#I am SUPPOSED to be TAKING A BREAK from WRITING so I don't BURN OUT

[thegingerwriter]

I would literally die for avengerz tower, fluffy Bob smut pls and ty. Like the team go out on a mission (not realising that reader/ Bob are together) and they have the whole tower to themselves!! Like anywhere they like to be together!! Maybe even the group couch!! Or the shared kitchen!! Or their games room!! The possibilities are endless 💞💞

A supposed 3-4 hours

Summary: Basically what the ask says lol I really liked it. Bob Reynolds x Fem!reader.

Warnings/content: Some smut! Very fluffy, very sweet. Some dom/sub undertones if you squint.

Word Count: 1.3k Little story. Support me on my Ko-fi so I can write more!

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"How long will you guys be gone?"

Yelena looked up at you as she picked up her bag off the ground next to the kitchen counter you were sat on.

"Uhh...Buck, what do you think?" Yelena said as Bucky walked into the room, and she threw her bag at him which he easily caught with his vibranium arm.

Buck thought for a moment. "3-4 hours give or take? We'll pick up Ava and Walker on the way back. Alexei...No idea when he'll be back up."

Your heart fluttered with hope at the idea they would be out for a big chunk of the day. You looked over at Bob, reading on the couch and gave him a slight smile. "Well, hopefully I don't disturb Bob's reading. But I doubt he'll even notice I'm the only one here, he's been stuck in that book for days" You joke, and nearly laugh as Bob sits up, clearly a little offended.

"Excuse me, I am not deaf and also I have not been 'stuck in my book for days'. It's been like...1." Bob says, sending a smile back as he defends himself.

"At least 2." Bucky says matter-oh-factly, heading towards the door with Yelena in tow. "Alright you two- we're out. Don't cause any trouble, don't burn the tower down."

You decide to sell it just a little harder as you call at them right as they enter the elevator. "You sure you don't need our help with this one?"

"We know the people involved, we got it. Enjoy the break." Bucky replies, and Yelena sends you a wink right as the doors close.

A beat. Silence. The elevator makes a soft humming sound as the others descend down to the bottom of the tower and you make brave the storm, choosing to look over at Bob.

He's so red. You waste no time, barreling towards him on the couch, tackling him in an instant as he yelps, tossing his book on the floor before it accidentally gets bent.

“Woah-Jesus.” Bob has barely enough time to get the words before you tackle him on the couch, forcing the book out of his hands and tossing it gently on the floor next to you. You pause on top of him, his face red and his body heating up beneath you.

He sucks in a breathe. “Uh-hi…sweetie.” Bob’s voice cracks a little and you give him a smile.

“Hi Bob.”

“Can I um…can I help you?”

“I think you can.”

You pull him up by the collar of his shirt, and he finally takes the hint, his body pressing up against yours as he cups your face and crashes his lips against yours desperately. You run your fingers through his hair- the length longer now but still somehow knotless and silky.

You let out a quiet moan, trying to repress it. The two of you are desperate for each other, kissing and grabbing at hair and whatever skin is available. It’s not like you two haven’t done anything lately. But the desperation around the excitement of being alone in the tower was great.

Just two nights ago, Bob had been fingering you through your 3rd orgasm of the evening, his other hand free for you to suck on his fingers in a desperate attempt to keep you quiet at 2am.

You bring yourself back to the present as you let Bob tilt your face up so he can slip his tongue in your mouth. It’s warm against yours and you let out a quiet moan at the action. You whine softly as he pulls away from you to look at your face.

“Why are you being quiet?” Bob asks plainly. Your heart flutters as you try to find an answer.

“Um,” You swallow, steadying your voice. “Force of habit I guess. We’re not properly alone often.”

Bob looks you up and down, his hands sliding up under our shirt and you shiver, sucking in a breathe and waiting. But he stops right before his hands can glaze over your nipples.

You go to speak, but stop yourself and Bob tries not to smile.

“Yes?” Bob asks, feigning innocence as you hold back a whine.

“Bob…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. His fingers just brush delicately over the hardened tips before pulling back again.

“I can’t hear you sweetheart. I want to hear you.” His voice is low but more audible than yours and words send heat right to you core.

“Robert.”

“Yes sweetie?”

“Please.”

He takes pity on you, his fingers finally pinching the sensitive flesh , pulling you towards him as you fall into little him ravish your mouth again. You kiss him back, breaking the kiss only for a moment to tear his shirt off and throw it carelessly behind you.

You continue to whine quietly, and Bob finally has enough, breaking the kiss and gently pushing a hand into your hair before closing his fingers and gripping it harshly, pulling your head to the side so he can kiss the spot right below your ear.

“What did I say?” His voice sends shivers absolutely everywhere as he whispers directly into your ear and you try not to squirm, the firmness not new but still surprising.

“I-I can’t help it-.” You stutter, and Bob grips your hair harder and you finally let out a moan, echoing into the empty tower.

“I want to hear you.” Bob says again, continuing to kiss down your neck. He pulls away, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and giving you a look that says he’s asking for permission. After a quick nod, your shirt is off and on the floor next to his.

“Fuck-“ You whine loudly as he grips your nipples again, the cool air hitting them and making you squirm in his lap.

“That’s my girl.”

Bob makes quick work to flip you over on the couch, the air rushing out of as you hit the soft surface with surprising strength and force, his arms staying at your sides. You try to calm your beating heart, but the way he’s looking at you- like he wants to eat you- it’s too much.

“Pants. Now.” You demand, and Bob laughs, his hands reaching for your waistband, undoing the buttons slowly.

But it’s not him undoing the buttons on your jeans that makes you freeze. It’s what you hear that makes both of you freeze.

“Dude, we all hang OUT ON THAT COUCH!” You immediately recognise Bucky’s voice.

You look past Bob’s shoulder, seeing Bucky, Yelena, Walker and Ava. Ava has her hands over her eyes, and your face heats up so much you think you might actually combust.

“OFF!” You yell, pushing Bob a little too harshly off of you, but he’s already on it, tumbling onto the floor and throwing you your shirt as he scrambles for his as well.

“Oh this is so funny.” Yelena says, the biggest smile on her face. “Wait till I tell Alexei.”

“Fuck…” Walker says, reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet and a $10 note, dropping it into Ava’s open hand, the other still over her eyes.

“I-what are you guys even doing here!?” You shirt is on, and you try to desperately smooth out your hair as well but it’s really no use.  

“Turns out they were already on their way back, and we don’t have to go anymore.” Yelena shrugs.

You look at Bob, standing there with his shirt too big hanging off of his body, scrunching his arms around his body to keep himself from being perceived. You reach out and grab his hand and he relaxes slightly.

“They were gonna find out eventually.” You try to comfort him, and he gives a smile back.

“Wish it wasn’t like tha-.” Bob starts but is cut off by the elevator dinging and a loud voice with a Russian accent cutting him off.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

[whisperofaflame]

♡ Collision Course ♡

Chapter 16: I don't know who I am, when I am with you

WandaNat x [innocent, femme] reader

Collision Course – Masterlist Link to full fic (so far) on AO3

Chapter Summary: The three of you sit down together, to discuss your wellbeing and needs. After the intensity of talking about your feelings, Wanda and Natasha make sure to take extra care of you.

Word count: 8.9k (y'all deserve a long one after waiting for over a month 🙈)

Featuring: slow burn, emerging D/S dynamics, mommy kink, praise kink, copious pet names, non-sexual intimacy (but also with hints of sexual feelings at times), suggestion of sub-drop, elements of aftercare, hints of age-regression maybe? (You decide.)

Heads Up: This chapter contains passing reference (literally blink and you'll miss it) to self injury and disordered eating thoughts.

A/N: I am so, so sorry for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter. The last month has been insane. I've been super busy in my personal life, so it was a challenge finding time to think about the story, let alone write. Plus, I was struck by ADHD burnout (a long time coming, I suppose) and the worst bout of writer's block I've had in a long, long time. Anyway, writing has been hard, but it's finally here. Thank you to everyone who has waited for this, and to those of you who have left lovely comments and asks about Collision Course. Even if I don't reply straight away, please know that every one warms my heart and gives me a little boost, pushing me a bit closer to the next chapter. I really hope you enjoy this one ♡

As you wait, you feel the cold begin to creep through your skin. It draws you into hiding on the patio beneath the balcony, where you curl up on a wide cushioned seat, draping a blanket awkwardly over your body and tucking your bare feet underneath. 

Worries swell and crash like waves in your head, and you’re consumed by thoughts of being thrown out, driven back to your arid apartment and left to languish alone.

There is no distraction, no reprieve from this. There is only waiting. Only enduring. 

———

You hear the door opening a little wider to your side, and you simultaneously turn and shrink into yourself, body balling up beneath the blanket as if this will somehow hide you from her.

Wanda.

There’s fear, but also something else. A swooping feeling at seeing her, which doesn’t entirely surprise you. You missed her today. And it’s silly; it’s only been hours and you’ve only known her for a few days — but this was the longest you’ve been apart since the accident, aside from sleep. You’ve missed her kindness, her warmth, her touch — but you’re also scared that these things will be withheld from you now, after everything that has happened today. Although, paradoxically, a small part of you feels like you’d deserve that. That you deserve some kind of punishment for what you’ve done, for how you’ve been. 

But now she is there, sending you a soothing smile as she slips past the door. It doesn’t quite break through the icy shell that has crystallised around you, but it’s warm against your edges. Maybe it will melt you, over time. 

“Hi sweetheart,” she greets you quietly, stepping towards you with care. Your whole body begins to shake, and you’re not sure if it’s a shiver from the cold or a tremble of fear. Wanda sits down on your left side, her face full of concern as she draws her legs up to sit cross-legged, facing into you. She studies you for a moment, resting her elbow on the back cushion and tilting her head to lean into her elevated right hand. Then, very slowly, she reaches out with her other hand. You watch it approach, trying desperately to slow your breathing and still your limbs. She places it on the rise of your knee, easily located despite the blanket that covers you, and she presses down, gentle but firm. Wanda doesn’t seem hesitant or unsure. It’s like she knows you now, knows her touch will ground you though you’re nervous.

She’s right. The small but assured link between her body seems to pull you to safety, like she’s thrown a life-ring out to you and is plucking you out from the waves. They still crash somewhere deep inside you, but your head is above the water now, and you can breathe.

“Nat said you’ve had a difficult day,” Wanda tells you softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help, myšička.”

The water level rises then, pooling in your eyes. A gentle stroke to your knee with her thumb coaxes out the tears, which begin to trickle silently down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and it comes out in a choked whisper. “I-I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

“Shh…” Wanda soothes, and she reaches out with her right hand to carefully wipe the tears from your cheeks, and tuck a loose lock of hair behind your ear.. “It’s okay, honey. I know. You’re not in trouble.”

“But I lied,” you stammer out. “I sort of knew I might do it… I planned it. And I almost left.”

“Almost,” Wanda repeats, emphasising the word as her fingers find your cheek again, cupping it and very slightly brushing her thumb over the tear tracks. “But you didn’t, did you sweetheart? Instead, you found Nat, just like I asked you to.”

The words seem to seep through your skin; they trickle through your veins, finding the guilt and settling in the same space. Not fighting to overrule. Just there, a silent alternative. Maybe the day wasn’t all bad. Maybe you aren’t all bad.

“Nat only let me use the bike because I pressured her so much,” you tell her, feeling obliged to explain fully, to shoulder the blame. “I just… I couldn’t bear it any more.”

“Myšička, no one is in trouble. Not Nat; not you. Nat explained to me, and I know you needed it.”

There’s a hollow, sick feeling in your stomach, and you can’t understand why. Wanda has told you twice now that you’re not in trouble, but you still feel like there are invisible strings pulling at all your limbs from within, the tension aching and shameful. Your head keeps revolving back to her words this morning, and the way they hooked some unknown chain inside you, like you were always meant to be attached like this. God, you just want to be good. And it’s silly, but you need her to know that. To know that you intended it, and that you still intend it to be true.

You turn your head away from her, forcing her hand to slide off your cheek and instead rest upon your shoulder. You can’t say this while looking at her. 

“I wanted to be good for you,” you whisper, and you count the red bricks on the wall beneath the staircase, mentally tracing the lines like beads of a rosary. The action taps into that ancient habit; it scratches the scab and unearths the urge to repent. 

“And you were,” Wanda assures you, finding your chin and gently redirecting your gaze back to her. It hurts a little, to look at her. You want her reassurance so badly, but it feels sinful, somehow, to accept it. It feels like you are bypassing the confession, skipping past the penance. “I asked you to find Natasha if you needed anything, and you did. You went to her, and you told her what you needed. That was all I asked you to do, hm?”

It’s hard to respond to that, because technically she is right — that is all she asked you to do this morning. But it misses everything else: every implicit expectation that compels you in their house, in their presence. And how can you express those in words? Those urges, those obligations that don’t even seem to originate from a clear source… Maybe it’s just you. Maybe you’ve created this all in your head, a bizarre alternate reality in which your decorum would matter so much to them. Fuck, it’s so confusing. So you just blink dumbly at her, unable to answer at all. And Wanda simply smiles at your stupor, renewing the gentle stroking of your knee and making you feel a little fuzzy in the soft glow of her full attention. 

“I’m proud of you for opening up to Nat, myšička,” Wanda murmurs, her hand brushing some stray hair behind your ear again, then moving behind your head to gently stroke the baby hairs at the bottom of your neck. A shiver runs through your body, triggered by the electric touch of her fingers and the cool sensation of her rings as they brush against your skin; the fluttering feeling finishes in your half-frozen feet, leaving little prickles in its wake. 

Proud. It feels undeserved, but you bat away the doubt and cling to it like another blanket, desperate for the security it can offer you when the rest of you feels so evil, so unworthy. Wanda’s arm feels warm where it rest against your shoulder and her fingers brush against your neck. Would it be so bad to lean in? 

You give in, and the slow descent feels so sweet. Like with every small yielding movement you are rejecting the bad feelings, and replacing them with Wanda’s gentle alternatives. It feels like the longer you stay here, the more you lose yourself. Every part of you is being rewritten. And you can’t always find it inside you to care. Her fingers respond to your movement, moving down to hold your right waist as you lean down to rest your head on her shoulder. Your body tips, bent knees rocking over to rest every so slightly against Wanda’s crossed legs. A part of you wishes you could curl up there, with both of your limbs tangling together. Wanda’s left hand has moved to cup the back of your right knee, and you imagine her using the hold to lift you into into her lap.

You close your eyes, breathing out and letting go of the last little bits of reserve. One more admission. Not from guilt, but from hope.

“I missed you,” you whisper, the statement barely audible as it slips from your lips and catches on the gentle breeze. But she hears it; you know she does, because she hums a little, the sound happy and soft, and she pairs it with a gentle squeeze of your waist. 

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” she whispers back. “I thought about you a lot while I was at work, wondering how you were doing.”

“Really?” you ask, the question slipping out desperately, your need for reassurance no longer contained by shame or reason.

“Really, myšička. I even texted Nat at lunchtime to check how you were doing. And when she said you were having a hard time, I wanted to come right back. But I had two more lectures to give, so I had to stay.”

You sigh a little in her hold.

“That’s okay,” you murmur, “I understand.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to say it. To reassure her? That seems strange. She shouldn’t need to come back to you. She shouldn’t need to explain herself.

“You’ll have me all day tomorrow,” Wanda tells you quietly, giving you an extra little squeeze, tightening the embrace just slightly, so she doesn’t hurt your shoulder. “And then we can figure out the rest of the week, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You stay like that for a few minutes, your breathing slow as you gaze out to the garden and feel her thumb rubbing gently at the sliver of exposed skin between the waistband of your shorts and the hem of your vest top, which rides up slightly because of your sideways lean. 

“In a moment, we’ll head in and sit on the sofa, okay?” Wanda tells you, and you relax a little more when you hear her gentle direction said in such a soft tone. You love it when she tells you what to expect, what to do. It makes you feel safe. “Natty will join us, and we’ll have a little chat together. Just about how you’ve been feeling, and what you need from us. Nothing bad, little one, I promise.”

The prospect of talking — or that nickname, you’re not sure — pulls out a small sound from your throat. A tiny whine, luckily muffled by the way your face is pressed against Wanda’s shirt. You can tell that she hears it though, because her left hand strokes the back of your leg gently, reassuring you with her touch. 

“After we talk, I think a bath would be good for you, darling. You can get into comfy clothes for dinner, and then we can just relax after eating. Maybe we could watch some more She-Ra, hm?”

You make a small sound of consideration, of approval, and Wanda gives you a little kiss on the forehead in response.

“Let’s get you inside, myšička. Your feet are frozen.”

You make no move at first, your fuzzy brain still catching up, still figuring out the fact that you have to move yourself, that Wanda can’t carry you. Then she gives you a soft pat on the back of your thigh. A reminder, a signal. 

You sit up, wiping your eyes with your freed left hand, then using it to unravel the blanket from your body and place it on the side. Wanda keeps her hand around your waist for a moment, then she lets go and moves to stand. She doesn’t say any more, she just holds out her hand, and you take it without hesitation, letting her lead you back inside. 

When Wanda reaches the sofa she lets go of your hand and gestures for you to sidle between the sofa and the coffee table to take a seat in the middle. Once you’re seated, she sits down next to you, on your right, and places her hand on your leg, just above your knee.

“I’m just going to message Nat,” she tells you, pulling her phone out her pocket with her right hand, “to let her know we’re down here.”

In reply, you give a small nod. You like that she explains, that she keeps you informed even when you don’t ask. 

It doesn’t take long for Natasha to arrive. She moves around the left side of the sofa and then side-steps round to sit on the coffee table right in front of you, holding up some fluffy socks.

“Wanda said you might need these. What do you think?”

You look to Wanda, who smiles reassuringly at you. Then you look back at Natasha, her smile gentle, hopeful. Slowly, you nod.

“Yes please.”

Natasha’s smile deepens, and she places one sock on the table next to her, so she can use both hands to open the other up, bundling the fabric so it can be pulled on it one motion. Shyly, you raise one leg, and let her slide the fluffy fabric over one frozen foot. Then you both repeat the process for the other side. The gesture makes you feel a little warmer inside, more from her kindness than the extra clothing. 

“Thank you.” It comes out small but Natasha looks pleased as she stands up, turns, and sits down on your left side, shuffling herself back until she’s situated in the corner of the L-shape and she can see you and Wanda without twisting. Then she lifts her legs up onto the sofa, tucking her feet in close and hugging her raised knees.

“I know you’re a bit worried about this, lapushka, but we just want to have a chat with you, now that you’re feeling a bit more like yourself,” Natasha says, but despite her reassuring words and Wanda’s gentle stroking of your thigh, you shrink back into the cushion behind you. 

Do you? Feel more like yourself? You’re not so sure.

“Wanda and I like having you here, Y/N,” Natasha continues. “And we want you to stay with us for a while. At least until your arm is better, and you can manage things more independently. How do you feel about that?” 

“I’d like that,” you say quietly. “As long as it’s truly okay with you.”

“It is,” Wanda reiterates, moving her left hand to the back of your neck, fingertips playing with your baby hairs again. “We mean it, myšička.”

“Can I give you anything in return?” you ask. “I mean, I feel bad that you’re feeding me, and I’m using your spare room… I could give you some money for food, maybe?”

“No,” Natasha replies, her tone blunt and unequivocal. “This isn’t transactional, Y/N. We don’t need anything in return — not now, not ever, okay?”

You gnaw at your lip. You’ve paid for yourself for years; even when times have been tough and your parents have offered to send you money, you have refused, and found a way. It’s partly a point of pride, but mainly it’s an obligation you have placed upon yourself. Your childhood problems and ailments have cost the world, cost your family enough. In a way, your financial independence is a form of penance. It feels strange, foreign — wrong — to accept help for free. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, darling — we have more than enough space and food to share,” Wanda tells you lightly, leaning forward a little so you can see her playful grin. “We don’t want you to worry about that, okay?”

“Y/N, all we need from you is honesty, alright?” Natasha says, and you turn to look at her again, feeling Wanda place her other hand above your knee, as she continues to stroke your hair in a slow rhythm. “Just let us know how you’re feeling, and tell us if you ever feel uncomfortable. Can you do that?” 

Tears prickle in your eyes. Honesty. It sounds so simple when she puts it like that, but they don’t know what’s going on with you, not really. They don’t know how you’re fighting the feelings and fearing the fall.

You’ve spent so much time, so much energy over the years trying to paste up your cracks and build yourself into something stable, something independent and unbreakable. The scaffolding they have erected to support you is chipping through the cladding, and you fear it will expose the structural damage within, the ugly joins and uneven stitching where you’ve made hasty, inexpert attempts to pull yourself back together. You’re afraid to let them see. And you’re scared that you’ll learn to rely on their help, and then lose them.

“Sweetheart, what’s upsetting you?” Wanda asks, her voice no longer playful. She sounds concerned, sympathetic. Her hand squeezes the flesh above your knee, and the action encourages the tears to flow.

“I don’t wanna be a burden,” you choke out, squeezing your eyes tight shut in an attempt to both stem the tears and avoid their gaze. “And I… I like being here, I like you both so much, but also I… I…” Your words trail off as your thoughts spiral and fail to align in your head. What do you want to say? What do you need to say? It feels like you’re spinning, flung about in space, and you need to still yourself, you need to ground yourself. The fingers of your left hand, which have been resting on your lap, tense into claws. When you can’t run, this is what you are reduced to. Small doses of acute pain, to locate your limbs, to reassert your position in space. Even this tiny pinch helps. It helps you centre yourself on the immediate moment, helps you prioritise calming your breathing first, reminds you to wait for the raging winds to pass, before attempting to speak.

They wait for you, their presence heavy at either side, but also equal. Stabilising. 

You find yourself speaking, the words arranging themselves on your tongue.

“I feel like… like I don’t really know who I am, when I am with you.”

The statement surprises you, but you know it’s true. You hardly recognise yourself, at times. So many parts of your personality are gone, with some pieces left behind in your homeland, and others ripped away in the accident. The only parts of you left are needy, clinging. Not new, just unfamiliar, forgotten. And though it feels nice to lean into it, at times — especially with them — this isn’t all of you. It can’t be. 

You release your grip from your thigh, and wipe your eyes. Then you turn to Wanda. She looks worried: her head is tilted, and her hands are still, frozen against the back of your head and you right leg. When you look into her eyes, you notice that they look a little more shiny than usual. Have you made her upset?

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, voice panicked and trembling. “I don’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

“You’re not a burden,” Natasha’s voice assures you. “And it’s okay to share how you’re feeling with us. It’s important.”

Reluctantly — because you really want to see her, and make sure she’s okay — you turn away from Wanda, and look to Natasha. She looks serious, and her arms move to cross over her chest, then loosen, and fall to her lap again. 

“Is there anything we can do to help?” She asks, then she pauses, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. One of her eyebrows lifts quizzically as she adds another question. "Or anything you want us to stop doing?”

You look down to your lap again. You don’t want them to stop being that special kind of soft with you, even if it would probably resolve all the confusing feelings it brings. You just maybe need an outlet. A way to balance it out with other pieces of yourself. A way to remind you — and perhaps remind them — that you’re still yourself; still smart and strong and capable.

“You don’t need to stop anything,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks blush at your answer, and all it entails. The admission that you like them at their most gentle, that you like the hugs and the nicknames and even the slight hint of condescension which imbues their affection with an additional dizzying aura. At your words, Wanda resumes her gentle stroking of your hair, and she deepens the pressure above your knee. Like she was waiting for your confirmation. Like she wanted it. 

“Okay,” Natasha acknowledges quietly. “We won’t stop anything. But we want to help, lapushka. Can you think of anything we can do? Or anything you want to do?”

You try to think, fidgeting with the hem of your shorts as you attempt to reorder your thoughts. But nothing comes. You frown at your lap, frustration building. You want to answer her; you want to supply an idea and please her. But you can’t.

Natasha’s hand finds yours, interlocking your fingers together. You look up at her, and she smiles gently.

“It’s okay,” she reassures you. “I can help with ideas. What about if we think about exercise first? Is that something you need?”

“Yes,” you whisper, grateful for the prompt. 

“Tell us,” Natasha encourages, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. You nod, and take a deep breath.

“I need to get outside,” you say quietly, your words slow at first, but gradually gaining rhythm and confidence as you continue. “At least once a day, for a bit. I need the fresh air, and the movement.”

“Okay,” Natasha agrees, smiling and nodding in a way which bolsters you even more. “What else?”

“Sometimes I might need a bit more,” you admit, biting your lip briefly, but resuming your speech when Natasha continues to nod. “I know I should be resting, but sometimes I just get so overwhelmed, and when I do, exercise is kind of the only thing that helps.” You turn to look at Wanda. She doesn’t seem upset, like you feared she would. In fact, she gives you a little smile. She seems proud. It makes your cheeks feel warm again. 

“Would using the gym help?” she asks you, and you nod shyly, grateful for her understanding.

“Yes please. If that’s okay. I won’t use it without your permission, I promise.”

Wanda nods at that.

“As long as Natasha or I can supervise, then it’s okay with me, myšička. But if you feel like you’re getting to that point, can you talk to one of us, please? I don’t want you struggling on your own, and reaching that point of overwhelm. We need to have other strategies, too.”

You nod, both embarrassed and touched by her request.

“I… talking is hard, sometimes,” you admit quietly. “But I’ll try. I promise.”

“That’s all we ask for,” Natasha tells you, squeezing your hand again. “Even if you can’t find the words, just find one of us, and we can be with you. We can go for a walk, or do something together to distract, if that helps.”

Your eyes fill with tears again, but happy, relieved ones this time. You’ve never felt so seen, so understood. So held.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Natasha smiles at you, her gaze so soft, so far from the stern demeanour you first associated her with. 

“You said being busy helps,” she reminds you. “Do you want to go into college? Do you feel ready?”

You squirm slightly in your seat, a little overwhelmed by the direct question, and the reminder of your meltdown earlier today.

“I think so,” you breathe, biting your lip and looking down at your lap, trying to focus on what you want, rather than what you think they want to hear. “I think it would help, to have something to do. But I maybe need to start with just a little bit, and see how it goes.”

“That sounds sensible,” Wanda agrees, and her accepting tone reassures you enough to look up at her. “Darling, I don’t want to hold you hostage here, or force you to rest. I just don’t want you to overdo it, and hurt yourself.”

“I know,” you whisper, feeling small. Wanda watches you, breathing in deeply through her nose, then releasing it in a slow, silent exhale.

“How about you email your supervisor and see about rearranging that meeting?” she suggests, giving you a smile.

“Are you sure?” you check, and she nods. Her permission means the world to you, and you want her to know that. You wish you could hug her, touch her — but you have no free hand, and you can’t even lean against her in this position, as it would hurt your shoulder. So all you have to offer are your words, your smile, and your grateful tears. “Thank you, Wanda.”

She beams at you, and moves her hand from your neck to wipe your tears away with her thumb. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. When you have a time, let me know, and I can make sure to get you there.”

You nod, and your smile has to suffice as thanks this time, because you feel far too choked up with gratitude and relief to speak.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” Natasha asks then, and you shake your head. “Okay. We can leave it there for now, then. Thank you for talking to us, lapushka. We appreciate it.”

You feel your body relax a little, making you realise how much tension you were still holding. This conversation has been built up in your head over the last few hours, as some terrifying, earth-shattering thing — but it’s over now, and you feel better, not worse for it. 

“Do you want to take a bath now?” Wanda asks you, and you nod. Words have escaped you. You feel so tired, so spent from all the emotions. 

“Okay,” she whispers, cupping your cheek and squeezing above your knee before standing up and holding her hand out to you. You’ll accept it in a moment, but for now you turn to Natasha. Checking her face, checking for something. She smiles, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

“It’s okay, lapushka,” she reassures you softly. “You go with Wanda, and I’ll finish getting dinner ready. When you’re ready, we can eat at the table, and then come down here to watch some TV before bed. Does that sound okay?”

You nod silently, your lips quirking up into a small smile of relief. You didn’t know what you needed, when you looked to her. But whatever it was, she gave it to you.

Natasha lifts your hand to her lips, and gives it a little kiss.

“Go on, kroshka moya. I’ll see you soon.”

She moves your hand to Wanda’s, facilitating an easy transfer. Wanda helps you stand, guiding you out the narrow channel between the sofa and the table, then out the living room and up the stairs. 

Together, you walk all the way to your room, where Wanda begins to speak to you. But her words sound muffled, like you’re underwater, and you blink at her, lost in a daze. Wanda just smiles adoringly at you, then guides you to sit on the end of your bed. From there, you watch her find clothes for you, taking them out the drawers. She builds a little bundle, then returns to you and guides you back out, back down the stairs, through her bedroom and into the bathroom. 

It takes a while for your brain to catch up to the movement, to the changes. You watch the water flowing out the taps, mesmerised and missing Wanda’s words. She captures your attention with a hand cupped under your chin, gently turning your head to look at her.

“Myšička?”

You watch her lips move, unable to find meaning in the muffled sound. But you feel her. Taking your hand and squeezing it. Brushing her thumb over your cheek. Her touch, pulling you back to her. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asks you, her expression wavering between worry and something else, something almost… pleased. 

“Wanda…?” you whisper, wanting her closer, but unsure how to say it. Your lips wobble with the effort, but you can’t produce the words.

“I’m here,” she tells you, looking deep into your eyes, like she’s searching to find out what it is that you want to say.

Everything feels so heavy, and you just want her to take the weight from you, to hold you in her arms and make everything feel better. Your head droops and leans into her, falling to rest on her shoulder, face turning into her neck. Wanda’s arms waste no time in moving to embrace you. Even without words, she knows what you need. 

“It’s okay, little one,” she soothes you, as you whimper in her skin. “You’re safe here. Safe with Mo… with me.”

Her words blur in your head, the sounds melting together, coalescing into something new. You’re too dazed to register it properly, but it settles there, the idea embedding itself in your brain. Stored in your subconscious. Saved for later.

Wanda rocks you slightly in her arms, as she whispers sweet nothings into your ear. You melt into her, your left hand finding her shirt and taking tight hold near the hem. Clinging to this piece of her, scared she’ll let go and set you adrift.

“I’m so tired,” you tell her, and it comes out in a sad little whine.

“I know, honey. Just let me take care of you now, okay? Let me do the thinking.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and the word feels like an exhale, like letting go. 

It feels good to let her. It feels good to give in.

Wanda hugs you for a few moments longer, then unravels you from her arms, placing one hand under your chin, and the other on your vice-like grip of her shirt, stroking it and coaxing you to release her. 

“Let’s get these clothes off,” she murmurs, smiling reassuringly at you, then moving both hands behind your neck, to release the sling. It’s no more sore than usual, but you feel so sensitive right now, and you wince and whimper as she removes it from your arm. “I know it hurts, baby; I’m sorry,” Wanda coos sympathetically, and it makes you feel a bit better, hearing her words. Just a little. 

Wanda carefully takes your tank top off, sliding your good arm out, taking it up over your head and then sliding it bit by bit down your bad arm, which she holds carefully at the same right-angle. She has become your sling, your protector. 

She sighs sadly, and you look up at her in worry, afraid that you’ve done something wrong.

“Oh sweetheart — I shouldn’t have let you choose this bra this morning. Your poor shoulder must be so sore from the tension…” 

Your lip wobbles, and you open your mouth to apologise again, because you feel so awful, and it’s all your fault, not hers…

But Wanda’s free hand takes your chin quickly, and she presses her forefinger against your lips in a shushing gesture.

“You don’t need to apologise,” she tells you, her voice back to calm, rather than regretful. “I know for next time — I won’t let you wear it for the whole day. Just if you need to exercise, okay?” Her finger brushes down over your lips, and your breath catches a little as you stare up at her avid gaze, your eyes flickering down to her own lips, which press against each other in a very small rolling motion, then curl into a smile. You look away, afraid that she’s noticed your wandering gaze and the heat in your cheeks. “Hold your arm steady for me, please,” she directs you gently, and you obey, staring down and trying to avoid glancing at her chest as she comes a little closer to reach the bra clasp on your back. When she unlatches it, the relief is immediate. Your skin prickles in the place it has left, and you realise, too late, that you’ve been overstimulated all day, the tension of your sports bra a constant drain on your energy and resilience since Wanda helped you put it on this morning. All these things about yourself, that you never notice. The reminder of your uselessness pokes at you, the jabs of self-loathing so prominent in your mind that you barely register your half-naked state. 

Wanda takes hold of your bad arm again, then reaches to turn the taps off. You glance over and see there is a thick layer of bubbles on the surface, enough to cover you completely once you’re in.

“Let’s give your shoulder a proper rest, tonight,” Wanda says, cupping your cheek with her right hand and tilting her head slightly as she speaks to you. “We'll leave the swimming costume, and the shower. Just a bath, and then I can get you straight into some pyjamas, hm?”

You blink at her, the words sinking in slowly, and meeting no resistance inside your mind. So you nod, and are rewarded with her smile. 

“Good girl,” Wanda praises, making you smile back happily. “Can you take your shorts off for me, sweetheart? Then I can get you in.”

You blush when your brain catches up, but still you don’t feel scared or uncomfortable at the prospect. It makes sense, to save time and pain and pressure on your shoulder. Wanda’s already seen so much of you, and she’s never stared or acted weird around your body. So what does a little more skin matter, really? You trust her. 

You move your left hand to the top of your shorts and tug them down, pushing the elasticated waistband down your thighs until it meets no more resistance and the shorts fall down to your ankles. You step out carefully, then push the fabric with your foot to meet the crumpled bundle of your vest top and bra on the floor, followed by the socks which you pry off with your toes. Your shorts have built-in briefs, so you’re entirely bare now, no fabric nor willpower left to hide any part of yourself from her.

“My beautiful, brave girl,” Wanda whispers, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. She keeps her gaze on your face, never straying to your naked body. It calms you. It makes it feel natural to be like this, with her. “Let’s get you in now.”

You let her take hold of your left hand and guide you to step into the bath. The water is pleasantly warm, not too hot that you’re hesitant to sink in. You crouch down and then sit, feeling the water lap against you and the bubbles press and burst at your edges. It’s a relief to be engulfed like this. Although the exposure was brief and Wanda entirely discreet, you still have enough grip of your faculties to know you ought to be embarrassed, even if you don’t exactly feel it branded on your skin right now. 

Wanda moves to the shelf and finds a hairbrush, then returns to your side, crouching down so she’s not looming over you. 

“I’m going to brush your hair out first, myšička,” she explains, her voice soft and soothing. You nod pliantly, unconcerned. She could probably say anything right now, and you’d agree. 

Wanda brushes your ponytail first, holding the bunch near the top to prevent pulling. She works through the ends, then takes the hair bobble out and continues to tease out the remaining tangles, starting with small strokes at the bottom, then working up until she’s brushed it all the way through. You feel your eyes drooping, the repetitive strokes against your scalp lulling your deeper into the haze. 

“I’m turning the shower on now, sweetheart,” Wanda tells you, and you just hum in recognition. You hear it turn on, feel the water splash behind you as she tests the temperature. “Okay. Lean back for me, honey.”

Wanda rinses your hair, then massages in the shampoo, making your eyes flutter shut in contentment. 

“Keep your eyes shut for me, sweetheart, while I wash out the shampoo,” Wanda advises, before turning the shower on again and rinsing out the suds. You keep your eyes tight shut until you hear her turn the shower off, and feel her hand squeeze your left shoulder gently. “All done.”

You open your eyes and turn to see her. She smiles at you with such sweetness in her eyes. So kind, you could almost call it loving. 

“Let me get your loofah, and I’ll help you with your arms and back,” she says quietly, standing up and walking away. You frown, your brain seeing her leave before you’re able to process her words, the panic overriding your comprehension. Don’t go, you think desperately. Don’t leave me. Wanda walks to the shower cubicle and slides open the door, reaching in. Her arms returns holding the pale-green loofah she bought you. Her other hand slide the door shut again, and then she turns back to walk towards you. Your body relaxes in relief, and she tilts her head as she approaches, her lips curling up as she considers you. 

“Did you think I was leaving?” she asks you, her nose scrunching up with amusement as she crouches down at the side of the tub and gives your nose a gentle boop with her finger.

“Nuh-uh…” you protest, looking away and blushing at your stupidity. Wanda chuckles quietly, and you poke at the bubbles on the water with your left hand, embarrassment washing over you and spilling out in petulance. Wanda stops laughing then, and brushes her thumb against your cheek.

“I’m not leaving you, miláčik,” Wanda assures you, the mirth gone from her voice, leaving only her heartfelt words. “I promise.”

You breath out, the action halfway between a huff and a sigh of relief. Your hand settles on the surface of the water, your movements slowing and shifting from destructive to explorative on the foam.

“Will you let me wash your back and arms?” Wanda asks, the first real question in a while. She waits patiently for your response, clearly wanting an honest answer this time.

“Okay,” you whisper, after considering. You glance up at her, see her soft smile, then turn back to the bubbles. You’re caught between the realistic need for consent, and the desire for her to just take control — because it’s easier, then. You prefer it when you don’t have to think, don’t have to perform the charade of handing over your control every time. In truth, you’d let her control just about any part of your life without question. If she gave you a direction, you would follow it. Happily. When she asks your permission, it just draws attention to your yielding nature, and makes you doubt if she wants it. 

Wanda moves to the end of the bath again, soaks the loofah in the water behind you, then starts to wash the back of your shoulders. It feels a little scratchy against your skin, but she’s gentle, and the warm water is doing a little to soften the rough texture. Still, the coarse sensation seems to awaken you, and unearths a niggling doubt inside you.

“W-Wanda?” you ask quietly, nibbling at your lower lip as you wait for her response. She stops what she is doing at once, moving back round to the side of the bathtub and crouching down so she can see your face. 

“Yes, darling?”

“Is — is it weird for you?” you ask, voice wobbling. “Having to help me like this?” You try to look at her, but have to alternate between her eyes and the water, because her gaze is too intense, too attentive for you to meet.

“Not at all,” she tells you, and when you look back at her you see the worry has melted from her eyebrows, and her lips have curled into a smile. She reaches out with her free hand, cupping your cheek and stroking her thumb over your cheekbone. “Honestly, little one… I really like it. I like looking after you. I like when you let me.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

You consider her words, watching her for a while, like you might see a crack in the act. But she holds your gaze, maintains her smile. She means it. You can see that she’s telling the truth. But that doesn’t mean that you understand. 

“But… why?” you ask, struggling to accept it, struggling to believe that she’d want to do all this for you. 

“Because I care about you,” she says simply, never stopping the soothing motions of her thumb against your cheek, “and I like to look after the people I care about, myšička, and make them feel safe, and happy.” She studies you as you take this in. “Do you like it when I look after you?”

You blush, because the answer is obvious, and yet she wants you to say it.

“Yes,” you whisper shyly, holding her gaze even though you want to hide. Wanda smiles.

“Then that’s all that matters,” she says quietly. “Okay?”

You nod in her hold, and she leans forward and presses a kiss against your forehead.

“Good girl.”

And with that, she moves to the end of the tub again, and continues to wash your back. You slide your feet towards your body, raising your knees and pressing them together. Beneath the water, you ache.

Wanda washes your arms and carefully wipes your underarms, then hands the loofah to you and directs you to wash yourself while she readies the towel. You do, blushing and staring resolutely down at the water, feeling thankful for the staying power of the bubbles tonight. Once you’ve cleaned yourself all over — as much as you can, with one arm available for use and one pinned painfully beneath your chest — you squeeze out the loofah, and place it on the rim of the tub. 

“Finished?” Wanda asks, and you nod shyly. She smiles, and raises the towel with both hands, ready to cover you. “Can you stand by yourself?” 

You nod again, glad she’s allowing you to do so, and preparing to preserve your dignity as swiftly as possible when you rise. With your left hand pressing against the rim, you push yourself up to stand, and let Wanda wrap the towel around your body, placing it over your right shoulder and under your left armpit, to keep your bad arm safely compressed and your good arm free. 

“Not too tight?” she checks, and you shake your head. “Alright, let’s get you out safely.” She keeps hold of the towel with one hand, and takes your free hand in her other, helping you step out onto the bathmat. The change in temperature makes you shiver, and Wanda, noticing, doesn’t waste any time in trying to get you dry. She’s careful of your arm and she makes sure not to linger too long or too close in certain areas, but overall she’s clinical and efficient. When she’s done, she rearranges the towel in the same way, so she can clasp it together at your front with one hand. She leans down to pick up the socks from the floor, then gives you a gentle tug with the towel, moving you two steps towards the shelf to add the bundle of clean clothes she picked out to the pair of socks in her hand. The she leads you towards the door, out into her bedroom, where she gently guides you to sit on the edge of her bed, and moves your left hand to replace her grip of the towel. You stare at her expectantly, brain completely blank and waiting for instructions. Your hair drips onto the towel, and your shoulder feels sore from the strain of holding it up without the sling, but you can’t find it within you to care or complain. All you can think of is Wanda, because she crouches in front of you, sliding your dangling feet through the holes of your underwear, and gently sliding the fabric up over your knees. Then she does the same with a pair of pyjama shorts, and finally she replaces the fluffy socks from before. 

“Pull these up, baby,” she tells you, giving you a little pat on your knee. Every time she uses that nickname, it makes you feel so flustered and needy. But it’s a nice feeling, somehow. You wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

You stand up slowly, and fumble awkwardly to shuffle the underwear and shorts up beneath the towel. When you finish,  she smiles praisingly and takes over holding the towel again. She readies the sling behind you on the bed, then holds up one of your oversized t-shirts and gives you a moment to process, before unwrapping the towel from around you and placing it down on the floor. She’s quick to cover you, sliding your bad arm through the sleeve then letting you wriggle your other in before slipping it over your head. The feeling of the soft, loose t-shirt calms you. You’re covered, but not compressed. After a day of emotional upheaval and physical tension, this is what you need.

Wanda carefully pulls your hair out where it’s been tucked beneath the t-shirt, then she starts putting your sling back on. It’s a relief when it’s over, and you can relax your arm muscles again. 

“Now, my darling — I’m going to get changed out of my work clothes and into something comfy too. Would you like to go downstairs and see if dinner is ready?”

You stare at her. She’s worded it as a question, and it confuses you. If she’d given it as an instruction, you would have obeyed, albeit reluctantly. But she’s asked you, and your honest answer would be no. 

Is that even okay? For your answer to be no? 

“C-can I stay?” you ask meekly. Then, realising that this sounds weird and intrusive, you amend your request with haste. “Or — can I wait outside for you? Please?”

Wanda smiles, that nose-scrunching smile that tells you she’s happy, amused. She takes your hand and gives it a little squeeze.

“Of course you can stay, my love. Take a seat and I’ll be quick.” With her hold of your hand, she pushes you back a little until your thighs touch the edge of the bed. You sit, staring at her and mourning the loss of her touch as she lets go of your hand, picks the towel up from the floor and moves to her walk-in closet. When you look down at your lap, you feel that same ache inside. Along with a dampness between your legs, that you can’t entirely blame on the bathwater.

Wanda emerges a minute later in a plain blue t-shirt and light grey joggers, holding a small, thin towel in her hand. 

“For your hair,” she tells you quietly, as she sits down on the bed beside you. “So you don’t get cold, during dinner.” She wraps your hair in it, then gently dries it off. At one point, you feel her chest press against your shoulder as she leans to reach the other side of your head. You bite the inside of your cheek, willing your body not to betray you, but feeling the warmth and the ache blooming anyway.

“Good enough, I think,” Wanda decides, standing up again and walking to the bathroom. You watch her walk in and hang the bathmat over the side of the tub, before picking up your running clothes. She brings them and the towel back to her closet, where you assume she must have a laundry basket. “Okay,” she says then, offering her hand as she approaches, “let’s go down and see Natty. Dinner must be ready by now.”

———

When you reach the kitchen, the table is already set, and Natasha is already standing up from her stool at the counter, smiling in greeting.

“Ready when you are,” she says warmly.

Wanda guides you to sit in your usual seat, but then she sits down on the chair at the end, not her usual place opposite you. Natasha doesn’t seem to bat an eye at this, she just rearranges the place settings, moving the plate, glass and cutlery from where she normally sits, to the space in front of Wanda. Then she sits down in Wanda’s usual seat, and smiles reassuringly at you. She doesn’t seem bothered by Wanda’s closeness to you. In fact, she seems happy. It undoes the knot of worry before it can tug itself tight.

You don’t feel hungry at first, and you expect to struggle through even the small plate Natasha serves you, but find yourself pleasantly surprised by your appetite, once you start eating. The food is good, really good, and it’s perhaps also going down better tonight, because you actually did a bit of exercise today. Whenever you look up, Natasha seems to be pleased. And though Wanda doesn’t draw attention to your improved appetite with her words, she grants you an affectionate touch every so often, conveying her approval with a stroke of your hair, or a light squeeze above your knee. 

When you finish your plate, you nibble your lip and look up. Natasha watches you for a moment, still chewing. 

“Would you like some more?” she asks once she’s swallowed. Her voice is neutral; her smile is soft and unassuming. You do want more, but there’s that familiar tug in your brain, holding you back. Natasha tilts her head, but her expression doesn’t change. You know she’s figuring you out, though. She’s good at reading you. Maybe even better than Wanda, at times. “You know, I gave you a small portion to begin with,” she says casually. “Just to see if you liked it. It’s okay to have more, if you want.”

You look down at your plate, thinking. Fighting. 

“Yes please,” you say quietly, looking back up at her and feeling the tension ease in your chest as you breathe out. She nods, her face unchanged apart from the smallest little twitch at the left corner of her lips. A tiny, hidden smile. A smile she’s containing, so she doesn’t put pressure on you. Knowing that makes it seep in through your skin, warm like a hug.

After dinner, the three of you move downstairs to the sofa, and Wanda presses play on the next episode of She-Ra without pre-amble or discussion. You tuck your feet up beneath you for a bit, your left hand lifting to your mouth and the fingernail of your forefinger pressing against your lips until you notice the habit and move your hand back to your lap. You feel so tired but also there’s still that familiar, constant buzzing in your body that won’t still. The longer you spend around them, and the more comfortable you feel in their presence, the harder it is to hide. You cross your legs and shuffle back against the cushions. But that stance only lasts for a minute, before you have to try another, sliding forward to dangle your legs over the edge again. 

“Y/N, would you like me to braid your hair again?” Natasha asks. You turn to face her, sitting cross legged in the corner and waiting patiently for your response. You nod.

“Yes please.”

“Alright,” Natasha says, with a smile. She reaches forward, and pulls a hairbrush out from the shelf beneath the coffee table. Then she opens her legs into a V, placing her feet flat on the cushions at either side so her knees can lift up and form a clear space for you to sit. She pats the empty spot expectantly, and you stand up, left arm curling around your stomach as you approach. You sit down, and she gives you a gentle squeeze on your good shoulder.

“Same braid?” she asks you, and you nod. “Alright. Just focus on the screen to keep your head straight. If it hurts, let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree.

There’s a pause, in which you curl your fingers a little deeper into your waist, trying to contain the buzz, and the urge to move. Natasha seems to be considering something, considering you.

“Can you hold this for me?” she asks, holding something out in her left hand, and forcing you to unravel your anxious hold of your torso to accept the hair tie she holds out to you.

Natasha starts brushing your hair then, and you look back to the screen. You roll the hair tie between your fingertips, twisting and stretching it subconsciously as you tune back in to the episode. The combination of watching the show, fidgeting with the hair tie, and feeling Natasha’s fingers pull your hair into a tight braid — it settles you, muffling the buzz like a weighted blanket, until finally it fades away completely.

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this, and I wish you well ♡

Taglist: (comment below if you'd like to be added to this) @nessheartnat ; @valerie-lexi ; @bishovapls ; @redheadsinmybed ; @electric-guillotines ; @naominanuq ; @alpalpym ; @dreaming-potato ; @snowazul ; @deathbylesbianwitches ; @queen-of-chaotic-surprises ; @loverluzer ; @methealt ; @theslutoflasignora ; @godhatesgoodgirls ; @absolutelyregal

[bahrtofane]

Hellooo I saw requests open because I stalk the hiccup x reader tag so uh here I am :)

Maybe a hiccup x gn!reader arranged marriage au where they only think about how things will help their people (people pleaser) and are so used to being a diplomat and not really being seen as anything more than a tool for relations, and than get such culture shock from the Gang™️ and Berk as a whole?

I'm so sorry if this is too specific, I don't make too many requests. You don't have to do this if you don't want to :) I don't wanna make you uncomfortable!

ANYWAY YOU WRITE REALLY WELL BYE 🍪🍪🍪

Hello hello what a splendid request i am inspired and not to beat a dead horse but i rly love a good arranged marriage au…sigh….its so good every time

no worries at all i had a blast writing thank u for the idea and inspiration!!

word count - 1k+

watch it - i mean angst if u squint but everyones happy in the end

—-

When your mother breaks the news, it makes sense. It always had to be you.

It was you who your father chose to take on visits to foreign lands, who learned all the neighboring tongues, who was given endless scrolls and books, who was sent off alone when old enough as an ambassador. A diplomat. Told to learn, to study. To always be a step ahead. To see things before they happen. To always be ready. To serve the people. 

For your people come before yourself, a duty born the moment you were. 

And so when you become a token in the game that is marriage, you're ready. The marriage is proposed, accepted, and planned within a few letters. All without you even reading a single page. 

Your father has agreed, and that is enough. You are an extension of him, a proxy to his interest and thus the interests of your people. You can not go against them. 

What you aren't ready for is your husband, and his land that is so different from your own.

The moment you hear who it is you know, how can you not? The missing leg and the night fury. It all makes sense why your father has chosen a marriage with him. Hiccup Haddock is a name that has well earned its respect, and at 25, it's now or never to cement any more allies as he rises to be chief. To prove himself to be what his father was. 

The wedding is simple, and quaint. None of the fuss amuses you, nor he. You are fulfilling a duty. And nothing more. You suppose it could have been much much worse. He is easy on the eyes, and his gaze is kind. 

But then comes Berk in all its glory after the wedding celebrations die down and you find a place in its stone paths and slanted roofs. 

Berk is well, lively. It seems nothing slows and no one sleeps. At all hours of the day someone is moving, working, singing, crying, laughing, living. 

Hiccup tells you he wishes not to burden you more than the marriage already has. And you only smile, that this is nothing but a burden, that bringing peace to your people is an honor. 

He can only nod, unsure of what else to say. If you see this only as a duty and not a marriage like he does, he won't force it. But he doesn't hope something grows. If not for his sake, for yours to see past mere duties. 

And maybe when you meet all of his friends, all the people that truly make this place a home you begin to understand why he looks at things so differently to you. 

Astrid is willing to gut someone for him, Snotlout to set himself on fire, literally, the twins Tuffnut and Ruffnut would dive head first into any danger, Fishlegs would overcome any fear and hesitation. Out of loyalty, not born from paper and ink, but grown together.

It makes your head turn and your lip twitch. In anger, jealousy, envy.

You never had any friends. Always locked away in your room hunched over endless books as you burned through more candles then you could count. Always sent away for the summer to play peace maker when everyone your age would take to the shores to swim, the markets to feast. 

And when you would ask why not you, why are you forbidden from all the fruits that hang right in front of you. Fruits that you worked to keep, fruits that you have planted in words, in pen and ink, in knowing gazes and hours sitting in conference, you only get the same answer. This is your duty. So you stopped asking. 

You try to be useful, telling your new husband that you are useful, more than a pretty face. That you know the archipelago in and out. And even beyond it. He only shakes his head and tells you to get comfortable in your home. 

You take it to heart, does he not believe you? Does he think of you useless? 

But you will not argue, how diplomatic of you to hold your tongue and bow your head as he flies off to patrol. 

And maybe it takes time, months, even years. Of Hiccup taking you on night rides on the island, of him finding you your own dragon. Teaching you the ins and outs, the lessons till you fly on your own. 

Of introducing you to everyone and guiding you through the motions till you make a place for yourself. When you're one of them.

When you walk into the great hall not with a gleam and an agenda, but with an empty stomach and a yearning to hear some of Gober's stories. When Astrid races you, and you win! 

It's Snotlout letting you ride Hookfang. 

Fishleggs going through the book of dragons and his flash cards with you.

It's the twins letting you join in on their trouble. 

Its all of this when you realize maybe life is more than duties. That you've made a home here, and it's worth more than any pile of scrolls. It's what warms your heart and keeps you going at the end of the long day.

Even when Hiccup does let you do what you're best at, giving your knowledge at councils and keeping record of politics. He makes sure you don't lose yourself. And something does grow.

How can it not? With a man as kind as patient as he, with arms that hold you flush against him as you ride on Toothless enjoying the sunset, leaning into him.

And when you dismount you finally are able to look him in the eye proper, and lean in for a kiss that's as soft as silk, as tender as the way he holds you.

“Im glad I have you.” you whisper. 

“Youll always have me.” he replies. 

Yes it could have been much much worse. You've grown to love him, and Berk, and he's grown to adore you. More than you will ever know.

Thank the fates for treaties and alliances huh?

[six-eyed-samurai]

HEHEHEHEH >:3 all im saying is rindou x popular!reader? like bratty and full of herself. REGINA GEORGE. REGINA GEORGE READER. but not actually

SORRY IF THIS IS CONFUSING I JUST WANNA KNOW WHATYOU THINK AND IF YOURE WILLING TO WRITE IT OK LOVE YOU MWAH MWAH MY WHIPPED CREAM ON TOP OF THE PERFECTLY WARM HOT COCOA WITH THE SMALL BUT REALLY TASTY MARSHMALLOWS <3 (almost typed mushrooms LMAAOO)

A/N: PLEB MY BELOVED TERIYAKI PEACH I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG YOU ALREADY KNOW MY EXAMS AND SHIT BUT RAAAAAH ALSO I NEVER WATCHED MEAN GIRLS (the number of people about to murder me rn) SO I HOPE I'M ACCURATE, PLEASE ENJOY IN RETURN FOR THE VIP I LOVE YOU TO PLUTO AND BACK (Did someone say mushrooms? Well, I am a fun-guy- get it? GET IT?!) WARNINGS: Swearing and breaking the fourth wall. Nowhere says the Haitani brothers attend high school, but nowhere also says they don't, so here they do.

🌸First of all, let this be known that the one and only Haitani Ran came up with that title and is responsible for the whole story below (or so he claims, because I did about 80% of the work typing this out).

🌸Anyways.

🌸You meeting each other was probably inevitable - the Haitani brothers the head delinquents of Roppongi, you the literal head of every single popular girl clique.

🌸Do you hit off at once? Absolutely not. You made a very cutting comment about Rindou’s hair, even after your terrified girlfriends (minions) warned you about who he was and similarly Rindou called you a wannabe with fake Prada and your makeup was smudged.

🌸What a great start to a friendship! From that day onwards every time you both caught side of each other it was snarky jab after snarky jab at each other’s hair, clothes, shoes, speech, grades, lunch, anything you both could think of.

🌸Rindou hates you because you’re just such a prissy, spoilt princess brat with hella nice hair. You just hate him because who does he think he is to insult your fashion taste? So what if he’s a total bad boy delinquent? What about it?

🌸Ran thinks it’s hilarious. Rindou cannot not talk about you even when you’re not around, even if it’s just the repetitive complaints of your usual petty annoyingness, and gee, Rin-Rin, are you really that obsessed with them that you even still think about what colour their nail polish are in the middle of a fight? It’s almost worth missing a nap, Ran decides, when he can record Rindou spluttering out protests and declarations that you’re the ugliest, nastiest girl he’s ever met.

[Ran turns the camera to his face] I think my brother is a kindergartener afraid that girls have cooties. Sigh, he was supposed to be the more mature of the two of us.

🌸Even your traitorous girl clique were shipping you both! Even after you told them to shut up! Ugh! You don’t need them to stalk out his socials, you don’t need them yammering about how you always greet him in the corridors (”Did a dog shit on your shoes, Haitani?”), you don’t need them taking pictures/photoshopping you both together. Just, ew.

🌸Once again, so what if both your rivalry was turning into a…really weird obsession?

🌸You were pretty sure you hated Rindou with a burning passion, but one day you caught yourself studying your figure in the mirror, judging - judging?! - your own outfit by his standards: what sort of comments would he make this time? Is he going to jibe that you had finally found a skirt shorter than you? Are you actually wondering if he’d like it?!

🌸You CANNOT be seriously breaking one of the sacred rules of no pink on Wednesdays right now either just because Rindou had once made a muttered remark this being the only thing that looked good on you.

🌸Rindou was quite certain as well that if he could, he’d run a bus over your snobby ass but…here he was, cringing at whatever made him stop by the roadside asking if you needed a ride home since it was raining. Not because he cared or whatever. He hoped you got soaked to the bone sitting on the back of his motorbike. And that your hair gets messed up from wearing his helmet.

🌸You treating him to the boba cafe that nearly opened the next day was also strictly returning a favor so you didn’t have to owe your biggest nemesis. In fact, HE should owe you for making you wash his stupid jacket that he had forced you to wear that night as protection from the storm.

🌸Rindou sasses you right back, but yes, he supposes he owes you another drink. And another. And another. And another.

🌸At this point it’s so obvious the only reason none of you have admitted you’re practically dating already is because of your egos and reputations.

🌸That is, until one day when you’re strolling home by yourself and scrolling on your phone to scoff at Rindou liking your latest photo, A FEW DAYS AFTER YOU POSTED, you’re cornered by several members of a gang with a grudge to settle with the Haitani brothers - what better way to do so than to target Rindou’s girlfriend (see, if they were targeting Ran, they’d have to target every girl in the neighborhood, playboy that he is).

🌸Now you might be a prissy mean girl but that don’t mean you can’t kick ass physically. One of them made the stupid mistake of trying to grab your arm and EW, WRECKED YOUR NAILS? You slapped him pretty hard for that…and the rest too, with your new handbag, which made you even more pissed off, because hello, that shit was designer?!

🌸Also, congratulations, you've managed to make them all extremely self conscious while unconscious with your jibes about their appearances.

🌸Unfortunately that can't help you when more of them show up and you're outnumbered. At least you're going out with a bang…but not in the way you think when Rindou’s motorbike suddenly plows through them, engines revving, an irritated expression on his face.

“The only one who gets to piss my girlfriend off is me, so hands off.”

🌸Most people would've thanked him once he was finished knocking them all out but you immediately start berating him for taking so long in arriving.

”You really took your sweet time driving here, so of course I just decided to head home myself! I didn't need you to accompany me!”

He rolls his eyes because if he ignores your ungratefulness he can see your fingers trembling as you picked the items fallen from your bag, evidence of you still being shaken up. This (bratty) behaviour was just your…coping mechanism? Or maybe just typical you. “Then how'd you get surrounded so easily?”

“How was I to know people wanna beat me up today?!”

“You know what, stuff it and get on the bike. I'm taking you home whether you want me to or not.”

You stuff it and get on the bike. Rindou only uses that tone when he's worried.

🌸Aaand then it's only when you're on your doorstep do you realize what he had said.

🌸Rindou sees you frozen and raises an eyebrow. “What is it this time?”

“You called me your girlfriend.”

“So I did. You're not? Aren't we going on dates and everything? Sorry, “outings just between the two of us”?”

“We never talked it out or agreed on anything official!”

“I didn't know we needed to file a form and get a stamp of approval in order to go out.”

“OMG, you're so annoying I can't even - fine, I’ll…be your girlfriend. The moment you get a better haircut.”

…

“WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE! Ugh, gotta go redo my makeup now.”

“Stop talking about my hair then, before you look at yours.”

He's still smirking as he leaves.

🌸So now Rindou has not one but two divas in his life. He can't decide which of you is the lesser evil, because on one hand he has Ran killing his wallet with all his dye jobs and on the other you're demanding his wallet for that new pair of heels he's pretty sure will break in less than a day.

🌸What are dates like? You dragging him off to clothing/shoes/jewelry stores, mall dates where you empty him of all cash on dessert and boba, going to the latest trending cafe while you judge everyone around you, spill all the gossip at school and naturally, talk about yourself (Rindou secretly eats your cake and zones out when the last one happens).

🌸If you've seen that reel of someone digging a hole in their cake to secretly reach the other person's cake…you know what Rindou does now.

🌸However both you and Rindou's favourite kind of date is when you're just driving around aimlessly in your shiny sports car with the wind blowing through the windows and the only fights are over your music choices: popular ones from Instagram (you) and whatever strikes Rindou's fancy.

🌸Has Ran attempted to gatecrash your dates and plead to drive your car? Absolutely. Have you let him? No. It's one of the few things you and Rindou agree on.

🌸You can be pretty annoying with that full of yourself attitude, “camera eats first!” mindset and double meaning words, but it's only annoying because Rindou has to go clean up your messes and apologize - apologize - to whoever was dumb enough to incur your wrath lest you get into trouble (for the millionth time). You'd never admit it, but you'd stopped directing any of that bxxchiness at him a long time ago.

🌸For anyone that did something wrong to Rindou though? Hell hath no fury like a woman with an ego bigger than Jupiter and a protective instinct for her man.

🌸If Japan has prom, you both would be crowned king and queen. If someone's hosting a party, you both would be the ones rocking the dance floor. If any of this happened, it's because you forced Rindou and he can't say no, however much he grumbles.

🌸First kiss was probably during some heated argument in front of everyone and Rindou claims he only instigated it because he wanted to shut you up. You reveled in the gossip that came with such a scandalous affair but yes, he took you very aback with the “Because I love you, dumbass?!”

🌸(Ran recorded everything and posted it on his super secret fan account following his favorite crack ship, the two of you.)

🌸Rindou doesn’t strike me as the jealous type. He KNOWS, however full of shit you are, you ain’t going to leave him for any of those losers just staring at your ass. To him they’re just minor annoyances, like flies - bothersome, but easily dealt with. Besides, who’s crazy enough to take THE Haitani’s girlfriend?

🌸You don’t get jealous much either, or so you claim. It’s quickly proven false whenever you snap spitefully at any girl who dares to lay a manicured hand on him - you won’t even tolerate your own girlfriends. You’re proud of the fact he’s so attractive, but that makes you even more possessive, because some deep, dark, insecure part of you is afraid he’d leave you for a similar girl, because surely there’s no difference between you and them. Just petty, bratty, arrogant mean girls.

🌸”I’m just going to get this tattooed on you, because for the hundredth time, sweetheart, I’m not going to leave you for some airhead bimbo. You’re more than just a face, and yeah, you really need to get off your high horse sometimes, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

🌸The sappy moment is ruined when you sniffle and slap him lightly for making you cry and ruin your mascara. Rindou sighs (how many times has he sighed throughout this piece of writing already?)

🌸Average conversation between you and Rindou:

“I’m not surprised he got beat up with that kind of hair…is he trying out a new style from the slums?”

“Mhm. Couldn’t even throw a punch properly.”

“I bet you put him in his place, bae.”

“I’d kill myself if I didn’t.”

🌸And if the person in question overhears?

“Oh…we were just, you know, discussing your ah, state of hair. Bad hair day? Thought so.”

“That black eye really goes well with it, don’t you think?”

“Now that’s why you’re my boyfriend.”

[pixel7777]

The First Worshipper: Ch. 2

This incredible artwork was commissioned from the wonderful misfitlunatic - I highly recommend checking out their other works (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social)

✨💔 "Seventeen years is a long time to grieve, but vengeance lingers longer still. As Astarion methodically unravels the web of conspiracies behind Tav’s death, old wounds reopen, and justice feels colder than he imagined. When gods cannot interfere, and ghosts refuse to return, what is left for a man who has everything—except those he truly loved?" 💔✨

Read below the break here or on AO3!

Chapter 2

17 years AB

My vicious love,

You'll be pleased to know I finally found the wretch responsible for Mol's death. A slash across the throat—nothing dramatic, I'm afraid. Though I did take my time ensuring he felt every moment. I wanted him to understand exactly what he'd taken from me. From us.

Mol's successor (who of course hired the wretch to clear their way) won't be an issue anymore either. Amazing how easily evidence can be planted when one knows the players so well. The Guild will tear itself apart trying to root out the "betrayal." Quite fitting, don't you think? Let them destroy each other—saves me the trouble.

I should feel... something. Satisfaction? Relief? Instead, I'm sitting in our empty house, writing another letter I'll burn, while Mol's footsteps no longer echo in the halls.

What am I supposed to do now? I have wealth, power, immortality—everything I ever wanted. Yet here I am, pathetically alone with all of it. The parties bore me. The scheming exhausts me. Even the hunt has lost its thrill.

You'd know what to say. You'd push me toward some noble cause or tell me to "find myself" or whatever mortals do when they're lost. But you're not here to give advice, are you? And Mol's not here to distract me with her latest scheme or demand my attention or make me feel needed.

I'm free. Completely, utterly free.

And I hate it.

Yours eternally,

(quite literally, it seems)

Astarion

* * *

The empty house echoed with my footsteps as I paced the marble floors. Sixteen times. Sixteen failed attempts to bring her back. This would be the seventeenth, only weeks after Mol's death.  The priest waited in what used to be our bedroom, arranging components worth a small fortune in a precise circle.

I'd memorized the ritual by now—knew exactly when he'd turn to me, expectant, waiting for me to speak the words that might call her soul back. What could I possibly say that I hadn't already tried?

My fingers found the small bottle of Tav's perfume in my pocket. One drop remained, preserved through the years. I'd considered using it as a focus for the ritual, but I couldn't bear to part with it. Pathetic, really.

"We're ready, my lord."

I turned. The priest stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. Of course—I was paying him enough to resurrect a small army. He didn't care if it worked. (Fuck him, for that.) (I take it back - just let this work.)

The bedroom looked wrong without our things. No books scattered on her side of the bed, no clothes draped over chairs, no half-empty wine glasses on the nightstand. Just bare walls and that damned circle on the floor, components worth more than most nobles' yearly income arranged in perfect symmetry.

My rehearsed speeches felt hollow now. I'd tried reason ("The world still needs you"), guilt ("You left me alone"), even begging ("Please, darling, just come back"). Nothing worked. Tav's soul remained stubbornly beyond reach, leaving me here in this empty house, trying to fill it with words that meant nothing.

The priest began the incantation. Soon, he'd look to me for those crucial words.

What hadn't I said? What could possibly make a difference this time?

The moment arrived before I was ready for it. (I was never ready for it.)

"Darling," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I can't do this anymore. Not without you. Not without Mol." My fingers traced the edge of the ritual circle. "I know why you won't come back. You're waiting somewhere, for us to be together forever there... but it's somewhere I can't follow."

The priest's chanting grew louder, but I barely heard him over the rushing in my ears.

"Come back. Just for a moment. We can worship Gale together—isn't that amusing? Me, playing at devotion." I pressed my palm against the cold floor. "And next time... next time when it's my turn, I'll know where to find you. We can be together again."

The components flickered with magical energy. The priest's voice reached its crescendo.

Nothing.

No response. No familiar presence. No warmth.

My legs gave out, and I slid to the floor, the marble cool against my cheek. The priest's footsteps retreated—smart man, leaving me to my grief.

I curled in on myself, still clutching that tiny bottle of perfume. One drop left. One piece of her, preserved in glass, while everything else slipped away.

A chill crept through the room, one I hadn't felt in years, but I recognized it immediately. I spun to find Withers materializing near the ritual circle. For a moment, hope flared in my chest—wild, desperate hope. If anyone knew the secrets of death, it was him.

"Old friend." I pulled myself to my feet, forcing a smile. "Have you come to tell me what I'm doing wrong? What component I'm missing?"

Withers regarded me with those shriveled eye sockets. "You do nothing wrong, Spawn of Night. The fault lies not in your ritual, but in your understanding."

"Then explain it to me." My voice cracked. "Tell me how to reach her."

"She will not return." Each word fell like a stone. "She chooses not to. Her reasons are her own."

The hope in my chest twisted into something ugly. "You're lying. She wouldn't—she couldn't—"

"The dead are not yours to keep," Withers continued, unmoved. "Nor are they yours to chase. Love them for the moments they gave you. That is all the dead ask."

I stood before the hunched figure, my patience fraying with each cryptic response. "For once in your existence, could you not speak in riddles?" My voice dripped acid. "After everything we've been through, everything I've done to save this wretched place, surely you can dispense with the mysterious guardian act."

Withers remained motionless, those awful sockets fixed on me with their unsettling weight. When he didn't respond, I raked my fingers through my hair, pacing like a caged animal.

"There must be something else. Some ritual I haven't tried, some price I haven't offered." I whirled back to face him. "Name it. Whatever it is, I'll pay it."

But he only repeated his earlier words about acceptance and letting go, each mystical platitude stoking the rage building in my chest. I slammed my palm against the stone wall, welcoming the sharp sting of pain.

"Damn you," I snarled. "Damn you and your meaningless prophecies. What's the point of all this power if you won't use it to help? You, Gale, the gods are useless!"

Something snapped inside me. With a snarl, I lunged at him, fangs bared. My hands passed through his form like smoke. Again and again, I struck out, each blow meeting nothing but air.

"Bring her back!" I screamed, my attacks growing wilder, more desperate. "Make her come back!"

Withers stood motionless, watching my futile assault with the same patience he'd shown since we first found him in his tomb.

Divine light flared, and suddenly Gale's arms locked around me, pulling me back from my useless assault on Withers. The ancient guardian dissolved into shadows without a word, leaving me thrashing against my friend's immortal strength.

"Let me go!" I snarled, but Gale only held tighter.

"Not until you calm down."

The fight drained from me all at once, leaving nothing but hollow grief. My legs buckled, and Gale lowered us both to the floor. Tears I thought I'd exhausted years ago spilled hot down my cool cheeks. (How did that work? Was rage literally hot?)

Gale's divine presence wrapped around me like a blanket I didn't want but desperately needed. My fingers unclenched, the fight draining from me as suddenly as it had come.

"I hate you," I muttered into his shoulder. "Appearing like this. Playing the caring god."

"I know." His voice held centuries of patience. Of course it did—he was a god now. (When had that happened? When had my irritating friend become this steady anchor in my storms?)

"I tried everything." The words spilled out, raw and messy. "Components worth fortunes. Priests from every temple. Even that bastard Withers—" My voice cracked. "And where were you?"

"Right here." His hand squeezed my shoulder. "Where I've always been."

I wanted to mock him for that. To throw his pointless, useless divinity in his face. But the warmth of his presence—so different from my cold skin—made me pause. He was here, wasn't he? Breaking whatever cosmic rules governed young gods just to hold his grieving lunatic of a friend.

"You're absolutely dreadful at being a proper deity," I said instead. "Shouldn't you be... I don't know, arranging stars? Creating new forms of magic?" (Don't leave.)

"Probably." His chuckle resonated with divine energy. "But I thought my first worshipper needed me more."

The title hit differently now. First worshipper. I'd meant it as a joke, a way to keep my friend close while annoying him in the process. But here he was, answering my unspoken prayers, catching me when I fell apart.

"Why?" I choked out. "Why won't she come back? You're a god now—tell me why."

Gale's embrace tightened. "I wish I knew. Withers refuses to speak to me about Tav. None of the other gods will admit to having her soul. Death... death has its own rules."

"Then what good are you?" The words came out broken, desperate. "Please. You're the God of Ambition—give me something. A purpose. A goal. Anything."

"That's not how it works." His voice was gentle, infuriatingly so. "I can help people achieve their ambitions, but I can't choose them. And right now, I can barely do anything. Ao keeps new gods on a short leash. All I can tell you is to take the advice Withers came to give you.  Let her go."

I laughed, bitter and sharp. "Oh, that's rich. The God of Ambition telling me to abandon my only ambition." I pulled away from his embrace, wiping my face with my sleeve. "Some god you turned out to be."

"You need to find something new," Gale said, leaning forward in that earnest way of his that always made me want to slap him. "An ambition that will carry you forward, not keep you chained to what's behind you."

I let out a bark of harsh laughter. "And what would you suggest? Everything I wanted - everything I built - it's meaningless now. Do you know what it's like to walk through those empty rooms? To see their things gathering dust? To know that stupid little thief will never again try to pick my pocket just to prove she can and Tav won't be there to scold her afterwards?" My voice cracked on the last words, and I hated myself for it.

"You still have so much, my friend," Gale said softly, reaching out to place his hand on my shoulder. "The Brats still need you. The city still needs you. And you have friends who—"

"Don't." I jerked away from his touch. "Don't pretend any of that matters. Everything I used to want tastes like ash in my mouth. They have been taken from me - both of them - and nothing tastes sweet anymore. Nothing feels real." I wrapped my arms around myself, fighting the trembling in my hands. "What's the point of having 'so much' when the only things I truly wanted were stolen away?"

I pulled away from Gale, smoothing my shirt with practiced nonchalance. A new purpose bloomed in my mind, dark and familiar. (Like coming home to an old friend, isn't it? The sweet call of vengeance.)

"You know what? You're right." I flashed him my most disarming smile. "Perhaps it's time to focus on more... constructive pursuits."

Gale's divine aura flickered—he'd caught the abrupt change in my demeanor. (Of course he did. Bastard always could read me. And I didn't have much subtlety to offer in this moment.) His expression grew wary, and I couldn't blame him. He'd seen this look before, usually right before I did something spectacularly ill-advised.

"Astarion—"

"Don't worry, darling." I waved away his concern. "It's obvious, really.  Can't think of why it didn't occur to me before. I'm thinking of throwing myself into religious devotion. Building you a proper church, perhaps? Something gaudy and pretentious—really capture your essence." (And give me the perfect cover for gathering information.)

His face contorted in horror. "Please don't."

"Oh, but I insist." I grinned, genuine amusement bubbling up at his distress. "Think of it—'The Grand Temple of Gale, God of Dead End Ambitions.' We'll have weekly services where I dramatically recount your most embarrassing moments." (While my agents trace old leads, follow forgotten trails.)

"That's not—" He pinched the bridge of his nose, divinity crackling around him in frustration. "That's not what my worship should be about."

"Then you should have picked a better first worshipper." I headed for the door, plans already forming. (Start with the Harper records. Someone must have noticed something.) "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some architectural studies to pursue."

"You're planning something." It wasn't a question.

I paused at the threshold, throwing him a look over my shoulder. "I'm always planning something. And I never tell you. It's practically tradition by now."

"Astarion—"

"Prayers later, darling. Your devoted servant has work to do." (And old debts to collect.)

* * *

From his divine vantage point in the celestial plane, Gale observed Astarion prowling through the darkened streets of Baldur's Gate, following a trail of whispers and bribes that led straight to a bitter truth. The pieces were falling into place - not about Mol's death, but about Tav's.

Gale had been impressed when Astarion had resisted pursuing his own revenge after the official investigations into Tav's death had been closed without any actual closure.  Astarion had stayed devoted to Mol and her well-being, refused to do anything that would distract from his attempt to console and nurture her.  But it appeared that with Mol gone and her death avenged, Astarion had chosen to revisit the older loss.

Perhaps I shouldn't have suggested he find a new ambition in that particular moment.

Gale had to admit he had also wanted to know what had actually happened, but he had resisted prying, especially in those earliest days when he was counseled to relinquish attention to matters from his old life.  He had…backslid, considerably, since then.

Rage built in Gale's chest as he watched his friend piece together the evidence. A letter here, a confession there. The spawn Astarion had freed, had given a second chance, had trusted to build better lives - some of them had turned that freedom into a weapon of revenge.

"Damn them," Gale muttered, his divine voice echoing across the celestial plane. The sound startled a few minor deities, but he paid them no mind.

What choice had Astarion had? Cazador's influence had reached far, touched countless lives. Astarion had been as much a victim as any of them. He'd been the one brave enough to break free, to help others break free. And then...

Gale's fists clenched as he watched Astarion corner a nervous-looking half-elf spawn in an alley. The spawn's hands shook as he admitted what he knew - how a group of the freed spawn had plotted their revenge, had waited years to strike at what Astarion loved most.

The spawn dropped to his knees, begging forgiveness, claiming he'd only heard about it after the fact. But Gale could see the darkness spreading across Astarion's features, the careful control he'd built over decades cracking under the weight of this revelation.

"Don't," Gale whispered, knowing Astarion couldn't hear him. "Don't let them drag you back into that cycle."

But he could already see it happening - the way Astarion's fingers twitched toward his daggers, the predatory stillness settling over him. The same violence that had claimed Tav was about to claim more victims, and Astarion would be the instrument of it this time.

Gale wanted to reach through the veil between planes, to grab his friend's shoulder and pull him back from this precipice. But Ao's restrictions held firm, keeping him from direct intervention. All he could do was watch as Astarion stepped closer to the trembling spawn, murder written in every line of his body.

From his celestial perch, Gale watched the scene unfold with mounting frustration. Just pray to me, you stubborn fool. Give me something real to work with.

But no. The only prayers that had crossed the divine threshold lately were nonsense like "Oh great and mighty Gale, patron of bad decisions, please ensure Lady Fairweather's new hat clashes spectacularly with her complexion at tomorrow's garden party."

Gale paced the ethereal plane, his divine form casting fractured shadows across realities. The irony cut deep - as a mortal, he could have at least put a hand on Astarion's shoulder, bought him a drink, reminded him there were better paths than vengeance. Now, bound by divine restrictions, he could only observe.

I shouldn't even be watching this closely. There were potential worshippers to court, divine politics to navigate, an entire portfolio of ambition to define. Yet here he was, fixated on one vampire in one city, unable to tear his attention away.

Astarion's blade pressed against the spawn's throat, and Gale held his breath - a remarkably mortal reaction for a god. But then Astarion's expression shifted, something calculated replacing the raw fury. The blade withdrew, and before the spawn could react, Astarion's fist connected with his temple. The half-elf crumpled.

Well, that's... unexpected. Gale leaned forward, intrigued. He recognized that look on Astarion's face—the one that meant pieces were falling into place in that clever mind of his. He's hunting for names. Building a web.

As Astarion efficiently bound the unconscious spawn, Gale felt an inappropriate surge of pride. Even in this dark moment, his friend had chosen the strategic path over the satisfaction of immediate bloodletting. Though knowing Astarion, that might actually be worse for his targets in the long run.

Gale watched Astarion drag the unconscious spawn into a nearby warehouse. The efficiency of the movement, the careful way he secured the prisoner - it spoke of plans within plans.

A prayer flickered across the divine plane, but it was another of those theatrical performances about wine selections and fashion disasters that Astarion encouraged in those he recruited as Gale's worshippers. Gale dismissed it with a wave. These prayers were starting to feel like deliberate distractions, each one more outlandish than the last.

The warehouse scene unfolded below. Astarion worked methodically, setting up what looked like an improvised interrogation space. The spawn stirred, and Astarion's questioning began. No violence, just quiet words and careful implications. Names emerged, locations, dates - a web of conspiracy spanning years. Gale's divine consciousness expanded with understanding. Tav's murder had been organized, patient, deliberate.

Gale's divine form flickered with anger. He'd attended Tav's funeral, had watched Astarion maintain that rigid composure throughout the ceremony. There was a very insistent part of Gale that wanted to punish those who had taken Tav and wounded Astarion with such unjust, cold, calculation, to punish in the way that only a god could do—and to take that burden from Astarion in the bargain.

But there was nothing he could do. Avenging his mortal pain would cross a line Ao would not forgive. He could only watch as Astarion built his list of targets, each name another link in a chain of vengeance that would either save or damn him.

A minor deity coughed politely to get his attention. "My lord, about the Council..."

"Yes, fine." Gale forced his attention away from the mortal plane. He had responsibilities now, a divine role to establish. He couldn't spend eternity watching over one vampire's quest for revenge.

But as he turned to follow the minor deity, he caught one last glimpse of Astarion's face - and the ruthlessness there chilled even his divine soul.

[hidden-poet]

S. lands on top; 5

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

Darkest content I have ever written. Please don't read unless you are 100% comfortable (and over 18).

Warnings: Graphic sex, violent sex, borderline torture, r*pe, over stimulation, Coriolanus is terrible, terrible, terrible, sexual assault, sex being weaponized, hitting, name calling, punishments, objectification, 18+ ONLY, Coriolanus figures out new kinks (I figure out new kinks), not a safe environment.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

Author's note: I am in no way condoning this type of behavior. This is a pure work of fiction used to explore a safe, and unrealistic feterisation of the desirability and not the actual act in itself. I am sexualizing the character Coriolanus Snow, and not Tom Bylth (I mean no disrespect or objectification to actor).

That being said, I am going to need some love on this chapter if there is a desire out there to read this sort of stuff in a safe environment and contained atmosphere. What you read cannot harm you, unless you are irresponsible and do not take measures to look after your mental and physical health. This is fiction and SHOULD NOT be brought into the real world. I can create more, but will not if it is not wanted or used responsibly.

chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

 Coriolanus sat at his writing desk, completing his last assignment before the break as Mabel lay across the bed, supposed to be completing her own homework. 

But she seemed lost in thought. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Coriolanus had given up on chastising her long ago. 

Between organizing the games, attending lectures and keeping up with his course work, Coriolanus had no time to play games with Mabel. No matter how tempting she was.

 The break would be well deserved and well used. 

Completing this last assignment would free Coriolanus to focus on Mabel and her behavior. Reaping Day was only a week away, and she was inadequate to be presented to Dr. Gaul.

She knew that Reaping Day had consequences for the both of them. He told her time and time again of the dangers of Dr. Gaul, but the fight is what kept Mabel alive. If she rolled over for him once, she felt she might be stuck there.

Coriolanus could hear her as she moved off the bed. He was about to demand that she sit back down and complete her work but her footsteps made their way over to him and not out the door. 

It was the first time she had ever approached him without the intent to hurt him. It was a welcome change when she swung her leg around his waist and not a punch.  

So he put down his pen to give her his full attention, eager to see how this would play out. 

She sat on his lap, twining her small fingers into the curls of his hair. Her green eyes stared back bravely into intimidating blue ones. 

“All you ever do is work,” she states. Her voice carries a seductive tone. “No wonder you’re crazy.” 

His hips buck up into her in desperation. He scolds himself for it. He had more self-control than that. 

“Are you offering a study break?”

“I am offering you the night of your life.” 

He had no idea where this change was coming from. Just this morning she deliberately knocked a pot of hot tea onto his lap. Luckily, it had cooled enough not to burn him but it angered him all the same. 

Now she was offering herself to him. He knew it was a trick. She was playing the only card she had after fighting for so long to keep it. 

He goes to kiss her, testing how much he could get out of this.

His head is yanked back, her hands digging into his hair to keep him at bay. 

“For a train ride back home.” Mabel finished. 

His lips curl up into a smirk. He could almost laugh at her.

“Think about it, Coriolanus. You’ll bore of me sooner or later,” she begins to grind her hips into his. He fights to keep his focus. 

“This, what you feel now. It’ll be gone.” His hands catch her hips to stop her moving. Her tongue was her weapon, and his clear head was his.

“But it’s here now. You could have it.” She yanks his head back as far as she could but follows with her lips hovering over his.

He thinks about just lying. After all, there was no obligation to keep any promise he gives her. 

But he did want a relationship with Mabel, one that had a certain level of trust. She would do nothing for him without trust. And there would be no chance of her teaming up with him against Dr. Gaul. He remembers how important trust is in District 12. 

Satisfaction now could result in negative long term consequences. And Coriolanus was in this for the long term. 

She moves her lips to the shell of his ear and begins to speak gently into it. 

“You could think about me for years. Marry a pretty Capitol girl but think of me as you fuck her.” Her body was pressed tightly against him but she managed to squeeze a hand between them and knead his inner thigh.  “Think of this night, when a District girl fucked your brains out for hours.”

Coriolanus pushes her back by her shoulders. It was almost too much for him. His lust clouded his judgment. He needed to regain control, she had snatched it from him so easily. He was going to be President of Panem. Now was the time to show the cunningness it took to control. 

“I’ll be gone by morning, and you could keep the memory of me. Forget the struggles and fights. When you bore, that’ll be all that's left.” 

Coriolanus reaches out to take her chin in between his forefinger and thumb. Restricting her movements as she did to him. 

‘‘When I get bored of you, I’ll pass you along to someone else. Plinth seemed to have taken a shine to you. Maybe you Districts can bond over the home you’ll never see again.”

His words angered her, he could see it in her eyes. He wasn’t sure if he would ever bore of this. The constant power struggle. He loved it. Winning control gave him such a thrill. He loved the fight Mabel put up because he was always going to win it. He was stronger, smarter. He had  every card and she had none. Yet her nature made surrender an implausible possibility, and his competitive nature never tired of the defeat. 

“Maybe,” she spat as she tore herself from his lap, “Maybe, he might finally make me come too.” 

She threw herself back down on the bed amongst her school work. 

Her words should have upset him, he knew she came more often than not, prided himself on the fact. His ego wasn’t bruised, instead a thrill ran through him. The resistance and consequences were the most fun. 

—---------------

The next day, Coriolanus excused himself from work, claiming he had a cold. It was only midday but his tired colleagues were supportive of him going home. They all hoped that it would lead to an early mark for all of them. Sickness was contagious, it was possible for them all to have one too.

To Coriolanus’s luck, Dr. Gaul was traveling through the Districts, marking the best spots to host the Reapings. So she wasn’t there to witness Coriolanus act like a desperate school boy.

He was sure word would get to her as it always did, but there was no cold hard stare dissuading him now. 

Tigris wouldn’t be home from work until 5:30, and Grandma’am wouldn’t be home long after that. The old women hated being left alone with Mabel. She was adamant that Coriolanus build a servants' quarters where Mabel could be hidden. 

That meant that he had Mabel all to himself for the whole afternoon, and he was going to use every second.

Only a quick detour to pick up the things he would need could be excused. He made the chauffeur park a block away in front of a cafe and wrote a list. Coriolanus couldn’t be seen engaging in such disgraceful behavior but a faceless chauffeur could. 

His driver was about the same age as Coriolanus but had made some perilous mistakes that rendered him a tongueless Avox. Coriolanus had a vague memory that he used to play with a young child in his primary education days that resembled the young driver now, but Coriolanus didn’t dwell on it. That was the past, the future is what concerns him. 

The chauffeur looks at the list with wide eyes. He knew the items listed were to be used against the young girl he had taken back to the Snow’s penthouse, but he went and got them anyway. 

It was only a quick trip back to the house after that. Coriolanus tore the items out of the packages and continued accordingly. His footsteps were quick as he made his way through the large building. The people in front of him were too slow, it seemed like the elevator took years to get to him. He was just about to leap up the stairs when the doors opened just in time. 

Peacekeepers guarded his door in case Grandma’am or Tigris came home early. 

“You’re not needed.” He comments as he passes the Peacekeepers. They move almost instantly. 

He locks the door behind him, the bag crumples in his hold. 

Mabel sat sewing dresses for Tigris's shop. Despite spending her days making clothes, Mabel only had the green dress from Tigris and wore Coriolanus’s clothes to bed. 

She eyes him cautiously from the couch. There was something in his eyes that gave him away. Mabel decides the best course of action was to run.

He chases her into the dining room where she uses the long table as a barrier between them. 

They pause at each end. Coriolanus was first to make a move and Mabel reacted by swiftly moving in the opposite direction. 

The room is silent apart from their shuffling of feet. Impatient, Coriolanus throws himself across the table but Mabel jumps back to the entrance and retreats to the living room. 

Her bare feet thud across the marble floor as she made her way to the door. Her only chance was the door falsely locking. Everywhere else was a dead end. The apartment was large and filled with rooms but they were all locked and unlocked at Coriolanus’s command. 

She twisted and pulled but the door wouldn’t even budge. 

She could hear Coriolanus reaching her and she slid back across the hallway as Coriolanus came barreling into the door.  He chases her back into the dining room where he had dropped the bag. 

Before she could distance herself around the table, Coriolanus caught her arm and threw her into the polished wood. 

He managed to catch her flailing arms but her screaming gave him the headache had had lied about. 

He gathers her wrists and uses them to pull her over his shoulder so he can hoist her up.

She kicks and hits as he carries her to the bedroom, but it only gives him further justification for what he planned to do. He squats down to pick up the bag he dropped. He couldn’t leave it, given its purpose. 

With the door kicked shut, he drops Mabel on the bed and crawls on top of her, holding her still. 

They wrestle on the bed as Coriolanus struggles to take her dress off as Mable thrashes under him. 

But once off her shoulders, he took the handcuffs from the bag, attaching them easily to a bedpost where he could secure her. 

She panics as the first cuff is secured around her wrist and as Coriolanus reaches for the other, she sinks her teeth into the skin of his hand. 

He yells from the pain. The bite on his shoulder searing in pain from the memory. . 

A sharp backhand throws her down, making it easier to lock her in place. 

“I am going to fucking kill you!” She screams at him. It was a good time to bring out the gag from the bag and secure it in place. 

She continues to kick violently, still trying to hurt Coriolanus. He admired it. Beat and yet still fighting. 

He wanted her completely still so he continued his work, pulling out similar cuffs designed for her ankles and fastened them in place. What was left in the bag was two-meter lengths of rope which he tied around her knees to pull them completely open. He attaches the ends to the base of the bed with a knot he learned from his Peacekeeper stint. 

He stares admiring his work. She struggled against the restraints but could move very little. It was perfect, and he had hours to enjoy it. Unless Tigris came home early. With that thought, he locked the main bedroom door. 

With one last lingering look, he reached into the bag and pulled out the ‘pièce de résistance’. 

It was a small bullet-sized vibrator. It shook between his fingers. She kicked as much as she could as he inserted it dry. 

With the bullet doing its job, Coriolanus did his. He had wanted to explore Mabel's body for as long as he could remember. And with no pressing time limits he would complete this search now. 

He starts down by her feet, letting his lips drag over her skin. He examines every mole and scar along her. Kissing when he wanted to and biting because he could. It took a while, but he reached just behind her knee of the opposite leg he started with when she first came.

 From how slow he was going, he guessed it took half an hour for her first one. He wondered where he would reach for the next one. He smoothed his hands out over her skin, peppering kisses on odd spots. He had gone from her fingertips to her shoulder when her next climax came. 

He was in no rush to do anything. He explored her body the way he wanted to. She tried to headbutt him as he attempted to reach her ear but he caught her throat in his hand before it landed. He spent the next 15 minutes just on her ear alone. Biting and sucking on the lobe. He was still there when she came next. He moved on to the other ear then and waited until her next orgasm which took longer. 

After his mouth had left a cold, wet trail over every inch of her body, he took the time to count her freckles. It annoyed him when her body spasmed with another orgasm and he had to start again. 52 little brown dots was the final count. 

He moved from the bed only twice, first to remove his shoes, coat, and jewelry. And second, because he felt hungry around late afternoon. He went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and drink before returning to the bedroom to eat it. He didn’t want to miss Mabel's next orgasm.  

After a break of just tracing his finger around her body, and watching as she came, again and again, he decides to begin again with his mouth. 

Her legs shook from overstimulation. Coriolanus could feel them as they trembled underneath his lips. Her pussy was glistening and swollen. It looked sore from the abuse, but it was far from over. 

Her moisture dripped below her and down her inner thighs but Coriolanus just knew that her throat must be itchy and dry. He could offer her a drink of water, seeing as it had been hours of this torture, but he doesn’t.  

She had tried begging before or at least that’s what Coriolanus assumed. It could have been more insults but the crying after it made insults seem unlikely. The crying only lasted 10 minutes before her exhaustion didn’t allow her to do even that. 

She looked beautiful like this: entirely his. Under his control and mercy.

He licked the cum from her shaking thighs and moved to sit on her stomach. He was still fully clothed to add to her humiliation. 

She groaned from the weight of him. It came out muffled from under her gag but he could hear it. Her eyes were closed, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing the fear in them. 

His fingers pinched at her erect nipple, twisting it, and massaging her breast under his hand. 

Her breasts were small but a handful was all Coriolanus needed. 

Bore of this? He thought to himself. He wouldn’t object to perfunctory sex with Mabel but this is an elevated high he never thought feasible. 

A whine came from her again and he wondered if she was going to begin begging again. If she was, she was interrupted by reaching another climax that turned her begging into a muffled yell. 

Her hips buck underneath him as it ripples through her. Coriolanus watches her face as it screws up in painful pleasure. She throws her head back into her pillow three times as it passes. 

He wonders what she would say if she could say anything. Her begging is muffled, so she felt free to speak her mind but would the words flow from her mouth knowing that it would give Coriolanus confirmation. 

When her eyes fling open, it almost shocks Coriolanus. They had been closed for the past four hours. Her eyes tell him she is tired but still oh so defiant. If he was to take off her gag, he was sure that she would spit at him. 

Something about it aroused him further. 

He takes his weight off her and goes back to the end of the bed. More cum had leaked from her, making her thighs once again glisten. 

Deciding to give her a break, he reaches in and pulls the rotating device from her. It was holding in some residue cum that poured onto the bed sheets. She began breathing heavily again now that the tension was gone from her body. The poor thing thinks it’s over.

He blows gently on her abused pussy. Even the air was too much after the overstimulation. 

She tries to close her legs but the ropes stop her. 

A kiss is firmly planted on her clitoris and her wetness soaks Coriolanus's lips. She whines again, bucking her hips up to try and get him off. He cages her legs between his arms, pinning them under his shoulders as he digs his nose into the spot and begins to swirl, licking and lapping with his tongue sporadically. 

Her thighs still shake under him, and his legs join in anticipation. He rises himself to undress completely before dragging her by her knees into her own wet spot on the bed and inserting himself. She grips the chain at the intrusion. He could tell it caused her discomfort, maybe even pain as he did, but he slid in so easily. 

Her wetness meant that friction was hard to pick up so he slammed into her harshly for his own satisfaction. He had angled her so she was slightly raised from the bed as far as the ropes would allow and pounded into her with such force that she jolted at each thrust.

Her fingers clawed at what they could as Coriolanus had his way with her. 

Her swollen cunt clenched around him making Coriolanus groan in pleasure. 

The pressure around his cock got tighter and tighter as she reached another climax. Coriolanus was not far behind her after holding out for hours. 

As she came around him, it was enough for Coriolanus to come with her. 

He wanted to make a snide remark about how he could make her come but his mind was swimming. He drives his cock as far as he could into her even though he was empty. They remain like that, Coriolanus keeping Mabel there with a strong grip on her hips. Occasionally he would rock his hips back and forth, fucking the cum back into her. 

By the time Coriolanus caught his breath, he could hear the faint sound of Tigris’s heels coming down the hall. 

Mabel opened her eyes again, sure now that it was finally over. Coriolanus was hesitant to show his family his darker side. Mabel was subdued to never talk about it with threats to her family. So suspicions were never confirmed.

“Mabel?” The locked door jiggles. “Are you in there?” 

With a sigh, Coriolanus separates himself and goes over to the other side of the door. 

“Don’t come in, Tigris.” She couldn’t with the door locked anyway. “Mabel has been sick.”

He throws his gaze back to Mabel still tied to the bed.

“Let me in. I can help.” Tigris tries the locked door again. 

“She’s asked for privacy.” 

Mabel's brows furrow, but loosen as she forms a plan. While tied, her hands still had a little movement which she used to bang against the wooden headboard to alert her friend to her danger. 

Coriolanus rushes over and stills her hands firmly against the headboard. He was going to make her pay for that. 

Tigris had heard it and asked what the noise was. 

“Go away. Don’t worry. I’ll look after Mabel.”

Mabel instantly knew the underlying threat and went limp in his hold. 

He remains motionless until Tigris’s footsteps disappear back down the hall.

Only then does he move across the room to retrieve the cane used by her governess. 

It was a thin metal stick that a heavy piece of leather attached to the end that was used to smack down on hands. 

Mabel watched him as he brought it over. She pulled against her restraints but they were the best money could buy. 

He stood by her side, closest to the door so he could hear any more visitors.

Bringing the leather down to her clit, he began slapping the rod down unpleasantly.

He hit harder on her thighs, and more forcefully on her stomach, but only a rap on her breasts. He rotated randomly between the four areas of her cunt, thigh, stomach, and breasts, so she could never brace herself for the next hit.  

Her skin turned red from the assaults and her sobs hiccuped between her heavy breathing. 

There were sure to be black bruises the next day. A reminder for her. 

He taps the whip one-two-three-four times more harshly against her cunt than previously, before kneeling down and dropping it completely. 

He is at level with her perfect breast and he takes it into his mouth. His teeth grazed the sore and sensitive skin. He sucked like an infant while his hand groped her other breast between his fingers. He squeezed too hard for it to be of any pleasure for Mabel. 

He had grown painfully hard again. Now seeking his next relief he stands and unlocks one cuff with his fingerprint. 

Mabel instantly reaches for her gag but her wrist is caught and brought towards Coriolanus’s throbbing cock. She tries to pull her hand free but it is forced around his member and with his hand on top of hers, he begins to move it back and forth. 

She concedes and follows his movement with his hand now free and off hers, he uses it to redirect her face to what she is doing. 

He holds the back of her hair steady and keeps it in place as he feels his end nearing. 

His cum squirts out over her. Her face and chest now dripping with it. 

He was so caught up he failed to hear Tigris coming back down the hall. 

“Coryo, Mabel. Dinner is ready”. 

Coriolanus takes a deep breath before answering as evenly as he could, “We’ll be right there.” 

But he clips Mabel's hand back into the cuff. 

A whole afternoon of sex had relaxed Coriolanus. Everything that had bothered him before now seemed so silly. Was this all he needed all along to relieve the tension he always felt? He felt so good. But poor Mabel had taken his hurt. 

But she was bad and bad girls get punished. He had told her this. She needed to learn her place and this was a perfect example of it. 

Coriolanus wiped his cum from her chest down her stomach. She shuddered as he did it. She was sticky and wet and so, so beautiful. 

He looks down at his sticky hands and goes to the bathroom to wash them. Wiping a warm washcloth over himself to rid the mixture of cum he had picked up. He disregards the used washcloth and grabs another to wash the smell of sex off him. 

He runs it over his arms and shoulders as he walks to his closet to pick out an outfit for dinner. Deciding on his navy suit pants and white dress shirt, he finishes running the rag over himself and drops it to the floor.

Mabel was so still, if it wasn't for her shallow breathing, he would have thought he killed her. 

Now dressed, he goes back to her and stands on the end of the bed. He could hear the buzzing of the device but couldn’t see it. Mabel lay with her eyes closed, resting. 

He finds it and shoves it back inside of her. 

It causes her eyes to shoot back open. This time he was sure she was begging him to take it out. Her head shook ‘no’ when her words failed her. 

He smiles down at her, feeling like a god. 

“To make up for my previous inadequacies.” 

He leaves the room, making sure to relock it. 

Tigris, of course, asks him where Mabel was when he reached the dinner table. He continues with the ‘unwell’ lie and eats with a hunger he never knew, even during the war. 

—---

He skips dessert to attend to Mabel and warn off any more questions from Tigris. 

The room was quiet and dark. She lay on the bed motionless. The slight buzz sound could be heard the closer he got but Mabel's legs lay limp, unresponsive to it. 

He reaches down gently and pulls the device out for the final time. When he switches it off, Mabel considers the ordeal over. 

He unlocks the cuffs from her wrists and ankles and unties the rope from her knees. He half expects her to be filled with a burst of energy but all she could do is curl into a ball as she is released. Her eyes never open and her mouth never makes a sound. 

He switches on the lamp to see her more clearly. Her skin was still red and glistened with his cum. 

Her thighs were smeared with a small amount of blood that leaked from her abused hole. 

Perhaps he went too hard, but he didn’t feel sorry for it. 

She still doesn’t move as Coriolanus picks her up. No whimper or sound. She let him do what he wanted and that’s all he had ever asked of her. 

He places her in the large tub and runs hot water for her bath. Her head tilts to the side as she rests and Coriolanus brushes her hair from her face. 

He leaves her there to return to the bedroom, ringing down on the service phone for the changing of his sheets. 

The hot water begins to cover her body which is slumped down. He pulls her back up by her neck and keeps his hold in case she slips under. 

She sighs as the hot water surrounds  her. Her body ached with pain. If she had any water left in her she would have cried. 

Coriolanus leans against the bathtub watching as the water rises above her. It all seemed surreal to finally have done the debauched acts he had dreamed about doing since he first saw her. Just having sex was one thing, but that was a performance. A period of time when he could do anything and everything he wanted. A quickie in the shower or a quiet struggle at night did not satisfy Coriolanus the way this had. 

He had to get Tigris and Grandma’am out of the house, or he and Mabel could leave. He could no longer live by their rules. He wanted Mabel completely under his control like she was an hour ago, not safeguarded by virtuous Tigris. 

He had waited all through his tortuous months as a Peacekeeper, watching her as she was protected by men much larger than himself. Even with his position and weapons, he was no match if one of them decided to fight him off. But now he was. Now no one stood in his way, apart from Dr. Gaul. But once he won the presidency, he would deal with her then. 

He remembered the night of Mayfair’s murder. Watching Mabel as Lucy Gray sang his song. She had her hair twisted on top of her head, hot and sweaty from dancing. She was surrounded by her friends and hopeful men and sat drinking something that was bought for her. She talked through his song to her man on her left. She was missing the song. He wanted to do something. To force her to listen to the words of the song. 

He was desirable just like her. He was powerful, and resourceful. Saved Lucy Gray from the Hunger Games. If she would just listen, surely she would want him just as Lucy Gray had. But she laughed over his name. The anger he felt proved useful when it came time to kill Mayfair but buried itself into his body until it could be released upon his target. Tonight it left his body, and Coriolanus felt as if a weight had been released. 

He turns off the water, hearing a forceful knock at the door. The maids were here to change the sheets.

‘‘Sit up. Don’t drown.” He demands, letting go of Mabel's neck to answer the door. 

To his surprise, Tigris stood with the maids. Her tall frame towered over them. 

He was careful only to let the maids through the door. 

“She’s thrown up all over the bed. Leave her be, Tigris.”

She eyes the room behind him, trying to find Mabel. She offers to make up the spare bed for him to sleep in, but he knew it was to create distance between him and Mabel. 

It hit the final nail on his decision, Tigris and Grandma’am could no longer live with him. 

“I’ll stay with her tonight to make sure she is alright.” He shoves himself through his door and slams it in Tigris’s face. 

The maids had stripped the bed and he ordered one to fetch him two bottles of water before disappearing back into the bathroom. 

The door is shut offering privacy. 

Mabel still had her eyes closed and a crumpled frame. He resumes his spot on the floor next to her. 

“I would like an apology for your comment last night.” 

She doesn’t offer one. Coriolanus was glad. He wanted to keep at least some of her fighting spirit. 

But disobedience still had to be punished. 

He lowers his hand down into the water towards her sex. She jolts, squeezing her legs as tightly as her weak muscles would allow.

“Okay-okay. I am sorry.” Her voice was raspy and barely existent. 

He lets her finish her bath in peace. The water was nearly cold by the time he reached down and pulled the plug from under her. 

She had rarely moved as she soaked. He doesn’t wait for the water to disappear as he picks her up from the tub and moves her to sit on the counter by the sink. Her body was weak and she leaned against the glass as he dried her with a towel. 

He rolled up his wet sleeves, unsure of why he didn’t do it earlier. He had just wanted to get Mabel out of the bath and into bed but at even the slightest expense to himself? Maybe he was just tired also. 

He brought her forward so he could reach behind her for her toothbrush. She tries to take it after he applies the paste, but he is resistant to give it to her. Her hold was so weak, that it would surely topple to the floor.

He forces it between her lips to give her teeth a quick brush. The foam dribbles down her chin as she spit it out. Using the same towel, he wipes her clean before picking her up once more. 

He sits her on the ottoman and she falls back into the newly made bed. She was so tired. She couldn’t care where or how she slept. But Coriolanus did. 

He found his nicest pair of silk pajamas. They were deep brown and soft as butter. 

She was awake enough to see him bring them back over but they were entirely wrong for her. 

They reeked of him. They fit her too loosely. Reminded her too much of all she had lost. 

They caused a surge of energy. Enough to sit up and resist the clothes as Coriolanus dressed her like a doll. It was a struggle to get her hand through the first sleeve but as his movements became rougher, her fight fled. 

He wondered why it was so important that she was clean and comfortable. Why didn’t he leave her in her own mess, or let her sleep naked if she was going to fight him on it? What did it say about him? About how he felt about Mabel?

He assured himself it was the war. He had very little but always took very good care of the things he did have. This was the same. He was only ensuring that his things would last. 

Besides, when she was good, he would treat her nicely. He could, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t ruthless enough to run Panem. He was sure that even Dr. Gaul let her favorite pets sleep in the bed with her. 

As soon as he pulled her up to her pillow and laid her down into the fresh sheets, she fell asleep. It was the easiest bedtime since she was brought here. He pulls the blanket over her, tucking her in before he has his own shower. 

He returns to the dim light, straining to see if Mabel was awake. 

Mabel had not moved, even in her sleep.

He dresses and turns off the lamp. He wiggled next to Mabel, lowering his shoulder from its natural height so Mabel's cheek was pressed against it. It was silly and out of place after everything he had done, but it felt right to him. 

He wondered how she would wake. Would it be with a newfound obedience or did Coriolanus have many more nights like this on the cards? He secretly hoped for the latter. 

—-----------

When Coriolanus woke the next morning Mabel was still asleep. 

In his kindness, he decided to let her sleep longer. Last night was sure to have worn her out. 

He takes another shower, taking time to groom himself and apply his skin care. 

When he was finished, Mabel was still asleep. It was early, not even seven in the morning, so Coriolanus finished dressing without disturbing her. 

She looked so small in the massive bed. So delicate. If he didn’t know her, he would have never believed that such a small frame could carry such a big mouth. 

He closes the door quietly as he exits for breakfast.

Grandma’am and Tigris were already sitting at the table, picking food from the center. 

“Where’s Mabel?” Tigris asked.

“Asleep,” Coriolanus takes a pastry off the centerpiece and talks to the maid as he sits, “Put aside a plate for her.”

“You’re not going to wake her for breakfast?”

“She is still ill.” 

“Lazy,” Grandma’am spits out, “Districts are all lazy.” 

“Oh dear, maybe I should stay home today.” Tigris offers. 

“And watch her sleep?” Coriolanus mocks. Mabel knew to keep their relationship between the two of them but after last night it was best to err on the side of caution. 

“She’s sick, Coriolanus. She needs someone to take care of her.” 

She was Coriolanus's pet and Coriolanus's responsibility. 

“The Peacekeepers have a direct line to my office. If she needs something they can’t provide, I will take care of it.” 

Tigris pushes back her eggs, no longer hungry. 

“I still think-” she begins but Coriolanus’s temper flares. 

“You know what I think, Tigris? Perhaps it would be best for Mabel and I to find an apartment closer to the city.” 

“Move out from the Snow penthouse?” Grandma’am exclaims. 

“If Tigris will not stop interfering, what choice do we have, Grandma’am?” Coriolanus responds. 

“Interfere? Interfere with what exactly? Your violation of that poor girl? Is she sick, or have you done something to her? This is-this is…No!” Tigris gets up flustered.

“Sit down, Tigris,” Coriolanus demands, “Mabel is sick. It was bound to happen. She is District. She is not used to Capitol illnesses.’’ 

“Listen to your cousin, dear. Sit.” Grandma’am beckons. 

Grandma’am knew that if Coriolanus was to move out, his protection would go with him. Grandma’am had lived a hard and bitter life since the war, she was determined to die in peace. 

Tigris does sit back down, but remains in her frazzled state. 

Mabel was still asleep by the time everyone had left the apartment. Coriolanus left her a bottle of water and some painkillers next to her on her bedside, alongside a note letting her know there was food in the fridge for her. 

Work was more bearable with last night still running through his mind. He was in a good mood all day. It made him stand out amongst his gloomy coworkers. Nothing was too much trouble. He could take that extra task on. He could wait while his assistant readied documents due hours ago. 

Mabel was going to be of great use when he became President. He laughs quietly to himself as fleshes out his new game ideas on paper. 

“President Snow, how do you manage the pressure of it all?”

“The satisfaction of knowing I am serving my country keeps me preserving through difficult times.”

Meanwhile, Mabel would be back at the presidential estate tied to his bed, waiting for him. 

A small giggle escapes into the silent room and floats through the air. Coriolanus sits up straighter, fixing his face into a scowl as people look for the source of the laughter. 

Did Dr. Gaul laugh?  Did Dr Gaul ever kiss and pet her animals? What would she think of him if she could see him giddy as a schoolboy?

He used to pride himself on his self-control but Mabel had deteriorated it. 

She was a source of pleasure, where he had only known pain. The pain kept him sharp. 

He was doing so well. Too well to be thrown off balance by her. 

He reshuffles his pages to a blank piece. With Mabel on his mind, his proposal was weak. 

To impress Dr Gaul, he needed to show her that he was just as ruthless in his pleasure, as he was in his pain. 

—---------

He got home an hour after he was supposed to. No one was surprised when he was late. Not with the games just around the corner. 

His tired eyes were looking forward to seeing Mabel, but as he entered the apartment only Grandma’am, and Tigris greeted him. 

He kisses Grandma’am hello as she croons about his long day. Tigris sat in the living room matching patterns, clearly still angry. 

“Where’s Mabel?” he asks. He knew she was either in the kitchen or bedroom, but it seemed odd that she would leave her friend. They were normally joined at the hip as soon as Tigris came home from work. 

Tigris’s eyes shoot up at him. Before Mabel, Tigris had never looked at him with such hatred.

“She’s in bed. She hasn’t moved all day. I sat with her for an hour, she didn’t say a word.” 

Coriolanus makes his way to the bedroom to see it is completely dark. She didn’t even move to turn on a lamp. 

His sounders tensed with the thought that he had damaged his new toy. He had only wanted to control the spark, not extinguish it. 

He knew she could hear him as he approached her but she gave him no attention. 

He hoped to at least have her yell at him. Demand he get out, but everything was silent. 

Sitting on the bed next to her, he places a hand on her shoulder and speaks softly. 

“Mabel get up.”

She ignores him which angers him greatly. 

He sees she has taken her painkillers and drank her water. She had no reason to act this bratty. 

“What you did yesterday was…” She pauses to take a breath. 

Coriolanus’s mind races with answers: Exhilarating, memorable, long overdue. 

“Cruel.” She finished. From her perspective, maybe.

“You know, I’ve spent all day trying to remember you back in 12. I can only remember that night at the Hobb. Your eyes. So blue.” Her green eyes look up at his, “They gave you away.”

He could remember every occasion that Mabel came into view. But he watched from the shadows, and she danced in the light. 

“Mabel, I have given you no delusions as to why you are here. I’ve been very honest about your situation.” 

“Did you kill Mayfair?”

“Yes,” he admits. He felt his secret was safe with her. 

“Lucy Gray?” 

“Yes.” 

She doesn’t look afraid. Only defiant. It relieved Coriolanus to no end. He hadn’t broken his favorite toy. She was regaining her strength for battle. 

She sits up causing Coriolanus to lean slightly back to avoid a collision.

“Your eyes,” she states, “There’s something so dark behind them, that’s why I remembered them. I thought ‘run Lucy Gray!’ when I saw them.”

“She tried.” 

“I won’t run.”

“You won’t get the chance.” Coriolanus rises from the bed but keeps his eyes trained on Mabel. 

“I won’t run,” she repeats, “I’ll kill you.” 

He took her jaw roughly into his hands, turning it left and right as he spoke. 

“There’s not a single thought in that pretty little head of yours, is there?”

“There’s only one.” 

Coriolanus smiles down at her, despite her threat. She was so beautiful with her long dark eyelashes and her long dark hair that twisted past her shoulders and lay splayed out around her.

“I watched you for months as a Peacekeeper. Imagining all the things I would do if I could.'' He tucks her hair back behind her ear as he continues speaking, “Now here you are. Right under my fingertips. Mine. Free to do as I wish with.” 

He pushes her head back as he releases his hold of her jaw to stand.

“You thought I was cruel last night? Imagine what I am capable of when I am truly motivated.”

 He pulls down his sleeves that had rode up from his movements. It was important to look put together at all times. 

“I’ve dreamt of you for so long, Mabel . I will have you exactly how I want.”

“For now,” she concedes.

He squints his eyes at her. The things he would do if Tigris wasn't already waiting. 

“You need to come out and show Tigris that you are fine.” 

He could tell that she was in pain from her tense and slow movements but her face was brave.

Still dressed in his brown nightwear, she walks tall to the door, never looking behind her. 

—--------------

Coriolanus arrives home well after dinner due to Dr. Gaul arriving back in the Capitol. Now that the screening locations were picked, she didn’t want her efforts to be wasted. They all had to think of ways to prolong the screening. 

She was happy with nothing unless it added to the misery of districts. Coriolanus watched as she pushed and hinted at what she truly wanted. She was not interested in sharing ideas, she only wanted the participation of the group to distribute the blame. They were all in this together.

 All monsters of the Capitol. All a fine example of the human condition: hidden by fine clothing, and etiquette but at the core animals that believed in nothing but survival of the fittest. 

Coriolanus finally guessed at what she was getting at, and they could all go home, nearly three hours after the official day had ended. 

Coriolanus was eager to get home and relieve some of the stress that he felt. Gamemaking was not for the faint of heart. 

They had waited to have dinner with him, much to Coriolanus’s annoyance. Grandma’am was adamant that it was disrespectful to eat without the man who put the food on the table. 

It fanned Coriolanus's ego so he sat alongside Mabel and ate his dinner in silence. 

All he wanted to do was retire to his room with Mabel and read. He skipped dessert to do so, much to Mabel's disappointment. 

He did enjoy Mabel's company. Even just her presence in the room helped to settle him. Was she a symbol of his power? A silent promise to the man he is to become? He had no idea why she had this effect on him, only that she did. 

After a whole day of tense conversation with Dr Gaul, he could finally relax and read his book. 

He forced Mabel to do her reading homework as well, so she didn’t annoy him. 

Her book was for Capitol children and yet it still was above her level. She sat on the bed trying to read it while Coriolanus stretched out on his desk, reading for pleasure. 

She grew frustrated, throwing her book onto the floor. Coriolanus shuts his own book to pay attention to her. 

“Something the matter?”

“The cat sat on the mat, the mat sat on the cat. Who cares? Not me.” 

Her hair was pinned up by something but it was mostly coming apart. Ringlets fall and frame her face, giving her an endearing disheveled look. 

With his book back on his desk, Coriolanus goes to entertain Mabel.

Mabel is pushed to the bed as Coriolanus crawls on top of her, his head aiming for her neck. She lays unenthusiastically beneath him.

“Is Tigris dumb?”

Coriolanus stopped kissing her neck to respond. 

“What?”

“I wouldn’t mind if she’s dumb,” Her eyes focused on a faraway spot in the corner, Coriolanus had trouble regaining her attention. 

“But she’s my friend,” Mabel continues, “And she acts like she doesn’t know what you are doing. If she ain’t dumb, then she ain’t loyal. And if she ain’t loyal, we ain’t friends.” 

‘‘Isn’t,’’ he goes back to his work on her neck, ‘‘Are not.” 

He rises once more to look at her,  “We don’t say ‘ain’t’.”

“Well, I say ‘ain’t’.” Mabel pushes back on his shoulders and he takes it as a sign that more forceful measures must be taken. 

“She told me, ya know. About your childhood. How she looked after you, how poor you were. She reckons that’s why you are the way you are.”

“Mabel, don’t make yourself familiar with me.” He grabs her arm harshly and pulls her from where she lay into a kneeling position on the floor. 

“‘He doesn’t mean it,’ she said. ‘He’s been through a lot’.”

Coriolanus undoes his pants, and Mabel remains kneeling on the floor. 

“So maybe she is just dumb.” Her words are fierce but her frame shrinks underneath him. Her hands stuck together on her lap, her spine slightly curled like she wanted to roll herself into a ball. 

Coriolanus grabs her jaw to straighten her, his other hand snaking into her hair. He stands up and positions himself correctly. She couldn’t be trusted to do it by herself, so he kept a strong hold on her jaw to ensure it didn’t close, and a painful grip on the back of her head to ensure that she didn’t move away. 

He begins to fuck her mouth at a frustrated pace. 

She chokes as he pushes himself all the way in. Slamming his hips back and forth into her. 

She reaches up to take hold of the back of his pant leg, trying to steady herself.

“You don’t look like a big, tough girl now. Do you still feel like one?” he taunts, feeling her nails dig into the fabric of his pants. 

“Getting awfully friendly with me. Are we friends, Mabel? Or are you my little slut?”

His hips buck harshly in time with his words, “My-beautiful-little-slut.” 

Before resuming their quick, and needy pace, he spat out “You know what your problem is, Mabel. You never know when to shut the fuck up.” 

Her fingers curl around the fabric of his pants.

“You’re so brave, Mabel. And what did it get you? A mouthful of cock. A belly full of cum. Was it worth it?”

He could feel her jaw move under his hand but his tight hold disallowed her speech. He was going to talk, she was going to listen. 

“You think I like being cruel?  I do.  But you know what I think? You like it too. You like being shown who's boss. Again-Ah- and again.” 

He slows his pace down, dragging his cock slowly along her tongue.

“Those District boys never quite did it for you. Did they? That's why you kept cycling through them. You were waiting for a man like me to put you in your place. On your knees.” 

Her eyes flamed at him but she could do nothing more. 

She gags when he pushes too far but he doesn’t stop. 

Drool spilt from the corner of her mouth, and her eyes watered but he felt no pity. 

“You’re not dumb, Mabel. Haven’t you realized that when you’re nice, I am nice? Or have you realized that when you’re mean, I am mean?’’.

He laughs at her, angry and powerless on the floor. She digs her nails into the back of his thighs. With four more uncontrolled thrusts, he spills into her mouth and throws her back like a dirty rag.

She’s left on the floor, eyes watering and gasping for air with cum dripping off her lips. 

He drags her by the arm to the corner of the room where he forces her back into her knees facing the wall. 

“You don’t want to read your book? Fine.” 

He balances it on top of her head. “Stay there while I finish mine.”

Mabel, still ever so defiant, turns as he walks away and throws the book at him. Hitting him with a thud against his back. 

“You sick fuck!” she calls out. She goes to get up but Coriolanus is too quick for her, grabbing a thin book from his stack and shoving it between her teeth. He pushes her shoulder back towards the wall, reaching blindly for the rod he knew was close at hand. 

Feeling the cool metal between his fingers he brings it four times against her back. The book drops as she shouts and Coriolanus’s hand replaces it until the fourth strike hits. 

He picks it up again. It was a thin book, only 100 pages in length about the legislative process of government. It was short in nature given the hierarchy of parliament. It could be summed up in a sentence: the president spoke and the rest rushed to make his sentence a reality. 

He tells her to bite down and she does against the spin of the book. With her there, he goes to the locked drawer at his desk where he hid his toys from the maid. He brings out the cuffs he brought and secures her hands behind her back to make her task harder. 

Rebalancing the book, he leaves her there to return to his book at his desk.

He kept the cane in his hand, bringing it down across her every time the book fell. She remained completely still even as her neck strained. It annoyed Coriolanus so he took another book from his collection and placed it upon her thin child's book to add weight. She dropped it more easily, but the sting of the cane had her soon learning how to evenly distribute the weight. 

He had three more heavy books stacked on top of her head by the time he was finished reading for the night. 

She blinked tears away but made no sound or change to her straight posture. 

He took his books back from her head and teeth, placing them in their rightful places on the shelf. 

She was smart not to move, and he rewarded her for it by crouching down next to her and wiping her tears away with his handkerchief. She doesn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on the white wall. 

He takes hold of her jaw again to raise her from the floor and leads her to the shower. 

—-----------------

Another long day at the office left Coriolanus wishing for Reaping Day. 

 The sooner it was all over, the better for his nerves. 

Normally, on the way home he would listen to the radio news but after his exhausting day, all he wanted was silence. He knew he would no longer get it at home. The car pulled up to the curb of his building but he couldn't force himself to get out. He watched the lights of the building and the people as they entered and exited. 

He sighed deeply when he saw Mabel's Governess coming from the building. They were supposed to be done hours ago. 

He rushes out of the car as she approaches. 

“Mrs. Fox. What has she done now?”

The older woman jumped at the sound of his voice but regained herself as she turned. 

“Oh nothing, Mr. Snow,” she looked surprised to say it, “I was just visiting a friend in the same building. Mabel finished all her work diligently. We were done within four hours, and I didn't raise the cane once.”

Coriolanus smiled. Was it over? Had he done it? Maybe he was ready to be President. If he had trusted his instincts on the first day Mabel would be eating out of his hand right now. He had done it. He had won. 

“Well, that's good news.” He walks the teacher to her car, feeling generous. 

“I know I could get through to her with a heavy hand. You really must let me use my teaching experience. 

Coriolanus felt too good to correct her so he just bids her goodnight and leaps up the steps into his apartment building. 

He greets people as he makes his way through the building, avoiding conversation where he could. He was glad when the neighbor left the shared space of the elevator, sending the old woman off with a nod. The silence was refreshing after his day of non-stop chatter. He liked that Mabel didn’t speak much, at least not to him. 

The Peacekeepers greeted him as the doors opened before taking his place in the elevator. He doesn’t greet them back, focused only on opening the door and retiring to bed. 

He looks around the room to Grandma’am who sits at the kitchen table reading a gossip magazine and Tigris who is helping Mabel sew a large dress. 

Mabel wore a big, bright smile as she walked over to him and took his coat. It wasn't an unwelcome change but one that put Coriolanus on edge.

“Coryo, how was your day?” Tigris called from her seat on the couch. 

“Fine,” he answers. With Mabel still within reach he places a quick kiss on her cheek. Her eyes widened in surprise before her face scrunched into disgust. 

With his coat hung up, she leaves him by the door, going back to Tigris. The corners of her mouth twisted up into a smile. She bit down upon her lip, trying to stifle a giggle. 

He had an unsettled feeling as he walked from the living room to his bedroom. He expected glum Mabel, defeated Mabel but not gleeful Mabel. 

Opening the door he could see why. 

His books had been thrown to the floor, pages torn out and spines broken. He had nearly a whole wall full and she had taken every single one and torn it apart with her bare hands. Coriolanus had been a boy who had nothing, and even now as a man who had everything, watching his things get destroyed gave him a sick feeling. 

His bag drops by his feet and picks up the book closest to him. Chocolate was squished between the white pages. The book was borrowed from one of his professors. A first edition and highly expensive.  

He was going to kill Mabel. 

He dashes out of the room, and back to the living room where she was expecting him. 

She eyes him on the couch, eagerly. 

Alarm bells ring in his head. She wanted him to react but why? He was too angry to care. 

He had expected her to move so when his fist came down, it came down with more force than he would have normally used, which sent her off the couch and onto the floor. Despite how angry he was, he forced himself to uncurl his hand into an open palm. He straddles her, bringing his hand down across her face as many times as he could before Tigris could hinder his movements. 

“Coriolanus!” he could hear the fear in Tigris's voice and it clicked for him. Mabel had set him a trap and he had fallen straight into it. 

She wanted to expose him to his family. Make a fool out of him. 

He got off her, falling back on his legs, his eyes going to Grandma’am at the table. Her face froze with shock. 

This was too much for even Grandma’am who used to let him steal toys from other children in the playground. 

Mabel manages to get up, grabbing the fabric scissors off the table as she gains distance between them. 

“Touch me again, and I’ll fucking kill you.” She threatens. She holds the scissors in a tight grip towards Coriolanus. Grandma’am cries out in panic but she is largely ignored. 

“Let's just calm down,” Tigris soothes. 

Coriolanus rises from his spot. He could feel his rage ripple through him. 

“Drop the fucking scissors. You won’t use it.” He demands. 

“What to bet?” she spat. The scrapping of the kitchen chair breaks their standoff. 

“I am calling the Peacekeepers” Grandma’am attempts to make a break to the kitchen but she is slow in her old age. 

“Don’t!” Coriolanus growls. He wished Tigris and Grandma’am would melt into the floor so he would deal with this. 

“What a game you played, Coriolanus. So smart, so charming. It must have been exhausting for you” she mocks. “Is that what I am for you? Something you can toy with after playing Capitol pin-up boy all day?”

“I care for you, Mabel.” He admits, his face turns slightly pink from the heat of his embarrassment. He felt foolish to admit such a thing in front of his family. 

She scoffs at him, turning to Tigris. 

“Do you see?” She asks, “Do you see who he is?”

All eyes are on Tigris, who stood in silence giving her answer away. 

He had to get her back under control before she could forever ruin his and Tigris's relationship. 

“You want to go home?” Coriolanus takes a cautious step forward, “I am willing to make a trade.” 

Mabel listens.

“I hear your sister is growing up to be quite pretty. She’s too young to be of any use to me for years, so I’ll take your mother in the meantime.” 

“Coriolanus.” Tigris' voice is hard and cold.

 It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him. But he was a Snow. Snow’s are not threatened, they are the threat. Does this District girl think she can make a fool out of him? That she could use his family to stronghold him? 

“I’ll send your mother back once your sister hits the right age.” 

“I’ll kill you.” Mabel threatens but her tone is weak, and her lips quiver. Coriolanus knew he was on the right track.

 “Don’t you understand, Mabel? Your life ended when you were placed on that train. It belongs to me now. I took you as easily as I can take them.”

“Not if you’re dead.” She declared. 

“Kill me Mabel, and it would be as if you slit their throats yourself.” 

She knew it too. That's why she never took a lunge. 

“Drop the scissors,” Coriolanus contends, “And I’ll forget it happened.” 

“Do you see him, Tigris? He’s not the boy you raised, he’s the boy you lost. Do you see?”

Coriolanus wasn’t sure when Tigris had begun crying but she stood now with her hands clapped up to her face and big, fat tears running down her face. 

“Yes,” Tigris sobbed. 

Mabel threw the scissors away from herself and Coriolanus took her arm, leading her to the bedroom before she could cause any more damage to his relationship with his cousin. He locks the door, making sure to double-check it before he hurries back to do damage control. 

Grandma’am and Tigris hadn’t left the living room. He doesn’t think they have moved since his outburst. He was so good at only showing them his best side. He hid the Snow that lurked beneath him all those years at the Academy, even the day he told them he was leaving for Peacekeeper training. All those years of self-restraint blown over by a hot-tempered girl in an afternoon. 

“Tigris,” he begins, reaching out to her but she jerks back away from him. 

“No, Coriolanus. No. I can’t sit by and watch you torment that poor girl.”

She begins to shove her work into her suitcase, throwing the scissors hard into the bottom.  

He felt a switch flip in him. She was going against him? After all he had done for her? Brought their family from ruin all off his own back. Slaved over his grades. Went to school hungry so that she could have more to eat. He got punished for cheating in the hunger games so he could win the Plinth Prize and keep a roof over her head. And now, she was going to take a District's side over him?

“Then don’t watch.” 

Coriolanus turns towards his office, the words of peace Grandma’am spewed behind him got lost in the slammed door. 

He immediately contacted a colleague who owned a collection of high-end resorts and inquired about the best apartment that he had available. His next call was to his driver and then to the Peacekeepers telling them to come inside in the next five minutes. 

When he entered Tigris' room she was already there. She begins the lecture again but this time Coriolanus is unfazed as he grabs one of her many bags and starts to shove whatever his hand touches into it. This stops her. 

The startled sound she made was new to Coriolanus. He always tried to hide his dark side to avoid scaring her, just as she always hid her panic to avoid worrying him. Tonight Mabel brought the emotions to the surface. 

“What are you doing?” she asks meekly. 

“I told you, Tigris. Mind your business or get out.”

She doesn’t stop him as he packs her things. 

“You aren’t serious. This is my home!” 

Coriolanus makes no verbal response causing Tigris to sit on her bed to absorb the blow. 

She had to leave. To save their relationship. Coriolanus planned to do much worse things to Mabel. 

Mabel too, needed to know that his family were not playthings for her. He couldn’t be seen cowering in the shadows any longer. He was the leader of the Snow family, it was time he acted like it. 

He could hear Grandma’am. Her loud, high-pitched voice quivered as it exclaimed to the Peacekeepers the events of the night. Coriolanus raced to stop her.  

“Coriolanus!” she calls as he enters the room. 

He takes her into his arms and speaks softly to the woman, “Go back a bag, Grandma'am. I’ll send the rest after you.” 

Coriolanus held her a bit tighter as she turned pale. Would shifting her from the Snow penthouse kill her? She could have her rose garden anywhere. He will ensure it. The new apartment was closer to the city anyway. This would be better for them all. 

After a moment of silence, Grandma’am stood tall. Her face was blank from emotion as she shook her youngest grandchild from her. 

“You,” she points to a Peacekeeper, “Follow me.” 

Silence overtook the room again as the sound of heavy boots and light heels made their way together. 

“Coriolanus!”His name is yelled down the hallway. “No. No, I won’t go!” 

Tigris’s screaming interrupted Mabel's banging. The noise was too much for Coriolanus, whose temper flared once more. 

“The bag is in the end room.” he seethed to the remaining Peacekeeper who took off at his command. 

Mabel screamed Tigris’s name, thinking her friend was in danger. 

“Shut up!’’ Coriolanus screamed down the hall. 

“I won’t go. I won’t leave Mabel. You can’t do this!” It was hard to hear her over Mabel’s incessant banging. 

“Please, don’t do this, Coryo. This isn’t you.” 

Tigris stills at her own words. The war-torn boy was no longer there. She wasn’t sure if the child she raised was still in there. 

The same blue eyes that used to cry with her out of hunger now glared back at her. His father's eyes. Full of hate. 

The Peacekeeper returns with the bag and gently places a hand on Tigris’s arm to lead her to the door. She goes willingly, too dazed to resist. 

Grandma’am kisses him goodbye, shadowed by the young Peacekeeper holding an impressive amount of bags given the small time frame. 

He is left alone for the first time in the Snow Penthouse. 

Mabel continued pounding the door. She was screaming but her words were muffled and Coriolanus’s ears ringed with his own consequences. 

He had got everything he wanted but it has cost him everything he had. 

The shattering of something caught his attention. He sprints to his locked bedroom door, and bangs back against the door, bringing his face up to the wood so she could hear him. 

“You hear that, Mabel? It's the sound of your only friend leaving.” 

—-------

Reaping day was finally here, and Coriolanus felt the most nervous he had ever been. Even the day of the Plinth Prize, or the first day as a Peacekeeping grunt. This was much worse. This was a situation that he couldn’t crawl his way out from. It depended entirely on Mabel. 

She took all day to prepare to the Capitol’s standards. A team of beauty technicians came around and spent hours waxing, shaping, styling, and dying. 

The Reaping was at noon and the team had been working since eight getting Mabel ready. It was well worth the effort. Her natural features were enhanced, her curls fought into submission, and the treatment on her olive skin left it glowy and smooth.

 He caught her looking at herself on reflective surfaces.

 Her dress was a plain black halter-neck dress that reached her ankles. A large white, satin bow skewed over her hip, tying together in a large bow on the opposite side. It pinned her dress together so there was a large slit that allowed for the viewing of her fine legs. Even in heels, she only reached Coriolanus’ shoulder in height.

She certainly looked the part, but could she act it? Coriolanus could tell she was worried. Her fingers fiddled with her bow, and her attention was hard to keep.

It was a big day for her, and her family. Any trouble and they were to pay the price. 

Dr. Gaul was to arrive soon. The servants stood along the wall, waiting. Mabel sat on the couch while Coriolanus paced in front of her. 

“Remember, always refer to her as Dr. Gaul. Don’t speak unless spoken to, and no backchat. Mabel, no backchat.” 

To Coriolanus’s surprise, she gives him a nod instead of an eye roll.

As if summoned, the doorbell rang and a servant was quick to attend it. 

Her small frame haunted the doorway. No longer in her lab coat, Dr. Gaul wore a maroon pantsuit that widened her broad shoulders. 

“Dr. Gaul.” Coriolanus greets but is ignored as Dr. Gual makes her way to Mabel. 

Dr. Gaul looks Mabel up and down, seeming to approve by the end of the inspection. 

“A pretty bird,” she said to no one in particular. 

Mabel’s lips pressed together. 

“Dr. Gaul, would you like a drink?” Coriolanus tries to take her gaze off Mabel. They were a team today, and Coriolanus would try and protect Mabel as much as he could. 

His tactic worked, turning Dr. Gaul from the young girl to the servant with the tray. 

All too quickly, Dr. Gaul turns her attention back to Mabel, extending her gloved hand. 

“Dr. Volumnia Gaul.” 

Mabel reaches out and accepts the handshake. 

“Dr. Gaul, I have heard lots about you.”

Dr. Gaul's eyes quickly flicker to Coriolanus before resettling on Mabel. 

“Not as much as I have heard about you, I bet.”

The Panem national anthem is heard from the television. It was the perfect opportunity to usher the pair towards the lounge and away from the conversation. 

They stand as the anthem plays. Coriolanus could barely breathe as time was swallowed by the song. It was a minute and 16 seconds of free time and Coriolanus was grateful for every second. 

All too soon Lucy Flickerman appeared on the screen and the pair followed Dr. Gauls' lead to sit. 

Servants hovered over them offering food and drink but Dr. Gaul kept careful watch of Mabel who sat, hidden by Coriolanus. 

“I am surprised at your composure, Mabel. Today must be hard for you.” Dr. Gaul provoked. 

“Not since I turned 18.” Mabel leans closer to Dr. Gaul, and Coriolanus has to refrain from yanking her back. 

“I’s rather hopeful today. Adelaide Bennet owes me money and it’s her last chance to get picked.”

Dr. Gaul smiles back at her. 

“Well let’s remain hopeful then.” Dr. Gaul returns to the television as the presenter makes his introduction. 

Mabel leans back in her seat to watch the ceremony and Coriolanus takes the opportunity to lay an arm across her shoulders to stop her from leaning forward again. 

The tributes were picked and then called on stage to be asked questions. It was a terrible idea. Most just cried or just stood there. Coriolanus made a mental note to scrap it next year. 

Dr. Gaul who normally loved to watch the dismay of tributes, shuffled in her seat towards Mabel. 

Coriolanus motioned for the servants to serve more drinks. Trying to distract any further conversation between the two. 

“Are you enjoying the Capitol, Miss Mabel?”

“Yes. I love this apartment.” Mabel quipped. Coriolanus dug his fingertips into her shoulder. 

Dr Gaul grinned at her backchat. “Well, I suppose you haven’t seen much beyond the bedroom walls.” 

Coriolanus could feel Mabel flinch under him. She had hit a sore spot but Mabel put on a brave face. 

“Is there much more beyond that?” 

Mabel and Coriolanus shared the same philosophy of never letting anyone see your weakness. 

It impressed Dr. Gaul. Coriolanus watched her from the corner of his eye as Dr. Gaul revels in all that is Mabel. 

“Whoa,” Mabel exclaimed, wanting nothing more than to switch topics, “That’s a clear winner if I ever saw one.” 

The man on the screen was large. Coming from District 2 where they trained to be victors. 

“Hmm,” Dr. Gaul agreed. 

“The interviews were a bad idea,” Coriolanus comments, trying to hide Mabel from the attention, “Prescott only has bad ideas. Why do we let him contribute?”

“Because Prescott’s father is a large contributor to the Games. We all make sacrifices for the good of the Games.” Dr. Gaul returns. 

“We also need the presenters to act more lively. Make it interesting.” 

Coriolanus engaged Dr. Gaul with further adjustments to the Reaping as long as he could while Mabel sat silent and beautiful. 

Coriolanus got nervous the closer the Reaping got to District 12. Mabel was already cracking. 

When she saw her home, would she hit a breaking point? What if she saw her family in the crowd? Could she keep her composure? 

District 4’s interviews finished and the camera shifted to District 5. 

“Mr. Snow tells me you used to wash Peacekeeper uniforms.”

Dr. Gaul had no interest in the Games. The focal point of the evening turned to Mabel. She seemed unphased, drinking liberality. 

“I did.”

Mabel takes a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving the television. 

“I heard you had quite the reputation back in 12.” 

Coriolanus wanted to interject, to somehow change the conversation to himself but he knew it was the wrong move. Dr. Gaul would only push further if he tried to change directions. 

“Yes, I was quite the washer.” 

He was sure that was it. Mabel’s tongue would be in his hands by tomorrow.

To Coriolanus' surprise, Dr. Gaul began to laugh. A deep chuckle that turned her away from Mabel, and hunched her frame into itself. 

Her hand reached back out once she was done and patted Mabel’s knee. Mabel ignored it but her grip around her glass tightened. 

“You must come to see my laboratory one day, Mabel. Put my experiments to shame.”

Coriolanus felt a swirl of pride go through him. Dr. Gaul was jealous of his pet. 

“You’re asking the wrong person, Dr. Gaul,” Mabel says, ducking her knee from the woman’s hand. 

“Coriolanus,” Mabel directs, “What do you think?”

She had passed the ball back to him, unable to front the fire from Dr Gaul. He could kiss her for it. 

“Maybe, if you are well-behaved enough,” he replies. He takes a sip of his own drink, noticing it was untouched. He too, had to seem unbothered. 

It would never happen though. He would create as much distance as he could between Mabel and Dr. Gaul’s laboratory, He hated it himself. Mutated creatures put on display in glass cabinets. 

Sometimes when he was forced to go there the sound of screaming deafened him. Some were clearly animals, but others seemed too human to dismiss. 

Dr. Gaul began to laugh again, this time letting her company see the thin lines as they appeared on her face to accommodate her laughter. She looked odd smiling. Coriolanus preferred her when she was angry. 

“Oh!” Dr. Gaul crooned, “You’re good at games. I wish I knew that before I let this go on. Maybe you could have helped.”

Her attention was back on the television, and her usual dissatisfied expression was back on her face. 

A District 9 boy was called up on stage amongst the silence

. 

“Yes, this year is far too gloomy to inspire Capitol glory,” Mabel gibbed. 

“Glory?” Mabel piqued Dr.Gaul's interest again, “Is that what you think the Games are for? Capitol glory?” 

Her tone conveyed she thought it was the wrong answer. 

“I think glory does more for Capitol order than sending children to fight to the death ever will.”

“And what does it do?” Dr. Gaul pushes. 

“It reminds us of our place.” Mabel was happy to end the conversation there, and Coriolanus tried to assist her by ordering the avoxes to serve lunch. But Dr. Gaul kept pushing.

“Which is?”

“The losers,” Mabel conceded. Her words sent shivers down Coriolanus’ spine. 

“We lost the war, and we’ve been in limbo between death and the afterlife ever since. Our lives became yours when the war ended. The Capitol’s toys. When you glorify the Games, it reminds us of that, more than the actual Games itself.” 

“My! I want you on the team next year” Dr. Gaul declared, “It took Coriolanus the loss of his lovely locks and a summer as a Peacekeeper to even come close to your conclusion.”

Mabel turns to him, now coming to the realization that he was Dr. Gaul’s pet as much as she was his. 

Dr. Gaul quietens as she eats the delicate food, meticulously prepared.

District 11 was halfway through their interviews. Coriolanus wondered if it was too late to drop his sleeping powder into Mabel's drink.  He could convince Dr Gaul that she had too much to drink. It would embarrass him but surely less than what he knew was to come. 

It would only reflect poorly on his training skills, but Mabel could keep her tongue for only a little bit of Coriolanus’s pride. 

It was too late, District 12 spread across the screen, and both women were no longer interested in conversation. 

“Here’s hoping for Adelaide, Miss Mabel.”  Dr. Gaul raised her drink, and Mable nodded back. 

The presenter in 12 is sluggish as he reaches for a card in the cage. Mabel looked in the crowd for her family. 

“Vera Woodsmith.”

“Ah,” Dr. Gaul mocked, “Don’t worry, Mabel. There’s other ways to get Adelaide.”

“Far be it for me to mess with fate.”

“Is that what you call it? Dr. Gaul brings her glass to her lips, but her thin smile hinders her ability to drink. “Coriolanus?” she adds. 

She was not in the habit of calling him by his first name. It shot shivers down him. 

“I don’t believe in fate,” he mutters, “Only power.”

On-screen the presenter tries to interview Vera Woodsmith but she cannot be heard over her own tears. 

The Peacekeepers take her away when she wouldn't stop wailing and the man draws the name of District 12’s male tribute. 

Coriolanus hoped it would be a past lover of Mabel’s. One less person to hold the memory that Coriolanus had fought so hard to have. 

“James Irkle”. 

The camera follows the boy as he makes his way to the stage. Shoulders up and tense, hands clasped together. His shoes were falling apart as he walked. The sole of his boot as it stuck to the hard gravel could be faintly heard over the silent audience. 

He couldn’t have been one of Mabel's past lovers. The boy was too young, barely 12. But she gasped upon his name as it was drawn.

Mabel shoots up before Coriolanus can stop her. 

“Someone you know?” Asks Dr Gaul. 

“He’s my neighbor's child,” Mabel eyes watch as the child makes his way up the stage steps, “He’s just a kid. Surely someone will volunteer.” 

She watches expectantly but no one rises. 

The presenter continued, lowering the mic stand to the boy's height so he could answer questions. 

“You can stop this.” She turns back to Coriolanus who tried his best not to let his panic show. 

“What would you have me do, Mabel? The name has already been called.” 

“Change the game, isn’t that your job? Make a new rule that it’s between 15-22. You’ll get more viewers.” 

“I am only interested in one viewer right now.”

“Coriolanus, please. He is just a boy. A good boy.” 

“Not the first good boy to die.” Dr. Gaul pushes Mabel a step too far. 

“Shut up.” Mabel snapped. Everyone knew it was the wrong move, but in her anger, she failed to catch herself. 

Dr. Gaul rose from her seat, and Coriolanus followed, unsure of what the unpredictable women planned to do. 

Dr. Gaul raised her hands as if she was going to reach out and touch Mabel but her fingers curled inwards. 

“If I could just get my hands on you.” 

“I am afraid you’re at the back of a very long line.” Mabel quips. Coriolanus wanted to reach out and cover her mouth before she could do any more damage. 

“That line keeps you safe.” 

Mabel throws her hands out, laughing humorlessly as she spins.

“Look around and you tell me how safe it has kept me.” 

Dr. Gaul smiles once more, giving Mabel one final look over before turning back to her successor. 

“An hour, Mr. Snow. I would have your bird singing an entirely different tune.”

A wave of shame overtook Coriolanus. He had failed. He was so close only to have Mabel crack at the last second.

Dr. Gaul leaves Mabel, finding a new victim in Coriolanus. 

“It looks like you still have work to do. I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Snow.” 

She pats his sore shoulder as she passes him. A shoe follows her, narrowly missing her shoulder. 

Dr. Gaul looks back in shock. She had never been bitten by an animal before. 

“Child murderer!” Mabel works on undoing her other heel and manages to pull it back to launch it before Coriolanus can restrain her. 

Dr. Gaul watches as Coriolanus wrestles Mabel to the ground, keeping a firm grip on her wrists, pinning them to her chest as he keeps her tightly against his.

A full belly laugh erupts over the sound of Mabel’s screaming. Under Dr. Gaul's stare, he wished for nothing more than to turn to ash. It reminded him so much of his father’s stare. Or at least from what he could remember. It paralyzed him like it did when he was young. 

He still felt frozen as he watched Dr. Gaul head for the door. Even when the servant closed it behind her, it offered no closure for him. 

His rage, however, slowly returned. 

“Get out. All of you get out!” He demands. 

Mabel had stopped screaming and started crying. He doesn’t release her. His fingers froze around her wrists, his shoulders would not unstiffen nor his legs untangle from hers. 

He wasn’t sure if he was holding her for her own comfort or his own. All he knew was that he couldn’t let go. 

Mabel had done far worse than he could have anticipated. She had piqued Dr. Gaul’s interest. If Mabel merely angered her, the course of action would be apparent, and it left her as the property of Coriolanus at the end of the day. But Dr. Gaul’s interest had a possessive grip. How far would she take it? Would Mabel be left one of those creatures trapped in the laboratory? Could he protect her from it? 

For the first time, Coriolanus felt a pang of guilt for having taken Mabel in the first place. 

He had plucked a flower from its stem and now it lay in his hand, slowly dying. 

tag list;

@bruher

@hiatuswhore

@swimmjacket

@immyowndefender

@namelesslosers

@lovelymoonkiid

@queenofshinigamis

@acidaciruela

@briefwinnerpersonaturtle

@tian-monique

[burningcheese-merchant]

BurningCheese Ficlet for y'all

I'm planning to take a break from AO3 for a little while, because I wrote 4 fics in 4 days and my head hurts. (I don't usually write anything this fast, but when I'm truly inspired, I'm a man on a fucking mission lol)

Here's a relatively short fic for you guys to enjoy while I'm gone. It's wholesome (for once). Hope whoever reads it enjoys it, whether they like this ship or not

Post-canon (technically), Burning Spice is no longer a threat to anyone, he's just an asshole who's down bad

"Hm? Golden Cheese eyed the envelope being handed to her critically. "And this is...?"

"For you," Burning Spice said. "It is a romantic holiday today, is it not? Is this not what couples do for one another in celebration?" "I don't recall us ever being a couple, Mr. Burning Spice," Golden Cheese muttered, crossing her arms and giving him a look. "So I'm not sure what possesses you to want to celebrate a day not meant for either of us." "You possess me, my little thief. That is all the motivation I need." He returned her look of annoyance with a look of cool confidence, giving her a flirtatious smile. "Regardless, why do you shun a heartfelt gift? Are gestures of admiration such as these not what you like to receive from others?"

"They are," Golden Cheese said, "But I can't imagine whatever you've brought to me being 'heartfelt'. In fact, I didn't realize that word even existed within your vocabulary before today." He chuckled at her little jab, much to her own furthered annoyance. "You wound me, pretty bird. Why do you judge me for my appearance? Why don't you read this and see for yourself what I am capable of?" "It's hardly your appearance. I've encountered far more brutish beings than you who turned out to be bigger sweethearts than Pure Vanilla." She sighed. "But... fine, very well. If you went to this trouble, I suppose I can entertain it this once." "Yes... please do, my little thief." His smile grew bigger. "Entertain me."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but otherwise did nothing to challenge him further and took the envelope into her hands. It was surprisingly fancy; adorned with intricate little patterns that she recognized to be commonplace in Wild Spice artistry. When she opened it, the smell of spice reached her nose, causing her to sneeze. Burning Spice chuckled again, and she shot him a disapproving glare. He gave her a look of endearment, his eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief. He did not speak, but he did not need to; she knew exactly what he meant by that face, for he'd given it to her before, along with the words meant to describe it. You're so adorable when you sneeze.

Not wanting to encourage this sentiment any further, she turned her attention back to the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. A pale reddish-orange, scented with nutmeg and tumeric. The words were written with black ink - in quite good handwriting, much to her surprise. A very quick skim told her it was a poem. She brought her eyes back to the very top and started again, reading it diligently, word for word:

"You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn, Your sweetness in the nightingale, your whiteness in the swan. You haunt my waking like a dream, my slumber like a moon, Pervade me like a musky scent, possess me like a tune. Yet, when I crave of you, my sweet, one tender moment's grace, You cry, 'I sit behind the veil, I cannot show my face'. Shall any foolish veil divide my longing from my bliss? Shall any fragile curtain hide your beauty from my kiss? What is this war of thee and me? Give o'er the wanton strife. You are the heart within my heart, the life within my life."

Golden Cheese's mouth hung slightly agape by the time she finished, her face hot and cheeks flushed so red that she was certain it could be seen even all the way back home. "Burning Spice," she began. "I..." "You...?" he asked back, clearly enjoying the look on her face far too much. She stood silent for a moment longer before she collected herself. "It's... this is lovely," she said. "I don't know what to say. I... I truly did not think you were ever capable of something like this." "That's alright, pretty bird. Your eyes say enough." Oh, if only that blasted smile of his would fall away already. It was making her feel even stranger. "You and your people aren't the only ones with silver tongues in your mouths."

She hadn't been insulting the Wild Spices earlier, she had been insulting him - but even so, she had no choice but to admit her folly. "Fair enough," she said. "I was wrong to judge you so harshly. If I may gift you with something in return, it's with me saying that this would fit in among the works of my own kingdom's finest poets." "Would it, now? Such high praise, coming from you," Burning Spice purred. "But I'm afraid I'd rather you gift me with something else." "Oh?" She tilted her head at him. "And what would that be?" He answered her by coming closer, closer, until they stood toe to toe and his face was not so far from hers anymore. "I think you know," he said. He cupped her chin. "Or shall you let a veil divide us any longer?"

At this, Golden Cheese said nothing. She only let him tilt her head up gently, and her eyes flutter shut, as he leaned down and captured her lips with his own. Burning Spice kissed her sweetly, tenderly - so unlike what she expected of him, such a feeling and taste she never thought she'd find within spice like his. He licked at her lips, soft but still forceful enough to be noticed, politely asking for entry - and she obliged him, parting her lips and sighing into their kiss as his tongue slipped into her mouth and caressed her own. She felt a hand touch hers, rough fingers ghost against her skin, and she obliged him again, taking his hand into her own and lacing their fingers together. When they parted, he lingered there for a little while longer, their now half-lidded eyes locked and foreheads touching. The fire that always burned so bright in his eyes was now brought down to a smolder, reminding her more of the warmth of a fireplace than a scorching inferno. She could still feel his breath, taste it: hot and spicy, a shock to her senses. But... it wasn't so bad. It wasn't bad at all, actually. ...But he didn't need to know that. She'd fed his ego enough for one day.

"My little golden thief," he purred. "I thank you. Your gift is as lovely as mine." "...You're welcome," she murmured. "But... don't expect any more like it." "I won't," he said, that familiar sharp-toothed smile creeping back across his face, "Just the same as you expected me to give you something crude and mediocre." Her eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up in surprise, both at his words and the little jab hidden behind them. She opened her mouth to retort - but he cut her off before she could by kissing her again. Lightning fast, but still hot and rough, stealing the breath from her lungs. When he pulled back, that godforsaken grin came back in full force, stretching from ear to ear. "See?" he asked playfully. She chose not to respond this time, instead only huffing at him. Such audacity need not be dignified in such a manner. (And it wasn't because she had no real rebuttal to give him. Really. Honest.)

He gave her hand a squeeze before letting it go and stepping back again, giving her back her personal space. "Well, then," he said. "I shall give you one last gift by allowing you to enjoy the rest of this day on your own terms." "How kind of you, Burning Spice," Golden Cheese said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Once again, you surprise me with your words and actions." "Golden Cheese..." He turned his back and peeked at her from over his shoulder, his eyes burning bright once again. "I intend to keep surprising you as many times as you'll allow." With that said, he turned and began walking away. She watched him leave with her arms crossed, staring daggers at the back of his head as he left. Finally, she was free. No more of his nonsense; she can bask in light and peace again.

And yet, his parting words still rang in her ears. "I intend to keep surprising you as many times as you'll allow." Just where did he get this brazenness from? Wherever he cultivated it, she wanted the earth salted and burned. After everything that's happened, after her granting him a goddess's mercy by allowing him to continue existing in her life after all was said and done, and he repays her with this never-ending foolishness? Well, she could commend his stubbornness, if nothing else. But this time was a step too far. This was the first Valentine's Day gift she's ever received from him, and it shall be the last. Next time, she will turn him away without remorse. Won't she?

She turned her eyes back to the paper in her hand. To the beautiful envelope that had housed it. To the poem inscribed on the page, that serenaded her without making a single sound. Golden Cheese, against her own better judgment, brought the poem back closer to her face and read it a second time. When she finished, she tucked it back into the envelope - carefully, so it wouldn't tear. And then she sighed. ...No. No, she won't.

---------------------------------------

The poem here is "Humayun to Zobeida" from the poetry collection "The Golden Threshold" (bet you know why I chose a poem from there lol), all written by Indian poet Sarojini Naidu. Please check it out if/when you can, her works are lovely and you can read them for free online (also a lot of the poems give me BurningCheese feels, especially "To the God of Pain")

Y'all let me know if you enjoyed this, I thought of a sequel and I'll write and post it if you want

[docilehands]

SHORE: prologue

college au!Abby Anderson x reader

prologue | chapter 1 | chapter 2

an: english isn't my first language, i am not a writer and i have zero knowledge about writing, this is purely for fun 🧡

Summary: After freshman year, the heartbreak and consequences of poorly made decisions that followed, a "deal" with the football team's captain Abby helps navigate the hardships of said heartbreak and consequences.

warnings: [this fanfiction may contain] drinking, smoking, smut, unsafe/drunk sex, hook ups, cheating, strong language, toxic relationships, abusive households, trauma, hints of ptsd in reader's behavior, fake dating, harassment

•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•

"i don't want you anymore"

i read the text over and over again, searching between the words for something hidden, something more gentle, something that tells me she's still the girl i love, that she still loves me.

i don't want you anymore

but this holds no love, this has no space for love, or for me.

sitting on the bathroom floor of my dorm trying my best to breathe,

how could she do this to me? how? how could she switch?

the memory of last night's party is carved into my eyelids, every single detail feels like an echo inside my skull, i can't get rid of it, i can't get rid of this pain, how can i ever get rid of her? of every single word she has ever said to me, every single touch, every argument and every apologetic gift, how can i get rid of any of this?

i feel as if my entire being is a monument of her, of the things she's done to me and for me, the good and the bad, i can't wash it out of my system, i burned my skin raw with hot showers trying to snap myself out of this haze, nothing works.

so i pick up the bottle and i drink myself into oblivion.

•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•

a call wakes me up the next morning, i can't even read who's calling so i just pick it up, "I'm here sweetie"

my dad's voice sounds too loud to my hungover ears, i snap out of whatever slumber i was in.

my dad was supposed to pick me up, it's summer break now after all,

"shit dad sorry i slept in" i say hurriedly, "I'll be down in a minute sorry"

i hear his sigh through the phone, his anger already building up at me and he hasn't even seen me yet "hurry." one word

a singular word

if i take too long then I'll have to spend the first days at home trying to win his affections back, after all he's just.... him.

i don't change, i can only brush my teeth and put perfume on hoping it'll mask the alcohol or I would officially get disowned, i grab my bag that i fortunately packed already.

i look like a mess, my clothes still the same ones i wore yesterday, my hair is everywhere, my eyes still smudged with a day old makeup, i can't see straight and i accidentally bump into what feels like a goddamn prick wall, my other bag falls off my shoulder and i drop my phone,

"shit sorry sorry"

"you good?" the prick wall says softly

"fuck I'm so sorry" i pick my phone up and drop it again, "i can't see sorry"

"it's okay," she kneels down and takes my phone to put it in my shakey hands

i am so fucked,

i feel pathetic

i feel horrible.

"you're okay." she says again, sternly like she's trying to bring me back to reality

i take my phone and my bag, i need to fucking hurry, i can't think, i can't see, i need to get to my dad, i need to take my bags downstairs, i need to hurry and my heart feels too heavy to drag, what happened? what has been happening? how could this happen to me?

"are you okay?" she speaks once again, her voice softer now, like she can see right through my frantic eyes

"I'm okay, i just need to hurry" i say as i start walking, "sorry again"

i don't wait for anything back, i hurry downstairs and get to my dad

"sorry i took so long" i apologize while running to him, "hi i missed you" i go to hug him to test the waters, if he hugs me back and says something, we're good.

if he says nothing, we're fucked.

"it's alright you might've been tired from the finals"

oh...so we're okay for now

"i am, it has been hell" i say, completely ignoring the fact that i spent finals fighting for my life against the girl who i thought would be my wife one day.

"but my girl can do it, right?"

i smile, "of course"

it's not as sweet as it sounds, he's not saying it for encouragement, he's saying it as a warning.

no daughter of mine would fail, no daughter of mine would shame me, my daughter can make it.

so yes, i can make it, i always have to.

ווווווווווווווווווווו×

betrayal might be the most complex thing to work through and overcome, whatever that happens in your life and you feel as if you have been betrayed, whatever that thing may be, you will take longer to overcome it because of the simple fact that there is betrayal.

betrayal hurts so badly because it'll only come from the ones you truly, wholeheartedly trusted.

you would never be betrayed by someone who you hadn't handed over your heart and soul to.

this all hurts so badly, so badly that i want to vow to myself i will never trust again, i will never love again.

but i know myself too well, i know my heart too well, i know i will trust and love, despite, despite, despite.

overcoming this pain won't come from forbidding myself from any human connection, wouldn't come from swearing off love and trust, faith and loyalty.

it has to come from walking through this with grace, i have to overcome this pain as gently as i could, i have to overcome it and hold my head high, because one day....one day this won't hurt as much, and when that day comes, i want to be proud that i held tightly into who i am, that i stayed true, stayed genuine.

"so..............................year?"

i can't drink this pain away, i can't fuck it away either, i can't even cry anymore, i cried all my tears yesterday's morning that now it feels physically impossible

"....are......even............"

i need to pull it together, i can't let the last act of humiliation she'll practice on me being putting me through all this pain and bringing out the worst in me, for the last time to bring out the worst in me, i can't let her win this too. i can't let her steal who i am from me.

"hellooo...?" my sister snaps her finger in my face

"hi..?" i ask confused, she must've been talking to me,

"i asked how was freshmen year, where were you?" she askes with a frown on her face

"clearly it did not go well" my older brother chimes in

i look around the table, my dad eyeing me suspiciously, my mom at the end of the table eyeing him, and my older siblings looking at me.

so I'm back to this hell hole, being perceived at all times

"sorry this headache is killing me" I say quickly to hopefully put my dad at ease, "freshmen year has been good, it's a new experience and it's challenging......however i know i did great"

i smile at my parents, maybe this will wipe the earlier confusion

"well... you're already heading in a better direction than your sister" my dad says coldly from the head of the table

i look over to her and she sighs but keeps a smile on her plumb face,

"i think what you're doing is a lot better than the plans we've got" my brother says to her

"i agree, having your own business is more successful than spending a shitton of money on a degree that might come in handy" i say to her completely disregarding the danger of putting my dad into a rage frenzy as long as i got to lift her spirits up a little

she smiles at me and my brother, that's how things always are here, our parents against us, us against them, and then we get those happy family moments.

summer is going to drive me insane, my brother, my rock, away from home and living in the city, my sister buried in her small business, and having my parents undivided and suffocating attention solely on me.

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[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Freebie!!! With good vibes and cookies 🍪🌟

You ordered a spicy chicken wrap and some ice water with lemon, but he wasn't satisfied until you were actually eating. Once he was mollified, he let himself pay attention to his own meal. He had a million questions.

But- he had to tread carefully. It made him feel like he was trying to coax a feral cat. Or disarm a bomb. Two things he'd never been good at. Still, he knew two things now he didn't know before. The kid was healthy and the date of your next appointment.

And you hadn't sent him away. He'd also never seen you eat anything spicy before. Maybe the kid liked spicy food. Or maybe he just never paid attention. "What else are you doing today?" he asked.

"Thought I'd try and get some cleaning done. Try and get some writing done. Take Trigger to the dog park," you answer, pushing a stack of napkins at him when his burger starts to fall apart.

"Thanks- Figured you'd want to go shopping. Get some baby things," he ventured.

You shake your head, "I don't- next week," you tell him. "Had to pay mom's allowance early to keep her over there."

Logan felt himself frown reflexively, "Wade throw in his share?"

You shrug, "You know how it goes. It's not like being Marvel Jesus comes with steady pay. But I have some freelance money coming and- well. It doesn't really matter. It's not-" You break off and shake your head, "I'll figure it out. I always do."

"Y/N," he said, cringing when the growl in his voice made you pull back. "It's not just you that did-"

"You made it pretty clear you didn't want this, Logan," you murmur, looking out the window. "Before I even knew what was happening."

"And if I could, I'd-"

"But you can't," you tell him. "And how am I supposed to know you won't just-" You shake your head and slide out of the booth, leaving your half-finished plate on the table. Stalking back to the ladies room. Hoping he won't follow. Not right now.

Fuck. He scrubbed his hands over his face and gulped down his drink, signaling for another to show he wasn't leaving and followed you. If diplomacy wasn't doing it- if words were going to keep getting him in trouble- it was time to try something else. He was just glad the bar was dead.

_______________

He opened the door carefully and found you leaning on the sink. Griping the counter so hard your knuckles were white. And he spun you around, hefting you up as he reached behind him and locked the door.

"I'm a fucking idiot," he growled, claiming your mouth in a kiss that burned his lips as he pushed your knees apart to stand between your legs. "I panicked like a stupid kid," he said, pulling back and resting his forehead on yours, giving you space to tell him 'no'. "I thought it would be better for you if I walked away from you. And now every time I look at you I can't fuckin' breathe."

He can hear your heart. He can smell tears welling up. But your hands are fisted in his shirt. And he rests his forehead on yours. "Listenin' to you tell people this ain't my kid- that you don't know who their daddy is," he huffed a laugh. "Fuck. I know it doesn't hurt as bad as what I did but- it's a gut punch, Princess."

"I'm so fucking mad at you," you tell him, voice breaking. "And I'm so fucking scared."

"Hey," he breathed, cradling your face in his hands and wiping tears away with his thumbs, "shhh." He kissed you again, more gently this time, "I'm not goin' anywhere, baby. Okay? I'm gonna show you that. I just need you to give me one more chance."

[bedtimescenarios]

Hii! You asked for prompts to stay motivated, so I thought I'd share my all time favorite as a possible request?

I'm a SUCKER for an injured whumpee who's incredibly scared of the caretaker, not understanding that they just want to help them! Maybe they lash out or try to run away and have to be held down to receive the medical care they desperately need, with the caretaker trying to comfort them as best as they possibly can... You know?

/nf of course!! Have a great day!!

This is my first time requesting whump stuff, I hope I'm doing everything right aaa

hey there, anon!! thank you so much for the prompt:) it's actually helped me get to writing, and it's even a bit different from my usual stories, so i had an opportunity to diversify my writing!!

i hope you like this and that it fits the prompt well enough, and thanks again!

p.s i am supposed to be sleeping and have written this at 2 am. if there's any mistakes in there or something that needs to be re-done please let me know😭

. . .

As the door swings open with a squeak, Whumpee instinctively presses their back into the wall and lowers their head. Whumper must have had a bad day, otherwise he would've let them heal before another session. They're not getting that luxury now, they think, as the wounds on their body throb and sting with the reminder of their situation. They prepare themselves. They unclench their jaw so they won't bite down on their tongue, shifting so their knees are facing outwards,- they'd rather endure another leg fracture than be nauseous all week- and they tightly shut their eyes.

"Whumpee?"

The voice that rings out is different.

They don't raise their head, but they hear the person's next footstep resound closer. Another one is their cue to cower, pressing an arm against their bleeding abdomen. Did Whumper send someone else to hurt them? Oh, God, he sent someone to finish them off. He got bored, they're finally going to die, or worse-

"Whumpee, I'm not here to hurt you." The voice says, as if reading their mind, and Whumpee takes note of the apparent gentleness of it. A trick.

They look up through the fallen strands of hair stuck to their forehead, trying to assess the amount of danger- no, pain- they're about to be in. A man stands a few feet away, and they quickly identify him as the owner of the voice. Fuck, he's strong, Whumpee thinks as they notice his buff, tall build. He could break their wrist bare handedly, without much effort. Their eyes slowly trail up to his face, noting the short, dark dreads pulled back into a ponytail that ensures an unperturbed view of his surroundings. Increased efficiency and a boost in fun. I can pair your screams with clear images, Whumper used to say.

Caretaker's obsidian eyes meet Whumpee's, and they imagine him saying that same thing to them. They ignore his manipulative attempt at an empathetic, pitying glance. Having been through this too many times already, they can recognize it from a mile away. They just want their break, at least until their wounds close. And they won't let this random stranger take it away from them. Their gaze hardens slightly, yet it's still tinged with raw fear.

"I'm Caretaker. I won't hurt you, I swear- Just- Whumpee, we need to get you to a hospital."

Another lie. But... taking them to another location? No, no no no. Whumpee's hand clenches around their wounds. Another lonely gathering of walls where their screams will echo for eternity. Whumper is giving them away for good. They're so, so tired. Death suddenly doesn't sound as bad.

Alarms blare inside Whumpee's mind, turning their world to hues of red. They feel their veins burn with adrenaline, and before they know it, they're on their feet, scratching at Caretaker's face. They use all their strength, a final attempt at freedom- one way or another. Like a wounded rabbit scratching at the fox whose jaw is clenched upon its ears.

They expect a hard blow to their temple. Or the sharp prick of a syringe. But nothing comes, except for pressure pulling their hands away from the man's face. As they're pulled away, writhing in the grip, they internally swear at themselves for omitting the possibility of backup. Only when their arms are held firmly to their sides is it that they notice themselves trembling, and only when the two people next to them lower them to their ground do they realize how much of an effort each move is. How much pain each shift brings.

As the people behind them hold them still, hands quickly shuffling through a first aid kit, they can finally make out Caretaker's expression. Beyond bloody streaks, his face is painted with genuine shock- or simply incredible acting. He doesn't step forward again as Whumpee sobs in terror, their eyes glassy and breathing labored. Though, if they look closely enough, they can distinguish tears at the corners of his eyes too. He tilts his head, and the corners of his mouth turn upwards softly.

"Shh...It's okay. We'll make you all better, and you'll be able to trust again sometime."

[howwynnderful]

Are you into me? Like I'm into you... (Ch. 1)

Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral Reader

Teaser - Ch. 2

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes is still healing, still in therapy, he's been doing a little better but the adjustment is still rough, especially the romantic side of things. New dating rules, new societal expectations, it's all....a bit much. But he's forced to enter this new field when he realizes it needs to be on his new list to live with himself.

Warnings/Notes: nothing serious. No use of Y/N. Diverges from movies/shows canon a bit. Takes place during TFAWS. it's just bucky with his therapist. Will be a slow burn, will have a lot of fluff, will probably have a bit of angst but all happy endings here this fandom is already allergic to happiness enough.

Word count: 1038

"I'm not seeing anyone." He mutters. Dating was complicated, back in the 40's it was much simpler. Ask someone to dance, charm them off their feet, and take them out on a nice date. Now? There were apps, different ways to flirt, a sudden interest in astrology, and apparently you can't say you're 106 on the damn dating apps without them thinking you're a bot and kicking you off the app. At least it was legal to go out with anyone now.

"Give me your phone" Bucky wasn't even focused on his therapist. His mind just wandered to thinking about the cat cafe down the street. Alpine needed a sibling, especially if he was going to be gone to these stupid therapy sessions every week and was expected to have a social life. She needed someone else in the apartment. He just nodded and pulled his flip phone out and reached across the empty space between him and Dr. Raynor to give her his phone. "You barely have 10 people in this thing." Beeps could be heard as she presses through his contact list and messages. "Oh, and you've been ignoring Sam. You've only picked up calls from for the last week, James." She clicked her tongue, "You've got to nurture these relationships. Forget about romantic ones, at least get some friendships." She looks at him for a moment, finally tossing his phone back to him.

Bucky grabs it and looks to the side with a sigh as she keeps on talking, "Listen, you've gone through and made amends, your nightmares have been getting better, but that doesn't mean everything is fixed and I know that you know that too. You are alone. You're making no effort to have friendships when it's clear there's people out there who care about you, frankly it's like you're a five year old."

Damn.

"Are you lashing out at me Doc? Cause that's really unprofessional." Bucky cuts her off in the middle of her monologue. "You know, lashing out at clients is really on another level." Dr. Raynor grabs her notebook and practically smacks it onto her lap and aggressively clicks her pen to write. "Oh great, now the notebook." Bucky mutters and presses his palms into his thighs. He looks out the window again and sighs again before looking back at his therapist. "Listen, give me a break alright? I'm trying." Dr. Raynor looks up at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. "For 90 years all I did was battle after battle. Finally, I have a break. I have an apartment, I have a cat, and maybe I don't text Sam or call him that much but I still see him 3 times a week. We go on walks, yesterday he made me go to this weird chicken shawarma place. All of this is new though. And I am trying to figure this out, so just give me a break. I can't get on a date because how am I supposed to tell someone that I'm 106 years old? I've barely started figuring out how this world works, hell I barely have been able to figure how I work." He looked straight at his therapist. This might be the first honest to god, soul-opening type of shit he's said in one of these sessions. Dr. Raynor clicks her pen close and puts it on top of the notebook cover. "What is it that you want James?" Bucky stays quiet for a moment, what was he supposed to say now? Like hell if he knew. Didn't he just go on a whole rant about how he needs a break, why is he supposed to know what he wants right now. "Peace." He says finally.

"Bullshit," Dr. Raynor says immediately after.

"Well damn Doc you're not very supportive now are you?" Bucky almost glares at her, can't she just accept his damn answer. It wasn't that far from the truth after all. "I might be a bad Doc to you, but I was a damn good solider James. I saw a lot of dead bodies and I know that being alone is a personal hell for soldiers. So clearly, you're not looking for peace." She picks up her pen and clicks it open again. "So do you care to be honest or do I need to write to the government to tell them you're not upholding your side of the agreement?" Well shit. She got him there. Bucky sighs, again. "Fine," he grumbles before actually opening up. "I do want peace. I just need to deserve it, and even if the nightmares are gone and I went through my list of amends, it doesn't change the fact I've done the things I did." He shakes his head. "I know that was the whole point of the list of amends but I don't think I'm ever going to feel like the blood isn't on my hands." Bucky looks back at Dr. Raynor. "Is this honest enough for you" He snarks, but his heart was really in the remark.

"You're never going to feel like you don't have blood on your hands James. No soldier does." Her lips press into a thin line. "Look, you're always going to remember what you did, even if it wasn't really you. It's one thing for me to tell you that, for anyone, to tell you that, but no one can make you believe it." She puts her notebook to the side as she continues speaking, "You had your old list for amends, I think you need a new list, to live with yourself." Bucky halfway groans, "Another list? Really Doc? Cause the last one didn't work out so great-" He backtracks the minute he sees her reach over for the notebook again. "Hey, alright alright, sorry. I'll do the list, just leave the notebook out of it." Dr. Raynor looks at him. "What are all the things you think you don't deserve because of who you are?" She's still holding onto the notebook and pen, much to Bucky's dismal, but that feeling fades and turns to confusion when she hands it to him. "Write it down. And I want to see what you come up with next session."

Bucky takes the notebook and pencil and nods silently, internally grimacing. Why was therapy stupidly hard. He'd rather go on a mission than do this, or just send him back to Wakanda, there wasn't any therapy there and it was more peaceful than this practically dystopian city he had to live in now. Whatever, at least the session was over, he could finally go to that cat cafe, and he could write the list there. Bucky just sighs and replies sassily, "Right. I have to write a list of things of what I don't deserve. Where did you say you went to college again Doc? Cause really, 10 out of 10 coping skill right here."

authors note: first chapter doneee. kinda short sorry yall i'll try to make the next one longer and finally get this poor man into the damn cat cafe. sorry if i have any errors in writing guys sometimes my brain likes to act like english isn't my first language.

[blightandfire]

May I inquire about Sladick, Jaymia, and Jaydick for the Ship I/Don't Ship It ask game?

YEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! puts on my sunglasses. I'll start with the Don't ship first, and then do the Ship.

Don't Ship

Sladick

Why don't you ship it?

Mostly the reason I don't ship it is because I don't ship anyone with Dick outside of with Jason. I Ship Sladickjay because Jason's also there, but if it's just those two... I'm gonna need Jason to step in XD Jason is good for Dick in a way no one else really can be, because no one else can get what it's like to be Bruce's charge. To have Bruce's expectations and purview colour your life, your childhood—and fuck Dick at the same time. Sorry this is supposed to be about Slade fuck. Uh. Orange pirate is compelling, and his greyness of character certainly is something that draws Dick to him I'm sure—so I can see it, just not in solitary on my own I won't seek it out.

What would have made you like it?

Fuck I just answered this. Whoops. Jason get in there. Then I like! xD I'll ship anyone with Dick as long as Jason's there, same with Jason. They are pair bonded okay? They're two cats. You separate them, I die. And they die. Three deaths. Is this the trolley problem you want?

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

Yes! Dick fuck more not-so-upstanding citizens. Especially ones who give you a break from the expectations placed on you, the moral high ground you like to take so often, step into the gutter for a mere moment and let yourself breathe and be a human. You deserve a break, you're burning yourself at both ends. Slade. Prepare to be bossed around you man whore. They would have great sex. But like. It would get really emotionally weird.

Ship

Jaymia, Jaydick

What made you ship it?

Jaymia I started shipping right after rejoining DC fandom last year around... June/August. I found the new Jason anti train and it really threw me for a loop, and then I saw Mia's name being dragged into things—and then I started finding the Jaymia defense posts by my now friends, and it all started to click. Out of some spite and out of recognition of how they really do play well together. From their backgrounds to their runs as sidekicks to their meeting in Seeing Red. They have a lot to say together, and do together. They have a lot of potential as romantic partners and as friends! Also it's one of the only ships I can see Jason in without Dick also being there.

Jaydick I've been shipping since 2015. I am a fucking veteran of this ship. I made a promise to myself in that year I'd always carry them with me and I have.. I have kept that promise xD despite my sabbatical for a couple years from DC. I think I found a random Jason/Dick fic while scrolling AO3 and it just snowballed from there. As of current day, the reason I ship it is here and I have things to elaborate on. like the neuroses. Jason wouldn't be attracted to dick without the neuroses. Jason cares about Dick because he desperately wants a connection with literally anyone and if the way hes getting that is by fucking Dick then. well. hes gonna fuck him xD

What are your favourite things about the ship?

Whistles. Let me try to be succinct. (Will Fail at this)

Jaymia

Mia gets a lot out of this relationship, she's challenged and is allowed to interface with compelling questions to develop her like her ethics or moral with Jason—while at the same time Jason is also allowed to be drawn into a different light, with someone who doesn't instantly write him off. He's her type. She's his type. They're really meant to converse with one another. Having each other in their respective corners would not only be an assurance but actively soothing I think. They understand each other in a way that other people cannot, they can well and properly interface with one another. And they have a meet-ugly. There's just so much to explore with their characters together! And not so much baggage.

Jaydick

Jason is someone Dick doesn't have to be perfect around and can fuck up with without thinking about it, and like, the thing is, this relationship formation is different than Dicks others. Jason comes into the relationship w Dick with a very subpar view of him, and Dick has to contend with that. That Jason thinks lowly of him but will still lie with him. And what that means about himself and what that means for Jason. Like, Dick has so many preconceived notions of what Jason is, or is supposed to be. I think Jason would help Dick become his best self, and that Dick could come to help Jason be his best self. It just takes... a lot of time. It's not an easy relationship. Their assumptions about each other getting dismantled/challenged is the prime draw to me.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on the ship?

Jaymia — I don't think I butt heads with my fellow shippers, I literally know each one of them. There's like. Ten of us. For this, I think the unpopular opinion I have butts heads with antis perceptions, for the obvious reasons. No Jason did not re-traumatize her, no he was not degrading her, no he is not unconscionably evil, no Mia is not put into a mothering role, no Mia is not fixing him, no she is not sidelined for his man-angst. Everyone shut up. I hit you with hammer now. Jaydick — so fucking many. I don't think Jason needs fixing, he doesn't need Dick's fucking saving of all things, nor does he need to be 'redeemed' by Dick, OR to be 'brought back into the family'. Everyone fuck off, this is operation GET DICK OUT OF THERE. Jason is good for Dick because he helps Dick away from Bruce ffs. Dick is good for Jason only after a lot of time. At the beginning, Dick is really... a negative for Jason. The positives do crop up but like, Jason's not in it for the 'right' reasons—he's there out of desperation and kind of hurting himself via Dick. It's really complicated a relationship. I do think their relationship does and can get good, and be something 'healthy' but like... It is hard work. It is a hard work relationship. That effort, that presence, the strive to be there for someone to try to learn them to try to understand, to challenge yourself for the betterment, that is the glorious part of them. Dick is fundamentally someone who loves and is compassionate and so is Jason. Them learning each others commonalities and learning to really get along and be there for each other. Yes. None of this "Jason needs to repent to Dick Jesus Christ Grayson" bs.

[whtvrslay]

ADORE ME, HOLD ME AND EXPLORE ME ♡ (kmg)

juno- sabrina carpenter

"adore me, hold me and explore me mark your territory, i'm so fuckin' horny"

"cant help myself, hormones are high. Give me more than butterflies"

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

a/n: GUYS THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SMUT AND FIRST TIME WRITING A ONE SHOT IN GENERAL IM SCREAMING I'VE BEEN WANTING TO DO THIS FOREVERRRR. i hope you don't hate this, but remember i am new to this!!! be nice plz...i am open to feedback and would love to hear what you think :) my asks are open for requests, comments, questions, or anything always. i listened to juno so much this happened and i am so sorry im ovul*ting

warnings: breeding kink, lots of cum, they fuck on a car sorry, all porn no plot, reader squirts, outside kinda, pure filth tbh, hints of future baby

wc: 982

When you first started dating your boyfriend Mingyu, you both agreed it would be a couple years before you would even think about having children. Being young and in love had its perks and you didn’t want to spoil it with a newborn just yet. It isn’t until you see Mingyu outside with the hood of your car open and a bag of tools on his waist that makes you consider dropping everything to have his children. The way his honey golden skin was damp and glistening in the sunlight had you completely thoughtless and drooling. You felt some sort of carnal desire flow through you that can only be blamed on your ovulation cycle and maybe Mingyu’s huge biceps.

“(y/n) can you come help with something really fast?” you hear Mingyu shout from outside and you drop everything to see what he may need. Walking towards the car, you see him smiling mischievously.

“How can I help the cute mechanic today?” you say to him teasingly. He looks heavenly, he has grease on his forehead and all over his clothes, but he’s never looked more attractive to you than at this moment. God damn hormones.

“I just wanted to see your face, plus I saw you staring at me and figured you’d love an up-close view better.” He replied smugly with a huge smile on his face.

“I can’t help myself okay, my hormones are high lately. Plus, my boyfriend is too goodlooking, what am I supposed to do?” you say as you hug him tightly, being overly affectionate.

He squeezes you tightly and picks you up off the ground slightly.

“Aw baby, what am I gonna do with you? Distracting me while I’m working isn’t very nice. Gonna have to fuck you dumb to get you calm down now, aren’t I?” Mingyu whispers in your ear seductively.

“You look so sexy out here working, Mingyu.  You might have to put a baby in my belly to truly satisfy me.” You whine while looking into his darkening eyes, daring him to make a move. Mingyu quickly grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in for a deep kiss. You immediately put your hands into his hair. Not wanting to spend too much time kissing, you needed him now. You begin sliding your hands down his chest, all the way to the button of his jeans.

Breaking the kiss, Mingyu mutters, “you vixen…can’t ever have enough, can you? I thought I fucked you well last night, but you always want more. Such a greedy whore for me, is that it baby?”

Already feeling dumb and fucked out listening to his filthy words, you nod in agreement, letting the arousal take you.

“Gonna fuck you right here on the hood of the car, bet you’d love that huh (y/n)?”

You whine out loudly as he bends you over onto the hood of the car. The feeling of the hot metal on your skin burns with desire and anticipation for what will come. You suddenly feel Mingyu's fingers making their way to your center, pulling down your underwear, he adds two fingers into your cunt and ruts them into you making you scream loudly.

"So loud for me baby, guess you want the whole neighborhood to hear how well I fuck you." he growls out at the sight of how wet you are. It's almost picturesque how well your pussy glistens in the beaming sunlight. The squelching of his fingers is getting louder and louder as you near your climax.

“M-more Mingyu, need more, I’m so close” you manage to croak out.

“See, such a greedy whore, (y/n) can never be satisfied with what she has,” Mingyu tugs at your hair as he readjusts leaving your cunt empty and prods your entrance with his cock. “Here baby, gonna fuck you so full and give you that baby you want,” He stammers as he enters you slowly, rocking back and forth. As he bottoms out, his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“I love the way you fit, never want you to leave,” you whine as he enters you fully. You swear you’ve never been this horny ever in your life. Being bent over the hood of his car is doing things to you, and you swear you could cum at any second. You begin to move as to signal to Mingyu you are ready. He begins drilling into you like a dog in heat. “I’m gonna cum, fuck I’m so close baby.. please,” you croak out as he fucks you into oblivion.

“Yeah angel? Gonna let me cum inside you? Your pussy is begging for my cum I can feel you milking my cock every time I speak, you drive me crazy.” Mingyu lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder and begins rutting into you deeper and faster. After a couple more thrusts you feel your climax rising. Suddenly you’re hit with the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had. You see stars and feel euphoric.

 “Holy fuck baby,” Mingyu growls and you realize you squirted all over the hood of his freshly clean car. “That was so hot oh my god,” he states in disbelief and begins hammering into you even harder to chase his climax. “Almost there angel, you did so well, put on a show for me and everything.” All it takes is a couple more thrusts and Mingyu is moaning your name as he is pumping you full of cum. “Gonna make sure you’re stuffed full, don’t let it fall out baby. Wanna see you all big and full carrying our baby, yeah?”

You kiss Mingyu as he finishes riding out his high. Both of you are so full of love for each other you truly can’t wait for the future together, and who knows, maybe having two of you isn’t such a bad thing after all.

[8thekat]

Hoi!! I've been thinking for a long time about how to express my thoughts to you. To be honest, I'm incredibly glad to read your works, from comics to novels. So much so that I can already consider my interest to be a hyperfixation of your work. You create wonderful art! Thank you for brightening up our everyday life. And I think it's incredibly cool that you're taking a break from the main work, while simultaneously creating content for us! I don't understand people who are outraged by this. It's so interesting to read! Thaaank!!! I hope the break will help you gain inspiration :З

khg;asdghds ❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍

tysm TvT it always means so much to hear people tell me how much they enjoy my stuff (especially the novels, too, cause like...I REALLY am a novice when it comes to writing LOL)

And it's fiiiiiine. I know people just wanna know what happens next in the story 😏 Which is understandable and I'm glad people love it so much that they want it so bad looool. It really does keep me motivated.

Soooome people just need to know that I am still only single person (eh hem...cat) with a full time job and a life outside of making comics, which by the way, is only a hobby. Seventh Soul does not make me any income, (aside from what my incredible patreons give me 😭, which considering 90% of my patreon posts are related to Seventh Soul then I suppose that counts lol.) So when working on the series I'm working on it entirely in my own free time. But that's fine! Because I love it ❤️🤍 Some people just need to understand that and know that I need to take breaks sometimes and focus on other things once and while to keep myself sane and keep myself from burning out so I can keep my passion ✨alive✨ TvT

But tysm, it's nice to know at least one person isn't mad at me for taking a break 😂

[always-and-forever-alone]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a Fred weasley x muggle! Or Hufflepuff! Reader, anything you feel like could vibe, though I am feeling a bit hurt/comforty lately.

Hi, I hope you like it. Wasn't exactly what you asked for but still in theme

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

[Missed Signals]

[Fred weasley x Muggle ng!reader]

Summer: [4 time you and Fred had a moment, 1 time you understood that it wasn't a bit]

TW: [reader gets hurt in a prank, swearing, hurt/comfort]

[Sorry if it say you were it should say i, im trying to switch but i think i might not.]

[I don't ever want to see this fic again I spent so long writing this]

[Not my best work]

It was uncommon for guys to ask me out, not because of the way I looked or anything, but because they always assumed Fred and I were dating, and no, we weren't. but every time they said, "Oh, I thought you were together," or "You're not joking?" I'd get a little flushed. Because, of course, I'd want to be with Fred. He clearly doesn't feel that way though.

But that does not mean people didn't ask out Fred. At least once a week, there was a new girl who'd throw herself at him; now, most would leave after a week and a half. But this girl Bri didn't. It'd been about 1 month and 2 weeks.

It's perfectly fine if Fred has feelings for her and they choose to date. But she gets on my nerves and I know she hates me. I mean, really, why do I have any reason to be upset if they date? Its not like were together.

"You good, you've been starting them down," Charlie said. I signed and looked away, "could be better," I whispered; they had just got back from their fancy school, and for almost all of the summer break, Fred had been with her; at least, he seemed uncomfortable every time they talked. Still, couldn't she just take no for an answer? This looks like it was the 7th time turning her down.

Eventually, he made his way over to us. "Oh, thank God, her brother needs her," Fred sighed. I rolled my eyes; I knew he didn't want to talk to her, but that didn't help feeling jealous. I wasn't sure if I was rolling my eyes at him or her. Regardless, he smiled at me. "Oh, are you jealous?" My eyes snapped away from my drink and focused on him. "No! Why would I be jealous?" I replied as if it were a fact.

"Oh, she's definitely jealous," said Charlie, and got up to leave, "sorry, cupcake," he laughed and patted my shoulder. Fred still had the Smug smile on his face, "wipe the smile off" I mutter, frowning but not actually being sad.

"And what if I don't want to?" Fred answered, then frowning when he saw Bri coming back. He gave me a panicked look, but I couldn't help because she was already at the table.

The prank was going according to plan until I discovered a hidden camera I was previously unaware of. George said he didn't see any, it was like he didn't even know what to look for because it was pretty obvious. And I was running out of time. I needed to be by the front of the store in 2 Minutes. Maybe if I squeeze past the shelves, I can hide.

With no other choice, I begin to move; in a minute and a half, the color bomb will detonate, coating the store in red and gold paint.

I was just about to reach the door when the bomb made a sound, signaling that it was about to go off. This meant I had to leave immediately, so I rushed out. In my haste, I tripped over something I hadn’t seen in the dark. I got up, being less quiet now, and continued to try to escape.

But just as I reached my full height, the bomb went off, being stronger then It was Supposed to be, making the things on the shelf hit me, knocking me down to my feet. The paint geting in my eye.

My vision blurred. I tried to get up, but my legs were in pain from whatever had hit me. I felt glass and a liquid on my leg, and my eyes burned. I couldn't tell if I was bleeding or if the glass had caused the mess, but it soon became easier to move as the adrenaline kicked in. My eyes were watering, and the pain made it hard to see.

But I could make out someone walking towards me. I felt arms wrap around me, pulling me to someone's chest, "You're going to be ok" I could barely make out fear and guilt in the person's voice

He didn't say it, but I know Fred was mad; I couldn't tell at who; he got into an agreement with his brother, saying that they shouldn't have tried a new paint bomb in such an uncontrolled situation. And I think he was mad I got hurt, but that wasn't fully my fault, I could of gotten out if the camera wasn't there.

"Can I come in?" Fred says behind the door, I wonder how long I've been out here. "Sure," I say, looking back out at the sky; it was late at night, 1 and a half hours after the prank; Molly didn't know yet. "How are you feeling?" Fred asks, referring to my legs that had been cut. My eyes were fine. Fred gave me some medicine, and it almost felt instantaneous, but it was probably the placebo effect. "Fine," I say with little emotion; I know that it's a little petty, but I was mad at him for getting mad at me for not getting out in time. Did he even care?

"Can I see? It might need bandages?" he asked; the look he was giving me made me feel bad, but I stayed strong. "They probably do, but I'm sure I can do it," I say. "Please," he sounds concerned; maybe he does care. "Fine" I sigh, moving the loose pajama pants to my knee. He winced at the small cuts, moving to the door "I'll be back" he said before being completely behind the door.

He walked back in with a first aid kit. Pulling out a small bowl of water, he got a rag wet and gently cleaned the cuts on my leg. As he held my leg, I felt a strange, intimate sensation and looked away, trying to hide my blush. "Wouldn't this be more effective in the bathroom?" I muttered, but Fred didn’t look up from tending to my leg. "This works fine," he whispered. Did he not realize how much he was making me blush? Im supposed to be mad right now.

Silence settles around us as he gently holds my leg while tending to my cuts. I wince when he applies antiseptic to one of the wounds. "Sorry," he murmurs, appearing deep in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask, feeling a bit hesitant. "I’m sorry for being upset. I was just worried. You should be more careful." I roll my eyes at his words.

"Oh please, like you’ve never gotten hurt doing a prank," I retort.

"I have, but it’s different with you," he replies.

"What? Different how?"

He sighs, slightly annoyed. "Just forget it, okay?" And just like that, we’re back to square one, with me feeling upset at him again.

Early in the morning, I made my way over to the Weasley house. We had planned to just hang out. I knocked on the door; Charlie answered, "Hey, Charlie." I smiled, "Fred! Your girlfriend/boyfriend is here," Charlie yelled. Looking behind him, I could hear Fred yell back, saying she's not my girlfriend/boyfriend, then pushing Charlie out of the way. "Jeez, sorry, mate," Charlie chuckled.

Fred pulled me in, practically dragging me to the living room. He laid down on the couch, tugging me along with him. This was a common occurrence, one that often got me teased. “Get a room,” Ginny said, wiggling her eyebrows at me. I poked my tongue out at her, and she giggled. Fred just pushed his head further into my neck

I felt a slight sadness because I knew that this would probably never develop into a romantic relationship; Fred only saw me as a friend.

My thoughts were interrupted when music began to play. Fred lifted his head, looked at me, and then got up, pulling me along with him. "Dance with me?" he asked. I smiled at Fred's offer and nodded. He set me down on my feet and started doing some weird dance moves that made me laugh. "You're so silly," I said in between laughs. The more I laughed, the more he seemed to smile.

"Ok, ok," he said, grabbing my hip and starting to dance with me; we were so close. I could feel his breath. How did we get so close in so little time? I looked away, trying to focus on anything but him. "Look at me," he whispered. Huh! How! Why! He didn't even know what he was doing did he?

I glance at him but not fully facing him, he smiles. "Good"

The end of summer was nearing; there was a party being thrown. So nationally Fred asked me to go, and wanting to spend as much time with him as I can before he went back to his fancy school, I said yes.

The party wasn't amazing, but it was still fun. I saw some old friends, and Fred and I sang our hearts out. At some point, Fred slipped away and feeling uncomfortable in a crowd of people I didn't know, I decided to go find him.

Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, hoping it would be Fred, but instead, I was met by a stranger. The guy smiled and said, "Hey, do you want to dance?" I was taken aback and replied softly, "No, sorry."

"Oh? Well, can I have your name? Maybe we can meet up later," he said, looking a bit annoyed.

I replied, "I don't even know you," feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "Buzz kill," he said, pushing past me. Then he stopped, turned around, and added, "You know what? You’re lucky that someone like you would even get a chance with someone like me. If you can't see that, then it's your loss. There are a million people who want me."

"Then go bother them, because this isn't going to work," Fred said. Hearing his voice made you feel more comfortable. "And who are you, there boyfriend?" He laughed, clearly thinking it was a joke.

"So what if I am?" My eyes widened in surprise; I didn't expect him to say that. "I don't believe it," the guy said finally leaving. I sigh, "That was weird, sorry you had to lie" I awkwardly laugh; he nodded. "Hey, what if... what if I didn't have to lie?" I looked at him confused, "what do you mean?" I nervously waited for the answer. "I mean what If I was your boyfriend"

This started off poorly; then it was somewhat good, but ultimately bad again. Sorry, everyone. I've already restarted this, so I'm just going to post it. Hope you like it!

[shadowtofen]

a little reznov rant i sent in a server i'm in

i love viktor reznov no one understands him like i do ( because i am him but thats beside the point ) ( will be referring to myself in the 3rd person so people dont get confused )

i love his characterization i feel like treyarch did an amazing work but i also feel like his mental issues are often overlooked . and it's so ironic because people always talk about reznov being some strong cold alpha hero or smth who doesnt need coddling and doesnt have any trauma and it's just . you fell for the character's facade meant to be dismantled by the player / viewer ! ! ! plus, their depiction of him is often way over exaggerated . like yes he is strong and sometimes cold towards his allies but he does care . he is most likely the most progressive person in the game i'd say ( these are my thoughts ) . deep down he is still a broken person just like the other characters , yet people don't acknowledge it because they can't see through his facade . they're at war , of course he isn't going to break down crying about his issues , but that doesn't mean he doesn't have issues .

think about it , he's been in that prison for 18 YEARS . there is not doubt he developed a lot of mental issues during that time period . we can already see this when mason writes about reznov and dimitri in his journal . mason knew in detail about the battles and journeys reznov had gone through with dimitri . mason says reznov often told him he saw dimitri in him . this man has been in prison for eighteen years yet he still has a perfect memory when it comes to his dead " best friend . " this attachment grows so unhealthy he starts seeing dimitri in other people . this delusion of his grows so strong he constantly puts himself in danger just to protect mason . where have we seen that behaviour before ? oh , right , with dimitri . ( he already shouldn't be putting his life on the line for one man but i digress ) . an example of this is the beginning of their vorkuta escape plan where reznov PLANNED to get beaten up by that guard just so mason could kill the guard and take the keys . plus , he quite literally admits just a step later ( step 2 : ascend from the darkness , on the elevator ) that he trusts mason with his life .

he takes the whole " victory cannot be achieved without sacrifice " saying way too seriously , but he has always been like that ( the most obvious example being mason's reprogramming done by his hand ) . another example would be when he sacrificed himself ( even though he ended up surviving ) just to get the guards off mason's back so mason could escape

also , in a cut content scene from waw , chernov wasn't supposed to die immediately by the burns and instead was meant to get shot by reznov / dimitri . reznov tells dimitri that chernov is suffering and that " he knows what to do " . if dimitri waits too long , reznov outright puts chernov out of his misery himself . in his eyes , he was giving chernov a quick and less painful way out , instead of trying to treat his wounds . it is shown so many times he believes death to be merciful .

all of this is not the mindset a " normal " or mentally stable man would have , but of course most fans will never acknowledge it because they can't even see past his whole hero facade that he puts on .

obviously this isn't to say that he hasn't done bad shit and that his trauma justifies what he has done to mason , but he wasn't some normal man who knew EXACTLY what he was doing . he was blinded by his need for vengeance . he always has been , and this behaviour most likely rose from his father's death : the undying loyalty to his motherland and the self - destructing need for vengeance .

he most likely regrets what he did to mason . will mason ever forgive him ? probably not . does mason owe him forgiveness ? fuck no . i like to think that's why reznov went along with the whole death thing after vorkuta . in his eyes it was better for mason to move on without him than for him to be a constant reminder of his trauma . did that help at all ? according to bo2 woods : not a goddamn bit .