#maybe these suggestions have been made before and maybe they haven't | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pullhisteeth · 1 year

Text

classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?"

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#ha ha I am sorry!#god it's long #I hope you love it <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie stranger things

6K notes · View notes

wonderlandwalker · 3 months

Text

A Hero on Socks | Virgin!Eddie Munson x Reader

Stranger Things Masterlist / Inbox

Summary: You've always known your now boyfriend Eddie was a virgin, but with how worked up you've been while teasing him recently, you're not gonna let the first time be over that quickly

Content Warnings / Tags: Smut, mdni, virgin!eddie, established relationship, wrap it before you tap it obviously, overstimulation, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Couldn't resist my Eddie Munson fixation any longer. The title comes from a Dutch expression and it basically means someone who seems courageous but is actually a nervous little shit and it seemed perfect for Eddie. I haven't written in a little while so I hope this is still good <3 (This accidentally posted early so enjoy xx)

The two of you had been dancing on a delicate line of 'just friends' for a while now, and you're not even entirely sure what the turning point was, but eventually you crossed it, now officially being able to call Eddie Munson your boyfriend.

He made heart eyes at you every time you walked in a room, and not a single one of your friends failed to point this out when you told them you got together, none of them the slightest bit surprised.

It might be a new relationship, but you have known each other for years now, and you knew how to get what you wanted from Eddie. So yes, you knew he was still a virgin, but you failed to see how this would make a difference to you, you didn't care, people shouldn't have to worry that others will hold that against them. What you hadn't counted on, however, was how shy he actually turned whenever you started to tease him.

While you were still friends he would flirt with you unrelentingly, constantly making suggestive comments and touching you in one way or another. But maybe the fact that nothing was supposed to come of it gave him the boost he now seemed to have lost, because whenever you slipped your hand underneath his shirt when you were on the couch next to him, every moment you tried to heat up a kiss, he would go rigid, you would feel his body tense as he ceased any and all actions to create some distance between you.

You asked him what was going on, asked him if he didn't want to have sex with you, and you had never seen him swivel his head in place so fast, his eyes wide with confusion as he looked at you, sputtering to tell you that wasn't the problem at all. And that's when you learned that the dungeon master of the hellfire club was in fact nervous.

And really, it was quite cute to see the blood rush to his cheeks when you took your top off, his Adams apple bobbing as you sucked on his pulse point. The boy was downright bashful.

As the days passed, you found more and more ways in which to get a rise of out him, in more ways than one. From walking into the chill living room without a bra under your t-shirt to not so subtly grinding your ass into him while standing closeby, but your plan began to backfire as you just wanted him more and more yourself, wondering how much longer your patience would hold up.

The silent curses and groans had you losing your own mind with lust as the days passed, up until the moment he had finally snapped, dragging you into his bedroom in frenzy, trying to get you on top of him as fast as he could.

All of your hard work had led to this moment right here, you could hear his panting from underneath you, his breath becoming more shallow as the muscles in his abdomen started to twitch, and if you weren't so lost in pleasure yourself, you might have teased him for how fast he was becoming undone.

It's only been a few minutes, and there's a heat creeping up on his neck, you can't resist bending over to meet his lips in a searing kiss. When you move on to mouth at the soft skin of his neck, delicately sucking hickeys into it, the sounds that leave him are nothing less than sinful.

His hands have a death grip on your hips, trying to ground himself but miserably failing every time you grind yourself further into him. You're trying to figure out what he's saying, but it's no more than mumbling in-between his moans of your name, and with how hazy your head is you don't have it in yourself to figure it out. It's only when he suddenly slams his head back against the pillow, face screwed up in a way you can see the small crease between his eyebrows as he curses wildly that you pick up on the fact he wasn't just close, no, he just came.

At any other time you would have found it adorable, you would have giggled and coed at him softly as you assured him with a sweet kiss that it's okay, but not this time. This time you've been getting yourself worked up from teasing him, from leading him up to this, from the feeling of finally, finally getting his dick inside you. So no, not this time, this time you won't let the feeling in your stomach fade away, won't stop just yet.

You feel his cum coating your walls, and the feeling only keeps you going further. It takes Eddie a few seconds to catch on in his state, heavy breath he's trying to catch and a permanent look of pleasure now etched on his face, but you know the exact moment he realizes from the small twitch his dick is already giving again.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" He sounds almost close to tears, but he looks at you with nothing but amazement in his eyes.

"You might be done Eddie, but that doesn't mean that I am" youre starting to get a little out of breath yourself, the sentence caught between small whimpers, he scrunches his eyes shut again when you tell him, and the most heavenly moan leaves his mouth as you continue to roll your hips.

You knew deep down that if he truly wanted to, he could easily get you off him, even in a euphoric state, and so you knew that he is enjoying himself just as much as you are.

His eyes snap back open as you start to go faster, chasing that warm feeling bubbling up inside you, his dick is fully hard again inside you, and you don't doubt it has turned an angry red colour by now.

"It's too much baby, I can't-" he doesn't manage to finish his thought from the guttural groan that follows him, and you can't deny it only turns you on further to see him this blissed out.

He's struggling to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch you but gettig lost in the vision of it. Torn between pleasure and pain, the two merging together as you keep going. You can feel the satisfaction of it tugging at your heart as you keep moving, feeling his throbbing dick inside of you as you change the rythm. Eddie is still a mess underneath you, whimpering and groaning for anything, for everything, and it’s too fun not to tease him further.

“What do you want Eddie, tell me and I might give it to you.” You wonder if it even matters what you’re saying, sure that at this point he’s far beyond reach, but he doesnt dare leave you unanswered.

“You’re so warm baby fuck, just please, please”

You lean into him again, leaving a trail of kisses down the spot on his neck you know make him go weak. “Please what, finish your sentences honey, or I’ll stop right now” The both of you know it’s an empty threat, you’re too close yourself to even dare abandon your goal, but the mere thought of it is enough to make Eddie give you anything you’d want, youre decently sure you could ask for the moon right now and he would go out to catch it for you.

“Please let me cum, I wanna cum so bad holy shit” He can feel you tightening around him as he asks, another pornographic moan leaving him, and you would have made fun of him for it if you weren’t basking in the fact you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

“Alright baby, because you asked so nicely, go ahead, cum for me.” you whisper the response in his ear, and it takes him mere seconds to find your lips, hiding away in the sweet escape of your tongue against his. For the second time you can feel his cock pulsing his cum inside of you, desperate for the realease. And it’s that feeling exactly, the feeling of his pleasure, that tips you over the edge yourself. The ecstasy taking over your mind, helplessly keeping rocking against him as you slump over, moaning his name as you cum. He catches you in his arms, already tracing patterns in your skin as you’re still riding out your orgasm.

It takes you a few minutes to fully come back to earth, stars twinkling in your vision. You can feel Eddie’s steady breathing underneath you, his heart still thumping rapidly as you listen for his regular pattern of breaths, mimicking it in order to catch your own.

“You alright?” His soft voice soothes you, always so gentle, even if most can’t see it. It makes you chuckle this time around, amused at the irony.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” He mirrors your expression now, a grin breaking out across his face.

“Never been better sweetheart” He accompanies his words with sloppy kisses all over your face, smacking his lips against you in a manner that has you giggling against him.

“Was worried it was too much is all” You look down when you tell him, and he cups your jaw, silently asking you to face him again

“There isn’t a world out there where there could be too much of you.” He kisses you slowly this time, not rushed, not chasing anything, simply enjoying the moment as it is.

You lift yourself up slightly, feeling him leave from inside of you, and when he does you already miss the feeling again. You feel his seed dripping out of you, revelling in how he filled you up until you were so, so full. He’s watching, and you can feel his dick make a small twitch at the sight as he’s holding his breath, completely fixated on it.

“Fucking hell-” he still can’t seem to tear his gaze away, and you’re not immune to the effect itself.

“Give me a few minutes and we can go for another round” You’re laughing at his antics now, his nerves seeming to have fully disappeared and the Eddie you know so well has made it back to you.

He coaxes you to the side to lay down next to him as he slides his arms around you, your leg tangling over his as you snuggle up beside him. Your limbs feel like jelly as he holds you, his fingers still delicately moving across your skin as you can hear his heartbeat evening out from where you're lying down on his chest. This was Eddie, your Eddie, a guy who put on a big show for everyone, but when he was with you got to see his true self, and it only made you love him more.

883 notes · View notes

inuyashaluver · 26 days

Note

would you be able to write a cute leah x reader fic where reader gets ill and leah being the good girlfriend she is takes care of reader till readers better

i’ve got you - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which you don’t listen to your girlfriend and now you have to deal with the consequences

warnings: mentions of sickness

a/n: we love a comfort sick fic!! thank you so much for the request, enjoyyyyyy ❤️❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, leah were soulmates and everyone knew it. it all started when you joined arsenal when you left australia to join the wsl.

leah was the first one to come up to you all those years ago, a friendly smile on her face with a gentle extension of her hand the moment you stepped foot inside the door.

“hey, I’m leah, we haven't met officially” she said almost sheepishly, her cheeks lightly dusting with pink as her eyes shone into yours. you smiled back with an equally bashful smile.

you've always admired leah from afar when you played against each other, though, you never went up to her out of your own nervousness.

“hi, I’m (y/n)” she smiled because she already knew your name, she’d kept it in the back of her mind ever since the first match you played against each other.

you were breathtakingly gorgeous, and also a player she found difficult to mark when you would approach from the midfield. you were in her mind rent-free, her admiration for you not subtle at all.

“if you ever wanted to..uh, be shown around the area, maybe we could get a coffee or something?” she clears her throat after the sentence left her lips, anticipating rejection from your blank stare, only you surprised her when you started to giggle slightly.

“i’d love to, how about tomorrow?” you suggest, your sweet smile melting her heart as you maintained eye contact with her, “tomorrow is great!” she grinned, wincing slightly at how quick and eager she had responded, but you made all those thoughts wash away.

“its a date” you winked, only leaving her when kim called you over for some introductions to your new teammates. leah’s heart was about to implode, she couldn't believe it. you and her were going on a date.

and fast forward 5 years, she still couldn't believe how far you both had gotten. now dating, moved in together and happier than you ever could be.

–

you and leah were polar opposites when it came to the mornings. your girlfriend loved a good sleep in, she loved it so much she would beg you for 5 minutes more without a fail.

you, however, have always been a morning person, preferring to wake up earlier to have more time to get ready and do odd tasks around the house.

leah admired this quality about you, she loved to watch you move around so effortlessly, looking extremely beautiful as you presented her a cup of tea as soon as she woke up, made perfectly just how she liked it.

though what confused her about this morning, is that you were still in bed when she woke up. leah being up before you was extremely rare and only really happened on her favourite days of the year: your birthday, your anniversary and christmas.

you were cuddled up by her side and she smiled instantly when she looked down at you beside her, though it fell into a frown when she noticed the slight increase in your body heat.

you were always the perfect amount of warm to her but today you were a little too warm and leah didn't feel right about it. she moved some stray hairs on your face, your eyebrows in a slight furrow showing your discomfort.

it was until she heard a little sniffle coming from you that her alarm bells began to ring, her girlfriend was sick. she gently peeled herself from you, moving into the bathroom to find a washcloth, wetting it with cool water, wringing it out and promptly making her way back to you.

she gently rolled you on your back and placed the cool cloth on your forehead, hoping it would bring down your body temperature. leah shook her head as she watched you sleeping, knowing this was because you refused to wear your jacket in training yesterday.

she chuckled remembering how insistent you were fine. she was excited to give you a look that just screamed ‘i told you so’. though, she put it aside for now. instead, she left the room quickly, calling staff members to let them know you both were not coming in today.

you slightly stirred when the bed dipped slightly, leah sitting beside you watching you sleep. you suddenly sat up right, frantically looking at the clock and realising you were both going to be late for training.

“babe, why didn't you wake me up?” you croak, attempting to get out of bed before leah stops you, “baby girl, you're not going anywhere” she said with a stern tone, her hands resting on your shoulders as she gently pushed your back to rest on the backboard of the bed.

“lee, we can't miss training, the game’s coming up” you rebuttal, sniffling as you looked at leah in an attempt to not look as ill as you could.

“we’re not going to training lovey, you're sick” she exhales through her nose, squeezing your cheek affectionately as you look at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“i'm not sick” you scoff, arms coming together and crossing over your chest. leah raises her eyebrows amusingly, her stubbornness was rubbing off on you and she wasn't sure whether to be proud or concerned.

“baby, you're sick, you have a fever and you've got the sniffles” she smiles, her hand moving to rest on your blanketed thigh, “i feel fine to go to training” you groan, avoiding eye contact because you knew she would catch on to your lie, your throat extremely scratchy as you tried to hold in a cough.

“really?” leah said cheekily, her finger hooking under your chin to make eye contact again, you pause for a moment. “yeah” you say simply, unable to stop yourself from sniffling,

“my girl, you are sick and we are staying home, end of discussion” she grins mischievously, standing up and moving towards the end of the bed.

she gives you a shit eating grin before grabbing both of your ankles, you yelp slightly when you feel her pull you down so you were laying down again, your head resting on the pillow.

“leah cathrine!” you laugh slightly, hearing your girlfriend giggle along with you, “that’s me, gorgeous” she grins up at you, moving around the bedroom to put on some sweats and a hoodie.

“i’m popping out for a second, lovey, i just need to get some bits for us” she kisses the crown of your head despite your refusal, “i'll be back, okay?” she affirms,

“i love you” you give her a weak smile, leah smiling back sweetly without missing a beat, “i love you too” she coos, almost sprinting out of the door to get to the shops.

–

she came back about 30 minutes later, struggling to open up the door with all the bags she had in her hands.

when you heard the keys clank on the ground and several curse words escaping your girlfriend’s mouth, you trudged out of bed to open the door for her.

she exhaled in relief when she made it to the kitchen, thanking you with a kiss to the forehead before giving you a lecture after realising you weren't where you were supposed to be.

the only words you really comprehended were: “you should be in bed”, “i can't leave you for two seconds without you doing something you're not supposed to be doing”.

you couldn’t help but laugh when leah dropped all the bags on your kitchen counter, stopping when she gave you a stern expression. "did you buy the whole shop?” you grinned, a little cough escaping your throat that leah winced at.

“no, missy” she tutted, “i got medicine that the pharmacist recommended, extra tissues, soup, other dry foods, tea and other little things” she shrugged after she verbalised her list to you.

your facial expression visibly softened when leah finished, something that your girlfriend noticed and her cheeks dusted with pink at how affectionately looking at her.

“thank you” you say softly in awe, leah smiles sweetly at you, gently moving around the island to grip your hand, walking you into the living room. the couch was already prepared for you with pillows and your favourite blanket.

“you rest here and i'll make you something to eat” you raise your eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes, “shut up” she chuckles, turning on the tv for you and slowly bringing over medicine, tissues, cough drops, anything she could get to help you.

–

after you ate, leah made you move over so she could slot behind you, even though you begged her not to so she didn’t get sick but she refused.

she cuddled up to you, letting you rest on top of her while her hands rubbed up and down your waist gently.

“have you felt sick just today?” leah asked you softly, “i felt sick last night” you admit in a guilty voice, “baby, why didn't you tell me?” her voice laced with concern as you rested your chin on her chest to look up at her.

“I didn't want to bother you” you mumbled, her hand cupping your cheek gently, making you lean into her touch, “you're never a bother, my love, never” she says firmly, telling you she was serious.

you nod, moving your head slightly to kiss her palm. she gives you an affectionate smile, her hand moving to the back of your head to pull it down to rest on her chest again.

“let's have a nap, baby” she whispers, “i've got you” her free hand rubbing comforting circles on your back, sending you to sleep in no time.

she smiles when she feels your deep breaths brush against her collarbone, the way your body perfectly fits against her own as your body rises and falls.

she loved you so much she couldn't believe it. and she knew you felt the same because she felt it everyday. as she watched you sleep, she knew she would do anything you needed from her, and that was a promise she intended to keep.

–

about a week later, you and leah returned to training again, many of your teammates excited to see that you'd finally recovered. and leah was happy to see your cheeky self was back to normal when people asked how you were.

you lovingly stating that ‘leah had cured you’. she’d roll her eyes every time you said it but you both knew she loved it. her pink cheeks never gave her that animosity she wanted.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you!! ily lessi baby

liked by alessia and 44,232 others

leahwilliamsonn: comes back after a week of being sick and gets herself two goals - she drives me insane

view all comments

yourname: maybe it’s my secret to success??

↳ leahwilliamsonn: don’t go around trying to get sick again, missy

↳ yourname: no promises

↳ leahwilliamsonn: such a little shit

↳ yourname: you love it

↳ leahwilliamsonn: sure

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader

659 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

Note

WIBTA if I tell a couple I'm a mistress for both of them?

this is a long one and a very weird situation but here we go. I (28F) have been seeing two people recently. I've been seeing C (30F) for a little over 5 months and M (29M) for almost 6 months. both relationships are currently in a state of non-commitment, even though I've expressed feelings in both relationships and theyve been reciprocated, but I'm naturally not a super commitment-focused person and both of the people I'm seeing have respected that a lot, so yeah.

anyways, both relationships have been great and I'm incredibly happy w them, and since neither are committed to me I've kind of just assumed that both C and M were likely seeing other people as well even if we haven't talked about it.

WELL. about a week ago C came over to my place to spend the night, which she does like once a week or every other week. she goes to take a shower and I start gathering laundry and grab her stuff to throw in with mine and take her phone out of her jeans. I glance at the screen and see a few texts from a contact called "my love <3"

I was kinda surprised by this because while not talking to me about casual relationships is not something I would care about, the contact name made me think she had a more serious relationship going on, which I don't mind but would like to be informed about.

soooo okay I did an admittedly asshole thing and read the text. and then read a few more. and it became apparent that this was a REALLY committed relationship. like, I love yous, I'll be back home soon, please remember to grab so and so from the grocery store, stuff like that.

the contact picture looked kind of familiar too so I clicked on it to see better and it ended up being a picture of M.

I kind of flipped at this bc this is kind of a ridiculous situation, and I left my apartment for some air. I came back like 30 minutes later and C was waiting for me and confused where I'd been (she didn't see/hear me leave since she was still in the shower).

I apologized to her for looking at her phone but told her that I saw the texts from her partner, and that I was feeling kind of hurt that she hadn't told me that she had a more serious relationship going on, since she knows I value transparency. I specifically did not mention that I was also dating M or knew who he was because I felt I needed to scope out the situation more.

she ended up breaking down in tears and spilled everything. told me that M is her husband, that he doesn't know she's been seeing me, that shes felt so conflicted and guilty because she loves him but has really grown to love me too, that she feels wrong and dirty for keeping everything secret. I'm upset that I've been made into a mistress without knowing, but I try to talk to her about everything, we end up staying up super late talking and crying and pouring our hearts out. I still don't mention that I'm dating M too because I feel like I need to talk to him about this before any big decisions are made on my part.

I ended up inviting M to stay at my place a few nights later, and I confront him about the fact that I know he has a wife (made up something about my friend seeing them out together) and ask why he's kept this from me. his reaction was really similar. guilt, not understanding why he's attracted to two people at once, saying he very deeply loves C and doesn't want to leave her but really loves me too, says he's confused and doesn't know what to do. I don't mention to him that I know C or that I'm dating her.

I asked him if he's heard of polyamory before, and he said yes but he doesn't know anything about it really. I ended up encouraging him to maybe talk to his wife to see if that's something she'd be interested in, but he was terrified that she'd be hurt by the suggestion.

I really do love both of them and don't want to leave them. I've been poly for a long time and am very familiar with navigating ethical non monogamy, and to me this feels a lot like two poly people struggling to come to terms with and accept a facet of their sexualities, and they're just navigating that confusion and self discovery in ways that are...not great. but, I want to give them grace for their mistakes I guess?

so this is the part where I think I might be the asshole if I go thru with it. I've talked with both C and M separately about talking to their spouse about what's been going on and about polyamory in general, and they're both fucking terrified and really don't want to. so, I was thinking of inviting them both to my place at the same time to hash it out (without telling them that the other person will be there, since they still don't know I'm dating both of them). I think once they realize they've been dating the same person things might be easier to navigate, and will force them to confront what's been going on?? but also idk if springing this on them is the best thing I could do, but I really have no idea how to navigate this differently.

to be frank, if they love each other and both love me, my ideal outcome is that we continue things as they have been but with no secrecy and 100% transparency. I'm also afraid that even though they've both been seeing the same person and have expressed interest in polyamory after talking about it with me, they might feel personally betrayed by each other and everything could backfire spectacularly, AND I could possibly explode their whole marriage.

so, WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

2K notes · View notes

theostrophywife · 8 months

Text

heat wave.

pairing: azriel x reader x cassian.

request: Hi I don’t know if your requests are open but if so would u write something with reader x cassian x Azriel maybe smutty little bit ( I feel like cass would have a size kink and Az a corruption one anyway🤷🏻‍♀️😂)

author's note: size kink cassian 🤝 corruption kink azriel. i swear i haven't forgotten about the bat boys, i'm just deep in the slytherin boys brain rot rn.

Summer swept through the city of starlight with a sweltering heat wave. The blistering sun left you feeling hot, damp, and sticky as sweat dripped down your back. The only relief to be found was in the sugary sweet cone of strawberry ice cream that Azriel had brought back for you from his trip to the market square. The shadowsinger kissed your temple before sauntering into the training pit to come face-to-face with Cassian.

The Illyrian warlord raised an amused brow. "So that's why you were late." Cassian mused, sending you a conspiratorial wink from your place underneath the shade. "You spoil her, Az."

"You're just jealous he didn't buy you a cone too, Cassie."

Cassian grinned. "You're the only sweet treat worth indulging in, and I'll have my taste of you soon enough, pretty girl." The suggestive words made your body buzz with excitement. "Right after I kick Azriel's ass for making me wait."

The shadowsinger chuckled before disappearing in a dark blur. He reemerged seconds later with twin blades in his hands and a mischievous grin. "Show me what you've got, Cassie."

You leaned back in your lounge chair, enjoying the cool relief of the sweet treat. It would've been cooler inside the house, but nothing, not even the thick muggy air could stop you from watching the two males spar.

By nature, Azriel and Cassian were competitive males.

The Illyrian warriors were opposite sides of the same coin—Cassian with his boldness and passion and heat; Azriel with his mystery and brooding and seduction. You always thought of them as fire and ice. The best of both worlds.

While the competition between them was fierce — whether in fighting or drinking or fucking, you found that Azriel and Cassian worked best in tandem.

More specifically, when they worked you in tandem.

At first, you were skeptical about the dynamic, but the more the three of you explored, the more comfortable you became with one another. It didn’t hurt that you had Cassian and Azriel completely wrapped around your finger. They would do anything for their sweet, innocent little priestess. Though the thoughts running through your mind as you watched them train were far from virtuous. If anything, they were downright sinful.

Underneath the sweltering summer sun, Cassian and Azriel moved swiftly, shedding their leathers to reveal planes of smooth, hard muscles that flexed with each movement as they darted across the red sand. Mirroring the treat in your hand, you were reduced to a sticky pool of desire as you shamelessly ogled your two favorite males.

Azriel glanced at you, a knowing smile gracing his handsome face. “Better lick it up fast, angel. You wouldn’t want to make a mess.”

Strawberry ice cream dripped all over your fingers and while you did your best to lap up the melted liquid, the heat was working against you. Besides, you were too distracted by their glistening bodies, golden brown and sweat slicked and all too tempting. You licked your lips, indulging in the lingering sweetness of strawberries and cream and wishing it was the taste of a set of deliciously sinful abs instead.

“I think she’d rather lick something else up, Az.”

You flushed, suddenly feeling hot all over despite your refuge in the shade. Cassian was a shameless flirt, but it was all in good fun. Teasing was his favorite part of this little game of yours, but in the end he always gave in. At your core, the two of you were absolute hedonists. Both too impatient to deny each other gratification.

Azriel, on the other hand, wasn’t as self indulgent. The shadowsinger could hold out for hours. Make both you and Cassian really beg for it. This time, you decided to get ahead of the game.

You shot a sly glance at Cassian while the shadowsinger had his back turned, urging him to play along. The Illyrian warlord grinned like a devil and discretely nodded before pivoting so that Azriel was facing you.

With a saccharine smile, you licked long, deliberate stripes along the cone while holding the shadowsinger’s heated gaze. “I was wondering,” you pondered as you wrapped your lips around the scoop rather suggestively. “If it feels as good for males as it does for females.”

Azriel cocked his head, intrigued. shadows twisted through his dark wings. “If what feels as good, angel?”

“Pleasuring someone with your mouth.” The shadowsinger stilled. Behind him, Cassian’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve never done it before, but I’d like to try. Maybe you could teach me, Az.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched as he inhaled deeply. Hook, line, and sinker. “Then you and Cas could both confirm my theory.”

Moments later, you found yourself crammed into the shower between Cassian and Azriel. The Illyrian warlord spread out on the built in marble bench, water dripping down his shoulders as his unbound hair formed a dark curtain around his face. He looked like the god of war, all lean muscle and rugged beauty.

Warm, honey eyes tracked your movements as you discarded your dress and stepped underneath the steady stream of water. The shadowsinger's gaze hungrily raked over your naked body as he tucked his wings in close.

"Get on your knees for me, angel."

You followed azriel’s instructions and knelt in front of Cassian. When you looked up, you found nothing but dark pools of lust staring back at you. Cassian suppressed a shiver at the sight of you on your knees, watching and waiting. Hanging onto every word.

Azriel brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “Open your mouth, baby. Go slow at first. Treat it like the ice cream. Lick from the shaft to the tip.”

You did as you were told and gave tentative little licks along the underside of his cock. Cassian was warm velvet in your mouth. “That’s it, angel. You’re doing so well.”

Cassian moaned in agreement while the shadowsinger gathered your hair into a ponytail. “Now, hold your breath and take him as far as you can.”

You obliged, slightly gagging as Cassian settled in the back of your throat. Azriel knelt behind you, pressing encouraging kisses behind your ear. Sharp teeth grazed the column of your throat and you moaned, which elicited a hum of pleasure from the male above you. Peering through your lashes, you waited for Azriel’s instructions. he smirked, knowing he was in full control.

“Bob your head up and down. Make it messy, my love.” Cassian groaned as you picked up the pace, his dark lashes kissing the tops of his cheekbones while the back of his head rested against the marble tile. He gripped the edges of the bench so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

Azriel chuckled darkly. He caressed your cheek, stroking over where Cassian was slotted in your mouth. “Our perfect little whore. So good at following instructions when you want to, yeah?”

You groaned as Azriel pushed your head down. Cassian hit the back of your throat, making you gag on his cock. His head fell back, mouth opening to release a filthy moan.

“That’s my good girl. Do you see what you’re doing to poor little Cassie? You’re unraveling him, angel. I bet he’s close to coming. Aren’t you, Cas?”

Cassian shuddered, his wings flexing behind him in confirmation. “Gods, don’t stop. Your mouth is perfect. Feels too fucking good.”

"Use both hands, love." Azriel instructed as he helped you get a firm grip on cassian. Water trickled through his perfectly sculpted abs, clenching as his release came closer and closer.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cassian growled. His hazel eyes burned as he watched you take all of him. Rough, calloused fingers caressed the hollow of your throat. He could feel you gag around him as he fucked your pretty mouth. You were so tiny and delicate, but absolutely fucking filthy too. Cassian was obsessed. "You're so pretty when you suck my cock."

You hummed in response, making the winged male buck against you. He gripped the back of your head and thrusted in and out as you moaned your approval. "Oh gods, Y/N. I'm so fucking close."

The shadowsinger grazed your earlobe with his teeth. "Swallow, baby. Every single drop. Do you understand?"

You nodded as Cassian shot hot ribbons into your mouth. The Illyrian warrior shuddered as you milked him dry, savoring the salt and musk of him hitting the back of your throat. He pulled you under the running water, droplets catching in your lashes as Cassian pressed you against the cold tile.

A mischevious grin curled against his lips as he caged you in. You startled at the way he completely enveloped you, the cover of his wings blocking out the light as his lips met yours. Cassian loved towering over you like this, his large hands roaming your body as he gripped your hips and lifted you up with ease.

You groaned as he wrapped your legs around his waist, his gruff movements making you feel as light as a rag doll as he kissed you fervently. He tasted like cinnamon and whiskey, an intoxicating combination that you chased with your tongue as you pulled at his hair. Cassian returned the favor by biting down on your bottom lip, chuckling darkly as your stiffened peaks pressed against the hard planes of his chest.

"Feisty little doll, aren't you?" He growled against your ear. Cassian hiked you up, letting you feel the effect of the kiss poking against your inner thigh. "I could take you right here and then without even breaking a sweat, sweetheart. You're such a tiny little thing, but you take cock so well, don't you?"

You responded with a whimper. Cassian bit into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark. "Cas, please."

The desperation in your voice was enough to make Cassian's cock twitch against your leg. You knew that with the right combination of pleading eyes and trembling lips, Cassian would be putty in your hands. You rolled your hips against him and he moaned against your neck. When his gaze met yours, his pupils were nothing but dark depths of desire.

"I need you, Cassian."

"Cauldron fucking boil me," he muttered. "Have me then, pretty girl."

You smirked, satisfied with your little victory until Azriel hovered behind Cassian's wings.

"Now who's spoiling her, Cas?" He nudged his brother aside and pulled you back down. Cassian smiled sheepishly, knowing full well that he would've fully given into you if the shadowsinger hadn't stepped in.

Azriel's smile was a cruel slant. "You're a devious little minx," he said. "You may be the perfect picture of innocence, but you're nothing but a filthy little slut, aren't you? It's too bad that I know all your tricks, angel. Seeing as how I’m the one who taught them to you."

You grinned. "It just means you're a great teacher, Az." The shadowsinger raised a brow as you snaked your arms around his neck. "You should be proud."

Azriel chuckled darkly before peeling you off of him. A dark curl clung to his cheek, covering the mischievous glint in his golden eyes. "I'll be proud after I make you squirt in my mouth two or three times." He nodded back to the marble bench. "Now be a good girl and lie down. You’re about to reap the consequences of your actions. I don't take kindly to being teased, my love."

The shadowsinger briefly glanced at Cassian. "You too, Cas. Hold her hips down. I don't want her squirming away before she's learned her lesson."

Cassian winked before settling onto the marble bench. Azriel instructed you to lie back against his brother's chest before kneeling between your legs. You swallowed thickly as the shadowsinger spread your thighs apart.

Azriel smirked as he secured your ankles around his neck. "You're dripping, angel." His seductive laugh skittered up your spine. "You like being a tease, don't you? Do you enjoy bringing Cassian and I to our knees?"

"Only because I love the view," you said with a smile. "But not as much as I love the both of you."

Cassian chuckled and wrapped you up in his arms. "We love you too, sweetheart, but Az is going to make you pay like he promised. Can't save you from him now, baby doll."

The shadowsinger kissed the inside of your knee and smiled. His warm breath fanned against your overheated core as he licked a teasing strip along your folds. You instantly arched into him, your body begging for more. Azriel signaled to Cassian, who shook his head and held your hips down.

"Don't let her up, Cassian." Azriel said. "Not until she begs."

Cassian only nodded and kept you firmly pressed against him as Azriel went to work. His tongue explored every inch of you, licking and sucking as though you were the strawberry cone from earlier. You nearly cried when he teased two fingers in, his mouth working in tandem to push you over the edge. The sensations were overwhelming and the combination of his mouth and fingers was enough to make you want to weep.

As always, Azriel set a punishing pace. It was like he was gauging how far he could push you until you completely lost your grip on reality. Your first orgasm felt like an explosion. Stars flooded your vision as though you were witnessing the demise of a dying star. A supernova.

The second time Azriel made you cum, you thought you were going to pass out from the intensity of the pleasure. When the third rolled around, you couldn't even remember your name.

"Az please," you cried. "I can't take any more."

Azriel glanced up at you, a damp curl clinging to his cheek as his mouth glistened with your arousal. He looked like a lion after devouring a fresh kill. Dark, lethal, and utterly dangerous. And you fucking loved him for it.

"You've got one more in you, darling. Doesn't she, Cas?"

Cassian smirked, his rough hands biting into your hips. "Maybe she needs a little motivation."

"Oh?" The smirk on Azriel's lips spelled nothing but trouble. He licked his lips, gathering the juices with his tongue. "Come and taste her on me, then. That should inspire her to ride another one out."

You swallowed thickly as Cassian kissed Azriel hungrily. The shadowsinger's scarred fingers snaked through Cassian's hair possessively, claiming him with his tongue and his touch. You groaned, whining until Azriel shot you a glare. He wasn't going to let you join in on the fun.

Cassian pulled away, looking dazed and disoriented. "You taste like heaven, doll." He kissed your cheek and chuckled as you tried to turn and catch his lips instead. "Be good and give Azriel one more, sweetheart. Then you can get all the kisses you want."

You pouted, but did as you were told. Azriel disappeared between your thighs again. Despite how overstimulated you felt, release found you in record time. Before you knew it, you were writhing against Azriel's mouth and coming for the fourth time.

It felt like both heaven and hell. Heaven because the pleasure was unlike any other. Hell because receiving that many orgasms back to back had you utterly spent even though you would've begged for more if you had the energy to speak.

"What did you learn today, angel?"

"Don't interrupt training." Azriel nodded in satisfaction. "And—"

The shadowsinger raised a brow. "There's an and?"

"And you eat pussy like a god," you stated matter-of-factly.

That earned you an amused smile. "Hear that, Cas? I think I might get a plaque made to put in my office."

Cassian only rolled his eyes. "She's only saying that because I haven't worked my magic yet." He brushed through your hair and kissed your temple. "I'll prove myself soon enough, but for now, you should get some rest pretty girl."

You nodded in agreement. "Cuddles?"

"Cuddles," Cassian confirmed.

After you cleaned up and dried off, you settled into bed. Sometimes the three of you slept in Cassian's room. Other times at Azriel's. But since your bed was the biggest, the three of you tended to prefer sleeping in your room most nights.

Your eyes felt heavy as Azriel snuggled behind you, smiling gently as Cassian tucked you underneath the blankets. You threw your leg over his, giggling as he complained about your cold feet.

"Shut up, you love it."

With the moonlight glistening against Cassian and Azriel's shirtless torsos as they snuggled up on either side, you couldn't help but feel like the luckiest female in the realm. The shadowsinger leaned over to kiss both of you good night.

“The next time you two conspire against me like that, I won’t be as nice. Do you understand?”

You and Cassian nodded, but the moment that Azriel looked away, you smirked at each other.

There would definitely be a next time.

You two never learned.

#i missed my bat boys #azriel smut #cassian smut #azriel fic #cassian fic #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #cassian x you #azriel x you

2K notes · View notes

slytherinshua · 2 months

Text

YOU'RE WORTH IT

genre. fluff. period comfort. warnings. it's mentioned that reader had a toxic ex. anton and reader haven't been dating for too long. mentions of cramps and general period stuff but no blood. kissing. pairing. anton x fem!reader. wc. 981. request. no. a/n. written for @eternalgyu who is suffering :( i hope this helps even a little <33

“Are you sure this is… normal?” Anton questioned a little worried from the other side of the bed. You winced, not only from the excruciating pain you were experiencing, but the sudden guilt that hit you. Maybe you should have tried a little harder to keep your ‘ow’s from distracting your boyfriend from his work.

“Yeah, it’s normal— don’t worry.” You waved him off and rolled to your side so your back faced him, fighting back the tears that started to prick at your eyes. Was it normal for cramps to be this painful?

“Can I do anything to help?” Anton’s voice reached your ear again, this time a lot closer than before. He was peering over your curled up body with concern written on his face. Your face softened a little, and a little of the fear of being annoying washed away with Anton’s look.

Your ex-boyfriend had been… less than understanding whenever you got your period. He always complained about you bothering him or “bringing the mood down” whenever you couldn’t bring yourself to be your usual bright self. He seemed disgusted at even the thought of it and would constantly blame any normal frustration towards him on your period, even when you weren’t on it.

Months of that had quickly trained your brain to be self-conscious of it. You knew it was all normal, of course, but you had started trying to hide the fact that you were on your period whenever you could; almost as if it didn’t exist entirely.

Even admitting to Anton that it was your time of the month made you want to sink into the floor and disappear. You had expected him to be disgusted or confused or weirded out, but he wasn’t. Instead, he offered to go to the store to get anything you might need, which you politely refused— too embarrassed to make him go out of his way.

You shook your head, “I don’t want you to inconvenience yourself.”

Anton looked at you like you were crazy, “Inconvenience myself? But you’re the one in pain.”

You diverted your eyes from his, unsure what to do in this situation. Your brain was racing a mile a minute, too hesitant to accept his offer in case it backfired later. But Anton wasn’t that kind of person, right?

“And, besides, you’re worth any amount of inconvenience. I promise.” He persuaded gently.

“Okay.” You mumbled out. Anton smiled, his eyes crinkling before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“I heard heating pads can help, right?” You could barely answer before he was rushing off to warm one up, and back before you knew it, placing it carefully on your stomach. The heat did feel nice against the pain, but it didn’t make it go away entirely. Anton seemed to notice when your eyes scrunched up as another painful cramp hit you.

“Is it not helping?” His voice came out softer than usual, a touch of anxiousness lacing his question. He was studying your face carefully, giving you his full attention. You weren’t used to someone being so patient with you.

“It is, but I don’t think there’s any way to make them go away entirely. I have to just wait it out.” You said quietly.

Anton frowned, “That’s not fair.”

His comment made you smile slightly, “It’s okay.”

“Is there anything else I can help with?”

“Distraction?” You suggested, a little skeptical whether it would actually work, but it was worth a shot.

“Hmm.” Anton thought for a second, giving you a glance before diving forward and capturing your lips without warning. You squeaked slightly from the shock before allowing yourself to focus on the feeling of his soft lips and less on the pain of your cramps. It was pretty effective, if you were being honest. It was easy for your brain to only focus on his lips and nothing else. But there was one problem: you didn’t have unlimited breath.

You pulled apart slightly breathless, and as soon as you didn’t have the distraction to focus on, you were hit with another painful cramp that had you whimpering and sinking deeper into the mattress. Your arms were still around Anton’s neck, clasped at the back, and you brought him down with you.

He shifted to the side quickly before he crashed on top of you and turned so he was facing you again. You were almost sure he would be sick of trying to think of ways to help after 2 attempts, but you were wrong.

He pulled you closer until you were right up against his chest, safely wrapped around his arms. He tapped on his phone for a couple seconds, clicking on the playlist he had made for you a couple weeks ago. The soft songs on it helped you relax immediately, and you snuggled a bit closer.

“Maybe if you tried falling asleep?” Anton suggested, and you nodded slowly.

Usually it was hard to fall asleep with the pain, but it was surprisingly easy when you were wrapped in Anton’s arms. He started humming quietly along with the music, one of his hands rubbing your back slowly at the same time.

You felt your eyelids droop and finally close entirely. Each time you had a cramp, you would tense up and curl closer to him, and he would hold you just a little bit tighter. Eventually, you were able to fall asleep, and Anton let out a relieved sigh. He hated seeing you in any kind of pain, especially when you seemed so afraid to even tell him about it.

He knew it would probably take more time for him to earn your complete trust, but he was more than willing to put in the work for it. A little inconvenience on his end was more than worth it. You were more than worth it.

↳ riize taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,, @seolboba,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @cosmicwintr,, @evalevaeva,, @lecheugo,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore

595 notes · View notes

lazyjellyfish300 · 1 month

Text

Gentleman part 3 🌼💌

Geneticist CEO!Miguel O'Hara x Fem Intern College Student!Reader

Synopsis: your relationship with your new sugar daddy progresses, but meanwhile your jealous sorority members plot against you. Word count 5.5k

A/N: so I know at first the idea was to make this a situationship to lovers but I actually completely forgot about that lol so I'm just rolling with whatever this is that this has turned into. 🫶🏽🖤 This art by blahhberry on insta is Dr. O'Hara's face claim if you wanna see. ;)

TW: MINORS DNI, SUGGESTIVE, MASTURBATION ALLUDED TO BUT NO EXPLICIT SMUT YET (NEXT CHAPTER HEHE), SOME ANGST, LONELINESS, BULLYING, SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND ASSAULT (A GUY NEARLY GROPES YOU AND YOU GET PEER PRESSURED), BAD DRUNKEN BEHAVIOR, YOUR ROOMMATES SHOW THE WORST SIDES OF THEMSELVES, IT MIGHT BE KINDA TOUGH TO READ, TAKE CARE WITH THIS ONE IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE❤️ SUGAR DADDY RELATIONSHIP, (BOSS/EMPLOYEE) don't condone this IRL, maybe OOC Miguel, age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-27, Miguel is mid-late 30s), mild violence

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

-------

Once you got back to your dorm, you ran upstairs to your room, kicking off your shoes. You fixed your hair and held your bouquet, angling your phone for the best lighting and took a selfie, sending it to Miguel along with a quick text:

You: Thanks for the flowers. ❤️💐 You made my whole day!

A couple minutes later:

M❤️: You're very welcome. You look so beautiful. I hope you had a good day.

You: Thank you❤️❤️I did, a lot better thanks to you. 🥰

M❤️: I'm so glad.

You sat there, trying to think of what to say next.

You: So, when can I see you again? :)

M❤️: Well, my flight gets in Friday afternoon, however I will most likely spend the rest of the day with my daughter and my mother. Would Saturday work for you?

You smiled and texted back:

You: Saturday works perfectly! What did you have in mind?

Miguel smiled from his high up hotel room in Chicago, looking out the window and thinking for a moment, then typing back.

M❤️: How does going to the Hamptons sound? There's a waterfront restaurant that serves some of the best food on the East coast, and the views are lovely this time of year.

You smiled widely at this, appreciating that he came up with an actual date idea that sounded incredible and not just defaulting to whatever you wanted.

You: That sounds incredible! I'd love that. ☺️ Thank you so much. ❤️❤️

M❤️: You're welcome. Have you ever been to the Hamptons before?

You: I haven't, no.

M❤️: I will have Noir take you shopping this week.

A ding went off on your phone, and your mouth fell open. $500 was just sent to one of your money apps from Miguel.

M❤️: Use that wisely to pick out an outfit, or a few. You'll want to dress semi-warm, as it can get a little chilly in the evenings. But we'll only go for the day. I'll have you home at a reasonable hour so you can rest.

You just had to shake your head and bite your lip. This truly was the best thing ever.

You: You are seriously so sweet...thank you. ❤️Really, you didn't have to do that.

Miguel smiles, laying back on his hotel bed with a hand behind his head as he texts you back. You're so humble, it's adorable.

M❤️: You're very welcome. But, I insist. You deserve it for all your hard work and for what you've had to deal with lately. I hope it gives you a little something to look forward to this week. ❤️

You can't help but kick your feet at his message.

You: I sure do, I'll be counting down the days. ❤️

Miguel stood up, a little smirk playing on his lips. Man, it felt good to have a special lady in his life again. But, he had more business to get to first. And he knew he couldn't rush this. He did have hopes that this would become something more serious than just a sugar relationship.

Still, he had to ride that fine line between building something longer lasting, without creating friction between you both at his hang-up when it came to the institution of marriage. That almost always ended up being the reliable nail in the coffin for his previous flames. But that was a future problem to worry about.

M❤️: What are your plans this evening?

You sat up, chewing your lip at the sight of your backpack, knowing you should probably get a head start on the ample workload you were issued by your microbiology and health science professors.

You: Just homework for the most part. 😮‍💨 I have soo much this week.

M❤️: I'm sorry to hear that, cariño. The sooner you get to it, the sooner you can rest. ❤️

Your heart fluttered a little.

You: Miguel, what does cariño mean?

M❤️: It's a term of endearment, such as sweetheart or dear. Is it alright if I call you that?

You bite your lip and feel a heat in your cheeks coming on.

You: Absolutely, I love it when you do. It makes me feel special.❤️

M❤️: You should feel special, cariño. Because you are, very special to me... ❤️ Did you eat dinner?

A grumble in your stomach answered his question for you.

You: No, haha... Not yet.

Miguel pauses, dialing Noir while he stands up, crossing the room, trying to secure a pair of cufflinks onto his dress shirt as he reaches for his suit coat that's hanging from the coat rack by a large TV.

After he hangs up, he texts you again while checking his reflection before he leaves.

M❤️: Noir is bringing you dinner. Please text him and let him know what you'd like as soon as you can, okay? I will also have him grab groceries for you tomorrow. Be sure to also send him a list of things you need when you get the chance.

Your heart swells with gratitude and your mouth waters as you envision your favorite pizza from your favorite local joint which sounds perfect right about now. This might have been the most you ate in weeks, as a matter of fact, all thanks to this angel of a man.

You: Thank you sooo sooo much Miguel 😭❤️

M❤️: You're very welcome, cariño, just want to make sure my girl doesn't go hungry. ❤️ I have to go to a business dinner right now, so I won't be able to answer any texts until later. When you're done with your studies, give me a call?

You: Okay, I will. ❤️

M❤️: Good. ❤️ Talk to you soon.

-----

Noir was on your doorstep a short time later with your pipping hot, favorite pizza, a side order of some gooey, cheesy garlic breadsticks, a side salad, a huge bottled water to keep you hydrated, a brand new luxurious fluffy blanket in your favorite color, matching fuzzy socks with your initials, a pumpkin vanilla scented candle, and fancy moisturizer that wouldn't irritate your skin.

"Here you are, madam. The doctor wanted to throw these in as well, since it gets drafty up here in the dorms, and since you deserved a little something to pamper yourself."

"Oh my God, thank you sooo much, Noir!!" you gushed.

Noir noticed the snide looks coming from your bitter roommates as he handed you your food and presents, but he decided not to say anything about it right now. "Can I get you anything else tonight?"

"Oh, no, no, that's okay Noir...thank you, you're the best."

"Course, it's my absolute pleasure to serve you ma'am. The doctor has totally changed my life and given me everything I could ask for, so working for him and making sure his woman is taken care of is the least I can do to pay him back." Noir says with a bow. He tips the brim of his black fedora.

"Enjoy, madam. I'll be here for you at 7:30 am tomorrow morning, be sure to write up your grocery list, too, you hear?"

You nod and smile and thank him enthusiastically again, walking quickly back upstairs to your room, trying to ignore the hateful stares of your bitter roommates.

------

Heather shakes her head as she waits for her lean cuisine to finish heating in the microwave. "Y'all, I do not fucking get it. At all."

"Me neither," Vivian scoffs, taking a bite of her salad at the table next to Isla.

"I give it a month, tops." Heather replies, opening the microwave.

Isla is staring off when an idea comes to her. "Why wait a month?"

"Huh?" The other two look at her with curious stares.

"Seriously, do we really wanna let this get worse than it already has?" Isla asks.

The other two shake their heads, remembering all the extra labs they had to do that Dr. O'Hara issued them, no doubt as punishment for messing with his woman.

"She's gotta go." Vivian agrees.

"But how?" Heather asks. "She's literally fucking the boss. He's not gonna break up with her so easily..."

Isla smirks. "But the university might if she makes a fool of herself at the football game."

----

As you worked on your homework, you looked at your closed door at the sound of your roommates laughing hysterically behind it, half slightly peeved by the loud noises while you were trying to work, half feeling that nagging loneliness you felt in your heart.

The truth was, even though the trio drove you nuts and could be quite mean, you don't know why, but you still cared about their approval. All you wanted was peace between you four while you shared the space. Deep down, you felt left out and sad at their exclusion of you. You knew you could be quiet and awkward, at times, but you missed having girlfriends.

Getting ready to go out on Friday nights, doing your makeup while crowded around a smudged mirror in your jammies while one of the girls played music on their phones, talking excitedly about the night ahead and complaining about the boys you were talking to. Sharing clothes, studying together, slumber parties, talking about things that would be considered TMI with anyone else. Girlhood.

You just wanted to belong. Just wanted someone to talk to and have your back. Sure, you had Miguel now, but you needed space for friends too. You were starting to get worried at how much you craved the sound of his voice and his company. How much you started to rely on him mentally and emotionally. You knew he was a busy man and he could only be there for you so much.

Suddenly you're a little girl again on the playground during recess, wondering why nobody wanted to be your friend. Wondering why you weren't interesting enough or why you were so weird that you couldn't make people stay.

You felt a lump build up in your throat as you tried to work in the darkness of your room while they laughed together outside, holding back tears.

---

A quiet knock comes at your door and you clear your throat, trying to dry your eyes. "C-come in!"

The trio enters your room. Isla's eyes land momentarily on the new bouquet of flowers sitting on your desk but move quickly back to you. "Hey girl."

The other two sit on your bed.

"Are you crying?" Heather asks in a concerned tone.

"N-No..." You sniffle.

"Aw, girl..." Vivian pouts, putting a soft hand on your shoulder.

Your lip trembles as you try to fight off your tears unsuccessfully.

"Hey, we were hard on you, and we wanna apologize." Isla says, plopping down on your bed, the others hum in agreement.

"Come to the football game with us tomorrow night!" Vivian says, piping up. "It'll be fun."

"Yeah we can start over, have some girl time. A couple of our guy friends are coming too! It'll be chill. And we're getting milkshakes afterwards at Caddy's diner like we always do." Heather says with a smile.

"Please?" Isla asks, giving you a grin. "Whaddya say?"

"O-o-okay..." You manage a weak smile. "Thank you guys...I, I don't want us to fight either, *sniff* and I'm so sorry if rubbed any of you the wrong way about anything or offended you."

"Of course not!" Isla says with a wave of her hand. "Seriously, I mean, look, if you're dating Dr. O'Hara, good for you. Get that bag girl." She utters the last sentence with some difficulty, but her tone remains light and friendly, you don't notice. She flashes her lovely smile at you. "We'll get ready in Vivian's room around 4, then we gotta be ready to leave by 6."

"I have a really really cute shirt you can wear!" Heather offers.

"Um, who's all coming?" You ask, sitting up.

"It's us, you, then Heather's boyfriend Chase, and Chase's friends: Jaden, Alex, and I think his name is Will? Yeah, Will." Vivian says with a smirk.

"He's so hot..." Isla says biting her lip.

"Girl, he is your ex's cousin, sit down!" Heather throws a pillow at Isla.

"Oh my goddd let me liveee, dammit!" Isla giggles throwing it back, the pillow hitting you in the face on accident. "Oops! My bad girl I'm so sorry!" Isla pulls you into a hug, catching you off guard as Sexy Angel perfume from Victoria's Secret assaults your nostrils as she hugs you.

"Okay, anyway, see you tomorrow girl. Remember, 4pm, my room!" Vivian points at you as she follows Heather and Isla out, shutting the door behind her.

You feel a little uneasy but you feel the most hope you've felt in weeks after all the tension. Finally, maybe you could be chill with your roommates, and even make some new friends.

------

Miguel waves his room key in front of his lavish hotel room door, entering it with a sigh as he loosens his tie. He smiles widely at the incoming call from you on his phone.

"Hey," he says with a smile. You can hear the warmness in his voice from over the phone, the sound alone causing you to feel tingles all throughout your body.

"Hi, Miguel." You say with a smile, laying back on your pillow.

"How was your day, did you get all your work done?"

"Yee-up." You say, popping the "p" at the end of your sentence.

"Good girl."

Oh God, that was hot.

"How was your day, Miguel?" You ask him, trying to keep the conversation flowing and give you something to focus on other than his tantalizing voice.

"My day wasn't bad." He admits. He starts to unbutton his shirt, putting the phone on speaker.

"Just had a productive chat with a few stakeholders about some investments. I admit, I'm not one for social events." He chuckles.

The corner of your mouth twitches. "Haha, me neither. Guess we have that in common."

"Guess we do." Miguel agrees with a hum.

You smile, fiddling with one of your hoodie strings as you continue to talk to him, "Well, the trio invited me to a football game tomorrow night."

"Oh?" Miguel slips out of his pants and lies down in bed with a small grunt of relief. "I thought you four didn't get along?"

"I thought we didn't either." You admit. "But they apologized and invited me. They admitted they don't mind my relationship with you and wanted to start over fresh."

Miguel nods slowly, feeling a little suspicious about this. He's seen how ugly people can be to one another, particularly if the nasty feeling of jealousy is involved, taking nothing off the table of the lengths someone would go to get what they wanted.

"Just, be careful, cariño. I don't want to see you hurt. If they treat you poorly again, you're to tell me immediately, understood?"

"I'll be okay, promise." You try and reassure him, but Miguel doesn't feel too convinced.

"I trust you. I'm just not sure I trust them." He tells you gently. "You deserve good friends who are supportive and lift you up, not tear you down." His eyes fill with compassion as he speaks to you on the phone, a little astounded at how you manage to tug at his heart strings even hundreds of miles away, a feeling of needing to protect you and make sure you were safe, even if he couldn't physically be there.

"Would you let me have Noir drive you? You're welcome to invite your friends to ride with. I'll just feel much better about it if he's there to keep an eye on things."

You hesitate, but think about it. This might be a good way to get on the trio's good side, if you can let them into your new world of luxury a little bit. It kind of felt wrong to use Dr. O'Hara's wealth to win the favor of your roommates. But he was offering, and you'd do anything to improve your living situation at this point.

"Okay...yeah, that works." You answer. "I'll tell them he can drop us off and pick us up. Thank you, Miguel."

"You're welcome," Miguel says quietly with a smile. "Have fun tomorrow, and be safe okay? Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself."

"I will, I will." You say with a smile, brushing him off.

There's silence on the other line for some time before Miguel speaks again.

"Well, I wanted to talk some more tonight, because there's still a lot that I don't know about you yet."

You sit up a little in bed, "Y-yeah, of course...ask away."

He asks a few questions about your family and your childhood and you answer them honestly, finding yourself turning into an open book as you give him your life story, telling him all about your parents and siblings, your theories about why your upbringing may have effected your personality and so on.

And he listens quietly and intently, all of his attention undivided and owned by you completely in this moment. A small feeling endears himself closer and closer to you with every word you speak. You're so enriched with everything you have to say. You're insightful and intelligent and interesting. You doubt yourself. You're a pure soul who seems to feel lonely sometimes like he does, empathizing for how difficult it can be to relate to others and how the weight of becoming an adult and trying to support yourself through school was much more staggering than you expected.

You're a selfless, kind woman who would even give away the last of what she had to a man like him who had the world at his disposal, reaffirming that his choice to make you his was a resoundingly wise one.

A match between you two that was even more well suited for one another than he anticipated. Nevermind the difference in your ages, nevermind that you were originally an employee. There's something special here that he underestimated. It's jarring and it's refreshing.

It's eerily perfect, even causing himself to re-evaluate his wishes from the beginning to not even think about brushing shoulders with the question of matrimony. He's dizzy with all of these sudden epiphanies he's experiencing within just a hour or two of talking to you on the phone. Then, you say something that causes you to laugh loudly.

Miguel feels a warm feeling in his body at the sound of your laugh. It's infectious and hearty. And he'd be lying if he said the dimming lights of the city outside his hotel room and the sound of your voice weren't making him feel...a little needy by this point.

What, with how physically attracted he already found himself to you in the beginning, now you've revealed the contents of your soul to him and in turn demonstrated you're nothing like anyone else he's been involved with in the past. It was too easy not to find himself agonizingly tempted by simple desires. He's only a man.

"What are you up to this evening, my dear?" He asks in that rich voice of his.

"Just laying in bed..." You say, stifling a yawn.

Miguel hums. You bite your lip. Something about his voice had you missing him. You just poured out your heart to him, pulling yourself closer and closer to him with every layer of yourself that you stripped away and revealed to him. You find yourself comfortable with him, desiring him more than you already had, maybe even letting you toy with the idea of putting a more intimate physical relationship back on the table, knowing that Dr. O'Hara was the kind of honorable man he was. You'd love to give yourself to someone like him.

The sun was well below the horizon at this point, the darkness going straight to your head and traveling in a more sensual, suggestive direction.

"...and missing you..." You add with a little smirk.

"Mmm..." Miguel sighs.

Oh boy.

"Yo tambien te extraño..." (I missed you too) His voice is dripping with something suggestive, almost sly.

"What does that mean?" You ask breathlessly, playing with your necklace pendant.

Miguel smiles. "Means I've missed you too..."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm...."

"Mmm..."

"You teasing me, cariño?"

"Teasing you?" You bite your lip. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Careful..."

"What?"

"Heh...well..." Miguel looks around, despite being the only soul in his hotel room. "You're making me feel a certain way."

"Like what?" You bat your eyes innocently.

"Don't play coy." Miguel says firmly. "Like..." he sighs. "You're making me feel like I want to break those damn rules in the contract."

You relax your shoulders and exhale deeply out, the ache between your legs only growing more and more demanding. You really wanted it to continue, "I don't mind..."

"I'm serious, cariño." Miguel warns. "I'm not going against any boundaries we set together. Not unless you're completely sure..."

"I'm sure..." You whisper quietly to him, a faint groan rolling off your tongue as you draw out the last syllable.

"Ay por Dios..." (Oh my God) Miguel chuckles, turning red and biting his lip, hundreds of miles away. "Are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?"

"Maybe..." You tease, enjoying this effect you're having on him.

"Not tonight, baby..." Miguel says gently. "Not tonight..."

"Miguel..." You whine, your body still hungry, begging for some form of release, your desire hanging untapped, parched for his loving attention, the low timbre of his voice driving you mad.

"I wish you were here with me..."

"Oh cariño..." he groans, unable to disguise his mutual craving. "I wanna be there too..." He slowly licks his full lips. "I'll make it up to you, baby."

"Yeah?" You whisper.

"I swear." He promises you. "It needs to be special and perfect the next time we're together. We'll take our time but I won't hold back as long as you're completely comfortable and okay with it."

You giggle, biting your cheek and clenching at the thought. "I definitely am..."

"Beautiful..." He murmurs. "You've given me something else to look forward to all week."

"I don't think I can wait that long..." You say breathlessly.

"I don't think I can either." Miguel admits, letting out a chuckle of his own. "Oh....the things you do to me. You've no idea... Get some sleep now, yeah?"

As soon as you hung up you both fucked yourselves to oblivion in your separate beds, minds completely drunk with only thoughts of the other hundreds of miles away.

-----

You're all smiles as Noir picks you up the next day, barely able to function during work, only thinking about Miguel and the fun night you have planned with your girlfriends at the college football game as you sip your large iced coffee and munch on your heated pastry Noir bought you that morning, courtesy of Miguel's Platinum American Express.

Your heart does flip flops when you find your newest surprise from him in the backseat of the car after work: a Pandora bag with shimmery tissue paper and a lavender bow, eyes widening when you pull out a gorgeous white gold charm bracelet, complete with a crystal heart dangling from it with a note from Miguel.

Can't let those boys at the football game think that you're not taken. ❤️ Be safe tonight, and I'll see you very soon. Thank you for being so open with me last night. I love where this is going. Call me later.

You haven't left my mind once since the day I met you.

Love, Miguel

------

"Nuh uh!!! No freaking way!!" Heather, Vivian, and Isla squeal as they run towards the Mercedes, hand in hand while Noir held the door open for them with a humble smile.

"I always wanted to ride in a G wagon..." Heather's eyes dart around the interior, feeling the leather seats as though she needed to physically touch them to believe they were real.

"Ladies." Noir says as he comes to the door, holding a box of large, gourmet cookies nearly as big as your hand with frosting that matched your college's spirit colors, along with elegant glass bottles of sparkling lemonade. "A little game day treat for you from the doctor."

Your face erupted into a grateful smile as your friends gushed and raved about the snacks, relishing the bite of the warm chocolate chip cookie that practically melted in your mouth and the refreshing lemonade that left a little fizz behind on your tongue. Miguel was so damn thoughtful.

Once you arrive at the game, Noir helps all of you out of the car. "Anything else you need, miss?" Noir asks you as he shuts the door.

"Um, no, I should be good. Thanks Noir!"

"You're welcome. I'll be waiting out front for your entourage when the game is over. Have a good time, miss. Call me if you need anything."

You smile and turn, jogging to catch up to the others. Noir nods and drives off, parking the car only a short distance away in Miguel's designated VIP parking spot in the front row of the stadium parking lot, hanging a special tag in the window.

Noir gets out, pulling his collar of his trench coat little higher up on his neck in a semi-incognito fashion. You don't know he'll be watching you, and he feels a little bad about that, but, at the same time, he can't say no to the boss. He had good reason to keep an eye on you anyway. Your friends seemed too good to be true, and he had kind of a bad feeling about tonight, their jealousy at not being chosen by Dr. O'Hara rendering them blind.

As you find your seats, you're sat in between Isla and Will, a friend of Heather's boyfriend, Chase. Will is tall and muscular, a lacrosse player according to Isla. His green eyes lock onto you immediately, a fact not gone unnoticed to Isla's dismay and simmering jealousy. First Dr. O'Hara and now Will? What on Earth was so special about you?

Will keeps trying to make small talk with you. You try to discourage him with one word answers but he doesn't seem to get the hint, wrapping his jacket around your shoulders when he notices you shivering with the dropping temperature in the stadium. You immediately thought of Miguel but you were utterly freezing, so you decided to accept the gesture for now, praying that he'd take it as platonic.

Isla seeths quietly when she watches him give you his jacket. Time to put her idea into motion.

"Hey!" She smacks Heather who's getting handsy with Chase on the other side of her, handing her a bottle of vodka. You feel your blood run cold. There were strict no alcohol rules in the college stadium. The consequences ranged from ejection from the game to as severe as possession charges, intoxication, or even explusion from the university.

Heather giggles and takes the bottle, looking around and taking a generous shot before passing it to Chase, who passes it to Vivian and the other two guys before it travels back to Isla. She takes a shot, throwing her head back and wincing as she hands you the bottle.

"N-No thanks." You push the bottle back towards here.

"Dude," she hisses. "Come on, don't be a little bitch."

Will interrupts, taking the bottle from her and taking a shot, shooting you a playful wink. "Don't be shy."

You feel your cheeks get warm under his gaze, Miguel's face coming to your mind again and immediately shaking your head. "No...no thank you."

"C'mon." Will smirks. "Cute girl like you doesn't like to have some fun?"

Isla's face is boiling but it melts into a cheesy grin when you turn back to face her. "Right? She's just adorable huh? Little goody two shoes we like to call her." She elbows you playfully.

You're getting quite uncomfortable at this point, your eyes searching nervously all around the stadium, trying to make sure nobody around was catching wind of what your group was doing.

"We all took a shot, now you have to!" Vivian leans over, shaking your knee. She starts chanting your name in a sort of taunt. The guys quickly hopping on the band wagon, hooting and egging you on.

You're a nervous wreck, just wanting them all to shut up before all of you get kicked out of the university for good, starting to shiver nervously as a couple people nearby you turn around to see what all the commotion was.

"OKAY!" you snatch the bottle from Isla, bending over and sliding off your seat, taking a quick shot with your head down. You wince and cough uncontrollably as your erratic movements caused some of the alcohol to go down the wrong pipe, wheezing for a moment as the liquor stings and burns down your throat and lungs.

"There ya go, good job." Will pats your back and offers you a sip of his soda to chase it down. You grab it from him, taking several generous gulps without thinking, nearly sputtering again when you discover it's not just soda, but a really strong mixed drink.

Oh no.

Will smirks. "Well damn, girl. Slow down."

You feel your eyes watering up, starting to stumble a little. You hardly drank, so you had absolutely no tolerance, the alcohol flowing and dragging you down like dead weight in the water, a fuzzy feeling in your veins and the outside starting to get real shifty.

You can't make out much of what's going on around you but it sounds like Isla and the girls are taunting you again and making jokes at your expense, trying to dare you to flash your tits to the guys.

"C'mon girl, no balls you won't do it!" Heather and Vivian taunt, the guys around you looking at you like fresh meat.

You're utterly sick and confused and drunk, wanting nothing but Miguel to come in and sweep you away from this madness. Confused why your supposed friends were throwing you on display like some sort of sick circus act, expecting you to act like a slut just to appease their disgusting guy friends.

"S-stop..." You slur, falling backwards as Isla grabs at the hem of your shirt, trying to lift it up.

"Don't worry, I got you." Will mumbles. You stare up at him in horror and cringe as you smell the strong stench of alcohol on his breath as he's practically putting you in a headlock, one of his hands tries to grope your clothed breasts.

"N-No!" You whine.."Please!"

Will is suddenly yanked backwards. Noir flips him so Will is facing him before he utterly decks him in the nose, Will letting out an inhuman noise as he falls to the ground. Noir looks at him like he's scum on the bottom of his shoe before landing a nice kick into the middle of his stomach. Will lets out a large grunt, wheezing pathetically on the stadium floor.

By now, everyone's looking at you. You're disheveled and terrified with your clothes askew. Noir wraps you in his arms, scooping you up like you weigh nothing.

"You alright, doll face?" His eyes search you with worry.

You don't answer, just whimper with a trembling lip, shaking your head no as you hang your head in shame, resting your forehead against his chest as you shudder with a sob.

Noir shoots a glare at your group of so called friends. "You will be dealt with accordingly," He threatens with a growl before getting you out of there.

The stadium police come swarming, ignoring Noir because they recognize him as one of the assistants of the most powerful man in Nueva York (and the university's top donor). They surround the group, pulling the girls out of their seats and putting Will in handcuffs before ejecting the rest of them from the game.

-----

Noir tucks you in the backseat of the Mercedes, giving a soft pat to your hair and several murmured apologies as he speeds quickly away. He dials Miguel, and you can hear Miguel's enraged voice booming through the speakers.

"Bring her to the estate immediately. I'll meet you there."

"Yes boss."

"I need the first and last names of EVERYONE involved in this fucking mess."

"Y-yes boss. Don't worry. Campus police are aware and they're handling it as we speak."

"Not good enough!" Miguel hisses. I will be handling this now."

"Yes, doctor, understood."

"Get her to me safely, Noir."

"I will, doctor."

"Thank you."

Noir hangs up, taking a deep breath.

Those people picked the wrong man to fuck with this time. Miguel would make them pay for what they did to you.

"I feel sick..." you groan.

"Hold on, madam....it's alright, we're almost there." Noir eyes the speedometer as it's pushing 110 miles per hour, the countryside zipping past the windows in what seems like mere light seconds.

You whimper and hold your head in your hands, trying so hard not to vomit as Noir drives furiously towards Miguel's mansion in the countryside.

----

Tags🖤🫶🏽

@scaleniusrm @laysmt @to-the-endoftheline

@criessoft @bammzyboomy @thatone-writer @oharasfilipinawife @lauraolar14 @scaryplanetdestroyer @amberbalcom14

@ofmenanduhhhwellmen @2099hitmylineyline

@safixiovi @daddysfavoritesexkitten @hikaru-sama

@sassypossumm @leonsbimbogf

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel fanfic #miguel o'hara au #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 #Spotify

418 notes · View notes

stayinlimbo · 2 months

Text

We Become We

pairing: husband!lee minho x reader genre/warnings: friends to lovers, marriage of convenience, fluff, poor attempts at me trying to be funny, mc's gender is not specified word count: 1.02k note: i am not dead yay. i tried my best since i haven't had time to write for almost a month so please take this as a peace offering ♡

Marriage. It’s an interesting concept, isn’t it?

You’ve always thought so, at least. Two people agreeing to sign a legal document and tethering their lives to each other for whatever reason, be it love, societal expectations, familial pressure, financial security, etc.

Yours happens to be a man named Lee Minho. The same man you’ve been friends with for as long as you can remember. The same man who asked you to marry him for a reason you didn’t get to learn until he was already down on one knee.

(“I’m sorry, you want me to WHAT?” “Marry me. Please, I need health insurance.”

“Okay, yes, sure, whatever; now please get off the floor. People are staring.”)

Lee Minho, who, after dragging you to the courthouse and legally becoming your husband, finally elaborated on how his job would pay him more and cover both of your health insurances if he was married. So really, in his words, he was “doing you a huge favor” by marrying you.

And, in all honesty, he really was. No, you didn’t have a ring to show off your new husband’s weird skill at finding loopholes in company policy, and you’re like thirty-five percent sure the two of you are committing some kind of marriage fraud, but does it really matter when you can finally start using the hot water in your dingy apartment without worrying if you’ll have enough money to fund your crippling caffeine addiction? The government will have to drag you kicking and screaming before you resort back to mankind’s cruelest form of torture: cold showers.

Not to mention that marriage didn’t even change your relationship with Minho. And why would it? You’re still you, and he’s still him. He gets on your nerves just the same, maybe even a little bit more after he decided to frame your marriage certificate in his living room and send a photo to all your mutual friends. You’ll never forgive Minho for laughing at your helplessly panicked state when the group chat wouldn’t stop exploding with messages and incessant calls.

You’re still his best friend that resides in his apartment four out of seven days of the week while he inhabits yours for the other three. Maybe that’s why, two weeks after your “wedding,” when it was time to renew your lease, Minho suggested with a simple shrug of his shoulders that you move in with him since “you’re here all the time anyway.”

You’ve really got to learn how to say no to him because now you wake up next to your best friend/roommate/husband in his one bedroom, one bathroom apartment at the crack of dawn with a light pressure on your chest and fur in your face when his cats decide you need to wake up right now to feed them.

Not to say you don’t like the new arrangement! No, that would be the furthest from the truth.

Sure, you didn’t appreciate your skin care routine being interrupted by the unexpectedly high-pitched scream Minho let out when he saw you in a face mask for the first time, and what kind of person still has their phone’s brightness turned up all the way before bed? But who else would willingly tolerate your deliriousness before your morning coffee or indulge in your pleas to cook your favorite food three days in a row?

Living with Minho has only made the purely platonic feelings you harbor for him grow stronger.

That’s what the fluttering in your chest means every time you see him, right? The reason for the smile that grows on your face when you hear the distinct jingling of keys at the front door?

Yeah, that must be why heat spread across your cheeks when he handed you his phone to text one of his friends back, because since when did the heart emoji make an appearance next to your pinned contact name?

You just care about each other, that’s all. It’s normal to want to make sure he arrived at work safely and ask how his day is going during your lunch breaks. It’s normal to start receiving back hugs before bed—a comforting weight as Minho’s chin rests on your shoulder while you apply the rest of the products to your face.

It’s natural to have doubts about the nature of your relationship during an evening walk, acutely aware of his fingers lightly brushing against yours as you silently study his features illuminated by the soft glow of the scattered streetlights. What if he meets someone else and falls in love with them and wants a divorce and– oh.

Has he always looked at you like that? With his gaze softening as it locks with yours? With the corners of lips lifting into the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen? With all the stars shining above you finding a second home in his eyes? A look so loving that it takes your breath away and you can’t tell if you’re about to laugh or cry in relief.

And when you return home to get ready for bed, the familiar feeling of hands wrapping around your waist and a careful pressure resting by the crook of your neck quells the remnants of your worries.

It’s you and Minho. Minho and you, just as it always has been. Just as it’s always meant to be.

The distance between your bodies on the bed becomes nonexistent when you curl yourself into his side, laying your head on his shoulder and intertwining your legs with his as he immediately, unhesitantly, adjusts his arm, his fingertips finding purchase on exposed skin and roaming across the span of your back. A kiss to the top of your head is the last thing you feel before the gentle lull of breathing and the rise and fall of his chest begin to soothe you to sleep.

…

Ah, marriage—what an interesting concept. Two people agreeing to sign a legal document and tethering their lives to each other for whatever reason, be it love, societal expectations, familial pressure, financial security, etc.

You love your husband, and you’re beginning to think he loves you too.

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn

441 notes · View notes

the-offside-rule · 3 months

Text

Lando Norris (McLaren) - All Over Again

Requested: yes

Prompts: 5) "If I could, I'd like to fall in love with you all over again."

48) "I love our cuddles."

49) "Stay here tonight."

Warnings: none tbh

Lando couldn't believe he was back in England, the familiar sights and sounds bringing a rush of nostalgia. He had done what he always did; gone for his morning run, ordered a hot chocolate to take away, and head on home to have his pre-made breakfast. As he strolled through the town, he couldn't help but wonder what had changed since he left for his racing career. Little did he know, he was about to encounter a significant blast from the past. He figured he may as well have a proper look around this time and so, he made his way up a side street, looking around and even spotting a few new shops.

Walking up a small street, off from his usual route, Lando's eyes widened as he spotted Y/n, the girl he had once been deeply in love with and even dated whilst he was in Formula 2. They broke up in 2020 since they both just didn't have the time and promised that if the opportunity every rose again, they would revisit it. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, and then, recognizing him, Y/n's eyes lit up with surprise and joy. "Lando? Is that really you?" She exclaimed, a mix of disbelief and excitement in her voice. He grinned. "Yeah, it's me! How have you been?" Lando asked as the pair embraced one another. "I'm good. Still on the hot chocolate or have you made the move to coffee?" She asked, pointing at the cup in Lando's hand. "I've never liked coffee and I never will. How's uni going?"

"I just finished up last year. I'm kinda just working for now until I have enough to move away." She replied. "Move away? What would make you want to do that?" Lando asked. "Well you tell me. Last I heard of you was you moved to Monaco. Very fancy." She joked. They exchanged stories, catching up on the years that had passed since they last saw each other. Laughter echoed through the air as they reminisced about old memories and shared new experiences. It was as if time hadn't dimmed the connection they once had.

Lando, felt some serious nostalgia. "I'm going to have to head now. I have some things to do. But good luck and it was lovely seeing you again." Y/n smiled. "Yeah, we should get coffee or something sometime." He replied and watched as Y/n walked past him. As she walked away, he couldn't help but think that maybe this was the time to revisit their relationship, and so, he turned and jogged back towards her to give a suggestion. "Hey, why don't you come over to my place? We can continue our conversation there." Y/n shook her head. "I have a few things to drop of to my mum's. I really can't."

"I'll come with you. I haven't seen her jn ages anyway." Y/n thought for a moment. Her mum would make such a fuss over Lando being back. She always brought Lando up, even to Y/n's last boyfriend. That conversation about Lando led to their break-up and since then she's always shrugged off any Lando conversations. "Okay fine." She said as Lando began to walk with her. "Do you want me to take something? Your hands seem full." Y/n nodded. "Please take the shopping bag. Its killing me here." Labdo laughed as he effortlessly lifted the back and hoisted it up over his shoulder. "Alright. Don't be such a show off."

Their break-up hadn't left a bitter taste, and they remained friends. The sun was shining, adding a warm glow to their amiable conversation. As they approached Y/n's mum's house, memories flooded back. Lando couldn't help but notice the nostalgia in Y/n's eyes. The door swung open before they even had a chance to knock, revealing Y/n's mum, who beamed at the sight of them. "Lando! Oh, it's been too long!" She exclaimed, enveloping Lando both in a tight hug. "Nice to see you too, Mum." Y/n mumbled as Lando grinned. "Come inside, I've just brewed some tea."

Once inside, the cozy aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the air. Y/n's mum ushered them to the living room, where memories of shared laughter echoed. They settled in, sipping tea and catching up on life. Y/n's mum couldn't help but glance between them, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And that crash in Germany last year. Dreadful." Her mum said. "It was Belgium, Mum." Y/n corrected. Labdo turned and smirked at her. "Thought you didn't keep up with F1." The last time he saw her, she didn't really. She only really watched it when she was with Lando. "I can watch it if I want." She replied, sipping her tea. "Oh, you two always made such a lovely couple. Any chance you're getting back together?" She inquired with a mischievous grin.

Y/n spat her tea into the cup, as Lando gave an amused glance towards Y/n. "No, we're just good friends now." Y/n explained with a smile. "Well, that's good to hear. I always hoped maybe one day you'll find your way back to each other." Her mum said. Lando's lips twitched into a playful grin. "You never know. We could probably..." Y/n interrupted, taking it as a cue to change the subject. "Well, Mum, we've got a few more errands to run. Thanks for the tea!" They bid Y/n's mum farewell, stepping back into the sunlight. "Smooth, Lando." Y/n couldn't help but roll her eyes at Lando's comment. "What?" Lando asked as if he didn't know what he had just done. "You always know how to keep things interesting," Y/n teased. Lando chuckled. "Hey, just keeping the possibilities open, you know?" Y/n shook her head, laughter bubbling up from deep within. "You haven't changed a bit."

Lando led the way to his new home. It was huge. Bigger than the one he grew up in and Y/n found that mental. "This is yours? Are you sure?" She asked. "Trust me, it's mine." He replied, opening the door. "There's a few boxes around the place. This is all just moving stuff. Don't mind them."

The aroma of spices and sizzling ingredients filled Lando Norris' kitchen as he worked diligently to prepare dinner for his good friend, Y/n. He hummed along to a tune playing softly in the background, feeling a sense of accomplishment in trying his hand at a new recipe.

Y/n walked around, a glass of wine in hand, looking at the photos that hung on the walls. From family photos to podium photos, she enjoyed looking at them. One in particular caught her eye. It was her at Lando's final Formula 2 race. They were all smiles and she couldn't help but feel the memories washing over her.

Just as Lando reached for a pot handle, a sudden hiss of pain escaped him. Lando winced, realizing he had touched the hot surface without protection. He quickly pulled back, shaking his hand in an attempt to soothe the sting. "Fuck." Lando muttered to himself, glancing around for a nearby kitchen towel. Y/n entered the room, drawn by the sound of his exclamation. "What happened, Lando?" she asked, concern evident in her voice. Lando winced, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, just a little mishap. I guess cooking isn't exactly my forte."

Y/n chuckled softly, gently taking his arm to examine the burn. "Let me take care of that for you." As Y/n tended to his burn, Lando couldn't help but admire her delicate touch and caring nature. His gaze lingered on her, filled with a warmth he couldn't contain. "Don't look at me like that." Y/n said softly, catching Lando's gaze. Lando smirked teasingly. "Like what?" Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. "You know exactly what I mean." He shrugged. "Have no idea what you mean." Rolling her eyes again, Y/n suggested, "How about I do the cooking, and you just help grab things when I need them?" Lando nodded.

As Y/n stired some pasta around in the pot, she jumped upon hearing music. "Oh, sorry. Too loud." Labdo mumbled as he turned the volume down on a speaker nearby. "Why are you playing Put Your Records On?" She asked. "I like it. You like it too last time I checked." Lando said, beginning to dance a bit. "Last time you checked was four years ago." Y/n replied. "Oh come on, you haven't changed that much." Lando chuckled. "You wanna bet?" She challenged.

Lando nodded, moving her hair across her shoulder and placing a gentle kiss onto her neck. "You like neck kisses, don't you?" Y/n found herself blushing and biting her lip to hide her smile. Lando's arms made their way around Y/n's torso, his chin resting on her shoulder. "You're playing a dangerous game, Lando." She said. "I know." Y/n set the cooking spoon to the side and gave in, turning and lifting her arms up around Lando's neck, swaying along with him. Soon enough, they were dancing, spinning and jumping around, carefree and happy. "Oh shit! The pasta!"

As they settled on the couch to watch a movie, Lando wrapped an arm around Y/n, feeling the warmth of their shared history. The prompts echoed in his mind, and he couldn't resist expressing his emotions. "I love our cuddles." He admitted, a genuine smile on his face. Y/n snuggled closer. "Me too. It feels like we never missed a beat." Lando looked up to her, the look of a lovestruck puppy in his eyes. "Stay here tonight." He asked. "Lando, I have work tomorrow." She replied. "You're acting like something is going to happen." Lando said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Oh shut up." The pair began laughing. As the laughing quietened down, they found themselves leaning in, centimetres away from eachother.

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat as Lando looked between her eyes and then down to her lip. "Alright, but only if you promise to make breakfast tomorrow, and I get to teach you how to cook properly." Lando grinned. "Deal." And with that, he leaned in and closed the gap between them, Y/n kissing back into his lips.

The movie faded into the background as they continued their kiss, both missing the feeling of the others lips on theirs. "If I could, I'd like to fall in love with you all over again." Lando whispered between kisses. He could feel Y/n smile against him. "Maybe we can take it one step at a time, starting with breakfast tomorrow morning." Lando shook his head, lifting her up off the couch and walking towards the door. "Or we could start now and just start where we left off."

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff

762 notes · View notes

jumbojazzcats93 · 13 days

Text

CAR TROUBLES? - GHOST

Summary - You seem to be having some problems with your car.

Tags/Warnings - noncanon, gn!reader, divider by @/cafekitsune @glossysoap @violet-phantoms @lordlydragon @quietlyignoringyou @grizzersmamma @ivymarquis @ghastlybirdie

Simon looked at the time on his phone. It was almost 6pm... You'd been frustratedly fiddling with your little SUV for almost 3 hours and seemed to be getting nowhere. He'd come onto his balcony for a smoke 4 times now and seen no change. There wasn't even a real toolbox out.

You were definitely his type... maybe he could bargain with you. Some mechanic work for a date. You'd caught his eye as soon as he moved in, but he hadn't a clue on how to approach you in a casual way. Simon's mind was made up as he watched you dramatically sit in your open driver's side. He hurriedly made his way down the stairs and grabbed the tools from his truck bed. Getting closer now, he could watch you furiously typing on your phone while he walked across the parking lot.

"You haven't got anyone willing to help ya?" Wide eyed and nervous, you whipped your head toward him, "Huh?" Simon sets his toolbox down at your feet, "I've seen you out here all day, love. Looks like you could use some help." With your fingers resting on your lips, you look back at your car for a second. Your cheeks are flushed from the heat and the humid air has left a light sheen of moisture on your skin. Your eyes meet as you look back at him with a sheepish smile. "I'm a bit lost, yeah.", you chuckle awkwardly. "I don't know any car savy people." "Well, you do now."

He crouched down and began opening his toolbox. "What are you gonna give me in return for my help?" He looks up at your doe eyed expression, waiting for your answer. "I- uh... my-my gratitude and a fist bump?", you offer with a chuckle and a nervous smile. He chuckles and looks back down to dig out a tool before suggesting, "Maybe you can make me dinner." "Oh... yeah! Yeah I can absolutely do that." Standing up, he leans in close before he reaches into your car and pops the hood. Your eyes are locked with his the whole time; wide and dilated. "I'll have your little car up and running in no time, love."

He turns away, unable to see the smirk forming on your lips as you look him up and down. He's got no idea how easy it was to bait him.

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod 141 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #141 x reader #cod x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #ghost cod #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

339 notes · View notes

wolfiesmoon · 4 months

Note

hey, i wanted to say first that i love ur writing style. Also I wanted to ask (if is not a problem) jade, floyd and leona the prompt “cheek kisses that leave red lipstick stains”

awwww i'm so glad u think so!! i'm not sure if you mean the more silly one or the more serious one but either way i'm very happy 🩷

the reader is gender neutral in essence but they do wear lipstick because it's needed for this fic

jade's is suggestive i suppose????? so watch out for that????

⋆୨୧˚ Jade Leech

"Interesting choice of lipstick. Not in a bad way, of course." Jade commented upon seeing you.

"I bought it yesterday, but I still have something I have to test out." You tried your best to look innocent and nonchalant.

You've had this lipstick for a while actually, but you still haven't tested if it's transfer proof yet. Jade is the perfect candidate to test that out. Atleast in your humble opinion.

"Oh? And what might that be?" he smiled at you.

"You'll see. Like, literally right now." you mirrored his decievingly innocent smile. After you kiss him, his eyes will probably go wide like they always do when he isn't expecting something. Which just so happens to be one of your favourite expressions of his.

You reached your hands out to him and pulled his face close to yours, then pressed a nice, long kiss on his right cheek. You mirrored it on the left one too, of course. Symmetry always looks nice.

Just like you predicted, he made the exact face you envisioned, with slightly pink cheeks as a bonus.

"Oh. I was... certainly not expecting that." he sounded genuinely surprised, smiling happily at you and showcasing his sharp teeth in the process. Knowing Jade, you honestly don't want to know what he thought you were going to do with that lipstick.

"Aw man, it's not transfer proof." you acted slightly dissapointed, but in reality, you couldn't be more glad that it isn't. Hmmm, it kinda feels nice to catch Jade off guard like that. Maybe you should do it more often.

"You don't realise what you've just done, do you?" his smile quickly turns sinister in a way you can't quite put your finger on. It makes you feel all weird, like you're pray getting cornered.

"Done what?" you laughed nervously.

"I do hope that you are good at hiding bite marks." as he said that, he was already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to god knows where.

"Wait... Jade, where are you taking me? Jade?!"

You have a feeling the lipstick might get smudged by the time you're done.

⋆୨୧˚ Floyd Leech

"I don't wanna talk to you..." Floyd sulked, not looking at you.

"He's been like this for the whole day." Normally, Jade would deal with Floyd's bad mood, but he's been causing even more trouble for the Lounge than usual today and was not very willing to be put in a better mood by his brother, so Jade was forced to employ higher forces to help him out. The higher forces being you, of course.

"Right... Actually, I think I might have an idea on how to solve this." You thought of a certain thing you wanted to for a while now but never had the chance to.

"Is that so?" Jade noticed the mischevious smile on your face, amused at whatever you'll come up with.

"Floyd, come with me." You pulled on his collar, sounding confident and serious.

"I told you, I'm not going to talk to you..." he glared at you, trying to push your hand away.

"There's no talking involved." You pulled harder and he finally let up, silently letting you drag him to a quiet corner of the school.

Because he's still in a bad mood, he hasn't looked your way at all. This also means he hasn't noticed the lipstick.

Suddenly, you grab a hold of his face and press a kiss to his lips before he can protest.

"Oh... oooooooh!" His face brightened up and it seems his mood has instantly improved. Floyd's a surprsingly simple guy sometimes, isn't he?

But, you're not done yet.

You pepper kisses on each of his cheeks without letting him say anything at all. He lets out strange but not entirely unwelcome noises while you're busy decorating his cheeks with kiss marks.

"There. Are you in a better mood now? Because the Mostro Lounge needs you." you looked satisfied with your work and so did Floyd when he got a glance of himself in the mirror.

"Ehhhh, do I really have to? I feel like squeezing you, not going to work. Especially not now that I'm all decorated with your kisses." he looked annoyed at the mention of work, wanting nothing more than to smother you with love and bonecrushing hugs right now.

Seems your plan kinda backfired since he became a little too happy and doesn't seem fond of letting you go anytime soon.

⋆୨୧˚ Leona Kingscholar

It is a bit unusual for you to wear such a bright lipstick color. He brushes it off, thinking you were just in the mood for a bright color or something.

Why should he care what color your lips are, anyways? Does not matter at all.

"Leonaaaa.... come here, kitty kitty~" you called him over jokingly and he glared at you in annoyance which only made you snort harder. But he still came over anyways, so you call it a win.

He looked at you, waiting for you to clarify on what you called him over for. Better be worth his time.

You grabbed a hold of the two braids at the front of his hair and pulled him into a kiss. Though it was a short(er) one since your main targets are his cheeks.

You made sure to thoroughly decorate them with kisses, turning his head left and right to inspect your work and make sure the number was about equal.

"You done?" he tries to sound unbothered, but you immediately see through it. He's definitely really happy about it.

"Yeah. You can go back to napping now." you let him go, and he lingered for a moment, no doubt dissapointed that you actually said yes. But since he didn't want to show it, he returned to his napping spot under the tree and you went back to studying in the library.

"Leeeeeoooonaaaa! Are you here again? Professor Crewel is mad at y- What is that on your face?" Ruggie's scolding session was cut short when he noticed the lipstick marks on Leona's face.

"What are you.... Ugh..." turns out Leona kinda forgot about the fact that lipstick usually leaves marks and that his cheeks were full of 'em this whole time. He groans at the realisation.

Though... they might not be that bad if they were made by you.

"Oh my god, stay still. I gotta take a photo of this. I'm sure your family would be happy to know you're doing well in your love life." Ruggie was about to pull out his phone but was stopped by Leona who swiftly grabbed his wrist. Wait, since when was he standing, anyways?

"Jesus, you scare me sometimes..." Ruggie pushes his phone back in his pocket. "Well, do I go get something to clean your face or what?"

Leona hesitates.

"Yeah, yeah."

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x mc #twst x mc #twst x yuu #twst x you #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #jade leech #jade leech x yuu #floyd leech x yuu #floyd leech x reader #floyd twst #leona kingscholar x mc #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x yuu

739 notes · View notes

kasagia · 4 months

Text

Marry me (unless you don't want to)

Pairing: young! Coriolanus Snow x fem!Capitol!president! reader Summary: It's been a few years since you won the election for president of Panem. Your fiancé Coryo gives you many advices and is your support most of the time... but it doesn't take much for your pre-wedding idyll to turn into living hell. Can you stop it? Or maybe power is what matters most for both you and Coriolanus... Taglist: @uhnanix @serving-targaryen-realness @diannana @aoi-targaryen @omgsuperstarg @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @un06 @tallulah477 @snowspubes @hueanhdang @snowspubes @phsychobanana @blythlover Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist From LYM "universum". Kind of part 3. 'Part 2' here.

It's been few years of your term as president of Panem.

A lot has happened. Tigris started her own boutique. Coriolanus became the main Gamemaker after Dr. Gaul decided to retire and devote herself to her crazy research (controlled by your spices). The presidential gardens were filled with Coriolanus's grandmother's roses, which the Snows and you personally cared for.

Oh. And you and Coryo got engaged.

The wedding was fast approaching.

You weren't one of those brides who was picky and worried about the wedding. You had the whole Snow family for that and also your parents and Clem. Your only task was to fit into the dress and arrive on time. Sometimes, when your callender was a little emptier than usual, you went with Coriolanus to alcochol and food tastings for a wedding, but the decisions were mainly made by him. And he was very happy about it... and sometimes angry.

"How can you not see any difference in the colour of these roses?"

"Sweetheart..." you start, looking at the two light pink roses in his hands. "They are both very beautiful. Maybe let's make table bouquets out of both?"

He looks at you with more indignation than when you suggested not inviting to your wedding literally ALL OF the Academy students who happened to learn there with you over the years... not only from your classes BUT WHOLE FUCKING ACADEMY. And people from the university...

"Are we supposed to make a fool of ourselves by combining such drastically different roses?"

"You make the decision, Coryo. You know you always choose what's best for us." You decide on a different tactic and approach him. You place your hands on his chest and reach for his collar, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He moans into your mouth, surprised by your sudden action. He tosses the roses onto the chair and grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him. You smile as he starts groping your ass and pushing you down onto your desk.

"And yet I'm not the president." He whispers as he breaks away from your lips and begins to trail kisses down your neck.

"You said yourself that I would look prettier on banknotes than you would ever do." You tease him as he takes off your jacket and blouse. He licks his lips as he sees your blood-red, lacy bra.

"I lied to get under your dress." He replies smoothly, reaching for the zipper of your pants. "If I had known you were going to make it harder for me to have what's mine with those horrible things, I would have tried harder to win."

"Hey! Don't insult your cousin's work." You say, punching his shoulder. Suddenly, you realise that he's wearing a lot more clothes than you. You don't like it one bit. Especially since he had already ripped of your panties and started teasing with your pussy.

"And don't mention her when I'm preparing you for myself, Madam President. Which reminds me that… we haven't talked about our sournames after marriage yet." You only manage to take off his jacket and shirt before you freeze in surprise at his words. He undoes his belt and takes off his pants himself, freeing his hard length for your gaze.

"Now?" You moan as he slowly enters you. You freeze for a moment, getting used to the feeling of each other. You completely forgot about the conversation just now. Coryo rests his forehead against yours, keeping his hand intertwined with the back of your head, making sure you don't bang it against the desk too much. You open your eyes, and when you meet his icy blue irises, he starts thrusting into you.

You dig your nails into his back, pressing his chest against yours as he pushes into you, leaving hickeys on your collarbone at the same time. You've never been more proud (and pleased) of his multitasking.

"Now is as good as any time. After all, maybe we're creating our heir right now. It would be good to know what his or her last name will be." You would laugh at that, but he pushes extra hard into you and into your most sensitive spot, making you moan.

"I don't want to destroy your dreams, fantasies, or discriminate against your strange kink, but I'm on contraceptive, so you'll have to wait, sweetheart." You manage to mutter out, gasping between his thrusts. You close your eyes, biting your lip as you melt into the feeling of him inside you. His other hand, which he had on your waist for a better angle, wraps around your neck. He squeezes gently, making you meet his gaze again.

"Your attempt to avoid answering my question is sweet, but you know that soon we both won't be able to string a sentence together, so just answer me, my little diamond. How do you want our future, little gamestones to be called? Snow? Y/L/N? Y/L/N-Snow? Or Snow-Y/L/N?" Each surname suggestion is preceded by a strong, quick push that you feel with your whole body. You are trembling under him as he fuckes a mind out of you right on your president's desk.

But you have enough common sense to know that you need to give him a piece of… something. If you don't want his lust for power to come back to the surface, you have to give him some power over your relationship… after all, you much prefer his lust for you.

"Snow…" You moan quietly, deciding you can give up your last name if he could give up the function of president for you… besides, you can always divorce him and come back to your surname. At least that's what you think. Although while being under him, when he pushes widly into you, you are not exactly sure about that.

"I didn't hear you. Can you repeat?" He teases you with a smirk. You would never admit that, but it makes him even more handsome while he is pounding into you and groaning like a madman.

"Snow!" Your moan echoes throughout the office, along with the sound of your wet bodies slapping against each other.

"What was that?" You swear he would have chuckled if he could... or maybe he even tried to, but the sensations he was giving you two made it turn into a moan that he tried to cover up with a growl.

"SNOW!" You scream, and a tear rolls down your cheek at how wonderful he makes you feel.

Coryo can't help but lean in and lick it off of your cheek, starting from the corner of your eyes and ending at your throat, where he leaves a hickey. You saw how pleased he was with this. How delighted he was with snow landing on top again...

Neither of you can hold back your urges anymore.

The sound of the door opening to your office brings you out of your thoughts. You'd blush a little if someone other than your fiancé came to you while you were reminiscing about one of your fucking sessions at your office.

"Coryo? What are you doing here, sweetheart?" You ask with a smile, getting up from the desk and walking over to him.

You were both pleased and surprised that he came to you. Usually, at this time, you two were in your offices working. You didn't have a lunch date with him until two hours later… he also never came to fuck you at high noon. No matter how horny he was…

The click of your high heels echoes around the office. You're about to lean in and try to kiss your ridiculously handsome fiancé on his cheek, but instead he pulls away and gives you one of his cold glares.

You frown at him in surprise. He never refused your acts of tenderness. You had such a rare opportunity to show it to him that he literally took everything you gave him. That's why you were so surprised when he cleared his throat and moved away from you instead. He walked over to your desk and looked at the papers you left there with feigned curiosity.

"I was passing by and decided to visit my beloved Madam President. I wonder... do you have something to tell me, my darling? Any new plans? Ideas?"

His question didn't usually arouse any suspicion in you. He often asked about how things were going and what you were working at. But today... today he was different. More calm and serene. He acted like he was wearing a mask of indifference in order to not make you suspicious. Unfortunately for him, or both of you, you knew him too damn well to let slip away even the slightest changes in his behaviour.

"I... I don't think I can recall anything you don't know about." You say this after a moment of thought, trying to figure out what could be the reason for his strange treatment.

"Really?" He asks with a mocking smile and puts his hands in his pockets. He stands in front of the window and stares at the Capitol, having his back at you. You don't like his pretentious and rude attitude. You walk up to him, and by the way his muscles are tensing, you know he's been watching your reflection in the window.

"Can you talk to me? Please? Like normal people do."

You sigh when you get no response from him. You take a step towards him, standing directly behind him, and put your hand in his pants pocket, taking his hand in yours. You notice that he had them clenched into fists, his nails almost digging into the inner skin of his palm to the blood.

"Did something happen? Because if something has happened, then we can talk about it." You say, resting your cheek on his back, letting him hide his expression and any emotions he was feeling from you. You place a small kiss on his neck, at the base of his hair follicles, but instead of calming him down, it enrages him even more.

He pulls your hand from his pocket and pushes it away. He walks away from you madly, walking around your desk, putting more distance (and objects) between you.

"Do you want to talk? Fine. Let's talk. Maybe about your latest project, huh? Cancelling the Hunger Games..." The silence in the room after his words increases the tension between you even more.

"Coryo..." You start to speak, your voice sweet and guilty, knowing you screwed up.

"DO NOT call me that! When did you want to tell me? At our wedding? 'Sweetheart, I have a great gift for you.'" He mocks you, pacing nervously around the room in front of your desk. You slowly walk around it, leaning against the desk as you look at him with your arms crossed.

"I admit, I should have done it earlier…"

"Don't you say?!" He cuts you off with an incredulous scream, rage seething from him like never before. And this time he actually had a reason to be mad at you... but it wasn't like you did it out of spite. You only wanted what was best for Panem. For all your people. With no exceptions. "Do you know how much I sacrificed for you?! WHAT am I willing to do for you, at the slightest damned word of yours?! I put up with your becoming president. I settled for the job of gamemaker, and now you want to take it away from me? What's next?! You know... you're going to destroy this fucking country by giving these district underdogs a freedom they don't deserve!"

"Don't you think that's how it should be? How the hell are they different from us?! How were Sejanus or Lucy Gray different…"

"DON'T EVEN FUCKING MENTION THEM!" His scream terrifies and silences you at the same time. Seeing the fear in your eyes caused a kind of strange pain in him he had never felt before—not since his time in District 12. His heart clenched as he saw you flinch. He didn't want you to be afraid of him. Not you. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and fists. He bit his tongue, taking deep breaths as he tried to calm down before speaking again. "We need the Hunger Games. Otherwise, the districts will turn against us again."

He tries to explain his point of view to you and change your mind. He forces himself to look into your eyes again. Coriolanus calms down, sighing with relief, when he sees that you're no longer looking at him like a scared prey.

"How long do you think it will take for them to actually rebel? How long will the Capitol be able to murder 23 innocent children every year without a hint of rebellion? 30 Games? 50? 64?" You huff, disagreeing with his sick obsession with the Games.

"By working them to death they will not be able to think about rebellion. They will be guided only by the desire to survive and to fill their stomachs. There is no possibility of any rebellion."

"Hope dies last. If I were them, I would rather die fighting for my rights as a free human being than in the arena for the joy of sick people like Dr. Gaul and…" You bite your tongue at the last moment before you say the words that can't be taken back. But Coryo is too smart not to get what you mean.

"And who? C'mon. Finish." He asks angrily, looking at you defiantly. You clench your fists and look away from him, staring at the window overlooking the centre of the Capitol.

"Get out of my office." You say it in a tone devoid of any emotion, even though you're internally shaking hysterically.

This wasn't supposed to look like this. You had the whole plan ready, but of course Coriolanus wouldn't be himself if he didn't do something you didn't even think he could do.

You could have predicted that his spies would quickly inform him of your plans... you didn't expect it would happen the very next day after you submitted the draft for reading by your lawyers, the Prime Minister, and ministers.

"As you wish, Madam President. Don't forget about your wedding dress fitting with Tigris. Unless you don't want to marry a mad psychopath like me." He says coldly and walks towards the exit.

"Coryo..." He slams the door loudly behind him, leaving you alone in your office.

You shiver, rubbing your arms with your hands. You sit back at your desk and try to go back to the documents and reports you were looking through before he stormed into your office. You take the pen in your hand, but refrain from taking any further notes or comments. Your engagement ring is gleaming in the lamplight, mockingly reminding you that this man should be your support, not your opponent.

You've never felt so cold, empty, and alien there as you do now. And you involuntarily wonder if your marriage with Coryo will be like this. The eternal fight over who is right and who among you cares more about the Panem...

"You don't look like the happiest future bride on earth. You're very quiet today. Has something happened?" Tigris' gentle question snapped you out of your thoughts.

You stood on the podium in her boutique in the private room where she created most of her designs. You wore your snow-white wedding dress, sewn by Tigris with her own hands. The blonde made a few more adjustments, perfecting it with each of your visits. You were supposed to look like a fucking queen. Clemensia sat on the couch across from the two of you and went through the various documents, reading the most important parts to you.

"Let's just say that…. Coryo and I have had… quieter days lately."

"I told you so." Clem says, looking through the papers sent to you by lawyers and ministers. "Coriolanus is an asshole. Besides, you hurt his alpha male pride. If this wedding is to take place at all, you either have to fuck him well and get pregnant or give up on your idea and leave him as a Gamemaker."

"Clemensia!" You hiss, both outraged by her words and the fact that Tigris accidentally stuck a pin into your thigh, shocked by the news.

"What? Am I not right? I worked with him for years, even before you started dating. I listened for hours about you and how perfect you were before he plucked up the courage to make a move. To be honest, I miss this Coryo."

"Wait... you want to fire him?" Tigris finally recovers from the shock and asks, standing up and shifting her gaze between you and Clemensia.

"No. Well… not exactly… I have some ideas, changes that do not require the position of a Gamemaker to exist anymore." You tell her, not revealing your entire plan.

You still weren't sure about your decision, but... wasn't this what you wanted to do all along?

You thoughtfully play with Sejanus' bracelet—another reason for your many arguments with Coriolanus. Your friend would definitely be cheering you on. He also considered the Games to be unnecessary barbarism. There certainly needs to be more people in the Capitol who are thinking again. More people like you and Sejanus.

"And he is mad?"

"Mad? That's an serious understatement." You mumble, letting go of the bracelet. You clear your throat, successfully holding back tears. You wish he were here to tell you what to do next. He gave some hint, anything.

"If you get pregnant, it won't be only to save your engagement; it will also warm up your image. The creation of a presidential family would overshadow the revolutions and changes you are planning to make. Think about it."

"I can also make him a prime minister to 'save my engagement', so you better shut up if you don't want to be just one of the ministers, Dovecote." You snap at her, knowing that the last thing you need right now is to carry Snow and Y/L/N's heir. You already have enough problems and confusion in your head.

"Yes, Madam President." She snorts, going back to the papers. You roll your eyes at her as she gives you a smirk. Sejanus may have been taken away from you, but at least you got Clem. It was good to have someone to rely on.

"Just talk to him."

"What?" You ask Tigris, torn from your thoughts about Sejanus.

"Talk to him. Explain why you are doing what you are doing." She says it as if it's just that easy. As if Coriolanus Snow could be convinced to do anything.

"I've tried. But he didn't listen to me. He's too stubborn to see what I want to do. And all I want is to guarantee the best future for Panem and all the people. Not just the Capitol's citizens."

"And if anyone can change his mind, then it is you. He… he is different. Because of you. You are showing him that all he believes in and all the things he learned under Dr. Gaul's eye weren't entirely true. You are bringing his good side back to life. I… I started lately to see my cousin instead of the cold version of his father he became. Just… please talk to him. Show him that he can be good."

Silence falls between you; even Clem has stopped turning the pages of paper. You both stare at Tigirs, remembering Coryo before the Hunger Games... before Lucy Gray and Dr. Gaul.

"You, Snows, and your stupid ability to use pretty words to manipulate people into doing what you want will be the reason for my end." You sigh, realising that you have to cancel the rest of your meetings and go to his place.

"Nothing bad will happen as long as our intentions are pure. Besides, you'll be one of us soon. You will receive this gift with a wedding ring." She says with a smile as she finishes the final touches, she stands in front of you and looks at you carefully, her eyes brightening and her smile widening. She beams with pride and delight. "For me, you look breath-taking. What do you think? Do you like it?"

"It's... amazing. Perfect. If only the groom was also like that, then I wouldn't have to worry about my wedding at all." You say, looking at yourself in the mirror, thinking about what you will say to him to appease him somehow or what position to promise him.

"You will be fine. Coryo won't be mad at you for long. He loves you. Trully. He will do everything for you."

"Even he has his boundaries. I just hope I didn't push him too far this time." You respond pessimistically to Tigris' assurances.

"You should go and talk to him before Dr. Gaul finds out about your quarrel and catches him. This woman is just waiting for the perfect opportunity to bring you down, and turning Coriolanus against you would greatly help her in this plan. Also, great dress, Tigris. She looks amazing. She will look wonderful in wedding photos. Panem will go crazy with delight."

Clem was right. People would love it. The only question is whether what was between you and Coryo really was genuine love or whether it turned into part of your presidential public image...

Sejanus' bracelet and Coriolanus' engagement ring have never weighed so heavily on your wrist and finger as they do now.

You've only been nervous a few times in your life.

During the university entrance exam, while defending your master's, bachelor's, and doctoral theses, and now, going to your fiancé's apartment with wine and a cake from the pastry shop he loved (the bastard wouldn't admit it to anyone, but you noticed how quickly these cakes disappeared from his plate.)

You walk past the avox and the security guards, leaving your security outside, as you unlock the door to his apartment with trembling hands.

"Coryo?!" You shout, placing your 'gifts' on the table near the front door and hanging up your coat. When you don't get an answer, you grab your things and go deeper into the apartment. "I know you're here! Don't play hide and seek and come here; I just want to talk!"

You say it loudly as you enter the living room. Putting aside the wine and cookies, a photo on the coffee table catches your eye. You take the photo frame and smile slightly as you see the photo from your engagement.

You can't help but run your finger tenderly over the photo, memories of that evening coming to your mind involuntarily.

"Where's your jacket?" Coriolanus asks you, covering you in his red one as you step out into the cool air. You needed a break from people and the loud party you threw at the presidential palace to celebrate the upcoming Christmas. Your boyfriend accompanied you faithfully, taking you out to the gardens of your grand mansion.

"I didn't wear it. Tigirs made it for me, but it didn't match the dress. Besides, I'm at home. Why would I need a jacket or a coat?"

"Who do you think told her to sew it? She spent an hour complaining that she was already giving you back the dress and that whatever she made for you wouldn't match it perfectly now. Cover yourself up. I don't want you to catch a cold; this week will be very intense anyway. Everyone goes crazy before Christmas. Dr. Gaul started to experiment with a kind of poison made from the venom of some specific genetically modified vipers that breed in snow heaps and are able to survive extreme conditions." He grumbles, standing in front of you and buttoning up a jacket up to your neck.

You smile and can't help but lean forward and kiss him sweetly. He hums against your lips, tangling his hand in your hair and pulling you closer to him. After a moment, he pulls away, content to welcome your rosy cheeks, and pulls you closer to him to make sure the heat doesn't escape from your body so quickly as you stroll lazily through the gardens.

"I see she's giving you great ideas for the winter edition of The Hunger Games, Mr. Gamemaker." You tease him with a smirk, at which he rolls his eyes and holds you tighter against him.

"I would prefer it if she stopped. The games are already mine. She should stay in her lab and out of my business."

"You don't get along anymore? I tought that she loved you. And you were delighted with her attention." You ask, curious about his obvious reluctance and the cold way he spoke about her.

"We have one… controversial issue." He answers evasively, looking at the roses his grandmother planted in the greenhouse you were passing by. You frown, watching him carefully as you question him.

"That is?"

"You." He answers briefly, not bothering to come up with any lies. He knows very well that sooner or later you will find out about... his soured relationship with Dr. Gaul.

"Oh... me?" You asked him, surprised. He doesn't look you in the eyes, but you can see from the way his jaw clenches at the memory of the conversation that led to their conflict that it was... quite serious. You didn't expect that Coriolanus would argue with Gaul about YOU.

"Don't make those innocent eyes. You know exactly what I'm talking about." He says this, looking at you briefly. He turns into an alley, leading you two to the deeper parts of the gardens where only your gardeners went... "Gaul thinks you're an incompetent child who doesn't know anything about government or how to keep people in line. That you will plunge this country within a few years, and your rule will lead to a rebellion, which the Capitol will lose in a very bloody and painful way. To which I disagreed... quite strongly, which she didn't like, so she called me your faithful errand dog, waiting for leftovers from your table. I think you can guess how I reacted."

"That old madwoman should be glad I left her alone in her lab. Even though I have reasons to send her to prison." You are furious about the news he told you. You stop, making him turn to fully look at you. He can't help but smile in amusement when he sees how cute you look when you're mad at someone other than him. This is definitely a nice change for him. "You're not some fucking dog or lesser man, Coryo. We are partners. Equal ones. I hope you know that. And maybe Dr. Gaul won't live long enough to see me... us, leading Panem to greatness, but it doesn't change that people will be better under our rules. I promised myself we would never suffer from hunger again. Not any citizen of the Capitol and districts."

"Districts?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"They are people too." You reply, placing your hands in his jacket pockets to warm yourself up a bit. Seeing this, he pulls you towards him and leads you towards the gazebo. It should protect you from the wind enough to make you warm again.

"And they were the reason for our suffering."

"True. But people change. And now we are the reason for their suffering. So what makes us different? Apart from nice clothes and well-groomed skin?" You answer after a moment of silence.

"You talk like Sejanus." He sighs, unable to stop himself from comparing your utopian visions of harmonious life with the Districts to Plinth's desires.

"He was a good man. And a friend." You say it quietly, remembering your friend fondly. You mindlessly play with the bracelet he gave you, which catches Coriolanus' attention. He looks at this scrap of jewellery with a hateful look, jealous that you value some stupid item so much.

"Not like me, right?" He asks, laughing bitterly and shaking his head. You frown and shift your confused gaze towards him.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing." He tries to back away, but your inquisitive gaze and the anger bubbling within him make him throw away his common sense and let his jealousy and resentment flow out. "He will always be a saint in your eyes, right? He died a martyr. He wanted to help the districts. Does that make me an executioner in your eyes? A sinner maybe?"

"No. I'm not comparing you to him. You are from two different worlds. He was a boy from the district, and he saw these people for what they were. Humans. Just wanting what they should have. Equality. And you... you are from the Capitol. You saw the cruelty of the rebellion and the fighting. Your father, mother, and sister died. You lost... a big part of yourself at a very young age. With them. And you have a right to feel resentment, anger, and hatred towards the people of the district, but imagine that somewhere there lives a man who went through similar things, but at the hands of people from the Capitol. Are you surprised that they are distrustful? That they see us as a threat? That they want to get rid of us and finally have their freedom? That they don't want to be threatened with the possibility of death in the Hunger Games? Wouldn't you object? Wouldn't you rebel?"

"It doesn't matter. We won't reconcile. Our wounds are too deep, and our resentments are too fresh. Do you think the families who lost loved ones will accept these... people from the district as equals? That we will create one happy, wonderful country, as our naive Sejanus wanted, against whom the people he helped turned? You don't know what the people of the district are like. They are treacherous dogs, even worse than me. You don't know when they will decide to drop their façade of kindness and give you a fatal bite like the most venomous snake."

"You... you have right. I don't know. Maybe they are like that, or maybe not. But deepening these wounds will do no good, Coryo." He huffs, shaking his head, when he hears his nickname coming out of your lips.

"Coryo... how can you say that to me when all I can see in your eyes is how you despise me for sending him to death? You abhor hypocrisy, but here you are, still holding a grudge against me, aren't you?"

"No. Neither of us is crystal clear. And maybe you want to tell yourself that you're a selfish asshole who doesn't feel anything, but I know... I see how he haunts you. And she. You're not a monster, Coryo. No matter how much you want to make other people and maybe even yourself believe in it. You are not an enforcer or a tyrant. Gaul wants you to be. She wants to make you as cold and uncaring as her. But it's not you. And do you know how I know this?"

"How?" He asks mockingly, trying to keep up his indifferent façade. And maybe he can lie to everyone around him, but not to you. Not when you've known him for so many years, almost better than yourself.

"Because you love me. And as long as you are able to love someone more than you love yourself, then you cannot be a monster." You say this, looking into his eyes.

He blinks a few times and turns his head, shifting his gaze to the vines wrapping around the columns of the gazebo. You watch him as he swallows and clears his throat, bringing his voice down to a flat tone, before he looks at you again.

"And how are you so sure that I'm doing this? That I love you more than anything?"

"Well, starting with you not sabotaging my presidency, which you could do very easily, and ending with this." You say calmly as you fish a small, velvety box out of the pocket of his jacket you're waering and open it, revealing a beautiful, breathtaking engagement ring to the both of you.

You both remain silent. He looks at the ring in shock, as if you were the one proposing to him, while you study the expression on his face, only more reassuring yourself of the decision you made the moment your fingertips felt the velvet box in his jacket's pocket.

"That's why I wanted you to have your own jacket..." He sighs, taking the ring from you and playing with the small box. "I had a whole plan ready, but as usual, you come in and ruin everything. And I certainly didn't want to ask you this question the same night when we were discussing my questionable morals."

"You've got some. Microscopic, but still." He laughs at this, which makes you smile involuntarily.

His icy blue irises look at you with something so... warm and tender, so unlike Coriolanus, who hangs out with the crowd of important people in the Capitol, and so like your dear Coryo, that you almost melt in front of him.

You stick out your hand (the one without the Sejanus' bracelet), which he takes without hesitation. He strokes the back of your hand gently with his thumb, thinking hard about something before looking back at you.

"You sure? Because there is no turning back from there. In the eyes of the Capitol, it's as if we've already exchanged wedding rings."

"That's actually very sweet and artificial, you know? You are trying to be a gentleman while we both know damn well that all you want is to put that ring on my finger and make me finally yours." You say it playfully, smiling widely.

"Y/N. I need an answer." He responds in the same calm tone as before, but you can see from the slight shaking in his hands that this is also a poignant moment for him in his own way. Coriolanus Snow and feelings. To you. The world went mad... maybe it already did on the day you became president instead of him.

"And I need a question." You tease him, and he sighs in irritation, but he can't stop the smirk forming on his lips.

However, he suddenly becomes serious, and instead of continuing your game, he takes the ring out of the box, strokes gently your palm and ring finger, and asks, still looking into your eyes with an unexpected tenderness.

"Y/N Y/L/N... will you take me as I am and agree to marry me?"

"Now this is a bit of a trick question." You joke after swallowing, trying your best to hold back the tears that are coming with the question you would never expect him to ask you.

"Y/N..."

"Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Coriolanus Snow." You interrupt him. Before he can complain and lecture you for not respecting the big step you're taking for your future, you cup his cheeks with your hands and pull him in for a kiss.

The photo shows this moment. One of the paparazzi took it after sneaking past your security and following you two into the gardens. It shows you and Coryo kissing, holding each other close in an embrace, as you two celebrate your engagement. The ring that he had somehow managed to place on your finger before you hungrily pressed your lips against his was glowing in the moonlight and looked perfect in the photo.

You smile fondly, filled with nostalgia.

"I accept only wrotten apology." Coriolanus' voice brought you out of your thoughts. You set the photo down on the coffee table and turned to face him. He looked impeccable as always. The only thing that would have betrayed his earlier nervous and angry state was his slightly ruffled hair and the lack of a tie. The first buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, giving you a perfect view of his Adam's apple, neck, and part of his collarbone.

"Me too." You finally say, keeping your mind from wandering to the dirty memories you had of him.

"You too?" He asks, surprised, crossing his arms. You lift your chin slightly, looking at him defiantly, and answer in a calm but firm voice.

"I agree. I did a bad thing. I should have spoken to you before making any documents or plans. But I am not the only guilty one here. You were spying on me. You sent your men after me to watch my every step." You accuse him in a resentful tone of voice. To which he just laughs mockingly, ignoring your furious look.

"Please... as if you didn't have your men or women watching my back and telling you about everything I do."

"And how am I supposed to trust you?! You killed 3 people or maybe even more, that's not the thing that's simply can be forgotten." You explode, unable to control your emotions anymore. His gaze darkens as well, and his eyes glow, sharing your fiery fury.

"And how am I supposed to trust you that you don't just set all of the Panem on fire by your orders?! I wanted to be president all my life. You wanted it only for several months." He stops, looks at something in your hand, and laughs bitterly. You curse internally when you see his eyes fall on Sejan's bracelet. He grabs your wrist and turns the bracelet in his hand before his icy irises shift back to you, making you shiver. "As I see, good old Sejanus is ruining my life even from beyond the grave. Why are you wearing it again? Are you feeling remorseful, darling? The anniversary of the death of that district scumbag is coming up, and you magically start to remember that I have no conscience? That you can't trust me? That's amazing how hypocritical you can be. If I were you and wore any jewellery from Lucy Gray, especially after I promised you I wouldn't do it again like you did after our engagement, you would go mad, suspicious, and probably demand from me to destroy it. But you can do everything you want, won't you, Madame President?"

"So we don't trust each other. Perfect future marriage." You sneer fiercely, pulling your hand from his strong grip as he presses your buttons precisely.

"Don't bring our engagement into this. The problem is what you do as president, not us."

"Why shouldn't I? Because at home you are my Coryo and outside the walls of your apartament you are Coriolanus?" You mock him, unconsciously taking a step towards him. He accepts your challenge and equally furiously invades your personal space as you stare at each other defiantly.

"You still think I am like a fucking coin?! That I have two sides—one for my family and the other to show for our people?"

"I AM PRESIDENT. Not you. They are MINE pepople, not ours!"

You regret your words as soon as they leave your mouth. For a moment, you think he's going to slap you; you wouldn't be surprised if he did. But he didn't. He takes a step back and closes his eyes, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. You take a step towards him and reach for him, but the stern look in his icy eyes stops you.

"If that's what you say, Madam President. But if I were you, I would consider which one you love—who I am or who I was. Because if it's the latter... then maybe we shouldn't get married. Although I think you always preferred Sejanus. What a pity that the worms have already eaten his corpse. You would be worth each other."

You freeze at his words. A loud bang on the door wakes you from your stupor, making you flinch. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. Sejanus' bracelet gets caught in them. You curse and somehow untangle it from your hair. You play with it in your hand for a moment.

"Coryo..." You start, hoping he hears you, and he leaves.

When there is no response from your fiancé, he walks to his bedroom door, and you knock once and remove the bracelet from your wrist.

"Coryo, I am sorry!" You try, but once again, you are only met with silence.

Anger begins to build within you again. Because how can you talk to him normally and apologise to him when he locks himself in a room like a rebellious teenager? You slam your hand on his door in frustration, letting out an angry scream.

"FINE! BE A BRAT! Call me when your period will end, Snow!"

You throw the bracelet on the floor in front of his door and quickly walk out of the apartment, forgetting to grab your coat. You avoid the avox, security, and all the other annoying people and practically run to your car. You stop at the front desk to tell Clem to cancel all your appointments for today and tomorrow morning. You get in your car, wanting only to drown your sorrows in wine and the hot tub in your presidential palace. You could take some time off from time to time. After all, you have already been the worst president of all time in the eyes of your man.

"Smile!" The photographer says this before the spotlight blinds you. Coriolanus's arm wraps tighter around your waist—perfect for the photo—and so you can feel him tightening around you in a little painful way, so it's hard for you to breathe. You feel like a snake or gorset were around you. "Perfect! Maybe you can kiss now?"

You don't have to turn around to know Coriolanus has that smug, cocky smirk on his face.

You shouldn't be here with him. But your wedding rehearsal couldn't be postponed due to your argument, so instead you dressed up as best as you could so he could see what he had missed during these weeks of silent war between you.

But for now, he was the one having the time of his life, watching you get more and more irritated with his closeness to you. He could notice it even behind your perfect fake smile.

You gasp softly in surprise as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss. If you had an audience, they would surely gasp with delight, judging by how quickly the light flashed and how many photos the photographer took of both of you before you stepped away from Coriolanus.

"Great! Thank you very much. That's all from my side, unless you want another photo, Mr. and Mrs. President?" You'd roll your eyes if you could. Not married yet, and he already has your title.

"That's enough for now. Thank you, Colin." Coriolanus replied for the two of you.

He puts his hand on your shoulders and pulls you into his side. You'd elbow him in the ribs, but you decide to hold back until the photographer leaves you alone.

"Is something wrong, honey?" He asks in a sweet, artificially concerned tone of voice as the photographer gathers his things.

"Not at all, sweetheart." You reply with a smile that disappears from your face as quickly as the door closes behind Colin. You push his hands off of you and look at him, furious. "Did you have to? I'm sure they'll print THIS photo on the entire front page of the newspaper."

He just shrugs and grabs a strand of your hair, smoothing it out.

"I do not see any problem. We're getting married, after all. Unless you're planning something else behind my back that I don't know about? Then this photo might make you look like a heartless bitch after our breakup."

"We both know it's better to be a widow than a whore." Your little threat is met with a mocking laugh from him. He shakes his head in amusement and leans towards you. You tense up, feeling his breath on your cheek as he whispers in your ear.

"Do you wish me dead? You pick up on my habits pretty quickly, Madam President." He pulls away and winks at you, clearly seeing how his closeness has affected you. His hand trails lazily from your neck, over your collarbones, down the side of your breast, and down your waist, until it settles on your hip. You shiver, feeling his electric touch through your clothes. "Come on, honey. Let's get back to the guests before they drink all our supplies, and we won't have anything good left for our real wedding."

Before you can say anything, he tightens his grip and pulls you closer to him. You both leave the room and return to the ballroom in the presidential palace.

You may be angry at each other, and there's a festering resentment between you, but in a strange way, his presence and his hand on your waist calm you down in a crowd of people. He could be a great foil when he stayed silent and didn't try to convince you of his views.

Your thoughts involuntarily turn to what your spies have told you. Coriolanus has been doing some district travel lately. They didn't know for what purpose. He disappeared for several hours in different houses. He rarely stayed there overnight, usually boarding the train right away and returning to the Capitol. You didn't like it. Even more so, your first thought was that he was with HER.

You don't know what was worse. The fact that maybe he was cheating on you, the fact that your first thought was that he wasn't plotting against you but that he had reconciled with his songbird and was spending time with her in different neighbourhoods, or the fact that you felt immense jealousy and rage at the thought that someone else touched your fiancé besides you. And it wasn't even anger at him. It was at Lucy Gray.

Pathetic, how you could let him become such an important part of you, how he slipped back and nested in your heart, poisoning it with sweet words just to regain your affection and trust. And then he attacked you every day, testing your limits and seeing how far he could go in his plotting to keep you from paying attention to him.

He was like a snake. But he was your snake. And you wanted to live in the naive belief that maybe you could tame him, just like Dr. Gaul did with her own snakes.

You look at him as he smiles, showing off a row of his pearly snow teeth as he talks to some minister of yours. You don't pay too much attention to the conversations and people around you, letting him take over. You don't miss how some of the Capitol's most important figures call him Mr. President. You ignore it. For now, you have something completely different on your mind. Or rather, someone...

"Y/N? What's wrong with you?" Coriolanus' question brings you out of your thoughts about his possible affair. You still wonder if they could really get back together. After all, Lucy Gray is alive thanks to him, and he followed her to District 12. You flinch, feeling his hands on your shoulder and one caressing the side of your neck as he gently forces you to look into his eyes. You can really see genuine concern and anxiety in them. Does he start to suspect that you know that he can... "Look at me, diamond. I'm really starting to worry now. What's going on?"

You don't have time to answer him, even if you wanted to. Festus staggers onto the stage, and you already know that this is a harbinger of disaster.

Coriolanus stands next to you reluctantly, clearly preferring to finish the conversation rather than listen to your former academy colleague make a toast.

"Hello everyone. Please give me a little attention. I've known our presidential couple since we started the Academy, and to be honest, I never thought that someone like Y/N would actually end up with our Coriolanus, but as you can see, fate likes to be funny and do ridiculous things. Nevertheless, I'd like to make a toast! A toast to Y/N! Always the second love, never the first. I hope you know what you are doing by marrying this narcissist asshole, Madam President."

Surprisingly, the crowd sees this as a joke and is not outraged by it. After all, in public opinion, you were a perfect couple, and Coriolanus was staring at you with the eyes of a lovesick puppy.

But you took it completely differently. And this supposedly funny toast from Festus only deepened your doubts. Judging by the way Coryo tensed up, he noticed how it affected you.

"Excuse me for a moment." You say this, feeling yourself getting more and more short of breath. You don't bother listening to what he says back. All you can think about now is getting out of there as quickly as possible before you start crying.

Fortunately, Coriolanus doesn't follow you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him furiously approaching the drunken Festus. You don't give the two a second thought as you run to the guest bathroom. You close the door behind you and rest your hands on the sink.

You hyperventilate, trying not to think about how painfully true Festus' words were.

Coriolanus had only two true loves, for which he was willing to sacrifice himself completely.

Power and Lucy Gray.

He devoted his entire life to one thing: trying to be the best in the Academy, the best in the eyes of Dr. Gaul, the best in the University, the best in the eyes of the Capitol, a gamemaker, and the future president—a position you took away from him.

And for Lucy, Gray gave up his dreams. Damn, you know he would fucking run away with her, sacrificing his entire life, if these two were able to trust each other and love each other despite their flaws and differences.

So how could you ever compete with that? When he never put you first, when he never cared about you that much to make any sacrifices for you, how long could you fool yourself into thinking that he loved you when clearly everything he did was to become president?

People already called him that. In a few years after your wedding, who knows how he will manipulate them? How will he manipulate you and everyone around you? That he won't declare himself president and remove you from your place, making you his First Lady, just as he always wanted?

No. He didn't love you. Festus was right. You would always be the other one. It doesn't matter whether his songbird or lust for power are on his pedestal.

You shiver when, in the middle of your sobs, someone hugs you tightly and presses you against a hard, muscled chest.

"Shhh. All right. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch. He will pay for your tears... just... please stop. You know it's not true; you know he lied, that it was his drunken gibberish, and he doesn't know what he's talking about, right? Y/N, you know that you are my one and only, my chosen one, my destiny, right? That it was always you? At every moment, even the darkest? Y/N?"

You cling to him, frantically grabbing at his shirt. He places his hand on your head and presses you against him, feeling you shake and struggle to catch your breath between your cries. He strokes your hair tenderly and places kisses on your temple and forehead, never letting go of you as he only tightens his embrace.

He doesn't say anything anymore. He knows that it doesn't make sense that you just need to let out the emotions of the whole month and that you just need him close to you. And maybe his reaction is not appropriate, but he warms up internally at the thought that it is HIM that you cling to in your most difficult times, that you seek his comfort even when you are in great conflict with each other. And somehow he forgets that you plan to take away his role as Gamemaker and that you plan to take down the Hunger Games behind his back.

"You broke the door." You finally say when you calm down, not moving away from him just yet.

"I heard you crying. My peacekeeper's instinct took over." You'd laugh at this if you were in better condition. All you can do is breathe in the faint scent of his perfume and the white rose he has pinned to his jacket.

"You were a peacekeeper only for one summer." You mumble, breathing steadily. You slowly started to calm down, enough that you were no longer in danger of shedding any more tears.

You pull away from him, which he reluctantly allows you to do. You take the paper and wipe the tears from your face, checking yourself in the mirror. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that his shirt is black with your mascara and smeared with makeup that you left behind as you buried your face into his chest.

"And without you by my side, it felt like years." You catch his gaze in the mirror as he looks at you carefully. You had no idea why you reacted like that or why you fell straight into his arms and let him hold you. You felt stupid that he saw you in such a... moment of vulnerability.

"You had Lucy Gray. Maybe you still have her?" You ask, turning to face him.

You don't know what's on his face more—surprise or anger—but you definitely know that he doesn't like your gentle accusations. He walks towards you, making you take a step back and hit the sink behind you with your hips.

"No. Don't let that drunkard convince you that there's something more important to me than you. And definitely not that district bitch." He says this, placing his hands on your shoulders. His gaze is so intensely focused on your eyes that it makes you feel uncomfortable. Something like doubt begins to bloom in your chest, but Festus' words are still fresh in your mind.

Always the second love, never the first.

In your eyes, he's lying. He says sweet words to calm your guard down. He may not have loved Lucy Gray, but he didn't love you either. Only one thing mattered to him. Power. Maybe it's finally time to stop fooling yourself into thinking that he can be different?

"I don't believe you. And the problem is, I don't think I ever will again, Coriolanus. I thought that we... that we could be like we were before, but maybe you're right. Maybe I only love you for who you were. Maybe I am a hypocrite. But I want to marry someone for whom I will be most important. I want to marry someone who can sacrifice everything for me. And maybe I'm asking too much; maybe I'm fucking selfish—I don't care. But I don't want to marry someone to whom I mean less than the whole world."

You say all this with tears in your eyes. You don't feel like pretending to him that you don't care or that you're strong. You've been like this for far too long. Somehow, you manage to push past him and head towards the exit.

"Y/N..." You ignore his soft calls and close the door behind you.

You're not coming back to the party. You don't feel strong enough to go back there and pretend that everything is fine, that your heart is not broken, that you are not devastated, and that you don't know what to do next, neither with Coryo nor with Panem. You go straight to the exit of the mansion. You nod to your driver and get in the car with him, giving him the address of Clem's apartment.

You will call her from her apartment and tell her that you are avoiding your fiancé for now and that you need to think about some important things. You just hope she doesn't get mad that you're out of sight of the Capitol for a few days.

You needed rest. Or a longer vacation. The process of phasing out The Hunger Games has been a migraine-inducing experience from the very beginning. You were afraid to think about how it would all turn out and end.

You didn't actually have to think about it for long.

The car skidded strangely, and even though you were wearing your seat belt, it's throwing you forward and then backward. You groan as you feel the side of the car's body crumple inward under the pressure of the other car. You hear nothing—no sound—as you feel the bone in your leg break under the pressure of the other car, even though you swear you take a deep breath to scream. The last thing you remember before you pass out is a warm feeling spreading throughout your body.

"Clemensia. Where the hell is she?" Coriolanus approaches the Prime Minister, glaring at her furiously.

"Can't you see I'm trying to track her down?! Peacekeepers are looking for her everywhere. One of the lackeys says he saw her driver leaving here before the explosion; maybe she escaped before they blew up half of the presidential palace."

"It's better for you to be like this." He growls at her, furious. You were supposed to be with him all the time. You and Tigris were supposed to be far from danger. He only managed to keep an eye on his cousin. That wasn't his plan for the evening. How could he keep forgetting your ability to ruin all his ideas and assumptions? Next time, he will tie you to himself.

"Don't talk to me like that, Coriolanus. I've known you for too long. Besides, I'm the prime minister. If my suspicions are correct and this little attack on the presidential palace by the district's rebels the day before we announced our plan to take down the Hunger Games is not their own idea, then I will make sure Y/N's disappearance is your last concern."

"Are you threatening me?" He asks, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He takes a step towards her, making sure he is towering over her and looking down at her intimidatingly.

She tries to hide her nervousness, but by the way she swallows and the fear shining in her eyes, he knows that even though she's acting tough, she's still afraid of him. Like everyone in the Capitol. He would make sure that Clemensia would never again dare to put her above him. After all, he could always get rid of the prime minister. As the president's husband (and maybe, in the future, a full president), he would have enough power and connections to do that. But he would have to convince you of it first...

"I'm warning you. Like an ex-friend." Her voice brings him out of his thoughts. He laughs derisively and shakes his head in amusement before returning to his intimidating stance.

"So let me warn you too. If something happened to her, if her disappearance wasn't her own will, I'll make sure you hang with those district scumbags. You, your family, aunts and uncles, and whoever is close to or related to you. I'll erase your family name from the Capitol records." He says, leaning close enough to her so that no one accidentally overhears what he's saying, while making sure he's close enough for it to be appropriate. He doesn't want you to be jealous. Maybe a little. But definitely not now, when your engagement and marriage are in question.

“You don't have that kind of fucking power.”

"Maybe I don't. But I'm sure that Dr. Gaul's snakes would love to play with you again. Maybe this time they will be more poisonous?" He says it with a mischievous smirk as she turns pale at his words. She knows she's flooded with memories of the 10th Hunger Games and what Gaul did to her. He winks at her and walks away, not sparing her a second glance.

He doesn't wait for her answer. After all, he has more important things to worry about than arguing with his former friend.

He passes people treated by rescuers and gracefully jumps over the ruins of the eastern part of the presidential palace. He will have to hang more rebels than he thought. He finally agreed with them that only the ballroom would explode, not the entire wing. He would have the heads of all of them if something happened to you.

"Private." He calls out to one of the peacekeepers. A man younger than him walks up to him and bows respectfully.

"President Snow. How may I serve, sir?" He would smile at how he calls him if your health and safety weren't on his mind.

He barks dry and sharp orders at him and orders some of the peacekeepers to lock up and guard the rebels and shoot any unnecessary ones right away. Coriolanus didn't want to waste any time. He sends the rest of the men, along with the higher ranks, to secure the Capitol grounds against any escapes. His silent command is clear. Everyone must be captured by dawn, or inept peackeepers will take the place of those missing.

He notices that the people around him are quite quick to accept him as the new leader, even despite Dovecote's protests.

Coriolanus finds this logical. After all, after you, he is the next and only competent entity. He probably would have basked in his power if one of the soldiers hadn't handed him a phone. A call from the hospital.

"Madam President had a car accident. The rebels tracked her car and drove into the side; some of them set the car on fire, but fortunately someone got her out of there before the worst happened. We are stabilising her condition all the time, but..."

"If you let her die, I will consider it treason and an attack on the head of state. All hospital staff will become traitors like those rebels from the districts and punished even worse than them; tell this to the doctors. In fact, I'll do it myself as soon as I get there. Have a nice night." He hangs up the phone and, after a quick conversation with a council of people closest to you, a plan of action with the press spokesman, and a very hateful tussle with Dovecote over the car, which he obviously wins, gets into the car and drives himself to the hospital.

Because no matter what happens, you are his priority. He's going to assure you of that.

He parks his car anywhere and runs up the hospital stairs. When the nurses see him, they run away, dragging trolleys with other patients. He manages to grab one of them painfully by the elbow and ask about your whereabouts. The nurse sighs in relief when she doesn't say anything in return, and he immediately heads to the room you are in.

He sees you in various states. Burned from head to toe, broken bones, bruised. He feels his inner anger rising along with his anxiety as various scenarios run through his head.

In each of them, you are barely clinging to life, but you are alive because Coriolanus cannot imagine existing in a world without you. You can hate him, you can curse him, and you can distrust him, but you MUST LIVE. For him.

But in neither of them does he imagine Lucy Gray sitting by your side.

"Touch her, and I'll break all your bones and put you in prison with a muzzle on your mouth so you can't sing for the rest of your miserable life." He doesn't know how, but he manages to get over his initial shock and threatens her, closing the door behind him with a loud bang.

She doesn't even flinch. In fact, she is not taking her eyes off of you. She looks just like when they were in 12. Like it hasn't passed a day since he tried to shoot her and kill her in the forest near the lake she showed him.

"Relax. She's too good to hurt. And I'm not a murderer. You know about it."

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asks as their eyes meet. And he is the one who flinches.

Because the Lucy Gray looking at him isn't the same girl he helped win the Hunger Games. He feels something... strange about her. An aura that he can't properly name. It makes him more anxious, and he forgets about you for a moment in favour of the woman sitting by your hospital bed.

"I saved your fiancée. Do you know that the people you talked to are customers who often come to my tavern? You hide it well, but I know you, Coriolanus. I connected the dots. She will do it too."

"She's not like you. She won't run away from me. She won't leave me. She loves me." He growls at her threat.

He shifts his gaze to you and relaxes slightly. You breathe. Steady and calm. You're as pale as a wall, but you're alive. You have a bandage wrapped around your head, but you're alive. The beeping in the room monitoring your heartbeat reassures him of this. He always thought it was annoying. Only now is he starting to understand how heavenly this sound is.

"She did it today, didn't she? She ran away from you and got into the car, I bet, after your fight. About what? About power? About the title? You have everything, Coriolanus. Prestige. The woman of your dreams. Respect. Money. What more could you want? Isn't this what you dreamed of? At the times when you had nothing but her? Haven't you dreamed of being right where you are?

Her questions catch him off guard. He doesn't know why, but all he can do is stand there over your bed and listen to the songbird as he questions his actions and motivations. What's even weirder is that he can't really name what he's feeling right now. Everything became unimportant the moment he walked into that room and saw the both of you. Or rather, when he was informed about your accident.

"I... yes."

"So what are you still fighting for? What do you still want so badly? Maybe you'd rather have everything BUT her?"

"No. No." Hee shakes his head, looking down at you and your unconscious body.

NO. He couldn't live like this.

Without your smile. Without your warmth. Without your touch. Without your lips. Without your moans. Without your quarrels. Without your irritated and angry sighs. Without seeing the crease between your eyebrows when you solved a difficult problem. Without your tired smile and sigh as you climbed into bed with him.

He could starve for weeks. But he couldn't be without your presence. You were more precious than anything.

Than any water, food, air, money, or titles. When he had nothing, when his family was starving and living in a dilapidated apartment, he could only feel powerful with you in his arms. He could only feel important in the glow of your attention and affection. And he knew that if it were taken away from him again, he would not enjoy any power. He had a piece of it to himself today. And all he could think about was you.

"Mr. Snow?" The doctor's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up, no longer finding Lucy Gray at your side. He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his eyes. He shouldn't drink that last glass of champagne...

"Yes?"

"Everything is fine with Madam President. We managed to stabilise her. She should make a full recovery in time for the wedding, but she needs to rest a lot. She was put through a very hard and difficult experience." He nods and hestitantly sits down in the chair next to yours, keeping his eyes on you (which is a great relief for the doctor).

"I will take care of her." He announces firmly, in a hushed tone of voice, as if you weren't on strong drugs and could wake up at any moment.

"Of course. I shall leave you both." The doctor takes the opportunity that Coriolanus' attention is focused solely on you and leaves.

Coryo gently cups your cheek in his hand and strokes it with his thumb. He lingers on your lips, relieved to feel your shallow exhale. The fingers of his other hand wrap around your wrist as he checks your pulse, making sure you're alive and that his mind isn't playing with him like it was with Lucy Gray.

You were there. Safe. He hovers over your bed and puts his head on your chest. He doesn't put his burden on you; he would rather die than hurt you. He simply puts his ear in to listen to the rhythmic beats of your heart.

He quickly decides that's the prettiest song of all time.

"Tilt your head a little towards me, my diamond. I don't want to touch your wound too much." He says, kneeling by the tub as he washes your hair, making sure the shampoo doesn't get too deep into the already crusted skin at the back of your head.

"Are you aware that I can do it myself?" You sigh as he carefully rinses your hair.

"Are you aware that you only got out of the hospital yesterday?" He answers the question with a question as he continues to wash you, being extremely gentle. His fingers caress the scalp of your head as his other hand lazily runs the sponge over your body, making sure to clean every bit of you.

You would appreciate it if he left your side for just five seconds. Or at least for one. Ever since you saw him watching over your hospital bed, he hasn't left your side. And the peacekeepers seemed to be circling around you all the time.

"Yes, and since my accident, you haven't left my side even for once."

"Does this surprise you?" His point is right. You could have predicted he would be like this. Just like how he'll be jealous of every peacekeeper around you, which is why he either always had his arm wrapped around you or had women watching over you when he REALLY needed to leave your side. To another room. With the door open, so he could look at you while he talked on the phone or did whatever he had to do.

"I don't like this shampoo." You change the subject, wincing as you straighten the leg that was removed from the cast yesterday.

He looks at you scoldingly and gently grabs your leg. You moan as he massages your muscles, just like the physical therapist showed him. He only allowed female doctors to see you. And he always had to be present in the room. As if you couldn't take care of yourself or trust a damn doctor.

Yet you allow him a bit of this... madness. You actually found it sweet how protective he became of you. Not enough to not snap at him when he was really crossing the line, but it was still sweet to see him concerned and so tender in his care for you.

"A little lower." You tell him, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the tub.

"Don't do that." Coriolanus says this and gently places his fingers on your neck, pushing your head forward a little. "You can't rest the back of your head on anything yet."

"I'm not a baby, Snow. I know what I can and cannot do." You say it stubbornly. He sighs and rolls his eyes at you. He gets up from his knees and begins to quickly undress. You can't help but blush at the sight of his toned, well-muscled body. You're getting a little hot. Especially since you haven't had him in you for a long time. "I thought I was really sick?" You ask teasingly, biting your lip as you watch him closely.

"You are. Move over." He says this and sits behind you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder so that your wound doesn't touch his skin or the tub.

"You've gone soft, Snow." You're mocking him. If you turned around, you would see a soft smile on his lips.

"On the contrary, this way, I can feel you better. Especially your sweet ass, which teases me. Keep doing this, and I'll spank you."

"I thought the car hit me too hard for you to fuck me?" You say it jokingly, but instead of laughing or responding with a comment, he tenses. Concerned, you turn in his arms to look at him. He has a thoughtful expression on his face. You see a bit of anger on her face, a bit of resentment, and a bit of something resembling nervousness. "Coryo?"

"You wanted to run away? Then?" He asks you thoughtfully. You shiver as his eyes pierce yours, searching for any hint of lie or truth. Automatically, he holds you tighter against him and reaches for the faucet to add warm water to the bathtub.

"You know that I can't I am the president." You respond, letting him hug you tightly. You bury your face in his neck, nuzzling his neck with your nose. He's trembling too now. He pulls away gently and cups your chin. He forces you to look at him, examining your face carefully.

"I'm not asking you if you could. I'm asking you if you wanted to. Did you want to run away from me?"

There is silence between you for a moment. The only sound is the splash of water flowing into the bathtub. You lick your lips and kiss him briefly and quickly. Before he has a chance to kiss you back, you pull away from him and turn off the tap.

"No. I needed to calmly think about a few things. And you know how... explosive we can be together when we both get into each other's thoughts."

"I guess so. Which didn't explain your behaviour earlier. That little burst of tears. What was it really about?"

He lets you play with his fingers underwater. You don't look at him, collecting your thoughts, wondering how honest you can be with him. You remind yourself that he is meant to be your husband, and if so, you want nothing less than a partner. After his grandmother died, he changed, but he was right. He wasn't the same Coryo. He couldn't be. Not after what he was put through. And you weren't the same Y/N. He accepted it... you guess. But could you do the same?

"I guess... I guess I am scared you will love it more. That you will love power over me... or other things... just like you always did."

"I beg your pardon?" He asks, surprised, even shocked. You frown and move your gaze to his chest, nervously nibbling at his skin.

"You always had something more important than me. The Plinth Prize. Lucy Gray. The Hunger Games. Dr. Gaul's favor. The Presidency. There was always something above me." You tell him, not looking him in the eyes.

An awkward silence falls between you. You are afraid to interrupt her. And you can barely move without his help, so you'll stick with it as long as he wants you to. The bastard knew you had no escape; that's why he brought this topic up.

"I did it to be someone. To matter in the Capitol. So that I can marry you. So I could be able to take care of you and Tigris. You know it well."

"And I would marry you and live in poverty if only we could be together. You know it well." You respond quickly, using his words. He wrinkles his nose in obvious displeasure, shifting in the tub and tightening his grip on you even more.

"That's the last thing I wanted for you. What I wanted for my family. What I wanted for myself."

"And what do you want now?" Your question catches him off guard, as if he's heard it before somewhere. You look at him carefully, seeing thousands of thoughts running through his head.

He remembers his conversation with Lucy Grey—her ghost, apparition, drunken vision, or whatever she was. He wasn't sure of his answer then. Not completely. But now that your eyes were staring at him instead of the district girl, he had no doubts about what he wanted.

"The first man I killed was a boy from the district." He starts playing with your hair as he begins his confession. "Tribute in the arena. Sejanus entered there after his friend from the district was... you know. Dr. Gaul told me to get him out of there before anyone noticed him. As we were leaving... he ran up to us. The tribute. He wanted to kill us. I grabbed something metal and heavy and hit him. Everywhere. Head, torso, legs, and arms. Until he stopped moving. The second person was the daughter of the mayor of District 12. Sejanus was conspiring with some people from the district. He gave them weapons. He was under the illusion that they would just organise a peaceful demonstration, but they shot several peacekeepers. She walked in in the middle of our conversation when I caught them. Right after her was Lucy Gray. They didn't like each other, and we... were close then. I had to shoot her. Not to protect Sejanus or her. I... all I could think about was that if I didn't kill her, then they would hang me too, and I wouldn't be able to come back... I'd never come back to you and Tigirs. And the third... the third was Sejanus. The one who was at every one of my murders. I... remember the time spent in 12 vaguely. But his scream when they were hanging him haunts me and will continue to haunt me in my dreams very... very precisely."

You remain silent after his long speech. You didn't expect him to ever tell you about his time in 12. Or about the people he killed. That he would open up enough to really admit his crimes to you. What should worry you is that he doesn't regret his actions and that he talks about them... too lightly. But how would you react in his place? Wouldn't your impulses be similar? To defend yourself from everything? At least in these first two cases...

"And for the past few days, all I could think about was that you would be my fourth. So don't say I don't care about you, that I don't put you above everything else, when all I could think about was that I would shoot myself if you died, because there is no life for me without you. You haunt me everywhere. You are everywhere. I see you everywhere; I remember your touch, your smell, and your taste. I am addicted to you... just like you are to me."

"So... you killed two?" You ask, swallowing, holding back tears of emotion at his words.

Maybe he actually cared about you more than you thought? But could he? Now he would say anything to marry you, to become the president's husband, and with time maybe a president... you remember how they called him that. But did it really bother you? Have someone with whom you can share the burden of running the country? He would certainly be better able to silence pesky ministers than you or Clem.

"Three." His whisper interrupts your internal thoughts. You look up at him and see him staring thoughtfully into the water. You cup his cheek and force him to look into your eyes.

"You didn't put a rope around his neck, Coryo."

"Maybe not physically. But it's because of me that he's dead. You know it. Why are you trying to justify me?" His question confused you because you had no idea what to say back. You knew why you were doing it and why you were trying to explain his actions to yourself.

And you also knew perfectly well who was behind half of your presidential palace exploding. You couldn't cancel the Hunger Games after something like that. Not now. But maybe it was good? Maybe you can slowly make the changes you want? It was foolish to think that Coriolanus would simply accept it. But gradually... giving him more and more power and autonomy... maybe you could even split the presidency between the two of you? Then he wouldn't be so insistent on keeping the Hunger Games.

"We are not good for each other." You whisper, catching his gaze. You gently stroke his cheek with your thumb as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"I've never said we are." He answers. The water is getting colder around you.

"We will break each other." You whisper, leaning towards him. You rub your noses against each other and rest your foreheads against each other. The closeness between you makes you feel warmer, even as the water around you becomes more and more icy.

"Possibly... I will not beg you to stay."

"Me neither." You say and capture his lips in a kiss. He tightens his grip on you, his fingers digging into your waist as he presses you against him. You feel his every muscle and movement when you kiss, forgetting about everything around you and all the problems that are waiting for you outside.

You're both lying. You both would keep the other one by your side at all costs. Even if you are not able to admit it to yourselves and become truly vulnerable, you know what the unspoken truth is between you two. You knew each other too long and deeply to live apart and never have contact with each other.

"I love you, Coriolanus." You whisper as he picks you up and walks towards his bed. He stops for a moment, stunned and shocked by your confession.

Coriolanus. Not Coryo. Not his old self.

"I love you too, Y/N. Never doubt that." He kisses you hungrily and greedily, feeling like he's won everything the moment you both fall onto his mattress.

And with your every touch, every gasp, and every moan of his name, he makes himself completely sure about the decision he has made. Maybe the power over you would be enough for him, or maybe not. For now, it was good to be able to fall into each other's arms. To have someone to come home to...

"Are you sure?" Tigris asks you as she is straightening your veil and wedding dress. "Clem and I have prepared a contingency plan just in case. Say the word, and we'll cancel it all. It's just the four of us, your parents and my fiancé. No one will know. And Clem will make up some story for the press and convince the priest to keep... the secret of the confession, or whatever you want to call it."

"I'm sure. There is no turning back. I won't wear this dress again, and it would be a pity to let it go to waste."

"I'm glad you like the dress, but what about your fiancé?"

"He's not that bad." You joke, and you both laugh. You're both interrupted by Clem's arrival. She whistles when she sees you.

"My God, you look even better than at the fittings. Maybe it's good that you're having this private wedding. I was angry at the beginning, as was half of the Capitol, but thanks to this, any photo published will be more eagerly watched and anticipated by people. Plus, Coryo might not kill someone out of jealousy that someone else sees you like that. Take care of your fiancé, Tigris."

"Everything will be fine." You tell them, looking at yourself in the mirror. The bracelet from Sejanus is on your wrist again. A wedding gift from Coryo.

"And where does this certainty come from?" You shrug at Clem's question and give her a mischievous smile.

"Snow lands on top." With a smile, you watch as horror and realisation appear on Clem's face. You laugh along with Tigris as she sighs dramatically.

"NO! Just not this! Don't tell me you're taking his surname, and now you're going to throw out this stupid text too! I listened to it for half of the Academy; I can't stand it for half my life, and what's worse, in your version!"

"It won't be that bad. I'll be Y/L/N-Snow.”

"This will be even worse! You can use both! Your future kids too!" She complains, not caring about your laughter. Coriolanus was right; her reaction was worth everything.

"Nope. Only I can use both. The kids, if there are any, will have his last name. I had to make some compromise."

"Kudos to him for that. Maybe I won't go crazy before I'm 40." You are about to express your doubts, but just then your mother comes in, looking at you with tears of emotion in her eyes.

"It's time. Should we sing 'Here Comes the Bride?'"

"Only if you're drunk enough." You joke and take the bouquet from Tigris. You hug both of your girls and your mother and go to your father, so he can walk you to the altar.

"You look beautiful. Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks you as soon as you get there.

"This is the second person asking me this; should I have doubts? Because I don't." You reply jokingly, but you know he notices how your hands are shaking.

"I trust him with you. It's obvious he loves you. And my old eyes tell me he's probably nervous too, maybe more than you are." He says this and nods towards the window.

The presidential palace has them tinted, so Coriolanus and your immediate family gathered in the garden cannot see you, but you can see them. And you see him staring at the door, waiting for you to enter. You see him playing with the sleeve of his cuff thoughtfully, with probably thousands of scenarios going through his head in which you leave him at the altar. And you're tempted to do it and see if he would chase you...

"I am sure. Let's go now... or he'll have a heart attack." You joke, trying to laugh it off.

Your father nods. He opens the door and leads you towards the altar. You don't hear the music around you, and you don't notice how warm the evening is.

All you can look at is Coriolanus.

And he just looks at you too, a smirk on his face. Not the one when he wins over his enemy and when his plans go his way. It's a sincere smile, the one you love more than life itself, the one that the poor boy with whom you shared your lunch had. Coriolanus Snow's happy smile dispels all your doubts.

The wedding ceremony is somewhere near you. Somehow, you don't pay attention to the words being said; you don't register any sound. Only the Coryo pattern counts. His tight grip on your hands and the fact that he's just as nervous and scared as you are, but you both don't run away. You just stand there, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, because right now that's all that matters. You two. No Capitol, no Panem, and no districts—no nightmares of the past.

Just you two and this one moment. And you know that whatever happens, it will either break your heart or keep it alive forever. Because the undeniable truth is that you will need each other forever.

What difference does it make how many times you go from lovers to enemies to lovers and back again as long as you always found your way back to each other's arms?

You were practiced at breaking and mending your hearts.

563 notes · View notes