#and victor can read the writing on the wall

[yesimwriting]

okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader

[maidragoste]

Promises

THG AU

Victor!Aegon II Targaryen x Victor!Reader

Summary: President Snow announces that in the next Quarter Quell, the tributes will be reaped from among the victors.

Logically I should have posted the Jace games first but it's been a while since I posted anything about Aegon and I was excited haha

Edit: The first chapter of the Jace games is now available.

Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Please, if you enjoyed this reading, let me know in the comments or in my inbox, that always motivates me to continue writing 💖💖

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

You were in the house of Viserys Targaryen like the rest of the victors from your district. Of course, you had to drag Aegon's drunk ass out of his house and bring him here first. Everyone was waiting for the broadcast about the seventy-five Hunger Games. All the Hunger Games were bloody but this year was the third quarter quell and in each quarter quell they modified the rules with the purpose of making the games even more brutal and more difficult to win. In the last quarter quell instead of sending two tributes per district they sent four so you couldn't even imagine what they planned to do now.

You locked eyes with Rhaenyra as you heard her father laugh at his own joke. She, like you, seemed to be anxious about the announcement because she kept spinning her rings.

“That's enough,” you said when you heard Alicent, Aegon's mother and Viserys' wife, sigh for the fifth time when she saw that her son wouldn't stop drinking. You tried to take the bottle from him but he slapped you and looked at you annoyed. Rhaenyra was ready to intervene but you waved her hand at her telling her you could handle it. “At least you can share a little,” you complained.

Aegon looked at you suspiciously. It wouldn't be the first time that you asked him to share his alcohol with you and then didn't return the bottle or in any case threw away all its contents. He groaned as he watched you pout before handing you the bottle. You smiled at him making a small smile appear on his face. Even so, he watched you carefully as you drank his whiskey, when he thought it was enough he abruptly took the bottle from you, causing the liquid to drip onto your chin. He laughed at your annoyed look as you wiped yourself with your hand. Rhaenyra shook her head at their foolishness.

President Snow finally appeared on the screen. Aegon's laughter stopped as did the conversation between Daemon, Viserys, and Harrold. At first, there was nothing out of the ordinary, as every year he talked about the uprising against the Capitol and how significant the games were until…

"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol"You didn't know why but you couldn't help but get tense, you felt your stomach drop, you tried to calm by telling yourself that surely it was just the drink you had that was bad for you and you leaned back from the couch, listening even more attentively to the speech. "the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

You heard Alicent's screams. You watched as Rhaenyra got up from the couch and left the house. You flinched at the sound of breaking glass. The president's voice was no longer heard and the smell of whiskey filled the place. Aegon was no longer next to you, he found himself banging his head against the wall as he screamed. You felt like your heart was going a mile a second. You had a lump in your throat and your chest hurt and all you wanted to do was join in the screaming and smash things but that wouldn't help. Aegon needed you, Aemond and Daeron were busy trying to calm their mother down while Viserys carried a frightened Helaena to her room and Harrold along with Willis was trying to stop Daemon from destroying the kitchen as he had done with the vases in the living room.

You stood up and didn't bother to dodge the glass as you walked towards the youngest male victor in your district. You tugged at the back of his shirt, managing to move him away from the wall for a brief moment.

“Aegon! Stop” you shouted in a broken voice as you saw her hit herself again.

Hearing your voice like that Aegon turned to see you. There was now a bloody gash on his forehead and his eyes were manic. For a brief moment you thought he would attack you but all he did was pull your body towards his and entice you into a tight hug.

“We can't go back. I can’t go back” You felt his body shake as he sobbed and your heart broke for him. You knew Aegon's head couldn't handle surviving another arena, he spends all his time drinking to stay groggy and avoid thinking about all the people he killed. Even most of the time he only managed to fall asleep after having been drinking non-stop. "I can not do it"

“You won't,” you promised, caressing his cheeks, your head already hatching a plan. District One has five living male victors: Viserys, Daemon, Aegon, Willis Fell, and Harrold Westerling. There were chances that Aegon's name wouldn't come up in the reaping but if it did then Daemon could offer himself as a tribute. He would do it if you volunteered in Rhaenyra's place and if you promised to help him keep his girlfriend from District Four alive.

“I can't lose you,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. Maybe he was lucky and his name didn't come up in the reaping but you had less chance. You and Rhaenyra were the only living victors in the district. If your name came up he knew his sister wouldn't show up as a tribute. She may not depend on being drunk to keep her calm but he had witnessed how she would sometimes wake up screaming and the dark circles under her eyes were evidence that she could sometimes go days without sleep.

And those words ended up destroying you. You started crying with him. You wanted to be strong but you couldn't. You didn't want to go back to the arena either, you were supposed to be free after winning the games, and you didn't want to kill again, much less people you know. You may not be friends with every victor but during these years as a mentor, you had at least spoken once with each one.

Your stomach twisted as you thought that maybe it was one of your friends who would finish you off. Would they be merciful and give you a not-so-painful death? You didn't believe it because you knew that the people in the Capitol liked the show, they got bored with a simple death, and they wanted to see blood. So if Arryk, Tyland Johanna, and Sabitha wanted to live they would have to put on a show to gain sponsors.

Perhaps the easiest thing would be to commit suicide in the games, you would bring dishonor to your district—you wouldn't be the first, people still didn't see Viserys as a true victor after having betrayed his cousin by killing her while she slept—but at least you wouldn't have to kill anyone. The president couldn't punish you, he had already taken away your loved ones after you refused to prostitute yourself and killed the one who was supposed to be your biggest sponsor, he had only wanted you to come out alive so he could obtain your body.

You could die by eating some poisonous bug, plant, or fruit like Jacaerys Strong and her district mate had tried to do at the last minute. Supposedly they had done it because they were in love and didn't dare to be in a world without each other but you were sure it was an act. You could come to believe that the girl is in love but the boy does not seem natural with every display of affection in public.

“It's not fair,” you whispered in disbelief when you realized that they were all being punished because of the last victors. They had done their act of rebellion by threatening to eat poisonous berries so that there would be no winner of the games after announcing that the rule that there could be two winners if they were part of the same district was revoked. “It's not fair,” you moved your hands away from Aegon's face for fear that in your state of fury, you might end up scratching him. “I want them dead.”

You were too deep in your head to notice Aegon looking at you in dismay. Tears didn't stop flowing from your eyes but there was no longer fear in them but fury and determination. You have the same look you had during your Hunger Games.

You may die in these hunger games but at least before you leave you would make sure to make the so-called lovers of District Twelve pay for ruining what little peace you and Aegon had. You would make them wish they had died in their games.

These days it seemed like all you felt was anger. Angry at President Snow, at the Capitol, at Jacaerys Strong, and the girl from Twelve. But right now the one you were angry at was Aegon. The day after the announcement about vassalage was made, all the victors agreed that they would train together and get in shape for these games. The only one who had continued training all these years was Daemon, so the rest had a lot to catch up on, especially Viserys and Harrold—because of their age—and Aegon—because of his alcoholism—so when it was about to be a week and the idiot still didn't leave his house, you got angry.

You entered his house with the key he gave you a year ago. You found him sleeping on the couch with several bottles, some empty and others still unopened, on his table. You bit the inside of your cheek to avoid waking him up by screaming. The best thing would be to take advantage of the fact that he was asleep to get rid of any alcohol that was in the house. You started by inspecting the entire house and ended up throwing the contents of two flasks that were in his bathroom, five bottles of whiskey that you found in his room, and five bottles of vodka in his kitchen, down the drain.

When Aegon woke up he found you putting the bottles that were on his table into a garbage bag. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and once his vision fully focused he slowly stood up. He walked towards you and he hugged you from behind. Feeling your body he tensed he left a kiss on the back of your neck hoping you would relax but instead, he earned a slap on his hands that were on your waist. The blonde grumbled and walked away from you, finally realizing your bad mood.

“Go take a bath” you ordered without looking at him and continuing with your cleaning task.

Aegon listened to you, of course, he left before grumbling, revealing his displeasure at your cold tone towards him, hoping that once he was clean you would let him hug you and kiss you. At the thought of having your sweet lips, he soon took a quick shower and didn't even bother to dry his hair well before coming down to meet you in the kitchen. I smile at you when I see that you have made him eggs and toasted him bread. Before eating he wanted to look for a bottle of vodka to accompany the meal but he found his shelf empty.

“No more alcohol,” you declared, making the blonde turn to look at you with a frown. “Don't even try, I got rid of everything” you said when you saw him opening another shelf.

“You have no right!” He reproached you, pointing his finger as he walked towards you. You didn't flinch at his angry look nor did you try to escape when he placed both of his hands on the table, leaving you caged between his body and the table.

“You told me you couldn't lose me” The man looked at you confused without understanding what this had to do with you taking away his alcohol “So I'm training and I'm trying hard for these games for you” You felt heat on your face because of what you were about to say, you weren't used to being so open with your feelings. “I want you to do the same for me. I want you to train with me and the rest of the victors. I want you to promise me that you will give everything you have to win these games because I can't lose you either, I couldn't bear to live without you” Your voice broke at the end and you closed your eyes.

You needed Aegon to promise you so you could be a little calmer, you had already spoken with Daemon and he accepted your deal but you were still afraid that he would betray you at the last minute, you needed to know that Aegon would not give up if he went to the arena.

Feeling his chest warm at your words Aegon grabbed you by the waist to bring you even closer to him and captured his lips with yours. It didn't take long for you to move your lips in tandem with him. While he got drunk with the sweetness of your lips and melted before your touch, he couldn't help but think that this was the way he wanted to spend his last days, by your side. He also wanted to hit his past self for not taking advantage of every moment he had with you. If only he had made the effort to be a decent man and become someone worthy of you he would have told you a long time ago that he loves you. But he didn't and he didn't want to tie you down to spending the rest of your life with a useless drunk so he kept his feelings to himself and settled for those shared nights.

A growl left his lips as you broke the kiss. He tried to kiss you again but you moved your face making him pout.

"Please, Aegon. I need you to train. I need you to try and fight for us."

He hated that look in your eyes. He could see the fear and sadness in them. And knowing that he was one of the reasons you were unhappy made him feel a pit in his stomach. He didn't like the idea of having to fight Daemon and obey his orders, but he would do it for you.

"I will do it, I promise"

Maybe later when he is crying and with sore muscles he would regret it but seeing how your eyes lit up and the bright smile you gave him he didn't believe that would happen.

"I love you" he finally confessed his feelings and smiled when he saw the surprise in your eyes "I love you. I love you. I love you" he repeated while he spread kisses all over your face.

A mixture of laughter and sobs escaped your lips. You were happy to know that he also felt the same as you, you had long wanted to hear those words, but your heart ached knowing that you would not be able to spend the rest of your life at Aegon's side. It was a bittersweet feeling.

"I love you too," you declared through tears.

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[pennyserenade]

the devil hath power

part three: the victor

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, coriolanus snow x you, coriolanus snow x nameless reader (no use of y/n) rating: e (explicit, 18+) tags/warnings: power imbalance, sex work/prostitution, degradation, smut, explicit sex, a little bit of violence, roughness, blood tw, hate sex, protected sex, handjobs, oral (female receiving), fingering, a general evilness for coriolanus snow is NOT a good guy. i hate to tag this as Dark Coriolanus because i think that's just who he is, but i will do so for the sake of this. word count: 7.9k+ summary: Coriolanus Snow is always the victor in his games. Or is he? a/n: this series was lots of fun to write and i can only hope that you all enjoyed reading this half as much as i enjoyed making it. i'll kiss you on the nose if you decide to leave a nice comment and/or reblog this, but if you only like it that's okay, too; i'll think of you fondly for having followed me on this journey regardless. no beta because life is hard but i did my best here.

part one | part two

The party did not conclude as much as it transferred to another location.

Tigris and her friends had begun to talk of a new nightclub some time after the conversation in the living room, and the idea whisked them away in their states of bubbly inebriation. They had kindly invited her along, with Tigris in particular trying to make a strong case, but she’d declined, citing early morning obligations. On the way out, Tigris had whispered to her that Coriolanus was too important for fun–but asked if she wouldn't try and help him have it anyway, being his old friend? She had promised she would and Tigris had kissed her cheek with warm affection before leaving. Not for the first time that night she could hardly believe that Coriolanus was related to the woman.

It was just as well for Coriolanus that they all left sooner than expected. He held the door open as they scattered out, delivering his charming goodbyes, but after they all had gone his amicable smile faded significantly and his shoulders slumped from the relief. 

“Don’t you like them?” she asked, observing from the corner. 

He wetted his lips, turning his head towards her. “Do you?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“Of course you do. They’re fools.” 

She wasn’t surprised by his turn of attitude. In fact, she felt more at ease when he was like this: transparently mean. It felt less frightening to know what she was up against. 

“Even Tigris?” she inquired. 

“Of course not Tigris,” he answered irritably. He pushed his frame off the wall and straightened himself out. “She’s just vulnerable to those types of people. It’s not her fault.”

“Those types of people?” As far as she could tell, they’d all been fairly well-rounded individuals. Their only fault had been curiosity, maybe overfamiliarity, but she considered that much better than what he gave off: Pomposity, contempt, a coldness when he did not think to mask it. Coriolanus could be charming–she observed this multiple times throughout the night, as he had conducted side conversations and finished off stories–but he never seemed to strike anyone as sincere. She could sense that, could feel it in the way they talked to him, not like an old friend, but like a teacher. He wasn’t like Tigris. She was lovely. 

Coriolanus did not entertain the conversation any longer, though. He instead took the needle off the record that had been playing softly in the background for some time, stopping the music in the middle of a song. It was then that her thoughts spun back to her music box—how abruptly, almost violently, he had shut it when they were inside her room–and her stomach began to churn. It wasn’t nerves; it was far more complex than that. His eyes seemed to beckon her closer, to draw her in. 

Despite what she had said, she had hoped maybe all Coriolanus had intended to do was flaunt her around the party, to show her the life she could have if she worked hard enough for it. That had been foolish; she was experienced enough to know with men like him it never stopped anywhere innocuous as that. He looked up at her like he expected a performance. 

“Finally down to two,” she said, sitting her near-empty wine glass on one of his ornate bookshelves. “Anything else you’d like to do while I’m still on the clock?” 

He laughed mirthlessly, working the knot in his tie. “Is that all you think about?” 

She watched him as he had her that first night: intent, serious, a spectator to a life she could not quite imagine, nor one she exactly envied. “I don’t know—is there something else I should be thinking about?” 

He eyed her as she moved closer, almost as if he intended for her to pounce. His grin was derisive. “I don’t know–don’t you have your own thoughts?” he answered brusquely. 

“I do, but I don’t think you’d like them very much, Mr. Snow,” she retorted. She could sense that he was not entirely in a good mood now–could see it in the tense way he held his frame, see it in the hardness of his azure eyes–but she wasn’t sure he ever was. At least not in her company.

 “I can leave as soon as you give me my money,” she added. 

“Thought you said you weren’t an escort,” he sneered. She watched as his fingers undid his cufflinks. They fell with a clatter on the table before him, disregarded with an unfettered ease. She knew they probably cost more than most people could ever hope to make in a lifetime in the Districts. If she stole them, would he notice?

“I’m not, but you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re well above paying for sex.” 

“What? The game get too trying for you?” Coriolanus clicked his tongue. Though his words took on a more playful tone, his voice did not. “You almost had me convinced last week that you were a worthy playmate. So stubborn, so adamant. I thought to myself for a moment that I was lucky you were only a whore and not something as substantial as my classmate.”  

Her eyes grew hard, despite herself. “So why are you trying to make me into something you so wholly believe I’m not?” she asked. “I don’t appreciate being left in the dark, Mr. Snow. In my line of business, it is best when all the cards are left on the table. When they are not I have the habit of leaving.”

He seemed to consider this as he opened the three buttons on his dress shirt. Already he had slung his suit jacket over the chair. “I’m not entirely fond of deception, either,” he said finally.

“I didn’t say anything about deception.”

“But I did. And you—“ he pointed a finger in her direction, “—know what you do is a bunch of thinly-veiled deception. I’ll tell you this: I think you could be an asset to me. You proved it tonight more than ever, with that charming little story about your Peacekeeper husband. You’re as quick on your feet as I’m sure you are on your back.” He quirked a mean grin. “But I’ll also say this: I also don’t like being left in the dark. If we are to work together the way I hope we will, I want to know your every thought as soon as you think it. I don’t care how banal.”

More than Coriolanus Snow liked conducting games, it seemed he liked winning them with an unfair advantage. Her lips twitched, daring to press into a grin. He didn’t find this amusing. 

“You think I’m joking,” he gruffed. 

“Quite the contrary.” She laughed, but it was more exasperated than mocking. “I think you’re serious. It’s just that you’re so goddamn predictable. You try to act above those men who come to me but you want what many of them do: power and control.”

The table that separated them lifted ever so slightly as he leaned his frame nearly all the way across it. “Of course I do,” his voice was rough. He was a frightening man when he wanted to be. She stumbled back. Anyone would’ve. “You do too. Don’t think I don’t notice just as much as you do.”

To make up for her temporary faltering and to show she was not intimated - though in truth she did wonder if maybe she ought to be - she leaned forward too, so close their noses nearly brushed. He smiled a wicked little grin that sent shivers down her spine. “You make me as sick as I make you. How's that for a thought?” she said. 

No venom, no bitterness, just a fact. Her pulse quickened. For a flash, she considered the fact that he could very well kill her. That no one might know it. Was he capable of that?

She felt his breath fan across her cheek, warm, scented like roses. “I like you better like this. None of that doe-eyed, temptress act. Your fluttering eyelashes got you through the door, but only because I wanted to know more about what’s up here.” 

She glowered. “You act high and mighty, Coriolanus, but I saw the tent in your pants last week. I know you liked it.” 

Her mouth ghosted over his own, teasing, but he didn’t move; he smirked, brushing his nose against her cheek, daring her. Challenging her. A far cry from the Coriolanus of weeks past. His past words echoed in her mind, the gravity of them weighing on her for the first time: The game will be different next time.

She could not lose. 

“You’re a petulant child, so afraid of what you don’t understand, contrary to what you say,” she whispered coldly, “And you want to fuck me so badly it terrifies you and you’re ashamed of yourself.” 

He connected their lips; it was chaste, brief before he drew back. It surprised her, and she had to work hard to pretend it hadn’t. “You think that if I do, it’ll ruin me.” Another chaste kiss. “Maybe it might, but what of you? What if you like it? Could you live with yourself?” 

Her eyes pressed close. The smell of roses was pungent but there was a heady scent mixed in with it; the sour-sweet smell of a clean sweat, of worry, of a long, long day. There too was alcohol. She had watched him consume a glass or two. She was sure she could take him on if need be. Certain that she had the willpower, the strength, to outdo him once more. “I’ve done far worse things and lived with it,” she whispered. 

Snow’s fingertips grazed against her jawline. His eyes bore into hers when she opened them for him. “I believe that.” 

Maybe it was meant to come across as condemnatory but it landed in a cushioned awe, wrapped in the quiet reverence belonging to a man who badly wants something he shouldn’t have. And he took it, his long fingers wrapping around the tantalizing column of her neck, pressing gently, an act of possession as his lips enveloped her own. There was no hesitation, no strain; he opened his mouth and she allowed his tongue to separate her lips. He tasted of roses, of wine, earthy and decadent, his lips plush and smooth as they moved hungrily against her own. 

She was the one who pulled back first, searching for air, allowing his nose to bump against the tip of hers as he lurched forward for more. His eyes were closed but he still possessed enough of himself to laugh humorlessly at the impossibility of what was happening. It did feel like victory, albeit a small one. She kissed him again, hoping he felt the drip of regret straight down to the swell of his groin. Hoped he’d feel it for decades, that he’d remember this as vividly as she would: his thighs pressed into the wooden table, his fingers in her hair, on her jaw, on her neck, his want, thick and palpable - embarrassing - as he leaned closer for more, more, more. 

He tugged her closer by the lapels of her jacket. There was no protest, not even the muffled sound of self-satisfaction as she crawled her way to him across the table. He held it down with his weight and watched expectantly as she came to sit before him. It was better this way, she told herself, so close. His pupils were blown wide, his lips red and bruised, whatever lipstick she might’ve still been wearing smudged against his. Even his carefully styled hair had begun to unravel. She could feel the full heat of his desire as her legs bracketed his waist. 

“When I first began asking about you—“ Coriolanus’ fingers fiddled with the buttons on her blazer. She let him, leaning back on her arms, a present to be unwrapped. “—there was this man. Let’s call him Vitus.” The first button popped open, and he moved diligently to the next one. “I go to university with Vitus. He’s a wealthy young man, and arrogant, so it’s no surprise he’s on your list. Vitus spoke highly of you, but not kindly.” The other button broke open, revealing the bit of flesh before her breasts. He could see a peak of black, of sheer lace, and she watched as he reevaluated his expectations. 

“Vitus,” she reminded softly. He shifted his eyes up. They were dark and unreadable. “Vitus—” he echoed, nodding. The third button slipped free. “—said you were a whore who got down on your knees for him. You sucked his cock so well that he shook. Said that was the best head he ever got, that you swallowed it down your pretty throat and left lipstick marks on his cock.” 

Coriolanus’ lips twitched, as though this fact pained him. She furrowed her eyebrows, surprised by the way the words seemed to disturb him—as if he was angry that she had been with other men. He pushed her blazer open and draped it over her shoulders. His head drooped down and he took one of her nipples, which was clothed behind the sheer cup of her bra, and scraped it between his teeth. 

She shuddered, one hand coming to his hair. Before it could, he pressed it back down onto the table forcefully. Her body got progressively more rigid beneath his. 

“Another man said your cunt was tight.” He stared up at her with unfeeling eyes. “Tight. He said that word exactly. He was so vapid. He said you liked him. That you came on his cock not once but twice, and that you rode him until your knees gave out. And do you want to know what I asked them to get those responses?” Coriolanus pressed his lips gently on the place before her bra began. He began kissing downwards, right over the fabric. By her belly-button, he said, “If they knew who you were. Nothing else.”

He pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses at the waist of her pants. She pushed back the fawn of hair that fell over his eyes and he let her. Looking down at him, feeling the ghost of his lips, the presence of his breath against her skin, she realized he intended for her to comment. 

“That doesn’t embarrass me,” she answered mildly. “I can’t stop what people choose to say about me.” 

Coriolanus rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think it would. That wasn’t the point.” He began to undo the button on her pants now, too. “The point is that I wanted you to know—“ The button came loose and he carefully undid her zipper, falling to his knees before her. It was more reverent of a move that she would have figured he’d make. He nudged her exposed skin with the cold tip of his nose, letting his tongue trace lightly at the beginning of her transparent underwear. “—however well you did it for them, I want it twenty times better. This will be your best performance yet.” 

His fingers gripped the underside of her thighs and he tugged her forward so abruptly, it caught her off guard. Her head rattled against the wood of the table. “Fuck!” she hissed through her teeth, her foot pushing outward to fling him back in retaliation. It worked; he jolted, his body falling flat onto the floor. 

Her breath quickened, her body adjusting to the adrenaline now coursing through it. As rose on her elbow to inspect the damage, she frowned. Coriolanus sat before her, running his thumb against the bottom of his lip. When he inspected his fingers, he was overcome with quiet astonishment. They both were. There was a red droplet smeared on his finger, the blood fresh. The sight of it thrilled her. It did. She was not sorry to admit that. She only worried how he would take it, how he would respond. If he called someone, anyone important, she could be in trouble. What she did was not exactly legal. 

“Coriolanus—“ she began apologetically. He rose a hand to shut her up. It was like blood on snow, the cream white of his hand smeared with the dark red of his blood. How ironic. 

He rose to his feet, laughing coldly as he tongued the spot on his lip. It wasn’t terrible, but it’d be an injury he couldn’t hide. People would ask about it. She began to cower, drawing her knees up the closer he came to her. 

“There’s no reason to be scared,” he assured, though the frenzied look in his eyes didn’t put her much at ease. His bloodied finger wrapped around one of her ankles. It melted in the fabric, but would no doubt stain later when it faded to rusty brown. This suit would be ruined. She tried her best to remain calm. She had survived worse. She was always surviving.  

“What’s a little blood in a good game between friends?” he spoke levelly. The blood dribbled slowly down his chin and he let it. 

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to—not like that. I just meant to—“ she sputtered. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. ���No you’re not. What did I say about us not deceiving each other?” 

His voice was low, angry, his eyes piercing. She carefully watched his fingers on her ankle, anticipating his next move. They remained still, loose. “Maybe I deserved it,” he went on, laughingly. “What’s the saying—an eye for an eye? Maybe that just makes us even.” 

Before the blood trickled down to his white shirt, she moved forward to stop it, as if this would absolve what she’d done—helping him. It was just a dribble, barely anything at all. He flinched, though, when she lurched forth to wipe it. He pinched her wrist between his fingers. 

Coriolanus inspected the spot on her finger like he had his own, his lips attempting to twitch into something resembling a smile. It was unsettling, and she was happy when she pulled back and he let her. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her softly again. He let go of her ankle. 

She stared into his eyes until they finally became penetrable again. After she nodded in quiet acquiescence, Coriolanus took her hand back. He  looked her in the eyes, wrapped his warm mouth around her two blood-stained fingers and moaned. It was so lewd, so unlike anything she could’ve imagined him doing, and she couldn’t help but show her shock; she yelped as his tongue grazed between her fingers. 

Her slack jawed reaction offered him the reprieve he needed to get them back on track; his lips slid off her fingers and he pulled her closer, guiding her into another kiss. She could taste cooper on his tongue more than she could his roses now. This was against her rules, anything with blood, but it felt hard earned, like a reward on her part more than his. 

Coriolanus took advantage of the fact that her slacks were unbuttoned and slid his hand down between their bodies. He spread his fingers through the patch of hair she had teased him with on that ill fated night, when he had come so close to giving in to her, reveling in the fact that he had her now. And it did feel like exactly that: like he had her, like a bird in a cage. He had her beneath his touch, he had her wearing the clothes he’d picked out, in the house of his own making, wearing the very blood she’d drawn from his lip. Even the slight pulsating feeling that resided there still only added fuel to the fire that she’d awoken in him. 

She was a terrible thing, and he saw it in her eyes when she’d kicked him back—that frightening jolt of excitement that came from the illicit. The fact that she hated him, that he could see it in her eyes as clearly as he had been able to derive anything else from her, did not bother him. It comforted him. She was no Lucy Gray. Not even throwing poor Lucy Gray in an arena to fight to the death could make her half as jaded as the woman beneath his touch. She had done worse and lived through it. Yes, he believed her. 

The simple truth of it was that if she wasn’t a whore and destitute, he’d marry her in a heartbeat. While Livia Cardew was a wonderful choice, and one he was close to sealing the deal on, Livia wasn’t like this woman. He knew that there would never be a danger of loving either of them, that his heart could never open the way it had for Lucy Gray for anyone so cold and cynical. But he knew, unlike with Livia, he could delight in life with this one—that she could make him better, not for all her surrender, but the process of wearing her down to it. He pictured it: the Presidential Palace of his dreams, expansive and grand, and her lying in a four-poster bed waiting for him after a long day in red silk sheets, wearing nothing but this black transparent set. When he entered her it would not be a chore, or something given, but a game hard won—and he knew she’d like it too, that the defeat would fill her with comfort because she knew the depths of true exhaustion and it wouldn’t be like that. He’d seen the hollowed home of hers, knew she lived through the Dark Days just as well as the rest of them and recovered about as well as his family had. To lose his game would be nothing; he’d cloth her and feed her and fuck her full of heirs no matter what.  

He wouldn’t want Livia to do this. She wouldn’t do it half as well. There was a vulnerability to this woman that Livia Cardew didn’t possess, a vulnerability she tried hard to forge into strength and almost succeeded at. It was thrilling to watch, to see her hold her head up so assuredly beneath his hard gazes, to watch the devastating power she possessed when she needed something badly enough. He hated her but she no longer disgusted him; she thrilled him. He’d be happy to play this game every day for the rest of his life—would be pleased to shed blood for something as giving as this pursuit. He’d done more for less. 

Her cunt was hot and wet, and rubbing a single finger through it relieved him more than he would readily communicate. But he didn’t have to; he slumped into her, gave way. She gripped at his arms, let him swallow her breathy little moans into his mouth as he teased over her core with his fingertip. He knew that when he entered her, it would change something—ruin him, maybe, the way she’d forecasted—and he didn’t yet want to do it. A part of him would lose and would remain lost forever, and he wasn’t ready to contend with that truth yet. 

He gathered her slick on his fingers and began to grind down on her clit. Slowly at first, letting her adjust to the feeling, then quickly, delighting wholly in the way she couldn’t help but tighten her grip on his arms. 

Coriolanus was not a man who liked self-imposed ignorance. After returning from District 12, he’d begun to undertake his study in sexuality, with nearly as much ardor as he had his education. He and Lucy Gray never had done anything beyond kissing and heavy petting. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to—he’d wanted to wait until she seemed eager, ready, when they could be alone, away from the Covey, from Sejanus—but it never worked out. He understood it to be for the best. If they had he’d probably be tethered to the foolish notion that sex had to mean something. When he got back, Coriolanus took to the female attention that had been directed towards him for much longer than he had wished it to be. It had started with Clemensia, for he had known he could trust her for her frankness and he found her to be the prettiest. 

He knew what he was doing now—had undertaken many hours in the laboratory of women’s intricate, often complex forms. Sometimes men, too, he wasn’t ashamed to admit. There was nothing he did not want to know—especially about himself. Lucy Gray had taken him by surprise because he’d made the mistake of being unknowing, of not having a strong sense of his character and a fluid purpose. He worked through that, saw himself out to the other side: he knew what he liked, who he liked, when he liked it. 

Well, mostly. She surprised him, but that was perfectly fine because he was solving this too, wasn’t he?

Her nails dug crescent shaped indentations into the pale of his skin, nearly cutting enough to draw blood again, but not quite. He nuzzled against her throat with his nose, taking to the sting of it. He went faster on her clit, harder. “You can never just play nice, can you?” he husked. He nipped alongside the edge of her jaw, ignoring the ache in his lip. “You’re so fucking wet. You like this. Like my blood on your tongue and my hands down the front of your pants. Makes you feel powerful doesn’t it?” 

She covered his mouth with one of her hands, her face contorting into a fine pleasure-pain expression that sent jolts right down to his cock. He could tell she was close, that she was going to come any second based on the way she was drawing her legs together—or at least trying to. Her grip was fierce on his arm and she was uncaring of the wound she had given him, pressing her palm to it. If she drew fresh blood, he wouldn’t be surprised. Wouldn’t mind. He’d lick it from her palm, too. 

He finally relented when he felt she was getting too close, and he sunk a single finger into her, keeping his thumb pressed steadily onto her clit as he did. She moaned, loud and audacious, her entire body arching up into him. With his free hand, he gripped her chin hard and, shaking off her hand from his face, pushed his lips into hers. She came, her fingers tugging on his hair, her nails clawing at his arm, her tongue touching his, exploring, tasting, lingering. 

And then she slumped against him, sated and out of breath. He smirked, though she could not see it. This was his victory, and a sweet victory it was. Here she was: docile, collasped in his arms, pleased because he had made her so.  

When he felt she had had enough time to recuperate, he took his finger from the welcomed heat of her cunt and placed it on her tongue. It did not shock her the way he thought it might’ve—the way he would’ve liked. She wrapped her lips around it without a second thought, drawing it in deeper, her eyes latching seductively onto his. His cock twitched at the sight and at the feel of it, knowing that she was tasting of herself and without a hint of shame or remorse coloring her. Good Capital girls weren’t ever so bold. It took awhile to get them to do things like this, or to even admit that they might like the idea of it. 

And she knew he liked it—that what had been plebeian before now seemed desirable as he explored and touched and undid. The state she found herself in was not an unprecedented outcome as much as it was a detour. She would still end up where she had intended to be in the beginning. Coriolanus was better than she would’ve thought he could’ve been, sure, but it did not detract from the fact that at his core he was fundamentally the same as the rest of them. That in his eyes, which burned wildly of passion, and his mind, which no doubt thought single-mindedly of success, was like that of a million others before him. Unexceptional in his perceived exceptionalism. 

She took her mouth off of him, sucking her cheeks so hollowly around his finger that she made a sweet popping sound. Coriolanus was like a spectator. That’s the best way she could perceive him: as an audience, taken completely with her and her unpredictability, hanging onto the edge of his seat, wondering what on earth she would do next. His eyes followed her movements closely. She thought of his Games—the one with the tributes that could be bet on, and watched constantly—and she wondered how much different this was to that for him. How sick of a man was he? Where was the line, as he asked her? Did he know it?

She guided his hand down to her chest. This he seemed to understand, taking the lead, catching her pebbled nippled against his palm as he massaged one of her breasts. She shrugged off the blazer—which had scarcely been hanging on for a while now—and tugged down her bra impatiently, exposing more of herself to him. He took the opportunity to lean his head down again. Coriolanus ran the flat of his tongue against one of her nipples, while squeezing the other between his fingers. The nature of it bordered on painful but he never committed to it, edging her up to the slight sting of too much pressure and then coaxing her out of it, sucking, rubbing lightly. 

His lips were glossy when he perched up to kiss her. She smiled. “You’re awful agreeable when your cock is hard—though I guess I knew it would be. I think that’s why you hate whores like me: we excite you to the state of pliability.” 

He took her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged at the flesh. “You’d like to think that,” He kissed over the spot, tending it with an affection that didn’t belong to him. It felt borrowed, stolen, an amusing role he was trying to fill out as not to startle her with the true depth of his cruelty. “I hate what you do but I understand it, don’t you see? I told you as much before. You whores — as you so crassly put it — are like a small stain on a good piece of fabric: some you can hide better than others.” 

She yanked roughly at his hair, drawing a hiss from his lips. But his grin did not fade. “What does that make you, then?” she retorted, “With your cock hard for me? Paying to finger me?” 

She palmed him through his slacks and Coriolanus let out a shuddery breath, shocked by the sudden relief of it. His next response was amused, his voice lighter. “But you’re not like other whores are you? There’s a hierarchy and you’re at the top of yours. The finest quality. If there’s ever a cunt to sink into, it’s yours—“ His eyes rolled back as she unzipped his slacks and slid her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. Her fingers gripped tightly around his base and his nose brushed against hers as he leaned into her touch, his palms flattening on the table. “—fuck.” 

With her free hand she propped him up, laughing against his shoulder. “Oh, Coriolanus,” she purred against the shell of his ear. His shaft was leaking pre-cum and she rubbed some of it down his cock, taking note of his response to her grip; the way the muscles in his neck fluctuated, how his hips bounced back and forth, how his breathing labored. Her teeth tugged on his earlobe. “You ought to get a condom, before you make a mess of yourself in your slacks. I can tell you want it so bad, Coryo.”

His hand gripped her throat. “Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice low—ringing serious, desperate. She didn’t listen. 

“Coryo, please,” she begged. His cock twitched in her hand and his hand tightened on her throat, threatening. It was a warning. She wanted to ruin him—wanted him to think about her forever, wanted to hate her as badly as she felt she hated him—but she couldn’t let him finish like this. She needed him inside of her, the truest defeat.

“I’ll show you how good I can be,” she coaxed, her tugs on his cock becoming more lingering. From the tip to the base, slow and teasing. He was decently sized. more girth than he was length. She was happy he knew what foreplay was. “I’ll show you how good we can be, and that’s what you really want, isn’t it? To know that I can submit to you as you’ve to me? And I can, Coryo.” 

His eyes pressed closed. She kissed the side of his mouth. “You don’t want what those men want, do you? Not even in a better form. You want more from me. Something I’ve never given them. Isn’t that right?” She kissed him fully on the lips now and he let her—even opened his mouth to accept her tongue against his. A man heavily seduced. “I bet you’d like to fuck me with nothing on, wouldn’t you?” 

She knew what he wanted. She needed him to say it to. To admit it for the both of them. His eyes looked so light, almost crystal, when he opened them again. He swallowed hard. “You’re such a cunt.”

“You’re not paying me to lie to you. You’re paying for my every thought, isn’t that right?” She gripped his cock tighter in her hand and he sucked in a breath through his gritted teeth. “I think you want to tell me what you’re thinking so badly it’s killing you. You shouldn’t be afraid of it, not anymore. We’ve already come so far. A little farther won’t kill you.”

“Such a dirty wh—“

“You told me, you said however banal the thought—“

“I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything. You’re just afraid of it—the depth of your want.” 

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He rutted into her hand, the warmth of it beyond relieving after so much of nothing. She let him. As his hips pushed into her, into the table, she watched how the desperation took hold of him. Coriolanus' breathing became labored. She wondered how long it had been—if he denied himself this pleasure. He gripped tightly onto the edge of the table, drawing closer and closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic. 

With an almost sickening amount of satisfaction, she let go of his cock. Coriolanus rutted into nothing with a harsh grunt, his head bouncing into her shoulders as he realized what she’d done and began to sag from the betrayal. 

He gripped her face between his hands. “You think you’re so very clever—and you are—but you won’t win this. Not against me.” He squished up her cheeks, drew her closer to his face. His patience had thinned. “I’m not like those bastards you fool around with. Everyone knows you don’t fuck whores without a condom—even the most cunning ones. Don’t play the cards you don’t have because it’s beneath you,” he growled out before letting her go. 

She watched with mild curiosity as he stalked away from her. It was an act she found equal parts amusing and hypocritical. He reminded her of a wounded animal, snapping at whatever it perceives to be a threat in blind rage. 

“You like the game, don’t you, Coriolanus?” she asked him lightly. 

He peered at her over his shoulder. “I have always liked the making of it more than I liked the playing of it.”

He had retreated back to his clinical tone; measured, calculated, clipped. She gathered her composure and slid off the table. He tensed beneath her when she wrapped herself around his torso, and his hands gripped onto her own. But he did not push her away. He was warm, still flushed from his desire, and she knew he did not have it in him to deny her. His cock was hard, leaking, and he allowed himself the room to want this. To imagine it. They were too far into this now. 

She laid her head against his back and toyed with the buttons on his shirt. She slid her hand beneath the cool fabric. Her fingers explored the hardened expanse of his chest, dipped down to his abs teasingly. His heart hammered away in his chest—perhaps the most honest thing about him. His body began to ease, unintentionally, back into her own, and she undid the few remaining buttons on his dress shirt. He let it fly open. 

Coriolanus turned around. He kissed her suddenly, and it wasn’t like before—not rough, but almost tender, all consuming. “I think we should go to my bedroom in case Tigris comes back. Sometimes she does that,” he whispered against her lips. 

“Lead the way,” she responded. And he did. 

Coriolanus’ room was luxurious, but sensible; it was obvious from the design it was a space meant to be slept in rather than inhabited: the four poster bed, the orange hued lamps, the heavy drawn curtains. Everything was the best quality, but it was plain, almost antiquated. Like hers, if she could have his money. 

He didn't put much stock in how she felt about the room, though. When the door shut, they resumed their working relationship. He eased her out of the slacks and she relieved him of his shirt; he unlatched her diaphanous bra, and she tugged on his pants; he shimmed the underwear off her hips and he stepped out of his for her without protest, without thought. They were naked in seconds and seemed to understand each other better for it. She laid down on his bed and he stood at the foot of it. 

His cock, which had begun to soften, sprung back to life now without aid. He touched his cock in lazy strokes, noncommittal but desperate. He did have a good looking cock, velvet soft and veiny. A terrible thing for a man so evil, so repressed, to be gifted with something like that.  “No more tricks,” he demanded. 

She opened her legs, the air of the room cool against her wet core. “No more tricks,” she echoed. Coriolanus devoured her before he touched her. 

He moved methodically to the desk in the corner of his room. The condoms were stored in the second drawer, wrapped in gold. Before she could offer to help him put one on, he was already undoing the wrapper and lining himself up to the latex. She watched curiously as he did it. He was stately about it, not coltish or inelegant. In this way, he was unmatched. Men usually bowed to their desires but it seemed he led a disciplined existence. He was too important for fun. 

Her stomach began to flutter with the anticipation of it. It was a betrayal, but not one she couldn’t contend with. Not one that she hadn’t before, in fact. This was how the body worked. This was work. This meant nothing. 

“Are you wet enough?” he asked. 

“I’d say so. I must say, you surprised me.” After a pause, she added, “You surprise me. Present tense.”

His smirk was unmistakable and predicted. “Isn’t it nice, not fucking men like Vitus? Don’t you see what a life you could have if you work for me?”

“Yes,” she cooed. Pliant, sated, prepared beautifully on his satin sheets. A dream he had long awaited and one he wanted so badly it would terrify him if he didn’t understand it throughly. 

Coriolanus crawled between her thighs. He kissed her again, hard, urgent, and she responded in kind, sucking at the end of his tongue, tugging on his now unruly hair. His cock rested on the curve of her stomach, present, aching, seemingly growing harder by the minute. He worked hard not to rub against her. He refused to hump against her like some goddamn puppy who knew no better. 

“Now,” she whispered. He nodded in assent. It was all done by his permission, by his standards. Her hand wrapped around his cock and she guided him to her core, but it was he who pushed in. He who teased the tip, he who slid so slowly that both of their bodies drew in a rigid sigh, he who bottomed out and he who drew up one of her legs to go a little deeper still. 

He needed her and there was a certain release to being able to admit that. It was encouraging. It made him throb inside of her. They looked at one another, breathed in the scent of their sex, and it began. Coriolanus drew back his hips, then pressed forward. His movements were harsh but steady. He delighted in the way she looked up at him like that: like he was fucking her and she felt it, really felt it. And fuck, she was wet, so wet that he could hear it. His cock was a welcome entity inside of her; she clenched around him, seeming to urge him in, begging him to stay. 

An unspeakable thing grew inside of him. The thing she had been right about. The thing that terrified him. His head hung and he watched the way his cock glistened with her slick, how it entered and exited out of her. “You’re mine,” he growled. It came from within and sounded frail. And it was. It belonged to a version of him he did not like. A version of him he could seldom control. He did not do this much anymore and it was for good reason. He had learned what he had needed to. 

She gave a beautiful performance, though. Bleary-eyed with want, convincing as she raised her hips to meet him—like she might need this half as badly as he did. “Yes,” she answered. He hated her. 

You hate her. You hate her. He repeated it like a mantra, his hips snapping into hers based on the unvaried rhythm of it. And he did hate her. She was a whore and she was a good one. His arms bracketed her head and said it. “I hate you.” 

“Fuck,” was her response. Fuck. His cock pounded inside of her and she moaned. Her nails began to dig into his skin again. This he liked most of all. The nobility of having shed blood had grown on him since he had first killed a person. 

He brought up the other leg. She gasped. It could not be any easier to push inside of her than it was now. God she was wet. He began to grind inside of her. She drew blood on his back. The sting of it was a relief. Penance. Fuck. 

He didn’t bother with making her come. He thought about it but he felt she didn’t need to. Not again. He was paying her for this. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, not for someone like her. To come inside of her because of his own thoughts was one thing but to come because she did, because she was trembling with her own want and he liked it—

He came. His body went slack and it surprised them both. She wrapped her hands in his hair as he collapsed into her body, and he could feel the heavy thud of heart. Or maybe that was his. It was hard to tell where one began and one ended during these things. He hated that most of all. 

Coriolanus drew out of her as soon as he could. He was not embarrassed. He was startled, but not embarrassed. It felt cleansing. But then he did something unforgivable. He did not leave her with her legs parted, did not watch with scorn as she laid in the filth of her occupation. Did not hate her because of what she was but rewarded her for it. 

Her gasp was as genuine when his tongue parted her folds. He ate her out in earnest, his eyes watching the way his tongue made her react. When she played with her nipples, so unabashed about what she wanted, he put his mouth on her clit and sucked. He did want her to come. Because of him. For him. Her hips jerked and he followed along with the movements. 

She tasted vaguely of him, but acidic, tangy, dangerous, too. Her fingers raked through his hair, and he entered two fingers inside of her. Clemmie used to like this. Livia would, too. He was good at it. 

“Oh, Coriolanus,” she whined. He hummed against her and the vibration reached her core. She shook and tugged and pleaded, her hips doing their best to get away, but he wouldn’t let them. He felt her clinch around his fingers. “Coriolanus,” she gasped. She came once, twice. Three times would be too indulgent. This is where he drew the line. 

He fell to her side with a heaving chest. They were both too warm, spent, surprised by the extent of what they had done to speak about it. In his mind he was building her a cage, and she was already searching for the key next to him. 

After a while, he turned to her. She did not look at him but continued to stare blankly at the ceiling. “How much?” he asked her. It felt customary. 

She wanted to say: More than you can give. She wanted to say: Everything you’ve got. She wanted to say: I will tell you no secrets, I won’t help you, I hate you. But she didn’t. She thought of home, what remained of it, and she said: “More than the first time.”

She was nothing like him but one did not need to be Coriolanus Snow to understand this: money was king, and he who had the most was the winner. 

But she understood something far better than he did. She had taken something from him he hadn’t intended to give, and that was something money could not buy. His blood was beneath her fingernails. His cuff links were in the pocket of her blood stained suit. Tomorrow she would begin to make her house right again. Tomorrow she would tell him what she knew about the men she slept with—all of it. Turn them all against each other, hopefully, ruin the whole damn empire. Maybe she would steal something else, eat his food, fuck him again, see how far she could go before he noticed how much of his life she usurped. Would he begin to blur the line between performance and reality? She was sure he might. Already he had his hand on her wrist, tracing lightly against it.  

He was the winner but now she was out for more than just a single victory. This was war and she was choosing her battles wisely. 

Looking in his direction, she turned her lips up almost imperceptibly into a grin. Her eyes were soft, still teary from the sex. He seemed…at ease. Sated. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

 “For what?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“This opportunity,” she said warmly. “I know it’s going to change things for me. I can see that.” 

In his eyes it appeared: the propensity for being needed. He smiled, too. “It will,” he told her.  

Yes, she was the victor and the crown had yet to feel heavy. 

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x reader #young coriolanus snow #thg #the hunger games fanfic #tbosas fanfic #tbosas fanfiction #tom blyth #tom blyth fanfic

[moethewriter]

Idk if you're comfortable doing these but maybe reader is on their month and needs comfort from finnick. Had mine last week the cramps, nausea and back pain was crazy fr lol. Or maybe just a comfort reading been a rough week

Please and thank you have a lovely day 🫶🏾

Of course I can write that anon! Periods are the worst. TITLE: Chamomile Delights WORD COUNT: 1.1k WARNINGS: Period content, fluff TAGS: Can be read as gn!reader (women aren't the only ones who get periods y'all!) A/N: Loved writing this one! Periods are ass, and as a non-binary person who gets them, we all need a little comfort! Hope you all enjoy this! I'm still not feeling 100%, this flu is lingering my friends, but writing has been taking my mind off of that! Love yall! Also not beta read as per usual, sorry for any spelling mistakes! Haha! -

It had come early, and to say you weren’t happy was an understatement. You wanted to die, truly lay down and allow yourself to become one with the earth because anything would be better than this shit. You didn’t remember the last time you felt this horrible during your cycle, usually you could manage but today was just … awful. Everything made you want to cry, or you when something inconvenienced you, you wanted to chuck it against the wall and watch it smash. You were nauseated at the smell of anything Mags brought you to eat, and to top it all of you just felt so fucking miserable.

Finnick had been gone for a few days, off in The Capitol, when your period had started, usually he would be there to provide any sort of comfort you needed but right now you were alone. You couldn’t blame him, Snow had summoned him and many other Victors for a week of galas and to introduce the new Victors. You feigned illness, which in some ways was true, but you were upset he couldn’t stay with you. Had you known it would start, you probably would have gone because at least then you would have your built in space heater.

You wanted to have him near you, as childish as it sounded. He always made you feel better and doted on you. He made you feel better and knew how to take care of you. But mostly you just missed him. His comforting smile, the way he would rub your lower back and just hold you to help you fall asleep. You were miserable without him, and you looked like shit. It wasn’t ideal, but you could make it through the worst alone if you had too. You felt like something that had just crawled out of a sewer drain, and you were sure you looked like it too.

Finnick hated seeing you so ill. He always wanted to make you feel better in whatever way he could. Whether that was holding you while you angrily muttered and cursed at the world for having cramps, or making you a small dinner that he knew wouldn’t make you sick. Well more like got Mags to make something while he presented it to you, he had never been the best cook and when you weren’t well he knew it was hopeless to try and feed you anything he made, it was sweet the way he tried so hard.

Some days he was a pain in your ass, but you didn’t mind that anymore. 

“When he gets home, I swear I’m going to kill him.” You whispered, throwing a pillow over your head, maybe if you suffocate yourself enough, the lack of oxygen flow would stop the pain all together. “Damn fucking President Snow calling his ass away. Maybe I’ll kill him next.” You grumbled under the pillow.

“Kill who next?”

You sat up straight, regretting your decision the moment you cramped up a little more. You felt a small wave of nausea hit you as you covered your mouth. You hadn’t expected him home until far later in the week. 

“What the fuck?” You muttered, squinting your eyes. “You’re home early.” You observed the glitter on him, his demeanor and the way he was dressed.

It wasn’t unusual for him to come back from The Capitol dressed far differently than anything he wore at home. It wasn’t Finnick’s usual style, he preferred a more low key look when he was in District Four, always had, but he did look gorgeous.

“And you look like shit.” He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame. “Are you in pain?”

“I feel like shit, thanks for the observation, Finn.” You rolled your eyes. “Yes, obviously.” You were far grumpier than you wanted to be but you couldn’t help it right now, the light was too bright and you abdomen felt like it was crushing your insides.

“Ah. I see.” Finnick said, exiting the room.

You grumbled to yourself angrily, desperately searching for a position that gave you any relief, though nothing you had tried worked thus far. At least Finnick was here, despite the annoyance you had at the entire situation, you were thankful he was home early.

“Hot water, and a cup of tea.” Finnick said, returning a few minutes later holding a steaming mug and a small towel.

“Finn.” You felt tears well up in your eyes. “Sorry. I’m not upset, and sorry for being a dick, thank you.” You smiled, as he passed you the cup, you inhaled it and the smile grew.

Chamomile, a luxury to get when you were outside The Capitol. It was your favourite tea, always had been, and he  managed to snag a few boxes of it when he could. He always thought of you like that, whenever he could get you something he would. 

He sat beside you, gently pressing a kiss into your shoulder and you exhaled deeply at the simple, yet comforting gesture. Having his presence was already a comfort.

“What do you need from me?” He asked, pressing his chin to where he laid the kiss. “You know I’ll do anything for you.”

“Kill me?” You questioned, a teasing tone lacing your words. You sipped the tea he had brought you and felt the warmth take over your body. 

“Well … not that.” He snorted into your shoulder, his hands moving to gently massage your sides. 

“Thank you for the tea, and the hot water. Hold me, massage my back … work your usual magic Odair, because when I tell you I’ve been so unpleasant these last two days … I’m not lying.” You huffed.

“You’re not always unpleasant?” He teased, moving the massage to your shoulders.

You could feel the deep knots slowly being undone, and you let out a sigh of relief, you hadn’t realized the tension had been that bad.

“I will kick you off this bed.” You warned, shooting him a glare.

“Then who would take such good care of you?” Finnick smiled, continuing to work his magic. “No one can live up to this.” He laughed, a small sound coming from the bass of his throat. 

You loved his laugh.

“Hush, let me relax.” You closed your eyes, and focused on his soft humming,

Days like these had always been so miserable, you had gotten so used to riding it out alone, but now you had Finnick. He would always take care of you, and you would in turn, take care of him. There would never be one without the other, not anymore.

“I love you.” You said, simply, leaning into him.

“I love you too.” He said back, holding you closer.

#moeswriting #writing #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #hunger games #the hunger games #fluff

[serasvictoria]

The House

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader x Steve Harrington

Summary: A test of courage to spend a few hours in the Creel house on Halloween night turns into something else entirely.

Word Count: 9148

Content Warning: 18+ mdni. Fingering. Hand jobs. Oral (m receiving). Deep throating. Face fucking. Unprotected sex (P in V). Overstimulation. Swearing. Alcohol use (they drink a beer). Eddie and Steve kinda have a “good cop, bad cop” thing going for a bit (don’t know if that’s worth a warning). Never explicitly stated anywhere, but this takes place after graduation so Reader is of age. And please let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: A day late! I can only apologise, but this fic was a lot and only got longer and longer so that’s my excuse. This is my first time writing Steve in a smut fic so fingers crossed I’ve managed to do him justice🤞🏻

Beta read by the magnificent @mylifeisactuallyamess. Thanks again! ❤️ Any remaining mistakes are all mine.

Even now, as you walked up the steps to the front door, you still felt that same rush that you did when you were a kid.

Everyone in Hawkins knew about the old Creel House. The place where Victor Creel killed his entire family in a horrific way that didn’t seem like a human could have been capable of it. People avoided it like the plague and it was almost as if the whole town was waiting for the walls to finally crumble and turn to dust so they could forget that it ever even existed.

“Scared?” Eddie’s grin is wide, bordering on demonic because he was ever the showman. “We can still go back.”

“I’m not scared,” you retort. “Are you?”

“No,” he replies instantly. “It’s just an old house. Its only occupants are probably spiders, mice and bats. Nothing to be scared of.”

You didn’t believe him.

Every kid in Hawkins had gone through the same rite of passage on Halloween night.

Small groups of kids would gather on the sidewalk in front of the house and watch as someone from their group would walk to the front door, knock, stand there for at least thirty seconds before hightailing it back to his or her friends and the process would repeat itself until everyone had done the same thing.

You had managed to do it when you were ten years old, but only barely. It was different now that you were older and wiser and knew that there was nothing to be afraid of.

It was just your mind playing tricks on you, making you believe that every shadow was a lurking demon or that every time the old wood creaked that it was the dead children of Victor Creel out to get you, forever stuck in the old house.

The reason that you were here now was because of one of Eddie’s dumb ideas. He had practically dared you into going to the old house on Halloween night, not just knocking on the door, but actually spending some time inside, too. He probably thought that you’d be too chicken to do it, but you had surprised him by saying that you’d be game.

The days leading up to it had been spent trying to put the other person off from going through with it. Citing various urban legends that surrounded the house, with the murders coming front and center obviously. Neither of you would be deterred however and that was how you found yourself standing in front of that door right now.

In a way you couldn’t quite believe that you were dumb enough to actually go through with it, half expecting that the floorboards would snap in two underneath you the second that you set foot through the door, but it would be worth it simply to wipe the smile off Eddie’s face.

It took him a short while before he managed to get the door open and the hinges creaked loudly when he slammed his shoulder into the old wood.

“Ladies first,” Eddie says with a bow and his arm gesturing into the dark house.

“You pussy,” you mock and then you step inside. When you turn around, he’s still standing right there on the threshold, staring at you wide-eyed. “Are you coming?” You pull your hands into your underarms and flap them around like they’re wings. “Or are you chicken?”

“Pfff. No way.” He straightens up immediately and takes a couple of large strides into the house until he’s standing a short distance in front of you. “Was just waiting for you to chicken out.”

“Yeah right,” you counter. “I could see the look on your face, you know.”

“Sure you could,” he huffs. “Come on. Lets explore.”

It was even creepier on the inside than outside. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The furniture had been left behind, picture frames hung askew on the walls or had fallen to the floor entirely, curtains hung in tatters on the rails, wallpaper was left to peel off the walls and the paint, which had probably been vibrant one day, had dulled over time.

Eddie had brought a couple of flashlights and while he wasn’t really illuminating much apart from his face by holding it underneath his chin almost the entire time, it did work brilliantly by making you focus more on him than on your surroundings.

Leading you into the back of the house, the both of you came to a standstill in what had probably been a study at one point or another. Some of the planks that had been put in front of the windows were missing and the pale blue moonlight was filtering it. It cast the space in an eerie glow.

“This is perfect,” Eddie declares. “We can hang out here.”

“What was the plan anyway?” You run a finger over one of the windowsills and look at the caked dust on the pad as you bring it up to your face. “You never were clear about that.”

“Nothing apart from drinking a couple of beers,” he shrugs.

“Huh,” you look around the space once more. “You just wanted to sit on the floor? Your jeans will get dirty.”

“I have a blanket in the van.”

“Of course you do,” you sigh. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me.”

“I sleep in there sometimes,” he responds.

“Sure, Eddie. Is that why you have condoms in the glovebox too?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you. Again.” He gives you the finger and you roll your eyes. “You wanna come with me and get the blanket and the beers?”

“No thank you,” you reply quickly. “I’ll wait for you right here.”

“Right here? You sure?” He actually sounds worried and you were somewhat sure that he wasn’t taking the piss. “You don’t have to act like a badass just to impress me, you know.”

“I’m not!” You step closer to him until you’re close enough to nudge his shoulder. “Just be quick, alright?”

“Fast as the wind, babe,” he says with a wink. “Promise.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but not because of the creepy house this time. Eddie flirted with everything that had a pulse, but it still made your heart flutter when he called you by an endearing nickname.

Eddie whistles as he walks off, some tune that you can’t quite place and that you highly suspect is from some random horror movie seeing how it sounds a bit sinister. You can hear him off in the distance, on the porch right outside, then on the path, until you can’t hear him at all anymore.

Now that Eddie had left you on your own, you weren’t so sure if you could handle it. You had merely told him that you could so he wouldn’t make fun of you (not that he ever would) and you were regretting it now.

It was as if every part of the house creaked now, as though the walls were talking and were telling you to get the hell out of here, but you couldn’t. Your legs were frozen in place, unable to move. You brought your hands up to your chest, feeling your heart beat furiously inside your ribcage and you took in a deep breath in the hopes of making it stop.

It didn’t work.

If anything it only felt like more adrenaline was being pumped through your system, triggering even more feelings of fear. You found yourself wishing that Eddie would come back soon, to have him fill up the silence by cracking dumb jokes, anything to pierce through the silence of the house. If your mouth had been able to move, you would have called out to him, but your jaw was clamped tightly shut.

When you feel a hand touch your shoulder, your entire body jolts before you breathe a sigh of relief, and you almost say the name of your friend as you turn around and find yourself staring straight into a Michael Myers mask instead.

You scream. It’s louder than you have ever screamed before and seconds later, you curl in on yourself, hands wrapped around your body and rocking back and forth on your heels.

The voice that answers isn’t Eddie’s voice and it barely even registers who was underneath the mask when he pulls it off, crouches down in front of you and tries to get you to calm down.

“Hey, hey,” Steve says softly before saying your name a few times. “Jesus Christ. Relax. It’s just me.” By this point, you’re crying and you can see the horrified look on Steve’s face over how badly wrong this prank even went. “Oh fuck. Please calm down.”

But you can’t.

So Steve does the only thing that he can think of doing.

From out of nowhere, he suddenly presses his lips down on yours and he keeps them there until you eventually reach out, tangle your fingers in his shirt and sigh. He pulls away slowly and you blink a few times just to make sure that he was really there.

“Okay now?” You nod and Steve smiles at you as he wipes your tears away. “Jesus, I didn’t even know you could scream that lou- Ow!” You slap his chest suddenly. “What was that for?”

“You scared the shit out of me, Steve!” When you try to hit him again, he grabs your wrist instead to ensure that you can’t hit him again. “Can’t believe that you’d do that to me!”

“It was Munson’s idea,” Steve jerks his head back to the doorway where Eddie stands, blanket and six pack of beer in his hands and staring at the two of you, his expression unreadable. “He thought that it would be funny.”

“Not funny, Eddie!” You flip him off. “Why would you even ask him to do that? That’s such a dick move.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles before walking over to where you and Steve were, spreading the blanket out next to you and sitting down on it. “Shoulda seen your face though,” he says, but there’s no real amusement in his voice. It just feels a bit… empty.

He pulls one can of beer from the plastic rings and gestures at you two to take one as well. You and Steve share an awkward look and then you join Eddie.

Instead of listening to Eddie’s voice as he fills the silence with all kinds of stories, you find yourself listening to Steve talk instead. He talks about work and Dustin who had come in to ask for the scariest movie that they had, which Steve had to deny him on account of his age. He recounts Dustin’s reply word for word and you laugh until your sides hurt.

Eddie is uncharacteristically silent. He keeps looking at you and then at Steve, biting his bottom lip and looking down into his can of beer wistfully.

Eddie had planned the whole thing out.

Steve would scare the crap out of you and then Eddie would swoop in, acting all heroic, you’d fall into his arms and then he could finally tell you exactly how he had been feeling about you for a while.

Instead, Steve had completely stolen his thunder and had ended up kissing you instead. Suave bastard. Leave it to King Steve to ruin everything.

Maybe he should have asked Dustin to scare you instead, but since he had other plans Eddie had never asked him about it. Instead opting for Steve because he didn’t have a date for once in his life.

Now he’s forced to sit there as Steve makes you laugh and he hates that he even feels this way. Eddie had prided himself in the fact that he has never once been jealous of Steve, hell, he really liked the guy too, but he sure was green with envy now.

Steve throws a couple of odd looks in Eddie’s direction as well, as if he was silently asking him what the fuck he was doing and why he wasn’t joining in with the storytelling because Eddie was far better at it than he was, but he got nothing back in reply.

“Oh, Steve!” you suddenly exclaim. “Didn’t you have to get that thing?”

“Thing?” He looks confused and honestly, anyone would have. “What thing?”

“You know,” you hiss and your eyes dart over to Eddie until you see some spark of recognition bloom in Steve’s expression. “That thing.”

“Oh, ha, yeah,” he mutters, unconvincingly. “Now I remember. So I guess I should uh… get it huh?” You roll your eyes at Steve’s sad attempt at acting. You’d think that he would be somewhat better at this. “The thing.”

“Yeah, you should.” You pull on his arm to drag him in closer so you can whisper in his ear. “Give us a couple of minutes, alright?”

“Sure,” he replies. He gives your shoulder a stiff pat and gets to his feet. Steve can’t seem to resist giving you and Eddie a weird thumbs up which he follows up with the immortal words, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids.”

A groan escapes your lips and you mouth the word, “Go,” at him until Steve leaves the room. You look over to where Eddie is still sitting, unmoving like a statue, and you can’t help but feel sorry for him. You really needed to get to the bottom of his sudden mood change.

“What’s gotten into you?” You sidle up close to him and put your hand on his forearm. “You’re so quiet.”

“Nothing.” Eddie couldn’t keep the dejected tone out of his voice and you frowned at him. “Long night.”

“It’s about ten thirty,” you say softly. “You’re usually not in bed until around two in the morning.”

“Yeah, well, I did a lot of stuff today, you know.” It was the weakest excuse that he could have come up with and he hoped that you bought it. “Had to help Wayne with some stuff around the trailer.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in reply and he can tell straight away that you don’t believe a single word that he’s saying. “Sure.”

“What?” Eddie can’t stop himself from bristling slightly at your reply. “It’s true.”

“No, it isn’t.” You shift until you’re sitting right in front of him, but he seems reluctant to look you in the eye. “Now are you gonna tell me what’s really going on? If you don’t tell me, I’ll just go home.”

That got his attention.

“You can’t leave!” There’s a bit of a panicked look in his eyes, but at least he’s looking at you now. “I’m sorry, alright? But please don’t go.”

“I’ll go if you won’t talk to me,” you repeat once more. “So spill. Tell me what’s up.”

“Alright,” he said with a groan. “It’s Harrington.”

“What about him?”

“Are you for real?” Everything about his tone of voice tells you that he seems to think that you should get it, but you have no idea what he’s on about. You look at him questioningly until he follows up on his question with an annoyed sigh and says, “He kissed you!”

“Yeah, he did,” you shrug, because you hadn’t minded at all. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes! He wasn’t supposed to-“ Eddie swallows his words back down. If he told you what the problem was, you’d laugh at him, of that he was certain. “Eh. It’s eh… he’s lame.”

“No. Fuck off. Don’t do that, Eddie. He wasn’t supposed to do what?”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. He didn’t have a choice now. He had to come clean. If he didn’t, you would leave and he definitely didn’t want that to happen. “He wasn’t supposed to kiss you.”

“And why not?”

“Because… ‘cause… that’s what I wanted to do,” he eventually mumbled.

“Oh yeah?” In all the time that you have known Eddie, you never once thought that you’d hear him say that. You had dreamed of it, of course, but it’s quite different to actually hear him say it. You actually give the back of your hand a squeeze just to make sure that you’re awake. “You wanna kiss me?”

“Yeah.” He says it so softly that you can barely even hear him at all. “I do.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Wait.” Eddie blinks in surprise. Very much like you were thinking earlier, he obviously hadn’t expected you to say that. “You want me to kiss you?”

“You can if you want to,” you reply shyly. “Just saying.”

“Shit.” He looks at your face more closely, probably to check if you’re being sincere, but there’s no hint of a lie to be found anywhere. “Shit. Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You look down at yourself and pull on a stray bit of thread that came loose from the hemline of your shirt. “Do you want to?”

“Yes.” The thread is instantly forgotten when he says that, making you look back up into his dark eyes. “Yes, I want to.”

You lean forward a little, moving into his space, and Eddie’s eyes widen, surprised that you even want him to kiss you. He leans in, too, close enough for him to count your eyelashes if he wanted to, and being this close is making his heart race.

This was really happening. This was actually fucking happening.

Your lips touch, nothing more than a light brush against each other as you finally make contact, and he finds himself pulling away just a tiny bit, only for you to give chase and pressing your lips back on him with some more force. Your hands move to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair to ensure that he can’t pull away.

Eddie gives in all too easily and your lips press and slide against each other. His tongue moves over your lips, following the crease between them, and you open your mouth to give him access. His tongue dives into your mouth, seeking out yours so they can move together.

You sigh and his hands move to your waist, pulling you in closer until your chests are pressed flush together. Eddie can feel your hardened nipples pressing against him through your shirt and bra.

A loudly creaking floorboard pulls the both of you out of the moment.

Your heads turn as one to see Steve leaning against the doorway, his arms folded in front of his chest, and with an amused look on his face.

“Enjoying yourselves?”

“We were until you interrupted,” Eddie grumbled.

“I guess,” you say with a mischievous grin. When Eddie pinches your arm, you wink at him. “I was kidding. That was a good kiss.”

“Better than mine?” Steve asks as he settles back down on the floor in the same spot where he was sitting before.

“Didn’t last long enough so I can’t exactly compare you guys,” you giggle.

Steve takes a sip from his beer and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He wipes his mouth with his hand and suddenly asks, “You want to?”

The whole atmosphere in the room changes suddenly. The three of you exchange looks and there is a pause as you wait for someone to raise any objections, but nothing happens.

Even the house is silent, like it’s holding his breath as it waits for events to unfurl.

The silence drags on and from the way that Steve is looking at you, eyebrows raised and one corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile, makes you realize that you were supposed to say something.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you let slip, speaking so quickly that it almost comes out as one word because your nerves briefly seem to have taken control of your mouth. Steve tilts his head to the side when you give him that as an answer. This was not the time to be flippant. “Yes. I do,” you amend yourself with more certainty.

“Okay.” Steve shrugs with a grin before getting up and sitting down next to you. He brushes some hairs out of your face and his hand lingers on your jaw as he leans in slowly. “Now be sure to tell us who’s the better kisser.”

Kissing Steve is different.

With Eddie there was an underlying sweetness and a hint of hesitation, but Steve kisses you with a lot more certainty. He doesn’t hold back like Eddie initially did and hits you with the full force of what he can do.

You’re reduced to moaning into his mouth within seconds, the muscles in your thighs quivering as every press of his lips goes straight down to your core. Seemingly noticing this, Steve’s hand drops down to your lap, his fingers gingerly brushing over the front of your jeans at first before pressing down harder and making sparks fly from your cunt.

Not wanting to be outdone, you feel Eddie’s chest pressing against your back. He removes your jacket first and then his hands circle your waist momentarily before he cups your tits and gives a squeeze that’s almost too gentle. You mewl between the two boys and your mind has a hard time processing that this is even happening at all.

You pull away from Steve’s lips with reluctance. “What are we doing?” Steve’s lips settle on your neck where he starts creating marks by sucking on your skin. “Are we going to have sex in a haunted house?”

“You wanna have sex?” Eddie attempts to sound scandalized, but it doesn’t help that he’s chuckling and then Steve starts laughing, too. “Such a filthy girl.”

“If I had known this beforehand, I never would have kissed you,” Steve agrees. “You actually want us to fuck you on this old floor?”

“I dunno,” you gasp. “You guys just want to keep touching me like this?”

“Like what?” Steve counters as his deft fingers pop the button of your jeans, pull the zip down and then slides them in. “Like this?” He doesn’t have much room to work with, but his digits slide up and down your wet panties and you push up into his hand. “You’re soaked, babe.”

“Fucking knew it,” Eddie breathes into your ear. “She’s practically gagging for it.”

“You were right,” Steve acknowledges and the pad of his index finger rubs circles around your still covered up clit.

“You guys planned this?” The question spills out of you in between little gasps and moans as two sets of hands keep touching you. Eddie’s lips are on your shoulder, dragging back and forth, and Steve keeps his beautiful eyes on you at all times. “That’s just so-“

“Right?” Steve interjects.

“Filthy?” Eddie says at the same time.

“Unexpected,” you say instead. “I had no idea-“

“I didn’t exactly plan this,” Eddie reveals. “Didn’t get further than kissing you if I’m honest.” You crane your neck, turning your head slightly so you can just about see him. “But I’m not complaining.”

“Me neither,” Steve affirms. “And what about you?” He addresses you now, looks for even the slightest hint of doubt on your face. “You can still opt out. No hard feelings.”

“I could,” you reply teasingly, wanting to keep them in suspense for a little bit even if you were already ridiculously into this. “You guys wouldn’t hate me for it?”

“I wouldn’t,” Eddie’s lips move against your skin as he talks, the collar of your shirt pulled to the side to give him more room to work with. “I’d just be incredibly disappointed.”

“And you?” Your hand loosely curls around Steve’s bicep. His fingers never once stopped working you over, continuing on with their ministrations over your soaked through panties. “Would you be disappointed as well, Steve?”

Worldly Steve Harrington gives you nothing to work with, nothing apart from a smirk, because he already knows what you want. He had seen it written all over your face from the moment that you agreed to let him kiss you again.

You’re so fucking hungry for both of them.

“Fuck it.” You knock your back into Eddie’s chest. He gets the idea and pulls away. Steve merely looks at you with his eyebrows raised when you peel his hand out of your jeans. You take a deep breath. “Fuck. It.”

Getting to your feet, you take a step back and both the boys look up at you expectantly. Reaching down to the hemline of your shirt, you pull it up over your head. You kick your sneakers off and then strip out of your jeans.

So now you’re standing in what was probably once the dining room of an old house, a house that may very well be haunted, and you’re in your underwear. You’re standing in front of two guys, two very hot guys, and you’re about to embark on something that you had only ever dared dream about.

Eddie gets up first and all the uncertainty from before is gone. It’s replaced with confidence now that you’ve made it clear that you are very into this.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath as his eyes rake up and down your body. He cups your cheeks and kisses you with such force that it makes your head spin. “I always had you down as innocent, you know?” You laugh at that. “For real,” Eddie emphasizes. “Because you always looked like it. So sweet and perfect. Silently asking to be defiled.”

“Sorry.” You’re having a hard time not scoffing in his face, because you were far from as innocent as he’s making you sound. “Did I burst your bubble?”

“You’re fucking filthy, sweetheart.” His words make a shiver run down your spine and you swear that it makes you go even wetter as well. “But I never thought you’d be this filthy.”

“Maybe you’ll find out exactly how bad I really am.” Your hands move to his vest, sliding underneath the leather jacket and pushing it off his shoulders until it falls to the floor with a thud. “You want to know what I’m really like?”

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes out and your hands slide over his chest, feeling every muscle through the thin Hellfire shirt that he wore. “What are you gonna do?”

“You’ll see.” You don’t remove his shirt, nor do you tell him to take it off, not yet. Your digits skim over his nipples over the fabric and you see Eddie’s hips jerk forward a little. “I want to make you feel good.” His beautiful eyes were squeezed shut for a second there, but as soon as you start undoing his belt, he looks down. “Will you let me?”

With his belt now hanging open, you start undoing the button of his jeans and then slowly slide the zip down. His eyeballs almost pop out of their sockets when you sink down onto your knees.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, somewhat unable to believe his luck. You pull his jeans down roughly, down past his knees. When you pull his plaid boxers down, his big dick nearly pokes your eye out. “Oh fuck.”

Grabbing his thighs, you make Eddie turn a fraction, just to make sure that Steve has one of the best views in the house. Your gaze falls down to his hand which is palming the front of his jeans to relieve some of the tension that’s building.

You know for a fact that Steve is packing, it’s all in the way that he carries himself. It is something that is also confirmed by his tight jeans that leave nothing to the imagination. It’s all right there, on display for everyone that wants to see.

Eddie’s just about had enough of waiting and he grabs his cock so he can wipe the ruddy tip over your cheek, just to remind you that he’s still there.

“Didn’t forget you,” you say as you look back up at him. Your index finger swipes over your cheek, to gather the drops of precum that he smeared over your skin, and you stick it in your mouth so you can suck the salty fluid off. “I’d never.”

A potential smartass reply dies in his throat and turns into a groan instead when you finally take his cock into your mouth.

This is as much a show for Eddie as it is for Steve and you start licking Eddie’s cock like it’s a popsicle. The noises you make are over exaggerated, humming and moaning like you were having the best meal in your entire life.

Steve’s hand slides down into his jeans and the way that he angles himself, just about able to wrap his fingers around himself, makes the reddened tip of his dick poke out of the top of his boxers.

You gesture with your hand in an effort to make Steve come closer, which he does. You circle the fingers of your free hand around the base of Eddie’s cock and lazily start jerking him off to make sure that he wasn’t being left out.

When Steve’s close enough, you attempt to push down his jeans, but when you’re only able to uncover part of the trail of hair that goes down into his underwear, he gives you a helping hand instead.

Steve doesn’t work slow. He pushes the fabric down just far enough for his cock to jump out and you audibly gasp when it’s finally revealed. He’s long, thick too, and you honestly can’t wait until he impales you on it.

You spit on the palm of your hand, reach down and lubricate his shaft with your saliva. Then your digits curl around the velvety skin, squeezing once, and then your hand starts gliding up and down his length.

Turning your head back in Eddie’s direction, you take him into your mouth again, deepthroating him to make up for your previous neglect. The noises he makes are a fair indication that he’s more than willing to forgive you.

“Fuck, you look so pretty with your mouth full,” he remarks. “Don’t you think so too, Harrington?”

“Yeah, she does,” Steve agrees. “She can’t give us any lip now.”

“True.” Eddie’s hand moves to the back of your head, just to make sure that you can’t pull away. “Bet you’d like to though, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

You manage to get out a distorted “uh-huh” and the boys laugh cruelly, amused at your current predicament. Though it couldn’t exactly be called a predicament when you were this into it.

Hollowing out your cheeks, you keep moving your mouth up and down Eddie’s cock, mirroring the speed with which your hand was working over Steve’s. Both of them swear under their breaths and their joined moans are like the sweetest music that you've ever heard.

“Such a good girl,” Eddie comments.

“Think that you earned yourself a little reward, baby,” Steve adds. He pulls your hand away from him and you would have asked him why if you could have, but he moves until he’s right behind you so you can’t see him anymore.

Soon enough, you feel him though. One of his hands settles on your stomach and starts to dip down lower until it’s between your thighs. His fingertips move over your panties and come to rest on your mound, his touch feather light and barely applying pressure at all. You whine pathetically and Steve chuckles in your ear.

His free hand moves in, hooking the saturated cloth under his thumb and pulling it away so that your cunt is now exposed to the cold air. He is still hardly touching you, his fingers digging into the top of your thigh, about an inch away from your burning core.

When his fingers finally touch your pussy, you sigh deeply, satisfied that he’s finally touching you right where you want him to.

Steve wastes no time. He slides his fingers between your wet lips, picking up enough moisture and sinks one finger in shortly after. One finger quickly becomes two and he fucks you with his fingers so fast that you can barely keep up with his onslaught on your cunt.

Steve’s erection pokes in your lower back, as a reminder that he’s still hard, his hips gently rocking back and forth against your flushed skin.

Since you’re now too focused on the pleasure that Steve is bringing you, you in turn lose sight of Eddie. Though you could have argued that that was impossible to do seeing how his dick was still firmly pressed into your mouth.

Eddie’s hands grasp your face, his touch far from gentle now, fingertips threading into your hair. His hips advance forward, holding your head still as his cock hits the back of your throat and he starts rocking back and forth.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says in a tone that sounds far from apologetic. “Had to take matters into my own hands.” You look up at him, tears already forming in your eyes, blurring your vision. “You don’t mind, do you?” Eddie relaxes his grip on you slightly, just enough so that you can shake your head a little. “Good fucking girl.”

Steve’s fingers curl up inside you, pressing against your sweet spot, the one that makes your toes curl, and you moan loudly around Eddie’s cock, who can’t help himself as soon as he feels the vibrations from your voice and presses in deeper than before. He can feel the muscles in your throat fluttering around him deliciously.

Saliva bubbles at the corners of your mouth and spills out as you choke around him. You breathe in deeply through your nose, letting Eddie continue to use you for his own needs.

Steve doesn’t let up either, his fingers not so much thrusting now, but more curling and constantly prodding that ribbed part inside. You can feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach, muscles tightening around his thick digits and your orgasm hits you with the power of a freight train.

You would have screamed if you had been able to. Instead the sounds of your sudden climax come out all garbled. Eddie doesn’t grant you a moment reprieve either, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he keeps fucking your face.

The first spurt of his cum hits the back of your throat and you do your best to swallow, to devour everything that he gives you, but when he pulls his softening dick out of your mouth, a little trickle of his seed comes out, mixed with your spit, spilling down your lip and chin.

“What’s this, sweetness?” Eddie notices immediately and his thumb wipes the residue away gently. “You made a mess.” He forcefully shoves his thumb into your mouth. “Suck.”

You do as he commands and your tongue twirls around it, cleaning off whatever leftovers were stuck to the pad of his finger and he doesn’t pull it out until he’s satisfied that you got rid of everything.

“Good girl,” he coos. “Isn’t she well behaved?”

“Very.” Steve’s lips brush against the shell of your ear and the skin on your arms bump instantly. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me, too, baby?”

“Yes,” you reply resolutely. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

“Even better,” Steve says. “We like that, don’t we?“

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Eddie sits back down, right in front of you and Steve, and he looks on hungrily. “What do you want Stevie to do to you, sweetheart?”

“W-want him to-“

“Don’t tell me,” Eddie cuts you off with a grin, “tell Steve.”

When you turn around to face him, Steve has an expectant look in his beautiful eyes, waiting for you to tell him exactly what you want him to do to you.

“I want you to fuck me, Steve,” you confess, “want you to fuck me real good.”

“Oh yeah?” He reaches out and trails his fingers from your shoulder down your bare arm. You shiver as soon as he makes contact with your skin. “Is that what you want?”

“Y-yes,” you confirm, “that’s what I want.”

“Take off your bra.”

Steve doesn’t just ask you, no, he’s telling you, and you’re willing to comply with his demand partly. You reach around your back and unhook the garment. You hold the cups in place with one arm and slide the straps down your arms with the other.

“Take it off for me?” You bat your lashes at him and bite your bottom lip.

“Sure,” Steve chuckles. He removes your arm from your chest and your bra simply slides off as soon as that happens. “Would you look at that,” he whistles through his teeth. “Aren’t you pretty.”

The urge to cover up is damn near overwhelming, their intense stares are practically killing you, but as soon as you shift your arms, the movement so slight it should have been imperceptible, Steve notices.

“Don’t.” His hands come up to your elbows, firmly holding them in place. “Don’t cover yourself up.”

An apology forms in your mind, but there’s little chance to actually utter it. Steve dips his head down, until he’s level with your chest, and licks a line from between your tits up over your sternum.

His lips start moving over your neck and to the bottom of your jaw, nice and slow, kissing his way up until he can blow air into your ear. It makes you shiver.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve speaks in hushed tones, almost as if he doesn’t want Eddie to hear what he’s telling you. “I always thought so, you know?”

“I didn’t,” you answer. His hand is on your lower back, index finger hooking underneath the elastic band of your panties so he can pull it away from your body and snap it back.

“Well, you are.” He picks at the waistband impatiently. “Why don’t you take these off, too?”

“Gladly.” You reach out, place a few fingers on his thigh and tap his jeans. “Are you going to do the same?“

“Guess I’ll have to.”

It doesn’t take that long until both of you are completely naked from the waist down. It does not escape you that you’re the only one that’s completely naked now either.

“You gonna let me fuck you in front of Eddie?” Steve husks in your ear when he leans in. “Make him watch while I split you open with my dick?”

“Yes,” you whimper. “Please.”

“Please? Damn, I love that.” Steve sits back, long legs spread out in front of him and his arms positioned behind. You move in to straddle his hairy thighs and wait for him to make a move, but nothing happens. He flashes you a wide grin and says, “Go on. Put it in.”

Your eyes fall on his massive erection and you can’t help but swallow hard.

Obediently, you rise up, position his cock in front of your entrance and sink down on him. It’s insane how he just seems to keep coming, like there’s no end to his cock, but you’ll be damned if you let him break you.

Not when Eddie’s waiting in the wings to take over as soon as Steve’s done with you anyway.

You keep letting yourself sink down a little bit more at a time, taking inch after inch, until you finally reach the end of him. You inhale a sharp breath as you try to adjust to his size.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” you whine. “You’re in so deep that you’ll be coming out my belly button as soon as I move.”

“Think that you can’t take it?”

“Fuck, you think that little of me?” You grind your hips against his, slowly, slow enough to savor the feel of him. “I’d like to try.”

“Shit,” he laughs. “You’re a fucking dream, babe.” Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his yellow sweater and you pull on it harshly. “Off?“

“Yeah, off.” He pulls the sweater and the shirt that he had on underneath off. As soon as his chest is bare, you run your hands up and down his chest, feeling his chest hair on your palms. You lean forward to lick a stripe up his neck and when you reach his ear, you take the lobe between your teeth and give a gentle tug. “I’m gonna move now,” you tell him.

“Go for it.” He can’t resist smacking your ass and squeezing you roughly when you finally start rocking against him. “That’s it, baby.”

Hanging onto his shoulders, you start riding him. It’s all you now, Steve barely moves, instead looking closely at the point where your bodies meet and how your cunt greedily keeps sucking his cock back in.

Arching your back, you push your chest out and put a hand on the back of his head to pull him in closer until he figures out what you want him to do.

His lips latch onto your nipple, his mouth hot as he sets to sucking gently. You buck up, hips lifting so far up that his cock almost slips out entirely, but you catch yourself just in time and slam back down.

“Fuck, Steve.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging on the strands every time that his tongue swipes over your hot skin. “Feels so good.”

“You feel good,” He exhales against you. “So fucking tight. You fit like a glove.”

Finally he moves, angling his hips so he can fuck up into you, and you mewl his name. He rams in so deep that it should have been painful, but the ecstasy that’s budding is starting to overtake all your other senses.

Shoving a hand in between your bodies, circling your clit with two fingers. The combination of his thrusts along with your own assistance are electrifying and you start chasing your release with desperation.

Steve mutters words of encouragement which you barely hear, because of your climax peaks and flows in waves through your body, from your cunt to the tips of your fingers and toes.

Your body goes limp, your head sagging forward slightly, and you need a second to recollect yourself. The only thing that even snaps you out of it is the fact that Steve is still rock hard. Tilting your chin back up, you stare deep into his blown out pupils for about a second before he surges forward.

There’s a sense of urgency in the kiss that he gives you. He’s barely able to press his lips on yours as it is, but Steve still tries. You feel his tongue at the corner of your lips and you close your lips around it so you can suck it into your mouth. He gasps, the kiss turning sloppy again, and he wraps his arms around your waist tightly.

“You gonna come, pretty boy?” He presses his head against your shoulder, teeth scraping over your skin as his thrusts grow more uneven. “Huh? You gonna come for me?”

“Fuck,” he breathes against your skin.

“Fill me up, Steve.” His hips jerk more roughly up into you. “I want your cum so bad.”

You scream when Steve bites down on your shoulder hard, his climax finally hitting him and needing another outlet. The last few thrusts are weak and then he stills entirely. His tongue laps at the mark that he just left, lazily following the outline of his teeth that was already appearing.

“Sorry,” he breathes against your skin. “Couldn’t control myself.”

“Don’t apologize,” you reply and you push him away from your shoulder so you can cup his face and look him in the eye. “That was so fucking good.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” Steve kisses you then and you can feel him smiling against your lips. “So, so good.”

Steve hangs onto you for a bit longer, his arms still wrapped around your waist, unwilling to let you go. You come down from your high together and you’re almost reluctant to let him go, but you hear Eddie exhaling deeply behind you (you don’t even remember him lighting a cigarette) and realize that you have to let go of Steve.

You start shifting a few seconds later, having now entirely caught your breath. Your lips find Steve’s again and you kiss him lazily when you push yourself up, softly groaning when his now soft cock slides out.

“Don’t move.” There’s an underlying sense of hunger to Eddie’s voice and you can hear him move in behind you. “Hold on to Steve’s shoulders.”

With your ass still in the air, you hold on to Steve, whose gaze is fixed entirely in your face. Then you feel a hand on your ass, squeezing, and another one on your slit, fingers sliding in all too easily after Steve spread you open.

“Fuck, it’s leaking out, man.” Eddie sounds impressed as he says that to no one in particular and then two fingers appear in your line of vision. It’s wet with your and Steve’s bodily fluids. “Suck.”

Like earlier, you oblige and start sucking off whatever was on there. The only difference now is that you can feel the tip of his cock prodding your opening. You moan around his fingers when he slides in entirely in one fluid movement.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Told you,” Steve chimes in.

“You did.” Eddie pulls his hand away from your lips and moves it down to lightly grab your throat. Then he pulls back before slamming back inside you roughly. “This fucking pussy,” he groans in your ear. “It’s sucking me right back in.”

“Still haven’t had enough?” Steve places his hand over his heart and pouts at you. “You wound me.”

You don’t answer. You don’t think that you’re able to remember any words at all now that Eddie is plowing into you while you’re practically in Steve’s lap.

Eddie’s ringed fingers squeeze your neck, cutting off your air supply for a split second.

“He asked you a question.” Eddie’s voice is low as he hisses in your ear. “You still want more?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out. “Can’t- can’t get enough.”

“Fuck, sweetheart. Guess I’ll just have to give you what you want then.” The speed of his thrusts increases until he’s pounding into you and reducing you to nothing but a whining mess. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

It’s nothing short of insane that Eddie is even able to keep up this manic pace at all, the sound of his skin slapping against yours so fast that you can’t keep track, but somehow he manages.

Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, your eyesight glazed over by now. You’re so far gone that you haven’t even realized that you had started crying.

“You’re so pretty like this.” When Steve wipes a few fingers over your cheek, that’s the first time that you notice that your skin is wet. “Are you close?”

In an ideal world, you would have been able to answer his question. You would have been able to say “yes, I’m close, so close.” But nothing except incoherent babbling comes out of your mouth as you nonsensically string words together.

“I’ll give you a hand, yeah?” Steve sounds sweet, that’s about all that registers. Your body jumps when his fingers find your clit and he starts rubbing fiercely. “You’re okay,” he says just loud enough over Eddie’s groans. “Come on. Come for us.”

“C-can’t,” you whine. “Ca-can’t.”

“Yeah, you can.” His fingers don’t stop stimulating your swollen bundle of nerves. “One more, baby. Last one.”

“You can do it,” Eddie grunts behind you. “I want you to squeeze me dry, sweetness.”

Despite their encouragement, you’re convinced that you can’t. You came twice already, the most that you’ve ever climaxed in one night, so you’ve already gotten more than you ever could have wished for.

“I-I sw-swear that I- fuck!”

To say that you’re surprised when another orgasm tears through your body would be an understatement. You imagine that this is what it must be like to be struck by lightning. There’s no part of your body that isn’t tingling. You dig your nails into Steve’s shoulders and drag them down his chest all the way to his hips where they come to a standstill.

“Fuck!” Your walls clamp down on Eddie like a vice and he swears loudly as soon as it happens. “You’re fucking- holy shit.”

You barely even notice how tight his grip on your hips is, but come morning there would be an imprint of his ringed fingers on your skin.

Eddie fucks you straight through your orgasm and since Steve seems to be refusing to pull his hand away from your clit, you start screaming through your teeth from the overstimulation. Every muscle in your body jerks, desperately wanting to pull away, but they won’t let you.

There’s no escape from this and your only choice is to ride it out, to let it happen until Eddie finally pumps you full with his cum as well.

The noises that he makes change subtly at first, changing in pitch, his voice getting higher the closer he gets to his release. Eddie shouts your name, one final push, and then you can feel his warm seed filling you up and joining the mess that Steve left a bit earlier.

“Christ,” Eddie’s out of breath which is all down to how much he exerted himself. “Your pussy is fucking perfect.” His softening cock slides out, instantly making you feel empty. A few seconds later, you hear a loud thud. “I could sleep for days.”

“Insane,” you mutter. “You guys are insane.”

“Maybe, but that was hot as fuck,” Eddie replies from somewhere behind you. “Jesus H. Christ.”

“You trying to tell me you didn’t have a great time?” Steve asks and you briefly meet his gaze before looking away again. “Don’t get all shy on me now.” His hand cups your chin, tilting your head back up until you’re forced to look at him again. “You got a mixture of my and Eddie’s cum oozing down your legs. So don’t act all coy.”

“Wasn’t,” you murmur. “I mean, I wasn’t going to say that.”

“There,” he says, satisfied once more. “Feels good now that you’ve admitted it, huh?”

“I was feeling pretty good before,” you admit.

“Really?” You turn your head to look at Eddie who’s sprawled out on the blanket, his head propped up by his arm. “I hadn’t noticed,” he finishes with a smug expression on his face.

“Thought I was hiding it so well, too,” you joke. “Nice to know you’re not just a pretty face, Ed.”

“Shucks, sweetheart, didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Seriously, have you seen you?” You gesture at him with your hand, as if that simple gesture would be enough to explain what words couldn’t. “You’re a handsome devil. Take it from me.”

It had always mystified you how he didn’t have more women fawning all over him, with his big doe eyes, full lips and amazing hair. And you weren’t even talking about his tattoos.

“Same thing goes for you, Steve,” you say to him, even though you don’t think that he needs the validation. With the amount of girls that were throwing themselves at him for a large part of his high school days, he’s probably been told that he’s good looking plenty of times before. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, “I’d much rather look at you though.”

“Charmer.” 

“I can’t help it,” he explains. “I see a pretty girl, I need to tell her.”

“Are you giving me the King Steve treatment right now?” You lean in to kiss his cheek suddenly and whisper the following words, “Because you don’t have to, you know.”

“Nah. I wouldn’t dare.” Steve turns his head so he can catch your lips with his. “That was all me.”

“You’re actually making it worse,” you gripe. You nudge at his cheek gently before moving away from him and sitting down next to where Eddie is still spread out on the blanket. You drape your arm over the section of his stomach that’s bare from where his shirt has ridden up. “That’s quite an achievement.”

“I aim to please,” Steve gives you a two-finger Cub Scout salute and a wink which comes across as so cocksure that you can’t help but giggle. He wiggles his eyebrows and adds, “And you definitely look very pleased, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh god, please stop.” Reaching over Eddie, you grab what remains of the six pack and hand Steve a beer, “Here. Now shut up.”

“What about me?” Eddie pushes himself into an upright position and takes the can that you offer him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

A short silence falls over the three of you, nothing to be heard but your breathing and the soft creaking of the house as it seems to come back to life around you. It doesn’t seem as scary to you now as it did in the beginning.

Funny how that changed in a matter of hours.

When you feel Eddie’s hand circle around your ankle, his thumb caressing the back of your heel, you suddenly feel the need to inquire, “Same time, same place next year?”

“Next year?” Eddie sounds nothing short of annoyed that you had even suggested waiting that long. “Fuck that. I want to do that again tomorrow.”

How Eddie can say that when his touch on your leg gets more insistent, his hand already shifting to your calf, making it painfully obvious that he wants to do it again right now is beyond you, but you’re not foolish enough to point it out.

“My parents won’t be home until late November,” Steve helpfully throws in. “So.”

“That’s settled then,” Eddie replies with some finality in his voice, not even waiting for your answer.

They already know your answer after all.

“You guys are going to kill me,” you huff and you try to ignore how Eddie’s hand is slowly moving up past your knee. “Come morning, I’ll be dead,” you say directly to him now, but Eddie simply grins and shrugs.

“Do you mind?” Steve moves in closer next to you and nuzzles your neck. He starts leaving open mouthed kisses all along your jaw and murmurs against your skin, “You can take it. I know you can.”

“I’m not so sure,” you answer, but you still turn your head so you can give him a kiss. You gasp into Steve’s mouth when Eddie’s hand reaches the apex of your thighs. “But I’m willing to give it a go.”

“Attagirl.”

You can’t remember who said that afterwards, but you decide that it doesn’t matter, not when they were gearing you up for another round. Not when there was the prospect of more of this on the horizon whenever you wanted it, but you’d always remember this night, the night when it all started, the Halloween night that changed your life…

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader x steve harrington #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x you #mar writes

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Hi! Can I please have Zsasz from Gotham with a reader who is like his partner in crime and kills with him and stuff? Thanks

‘IN BLOOM,

-GOTHAM!VICTOR ZSASZ X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; you just might be his favorite girl.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!victor x female reader. wrote hcs! readers a bad bitch. victor and reader being partners in crime. victor becoming obsessive after like, 5 seconds. Might write a part two to this ahh

♫ “And he likes to sing along / And he likes to shoot his gun” In Bloom by Nirvana

⋆ Oh, he didn't know it was possible to be so head-over-heels. Victor is self-aware to a fault, he knows when he's being a bit of a creep. And with you? It's as if all his deepest sadistic urges are brought to a front. And he gets drunk on it.

⋆ He has a cold heart, naturally. Not a fan of getting attached to people, especially those who may become a future target. And god knows he doesn't like competition, either. Which is why discovering you was a revelation; that he could for one even like someone so close in his ball game.

⋆ There had been plenty of whispers about you in the streets of gotham. He didn't care much. The only thing he should care about was who Falcone ordered him to kill next.

⋆ But, alas, when he heard the growing commotion about "Y/N, gothams most dangerous hitman," he got a bit...irked.

⋆ What the hell? Isn't he gothams most dangerous hitman?

⋆ Victor takes great pride in his work, and in his title. He knows he has exceptional talent and even greater work ethic. So why is this woman threatening him?!?

⋆ So, he decided to pay you a little visit.

⋆ For gothams newest most dangerous hitman, you certainly have a way of making things easy.

⋆ He found your apartment in no time, gladly making the place his own. It was surprisingly ordinary, pictures of you and friends littering the wall. It was your collection of guns that made him stop in his tracks. He analyzed the wall with great fascination, silently gazing at an assault rifle. His gloved hands danced over the barrel, making it his own. He let out a low wolf whistle as he peered down it's scope.

⋆ "It's an AR-70." A voice pulled him out of his thoughts. It was the first time someone had managed to sneak up on him, not the other way around.

⋆ It took every fiber of his body to remain stoic.

⋆ He turned to face you, the owner of the weapon. Victor glanced at the gun being referred to and nodded his head slowly, still looking at your face. His confidence returned to him easily.

⋆ "Hot-damn. Some top-notch stuff you got here." His voice was slow, and his gaze returned to the wall. He dragged his finger along some of the firearms hung up, before turning to you once more.

⋆ "Should really make yourself harder to find if you're going to be in the business. It's unprofessional, you know?" He cocked his head and gave you a fake grimace. You just smiled.

⋆ "And what does Victor Zsasz want with me? You on your bosses orders?

⋆ "Nah." He responds, casual. "I only wanted to meet you in person, just to know who you are. Check you out. Don't worry about it, you're not on my list," He clicked his tongue. "yet." He finishes, as he toys with the gun from the rack, checking its quality.

⋆ "You like the rifle?" You study him, head to toe. His trigger finger expertly dancing along the weapon.

⋆ Without turning his head, he answers you. "I do, but I prefer my handguns." You hear the click of him checking to see if the gun is loaded.

⋆ You hum. "To each there own. You want it?"

⋆ This takes him by surprise, and he finally tears his gaze away. You've piqued his interest even more now.

⋆ "...For real?" He narrows his eyes on you. "...You're just gonna, what, let me keep it?"

⋆ "Why not? I got plenty." You nod towards the wall, biting your lip. His eyes glance at your mouth.

⋆ You catch him off guard. He actually seems amused by you. Maybe it's your attitude that's rubbing off on him. A few moments pass then he shrugs. You can't read his expression but his body language speaks volumes.

⋆ "...Yeah, I'll take it."

⋆ "Ah ah ah..." You whisper, taking a step closer. He still clutches the gun in his hand while he feels your own rub over his leather-clad arms. He keeps eye contact with you, mouth slightly agape. "On one condition." You continue.

⋆ He perks up and looks at you curiously. His eyebrows raise, ready to hear you out.

⋆ "Invite me to your next hit. We can double team it, or something. I dunno," You pause, looking up at him. "Would be an honor to kill with you, Victor Zsasz." You whisper into his ear, only moving back when you're done.

⋆ Your proposal actually made him laugh. You see him crack a smile as he looks away from you for a second. Look at you, he thinks. Coming by, kissing the ring. He can admire the respect.

⋆ "Quite the character, aren't you?" He pauses, "I've got a job to do tomorrow, wanna tag-along? It's gonna be an easy one, I won't go too hard on you."

⋆ You both feel the corners of your mouth twitch at this, in anticipation. This is where the seeds of obsession first blossom for him. Oh, he likes you.

⋆ When he finally leaves, he feels like a kid in a candy store. New rifle in hand, and your phone number elegantly typed into his own. He forgets all about his previous misgivings with you.

⋆ You on the other hand are left smiling, for a sociopathic sadist, he is real fucking cute.

⋆ The closest way into a mans heart is with a gun. You chuckle.

#gotham #x reader #gotham x reader #batman #dc comics #victor zsasz #victor zsasz headcanons #victor zsasz x reader #gotham victor zsasz #victor zsasz gotham #gotham villains #gotham villains x reader #gotham imagines #batman x reader #batman rouges gallery #batman rogues

[trofysisters]

Университет. ч. 4

Сразу после занятий Давид потащил Виктора в бассейн подальше от озабоченных дамочек и задиристых парней. (Immediately after class, David dragged Victor to the pool away from preoccupied ladies and cocky guys)

Заодно встретили Тимофея, который с удовольствием принял приглашение присоединиться к их компании. (At the same time, they met Timofey, who gladly accepted the invitation to join their company)

Занятия спортом были не напрасны. На фигуры парней теперь можно любоваться. Даже ботан Виктор приобрел мускулатуру. И Давид за свои попытки сбросить парней в воду может получить по шее. (Sports activities were not in vain. You can now admire the guys’ figures. Even the nerdy Victor has gained muscles. And David might get hit in the neck for his attempts to throw the guys into the water)

Сожженные калории ребята восстанавливали в кафе. Кто сказал, что после 6 нельзя есть?! В кафе выяснилось, что задира выбирает себе слабых жертв и не подходит к тем, кто может дать сдачи. (The guys restored the burned calories in the cafe. Who said you can't eat after 6?! In the cafe it turned out that the bully chooses weak victims and does not approach those who can fight back)

Но на всякий случай Давид решил обучить Виктора единоборствам. Виктор с первого раза пробил дыру в стене ногой. (But just in case, David decided to teach Victor martial arts. Victor punched a hole in the wall with his foot the first time)

Спокойствие, только спокойствие! Главное - глубоко дышать и мыслить позитивно, а дыра - это лишь плод воображения. Комендант придет, всё уберет, а ребятам пора бежать на экзамены. (Calm, just calm! The main thing is to breathe deeply and think positively, and the hole is just a figment of the imagination. The commandant will come, clean everything up, and it’s time for the guys to run to their exams)

Снова они в списке лучших студентов. Виктор уже смирился, что Давиду без труда удается отлично учиться. (Once again they are on the list of the best students. Victor has already accepted that David easily manages to study well)

Сам же он снова засел за курсовую в надежде получить диплом с отличием. (He himself sat down again for coursework in the hope of receiving a diploma with honors)

Незнакомка всё же решилась подойти к Виктору на перемене и познакомиться. Похоже, у Карины появилась соперница. (The stranger nevertheless decided to approach Victor during recess and get acquainted. It looks like Karina has a rival)

А в группе появился более яркий юноша, чем Давид. (And a brighter young man appeared in the group than David)

Давид же стал больше времени посвящать учебе. Всё-таки последний курс, он трудный самый. (David began to devote more time to his studies. After all, the last course is the most difficult)

Даже в общежитии Давид читал книжки, пока Виктор пытался самостоятельно освоить приемы самообороны. (Even in the dormitory, David read books while Victor tried to independently master self-defense techniques)

Хорошо, что парни могли защитить себя, поскольку в университетском городке стали появляться подозрительные типы и пропадать кошельки и личные вещи. (It’s good that the guys could protect themselves, because suspicious characters began to appear on campus and wallets and personal belongings began to disappear)

Первый семестр четвертого курса был блестяще закончен, и Давид расслабился. (The first semester of the fourth year was completed brilliantly, and David relaxed)

Мысли его были уже не об учебе, а о свиданиях. Он даже попытался поговорить на интересующую его тему с Виктором, но тот внезапно вспомнил, что у него еще курсовая не написана. (His thoughts were no longer about studying, but about dating. He even tried to talk about a topic that interested him with Victor, but Victor suddenly remembered that he had not yet written his coursework)

После написания курсовой работы (After writing his course work,)

Виктор скрылся от Давида во мраке ночи рисовать картины. (Victor hid from David in the darkness of the night to draw pictures)

Неудивительно, что Давид был рассеян на экзамене, но пятерку ему преподаватели всё равно поставили, чтобы не портить его диплом с особым отличием. Виктор закончил учебу как лучший выпускник года. Ребят ждет небольшая передышка и взрослая серьезная жизнь. (It is not surprising that David was distracted during the exam, but the teachers still gave him an A, so as not to spoil his diploma with special honors. Victor graduated as the best graduate of the year. The guys will have a short break and a serious adult life)

#sims 2 #devchata #david #victor

[cantsomeoneelsedoit]

Undead Unluck Theory

So I've been reading Undead Unluck since the beginning, but I haven't actually ever joined the fandom, (i.e., the contents of this blog may be Old News to everyone and/or everyone hates it and I just didn't realize...) but I was showing the anime to a friend and trying to explain my UU theory, so I googled and couldn't find anyone who had laid out something like this. If it already exists, apologies, but this is my version of what UU is all about.

Undead Unluck is a story about writing.

Spoilery things ahead!

The most important thing to know about Undead Unluck is that it's a story-within-a-story. An embedded narrative. Our characters are stock archetypes who are barely on the cusp of learning that they are in a story.

The main story outline stays the same as the author goes through various iterations and edits (aka Loops), testing out new ideas and often scrapping them. Characters evolve into different versions of themselves as the author edits. Our settings are varied as if the author were trying to fit all kinds of different genres into one story. AND THEY ARE!

Suggested listening, btw:

The Author, AKA God, adds variables to the story in the form of rules.

For example, a children's book about a goldfish has no need to mention that there is an entire galaxy of stars in the sky. The goldfish doesn't need to know. The readers don't care. It's irrelevant. That rule can be omitted from a story.

When the author changes the story, for instance, to make the story about a goldfish who goes into outer space, suddenly they need to add the concept of a galaxy, along with all the ancillary ideas (i.e., UFOs).

With their pencil eraser or backspace button, the author changes the reality for ALL of the characters in the work, so that the existence of outer space becomes a Known Thing in-universe. No biggie. It's always been that way, as far as they know. The instant the author changes something, it's done.

This Hand of God kind of author appears in other ways, like the way the Union members arrive via a crack in the sky. They literally fall from the sky like characters in the Barbie movie.

The crack in the sky is a wall-break, but it's not the fourth wall that's broken. It's the wall between the author and the characters!

Remember that cartoon where Daffy Duck argues with the animator's hand? Characters are just playthings for the author. They can be dressed up or imperiled just because.

When you begin to read UU from this perspective, some characters seem more sentient than others.

The characters are tired of being screwed over. They're tired of suffering. They're tired of being tested for no reason. Can't God just give them an easy life? Do all characters hate their authors this much?

Ragnarok is when the author effectively overturns the dollhouse and starts a new story with the same characters, settings, and themes, but adding the kind of slight variations that an author's idle mind might create. The basic "frame" of the dollhouse remains, but we can try out new scenarios like:

"What if X met Y in another time or place?"

"How would X be different if they'd grown up in a harsher or easier environment?"

"What if X was a villain?"

And so the author begins again, pitting their characters in new situations to observe and see how they react. Authors love that shit. Just look at all the ask blogs on tumblr!

Authors enjoy looking at their characters from new perspectives. Even the bad ones! Many times, an author has had a character (say...Victor) in their imagination for a long time, but the character evolves into a slightly different version of themselves (Andy). It's natural to want to keep both versions of this character. And since this is the author's dollhouse, they can do whatever they want, even if this confuses and disturbs Andy/Victor.

Victor and Juiz are, I think, God's starter OCs. Their story is one of seriousness, mystery, and a romance with unresolved tension. They want to be together; we want them to be together; but the author won't let them be happy because keeping that tension burning is what makes the story good. Of course they had a falling out! Of course they're eternally separated in a tragic and beautiful way. After all, they were the main characters for a long time.

You're probably saying, "This theory can't work because we've SEEN God! We've seen Luna!" My idea is that Luna and God are two aspects of the author.

God (Sun) as the author as a writer: Makes brutal changes, can delete everything, loves to start over and test the characters in different environments, never satisfied with the ending.

God wants to make things HARDER for the characters because they are trying to write an interesting shonen story.

God (Luna) as the author as a reader: Authors also like to sit back and read their own works. Sometimes they have a nice cup of tea with them. The tea signifies that Luna is acting as a reader.

Luna, as a reader, has gotten attached to the characters. They want them to succeed. They are trying to make things EASIER for the characters bc they're emotionally invested in the story. Luna also keeps the memories of past rough drafts in the form of artifacts that can be used to bring back discarded story elements.

I don't think either Sun nor Luna truly understand that our characters are capable of suffering, btw.

Luna and God are in a competition with themselves, just like the internal struggle of an author as they want to:

Create an interesting story that will be a success. To get the story "right" and fully explore all the possibilities

but also

2. Just have fun with the characters and help them reach the end of the story.

Killing God means finding a final end to the story so that the characters can have a stable existence. The characters can achieve this by resisting the author's attempts to rewrite.

So, that's the gist of my insanity. I have a bit more in the drafts if anyone is interested in hearing more. I would enjoy doing a read-through blog someday, but I thought I might test the waters with my theory first.

#Undead Unluck #crack theory #fan theory #drops crazy post and disappears forever #but I really think there's something to this

[clementine-writes-things]

The Girl In The Woods pt.2 - V.Z

Summary: It's been some time since y/n and Victor first met, nearing around 3 months. During that time, the two of them had seen each other again 12 times. It wasn't much, but they still enjoyed their time together. One morning, Victor stops by again.

@killingboredom (i started writing this almost immediately after they commented they'd wanna be tagged in part 2! so, enjoy!)

Content Warning: Explicit language, mentions of death, fluff, knife, gun, Victor being a scary hitman and y/n being a sweet girl who can make him comfortable, think about the tiny fish that attach to sharks. They both help each other out :3 that's how these two are.

Songs For Inspo:

Soldier, Poet, King - The Oh Hellos

Call It Fate, Call It Karma - The Strokes

Heaven - I Monster

Good Looking - Suki Waterhouse (I know this song is about loss and realizing you weren't meant for each other, but the upbeat tempo fits the fanfic, so that's why I used it.)

Swan Lake - Tchaikovsky (im not writing out the whole thing u guys know what song it is stfu <3 also this song is SO Victor Zsasz coded...)

(bro I saw this gif while listening to end part of Swan Lake and I got chills...this gif doesn't rlly play a role in this fanfic im just using it cuz it made me get goosebumps...)

Read Below Cut

Y/n stood in the garden behind their cottage, a low cobblestone wall surrounding it. Moss covered the stones, the dark green patches soaked in the dew from the early morning rain. The clouds had parted just a little while ago, sun shining down and illuminating the woods. Mourning doves were cooing, their melancholy chirps echoing in the woods. Y/n sighed softly, closing her eyes as she took in the comforting warmth of the sun. They got down on their knees, the overall shorts they wore caused her exposed legs to get slightly covered with dirt. Pulling up the sleeves of her light brown shirt, she reached down and pulled up a carrot from the ground. Smiling, y/n placed it in the basket beside her.

"Need some help with that?" A voice asked.

Y/n turned around, a wide smile spreading on their face. She stood up, brushing dirt off their knees. She walked over to him, wrapping their arms around him. He chuckled lightly, hugging her back and using his gloved hand to pat y/n on the shoulder softly. The girl pulled away, giving him a simple nod.

"That would be very nice, Victor." She responded.

The two of them walked over toward the basket, getting back down on the ground. Victor pulled up his sleeves as well, his muscles flexing as he started to pull carrots out. Y/n giggled, touching him on the shoulder to get his attention. He looked over towards her.

"Pull them out more gently, we don't want the tops to rip off. It'll make them harder to get out of the ground." She said.

Victor nodded, smiling awkwardly. He looked back towards the vegetables, seeing that there was only one left. Digging a little under, he grabbed the top and pulled softly. When it yanked out, he smiled. The whole carrot was intact, which he was proud of. Placing it in the basket y/n had, he stood back up. Y/n did the same, dusting her legs off once again before grabbing the basket of various vegetables.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon." She said, walking out of the garden.

He followed her, cracking his neck as he rolled it around. His eyes squinted as the sun peered out from behind a tree and shone on him. Using his hand, he covered over his eyes at an angle so he could block the sun. The two of them stepped inside the cottage.

"Well, it's hard to keep away. The scenery is just absolutely breathtaking. What can I say?" He smirked, removing his shoes as he began to close the door behind him.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure that's why you came. Would you mind keeping the door open? It's pretty warm today, I'd like a nice breeze to blow in here." She asked.

"Okie doke. You want the windows open too?" He asked.

"Oh, yes please. Thank you, Victor."

He pushed open the front door gently, getting blinded by the sun once again. Squinting, he moved to the windows around the cottage. Opening every one of them, he took a look at the scenery around him when he poked his head out. There was a pond not too far from y/n cottage that he would sometimes see duck in. Sadly, there were none today. When he finished opening the windows he sat down at the kitchen table.

"Hey, y/n."

"Yes, Victor?" She asked, placing the basket of carrots down as she sat at the table.

He looked at her, face void of emotion. His eyes were heavy, thoughts racing behind them. Y/n tilted her head, unsure of what was going on. Victor sighed, pulling out a packet from the pocket of his pants. He slid it across the table.

"What's thi-"

Y/n looked down at the table, covering her mouth. She giggled, grabbing the packet quickly. Victor tried to hide the smile that was spreading on his face. He cleared his throat, tapping his fingers on the table nonchalantly.

"Sunflower seeds? Victor..." Y/n trailed.

"Yeah well, I know you wanted some. And, I was doing a hit on this guy who had a garden. I saw he had those so I figured I'd take some." He said, looking out the window.

"Oh, well, that's slightly disturbing. But, I still appreciate it nonetheless!" She cheered.

"It was no big deal." He stated.

Y/n smiled, standing up from her seat. She walked over to him, bending over slightly. Victor looked towards her, confused as to what she was doing. However, his eyes widened when she pressed her lips against his forehead. A blush spread over his cheeks which he quickly fought away.

"You're cute, for a hitman..." She joked.

"I'm not cute, but thanks." He said monotone.

"Hm, what about handsome?" She asked.

Victor chuckled, tracing circles onto the wooden table. Y/n watched him through batting eyelashes. She crouched down, knees on the floor as she rested her arms on the table. Y/n rested her chin on her hands, tilting her head sideways to look at him. He looked at her.

"What about charming, hm? Attractive? Devilishly ensnaring?" She suggested.

"Why don't you keep complimenting me, maybe you'll find the right word soon enough." He grinned.

"I think I'm out of words. I don't have a thesaurus on me." She teased.

"Well, that's a shame. I was enjoying those compliments from your pretty mouth."

Y/n blushed, her face slowly turning bright red. Victor chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. She giggled softly, looking up at him through he hair that hung in her face. He watched as she slowly stood up in front of him. Straightening his posture, turned the chair slightly so he was facing her straight on.

"What are you looking at?" She teased, running a hand through her hair.

"You." He answered simply.

Y/n, already blushing, smiling shyly and looked towards the ground. Victor grinned, leaning forwards and grabbing her hand. Gently, he pulled her closer to him. With his other hand, he brought it up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I can't help but look at you, y/n."

"Victor..." She sighed.

"Hm?"

"Can you move your guns?" She asked, pointing at his holster.

Smiling, he removed his holster and placed it on the table. The guns clunked against the wood. Y/n watched as he pulled out a knife too, placing it on the table as well. He gave y/n a soft smile, teeth slightly showing.

"Do they scare you?" He asked.

"No. They were just in my way..." She said.

Victor's eyes widened slightly as y/n crawled onto his lap. Her legs straddled both sides of him. He had a grin on his face, y/n blushing above him. Pulling his gloves off, he placed them on the table. He reached up, cupping y/n's face with his hands. He sighed softly, looking into her eyes.

"You're so warm." He commented.

"You're so cold." She replied.

Victor looked down at her lips, glancing back up into her eyes. Y/n shifted in his lap, causing him to grunt quietly. He rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

"You do realize I'm a criminal, right? A notorious hitman? A sadist?" He asked, pulling down her bottom lip with his thumb.

"Yes, I do."

"Then why aren't you scared of me?" He asked.

"Because I know you won't hurt me. You love me too much to do that to me. And I love you too." She stated simply.

"What makes you think I love you?"

Y/n placed a hand on his chest, looking him in the eyes. She smiled softly, playing with the buttons of his shirt. Victor watched her as she did this, his heart rate accelerating.

"Well, if I'm wrong, then tell me I'm wrong."

Victor looked her in the eyes, one of his hands trailing to the small of her back. The other hand cupped her face gently. He mumbled under his breath, pulling her in slowly. Victor placed his lips against hers, eyes closing. Y/n placed her hands on his shoulders, giving her stability as she kissed him. Pulling away, hummed, an extremely subtle smile on his face.

"You're right. I do love you..." He sighed.

"Look at that, Mr. Zsasz has fallen for a girl..." Y/n teased.

Victor sat up quickly, grabbing y/n by their thighs. He placed them on the kitchen table, making sure to move the basket of carrots out of the way. Y/n blushed as he stood in between her legs, wrapping them around his waist.

"And look at this, y/n has fallen for a sadistic hitman..." He mocked.

"And I couldn't be happier." She said.

Victor leaned in, gently kissing her once again. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. Y/n hid her face into the crook of his neck, kissing it lightly. Victor chuckled, holding the back of her head with his hand. He kissed the side of her head as he mumbled something into her ear.

"Me neither..."

~

#writers #fanfic writer #writers of tumblr #fanfic #gotham #dc universe #victor zsasz #victor zsasz x reader

[anincompletelist]

find the words! :D

thank you to @judasofsuburbia for the tag! I had so much fun reading through your snippets! <3 am I doing this fun game instead of finishing up a wip that I absolutely should be working on instead? perhaps. OH WELL!

my words are: hand, through, night, again, and kiss ! (such good words omg)

[below the cut since some of these are slightly suggestive!]

word: hand wip: dom!henry roommates

He’s not sure when the toy had turned off, discarded somewhere out of his sight as Henry’s other hand raises to deftly untie the binding at his wrists, drawing them into his hold and pressing soothing fingers into the marks until the feeling returns. 

word: through wip: a/b/o au

Henry blinks. His brows dip. He makes a confused noise somewhere in the back of his throat, and Alex can see the gears turning in his head behind his eyes, catching up to the moment. He tries to tug himself out of Alex’s grasp and fails, doubling forward when another wave of pain ricochets through him, his forehead pressed to Alex’s shoulder as he heaves in labored breaths. His scent gets stronger with each passing second, and if Alex had any lingering doubt before, he doesn’t now.

word: night wip: boxer!alex

He’s close enough now that he can see the small cut on Alex’s cheekbone as he lets his eyes roam freely over the sharp angles of his face, the same one he’d watched Alex’s burly opponent land earlier in the night before suffering a resounding loss. He aches to touch it now even more than he had then, to press his fingertips there, his lips, as Alex braces a hand next to his head on the wall. To the victor belong the spoils.

word: again wip: hitman au

But they’ve managed at the very least to learn how to communicate with each other again. The briefest of pauses in between Bea’s elaborate storytelling, the way Philip’s voice cracks on particular syllables. There’s a pattern buried beneath it all, and by listening closely enough, Henry understands. 

word: kiss wip: soft dom henry

Henry drags the loofah up and over his skin, washing him thoroughly and scrubbing away any evidence of the stress of both the last twelve hours and the last several months. He takes special care on Alex’s chest where he knows the skin is more sensitive, lightening the pressure as he passes over the still pink lovebite lingering on his collarbone from the day before. He smiles softly again as he meets Alex’s eye and rinses away the soap with clean water, bending to press a kiss to Alex’s bandaged hand where it’s curled on the edge of the tub. 

+

PLEASE do not feel pressured to complete this game, since I know it floats around quite often! however, if you do feel inclined, always happy to see what y'all are working on! :D

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @kiwiana-writes @inexplicablymine @msmarvelouswinchester @bigassbowlingballhead @matherines @daisymae-12 @read-and-write- @happiness-of-the-pursuit @affectionatelyrs @heybuddy-drabbles @whimsymanaged @littlemisskittentoes @getmehighonmagic @hypnostheory @magicandarchery @iboatedhere @cricketnationrise @eusuntgratie @ninzied @rockyroadkylers @anchoredarchangel @tinyarmedtrex @rmd-writes @suseagull04 @theprinceandagcd

[your words are: make, hide, square, edge, atmosphere]

(if these words don't come up or you'd like to use different ones, I used the random word generator so feel free to generate some new ones!)

#tag games #omg I had so much fun with this one #wips

[thesweetnessofspring]

Roses and Pearls by HalfHope (thesweetnessofspring)

Rated: E

Description: Peeta Mellark is the sole victor of the Quarter Quell. With District 12 nothing but ash, he rebuilds his life by moving to the Capitol and falling in love with Rosalia Snow, granddaughter to Coriolanus Snow.

Then people Peeta thought long dead kidnap him and Rosalia, including the one person he hates more than anyone: Katniss Everdeen. They say he's been hijacked. They say that he used to love her. Locked away in District 13, Peeta is determined to protect his mind and his fiancée from the rebels. But while imprisoned, videos disprove his memories and his feelings toward Katniss grow confusing. Who can he trust, and what really happened in his past?

Thank you to my beta @louezem for keeping up with this weekly schedule and being such a great support!

Read Chapter One | Read Chapter Five

Chapter Five

I have nothing to do the rest of the afternoon but think and drive myself crazy. Think of all the ways they could use Rosalia, use me. Wonder what’s going on in the districts as they try to overthrow the Capitol there, how prepared they might be, how the Capitol is responding. Someone brings me dinner with a roll, potatoes, and pickled beets, then a half hour later picks up the dishes. 

Without my pills for the first time in years, I spend more time trying to get comfortable than sleeping and the little I do get has confusing dreams flashing lightning and fire. And down in the bunker with no natural light to speak of, I’m not sure what time it is when Katniss opens the door to my prison. I rub my eyes, the last thing I want to do is follow her out, but out there is where I can find more information, talk with people, figure out where to make my plan. And maybe, just maybe, Rosalia will be there, too.

"Come on," Katniss says impatiently.

My arms heavier than a sack of flour, I manage to push the covers back and sit up, then put my prosthetic on. I shuffle to the door, and stick out my arms for the cuffs. The time will come for me to fight, but it's not now.

Instead of cuffs, Katniss jams my hand to the wall, underneath a box. Something presses against the inside of my forearm, and when I pull it away, it has writing on it.

Continue reading on ao3

#everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #roses and pearls #rap update #roses and pearls chapter five

[aquanova99]

Haunted (Cato x Reader)

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Part 8

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Next >>

A/N: Hi everyone! This is mostly filler but truly I’m writing what I’ve been needing to read and to me it’s all important so it’s hard to cut parts out. Sorry! And thank you if you continue reading! ♥️

A/N: Meant to post last night but I ended up adding more, it’s another long one so no pressure on reading it all

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Y/n’s POV

The smell of antiseptic hits your nose first. Your eyes struggle to open against the bright white lights you can only assume is a hospital of some kind. Your head feels heavy as you rotate it to try and figure out where you were. You felt rested, which is saying something since you hadn’t had a decent sleep in weeks. You try to sit up but are restrained down to your bed you are about to panic when the avox who you vaguely remember from your time in the training center appears with a tray of food. Where’s Effie, Haymitch and…. Peeta. Your throat struggles to swallow, you pray to whatever is out there that it was a bad dream because the alternative…

“Di-uhm did he make it?” You ask as the girl presses a button to sit you up. She begins adjusting your pillow, “please. I need to know.”

As she brings the tray in front of you she shakes her head and offers a gentle pat to your leg. You look down at the tray, a small bowl of clear broth, an even smaller serving of applesauce, and some water. You don’t care. You’ve lost any appetite you could have. So that’s it then. You killed Peeta. You should have fought him for who got to go home. No. Your stupid idea with the berries killed him. You killed him. The boy who injured his leg saving you from the tracker jackers was gone. The boy with a seemingly endless supply of optimism was gone. You lost him. No. You remind yourself that the capitol took him from you, and slowly your grief turns into anger. Your hands grip the tray and you realize that all of your scares have disappeared, your nails are perfectly shaped and for some reason that irritates you further. You scream as you throw the tray of food against the wall. You try to figure out how to escape your restraint when a cold liquid begins to run through your i.v. effectively knocking you unconscious once more.

The next time you wake you hear someone yelling. It sounds vaguely familiar but you have a hard time placing it as its so far away. Your eyes are still groggy when a flash of blonde hair raises your alertness.

“We don’t have much time. Beetee is messing with the cameras but that will only buy us maybe a few minutes.’ She presses a pill into your hand and speaks with such an urgency you have no choice but to trust her, “Keep this under your tongue. President Snow will be here soon and he’s going to ask you questions about the games. He is going to give you something that should be the equivalent of truth serum. This negates it, do you understand?” You nod and she begins to leave immediately, you wonder how much she’s risking her life, and why she cares at all about your own.

“Why—”

“We’ll explain soon. Be honest, just answer carefully.”

And just like that she was gone. You understood. Whatever the pill was would stop you from saying anything too incriminating. Like what? Hunting? They would have killed you a long time ago if it was that. No, it was the damn berries. You realize the gamemakers wouldn’t necessarily like being made fools of, with them having to make three announcements almost back to back. You weren’t trying to do that, you were trying to get the two of you home and you failed. So why did they care?

You realize the woman who came in was a victor, a relatively recent victor. No wonder she looked so familiar. Cashmere, you think. She wouldn’t have risked giving you a warning for no reason. She mentioned someone else, Beetee? Was he a victor too? You realize your hand is clenched shut, you try to move innocently as you can, pretend you’re thinking about the game and slip the pill on your tongue. Another avox comes in with food for you. The same tiny portions. But this time you greedily begin to take in what you can. You’re savoring the applesauce when two peacekeepers come in, covering who you have grown up to know as President Snow. His presence puts you back into the games, as if he is one of those mutts designed to kill you.

“Hello, miss y/n. I’m here to congratulate you on the games. It was a very interesting victory.” The pause before the word ‘interesting’ tells you its anything but.

“President Snow. It’s an honor. I thought I would only see you at the ceremony.”

He smiles as he nods to the peacekeepers who effectively restrain you. You can’t help panic. Another peacekeeper replaces the water bag with another liquid. You assume this is what you were warned about. It feels warmer when the solution enters your bloodstream and while the pill may have an adverse effect on it, you still struggle with deciphering on what is or isn’t safe to discuss.

“Now then, let’s get started. Shall we?”

“Doesn’t seem I have much of a choice.”

“I suppose not.” He grins, you half expect him to have fangs when he smiles at you. But the only thing you notice is the stench of some string rose scented cologne of some kind. It overwhelms your already weak senses and has you somewhat dizzy. “But we do have to go through the usual tests.”

Be honest, but careful. You tell yourself. He asks your name, your age, what you wore for the tribute parade. Then he asks the harder questions: what did I do in District 12, why did I volunteer, what did I do during my gamemakers session?

Still, those are manageable because everything you say is true. I sold what I could find around my house to get by, I volunteered because I thought it was my last chance to help my family, I was annoyed at the gamemakers indifference. I leave out the hunting, the deal you made with the mayor. You have a sick feeling in your gut he knows. But he doesn’t question it.

“And in the games, do you have any idea the trouble you caused?”

“You mean with the berries?”

“Hm,” he chuckles, “That I can handle at the end of the day… only one of you came back. Shame about the boy, I quite liked him.”

You interpret that as, he should have been the one to make it back. You can’t help but agree. But what else did you do? “I didn’t realize I did anything else.”

“Interesting. Your act with the District 11 girl caused quite a stir, you know?” Rue? This was about Rue? You slowly piece together that it isn’t just about Rue, but Marvel, Thresh, maybe even Cora.

“I-I didn’t—”

“That’s all I needed. Thank you Ms. L/N. I look forward to seeing you at the crowning ceremony.” You heard more fidgeting behind you and you know your original set up you had was back in place. Snow’s visit unnerves you. You begin panicking again and once more blackout, a prisoner in a state of limbo. Wake. Eat. Sleep. Wake. Eat. Sleep. You aren’t sure when you notice that you can finally move without being pulled into dreamland. Your legs are strangely steady for being in bed for so long. You would probably be ecstatic to move if you hadn’t seen the outfit you’ll need to wear to meet your team. You have to breathe slowly as your force the garments on. An outfit identical to what you wore when you started the games. Of course…you’re still being watched.

The glass doors that once contained you hiss open, “Hello?” You call out tentatively

“Y/n!” A voice echoes back. A high shrill voice that could only belong Effie Trinket. Effie! You rush down the long corridor to find your team waiting. You all but tackle Haymitch, who returns a tight hug of his own.

“Nice job, sweetheart.” There’s hint of something in his voice, guilt? Fear? Did he know about President Snow, or had he too raised his hopes in both of us coming home? You want to apologize to him, but that could wait when the others weren’t around. The sight of Portia holds another reminder of who you failed in his last moments, and excitement immediately vanishing and quickly replaced with shame and guilt. Still, you continue your hellos, your entire being relieved to see everyone. To have human contact. You’re sent off with Cinna and Portia before the ceremony tonight. You’ll be officially crowned a victor. The ceremony is supposed to be a celebratory event, the last years previous winner is brought out and passes the crown down insinuating a new era so to speak. You find yourself being amazed with how the capitol refuses to allow anyone to forget, they will have a short segment bring up their worst moments or highlights in the eyes of a capitol citizen. For the Districts like 12, this is a part of the games forced upon you. You can’t imagine many people enjoying that moment except maybe some careers. You wonder if Cato will feel a relief that his games will no longer be brought up after tonight. Cato! Would he be happy to see you? Sad that his tributes were gone? You remember the night before you left, how he hoped you would make it back. Maybe now you could ask why, along with thank him for inadvertently saving your life. You would have never had a chance with how your skill level when you started the games.

The elevator ride up to the twelfth floor changes your train of thought. You assumed you’d be in a fancy capitol hospital. To find you were underground the training center you frequented is shock. The actual ride provides you with small flashbacks of the tributes that would never make it back. Every floor you passed bringing a new set of faces to memory. You breath start to race and you realize how thankful you are to Cinna and Portia for being there both of them with a hand on one of your shoulders. The small gesture seems to say ‘I understand. We’re here’

Of course, they could never understand. Not really. But you’re comforted nonetheless. Rue and Thresh image painfully etches itself into your mind before you finally arrive. The prep team is thrilled you’d made it back and their chatter allows you the time to figure out how to swallow any grief you may have. You were going back in front of Caesar Flickerman in a few hours, you could not cry. President Snow made it clear your concern for the other tributes was not acceptable, and you’d be damned if you lost anyone else. So you focus on the one thing you can do at this very moment. Eat.

Unfortunately, you can only eat so much since apparently you’re on a strict diet.  You begin to realize how you’ll miss your prep team as strange as they may be. Octavia even sneaks you an extra roll, and they seem so genuinely happy you made it back you wonder if they worried about you while they were watching and if they would have missed you if you had become a part of that arena. They’re chatter begins overlapping and you’re happy for the opportunity to stay silent. Besides, if you listen for too long you know you’ll end up having contempt for them as part of the capitol and you would rather enjoy their company. You notice how much weaker you seem than when you entered the arena, your body had become too thin. The mirror reflected an image of someone who maybe resembled you, but it didn’t feel like…well you. It was another person. Another life. It was if every experience you’d had had been scratched out, erased from existence. All you knew and all you could think about was the games, the danger you were in, the way that everything you would say tonight could be to your or your family’s detriment.

Cinna reenters with a yellow dress, “No more fire?”

He chuckles, “You tell me.” I make a face at the extra padding around my breasts, “I know. But the gamemakers wanted to alter you surgically. Haymitch had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise.”

You remember the yelling in your state of limbo and realize Haymitch’s presence. It gives you a small sense of comfort that you weren’t alone down there.

“What do you think?” Venia asks as she points you back towards the mirror

The dress is glowing, like you were bathed in light. You grab the skirt of dress and see the shimmering and refracting of the light embedded in its threads. “It’s beautiful.”

The dress emanates youth. While I may have just killed my way out of the hunger games, the dress makes it seem I was going out for some sort of social event. Like a tea party in a storybook. Plain in comparison to what you’ve donned prior. Something tells you Cinna knows the importance of tonight. Maybe not understanding the full scope of it, but knows I can’t be making any mistakes.

“We thought you might like this a better. More comfortable.” He says, and I know its not about me or even the capitol, its Snow.

I’m escorted back to the elevator and taken to the lower floor where the training center had been. In a minute we will to yet another part of the building I had not paid attention to, and Effie, my prep team, Haymitch, and then I will have to rise from a platform under the stage to join Caesar Flickerman for the post show interview. A lovely 3 hours of rewatching the worst moments of my life. Your prep team leaves you alone to go change. You are left alone in the dark waiting area until everyone is ready to be instructed on the procedure for the winning team. You are starting to panic about the Snow having the walls collapse around you and framing it as an unfortunate accident when Haymitch touches my shoulder.

“Easy, just me.” He says after I let out a small scream, “Lets have a look at you.” When you spin around he says, “Good enough.”

“But?”

“But nothing. How about a hug for luck?”

You don’t question it, you move quicker than normal to let your hair cover your face, “What did I do, and how do I fix it?”

“Capitol’s furious about you almost showing them up in the arena, the one thing they cant stand is being laughed at and they’re the joke of Panem. You either say it was all part of the plan and you knew Peeta would take the bait or you ended up falling for him. Alliances were all part of the game, you knew it would get you to the end. Got it?”

You laugh at a joke he never told and nod. You can lie but not that well, and besides the entirety of 12 and yourself would hate you for even insinuating that Peeta meant nothing to you. No one would believe it anyway. He was kind and his death left a hole in your heart that would never truly recover. You weren’t in love with him but you loved him.

You straighten his bowtie, “Thank you.”

“I better take my place. This is your night, sweetheart. Enjoy it.” He places a kiss on your forehead and disappears towards his own platform.

You wish you could just curl into your bed back home. You tell yourself its only a couple more nights, but you deep down you know that’s not true. You think of Haymitch all alone in the victors village and realize he has no family, no girlfriend or wife, no one. Had he made a mistake like this in his games? The thought makes you want to puke so you focus on the cheering of the crowd above you, Cinna has just gone up because the screaming intensifies, when Haymitch makes his appearance the crowd begins stomping and cheering so loudly you’re sure the building will fall on top of you. You think there’s a chance he’s being interviewed because the cheering doesn’t die down for five minutes. The plate begins to lift and you take a deep breath to steady yourself. This is a new arena and you’re going to have to fight just as hard to make it out alive.

The lights blind you as your podium finally raises to the stage. You fake your brightest smile and walk wave with both hands as you approach Caesar. The crowd is going crazy so you tell yourself to keep going.

There’s one more introduction to be made, you realize. “Now we can’t have a crowning without our reigning victor, Everyone give it up for Cato Hadley!”

You remember his warning that first night on the roof. How most people were scared to be alone with him in case he blacked out. You really hadn’t paid much attention to his warnings, to be fair you fully expected to not be on this stage anyway and he was good company. Neither of you had to say much. You wish you could say something about that because the person on this stage is someone entirely different. Just like you, he had a role to play to play right now. The two of you shook hands as if you’d never met. And right now, it couldn’t be more true. You were complete strangers in front of the capitol and since leaving the arena you hardly felt like a person much less like yourself. Caesar interviews him for a bit before sitting us both down in separate chairs sat next to each other as they shared highlights from his game. You struggle to watch the short clips from the previous year, he definitely did not sugar coat it when he said he had worked quickly and brutally. You see his fingers tapping the arm rest and know this is not something you want to be doing next year. While the lights are off you don’t want to do anything too risky to get you into trouble, you let your pinky finger lightly brush his hand. You both avoid looking at each other, if he understood that you knew what he was going through then that was enough if he didn’t then it could chalked up to an accident.

Cato’s highlights are short and go by pretty quickly, too quickly you think, because that means it’s your turn. The lights come back on as Caesar cracks jokes for a while, you laugh and play along as he focuses on your team for a second. The show is only just beginning. Three hours to go. Back home, the previous year’s victor segment was more a grace period to get into the square for the mandatory showing. When the lights dim all eyes should be on the screen. The first half hour, focuses on the pre-arena events. You see the reaping, the chariot rides, the training scores (which you only now realize did not help you or your situation with President Snow), and of course the interviews. You see glimpses of the tributes healthy, alive, smiling albeit fake. The music is too upbeat. There are probably some families still mourning and here was this music, so upbeat, as if they’ll all come back out for a reunion any second. You focus on your face which the camera will zoom in on periodically for any reaction. You plan on giving none, but you also know you aren’t prepared to see all of the death again. You’ve seen enough of it.

Now its time for the arena. And the second the first tribute falls your tears threaten to do the same. Your eyes remain glued on the screen. Your face pops up in the corner when you almost run into another contestant and you try to settle your emotions. When your image fades from the screen you feel Cato squeeze your hand and let go. You bite the inside of your cheek and steel yourself. Wait, you tell yourself, not yet. When the first clip of Peeta is shown trying to befriend the careers you know the camera will be on you immediately. You let your mouth drop as if you weren’t expecting his face to bring so much emotion. Really, this part is easy because you are upset that he isn’t here and its clear he’s the sole reason that you are. Peeta outsold the unrequited love story. Him leading the careers in another direction, staying awake the night with the tracker jackers, fighting Arioch to the point of injury so I could get some distance, he even says my name a few times during the night. You go numb quickly after that. You feel another squeeze on your hand, nothing has happened so you take it as a warning. You’ve largely been blocking out whatever you see but you know what’s coming next. Rue.

They show the entirety of her death, and consequently Marvel’s death which also brings on a heavy dose of guilt. Except for the flowers. You had almost made it, quite literally seconds away from getting to her first. They show your singing. They show the painful guttural scream mixture that escaped after she stopped breathing. They show your outrage with Thresh and it cuts to the false announcement  of two victors. It dawns on you that what they do not show are the parts where you arrange both Rue and Marvel with flowers. Wouldn’t want to encourage other districts to be nice to one another I guess.

The show then turns around in my favor when I rush to find Peeta in the middle of the night. Finally, I can peel my eyes away from the screen. I wipe invisible tears from falling and squeeze my eyes shut when his voice echoes through the room. When the damn berries come you force yourself to watch, while it is hard, you know your family’s lives depend on you right now and you play up any difficulties you have by peeking behind your eyes. Its hard to see the vast contrast in Peetas appearance, yours too but Arioch really did a number on him. The boy who shone on the night of our interviews seemed starved and sickly. You lean forward instinctually when you see the peacekeepers dragging your body from Peeta. Its like watching another person entirely and you try to hold on to the last images of Peeta you’ll ever see. That’s how you deserve to remember him. His eyes with the spark of hope becoming cold as he realized his mistake. The camera ends with you banging on the glass doors screaming his name.

The anthem begins playing and years of conditioning force you to rise. President Snow begins his way towards you, you’re pretty sure he makes some small speech but you hear nothing. He says something to Cato which elicits a cheer from the audience, and a raised fist from Cato and you realized he’s playing along with audience. Then the actually crowning happens and he grabs Cato’s crown and sets it on a pillow carried by a little girl where a crown of your own sits and is then picked up and placed on your head. Then there’s so much bowing you’re shocked you don’t fall over. Cato leaves first, then Effie, the prep team ,Cinna, Haymitch and finally you. Caesar is thanking everyone and inviting everyone to watch the final interviews, not like they have much choice that’s mandatory watching too.

You are escorted into a car with your team for the victors banquet. You realize how heavily you’re being and watched and just raise your eyebrows at Haymitch who nods and raises a glass to you as the prep team is mindlessly chattering. You realize the car is stocked with drinks snacks but while you’ve been running on fumes all day you have trouble finding anything to eat. You force down a few bites in the Snows mansion for appearances. The good news was that so many officials and sponsors wanted to meet you that you didn’t have much time to eat anyway, the bad news was that there were so many officials and sponsors wanted to meet you. You began getting claustrophobic. You mainly smile and nod as they mostly talk about themselves anyway. Along with the loud music, you keep getting glimpses of President Snow and its slowly becoming harder to breathe.

You try to find Haymitch, but the crowd of sponsors don’t allow you to get close. How does anyone do this? You feel forced to dance with a few officials and sponsors but you are able to escape to a mostly secluded hallway and you try to stop yourself from panting. Its too much. The crowd continues to grow around Haymitch and the other victors, which is unfortunately the only place you feel safe. Even your prep team is completely surrounded by people in all sorts of bright colors that hurt your eyes. The main reception area was full of people and you’d never felt more isolated. Your try to steady your breathing but it is proving to be doing next to nothing. Get it together. Push through and find Haymitch or another victor, anyone who is speaking in gibberish to you.

You freeze when a large cold hand touches you. “Ms. L/n are you alright?

You try to place the man. He was roundish, in his late thirties, early forties maybe, only half a foot taller than you, and he reeked of alcohol. He kept insisting he had made a huge contribution to the burn medicine. You said thank you, right? “I’m fine, thank you. Just…collecting myself.”

“It can be a bit overwhelming, right?”

“Maybe a bit, we don’t have events like this in 12.” You use the line that placated your prep team once, and it seems to work.

The man begins laughing, “I guess not. I can show you somewhere you can hide away from for a while.”

Suddenly, this man is as dangerous as the careers or mutts in the games. You do not trust him. You didn’t trust him before, but something about him made you feel sick. “I should really be heading back. My mentor will be looking for me. Excuse me.”

You do a quick curtsy but he grabs your arm as you try to walk past him, “You know you really should be showing more gratitude. I’m only trying to help.”

“Oh…I am but I need to go. I don’t want to miss anyone important.”

His grip tightens, “I saved your life in the arena, I’m just asking for a ‘thank you.’"

Your throat feels as dry as sandpaper, “Th-thank you.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard. Was it? Of course, since it was such a grand gesture, don’t you think you should do something a bit more grand to show your gratitude?”

You try to release your arm but his grip tightens enough that you let out a whimper of pain, Your body is failing you. You can’t pull away any longer. You can’t scream. “I…uhm. I should really be—”

“Come on. I’ll show just how to make it up me.”

“Please.” Your voice barely comes out above a whisper.

“There you are.”  You feel the tension in his grip release enough to where you can yank your arm away and like a child, hide. Hide behind the person who may have just saved your life, again. Cato.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Cato’s POV

He’s lucky you don’t kill him right then and there. You have a feeling he also knows this because his demeanor which was, until a second ago, imposing. Towering over someone still reeling from the aftermath of the games and forced to mingle as if this was the only way to enjoy yourself. You push her behind you before continuing to speak through gritted, teeth.

“You’ll have to excuse my interruption. I believe Y/n owes me a dance. If that’s still okay with you?” You turn and ask her, worried you may be putting taking her from one uncomfortable situation and placing her in another. She blinks a few times before nodding.

“Of course.” She puts both hands on your outstretched arm. You bow your head slightly and lead her away from…whoever that guy is. You lean over as much as you can without drawing attention to the two of you, “He’ll be watching. I wont make this too long. We can go to Haymitch after.”

As you begin going in circles, she begins talking in a low voice, “Thank you. I’m sorry about your arm.”

You begin to notice a slight stinging where her nails had dug into your arm. You look down and see the red handprint on her own arm and know immediately its going to bruise, “Don’t worry about it.”

She gives you a sad smile and continues dancing. You try not to think about your growing irritation leading up to the last few minutes, you had been hoping to catch her for a few minutes but the entire population of Panem had crowded the mansion just to look at the girl on fire. Even now, there was no room to talk, not with all the eyes and ears on you. No you’d try to talk later. For what? You still weren’t sure. To thank her probably. You couldn’t deny you weren’t sure you’d make it to the recap of her games. You had been stressing about hurting someone, hurting y/n, having her watch your own brutality in your games, how she’d react, how you’d react…the list goes on. You both seemed to have an understanding when it came to the personas displayed in the capitol. But she had seemed to sense when you began shutting down during your games short recap, and you in your own way understood when she was about to do the same.

“Cato?”

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, how are you doing?”

“Am I going to have to say yes?” You realized what she was asking but you did not want to be the one to answer. You also knew you were the only one who was going to be honest with her. Your hesitation seemed to be answer enough, “Right.”

“There’s ways around it, you’re supposed to have an adjustment period so we have some time to figure it out.”

“Later then?”

“Hopefully once this all done.”

You slow down, getting ready to find some other victor and not raise any possible rumor the people in the capitol would be dying to whisper to each other, when she surprises you “Thank you by the way.”

“Don’t—”

“Yeah I know, don’t worry about it. I meant for giving up your crown... Obviously.” She smiles and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you lock eyes for a second as the music stops and you have to begin finding someone who has more time to answer the harder questions. Haymitch has been doing his own share of trying to catch the girl on fire, his body seems to relax when he sees the two of you approaching.

“They really try their best to give your moment in the spotlight don’t they, sweetheart?”

Neither of you miss his message. This is all intentional. You should expect that at this point. You look at all the victors, all separated enough to avoid conversations with one another. Most awaiting the time when they would be allowed to return home to whatever family was left. Y/n maintained her smile, “I haven’t even noticed I’ve met so many lovely people. I feel like I could fall asleep any second.”

“You do have the recap tomorrow, why don’t we start heading out. I’ll get Effie, don’t want to behind schedule tomorrow.”

“Of course not.”

“You’ll make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble?”  Haymitch and y/n laugh, you smile and nod. His instructions were clear. As if you would leave her alone after what you saw.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You could feel eyes immediately staring at y/n, vultures all of them. All ready to pick her apart. You lean down and whisper into her hair, “What do you need?”

“A drink.” She says sarcastically before smiling up at you, “You up for one more dance until Haymitch finds Effie?”

You hesitate, “People will talk.”

“Don’t they always?” True. You dramatically bow and gesture towards the dance floor, hoping the action is enough to draw any heat from the Capitol on you. Her genuine laughter fills rings through your ear, a sound you know somehow is going to etch itself into your mind. A mixture of relief and disappointment courses through your body as Enobaria and Cashmere approach the two of you.

“Y/n! Its so nice to finally meet you!” Cashmere runs up and hugs her

“Oh my goodness its so nice to meet you!” Y/n doesn’t miss a beat, and goes up to both women.

“I hope you’ve been behaving, Cato.” Enobaria jokes

“He’s been a complete gentleman.” Y/n interjects

“Oh good.” Cashmere starts, “Has everyone made you feel special? This is your party after all.”

“I barely got a chance to talk to her. Everyone’s been asking her for a dance, I figured I might as well try and sneak one more in before anyone else does.” This gets Cashmere’s attention. Her eyes flash with a fury you know you’ll never be able to understand. She quickly pastes a smile on her face again.

“I’m sure you cant wait to go home, you must be so tired from all of the festivities. But don’t worry you’ll be in 12 before you know it. This will all seem like a dream in a few days.” More like a nightmare you thought to yourself, Cashmere hugs Y/n once more and you notice y/n squeeze Cashmeres arms and whisper something. Cashmere offers the warmest smile you think you’d ever seen her give to anyone and says goodbye to the both of you.

“Cato. Why don’t we take Y/n out, I think her prep team is gathering by the door. And I still have to keep on eye you.” Her words have stung if you weren’t desperate for anyone else to help you out and make sure you weren’t getting Y/n into more trouble. You keep thinking about Haymitch and Joanna and what happens when you make a stand against the capitol, you think about Finnick and Cashmere and what happens when you comply. You’re not quite sure what’s worse. The victors all begin crowding to head back to their apartments before being allowed to go home until they get invited back to the capitol. Y/n begins to relax as she talks to more victors. She barely has time to say hello to the people there before Haymitch appears with the rest of her team. The corridor begins getting smaller and your body begins to register how tiring these events are. You begin retreating farther and farther away, into a quieter and more secluded area of the waiting area until the cars come to take everyone back to main building. Which, thankfully, doesn’t take too long. You almost barrel back into the crowd when y/n begins looking around for something, her eyes land on you for a second and she mouths a quick thank you before being pushed out the door by her team.

You wonder what she was looking for.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Y/n’s POV

“Haymitch please. I want answers.”

“I know but not here. When we’re on the train we’ll talk more. Just get some sleep okay, sweetheart?” He pats your cheek before retreating into his room. Sleep? How the hell were you supposed to sleep? You were supposed to be able to relax. Now you have to worry about upsetting Snow because of your ‘rebellious’ act with the berries. Cinna warns you about body modifications Haymitch fought to keep away from you. Then you find out victors might be available to sponsors in the capitol? That’s what Cashmere probably tried to warn you about and Cato all but confirmed that. You order a glass of water as you strip off the dress forced on you when you reach over to get the water you simply just throw it against the wall. You scream as another glass leaves your hand and shatters against the wall. An avox’s presence brings you back to reality, apologies stumbling from your lips, knowing full well had she not interrupted you wouldn’t have been able to place your feet on the ground without getting shards of glass in your feet. The girl tries to reassure you as she holds your hands and the pushes them away from the glass, probably afraid you were going to hurt her or yourself in the process. You let her clean and begin pacing across the living room, your breathing begins to quicken but there is no iv on your arm to knock you out anymore. Now you can only deal with the constant but inconsistent waves of what you can only describe as panic and fear. You rush towards the elevators, pushing the buttons to take you mere feet above so you can breathe whatever you can breathe of fresh air. You begin pressing against the glass as you see the metal doors that hide the glass elevator from the rest of the world. When you hear nothing you almost immediately turn around, every nerve telling you to run from whatever trap awaits you. But there is no trap, no games up here. You remind yourself that the celebrations have everyone either at Presidents mansion or asleep at home. The thought angers you.

Here you are putting on show for everyone across Panem and some people just sleep peacefully never worrying about games that would forever change the way they see people. Ally. Enemy. The ability to discern between the two grew was becoming increasingly difficult. In the Capitol, you would never feel safe. To you it was an extension of the arena, and threats have to be eliminated if you want to survive.

No. Those were the games. You tried to remind yourself that in the end, no matter how much it caused your body to hurt, how hard it made to breathe Peeta was better off. He wouldn’t have to worry about appeasing President Snow. Worry about having anyone losing their life because of something he may or may not say. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to close your eyes without seeing the faces of your fellow tributes looking back. Empty. Cold. Lifeless. Some shift into those mutts. Some you see as their pictures in the sky.

You sit on the bench overlooking the small garden and allow yourself to feel everything you had to swallow at the crowning ceremony. Watching every child fall. Canons. Twenty three canons. The tributes that got near the end getting longer segments. Thresh and Arioch’s fighting. Both severely injured desperate to outlast the other.  Cora desperately scarfing down the nightlock, desperate to get anything into her body. Arioch being ripped apart by the mutts. Peeta and… your breath hitches and that’s all it tame for your body to no longer be able to hold in the indescribable grief you feel. Your body lurches forward your hands covering your eyes trying to shut out whatever was left in the world, grief poured out of you in floods of uncontrollable tears.

Your breathing is ragged. Your throat struggling to swallow. Your body tenses as you feel a hand on your shoulder. The touch is comforting. You don’t have to look to know who sat beside you. The same comfort you received before being forced to see your allies murdered. You keep your face covered, Cato’s hand reaching around to your should and pulling you into him. He says nothing, which you are thankful for because the last thing you need is fake affirmations. You slowly start to peel your hands away from you face. Your breathing never fully steadies, hitching every few seconds.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffle

“You’re honestly doing a lot better than you think you are.”

“When does it end?”

“I’ll let you know if I figure it out.” You want to ask him why anyone deals with this when you realize, you know the answer. You think about Haymitch, and wonder what other things help the victors cope. You’re about to ask Cato what helps him when you become very aware of his arm still around you. You’re afraid to bring it up, and even more afraid for the moment to be over, for the loneliness to take over. It pulled you under for longer periods of time, threatening to completely drown you at any moment.

“Thank you…” you could at least manage that. You almost breath out a sigh of relief when he makes no move to adjust.

“Get through the interview, and you’ll be home before you know it.”

“How long do I have?”

Silence filled the air for a minute, even the wind seemed to speak in hushed whispers. As if they were being watched as well. He gives you a smile full of pity, his hand gently touches your wrist. He gently tilts it, examining the growing purple handprint that would remind you of what happens to victors who say no. His thumb gently glides over it, “We—Haymitch will come up with something. Get through the interview.”

The final set of instructions is the last thing he says before taking you back to your floor. You wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Cato’s POV

Taking the train to District 12 was not something you ever thought you wanted to do. Up until the most recent hunger games you’d largely ignored its sad existence. You know that coming from two, you should feel annoyed at the thought of having to go to the poorest district, but if you were being honest it excited you. It had been almost three weeks and new mentors would be living with Y/n up until a month or two before the games. She’d chosen Cashmere and Enobaria. You wondered if she considered your name at all.

Enobaria seemed happy to be chosen to help y/n adjust. Cashmere was eager to have time off from her forced fan meetings. You had never wanted a babysitter more. Enobaria pulled some strings to ‘drag’ you along, and really, she wasn’t entirely wrong. You were still a danger to everyone around you. A flight risk. Something to be avoided. This meant she also had to drag Brutus down here, just in case. Well, at least you get to see another district.

Would Y/n avoid him? He wouldn’t blame her. You think about the roof often. Probably thanks to your lack of really having any human contact for over a year. Stupid. Arrogant. She had barely escaped this…dirtbag and then you basically force her into you. She probably thinks you’re no better. You were trying to be comforting but she barely knew you. You find yourself thinking about that night a lot. You wish you could have said more. You remember the bruise on her arm and how it almost triggered something ugly and deep inside you. The empty hollowness you felt when you all but ran out of there. And now, again, you are forcing her to share a space with you. You have to tell yourself you want to help or else risk getting sick from equating yourself to that sponsor. You have to remember how she leaned into you, she wouldn’t have done that if you’d really bothered her, right?

As the train pulls to a stop you almost have to ask where they’ve taken you. Was it this bad when you had your victory tour? Why were these people allowed to live like this? What did she have to do to get by? Cashmere gasps at the window. You follow her eyes to see some children sitting on the ground playing some game, all bone thin. The prizes she won from the games must have brought such relief to these people. You could tell some people were likely only getting a decent because of the boxing day. You momentarily forget you are a career. Almost a guaranteed winner. The four of you receive glares from people who watch the car you all squeeze into. Had you killed their children? Someones siblings? You knew the answer. Of course you had, but you struggled to place the two faces to the district. Your games were done in a matter of days. While the faces from the fallen tribute haunt you at night, they were mostly faces. No location save for your allies and the one girl….

“We’re here.” Enobaria eyes narrow assessing everyone around, there are people waiting on the steps of the house.

“Oh thank god, you’re here.” A woman stepped forward. The similarities are uncanny. You could tell immediately these people were her family. And by the looks on their face something was very, very wrong.

“Is everything alright?” Cashmere asks

“Yes…No. Its—you just have to see her. We can’t get through to her.” Her mom answers and begins opening the door. You try to steady your breathing, fighting the urge to barrel in there. Y/ns mother leads you to the living room, Enobarias short intake of breath is all you can handle and push through to the front. “Y/n, you have some friends here.”

“Is it time already?” Y/n’s voice answers but the person in front of you could be a complete stranger. She looks smaller than she did when the hovercraft first took took her away from the arena. You see bruises peppered up and down her arms, and her eyes gave away that she hadn’t slept since that night on the roof, at least not for more than a couple hours a night. Her was still braided but you wonder if her mom had anything to do with that. She continues staring at the t v, watching something only her nightmares allowed her to see.

“Would it be okay if we talk to her… alone?” You hear Cashmere ask

“Be my guest.” Her mother leaves the house, but her brothers go to the kitchen. Enobaria goes to join them. Brutus heads out, probably to find Haymitch.

“I’ll see what’s been happening.”

Cashmere nods in y/ns direction and you follow. She sits down next to her and you remember you wanted to try and not make her uncomfortable, you decide to stand by the window.

“Is she gone?”

“Yeah, is everything okay?”

“Not really but I’m tired of trying to explain it to them. She comes by just to try and yell me to do something. I usually just sneak out the window.” You can see where she gets bruises immediately. Whatever she starts thinking about has caused her to grip her arms tightly, too tightly. Your body moves on autopilot, you kneel down in front of her and gently pry her hands away from her body. She only then seems to register what she’s doing. She balls her hands into fists and forces them in her lap. You stay close in case she starts again.

“Sorry.” She mutters

“We can keep watch while you sleep.” You offer

She’s blinks a few times, trying to decide if you’re serious, Cashmere rests her on own hand on her shoulder, “We’ve all needed help Y/n, my brother kept watch when I got back. We can take turns, just until you get some decent rest.”

Her head drops as her eyes begin to well up with tears. She avoids looking at any of you, her hands “I can’t… the nightmares…they don’t—“

Her hands begin to wrap around her arms, you grab her hands again, “Stop.”

You hear trying to calm her breathing but she nods and looks at Cashmere, whimpering, “I’m so tired.”

“I know. Come on. Can you show me where your room is?” Y/n nods and starts to walk up the stairs. You wait until she’s gone to ask to Enobaria how bad it is, and whether she’s already too far gone. You find yourself panicking but before you get a word out, one of her brothers speaks up, you turn to look at the two. They both seem worn down. The older of the two is the one to speak,

“She won’t let us help.” There’s no emotion behind his voice, as if it’s all been drained out.

“She hasn’t talked to anyone?” Enobaria asks

“She’s only been talking to one person.” He continues

“We should find them, do you know where they are.”

“Yeah. But she’ll probably come over anyway, they both like to go on walks in the afternoon.”

You try not to be relieved that it’s a she, y/n has confided in, Enobaria continues to ask more questions. “Great we will talk to her later then, what’s her name?”

“Our cousin,” he scoffs “Katniss Everdeen.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Taglist: @chloe-skywalker @ietss @tomihoeka @chiimiki @akinatrix @inky-sun @themedsaintworkin @tiktoks-aphrodite @fredweasleysgirl16 @callsign-haze @thestrals-and-firewiskey

#hunger games fic #hunger games #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #cato x reader #cato hunger games #hunger games cato #hunger games cato imagine #cato imagine

[brunchable]

2319 Chapter 4 : Stephen's Lullaby || Young!Stephen Strange × F!Reader.

Word count: 6.3K Genre: Innocent Love, Diary Entries, Fluff. Warning: Writing this chapter got me SQUEALING OKAY? Special mentions: Donna Strange, Victor Strange, Eugene Strange. A/N: This story is inspired by the Korean Drama called "2521" Once again I have taken one of my favorite scenes/dialogue from the drama in this chapter. I highly reccoment listening to the song I linked somewhere in this chapter.

***Strictly to not post, translate or copy my works to other websites!!***

Masterlist || Previous

June 21 1999 — The Car ride to St. Claire Mountain

After getting into the backseat of the car, you look for a place to sit. You are unsure if it would be best to seat behind Donna, directly behind Stephen, or somewhere in the centre. Anywhere you sit, you feel him. He’s everywhere. Everything is Stephen. That is how it works when a person finds themselves being attracted to another person. He’s nowhere, then suddenly he’s everywhere, whether you want him to be or not.

It makes you wonder if you’re anywhere near him, but the thought doesn’t last long. You can always tell whether a man likes you or not, and Stephen most certainly does not fall into the category of being drawn to you. Because of this, it is imperative that you find a way to stop whatever it is that you feel whenever you are in his presence. When you're barely getting enough time to concentrate on work and school, the last thing you need is a ridiculous infatuation with a man. You reach inside your bag and take out a paperback book, and then you start reading it.

Stephens turns on the radio, and Donna lays her seat back and kicks her feet up on the dash. “Don’t wake me up until we’re there,” she says, pulling her cap over her eyes. 

You glance at Stephen, and he’s adjusting his rearview mirror. He turns around and looks behind you to back out of the spot, and his eyes briefly meet yours. 

“You comfortable?” he asks. He turns around before getting your answer and puts the car in drive, then glances at you in the rearview mirror. 

“Yep,” You say, making sure to tack a smile onto the end of that word. You don’t want him to think you’re upset that he came, but it’s hard for you not to appear closed off when you’re around him, when you’re trying so hard to be. He looks straight ahead, and you look back down at your book.

Thirty minutes pass, and the movement of the car accompanied by your attempt to read is making your head spin. You set the book down beside you and readjust yourself in the backseat. You lean your head back and prop your feet up on the console between Donna and Stephen. 

He glances at you in the rearview mirror, and his eyes feel like they’re hands, running over every inch of you. He holds his stare for no longer than two seconds, then looks back at the road. I hate this. You have no idea what’s going through his head. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t tease. His features give the impression that he is always concealing his emotions behind a wall of armour, as if he does not want the outside world to know how he really feels.

When you are still looking at him in the rearview mirror, attempting to figure out who he is, he casts another glance in your direction. You feel a twinge of embarrassment at having been caught staring at him and turn your attention away from the window. However, that mirror is like a magnet, and you'll be damned if you don't bring your gaze right back to it. 

As soon as you glance back into the mirror, so does he immediately after. You turn your head and glance back out the window again. You are about to go on the journey that will go down in history as the longest journey you have ever taken. You make it three minutes, then you look again. Shit. So does he. 

You smile, amused by whatever game this is both of you were playing. He smiles, too. Stephen smiled too. Stephen turns his head to look at the road again, but his grin doesn't fade for many seconds. You are aware of this, since you are unable to tear your gaze away from it. You want to snap a photo of it before it vanishes for good, yet doing so would be quite weird. He brings his arm down to the console in an attempt to rest it there, but your feet are blocking his way. You push up on your hands. 

“Sorry,” you say, as you begin to pull them back. His fingers wrap around your ankles, stopping you. 

“You’re fine,” he reassures you, his hand still wrapped around your ankles. You can't take your eyes off of it. Your thighs begin to squeeze together, a halt forms in your lungs, and you feel a tightening in both of your legs. You had to chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from ­smiling.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Donna Strange speaking,  please leave a message and I’ll try my best to call you back ASAP. *Beep*

“Hey, you’ll never guess what I found listed in the real estate market. . . it’s our old house back at Devonport, I’m thinking of buying it—I’m on my way there right now. I'll let you know how it goes later alright? I’m driving. Bye.” Stephen chucked the phone on the passenger seat after hanging up, when he recognized the spot where he first met you. 

He vividly imagines that memory to life as you yelled at him to wait for you as he drove by the spot. After seeing your photo he wonders how you've been coping but his pride was stopping him from making the first move. 

Stephen drives past the Devonport sign and from there he could see the peaks of St. Claire Mountain, still thriving with life just as the last time he laid eyes on it. The town felt smaller than he remembered, it reckons it's because he's accustomed to the city life that he forgot how relaxed and peaceful this town was. 

Stephen entered the upper-middle class neighbourhood, and though the streets looked similar, there were a couple of houses that had been rebuilt. When he saw the white house with a dark tiled roof, he knew he was home. He pulled up his Lamborghini in front of the house and killed the engines—he had arrived half an hour early just to make sure he got a good parking spot. 

"Mom we're on our way okay? Just calm down, Lindsey's going to be fine—Sweetheart do you have Lindsey's meds?" You walk out of the house with Sasha shadowing closely behind you, "Yes! We're getting in the car, don't rush me, do you want us to get into an accident?" 

Stephen saw you through his rearview mirror while you helped Sasha get into your Tesla SUV. Stephen got out of the car just as you quickly back out of the driveway and sped away, leaving no time for Stephen to catch up as he jogs towards your property.

"(Y/N)!" 

You gave Sasha your phone and didn't notice Stephen as you quickly drove away to go to the hospital.

"Mom, there's a man who looked like he wanted something." Sasha noticed Stephen from far away at the side mirror. 

"They're probably just people looking for donations, they'll leave a leaflet." You flatly replied because it was the least of your concerns. 

Stephen sighs disappointedly and heads back into his car. You looked very stressed out by the looks of it and now that he thinks about it, it's probably a good thing you didn't see him. Stephen glanced back at his old house and saw himself arguing with Eugene in the garage while he fixed something in his motorcycle.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

July 1st 1999

"Can you explain all this Stephen?" Eugene threw a couple of letters on the tool desk angrily. Stephen turns around clueless about what his father was talking about, he grabs a dirty towel and wipes off the black grease that stained his hands. 

"What’s that?" He asks and points at the letters.

"Well why don't you take a look?" 

Stephen gets up and grabs the envelopes, pulling out the letters that it contained. It was his notice of suspension in college as well as his dropping grades. Stephen grimaced and closed his eyes. 

"A Suspension?! You have got to be joking with me! Not to mention your grades! What the hell has gotten into you?!" Eugene yelled out of pure dissatisfaction with how Stephen isn't taking his studies seriously, "Now I see why you arrived back home early because you got suspended. Jesus! What do you do in university huh? Drink and hang out with your friends, get into fights? Having fun when you should be making a great future for yourself!"

Stephen lowered his gaze, trying his best to bite his tongue and keep his cool, "So I beat up some guys that bully freshmen on campus, so what?"

"So what? So what? Is everything about getting even for you? I guess you must be feeling pretty good about yourself right? Am I right or wrong?" Eugene scolded Stephen some more and Stephen kept quiet, "That’s what I thought."

"And your grades. . . You're goddamn grades! How can you explain that?! Me and your mother work tirelessly to—"

"I NEVER WANTED TO BECOME A DOCTOR ALRIGHT?!" Stephen finally erupted after keeping it in for three years. Out of shock, Eugene slapped Stephen for speaking to him in such a way. 

"You will finish what you have started—I will not have you experience what your mother and I have gone through to provide you and your siblings food in your stomach and a warm home to go home to." Eugene replies in a low intimidating tone after having slapped his son. 

"Okay then I guess you leave me no choice but to never be happy with my life." Stephen retorts to Eugene who didn't want to hear one more word and bumps past Stephen to go inside the house.

After a while of standing in one place, frozen and trying to calm himself, he notices you standing by the garage with a container of cookies in your hand. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose because by the expressions on your face, you probably witnessed the whole ordeal.

"How long have you been standing there?" Stephen asks, eyes glistening in the dark before quickly turning away and returns back to take a seat to continue fixing his motorcycle.

"I-I'm sorry. . .I didn’t know I—"

"You don't need to apologise." Stephen replies in an apathetic tone, glancing at you and then the container, "Is that for Victor?" 

"Y-yeah. . ."

"Just leave it there, I'll give it to him when I go inside."

You awkwardly cleared your throat and cautiously walked closer to him. The cold aura he was giving out could cut like a knife and though you wanted to say something to comfort him, you felt like it would make the humiliation worse. You place the container carefully on the table, glancing at Stephen hoping he would address you first but he just kept working on his motorbike.

"I'll see you later." You muttered and slowly backed away.

"See ya." Stephen replied without a glance to your direction.

Playing with your hands anxiously, your mind battled with your hard whether to ask him to go for a walk with you or not. Behind you, Stephen finally sends a glance in your direction as you walk off slowly. 

You whirled around and slightly stepped back, surprised that Stephen was already looking at you before you even called out his name, "Stephen?" 

"(Y/N)." 

"Do you want to go for a walk with me? Maybe get some ice cream?" You ask, still playing with your fingers and swallowing hard, anxious about what his answer will be, "We don't even need to talk about it. . . if you don't want to."

Stephen remains quiet, his blank expression makes it hard to decipher what he was even thinking about. He gets up, wiping his hands on the towel that hung over his shoulders then takes the container of cookies before heading inside his house.

You stood there clueless and confused—slightly embarrassed for even bothering to ask, "I'll take that as a no then?" You press your lips together and turn to walk away, mentally facepalming yourself. The moment you stepped on the sidewalk, Stephen went back out, wearing a dark beige unbuttoned long sleeve over his white t-shirt.

Stephen ran after you, catching you mid stride and said sarcastically, "Well thanks for waiting." 

"You didn't say anything so I thought you didn't want to." You looked up at him and he just chuckled, "Let's go to Gelato Messina because it's the closest—and it's my treat because I believe, I still owe you one." You suggested looking straight ahead.

Stephen nods, "Sounds good to me." 

You and Stephen walked side by side the footpath which fits you both quite well. Yours and his arms both on either side of you not knowing where to place or what to do with them. You look down each time the back of his hand accidentally grazes against yours and the thought of wanting to know how his hands would feel overwhelms you. Would his fingers fit perfectly between the spaces of your hands? Would he hold it tightly? Leave kisses at the back of your hand?

"What are you thinking about?" Stephen asks, noticing how deep in thought you were just now.

You snap out of it and tucks your hair behind your ear, "Nothing. just my life in general." You glance up at Stephen, who was watching you think.

"So when did you start figure skating?"

"When I turned Six." 

Stephen smiles endearingly, "I know you probably have a love-hate relationship with skating right now, but I'm really curious to see you skate." 

"You didn't watch the Olympics last Winter?" 

"Nope. Didn't have a T.V. in my dorm." 

"That's sad."

"Yeah. It felt like a penitentiary rather than a university." 

You chuckle softly, "Now I'm scared to go to university if that's the case."

"You'll have Donna, you won't get bored—how's your painting going by the way?"

"Great. I think it should be done in a couple more days. . .if I don't get distracted." You gave him a side along glance because by distraction you meant him and Victor always making a racket while they play video games in his room during the day.

"Sorry. . ." He chuckles, "Why don't you paint in the front yard and get some sun? If we're being too loud. That's what Donna does when she wants some peace and quiet when reading a book."

"I don't know. . . It never crossed my mind I guess—but I'll definitely do that now." 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ 

You and Stephen shared a large cup of gelato while sitting by the window, opposite from each other. He's done nothing but make you laugh ever since you sat down with him—which no other you've dated in the past was able to do. 

"Well, me and Donna had a huge fight and I needed to get revenge so what I did was, I wrap a fish with duct tape and then hid it under her car's passenger seat and within twenty-four hours her car smells like death—it was hilarious because she endured it because I made sure she'll never find it." Stephen stifles a laugh at the memory of his successful plot of revenge while trying to get a spoonful of ice cream.

You covered your mouth and gaped at him, "You’re kind of evil. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve done this before." 

"Oldest trick in my book." He laughs more but then soon calms down, "I shouldn’t be even having fun right now. . ." 

Stephen suddenly remembers and feels guilty especially after his father flat-out told him that he shouldn't be having fun until he's more successful in life. 

You look down and then smile at him sincerely while you reach to touch the back of his hand, "So? It's not everyday. We can do fun stuff together from time to time."

Stephen lifts his gaze, not expecting that sort of reaction from you, "What if I don't want to?"

You shrug nonchalantly, "You still have to~ you don’t have a choice."

"Why?"

"Well. . . I'm against you when you said to your father that you will never be happy in your life. If you say it like that then you're literally bringing life into your words—but you already said what you said. So how about we do this as a counterattack?"

Stephen says nothing but eyes every part of your features intently, anticipating every word that was to come out of your lips.

"From now on, everytime you hang out with me, you can be happy and keep it a secret." You send him another very endearing smile and then lean against the table whispering, "When it’s just us two, let’s be happy when we’re together, though temporary. This can be our little secret."

You took your hands off of his and lifted your pinky finger up, urging him to lock his with yours. 

Stephen nods with a small smile on his face and locks his pinky finger with yours. He held your gaze with eyes that somehow reassured him. He felt the connection in the pit of his stomach, a warm, coming-to-life tingle.

I wanted to be able to tell her everything, and if I had been able to, maybe things would have turned out differently for us, and maybe I would be there with you right now instead of here. Maybe... if I'd said, "I'm so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything," maybe that would have made the impossible possible. Maybe, but I couldn't pull it off because I had repressed too much and buried it too deeply within me. And now I find myself over here, rather than there. . . with you.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

By the time both of you had finished it was dark and compared to the chatty exchanges both of you were having on the way and being in the parlour, this walk back home was quiet—you swear you could hear each breath and heartbeat you make. You still walked side by side from each other—you walk by an empty playground and Stephen points at the swing.

"Want to go on the swing?" He asks randomly.

"Yeah why not?" You snap your head, probably too eagerly as you've been waiting for him to talk.

"Last one there's the rotten fish under Donna's car seat!" Stephen lightly pushes you aside and bolts towards the playground, not even giving you a chance.

"Hey!! That's cheating! Cheater!!" You ran after him but your little legs were no match compared to his. 

Stephen reaches the swingset and pants while laughing at the same time, "You push me because you're the loser."

"Wow, you're such a gentle man." You say sarcastically and you pivot behind him before giving him a light push and Stephen barely even swings.

"Oh come on, (Y/N), surely you can push better than that." He twists his head and body to look at you.

You scrunch your face and push him harder away from you, grunting, "You’re heavy you know!"

"That's much better! Push me harder until I tell you to stop." Stephen insisted and you happily obliged, pushing him again and again until he was high up into the air, "Alright stop!" 

You step back anticipating what Stephen was going to do, he swung his legs to keep his momentum before unexpectedly jumping out of the swing, "Oh my god!" You covered your mouth as Stephen landed on the ground, you rushed to be by his side and roll him to his back. His eyes were closed and you shook him, "Stephen!! Hey!! Wake up!! Stephen!!" 

After hearing your voice crack out of panic, Stephen couldn't help it anymore and burst out laughing at your reaction while he sat up. You frown at his unfunny prank and hit his arm, "That’s not funny!!" 

But that didn't stop Stephen from laughing, "Oh damn, I'm bleeding." He lifts his arm as he sees the blood streaming down his forearm. 

You release an exasperated sigh, "Will you stop laughing? You're hurt!"

"It's just nice to know that I'm still human." Stephen reaches for the crown of your head and shuffles it before getting up and walking towards the timber modular to take a seat on the steps. He removes his long sleeve, leaving him with only his white tee and hands you the piece of clothing.

"Stop worrying (Y/N), you're with future Doctor Strange. This little cut is not going to kill me." Stephen reassures you, "Now I'm going to tell you how to tie this on my arm so that it applies pressure on it alright?" 

"Okay," you nod and listen carefully to his instructions on how to tie a pressure bandage, without a pressure bandage. You tie it as tightly as you could and you look up when he stops telling you instructions. Your eyes lock for two seconds, and then you quickly look back down at his hand. He’s not looking at his hand at all now. He stares at you, and you do your best to ignore the way he’s breathing. You can’t tell if his breathing has sped up because of how close you're standing to him or because his arm was hurting. 

Two of the tips of his fingers are touching your knee. 

Three. 

You take another deep breath and focus your attention on completing his makeshift bandage. You can't.

The choice to do this is intentional. This is not a graze that occurred by chance. He is touching you because he desires to be touching you at this very moment. His hand slides behind your leg, and his fingers trace around your knee before coming to rest there. He leans forwards and rests his forehead on your shoulder as he sighs, and he uses his hand to exert pressure on your leg. You have no idea how you managed to stay standing up until now.

“(Y/N),” he whispers. He says your name painfully, so you pause what you're doing and wait for him to tell you it hurts. You wait for him to ask you to give him a minute. That’s why he’s touching you, isn’t it? Because you're hurting him? He doesn’t speak again, so you remove the pressure of your hand.

“I think it's stopped bleeding,” you say, uncertain. He doesn’t release you, so you don’t back away from him. His hand slowly begins to slide up the back of your leg, all the way up your thigh, around to your hip and up to your waist. 

Breathe, (Y/N). 

While maintaining his head-to-body contact with you, his fingers find a firm grip on your waist, and he draws you closer to him. Because you need to grab onto something to keep yourself from falling over, your hands naturally find their way to his shoulders. It's as if every muscle in your body suddenly forgot how to perform the function it was supposed to. You are still standing, and he is still sitting, but because he has pulled you so close, you are now positioned between his legs. He moves his face away from your shoulder in a very slow motion, but you are unable to look at him because he is making you so nervous that you cannot look at him.

You feel him tilt his face up to look at you, but your eyes are still closed. You squeeze them a little tighter. You don’t know why. You don’t know anything right now. You just know Stephen. And right now, you think Stephen wants to kiss you. And right now, you're pretty damn sure you want to kiss Stephen. 

His hand gently travels up the entirety of your back, eventually coming to rest on the base of your neck. It seems as though his hand has imprinted itself permanently on every part of you that he has touched. It seems like he's got his fingers at the base of your neck, and his mouth is no more than a half an inch away from your jaw. Because you are so close to him, you are unable to tell whether it is his lips or his breaths that are brushing against your skin. You feel like you're about to die, and you cannot think of a single thing in this entire universe that could be able to help you.

He tightens his grip on your neck . . . and then he kills you. In other words, Stephen kisses you. You can’t tell which, since you're pretty sure they would feel the same. His lips against yours feel like everything. Like living and dying and being reborn, all at the same time. 

Holy shit. He’s kissing me. 

You don't even remember how it happened, but his tongue is presently inside your mouth, gently caressing yours. However, you don't seem bothered by it at all. You are completely fine with this. He makes an attempt to rise, but his mouth continues to be on yours. He moves a few steps and twists you till the timber wall of the modular that is behind you takes the place of the hand that was on the back of your head. Now he’s touching your waist. 

Oh , my God, his mouth is so possessive. 

His fingers are splayed out again, digging into your hip. Holy hell, he just groaned. His hand moves from your waist and glides down to your leg. 

Kill me now. Just kill me now. He lifts your leg up and wraps it around him, and then he presses against you in such a beautiful way that you moan into his mouth. The passionate kiss is cut off all of a sudden. Why is he pulling away? Don’t stop, Stephen. 

He brings your leg to the ground while simultaneously hitting the wall next to your head with his palm as if he requires the support to remain standing. No, no, no. Keep going. What are you doing?!

You try to look at his eyes again, but they’re shut. They’re regretting this. Don’t open them, Stephen. I don’t want to see you regret this. 

While the two of you stand still and quietly, he places his forehead against the wall next to yours while still leaning against you. You are both attempting to get air back into your lungs. After taking a number of long, slow breaths, he pushed himself off the wall and turned around. It's a good thing you didn't see his eyes before he opened them, and the fact that he's turned his back on you right now prevents you from seeing the apparent regret on his face. You stuck to the wall. You think you'll be there forever. You're part of the timber now. That’s it. That’s all you are. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says. His voice is firm. Hard. Like metal. Like a sword. 

“I didn’t mind,” you say. Your voice isn’t firm. It’s like liquid. It evaporates. He wraps his wounded hand, then turns around and faces you. His eyes are firm like his voice was. They’re also hard, like metal. Like swords, slicing through the ropes that held whatever slender strands of hope you had for him and for you and for that kiss.

“Don’t let me do that again,” he says. You want him to do that again more than you want to be painting right now, but you don’t tell him that. You can’t speak, because his regret is caught in your throat, "Let's go home." He urges you with his head before walking ahead of you.

What. The. Hell?

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You are at a loss to determine how you feel about Stephen or about that kiss. If he didn't feel attracted to you, he wouldn't have even bothered to kiss you. Sadly, that is enough for you. You don't give a damn if he likes you or not. You're only concerned in piqued his interest in you at this point; you can win his love at a later time. You close your eyes and make another attempt to get some shut-eye, but it's clear that this is a fruitless endeavour. You roll over onto your side and turn to face the window in your room, which is covered with a curtain. You do this just in time to catch a glimpse of the light coming from Stephen's room. You decide to get up and grab your sketchbook because it's not like you're going to be able to sleep anyway.

You opened your window slightly to allow some fresh air in, the moon was placed perfectly between the mountains cooling the air to a perfect fall temperature. You take a seat back on the window nook, and almost immediately, the unanticipated sound of a guitar travels across the yard that divides your house and Stephen's residence. You peek out the window and see Stephen playing the guitar while sitting on his bed with his legs crossed and the instrument at an angle between his legs. He presses it to his heart and plays it while he keeps his eyes closed the entire time.

🎶I will be your friend, but love you in my soul~ I'll never feel another way, just thought I'd let you know You've knocked me to the floor since the moment I saw you~ Every minute, every hour, if you'll have me, I want you.🎶

When you observe him, you may find that you unconsciously hold your breath, and you may not even be aware that you are doing so until you find yourself struggling for air. He is that captivating to look at. Did he write that song? I certainly have not heard of it before.

Stephen has always had a deep appreciation for music. He has been playing the piano and the guitar for as long as he can remember. Despite the fact that he has never shown anyone his compositions, he enjoys the process of writing music. Even more recently, two years ago, he changed his major to music education. His plan is to be an elementary music teacher and when he told his father about his aspirations, Eugene said, “A life of mediocrity is a waste of a life,” A life of mediocrity. Hence why Stephen returned to study medicine because he sick of hearing it from his father. Stephen finds that more amusing than insulting, since his father seems to be the most dissatisfied person he's ever known. 

He looks at you in a way that suggests he can read your mind, and then a wry grin gradually spreads across his face. While he keeps looking at you, he never once stops the song he's singing. The eye contact causes you to flush, and as a result, you lower your arms, place your notebook back on your lap, and cast your gaze downward at the page. You despise the fact that he has just caught you staring at him with such intensity. It's not that you did anything wrong; it's just that it must have been strange for him to realise that you were watching him. You raise your head once more and see that he is still looking at you, but this time he is not smiling. You feel your heart start to race as a result of the way he is staring at you, so you quickly avert your gaze and concentrate on drawing in your sketchbook.

"Hey Stephen?" Victor peeped as he walked into Stephen’s room rubbing his eyes, "Can I sleep here?"

"Yeah, sure bud." Stephen gets up from his bed and sets his guitar down on the side while making space for Victor. He gets up and goes towards his window and writes something on a piece of paper.

Good night.

You squint your eyes and nod, mouthing, "You too."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ 

"Oh will you stop being such a worry wart? I'm fine, it was not even a severe heart attack." Lindsey scolds your mother as he tries to relax with Sasha in his arms on the comfortable looking hospital bed.

"A heart attack is a heart attack, Lindsey. You know mom had trauma when my father passed away because of a heart attack." You scold Lindsey on behalf of your mother.

"Okay fine, sorry but really, I'm fine. You guys heard what the Doctor said about the angiogram results! I got healthy arteries." 

"I'm going to become a heart doctor when I grow up and take care of you, Lindsey." Sasha snuggles herself closer to the man. 

"Oh kid. . . You know how to get an old man all teary." Lindsey leans his cheek on Sasha’s head after giving her a kiss on the forehead, "See, this is a blessing in disguise. Sasha now wants to be a Doctor because of me." 

Vanessa shakes her head and glances towards you, "You hear that? Your daughter wants to become a Doctor."

"It's good to have ambitions. . ." You simply reply.

"Anyways. . . Did you know the house next door is for sale?" Lindsey informs you.

"Oh really? That's good I guess?" You answer with your eyes pasted on your phone.

"Do you maybe want to buy it? So you guys have a place here?" Vanessa suggests and you stifle a laugh while shaking your head. 

"No." 

"Why not?" Sasha asks.

"Because we don't need another place, we don't even come here often."

"You can try, I mean Sasha’s been loving it here. She even asked Lindsey to take her out hiking at St. Claire Mountain." 

You slowly turn your head towards Sasha, eyeing her suspiciously, "Oh did she now?"

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

July 4 1999

You and Donna were trying to beat the heat of the afternoon by hanging out in their front yard under a large willow tree located in the front lawn. The time was around three in the afternoon. It has been a few days since the St. Claire University Fraternity moved into the house directly across the street from Donna's. She mentioned the fact that her boyfriend from a long distance, Robbie, works there, and as if it were meant to be, Eugene was placed in the Devonport PD, which is the reason why they moved here.

After the night that Stephen kissed you, you didn't know how to act normally with him anymore, and the fact that he promptly displayed his regret that night, you took that personally after thinking about it every time you went to bed. Maybe he realised he saw you as a little sister, that's why he regretted it.

"You see that, dark brown haired boy?" Donna gives you a gentle tap on the side of the arm and points with her eyes while she is lowering the sunglasses she was wearing. When you turned your head to look, you noticed that the members of the fraternity were assisting one another with the cleaning of the house.

"That's Robbie." She lightly squeals and discreetly waves at her boyfriend.

"Does your family know?" You look around and lean close because Stephen was out helping his mother tend to her plants. 

"No, only you—So don't mention anything alright?" 

Stephen has been glancing a couple of times towards your direction because: 

1.) You and Donna haven't stopped giggling since those boys next door got out to work around their frat house. 

2.) He can't believe you're out with his sister wearing nothing but your light green satin bathing shorts and bikini top. 

3.) The fact you haven't spoken to him after he kissed you and instantly regretted it when in truth he regrets nothing.

Two of the college boys decided to cross the road to introduce themselves, and both of them were attractive young men. They didn't dress sloppy like the typical jocks that Stephen gets into fights with at his university; instead, they wore nice clothes.

"Good afternoon, ladies." Robbie pulls out a charming smile and winks at his girlfriend, "You must be (Y/N), Donna has told me all about you. I'm Robbie and this is my friend, Sebastian." Robbie stretches an arm out and you accept his hand shake.

"Nice to meet you, Robbie." You smiled and then took Sebastian's hand to shake it as well.

"No way, are you the (Y/N)? Swan on Ice?" Sebastian's eyes widened as he recognized you from watching the winter olympics.

Robbie furrows his brows from confusion and takes a look at you again, "Oh wow! It is you! Congratulations on bringing the gold medal home."

"Thank you—I didn’t know people even knew me. . .I mean Donna didn't." You chuckle.

"Well. . . I just pretended I didn't because I'm not sure if you’re comfortable with being recognized." She shrugs and bats her eyes innocently.

"Mind if I have a seat?" Sebastian points at the spot on the grass beside you when Stephen sprayed his hose deliberately towards the two younger males, causing them to jump out of the way while you and Donna scream for getting wet.

"Oops sorry, I think I left that spot of grass right there." Stephen sprays the hose again on purpose until the boys have backed off enough to the cemented sidewalk. 

"What the hell Stephen?!" Donna snaps and glares at her brother for being a cockblocker. 

"Are you girls lost? Because last time I checked, our pool is in the backyard. Why don't you go out back instead of showcasing yourselves in the whole neighbourhood? It's inappropriate." Stephen says sternly, almost sounding quite pissed off. Donna harrumphs and takes her books and water bottle, "I'm talking to you as well." Stephen looks at you when you don't get up soon enough for his liking. 

You heaved a sigh to follow Donna to their backyard.

"See ya later, (Y/N)!" Sebastian sends you a big wave and Stephen sprays him with water again and waves him off to go back to his house, "Dude!"

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[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part. 28

This has been a hell of a chapter to write so PLS comment or like if you liked it!

MASTERLIST

taglist: @crimsonincursive

28. I stand with the Mockingjay

Three days pass and nothing changes. President Snow is being captured in a palace with a beautiful garden, surrounded by his beloved roses and you can’t help but think that Alma Coin is trying to make an example out of it. Presidents should be treated with kindness and respect even after being captured. You can torture civils and guards if you want, but not the President. It’s just a coincidence that she is a president. 

Katniss is always with Prim, she reads her stories and she sings for her, while her mother is catatonic again, staring at the wall for hours. You sometimes talk to Katniss, but you can sense she is desperate, she stares at her sisters for hours and hours and she doesn’t talk to Gale Hawthorne anymore, which means she knows something about the theory about Snow and Coin.

Peeta is a little better. He has to continue the therapy and he spends an awful lot of time thinking he is in the Capitol being tortured, but now he knows that he loves the Mockingjay, he knows he is not in danger anymore and he even remembers some things.

He is a patient of Doctor Aurelius too, but today she wants to see you.

«So, how's it going today? Do you want to tell me something?»

«The nightmares are a little better.» You can tell her that. You have to deny all the other things, because she is on Alma Coin’s payroll and you may like her but you definitely don’t trust her. «And when I wake up Haymitch helps me.»

«Haymitch is your boyfriend.» She asks, but you don’t know why. She knows him, she’s seen you with him.

«Yeah.» You answer her nonetheless, because it’s the polite thing to do. And he hates the term, by the way. He keeps saying he is too old to be anyone’s “boyfriend” and “partner” is more than okay.

«He is a victor too.» She points out, maybe in a sense that tells you “He needs to be helped too”. You know it, every victor should be in therapy, but he in particular is a stubborn mule. Maybe after all this mess you will insist.

«He was my mentor. Like Annie and Finnick. And we fell in love. Are you going to tell me he is not right for me?»

«No, Daisy. You know what it’s right for you. I was just wondering if you thought about what we talked about last time.» 

You thought she wanted to ask you only about the murder, and it would’ve made sense, but Dr. Aurelius wants to know about your life, so you told her about Portia’s offer and how it makes you feel. 

It felt safer than talking about Caius or Clark, at the beginning. 

«He doesn’t know that. It’s not exactly a priority right now.»

«And you still want to go to learn from Portia?» 

«Yeah I mean, I like clothes very much. I like making clothes, you have that perfect image in your head and then you try to sketch it and in the paper it’s not sure, but then you cut the fabric and you sew and you embroidery… and it’s yours. It’s exactly how you wanted and you can have it because you did it. It’s fantastic.» You explain, quickly full with enthusiasm. 

Since you were little you’ve done dresses for your doll, Olivia, with little pieces of fabrics that Holly couldn’t use anymore. She wanted you to learn, because in the district life is hard if you don’t know how to do things yourself. She made you learn how to clean, how to cook, how to hunt (that’s not something you want to do) and a lot of other skills but you really enjoy sewing, you’ve always done it even when it wasn’t a necessity anymore. You used to do it for your friends and for their dolls, when they had them. 

«But you don’t want to stay away from Haymitch.»

You just shake your head, aware this is not right, it’s a person, not an addiction. But you don’t think you would be happy without him. «He hates the Capitol.»

«What about District One or Two? They are very close to Capitol City, so you can take the train everyday.» 

This is actually a good idea. An idea that could save the day, if you survive the last straw of the revolution.

You go out of the psychologist with a great headache and you decide you need to be in your room. Your room is not even yours anymore, you spend all your time at Haymitch’s room or the hospital and Effie is always there with Portia. And here you find her, alone, so you open your arms and you cuddle against her. 

«Friend.» You request with a little pout. Effie and Haymitch can’t resist a pout or big eyes. Then again you always want to snuggle against them and they humour you more times than not, so perhaps they just like to spoil you a little. Their last tribute.

«Of course!» She pats your head. You can only imagine the state of your hair right now. «Is everything okay? Is it Little Prim?» 

«No, she is stable. I just missed you.» You get to be whiny and spoiled with her. When you are with Haymitch he is your partner, so you can ask for a cuddle but you also have to prove to him that you are independent, and if you would try to act like this with Holly she would scream to you to stop it. Effie is different, she enjoys being the big sister and you get to have a holiday from being the strong one all the time.

«Haymitch told me he loves me.» You confess after a while. You don’t even know if you can say that to her, it feels a little like cheating. You don’t completely get people like Haymitch or Perla, so private. When you are happy you want to share it with the world, you want to scream it to everybody and you are glad to hear it from others.

«That’s wonderful news!» She hugs you again. «In times like this I-»

She can’t end the sentence, because two guards burst into the room. The door was closed, so they had a passepartout. They could have entered any time, you realise with a shiver down your spine. District Thirteen is a horrible place. 

«Miss Trinket, President Coin requested your presence for an interrogation.» The guard orders, and you watch her in disbelief. For an interrogation? About what? Effie has been nothing but perfect in this dreadful district since the moment you arrived. Much more perfect and well behaved than you.

«Miss Trinket has immunity.» You get up, shielding Effie with your body. Effie is taller than you, but she is so frightened and you, well, you did the Hunger Games, you are strong. The guards are not impressed, though.

«Not anymore.» Is the only answer you get. 

It makes sense. You got arrested, you don’t have immunity anymore, let alone give it to other people. 

Still, Effie was part of the revolution. Maybe not from the start, but she was. She was the one who said to you to hold on during the Games, she was aware of the plan and she is Cinna’s friend, she is not an enemy. She was a face of the Hunger Games publicly of course, being an escort for Twelve, but so was Plutarch being a Gamemaker.

You try to take their hands off of her, but they immediately out strong you and you see this scared, afraid woman in a grey jumpsuit taken away from you.

No, no, no, not Effie.

«Let her go, she didn’t do anything!» You scream.

«It’s just an interrogation.» The guard tells you, but you don’t believe him. If you let her go you will never see her again, and she doesn’t even have a bracelet.

«She is part of the revolution!»

Just for a moment you think you will hurt that man, but the blonde woman sees the glimpse in your eyes and stops you before you could do anything you would regret.

«Find Katniss or someone who could help us.» She instructs you, so calm despite the situation.

Not Effie. Not again.

You run as fast as you can, but you don’t know who to run to.

It’s Perla who finds you before you could catch her, though. She is still in bad shape and she has bruises all over her body, but she is up.

«They have Cinna.» She pants.

«Cinna?» You ask, worried.

«All the people from Capitol City. Cinna, Portia. Cinna was with me, I was about to leave the hospital and they took him.» She has trouble breathing, her face is so red you want to let her sit down, but you have more urgent problems now.

«They have Effie too.» 

«It doesn’t make any sense! Cinna basically started the revolution! Portia and Effie were part of it. I don’t understand.» She is panicking. You start to think about who you could call for help, because you have no idea. The victors have little power over Coin, and Plutarch never listened to you one day in his life.

You rush into Haymitch’s room, but he is not there, so you try to go into the hospital room to see Finnick, but he has vanished. You don’t get it, you don’t understand and you try not to be scared, but there is no chance Haymitch would have gone without telling you.

He doesn’t know about Effie, you reason. He loves Effie, she is his friend. He will help you.

If he is somewhere. What if they took him too? 

You go to the hospital again, thinking that maybe Finnick and Lora are there, but you only find Mags.

«Mags!»

When you spot the old woman in the hospital you are so relieved. She is still there. The grandmother with grey hair and a sweet smile, who has been in the hospital since she was retrieved. You nearly forgot about her.

Then you remember she doesn’t talk and she barely remembers you.

«Where are all the victors? Where is Finnick?»

She gestures something, but you are too on the verge to understand anything. Fortunately for you, Perla is more intelligent than that.

«They are in a room with President Coin?» She asks, and finally Mags nods.

Snow is captured and the victors are in a room with Coin, something big is going on.

Finally they open the door and all the victor go out. Finnick and Annie storm out of the room so quickly they practically bump into you, and Peeta looks at everyone with sad and judging eyes. When Katniss passes next to you she doesn’t even see you. Perla decides to follow Finnick, and you kinda think it’s the better choice instead of Haymitch, but you have loyalty to him.

Johanna Mason eyes you with a smirk. You don’t know what she has to laugh about. You don’t like Johanna very much, it’s like she brings trouble, and the only times she met you she always smiled at you kinda cruelly. The dark haired girl has been through hell like you, but she’s definitely not your favourite victor. 

Haymitch is the last to exit. His face is blank, but you can sense he is not right and his hands are trembling. He looks like he wants to drink so badly you just want to hug him forever and take him away from this madness. 

«Haymitch!» You call him, and you jump into his arms for comfort. «They took Effie.»

Now everything will be okay. The victors love Effie. They will rescue her one way or another, Haymitch and Finnick always know what to do.

«They did what?» He wants to know, and he is shocked. If he doesn’t know about the imprisonment they didn’t talk about it in the room.

«They took Effie for an interrogation.» You say again. «We have to go, we have to save her. They wanted information from her.» 

«Good.» Johanna gets in the conversation. «She is Capitol.»

«She is part of the Revolution.» You snarl. You almost assaulted a guard before, you can hit a victor now. Actually you want to punch a victor now, a victor like Johanna Mason from District Seven, but you are adult enough to stop yourself. 

«Once a Capitol, always a Capitol.» She talks back. Haymitch must see your expression, because he takes your hand.

You don’t handle well violence under stress.

«Johanna.» Haymitch growls. «Stop it.»

«Oh don’t be such a hypocrite! You voted with us.» The District 7 Victor reveals, and you don’t get it. There was a votation in the room? Is that why Finnick and Annie were so upset with everybody?

«What did you vote for?» You have a bad, bad feeling.

«I’ll explain in my room.» He tries to cut it off, but the woman interrupts his words again with a satisfied grin.

«New Hunger Games.» Johanna explains taking his place. «With Capitol kids.»

New Hunger Games. New… it’s not possible. Coin really thought it was a good idea. Kids from the Capitol being reaped. The Games, the television, the arena. Memories creep in your mind and you have to close your mouth with your hand, free from your boyfriend’s. 

«W-what?» You barely manage to talk. 

This is not possible, this is not true. The Games are part of your nightmares. They are all the victor’s nightmares. They were supposed to end forever.

«Sweetheart…» He searches for your eyes, but you don’t see anything. 

«This is not true. Haymitch would never.» You look at him. «You didn’t vote yes, right?» 

Haymitch is many things, he is an addict, he is rude, he is not gentle and he is rough more times than not, but he is not cruel. He is not one for vengeance on innocent people, and they are innocent people.

You are District Twelve by luck, or the leaking of it. If you grew up in the Capitol, that wouldn’t have made you a bad person. Yes, maybe a spoiled one, but not bad. Not all Capitol citizens are pro games. Not everyone is rich. 

And kids. Kids the same age Snow bombed. Or Coin bombed. Kids the same age you teached for. 

«It’s complicated.»

«Not really. Did you vote yes?» You start to shiver. Your world is collapsing. In these months the war was upon you and you were about to die, but Haymitch was a certainty. A good man. A man of honour. The man you are in love with.

«…Yes.» He sighs.

He tries to hug you, but you take a step back. His touch is weird now, this is not your Haymitch. «Don’t you dare.» You spat. 

Your head is spinning. Other blood, another game, another television show. Nothing is changing from this revolution, just the name of the tyrant. 

«Sweetheart, please.»

«Kids, Haymitch! Cinna’s family. Effie’s family. They are with us. Capitol doesn’t mean Snow… how is that fair?» Ivy is a Capitol kid, you want to scream. The sweet girl you saved, the sweet girl he saved.

«You have to understand-»

You slap his hand because he wants to stroke your cheek and right now you can’t handle his touch. «I don’t have to do anything! Now we save Effie. Then we can discuss.»

It takes hours to finally make them release Cinna and Portia. Coin has no leverage against them, they are part of the revolution since the beginning, and the President just wants to get them out of the way because she wants the Capitol to be the enemy. 

Effie has to stay in the cell for now, for “dubious connections”, but you can pay her a visit. Dubious connection, you don’t have any clue on what it means. Maybe her parents are on Capitol side, or her friends from her past life. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to keep Haymitch and you on track, because she knows you love her.

The room is little and grey, without any window. It’s claustrophobic, tiny, you can’t live in a place like this for more than two hours without screaming. No air whatsoever. There is a - grey - bed and a bucket you really don’t want to know what is used for.

«Darling girl.» She approaches you and she is trying to smile, but you can see she is frightened. 

She is not a fighter. She is a TV host. An escort. Yes, she reaped the names of the kids, but she is not a mastermind, she doesn’t have a great plan, and she is an active part of the revolution you morons.

«I’ll take you out of here.» You promise her, reaching for her hand. She is cold, and you didn’t think about bringing her blankets. 

«You are in danger too.»

«I don’t care, Effie. You will be free.» You smile through the tears. «You have to host me in Capitol City, okay?»

You are scared too. If the new games are real nothing reassures you Coin won’t torture her to get informations or kill her like she is about to do with President Snow. 

«Okay.» She reassures you. «I promise.»

«Good, a promise is always good. You promised. I promised I would outlive the Games and I did it. Don’t break the promise, Effie.»

You hug a little more, until a guard tells you to exit. When you go out of the room you start to walk really fast, because Haymitch is behind you.

«If you just-» He begins, but you are furious this time. No amount of kisses and caresses will fix this.

«If I just what?» You turn around and face him with fire in your eyes. «And what? Your precious mockingjay said yes and you followed her?» This is mean. Katniss is a broken child herself but damn it, she should know better. You are angry at her too. Prim is the same age as Capitol kids. 

«…Yes, but-»

«Kids, Haymitch! Capitol kids are still kids!» You shout, and you don’t care if all the district watches you. You are on a black list anyway, not really beloved by Thirteen. You are definitely the next after Effie. 

«Don’t scream, it’s dangerous.» He whispers and takes your shoulders, but you scoff him away.

«I don’t give a flying fuck! You condemned kids. There will be a new mentor. A new you. A new Effie and a new me, but maybe she will be Prim’s age! Are you ready for it? You will watch it on television, I bet it will be mandatory.»

«Look at me.» He takes your wrist and dear heavens you are about to slap him. «Do you trust me?»

«I trusted you.» You reveal. You trusted him with your life, and you still trust him that he thinks he is doing the right thing, but if he’s doing it to save Katniss he is trading a child for a child. 

«Remember who the real enemy is, Daisy.» He murmurs. 

Coin. He wants to do something about the Coin situation. He probably knows everyone is in danger as long as she is in power. 

Still, he said yes. The risk is too high. If whatever the plan is, if the plan fails, the “yes” will still be active and children will be reaped again. Children are not a price to pay. Children are the spark for the revolution. You don’t sacrifice children if you are not Snow or Coin. 

«You still said yes.» You whisper, trying really hard not to cry. «Are you one hundred percent certain of what you are doing?» 

He is about to lie, you see it on his face, but he closes his eyes. «No. Not one hundred percent.»

So children are a risk he is willing to take. «If anything happens, it’s on you.»

#bad feeling #haymitch x fem!reader #woody harrelson #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x reader #the hunger games #haymitch imagine #haymitch abernathy #fanfiction #daisy pinecone #princess daisy #perla #lora #finnick odair #mags thg #katniss everdeen #thg series #thg fanfiction #hunger games #thg #peeta mellark #mockingjay #thg haymitch #effie trinket

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Gitta Lindemann - Meine Fensterplätze

Gitta Lindemann published her first book recently, in it she talks about the end of the GDR, her husband and her son Till. Article from Nordkurier.de 2023-10-23

googly translated

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Rammstein singer's mother also writes a declaration of love to her son

It took Gitta Lindemann more than 80 years of life to publish her first book. In it, the former culture editor also writes about her famous son Till.

Gitta Lindemann belongs to an artistically diverse family. Her former husband, Werner Lindemann (1926-1993), was one of the most famous poets in the GDR . His poems for children were part of school reading at the time. The Lindemanns' son also writes impressive poems. Till Lindemann made a name for himself above all as the singer and frontman of the band Rammstein .

With Radio GDR since 1969

Gitta Lindemann was also always connected to culture through her career. After studying journalism in Leipzig, she worked for Radio DDR from 1969, including in the Neubrandenburg studio , for the popular Urlaubwelle in Rostock and for NDR from 1992. She played a key role in developing culture-oriented formats such as “Literati in Cross-Examination” (1987), the NDR Literature Café and “Kunstkaten”, which is still broadcast today.

But Gitta Lindemann has also written literary texts herself since the 1980s, which have now been published in the volume “My Window Seats”. It is the first book published by the author, who was born in Dresden in 1939. An apt title, as Gitta Lindemann takes the addressee to her window seat and opens up her individual view of the world to the reader.

Her favorite window seat was the view of the garden from the house in Drispeth, Mecklenburg, which the Lindemanns had purchased as a holiday home. “Here I see orderly life, how it arises, blossoms, passes away and reinvents itself again and again,” she noted on December 25, 1991.

Diary describes fears of the end of the GDR

The diary, which begins at the beginning of May 1990 and runs until January 2, 1992, forms the heart of the volume. Many former GDR citizens will likely find themselves here, torn between hope and hopelessness in the “wild” years between the fall of 1989 and the mid-1990s.

First the run-down SED dictatorship was swept away and just a few months later tens of thousands of East Germans were at rock bottom when it became clear that they would lose their jobs. “The defeated go to the victor,” wrote Gitta Lindemann bitterly in June 1991 in connection with the liquidation of the orchestra in Schwerin and the tire factory in Neubrandenburg.

“The sell-out of a country must be seen”

She too is gripped by fears for the future. From the beginning of 1990 onwards, she always expected to lose her job as a journalist from the GDR. At the same time, she describes exactly the upheavals a few months before German unification, such as the conquest of department stores by the new western goods before the introduction of the D-Mark: “The sell-out of a country can be seen. Dissolution of an impoverished household. The new residents have already brought the furniture: cans and blouses and T-shirts and yoghurt and coffee and Rama and people are running. I as well."

Especially in times like these, when East and West intellectuals are fighting for the sovereignty of interpreting the GDR more than 30 years after the fall, authentic memories like those offered by Gitta Lindemann are incredibly valuable.

Granddaughter always gives strength

Only to a diary can you trust honest, hard confessions: “I've always tried to live in an ivory tower, but a sea of ​​shit is hitting its walls.” In addition to the struggles of German-German integration, it was the Gulf War at the beginning of 1991 most of us have erased from our memories in view of other conflicts, but which Gitta Lindemann's diary brings back to mind.

In these times of upheaval, she is continually motivated and strengthened by her granddaughter Nele's honest, naive approach to life: "If the GDR no longer exists, will we have to move?"

Sensitive lines about her husband's death

In recent years, Gitta Lindemann has written a number of sad, sensitive texts that describe topics such as loneliness, illness and death, of which much of it hardly seems alienated.

Here she often touches the soul, for example when she describes the last hours of her husband's life, from whom she lived apart but to whom she was so close: “We washed and dressed you. Your son tapped you on the chest - hey old man, he said, very despondent and we both cried. I couldn't watch them carry you away, so I cowardly sneaked into the garden."

Till Lindemann as family representative

Speaking of son, speaking of Till Lindemann. With “Declaration of Love to My Son,” the mother dedicates her own text to him, which shows the often martial-looking Rammstein frontman from his sensitive side, as a “family guardian” who picked up his grandmother in a wheelchair for Christmas dinner and fed her, for whom Mecklenburg is his home and “source of strength”. "If I didn't happen to be his mother, I would like to be friends with this man."

Gitta Lindemann: My window seats. With pictures by Rosa Loy and an interview between the author and the German scholar Carsten Gansel. Berlin: Okapi Verlag, 2023. 287 pages, 22 euros

#gitta lindemann #till lindemann #mother and son

[gilbirda]

Friendly neighborhood vigilante. Chapter 10

BatmanxDP crossover. JasonxJazz

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Based on this post

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“So, you have a date or something?”

Jazz was a bit tired today, but at least she managed to sleep more than four hours. That meant that she had enough energy to smile at the nurse, Christine, who thought she had a right to know about her private life. She witnessed Jason dropping her off one time, and had been asking for updates since.

“Yes,” she swallowed the urge to growl. “And it’s none of your business.”

Jazz continued walking, clipboard in hand, checking on each of her patients. She dealt with most of the considered ‘low risk’ - that is, those that didn’t require being bound 24/7. Still she had to be followed by an assistant, Christine, and a guard. Just in case.

“Doctor!” A voice she was glad to hear called for her. She turned, finding Edward Nashton watching her from the barred window of his door. “Just the lady I wanted to see!”

Jazz approached him, ignoring the guards’ protest and Christine’s gasp. Jazz was famous for disregarding protocol and getting closer to dangerous inmates. Many wondered if she had a death wish. Truly she just knew that whatever they threw at her wouldn’t be the worst that happened to her.

“Ed! How are we today?”

He got serious all of the sudden, his eyes going back to the retreating Christine and the tense guard.

“Something is going to happen,” he whispered.

“I see!” She caught on immediately. “Is there anything I can do?” She shuffled on her feet a little, placing her body between the others and the man.

“Hide. It’s something big. There have been talks of a breakout but I didn’t know when it was going to happen until right now,” he gave her a rare gentle smile. “You are a smart one, Doctor. Wouldn’t like to see your brains splattered on the wall.”

Coming from him, that was such a compliment.

“I’ll take note of that and talk to the chief about, sounds good?”

“Don’t,” he tried to get closer, but only managed to press himself harder to the bars. “Don’t tell anybody.”

She nodded. Information was pricey in the Asylum and everything came with a cost. Why was Edward telling her for free, she didn’t know, but she appreciated it.

“Understood. Take care, Eddy.”

“See you around, doc.” By his little smile, he was probably going to escape during the confusion.

Jazz wished she could do more. Really.

Her last proposal for a podcast made by inmates and for inmates had been rejected, again, even after making revisions. Even after getting Ivy’s agreement to behave in writing. Even after spending hours convincing Victor Fries that people would be interested in a science show.

Management in that place just didn’t care. She still had her powerpoints and her lists, but who would want to see them? If only someone with the power to change this place stopped and listened, she was sure something would change. Who knows, maybe even lower the number of attempted escapes.

Sometimes she wanted to burn the place down too, and didn’t blame her patients at all.

She was about to end her rounds for the day before going into the first scheduled therapy session, when the alarms started ringing.

***

“I already said I’m sorry! What else do you want from me!”

“For starters, I would like to know why the fuck are you in my apartment again.” Jason didn’t look up from his food, trying his best to ignore his brother lounging on his couch.

“I wanted to help.”

This made him look up. “Help with what?”

“With what you are going to wear tonight, of course!”

Jason put his fork down, trying to process his words. “You are not helping me with anything. Get out of my apartment.”

“I want to! I owe you after what happened last night.”

“Is not me who you have to apologize to, Dickolas. Jazz was a bit spooked.”

“I’m sorry! I thought it was your window!” The older man lifted his arms dramatically, glaring at the ceiling. “Your girlfriend has a mean swing, though.”

“I’ll make sure she knows,” he resumed eating, not really interested in the conversation. “Now get out of here.”

“I still want to help you find something nice to wear.” Dick stood from the sofa, wincing a little.

His head was still sore from last night, and that gave Jason a certain amount of satisfaction. After all, he had a bad time when he realized two important facts:

One, Jazz had seen too much. He had been so carried away by the amusement of seeing Dick passed out on his girlfriend’s shoulders, that he forgot he was half suited for the night. His weapons were everywhere, his helmet by the sofa and he already had finished strapping his boots and the knee pads. It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots about his identity.

Two, Dick had called him by his name. In front of her. He could have gotten away with her learning his identity, no problem - well, that’s a lie, he would have a lot of problems, but panicking wasn’t his style -; but the connection between him and the bats was already made and he knew that Jazz was smart and could pull the thread and find out everything sooner or later.

Also, as an extra, he had forgotten to put on a shirt. He wasn’t shy about his body, but the scary amount of scars would be difficult to explain. Especially the autopsy one he carried since his resurrection.

She got close, close enough to kiss him on the cheek, so she must have seen. She was very observant, she must have. It was a matter of time before she asked questions he couldn’t answer.

“Please tell me you have more stuff than muscle shirts and leather jackets.” The older man said as he started walking towards the hallway.

“Hell no,” Jason stuffed his mouth with what was left of his pasta and ran behind his brother, who made a beeline to his room. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

“Did you really seduce her with these?” Dick asked as he opened his closet, indeed revealing a series of black and white shirts and leather jackets.

“I didn’t seduce-”

“Maybe she is really into leather jackets. Hm.”

“Please, go away.��

Dick ignored him, humming to himself as he shuffled around the jackets, looking for something. “I mean, she must be into the bad boy aesthetic, so we can play with that.”

“I don’t know how you think you can ‘help’ when your own fashion sense is atrocious.”

Jason chose to just sit on his bed and let the chaos flow. He would reject everything Dick suggested and the man would eventually leave. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do until Jazz came back from work and changed for their dinner date.

Dick looked down at his jeans and Nightwing crop top he made himself. “You are just jealous I can pull off anything.”

“Discowing was a crime against fashion.”

“Excuse you-”

“You wore a mullet.”

“And it was-”

This time, he was interrupted by his ringing phone. It wasn’t a normal phone call - the screen was red and flashed with the alert signal that was activated when there was a vigilante-related emergency.

Jason’s phone started ringing, but this was a normal phone call from a number he thought he had blocked. He knew what he would hear before he even answered.

“Major Arkham breakout,” Bruce’s voice betrayed nothing. “All hands on deck. Will you help us?”

Why would the old man call himself after so long using Dick as an intermediate, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. He only had one question.

“Any casualties?”

Bruce breathed when he heard his voice, but kept the professionalism.

“Unknown. Nightwing and Batgirl are deployed to help with search and rescue.” There was a slight pause. “Will you help us?”

Jason looked up, but his brother had already left, knowing that a second of hesitation would be the difference between losing a life or not. Dick could be as airheaded and annoying as it gets, but he was a good hero.

Not that he would ever say that to his face.

“Yeah. Count me in.”

***

Jazz walked down the Arkham hallways, baseball bat in hand. She kept one in her locker just for shit like this. She knew, she just knew it was a matter of time before one of the inmates pulled something like this. It was a miracle that nothing happened while she was in the Asylum since she started working there a few months ago.

For now she was focused on getting out of the hospital in one piece. She was no hero, and it’s been a while since she had to fight anybody, so she wasn’t that confident in her abilities. Also, she was not used to fighting humans - and these humans probably had guns, she knew. Despite all her liminality, her strength and her quick healing, she could still die like any other mortal.

She didn’t want to die.

Jazz felt their presence before she saw the men, but fortunately they didn’t see her with the lights turned off as they were (the first thing that went out was the power, of course).

A few well placed swings and the armed men were down. She took their guns and threw them into an empty cell, closing the door. Then she threw the thugs into another empty cell and closed the door, memorizing the cell number to tell the police so they could find these men. They were thugs, but she wasn’t going to leave them to die.

Jazz was tempted to sweep the floors, but again, she wasn’t a hero. Heroes would come sooner or later, and she wondered which bat or bird would arrive to help evacuate and rescue the Arkham staff.

Batgirl for sure, Jazz started guessing in her head, she was famous for interacting with civilians and the public loved her.

“Hello?”

She turned to find a very bright flash of light directed at her. On instinct, she closed her eyes and covered her face, knowing they would flash like a cat’s if she let them open.

“Oh good,” Nightwing sighed and whispered, “she’s safe.”

Nightwing was here?

“I’ll text him.” Another person was there. A young woman.

“Please? The light?” Jazz frowned behind her hand.

“Sorry,” Nightwing pointed the flashlight to somewhere else. Just to be careful, Jazz kept her gaze fixed on the floor. If they asked, she could say she was afraid of the dark or something. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m just a bit disoriented.” A lie, but she had to play the damsel in distress and get out of here before she revealed something inhuman about her.

“Have you seen anybody else on this floor?” The other voice asked.

“Cell five-oh-two, some dudes tried to attack me and I managed to lock them there.” Not a lie, but a half truth that let her get away without explaining how she did it. “Their guns are in the next cell.”

She heard a buzzing sound and a distant snap, and then the lights were back. The bright fluorescents gave her a bit of a headache after so long in the dark, but she blinked the pain away and finally looked up.

Indeed, Batgirl was there. She was already checking the cells she instructed and tying up the unconscious thugs. Nightwing was looking at her baseball bat.

“I’m not going to hit you.”

Batgirl hollered, but continued her task.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “I picked the wrong window.”

Probably was going to visit Jay. Why? She wasn’t sure yet.

“Apology accepted,” she hoped her smile seemed genuine and totally not like was hiding she knew who his friend was behind the mask. Helmet? She had to workshop that a bit.

“We could take a commemorative selfie!” Batgirl bounced back when she was done with the thugs. “Y’know, to match the other photo.”

“Jay sent those to you?”

Nightwing sighed. “He sent it to the group chat with everybody.”

Jazz didn’t know how to feel. A photo of her in probably one of her worst looks was shared in the Gotham’s vigilantes’ group chat. Whatever, this is what she got for dating one of them.

Also, these people were really awful at the whole ‘secret identity’ thing. Or did they assume Jay already told her?

“Sure,” she nodded. An idea crossed her mind and she said: “Actually, that’s a good idea. My boyfriend must be worried sick with the news and I haven’t felt safe enough to text him yet.”

Something lit in their faces when she said that, and despite a situation going on, both vigilantes walked up to her to take the photo. First they did a few with her phone - a normal one, and another doing silly faces. Then Batgirl pulled her own phone from somewhere, thankfully she had landscapes of Gotham as her lock screen and nothing that could give away her identity, and they did a few more. At least this time Jazz saw she looked decent enough, given the situation, and verbally agreed for the photo to be sent to the group chat.

Whatever. She was on this boat now, apparently. Date one vigilante and the rest will soon follow.

At least, for the moment, she had Jay for herself. Until she ‘officially’ knew the secret, that is.

Or until they learned hers.

***

It was getting late, but Jazz was still up, waiting. She checked her phone again, re reading her conversation with Jason and his careful words about something coming up and not being able to check on her just yet, but that he was glad she was fine. Nothing about canceling the date or about how she managed to get a selfie with the vigilantes, of course.

She wondered if he was assuming she knew, too. Was that how this was going to go down? Act like she didn’t see anything and he acts like she already knows?

Jazz sighed. At least Danny tried to hide his secret identity. Unbelievable, a fourteen year old teenager hid better than a grown ass man.

She was brought out of her musings by a tap on her window - someone was there. She turned on a reading lamp she had next to the couch and once her eyes adjusted to the light she looked at the window.

It wasn’t Jason, but that she already knew. He would have just gotten in on his own, not needing an invitation.

She opened her living room window to the pale face of yet another vigilante, one she didn’t expect to ever meet.

“Red Robin.”

“Hi. I’m sorry, this isn’t a social call,” his smile was shaky. “I’ve heard you are a doctor?”

Indeed, one of his hands was on his side, trying to put pressure on a bleeding wound.

“Not that kind of doctor, but I can help you,” she moved away to let him inside, hands ready in case he needed help. Red Robin jumped in without much trouble, but slumped to the floor the moment he was safely in. “What happened?”

“Croc got a lucky hit. Did you know he has spikes in his tail?”

Jazz chuckled, running to the bathroom to fetch her first aid kit. The big one where she had everything she could need and more.

“Not that I’m going to kick you out or anything, but why are you here?” She asked, feeling surprisingly calm despite being in the presence of her current favorite vigilante, who was bleeding out at an alarming rate on her floor. “Don’t you have, like, better options?”

“My other options were either too far or unavailable.” He didn’t elaborate on that, and she let him. This one took the whole hidden identity seriously, maybe Jason could learn a thing or two. “And I heard in the vigilante grapevine you took care of Hood, so,” he shrugged.

“First of all, that was just a scratch and you look like you have a foot in your grave,” she bit her lip to not laugh at her pun. Danny would be proud. “Can you move to the table?”

“Sure.” He wobbled towards the table and slumped onto a chair, not caring about sitting on his cape.

“Can you take the suit off?

“Is this how you treat all the vigilantes or is it only to make me feel special?” He asked, his face paling more by the minute, but removed his belt and opened the suit enough to let her see the deep cuts on his side.

Why was Red Robin giving nervous looks to her opened window, she didn’t know; but he was tense and wary, ready to jump.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” She tried to speak softly, but the cuts looked bad under her kitchen lights and it kind of put her on emergency mode.

“Is not you I’m worried about,” he gave another look at the window before turning to look at her with masked eyes. Up close it was kind of creepy. “This is Hood’s territory.”

Made sense. He was the one she saw the most around there.

“And?”

“He’ll kill me, or try again, if he sees me here.”

Okay, Jazz was not going to comment on that ‘again’ part, but that sounded worrying.

“This is going to sting a little.”

“Go for it.”

The hero didn’t flinch or make a sound when she poured antiseptic on the wound and patted it with a clean gauze. It was worse than what it looked like at first.

“You’ll need stitches.” At his short nod she went to get her nitrile gloves, more gauze, thread and a needle. “He won’t kill you, I promise.”

Red Robin chuckled nervously. “You don’t know him like we do, Jazz.”

She stopped, realizing that, indeed, she didn’t know Jason like they did. Nightwing knew who he was out of the mask and they acted like they went way back. Who’s to say that it wouldn’t be the same with the other vigilantes?

She felt kind of dumb for thinking she knew him better after only going on silly dates for a few weeks. She knew nothing. Who was she, compared to these people? He probably had to hide so much from himself. Did she really know the real Jason?

“If you are so sure he would kill you if he sees you here, why risk it?” Jazz decided to ignore her insecurities and started working on the stitches, her body remembering the practice in med school. They weren’t the best but they would hold just fine.

“Because he likes you.”

She stopped again, looking up at him. “What.”

“If he comes to kill me I’ll just hide behind you.”

Honestly Jazz wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. Again, she wondered if the bats assumed she already knew about Jason’s identity, because there was no way in Hell that Red Robin could say that otherwise.

“I don’t think I could take Red Hood in a fight.” She tried to laugh and act neutral, just in case.

“He wouldn’t fight you anyway, because he likes you.” The other smiled as if she wasn’t finishing stitching the first gash close and starting with the second one.

Was this conversation meant to distract him? She wasn’t used to anesthetic (halfa/liminal metabolism) so she forgot to apply it, not that he asked.

“What makes you think he likes me?” Her cheeks went red against her will. She still couldn’t believe he wanted to date her.

“He- uhhhhhhhhhh, he has a soft spot for redheads?”

Even if she didn’t know the truth, that was the least believable lie in the world. “Uh-huh.”

Red Robin chuckled. He still looked pale, but a bit better than when he knocked on her window.

“What the actual fuck?”

Of course, this is when the man decided to make an appearance. Jazz turned from where she was finishing up the last stitches, finding the imposing figure of her boyfriend in full suit jumping into her apartment from the window.

This was the first time she saw him in the suit since she knew (and since they started dating), and it was difficult to not make comparisons between the Jason she was used to and this dangerous man standing in front of her.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It took a moment to realize he wasn’t talking to her. Also, he had started walking menancingly towards them, murder intent in every step.

“Stop!” She called before anything went down. There was silence as she finished the last two stitches and cut the thread. She stood up. “Okay, I’m done.”

Somehow she got the feeling Jason was looking between Red Robin and her standing between the man’s open legs. Jazz rolled her eyes. She needed to be close to properly do her job. If he was going to start shit because she was near another guy, Jazz was going to resort to violence.

“I needed medical help.” The seated vigilante lifted his hands, but from this close Jazz could see he was really nervous. Did Jason really try to kill him?

“Why didn’t you go back to your little boyfriend?” Red Hood stepped closer, using his height to look more menacing. “Or even better, why not run back to the Cave to be pampered and wrapped in warm blankets?” The sarcasm was obvious even with the modulator.

“She was closer.”

This was the wrong thing to say, because Hood stomped closer and a hand twitched over one of his guns.

“You have no right-”

“Okay, let’s stop,” Jazz had tried to be impartial since, you know, she was supposed to be an innocent civilian. But she really didn’t want this to escalate. She walked around Red Robin, gauze and tape in hand. “Hood, please, step back while I finish with my patient.”

He hesitated for a moment but did as she asked.

“Told you I could use you as a shield.” The injured vigilante whispered with a little smile.

“I would like to not be ‘used’ at all, thank you very much,” she frowned at him. He didn’t make any other comment as she placed the gauze and secured it with tape.

Tension could be cut with a knife inside her apartment. This was so different from the situation with Nightwing. Has she got it wrong? Were they not friends? They knew each other, that was for sure, but the hostility was over the roof.

“He just needed help, Hood. I am morally obligated to help, I made an oath.”

It was so annoying that she couldn’t read his face with the helmet in the way.

“Okay. But he has to go. This is my territory and he shouldn’t be here.”

“And this is my apartment and I say when someone goes away.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Are you threatening to kick me out?” Jason sounded hurt, even with the modulator.

Jazz let out a breath, relaxing her shoulders on purpose to look less threatening. “No,” he relaxed a little as well. “I’m saying that my place is neutral ground until we all learn to behave.”

She heard Red Robin quietly start zipping up his suit again, as if he didn’t want to make them remember he was watching everything go down.

“He is here to spy on you, how can you be so calm about it?”

Spy? What the heck?

“I am not-”

“Even if he had bad intentions I can’t turn away an injured person.” She walked closer, watching how his body was still tense even if it was just her. He was still glaring at Red Robin, she could gather that much from the angle of his head. “Why are you here, anyway? Are you hurt as well?”

Finally, he looked at her. “No.” His shoulders relaxed as he pondered what to say next. “I just wanted to see you.”

Jazz fought hard to control the warmth blooming in her chest, and maintain the serious expression on her face, knowing some of it was ruined by the fact her cheeks felt warm.

“As you can see I’m-” she started to say, touched that he took time to check on her after the Arkham incident.

“Hood is hurt!” Both turned to look at the other vigilante, now completely geared up and ready to go. “Was thrown into a building or something. Thank for this, I owe you one, bye~”

He made a run for the window, but she caught him just as he passed by her. Jazz saw the moment she used a bit too much strength because Red Robin glanced at her hand on his arm with raised eyebrows.

Damn it. She tried so hard to not be suspicious.

“You. Be careful and don’t rip the stitches,” she almost heard the eyeroll coming from him. “Go back to the Cave or wherever you guys go when not punching people and get some rest.”

He smirked, but sobered up when his eyes wandered to Hood, who leaned into his line of sight just to be menacing.

“Yes, ma’am.” He did a salute and jumped out of the window. She gave him ten minutes before he ripped a stitch. But fortunately she wasn’t going to deal with that.

“You weren’t kidding about scoundrels coming in through the windows at night.”

“I told you to get a lock for the window. Red Robin-”

“Oh, I was talking about you,” she turned, finding him closer than expected. She had to look up to see him in the eye visor. “Red Robin at least knows how to knock.”

“Do I look like a scoundrel to you?”

She giggled, really wanting to take the helmet off and kiss him right there and then. Damn secret identities. Damn vigilantes and damn her for getting involved in this.

“Are you really okay?” she asked, extending one hand to place it on the side of the red helmet, hoping he understood she wanted to touch his face instead.

“I’ll be fine. Just need to sleep it off.”

“Then go.”

He hummed at her order, the mechanical modulator making it sound almost like a purr. She thought it was cute.

“I don’t want to go,” Jason said, putting one gloved hand over hers. Did he know his gloves had blood on them? She decided to ignore it for the moment, confident that the blood wasn’t his.

“You could stay here, I have a big couch.”

He chuckled at the idea. “I could.” He hummed again. “But how can I be sure that you won’t try to take off the helmet and find out my secret identity?”

Oh. Was he testing the waters?

“You can’t know that for sure, you’d only have my word that I wouldn’t try.”

“Is your word enough, I wonder?”

Was this it? Was he going to say it? “What are you asking, if I would keep your identity a secret?”

“What if I am?” Those were the same words he said when he asked her out. Did he say it on purpose? Was he trying to leave hints so she’d figure it out on her own? Was she supposed to approach him about it and not the other way around?

She looked directly into the eyes of the helmet, trying to send home the message that she was trustworthy. “I’d take the secret to my grave.”

He found this funny, but didn’t say anything. Seconds ticked by as she waited for him to, well, say it, but he kept silent. Waiting. For what? For her to confess first?

And just like that, the moment was gone.

He tensed and put his other hand on that side of the helmet, listening to something - Batman? Were they talking now? She heard a voice coming from inside the helmet but couldn’t discern if it was male or female, or what it was saying.

“I have to go,” he sighed, confirming her fears. The night was not over and the escaped inmates were still roaming through the city.

She had the fleeting thought of helping, if only so he could rest now.

But she wasn’t a hero, and he knew what he was doing.

“See you around, scoundrel.”

“See you.” He chuckled before stepping out of the opened window. “Get that window lock soon.”

“Sure thing.”

He stopped and looked back at her, as if he knew she was just humoring him. “Please, darling.”

She blushed. “Ok.”

Jazz was left in a quiet apartment, the sounds of the chaotic city coming from the opened window. Her kitchen table was a mess and her floor had a few puddles of Red Robin’s blood she needed to clean soon. She looked at her bloodied hand where Jason had gently placed his hands on hers.

She rolled her eyes. This was her life now, huh.

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