#ANYWAYS STREAM LOVE FROM THE OTHER SIDE AND KEEP STREAMING IT

[munsster]

fixer upper

A/N: IM ACTUALLY SO EMBARASSED TO ADMIT THIS IS BASED ON ‘FIXER UPPER’ FROM FROZEN 💀💀💀 does that mean it counts as a song fic…….. (gif creds: @buckysbarnes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: The kids aren’t saying you can change him, per se. They’re only saying that love’s a force that’s powerful and strange. 2.8k words

Warnings: fluff, babygirl steve, cursing, mentions of toxic (?) relationship, hopeless pining, pet names (sweetheart), shameless flirting

Steve can barely see through his rose-tinted daydream, but he's sure he recognizes your smile as soon as you enter the food court. And you lead a trail of whiny teenagers right to his register. This is the fourth time this week you've heard about Steve's lusturous hair and dazzling eyes. You have to hand it to them, they're not bad salesmen, just a tad young to elicit ethos. What the hell do they know about love anyway.

That's what happens when you're licensed and free on a Friday afternoon: babysitting duty. Now, in the event that Steve had been the one saddled with the party on his day off, he would've argued that they're not really babies and they should be self-sufficient. Knowing Dustin, however, this argument proves to be false almost every time.

But it wasn't Steve, it was you. Steve doesn't think he's heard you complain about one thing in your life.

Not even your deadbeat boyfriend called Brad. Who, as Dustin and Max and Robin love to remind him, is utterly replaceable and on thin ice every other week. Steve knows better than to get his hopes up after three months of having them crushed, though. He's learned to live with the strong sense of yearning he feels whenever you're within thirty feet of him.

Take now, for example: you're coralling half a dozen brats into a somewhat single-file line without even having to raise your voice. He should think it's impressive, but he's too distracted by your lip gloss and your voice and the way you did your hair today.

"I hope you give discounts to distressed young women," you tease, brows knitting when you look up at him. This is the part where he's supposed to respond with something charming. Sexy and charismatic, maybe.

"Oh, uh," he chuckles, "No, I mean, yeah. Sure"—Oh, but you smile at him and all that pent up charisma flies out the neon-framed sliding doors. They chatter out their orders at lightning speed, and he can barely catch half of what they're saying when you look at him like that. You finally make it to the register and pay half price. And your cone is always on the house, of course.

"Isn't he such a gentleman?" Max says unenthusiastically. Lucas elbows her side before retreating with Dustin.

"He's also a great driver!" Will chirps, shuffling away to one of the booths with Mike and El who giggle the whole way there. You turn back to Steve who stares off at them incredulously.

"You see what I have to deal with?" you say with some degree of affection for the chaos.

"Aw, come on," Steve says, tilting his head with a shrug, "you love it."

"I think they keep forgetting I already have a boyfriend."

Not much of a boyfriend if you ask me, he thinks.

But what he says: "Ah, yes. The elusive Brad."

You roll your eyes and grin at him. You know Steve has a crush on you. Or else the kids and Robin wouldn't be so adamant on marketing him to you. It's sweet, really. And honestly, you don't think Steve's unfit to play boyfriend or anything, but you're also not disloyal.

Your scoop melts down the side of the cone between your fingers. Steve nearly hurls himself across the counter handing you a thick stack of napkins.

"Shit, thanks," you huff, lapping at the stream of sticky ice cream. His stomach churns as his face screws into a sickly smile.

"Yeah. No problem."

"No, really"—you wrap a napkin around the cone, shoving the rest into your pocket—"I don't know what I'd do if I had to pay the entire bill everytime one of them had a craving."

"Really, it's not a problem," he shrugs it off like it doesn't come out of his paycheck. "I like helping out pretty girls when I can."

You giggle and tilt your head. "Steve Harrington, you're my hero."

He's almost embarassed at how fast his face flushes red hot and frantic. He reaches for the back of his neck on impulse, and any attempt he makes at seeming suave is foiled by Robin patting him on the shoulder.

"If you think that's heroic, there was this one time he singlehandedly saved Hawkins with this sick baseball bat with nails—"

He huffs, "Robin—"

"No, seriously! Don't be so modest, Steve, you're selling yourself short!"

"I'm not trying to sell myself at all!" he says, turning her around and guiding her towards the door to the back room.

"Great seeing you!" she hollers over her shoulder just before disappearing behind the swinging door. You wave with a chuckle. Steve tuts, fixing his sailor hat and shaking his head.

"Did you really do all that? Save Hawkins, I mean?" you ask. And you seem genuinely interested which is why it guts him. The one girl who actually gives a shit is coincidentally unavailable.

"Yeah," he says, shrugging, "but only to clear my conscience. It's like penance, or whatever."

You giggle, not sure if he's being truthful or playing it off. He meets your eyes and he's sure his heart stops dead in his chest for a beat. Nobody pulls off mall lighting like you.

The kids come skipping back to the counter, declaring they've all got different wants and needs around the mall for the next few hours.

"Okay, hold on, I promised I'd have you guys back before my date," you say, Steve overseeing the conversation from over your shoulder.

"Well," he interjects, "when's your date?" All the attention shifts to Steve, and he suddenly wishes he could swallow up the words and take them back for good.

"Two hours from now. Across town," you say, looking a little guilty knowing he's about to make the kindest offer of the year.

"I'm off at five, so I can just"—stop talking—"take them home after my shift."

"Steve, really, you don't have to—"

El grins, eyes wide as she whispers in Max's ear.

Steve shakes his head, "Sweetheart, believe me, I want to. Besides, you've already been through enough with the rascals. Go have fun."

You turn to the kids, almost pleading with them to accept Steve's generosity.

"Is that okay with you guys? I don't wanna leave you stranded," you admit.

They nod in agreement, throwing out a couple yes's and sure's. They're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, but you still feel bad dumping them on Steve like this.

Dustin interrupts: "This really just goes to show how Steve is a great candidate for marriage and other domestic relations. He can be odd at times and he might care too much about his hair, but you can tell by his actions that he would be a very reliable husband, a generous life partner, and—"

"And a great friend," you giggle, trying not to let Dustin get too carried away. You have sat through enough of his speeches for one day. "Now, quit trying to set us up!"

Steve rolls his eyes at the boy. "Seriously, at least wait 'til she's single. Then she can reject me for me."

You whip back to face him with a sour look on your face.

"Steven! That's not—that's rude to yourself," you huff, "Say three nice things."

He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting at you.

"You're pretty, I like your shoes, and you smell nice."

"About you!"

"Ohh," he feigns surprise, "No." But you reach across the counter to whack him on the arm with a shocking amount of force. The kids chuckle from behind you. Steve can't help but smile when you raise your brows proudly. "Fine! I am deserving of love, I am great company, and my hair looks particularly shiny today."

"Good," you nod, "I agree. And I have to go, see ya!"

"With which one?" he says, watching you jog out of the store waving. "Wait! Sweetheart? Agree with which one??"

Steve sighs sharply, hands perched decidedly on his hips as his gaze falls flat on the militia of pre teens staring him down.

"What do you want?" he says.

"You're hopeless," Max says, mouth pressed in a hard line before she wanders off, arm-in-arm with El.

"Yeah, dude. And kinda desperate," Mike shrugs.

"Hey," he grumbles. Who knew such harsh words could come from such little humans. You'd think they'd be harmless at this age. You'd be wrong. 

"You're a total virgin," Dustin says, very matter-of-factly.

Steve cocks a brow, honestly trying not to laugh at the severity of Dustin's demeanor when he says it. "I don't even think you know what that means."

Dustin blinks. "Well, I think you haven't had sex in long enough that you qualify as one."

"Shit."

...

Much to Steve’s surprise, it only takes butthead Brad two more weeks to absolutely shatter your heart. No one knows the complete details other than it happened at a frat party and you had to walk back to the dorms alone. But Steve doesn’t need complete details to know he wants to shatter Brad’s jaw with his fist.

But he also vowed to use means other than violence to get his point across. He should be awarded for the amount of restraint it took to see your bloodshot eyes and not speed immediately off towards Asshole University like a Brad-seeking atomic missile.

Of course, he’s thankful you felt comfortable enough to call him. In fact, he was the first one you rang. And he knows this fact because you told him while you were sniffling away tears a week and a half after the break up.

Now, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his beemer, curled into your sweater, and listening to late night soft rock radio while he focuses on the dark highway ahead of him. You hadn’t wanted to do anything else but sit in his car and think. His heart clenches everytime you wipe away a tear with your soggy sleeve.

He pulls off the highway during an ad break, finding a secluded diner surrounded by nothing but trees and gas stations. He pulls into a parking spot near the back of the lot where the overhead lights aren’t blinding, but you aren’t completely in the dark. He leaves the car on so the cold doesn’t seep in, engine still purring softly from under the hood.

“Who needs ‘em,” he says in attempt to lighten the mood. “Being single is way cooler. Take it from me. You get a bed all to yourself and you can fart whenever you want.”

You’re frowning, but you know he means well. You just can’t help the fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Oh, come here,” he whispers, leaning over the center console and dipping his hands over your shoulder and around your waist. His arms feel so strong and so warm where they envelop you entirely. Steve always was the best hug you ever receieved.

You can’t help but chuckle wetly into his collar after a moment.

“God, he was such an asshole, wasn’t he?”

“Uh, duh! Doesn’t take a genius to…” Steve laughs, pausing and brushing the hair away from your damp cheeks. “I know, sweetheart, and you deserve heaps better. You were always way too cool for that loser.”

You blink up at him in the low light. There’s a kind of twinkle in your eye that makes the tips of his ears hot. This time, you reach for him, weaving your arms beneath his jacket with a deep sigh. Your breathing slows against his neck, and he rubs your back while your arms tighten a little around his waist.

He can’t help but wonder what you’re thinking whenever you look at him with your doe eyes, seemingly sweet and far too inquisitive. He knows you’re probably just looking, maybe thinking of something else. But the hopeless romantic in him rattles his rib cage and shouts you might actually consider him this time.

“Wanna go get shakes? On me,” he whispers. You sniffle, wiping your aching nose on the cuff of your sleeve.

“I can pay for myself,” you tease, popping open the car door when he cuts the engine.

“Nope! Sorry, I don’t let girls pay, remember? Super sexist, I know. Plus the whole pretty privilege thing. Honestly, I should just be paying you at this point,” he says, hooking his arm around your back and feeling yours reach for his shoulder as you march towards the diner.

“I agree, rich boy,” you chuckle, “Reparations are in order for wrongdoings on behalf of your sex.”

He chuckles. He’s absolutely head over heels.

The waitress seats you at a cozy booth in the corner and makes a casual comment about the cute couple, asking how long you two have been together. Steve flounders at the question, flustered and pink in the face.

“Oh, we’re actually… not together,” you say, laughing awkwardly when she pouts and, again, remarks on how cute you’d be together. You order shakes for the both of you before perching your chin in your hand. Steve’s still reeling when the waitress walks away.

“Funny. We can’t even escape the third-degree from complete strangers,” you tease, winking at him from just a few feet away. Jesus, he’d think you were trying to kill him if you didn’t seem so lighthearted and playful.

“Yeah, pretty funny,” he sighs. And he’s probably being so obvious. Or maybe that’s how he is all of the time, so his heart eyes seem subtle. Or it’s obvious all of the time.

The waitress slides the shakes in front of you, and the bright red cherries sink further into the whipped cream.

“You know,” you murmur between sips, “I always thought you were pretty cute.”

He nearly chokes on his mouthful of chocolate malt, clearing his throat and trying not to crumble in on himself.

“Oh. Yeah, I get that a lot,” he huffs, “Mostly from little old ladies, but—Hey!”

You flick him and say, “Really! I know it’s not couth considering… Brad and all, but…”

“You’re being facetious,” Steve accuses.

“No—”

“Sarcastic!”

“Steve—”

“Ironic?”

“Try serious!” you hum, “I’m just saying, you’re very handsome. I was shocked to learn you were single when we first met.”

Steve’s blushing and puffing trying to maintain eye contact.

“What can I say? I’m just,” he huffs, “I’m not really worried about it.”

You tilt your head. “You’re not?”

“Nah. I know the right girl will find me in the end. Even if it takes a while. I don’t mind waiting for the right one.”

You settle back in the padded seat, wincing when it squeals beneath you. It makes you feel a little dejected, but you suppose he’s right. Especially because he seems so confident. So sure. It’s admirable. You want to be that sure of soulmates and love and the future.

“I feel the same way,” you whisper. He finishes off the rest of his glass with a smile.

“Though, it doesn’t exactly help having a bunch of little shitheads telling you to go get laid all the time,” he laughs.

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it” you lean in, “Just break up with him, steve is so much nicer. Dump that loser. Steve has a big crush on you.”

“They said that?” Steve’s not dumb, he’s sure you know by now, but he thought it was all conjecture. They will be hearing about this next time they want free ice cream.

“Yeah, that was like their main point. But I know with all the love in my heart they’re all full of shit.”

You shrug, and he chuckles dryly. He can’t decide whether you knowing is for better or for worse.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

Steve drives you home. You fall asleep in the car, and he keeps the radio low so as not to wake you. By the time he pulls into your driveway, he doesn’t care about the time or the fact that he lives far. He does, however, care about the way you smile lazily and peck his cheek in thanks.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

He says it but he wants to tell you what he’s feeling. He wants to ask if you’re over Brad. He knows you’re not and that’s okay, but he wants to ask if he can hold your hand to keep it warm. He wants to ask what kind of flowers you like and if it would be okay for him to drop them off on your doorstep tomorrow. He has so much he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t want to suffocate you.

He doesn’t know that you wouldn’t mind him asking.

more like this

masterlist

[hoseoksluna]

ROSÉ | jjk

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x wine!oc

genre: smut

word count: 5.7k

summary: on your first dinner date, your boyfriend brings you a small gift—too bad you're too horny to appreciate it.

pinterest board: wine

warnings: a bit of drunkenness, a mention of inner child healing, oc teases jungkook and oc is horny as fuck, dom/sub dynamics, wine!jk, provider jk..., daddy issues, punishment, spanking, food used during intercourse, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), dirty talk, a mention of a sex toy & a mention of a plushie in a sexual context, raw sex, brattiness, jk and oc smoke together

note: OH GOD—IT'S FINALLY HERE. SLFJSLDFJS. A REQUESTED DRABBLE about wine!oc and jungkook. this was so fucking fun to write and i was so hot and bothered from this that i had to take a break............ yeah uhm anyways, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. ENJOY READING AND LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ANONYMOUSLY IN MY INBOX. I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS. PLS AND THANK YOU. ₊˚⊹♡

side note: jk in the first pic made me fucking die. and other things....

The rosy pink nectar has, undeniably, gone to your head. 

Your empty wine glass is illuminated by the setting sunlight spilling past your shoulder, reaching its yellow, warm fingers to the tips of your boyfriend’s that rest lazily on the white cloth of the table. You’re woozy, in a lighthearted mood—so much that even the world has lost its heft and all you can sense is the sluggish process of your absorption. You’re engrossed in the way the spring coalesces with the beginning of summer—in the warm evening wind ruffling your curls, tickling your bare shoulders, in the darkening hues of the sky, pinks and violets, in the gray smoke of Jungkook’s cigarette interlacing with the slightly sultry air. You can see it in his eyes, the unfolding of it all. And perhaps you’re tipsy or perhaps you’re just brazenly and foolishly falling in love, because you’re aware that if the man weren’t sitting in front of you, none of these things wouldn’t have caught your attention in such a devastatingly profound way. 

He has made you feel so safe. By simply and beautifully laying his feelings bare. To you and for you. Created a haven for you to dwell in, for you to grow in and explore all the dark and light corners of you that have merely seldom seen the face of the sun. How could you not indulge in a little bit of alcohol, when you’re protected in that place of security? Let your girlishness swim a little, refresh herself, enjoy herself?

You’re glowing. You always had been, but your shimmers have gained a new intensity to their twinkles, keeping Jungkook’s liquid stars warm and taken care of inside of you. Their blunt points have carved you into someone else entirely, too. Joyous, cool-headed and absolutely and irrevocably self-assured. Fearless. And his hands have reached deep within and caressed the head of your inner child, healing her and washing her clean, giving her everything she ever lacked. Love, attention, care and validation. Whenever you remember that you never wanted him to get a glimpse of your soul, bile rises in your throat and your stomach hurts.

He saved you. Healed you. Through and through. Gave you his control.

It stirs your never-ending awe that he has managed to do this in a month, and you want to celebrate it. You think now is quite the perfect occasion for it as it’s your first dinner date since you’ve become exclusive. Having spent most of your time at each other’s places fucking, partying and fucking some more, it’s nice to be out, alone with him, that is—and it’s nice as fuck to be out with your boyfriend. The sex has become so different with the label and the rawness of his feelings. And the thing about Jungkook that gets you the most, that strengthens the realm he invented for you, is that once his emotions overflow, the stream of its wine doesn’t stop pouring. The moment he confessed his love for you, ever since then you sense it expressed in everything he does—in the way he greets you in the day, in his tight, burning embrace, in the tenderness with which he holds your hand or kisses it, the relentless, great thought and consideration he puts in the choices he makes for you on the daily. Whether it’s the fatuous things he buys you that mean the world to you, the way he never neglects bunny and incorporates her in everything you do together or… the sex. 

Fuck, the sex alone has taken over your life so vividly and drastically that it consumes your brain. There, in that environment, is where the wine of his emotions is the raciest. He’s not ashamed to cry, letting those liquid pearls trickle down your collarbones, quenching the thirst of his liquid stars as he fucks you dumb and enjoys every second of it. He’s not afraid to be loud either. To talk you through your orgasm with even more care and detail than you were accustomed to in the past. 

He’s become boundless. And it’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen in your life. 

God, you’d be crazy not to let yourself fall for him—

“I got you dessert,” Jungkook husks, digging his fingers into the pocket of his pants while his other digits draw close to his mouth. He takes a drag of his cigarette, crinkling his eyes so the smoke wouldn’t get into them and you beam at him with a fire that’s more scorching than the sun’s ever been in centuries, heart doing somersaults at the thought of him thinking of you and spending money on you again. And, also, at how hot he looks while he smokes.

Your love language must be gift-giving. You don’t know what else to connect it to, the joy that envelops your entire being whenever he gives you something. It doesn’t even have to be expensive, nor does he have to pay for it at all. Drawings have become your favorite keepsakes—drawings of his Miffy bunny, drawings of flowers, of you. You’ve hidden them away in a box along with everything he’s ever brought you, except the white bunny ring because you wear it daily and one small, particular drawing that you’ve put inside your glittery phone case. 

A cutesy marker sketch of him and you. His arm around your shoulders. Bunny sitting on your laps in the middle, as if she were your own child. Cheeks big and bubbly, pink and twinkling. Your curls the way you wear them; his mullet. A perfect depiction of the pair of you. You gaze at it every single day—prefer to now put your phone face down because of it. 

You’re tracing it now with the pad of your finger as you wait for him to reveal your mystery gift to you. The bulby heads, the cheeks, Miffy’s ears. Jungkook puts out his cigarette, puffing out the smoke, away from you, and once he’s done, he taps the back of your hand. Turns it over and spreads out your fingers, inserting, at a snail's pace, something round but slender at the same time, smiling adoringly at you. 

What a sight to behold. It steals, fleetingly, your attention away from his hand. 

Slicked back mullet, twinkles taking laps in his soft eyes, blushed cheekbones and stretched, pouty mouth, shiny with his liquid love. Long neck that you’d like to devour now, the broadness of his shoulders and chest that could come second as a plain, dark beige shirt accentuates his hard work at the gym. 

Oh, fuck. Your nipples pebble against your carmine tube top. 

Jungkook withdraws his hand and with blurry eyes, you look at the thing he placed in your palm. 

Chupa Chups. Strawberry and cream. 

Your mouth parts and it’s a concoction of a gasp and a sound of endearment when the realization that he got you a lollipop sinks in. Your heart flips and does a head stand. Lips round into a pout, drunk eyes softening, its twinkles growing in size and light. It’s like he gave you something golden, when in fact it costs a few wons, but to you it’s exactly that. Something so precious. 

You give him an air kiss, bouncing in your seat in joy, fingers already destroying the wrapper. “Thank you so…”

Your brows furrow as the wrapper remains intact. You do a bad, bad job of picking at the tape around the slender stick, your long manicured hands absolutely useless—and the cause of your frustration. You puff out an angry gust of breath, trying harder to get to the sweet delight and it’s at that moment that your boyfriend takes it from your hands with a deep chuckle. 

“You silly boo, this is how you do it.” Jungkook pinches the wrapper around the stick and he merely, in a few swift motions, twists the ball until it lets go. He scrunches it in his fists and throws it away in the ashtray. Smirks smugly, leans his elbows on the table, draws close to you. You mirror his position, get to him almost nose to nose, and his smirk deepens, tongue darting out to lick across his lips. You do the same, eyeing the round pinkness in his hand, the sexual attraction and its tension soaring high between you.

Without your hands, you could put it in your mouth, mimic the way you do it on his own tip and make him lose his mind a little bit. It’s right here, an inch away and you dip your head towards it, a magnetic pulling drawing you naturally to it. Sense his gaze on you, sense his delight, sense the flashback glimmering across the wholeness of him. But before you could wrap your lips around it, he moves it out of your reach. 

“No,” Jungkook murmurs, breath slightly ragged, holds it up in front of your face, watches as you go cross-eyed a little bit. Hums at the sight, quietly enough for only you to hear. “If you want it, ask for it nicely.” 

His puffy lips being so close to you, you desire to kiss him—cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, his oh-so-loved dominance fucking with your drunkenness and your brain, body altogether. You tip your head to the side, flutter your lashes, make your eyes big and smile at him as sweetly as you can. 

He coos, validating you, and it is a force that makes you feel safe enough to submit to him like a small animal to its father. Safe enough to want to get under the table and make him feel really, really good, too. 

“Can I have the lollipop, please?” 

He groans, still quietly, and your panties drench immediately. You widen your eyes at him, feeling your slick, pursing your lips to scold him silently. He just laughs, amused by it all, and the sound of his joy fills you with elation.

One that darkens, when he asks, “Where?” 

You lick your lips, taking in the question, struck by it. Letting your mind wander, the places where you want it, except your mouth, is on your nipples and your clit. Nicely sweet and sticky—for him to clean up, for him to enjoy. Your dewiness soaks the material of your panties and your body begins to yearn for any kind of friction. You’re not sure whether you’re able to stick around in your chair, acting as if nothing’s wrong—acting as if you’re not stupendously horny. 

“In my mouth.” 

Jungkook makes a noise of appreciation and you’re so frustrated by all those sounds he makes that you want to dig your nails in his arms and make him pay for it. Even more so, when he plunges the lollipop into his mouth and his lips pucker around it, inciting the butterflies in your tummy to go absolutely fucking berserk. You place your hand on his bicep, nails ready to attack, but then he pulls out the treat with a pop, angling it at your mouth. 

“Open.” 

You thought he stole it from you, but he did no such thing. He wetted it for you, like a father for its child. You’re stupefied to the point that you don't even realize that you’re leaving a mark on the linen material of your seat. 

You do open your mouth for him, however. 

He twists the ball on your tongue, expecting you to close your mouth around the stick, but you don’t. No, you swirl that muscle around the candy, deepening your gaze, smirking. Jungkook stills, clenches his strong jaw. Darkness flicks across his eyes and he narrows them. First warning. 

You pretend you don’t see it. 

Closing your mouth and encasing your hand around his, you move the lollipop to the side of your cheek, acting as if it were his dick. And when you bob your head once, Jungkook tugs on the stick, wanting to pull it out, but you don’t let him, keeping it caged between your teeth. It only drives you to bob your head again.  

“Stop,” he says, voice calm, deep and serious—terribly deadly. Withdraws his hand and leans back, watching you with a predatory gaze, one that makes you even wetter. “Or we’re going home.” 

That’s exactly what you want. Instructions clear. 

You open your mouth and do a show of swirling your tongue around the ball, only this time you flick the muscle against it. Jungkook grips the table, knuckles white, and you laugh, which you soon realize was a grave mistake. 

“You think it’s funny?” he questions you, staring you down with a look that should frighten you, but it merely turns you on. You suck on the lollipop, the dulciness of strawberries suffusing your senses. “I’ll bend you over this fucking table, lift up that slutty little skirt and spank you in front of everyone.” 

You pull out the candy with an exaggerated pop. Scowl at him. As though his words didn’t affect you the way that they did—as though you’re not squeezing your thighs together, trying to gain that friction you so desperately need. “Why are you so angry?” 

He looks away for a moment, laughing silently. Nods his head at your wine glass. “You finished with your wine, baby?” 

It’s this pleasantness that you hear in this voice that spreads goosebumps across your skin. Feigned sugariness—the sunlight right before the clouds come in and thunder strikes; the calm before the storm. 

Good thing you’re dressed for the rain and ready to sing in it. 

You nod your head and Jungkook clicks his tongue, grabs you by your hand whilst he pulls out his wallet. You accompany him as he walks over to the bar, black card ready between his fingers. Waits to be noticed. Gives you a look over and fixes your skirt, pulling the hem down. 

Pays for you. Smiles down at you as he pockets his wallet. 

And then, he drags you to his car. 

Perhaps it’s the fresh air, perhaps it’s the briskness in his walk and the tight hold around your hand, but all intoxication evaporates from your body, leaving only your stained elation and neediness. You can’t help your smile. Think it must be sewn in at this point. By his own diligent fingers. 

A wind blows in, pulling your hair to your front and Jungkook pins you against his car. Tits squished against the passenger side, elbows pressed together. Eyes wide, you check your surroundings and find no one in sight. Only swaying trees, buildings of apartments, lamps illuminating the dark street. You relax right away, trusting Jungkook that he’s on the lookout and knows what he’s doing. 

He grinds his hips against your backside and you moan at the feeling of his hard length. With his free hand, he brushes your hair to one side and begins to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck, nuzzling his face in. Hovers his lips above your ear when he says, “You feel how hard you made me with your little show?” You nod, quickly, wanting more of him, wanting him inside of you. Push your hips back; twirl them in slow circles. Jungkook hisses. “I guess you really do want that spanking. Where’s your lollipop?” You show him your hand, where your treat remains uneaten and dry. He takes it from you and you turn your head in time to see him sink it into his mouth, placing it on the side of his mouth like you did. “Get inside the car.” 

Jungkook opens the door for you and forces you in, closing it with a harsh thud. As he rounds the vehicle, he makes eye contact with you and your tummy flips in response. 

Fuck. 

Nothing happens in a millisecond once he’s seated, but then he grabs your cheeks, squishing them in the way he likes, and kisses you hard, lollipop in hand. Moving his mouth against yours, his tongue only briefly greets you before he pulls away. “Naughty fucking girl. You’re lucky that I love you because otherwise…” He doesn’t finish his sentence with words, but with another kiss, breathing against you, grunting when it’s you this time that slips the tongue inside, playing with him the same way you played with the dessert he got you. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me. I’m gonna put you in your fucking place, make you remember how to behave in public. You’ve forgotten, haven't you?” 

You don’t have time to react, you merely bite your lip so hard that it aches. Jungkook pushes you back and yanks your leg between his, lifting your skirt. Then, he hovers his palm above your ass, the other forearm resting on the top of the seat, lollipop dangling near your head. He hides his smirk behind his effort to flatten his lips. 

And when he spanks you, you don’t roll your eyes back and rasp like your body naturally wants you to. No, you hold the eye contact and you take the pain, letting it course through your body, reveling in it. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps going, alternating between slapping your now reddened cheeks and the back of your thigh. Doesn’t even stroke the skin to alleviate the burn. He solely bores his gaze into yours, his cock rock hard against your leg. Another set of words are exchanged, silently, deeply, teaching you your lesson in tandem with the hits, burying it to a great depth inside you. 

And then he finishes with a nasty kiss, but his hand resumes causing you pain. You’ve lost count of how many spanks you’ve taken. 

It’s like you’ve woken up from a trance. It reverberates throughout your entire body and it’s now that you allow your body to vocally react. You whine, rounding your mouth in a pout, so different from the one on the dinner date. And you remember your manners—perceive how wrong it was to tease him, even though a good half of you still takes delight in it. 

“It hurts,” you whisper, nudging your lips against him and he gives you your last spank—the hardest of them all. The infliction makes you flutter your eyes shut and Jungkook brings them back to him by caressing his knuckles down your flushed cheek. 

“Good, you remember how to behave now?” he asks, halting his movement, such piercing intensity in his irises that drive you to nod your head. “That’s my good little girl.” Taps the side of your thigh. “Let Daddy make it better now.” 

You open your legs for him and Jungkook pushes your soaked panties to the side, revealing your little bedewed seashell. He hums at the sight of her, pops the lollipop back inside his mouth. Collects your arousal by swirling the pads of his middle and ring finger around your hole, eyes flicking from your pussy to your own, groaning when he comes into contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles. You whimper, bucking your hips, needing him to go faster, needing to come. 

Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. “You take what I give you or I’ll stop.” Lifts his hand to express the gravity of his threat and you help, wrapping both hands around his and putting it back on your bundle of nerves. He chuckles at your desperation, giving you the same circles, though now firmer. 

Waves the lollipop near your lips. You open your mouth, instinctively, and he plunges it into your mouth for a mere second before he pulls away, growling at the sound that comes out. He does it again, fucking you with it in a way, just to hear that pop and he’s so pleased with it that he sinks those two fingers inside your heat, fully, in one ego. Keeps them there. Teases you. Hovers the lollipop out of your reach and you decide to fuck with him back. Darting out your tongue, you whirl it around the flat side and he swears, moaning, giving to you at last. 

He latches his mouth onto your neck, starting the drill of his fingers. “Fuck, you’re so hot.” 

He picks up the speed so rapidly that you scream, squeezing your eyes shut, the pleasure permeating your body so vastly that you quiver all over. Grab a hold of his hair, pulling on it and then—

Then, he withdraws his fingers. Ruins your orgasm. 

You pant, trying to catch your breath. “Please, Jungkook, please—”

He nudges his nose against yours. “What, baby?” 

“I need to come, please.” 

Jungkook tuts, kissing you once. “I thought we could play.” Plunges the lollipop into your mouth to wet it. Shows it to you, just to see you go cross-eyed again. Moans. “Where do you want it, hm?” 

Ever the angel that makes your fantasies come to life. You wrap your fingers around his hand, butterflies swarming in your tummy. Lead him towards your still clothed breasts. “Here.” Take him to your drooling pussy. “And here.” 

Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Descends his fingers a little lower, to your other hole, circles it. “What about here?” 

You giggle, but you shake your head. The idea may be intoxicating, however reality is much different. There’s a risk to putting any sweetened food inside, one you don’t want to deal with. 

Jungkook smiles at you, pushes your seat back and slides it in the same direction. Crawls over you and you feel so feminine, so sexy underneath him. Nipples perked under your top, breasts full and spilling. You arch your back towards him and Jungkook drags his thumb from your bottom lip, to your chin, neck, the dip of your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your Tom and he tugs it down so harshly that you can’t contain your very own concoction of a gasp and moan. 

Lollipop in mouth, one hand propped by your head, the other squeezes your breast hard, nearing it, fingers pinching your nipple. Makes the flesh as red as your ass. You can tell he likes the view by the way he coos, but then he wipes all your thoughts away, when he sucks hard on the candy and swirls it around your stiffened nub, gaze flicked to yours to watch your reaction. 

The pleasure is so vivid, so dizzying—and for him, you let it paint your face in all its colors. Brows scrunched, bedroom eyes, mouth parted, puffing out desperate breaths. Jungkook sucks it again and smears his saliva around your other nipple, taking his time, slapping the ball once against it, making you hiss. 

“It feels so good,” you murmur, sinking your fingers into the longer length on the back of his hair, bringing his mouth to yours. You kiss him with a verve that causes him to groan. You swallow that sound, satisfied. 

He grins at you. “I bet.” 

Dips his head and envelops that sugar-coated nub with his warm lips, sucking it hard. His groan spreads there, deepens there and you arch your back even more, pulling his head to your other nipple so he can do the same thing. Join your other hand to his hair and do whatever you please—turn his head side to side, from one nub to the other—and he lets you, giving you, momentarily, his control. You feel your essence soaking the seat beneath you and you thank the heavens that the fabric is one of leather. You lift his head and try to push it down, but he won’t budge. Stares you down instead, lustfully. 

“Where do you want me?” he asks, a wrinkle between brows. “Be a good girl and tell me.” Pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

You sigh, kissing him once on the side of his neck, using your tongue. Make sure you’re looking at him as you reply, “On my clit.” 

He moans, eyes woozy, finger on the stick as he sucks the candy, clefts of dimples on either side of his cheeks. You palm his length, your own digits rounding across his tight balls and he whisks his irises back, grinding into your hand. “You want a lickie?” 

“Yes, so bad, please.” 

He hums and kneels before you, kissing your clit once in greeting. Then, he flattens his tongue and licks a fat stripe across your whole femininity—from your slit, to your swollenness. Hands on your hips, index curled around the lollipop, he holds you steady, prevents you from meeting him, as he stimulates you like this. Up and down, tongue rolling, eyes fixed on you, devouring you. And when he stops to suck your clit, he taps your mouth once with the ball of the lollipop. The act of sucking on something while you’re getting pleasured like this almost throws you over the edge, your body coated in a layer of sweat, but Jungkook withdraws in time. Presses the delight in the middle and rubs small circles, just to prepare you for the big thing. You become so whiny, so loud that his eyes grow in size, watching you in awe. 

To reward you for such beauty, he rapidly strums it from side to side, causing you to nearly levitate, but he pins you down. Wetting it and placing it back down, grunting at the aftertaste of you mixed with the sweetness. 

And he can’t resist. Can’t hold back. The wrinkle between his brows deepens when he tastes you, licking you all over, tongue stopping occasionally its feast to flick at your clit before he swallows you whole. Grunts, sucks, licks. Eyes closed to savor the taste. The pressure in your core heightens, even more so when he lifts your legs, greedy for the side dish in the form of your other hole. You’re so close that you might burst. 

“You taste so fucking good, baby. So sweet. Come on my tongue, please, I want more of you.” 

He wants more of your taste. 

You come so hard that your orgasm takes you to an open sea, your body floating on calm waves, to and fro, eyes rolled to the sky—to the sunroof—seeing nothing but the elegance of the twinkling stars and deep purple clouds. 

“That’s it, baby, so good. That’s my little girl.” He slaps the side of your thigh, bringing you back to him. “Listening so well, learning her lesson, coming so hard. I’m proud.” 

His words alone could make you come again, but you’re distracted.

Jungkook unbuttons his pants and pulls out his manhood. Stroking himself, he lines his tip at your mouth. He doesn’t even have to tell you to open up—you do it yourself. Holding it at the base, he stuffs your throat right away, a guttural chuckle emitting out of his mouth when you gag. He pulls out to where you’re comfortable having him and you begin to bob your head, like you did with the lollipop. 

“Yes, suck it like that, my love. Daddy loves it when you do that.” 

His precum on your tongue, the way he’s holding himself, the position and his words—you moan around him, so out of your mind, so fucked out. And when he fucks your mouth, it turns you on so much that you go cross-eyed. 

Jungkook pulls out quickly, as if the sight of it alone was about to make him come. A string of your saliva from his tip drips onto your chest and he slides into your mouth again just to poke your cheek, just to mimic what you did with the lollipop. You whine, liking it so much, to the point that he drills this tender place of yours until he can’t take it enough. 

“Turn around.” You try to, but your legs are jelly. He manhandles you to the position he wants—on your knees, tits against the leather, arms around the headrest, the formerly abused cheek against it. “Hold onto it. Too bad we left bunny at home, huh?” 

Jungkook runs his cock across your pussy and you grind against it, needing the friction after the way he used you. You whimper for him. “She’s probably wondering where we are right now and why we’re taking so long.” 

“I’ll make it up to her.” He presses his length against your clit, encouraging you to use him back. “Rub your pussy like that on me, fuck.” He moves so it’s his tip that stimulates you. You ride him harder, moaning loudly against the leather. “You can make it up to her, too. Can ride her like I know you can. With a vibrator between your legs and hers, hm? How you like the sound of that?” 

You’re so close you could come in a second, but you don’t want it like this. You need him inside of you. “Shut up, I’m literally gonna come like this. Fuck me.” 

He fists your hair. Pain shoots up your scalp and he ruts into your heat. Fully. Until his pelvis collides with your ass. You scream. 

Lips by your ear. “Is this how you talk to your Daddy?” He begins to pump into your little tight hole. Mercilessly. The leather squeaks, a horrible, rapid sound that you can only faintly hear because all that your senses can focus on is his cock. “Your Daddy that loves you so much?” 

You come, pathetically. Sea and waves, palm trees that sway. Your legs tremble, but he keeps going, mouthing the shape of your ear. 

He tsks. “I’m gonna tell bunny on you. Maybe I’ll be the one who gets to fuck her while you watch.” He gives you a hard stroke, one that is followed by rapid thrusts that scramble your brain. “She’ll be so disappointed to hear how bad you’ve been, but I’ll make sure to tell her how hard I fucked it out of you.” 

Lifting you from the leather, he kneads your breasts, placing the lollipop in between and holding it up by squishing them. 

“Come on, get your lollipop.” He bounces your tits in his hands, signalizing you that he wants you to do it with your mouth. 

But you can’t do it. You come, majestically, your senses leaving you and wafting in the stuffed air of the car. Boneless, you sag in his arms. 

Jungkook coos. “You come so well around me that I’ll be good to you. You’re just a cockslut, aren’t you, baby? You just can’t help it, hm?” He puts the lollipop inside your mouth, chasing his so-needed release. 

It doesn’t take long for him to find the footsteps into that bliss that you left in your wake. He holds you like this, against him, tits spilling over his forearms as he jackhammers into you so hard that your whole body bounces, shakes and reacts to each grunt, to each whimper, to each kiss he presses onto your skin. 

With the little of the brain you have left, you decide to talk him through it—because he fucks you so good. 

“Come for me, Daddy, yes, please, fuck. Fill me up with your cum. I want it so bad, I want to feel you—” His cock twitches in you, but he continues, sloppily. “Yes, so good. That’s it. Come for your little girl, Jungkook.” A loud groan. A tight hold. A spurt of his cum inside your walls. You whimper and he fucks it deeper into you, giving you more of his liquid stars. “Jungkook, oh fuck, Jungkook, oh yes.” 

And it’s that never-ending litany of his name that helps him chase his high to the fullest. He kisses your neck hard in gratitude for helping him come, marking you, marking this memory. 

You stay like this for a little while. Sweaty, sticky, spent, breathing hard—lungs synced. 

A warm announcement sneaks to your heart, one that screams it into the drowsy skies once Jungkook pulls out of you, turns you around and, stealing your candy, kisses you. 

An announcement that you’re deeply and irrevocably in love with him. 

“You sounded just like me.” He finishes your lollipop for you, chewing the small bulby head as he dresses you and his cum spills onto your panties. 

Your smile is dopey, satisfied and you’re ready for sleep to take you, but Jungkook gets out of the car for a smoke. You think you need one, too, after what you’ve experienced together, and so you follow him out into the night on wobbly legs. 

He leans against his car, a cigarette in his mouth, one hand cupping the fire as he flicks his lighter to life. You wait until he puffs out the smoke into the air before you fold into the side of his body, stealing his cigarette and inhaling it, giving it back to him. 

Jungkook pats your head, rubbing your scalp, chin propped on it. “I didn’t mean what I said. You were perfect. I’m not telling shit to bunny, I promise.” 

You smile, fondly. Didn’t take his words seriously, not at all, but you’re grateful for the reassurement regardless. It’s just role-play, nothing else. 

“I know, baby,” you say, softly, massaging his stomach, going as far as under his shirt to feel his bare skin—ever so innocently. 

“I wanted to fuck you the moment you sat down. You’re just my little helper and because of that I’m glad we’re going home with my cum in your panties,” he whispers, placing the cigarette on your lips, so you can take a drag. “You deserve every drop.” 

You feel that familiar ache rooting in your core again, but you don’t think you can take another round. Jungkook lifts your chin, making you look at him. Twinkles, bigger than the ones of the stars up above, living in his soft eyes. That cute nose. Those pouty lips. His silky, dreamy heart that looks out for you and puts you first. 

The three words that you’ve never told him before rise up your body and you think now is the perfect occasion to say them. 

“I love you.” 

Wetness coats his eyes and the twinkles broaden, saturating them with an unfathomable, fulging light. He flicks his cigarette away, presses you closer to him and with his now free hand, he cups your face. Kisses you. For a long, long time. 

“I love you.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[maxlarens]

Max and 10 please <3

10) spooning at night

Despite the soundproofing you’d installed during Covid, you can still hear Max’s pedals going thunk against the walls of the apartment. The sound accompanied by faint chattering, occasional laughter, cries of outrage as he talks to his friends on stream.

He worries sometimes. But you’d tell him if it bothered you— besides, you like hearing sounds of life in the apartment. You’ve not quite adjusted to the sheer square footage of Max’s penthouse apartment yet, even though you’ve lived with him for years. You grew too used to New York apartments where your bedroom, kitchen, and dining room were always piled on top of each other. It’s strange to have so much space, more rooms than you know what to do with.

Anyway, no, the noise doesn’t bother you. You like to hear him enjoying himself, laughing with his friends, doing something that doesn’t have so much pressure attached to it. You don’t like to take him away from that prematurely, even if you’re missing him.

And you are missing him.

It’s the middle of the night. Maybe past midnight now. You’ve got the windows in your bedroom open, letting in the Monaco sea breeze in a futile attempt to cut through the sweltering heat. The overhead fan whirrs above you. Some mindless show you love drones quietly on the TV, casting you in ever changing colours as you twist and turn in the sheets. Trying to keep your mind off things you shouldn’t be worrying about.

You wait a while, watch an episode.

Then you give in to your selfish tendencies and pull up your Discord chat with Max on your phone, sending off a simple message— come to bed?

You put your phone back on the nightstand and try not to smile too wide when you hear the sim rig thunk and thud as Max climbs out of it a few minutes later. His footsteps on the hardwood floors as he stops by the kitchen and then makes his way to the bedroom.

The door creaks open. Max comes inside, stepping quietly as if you’re already asleep.

“Sorry, liefje,” he says softly, before he ducks into the closet to change, “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

You shake your head even though he can’t see, “You didn’t. I just couldn’t sleep.”

“You should have told me,” he sighs, coming out of the walk in closet wearing the oversized cat shirt you’d bought him and worn sweat-shorts with holes in the waistband, “I don’t mind cutting the stream short, not for you. They will survive without me.”

You hum and nod placatingly, knowing you wouldn’t ever ask him to do that. At least not for something like this. You’d only sent that message tonight because you knew he’d already been on for hours and would be wrapping up soon anyway.

“Got it,” you say, opening your arms and beckoning him to get into bed already.

He sighs again, an exasperated little exhale through his nose, and then climbs under the single sheet you’ve got draped over you. He shuffles into your space, pressing a wet kiss to the side of your chin as you press a kiss into his forehead and adjust your arms around him.

“Where are the cats?”, you ask, while Max busies himself with turning around.

You feel Max shrug. He’s adjusting the sheet so it sits over him perfectly and then fluffing his pillows so his head sits comfortably. You reach out to scratch the back of his neck, with three fingers, the same way you scratch the cats out of habit.

“Jimmy’s sleeping in the spare room,” he says, reaching blindly behind him to catch your shirt and drag you closer, “Dunno where Sassy is.”

“Causing trouble,” you laugh, slotting into place at his back.

You nudge your nose into his shoulder and sling your arm over his waist. Curling it around to press into his stomach. Your legs end up tangled, one of yours bent and hiked on his hip. Later, he’ll nudge it off because it twists the material of his shorts, but he tolerates it until you’re asleep.

“Mm,” he agrees, finding your hand splayed flat on his tummy and intertwining it with his own, “Always.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

chat part two

words: 700

warnings: 18+ only, cockwarming, p in v, very fluffy compared to part one i just wanted an excuse to write cockwarming sorry!, established relationship, streamer!rafe, gamer!rafe

part one / part two

“no, don't go.” you whine, gripping onto rafes hand, trying to pull him back down on the bed.

“im supposed to stream soon, baby.” rafe says, leaning back down to press a kiss against your lips.

you usually don't mind when he has to go stream, but you're feeling incredibly clingy today as you tug at his hand again when he doesn't lay back down, doesn't continue the cuddle session.

“why don't you come with me?” he offers. “you can sit on my lap while i play?”

that has you perking up, nodding rapidly. “can you carry me to your stream room though?”

your legs work perfectly fine, but that doesn't stop you from wanting rafe to carry you around everywhere, loving the way your bodies can stay pressed together.

rafe smiles softly, reaching down to scoop you into his arms. “you're lucky you're so damn cute.”

“love you.” you coo, pressing your lips to his neck as he carries you out of the bedroom and down the hallway. you don't hide the fact that your kisses quickly turn to sucks as you leave a hickey for everyone to see, yet again claiming your territory, not that rafe let's anyone even get close enough to try anything.

rafe sits down in his gamer chair and you quickly adjust to straddle him, your chests pressed together as he begins clicking buttons, setting up his stream.

“remember that time i sucked you off on live?” you ask with a small giggle.

“yeah, i remember how much shit i got from twitch.” rafe chuckles, dropping one hand to squeeze your ass. “totally worth it.”

“maybe… maybe i could sit on it?” you don't form the actual words, just alluding to what you're really asking for.

rafe hums, thinking it over briefly. he almost got his twitch partnership revoked, it even went as far as to threaten a ban despite nothing actually being seen. 

“you gotta actually sit still though.” he says. having your tight cunt wrapped around him will be well worth the possibility of a ban. plenty other streaming services would jump at the chance to have him exclusively anyways.

“promise.” you kiss rafes jaw as you slide your shorts and underwear off. rafe adjusts the camera, zooming it in more and changing the angle so there's no possible chance for your ass to be on screen as you pull his cock out of his pants.

“gonna start the stream now. get me hard then get on my cock.” rafe says, waiting for you to nod before clicking the button to start the live.

your body hides his privates as well, the camera just seeing rafe from the chest up as well as the back of your head.

“babygirl is feeling clingy today so she's joining me.” rafe says as the viewers start to roll in. “isn't she just the cutest?”

you smile, turning your head slightly to grin at the camera before focusing back on what you really want.

you wrap your hand around rafes cock, stroking him subtly until he's hard enough for you to raise your hips, hovering against his tip before slowly sinking down.

you let out a soft moan, remembering to press your mouth against his shirt to muffle the noise.

it's hard to stay still, but your eyes drift close and eventually as rafe streams, the gnawing need to get fucked or move decreases, and you find yourself enjoying the stillness.

“love you so much bun.” rafe whispers, kissing the side of your head as you're slumped against him.

“couple more games and ill be done, yeah?”

“um…” you glance at the time, blinking away the bit of sleep. rafe is always down to end a stream whenever you want, but you also don't want to force him to stop early. “im actually okay. you can keep going.”

“really?” he laughs as a new game begins. “not desperate to start bouncing?”

you shake your head no. “i actually kinda like just this.” you admit softly, laying your head back down.

rafe keeps streaming, his cock inside of you, warm and secured, your bodies secretly connected while you sleep on his shoulder, chat going crazy about how cute you are sleeping against him, wishing they were in your position.

rafe smirks seeing the comments. if only they knew.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @akirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @edszn @theoraekenslover

[liulith]

We as a fandom need to open our hearts to the insane comedic potential of Sir Pentious being included as a background character in stories taking place in the "old days" before Vox and Alastor's falling out. AND the comedic potential of one-sided Sir Pentious -> Vox.

Why?

Canon!Sir Pentious is attached to his era's aesthetics but he also wants to be "hip and cool" (see pilot episode; Sir Pentious as the how do you do fellow kids meme) and join the "Almighty Vees". When did he start wanting that? He's not a media demon trying to keep up with his audience and be a likeable public figure. He's a mechanic trying to conquer Hell by force thanks to his machines and obviously relishes in acting like a villain (fear me! I'm so evil! I'm the architect of destruction! etc. etc).

This is very different from the Vees' approach - maintaining a perfect public image, insidious manipulation tactics... Vox threatens Alastor in the show, but the Vees clearly haven't built their power through turf wars, which is and has always been Pentious' one and only strategy. All the machines we've seen him make are war weapons (+ the Egg Boyz who do his bidding, and help him operate those very weapons). Voxtek probably sells weaponry too but that is more Camilla's domain, so it would be more logical for Pentious to try and join her.

Pentious' and the Vees agenda and interests aren't aligned, so why is Pentious so desperate to join the Vees?

there are many reasons why Pentious could want to be part of the Vees besides the one I'm gonna talk about but you know what MY agenda is:

Vox is Pentious' idol. Pentious is an inventor, an innovator. He would have loved waking up in Hell with a mechanical body he can upgrade however he wants and finds the whole concept fascinating.

He's not against new technology, as his creations clearly go beyond what people could have had invented in his time despite their "steampunk" aesthetic (see: the effing death ray). So I think his current "limitations" are more a matter of him having to stick with what he knows best because it's hard to keep up with the constant stream of new tech. This is why he's more than impressed with Vox's extraordinary ability to adapt to change and master new technologies again and again. He's a fellow innovator! That's one reason for Pentious to be obsessed with the guy.

And if you think obsessed isn't the right word, think about this: Sir Pentious repeatedly challenges Alastor to fights even though he's clearly outmatched and it's an incredible risk to take considering what Alastor does. Pentious is OLDER than Alastor, he was there when he broadcast the most powerful Overlords' scream all over Hell. Plus, losing always leaves him in a very vulnerable position (without his best weapons). Is it madness? Hubris? An obsession for Alastor? No!

Sir Pentious to Alastor: Silence! Now Cower! For when I've slain you, the Almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me!

Sir Pentious thinks defeating Alastor is the only way the Vees will finally acknowledge him. No matter how dangerous it is, he has to try, for the Vees (Vox). Just like he took the risk of angering the Princess of Hell to get in Vox's good graces. This says a lot, for someone as paranoid as him, who doesn't trust anyone who is "too nice" to him.

If Hazbin had more episodes there should have been one about Pentious struggling with the fact he disappointed his idol and told to KHS 👀

(btw this is old news but we know that one of the Hazbin episodes that Viv originally pitched was about a science contest organized by Voxtek in which Pentious and Baxter competed against each other! Pentious could have done that after ep2!)

Anyway, back to the comedic potential of it all & Vox's arrival in Hell. Can you imagine his reaction as a newly fallen Sinner, when he's hanging out with Alastor (aka following him like a lost puppy?) and he meets Sir Pentious for the first time? Like sure, Hell is full of insane people but Alastor obviously has a Reputation and no one ever challenges him. And suddenly... Hm... Alastor?? There's an airship with a giant cannon pointed right as us?? Firing a DEATH RAY?!

It's also so funny to imagine Sir Pentious being obsessed with Alastor and considering him his archnemesis back in the day, only to slowly become obsessed with Vox instead and only caring about defeating Alastor because he thinks Vox will like it. It starts with Sir Pentious trying to "gather intel" on Alastor's new "ally", spying on them or sending his Egg Boyz to do so (and we already know great he is at spying so you can guess how that goes lol), and the rest is history.

Alastor loves attention so he probably let Pentious spy on him behind bushes from time to time if only because it's very entertaining to watch him try to be discrete and make his shadow tap on his shoulder. How hilarious would it be if Alastor noticed Sir Pentious' growing crush on Vox but not Vox's crush on him? Also, Vox misunderstanding Pentious and Alastor's relationship and thinking Pentious is a weird obsessive ex... The world is a stage and the stage is a world of entertainment!

[heartofwritiing]

His sweater

paring: cc!wilbur soot x fem!cc!reader (featuring cc!tommy and cc!tubbo)

summary: you and wilbur are in a private relationship and one day while you’re streaming chat recognizes the sweater you’re wearing.

authors note: I wrote this a while back when I was coming back into writing. I'm sorry if its not as good as my usual stuff. the reader is a small streamer but she's close with all the britsh ccs, (bc she lives in the uk) she and wilbur are dating and no one knows not even their friends! but some of them do suspect it! I thought it was cute not sure if it's been done before and I really enjoyed writing it!!

warnings: secret relationship, anxiety attack, fluff, not proofread, and unedited!

It was supposed to be a relaxed stream, chatting and hanging out before Wilbur got home. That’s what it started as. You logged onto Twitch around 7:40 or so, after hanging out with Tommy and the gang for the day. 

Wilbur had gone to his office. He told you to head off without him and said he would be home in an hour or two after he finished editing. That was fine with you. You didn’t mind when he worked late since you didn’t go to bed until around midnight.

No one knew you and Wilbur were together. Like together, together. They thought you were close friends. Not even your friends knew you and sometimes hanging out with them was hard because you wanted to be all

It's not that you were embarrassed by each other. You wanted your privacy and time together to be yours and yours alone. You knew everyone in the group could be eccentric about romantic relationships. You knew deep down they would be happy for you but this was something you and Wilbur agreed to keep secret. For a while at least.

Only a few times have you let it slip when you were out with friends. Everyone knew you two were close so it wasn't that odd to see you being close.

Phill was the only one who knew what was going on. Because once he had caught Wilbur taking your hand in his while you walked side by side. You both completely forgot he was walking right behind you. Separating your hand from Wilbur's when Phill was giving you a knowing glance out of the corner of your eye. Wilbur felt you let go of his hand and he turned to you pouting.

Wilbur got the message completely, seeing Phil smirk back at him. Then, to make matters worse Tommy caught on to Phill being suspicious about something all day. Hence began the young blonde bugging him about what he was all smirking about all day.

Then there were times when you both streamed together. Whether it be at your house or even playing on the SMP, sometimes things would slip out on both your faults.

Like you’ll flirt with each other, or he’ll call you love, or darling. Small things that not everyone can catch onto. Everyone thinks you’re roleplaying anyways but you both know it's not. If you’re on stream you’ll hold your hands under the desk out of view of the webcam. Wilbur would caress your knuckles with his thumb, letting you know he was there. Or you’ll lay your heads on each other’s shoulders during late-night streams when you’re so tired. Little things like that, and of course chat goes nuts for it. 

They think it’s adorable how close you guys are. You love it too. , some people ship you guys but you ignore it, not caring about what they think. It wasn’t anyone's business.

So here you were taking a sip of water from your bottle and as you read the chat a donation came up and it made you perk up.

“Alyssa thank you for the four months!” you read off the donation with a smile. It made you happy that people wanted to stick around with your channel and found it a safe community to fall back on. That was what you wished for.

Your chat was going slow as usual since only about 2,000 or so people were watching. You were comfortable in your little corner.

Your eyes skimmed through the incoming text on your monitor. You froze when you saw a particular statement about your attire.

User: Wait is that Wilbur's sweater?!

You didn’t dare say anything as you tried to shake it off but the comments kept coming in after that faster than before. Everyone seemed to recognize it since he often wore this one in videos. 

You had forgotten Wilbur gave you his sweater sometime early in the night. It wasn’t cold in Brighton during the day, it was warm in the sun. The perfect weather for a band shirt and your favorite pair of comfy pants. But after sunset, you had gotten chilly and Wilbur had offered you his sweater.

You shivered as the chilly wind made goosebumps rise on your arms. You wished you had brought a jacket before going out. You forgot to check the weather and you didn’t think you’d be staying out all day. It was fine, you weren’t going to make a big deal out of it.

Wilbur, who is walking with Tommy glances in your direction. Noticing your shivering state with your arms crossed, you failed to warm yourself up.

Without hesitation, Wilbur pulls his yellow jumper over his head and jogs to catch up with you. Holding out his arm with the sweater all bunched up in his hand, he nudged you.

You turn to look at him. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the realization of why he was handing you his sweater. He had noticed you were chilly and your stomach grew butterflies.

"You're shivering. I don’t want you to catch a cold."

You felt warm inside. You never thought you’d find the typical romantic gestures appealing but then you met Wilbur. Who proved you wrong. He was always a gentleman. It made you fall in love with him more and more.

You take it gratefully and put it on. The bright yellow contrasted against y/h/c and somehow made your skin glow. It made you look happy somehow, but it could be the fact you were wearing your boyfriend's sweater.  The smell of his cologne faintly lingers on it.

Wilbur blushed and felt a bit dizzy seeing you wearing his clothes sometimes, and now it was the same case. He thought you looked adorable and was glad he could help you be warmer.

“Thanks, Will,” you smiled.

You almost stood on your toes to kiss his cheek but stopped yourself short. You didn’t want the others to see. Wilbur didn’t care. He leaned right over and kissed your head quickly.

"Of course, darling."

You smiled at the memory of two hours ago as the chat was still spamming you with questions. You tried to ignore it so you booted up your saved game of Stardew Valley. Knowing everyone wanted an update on your farm.

As you played you would glance over to your other monitor and notice chat wasn’t letting up about the sweater. It was getting a bit on your nerves since chat was getting a little hectic and you wanted to have a normal stream. Suddenly you heard an alert for Discord on your computer and you perked up like a golden retriever.

“Oh hold on chat, I’m getting a message!” you say opening up Discord on the opposite screen, just in case. Hopefully, someone wants to join you for a game or chat with you for a while. You were optimistic about finding out.

You saw it was from Tubbo. You immediately got excited seeing a notification from one of your closest friends. Your eyes read his message carefully making your heart sink to your stomach.

Tubbo: Hey, Y/N I don’t mean to alarm you but you’re trending on Twitter. I think you should check it out. 

Below his message was a link and you clicked on it hesitantly, assuming the worst you were bracing yourself for. Twitter opened up to reveal a whole thread of posts involving various screenshots. You sat in your desk chair with your messy hair and Wilbur's sweater clinging to your body.

You tried not to show too much emotion on your face while you scrolled. Knowing that all your now 4,000 viewers were watching you with every beat.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as all this attention was starting to overwhelm you.

You typed back a reply to Tubbo.

This is bad, right?

You were trying so hard to keep it together, everyone was figuring out your secret. You didn’t want everyone to find out this way, especially not your friends. They deserve better.

No no no, they don’t know what they’re talking about and just ignore it.

Easier said than done tubs.

ik ik

I was watching your stream and I noticed chat being nosey and I could tell you were uncomfortable. Are you okay?

You moved your eyes back to the chat again. It was going even faster now. Your viewer count had gone up even more. Everyone was asking why you were being so quiet all of a sudden. You apologized to everyone before returning to your chat screen with Tubbo.

“I'm sorry guys just message my friend real quick.”

Yeah.

Listen y/n if it's true or not I’m happy for you either way.

I'm sorry you had to find out this way.

Don’t be. It’s not your fault.

Does anyone else in the group know?

Just me. And technically Ranboo but he hasn’t figured it out.

You giggled at that.

You were so enthralled talking with Tubbo that you didn’t even hear the front door open. Will was home, toeing off his shoes and hanging up his flat keys.

You typed to Tubbo that you were going to end the stream. Make up some excuse that you were too tired but you didn’t want to seem suspicious. That’s when Wilbur snuck up behind you and leaned down so that he could wrap his arms around your shoulders.

Chat went even crazy. Spelling his name in all caps. Chaos. Absolute chaos.

You instantly froze at the contact and stayed like that for a good solid couple of seconds in shock. The smirk on Wilbur's lips was still prominent, but what he did next stunned you more than you already were.

Wilbur leaned down and placed a kiss on your cheek tenderly. His lips lingered on your skin. Burning. You always felt this way when he kissed you. It was sweet and brief. You could feel his breath across your skin when he pulled away. Like it wasn't a big deal that he simply kissed you in front of thousands of people. Looked up at your monitor and smirked when he saw your chat going ballistic.

“Oh are you streaming?” he asked. Of course, he knew you were streaming, and yes he did see the tag trending. Tubbo had messaged him as well and Wilbur thought now was the best time to reveal. He wanted everyone to know you were his, and he was yours. So he hatched a scheme in his head to surprise you by coming home while you were still streaming. So, you were in shock that your boyfriend had come in and kissed your cheek on camera. In front of your viewers.

You were a bit mad at him at the moment. Then you saw how cute he looked with his head resting on your shoulder as he watched the chaos issue from his work.

“Guess the cat’s out of the bag now huh darling?” he hummed into your ear softly.

It made you flustered when you felt his lips brush your ear. 

“Now everyone knows you're mine.”

Your heart was beating a million miles per second. You couldn’t believe it was happening. You were so relieved and yet kinda annoyed with Wilbur at the same time for sneaking up on you. You wanted to swipe that cheeky grin off his face. He could be such a smart ass sometimes, but you love him for it. 

Now would be a good time to end this. You thought as you cleared your throat and kept your eyes on the chat log.

"Well, that's enough for me tonight, goodnight.” You finally say quickly, coming out of your flustered state.

"Bye chat,” Wilbur waves.

As soon as the outro screen came on you logged out of Twitch. Immediately, you lay your face in your hands and began crying. Wilbur grew concerned.

"Y/N?" He spun your chair around to face him. He got down to his knees in front of you and placed his hands on your arms. Your heart was beating in your ears, pounding as the situation became too much. Hitting that end stream button brought a sense of relief now that you could finally take it all in. Everyone knew. There was no going back from this. You were so sure that you'd never get a break from the constant questions and judgment that come with being a content creator. 

Besides you on the table, your phone was going off like crazy, vibrating and shaking with alerts. You lifted your head to stare at it in fright. Wilbur detected your uneasiness immediately and grabbed your phone to shut it off completely before turning his attention back to you. 

He brings his hand up to tuck strands of your hair out of your face and behind your ears. You try your best to begin a breathing exercise to calm yourself down. 

Inhale through the nose. 

Exhale out of the mouth 

Wilbur's touch begins to calm your racing mind and heart. His voice anchors you back to the surface of your deepest thoughts. 

Breath. Just breathe. 

“That's it, in and out." 

When you finally get your breathing down to somewhat normal and you surpass a panic attack. Wilbur doesn't say anything. Just holding you until you’re ready.

“I'm sorry,” you whimper and squeeze your eyes shut in shame. Tears flow out again as Wilbur shushes you. 

“Don’t be sorry, don't." He chastised.

“It was just a lot.” You sniffled. 

“I know, but it's going to be okay, you know why?” 

You shake your head from side to side. 

“Because I love you so much, and it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. It’s you and me,” he reassured. 

You smile tearfully. “I love you too.” 

The rest of the night you are spent curled up next to Wilbur, your phones turned off to enjoy some time together away from the internet. The sudden sound of your PC exploding with the sound of the discord call ringtone has you groaning and pausing the movie you both were watching. You had forgotten to shut it down during the chaos. Wilbur goes over to your monitor to turn it off but sees it's Tommy calling. Reluctantly he answers and the room is filled with the teen's loud voice. 

“Why didn't you guys tell me!” he shouted, his voice breaking up through the speakers due to his loudness. 

“Hello to you too Tommy,” Wilbur spoke. 

“Wilbur! I never thought you’d get any women!” 

Wilbur glared over at you as you burst into laughter. It was clear that Tommy was surprised and happy for you both but he was also being his obnoxious self. 

“Alright Im hanging up now,” Wilbur says. 

“No, no!” he laughed. “Im genuinely really happy for you two,” 

“Thanks, toms!” you shouted from your spot on the couch. 

“Thank you Y/N!!” Tommy exclaims. ”See Wilbur, at least someone appreciates my remorseful attitude,” 

Wilbur rolls his eyes and ends the call, shutting down your pc so no one else could bother you. You laughed as he made his way back over to you on the sofa so you could continue your movie. Wilbur was likely going to try and protect you from being bombarded by your friends too much if you decided tomorrow that you'd talk to everyone, You were nervous to face them but you would know that nothing was going to change that your friends supported you. 

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Four: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship, sexual content, pervy behavior, male masturbation, panty kink, sex daydreams [eventual warning for smut; be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is doing his very best, he just loves you and wants you to be comfy around him. Just let him worm his way into your heart babe [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. I’m illiterate so apologies in advance MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 8th

Mr. Nelson’s funeral was today, it really was a beautiful ceremony as I look back on it. Even more so when my inner self smears the background enough to bring you to the front of the mental image.

You’d spoken to the man a handful of times, but I didn’t expect you to come. When I saw you accept the invite to the event on Facebook I thought surely it was a mistake. That was until you messaged Luke and asked him to accompany you, funerals make you nervous, but feeling obligated to do something and avoiding it makes you more nervous.

So your moral support was happy to attend and fight off dear old Alan’s corpse should he rise from the casket and set his sights on you.

And I though I had irrational fears, geez babydoll, how old were you when you watched Night of The Living Dead for the first time? If I had to guess it was too young. It’s alright though I get it, you know what movie traumatized me? The Mummy. Heebied my fucking Jeebies so bad I avoided the beach on family vacations.

You’re telling me there’s not a sarcophagus under all that sand? There’s at least one under there and you can’t convince me otherwise.

Solid ground for me only, please and thank you.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I had a thought that I initially considered to be a sweet reminder of my dear friend Alan. His obituary was in the newspaper and I happened to swipe one from the guest book table at the viewing as well. Have you ever scrapbooked before? I bet you’ve at least tried it.

Well I thought it would be nice to make him a page in my journal. A little celebration of life for the man who gave me an opportunity to grow and nurture my love for you.

Then I realized mid-glue stick on the newspaper clipping that the idea was something that a clinically insane person would do.

I’m not that guy. That guy’s not me.

But the glue was already on there and it felt wrong to toss Alan’s wrinkly old face into the trash so I pasted him into my journal anyway.

Crazy people don’t know that they’re crazy. I’m well aware that little idea was less than tasteful, just felt like I should mention that.

Date:

July 28th

Anakin Skywalker hadn’t been this happy since… ever. The previous record being his discovery of you, was now toppled into second place and overshadowed by ‘Move In Day’.

He could hardly contain himself. It was a dopamine high that he would ride out until he’d drained every last drop.

The movers lugged in box after box, furniture and books, until finally they dropped off the last load and thanked Anakin for the business. He eagerly shook their hand and shoved them out. He had preparations to make.

He set up his Tv, screen mirroring the live feed of the apartment building entrance to the big screen so that he could easily keep an eye out for you while he unpacked his kitchen.

He’d planned your ‘meet-cute’ meticulously, looking to your bookshelf and streaming services to gather intel on your ideal scenario. You were an odd bird, but he liked that about you. It’s part of your charm, it’s part of the challenge. You’re not as predictable in your tastes and interests as others can be.

Anakin formulated the interaction step by step, frame by frame in the storyboard of his imagination until he had the perfect scene. His box office hit that he’d replay over and over again until the next time he stood face to face with you.

It took quite some time and a load of practice. Discarded dialogue, awkward movements that made him feel stiff and less than human when he practiced them in the mirror. Endless options of clothes, shoes, and hair.

Should he get a new piercing? He wanted to. So he did, he knew you’d like it.

It’d match the one he already had on the opposite nostril. It made him feel more complete to add something so permanent to his body, he wished he could do something similar with you. He wanted you to be permanent, so maybe it’s his subconscious’s way of telling him that this was going in the right direction.

He was on the right path. His journey of life alone was coming to a close and a new trail would reveal itself. No more rocky, unsteady tread. No more sharp turns and blind spots, no more impossible inclines.

Scraped knees and bloodied hands would be distant memories. Maybe even distant enough that he could toss them into The Pit.

He would have no need for anger or sorrow anymore.

How could he feel anything but the warm embrace of love as he strolled down the flowered path ahead with you?

Who knew that you could position one box in 83 different ways and hate every single one of them? Anakin was so thankful there weren’t any actual surveillance cameras in the apartment building. It’d be really difficult to explain why he was in the hallway for an hour with his hands on his hips, scooting a box of books a centimeter or two at a time. Turning it sideways and then making sure the book on top was perfectly positioned and would effectively fall to the ground to catch your attention.

He checked his watch nonstop, stared at his Tv screen, willing you to just hurry the fuck up before he vomited from anxiety. He’d waited months for this. If he fucked it up now he’d… well he’d probably keel over on the spot.

Which would promptly traumatize you and not even his ghost would be able to peacefully haunt you. It’s hard to peacefully haunt someone if they watched you die, or at least Anakin assumed it would be difficult. He wasn’t willing to test that theory though.

So, he puffed up his chest and walked back into his apartment and rehearsed the upcoming conversation a few more times. He needed, desperately needed to ensure his facial expressions conveyed what he wanted.

Soft, trustworthy, dependable, safe, caring.

He practiced softening his eyes, knowing sometimes he stared alittle too hard. He worked on his facial fidget; chewing on the inside of his cheek was a quick tell of his nervousness. He didn’t want to be perceived as nervous, he wanted to be confident and sure of himself so that you would be confident in your soon to blossom affection for him.

His eyebrows, that’s a hard one, but he’d meticulously watched bar goers trying to flirt. The successful ones he learned, sometimes use their eyebrows in place of questions or words. A difficult concept, but one he studied until he mastered it.

Now, the other facial expressions and mannerisms… he gathered that information from your watch lists on your streaming services. For the visible examples at least, but your books were just as helpful in describing how he should approach you, speak to you, and simply exist near you.

He hadn’t realized these things were this important until now. Standing and posture was surprisingly very, very important to women. As well as hand movements and subtle glances and minuscule changes of expression.

You were worth the time and effort it took to learn all of it. He’d read and research and practice until he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror any longer. He was determined to make sure you were happy with the results.

He was startled by a loud ping, someone had entered to building and holy shit it was you.

Anakin shook out his hands frantically, remembering the breathing techniques he’d learned as a child, he grounded himself quickly.

It’s okay.

‘She’s gonna love you. She’ll warm up to you quickly, you know everything you need to know about her to make her comfortable and loved.’

‘There’s no way she won’t fall head over heels.’

He smoothed out his band-tee and ran his hands through his hair quickly and headed to his door that was propped open slightly. A few boxes sat in the hall, including the most important one, the one instrumental to his plan.

The apartment hallway was ridiculously tiny, which worked in his favor in this situation.

He heard you come up the stairs, counted your steps until he knew you were almost at the door, 17 and a half steps. Then he swung open the door and bent down to grab one of the boxes.

As expected, he startled you and you dropped your keys. You always wore your backpack on one shoulder, one strap. So when you quickly went to scoop up your keys, your bag swung out of place and toppled a few books from one of the boxes.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Anakin could gloat to himself about his magnificent setup later, right now he needed to woo you with his sweet words.

“Oh, sweetheart I’m sorry.” He said softly, coming over to offer you a hand up.

“It’s okay, my bad.” You laughed, taking his hand.

He managed to keep calm and collected despite his insides boiling him alive at the willing skin contact.

“No, not at all. It’s my fault for startling you like that.” He chuckled, squeezing your upper arm and using his hand already in yours to give you a small handshake. Smooth.

“I��m Anakin.” He said with a bashful smile, dropping your hand and reveling in the lingering warmth your palm left on his.

You introduced yourself in return, gesturing to his apartment door.

“So I take it that you’re my new neighbor huh?” You said, making small talk as you crouched down to pick up the books you’d knocked over.

“No I’m just a one man moving crew.” He grinned.

“Very funny.” You laughed, standing up as you looked through the titles. “Hmm, you’ve got good taste.”

“You think so?” He asked, remembering to make his eyebrows swoop up toward the middle of his forehead to give a quizzical look.

“Oh yeah, this is one of my favorites.” You said, showing him the cover of The Silmarillion by Tolkien.

“Not many people actually read that one, I’m impressed.” He smiled.

“Impressed? Yeah well I’m jealous.” You laughed.

“What?” He chuckled, holding his hands out to take the other books from you.

“This is a really nice edition, it’s similar to mine. I recently lost it.” You sighed. “I think I must’ve left it the park or maybe it fell out of my bag or something.”

“Ah, that sucks… well, I mean I’ve read that one a few times now. It’s been well loved.” He said tipping the books in his arms toward the one you were holding. “Why don’t you keep it?”

He shrugged, acting nonchalant as though this didn’t mean the entire world to him and if you said no he’d sob about it later.

“You’re serious?” You asked in surprise, he was offering you a 50$ special edition book and you’d barely known him for a minute.

“Yeah, ‘course sweetheart.” He said with a cute, crooked smile. “Think of it as a… reverse house warming gift.” He chuckled.

“Thank you, I- this means a lot to me.” You said, grinning widely. “That’s real sweet of you Anakin. I owe you one.”

“No worries.” He chuckled, “I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it even sweetheart.” His gaze flickered quickly from your eyes to your lips, and he turned to go back into his apartment after giving you an almost-missed wink.

You stepped inside your home, and went straight to the bookshelf to put your new-to-you book where it belonged. After the fact you stood there and buffered, just staring at it.

‘There’s no way, this guy has to be too good to be true.’

But he seemed… so genuine. He didn’t ogle you, he didn’t make you feel weird or like he just felt obligated to speak to you.

He seemed to actually, really be a good guy.

Rare. Few and far of those exist in this day and age. It’s uncommon to meet someone who would do something, even as simple as giving you a used book, without expecting anything in return.

But he didn’t seem to expect anything. He didn’t seem to even expect a thank you, it was like he’d already decided he would give it to you before he even offered.

What are the odds that a hot, tattooed and pierced man moves in next door and gifts you an expensive book that just so happens to be an even better replacement for the one that you just lost? That couldn’t happen twice even if you tried to make it happen again.

What kind of second dimension did you step into? The land of dreamy men?

Diary Entry: July 28th

It’s late. But I have to write to you, it can’t wait til tomorrow.

Everything went more perfectly than I could’ve imagined. Thank you so much for being you sweet girl. It made my job of curating the scenery so much easier, you clumsy little thing. I am sorry for having to spook you though, but it worked didn’t it?

Research pays off. Always.

And of course there’s the issue of your book, I hated to see your frustration and your mad scowl when you realized it was missing from your backpack. I really did.

But I’d do it every goddamn day if I knew I’d get the same reaction out of you from giving you that new copy.

Oh god you’re… you’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful. You look angelic when you sleep but you look like competition for Aphrodite when you smile at me.

You smiled, grinned. You smiled all the way up to the corners of your bright and beautiful eyes. For me.

You even laughed for me.

It was so sweet I could taste it. The honey of your voice, I could fucking bathe in it. Just the sound of you speaking, knowing you were speaking to me. Really speaking to me.

In the flesh.

It’s intoxicating. It’s emboldening, it’s dangerous. I’ve never been more worked up in my life. I’m torn all to pieces from at two minute and 6 second conversation.

I think I’ll have to fucking recover from this like a damn hangover.

But what has me so drunk you might ask? Was it your laugh at my stupid jokes? Was it your perfect smile, your radiant glow, your soulful eyes? The softness of your skin or you willingness to let me touch you?

No baby. It’s how you said my name.

I wish I could’ve stayed longer, I wish I could’ve spoken to you more. But it’s so hard to concentrate when my dick is leaking precum down my leg at a rate that should probably be concerning.

The minute you closed that door I shoved those boxes into my apartment and locked the door. Took my elated ass straight to the couch and watched you in your living room, admiring your gift from me while I fucked my fist with a pair of your dirty panties in my mouth.

I couldn’t have your honeyed lips soothing my angry red cock just yet, but I sure as hell could imagine licking your gorgeous little cunt while I tasted you.

I tugged my balls and pumped my cock for over half an hour until I was a fucking mess for you in my new living room’s floor. The cool hardwood letting the heat from my flushed skin seep away from me as I came back down to earth.

I made myself dizzy. Didn’t give myself a break, didn’t slow down, just stroked my cock like the desperate little manwhore that I am for you. The only thing missing was you being there to watch me fall apart.

I think you’d like that wouldn’t you? Watching a man like me get on his knees and beg for you?

Diary Entry: July 29th

I’ve replayed that moment in my head for hours on end. The beginning always stays the same, but the ending… that’s been subject to many changes. It started off simple, we’d chat alittle longer, I’d ask you how your day was; you’d tell me it was ‘fine, thank you’.

Or you’d ask me why I decided to move in, why I chose this side of town, this side of town, this apartment building, across from you. That one always ended questionably and I’d rather not explore that one on paper.

My favorites however were the ones where you’d laugh at a stupid pick-up line and somehow we’d end up in your bed. The bed I’ve sat and watched you sleep in. Those were the best additions.

Now, I’ve been fortunate enough that you’ve been loyal, faithful and devoted to only me since the very beginning. So I don’t really have a clue what you’d actually be like in bed.

But god it’s so fun to imagine it.

You’ve got such pretty, soft skin. You let me mar it up with my teeth and soothe it with my tongue. You let me grip the pillowy flesh of your thighs to spread you open for me. You let me pinch and roll and pull your nipples until they were raw and begging for a break. You let me caress the sensitive slick covered folds between those beautiful pussy lips, plunge my fingers in as far as they’d go.

I took you from behind, watching your perky little ass bounce off my cock while I plowed into you. Your face smushed against the couch cushions and your body folded over the arm rest for me to fuck you like the good little girl that you are.

Against the wall with your arms around my neck while I’ve got my hands holding you spread open and in place by the crook of your knees. You promised you stay real still so that I could drill up into you like you deserved.

God damn. Do you know how good you look like that? Back arched against the wall, tits jiggling in my face with every thrust. Your legs pushed up and back to the sides of your torso, to pin you in place?

It was like a pretty pink flower had bloomed and spread its buttery smooth petals just for me.

Don’t even get me started on how good you suck cock. Have you ever been told you could be mistaken for a warm, wet Hoover? No? Didn’t think so cause that would be rude as hell, but I bet someone’s thought it before.

(Me. It’s me, I thought that.)

Fuck those soft lips. Fuck that smooth snake of a tongue. Fuck that tight, hot throat that just loves to take a beating from my dick.

Can’t wait to prove my imagination right.

Speaking of, my dick has been beat. Like actually. If one didn’t know any better they’d assume it’s on life support, but I’m a freak of nature. Cumming upwards of 16 times in the span of 40ish hours would probably put a weaker man in a hospital bed. Or maybe a psych ward.

But I am not a weak man even if my dick feels raw. I’d still fuck you if you asked.

I’d be curious to know if I’d be able to stave off cumming longer from all the abuse or if I’d be so fucking sensitive that I wouldn’t make it in half an inch.

Probably the latter.

Diary Entry: August 2nd

Being so close to you is killing me. Truly it is.

You’ve sunken your claws so deeply into my very soul and you don’t even realize it. It’s torture. To you, I’m just the new guy, nice dude who gave you a book. But to me? You’re my entire world.

I’ve been told I have the personality of a guard dog. Soft and squishy on the inside, dangerous and fierce on the outside. Which I suppose could be true, but really I think it’s for a different reason. For a human, a dog is one small but very impactful blip in your life. But for the dog? You are it’s life.

Am I comparing myself to a dog right now? Yes I am.

I’ll beg for you to throw me the scraps of your affections until you finally toss me a bone.

Bark.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I’ve been trying my best to give you space. To plan accordingly and in advance. I have our next two interactions simmering on the back burner.

I know that if I go too hard, too fast, you’ll be overwhelmed. That’s the last thing I want. I never want to be the thing that causes you stress, I want to siphon it from you. So, in one week I will set out to help you with a few of your errands and plant a few seeds.

But until then, we have late night snacks and couch chats with Boogie.

I’ve also been doing- you guessed it- more research to do with helpful vitamins and medicines. You’ve responded so well to your SleepyTime tea and since I’ve started making sure your birth control packet is plainly visible in the countertop basket directly beneath that cabinet, you’ve been taking it so well.

I’m so proud of you sweetheart, that’s my girl, look at you taking care of yourself. You’ve done so well in fact, that it’s in my personal opinion that you have earned a very special reward.

Anakin sat on his couch, the live feed of your living room screen mirrored to his Tv. He was watching you cook dinner, he knew you’d be making a stir fry. He’d seen it in your planner, so he’d taken the liberty of ordering himself the same, it’d be here any minute. As would your good friend Sam.

Anakin had originally burned red hot with jealousy at the thought of you inviting a man over to your apartment, that he hadn’t vetted via social media and a quick drop-in. But he was relieved to discover that Sam was just a girl from your book club.

This wasn’t one of his well thought out plans, this was decided upon this morning after you’d returned from book club. So, he was anxious to see if his hunches served him well. Sam seemed like a punctual gal, at least from what he’d seen on social media and the text messages between the two of you from weeks/months before.

Anakin had the wonderful idea to log into your cell service providers website to pull your deleted messages from their data bank. You really should have better passwords.

The thing he was most worried about was his door dasher arriving on time. It was rare that one was too far off on arrival time, but it would be his shit luck and lack of planning that could ruin this little glimpse of you.

The minutes ticked by and he was alerted to the new motion sensors he’d placed near the LED pathway lights on the paved entrance to the apartment building. He quickly switched over to the hallway feed at the front door, seeing that it was his door dasher.

Damn you Trevor. How dare you get there before Sam.

Not to worry, he’d call for the door code and Anakin wouldn’t answer the first time. It wasn’t much but it would buy him a few seconds.

Though it seemed to be that luck was on his side as it often was when it came to you. Sam was so kind, kind enough to let the delivery guy into the building. Which is technically a security concern but Trevor didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d be able to remember a 6 digit door code.

He was too busy staring at your friends ass to pay attention to the numbers she entered anyway.

The footsteps approached your door and his, Anakin waited until he heard Sam knock on your door before he opened his. Trevor stood patiently as Anakin slowly counted out his tip in cash and thankfully you were quick to let your friend inside. After the exchange was complete Anakin gave you a smile and wave.

He could’ve had a heart attack at the response you gave him.

A flirty little finger waggle and smile.

He had to remind himself to breathe and keep his expression a happy-neutral. He’d hate for you to see his blushing cheeks this early on.

“Have a good night girls.” He said as he closed his door and to his surprise you actually answered.

“You too!”

If he weren’t confident that you were a sweet and loving soul, he’d think you were trying to kill him with the siren song of your voice.

Stir fry had never tasted so fucking good.

Diary Entry: July 8th

Grocery day baby, here I come.

I love that you’re so predictable. I love that you’re so fucking cute and always try to strong arm your groceries in one trip. I love that it takes at least two good whacks to the trunk of your shitty old Nissan to properly close it.

It’s cute to watch you struggle with it, the annoyed huffs and angry scowl.

I thought you’d combust on the spot once when your paper grocery bag of flour and sugar ripped open and sent a plume of flour up on your black jeans. The parking lot was very empty and I was very glad because I’d hate for someone to have seen the cursing contest you had with yourself as you picked up your spilled items. Very unladylike you know. But it’s you so I don’t mind, I just like to hear you talk.

It’s almost time. I’ve been sitting in my car for about 10 minutes. Gotta account for the traffic on highway 76. Do you really have to shop all the way out there just because of the Whole Foods? C’mon baby they have the same shit at Kroger.

I’ve been watching your little blue dot on my phone and you’re rounding the corner so I’ll write you later doll.

I love you.

You pulled into the parking lot and sat in your car for a moment. Giving yourself the much need quiet to decompress from your work day and the grocery trip. After you’d checked your messages and scrolled for a moment you decided it was time to head inside before your frozen foods got… not so frozen.

You popped the trunk and fumbled with the faulty latch, your fingers feeling blindly under the metal lip until it finally detached and you were able to open the trunk.

You took a deep breath and scolded yourself for buying the extra few things that could’ve waited till next time. Second trips are for wimps and you weren’t one. So you loaded up your left arm bag by bag until you heard a humored puff of air and the beep of a car locking behind you.

“Need a hand sweetheart?” Anakin grinned, shoving his keys into his front pocket.

He waltzed over and took a few bags off your hands without waiting for a response. It took you aback, not because he hadn’t waited for permission, but because of the way he exuded an odd charm that made you falter.

“Anakin, really it’s alright I can get it.” You said, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion by his kind gesture.

“Mmm no, this seems like a two man mission sweet girl.” He smiled, gathering up a few the last few bags from the trunk and shutting it with one solid push.

“You really don’t have to-“

“I know I don’t have to.” He said tilting his head toward the apartment building to encourage you to walk with him. “I want to.”

“Thank you, that’s… thanks.” You smiled, a light blush creeping across your cheeks.

“Atta girl.” He chuckled, tapping in the door code and holding it open for you despite holding many more bags than you.

Something about the low tone of voice or maybe just the way he looked at you with his icey blue eyes… just sent a chill down your spine. A quick one that was gone in an instant, replaced by a warm glow in the center of your chest.

“Guess chivalry’s not dead.” You joked.

“I’m no knight.” He laughed, “but you’re sure as hell a princess.”

‘Oh that was smooth.’ You thought, trying to ignore the heat at the bottom of your stomach.

What is happening? How on earth can one man be so… everything? Kind, caring, chivalrous and gorgeous to boot.

You felt a wave of embarrassment at the squeaky giggle you let out. He had you tore up from one little comment.

True to the gentleman he seemed to be, he chose not to push it and tease you about your beet red cheeks. He just waited patiently for you as you unlocked your door.

“Do you want me to bring these in for you?” He asked, watching your movements closely.

“Oh that would be great.” You said in relief, leading him into your kitchen.

“Cute little place.” He said, looking around the kitchenette and over to the living room.

He sat down your bags on the counter and started unloading them neatly into rows.

“Oh, you-“

“Mmm mmm.” He shook his head with a smirk, “Just let me help, it’s no big deal.”

You let out a puff of air in an amused sort of amazement and pulled out your little step stool to open up the cabinets. Anakin snickered from behind you as you stepped up and started putting things away.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder and almost said something snarky until you realized he was folding your paper grocery bags in the same way that you always do.

“Huh.” You laughed. “I thought I was the only one who did that.”

“Did what?” He asked, his head cocked to the side.

“Fold the bags.” You said, turning back around to continue placing your things where they belonged.

“Oh,” he chuckled, “I dunno it’s just a habit I guess. Fits better in that stupid slot on the recycling bin this way.”

“Yeah I never really understood why they made them that way? I guess so people don’t just shove other trash in there.” You mused.

“Mmhm probably.” He agreed, stacking them neatly and gathering it in his hands. “Do you want me to take these out back for you?”

“I can do-“ You stopped yourself when Anakin raised his eyebrow and cocked his head to the side with a crooked smirk.

You sighed and gave him a downturned smile. “Yes, I would love for you to take them out back for me.”

“Good girl.” He nodded, clicking his tongue and heading for the door. “See ya princess.”

After he shut the door you let yourself breathe alittle easier, blowing out the air in a short puff through your nose. Maybe even letting a little smile cross your lips before you finished up your task.

You’d be thinking about that low rumble of his voice later. Good girl? Shit.

PART FIVE

Tag-List:

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Let me know if you wanna be added/removed

[queenie-ofthe-void]

“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about. 

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve. 

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer. 

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too. 

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes. 

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.  

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement. 

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug. 

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow; chapter 5

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Commander Snow had been absent from your life for three days. 

He had left boxes of food in anticipation but expected no reward in return. He didn’t turn up at the late hours of the night. No demands of you coming to the Compound with brownies were given.

It was a welcome change in your routine. It gave you more time to focus on your mother. She improved greatly with the extra attention and could be dropped down to half a bottle of morphling every 12 hours. 

She still needed your help to rise from bed and wash but was now lucid enough to feel like your mother again. 

You felt less isolated now that she was back. And with Edmund dropping by every day you felt almost normal. 

You gave him the spare bottles of morphling to sell. Commander Snow would drop you quickly and it was important to have some money saved to tide you over until you got your job back.

You decided to use a small portion to buy your mother fresh bandages. She would only need one more batch before the wounds on her back were closed.

The walk into town was busy but no one paid you any mind. Most avoided looking at you. 

You were used to the isolation now. It didn’t bother you as much now. 

The nice day turns upon seeing Peacekeepers in large groups marching through the streets. 

You stop walking to let people pass as they rush towards you. Peacekeepers formed groups as

you looked around, they were impossible to count. They moved too fast in and out of houses, and as you lost one, two more appeared in his absence. 

You freeze seeing Commander Snow, marching through the streets with the cavalry behind him. They break down doors to people's homes and the Peacekeepers split up into groups of four as they search the houses before rejoining the group. 

It was chaos as people ran to avoid their way. Demands of the Peacekeepers were yelled over crying children, and explanations of homeowners. You feel your heart pound at the scene. 

Such chaos always brought danger. Agitated Peacekeepers after a hard day's work are always looking for a reason to use their power over the district people. 

You press yourself against a side of a building, out of rushing people's way. You try and re-enter the stream of people but a breck never comes. More yelling is heard and you suddenly see why the rush was heading down stream. A large group of Peacekeepers all kitted up in their gear with vests and helmets come chasing the people. They grab who they can and throw them up against brick walls searching them for contraband. 

The coins burned a hole in your pocket. If found there is little chance of retaining them. 

They come closer and you try again to follow the rush but are pushed back. Somebody needed to be caught by the Peacekeepers. 

You scan the area for another escape route and see the tunnel that leads to the Capitol train route. Peacekeepers and higher officials were sure to be swarming on the other side but you could hide in the darkness that the tunnel provided until the chaos settled, 

The leader of the group blew a whistle and you took off to your path before you could figure out what it meant. 

Unfortunately, a Peacekeeper had already set his eyes on you. And watching you run and hide was a worthy enough cause to follow you. 

You barely make it into the darkness before you are caught and thrown into the wall. 

“Do you have any weapons or contraband on you?” The Peacekeeper shouted. 

He had brought along his partner who held his rifle out towards you. 

“No sir,” you answer, but he runs his hands along you anyway. He keeps one hand on the back of your neck, pushing your face into the hard, dirty wall while the other patted down.

With your forced position, you stare at the other Peacekeeper. The uniform aged him. His face was soft and round but hidden under the shadow of the large helmet. He had beautiful green eyes that went wide just as the Peacekeeper was about to pat the pocket that held your money. 

‘Whoa!” The other Peacekeeper places a hand on his friend's shoulders and pushes him back. “That’s Snow’s girl. I’ve seen her at the Compound.”

“Are you sure?” The hand that held you was released quickly. 

He looks at you again, “I am pretty sure.”

“I am!’’

 Maybe some good could come out of your predicament. 

“Go get him. He could want her searched anyway.”

“There’s no need to go get him. I’ll go home.” You turn so you can be heard.

“Shut up.” The Peacekeeper ordered. 

Green eyes took off back down the street, leaving you with his harsher friend. 

He unclips his cuffs and locks them around your wrists, telling you to sit on the ground. 

You knew better than to argue with Peacekeepers, so you sat and waited. 

Five minutes pass in silence. 

You hoped his business would be more pressing and he would send the Peacekeeper away with instructions to set you free. But you could see his shadow coming closer as you had the thought. 

If it wasn’t for his darker uniform you would have thought he was just another Peacekeeper, and not Commander of District 12.

His eyes hit you on the ground before going up to his officer. 

“The south exit is blocked, go help the others there. Search the people.” 

They both leave with a ‘yes sir’, and a salute. 

He moves quickly as they integrate back into the crowd.

He pulls you up, hooking your cuffed hands over his neck, and presses you up against the brick wall. His hands go under your arms and cement themselves to the wall behind, keeping them pinned up on his shoulders. He keeps his body close to hinder your movement and rests his left knee against the brick. 

He kisses you so fast, you weren’t sure if he managed to pin you before or after. His kisses are fast and hard, you don’t manage to even attempt one back before he is moving again. 

His greedy lips go to your throat, placing big kisses up and down it. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks between kisses. You couldn’t tell him about the money. He was sure to demand it from you. 

“Walking,” you push back on his shoulders but it invites him closer. 

His lips go from just under your ear back down to the hollow of your throat. 

“You shouldn’t. It’s dangerous.” 

The danger followed him, not you. You had walked these streets a hundred times before without any worry. 

He finds the spot he likes, just where your collarbone and neck meet, and begins to bite down. You wiggle underneath him to no avail. The biting upon your neck hurt but he seemed deaf to your pleas. You felt only a Peacekeeper beneath you, no sign of a man you could reason with. Your head only knocked against his hard helmet, you pushed yourself up on arms covered with the soft material of the peacekeeper uniform. Even your eyesight was blocked by the Peacekeeper's rifle slung over his shoulder. 

You were in no better of a position than the people in the houses. You were offered the same situation; let them take what they wanted or suffer the consequences of them just taking it anyway. 

“I’ve missed you,” he admits, “Why did you never come to see me?” 

You let your head rest back against the wall now that it wasn’t tossing and turning to alleviate the pressure of his bites. 

The truth was not an acceptable answer. You couldn’t tell him you had no interest in seeing him ever again.

“You were busy,” you tried. 

“You could have come. I would have seen you.” He goes back to your neck. His kissing was slow and lazy

“Commander, please.” You could still hear the commotion outside. 

A whooping sound is heard from outside the ally. 

He pulls his head back in its direction. 

“What did they find?” you ask. 

“Rebels. Propaganda has been spreading around the district. Looks like we found the warehouse it was coming from”. 

He ducks his head out from under the chain, releasing you from your prison, and quickly undoing your cuffs before softly shoving you towards the street. 

“Go straight home.” 

You nod your head in agreement and watch him rejoin his army. 

You run away from the noise, dodging people as they run with you. 

The same Peacekeepers that pinned you in the tunnel waited by a checkpoint but they didn’t bother you again as you ran past. 

—------

It was the next afternoon when a Peacekeeper van turned up outside your house. Children playing ran back inside. 

The Peacekeeper politely knocked at your door. 

“Yes?” you answer. You keep the door in front of your body like a shield. 

“Miss.” He nods his head, “I am here to take you back to the Compound”. 

Your gut twisted. The holiday was over and you were back to playing puppet. 

“I’ll finish my cooking and be right over.” 

He places his hand on the door in case you try to close it. 

“I’ve been given instructions to take you. I am afraid I can’t leave without you.”

He looked almost sorry to say it. He must have been a district-born Peacekeeper. 

You take your hands off the door to show him you aren’t going to make it hard for him.

“Okay. I’ll turn the oven off and put on my shoes.” 

“It would be appreciated, Miss.” 

He waits by the door as you do as promised. 

Your mother had only just taken her medicine leaving her dazed but still awake. You decide to tell her you’re going for a walk instead of the truth.

The Peacekeeper is kind, waiting patiently by the door without sound. He smiles at you as you near him, ready.

You lock the door and follow the officer to the truck. 

You head to the empty bed of the truck but he continues to the passenger side door, holding it open for you. 

He looked awkward as he held it, “Ah which would you prefer?”

You smile at him and take his offer of sitting up front. He shows you how to work the seatbelt as he gets into the driver's seat. 

You thank him, telling him you’ve never been up front before. 

“Oh, that’s okay. I remember my first time in a car. I thought it was amazing.”

You do not share the same enthusiasm. Being in a car only meant you were going to or coming from Coriolanus. 

“I am Y/N,” you offer. 

“People call me Smiley.” You thought the name suited him. 

“How long have you been a Peacekeeper for, Smiley?”

“Oh for about three years. I was only a grunt for a year, though. Corio-Commander Snow promoted me to officer once he got back”.

Your head shot up to look at him, after his familiar way of talking about Coriolanus. Could a man like this be friends with a man like Coriolanus?

“Did you know Commander Snow before he was Commander?” You tried to act uninterested. 

“Oh yeah! I met him on his first day here.” 

You imagine Coriolanus in the blue uniform of a grunt, scared out of his mind. 

“Used to go with him to the Hob to watch Lucy Gray and the Covey perform. He used to sneak off to see her after the show,” he laughs at the fond memory but it sent ice down your veins.

He had told you he never even met her. You have zero doubt in your mind now that he was the one who killed her. 

“Shame about Lucy Gray,” you begin, “He must have been so sad when she disappeared.” 

Smiley nods his head, “I reckon the Mayor killed her in revenge. Both her old boyfriend and the Mayor's daughter he ran off with turned up dead. There’s no way she didn’t do it.”

You wondered if Coriolanus framed her for murder so no one would go looking for her once she disappeared. If he does the same to you, would your community believe it? The girl with the baked goods stall on a Saturday, a murderer? Would they believe that yet another girl tangled up with Coriolanus could be a killer?

“Maybe she didn’t do it,”, you test the waters, “Maybe she was framed.” 

Smiley laughs, “S’pose it’s possible, but she was no stranger to killing. She was the 10th victor of the Hunger Games.”

This information surprised you. You never went to the Reapings as you had a special pass that dubbed your work too important to be interrupted, and there were few working TVs in the district. And even fewer turned them on during the Hunger Games. 

Was that her appeal to Coriolanus, that she was tough enough to be a victor? Was her refusal of him now the reason he targeted your soft demeanor? 

“Victor of the Hunger Games and a Peacekeeper? How was that allowed?” 

“Oh, it wasn’t,” he laughs again, “I was bunk mates with him. I used to hear him sneak out. Always a romantic." 

You bite back the question wrangling your tongue; You don’t think that he is acting romantic now, do you?

Instead, you try learning more about Coriolanus. 

“What got him sent from the Capitol to District 12?” You couldn’t imagine such a self-important Capitol citizen would volunteer. 

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what got him sent back here as Commander.” Smiley answers honestly, “There was a rumor that he knew her in the Capitol. Helped her in the games, but I am not so sure I believe it. Why go through all of that, and then try to get yourself sent off to District 2 for officer training? He was always planning to get back to the Capitol. Why would he do that if the girl he sacrificed everything for was here? Makes no sense to me.”

The car is let into the gates of the Compound and Smiley slows the car down as it tracks through. 

“He’s over Lucy Gray though. Hasn’t mentioned her since he got back.” 

He says after a moment, like he was worried that you were getting jealous of Lucy Gray and not terrified that you would end up like Lucy Gray. 

The office building comes into view. It stood huge and white with unnaturally bright, clean, marble steps. 

He drives right up to the steps, stopping in front of a waiting Coriolanus. 

Coriolanus opens the door before you can and reaches over you to undo your seatbelt. It feels as if he yanks you down, but his touch is gentle and unharmful. 

“Thanks, Smiley.” It was the first time you had ever heard him thank one of his Peacekeepers. Smiley places a finger to his forehead and tips it back to Coriolanus before he drives off. 

“Hey,” he breathes. He takes your shoulders into his hands and kisses you quickly. 

You don’t greet him back, still frozen from the talk with Smiley. 

Coriolanus doesn’t notice as he leads you to his office with a hand on your shoulder. 

He seemed eager to get into the room. His pace was quick and he only gave head nods to passersby who greeted him. 

He sighs as he closes the door to his office. His hand goes to the back of your neck briefly before disappearing altogether. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says like you had a choice. 

He continues his quick pace over to the couch against the wall and pats the spot next to him. 

You sit down and to your shock, he lays down across it.

He lays his head on your lap as he talks. It wasn’t enough for him as he forced your hand over his chest. 

“This week,” he sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, “I wish it would just end.” 

He throws his hands off his face to speak clearly, “First Tigris said that she was going to quit her job, but I called her last night, and she decided she’s not going to.”

“Tigris? Is that your girl back home?” You remembered his distaste for working women. Because she was Capitol, was she subject to better treatment than you and Lucy Gray, or did he have plans to frame her for murder as well? 

“No,” he said firmly, “No, she’s my cousin. You’re my girl.”

“Hm,” you change the topic quickly, “Surely not enough to ruin your week.”

Coriolanus seemed pleased with the attention and continued. 

“I have the Commander from District 4 visiting this week. He’s not out of the car two minutes before one of the new recruits shoots himself in the foot, right in front of him.” 

You scoff back a giggle at the image, and he manages a smile back. 

“He’s a pain, this Commander. Constantly after me. He’s heard I have a close relationship with Strabo Plinth and thinks I’ll help him make a connection.”

“Who’s-” he interrupts you before you finish. 

“I’ll tell you another time.” 

You scoff at him, “Another secret.” 

He shifts so he is lying on his side towards you. 

“It’s not a secret. It’s just complicated.” The whole Capitol knows about the district-turned-Capitol citizen fulfilling the father's role in Coriolanus' life. He would prefer to keep the clean image with you. 

“Am I here for a reason, Commander Snow?”

“All I’ve wanted this week was to see you.” 

You shift uncomfortably under him. A look of distress crossed your face. 

“What’s wrong?” he sits up beside you. 

“Am I the next Lucy Gray?” 

“Ah! Lucy Gray,” he mutters, “If I hear that name again.” 

He gets up to give himself distance from you, going over to his desk and leaning against it with his hands.  

“Don’t deny it. Smiley told me you used to sneak off to see her after the shows.”

“I once had to carry Smiley back to the compound because he was so drunk he forgot how to walk. But you want to take his word over mine?” 

“Yes. You’re a liar. Is Tigris really your cousin?” 

He throws his hands up, astonished at the question. “Yes. I have a cousin and a Grandmother waiting for me in the Capitol. Both of which you will meet when we get back to the Capitol.”

“We?” You felt your heart stop. 

He turns his head to you.

“Yes, we. Did you think I was going to leave you behind?” 

“I can’t go to the Capitol. I belong here.” You think of your mother and Edmund. 

His jaw clenched but his movements are slow as they come towards you. 

“I belong in the Capitol. You belong with me. As soon as Ravinstill dies, we are on the first train out of District 12.”

What would happen to you once he got bored of you in the Capitol? In District 12 he would cast you out into familiar streets but would he even bother to get you back home once he decided you were no longer worth the time? 

You shake your head no and he takes your face between his hands. 

“You’ll like the Capitol, I promise. Pretty dresses. Food. You and Tigris will become fast friends.”

“What about my mother?’’

“We’ll send her money. She’ll be alright without you.” 

“Coriolanus, no.” His name felt funny coming out of your mouth. 

He adjusts to a more menacing position; his fingers tightened on your face, his body stiffened into a hard stance over you and his eyes squinted down on you. 

“Do you honestly think you have a say in the matter?.” 

You begin to cry “Please, I can’t go to the Capitol.”

He softens under your tears, the tight hold on your face turns gentle, and he drops himself to your height. 

“I know this is your home, but you will be happy in the Capitol. I’ll make you happy in the Capitol.” 

He won’t ever have to hear the name ‘Lucy Gray’ again and you’ll never have to keep wondering if you’ll have the same fate as her.

The buzzing from his desk saved you from any more useless begging. 

He looked visibly annoyed at the interruption but answered it anyway. 

Releasing you with a sigh, he walks over to his desk and presses a little button. 

“Yes?” Coriolanus answers. 

“Sir, Commander Bonza is looking for you.” The female voice spoke over the intercom. 

“Show him to the conference room. I’ll be right there.”

He comes back over to you, taking your shoulder in his hand. 

“Just stay here. I’ll only be an hour.” He leads you back over to the couch and you take a seat. “I’ll have them bring in tea.” 

He doesn’t look back as he leaves the room. 

You left as soon as you thought it safe enough to do so. 

You try not to run to avoid looking suspicious but your quick pace could not be slowed. You had to get out of the compound. 

A few stare at you as you pass but don’t try to stop you.

The gate opens freely, and you turn back to ensure you aren’t being chased

As you enter the dirt track back to the district, you hear your name being called. 

Emerging out of the trees, Edmund stands tall in his worn jacket. 

You throw your arms around his shoulders and allow yourself to be kept upright by him. 

“What happened? Are you alright?” He frantically asks.

“What are you doing here?” You shot back a question of your own. 

“I saw the Peacekeeper van take off with you. Look here” he shows you the hand-held wire cutters he held, “I was coming to get you. I promise, you weren’t alone”. 

He pockets the cutters to use his hands to wipe away your running tears, “What happened? Did he hurt you?” 

You shake your head no, pulling yourself back to his chest. 

“The Capitol,” you cry, “He plans to take me back to the Capitol.” 

“What? Why?”

The sound of a Peacekeeper van approaches and he pulls you back into the trees. 

“We have to go to the mountains. We’ll take your mother, and I’ll pick up more shifts. We’ll be alright, okay? I promise”. 

You cling to him as the car rolls past, certain that they are going to jump from their van and rip you from him. 

“And if he finds us?” you ask. 

Edmund brings his hand up to the back of your head, “He won’t. But if he does, then I’ll kill him.”

You look up at his beautiful, serious face. You knew he would kill for you and you knew you would do the same for him. But Commander Snow had too much power over District 12. Even just mentioning that you wanted to kill him could have you and anyone you have ever talked to hanged. But he wasn’t going to be Commander Snow forever. 

President Ravinstill will die and Commander Snow will become Candidate Snow. 

He won’t have time to chase you up the mountains. He’ll be on the first train out to shake hands and kiss babies. 

You tell Edmund this. Going up to the mountains too early would only get you all killed. It was better to wait for the announcement of the President's death and take off then. That way you might only have to hide from Peacekeepers who don’t really care.

He would get busy with his election and forget about the girl from District 12. And you in turn would forget about Commander Snow. 

Edmund disagreed. You need to move now. But with your mother in her fragile condition, you doubted she could even make it up to the cabins. And with Coriolanus occupied with the other commander, it would allow for more time to prepare for the move.

This argument won him over even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

You knew him well enough to know that when he told you that he ‘had to get you home’, what he really meant was, ‘You’re right. We should wait. We can’t let our fear take over our sensibility’. 

As you walked back home, you clung to his arm. He must have found it difficult to walk as you wrapped yourself around his arm but he made no complaint the whole journey. In fact, he said nothing the entire journey about anything, and you made no attempts to change that. Happily walking in silence. 

You were almost disappointed when you had to release him on your front porch. 

‘‘I have to go home, but I’ll be right back. I’ve got my brother waiting for me to take him hunting.”

“Why would you be right back then?”

“You want me to stay, don’t you? After today.” 

“No.” You could almost laugh at his words if they weren’t going to make you cry. 

“No. You should go with your brother. I’m fine. And Commander Snow won’t be back tonight if he’s seen me today.” 

You brush your hands down the breast of his coat. 

“If you bring me back a squirrel. I’ll make you squirrel stew.” 

You smile up at him to see him already smiling down at you. 

“You’ve got a deal, little lady.” His hands cup your elbows as he turns stoic again, “Are you sure you will be alright?” 

You had been through so much worse just weeks prior. 

You nod your head yes. “Look, can you go? I don’t want your brother to hate me.” 

He smiles once more showcasing his slightly crooked front tooth. 

“Never” he promises, “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow yeah?”

“Through-”

“Through the back door, yeah yeah. I know.” 

He moves his hands from your elbows and grips your shoulders instead, stooping his head down to you. “I do love you. You know that, right? I always have, and I’d do anything to keep you safe.” 

You were unsure of how to respond. ‘I love you too’ seemed appropriate but you weren’t sure if they meant the same thing anymore. He takes the words out of your mouth when he kisses you.

You kiss back. His lips felt softer than Coriolanus’. His kiss is much more gentle and less needy. You wished it was your first kiss but that now belonged forevermore to Coriolanus. This would just have to go down as your first real kiss. 

Still the longer it lasted, the louder the sound of a firing squad sounded. He pulled back just before you did. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he offers. 

“Goodnight, Edmund.” 

You watch him track back down the steps and into the darkness. 

You felt stunned that he had kissed you. That you had kissed him back and enjoyed it. 

Your brother would be mortified. But no more mortified, you supposed, than the kisses received from Coriolanus. 

The rush of the kiss doesn’t wear off as you enter your home. You reimage it as you sit at the kitchen table. 

When Coriolanus kissed you, it almost hurt. They never came singular but again and again, until something else called him off. 

But at least you knew he meant it. 

Edmund's kiss was almost unsure. 

Your brother's best friend had always held a special place in your heart but could it grow into seeing him as a separate man? As your man? 

You wonder if he was thinking the same thing. If somehow he got confused amongst the pressure and took his love for you as something more. 

Would he have kissed you any other way, for any other reason, if Commander Snow wasn’t in the picture? After he was gone would Edmund kiss you again, or flee into work from pure embarrassment? 

A soft knock at the door interrupted your sprailing. 

Thinking it was Edmund again, you rush to the door. Had he come to prove that the kiss was intentional and that he planned to continue his affections after Coriolanus? 

As you opened the door, you readied yourself for another kiss. But your boss was not ready to give you one. 

You stare at her surprised. She wore her normal gray dress and black boots but carried a moonshine bottle in her hand. 

“Miss Escot.” You state. 

“You ain’t come around. Figured I’ll come to you.” She steps forward to indicate her intentions of coming in and you step aside to let her.  

“So, was it everything you dreamed of?” She laughs as she enters. 

“You were wrong.” 

She spins to you, shocked, “So he ain’t touched you.”

You felt your face turn hot and red as the subject came up. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Right, so he just ain’t fucked you, yet.” She looks surprised, almost worried. She turns back around and places the bottle on the kitchen table. 

“I was wondering why you hadn’t come running back to me for a job.” 

She sighs, sitting down on a chair that had its backing almost ripped out during the raid. 

“Get two glasses.”

You do as she asks, bringing them to the table but she doesn’t unscrew the drink. 

“He plans to take me back to the Capitol,” you admit. 

“You don’t plan to go do you?”

“Of course not.” 

“Strange man. You don’t take whores home.”

You flinch at the word but knew she meant no offense. 

“So,” she uncorks the bottle and splashes the liquid out into the glasses, “What’s your plan?”

You had thought about telling her about yours and Edmund’s plan but didn’t fully trust her enough. 

“I don’t know.” 

Your boss laughs, throwing her head back. 

“I can’t believe after all that, all he wants to do is a little roughhousing.” 

“He ain't touched me. I told you.” You insist. 

She stops laughing, “Save it for when your hickeys aren’t on display.” 

You pull your dress to hide your neckline. The heat from the embarrassment steams your face.

“So you gonna kill him?” She asks.

“Why do you care what I plan to do.” 

“Because I would hate to see you hanged and that’s what gonna happen if you try”. 

“I am not going to try to kill him, and he aint taking me back.” 

“Big words from a small girl,” your boss mocked, “Sometimes you just have to know when you’ve been beat.” 

“I would rather die then-”

“Commander Snow.” Your boss spoke in a loud hard tone, and you turned to see him in the doorway. 

A chill ran up your spine. He still wore the same hard expression from his office. 

He leaves the door open as he walks in, keeping his eyes on you. 

He turns to your little boss, glaring at her, but he keeps his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Not here to offer her a job are you?”

“Of course not, sir. Just visiting.” It was the first time you had ever heard your boss speak respectfully to someone intimidating her. 

“Just leaving,” he orders. 

“Yes, sir,” she agrees. He passes the bottle of moonshine to her, not wanting it left on the table for you. 

She rushes away with it in her hands but he calls out to her as she walks. 

“Oh, you weren’t the friend hiding in the cupboard the other day were you?” 

She turns to answer him but her face reads that she was surprised by his accusation. 

You mentally plead with her to say yes. She must have seen it through your wide eyes. 

“Yes, sir. I am sorry, sir”. 

You were sure the words tasted like acid coming out of her mouth. She shrinks as he stalks towards her, grabbing her by the shoulder and tossing her out. 

“Don’t come back again” He shuts the door on her

He comes back over to you.

“Imagine my surprise when I came back to find you had gone”. 

“I have to check on my mother.”

He pulls you back by your arm, “There you go again. Running away.”

“No, sir.”

“Back to sir now?”

He pushes you down into a chair and you catch yourself on its arms.

You go to get up again, making an excuse about dinner but he puts his hand out. 

“Don’t,” he warns. 

He leans over you in the chair, and you shrink back as far as you can. 

“You shouldn’t have left today.”

You nod your head, unsure of what to say. 

“Say you’re sorry,” he demands. 

‘‘I am sorry.” 

“And you’ll do anything to make it up to me.” 

His face was inches from you, if you moved a centimeter you could brush against his nose.

“Sure,” you grit. If you had learned anything, he could make you do what he wanted anyway. 

“There’s a public hanging tomorrow, I would like for you to be there”. 

“Yes, Sir”. You said a silent prayer that it was no one you knew. 

Coriolanus picks up the cups from the table and douses the floor with the moonshine. 

“And I don’t ever want you around that woman again. She’s a bad influence”.

“Yes, Sir” you doubted she would ever be back again anyway. You doubted that while Coriolanus was around, you would ever see a friendly face again.

—-----

Simley picked you up again the next morning but refused to utter a word to you. 

It was a terrible feeling. You had just hoped Coriolanus had only given him a firm talking to. You now wished you hadn’t said anything to get him into trouble.

You were dropped off at the gate of the Compound this time where it was a Peacekeeper who escorted you from the car into Coriolanus’ office. 

He was not there and did not turn up as the day went on. 

The door only opened once and it was a young girl who brought in your lunch. 

You watched from the window as the Peacekeepers set up for the hanging. The grunts laid the infrastructure of the stage and barricades while the higher-ups went around with vicious-looking dogs and metal detectors. 

It was late afternoon by the time the blue uniforms came off and the official Peacekeeper uniforms were worn by everyone. They took their positions with rifles in the watchtowers, and the other Peacekeepers formed a line across the stage. It gave them a view of the takeaway metal fence that separated the divide between the stage and the audience, leaving a small gap for a family member to come grab the shoes. They chatted amongst themselves as they waited for the gate to be swung wide for the public. 

A knock on the door told you that it wasn't Coriolanus. A Peacekeeper poked his head through the door and asked you to come with him. 

You follow him out to where Coriolanus stood in front of the stage, speaking to a man dressed in a similar uniform. 

You waited with the guard until he was finished. He takes your hand in his as he nears and dismisses the Peacekeeper. 

“They are just about to open the gate,” he says. He takes you to the front of the where the audience would stand, taking his cuffs out, he clips one against your wrist and another onto the metal fence. It was the spot directly in front of the microphone in which he was to speak into in a few moments. 

You pulled against it feeling embarrassed. You were like a dog that was chained to a post. 

 “Watch me up there,” he instructs. 

He walks up the stage, saying a few words to an officer already up there. The officer pulls out a communicator from his pocket and must have given the go ahead as the gates swung wide and the people began to trickle in. 

You took the scarf out of your hair and layed it across the chain. No one needed to know whose dog you were. 

People soon surrounded you as the small area filled. Someone important must be getting hung today. 

Coriolanus begins the opening remarks about the greatness of Panem, and the need to strive for a better future for all of us. It was a speech he repeated a hundred times and never held any meaning to him. You could see the same Commander from before standing up on stage behind him. He looked gleeful to be there and you shared Coriolanus’ same distaste for the man.

He returns to the cards as he reads out the first convicted man. 

They bring him out from the prison as Coriolanus speaks, known as the dead man’s walk. 

The man was crying softly as they forced him up the steps and onto the box. He was in his late 50’s and underfed. The peacekeepers easily got the noose around his neck despite his fight against it.

“For the betterment of Panem, and the safety of the Districts you, Benjamin Harrison, are sentenced to death”. 

The box is kicked from under him and you shut your eyes until the sound of flailing feet stops. 

They drop the body like it was nothing, but the peacekeepers allow a moment for a family member to take his shoes. No one does, and the body is dragged off stage. 

You feel the crowd rustle behind you as someone makes their way to the front. They all tried to be quiet from the disruption as Coriolanus read the next name and charge. No one wanted to be caught disrespecting the Commander, and be the next name called up. 

The person finds their way to the front, beside you. You don’t look at them, keeping your eyes focused on Coriolanus who sporadically looked up to ensure you were watching him. 

“What a lovely day for a hanging.”

You recognised the voice but you still had to look to believe it.

“Edmund,” you grit through your teeth, “What are you doing here!”

“You’re not alone, remember?”

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but you can feel his fingertips brush yours while Coriolanus is busy reading out the charges.

You were thankful he was there, despite the danger of it. There was nothing more you hated than attending the death of another. 

You could feel Coriolanus’ stare upon you and you made a note to look back at him. 

Another man walks onto the stage with a solemn look. He is hanged without fuss and without tears. 

Edmund seemed to know him as the box was kicked, his hands latched onto the bars of the fence, and he let out a ‘tsk’.

You lower your hand and take hold of his pant leg. The small connection made you feel safer under the gaze of the Commander. You were sure he couldn’t see your hold. There were too many bodies pressed together to really work out whose hand belonged to whom.

A woman in her early 40’s was called out next and she pleaded and begged but the peacekeeper wouldn’t even look at her. She mentioned something about her son before the box was kicked out from her and the words were strangled in her throat.

Coriolanus paused upon the next name and for once he actually had your real attention. 

He clears his throat and his voice comes back strong, “Victor Tatin, a rebel and an informant to his higher-ups.”

They bring out a small boy. Doubtful he even had his name in the draw for the Hunger Games and yet still being killed by the Capitol. The shackles were too big for him and he tripped and stumbled as he walked. Edmund's hand clamped down on yours.

“Victor was the main distributor of anti-Capitol propaganda, who used his position as an errand boy here at the Compound to report back to those who wish the district harm.” 

The boy is lifted up onto the stage as the stairs prove too difficult to climb in his chains.

"For this crime, and for the betterment of Panem, and the safety of the districts, you, Victor Tatin, are sentenced to death.” 

You cry out as two boxes are moved from under him, and the small boy stops his tears. 

You look up to Edmund who had fury in his eyes. 

Coriolanus steps away from the microphone, watching as they gently lower the dead boy to the ground.

The Commander of District 4 takes the opportunity to say a few words himself. 

“Let it be known that all rebels will be caught and be brought to justice. There is nowhere to hide, and no comfort to be provided. All rebels and sympathizers will be hanged!”. 

Coriolanus retakes the microphone and wraps up the event with a statement of what was to be done with the bodies, and how the Capitol is rewarding the information given with a food drive occurring in the middle of town the next morning. 

As people left as fast as they came, you were forced to tear your hand away from Edmund. 

“Come on,” he turns to follow the crowd but you can’t. 

You check to see that Coriolanus has his back turned to talk to his officers, and you take the chance to show Edmund the cuff around your wrist. 

“He wants me to stay” you explain. 

Edmund tugs the chain as if he had the strength to break it. 

“Go,” you demand, seeing Coriolanus turn his shoulders back. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he promises. 

You were alone again but felt better for knowing that every second that passed brought you closer to meeting Edmund on the track back home. 

Coriolanus remained on stage but another peacekeeper came to undo your cuffs and accompany you back to his office. 

You break down in tears even before the door is closed. You knew the image of the small boy would haunt you. You couldn’t imagine what it would do to Coriolanus. 

Is that why he brought you here? To offer him comfort for his crimes. 

He doesn’t collect it in a reasonable time frame. You are left waiting for two hours before he comes to you. 

He looked frail as he entered. His hat had disappeared, and his commander's jacket was folded over his arm. It left him in his gray trousers and formal light blue dress shirt. 

“Everyone is gone,” he comments, throwing his jacket on the couch and walking over to where you sat in the guest chair. 

You stand as he comes closer to let him know no comfort would be given. 

“He was only a boy,” you whisper. Coriolanus nods his head in agreement. 

“I tried to send him to the Capitol as an Avox but Commander Bonza was determined to see him hang”. 

You wondered if it was a small mercy. Life as an Avox was a fate worse than death. Still, he was so small they had to use two boxes to prop him up on the stage. 

“You could have stopped it. You’re the Commander of District 12, not him.” 

Coriolanus sighs, sitting down in his chair, “And have Commander Bonza think I was weak against rebels? I need his support in the presidential run.”

“He was just a boy.” You repeat, the tears spilling freely from your eyes. 

“I know, Y/N. I know.” You could see he was getting wound up. 

“Come here,” he directs. Deciding not to push him too far, you do and he sits you on the desk in front of him. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his head into your side. 

“He cried for his mother in the holding cell”. 

Coriolanus remembered crying for his mother on nights when the pain in his stomach from hunger was too much to bear. It felt almost therapeutic now to hear you cry for the boy. In a way, you were crying for Coriolanus too. 

He holds you close for his own comfort. 

“They don’t hang children in the Capitol. You’ll never have to see it again.”

You wanted to make the argument that they shouldn’t hang here but his temper was short, and your tears wouldn’t stop flowing. 

Instead, you let him hold you, gently rubbing his back. You were surprised after all the terrible things he had done that this was the burden he struggled to carry. 

He seemed content to lay against you as you comforted him. It seemed crazy to you that you were, but you felt so shallow that you allowed your default mode to take over. Besides, the sooner he felt better the sooner you could meet up with Edmund for your own comfort. 

The time passed quickly with no movement or sound from Coriolanus. 

The clock on the wall read 6:30. You decide enough time has passed to make your escape. 

“I have to go, Commander.” You rise from him but he keeps your waist in his hands.

“Stay,” he begs

You shake your head. 

“Please, just for tonight.” 

“I have to get home to my mother.”

“Tomorrow will you stay?”

“No. I can’t.” 

“You can,” he contests, “You just won’t”. 

“My mother needs me.” You tear his hands off him and he shoots out of his chair. 

“She should get used to your absence.”

“I am not going to the Capitol.” You seethe. 

“I don’t know where else you think you are going.” 

You turn to leave but he yanks you back.

“No, no. I need you to stay.” 

“Get off of me,” you demand.

“You’re not leaving me.” 

You repeat your demand and shove him harshly off you.

“You’re telling me no? After everything I’ve done for you?” he squints his eyes at you. 

“If you don’t stay with me, you can forget about food for the next month.” 

You freeze at his words. There wasn’t enough food to last a month. Maybe ten days. You would properly be ok with your saved money and Edmunds hunting, but it would be a dead give-away that you had other means beside him. 

You stop struggling against him, and his grip loosens on you. 

“Stop acting like this, alright?”

His hands go to the side of your face and he tugs you closer. 

“We are on the same side. It wasn’t my decision to kill the boy but it was something I had to do.  You’re my sweet girl, aren’t you? Can’t you act like that? Even just for tonight?”

His desperation was a dangerous thing so you nodded your head. The last time you ran from him after a hanging, he was so hurt, he made your life a living hell for months. You worried what he would do now that he has left you destitute and dependent on him. You had nothing more he could take, but the whipping post remained. 

Your complacency returns him to a less manic state. His tired eyes soften, and his body falls back to the defeated state that he came in with. 

“Okay,” he says softly and takes your hand. 

He leads you back to his apartment with your hand in his. It was small but well-built. Everything was hard metal from the floors to the dining room table. He had a small kitchen space straight to the left with an old fridge. Directly across from it, separated by the hallway was a living space that only consisted of a worn green couch facing a mounted tv, and a small table with a radio on top. 

“It’s not much,” he comments. 

You had been to houses without roofs. This seemed like a palace. 

He leads you into the center of the room, “Kitchen,” he points, “Ah, living room”. 

Taking you down the hallway he opens the first door on the right, “That’s the bathroom”. 

You peek into the small space to see a shower and a toilet. 

He reaches for the door just down to the left and reveals his bedroom. The bed was unmade and there wasn’t a single personal item left lying around. Apart from the bed and a standing wardrobe, there was nothing else in the fairly spacious room. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

You shake your head no. You weren’t sure you could stomach anything after today. 

He takes you back to the bathroom, “Why don’t you take a shower and we’ll go to bed?” 

“Towel,” he places a hand on a white towel hanging up on a hook, and then opens the mirror to show three shelves, “Toothpaste and my toothbrush”. 

Everything he offered was already something he used. You knew he at least had another towel to offer you but he wanted to share everything. 

“I’ll leave some clothes on the bed for you to change into.” 

“Thanks,” you knew he wanted to hear it. 

He smiles and kisses your cheek before leaving.

 The steam from the shower began to fill the room by the time you made yourself take off your clothes and get in. You noticed there was no lock on the door, and you were expecting him to come back. 

He never did or at least you never noticed him. While most of the shower was just spent leaning against the wall. You did feel refreshed having fresh teeth. 

Wrapping the towel around yourself you check outside the door. Both the kitchen light and the bedroom light were on. 

If he was waiting in the bedroom you could just take the clothes and return to the bathroom. But only the clothes he promised sat on the bed. One of his white t-shirts, and a pair of boxers. 

It covered you mostly. You place your clothes and boots at the end of the bed and return the towel to the hook. 

You found him eating in the kitchen after you had done. He was eating mince from a bowl, his appetite now returned from killing a young boy. 

He grins at you as he chews. 

It makes you feel self-conscious. 

“I am going to go to sleep,” you state, although you have little hope of actually sleeping. 

“Okay. I’ll join you soon,” he takes another bite. 

You turn back to the bedroom. You even managed to lay down in the dark room but you found yourself too preoccupied with what he was doing to succumb to sleep. You could hear the shower running. What you couldn’t see was him pressed up against the glass, his forehead resting against it next to his hand while he jerked himself off. He couldn’t enter that bedroom with you without releasing first. He imagined it though. Climbing on top of you and sliding his hands under his shirt that you wore. You wouldn’t fight him but invite him closer, letting him have free roam of your body. You would beg for it. Beg him to continue. Beg him to take you back to the Capitol with him. 

He spills out onto his hand. After that, he washes himself clean and readies himself for bed. 

He worries about waking you as he enters the bedroom in nothing but a towel.  

You can almost feel him searching for his clothes. Normally he slept in only his underwear too tired to change at the end of the day, but this time he searches for his disregarded pajama bottoms. He can faintly see the blue stripes from the light outside the door and yanks them from the pile. He doesn’t bother looking for the matching top, just taking a white t-shirt from a stack. He liked that he was matching you. 

 You think he is going to undress in front of you but he takes his clothes back to the bathroom to change. 

The lights turn off and Coriolanus sneaks back into the room. He is slow as he moves down into the sinking bed, careful of waking you. 

You shuffle to let him know you are still awake. His movements turn less careful as he settles. He stills for a second but turns quickly towards you. 

He leans over you, taking the wrist you were lying against and tugging it over himself so he was being spooned. He buries your hand under his cheek and you can feel his breaths against it. 

You wonder if Edmund was still waiting outside of the Compound for you or if he had realized you weren’t coming and had gone home to his family. He’d stay. He was stubborn. 

You hoped your mother was asleep and unaware of your absence. She was only taking her morphling at night but it kept her asleep for 14 hours at a time. If she had taken it at her normal time, you should be home well before she wakes up tomorrow. 

Coriolanus’ scent fills your nose. It was oddly comforting. Every time you breathed it would come rushing up invading your senses. You could only feel him, only smell him. You went to sleep with Coriolanus surrounding you. 

—------

The beeping of an alarm clock woke your restful sleeping. 

You sit up, half unsure of what it was at first. It was Coriolanus who turned it off, but he rolled back over on the bed. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

Coriolanus sighs, resting a hand over his eyes, “6:30.”

He looked exhausted but rose anyway. His movements were sluggish as he stood from the bed and leaned across it to flatten the bed sheet over you. You toss it off as he did. 

“Go back to sleep”. 

You tell him you’re already up and rise from the bed. 

He was too tired to argue so he went about his morning routine. He takes a fresh uniform out of the cupboard and tells you he’ll be back. 

You dress back in your clothes too. Feeling better for it. 

You make your way to the main area and hear the tap running in the bathroom. 

After not eating dinner, your hunger bore a hole in your stomach. 

You check the fridge to find it is surprisingly bare. Two metal trays sit on top of each other, the food was mainly in tack but you could see small bits torn off. A half-bitten sausage, the grease of where food once sat on the small metal compartment. You unravel tin foil and find a half loaf of pre-cut bread. 

You smell the leftover food, judging it right for consumption. 

It takes you a bit to find your bearings in the kitchen. The top cupboard held food staples; flour, salt and pepper, oil. While the bottom cupboards held the pots and pans. There were only a few and they were worn down by the years. 

They cook just the same, and you fry the mashed potato that was left, and reheat the sausages. 

Coriolanus returns to the kitchen with his Commander jacket in his hand. He looked surprised to find you cooking. 

He drapes the jacket over the back of one chair as he speaks, “I was about to go to the mess hall and bring something back but that smells too good to pass up.” 

He comes over to you and stands behind you with his hands on your hips, placing a kiss to your cheek. You dip the stale bread in the grease of the sausages and fry it.

“Thank you.” 

You were pretty sure it was the first ‘thank you’ you had ever received from him. You rack your brain for another time but only his hits and threats come to mind. 

You stand silent. He was not welcomed to your cooking.

He moves from you at his own free will and goes to a small black machine on the kitchen counter. He is rough as he sets it up. 

Dark liquid pours out and the smell of coffee battles with the smell of oil. 

The first sips pleases him, and he turns to see you looking at him.

He offers you a drink from his coffee cup but you refuse it. 

“Can you get the plates from the top? I can’t reach them”.

He does as you ask, bringing down two white plates and setting them on the counter. He reshuffled the items in the cupboard, so the plates were on the bottom shelf where you could reach. 

You don’t talk further as you plate up the items and take them to the table. You place them opposite to each other, sitting down before he could move them. 

You eat quickly while Coriolanus takes his time to chew. 

He takes a break from his food and has another sip of coffee.

“You see those pants,” he nods to the folded pile of gray pants on the chair and you nod, “Can you iron them for me?” 

It wasn’t a request so you confirmed you would. 

“And my shoes need to be shined for tomorrow.” 

“Sure,” you grit before softening your voice, “After that, I was thinking I would go home to my mother. She needs her next morphling dose soon.”

You have not told him that your mother was now only on one bottle a day. He would properly stop the supply altogether if he knew and you needed the money from selling the extra bottles. 

Your real concern is that she would wake up and find you still not home. 

Coriolanus takes a bite of his sausage, he looked to be thinking about your request. 

 “That’s fine,” he finally said. 

He looks at his watch on his wrist before getting up and placing his dish in the sink. 

“It’s Commander Bonza’s last night here. He wants a farewell ceremony. If you hear gunfire that’s all it is.” 

He turns back to you and takes his jacket off the chair and slips it onto himself. 

“I’ll visit when he is finally gone.” 

You nod. At least you will be back on your own turf. Here you felt like an intruder. 

He lifts your chin and kisses you before leaving. 

You remained at the table but he could hear you had gone to wash the dishes as he closed the door. 

His hand stilled. What if he needed you during the day? What if he managed to break away from the attention of Commander Bonza and could come back?

He wondered what you would do back home. Your mother would be close to dead. Would you bake? Go for another walk?

He felt sour. You were more important here than you were there. 

Here at least he knew what you were doing. You were washing dishes, ironing, taking care of him. 

If he let you roam free over the district, who knew what you were doing or who you were talking to? 

The metal pan clanged as he twisted the lock with his key. 

It was Commander Bonza’s last day, he couldn’t be distracted by these thoughts. Today he just needed the comfort of knowing you were here for him. 

—

You rush through your chores without noticing the locked door. You find the laundry room next door to the bathroom and come across a stack of neatly folded towels. Shaking your head you grab the iron from the built-in white shelf and take it back to the living room where you had more space. 

You finish the pants in no time but the shoes proved hard to shine. When you finally got them bright enough it was nearly 9 o’clock. Your mother would be awake soon and the walk home was still 20 minutes. 

The cold that shoots through you when the door fails to open was one of the worst feelings you had ever felt. You yell, bang, and twist at the door but it remains unopened. 

You wait, thinking that maybe he wanted to ensure that the work was done before letting you leave. But lunchtime passes and he doesn’t return. 

You try wedging the door open with a butter knife but it bends the metal. The windows were sealed shut in the air-controlled room, and there was no back door that you could try. 

From the window, you could see a group of Peacekeepers carrying a long and heavy wooden table. You bang on the window, gaining their attention. 

They freeze as if you were a ghost before moving on. 

—-

The ceremony turned into a party. You did hear the sound of saluting gun fire in the late afternoon but soon after it, you would hear the faint sound of music and dancing. Peacekeepers had strung lights across the compound. They were round and shone a dim yellow. 

As night fell they became the only light over the place. You still were sat at the window, waiting for Commander Snow to return and release you. 

Your mind drove you mad. Images of your mother crying out for you. Trying to walk on her own causing herself harm. She would definitely be up by now. Would Edmund tell her where you were or would he try to shield her from the truth?

She would be by herself surely. He would have had to return home to his own family. She would be by herself, worried sick. She wouldn’t believe Edmund no matter how good of a lie he told. You could picture her in bed with her sore back, crying. 

By the time Coriolanus finally arrived home, you were a bilthering mess. 

He drops his keys at the door and comes rushing over to you. 

“What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t catch your breath through your tears. 

“Hey, what happened?” he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

You bash him in his chest for his dumb question. 

“My mother,” you gasp between tears, “I need to go home. She needs me.” 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, ‘I’ll take you now.” 

He takes your wrist into his hand and leads you out of his apartment. He doesn’t bother to lock the door. There was nothing to steal anyway, and the men here weren’t stupid enough to try. 

You could hear the men over the music as you walked through the compound. Coriolanus must have left early. 

A few Peacekeepers hid in dark corners smoking, only the light of the cigarette giving them away. You passed two, who scrambled back trying to go unnoticed as they carried their drunk friend back to the barricades. 

Coriolanus doesn’t notice any of it. Or at least he pretends not to. You noticed he was far more observant then he led on.  

He takes you to a two-story building that still had people working inside. He doesn’t take you in but around the back to a large shed that housed the cars. 

He walks along a row of cars before coming to an acceptable one. It was a common patrolling car, with a cage in the back for rebels. 

He looks at the number painted on the side, and leaves you by the passengers door. 

“Wait here. I’ll go get the keys.”

“Hurry,” you tell him but it places no pep in his step. 

There was no way she would have been able to eat anything. Her morphling dose was due hours ago. Even if she managed to get up. She wouldn’t be able to eat from the pain. 

You thought about just leaving him and trying to sprint back to the house. But even with his slow pace the car would be faster. You were outraged by him. You were under the illusion that if you played to his wants, you could continue with your life with minimal distribution. But there was no leniency with him. He had a child-like temper. There was no give and take, there was only take with him. 

He does return moments later with the keys and opens the passengers door to let you in. 

“I’m sure she is fine,” he says as he buckles his own seat belt. 

You don’t speak to him the whole journey, despite his attempts. 

The only sound you made was upon seeing the red sign that marked the beginning of your community.

He parks outside of your house and you rush to get inside. 

“Mum,” you called out before you had even opened the unlocked door.

You gasp as you see Edmund standing in your kitchen. He looked just as shocked to see you. 

“Where have you been!” he demanded. 

You try and shoo him, but Coriolanus was only two steps behind you. 

You feel a protective hand go on top of your shoulder. 

“She’s been with me. Who are you?”

“He’s the maintenance man.” You lie. 

You feel Coriolanus’ hand tighten on your shoulder. Edmund knew the danger he was in. One wrong move and he would be sent to the noose the next morning. 

“I was just fixing some damage in the roof. The door was open and I heard her mother calling out,” he showcases a couple of tools on the bench. You thank God that he did actually take the time out today to fix something, “Normally, Y/N is here. I got worried when she wasn’t.”

“And she planned to pay you with what? She has no money.” 

“Food!” You call out, “I make food for his family in exchange.”

Coriolanus looked unsure but had no other proof he could object with. 

“Go tend to your mother. I’ll make sure the work is finished.” Coriolanus ordered. 

Torn, you don’t make a move. The sole purpose of your trip was to ensure that your mother was okay but you weren’t sure if you could leave Coriolanus and Edmund in the same room. 

“No need. I took care of her. She’s asleep now”. 

“All day? What a loyal friend”.

“Yeah, well someone had to look out for her.” 

Coriolanus takes a step forward, positioning his body so it hides you behind it. 

“Coriolanus Snow.” He held out a hand to shake. 

“Commander Snow, you mean. The mighty Commander of District 12” Edmund holds his hands out in front of him, “I am unworthy to shake such a hand”. 

Coriolanus keeps a still face as he withdraws his hand. 

“That might be true,” Coriolanus shakes his finger at Edmund in an accusing manner, “Didn’t I see you next to my girl at the hanging?” 

Edmund shrugs his shoulders, “I’ve stood next to many people, at many hangings. It all begins to merge into one.”

“I know what you mean,” Coriolanus agrees. 

Talk of hanging makes you nervous. 

“Coriolanus,” you pressed your hand against his shoulder and urged him forward,“How about I make you a cup of tea?” 

He lets you push him to the table, and sit him down.

“Sure.” He answers but his eyes remain locked on Edmund as if he was the unwanted guest. 

You felt better with him sitting. It would at least give Edmund a head start if Coriolanus decided to attack.

“I’ll have one too” Edmund states, turning with you into the kitchen but you stop him with a hand. 

“No” you state, pulling items out of the fridge and placing them into Edmunds hands, “You’ve got to get home. That wife of yours must be cursing your name.” 

Edmund silently begs you to let him stay with his big brown eyes. But you couldn’t. He had to leave before he got himself killed. 

Coriolanus on the other hand looked smug. He sat proud and upright in his chair.

“I’ll show you the door.” Coriolanus looks to get up, and you feel a rush of panic go through you. 

“No need. I built it!” Edmund snapped. 

As much as you would have loved the protection of Edmund, sending him off was the best decision. It had barely been 5 minutes and Edmund was already losing his temper.

“Then you should have no trouble using it”. 

Edmund gives you a pleading look to change your mind but can’t.

“Thank you for your kindness today. I am glad someone was here for my mother”. 

“I still have work to do.” Edmund tries. 

“You can come back tomorrow”. You push your friend to the door. He turns back to you once out of the threshold. 

He says your name softly before the door closes in his face.

You turn back to Coriolanus who looked like the boy who won the biggest prize at the fair.

“I don’t want him in the house if I am not here.” He calls as you make his tea. 

You try to act nonchalant as you answer, “Fine.” 

You finish Coriolanus’s tea and bring it to him at the table.

He tugs your wrist as you pull your hand back and invites you onto his lap.

“You seemed close with the maintenance man,” he states, taking a sip of tea. 

“Not at all. He’s my brother’s old friend. We’re just old acquaintances.”

He rubs your arm, “Why don’t you go pack a bag to take back”.

“Back? I thought that was a one night thing.” You bolt up out of his hold and he continues to sip his tea unbothered. 

“You think I am letting you stay here after finding a man lingering in your house?” 

You doubt if that was his plan long before Edmund was introduced. 

“I told you who he was. My mother needs me here. She can’t even get out of bed by herself”. 

“She seems to be standing just fine now.”

You follow his eyes to the hallway where your mother leaned against the frame out of breath. 

You rush to her, trying to help her back to bed but she resisted. 

“I was so worried,” she huffed. 

“I am sorry.”

Coriolanus rises from his seat to join you and your mother in the hallway. 

“She’ll be coming back with me, ma’am. You are welcome to visit anytime.”

Your mother wanted to argue and scream, you could see it on her face but she bit her tongue.

You spoke for her, “I am not. I am staying here”. 

Coriolanus pushes past you to your bedroom where he yanks, opens the closet and begins searching for something. He tossed things out onto the floor before growing impatient and swifty going over to your bed and stripping the pillow case from the pillow. 

He stuffs the things thrown on the floor into the case. Your underwear, and spare clothes are stuffed into the small sack. 

He leaves the room to head to the bathroom and he sees you still with your mother as he passes. 

He takes your toothbrush and a hair brush laying on the sink, packing it in the case. 

“Lets go,” he demands with a strong hold on your arm. 

You felt so frustrated as he pushed you forward. You scream and pull against him. 

Your mother looked physically pained kneeled over the door frame. She looked as if she was yelling but no sound could come from her mouth. 

You scream at him to let you go but he practically carries you out the door by your waist. He lets you go as if you were going to walk yourself only to pick you up by the waist again and throw you forward towards the car. 

‘‘Let go of her!” You hear Edmunds voice before the force of his hit sends both you and Coriolanus off balance. 

Coriolanus lets go of you to defend himself against Edmunds attacks. He grunts as Edmund gets a good shot to his mouth. His lip split instantly. 

Coriolanus was stronger though. Well fed and well trained. He dodged the next swing and shot back one of his own. It landed against Edmund’s eye. It gave Coriolanus time to distance himself from the car. Now that he wasn’t backed into a corner, Edmund couldn’t rely just on his brute strength. 

He lunged forward again but Coriolanus jumped back in time for the swing to miss. 

With a clear shot to his face, Coriolanus throws his fist into Edmund’s nose. Blood gushed from it, leaving a large red patch. But it doesn’t deter him. He licks the blood off his lips and runs at Coriolanus with his shoulder. 

Edmund’s tackle sent Coriolanus to the ground with an soft groan. With his knees cemented into the ground below, Edmund takes hold of Coriolanus' collar and uses it to bring his face up against his fist. 

You could feel people watching from their houses but none came to help. 

Not even whe Coriolanus managed to reverse positions. He didn’t make the same mistake as Edmund, he kept his body weight centered. One knee kneeling on the ground while the foot of his other leg stayed flat against the earth’s floor. It would be harder for Edmund to roll him over. 

Coriolanus’s fists pounded into Edmunds face. You could see he was losing focus and his body lost power. 

He was going to kill Edmund if he continued. 

You throw yourself over his head, covering what you could with your own body. Coriolanus doesn’t swing down at you. Letting go of Edmunds hair and standing up. 

He spits the blood from his mouth out on the ground, standing tall above you as he drinks in the position you were in. You could feel Edmund raise his hand to your shoulder, his tight grip bunching your shirt. 

Coriolanus’s breathing was heavy but Edmund’s breaths were soft against your ear. 

His lip was bleeding still into his mouth, and he had a cut above his eyebrow that he smeared across his face as he wiped it off. 

You swore you heard him laugh softly as he picked up the pillow case and stuffed the lost items back in before throwing it into the car where it spilled once more. 

He holds the door open for you, his hard stare telling you what to do without words. 

You tear yourself from Edmund who was reluctant to let you go. 

“No,” he groans but you follow your instincts and get into the car. 

The door slams shut and you peer out the window to see Edmund trying to stand on shaky feet. The word must have felt like it was spinning for him. 

Coriolanus gets in and begins driving without a word. 

“Ah,” he sighs, wiping the blood off his lip. 

You choke back tears as you watch Edmund fall down in the mirror. 

“Kill them and you kill me,” you threaten, “I swear, there is not a single thing you can do that would stop me.”

Without your mother, without Edmund, there would be no point in being alive. 

Coriolanus doesn’t answer you. You take it as a sign that he meant you were serious. 

You both fall into silence on the drive back to the compound. You wondered if Lucy Gray was subjected to the same treatment. She was stronger than you were though. She was the victor of the Hunger Games, while you stood there frozen while two men tried to kill each other with their bare hands. If she couldn’t survive him, what hope did you have?

—------

The nightmare returns again that night. 

It starts as it always does. He is in the forest hunting Lucy Gray as she taunts him with her song.

“Are you, are you comin' to the tree? Where they strung up a man, they say, who murdered three

Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree.” 

He stalks through the vegetation.  

“Wear a necklace of rope side by side with me?” He feels her once again, as a hand on his shoulder, a wet rasp in his ear. He spins with his gun to the air. 

It was a fatal mistake. He feels the thick rope loop around his neck and yank him up to the trees. He drops his gun in an effort to loosen the knot around his throat. 

Lucy Gray had strung him up in the tree like his father. 

He gasps as he wakes from it, startling you too. 

Your frightened figure was a welcomed sight to Coriolanus who scooped you up from the bed into his arms. His hold hurt you. It was far too tight, and his hot sweaty body overheated you. 

You couldn’t tell him though, you doubt he would even hear you over his loud shaky breathing.

He presses his face into your hair, breathing in your scent. 

He couldn’t have that cabin, that forest, that girl, haunt him the rest of his days. He would have to conquer this fear. 

He would go back with you, where he would face Lucy Gray or leave the ghost of her in the trees. 

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Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 2] Toji's Miserable Attempts to Change Your Mind

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst

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You’ve had many plans for your life, but packing your clothes to move out from your apartment– Toji’s apartment, at twenty seven years of age wasn’t one of them. Even though it was your decision, you never thought you’d be getting divorced. You really love Toji, and while part of you really wants to stay, you know you need to leave.

He tries to convince you to stay, loving you the best way he knows how to: having sex. You don’t turn him down even though you probably should since you’re separating. It’s temporary as you move out. You keep each other entertained, as bad as it sounds. He has sex with you to get you to stay and you simply enjoy it.

Things have changed though, a month later you find an apartment that you can afford with the new job that you got. You have some savings from the occasional allowance that Toji gave you (once a month and it couldn’t even buy you a damn loaf of bread), and of course apart from your day job as a receptionist, you’ve gotten a waitressing job during nights. You’re trying your best to save up and move out. You’re not taking care of the house or anything and you’re hoping that maybe that’ll finally get Toji to sign the divorce papers that he refuses to sign. 

Toji didn’t expect to come back home to this. You’re grabbing your clothes from the closet and shoving them into a suitcase. There must be a better way to do this all but it seems like you’re in a rush to leave. You don’t seem to notice his presence or at the very least, you ignore it.

“Are you really doing this?” Toji clears his throat and speaks up to catch your attention. You give him a side eye before walking into the closet to get more clothes. Toji really thought for a moment that sex would be enough to get you to stay, you had no problem accepting it anyway; but you’re still packing your stuff, “I hope you know that I won’t support you. You’re doing this because you chose to, I will fight tooth and nail so you don’t get a single penny from me.”

“I don’t want your stupid money.” You’re clearly annoyed and you display it in your tone. You feel underappreciated because he doesn’t care to notice that you’ve been working and that you’ve stopped doing housework. You feel more invisible than ever. Toji watches as you put more stuff into the suitcase, at this point it’s overfilled with clothes. “I have two jobs, Toji. I wasn’t counting on you, I never was.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” Toji asks, and you chuckle but it soon turns into a fit of laughter. Toji crosses his arms and watches as you laugh your heart out, and he wonders what he said that causes such a reaction. A tear streams down your face and you wipe it away, calming down and taking a deep breath.

“We’ve had a month to talk about this, Toji. You just thought that throwing yourself at me would solve all of our problems.” You point out, and he bites his tongue. He ends up sighing, loosening the tie that’s tight around his neck. He takes a seat on your side of the bed, watching as you zip the suitcase close. “Believe it or not, sex doesn’t solve all problems– In fact, for our situation it doesn’t solve anything.”

“You wanted attention and I’m giving it to you.” It’s as simple as that, at least in his mind. You roll your eyes before looking through drawers to get stuff that you bought, items that belong to you and you’re taking to your new place. “I don’t know why you’re so complicated–”

“No, I’m simple! I want a divorce and you won’t give it to me.” You slightly raise your voice. You find a couple items and throw them on the bed before looking for another suitcase. You can’t believe just how complicated Toji is. You get another suitcase, but this one has a couple things in it. You open it and you find a couple CD cases, and you take them out. They don’t belong to you, you don’t have any CDs, so the only reasonable explanation is that they’re Toji’s. You put them aside, but you know you’ll be putting them into your laptop and playing the contents of it later. 

You walk back to the bedroom with the suitcase, and throw it on the bed. You begin to throw your stuff in it, and Toji can’t help but watch. He hears as his heart slowly breaks, he just didn’t think that you’d be doing this. You sleep next to him without a problem, and you have no problem giving in to his touch. The first night you told him you still wanted a divorce, but you stayed with him; you still kissed him back, you caressed him, you laughed at his awful jokes (granted not as hard as before). Toji really thought that he had you back, you just needed time.

“How about we… Tomorrow, will you give me a chance? Let’s go out.” Toji doesn’t know what to say. He’s realizing that after you leave, it’ll be hard to see you again. Nothing is tying you down. You’re ignoring him, your eyes focused on organizing the items in the suitcase, something that you didn’t care to do for your clothes. “Just– I promise that I’ll sign the divorce papers without a problem if after tomorrow–”

“Fine. Let’s go out.” You say but you continue packing everything away because you know it’s not going to work. Nothing Toji can do will make you change your mind. 

Tossing and turning in your bed leads you to look again for the CDs that you had put aside earlier. You had forgotten about them since your mind was preoccupied with what Toji has planned for tomorrow– Or today since it is past midnight. Toji’s snoring so you’re not too worried about him hearing you get out of the bed, get the CDs, get the laptop, and then go to the living room.

You put the first CD in, the one that has the oldest date. You wait a while for it to boot up, but when it does, you hate the video immediately. His late wife, Toji’s, appears on the screen and she’s so strikingly beautiful; it’s not because of her, she’s a woman that you respect and admire. What you hate is how you see Toji. So happy about the fact that he’s married. Your chest feels heavy and for some reason tears well up in your eyes.

Toji wasn’t this happy when he was getting married to you. You were like her, over the moon and smiling during every minute of the event… Toji on the other hand wasn’t like he’s in this video. He looks so genuinely happy, and so in love with her. You doubt he’s ever looked at you like he looks at her.

You have to skip forward because you take heavy breaths to keep yourself calm. You pause right at Toji’s toast, and while you know that you should skip forward because what he’ll say will shatter you, you keep the video playing. You’re not a woman that usually gets jealous, the fact that you stayed with Toji after his betrayal is telling of that aspect, but when he opens his mouth your hands are shaking. Your whole body shakes due to the immense jealousy that runs through your veins. You have to try your best to hold back your tears when he calls her his soulmate and the love of his life. What really sticks with you is:

I don’t know what I’d do without her, she’s everything to me.

You have to take out the disk because there’s tears running down your face. You’re not mad because he loved someone else, you’re frustrated because he never grew to love you like he loved her. Matter of fact, you’re not sure if Toji even loves you even when he’s been trying to assure you of it lately. You put in the other disk because you just want to know the contents of it. You take a deep breath as you wait for the video to start.

“Is this working?” Toji’s eye is right on the camera, and you chuckle as you watch your husband try to figure out how to work the camera. He finally adjusts the camera and you get to see him, and her as well. She has a cute baby bump and you smile. She sounds so sweet,

“We’re so excited to meet you, baby.” And Toji wraps her arms around her, his hands landing on her baby bump. “What name did you choose again?”

“Megumi. He’s our little blessing.” It’s cute, it’s really cute. It’s so nice to see Toji smile like an idiot, and look how he looks so lovingly at his beloved. He’s so excited to be a father too… The same Toji that told you he didn’t want kids, that in order to get married you had to accept the fact that you wouldn’t have children. He just simply didn’t want them, no other reasoning than that. You wanted kids but you accepted it. Being a mother is something that you’ve always wanted but for Toji you were willing to give that up; additionally, you had Megumi as a stepson and that was sort of enough even when you weren’t supposed to act like his mother.

You’re bawling your eyes out for the rest of the video, even when you’re supposed to smile. Toji kissing his wife’s belly, blushing as she brushes his hair with her fingers. He talks to the baby and is as sweet as ever with her, and you’re comparing yourself to her. You’re wondering why you aren’t enough, why can’t Toji love you? He would never treat you like he treated her, and you don’t mind not being treated the same but Toji doesn’t even try. You’re just an afterthought. 

The video ends and you take the disk out again, and you put in the last one. You take a deep breath, wiping away the tears. You knew Toji had a whole life behind you, you shouldn’t care. You’re separating anyway. You laugh seeing a tiny baby Megumi, really nothing like the angsty teen that he is today. A chubby baby, who’s so sleepy. 

Toji looks so happy as he holds his son. Over the moon with his baby, and you begin to wonder why Toji doesn’t want kids. Maybe he just wants one woman to be the mother of his kids but since she’s no longer in this world, he doesn’t want to have more. There’s so many cute moments, mostly focused on Megumi. When he learned how to talk, calling Toji dada, and it’s so visible how happy Toji was. Watching as Megumi learned how to walk, you realized something: you’re not willing to give up having a baby for a man that doesn’t love you. You want your own family, one where you’re loved.

You’re tired of not being loved enough, and it causes your heart to ache. A sob leaves your lips and you’re about to shut the laptop when you hear him ask, “Why are you watching that? It’s three in the morning.”

You turn to look at him, the bit of light coming from the laptop illuminates your tears. You want to ask him why you’re not enough, why he chose to marry you, why he doesn’t love you, why he insists on you staying, why he chose you. There’s a lump in your throat and you’re not able to ask him anything though.

“Do you want a baby?” He asks, and you end up nodding in response, wiping away your tears. And he might not want to be a father again but he’s willing to do it all over again if it means that you’ll stay. “We can have one.”

“We’re getting a divorce, Toji.” You remind him before shutting off the laptop. You stand up from the couch and walk back to the bedroom. He walks behind you since he stood up because you weren’t by his side. He has to get used to it though, you’re leaving soon.

“When are you moving out?” He asks.

“In two days.”

Toji makes sure you dress appropriately for your date. It’s supposed to be a surprise, and you’re not exactly too excited to go out with him. No matter what, you’re leaving. You’ve been saving up for this. For the first time, Toji is actually worried that you’re going to be late and he rushes you to leave.

You wonder what you’ll be doing since he’s in such a rush. And then you get to the movie theater. When you’re in the parking lot, you ask, “What movie are we going to watch? The new dolls ones?”

“It’s a surprise.” He responds, turning off the car. He gets out and he rushes to open the door for you but he never does that for you so he can’t do the chilvarious act since you’re already out of the car. He throws his arm over your shoulder as you walk to the entrance. You’re going up to the ticket booth to get the tickets, but Toji has a different idea. He waves at the worker as if they know each other, and you two walk inside the movie theater. “Do you want anything?”

“I guess… A small popcorn.” You’re unsure. Toji never buys anything from the movie theater during the rare occurrence he actually goes. He walks away to get the popcorn while you patiently wait, looking around. You’ll be moving out tomorrow, and that’s the only thought that runs through your mind when you look at him. It makes you want to cry… It’s for your own good, yet you don’t want to go.

“Let’s go.” There’s a small smile on his face when he’s walking over to you. You’re not sure where you’re supposed to go since you don’t have any movie tickets so you have no option but to follow him. You get to an empty auditorium, and he tells you, “Choose where you want to sit.”

You do get excited, even though you told yourself you weren’t going to get excited over anything during this date. You walk to the very top, and he follows you. You begin to munch on your popcorn while watching the previews, and you can’t help but ask, “What movie are we watching?’

“It’s a surprise.” He responds. You try to think of all the movies that are currently being shown, however, none sound interesting enough to draw Toji in. You won’t push it though, you don’t care. You’ll stick around for one bad movie if it means that Toji will finally sign the divorce papers. 

You finish eating the small bucket of popcorn before the movie actually begins, and when Toji notices, he’s kind enough to take it from your hands and stand up. Before he leaves though you request, “Could you get me a drink? And some candy?”

“Of course, honey.” He says before walking away. You’ll take advantage of this since you’re leaving soon. Your eyes then go to the screen to look at the previews. You know they’re ending and the theater is deserted which makes you assume that it’s an unpopular movie. You don’t care all that much about it, you’re just hoping that Toji will come back before it starts because you aren’t all that great with summaries.

When it does start, he’s still gone. You make sure to pay attention so you’ll be able to explain at the best of your ability. You begin to realize how familiar this movie feels– You try to recollect your thoughts, trying to remember all the movies you’ve watched and then it hits you. You watched this movie years ago with Toji during your first official date.

You’re overflowing with emotions lately. Maybe it’s because a divorce isn’t an easy process, especially when Toji wants you to stay and you love him so much. You’re tearing up watching the beginning of the movie, and your glossy eyes are so focused on the screen that you don’t realize Toji has come back with everything you’ve asked and more.

“Everything okay?” He asks, and you nod in response. You smile at him.

“You remember.” You say as you take the popcorn and drink from him, allowing him to keep the other stuff.

“Of course I do.” He responds. Years ago you came to watch a movie but instead, you did anything but watch the movie. In your defense, you tried to but it wasn’t all that entertaining especially when you had Toji next to you. Your heart softens as you realize that he did this for you.

“How much did this cost?” You question, feeling bad because you know what’ll happen next. His efforts are in vain.

“Not much.” He tries to play it off. Toji isn’t a man that saves up a lot of money, and while this didn’t cost a lot, it costed the little amount of money Toji had saved up. 

The scene is about to play out like it did in the first time. He cups your face and pecks your lips, “Any price is worth it when it comes to you.”

It’s not much effort either, but his words and his actions are making you reconsider even when you had set your mind to leaving. But then you remember how happy he was in those videos, how he called her his soulmate. Toji can’t do that with you, at least he hasn’t in the five years that you’ve been together, and you doubt that he will if you stay. If you decide to stay, it’ll take a week for Toji to go back to being himself. And while he offered to start a family with you, you know it won’t end well.

“Toji…” You begin, your voice nearly breaking. You slowly blink, trying to hold back your tears. He knows what’s coming as he stares at your face.

“If this is about having kids, I told you I’d have one with you.” He reminds you. You take a deep breath, trying to gather all the words you need.

“But you don’t want one. We’re not having a kid to try and save this marriage. That’ll just end up horrible. You won’t love my baby and I’ll have to raise them by myself.” You point out. “Toji… All I want is for someone to love me, and have my own family. You once had that and… You know how it feels. I want to start over with someone else as fast as I can.”

You have to look away because just looking at Toji makes you want to burst into tears. Your heart holds so much sadness, and the last person you want it to unfold with is Toji.

“I know you don’t know how it feels like to be unloved by someone you hold dear to your heart, but let me tell you, it fucking sucks.” You try to chuckle as tears run down your face. You’re not sure why. Maybe you want to disguise your tears, but it’s a horrible cover up. “If I stay, everything will go back to how it usually is within a week. I just want to start over and not be a placeholder for anyone.”

“That’s not how this is, baby. I love you.” He tries to assure you but your mind just replays the video of how happy and in love he looked when he was with her. He’ll never look at you like that, and thinking about it breaks your heart. You deserve someone like that. 

You give him the popcorn before standing up. You weakly smile at him, and you’re about to mutter an apology to him but you end up biting your tongue. He doesn’t deserve one. He chose this. Out of the two of you, you’re the one deserving of an apology. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

You leave to go to the bathroom to fix your makeup and try to watch the movie. Maybe you’ll finally grasp the plot of this movie the second time around– You also really want that candy. You look in the mirror and try to smile at yourself. Your makeup isn’t all that bad, just tear stains ruining your foundation.

It hurts to see him try so hard but you wonder why he’s trying. You’re not the woman he loves, and the man also seems to not care for housework all that much because he hasn’t noticed how your apartment is a damn mess. Maybe Toji does love you… But you shake the thought out of your head because it’s ridiculous. 

There’s a tap on your shoulder and you turn to see what looks like a teenage girl. You raise your eyebrows and she asks, “Do you have a pad or tampon I could use?”

“Uh… Yeah.” You search in your purse for the pad that you keep in case of emergencies, and when you find it, you hand it to her. She thanks you before going into one of the stalls, and you focus on finishing up your makeup.

You freeze, the brush in your hand falling into the sink when you realize something that’s so very important.

You’re late.

[mayghosts]

Hi! 🎉 Could you write a fanfic with KK harvey? The song could be hurt my feelings by Tate McRae. Some tropes I had in mind are enemies to lovers, sports rivals, forced proximity. They could get all up in each other’s face on the ice and be so mad and play rough with each other and then confront each other in the locker room when everyone’s left and it ends up angsty with them getting all close again and LOTS! of teasing as well. IDK just an idea I had it would be lovely if you wrote it !!🙂‍↕️

HURT MY FEELINGS

SUMMARY: request!!! Reader plays for Minnesota and has a long running rivalry with Wisconsin player KK Harvey. (Brad Frost is Minnesota head coach)

WARNINGS: head injuries, fighting, slightly explicit

AN: kicking off the 500 celebration with a bang!! I hope this is everything you wanted and more 🫶

YOUR POV

Adrenaline pumped through your veins as the crowd seemingly got louder by the minute. You knew this game was going to be crowded, you just weren't expecting it to be this packed. Pressing your lips together, you looked at the girl positioned across from you. Blonde curls peaking out from the bottom of her helmet, the number four plastered across her back. You felt your adrenaline spike harder when she made eye contact with you again.

Glancing into the crowd, you immediately spotted her. Fling or girlfriend, you weren't sure, all you knew was that KK was fucking her. Wearing an official team jacket, you watched as she cheered from behind the glass. This only made your blood boil, you blamed it on your general hatred of the girl. You readjusted your grip on your stick before the whistle blew.

Brad always told you that you don't have to prove anything to anyone. That you “play best when you’re unattached.” However, Brad has never had a long running rivalry with someone who always gets to be the good guy in the eyes of the media. He also has never had multitudes of fan edits made about the “sexual tension” between him and his rival during the last game they played together. Brad is not rivals with KK Harvey.

So you took Brads words in one ear and out the other. Every other game this season, you swore to yourself that you would keep your emotions under wrap. Play as the machine you were scouted to be. The quick, calculated, and cold player the media raved over in articles. However, today was different, and it barely counted anyways. Just another pre-season game.

The puck went to Wisconsin first. The first period was mainly uneventful. You avoided KK, letting the rage simmer in your stomach. However you could feel your disposition slipping as you entered the second period. This girl Claire had been all over you. Constantly bumping and trailing you, giving you no space, you let it slide during the first period. But with Wisconsin pulling ahead at the start of the second, your patience was wearing thin.

You could tell Brad wasn’t pleased with your perfromamce this game either, especially this period. Changing plays last minute, pulling dramatic stunts to try and dirch Claire. He knew you weren't playing how he wanted, you knew you were benched if you didn’t close the growing point gap.

You rocketed down the ice, keeping the puck close to you before firing it to your center Taylor. A perfect pass, you watched as she fired it into the net. A perfect goal. Brad would like that. You kept your speed, as you went to circle behind the net.

The collision was hard. You heard it before you felt it. Claire had come fast from the other side of the net, smashing you into the boards. Your head hit the plexiglass hard. Crumbling to the ground you landed on all fours, your vision blurred as you felt hot blood stream out of your nose.

The arena silenced at the blow of the whistle. Claire stood frozen in front of you. You stood fast, dropping you stick, before ramming your fist against her face cage.

Immediately everything swarmed. The crowd was on their feet, yelling anything and everything. KK was immediately on you, roughly pulling you off Claire as you yelled at her. “Dont fucking touch me Harvey!” she glared at you hard, her grip softend slightly as she steered you away. “You always need to be the Godamn hero! You just can't- stop, I said don't fucking touch me!!” You squirmed out of her grip, knocking her hands away. Blood dripped of your chin onto the ice as Maggie immediately came between you two. Her mouth was moving but you couldn't hear a thing she was saying, tears brimmed in your eyes as you suddenly felt all the air leave your lungs.

Crumbling into Maggie, your head pounded as she helped you off the ice. You spent the rest of the game in the health office with the lights off.

We lost by two points.

Stepping into your team lockeroom, you were met with a freshly showered and clothed KK Harvey. Clad in loose grey sweats and a black nike sports bra, she sat on the bench across from the door like she was expecting you. Her hair was still wet from the shower and she had a look on her face that you assumed was irritation.

"Oh hell no," you muttered under your breath as you immediately turned to leave, pulling the door handle. To your dismay, the door did not open. "What the fuck did you do to the door Harvey?" You pulled harder at the door which did not open. “I didn't do shit to the door, you were the last one who touched it!” you groaned closing your eyes.

“Why are you even in here? Shouldn't you be out with you team? And your girlfriend?” She was quiet, just watching you as you stated back at her. “What? You want an apology or something?” She slumped over letting her head fall into her hands

“Is the door really not opening?” You rolled your eyes at her, “what do you think?” “You don't have to be such a bitch you know? I was only here in the first place to make sure you were okay-”

“Since when have you cared about my health?” “Can you not fucking interrupt me. Please.” “Oh my god I'm going to kill myself. You are so stuck up!” You stood up, walking towards her. “When was the last time you didn't get exactly what you want? You have the media, the fans, fucking everyone, wrapped around your finger. I'm SO sick of it!” She immediately stood up to meet you, stepping just a bit too close for an argument. The height difference left you slightly craning your neck to look up at her. She was silent for a moment.

“How bad is your head?”

“...Feels like its going to explode.”

You were silent again. You looked over her shoulder refusing to look her in the eye, but you could feel her blue eyes tracing your face.

“I’m not sorry.”

“I know.”

You flicked your eyes up to hers. Neither of you stepped away, clinging to whatever remained between you.

“Want me to turn the light off?”

You swallowed hard, “Yeah, please.”

As she flicked the light off, you collapsed against the couch. KK gingerly sat on the opposite edge.

“I’m sorry the media isn’t nice to you.” Once again you found yourself wanting to poke her eyes out. “KK that's not your fault-” you paused. The nickname slipped out a little too easily. You had never called her anything besides Harvey. You could feel her looking at you in the dark room, you knew what face she was making too.

"I know its not my fault, but I've had opportunities to say something to make it better and I haven't. You are my biggest competitor on the ice, you always play a tough game. But that dosen't mean I hate you or that you're a mean person...You're mean or cruel, I know your not."

You were quiet for a moment. "I'm just so tired of everything." You wanted to die as soon as you heard your voice tremble. To be fair you had kept the tears in through the whole incident and through your long discussion with coach after the game. You were planning on crying when you got back to your dorm. Crying infront of KK was a low. Desperately you looked up, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes.

You felt her scooch down the couch to sit next to you. Gently, she grabbed your wrists as you let her pull them away from your face. "Don't do that you're going to make your head worse." She didn't let go as she softly held your wrists, her eyes surveying your bruised hands. Letting your head lull to the side, you could make out the faint outline of her face, the curve of her nose, and the glint in her eyes.

“Sorry.”

"Don’t be.”

She slowly runs her thumb over your forearm, her eyes tracing the veins in your left arm. You watched her face as you softly tucked a stray piece of wet hair behind her ear with your other hand. She peered up at you.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” 

You felt the butterflies in your stomach explode at her words. Climbing into your throat and clouding your brain.

“Yeah?”

“-and I know I can't because you're obviouly concussed and you've had a long day and I-”

Her words trailed off as you cupped her cheek with your right hand. Tracing your thumb under her eye.

Gently, she pulled you closer to her. Your knees connecting with hers. You both lingered for a moment, just a breath away from changing everything.

She kissed you like she loved you. Soft and sweet, nothing mattered at all except for her lips and her hands still holding your wrist. Gradually she pulled you ontop of her and you slowly pushed her into the couch.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you pulled away. Her eyes raked over your face like she was trying to commit it all to memory. “God you're so fucking pretty” you slowly made your way to her neck, sucking purple marks into the exposed skin. She hummed at your actions, dropping her head to the side, her cheeks dusted a light pink. You settled your head on her chest letting your eyed droop shut.

“I wish we talked more.” your voice came out as almost a whisper. You felt her place a kiss on your head as she responded, “lets talk tomorrow okay?”

“Nothings gonna change, you know? I really like you Caroline.”

“I know baby, I know.”

“G’night Caro.”

You fell asleep as she gently traced patters on your back and she followed soon after.

Taglist: @ayannatv @smiths-fan--13 COMMENT BELOW FOR 500 CELEBRATION TAGLIST

[mactavishsgfandwife]

141 When They’re Sick

bilingual privilege is using your second language to scribble down notes for your tumblr fanfiction in class with the reassurance that no one else will be able to understand what you’re writing 😋 pure fluff (not proofread)

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish

soap has such man flu vibes

i just know he will have a little cold from never dressing appropriately for the english weather (he thinks he can tough it out) (he can’t) and then lays on the sofa for a week, miserable and constantly pining for your attention

he loves a cup of tea when he’s sick but he also swears that irn bru has magic restorative qualities, and "that’s how i keep m’physique, bonnie"

Johnny groans, rubbing his face with his palm as he lays stretched out over the sofa, his feet resting on one arm and a hot water bottle flopped lazily over his stomach. For the most part, the grunts and sighs seem genuine, but you could swear that he makes sure to emphasise his suffering when you walk past, just to let you know what a big strong boy he’s being for dealing with his sore throat and slight headache.

"Head hurts…" he groans, holding a forearm over his eyes to shield them from the light.

"I know, honey… you want a paracetamol?" you pat his head, trying to hide your little, sympathetic laugh.

"Nah, only just had one… Y’could gimme a kiss, though," he grinned up at you, his tone lightening a little.

"Ew! Stop, I don’t want your germs," you laugh, pulling your hand away from his hair.

"Aww, c’mon… might make me feel better," Johnny teases, sitting up a little (he wasn’t really that weak in the first place) and holds your wrist so you can’t escape. When you see the stupid, irritating grin on his face, you know you don’t really care about germs. You just want to kiss him.

Captain John Price

price, when he’s feeling ill, likes to be looked after - the number one cure for ANY of this man’s problems is a warm bath

he loves it when you act like a little housewife for him, running him a warm bath and bringing him a constant stream of cups of tea - sometimes he’ll pretend to be sicker than he is for a little longer than he has to just for a day or two more of being doted on by you. not that you don’t do that anyways.

but he’s a menace when you try to go off shopping or to work - he lays a strong, hairy arm over you, mumbling something about being sick and needing you to stay

if you massage his back and shoulders when he’s feeling sick, he will be so happy. it takes a little longer than when he rubs your back because there’s just more of him, with his broad shoulders and muscular dad-bod (yum)

You have John laying on his front, on the bed, arms crossed under his head. His hair is damp, getting the bedsheets a little wet beneath him, and he has a soft white towel wrapped loosely around his hips - he smells strangely like lavender (he definitely used your shower gel instead of his because yours is nicer - you pretend not to notice, as your hands gently move up and down his sore back).

He’s managed to come down with a bad cold the day after an intense workout, so his body is totally exhausted and nothing really appeals to him other than laying down. Being as fit as he is, you wouldn’t expect him to be in such a state, but the man needs a break and it’s plain to see.

The soft light from the nice-smelling candles that you’ve lit on the bedside table plays in his wet hair, which you gently comb your fingers through.

"You been using my products again, hmm?" you grin with a gentle tone, leaning in closer to him.

"Sorry love…" he starts to respond, his voice a little hoarse.

"It’s okay," you laugh softly, nuzzling your face into his back as you lower yourself on top of him, like a weighted blanket. Your soft hands wrap gently around his scarred sides, as little sighs of contentment leave your mouth.

"What happened to my back rub?" he teases, feeling your body laying against him. Still, he doesn’t a muscle to stop you from cuddling up to him.

As you keep quiet, enjoying the warmth of his body, he chuckles and pulls himself into a more comfortable position below you.

"That’s alright, sweetheart…" he replies to your silence.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

simon would try to be an unphased tough guy but he’d have little moments of weakness

he’d insist that he’s not that sick while taking paracetamol and drinking tea constantly, pulling you close to him as often as he can and being clingier than usual (he’s always touchy, but he is particularly reliant on you now)

he’s in a terrible mood, but just resting his head on your shoulder or holding you while you work helps him… better yet, he loves it when you’re sitting on the sofa and working on your laptop, or watching a film, and he gets to lay down with his head in your lap - with your soft fingers occasionally brushing through his short hair

he’s a tough guy, but when it’s just you and him, he can just lay down with his girl without worrying about being ghost. he’s just simon - poorly simon, with his sweet girlfriend taking care of him.

Phone in your hand, you quietly text your friend about her crazy ex boyfriend and the dress that she’s going to wear out tonight - the red one or the other red one, with the different neckline? You look up to the doorway to see a tall, tired man walk into the sitting room - 6’4", dressed in an old grey hoodie and a pair of pyjama bottoms, ruffling his hair and looking utterly exhausted.

"Thought you were asleep, Si…"

"Can’t sleep," he mumbles gruffly, silently moving towards you and finding a spot to lay his head - right in your lap, his feet resting on the opposite arm of your big sofa.

Understanding his fatigue, you sigh softly and stroke his head as it lays against you. His skin is pale, showing his sickness, and his eyes look tired and dry. A little groan escapes his lips as he shuffles on the sofa, trying to make himself comfortable.

"Love you, darling…" he whispers softly, his eyes shutting in preparation to finally sleep.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

i feel like kyle’s love language is food

if you make that man a curry or a good spag bol, he will secretly be making plans to propose to you as he eats it

and that’s all the more true when he’s ill or tired out - some comfort food home cooked by you would mean the world

Gaz had a bad cold and had been hibernating in bed all day, mostly asleep but occasionally watching the football or texting Soap to complain about how sick he is. As you walked into the room, brandishing a bowl of spaghetti carbonara, his eyes lit up.

"Hey, what’s this?" he grins, his voice a little hoarse.

"Carbonara. For you," you chuckle, placing it down on his bedside table, "I have some work stuff to finish, I-"

"Y’could just stay with me instead. I’ve been locked up in here all day," he teases.

"You’ve been asleep all day! I really need to… well…"

"Come on, baby."

You struggle to hide the grin that’s creeping onto your face, not wanting to procrastinate your work any longer (this wasn’t the first time Kyle has stolen you away from typing up emails) but he got what he wanted when, a moment later, you were cuddled up to him. Wearing his tshirt and your underwear, with your head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh my God, this is so good!" he chuckles, eating, voice still strained from the sore throat. He’s mostly just happy to have you next to him (oh, as well as the pasta).

gaz is my babyyyyyyy i don’t think you guys get it 😣😣😣 this took an age and a half to write i hope it’s up to standard thanks for reading!! xx

[spookysteddie]

Text Me The Details

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader

18+ MINORSDNI

cw: gossip magazines, reader being horny on a live stream, cocky!Eddie, drinking, drugs mention

a/n: I kinda want this to be a series? So expect a part two at some point. But yeah this isn't an original idea so, credit to literally everyone who's done this before me. I gave reader a last name because if I have to write y/l/n one more time I'll sob. ANYWAY I hope you all enjoy and let me know if you like this!

WC: 1.2k

...

You are never drinking again. Ever.

Your management would agree after what happened last night. You didn’t mean to spill the secret you’d been keeping. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, however, you had an image to keep up. The party girl, the kind one, the one with lots of friends, the girl who had good grades in college, the one who always donated most of her fortune to various organizations. 

Now, every tabloid was writing articles about your celebrity crush. 

Party girl and influencer drunkenly admits she’d love to sleep with lead singer of Corroded Coffin Eddie Munson. Sources have said they’ve been together for a while but decided to keep it under wraps. 

The dating portion of that article wasn’t true and you silently vow to figure out who the fuck these ‘sources’ were. However, you admitting to wanting to fuck Eddie… did happen. You have no one to blame but yourself. 

Now, there are three reasons why you’re so stressed about this. First, even though you party all the time, you were good. You know, like only went out on the weekends, did every single assignment, tutored people on the side, was probably the most unproblematic influencer out there. Second, the last thing you wanted was Eddie Munsons attention. You had this thing where you didn’t want the people you were fans of to perceive you. 

Theoretically you knew they did, most of them followed you on social media. But there was a difference between being a fan of someone, and them semi-knowing you vs your actual crush who you own a poster or two of? That makes you want to throw up and pass out at the same time. 

But, finally, the third reason this stressed you out was because Eddie and his crew were not good. You know like, partied every single day, smoked a lot of weed and snorted coke off of his groupies and fans. It was all over the tabloids and the band has even posted about it a time or two. You didn’t do that. And if the tabloids caught you doing that, you’d lose everything you worked towards.

“So this is how we’re going to fix it,” Case, your manager, says from where she’s standing next to the fireplace in your apartment. “You’re gonna go back on live and say it was an accident.” 

You look up from the article you were reading, eyes finding his. “That is the worst idea ever. I was tipsy not black out drunk. No one will ever believe that was an accident.” You huff, locking your phone, “and I have tickets to their show next week.” 

You loved your team, but sometimes they made the most insane comments on how to fix the unfixable. 

You stand, pacing the room, “he isn’t one to read gossip magazines. And-and I’m not on the same level as his band. They’re A listers and I’m C list at best.” 

Your manager and publicist look like fish after what you said. Anna, your publicist speaks first, “I swear to god if you ever say that again I am uppin your therapy appointments. You hear me?” 

You huff, sitting back down on the couch, “I’m not kidding though. I’m not giving up this ticket. It’s one of the few things I’m looking forward to.” 

Case answers after rubbing her temples, “you better pray this blows over without him seeing it. You may party but his partying is a whole other level.” 

… 

The call came two days later, an unknown number popping up on your phone. 

You knew, you knew before you even accepted the call who’d be on the other end of the line. 

It felt like it started in slow motion, first came the gossip mags with the original story. Then came Eddie following you on instagram. He’d like a few photos and stories you put up. Then came his interview. The interview where he said, “of course I know who she is. I’m flattered really. I hear she’s a sweet girl.” 

Now, your phone is buzzing in your hand and you can’t bring yourself to answer the phone. 

“Yes just a fucking person. Just like you’re a person. Answer the phone.” You look down at the phone and are thankful it’s just you in your house. You tap the answer button, a fake smile on your face, as you put the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” you use your best interview voice, the one Anna has drilled into you. 

You can hear him breathe in before letting it out, long and slow, it’s clear he took a drag of his cigarette. Is he nervous too? There’s no way. Eddie always seemed to be this cool and calm guy, never afraid of anything or anyone. He gets into more fights in a week than you have in your entire 25 years of existence. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Asher.” You can hear the grin in his voice and it sends a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding in your chest. “It’s Eddie.” 

He didn’t have to introduce himself to you, you’d be able to pick out his voice in a crowded room. But only because you’ve listened to his music so often… only reason. 

“Oh! Hi! I’m s-surprised to hear from you.” You cringe at the stutter that came out of you. You had more than enough practice dealing with any situation thrown at you. From the funny to the uncomfortable to the scary. You were trained for this and you were fucking it up. “How can I help you?” 

“The band and I will be in town next friday, we’re playing a show.” You know where this is going and it makes your heart beat faster, so fast you’re scared it’ll burst. “I was wonderin’ if you were goin’?”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“I am, actually. Me and a few of my friends actually.” You rub your hands down your sweatpants, nerves making them sweat. 

“Oh! Well that is fantastic,” his tone is chipper as hell and you know he’s high. On what, you have no idea. “I was thinkin’ that maybe ya friends and you’d wanna join us backstage. VIP area for the show? What cha think?” 

All of sudden you forget how the english language works, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. This is what you’ve been wanting for so long. Well, in your dreams of course. But looking at it from a business perspective, it could bring his fans to your page and your fans to his page. It was kind of a win win. Well, win win lose because then Corroded coffin knows who the actual fuck you are and you arent just some fan. And that, terrified you,  

“Heeeeeeello? Are you there?” 

His voice breaks through your clogged mind, forcing you to respond. 

“Hi, sorry. I’m here! I um I got distracted. But, yeah that sounds great, actually. We-we’d love that.” 

“Good! I will have my people call your people, yeah?” 

“O-or you can just send me the information,” you say it before thinking and now you really want to punch yourself. 

He chuckles to himself, “okay, sweetheart, I’ll text you the information. See you next friday.” 

He hangs up before you can say another fucking stupid thing. You press the phone into your hands, foot bouncing on the floor with nerves. You can think of seven different ways that conversation could’ve (and should’ve) happened. One of which was with your entire team, another being with your friends, another being with your parents. Not alone to make a fool out of yourself. Your management team was really going to kill you.

[gravegroves]

Okay, little stream-of-consciousness-moment:

Billy, who's mind is like a steel trap, who isn't a scared little child, but a healthy, angry young adult. And the mindflayer doesn't even know what hit it. One second it's infiltrating grey matter, overtaking neural pathways and becoming one with this new vessel and the next second it's burning alive, it's crumbling and shrinking and screeching in agony as the human body does what is does best to foreign invaders: try to kill it.

I've always loved the posts on tumblr that explore how deeply weird humans would be to aliens. Our physiology, our mentality, when spoken of as animal traits they are all deeply disturbing. We're persistence predators. We're built to last. We can survive unimaginable horrors (and also die from the stupidest, most everyday things). Our main predator, is ourselves. A bite from a child can kill another human just from the bacteria alone if left untreated. Our bodies are designed to kill entities both within and without.

Humans are fucking terrifying.

So the mindflayer is so unprepared for an adult human who's been through too much shit already. Not just a tired little slip of a kid, but a healthy, entering-his-prime human and is eradicated with extreme prejudice by nothing more than a good immune system going into overdrive.

But it's too deeply imbeded, so the body again does what it can to protect itself, it encases it. Within the body, but separate. Calcified. Caged.

So here's Billy, who has a rather spotty memory of a car crash and feels like he has a head cold for a couple of days before he gets on with his life. Only weird shit keeps happening to him, now. Like that time he encounters a pack of dogs while out drinking by the quarry, except they look really fucked-up the closer they get, not like any dog Billy's ever seen before, and just as he's prepared for an attack from these things, they just walk up to him and sniff around a bit with their weird flower heads blooming and closing, but otherwise leaving him unharmed. And Billy's just this side of drunk where terrible ideas seem kinda brilliant and he tells the things to sit. And they do. Amazed, he tosses his beer bottle and tells them go fetch, and again, one does.

And then when it's time to go home Billy offhandedly tells them to get lost and they run off back into the woods, and when he wakes up in the morning it's easy to rationalise it away. Probably the beer had been rolling around in the car for too long and it went bad and fucked him up. Should just have thrown the whole sixpack out. Those were just regular dogs, for sure. Except the next day, when he's out behind the pool building trying to find a good spot to smoke, he steps onto soft soil or something and falls down into a weird ass tunnel and a bunch of those same monster dogs just appear out of nowhere and pile themselves on top of each other for him to be able to climb out. And a couple of days later when Neil smacks Billy around for being out late again, one of those dogs honest to God comes crashing through the living room window to shred Neil's leg up and leaves just as quickly at the first sign of panic from Billy.

And yeah okay, by this stage Billy's figuring out things are kinda fucky around Hawkins, and so it's just Billy having his own little side adventure in the background while the rest of the gang are running around Hawkins trying desperately to find the Mindflayer, not knowing that Billy unknowingly trapped it within himself and is just living his life, teaching these weirdly obedient alien dogs to do tricks because they keep helping him or seeking him out.

Anyway, upside down is doomed because their leader is literally trapped inside Billy and Billy is just teaching these dog-things to steal cigarettes from the gas station and volunteering for the closing shift at the pool because he can just get the dogs to bring the pool noodles back into the shed.

[maxillness]

Good At Other Things || CL16 x gf!Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, mean!charles, degrading kink, biting, google translated French, (slight) nipple play, breeding kink, pure filth

Wordcount: 1.8k

Request: Can i request a Charles smut? Lets say that he's playing video games/streaming, and the reader is constantly complaining how he sucks at the game or doesn't play it properly, and he gets so pissed that he literally destroys her brains out until she's begging him to stop

She sat in the living room, listening in on Charles’ complaints on how he always lost in his game

She slowly made her way into the bedroom and stood behind him. She landed her hands on his shoulders, softly messaging them as well as his neck

“You’re bad at that” She smiled, hearing Lando laugh through the headphones

“I’m just unlucky, baby” He sighed, leaning into his touch

“I bet I could do it better” She said, her hands softly playing with his hair

“Don’t be on her side, Lando” Charles said, properly after Lando had agreed on her statement

“Even he agrees. That must mean something, ange” She chuckled, stroking his cheek with the pad of her thumb

“Can’t you just keep quiet and look pretty” She shook her head softly, but laid over on the bed anyways, propping her head up on her arm, watching him still play

After a few rounds of her staying quiet, she spoke again after he lost again “You’re so bad at it, that it’s embarrassing” She laughed

“Look, Lando; I need to go, but I’ll see you soon, no?” Charles said, not looking over at his girlfriend who was laying on their bed

He closed the game as well as hung up with Lando. He took of his headphones and turned around in the chair

“Get over here” He said, manspreading like a whore on drugs, yet his face was with no emotion

She stood up from the bed, walking over to him. She got in his lap, forcing him to close his legs. Her hands was on his shoulders, a shit eating grin on her face

She drove in for a kiss, put he stopped her, putting a finger on her lips “You’re a bad girl. You know that, right?” He asked, his thumb gliding over her bottom lip

“Am I? Or am I just telling the truth” She was cocky, acting as if him calling her a bad girl didn’t make her panties wetter than the Nile

“Like I said, a bad girl” His lips were now on her neck, kissing her softly as his fingers danced down her body, landing on the waistband of her shorts

“And, either bad girls don’t get what they want, or they get much to handle. And, I don’t know what I’m in the mood for today” His teeth sunk into her skin harshly, making her yelp with a mixture of a moan

“I think I’ll choose the latter” He murmured against her skin, licking over the marks his teeth had made

His hand went into her shorts, two fingers pressing against her clit through her panties, making her moan loud and grip onto his shoulders tight

“P-please” She breathed into his ear as she started placing soft kisses on the spot where his jaw and neck connected

He chuckled softly, but circled her clit anyways, causing a breathy moan to slip through her lips

“N-need m-more. P-please” She pleaded breathy into his ear

“No, I think this is just fine, mon ange” His words drew out a desperate whine from her, rocking her hips into his fingers

His hand on her hip tightened, holding her still from her rocking

“I n-need you, amour” She whimpered breathy, almost a moan as he fastened his fingers, her body already shaking

“I know, and you will. More than you need” He said the words in the raspy French accent he knew she loved

She loved it so much, that he was certain she could come just from his voice

She squirmed at the idea of him pulling so many orgasm out of her, that she’ll feel it for days on end

“You’d like that, huh? You’d like it if I pull so many orgasms out of you that you’ll feel it standing so pretty in the garage on Sunday? Hm?” He asked, feeling her thighs shake around his own

“Fuck. Yes. Want to feel you for weeks” She panted, feeling her first of many orgasm built up

“Weeks, huh?” He asked with a teasing tone, sending her right over the edge

She almost screamed his name as she came, clenching around nothing as she did

He rubbed her through her orgasm, letting her head fall to the crook of his neck as she came down

He placed his hands under the back of her thighs, picking her up, letting her legs snake around his hips. His actions drew a yelp out of her

He threw her softly down onto the bed, watching as her body bounced off of it slightly

“You’re so beautiful, mon amour” He smirked, lowering himself to slide down her shorts and panties

He threw them to the ground, kissing the insides of her thighs, watching as he could see her nipples poking through the thin, tight, top she was wearing

“You’re so beautiful like this, ange” He kissed up the insides of her thighs, getting closer to where she needed him so bad, even after her first orgasm

She was squirming under his touch, gripping tightly at the sheets. She whimpered as he kissed the area around her clit, but not directly

He finally gave in, licking his tongue through her wet folds, stopping at her clit, putting pressure on it, making her moan softly

“Fuck, amour. Feels so good” She said as he started flicking her clit with his tongue “Please, don’t stop. Feels s’good” She chanted, bucking her hips up into his mouth

His hands grabbed her hips, pushing her down against the bed. He pulled away from her, looking up at her “Lay still, putain”

She hated how he knew that calling her all kinds of filthy words in French. He knew how turned on she got. He knew she could come just from hearing him degrade her, even if she didn’t understand a single word that came out of his mouth

“Fuck. You. Charles.” She breathed, still not feeling him on her clit again

“It’s the opposite way, hunny” He smiled, attaching his tongue on her again

“P-please, Charles. Fuck, you feel so good” One of her hands went to his hair, tangling her fingers with the strands, while the other dug the nails into his forearm that held her hip

“Fuck- Charles, ‘m gonna-“ She didn’t get to finish her sentence as his name rolled of her tongue like a prayer as she came, her whole body shaking rapidly, her hand tight in his hair, making him groan

She started whining and whimpered as he didn’t slow down or stop his tongue. He pulled his arm on her hip away and roughly entering two of his fingers into, not giving her a chance to adjust before he started curling them, hitting just the right spot inside her

“N-no. Charles… Please- ‘s too much. I can’t- ah. P-please… T’much” Her words were slurred, as well as her vision

Her whole body shook from the overstimulation. She was unable to lay still at this point, even though he had said she was gonna

“Come for me, amour” He said, before reattaching his tongue to her clit, speeding up as well as his fingers

Her legs closed around Charles’ head as she came, her hand so tight in his hair she was sure she had pulled some out

Her body was shaking rapidly. She sighed as she felt him slow down and pull out and away from her

Her eyes were closed, too fucked out to comprehend anything around her. She didn’t notice that Charles was ridding of his clothes

She whined at the touch of his hands on his inner thighs, pushing them apart so he could settle in between them

“Shh… You’re alright” He soothed her, pulling at her arms to get her to sit up. Her body was limp against his as he pulled her top over her head and threw it to the ground

He slowly laid her down again, his lips tracking across her skin soothing her “You okay, mon amour?” He asked, kissing over her nipples, hearing her whimper at it

“Mhm” She hummed, nodding as he kissed up to her lips again

“Good” He said, placing her legs around his waist

“Charles” She whimpered his name in a way that sent shivers all the way down his spine, and made his cock twitch

“God, you make me crazy, woman” He chuckled, slowly pushing into her, hearing her whine

She already clenched rapidly around him, making him groan as he allowed her to adjust to him

“Je t’aime tellement” I love you so much. He breathed into her ear, feeling her nails drag down his back, leaving marks for him to feel

“Move… Please” She whined, pushing his hips further into hers, hoping to get some friction, which was unsuccessful

“Thought you said it was too much?” He chuckled kissing her jaw softly

“Want you to come inside me” She was breathing heavily as he pulled almost all the way out, before slamming into her again

He proceeded to do so a few times before he sat a rhythm he liked, as well as her

He sat up, holding her waist as he slammed into her, hitting her just the right spot, getting her to scream out his name, her back arching off the bed, her eyes rolled back into her head

“Want me to come in you, baby? Want me to knock you up? Want to have little ones running around? Want to make me a daddy?” He chuckled at the way she nodded her head rapidly as best as she could

“Yeah?” He asked in a seductive tone “You gonna be such a good mommy” He groaned, feeling her clench around him, pulling him closer to the edge

“C-Charles” She whined, holding on to his forearms “‘m close” Her eyes were shut tight

“I know, amour. Me too” He groaned, his thrusts getting sloppier and out of rhythm “Come for me, ange”

Only a few sloppy thrusts later, and she was coming around him, leaving marks of her nails in his forearms

Just the sight of her pulled him over the edge. He stilled his hips, coming deep inside her

He pulled out of her, quickly replacing his cock with his fingers, fucking the cum into her, making sure nothing escaped

He laid down beside her, pulling her body into his, feeling her rapid breathing as well as his own

“You might be bad at video games, but you’re good at other things” She chuckled lazily, sleep taking over her

[sixosix]

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO | LYNEY

notes wc 3.9k lyney pov back again babyyy (and he’s acting a little crazy) 🫶 enjoy the chapter!

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Lyney hasn't uttered a single word on the way back to their house. Not a single word, but he doesn’t need to. It shows, anyway—the skip on his steps, the ever-present smile seemingly stuck on his face, and a glow in his eyes that no one has seen before.

Lynette must have caught it, too. She keeps glancing at him, suspicious.

Damage control wasn’t all that difficult when you’re well-loved by the people of Fontaine. They were out searching for Lyney, demanding refunds if they were going to discontinue, but they were appeased eventually. Lyney and Lynette resumed the show, apologized for the emergency, and the audience was won back by their enthusiasm and charm (and lies).

Still, Lynette pushes on with her stern words.

“That was careless, Lyney.” She locks the door. “Everyone was watching.”

Lyney prepares two cups of tea, dancing around the kitchen to boil water. “You know exactly why I did it.”

Lynette sits on a chair and watches him. Her gaze expresses more than her face sometimes. “I know. But I won’t let you escape from dealing with the backlash.”

Lyney smiles. “If anything, I should be saying that to you.”

His dear sister huffs, turning away. “So it was them I saw by the alley… I recognized the Traveler right away, but I found it strange that there was a familiar figure pressed up close against him.”

Lyney makes a face. He doesn’t want to imagine that—he might break something, and Freminet is an expert, but not when it comes to teacups.

Lyney breathed in deeply, letting the muffled cheers from the other side of the curtain fill his ears. His sister settled beside him, her expression troubled.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you not feel like performing today?”

“No,” Lynette said. “I thought I saw something strange on the way here.”

That was alright. That meant Lynette wasn’t too nervous if she was letting her mind wander.

“Oh?” he said. Lyney looked for his hat, finding it underneath the stool he was on. Ah, Rosseland must have crawled in and put it there.

“I thought I saw the Traveler,” Lynette said, “in an alley doing something…” 

Oh my, Lyney mused in his head.

“With Y/N,” Lynette continued.

All at once, the noise became like streaming water. He didn’t hear Lynette calling for him. He didn’t hear her say she was most likely mistaken. His mind was blank the moment he heard your name.

It was a touchy subject.

She tapped his shoulder. “Lyney.”

“Haha,” Lyney said, choking on his own lies. “Have your eyes finally deceived you, dear sister?”

Lynette looked at him worriedly.

“And with the Traveler, really?” Lyney scoffed, moving his hat to his head. “I’m afraid it might’ve just been lookalikes getting handsy and couldn’t wait to get home.”

But the thought of it… Lyney scowled and looked at himself in the mirror, finding his own expression terrifying. He really needed to work on that.

Lynette has a ghost of a smile on her lips as Lyney spaced out, the devil.

“Y/N told us not to tell ‘Father’,” she recalls, casually, as if that isn’t the biggest source of Lyney’s headache at the moment. “What will you do?”

Lyney pauses, his hands hovering over a jar of sugar cubes, his back turned to his sister. “We’ve yet to hear news from ‘Father’, right?”

Lynette won’t be able to tell the expression he’s making, but she knows him well enough to figure out what he’s thinking. “Yes.”

Lyney hums, grinning. “I’ll be taking this opportunity.”

His sister has that same look backstage. Her eyes flicker to him, then return back to the table as if unsure of voicing her thoughts. Instead, she says, “What if Y/N doesn’t want to stay?”

“I’ll just clear up misunderstandings, at least! Maybe then, she’ll want to stay.” Lyney presses his palms against the table, looking at Lynette with a gleam in his eye. “I’ll tell her that I never wanted to be the next king. I’ll tell her the truth.”

Lynette’s brows furrow. “It wouldn’t be that simple.”

The water simmers. Lyney’s face is terrifyingly blank, not like the spitfire of his words as he says, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lynette leans back, still frowning. She looks mildly startled. Lyney must have been making a scary face again. He clears his expression and forces a smile.

A tuneful beat on the door cuts through the tension rising in the room. It swings open and reveals a frazzled blond.

“Freminet!” Lyney greets, his shoulders loosening. “Let me also prepare tea for you.”

“How was it?” Lynette asks as their brother nearly sinks to the seat as if prepared to melt against it.

Freminet sighs heavily, world-weary. “I didn’t really hear anyone talking about anything else about your show. They were all chattering about your last trick. The one outside the Epiclese—with the fireworks?”

“Good,” Lyney resists the urge to pat himself on the back. “It seems the diversion has worked. Though, we still have to be perfectly sure.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Lynette mutters.

“Why the sudden notice, anyway?” Freminet mumbles, pressing his face against the glass table. “Did something happen?”

“Y/N was at the show.”

The only sound that fills the room is the whistling kettle. Lyney wordlessly pours it into the three cups and hands them to his siblings, one already preparing her tea and the other looking like he hasn’t quite taken in what Lyney said. 

“What!” Freminet stands up from his chair, utterly gobsmacked. “Where? I thought—”

Lyney stares at the cup of boiling water that nearly spilled over from Freminet’s outburst. “Careful, now. That will burn you,” he chides, yet his expression is serene.

Lyney doesn’t even need tea. It looks like the tea would do nothing when he’s already acting like the Sevens have blessed him personally.

Lynette prepares Freminet’s tea for him as Freminet continues, “At—at the show? Is that why you were asking if anyone was talking about it?”

Lynette slides Freminet’s tea over to him. “Mhm. We were making sure no one would harm Y/N while she was in Fontaine. Lyney already made up an excuse, but some people might not believe it.”

“While in Fontaine?” Freminet falters, sipping on his tea. “Y/N’s not staying?”

“Afraid not,” Lyney says bitterly. “She’s working under Master Childe now, and he never stays in one place too long. It’s a miracle he took a pit stop here.”

“It’s strange,” Lynette wonders thoughtfully. “I thought I heard Master Childe is here for something personal.”

“Maybe Y/N became Master Childe’s personal recruit,” Freminet supplies. “Y/N’s really strong.”

Lyney’s face scrunches up. He changes the subject swiftly. “Freminet, do you want to meet up with Y/N? You were her first friend, right?”

“With whom?” Freminet asks suspiciously.

“With me!” Lyney beams, a flourish with his gesture. “I invited Y/N over to spar with me outside the city. Just like old times, no?”

“No thanks.” Freminet’s expression turns haunted. “I don’t want to be alone with you and Y/N. I always feel like I’m intruding.”

“He just gets too handsy and can’t wait to get home, doesn’t he?” Lynette chimes in. “That's why I don't watch, either.”

Freminet doesn’t understand it, but Lyney’s face explodes in a blush.

“Hey!” Lyney huffs. “Suit yourself. I’ll tell Y/N you skipped out on a reunion.”

Freminet smiles. “Tell Y/N I missed her a lot, and she should come visit us.”

Lyney sighs, because he can never even pretend to be furious when Freminet is simply too sweet. He ruffles Freminet’s hair, toppling over his beret. “Alright,” he says fondly, “I’ll pass the message.”

Lynette waves. “Don’t have too much fun, now.”

THEN

Things became a lot more tense when you left.

Freminet and Lynette were devastated when Lyney told them that you stormed off. His arm felt as numb as what he was feeling at the time, and to think that it was all you left for him. He didn’t tell anyone else anything, but the rest of them got the gist of it when you didn’t appear the next day or the day after that.

Most of the orphans didn’t care; in fact, some had the gall to look relieved when rumors of your transfer began floating around. When Lyney heard one about how you must’ve died sneaking off to another mission, he snapped. He yelled and told them that they didn’t know anything—they never bothered to know who you were. They didn’t have the right to talk if they were only there to stain your name.

Lyney bore the brunt of it. Anyone could tell he was hurt by it the most.

Once, after Lyney was told off for mouthing off, Lynette found him in the far corner of the training room, his knees tucked to his chest and his eyes stormy.

Lynette sat down beside him and stared ahead. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Don’t be too harsh on yourself, Lyney.”

Lyney glared at the floor. “I’m not mad at myself. I’m not the one who left.”

Lynette turned to him, surprised. “You’re mad at Y/N?”

He sat up straight and exhaled sharply. “She got a Vision. That’s what she always wanted, to become ‘Father’s successor. Now that she can have it, she runs.”

“Maybe that's not what she really wanted.”

“That's what she hated me for,” Lyney clarified.

“You don’t really hate her, do you? Did you think it was only right for you to hate her because she did to you? I can tell when you’re lying straight through your teeth, Lyney.”

Lyney didn’t say anything in reply because he knew everything that would come out would just be a lie. But when it came to Lynette, his silence was louder than words.

“Y/N will be back. This is her home, too.” Lynette said softly. “Come on, wipe that look off your face.”

Lyney blinked, desperately wiping away whatever expression he didn’t even know he was making.

“I didn’t think it was true,” Lynette said offhandedly. What a turn of events, to have Lynette talk more than Lyney. At his impatient frown, she clarified, “I noticed that you can never control your expressions well when it comes to Y/N.”

Lyney wasn’t sure if Lynette pointed it out to rub on Lyney’s face that what he felt was real, or to remind him that fragile things like emotions in their line of work are a weakness. Maybe it was both. It was his first mistake to be curious and end up falling face-forward for you—and now he ended up like this, furious for reasons he couldn’t understand.

It didn’t take long before ‘Father’ stopped mentioning you, before the orphans acted like you never existed, and before your existence felt like just a secret shared between the three.

It took a year for them to realize that this was no longer your home. You never returned.

Lyney speeds past fields of grass. He had taken the long route, circling around; he didn’t want to deal with anyone recognizing him—he was already running a little late. When he sees your figure, standing still underneath the bridge for Aquabuses overhead, he feels his chest glow.

You’ve shed off the large skirt and now wore a simple dress, smeared with dirt on the edges. Lyney wants to reach out and dust it off, to fix it for you. But Lyney is also getting a feeling that he shouldn’t ruin the picture you’ve made for yourself.

“Hey,” Lyney says, and he was fully expecting it when your arm lashed out and aimed right at his face. He grins at your stunned expression. “I still just want to talk first.”

“Sorry,” you say, flinching away. “I was in deep thought.”

Lyney settles beside you, hoping to ease you into his presence. There is nothing special about the view. It was just water for miles, architecture that stretched over to the next island, and the sunset. He much prefers it when he looks at you.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Lyney, listen.” You fidget nervously. “About Lord Tartaglia… I didn’t actually know where he was. I was just—I didn’t—”

“That makes sense.” Lyney nods thoughtfully. He thinks back to all the rumors he’s heard before about the man. “I've heard that Master Childe likes doing things on his own. And I'm glad you were just taken to another faction.”

“Oh.” A beat. “Yeah, right.”

“Wait, don’t tell me,” Lyney gasps. Your shoulders stiffen, and Lyney just knew he hit the jackpot. “Master Childe doesn’t even know you’re following him! Why are you following him?”

Were you actually his personal subordinate? Was Freminet right?

“Why am I—” Your jaw goes slack, perhaps in awe of his deduction skills. “You know what, never mind. Let’s stop talking about Lord Tartaglia.” And that title, too. Did Master Childe make his subordinates call his Lordship that? “What did you call me here for, Lyney?”

“I just wanted to catch up, like what we’re doing now.”

“Great.” You clap your hands. “We’ve caught up. I’ve got other things to do, you know.”

Lyney smiles instead. “Would you like to spar?”

Your gaze is intense, yet far away. “If you want,” you cede, which isn’t a blatant yes, but Lyney knows it’s one.

“It is an honor,” he says.

You frown. “Are you trying to do something?”

“Can’t the reason just be that I missed this? That I missed doing this with you?”

“...Fine.”

Your gaze sharpens, and you charge straightaway. Lyney moves his arm just in time; it still stings, just as he remembers. but it doesn’t hurt as bad now. In the same breath, you swipe again, your polearm spinning in that same hypnotizing circle as you strike at him. Lyney swerves aside or blocks it off each time, unaware of the crazed grin on his face.

He shoots off three different arrows, waiting for the perfect moment while you’re deflecting them. As always, you move with ease, flowing through your movements like Lyney would be wrong to disrupt it.

As a kid, he could watch in awe as you get to do cool moves, but now, Lyney just appreciates the way your piercing gaze cuts through him and how you nearly beckon him with your body. Try, if you dare.

Lyney doesn’t want to show off; he wants to catch you off guard. He performs the same trick as last time—he disappears and materializes from thin air to your back. It doesn’t work, as he expected, but you’re now wary of his weapon.

Lyney blows a little air to your ear; you yelp and flutter away from him. Lyney uses this opportunity to hold your polearm down with his free arm. He flicks his hand and traps your back onto his chest with an arrow to your neck.

“What the hell?” You breathe sharply, your throat brushing against the shaft of his arrow, “I don’t think this is how you use an arrow.”

“How am I supposed to win without a little bend to the rules?”

You frown at him, your face upside down in his view. “That was unfair.”

“I have to be if I want to beat you.”

You laugh. Lyney feels the shake of your body pressed against him, and he’s entranced. He wants this, over and over again—you could numb him until he can’t breathe, and still, he wouldn’t let this go.

You’re glowing. This is exactly what Lyney wanted to see. If you were still keeping a wall up, then he would have to keep talking your language.

You tap his arm twice. Lyney loosens his grip and tries to calm himself. If you turn to look at him, you’d laugh for an entirely different reason—his face is too red. He decides to pick your weapon up instead but pauses at the sight of it. It looks old. It’s to the point where it shouldn’t even be used.

Lyney realizes it looks strangely familiar. “Is this the same one from the House?”

You stretch your arms. “Oh, that? Yeah, I still use it.”

“That’s dangerous.” Lyney grabs your hand and studies the red scratches on your palm. It’s littered with scars.

You tug your hand away. “That’s just because I was handling flowers—some of them have nasty thorns, you know.“

Lyney lifts an eyebrow. “Really, now? I’m getting you a new one.”

“What— It was actually from flowers! And I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“That’s sweet,” Lyney says breezily, mentally filing through connections he might have to gift you the perfect weapon—so perfect that you couldn’t resist. “I’ll get you a new one. Does Master Childe not provide equipment for his recruits?”

“Fine, suit yourself. It’s your money.”

Lyney grins. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“But let me keep it,” you say, reaching for it. “That polearm still means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” Lyney smiles and tosses it back to you. “So you work for Master Childe? Is that why you and the Traveler are close?”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “You ask too many questions. Mind your own Harbinger, will you?”

“That was your ‘Father’, too.”

The atmosphere goes a little cold. “Did she send you to this? To talk to me?”

“No, of course not,” Lyney says. “And if ‘Father’ sent me, I wouldn’t have gone. This is all out of my own will.”

It seems you’re strangely keen on avoiding the topic of ‘Father’. And Aether, too, unfortunately. At least Lyney could tell that there was truth to your confession about pride. If he were in your shoes, he would’ve felt the same.

“You know, I never wanted to be her successor,” Lyney says. Your shoulder stiffens. You turn to him, watching his expression closely. Lyney continues, allowing for his expression to be open. “Our fight was just a misunderstanding—I never intended to take anything from you.”

“Right,” you say quietly. You sound wounded.

“I’m sorry,” Lyney says.

“Don’t be sorry. None of it was you,” you sigh. “I told you, didn’t I?” Your eyes then narrow on his lips. “Are you hiding something? I don’t like the look on your face.”

“What?” Lyney chuckles, unsure. “I’m just smiling?”

“Yeah. It looks fake. You look weird smiling like that.”

Lyney feels his heart drop. He feels as if he was charged over by a strike of lightning. And then he laughs, because of course, if he knew you better than anyone, you’d also do to him.

“You make me swoon,” he says dreamily, tugging on your gown as if pawing for it like a cat.

“You haven’t changed much,” you tell him, glancing down at his arms as they curve around you, like before. Like they’ve made a home for themselves there.

“You’ve changed in some ways,” Lyney hums appreciatively, eyeing you.

“Gross!” You slap his arm in hopes of freeing you, but he doesn’t budge. “What are you doing? Let go.”

He grins brightly, and his cheeks ache faintly. He has missed this so, so much. “Still both bark and bite, though.”

“Is this why most of your audience were women? Is this how your shows are always sold out?” you ask, gesturing to how there are no inches between your clothes.

Lyney smiles, less softer, more suggestive. “What? You think I sweet-talk them into buying tickets like this? You think that’d work?”

He curls his arms tighter and draws nearer, your breath on his face. He knows he won when he hears and feels it audibly hitching. Your eyes narrow, hands moving to his arms as if prepared to push him off if he moves any closer.

Lyney bursts out laughing. “Well, I won’t lie and tell you that some of our loyal fans are those who fell for my charm, but, chérie, did you already forget my whole speech about loyalty? I’m hurt.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” you huff. Lyney doesn’t mind how he feels it gust against his skin. It makes this all the more real: you, in his arms, living and breathing, and thankfully not pulling away. “You magicians and your fabricated lies.”

“No faith in me whatsoever,” Lyney sighs, but deep down, he’s thoroughly enjoying how you’re acting like his jealous girlfriend. You’re so cute.

“You would know if I was lying to your face, trust me,” he says.

He doesn’t know why, but it took your soft expression, your palms on his chest, your skin brushing against his, to understand that Lynette was right: he could never hate you. He hated how you disappeared without a trace and came back without warning. He hated how you were still as closed off and wary of him as you were on the first day he met you. But this all led you back to him—how could he ever not be grateful for it?

Lyney pulls back, and as much as it pains him to do so, that sad look on your face hurts him even more. He scans his surroundings and brightens.

“Lyney?” you ask, watching as he scrambles over to a bush growing by a pillar.

He plucks a beautiful flower from it and hands them to you. It’s a Marcotte, bright and beautiful. No theatrical tricks. You watched it happen.

“You’re trying too hard to win me back,” you murmur. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Did you have to do anything? I just want to do it,” Lyney says, his voice equally quiet.

It’s just the two of you outside of the city, with the wind whipping through the grass, the world falling hushed enough for Lyney to pick up the faint beat of your heart. You’re silent, thinking deeply, Lyney can tell. He doesn’t want to interrupt, content with figuring out the complicated expressions on your face as you stare at the flower.

“Idiot,” you say, pushing a finger to the space between his brows. “You’re too soft for your line of work. Hey, tell me, what has the House been up to anyway?”

Lyney pauses. “You’re not aware of it already?”

“Well, no, not really,” you say nervously. “I haven’t been paying too close attention. And I haven’t heard anything about the House in years.”

He smiles. “Don’t worry. We’re not up to anything right now.”

It wasn’t a total lie, at least.

By the time Lyney returns home, the lights inside are switched off. The curtains haven’t been drawn, allowing for the moonlight to pour in and illuminate Lynette sitting on the couch, her eyes snapping to him instantly.

“She’s hiding something,” Lyney says, locking the door with a troubled expression. “I just don’t know what. I can’t start looking into it if I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“I suppose there would’ve been something up,” Lynette sighs, crossing her legs. “Have you asked why she’s close with the Traveler?”

“I didn’t get a good answer.” Lyney flings his hat aside. “Have you found anything good?”

“Garrick knew something.” Garrick is one of their magic crew, helping Lyney perform seamlessly. “He told me that he recognized Y/N milling about—but it wasn’t just recently. He told me that he swore he’d seen her before, just in Fontaine City, months before the show.”

“Interesting,” Lyney murmurs, his brows drawn together. He’ll have to think about that later.

Lynette looks at her brother, her eyes carefully blank. “Are you sure doing this won’t drive her away again?”

Behind Lyney, the moonlight scatters all over. It is a little hard to tell what face he’s making. “I’m doing this exactly because I’m trying not to drive her away.”

YAAAAAYYY NEW CHAPTER!!!!!!! more lyney and reader interactions!!!!!!!!!1 more of the siblings ! !! <333 TYSM FOR READING, and, as always, lmk what u think <3

but before you go!! once again we are blessed with fanart but this time with emanami too!

look at her little doodles of this chapter its so CUTE

AND OF COURSE. AKAGI'S LYNEY!!! check this out he looks so fine

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