#Victor urging him to jump

[protect-daniel-james]

this m o m e n t

[ironunderstands]

All of Aventio’s implications that I can remember because someone has to compile them 

Massive disclaimer: the purpose of this slideshow is not to prove that Aventio is canon (even if I personally think it is), but rather to demonstrate the relationship these two have in canon, as well as disprove the misconception that they hate one another, because no, they absolutely do not. This list is also in no particular order so expect a lot of jumping around in the story. I hope you enjoy reading! 

Dr. Ratio added gambling to his update for the Simulated universe, and said a certain gambler would enjoy it, despite Ratio’s known dislike of gambling. 

He put his all into carrying out Aventurine’s betrayal plan, and Aventurine trusted him to execute it correctly, despite the plan/going to Penacony having no obvious gain on Ratio’s end.

Dr. Ratio gave Aventurine this note urging him to keep on living despite the pains of his past and the agony of the present, wishing a man who is already known for his luck the best of it, something which helps Aventurine survive the manifestation of IX. I am insane about this note and could yap on and on about it, but I will spare you the delusions for now haha. 

Dr. Ratio wears his headpiece around those he finds to be unintelligent and not worth his time, but he has never once on screen worn it around Aventurine, signaling that he finds the man to be both intelligent and worthy of his attention. 

Aventurine doubts his own intelligence and worth in his voiceline about Dr. Ratio, believing that the scholar doesn’t care for him. However, in Ratio’s voiceline about Aventurine, he commends Aventurine for his competence and skill, pointing out that his success is not in-fact just due to his luck, and if he keeps doubting himself he will meet the fate of those praying on his downfall.

Aventurine is also the only person to actually have voicelines about Dr. Ratio so far, despite Ratio having interacted with many others, meaning he’s the closest in canon to Aventurine, seeing that he’s the only one who talks about him. (Hopefully Screwllum has a line on Ratio when he comes out bc I am starving for Ratio content lmao). 

Aventurine’s first eidolon name is Prisoner’s Dilemma, which refers to a game theory in which two people can only achieve the best outcome of their situation if they put their faith one another while being unable to communicate/physically separated, and it mirrors the dynamic Ratio and Aventurine had on Penacony while acting out the betrayal plan. Which could mean nothing. 

His 6th eidolon name is Stag Hunt Game, which refers to another game theory based on trust, and is again, reminiscent of Ratio and Aventurine’s plan. Basically, they trust each other a hell of a lot, to the point where his eidolons are named after similar games of trust, which is no accident, as well, there’s countless game theories, and hoyo went with the ones specifically centered around trust between two people. For example his E4 is another one of those theories, but has nothing to do with trust, so they specifically selected his first and last eidolon to be about it, interesting.

The name of the 2.1 quest that just involves Ratio and Aventurine is Double Indemnity, which not only refers to the legal matter but also a famous romance and thriller movie in the 1950s by the same name. Notably, it shares a lot of plot points with that of the 2.1 quest as a whole, and the fmc is always portrayed as blond, just like Aventurine. 

There is also a scene within Double Indemnity that shares a lot of parallels between itself and the Final Victor lightcone. However in the movie scene she is holding the gun, whereas in the lightcone Ratio is, even if Aventurine is holding it to his chest.

Also if you want a more in depth analysis on how this movie relates to them, this person made a great one on tumblr :@anominous-user. (without the period, also it’s long as hell though be warned). 

You receive the track “Spellbound” after completing the Double Indemnity mission.

It is also the name of a 1945 film by Alfred Hitchcock, which is a Thriller, Noir and you guessed it, features romance as a major part of the plot. Its story also seems to have parallels to Aventio’s, but I’m not gonna get into that for now.

Notably, spellbound also means to hold the complete attention of someone, which is more often than not romantic, as only people you love/admire can captivate you like that. 

The bathtub couch Aventurine gets Ratio during his demo (and is the only time the seating ever changes in demos) is reminiscent of the bathtub couch from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and you guessed it, its another romance.

He constantly flirts with Ratio in the pinball section of the Double Indemnity trailer, even going so far as to a) have the “Doctor you’re huge” line become a massive meme in the community b) he literally says the view is breathtaking when the only view is the giant Ratio he’s staring at. Honestly this entire section is so chock full of romance tropes (seriously what writer let their size difference kink into the story) that I have no idea how it passed censorship.

Aventurine also flirts with Ratio in the 2.0 scene by asking where his alabaster head is, which means he’s seen him wear it before. However, even when Dr. Ratio is acting, supposedly yelling at Aventurine for being a useless fool, he doesn’t wear the mask meaning he doesn’t truly feel that way.

They also have designated nicknames for one another, that are exclusive to them only. Dr. Ratio only ever calls Aventurine “gambler” while in his presence, and although Aventurine calls him Ratio sometimes, he often refers to Ratio as Doc/Doctor (Professor too in the CN) when talking to him. What’s interesting is that nobody else seems to refer to either of them with these names, meaning they made them for one another.

Despite the fact that throughout Penacony, Dr. Ratio’s job is to sell the betrayal plan, he still apologizes to Aventurine in the 2.0 argument scene, and looks away during Aventurine’s sentencing presumably out of guilt/to not break his poker face when the other looks at him. He also not so kindly tells Sunday to visit a shrink (therapist), which should tell you how much his actions concern and upset Ratio.

He also breaks his act again to check in on Aventurine. Hmm. 

Anyways time for the Aventurine keeping up with starrail speedrun because OH LORD, I’m gonna number these by image so I don’t exceed the count LMAOO. The first few are numbered by image, and the next are numbered by the columns of images, and I can clarify in the comments if you’re confused!

1) Owlbert calling them good friends (which Mr. Tsundere denies, although he says Aven isn’t awful to work with) 

2) PRAISE OWLBERT

3) This line is very significant because only 3% of Dr. Ratio’s students ever pass his classes, in which they become experts in their fields. So, if Aventurine earns a passing grade in Dr. Ratio’s book, that means he’s exceptional to him as almost nobody does. 

1) Ratio says his flashy outfits just make his job harder which ??? What do you mean by that sir do you not like seeing other people lay eyes on Aventurine serving cvnt? Why are you so worried about how his jobs go? Hmmm? Throughout the whole video he also keeps saying Aventurine shouldn’t take up fights in the first place, and the more logical thing to do would be to run away. Worried about our dear gambler Ratio?

2) How well do you know this man that you know his personal motto 😭 look genuinely idc if you leave this shipping them or not, how the hell are you gonna deny their friendship after this at the very least. 

Ok homoverse/j Anyways basically what’s going on here is that the little showcase of Aventurine’s kit ended and Ratio gave him a compliment. Owlbert says it seems like there is some mutual respect between them. Interesting, instead of denying it, Ratio asks, “What did he say about me?” implying that Ratio respects Aventurine, but he did not realize the other respected him back. 

1) Which causes Owlbert to spill this, which speaks for itself, Aventurine believes Ratio is the person who knows him best, so he invited him to be on the show. 

2) Which results in perhaps the greatest display of Ratio’s tsundereness to this day, also Owlberts face I can’t 

1) It seems Ratio didn’t think Aventurine knew him so well, but oh boy it gets better (worse for Ratio though LMAOO)

2) Caught your ass in 4k, also please just go and listen to this demo again I don’t think Ratio could sound more flustered if he tried. 

Apologies for the fuckass title card getting in the way no I don’t know how to remove it, but if you look closely in the first one, you can see a little sweat drop by Ratio’s face, which is again, another common trope with Tsundere’s when they get called out on their bs. “I really can’t tell what the deal is between you two,” me too Owlbert, me too.

Aventurine knows Ratio is in the council of Mundanites, information that is only a rumor to the rest of the galaxy, and Ratio trusts him with this information.

Acheron calls them friends, thank you Queen louder for the dumbasses in the back! Apparently there’s also a note somewhere in Penacony that talks about her, Argenti and of course Ratio being the ones to save Aventurine, so if I can find it, I’ll include it in the next part. 

Oh and don’t you think I’m done w this ridiculous lightcone for one second. I’m  well aware it’s a display of Aventurine’s su1c1dal tendencies, hell I was and still am the biggest supporter of that, however I also have eyes and yeah this fucking thing is really h0rny oh my god. “He provocatively looks at the man before him,” ok, could have picked any other wording but you picked that one 😭.

Also, a key detail of this lightcone that people miss is that it’s, well, a lightcone. A lightcone we get in 2.0 as soon as it drops, and since lightcones are canonically condensed memories, this happened way before the events of 2.0, and is likely how Aventurine convinced Ratio to join him jn the betrayal plan. 

Moreover, Aventurine says “remain amicable,” meaning this isn’t their first meeting, and him and Ratio had at least been talking to one another for some time before this, which could mean their friendship/partnership/whatever the hell this is has dated back to perhaps even prior to 1.6 when we meet Ratio for the first time, but ultimately that’s just speculation. 

Lastly, for this mini lightcone rant: the animated version of it. Oh lord. 1) Camden and Jordan put their all into it istg 😭 2) Ratio pulls the gun back but Aventurine stops him, meaning that a) Ratio didn’t want him to get hurt, but he b) accepted Aventurine’s provocation, 3) Aventurine LEANS CLOSER to him while teasing him with his whole “why not doctor~,” sh1t and 4) if you look closely at both the animated and still versions of it, there’s a tiny spark of light in Aventurine’s normally dead eyes, which is just, yeah. 

Ratios party voiceline for Aventurine. This is a complicated one because it is meant to be b1tchy in both languages (this is a tumblr post on it by @devxoid which goes over the nuance surrounding it. The TLDR is: directly translated, it means “take care of yourself, gambler, I need not your worry/concern,” but its actual meaning is far closer to the “fuck off” vibes in the CN. However, two this complicate this, 1) he sounds far calmer/neutral in the CN and 2) Ratio is the biggest goddamn tsundere on this planet, so even if he sounds mean, he does genuinely want Aventurine to take care of himself, as Ratio’s tried and true method of getting people to better themselves is by being rude to them, so it’s actually fairly in character, it’s just I think the way the line was directed in EN was a bit too harsh and threw some people off 

Finally, here’s some more silly ones that don’t really mean anything on their own until you put them into the context of everything else:

Their status as package deal do not seperate in both the data bank and the profile pictures is extremely funny because they have no reason to be next to each other like that, they just are.

Their kits are also designed to synergize perfectly with one another, and in the livestream Ratio was put in the team to demonstrate Aventurine’s kit because well, they are made to work together. Aventurine is by far Dr. Ratio’s best sustain unit due to the debuffs he provides (alongside everything else) which only gets better with eidolons + his signature lightcone, and if you have ever played Ratio you know how much he likes debuffs. As for Aventurine, his arguably  best team is the FUA one with Robin, Topaz and well, Ratio, who is the main dps of the team. Honestly besides trying to zero cycle MOC there is no reason as to why you would run Ratio with any other support unit if you have Aventurine. 

I hope you enjoyed reading! Also, this is absolutely not everything, just all the stuff that’s easy to point out, and I’m not even getting into an actual analysis of the plot and how that demonstrates their relationship. Moreover, I don’t expect you to leave this shipping them if you don’t already like them, but I at least want to demonstrate that they are without a doubt close friends in canon, and there’s no denying it. I definitely missed some so feel free to point out more, as I might make a part two, as these are just all the ones off the top of my head. Continually, for the people who like Aventio, hopefully this serves as some sort of guidebook/reference to their implications/interactions, and if you have any moots who love this ship, I’d recommend tagging them in this bc I think they would love it! Have a good day :D

[songsofadelaide]

Basketball superstar!Satoru x popular influencer!reader who is always on courtside gf duties whenever it's game season. You often go viral on social media for your antics— like proudly sporting a smaller version of your boyfriend's jersey, wearing cutesy cheerleader outfits, swearing at the referees whenever your boyfriend is hit with a foul, and jumping into his arms the moment his team is declared the victors. You were his number one fan, after all.

Fortunately, Satoru is way into PDA that you often get away with your antics, which he thinks are just so cute. His teammates are used to him running up to you instead of the trophies they've won. You don't mind that he kisses you while he's all sweaty— you relish his warmth even more since he's worked so hard.

At times when you're busy with your own gigs to attend his game, you send a care package his way along with other nutritional pre-game goodies for his team, too. They thank you with a cute and clumsy TikTok video on their official account, showing off their healthy snacks while still in their jumpsuits. Satoru takes the centre stage and is inevitably teased by everyone else in the locker room.

When game season is over and the teams get a break from training, Satoru joins you in your gigs and endorsement shoots, happily playing the role of your (real) stage boyfriend. He's mostly a glorified PA but everyone else in the set still gets so starstruck by his mere presence. He allows photos and selfies but only at a respectful distance, but he is handsy once you step into his space.

When you're both at home in bed in your pyjamas and Korean face masks, he'd show you his phone and how his socials were flooded with thousands of tags to photos and Pop Base videos of the two of you. You'd tease him about giving the people something else to talk about, but he'd reply in kind and enumerate in detail all the crazy things and trouble you two could get into— if you didn't care about your careers, that is.

You and Satoru are one of the most popular couples on social media at the moment, but you don't let your audience impact the way you two handle things. More importantly, you still keep a fair amount of your relationship to yourselves, so not everything your followers see online is the whole of it.

Satoru proposes to you on a quiet fall afternoon, and you fight the urge to post your engagement as soon as you realised what was happening. There would be so much speculation about your marriage and a lot of unsolicited comments from both family and followers alike, so you say yes in the same quiet way, savouring your first few sacred moments as a newly engaged couple before eventually texting your parents and siblings with a disclaimer— not to tell a single soul.

Your wedding photos go viral, and you laughed at how insane your Instagram comments went before muting your notifications. Satoru is drawing a lopsided heart in the sand, the bright smile on his face disappearing just as quickly as the waters washed away his artwork. Your honeymoon is just as quiet as your wedding, and while you thought you could have made a quick buck out of the whole ordeal, you really wouldn't have had it any other way— just you and him and all the precious people in your lives.

When Satoru returned to the game from your extended honeymoon, the media was nothing but ecstatic to see him and hear about your first few moments as newlyweds. He makes the rookie mistake of excitedly telling everyone that you were expecting, thus the influx of baby items from new sponsors. You forgive him for that, thankful for all the love and support you've received from both your followers so far.

You no longer swear at the refereees nor do you jump into basketball superstar Satoru's arms whenever his team wins a game. Instead, he carries your son on his shoulders, their matching jerseys a sight to behold for all watching his every move. Your son clings to his father as confetti rains over the court and the crowd, and you can't help but think how you've been dethroned as Gojo Satoru's number one fan. Wife sounds just as good, though.

[lis-likes-fics]

Poison

Pairings: Coriolanus Snow x district!Reader Word Count: 13.3k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, technically dubcon, swearing, post-ballad, mentions of killing and death, violence, technically prostitution, oral (m and f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, sadistic tendencies, p in v sex, unprotected sex, coriolanus snow is NOT a good person. A/N: I started this a bit ago but writer's block hits hard. Reader did not remember who the enemy was...but she also kinda did. ANYWAy, I wrote this based around a song from Hazbin Hotel called Poison. All credit for the song goes to Sam Haft and Andrew Underberg. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

PART ONE: The Deal

The knocks which echo off the walls of your house are loud, firm, assertive. You jump at the sound, watching the door like it would fly off its hinges. For far too long, you stare at the door, debating whether or not you should open it.

Who could it be? You don't get many visitors… You don't get visitors.

You stand slowly, the hairs along your arms and the back of your neck on edge. You swear that you can feel your hands shaking. You hold your breath just so you can actually hear what's going on around you.

Another firm knock is given, and you snap out of your haze.

Your feet carry you across the length of the living room. Your fingers brush the cold knob of the door, and you hesitate before pulling it open, just enough to peek through the crack to see who could possibly be visiting you.

Your eyes widen and you fight the urge to step back, both of pure shock and a modicum of fear. “Mr. Snow.”

The sight of Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow at your door was not one you ever thought you'd see. There are two Peacekeepers behind him, holding their guns tight in offense against you.

You clear your throat, looking upon his expensive suit, his white-blonde hair, the single rose in his breast pocket. You force yourself to look him in the eye, afraid to antagonize him and risk any violence, before remembering who he was. He wouldn't get violent, but you would pay for it if you angered him.

He smiles when you finally meet his gaze, but he doesn't bother to tilt his chin down to level it. “Hello,” he greets politely.

You straighten your posture slightly, opening the door a bit more out of obligation more than a desire to welcome him in. Seeing that he is the man who designed the Games that put you through hell, you would rather keep him out.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, keeping your voice as non-confrontational as possible. “Sir.”

He shrugs, pulling his hands from the pocket of his jacket and holding them behind his back. He almost seems taller this way.

“Checking up on our latest Victor,” he smiles. He motions toward your living room, “May I come in?”

You don't have much of a choice now. With a sigh, you take a reluctant step to the side and grant his invitation. When he takes his first step forward and the Peacekeepers begin to move, he stops immediately and holds up a hand. They stand firmly in their place. Snow turns back to you, smiles, and then walks inside.

He takes the time to examine the place before he ever speaks, and you close the door behind him to shut the grunts out. Snow clasps his hands behind his back once more and glances around the room like it's speaking to him. He nods slowly, humming to himself.

“How are you?” he finally asks after you've both spent far too long in uncomfortable silence. “How is the life of a champion suiting you?”

You try not to scoff, bowing your head and crossing your arms over your chest, making yourself as small as you feel.

“Well enough, I guess,” you mumble.

He glances over his shoulder at you. “You guess?” he wonders, raising a curious brow.

You clench your jaw once, “Mr. Snow respectfully, why are you here?”

He shrugs. “As I said…checking on our Victor.”

You hum. “And you do this with all your Victors?”

The corner of his lip kicks, barely perceptible if you aren't paying attention. But you are. It would cost you a lot not to pay attention.

“That's the routine,” he says. His eyes wander around the room once more, falling back on you with a cold expression. His eyes are like frost, and you shudder at the sight of them. He tilts his head.

“You don't seem quite happy with your turnout,” he suggests, his eyes narrowing slightly in a questioning manner. You feel like your blood has just run cold. The anxiety seeps into your skin. “Why is that?”

You clench your jaw nervously, clearing your throat as you shrug. You tear your eyes away from him for just a moment and force yourself to look back immediately after.

Your voice is small and your attempt at lying fails because of it. “Why wouldn't I be happy?” you ask. “I have…” You glance around, trying to find something to point out before you seem too suspicious—uselessly, you already know you've been caught red-handed. “I have...a new house and—and prize money. And fans, apparently.”

You try not to be too disgusted by that—fans gained with the useless slaughter of children. A few months you've been out of that arena. And you still see the faces of all those children in your head wherever you go, the sounds of regret and their deaths deafened by the screaming cheers of the mindless crowd that celebrated you for it.

“I'm…” you take a breath, “all set.”

He doesn't believe you. Why would he?

“Yet you've barely moved in,” he points out, making a small circle in the place where he stands. He holds his arms out, as if to emphasize his point. “No pictures, little to no personal belongings. This house looks exactly as it did when you first moved in.”

You furrow your brows, tilting your head slightly. “You know what it looked like?” you question, a gentle and hopefully empty challenge.

He raises a brow. “I was the one who approved everything here. For your comfort, of course.”

Ah.

“No one lives here with you?” he wonders.

You shake your head tentatively. “No one to live with.”

His brows raise slightly. “No family? Friends?”

You clear your throat and shake your head once more.

He hums. “A little lonely, don't you think?”

You shrug, your arms crossing tighter over your chest as you turn slightly away. “I'm used to being alone.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “That's quite sad.”

You swallow thickly. “Doesn't matter to me.”

“Here you are all alone in your little District 7,” he says. The way he looks at you, his predatory gaze, it makes you feel so small. But his voice is soft, not as mocking as it should sound compared to his diction. “No friends, no family, and no care about the way it all is.”

You want him to leave, leave you alone to your loneliness, your quiet misery. If he is just going to stand there and call you an outcast, you don't see any reason that he should stay.

“Yeah. Your point?” You don't mean to sound so hostile but you couldn't help it.

He seems to smirk. “How would you like to change that?”

You could have gotten whiplash. You blink rapidly, licking your lip as you try to figure out if you heard him correctly. “What?” you ask.

“How would you like to change that?” So you had heard him right. “Be a little less lonely, You'd have money, friends, all of your needs would be taken care of.”

You don't trust him. Why should you? Why would Coriolanus Snow offer you all of this? Comfort and stability, a life of luxury?

At what cost?

“And you're offering this to me, why?” Attempting a little boldness, you uncross your arms and straighten your spine a bit. “What did I do? I mean…” you scoff, “I won, sure, but only by the skin of my teeth. And I'm sure you don't go around offering this to all your other Victors. What's so special about me, huh?”

There's a long silence where he just…stares at you. His face is completely unreadable, devoid of any type of emotion as he watches your face too closely.

Then a smile begins to curl his lips and he tilts his chin up just a slight. “You're right,” he says simply. Then his eyes look you up and down. “Truth is, I lied.”

You don't like the change in demeanor. It's a different kind of superiority than the one he displayed before. “I figured as much,” you reply, trying not to lose your confidence, though your voice does become a little quieter. “So what do you want? Why are you here?”

He tilts his head and steps toward you. You take an instinctive step back. “You're special,” he says. You scoff but he just shakes his head. “I can feel it. I wasn't lying about my offer. I came to give you more than…” he looks around and sighs, “an empty house with no pictures on the walls. As I said…all your needs would be taken care of.” The smallest shrug raises his shoulders. “With a price.”

There it is.

Again, you scoff. You cross your arms and roll your eyes and plop down on the couch. “Have I not paid enough?”

He walks toward you, and suddenly you regret putting yourself in such a physically vulnerable situation. “You're right,” he hums. “You have. I'm not asking much. Truth is…all I need is an assistant.”

You furrow your brow. “And you're choosing someone from District instead of Capitol?”

He takes a slow breath in, shrugging. “You suit my interests. Capitol does not.”

“So I have to, what, follow you around? Take orders from you?” You lick your lip. “And I get what exactly?”

He takes his hands from his pockets. “Shelter, money, a sprinkle of fame. Anything you could ever need or want.” He stops a moment, thinking to himself with a light hum. “You'd have to sign a contract, of course.”

You sigh, a million thoughts rushing through your head as you actually consider his offer. This is the man who literally designed your hell. He is one of the very people who forced you to fight for survival, to kill for it. For months, you've lived with nightmares full of slaughter and regret.

But for years, you've lived with isolation and solitude. He would give you everything. Shelter, money, a sprinkle of fame. A chance to start over, a chance to be a little less lonely.

But you are all too aware of the chance that this could all blow up in your face. This is Coriolanus Snow. He's not to be trusted, surely.

“And if I say no?”

He stands still for a moment, so still you wonder if he'd frozen in time. You have to urge yourself to hold his gaze. You can't seem afraid of him, you just can't.

Finally, Snow lets out a long sigh. He steps close, before turning and sitting next to you on the couch. He leans back, getting comfortable as he crosses his legs and sets his hands in his lap.

“Then you stay here,” he says plainly, shrugging before letting his gaze wander around the living room of this hollow home. “In this big…empty house.”

This big empty house. Your grand solitude.

Knowing the things you know now, you wish you could say that you would go back and change your decision. You wish you could say you'd go back and choose your loneliness over the dark nights you'd sucked yourself into.

You made a deal with the Devil. And you know that if you had the choice…you'd do it again.

I'm not above a love to cash in…

~

PART TWO: Paradise

A week later, you found yourself standing in the Capitol, in Coriolanus Snow’s office, with a contract and a pen in front of you. You scanned over the words, took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and signed your name on the dotted line at the bottom.

Snow gave you a large smile and sent an escort to show you to your new living quarters. In his house. Down the hall from his room.

And for the next couple of weeks, you've been to two separate welcome parties, two other Capitol parties, and six meetings as Snow’s new assistant. You've handled messages, documents, scheduling, and a variety of appointed tasks that have put you in positions so far above so many Capitol members, you briefly wonder if you've signed into a scam.

At first, there was…resistance among the people. There were insults that you were an animal, a bottom feeder, a whore, a parasite. But every person who had dared to insult you had gone missing the next day. No one made any questions, or remarks, after so many people mysteriously disappeared.

And, soon, you got comfortable. Because Snow held up his end of the bargain. You were comfortable, wealthy, made some friends who had taken a moment to get used to you (you suspect they're trying to be nice to you to earn favor from Snow, but at least you aren't being insulted anymore). You don't go hungry every night, you always have fresh clothes. Sure, your schedule was a bit stressful, but that was an adjustment that could be made. Asking for more would be selfish—and insane, what more could you want?

You were, on the levels that counted…happy, content.

In just a few weeks, you had settled in like you belonged. Well…maybe not to that extent, but the work became easy and the needless parties were much appreciated.

When someone knocks on your door, you're pulling your robe over your body as you walk over to answer it. One of the servants stands on the other side, looking tired from the day's work.

“Yes, Charlotta?”

“Mr. Snow has requested your presence in his study, ma'am,” she says.

You glance behind you at the clock in your room. “Now? It's so late.” You hum, “Alright, thank you. Go to bed. You must be exhausted.”

She nods thankfully and turns away. You're quick to pull your slippers on, pulling your robe tight around your nightgown before rushing down the hall. You don't want to be late to him.

You reach his door down the hall, taking in a breath and raising your fist. Your knuckles meet the door four times.

“Come in,” His muffled reply comes.

You turn the knob, opening the door. Peaking into the room, you slowly walk inside, standing by the door. “You called?” you speak gently.

Snow is slouched over his desk, his pen scrawling away at a file of papers in front of him. “I did,” he nods. There's a moment of silence between you as he finishes up the last part of his work.

He sets his pen down and sits up, his back straight as he sets his clasped hand over his lap and turns his full attention to you. “I have an urgent matter I need you to take care of.”

You close the door behind you, establishing some privacy. It must be important if he's asking you this late. He probably needs you to run some important documents to someone, or schedule another meeting with one of the ambassadors that came to one of his meetings today.

“Yes, sir?” you ask.

“Come here,” he says, making a come hither movement with his fingers. Clasping your hands behind your back, you walk toward his desk and stop in front of him. He clarifies, “Behind the desk.”

You tilt your head, your brows furrowing as you hesitate. You begin to take your first step, pause, and then make your way behind the desk.

He turns his chair as you come to stand in front of him, your hands held tightly in front of you. He sits there, staring up at you as his eyes rake over your body.

You shift from foot to foot, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the way he's looking at you. And again…silence.

“Get on your knees.”

All the heat escapes your body at the same time. A chill rushes up your spine. And once the initial shock has dissipated, a fire spreads across your flesh and you're burning up. You feel like your hands have begun shaking, so you shift them behind your back.

You have to find your voice again, clearing your throat timidly. “Sir?” you nearly stutter, clearing your throat again.

He shakes his head, amused by the timid look on your face. “I didn't stutter.”

You don't move, shocked to stillness. Snow sighs, standing to his feet and moving in front of you. He holds his chin up, looking down his nose at you to emphasize his superiority. You shrink underneath him.

“You're my assistant. You signed a contract,” he explains. “I take care of your needs, you take care of mine. No matter the request.”

You really should have read the fine print.

“Right now,” he continues, raising a hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek. Your eyes flutter lightly at the contact, holding your breath, afraid to breathe wrong and upset him. “My needs are for you to get on your knees and put your pretty mouth to good use. Then I'll do the same for you.”

Another shudder rushes through your spine. He pretends not to notice, but his smirk does deepen. Your lips part as you try to speak, unsure of what you'll say. “I…”

He drops his hand, lifting a brow expectantly. “Is there a problem?”

You clear your throat one more time, shaking your head and glancing away from his eyes, his intense, cutting blue eyes. “No, sir.”

He smiles. “Good.”

You glance up at him. His hand reaches up and grasps your chin. In the next moment, he's pulling you in as his lips crash down against yours. It's a possessive kiss, deep and devouring—controlling.

You have no choice but to kiss him back, letting your hands fall at your sides and lifting them up to his arms. You don't know where you're supposed to put them.

Just as you're leaning into the kiss, he pulls away from you and takes a step back. His lips, still parted and smiling, are wicked. He lowers himself into his seat, his legs wide open and his hands clasped in front of him. “As you were.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Taking an unsteady step forward, you slowly kneel to the floor. You hold your breath, avoiding his gaze as your shaky hands reach for his belt.

You undo it, pulling open his button and unzipping his pants. Exhaling, you nervously dip your hand into his pants and feel the warmth of his length against the pad of your fingers. You shudder, braving him as you pull him out of his pants.

And he doesn't disappoint.

Your eyes widen and you don't feel like it's real as you hold him in one hand. He's long with a nice enough girth that he will stretch you a bit. You curse under your breath, licking your lips as you glance up at Snow.

He smiles, watching you closely. Suddenly you feel naked. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, not cruelly.

You tear your gaze away from him, looking back down at the pink tip of his cock. You let your lips part and let your tongue fall to the edge of your lip…

~

The soft red light of Coryo’s lamp glows dimly on your skin as his strong hand cards through your hair, balling into a fist to grip your locks at his own need. Your moans stutter deep in your throat where his cock sits, the tears spring to your eyes.

His tongue plunges inside of you, licking the honey from your folds as you arch your back and moan his name. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans into you at the sting of his scalp from your insistent grasp.

His lips press kisses to your back as you white-knuckle the headboard of his bed. His fingers dig into your hips, creating crescents in your flesh that crater your skin. He fucks you in long, hard strokes of his cock. His teeth are bared like a beast, his hair falls over his forehead, his groans are rough with lust.

The crashing of waves drowns you, explosions are set off deep within your body. His liquor fills your mouth, your throat, your belly. It's warm and sating, and he pulls you close to make sure you never stray from his hold.

And through the night, his arms never leave your body, his claws never leave your flesh…

~

It wasn't hard to get cocky after that. The Capitol was lavish, and it had a way of turning people to bathe in the lap of luxury. You slowly began to learn what kind of position you truly held here, and after months of being high-seated in the Capitol, you had begun to sink into your role.

Snow is the Head Gamemaker, you are his assistant. Everyone had to listen to you if they wanted to make it back home safe to their families. With a whisper in your boss’ ear, you could ensure no one ever spoke badly about you again.

Not that you have exercised that power yet, but you could. And Snow was happy to oblige.

After that first night in his room, your lips around his cock, his hand tangled in your hair, the pleasure didn't end. No, it's normal to find yourself tangled in his sheets, to find your head buried between his thighs (or vice versa), to have his name falling from your lips like you were praying to the gods that men had killed years and years ago.

You've become addicted to the taste of Snow, the smell of Snow, the feeling of Snow. It's an easy thing to overdose on.

Should you have been more careful?

Yes. Yes, you should have.

But Snow is an easy thing to get high on.

Katri spots you through the luscious crowd of one of the Capitol’s many needless parties with ease. Surrounded by nobles and benefactors, you brought your flute of champagne to your lips with a smile. A giggle erupts from your throat at one of the party-goers’ jokes—one that you didn't find particularly funny, but you've gotten really good at pretending.

Katri walks up to you, a tray of champagne in hand as she does. “Ma'am?” You turn toward her, smiling and grabbing a fresh flute from her tray with thanks. She clears her throat, “Mr. Snow has requested your presence.”

You hum gratefully. “Alright, I'll be there in a moment.”

You begin to turn around again but she insists. “He says it's urgent. He wants you immediately.”

Ah, then he's pent up. You wave a hand dismissively, sticking to your response. “Well, tell Coryo I'm busy. I'll be there in a moment.” She gives you a hesitant look, and you smile. “He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head about it. Okay?”

She scoffs lightly, turning away. “Whatever you say.”

The anxiety in the air around her is palpable with the fact that she would have to return this news to Snow. She finds him in the same place she left him, surrounded by diplomats with his own—now empty—flute of champagne.

As she approaches him, he smiles politely. “Where is my little assistant?” he asks.

Katri clears her throat as she switches his glass out for a fresh one. “She said she'll be here in a moment.”

The shift in his attitude is so slight, it's easy to miss. But she notices the slight clench of his jaw, the faintest clutch of his fingers. “Did she now?” he questions, his head tilting a bit to the side.

She nods slowly, switching her tray to her other hand. “Her exact words were…” She clears her throat once more, not wanting to recite your words back to him. You must have been out of your mind. “ ‘Tell Coryo I'm busy. I'll be there in a moment.’ ”

He seems to know there's more to it because he bids her to continue. Her eyes glance away from him as she does. “She said, ‘He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head about it.’”

She can tell there's something else he wants to say but chooses not to as his smile becomes tight. “Thank you,” he says simply, politely.

She nods. “Yes, sir.” She walks away.

PART THREE: Reality

You smile a bit when you feel Coryo’s hand land on the side of your arm, grazing up the length of it to reach your shoulder. You look up at him, immediately noticing the stiffness of his grin.

I shoulda guessed that this would happen…

“Coryo,” you greet with a smile. He nods toward the people surrounding you, greeting them politely. He doesn't look at you, just begins to lead you away from them as he ducks his head nearer to your ear.

“My office.” His words are firm, with no room to refuse.

Still, like a fool, you say, “In a moment please? I–”

His smile does not falter, but his voice is a demand as he speaks through his teeth. His grip on your shoulder becomes tight. “Now.”

You clear your throat, your smile still intact but not as professionally kept as his own. You nod once, “Yes, sir.”

He walks away, but not in the direction of his office. You watch him leave, clearing your throat discreetly and dismissing yourself from those who try to speak to you. You go straight to his office, not daring to refuse him again.

When you're there, you find yourself pacing the length of the room uneasily, waiting for him to join you. But he doesn't join you, not immediately. He makes you wait, he makes you stir. You stew in your own anxieties, cursing yourself for being so stupid as to tell him to wait.

Him.

Coriolanus Snow.

He interrupts your thoughts ten minutes later—you know, you counted—opening the door and shutting it gently behind him. He doesn't meet your gaze as he walks past you dismissively. He rounds his desk, pulling open a drawer that holds his personal scotch.

In silence, he pours himself a glass. In silence, he takes a sip. In silence, he savors the taste on his tongue and refuses to look your way for even a second.

You bow your head as you wait for him to say something, anything.

And when he does speak, you suddenly wish he hadn't.

“You're ‘busy’?” he questions.

“Sir?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

He smiles, turning to finally look at you. “ ‘Tell Coryo I'm busy. He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head about it.’ ” He licks his bottom lip, scoffing as he shakes his head at your audacity. “You let those words come out of your mouth?”

You clear your throat as quietly as possible. “I…didn't think it was a big deal… I was on my way.”

He stares at you, unblinking. Then he takes another sip of his drink and sets it down again. He walks from behind his desk, rounding to the front and leaning against it.

“Do you think you're special or something?” He furrows his brow, as though he's confused. You want to sink into the floor, to let the world swallow you whole, to disappear. “What, because I fuck you, you can talk to me any way you want?”

He puts venom behind the word, enough force to ensure you felt it. You swallow thickly, wanting to step away but knowing that if you did that, you would only make matters worse.

“Look at me,” he demands. And immediately, you obey.

You speak quickly, trying to fix your mistake before it can get worse. “Coryo, I'm sorry. I–”

“You're not special,” he cuts you off, advancing toward you. He grabs your wrist, pulling it up sharp and pulling you close to his face, inches away. You can feel his breath on your cheeks. “I own you. You belong to me.” His voice is low, dangerous.

But you've still got some pride left over. And that would be your downfall…

“I don't ‘belong’ to an–”

“You're mine!” he exclaims, though he doesn't shout. There's force behind his words, and his voice raises to a more stern, more possessive growl as he shoves you back. You stumble to the floor, grunting from the pain that shoots up your arm from landing on your elbow. You look up at him, your eyes wide with fear.

I shoulda known it when I looked in your red hot eyes…

“That's what it says in your contract, or do you not remember?” He takes a step closer, standing over you. His voice is low and dangerous, but he has no use for yelling anymore as he speaks to you. “You take care of all my needs—no protests, no complaints. Those words say that you do whatever I want, whenever I want it, however I want it. And if you complain, I take away everything you know, drop you back in your sad little district, and put your name back in the raffle one hundred times over.”

You should have known it from the beginning. A deal so good had to come with a hell of a lot of strings. From the very beginning, he had been lying to you with the idea of a shiny new life.

Spewing all your red hot lies…

He stares at you, his jaw clenched, his breath slowing to a gentler seethe. He lifts his chin, collecting himself as he takes a steadying breath. He kneels in front of you, resting his elbow on his knee.

His voice is a whisper. “You belong to me.” His tone is final, definite. “If I say speak, you say?”

Your breath trembles with a mix of anger and fear as you look up at him, tears threatening to well in your eyes but refusing to breach the surface and give him the satisfaction. Your lips part, though you hardly give yourself space to speak.

“Yes, Coryo.”

“If I say jump, you say?”

“Yes, Coryo.”

His hand wraps around your throat, pulling you forward enough so that your faces are once again only inches apart. “And if I say open your mouth, you get on your knees and drop your jaw.”

You stare at him, your gaze so close to blurring as you sigh, choked up from his suddenly poor treatment of you. “Yes, Coryo.”

The smallest smirk creeps over his lips and threatens the rest of your already weak composure. He pulls you in and his lips press hungrily against yours. It's all teeth and tongue, biting your bottom lip and licking the top of your mouth. You want to resist, but you can't. His touch, however wrong, however killing, is addictive.

When he pulls away from your lips, you nearly seek him out, releasing a breath like he'd filled your lungs with smoke. Your skin picks with red hot spite at the tiny moan that slips through your lips.

He holds your throat a little tighter, not enough to stop your breath but enough to make the tips of your ears tingle. Enough to make the heat in your core grow.

“I own you,” he whispers. “You belong to me. Do I make myself clear?”

Your lips part and shallow breaths pass pathetically through them before you finally respond, a whisper of your own. “Yes, Coryo.”

“I can't hear you.”

“Yes…Coryo.”

His grip loosens. “Good.”

He lets you go, standing to his full height once more as you take in a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as your hand flies to your throat.

You watch his hands find his belt, undoing it with deft hands. “Now open your mouth,” he commands.

You swallow thickly, slowly adjusting yourself to sit on your knees. You glance away as you drop your jaw and stick your tongue out over your teeth.

“Look me in the eyes.”

You do, immediately. His blue eyes, hiding so many lies behind them that they brim with color. “Good girl.”

Your jaw ticks as you raise your hands to pull his cock from his pants, already hard from the power he holds over you.

What's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself.

You wrap your lips around the tip, laving your tongue against the head before slipping it underneath him. Stroking the rest of you, you take special care in providing his pleasure as you let your lips suckle around him.

Up and down his length, you go, giving him your hot, wet mouth as he likes it—as he needs it. His hand tangles in your hair and grips it tight, guiding you just a bit to take him deeper down your throat. And you do. You take him as far as he'll go, keeping the gag awaiting at bay as you swallow around him.

I know you're poison. You're feeding me poison.

And when you think you've gone far enough, he holds you down and shoves the rest of him farther inside. Your lungs are tight, they burn with the lack of air. But you just hold onto his thighs and hope he grants you enough mercy for breath.

And when he pulls out enough for you to snatch that merciful breath, you can taste his precum on your tongue. And you waste no time in taking him again, up and down and up and down. Just like he likes it—just like he needs it.

He curses under his breath, holding you tighter as his desperation grows and grows. “Fuck, just like that,” he huffs, fighting to keep his eyes open as your tongue caresses the vein along the bottom of his cock.

His lips part, his eyes shut. He shoves you farther down on his cock as your good work pushes him over the edge. The warmth fills your mouth, down your throat in generous amounts of pent up stress. And you drink it up. Every drop. Like liquor.

Addicted to this feeling I can't help but swallow up…

You catch your breath as he collects himself once more, his chest heavy with the lust simmering down in his belly. He tucks himself away, back into his pants. And as he watches you, you lick your lips free of his poison.

He smiles wickedly, cupping your chin in his hand. “Good girl,” he praises again. You stare at him and say nothing else. He inhales, exhales, and straightens his back. “Come. We have a party to re-attend.”

You stand on unsteady feet, wiping your face clean just to ensure you aren't going back to the party with Snow’s cum on your lips.

He pulls his arm around your waist and leads you back.

At the first sight of you and Snow, the vultures swarm. “We were beginning to think you weren't coming back down,” one of them jokes.

Snow smiles, “Of course not. I just had some business to take care of. Isn't that right?” He turns to you expectantly.

You let your smile widen across your lips as you nod. “Yes, Coryo,” you say.

You can see the wicked beast glint happily in his eyes. Pleased, he turns away from you again to look at his hand, realizing it lacks the champagne flutes each of his guests hold in their hands. He smiles at you once more.

“Would you mind getting drinks for me and my guests?” he requests.

You avoid the clench of your jaw that you long to grant him, instead deciding to pull your smile into a wider grin and nod.

“Yes, Coryo.”

“Thank you,” he grins. He lifts a crooked finger to the underside of your chin, tapping it lightly. “And cheer up… It's a party.”

You give him a tight smile and walk away in the direction of the kitchens, which is currently bustling with people making another batch of the well-loved appetizers and refilling more glasses for the guests.

You pass by the champagne entirely to get to the, quite large, liquor cabinet. You pour yourself a hefty glass of scotch and gulp it down, braving the burn of your throat as you finish it with a sigh.

You replace the scotch, claim a tray, and walk out with the requested beverages. You hand them to Snow and his guest, a glorified waitress.

Taking your own flute, you hand the tray to a passing server and let the effects of the scotch sink into your bones.

You wouldn't call the rest of the night a blur, especially because you are completely aware of what was happening as you continued to mingle with the guests. You kept a hold of your wobbling tongue, and you remained civil and polite. Snow could tell there was something off—and of course he knew what it was—but you hadn't embarrassed him yet, so he let it slide.

And that night, when the guests took their leave and the party came to a close, you met Snow in his bedroom once more so he could more thoroughly remind you of who you belonged to.

And like the addict you are, you happily obliged.

~

PART FOUR: Lap Dog

You made sure not to forget your place again.

Weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and you were still seated at Snow's right hand as he climbed the ladder, dragging you along through the journey. You did everything for him, anything for him. That was your job. Whatever he asks of you is considered done as soon as the request passes his lips. Whatever he wants, whenever he wants, however he wants. No matter what.

You sold your soul to the Devil, and you were addicted to the madness of your deal.

“I need you to give this to Snow.”

You're stopped in the middle of the hall by some woman with a stack of files in her arms. She's got a smug face, and you immediately don't like her as she grabs the file at the top of her stack and thrusts it out toward you.

You sigh, taking it as you begin to flip it open. “What is it?”

She pinches the top corner closed, shaking her head. “It's not your business to know, is it?”

You scoff, smiling as you tilt your chin up. The same way Snow does when he wants to stress his rank over another person's head. “Actually,” you wave her hand away from you, “as President Snow's assistant, it is my job to know anything and everything about what goes to and from his desk.” You take a step toward her, looking down on her just as he would. “So I ask again, what is it?”

There's a long pause as she stares at you, her eyes dark with the hatred and prejudice that bleeds from her gaze. Capitol taking orders from District? It's unheard of…

You would think, since you've been here so long, that they'd learn that you rank higher than they ever will. They don't have to like you, but whether they like it or not, they have to listen to you.

It wasn't hard to become cocky, but cocky was something you learned. This woman, whoever she was, was born with it. And that was a plague that would be the end of her.

She huffs quietly. “It's the request he made for some documents.” Your brow furrows slightly. A mistake. Now she believes she knows something you don't. Now she believes she has the upper hand. Her tone betrays her. “Something about the Games’ Victors.”

You don't know what this is. You've heard nothing of the sort.

But she keeps saying “something”. You want specifics. Does she not have it? “You don't know?”

“Of course I know,” she lays a delicate hand over her delicate chest. For a moment, you wonder if she's ever had to do any kind of work (you know she hasn't). She wouldn't last a second…

“And I'd elaborate,” she continues, pulling you from your thoughts, “but I, quite frankly, don't want to tell you, and you probably couldn't read it to figure it out for yourself.” Your jaw tenses at her unfounded insult. You don't respond. “I mean, that's why you want me to explain it to you, isn't it?”

I got so good at being untrue.

You sigh forcefully, a long, deep sigh to try and control yourself. “Excuse me?” Does she truly dare to challenge you in such a way?

“You heard me,” she replies, unblinking.

Clearly, she thinks you're an idiot. A stupid, incompetent idiot. You want to take her words and shove them back down her throat. You want to grab her by the hair and drag her around like the dog she seems to think you are.

But you can't. You must remain civil, so the only way you can try to hurt her is through your words.

You don't need trouble with Snow for embarrassing him…

“Ah,” you scoff, lifting your chin again to keep your superiority. “So you're stupid?”

The blatant insult has her clutching her pearls. Obviously, she wasn't expecting that kind of bluntness from you.

You smirk at her reaction, no longer collected. You have the upper hand once more.

“You really think it's a good idea to talk to me like that? Me? President Snow's second hand?” You don't love playing that card, but it's a play that will almost always work for you.

No one would dare object to President Snow.

She hums, trying to seem unphased. “You're right,” she says, “I probably shouldn’t speak to Coriolanus Snow’s little pup like that.” Her face contorts into one of mocking sorrow, her lip jutting out and her brows furrowing. “She might get sad and go tell her master on me.”

Little pup. Little pup.

Flashes of late nights spent in Coryo’s room, nights where his stress gets the better of him and he decides to take it out on you, nights where he spanks you and calls you names and takes you hard and rough, cross behind your eyes. “My dumb little girl, my pathetic little whore, my pitiful little pup.”

And you would let him, you would encourage him. You would moan and writhe and bend to his will. And your fists tighten at the memory. They clench with rage and regret and the desire to be more than an animal.

You aren't an animal, you are a human fucking being.

I got so good at telling you what you wanna hear. I disassociate, disappear.

Baring your teeth and losing composure, you huff. You're seething as you speak. “I am not his pup.”

She chuckles, finally striking a nerve as she lifts her brows. “Aren't you? His little lap dog.” She puts emphasis on each word, ensuring the ‘G’ hurts. She walks toward you, but you don't move. You stand your ground. You aren't scared of her.

You're going to fucking kill her.

Foolishly, she continues on. “You think just because you won the Games and he decided to take pity on you, that gives you any real power?”

You scoff. Pity. He doesn't know the meaning of the word.

“You're his whore,” she spits. It doesn't anger you because it's true, it angers you because no one even knows about that part of your deal, and she's accusing you of being a whore because of who you are.

Her face is inches from yours, her voice trying to be lower, though it's so naturally snooty that it's hard to reach that threatening level. She sounds like a child. And her sneer makes you want to treat her like one.

“You're a fucking slut. Just a little District animal who got lucky.”

Your anger flares. You grit your teeth. You lower your voice, successfully, and nearly growl.

“You wanna say that again?”

She smirks wickedly. “You are a whore.”

You walk toward her. She's standing so close that she is forced to step back with the stutter of her heels scraping the floor.

“You forget,” your lips turn in a venomous smile, fueled by rage and violent tendencies you're trying your best to hold back, “I fucking won the Games. I killed tributes with my bare hands, and you want to challenge me?”

And you see the flash of fear behind her eyes at the reminder, though she tries to hide it. But you know fear. You've felt it slice your flesh, you've used it to slice other's flesh. You know the biting and the tearing and the clawing of fear, and you can see it clear in her eyes even as she tries so hard to hide it.

Being afraid is the smartest thing she's done since she decided to open her mouth.

“You aren't going to do anything,” she says, as a defense more than an accusation, a reassurance for herself more than a taunt for you. “You'll just tuck tail and run to master–”

You're done being civil. You're done rolling over and showing your belly. You're done bowing your head and taking orders.

If they are going to treat you like an animal, you'll behave like one.

And she meets the blunt end of your rage with a fist to the face. Stacks of files smack loudly in a pile on the floor. You clip her cheek with the ring on your finger, and you huff at the pleasure that comes with defending yourself.

Her face whips to the side. It's a full body reaction. She staggers, crying out as her hand flies to her face, unable to take the heat of your violence. She looks back at you, her eyes wide with fear, too much to have room for anger.

You don't give her the chance to make room for it either. You punch her again on the same side, this time letting your fist connect with her brow. And when she stumbles again, you shove her back so she falls to the floor.

The sounds of her pain are loud and evident. But the bliss you gain from them is only so perfect because she deserves it.

And as you straddle her body, you can smell her fear just as well as you can see it. You can taste it like the blood she tastes on her tongue as you hit her again, and again, and again.

“What is going on here?”

You're off of her in an instant—and it's no scramble. You maneuver off of her with ease and scoop up your files once more, straightening your spine as you stand back and join Snow's side with one hand behind your back, bloodied knuckles and all. You sniff, the rueful look on your face taking a moment to dissipate as you replace it with civility.

You are a human being.

You don't look at Coryo’s face. You know it's covered with anger and disappointment. It's worse if he's stone cold. You can salvage this…

The woman rolls over onto her side, holding her nose delicately as she struggles to her feet. Tiny gasps and painful moans slip from her lips. She got what she deserves.

“Sorry, sir,” you say, obviously lying.

Suddenly, you feel like you should have punched her one more time. Because she begins to laugh. It's a bubbling laugh that you're sure is hurting her.

You can't do anything now. Not while Snow is here.

She shakes her head, licking her split lip and wincing through her laugh. Snow finds that more offensive than your empty apology, more offensive than even your savage display of violence.

“What's your name?” he demands.

She straightens up just a bit more. She also doesn't seem to understand the situation because she has a snarky grin on her face that says that she believes she's coming out of here on top. But those odds are not in her favor.

“Ellyn Halper,” she says.

“Ms. Halper.” He watches her, looking her up and down, his eyes strict and cold. He makes her squirm, even as she looks confidently at him. “You're fired.”

The news hits her like a train. She steps back, faltering, the horror crossing her face. “What?” She scoffs, glancing between the two of you as she shakes her head. “She attacked me!”

“And she wouldn't have attacked someone unprovoked,” he raises a brow. You try not to smile at him taking your side—and it's easy, because they talk about you like a misbehaved pet. “She must have had good reason. Clean out your desk and get out of my sight.”

She lingers, disbelief painting her features and mixing with her anger. When she doesn't move, Snow tilts his chin down and glares.

“Now.”

It's here that her rage outweighs her sense. She loses it. “You're going to protect this animal over Capitol?” she yells, pointing at you.

Still riding the high of your violence, you bare your teeth. “I'm not–”

“Quiet,” Snow snaps.

You shut your mouth.

Ellyn shakes her head, her lips twitching. She looks straight at you, sighing. She steps forward, stopped by Snow's warning hand. She leans in, “You're a disgrace.”

Snow can't have such blatant disrespect.

“Pack your bags, Ms. Halper,” he says. “I'm sending you to the districts.” Her horror is palpable. “We'll see who the animal is. I'm sure they would love to get their hands on Capitol.”

Snow doesn't give her any more attention. He turns and walks away, your impending punishment terrifying as you listen to his steps. You huff gently at her, slowly allowing your lips to split into your triumphant grin.

Snow calls your name. Your lips fall. You turn.

“Lap dog,” she spits.

Your jaw ticks. You turn again, and watch her step back. Your lips part, but before any sound can actually breach your lips, Snow calls your name again, firmer this time.

You huff, harder this time, and leave. You try to wipe the sight of that terrible smile on her bloodied face from your memory.

~

“What was that?”

He's pissed. His jaw ticks as he sets his hands on his hips.

But there's enough anger to go around.

Smacking the files on the desk, just as loudly as before as you jut your finger out towards them in accusation, you counter, “What is this?”

He dismisses you carelessly. “That's my business. Not yours.”

Before he can speak again, you cut him off, speaking quickly and concisely. “In my contract, it says I take care of your needs. It also says that I am your secretary and personal assistant. I handle your accounts, your documents, everything—so that means this is my business.” Stepping close to his desk, you lean forward toward him and lower your voice. “What is this about?”

Instead of answering you, he straightens his back and lifts his chin. With an amused scoff, he smirks lightly. “You actually read your contract.”

You don't appreciate his taunts. You read the full extent of your contract years ago, and you make sure to reread it every month to ensure you've memorized every detail. If he's got you on a tight leash, you need to know how much room you actually have to move.

“Coriolanus,” you huff. You wish you could say you won't say it again, but he'd make you repeat a million times if he felt like it. And you would have to obey. “What is it about?”

He's silent as he thinks to himself, contemplating. How does he answer your question without giving you the power and the luxury of a response?

But it's easy for him to remember that he will always have the power. He will always have the upper hand.

He breathes in, and you watch his lips curve. “The Victors.”

“I heard that,” you say. “What about them?”

His smile grows. The mischief and cunning lights up in his eyes. He places his hands in his pockets, rounding his desk as he leans back on it, crossing his ankles as he does. “This deal between you and I works pretty well, I'd say.”

You clench your jaw, unhappy with where this conversation is leading. You shake your head, “And?”

“And,” he shrugs, “there are and will be plenty more victors out there fit to do the same.”

You lose some of your bravado, your anger and confidence replaced by hesitant disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sometimes you forget that Snow was, in truth, an evil man. Between your nights of passion and unnecessary gifts, it's easy to forget about the monster underneath his façade of fancy suits and beautiful roses.

He circles your body, like predator to prey…as always.

“I make sure people stay interested in the Games. And people like to keep up with our Victors,” he turns toward you suddenly. “I mean, they seem to take plenty of interest in you.”

You shake your head, your voice weak, “Coryo.”

He ignores you, continuing on. “These Victors are interesting. And some are considered to be quite…attractive in some senses.” He stops in front of you, smiling evilly. “A contract here and a signature there–”

“Coryo,” you try again, your voice trembling this time.

“–and these rich cats can have a Victor all to themselves.”

“Coriolanus.”

He stops, watching you expectantly as you try to wrap your head around his vile proposal.

They didn't deserve this. These Victors have already been through so much and he wants to add more grief and misery to their lives?

You were already lost the moment he stepped foot in your house, the moment you signed that contract, the moment you fell to your knees in his office and had your first taste of him. There was no hope for you now.

He'd gotten you addicted a long time ago…

“These are people,” you all but beg, clasping your hands together in hopes of persuading him away from his sadistic plans, “they're human beings. They aren't animals for you to sell.”

He makes a face, smiling wide as he leans in. “They are animals.” You expected this response, but it still hurts for him to say it so indisputably. “And they're for me to do whatever I want with.”

You clench your teeth and watch him turn away again, reclaiming the file and dropping it into a drawer he pulls open. “And besides, they won't be sold indefinitely.” He looks up at you with that sly grin of his. “The Capitol should be able to have their fill…”

You scoff. “Oh, so they're not just your slaves, they're your prostitutes.” You can't believe him, though you know you should.

He’d done it to you. What was stopping him from doing it to the rest?

Hopefully, you.

“They're my pets,” he counters. He leans forward onto his desk. And he's so tall, that he manages to lean in so much that he can see each little fleck of your irises as you stare unblinkingly at him. “Just like you.”

You nod, pursing your lips. “Okay, then I'm your pet.” You lean in as well, this time. You lean in so close that he has no choice but to shift away from you. “Not them.” You lick your lip and round the desk, wanting so desperately for him to hear your voice for once.

You plead, because it's the only thing you can do. Your voice is quiet, desperate, weak. Just the way he likes it.

“Let them go. You do enough to them, they don't deserve this.”

He doesn't hear you. He doesn't care.

“They deserve whatever I decide.”

Your jaw tenses, your thoughts scrambling to figure out a solution. Any solution. You just need to persuade him, to change his mind. This doesn't need to happen.

But his eyes are so cold, so stoney, so lying. There's no sympathy there and there will never be sympathy there. So you try to sway him in the way you know best.

You drop to your knees, skilled and shaky hands grasping his belt as you begin to undo it quickly. “What are you doing?”

The metal clinks as you work at it, pulling it free from the first loop as you begin to take the latch from its adjusted position. “Changing your mind,” you answer plainly. As you loosen the belt, tugging on it to remove it from the loops of his pants. “This is what you want, isn't it? You're just trying to rile me up to get me to do what you want. I'll do it–”

“Get the fuck off me.”

He pushes you away, shoving you onto the floor like you're nothing. And to him, you are. Nothing.

He doesn't seem angry, just annoyed at your audacity… And then he seems amused. His face lifts and he begins to smile. His smile turns to a chuckle, and he shakes his head as he looks down at you, purely amused by your attempt at persuasion.

“Oh, I get it,” he laughs, walking toward you to properly tower over your meek body. “You think that because I fuck you that I actually care about what you want.” He pronounces the F to hurt, punching it while also saying it with such disregard that it truly shows how little it means to him… Nothing.

He kneels down, resting his arm on his knee and watching you with those taunting eyes. “This isn't about you,” he whispers. Though his voice is soft, it cuts like a knife. Your hands tremble as they lift you up.

He spews his poison without restraint. “You are an animal. And yes, you are my lap dog.”

He feigns sympathy and remorse that he isn't capable of. “You think I swooped in earlier and punished that stupid girl because she talked down to you? I punished her because you're mine, and if I let someone get away with disrespecting my things, no one will respect me.”

He spews all his hatred, and you take it all. “I couldn't care less that she called you an animal or a whore or whatever the fuck else because you are.” It's a slap in the face each time as his voice becomes more and more hateful. “You're my pet, and you're my whore. You belong to me.”

So far beyond difficult to resist another gulp.

You stare at him, your face fallen as you seem to learn your lesson for the thousandth time. You're nothing to him. You're just property, and you mean nothing.

He smirks, standing to his full height once more as you remain tossed to the floor. You stare at him, your fight diminished.

“Speak.”

Like a dog.

“Yes, Coryo.”

Obedient.

“Smile.”

It looks like a sneer.

“Yes, Coryo.”

Well-trained.

Your lips part as you open your mouth, dropping your jaw as you've been doing for years.

And though that satisfies him beyond all belief, that satisfaction is all he needs. “Close your mouth.”

Nothing.

“Yes, Coryo.”

Your monotonous tone falls silent as you await his next command, a dog waiting for orders from her master.

He bends down, grasping the front of your shirt in his fist and pulling close. His face is inches from his. You don't fight him, you don't resist in any way. You let him move you as he pleases, staring blankly at him.

He looks about the length of your face. His smile is wholly evil. “Don't forget what you are.”

Quiet, broken, weak is your voice. Just the way he likes it.

“Yes, Coryo.”

He hums, letting you go. “Good girl.”

~

PART SIX: Addiction

You hear the footsteps coming down the hall and ignore them all the same. Flipping the next page in your book, you sigh gently and pull your legs closer toward you. Just a couple more sentences is all you ask…

Your door opens without a knock, and you aren't surprised. This is his home, you are his pet. Why ask permission for something which belongs to him?

You force yourself to meet Coryo’s gaze, the exhaustion in your eyes clear. He's in the same clothes as before, though his hair is more relaxed and his shirt is looser, the top few buttons undone to let his chest peek from its hiding spot. With one last sigh, you close your book.

You slip off the bed, easing down to your knees. Letting your hands rest in your lap, you allow your jaw to drop open wide, ready to receive him as you push your tongue out over your bottom teeth.

He smirks lightly, his chuckle even lighter. “Down girl.” You close your mouth.

“How do you want me?”

He sighs gently, closing the door behind him and slowly walking inside. “Believe it or not,” he says, his voice gentle, “I'm not here for me, I'm here for you.”

You raise a brow, unimpressed and suspicious. “Why?”

Your attitude amuses him. He shrugs, taking a seat at the edge of your bed and looking down at you. It doesn't feel as condescending as it usually does. “Making up.”

Foolish hope sparks in your chest, but you don't let it show. “So you're not going through with it.”

“No, I am.” He hums, “But I can't have my pet neglected, now can I?”

You sigh, turning away from him. You don't know why you asked.

He pats the spot next to him. “Get back on the bed, my flower.”

You look down at your hands as you rub at your pinky. “Yes, Coryo.”

As you sit up, taking the spot next to him, he tuts gently. “Now, now. No need for that tonight,” he says, closing the gap between the both of you.

You look up at him, your attitude fully present still. “Yes, Coryo.”

He sighs. Coryo sets a hand on your knee, turning toward you. “You're upset,” he says. You scoff. “That's understandable. I upset you.”

You want to say something snarky, but you're on thin ice from today, and you don't need to make it thinner. You turn away, but he catches your gaze as he takes your chin with his crooked finger and turns you to face him again.

And you hate yourself for feeling cared for.

“Let me make it up to you.”

You hate the way you nearly melt. “You can make it up to me by letting them go.”

He hums, shrugging. “Or I can eat you out.” You feel like you might shake at the idea. When you don't speak, he raises his brows. “Unless you just want me to leave…”

He's manipulating you. You know he is. He's been doing it since the beginning. You'd think you had some sort of defense against him at this point, but he's had years of practice in bending you to his will, in getting you hooked on him.

He knows. He knows what you are.

You're feeding me poison.

And you give in. Because you've never been strong against him, not even for a moment. You give in because you're so addicted to him that you'd die without the taste of him on your tongue…

With a long sigh, you lay back against your pillows and spread your legs. His smile spread across his face in such a wicked way, self-satisfied and fully amused.

He sets a hand on your knee and shifts himself to kneel in front of you. He slowly pulls your panties down your legs and pushes your nightgown away, teasing you and increasing your still-there frustrations.

Yes, you've lost the ability to resist this man and his sexual prowess, but that doesn't mean you want to draw this out. It's shameful enough…

He knows this. That's why he does it.

His lips press to the inside of your knee, then further down your thigh, and then right back up. You huff silently, annoyed with his antics.

He gives you a disarming smile. “Come now, my flower,” he tuts. “I may be spoiling you but that doesn't mean we don't still have our manners.”

You lay your head back, sighing as you let your eyes shut. You lick your bottom lip. “Please, Coryo.”

He hums. “I am sure you can do far better than that.”

Maybe you should cry. Maybe if you cry, he'll think you're ugly and leave you to live back in your lonely home at Seven. He'll think you're too worthless to go back into the Games. You could sober up the hard way… He'll leave you be.

But you know Coriolanus, which means you know that would never happen. He'd tsk, tsk, tsk and tell you how perfect you look crying. He'd hold you down and fuck you and tell you to be a good girl and keep crying for him. And you would. You know would.

Besides, if he did cast you out, he would just choose someone else to take your place. Then he would do this to them.

Better you than someone else.

You look up at him, screwing your face into a self-pitying expression. Your voice is small and meek when you open your mouth.

“Please, Coryo,” you whisper, “I'm yours.”

Just the way he likes it.

Pleased, he presses another kiss to the inside of your thigh, and then lets the flat of his tongue lick along the seam of your pussy. A whimper slips from your lips at the feeling, and you let yourself fade into the pleasure.

You forget that this man is your captor, your master. You forget that he's the reason for your nightmares. You forget that he's dark, cruel, sadistic, that he does not truly care for you.

You lose yourself in the fantasy that he is a loving man who only wants to see you happy.

“Coryo,” you moan as he suckles eagerly at your clit, a man starved of his sweet wine. Coryo. Not Coriolanus. Not Snow. Your Coryo. Your gentle, loving Coryo. The man who held you when he wasn't forcing you to your knees and bidding you to be his good girl.

His fingers stroke inside of you, two long fingers curling with you as his tongue flicks at your clit. The stretch of his fingers is welcome, and you look down at his head nestled between your thighs. You whine at the feeling of his tongue, hungry and searching.

His dull nails dig into the flesh of your thigh. As his tongue delves inside of you with his lips suckling around you, you feel his nose press deliciously against the sensitive bundle of nerves, which aches for release.

Circling his head, your legs wrap around him and squeeze, the tension tightening in your belly as he works eagerly at your pleasure. You're helpless to him as sounds rise from your throat like a gentle hum. Again, you whisper his name, lost to the feeling of him. He grunts into you, your body warm with the vibration, with the warmth of his mouth, with the warmth of his hands on your thighs.

“Coryo,” you whimper as you feel your pleasure rising within you, tingling in your legs and in your toes. Your open-mouthed breaths make your throat dry, but it’s hard to focus on that when each breath you take fills your chest with more and more desire. “I’m so close,” you gasp. “Please, can I cum?”

Instead of answering, he just sucks harder on your clit, prying your thighs further apart as he licks you up. As that coil tightens in your belly, your legs tremble and almost fight against his grip keeping them apart. You grind your hips up to meet his face, he holds you down.

You know how he likes it—the grinding, the moaning, the pleading, the strength. And when the pleasure crashes down on you, your clit pulsing against each lick of his tongue as he continues to work you, you shut your eyes and let out the breathy moans he loves so much. Your chest is full of warmth.

I’m choking on this feeling I can’t help but swallow up.

“C-Coryo,” you mutter, the sensitivity becoming too much as your legs continue to tremble. You arch away from him, but he holds you tight and pulls you closer. He forces your legs apart still, not quite finished as he continues to suckle around your sensitive bud.

You gasp when he finally pulls away, satisfied with the taste of you. “What a good girl you are,” he murmurs, smiling almost wickedly—though you replace it with one full of love and care. One can only dream.

He crawls up your body, stalking like a predator as he leans in, his face inches from yours. You bring your hands up to his cheeks and pull him down to meet your lips, kissing him with all the passion you can muster. He cares, he cares, he cares.

He cares as he traces his tongue along the seam of your lips. He cares as he smooths his hand along your soft thigh. He cares as he brings your leg up against his side and grinds his hips against you. He cares as he digs his dull nails into your flesh like the claws of a lion. He cares as he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip like the fangs of a wolf.

He definitely cares as he brings a strong hand to your hair and tangles his fingers there with every intention of tugging you back to see your face. You whimper lightly, sinking into it and pretending the burn of your scalp is just the heat of your desire.

I made my choice and every night I’m wasted like there’s no tomorrow.

“You’re so pretty,” he smiles, and you fully understand the unspoken “like this” that follows his words but you choose to ignore it.

He kisses you again, this primal, devouring kiss you gladly mistake for ardor. He takes the bottom of your nightgown in his hand and pulls it up and over your head. You let him take it off of you. You let him strip you bare as his greedy hands smooth along the length of your body. Tentatively, not fully committed (you would be perfectly content with his lips on yours, kissing him forever under the illusion of simple intimacy), you pull at his belt. He undoes it and pulls it off entirely. You think he’ll toss it away, but it doesn’t.

“Open your mouth.”

Obediently, you do. He wraps the belt around your head, fitting it in your mouth as he loops it behind and pulls it tight. You nearly wince at the feeling, but he’s done worse. He unbuttons his pants, leaning down as he presses his lips to your neck. He kisses and sucks and nips at your throat, and you both let out deep moans that rumble in your chest when he presses inside of you.

You lean your head back, giving him more space to paint your neck in his claim. The taste of leather is strong on your tongue. Each breath you take is full of the earthy scent of his belt. You set your hands on his waist as he braces his fists on either side of your head. His thrusts are deep and rough. You feel his hips as he moves, his slender waist fits perfectly between your legs.

Your moans are muffled by his belt. As you dig your heels into his back, encouraging each thrust as he gives them, he grunts at the way you tighten around his cock. His hips snap into you with a greed that makes you crazy, that drives him wild. Taken by the pleasure, he grabbed the belt behind your head and pulled it in a way that made you look up at him.

His lips are plump from kissing you so roughly, his hair is loose and falling in delicate locks across his forehead, his breath fans gently across your own face. He looks pretty like this. Even with the predatory gaze in his eyes, he looks pretty. You want to kiss him but you don’t. You can’t.

He breath stutters in his throat after a particular thrust, and your eyes flutter shut as you moan at the feeling. He continues to fuck into you, like it’s the last time. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing sweet or nice or careful. He fucks you to his own need, but knows you well enough that it would fill you with so much pleasure that it doesn’t matter if he does it for him.

And he knows you well enough that the lack of care he has in his thrusts fills you with so much longing that he doesn’t need physical pain to be sadistic.

He pulls out of you suddenly, his breath coming out in hot puffs as he leans back on his haunches. “Turn around,” he orders, though his voice is quieter—there’s no real need to bark with you.

Anyway you want me, baby, that’s the way you got me.

You do as you’re told, ignoring the discomfort in the loss of him inside of you as you sit up and move as quickly as you can with the sluggish nature of your desire for him mixing with your depletion. As soon as you’ve turned around, he doesn’t care to give you time to adjust to the new position before he’s grabbing the belt again, wrapping it around his fist, and taking your hip in his other hand as he shoves his cock into you once again.

You go to hang your head, the feeling too great, but you’re stopped by his grip of the belt. Setting the quickened pace at the beginning, he fucks into you fast and rough. The sound of his skin smacking against yours fills the room. A light sheen of sweat coats your body as the heat fills you inside and out. His name is muffled on your lips, but his grunts are clear in the air.

His hand on your waist circles around as he presses his fingers to your still-sensitive clit. He rubs fast circles against it, building you up, up, up. You can’t help but whine, you can’t help but feed his hunger as he fills you with pleasure. Your legs tremble, and with his skill, it isn’t long until he hurls you into your second orgasm.

You throw your head back and moan, the sound rough with your desperation. But he doesn’t stop. He isn’t finished. He fucks your sensitive cunt. His eyes flutter at the tightening of your cunt.

You feel so weak, tired from the exertion but not fully satisfied until you’ve given him all that he needs. You’ve been with this man for years and the conditioning settled in a long time ago.

I’ll be yours.

So, yes, he keeps going and keeps going and keeps going. He takes you on your back, he takes you on your hands and knees, he takes you against the wall (front and back), he takes you in his lap, and he never stops each time until you’ve come apart in his hands. Pent up with so much stress and spurred on by the fatigue in your eyes, he lasts through it all.

You don’t know how long you’ve been going by this point. All you know is the rhythm of his hips thrusting in and out and in and out as he pushes you down into the bed with your ass pulled up against his hips and your face buried in a pillow. His hands push against your back, keeping you down still. You can hear his breath, heavy with his own nearing exertion. His thrusts are beginning to lose their rhythm, becoming more and more desperate with his nearing release.

You can hardly keep your eyes open. All your breaths have been reduced to shallow whimpers, and as his finger presses against your clit again, a mewl slips from your throat as it pleads for relief and release alike. You hear him begin to curse under his breath, his thrusts rougher though not as steady. And he presses you further still as he moves closer, seeking his relief as it gets so close, he can taste it.

And, because you know him just as well as he knows you, you tip him over the edge as you let your lips part. Your voice is small and meek and whiny, a needy little cry that he hears because he craves it. “Coryo.”

“Oh, fuck,” he growls.

He fucks you hard in the first few seconds that he spills into you, his cum hot and plentiful as he moves himself farther against you as if he could go deeper still. And as his fingers flick at your clit, you accompany his needy moan with your own as you cum as well. You’re blinded by the feeling, left mewling as your eyes well with tired tears. It’s almost uncomfortable and you wince slightly when he presses a little too deep into you.

Coryo lingers there, his breath evening into a steadier rhythm as he eases off of you. You take in a full breath as he pulls out of you, closing your eyes and going limp against the sheets. Your body is so heavy, full of the exhaustion that has haunted you for years, exhaustion that comes with belonging to Coriolanus Snow. You wish you could slow down, take a breath, but whatever Snow wants, Snow gets.

My story’s gonna end with me dead from your poison.

Coryo runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh. He picks your nightgown up from the floor and wipes the both of you clean with the smallest modicum of care. You feel his knuckles brush against your shoulder and you shiver as he lets it graze gently along your spine. He stops it at the dip of your back.

Coryo turns off your bedside lamp, crawling into the bed as he shifts behind you, a gentle hand falling to your side as he pulls you into his body. And you actually find comfort in his arms as he pulls you closely to his body. His head rests in the crook of your neck, your body is pulled flush against his. His warmth seeps into your skin and you let your eyes flutter shut as he pulls the covers over your bodies.

And for a moment, everything is perfect. For a moment, you trick yourself into believing that this man can be capable of love.

But you feel his arms tightening around you until your lungs are so tight that it’s nearly impossible to breathe. You feel his nails, eager and greedy, digging into your flesh, and you wince at the terrible sting of them. He pulls you closer, not just seeking your warmth, but seeking full control and possession over something that already belongs to him. You silence your whimper.

I’m drowning in poison. I keep fillin’ my glass but it’s always hollow, full of poison.

When you can get past the pain of his embrace, you manage to lull yourself to sleep. You rest in his clutch and indulge in the false security of his empty arms.

But your rest is short-lived. Because halfway through the night, he wakes. Coryo opens his eyes and loosens his hold on you. You rouse from your own sleep but you stay perfectly still with closed eyes and steady breath. He lets go of you completely, getting out of the bed and leaving the room with silent steps. He has work to do.

I’m sick of the poison.

Once the door is closed, you’re left cold and alone. You curl up in on yourself, turning your head into the pillow as you feel the dam break. And like an idiot, you cry into your pillow. Your chest stutters with all the pain and weariness and hopelessness you carry with you through the day, through the night. You let it out, but it never seems to fade. And as the fatigue takes over once more, you let it take you into a sleepless kind of sleep where your nightmare of holding love in your hands plays in your mind over and over and over again.

Wish I had something to live for tomorrow.

Coriolanus Snow taglist: @the-nerdy-goddess Tag yourself here...

[anonymousewrites]

Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Four

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Four: In the Discussion

Summary: Harrow tries to get (Y/N) and Steven onto his side. They don't want much to do with him.

            Harrow guided Steven and (Y/N) farther into his neighborhood, gesturing around them proudly.

            “See, this neighborhood used to have the highest crime rate in all the city,” said Harrow. “There was so much suffering, so much pain…” He waved to the people playing music happily. “Good evening. Good evening, everyone.” He turned back to Steven and (Y/N). “It was truly heartbreaking. Now people don’t lock their doors at night. They feel safe.”

            (Y/N) resisted the urge to point out that Harrow had likely judged and killed all those who weren’t part of this “slice of utopia.”

            “Oh, Chase, are those the tomatoes?” said Harrow, smiling at a worker. “You have a green thumb. Beautiful. Thank you.” His attention switched back. “But you don’t tell anyone, no. People don’t want to hear good news. They’d rather cling to their fear, their pain.”

            “Goat…” said Steven, perplexed as one bleated beside him.

            “What? Oh, yes.” Harrow chuckled. “Ah, hello, how are we this evening?” He switched to Mandarin as the girl from before kicked the football to him.

            “Still waiting for you to play me,” she replied in Mandarin as he kicked the ball back.

            “You all speak Chinese?” said Steven.

            “Mandarin,” said (Y/N), truth slipping out.

            Harrow smiled. “(Y/N)’s correct. We all aspire to learn three languages.” He glanced at (Y/N). “How many do you speak?”

            (Y/N) was silent.

            Harrow chuckled. “Come now, it really doesn’t make a difference. It’s not a secret you’re an Avatar.”

            “I speak them all,” said (Y/N).

            Steven stared at them in surprise, and Harrow nodded. Being the Avatar of the Goddess of Truth had some benefits, and speaking/understanding languages was one.

            Harrow guided (Y/N) and Steven into a building where tables of food were set up, a movie was playing, and various people stood around and chatted. It was very warm and comfortable, like a home.

            But beneath it, (Y/N) knew every one of these seemingly peaceful people had allowed others to be judged and killed without a second thought. This heaven was nothing but a sham.

            “You two hungry?” said Harrow. “The food’s free. Steven, you’re a vegan, right?”

            “Yeah…” said Steven, still looking around himself in awe. 

“(Y/N), any dietary restrictions?” asked Harrow.

            “I don’t want to eat.” Yes, (Y/N) was hungry, but they didn’t want to eat what was prepared here.

            “Are you sure? You might want to try the lentil soup. I made it this morning,” said Harrow. “It’s Victor’s recipe.” He gestured to a man on the landing of the stairs on the other side of the room. “Gracias, Victor.” Victor waved back.

            “He’s from the Yucatan,” said Harrow. “He’s…No, he’s very funny.” He handed Steven a tray. “Here.” (Y/N) refused to take anything. That didn’t stop Harrow from speaking to them and Steven, though. “I know being on the right side of things is important to you. Khonshu always tries to ensnare those with a strong moral conscience. I don’t have experience with Ma’at, but as she is also supposed to uphold justice, I suspect it is the same.”

            “You have no conscience,” said Khonshu’s voice angrily.

            “Your sense of right and wrong has been twisted beyond repair,” said Ma’at.

            Steven jumped at Khonshu’s voice, and (Y/N) let out a breath. They weren’t used to Ma’at being upset.

            “You don’t have to listen to them,” assured Harrow benevolently. “Khonshu often throws temper-tantrums, like a two-year-old. None of the gods respect him.” Steven was handed lentil soup. “What is Ma’at like?”

            “She is fair,” said (Y/N).

            “Is she? Strange, then, that she took such a young Avatar. It hardly seems fair to you,” remarked Harrow.

            (Y/N) frowned.

            “Do not listen to him,” said Ma’at.

            “Do you not know? Avatars are supposed to be adults,” continued Harrow. “But you must not have met others. Ah, well, it can’t be too bad, of course. She hasn’t been banished, unlike Khonshu.”

            “I only punish those who have already done harm,” said Khonshu. “I am real justice!”

            “I have done nothing but uphold justice,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) was left wondering what other Avatars were like. It was clear Khonshu and Ma’at’s choices were…singular. Was there more to being an Avatar that they didn’t know about? Were there rules? Did deities have a culture and rules? (Y/N)’s mind whirled with questions.

            “What’s Khonshu saying now? ‘I am real justice?’ ” said Harrow.

            “Can you hear him?” asked Steven quietly.

            “Not anymore.” Harrow smiled. “Though I suspect (Y/N) can.”

            (Y/N) didn’t see a reason to hide what he knew. “I can.”

            “Another ‘truth,’ ” chuckled Harrow.

            “How do you know what he says, then?” asked Steven.

            “I was his former Avatar,” said Harrow. “Before you, I was the fist of vengeance.”

            What a title, thought (Y/N).

            “That’s the little American man living inside of me,” said Steven quietly.

            “And that’s, uh, that’s Marc?” said Harrow carefully.

            Steven looked down at his plate and avoided the question. “Soup’s…Yeah, that’s very good. It’s ace. Yeah, it’s lovely.”

            “Khonshu punishes those who have already walked an evil path,” said Harrow, looking at Steven intently. “His retribution comes too late.” He looked at (Y/N). “As does any action Ma’at takes. By the time any fist of vengeance or defender of truth arrives, people have already suffered. Ammit knows this too well. She tears up evil from the root, casting her judgement before any evil’s done. That’s why we must resurrect her.”

            “Right…but isn’t that a bit dodgy?” said Steven. “Like, trusting the judgement of a weird crocodile lady?”

            “You don’t need to doubt her judgement,” said Harrow, smiling. “Ammit will light the path to good by eradicating the choice of evil, which brings us to the scarab.”

            (Y/N)’s pocket felt all the heavier. Around the room, people got up and began to circle from different vantage points, ready for a fight.

            “That scarab functions as a kind of compass, leading us to Ammit’s tomb,” explained Harrow. His people began to converge. “She’s out there, waiting, longing to be freed. While the cruel masses deserve to face her punishment. And in the wake of their screams, evil eradicated. Steven, (Y/N)…to exist at that moment? Heaven on Earth.” He leaned back. “So, the scarab.”

            “Oh, I don’t have it,” said Steven. He wasn’t going to give up (Y/N), a kid, so that was all he said.

            “No?” Harrow raised a brow.

            “Honestly, I don’t have it,” said Steven.

            Harrow looked at (Y/N), and they cursed their inability to lie. Still, they had to say something.

            “Marc took it from me in the Alps. I came to Steven’s flat to find it,” said (Y/N). Hopefully, that would be enough for Harrow to not directly ask “do you have it?” At some point, they wouldn’t be able to dance around the answer “yes.”

            “Well, maybe you know someone who does?” said Harrow, looking between (Y/N) and Steven. “Maybe Marc hid it and you know where?”

            “Don’t you do it.” Marc spoke from Steven’s reflection in the bowl. “Don’t you give it up. He’ll kill you and the kid.”

            (Y/N) blinked. They were unused to having people consider their safety. Ma’at couldn’t due to their job, so this was…new. Since their parents, no adults had looked twice at them. Steven and Marc weren’t exactly people (Y/N) knew or could be sure they could trust, but they at least didn’t want to throw (Y/N) to the wolves. That was…nice.

            “Just give me the body,” said Marc.

            “No, I don’t know who could have it or where,” lied Steven.

            Harrow looked at (Y/N).

            “Marc hid it somewhere. It wasn’t in the flat when I got there.” Two truths. Marc had hidden the scarab, and Steven had brought the duffel bag into the flat after (Y/N) got there.

            “May I speak with Marc?” asked Harrow.

            “Um…uh,” Steven shifted uncomfortably.

            “Marc, what has Khonshu promised you?” said Harrow. “That this is your last mission? Then you’ll be free?” He looked at Steven. “Trust me when I tell you Khonshu is a liar, as are all the gods.” He glanced pointedly at (Y/N). “There is always one last thing.”

            (Y/N) decided to intercede to save Steven from the interrogation. They owed him. “If Ammit judges people before they do anything, isn’t she judging an innocent person?”

            Harrow’s eyes flicked to them, and they continued.

            “It goes against the idea we have the ability to make choices. It says that there’s only one path for us and we have no self-determination,” said (Y/N). Everyone was staring at them, but now that their thoughts were in the air, they weren’t stopping. “And what counts as ‘evil’ to her? If it’s action, she’s admitting to judging someone for what they might do. But if it’s thought, then that makes no sense, since thoughts becoming actions is what is harmful. The thought in itself could be ignored.”

            Harrow sighed. “(Y/N), you’re a child. You may be an Avatar, but you do not understand the scope—”

            “Oh, what about children?” said (Y/N), eyes widening. “Would Ammit kill a child for something they might think or do in thirty years?”

            Steven’s eyes widened in horror at the idea.

            Harrow sighed and collected himself. “I’m glad you mentioned that. Sometimes…the cure is a little taste of the disease. The difference between medicine and poison sometimes is only dosage. Considered a diseased limb. Amputation, horrific and grotesque, is necessary for the overall health.”

            “A child isn’t a diseased limb,” said (Y/N). They looked around at everyone. “Is that what everyone here thinks? That killing—a terrible thing—a child is fine because that child might do something bad in the future? You’re just as bad as the child’s hypothetical future.”

            Steven nodded emphatically. “Sorry, yeah, but…I kind of draw the line there at child murder.”

            Harrow looked away from them in disappointment. Then, he lifted up his cane. “Do you know what this is?”

            “Yep, it’s a cane, yeah,” said Steven.

            “This is—” Harrow stood and held out the cane “—Ammit’s gift to her first Avatar.”

            “Alright…” said Steven.

            (Y/N) eyed it warily as it glowed purple. The followers of Ammit took steps back as Harrow held it up.

            “It contains in it a tiny sliver of her power,” continued Harrow.

            Not good, thought (Y/N). They and Steven stood up from the table and took a careful step back.

            “I don’t want to use it,” said Harrow. That was the truth, but that wouldn’t stop him from indeed using it. “I don’t.”

            “Then don’t,” said Steven, laughing nervously. He and (Y/N) continued to back away. “We can’t help you.”

            “Yes, you can,” said Harrow. “I need to know, where is the scarab?” Steven and (Y/N) were silent. “Where is the scarab?” repeated Harrow, raising the cane towards Steven. “Where is the scarab?”

            “No,” said Steven, shaking his head.

            “Where’s the scarab?” Harrow lifted the cane.

            “Don’t hurt him.” (Y/N) pulled the scarab from their pocket and held it above their head.

            All eyes snapped to them, and (Y/N)’s body went hot with anxiety at the attention. They knew this was stupid and risky, but they couldn’t just stand by while someone was threatened. It wasn’t who they were.

            Harrow stared at it. “You have no idea the value of what you’re holding.” He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

            (Y/N) shook their head. “I can’t let you release Ammit.”

            Harrow sighed. “I’d really prefer to do this the easy way, but I have to make sacrifices for a better world.”

            Steven’s eyes widened in alarm, and (Y/N)’s grip on the scarab tightened. They needed a way out.

            “There is no deal in this, Marc. Fix this! Fix this!” shouted Khonshu.

            “Do not give it to him, (Y/N). Get out of there!” said Ma’at.

            “Don’t touch them.”

            A woman pushed out of the crowd and stood by Steven and (Y/N)’s side. Layla. She, too, wanted to keep the scarab safe, and seeing Steven (who she still thought was Marc) and (Y/N) threatened was unacceptable.

            Layla glanced at Steven. “Summon the suit.”

            “Sorry, what?” said Steven.

            “Summon the suit,” urged Layla.

            Oh, boy, thought (Y/N), still looking around themself warily.

            “ ‘Summon the soup?’ What are you saying?” asked Steven.

            “The suit. Summon it,” repeated Layla urgently.

            “The suit?” said Steven.

            Layla groaned. “So be it.”

            She grabbed Steven and (Y/N)’s wrists and pulled them after her. A man grabbed for them, but Steven shoved him back.

            “Up!” shouted (Y/N), racing towards the stairs with Layla and Steven on their heels.

            Harrow sighed. It seemed he’d have to use the cane. He slammed it against the ground. The building shook, and purple light erupted from cracks spiderwebbing through the floor and walls.

            (Y/N) paused in front of Victor as he emerged from a side hall, knife in hand. They pushed the scarab into Steven’s hands. It seemed they were going to have to fight.

            Fine.

            To protect innocents, (Y/N) would.

Taglist:

@jaytheaceenby

@severussimp

@dmitrytherat

@slytherinroyalty16

@grippleback-galaxy

@alexpangender

@thewittyfanficreader

@aew-kun-age-regression

@oscarissac2099

@amberforest08

@kyalov

@yyourmotherr

[mediocre-daydreams]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐬𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲: send me a character and “opposites attract” duo (ex. grumpy x sunshine, loner x popular) for a blurb!

finnick odair (popular/shy) please! i think it'd be so sweet :)

ok so i just started typing and this emerged and i'm not sure how well this fits the request or if it makes sense but you've got me in my finnick feels and now i have this urge to write for him but bro i have so many WIPs how could u do this to me :(((((

finnick odair x reader // 1.2k

you have an odd relationship with finnick. are you acquaintances? begrudging friends? enemies just for the sake of having someone to squabble with? in any other situation, you’d want a definitive answer. but it’s the 75th hunger games, and in all honesty, you couldn’t give less of a damn about finnick odair.

you’ve only met him a few times, when the capitol invites all the victors for some frivolous celebration for anniversary of a glorified massacre. it’s horrible, you’re more than aware. but some part of you feels a little better that you get to see finnick, because as much as he is confusing and for reasons unbeknownst to you, he seems to have your back.

the parade is twice as busy this year but the capitol spectators seem thrice as enthusiastic. you silently thank your designer for prematurely accepting your death, because it means he didn’t bother to design something extravagant (by capitol standards) and embarrassing (by your standards).

“well, don’t you just look ravishing?” a male voice sounds near your ear and you feel a warm breath tickle the side of your face.

you fight the urge to grab the nearest sharp object and stab your opponent. you turn your head, slowly and intentionally, to the source of the noise and are unsurprised at who you find. “finnick?” it sounds more like a statement than a question.

“surprised to see me?” finnick grins, flashing you those teeth that must’ve been capitol-modified. they aren’t, of course. finnick hates everything capitol, and that’s the only reason you let him stick around. there are no other reasons.

“um, no.” you wish you could come up with a better, wittier, cleverer, flirtier response, but there’s something about the way he smells—luxurious and a little briny and so fresh it’s almost cold, but the heat from his bare chest says otherwise… “no, i’m not surprised. i saw your reaping.”

you cringed, remembering how he’d volunteered for annie and how defeated he’d looked on that stage, standing next to his old mentor and trying to avoid eye contact with his crying ex-lover. annie had never been the same after her games. perhaps you shouldn’t have brought that up.

“i’m flattered,” finnick grins at you again, pinching his lower lip between his teeth. he’s got one elbow on a table and even though his free arm hangs loosely by his side, you feel trapped where you are. or at least you’re in no rush to get away from him.

“okay, well… that’s good?” you mumble, not sure where he gets his endless chain of banter from but wishing you could have some.

“it’s good,” finnick repeats, shaking his head in amusement. he runs his hands through golden curls, meticulously styled and sprayed to look effortlessly tousled, and you’re sure his styling team is somewhere nearby wishing death upon you for being the reason their pretty boy has (god forbid) a strand of hair out of place.

finnick calling your name with that lovely voice of his snaps you out of a daze you hadn’t realized you were in. you blink, slightly caught off guard. “sorry, what was that?”

“i said, see something you like?” finnick’s grin is more smug now, almost feline. he looks like he’s about to pounce and ruin your life with those damn eyes. or, spear you with his trident in the quarter quell. neither seem particularly appealing.

“no!” you deny. “no- i mean, that’s not what i meant-” you stammer, eyes jumping everywhere but his polished chest. had his team rubbed him down in baby oil? he was glowing, all tan skin and smooth planes and well defined ridges and-

“no, you don’t like me? i’ve gotta say, i’m a little hurt,” finnick teases. “and here i thought we had something going on.”

“gah, i didn’t mean that! i’m not ogling you, is all. ‘course i like you, as long as you’re not going to kill me on the first day,” you manage to get out.

“hey, your words, not mine.” finnick shrugs, a smirk gracing his lips. “but just for the record, i am ogling you.”

your eyes narrow in confusion.

“i mean it,” finnick continues, swallowing, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker away yours for a moment. almost like he’s nervous. “you look nice. you look really… pretty.”

it’s not a groundbreaking or particularly romantic statement, but it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen finnick around someone who isn’t mags, and that means something to you. “i think you’re pretty too, finnick.”

his confidence returns. “y’know, i’m told that quite a bit. but it means a lot more coming from you, sweetheart.”

you purse your lips. “don’t get cocky, or i’ll take it back.”

“no take backs!” finnick sighs and licks his lips thoughtfully. you’re not sure if he’s trying to entice you on purpose, but either way, you’re enticed.

the conversation is lulling and it’s really finnick’s fault. you’re not much of a conversationalist. “uh,” you begin, not sure why you opened your mouth when you had nothing to say. “um, your horse is… well groomed. and- uh, your chariot- yeah.” you want to kill yourself. you’re going to die in a few days anyway, so you might as well die before you lose all your dignity to the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

finnick snorts, unattractively horse-like, and you’re only a little comforted to know he’s not as perfect as he seems. “well, i’m sure the gamemakers will be pleased to hear that the procession is up to your standards.” he turns away from you to pat the side of his horse’s face and you get a good look at his high cheekbones and impossibly sharp jawline. you hate this man. 

the horse doesn’t seem to like finnick much. it flares its nostrils and finnick is forced to retreat, taking a step back and finding himself against a small table, useless and meant for decoration. atop it rests a bowl of sugar cubes, which are also useless and probably meant for decoration. you want to scoff at how dedicated the capitol is to performing false hospitality down to the last detail.

finnick turns to see what he bumped into and his eyes light up. he pinches a cube of sugar between his pointer finger and thumb and rolls it around, pretending to examine it. he returns his gaze to you. “some sugar for my sugar?”

you want to gag. finnick is so disgusting and you can’t imagine who would fall for his cheesy pick-up lines. not you, that’s for sure. “no thanks. i’m… allergic.”

“allergic to sugar? really?” finnick frowns, tossing the sugar cube in the air and catching it in his palm easily. “i’ve never met someone with a sugar allergy before.”

you shrug, caught up in your lie and grateful that finnick didn’t call you out on it. you didn’t know if you’d be able to survive the embarrassment of your verbal slip.

the sugar cube really is for show. he places it on the table with disinterest and curls his lip mischievously. “well, i suppose it doesn’t matter. you’re sweet enough to give me a cavity as it is.”

you can’t help yourself. “are you flirting with me?” your mind runs faster than your mouth, it seems, and now you’re pretty sure you’ve screwed up the chance to talk to this man ever again.

finnick looks at you oddly, raises his eyebrows, and purses his lips to hide what would probably be a stupidly smug smile. “no, with the horse.”

[definitelynotstable]

Camomile pt. 15 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10, pt. 11, pt. 12, pt. 13, pt. 14, pt. 15

AN: plot at the start and fluffy hurt/comfort at the end.

Synopsis: Closely follows the “Cartel Protection” and "Close Air" missions from the mw2 (reboot). Rights to the game developers <;3 Word count: 2.1k Warnings: canon divergence, canon typical violence, guns, wounds, swearing, death etc Ghost x gn!Reader (Callsign: Rags)

✧˚ · .

Ghost makes it across the ledge behind you and hauls you to your feet. You’re in a daze as you follow Soap and Alejandro over the rocks. Bullets ping and whir but your sole focus is the back of Soap and Alejandro. There’s no cover to pause and return fire, your only choice is to run and hope they miss. 

Suddenly Alejandro stops.

“You’ve led us to a dead end mate!” Ghost yells from behind you and you flinch, looking up. Beyond the ledge is a sheer drop which leads down to a narrow gorge. 

“We jump from here!” The colonel calls back and you freeze, “Don’t loose your weapons!”

Your feet have become one with the stone beneath them as Alejandro and Soap jump from the edge. Ghost tugs at your arm and you turn to meet his gave with wide eyes.

“It’s jump or die, Sergeant.” He says sternly but not unkindly, pushing you forwards as the bullet spray nears. 

You gulp, grasping his hand tightly on instinct as your chest constricts painfully. 

“Together?” You ask, knowing you’ll have to jump sooner rather than later regardless of his answer.

“Together.” He confirms, tugging your forwards and stepping from the cliff.

✧˚ · .

The water is a shock. It isn’t too cold but the impact is jarring. It streams up your nose and you resist the urge to gasp, struggling against the weight of your gear to paddle to the top. A hand wraps around your tactical vest and yanks you to the surface.

“Move down river to the bridge!” Alejandro calls, muffled by the water as you emerge. “Use the rocks for cover!”

Pushing back the memories that cling to you alongside the water, you focus on the burn in your shoulders as you pull yourself through the water. 

“All stations, this is Victor-0-1. How copy?” Alejandro calls over the comms, buzzing in your ear.

“–dow-1! Do you–? –ay again. –o you’re–?”

A distinctly American drawl answers, static crackling and cutting him off.

“Radio’s picking up something.” Soap confirms from in front of you.

Ghost is beside you now, pulling through the water with more strength than you. “Sounds American.”

“Could be Graves?” You ask, arms burning as you push to keep up. “The PMCs Shepherd hired?”

“Sounds like it,” Soap nods back at you, finding a rock and pulling himself up against it as the water splashes and sprays; the gunfire picking back up. 

The army hides in the trees along the bank and you rest your gun on a flat rock in front of you, scoping them out amongst the treeline. There’s too many to take out at once but together you manage to clear enough hostiles to give you time to make way upstream. It becomes almost a game. Take cover behind a group of rocks, return fire, dive below and swim upstream to the next set of rocks before pausing again and firing. 

You round the bend and eventually the bridge comes into view. Armoured vehicles are parked in a convoy, on the offensive.

“Armoured vehicles on the bridge!” Ghost calls over the radio, an unspoken question in his voice. Are they friendly?

“They’re not ours!” Alejandro swears, clambering up to settle behind another rock. “Fuck! It’s the army.”

Bullets fly from the bridge, they have a clear vantage point and armour to cover. 

“We can’t do shite against their armour!” Soap calls out to Alejandro who has his back to the rocks, reloading.

“We have to hold here to get extraction!” He replies, popping out and sending a barrage of bullets in their direction.

Suddenly the radio crackles to life, the American accent clearer than ever. 

“This is Shadow-1! Engaging the bridge north of your position. Danger close!”

“Thank fuck.” You breath, holding your fire.

“Who the hell is that?.” Alejandro asks, turning to you and Ghost, mistrust in his gaze.

“Commander Graves,” Ghost replies, “Shadow Company. They’re with us.”

The rocks beneath you shake and bridge explodes. Flaming bits of debris splashing into the water below. 

“Shadow-1,” Ghost grips his radio, when the screeching of metal lessens, “Bravo 0-7, Good shots! Fire for effect!”

Soap lets out a boyish “whoop!” As the last bit of the bridge crumbles into the river. He’s arguably smartest out of all of you to be a demo-expert but at the end of the day still just a guy who enjoys blowing shit up.

“All stations, no enemy movement detected. You’re clear.”

✧˚ · .

You make it to extraction, sopping wet but pumping full of adrenaline. Grave’s sends coordinates – a hit on Hassan nearby – and you slip into the back seat with Ghost as Alejandro slides behind the wheel, Soap in the passenger seat. The radio buzzes as you pull up to another compound, not unlike the last.

“Ghost this is Shadow-1, orbiting the compound now. Standing by for visual.”

Ghost grips his radio, the vehicle pulling to a rolling stop next to a shed and some barrels. “Shadow-1, Bravo 0-7. We’ll make our location with IR laser, over.”

With a “roger” from Graves, you pile out of the car, guns raised.

“How do we find Hassan?” Soap asks the question that’s been balancing on the tip of your tongue. 

“He’ll have an armed guard, cartel protection.” Alejandro replies, heading off towards the scattered buildings. 

Ghost radios off the information to Graves and the party begins. 

✧˚ · .

It’s not often you’re able to work with the kind of firepower Graves and his men employ. National incidents are always a risk and a shit-ton of redcap to prevent them. 

PMCs don’t have those kinds of parameters. 

Within ten minutes the compound is set ablaze. It’s a mess but a well orchestrated one. Ghost holds comms with Graves and soon you’re leading Hassan in cuffs towards an armoured car.

“I am a Quds force Major! You have no right–!”

–“Shut the fuck up!” Soap interrupts, ramming him into the side of the vehicle as you open the door.

“You will pay dearly for this!” The Major growls and spits in your face and you flinch away with a scowl.

“Ok fuckass.” You call back, giving the door a hefty slam once Soap slides in beside him. Ghost rounds the car and sits on the other side as Alejandro greets Rodolfo with a grin. 

You’re left with the back to yourself and sit with your gun between your legs, eyes sharp and alert as they follow the landscape that flies through the back window. 

It’s dark by the time the convoy rolls to a stop beside Graves and his crew. The trucks converge on a centre point, headlights creating a bastardised spotlight where Alejandro forces Hassan to his knees. 

You stand beside to your Lieutenant, just out of view of the scuffed laptop Graves has set up to stream a visual to Laswell and Shepherd.

“You know we can’t hold him.” You murmur to Ghost who leans down, ear tilted towards you. 

He nods with a sigh, readjusting his grip on his rifle, “Shepherd and Laswell know that.”

“I know they know that –“ You gesture at the man who is currently taunting Hassan, a grin on his lips, –“but does Graves?”

The discussion becomes heated and Graves picks up the laptop before slamming is back down on the bonnet of the truck. 

“Actual, let me finish this.” He sounds like a schoolboy, eager to please his father.

“There’s nothing I would like more,” Shepherd drawls through the grainy screen, “But Laswell’s right. Without proof we need to turn him loose. See where he leads us.”

Soap lets out a frustrated growl, joining Graves by the laptop. “He’s right here, you can’t be serious!”

“I’m afraid I am, son.”

Ghost moves besides you and your eyes catch something reflecting in hands. You grab the phone from your Lieutenant and step forwards with a frown.

“Did we get anything from his phone?”

“Affirmative. We got a hit.” She says, eyes narrowed as smoke swirls around her, Illuminated in the blue glow of her laptop.

“Good.” Shepherd responds, “Now take him back and let him go.”

✧˚ · .

It’s past midnight when you roll into base. It feels like a failure, having to let the Major loose and the men stumble from the trucks into the barracks without the usual banter of a successful mission. 

As one of the few countries with women in the Special Forces, the base at Las Almas has a seperate wing – albeit small and unkept. The shower teeters between boiling hot and freezing cold but by the end you manage to pull the tangles from your hair. If you were allowed sweatpants while on missions you’d have pulled them on but instead you settle for a pair of grey cargos and a long-sleeve black shirt. 

Stuffing a couple of teabags into your pocket, you let your door click shut behind you and step cautiously into the hallway. 

“Rags?” 

You freeze at the voice of your Lieutenant. You turn to face him and he tilts his head, surveying you. 

“Where’re you headin’?”

You fumble with your pocket, pulling out the crumpled tea to show him. 

“A kitchen? And maybe a kettle.”

Ghost huffs out a laugh, eyes crinkling. He unfurls his palm towards you and you step closer to have a look at what he holds. Two camomile teabags sit perfectly in his hand; it’s as though he’s ironed them.

The kitchen isn’t far and he leads you inside, holding the door open as you pass. It’s warmly lit and smells of tobacco. A couple of glasses sir on the table alongside a deck of cards.

“Soap and Alejandro.” Ghost comments as he notices you inspecting the remnants of the game. “You just missed ‘em.”

You nod and come to stand beside him, arms crossed as you watch the kettle boil. A pale hand brushes your cheek and you meet Ghosts eyes in surprise.

“What’s this?’

You raise a hand and trace the cut lightly with your finger. His hand remains. “A rock or something, I think – not sure.”

He watches you carefully, as usual saying more with his eyes than he does with his mouth. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

“Hm?” 

He drops his hand from your cheek to the base of your neck where it meets your shoulder. You hesitantly meet his gaze.

“Rodriguez. It wasn’t your fault.” His eyes are soft and warm and full of understanding. 

It makes the beast of guilt inside you squirm and rear its head. You pull a lip between your teeth and hope it disguises the wobble that’s started. But you eyes sting all the same and you will the moisture gathering there to dissolve before he sees.

A thumb swipes across your cheekbone, however, and catches a tear you hadn’t realised escaped. He’s standing close to you now and you feel exhaustion surge like a wave.  Without thinking, your forehead drops forwards and thumps softly against his clavicle. You sniff, too tired to register the professional boundary that you may have just crossed but wasn’t that bridge burned long ago? 

A hand settles gently in your hair and you suck in a shaky breath, tears staining his navy shirt. He smells like deodorant and a hint of camomile lingers on the hand which cups the back of your head.

“I know it isn’t.” You say finally, sniffing again. “But it feels like it is.”

You pull away from him and his hand falls to rest on your shoulder.

“I had to push him off.” You swallow thickly, searching his eyes for something, anything, that will alleviate your pain. “I had to shove his body off the fucking cliff.”

Ghosts eyes mirror your own. “I know.”

You step away, shaking your head, and reach for the kettle,  needing something to occupy yourself with under his piercing gaze. 

“I know I didn’t pull the trigger. I know it could’ve been any of us but why him. Why there?” You’ve started crying again and tears run down your cheeks in streams. Your voice cracks. “Where he used to play as a child.”

Strong arms wrap around you as the world blurs; a large hand rubbing firm circles on your back as you gasp. “I know.” He whispers, chin settling on the crown of your head.

“It isn’t fair.”

“It isn’t.” He agrees. “It never is.”

“Why.” You demand, knowing how illogical and stupid the question sounds. But instead of laughing, the lieutenant presses his lips into your hair.

“I don’t know.”

✧˚ · .

Taglist

@crosshairs773fp @alanalanalanalanalanna @ghostlythots @hyperfixationwhore @shinebright2000 @sae1kie @hotaruteba @karurururu @rorel1a @http-paprika @thriving-n-jiving @lazybutsmexy @zozosrandomthings @jinxxangel13 @tumblinginoz @kee-0-kee @moonsua1 @freeseeker @kaoyamamegami @01trickster10

Reply if you want to be added :)

Masterlist

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

(Different anon from the one who asked the previous ask)

Expanding on the "finding the scary farmer passed out in a pond" prompt, how would the SVE bachelor/bachelorettes react to that? Plus Marlon if you want, because even though he's not a marriage candidate, I still love him a lot-

Hey hey 👋

I've... already done quite a few reblogs, so the post got lost 😅 (If anyone doesn't know for the first part, you can find it here). Thanks for the question, dear anon, and enjoy! 🫰

SVE bachelors/ettes + Marlon:

_________________________________________

Lance knows they may both be busy with work and adventurer duties, but Farmer said they'd be home today. They aren't. Finding his spouse wasn't difficult for Lance, but his heart trembled a little when he saw the state in which he caught sight of his beloved Farmer. Fortunately, the sudden awakening and outburst of aggression Lance was able to easily stop, but even though he seemed calm on the outside, inside his heart was pounding with worry. The most important thing now was to get them from this strange pond to their home, to heal their wounds.

Magnus is already checking the whole forest looking for Farmer, because they always came home on time from the forest. Today it didn't happen, and his clairvoyance skills don't show the location of his missing spouse anywhere. Fortunately, he can always ask the spirits, and they showed him the way to the pond, where he found them lying wet and unconscious, in mud and... blood?! Even though they were wounded, even though they had attacked Magnus - the main thing was that they were alive, so with a snap of his fingers the Wizard delivered himself and the Farmer to his tower. He would help them, and if someone or something had done this to Farmer, then let them start praying to Yoba...

Poor Victor asked all the inhabitants, but no one had seen Farmer all day. Concerned about the fate of his missing spouse, he called all the volunteers to start a search. When the search moved from Pelican Town to the woods, Victor came across them about twenty minutes later. Yoba, what happened! Why are they lying on the ground near the pond, wet and dirty? Before Victor could check on their condition, he had to jump back so his own spouse wouldn't hurt him. The poor man is frightened, and still, he take the Farmer in his arms and call loudly for help so that the other people would find him by his voice.

Sophia has a bad feeling about this. The farmer should have been back at her house a long time ago. She shouldn't be worried at all, but it's a bad feeling, just like when her parents... The girl decided to turn to Gus after all, he had gathered some people to search. Sophia, despite Gus's entreaties to stay, went along with the group. And she was the first to find the Farmer near the pond, and it was her heartbreaking scream that rang through the forest when the farmer suddenly lunged at her. Luckily the girl was unhurt, but she couldn't stop crying as something bad had happened to her favourite person...

In addition to the locals, Olivia wanted to call in a search party outside the Valley. Some might say the woman was overly worried, but she had every reason to be. The Farmer wasn't answering thier phone, the locals hadn't seen them, the time was already midnight, and that scared her. Finding them scared her more. Olivia, despite people urging her to remain calm, immediately ran over to her unconscious spouse lying there, and immediately fell over herself in surprise as they got up and pounced on her. The farmer fell senseless again, as did Olivia herself, shocked and horrified. But at least they were alive.

Claire didn't know the Valley well, as she had only recently moved in with her spouse, but her anxiety made her go in search of them. Farmer had promised to come, but they had not returned, and her heart was still pounding frantically. And that pounding became even stronger, ringing in her ears, when she found them. In a shallow pond that looked more like a puddle. They were lying there, covered in mud and something red (not the blood, please...), not moving. And then they got up abruptly - and ran towards the girl, who couldn't even make a sound out of horror. But they fell right at her feet, and Claire felt like she was going to faint as well. But she had to gather her strength and call for help.

It was not the first time the old one-eyed adventurer had found the Farmer lying face down in the mud, but this time was different.... Never had they been so far away from a human settlement, unconscious beside a shallow pond in which you could still drown if you weren't careful. And their sudden attack on Marlon almost made him pull his sword out of its sheath. Something's not right here, Marlon's gut tells him.... So this time he takes them not to the local doctor, but to Rasmodius. Marlon hopes that the old wizard/his colleague will help the young Farmer, whatever happens to them.

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER FORTY NINE → EYES CLOSED, HEAD FIRST, CAN’T LOSE

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. || masterlist || ocs moodboard

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

a/n: words cannot express my love for erica sinclair...

previous chapter ← → next chapter

They had absolutely no idea where they were going. The only thing Sunshine knew was that they certainly were heading straight into trouble with no other way out. Her neck hurt from how she slept slumped against Steve’s shoulder for only a couple of hours, and everyone else seemed to have just as uncomfortable slumber as herself. They had little to nothing on them. Dustin’s backpack had a couple of snacks, a few dollars, his walkie-talkie, and his tape recorder. Sunshine had no idea what Erica had in her backpack, but she doubted the younger girl had packed any survival items or weapons, considering she was ten and only planned to haggle ice cream out of Steve and Robin before going to her friends for a sleepover. None of them were prepared for whatever awaited them at the end of the hallway, if there even was an end. 

“You have to admit, as a feat of engineering alone this is impressive,” Dustin said, breaking the silence that had befallen the group a couple of minutes into their journey. 

“What are you talking about? It’s a total fire hazard,” Steve said. “There’s no stairs, no exit, just an elevator that drops you halfway to hell.” 

Erica shot them an unamused look over her shoulder. “They’re commies. If you don’t pay people, they’ll cut concerns.” 

“To be fair to our Russian comrades, I don’t think this tunnel was designed for walking.” Robin jumped into the conversation, picking at her nails as she kept her gaze forward at the expanse of the hall. Sunshine knew a nervous habit when she saw one. Robin hadn’t stopped picking at her nails since last night. They were red and looked on the urge of bleeding. Of course she was nervous, Sunshine thought, none of them signed up for this part of their ‘mission.’ And Robin, up until that moment, had lived a fairly normal life, free of life or death situations. Now she was stuck with three people who had encountered enough life-or-death situations for all five of them twice over. 

“Think about it,” Robin continued, rambling quickly. “They developed the perfect system for transporting that cargo. It all comes into the mall like any old delivery, they load it up onto those trucks, and nobody’s the wiser.” It was smart. The mall was the last place anyone would suspect any suspicious activity due to the constant crowd it drew in.

“You think they built this whole mall so that they could transport that green poison?” asked Steve. 

“I don’t think it’s poison,” Sunshine replied. She didn’t know what the green goo was, but it had to be something more important than poison. Whatever it was, was bad if it warranted such secretive transportation and heavy guard. 

Dustin nodded in agreement with Sunshine. “Yeah, I seriously doubt it's something that boring.” Steve scoffed but kept his lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s gotta be more valuable, like promethium or something.” The only person who knew what Dustin was talking about was Robin, who hummed in response. 

“Promethium?” Steve quirked a brow, waiting for an explanation. 

“It's what Victor Stone’s dad used to build Cyborg’s bionic and cybernetic components,” explained Robin, clearing absolutely nothing up. 

“You’re all so nerdy it's making me physically ill.” Erica placed a hand over her stomach and doubled over, pretending like she was going to be sick on her shoes. It made Sunshine smile, even in their disastrous situation. 

Sunshine hadn’t been around Erica much, not enough to get to know the girl, but she had heard Lucas complain about his little sister a million times over. She was spunky and amusing, and a little different than her brother but they looked too alike to mistake them as anything other than siblings. There was a signature Sinclair-determined glint that Sunshine saw in Erica’s eyes after she successfully crawled through the vent that she had seen mirrored in Lucas’s eyes a couple of times. They also resemble spitting images of their parents, sharing the same nose and shape eyes. Sunshine only wished she had the chance to get to know Erica under any kind of different circumstances. 

“No, no, no,” Steve protested. “Do not lump me in with them. I am not a nerd.”

“Why so sensitive Harrington?” asked Robin, teasingly. “Afraid of losing cool points to a child?” 

“No,” he scoffed. “I’m just saying that I don’t know jackshit about Prometheus.” 

“Promethium,” Dustin quickly corrected. “Prometheus is a Greek mythological figure, but whatever. All I’m saying is, whatever that stuff is, it’s probably being used to make something or power something.” 

“Like a nuclear weapon,” Robin wondered aloud. Sunshine bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, holding back worry that crawled up her throat. She did not want to believe they were heading towards any kind of weapon. The naive side of her brain wanted to believe that they’d stumble upon a door or a lost keycard and walk right out of the place as if they had never even been there in the first place. But the realistic half of her brain knew they would encounter some kind of trouble one way or another, and she needed to be ready for a fight.

“Great, so we may be walking toward a nuclear weapon.” Steve huffed. 

Robin stopped picking her nails and furrowed her brows, falling into what looked like deep thought. “I don’t get it, though. If they are building something, why here? Why Hawkins? At the very best we’re a toilet stop on your way to Disneyland.”

Sunshine, Steve, and Dustin faltered at Robin’s words, lingering just behind Robin and Erica as they continued wondering why anyone would do anything in Hawkins. They had no idea what had already happened in the town; the place was a nightmare hiding in plain sight; a little boring town that was home to slayed monsters and runaway experiments. There were only two reasons why anyone would be interested in Hawkins, and they went hand-in-hand. They’d only be interested if they knew what lurked beside them in another world not too unlike their own, and the place that opened the bridge between the two worlds. 

“Maybe you were right,” Dustin said, looking guiltily at Sunshine. 

“You think they might know about…” Steve trailed off because he didn’t need to finish his sentence for Sunshine and Dustin to know exactly what he was getting at. 

Sunshine felt her gut twist tighter into a knot. “They could.” She couldn’t imagine what would happen if anyone at all discovered the truth about the Upside Down, Russian or not. She didn’t know what they meant for them once they reached the end of the hall, or the world half a mile up. 

“So, it’s connected?” 

“Maybe,” she said. “The Lab, the Upside Down. One always leads back to the other and they both started here.” And it was supposed to be over. The Lab was shut down completely and El closed the Gate. It was supposed to be behind them. They seemed to be the only people who knew the ramifications of toying with something unstable as human experiments and other dimensions, and they had been the only ones to face the repercussions of the aftermaths. 

“I’m sorry,” Robin’s voice rang out as she and Erica turned around to look at the three of them. “Is there something you guys would like to share with the class?” None of them said anything, and luckily, they didn’t have to because Dustin’s walkie muttered from inside his backpack. 

Robin held the walkie close to her ear and repeated the words in English. “A trip to China sounds nice if you tread lightly.” Dustin’s eyes widened and brightened. “Wherever that broadcast is coming from, it’s close. And if there’s one thing we know about that signal…” 

“It can reach the surface!” Dustin gasped. With their small sliver of hope, they hurried down the hall as quickly as their feet could carry them. Sunshine wasn’t sure how long they ran, but eventually, they saw the end of the hall as it emptied out into a larger space. As it grew closer, voices grew louder. Sunshine managed to get to the front of the group, leading them without any idea of what they were heading into. 

A pair of people came into view with their backs to the group. They beelined behind a cluster of crates stacked high that shielded them from their view. Sunshine carefully peeked around the edge of the crate and waited until the pair disappeared around the corner. Once they were out of their sight for a minute or so, they quickly followed them, ducking and weaving to stay as hidden as they could until they came upon a sight she wasn’t sure any of them were expecting. 

The place was swarmed with Russians in military uniforms, speaking in their native tongue with guns slung over their shoulders. Others were dressed in familiar lab coats and held clipboards to their chests. A hand grabbed her arm as she gawked at the buzzing scene, pulling her down with the rest of the group behind another stack of crates. 

Being trapped inside the elevator was one thing, but the underground Russian base was a whole other predicament that exceeded whatever Sunshine had expected. They were five kids now trapped with dozens of foreign military officers and what looked like doctors and or scientists.

“I saw it,” Erica suddenly whispered, squished between Steve and Robin. “The comms room, I saw it.” 

“Are you sure?” Dustin asked. 

“Positive. The door was open for just a second, but I saw a bunch of lights and machines and shit in there.” 

Dustin looked unsure. “That could be a hundred different things.” 

“I’ll take those odds,” Robin said, looking between Sunshine and Steve like she was waiting for their input. 

“Me too,” agreed Sunshine. They couldn’t stay in their current spot without a certain risk of being caught. If they made it to the comms room, there was a chance they could reach someone on the surface who could help them or get help. 

Steve looked back and forth across the distance between them and the room, probably weighing their options before he came to a similar conclusion to Sunshine. “All right,” he agreed too. “We’re going to move fast and stay low.” 

Following Steve’s lead, they managed, by some miracle, to make it across the base and up a couple of steps to what Erica thought was the comms room. The door was on the verge of closing, as two people exited it and turned the opposite way of the group, and Steve grabbed a hold of it before it shut, holding it open so everyone could pile inside. The second Sunshine entered, she was greeted with an alarming sight; the room was still preoccupied. 

At the sound of their labored breathing and footsteps, the man seated at a desk turned around, staring at the group with as much confusion as they held looking at him. His arm moved downwards; his fingers inched toward his belt where a gun was holstered. She instantly shoved Erica and Dustin behind her and moved to do the same to Robin, but the girl bravely stepped forward. She started to recite broken Russian to the man, repeating the code, but he either didn’t understand or didn’t care. He spoke words that none of them knew and made a more obvious attempt to grab his gun. 

Before Sunshine had a chance to ignite the light in her palms, Steve let out a yell and charged straight for the soldier without the slightest hesitation. The man stumbled, taken by surprise just before Steve crashed into him, knocking both of them against the desk. The soldier shoved Steve off with a grunt and swung his fist, but Steve dodged it just before he delivered his own punch into the man’s gut. The soldier roared in anger and pain. He grabbed Steve by the collar of his work uniform and shoved him back into the desk. Steve’s back met it with what sounded like a painful thud. Sunshine readied to intervene, but Steve grabbed a hold of the phone that sat on the desk and swung it hard, bringing it down against the man’s face. The hit was enough to send the soldier down, smacking his head against the corner of the desk and knocking him out cold.

They stood in stunned silence, flickering their stares between the passed-out soldier and a breathless Steve.

Dustin pushed out from behind Sunshine’s outstretched hands and smiled in disbelief. “Dude, you did it! You won a fight!” 

A small smirk formed on Steve’s lips. He wiped a couple of beads of sweat from his face and leaned back against the desk. Sunshine stepped forward, looking Steve over for any injuries. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” he breathed out, looking rather happy with himself. 

Dustin ripped the keycard from the Russian’s belt and held it between his fingers triumphantly. “Now we’ve got a way out of here.” Erica and Dustin quickly began to bicker over their next best course of action, while Steve tried to mediate. Sunshine had noticed Robin slipping away, entranced by a staircase just to the side of the room they were in. An odd glow painted the staircase and Robin approached it with curiosity. Sunshine followed her, in case any more trouble waited at the top, but they were only met with another closed door that held a small window that allowed bright blue light to pour through and spill onto the stairs. 

The glow was more than unnatural. It caused goosebumps to rise on Sunshine’s arms and the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. She and Robin exchanged a look before she called down to the others. “Guys! There’s something up here!” 

☀☀☀

Steve should have kept a list of every perceptive-shattering thing he had witnessed in his short lifetime so far. Monsters with endless rows of jagged teeth, his childhood best friend returning to him in the very woods she was lost in ten years prior, possession, superpowers, and the list went on and on. And Steve knew about the Gate, the portal-like thing that was a doorway into another freaking dimension- an evil one at that. But seeing it in person, the gigantic rip in the fabric of their universe, was something he couldn’t process, let alone the fact that he was seeing it inside an underground Russian military base that had set up operation underneath the mall he had been working at all summer. It was unreal, impossible even. 

But through two glass panels, they all saw it just past a large control room. A bright beam of blue light was shot through the gaping wound of their world, and the Gate pulsed to life. Steve’s mind couldn’t think of anything other than the fact that it was bad; really, really, really bad. 

“This cannot be happening again,” Sunshine mumbled, stumbling back from the glass with her head in her hands. She wore a similar expression to Steve and Dustin, something filled with a mix of panic and worry as they processed the implications of what the Russians had done, what they could have potentially released. 

“I don’t understand,” Robin said. “You’ve seen this before?” To her and Erica, Hawkins was as normal as any old town in America, but it was anything but that.

“Not exactly,” Steve replied. 

“Then what, exactly?” 

Dustin took off down the stairs and everyone followed suit. “All you need to know is that this is bad. I’m talking end of the human race as we know it kind of bad.”

“And if the Gate has already been opened, it’s safe to assume that something’s already come out it,” Sunshine added. 

Great, Steve thought, more monsters. He was getting really sick and tired of monsters. 

“Yeah, and we know who they’ll go after.” Dustin looked over his shoulder at Sunshine as fear for all of his friends up on the surface flashed across his boyish face. They needed to get the hell out of there, and fast, to warn the others if they didn’t already know. 

When they reached the comms room again, Erica stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide. “Um, Steve? Where’s your friend?” She pointed to the spot on the floor where the soldier had just been lying, but the man was nowhere to be seen. And as if on cue, an alarm began to blare throughout the base, alerting an entire army that something was wrong; they were what was wrong, and they all stuck out like five sore thumbs. 

Cursing under his breath, Steve cracked the door they entered through and peered outside. A series of soldiers stood not far and in the middle of the group was the man Steve had knocked out. His eyes darted to the cracked door, pointing and yelling in Russian as Steve slammed the door shut. 

“We’ve gotta go!” he yelled as heavy footsteps approached the door, and without wasting another second, they took off and headed back up the stairs. Bathed in blue light, Dustin shoved the door to the control room open, despite it being full of people. They looked a little less threatening in that they weren’t soldiers but rather some kind of Russian scientists or doctors that decided to fuck up Hawkins even more than it already was. But the soldiers were close behind them, and Steve knew they needed to hurry. He spotted another door on the opposite side of the room and ushered the group towards it. 

The door led out onto a platform that sat smack dab in front of the Gate. The drill-like contraption that was being used to keep the Gate open was so loud that it rattled Steve’s bones. It spun quickly, shooting the beam of blue light into the fleshy rip on the wall. 

They were in the worst possible place in the entire lab, standing beside a high-powered weapon that opened something that they had no business messing with. Steve gripped the railing tightly and scanned the area for another quick escape route. Soldiers flooded out of the same door they had left from and rushed toward them just as Steve spotted a ladder a couple of feet away. He led the way, climbing down first to make sure no one was waiting for them at the bottom before he started to help the others down. 

One by one they scrambled down the ladder, ending with Sunshine, who Erica reattached herself to once her feet hit the ground. Steve was even more horrifying aware that they dragged a ten-year-old into the base. If they made it out of there, Mrs. Sinclair was going to have his head, that was for sure. 

They sprinted away from the Gate but were met with another group of soldiers that ran towards them from down a hall. Steve braced himself before he slammed up against a stack of empty barrels that were lined up against the wall, sending them crashing down and obstructing the soldiers' path just slightly, buying the group just enough time to put some distance between them and the men. 

Robin shoved open the first door they came to, which they were lucky enough to find empty. There was nothing inside besides a ventilation system and a couple of mundane-looking control panels. Once they all piled inside, Steve slammed the door shut and pressed his back against it just as fists pounded on the other side. They were grossly outnumbered. Both Sunshine and Robin joined him at the door, trying to prevent the soldiers from entering while Dustin and Erica removed the grate to the vent in the floor that was wide enough for a body to squeeze through. 

Dustin looked expectantly over at the teens as he said, “Come on, let's go!” But none of them moved, they couldn’t. The second any one of them took their weight off the door, the soldiers would enter. There was no way in hell was going to let Dustin and Erica be caught; that was completely out of the question. 

“Just get out of here!” Steve said through gritted teeth, trying to keep his hold on the door as more bodies on the other side beat against it. 

Dustin shook his head. “Come on, you guys! Now! We have to go!” 

Sunshine managed to meet Dustin’s panicked gaze with a soft one like she wasn’t talking to some smart-ass but rather a terrified kid who found himself in yet another terrifying situation. “Dustin, you need to leave. Take Erica and go get us help, okay?” She tried to hold her voice steady, but Steve heard worry slip through its cracks. 

“N-No! Guys-” 

“Dustin, please go!” she pleaded. “I will keep them safe; I promise, I’ll keep them safe. But you have to go and warn the others. Tell Hopper we need help. He’ll know what to do. We will be okay.” 

Dustin hesitated, but by the look on his face, he put his faith in Sunshine. He and Erica climbed down into the vent and disappeared from their view. It was just the three of them left, holding the door as it started to slip from their grasp and crack open. It didn’t take much longer for the people on the other side to overpower the three of them. The force of the soldiers entering knocked Steve and Robin off of their feet, but Sunshine managed to keep herself upright. 

There was a look in her narrowed eyes that Steve recognized almost immediately, knowing what she was about to do. His mouth went dry and any words he wanted to yell left him in a panic. He didn’t even have time to call out her name before more soldiers flooded into the room with their weapons raised. And like a strike of a match, light bloomed to light in Sunshine’s hands, freaking out the soldiers and distracting them just enough for her to attack first. She outstretched her arms as quick flashes of light filled the room, stinging Steve’s eyes. He looked away for only a second, listening to the sound of screams and guns clattering against the concrete floor. Some of the men fell alongside their guns, clutching their hands to their eyes as their faces contorted in pain. 

But there were far too many of them. Steve and Robin were utterly useless, watching from the ground. At the sound of their comrades' screams, more men filed into the room and drastically outnumbered Sunshine in the confined place. Too many bodies moved in a sea of uniforms and Sunshine’s fighting became frantic and uncoordinated as she tried to aim away from Steve and Robin. He knew she didn’t want to hurt them, but she couldn’t do that and fight the soldiers.

Before he knew what was happening, the butt of a gun was slammed down hard against the back of Sunshine’s head. Even in the commotion, he heard the sick ‘crack’ of her skull, met with a scream that tore through Robin’s lips. 

Sunshine hit the ground at his feet, but just out of his reach. 

Steve’s heart leaped into his throat along with a strangled gasp. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t have his bat or a single thing to fight with. 

Two soldiers reached down and roughly grabbed Sunshine by the arms, hauling her limp figure upwards. Steve found his voice as a gut-wrenching fear drenched him from head to toe. “Let go of her!” he screamed, trying to reach her through the mess of soldiers who all pointed their weapons at him. He didn’t care; all of his focus was on Sunshine as she was dragged away. “Don’t touch her!” Before he could scramble back to his feet, another soldier raised his weapon and brought it down against his head. Black dots swarmed his vision as Robin screamed again. He mumbled Sunshine’s name before the world around him grew dark, and then vanished. 

Tagged (lmk if you'd like to be added :) ) @sattlersquarry , @leptitlu , @drunkengodsofslaughter

[imagines-to-quench-thirst]

Hi I was wondering if you could do a Victor creed x female reader where reader is a mutant just like Victor but she has the same type of abilities as he does and this is like a love story filled with fluff and smut and Victor and reader both get married after dating and have six kids three boys and three girls and they end up having mutant abilities just like their parents if this isn't too troubling for you I understand 🥰 thank you and have a wonderful day

5 Times In Time

→pairing: Victor Creed x fem!reader

→warnings: 18+ SMUT at the end, some swear words

→notes: I took a different turn with the stories but stillllll, i didn't think it would be this long, enjoy

1 Meeting him

The battlefield was scattered throughout the country. No man, woman, child, or mutant was saved from the extreme pain the villains brought upon the doomed world, even without their help. The fire rained upon Y/N skin, burning like a slight ticket to the mutant skin capable of healing every would that touched her skin. Her nails extend far beyond imagined for the average human as she runs, jumps, and kicks her enemies while leaving no head attached to the shoulders. Her eyes landed on the famous cyclops and his partner as they huddled to talk about a newly formed plan which Y/N did not know yet. 'Y/N, there's new help coming in.' Cycopls said while his red-glasses covered eyes scanned the enemies' how many?!' she waited impatiently for the answer, his pointer and middle finger shooting up '2.' he replied, 'what?! There's no way only two people will help with hoards and hoards of monsters?!' 'believe me, those two will.' behind them, the now well-known Wolverine ran towards them, followed by a black-coated figure, his claws bouncing off the red glow of the fiery skin. 'who the fuck is that?!' Y/N shouts, her anger raging. The two muscled men stop their huffs loud and heavy. 'the names Victor darlin. don't use it too much now.' with an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes, Y/N felt the same glimmer glaze in her eyes.

2 Kiss kiss

'Victor…Victor…Victor…Victor…Victor…Victor!!!' Y/N shouted in the mansion, looking for the clawed fella. Her steps throttled on the expensive white marble, her eyes locking onto the most miniature scene of a black coat disappearing into the nearest hallway. Her feet took a strong left into the hallway seeing the cool-as-ice mutant leaning on the wall, one foot up on the wall, arms crossed, and his gaze on her. 'why didn't you respond to my calling?' she huffed, inching closer within arm's reach. 'I wanted to hear you use my name, little cat.' his tongue stayed longer on the cat, making it a strong 'tt' sound, irritating her ears. 'I told you don't call me that.' 'But you have no hero name, little cat. What should I call you then.' 'My name…Y/N.' she paused, feeling his hand grab hers, gently pulling her closer to him. 'You are cute when you huff and puff, similar to the wolf from little red riding hood.' Victor whispered, his lips staying on her right ear 'the wolf ate the grandma and little red. I did not eat anyone.' she responded, her hands staying on his muscular chest, feeling his heart beating steadily. 'Can I eat you?' he pulls back his lips in a wickedly naughty smile uncovering his white beastly teeth. 'We can make a deal. We are both reasonable, right?' y/n answered with a question, feeling a strong urge to kiss his lips. inching closer and closer their lips…'No kissing!' a voice erupted. The pair turned to see a small, mean student looking at them both. Victor turns to his girl and says loud enough. 'Y/N, what's the time?' ' 1 pm. Why?' looking back at the kid, he answers, 'Lunchtime.' The child's eyes open in shock, running to get cover and leaving the couple alone again as they continue their interrupted moment.

3 I wanna make it pop, pop

'Vic, come on, we are late. We will miss it.' y/n shouted at the mutant as she stood at the top of the hill, waiting for her protector to catch up with her. 'Darlin, you may be younger, but I am over 134 years old. I am an old man. Give me a break!' he retorted as he finally reached her. huffing out, Y/N sits on the blanket, pulls the man down, and sits next to each other 'If we missed it, you are sleeping on the couch for the next five weeks, no negotiation.' 'it's just fireworks!' 'Yeah, but it's only once a year, and I haven't seen it live yet. I want to see it with you.' Victor leans on her, his hands caressing her tight 'Is that so?' 'Not going to work, Creed. Now stop. It's starting.' The frameworks sound first and pop off the explosion of colors, sizes, and shapes. The midnight sky colors itself with the iridescent light sparks letting the people and mutants below enjoy the view that was present once a year. Victor stops to gaze at the sky and looks at his love, her eyes mirroring the scene unfolding between them, his heart rumbling and talking to him in the form of a robust crescendo-like heartbeat rhythm. His hands find the back pocket, and he presents it to her. She looks down for a wink and witnesses a ring. she looks at him, her gaze holding thousands of questions. 'I wanted to pop this question from the moment I kissed you. What do you say, little cat? Can I call you my wife?' 'Only if I can call you daddy in 9 months.' she pulls his hand, letting it rest on her stomach. 'You just made me the happiest in all my lifetime.'

4 2+1=4?

'I am not popping any more kids for you, Creed. The twins are more than enough!' Victor laughed at his wife's statement walking closer to her and pecking her expecting lips. 'However, will I change your mind, my little cat?' Punching his chest, she answers, 'By stopping calling me little cat, I am your wife, call me appropriately.' 'You have a punch…wife. But still, the twins are now 3, and we might as well have at least one more kid so they can have each other to lean on.' 'Are you talking about your kids? the same ones that ate sand yesterday! Those are your stupid gens. I will die happily enough knowing that they will learn how to use scissors not and adequately stab each other. Plus, I was delivering them for …' '12 hours. I know I was there with you every second of it. I messaged your stomach, was there when you had contractions, and fed you.' He cut her off, holding his stance towards his love. 'Congrats, you did the bare minimum while I was doing the most brutal stuff ever.' 'You really are something, wife. So feisty and stubborn.' he leans down to kiss her forehead, his hands caressing her back. 'I do love that. Especially in the bedroom.' his voice purred, and Y/N felt her knees go weak at the sounds. 'Well, I guess… maybe one more could be good…' she whispered, her cheek heating up.

5 Home Run

The bed creaked, and the sound of harsh skin slapping was heard. Y/n's head was on the pillow, her teeth biting the plush material, her hands holding onto the sheets as her mate rutted in her. His hips snapped back and forward, his pace slowly getting sloppier and slower, finishing in her. Victor looks at his woman, her skin, her eyes watering, and her lisp so damn kissable. Leaning down, he steals kisses from her, his tongue playing with hers as he massages her stomach, pulling slowly out. 'You think this is it?' he hushed; Y/N chuckled. 'Well, even if it didn't, I would mind repeating this. You always get so possessive when you want to breed me.' 'Have you seen yourself, pretty girl? That's the effect you have on me, and there is no medicine for it but just to fuck you and breed you.' Y/N looked at her big bad wolf, kissing his lips, her hands trailing all over his chest and arms, stopping at his left hand on the wedding band. 'You promised, remember?' 'You think I would break my promise to you? Never, I will kiss, lick, protect and fuck you until the end, sweetheart.' 'Damn right.'

If you like it, let me know.

[cookstorys]

Moonlight

Character: Felix

Show : Love, Victor

Warning : Its supposed to be cute but sorry if it came out cringy 😭

—————————————————————————————————————

The moon shined above as you walked Felix back to his apartment building. You both decided to take the rather long way since you didn’t mind each other’s presence. “So you and Victor? You guys have been getting pretty close lately.” You nudged. “Yeah, we have but we don’t see each other like that. At least I don’t think?” He questions. You laughed at his utter stupidity. “Felix I’m just kidding. If Victor liked you I’m sure he would’ve kissed you on the faris wheel by now.” Felix laughed at the obvious tease. “Stop asshole, that’s my friend you’re talking about. So what if the whole thing was kinda rom-com-ish” He playfully hits your arm smiling. As if on queue, silence fell between the two of you again.

As you walk the sidewalk you notice the slight shiver Felix tried to ignore. “You cold?” You asked the fluffy-haired boy. “Yeah, I’m fine just a tad bit chilled.” He smiled shaking a little. “Felix, here. You’re gonna freeze out here love.” You commented, quickly taking off your jacket to put it on him. The jacket fitted him loosely and oversized but neither of you mind, you found him fairly adorable in bigger clothes, specifically yours. Felix was too stunned to even react, ‘love’. Words like that were commonly used by you regularly. ‘Babes, you’re embarrassing yourself.’ , ‘no love.’ Felix had gotten pretty comfortable with the words of affection but this time it felt different. This time his heart jumped out of his chest, his palms were starting to sweat, and he couldn’t control the urge to hold back his toothy smile.

“Thank you [Name].” Felix smiled, praying that the oversized fabric covered most of his blushing face. The attempt was cute but you could still see the heat starting to spread across his cheeks. However, you chose to ignore it for his sake. “So, how’s your mom?” You were questioning if you should ask or not but chose to ask. “She’s good, she decided to take her depression more seriously and just checked into a hospital. So, I should get to see her in about a month or two, depending on her progress.” You were beyond happy with the news. You and Felix were childhood best friends, you knew Felix’s mom way before the depression, even before his father’s death. So to hear that his mother was finally getting the help she not only needed but deserved was amazing. “Felix that’s fucking amazing.” Felix nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

10 minutes later you found yourselves in front of Felix’s apartment building, grinning awkwardly at each other. “I hope you had fun tonight, I had to fight a very aggressive old man for those tickets.” Felix laughed, genuinely intrigued about the situation. “I did! I���m happy all your hard work wasn’t in vain.”

“Well, I’m happy you had fun.” You smiled. This was always the awkward part, the departure. “Well, I guess I should get inside now. Here’s your coat.” Felix was in the process of taking his coat off but you chose to stop him. “Keep it, you look cuter in it than me.” Felix blushed at the statement. The moon’s light illuminated your eyes, making most of your small features stand out. For example, your lips. He really couldn’t stop looking at your lips and how amazing it’ll be to kiss them. Meanwhile, you were having the same thought. Felix looked stunning in the light, his eyes met yours and you could tell both of you were sharing the same thought.

Your hand found its way to the side of his face pulling him closer until your lips finally met his. They move perfectly together as if they were made for this. As the kiss deepened, you pulled away. “You’re a really good kisser.” Felix smiled still hypnotized by the taste of your lips on his. “You’re the one to talk.” You both laughed. Felix pulled out his keys and rushed up the outdoor steps as you watched. “You coming in or what?” He giggled to which you quickly caught on and ran after him

[myreygn]

Peekaboo!

summary: Phichit visits Yuuri in Hasetsu and it brings back memories from Chicago. Memories, a catchphrase, and something else.

an: my second commission for @wertzunge 💛 thank you so much for commissioning, i apologize for the wait and i hope you like it!

wordcount: 1380

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

“He has a very cute accent” is the only thing Mari has to say when Phichit retreats to his room to freshen up a little after the long flight. When Yuuri asks her if that's all, she shrugs and lights herself a cigarette.

Yuuri doesn't know why he's surprised at her lack of enthusiasm; it's not like she's usually a bundle of energy. Maybe he expected things to be a little more exciting, because Phichit is visiting his family’s hot spring for the first time and that’s a special occasion, but he soon realizes how ridiculous that thought is. Phichit isn't a celebrity. Phichit is Phichit, his friend, whether they're in the USA or in Japan or anywhere else in the world. And his family doesn't do a happy dance, but his parents are as friendly as always and Mari even offers Phichit a smile when he returns from his room (maybe she does it to appease her brother, but it doesn't matter, because a smile from Mari is a high honor whatever the circumstance).

The whole visit is nothing special, in the best way possible. They talk like always, they laugh like always and even though Phichit runs through town like an excited tourist, they visit Yuuri’s favorite places just like they visited places back in America. Skating in the ice rink is more fun than usual, but it’s no different from skating with Phichit in Chicago and Yuuri catches himself thinking how much he missed his friend at the most random moments.

“Phichaboo!”

He for sure didn’t miss this.

“Stop it! Don’t say that!” Yuuri giggles softly at the sight of Phichit emerging from the water, shouting his stupid little catchphrase. He remembers his first evening in Chicago when he was sitting on a bench alone and this smiley Thai boy appeared behind him out of nowhere with a happy ‘Phichaboo’ and nearly gave Yuuri a heart attack. The little wordplay was fine and funny enough as an icebreaker early into their friendship and Yuuri honestly thought it was really cool of Phichit to just walk up to a stranger and say something so silly. The problem is that Phichit just won’t stop saying it.

“Why though? It’s my thing!” Phichit grins. “I don’t ask you to stop talking about Victor all the time, do I?”

“Talk about- talking about Victor is not my thing!” Yuuri feels his face burn and he has to fight the overwhelming urge to descend into the water when his friend giggles softly. “And even if it was, at least it’s not as annoying as having your own version of Peekaboo!”

Phichit mock-gasps, pushing a good amount of water straight into Yuuri’s face - luckily, they have the hot spring to themselves, otherwise this probably would’ve thrown a very unprofessional light on the Katsuki family. Not that Phichit cares about such banalties as professionality. (Not that he’s wrong to not care. Yuuri often wishes he could do that.) “Annoying?!”

Right now, he wishes that Phichit would never leave again. Damn, he missed this.

“Would something annoying make you laugh like this?!”

He for sure didn’t miss this.

“Stahap!” An embarrassing squeak escapes his mouth and Yuuri frantically grabs his friend’s wrists, pushing them away from his tummy. “Don’t tickle me!” Okay, he’s lying. He did miss this, a little bit, but still!

Phichit laughs and obeys, but there’s a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Tickling has always been a way for him to calm Yuuri down during their time in Chicago. Too many new people at once? A few subtle pokes to his midsection to keep him in the here and now. A failed jump during practice and negative feedback from the coach? Some squeezes to the hips never hurt nobody. Just a rough day in general? Time for a full on tickle attack once back in the dorm! And similar to the catchphrase, which Yuuri at this point refuses to even think, there’s no stopping Phichit, even after being friends for quite some time now.

“You’re so childish!” he mumbles, hugging his torso and playfully glaring at Phichit.

“That’s bold coming from someone who blushes when I say ‘Phichaboo, here comes the tickle monster’.”

Enough.

“AIEE- Yuhurihihie!”

Yuuri just smirks and continues to squeeze up and down his friend's sides, making him cackle. He has always known that Phichit is ticklish too; a poke here and there has showed him, but really tickling him… it just never came up. And at least in the beginning of their friendship, Yuuri admits to himself, he was too shy to initiate something like that. But now? Oho. Payback time!

“Eek! Yuuhuri! Whyhyhye?!”

“Why?! You made fun of me!” Yuuri mock-gasps and scribbles over his friend's tummy. “How very dare you!”

“Buhut you cahahalled mehe chihildish! Ahand I sahahaw you bluhush, so I juhust said the truhUTHAHAHA!”

“Good spot, huh?” Another squeeze to Phichit's hips, drawing a loud cackle from him. Yuuri grins. Why deny it, he's having fun with this! Especially because Phichit has only squeaked and giggled up until now, which is cute and all, but not really what Yuuri was looking for. Now, he's found the spot to get real, full-blown laughter out of Phichit. Real, full-blown, incredibly infectious laughter. Yuuri has to really keep it together so he doesn't giggle alongside him - Phichit would tease him endlessly about it!

Apropos teasing…

“Peekayuu, here comes the tickle monster!” Gosh, it even makes him blush when he says it himself, but it's totally worth it for Phichit's indignant squeak. He resorts to tickling his friend's sides again so he can speak.

“Nohoho! Thahahahat's my cahahahatchphrahahase! Yohou cahan't hahahahave it!”

“What are you talking about? I've never heard you say Peekayuu before. You always said… ah, damn, I forgot. Oh well, let's just use my version from now on.”

“Lehehet's nohot! It's PhichahAAH!”

Yuuri can't help it, he just has to laugh with Phichit when his hands find his hips once again in order to prevent him from finishing the sentence. (Mainly though in order to hear these endearing cackles again, who is he kidding.)

He only stops when Phichit taps his wrist - a signal they established back in Chicago to signal that one (Yuuri) has reached his limit. Yuuri immediately takes his hands off amd even though Phichit's eyes are shimmering with obvious joy, an anxious feeling creeps into his chest. What if that was too much? What if he has overwhelmed Phichit? What if he's mad at him? What if-

Phichit interrupts his spiraling train of thought by splashing water into his face and when Yuuri looks at him, he's laughing. (He's laughing. That's good. They're good.) “You’re unbelievable! First you tickle me, then you steal my catchphrase! What's next, do I have to sleep on the street now?” Phichit tries to make an angry face, but the twitching of the corners of his mouth betrays him. “The audacity!”

Yuuri feels like a heavy weight is being lifted off his chest and he allows himself a little smirk. “I just felt like you needed to pay a price for the time in Chicago. And also a lesson on catchphrases.”

“A lesson?! Phichaboo is perfect!”

“Peekayuu sounds better though.”

“Maybe in the ears of an amateur!”

“Okay, okay.” Yuuri grins and gives Phichit a pat on the back. “How about Phichayuu? As a compromise?”

“That’s an entirely new word, I don't know if- okahay, okay!” Phichit swats Yuuris fingers away before they can wiggle into his side more. “Phichayuu is okay.”

They both laugh, then Phichit smiles at Yuuri. “Can I be honest for a second? I'm really happy that you were confident enough to tickle me.”

“Huh?!” Yuuri feels his face flush and the look he gives Phichit must look absolutely dumbfounded, because it makes his friend snort with amusement. “W-why?”

“Because it shows me that you feel comfortable and safe with me, so, thank you!” Before Yuuri can respond, Phichit's genuine smile morphs into a wicked smirk. “Also, it means we can have equal tickle fights now and be silly and have fun!”

“Didn't we have fun before?!” Yuuri squeaks and Phichit laughs.

“More fun!”

More fun. More fun sounds good. Yuuri looks at Phichit's wide smile and smiles back. He missed this.

[vickyvicarious]

WE had resolved not to go to London, but to cross the country to Portsmouth, and thence to embark for Havre. I preferred this plan principally because I dreaded to see again those places in which I had enjoyed a few moments of tranquillity with my beloved Clerval. I thought with horror of seeing again those persons whom we had been accustomed to visit together, and who might make inquiries concerning an event, the very remembrance of which made me again feel the pang I endured when I gazed on his lifeless form in the inn at ----.

As for my father, his desires and exertions were bounded to the again seeing me restored to health and peace of mind. His tenderness and attentions were unremitting; my grief and gloom was obstinate, but he would not despair. Sometimes he thought that I felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.

1818

The voyage came to an end. We landed and proceeded to Paris. I soon found that I had overtaxed my strength, and that I must repose before I could continue my journey. My father's care and attentions were indefatigable; but he did not know the origin of my sufferings, and sought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill. He wished me to seek amusement in society. I abhorred the face of man. Oh, not abhorred! they were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt attracted even to the most repulsive among them as to creatures of an angelic nature and celestial mechanism. But I felt that I had no right to share their intercourse. I had unchained an enemy among them, whose joy it was to shed their blood and to revel in their groans. How would they, each and all, abhor me, and hunt me from the world, did they know my unhallowed acts and the crimes which had their source in me!

My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society, and strove by various arguments to banish my despair. Sometimes he thought that I felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.

1831

The difference between the different versions of Henry's letters comes in here. In 1818, he'd been eager to plan where to go next with Victor, and now Victor can't bear the thought of seeing where they had visited together. Meanwhile, Alphonse is admittedly trying his best to cheer up his son who is lost in frightening grief and despair, and even (it must seem to him) madness.

In 1831, their travels home have been in a different direction and so the Henry-specific avoidance is no longer a factor. But instead there's a lengthy and frankly astonishingly out-of-touch version of Alphonse trying to get Victor out to socialize with people. I think this was done with the intention of establishing another parallel between Victor and the Creature - he fears society "each and all" abhorring and hunting him from the world, which is exactly the reception the Creature has faced since his birth. Similarly, Victor's mixture of abhorrence/feeling drawn to even the most repulsive of them (and his phrasing "fellow-creatures" to ensure the comparison is on your mind) reflect the Creature's anger towards, yet longing for, society and humanity.

So I get why it's here, but the way Victor's father pushes so hard for this showcases such a blatant lack of understanding of his son that it's a bit surprising to find in the 1831 version. Don't get me wrong, it's not like he understands Victor more in that version, but in general the family conflicts have been smoothed over a lot, and so having his determined efforts to comfort Victor replaced with him urging his son to get out and about here is a weird switch. Similarly, in 1831 he seems to try to "argue" Victor out of his despair, when in 1818 he just tried his best to give him tenderness and attention. Of course, in both versions he jumps to 'your pride has been hurt by being falsely accused', which is a bonkers assessment of Victor's mental state, so. You know, 1818 Alphonse is by no means perfect here.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Freaks and Geeks: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

The kids are reluctant, but they listen to you. Mostly out of fear of what you'll do to them if they don't listen, but they obey nonetheless. The drive back to Victor's house is tense and awkward, but you make it in record time. The second you step foot into the house, you know something is wrong.

"Hey, we're home," Dean says.

You look to the left and see Sam tied up, Victor standing with a gun pointed at you and Dean, and the vampire in the hoodie behind him. He smiles and shows off his vampire fangs, immediately putting everyone on alert. Sam shakes his head silently, and you glare at Victor. You'd use your magic to fight him off, but you're scared of what can happen to the kids.

"What is going on here?" Josephine asks.

"These two are not to be trusted. They're trying to destroy us."

"Do you know this vamp, Victor?" Aiden asks.

"Of course he does! They're working together!" Sam urges.

"Is that true?"

"It's complicated," Victor sighs.

"Actually, it's not. See, blue van here's been turning fresh vamps and setting them up for you kids as easy kills," Dean glares.

"Why?"

"They didn't kill our families, did they?"

"No."

"Who did?"

"I did," the vampire smirks. "They all screamed and begged for mercy, especially the little ones."

"Enough, Seth!" Victor hisses. "You have to understand. I saw a way to make the future better. To get there, I had to do something hard."

"He killed them off your orders?" Krissy asks.

You look at Sam who is trying to get out of his restraints. One of your hands is hidden from the view of Victor and Seth, so blues magic mists around your hand. The rope around Sam's hand begins to loosen, and he looks at you when he feels them move. You loosen it enough so he can get out of it on his own.

"You needed motivation. I scouted each and every one of you, and knew it was the only way to get you to hunt."

"So you killed our families?" Aiden asks emotionally.

"I know, the deaths are tragic, but think of all the future lives that will now be saved because you are now together."

"So, these fake vampires were just a way for you to train us and fill our heads with lies?!" Krissy asks angrily.

"Don't you see? This is bigger than all of us. We have to learn to put things in perspective. Come with me. We can get past this."

Victor tosses his gun to the couch as a way to represent a truce. Dean is just looking for an opportunity to use his gun, but it's not now. Krissy and her friends have already made their decision as soon as Victor opened his mouth.

"No."

"That is unfortunate."

Victor looks at Seth, and the vampire grabs the kid closest to him which happens to be Aiden. As soon as Aiden's life is in danger, your maternal instincts take over. Magic explodes all around you, stopping the effects of time. Dean reaches into his pocket to use his gun, and he freezes when he has the gun halfway out of his jacket. Sam just got the ropes off, so he barely got out of his chair. Krissy and Josephine didn't have time to react just yet. Aiden looks scared for his life. Seth's vampire teeth are out.

You're careful not to touch anyone as you make your way over to Aiden and Seth. Your magic is sucked back into you and time resumes, and that's when the chaos happens. Aiden jumps from you being so close to him, and Seth opens his mouth to bite the kid. You grab Aiden's shoulder and push him out of the way before using your other hand to swipe across his neck. You let your magic slice through his flesh and bone until he's dead.

You turn to face Krissy and Victor when Krissy shoots one of her deadly darts at you. Thank God you have your magic or else you wouldn't have caught the dart. The pointy end of the dart is inches from your face, but you caught it nonetheless.

Krissy's eyes went wide at Seth on the ground, dead, and you with the dart in your hand, but she doesn't dwell on that for long. You reach out for Josephine, and despite both her and Aiden being scared of you earlier, they comply with your unspoken order.

"Stay behind me," you say and shine your eyes brightly, keeping both kids behind you and under your protection.

With Seth out of the way, Krissy takes out a small handgun and points it at Victor while Dean takes out his own gun and points it at Victor. You want to intervene, but this is Dean's moment with Krissy.

"Krissy, don't."

"If we want revenge for our families' deaths, he gives it to us!" she says emotionally.

"We don't kill people. You don't kill people," he says gently.

"He's not a person. He's a monster."

Krissy takes a few steps to Victor, and he backs up slowly until he falls to his knees in surrender.

"Krissy, this is where you determine who you are. Do you want to be a hunter or a monster like Victor?" you ask.

Krissy cocks her gun, and so Dean lowers his own and steps towards the young girl.

"Krissy, don't," he whispers.

"This is for my dad." She pulls the trigger, but there are only blanks in the gun. Victor doesn't know this, and he flinches at the sound. "For Josephine's family." She pulls the trigger again. "For Aiden." Again. "For me."

At each blank round being fired, Victor becomes more and more distraught thinking he is going to die the next time she pulls the trigger. When Krissy is done, she drops the bullets that weren't loaded into the gun. She drops them next to Victor's head as he sobs.

"So, we're just gonna let him live?" Aiden asks.

The light in your eyes dies down when you know Victor is not a threat to the kids anymore.

"Yeah," Krissy answers. "All alone with himself. No family. No friends. If you ask me, that's not much of anything." She turns to Dean with a determined look. "Let's save that girl."

While Victor is sobbing on his hands and knees, he reaches into his sock and pulls out an even smaller gun than Krissy's. Before anyone has a chance to do anything, he puts the gun to his head and pulls the trigger.

This time, he dies.

You can't say you're shocked.

You stayed with the kids while Sam and Dean rescued the girl who had not yet fed. She is confused and scared, but Dean makes the concoction that will help her turn back to human. All three kids take care of her until Dean pulls Krissy to the side. The young woman is quiet and confused, but she listens to your instructions and drinks.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I scared you earlier," you say to Josephine and Aiden.

"It's fine," Josephine shrugs.

"No, it's not. Look, you're not going to find anyone like me, so you don't have to worry about random witches trying to come after you. Though, I hope you two learned your lesson. There's hunting and there's suicide. Learn the difference."

Aiden and Josephine nod in understanding, but after a pause, you know you're being too harsh on them. They're only kids, and all they want is to do good in this messed up world. With a sigh, you sit on the coffee table and turn to them.

"Listen, unlike my husband, I believe people can hunt and have a good life. I try to prove that to him with our own kids every day. I want you to go out and have fun, go to parties, go to school, and learn to be a kid. If you want to hunt, then you have to be smarter about it. Train, learn, study, and maybe next time, you'll be better at it. If a monster comes to town, I have no doubt you three can take care of it, but don't go looking for it. Not until you're older, at least. Stick together, and I know you will become great hunters if you choose to be."

"Okay," Aiden says in a much better mood.

You pat their shoulders and get up, joining Krissy and Dean. Sam must already be in the car waiting, so you should be leaving soon.

"Okay. Whenever you're ready, we'll be in the car," Dean says to her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your aunt? Cincinnati? Normal life? We'll be there by lunch tomorrow."

"Look, I hate how we were put together, but I can't deny that it feels right. Why should I let Victor ruin that, too?"

"She has a point, Dean," you say.

"You're all still minors."

"Not for long. Josephine will be eighteen in a few months, and we all have a life and each other here."

"What about hunting?"

"We won't go looking for it, but if any monsters show up around here, they better look out," she grins.

"Sounds like they got it to me," you shrug.

"Well, I'm gonna have a guy come and check on you every once in a while, okay? His name is Garth. He'll make sure that you're alright and you got what you need."

"Garth?"

"You'll love him. He's great," you smile.

Dean holds out his fist to her so she can fist bump him, but instead of doing that, she leans up and kisses his cheek.

"Take care, Dean and Y/N."

Dean blushes, but you two leave seconds later. You take out your phone and let Garth know you're on your way to pick up your kids, glad that this case is over with.

"This is good. It could have been a lot worse," Sam shrugs.

"It will be if we don't shut those Gates of Hell soon."

"What do they have to do with any of that?" you ask.

"They're hunters now. You don't just walk away from that. There's only one way out of that, and you and I both know it ain't pretty."

"Dean, maybe they'll be different."

"Or maybe, if we shut that hell hole once and for all, those three can have a real life."

"You can have a real life and still hunt."

"You need to stop thinking like that because it's not true."

"Just because it didn't happen for us, doesn't mean it can't happen for anyone."

It's going to take a lot more to make Dean see things your way, but you're going to try your hardest to make sure your kids grew up differently than you, Sam, and Dean.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[kariachi]

Who wants some daemon au fic? Max, Eva, confrontation, from back in the days of babies.

~~

“Just to be clear,” Max said, pulling on his years of experience and high rank within the Plumbers as he squared his shoulders, “is this a threat?” Eva snorted, Rufus somehow managing to look down his beak at the other pair from his necklace perch. Unconsciously, Max laid a hand on Deana’s head as she fidgeted under his gaze. He would never fully understand how she could look Vita in the eye from the day they met, and even Jubilation anymore- who was large enough to eat her whole- but a particularly small hummingbird could bring her to heel.

“No,” Eva said like he was a moron. “We have two jobs in this Nesting, and we’re doing one. Stop bothering our mate.” With a deep breath, Deana pulled herself up.

“There’s nothing wrong with our giving Devin a call once in a while,” she said. Rufus’s gaze locked fully on her as she did, her muscles tensing as she tried not to shy away.

“If you try to talk him off the nest again,” he said, the room going pindrop quiet so his words would be clear, small size leading to a small voice, “then we’re coming in here with a bat.” A smirk crept over Eva’s face.

“That was a threat.” Worse, they couldn’t tell if it was a bluff. Odds were low, the other pair had been career criminals before getting the option to join the Plumbers or go to prison, and no matter how well they’d managed to behave the last few years the aggressive and territorial nature that had given Rufus his shape would never go away. It wouldn’t even be the first fight they’d gotten into in the base, with their short tempers and refusal to let things slide. But the Plumbers were loath to let anyone go, especially anyone with their talents in security and combat, and it would probably take Eva actually caving Max’s skull in to get them thrown out.

“One of these days,” Max said, pretending he wasn’t thinking about the risks to themselves, “you two are going to cause yourselves some real trouble with this sort of behavior.”

“As long as that trouble hits you first,” Rufus countered, “we’ll live.” Confident little bastards, they’d give them that.

“Just stop trying to get Devin coming back to work so soon-” ‘So soon’, it’d been nearly a year already he was hovering over that nest and the kids inside it, with every indication he would be sat there a few years to come. With the issues Gabe and Sera were having with their own offspring likely to keep them longer than originally planned, and Oumbia and Margi also on parental leave? They couldn’t afford to have the Ossy off the clock much longer. “-and we’ll have fewer issues with each other. Understood?”

But the younger pair would never listen to reason. Fuck, Devin and Jubilation were the oldest pair on staff and they wouldn’t listen to reason. All trying to explain themselves would do was get them more riled up and more likely to lash out with aggression. Whether or not they’d really come at them with a bat they couldn’t be sure, but they’d ended up in the bay twice already and Vita was still sporting a black eye from the last time she and Phil antagonized them. Deana seemed to accept this first.

“We’ll try to keep work out of our conversations,” she said, even as Max was biting back to the urge to point out the situation and that Eva and Rufus were too young and new to understand the breadth of it. Still, despite the urge he didn’t contradict his daemon. Rufus gave a pleased peep, resettling himself on his roost, as Eva grinned at them- wide, toothy, and with a sinister edge.

“That’s all we need.” With an offhanded wave she turned and made her way out of the conference room with an easy, confident stride. One Max tried to mimic as he and Deana followed after.

“So-” They were blindsided with as they shut the door, almost jumping as they turned to see Kay and Nial waiting. Of course they were there, and of course there were Victor and Meila behind them, ever their loyal friends. “-we take it you had a nice conversation with our sires?” As if Eva and Rufus weren’t hardly older than they were.

“Yes,” Deana answered again, “and now we’re going back to work, as you four should.” Nial chuckled, Kay and Victor nodding as Max and Deana kept walking. They were quiet for a moment before Max checked over his shoulder to be sure the other pairs had headed in a different direction.

“I really hope,” he muttered down to his daemon, “those new kids take after Devin and Jubi more than not.” Heaving a sigh, Deana shook her head.

“If only we should be so lucky.”

[hazel-of-sodor]

Guardian Ch.6 Memories

Guardian

Other Stories

Ch.6 Memories

Tears of joy streamed down both singles’ faces as Emily sobbingly laughed in joy.

 "Emily..." Emerald trailed off hesitantly. 

"Yes Emerald," Emily replied, instantly eyeing her sister with concern.

"What happened to me?" Silence fell at her question. 

 "What do you remember last?" Emily asked slowly.

Emerald was quiet for a long moment, her eyes unfocused as she tried to remember, "Snow. It was night and I was pulling an express. I heard another engine, a goods one I think, call out to me." She trailed off for another moment, my brakes were screaming, ...something was in my way...a great crashing sound and pain in my front. Then I woke up here."

 "Emerald..." Emily hesitated then closed her eyes and said, " that was over ninety years ago."

 "What!?" Emerald cried in alarm. Her mouth opened to say more but the words wouldn't come out.

Emily reluctantly met her sister's gaze and nodded.

"You crashed into the wreckage of another accident," Thomas spoke up, causing Emerald to jump as she hadn’t realized they weren't alone. Thomas met Emily's gaze firmly, urging her to follow his lead. Emerald couldn't see him behind her, but was listening raptly.    

"When they repaired you, they replaced too many parts and a new engine woke up in your place. After Emily was bought by our railway, some parts from other members of the class were brought here as spares for her. They must have originally been yours. When we went to build another member of the class, it was decided to refurbish the spare parts and use them for the new engine, to tie it in with the members before it. To our surprise you began to wake when we steamed the new engine."

"Oh...so you weren't trying to awaken me by building this engine," Emerald said sadly.

"We didn't know it was possible," Emily said quietly, "we thought you lost forever."

"As soon as we realized it might be possible, we brought Emily here, and steamed you," Thomas said, " I was already on the way here with a damaged bufferbeam." 

Samantha remembered Robert, Thomas's first driver, warning her that the tank engine was an alarmingly good liar when he put his mind to it. She suddenly understood what he'd meant.

Victor spoke up, "Let's get you looked over, my friend." He pinned Thomas with a glare, "I expect you to be waiting for me when I finish checking her over, Thomas."

Thomas gave him an innocent look, Victor was not fooled. "Will you two put him back on his siding, I would hate for him to forget." 

Samantha chuckled tiredly at Thomas scowling as Nicole backed him back on the siding, turning the points against him for good measure.

Once his fire had been dropped, she turned to head for the spare beds, but stopped as Emily rolled up alongside Thomas, " Why did you make me lie to her?"

Thomas's eyes possessed a gold glint as he answered, "She won't remember her time between, that is the price for her return. Letting her know would only hurt her, as she tried to remember that which is no longer there."

Samantha looked for what could be reflecting in her engine's eyes, but saw nothing. When she turned back, Thomas was shaking his head and his eyes were their normal green again.

Emily seemed to sag at his words, "So she won't remember any of it? Meeting you, or reuniting with me?"

"No," Thomas said, suddenly sounding as tired as Samantha felt, "and the Lady is kinder for it."

"What if she finds out?" Emily asked worriedly.

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said kindly, "Stephen will make sure the workers don't tell, and our crews certainly won't. It's just a dream for her now….for all of us."

"If this night ends up in my nightmares, I'm blaming you," Nicole said bluntly and began to walk back towards the spare beds, Samantha chuckled as she followed her, ignoring their engine's protests of innocence.