hair falling over your cracked porcelain face.

"You ornery washed-up bitch," you rasped out in a laugh, voice breathless and laced with venom. "I should have left you to rot in that forest."

Mimzy froze, her wide eyes locked on you.

"What did you say to me?" she seethed, her voice trembling with anger as she extended her hand toward the shattered liquor glass and the spilled liquid, her fingers curling into fists.

With a flick of her wrist, the whiskey began to swirl and solidify, forming chains that snaked around your limbs, binding you in place. Your muscles tensed against the restraints as Mimzy manipulated you like a puppeteer. Slowly, you reverted back to your regular form, forced to your knees before her.

The blonde bent down, her grip firm on your face, nails digging deep into your skin as she pulled your head up to face her. "You're here because of me! Everything you've ever achieved was because of me! I made you a star, and this is how you repay me?!"

You recognized the anger in her tone, but beneath it lurked a deeper pain and desperation. The poor gal was fighting to reclaim control over a situation slipping through her grasp.

A sudden knock at the door startled Mimzy, causing her to tense. The door creaked open to reveal the imposing figure of Vox filling the doorway. As he entered the room, a wave of static filled the air, crackling and sending goosebumps cascading over your skin. His gaze swept over the scene, taking note of your restraints and bloodied head before settling on Mimzy.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Under Vox's gaze, Mimzy's confident demeanor faltered, replaced by a nervous tremor in her voice. "I-I was just… settling some unfinished business, mistah," she stammered, attempting to regain her composure.

"You've just damaged the merchandise, sweetheart," Vox stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to you with a wave of his hand. "And we can't have that, now can we?"

With a casual snap of his fingers, the wires from the stage lights above writhed and twisted, tearing free from the ceiling with a deafening creak. They snaked through the air like serpents, wrapping around Mimzy's torso and dragging her away from you with a forceful yank.

With Mimzy taken care of, Vox then turned his attention to you.

"Dolly, was it?" he smiled, voice disarming. "I've got to say, I have always wanted to see you up close."

"You've seen me," you replied with a cold edge to your voice, slowly backing away and pressing yourself against the wall. "I'm here."

"Charmed," Vox smiled, his gaze heating as he drank you in, every detail of you like candy to his eyes. As Vox strode towards you, you instinctively curled into yourself, shrinking back deeper against the wall. He chuckled softly, noticing your reaction, and halted his advances. Instead, he took a seat on the cushion by your toppled vanity, glowing eyes locked onto you.

Pretty Dolly Heart.

Your lips were painted a vivid red, pouting slightly in a frown. Damp, glossy curls framed your face, shimmering in the light and tempting him to reach out and run his fingers through them. Rivulets of blood marred your temple, staining the delicate white flowers nestled into your hair.

The TV Demon was interested in you, and he wouldn't let go until he went home with you tonight, that much was clear.

"I have a deal in mind," Vox turned to Mimzy with a look in his eyes that screamed trouble. "Are you willing to trade your soul for hers?"

Your blood ran cold with fear.

"As Velvette and I are business partners, our souls contracts are intertwined. I'm sure there would be no issue if you signed the deal with me instead," he added with a chuckle, his eyes swirling with a dangerous allure.

Panic clawed at your insides, urging you to flee from the impending doom that loomed before you. But rooted to the spot by fear, you found yourself unable to move.

"Yes! A-Absolutely!" Mimzy's words shattered the heavy silence, her voice trembling with desperation as she nodded frantically. Her eyes remained nervously glued to the crackling electricity of the torn wires still wrapped around her, the fear in her gaze mirroring your own.

With a clap of his hands, Vox conjured a new contract and a strong burst of wind swept through the room, ruffling curtains and causing objects to tremble on their surfaces. Blue light flooded the walls, casting eerie shadows and filling the room with an ominous glow. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, every hair on your body standing on end as if charged with static energy.

A tablet materialized and floated before you, its screen pulsing with a faint, golden glow.

"Make her sign here, and it'll be done," Vox instructed, his voice carrying an air of finality as he handed Mimzy a stylus, tapping his clawed finger along the screen of his tablet.

With a trembling hand, Mimzy took the stylus and held it out for you, the strings of her magic wrapping around your limbs once again. You attempted to shout out, but Mimzy's magic stitched your lips shut, leaving you unable to utter a sound.

Helpless, you watched as your hand was forced to reach out and take the pen into your grasp, your fingers moving against your will as Mimzy guided them to sign the contract. With each stroke of the pen, a wave of despair washed over you, a muffled sob bubbling from your throat as your name appeared on the screen, sealing your fate.

Vox's grin widened, a glint of triumph dancing in his eyes as he held up your old paper contract with Mimzy, the words now rendered meaningless. With a swift motion, he tore it to shreds, the sound of paper ripping echoing through the tense silence of the room.

"Welcome to VoxTek, Dolly."

#next chapter will explain all of their background :DD #sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel vox

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.”

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?”

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care.

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack.

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head.

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-”

“Classified?” You finish for her.

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...”

The less there is to make you a target.

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time.

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.”

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.

That, and the excuse for violence.

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together.

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face.

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.”

You look nervous.

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega.

His omega.

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.

He doesn’t even want to think about that.

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand.

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.”

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit.

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?”

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.”

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.”

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks.

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.”

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.”

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says.

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.”

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

He hasn’t failed her yet.

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.

One more to go.

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.

He’s going to be a problem.

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.

“Coming, Si?”

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared.

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack?

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door.

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no.

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.”

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.

You can hold power over them.

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell.

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already.

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in.

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.”

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You lived on base?” He asks.

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.”

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it.

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say.

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.”

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.”

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks.

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.”

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks.

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.”

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks.

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails.

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.

He’s going to be a problem.

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either.

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.”

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell?

What if they don’t like the way you smell?

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you.

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.”

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully.

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen.

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.

“Ready?”

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you.

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.

He’s testing you.

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting.

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached.

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place.

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?”

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.”

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them.

They could if they wanted to.

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you.

“You hungry, pup?”

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.

Pup. Price called you Pup.

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again.

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.”

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear.

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing.

He’s proving his ability as a provider.

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can.

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you.

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult.

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #a/b/o

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tonycries · 3 months

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Three's a Crowd (But Four...) - G.S.

Synopsis. “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?” “Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” In which you and your boyfriend find very unconventional uses for his powers.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, foursome (but they’re all Satoru + you LMFAO), NSFW, unprotected sex, double penetration, spit-roasting, face-sitting, doggy, missionary, anal, pet names (sweetheart, pretty, babe), oral sex (male + female receiving), overstimulation (female), swearing, slight breeding kink, cum (like lots).

Word count. 3.0k

A/N. A lil' sum while I get on with a 10k arranged marriage fic. H O R N Y >>> actual JJK technicalities.

Jokes, but idc what that technique was, I took that one chapter and ran with it. Art by @_3aem on X.

Cross-posted on AO3

“They just nerfed Naruto in Boruto cuz they knew he’d be too DILF-y.”

“Amen.”

Sprawled out on Satoru’s couch, both of you were fixated on the Naruto episode playing on-screen. It wasn’t anything new for a Friday night. His soft hairs tickling your chin, and legs dangling off the other end of the couch as he lay atop, cuddling you like a 6’3 housecat.

Times like this, it’s easy to forget that your boyfriend constantly bears the burden of being “the strongest”. That is- until Satoru, eyes still locked onto the screen, speaks up “I can do that too, y’know.”

You turn to look at Satoru, “Do what?”

He nods his head towards the screen - now showing young Naruto mastering his iconic technique. “You could call it Shadow Clone Jutsu.” he hums.

Raising a brow, “So you could make tens of thousands of Satoru clones? The world may never know rest.”

Eyes brimming with smugness, he grins “Something like that.”

You cock your head, wanting to know more, “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?”

“Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” he wiggles his brows in a way that would definitely be creepy if it was anyone but Satoru.

“You wish.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, before going back to using your breasts as his personal cushions. “Not quite clones or holograms, they’re still me. But also not really, y’know?” he murmurs.

“Ahh. No.”

The conversation dwindles into a comfortable silence.

Or so you’d think. But the air was charged with something, and - knowing Satoru - you had an inkling it didn’t bode well for you down there.

As quickly as you suspected, he turns the TV off and turns to you with twinkling eyes.

“Toru...” you reproach.

He whines dramatically, “Come onnnn. Don’t they say the best way to learn is hands-on experience?”

“You just have ulterior motives, Toru.”

“Hell yeah, I do.” he mutters into the valley of your breasts. Satoru peeks at you through his thick lashes, eyes bright with mischief.

How could you say no to those eyes? And, well, you’d be lying if you said that the idea of multiple Satorus didn’t make your pussy clench in excitement.

That’s how you found yourself here.

Shirts thrown across the room and splayed out on Satoru’s overpriced silk bed sheets. You gasp in pleasure as he leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, he rocks into you, pushing you deeper into the plush bed. Your pussy drips with anticipation as you feel the outline of his rock-hard cock straining against his sweatpants.

Hooking two fingers under your waistband, he swiftly pulls off your panties along with your shorts. “Already so wet and ready f’me…” he groans out. Quickly shuffling your bodies around, “C’mon sweetheart.”

Now, Satoru knows he has a pretty face - too well, in fact, he uses it to his advantage to get his way with you too much. And he thinks there’s nothing that makes his face prettier than you on it.

It’s why he has you bent over and straddling his head. The tighter you squeeze him, the better.

One arm holds you in place while the other spreads your folds. Satoru teases your entrance with a finger, gathering your wetness before popping it into his mouth. He groans sinfully as he tastes you. “Fuck- always so good for me.”

You slowly put your weight onto him, failing against the strong arm that pulls you to sit on him properly.

Satoru moans around your cunt as he finally dives nose-deep into it. Languidly, he licks long stripes against your folds, purposefully catching your clit in the process. “Hah- Fuck. Toru, more!”

Satisfied with your whines, he finally slides his tongue inside your dripping pussy, fucking you with his mouth till his cock twitches for friction.

You notice, and urgently shuffle his sweatpants down. Satoru’s cock stands achingly hard, precum dripping enticingly along the vein on the side of it. You lean down to kiss the shaft, delighting in his noises that send vibrations down to your clit.

As you take his blushing red head into your mouth, Satoru increases his abuse on your cunt.

You arch your back further into his face - moaning around his thick cock. He starts fucking into your mouth steadily, forcing you to take more and more of his length. Drool drips down the corners of your mouth, “Mmm Toru- Feels so good.”

If one Satoru makes you feel this good…what would two feel like?

As if reading your mind - you wouldn’t be surprised if he actually could - Satoru pulls away slightly, ropes of spit still connecting him to you.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he murmurs lowly, hot breath making your cunt quiver.

And before you can respond, the hairs on your body raise as the air stills with the crackle of jujutsu. You remove yourself from Satoru’s cock with a wet pop! Looking up to see…those cerulean eyes.

Another set.

“Toru…” you drone out, turning behind to glare at Satoru - who was now placing innocent kisses to your dripping pussy. His eyes peek out with visible amusement, “Jus’ say the word and I’ll stop.”

Satoru knew he had you cornered. He’d fully felt the way your walls clenched around his tongue once you saw the other version of him. This was going to be fun.

Harshly rolling his tongue against your clit, he lightly smacks your ass - signaling you to pay attention to the other Satoru in front of you now.

So you do.

It was quite surreal seeing an exact copy of your boyfriend grinning down devilishly at you. He cups the back of your head, bringing you closer to him. “Don’t be scared, pretty. It’s jus’ me.”

At first, you were unsure of what to do, the only thing you know being that - clone or not - this one was just as well-endowed as your boyfriend.

Experimentally, you press soft kisses to his hot tip, relishing in his drawn-out groan. You take him in deeper, tonguing the slit in the way you knew your boyfriend liked. “Yeah- Jus’ like that.”

He tightens his grip on your head. Pumping your Satoru with one hand, you use the other to steady yourself as your mouth gets used as the other’s own personal fucktoy.

Shit. This was heaven.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you pull away, “Hngh- Toru, feels so fucking good.” Mewling at the stimulation on your cunt as well as the depravity of the act, you grind your hips deeper into Satoru’s mouth - searching for your high.

Soon, you feel that familiar snap in your stomach. Satoru uses his fingers to spread your lips as you cum all over his tongue. He laps up your juices with lewd squelching sounds as his clone fucks your face deeper. Nose meeting his snowy white pubes and balls hitting your chin, you choke from both the position and Satoru’s relentless tongue.

“Yeah, cum all over my tongue, sweetheart.”

You ride out your high on Satoru’s pretty face, slick spreading all over his mouth and nose. With a final kiss to your cunt, he shifts your legs and moves to tower over from behind.

Removing yourself from the other’s cock, you look over your shoulder to see your boyfriend sensually pumping himself, readying to enter your eager pussy.

“Hey now, eyes on me, pretty.” A long finger moves your chin so that you face the Satoru in front of you. Seems that no matter what, every Satoru was a little possessive over you.

He rubs his dripping tip on your face, smearing his precum as a gloss before fucking into your mouth once more.

Almost at the same time, Satoru fully rams his cock inside your pussy without any warning, tip kissing your cervix.

“Shit. Always taking me in so good, sweetheart.” he huffs out as your walls flutter around his length.

You groan loudly around the cock in your mouth, partly from the pain of being unprepared and partly from the pleasure of getting what you wanted the most - both ends filled by your loving boyfriend.

Your eyes were dazed as you stare doe-eyed up at the Satoru that was plunging into your mouth mercilessly - the other fucking your hole at a similar pace. Strangled yelps leave your mouth as his balls sinfully slap against your clit.

The room fills with loud, wet noises, and the slapping of skin. Both Satorus hunch over you in pleasure, muscles rippling. Your cunt quivers in an almost-animalistic way at the small grunts falling from their pretty lips.

You whine as he finds that one spot inside you which makes you see stars every time his hips meet yours. One hand - you were too far gone to recognize whose - reaches under you to draw harsh circles on your clit.

Tears spring to your eyes at the sheer overstimulation, and you rock your hips to meet his powerful cadence. One of your hands reaches for the other’s hip for stability, nose meeting his pelvis nails dragging along the soft skin. He grips your hair tighter, lips bitten and swollen at the stimulation.

From the way your pussy was clenching, you knew it wouldn’t be long before you were cumming again.

Now, throughout his life, Satoru has been called crazy many times. Crazy powerful, crazy handsome (in front of the mirror), and just downright mad. But it’s right about now - watching as you choke and cry around his own dick as he plows into you from behind - that he truly thinks he just might actually be a little crazy.

Slowing to shallow rocks, he focuses on his technique.

Satoru basks in amusement when your whines of disappointment at his slowing pace die down as you register the tugging and sucking on your nipples from below.

You gasp as you break away from the Satoru in front of you and look down, breath catching in your chest as you realize that your boyfriend has conjured up another clone of himself.

He was going to be the death of you.

“Pay attention, sweetheart.” you hear from behind you as Satoru starts up his relentless rhythm once more, hand now moving to squeeze and spread your ass.

You knew where this was going, and you didn’t mind it one bit.

The stretch of your cunt as it adapted to Satoru’s length burned almost as much as your nipples as his clone continued to bite and tease them. “Feels good, babe?” he sighs around your breasts. Yet your whines of pleasure are quickly muffled by the flushed tip kissing your lips once more.

“Hope you didn’t forget about me, pretty.”

“More- Hngh, Toru!” you whine, not sure which Satoru you were addressing anymore . All three of them speed up their motions, the pleasure from all points pushing you over the edge.

You as you cum fast and hard.

But your Satoru(s) don’t let you have a moment’s rest as your orgasm is quickly overshadowed by your boyfriend’s hands on your ass. Teasingly drawing circles around the rim. You shiver, hole quivering at the cold feeling of his saliva hitting you.

His cock still ramming into your abused cunt, Satoru enters a finger into your ass. Using his spit and your slick from before to stretch you out till he’s satisfied. “Fuck- Taking me so good, sweetheart.” he moans out at the sight of you being stretched out from all ends by him and only him.

You continue mewling as the pleasure overtakes you. He was going to ruin you.

Half-delirious from all the stimulation, you barely hear the lowly “Ready, babe?” from below you before Satoru pulls out and suddenly you’re flipped. Easily manhandled by your boyfriend, your head lolls against his replica’s strong shoulder as you’re caressed from three sides once more.

“Feeling alright, sweetheart?” your boyfriend rasps from above. Now hot and bothered once more from how your loving boyfriend was using you like a ragdoll, you gasp out “Yeah, Toru. Need you so bad.”

“Oh yeah?” he grins, lining himself up with your pulsing pussy. “Tell me how badly you want me in all your tight lil’ holes.”

You choke out a sob at the way your Satoru was teasing your folds with his thick cock. “So bad- Need you so bad Toru. Want you to fill me up everywhere.”

Arching your back, you grind your ass against the furiously hard cock prodding at your asshole. Hearing choked gasps from below you, your pussy clenches in anticipation around nothing. To Satoru, your arousal is almost palpable - as strong as the cursed technique in the air surrounding you two.

And that seems to be what finally makes Satoru snap before he sheathes himself entirely in your dripping cunt. Your strangled moans are cut off by the other Satoru slowly bullying himself into your other hole.

“Ah- Ah!” you yelp in both pain and pleasure as you’re stretched to your limits. You feel full. So full. You were going to snap - like a rubber band - and your boyfriend was going to be reveling in his success. The man in question furrows his brows, groaning at the sweet feeling of his pretty lil’ girlfriend being so tight.

A single tear streaming down your face is gently brushed away as a pair of muscular thighs come to rest beside your face. “Shhh, pretty. You can take it.”

Both of them start moving carefully.

Satoru would never admit it, but feeling his own dick stretch you out twofold has been a little fantasy tucked in a deep, dark corner of his mind ever since he realized the nefarious purposes his technique could be used for.

He could feel his other version pumping into you from behind as he ruts into your cunt mindlessly. The friction mixed with the gummy wetness of your pussy was mind-blowing - fuck, he really should have watched Naruto with you sooner.

Satoru gazes at you through half-lidded eyes as you press kittenish pecks to his clone’s cock above you. You stare right into your boyfriend’s eyes as you take the length into your mouth once more, inch by inch. Nose meeting his pelvis.

Shit. Satoru feels like he could pass out - whether from seeing the sinful image of all your holes filled by him or from the excessive use of his cursed technique, he doesn’t question. Your walls flutter, struggling to take him both.

Fuck, he really feels like he’s gonna explode.

Satoru pulls out fully before harshly thrusting into you once more, keeping up a pace that has his abs burning and you struggling for air. He sees another tear fall delicately down your cheek.

“My girl takes me so well, huh? Fuck. Made jus’ for me, sweetheart.”

The air was stagnant with the smell of sex and jujutsu.

All three Satorus thrust into you fiercely, the bed creaking furiously. Satoru has half a mind to worry about whether it would break down in the middle of all this. How inconvenient that would be, he’s so close.

It was animalistic, the way you could just sit there and take it as your boyfriend used you in all sorts of ways you never deemed possible.

You’re pretty sure your body is completely bruised and raw at this point. Eyes fluttering shut, tears cling to your lashes as you’re filled up. Your brain, as well as your holes, were overwhelmed with only Satoru Satoru Satoru. If your mouth wasn’t suckling on his length, you’re sure you’d be screaming loud enough for Satoru’s neighbor’s to file a noise complaint.

Good. So good.

Feeling that sharp tug on your stomach again, your legs flail as you steadily reach your climax. Held down by three sets of large hands - all caressing you relentlessly in various ways - you finally cum with an exhausted whimper.

Brain foggy and eyes unfocused, you barely feel the twitch of Satoru’s cock.

With a throaty moan, all three versions of your boyfriend cum - not one pulling out. Your senses are overtaken as Satoru doesn’t relent his pace, fucking his cum deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

Ah- He felt he was gonna fuck another Gojo into you. Carry on his legacy. Shut those old cows up about a Gojo heir.

You’d look so round and beautiful with his kids.

“Only I get to cum in this pussy.” he drawls out as he keeps rutting his sensitive cock into you. Low whines get stuck in his throat as he loses himself in the feeling of your tight walls coated in his semen. His other versions were also at their limit, shooting out thick streams of cum to paint your face and ass.

You were so beautiful like this. Fucked out and covered in his seed.

His and only his.

As you slowly come to your senses, the first thing you feel is wet. Not from your own slick, but from Satoru’s thick cum - it was everywhere, decorating your lips, your tits, all the way down to your holes below.

The second thing you feel is raw. You weren’t too sure anymore that you’d be able to make it to that family dinner tomorrow, Satoru had absolutely gone all out tonight.

Laying there, willing yourself to move, you flinch as something soft and wet touches your legs. “Shhh…easy there, sweetheart. Get some rest, I’ll take care of it.” you hear the soothing whisper of your one and only boyfriend.

You muster up the strength to look up and see his gentle smile. “Rest.” he breathes out as he continues to wipe you down. In the back of your mind you register the distinct lack of the other presences of your boyfriend.

“T-Toru...” you were too fucked up to formulate proper sentences.

“Shhh it’s okay.”

At his tender whispers, you easily drift into a fatigued sleep. You dream of shadow clones and blue, blue skies.

Waking up after your brief nap, you find yourself dressed and cuddled by Satoru on a fresh set of sheets. “You okay?” he mutters in-between innocent pecks to your bruised lips.

At your affirmative nod, he probes further “Learn anything about my technique?”

“Absolutely not.” you sigh, pulling him in closer. As you snuggle into the crook of his neck, you almost miss the devious grin spreading across his face.

“Then…wanna try six next time?”

A/N. No Part 2 till I figure out better ways to differentiate these bitches LMAO.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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oddinary4bts · 16 days

Text

Chasing Cars | Masterpost (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆status: on-going (next update: May 10th, 2024)

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Hoseok x female reader, Namjoon x OC, Jin x OC, Jimin x OC, Taehyung x OC and others.

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆total word count: 182.2k (lmao my fingers slipped)

☆a/n: I got the idea for this fic just a little over a year ago, following a power outage that lasted for a few days where I live and Jungkook's live where he kept coming back with different outfits (the white dress shirt hit me right in the gut). It took me a long time to write, as I was working on multiple other projects at the same time, but I am so so happy to be ready to share this baby with you guys <3

☆Thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing this monster <3 (and for all your encouragement and support)

☆And a special thank you to @wintaerbaer and @btsborahaee for encouraging me and supporting me whenever I screamed to you about this fic

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

➳Teaser (Jungkook pov): the day he met you (1.1k)

You fucking touch her, you're dead.

➳Chapter one: when the Incident happens (11.8k)

Jungkook is Tae's best friend.

➳Chapter two: when Jungkook teases you (10.2k)

You know I hate that nickname.

➳Chapter three: when Valentine's Day happens (13.1k)

You know, Taehyung doesn’t have to know everything.

➳Chapter four: when you and Jeon Jungkook clash (9.5k)

I was just going to say that we should keep this between us.

➳Chapter five: when you have to go back to reality (12.1k)

We just pretend nothing happened, no?

➳Chapter six: when Jungkook hosts his friends over (9.6k)

I really want to kiss you right now.

➳Chapter seven: when doubt makes you question everything (15k)

Why do you want to believe the worst of me so bad?

➳Chapter eight: when secrets are unveiled in New York (13.5k)

I want you.

➳Chapter nine: when a party makes Jungkook jealous (11.2k)

You make me insane.

➳Chapter ten: when time slips through your fingers (10.1k)

I don’t want to lose you, peach.

➳Chapter eleven: when Jungkook visits Taehyung in Paris (8.4k)

Can’t wait for you to be back.

➳Chapter twelve: when it breaks (7.3k)

I can’t be with you.

➳Chapter thirteen: when it's too late (8.9k)

I have to talk to him.

➳Chapter fourteen: when the truth comes out (12.2k)

We never told each other how we felt.

➳Chapter fifteen: when you find your way back to Jungkook (7.4k)

You came?

➳Chapter sixteen: when Jungkook takes you out on a date (8.5k)

I think I was waiting for you my whole life.

➳Chapter seventeen: when forever awaits you (9k)

Getting to love you is the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.

Drabbles in Jungkook's pov (might add more as the story goes on)

➳Drabble 1: the engagement party (453)

Have fun while it lasts.

➳Drabble 2: after a call in Paris (596)

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

➳Drabble 3: a conversation with his mother (644)

Nothing strengthens a man more than heartbreak.

➳Drabble 4: a conversation with Taehyung (1.1k)

It’s never been like that with her.

☆☆☆☆☆

#chasing cars masterpost #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook #chasing cars #chasing cars series

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bitternanami · 2 months

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something i think is really interesting about dungeon meshi is the cast's respective views on food as the story progresses. the way many adventurers get through the dungeon is to eat when they Must, but mostly rely on healing magic to keep going when they're tired or beaten down. death is something you can buy your way out of, here.

having these lower stakes when it comes to running yourself too hard has made a lot of people in this setting kind of devalue food and what it does for you.

im not all the way through the manga yet, but so far i really like how it goes about debunking that mindset.

long post under the cut, cw explicit discussion of disordered eating. textual depiction of unhealthy methods of dealing with it. please be cautious!

it seems like to most folks, food is either a decadent luxury, like when the governor offers mr tance a feast as a show of power and wealth, (although he is the only one who actually eats in that scene as he talks about his ambitions);

[id: the governor and mr. tance talk politics and hierarchies, while the governor eats from a bowl. mr. tance's meal is not visible behind a speech bubble.

"so you believe the sorceror is an elf?" he asks.

"i can't say with absolute certainty," mr. tance replies, "but the spells are not ones dwarves and humans typically use." /end id]

like the painted-royal feasts laios tries to partake in that never actually nourish him...

[id: laios, fresh out of the living painting feast, surprisedly holding his grumbling stomach /end id]

or, to the working class, it's pretty much exclusively fuel. i'm thinking about the scene where kabru's party, ostensibly intended to be our view into how adventuring Typically goes for most people, is shown preparing to go to the dungeon by like. walking up to someone and ordering 'a weeks' worth of rations.' purely functional.

[id: kabru enters a store, and the merchant says "welcome!"

kabru says "i need a week's worth of rations for six, and two days' worth of water."

"sure thing." the merchant then reaches behind him and grabs a large cube-shaped package, wrapped in nondescript cloth and tied in place. it thumps onto the counter in front of them both. /end id]

when kabru hands mickbell his food for the trip, he complains about how heavy it is on his back. it's a necessary liability.

we also see chilchuck, in an early chapter where there isn't much food to go around, grumbling about how he used to be better at not noticing when he was hungry. he's frustrated that he's more attuned to his bodily needs, now that he's starting to fill them with regularity.

[id: chilchuck, the only one awake, sits in his bedroll and glares at the timekeeping-candle burning down in front of him while he listens to his stomach growl. moving to find his canteen and fill himself with water instead, he thinks to himself, "my stomach has gotten weaker. i used to be able to go two days without food." /end id]

(like im not even gonna lie this is a big mood. the healing process is really really annoying)

even laios, early on, working out the logistics of going back for falin, considers his expenses and ultimately the thing he decides to save money on is their food supply. like, even the guy most invested in eating as an experience kind of just assumes he will Figure It Out. its what hes eating, not how hes eating it that matters to him at that point.

[id: marcille looks down at the ingredients they've gathered, the walking mushroom and the scorpion in an unappetizing heap on the ground, and asks laios "so how exactly do we eat them?"

he responds "let's just cook them, like normal." /end id]

but its here that senshi introduces the idea of food as art and as healing. its exciting and its fascinating for laios, getting to taste the creatures hes been reading about and fighting, but i dont think it would ever really help him feel full if not for this.

[id: three panels of laios tasting the scorpion hotpot, looking stunned, and then excitedly telling senshi "delicious!"

senshi matches his energy, asking "isn't it? isn't it?" /end id]

pictured: guy who had resigned himself to kind of just doing his best rediscovers the joy in something tasting really fucking good

what they did last time isnt going to work. falin is gone, and constantly anesthetizing their pain and healing through their weakness is no longer a realistic option for the party. in order to make it through they must all relearn how to eat well, one by one and as a group over and over again, because its either that or nothing.

one of my favorite depictions of this idea thus far is when marcille is seriously low on health and mana, and both of these problems are mitigated by taking care of herself, and trying to get iron and protein

[id: marcille, looking sickly, wakes to laios saying, "marcille, marcille, can you sit up? we've got something nice for you."

she watches senshi grill pieces of kelpie liver on a low fire, while laios ties a bib around her neck. /end id]

and drinking a bunch of dead water spirits. she gets the idea, she's supposed to get in nutrients and it'll help her feel better, but in aiming for the quick, inefficient fix, namely chugging that shit down like she heard it was good to Stay Hydrated and decided that would be the thing that fixes her,

[id: marcille throws back a cup of boiled undine-water, her face red. laios asks, "do you really need to drink it that fast?"

she gasps out "...the magical energy stored in nature spirits is actually quite hard to absorb. even if you drink a lot, the majority of it is excreted without being absorbed," and takes another drink. "that's why i need to drink as much as i can."

laios says weakly "you'll get water poisoning," but marcille only stops when senshi puts a hand on her shoulder and says,

"it's easier to absorb nutrients if ye digest them with food. that's a fundamental rule of nutrition."

marcille says, "senshi..." contemplative

and he holds out a bowl of tentuclus and a thumbs up. "let's get cooking!" /end id]

she doesn't immediately realize the answer is that she needs more than that. she's been working hard. she needs care, and she needs nourishment.

once she gets that, though, she makes her boiled water into a stew, and she works to make that stew as good as she can, and everyone can have some.

because in dungeon meshi, to feed yourself or allow yourself to be fed is treated as performing a kindness for yourself. food is what propels you, but there is also an art and a joy inherent to the process of making it; in the way you feel when you've had enough to eat.

[id: senshi watches as chilchuck and marcille eat and excitedly hash out plans.

"i've got a good feeling about this! maybe it'll work out!" chilchuck says

marcille responds, "well it's easier to feel optimistic on a full stomach!"

senshi smiles, proud. /end id]

^^^ i want to put this image on my wall

when you're working through disordered eating habits, you really do have to keep learning this shit. (in my experience, learning about cooking is one of the best ways to do so.)

i'll have to see if my thesis holds up as i continue, but i think one of the reasons the portrayal here resonates with me so hard is that ryoko kui puts most of her characters at eye level with me on this. they're all working at it, too. the text and i are both commiserating, and encouraging each other, 'have some more, you'll feel better.'

#its late -_- idk if this fullly gets across what i mean but ive been thinking about this for weeks #dungeon meshi #recovery #cooking tag #disordered eating cw #im on chp 31 atm but im like. squinting and steepling my fingers looking for this theme as i go now

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casualhedonists · 5 months

Text

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter three)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

chapter: 3/? (MASTERLIST)

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, power play, oral sex, thigh riding, degradation, dirty talk, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

taglist: if you’d like to be tagged, leave a comment on the masterlist post and i’ll add you! 💌

a/n: thank you for your patience and condolences / kind messages over the past week i’ve been awol. i’m very happy to be back. very long, filthy and much awaited chapter ahead, so strap in and hope you enjoy the ride.

in the words of miss zegler herself: oh we are so back.

You weren’t sure how long he stared at you, smiling with a fire in his eyes that rivalled yours until it was eclipsed. A third and final time, you found yourself speechless, dumbstruck, and one final time, much like the others, you took a few shaky steps backwards, before turning and fleeing.

He knew. He’d known this whole time. How long had he been planning this? Exactly how much of this had been an act, with Snow puppeteering you as you slowly lost your mind?

You almost felt pity for the girl, because she was played just like you were. She was a mere pawn in his game of chess, where he’d toyed with you until you were backed into a corner, unable to make a move.

Well, not this time. Now you knew what he was playing, you were ready to up your game. This wouldn’t be another stalemate; you wanted to win, and you had a few ideas of where to start.

You were already up and dressed when you heard a knock at your door the next morning.

Dreading the worst – despite the fact that Snow had never actually been in your room before, but the rules had changed now and you weren’t sure quite how much – you paused for a second to prepare yourself, praying that he wouldn’t be there, ready to put a stop to your plans before they’d even started.

You fell lucky. It was one of Snow’s footmen, George.

“Good morning, ma’am. I, um.” He swallowed, not meeting your eye. “I have a message from Master Snow. He’d like for you to meet him for breakfast in a half hour, if you will. He says you have something… quite important to discuss.”

Typical Snow. Never liked to get his hands dirty. Too proud to knock at your door himself.

You considered.

“George, could you please tell Coriolanus that if I’ve already eaten, and that I’ll come to him when I see fit. If he isn’t satisfied,” you added, for his sake, as you knew Snow wasn’t above killing the messenger, “Say I have an urgent matter to tend to, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

You grew a lump in your throat from your refusal, fearing the consequences. But you’d set your plan into motion now and there was no going back. Once George had been sent on his way, you snuck down the stairs on the far end of the building and slipped out the door through the servants’ quarters, where you knew Snow wouldn’t see you leave. The one upside to the last few weeks was that you’d learned how to sneak around the manor unnoticed. You were certain there were at least three hallways he’d had never even set foot in.

You had Lucille call Henry – Snow’s driver – in advance so you could leave right away.

“Where are we going, ma’am?” He glanced at you over his shoulder as you slid into the black town car.

“Head into the city. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Henry took some convincing – and some light bribing – to finally cave and tell you what and where this gentleman’s club was. Of course, it was a risk, a roll of the dice to go there without concrete proof, but you knew Snow. You knew his little neuroses and hang-ups, and he was paranoid; in all senses, it would seem, except when it came to you. If he’d been frequenting this club for some time – some years, according to Henry – and trusted their discretion, then you highly doubted he’d play Russian roulette and pick somewhere else.

You were dropped off outside, and sent Henry to the tailor to pick up some of Snow’s things; an excuse for the outing, but a part of your plan too. He was hesitant to leave you alone in such a place, but you insisted you knew exactly how to handle yourself, and so he gave in.

You’d deliberately dressed down for what you were about to do, worn your old coat and let your hair down with a hood pulled over it. It being daytime, the place was closed for business, but you knocked on the front door expectantly.

You waited. Went over the plan, and knocked again.

This time, the door opened and a burly man now stood between you and the inside of the brothel. Your curiosity made peek over his shoulder before he cleared his throat.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“Yes. My name is Margaret, sir, I’m a maid at the, uh,” You dropped your voice to a low whisper, “Snow household. I have a message for the owner of this establishment, from my master. Is he here?”

The man cleared his throat and glanced around the nearly empty street, then beckoned you in quickly.

“Anything for Mr Snow, miss. Right this way.”

There was your proof.

The empty club was a classy one, you had to give Snow that. The bar caught your eye, silver panels lining the wall behind it in an otherwise jet-black glossy room, with dark red couches and shiny tables, booths, single chairs, a stage with shiny metal poles, and a few cordoned-off alcoves.

You took it all in, certain you’d be able to appreciate the aesthetics of it more if it wasn’t for the seething rage inside you. You were stopped at a closed door near the back, and the burly man knocked.

“Yeah.” Came a voice from inside.

“All yours. He’ll take care of you.” Your guide stepped away. You pushed at the door.

A dark-haired man sat facing a desk, poring over paperwork. He didn’t look up.

“If you’re here for a job, sweetie, it’s Tuesday after 11.”

This incensed you.

“I’m not here for work. This is official business. I was told you take care of… special clients.”

He spun around, frowning.

“I’m listening.”

“I have a message from President Snow. He has a series of requests to be carried out with no delay.”

“Ah, yes. Mr Snow. I see. And you are to him?” He prompted.

“Just a maid from the household. He sent me as a messenger.”

“Excellent. Well in that case, of course, miss. How can I be of service?”

You took a breath, hoping desperately that he didn’t see right through you.

“Firstly, the shoes your girl wore.”

“What would he like with them?” He asked.

“He’d like to keep them. He’s willing to pay, and he’s not up for a price negotiation. This should cover them.” You slipped a bill across the table, and he nodded. You learned long ago that money causes loose lips, and this man was no exception.

“Of course,” he obliged, “They’re in the lockers through that door there. I’ll bring them to you. We ordered them in specially for Veronica, he made a point for her to wear them on the first floor. Usually our girls get instructions to sneak through clients’ houses quietly, but we handle every request as thoroughly as possible.” He chuckled.

That fucker. He really had planned it all out to get in your head.

“Was there anything else I can do for you, miss?”

You swallowed thickly.

Here goes.

“Yes, actually. As of today, he’ll no longer be needing your services, or her services. He’d like to terminate your contract, and he doesn’t wish to see her again. Ever.”

The owner blinked. His mouth moved, as if he was about to say something, but then it closed again.

“But, um,” he stammered, “It’s only been three weeks. Veronica is our best girl, and he’s her top client. She carried out his orders to the absolute best of her ability, I can assure you. Are you sure those were his words?”

You sighed.

“She’s getting off lucky with a dismissal. Take it as a warning, sir. President Snow doesn’t show mercy to thieves. If she shows her face again, I can guarantee you, he’ll have her head.”

His face turned plum-red with horror.

“She was… stealing?”

In a way, yes.

“She was caught by a maid last night.” You nodded, and the owner swallowed thickly.

“I – I understand, Miss. I am terribly sorry for this. I apologise that our services weren’t up to your master’s expectations, truly. Please, if there’s anything I can do- and I can assure you, I’ll be having some very stern words-”

You cut him off.

“There is one more thing, as a matter of fact."

"Anything." He pleaded.

"You can send word that… Veronica, is it? She’ll be paying him a visit this evening. But you are not, under any circumstances, to send her. Am I understood?”

He furrowed his brows, puzzled. But you stared back challengingly and held your ground.

A small, sheepish smile formed on his face.

“Much obliged. I can assure you your requests will be carried out with the utmost discretion.”

“Thank you.”

He brought you the heels in a shiny box, and you turned and left.

Henry was waiting outside, and you slid back into the car.

“Get what you needed, ma’am?”

“I certainly did.”

The drive home was your chance to pick up lunch, finetune your plan, and go through the suits you’d had Henry pick up from the tailor.

They looked impeccable – crisp and creaseless, the white shirts brighter than the stars, and the maroon red jackets and waistcoats deeper than blood itself. It was one of these jackets that you chose to take upstairs with you, leaving the rest to be taken up to Snow’s room later, hoping the missing item would go unnoticed.

You retraced your way up the winding stairs of the manor. Luckily, Lucille had informed you Snow had left not long after you that morning, and was expected to be gone until evening. Nonetheless, your paranoia made you glance left, right and left again before every turn. Finally, after an exhaustingly long morning, you were back in the safety of your own room.

But the work was far from finished. You ate quickly, then began getting ready for your discussion with Snow. He hadn’t sent for you again; he was too proud. You took pride in knowing he’d be positively seething at your turning him down that morning. You kept going, showering, teasing your hair, adding a little more makeup than usual – not excessive, but enough to make a difference – then finally wandered the room as you picked your wardrobe for later.

You lay out the heels – which were a little big on you, but would serve their purpose – as well as the jacket you’d stolen, taking the time to run your fingers over the smooth maroon velvet you’d felt only briefly before, when brushing against Snow at public events. You then dug through your underwear drawer, debating between a red lingerie set and a white. You picked the latter; the tones of red would blend in with the jacket and white made more of a statement.

Innocence. If only.

You checked the time. Three hours or so until Coriolanus would be expecting Veronica. You hoped that he would be back by then, and more so, that your performance with the brothel owner had been enough to hold him to his promise of sending word. But if you’d learnt anything from Snow, it was that fear commanded respect, and better yet, obedience. So your doubts were few and far between.

In all honesty, that’s what had drawn you to Snow in the first place. It wasn’t about money; your family had money, more than they knew what to do with. It was the power, the fear. Even the richest man in the world would crumble to the ground with a gun to his head. Power trumps wealth every time, and the enigmatic, newly elected President was by far the most powerful man in Panem.

It was its own kind of thrill, pursuing a man like that. The temptation to get him wrapped around your fingers, ravenous, hungry for power, hungry for him. It all blurred together at this point, the man was like a magnet. You wondered if this thirst for more, always more, was an affliction the two of you shared. Or perhaps, an affliction you’d developed a taste for because of him. And the longer you spent at his side, the louder it began to beat in your chest like a second heart. You wanted to consume it, and let it consume you.

It thrummed in your chest now, adrenaline coursing in your veins. You fidgeted as you waited for the hours to pass, your craving growing with each second. You flicked through a few books; you drafted a letter to your mother. Each tick of the clock bringing you closer to finally taking the one thing you’d wanted since the day you met Coriolanus Snow. It was almost time for your big move.

✩✩✩✩

As enough darkness crept into your room and you stood to light some candles, you heard soft footsteps pass your door.

For a change, you recognised them as Snow’s, even and deliberate. He was home. With half an hour to spare until he’d be expecting his whore.

You jumped at the opportunity to change. Slowly and carefully, you slipped out of your clothes and into the underwear set, until you were clad in crisp white lace, with a matching garter belt as a finishing touch. You slid on Snow’s jacket – which smelled like him, of his cologne – the usual fitted shape it would give Snow now hanging loose and slack around your body, falling to the tops of your thighs. You did up the first button, tracing the neckline that plunged down your chest, leaving very little to the imagination. You slipped into the heels, checked the time, and after scanning yourself over in the mirror, made for the door.

The few worries you had about being seen by the staff were short-lived; the hallway lights were dim as you wobbled in the heels, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. You weren’t sure if Snow had fallen for your plan, but what mattered was that as you turned the corner, there were lights shining from under his bedroom door. He was in there, waiting. By now, it was odd seeing it closed. You tried your best to emulate the sound of the footsteps you’d drilled into your brain, the clicks giving you a sense of power knowing Snow – apprehensive or not – would be in for at least one surprise.

Click. Click. Click.

You considered pausing before barging in, but you didn’t. When you reached the end of the hallway, seconds away from your fate, you reached out a hand, pushed Snow’s door open, and walked right inside.

Snow was there; of course he was. Facing his dresser and away from you, he didn’t flinch at the sound of your arrival. You closed the door behind you, and took a step towards him. Stared at his back, scanning his black dress pants and the white shirt he’d rolled up to his elbows, cufflinks on the table, blonde curls a little unruly as he smoothly poured himself a drink.

This, right here, was where the solid part of your plan ended. It was caution to the wind from here on out, and you could practically taste it, high off the adrenaline; off his presence. And he hadn’t even looked at you yet.

This was the moment of truth.

“Well,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Look who finally figured it out.”

“Not who you were expecting?”

“She’d never reschedule.” he said simply, turning on his heels, eyes glinting at you. “Figured you were up to something. Drink?”

“Think I’ll pass.”

He approached you, eyes scanning your body, deliberately clad in the skimpiest underwear you owned. You figured this was as good a time as any to unbutton the jacket and let it fall open. It brushed your sides, and you watched him lower his glance, hungrily taking you in for what could quite possibly be the very first time. He wet his lips, took another sip.

There it is.

There was that power you craved, that look that you’d been aching to see in his eyes while he stared at you, and although it was fucked up, you let the pride fill your head with confidence, and stepped forward.

“Now, just where did you get that?” A slight narrowing of his eyes gave him away. At least something you’d done had made an impression.

“Borrowed it. In case I get cold.” You smiled.

“Cute. Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to take things that aren’t yours?”

“Oh, I take whatever I want, Snow.”

You raised your head in defiance. Proud of your voice for not faltering once.

“Clearly. Nice shoes. Borrow those, too?”

“Why, do they look familiar?” you quipped.

“I think we both know the answer to that, doll. Now why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

You sighed, feigning exasperation. A chill crept up your legs but you barely noticed.

“You wanted to talk to me, Coriolanus. Talk.”

“Is that really what you came here for, sweetheart? Dressed like that?” He put his drink down on the dresser, not once looking away from you.

“If this is what it takes to get your attention, Snow, then yes.”

You took another step closer, and the jacket fell further to your sides, more skin slipping out from underneath for him to feast his eyes on.

“I think you know plenty about trying to get my attention. I watched you struggle for weeks.”

“Didn’t think you cared.” You muttered.

He laughed, low, more like a scoff.

“What, your childish attempts at seduction? They were pitiful at best. I’d expect that kind of behaviour from a common whore, not a lady of your standing.”

“Thought you liked whores.” You retorted.

“They’re no fun to live with. And there you were, proving my point.”

Your eyes narrowed, and when you spoke, it was through gritted teeth.

“So what, you had to go and fuck one to prove a point? Mature.”

“Mature?” he glowered, then before you could think, he stormed towards you, grabbing both of your wrists with a hard squeeze. You gasped.

“Mature like you, with your short skirts and your fuck-me eyes, sucking your fingers off at the breakfast table?”

You squirmed. Tried to jolt yourself away but it was no use.

“I didn’t think you-”

“Oh, I noticed.” He said, moving in to corner you, grip tightening until he was walking you backwards across the room as he spoke, never once taking his eyes off you. “And it’s a real shame this couldn’t have been easier for us both, but you just had to start it. So I watched your pathetic little displays, day after day, knowing if you’d behaved better, I would’ve given you exactly what you wanted.”

You fought not to trip over yourself until your legs bumped against the ottoman at the foot of his bed and you caught your breath. His eyes bored into yours and you blinked helplessly. His grip loosened on your wrists. You tried to speak, but your mouth had gone dry.

“If you’d been good,” he continued, voice lowering, “you wouldn’t have played around like that. Good girls don’t whore themselves out to respectable men.”

Your eyes narrowed in defiance as you felt heat start to brew in your stomach.

“Respectable?” You spat, and his grip tightened again, bringing one hand up to trace your jaw, almost pitifully.

“See what I mean? You dig yourself deeper at every turn. Good girls ask nicely, and say please. It didn’t take me long to figure out you had issues with authority. It could’ve been so easy for you, sweetheart. You had plenty of chances. You could’ve asked me very nicely to fuck you, but instead you behaved like a desperate slut for weeks on end. Eventually, I knew there was only one way to shut you up.”

Your ears started to ring and you fought harder to gain composure. He’d never talked to you like this before. And now, all this, all at once, it was almost too much. Goosebumps had long covered your arms and legs, despite the heat inside you burning you up. You were vaguely aware of heat pooling uncomfortably between your legs.

Your breathing was heavy as you stared into him, his hand gripping your chin, and you couldn’t hide it if you tried. He finally backed away, letting you peel yourself from the ottoman. His hungry eyes scanned over you, suit jacket now crumpled at the wrists. You swallowed as you tried to pull yourself together.

“You knew I was watching you. The whole time. Every time. It was… for me.”

He watched you knowingly, raised his eyebrows a little. His lips grew into that smirk, that fucking smirk you knew all too well.

“We were playing the same game, sweetheart. I was just… Better.”

“A little excessive, don’t you think?” Your voice faltered and you cursed how breathy it sounded.

“Oh, on the contrary. It was very entertaining to see you struggle, but I could’ve gone further.” He mused. “I even considered fucking her on your bed.”

Shit.

A thought popped into your head, and a strange smile made its way to your face.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where I got these?” You asked, glancing down.

He frowned for a second; good. You’d thrown him off guard. But he caught up fast.

“The heels? You know, I had her walk right past your door in those so you’d follow her and see just what you were missing?”

If you weren’t so wired with adrenaline, you were pretty sure you’d be tearing up with how desperate you felt. But his words channelled it all into pure anger.

“Fuck you.” You seethed, and he smiled.

“We'll get to that. But go on, I’ll bite. What did you do to her?”

“Let’s just say she deserved much worse than what she got. Maybe you should’ve fucked her on my bed. Would’ve given me a reason to choke the life out of her.”

“You think I’d care?”

“Course not. Knowing you, it’d probably get you off.”

“Which brings us right back to now.” He stared at you, challenging. You laughed again.

“Is this you talking? You’re not very good at it.”

“No, this is me giving you a second chance. The way I see it, you made your move, I made mine. Now, if you’re a good girl, and ask me very nicely to fuck you until that pretty little head of yours gets filled with nothing but empty space, I might consider putting an end to this and giving you what you want. Maybe.” If you thought you’d survive smacking that smug look off his face, you would.

“You want me to ask nicely, Coriolanus?” You closed the gap between the two of you and glanced up at him through your lashes. He looked back at you, and no chill in the world could cool you down from the fire in his eyes.

He stepped away, paced towards the desk chair – the one he’d watched you from last night – then dragged it across the floor, spun it around, and took a seat. Once again, last night felt worlds away now. A lifetime sat between that moment and this one as he made himself comfortable, unbuttoned his collar. As if the room was now a stage, and he was the sole spectator.

“Go on. I’m waiting.”

Cocky bastard.

Another airy laugh escaped you. But you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t exactly where you wanted him. So you played into it.

“You want me to beg you? Say pretty please?” Your voice softened as you slowly stepped towards him, holding his gaze. A passing thought reminded you of your childhood, asking your mother what you’d feel when you first truly fell for someone.

Fireworks. Thousands of them, crackling, hissing, charging the air between the two of you into something heavy. Thick clouds of smoke you could almost taste as you stared into darkened eyes. You paused in front of him, fingers playing with the hem of his suit jacket that brushed against your thighs. Caught your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Take it off.” He ordered.

“Gladly.”

You slipped the jacket off your shoulders, and it fell smoothly into a pile on the floor. You kicked off the heels next, landing haphazardly to the side with a thump. His eyes never leaving you, consuming you.

“Like what you see, Snow?”

He took you in, long and hungry and shameless. Like you were simply there for his entertainment, nothing else. You wondered where along the line he’d lost all his inhibitions, at what moment in his very young life he’d decided to simply stop caring. It should scare you, but it just made you burn warmer. Maybe your wires were a little crossed, too, because it didn’t make you feel cheap.

It made you feel powerful.

You knew you looked good, too; you’d made sure of it. But he was looking at you like you were carved out of solid gold. He didn’t answer, because he didn’t need to.

“Think I like you better when you’re not acting like a dumb slut.”

You hummed, determined and unphased, moving in closer until your legs touched his knees. His words shouldn’t turn you on - nor should not knowing exactly how much he meant them – but they did.

“You like me better when I’m begging, then?” You placed your legs either side of his, straddling him, but still standing, and took his hands in yours. You ran one of them across your lips, brazenly taking a digit in your mouth, releasing it with a wet pop, then dropping your head down.

“You want me to be straightforward, Snow? Tell you exactly what I want?” you breathed, your foreheads almost touching, looking down at him from a thrilling vantage point, your hair falling either side of his face. “To beg you to rip this off me?” You guided his hands to your hips, letting them slide over the lacy fabric. “You want me to beg you to kiss every inch of skin you see and make it yours? Beg you to fuck me until I can’t think, and forget my own name?”

You ran his hands down the sides of your legs, then, inch by inch, letting him take a good long look on the way, you finally lowered yourself onto his lap. Your blown-out eyes met again, at the same level this time. You shifted your hips once, feigning getting comfortable, and hid a smile as he let out a strained sound.

You were close enough to feel his breath against yours, fast but steady, controlled. You moved closer, your head dipping cautiously under his chin to kiss his neck. He smelt clean, like fresh laundry and his cologne, and his skin tasted like salt as your tongue traced a line across it. It felt like power, having him like this. Slowly starting to grind your hips as your mouth pressed against his pulse, every shaky breath you elicited from him awakening something new in you.

“Say it, Snow.” You murmured, breath catching. “Tell me you want me to beg you, and be good for you.” Another trail of messy kisses across his jaw, and you finally heard it, ragged and coarse, words shooting through you like knives softened by the heat of his breath on your hair.

“Be a good girl, and fucking beg me.”

You hummed with satisfaction. Moved your lips to his ear, hand cupping the back of his neck, and leaned in close.

“If you wanted me to be good,” you whispered, “then you’ve picked the wrong girl.”

You felt it, his whole body tensing beneath you. But you had it now, the upper hand, and you weren’t giving it away. Your other hand came up to close over his mouth with a warning shake of the head, and you gripped the back of his neck harder with the first. Craned it backwards so he could look at you, a different kind of fire in his eyes. A fire that could burn you far worse than any other. You leaned your weight into him until you were flush, skin pressing into fabric. Tightening your legs around his so he couldn’t kick out. You felt dangerous. You felt alive.

When you spoke, your voice was a vial of vitriol.

“You thought I’d just give into you? Three weeks of torture and you call it even? No fucking way, Snow. You wanted to play? Let’s play.”

You were closer to him now than you’d ever been before, infinitely closer than when you’d held hands in front of an audience, or danced in the middle of a ballroom, or when he’d draw you in for a lingering kiss at the head of a busy table.

You were closer still because of the common denominator: you were alone, your bodies pressed together, soft and firm colliding. And your stomach ached with want, but your rage burned brighter.

When you were sure he wouldn’t move, you readjusted your position on his lap so you were sat on one thigh, your right knee pressed firmly against the chair between his legs. Slowly, you dragged your hips against it, firm muscle between your legs, shameless as you stared him down.

“I’d like to modify the terms of our agreement, as of tonight. Starting with this: I’ve made sure your little whore won’t come running back here. If I so much as hear a whisper of a rumor that you’re fucking someone else, I’m leaving. Don’t think I don’t know how to disappear. I can, and I will.”

He scowled at you, and you’d never felt power like the rush you got from seeing your hand clamped over his mouth. His own hands, now easily able to overpower you and push yours away, instead sat at your hips, digging in so hard you knew there’d be bruises for weeks. As you moved, he started to follow suit, rocking your hips on his thigh faster.

He’s allowing this.

The realisation made you pull your hand from his mouth, and yet he didn’t speak. There was a tightness in his jaw, locked down so hard it must’ve hurt as he watched you move, helped you move. It sent a shock through your core, and you ground down harder.

Who’s on top now?

This was getting to your head.

“President Snow,” you mocked. “What a title. Thinks he can take whatever’s in his sight. Thinks he has the right. Did you think I’d come crawling back to you?” Your voice lowered.

“Did you think I’d get on my knees, like she did?” You glanced down, running your now-free hand over the front of his pants, gentle at first, then pressing in firm, and he hissed.

“Did you really think, after all your little shows, that I’d just submit? Not a chance.” You spat, and his breath turned a little shaky as your hand slid up, then down.

As it evened out, and he reached for composure again, he pulled a countermove. Got in close, with words so sharp, they nearly cut through you.

“Which one was your favorite?”

You pulled your hand away. Your hold on the back of his neck tightened, and in turn, so did his grip on your hips, pulling you down harder as you got closer, panties bunching up as you became desperate.

You shook your head.

“Don’t.”

He smirked.

“I gave you plenty to go off. Tell me, was it when I sat right here while she rode me? Or when I was fucking her mouth and calling your name?”

He pulled your hips in rougher, and you gasped, barely able to think. You were sure if he kept this up, your thighs would chafe. You just couldn’t find it in you to care.

“No, I don’t think so.” He hummed. “I know which one it was. It was the second time, wasn’t it? When I was making her cum all over my tongue, wondering what you tasted like.”

You couldn’t help it – a moan slipped out of your lips. He kept up the pace, rolling your hips faster, flexing his thigh as you started losing your bearings. He laughed at the state of you.

“I knew that one would get to you. Tell me something, princess, how many times did you touch yourself after that night wishing it was me? Or did you lose count?”

You gritted your teeth, fighting the spinning room.

“Cocky much?”

He let out a breathy laugh again, as if he was losing himself as much as you were. Pulling you in harder in response.

“Look at you,” he mused, “riding my thigh like the needy slut you are. Bet you’re close, too, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Fuck.” you panted. “Stop fucking talking, oh my god.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart? You know I can feel how wet it’s making you, right?”

Your head dropped down and you whined. Sure enough, you’d soaked through your panties and dripped an embarrassing wet patch on his dress pants. You cursed under your breath as you slowed down.

“Beg me.” He ordered.

“No.” You gasped as he pulled you back again, faster, hips bucking as your legs started to shake around his.

“Beg me,” he repeated, "or I’ll stop.”

“Fuck, no, don’t fucking stop, I can’t-”

It was so much friction it hurt, but you kept chasing it.

“Yes, you can. You want to cum? Ask nicely, sweetheart. Just ask me.”

The seam of your panties got wetter as you moved, just enough to let the pain melt into pleasure instead as it caught on your clit, and you started to ride out your high. You were right at the edge, he was keeping you there, hair stuck to your face in a hot sweat as you writhed on his lap. So fucking close.

“Fine, shit. Please. Please help me cum, oh my god. Right there, please. Fuck.”

And maybe you were more like him than you thought, because you weren’t ashamed. You rode his thigh like you’d ride him, unabashedly, while he watched you starting to fall apart. He moved faster, pulled your hips hard in as if you were riding him, as if he could feel it, breath running ragged, desperate. It only brought you closer knowing this would be sending him over the edge, holding you so near and yet so awfully far away. The look in his eyes screaming danger, and you let it swallow you whole, squeezing his shoulders like you were scared you’d float away.

"That's it. Knew you'd sound incredible, asking me all pretty like that."

His lips met your neck, teeth grazing your skin and that’s what did it, your legs squeezing his as you shook through your orgasm, crying out, falling to pieces, hearing going fuzzy. The words good girl echoing through your head so distantly, you couldn’t tell if he’d really said them or not.

You sighed, glazed eyes rolling open, coming back to yourself. Your right hand was pressed against his chest, fingers curled into the creased fabric of his shirt. As you looked closer, you noticed it had opened wider, and he was missing a button. Had you done that?

When your eyes finally met Snow’s, you couldn’t look away from them. Beautiful and blue, like an ocean frozen over, staring into yours like you were all he’d ever wanted. You could get high off this feeling, live off it.

“Get on the bed.” He breathed. “Right fucking now.”

But too much of any feeling isn’t good for you.

“No.”

He glowered, face flushing even further, and as he leaned in to make another demand, you quickly stood, trying your hardest not to let your wobbling legs give you away.

“You should understand, Snow. We’re doing things my way now. And I’m going to be doing them as I please, when I please.”

You picked his jacket up from the floor, and slipped back into it, the soft fabric cooling down your burning skin.

“You think you’re funny, sweetheart? Nobody likes a fucking tease.”

You chuckled, doing up a button and brushing your hair out of your face, damp with sweat. You walked to the dresser and took a swig from Snow’s half-empty glass, then turned. He sat there, and it took everything in you not to smirk at the mess you’d made of him. You handed him the glass when you were done drinking and turned away. You felt him stand, but you didn’t acknowledge it, still fiddling with your hair, smoothing it out.

“You said it yourself, Snow. I’m no common whore. If you want me to beg you to fuck me, you’re gonna have to work for it.” You turned, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. His face was unreadable.

“But be a doll, leave your door unlocked.” You added, stepping back. “You never know when I might change my mind.”

“You’re not going to leave. You wouldn’t dare.” He seethed, the rage in his voice only propelling you on.

“Wouldn’t I?” You smiled, giving him a once over. Dropped your eyes down pointedly, first at the ruined leg you’d ridden, then at the uncomfortable-looking tent in his pants. You met his eye again and bit your lip, really laying it on thick. “Good luck with that, sweetheart. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

He huffed, incredulous, disbelief painted across his face as you made for the door, swinging it open. You glanced over your shoulder.

“Buckle up, Snow. I’m just getting started.”

You missed the way his shocked face turned almost admiring as he watched you leave, walking barefoot down the hallway, leaving the door wide open.

Checkmate.

a/n: hope it was worth the wait 😌

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904 @pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @snowlandstop @badbleep88 (more tags in the comments!)

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #snow x reader #snow x you #tom blyth #tbosas #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #attention

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vivwritesfics · 4 months

Text

(Oh My God) They Were Roommates

Chapter One - I Hate You

Is me starting another series before my dissertation a really bad idea? Yes, yes it is (but i had the idea and I need to get it written down asap)

Lando Norris and Y/N L/N were teammates. Tension had been between from the minute they started driving together and, when it only got worse, McLaren CEO Zac Brown decides there's only one solution: Have them live together.

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"Get out of my apartment!"

In the doorway of a little two bedroom apartment in Woking was Y/N L/N. She had a bad on her back and at least three suitcases behind her. And in front of her was Lando Norris, her teammate, biggest rival and mortal enemy.

Lando stared at her, dumbfounded. "Your apartment?" He repeated, expression still shocked. "No, Zac said this one is for me."

"Then why did he give me a key for apartment 241?"

They held up the exact same set of keys on the exact same keyring. Lando let out a sigh through his nose as he pocketed his version of the key. "Somebody clearly has royally fucked up," he said and sat on the couch.

"I'm gonna call him," said Y/N as she put the key back into her pocket. She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and dialled the number of her boss.

Zac Brown had been hers and Lando's boss for the last year and few months. He'd been dealing with hers and Lando's shit from day one, ever sine they revealing the McLaren car for that year. They'd almost gotten onto a fight on the stage in front of everybody.

Zac picked up the phone in just a few rings. "How're you liking the new place?" He asked in way of hello.

"It's great, Zac. Except it comes with an annoying little prick," Y/N spat.

There was a second where Zac didn't say anything. He saw this coming, had tried to mitigate it as best he could by telling Lando he'd be getting a roommate. Of course, he didn't say who that roommate would be: that would have just been asking for trouble.

But, then again, all of this was asking for trouble. Zac had been waiting for a call from at least one of them since he got into the office (he'd hoped it would have been Lando; over the past year he'd proven himself to be easier to deal with than Y/N, who didn't back down. No matter what).

"Get yourself unpacked, I'll deal with you tomorrow," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Zac put the phone down. He didn't say goodbye to his drivers, unless it was on race days. With nowhere left to go, Y/N dragged her things into the apartment. "Where's the second bedroom?" She grumbled as she looked down at Lando.

Without looking away from the television, Lando pointed behind him. But that wasn't helpful, since there was the kitchen just behind them and then two doors. "Furthest one," he said and Y/N dragged her bags through the rest of the apartment, heading to the furthest away bedroom.

The bedroom was sizeable, with a double bed and wardrobe already inside. But, other than that, there wasn't a lot. Y/N unpacked nothing but bedding and clothes for the next day. There was no way she was staying here, not living with Lando Norris.

***

Carpooling made so much sense when going to the same place as somebody, unless you hated that person. Zac watched from his office as two cars pulled up outside of the McLaren Technology centre.

The drivers got out of the car almost in sync. They both wore sunglasses as they strode towards the doors, Y/N's glare not visible behind her sunglasses as she followed Lando inside.

Things were clearly tense between them as they walked through the office. The drivers said nothing to each other, but their expressions said enough.

Where Lando took an elevator up to Zac's office, Y/N took the stairs. She ran up them, the two of them arriving at the same time (one of them out of breath and the other smirking at her).

She took the lead as they strode into the office. "Zac," Y/N began, but the CEO held his hand.

He wasn't like other bosses, he was a cool boss. But he was still there boss and, when he held up his hand, the two knew to shut up. "Sit down," he said, leaning back in his own chair.

Y/N and Lando sat in the seats on the other side of the desk. Her leg bounced as she waited for Zac to speak and Lando had his hands shoved into his pockets. Neither of them could ever agree on anything, except the fact that they're not leaving the room until they're not living together.

Zac laced his hands together and leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "You're both brilliant drivers," he began, "but you're both liabilities. You've both cost us millions because you keep trying to kill each other on the track. And your behaviour towards each other off track is bringing bad press to all of us at McLaren," he finished.

"We don't want to lose either of you as drivers, so we've come up with the brilliant plan to force you to get along."

Y/N's eyebrows were furrowed as she stared at her boss. "And if we refuse?" She asked him, placing one leg on top of the other.

"Then, we'll have to let one of both of you go. But the choice is yours."

But the choice wasn't really theirs. No matter what, they couldn't lose their seats, so they were just going to have to stick it out, suffer through it. Fuck.

The tension between the two wasn't just random. It had been brewing since their karting days. Even then they ran each other off the tracks and fought between races. Of course, back then it wasn't as big a deal.

There were way too many videos of when they were kids and they'd pushed each other off the track, gotten out of their karts and gotten into a physical fight. If they weren't so clearly talented, it would have affected their careers.

For the first few months of their Formula One careers in McLaren, the team thought they had made a mistake. If they weren't consistently in the points, Zac would have gotten rid of the both of them. But, truth be told, they were too good to let go.

So, he dangled this threat in front of them. Learn to get along or one of you is sacked. He'd thought about this hard, realised that this was the perfect threat. Y/N and Lando were so competitive that the thought of one of them losing their seat while the other thrived would have torn them apart.

"Fine," said Y/N. She stood up so quickly that the chair she was sat on, fell backwards. She quickly picked it up and rushed out of the office.

Lando said a goodbye to Zac and walked out of the office, rushing after her. He ran into the elevator just before the doors slid shut and stood beside her. They didn't look at each other, stared straight at the doors as the elevator took them down. "Sup, new roommate," he said with a smirk.

The elevator stopped moving and the doors slid open. "I hate you," Y/N said and walked out of the McLaren technology centre.

She drove her way back to the apartment in Woking in complete silence. Her grip on the steering wheel was so tight that it left imprints on her skin, on her palms and her finger tip.

How she didn't get pulled over for speeding, she'd never know. But the speed limit was the least of her concern as she made her way back to what was her new home.

But it would never be her home, not while Lando was living there.

***

Reluctantly, she unpacked her things. Hung her clothes up in her wardrobe and placed her underwear in the drawers. Y/N placed pictures of her family, pictures of her old F2 car, of her pets, of her car from the previous year up around her room. She pulled her lamp from her back and placed it on the bedside table, along with her phone, its charger, and her toiletries.

Lando had arrived home just minutes after her, but she'd already locked herself in her room. The only way they'd be able to get through this was by avoiding each other.

When her things were unpacked, Y/N sat on the bed and grabbed a book. A biography, all about the life of Enzo Ferrari. The one thing her room was missing was her sim racing rig, something her father was meant to bring up that day, but Y/N had told him to wait until she had somewhere new to live (which, we all know didn't happen. She was stuck in this apartment with Lando, whether she liked it or not).

Pressing her ear to the door, Y/N listened as Lando walked around. She waited until he walked past her room and into his own, shutting the door behind him. Only then did she walk out of her room to get herself something to eat and drink.

She could do this. All she had to do was avoid him.

Easy.

Taglist (OPEN): @biancathecool

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader smut #lando norris x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

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sugarcoatedstarkey · 4 months

Text

Fake boyfriend - p4

Pairing - soft!Rafe Cameron x virgin!reader

Summary - you lie to your best friend about having a boyfriend.

Warnings - Public Fingering (18+)

Part three ( sorry its a short chapter x )

“Do you want- do you want me to touch you?”

“Please”

The look in his eyes is something you'll never forget, his stunning blue eyes darkened over, almost a midnight blue. He flexed his jaw, eyes flickering between yours and your lips. Subconsciously you licked your own, he stirred underneath you.

Everything fell silent around you, you momentarily forgot everyone else around you. His dark eyes studied yours for what felt like hours, the sound of splashing brought you both back to reality. His fingers squeezed the backs of your thighs, you silently begged for him.

“Are you sure?”

Your head is nodding furiously, you're almost embarrassed how fast it’s moving. He let out a soft chuckle, his lips hovered for a brief moment as his eyes searched yours before pressing firmly again against you, his lips were needy and sloppy, his tongue was everywhere tasting every inch of you, the breath you desperately needed to take was pushed further down your throat until he pulled away.

Your lips red and cheeks flushed, his hand slid up the length of your waist. Your heart paused as his fingers slipped under the material of your top, your nipples hardened under his touch. He pulled you slightly out of the water, eyes dropping towards your breasts. You could feel him hardening, pressing against your ass.

You let out a breath when his hand palmed you breast, dropping his head just slightly whilst simultaneously bringing you up onto the step. His lips enveloped your nipple, sucking and licking the small nub. Your body shuddered against his touch, arching your back against the wall. “You have to stay quiet okay?”.

Nodding your head as his other hands left your thigh, drifting until he reached between your thighs. Your eyes searched the pool but closed as he slipped the material of your bottoms away from your skin, your body nervously clenched before he even touched you.

He must have sensed the hesitation as he pulled away from your breast and looked up at you, his hair was disheveled but he still looked beautiful. “Sorry… I don’t know why I did that” you whispered, you were ready. You wanted him to touch you, but you were nervous, nervous at the idea of his fingers inside of you. “Don’t apologize… you tell me to stop whenever, I will not be hurt.” He states, the sincerity behind his eyes has the butterflies swarming your belly. Biting your lower lip you nod, spreading your legs a bit more for him. “I’m asking one more time… are you sure you want this?”.

“Yes”

An almost electricity-like shockwave hits you, his thumb pressed delicately against your clit. Moving in motions you had never tried before, his forefingers ran through your folds, nudging at your tight hole. You have to bite down on your tongue when his finger slips inside, your walls clench around his digit. “Shit” he groans, his own head felt dizzy at the feeling of your tight cunt sucking him in, the heat from the pool had you both sweating. “How many fingers do you usually use?”

“Only 2”

“Think you can take 2 of mine?”

“Yes.. oh god yes please”

“Shh sweet girl, we don’t want anyone noticing” Another chuckle slips from his mouth, he dips a second finger into you. A slight burning sensation floods you but it’s gone before you can think, the pressure of his thumb almost shocks you. “Is this okay?”

“Rafe.. I- I’m not going to last long, oh god it hurts”

His movement stops in worry, you're quick to grind your hand against him. You wouldn’t let that feeling diminish. “Hurts good.. oh good so good! Oh fuck”

Your head falls back, mouth open. His eyes glisten over in lust, his cock fully hard in his shorts. He can’t believe how fucking good you looked riding his hand, he never thought anyone could look this good chasing their orgasm.

Your eyes search behind him briefly, clocking that everyone was still swimming and playing games. No one had noticed the two of you.

“Fuck… your so tight” he groans, you can feel the tips of his fingers pressing your sweet spot, almost tickling it. “So fucking pretty when your riding my fingers”

The tips of your ears turn red, you're almost too turned on from the way he was speaking. He muffles your cries with his lips, tears prick at your eyelids.

Your orgasm strikes you, flooding every inch of your body with goosebumps. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blades as you shake around his fingers, he’s slow to pull out from you. Pulling you against his chest once more, legs wrapped around his waist.

“You did so well”

He holds you tight, drawing circles in your lower back. Your pussy pulsated behind the material of your swimmers, breath labored and body sweaty. “I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard before”

You bite your lip at your statement and hide your head in the crook of his neck, you can feel his chest move from under you as he chuckles. He begins moving your bikini back into place but doesn’t move you away from him.

“Oi! Love birds, Topper needs to get home”.

Your body too blissed out to respond, you hear him acknowledge whoever spoke and he begins walking both of you out of the pool, you expect him to put you on the step but he doesn’t let go until your both stood on your back deck, he’s quick to grab you a towel and wrap it around your body.

You're silent as you watch him wrap one around his waist, his arms are around you again and he’s pulling you up against his chest, holding you like you were a toddler.

“You don’t-”

“I’m going to stop you there… I want to carry you”

You hide your blushing cheeks into the crook of his neck and enjoy the feeling of his arms around you, his body is warm against your own. A feeling of comfort and safeness settles in your lower belly, your arms tighten around his neck.

“I have to go now since I’m Topper's ride but, I was hoping you might be free to be my fake girlfriend for a work function tomorrow?”

“Me? Are you sure? I mean I’m nothing spec-”

Your words are cut short again by the way his face screws up, annoyance painted on his features. “Don’t even think about finishing that, you're special. So please, if you're free join me?”

“Okay”

He gives you a kiss on the cheek and quickly walks out of the door towards the car, he looks back and waves before he steps in and drives off. “Y/n?” A voice calls from a room within your house.

Closing the door quickly, you walk towards where your friend lay in your bed dressed in her pjs already. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“You never have to ask”.

A shower later you're in bed with your best friend, she is fast asleep before you can tell her about the function with Rafe. You pull your phone from the bedside table when the light illuminates against your ceiling.

-Hey, it’s Rafe. Tomorrow's function is business casual, just in case you need to plan an outfit. Night x

The corners of your lips twitch into a smile, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head. You shouldn’t be getting so excited about being his fake girlfriend, but there was something in your gut that maybe he didn’t exactly see you as a fake girlfriend, sure the two of you hadn’t spoken prior to the party but you’ve always said when you know you know. And right now your heart was telling you he saw you differently.

-thank you, I was wondering what to wear. Good night Rafe x

You turn your phone off and place it face down, turning to cuddle into Kelsie. You were buzzing, you wanted to tell your best friend what happened in the pool, tell her you finally felt comfortable enough to let someone touch you. But you couldn’t, she thought you were already having sex.

So instead you closed your eyes and went back over everything that happened and tried to remember the way his lips felt on yours and the way his fingers moved inside of you.

Part 5

Tag list - @rafemotherfuckingcameron @rafegirly @prentissesredtanktop @maybankslover @vigilanteshitposting @drewstarkeyslut @emotionsmgcbabe @ijustwanttoreadlols @uraesthete @drewstarkeyswifehoe @aysha4life @yeosxxx @ailee-celeste @aaronhotchswife @watersquirtpewpewboomm @bbadiehoe @dream-pink @unbearableblog @blhemmings

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darklordofthesimp · 1 year

Text

Anything III (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I was really fighting for my life with this chapter y'all. It's more to set up for the next coming chapters.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD, graphic violence, graphic description of gun violence, graphic description of injury.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"That fucker needs to go."

"He's not going anywhere, Simon."

The Lieutenant spun on his heel, reeling on Price with startling speed. He didn’t budge, though. Not when Ghost stopped only inches away and not when a finger rested on his chest- a warning. A threat.

“Birdy’s my responsibility,” his voice was dangerously low and the Captain’s eyes narrowed.

“And you’re all my responsibility,” Price’s words were slow and enunciated, spoken through gritted teeth. The heat rolling off his body was tangible, he was fucking furious. He was torn. “You think this was my fucking idea? I get orders from up top just like you do, Riley. They got their own plans in mind.”

Ghost inhaled sharply, dropping his hand to his side. Up top. If the rank has been anything, it’s been consistently shit.

“When someone tears their own fuckin’ face-off, the plan needs to change,” Simon murmured, the images of the incident drifting across his vision. The man was no stranger to intrusive thoughts but these were particularly vivid, they splattered across the carefully cleaned plains of his mind- taunting him.

“I know.” Price lit a cigar, his gaze trailing across the rooftops. “Been working on it.”

“And?”

“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.”

_________

Inhale, exhale. Again.

Bang

Then again.

Bang

And again.

Bang

One, two, three, the hole never widened; not even by a millimetre. The target stood strong and unwavering, and you were doused in hot anger. You’d selected the biggest one you could find, it wasn’t as tall as you wanted, but you supposed the chances of finding a nearly seven foot soldier on the battlefield were slim.

You were grateful that the one thing that hadn’t changed over the recent horrors of your life, was your aim. You were still a sniper.

Bang

You were still the best.

“We got another unit comin’ in for their assessments, Birdy.” The range supervisor’s voice was loud over the speaker and you forced yourself not to jump. “You gotta clear out or pick another lane, mate.”

Your eyes trailed over the aisles beside you. The rear of their booths were all open, designed for trainees to have an instructor standing over them. Those days of needing direction were over, as were the days of leaving your back vulnerable.

The lane you had chosen was at the very end of the range, a locked booth designed for soldier’s shooting assessments. It was a bi-annual event, where your marksmanship was tested in order to deem you competent and qualified. No instructor, no target indications, just you in a locked booth with a rifle and a target.

Now, it was the only place you felt safe enough to shoot.

You heaved your body up, clearing your weapon before slinging it over your shoulder. It seemed that your time was up.

As you stepped out of your haven and into the aisle, you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. It was a burdensome feeling that only faded when you were looking down the sight of your rifle, plaguing your every move and every thought. It was all-consuming.

A shot rang a few lanes ahead and you flicked your gaze up to the screen as you walked. They were half a centimetre or so off from the central aiming mark but the next shot was dead on. You snorted.

As you moved to pass, you spared a curious glance at the shooter.

Your body locked up.

Right in front of you, lying on his stomach with those long legs sprawled out, was König.

You seethed. You were suddenly overcome by a rage that, for once, did not wash over you with a flush of heat. Instead, you were cold. Ice trickled the length of your spine and your fingers went numb, pins and needles pricking at your nails.

Your face stung at the sight of him.

He was the reason you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror anymore, he was the reason you looked like a fucking abomination. Your face was deformed and mutilated and here this fucker lay, his back turned to the world because he was not the one that got destroyed.

König ruined you and got away unscathed.

You waited for him to take another shot, using the cover of the resounding gunfire to put down your rifle. He had no idea that you were there, he was entirely unsuspecting. He was vulnerable.

Before you could comprehend what you were doing, your body had moved to stand over his prone figure. You could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest.

In, bang, out.

They had chosen this fucking imbecile to replace you? He couldn’t even breathe right, everything was wrong. His form was wrong, his breathing pattern was wrong, his shooting was wrong, and he was not built to be a sniper. He was built to destroy with his hands, with no finesse, no pinpoint accuracy- just a bludgeon.

There was no honour in what König was.

Again, your face stung beneath the gauze. A reminder. Encouragement.

You reached for the Glock strapped to your belt, cold sweat trickling down your neck. König took a breath in and you flicked open the buckle. But he didn’t take a shot as you had predicted, and he’d heard the noise from above him.

When König turned, you let him see you, just as he’d given you that mercy.

Then you struck.

Unlike before, König hadn’t been given the chance to kick the weapon from your hands before you descended upon him. A startled rasp ripped from his mouth as you dropped onto his body, bringing the butt of your firearm to strike his temple.

His head knocked back, bouncing off the mat beneath him.

How merciful, that it was not concrete? How gracious, that you didn’t grab his head and crush it?

König groaned, his hands flying up to defend himself, stunned by the sudden impact. You knew that his vision would be spinning, a loud buzz ringing in his ears. You knew too well.

But it wasn’t enough.

You pushed his hands away, bringing the gun down again. You felt his skin render from beneath the metal, a wet thud echoing through the booth as you split the skin of his cheek. The blood made your eyes widen. It wasn’t enough.

You would give him your scars. You would peel his skin from his bone. You would shatter him until he was unrecognisable.

This wasn’t enough.

König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed.

You knew that the element of surprise had run out, but you were not finished. You’d just gotten started, the purple of his cheek and the red dripping down his temple only marked the beginning. But you couldn’t overpower the man below you.

When his hands gripped your biceps and he opened his mouth to yell, you pushed the barrel of your handgun past his lips until his teeth scraped the steel.

Everything fell still, his hands frozen on your body and his eyes wide. You hoped that he could taste the gunpowder, you hoped that he could taste his death. The sound of the safety flicking off resounded in the booth and the man beneath you flinched.

His fingers shook against your skin, his breath rattling in his chest.

König was afraid.

And at that realization, for the first time in over a year, a genuine smile twisted your lips. The soldier’s eyes widened, his body twitching beneath yours, groaning around the barrel in his mouth.

“How do you like it?” You whispered, the words a snarl as you leaned down close.

König’s emerald gaze was steady on yours and you could visibly see him attempt to calm his breathing. In, out, in, out. He was breathing wrong, everything was still just wrong, wrong, wrong. You pressed harder on the gun.

This wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t bruised enough, he wasn’t bleeding enough. You moved your left hand to cup his cheek and his eyes flickered. König wanted to buck you off, he wanted to disable you, maybe he even wanted to murder you. You hoped he did, you wanted to see the same hatred in his eyes that you saw that damned fucking night.

You wanted him to look into your soul and know that you were going to ruin him.

That you were going to kill him.

“You feel guilty?” You hissed, your fingers slowly digging into the skin of his cheek. “You feel bad for what you did?”

König’s eyes softened.

Don’t want your pity.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

Finally, he hummed his affirmation around the barrel in his mouth. Your nails dug into the flesh of his face, dragging a jagged scratch inch by inch across his features. The man didn’t flinch, he didn’t move, and he didn’t make a sound- he only watched you.

When you leaned in to brush your lips against his ear, he knew what was coming.

Satisfaction flooded your senses, righteous anger gripping you by the throat and forcing the words that you’ve wanted to say for so long from your lips.

“Your fight is finished.”

König took in a sharp breath.

You pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening and for a sweet, beautiful moment, you felt vindication. You’d won. You’d bested him. The man that had ruined your life had gotten what he deserved and he needed to die, die, die. That was the only thing that would settle his debt, the only thing that would serve the justice you felt owed.

With the simplest pull of the trigger, you had been avenged.

Then, you realised that the blood that had sprayed aross the space between your bodies wasn’t his. It was yours.

König was on top of you. The gun was gone, his mask was on, and your face was crushed. You couldn’t breathe you couldn’t think and the only thing you could feel was the searing pain of the knife twisting in your chest.

No, no, no, no.

This was wrong, this wasn’t what was meant to happen. Why were you back here? His hand was on your face before you could protest and you felt your head lift from the ground.

“Even in victory, you are nothing.”

Crack

“You will always be nothing.”

Crack

You were screaming, you could hear yourself doing it but your mouth wasn’t moving. Your teeth were caved in, your jaw had collapsed, you felt as though your face had melted from the bone. Yet you could hear the shrieks, hear the wailing.

The back of your head was wet, your skull felt like it was falling apart at the seams. The breeze tickled against your brain and your nerves were on fire.

You were broken, broken, broken.

“Birdy!”

This time you could feel every crack of your head into the concrete. This time you felt your brain matter smear across the floor.

“Wake up!”

Wake up.

You sat up with the gasp of someone who’d been drowning, clawing at your throat for air. Sweat trickled down your spine, the room was hot and the blankets were tangled between your legs but you were in your bedroom- you recognised it instantly.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” a rough voice murmured from beside you. There was a hand pressed flat against your chest, firm and grounding. “Breathe.”

“Simon,” you sobbed. The man hummed in response, his other hand rubbing your back with enough force to rock your body. He was trying to keep you rooted in reality, give you something physical, something tangible to hold on to.

“I’m losing my mind,” you gasped, your chest caving at the realisation. You didn’t know what was real or not, fact or fiction, tangible or imaginary- you lived on a plain of uncertainty. You were lost, you were broken and you were unreliable.

Price was right. You had become a liability.

“You’re late to the party,” Simon loosed a soft chuckle, pulling you close against his body. “I lost mine years ago, kid.”

You relished in his touch as you tried to regroup. You were in your room, you were in your bed, it was the middle of the night and you’d had a nightmare. Your clothes were soaked, sticking to your skin uncomfortably; and you had the horrid realization that maybe it wasn’t all sweat. You sucked in a breath, scrambling to push the blankets from your body.

“What-”

You ignored anything that the Lieutenant might of said, scrubbing your hands over your limbs, neck and face. The sweat threw you off and you checked your fingers in the dim light for crimson stains. You couldn’t deal with it again, you couldn’t cope with more damage. You were already disgusting, you were already mutilated and scarred. Unloveable, untouchable, irreparable, irevevocable, irremediable-

No more, no more, no more no more no more-

Simon gripped your hands, tugging them towards his chest and jerking your body forward. You dragged in a sharp breath, eyes wide and frantic.

“You didn’t hurt yourself,” the words were urgent and low, his gaze holding you still just as well as his grip. “You’re alright, Birdy.”

You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened.

“You’re alright, kid,” Simon reinforced, that ocean gaze compelling you to calm your heart rate. He left no room for discussion with the way that he looked at you, there was no option to disobey. You pushed air into your lungs, following the pattern he’d set for you. “It was just a nightmare.”

You frowned. “Only at the very end.”

Not when you had been shooting, not when you’d been atop of your enemy with a gun in his mouth; that was not the nightmare. You’d felt vindicated, you’d felt insane but satisfied. During those moments in the dream, you were not afraid of König. You were not shaking, you were not whimpering or begging for your life.

You were strong.

Stronger than him.

“How’d you know I was–” You cleared your throat. “How’d you get in here?”

The silence that followed had you on edge, as Simon’s hand worked methodically across your back. He didn’t answer for a long while and your thoughts began to sober. Why was he in your room? How had he gotten there? How did he know you were having a night terror? His quarters were nowhere near yours, he was in the hallway over, divided by thick concrete walls; he most definitely couldn’t have heard your screams.

“Someone tipped me off,” the words were spoken through clenched teeth and his minsitrations against your back faltered. Your chest tightened at the implication. “They thought I’d be better suited to come help you.”

“How-”

“He’s down the hall, Birdy.” Simon interrupted and you could feel his fingers curl into a fist against your spine. “Everyone in this fuckin’ corridor could hear you.”

Your breathing began to pick up and heat flushed against your skin, the blood boiling from beneath the surface.

“That doesn’t explain how you got in,” you rasped, gripping the blankets at your side. You needed to ground yourself, you needed to be calm.

“He thought you were being attacked or somethin’ with the way you were yellin’,” Simon sighed. It wasn’t a direct answer but it was a good enough indication as to what had happened.

You let your gaze drift to the door, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight before you. The hinges had been ripped from the wall, the frame torn straight from the brick. The door itself was missing completely, and as you slowly leaned over to get a look at the floor, your heart dropped to your stomach.

Your bedroom door lay in pieces, the splintered remnants splayed across the floor like shattered glass.

NEXT CHAPTER

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