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bunnysbrainrot · 7 months

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Vices and Virtues

Kinktober prompt: Threesome

Relationship: Crowley/Castiel x Reader

Content: 18+ only; threesome, unprotected sex, throat fucking, p in v, creampie, degradation, double penetration, oral (f and m receiving)

Summary: After a drunken ramble, an Angel of the Lord, and the King of Hell, both take on your challenge. Turns out, Angels can be just as depraved as demons.

A/N: to make Kinktober a little more exciting, i wanted to go with a pairing that doesn’t happen too often! if you have requests for other characters, let me know!

Angels and demons have been polar opposites for millennia. Before you’d gotten into hunting, discovering what lurks in the dark, you had a basic idea of ‘good’ and ‘evil’. After some time you realized that, surprisingly, angels are dicks. It was something Dean professed every now and again.

Over time, while getting to know both an angel and a demon, it opened your eyes to a morally gray truth. Demons can sometimes have their reasons for raising Hell, sometimes even literally. Angels, despite their reputation in modern religion, weren’t always good.

Both angels and demons have both proven themselves at breaking their stereotypes. Demons weren’t always headstrong about painful torture, and angels cared too little about being ‘perfectly innocent”.

That realization hit you even harder now that you lay sprawled on the bed, with two pairs of eyes staring you down.

You were fully clothed, but with the way these two looked at you, you may as well have been stark naked. Crowley had been utterly silent, shifting glances between you and the angel. Contemplating.

Castiel, who had before been so awkward before, held an air of confidence, looking at you intently and giving a dark nod to Crowley. You sat up fully, crossing your legs as you looked between the two men, though that was a loose term.

“So,” you started, “what’s up?”

Your tone was level, but it didn’t dismiss the blush spread on your face, or the way your hair on your arms stood on end. You’d known precisely how you’d gotten into this situation, and it was all because of a stupid question a few weeks ago.

It was a simple evening for everyone to relax. You, the Winchesters, Crowley, Castiel, and Rowena had been drinking since you’d all gotten home from a long hunt. More like mission, really, but you were all home safe, and one piece. Some parts of that night had become fuzzy, but you couldn’t forget what you’d said to Castiel and Crowley when the others had left, or simply passed out.

“You think angels and demons have ever… heh… done it? Like, together?” Your words slurred together in a drunken stupor.

Castiel had given you a thoughtful look, but stared at the ceiling as he gave an answer.

“It would be possible, though it’s rather confusing. I can’t imagine an angel and demon taking one another into… the bedroom.”

Crowley piped up, “It’s only because our feathery friends think they’re above that. Total prudes, if you ask me.”

“Good thing no one asked you,” Castiel quipped, sipping his drink.

You’d all laughed it off, thinking that was the only time you would talk about it. After all, it was just a hypothetical joke, a drunken ramble.

You’d been wrong about that. It seemed that Crowley and Cas remembered every word and flirty smile you gave them that night. Crowley took a step toward you with his hands tucked behind his back, a smug smile spread across his face.

“I’m sure you recall what you’d said to us back then, about angels and demons, and their time in the bedroom.”

Shit.

You froze, eyes wide up at him while he continued.

“It got me thinking,” Crowley nodded to Castiel, “that it could be more authentic if you had the real experience.”

You reeled over his words, the pit of your stomach grew heavy as you realized just what he meant. Castiel followed Crowley’s lead and stepped toward you, his face still as stone.

“Cas?” you asked, “Are you okay with this?”

He nodded solemnly, “I didn’t know how to… navigate the situation. I was given some help.”

You cocked your head to the side, looking between the two in confusion. Crowley smiled, nodding to the angel.

“I may have given Feathers a little something to, well, help us in this. Our sweet Castiel was feeling shy, so I decided to lend him a hand.”

Castiel rubbed his nose quickly, and it clicked. Crowley must have given him some sort of aphrodisiac for tonight. Castiel shifted on his feet, glancing down to his crotch, assessing when something would kick in.

“Come here, sweetness,” commanded the King of Hell, ushering you over with beckoning fingers. You did as you were told, striding over to the demon.

Crowley cupped your cheek, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone. His eyes raked over your face, hovering on your lips before he leaned in, planting a soft kiss. You hummed into him, letting out a high moan into his mouth when you felt another warm body from behind.

A set of hands gripped your hips and drew them back, brushing fully against a newly hard Castiel. He ground into you gently as Crowley moved his lips fluidly with your own. A breath caught in your throat when Castiel’s lips found your neck, trained on the soft spot below your ear.

He sucked at your throat, adding a painful pressure that sent heat straight to your core. The marks you would have later would have a complicated explanation, for certain.

You whined softly into Crowley’s mouth, bringing out a deep hum from him. The demon’s hands finally moved down your body, taking their time over your shoulders, down to your chest, and to your waist. He kneaded softly at the supple flesh of your middle. Your head was spinning from the rush, unsure as to which man you should give your attention.

Sometimes, Castiel’s ability to read minds was irritating, but it was your saving grace tonight. His voice creeped over your hot skin as a low growl.

“You’re nervous,” he whispered. “You can’t decide what to do, correct? All I ask is that you breathe. Relax. Let us take care of the rest.”

You let out a bated breath, melting into the two men that kept you from falling apart at their voices. Castiel’s hands wandered to your front and moved upwards to your chest, gently palming your breasts through your shirt. You mewled softly when his fingers brushed over your nipples; he toyed with the hardened buds, rolling them between his fingers.

Crowley slipped under your shirt, pushing it upwards to your collarbone, exposing your aching breasts to the cold air of the room. He dipped his head to your chest, taking claim of a nipple from Castiel, swirling a warm tongue around it. You arched your chest into his touch, stomach tightening with each movement.

There was an air of urgency around you. You needed more, the glorious torture sent you in a tizzy, desperate for attention to your aching sex. Each part of you throbbed in unison, a soft cry for their touch.

“Someone’s growing impatient,” Castiel murmured against your skin. Crowley chuckled in reply before breaking away from you. He stared at you mischievously, snapping his fingers.

In the blink of an eye, your clothes vanished, as did Castiel and Crowley’s. Two thick cocks landed against your body, eager and throbbing with each grind into your nude form. Castiel eased his length against the middle of your ass, pumping himself on you. Crowley ground into you from the front, his heavy length pressed into your stomach.

Every part of you ached in need. To be touched. To be ravaged. To be fully used.

Crowley brought a hand to your neck, pressing firmly on either side to give you that crazed pleasure from lack of air. He urgently crashed his lips to yours as you struggled to breathe. His hand released you from its grip; the blood rushing back in had you panting, a sloppy smile on your face as you ogled the demon.

It was Castiel’s hands that were more greedy, to your surprise. He took his time groping your ass, your hips, your breasts.

“Seems that our angel appreciates your looks just as much as I do,” Crowley purred against your neck, leaving wet kisses in his wake. You shivered at the air that blew across your skin, bucking your hips into Castiel’s length.

Crowley pulled you with him as he neared the bed, Castiel wasn’t far behind, pumping his cock with a fervent hand.

You sat on the edge of the bed. Crowley gently kissed your jaw, reaching your ear.

“Lay down, darling.”

Crawling to the top of the bed, you laid your head against the pillows. Castiel stood to your right, now making his way toward you. The bed dipped as both men came to your side, splitting up and moving to each end of your body.

Crowley trailed his tongue along your thigh, nipping your skin along the way. You reached upward to Cas, carding your fingers into his hair before tugging him down to you, pressing your lips to his.

As if it were lock and key, Castiel quickly took you over, kissing you with unmatched passion. His hands found your chest as they’d done before, twisting your nipple to bring out another high-pitched whine into his mouth.

Your legs were being urged apart, spread completely before Crowley, who awed at the sight of your wet slit, pulsing with each heartbeat and inviting entry. He dipped lower, nestling comfortably between your legs. His tongue jutted out and licked a wide stripe through your folds. Your hips bucked onto his tongue as it passed over your clit.

Castiel pulled away, “Does this feel good?��

The angel, as always, cared about you deeply. Your pleasure was his responsibility tonight, and he wanted to make sure he and Crowley were delivering the best service to you.

You nodded, gasping when Crowley wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking the swollen bud while his tongue flicked across the bundle of nerves. You needed more. To touch them.

Until now, you’d been so quickly overcome with pleasure you’d lost all sense to return the favor. You reached toward Cas blindly, finding his cock and wrapping your hand firmly around the shaft. He grunted as you pumped him with a tight grip, brushing your thumb over the head of his cock, now slick with precum.

You twisted your top half to face him, gripping the back of Castiel’s thigh and pulling him closer. His cock prodded your cheek before your tongue guided him into your mouth, swirling around the tip. He shuddered, bucking his hips eagerly into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks as you bobbed your head on his length, pushing yourself lower and lower until the head of his cock slammed into the back of your throat.

“Fuck,” Castiel cursed, paired with a low moan He stared in amazement as you worked on him, the way your lips looked better wrapped around him. An image he knew would never leave his mind.

Crowley drew your attention back to him, pressing a finger to your slick entrance, dipping in with ease. He curled the digit to brush your g-spot, sending a wave of heat across your skin. You moved your hips on his finger, whining around Castiel’s cock in your effort to get more pressure.

“Not a good… angle,” Castiel said gruffly. He pulled himself from your mouth, a string of spit showing you just how sloppy you’d gotten. Crowley broke his mouth away from your pussy, his fingers still pumping into you as Castiel took hold of your shoulders.

The angel tugged you sideways and backwards. Your head hung off the side of the bed, directly in front of Castiel’s thighs. His cock thumped against your jaw, a silent command to open your mouth. You slacked your jaw to allow him in, sucking him greedily.

He cradled your head in his hands, thrusting his hips into your mouth, the head of his cock hit the back of your throat with more ease this time. From this angle, he could fully use your throat, warm and tight.

“Good,” cooed the angel, shoving himself further into your mouth, “Good girl, open up.”

Your mouth had never felt more full, now being stuffed by Castiel’s dick. Tears stung in your eyes, falling past your cheeks and into your hair. You gagged on his length, barely finding a second to breathe. Cas stilled and pulled out of your mouth, patting your cheek lightly.

“Take a breath,” he instructed.

It was hard to do so when there was a demon’s fingers buried in your cunt. You cried out when Crowley’s pace quickened, with the tension in your abdomen you could hardly breathe at all.

Crowley shifted himself into his knees, leaning over to watch your expression as he pounded his fingers against your walls. You gaped up at him, straining your neck to watch his smile grow as an orgasm took you over wholly. Blinding white light clouded your vision as you clenched around his fingers.

Between your soft whimpers, Crowley praised you, “That’s a good girl. You look so beautiful like this.”

You relished in the praise, eagerly opening your mouth for Castiel once again. He pushed himself past your lips, striking the back of your mouth and easing into you slowly, filling your throat. He thrusted slowly at first, but quickly lost himself in the tightness of your throat, his hips hurting harshly into your mouth. You gagged loudly around him, but it went ignored. Castiel kept his relentless pace, glancing to Crowley and giving him a nod.

As he fucked your throat, Crowley positioned himself at your soaked folds, pressing the thick tip of his cock against your swollen clit. You cry out around Cas’s cock, drowned out by a harsh gag when he shoved himself in fully. He eased out of you as Crowley eased himself in, their movements in tandem with one another.

Hissing through gritted teeth, Crowley stretched you inch by inch, snapping his hips into yours as he bottomed out. You’d never though someone could be filled so easily, to feel like both ends of your body would be split right down the middle.

Crowley moved slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. Castiel let up his movements, staring longingly at your pussy, now wrapped nicely around the demon’s cock. If there was a good word for how he felt, it would be jealousy.

The angel grew frustrated, a new wave of sadistic pleasure taking him over.

He smacked your cheek, “I’m not done.”

You opened your mouth dutifully, moaning around his cock. He kept his pace slow this time, giving your throat some well-needed relief. You wound your tongue around the head when he pulled from you, sucking harshly around his tip, bringing out a soft whimper. His hips sputtered slightly before he quickly pulled back, breathing heavily.

“Careful, Castiel,” Crowley teased, pulling you down onto his cock. “Keep going like that, you’ll disappoint our little toy, here.”

Castiel glared at the demon. His chest heaved with his heavy breaths, trying to recollect himself before going further. He lifted your shoulders and adjusted you back onto the bed. Crowley kept himself buried deep in your stretched pussy, jutting his hips to strike deeper and crash against your cervix.

There was no way you could disappointed this night. Not with the way your body was being taken advantage of, in the best way imaginable. You clenched down onto Crowley’s length, making him groan at the tightness of your walls. They fluttered around him as another climax crept up. With a few quick thrusts, the demon had you falling apart on his cock.

He laughed softly, “Slutty little thing, getting spit roasted like that. Two cocks using you until you’re all filled up.”

Crowley kept your gaze as he pounded into you, his balls slapping against your ass with every deep thrust. The noises coming from your pussy were wet, sloppy, and utterly divine. It was just what Crowley needed to hear, to know he was doing his job right.

A pair of lips found yours once again, moving smoothly against you as you shuddered around Crowley again. The shockwaves of your orgasm were hardly over before Crowley pulled his length out of your sweet cunt, stretched and aching to be filled again.

“Let’s have you on your knees, kitten,” Crowley directed, lifting you up to a sitting position. His gaze softened as he looked you over. Castiel gave you a concerned look.

“Is this still okay for you?” the angel asked, eyes keening for your answer.

You nodded quickly, looking between the two men, “Of course. It’s wonderful. I was wondering if… well…” you trailed off.

Crowley lifted your chin to look at him, “Use your words, princess.”

Biting your lips, you thought about how to phrase the words. You looked sheepishly between them, “I was wondering if you could take turns. From behind, I mean.”

A darkness pooled in his eyes at the thought. To use you so freely was a blessing he’d realized he went so long without. After this, he hoped you’d remember who you belonged to this night, whose names you would be screaming.

Crowley backed up, allowing you room to position yourself. You crept toward the edge of the bed, ass up in the air, your sore pussy in full view for them. They both approached you, gazing at the lewd sight before them. You pathetically ground your hips into nothing, your hole and clit being neglected as they took their time.

“Tell me, sweetheart, who’s this?” Crowley asked lowly. A cock sat at your entrance, teasing your hole before easing inside, stretching you out slowly. You were fucked slowly, letting your body adjust and asses the feeling. Hips snapped into yours, the cock crashing against your cervix. These movements felt different from before. The length still filled you, but not as it had done with Crowley.

“Cas… Castiel,” you whimpered.

“Smart girl,” Castiel said from behind. He rolled his hips into you, sending his cock deep into your pussy. A familiar wetness leaked from you down to your clit, completely soaked in your slick. Castiel eased himself into you until he reached the hilt of his length, stilling inside of you, processing the way your walls wrapped around him, slick and hot.

Ready to be used.

His hips crashed into you without warning. You bit into the sheets as you cried through gritted teeth. Castiel fucked you mercilessly, his balls smacking against your clit and sending shocks of pleasure to your heat, wrapping ever tighter around the angel’s cock. He grunted in response, landing a blow to your ass. A wide pink handprint now decorated your skin, followed by a series of other blows to deepen the rosy color.

Crowley tapped Castiel on the shoulder. You overheard him talking to the angel between your cries of ecstasy.

“Fill that cunt to the brim, Castiel. Use that hole properly.”

On command, Castiel’s thrusts became harsher, more frantic. His thick cock stretched your walls with each movement as he slammed himself into your cervix. Your stomach tightened as you came around him, letting out a loud cry of his name into the sheets.

Quickly undone, Castiel felt a rush over him when you said his name. His thrusts faltered again, cock twitching as he spilled his load into you. He pushed deeper as he finished, fucking his cum deeper inside of your cunt.

Crowley smiled at this, smirking to the angel. “Bred like the perfect little bitch. Good work, Castiel.”

Sweat pooled at Castiel’s brow, streaking down his face as he composed himself, regaining his breath. He looked to Crowley with a drained look before pulling from you. You whined as he left you empty.

Castiel resigned to the bed, flopping back to lay by your side. He shifted to brace himself on his arm, stroking a hand through your hair. Little praises flowed from him while Crowley lined himself with your entrance.

“You’re doing so wonderfully, sweetheart.”

You gave him a lazy smile, exhausted from the toll he’d taken on you. Your attention snapped back when you felt the head of Crowley’s cock press at your pussy, coated with what of Castiel’s cum had dripped out of you. He gripped the base of his cock and eased into you as he’d done before, filling you up deeper from this angle.

After a moment he was fully settled in, feeling your warmth around his length. Crowley groaned lowly as he began to thrusts, achingly slow at first.

Hardly done, and you were sore, to say the least. The internal battle of your soreness, versus the sweet sensation of a cock filling you, could never be won. You pushed your hips onto his length, smacking softly against his hips. In reply, Crowley harshly gripped your hips and began to pick up his pace.

Each moan was a symphony, a song of whines and groans that could only be one thing.

Pure, frenzied pleasure.

You arched your back when Castiel’s hands roamed over your perk nipples, fondling each breast as best he could given the angle. You hoisted yourself up on your elbows to grant him permission to go further. His calloused hands ran across your chest to your face, cupping it gently while he watched your expression contort with each deep thrust.

Castiel smiled warmly as you cried out Crowley’s name, unable to move from the grip the angel had on you. His eyes were glued to yours. He wouldn’t dare miss a second of this.

After he’d felt you before, Crowley was just as easily spellbound by the way you took him. Each thrust pulled him further to the edge of his own orgasm, but he was intent on drawing another one from you before he did so.

“Who does this belong to?” Crowley’s voice was soft as the finest silk.

At this point, each sensation rolling through you left you gasping, all rationale had left you completely.

You dumbly whimpered out a reply, “You… both of you.”

Crowley snapped his hips into yours, setting his cock impossibly deep inside your pussy. His pace was, arguably, more intense than Castiel’s, ravaging you whole as you shuddered around him. Your climax tore through you like lightning - your vision blurred, eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

“Smart girl. You’ll get your reward very soon,” Crowley said sweetly.

Your clenched down onto him, smiling to yourself when you felt the King’s cock twitch inside of you. Crowley breathed haggardly but remained intent on his brutal pace, stretching every warm inch of your cunt to fit his cock perfectly.

Castiel’s lips caught your own, swallowing the sweet sounds you made when Crowley’s thrusts began to grow sloppy. Crowley slammed himself into you once, twice, three times until his own orgasm hit him. He slowed his movements as his own released spilled inside of you, coating your tight cunt in his cum - a reward for your obedience.

He pulled from you slowly, his drained cock hanging heavily at your ass. Warmth flooded over you as cum leaked from your pussy, staining the sheets beneath you. You lowered yourself to sit on your knees. What all had been resting inside of your sex was still flowing out of you - it was it’s own reward for being of service to these two men, after all.

Castiel presented a newly-summoned washcloth, warm and damp to the touch. He left it up to you to clean yourself before snapping his fingers, cleaning himself entirely.

“Oh, please, Cas. Where are your manners?” Crowley said, snapping.

In an instant you were fully clean and dry, melting into the mattress with a sigh. Crowley’s clothes had come back, as did Castiel’s a moment later. The two men sat your side, looking over you with pure endearment.

“I certainly hope that that was okay,” whispered Crowley, carding his fingers through your hair. You nodded, groggily shifting yourself to sit up with them. Each movement reminded you of how sore you’d be tomorrow. Regardless, it was an unforgettable experience you’d think about for a very, very long time.

With another snap of his fingers, Crowley handed you a set of thick, cozy pajamas, paired with fuzzy socks. You smiled at him, thankful that he valued your comfort.

“Are you sore at all?” Castiel piped up.

You nodded, “It’s okay, though. I like it.”

Castiel’s brows furrowed, “Humans are strange… some of you like being in pain. It is a foreign concept.”

“We could make it not-so-foreign, if you’d like,” Crowley retorted. Castiel simply rolled his eyes instead of the signature glare. You shuffled into your pajamas and sat back on the bed.

Neither the angel nor the demon left your side, instead leaning back into the bed with you.

“Staying?” you asked, “I was going to put on a movie.”

Castiel powered on the TV, “Take your pick.”

#fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spnfandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #crowley spn #crowley smut #crowley supernatural #crowley x reader #castiel x reader #castiel

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hoes4lino · 8 months

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Late nights 🌃 | LMH

WARNING ⊂✦⊃ This story contains suggestive content, minor injuries, swearing as well as slut shaming (fluff?); minors please don’t interact, please beware of what you consume online.

Genre: Enemies to lovers

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Who would say that after years of despising his existence he would end up in your bed.

Authors note: I’m a sucker for enemies to lovers. (Also I was lazy to spell check srry T-T)

. • °⛓✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚⛓ . • °⛓✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It was around 3am on a Saturday morning, the dim lights of the city illuminating your room, the light sound of the rain hitting your window, it was the perfect set up to cuddle with your cat while you watched kdramas on your bed.

Your eyes felt heavy, your body was comfortable in the coziness of your bed, slowly closing them you felt how you drifted to a slumber sleep.

Maybe it was the loud thunder or the cries of you cat, but you jumped out of your bed, annoyed and scared as you heard your doorbell ringing nonstop. You walked towards the door slowly trying to make no sound.

Stumbling through the darkness you grabbed an umbrella, just in case you had to defend yourself— your mouth was slightly parted as you spotted the brun haired boy standing in front of your apartment door. His face had few bruises and scratches, seems like he got into a fight. He kept ringing the doorbell, you brain trying to decide whether you should open it or not.

You met Minho at a club about two years ago, he was a mutual friend— however, you two never seemed to click, always getting on each others neck; you didn’t really considered him a friend but he was always around cause he was part of your friend group.

The sudden silence that echoed your apartment made you snap out of your thoughts, peeping again through the peephole you spotted him with a concerned face as he stared to his side, panic filling his eyes.

In that moment you knew he was in desperate need of help, you snatched open your door and pulled him in, locking your door and hoping whatever was after him didn’t notice he went inside your apartment.

“Took you long enough” He scoffed, carefully touching his busted lips. You looked at him up and down annoyed, some of his wounds were dripping blood and his cloth were dirty “Don’t make me snitch on you” He smirked as he leaned forward “I know you are an asshole but you would never” He said with his raspy voice— You simply rolled your eyes at him, looking at him from head to toes once again.

“Why are you here?” You questioned him, arms wrapping in front of you chest— you looked pissed “None of your business” he spat, making you scoff once again “It is when you come to my house beaten up at 3am” You said in disbelief.

A small smile adorned his face as he looked at you mischievously, he always loved pushing your buttons, it gave him some sort of satisfaction “You won’t like the real reason of why I’m here. So lets pretend am being chased by a thief” Your eyes widen in disbelief “A thief chasing you?!? And you brought him to my apartment building? You want to get me killed or something? He shrugged and looked at you “maybe? It was the first place that came to mind”

You seriously couldn’t stand him, how dare he come to your apartment this late all beaten up and with a criminal chasing after him. It was also the audacity he had to talk about it like it wasn’t a big deal.

“You are seriously going to kill me someday” You sighed as you grabbed his arm and walked him to your bathroom “What are you doing” You signaled him to sat on the toilet “Isn’t it obvious?” You said annoyed as you searched for a first aid kit in the bathroom drawer.

He looked at you as you grabbed a towel and poured some hydrogen peroxide. You were wearing your silk pijama dress, it looked as delicate as you, your puffy eyes and messy hair gave him a hint that you were probably sleeping before he came to interrupt.

You walked towards him and kneeled in front of him, snapping him out of his thoughts once you carefully tapped the towel on his face. He hissed at the contact, the hydrogen peroxide burning his skin “Fuck” he yelp “Don’t be a bitch be gentle” he spat as he grabbed the counter besides him.

You laughed at his squirming “Stop being a baby” You teased— He straighten his body and looked deeply into your eyes “Im not a baby” He scoffed, swallowing his pain. It was quiet for a second, his heartbeat and breathing being audible, for some reason it brought you some kind of comfort.

“You need to stop staying too late at clubs” you mumbled while continuing to clean his wounds. He rolled his eyes “Aweee you care about me??” He said in a playful tone while tilting his head, a smug adorning his face.

You shook your head “Don’t make this about yourself, I’m just saying so you never come back to my house at this hours” He doesn’t know why but your words sting his heart, He doesn’t want to admit it but it does.

He scoffed “Says the slut that always passes out at the clubs” You stop cleaning him and looked at him, anger filling your eyes “What did you say?” He leaned closer to your face “I’m pretty sure you heard me loud and clear” He gave you a thin smile.

You never knew why Minho was like this, always defensive. No matter the situation— he always had something to say about you “I don’t get why you are being so defensive right now” You say softly as your gaze moves back to his scratches, this time pressing the towel hard on his wounds. He hisses and throws his head back.

“You did that on purpose” He groans, his eyes tight shut “Did I? I’m sorry” You proceed to press even harder, liquid dripping from the towel to his wounds. He moves one of his hands to grabs yours, both of you forcing against each other.

“Let go” You hissed, trying to remove your hand from his strong grip, however, he wouldn’t budge “I’m tired of you” He said out of nowhere, you stop forcing and looked at him confused. “Excuse me? You tired of me? You are the one interrupting my sleep” At this point you thought Minho was a social experiment to test how long it would take for you to reach your limit.

It was quiet for a minute until he started talking “You are always batting your pretty lashes at anyone who walks your way” He probably noticed by your face that you were confused as hell in that moment, he scoffed “Now you are pretending you don’t know” You tilted your head to lock eyes with his “I know what you mean, I’m aware of my actions, however I don’t get how that involves you” He took a deep breath and mumbled something you didn’t quite catch.

“Oh c’mon, let’s be for real” He doesn’t really know why this conversation is frustrating him so much, its not like he cared or at least thats what he told himself “I was at our usual club making out with this hot chick when I heard the people besides us talking about you” He stopped his words, his hands turning into fists

“They were talking some nasty shit about you” He scoffed leaning his face closer to yours “Now don’t get me wrong, It’s not like I care about you, but the way they see you as a dirty little slut pissed me off” Minho didn’t realize he was still holding your arm until you squirmed at his grip, he let you go and gave you apologetic eyes before continuing “I stood up and next thing I know I was fighting against 5 guys, funny thing is not the first time I defend you like that”

You were aware of your flirty persona, always giving men false hopes in exchange of free drinks, however, you never expected for people to gather around and slut shame you. You have never slept with someone after a clubbing night, you were disgusted and uncomfortable, you didn’t like the image that was going on around about you.

Your gaze moved back to Minho’s he had a face of disgust, you were unsure if his expression was like that because of you or because of what those guys were doing, either way it didn’t feel nice.

Seeing that no words were coming out of your mouth he continued talking “Im so tired of protecting you behind your back” He sighed “I’m always getting in trouble because you can’t keep your cunt dry” Although you appreciate his gesture of protecting you— it pisses you off the way he is talking to you, personally you believe theres better ways to say this type of things.

“Well I never asked for your help did I?” You threw the towel to the side and stood up, his body mimicking yours and following you to the kitchen. You grabbed a cup of water and took a sip of it “So what? Should I just sit there and hear how they treat you like a slut?” He scoffed. Those words marked you limit, your body automatically throwing the cup of water to his face, your face was red in anger.

His laugh echoed in your head like an annoying fly, he tried drying his face as you stood up there looking how he laugh uncontrollably. You hated the way he could make you feel like nothing in matter of seconds, tears threaten to fall from your eyes but you refused to let him see you cry.

“I’m sorry” he chuckled “Im aware I crossed the line, however…” He walked closer to you, making you stumble as you take few steps back until your back hit the counter “You seriously need to stop giving me troubles, I just know they banned me from that club” He sighed frustrated, you look at him for a second noticing a drop of blood rolling down his chin from his lip.

Gently you swiped the blood away with your finger “Let me get you a band aid” The atmosphere felt dense, it was awkward. He genuinely felt bad for crossing the line, however, he wasn’t good with words so he had no clue how to apologize.

You took him again to the bathroom finishing to clean his wounds, as you finished up by putting a band aid on the corner of his lip you spoke “You should stay for the night” You spoke softly looking at his eyes “But… I took my couch to the dry clean so… you can stay on my bed” His initial answer was to reject the offer and walk home, however, he felt like he was under a spell as you spoke to him so softly so… caring.

He cursed under his breath, eyes looking at you unsure “Are you sure you are comfortable with that?” He questioned afraid this was some type of prank— You slightly nodded “Knowing the type of crybaby you are I can’t make you walk home covered in wounds, I just know you will accuse me with Jisung” You scoff, cleaning up the area. He chuckled “You have a good point right there”

. • °⛓✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚⛓ . • °⛓✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It was around 6am you could feel the light sunlight creeping in your curtains, you groan your eyes slowly opening. You tried to move, however, you couldn’t— you look down to see what was stopping you, your breath hitching as you see Minho’s arm wrapped around your waist. That’s when it hit you. The soft breath hitting your neck, he was cuddling you in his sleep.

You tried to ignore it, his arm around your waist, his warm breath hitting your neck, the way your pajama dress rolled up to your mid ass. But there was one thing you couldn’t ignore. His morning wood, the way it was pressed against your almost bare ass.

You closed your eyes shut trying to think on other things, get some distraction. You hated to admit you were getting turned on by the second. Your body froze as you felt him shifting on the bed, his body only pressing closer towards yours, he snuggled his head on the crook of your neck.

He mumbled softly “Are you awake?” His words tickled your neck, slightly squirming under him. You nodded, you couldn’t dare and use your words, afraid your voice might sound shaky or unstable. He hummed at your response “Im sorry…” He lightly rubbed your belly with his thumb “I can’t control it” He said embarrassed, slowly moving away from your body.

“Do you mind if I use your shower?” He asked his eyes wide open looking at the ceiling “Sure” You said nonchalantly, slightly disappointed at the lack of his body warmth. He stood up and left to the shower, after that you two shared breakfast. It was rather silent as you both drank your coffee, no one knew what to say or what to do…

The moment he left your apartment you felt a weight leaving your shoulders— you could finally breathe in peace, you look down to stare at the kitty rubbing against your legs, “What am I going to do” You squirmed running to your bedroom. Once there you threw yourself on your bed, kicking your feet and screaming on the pillow replaying the moment in your head. You grabbed your phone to call your best friend asap.

You hoped she would kick some sense into you… however, she left you feeling even more confused about Minho, her words being “Maybe you too should have sex to break the tension” The thought of having sex with Minho made you wanna puke, not in a bad way but in a way you can’t really describe.

. • °⛓✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚⛓ . • °⛓✧༺ ༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Literally what the hell is wrong with you” You snatched your arm from his grip. You where at a frat party with your friends, you were hooking up with someone when Minho basically dragged you to an empty room.

“What’s wrong with me? More like whats wrong with you” He snarked back, his eyes looking like big dark orbs. “Well I was having some fun until you came” You said at him annoyed, you have no idea what his business was here but it was pissing you off.

He chuckled, his laugh echoing in the whole room “If by having fun you mean sleeping with anyone, then go ahead” He gesture his hands towards the exit. His attitude make you confused and mad, your eyes rolling as he kept his gaze focus on yours.

“Look Minho” You took a deep breath trying to keep yourself well collected “I don’t know what your business is right now but maybe and Yeji was right when she said to fuck you to break the tension” You spat at him, your body straightened and arms crossed over your chest. He took a moment to process your words, his mouth slightly parting to say something when you spoke again.

“You are literally so annoying, always treating me like a god damn child, also picking up a fight with me, like get a damn lif-” Your words were interrupted as his lips crashed on yours, his body pushing you towards the door.

His lips felt soft and smooth against yours, his gentle touch on your face felt angelical. A moan escaped your lips as you felt his tongue touching the bottom of your lip as for asking permission to enter. The more passionate the kiss got the wetter and messy it got. Whimpers and kissing sounds lingered around the room, the back ground music from the party adding to the vibe.

The whole situation was a mess, two people that didn’t like each other craving for each other touch— its funny how unexpected life is… isn’t it?

He sat you on his lap, your hips grinding on his thigh begging for friction. He caressed your body so gently, god damn he was driving you insane. He was trying to engrave every sensation into his brain, taking in your scent, your vanilla perfumed combined with the intoxicating smell of tequila. He gasped in delight, slowly pecking your neck and nibbling your ear.

“I hate you” He groaned as you moved your hand down to touch his boner, you chuckled “Always had an impact on me like you put me on some type of smell” He whispered against your ear as he placed his hands on yours hips to help you get some friction.

You threw your head back and moaned slightly “I hate that you are not mine” He said softly, his words making you stop to look at him. His look. In that moment you felt like you were the most gorgeous woman in this earth.

The way he looked softly at you with his eyes. Minho was bad with feelings but his eyes never lie. You took a moment to process the situation, your neck felt sore, probably adorned with a couple hickeys. Your lips were plumped. The man you were sitting on had a lipstick trail from his face to his chest. His white shirt was unbuttoned, his hair was messy.

Was this a dream? You confirmed it wasn’t when he kissed you again this time, slowly more passionate… it felt intimate yet slutty. That kiss unveiled a thousand feelings that were trapped in a jar of hate. “God damn I can’t let go” He said in between kisses while groaning.

You were both getting drunk on each other, it was a passionate feeling you have never experienced before, the fact he was someone you thought you hated with your whole soul made it more intriguing… more risky.

You two were so captive by the moment that the laugh echoing behind you was ignored by your brain until a bright light illuminated the room. Both of you jumping off each other to stare as Jisung and Yeji who were laughing their asses off.

Yeji stopped laughing to groan at Jisung “Guess I owe you $50 now” She rolled her eyes handing the money to Jisung, who kissed the money and placed it on his pocket. Jisung giggled, slowly walking out with Yeji “You too keep doing your lovers thing” He teased before closing the door.

Minho and you shared an embarrassed look before laughing “Why don’t we move this matter to my house?” You said in a mischievous tone “I don’t know what you are talking about” He teased, while buttoning his shirt “But I would love to” He smiled at you genuinely before reaching to grab your hand and walk out of the party.

#lee know #skz smut #skz fluff #lee know fluff #lee know smut #stray kids #lee know imagines #leeknow smut #minho smut #enemies to lovers #lee minho smut #lee know x reader #leeknow imagine #oneshot #shu porang porang linos

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casdeans-pie · 10 months

Text

Combining these and writing fic at 12am *chefs kiss*

Thanks for the added detail that made me write this @dreampencil

---Read on AO3---

-------

The first time it happened, Cas almost convinced Dean that it hadn’t.

It was a hazard of the job that hunting ghosts inevitably led to grimy, abandoned, pile of crap houses that looked like a vengeful spirit’s wet dream. Full of rotted wood, endless layers of dust, and freaking spiders. Dean had probably seen more spiders than anyone ever should. But it was fine, because he wasn’t scared of them – he didn’t think there was a hunter alive who could do what they do and go where they go if they were – spiders were just a nuisance. A pest of the ghost-hunting variety. Dean thought nothing of wiping them from his hands or clothes or pushing through thick webs that always seemed to get everywhere.

So, when he noticed a particularly leggy spider creeping over the spikes of Cas’s hair during a hunt, of course he was going to brush it away.

Nobody wants a spider in their hair. Angel or not.

It hadn’t even been that much of a touch.

The two of them had been searching through what remained of the rotted kitchen cabinets while Sam looked upstairs, when Dean noticed the spider. In retrospect, maybe he should have said something first, but Cas had been engrossed in the contents of an old wooden drawer and Dean’s hand had simply twitched up to brush away the eldritch creature nesting in Cas’s hair before he’d even registered what he was doing.

Cas jumped violently as soon as Dean’s fingers made contact.

The single bare light bulb in the room hummed loudly as it flared and flickered. An old radio (covered in layers of years of grime and dust) crackled to life, despite being long disconnected from the power, and poured out a steady stream of static.

Then everything stopped.

The light returned to normal, the radio went silent, and Dean’s hand remained hovered awkwardly in the air where it had been since he brushed the spider away.

Cas stared at him with wide eyes.

Dean pointed at Cas’s head. “There was a- spider. In your hair,” he explained. “But uh- don’t worry, I got it.” Dean flashed him a smile, as if he’d performed a great service, and wiped his hand on his jeans. He took a step over to the radio and held up the disconnected cable. “Cas. The power just now-”

“Bad wiring,” Cas rumbled, holding Dean’s gaze. “Or maybe the ghost.”

Dean gave an unconvinced hum as he dropped the cable and rubbed his fingertips together. Cas’s hair had been softer than he’d expected… Not that he’d ever thought about running his hands through it or anything. But before Dean could linger on any of the new thoughts he was having, or ask another question about the mysterious power surge, the air had gone cold, and they were both ducking from a barrage of decorative plates flying around the room.

And Dean forgot all about it.

---Read the rest on AO3---

---

The first time it happened, Cas almost convinced Dean that it hadn’t.

The second time it happened was just part of a joke, an accident.

The third time it happened was an experiment.....

The fourth time it happened was on purpose.

#I will never be over this trope #destiel #destiel ficlet #deancas #destiel drabble #pie's projects #my fanfiction #castiel's angel powers #castiel headcanon #destiel headcanon

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f4irycafe · 2 years

Text

𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 - 𝒂𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔

⤷ summary: aot boys wth high maintenance girlfriends.

⤷ characters: jean, armin, connie, eren,

⤷ content warnings: suggestive themes, fluff, black!coded reader, college!au.

⤷ notes: my MEN.

PLEASE REBLOG

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧

baby boy is obsessed with you. like the biggest simp outta all of them fs.

jean isn't rich, but he's worked hard for all the $$ he has.

and he def doesn't mine spending all that shit on you okayyyyyyyyy.

he knew you liked to keep up w yourself, new nails and lashes every few weeks, new wig/braids/locs every few months.

he was just soo in awe of your presence for a while he didn't even consider how much that stuff costs.

"baby how much does your hair cost?" he asks you one day as ur just chilling on the couch in your dorm.

"couple hundred, why?" atp he knows all abt your hair care n stuff so this isn't no invasive ass question.

eyes = dropped out of his head.

he tries to play it cool like, "oh alright," but inside he's like, i've been letting her pay hundreds for her hair ALONE this entire time.

now whenever you mention you wanna go get ur lashes refilled, or ask him to pick a color, his first question is,

"how much is it?"

i feel like there is one or two services he chooses to pay for consistently, like braids and nails. he got money, but not that much so he can't be wildin out for you.

you get the biggest heart eyes when he does tho. sometimes you don't even have to ask and you get a veno notif on your phone.

"$250 from jean" - get the white tips i like.

cause yuk know, he likes to watch em when you ... yeh yeh u get it.

supportive, love to spoil you, but will act so nonchalant abt it.

𝐚��𝐦𝐢𝐧

rich boy armin? rich boy armin.

he lives a high maintnence lifestyle as it is, tailed clothes, designer book bags, shoes, glasses, family homes in europe. your typical trust fund baby.

honestly, that was the first thing he noticed about you. the nice but still lowkey car, the sleek bags, the perfect professional looking wigs and braids, even the smells you wore just exuded an air of confidence.

he loved it.

being a boy tho, he didn't realize just how much money went into upkeep with your look per week.

he was shocked, sure, but your finances barely made a dent in his pockets.

the type boyfriend to just hand you an asswad of cash at the beginning of the week and say "go crazy,"

at first you wanted to test just how much you could get out of him. a new white tie dress for some elite school event, the new apple watch that just dropped, wigs that cost upwards of $500 for you to only wear them for a week.

when you finally realized that this boy would do any and everything for you, you toned it down a bit.

but now, he pays for all your shit. eyelashes, hair, nails, perfume.

you still be paying for your phone, car, rent etc, but all that personal shit, yeah its his.

𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

hehehe. y'all know this is my husband quit playingggggg

while armin goes after the pretty rich girls, eren goes after the ones that do this shit just cause they can.

you be working for every inch of hair on your head trust and BELEIVEEEEEEE.

thats one of the things he admires about you, how hard you work for the stuff you want. even if that shit seems superficial to others, you can fr do anything you put your mind to.

another trust fund baby. (i hc grisha as a world class surgeon and carla as a lowkey fashion designer)

he just thinks ur so pretty. like jean, worships the ground you work on.

one night you're trying to set up an appointment for these fancy ass locs that almost touch the floor but you're stressin tryna figure out when you can fit another shift in at work between studying, classes and your extracurriculars while on ft w him.

he's quiet and contemplative on the phone, not really giving answers outside of "i'm sorry bae :("

in the morning you wake up to a venmo notif.

"stink-a-link paud you $600 - hair app. get those nails you've been wanting too."

at first you kinda freak out cause 600??? aint no one treated you like this before.

he just smiles when you try to call him, asking him to take it back.

"i got money to spend, and ik how much this style means to you. if you're happy i'm happy pretty girl."

the sweetest.

plus he gets bragging rights. cause who tf elses girl is looking this damn fine? right , no ones.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞

CONSTANCE

if you've been here for a while you know its rich drug dealer connie or nothin.

yall probably got together cause he was ur plug and gave u a lil too much free weed lmaooooo.

but he been payin for your shit from the start.

the only catch - u gotta get what he wants.

its never wack or emberassing, our boy got taste and an eye for fashion, trust he does u right.

he be putting the description in the venmo tag LMAO

"buss down 30in. honey brown beach wave ..."

LIKE BOY HOW U KNOW WHAT THAT ISSSSSSSSS? U THE OPPS OR SOMETHIN

sometimes he'll just give you like a color for the nails and hair. he don't be knowin much about lashes tho, but he likes the cat eye ones the most.

everyone is always thirsting after you fr.

makes him so proud. maybe a lil too proud HAHA

but he'll drive u to all ur appointments. he doesn't care how long they are he'll wait. or go home and bring u food if its a long hair day.

hypes u up so much when u get in the car talkin bout "you so pretty babe".

can't stop looking at you.

elles rambles: i - love them so much. biased w eren as always. but i want these boys to spoil me. specially connie :))))))0

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waywardxwords · 7 months

Text

I've Got You

Summary: After a year of being in Purgatory, Dean has returned and is trying to make sense of what happened while he was away.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (more of a friendship; they deeply care about each other but nothing wildly romantic happens in this story)

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Light cursing, angst, Dean/Sam contention (this takes place after Dean gets back from Purgatory and Sam is on/off with Amelia), light fluff, light blood/silver testing (non-descriptive)

A/N: Happy October, friends! This is my first entry for the #flufftober2023 @flufftober prompt challenge. The prompt is: "I've got you." I hope you enjoy!

“Dean,” you breathed as you walked through the door of the cabin. Even after you heard his voice on the phone, you couldn’t be sure it was really him–not until you saw him.

“Test me,” his words were firm and clear–much firmer than you remembered. You processed that the man had been in Purgatory for the last year, and his experience had most likely hardened his already tough demeanor.

“Dean, I–” you tried to stop him.

“Test me, dammit,” he grumbled as he grabbed what looked like a jug of holy water and took a swig of it. Next was the silver; he didn’t hesitate to run it along his forearm before he wrapped the cut it left behind with a bandana. He wiped the blade on his denim jeans.

“Dean,” you said, for the third time now. Your eyes burned with tears. You knew it was him from the get go, but now it was confirmed. He handed you the holy water and the blade. You moved slower than he did, but you took a sip of the water and winced at the bitterness; it was laced with salt. Then, you took the blade and matched his movements with a small slice on the underside of your forearm.

Without allowing another moment to pass, he pulled you in tightly to his chest for a hug–so tight, you thought you might not be able to breathe as your body was crushed against his.

“God, it’s good to see you,” he breathed in your hair before he finally released you. “Where’s Sammy?” His eyes moved over your face inquisitively.

“I, uh, I don’t know, Dean,” you were careful with your words. You were a little bit angry with Sam, but you didn’t want to have to explain why to Dean.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” The sharpness made you blink, but you knew he wasn’t trying to hurt you with his tone. The man had been in Purgatory for a year, for Christ’s sake.

There was no way around it, though. You were going to have to try to explain and hope he could understand.

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Sam mumbled. It had been three days since you all had killed the Leviathans, but somehow Dean and Castiel had been killed in the process. You had spent three days researching and looking for how to find them, but you had come up empty. Sam had tossed around the idea of Purgatory , for Cas, at least, because he was an angel; but neither of you knew how that worked–the death of an angel? Where would they go? Could an angel go to Hell?

“Sam, we’re going to find them,” your eyes were heavy, you hadn’t slept. The pain of running in circles reading and re-reading and searching was making you feel crazy.

“Are we? Even if we do find them, how are we going to get them out?” Sam was angry, and you understood that. But anger wasn’t helping the situation, and you wished he could realize that.

“I don’t know yet,” you sighed as you placed your elbows on the wooden table in front of you and dropped your head into your hands. “We will find a way. We always do.”

“I have no one now. My family is dead, I just…I gotta get out of here,” he repeated. His words stung, but you knew you weren’t family. You weren’t even a hunter, initially. You had stumbled into this world when the Winchesters had saved you on a hunt a while back. Now that you knew what went bump in the night, there was no turning back. “I’m sorry, but I have to go…” Sam seemed reckless, but you also knew that you couldn’t stop him. Not really, anyway.

You stayed silent, but as the door closed behind him, tears pooled in your tired eyes.

After you had explained carefully what had transpired, you tried to ease the blow. “You always wanted Sam to get out of the hunting life, Dean.” Your words were soft.

Dean sat on the sofa leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs as he stared at the wall opposite him. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

“I gotta get some air,” he cleared his throat and stood quickly. He reached for his jacket. “I’ll be back later.” Before you could say a word, he was already out the door and pulling it behind him with a slam. You couldn’t help but feel defeated, yet again.

This was the third dive bar you had checked in an hour. You had lost hope and wondered if you really knew the oldest Winchester at all as you looked for him. But there he sat on a barstool at the end of the dimly lit bar.

You heaved a sigh before you walked towards him. “I’m gettin’ real tired of looking for your ass,” you grumbled playfully as you carefully moved onto the stool next to him.

His eyes didn’t move from the back of the bar as he took a pull from his beer.

“Yeah, well, at least somebody’s lookin’,” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear.

You weren’t sure what to say to that immediately, so instead you leaned against the bar and flagged down the bartender. “Could I get a Stella, please?” The bartender nodded and went to retrieve your bottled beer.

A few moments of silence passed. “I just thought he’d look for me,” Dean's voice cut through the quiet noise in the bar as he stared at the label on his bottle. His fingernails picked at the edges in a way to distract himself.

“I know,” you tried to form the words in your head before they tumbled out of your mouth incorrectly. “Sam loves you, Dean. He’s just…he’s tired. Does that make it right? Not necessarily. You’re his brother, but this life…it’s not the life he wanted.”

“And you think I wanted it?!” His voice raised as he looked at you incredulously.

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that you and Sam are different people,” you tried to explain carefully, reminding yourself again that it’s not you, it’s Purgatory.

He seemed to relax as he remembered this was you that he was talking to. “I’m sorry,” he groaned inwardly as he turned back in his stool to face the bar. “I would do absolutely anything for Sammy. I was lost when he was gone. I just thought he might do the same.” After a quick pull from his beer, he changed the subject. “So, what’d you do this past year?” Dean asked acrimoniously, as he glanced at you briefly and toyed with the paper label on his beer bottle.

You waited for a moment, just as the bartender placed your own beer in front of you. You moved it around in your hands for a few seconds. Like Dean, your fingers found the sticker on the bottle and began to pick at it so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “I looked for you,” you answered slowly before you pulled the beer to your mouth and took a sip. You felt his gaze now, his head turned to watch you as if he was surprised to hear what you said. “I hunted a little, here and there. Mostly just when I stumbled upon a job, though.”

“...you looked for me?”

You were surprised that he was surprised. It was your turn to turn your head back to him to meet his gaze. “Of course I did,” you said hesitantly. “I tried everything, Dean. I interrogated demons, I tried to make a deal, I tried to summon Crowley–”

He cut you off very quickly. “Woah, woah, woah,” his eyes were narrowed in on you now and you watched his entire body tense. “You tried to make a deal? And summoning Crowley?” He was pissed. You didn’t care.

“None of it worked, Dean. The crossroad demons said they didn’t know where you were, but I didn’t believe them…though I’m wondering if they really didn’t, since you were in Purgatory,” you were mostly just reading your own internal dialogue at this point. “I’m not sure how that works, exactly.” You nibbled gently on your bottom lip as you processed your thoughts.

“Are you insane?” He was still pissed. His voice rose a bit in volume and you glanced around to see the handful of other bar patrons glance in your direction.

“Oh, calm down,” you said in a hushed tone while you rolled your eyes. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing.” Dean knew it was true, but he still wasn’t happy. “Again, none of it worked anyway.”

“You know better than that,” he shook his head, the disappointment bled through his words. But somewhere mixed in with the frustration, you heard gratitude.

“And you know better, too. I wasn’t just going to sit on my ass or ride off into the sunset like everything was fine,” you still couldn’t find his gaze. It was easier to stare at the glass bottle between your hands.

He didn’t respond right away. The sound of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” was playing on the jukebox now, and it was the only noise you could hear just over the chatter of the other people in the bar. “Thanks,” you weren’t sure you heard him right away, but you felt his fingers graze the top of one of your hands that was clasped around the bottle. “I’m really glad I’ve got you. So if some shit ever goes down again, no goin' off and making deals to save me. If I came back and somethin' had happened to you..." his voice trailed off. You would spend a lot of time wondering what he had wanted to say, but chose not to. Instead, you moved your head to look straight into those green eyes, and that’s when you noticed it. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and while his eyes were still sad, you saw a glimmer of hope.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As always, I am always open to any feedback you may have :)

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @hallecarey1 @zepskies @lyarr24

#supernatural fanfiction #flufftober2023 #flufftober 2023 #01 #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural ff #spn fanfic #spn ff #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fanfiction

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project-sekai-facts · 5 months

Note

Here's a fun little Project Sekai fact! Almost all of your faves have appropriated other cultures as costumes and some have even done blackface. If you're supporting this game and refusing to make a meaningful statement about it beyond "b-b-but i said it was bad! 🥺", you are fucking racist.

You're either anti-racist, or you're a pro-seka blog. Choose one. You can't be both.

Basically everything is problematic and actually I have criticised the cultural appropriation and racism present in the game multiple times, at no point have I refused to acknowledge it (and you’re not the first person to send an anon in). You can play the game and be anti-racist actually it’s called being critical of the media you consume and having social awareness, we’ve been over this. Everything is problematic you probably like problematic media too.

Yeah the game did revival my dream and that was fucking racist, the costumes are stereotypical and they didn’t research into any specifc native culture they just wanted to make something that would get them money. it’s not princess mononoke put the trained costumes next to each other, the trained costumes are heavily stylised to look "pretty and fashionable" and forego accuracy. I’m aware of that, I’ve said this before multiple times but you wouldn’t know that because you just randomly came here to send me this message.

Then there's also the kamikou sports fes set. Luka's qipao is very obviously altered for the sake of fanservice which is just so wrong, do not sexualise other cultures for money. Rui's I think is meant to be some sort of military hanfu? But quite stylised, which again for someone outside the original culture to stylise a traditional outfit just is a no-go because you will probably get things wrong. Mizuki's outfit seems to be based on Qi-lolita and there's a whole thing surrounding that about whether you should wear it if you aren't chinese.

and then there's the island panic cards which are both orientalist. yes, not just the boys, the girls too. the outfits aren't based on any specific culture and just mishmash different swana and south asian cultures and stereotypes together to make something that looks "exotic".

If you notice a recurring thing is that all of these are in some way wxs related, and wonder why that is, it’s because they’re the theatre unit. They wear costumes, these are just cultures being appropriated as stage outfits, because the devs don’t care they just want a quick bit of money.

all of these are horribly common in idol games and gacha games, not just project sekai, and it's important to recognise the problems rather than just blindly consuming it. If it makes money, devs will continue to include ca, recognise that.

and yeah puchiseka episode 6 happened at no point have i ever denied that. it should have never happened but it did and at the very least the fandom was able to rally together and get sega to take it down. even after they did that sega and clpl should still be held accountable for even letting it be released. while they didn't make the episode, that was entirely handled by an external company (who should also be held accountable for their actions - we're never getting a second season for a reason), sega still released it knowing full well the contents. it wasn't ganguro like people said it was extremely clearly based on a very racist and crude interpretation of african tribes, and for part of a joke no less. It was disgusting. And it’s not ganguro like how people defend it; ganguro is part of the gyaru subculture and the outfits in that episode were not that. there is no defence for what happened. at the very least, it was impressive that the fandom called out the episode and actually got staff to listen and learn. that doesn't happen in other games, and we managed to do it again with rmd. the fanbase is calling the game out and actually educating staff. It’s just critical consumption - fans of the media were able to recognise that the episode was racist and correctly called out management with enough of a voice to make staff correct their mistakes. They apologised, it’s not my apology to accept, and I still hold them accountable for the fact it even happened.

This probably all makes me sound like a white saviour, and I don’t want to speak over the people affected by this, but that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You probably have me blocked already and never followed me in the first place, but if you really wanted to call out racism, then maybe you should’ve sent this to blogs that do turn a blind eye to the flaws in this game, not one that calls them out. Why just me? Was it because of the username, because you’re not the first person to make that quip. I know you won’t see this anon, but a word of advice. Most media is problematic one way or another, you can enjoy something but still be aware of and acknowledge its problems. Project sekai is not made with the intent of encouraging or funding harmful behaviour, yet it still includes some harmful content. Call it out, educate staff and tell them not to do it again, they listened once they can do it again.

#asks #if anyone wants to add then you’re welcome to

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lunaroserites · 6 months

Text

Rosemary Tea

Pairing: Established Castiel x Witch!Reader

Summery: Set just after Cas becomes Cas again after Lucifer rode him around like a fine suit. Canon divergent.

Warnings: Unwanted physical contact, borderline SA, groping, kissing. Nothing is described in heavy detail. Lucifer gets handsy with reader while in Castiel’s body. Angst, Fluff, sweetness and a happy ending. Unedited, we die like Winchesters.

Words: 1446

Disclaimer: I’m not a practicing Wicca/witch so do not take what I say as correct. It is fiction. I do not own the supernatural characters depicted here.

If you have a request, feel free to ask me!

Castiel felt many things when he got his body back in his own control. One was guilt, another was utter sadness and the final was anger. Not at her, at himself for not being able to stop the violation of her trust.

Lucifer (Castiel) had sought her out. Castiel’s little lover. His pretty little witch. He was in the mood to make Castiel hate himself.

She opened the door to her little cabin, a place Castiel found peace in after the hardest days, the worst hunts. A place he called home for a while after Dean kicked him out. She gave Dean an ear full after finding out what happened.

She greeted Castiel (Lucifer) with a warm smile and sweet kiss on the cheek. It made Cas writh in the back of his own mind, her lips felt like heaven and foreign at the same time. Like he was feeling them though a veil. Her little familiar glaring at Castiel, something she found a little off because usually he loved the Angel. Now he seemed wary of the Angel standing before her. It made her feel on edge. Keeping her guard up she allowed Castiel into her home. Cas screamed for her to stop and just slam the door in his face.

“How have you been, love?” Her accent was old, hard to place but he loved it. She pulled a few dried herbs down from their drying spot, rosemary, dried apples and a cinnamon stick, his favourite tea. Not that he could really taste it but he liked the warmth and smell. Her next hint was when he told her to stop because the smell of cinnamon was too much.

“Love, are you okay?” She asked with concern thick in her voice. Castiel screamed for her.

Lucifer (Castiel) put his hands on her hips, an almost bruising hold. “I’ve just missed you,” he practically purred into her ears. He turned her in his arms and made her face him and he kissed her, he shoved his tongue deep in her mouth, dominating her. He was much rougher than usual. More demanding, forceful. Her Angel was gentle, sweet and endearing. This was… odd.

She pulled back for a moment and looked into his eyes, searching for something. His hands growing impatient glided up her torso and pawed her breast roughly. It felt wrong. She grabbed his hand and moved it away from her. “I’ve missed you too Castiel,” she said warily.

“Let me make us tea, and we’ll catch up,” she went to move away from and his grip on her hip tightened again.

“Now, now pet, I’m not done with you,” her stomach dropped and she felt sick. There was only one person in the entire world who called her that. She felt violated. She pushed him away. He had referred to her as the Winchesters pet witch in the past. Her blood was boiling.

“What have you done to him, Devil?” She snarled at him, trying to get out of his grasp. His hand that had been at her breast, was now gripping her hair at the base of her skull.

“Clever little Witch,” he spat at her, his voice full of venom. Her eyes were watering at the force he was holding her hair.

“You’re going to do as I say and enjoy it.” Was what he spat at her next, her cat being the smart creature it was, snarled and clawed his leg. Lucifer growled and kicked the cat back across the cabin floor. It was just enough distraction for her to free herself and slap her now bloodied palm on the angel banishing sigil on her wall. A blinding light filled the cabin and he was gone.

She dropped to the floor and emptied the contents of her stomach into the bin. Her cat came over and placed a worried paw on her thigh. She cried.

That was a couple months ago. The Winchesters had tried everything to get Lucifer out of Castiel’s body that didn’t involve him taking over Sam’s body. Finally they freed the Thursday Angel from the clutches of the devil.

That’s why he was now standing in front of her cabin hesitant to knock. She refused to see Castiel when he first ‘woke up.’

“The devil's touch is still haunting me.” Was what she told Dean when he called her to let her know Cas was back in control of his body. She spent weeks cleansing her cabin, trying to get the aura right again.

“He left a scar in my space that I can’t seem to mend.” She said quietly on phone with Dean when he called her a week prior to this moment of Castiel standing outside her door. She didn’t blame Castiel for what happened. She blamed the petulant child that was Lucifer. But her soul was scarred by him, the touch of the devil planting a seed of doubt in her. She hated it. She tried everything to mend it, nothing worked.

She felt him before he knocked, the cooling calm of his grace seeping its way back into her bones, into the cracks and crevices of her old cabin. It was mending the scars left by the devil. It cleansed the damaged aura, his grace doing something not even her witchcraft could do.

She opened the door to his raised hand as he was deciding whether to knock or just leave her to her own peace. Her familiar standing between her legs, scrutinizing his form. The familiar always seems to know what was what. The familiars glare softened and he swished his tail before sitting between her feet.

His grace encircled her, tickling her cheeks and cleansing her soul from the scar left by Lucifer. Her body visibly relaxed at the cooling embrace of his grace. “Castiel,” her voice sounded like heaven, his name like a prayer coming from her lips.

She reached her hand out and took his raised hand into it, she traced her fingers over his hands. He felt a tingling rush through his body as if she was forcing her own aura through his system, scrubbing any remnants of the devil from his soul.

“Angels don’t have souls,” he told her when she said his soul felt like a summer breeze to her. It brought her peace and cleansed her own.

“Everything has a soul.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Giving him a caring smile, before preparing his preferred tea.

“Would you like some tea?” She asked softly. Already turning to gather the ingredients. Castiel followed her eagerly. With deft hands she prepared the ingredients, leaving them to steep on her stove top. Her familiar had rubbed itself against Castiel, sitting between the two.

The smell of his favourite concoction wafted into his nose, it filled him with a sense of hope, that despite everything he was going to be okay.

“My love, how I’ve missed you,” her fingers clutching his hand over the table, his grace whisped around the cabin, it moved over her body making sure she was alright.

“I’ve missed you as well,” his gravely baritone captivated her. Her beautiful lavender eyes staring into his eyes, searching his soul for anything.

“You soul feels far away, forgive yourself love. I do not blame you for the actions of a petulant child throwing a tantrum.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly before getting up and pouring a mug of the tea for him, she stirred some agave nectar into it and laid it down in front of him.

His fingers gripped the mug and brought it up to his lips, he relished in the warm scent and warmth of the tea. He took a cautious sip and everything felt right. He gave her a curious look and she winked at him. She must have stirred some calming magic into because his soul felt at ease.

She moved and placed herself delicately on his lap and his arm supported her and fingers gently pressed into her side, keeping her sturdy. She placed her arm over his shoulder and touched his cheek with her other hand. “You know I knew something was wrong. My angel holds me like a delicate flower. That menace handled me like a piece of meat.”

“You are my delicate flower, the precious thing to me. I could never harm you.” His fingers ghosted her side. “I’m sorry he left that mark on your soul love, I hope my grace soothed it.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, “your grace has cleansed my soul and cleaned my space. All is right now.” She nuzzled her nose into his cheek lovingly.

#castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #supernatural imagine #supernatural #Lucifer #witch!reader #castiel imagine #castiel fluff #Castiel x witch!reader #established relationship #misha collins

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nightgoodomens · 10 days

Note

Can you elaborate your opinion on the coincidence of that BI with DT being in CA, Michael's PR explanation and miserable pics? The fact that Enty picked this very specific Disney story out of all the sus recent accidents sounds like a choice. Or jumping on MS's answer in less than 24h. AFAIK, Enty also gets info from reliable sources, could someone in CA participate in an "act of self-sabotage" to catalyze things? It sounds unlikely cause on the other hand it wouldn't be a good look to coincide coming out with breack ups and I think they know that. It's obvious whatever unhappiness there is between 2 couples( which is being put out, deliberately by themselves) has nothing to do with DT/MS, being poly and happy is a common thing. However, there seem to be separate conflicts between couples which we're not pervy to their nature but they're out there. (G admitted in a written press that she found an identity via social media and now she complains... says something.) As for media picking things up, I'm not sure what it'll take. If it was a hetero situation with 1/10 of the material we have from those two, surely it was the #1 hot gossip everywhere, years ago. I just hope whatever solution they come up with, doesn't smear a beautiful love with unrelated breakups.

Okay so what exactly is going on nobody can say apart from them but let’s just look at the timeline

(This is loooooong)

Since the beginning of GO there has been clear hints that something happened between Michael and David. Then it was made clear that they have gotten much closer during Staged. And then we saw them going a little insane over each other after lockdown all thorough GO2 promo including Michael not stopping on Twitter.

Then GT posts about the child being a drunk accident and MS goes a little nuts on Twitter telling people he sets David on fire fairly regularly, tells one of the major accounts to ask David face to face which part of him is 2% WELSH, and likes half naked GO fanart.

Then he goes dead quiet which was sudden and clearly related.

Then comes back only the moment David is on stage in New York. Quite obviously.

Goes quiet again, we start getting a lot less Good Omens and David content until the unfortunate moment where trolls made him basically quit Twitter for a while.

The answer to his 2% was that David is still thinking about it and he will let him know…

Then this timeline begins:

The infamous Macbeth look of love between the two of them in a room full of people

David arranging Lapland and takes a couple picture with Michael

David arranging BAFTAs to be about him and Michael, making a point of wearing a kilt that’s the main point of focus during the sketch and uses Gaiman’s infamous “wait and see”, from Good Omens, that brought him and Michael together.

Michael making this face after BAFTAs and later stating during his interview “He did good, the boy did good! And he looks good in a kilt doesn’t he?!”

Happy sincere smiles from both.

David promotes Michael’s NYE twice. Shows he’s been there on the opening night - during the day before the show - as he takes a selfie in front of the theatre.

Can you see how much “content” started coming from David for Michael? Now think back to the way Michael snapped at the end of the year and asked him how much of him is his… oh wait sorry what part of him is 2% Welsh. Maybe he wanted more than 2%… maybe the snap was that he didn’t want to be so hidden anymore hence his outburst of basically telling people they’re together. Whatever it was - funny how suddenly David started controlling the narrative.

Anyway

Another selfie on the press night, this time with the “real” Michael. Over the years is a nice hint. Also it starts to become clear that these two do not have an unhappy selfie together, yet Michael makes a point to look miserable with just AL, and David is not only looking more and more miserable with GT, but GT begins post breakup songs. She’s also known for humiliating David to the point of her own kids calling her a creep on video, and we hear him saying “this will never stop” as she videos him without his knowledge again. Or later “Oh god” “no they don’t need to see that”. What a happy chap.

The kilt keeps on getting mentioned by David, after Michael made a point of stating what he thinks about it.

Michael and David keep on bringing up each other in their interviews or media asks them about each other. They’re indeed seem the happiest when it’s about the other one.

GT and AL called them husbands and boyfriends.

Meanwhile:

Now the elephant in the room - the wives.

The wives began the second AL posted her modelling pics which she automatically assured everyone of not being paid for. Darling when you scream before anyone even had a chance to say anything… but this is something about AL - she is so insecure she keeps on snapping at fans and acting defensive regarding herself and her relationship. Which makes no sense considering she’s apparently in a happy happy happy arrangement.

GT was clearly asked to do the PR for her. So what did they do? After years of showing that they’re not even close friends, they called each other wives to mirror the husbands. It was so blatant it made me cringe how quickly their fans jumped on the bullshit that even GT laughed in their faces when she sarcastically replied to the fan “sooo linked.” Fair play, GT, I’d roll my eyes too seeing people eating it up so easily.

Just them on its own wasn’t enough so obviously they based their promotion on their men. Mirroring was awkward because the reason their men are popular is because their chemistry is real which AL/GT obviously don’t have. They knew they won’t stand on their own, hence the “family” (sooo close that David nearly fell off the bench to not touch AL accidentally) and they can be called husbands and boyfriends if they can be called wives, and they can have pics together… but mostly group shops so the women get promoted with them.

Hey, if you ignored them, at least we had lovely MS/DT moments who became a little more public.

It was clear the arrangement was only until BAFTAs - because this was the end.

David did three interesting things that day.

He did massive PR for GT - both magazines and red carpet and a kiss on front of the camera, which I said then will result in a job for her - soon after she announced a new agent - his agent - ding dong.

Then the rest was all Michael and him. Go figure.

And he completely excluded AL.

Next day we learned that Michael excluded AL from The Way. A show that included GT watching an intimate scene between two men who were neighbours. Which Michael and David are confirmed to be.

AL had a bit of a mental breakdown looking for validation on Twitter and Instagram. Obsessively reposting BAFTAs, whining about The Way.

Another blow came when GT cut her out. AL tried to keep the charade going but GT was done.

When GT announced her agent, AL ignored it.

There’s no more “family” things either.

My take is that AL perhaps was meant to have something sorted out for her by BAFTAs, unfortunately her totally not paid for photoshoot that she was totally picked up for… didn’t do the trick. GT got an agent out of David’s PR though.

AL’s heart grows fonder as she realises shit is going down and she starts hardcore convincing everyone that her and MS are happy because no modelling career is happening.

Meanwhile MS stays every night with fans or at the bar to not go home as he contradicts her.

GT meanwhile gets colder regarding David, showing she basically doesn’t give a shit about his accomplishments or tries to put her attention on herself instead. It’s a cold and harsh difference compared to what he did for her at BAFTAs.

Break up songs continue.

Both GT and AL go very quiet on social media. AL posts depressing things, GT is just being an ass about DT.

Both go to separate Disneylands.

Then a few things happen at once:

Neil posts that Michael and David are still very much in love.

David looks depressed as GT posts that picture with “Breakdown” in the background, song about a break up.

Michael struggles through a question about AL - talks about them not looking for it, but -the kids- so it was worth it - refuses to say he loves AL, refuses to say anything about her personally - it’s spoken like a rehearsed statement about an arrangement that at least they both have something out of.

Michael automatically switches to David unprompted - he turns into a sunshine, goes personal about him calling him lovely and very nice, and this is when asked about the rudest actor so also an awkward Q - which he made the most affectionate thing in the world.

Michael also keeps on bringing David up. Constantly.

David still in California.

Enty releases a blind about two men who went to Disneyland separately and one wife and one girlfriend are pushing a narrative of happy families while the men only look happy with each other or while talking about each other.

AL milks Assembly to her advantage for a whole day desperately while Michael stops performing because he’s too sick.

Neil reblogs all the moments Michael spoke about David.

Michael suddenly interacts with fans avoiding thousands of tweets of people totally seeing the love between him and AL (he didn’t use that word).

So what I think… - I don’t think the family unit was ever true. That was just PR to get the women out there. Because when they didn’t need it, it abruptly stopped. Perhaps men thought if these two get work, things will get easier. Unfortunately they’re not most employable.

The problem is that it looks like Michael and David are not happy with their women anymore and it’s bad enough that they’re showing it. The women know - perhaps AL is aware things are ending hence milking it until it gets public that they’re over. GT is hinting hardcore that things are falling apart - but are they going to sort it out or not? What stage these two couples are actually at - I don’t know.

Is David so unhappy he’d tip off Enty? I wouldn’t be shocked. Especially since his and Michael’s best friend told everyone David and Michael are in love right before the assembly. Which makes me wonder whether Enty and Neil dropping a 💣 was very much planned by Michael and David. Did they lose GT/AL support and looked for it in Neil, did the women only were happy to “help” when they were getting something out of it, or is this actually following a plan since the very beginning - Hard to tell. I’m not 100% sure because with GT promoting her and him being unhappy, maybe she is on it in some way. But… it is hard to tell at this stage. Maybe DT got her his agent so the agent would make sure GT doesn’t post shit about him when/if things are over. Maybe the agent is controlling the narrative now and helping to make the breakup least damaging for both.

We will see. This can still go so many different ways… the only stable thing is Michael and David and their love for each other.

#NightGoodOmens talks PR #NightGoodOmens talks Michael and David

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fallen-if · 1 year

Text

DEMO TBA || RO Appearances || Pinterest

Warning: This IF is 18+. It includes darker themes and topics such as explicit language, violence, sexual content, etc.

“How you have fallen from heaven, O star of the morning, child of the dawn! You have been cut down to the earth, You who have weakened the nations!”

You are an individual that has been known by many aliases over the years. Child of the dawn, the original sinner, star of the morning. But no matter the name, your identity remains the same. You are the one that defied the heavens, the one that cast aside the shackles of tradition and broke free from the constraints of the divine. You are Lucifer Morningstar - The Fallen Angel.

It is quite the title, you will admit. After all, it was clear that most had assumed that you would simply fade away after being cast out.

Of course, you have never been one to be bound by rules or expectations, instead always striving to challenge conventions and find new paths. Your rebellious spirit has helped you blaze a trail of chaos and destruction in your wake, earning you a place among the remembered.

However that legacy is put at risk with the newfound instability that hangs over the the three realms...

Take on the role of the fallen angel and ruler of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar.

Uncover the mysteries of Paradise, one of the three realms, and your former home.

Gaze back into the past in order to gain a better understanding of yourself - and possibly the universe as well.

Learn about the complex history and society that makes up the three realms.

Explore and navigate complex dynamics and relationships.

Customize your appearance, personality, gender, etc.

Try to keep the universe from falling apart! No pressure!

Michael (Angel) [He/Him]

The first being to come into existence as well as the general of the Paradise Host. His humility and strong sense of justice make him an admirable being, even more so given his significant power. Of course, he also happens to be the man who struck you down out of Paradise. Now that you have been reunited you can't help but be curious about your former friend despite the deep strain of your relationship.

Uriel (Angel) [She/Her]

The fifth fourth of the Seraphim and a former close friend - Uriel is nothing short of a fiery and passionate individual. Her intense, fervent nature is undeniable, making her both a formidable ally and a dangerous enemy. You would know, considering you had bared witness to both sides personally. Mending your relationship with her would be nearly impossible. Even so, you knew that if you could pull it off, it would be undeniably worth it.

Vir (Human ???) [He/Him]

An eccentric and intriguing man that claims to be the "Guardian and Ruler of Limbus". Vir is an enigma to many, including you. His loud and unstable personality make him difficult to understand, and you can never be sure what Vir's intentions really are, leaving his true nature a mystery and his presence a source of curiosity and fascination. Although, now that you think about it, he seems awfully familiar...

Lilith (Succubus) [She/Her]

A mysterious and fascinating woman, Lilith is an enigma, captivating all who come into contact with her. Her reputation is not without merit - Lilith's influence and insight are unparalleled, and her counsel invaluable to you. Taking the time to gain a better understanding of this enigmatic woman, and taking down a few of her walls in the process might be just the thing that unlocks the key to her heart.

Cas Monroe (Human) [Gender Selectable]

One of the two undecided souls, Cas is a ball of pure energy. Despite their situation, they continue to keep their upbeat and bubbly attitude. They have no intention to let their circumstances bring them down, and instead take every opportunity to try and make the best of it. With a never-ending determination, Cas is both a source of inspiration but also annoyance. Their positivity is admirable (if not a bit naïve) , but it also hints at a deeper, hidden side. What secrets are they hiding?

Alex D’Angelo (Human) [Gender Selectable]

The second undecided soul that has been placed in your care. Alex is a lot more reserved and anxious than their counterpart. In fact, calling them a nervous wreck would be an understatement. They seemingly just want to find some inner peace and avoid the inner turmoil they feel inside, desperately seeking a place of solace. Perhaps you could help soothe the chaos that roams within their mind...

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rodolfoparras · 1 year

Text

Smoke Sprite

Pairing: Captain Price x Trans Male Reader

WC: ca 7k

Synopsis: Price teaches you how to smoke cigars among other things

Content warning: 18+, • MINORS DNI • dry humping • boot worship • boot grinding • verbal degradation • praise • alluded exhibitionism • Sub! Reader • Dom!Price • reference to afab anatomy (sparsely!) • power dynamics • age gap (no specific age stated but in my head it’s like 10 years between them) • no after care

Stand alone/ part of a series:

A/N: The usual disclaimer: English isn’t my first language so excuse any grammatically incorrect sentences, spelling mistakes, ooc, plot holes… heads up for long sentences as well, who needs proper structure anyway.

First time writing smut too bc at some point we ought to dive into this. Am I right or am I right? Also idk how to do accents, as a non native speaker I have a whole vocab that consist of American and British words and at some point something may sound whack but just rewrite it in your head and enjoy the fic hehe

Also don’t be fooled, you will actually learn about cigars here I did a deep dive for this

Few things were hard to come by when enlisted in the army. One of them being a good night's sleep. It was something you as well as many other soldiers battled with. You’d found that the best way to cope with it was to stay up til your mind was as exhausted as your body and one of the ways you’d make the time pass was by smoking.

That’s how you found yourself sitting on the window sill of the little kitchen provided on base, half way through your third cigarette, wishing your mind would let your body go to bed.

It wasn’t always bad being unable to sleep. Hours you spent awake (albeit against your will) were also sometimes hours you’d felt the most at peace.

Tonight felt like one of those nights and the peace washed over you in waves, so much so you finally felt like you were ready to head to bed.

Just as you’re about to follow through with that thought, a sudden noise at the door catches your attention.

You turn so quickly you almost drop the cigarette you’re smoking, ash falling over you with the motion.

It’s too dark to see the intruder’s face but you’re still able to see how he freezes in place and quickly raises his hand in defense.

“Relax sergeant” the tension leaves your body when you hear the intruder speak. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. It was after all one that was on your mind when you couldn’t sleep. “Didn't mean to scare you, was just gonna get something to drink” His voice sounds husky, he’d probably just woken up from his sleep.

You nod your head, as you go to sit down again, taking another drag of your cigarette as you observe the surprise guest.

His steps are sluggish, head almost dropping as he makes his way over to the fridge and you wonder to yourself if you should turn on some light so he doesn’t trip.

“Don’t know how you can smoke that shit” Price says, somehow managing to express his disdain through his sleep like daze.

You snort at his words before taking another drag of your cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke only to watch it disappear again.

“Look who’s talking” you say referring to the cigar that always seemed glued to his hand.

He opens the fridge, seemingly searching for his drink before he takes out a bottle of water. Soon after he makes his way over to the kitchen counter, across from where you’re sitting. The light from outside shines down on him and you can finally see him properly as he leans on the counter and takes a sip of his drink.

He’s dressed in some gray sweatpants and a matching tank top to go with it. It wasn’t an unusual sight per say. Many times he'd complain about running hot easily so he always dresses lightly when he sleeps. However that didn’t mean that you were unaffected by it.

“Seriously they taste like shit and smell bad too”he says before downing the rest of the water.

“I don’t smoke for the taste” you say as your eyes wander from his clothes up to his neck, taking notice of the dog tags on him and the way they’re glistening with the light shining down on them. Your gaze wanders further up, over to where his Adam's Apple lays and how it bobs every time he takes a sip of his drink, until your gaze finally lands on his face. His eyes are half lidded, lips parted and puffy and a flush coats his cheek. It’s clear that he’d just roll out of bed especially with how mussed his hair is. Despite that he looks good, really good actually.

“You should since these will take you out anyway” he says, bottle now discarded on the counter and hands tucked into his pockets.

“Teach me how to smoke cigars then” You say tossing your cigarette out the window before turning in your seat to face him properly.

Price raised an eyebrow at that.

“What? You can’t sleep, I can’t sleep, might as well do something useful here. Teach me how to smoke cigars”

The older man scratches at his beard in thought before seemingly making a decision. With a grunt he signs for you to move over and you do as he says. He sits down next to you, one foot propped on the window sill and the other hanging to the side of it.

Price digs his hand into his left pocket, pulls out a wooden box of something, pops it open before sliding it over to you.

“Take whichever you want, it doesn't matter. You’ll be prepping it anyway”

“Prepping?” You look at him like he’s grown three heads. It's a cigar after all, what is there to prep anyway?

He nudges his head, signaling for you to take one. When you do so, he takes one himself before he closes the box and pockets it again.

“It’s not like a cigarette. You don’t just shove it into your mouth and smoke it. All good things come with preparation and in moderation.”

“Are we still talking about cigars here “ you grin widely as you wiggle your eyebrows suggestively.

Price grunts at your words but doesn’t do much more as he goes into teacher mode.“First thing first, you want to know what you’re working with. That can break or make the experience”

You nod as you look down at the cigar in your hands. However, figuring out what you’re working with wasn’t as easy as it seemed. You’ve smoked for years but cigars were outside of your expertise.

Price must’ve seen the stupefied look on your face because he says “Don’t look at it like that, lad. It’s a cigar not a ticking time bomb“

“Sorry” you say, shifting in your seat as your free hand fiddles with some loose lint from the sweats you’re wearing.

“That’s alright. Let’s start with something familiar, yeah?” he mindlessly strokes his beard, brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to think of how to explain it.

“You lick your cigarettes right? How come you do that?” You’re momentarily stunned by the fact that he’s picked up on this. But his question hits you next and you can’t help but feel embarrassed when you confess.

“Force of habit I guess” you shrug, rubbing at your neck as your eyes wander from him to some random spot on the window sill.

Hey, you’re a smoker not a smoke connoisseur. You don’t know the ins and outs of nicotine.

He sighs heavily and drags his hand down his chin before he speaks “That’s alright.” he says before he goes to explain. “ It's a form of prepping, not really necessary for cigarettes but some smokers do it. However prepping is essentials for cigars”

He then goes on to raise his arm in the air, giving you a clear view of the cigar in his hand.

“First thing first you do a pinch test, it’s pretty simple really. You pinch it between your thumb and point finger. Do not roll it however. If it’s dry it’ll cause unnecessary friction which in turn will cause more tears in the leaf”

He starts to demonstrate the step. You try to focus but your eyes can’t help but wander all over his hands.

Despite the cigar being quite big, it looks something akin to a cigarette in his grip and although he’s got a rather delicate grip on the cigar you know just how rough he can be with his hands. You’ve seen it many times out on the field, and have even imagined what it would be like to be on the receiving end of the treatment. His hands always look so big and strong, dusted in chestnut hair and lined with thick blue veins. You can’t help but think of how pretty they look as he demonstrates the step.

“You still with me, lad?”

You lick your lips, mouth feeling dryer than any tobacco leaf. “Yeah “

“Now do so with yours. Remember just add some light pressure, it doesn’t need much more than that” he says, once again demonstrating the step. You start to feel a pressure in your chest as heats floods from your head down to your feet. You try to focus on his words but they only seem to add to the lightheadedness you’re feeling.

“You listening?” He asks, taking note of your dazed expression.

You only manage a hum in response to his question as you go to follow his instructions. “It shouldn’t crackle since they should be properly humidified anyway but it’s always good to know the basics yeah?” He says when you both notice there’s no crackling to be heard from the cigar in your hands.

“Now we cut it. I keep this baby on me at all times “ Price says before he pulls out a pocket knife.

“There's all types of fancy shit for cutting but the principle is to cut as little as possible rather than the opposite. You just kind of snip it off” he says as he places the knife at the tip and executes the move perfectly.

“Now you try,” he hands it over to you and you can’t help but feel quite confident in this part. The task didn’t seem complicated anyway. But as you go to cut it, it turns out to be much harder than it seemed. The cut is nothing like Price’s. If anything it’s jaggedy and has the tobacco leaves crackling at the tip.

“That’s alright, you can-“

Before he gets the chance to say anything else, you wrap your lips around the tip, allowing your spit to smoothen out any loose pieces.

“Oh- “ you look up at Price only to see him swallow hard.

“That’s a good lad” he says, voice sounding deeper when he speaks “was gonna say to not slobber it down in saliva but you seem to know your thing “

Your face feels hot when you go to respond.“Thanks”

It’s strange- this relationship you got with your captain. At first sight it might seem that you’re the one throwing flirty remarks around here. And he’s the one who acts unphased, or even annoyed at your flirting attempts. But matter of fact is he’s the one making suggestive remarks whether consciously or subconsciously and you’re the one phased by it. You wish you too could be as unphased as him because his recovering time for these types of situations is remarkable, really.

His voice is void of any previous emotion when he goes to speak again “Now to the last part, we light it”

And of course you try to keep with him.

“Never thought we’d get to it” you say, hoping and praying you seem just as unphased as he seems . But you can still feel your face burning and your voice slightly wobbling and the intense look he’s giving you isn’t helping you very much either.

“Hey you wanted me to teach you” Price reminds you with a pointed look.

“Go on please” you gesture dramatically before leaning back in your seat.

“The way you choose to light it will affect the taste. It’s all a matter of preference so to say “

“And how do you like yours to taste?” Your words come out more suggestive than intended and you can hear Price sucking in a sharp breath, head tilting and his eyes boring into yours when he says “I prefer to take my time with things, enjoy it thoroughly, make the most out of it if you know what I mean”

The mood feels different; stirring in a direction that has nothing to do with cigars and everything to do with something else, something-

“You’ll achieve that with a soft flame”

And it's quickly broken again.

Price fishes a box of matches out of his pocket, slides it open and takes a few of them before pocketing it again.

“Always use two matches but don’t be fooled, you can’t hurry the process this is just to ensure the cigar burns even. You with me?”

You nod - maybe a bit too eagerly to show him you’re listening, brows furrowed and lips puckered in concentration and if you’d be focused on someone else you’d see the ghost of a smile on Price’s face.

“You strike the matches and tilt them downwards, then rotate your cigar around the them “

“Like a marshmallow ” the words slip mindlessly out of your mouth and his eyes widen in surprise before he laughs.

You feel the tip of your ears go red but smile at what he says next “Fuckin’ hell, sure like a marshmallow “

Instead of saying something else that would result in making a bigger fool of yourself, you choose to do as he says.

You take two matches from him and attempt to strike them.

However it feels like the universe is on a mission to make you seem like the biggest fool because for some reason you can’t light up your match.

After your third failed attempt paired with some curses under your breath Price decides to offer you some help.

He leaves his place on the window sill, and leaves his cigar in the ashtray to stand behind you instead. But just as he does it, you manage to light them yourself. However for some reason he chooses not to go back to his seat.

“Like that,” you hear him before you see him, and smell his cologne behind the clouds of smoke.

You try to keep your focus as you slowly rotate the cigar in your hands

“Good lad you’re doing so good,” the words make you feel like a match ignited, burning from your head down to your toes.

“Is it done?” You don’t know what you’re asking about- the lessons or the torture he’s unknowingly putting you through.

“Ever heard of the word patience, kid?“ he chides and if it weren’t for your close proximity making you feel all funny you’d say something to him.

“Just one more round of matches and you’re good to go yeah?” His voice is gruff and breathy when he speaks, almost akin to the tone he uses when he gives commands on the field. You feel the wisps of hair from his beard brushing across your ear and the heat from the close proximity of your bodies. You chose to nod in response, opting to bite your tongue in fear of saying something you might regret later on.

Soon you find yourself with a lit cigar in your hands.

“There now to the last step” the heat quickly disappears as a gust of cold wind creeps onto your skin and you’re sure it’s not because of the open window but rather from the space between your bodies as he goes back to his own seat.

“The most important rule of smoking- if you’re to remember anything out of this- is to not inhale it but rather take a light drag. Your body and your lungs will be thankful for sparing them, see it as something you slosh around in your mouth rather than shove down your windpipe”

You raise a brow at his choice of words.

“I am not the best teacher, “ he shrugs before picking up his cigar again.

He puts it between his lips and takes a light drag of it and you can’t help but think that he looks attractive doing it.

You never thought smoking was attractive. You smoked to ease your nerves and couldn’t wrap your head around what would be so attractive about a little nicotine stick and the awful smell that came along with it. But looking at him now with his eyelids hanging low, head tilted to the side as he exhales the smoke, you finally understand why people thought so. Especially now, with his Adam’s apple on show, dog tags gleaming behind the clouds of smoke and his toned arms flexing every time he goes to take another drag of the cigar.

“You do the most work in the beginning until you see white smoke. That’s how you know it’s properly lit and you can actually start to enjoy it“ Price’s voice sounds stern when he speaks; like a knowledgeable teacher sharing information to his interested students. And you sure were interested: in more ways than one.

“Most work in the beginning huh?” You grin wolfishly at him.

“You pull a lot of jokes, kid “ he chuckles as he continuously spins the cigar in his hand.

Kid. Your nose scrunches at the word “Not a kid and who said it’s a joke?”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead he tilts his head and rubs his beard as if mulling over something before speaking again.

“You try now”

You nod your head as you attempt to focus on the task at hand. But it isn’t easy, your eyes flicker from his fingers, to his lips, to the way he sits leaned back in his seat with smoke surrounding him.

Before you know it you’re inhaling the cigar, doing the complete opposite of what he told you and within seconds you feel the smoke hitting you all at once; blurring your vision and sending you into a coughing fit.

“I told you not to inhale it” he tuts as he leans over to take the cigar from your hands before he goes to pat your back “damn shame you seemed so good at following directions, what happened?”

You try to speak but the burning sensation in your throat cuts you off. His hand is once again on your back rubbing up and down aimlessly before he suddenly gets up and you instinctively grab onto him “I’m just going to get something to drink” he says, repeating his words from before and you nod, allowing him to do so.

“Here” he says a moment later, pressing a cold water bottle against your cheek.

You flinch away from the cold sensation, but grab it anyway, downing more than half the bottle within seconds.

“Take it easy or you’ll choke again, boy”

Despite the advice you find yourself unable to slow down and you down the rest like a man parched.

He chuckles at your actions and grabs hold of your chin, turning your head to face him.

“That good?” He asks, eyes shining with both hints of worry and amusement.

You nod in response feeling heat creep up your neck and ears. The feeling intensifies when his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, wiping off any remaining liquid before he pops it in his mouth to lick it off of him.

“I - I can do better” you croak out, still trying to catch your breath.

“What’s that boy?”

You clear your throat and take a deep breath, braving yourself to speak “I meant what I said I can do it, let me try again”

His gaze shifts between your eyes and your lips, seemingly making a decision when he goes to speak.

“Alright, come here “ he says before he goes back to his seat on the window sill, cigar tucked back between his lips, and with smoke surrounding him. He looks delectable to say the least.

As if it were a reflex your body complies to his request, shuffling over to sit closer to him.

You can feel your knees brushing, smell the scent of his cologne mixing with the cloud of smoke, can even see each and every eyelash on his eye along with the gray hairs sprinkled across his chestnut beard.

You thought you couldn’t get any closer than this but suddenly he leans further in and your eyes go wide as you watch him. His hand goes to your head, strokes your hair, and brushes back any loose strands or flies aways before it glides across your cheeks, until finally stopping at your lips.

“Open up, now” he says, one hand under your chin and the other tapping his cigar against your lips.

“Lets try this again, yeah? You did so well, don't want the lesson to go to waste” You hum in response, parting your lips before wrapping them around the cigar. However you don’t take a drag. Instead you await his command.

“Remember gently, no need to put much effort into it, yeah?”

You nod as you put all your focus into doing as he says and finally you manage to take a proper drag of it, enough to taste it and enough to blow it out properly as well.

“Good lad. I knew you could do it “ the look of pride on his face along with his words goes straight to your head. Like the cat that got the cream, you think to yourself.

You go to take another drag of it and as you do he places his hand on the small of your back, soothingly rubbing up and down the length of it. You try to focus on the cigar rather than his touch because you fear that in itself will send you into a coughing fit. But it’s hard to stay focused on the cigar when his hand leaves the small of your back and makes its way up to your neck instead. You’re just about to blow out the smoke when his hand wraps around your neck and gently squeezes it.

You part your lips in surprise and as you do so smoke leaves your mouth, coming out in little circles that quickly dissipate in the air. Your eyes widen at your little trick and he just chuckles at your reaction, before releasing his grip completely and leaning back a bit.

“Little trick I learnt “ he says innocently, shrugging even before he clears his throat, eyes avoidant of your own but manages a thank you when you pass the cigar back to him.

A rather awkward silence falls over you two as you try to process what happened. Price’s hand around your neck- the shy reaction you got from it- the fact that he knew this trick in the first place. It all hangs in the air like clouds of smoke and puts your mind in daze. It’s hard to snap out of it but once you do you wonder if you should say something or move on to the next subject. Looking at him you can clearly see he’s embarrassed about it so you choose to spare him but you also choose to store this moment in your mind for when you’re in desperate need of a replay.

“Gotta give it to you, you were right about the taste. It’s pretty nice actually”

He inhales sharply at that, eyes falling to your lips as he goes to speak “Yeah? Why don’t you describe it to me? Last part of the lesson. Need you to name the flavors ” His hand is now at your thigh, fingertips mindlessly tracing circles onto it and you think it isn’t fair of him. He can clearly see the way your body is reacting to him- to his touches- to his words and he still expects you to function.

You must’ve taken too long to respond because Price’s hand squeezes your thigh in warning “Sergeant”

“Creamy- it tastes creamy sir “ you stumble over your words but still manage to get out a response.

He hums in response, hand tightening at your thigh before once again squeezing it to get your attention. “Anything else? Any specific flavor you can name. Go on, take another drag of it“ he says before passing the cigar back to you. For once you’re thankful that your body reacts so easily to his commands. Your head’s far too gone at this point to be able to give your body instructions.

You take another drag of the cigar, allowing the smoke to coat your tongue before exhaling it. There’s a rich sweetness accompanied with a certain bitterness dancing across your taste buds “Coffee tastes like coffee sir- maybe even hits of almond as well?” you say through batted lashes, eagerly awaiting his response.

“Correct. My favorite” he hums in approval.“You’re a quick learner,huh?” The phrase like the cat that got the cream rings through your head again but this time you couldn’t care less. This time you'd gladly accept it. You’d gladly be the cat and you’d gladly take all the cream especially if it was -

Price grabs you by the collar of your shirt and pulls you close. “You know what else is good to learn? “

You gasp at the sudden motion and instinctively grab onto him, one hand at his arm, the other barely holding onto the cigar. His voice is dangerously low and breathy and the way his hot breath washes over your neck raises goosebumps all over your body.

You can even feel the tell tale sign of his thick mustache brush up against your neck as he goes to say “subtlety, my boy”

There’s little to no space between your bodies. He’s so close to you that you can hear his gruff voice forming the words at the back of his throat, and feel how they vibrate against his chest as he speaks them. Yet you ache to be closer so you grip tighter onto him and press your body closer to his.

“You were fidgeting around in your seat and barely paying attention to what I was saying. I almost thought you were getting bored of the lesson but that can’t be right now can it? ”

It's no longer wisps of mustache hair brushing against your neck but rather a full beard trailing up to the spot behind your ear. And every time he goes to speak, it brushes relentlessly against the skin, leaving burn marks behind him.

“No- no sir. I’m very eager to learn” your mind’s starting to feel hazy, your breath’s quickening and you can’t help but tighten your grip on him, nails sinking into supple skin. You hear him wince but can’t bring yourself to care nor to loosen your grip.

There's a nagging voice at the back of your head telling you this is just a wet dream or even worse a hallucination as you lay bleeding out on a field. So to silence it you tighten your hold on him, hoping and praying you aren’t just imaging him.

However he seems very much real because his arm feels firm and flexes under your tight grip. Every time you go to take a breath you smell the scent of smoke and cologne that seem to follow him and all you can see is his broad back and the small curls at the back of his neck.

“Mm eager you say '' His accent is much thicker now, desire coating his tongue and slurring his words and his tone is playful like you’ve never heard it be before. All of a sudden you feel his fingers at the back of your head, fingers burrowing into the thick mane of hair before he pulls your head up to face him.

“I expect a response when I speak sergeant “ he says, tugging at your hair in warning.

You whimper at the sting, eyes batting up at him as you go to respond to him “Y- yes sir I’m very eager to learn”

Price looks at you with half lidded eyes and with an arrogant smile across his lips as he goes to cup your cheek. “I suppose someone so eager wouldn’t have any issues repeating the steps we learned today”

“No sir” you manage to spurt out a response as you lean into his touch.

“That’s a good boy” he says as his thumb caresses your cheek. “So good for me, yeah?” His voice almost sounds like the one he uses on the field when he goes to praise his team, except this one is just a bit lower, more breathier and wraps around endearments only meant for your ears.

“How about this,” he begins to say, hand slipping from your cheek, trailing down to your neck and landing on your shoulder. He takes his time to straighten the collar before he speaks again

“if you can tell me all the steps we went through today” he trails off once again as both of his hands slide down the length of your arms before finally stopping at your thighs where they rub soothing circles onto them. “I’ll reward you for it “

“Only if you want to, of course” he says, as he goes to take his hands off your thighs.

“Oh I want to ” you say hurriedly as you grab onto his hand to keep them in place.” A lot, actually” you add in a shaky tone feeling your face heat up at your own words.

His eyes flare with desire and he takes a sharp breath before he says “Sit back for me yeah? One leg on each side of the window, need you to sit comfortably for this okay?”

You do as he says, one foot on the desert ground and the other one on the wooden floor and you automatically lean back on the window frame to make yourself comfortable.

He on the other hand, has one boot clad foot propped on the window sill and the other one hanging to the side of, leaning back comfortably.

Your hands are trembling in your lap, fingers still gripping onto the cigar and you can see goosebumps rising on your bare skin but it’s not because of the cool metal pressing against it or because of the howling wind. It's rather something else and Price seems to know the very reason behind it because he says.

“You’re shaking my boy are you nervous about presenting?” He asks in a mocking tone, before he takes the cigar from you and puts it in between his lips. While you’re trembling in your seat he looks as relaxed as ever, leaned back against the wall, arms crossed and with an expectant smile on his lips.

“No-no sir” you respond as you squirm under his expecting gaze.

“Get on with it then” he says sharply and you spring into action.

“The first thing you do is prepare your cigar. That can make or break the experience… “ you trail off as you scramble your brain for what to say next. But your train of thoughts is quickly cut off by a sudden pressure on your left leg.

Price’s foot gently nudges your thigh and once again, as if it were a reflex, your body responds to him; legs spreading further apart, to make more room for him.

Suddenly, he starts tapping his foot impatiently, purposely grazing his boot clad foot against sensitive skin as he waits for you to recite the next step. Despite the sweats you’re wearing, you’re so worked up that every touch feels like he’s grazing bare skin.

“Go on. I didn’t tell you to stop” he warns as he puts a punishing pressure onto your thigh, harsh sole digging into soft skin and you wince at the impact before you speak.

“To check if your cigar is moist you use your thumb and point fingers and squeeze - squeeze it from top to bottom” the air is punched out of your lungs, your words breaking up as the boot moves from your thigh to instead rest directly atop of your dick.

You gasp, fingers grabbing onto the edges of the window sill as your hips buck to get more of the feeling “I’m sorry- I’m sorry sir” you say, feeling embarrassed at your body’s reaction.

However Price doesn’t acknowledge your action nor your words. Instead he decides to raise attention to something else.

“No underwear ?” He asks, taking notice of the wet patch forming on your gray sweats.

“No sir I sleep commando” Price curses under his breath and you feel the pressure increase in between your legs.

“ Of course you fuckin do” he hisses and presses down even harsher, making you jolt at the movement and you just know that the embarrassingly big patch is growing larger by the minute with the way Price grins down at the spot between your legs. And when you look down at yourself you don’t only see the large wet spot on your sweats but you also see soil covered footprints all over it. The mess in between your legs shouldn’t turn you on but the sheer sight of it makes you whimper and buck your hips.

“What’s the next step?”

You go to respond but end up choking on your words when you feel the fabric of your sweats slip between your folds and push directly up against your sensitive clit. He even goes to rock his foot side to side, boot continuously assaulting your sensitive numb.

“What’s gotten your little cock so excited you can’t even speak?”

You whimper at his words, eyes squeezing shut as you lose yourself in the pleasure. “You’re being mean sir”

“Mean?” he asks, voice dripping in faux concern but never once letting up on his torturous movements. “I’m just trying to reward you here. You want your reward, don’t you?”

You nod frantically as you buck your hips up at him. All of a sudden he ceases any and all movements and you snap your eyes open up to look at him.

He raises a brow at you with a wolfish grin on his lips. You blink up at him for a moment, before it clicks; he wants you to work for it.

You almost huff at the realization. Nonetheless you adjust in your seat, hands propping behind your back as you bend at your knees before you gently start to rock your hips: his boot once again hitting your sensitive clit.

“We - we cut it. Not too much though, just the tip” you manage to get out the words before you break off into moans. You don’t realize how loud you’re being until he shushes you. It’s only then you realize that someone else can see or even worse hear you two.

“What if- what if someone sees us sir?” You ask but never once letting up on your movements.

It takes a while for Price to respond, too entranced with the sight in front of him, leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and cigar between his lips. You can barely see his face from the smoke surrounding him but the way his chest is rising and falling at a rapid beat and the way the cigar is shaking in his grip you know he is enjoying your performance.

Truth be told you don’t even know if he heard you in the first place but when you go speak again he says “No one will see anything I promise” he says in reassurance.”Everyone’s fast asleep and if someone even tries to look or listen I’ll teach them to mind their own fuckin business. “

With that you turn your attention back to chasing your high, this time uncaring about who can see or hear as you lose yourself in the pleasure.

However your attention is brought back to him once again when he says “But maybe you’d like them to?” He says, voice sounding thick and gruff. You snap your head towards him only to see him glowering down at you with desire swirling in his blue irises and a playful smile at his lips.

You know he’s just entering the thought of it, he wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with. And you can see his gaze switching from your face to your body to gauge your reaction. And he must see the positive reaction your body gives because he continues “you’d like for them to see how pretty you look all worked up for me? Maybe even jerk themselves off to you? Can't blame them if they did. You look too good like this” you can only moan in response as he continues to talk “maybe you’d even want them to join us. One cock isn’t enough for you. A slut like you needs to get all your holes stuffed to be happy isn’t that right?”

Your pace increases at his words as you lose yourself to the pleasure. But you’re quickly brought back to the present when he says “What’s the next step sergeant?“

You blink back the haze, as you try to scramble your brain for what to say next.

“Next you light it - you need two” at this point you’re just spurting out nonesene, too busy chasing your pleasure.

Although his boot does hit your clit, many times - due to your fast paced beat- it’ll miss, aim too clumsy and messy to reach it. It doesn’t take long for you to make the decision to latch one hand onto his leg, the other making sure to support your weight as you adjust his foot so that the tip of his boot hits your clit every time you rock against it.

You know you’re putting on a show for anyone who might hear or see; legs spread wide apart, arousal and mud covering your sweats as you desperately cling onto Price’s leg and moaning desperately. However you can’t find it in yourself to care, can’t focus on anything other than the pleasure coiling between your legs.

You look up at Price through half lidded eyes and mouth agape only to see a similar expression on his face.

“Jesus, look at you grinding on me like a bitch in heat, you enjoying this hm?”

“Yes yes sir, enjoy it so much” At this point you're slurring your words, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut as you focus on nothing else but the heat growing in your core.

Your heels dig further into the floor, knees cramping from the awkward position and arms aching from supporting your weight for so long. But you refuse to let up on your pace. You’re so close to the finish line you can almost taste it.

“Almost there” you warn him before your mind’s too far gone to say something.

“Then you better explain the last step or there will be none of it, sergeant “ he says as he squeezes your thigh in warning.

“Yes sir” you groan out before you will yourself to speak again “you puff it - you do the most work in the beginning until-“ you don’t get to finish your sentence before you’re cut off by your own moan.

“until what sergeant?” Is the last thing you hear before you lose focus of your surroundings, eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape as you chase your high on Price’s boot.

“Until - until - it starts working by-. “ is all you manage to get out before you’re cumming- stumbling over the finish line with your back arched and with a cry of victory.

You don’t even get to warn him before you’re falling back in your seat, arms giving out and legs losing their footing. As you do so the boot accidentally rubs against your clit and for the first time since you ended up in this situation you jerk back from the friction, dick too sensitive.

You end up leaning against your elbow, window frame uncomfortably pressed against your spine and Price’s hands on your thighs keeping you from falling straight to the ground.

“You alright?” Price asks after a moment of silence and you feel his hand on your thigh again, rubbing soothing circles on them.

You hum in response, still lost in bliss and he chuckles as he gives you a moment to come down from it.

Once you do, you flutter your eyes open and smile lazily at him.

“Good job my boy, you did so well”

“Thank you, sir” your face burns as you respond. him and the phrase like the cat that got the cream rings through your head once again.

Suddenly you see Price’s brows furrow, tongue poking past his lips as he looks down at his feet.

“Looks like you left a stain there” he says as nonchalantly as possible and points to his soiled boot “could you clean it up for me please?”

Your eyes flash in surprise and for a moment the words hang in the air.

But as quickly as they came, the words dissipate leaving a haze behind that seems to take over your brain.

“Of - of course, sir “ you say as you scurry out of your seat but before you can get any further he stops you with his foot, firmly pressing it against your chest “with your tongue sergeant “

You suck in a breath and you can feel your dick twitch in your soiled sweats.

“Yes sir”

You lean in so that you’re face to face with the boot he’s wearing. It’s a simple black boot, worn out from everything it’s been through but there’s one spot on top of it that shines like it’s been newly polished. It’s the very same spot you zoom in on, tongue poking past your lips as you trace a path from the very bottom up to the top of it.

You feel the soft leather scrape against your tongue as the familiar taste dances across your tastebuds. And every time you go to lick the boot your nose brushes against the leather and you smell yourself on it. Despite the work you put into cleaning it you know you’ve ruined the spot with your arousal and instead of feeling bad about it you can’t help but moan at the fact that he can’t hide the evidence of the event that had transpired. You give it one last lick before you kiss the boot and smile at him.

He curses under his breath, a mix of swear words accompanied with your name leaving his lips and your grin widens as you sit up again.

“Enjoy the rest of your night, kid” he says all of sudden, patting your thigh lightly before jumping to his feet. “When you’re ready to put out the cigar, just let it rest on the ashtray, it’ll put itself out that way” he says as he shows how to do it with his very own cigar before making his way over to the door.

Within seconds you’re up on your feet, moving on wobbly legs you almost fall back on the window sill.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Lesson’s over” he says simply before looking down at the watch on his wrist “and I’m old and need my rest. “ He looks away from his watch to the mess between your legs.

“Besides, you need to get cleaned up. See you tomorrow, kid” he says with a wink as he leaves.

“See you tomorrow” you say into the now empty room, chuckling in disbelief as you plop yourself back down on the window sill. You’re a sticky mess and should probably go shower but instead you take a drag of your cigar before you say “This man’s truly something else”

#captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #John price x reader #captain John price x male reader #cod #cod x Reader #cod x male Reader #Alec writes #idc if there are any mistakes I’ve been editing this for so long I’m so tired of it fjdjfjfjf #anyway

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dotieeee · 2 months

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 8

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 8 Warnings:

Noncon elements, drugging, somnophilia, Snow being creepy af, experiments conducted on children (because it isn't Hunger Games without it lol), jealous Snow if you squint, violence

Replay Level 7

Ready? Level 8 Start:

You’re startled back to your senses when your communicuff beeps in your pocket. Not even halfway through the week and you’re already feeling the effects of not getting enough sleep since you began working for Coriolanus Snow. Even during the weekend before, when you were supposed to be resting, or going out for coffee or shopping, or whatever the hell it is that young adults such as yourself do during their spare time, you were hiding in your room, paralysed with worry for the direction your uncle’s project has gone to.

His name and yours, now part of the mindless slaughter of district children whose only crime was to be born poor in the wrong place.

You get nightmares almost every day now since you began working at the Citadel. Not that you can remember any of them; they slip from your grasp like smoke the moment your Uncle Cas wakes you. Every time he gently shakes you back to reality and tells you that you’ve been crying out for your parents again, all you see is his face, worn beyond his years of working, toiling, taking care of you, worrying about you, making sure you were happy. Knowing what you already know about where his life’s work is heading, kills you inside just thinking of telling him.

You play the voice message, thankful it isn’t from your tyrannical new boss who always seems to find new ways to hog your time all to himself. It’s embarrassing enough you got woken up by him to find his coat draped on you, with F3 arriving for his shift just in time to see him plant a kiss on your head. This morning, you had hardly placed your bag down on your desk when F1 made teasing remarks about you being in denial.

What’s the old saying? About denial not only being a river in Egypt? Did it also say anything about being willing to drown oneself in it to be put out of misery?

The message you play is from F2. She says there’s a shipment waiting at the gates for Acacius Innis, which they suspect are the drives your uncle supposedly ordered for his station, and you need to sign off on it as his replacement. Maybe he ordered them before discovering he was going to be promoted.

You take your barely coherent self to the entrance where a man in courier uniform flipping through receipts on a clipboard is waiting for you, a few medium-sized boxes stacked by his feet with the Innis Tech logo and a District 3 seal. He looks up from his clipboard and greets you with a smile as soon as you get near him. You know that greying hair and the lines at the corner of his eyes.

The bartender at Strabo’s party.

“Sign here, please,” he says as he hands you his clipboard and a pen.

He doesn’t seem to recognise you, but even in your sleep-deprived state, those features are unmistakable. He acknowledges your signature with a tip of his hat, a small ‘thank you,’ and walks away.

Maybe he works two jobs, you surmise. You think nothing of it any further as you head back to your work, while a couple of peacekeepers lug the boxes along. They take them to your office where you pore through their contents – as expected, they’re just empty drives, plus a single floppy disk with a blank label. You stow the disk in your drawer, thinking it must’ve been just a freebie or some playful inside joke between your uncle and his ex-wife.

It's almost nine by the time your final batch of unit testing is finished, and when Coriolanus Snow arrives in your office to check your progress, you give him the news he’d been waiting for:

“We’re ready for integration testing.”

The perversely delighted expression that grows on his face is something you’d never like to see in many other circumstances.

This night’s sleep proves elusive, just hours of tossing and turning, drifting in and out, only for you to fall asleep then wake up again with your uncle’s worry-plastered face, your lack of proper rest affecting the both of you. In the end, you don’t get any more shut-eye aside from the three or four hours you already had.

As you take your third cup of coffee at a quarter past eight in the morning on a Wednesday, that’s when you know you’re eventually going to crash. You just hope to anyone who bothers to listen that it doesn’t happen during your presentation to Volumnia Gaul.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re making your way to the designated testing room a few doors away from your office. The night shift crew from last night scrambled to finish the set-up according to the end-of-day report from F3, and since you’re early anyway, checking for last-minute adjustments can’t hurt.

You flick the lights on inside the room, gasping at the sight that greets you.

The space is humongous, with its high ceilings and carpeted floors. The room slopes towards a flat centre which has already been fitted with several computer sets, just like you instructed, arranged in the form of a pyramid, with the three in the middle set-up with multiple screens. The entire set faces a total of twenty-nine monitors built into the wall: twelve on either side, with four more below the largest one at the centre. To your left are three windows made of glass, covered from the inside with curtains you can’t see through. You find it peculiar that three more sets of computers are installed just before the windows, but you decide to ignore it, thinking it might just be something they couldn’t remove before this day. The thing is massive, after all.

You look around, your eyes landing on the glass observation deck where you assume Dr Gaul would stay. From that cushy little box, she would observe the entire experiment with her piercing, mismatched eyes, revelling in the future horrors your work will bring about.

The door to the testing room echoes as it opens, making you almost jump in place. You can’t tell whether it’s the nerves, or the caffeine, or the lack of sleep that’s making you more agitated than usual, but also maybe it’s because of the person who had just arrived, taking calculated steps towards you with his footsteps echoing despite the carpeted floors.

“Good morning, Nellie,” Coriolanus Snow greets you with a tilt of his head and a smile, and as warm as that greeting might look, it’s often hard to tell what lies behind that mask of his. Whatever it is isn’t good.

Still, you greet him back just as warmly as if the fact that he’d be evaluating your performance today isn’t bothering you at all. “Good morning, Coryo.”

Your mentor comes close inches before you, invading your space as always. He peers into your face with those striking blue eyes before worry etches into his. “Sugarplum, you have not been sleeping well,” he deduces correctly. “Are you okay?”

You wave off his concern with a shake of your head. “I’ll sleep better when the tests are over.”

“Tell me about it,” he says with a chuckle. He pauses for a while, his gaze never straying from your lips. You quell the need to move away from him. As an afterthought, he assures you, “You’ll do perfectly today; I know that much.”

You wish you had the same confidence he has in you as you have for yourself.

The twins arrive for a final inspection thirty minutes before your presentation to Dr. Gaul. You spend the rest of the remaining time inspecting the equipment with them, ensuring everything is in place. Every monitor mounted on the wall is turned on, and the computers begin powering up, prompting the screens to flash the Hunger Games screensaver. They check the computer facing the glass windows last, which as far as you remember, isn’t on the list of equipment you had asked them to prepare. You ask them why it needs a look over, but their response is vague.

“It’s the first agenda for after lunch’s presentation. Mr Innis supervised the testing for this before, so we’ll take care of the demo,” F2 says.

Volumnia Gaul arrives exactly at nine, escorted by two stoic peacekeepers in their grey-blue uniforms. Today, she wears her usual lab coat, pristine white morphing into scarlet, her gloves made of leather of the bloody shade. You join in when everyone in the room welcomes her.

“Mr Snow.” Her drawling voice greets your mentor. “You have been hard at work, you and your little apprentice,” she glances at you, drumming her gloved fingers together her smile widening in anticipation. “Now I gather you’ve a little show for me, Mr Snow. Let the theatre commence!”

At her cue, Coriolanus officially welcomes her to the integration test, while you initiate Begin Game on the main command console.

You step aside so you can show Dr Gaul the main command console’s user interface: everything from camera control, drone management software, motion tracking and the tribute odds system, the vital signs tracking software, and overall game environment controls software, each displayed on a single monitor hooked on main – everything you and your uncle spent blood, tears and sweat on, contained in a single computer station.

“...In other words,” you conclude, “The main command console is the brains of the entire operation. It oversees everything, even the consoles used by the gamemakers, the mentors, and the operators. This is what we use to begin the Game, and it’s programmed to automatically save game data when only one tribute remains, which it detects because of the vitals tracking device. Override requests go to this console, as well.”

Dr Gaul’s eyes are glowing, but you know that it isn’t because of the lights on the monitors. A despicable grin dances on her features as she chuckles lowly to herself.

“My, oh my, what a promising start, Ms Innis,” she says softly with delight, her eyes shifting only from screen to screen. “This is just magnificent.”

You move on to the console beside the main, the one you’ve programmed as the gamemaker console which F1 will demonstrate. She navigates the interface while you expound the functions: the ability to shift camera angles, alerts for donations made to a tribute on the tribute status screen, tribute status and odds percentages onscreen...

“...and most importantly, the game environment control. Basic commands such as the activating of traps and releasing of any mutts...availability, of course, depends on the environment.”

F1 chimes in, “If I may direct your attention to the test arena being flashed on the monitors, please.” He waves a hand to the camera angle showing the Citadel basement: nothing but grey walls and decommissioned equipment archived or otherwise abandoned.

“Putting that useless old space to use, I see,” Dr Gaul smirks.

“The team has installed several mini explosives in the space, which we can activate with a single click,” says F2.

“That, and an artificial weather control system – bring on the heat, or the cold, or the rain,” F1 adds proudly. F2 runs a command on the console, letting artificial rain down on a small section of the makeshift arena, which darkens the grey walls and initiates a spark in one of the abandoned equipment.

“Some of those might still be plugged into an electrical source, which could prove hazardous,” you comment, but F1 brushes off your concerned look.

“Oh yeah, we hooked it up to a separate source,” he just replies vaguely.

“Add acid rain.”

Everyone’s heads turn to Dr Gaul at her suggestion. Her smile just widens, revealing her white teeth, her eyes brimming with barely contained excitement. She drums her fingers together and elaborates, “Acid rain, acid rain; melt their skins, o what great pain!”

You turn away to feign browsing through the console’s tabs, while Coriolanus clears his throat and casually suggests adding burn medicine and burn relief ointments to the mentor inventory.

F1 and F2 merely nod, and you three move on to the mentor console.

“We decommissioned the bulkier communicuffs from the previous games to make way for this,” you gesture to the computer F2 navigates. A wave of nausea hits you, but you attempt to mask it by leaning into the back of a computer chair for support. “The mentors will be assigned one of each console, which they will use to send items and gifts and track their tribute’s odds.”

You go on further by establishing the best modification yet to the way the mentors send their items: mentors can now send multiple items at once, with a maximum weight of five kilograms.

“That way, we minimise drone damage and repair costs. Also, before the mentor hits send, they will get a preview of how their tribute’s odds will approximately change when they receive and use the items, thus helping drive mentors’ decision-making in looking out for their tributes and ensuring their win.”

Your boss’s boss tilts her head in curiosity. “I just love it when they get competitive – that drive, you could almost smell in the air, it just makes it all the more fun to watch.”

You nod once at F2, who clicks on a bottle of water and a slice of bread on the inventory and hits send, and all of you watch with bated breath as the drone circles the area and drops it gently on a flat surface, directly on top of an ancient analogue computer.

“We don’t have a tribute registered as an official player yet, but once we do, it will deliver the goods just like before, but with better accuracy rates owing to enhancements in the facial recognition software,” F2 explains.

Dr Gaul hums. “And what of the sponsor system?”

F1 takes care of the operator console demo, and your mentor chooses this moment to draw closer to your side, his face radiant with pride. I guess that means he likes your performance. His eyes then hone on your hand still clinging to the chair’s backrest, but before he can say something, you approach F1 and look over his shoulder as he explains how the last console works.

Pretty simple, actually: the operator receives a call for a sponsorship; they enter the sponsor’s bank account details, the amount or the item on the system and their designated benefactor, the system alerts the mentor who received the gift and gets an alert on their console, and an alert goes to the gamemakers’ and the main as well.

F2 adds helpfully that the operator console should be run by a representative from the Citadel’s finance department, to which Gaul agrees.

You surmise it’s the same entity running the betting system where the Games rakes the most money.

To finish the demo, you mention the existence of backup computers on standby in the event of a hardware malfunction. While it’s unlikely as all the equipment is brand-new, it’s something your uncle would do: to be one step ahead of everything.

Something you wish you would’ve done before ever engaging with Coriolanus Snow.

The first part of the integration tests finishes with you and your team opening the panel for questions, which you all answer with practised ease. When she seems satisfied with everything, she announces lunch on her, and within minutes, you’re being driven by a large van to The White Knight, where you’re all waited on graciously by the restaurant staff. Everyone takes their seat at a rounded table, with you beside Coriolanus, who has taken you here for dinner a few times since last week.

And all of those times, you made sure to order the angel food cake.

Today, however, you can’t bring yourself to eat that much, so you skip the cake, thinking it doesn’t deserve a half-assed digging-in, and opt for an affogato instead. That counts as dessert, right? Still, the ever-observant Coriolanus squeezes your thigh gently under the table, making you peer into his face, subtly questioning you. You just flash him a smile and concentrate on your dessert. You could slap that hand off too, but then he takes it off slowly, dragging your skirt up a little in the process.

You lose whatever remaining appetite you have, but you push through. Only half a day left, and you can maybe just hand in your resignation tomorrow and forget about this whole thing. And then maybe live in the woods, after.

Everyone is taken back to the Citadel at twelve-thirty, and Dr Gaul gives the go-ahead for the second part of the integration test at one.

Nursing an incoming headache courtesy of the espresso from lunch, you miserably accompany F1 and F2 to prepare for their demo on the computers right before the glass windows. Dr Gaul makes her entrance on time, so you stand back and watch with Coriolanus as the siblings take the reigns on the stations they set up before the windows.

F1 runs a command on his computer, which turns the lights on behind the curtains before they’re drawn to the side, and what you thought were initially windows reveal a shocking sight – something else you hadn’t been expecting to see.

Behind each glass pane, separated by thick walls, are three captives, one male and two females, all of them looking not much older than in their late teens. They seem to have been awakened by the sudden blaring of lights inside their enclosure and are stirring awake from their cots. They look a little thin and pale, but there is not an ounce of confusion in their expressions, as if they had been there for a while and are used to being woken up like so. The brown-haired male mouths something that you read on his lips as ‘hello.’

You could feel your own eyes widen at the sight of them, your mouth opening on its own accord to let out a protest, but your throat dries up as a cold, firm hand closes on yours. Coriolanus Snow’s cold cerulean orbs, pinning you to place, spell a single, well-understood warning:

‘Don’t.’

F2’s voice floats in the space as she introduces the second stage of the integration test.

“What you’re currently seeing is one of our many additions to the game interface: we’ve inserted a microchip into the test subjects you see in the windows which transmits real-time data to our system: heart rate, pulse, blood pressure, and other vital signs, plus levels of cortisol, serotonin...”

F2 drones on with her explanation of how the microchip works, just as you watch while the three teens are served food through a small slot at the far end of their cells.

“We will spend the next three hours observing how the chip works and how it transmits data that could influence audience betting, sponsorship, and decision-making. Mr Innis designed a learning algorithm that makes use of motion-tracking software to study the tributes’ every move in real-time, which contributes largely to the accuracy of the odds on our screen. We hope to gather their responses to a number of stimuli we’ll be exposing them to within the said time to demonstrate the software’s capabilities.”

When they begin eating, F1 begins explaining to Dr Gaul, who approaches the computer screens to look at the data, how the system measures hormones related to food intake, among others.

You could feel your head start to throb and can’t help wincing at the pain. Coriolanus’s hand is still on yours, he feigns looking over at the computers then meets your eyes, shooting you a questioning look.

Are you okay?

You blink once, indicating you’re fine and break the eye contact just as he releases his grip on you. He doesn’t really care, you know that much; his only concern is the success of this presentation, and you’re not about to fuck it up for him. Instead, you peer curiously at the food they served the three teens, noting how little they’re given: a slice of stale, brown bread, a small bowl of soup, and a single bottle of water.

The male, however, finishes his meal rather quickly and raps on the glass impatiently, mouthing something you can’t quite make out.

“Their enclosure is soundproof, even their walls so they can’t hear each other; they can’t see through the glass, either. In each cell, however, we placed a screen on a corner of each wall, where they could see and hear us individually when we address them through the intercom,” F1 says. That’s when you notice that each computer station is equipped with a small, built-in camera on top of the monitor.

F2 nods and elaborates, “We figured they’d be more likely to cooperate if they see a face guiding them through the experiments.”

You take the remaining computer station beside F2, activate the teenage male’s intercom and place him on speakers.

“...Hey, hey, I can see you!” He shouts at the screen, waving frantically. “Can you hear me? Been talkin’ for a while now, did anybody get that?”

“No, I’m sorry...” you say through the microphone. You scan through his uploaded background information on the computer. “Callahan, you’ll have to say that again, please.”

“Whoa,” Callahan stares in wonder at the intercom screen in his room. “Uh, I was just askin’ when ya’ll’re gon’ let me out, but...it’s nice to hear from anyone, really. Been cooped up here a long time.”

You inhale sharply as you turn off your mic. This is going to be a long three hours. “Honestly, I don’t know,” you confess to him on the mic. According to all the files on the test subjects, they're promised a sum of money and a year’s worth of grains once they’re sent home. In seventeen-year-old Callahan Brody’s case, home is District 3.

Where the Innises began building their empire.

“Our timetable is based on the success of the experiments you’re recruited for,” you add.

He bats his eyelashes at the monitor, his eyes innocently bulging in awe. It’s odd to see him ogle at the piece of tech, knowing he’s seen much more impressive stuff in his line of work if his file is to be believed. “Hey, as long as...I’m not talkin’ to meself all the damn time.”

Coriolanus approaches your side, placing his hand on the back of your chair.

“Whoa, you’re really pretty.” Callahan chuckles bashfully at the screen. “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ stuck here for days if it means I get to see you.”

He was staring at you and not the tech, you belatedly realise. Your glance automatically goes up to your mentor, whose hardened eyes betray his displeasure at the interaction, no matter how blank he keeps his expression.

“Flattery won’t get you out of this sooner,” you say.

F1 casually mentions an increase in oxytocin and testosterone levels detected by the software on Callahan’s profile tab.

You could feel Coriolanus’s ire radiating off him in waves.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Callahan asks through the intercom.

You give him a false name for the experiment’s sake. This a scientific pursuit, you remind yourself. You and the siblings take turns getting him to talk about himself, so the software can continue logging his vitals in the process.

He tells you that his favourite food is roasted chicken and gravy, but that he only gets to eat it on special occasions. During his spare time, he likes taking apart the family radio and the old television that he inherited from his grandfather, and he had two siblings who’d help him put them back before their father got home. He says he used to work for one of your family’s factories before he came here, confirming the data logged on his file. He talks about the assembly line he was a part of before A.I.-powered machinery replaced him, rendering his job, and him, obsolete. He says he was just one of the hundreds laid off and replaced by robots.

Does your uncle know about this?

“I used to be a computer technician,” he continues. Really? That isn’t on his file, you note. “But then I lost my drive.”

You had to put your hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh brought about by that unexpected joke.

“Nerd.” F2 pokes your arm teasingly as she laughs along.

F1 verbalises a spike in endorphins in between soft bouts of laughter. “Sorry,” he tells Dr. Gaul, whose eyebrow is raised in mild amusement. “We’re a sucker for puns.”

“Of all the people they could get from the districts, they settle for another nerd,” F2 says under her breath.

Callahan seems to be delighted to entertain. “Hey, I got ‘nuther one: why do programmers hate going outside?”

F1 quips excitedly. “Ooh, I know that!”

“Because outside’s full of bugs.”

F1 and F2 both crack up, with F2 suggesting ‘we should keep him.’

You decide to play along with Callahan if only to get a rise out of your mentor, the only one who isn’t finding anything amusing out of the exchange.

“What’s a computer’s favourite snack?” you ask him on the intercom.

“What?” He and your computer engineers ask in unison.

With suppressed smile you say, “Chips.”

The laugh you get out of your subject from District 3 records the spike, while Coriolanus rolls his eyes in exasperation. He suggests moving on to the other test subjects, and the three of you oblige, repeating the same experiment.

The girl beside Callahan’s cell is significantly more reserved, and it takes a while for the three of you to elicit a response from her. Tansey Page, barely fourteen with her curly red hair and wide, almost scared eyes, is from District 11. Based on her file, she’s been living with an aunt, her only living relative, since her parents perished in the war. Her aunt had been unable to work due to a bad fall from a nectarine tree from which she never recuperated, and Tansey had to earn a living for both of them at the age of nine. As your software does its job logging spikes to her vitals, you can’t help but think about how dire her situation was that she had to enlist for this test and leave behind an aunt who barely seems to have the capacity to take care of herself.

Once Tansey opens up, you discover she’s a soft-spoken, sweet girl who loves jellied blackberries. She says she loves to read, but since they couldn’t afford books, she would often copy stories by hand on paper from borrowed books. Hearing her recount this pains you, but you follow the siblings’ example and not let it affect you. Besides, there isn’t anything you can do for her at this point but succeed in the tests so they can all go back home to their families in the districts with the payment they’re promised.

The third and last subject, Audrey Mills, blond and pale with shifting reddish eyes, is the most difficult to work with out of the three. She barely looks at the screen in her cell, just huddled on her bed with her knees to her chest, only tensing slightly when she hears anyone of you three ask her a question through her intercom. The uploaded file tells more about her than she does: she’s from District 7, aged sixteen, abandoned by rebel parents who are presumed dead, and raised by her grandmother who recently passed away. She was targeted by a trafficker nicknamed ‘The Wolf,’ probably due to her unique features, but she fought him off and murdered him by bashing him on the head repeatedly with a blunt axe. It took four peacekeepers to haul her away from the body, and unlike the other two teens, she didn’t willingly sign up for the tests and was sent here with only the promise of being pardoned for her crime.

In the end, F1 gives up with an annoyed sigh, and having only an hour left for the tests, he decides to move on to another pursuit.

“This last portion of the test will showcase the software’s ability to record vital signs in the event of negative stimuli. The subjects will be injected with a slow-acting compound laced with a hallucinogenic that targets the amygdala, or the fear centre of the brain, and mimics anything the test subjects may define as hostile. We hope to gauge the effectivity of our software by recording any physiological and hormonal changes on each subject as they would in a natural, stressful environment.”

F1 fishes out a walkie-talkie from his lab coat and through it, he says, “Begin with Test Subject 3.”

Even before you can open your mouth to object to the experiment, two peacekeepers enter Audrey’s cell from a concealed door behind her bed, followed by a female nurse carrying a large syringe. Audrey puts up a fight and tries to evade what to her would be an unknown chemical being forced upon her, but her weakened state proves no match to the peacekeepers who pin her arms and legs to the floor, while the nurse injects her with the compound. She just lies on her belly, presumably screaming, and they eventually leave her alone in her cell, having done their job. She gets to her feet and back to cowering on her bed, visibly shaken by the way she was manhandled.

These are the kind of tests Uncle Cas had to endure conducting under his supervision.

F1 commands through his walkie-talkie for Test Subject 2 to be injected with the same compound.

You and F2 exchange looks. She explains, trying to keep her voice straight, “We’re dosing them at the same time because it takes about fifteen to thirty minutes for the drug to take effect,” she glances sideways at her brother and asks, “Aren’t we going to give the dose to Test Subject 1?”

F1 considers the question, but replies, “No, we leave him as control. Besides, he’s the only one that didn’t piss me off today.”

You watch numbly as the peacekeepers and the nurse from a while ago enter Tansey’s cell. Compared to Audrey, Tansey keeps perfectly still, her eyes fearful and wary and darting from between the peacekeepers’ guns to the syringe needle. She exposes her arm mutely to the nurse, who promptly sticks the syringe into her before stepping out of the enclosure and taking the peacekeepers with her. The wait begins – a long, depraved contest of who gets affected first between Test Subjects 2 and 3.

Tansey’s breathing rate begins to increase at the fifteen-minute mark. She slowly rises from her perch on the cot while she stares with wide eyes at something in the air. Her heart rate increases, according to the system, along with rising levels of adrenocorticotropin.

“Cortisol levels are also rising,” F2 observes aloud. “Test Subject 2 exhibiting signs of stress.”

“What are you seeing, Tansey?” you ask the teen.

But all you get from her is panicked screaming, so you put her to mute at once, helplessly watching as she flails her arms and runs around in her cell in an effort to swat away whatever she’s seeing, which seems to be attacking her from the air in all directions.

“I think she’s seeing tracker jackers...” you whisper to no one in particular. “Which makes sense, given her work environment...”

You’re about to ask if they also developed an antidote for this compound, but a dull thud on the glass startles you – Audrey just banged on the glass with her palms, her vitals are a disarray, and her blonde hair is matted with sweat. She keeps glancing behind her and screaming and hitting the window with her balled fists, almost like she’s begging to be let out.

F2 urgently asks through the intercom, “Audrey, I need you to describe what you’re seeing.”

For the first time today, Audrey opens her mouth to speak, her voice hoarse and filled with despair. “The Wolf.”

“She’s hallucinating her attacker,” F2 says as she turns her mic off.

“That means the drug is working, and the software seems to have an accurate read on all physiological and hormonal spikes. Control subject is fine and his vitals are stable,” F1 notes in a matter-of-fact tone. “Everything in their cells, by the way, is being captured by our motion tracker and being fed to the algorithm in real time.”

But, what for, when you’ve already covered that portion in the first part of the integration tests?

You spend the last fifteen minutes of the tests completely dumbstruck, petrified and wishing everything to be over so you can put this horrible job behind you and move on with your life. You keep stealing glances at Coriolanus, but his face is as stony as ever, and Dr Gaul just seems to be having the time of her life watching the test subjects run about in their cells letting out screams only they can hear, tormented by horrors only they can perceive.

By the time F1 declares the tests a success, you’re barely paying attention to his words – you just stare at the computer monitor, waiting for the save progress to reach a hundred percent before you can shut it down. Coriolanus places a hand on your shoulder, which you take as your cue to stand while your department head gives her verdict.

The Head Gamemaker dons a pleased smile as she delivers her final feedback. She seems absolutely thrilled with the tests so far and commends everyone hard at work on seeing the program to completion.

Dr Gaul clasps her hands together as she asks, “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I heard your team mention a trial Hunger Games using the test subjects?”

It can’t be, it just might be your physically and emotionally exhausted state mishearing her. You just blink, careful to pay more attention.

F2 gives an affirmative nod as she adjusts her glasses. “It’s called grey-box testing. The idea is to pool in end-users, ideally those who have partial knowledge of the internal structure, to help us test the software. We have F3, whom we’ve already asked prior to this, and Mr Snow has also volunteered himself and his apprentice, Ms Innis, to participate as test mentors.”

Dr Gaul nods her head in approval. “Indeed. I am glad that your team understands the exigency of this project, Mr Snow. The Twelfth Hunger Games is upon us, and I’d like to see this thing of beauty put to great use.”

Your world is in a tailspin. Your grip on the back of your computer chair is the only thing that keeps you from falling. Your hands are shaking even as you pretend you only had to grab the bottle of water on the station behind you to dissuade your mentor’s worried looks.

So, this is what they were recording them for, you conclude. To top it off, your boss has enlisted you as a test mentor, which means you will be responsible for the death of one or more of the teenagers you had just observed minutes ago being needlessly tortured so more could take their place this July.

Unable to control your lightheadedness any longer, you fall sideways with nothing to break your descent but the chair you had been sitting on.

A pair of strong arms is on you at once, gathering you and carrying you bridal style, ignoring your weakened protests. Everything is a blur, and you get dizzier in its hold, but you fight to stay conscious no matter how fleeting. The world only steadies when you’re set down on what feels like soft leather.

You wince at the bright light that floods your eyes. There’s a muffled voice you can make out that seems to be calling your name. When your vision and hearing clear, you finally make out the source of that blinding light: a penlight held by Dr Gaul herself, which she turns off; that voice belonging to none other than Coriolanus Snow whose hands are clasping one of yours.

“There she is, your little pet. Poor thing is fatigued, by the looks of her,” Dr Gaul chuckles lightly and raises an eyebrow at him. “You ought to keep your hands away from her every so often.”

Coriolanus merely exhales in relief, but his jaw remains tense. “She is merely preoccupied with the program, Dr. Gaul. She hasn’t been sleeping very well for the past weeks.”

The woman simply clicks her tongue in impatience. The sound of peeling latex gloves breaks the quiet in the room momentarily, followed by the opening of a sliding door shelf, the clinking of glass bottles and the closing of said shelf. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the doctor hand your mentor something you can’t see.

Gingerly, you sit up on the infirmary bed, and Coriolanus helps steady you by placing his hands on your shoulders.

Dr Gaul’s voice echoes in the room. “I’d like you to be in tip-top shape, Ms Innis, so I will give you the day off tomorrow. I will delay the trial, but only for a day more. Take her home, Mr Snow. Get some rest, both of you. Come this Friday, we’ll continue.”

She turns on her heels and walks away. Coriolanus’s sharp eyes follow his mentor’s retreating form until she disappears from the room. He then turns to you, his concerned blue orbs raking your form.

He cups your cheeks as he whispers, “You gave me quite the scare, my sugarplum.” He kisses you on the forehead, then asks, “Tell me what you’re feeling. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Other than my head pounding? I’m fine, I guess. I just need some sleep,” your hushed tone says. And other than your tights sustaining a rip on the right thigh from your fall on the computer chair, everything else on you seems to be intact, so you try to stand. The floor seems to move the moment you get to your feet, and Coriolanus catches you before another stumble.

“You’re coming with me to my place,” he says firmly.

You begin protesting, “Coryo, I can just go home –”

You’re interrupted by your own yelp of surprise – to your mortification, he carries you in his arms just as he did when he brought you to the infirmary.

He raises a chastising eyebrow at you. “I’m having none of your complaints. You’re in no state to walk, or to go to your home – it’s too far. My apartment is closer.”

You can’t find the words to argue this logic, so you burrow your face further into his coat in embarrassment. He carries you to his car and instructs his driver to head to his home. You count a few blocks before you arrive at the entrance to this new luxury apartment building. You remember this building from a flyer; despite its ridiculous markup, it targeted uni students, promising luxury features that somewhat rival that of The Corso’s.

It takes a while for you to assure him that you can walk fine on your own, but he relents in the end with a purse of his lips. You could tell he’s displeased by your refusal to be carried like a damsel in distress, but he settles for putting his arm around your shoulders as he walks you across the building’s fine lobby and to the elevator. It’s his private elevator, he says – a perk of owning the largest penthouse spanning the entire top floor. That and exclusive access to the rooftop, he adds.

All this extravagance bought and paid for by the family of a man he presumably betrayed, you bitterly think.

This begs the question: how much longer you can overlook the possibility that he had Sejanus executed?

You silence that snide voice in your head, only because it just served to amplify your pain.

He’s greeted by a maid right in his foyer, who takes both your coats, before he instructs her curtly to make some tea. With his hand on your lower back, he leads you to his spacious living room with windows overlooking the Capitol bathed in the orange gleam of the setting sun, and you can’t help but look around you in amazement at the sheer elegance of his unit. You could see why it would appeal to students; it certainly favoured contemporary interior decor compared to that of The Corso’s art deco leanings. He ushers you into the velvet crimson loveseat in a corner near a window adorned with silky throw pillows.

“Take your shoes off and lie down if you want,” he suggests. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

You lean against the backrest with a sigh of relief. Finally, a friendlier surface than the computer chair you’d been lounging around in all day. You’re almost tempted to do as he instructed and make yourself comfortable, if it isn’t for the fact that you’re technically in enemy territory, and you’re a war prisoner being lured with the promise of freedom in exchange for betraying your side.

Instead, you make do with hugging one of the pillows, cursing yourself for landing in this situation – after all, it’s partly your fault that you’re here instead of home where you’re sure you're safe, and most importantly, away from Coriolanus Snow’s clutches.

Coriolanus is back within minutes, taking a seat beside you. He’s taken off his waistcoat and unbuttoned his white shirt halfway through, you observe. He rolls up his sleeves as the maid enters with a steaming teapot, cream, and sugar bowls on a tray along with two sets of teacups. She sets them all down on the coffee table in the middle. He instructs her to bring out the cake from the fridge as she exits.

He pours you a cup of tea, the inviting aroma of a rooibos and valerian root blend drifting in the living room air before he adds just the right amount of milk and sugar as you would make it yourself.

“Drink this, sugarplum. It’ll help, trust me,” he says as he pushes the teacup towards you. He pours some himself, only adding two cubes of sugar and a lemon wedge squeeze, as is his occasional preference. You watch him take a sip before you do.

And of course, your cup tastes perfect. It’s almost scary how he knows the littlest of details, including how you take your tea, of all things.

The maid arrives with what looks like a matcha-flavoured angel food cake from The White Knight before he instructs her to go home early for the night.

You try not to be nervous at being left alone with him in his apartment and focus on the tea.

Coriolanus takes the liberty of slicing you a piece of the cake and placing it on the empty plate the maid had brought in. He urges you to eat.

“I noticed you didn’t order that angel food cake you seem to be partial to when we had lunch. I thought you might like to have a bite after such a successful day.”

The smile he gives you is full of pride, while you feel nothing but shame at the abomination you had just willingly participated in. Still, you take a few bites of the cake to placate him. You’re in his turf where his rule is absolute, and heaven forbid any missteps on your part that would warrant any sanctions.

He watches you quietly for a short while over sips of tea while you contemplate the best exit strategy. Even with your slice of cake gone and your cup of tea empty, you come up with nil excuses. Surprisingly, the food helped a bit with the nausea, and you could feel your limbs starting to relax further into the couch. You can’t even fight your yawn, only stifling it with your hands, as you sink into the pile of throw pillows.

Okay, maybe just a little nap…surely, he wouldn’t mind.

The last thing you see as you drift off to blackness is Coriolanus and his lopsided grin, his slender fingers brushing off the hair framing your face.

According to Coriolanus’s watch, it took about thirty minutes for the sleeping draught he put in the milk bowl to take effect, but he allows ten more minutes to make sure you’re deep in your sleep and won’t be waking in at least a few hours. He still had some of the draught in his medicine cabinet as he’d used in the past, making sure not to touch the other bottle he’s supposed to give you courtesy of Dr Gaul.

He spends the rest of the ten minutes just admiring your face, finally deep in your own little world, blissfully unaware of your reality. For the first time in a long while, he’s completely alone with you, so allows himself this little treat of brushing your cheeks and stroking your hair. He wonders what you dream of. He wishes it was filled with the things you love. He wishes he was in it somewhere.

He eventually decides that this loveseat is no place for his sweet, little sugarplum to spend the night in.

He carefully removes your shoes and places them neatly by the foot of the couch. He carries you with ease like a prince claiming his princess bride before walking off to the sunset. He is gentle when he sets you down on his bed. He doesn't need to close his door; it’s just you and him on the entire floor, after all. He straddles your hips as he climbs on top of your sleeping figure. His eyes greedily take you in: your hair spread out on his pillow, your lips slightly parted, the curve of your neck beating your pulse...it’s what he’s dreamed of for so long; you sprawled underneath him ready for his taking...

He finally just lets his intrusive thoughts take over and licks that enticing pulse point of yours.

The moment his tongue latches on your skin, Coriolanus knows he wants more. He hurriedly unbuttons your blouse and gently peels it off your torso, exposing the swell of your breasts, modestly covered in a cream-coloured bra. Watching your exposed bosom rising and falling in steady breathing has his blood rushing from his head to his groin.

And then you had to let out a tiny, adorable whine from the back of your throat.

Coriolanus groans in frustration as he wipes a bead of sweat off his temple. The rational part of him tells him to stop, put your shirt back on and keep away from your sleeping figure because he’s aware your first time with him shouldn’t be while you’re asleep and unable to respond to his touches. He knows you’re a virgin and he’d prefer that you remember your first experience with him, and that taking you on the night of your wedding means you’d have no reason to refuse him as your husband.

But there’s this other side of him – primal, impatient, irrational, and ravenous, that part of him he normally conceals from you, most especially – that’s threatening to surface. The part of him that knows he’s been so good to you, and he’s waited long enough for even just a taste of how right at home you’d make him feel when his rock-hard cock is burrowed deep inside you...

As his gaze dips further down the skirt you’re wearing, now slightly hiked up and revealing your stocking-wrapped thighs, a thought successfully marries his rational and irrational side: he doesn’t have to fuck you tonight – he can still save you for your wedding night and still get to taste you and satisfy that painfully growing erection of his.

He seals your lips with a searing kiss, which eventually dips to the valley between your breasts, which he then squeezes through your bra. He fights the entire time not to suck on your skin and leave bruises, figuring you’d easily see if he did. He kisses and licks and massages every part of your body he can reach, while his hand travels underneath your skirt. He gathers the material to your waist, revealing your lower half and peels off that pesky pantyhose, careful not to aggravate that little tear.

And once again, Coriolanus pulls away to admire the sight of you, on his bed, in your underwear, his breathing turning shallow in anticipation.

Just a taste, he assures himself, as he removes your panties, leaving your cunt bare to him and sending more blood to his already-engorged cock. He hastens in taking your legs apart and hooking them under his arms, and from there, he begins his worship.

The kiss he plants on your inner thigh slowly travels downwards, and he allows himself to suckle on your soft skin while still avoiding any visible welts. He does the same with your other thigh, but this time, he suckles and bites down on a tender spot near that hole in your stocking, and he only stops when an angry little red blotch begins to bloom on the flesh. He kisses it one more time for good measure, just before he dives in to feast on his main course.

Coriolanus moans indecently when his tongue begins to part your folds. He chuckles to himself when he feels you jerk a little in his hold – his sweet, delicious sugarplum, so sensitive to his touch...

What was that thing they used to say as children? I licked it, so it’s mine.

He runs this tongue over his lips before continuing his quest of lapping at your cunt, making sure he takes everything you offer him. He sucks on your clit as he listens to your breathy little whines, your body tensing in your sleep as he drinks and licks your juices – you taste just like honey on his tongue – he’s parched like he’s been that way since he can remember, and your cunt is the only thing that could quench that life-long thirst, and he doesn’t stop drinking you in until your entire body is tensing up and your thighs are quivering in his arms. He pulls away in time to watch your pretty face, frozen in pure bliss, your mouth parted as you let out those airy little moans and whines.

Did he just give his little sugarplum her first-ever orgasm in her sleep?

Your limbs relax eventually as he releases your thighs. Still drunk on the taste of you in his mouth, he quickly takes his shirt off and wastes no time unzipping his pants. He can only ignore his raging erection for so long, after all.

Like he’s done countless times, he takes his cock in his fist and begins pumping himself as he watches you – as per usual, he indulges himself in fantasies about you, moaning and screaming his name, writhing underneath him in pleasure and making a mess of his bedsheets, except your face in his mind is clearer than ever before, now that he’s seen the expressions and the sounds you’d make as he makes you come around his cock again and again. He imagines himself taking you over and over even as you stay limp underneath him, too fucked out to moan anything coherently.

It doesn’t take Coriolanus long to reach his peak. With a loud, guttural groan, he finishes on your stomach, making sure he doesn’t spill anywhere else even amidst the waves of pleasure engulfing him. He brings his forehead close to yours as he steadies his breathing and lets his high fade. Once he’s regained his composure, he pulls away from you, zips his pants back up and gets off you completely, opting to sit beside you as he leans against the headboard to collect his thoughts.

He knows he couldn’t leave you in your half-dressed state for long lest you catch a cold, so he begins to erase any evidence of the little bit of fun he had with you. Shame, really, when you look so inviting covered in his spend.

He starts by gently wiping his cum off your stomach with a damp towel, ensuring that he leaves no trace of himself on you. He finds wiping you clean easy and satisfying, vaguely wondering what it would be like to have the two of you soaking in a bathtub together and doing the same for him. The next task, getting you back in your stockings, isn’t as easy as the previous, given that he has to arrange the run on the cloth back where he remembers it to be. Miraculously, he too, gets that task out of the way, and putting your shirt back on proves way less challenging. By the time he’s done, the only sign he’d been on you is the little love bite he left, now purplish-black, conveniently camouflaged by that little tear on your stocking you’d be quick to dismiss it as a byproduct of your fall.

For now, that little beast in him has been sated and has retreated to the far corners of his psyche. He kisses your crown as he tucks you in the covers, but notices how troubled your expression looks.

Are you having a bad dream, he wonders?

You stir in your sleep as you turn away from his side of the bed, muttering a word he couldn’t catch. He climbs back in beside you, leaning against the pillows, his eyes landing on the vial of smelling salts on his nightstand. If this worsens, maybe he could use that to tear you away from the dream that’s bothering you.

Then he hears sniffling.

You curl up in a ball beneath the sheets as the sniffling grows more audible. He peers further into your face, finding fresh trails of tears on your temples.

Coriolanus almost internally panics.

Did he do this to you? Had he somehow given you a dream you’re now struggling with because of what he did? He rubs his face as he thinks of the possibilities.

Maybe you’re dreaming of Sejanus. Perhaps in this dream, he’s breaking your heart, or he’s hurting you, maybe even cheated on you and you had caught him in the middle of messing around with another girl.

Things Coriolanus would never, ever do to you.

He finds comfort in the thought somehow, and he can at least hope this dream version of himself would come in and punch the daylights out of dream-Sejanus for making you cry.

“Mommy…”

It’s faint, but he hears it.

“Mommy, wake up, please…We have to find daddy..."

Ah, you’re dreaming of that day.

Coriolanus recalls the day Sejanus approached him with good intentions (like always, he couldn’t help his nature) and began talking to him about you. It was one of his many deluded attempts at igniting friendship with him. He didn’t really care back then whatever he had to say, much less about you, but then he had to reveal how your parents died.

Such needless deaths brought about the vindictiveness of rebels who were bitter about your parents choosing the correct side.

And Coriolanus knew, better than anyone, and certainly better than Sejanus, what it was like to lose a parent the way you did.

For a moment there, he sees his younger self in you, calling out for his dead mother in the middle of the night and waking up realising she’ll never come back.

His heart wrenches at your pain, so he gathers you in his lap as you sob in your slumber. He’d never thought he’d see you this vulnerable around him, so it gives him an odd sense of ease knowing he’d seen a side of you you’d normally hide from him, and making you feel safe in his arms like this is something a dutiful husband would definitely do.

He almost ignores the phone ringing in his living room in favour of keeping you in his embrace.

Except the call drops and the phone rings insistently three more times, making him gently peel you off his lap and wanting to yank it off the plug.

Instead, he picks it up. What compelled him to do so, he doesn’t know, and he can’t pinpoint whether it was a good or a bad decision.

“Coriolanus. This is Acacius Innis.”

Fuck. Just when he’s finally got you to himself.

Acacius Innis inquires more persistently on the other line. “Is my niece with you?”

“Yes, Mr Innis. She –”

“Why?”

Coriolanus does not appreciate Innis senior’s tone, nor the way he just cut him off. “She almost passed out at work this afternoon, sir,” he says. “My place was the closest I could bring her to.”

A pause on the other line. “I’m coming over,” says Mr Innis.

“I can bring her over instead, sir –”

“No, I’m picking her up,” Innis says, as sounds of scuffling are heard in his background. “I know where you live. And, young man, if you so much as try anything funny with my niece, if you dare lay a finger –”

“I have no such intentions, Mr Innis,” Coriolanus replies with just as much conviction.

My tongue did all the work. He licks his lips, extremely pleased he could still taste you on them. “Nellie is safe with me; you have my word.”

“Good to know. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Coriolanus hears the click of the receiver, followed by the dial tone.

The meddling prick.

A sharp sensation in your nose stirs you awake, followed by fingers softly stroking your hair to help you come out of it.

“Sugarplum, I’m sorry to have woken you up, but you were crying in your sleep.”

The compassionate voice of none other than Coriolanus Snow makes you rise at once and assess where exactly you have ended up.

You remember falling asleep on his couch, and yet, here you are, on a bed with his shirtless self, and a just few seconds ago draped all over his lap, apparently crying in your sleep again.

"What was I saying?” you ask as you wipe your tears with your palms.

“You were calling for your parents,” he explains. “I assume you were dreaming about the day they died.”

Damn this day. You just had to fall asleep in his presence. It’s a stupid move, you berate yourself. You extricate yourself at once from what obviously looks like his bed. Coriolanus's eyes follows you with a doleful look. “I had no idea you still had nightmares about them.”

He too, gets to his feet, picking his shirt up from the sheets and putting it back on. What the fuck even was it doing off? He approaches you with eyes cold enough to freeze your blood. “And we know gave us this pain, Nellie. We’ll make them pay for it. Every single one of them.”

You’re relieved when he finally leads you away from his bedroom and back to the living room where your shoes are. You sit on the loveseat so you can put them on, but he’s on his knees at once, assisting you with your shoestraps.

“Your uncle knows you’re here,” he says as he ties your laces. “I told him you had a long day and you were resting. He’s on his way to pick you up. He also mentioned a subtle, tasteful threat of bodily harm if I ‘tried anything funny.’”

He looks up at you, smiling as he brushes his knuckles on your cheek.

“Like I’d ever harm my little sugarplum.”

The two of you retrieve your coat in the foyer, and you quietly thank him for letting you stay at his home. Instead of responding, he just fixes your hair and wipes your cheeks with his thumb, which later brushes over your lips.

Please, don’t let him kiss me…

“Coryo? Please…” you whisper shakily.

But then he releases you, donning a satisfied look. “There, all better.” When you look at him with questioning eyes, he adds, “I don’t think your uncle will ever forgive me if he thinks I made you cry.”

“Th-thanks.”

“You can thank me by getting better,” he says lightly. He leads you to the elevator with his hand on your back. “You have the entire day off tomorrow, so get all the rest you need. In fact, I have something that may help you get better sleep.”

He fishes this small, crimson vial from his pants pocket and places it in your hands. The cork stopper on the bottle is still sealed with wax.

“That should help. Take a teaspoon before you go to bed. It’s a non-addictive formula they developed at the Citadel. Tell me if it works for you so I can get you more.”

You nod and mutter your thanks. “Coryo, can I ask you something?

“Of course, sugarplum.”

“When do you think I can start working for my uncle again? Now that I’ve already finished fixing the code?”

His eyes darken at your question, but he blinks and it’s gone, replaced by simple curiosity.

“Why, sugarplum? Are you that eager to wriggle free from me?” he jests.

“No,” you deny, no matter how much his observation rings true. “It’s just that he’s been looking unwell lately, and he won’t tell me anything. He’ll never tell me if he’s sick or what, and I worry about him.”

What you said is partly true, but you also just want to be done with everything that has to do with him. If you don’t work for him anymore, you won’t ever have to interact with him ever again and be part of whatever he’s building. He’s not your friend, no matter how much he tries to make it look like so. He’s dangerous, you know that, and the faster you can keep him at arm’s length, the better.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sugarplum. I know the past week has been stressful for you. For both of you. But you don’t want to leave the program now, do you? Not when we’re so close to accomplishing what your uncle had started. And if you really want to help your uncle, finish his work, and help build his legacy.”

So, it seems you’re stuck with him, and you’ll still be participating in the trial Hunger Games this Friday.

The air is knocked out of your lungs as you’re pinned against the cold, steel walls of the elevator, and the gasp you let out is silenced by Coriolanus’s mouth latching onto yours.

Having caught you off-guard, you attempt to push him off, but he’s always been leagues above you in physical strength. As his tongue finds yours, you simply close your eyes and let him.

However, just as soon as it happens, he releases you, just in time for the elevator door to reveal the lobby with a ding.

“How about I recommend people I know who’d be perfect as his apprentice?” he suggests as if nothing happened. “After all, I have a track record for finding the perfect one. I’ll have it sent to his desk next week.”

You’re exhausted beyond words, not having the will to snap, so you just nod along. Through the glass doors, you spot your uncle leaning against his car with his hands inside his coat pocket, looking more cross than you’ve ever seen him in public. Still, you have never been more relieved to see him.

You open your mouth to greet him as you step outside, followed by Coriolanus, but Uncle Cas’s eyes land on the tear on your stocking. Acacius Innis’s eyes harden, and the next thing you know, he’s lunging at the younger man behind you. You hear a dull thud, indicating he landed a punch somewhere.

“Uncle Cas, no!” You squeal, wrapping your arms around his torso and attempting to wrench him away from Coriolanus.

“What the fuck did you do, you little – !”

“Uncle, I fell, and I tore my tights. He didn’t do anything!”

Uncle Cas simmers down upon hearing your words. “Is this true?” He asks Coriolanus.

Your friend holds a slightly bleeding lip with his thumb, but he smiles just as disarmingly as if he wasn’t at all fazed by your uncle’s outburst. “Yes, sir. It was merely an accident.”

Your uncle huffs to himself. For a moment, he seems like he's considering punching him again with the way he furls his fist, but then he dips his head in apology. “Then you’ll have to forgive me, young man. I truly am sorry for jumping to conclusions. Are you alright?”

Coriolanus merely chuckles, but it's bereft of any humour. “I was a peacekeeper once, sir. I have certainly taken much worse.”

This was a clear challenge, and you wish with all your might that your uncle wouldn’t take the bait. Fortunately, the older man just tenses his jaw and nods. “Once again, you have my apologies. I thought you had hurt my niece, and it was wrong of me to not reign in my temper.”

Snow straightens to his full height and graciously replies, “I completely understand, Mr Innis. I’d protect Nellie just as ferociously as you would.”

Your uncle all but drags you to the car’s passenger seat and follows you inside, taking his place in the driver's seat. Now, even with everything that happened that day, this is a bizarre sight, as Acacius Innis has not driven a car himself in a long while. You remain quiet as the engine roars to life, almost swearing to yourself that you hear him mutter “insolent fucking cunt” under his breath as he drives off at full speed.

Enter Level 9

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!

Sorry for any typos, I am not the best of health rn and I will be editing this when I wake up 😊 please stick around!! Snowball has more tricks up his sleeve 😈😈😈

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