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harryspet · 2 months ago

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rough hands, soft chains [4] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, jealousy, DUBCON, oral sex, rafe is HUGE, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

a/n: I posted this drabble about readers' state of mind at the end of chapter 3 if you'd like read it before this chapter :)

In which everything is perfect, it's you and Rafe’s wedding shower, and nothing could possibly go wrong.

word count: 5.5k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

“I hate this shit,” Rafe grumbled, fumbling with the engraved silver buckle that adorned his belt. You thought he looked handsome. His shirt was crisp and white, his leather blazer a deep charcoal with subtle western embroidery, and his dark-wash jeans looked expensive but well-worn enough to look natural on him. He looked like the perfect cowboy to you. He’d sat his deep brown hat on the edge of your freshly made bed before he plopped down next to it, “We should stay up here. Have Wheezie bring us food.”

"But it's our wedding shower," you murmured absentmindedly, your focus fixed on the precise sweep of your mascara wand. Each coat was deliberate, just enough to make your eyes stand out, but not so much that it overwhelmed the rest of your look.

“I never would’ve agreed to let Rose plan this if I-I ��. if I knew there had to be an engagement party, bridal shower, wedding shower, and a rehearsal dinner before we even got to the actual wedding.”

“But you only get married once, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, baby,” Rafe continued, waving a hand dismissively, “But that’s not the point.”

You spent another five minutes adding blush and bronzer, then you spent a full ten minutes doing your lips, and you topped it off with a fine mist, locking everything into place. Your armor for the day. Rafe had begun pacing but that wasn’t out of the norm, “How do I look?” You asked when you finally revealed your carefully designed look to match the dress you and Sarah had bought together.

The dress was made of delicate lace, an ivory color, that gave a hint of the skin beneath. The bodice was fitted, hugging your curves, strapless and the skirt flowed softly from your waist, ending above your knees. It was completely romantic, in your opinion, and Sarah had begged you to get it.

At first, Rafe said nothing. His expression shifted, his brow knitting together, lips pressing into a firm line. His eyes locked onto you, dark and unreadable. He scratched at the back of his head, shifting his weight from foot to foot, a sign that something was brewing beneath his surface.

“Uh,” Rafe started, his eyes going wide, “Fuck …yeah, baby, you look fucking gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face, glossy lips pulled into a curve. You walked closer and Rafe placed his hands on your hips, “You think so?” You batted heavy eyelashes up at him, placing your hands on his chest. You felt his heart beating fast beneath your palm.

“Don’t do that,” Rafe smirked, leaning down until his breath was fanning over your face, “I’ll keep you up here, I will. Tie you down to the bed.”

“That will mess up my makeup.”

“Well, I was going to mess up your makeup either way. You can decide if it’s before or after the party.”

He didn’t wait for your response, leaning down to peck your lips. It was brief but soft and warm. You giggled when you opened your eyes, finding his lips glossy in the same shade of pink as yours.

You liked the version Rafe you’d gotten to know over the last two weeks. It made your heart race with anxiety to even think about him pinning you down on Ward’s desk. But your heart filled up when you thought about laying next to Rafe everyday after that. You felt broken, barely able to pull yourself out of bed, but he stayed with you. He made sure you ate, kept Rose from prying into your business, and brought you flowers nearly every other day, filling the surface of your antique dresser. You did your best to care for them, but only now were they beginning to wilt.

He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his suit jacket and you saw a bit of blush rise in his cheeks.

You pulled from him, crossing the room to your closet. You picked out the strappy heels that you’d also bought with Sarah. You came back to sit on your bed, leaning down to lace them onto your feet. Rafe rounded your footboard, hand hanging on the wood and upholstery.

“I’m excited,” You admitted, “I’m, like, nervous still. But it’s exciting.”

You glanced at him, finding his eyes fixed on your exposed legs, his eys trailing up to your thighs. It was a hungry look. He’d grown kinder but his appetite was still there. Part of you worried that his darker side might return, that he couldn’t contain his true nature, and it was a matter of time before he snapped. He held you tight at night, his fingers slipped into the front of your panties, oftentimes when you were still drowsy in the morning. He took your orgasms from you, as he always did, but he hadn’t pushed you again like that day two weeks ago.

“You should be excited,” He said, “We’re very close to life being exactly as it should be.”

You gave him an agreeing look. A honeymoon in Florida and then you and Rafe would have a whole house to yourself. A home. You didn’t know what you wanted from life before you met Rafe. You knew you wanted your Dad back but since you couldn’t have that, following his wishes would the next best thing. Maybe this was the best thing your father could’ve done for you.

“I’m excited to meet Kiara,” You said, finishing strapping your feet into your heels. You stood, taller than before, but still much shorter than Rafe.

“Kie?” Rafe’s brow raised and your heart stumbled, afraid that you had made a mistep, “What do you mean?”

Sarah had explained that Rafe didn’t necessarily like her friends but you also understood that Rafe didn’t like many things in general. You'd thought hard about it once. He liked you and Wheezie. He liked whiskey. He liked movies where guys raced fast cars. He liked riding his horse and working with his Dad. You couldn't come up with anything else.

"Sarah’s bringing her as a date," you said, your voice turning a little unsure. "And, um, I think her family is, like… catering the wedding? I think?"

You could feel him thinking deeply, “Interesting.” Was all he said.

That sounded neutral, right? Neutral was good. Safe.

You smiled, encouraged. "Oh! I was thinking it’d be fun if she came to my bachelorette too! So it’s not just me and Sarah."

“What about Wheeze?” He asked, voice deep and concerned.

“Oh,” You started, “Sarah thinks she’s too young.”

“Sarah,” he spoke his sister’s name like it was a cruse, “You know she’ll be pissed. And I don’t think Sarah should be planning anything for your day that isn’t appropriate for my little sister. I thought you guys were going to the spa or something.”

You took in all his words, beginning to feel guilty about not including Wheezie, “I can talk to Sarah,” You said, “I just don’t know what most girls do. Sarah seemed to have good ideas about fun things to do. And she said the spa ideas was, um, boring.”

“Sarah’s idea of fun should not be your idea of fun.”

Your brows furrowed. Now you were confused, “But …” Despite the time you had spent with him, you’d yet to learn how to successfully argue with him, “What’s my idea of fun then?”

Sometimes you liked when Rafe filled in all of your blanks. It kept you from thinking too much and overthinking always led to shallow breaths and watery eyes.

Rafe exhaled, like he’d already worked this all out in his head. “Something that involves Wheezie.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an answer. You nodded automatically. “Okay.”

It was a simple enough request. You’d just have to tell Sarah. And really, what was there to do in town, anyway? It wasn’t like you had a million options.

The backyard stretched endlessly, turing into rolling hills, and groves of towering pines. Edison bulbs twinkled above your head, shining light down onto long, wooden banquet tables. Dinner was over. Everyone was standing now, drinking glasses of wine, and talking in small groups. The Cameron’s knew a lot of people. People you didn’t even recognize from living here all your life. Rafe explained that they were business partners. A live band, one man with an acoustic guitar, the other with a fiddle played softly from a wooden platform.

You were at Rafe’s side for a majority of the night. A photographer also seemd to follow the two of you everywhere. Under Rose’s direction, you took posed photos under a floral arch with white roses, Montana wildflowers and fresh greenery. In one, Rafe tilted your chin up, kissing you so deeply that you thought your heart might explode.

The sky had darkened, the party continued to stretch into the night, and Rafe’s attention began to wander. He’d made it to his fifth bud light and now he was loudly talking into his friend, Kelce’s ear, his hand having left your hips moments before.

You decided to look for Sarah, slipping away because Rafe wasn’t paying attention to you anyways. Some people walked up to you to congratulate you, some to offer condolences, and some just stared.

You weren’t sure what to say to any of them. The words tangled somewhere in your throat, so you just smiled. Small, pretty, vacant. You scanned the crowd, searching for Sarah’s familiar silhouette, but all you found were unfamiliar faces, whispering in hushed voices as their eyes lingered on you just a second too long.

Once you made your way back inside, shuffling through servers in their bright white shirts, you found Wheezie standing in the foyer, her eyes fixed down on her phone, “Wheezie, have you seen Sarah?” You asked and she barely looked up.

“She left.”

You stomached dipped, “What do you mean?”

“Kiara and her walked out like twenty minutes ago. Think they went to the barn.”

“Oh," You tried to hide your disappointment with a small grin, “Why?”

“I don’t know why Sarah does anything she does,” Wheezie tilted her head, studying you, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go look for them.”

“Alone?” She inquired, “Rafe’s gonna come looking for you.”

“He’s busy, I think,” You said, “I’ll be back in like ten minutes anways!”

Although Wheezie didn’t look convinced, she didn’t stop you either. She simply hummed, shifting her focus back to her phone. You walked out the front door, feeling the cool night air on your skin. You decided to leave your heels behind, knowing they’d just get stuck in the mud. Rafe would notice you were gone, eventually, but still your feet carried you forward.

You recalled the first night you were here, when Rafe walked with you to the barn, and spread your legs on the floor of it. The other building, farther off in the distance, was the ranch hand’s quarters. You remembered that too.

You heard them before you saw them. Laughter. Sarah’s was unmistakable and you’d gotten used to John B’s voice as well but you hesitated at the barn’s open doors when you heard an unfamiliar male voice. Slowly, you peered inside. You spotted Sarah sitting on a bale of hay next to a girl with light brown skin and curly hair. Sarah had an entire bottle of wine in her hand and sipped from it casually.

Across from them stood John B. and a dark-skinned boy with a lean build and soft, deep brown eyes. Next to him was a boy whose sun-kissed blonde hair was kept in check by a weathered white cowboy hat. His skin was tanned and his smile was wide with mischief.

A strong smell hit your nose too, earthy and smoky. You assumed it came from the cigarette in John B.'s hand, or at least, you thought it was a cigarette.

It was too late to abort, because the blonde had spotted you and, in turn, all eyes turned to you. You wandered into the light of the barn awkwardly, your eyes meeting Sarah’s, her brown one’s lighting up with excitement, “Y/N!” She shouted, handing the wine bottle over to Kiara, and crossing the space to get to you. Her arms wrapped around your waist as she pulled you forward, “Guys, this is Y/N! Y/N, these are my friends I was telling you about.”

The group looked you over with curious eyes, their smiles friendly but tinged with cautious skepticism, as if still unsure of what to make of you.

She pointed them all out. Pope, JJ and Kiara. John B., you knew, of course. “Welcome,” John B. said.

“Hi,” You waved.

“You look so good!” Sarah exclaimed and you smelt the wine on her breath, “I was telling everyone how beautiful you are!”

“Thank you,” You smiled faintly, glancing over at Kiara, who gave you a soft, welcoming wave, “...Um, how come you guys didn’t come to the party?”

“Oh–” JJ started but Pope quickly interjected.

“It was a little too crowded,” Pope said, offering you an apologetic smile.

You nodded, accepting it, but your eyes couldn’t help but find JJ’s. His gaze was intense, but not in the way Rafe’s could be. It was the kind of stare that took you in without any hidden motive, no pressure. Just curiosity.

“Yeah,” Sarah chimed in, trying to ease the moment. “But I’m glad you came out here.”

“Rafe didn’t follow you, did he?” Kiara asked and you felt the tension that grew between the five of them.

“No,” You shook your head, “I didn’t say anything,” you assured them, looking at each of them with wide, innocent eyes.

“Good,” Sarah said in approval and your mood lightened.

JJ, however, seemed unfazed by the tension. He pushed past Pope, whose gaze had hardened slightly, as if issuing a warning that went unnoticed. JJ’s eyes were back on you, and his voice was playful as he moved closer, his grin widening. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” You blinked, feeling a little taken aback.

“Yeah, word gets around,” JJ replied, his eyes scanning you again, like he was memorizing your every detail. You fidgeted with the edge of your lace dress, “And now I see why. You're hard to miss.”

“JJ,” John B. and Pope spoke at the same time.

“What? I was just about to offer our guest some refreshments,” He turned to look at them but his gaze was fixed back on you soon. He gestured to the makeshift bar sitting on top of one of the stall gates. A bottle of clear liquor, a six-pack of beers with only two beers left, and a dirty shot glass, “She’s the bride. Gotta make sure she has a good time.”

“You don’t have to drink anything,” Sarah said.

“She should at least have a shot,” JJ argued, “It’s her party, after all.”

You hesitated, but something about JJ’s easy confidence made the thought of refusing feel wrong. You didn’t want to come off as boring.

“JJ, don’t be weird,” Kiara spoke, sounding annoyed, “That’s Rafe’s fiance.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Big, bad, Rafe. I’m shaking in my boots,” You didn’t understand and your eyes darted between all of them before they landed back on JJ, “What do you say, Y/N? Celebratory shot?’

It was just a shot. Nothing crazy. Except you’d forgotten to eat in all the commotion and attention, and the alcohol immediately went to your head. Plus, it burned your throat. You coughed but JJ’s smiled wider, making you think that you’d done something right. Everyone else was watching you with interest.

Moments later, he was pouring you another and cracking open the rest of the beers, handing one to Kiara and then to Pope, “To new friends?” He raised his glass and you glanced around as everyone raised their respective glasses.

“To new friends,” The others answered reluctantly and tilted back their drinks. You downed the second shot, wincing as it went down, smoother than the first one but still awful.

Surprisingly, you heard Kiara laugh, “You’re brave for drinking out of that glass, girl.”

"You’re more fun than I expected, cowgirl," JJ said with a teasing grin, his voice low and smooth.

“That’s mean, JJ.” Kiara said.

“Seriously, you’re cool, how did you end up engaged to Rafe?”

"JJ," John B. warned, his voice a little sharp as he glanced at him.

To your surprise, Pope, who’d been mostly quiet up until now, chimed in with a serious look. “No, I think it’s a valid question.”

You froze for a second. It wasn’t like you could just come out and say, well, it’s complicated and totally a mess. You didn’t even know what was going on with Rafe half the time. You decided to shrug it off, “I’m still figuring things out,” You tried to sound casual, though your heart was pounding, “I mean, we’re figuring things out together.”

“Enough interrogating, guys,” John B. said and you were grateful.

You’d been gone for too long, anyways, “I should get back to the party. It was really nice meeting ya'll.”

“We’ll see you around then, Y/N,” Pope smiled at you and you couldn’t help but feel warm. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

“Yeah,” you agreed. You turned to Kiara, “Kiara, I hope you can come to my bachelorette.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” She spoke in a way that made you think she might be coolest girl you’d ever met.

“Alright,” As you walked pass, Sarah grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. The warmth of her touch felt like a promise, like you’d just been accepted into something new, something different than what you were used to.

When you were back in the night, clear of the barn doors, you heard Pope’s voice loudly erupt, “Are you a fucking idiot, JJ?”

Back inside the house, you searched for Wheezie, wanting her to break the news to Rose that you wanted to retire for the night. The party could certainly go on without you seeing as you knew barely anyone here. Your eyes felt tired, and honestly you felt a little bit wobbly, “Wheezie,” You whispered, as you peaked around corners and opened all the downstairs doors, hoping to find her on her phone, “Wheeeeezie.”

You made your way upstairs next, deciding to check her room. The teenager’s room was completely empty and you let out a tired huff. You just needed to lay down for a second. As soon as you turned on your heel, Rafe appeared, tall legs hurrying up the stairs.

“Y/N,” His voice boomed as heavy as his steps, “Where you been?”

You tried to steady yourself but you stumbled backwards, “What’s going on, baby?” He caught you quickly, his voice softening. He held your waist, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You leaned against the wall, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I just …wanted to get away from the party,” You spoke slowly, your head swimming, “I’m fine. Just sleepy.”

Rafe studied you for a moment longer, his brows furrowing as if piecing something together. He looked down at your feet, “You went outside. Where’s your shoes?”

“Downstairs somewhere. I guess I lost them,” You smiled weakly.

“Hmm,” He leaned down to kiss your lips and you accepted, your tongue dancing with his.

He pulled away, his eyes darkening, “You taste like vodka,” he murmured, his voice low and quiet. “Cheap vodka.”

“It’s a party, right?” You asked softly, “Our party.”

“I know they weren’t serving whatever you’ve been drinking. Tell me, what have you been doing? And with who?”

“I feel like … I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

His hand reached up, cupping your face with surprising tenderness. “I won’t be mad at you,” he said, his voice reassuring, though his eyes betrayed something darker. “But I need to know, darlin’. And I need you to be honest.”

You faltered, struggling with your words. “I don’t want you to be mad at anyone else either. Can we just go to bed?”

His jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. “Sarah,” he muttered, his voice low. “She gave it to you, didn’t she?”

“Wha–” You froze as Rafe’s jaw tightened, “It wasn’t her–”

“And you smell like fucking weed,” His face scrunched up and his voice turned low and painful.

"I smell like... a weed?" you asked, confused, the words coming out in a dazed haze as you tried to process his words.

“Fucking Pogues,” Rafe cursed and you yelped when his fist pounded against the wall beside your head, “Stay here. I’ll deal with this.”

You reached out to grab his arm, your fingers trembling against tense muscles beneath his skin, “Wait. No, no, no, stay here with me.”

He grabbed you next, and lifted you off your feet as he dragged you across the hallway. You tried to pull away, to get him to let you go, but his grip tightened. "Rafe, please!" you cried, struggling to free yourself, but it was futile. His hold on you was ironclad.

"Stay the fuck in here. I’ll be right back," he commanded, his voice colder than ice as he forced you into his room. The door slammed shut and then there was a wall between the two of you. The click of the lock followed and you stumbled back, your heart racing.

You heard his footsteps retreat, a few heavy thuds followed by the faint sound of him calling out to someone. You pressed your ear against the door, straining to hear anything, but it was quiet for a moment.

You hurried towards the window, pressing your palms against the cool glass as you looked down toward the front of the house. Through the dim light spilling from the porch, you could see a trio of men walking in a purposeful, determined line away from the house.

He’ll be right back. You doubted that. You should’ve laid down then. But you did your best to undo the zipper of your dress, needing more room to breathe, before you wandered into Rafe’s closet. You pushed a mountain of clothes to the side, settling in the corner, and cried your makeup away.

How did you manage to mess up everything with Sarah, her friends, and Rafe all in one night? Why did you have to ruin everything?

It wasn’t the first time Rafe had blown up at Sarah. She often stood in the way of everything he wanted in life. Ward loved her more than him, for some unknown reason that baffled Rafe the more he tried to understand it. This night was about him and you and yet Sarah and her pogue friends had to crash their party. Rafe couldn’t have one thing that was just his. Now she was trying to corrupt you, his sweet and clueless bride.

“Where’s the rest of your friends?” Rafe asked when he and his friends found just John B., Kiara and Sarah in the barn, “They run? Huh?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, hard, “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t mess with me, Sarah.”

“What? Did you snort too many lines tonight?”

Rafe imagined his hands around her throat. He squeezed his fist tight, examining the scene before him, assessing what exactly he could get away with in this moment. Soon, someone would notice that both Rafe and his future bride had disappeared from their own party. He was on thin ice with Ward already.

Kiara shifted, stepping in front of Sarah like some kind of shield. “Back off, Rafe.” Her voice was steady, but he could see the way her hands clenched into nervous fists.

Rafe let out a cold laugh, pointing straight at his sister, his gaze razor-sharp. “I’ll make every last one of your little Pogue friends miserable, you hear me?” His voice was low, dangerous, a promise rather than a threat. “I’m gettin’ the company, the money, the influence, every goddamn thing. Cameron Ranch pays all their fucking bills, and you know it. You think Heyward’s could run without us? Kie, your parents buy their beef from us, same as every other rich asshole in this town. Y’all survive because we let you…and you …”

Rafe turned towards John B., “You know better. No one else in this town would have you on with your history. And your friend, JJ, if I find out he put one finger on her. I’ll fucking kill him.” His voice dropped to a whisper, seething with a quiet rage.

It was a promise. His blood boiled at the idea of JJ’s eyes on you. He would’ve killed him if the pogue hadn't been smart enough to run. That’s why he left you in his room, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he saw him.

“That’s enough!” Sarah shouted, her expression twisted in frustration, “Stop, Rafe. You got your point across.”

“Nothing even happened, asshole,” Kiara said.

“Like he should believe that,” Topper scoffed, speaking up, “Dirty pogues.”

“Let it go,” John B. said, “Before you do something you regret, man.”

Rafe nodded, jaw tight. He considered them lucky. Damn lucky. They were on his property, his land, trespassing, he had every right to go after them, “Keep your friends away from Y/N,” Rafe said to his sister, “I’m serious.”

“You can’t control who she’s friends with!”

“I promise you won’t like it if you push me on this one, Sarah,” With one last glance at Sarah, he turned on his heel, heading back toward the house, back toward something far more important, back towards you.

Rose ripped into him, of course, after the happy couple completely abandoned their own wedding shower. He would’ve preferred his father’s yelling over hers. She cornered him in the foyer, before he could climb the stairs, and Rafe started to feel a headache coming on. It was then he remembered the beers and the fact that he was not even close to sober. It wasn’t his fault the night ended in disaster. He’d done his part, networked, kept up appearances, and even posed for a million photos. The Pogues showing up and manipulating his fiance into getting drunk was out of his control.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Wheezie peaking from the bannister upstairs. She was eavesdropping, of course. He apologized to Rose instead of raising his voice. She continued. He apologized five more times. She didn’t accept, he didn’t expect her to. She threw up her hands in exhaustion, said she was going to talk to Ward, and then stormed off.

With a heavy sigh, Rafe climbed the stairs.

His nosy little sister asked, “Why is Y/N crying in your room? She sounds like a kicked puppy.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. Great.

“Ask Sarah,” Rafe spoke curtly, annoyed. He reached into his pocket for his keys.

“Sarah?”

“Goodnight, Wheezie.” Was all he said before he unlocked his bedroom door, pushed inside, and slammed it shut.

He understood immediately what Wheezie meant by you sounding like a kicked puppy. You weren’t where he expected you'd be but it didn’t take long to narrow down where you were. He gave himself a few minutes to collect himself, bracing for your torrent of emotions, bracing for the anger you probably felt towards him.

Being mad at him would be useless in the end. Rafe had decided the two of your belonged together. He certainly didn’t believe in soulmates but he understood ownership and possession. Whatever it was, the two of you would work for it, because you belonged to him.

He found you, head in your hands, shaking like a leaf. He kicked off his boots, lowered down to the ground, and moved next to you, “Y/N?”

“I’m sorry,” You said immediately, your voice pitiful.

“You’re sorry, baby?” It wasn’t the reaction he expected from you but he leaned into it, “You’re sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for,” You hiccuped, “For drinking. I don’t know why I did it. I just …”

“You want Sarah to like you,” Rafe filled in your often incomplete thoughts and you finally looked up. Despite the streaked mascara and smudged lipstick, he thought you looked gorgeous.

“Yeah … I shouldn’t, right?” You asked hesitantly, "You know, sometimes it feels like everyone knows what’s going on except me. I think she thinks I’m stupid and she’d be right.. I can’t even take care of myself.”

“Look, I’m not happy with Sarah but I know she doesn’t think that,” Rafe assured you, but made sure to add on, “And you shouldn’t care what she thinks. She hangs out with a bunch of lowlifes. She’s going nowhere. You, baby, have so much potential. So what, you don’t know everything, but you don’t need to take care of yourself. How many times do I have to tell you? That’s my job.”

Rafe watched you nod your head, eyes still watery, “My Dad wanted it.”

“He did,” Rafe agreed, “I don’t like to see you like this …things will be better when we have our own house. Our own family. I know it will.”

“Was she upset?” You wiped your own tears, “When you went out there…”

“You’re too sweet for your own good.”

He was watching you closely now, scanning your body language, gauging whether you were on the verge of a panic attack. This moment, it was an opportunity for him. Somehow, despite everything, he wasn’t the bad guy in this situation. Maybe it was the trust he’d built with you over the last two weeks, maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers.

“C’mere,” He reached for you, fingers wrapping around your wrists, guiding you toward him. You shuffled forward onto your knees, letting him pull you closer. His hands slid to your hips, gripping firmly as he positioned you over his lap, your legs straddling his. Now, you were right where he wanted you, face to face, eyes locked, nowhere to hide.

“She was upset,” he admitted, his thumbs smoothing slow circles against your sides. “But not as upset as me.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

“It wasn’t just the drinking,” he continued, voice low and steady. “It was who you were drinking with. You were with them. Without me.” His jaw tensed. “Knowing that those dirty Pogues got to look at you, be near you-” He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re the most beautiful thing in my life. I don’t think it’s selfish to want you to myself.”

Shame flickered across your features.

“I wasn’t thinking,” You murmured and part of Rafe’s mind, the sick part, rejoiced, “I’m so sorry.”

A weak smile tugged at his lips, “I forgive you, baby. I’m not mad anymore. At all. “

He kept his voice reassuring, his words gentle, but his touch was anything but.

“What makes them so bad, Rafe?” You asked curiously, your voice barely above a whisper, “They didn’t look that dirty to me.”

“Not tonight, I don’t want to talk about them,” Rafe ran his hands over your thighs, traveling beneath the skirt of your dress, before he gripped a handful of your ass in his hands, “I wanna teach you something.”

“Mhm,” You hummed as Rafe leaned into your neck, kissing you softly. You were so responsive, even in this fragile state.

“I know how you can make it up to me.”

Rafe felt you tense when you felt it, the growing hardness that was currently being restrained by his zipper. Barely contained. He leaned his head down, just as he moved his hands to your breast. He squeezed tightly, savoring the handful, “Rafe …I-I–I don’t know.”

He did wonder how far he could push you before you couldn’t take it anymore. But he remembered how much further he’d gotten with you being a little more gentle, “Don’t worry,” He assured you, “I’m going to teach you how to use your mouth on me. It won’t hurt at all.”

“It won’t? But …. But it can’t fit in my mouth.”

Patience, he reminded himself.

“I’ll show you,” Rafe pressed his thumb against your soft lips, “Open, baby.”

Rafe saw it in your eyes, the hesitance, the fear but he kept his touch soft. He brushed your tongue, “Suck on my finger,” You closed your mouth around his finger and when he felt your teeth scrape his skin, he added, “But don’t bite. No teeth. That’s lesson number one.”

He moved his thumb slowly in and out of your mouth, allowing you practice. The way your wide eyes were fixed on him, looking for his approval, was probably the sexiest thing he’d seen you do. And you were his, “Good girl, darlin’” he praised, and your lashes fluttered at the words.

He promised to take it slow and was a man of his word. He gave you plenty of practice before the real thing. You were right, he couldn’t fit inside your mouth. Most of him. But he taught you how to hold him, how to stroke him, how to keep touching him in the moments where your mouth got too tired. That was lesson two. Just the tip this time, you could handle that. He had been holding off for two weeks, and it wouldn’t take much.

And when the moment finally came, when his release spilled hot and thick onto your tongue, Rafe taught you lesson number three.

“You never spit, baby,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your swollen lips. “My cum is your reward for all your hard work. You swallow all of it.”

And when you did, although your face scrunched at the unfamiliarity of it, Rafe pressed a slow, claiming kiss against your lips.

hope you enjoyed!!

#rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #dark fic #rafe obx #black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #sarah cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank x reader #pope heyward #john b routledge

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meowtifullycute · 2 years ago

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Romantic Red Hearts with White Roses Pattern!

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vivid-dreamscapes · 11 months ago

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Dragon King!Bakugou, who spent many night in secret with you before finally proposing, marrying you within the month after.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who is worried you’ll feel pressured to do the after-marriage consummation ritual, so he doesn’t bring it up. But his soreness certainly do—with good intentions, of course.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who makes sure the night is perfect, having spent the day preparing everything, making sure the room was arranged to his liking. The room you two had spent so many nights before had transformed, practically gleaming with the flicker of firelight from candles and scented incense. Soft silk sheets laid over the king's bed, the room filled with the sweet scent of roses. Even a small table filled with fruit and water to replenish energy midway through sits at the beside.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who waited for you in the room patiently and calmly, but internally freaked out. After all, he was nervous about preforming this ritual with you. Not just because not most people lived through having sex with dragon royalty (yes that idea came from the webtoon The Dragon Kings Bride), but because it was you.

Dragon King!Bakugou, whose eyes immediately widened once you entered the room. They drank in the traditional consummation nightgown you had been fitted into, consisting of silky white lace that hugged every contour of your body. The bodice of the dress embroidered with elaborate patterns, the material dipping low on your chest, revealing a tantalizing amount of skin. The back of the gown completely exposed, the delicate lace wrapping around to the front in the form of a tie. Your hair adorned in flowers of his favorite variety.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who has a traditional consummation outfit of his own, a set of clothing that could only be described as borderline ancient. A simple robe of deep red and black silk drapes his shoulders, leaving his toned chest exposed. Loose, dark silk pants of the same material hang low on his hips. His arms completely bare, showcasing the intricate tattoos that wrapped around them in swirling designs. His servants had even taken the time to weave a strand of pearls through his hair. The overall image he portrays can only be described as dangerously attractive.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who informs you without a second thought that you look like a goddess. When your reply is ‘don’t insult the deities like that’, he smirks and steps closer. “Careful, my lady. Blasphemy is a very serious offense."

Dragon King!Bakugou, who sees your nervousness and guides you to the bed, hand in yours.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who lays you down on the scarlet silk sheets with a surprising gentleness for being the King of dragons.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who smiles upon hearing your a virgin, his response mumbled it or he skin of your neck as his calloused fingers brush over you collarbone, taking down the nightgown. "So, you're a virgin, my lady. The gods have clearly favored me tonight."

Dragon King!Bakugou, who starts off slow with kissing and touching, only to find out your maids had done him the favor of recommending you don’t wear underwear in the first place

Dragon King!Bakugou, who fucks you so hard your left gasping and begging, even as he tries to do it slowly so he won’t kill you.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who in the morning is left with a very alive you, curled up naked in his arms.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who opens the door with a surprisingly happy look on his face, only to find the entire castle staff waiting to hear if you’re alive or not, raising an eyebrow lazily. “Calm down. They aren’t dead. They’re…they’re fine. A little sore, but otherwise fine.”

Dragon King!Bakugou, who falls in love on sight with the little baby prince that exists nine months later as proof of the ritual having worked.

#mha #my hero academia #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #bakugou mha #dragon king bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou x you #bnha fanfiction

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lianadelune · 6 months ago

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pairing: emperor caracalla x fem!reader

author's notes: i'm in love with him, your honor

part 1

the throne room of the twin emperors was a place where decisions of life and death were made with a flick of a wrist, its magnificence designed to intimidate and impress. massive marble columns stretched to a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations, while golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the cold, intricate mosaics covering the floor. at the center of the room stood two identical thrones, one for each emperor, their backs adorned with gilded eagles clutching laurel wreaths.

it was here that you were brought, flanked by soldiers who led you through the imposing bronze doors. you entered with your head held high, your foreign features and proud demeanor immediately drawing attention from everyone. courtiers whispered among themselves, the rumors of your curse swirling in the air like smoke.

caracalla sat on the left throne, his body slouched lazily but his sharp eyes gleaming with intrigue. his tunic was dark red, a bold contrast to the opulence around him, and his fingers drummed idly on the armrest. he looked every bit like the predator you had heard about, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he watched you approach.

geta, seated to his brother’s right, was more composed. his posture was rigid, his expression unreadable, but his gaze was no less intense. dressed in white and gold, he exuded authority and calculation, his mind clearly assessing you like a piece on a chessboard.

the guard captain bowed deeply before addressing the emperors. “great caesars, this is the captive of whom the rumors speak—the woman said to be cursed by venus herself.”

caracalla leaned forward, his interest piqued. “the infamous venus’ wraith. i was expecting... more chains,” he quipped, his voice laced with amusement.

you met his gaze without flinching, your defiance palpable. “perhaps you should have brought more, if you think I need them.”

the room fell silent. gasps rippled through the courtiers, and even the guards stiffened at her insolence.

geta raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line. “bold words for a captive,” he said, his tone icy. “do you not understand where you stand, foreigner?”

“i understand perfectly,” you replied evenly, your voice carrying through the vast room. “i stand before men who believe themselves gods but bleed like mortals.”

caracalla laughed, the sound echoing through the chamber. “i like her,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. “she speaks with the confidence of someone who doesn’t fear death.”

your jaw tightened, but you said nothing.

caracalla rose from his throne, descending the steps with a languid grace. he stopped just a few feet from you, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity and amusement. “they say any man who dares to love you meets a tragic end,” he said, circling you, reminding you a lion sizing up its prey. “tell me, venus’ wraith, do you believe this curse is real?”

your voice was steady, though a flicker of pain crossed your features. “what i believe is irrelevant. the gods enjoy their games, whether we believe in them or not.”

caracalla’s smirk widened. “i don’t fear curses. or gods.”

“that makes one of us,” you replied with a sharp tone.

geta rose from his throne, his movements deliberate and commanding. “brother, don’t let your amusement cloud your judgment. if the stories are true, keeping her here could be dangerous—not just for us, but for rome.”

“and if the stories are false?” caracalla countered, turning to face him. “what better way to disprove them than to bring her into our court?”

the two brothers locked eyes, their rivalry simmering beneath the surface. you could practically see gears turning in emperor geta's head, after a couple second with the twins staring at each other geta sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “it... would be good for rome's fame when the word spreads and the other lands find out we have the infamous venus' wraith here... do as you will. but if this said ‘curse’ brings trouble, it will be your burden to bear since you so adamantly want to keep her."

but that wasn’t all, was it? you saw the shine on geta's eyes while thinking about his brother’s proposition, he came to a conclusion… but you were sure emperor geta would keep that to himself until time’s right, he’s that kind of ruler, no one ever knew what geta was planning to do until he already did it and by the rumors you heard before being held captive it almost always envolved someone with a knife on their backs… literally and figuratively.

caracalla turned back to you, a wolfish grin on his face. “you’ll serve me,” he declared. “you’ll dine with the court and entertain us with your wit. let’s see if this curse of yours has any bite.”

your gaze hardened, but you did not resist as the guards escorted you out of the throne room.

you whispered eerily while being taken away.

"good luck then"

caracalla watched your retreating figure, a flicker of fascination sparking in his chest, ignoring your words.

geta returned to his throne, his expression dark. “you’re playing with fire, brother,” he warned.

caracalla only chuckled, his eyes still fixed on the doors through which you had disappeared. “perhaps. but, as you are very aware brother, i’ve always liked the burn.”

you expected to be brought to a regular cell, a place fitting for a prisoner such as yourself, a dirty prison made for those who the emperors deemed less than nothing, undeserving to have at least the minimum a human should have to survive unscarred, both mentally and physically, a place with little to no sunlight, no bed, only the hard cold floor as a place to rest, and food not nearly enough for a small person to survive making them start to think that the rats running around looked appetizing.

you had accepted this was your fate when the emperors decided to keep you in the palace.

after all the deaths you caused, maybe you even deserve it.

but to your surprise you were brought to the top floor of the castle, a place truly fit for royalty and royalty alone.

the marble halls shimmer in the golden glow of torchlight, with intricate mosaics depicting the victories of rome lining the floors and walls. massive columns of polished ivory and black stone support the vaulted ceilings, painted with celestial imagery to reflect the gods’ favor. every corner of this level exudes grandeur, a constant reminder of the emperors' divine authority.

‘a bit egotistical in my opinion’ you thought ‘but beautiful nonetheless’

while being escorted to one of the three rooms on that floor you tried to think of an actual reason for them to keep there. did emperor caracalla really mean it when he alluded to wanting an opportunity to test their powers against the will of the gods? what about emperor geta with the odd glint in his eyes the more he thought about his brother’s idea to make you live in the palace, you wish you knew what both of them are thinking. were you a spectacle for the court? a new deadly weapon in their arsenal? political strategy? just plain and simple curiosity? all the above?

too many variables for you to get even close to a conclusion.

but one thing you knew for sure, they’ll regret it… just like everybody else.

when the guards opened the double doors of your newest room you were left in awe, staring at the large room with your mouth wide open and eyes shining brightly as if you were a kid looking at their newest gift at saturnalia, it was something you expected in a palace but still, you never thought that one day you would be able to see it let alone live in it.

the centerpiece of the room is a grand canopy bed, draped in layers of silken fabric dyed deep purple and gold, your hands delicately touch the frame, intricately carved with motifs of laurel wreaths and mythical creatures, you recognized the two sirens in the middle of the bed and a phoenix in between them, you turned around seeing tall, arched windows, framed by heavy velvet curtains, opening them left you with a breathtaking view of the city below and the distant hills.

it was perfect.

now that you were finally left alone your stoic facade got replaced by a huge smile, you jumped on the bed, happy to finally be able to sleep on an actual soft bed instead of the hard ones you were used to in hotels you stayed, having to change every other week when people find out you were venus’ wraith.

you didn’t want to think about your past or variables and possibilities like you always had since you discovered your curse, you also didn’t want to try and guess what the emperors were thinking, get inside their heads, you had a feeling you weren’t gonna like there.

you let yourself enjoy, at least for a little bit, the comfort of this tiny piece of your new life, after a long time just feeling ashamed for something that was out of your control, feeling those awful thoughts leave your mind you fell asleep.

after the heavy doors of the throne room groaned shut behind you, the space was left eerily silent in your absence. caracalla leaned back in his gilded throne, the lion motifs carved into the armrests glinting faintly in the dim light of the torches. his fingers tapped an idle rhythm against the polished wood as a crooked smile played on his lips.

“she is… unlike anyone we’ve met before,” he mused, his voice low and carrying a trace of amusement. “bold enough to speak plainly, yet clever enough to know her place.”

geta, seated in the larger throne beside him, steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. the cold silver embroidery of his tunic seemed to match the detached tone of his voice. “boldness can be dangerous. it breeds unpredictability.”

caracalla turned his head slightly, his piercing gaze narrowing on his brother. “and yet, unpredictability is what makes her intriguing, isn’t it? someone who defies tradition, dares to enter our halls, and yet does not cower. i see why the city speaks of her in hushed tones. do you think she feels the thrill of having someone’s life in her hands for something as simple as falling in love?”

geta’s lips tightened into a thin line, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering flames of the brazier. “intriguing or not, thrilling or not, she is still an outsider. a foreigner. her presence here invites gossip, and gossip can lead to dissent. we already walk a thin line with the senate.”

caracalla could be many things, bloodthirsty, a monster, impulsive, the list goes on… but on the contrary of many think, he wasn’t stupid, of course because of his disease his mind gets cloudy every once in a while, but right now his mind was as clear as crystal, he knew his brother wasn’t telling the whole truth, maybe he wasn’t even telling the truth in the first place.

but it wasn’t worth it to confront him, geta would only antagonize him, making him believe it was all in his head, his mind would be foggy and confused, making him act and feel insane like everyone believes him to be.

perhaps they were right.

but right now caracalla wanted nothing fogging his mind, especially when it was full of you.

caracalla waved a dismissive hand, the ruby on his ring catching the firelight as he smirked. “let them talk. let them wonder. she is no threat to us here.” his voice dropped, taking on a darker edge. “unless, of course, you plan to fall in love with her.”

geta’s gaze snapped to his brother, his composure unwavering but his tone sharp. “i am not the reckless one here. whatever amusement you find in her will not distract me from what’s supposed to be our duty to rome.”

caracalla laughed, the sound echoing through the chamber like a predator’s growl. “oh, come now, brother. you see the potential as clearly as i do. imagine her in the court, an exotic symbol of rome’s dominion over even the most defiant.”

maybe if he pushed a little geta would open up about his plans, once in his life he would trust caracalla with something, anything, but of course that didn’t happen.

geta remained silent, keeping his thoughts behind the usual cold and calculating facade.

caracalla’s smirk faded, and for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. then he leaned back again facing away from his brother.

well, it isn’t like he’s telling the whole truth as well.

the tension between them lingered like smoke in the air, unspoken truths and unacknowledged fears weaving an invisible web.

#gladiator #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator movie #emperor caracalla #caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #Spotify

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snowluvvie · 3 months ago

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Wedding bells are ringing for Clark Kent and his valium-softened bride. ( based off this thought i had the other day )

MDNI 18+. warnings — implied/mentioned heavy drug use, dubcon due to extreme intoxication, objectification/bimbofication

The church is straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting—white wooden siding, a tall steeple, and a red-carpeted aisle leading to an altar adorned with lilies and roses. The air is thick with Chanel No. 5 and incense, mixing in strange, intoxicating waves, nearly enough to make the guests just as hopelessly loopy as you are. You arrive in a classic tea-length gown with layers of tulle—it’s all the rage this year—cinched at the waist so tightly that you sway a little bit as you walk. Your veil is long, trailing behind you like a vapor, your lips painted the precise shade of post-war optimism ( Revlon’s Fire & Ice, duh. )

Clark is hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his half-lucid bride. From the moment you step into the church, a confection of dreamy adoration in white tulle and a cloud of perfume, his entire world narrows to you alone. He watches as you glide toward him, your eyes just slightly unfocused, lips parted in a dazed, blissful smile—like a doll brought to life, like a dream drifting through the church. He grips the altar rail so hard his knuckles go white.

When you reach him, you let out a breathy giggle and murmur, “Hi, darling.” You’re not entirely sure how you got here, but you’re unwaveringly certain there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Clark swallows, utterly undone. “Hi, sweetheart.” He takes your hands carefully, his thumbs tracing gentle circles over the satin of your gloves. You sigh at the touch, leaning against him, a little too warm, a little too lost in the moment.

During the ceremony, you barely listen to the officiant, instead staring up at Clark with the sort of breathless, glassy-eyed adoration that makes his chest feel tight. When it’s your turn for the vows, you hesitate—not because you’re nervous, but because you keep forgetting what you’re supposed to say. You give a soft, confused little laugh, batting your lashes up at him.

“Oh, darling, what was I going to say? I had it in my head just a moment ago...”

Clark only smiles and squeezes your hands. “That you love me,” he murmurs, prompting you gently.

Your face lights up, relieved. “Oh! Yes! I love you, I love you, I love you.” But it truly doesn’t matter, Clark is already pressing the ring onto your finger, already bending to kiss you—long, lingering, chaste enough to be seen by your families but in that deep way that anchors you to him, something he always does.

The reception is held in the grand ballroom, plastered with gold and cream wallpaper, the kind of place where the women sip gin fizzes and the men loosen their ties after a few too many Old Fashioneds. The wedding cake is towering and ornate, white icing shaped into elaborate floral designs, managing to be extremely delicate and disgustingly excessive all at once.

Clark is approached by his work colleagues, all hearty backslaps and talk of mortgages and promotions. You drape yourself over his arm like an elegant, sentient fur stole, occasionally sighing contentedly as you play with the pearls around your neck, resting lightly against your collarbones. You’re adored by all, at least—not necessarily respected, but your beauty and devotion to your husband more than makes up for any… gaps… in your wit or lucidity.

When his work colleagues’ eyes find you in that hawklike fashion, tongue swiping over lips as they silently think between themselves what it must be like to fuck something so unwaveringly pliant and agreeable, Clark steers you away and back towards one of your families. That happens often, of course—people can’t seem to control themselves near a beauty like you, especially when they see the way you drift through your own life without opinion or complaint, content with whatever is going on. That’s what Clark is there for. Wrapped up safely in his warm embrace—if you can’t slip from his big arms for even a moment, no one can hurt you.

When you become quite distracted by the champagne bubbles in your glass, watching them rise like tiny golden stars, Clark gently turns your face back to him, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. He murmurs something to you, but you only hum in response, lost in the way he regards you with those pale crystal eyes. You find yourself leaned against his shoulder again—utterly content there

The band plays “Unchained Melody”, and when Clark takes you onto the dance floor, you cling to him as if he’s the only thing anchoring you to the ground. (He might be… his strong, supporting hand on the small of your back is the only thing keeping you from falling over.) You’re his doll, his pet, his soft little creature—adoring, glamorous, slightly vacant, but entirely his. And Clark, who’s nothing if not responsible and caretaking, holds you steady, a firm hand on the small of your back, guiding you as you whisper nonsense against his chest with your cheek pressed to the breast of his suit as you dance (mostly about the shape of his lips and whether or not it’s possible to get high off love alone, which he actually finds quite endearing.)

As the two of you drive away nestled into the backseat of a gleaming Cadillac, tin cans clattering behind you, you rest your head against his shoulder, sighing, your breath warm and sweet against his skin. “I love you so much I think I might die,” you murmur

Clark, ever steady, kisses the top of your head adoringly and replies, “Don’t be silly. You can’t die—you’re my wife now.”

Though the whole night Clark had been placating your lips, which sought his out, with chaste kisses so as not to disturb your friends and family—he indulges in you now when your mouth finds his. Humming into your mouth, giant hands easily guiding you backwards on the seat. Putty in his touch, you’re giggling airily into his mouth when he leans you back, and he moves his mouth to kiss along your jaw and your neck. He mouths at your collarbone, hands sliding up the front of your dress and feeling the way your corset is attached to you like skin.

Clark hums against your skin how much he loves the dress, how he earnestly hopes nothing bad happens to it tonight—he means it! He’s a sentimental guy, he wants your wedding dress to cherish in the attic for your own kids. But who knows… you can’t exactly navigate out of all the little buttons by yourself, with your clumsy hands, and who knows if he’ll be patient enough to painstakingly work through all of them himself.

You drive off into the night, into the 1950s dream—misery and responsibility and beauty, of steadfast devotion that leaves most people broken down and deflated. Though of course, your life will be one where Clark will work tirelessly, and you’ll wait for him, perfectly made-up, a cigarette perpetually nestled between your fingers. The bottles of valium nestled in the ceramic medicine cabinet will be more than enough to keep you this airy—floating in the throes of love with no troubles or concerns other than when he’ll be arriving home—for many years to come.

#wrote this eyes half-closed cause i was thinkin abt it right when i woke up #maybe i had a dream???#thinking: clark kent ₊˚⊹♡#clark kent drabble #clark kent moodboard #clark kent x you #clark kent fic #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent smallville #clark kent #clark kent x fem reader #clark kent x female reader #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x you fic #clark kent x you drabble #clark kent x you one shot #clark kent one shot

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whowrotethenote · 1 month ago

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𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐀 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

A/N // Short story set in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place during Wrestle-mania 40 weekend; before All We Do, after Company, and after One Of Your Girls.

Warnings // Angst // Smut // NSFW // Adultery // Profanity // Age gap // Consumption of alcohol // Mentions of disease

Word Count // 5.6k

Disclaimer // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I knew you in another life. You had that same look in your eyes. I love you don't act so surprised.

— Billie Eilish (Birds of A Feather)

Monday, April 1, 2024

The sun fighting through the sheer white drapes of our living room is enough to wake me all the way up. I groan and shiver at the chill of early morning in nothing but a white tank and silk pajama shorts. There’s nothing on the agenda today. No class. No work. And still, my body decides to rise at seven a.m.

The hefty pile of mail Anthony left on the marble island top catches my attention. Bills, bills, and more bills. The sight of which would’ve given me a heart attack prior to earning myself a seat at a table, where he is the head.

I rapidly shuffle through white envelopes emblemed with companies who want what they’re owed before a blank one halts me. No logo. No company. No return address. Still, my name—Alana Floyd— is printed on the back of it. I rip the top open and unfold the thin stack of papers.

“Demi!” My slippers scrape and slide across the floor of our hallway and I almost slide right past her open door. She rubs her eyes, craning her neck up and squinting with a colorful scarf pulled tight atop her head. I wiggle the loose tickets in my hand. “We're gonna go see…Dwayne.”

Her square face lights up as she plops it back on the plush pillow. “Before I do too much—this isn't an April Fools joke?”

“It's not, I fear.”

“He's a generous Tribal Chief,” she croaks. I scan over the hotel itinerary. April fourth to April eighth. That won't work. “Oh my god—you think you'll wear his underwear?”

“I don’t see him leaving the speedos behind for this one.” I scroll through my messages to find WiseMan.

“All the hotels are probably booked up now.”

I laugh at her seven a.m. cluelessness. “Oh—my man thinks of everything.” I wiggle the other papers adorned with the hotel itinerary and confirmation.

“He's like a genie. Only we got way more than three wishes…and a side of tribal dick.”

i got the tickets. thank him for me pls. No problem. Car will be there Thursday. Should we send it in the morning? we don’t get out of class until 2 that day. we can't stay until the eighth. finishing midterms. we'll have to leave on Sunday morning or Saturday night… I'll let him know

I lean on her door frame, peering down the hall that leads to the kitchen. On the center of the island, a large bouquet—pink and white mix of roses he replaced from Valentine’s day starting their descend to death. Still breathtaking nonetheless.

The gifts just didn’t stop. One week it’s a bouquet too big for me to carry in myself. The next week it’s a bag I don’t even see on the designer’s website yet. Shoes. Jewelry. Whatever. And I didn’t ask for any of it. The stuff on the shelves and hangers of my walk-in can probably feed an entire high school for months.

Demi’s sly chuckle breaks my thoughts—wiping away my smirk that I didn’t even realize captured my face. “What?”

“Oh nothing. Just wondering if you’re going to be staying with me or him.” She screws her face up, mouth falling open while making the bed creak.

Shaking my head, I walk away from her door to go shower. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cum twice!” She yells down the hall. “One for you—one for me!”

Thursday, April 4, 2024

In the city of brotherly love—home to the greasiest cheesesteaks, where they bleed green and curse you out for absolutely nothing—Demi and I fit right in.

The Ritz-Carlton planted in Center City—structured like a Cathedral inside and out—treated us like royalty. Demi and I didn’t lift a manicured finger and no request was too much.

The room is massive. Built like a penthouse and certainly too much for two girls only staying for a few days. There’s a bottle of champagne waiting for us on a California King—whitest bedding tucked tight to perfection. We don’t waste a second cracking it open. Mouths in a mutual O, when the cork goes flying recklessly, leaving a mark on the ceiling. Somebody else’s problem.

White foam overflows and spills over the neck of the bottle and down her hand. No cups needed. We take turns passing it back and forth, basically inhaling the crisp liquid until the bottle is empty.

The night is ridiculously young. So, we let Summer Walker and Latto be the background noise to our rampant routine of getting ready to hit the streets hard. Tonight we bring in Wrestle-mania weekend the right way.

Already half-way drunk from the bottle of champagne, we end up at Noto—a nightclub where some YouTuber is hosting. Whoever he is, he has the club packed out. Faces wall to wall. Every section full of niggas with jewelry shining, even in the dark—accompanied by women that belong in some rapper’s music video.

In the middle of it, Demi and I, utilize a section to ourselves. Dropping a bag on Ace of Spades and 1942. The DJ plays Dreams and Nightmares and it’s a wrap. Our heads are gone, as we scream the lyrics back and forth as if we lived every single line. Blue lights shining down on us— cameras out, taking videos we don’t even plan to post. Creating enough memories to last a lifetime and stories to brag to our future children about.

Saturday, April 6, 2024

Everything about this Wrestle-mania is different from the one before. The tickets were intended for us—not some miracle-ridden accident due to an old man carelessly flinging tickets around in the air. A much smoother transition from all the hustling and bustling—pushing through strangers like we did last year. No floor seats. Skybox Lounge. An entire suite to ourselves. Removed from all the chaos of pumped up testosterone and rowdy kids down below.

“Excuse me ma’am.” A light touch to my shoulder has my head shooting up. A dark-haired woman in all black, with a headset on and clipboard tucked tight under her arm looks me in the eyes. “Are you Alana Floyd?” She asks.

I hesitate for a moment. I’m not even supposed to be here. Not just here in the skybox where all the important people belong—but here period—supporting my closeted sponsor and fuckbuddy. This makes me rethink answering her—whoever she is. How does she even know my full name?

“…I am.”

“Do you mind coming with me, please?” She steps a little ways back allowing me space.

I look to Demi, whose furrowed eyebrows mimic mine as she shrugs. “Are we switching seats or something?” I ask the unknown lady.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I just need you. You’ll be right back before the main event.”

She’s swift in all her movements as I struggle to keep up in these six inch designer heels—too busy gawking at faces I’ve only seen through a TV screen before, as I am forced to just pass them by. Radiant and charismatic as they seem in character.

It’s all a blur. Everyone moving in a different direction at a different pace. Backstage crew with equipment, men in suits, and more people talking into headsets like hers. She leads me down and down—removed from all the chaos and activity the further we go. Before I know it we’re stopping at a door. A man I know very well coming out of it.

“Lana,” Pauls greets me with more enthusiasm than I expect.

“Paul.” I nod. I see what’s happening now. All three of us are quiet. Paul and I’s smile fading in the silence. The mystery lady straight-faced and all business.

“I’ll be out here waiting.” She’s the first to speak, flicking her head to the closed door Paul came out of.

I nod and face the door, twisting the metal knob to push it open. My breath immediately taken away. That feeling never goes away. I’ll never get used to this. Used to him. The door clicks behind me automatically.

Legs spread, bun loose, as he messes with the red glove on his wrist. Our eyes lock and he stands tall across the way. It’s so weird seeing him like this. Before, Joe was the stranger and seeing him in anything other than ring gear was alarming. Now it’s the opposite. Him without all the extra is comforting and the ring gear is as it’s intended to be—a costume.

The silence is comfortable yet charged. Compelled to speak, but not knowing what to say, I settle for, “hi.”

A clipping breath comes through his nostrils. “Hi,” he responds. Another beat of silence, used to just drink each other in. “I hope you don’t mind that I put you up high.”

“No, it's fine. I’m just happy to be here. I think it's better away from the crowd. I can see everything up there.”

He nods. “Noted.”

I look him over again. Swallowing hard at the gloss over his hard chest and explicitly defined arms. “Are you nervous, at all?”

His upper lip tugs at the corner to reveal the dimple line beneath his dark beard. “Nah.” He shakes his head adjusting the red glove again. “Done this too many times to count.”

“Right. I used to get nervous before every meet,” I share.

“Not you, Miss Penn Relays.”

Didn’t matter how fast I was or still am. I can’t outrun this feeling. Rooted deep in emotions so overwhelming—so foreign, yet familiar.

I giggle. “I know. My mom used to have to talk me down before every race.”

“What would she say?”

“That nerves are only a result of doubt—and there’s no need to doubt cause if I wasn’t supposed to be there—I wouldn’t have been.”

His eyes dance over my frame. “Wise woman.” I nod in agreement. “You think I belong here?” He probes.

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“And what about you?” He steps closer invading all possible personal space. “You belong here?”

My neck cranes up to not loose sight of his perfect face. He’s so close, I can smell whatever oil they put on him paired with the conditioner he uses for his hair.

His eyes are low as they’re pinned on me. “I’m here, aren’t I?” I answer almost inaudibly.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

I’m caught in that rift, where the part of my brain that stops me from doing what I want—what I feel—it gets fuzzy. Almost like I’m drunk on something. I’m leaning in before I can stop myself. On my tippy toes to accommodate for the eight inches he has on me. I kiss him.

“—I’m sorry.” I’ve never done that without the courage of alcohol flinging me. But tonight, I’m drunk on something else.

His upper body leans down into me, overpowering my presence in this room. My breath hitches with every centimeter of space he closes. Before I know it our lips meet again. Soft at first. Like he doesn’t want to break me. But another follows—and another—until his tongue is being warmed in my mouth and my hand instinctively grips the neck of his neck.

I breathe again when he pulls away abruptly. Our foreheads touching while his brown eyes pierce mine.

“I’m gonna need you back on the bus when everything’s done,” he whispers. My voice fails me, so I nod to indicate I understand. A knock on the door breaks our bubble. “I gotta go.” He pushes his forehead into mine one last time before moving away. Grabbing a spray bottle, he makes his way to the door.

I try to settle the butterflies in the my stomach, paired with the tsunami he left me to deal with down below.

“—And Alana?”

“Yes?” In slits his eyes trace the perimeter of my entire body. Head to toe.

“Fucking perfect.”

Demi gets her wish. Dwayne came out with his speedos—tight and on full display. The man I just left—or a scripted version of him—enters the arena shortly after. Taking his time as usual—strutting and letting the room soak in his power and magnetism.

I don’t know how the two of them are just now tag teaming for the first time. Besides them being family, their chemistry in the ring is harmonious. It just makes sense.

The way he tosses and maneuvers Cody and Seth—it’s equally terrifying as it is thrilling. I shift in the seat—throbbing. A deep pulse growing down below watching his dominance. Another in my heart every time he gets slammed. I flinch at every hit. I wasn’t doing this before. What the hell is wrong with me? I used to be able to watch a match with no issue. I was all for the violence, being able to spot every hit that doesn’t connect or a move that’s just two men working together instead of against one another. But tonight, it looks like every hit might kill him and it has my anxiety at an all time high.

There’s no shock—to me at least—when I hear the one, two, three. A pin by The Final Boss to The American—not so—Nightmare. He looks defeated and I hope it’s all for the cameras and the crowd. On his knees, nose dried up with blood, and hair wild as it can be.

Demi and I scream in celebration like two fangirls that belong in front row. Two of our childhood favorites, live in action, whooping straight ass. It doesn’t get any better than this. Or maybe it does—seeing as I get to reward the winner myself later.

Chugging the last of our drinks, we pack it up to leave. Not even a few feet out of the Lounge and Demi’s scream paired with a gorilla grip on my forearm, has my head snapping in her direction.

“Oh my god!”

I follow her line of sight and gasp.

“Well, hello to you too young lady.”

“Somebody fucking pinch me.”

“I would do it, but I think I’ll get in trouble.” Randy fucking Orton. This weekend is one for the books. He flashes us both a smile.

“I think I’m the one hearing voices in my head, now.” Demi pulls her phone from her back pocket. “Take our picture—please, please, please.”

Taking her phone I step back from them. “How we looking, baby girl?” He questions.

“Like supermodels,” I tell him. “With voices in their heads who should probably see somebody about that.”

I’m not surprised at all, by how friendly he is. A far cry from his menacing character on-screen. Fitting and molding into our tipsy goofiness, like we came here together. He has us laughing so hard, my stomach is tight like I did a core workout. At one point, even lifting his shirt so we can feel his abs.

Mid-laugh, I hear my name being called. “Hey.” I turn to find the lady from earlier with no headset, but still with that urgent energy like she doesn’t have a second to waste. “Just a gentle reminder that he wants you in his trailer, okay?” She tells me, in a tone low enough for only me to receive.

“Yeah, sure.” She’s gone just as fast as she came, like lightning.

I don’t even know how long we stay inside chatting to Randy. We talk about the match—dissecting the storyline and telling him what we think should happen next. We talk about him—how much The Viper meant to us as kids and how good it feels to still see him in the ring after all these years. We talk about him…

“Don’t tell me y’all are here alone?” He looks past us and then turns back the opposite way. Besides us, there’s only about three other groups of stragglers up here still, combined with staff. “No dates?”

“Nope,” Demi answers first. “Just two girls who enjoy shirtless men fighting to the death.”

“Oh, come on. No way your boyfriends let you two come alone. No special someone?”

I laugh bitterly. “Oh, there’s someone. But special?” Yeah, right. I shake my head lifting a brow.

“I know that look. Look, if a guy can’t take the time out to make his presence special—or make you feel special—he doesn’t even deserve to be someone in your life.”

As if my head isn’t all fucked up and twisted already. Leave it to The Viper to twist it some more.

“Look—it was really nice talking to you ladies. So nice to meet you.” He starts his stride in the opposite direction after embracing us both. “Make sure you tag me, if you post that!” He yells back.

“I hope you’re not letting what he said get to your head.” I turn to find Demi already looking. We walk leisurely to the backdoors leading to the outside. “He doesn’t even know the full story. And so what if it's not ideal or traditional? Life didn’t come with a fucking handbook.”

“I think it did though,” I interject. Her eyebrows pinch as we both push through the double doors. The night air of April hitting us. A whole different atmosphere from inside. “The Bible?”

“Girl—you know what I mean.” She links her around mine as our heels click simultaneously on the pavement. The occasional honking and sirens in the near-distance. Philly is not so far removed from New York. “We’re only twenty-two. I don’t know about you, but nothing in life is that serious to me right now. School is almost over. And that’s the most serious thing about me.

“Special?” She continues. “I mean—what even is special anyway? Pfft.” I know exactly what she’s doing and I am appreciative, but my head has always been louder than anyone’s opinions of comfort. The problem is, he is special to me—but I fear that feeling is not mutual. This is not a two way street ordeal.

Tabling the conversation altogether, I switch gears. “You wanna go to South Street, again? Bar hop? I got two hours—give or take.”

I hear the sound of the doors we just came out of slam behind us.

“I'm sorry, Lana. But he really, really wants you back in the trailer.”

Blowing air from my mouth, I do a complete one-eighty on my heels. “He's not even in there. He's gonna take at least another two hours for press.”

I already know how this works. He leaves me in that hotel room for hours, working, before he has a chance to get to me. This is no different. If anything, it’ll be worse because it’s a PPV.

Her hand goes up and down as she offers me nothing. It's then I notice the large man in all black beside her. “Can I at least walk my friend back to the car? I wanna know she's safe.”

“Lana, we have security escorts for that,” she explains in that rushing hue. It does nothing to soothe my irritation of constantly being pulled like a puppet on a string. Special, alright.

“It's fine," Demi grabs my elbow, soaking up the last bit of bite-back I have for Miss Bossy. “It's fine. I'll be fine.”

“You're sure? I can come with y’all.”

“No. Believe me, if a motherfucker try anything, Bron Breaker over here will get the job done better than we can.” She motions to who I assume is supposed to be her escort back to the truck so she can go back to the hotel. “We had our fun already. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

No phone, no human interaction, and only reruns of Family Guy on the flat screen, and something close to two hours passes me by. Just when I begin to dose off, the sound of the bus door closing has me alert. I sit up wiping my eyes with my palms.

He comes busting through the curtain. Moving about in the space as if he’s the only one in here. Not sparing me a single glance. No greeting. Forget a kiss. I wasn’t expecting the sitcom, “honey, I’m home.” But damn. It’s like I’ve been warped into a year before when I met him for the first time.

He goes through the motions of his routine. The black band discarded into the nightstand drawer. He checks his phone—scrolling for only a few seconds before settling it face down. His shoes come off.

I cross my arms, over it all already. Wishing I would’ve just left with Demi. “Is this all we’re gonna do? Cause I can leave now, then.”

He has his days where’s he’s in this funk—sad or angry about something I know nothing about— and we just sit in silence mostly. Or we’ll have sex, but it’s disconnected. Sterile. Robotic almost. Like that’s the only purpose I serve. Like I'm not even a person. There’s no eye contact. No words being exchanged. Barely the inaudible “fuck,” or "shit,” from his lips. It’ll prompt me to muster up all the strength I have to not make a sound. Make myself as small as possible. Let him do his thing. And if I'm lucky he’ll find his way behind me with one heavy arm draped across my hip.

In the beginning, none of that would bother me. I’d just be lucky to even be in his presence. But I would think that we’re miles away from that. That hasn't happened in a while, but I guess we're overdue for one of those nights. I don't understand what the fuck the problem is. He won the match. I'm here and I've been in here like he asked—no, demanded of me. I don’t understand what the need for me to be here is, if he won’t even acknowledge me. It’s pathetic—on both of our parts.

“Take your clothes off.”

“What?” I ask shakily. His words like blows to my stomach. He finally feels the need to grace me with eye contact. I begin to shake my head in protest.

“No—that’s all you wanna do? Take your clothes off, then.” He’s never looked more like the man from TV than he does in this moment. Calculated, mean as hell, and irritable. It’s unsettling. I don’t know that version of him. It rattles me.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” I try my best to keep my voice steady. If I wasn’t staring I would’ve missed the slight eye roll as he turns his back to me.

I leave him to do whatever, while fighting the urge to set these tears free. Redirecting my gaze to my hands after he removes his hoodie, revealing a black tee. I play myself every time I get too comfortable in this. Fucking stupid.

The fierce sound of his hiss has my head snapping in his direction. I catch him in the middle of pulling the shirt off his body with one arm. The scene is horrid. It’s not even the bruises— large, shapeless, globs of green and purple—that force me to stand. It's the rashes. The oh so familiar rashes. Patches of them decorating his strong back.

My eyes sting immediately at the sight, already knowing what causes rashes like that. I try to regulate the scale of my emotions—rewinding back to all the times I had to help my mom put cream on my dad from the breakouts caused by the chemo. He was always too weak to do it himself. Always in pain. My brother couldn’t help—he was off to school during the worst of it.

“Are you okay?” My voice just barely there.

He doesn’t answer. He throws the black shirt across the way and it lands on the corner loveseat. I close the space between us—in more ways than one. His broad shoulders sag, releasing a deep breath. Defeated.

I grab the familiar jar from next to him on the dresser chest, opening it to perform in muscle memory the lightest strokes to the red breakouts on his back. He’s stiff as a board. I press down and make circles until the tacky consistency dissolves into his bronze skin. Not too hard—not too soft. My mother’s instruction rings loud in my head as if she’s standing over me like she used to.

A big breath leaves him as he relaxes, finally. Shoulders not as square with his head hanging. The fight to steady my hands trembling like my bottom lip is persistent. Remembering the shame on my father’s face, as if having cancer was his fault. As if dying was something he orchestrated.

His big hand is warm and firm as he reaches to stop me. Pulling until I’m in front of him now. His broad shadow cascading over me.

I’m not sure about that four letter word, but I do know that I care deeply for this man. He is special to me. Beyond any gift or earth shattering pleasure gifted in between sheets. No—it’s way deeper than that. I recognize his pain—his fears. I’ve seen them before. Maybe in another life, I always tell myself. Or maybe our time had already came and went before. Maybe before this instance, we knew each other in a past life and got all the opportunities we lack now.

There was no wife. No kids. No cancer. No age gap. No need to hide. Things made sense. Our only concern was each other. Maybe our bodies just recognize each other and that pull I always feel is just my old self pointing me in his direction.

“Can you look at me please?” He pleads. The unfamiliar monster from before disappearing— and the gentle Joe back in his place. Hurt still painted on my face, I meet him. “I’m sorry.”

Unable to even speak—not knowing what to say—I just nod. The sincerity in his big brown eyes swallowing me whole.

I don’t even notice he’s leaning until his soft lips are on me. On my lips then to my chin. And just like that, all armor is relieved from me—and him too apparently. If my dad knew I allowed a man to talk to me the way he just had, he’d have nothing but disgust written all over his face. And for the first time ever, I feel like this is a mistake. Not just tonight, but all of it.

It was all meant to be lighthearted. Fun and adventurous. Matters of the heart and greedy emotions weren’t supposed to play the front—ever.

I don’t move as he finds his way to my jawline, nudging my head to the side with his to find my neck. He yearns for all to be forgiven and forgotten. That much is obvious. And I detest myself for being so weak. So pliable.

The heat from him transfers right to me. My insides igniting like a furnace. He knows exactly how to dissolve me and I hate—and love it all the same. Every kiss after another—a silent plea—another sorry. Turning it up a notch, I feel the roughness of his hands on my ass. Kneading the flesh like a skilled baker, earning a moan from me.

Ass up and face buried in the comforter, is how I end up. He fucks me the same way he performed tonight in the ring. Wild, dominant, and taking every opportunity to gain the upper hand. It’s passionate, but not in the traditional way.

“Ohh—fuck, baby!” I teeter the edge of pleasure and pain, tears sitting at the corners of my eyes. Blurring my already obscuring vision.

His hand is firm on my neck in a vice grip. The other resting on the curve of my back, controlling my arch. Every hit, a louder smacking in the space, feeling better than the one that comes before it. Drilling my hole like he owes it something. I end up just sliding and lying flat. It’s too much. His pace doesn’t falter. A heavy hand comes down on my ass as punishment.

“Stop running from me,” he grunts.

He attacks my ear with licks and bites and I melt like ice cream in the summer. Slowing his pace so I can feeling everything. Every vein, the slightest curve—all of it. “I thought about you all day,” he whispers. “Look at me.” I barely turn my head and he’s right there. Fine lines garnishing his flat nose as his lip curls into a slight snarl. “So fucking beautiful.” His tongue comes out and I take it. Snatching away when he switches gears from slow and deep to slow and hard. Slamming into me with the aggression of a dozen street fighters.

The kisses and licks are a thing of the past. Bites—deliberate and firm—take their place. He’s all over me. He’s everywhere. His animalistic grunts countering my helpless whines.

“It’s too good, Lana. I can’t stop,” he warns. And I already know what’s coming. Too blinded by lust and all the angst from earlier, I don’t even protest.

I must be losing my mind. The events of this weekend tainting my judgement—because the next words to leave my mouth can’t be mine.

“C-cum in me. I wanna feel it, daddy.”

“Yeah?” He questions breathless. I nod eagerly.

Slanted eyes glued to one another, he goes even harder. Meeting his peak. Mouth falling open. Swollen inside of me before he breaks free.

“Arghhh!” We moan in unison, notches of energy trickling down. Milking him. Feeling every last drop. I’m in a daze. His nose brushing and sliding against the side of my face, centering me.

“Mmm,” he hums. Pulling all the way out. I turn on my back, defeated, just to find him stroking himself back to life.

God, help me.

His fingers making a trail up and down my bare back has me fighting sleep like a newborn baby full on milk and burped already. I can hear his heartbeat. It’s strong and steady—just like him.

“Are you okay?” I finally ask.

His fingers stop, but he doesn’t answer. Resting my chin on his peck, I find his eyes in the dark. “Don’t worry about me,” is his only response.

I’m sure that weary spirit has been passed down from my mother. Lord knows, she’ll worry about the sun coming up—despite her seeing it every morning of her life. The older I get, the more I start to mimic those same habits. I worry about school and my future. I worry about my friends—Demi and Anthony—and if they’re genuinely happy with life or just going through the motions and putting on a front for me. I worry about my brother and if he’ll ever find his niche in life. My dad—praying every other night that his cell count stays at bay. And now—I worry about him. What he’s doing when he’s not with me. If he ever thinks about cutting the cord on this unstable arrangement. If he’s healthy. If all the man hours put into this job is too much for him. All day long, seven days a week, the unknown takes precedence over what I can see with my own eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I whisper. How delusional am I for noticing this is something like our one year anniversary. All the shit that’s happened in between now and then. I wonder if his scope of us even goes that wide. Instead of ruining the night, I rest my ear back flat on his chest. But his next question has me popping back up.

“Will you stay?”

He’s always so hard to read. Impenetrable at times. Tonight is no different. But I can feel something. Something in him is different. The way he asked if I would stay. If I didn’t know any better I would think he needed me here in place of want.

“I can’t,” I deny in a low tone. It’s then the question of where his family was today emerges like a horizon in my mind. Certainly he didn’t have us both here? He would’ve ended the night with her instead. Right?

A strong hand sliding up the back of my neck, holding firm to cup my head grabs my attention. “Please—stay? For me?”

Our faces just inches from connection—sanctions a real war to stand on business. My responsibilities outweigh anything going on here—but damn. Damn. If I knew I’d be straight with school in spite of missing my last two midterms, best believe, I’d stay right here. Right in this bed. Until it was time to see him win again tomorrow night.

I breathe in from my nose. A smile on my face, even though he’s hard as steel. “I can’t,” I repeat. “Believe me, if I could I would.”

It seems like forever when his eyes bounce around my face before nodding in acceptance. “I’ll be watching from home. I swear.” I reassure him, even though I’m sure he’ll throw it in the trash. My stream tomorrow is probably the last thing on his mind when he steps out and into the openness of the arena. Thousands of people screaming his name and going ballistic. That means much more to him. That’s his special.

I lay my head back to its original spot. Listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, paired with his breathing, until it grows to light snores. Wishing we could stay like this forever.

Birds of a feather. Oh, how I wish we could stick together.

A/N // this was not supposed to be this long and it was supposed to been up. life got in the way. smh anyway...

all i have to say is Joe...idc how old you are or what you've done. you could've marched with MLK... who the fuck is you talking to like that???

as always, if you read it or even a portion of it, i am forever grateful💗 feedback is welcomed.

next round of shorts before pt 4 Desires is listed on the masterlist. i have no idea when any of them will be up. i've already started all of them and they're at different stages; however, May and June will be very busy for me. i'll keep y'all updated as much as possible.

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amethystheartsx · 3 months ago

Text

LADS MEN SEEING YOU IN TRADITIONAL WEAR FOR THE FIRST TIME (Desi Version Pt.1)

(Content under the cut cause I am gonna ramble first😭)

SFW, fluff, mildly suggestive I think?

AN: guys!!!! I am crying the reaction for my last head cannon post was very overwhelming I was expecting like 5 notes and maybe 2 re blogs but damn you guys showed me so much love so I felt like it was my responsibility to pay back for such kindness, so here it is.

Also asks are open for those who want to request something, it doesn't have to be Desi centric anything you want, xx.

Ps. The outfits described are inspired by the ones I have owned lol. (Sorry got in too depth of the details you can skip thats)

Ps. Part two will be out in two days max.

Xavier

It wasn't everyday you choose to dress up in your traditional wear, not because it wasn't something you wanted it was only because there weren't that many occasions.

So, when one of you closes cousin got hitched you knew you were going to go all out, because hey! What is a Desi event, if not a better version of Met Gala.

Xavier was quite excited to see you too mostly because you would not stop buzzing about the saree you had ordered from the boutique , every time you two met since the day you ordered it, you couldn't keep your mouth shut, you chose not to show him anything or tell him the color since you wanted to see a raw reaction.

The day arrived quickly you waited for Xavier to arrive at the venue since you had went to the brides home and got ready there and went with her to the venue, as much as Xavier wanted to go with you as he felt a but awkward, he understood that right now you needed to be with your girl.

One of your other cousin escort him inside the venue as he was now also a cherished member of the family and it wasn't long when Xavier's eyes, that somehow were a little too good at spotting you no matter the crowd, fell on you and he held his breath, completely and utterly stunned.

There you stand in all your glory with a shimmering rose-gold saree that draped gracefully around you. The blouse, fitted and elegant, had delicate embroidery along the sleeves and the saree’s border was adorned with intricate silver embellishments, glinting softly like scattered stars. It hugged your frame, flowing down to the floor in smooth, silky folds. Bangles jingled on your wrists, and a golden pendant rested against collarbone beautiful and henna design on your hand and the hair up do decorated with with white flowers, completing the timeless, ethereal look. Xavier's heart was thumping loud, he gave you a once over. You looked nothing less like royalty. Some he would willingly bow his head in front of and be honored.

"Xavier!" You called out rushing towards him, or well trying too, and pulled him in an embrace and his arms wrap around you almost dropping the gift he had brought with him, catching a few look from the aunties but you did not care one bit, you had been separated far too long. "Xavier I was waiting- uh Xavier?" You pulled away from the hug to look at him only to be met with his piercing sapphire gaze "why would you deprive me of such look, my star." he almost sound offended at the fact you never graced his eyes with such astounding beauty before.

Regardless of his accusations you chuckled "are you trying to say that I look pretty?" You say your head tilted.

Xavier shakes his head with a sigh "pretty is such small word, I don't think that's how I will describe it" he says, he reaches out touch the the strand of hair that you meticulously left into curls, they wrap around his finger and Xavier leans down to kiss it since he couldn't kiss your face like he wanted, worried he might ruin the makeup. Mind full of the fact you must have spend good chunk of time and effort to perfect it for the event.

"Then how would you describe it" you poke, there was no way you would let him go, after all you wanted to look pretty for him too.

Xavier's loving gaze intensified into something more lust full "how about I show you instead my little star" he says looking down at your neck line, shamelessly peeking at cleavage and spoke "is there a room-ow" he was cut off, you pinched his arm with a flustered face "Xavier! The event haven't even started and you are trying to ruin my look" you whisper yell at him and he only smirked. "What can I say my little star, the way you look right now I will not be keeping my hands of you" Xavier declares as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and you roll your eyes "as if you ever keep your hands off me" you say and he just shrugged "I will touch what is right fully mine, you can not stop me" he says kissing the crown of your head, he could feel the pout forming on your lips. " can't you compliment me normally for once, xavy?"

His lips quirked up in smile, his hand finally moved from your waist, now holding your hand as he brings it up to his face placing gentle kiss on the knuckle, peeking at his name on your wrist, that made him much more smug "you look gorgeous my love" he kisses the fingers "graceful" another kiss, this time on the wrist right by his name "elegant and-" he takes deep breath before continuing "breathtaking"

A blush crept up your cheek and you giggled, now satisfied and you opened up your mouth to say something when one aunty who was turning green with envy, decided to interrupt "oh you two, the the function is about start move along" she scolds, Xavier turns to her his face contorted in annoyance, he looks back at you and you shook your head the turn to the lady "we will be right there, let's go Xavier!" With one last look you both left the woman alone.

And for the rest of the night Xavier followed you around holding your anchal, making sure no one bothers you in any sort of way.

Zayne

Black on black is zaynes favorite combination for most of the occasions, and even now after you had infiltrated his wardrobe and his life, he still had lots of outfit in that color code. It was your first time wearing something like this since ever since you came here to linkon it was hard to find traditional wear, zayne had it custom made it for you by a well known boutique owner, and you thought it was time to finally wear it and show it to him.

So, for tonight's hospital banquet you decided to follow that, you figured that's what he will show up in black on black again so might as well match together like the power couple you are.

So you picked out the brand new qameez suit, knowing zayne he would be nagging you in the next 5 minutes since that's when they had planned to leave the house. You picked up the pace, completing the light gold eye makeup with prominent eyeliner, stepping back you examined yourself from head to toe, feeling pretty confident in your look.

It was a simple yet stylish black outfit, consisting of a long, straight-cut qameez with subtle sequin embroidery scattered across the fabric, the shimmers under the warm light. The qameez had a round neckline and sheer, full-length sleeves with delicate patterns that added a soft texture to the otherwise plain design. Underneath, it had a matching black shalwar falling just above the ankles.

A lightweight black dupatta, its edges adorned with embroidered motifs that mirrored the design on her qameez. A small, round white clutch with a beaded pattern, which stood out against the dark tones of the attire. You add matching jhumkas.

Just then your Mr.husband called out "we are late darling" making you roll your eyes out "five more minutes!" Calling back and leaned over the counter and begin to apply a deep shade of red that looked confident and classy kind of sexy with over all look.

Zayne walked in cleaning his glasses, putting them on with practiced ease "Dear we were suppose to-" his words were caught in his throats as he looks at you "oh.." He unconsciously steps towards you while you were still applying the red lipstick adding a little bit of a gloss on top if it, your eyes moved up to look at him through the reflection "hmm?" Before going right back to task at hand, lightly smacking your lips making sure nothing was out of line.

Zayne clears his throat "nothing, its just....I was aware you'd be looking beautiful in this attire but I what I did not expect you to look this...ravishing" he breaths out. In an instant could feel swarm of butterflies creating havoc in your tummy "mhm? Ravishing? Dr. Zayne this is a modest outfit I was suppose to look modest and classy" you couldn't help but laugh at the iron as you turn to face only to meet his smoldering gaze that you were still somehow not used and got easily flustered.

He steps closer only couple feet away from you, your back pressed on the counter. "I know I am well aware, however, its not the dress my love" he holds your chin making you look up at him l, his eyes on your redden lip "its you who is ravishing" he says as he smirks, his pointy canine on display.

And just like that something in you short circuited, stuttering incoherently you tried to shoo him off saying you needed to find your heels, but he remain firm. "I got you something" he says in his breathy tone opening the jacket of his coat and fishing out two pair of gajrays, that he wordlessly puts on you and you had the biggest smile on your face that was until you noticed he was wearing grey and brown suit instead. Zayne notices your brows knit together and he knew what was coming, you going on a rampage "zaynie, I thought you were going to wear black you always wear black all the time and so I wore black too I told you I was gonna wear the black attire you got, and so you should have gotten the hint to wear black too instead you wear grey and fricken brown I mean we were suppose to look like power couple tonight mmf-" he cuts you off, a finger pressed on the plush of your lips "no need to be fussy I'll go change for you, begum" and just like that you were melted, making his smirk bigger, tsk its too damn easy now for him. You nod and he removes his finger, red stain of your lips on his finger that he licks off making you blush harder "okay okay go now" you says pushing him out not wanting to look at his smug face because damn it this man had you eating out of his palm at times.

And you know what? You wouldn't have it any other way.

Rafayel

Rafayel had been screaming-crying-throwing up, begging on the floor, for you to wear a lehnga for him. He had saw you once scrolling through your Pinterest looking at pretty lehnga and was hit with tremendous force of inspiration. Rafayel had painted you, a lot, like way over the normal amount should be. In many ways and using different color hues and settings, they were all so stunning, you loved them all so much and honestly it was such and ego boost every time he showed his painting of you, but he always complained about not being able to capture your true beauty. That was until he saw you looking at the Pinterest and realized he hadn't seen you in your traditional wear ever, let alone paint you in it, and right after that day he had been on your case to wear it for you.

Its not that you didnt want to wear it was just that you couldn't find one. When you made the mistake of telling him that you found him on the phone with none other then The Zainab Chotani. You knew you had to intervene. You told him you will find a dress on your own but it was too late he had placed the order one of the elites of south Asian fashion because of course his darling couldn't have anything less then that.

"Cutieeeee how much longerrrr?" Rafayel whines from outside the locked room, you had strictly told him not to enter or he will be getting his ass kicked, as protest rafayel had camped outside, sitting by the door, waiting.

Once you were ready you took a deep breath and leave the room. She made her way to the studio and sees him sitting on the stool with a big canvas in front of him, he was sulking ofcourse.

"Just a little longer this stupid fricken teeka, is NOT fixing" you reply to him, it was taking long yes because your beloved lemurian had ordered you a Bridal lehnga. you could here shuffling outside followed by loud knocking "then open the door and let me in I'll help" the impatient artist says but you you wouldn't let him nuh uh. "Rafayel I am almost done please just go to the studio I'll be there damn!" You exasperated "fine...always so mean to me" he mumbles and steps back going back to the studio.

You wore a stunning sky-blue bridal lehenga, intricately embroidered with shimmering silver and gold threadwork. When you twirl the lehenga flared gracefully like gentle waves of the sea, detailed patterns across the skirt, which caught the light with every movement. The fitted blouse was equally adorned with embellishments, a modest neckline and long sleeves that added an elegant touch.

"Rafayel....I am here" she says and he turns too look at you excitement brimming his eyes but that soon turned into awe.

Draped over one shoulder was a rich maroon velvet shawl, contrasting beautifully with the cool blue tones of her outfit. The shawl was bordered with elaborate gold embroidery and scalloped edges, giving it a regal finish. Another lighter blue dupatta, matching the lehenga, was delicately placed over her head.

Her jewelry was traditional and elaborate, a maang tikka rested on her forehead, a teardrop-shaped pendant. She wore a choker necklace layered with cascading strands of pearls a visible ode to his lemurian heritage, adding depth and luxury to her look. Her hands were adorned with intricate henna designs, enhancing the overall bridal look.

And rafayel....well poor guy had fallen from his stool, he had tried to get up very quickly and tripped. "Raffy!" You tried to approach him but he was on his feet already moving towards you "I am fine I am okay, its just you....wow" he breaths his hand reaching out barely touch her face, an artist admiring a masterpiece, scared to ruin it. "You like it?" You ask holding his hand leaning onto his touch. "I love it" he replies in a reverent tone.

Rafayel holds both of your hands kissing each of them, the action making you blush a crimson shade, turning your face away "don't" he warns "let me admire you" he says as you turn back to him. Rafayel drops to his knees feeling like thats how he should be, where he should be. "Maybe I should just marry you now, its been too.damn.long" he says vulnerability lacing his voice.

The thought made you giddy and you pinch his cheek "well i am in a bridal lehnga, let's just do it" you says and he smirks getting up from his spot and aiming straight to get his coat "let me find my shoes and we are done" he says making you giggle "you know I am joking you silly fish" you follow him and soft sound of your Bengals echoes. Rafayel turns to you and pout "tsk now that's just mean, but whatever you say cutie, just know I will not be waiting long" he says and make you roll your eyes at him again until you see him going over his canvas and removing it

"I am, its just this canvas isn't big enough to capture what I have in mind" rafayel smirks.

"Wait weren't you going to paint me?"

And this is basically the story behind his mural of you in the living room, you with your lehnga all spread out and him on with his head on your lap.

234 notes · View notes

furioussheepluminary · 2 months ago

Text

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab! reader, partners in crime

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Chapter Synopsis: the charity event holds lots of secrets, familiar faces and tense moments Chan and Y/N need to get out alive..

Warnings: TENSION, violence, tiny mentions of Chan's past, in a way

A/n: the plot unwinds here I ain't gonna say much but...pay attention! If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't

previously... next...

The moment Y/N and Chan stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The grandeur of the venue was almost overwhelming an opulent ballroom bathed in golden light, the soft glow from towering crystal chandeliers casting delicate reflections across the marble floors. Everything about the space exuded luxury, from the sheer height of the arched ceilings adorned with intricate gold detailing to the cascading floral arrangements decorating every table. The air carried the faint scent of fresh roses and expensive perfume, blending seamlessly with the subtle notes of aged wine and gourmet cuisine.

Elegant couples glided across the room, draped in designer fabrics and priceless jewelry that caught the light with every graceful movement. The hum of polite conversation filled the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter from clusters of high-profile guests. Waiters, dressed in pristine white uniforms, weaved expertly through the crowd, silver trays balanced effortlessly in their hands, offering glasses of the finest champagne and hors d’oeuvres that looked almost too exquisite to eat. To the left, a grand stage stood in the spotlight, framed by velvet curtains and a sleek podium. A large screen behind it displayed images of past charity projects, highlighting the impact of the evening’s donations. Beneath the stage, members of the press loitered subtly, their eyes sharp, scanning the room for anything worth reporting.

The crowd itself was a curated mix of the elite—business moguls, celebrities, influential politicians, and heirs to empires. Men in sharply tailored suits stood in small groups, discussing investments and alliances, while women in elegant gowns adorned with shimmering embellishments whispered secrets behind glasses of imported champagne.

In the farthest corner, a live jazz band played a smooth, rhythmic tune, the soft saxophone melody adding a sultry undertone to the night’s proceedings. There was a certain finesse to the way the guests moved, as if they all belonged to an exclusive, unspoken world where power and wealth were the only currencies that mattered.

As Y/N and Chan took it all in, a faint crackle came through the small earpiece tucked discreetly behind her hair. Jisung’s voice came through, casual but laced with curiosity. “Alright, lovebirds, tell me what’s it like in there? Are we talking stiff businessmen or some Great Gatsby type of madness?”

Y/N’s lips quirked up slightly at Jisung’s question, knowing he’d get a kick out of the details. She subtly turned her head, pretending to adjust her earring as she whispered into the hidden mic, “A bit of both. Picture a ballroom dripping in gold, chandeliers the size of small cars, and enough expensive cologne in the air to suffocate a lesser mortal. Everyone here looks like they own an island or at least know someone who does. It’s luxury at its finest, Ji.”

Jisung let out a low whistle through the comms. “Damn. Sounds like I’d stick out like a sore thumb in my hoodie and ripped jeans.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly. “Yeah, you definitely would. It’s like stepping into a movie.”

There was a pause before Jisung hummed. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.” A few seconds passed, followed by the distinct sound of keys clacking in his background. “Logging into the venue’s camera feed now… Got it.” Y/N resisted the urge to glance around for the cameras, knowing it would look suspicious. Instead, she let her eyes flick toward Chan, who was scanning the room with that quiet intensity of his. The moment Jisung had full access, his voice came back over the line, now tinged with amusement.

“Ohhh, yeah. This is straight out of a spy movie. I see you two, looking all fancy. Damn, Y/N, you clean up nice.”

She smirked. “Was there ever a doubt?” Jisung chuckled. “Fair point. Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for anything shady. You two just keep up the ‘happy couple’ act.” Chan, who had been silent until now, finally spoke—his voice low enough that only Y/N would catch it. “You sure you can handle this, Jisung?”

A scoff came through the comms. “Please, this is child’s play. Just don’t do anything that’ll make me have to hack into another system to cover your ass.” Y/N exhaled softly, steadying herself. The night had only just begun.

Jisung’s voice crackled through the comms, his usual playfulness laced with something sharper. "Well, well, well… Look who decided to make an appearance." Y/N resisted the urge to look up immediately, instead reaching for a champagne flute from a passing waiter to maintain their cover. "Who?" she asked, bringing the glass to her lips.

There was a brief pause as Jisung zoomed in on the feed. "Our guy is at the far end of the room, near the bar. And guess what? He’s talking with a bunch of suits. But here’s the fun part—Reynolds is among them."

Y/N’s fingers tightened slightly around the delicate stem of the flute. "You’re joking." Chan, who had been scanning the room himself, stilled. His jaw clenched slightly before he turned his body just enough to look in that direction without drawing suspicion. His grip on Y/N’s waist tightened subtly. "I see him," he muttered under his breath.

The same Reynolds who had made their lives hell before disappearing into the shadows. And now, here he was, laughing, drinking, looking completely at ease among the city’s elite as if he wasn’t a snake in a tailored suit.

"This just got a whole lot more interesting," Jisung murmured. "What’s the play? Do we engage, or do we keep our distance?"

Y/N felt Chan’s fingers twitch against her back, a silent war waging within him. Whatever they did next could change the entire course of the night.

Petrov stood near the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling the amber liquid as he engaged in conversation with the other elites. His sharp gaze scanned the crowd lazily until it landed on her. Y/N had only meant to take a fleeting glance, just enough to confirm Jisung’s intel, but the moment their eyes met, she knew she had made a mistake.

Petrov smirked. It was slow, deliberate, the kind of smirk that made her stomach churn with unease. He took his time raking his gaze over her, eyes dark with amusement as if he could already sense her hesitance. Chan, who had been watching closely, moved in an instant. His arm curled around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into him, his grip just firm enough to make a statement. The shift was subtle, but effective Chan was no longer just an escort or an arm candy date. He was a man who was staking a claim.

Y/N felt the tension roll off him as he leaned in, voice dropping low, meant only for her. "You need to find a way to get him alone." She blinked up at him, taken aback. "Why me?"

Chan exhaled sharply, his jaw ticking as if the answer was obvious. "Because you’re a woman."

She stared at him, incredulous. "That’s it? That’s your whole reasoning?"

Chan gave a small, almost exasperated smirk. "That means no further explanation."

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She knew he wasn’t wrong Petrov was the type of man who saw women as easy distractions, someone to toy with. That was exactly the kind of arrogance they needed to exploit.

Jisung’s voice crackled in her ear. "Damn, Chan, that was the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard also, he’s still staring. Do something before he walks over."

Y/N barely had a second to react before Chan’s hold on her tightened. His arm stayed firm around her waist, his other hand rising to gently grip her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes, dark and unwavering, bore into hers.

"I have to kiss you."

Her breath hitched. "Excuse me?!"

Chan didn’t flinch at her reaction. If anything, his grip remained steady, unwavering. "If we want him to come to us, we need to make it look like you're someone worth stealing attention for."

She scoffed, eyes narrowing. "So your grand plan is to put on a little show?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Y/N." His tone was firmer now, a quiet warning. "You have to be serious about this. You saw how he looked at you he’s interested. And the only thing that will make him act faster is competition."

Her lips parted, ready to protest again, but she had nothing to fire back with. Chan was right. Petrov wasn’t the type to sit back and wait. If he saw something—or in this case, someone—he wanted, he’d go after it. And right now, Y/N was about to become his next pursuit.

She inhaled sharply, her pulse racing. "This is a terrible idea."

Chan’s thumb brushed along her hip, his voice low and coaxing. "Then let’s make it count."

Before she could talk herself out of it, Petrov’s gaze landed on her once more. The moment Chan noticed, he wasted no time.

In one swift motion, he pulled her flush against him, his hand slipping from her waist to cradle the back of her neck. And then, he kissed her.

But God, it wasn’t just a kiss. Chan kissed her with a purpose; hot, possessive, consuming. His lips moved against hers like he was proving a point, like he was branding her with his touch. The world around them blurred, the soft hum of music, the murmurs of the gala guests all of it faded into nothing. Y/N barely had a moment to react before she melted into it, fingers instinctively gripping the lapels of his suit. His other hand tightened against her waist, pressing her closer, deepening the kiss like he was daring Petrov to do something about it.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were putting on a show. She knew this was for the mission, for baiting Petrov.

But the way Chan kissed her slow at first, then rougher, hungrier made it dangerously easy to forget.

As their lips parted, Y/N barely had time to catch her breath. Chan didn’t move away. His forehead rested against hers, his breaths slightly heavier than before, his hold on her lingering. His fingers stayed at the curve of her waist, his touch warm and possessive.

The air between them was thick, charged with something neither of them wanted to name. Y/N’s heart pounded, her lips still tingling from the kiss. Then, in a voice low enough for only her to hear, Chan murmured, “Look at him.” Her breath hitched. She didn’t need to ask who.

“Slowly,” Chan instructed, voice like silk laced with quiet dominance. “Teasingly.”

Y/N swallowed, gathering herself before her gaze slid past Chan’s shoulder.

There Petrov stood, watching. His smirk had grown, intrigue flashing in his eyes. Exactly what they needed. Chan’s grip on her waist subtly tightened, his lips ghosting over her ear as he continued giving quiet directions.

“Now, kiss me again,” he murmured. “Soft. Just a peck. And whisper something romantic. Make me smile.” Her fingers curled slightly against his suit. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before tilting her head up and brushing the softest kiss against his lips.

Chan barely reacted, only his hold twitching slightly.

Then, her lips moved near his ear, whispering, “We should do this more often.” She felt the sharp exhale against her cheek, the subtle curve of his lips as he fought back a smirk.

She pulled away, giving him the smallest, knowing smile before finally slipping out of his hold.

And just like that, Petrov took the bait.

Y/N made her way to the bar, her pulse still thrumming with the lingering adrenaline of the kiss. She could still feel Chan’s lips on hers, the heat of his hands at her waist, the way his voice had dropped into something dark and commanding. It had been a kiss meant to lure their target, but it had done something entirely different to her.

She exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away as she leaned against the bar, ordering a drink to steady herself. The air in the room felt warmer now, buzzing with the energy of the gala, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clinking of glasses.

As she reached for her drink, her gaze instinctively searched for Chan. He had blended into the crowd effortlessly, now engaged in casual conversation with some wealthy-looking businessman. The way he carried himself—relaxed, confident—made it seem like he belonged in this world, like he wasn’t currently running an undercover mission.

But then, a voice crackled in her ear.

“Y/N,” Jisung’s voice was low, but there was an amused lilt to it. “Your guy is on the move.”

She stiffened slightly, adjusting her grip on her glass.

“How close?” she whispered, tilting her head just slightly so it wouldn’t look like she was speaking to herself.

“Hmm,” Jisung hummed, clearly checking the feed. “About fifteen feet. And closing.”

Her stomach twisted not with fear, but with anticipation.

“I hope you’ve figured out a way to lure him,” Jisung added, and she could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Good luck.” With that, the comms went quiet, leaving her standing there, heartbeat loud in her ears. She took one last, slow sip of her drink before setting it down.

Then, she turned. Y/N's fingers wrapped gently around the chilled glass, but she barely took a sip. Her heart was still racing from the kiss with Chan. Her eyes flicked across the room until she spotted him. He was blending easily into a nearby conversation, laughing at something someone said, but she could see how his eyes still tracked her through the crowd. Then came the quiet shift. The presence.

“Miss,” a low, accented voice purred beside her.

Y/N turned slowly to find herself face-to-face with Petrov. Up close, he was just as imposing tall, refined, charming in a dangerous way. His suit was custom, expensive, and everything about him screamed power. But it was the glint in his eyes, that predatory edge, that reminded her exactly who he was. “You’ve been catching my eye all night,” Petrov said, stepping closer, his tone smooth. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d let me introduce myself.”

Y/N smiled, soft and shy playing the part. “It seems I’ve caught quite the important man’s attention, then.” Petrov chuckled, eyes raking over her slowly. “You’re not just beautiful, you’re quick with your words. I like that.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “And I like women who aren’t afraid of power.”

She let her lips twitch upward, keeping her breath even. “Do you say that to all the women you meet at these things?” “Only the ones who look like trouble,” he said, sipping his drink. “Who’s the man you were with?”

“Just a friend,” she replied smoothly, brushing her hair back. “Someone who keeps me out of trouble.”

“Hmm,” Petrov said, clearly not convinced. “That kiss looked a little too convincing for ‘just a friend.’” He arched a brow, studying her. “But perhaps trouble is more fun, no?” Her pulse jumped, but she kept her tone playful. “Maybe. Depends on the kind of trouble you mean.”

He smiled at that. “Why don’t we find somewhere quieter? I’d love to hear more about you… without all the noise.” In her ear, Jisung’s voice crackled to life. “This is it, Y/N. He’s biting. Keep going let him chew. Just a little longer.”

Y/N gave Petrov a soft, teasing smile. “Lead the way.”

Petrov’s presence seemed to swallow the space around Y/N, but she kept her expression soft, coy—like she was flattered but not overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, Jisung’s voice crackled quietly in Chan’s earpiece. “Hey, you good?” he asked, a note of teasing curiosity in his tone. “That was… some performance.” Chan cleared his throat and subtly stepped away from the small circle of idle socialites. His gaze flicked to Y/N and Petrov at the bar, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

Jisung chuckled. “Yeah, sure you are.” Then his tone shifted, more serious. “Alright, focus up—change of plans for you. So quit drinking. There’s a guy two tables from your nine o'clock, navy suit, thinning hair, holding a scotch. He’s got a keycard clipped inside his inner pocket. We need that.” Chan’s eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on the man in question. “You want me to pickpocket him.”

“Bingo,” Jisung replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll need that card to access the west wing security panel. You’ve got one chance so make it clean.”

Chan exhaled slowly, brushing his hand down his lapel to center himself, then started moving through the crowd with quiet precision, eyes trained on the mark. Chan drifted through the crowd with practiced ease, a champagne flute in hand and his expression cool, unreadable. The ballroom shimmered with the glitter of crystal chandeliers and opulence, masking the tension that simmered beneath his calm exterior. His eyes landed on the target, a middle-aged man in a dark navy suit, his badge glinting faintly against his lapel. The key card.

“Chan, twenty degrees to your right,” Jisung’s voice whispered through the comms. “That’s our guy. The access badge is clipped to his inner coat pocket. You have a sorta ten-second window while he’s distracted.”

Chan moved in, just another face in a sea of luxury. He approached the man, bumping into him ever so lightly, the clink of glasses a convenient cover.

“Apologies,” he said smoothly, laying a steadying hand on the man's arm while his other slipped into the inner coat pocket with deft precision. A flick of his wrist—clean, practiced, invisible. The key card vanished into Chan’s palm before the man even realized he’d been touched. “Got it,” Chan whispered. “Nice,” Jisung muttered, sounding genuinely impressed. “Tuck it into your belt loop, just in case. Now…”

A pause. “Switching focus. Y/N, Petrov’s leading you somewhere. I’ve got eyes. You’re heading down a private hallway on the east side. Could be a terrace or a VIP room.”

Y/N followed Petrov’s lead, heart still echoing with the memory of Chan’s kiss. Petrov’s presence was commanding, smooth in a way that made her both alert and oddly calm like stepping into enemy territory wearing silk and confidence.

“You handle him like a charm, Y/N,” Jisung said softly in her earpiece. “But stay sharp. If he offers you a drink—don’t take it. And stall as long as possible. We need to find out where he keeps his passcodes.”

Petrov led Y/N with a confident, knowing gait his hand hovering just close enough to her lower back to signal dominance without touching. His cologne was thick and intoxicating, and every calculated step of his reeked of money, power, and danger. She kept her pace languid, careful to play the role, coy but not naïve, inviting but not desperate.

They stopped just outside a private lounge, its door guarded by a sensor. Petrov glanced at her, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You don’t seem like the usual charity types,” he said in that thick accent, tilting his head with amusement. “Who sent you?”

Y/N gave him a subtle smile, stepping closer, allowing the soft glimmer of her gown to brush against him. “A girl can’t enjoy an expensive evening without a reason?”

He chuckled lowly. “You look like you enjoy more than expensive evenings. But you… you’re hiding something, no?” She tilted her head, her lips barely parted. “Aren’t we all?”

Jisung whispered in her ear through the comms.

“Keep him talking. You're doing great. Try to steer him toward Nightfall. Slowly.” Petrov leaned against the wall now, eyes tracing every inch of her face. “Tell me something… Do you believe in noble causes?”

Y/N swallowed subtly, then nodded. “I think the world needs people willing to do difficult things. Unseen things. For the greater good.” He raised a brow. “That sounds like something I once believed.” He paused, staring at her more intently now. “Have you ever heard of Operation Nightfall?”

Bingo.

Y/N hesitated, lowering her gaze just enough to seem cautious but not shocked. “Wasn’t that some old military intel drop or something? A failed coup?”

Petrov gave a low chuckle and shook his head. “That’s what they called it on paper. But in truth, it was something else entirely.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “It was an experiment… on loyalty. On silence. On what people would kill to protect. And what they'd destroy if it meant being remembered.”

Y/N's pulse raced. “Why are you telling me this?”

He leaned in, lips near her ear. “Because I want to see what you'll do with it.” Before she could respond, he tapped the scanner and the door opened with a soft click. He gestured her in.

“I’ve got visuals,” Jisung told them. “Chan, you’re clear to approach the west wing once you secure the card. Y/N… keep him talking. Let’s see what secrets our charming Russian might spill.”

Y/N nodded subtly, stepped inside with measured grace—and the real game began.

Chan ducked behind a column, out of sight of the main ballroom. He slid the stolen keycard from his coat pocket and held it up to a wall panel tucked discreetly beside a locked hallway. It beeped once—access granted.

“Jisung?” he murmured, eyes scanning the hallway beyond.

“Yup. That hallway leads to a private server room. That’s where the encrypted drive’s supposed to be. We need a full download of Petrov’s files if we want dirt on Nightfall’s remnants.”

Chan moved fast and low. Inside the server room, ambient red light pulsed over rows of machines. He located the correct terminal, slotted in a tiny black device Jisung had prepped, and tapped the interface.

“Download in progress,” Jisung confirmed, typing on his end. “Keep it running. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

Back in the lounge, Petrov poured two glasses of brandy, handing one to YN. He stared at her with growing curiosity, suspicion laced with intrigue. “So tell me…” he said, swirling his glass. “Why do you really care about knowing Nightfall? It’s been buried for years.”

YN took a sip, eyes meeting his. “Because the ones who buried it never paid for the lives they ruined.” Petrov stared at her silent for a beat too long. Then he smiled faintly. “You're dangerous.”

She smiled back. “Only when I need to be.”

Petrov leaned against the velvet wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on Y/N like a panther cornering prey. The low lighting carved his face into harsh angles. Her drink sat forgotten on the ledge beside him as he spoke, his voice smooth but laced with something biting. “You know…” he drawled, stepping slightly closer. “I swear I’ve seen your face before. Not here, of course. Somewhere more… volatile.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten subtly beneath the silk of her dress. Her lips parted, but she kept her smile practiced, soft, flirtatious. “I get that a lot,” she said lightly, brushing a curl from her shoulder and avoiding direct eye contact for just a second too long. Her heartbeat started to race.

Petrov smirked, noting her hesitation. “Do you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because I never forget a face. Especially not ones that make my instincts twitch.” She chuckled, smooth on the outside but screaming inside. “Then I hope your instincts are saying I’m just a pretty face with a taste for expensive wine and dangerous men.”

Jisung’s voice crackled. “He’s testing you, keep your cool. You’re doing good.”

But she could already feel it, Petrov was circling in, mentally, emotionally. Slowly twisting suspicion into something darker. She tried to reel it back with subtle confidence, touching his sleeve lightly, letting her voice drop. “You’re curious. I like that. Curiosity means you’re smart… and smart men, they’re the kind who know things others don’t. Like secrets. Like… what Operation Nightfall really was.”

His expression barely twitched, but his eyes flared like lit gasoline. The air thickened.

The whirr of the data drive hummed behind Chan as he crouched over the rack of blinking servers, fingers moving across the compact keyboard like water, fast, deadly. The room was cold, sterile, dimly blue-lit. “Jisung,” he hissed, “how much longer is this going to take?”

“Couple more minutes. Just keep the line open and stay quiet.”

But then—click clack—footsteps.

Several.

Chan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t turn, not yet. Instead, he pulled a micro-blade from under his sleeve and slipped it between his fingers, body half-shadowed. Two men appeared in the doorway—security. Heavyset, armored, rifles slung and ready. They stopped when they saw him, confused, then suspicious.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” one barked, stepping forward.

Chan stood slowly, slipping his blade back into his coat and plastering on the dumbest grin he could muster.

“Room service,” he said, gesturing to the servers. “You guys are out of data… figured I’d refill it.”

“Wrong answer,” the taller one muttered and lunged. Chan ducked, instantly pivoting and slamming his elbow into the man's gut. The guard staggered, and Chan used that split-second to swipe the pistol from his hip. The second guard fired but Chan was already moving.

He dropped low, sliding behind a server tower as the bullet cracked through plastic. He returned fire once non-lethal round hitting the second man in the knee. The man crumpled with a cry. The first guard was up again, charging, Chan grabbed a network cable and yanked it hard, whipping it across the guard’s face before driving his knee into the man’s ribs, then slamming his head against the wall with a brutal thunk. The guard collapsed.

“Gee Jisung,” he grunted, sliding the pistol back into his waistband. “Would’ve been nice to know I had company!”

“You’re welcome,” Jisung replied lazily. “The download’s almost done. Try not to die before it finishes.”

Chan exhaled sharply, sweat dotting his temple. He glanced back at the server the drive was at 87%. He turned toward the door, locking it with a quick override, and returned to his crouch.

“Come on… come on,” he murmured. “Y/N better be buying me a drink after all this.”

The echo of heavy boots down the hallway grew louder then came the pounding.

BANG. BANG.

Chan’s head snapped toward the locked door as it shuddered with the force. He muttered, sweat sliding down his temple as he kept an eye on the loading bar on the screen 92%…

“Jisung,” Chan hissed into the comms. “How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here?” Static. Then Jisung’s voice, painfully casual.

“Through the door, obviously. Or, you know, out the window—do a little parkour.”

Chan’s jaw clenched. “You’re a menace.”

95%… 98%… 100%. The console pinged.

He yanked the drive from the terminal just as the door burst open with a bang. Two armed guards stormed in. “Hey! Hands where we can see—”

But Chan was already moving.

He ducked the first swing, slammed his shoulder into the guard’s gut, sending him crashing against the server rack. The second drew a stun baton, swinging for Chan’s head. Chan caught the man's wrist mid-air, twisting it with a brutal torque that forced the baton to clatter to the floor. He landed a hard elbow to the guard’s throat, kicked him square in the chest and then took a punch to his ribs from the first guy, who’d recovered.

He staggered, wheezing, but used the momentum to swing a spinning back kick into the first guard’s knee, buckling it with a sickening crack.

Blood smeared across his knuckles, pain throbbed through his side, but Chan didn’t stop. He shoved the last man against the server, slamming the butt of the stun baton into the side of his temple, and watched him crumple.

Breathing hard, he stumbled toward the exit, clutching the drive.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Jisung chimed in.

“Fuck you.”

“You good?”

“Peachy. Bleeding, but peachy. What about Y/N?”

The air was warm and musky with aged whiskey and cologne now. Petrov sat back on the plush leather sofa, his fingers idly rolling the rim of his glass. Y/N, she sat next to him now, leaning closer, her knee brushing his, her lips curled in soft intrigue.

“You’re a hard man to get alone,” she murmured, tilting her head coyly.

He grinned lazily. “That’s because I enjoy being chased.” Y/N gave a breathy laugh, masking her nerves. Inside, her pulse was still scattered from Chan’s kiss, her thoughts fractured but her mission came first.

“I heard you were in Havana last year. Around the time of Nightfall?” she asked, feigning ignorance. That hit the nerve.

Petrov’s gaze sharpened—just for a second—before he masked it with a smile. He leaned in, his voice lowering. “You’ve got interesting sources. Not many people even know about that name. Let alone dare speak it.”

Y/N blinked slowly, her fingers ghosting over his wrist. “I like danger.”

He chuckled, letting the silence hang for a moment. Then he leaned back, sipping his drink, eyes never leaving her. “It was a slaughterhouse. That palace… you know the one in Cuba? Belonged to a general’s mistress. They were housing something there something classified. And then someone leaked intel, and boom… everyone died. Friendly and enemy. Fire, steel, and screams. Left no one standing.”

Y/N’s hand froze slightly. That aligned with what Jisung suspected. Operation Nightfall was a setup and someone made sure there were no survivors.

She swallowed. “And you walked out of that alive?”

Petrov smiled wider, colder.

“Barely. But I never forget a battlefield. Or the faces I see there.” His gaze locked on hers. “Like yours.” Her stomach flipped. Shit. The tension snapped in her spine, but she forced a laugh.

“Are you saying I look like someone you left behind?”

“Maybe.” He leaned forward. “Or maybe you’re just not as much of a stranger as you pretend.” She covered her pulse with her glass, trying to steady her breathing. And through it all, Jisung’s voice buzzed softly in her ear:

“That was way too close. Stay with him. I think we’ve found the missing link.”

Petrov's eyes danced over her face, predatory and amused. “You have a lovely way of speaking,” he said, voice deep and accented.

Y/N's heart skipped. She let out a soft, throaty laugh and tilted her head coyly. “I get that a lot. Must be the bone structure.”

Petrov narrowed his eyes, but just as he was about to press deeper—

A firm knock. The heavy wooden door creaked open and one of his security men stepped in briskly. His suit was ruffled, and he was slightly out of breath. “Sir,” the guard said in hushed urgency. “There’s been a situation. One of the restricted zones was triggered.”

Petrov’s brows tightened. “Where exactly?”

The guard leaned in, whispering something too low for Y/N to catch.

Whatever it was, it worked.

Petrov straightened with a grunt and set his drink down. “Forgive me, darling,” he said, voice clipped and irritated. “Duty calls. We’ll pick this up later.”

Y/N nodded, feigning a disappointed smile. “Of course. I’ll be right here.” He didn’t wait to respond, already halfway out the door with his guards in tow.

The moment it shut—

“Y/N,” Jisung’s voice filtered into her ear. “Time to move. Meet Chan at the eastern balcony third floor. Now.”

She rose, heart still buzzing with the closeness of danger, and silently slipped toward the hallway, heels quiet on the marble as she vanished from the lounge and into the shadows of the corridor.

The air outside was cooler, tinged with the faint scent of high-end cigars and champagne flutes discarded by the edge of the railing. Soft jazz floated in from the ballroom below, muffled by heavy glass doors that clicked shut behind Y/N as she stepped onto the marble balcony. Her heels echoed faintly against the stone, slowing when she spotted him.

Chan leaned against the balustrade, slightly hunched, his tux jacket wrinkled and one sleeve stained with something too dark to be wine. His knuckles tinted red, and there was a tear at the edge of his dress shirt where it had clearly been grabbed in a scuffle.

Y/N blinked. “Why do you always end up getting beat up the second I’m not around?”

He turned his head toward her, breath still uneven, but smirked dryly without answering. Instead, he pulled the drive from inside his jacket and held it up between two fingers, its metal case glinting under the city lights. “Let’s just hope this little guy has what we need.”

Y/N stepped closer, her tone dropping. “I managed to get something too.”

That caught his attention. Chan turned to face her more fully, eyes scanning hers.

She kept her voice low. “Petrov mentioned Cuba. The palace. It wasn’t just a base it was a front. Something happened there during Operation Nightfall, and it involved you. He didn’t say what exactly… but whatever it was, it was big enough to make him stop talking when a guard interrupted us.”

Chan’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes a ripple of unease or something buried deeper. He nodded once, jaw tightening.

Just then, Jisung’s voice crackled through their comms. “Okay lovebirds, time’s up. I’ve got cameras blinking red on your floor and guards getting way too curious about who’s missing from the charity bingo.”

Y/N glanced back toward the ballroom. “So what now?”

“Now,” Jisung said, “you leave. Subtly. Because if anyone figures out you’re not here to sip overpriced wine and fund endangered birds, this whole thing goes to hell.” Chan exhaled heavily, slipping the drive back into his pocket. “He’s right.”

He offered her his arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Y/N looped her arm through his, masking the adrenaline still coursing through her veins with a soft smile. From anyone watching, they were just another power couple leaving early maybe to avoid the press, maybe to steal a moment alone. But beneath the surface, beneath the lights and silk and music, the real mission had just begun.

And the ghosts of Cuba were no longer buried.

😤

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littlemissmiller · 1 year ago

Text

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒫𝓁𝒾𝓃𝓉𝒽 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓏𝑒

Pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!himbo!reader

Summary: snow got rid of highbottom before he could reveal his secrets to winning the games and with with lucy gray back in twelve, all he wants is you. with the victory of the games done, there is only one thing left, the Plinth family fortune. at the award dinner however, coriolanus thinks you’re not behaving just how he’d like it, so he decides to do something about it….

Warning: 21+ (drinking), smut, praise kink, dom!snow, sub! reader, degeneration (use of whore, slut), spanking, p in v, oral (m receiving), cum play, rough sex, dirty talk, possession, jealousy, slight obsession, reader is innocent (but not a virgin)

Word count: 7k

A/N: y’all….y’all this one is spiccccy like 🌶️🔥🥵 idk where this came from but another one just sitting in the vault…and i also realized that i wrote this before i wrote Bad Press and His Good Girl (go read those if you haven’t) and this one is kind of both of those stories combined. i think they walked so this one could run in a way because even some of these lines shocked me 🤭 so anyways strap in, buckle up, and enjoy ❦

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━━━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Tonight will be perfect. The Plinth Prize dinner. To celebrate the young academy student who won the prestigious award. Coriolanus buttons his new, freshly pressed white linen shirt. It was custom made to his exact measurements and Tigris had taken it upon herself to adorn the shirt with a little color and design. A simple red rose on the shirt pocket. It worked well as a simple white button up, even with the rose hidden under a blazer or sports coat, the subtle design is perfect. He straightens up when he hears a small, repetitive knock at his door. So quiet and timid and afraid. He knows it’s you, but calls out asking who it is anyways. You open the door and peek inside.

“My love? The Grandma’am says breakfast is ready.”

Coriolanus looks over his shoulder. There you stand, halfway in the doorway. Your eyes wide and lips showing him a soft smile.

He smiles back and as he finishes the last button, he takes a seat on the edge of his bed. He laces up a pair of black dress shoes. You tentatively walk further into the room, your eyes simply admiring the man you get to call your own.

“You’re here early today, pet.” He smiles glancing up at you

“Of course. I want to soak in every possible moment I have with you today. Today is all about you. How smart you are.” You say taking a step towards him. “How clever and ambitious.” You take another couple of steps. Coriolanus is now swelling with so much pride he can barely contain himself. You know how your words stir him up.

“Come sit.” Coriolanus commands, patting his leg, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

You glide over to him, landing softly in this thigh. You wrap your arms around his neck and instantly put his hand in on your body. His finger trails up and down your thigh slowly, gently back and forth.

“My life is about to change, dove. Soon The Snow’s will have a nicer penthouse, or a new home entirely. With a garden for the Grandma’am, and a studio for Tigris.” He whispers, beginning to place a soft kiss on your neck. “And for you. A beautiful bedroom, with a balcony and a bath. Big enough for us both to lay in. While our maid brings us posca to sip. Better yet, champagne. Would you like that?” He asks, his hot breath fanning your ear. You’re too caught up in the fantasy of you lying against him in a huge porcelain bath that you don’t respond at first. He tugs on your earlobe with his teeth to regain your attention.

“You want that don’t you?”

You nod “Yes Coryo, I want that.”

“Good. I’ve already started looking for new places and I think I might have found the perfect place. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Not until I officially have the Plinth fortune in my hands.”

“You deserve it. It’s like you say… Snow lands on top.”

“Snow lands on top.” He smiles. He turns your head to face him and he kisses you. His lips are so soft against yours. He takes his time with the kiss he places upon you. Slowly teasing and dragging it out, making you grow needy for him. His fingers graze your chin and the side of your jaw. He pulls back all too soon for you, giving you a devilish grin.

“You will be beautiful tonight. That black dress I bought you, will be stunning at the Plinth family table. You might get mistaken for the main course.” He breaths, trailing his fingers down your throat. His other hand starts to delicately touch your thigh again.

“Or maybe I’ll just save you for dessert later.” His hand trails under your skirt and to your clothed core. He grazes over your slit and you shudder “Mmm good girl.” He kisses your jaw “Now” he pats your thigh “will you be a sweetheart for me and fix up my plate? I’ll be out soon.”

“Of course. Looks like eggs, sausage links, and cubed potatoes.”

“Perfect.” He smiles, before pecking your lips. You hop off his lap, fix your skirt and walk out of his room, turning back to smile at him one last time before you went into the kitchen. Coriolanus feels good. You always make him feel like a man. A man who deserves everything he gets. A smart man who knows how to obtain power and keep it. And you’re so loyal to him. So caring as his woman should be. Attentive to his needs and desires. Yet, you still have much to prove.

Coriolanus was anticipating tonight for many reasons. The prize money that was finally his, to show to his peers at the Academy, and to an extent, Panem. To show that he is living up to his family name. That he was in fact not a poor hungry boy anymore and that this was just the beginning of his many fames and fortunes. Yet, another thought lingered in the back of the blonde headed boy’s mind. You. And how you would behave tonight. You’re not “bratty” per se, but it was no lie you had a fiery side to you, which Coriolanus was cautious of. You could be bold, and it was no lie you had an intimidating aura that surrounds you. Similar to Coriolanus and you appreciate the civility of your class. You know what’s expected of you in the high society of the Capital. So tonight, Coriolanus expects it to be a night where you could really prove yourself to him. Show him how ready you are to stand by his side and unequivocally show support as he takes his rightful first steps into power. He is ready.

As the day went by, the anticipation for dinner flooded his thoughts. Soon he would be in the possession of the most sought after wealth in all of Panem. It would be all his. Too bad high as a kite, Casca Highbottom, wasn’t here to witness it all go down. Coriolanus would have liked it if he had at least witnessed the moment he won the prize. Even though the announcement of the prize money came before his death, it would have been nice to shove it in his face. Meanwhile, in the reality of the lab, Coriolanus kept his head down in his work. He didn’t quite care much for getting hands-on in experiments, but as one Dr. Gaul’s personal favorite, Coriolanus was able to avoid such work and stick to research. He was a much better writer anyways.

“Snow! How are you my boy?” Dr. Gaul’s voice rings out as she walks toward him

“Doing well.”

“It’s a big day.” She hisses and Coriolanus nods

“Yes. I’m looking forward to this evening.” He agrees

“Much anticipated. I hope to meet the lovely woman I keep seeing accompanying you these days. She’s no Lucy Grey is she?”

Coriolanus pauses for a moment to gather himself and his anger with a half hearted chuckle.

“Well that’s because she’s not a means to an end this time Dr. Gaul.” He smirks, “I think you’ll find her to be charming.”

“Charming.” She repeats and walks off

Dr. Gaul was not wrong about you being no Lucy Gray, but that’s not why she was bringing his past up. Coriolanus knew it was meant to get under his skin. A way to remind him of that summer. The games and the girl he left behind. Coriolanus thought he had loved her, but once she got back to twelve, she was back to singing about her old lover and Coriolanus knew that she had played him as smoothly as her guitar. So he blocked her out, forgot about her and cleaned up her loose ends, which included taking care of Highbottom as soon as the games had ended. Then, with a new found sense of confidence he decided it was time to settle a long lasting urge. You. You had always been in his view. A long standing school boy crush that he could never quite seem to shake. You were perfect for him too. Your family had been historic in Panem. One of the few heirs of a family lineage that used to be famous back before Panem came to power. Coriolanus didn’t feel as if he was good enough back when you were schoolmates so he considered you to be an unattainable fantasy until he had more power and wealth. Yet, Lucy Gray had enchanted him, drawn his eyes away from you like a siren and he crashed his ship. He fell into a whirlwind of emotions he had never felt before, but it was all a lie.

The week after the games, Coriolanus took matters into his own hands. After his last encounter with Highbottom, he sought you out. And of course you said yes. How could you not say yes to his confession of love and off the heels of his victory? So tonight, he would show that not only was he over Lucy Gray, but he would be showing you off and he only hopes you wouldn’t make a fool of him. The announcement of his courtship of you had become semi-public, but most of Panem was still curious as to how the young Snow was holding up now that “his girl” was back in twelve. He would show them and he would show you.

As he dresses for this evening, he tries not to maul over Dr. Gaul’s words.

She’s no Lucy Gray…She’s no Lucy Gray…She’s no-

Coriolanus curses himself to shut up. He feels shameful for not flooding his thoughts with anything but you. You and your perfect body. Your elegant curves, your soft skin. Coriolanus tried to imagine you on his bed, your beautiful body spread completely naked for him. Since taking you as his own, Coriolanus had not found time for you and him to be together in that way. He wants you. He wants you bare beneath him, hands trailing your sides as you whimper and whine for him to give you more. And, oh how pretty you would look as he ravished and lapped up your wetness. Better yet, how pretty would you look on your knees, mouth agape and ready. Your glossy lips, so ready for him. His imagination seizes as soon as he hears a tapping at the door.

“Hey. Oh wow….” Tigris exclaims “Oh Coryo look at you!”

He looks back at her. Tigris is as equally well dressed as he. It’s clear she made her own dress tonight, a simple long sleeve, navy dress, with gold embroidery on the sleeve. Coriolanus turns to look at himself in the mirror. Slicking his hair back, he admires himself in his all black suit. Tigris approaches him, brushes off and lint from his shoulders, and pins a white rose to his lapel. He smiles and nods at her.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have thought to add it.”

“Oh I would. Didn’t you see the inside of your jacket? She asks

Coriolanus had noticed that Tigris had modified his evening jacket with a sublet white stitching pattern, but hadn’t taken a close enough look. He pulls it back. Little white rose. So little and intricate it was practically hidden in plain sight.

“Always such clever craftsmanship, cousin.” He beams

“Oh Coryo” she sighs “You look so much like your father.”

Coriolanus smiles, once again admiring his handsome features and how good he looks with the new touches to his suit.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t be here without you and the Grandma’am.” He remarks not knowing what else to say

“Don’t sell yourself short. We’re so proud of you Coryo. I know that's cheesy but I had to say it before the night got away from us.”

Tigris leaves to help the Grandma’am get ready and Coriolanus lets his driver know he’s ready to go. They drive to your house, and Coriolanus is taken aback when he finally sees you. Your sleek, velvet dress hugs your body so perfectly. The back dips low and the front shows just enough cleavage to tease. And you have adorned yourself with beautiful silver jewelry. A necklace with a line pendant leading to your cleavage, several bracelets, and small hoop earrings.

Coriolanus keeps his hand deliberately on your thigh as you and him make your way to The University, where the dinner is being held. He glances over at you, and admires your soft features. The dip in your collarbone looks so inviting to kiss, your neck and jawline shaped perfectly by the sliver. You look so flawless, so ideal and to his liking, but Coriolanus was cautious with his compliments. He had told you that you look beautiful when he saw you, but that was all for now. If you behave as exceptionally as you look, then he’d be sure to reward you. As the grand pillars of The University draw closer into view, Coriolanus squeezes your thigh. You look over at him, smiling and he trails his fingers across your jaw. You desperately want to kiss him, so you lean in. He gives you a few small pecks on your lips and you smile. He gives you one last peck before pulling back. The car comes to a slow stop and you look out the window at the entryway to The University.

“Are you ready?” Coriolanus asks and you nod.

He exits the vehicle and pulls around to open your door. You step out of the car, taking the extended hand out to you. You and him walk inside and your stomach flutters. You feel nervous, not wanting to displease your boyfriend on one of his most important nights. You smooth out your dress and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Coriolanus takes hold of your hand and you both walk into the venue. The entrance is adorned with white and gold banners, with rope lights hanging from the ceiling. There are round tables scattering the floor and a long table in the back of the room. Coriolanus ushers you both to the long table. Several heads turn as you and him walk up. The faint whispers and admiration swirls in the air around you. Once at the table, Coriolanus pulls up a seat for you.

Next to you, is Sejanus Plinth with the rest of the Plinth family. He waves to you and Coriolanus. You take it upon yourself to dive into conversation with him, seemingly unaware of how you are ignoring your boyfriend. He snakes a hand finger the table and onto your thigh. It causes you to glance over momentarily, you pause, smile at him, then soon return to your conversation with Sejanus. Soon enough, posca and wine is being served and Coriolanus takes a flute of posca off a server tray. You take a flute of champagne in contrast and so does Sejanus. Why are you drinking champagne with Sejanus and not posca with him? Are you trying to get drunk? Are you trying to get him drunk? Coriolanus decides to finally insert himself into the conversation and get your attention back. As he’s about to speak, Tigris and the Grandma’am make their arrival and sit next to him.

“Are we late?” Tigris asks

“No uh- you’re fine, you’re fine” he starts “darling why don’t we go make our way around the room?” He announces, turning to you suddenly. He takes your hand, stands up, and takes you off with him in no particular direction. You tell Sejanus that you’ll talk to him in a bit, which makes Coriolanus’s blood boil. He takes you to a group of students who you had never met. His hand finds the small of your back as he makes small talk with your fellow soon to be University classmates. You have never met Coriolanus friends and was almost certain he didn’t have any besides Sejanus. You find it curious at this moment then, why he has pulled you away to talk to who you always assumed were mere acquaintances. You occasionally glance at him, then around the room, hoping to see if you can politely excuse yourself to catch up with your own friends. He notices your inattentiveness, lightly squeezing on your hip whenever your eyes are drawn away from him and his company for too long.

You soon spot a girl from your book club and excuse yourself to go greet her. Coriolanus masks his disapproval in your decision and begrudgingly lets you go off. He continues his facade and turns his attention back to his group of peers. They are all very interested in him, yet Coriolanus couldn’t be less interested in them. They ask him questions about what he plans to do with his prize money, besides going to The University, and too many questions about the games.

She’s no Lucy Gray

The words echo in his mind again.

He glances at you, still chatting with your friend. He half mindedly answers another question about his plans to study politics, trying to refocus his attention back to the group. He was fuming on the inside and his need for politeness traps him to the spot. The small talk was getting to him. He didn’t expect to have to stand here and entertain these people for so long. After all he was only using them as a means to get you away from Sejanus, who unbeknownst to Coriolanus, is making his way back to you.

You, on the other hand, are finally enjoying yourself. Feeling free from the confines of your role as Coriolanus’s date. Even though your romantic relationship has only spanned the course of a few weeks, the expectations to be Coriolanus’s girlfriend has been challenging. His new found wealth, victory, and fame has set everything off. His attitude has changed, his image of himself, and the idea that he belongs on top has become the driving force of his life. You had a feeling that Coriolanus used to be much softer, more gentle, and more vulnerable. Now, you got this new side of him and you barely even knew what he was like before all this. He’s such a mystery to you. Your attention refocuses as Sejanus makes his way to you and your friend. You include him in the conversation, happy to be talking to one of the few people in the Capital who seem to be above the pomp and circumstance. Coriolanus is perfect for you, but he was a traditionalist and upheld the many social rules the Capitol citizens had manufactured. As did you, and you knew your place, but weren’t found if it. Having someone like Sejanus around made you feel less alone in your feelings. You let out a small laugh as Sejanus makes conversation with you which Coriolanus manages to pick up on.

He whips around to look at you. There you are, giggling like a pathetic little school girl at Sejanus. Didn’t you get the point? Why the hell are you trying to embarrass him like this? Coriolanus abruptly excuses himself. He swipes two glasses of posca and bee lines for you.

“Here my love. I notice your glass is empty.” He barges forward, taking the empty champagne flute from your hand and replacing it with the posca glass.

“Thank you dear.” You smile trying to mask the confusion you feel about his seemingly on edge behavior tonight. Coriolanus consciously sips on his own posca, looking at Sejanus. Senjanus however, is none the wiser. He gives Coriolanus a goofy smile, which sends his hand trailing down to clutch your hip. He rubs his thumb lightly against you, and you take a drink from your own glass, feeling slightly put off.

“I was going to make our way back to our seats before dinner is officially served. I think your father has a speech prepared for tonight.” He nods to Sejanus, before dragging you back to the table

“Coryo?!” You whisper, your confusion drawing to a peak and your frustration taking over.

Coriolanus stays silent, throwing fake smiles towards people as you make your way to the front of the room. He grips your hand, and you reclaim your seat. He glances at you, sneering slightly. You find Tigris’s face to see if she has picked up on his mood and of course she has. She gives you a concerning look, yet shakes her head as if she’s confused. You’re not sure if you find it reassuring or feel more worried.

“Coryo? Is there something wrong?”

“Later.” He sneered harshly

Just then, Dr. Gaul approaches the table. Coriolanus taps your leg, indicating for you to stand and greet her.

“Hello again Mr. Snow.”

“Dr. Gaul” he smiles and introduces you to her.

“Yes, I’m familiar with your family history. What an honor it must be to have such a name. I’m sad I never got to have you as my student. ”

“It’s a true honor” you lie, you could care less about your name and the history behind it to live a normal life.

“Well Mr. Snow you certainly are lucky to have such a pleasant date night.” She smirks, sounding as if she is revolted by your existence, but masks it well enough to toe the line.

You fake a smile and look at Coriolanus, holding his shoulder with pride.

“Yes we are having a wonderful evening too.”

“How nice. A word before dinner, Snow?”

Coriolanus nods and follows Dr. Gaul. Meanwhile Sejanus scoots closer to you to re-engages in conversation. Dr. Gaul leads Coriolanus to the bar where she orders a glass of posca.

“I just got word of an opportunity I wanted to tell you about.”

“Of course.”

“Would you, instead of mentoring this year’s hunger games, want to take a chance at playing game maker?”

“Game maker? You think I should.”

“You’re a wonderfully, brilliant boy Coriolanus. I can see so much more in Your ideas in your final semester essay that tells me everything I need to know. Think about it and if you write a decent enough application it’s yours.”

“Well thank you Dr. Gaul for letting me know. I will definitely be considering it.”

“Good. And oh your date…she’s very lovely. I see you two working well together…”

“I’m glad you found her charming then.”

“Oh…no Mr. Snow. Not quite yet, but she certainly seems to be charming the young Mr. Plinth over there.”

Coriolanus turns back around to see Senjanus cozying back up to you. He contains his anger as he excuses himself back to you, making sure to thank Dr. Gaul for presenting him the opportunity of game maker. He rushes back to his seat, squeezing in while you are still mid-conversation with Sejanus. He squeezes your thigh. The rest of the evening feels tense. Eventually, Strabo Plinth made a speech about the importance of Academic pursuits and ambitions. He mentioned the games, Coriolanus’s victory and what it meant to be an exemplary Panem citizen above all else. As he talks, Coriolanus is locked into every word, but makes sure to keep you in his sight. You too are locked in, your hand on top of your boyfriend’s thigh, squeezing it occasionally. Little do you know that for so many reasons at this moment, Coriolanus is still angry, but also turned on. Fueled by jealousy over Sejanus, but the words of Strabo’s speech in combination with your hand on him, was making his cock hard.

Despite embarrassing him earlier in the night, you now sat there beautifully by his side. You seem attentive and engaged, and the physical touch is all he needs to know that you’re there. He shifts in his seat and stands as Strabo calls him up to receive the prize. You stand with him, ever so proud. He kisses you, then walks up, shaking Strabo’s hand as he takes the velvet red envelope with the check for the prize money in hand. You tune everything out and focus on the gorgeous man in front of you. Even though you’re still somewhat confused, you can’t help but admire him like this. Confident and on the verge of greatness. His expression screams that nothing will stand in his way.

As the evening wraps up, Coriolanus finds himself wrapped in so many conversations he is starting to feel like a broken record. He stands not too far from you as you talk to Tigris.

“Was he nervous at home? Before he picked me up?” You ask

“No. I’m not quite sure what’s gotten into him to be honest dear. All the excitement perhaps.He seems better now that he has the award.

You sign, shrugging your shoulders. Sejanus returns back to his seat with two glasses of posca in his hand.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

“Perhaps one last one” you smirk

“Is everything ok?” He asks

“Yes. I’m enjoying the evening just…you’re close with Coryo…do you notice he’s acting on edge?”

“Slightly yeah. I’m not sure why.”

“Me either…” you hang your head and take a sip of your drink.

As if he was summoned by the mere mention of his name, he is standing behind you. You look up at him with innocent eyes and set your glass down.

“I’m ready to go. People are starting to leave.” He murmurs, holding his hand out. He bids Tigris a goodbye, promising to see her at home and gives the Grandma’am a kiss on the cheek goodbye, thanking them both for coming. Once in the car, Coriolanus is consumed in his emotions. His leg shakes furiously as he looks out the window. He hides part of his face with his mouth and ignores you. You roll up the driver partition and place a hand on his shaking leg.

“Coryo, please what’s wrong, love?”

He takes a deep breath and looks further into the window. You touch his shoulder and he turns to you.

“You really would rather be with Sejanus” He snaps

“What?”

“I saw you around him. He’s not bad looking, I get it, he’s innocent right. Is that the appeal? Innocent little privileged district boy.”

“Coryo…you can’t be serious?”

“The future First Lady of Panem. Acting like you can flirt around and embarrass me. Tonight of all nights…” he mumbles not loud enough for you to hear.

When the car stops, it isn’t your house it pulls up to. Coriolanus exits the vehicle and swings around to open your door. You get out and he trails behind you. Once in his house he storms into the kitchen, and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He takes a sip and removes his sports coat, placing it on the back of a chain. You tentatively follow him, still keeping your distance. His back is turned to you, his chest rising and falling.

“He’s a friend.”

“He’s my friend too, but I wasn’t hanging around him all night.” He rolls his eyes

“Can I not make conversation with him? I support you through and through, but those types of events are so much. I’ve never enjoyed them, but I went for you.”

“And embarrassed me. Couldn’t you see him flirting with you. Getting you drinks, making you laugh. It was pathetic really.” He snaps, downing his whiskey and pouring himself another. Dr. Gaul sure noticed. Thought I was a fucking cuckhold. Now she thinks I can’t even hold my women down.”

“She said that?”

“She didn’t have to say anything. She saw you.” He huffs

“He’s nothing to me ok Coriolanus! You think I’d rather be with someone who still calls their mother Ma?” You bark back

Coriolanus looks at you for a moment and pauses. Then, he strides towards you, capturing your face, locking his lips with your own. It was the last thing you’d expect of him. As he moves his lips against yours, passion and hunger overtaking his mind. Feeling even more confused than at the dinner, you pull away and look at him. He pants, clearly needy for more.

“I don’t understand?”

“You think he’s beneath you?”

“I well…he’s not you. I’d rather have the boy with the prize than the boy whose namesake it belongs to.”

Coriolanus pulls you closer to him, he hooks his finger along the front line of your dress, his other hand cups your ass.

“And do you know who you belong to?” He sneers

“Y-y-you…”

“Good girl”

He pulls you back to him, his forehead pressing against yours. He pinches your chin, lets out a small smirk and kisses you again. He gropes your ass harshly, landing a fat smack. You yelp in surprise.

“I bet Sejanus just wishes he could feel you like this.”

“Coryo…”

“Shh it’s ok baby. He wants you. He wants you so bad, but he can’t have you….” He noted, grinding his crotch against you. “No he can’t. Because who do you belong to again?”

You close your eyes and rest your forehead again, his nodding, barely able to speak as your mind turns to jelly.

He grips your chin and cheeks, smooshing your face. “Look at me. Who. Do. You..belong to?”

“You” you whimper

He gives you a few light, little slaps to the face.

“That’s right you belong to me. Not Sejanus. You’re mine.”

You nod and he lets go of his grip on your face. He’s hungry for you, it's clear. His lust filled eyes are dark and needy.

“D-do you want to hurt me? Am I being punished?

“No baby, of course I don’t want to actually hurt you…” he coos, chucking slightly “but I think you need to be put in your place a little. Let me ask you something? Do you want to be First Lady of Panem? Stand by my side from this day and help me rise to the top? You want it too don’t you?” He chuckles

He wasn’t wrong. Despite your distaste for your family’s fame and history, to stand by Coriolanus’s side. It would be a dream. You had been fond of him for a while, but like Coriolanus, you thought it was too good to be true. You nod your head at his question and in response he wraps his hand under your chin.

“Tell me” he demands

“Yes, Coyro. I do.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, soft lips landing harshly against yours. He fights for dominance and you give in, letting his mouth consume your own. He pushes his tongue in, swirling it with yours. He breaks from the kiss to start attacking your neck. He nibbles and kisses down your throat, causing you to elicit a soft moan from your lips. He smirks against your skin, causing you to shutter.

“Coyro…a-a-are you sure you want out first time to be like this?”

“Yes doll, especially after tonight.” He hisses

“I-I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” You stutter

“I know and that’s exactly why I need to show you how to act. By showing you first who you belong to. To show you’re mine.

He dives for your neck, lips trailing down your skin.

“Do you not want me talking to anyone but you then?”

“No my dear, I just can’t have you making a fool of yourself anymore by letting men like Sejanus flirt with you. And once I mark you up a little…” he pauses, his hand coming up to cup under your chin. He rubs his thumb along the base of it. “They’ll know to back off.”

Coriolanus’s words sink in as harshly into you as his teeth do as he nibbles down on your neck. He sucks and bites, leaving beautiful wine red marks on you. He pulls back momentarily to admire his work. He lets out a soft sigh, pleased with himself. He trails his fingers around the spots he marked up and smirks. He dives back in, licking a long, broad stripe up your neck, and up to your ear. You whimper some more, the sensation of his tongue causing your cunt to drip. His hands snake down to cup your ass, he wants to carry you to his bedroom. He moves his arms to lift your legs around his waist. He hoists you up, causing your dress to ride up your thighs. You let out a soft yelp of surprise. He smacks your ass, causing you to let out a more clear squeal. He starts to move towards his bedroom, holding you tightly against his chest. You cling to him, your lips finding his neck and you place a few cautious kisses.

Once in his bedroom he flops you down on the bed, you gasp. Looking up at him, you shutter in excitement, but still feeling fearful. He notices, smirking at you again

“It’s ok my pet, be a good girl for me?” He demands, his tone a warning

You nod and he clicks his tongue at you.

“Tsk…” he has a seat at the edge of the bed. He pulls your ankles towards him, your ass sliding over his hips and settling onto his crotch. He pushes your dress further up your body and over your head. You grunt, arching your back. He tosses the dress on the ground, his hand touches you again, fingers trailing down your figure slowly. He admires you for a moment. Then, with a devilish grin taking over his handsome features, he squeezes your thigh and tosses it across your body. Laying on your stomach in anticipation, you feel exposed. He rolls up his sleeves, then rubs his hand over your ass. He readjusts your lacy black panties to expose more of your butt to him and he lands a firm slap on you. You squirm and yelp, his other hand holds you back down as he gives you another slap to the ass. He grips your hair, forcing your cheek up to his nose.

“I like good girls who know how to use their words. Now when I ask you something I want you to use your words. Got it?”

“Yes..” you whimper

He rubs your ass, his hand moving in slow, soft, big circles.

Slapslapslap

“Yes sir?”

“Yes sir” you bite your lip

Coriolanus proceeds to slap your ass over and over again, each cheek getting redder and redder. He gropes and massages you at the same time, making sure to occasionally dip his fingers over your clothed cunt and rub slowly. Each time you would try not to squirm, but it’s nearly impossible not to. He spreads your legs a little to gain better access to your pussy. Coriolanus moves your panties aside, spits on his hand, then dips his fingers into your aching slit. You cry out in surprise, landing you a fast, sharp slap this time.

“Don’t act surprised. Don’t act like you didn’t expect it. Any of it. Keep being my good girl and tell me who you belong to again…” he growls

“Y-you sir.”

Slap

“Again” he demands

“You. I belong to you Coriolanus.”

He gives you another slap, smiles to himself, then snakes his hand under your stomach through the back of your legs. He lifts you up as he stands, turning around and placing you on the bed, ass up, ready for him. You look behind you and watch him as he unbuckles his belt. You bite your lip in anticipation as he pulls his pants down, bringing his boxers with him. You gasp as you watch his cock spring out. He notices you staring and moves his hand to your hair. He shoves your face into the pillows.

“This isn’t for you to enjoy tonight. Another night we will do this properly, I’ll let you touch me, kiss me, but tonight, I’m in control.”

He moves your panties to the side and you bury your face into the mattress, forcing yourself to muffle your moans as his thick member spreads your core. He leaves you no time to let you adjust and he trusts in you, every so often slapping your ass. He doesn’t let up, chasing his pleasure like prey. You turn your head to breathe, gasping as he practically shoves you into the mattress.

“I’ll treat you how you deserve next time. I promise you my sweet. Because next time I know you won’t act up. Right. You won’t let Sejanus flirt with you.

“Yes sir” you squeal

“Ooooh goood girrrl” he purrs speeding up

The lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your pussy fills the entire room, along with your cries of pleasure. It only encourages him to grab your hair tighter. Tangling it up in his fingers, he pulls you close to him. He starts to fuck up into you like a toy and all you can do is take it. Your mind is numb, brain all fucked out.

“Seems like you know your place now hmm. Are you going to obey me, my love? Not flirt and flaunt around like a common whore?”

“N-no sir”

“Because this is how a common whore is treated. They get treated like a little naughty play thing. Like the filthy little sluts they are.” He snarls

He pounds into you like it’s the last time he’ll ever fuck you. His deliberate, hard thrusts are almost too much to bare and you feel your orgasm creep up on you. All the sudden, you clench and spasm around him. You cum hard, harder than you expect. He whispers continuously praises of “good girl” over and over until he finally finishes, dumping his thick seed into your hole. He fills you up, pulling out slowly and watching as his cum drips out of you. He admires you, his middle finger rubbing up your folds, and into you, shoving the cum back inside you. He pats your ass and you lower yourself. He strips himself of the rest of his clothes, crawling next to you on the bed. He leans against the headboard and you flip over, curling up to him.

“I promise next time it will be sweeter. I just can’t let you get away with that behavior and now…” he kisses your temple “you never will..”

“I promise I won’t let Sejanus flirt with me again.”

“Good. I’ll make sure to send my own message to him.” He smirks, his fingers dancing around your sore neck

“Coryo!” You exclaim in fear

“Shh baby it’s ok. He won’t get hurt, just tuck his tail and run home to his Ma” Coriolanus chuckles, his mocking tone making you laugh a little

“I promise I won’t let him do that again” you nod

“That’s my girl…now get on your knees.” He insists and you nod.

You crawl onto the floor, ushering yourself in between his legs.

“Mouth open, tongue out.” He instructs

You obey and look up at him. You flatten your tongue against your bottom lip and open wide. He coos at you, rubbing his length across your face, teasing his tip along parted lips. Then he pushes in, causing you to gag.

“Fucking suck it.”he sneered

You nod and bob your head, getting his cock nice and wet.

“Oh there you go.”

He holds the back of your head, moving his hips as you take more of him into your mouth. He bites his lip harshly, grunting aggressively. His cock hits the back of your throat over and over and over again. He pulls away for a moment, watching in awe as a line of saliva trails from your lips to the tip of his dick. He wipes it up, sticking his thumb in your mouth. Your lips wrap around it and suck. He smiles at you, slapping your face again. Your eyes water, small tears falling down your cheek from the sting of the pain. But you like this. You liked his dominance in a way that you didn’t expect or realize.

“You’re pretty. Do you like this cock in your mouth?

“Yes sir.”

“Yes Daddy?”

“Yes Daddy.” You nod and he shoves himself back into your mouth.

He lets out a long, staggering moan. He moves his hips more slowly this time, watching your little mouth stretch around him. He pulled away the way out, taking his length in his hand and slapping against your lips. He continues to let his greed overtake him, moving his balls close to your face. You suck them into your mouth and he let out a loud groan.

“Oh fuck you know how to make me feel amazing don’t you baby. S’good for me” he tosses his head back.

Your lips feel so soft and perfect around his cock it makes him want to bust again. You stroke him as you continue sucking on his balls, feeling that he’s close again. With a few more strokes, he finishes. He holds your chin and pressed the tip to your lips. You part them and let the white sticky cum paint the inside of your throat.

“Ohmygod baby girl…fuck look at you.” He pants and you swallow his load. It wasn’t as heavy going down your throat and you take it down with a loud gulp. He tilts your face up to look at him, his blue eyes clouded with lust.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes Coriolanus”

“Good. Next time you’ll get what you actually deserve.”

You nodded, feeling fucked out and spent. You continue to nod and he pulls you up, kisses you fiercely, some of his cum pressing onto his lips.

He pulled away, whipping it off his lips and shoving it into your mouth.

“Yeah, you learn quickly don’t you. You’ll make a great First Lady.” He whispered

“I hope to be”

“Good. I think you will be. If you continue to learn like you do, this life will be easy on you pet”

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

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sleepyy-ollie · 5 months ago

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❆ Wedding looks from the Winter Court!

❆ I was hoping to post this one during Winter Court Week but I put too much on my plate as usual 🫣

❆ Let me know what court you want to see wedding looks from next!

❆ Please do not repost or use with AI

See my head cannons below the cut!

❆ Varying shades of white and grey hair are common throughout the winter Court, as well as grey eyes

❆ Even in the cold, brides still get married outside under arches made of icicles or beside frozen waterfalls

❆ Which means that wedding looks require lots of layers and warmth!

❆ I imagine light blue seudes, crushed white velvet, shimmering embroidery, iridescent tulle, lace with snowflake patterns, and warm knit stockings.

❆ The crystals, sparkles, and pearls adorning each look are made of ice, enchanted not to melt! The earrings are frozen water droplets and shards of ice.

❆ This bride's bouquet includes white and blush roses, eucalyptus, pine fronds, baby's breath, and red winter berries.

❆ The skirt of the wedding dress was inspired by the Water Tribe outfit designs in ATLA.

❆ Find the rest of the inspo pics here!

#art #digital art #digital artist #artblr #artists on tumblr #ollie draws #drawing #fan art #fanart #acotar #acotar fanart #acotar fan art #acotar art #winter court #the winter court #winter court art #winter court aesthetic #wedding dress

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muiitoloko · 4 months ago

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Valentine's Chains

Summary: On a cold Valentine’s night, Judge Turpin’s rigid control is tested when he offers his wife a gift—only to receive one in return that shakes the foundation of his world.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Possessiveness.

Author's Notes: Well, that's the last story about Valentine's Day. I'm definitely out of ideas; I think I've found my writer's block again 😅