#promoting that dub again

[simpjaes]

NIGHT-SHIFT (p.sh)

Sunghoon, a keen and professional man between the hours of 8 AM to 5 PM. ServiceKing, a faceless and proud man between the hours of 9 PM to 12 AM. Sunghoon’s secret night-life has nothing to do with the faces he sees day after day...until it does. or the one where you pay for a one on one call with a faceless cam guy you’ve been watching for a little while, and the next day your boss is avoiding you like the plague. 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― boss / cam boy!sunghoon x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT― 4.5k

WARNINGS―  dub-con since reader doesn’t know it’s him. 

CONTENT― office setting, sunghoon is a service top/soft-dom/whatever his clients need lol

 NOTE ― this was supposed to be a drabble, but i just....it needed a little more plot sorry. it's not very good, like fr this is not up to par with what I wanted... but i wrote it so im gonna post it.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― dubious consent, cam sex/virtual sex, dirty talk, masturbation instructions, umm…finger fucking, jerking off, fantasies, role-play type stuff

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

What are the chances? Honestly, what are the fucking chances?

Sunghoon sits up quickly from his relaxed position upon hearing a voice far too familiar on the other end of this call. He’s lucky he doesn’t have his camera on just yet, you’d have seen the embarrassing reaction to…well…hearing you of all people.

He knows the world can be small sometimes, but this is too small for comfort as he hears your muttered voice through the microphone again.

“So, what am I supposed to do?” You say. 

“Ah, uh–” Sunghoon pauses. There’s no way it’s actually you. Can you not recognize his voice too? “What type of call did you request again?” 

“Full service.” You remind him. 

Oh. You’re into this kind of thing? That pretty, well-mannered employee of his? The one who sips coffee quietly at her desk while actually responding to her emails? The one who never shows up to co-ed parties? The one who always dresses appropriately and addresses him in a timid way?

You…just paid a cam-boy to get you off in full? Not just any cam-boy either, you paid him?

God, his cheeks are so heated at the arousing thought. Never once has he ever imagined you in any scenario that doesn’t involve excel spreadsheets and finances. Arguably, you’ve probably never thought of him all spread out fucking his fist either but…you’ve blatantly seen him do it already.

He wonders how long you’ve been seeing this part of him, how long you’ve been getting yourself off all alone while he puts on a show for hundreds, and sometimes, thousands of people. 

As detrimental as this is, it’s his job to do this. You paid him to do it, just like how he pays you to do your job. He can’t be letting this hold him back. No, in fact, he needs to get this hour long session over with as quickly as fucking possible. 

“Right,” Sunghoon lends a chuckle, nervous sounding on his end but to you it just sounds cheeky. “Can I get your name, babe?” 

You’re quiet at first, never having done this before and absolutely not wanting this random horny guy to know who you are. Honestly, you already requested that only he turns his camera on during this call as well. As if you’d give out your real name. You give him a name that rhymes with your own instead, and there’s another chuckle after. 

He knows you’re lying. Out of all the employees that are under him, you’re the one he has to correspond with the most. After all, you’ve been up for the promotion to being his assistant for the past three months. He knows that isn’t your name. 

 Smart girl, just like he knew you were. 

“Is that so?” He tilts his head at his blank screen in amusement, watching the microphones light up with each breath. “Alright, and you’ll do everything I say, yes?” 

You nod to no one, realizing he can’t see you and instead giving him a hum and gentle words of “of course.”

His image flashes across your screen just moments later. The same as his usual streams. Face out of frame, hand strong and willing, his cock out and on display– only half hard. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” Sunghoon calls out now, as if to show you that it’s time to begin, your almost-name falling from his lips shortly after. “Don’t hold your breath, you paid good money for this, and I want to hear you.”

Oh man, this is embarrassing for you to be doing this. But truly, anything at this point is better than another night all alone. 

And he does hear you. Relishing in that voice he hears day to day reciting memos and budgets, only this time, you’re calling out pleasurable reactions to how he tells you to fuck yourself. 

He’s good at it too. You can’t help but listen to every word, touching and massaging when he instructs you to, stopping just short of orgasm for him to ask, “That feels good, doesn’t it? Wish you had me doing it for you, isn’t that right?” 

Always using the fake name. Giving you full-service by the end of the call. 

Safe to say, you’re feeling refreshed by the next morning as you ready yourself for work, wanting very much to book the infamous ServiceKing again. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Fuck, he can’t even look at you. Not after the way he got off last night. 

Not after hearing you moan out the way you did while he simultaneously imagined you all spread out on his desk for him. Not after hearing the fucking wet between your legs as you frantically tried to cum when he told you to. 

Not after you did cum for him. 

“Mr. Park–” You chime through his door, not quite noticing the way he stiffens in his seat. 

God, if you had called him that last night…

“Hm?” He composes himself by acting bored and uninterested in whatever papers you have held tightly against your chest. “What is it?”

“I got the statements back from our parent company, I think–”

“Great. Just set them down on my desk.” He cuts you off, patting his desk before hoping you get the fuck out of his office before he ends up breaking office rule number one.

What is office rule number one, you might ask? Never fuck a co-worker. What’s worse is that you’re not his fucking co worker. You’re his employee.

You raise a brow at his demeanor this morning. The usual not-so-up-tight Sunghoon appearing far too distracted today compared to usual. Most mornings, he’ll at least give you a smile and a “thank you.” 

“Mr. Park, is there anything I can get for you?” You ask with concern in your voice.

Sunghoon pauses every thought in his head as he looks at you. Narrowing his eyes and wondering if maybe he’s just overreacting. Maybe he's mistaken and that girl from last night isn’t you at all. After all, there’s plenty of people with the same pitch in their voice. She didn’t even turn on her camera, and she gave him a different name anyway. 

Maybe he just wishes it was you. 

“No, I’m fine–” He says, mistakenly calling out the fake name rather than your actual name. 

You miss the way his eyes widen for a split second before correcting himself to your real name. 

“Ah, my apologies. Got a little tongue tied.” 

You stand there in shock. No way in hell he just called you by the name you spoofed to a cam-boy last night. Coincidences can be so weird, and being called that hits you a little too close to home. 

It feels awkward in the room now and both of you play it off as a genuine mistake. Though, to you, it has to be a genuine tongue-tied version of your name. Sunghoon couldn’t possibly know about that. Besides, he appears to be more tired than usual anyway, so…you choose to believe it’s a crazy coincidence. 

You give him a nervous chuckle as you wave yourself off and out of the room with a small “It’s okay, you know where I am if you need anything.”

What he needs is to watch his fucking mouth. What he needs is to stop thinking about how you just reacted to being called that. What he needs is to pretend that none of this is happening and do his goddamn work. 

And he tries. He really does. Unfortunately, his eyes go from blurs of numbers and words on spreadsheets to the window of his office. Just outside of it. You.

How is he supposed to focus after kind of, accidentally, practically fucking you? Sure, he never touched you but…it really was you. The way you reacted to that name was so telling, and he can’t help but actually check you out now. 

You, with that body. You got off to him, with those legs of your spread out while staring into a screen. All alone, listening to his voice, moaning for him…and now you’re just sitting there in your business casual outfit like he’s not unintentionally getting hard. 

So, he avoids you. At all fucking costs, he avoids you. 

You get up from your desk? So does he, making sure that if you start coming his way, he’s walking out and in the opposite direction. You send him an email? Out of office, despite clearly sitting at his desk. You call his phone to ask a question? He forwards you to his current assistant. 

And this happens for days. To the point you know that promotion is slipping from your fingers. 

Naturally, you’re frustrated with the office-dynamic. After all, you’ve heard rumors of picking favorites. You thought you were one of them, but it appears that Sunghoon may just decide to try and beg his current assistant to stay with bribes of double pay. 

You’re more frustrated as the days go by. Leaving work yet again with no good-byes from the boss who used to show appreciation for how hard you worked. He’s colder than usual, he’s stiffer than usual, he’s– a fucking asshole these days.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Ping! 

Sunghoon stares at his secret email in disbelief. 

NEW REQUEST FROM: [your email/username]

$500 PENDING. 

FULL SERVICE.

Requester note: work has been hard lately, will you help me de-stress for a little while? 

[ACCEPT REQUEST]   [DECLINE REQUEST]

Sunghoon hovers over the decline button for a solid thirty seconds as he burns a hole through his screen. Work has been hard for you lately, huh? Has it now? Try being him. 

He shifts his mouse to the accept button, wondering if he even needs that extra five hundred dollars. Those funds just to suffer more at work? Just to suddenly have the need randomly throughout his day to make you moan for him? Just to have the sounds of your pretty voice echoing in his head more and more the longer he ignores you? 

His finger clicks, hitting the accept button as he lets out an exasperated sigh. 

Why did he just do that?

Wait. 

Maybe this will help him get through the work weeks. Fucking you through words alone in secret, never telling you who he is, always letting you use him even if it’s just through audio and visual stimulation. 

After all, if you found out who ServiceKing is, you very well may quit. Hell, you might get him fired. Fuck.

This is dangerous. 

Yet, he feels the excitement in his gut before it even hits his cock as the clock ticks. He gets to hear you again soon, you get to watch him cum again soon, he–oh, he’s so turned on right now just thinking about it.

And the time comes too slowly for his liking. He feels as if he’s been edged by the time the two of you enter the call and he’s immediately turning his camera on. 

“Ah, look who it is,” Sunghoon starts, already positioning himself with a raging hard cock on the screen. “Had me wondering if you’d come back to me.”

You don’t know why your cheeks heat up, but the feeling in your gut is miles better than the frustration and anxiety that you felt throughout the day. 

“I was wondering the same thing,” You speak into the mic meekly, hiding your face despite knowing he can’t see it. “I just need to get my mind off of stuff for a little while.” 

“Oh yeah?” Sunghoon chuckles into the mic, his face perfectly hidden. “Wanna give me some context? Maybe I can use some of the information for–”

“God.” You immediately start, shutting the man up on the other side of the screen in an accidental frustration-dump. This is not what you paid him for, but you still appreciate the space to release your brain before, well, your cum. “My fucking boss.”

Sunghoon’s ears perk up, lazily stroking himself as you continue with a frantic voice. 

“I swear he just flipped on me. I thought I was doing so good, I thought I was gonna get that new position, but now he’s just ignoring me and treating me like some temp or something.” 

Sunghoon hums lowly, listening intently to the way you bring him into conversation to a man that…unfortunately, is that very same boss.

“Hmm, that’s interesting.” Sunghoon continues palming himself as he soothes you through your frustrations. “Your boss isn’t praising you.” 

You pause, feeling a ping in your gut. 

“If I were him, I’d praise you every day–” Sunghoon softens his voice. “Every night.”

“Oh…” You listen to his words, feeling your frustration melt out of you in an instant as you now focus on the way his cock twitches through the screen. 

“Wouldn’t let you go a second without thinking of how good I am to you.” He continues, both hyping himself and degrading his day-time self. “If I were your boss–”

You interrupt his words with a very quiet groan, he fucking heard it.

“Mm, you like that?” He smiles to himself, gripping the base of his cock and thrusting up to show the full size to you. “The thought of your boss liking you a little too much?”

You hum. Not that you’ve ever thought about it too deeply, but now that he’s said it, praising you, putting down your actual boss, telling you what he’d do if he were him? 

You guess, for tonight anyway, you’re into it. 

“What’s his name, babe?” Sunghoon asks, wondering if you’ll actually out his name to a stranger. 

“Park Sunghoon.” You expose him instantly, full name and all, even with a bit of bite in your voice. 

Damn.

“Oh, yeah?” Sunghoon draws back, jerking his hand up once. “I’d fuck you better than Park Sunghoon.” 

You smile at the thought, imagining yourself with more power than Sunghoon has. Like you’re his boss, you’re the one dangling a promotion just out of reach before giving it to someone else. 

“See this?” The man on the screen grunts out to you, fucking tight thrusts into his fist. “Watch me, baby, get a good look.”

And you do watch. Intensely, you stare at his big cock, the head of it darkened and leaking with each pass of his hand. You’re not even touching yourself at this point, but it’s like you can feel the force of it.

“Now, I need you to open those legs for me.” He instructs you. 

You do as he says much like before, letting your legs fall open but not yet letting yourself touch. You still sigh at the movement, your panties alone shifting were enough to make you want to hump your hips up. 

“Now, turn on your camera.”

Silence. Your ears ring momentarily at the words as you immediately close your legs.

“What?” You ask in a higher-pitched tone than usual. “I requested for no c-”

“No.” Sunghoon mutters, shifting his position to lean towards the microphone and whispering now. “You do as I say.” 

He hears you huff at his words, but he hears the shifting around on your end. 

“I want to see that pussy open for me.” He continues in that same low-rumbled voice. “I want to see what Park Sunghoon is missing out on.”

You don’t know what it is about this situation that turns your discomfort into pure, rushing arousal. Never in your life have you ever considered fucking yourself on camera, especially after paying someone else to do it for you, yet– 

“Do I have to show you my face?” You ask quietly, already trying to find a lower-face-mask just to be safe in case you lose your composure and accidentally reveal yourself. 

“No,” Sunghoon assures you through a deep breath. “I already told you what I want to see.”

More silence save for the shuffling he still hears on your end. 

“Open your legs and turn it on.” He encourages you now, keeping his hand still on himself as he waits to see if you’ll actually do it.

And…

Oh fuck.

“There she is.” Sunghoon hums, trying to keep his composure at the way you give him access. Honestly, he didn’t think you would, but you do, and all he can do is lay himself back again, staring straight at the image of you. 

Your face is out of frame much like he is but this is the first time he’s ever seen you with so little clothing on. No bra, thin tank top, no shorts or pants, just panties. It takes everything in him not to moan out at the image. 

After all, it’s confirmed to be you. 

Fuck, that’s you right there. 

“Already so wet too?” Sunghoon groans now, focusing on that spot between your legs, probably so slippery and warm. 

You’re very shy though, not moving much better yet speaking as this faceless man takes in your image. You feel awkward, but still turned on despite squeezing your legs together and hiding that spot from him. 

“Oh, baby–” Sunghoon coos out in a way that makes it seem as though he was endeared by that. “That’s not going to work.”

You’re more focused on your embarrassment than you are on the way his cock leaks and pours pre-cum at the image he’s witnessing. 

“How am I supposed to show you how much better I’d take care of you?” He continues, reverting back to the same role play from before. “I bet that boss of yours wouldn’t want to bury his tongue in you like I would.”

Your legs fall open at the words, and he can see the way you thrust up just slightly. 

“That’s it, you need someone to touch you, don’t you?” He continues, watching you intensely. “Need someone to lick that pretty pussy?”

You nod, once again forgetting that he can’t see you do it before you finally speak.

“Please.”

His moan after hearing you seems far more intense than the first time you did this with him. In fact, he appears entirely focused on you. Role playing in some way but somehow acting more real than last time too. 

“You deserve some love for all that hard work.” He says to you, encouraging you to keep talking for him. “Play with yourself, go on. You need it.”

You follow his instructions on instinct, as if your body truly does need the release. 

“Feel it– not too hard, just graze over your panties.”

Ah, still you listen, holding your breath at each feather-light touch you give to yourself per his request. 

And he watches. Hyper-focused on the way that darkened spot on your panties grows bigger and bigger. So wet for him doing exactly what he wishes he could do for you come tomorrow morning. 

“Your other hand babe, slowly, lift your shirt and–”

He doesn’t even have to keep instructing you. You do exactly as he wanted, lifting your shirt gently before playing with your own nipples, still lightly grazing your fingers over your swollen clit that’s restricted by your panties. 

You moan quietly at the feeling, wishing so much that it doesn’t have to be your hands doing this. 

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” Sunghoon hums, now working his palm against his own length, gentle, barely grazing it. “Now, look at me.”

You draw your eyes forward, the image of him already arousing from before, but now? Why is he so much hotter now? As if the screen is nothing but a window into his bedroom. 

“You see how hard I am right now?” You can hear the smile in his voice as you continue to work yourself up to near-sensitivity. “Never been this hard for anyone else.”

Oh, that’s bullshit. He does this as a job. He’s just sweet talking to you for sure. 

“Been thinking about you since the first time you booked me.” He continues, keeping the touches light and making sure you don’t press on yourself too hard either. “Was hard all week for you.”

Okay, yeah, maybe you are a little too into praise. Lie or not, it’s exactly what you need to hear right now. 

“You're gonna be just as good for me tonight too?” Sunghoon hums, tightening his grip. “You’re going to push your panties to the side and show me that you missed me too, right?” 

Yes. The light touching has been nothing but torture at this point, wanting so badly to be told to do more. For yourself, for him. 

You barely recognize how your embarrassment leaves your body when you stretch your panties to the side, letting him see how they stuck to you only to unfold in a glistening mess for him. 

“Messy, messy, messy.” Sunghoon moans, struggling so hard by now not to fuck his fist straight to orgasm. But no, he can’t ruin this moment. 

That’s your pussy, looking so wet and tight, so needy. 

“Gently still, open up for me.” Sunghoon groans lowly, watching so closely the way you spread open your lips for him, the hole pulsing and dribbling so much slick. 

Never in his life has he ever wanted to bury his tongue into someone this badly. Goddamn, he’s nearly obsessed with you at this moment. He loses composure.

“Fuck–” He seethes, feeling his cock twitch wildly against his hand. “I want you so bad.”

Those words feel more real to you than anything else. Virtual sex is one thing but to have a man blatantly moan those words to you as if he means them? As if he has never let it slip for any of his other scheduled calls?

“What’s the name of your boss again?” Sunghoon asks, pretending as if he forgot, just to hear you say it. 

He notes the way your pussy clenches through his words too, as if he can see the confusion not through your expression, but through your arousal alone. Asking you that turned you off.

“What’s his name, baby?” Sunghoon presses, offering an excuse. “I wanna know who it is that gave me this tonight.”

Alluding to the fact that the only reason you’re paying him is because your boss made you feel like you need release in some way. 

“Park-” You start, not wanting to deny his demands. “Sunghoon.”

“Ah, yeah.” Sunghoon holds his breath, closing his eyes briefly just to let that breathy voice sit in his mind before focusing back on you. “Two fingers babe, slide them in.”

God, you listen just as well as you do at work. He should have given you that promotion the day he saw your application. Even without seeing you do as you're told in this situation, he already knew you were going to be getting that interview next week.

He listens to the way your cunt swallows up your fingers, so wet and needy. Swollen around the two digits as you slide them in with a breathy sigh. 

“Spread your fingers, open up.” 

You do, presenting your opened core to him without any shame at this point. Allowing him to look, wanting him to look.

“Now, say–” Sunghoon swallows around a lump in his throat. “Thank you Sunghoon.”

Your pussy pulses around your fingers, recoiling again at the name. 

“Say, Thank you Sunghoon, for all of this stress.” 

He continues, trying to encourage, adding another lie of an excuse just to get you to break. 

“Because, if it weren't for him, I wouldn’t be needing to take care of you like this, now would I?”

In your horny brain, it makes sense.

“Thank you, Sunghoon.” You moan, plunging your fingers into yourself without being told to do so, moaning out for the faceless man on the screen at your break in composure. 

And, well, Sunghoon himself is on fire. After all, you’ve only ever referred to him as Mr.Park, and hearing you practically moan his name in such an intimate way? It does nothing to keep him from spiraling into an even more selfish mindset. 

“Again.” He instructs you, watching the way your legs shake through saying his name. 

“Thank you Sunghoon.” You continue, as if the words are natural despite feeling intense irritation for the man. “Thank you.”

And, well, that very name you’re moaning is now also moaning. That little fake name you gave to him falls from his lips after you say it each time, fucking into his fist and hoping you’re watching, nearly unable to ask you to stick another finger into yourself.

Not needing to ask at all, apparently, because you do it yourself. You even bump your clit up against your wrist too. 

Shit. 

He needs you.

“Thank him for what?” Sunghoon starts to ask, feeling an orgasm approach far too quickly. 

“For making me come to you!” You answer him as if you’re frustrated, hips bouncing up against your hand just to dig your fingers in deeper. 

“What else?” He asks now, forgetting what it is he should not be doing. 

“Hmm?” You answer in a drawn-out moan.

“Thank him for what else?” He repeats first, only to follow up with his own answer. “For giving you a reason to cum.”

“Yes!” You groan, now grinding your hips up and against your palm without relaxing back against the bed. Intentionally chasing as your eyes remain on him, watching him pull and tug so roughly. 

“So fucking pretty” Sunghoon praises as he snaps his hips in time with his moving palm, eyes so tuned into you that– “Fuck–” He moans your name. “So pretty.”

And he didn’t realize it. Half expecting you to moan back for him, he’s still moaning as he watches you halt what you’re doing and cover yourself entirely.

“What did you just call me?” You ask in an out of breath voice. 

Sunghoon repeats your fake name to you, feeling the energy shift in an instant.

“No. You just called me–” You repeat your real name to him. 

“Ah, sorry babe, must’ve gotten tongue tied.”

There’s a rush of anxiety within you as you stare at the screen. There’s….no fucking way. 

Given, you’ve never seen him outside of a suit. The voice you hear doesn’t click in your head as Sunghoon’s either, considering he’s never a man of very many words. 

Instantly, you’re covering your camera with your hand, watching how the man on the screen spreads his legs out and drops his cock. Like he’s waiting, like he’s listening, wondering. Are you making a fool of yourself right now?

Are you misreading? 

He seems calm, and if it really is Sunghoon…surely he’d be disconnecting right now, right?

Why would he even be fucking himself on camera anyway? The guy makes bank! You’re the one who sees his paychecks, after all. Still, there’s a twisting in your gut as you ignore the way you still drip against your sheets. 

Very quietly, just to see, you work up the courage.

“Mr.Park?”

It’s silent for a few seconds as the man on the screen shifts, a blur of movement forcing you into a state of motion-sickness. 

You almost thought he was going to chuckle at you and ask if you were thinking about your boss rather than him. You almost thought he would use that to his advantage. 

You almost thought you were wrong, but– he disconnects. 

A few moments later, you receive an email with a refund of your five hundred dollars. 

And two hours later? Lying in your bed with anxiety in your gut, you get a text from none other than Park Sunghoon.

Mr.Park: Can we talk?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

― part two here!

[gremlingottoosilly]

Moo business (monster!Konig x CowHybrid!fem!Reader)

Promotion to colonel has its perks. Having your own caretaker with fluffy cow years and a nice pair of...additions is one of them - and Konig is about to enjoy his new rank.

Content warning: Hybrids, Konig is a huge pervert, naive cow hybrid reader, slight dub-con, power imbalance, and inappropriate work behavior, lactation kink. Implied big chested!Reader

Humans have learned to live with monsters. Obviously, having dangerous, much more powerful neighbors in this tiny green planet, didn’t allow humans to actually thrive and succeed – the power dynamics were shifted ever since the first monster decided, that wearing a collar and identification badge doesn’t really go with their style. And humans would be much more suited to wear it. 

Unfortunately, monsters aren’t created equal – while most of them are killing machines with little to no regard to the danger of real life, there are some particularly fragile hybrids with no use in fights or even normal life. House cat hybrid girls, almost no claws and all purring and laying on their backs to let humans and other monsters pet their bellies. Sheep hybrids, all fluff and tiny, rounded horns that would never hurt anyone. Cow hybrids, adorable and silly, no use in the fights except for moral support. 

Which is exactly why König was fucking pissed. 

— G…good evening, sir. I will be your assistant for the day. I mean, every day. As long as you’re having me. 

You smile nervously, munching on your lips. When the only way up the social ladder was working in the army as an…assistant? Moral support? Waving your nurse training like you’d be able to safely secure a monster’s health when he is twice as big as you? 

Being a colonel in the army has its perks – better gear, better paycheck, better chunks of meat that he can bite off the enemies without higher-ups whining about war crimes and rules of war. Having a cute lil’ assistant with fluffy ears and a chest that physically can’t fit into the uniform, forcing you to wear permanent cleavage and just let a bit of chubbiness roll on the tight fabric is also a perk. For a pervert, maybe, but not for König who is already sworn to never deal with anyone who is this sensitive, this soft, and this…adorable. 

He thought he was quite certain in his wishes – if higher-ups really need for him to take a fuck toy, he wanted it to be resilient. Maybe a dog hybrid, maybe a vampire, just weak and hungry enough to overpower with little fights. Not someone like you, who has no idea what she is doing in the army and why her hands are trembling like he is going to devour you alive. Although, looking at the way your chest is swaying every time you flinch…maybe, he can do just that. Teach higher-ups a lesson on why he doesn’t need their handouts. 

— Dismissed. 

He doesn’t even look at you. Honestly, you’re a bit hurt – honestly, you almost want to yell at him or scream or tell all of your higher-ups that the colonel is a huge jerk who clearly doesn’t need a little cow darling to make him coffee and tend to his needs and be a huge moral support because they can’t take another fucked out recruit when the dangerous hybrid is in heat again. You feel like a glorified whore – the one that he doesn’t even want. 

— B…but…

You pout your lips, a billion questions raised in your mind – why is he like this, what is his deal and you should even look at him if he clearly doesn’t want you…and that look on your face, helplessness mixed with a bit of deliciously sweet anger, combined with your soft, doe features…

Colonel has a problem. 

He thought he knew what he wanted – a strong partner, someone resilient and fiery, someone who can take his cock anywhere without whining. Someone who wouldn’t require a lot of attention and softness, someone who knows their place. Now König looks at you, your floppy ears and trembling lips, and his gaze darts lower, his nose getting milk fragrances even under all of those layers of fabric. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know why they sent you. He doesn’t need a secretary, he doesn’t need an assistant and even if he needs help with something, there are always lower ranks ready to do whatever he says. You’re useless to him, on all levels he can imagine – and yet, he can’t find it in him, to truly dismiss you. To hate your trembling lips and obedient stare – no thought behind those pretty eyes of yours. He always thought he wanted someone strong, someone who is hard to break and resilient to any advances. 

He looks at you and, for the first time in forever, has this wild urge to protect. 

— Sir? Is everything alright? 

You tilt your head to the side, that naive stare you has makes his cock twitch in his pants. It was a long time since he had sex with anyone, especially that adorable. Some hybrids look like they are made to be fucked and loved and used in all of those delicious ways – he knows it’s problematic, he knows that having that view on fellow monsters isn’t right for someone as strong as him, but he wants to devour you. Wants to see that pretty eyes wide from desire – he knows you’d feel the urge too, it’s in your blood, to present your soft belly and even softer tits to a larger predator. 

Indulging on you would mean giving up on his attempts of constantly undermining the higher-ups – it would also mean that he would finally receive a partner for the extensive mating seasons that clash with his work and make his skilling rate go up – and not just for the enemies. Private Halseen, you will be missed. Your ass probably wouldn’t. 

— I thought you’d heard me the first time. 

— But I brought coffee.

— They make coffee machines in cows now? 

— Sir! I was just trying to…break the ice? I’m your new operator, or, um, assistant, I have nurse training, and I…

— What are you going to do with an injury? Lick it away? 

— M…my saliva has healing properties, so…

— They really sent me a magic cow, ja? 

— That’s a very…special way to put it, colonel.

You are surprisingly stubborn for someone who isn’t a confident killing machine. You balance the little tray with a cup of coffee – a big one, seems like you did your homework on that one – and he can’t help but imagine your hands gripping something else this tightly. Your body is trembling, your face switches between a sad and a surprised expression as he slowly emerges from his table to get a good look at you. 

You’re a cow hybrid – they are naturally adorable, naturally soft, and naturally made for someone like him to tower over. He is good over 7 foot, even in mostly human form, and his monster height would be almost twice your size – he'd love to take you like this, raw, bully his giant cock into your, no doubt, tight pussy, and make you squeal from the stretch. Maybe, he can help you with milk production – put another hybrid into you, make your belly swell from his cum. Keep you locked away in his room like a perfect little treat, using your soft body as a perfect pillow. 

He can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation – saliva collecting in his mouth as the thinks of all the ways he can use such a pretty secretary. There is no way you don’t know why they sent you here – no way you think that your self-worth is something more than being his obedient pet, beloved toy. König never thought of settling down, the bloodshed is his one and only partner – but he looks at your rounded horns, at your twitching ears and pouty lips – and he thinks about putting his earring right into your floppy ear. lick away all the blood and calm you down as you’d squirm under the pain, soothe your panicking cow brain as he would bully his cock even deeper, claiming you as…

Ah, shit. You’re still here, waiting for his answer – your eyes are shocked and afraid, anticipated a little bit because of course you’re aroused, his pheromones are too overwhelming for a thing like you – you stare at the bulge in his pants, at nis, no doubt, hard cock – and he can almost see gears in your head turning slowly. God, you’re adorable. 

— You forgot the milk. 

— Sergeant Horangi didn’t say anything about milk. 

So, Horangi was the one to set you up. Of course, tiger shifter probably got his hots on you – pretty prey, perfect for every hunter nearby, but, just as a good officer, he let you go to his colonel first. You talk back with a surprisingly fierce tone and König appreciates the way his mask covers up his whole face – you couldn’t see his smile, the way corners of his mouth jerked up at your pout. Continue like this, and the colonel will do more than just smile at your antics. 

— Probably because he knew that our milk is shitty. 

— If…if you need me to bring you something else, I will do it right away, sir. 

— No need, Kuhen. I think you have what I need right here. 

His cock twitches in his pants again – your eyes are locked on his bulge, you slowly push the tray to the table. You’re naive, you’re cute, and he knows that KorTac probably pays you triple for being this adorable and playing dumb like the good girl you are – bastards probably know that if you’d be upfront and pushy, he would just set you away from his office. 

But standing here, munching on your lower lip, your soft, pink tongue disappearing in your mouth only to reaper to lick your lips again, your face not ever betraying the emotions you, no doubt, are feeling – König can smell your arousal, can almost see the way your pussy is glittering with juices flowing right into your soaked panties. They send a lamb – a cow – to his chambers and they know that he would never resist a good hunt. You allow him to cut through the chase, to just pin you to his desk and take what’s his – but anxiety, that stupid fucking worm eating his brain over the tiniest facts, is making him question everything again. He knows he thinks too much, he knows it’s not going to do him any good – still, he wants to be sure that you’re not too dumb to understand his advances. Still, he wants to play a bit more. Delay the moment of sex because his doubt can eat him alive otherwise. 

— Take off your shirt, Schatzen. 

He doesn’t even look at your chest, bouncing from the tight shirt you were wearing – poor buttons holding on for dear life, barely containing your soft flesh – he drinks up your expressions, embarrassment, and poorly hidden curiosity. You saw the job requirements for an operator, saw his profile – high risks, high aggression, can be very, very violent – and you decided that you can take him, for the right pay. 

— You want me to…take off something else, sir?

A smart girl would run the fuck away from him – but you just lock your hands in front of you, not even bothering to cover your chest. God, he wants to be with you forever – just for that little look on your face your nervousness. You’re standing in front of him, only wearing pants and your bra – and you’re afraid that he isn’t going to like what he sees. 

Just for this expression, he might as well push a ring on your finger already. 

— Ja. Bra is next. 

You nod like you expected this. You probably did – for a prey hybrid, you’re surprisingly smart in understanding what he needs. Your bra is lacy and cute, white, with little flat roses printed – surely not something he expected from military personnel, even if your duties are laying in under him, not with your belly in trenches and your cute hands squeezing the trigger. 

Your breasts look even bigger without a bra to keep them close. You place a hand under your chest, feeling a bit awkward with your colonel just standing here, looming over your form. You lick your lips – he cocks his head closer to you. You can hear something shifting under his hood – you don’t know what his face looks like, rumors were opting for either a bunch of tentacles tucked neatly inside of his hood, the head of some mythical animal, or a normal, but disfigured and burned human face. You don’t know which option you prefer – even the files you were reading before choosing this job didn’t give you an answer. There is something stirring inside of you when you’re thinking about tentacles, though. 

— Braves Mädchen…good girl. 

You smile, feeling the knot in your tummy getting even tighter at the praise. You like him – despite his rough exterior and the obvious arousal, you like being liked, wanted, and devoured by a much stronger predator. Not having any supernatural powers, your only survival option in this world is to appease the strongest – and it looks like you just got a really juicy target. 

Suddenly, König grabs your waist and lifts you to his table – documents go flying around and you put a bit more, thinking of how long it would take to put everything back together. He doesn’t care for your concerns – the next thing you know, you are pushed ever further into his table, and the colonel lifts the end of his hood just enough to envelop his mouth on one of your nipples. 

— S…sir! Please, a little warning next time…

He laughs, his hands pressing small, sweet bruises into the curve of your waist. His mouth feels cold at first – then he flicks his tongue at your hardened nipple, and it feels like an oven. You moan you squeak, you squirm under him – all those documents and transferring and half a dozen Suits trying to tell you of how dangerous your work is going to be, how unstable and irritated the colonel is, how he is probably going to shoo you from his office the first two weeks – all of this comes flying right out the window. 

— You already think of the next time, Schatzen? 

König never tastes something as sweet, as silky, and smooth as your breasts. There is something deep, primal, wild in the way he sucks and bites at your nipple – he devours the taste of your skin and it feels like he can come to his pants just from the feeling alone. You’re squirming in his grasp, poor thing, probably aren’t used to sensation – he closes his eyes and allows his monster to take over, to take what he wants from you. 

He shifts to your other breasts, warming and cooling them at the same time. He isn’t an expert in that weird kind of massage, but you don’t need an expert in boob sucking when all of your cow instincts telling you to spread your legs and allow him to put babies in you, to breed like the prey you are, to take care of you outside of this stupid job. You’re terrified that his sharp teeth can draw blood and arouse at the way his tongue clicks at your nipples so perfectly, so naturally, like he was doing it his whole life. 

You moan, whispering little begs and praying to deaf ears. Your hands are going to hig his neck, to just kind put your fingers on his hood and just keep it here, not daring to try and direct the movements of his tongue. All of those days of constant preparing for the worst, long nights of studying the psychology of hunters, of predator hybrids, didn’t leave you much time to milk yourself in the past week – you might just be a hybrid, but it doesn’t release you from the endless burden of constant lactation. 

— S…so embarrassing…please, sir, we need to stop or I will…

— Ja, meine Kuh? Did you want to say something to your colonel? 

— Please, I’m going to…fuck, this is embarrassing…

— Language. 

He closes his teeth on your tender bud, making you moan his name – his callsign – loudly. He grunts from satisfaction, finally tasting sweet milk pouring from his body – might be the only thing that makes cow hybrids useful for someone as strong as him. 

Your milk is sweet, rich, and creamy, and your little cries only make it tastier. He pushes his tongue deeper, swirls it around your hardened bud, waits for you to moan even more – every inch of your being makes him feel weird, protective, like he already put a baby in that soft tummy of yours and made you his. It’s dumb, you aren’t even connected on the official level – but he sucks your milk ever so passionately, forgetting about every mission trouble he had.

Sucking your tits feels like therapy – giving up all of his powers just to kiss you, to bite you, to drink your milk, and softly massage the flesh until your pussy starts to grind against the round corner of his table. Poor thing, he doesn’t even touch you in any way – you’re too precious for this, and he falls too deeply into your eyes and the swell of your chest. 

— Sir! Pl…please, don’t…if you’d stop, I will…

He drinks your milk swiftly, feels the liquid dripping down his chin – always a messy eater, one of the reasons he used the mask to hide his embarrassment. He can’t look at your face, the angle is too far off for this, and it disappoints him – he wants to drink your pretty expressions, wants to know that he is one to make that pretty cow this slutty. Just a few minutes ago he was ready to get your ass off his office – and now he is changing between two of your round breasts, making sure to not waste a drop. 

Fuck, this is far better than any milk the base kitchen can provide. 

He sucks a little bit more, pressing his tongue against your swollen, abused nipples. You whine at the sensation, poor little hybrid isn’t used to his teeth and his mouth – he’d have to make sure to repeat this procedure every other day, if possible, to get you used to direct milking. He’d have to spend weeks spreading your pretty cunt for him, teaching you how to milk his cock and meowl like a good prey hybrid you are – but he didn’t become colonel because he was afraid of challenges. 

He stops sucking with a little pop, final droplets of milk falling to his lips as he licks it, groaning from pleasure. His stubble made the soft skin around your nipples irritated and you tremble when the cold air hits them – you feel fragile, used, your pussy is twitching around nothing, the pulsation forcing you to grind against the corner of his table like a bitch in heat. 

König made you like this – half-naked, trembling, so fucking horny that you can’t even look at him without dropping to your knees, and it almost made you want to run away. He squeezes your tits again, enveloping the soft mounts in his large, rough hands – you whine a little bit, still all too sensitive after this pleasurable torture he created. 

— How do you feel? 

He sounds…weaker now. Almost embarrassed at his little outburst, he picks up your bra and helps you get dressed – you both want more, to check if his table is really as sturdy as it looks, but König has a training session in 30 minutes and you have König’s training session, standing behind his shoulder and watching him yelling at the recruits. It would be hard to get scared at him again, when every time his cold gaze darts to your face, he softens. When you look at him and can only imagine milk dripping down your chin – your milk, no less. 

— I’m…empty. In a good way, I mean. Thank you, sir.

You feel weird when he gently helps you get into your clothes, his fingers are simply too big for the buttons – he presses his head against your shoulder, trying to concentrate, and you awkwardly hug him for stability. He chuckles. 

— My pleasure, Schatzen. 

You stand here, awkwardly – your neck enveloped with a collar, with his name on it, and he can’t pry his eyes away from it. God, he never knew that being a colonel would allow him such a cutie as a bonus. KorTac didn’t seem like an organization that would give away wives so easily, but König isn’t going to complain. 

He just has to make sure to keep you chained to his table, that’s all. 

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

James Stewart (It's a Wonderful Life, The Philadelphia Story, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington)—the thing about Jimmy Stewart is that for a weird-enough looking guy, he is yet somehow SO hot and SO believable, ALWAYS. He always plays the same person—he's always, well, Jimmy Stewart—yet that person can be a murderer, a dark cynic, a naive idealist, the boy next door or an old man who knows better, and every one of those is hot. I would jump his bones in a heartbeat

Toshiro Mifune (Rashumon, Seven Samurai, Grand Prix, Stray Dog)—i love and respect my boi tab hunter (rest in peace you beautiful, beautiful man ❤️), but after i watched like 12 of his movies in a row on tcm last year, i ALSO love and respect toshiro mifune, son of a literal actual hatamoto’s (a high-ranking samurai) daughter, also very possibly related to the best judokan EVER, AND, he’s the guy who SHOULD have been obi-wan kenobi. the fact that he’s ALSO hot as hell just adds to his appeal.

This is round 4 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

James Stewart propaganda:

"Ough I saw him first in It's A Wonderful Life, where he is very charming as a suicidal family man being absolutely crushed by capitalism. But then. The Philadelphia Story, in my opinion, should get the same kind of press The Mummy does for being a bisexual dream. Now I'm not really bi (not into women) and it's honestly up for debate whether i'm attracted to men or not, but COME ON!! The movie stars James Stewart as well as Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn (and Ruth Hussey). Stewart plays a common working man, a journalist, to contrast with Grant's character, who is mega-rich. He is scrappy and hates rich people. Hot! They have a whole scene together where he's super drunk and being really physical with his acting, which I love because he is kinda wet noodle shaped. Hot! He carries Hepburn in his arms while singing Somewhere Over The Rainbow. Hot! He gets punched in the face by Cary Grant. Hot!!! In The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence, we get to see him portray an alternative type of masculinity, opposite John Wayne doing John Wayne. He is even more wet noodle-y, to put emphasis on his incompatibility with the rugged masculinity of the cow-boy, he wears an apron for a lot of the film, again, to blur his masculinity, and he gets shot. Hot! Also he's older here, if that's your thing. Long story short: He's giving librarian chic and The Philadelphia Story made me want to be poly."

“Here he is next to Grant, in what I believe to be a promotional shot for The Philadelphia Story. Please don’t get distracted by Grant (or do, i’m submitting him next).”

“He’s a nice guy and a good guy and deserves all the happiness and joy ever! Classic boy next door/class president kid that everyone loves for real. Stand-up for the Little Guy vibes. With a charming fun side!!”

Toshiro Mifune propaganda:

"In addition, he spoke fluent mandarin and every time he was casted in foreign films, he said his lines in the language of the movie (although they ended up dubbing him. He wasn’t happy about it though).”

Submitted: this gifset

Also submitted: this video (yes, that one)

"Crucial Toshiro Mifune propaganda: THOSE LEGS."

"That is hella muscle. Go watch The Hidden Fortress, aka Star Wars A New Hope. His thighs deserve an award."

[iamasaddie]

horny&depraved book club (your daddy would be disappointed)

Hello, my dear depraved birdies. I decided to start my own little dark book club for those who are as fucked up in the head as I am. This fic rec list contains SOLELY dark works that have extremely dark topics, [main warnings are listed in brackets].

This is part 1 and it only has Joel, but more is to come.

First of all, mostly everything by @toxicanonymity , but especially RAIDER!Joel series and LINCOLN!Joel. Special mention for NIGHT WALKS!Joel (but he's not dark, just adorably creepy)

CARNAL by @pascalsbby [dominate & aggressive dbf!joel, age gap (24/50s)]

PLAYING ROUGH by @littlegreendove [knife kink, degradation, light dom/sub]

BURN FOR ME by @psychedelic-ink [stockholm syndrome, fear kink, dubious consent]

FATHERLESS by @weirdfangirly [dub-con, age gap, daddy issues]

GIVE AN INCH, TAKE A MILE by @thatmrmiller [age gap, drugging, forced breeding]

PRETTY FACE, CHERRY CHAPSTIC by @missannwinchester [drinking, violence, degradation] 

SIGN MY NAME by @djarin-dreams [knife play, blood play, non-con]

HOUSE ARREST by @shadeysprings [non-con, smut, stepcest]

TRICKS OF THE TRADE by @mypoisonedvine [dub-con, choking, daddy/sir kink, reader is a pill user/addict]

STRANGER THAN A STRANGER by @proxima-writes [survival as coercion/manipulation, dub/non-con, somnophilia]

You can contribute to the book club by mentioning your favorite dark works (all Pedro Pascal characters are welcomed) OR send some creepy love to the amazing authors by again mentioning them in the comments or just sliding into their ask box!

Also, if you have written your own dark works that weren't mentioned here but you think they deserve some recognition, don't be shy and promote that depravity! (they might be a part of the next H&DBC fic rec list)

REMEMBER! FICTION IS NOT REAL LIFE AND WHATEVER YOU SEE ON PAGE DOES NOT MEAN I (or anyone else) CONDONES THIS TYPE OF BEHAVIOR IRL. 

Whatever you do in life should be safe, sane and consensual.

[jymwahuwu]

I don't usually send asks but be careful. The hsr fandom is mass reporting any dubcon or noncon accounts in the fandom. They got someone's account deleted the other day and accused them of promoting r@pe.

I hope u have a good day!

Oh thank you! I don't pay much attention to fandom stuff so I don't know…I guess people are crying and screaming over the morality of fictional content again💀

To cite the fact, I recently purchased some comics from DL sites, which according to wiki already have over 9 million global users in 2022. There are many popular otome comics, CDs, sounds and games available online where you can buy them. As you've probably read, those comics are quite famous. You can see that the first place is yandere, the second place is non-con, and the third place is sweet love story. I did a quick count, and one-third of the top 100 are non-con, dub-con, and yandere content. That is almost the most popular and best-selling content theme in otome around the world. I guess that proves something.

Women…not just women, people's sexual repression and shame are quite evident around the world. Sex cannot be mentioned or discussed in the public sphere, let alone your desires, which are not accepted. Many people who have CNC kink are people who have rape fantasies. If the protagonist is forced to take away, overwhelm, in the fantasy, then there will be less sexual guilt because you are being forced.

David W. Wahl Ph.D. points out in "Understanding and Indulging in Rape Fantasy":

In Lehmiller’s (2018) survey results of 4,175 adults in the United States, he found that two-thirds of women in the study had rape fantasies and half of the men surveyed reported having rape fantasies.

And he mentioned the stigma surrounding rape fantasies:

As in all types of sexual desires, there are those who will stigmatize anyone who is sexually aroused by rape fantasy. Those who do not find arousal in this form of desire often cannot understand why others would like it. And, unfortunately, when some individuals are not interested in a particular desire, they act to shame anyone who is.

To summarize, the reasons for having rape fantasies mentioned in his article are:

Coping with past sexual assault

For sexual exploration

Rape fantasies can provide excuses, meaning the person can convince themselves that they did not want it but were forced to do so.

Oops, maybe some of the people staring at my page are now thinking "Oh my God, that's terrible. I'm going to report this to foreign website. So many people have these vicious and unacceptable thoughts in their minds" and "They are defending and encouraging rape". They cry out to their inner morals, "That's disgusting!", "Why do these studies justify these evil ideas?"

I'm not surprised. Reading ability is limited.

[dotieeee]

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 11

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

Overall Warnings:

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

Masterlist

Level 11 Warnings:

The blackest of mails, like vanta-blackmail lolol

Replay Level 10

Ready? Level 11 Start:

Acacius Innis runs his fingers through his hair as soon as you finish telling your story.

You had just told him everything that transpired that day, save your mentor’s…gestures of affection. You ensured that he heard only what he needed to know: about his program being seized by the Citadel, you being promoted – perhaps so you could be kept under further surveillance – and about how you had said a few scornful words to Coriolanus Snow that you’re aware may bite you back in the ass.

Your uncle never spoke a word the entire time and chose to lend his ear instead.

He sighs, slaps his knees lightly and gets up from the couch, muttering to himself, ‘I’m getting a little too old for this.’

He saunters to the kitchen, emerging a few minutes later with two steaming mugs in either hand. He places one on the coffee table, and the other he makes you cup with both hands. He then encases your hands in his as he kneels before you.

Mmm. Hot chocolate. Almost as comforting as your uncle’s presence.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from all this,” he says in the most contrite expression you’ve seen on him. “I want you to know that I tried, I really did.”

But he has nothing to apologise for; he never has. “You led me to the Citadel that day, didn’t you?”

He lifts a corner of his mouth wanly. “I wanted you to see for yourself what kind of man you were dealing with. Looking back now, I wish I could’ve done more. I could’ve done so much more, Nellie.”

“No, uncle, you did everything you could. You always do. I couldn’t have asked for anything else,” you assure him. Your uncle has never failed you, but you have failed him time and again, and this is one of those instances. “I know you tried helping me without making it look like you were mollycoddling me.”

He tilts his head in agreement as he chuckles a little. “Yeah, well, you were always yapping about how you were ‘adult enough’ to handle things on your own,” he says fondly. “You were always independent, even when you were a little girl.”

Your tears have already abated back at the dumpster, but this time, they come back with an even more brutal force.

“I know…The truth is, uncle, I don’t think I can this time…I can’t do this anymore…” you choke on your own tears as your grip on the mug shakes.

“Hey, hey,” he says, putting down your mug on the coffee table. He cups your cheeks to wipe the tears away. “The fuck you can’t. You’re the bravest girl I know, Nellie. Now, I made a promise to your dad that I will look after you. And I will, until the day I die, plumcake.”

His expression turns sombre as he stands, running his fingers through his greying hair.

“That’s why I’m sending you to District 3.”

You whip your head up sharply at him.

“What?” Why does it sound like he’s sending you alone?  “You’re coming with, right? Uncle, you have to.”

“I can’t. I have to stay here.”

“Why?”

He sighs deeply as he takes his seat back on the sofa. “It’s much more complicated for me, plumcake. I’ll tell you some other time,” he adds, seeing the look of protest on your face. “Right now, it’s important that we get you there without anyone finding out. I can send the message to your aunt tonight. Listen to me carefully:

“You need to pack lightly, and we need to get to the earliest train leaving straight for District 3. That’s at five in the morning. Your aunt will pick you up when you get there, and she’ll set you up somewhere they can’t trace you.”

Uncle Cas leans forward and threads his fingers together in contemplation. Once again, the lines on his face and the bags under his eyes become more apparent. You worry that if you go, he’ll be left to deal with the aftermath of your actions.

“What if they, or he, think you helped me escape? Why can’t you come with me instead?”

“Then we make it look like you simply ran away,” Uncle Cas says casually. “You can even leave a note and shit. And don’t worry about me. Your uncle is a lot tougher than he looks.”

He flashes you a reassuring smile, before adding, “I will follow when I can, plumcake. Okay?”

But he says it in this tone that he uses on you when he’s hiding something, and he just wants you to let go of the matter. However, you are also well aware that if you don’t leave tomorrow for District 3, there is a chance you may never leave the Capitol again.

So you nod and begin stuffing your bag with essentials. You had to ensure it was an easy thing to grab if you ever needed to be quick on your feet. You pause when you get to the bookshelf. Your eyes immediately land on the far end of the arithmetic textbooks you’ve collected over the years:

Sejanus’s book of condensed romantic novels.

If you’re going to spend an indefinite amount of time to yourself hiding like an outlaw, you might as well take something of Sejanus with you. You grab the book and hide it among the clothes you packed.

You barely get any sleep in the next hours counting to four thirty, and when your uncle knocks on your bedroom door, you’re ready to go in ten seconds.

Your uncle manages to drive you himself to the train station without drawing attention, but as a precaution, he drops you off a few blocks away from the station building. Before you exit the car, he gives you his final instructions.

“I can’t be seen with you inside the station, and that building has cameras inside and out, so you’ll have to walk all the way there, I’m afraid. Just in case, I will park outside and wait; that way, if they ask, I’ll tell them you ran away and I’m looking for you. Got it?”

You nod once and gulp. This can’t be the last time you’ll see him in a long while, right? Nonetheless, you give him the tightest hug you can muster.

“Uncle, please be careful, okay? Video-call me write to me, or whatever, please?” you implore. You try to hold in the tears threatening to burst, but it’s getting close to impossible.

“I’ll be fine, plumcake, and yes, I’ll call every day if I can. Don’t cry now, you’ll be fine,” he whispers, patting your back and then pulling away, ruffling your hair as he urges, “Now, go. I’ll feel a lot better when you’re with your aunt.”

As you step out of the car, you glance behind you one more time just as your uncle drives off to a corner and out of sight. You wipe away any tears in your eyes and on your cheeks, adjust your bag, and walk as briskly as you can to the train station.

You keep a straight face as you go through the iris scanning at the peacekeeper station. The peacekeeper waves you forward once it’s finished and even gives you a polite salute, and your shoulders sag in relief once you’re several feet away. The ticketing booths are almost empty save for a few lone would-be passengers. The waiting area looks even more sparse. Only the freight section, located on the other side of the building, seems to be seeing any action, with the porters busy fork lifting large wooden crates to and from the freight carriages.

By the time you walk up to a booth, there is no one else on the line, so you ask the ticket agent for an express to District 3. You hand her the money in exchange for the ticket and casually proceed to the waiting area. You sigh as you sit and put down your bag. Filled with unease, which you guess will only abate when you’re inside a carriage, with the train moving as fast as it can all the way to District 3 where your aunt would be waiting, you check your watch every five minutes.

Ten-minute mark. Only ten minutes more and you’ll never see Coriolanus Snow ever again.

You almost jump as you feel a tap on the shoulder from behind. You turn to find the same peacekeeper who saluted you at the station, peering at you sheepishly.

“I’m sorry to bother, Miss Innis – I received the word late, you see – but my commander would like to have a word with you in his office. Please follow me,” he says.

If you had no reason to worry a while back, you have now.

Without causing a fuss, you follow the peacekeeper, who leads you to a closed office door on the station building’s second floor. He knocks twice and opens the door for you when he hears a voice call ‘come in.’ 

The door reveals a spacious office littered with desks that are currently empty, save the one at the far end occupied by another peacekeeper in his fifties scribbling something on paper and, right before the desk, sitting with his arms crossed and his face unreadable, someone else who  isn’t  supposed to be there.

“Uncle Cas?...”

He shakes his head once and gives you a look he hasn’t used on you in a long time:

Don’t ask.

You will your heart to stop pounding. This must just be protocol, right? They must’ve gotten a little more strict with district travel these days.

The peacekeeper at the desk, a commander judging by his uniform, smiles at you exasperatedly.

“Ah, there she is, your little runaway. You gave your uncle quite the scare, young lady,” he says, clicking his tongue after. “I found your uncle lurking in his car, saying he’s looking for you.”

“Commander Moss. You’ve met my niece before, I’m glad you found her,” he pretends to send you a disapproving look. You wipe the confused expression off your face. Showing any more could mean trouble.

“Yes, certainly we did. I don’t know who revoked her inter-district travel pass, but whoever did it, did it just in time.”

Oh no.

Commander Moss gets to his feet and announces, “Very well! Now that I’ve got the two of you here, I can now proceed with the real reason you were brought here.”

“Oh?” your uncle merely puts on an air of curiosity, but your instincts are telling you there’s something amiss.

The commander exhales as he paces behind his desk “Acacuis, there is no easy way of putting this, but the truth is, we were told a few hours ago to be on the lookout for  both of you.”

Your heart drops to your stomach.

Coriolanus got to them first.

Uncle Cas, however, maintains a curious facade. “Huh. Would you happen to know why?”

Commander Moss grimaces. “I’m afraid not, I’m sorry. And that’s not all,” he pauses as he scratches his temple with a finger, clearly uncomfortable with the information. “Aside from being told of your niece’s inter-district travel privileges being rescinded, I was also ordered to escort the two of you to the Citadel.”

Your Uncle Cas, ever the calm one, shrugs and says, “Alright. I wonder what it could be. In any case, Hubertus, we are at your disposal.” He takes to his feet, and you follow.

“I appreciate your cooperation. Part of our instructions was to keep this...matter as discreet as possible; this makes it a lot easier for all of us. I’ll drive you there myself; please follow me.”

The ride is quiet, and your attempts at getting your uncle’s attention are all but ignored, with him refusing to meet your eyes the entire drive to the Citadel.

As soon as you’re inside the building, you and your uncle are flanked by three peacekeepers each – one of them even confiscates your bag – and escorted to the elevator, dropping you off on a floor you’ve never been in. Before he’s pulled away by his escorts, your uncle tells you with a collected smile, “Everything is going to be okay, Nellie.”

Again with that tone.

They bring you to what seems to be an interrogation cell, dimly lit and empty except for what you suspect is a two-way mirror covered by blinds, and a table at the centre fitted with handcuffs. You don’t struggle when they place the cuffs around your wrists, but you keep asking them questions – where they took your uncle, why they’re keeping you here – all of which go unanswered. With nothing else to do except wait, you stare at the clock above the two-way mirror.

Five fifteen. The train would’ve already left, and along with it, your chance at leaving all this behind.

You were so close.

You rest your forehead on your arm and close your eyes, if only to hinder the incoming headache.

You’re jerked awake at the sound of the door closing and the footsteps that reverberate in the tiny space. As if this day can’t get any worse this early, a voice you had hoped you’d never hear again invades the space.

“Nellie. I came as soon as I could,” Coriolanus Snow flashes you a grin from across the table, with a hand inside his usual crisp, clean pantsuit pocket, the other clutching the leather briefcase he always brings to work.

He looks almost normal, smiling at you warmly like last night didn’t happen. That smile of his just raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, especially after our little rift last night,” he says with a tilt of his head, his eyes unblinking and never leaving yours. “I want you to know that I will do everything I can to help you with this...matter at hand.”

You spare a glance at the clock. Just six twenty-five.

“I’ve been here for almost two hours. What ‘matter’ are we talking about here? What is going on? Where’s my uncle?”

Coriolanus just tuts. “That, and more, is what I came here to discuss. All in good time, sugarplum.”

He takes the seat facing you, takes a folder out of his briefcase and places it on the desk. He pushes it towards you, and motions to it, saying, “Open it and read.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you comply much as your cuffs allow you to and gape openly at the contents of the folder.

A photo of a young Acacius Innis in his early twenties, wearing tattered, dirty overalls and in the middle of lighting a cigarette, is paper clipped at the corner of the first page, and under the usual label ‘Classified,’ his name, family history, and background – some of which you already know, some of which redacted and crossed out completely in black ink.

You blink twice at the section named 'Criminal Background Synopsis.'

Criminal Category:  Rebel, Class A

Code Name:  The Confectioner

Criminal status:  AT LARGE

Known criminal organisations:  The Unresistance

 

The list goes on with names of your uncle’s presumed ‘criminal associates’ for two more pages, most of which are redacted and none that you recognise. The next page is a chart containing the organisation’s member hierarchy, and you check at the bottom for your uncle’s name, only to find it isn’t there. Scanning carefully once more, your eyes land at the very top.

There it is:  Acacius E. Innis, President/Leader.

To say you’re shocked is beyond an understatement.

Coriolanus doesn’t bother hiding the mirth in his eyes at your reaction. He begins lightly, “You see, I’ve been acquainting myself with your family history, and I uncovered a lot of interesting facts.”

This can’t be right.  Your uncle openly discusses his disdain of the government around you, but a rebel? And a leader of a rebellious front, to boot?

The third page is a scanned photo of the group’s sigil: a raven perched on an olive branch, with the Latin phrase ‘In Tenebris’ in all caps at the bottom.

“It means ‘In the Shadows,’” he explains. “The Unresistance was an elite resistance group made up of smart, highly competent people from all over Panem. As their motto suggests, this group takes the battle behind the scenes instead of the frontlines. They held respectable positions in society: company shareholders, factory owners, teachers, doctors, and many other specialists; some of them still do, to this day. They infiltrated government institutions using their intellect and ability to blend seamlessly within their workplace. They were a network of formidable spies who gathered and traded intelligence for and with other rebellious groups. Intelligence reports say they were smart to disband as soon as the war broke out. They simply vanished, using their positions and money to bury evidence against them.”

Uncle Cas is a spy? He most definitely has the aptitude for it. But if this holds any truth, why hasn’t he been prosecuted, especially with all this evidence?

Coriolanus answers this as if he just read your mind. “In your uncle’s case, he was pardoned by President Ravenstill in exchange for his loyalty and his services to the Capitol. Your uncle was given immunity with the condition that he never engages with anything considered to be subversive to Capitol authority.”

He leans forward with his fingers laced on the desk. 

“Your uncle accepted the deal right after your parents died. Do you know what that means, Nellie?” He asks softly.

“He moved to the Capitol for me.”

Acacius Innis gave up on his ideals to raise his dead brother’s daughter all by himself. What if you caused his divorce, too? Are you about to be responsible for his hanging, as well?

“As touching as that may be,” Coriolanus interrupts your train of thought. “The fact remains: your letters to Sejanus were never monitored and were never sent through the official communications channels. This is evidence that your uncle was, or still is, in contact with them, therefore violating the conditions of his pardon.

“Now, imagine if someone gets ahold of this intel. If someone sends word to the president.” He finishes his speech with a smug expression, knowing he has the upper hand.

This makes you wonder: when has he  not  had the upper hand?

“By ‘someone,’ you mean you,” you scoff. “Did you revoke my inter-district pass, too?”

“It’s the protocol for a person of interest.”

“What is there for you to gain from all of this? You got your stupid program; it’s now official Citadel property. And if this is about the things I said last night, forget it: I’m not taking them back, and I’m not apologising.”

Coriolanus just lets out this sardonic hum, his smirk growing ever wider. “Did your uncle ever tell you about what happened during our meeting at Strabo’s home?”

You narrow your eyes at him as you recall that night. Your uncle had been so mad about it but had refused to disclose anything.

“That business proposal was supposed to bring the Snows, the Innises, and the Plinths great benefit. An arrangement to join our families together by way of marriage...”

He drums his fingers on the table while you digest, with much difficulty, what he just unveiled. 

“You and I, Nellie.”

No.  No, it can’t be.

“Who’s idea was that?” You ask in a hushed tone. It’s Strabo or Ma. It has to be.

“It was mine.”

Fuck.

“I pitched it to Strabo, and he agreed with it,” he goes on. “Enthusiastically, in fact. He was eager to pitch it to Acacius Innis, but no surprises here: your uncle blatantly refused. He said he’s giving you free rein on your life, and that if you were to get married, he wanted it to be of your own volition. Sweet, but from that day on, I knew he’d get in my way.”

“So this – all of this – it’s not about the program anymore...”

“Finally,” he praises. “It took you a while longer than I thought. Sure, it was my task to secure for the Citadel this vital piece of intellectual property, but...”

What is the end goal of the game?  Uncle Cas’s voice echoes in your head.

“My end goal was you.”

Coriolanus bares his teeth in a wicked grin, taking obvious pleasure at the way your breathing evidently shallows. You fight the bile rising to your throat and dig your fingernails into your palms since there’s absolutely nothing else you can do.

“It still is, in fact. So you hurt me a little when you insinuated last night that my feelings weren’t true, but that doesn’t matter. You were angry and I can see why. You wanted to protect your uncle’s work, and you simply lashed out when you couldn’t.”

He reaches from across the table to unfurl your fingers and hold your hands. Not exactly the most romantic thing, what with you in handcuffs and unable to swat his hand away.

“That’s why I came here,” he says. He draws circles on the back of your hand with his thumb as he continues, “I understand your actions and I’m willing to help you. I can fix all of this.”

“Don’t you mean to say you’re going to blackmail me again?”

Coriolanus’s grip on you tightens by a fraction. His initial warmth vanishes as he lets go of your hands and abruptly gets to his feet, his jaw tensing and his shoulders drawn back. With him gripping the edge of the table, he leans into your space.

“Let’s not argue semantics here, sugarplum. You are wearing out my patience,” he hisses. “I tried earning your trust so I could do this the right way: court you, bide my time, and then propose... Remember that you forced my hand in this.”

He flips the folder to its final page and pins it with his forefinger. “This is a report I drafted to formally inform Ravenstill of your uncle’s backslide.”

The leer on his face turns diabolical as he lays down his ultimatum:

“I am willing to destroy this report if you agree to marry me.”

You stare vacantly at the paper, not even bothering to read its contents. “This is your move? To force me to marry you?”

“Again, semantics. This is a big decision you’re about to make, so I will give you twenty-four hours to accept.”

“And if I don’t?”

And yet, as the question spills from your lips, the answer comes flooding in the form of flashes inside your head: your uncle climbing the steep steps of the gallows, a peacekeeper placing a black piece of cloth over his head as he readies the rope –

You’re taken away from the mental image by the sound of blinds lifting. He’s just adjusted the covers to reveal the occupant on the other side of the two-way mirror: 

Your Uncle Cas, sitting behind a table identical to yours, handcuffed like you, and looking extremely bored out of his wits.

Coriolanus just sneers at the sight.

“Then, I simply send my report to the president. Now, I doubt Ravenstill would be willing to spend time and fortune investigating the matter just to exonerate a former rebel, so I imagine your uncle will charged at once for conspiracy and treason.” The blinds close, and he circles the table slowly with his hands behind his back while he counts the ways you’ll surely be fucked once that stupid paper gets to the president.

“His assets, and in turn, the entire Innis Tech company, will be seized by the government of Panem, leaving you with next to nothing. The Innis name, forever besmirched and labelled traitors. You will be expelled from the University. No company will hire you, no matter your qualifications.”

He eventually reaches you and bends down to whisper over your ear:

“Everything your parents died for, everything your uncle worked for, will be stripped from you, all because you made the wrong choice.”

He pulls away from you with that self-satisfied smirk you’d give an arm to wipe off his face.

“Don’t look at me like that, sugarplum,” he tuts. “I am simply trying to make you see the consequences should you decline my proposal.”

You stare at him with all the loathing you can muster, but you doubt its efficacy; there isn’t much threat a handcuffed woman almost backed into a corner can do, after all.

“Why are you doing this?” So many things you want to say, and your brain settles for this train of thought. “You can have anyone you want in the Capitol. So why? Why go through these lengths when any other girl would willingly throw themselves at your feet?”

The expression on Coriolanus’s face shifts to something unreadable for a fraction of a second, but his mouth tilts once more into what seems like a pained grin, his eyes turning glossed over and – dare you say – gentle.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” he says softly. “But this I can tell you: nobody else compares, or even comes close.”

He paces the length of the room once more, just across the desk from you.

“I liked our camaraderie. Compared with other people, I felt like I could speak my mind with you to some degree. It’s refreshing, really, and for a time you were open to me in a similar way. I find that fascinating about you. You’re not afraid to speak your mind, and you do it so eloquently. You’re one of the smartest, most intuitive people I have ever met. Who wouldn’t want that for themselves?

“But then, you had to pull away.”

Every ounce of softness he just showed you vanishes, replaced by displeasure, staring you down with a curled lip at what he perceives to be a slight against him.

Is he referring to the kiss at the greenhouse, perhaps?

“That night at the party,” he continues, confirming your thoughts. “You knew and you played along. You had a plan, except it backfired in the end, didn’t it?”

He lets out a short, taunting laugh.

“I hope you learn something from this, at least: snow lands on top. Frankly, if you had the connections and the resources I had, you’d be a worthy adversary.”

Coriolanus strokes your cheek with a finger. You turn your head away just so you can keep from looking into those intense blue eyes, now genuinely fearful of being swallowed whole. Your action does not deter him. He sits on the table inches away from where you’re handcuffed.

“Watching you hold your ground against me...it was  exhilarating. I’m almost sorry it has come to an end; I was enjoying myself.”

Then those hands firmly encase the back of your neck and the sides of your face, his face drawing closer until his lips brush over your ear.

“You play the chase so beautifully,” he whispers breathlessly. “You’re beautiful, Prunella Innis. You’re almost perfect, now.”

When he pulls away, he observes your face for a moment, his hands still clasping both sides of your face. You don’t know whether to cry or lash out, so your face freezes with a glare and your body stays rigid, hoping you can convey just how much you despise him without saying anything.

He clicks his tongue but seems mildly amused. “Don’t be like that, sugarplum. You should be thanking me. Remember our little lovers’ tiff a few hours ago? I stand by what I said: I made you who you are. You’re perfect now because of me. Do you think you’d be able to find out just what you’re capable of without me pushing you to your limit? I made you. I own you,” he says as his thumb strokes your lower lip. “My  perfect little sugarplum.”

“If you’re that addicted to control,” you muster spitefully, “What good will it do you if you marry me, knowing I could cause you this much trouble?”

He gets off the table, now with a slight spring in his step as he flashes a conceited grin.

“Oh, but you won’t, Nellie. Not anymore, at least. I have the only thing – person, really – you hold of value. That should be enough for me to teach you to toe the line.”

You blink and face the floor to forcefully rid yourself of invasive imagery involving him harming your uncle just so he can get his way. But the grip on your chin makes you gaze into his crazed orbs: nothing but a bottomless blue abyss where he intends for you to fall freely. Once more, you’re subjected to his covetous scrutiny, making you shiver inwardly and wish you had heeded your instincts warning about him from the very beginning.

“Imagine,” he breathes, “One of the most accomplished, most brilliant women in all of Panem, submitting wholly to me? I suppose you’re right: I am addicted to control, and controlling you, forcing you on your knees before me, and  only me, is my morphling.”

And then, Coriolanus releases you. He picks up the folder and secures it inside his briefcase. A prized piece of family history, now reduced to mere blackmail material.

“Twenty-four hours. That will be – ” he glances at the clock above him – “Seven AM. Give me a call then, and we’ll talk.”

You really should’ve trusted your guts about him from the get-go.

From his pocket, he takes out a key and uses it to free you from your shackles on the table.

“They shouldn’t have handcuffed you like this,” he says as he pulls your wrist back to inspect it. “I’ll have a word with them. Come, let’s get you home. Judging by your eyes, you had not slept the entire night, either.”

He uses the same wrist he’s gripping to lead you away, but you don’t budge. You can’t leave when your Uncle Cas is still in the other cell.

Coriolanus guesses your concern correctly and assures you, “Your uncle will not be harmed while in custody; you have my word.”

“When can he go home, then? Why should he still stay here?”

“Leverage, sugarplum,” he smirks. “And he can go home once we’ve…settled this matter between us. For now, consider your decision of my proposal at home when you’re well rested.”

“And my bag? They took my bag,” you say. Sejanus’s book is inside that bag.

“They will withhold it until it’s properly searched. They will turn it over to me once it’s cleared. In the meantime, you will stay at home and sleep. You have a decision to make.”

His tone doesn’t leave anything for argument, so with a glance at the blinds, you allow yourself to be dragged from the cell, out of the building and into his car, which leaves once he gives the word to the driver.

You try not to cry the entire ride home as you think of Uncle Cas. Will they feed him? Will they interrogate him? Are they going to give him a bed to sleep on, at least? Sure, you could ask Coriolanus to make sure he gets whatever he needs, but any favours you ask him at this point would come at a hefty price you might not be able to afford.

Once the car pulls up to Corso III, you all but launch yourself out of the car – anything to get away from him as soon as possible – but a firm hand grabs ahold of your arm when the car door opens.

“I will take you there myself. I need to have a word with the peacekeepers,” he says.

Peacekeepers?

Apparently, he had ordered two of them to guard the door to your apartment home, and you wait until he’s done giving them orders before you can get inside. Even in your own home, you no longer have autonomy.

He follows you inside your home as you sink into the sofa, take your shoes off and release a sigh, burrowing your face in your palms. Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe you’re still dreaming, and when you wake up, your uncle will still be here, in the kitchen, making breakfast for the two of you. Maybe when you open your eyes, he won’t be there anymore.

“Have you had breakfast, sugarplum?”

Damn. No such luck. 

You feel him touch your shoulder to get your attention, and you flinch away from his touch automatically. He purses his lips in apparent displeasure.

“Please don’t pretend to care," you say. "You already let go of that façade, remember?”

“if you still think this is a farce, wait until that clock strikes seven tomorrow morning. You’ll see then just how real this is for me.”

Wordlessly, you brush past him as you enter the kitchen and yank the fridge door open. As you scan the contents, you can feel his stare boring holes in the back of your head.

“Twenty-four hours, Nellie. I’ll wait for your call.”

With that final air of pompousness, he takes his leave, closing the door behind him with a click.

Feeling utterly depleted, you forgo getting food and go back to the sofa, launching yourself on it with a soft ‘oof.’ Your stomach growls, but how can you eat when you’re unsure whether your uncle would? You’re bone-tired, but you’re not even sure he’d get any rest in that barely furnished cell, either.

On the other hand, if Uncle Cas was here, he’d be berating you right now to take better care of yourself.

Perhaps you could spend the entire morning crying like about it like a child, but what good will that do? Begrudgingly, you grab whatever food you lay your eyes on in the fridge – in this case, a half-eaten bar of chocolate from The Headless Confectioner’s that your uncle resealed, probably to save for later. Once you’re done chewing on it with much effort, you drag your feet to your bed and bury yourself under pillows and blankets. Apparently, a cocktail of mental exhaustion and a restless night make a dreamless sleeping draught almost as strong as Dr Gaul’s concoction, and within minutes, you’re out cold, dead to the world for the next few hours.

You’re cruelly wrenched from blissful unconsciousness by the constant ringing of the doorbell. In an instant, you’re up, glancing at your alarm and scrambling to the door to check who it is. It’s five to three in the afternoon, so maybe it’s your Uncle Cas, and they confiscated his keys so he can’t get in! Perhaps they even let go of him due to lack of evidence and he’s just about ready to get some well-deserved rest.

Thanks to this wishful thinking, you’re extremely disappointed to find more peacekeepers milling on the intercom, insisting on coming in.

“Ms Innis, we have a warrant to search your home in light of recent events,” one of them says.

Is there no end to this day, you wonder?

The moment you unlock the door, the peacekeepers stroll inside and await orders, while one of them, a major no more than in his late twenties, salutes you, and shows you the search warrant.

“My name is Major Truman, Ms Innis,” he says. “My unit and I are assigned to search your home for evidence of subversive activities. We will, as much as we can, try not to disturb the peace inside your home and are instructed to only search areas where Acacius Innis might conduct his business. We are to also seize anything we deem as evidence. Would you kindly point us to the said area?”

Numbly, you nod and lead them to his office, and they privates waste no time sorting through the obvious place to start: the papers stuffed in boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner, where your uncle sometimes stuffs graded essays and test papers, and then forgets about them until he needs them.

There’s no point watching them tear the place apart, so proceed to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

“It must really be difficult, watching all this,” a voice says.

Your head snaps to see Major Truman, standing in the kitchen doorway stiffly with his arms behind his back.

“Your coffee has been ready for nearly fifteen minutes, in case you’re wondering,” he adds.

Shit. You let out a sigh of frustration as you realise you’ve been staring blankly into space for the said amount of time; probably more.

You press ‘reheat’ and wait. As an afterthought, you offer the major some coffee, which he gratefully accepts. He takes the seat just beside your uncle’s usual place.

“Have you found anything?” you ask, unable to control yourself.

“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to discuss matters regarding evidence,” he says contritely. After a sip from his cup, he says, “Thank you for being cooperative, by the way. I think it’s unfair, what they’re doing.”

You nod and focus on your cup, unsure how to respond. He’s a peacekeeper, after all – how much can you trust his type?

“You might not believe this,” he goes on, this time, with a much softer tone. “But I used to be his student at the University. I nearly flunked one of his classes because, well…I wasn’t into the field, to be quite honest.”

Major Truman flashes you a kind smile. “I don’t why I told him, but I did. I confessed I was only pressured by my parents to take the course.” He pauses to let out a dry chuckle. “He then asked me right then and there to write an essay about how I would hypothetically convince my parents to let me take a different path. It was weird, but I did. When I finished, he read that rambling thing I wrote, and I was dismissed.

“The next thing I know, the grades were coming in, and he gave me a passing grade.”

Curious now, you flick your gaze at him as he laughs heartily. “He did that?”

“I graduated a few years ago, but that, I’ve never forgotten to this day.”

Major Truman pats your shoulder awkwardly before he steps away, pausing at the doorway to say, “He’s a good man, Ms Innis. I’m sure this will all blow over soon.”

“Do you know If he’s okay? If he’s had anything to eat, or…” your worried voice trails off, as it dawns on you that he might not even be stationed at the Citadel for him to have access to this bit of information.

He nods, saying, “I gave him food a while ago. He recognised me, too. Don’t worry. I have friends there who owe me favours, and I can make sure he’s treated well. It’s the least I could do. Thank you for the coffee.”

With a final salute, he exits the kitchen, presumably to return to your uncle’s office to continue his supervision.

You inwardly thank your luck and the goodness of your uncle’s heart to have someone like Major Truman looking after him in that hellish place. Rebel or not, you agree: your uncle has a good heart.

Far greater than yours or anyone else’s.

That’s why it takes you a moment to compose yourself once you see the chaos that’s now his beloved home office.

His computer, all but taken apart now, had been packed into a box labelled ‘evidence.’ His bookshelf, its shelves sagging with the weight of the books it contained, now empty; documents and notes scattered all over the floor as the men haul his stuff outside. They’re taking items that you won’t otherwise even spare a second glance at.

At least until your eyes land on one of the boxes they’re still halfway through filling.

It’s your little rabbit plush – the one that had inadvertently saved your life when you went back to pick it up.

You hadn’t seen the rabbit plush in years, and you had actively avoided it as a child after it was returned to you just days after the attack. Your uncle seems to have tried his best to restore the plush. Dusty, but otherwise free of the dirt it had been coated with on the day of the explosion, you pick it up at once from the box.

A peacekeeper apparently has qualms about it.

“Miss, put that thing back in the box – otherwise, I’d have to report you for obstruction of justice abd tampering of evidence,” he barks.

Major Truman, however, approaches him with a stern expression. “Stand down, private. It’s just a toy. Unless the Capitol has issued orders saying rabbit plushies are now deemed subversive?”

The private gives him a salute before returning to sorting the papers on the table.

Flashing Major Truman a grateful smile, you exit the office and settle for the couch in the living room in case they finish soon, and they’d have final things to say.

Maybe even decide to storm your room once they’re done with the home office.

At exactly eight in the evening, Major Truman and his unit bid you goodnight, leaving you alone again in the entire apartment. You survey whatever’s left of your uncle’s office: computer parts they deemed unimportant to seize, several stacks of school-related documents, and a few other knick-knacks, all arranged neatly on what was once a table that had very little surface visible. At least they had the decency to clean up. Perhaps an order from the major himself.

Your Uncle Cas’s office, now stripped bare of his soul – it’s a sight enough to send you into a sobbing fit. No longer able to bear seeing the space, you sink into the living room sofa once more. As you mourn the injustice, and the treatment of a good, wise man, you hold the stuffed rabbit close to your heart, hoping it’ll save you again this time around.

You run. Fast.

You run even as branches of the foliage get caught in your dress – the dress Coriolanus Snow made you wear on the night of that party – inwardly glad that it’s finally getting the treatment it deserves: getting torn little by little, hopefully until it’s forever erased from your memory.

You’re barefoot, you notice, but the ground is grassy anyway. You don’t need shoes when there are more pressing matters at hand.

Like that deadly…creature chasing you down as its designated prey.

You sprint as quickly as your muscles allow you to, through the ever-shifting landscape – a few seconds ago, it was a foggy, grassy terrain; now, it seems to have morphed into a series of tall bushes manicured neatly to form a seemingly endless maze. No end in sight, just grey nothingness outside the hedges.

Within the space, a voice you’re too unfortunate to recognise plays as if coming through the intercom. One of Volumnia Gaul’s little on-the-spot poems:

“Oh, me, there goes little Nellie, so pretty and frail; her big bad Snow is hot on her tail!”

The mad cackling that ensues is superseded by a faint voice in the distance.

“Nellie? Nellie! Come back here!”

Coriolanus Snow’s feral shouts float in the vast grey space, but you don’t look back. It isn’t Snow – it can’t be; the footfalls chasing you and seemingly inches away from you don’t sound human. There’s snarling behind you, and the sound of a snapping jaw is heard as your ankle narrowly misses its rabid bite.

The scream for your name this time is much more hysterical.

“Prunella Innis!”

Your frantic dash is interrupted by a succession of tiny pinpricks on your skin. Something live and crawling wraps around your leg, making you fall, with large sharp teeth digging inches deep into your flesh. You let out a pained cry as you fall to the ground, the stinging bringing involuntary tears into your eyes. An overwhelming scent envelops you as your fall is broken by a jagged, uneven surface. Vision clearing by the second, you realise what the forest floor had morphed into.

“I just want to talk to you!”

Another enraged scream from the creature hounding you.

Can it smell blood, you wonder? Because from the punctures on your skin, the red liquid now oozes freely, making you gag at the pungent, metallic smell. You don’t look at it. It’s always somehow easier to bear when you look away.

It had turned into a bed of roses and thorns in mere seconds. The red and white blooms attached to them seem to mock you in your despair. The thorny vine around your ankle grows, extending further into your leg, piercing it with razor-sharp spikes. The sound of soft whooshing from above makes you look up. 

It’s a drone older than the ones you’ve tested in the lab. The type that can only carry a single item at a time. It drops a water bottle a few feet away from you, and the bottle breaks when it lands.

The snarling creature seems to have caught up to you.

“I sent that to you.”

The imposing figure of Coriolanus Snow enters your line of vision. He smiles just as disarmingly as usual, his clothes just as you remember: brand-new, finely tailored and flawless in every angle. A stark comparison to your figure crumpled on the floor, unmoving and bleeding profusely.

“I thought you’d be grateful. I wanted to help you,” he says. He tilts his head to get a better look at your foot tangled in the brambles. It had already reached your thigh, tearing through your dress even further.

Yet his face is without an ounce of pity. Nothing but cold in those eyes – biting, ruthless, unyielding.

He bends on one knee to draw closer to your frame. “Don’t worry, sugarplum, you won’t need these anymore,” he says, his tone cloyingly sweet, as he strokes your injured leg. “You have nowhere to run. And you don’t have to run. Not when I have you.”

Movement from above distracts you from his leer. The sky folds back, much like a grey cloth, revealing a stadium full of Capitol residents, clapping and cheering and screaming, all to celebrate your downfall and venerate the cause of it.

Amidst the tumultuous applause, Coriolanus Snow’s victorious, haughty voice reaches you without delay or difficulty, as he looks down on you with those hungry, piercing, rabid eyes.

Like he’s burrowed inside your head and his words are echoing from within you.

“I won you, Nellie. The game is over. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

You open your eyes with a sharp intake of breath. 

It’s five in the morning and no word yet from your Uncle Cas. No calls, no knocks on the door or rings of the doorbell.

You’re just as alone as the moment you fell asleep. The rabbit plushie lies within your arms, its faded, beady eyes looking at you as if to ask, ‘what now?'

Coffee, that’s what. Coffee will make it better.

As the coffee maker gurgles in the background, you wonder vacantly whether your Aunt Marcelline had gone through this exact situation when she and your uncle had still been married. With him being a rebel, did she also have to deal with hours upon hours of no word from him, waiting almost desperately for any news of the fate that had befallen him? You’re lucky, considering you know where he is – probably the same interrogation cell they’d placed him in yesterday – but your aunt…how many of these days did she have to endure?

Was this the reason why she left him in the end?

The coffee doesn’t help. No surprises there.

Thirty minutes to six.

There’s still time for this trick to end. Hey, maybe you’re still dreaming all of this, or maybe this is some sort of cruel prank your Uncle Cas had designed.

Maybe you entered a parallel universe, and anytime soon, things will right themselves. Your uncle will be in the kitchen, making you both the sugar-heavy breakfast he’s partial to.

One could hope, right?

But as six rolls into the fray, reality finally rears its ugly head.

This is real.  Everything is real: your dear old Uncle Cas is still at the Citadel, and it’s only a matter of minutes before he’ll be sent to heaven-knows-where just for protecting you and the letters you had exchanged with Sejanus.

Unless you give in to the demands of Coriolanus Snow.

You allow yourself to spend the hour before your deadline in resigned sobbing – you’re sealing your life away with an obsessive sociopath, it’s the least you deserve – and by six fifty-eight, you pick up the phone receiver and dial his number.

Better you suffer than your uncle dead.

Six fifty-nine.

The other line rings thrice before you hear the click, indicating the receiver has just been picked up.

“Good morning, sugarplum,” that sickeningly sweet voice of Coriolanus Snow greets from the other line. “I was just about to dial the Presidential Palace.”

Curse you and your bloodline, Coriolanus Snow.

“Please let my uncle go; I accept your proposal.”

Author notes:

Enter Level 12

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!

Level 12 won't be out until next week, weekend, I think, because I will be going on a much needed vacay trip for a few days 😊 I'll be active still tho, so thank you guys for sticking around Ily all!! 😘

[spicyllewyn]

Kinktober 3. - Breeding / degrading.

Bud Cooper x F!Reader.

Tags & warnings. Breeding + degrading + age gap. (Early 20's + late 30's) (+18)

Important writers note. Since Suburbicon is set in 1959 you can guess it right, this is kinda misogynistic lol, there's a bit of dub-con with the breeding part.

Word count. 2k.

Summary. Bud is dying to make you a mommy.

Kinktober masterlist.

Bud was sweet, well, most of the time. You just weren't used to accepting the idea that sometimes he seemed to be obsessed with you.

Flowers, cards, expensive gifts. Having a boyfriend with a job was more fun than you thought, but at the same time, you had to deal with the burden of an older man with completely different aspirations from yours.

You loved him, and he undoubtedly loved you, but did you love him enough to set aside your life plans?

Attending college was a huge privilege, the idea of getting a job, your own apartment. You never saw yourself as a housewife, although you didn't judge those who made that choice; many of your girl friends were living a dream life that way.

And you weren't a fan of kids.

Oh, and weddings were too expensive to even consider.

Needless to say, it was the opposite of what Bud wanted for you. Well, for him. Or should you say, for the both of you, maybe?

"How was work?" Your arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed his lips. As usual, the only thing between you two was a bouquet of flowers. Beautiful sunflowers that matched the aesthetics of your room perfectly.

"They're considering me for a promotion." The tip of his nose rubbed against yours, making you laugh. "You should think about... you know, what we've talked about."

You pursed your lips, shaking your head afterward.

"No." You had lost count of how many times you had to repeat this. "I've already told you, love. No marriage, no engagement, no living together, and no kids until I finish college." You knew the dialogue by heart, and he probably did too.

He groaned, a little pout appearing on his lips.

"People talk," he whispered before kissing your lips again. Ah, you knew that by heart as well; it wasn't very difficult for him to distract you from the main topic.

Ever heard the popular saying "Small town, big hell"? Turns out, for the whole neighborhood, your relationship was more than scandalous. Bud already had a reputation due to his recent divorce, and you had managed to make it even worse with what everyone considered "progressive" ideas for the 50s.

You weren't married, everyone knew that, and you weren't in the process of getting married because every time you attended a boring neighborhood party, they always checked your hands and your partner's hands as a way to confirm that there was no ring yet. But still, you never hid the liberties of your relationship.

You spent whole nights at his apartment, the old lady from the house around the corner always spied on you when you left in the early hours or even in the mornings, with disheveled clothes, messy hair, and smeared lipstick all over your mouth.

The public displays of affection were on your part, although it was difficult for him to give in a little, he later understood that you did not have to be a prude in front of people, in fact, he started to enjoy the way in which people stopped to look. how you devoured his mouth against his car and how it brought moans from your throat because of the way his big hands squeezed your waist as if you were going to get away from him.

He loved your cherry flavored lip gloss and letting everyone know you were his.

"They've always talked." You lowered the bouquet of flowers, placing them on the dining table as his hands traveled the same path over and over, from your hips to your waist. "You know it's not what I want."

He sighed but gave you the same defeated smile as always.

"I know." He took just two steps closer until your body was against the table. "I've got the migraine of the century."

You chuckled. You already knew what that meant.

"And how could I solve that?"

With little effort, he sat you on the edge of the table, and your hands traveled down his chest, brushing his abdomen until they reached the edge of his pants. You tugged at the fabric until his hips were comfortably positioned between your legs.

“You know well what I want.” It was the last thing he whispered before his mouth was on yours, kissing you wetly and desperately.

It was no different than other times, you would never have guessed that Bud had a mission for that night.

While he was nibbling on your lower lip your hands quickly unbuttoned his shirt, you were never going to get tired of admiring his body, muscles and tanned skin were the perfect combination, although this time he was so focused on your mouth that you couldn't move away to do it this time.

His fingers slowly lifted the hem of your mini skirt, the one that made older women look at you with disdain in the streets, the one that he loved so much. Bud only pulled away from your lips when he wanted to, looking down as his thumb brushed the center of your panties.

"Look at that." He whispered, applying more pressure with his thumb. “You're wet from just a couple of kisses."

You nibbled on your already swollen and red bottom lip, your eyes not leaving him for a single second.

“You are such a whore, you know that, sweetheart?” You whimpered as his thumb began to trace small circles over your still covered clit.

You felt how your little pussy throbbed around nothing. 'Whore' was a word that you knew was constantly floating around town to refer to you, it was fucking hot when your boyfriend used it before fucking your brains out.

You nodded slowly and bit back the urge to smile.

“So desperate.” You felt him teasing your hole with his middle finger, wetting your underwear even more as he pressed the fabric against the exact spot your slick ran from.

You sighed and your hands rested on the table for some support while you held your legs open for him. His gaze was still fixed on his hands against your puffy little pussy lips, marking the line between them with his fingers.

“People talk.” He repeated what he had said minutes before. “They talk about what a whore you are for letting yourself be fucked without being married to me.” You thrust your hips forward in desperation when his hand finally slipped under your underwear. You needed him.

“I know y-you love it.” You whispered with a breathy voice. “Letting everyone know I'm nothing but your slut.”

That was enough for him, you knew how to drive him crazy with a flutter of your eyelashes, even more so with a couple of words. He stopped touching you, and you were about to complain until you saw him unbuttoning his pants to give you what you really wanted.

It was your hand that delicately helped him position his cock between your legs. The head pressing against your hole after only pushing your underwear aside.

"This is what you want?" No matter how much he pressed he just didn't thrust into you, a few nights ago you had realized how much he liked to push you to your limit.

“Bud, p-please.”

"Sorry?" You saw the corner of his mouth twitch with the threat of a smile.

"Please please." You whispered, your pleading eyes boring into him.

"Please what?"

“Please fuck me, please, please.” You pushed your hip further to the edge of the table, not even with the pressure of your body you could make him continue. "I need it."

“Yeah? You do?” He cooed, a mocking pout on his face.

“I beg you.” You whimpered, your high pitched voice getting more demanding.

He clicked his tongue and in one thrust he buried himself in you, fulfilling your pleas in one expert movement.

“It doesn't matter h-how many…” He stammered as his fingers dug into your thighs. “How many damn times do I try to stretch you out.” He started with a slow rhythm, strong and deep, enough to use his own hands as a method to keep your body from sliding back on the table. “You are still so fucking thight, baby.”

Your hands traveled to your breasts, squeezing them over the fabric of your sweater, giving him a bit of a show before taking it off.

Ah yes, the fact that you didn't wear a bra was also something that attracted glances on the streets.

“Look at you, pretty girl.” He leaned enough so that he could bury his face between your breasts, licking his lips before beginning to place wet kisses on your soft skin. “Fuck, I want to marry you.”

His voice almost sounded pleading as your fingers ruffled his hair and pushed him even closer to you. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking on it as his hips slammed into you again and again in a desperate rhythm.

“Please, please.” He whispered against your skin. “Please, marry me.” You were too cock drunk to think or speak clearly, you just nodded even though he couldn't see you.

It didn't take long for Bud to find that spot inside you, you moaned as loudly as you wanted, your back arching as if your body was begging to be as attached as it could be to his.

“Be my wife, baby.” You recognized well the way his voice broke, he was close.

He rested his chin on your chest and looked up. His eyes looked bigger from that position, it was stupidly adorable.

“P-Pull out.” You whispered between whimpers, your forehead resting against his.

Who were you trying to fool? You both loved each other so much it hurt.

He didn't obey you, his movements became more abrupt and you heard the table creak under your body along with the slap of your skin against his.

He was fucking you merciless.

“B-Bud.” You patted his cheek, trying to get his attention. “A-Ah, shit. P-Pull out.”

He dragged his hand up your thigh slowly until he reached between your legs, he pressed his thumb against your swollen clit making you see stars.

“Bud!” You exclaimed loudly, your entire body trembling with pleasure. “Yes, y-yes, God, yes.”

“You are going to be such a pretty mommy.” His nose brushed against yours as he straightened his back, seeking to be at your height.

You wanted to refuse, you really wanted to tell him to stop but your body was at his mercy, begging for more.

Praying he wouldn't get out of you.

“You want me to pull out, sweetheart?” He took your bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling on it and giving it a little tug before releasing it. “Tell me, do you want me to?”

Only moans came out of your mouth, shouting Bud's name and the word 'more' over and over again.

"I thought so." A delicate kiss on your lips. And another, and another, and another, and another. “You want my baby, don't you?”

You weren't thinking, you really weren't when you nodded.

A smile appeared on his face, accompanying his flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

It only took two more thrusts for you both to reach the limit, for the first time you felt the pleasure of being filled to the brim by him as your walls squeezed every last drop out of him. The warm liquid running down your thighs as your insides couldn't take any more.

“You are such an…” One more thrust silenced you, the way he pushed his spend deeper inside you. “Idiot.” You whispered, closing your eyes at the sensitivity of your body.

“You should start thinking about names.” His teasing smile made you want to punch him, but the soft, slow movement of his hips made you want to ask for more. “What do you say, love?” He pretended to pay attention to your babbling. “Yes, I think so too.”

He kissed your lips once, twice, three times.

“I'm not sure one is enough either.”

Tag list. @ninebluehearts @shousha133 @unear7hly @onefinnedwonder-fm @automnepoet @lokisremainingsanity @uncle-eggy @just-a-nightdreamer @spktrgantenk

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ngl, i kinda liked this one lol

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡They Can Never Have You｡⋆.

Dark!Steve Rogers x plus size reader

Things have been going pretty great recently- you’ve gotten a promotion at your job, you’ve been on a couple dates with the guy you really like and now your best friend has invited you over for a home-cooked meal and a chat! Something was bound to go off the rails.

Warnings: DARK FIC PLEASE READ WARNINGS, dub-con/non-con, sex pollen, unprotected sex, smut, forceful impregnation, implied pregnancy, dark!Steve, kidnapping, breeding kink, reader is tied up, drugging, gags, Steve is delulu, squirting, plugs

WC: 2.6k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Steve’s invitation over to his place wasn’t unusual and was, in fact, greatly welcomed. It had been a hell of a long week and you were dying to talk about it with someone. So you happily jumped on your bike and travelled as fast as you could to his home just outside of Manhattan. 

The blond was waiting at his front door for you to arrive with a huge smile on his face. “Rogers you are a life-saver!” You called out as you parked your crumbling bike at the side of his house.

Steve shrugged and accepted the warm hug you offered. “Just doing my duty ma’am.” He planted a kiss on your temple as he ushered you into the warmth of his home. 

You sighed in relief as the smell of Steve’s famous beef stew washed over you, chasing away the autumn chill. A shiver rolled up your spine, shaking off the cold that had settled into your limbs on the bike ride over. “Are you sure I didn’t need to bring anything? I always feel bad when I turn up empty handed.” You let Steve take your coat off for you.

He glanced at you from over his broad shoulder as he carefully hung up the worn coat next to his leather jacket. “Your company is all I could ask for doll, you know that.” You rolled your eyes at him as you toed off your converse.

“You say that every time.” He chuckled and then retorted.

“So you really should have learned it by now. I like taking care of you.” He gave your arm an affectionate squeeze before leading you to the dining room where dinner was already set up for you both. An open bottle of your favourite red wine sat next to what must have been bread rolls he baked himself and an antique soup dish you had given him for his birthday.

“Oh Steve this looks amazing!” A faint pink blush appeared on his cheeks before he cleared his throat and pulled out your chair for you.

“It was nothing really.” You melted into the dining chair, happy to finally be sitting after a long day. Steve took his place to your right at the round table, immediately grabbing the not-so-cheap bottle of red and pouring you a generous glass before pouring some for himself. You took it upon yourself to serve you both a healthy amount of stew.

You raised your glass to your best friend who smiled broadly and brought his glass to your own, producing a delicate sound. “Thank you Stevie. It’s been too long since we’ve done this.”

“I have missed having you around doll.” He took a sip of the wine as you smiled kindly at him.

Silence settled over you both as you dug in. You were two rolls down and almost done with your bowl of stew when Steve spoke up again. “So what have you been up to? You seemed pretty busy during our last call.” 

You swallowed the bite you had just taken and bashfully glanced away. “Not all of us are the retired Captain America, Stevie.” He rolled his eyes and you continued. “Well I got a promotion at work! It’s not a very big one but I’ll have some more responsibilities and a better pay.”

Steve brightened, his blue eyes sparkling with glee. “That’s great doll! You absolutely deserve it. You’ve been working there for way too long without any sort of recognition.” 

“Exactly! And well,” You awkwardly cleared your throat, taking another sip of wine to wet your suddenly dry mouth. “I’ve been seeing someone. It’s not serious yet but I’ve had a crush on him for forever so ya know.”

“That’s great! I’m glad that you’re having some fun.” He swallowed the last of the wine in his glass. “More wine?” He offered and you nodded.

“And what about you, have you been getting out there?” Steve settled back into his seat, readjusting his navy polo which had wrinkled slightly with his movement. His cheeks were flushed once more but this time a little darker. “Oooo has someone captured little Stevie’s heart?” You teased, propping your chin up on your hand.

He scoffed at you. “I’ve had the same crush for 5 years now, doll, things never change.”

“Really? And you still haven’t made a move on her?” He breathed out heavily through his nose, shaking his head.

“You know, I’m not really that guy. And I like the way things are now.” He smiled and then reached to grab the paddle but only succeeded in knocking his spoon from his own bowl. “Shit.” He hissed but you laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I got it.” You bent over and retrieved the silverware from the hardwood floor, handing it back to your friend as his right hand slipped something into his jean’s pocket. His smile was a little wider now and his eyes held a gleam of something you couldn’t quite recognise.

“Thanks doll.” You waved him off in favour of taking another sip of wine.

“So what else do you have planned for tonight?” You attempted to ask but your voice suddenly sounded slurred. You cleared your throat to try again but this time no sound game out. Your head felt like it was made of lead and the tips of your fingers had gone numb. “Steve.” You managed to stammer out.

“Wow, I didn’t think it would work that fast.” He mused almost to himself as he held a small, half-empty vial of clear liquid up to the light. “Well, it was made by Hydra so I shouldn’t be so surprised.” He chuckled lowly then looked at you.

“Oh doll, it’s ok. Don’t try to fight it, just close your eyes. It’ll be easier that way.” You tried to stay awake but you were just so tired. As your eyes fluttered shut, the last thing you saw was Steve as he took you into his strong arms and laid a kiss on your head. “Sweet dreams doll.”

——————

It was the heat that woke you up. An unbearable warmth that seemed to crawl over your skin and seep into the deepest parts of yourself. You groaned and tried to stretch away from whatever was causing such great discomfort but you found that you could barely move your limbs more than an inch in any direction. 

“I wouldn’t move too much, it’s only going to make the knots tighter.” That was Steve’s voice but everything was pitch black. “Oh sorry doll, let me fix that for you.” A silky fabric brushed across your face as it was pulled away from your eyes and suddenly, you could see.

You were in Steve’s bedroom, that much you could tell. But the curtains were drawn and the only light came from several lit candles that were scattered about the room, distorting your sense of time. You tried to open your mouth to ask what was going on but you couldn’t speak. Another strip of fabric was stuffed between your lips, keeping them only slightly ajar and allowing no sound to escape. “I hope you don’t mind but I would rather not have you screaming and ruining all this.”

Steve stood at the foot of the bed, completely naked. You squeaked at the sight and another wave of heat rushed over you. He just laughed. “Don’t be shy doll, I couldn’t let you be the only one that’s naked.” Your body seized in fear as you finally looked down.

He was right, you were naked as well but unlike the super soldier in front of you, you were bound down. A rope around both your ankles had your plump legs spread wide, exposing your core to him as your wrists were tied above your head. There was a pillow beneath your wide hips, leaving your lower half propped up while your shoulders pushed into the mattress. 

You suddenly thrashed, the reality of the situation dawning on you. But it did you no good, instead the ropes became tighter, quickly cutting off the circulation to your hands and feet. Steve clicked his tongue like a disappointed parent would and grabbed your ankles. “I told you not to struggle, doll, and now look at what you’ve done. See this is what happens when you don’t listen to me.”

He gently pulled the knot on your left ankle back, loosening it just enough for the blood flow to return. He repeated the process with the other side then crawled onto the bed. Your eyes widened with terror as he planted himself on his knees right between your legs and leaned over your soft body to grab at your wrists. From this close, you could see how the dark hair along his chest trailed all the way down past his prominent abs, leading to a thick patch at the base of the largest cock you had ever seen. 

Steve tutted and yanked at the cord and the feeling returned to your hands once more. “There you go, doll. Now I need you to stay perfectly still or else.” He said, laying a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. He sat back on his heels, his gaze firmly fixed on you.

It was like he couldn’t help himself. The tips of his fingers brushed against every inch of skin that he could touch, marvelling at how utterly soft and warm you were. You groaned through the gag. Each time he touched you, it sent an electric shock through your system that only made your body burn even brighter. “Oh doll, you’re so sensitive aren’t you. Don’t worry I’ll make it all better.”

Huge hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs immediately touching your pebbled nipples. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Steve dipped down and kissed each one before giving a cheeky lick at your sternum. “They’ll be even more perfect when they’re nice and swollen with milk for our baby.” Your mind screamed at your body to move, to fight him but instead, a rush of wetness ran down from your cunt, staining the sheets below you.

“Would you look at that.” He hummed in awe. “You must love that idea too. Well don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you, like I always do.” 

Steve readjusted on top of you so his stomach pressed into yours and his face was right above you. You could feel the hard length of his cock come to rest against your cunt. He groaned and rocked his hips forward. “You’re so wet doll. I bet that I could just slide right in.” Your eyes slammed shut but apparently that was the wrong thing to do.

Steve’s hand was suddenly on your jaw and he squeezed. You yelped behind the gag, pain erupting from under his fingertips. “You keep your eyes open. You watch this. You watch me. Do you understand?” He snarled, his grip getting tighter and tighter until you forced yourself to nod, opening your eyes once more.

Immediately, the terrifyingly angry look on his face dissolved back to a kind smile. “That’s my girl. Now you keep looking at me ok. This is a big moment for us, this is the beginning of our new lives. You’ll see. Everything will be perfect.” He kissed your lips over the gag before pulling away with an excited expression.

“Just lay back and let me do all the work, doll. You’ll never have to lift a finger again.” His hand slipped between your bodies, lining the head of his cock with your entrance. “It’s ok, you won’t feel any pain, the medicine I gave you earlier took care of that. It also had the added bonus of counteracting any birth control in your system.” For a brief moment, you seemed to come back into your body, just as he breached you.

You screamed, Steve just moaned. “S-so tight.” His head dropped between his huge shoulders as his fingers curled into the pillow below your head. He was panting with the effort of forcing more of himself into you as you struggled to take him. The stretch was so much that you felt the air get knocked from your lungs but the further he thrust, the lesser the fire burned within you. 

Pleasure rippled through your veins like a drug, setting every nerve alight with an ecstasy you had never known. By the time he finally bottomed out, his muscular thighs meeting your plump backside, you were already dangerously close to cumming. Your mind was quickly going hazy, like tv snow settling over your thoughts, your conscious struggling to find any good reason why your best friend shouldn’t be doing this.

“I’m going to start moving now.” He whimpered through clenched teeth. You could only wiggle your hips in response. The first thrust was soft, almost tentative. But when you’re back arched and you mewled behind the gag, that set him off.

Steve punched into you, each thrust almost directly targeting the deepest points of your cunt, rocketing you to an orgasm you did not want. “I’m going to fuck you like this every day until I know you’re pregnant. Keep you tied to this fucking bed as you should be. Because I deserve this, I deserve a loving wife and children. And you’re going to give it to me because you love me.”

The knot in your stomach wound even tighter as he shifted backwards so he could now thrust upwards, directly into your g-spot. “All those dates with other boys, those stupid crushes, even getting a job so far from me. It was all to get my attention to get me to prove myself to you. That I could be worthy of giving you all the children you could ever want.”

You were practically drooling now, your eyes rolled back in your head. “And now I have you. I’m going to fucking breed you and keep you that way. You’ll always be pregnant. Fuck! You’ll look so beautiful with a big round belly, letting me wait on you hand and foot while you grow our little ones.” He throbbed within you as his thrusts started to hitch. 

“All you have to do is cum. Just cum doll and we can start our new life together. Cum doll, for me.” And then you shattered. Stars exploded behind your eyes and a stream of wetness escaped your overly full pussy. Steve groaned into your hair as you tightened around him, suckling him in as deep as he could go and he met his own end. One last wave of heat washed over you as he threw his head back and roared his release. 

As you both slowly came down from your highs, Steve carefully slipped from you, going slow enough to prevent any of his seed from escaping. “That’s my good girl. Just stay right there.” He leaned over to the bedside table where he grabbed a small blue plug which he quickly slipped between your sore lips. You hissed as it went into you but he just cooed and lovingly rubbed your hip as he set it in place.

“There we go. Now get some rest doll, I’m not stopping until I know you’re pregnant.” And despite the panic that was quickly rushing back into your mind, exhaustion quickly overpowered you, forcing your eyes closed once more.

Steve smiled as he watched you fall asleep. He kissed your forehead and rechecked your bindings before he walked back out into the kitchen, only glancing at the shattered remains of your phone. That boy you had been seeing had called one too many times for his patience to manage but he would rein in his temper in time for the start of your family. 

The vial still sitting on the dining room table only had one more dose left but he doubted you needed anymore than that. You would fight him when you awoke once more but Steve could keep you down for a couple months, you should mellow out by then. Of course, the baby would help.

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Steve Rogers 

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[ky-yk]

flash forward (hyj x f!reader)

a sequel to “2:28 am (hyj x f!reader)”

genre: fluff || word count: 1.1k

author's note: this one's for my yunjinizers out there (especially @sahyoluvr and @haerinsupremacy who wanted a part 2 to the last one 🥹) i hope y'all enjoy!

you’d like to think you were a pretty lucky girl.

loving family? check. supportive friends? check. debuting in an incredibly successful girl group loved the world over with the most amazing girls? check.

your luck just can’t seem to run out, though, because every day since your little moment with huh yunjin in the practice room you’ve been able to survive every heart attack she’s given you since.

the clinginess was one thing — she was like that with the rest of the members! that’s nothing new.

but then came the serenades.

as promised by yunjin to fearnots on weverse, you and her finally got to go live together. affectionately dubbed the westernz for being the only fluent english speakers in the group, your pairing surprisingly wasn’t the most popular between either of you. on a good day, this fact wouldn’t bother you as much: you and jen would bond over taylor swift, the latest hit netflix show, or lurk around on twitter. then again, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart would clench when yunjin would praise your kkura-unnie or flirt with zuha and/or chaewon-unnie. (eunchae is fine, though. everyone loves manchae.) that’s just how it is: the status quo…

…that a certain someone seems to want to change.

“hana, dul, set; annyeong! hey guys!” yunjin waved excitedly at the camera as soon as the viewers started piling in.

“annyeong, guys! hello!” you greeted with your trademark bright smile, trying to match her energy.

“ja, yeoreobun, this is the first time you’re seeing us together, right?” yunjin asked the audience, holding her ear up to the phone as if awaiting their (nonexistent) responses.

okay, dora, you thought to yourself before deciding to put her out of her misery and enthusiastically going “ne!”

“alright, thanks for backing me up there, babe,” she remarked in english offhandedly before leaning forward to read the comments, distracting her enough to miss your wide eyes and flushed face.

yunjinizer: WHAT

yeppeuny/n: BABE??

"anywho, have you had dinner yet, yeoreobun?" there is no way in hell she did not see any of that with how she's kissing the screen. you returned to the matter at hand, leaning in closer to the screen to read everyone's responses.

everyone's responses that were 1) coherent and 2) not about yunjin's pda, that is.

the both of you continued interacting with fearnots like usual, telling them some behind stories from unforgiven promotions, a little bit about your pre-debut lives, and little anecdotes from mundane life.

soon enough, yunjin started getting tired. there's only so much an introvert could take.

so as her introvert in crime, you took the reins of the stream while she got comfortable.

yunjin leaned back on the couch, her left arm resting on her side as she scrolled through her phone while her right arm rested over the backrest of the couch: an action that went unnoticed until a well-timed question.

"ooh, this is a good one, jin-ah. 'what's your favorite song on unforgiven?'" you asked, slowly taking your eyes off the screen to turn to look at yunjin.

an action you would soon come to regret.

yunjin for my own heart for the love of god please sit like a straight girl and not like my girlfriend or something. your mind started racing a mile a minute thinking about what could be. how cozy she looked in her hoodie and how much it'd feel like home if you wore it: the smell and softness just overtaking your senses. and apparently all forms of thinking.

"y/n? is there something on my face?" she looked at you questioningly. yeah, me if you keep this up.

"oh, nothing," you muttered.

her features softened before shaking her head in amusement and reaching out to pull you in for a cuddle. out of the corner of your eye, you could see the comments just flying by.

y/nsgf: y/n what is this 🤨

yuny/n: I USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THESE

junyin: are we interrupting something or...

as you settled into her embrace, she started repeating herself. "well, in case you didn't hear, i said that my favorite song on the album was 'flash forward'"

in surprise, you push yourself up from where you were leaning against her chest, resting your hands on her thighs.

"flash forward?! you're joking, right?" you bewilderedly ask.

"no...? why are you so surprised?" she shot back skeptically.

"i dont know, it just seemed so random. didn't you write like 3 songs for this album? with one of them being a fan song?!" you then turned to look at the camera: a yellingwoman on a mission. "wah, did you hear that, fearnots?"

"yah, don't go turning them around on me!" she yelled back, pulling you back into her. "if you would hear me out, you would know why."

you sulked against her chest, pout and all. "alright, you have one chance."

"i just think it's a fun song! it's not often we get to sing a cute lil' song about falling in love, you know?" she reasoned out.

you hummed in thought, finger to your chin and all as you said, "i guess you make a point."

"come on, let's sing it!" she said as she got up, taking her arms back to search for the song on her phone. you hope her phone was more interesting than your face dropping in disappointment.

as soon as you heard the telltale synths that marked the intro, yunjin reached over the camera to get her water bottle and use it like a microphone -- just in time for chaewon-unnie's lines.

"I know it's you," she sang, staring you straight in the eyes and pointing right at you. she kept singing along until she reached the end of the first verse before pointing the "mic" to you to sing the first half of the pre-chorus.

"You, ooh-ooh Got me, got me, got me goin' like," you sang before turning it back to her.

"Ooh-ooh-ooh 너와 있음 난 unstoppable”

“(Unstoppable)”

hearing your adlib, she chuckles. “It's not impossible 이리 와 같이 가,” she sings before taking over the chorus.

“I'ma make a move 썰매같이 go

겁도 없이 fall in love 시작해 버렸어”

you then take the “mic” back to sing the second half.

“머리, 어깨, 무릎, 너의 눈, 코, 입

너의 모든 게 좋은 걸, 빠지고 싶은걸”

trapped in your own little bubble, you and yunjin went back and forth on the song, to the enjoyment of fearnots.

but that went unnoticed as you let yourself drown in the charm of the huh yunjin, singing her lines as if to tell you something.

i’m talking about you and i, y/n.

after your little impromptu performance, you both finally calmed down and decided to end the live there.

“alright guys, i think that’ll be it for us. we’re pretty beat,” yunjin said to the camera.

“yeah, we’ll end it there, guys. annyeong!” you both waved, mustering up enough energy to match the start before going to turn the live off.

[firadessa]

✨Fairies Finds✨: New Early Artwork and Promotional Video from 2005 Disney Fairies Japan Website with Gail Carson Levine- Author of Fairy Dust Trilogy

Fly with you everyone and happy Friday the 13th! I have been looking into Disney Fairies pre-release stuff ever since some early stuff was posted into Art of Disney Fairies. I have also been interested in media preservation since late 2017 when I found Web Back Then. Truthfully, despite having this interest when trying to find the old Disney Fairies games from my childhood- I never really shared much with the world. I feel like I should remedy that! (this find is relatively recent though I found it yesterday!)

This is a video I found on the Internet Archive from disneyfairies.jp, a promotional page on the Disney Japan website that seems disconnected from the main Disney Fairies page which was a clone of the original website. See here

Through some research the gist of the video is this:

The video starts with an introduction to the original Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie, which is interjected with clips from Disney's Peter Pan. Then we see more artwork of Disney Fairies- including unfamilar designs including early Vidia, Rani, Fira etc. According to Part of the Magic, Disney Fairies started development in early 2001- the series was launched fully in 2005. Then Gail (dubbed of course) begins to describe the plot of Fairy Dust and the Quest for the Egg whilst we see several pictures of this early Disney Fairies art. Interesting pictures as we get to see the very early designs of Disney Fairies characters that I have never seen before.

Interestingly, this video was never embedded on the page, you had to download it and play it through a video player such as Windows Media Player or Real Player, it was 2005 after all.

Here is the screen you'd see when you'd want to watch this promotional video. I recognize the leaves used in early flash games such as Lightball Challenge, Dragonfly Race etc.

A page on the website that I found with my decomplier, i couldn't view it normally!

I tried looking for this video in English to no avail, or any version on the internet. It must have only been accessible through this website.

Interestingly, I found this other page whilst doing my page digging thing again and found this, suggesting this was also a Japan exclusive and not for the American market ... and there is more early promotional stuff to be found in relation to Disney Fairies!

I also looked into one the main book artists on the creative team, Judith Holmes Clarke. She had a website I found on her IMDB page, that was live around 2017-2019. I saw this and wanted to add it as it had one of the stills in this video. It also has a sketch of Rosetta and Tink. This is what I found:

It is probably a scan of this magazine, Disney Newsreel, mentioned on her IMDB.

Overall, I'm super happy with this find and I'm so happy to share it with you all!! I will be happy to share more now that I'm publicly outing myself not just as this fan of children's fairy media- an archivist. gasp...

Also probably making a website/blog which I will share later and will be in the About Me link with my other socials.

And believe me, this is just the beginning

[gremlingottoosilly]

[If you need to be mean] chapter 5

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Your date with a new guy isn't good for you. Konig is inclined to show you that. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in her early 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig's perspective TW for this chapter: Dub-con touching, stalking

You wake up with a throbbing headache and feeling of something dying in your throat. You roll from your bed, completely naked, like a baby deer on shaky legs doing its first steps. And about to die just like one also. 

König wakes up like he just won a million dollars and got promoted to KorTac CEO. He almost jumps from his bed – comfortable mattress, personal quarters, perks of being a colonel – and presses his hand on his bulge. Yeah, he has a bit of time to indulge in carnal pleasures. Especially when he can think of your trembling body. 

You found a glass of water and a pill – presumably Ibuprofen – on the table. Thank you, drunk me, you want to say – then the vague memories of last night come flooding in, and you run to the bathroom, emptying your already empty stomach once again. Pain won’t stop even after you drink a couple of pills and gulp the whole glass. 

König comes with a soft groan, thinking about your helpless body trapped under him, how your fragile form would bulge on the outline of his dick. Of course, he couldn’t do anything while you were drunk off your mind and barely awake, but he can fantasize about this – perfect morning pill for his depraved mind. 

You look at the clock – it’s 12 in the morning, you are already one and a half hours late for your day shift. You still don’t know what you were thinking while agreeing to cover for the time that won’t bring you more money but drain your energy instead, but you have already missed it. What is weird, however, is that your alarm didn't work – all five of them. And that your work didn’t called either, despite knowing that manager would be fucking mental over missing a day shift. 

König looks at the clock – it’s 5 in the morning and he wakes up a bit earlier than a man of his rank can. One thing about being a commander is that his captains would usually do the drill job for him – he only has to read through various mission reports and see if everything is alright with supplies. Giving orders is one of his least favorite things, but at least he can have another half an hour before turning into a personal devil for his men. 

You don’t even bother to eat – nothing will stay in your stomach anyway. Nothing feels right as you struggle to put on your clothes – your closet looks like it was ravaged by a pack of burglars. Either you went completely wild while searching for a pair of panties at night or…yeah, it probably what happened. You can’t find your nice pairs, so you assume they were lost somewhere in the chaos of your room – honestly, you can’t even bother to search for the ones you were wearing yesterday, assuming they just got lost. 

König plays with the soft fabric of your panties in his pocket, remembering how good it was looking at you – delicate laces feel incredible in his rough, calloused hands, and he can only imagine how sweet your scent would be once he would press it on his face and masturbate. Too exhausted to do it yesterday, he thinks about breaking into your apartment, maybe getting something new – your locks are shitty, perfect for someone like him to get in and steal your adorable sleeping self.

You think about getting something for your aching, empty stomach – maybe a soup or takeout. Your stomach can’t take it right now, but you now that staying empty would only make it worse – then you take one look at the contents of your wallet, that one hundred dollars bill already went to currency exchange and the rent debt – and, well, maybe you can use one day of, how do they say it, controlled hunger. Maybe you’ll get more tips this evening, if you could convince your manager to give you another shift, and you could buy some good snacks on top of your usual bottom-of-the-barrel groceries. König gets breakfast among his fellow officers, a few good mornings and deadly stares at anyone who asks what he was doing last night and what got him returning to base so late. He would just eat in his room like always, but Hutch asked for a personal report on the last mission and he enjoys talking to someone who is almost as nerdy about embarrassingly many stuff as he is – at their grown-up age also. He would look at his tech expert through his mask and would nod to every little bit of intel they got about the terrorists they were fighting for, three weeks of doing nothing but draining government money only to start covering one cell after another almost every day. 

You gag when you think about meeting Tomas at the cafe again – he usually covers daytime shifts, he would definitely be there, oh god, what if he would tell someone about this, what if he really did something to you and you just don’t remember it, what if…he is gone. Dead or missing or whatever, you remember how easily the words slipped from König’s tongue and you ran away to the toilet again, with nothing left in your stomach to vomit – you still cough and gag at the thought. Your memories are weird, shady, maybe it was just a part of the alcohol-fueled dream, but you think about the colonel being here, holding you, undressing you and touching you in all the weird places while taking care of your helpless body and you don’t know what to think. 

König wants to pay you a visit, to make sure that his favorite girl is okay and has everything she needs – he remembers your apartment. Shitty, tiny place, not even a proper bed for you to sleep, only a couch with some cushions thrown over it. He would help you with furniture, maybe even buy and haul something to your place – but it would be much better just to buy you and him a new home entirely. Maybe he’d allow you to choose something small, like a color of curtains or the fabric pattern for your new carpet. You would need something to do once the marriage is sealed, he doesn’t want his little wife to get bored. He wants you to feel complete with you, but he can’t even go to your place right now because too much work is out there, on the base. 

You stare at the sign “Sorry, we’re temporarily closed” at the cafe’s door and stand here, dumbfounded, for a good few minutes. People look at your expression, bags under your eyes – you look like a zombie, maybe you should have putted some makeup just to look less haunted – as you just stand here, thinking what the actual fuck is going on. You try to call your manager, but he ignores your calls – and when he finally answers, you get nothing but angry yells and pleads to never fucking return. 

König thinks about how easy it was to just get your place to close – possible terrorists hiding, a few of his boys going dark at night and scaring the shit out of your manager and whoever was working at that time. He didn’t want it to come to this, you need something to busy yourself with while he’s working – your job is shitty, yes, but he would allow you to work here for a week or so before coercing you into depending on him completely. His wife is a silly little creature who needs some silly little tasks to do – being a waitress works just fine. He could just pay you to allow him between your legs, but you are not some prostitute, you’re his adorable new love, and he would do whatever it takes to prove that he is serious about being with you. He didn’t want it to come to this, but he can’t let you stay at the place where your coworkers can just assault you. Would be nice to just put you into a basement or his room – get you a comfortable collar or tie up your arms and legs so you’d be completely helpless and at his mercy. 

You choke on your tears as you understand that you just lost your job. There aren't many other opportunities in this town, not with terrorist threats and possible dangers left and right, not with how many businesses started catering towards constant military presence. You can’t work like this, soldiers scare you – and their colonel is the worst, scaring you even while saving you from Tomas. You don’t have enough money to just not work for a couple of weeks, and you’re already in debt for your apartment. It feels like your life is crumbling apart in just a week. It feels like you know who is to blame. 

König attents training of the new recruits – some of them did well at the latest mission and he finally starts to see the hope in these soldiers. If they would manage to drive the terrorists away in a few months, he’d get home before Chrtistmas – and would get a nice wifey on top of that. It feels like his life has finally started coming together. He got what he deserved all of this time, with all the years of hard work and relentless committing of war crimes he did in favor of becoming a colonel. 

***

You are counting all of your savings and, yes, you don’t have enough to last even a week without a job that would preferably pay you daily. There isn’t many coffee shops around your town, especially now, when people are too afraid of getting their business blown up or run over for military means – you literally saw a nice bar completely change to cater for soldier’s needs like they intend to be here for long – and you don’t want to have anything to do with the military. If you wanted to get your ass smacked by some entitled assholes who think that if they chose army instead of college, everyone should kiss their boots, you would just call König. 

But, you don’t know his number. 

But, you don’t even remember what happened last night to the full extent – you remember him touching your body, you can presume that he undressed and helped you with getting on the couch, but he never asked for permission to enter your apartment. It’s too big of a coincidence that he was just right in that alley to help you get away from Tomas. Soldiers usually go on their patrols or whatever, but he is a colonel, you don’t think that people like him can just take a stroll here and there, especially at night. Shouldn’t he fight terrorists? 

You try to call some of the coworkers who worked here, with you – and they all politely asked you to go to hell and forget their numbers until you would get your crazy soldier date in place. They were also kind enough to ask for how much you selled your body to the, quote, “Fucking mercenaries who would fuck our country over some money and you are selling yourself to them like a prostitute even if they can just pack their stuff and leave the next months if terrorists are dealed with”. 

They weren’t kind enough to listen to your futile attempts of explaining yourself. Situation isn’t even out of control – it never was under it in the first place, you don’t even know what could happened to the cafe in that 10 hours of sleep that you got, and you are even more helpless when you think about the reputation you got for just hanging out with König for like…a few hours at most? Yes, you spoke to your fellow waiters about him – mostly because they were very interested about the tip he left you, you talked to your friends about a creepy, but cute guy who was talking to you, your family – how you get out after breaking the curfew without getting into the police department for it. 

Almost funny, now one and a half interactions can ruin your life so easily – not just your work, not just the relationships with your coworkers, but everything as a whole. You are still shaking from what happened last night, the understanding that Tomas might be dead, but now it only indicates that König can literally do what he wants. Kind in his very own kingdom. You want to vomit, but that would only hurt you even more, and you don’t have time to rest or be physically unwell. 

He promised you a job, you remember. Working with the military, being their guide to the city. Having connection to many people in this place, maybe you could even help in pointing at the possible threats without looking suspicious – but then again, you would just sell yourself to soldiers who couldn’t care less about your life or the life of your town. They are not some good-hearted UN intervention, they are a bunch of mercenaries who get paid by the president to help with the threats that he himself has fed and raised here. You think about helping them – then you think about how it would only make it worse for you. 

You think about how this man looked at you – how his hands were trembling when he put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed it softly. You can at least hear him out – the worst that could happen is that he says no and you die from hunger, right? 

*** Horangi loves his job. He isn’t at home, which means the debt collector wouldn’t get to him, he has a place in this world, and a shiny new sergeant badge that could very easily become the lieutenant one if he would succeed with this mission and a hard task of deciphering what his colonel might want. König is a great man except for all the times he isn’t, and a perfect soldier – except for all the bloodbath he is causing every time this man is too caught up in his thoughts. He doesn’t talk much, don’t ask him about his past, and the other teammates are great too – it’s not the army where basically no one wanted to serve, it’s a PMC where everyone has their place. Some for the money, some for the honor…and money – but they all know what they are doing. 

Main problem is boredom. 

When you are a soldier deployed in a small country to hide the terrorists, you think that it would be fun. Blood, slaughter, fighting, beautiful ladies and gentlemens jumping on you because you just look so good in uniform. What he didn��t except, however, was how boring it would be, just sitting on the base in the outskirts of the city, listening to his teammates going crazy from having nothing to do, and increasing the violence counters on the missions because they need something to do. 

He would do anything for something to do. 

This is when he exited the main entrance of their base and saw his colonel’s sweetheart. 

Just to be frank – he does not care that his commander, 6 '10 wall of muscles and anxiety, got a little civilian girlfriend. He could have a whole harem of locals and it would only indicate how manly and cool König is. All of his temamates and subordinates would be happy to know that their leader does fuck and has a way of releasing his pent-up frustration not just on the field and very unlucky rookies. He does not have a problem with knowing that, even if his romantic life is long dead and buried among his debts, while an Austrian has no problem getting laid even if the last time he spoke to a person willingly was three months ago. 

Horangi does, however, have a problem with his colonel’s sweetheart because he sees that you are not really responding to his feelings. Would be much easier if you were an easily-swayed somewhat promiscuous little thing that would hapilly jump into his arms and open your legs for whatever fucked-up trauma the man has. 

Horangi does, however, have a problem with his colonel being fucking delusional and stalking a random girl. Not because stalking is bad or whatever, god knows, König deserves some love and if the way he expresses it is enough to be a crime, then so be it – but you are not answering his delusions and this is a problem. He would not deal with his commander being frustrated, blue-balled or unsatisfied – he still wants to live and wants the team to thrive. So, when he sees your face – you really are adorable, commander has a good taste in civilians – looking all anxious and devastated and sad, like a kitten that got run over by a military truck, he does a bee-line right to the blockpost in front of the base. 

— Got a problem, ma’am? 

— I…I just need to talk to König, he was…um, he knows who I am. We talked before.

God, he hates talking to civilians. But you look devastated and the guard at the entrance – sergeant, just like him – told him that this stupid thing just tried to ask for a colonel, like he is a call girl. Guy didn’t get the memo about König’s little fling, as he sees, so Horangi can’t really blame him for being too harsh with you – he also knows that commander would fucking murder him if he won’t know about his love asking for him, and he also knows that even if your thick skull finally admitted to his advances, he need to capture the moment before you ran away. 

— Colonel asked for her. Let her proceed. 

— But…

— Colonel’s orders. You don’t want to be here if he knows that we didn’t let her through. 

You look at the man with shock in your eyes – of course, you have no idea who he is and why he is behaving so warmly. He wears a mask and full armor just like König, but even with him, you at least see his face. The man with a South Korean badge on his chest conceals his gaze with dark sunglasses and tugs on your wrist rather roughly, showing you inside of the building. You would feel scared, but all the anxiety already got to the point of numbness, and the only thing you can feel is slight dread as you proceed deeper in the building. 

You sigh as he drags you with thim, other soldiers looking at you with curiosity in their eyes as you blush. You don’t even know if König would appreciate you coming here, being so needy with him after he saved you and ran – maybe he doesn’t feel anything to you anymore, maybe you are too weak for him, too helpless and fragile, maybe…but then again, his soldier was quite confident in allowing you inside. Military bases are usually a highly secured place, guards at the entrance didn’t even allow you to come here until he came along – making you question what exactly he knows about you. 

König sits in his office, frustrated as he is reading through reports of the intel – Hutch is a great computer expert, he would give the man a medal already if they were in the official military, but they once again don’t have a lead on the terrorists. Too many people covering them, too many groups spread out across the town and even the country – if they won’t make a move first, it could take months of searching for their hide-out. They are soldiers, not detectives – they don’t have enough intelligence agents to infiltrate them from the sideways. More cynical part of his brain tells him to just wait it out, for their next move – maybe a bomb in the public place, maybe a hijacked plane with russian scriptures written all over it. 

They are not here to protect citizens of this country – just to get money and kill terrorists. A few casualties are bound to happen but, oh well, you can’t build a house without killing a bunch of squirrels, right? 

Then he sees you – adorable, helpless, cute, perfect, pretty, absolutely stunning in your oversized hoodie and some old jeans that make his pants tighter. How could anyone be so freaking breath-taking while wearing nothing but some lazy day clothes and messy hair? Even the bags under your eyes are not only making him worry for the quality of your sleep, but also makes him want to protect you even more – he bet you would sleep much better after an intense session with him.

Horangi pushes you into the office and you stumble on your feet, tears already filling your eyes. König steps from his table, not even caring about the documents – they are confidential, so he just pushes it deeper in his desk and smiles under his hood. Horangi just promoted himself in his eyes – god, he has to keep tabs on good soldiers, he might need it in the upcoming operations. 

You look perfect like this – crying, stuttering, whispering something about how scared you were, how terrified after he saved you. But you shouldn’t be like this! Yes, a fair amount of fear is normal, he wants a nice, obedient little wife who would greet him with open legs and smile on your lips as he returns home from deployment, but he isn’t abusive. He won’t treat you like a scumbag, like many of his fellow soldiers are – you are a delicate little creature that needs to be protected, cherished, like a treasure you are. 

But why are you so afraid? You should have thanked him for saving you, fallen on your knees and greeted him properly. Not crying – even though your desperate face is just as adorable, he doesn't want to have a reputation of making women cry in his office. Recruits are already afraid of him. 

— What are you doing here, Mein Schatz? I thought you’d be at home. 

— I…

How can you even start talking about this? You need help? You are not sure if you can keep your apartment if you don't have a job in the next 12 hours? Your life just came crumbling apart in just one night and you don’t know what to do besides hoping that he would accept you as his guide or whatever, hoping that he won’t ask for something else, worse? 

How can he even contain himself when you are biting your lips, cheeks flushed, hands folding your hoodie and you can’t even look at him directly? He is an anxious, nervous man, he doesn’t know what to say half of the time, he is sometimes too scared of saying something that might upset you, but even he feels strong next to you. How you can’t even find your words, forcing him to beckon you closer, as you make a few steps towards him. 

— I lost my job. 

Of course you did. He sent a whole small strike group to check the place for terrorists and find out that your manager, in fact, had a huge document problem – local police thanked them for this, while he couldn’t care less for another abusive asshole getting out of your way. You said that you can’t spend your time on helping him because of your job – so now, when you don’t have to cater to clients, you can finally cater to him. 

— Ja, I know. 

— You…you are? 

— You have free time now. 

It’s so simple – and your face twists in fear when you understand that he really was behind your cafe getting closed. That he saved you from danger while being the one itself – you take a step back, falling almost, this dumb, clumsy part of your body makes you stumble on the clean floor when König covers the distance between you in a second, dragging you closer to him. Sitting on the chair while putting your limp body on his lap, finally enjoying the sensation he craved the most. 

You can’t move from fear – but he soothes you softly, hands on your waist and head buried in the crook of your neck. if you had any doubts about whether he still likes you or not, you don’t have it anymore. — I…I need a job, sir. You asked if I could be your guide and…

They already found enough willing participants who are okay with helping mercenaries. They don’t need more civilians because it can endanger the operation – people tend to run their mouths loose, they are already risking by trusting even one civilian consultant. 

However, he has another job for someone as cute as you. 

— We don’t need a guide anymore. 

— You don’t? I…I’m sorry for wasting your time, sir, I will go as…

He pushes you deeper into his body, hands already roaming under your loose hoodie and fondling your skin. You are shaking in his grasp, tears streaming down your face as you go through your short breakdown. König knows how to break people – he didn’t want to do this with you, but he hates himself enough to understand that not a lot of people would be with him willingly. 

— We might get to know each other closer. 

You cry in his shirt, grasping on the dark fabric as you whimper – finally letting go of your emotions ever since the night. It feels like you were holding those tears your whole life – and he gently pats your back and plays with the lining of your bra under your clothes, making you shudder. 

— I’m not…not like this. Sorry. 

— I know you’re not like this, Meine Liebe. But I don’t want my dear girlfriend to waste her energy on some cafe. 

— Girlfriend? I’m not sure what we are talking about, sir. 

— Am I moving too fast? 

— Yes. 

— Good. Not sure how much time I have in this country. 

He moves your head up, gently handing your face so he can smother your lips with a hungry, devouring kiss. He is desperate, deranged, he bites on the softness of your mouth and smiles when you are trying to push him away. Your fight is meaningless and soon enough, your hands fall to your sides, not trying to resist anymore. 

— You’re scared, I know. But you don’t have to be. 

— I can’t be with you. 

— You can. I’ll protect you from everything, I will pay for whatever your little heart desires. 

— You don’t even know me. 

— Maybe. But we’ll spend time together, ja? 

— You’ll have to leave eventually. Not the…not the best relationships base. 

— I’ll take you with me. 

— And if I don’t want to? 

— I can get away with many things. You’ll like living in a big house. 

You are adorable like this – eyes big and watery, lips trembling as he proceeds to kiss you, hold your body close. He still needs to finish those documents and he can’t just have a normal civilian hanging around the base – he can have a spouse though. 

Thinking about you with a ring on your finger is too much for him. And you, feeling the way his enormous bulge is throbbing on your ass through his pants, shivering with dread. Anticipation too – even for just a little bit, 

— I still need a job. We don’t have many options here. 

— I’ll pay you for whatever you need. 

— What do you want in exchange? 

He licks his lips before kissing you again. You both know the answer – even if you are too afraid to say it, and he is too excited. 

— You. 

— I…can we take it slow? 

— But we’ll be together. 

You are scared of him. You don’t want to be with someone from the military, soldiers are scaring you, big muscular men are scaring you, his whole existence with this terrified hood and concealed face is scaring you – then you look at your life again. Think about empty pockets and constant living in fear of either poverty, someone else hurting you, or terrorist attack – and then you look at König. 

Money, power, influence. He promised to give you a big house, no? 

You could at least try. Not like you have many other options. 

— We…we will be. But with some boundaries, okay? 

He chuckles, slowly starting to kiss your neck. 

— Meine Liebe, do you really think you’re in position for this? 

— Please? 

— I’ll think about it. 

You squirm under him as he gently pushed you on his table and slowly starts lifting your hoodie.

---------------------------- TAG LIST @shigbby @honeeybeezzz @herefornanami-s-cake @pendalikespasta @lucylou302 @yxllowtxpe @sunbathed-sweetgrass @sarah-ardini @teenagegever2k22 @lastwordsofadyingstar @lavenderskye29 @karrotsforyou @inlovewithcodmen @onegami @keithehe @lilahbunny @ameneminimo @beepyboopbop @ms-munchkin @dinonacho @undeadgod @dizeesstuff @mingkiiii @midwesternwitchery @yxllowtxpe @flammenwerferpanzerkampfhund @keithehe @iytatsworld @r02eg0ld @cumikering @ysljoon @m1ndbrand @captain-heebie-jeebie @bluenredndeath @elichisstuff @milenko115

[lizhrs]

high school reunion with former bullies kirishima & bakugo

warnings: nsfw, mentions of bullying, dub/noncon (wc: 3K)

It took an embarrassing amount of convincing to get you to attend this reunion.

Which is pathetic in itself because you have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed of. It's been ten years since you graduated high school and since then, you've made a pretty decent name for yourself. You own your own house, your own car, have an amazing career in marketing with a promotion ahead. You're more confident than you ever could've been in high school and anyone would want to show off the amount of success you've had to your former peers.

But the fear overtook that need to gloat. The fear of seeing them again. After all these years, you despise how they can still terrify you. Just the thought of seeing them has your blood turning ice cold.

You try and tell yourself you're not that same depressing girl from school anymore and for the most part you aren't, except when it comes to thinking about those two jackasses who made your high school life hell on earth.

Seeing those assholes on tv being paraded around for being astounding heros is one thing but to have them in the same room as you is something entirely different. And you've been gulping down glasses of champagne to calm yourself but your nerves are still running rampant.

"Your ring is so beautiful." Uraraka grins, taking your fingers in her hand as her eyes sparkle at the diamond ring.

You smile, a gleeful feeling always taking over as you're reminded of the rock on your hand. The fact you're engaged is still so surreal, you managed to overcome so many odds and make a life for yourself. And that's what you’ve been telling yourself all night, repeating it like a mantra every-time the anxiety comes back. 

"You're so lucky." Momo swoons. "I would kill for a ring like that from my boyfriend."

"I still can't believe I'm engaged."

"I still can't believe it took this reunion for you to invite me to the wedding. Did our friendship mean nothing?" Uraraka feigns hurt, pouting at you.

You smile, although deep down you are ashamed over the fact. You didn't want to associate yourself with that school anymore, even if it meant ditching your former friends. "I’m sorry." You sigh. "But we can reconnect again, I have so much to tell you."

"You can tell me tonight!" She exclaims. "The night doesn't have to end just yet, you should come to the after party."

"Uraraka..." Momo chides. "Bakugo's throwing that party."

Oh.

You hate how you tense at that name. It's been years, why can't you simply just not care?

Uraraka's smile drops. "Oh yeah, sorry."

"It's fine." You nutter, hating the way they look at you like you're a wounded puppy. "We can talk another time, you have my number now."

"I should get going..." You continue. You've already spoken to everyone here and gotten most of their numbers for the next time you guys want to hang out. You know they like to be fashionably late so you've had the luxury of having fun without seeing them. But you know any more seconds spent here, you'll be regretting ever stepping foot in this building.

Uraraka pouts, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's been ten years guys I'm over it. It's just getting late and I have work early tomorrow." You smile.

They both nod, saying their goodbyes and hugging you tightly.

And you were so close.

So close to stepping out of the venue and into your car where sweet freedom awaited you.

But the universe had different plans as you opened the exit door only to bump into a hard chest. A bunch of sorries leave your lips as you step back, straightening your dress, you regret the idea of even apologizing as you look up to see him.

A wave of nausea takes over as you stare, mouth slightly agape. Your fingers clench the jacket in your hands as you try to remain calm.

He's gotten bigger. You've seen him grow up on tv and in the media, everyone either hating or fawning over their hero. He looks as confident and cocky as ever, blonde hair spiking up, muscles evident in the dress shirt he's wearing, lips pulled into a stupid arrogant smirk as his eyes pierce into you.

You could push past him, run away and into your car but you know whenever Bakugo is near, Kirishima isn't far behind.

And you're unfortunately right as you see the red head come into view, looking confused as to why Bakugo stopped walking until his eyes land on you. At first he looks surprised then a look of pure mischief and...something else you can't really describe settle in his eyes, causing your stomach to twist.

"Quirkless." Is the first thing Bakugo says. "I didn't think I'd see you here."

"You didn't think you'd see me at the high school reunion?" You mock, rolling your eyes.

He smirks at you, "Seems like you've grown a set of balls, doesn't it Kiri?"

Kirishima stays silent for a few seconds, eyes traveling up and down your body before he responds. "It does."

"A few years without us and suddenly Quirkless thinks she can talk back." Bakugo tsk. "Seems like we'll have to fix that."

You scoff, "It's been ten years. Have you really not grown up?"

He's still calling you quirkless, like it's the worst thing in the world. It infuriates you at how condescending he can be. And how he got everything he wanted after high school. Good things do unfortunately happen to bad people.

Kirishima snorts, slowly walking up to stand behind you. You tease, he's too close for comfort as his hand settles on your shoulder. "Don't tell me you're leaving already?"

"I have work tomorrow." You're shocked at how well you've been able to handle this situation, you thought you would've been a trembling mess the second you saw them.

"We haven't seen you in years, Quirkless. We have got to catch up." Bakugo grins, walking closer. His finger brushing your cheek. You hate how they think they can just touch you after all this time, hate how you can't do anything about it.

"I have to go." You say, ignoring the lump in your throat.

"You have to come to the after party." Kirishima grins, and its most definitely not a suggestion.

"We've missed our favorite pet."

It's pathetic. So utterly pathetic how easily you give in. In your defense, it's not like you could walk away from the two most powerful pro heroes on the earth but still—it's humiliating. you're not a teenage girl anymore. You're a grown woman, but the second you were in the same vicinity as them it's like you were back in that classroom. So defenseless and small against the two biggest meatheads in your school.

So here you are, in Bakugo's obnoxiously huge and luxurious house. Everyone is having the time of their lives, drinking and taking pictures to show social media they're in the number one heros house. But all you can think about is how you're going to get out of this.

They quite literally forced you into their car, a car you could never afford even if you sold a kidney and drove you here. The car ride was silent except for the incessant beating of your heart, you've gnawed at several fingernails since you saw them—a habit you haven't done in years.

You're scared.

It's annoying how scared you are.

And you try to remind yourself there's nothing they can do in a room filled with people but then you remember all the ways they would taunt you in those classrooms back then. People did nothing then and they probably won't do shit now considering how powerful the two have become.

They left you to yourself after you all entered the house, going to greet everyone else. But now you can see Bakugo making his way towards you and you try your hardest not to puke over your new heels. "Let's go quirkless."

"W-where?"

You're stuttering. You haven't done that shit in years.

He smirks, noticing how anxious you are. "Somewhere private."

"I don't want to." You force out, looking around the house, hoping Momo or anyone that can help is near. To save you from this bastards hold but all you see are drunken faces.

He laughs, the sound causing you to flinch. "How cute." His massive hand closes around your wrist, pulling you out of the chair and further into the house. Away from everyone else.

He walks around like any Number one hero would, obnoxiously cocky. He pulls you into another living room…or bedroom? A mixture of both you conclude as you see the bed in the middle of the massive room. "W-what are we doing here?"

Your breath hitches as you see Kirishima, he's putting ice in a cup then pouring whiskey in it. The tie around his neck has loosened, shirt tucked out of his pants. He looks tipsy.

Not a good combination with his personality.

"Y/N!" He grins as he sees you.

That's the first time you've heard your name tumble out of his lips in years and you jump at the sound. "I—what do you guys want."

Bakugo chuckles. Kirishima laughs.

You hate how they're acting like they're in on some inside joke you don't know about. What the hell do they want? "Look, I know okay? I know you guys hate me and all but it's been ten fucking years and I would think after being hailed as heros, you would have better shit to do then torment a former classmate. So just let me go."

Bakugo hums. "But you're not just a former classmate, are you? You're Quirkless, our little y/n." He takes off his jacket, throwing it to the side and you try not to notice the way his muscles flex.

"You guys are still so obsessed, it's pathetic."

"Did you hear that Kats, we're pathetic." He snorts.

Bakugo doesn't seem to find it so funny. "A quirkless whore calling us pathetic. Now that's something." He sits down on the couch, stretching his legs.

“Excuse me?" You scoff.

“I hear you're engaged." Bakugo starts.

“To some marketing nerd." Kirishima pipes in.

"I saw him the other day y’know he was absolutely terrified of me." He grins. "The freak didn't even bother putting up a fight."

"What did you expect from a little nerd like that?" Kirishima sighs. "You should've gone easier on him."

"I did." He says, "It's not my fault he's weak." They're talking like you're not even here.

The cogs in your brain start to turn, the nausea returning. Your fiancé got into an accident the other day, he said he was mugged by some lowlife robbers but the police took care of it. That's why he wasn't able to come with you tonight, he was still nursing his wounds...you mean Bakugo was the one who did that to him?

"You...w—what?" You breath out. "You did that to him? You attacked my fiancé?"

He rolls his eyes, "So dramatic."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You yell. "Do you think just because you got some medal you can do whatever you want? Your hatred for me runs that deep you have to go and attack the people I care about? You're—you're pathetic!"

"There's that word again." Bakugo sighs, standing up. "You go and get engaged to some loser who doesn't even know how to tie his own shoelaces and yet I'm the pathetic one here Quirkless?" He scoffs, now standing directly in front of you.

"You let him think he had a chance with you and yet I'm the loser. You let that freak touch you and yet I'm in the wrong here?" He asks, fingers ghosting over the strap of your dress. "I suppose it could be our fault, we let you go for too long. Let you think you were allowed to let some extra fuck you."

“W-what?" You take a step back, what's wrong with him? "You're—I'm calling the cops and reporting you. You can't just think—"

He grabs your hand, taking the ring off your finger before you can blink. "What are you—"

He throws it away, to the side and into a corner you can't see. What's wrong with him? You're too terrified to even talk now, seeing the dangerous look in his eyes. You don't think you've ever seen him look at you like that. He's been angry with you before yeah but now for some inexplicable reason he looks infuriated mixed with a flash of disappointment.

“You're ours, Quirkless. Have you forgotten so quickly?"

“You're insane." You take a step back, confused on whatever they're on. Theirs? They've done nothing but torment you and somehow think that...what...you take another step only to bump into a chest. You gasp as a hand snakes around your waist. Kirishima puts his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling you.

"You've grown y/n, looking more gorgeous than ever. Everything taking its natural course." He chuckles, hand ghosting over your breast.

“Let go of me." You whimper, too scared to say anymore.

“Why would we do that? When we've been waiting years for this?"

“Years?"

"We've been watching you over the years, seeing the countless of men that have come and gone. We let you have them because it was never anything serious but this...we had to take some sort of action to fix this. I mean engagement?" Bakugo laughs, although there's no humor behind it. "How could we ever allow that?"

"You have no control over my choices." You grit through your teeth. "Allow? You can't allow me to do anything, you don't fucking own me!"

"That's where you're wrong." Bakugo takes several steps towards you, face inches away from yours, crazed look in his eyes. "We do. And we should've established that sooner it seems. But no worries, we have plenty of time now."

He's too close. Towering over you. Suffocating you.

You need to get out of here, away from these freaks. You thought it was simple bullying, losers needing to feel some sort of importance by picking on the weak kid but...it's not. Not with the way he's looking at you, with the way Kirishima's breath is fanning your neck, hands getting dangerously close to your breasts. This is some sort of sick obsession. An infatuation and sense of possessiveness they've had on you for...god you don't even what to think for how long.

You shake your head, not thinking twice as you jam your elbow into Kirishima's stomach. For a pro hero, he actually stumbles back, coughing in pain. You don't waste a second, using the free space you have to run towards the door.

Just as your fingers are about to wrap about the knob, you're pulled back. Fingers gripping your hair, pulling and yanking you away from the door. You scream, hands coning up to offer some sort of relief to your aching scalp.

It's Bakugo. You know, just from how rough he is. He's always been the one who never cared about the inhumane strength he's had compared to you, tossing you around like a rag doll whenever he pleased. Back then, you thought it brought him some sort of sick satisfaction to witness how weak you were underneath his grip. How he could do whatever he wanted to you and all you could do in retaliation was whimper and cry.

He drags you across the room, your knees hitting the floorboard as you're forced to crawl. He throws you down on the bed with a bounce, a yelp escaping your throat. You scream again, an ear shattering one just in hope anyone will hear. "Shut up." He grits through his teeth. He moves too fast for you to even comprehend what's going on before it's too late, before he's on top of you and his hand around your throat, tight and snug.

"Can you be quiet for us, y/n?" He asks, this time voice so guttural low it frightens you more than before. You're trembling, lips quivering as you do your best to nod.

“Good." He sighs, hand leaving your throat. He grins down at you, eyes looking over every inch of your body. You look at his arms now on either side of your head, can't help but stare at the pumping veins flexing along his arms. He's huge. Has more muscles than you can comprehend and could easily string you up and leave you for dead. And you don't want to die.

Back then during school, they would never hurt you too bad as long as you behaved. So you force the anxiety and terror down, trying to will the trembling away as you look up at him. "A-are you going to kill me?" You can't help but ask, voice painfully low.

He doesn't look like he minds you speaking, only stares at you in mock pity. "Of course not."

“We could never." Kirishima comes up, sitting next to the both of you. His thumb touches your bottom lip, caressing it. "We just want to get some rules down babe, like before. And if you follow them, we'll never have to hurt you."

"R-rules?"

Bakugo nods, knee slightly riding up between your thighs, lifting your dress up just the tiniest bit.

Kirishima smiles, finger running small circles on your shoulder, the small action causing you to shudder. "Like rule number one for instance..." He starts.

"When we offer to fuck you." Bakugo takes over. Fingers going to the straps of your dress, pulling them down. You choke on your fear, on your panic and anxiety as you shake your head no, words failing to escape you. "You beg and thank us for it." He finishes simply. Like this is an ordinary conversation between two consenting adults.

You open your mouth to speak, voice coming out in shuddering, shaking tone. "Please..." It was a plea for them to stop, for them to regain some sort of morality and let you go.

But they only laugh, ignoring your tears as Kirishima smiles. "See? Just like that."

[iamasaddie]

horny&depraved book club (welcome back, my dear psycho)

Part 3 of beautiful, smutty, absolutely fucked up fanfiction! Don't forget, this fic rec list contains dark works that have extremely dark topics, [main warnings are listed in brackets]. All works are x f!Reader.

LANDLORD FROM HELL by @absurdthirst [dark!Frankie Morales; voyeurism; manipulation; abusive relationships; murder]

I CAN BE YOUR PRETTY GIRL by @walkintotheriveranddisappear [manipulative!Joel Miller; dub-con; virgin reader; age gap]

STRANGERS by @toxic-seduction [Joel Miller; non con/dub con; public sex; exhibitionism; voyeurism]

ULTRAVIOLENCE by @devilmademewriteit [Joel Miller; non con; light dacryphilia; age gap; coercion]

HOUSE ARREST by @shadeysprings [Joel Miller; noncon, smut, stepcest, age gap]

ALL YOU WANNA DO @atticrissfinch [dark!creeper!Joel Miller; non con; girthy age gap; fetishization of new-adulthood]

CLAIM by @ezrasbirdie [dark!Joel Miller; dub con; somnophilia; power dynamics]

HOSTAGE by @atticrissfinch [serial killer!Joel Miller; noncon; kidnapping; assault; gunplay; degradation]

TWISTED LOVE by @cool-iguana [Joel Miller; dub con; dacryphilia; stockholm syndrome; dom/sub]

CNC by @toxicanonymity [Joel Miller; consensual non con; dub con]

You can contribute to the book club by mentioning your favorite dark works (all Pedro Pascal characters are welcomed) OR send some creepy love to the amazing authors by again mentioning them in the comments or just sliding into their ask box! Also, if you have written your own dark works that weren't mentioned here but you think they deserve some recognition, don't be shy and promote that depravity!

REMEMBER! FICTION IS NOT REAL LIFE AND WHATEVER YOU SEE ON PAGE DOES NOT MEAN I (or anyone else) CONDONES THIS TYPE OF BEHAVIOR IRL. 

Whatever you do in life should be safe, sane and consensual.

[fedzkun]

Ask game: All Might is under the effect of a sleep quirk so Izuku hangs out with Flame Might. Please.

I dub thee Sleeping Almighty AU

Izuku’s vestige form sat beside Flame Might in his dreams. Despite its inability to talk or react much, Flame Might’s inherent warmth helped Izuku with getting through on being unable to speak with All Might on the first day.

Three days after All Might was forced asleep, Izuku missed talking with his mentor so much that he—who often believed that he was undeserving of kind touches—decided to initiate physical contact and rested his arm beside Yagi’s.

Yagi was still unable to talk in the Vestige World, and his consciousness’ access to his Vestige form was limited. But he could hear and listen to Izuku’s stories, and express his feelings through his eyes. It took like a day or two to learn how to move his vestige form’s limbs, but his first act was to pat Izuku’s head and pull him close.

When Yoichi taught Izuku how to conjure stuff in the Vestige world, like a Heropoly board game or MightUno cards, Izuku and Flame Might were a team, as sometimes AM’s Vestige connection would fluctuate.

Izuku became skilled enough at conjuring things that he managed to dream his textbooks just so he could read under Flame Might’s glow. If he brought storybooks, he would read them aloud.

There’s a point where Tsukauchi revealed that the person who put All Might to sleep wouldn’t reveal how to get him to wake up.

Izuku started to spend longer and longer sleeping, and naps often just so he could spend time with Flame Might. It didn’t help that he’s also expelling energy as a Vestige when resting. Worried, All Might scolds Izuku through JSL. When Izuku wouldn’t stop (and started worrying his class and teachers), Flame Might snuffed its light out and refused to reappear unless Izuku took care of himself again.

(Inspired by the Maleficent movie) Only when a lonely Izuku pressed his lips on the side of All Might’s forehead did Yagi finally wake up.

Thank you for the DadMight AU submission, Gentry!!!

🌻For the promotion of the launch of the Successor: A DadMight Anthology Applications, this 5+ Headcanons AU Game: DadMight Edition series is sponsored by @mhadadmightzine. (For legal reasons, this is a joke.) If you're a DadMight fan, please it check out!🌻

[schizoidcel]

Hii! Saw that you’ve opened requests for project moon. What about Sinclair x reader (original universe or mirror) where reader was sure that Sinclair hates them. But Sinclair was just shy + his menacing gaze wasn’t particularly helping. Kinda hurt - comfort. Btw have a good day!

## CINQ!SINCLAIR x READER ★☆

🤍🖤 ﹒ ENGAGEMENT . .

－ notes ̽ ۪⠀i did cinq sinclair since i think he fit lol (for the other anon who reqeusted (yk who u r) ILL GET TO IT I SWEAR m just struggling abit but with the prompt u gave vut bear with me pls♡)

︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : not proofread, MIGHT be abit the tiniest bit ooc

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : your new director lowkey scares the ever living shit out of you :heart:

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

Oh he's terrifying

You were recently promoted to south section 4, and ofcourse you heard the things you dubbed as 'rumours' about the director of the branch.

Now, not only did you think wrong, but you felt like he had something against you

Yes, you talked to him from time to time, and from the way he spoke with you and with others you gathered that he was a timid and nervous man

But it all just changed when he was lecturing people, moreso if he was in an ACTUAL duel

Seeing him in the 'training hall' trying to teach tricks and whatnot to his underlings, but ultimately he either accidently ends up being too hard on them or

Uh

Actually just that .

Frankly you were abit scared to train under him aswell

Sure, he did seem truly kind hearted ..

So why is it that whenever you felt a stare on you, you felt like you were having a fight to the death with the south section 1 fixers

UEAG anyway

Soon enough, it was your time to train with him! Yay!

He had his eye on you (very obviously) and was excited to have a friendly training session with you<3

But you were (also very obviously) scared and reluctant around him, sighing alot

Which made the maneven more nervous 😭😭

He's used to people being frightened while getting trained by him but he genuinely thought he was nice with you so far and that you two had something going

Did he do something wrong. Why are you scared. He dosen't mean to bite he swears

He tries to distract himself from the fact you might REALLY REALLY not like him by straying off course and teaching you random ass association battle tricks everyone should actually be aware of (even though suprisingly you learnt some new stuff)

He can't properly express his emotions, it's a thing he struggles with

After interacting with him you can pick up that he's just a demure young man, one you'll have to be patient with

You'll have to reassure him that he's fine and he'll go back to normal! (as normal as he can got back to)

────────── ♱ ❜ 🖤 . .

"G-good day, [name]! How are you?" The child asked, looking at them with curiosity. "...Well, you know, same old, same old... Ha. Ha. Haha." Some thoughts suicide got into their head for a moment.

However, the child didn't seem to care. Infact, he was ecstatic at the answer he had been given. "That's good to hear..! Uhm, as you're new, I'll make sure to teach you alot." He said with a smile.

Yet again, he wasn't entirely stupid. He could tell that everyone he duelled against had always been in a state of distress, and this time was no different.

What was different was the fact that the child had a newfound determination of trying his best to make sure the same incident dosen't happen again.

He had been wanting to talk to the newly promoted fixer for awhile now. At times, he would think of trying to figure out what to say that would be a good enough excuse to approach them.

He did not find this excuse, and kept staring at them for a long period of time accidently, which in turn inevitably brought upon a wrong idea in the head of his person of interest.

Sure, he was awkward, but he tried, and he found this a good oppurtunity. The child didn't want to give up.

"Alright, so..." He started to raise his voice just a little bit, not wanting to come off as too uncertain. "First, it's important to know the right way to yield the sword, but I'm aware you know that..." He chuckled abit, trying to lighten up the mood. He was in thought for abit, then began speaking once more.

"'Disengagement' is a commonly used tactic, as it is also very effective if executed correctly. I assume you also know of that?" The child questioned and proceeded to draw his sword.

The other child, dubbed [name], nodded their head. "I do." Although, the voice suggested more of a 'I don't actually know, but please let me be.' tone rather than a 'I know, and you don't have to teach me.' tone.

"Well, I would still like to teach you it in a more proper way. As your new director!" A sigh came out of the newly promoted Fixer's mouth, which made the child awkwardly chuckle. "...Uhm..." He thought he might've done something wrong. Not just in the interaction happening right now, but also the several times he attempted to be friendly with his person of interest, who now looked completely done and unnerved infront of him. Yet he couldn't focus on that right now. "Alright, let me demonstrate --"

The childs underling looked abit more stressed after he uttered those words, but they drew their sword aswell regardless.

The child proceeded to instruct his trainee.

It was obvious that both of them were in completely different physical spaces.

"'Pistol Grip', [name]." "Like this?" "N... No. Wait, let me -" "Ouch." "- Sorry!"

What was also kind of obvious was that they were in completely different mental spaces.

'Oh god. I can't keep going on like this... The awkwardness is killing me. I feel like I'm doing something wrong.' 'I wonder if director Quixote is singing in the Caféteria again...'

However, as both the children were distracted on the training field, an accident was sure to arrive soon.

Unfortunately, the director almost completely pierced through the shoulder of the one he trained. "Shit--" "O-oh dear..! [Name], I'm- I'm so sorry! I was..." The child panicked as he dropped his weapon and walked towards his trainee for today with haste, abit uncharacteristically. Thankfully, nobody really paid attention to nor noticed the both of them, due to the hall being so loud. The injured child groaned abit in pain as they clutched their shoulder, which made the directors heart fill up with guilt.

"A-again, I apologize sincerely, [name]. I'm just... Really distracted, I don't know how to explain it." He did, actually. He just really didn't want to because pf embarassment. "Maybe we should cancel the training session, I'll get you some assistance --"

"O-oh, director, don't worry about it." "..?" "It's alright. I know how you feel, actually. So I can understand. Cancelling the session really isn't necessary, It was probably my fault for treating this whole encounter weirdly in the first place... Maybe you in general, too. So I should apologize... Sorry."

The child looked abit taken aback from that statement, but shook his head and let out a relieved chuckle, "It's alright, please don't worry... I'm, uh, glad we resolved this." He smiled, a smile unusually soft and heart felt, especially coming from this one.

"Then, I hope you can come to me abit more in confidence if you need anything, [name]." The child seemed to have been abit more at ease now, which made him manage to speak quite normally.

He wondered if it would be considered weird to ask them to hang out later right in this moment.

"... I change my mind, can we bandage this?" "Ah, but ofcourse..!"

HEARTS FOR UR REQUEST <3 i had fun writing this hes so pathetic lol. i added a scenario cus i didnt rlly know how to do the hcs (ALSO SORRY IF HES OOC? im not the biggest sinnie fan so i mightve messed up oops

on another note .. i wanted to use the narrator for the id uptie stories cus i feel like it'd be neater that way. so i didnt really describe every single emotional change but im sure yall can like figure out where and what

ૢ་༘࿐ thank you for reading ! Ⳋ᧙

[dotieeee]

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 8

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

Overall Warnings:

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

Masterlist

Level 8 Warnings:

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

Replay Level 7

Ready? Level 8 Start:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bartender at Strabo’s party.

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

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

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

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

“We’re ready for integration testing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Add acid rain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Don’t.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you okay?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the Innises began building their empire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does your uncle know about this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because outside’s full of bugs.”

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

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

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

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

With suppressed smile you say, “Chips.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coriolanus moans indecently when his tongue begins to part your folds. He chuckles to himself when he feels you jerk a little in his hold – his sweet, delicious sugarplum, so sensitive to his touch...

What was that thing they used to say as children? I licked it, so it’s mine.

He runs this tongue over his lips before continuing his quest of lapping at your cunt, making sure he takes everything you offer him. He sucks on your clit as he listens to your breathy little whines, your body tensing in your sleep as he drinks and licks your juices – you taste just like honey on his tongue – he’s parched like he’s been that way since he can remember, and your cunt is the only thing that could quench that life-long thirst, and he doesn’t stop drinking you in until your entire body is tensing up and your thighs are quivering in his arms. He pulls away in time to watch your pretty face, frozen in pure bliss, your mouth parted as you let out those airy little moans and whines.

Did he just give his little sugarplum her first-ever orgasm in her sleep?

Your limbs relax eventually as he releases your thighs. Still drunk on the taste of you in his mouth, he quickly takes his shirt off and wastes no time unzipping his pants. He can only ignore his raging erection for so long, after all.

Like he’s done countless times, he takes his cock in his fist and begins pumping himself as he watches you – as per usual, he indulges himself in fantasies about you, moaning and screaming his name, writhing underneath him in pleasure and making a mess of his bedsheets, except your face in his mind is clearer than ever before, now that he’s seen the expressions and the sounds you’d make as he makes you come around his cock again and again. He imagines himself taking you over and over even as you stay limp underneath him, too fucked out to moan anything coherently.

It doesn’t take Coriolanus long to reach his peak. With a loud, guttural groan, he finishes on your stomach, making sure he doesn’t spill anywhere else even amidst the waves of pleasure engulfing him. He brings his forehead close to yours as he steadies his breathing and lets his high fade. Once he’s regained his composure, he pulls away from you, zips his pants back up and gets off you completely, opting to sit beside you as he leans against the headboard to collect his thoughts.

He knows he couldn’t leave you in your half-dressed state for long lest you catch a cold, so he begins to erase any evidence of the little bit of fun he had with you. Shame, really, when you look so inviting covered in his spend.

He starts by gently wiping his cum off your stomach with a damp towel, ensuring that he leaves no trace of himself on you. He finds wiping you clean easy and satisfying, vaguely wondering what it would be like to have the two of you soaking in a bathtub together and doing the same for him. The next task, getting you back in your stockings, isn’t as easy as the previous, given that he has to arrange the run on the cloth back where he remembers it to be. Miraculously, he too, gets that task out of the way, and putting your shirt back on proves way less challenging. By the time he’s done, the only sign he’d been on you is the little love bite he left, now purplish-black, conveniently camouflaged by that little tear on your stocking you’d be quick to dismiss it as a byproduct of your fall.

For now, that little beast in him has been sated and has retreated to the far corners of his psyche. He kisses your crown as he tucks you in the covers, but notices how troubled your expression looks.

Are you having a bad dream, he wonders?

You stir in your sleep as you turn away from his side of the bed, muttering a word he couldn’t catch. He climbs back in beside you, leaning against the pillows, his eyes landing on the vial of smelling salts on his nightstand. If this worsens, maybe he could use that to tear you away from the dream that’s bothering you.

Then he hears sniffling.

You curl up in a ball beneath the sheets as the sniffling grows more audible. He peers further into your face, finding fresh trails of tears on your temples.

Coriolanus almost internally panics.

Did he do this to you? Had he somehow given you a dream you’re now struggling with because of what he did? He rubs his face as he thinks of the possibilities.

Maybe you’re dreaming of Sejanus. Perhaps in this dream, he’s breaking your heart, or he’s hurting you, maybe even cheated on you and you had caught him in the middle of messing around with another girl.

Things Coriolanus would never, ever do to you.

He finds comfort in the thought somehow, and he can at least hope this dream version of himself would come in and punch the daylights out of dream-Sejanus for making you cry.

“Mommy…”

It’s faint, but he hears it.

“Mommy, wake up, please…We have to find daddy..."

Ah, you’re dreaming of that day.

Coriolanus recalls the day Sejanus approached him with good intentions (like always, he couldn’t help his nature) and began talking to him about you. It was one of his many deluded attempts at igniting friendship with him. He didn’t really care back then whatever he had to say, much less about you, but then he had to reveal how your parents died.

Such needless deaths brought about the vindictiveness of rebels who were bitter about your parents choosing the correct side.

And Coriolanus knew, better than anyone, and certainly better than Sejanus, what it was like to lose a parent the way you did.

For a moment there, he sees his younger self in you, calling out for his dead mother in the middle of the night and waking up realising she’ll never come back.

His heart wrenches at your pain, so he gathers you in his lap as you sob in your slumber. He’d never thought he’d see you this vulnerable around him, so it gives him an odd sense of ease knowing he’d seen a side of you you’d normally hide from him, and making you feel safe in his arms like this is something a dutiful husband would definitely do.

He almost ignores the phone ringing in his living room in favour of keeping you in his embrace.

Except the call drops and the phone rings insistently three more times, making him gently peel you off his lap and wanting to yank it off the plug.

Instead, he picks it up. What compelled him to do so, he doesn’t know, and he can’t pinpoint whether it was a good or a bad decision.

“Coriolanus. This is Acacius Innis.”

Fuck. Just when he’s finally got you to himself.

Acacius Innis inquires more persistently on the other line.   “Is my niece with you?”

“Yes, Mr Innis. She –”

“Why?”

Coriolanus does not appreciate Innis senior’s tone, nor the way he just cut him off. “She almost passed out at work this afternoon, sir,” he says. “My place was the closest I could bring her to.”

A pause on the other line. “I’m coming over,” says Mr Innis.

“I can bring her over instead, sir –”

“No, I’m picking her up,” Innis says, as sounds of scuffling are heard in his background. “I know where you live. And, young man, if you so much as try anything funny with my niece, if you dare lay a finger –”

“I have no such intentions, Mr Innis,” Coriolanus replies with just as much conviction.

My tongue did all the work. He licks his lips, extremely pleased he could still taste you on them. “Nellie is safe with me; you have my word.”

“Good to know. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Coriolanus hears the click of the receiver, followed by the dial tone.

The meddling prick.

A sharp sensation in your nose stirs you awake, followed by fingers softly stroking your hair to help you come out of it.

“Sugarplum, I’m sorry to have woken you up, but you were crying in your sleep.”

The compassionate voice of none other than Coriolanus Snow makes you rise at once and assess where exactly you have ended up.

You remember falling asleep on his couch, and yet, here you are, on a bed with his shirtless self, and a just few seconds ago draped all over his lap, apparently crying in your sleep again.

"What was I saying?” you ask as you wipe your tears with your palms.

“You were calling for your parents,” he explains. “I assume you were dreaming about the day they died.”

Damn this day. You just had to fall asleep in his presence. It’s a stupid move, you berate yourself. You extricate yourself at once from what obviously looks like his bed. Coriolanus's eyes follows you with a doleful look. “I had no idea you still had nightmares about them.”

He too, gets to his feet, picking his shirt up from the sheets and putting it back on. What the fuck even was it doing off? He approaches you with eyes cold enough to freeze your blood. “And we know gave us this pain, Nellie. We’ll make them pay for it. Every single one of them.”

You’re relieved when he finally leads you away from his bedroom and back to the living room where your shoes are. You sit on the loveseat so you can put them on, but he’s on his knees at once, assisting you with your shoestraps.

“Your uncle knows you’re here,” he says as he ties your laces. “I told him you had a long day and you were resting. He’s on his way to pick you up. He also mentioned a subtle, tasteful threat of bodily harm if I ‘tried anything funny.’”

He looks up at you, smiling as he brushes his knuckles on your cheek.

“Like I’d ever harm my little sugarplum.”

The two of you retrieve your coat in the foyer, and you quietly thank him for letting you stay at his home. Instead of responding, he just fixes your hair and wipes your cheeks with his thumb, which later brushes over your lips.

Please, don’t let him kiss me…

“Coryo? Please…” you whisper shakily.

But then he releases you, donning a satisfied look. “There, all better.” When you look at him with questioning eyes, he adds, “I don’t think your uncle will ever forgive me if he thinks I made you cry.”

“Th-thanks.”

“You can thank me by getting better,” he says lightly. He leads you to the elevator with his hand on your back. “You have the entire day off tomorrow, so get all the rest you need. In fact, I have something that may help you get better sleep.”

He fishes this small, crimson vial from his pants pocket and places it in your hands. The cork stopper on the bottle is still sealed with wax.

“That should help. Take a teaspoon before you go to bed. It’s a non-addictive formula they developed at the Citadel. Tell me if it works for you so I can get you more.”

You nod and mutter your thanks. “Coryo, can I ask you something?

“Of course, sugarplum.”

“When do you think I can start working for my uncle again? Now that I’ve already finished fixing the code?”

His eyes darken at your question, but he blinks and it’s gone, replaced by simple curiosity.

“Why, sugarplum? Are you that eager to wriggle free from me?” he jests. 

“No,” you deny, no matter how much his observation rings true. “It’s just that he’s been looking unwell lately, and he won’t tell me anything. He’ll never tell me if he’s sick or what, and I worry about him.”

What you said is partly true, but you also just want to be done with everything that has to do with him. If you don’t work for him anymore, you won’t ever have to interact with him ever again and be part of whatever he’s building. He’s not your friend, no matter how much he tries to make it look like so. He’s dangerous, you know that, and the faster you can keep him at arm’s length, the better.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sugarplum. I know the past week has been stressful for you. For both of you. But you don’t want to leave the program now, do you? Not when we’re so close to accomplishing what your uncle had started. And if you really want to help your uncle, finish his work, and help build his legacy.”

So, it seems you’re stuck with him, and you’ll still be participating in the trial Hunger Games this Friday.

The air is knocked out of your lungs as you’re pinned against the cold, steel walls of the elevator, and the gasp you let out is silenced by Coriolanus’s mouth latching onto yours.

Having caught you off-guard, you attempt to push him off, but he’s always been leagues above you in physical strength. As his tongue finds yours, you simply close your eyes and let him.

However, just as soon as it happens, he releases you, just in time for the elevator door to reveal the lobby with a ding.

“How about I recommend people I know who’d be perfect as his apprentice?” he suggests as if nothing happened. “After all, I have a track record for finding the perfect one. I’ll have it sent to his desk next week.”

You’re exhausted beyond words, not having the will to snap, so you just nod along. Through the glass doors, you spot your uncle leaning against his car with his hands inside his coat pocket, looking more cross than you’ve ever seen him in public. Still, you have never been more relieved to see him.

You open your mouth to greet him as you step outside, followed by Coriolanus, but Uncle Cas’s eyes land on the tear on your stocking. Acacius Innis’s eyes harden, and the next thing you know, he’s lunging at the younger man behind you. You hear a dull thud, indicating he landed a punch somewhere.

“Uncle Cas, no!” You squeal, wrapping your arms around his torso and attempting to wrench him away from Coriolanus.

“What the fuck did you do, you little – !”

“Uncle, I fell, and I tore my tights. He didn’t do anything!”

Uncle Cas simmers down upon hearing your words. “Is this true?” He asks Coriolanus.

Your friend holds a slightly bleeding lip with his thumb, but he smiles just as disarmingly as if he wasn’t at all fazed by your uncle’s outburst. “Yes, sir. It was merely an accident.”

Your uncle huffs to himself. For a moment, he seems like he's considering punching him again with the way he furls his fist, but then he dips his head in apology. “Then you’ll have to forgive me, young man. I truly am sorry for jumping to conclusions. Are you alright?”

Coriolanus merely chuckles, but it's bereft of any humour. “I was a peacekeeper once, sir. I have certainly taken much worse.”

This was a clear challenge, and you wish with all your might that your uncle wouldn’t take the bait. Fortunately, the older man just tenses his jaw and nods. “Once again, you have my apologies. I thought you had hurt my niece, and it was wrong of me to not reign in my temper.”

Snow straightens to his full height and graciously replies, “I completely understand, Mr Innis. I’d protect Nellie just as ferociously as you would.”

Your uncle all but drags you to the car’s passenger seat and follows you inside, taking his place in the driver's seat. Now, even with everything that happened that day, this is a bizarre sight, as Acacius Innis has not driven a car himself in a long while. You remain quiet as the engine roars to life, almost swearing to yourself that you hear him mutter “insolent fucking cunt” under his breath as he drives off at full speed.

Enter Level 9

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!

Sorry for any typos, I am not the best of health rn and I will be editing this when I wake up 😊 please stick around!! Snowball has more tricks up his sleeve 😈😈😈