#Alien Life blanket
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culturesfinest · 7 days ago
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Funny cool alien arctic fleece blanket dark - Nobody Freakin Cares Alien Meme - Martian Alien Meme UFOs - Manta Help your customers create the coziest of moments with these personalized fleece blankets. Available in 3 sizes to choose from, these blankets come with vibrant colors and bring your designs to life in great detail. Create instant-favorites for home or for any excursion by adding your personal take. .: Material: 100% polyester fleece (315gsm) .: 0.1in (0.2cm) thick .: Available in 3 sizes .: One-sided print .: Seam thread color automatically matched to design the Arctic Fleece Blanket: Introducing the Arctic Fleece Blanket, a must-have for anyone looking to cozy up and stay warm in style. Whether you're lounging on the couch, camping under the stars, or braving the cold outdoors, this blanket is the perfect companion for all of life's adventures. Crafted with the highest quality materials, the Arctic Fleece Blanket is constructed from ultra-plush fleece that is not only soft to the touch, but also incredibly warm and insulating. Its generous size makes it ideal for snuggling up with a loved one or for wrapping yourself up in comfort. The Arctic Fleece Blanket is as stylish as it is comfortable. Featuring a vibrant and eye-catching design, this blanket is adorned with a playful print of funny cool aliens against a striking Arctic backdrop. This unique and whimsical design is sure to bring a touch of fun and personality to any space, making it a great addition to any home, dorm room, or outdoor setting. Not only does the Arctic Fleece Blanket excel in terms of comfort and style, but it is also designed with convenience in mind. Lightweight and easy to fold, this blanket is perfect for taking on the go, whether you're heading out for a picnic, a road trip, or a camping excursion. It's also machine washable, ensuring that it's easy to clean and maintain for long-lasting enjoyment. In addition to its versatility and practicality, the Arctic Fleece Blanket is a great choice for those who prioritize sustainability. Made with eco-friendly materials and production processes, this blanket is a conscious choice for those who want to minimize their environmental impact without sacrificing quality or comfort. Whether you're in need of a cozy companion for chilly nights at home, a go-to accessory for outdoor activities, or a thoughtful gift for a loved one, the Arctic Fleece Blanket is an ideal choice. With its combination of superior comfort, striking design, and eco-friendly construction, this blanket is sure to become a cherished staple in any household. In summary, the Arctic Fleece Blanket is a top-notch product that offers the perfect combination of comfort, style, and sustainability. Its soft and insulating fleece, eye-catching design, and practical features make it a versatile and durable choice for any occasion. Add a touch of fun and warmth to your life with the Arctic Fleece Blanket, and experience the ultimate in cozy comfort.
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uncanny-tranny · 1 year ago
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I think it's all about care, in the end. My cat is curled up on the bed I made for her, and the yarn used was made by people I never met, and the machines that they operated were invented by people who are perhaps long-dead. The electricity that courses through the veins of those machines were maintained in ways I never have witnessed, and it's about care, and pain, and care again. It's always going to be about care and community. Nothing that is built without that in the forefront of its mind will ever hope to live forever - only we will, and our care will. The only thing that will remain immortal - even with the pain even immense - is our care.
It's about care. It's about curling up on a warm blanket made by somebody who loved you enough to want you to be warm, and there won't be a shortage of that kind of care and love - it isn't a finite resource.
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cruesuffix · 1 month ago
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Where does alien mick sleep because wouldn’t he eat the pillows, blankets, and sheets
guys im guessing alien!mick is never beating the “i can’t ever be a civilized creature” allegations…but i promise you he can! i just can’t necessarily prove it. maybe we all just expect him to sleep exactly how the dirt!mick did in the beginning of the movie…which i can totally see happening. on a serious note, if he desperately needs something to survive, he won’t eat it. that includes beds, blankets, sheets, and pillows.
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busyasabbey · 1 year ago
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Love my alien hooded blanket 🥰
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celestiamour · 5 months ago
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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ the "dying" wolverine ]❜
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ft. logan howlett x gn! reader — xmen, marvel
╰₊✧ taking care of logan when he’s sick┊0.8k words
setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, established relationship
➤ author's note: i’m feeling like shit so i’m making him suffer with me
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what part of regenerative healing don’t you understand? it’s impossible for him to get sick in any capacity as his immune system is stronger than the adamantium in his body, so feel free to read any of the other logan fics written by all the amazing writers on this platform!!
but let’s say that he somehow contracted a special bug that managed to get past all that and managed to make him fall ill, requiring you to take care of him while wade goes on a mission to figure out what’s wrong with him…
this headstrong two-hundred-year mutant who can take stab wounds without flinching and is an invincible tank in battles will be the whinest son of the bitch. he always lets his guard down around you, but he’s the most vulnerable and immature that he’ll ever allow himself to be around anyone since he can’t remember the last time (or if he has ever in his life) felt so shitty. shivering despite being feverish and covered up in blankets which just made him sweaty and uncomfortable, an itchy nose that wouldn’t sneeze when he needed it to, coughing his lungs out every two minutes— it’s so alien to him.
when you finally show up to look after him, he’ll have uncharacteristically big puppy eyes as you gently place your hand on his forehead to gauge how bad it is. “how are you feeling, lo?”
“i feel like i’m going to fucking die.” there are several discarded tissues and water bottles overfilling the nearby trashcan, but it was clear that he had no idea how he was supposed to make himself feel better and suffering.
“i can tell,” you chuckle at how dramatic he sounds and it makes him frown, but he’s just so thankful that you’re here to take care of him (he doesn’t exactly trust al to do it, that woman is a bit too mysterious and cryptic for him, and the medicine she offered smelled funny even to his dulled senses). “let me go make you some soup.”
he doesn’t want you to leave at first because your cold skin feels so good against him, but he’ll lightly doze off for a bit now that he’s more comfortable and feels safer. don’t expect him to stay asleep for long though, he’ll get up from his little while you’re in the middle of cooking chicken vegetable soup to wrap his arms around you and rest his head on top of yours until you finish.
“why are there barely any vegetables in the fridge? i could only find half a carrot and wilted celery.”
“i don’t think anyone here eats that stuff.”
“logan, you need to eat your greens— all you guys do, how are all three of you in such good shape then?!”
“eh.”
he can’t make anything more complicated than butter noodles, wade sets nearly everything on fire, he feels slightly guilty eating the food made by an elderly blind lady when he’s already freeloading at the moment, and constantly ordering take-out becomes expensive. you’ve given some food in tupperware for him to eat up, but it isn’t quite the same. as if being sick didn’t make him miserable enough, he’s so fucking pissed that he couldn’t properly taste your freshly-cooked food and will make it known.
you scoff that it’s just soup and pour it out in a bowl for him to eat, but you’ll quickly find yourself spoon-feeding him. yes, his hands still work with perfectly fine motor functions. no, you’re not passing up the opportunity to baby him while he rolls his eyes (he’ll grunt at most and doesn’t say a word of protest, claiming that he’s merely allowing it since he’s too tired to fight with you over it and very glad no one could see it happening).
“here comes the airplane~”
“i’m a grown-ass man, don’t be ridiculous.”
“a grown-ass man without an ounce of whimsy in his life, open your fucking mouth and eat.”
this is one of the lower points in his life where he doesn’t quite understand why this is happening to him yet, so you obviously have give him as much affection as possible! keeping a cold glass of water nearby and a wet rag to dab on his face, he rests his head upon your thighs and you swear that you can hear him purring like a kitten. there’s not better pillow than his lover, soft, warm, and full of love as you hum a song to lull him to sleep.
“let’s get married one day…” he not sure how that slipped past his lips, it might be the fever talking for him, or the fact that he’s completely relaxed without any tension in his muscles and feeling himself falling in love all over again when you smile so sweetly at him
“okay, but you need to sleep and get better first.” you place a gentle kiss on his forehead until his eyes slowly drift shut, “i love you, logan.”
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multific · 1 year ago
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Constellation
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Wolf Yautja x Reader
Summary: You loved living alone in your cottage. You moved out to be alone for a reason, you hated people, and you wanted to be left alone. And you were alone until a certain pair of eyes started following you.
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You saw the news on the TV.
Aliens.
And yet you ignored it.
You tried to live the life you wanted for so long as best as you could.
For as long as you could.
You still took care of your land, fed your animals and did your daily chores as usual.
You did see a couple of ships pass over your home but nothing more.
You have never seen an alien. Only on TV.
It appeared that they were fighting. 
Then the government decided to nuke the city to kill both aliens.
It looked like it was the end of it all.
But little did you know, for you, it was only the beginning. 
You had a feeling that you were being watched. 
The feeling not quite leaving you alone. You tried to look. You walked around your land, in the woods, nothing, no one. 
Could it be that you were becoming more and more paranoid? Could it be because of isolation?
You were imagining things.
Until one evening, when you heard noises inside your house.
Loud distinctive noises of someone walking around.
Fear struck you. 
You couldn't move out of bed. You just laid there, blankets up to your chin as you were shaking. Your heart beat out of your chest as the door to your room opened.
The person was huge, way too tall for a human, they had to dodge under the door to move in.
Then, came a clicking sound.
This is when you realized, this was no human.
There was a God damn alien in your home!
You knew you couldn't do anything. This thing could tear you apart in a matter of seconds.
You pretended to be asleep, hoping it would leave.
It watched you for a minute or two, which for you felt like an eternity before it left.
After the alien creature left, you rushed to see how it got in.
All doors and windows were locked from the inside. But you surely heard its footsteps moving into the woods next to your home.
You were utterly confused.
How did it get in?!
Why did it get in? What did it want?
It didn't take anything, it didn't hurt you, so what could it want?!
For the upcoming days, you didn't sleep.
The thing came every night, sometimes late in the night sometimes earlier. It just stood there and did nothing.
By the third time you were considering asking it what did it want. Or staying awake to see how it would react.
But you were too afraid.
Then two weeks later, as you were leaving your home, the skull of a deer with antlers was on your porch. It was placed there delicately, facing the door so you wouldn't miss it.
You were sure it was the alien.
Was this its sign to show you that it could kill you? You already knew that.
You took the skull and left it on your porch. You thought if you ignored it long enough, it would get tired and just leave you alone.
But it didn't.
The next day, another animal skull was placed on your steps. Looked to be a cat or a dog.
Then, something like a fox and finally, a wolf skull.
You began to have quite a collection. But you didn't understand. Was this thing trying to intimidate you?
It was working.
You just refused to leave because you spent your life building this place into a home.
But, was your life worth staying?
It showed that it could easily kill you.
But then why was it hiding?
Why did it already kill you and take what it wanted?
What did it want?
--- 2 months ago ---
Yautja prided themselves if they died during a fight.
It was the most honourable death they could ever ask for.
He fought many xenomorphs. One even left its scar on him. 
And yet, now as he was fighting, he survived.
He got back on his ship and left, but his ship got damaged and it broke down in the woods.
Wolf had to fix his ship so he could go back to Yautja Prime.
On his way to find some materials he could use he stumbled upon a farm, he knew some humans lived out in the wild in their houses, away from other humans.
He hid behind a tree and observed, trying to figure out if this human opposed any danger to him.
The first time he saw you was when you took care of your crops.
He concluded that you were nothing but a harmless little human.
And yet, for the next two weeks, he found himself watching you. He sat up on the tree and watched you all day and fixed his ship all night.
He walked around your crops, looking at everything.
To him, it was clear that you were a provider. Much like the females on his planet, you took care of food while the males hunted.
But you had no male. Which was quite interesting to him.
How come no male humans wanted you as their mate?
One night, he got brave and decided to go inside the house while you slept.
He checked your home and found nothing of interest besides you.
He watched as you slept.
He stood there for hours, watching you. 
You were so different from him, yet so similar. 
You preferred to be alone, much like him. 
You didn't have a mate, much like him.
He liked you. Which was extremely rare for him. During his life, he never looked for anyone like he did for you.
And so, he made his decision.
He will court you, win you and bring you back to his planet.
It was a simple plan for him.
And so, the first skull was placed on your doorstep.
You yawned as you got out of the bath, heading to the kitchen for some water before heading to bed, you stopped in your tracks.
It was here.
It was standing right in front of you. It was huge and grey and green and tall and... and you nearly fainted.
You knew you couldn't fight this thing. 
You had no chance against it.
It raised its hands and pulled its helmet off, revealing its face.
This alien looked a lot like the one you saw on the TV once.
The one that fought the other.
You noted the scar on its face as it made a clicking sound. It started to walk towards you, you backed up into the fridge. 
It raised its hand and placed a palm against your cheek. You looked into its eyes for the first time.
And somehow, you felt calm.
It made you calm down.
He made you calm down.
"What do you want?" you asked, hoping he would understand.
But he just made the same clicking sound as he did before. 
"Why did you leave the skulls?" you asked and he moved his hand to the armour on his wrist and pushed a couple of buttons.
"Gi-fts." said a very broken robotic voice.
"Why did you leave me gifts?" you watched as he pushed more buttons.
"Gifts for Mate." 
"Mate?" you asked and he nodded. Realization hit you and you realized, he was leaving you gifts so that he could court you. This must be an alien custom. "What are you?"
"Yautja."
"What's your name?"
"Wolf." the machine seemingly translated his name, but it was okay. "Your name?"
"My name is Y/N."
He nodded again.
"I want to take you to my planet. So we can marry." your eyes widened.
"Marry?"
"Strong female," he pointed at you, "Strong male." you would have assumed that he would have some issue having to marry you, wouldn't they only marry their own?
"Give me time. Two months. T-Then I will go with you." what were you saying? Why did you say that?! You didn't want to go! But you had no other options! This... Wolf clearly would get what he wants.
Maybe... those two months will be enough for you to get used to the thought.
Maybe those two months will be enough for you to grow some form of attachment. 
Maybe... hopefully.
For the next two months, he stayed with you in the house. 
The first week there was a lot of rain and storm so you were inside.
Most of the time you just kept looking at him or watched TV. He didn't speak, but he did notice the skulls you put up above your fireplace.
It filled him with pride, it meant you liked his presents.
That you accepted his courting.
For the upcoming days you cooked for both of you, since you weren't exactly sure what food he liked, you tried steak with potatoes. You can't go wrong with that.
And you didn't. He enjoyed it very much. Then the next day, he brought you cut meat, from where you were afraid to ask.
But you did cook everything that he brought to your home.
And he ate it all.
He still watched as you slept.
But instead of panicking, you found yourself enjoying having him there. He made you feel safe and you found that you wouldn't be able to fall asleep without him in the room. 
You woke up each and every morning more and more comfortable in his presence, which did make you worry.
Turned out, you didn't hate company, you hated human company.
Wolf being the big alien that he was tried his best to be careful around you. He followed you everywhere, he watched you and learned. 
He learned a lot about you from just watching you in the woods, but now, now he knew even more.
He saw the way you worked, how gentle and delicate you could be. But he also watched you chop up wood, showing that you can be strong when need be.
He liked it.
He was proud to pick such an amazing Mate.
It was the last day, two months had gone by and his ship was ready, he was ready.
He entered your house and found you in the kitchen, you looked out your window as if trying to memorize everything. But when you realized that he was behind you, you turned and smiled at him. A gesture he wished he could give back.
"I'm almost ready." you said with a heavy heart, but you were also ready to leave and be with Wolf, see where that path would take you.
And you felt ready for the adventure, it scared you but you felt ready.
You just wanted to remember this place.
You looked back out the window when he came up behind you, standing behind you, you felt his huge body but you didn't feel scared. 
It felt good.
He felt safe.
He was a good two heads taller than you.
You didn't say a word as you turned around and looked at him. You really looked at his scar and his eye. You knew he still could see with it, but his vision wasn't the best on that one.
You could also assume that one of his... mandibles was missing. It's place is still present.
You wished you could ask, you wished he could tell you. He lowered himself, allowing you to reach his face as you reached up and ran your fingers down his scars.
You wished you were there to help him, you could have eased his pain.
And, just like that, you were ready.
--- 3 years later ---
Yautja Prime was very different from Earth.
Yautja were very different from humans.
You learned that Wolf was quite the loner. His name fit him very well.
He preferred to be alone in his home, working on his ship or head on a mission for a hunt.
He liked being with you.
You two were very similar.
You didn't enjoy the company of others, but you enjoyed having the others around.
On your wedding night, Wolf told you how Yautja found their mates.
He also told you about true mates. Which is what you would call soulmates.
He explained how he felt as if you two were true mates and you didn't agree at the time, but now you did.
Spending your last three years with him, you can confidently say that you are in love with him.
You only feel complete when he is there.
And from what he told you, he felt the same. You wore the necklace he gifted you with pride.
And you waited for him every day when he was away on a hunt. He always came back victorious with many gifts.
He proved his worth to you as a male and a Mate.
And so, you never once regretted coming with him. Even if you were nervous in the beginning.
He made sure you had a warm bed, filled with furs.
Every night he came to the bed, he held you close to him, keeping your smaller body close and safe.
You slept with the confidence of having him there. Knowing he would protect you if anything was to happen.
Not like anything ever did.
You found yourself not missing your old life.
The view you spent so much time trying to memorize, long forgotten. 
All because of him.
You woke up every morning in his arms.
His body wasn't warm nor was it cold. But the feeling of his skin under your fingers always lets you know that he was there.
And you couldn't ask for more.
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geneviveleocardius · 8 days ago
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sevika’s journey to motherhood
wlw
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sevika never imagined herself in this situation—married, settled down, and now about to be a mom. when you first talked about having a baby, she hesitated. not because she didn’t want it, but because she wasn’t sure she deserved it. but the moment she saw the positive result, she swore to herself she’d give you and the baby the world.
she keeps her affection low-key but constant. she isn’t one for big, dramatic gestures, but you’ll notice the way she starts keeping healthier snacks in the kitchen (even though she complains about how boring they are), how she always carries an extra blanket for you on the couch, or how she’s suddenly interested in researching baby stuff online (though she grumbles about the “stupid forums”).
sevika makes sure the apartment is baby-proofed well before you even hit your third trimester. you laugh when you find her arguing with some handyman she hired about how “these outlet covers are trash,” but she’s dead serious about making the place safe.
she’s not outwardly soft, but her actions speak volumes. she doesn’t say much when you’re feeling nauseous or exhausted, but she’ll quietly rub your back, hold your hair, and bring you water without needing to be asked. she also won’t let you lift a damn thing once your belly starts to show.
during your pregnancy, she works fewer hours, despite hating to take time off. she doesn’t say it’s because of you, but it’s obvious. “can’t trust those idiots to handle things while i’m gone,” she mutters, but she’s home almost every night for dinner now, something she rarely did before.
when she feels the baby kick for the first time, she freezes. you tease her for looking so stunned, but you can see the emotions she’s trying to hide. later that night, you catch her resting her hand on your belly while she thinks you’re asleep, a rare, unguarded moment of pure tenderness.
once the baby is born, sevika is more hands-on than you expected. she’s a natural at holding them, rocking them to sleep, and she insists on taking over night shifts when she’s home because “you’ve been through enough already.”
she’s fiercely protective of both you and the baby. the moment someone so much as raises their voice in your apartment, her glare alone could silence them. “this is my family,” she says firmly. “no one messes with that.”
despite her gruff exterior, sevika is surprisingly gentle with the baby. she talks to them in a low, soft voice while changing their diaper or feeding them, and you’ve caught her humming under her breath while holding them in the rocking chair.
her favorite moments are when the three of you are together. whether it’s a quiet evening on the couch or a rare weekend where she doesn’t have to work, she’s happiest when you’re all there, safe and content. she’ll never admit it out loud, but it’s the most at peace she’s ever felt in her life.
sevika has always liked adding glitter to her cigars—it’s a strange but oddly charming habit. but once you’re pregnant, she quits it cold turkey. “i don’t want that stuff getting anywhere near you or the baby,” she says gruffly. she even starts avoiding wearing heavily scented cologne, just in case.
sevika’s biggest fear after the baby is born is accidentally hurting them with her prosthetic arm. when you hand the baby to her for the first time, she hesitates, staring down at her mechanical hand like it’s an alien thing. “what if i’m too rough? what if i hurt them?” she mutters. it takes a lot of reassurance—and a quiet, heartfelt moment when the baby grabs one of her fingers, metallic and all—for her to start trusting herself.
when you suggested the reciprocal IVF method, sevika had a moment of vulnerability. “you really want my kid growing inside you?” she asked, voice low, almost disbelieving. the idea of combining your DNA with hers made her feel more connected than she could put into words, though she didn’t say that outright. after the procedure worked, she was in awe—and also ridiculously smug. “looks like we make a good team,” she’d say with a smirk, though you could see the pride in her eyes.
sevika teases you mercilessly about your cravings but secretly loves indulging them. she’ll grumble about how ridiculous it is to find fresh strawberries at 2 a.m., but she’ll still show up with a basketful. when you catch her snacking on the leftovers, she’ll just shrug and say, “figured i should see what all the fuss is about.”
you weren’t the only one nesting. sevika pretended she didn’t care much about decorating the baby’s room, but she’d come home with little things—a mobile, a soft blanket, even a tiny stuffed animal that looked suspiciously like the one she used to have as a kid.
she wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it, but you found her poring over baby books late at night. “i’m just checking something,” she said gruffly, shutting the book when you walked in. but you noticed her making mental notes about things like swaddling techniques and babyproofing hacks.
when your contractions started, sevika was unshakable—or at least she tried to seem that way. she held your hand through every step, though you could see the tension in her jaw. she hated seeing you in pain but didn’t leave your side for a second. when the baby finally arrived, she was speechless. the only words she managed were a low, reverent, “you’re amazing,” as she held your hand tightly.
sevika takes postpartum care seriously. she makes sure you’re eating, sleeping (as much as possible), and not overexerting yourself. “you’re not doing this alone,” she tells you firmly. she’s the type to massage your back after a long day or remind you that it’s okay to cry when things feel overwhelming.
the first time the baby laughed was because of sevika. she was making a silly face—completely out of character—and the sound of the baby’s giggles was enough to make her stop and blink, caught off guard. you swore you saw her eyes get a little misty, though she’d never admit it.
despite her rough exterior, sevika starts creating traditions for your little family. movie nights where she insists on holding the baby, cooking dinner together (she’s surprisingly decent in the kitchen), and quiet mornings where she lets you sleep in while she takes the baby for a walk.
when you both take the baby out for the first time, sevika is on high alert. her eyes scan every stranger, her body instinctively positioning itself between you, the baby, and the crowd. she even growls at someone who bumps into the stroller. “relax,” you whisper, but you can’t help feeling a little safer with her there.
sevika isn’t the type to get overly sentimental, but she does think long and hard about what the baby should call her. eventually, after some quiet reflection, she decides on “mama”—simple and solid, just like her. she likes the sound of it, and the thought of her kid calling her that makes her chest tighten in a way she can’t quite explain.
as for you, she insists on “mommy” (or whatever variation you prefer). she thinks it fits your nurturing nature perfectly and secretly loves the idea of hearing the baby call you something soft and sweet.
when the baby starts babbling “ma-ma” first (completely by accident), sevika acts casual, but you can tell she’s beaming with pride inside. still, she’ll tease you if “mommy” comes out soon after. “guess they love us both equally,” she says with a smirk, though you can see the softness in her eyes.
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solxamber · 3 months ago
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Trash Novel Chronicles - Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper
The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess. So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport.
Series Masterlist
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It’s your birthday, and you’re over the moon. You’ve been frugal, cutting out fancy coffee and takeout for weeks, all to splurge on this one, glorious, limited-edition novel from your favorite author. The packaging is pristine, the book jacket glimmering like a beacon of literary greatness. Today is the day. You’ve built this moment up for weeks—you’re practically vibrating as you sign for the delivery.
You tear into the package like it’s Christmas morning, clutching the book to your chest, grinning ear to ear. You settle in with a cup of tea, your coziest blanket, and crack open the book, fully expecting your soul to ascend to a higher plane of literary enlightenment.
It takes precisely three pages for your entire existence to collapse. This is bad. So bad, you can feel your spirit shriveling. Your entire life is a lie.
The book is like a train wreck—every sentence is a mangled piece of steel, but you can’t look away. Tears start forming in your eyes, not from emotional depth, but from sheer despair. It’s like the author forgot how to write in between winning their last award and releasing this... dumpster fire of a novel. But you’re not a quitter. You’ve made it this far—you’re not going down without a fight.
You turn the page with trembling hands, determined to push through.
The plot is standard—heroine is a saintess (yawn), love interest is the Duke of the North (ugh, of course), and the second male lead is the Prince (because originality is apparently dead). But then the villainess shows up. Finally, some promise. You grip the book a little tighter—maybe this will be it! The saving grace! The villainess is the queen of high society, beloved and powerful, absolute girlboss vibes. She runs everything with an iron fist and sharp wit, but then…
Then it happens.
The heroine’s hair comes loose. The villainess, in a rare moment of kindness, gently points out that her hair is falling out of its bun. And what happens? Does she get thanked for her thoughtfulness? No. No. The heroine goes, “You must be jealous of me,” and everyone agrees.
What. The. Hell.
You blink once, then twice. Is this…is this supposed to be a serious plot point? The villainess, this badass social queen, gets ostracized for suggesting a quick touch-up? Is this a joke? You flip back a few pages. Surely, there’s a mistake. Maybe you missed something. You didn’t miss anything. This book missed you with anything resembling logic.
So now, this powerful woman, once the queen of high society, is branded as jealous and bitter. She’s exiled from everything she’s ever known, her entire life crumbling because the heroine’s fragile ego couldn’t handle a little advice. And she’s not even the worst part. No, because guess what?
The only person who stays with her through it all? Her fiancé, Jamil Viper. Jamil, a baron she helped rise to the position of Duke, the man she loved, is by her side while everyone else abandons her. The romance potential is there. It’s right there. You’re practically shaking the book at this point.
And what does the author do with this beautiful setup? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The villainess, broken and misunderstood, alienates herself from Jamil. She pushes him away. And then—just to really twist the knife—she dies alone.
You drop the book onto your lap, staring at the ceiling. Infinite romance potential, wasted. You can feel your soul leaving your body. Jamil could’ve saved her. They could’ve had it all. But no. She dies alone, unloved, in the most tragic yet pointless way possible.
And that’s when it happens.
Something absurd. Something so stupid, it feels like divine punishment for buying this book. Maybe it's the way your body tenses in sheer disbelief at the plot; maybe the universe decides to play its cruel hand, but you feel a sharp pain in your chest.
Suddenly, the room spins, and your vision goes black. As the world fades around you, your final thought isn’t about your family, your friends, or the countless dreams you had for the future. No.
Your last thought is:
“Really??? On my goddamn birthday?”
And then, you die.
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You wake up, stretch, and feel… odd. You glance at your hands and freeze. Your nails aren’t chipped? Your cuticles are trimmed? In this economy? You sniff the air. Lavender? Something’s very wrong here. You sit up and take in your surroundings. Ornate tapestries, a bed so massive it could host a small nation, and a freaking chandelier.
Oh no.
First thought: Have I been kidnapped? But hold up—what kind of kidnapper does their victim’s manicure? You wave your polished hand around like it's suddenly sprouted five extra fingers. This is definitely not normal.
And then your gaze lands on the giant, gilded mirror at the side of the room. You stumble towards it, ready to face the worst, and when you see your reflection, the realization knocks the wind right out of you.
“Fuck my life… I’m the villainess.”
Panic mode: activated. But then you pause, staring at your impossibly gorgeous reflection. No need to lose your shit just yet. You've read enough of these novel-turned-isekai tales to know the drill. It’s bad, yes, but it could be worse.
You’re not the heroine, which means less plot armor, but you are rich. Villainess rich. The kind of rich where you don’t even know how much a loaf of bread costs anymore. There’s power in that, right?
Alright, you just need to avoid the male leads like they have the dragon pox or something equally contagious and unattractive. If they even sneeze in your direction, you’re running faster than a Black Friday shopper in a sale.
Best course of action? Stick to your fiancé, Jamil Viper. He clearly liked the original villainess in the book, and you’re betting you can use that connection to survive this ridiculous plot.
Oh, and because this novel’s plotline literally killed you, you’re taking the queen of high society title back. Out of spite. It’s petty, but who cares? You're gonna be shady, throw aristocratic shade like you’re handing out party favors, and maybe casually humiliate the heroine for fun. She can't be that saintly.
But before anything else? Shopping.
You are now rich in a fantasy world, and you are not going to waste this opportunity. First order of business? Find a dress so stunning it could make a commoner drop dead on the spot. The kind of outfit that makes peasants weep and enemies tremble.
As you stride to the wardrobe, you can't help but feel a little smug. Sure, you're the villainess, but damn, you're gonna be a well-dressed one.
Your first shopping spree as a villainess. And not just that—there are maids! You stare at them wide-eyed as they begin dressing you in silks and satins, and you can’t help but think, “Holy shit, I have maids now.”
They fuss over you with a precision that can only be described as obsessive, tieing ribbons, adjusting jewelry, and brushing your hair like it’s a rare silk. You check yourself in the mirror, and honestly? Damn. The heroine's got nothing on you.
You twirl, and every inch of you screams hot and dangerous. It's like the universe is apologizing for killing you off with that god-awful book by giving you this absolute glow-up. You’re feeling unstoppable, like you could bench-press societal expectations and then strut away in heels.
But then your butler approaches, bowing as if you’re some untouchable deity. “My Lady, your fiancé, Lord Jamil Viper, has arrived to see you.”
Wait, what? Jamil is here? THE Jamil?? The only person with an ounce of brain cells in that trash fire of a novel? The one man who actually made sense? Please let him be hot.
You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself. God, I hope he looks exactly like he was described.
When the doors open, you nearly pass out on the spot. Correction. He’s hotter. Infinitely hotter. If Jamil Viper was a fire hazard in the book, in person, he’s a full-on inferno. You’re almost thankful you died just so you could see him. He greets you, and his voice? Sexier than advertised. You’ve hit the isekai jackpot.
Without a second thought, you grin, loop your arm through his, and drag him toward the carriage. You’re already imagining the two of you showing up to the next ball in matching outfits, causing hearts to break and jaws to drop. Jamil is a little confused by your sudden enthusiasm, but like a champ, he just goes along with it.
As the carriage rolls down the cobbled streets, you casually drop, “By the way, I’m done moping about being ostracized by high society. I want revenge on the heroine.”
His eyes darken, and there’s an unmistakable gleam in them. He leans back, smirking. “Good. I hate the Prince anyway. The number of problems he caused me while I was trying to rise through the ranks? I’d love nothing more than to ruin them both.”
And you? You’re in. Oh, you’re so in. Why not? Why not when Jamil Viper looks so attractive while plotting the downfall of others?
He pauses his scheming for just a second, looking at you with a rare softness. “Thank you… for recognizing my talents. I wouldn’t have had the chance to even think about insulting a prince if you weren’t by my side.”
Your heart does a little flip, and you take his hand in yours, a silent promise forming in your mind. You’re going to make the original villainess proud. You’re going to destroy the heroine.
For what this book did.
And also because, well… revenge is sexy when Jamil Viper’s involved.
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You both stride into the store, ready to make a statement. But, of course, because the universe is a petty comedian, there she is—the heroine, acting like she’s never seen a price tag before. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift!” she gushes loudly enough for the entire store to hear.
Meanwhile, the Duke—Mr. "I-have-no-emotions"—is doing his signature act: standing there, looking aloof, but you can tell he’s mentally calculating how impressed everyone is supposed to be.
Jamil doesn’t even need to speak. You both share a glance, a silent conversation filled with mutual disdain. "These people suck." It's not even a question. It's a fact.
“I’ll take everything here,” you say suddenly, your voice loud enough to cut through the heroine’s overly sweet prattling. The shopkeeper’s eyes widen as they hurriedly approach, unsure if they heard you correctly.
“Everything?” they stammer.
You nod casually, like buying an entire store’s worth of clothing is a daily occurrence. “Yes, everything.”
From the corner of your eye, you can see the Duke’s facade slip for just a moment—his cold mask cracking ever so slightly as he glances at you. The heroine looks like she’s about to choke on her own words. You flash them a bright, borderline condescending smile. "Oh, I hope I didn’t interrupt something. You were saying?"
Jamil steps closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he coolly adds, “Also, we’d like matching outfits. Something… striking.” His tone is as indifferent as ever, but you can feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.
The heroine looks utterly flustered, her hands fidgeting as she glances between you and the Duke, who is doing his best to act unbothered. But you can tell he’s silently fuming, his pride taking a serious hit.
Jamil leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “A power couple move? Bold. I approve.”
You grin. “I thought we’d show them how it’s really done.”
A short while later, you and Jamil emerge from the dressing rooms in outfits that would make gods weep with envy. You glance at yourselves in the mirror, and wow. You two don’t just look good—you look devastatingly unstoppable. The kind of couple people would kill to look like in their wildest dreams.
The heroine looks on with wide eyes, clearly trying to mask her jealousy, while the Duke’s cold expression cracks further, his irritation almost palpable. He probably thought he was the only one who could pull off the whole “I’m-rich-and-powerful” vibe. Sorry, buddy. You’re just not in the same league.
Jamil gives you a rare, genuine smile, one that’s laced with quiet triumph. “Not bad,” he says casually, though his eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary.
As you step out of the store—victory sealed—you take Jamil’s hand without thinking, your mind already moving on to your next move. “Now,” you say, eyes focused on the road ahead, “about that revenge plan. I’m thinking we start by—”
But as you plot and scheme, you don’t notice that Jamil isn’t looking at the road. His gaze is on you—quiet, intense, and filled with something deeper.
"Whatever it is," he murmurs, "I'm in."
Power couple goals, indeed.
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The ball is here, and, like any self-respecting villainess, you’re not about to let the opportunity for chaos slip by. If you’re going to be stuck in the plot of a novel, might as well make it entertaining, right?
As your maids fuss over your dress, they spill some of the hottest gossip yet. Apparently, the prince? The one who’s always preening like a peacock and acting like he’s too good for everyone?
Yeah, he got caught trying to serenade his tutor’s cat—and failed. He’s tone-deaf, and worse, the tutor is furious because the cat’s been hiding in her curtains for days, traumatized. You nearly choke on air.
“Oh, this is going to be a biblical shitstorm,” you murmur, your eyes practically sparkling as you imagine the carnage that’s about to go down tonight.
By the time you meet Jamil outside, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. And speaking of Jamil—holy hell. He’s standing by the carriage in a sleek, dark suit, looking all brooding and mysterious like he was custom-made to steal hearts.
"Wow," you say, openly staring at him. "You’re killing me right now. How are you real?"
Jamil shifts, tugging at his collar like he’s trying to downplay how good he looks. “Stop,” he mutters, his face ever-so-slightly flushed, but the tiny smile tugging at his lips gives him away.
“No, seriously,” you press, circling him with an exaggerated critical eye. “Is this what ‘stunning’ looks like in person? I need to know because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”
“You’re impossible.” He shakes his head but doesn’t make eye contact, probably because he knows he’ll crack. But he’s smiling, and that’s all the confirmation you need.
When you arrive at the ballroom, it doesn’t take long before you spot Kalim. He’s practically bouncing with excitement, waving as if you weren’t already heading his way.
"You guys look amazing!" he cheers, pulling both of you into a hug before you can protest. He’s so enthusiastic, you almost forget you have a mission. Almost.
You lower your voice conspiratorially. "Kalim, did you hear about the prince?"
He blinks. “No? What happened?”
Jamil side-eyes you like he knows exactly where this is going, but he doesn’t stop you. He’s in on this. “Well, apparently, our dear prince has been… spending some quality time trying to serenade his tutor’s cat.”
There’s a pause, then Kalim’s eyes widen in shock. “WAIT, REALLY?”
You and Jamil barely manage to suppress your laughter. Kalim just broadcasted that to half the ballroom. Mission success.
From there, you and Jamil strategically split up to mingle with the nobles, making sure the gossip spreads like wildfire. Every time someone asks, you pretend to hesitate, then whisper it to them like it’s the juiciest secret in the world. By the time the prince arrives, the entire ballroom is buzzing with whispers.
You grab two drinks and take your spot in a corner where you have the perfect view of the incoming storm. Jamil joins you, leaning casually against the wall, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. “I’d say we did well,” he says softly, as you hand him one of the drinks.
“Too well,” you say, grinning wickedly. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”
The prince enters, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone is staring at him like he just walked in with toilet paper stuck to his shoe. The imperial family follows behind him, sensing that something is off, but they keep up appearances, declaring the ball open.
Then, the dancing begins. And oh, the rejection. The prince approaches lady after lady, only to be turned down one by one, each with some flimsy excuse. You’re cackling into your drink at this point, nearly spilling it as you watch the absolute carnage unfold.
And then—oh, this is the best part—the heroine finally arrives, blissfully unaware of the prince’s latest scandal. She’s practically glowing as the prince, desperate and clearly not understanding the situation, asks her to dance. She accepts with a delighted smile, preening at all the attention she thinks they’re getting.
The whispers intensify.
Jamil watches, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I’m impressed," he murmurs. "That spread faster than I expected."
"Never underestimate the power of pettiness," you reply, clinking your glasses together.
Across the room, the king’s aide is whispering something to him, and the poor man looks like he’s just aged ten years. He shoots a glance at the prince and then at the heroine, his expression screaming “I can’t believe I have to deal with this.”
Then comes the final nail in the coffin. After the dance, a group of younger noblewomen approaches the heroine, and she’s clearly expecting them to fawn over her for dancing with the prince. But instead, they absolutely rip into her. “How could you dance with him after what he did?” one of them demands, while another makes a snide comment about the cat.
The heroine, bless her heart, has no idea what they’re talking about and stumbles over her words, trying to defend herself. But she just makes it worse. Within minutes, she’s in tears, running from the ballroom in a dramatic scene worthy of an award.
The Duke—her Duke—chases after her, looking like he’s reconsidering all his life choices.
You’re laughing so hard now that you’re practically leaning on Jamil for support. "This is better than I could’ve ever hoped for," you gasp, wiping away a tear.
Jamil chuckles softly, his gaze focused entirely on you. “Glad you’re having fun.”
“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” you reply between giggles, clutching his arm. "But seriously, this is gold!"
Jamil smiles, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches you. "Whatever you want to do, I’m in." His voice is quiet, but there’s a sincerity in it that makes your heart skip a beat.
And you know, with him by your side, this is only the beginning.
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The quiet clatter of quills and the shuffle of paper fill the room as you and Jamil work side by side. It's supposed to be a normal afternoon—just the two of you getting through the absolutely thrilling task of making plans to merge your estates after your marriage.
Riveting stuff. But there’s a certain coziness to it, like you’ve finally settled into this life together. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you glance at Jamil, whose attention is currently fixed on a particularly dense contract.
He glances up, noticing your stare. “Do you want some tea?” he asks casually, already reaching for the bell to summon the butler.
You nod, and in moments, the butler arrives, bowing politely before leaving to retrieve the tea. But as the tray comes in, Jamil pauses, scanning the selection like he’s some kind of beverage connoisseur. He frowns—frowns—and turns to the butler. “Get the other blend. The one she likes."
The butler stutters for a second, then hurries off to fix the apparent blasphemy of tea serving. You’re too amused to even process how sweet the whole thing is.
“Did you really just send him back to get another blend?”
Jamil shrugs, not meeting your eyes, focused instead on stirring the exact amount of sugar and milk you always put in your cup. “You prefer it this way,” he says, his tone nonchalant, but there’s a softness to his expression.
And you’re just sitting there, heart doing weird flips because—he noticed. He’s been watching you, memorizing the tiny details like how you take your tea. Your chest warms as you realize just how deeply he pays attention to you, even in the most mundane things.
“You’re so—” you start, but then you stop yourself, realizing you’re dangerously close to getting all gooey and sappy. “Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
He shoots you a deadpan look, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. “You’re welcome.”
You laugh, sipping the tea he prepared exactly how you like it, the moment stretching out in peaceful harmony. That is until—
THUD.
You nearly spill your tea as Jamil suddenly launches himself away from his desk, eyes wide in utter horror, looking as though someone just told him he’s been forced to join a Kalim-led dance troupe.
“What—what happened?” you ask, a little alarmed.
He doesn’t answer, instead standing stiffly a good five feet from his chair, eyes fixated on something on the floor. You glance over, curious, and there it is—a massive spider, just chilling on his desk like it’s there to collect taxes.
You stare. He stares. The spider doesn’t move, but the tension in the room could cut steel.
"That thing could eat me," Jamil mutters under his breath, still rooted to the spot like a cat who just saw a cucumber.
You take a deep breath, rolling up your sleeves with all the confidence of someone who has faced worse, like nobles who talk about land taxes at dinner parties. “Alright, let’s do this,” you mumble to yourself.
Grabbing a piece of paper, you march toward the eight-legged horror with all the grace of someone about to tackle a dragon. There’s no elegance, no finesse. You scoop up the spider—your hands a bit shaky—and march over to the window, tossing it outside with a not-so-dignified “Go in peace, demon.”
There’s a beat of silence as you wipe your brow, feeling like you’ve just saved the world. When you turn around, Jamil is staring at you like you’ve just descended from the heavens, all in slow motion, with angelic choir music playing in the background.
“What?” you ask, still catching your breath.
“I was going to handle it,” he says, but the way his voice wavers betrays the fact that he absolutely was not. He glances away, still avoiding the spot where the spider used to be.
You raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you were. I bet you were gonna make friends with it too.”
He opens his mouth to argue but then just chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”
You walk over and bump his shoulder lightly. “And you’re lucky to have me. Spider exterminator extraordinaire.”
Jamil finally lets out a real laugh, the sound filling the room in a way that feels warm and right. When you both settle back into your paperwork, there’s an undeniable sense of something more growing between you, a feeling that neither of you says out loud, but is there nonetheless.
You look over at him again, your heart feeling too big for your chest. He meets your gaze and smiles, the unspoken affection hanging between you like a comfortable silence. Whatever’s coming next in your future, you know one thing for sure—there’s no one you’d rather handle paperwork (or spiders) with than him.
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It was a fine day for chaos, and you had a brilliant, absolutely ridiculous idea: a dance competition. The heroine was boasting loudly again, this time about her “dazzling” ballroom skills, fluttering around like a pigeon trying to impress the Duke. You leaned over to Jamil, raising a brow.
“I bet I can make her regret that,” you whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Jamil sighed, eyes flicking over to the heroine, who was twirling like she was the queen of the ball already. “You really want to stir this up?” he asked, his voice dripping with his usual calm exasperation.
“Absolutely. It’ll be hilarious,” you said with a grin. “Just trust me.”
“Those are usually your most dangerous words,” he muttered, but the little twitch at the corner of his lips told you he was more than ready to see how this would play out.
You sauntered up to the heroine, who was mid-spin, nearly knocking over a servant carrying a tray of wine glasses. “Oh my, such grace!” you exclaimed, voice layered with just the right amount of false admiration. “You must be the best dancer here. How about we make it a little more interesting?”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, clearly sensing a trap but too vain to back down. “What are you proposing?” she asked, puffing up like a puffin in a tutu.
You shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, just a little friendly dance-off. You, me, the floor. We’ll let the crowd decide who’s the real star of the ball.”
The Duke, standing behind her, snorted, clearly thinking there was no way his precious heroine could lose. You could practically hear his thoughts: What could go wrong?
Jamil, now standing at the edge of the growing crowd, looked at you with an expression that screamed Why are you like this? You shot him a quick wink.
The heroine smiled smugly, already envisioning her inevitable triumph. “Fine,” she declared, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. “But don’t cry when you lose.”
Oh, sweetheart, you thought, grinning like a Cheshire cat. You have no idea what’s coming.
The music swelled. The crowd parted, forming a perfect circle around the two of you. The heroine began her routine, performing a series of twirls and steps that were technically fine but lacked any real flair. She was all stiff arms and forced elegance, like a bird trying to pretend it was an elegant swan but failing spectacularly.
“Wow, she’s… uh, something,” you heard Jamil mutter from the sidelines, barely able to contain his laughter.
When it was your turn, you decided to dial it up to eleven. You started off slow, a simple waltz that quickly escalated into an absurd series of moves that defied both logic and physics.
At one point, you grabbed a nearby tablecloth, twirling it like a cape as if you were part ballroom dancer, part magician. The crowd was gasping and laughing all at once. You even threw in a couple of exaggerated backflips—just for dramatic effect, of course.
Jamil, still trying to remain composed, was leaning against a pillar, shaking his head with a mix of pride and disbelief. “This is insane,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest smile playing at his lips. He was definitely entertained.
The finale? You did a sliding split across the marble floor, popping up dramatically at the end to a round of thunderous applause. The heroine, meanwhile, looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Her face was pale, and her jaw had dropped halfway through your performance and never quite recovered.
“Not bad for a warm-up,” you said casually, dusting off your sleeves. “Want to go again?”
The heroine stammered something unintelligible, while the Duke shot you both a venomous glare. You, however, were far too busy basking in the crowd’s cheers to care.
Jamil approached, his expression unreadable as he handed you a glass of wine. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, though there was a mirth in his voice that wasn’t there before.
“I know,” you replied with a smirk, taking the glass from him. “But you love it.”
He let out a small, reluctant chuckle. “Unfortunately.”
As you took a sip, the heroine stormed off, dragging the Duke behind her, muttering something about “cheating” and “unfair advantages.” You couldn’t help but laugh.
“You realize you’ve just made yourself the villain of the entire evening, right?” Jamil remarked, glancing around at the nobles, who were still talking animatedly about your performance.
“Good,” you replied, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Villains always have more fun.”
Jamil raised an eyebrow. “And what are you planning to do next?”
You gave him a sly smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll challenge her to a sword fight next?”
Jamil’s eyes widened. “Please don’t.”
You just laughed, leaning into him. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”
He sighed but didn’t push you away, clearly resigned to whatever madness you had planned next. As the two of you walked away from the scene, hand-in-hand, the nobles whispered behind you, wondering just how deep your relationship ran, how formidable of a pair you truly were.
But all Jamil cared about in that moment was that you were smiling beside him, radiating with confidence and joy. He didn’t care if the heroine hated you or if the Duke was sulking somewhere in the corner. As long as he had you, the rest of the world could fall into chaos.
And honestly, with you around, it probably would.
You gave Jamil a quick glance, noticing the soft, adoring look in his eyes, and nudged him playfully. “Hey, stop looking at me like I’m your entire world.”
“Too late,” he shot back, the smallest smile on his lips.
“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he added, leaning in just a little closer, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking his hand. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”
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The plan had been perfectly crafted. You and Jamil had spent hours scheming, laughing at the thought of humiliating the Duke during the archery and horseback competition.
Your excitement grew with every passing minute as you imagined his arrogant face faltering. But when the Duke not only kept his composure but nailed each target while galloping on horseback, you felt your competitive spirit surge.
There was no way you were going to let him win. Not today.
So, of course, you went all in—because why wouldn’t you? Leaning into your impulsive nature, you urged your horse into a full-speed sprint, adrenaline surging through your veins.
And then, because you’re apparently half-crazy, you decided standing on your saddle while your horse bolted forward would be the best course of action.
The world slowed as you drew your bow, the wind whipping through your hair. You could hear the crowd’s gasps, see the Duke's smug expression turning into something more surprised, and feel Jamil's tense gaze on you. In that moment, you released the arrow.
Bullseye.
The crowd erupted into shock and awe, but you were too busy grinning like a complete idiot to care. You dismounted with all the grace of someone who just pulled off a dangerous trick, your steps light as you practically skipped over to Jamil.
"Did you see that?" you beamed, heart still racing. "I totally nailed it—"
But instead of matching your excitement, Jamil’s expression was stormy. His usually composed features were twisted in a way you hadn’t seen before—part fear, part anger, and all worry. Without warning, he grabbed your shoulders, his fingers digging in just a little too tight.
"What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was sharp, laced with panic. “Are you out of your mind? You could’ve gotten hurt, or worse!”
You blinked, surprised. “I… I was trying to win?"
“Trying to win?! You were trying to break your neck!” His grip tightened as he almost shook you, frustration evident in every word. “That wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth risking your life like that!”
It dawned on you then that he wasn’t just mad—he was terrified. You reached up slowly, cupping his face with both hands, and his expression softened, though the storm in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the wind knocked out of you by just how much he cared. “I got carried away. But hey—” You grinned a little, trying to lighten the mood. “I looked cool, right?”
Jamil groaned, exasperated, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his grip on your shoulders relaxed. His forehead dropped against yours, and for a moment, the world around you melted away. It was just the two of you, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.
“I know,” you whispered back, closing your eyes. “But you love me for it.”
He didn’t deny it. Instead, his hands slid down to your arms, his touch lingering as if grounding himself after the scare. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, his breath steadying as he leaned into you. It was such a sweet, unspoken moment, and you felt your heart swell.
All around you, whispers started to spread like wildfire among the nobles.
"Oh, they're perfect together."
“They’re like something out of a romance novel.”
Meanwhile, the Duke—who had watched the whole display—stood fuming, while the heroine, eyes narrowed, looked like she was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way Jamil was holding onto you, as if letting go wasn’t an option.
“Let’s go,” Jamil finally whispered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was softer now, more relaxed, though still tinged with concern. “No more dangerous tricks. Promise me.”
You smiled softly and nodded. “No more. I promise.”
He huffed, clearly not entirely convinced, but he let it go. You leaned against him for a moment, basking in the warmth of his presence, completely oblivious to the fact that half the noble court was watching the two of you with admiration—or that the other half was stewing in jealousy.
As you both walked away, hand in hand, it was clear that whatever plan you and Jamil had originally devised, the real victory was this: him, you, and the world falling away as the two of you found something far more precious than winning a competition.
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The nobleman’s sneer was so potent you could practically taste it in the air. “Ah, yes,” he drawled, looking down his nose at Jamil. “Nouveau riche, how quaint. No matter how much money you accumulate, you’ll never have the refinement or bloodline of true nobility.”
Jamil stood there, bored as ever, giving the man about as much attention as one would to a pesky fly. But you? You were vibrating with the sheer intensity of your rage. And then you heard it—her.
The heroine chimed in, her voice drenched in faux sincerity. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? The Duke has been managing the North so well—keeping everything running smoothly for years. Not everyone has the skills required for such a delicate task.”
Your eye twitched. Oh no. Oh no.
Jamil had been single-handedly keeping the kingdom’s economy afloat, using his brilliance to ensure food and resources flowed into the North during the harsh winters. He had done more in the span of a few years than these fools had done in their entire blood-soaked lineages. And this… this… buffoon had the nerve to look down on him?
The Duke, sensing the incoming storm, began discreetly tugging at the heroine’s sleeve, but she was as oblivious as ever. The prince, bless his spineless little heart, looked like he was ready to faint from second-hand embarrassment.
And that was your breaking point.
You stepped forward, a smile that could only be described as a harbinger of doom plastered across your face. “Oh, dear,” you cooed, your voice as sweet as poison. “Did I hear you correctly? You think the Duke is managing the North?”
The heroine blinked, clearly not catching the danger. “Well, of course! He’s—”
“Managing to exist in the North without Jamil’s trade routes, maybe,” you interrupted sharply, turning your gaze to the Duke, who now looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. “You should be on your knees, thanking Jamil for saving your people from starvation every winter. But no, please, continue on about how ‘delicate’ your situation is. Maybe you’ll convince yourself one day.”
“How dare you,” you snapped, your voice rising as you turned to the heroine. “And you. Sitting here, all wide-eyed and clueless, nodding along like you understand the gravity of the situation. You wouldn’t last a week managing a pantry, let alone a region.”
You didn’t give her a chance to reply before turning your sights on the nobleman. “And you,” you started, eyes narrowing as you stepped closer, “talking down to Jamil like you’ve ever lifted a finger to actually do something useful. Do you think your bloodline is going to rescue you when your estate crumbles from your own incompetence? If you spent half as much time working on something productive instead of sneering at people better than you, maybe you wouldn’t be such a leech on society.”
The nobleman’s face went red with anger, but before he could sputter a reply, you had already turned to the prince.
“And as for you,” you said, fixing him with a look of pure disdain. “What exactly is your contribution to this little scene, hm? Standing there, wringing your hands like a wet sponge. Do you have any idea what Jamil has done for your kingdom, or are you too busy polishing your tiara to notice?”
The prince opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was glorious.
You turned back to Jamil, who was watching you with an amused but unreadable expression. “We’re done here,” you said, grabbing his arm and marching out of the room without a backward glance.
The carriage ride back was thick with silence, the weight of your outburst pressing down on you. Jamil hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, guilt creeping up your spine.
“I— I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t defend yourself,” you started, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush. “I just couldn’t stand the way they were talking about you—”
Before you could finish, Jamil’s hand gently tilted your chin up, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—no, it was a kiss that made your heart race and your mind go blank.
When he pulled away, you were breathless. “I found it hot,” he murmured, smirking.
You blinked, utterly thrown off by the confession. “What?”
He kissed you again, slower this time, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered.
You let out a shaky laugh, still trying to process everything. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice full of emotion.
Jamil’s eyes softened, and without another word, Jamil swept you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly in a bridal carry as the carriage pulled up to your manor. He carried you inside, past the stunned servants, and straight to the bedroom, where the door closed with a soft click behind you.
As he laid you gently on the bed, you could only smile up at him, the weight of everything melting away in the warmth of his gaze.
And for once, the world beyond the two of you didn’t matter at all.
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The scandal erupted at the royal ball like a badly timed burp during a quiet opera.
The heroine—bless her, she meant well, but her foot was permanently lodged in her mouth—had done the unthinkable. You and Jamil watched from across the ballroom as she stood before the fae delegation, attempting to “honor” their centuries-old traditions.
But instead of the elegant gesture of goodwill she was supposed to offer, she made a noise that can only be described as an awkward impersonation of a dying goose and proceeded to bow backwards.
That alone wasn’t even the worst part.
“Oh no,” Jamil whispered under his breath, eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the scene. “She’s about to—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the heroine reached into her dress and produced… a bouquet of mushrooms. Not just any mushrooms. The fae’s sacred mushrooms, rumored to be foraged under the light of a blood moon and infused with mystical properties.
She shoved them at the fae emissary like a child offering wilted flowers to a stranger, and then—oh gods, why—she patted his head.
Dead silence fell across the ballroom.
The emissary, who had remained calm despite the bowing fiasco, now stared down at the mushrooms with a look of profound insult and horror. His fellow fae were vibrating, their wings fluttering ominously, as though on the verge of launching an interdimensional war over a bouquet of fungi.
You snorted, barely containing your laughter. “She’s done it now.”
Jamil, ever the diplomat, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what those mushrooms symbolize to the fae?”
“No, but I’m assuming it’s not ‘Congratulations on your promotion’ or ‘Get well soon’?”
“Death,” Jamil muttered, casting a glance at you that screamed please don’t laugh. “She just handed them a bouquet that says, ‘I wish for your demise and the utter destruction of your family line.’”
At that, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. A small laugh escaped before you slapped your hand over your mouth, trying—and failing—to keep your composure. Jamil shot you a warning glare, but even he looked like he might break. The absurdity of it all was too much.
The fae emissary spoke, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “This is an outrage. We demand recompense for this offense.”
The king and prince rushed over, trying to smooth things over with promises of reparations, apologies, anything to keep the fae from turning the court into a smoking crater. But the damage was done. The fae delegation was livid, and rightfully so. There were whispers of broken treaties, wars brewing, diplomatic chaos that would take decades to resolve.
And who did they turn to for help?
You and Jamil, of course.
Later that evening, as you lounged comfortably in your private manor, feet propped up on an ottoman, there was a frantic knock on the door. You exchanged a look with Jamil, who was reclining next to you, casually sipping his tea as though the kingdom wasn’t on the brink of a magical apocalypse.
The door swung open, and the king, the prince, and a handful of stressed-out nobles barged in, their faces pale with desperation.
“You two!” the prince bellowed, his voice barely keeping it together. “You’ve dealt with the fae before! Fix this!”
Jamil didn’t even look up from his tea. “No.”
The prince blinked. “Excuse me?”
Jamil sipped again, then casually set his cup down on the table. “I said no. I’m done. We’re done.”
You nodded, not even bothering to hide your amusement. “I think the heroine has this under control. She’s doing great.”
“She insulted the fae. She gave them a bouquet of death mushrooms!” the prince cried, waving his arms dramatically like a man in the throes of a panic-induced breakdown. “They’re going to declare war!”
“Sounds like a you problem,” you quipped, grinning.
The king, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, took a step forward, his eyes pleading. “Please, for the sake of the kingdom…”
Jamil sighed deeply, finally turning his attention to the royal mess in your doorway. “We’ve dealt with more than enough idiocy for one lifetime. How about this? You let the heroine finish what she started. If she can bungle her way into this disaster, surely she can find a way out.”
The prince spluttered, incredulous. “But you—”
“Nope,” you interrupted, standing up and stretching lazily. “We’re officially on vacation. Jamil, pack the bags.”
Jamil stood with a casual grace that belied the utter chaos unfolding behind him. “Already done.”
The king’s jaw dropped. “Vacation?! Now?! The kingdom is on the verge of collapse!”
You grabbed your coat and slung it over your shoulder with a smirk. “Well then, I’d suggest you start learning how to negotiate with the fae. Maybe start by not giving them death mushrooms.”
With that, you and Jamil strolled out of the manor, leaving the baffled royals standing in your doorway like confused children. The sound of the prince’s sputtering protests faded behind you as you made your way down the garden path, the night air cool and refreshing against your skin.
Jamil chuckled beside you, his hand slipping into yours as you walked. “Do you think they’ll manage?”
“Oh, absolutely not,” you said with a laugh. “But we deserve this. Let them figure it out for once.”
“And maybe…” you paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “Maybe we should make it official while we’re at it.”
Jamil stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you, his brows lifting in surprise. “You mean… get married?”
You smiled, leaning into him. “Why not? We’ll be far away from prying eyes, just the two of us, in the summer hours. It sounds perfect.”
For a moment, the world stood still. Then Jamil’s lips curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen. “I think that sounds perfect too.”
And so, you and Jamil left the court and its catastrophes behind, fleeing to the countryside like two fugitives on the run from royal idiocy. The villa you’d chosen was perfect—nestled in the hills, far away from the fae, the heroine, and the ridiculous drama that followed her like a bad smell.
The first morning, as you lay in bed next to Jamil, sunlight streaming through the open windows, he turned to you with a grin.
“So, what now? Do we just… hide out here forever?”
You shrugged, pulling him closer. “Why not? We can start a goat farm. I’ll name all the goats after the people we hate.”
Jamil laughed, burying his face in your neck. “A herd of royal goats. Perfect.”
And somewhere, in the distance, the kingdom probably crumbled. The heroine probably insulted more magical creatures. But for once, it wasn’t your problem.
You and Jamil had found peace in the countryside.
And maybe, just maybe, you’d throw a wedding in between all the goat naming.
The days that followed were blissfully quiet, each one blending into the next in a haze of sun-soaked afternoons and peaceful nights. You and Jamil fell into an easy rhythm—waking with the sun, wandering through the countryside, sharing meals beneath the open sky. It was simple, and that simplicity was a balm to both your souls.
The court sent letters, of course—pleading, begging for your return. But each one went unanswered. The Fae situation had likely escalated, the heroine’s blunder growing more disastrous by the day, but it wasn’t your problem anymore. Let them sort out the mess. You and Jamil had something far more important now—a life of your own making.
One evening, as you sat together on the porch of the villa, watching the sunset, Jamil leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”
You laughed softly, leaning into him. “That we’re never coming back?”
He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes.”
“They’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, your voice light, but filled with certainty. “But by then, we’ll be long gone.”
And you were. Far from the court, from the games of power and politics, from the endless demands and expectations. You had found your own path, one where the only thing that mattered was each other.
In the end, the kingdom survived. The heroine, somehow, managed to blunder her way through the Fae negotiations, though the details remained hazy in the few letters you received from old acquaintances. The Duke, as always, remained by her side, a constant fixture in a world you no longer had to care about.
But as for you and Jamil? You stayed in the countryside, living in the warmth of each day, far from the reach of courtly drama. And when the summer finally faded into autumn, you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.
Together, you had built a life out of love, quiet and unassuming, but richer than anything the court could have ever offered. And in the end, that was more than enough
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Series Masterlist ; Masterlist
The next one is Floyd!
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frosty-tian · 4 months ago
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Me at all of this.:
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Auuugh I love all of this so much and shall definitely come back to this post.
No restraints anymore.:
*Gripping your shoulders normally for any possible Boulder x Graham headcanons you have, please please please-
(Can be SFW or NSFW, just really starved for content.)
I think about these dweebs more than anyone should, I think they should have kissed on screen.
We'll keep it sfw for right now, nsfw might happen later
-Pun FIENDS. They'll set each other up for the most GROAN-inducing punchlines, and they've gotten so good at communicating it subtly, nobody else on the team knows when the worst pun they've heard all week is coming until it's already struck. It's gotten to the point where one will OBVIOUSLY set the other up and the other "ignores" it, keeping everyone on their toes until way later when the punchline hits like a brick. It's psychological warfare at this point.
-Boulder can't really eat most human food, and that makes him very sad, because there's so much variety and humans always seem like they really enjoy it. He tries to live vicariously through Graham in that regard by having him describe whatever food's caught his attention. He thanks Graham for his trouble by doing the same thing with various metals, minerals and energon blends that would probably kill Graham if he tried them.
-Cuddles are frequent Graham can be a little shy about physical affection, but he really does love when Boulder holds him. Boulder worries that his armor and treads are uncomfortable to a soft organic, so he'll usually have Graham in his arms, snuggled up in a thick, fuzzy blanket. He keeps one in his cab for that exact reason.
-Boulder likes playing with Graham's hair a lot. It's cute, and he's fascinated by the fuzzy texture. He finds himself idly petting Graham when he's nearby pretty often. It's just kind of relaxing. Graham isnt totally sure of how to feel about his giant robot boyfriend petting him like a small animal, but he's pretty sure he likes it?
-Boulder can be a little insecure about how he looks. Conventional Cybertronian attractiveness leans more towards sleek, trim, speedy, complex optics and biolights, luxury altmodes and minimal kibble. Boulder has approximately... None of that. It's not really a standard he holds anyone else to, just something he's internalized that's a little hard to unlearn. Sometimes it seems like he sees beauty in everything and everyone, except himself. Graham, lacking in the same internalized cultural biases, can't see much of anything EXCEPT beauty in Boulder. He's big, strong, capable, soft-spoken and intelligent, he's a mechanical marvel and the way he can rearrange himself into something else entirely is stunning. He is something wonderful and powerful, and he could never see such a spectacle of a person as an eyesore. Once he picks up on Boulder's hangups, he makes it his mission to help him see that.
-Graham knows he spends a lot of time in his own head, so when he's thinking about Boulder and thinks up something he wants to ask him, or something sweet he wants to say to him, he'll write it on a sticky note so he wont assume he already said it and forget.
-They were both pretty worried about the reaction from the team when they first got together. Graham hadn't realized he liked guys until he fell for Boulder, and neither of them knew how a cross-species relationship would be seen, by the Burns family OR the other Bots. They thought it'd be best to hide the relationship until they were confident enough to announce it. Or, at least, they TRIED to hide it. Neither is particularly subtle or a good liar, so the whole affair was pretty much an open secret. (And then became FULLY open info when everyone sort of acting like they didn't know drove Blades crazy and he finally asked what the deal was. Mortifying, but it did take a lot of pressure off for Graham and Boulder when they got to find out everyone was cool with it.)
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lomlhwa · 2 months ago
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in the stars (c.bg)
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pairing: alien!beomgyu x abduction victim!reader
preview: scientists didn't even know aliens existed until like, a week ago. now here you are on one of their ships being taken to their planet to repopulate their species.
tags/warnings: fem reader, monster cocks!beomgyu, two cocks, beomgyu has three eyes idk, tentacles...., his arms have suction cups, marking, oral (m.receiving), aphrodisiac use, knotting (?), breeding, dacryphilia, pet names (baby, my salvation, pretty girl), biting, praise + degradation, bulge kink, overstimulation, kinda subby beomgyu, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampies obvi
trigger warnings: abduction, forced aphrodisiac consumption
wc: 3.2k
song recs for this fic: e.t by katy perry
a/n: my goodness
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walking through the forest near your house has always been calming for you. the peaceful quietness of the forest after dark is something you longed for all day. today was no different. a long day at work had you heading for the forest as soon as you got home. you gathered your flashlight, blanket and a sweater and locked your car. leaves crunched under your shoes as you disappeared deeper into the thicket.
the light of day disappeared quickly as you wandered deeper and deeper. by the time you found a spot to lay your blanket, the stars were starting to appear. you placed your fluffy blanket down on the ground softly, laying down to watch more stars litter the sky. this activity was something that had begun to be advised against. the discovery of aliens had made most people scared to be outdoors for long periods of time. 
you, however, were in denial about this supposed alien life that had been discovered. it felt like weird timing that you couldn’t put your finger on. therefore until you saw one with your own eyes, you wouldn’t believe anything about the aliens. the stars sparkle in the sky as the sky reaches its darkest state. you ponder on the extraterrestrial life that has finally shown itself. would they ever really invade earth? you wondered how the world would react to this kind of attack. 
you shake your head. the aliens aren’t real, there’s no invasion to worry about. the government just wants to make up a distraction for some scandal. you raise your arms to rest them under your head, admiring the beautiful sky. your eyes lock onto a star that seems much brighter than the rest of them. but not in a ‘northern star’ way, but in an unnatural way. you rise and sit cross legged, tilting your head in confusion. it almost seems like it’s getting bigger or, like, approaching you. 
you stand up and stare up at the light. you realize that it is, in fact, approaching you. the light gets bigger and bigger until a beam of light appears in a circle on the ground. it seems like the light is searching for something. you stand in place like a deer in headlights before deciding to get out of there. you leave all of your things where they were and start running. your quick movements seem to have alerted the light and it starts chasing after you. you run as fast as you possibly can, your legs working overtime. your foot catches on a branch and you come tumbling down onto the ground. 
the light settles onto you, the harsh wind from some kind of aircraft sending leaves and twigs flying. before you know it, your body is being lifted off the ground. you thrash around, trying to escape. before you know it, you’re reaching the source of the bright light. you see some sort of door open before you lose consciousness. 
____________________________________
you come to, the lights of a bright, white room blinding you. you squint, adjusting to your surroundings. your eyes struggle with the lights, the room feeling ten times brighter with the harsh fluorescents. your eyes settle on a dark figure in the corner of the room. the figure seems skittish, avoiding your gaze. “hello?” you say, your voice breaking. it feels like you had been screaming, but you have no memory of anything since being lifted into the air. 
your eyes adjust to see what looks like a person in the corner. you can see the person fiddling with their hands. “h-hello, human,” he responds. he sounds like he has some weird accent that you can’t place. he wanders closer to you, and you can finally get a better look at him. you know immediately that this is one of the aliens you were so in denial about. his arms up to his elbows  are a dark purple and so is his nose and the tips of his ears. it’s a beautiful shade but also very inhuman. he also has a third eye sitting in the middle of his forehead, between his other two eyes. his inner arms up to his shoulders  were adorned with small suction cups like an octopus. other than his obviously alien-like features, he looks relatively human. he has a pretty, dark wolf cut and two of his eyes are brown, despite his third one being a bright yellow. he has pretty, pink lips and flushed cheeks. he looks so nervous to be near you, despite being the one who abducted you. 
you try and get up out of the chair you’re in and find your legs to be strapped down, along with your wrists. “please, stay calm, don’t fight the restraints,” he speaks again, his eyes darting all over the room. anywhere but you. “why are you doing this? please, let me go. i won’t tell anyone about this,” you plead, worried your life is in the hands of this being. “i’m not g-going to kill you,” he explains. he almost seems more scared than you are. “i need your help.” you furrow your brows, confused. “for what?” you ask, tugging on your restraints again. “my people… they’re going extinct. there are no females left on my planet,” he trails off, his eyes staying glued to the floor. “i chose you to help me with… repopulation.”
your eyes widen so much that you’re worried they might pop out of your head. “repopulation!? no, no, no, i can’t help you with that,” you smile awkwardly, not knowing how to even react to this information. “i’m human and you’re… what are you? and who are you?” you ask, looking him up and down. “i’m beomgyu and i’m from venus. i’m a verenok,” he explains, as if it was nothing to you. as if you would understand. “okay, my point still stands. i’m a human and you’re an alien. how am i supposed to repopulate your planet if we’re of different species’?” you do your best to gesture at yourself, despite beomgyu not even looking in your direction. 
“w-we don’t have to be the same species. i just have to… uh…” he trails off and scratches the back of his neck nervously. “you have to what?” you ask, worry filling your tone of voice. “i have to knot you,” he blurts out. you look at him, confused. you had no idea what that meant but you can only assume it’s some sort of mating thing. when he scans your facial expressions, he panics and adds more to his statement. “it’ll feel so good, i promise. i have this pill to give you that will prepare you. it’s an aphrodisiac,” he reaches into the pocket of his pants and holds up a medium sized pink pill. before you can respond, he walks over to you and forces your mouth open. he drops the pill down your throat, followed by a syringe of water that seemingly came from the same pocket.
he looks at you with guilty eyes, seeming to immediately regret his decision. “i’m sorry. i just really, really  need your cooperation. i’ll be back in a bit once the pill starts working to see how you feel,” he explains before scurrying away and out the door. you open your mouth to call out to him, but it’s too late. you settle into your spot on the examination table you were currently strapped to. an aphrodisiac? did he seriously just force a sex drug down your throat? all you could really do was wait, either for him to come back or for the meds to kick in.
much to your dismay, the meds kick in long before beomgyu returns. you’re writhing on the table, your whole body burning. you clench your thighs together, desperate for any form of friction. you sweat profusely, your clothes sticking to your body disgustingly. “beomgyuuu,” you call out for him, you body basically begging for the man who had previously promised you sex. you begin to border on crying, your core so desperate to be touched. “gyu, please come back, i know you can hear me. i’ll help you, i promise. please,” you plead, your back arching and relaxing repeatedly. 
the door on the other side of the room opens and beomgyu pops his head in. “you’ll help me?” he asks, and you nod immediately. “yes! yes, please beomgyu. i’ll do anything, just please touch me,” you pull at your restraints, trying to get at him. beomgyu reaches into his pocket and suddenly your restraints are released. you’re quick to scramble off the exam table and crawl over to beomgyu who had slightly migrated into the room. you rest on your knees and place your hands in a praying position. “please, please, i need you to fuck me,” you beg. your eyes trail down from his eyes to his crotch that you’re eye level with. “i need you in my mouth, beomgyu, please.” beomgyu looks down at you with a shocked, but lust filled expression. “o-okay. go ahead, human.”
your mouth waters as you pull his pants down. your jaw drops when your faced with two giant, purple cocks. you barely know what to do with yourself at this discovery. you had had an inkling that he would be purple down here, considering the coloring of other parts of his body. “so pretty,” you mumble before connecting your mouth to the cock that sits below the other one. you wrap your hand around the one that isn’t resting in your mouth. beomgyu sighs in relief, his eyes crossing in pleasure. he staggers, his hands connecting to your hair. he strips himself of his shirt, revealing tentacles that sit on his ribcage. they’re long and seem to be able to elongate themselves. they move and wiggle down to your neck, wrapping themselves around and tightening ever so slightly. 
the bulge in your throat moved deliciously under his tentacles, his instincts taking over and tightening around your throat more to feel it better. you choke and cough around him, sinking your mouth further down to take more of him. your hand moves swiftly while stroking his other cock, making sure he feels the most pleasure you can offer. you feel some of the suckers on his tentacles attach themselves to your neck. they make a slurping noise when sucking against your skin, leaving dark purple circle marks on your supple skin. you dig your nails into his hips, finding that his legs are purple up to mid-thigh. 
you do your best to take the entirety of his length down your throat, but it’s physically impossible. beomgyu whimpers and whines every time you make an effort to take more of him down your throat. “okay, okay, fuck, i don’t think y-you want my cum down your throat,” he moves to push your head away from him and you pull him back. “gyu, please, need it,” you beg, giving the tip of his lower cock kitten licks. you take him back into your mouth and bob your head faster. you use your hand to jerk his other cock at the same speed, your body aching for him to cum for you. “please, please,” you chant, pleading for what you need. 
beomgyu’s breath gets caught in his throat as he finally finishes, his cocks releasing cum down your throat and on your face. your whole body shakes, the feeling of him getting off to your pleasure making you feel like an animal. you remove your mouth from him and swallow to the best of your abilities. you lick your hand and do your best to collect the semen from your face and shove it into your mouth. you find that his semen is very different from that of a human man. it’s sweet and kind of tinted purple. you almost feel hungry for more to consume. you look up at beomgyu and find that he’s still painfully hard. “get back on the table,” he demands. the tone of his voice completely shifting. 
you scramble to get yourself back to where you had started. beomgyu follows you just as quickly. as soon as you settle down on the examination table, beomgyu hooks his fingers under the waistband of your pants and strips your bottom half. your legs spread on their own, inviting him between your legs. the tentacles from his ribs slither to your core, one of them teasing your hole and the other finding your clit. he leans over you to connect his mouth with yours, kissing you with almost bruising force. he lifts your shirt over your head and discards it somewhere else in the room. he wraps his arms around your waist, the suckers on his arms squishing against you and sucking like his mouth would. you can feel that you’ll end up with hickies all over your body, your body turning a similar shade to beomgyu. “you look prettier like this, my salvation. you’re my color now.”
he presses firmly against you, his arms holding you in place, his cocks brushing your entrance deliciously. he peppers your face and neck with kisses while his tentacles move to wrap around your breasts. they attach and detach from your skin, leaving dark marks in their wake. “you can t-take both, right?” he asks as he moves one hand down to align himself properly. in your delirious haze, you find yourself nodding desperately. you were sweating and whining, your hole begging to be filled. “you’re acting like a bitch in heat, are you sure you’re not one of us?” he chuckles and you can do nothing but buck your hips against him. 
he squeezes the tips of both cocks together, doing his best to at least make the initial stretch less unbearable. you’re soaking wet and desperate, so you couldn’t care less how much this was going to sting. beomgyu shoves into you at an agonizingly slow pace, but it makes your brain absolutely go numb. it takes him probably a good couple minutes to fully bottom out at the speed he’s going. when he finally does, there’s a very obvious bulge in your lower stomach. your jaw hung slack as your body desperately tried to adjust. “so big… so good…” you mumble, lifting your head to look down between your legs and admire the way you look spread open. your eyes then trail up to beomgyu’s face and you’re met with the most beautiful sight.
the alien between your legs had his pretty bottom lip caught between his sharp teeth, his own eyes also admiring the way he disappeared into you. you could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open, the pleasure overtaking him. his cheeks flushed a dark pink, seeming to be in disbelief that he had actually managed to get inside his human captive. “fuck, baby, you’re sucking me in like a good girl. i knew you’d be the perfect candidate,” he brushes a hand over the bulge in your stomach before using his arm to hold himself up over you. he runs his purple tongue over his fanged teeth, before scanning your body.
“need… please move,” you plead, clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly. finally, he draws his hips back, before slamming into you. you cry out immediately, the feeling being such an intense mix of pain and pleasure that your nerves have no idea how to react. you feel like your whole body is on fire, the aphrodisiac working its magic to make your body desperate for more despite being filled with two cocks. you grab him by the nape of his neck and connect your mouths, desperate for as much contact as possible. he wraps his arms around you again, placing them meticulously so that he fills the empty space on your torso with more dark purple and blue marks. 
he thrusts into you with so little mercy or care for your human state. he folds you in half, connecting his suckers to the backs of your thighs to keep you in place. his tentacles slither away from your chest and down to your core. one connects a sucker to your clit and the other forces its way into your hole along with his cocks. “gyu, fuck, need to cum,” your eyes burn with tears as your orgasm comes hurdling towards you like a train. “oh, my perfect salvation,” he mumbles against your mouth. “you can cum, but i’m not gonna stop. have to breed you,” he runs his tongue over your bottom lip as he finishes speaking before kissing you once again. your orgasm crashes over you and your whole body trembles in his hold. he holds you down tighter, your body beginning to fight against him from overstimulation. 
“oh, don’t fight it, pretty girl. you know you want more. you’re practically bursting at the seams,” he taunts you. he removes his mouth from yours before connecting it to your jugular. your legs shake and try desperately to close, but his strength is much more than yours. he kisses the side of your neck before sinking his teeth into a seemingly specific part of your neck. “mine, mine, mine, all mine,” he mutters. his possessiveness over you has you inching closer and closer to a second oragsm. he can feel you tensing again, and it’s perfect timing. “gonna knot you this time, baby. it’s gonna feel a little weird, but it’ll ensure that you’re impregnated.” 
you nod despite the fact that none of his words had actually registered in your brain. the tentacle that had been wriggling around inside you pulled itself out. as you came, you felt his cocks get impossibly bigger inside you. as the bases of his cocks swell and plug your hole, his whole demeanor changes. his previously mostly dominant behavior completely. he unsticks his arms from your legs and lets them rest on his hips. he leans on his elbows next to your head and strokes your hair. he looks at you like he’s never loved anyone more than you. “you’re perfect. i couldn’t have picked someone better, my salvation.” he swells inside you more and more, and you feel like you’re going to explode. 
finally, you feel him filling you to the brim with his cum, and you can almost feel that he’s filling you directly in your womb. the experience has you feeling drunk. your eyes cross and you drink in the feeling of him finally filling you up. your body is exhausted and it’s almost like his knot was the antidote for the aphrodisiac you had taken. he slowly pulls out of you, a glob of cum following him. he pants, wiping his forehead with his forearm. “okay, i’m gonna go get you some clothes and a towel, and then we begin our journey back to venus.” 
you raise your hand to your neck, feeling the mark of his teeth in your skin. your brain comes to an understanding that you are, in fact, his. you don’t mind all too much. “i’m sorry, i’ve never knotted anyone before. it’s a sacred practice that we’ve now shared,” beomgyu explains as he cleans you up and helps you put on robes similar to his. “um, we are mates forever now though.” you shrug, hopping down from the table. “that’s okay. i like you,” you smile and wander around the room. “i’m y/n by the way, since you never asked for my name.” you walk back over to him and admire his stature next to you. 
“ready to go home?” he asks you, and you nod. “let’s go home.”
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gravid-transluna · 5 months ago
Text
In the Name of Science
words: 7627
content: birth denial, clothing birth, mutual birth, fpreg
Co-written with the wonderful and endlessly imaginative @shhhsecretsideblog
First entry into the Spell-verse, a series of stories revolving around a town blanketed by a rapid pregnancy and birth spell.
The news already had coined a name for it. Go figure, Char thought, shaking her head at the display of pure pseudoscience on the screen before her.
“Yes, that’s right,” a reporter spoke. “Emergency services have taken a census and The Spell seems to have affected every person able to bear children in the town.”
“The Spell,” Char scoffed, shaking her head. “Call it a virus, a fluke of biology, whatever. Just don’t chalk it up to magic.”
Because if it was magic, that would mean her science would be ineffectual on the obvious life growing inside her belly, now looking full-term with a baby that she hadn’t been pregnant with this morning. It rippled, hanging low between the scientist’s thighs. She placed a palm on her stretched tummy. The evidence, she thought, speaks for itself.
“Shouting at the tele again Char?” Laura said as she waddled into their lab. Her long white coat hung open at her sides, her own newly formed bump making the coat too small to fit round her frame.
“Got you a coffee.” She passed the hot drink to her boss and went over to sit on the stool by her own workstation. It took a bit of navigating, still not used to this extra weight she now carried, but eventually she plumped herself on the high metal chair.
“I mean, they aren’t wrong calling it ‘The Spell.’ What’s happening here is unheard of. All these pregnancies are popping up very much like magic.” Laura rubbed the circumference of her large belly that now sat heavily atop her thighs. She could feel the baby moving inside, it was so strange. Pregnancy and birth was never something she thought she’d experience. She understood it, she knew all about the process, but it was something else entirely actually experiencing it. And going through it all within the space of a day was a bit of a rollercoaster.
They’d done scans and knew they were carrying human babies, it wasn’t anything supernatural or alien, but it was just the speed, it was unprecedented. The baby in her womb shifted and kicked her in the ribs “Oof!” She huffed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.” Laura commented to her boss.
Char nodded, smothering the instinct to cup her own belly as devoted her attention back to her work.
“Hopefully, you won’t have to. We’ll find a way to reverse the process without delivery and things will—“ she paused, startled by a twinge in her stomach muscles and the subsequent squirming of the baby inside her. She cleared her throat. “Things will return to normal and we can take the time to research this phenomenon thoroughly.”
Secretly, Char’s urgency stemmed from another reason—already she’d struggled to adapt to the feeling of her body so unrecognizably changed, the idea of a passenger inside her, her body growing and stretching to accommodate it without any of her say in it. Even the tiniest signs of motherhood she steadfastly resisted, trying not to waddle or hold her heavy mound, wearing her usual lab wear instead of anything more comfortable. Yet—
She knew this was nothing compared to birth. She also knew that they were on a strict time limit. Shaking her head, she dispelled these thoughts. ‘We don’t have to worry about that. All we have to worry about is finding a cure,’ she thought.
“You really think we can find a cure before these babies are born?” Laura asked hesitantly. She knew how her boss was handling this sudden change in their bodies, and it wasn’t very well. Not that she’d admit it. She disappeared quickly into the work when it first started happening to people and completely ignored the signs this morning that it was happening to them both as well.
“I’ve heard that some people are already starting to give birth… we might not have the time. Not before these ones are born anyway.” Laura patted her bump affectionately. She wasn’t fighting this as much as her boss. Yes it was a shock, but Laura was leaning into the experience, it was fascinating.
She noticed her belly start to twinge, felt similar to period pains. Laura shifted in her chair, trying to ease the uncomfortable feeling, her legs widening on the stool to fit her rounded stomach in between. “Have you had any twinges or cramps or anything?” Laura asked.
Char glanced at Laura, absorbing the gravity of her condition, the way her midsection protruded from her open lab coat and her discomfort that so mirrored Char’s own. “Nope,” she lied easily, convincing herself that it was the weight she was now carrying, that the pressure in her hips and the aching of her back was all because of the new load in her belly.
“Well, I’m not exactly hasty to get these babies out the old-fashioned way,” Char said.
A part of her shared sentiments with Laura, though. Call it a scientific curiosity, but the process of birth was quite a marvel. Another cramp seized her belly and she stiffened slightly, bearing it without note. Her own belly hung low, having dropped without her realizing, but Laura’s taut, overhanging swell was immediately apparent to her.
How about you?” She asked while peering into a microscope.
“I’m not sure… I’m feeling something… oof—” Laura took a sharp breath as the ache peaked before easing off again. “It’s probably just my body adjusting to the quick pregnancy. I’m not in a hurry to give birth myself.”
She didn’t want to say it but the rate at which their stomachs had swelled, Laura didn’t think they would have long before the pangs of labor hit. It was difficult to ascertain how “far along” they were, given the speed in the growth, but judging by the bumps alone Laura guessed her and Char were developing at the same rate.
“We better work fast then, before either of us goes into labor.” Or both of us, Laura thought to herself.
Char pressed her lips together at the reminder, and without knowing she palmed the underside of her swollen stomach, attempting to soothe the tightened muscles.
“Yes, right. Could you come over here and we can analyze these lab reports together. Bring the files from the corner bench, please.”
Her back ached, yet she was too restless to sit and besides, she always worked while standing. She’d be damned if she let this baby inside of her intrude on her routine.
“Sure thing.” Laura said to Char’s instruction. Holding her taut stomach, Laura slipped off the stool onto her feet and waddled over to the corner bench to pick up the files.
Standing seemed to have jolted her baby, feeling the weight sink lower into her hips as it kicked. A sudden sharp tightening slashed across her belly causing her to gasp and grab on to the table. “Mnngh!” She groaned as the muscles pulled and squeezed, its intensity surprising.
“Char… hooo… I think I might be having a con-contraction…” Laura panted through the pain, hips instinctively swaying beneath the white lab coat.
Char snapped her head up from the microscope to see Laura doubled over, clutching the table. With her back flat, her weighty belly seemed to strain toward the ground, dragged downward by gravity. Char watched as Laura swayed her hips in an almost hypnotic pattern, as though instinct had taken over. Her panting, even, seemed instinctual, the sounds of an imminent mother.
“Laura? Hey—“ Char struggled to walk without a waddle, across the room to Laura. She was stopped by a squeezing in her tummy that took her breath away, the entire surface hardening painfully. She dismissed it before it even ended. ‘Braxton Hicks,’ she thought. ‘No big deal. I have time…. Laura, I’m not so sure.’
She placed a palm on Laura’s lower back and she breathed and swayed. “You’re okay,” she said, her usual brisk tone softening. “Just breathe.”
“Hoooo-hoooo…..” Laura forced herself to take measured breaths, in and out, breathing through the sudden pain. Her head dipped and her eyes scrunched, the weight and pressure suddenly peaking before gradually fading away. Slowly the assistant straightened back up and faced her friend (?) and boss.
“Jeeze, that was… intense.” She breathed, rubbing the underside of her belly. “I wasn’t expecting that to come on so fast. Guess I’m in labor. I’ll start running a log of all my symptoms so we can add to our research.” She picked up the earlier requested files and handed them to her boss, noticing a slight glistening of sweat on Char’s forehead. “You still doing okay?”
Char nodded, appearing uncharacteristically distracted. She made an effort to straighten her back, feeling the clamping around her womb subside for now.
“Fine,” she said. Then, appreciative of Laura’s dedication to their studies, “Good work, Laura. If it gets to be too much for you, let me know. Until then, we’ll work around the clock and develop a cure before you progress too far.”
And, before I do as well, Char added to herself.
Noting Laura’s significantly widened stance and the way she stroked and circled her dropped belly, Char felt a twinge of apprehensiveness.
As they worked, fighting the clock, Char listened to Laura’s pained breaths become sharper. Eventually she began to vocalize, softly at first, closing her eyes and rocking her body back and forth, making slight grunts and moaning under her breath.
Char wasn’t in a much better state. Her contractions had grown into strong, regular surges and every time her belly seized up she could only focus on it and the baby inside it preparing to be born. Born, she thought. Not if I can help it. Her familiarity with the process and inevitability of birth did nothing to halt this line of thinking. Yet with each contraction she felt like nothing else existed but her swollen, contracting belly. She released a breath after a particularly brutal one. There was so much pressure. She felt it deep in her hips, wanting so badly to open herself up all the way.
Laura let out a pained groan herself, and Char glanced up.
“H-how are you, mm, holding up?” She asked the other laboring woman.
“As w-well as can be expected… hoooo…” Laura held her heavy belly with one hand, the other leant on her workstation as she swayed through the pain. “They are really picking up now Char, oof, the pressure is a lot.”
The lab assistant had abandoned her chair a while ago, finding the most comfortable position was to stand at her desk as it allowed her to follow her body’s rhythm and its instinct to move. Plus the baby was sinking way too low to be sitting down on that ridiculous high stool. She had spent entire days on that chair working before The Spell, but that idea seemed downright ludicrous to Laura now.
Their research seemed to be slow moving, and it wasn’t entirely down to the fact she was in labor, the science just wasn’t providing them with answers, still proving to be a mystery. She’d been keeping track of her contractions, which were getting dangerously closer together and time was running out.
Whilst the waves of pain coursing through her body every five minutes were consuming, Laura wasn’t oblivious to the fact her boss was also struggling. Perhaps it was because of her own labor she could recognise the signs; the way Char kept moving around the lab and never stayed still, her heavy breathing and occasional moan, and the way her hips would shift and bounce when she thought Laura wasn’t looking. Yup, her boss was almost certainly in labor too. But Laura knew better than to ask her outright.
“Are you feeling okay Char? You’ve been on your feet for quite a w-while now..”
Char tried to imagine sitting and found she couldn’t, with the baby dropped so low, the head pressing heavily on her cervix. She knew from the strain in Laura’s voice and her repeated movements around the room that she was feeling the same pressure and slowly increasing urgency. She wanted to moan, openly sway and rotate her hips against the excruciating pressure, to release instinctual grunts with her contractions like Laura. But, not yet. She couldn’t be in active labor.
“Just frustrated,” Char growled. “We’ve barely made progress and this current batch of tests has yielded no results whatsoever…. mmgh!” She winced, closing her mouth so as not to cry out as a contraction clamped her midsection.
“Also,” she added. “I might—urgh, be experiencing some Braxton Hicks.”
“Oh… braxton hicks… okay.” Laura acknowledged calmly, knowing full well there was nothing false about the pains plaguing Char. “Just try and b-breathe through them. They’ll soon pass. You can move around you know, follow your body’s instincts if you need to, I’m sure it would help with the, errr—false labor pains.”
They continued working in relative silence, except from the unusual noises Laura found herself making through the pains. She thought she heard her boss whimper, and asked “Is there anything I can do to h-help?”
Not that she was capable of doing much, the pains were so strong now she could barely do anything other than catch her breath between waves. Laura stayed close to her work bench, not daring to move too far for fear she’d crumble to the floor. Her bump hung heavy and low off her hips, her baby was pressing hard against her cervix clearly marking its exit. A particularly forceful contract had Laura folded over against the bench, forearms on the white surface, hips jutting back, and her head buried in the crook of her elbow. Her groans had turned more primal, the pressure building to the point she almost mooed like a cow. Something was slipping down, she could feel it. With a grunt Laura felt something give and the immediate dampness that followed trailing down her leg.
“Ummm… Char? Hoooo… I think my water broke.” Laura whimpered into her arm, not daring to move.
Char turned when she heard Laura’s animalistic groans and grunts, undeniably the noises of a woman deep in labor. She saw Laura standing wide-legged, a wet patch forming on her lab trousers and puddling the floor beneath her. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, and Char knew she was feeling the same pressure against her widening cervix as herself, increasingly overcome with the sensation of the head moving into position, the instinctive need to open herself up for the baby getting ready to come out of her.
“Laura—! Hooo um, okay,” Char faltered, taking large waddling steps to Laura and cursing the weight in her pelvis and the unwieldiness of her belly. .Normally in control of the situation, she felt lost at the sight of Laura’s waters puddled on the floor. This was an uncontrollable variable. No matter how much they wanted to keep their babies in, once their bodies decided it was time there was little they could do. But Char wasn’t ready to give in yet.
“I’ll, mmgh, find you some towels,” she promised Laura.
In the hallway she suffered another contraction, and found herself vocalizing freely without Laura around, lowing insistently and arching her back. Without knowing, her knees bent slightly, beginning to sink into a squat. She realized what she was doing and tried to hold herself upright against the hallway wall, but by then the contraction was upon her and she felt a sudden burst of fluid from between her legs.
“Oh…. shit,” she murmured, panting hard.
When she returned with the towels, she met Laura’s gaze and knew that they were both feeling the urgency of birth. They were almost out of time.
The contraction had waned when Char left the room and Laura slowly righted herself and breathed quietly, taking stock of the situation, letting her body adjust and working with the new sensations. The baby was definitely on its way, there was no doubt about that. The breaking of her waters had helped ease the excruciating pressure which had been building, but Laura became more keenly aware of the shape of the baby in her womb without its cushioning.
Taking deep and steady breaths, Laura tried to calm her mind and body. It was during this almost meditative state that she heard the unmissable sound of a woman in deep labor from the corridor. She knew exactly who it was.
Char was a very methodical woman, set in her ways, but she was strong and determined which was a necessity in this field of work. Laura respected her immensely. But it was no surprise to the assistant that her boss was fighting this and seemingly was fighting it to the very end. At some point Char would admit she was in labor, she would have to if she was going to birth her baby. Laura just hoped she would be able to help Char through it when the time comes, and not be consumed by her own birth.
When Char came back she was flushed and sweaty, but gritted a smile as she passed Laura a towel. Laura noticed her boss kept one for herself… strange.
Laura threw the towel on the floor and used her foot to wipe the liquid that was now puddled at her feet. Her trousers were wet but she didn’t want to take them off, she might have known Char for years but wasn’t quite ready to be walking around half naked in front of her boss.
“This baby is definitely coming, I can feel its head right down in my pelvis.” Laura announced, cupping the underside of her large swell almost trying to hold it up. “How are you holding up Char through your… practice contractions?”
Even without her announcing it, Char could tell how close Laura was to birthing her baby, her stance and dropped belly unmistakable as signs of her imminent birth. Laura, she knew, was dependable, and though Char would rarely admit it, she relied on Laura and her stability and her easier personality tended to balance Char’s own stubbornness. Her patience was beginning to wear Char down, and she almost admitted then. The head was huge against her dilated cervix, and she could feel it oriented, ready to descend. Everything was moving painfully downwards. She could no longer even pinch her knees together, so wide was her gait. It felt as if the baby would drop out of her if she spread too wide.
“I-I think I’m, I’m in—“ Char was cut off by another contraction, doubling over with an urgent grunt, so unlike her normally composed and cool attitude. “Ohhhh,” she moaned, closing her eyes. She gritted her teeth, eyes squeezed shut as the contraction began to peak and she clutched blindly at her rigid, taut belly.
“Oh Char…” Laura said, waddling over to her boss, keeping one hand on a bench for support. “I think you’re in labor, hun.”
Char was completely doubled over, clutching her large and heavy belly, and grunting wildly. There was no way she could keep denying her situation now surely. Laura put a hand on Char’s back and rubbed up and down her spine in support. “It’s okay, just breathe through the contraction. Slowly, don’t panic, in and o-outttt…”
Laura was cut off by a contraction of her own, and without her waters it was aggressive and forceful. She immediately spun around, grabbing the nearest bench, and groaned deeply as she fell into a slight squat. The baby was slamming against her cervix, squeezing its way into her birth canal, and Laura had no choice but to push with the force of the contraction.
She tried not to panic, to stay calm, but the head filling her canal was almost making her nauseous. She wanted to tell Char but couldn’t speak, not that her boss could do anything as she was dealing with a contraction of her own right now. The only option left was to ride the wave, and follow her instincts.
Over the din of her own uncontrollable noises Char could hear Laura’s straining groans as she bore down fiercely, primal with the urgency of a birthing mother. Char tried to change her posture but the feeling of the baby descending, pressing down forcefully against her cervix was too much for her to bear standing, and she clasped her hands on her thighs as she squatted, desperate for relief. The contraction peaked, and though she tried to control her breathing, sucking in air at first, by the ends of her breaths she found herself grunting slightly. She gave a gasp, realizing that she was pushing. No! No, no! She thought desperately. You’re a scientist. This is your lab, and you have control. Try as she might, it was impossible to assert control over her laboring body. Her baby was coming, and she was pushing. Still, she tried to resist the urge to push, panting and blowing as the pressure grew and her back flared with pain.
Laura’s contraction seemed to subside a little before Char’s, and Char saw her belly visibly heave as her uterine muscles relaxed. She let out a grunt as the contraction released her. They made eye contact as Char’s contraction began to fade as well. Char shifted her gaze.
“We…. w-we,” she panted, trying to regain her breath. “We have to find this cure. Right now.”
“Char…. Even if we do find a c-cure… what do you t-think is going to happen?” Laura said sternly as she heaved herself back to standing. “These babies,” she patted her bump and also Char’s for effect, “are coming and no cure is going to make them disappear.”
Laura had seen the way Char literally squatted to the ground and pushed, and her clothes were also damp on her bottom half. “I’m saying this as both your friend and colleague, you are in labor just as much as I, and we should prepare for their arrival.”
Laura waddled awkwardly, bowlegged, back to her desk and grabbed a drink of water. Still panting after the latest contraction, she picked up a pen and carried on making notes. “I’ll help you as much as I can, noting everything down about this rapid pregnancy, tracking my symptoms and experience, but we’re going to be giving birth soon. Both of us.”
Char glared weakly as Laura patted her belly. She’d known Laura to be one of her only lab partners to actually stand up to her or challenge her, but even then she was firmly gentle. This was no different except of course so steeped in labor herself Laura had a bit more edge to her, biting just a little. She knew how Laura was feeling. Their babies were so low, pushing heavily into their canals and forcing their bodies to deliver, and she wanted nothing more to stop what she was doing right now, squat down, and let it come. Magic or science, Char and Laura were experiencing their most natural, primal instincts.
But—she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. No, this was HER body. An intruding passenger wouldn’t change that, even as it inched its way through her birth canal and demanded she work hard and concentrate on nothing but pushing it out. Char made a laborious effort to straighten somewhat, though her stance wasn’t much narrower than Laura’s own bowlegged waddle.
“Not, urgh, yet,” Char said. “I’m not having this baby. Mmm…. hoo, I’m grateful to you, Laura, for holding it together for this long. But you n-need to deliver. Please, don’t burden yourself. I’ll finish this cure on my—hmnh, hm. My own.”
She painstakingly toddled to her research table, lifting the hefty weight of her belly as though it would keep the baby from dropping any further.
“Okay, do whatever you wanna do Char.” Laura resigned herself to losing this argument. Her boss was determined but this was next level, bordering on complete denial. Well if Char was feeling even half the sensations Laura was, she’d succumb to this birth soon enough.
Laura needed to prepare for the imminent birth, her recent pushing was a sure sign the baby was close. Slowly, and whilst always holding on to something, the assistant rummaged through the drawers and cupboards in the lab. “Do we have anything we could use for clamps to cut the cord?” She asked aloud, not really expecting an answer from her disgruntled colleague. “Ah, this could work.”
She collected the equipment she’d need to clamp and cut the chord on her desk, and moved the towel on the floor with her feet again mopping up the new liquid that she’d trailed across the floor, not realizing she was still leaking. “I’m gonna go get some more towels.” Laura again spoke aloud but knew her boss had disappeared into her own world.
Laura barely made it to the doorway when another contraction struck, and damn they were close together. Her fingers gripped the wooden frame as her body sank downwards again, the pressure building and building between her legs. “Mnnnghhhhhhhh!!!” Laura grunted, muscles contracting and squeezing the large head further through the birth canal, to the point she could feel herself start to open slightly. “Nghhhhhhh the head…. I can feel it…” Laura mewled as she squatted.
Char listened to Laura’s preparations in the background, doing her best to tune out both Laura’s words and the feeling of a massive head lodged in her birth canal, stretching her from within. Her legs trembled, nearly buckled even without a contraction. She resented herself for pushing but knew from her last contraction that she wouldn’t be able to help from bearing down again. The urge to push, the pressure, it was blurring her vision, and her head pounded dizzyingly. A mantra repeated in her head: ‘Hold it in. Just hold it in a little longer.’ Her stomach felt like a hard stone weighing on her middle even without a contraction. She tried to focus, pulling herself into a chemical analysis of her own birthing fluids she’d swabbed from the towel.
Suddenly, she heard Laura’s loud grunting and her attention was drawn to the doorway to see her assistant bent and squatted, pushing hard into her trousers. She felt a tug of concern.
“Laura? Hun, you okay—?”
The head, she thought. Oh god, she’s still wearing her work trousers.
Before she could even take a single step towards Laura, she felt another contraction grip her. “Oooof,” she grunted deeply. Her knees began to give out and she was forced into a squat even as she tried to remain standing. Gripping the table for dear life, she groaned and growled. Don’t push, she thought. Don’t—
“Ohhhh.” The head shifted down. Her powerful internal muscles shoved it through. “OH—I’m—I-I’m pushinggggg, mmmmgh!”
Laura was consumed by the sensations thrumming through her entire body, it was as if something primal was happening to her - new and unfamiliar, completely out of her control, and yet her body seemed to know what to do. Her knees widened and she sunk deeper into the squat, opening her hips as much as she could. Leaning into the contraction, using it, Laura pushed the heavy weight down. It felt… productive. She knew it was what she should be doing.
The location wasn’t ideal, and she hoped she still had time to collect more towels and set up a more comfortable birthing area. But whilst the contraction raged, Laura submitted to it, letting it work her baby down, slipping further and further towards its exit.
Somewhere in the distance she heard her name being called. After a long push Laura gulped a breath and turned her head to see Char squatting at her desk and crying out that she was pushing. She would laugh if her body hadn’t forced her into another push.
They needed to get set up and quick, Char looked like she was suffering just as much as Laura was. When the contraction waned just a bit, Laura stopped pushing and somehow managed to haul her body back to standing. Char looked okay, well as she could given the situation, riding out a contraction and holding on to the sturdy frame of her workbench.
“I’m getting more towels, hang on Char!” Laura shouted, hoping her boss would hear over the groans Char was making.
Waddling ever so slowly, the head sitting right behind her lips, Laura went off to the cupboard to find more towels. They’d soon need them.
Another contraction struck mere minutes after the last while Laura was in the cupboard but she was not as successful this time in staying on her feet. The force of the contracting muscles and slashing pain splitting her open brought her to her knees. She clung on to the shelf in front of her, her heavy belly squished between widened thighs, and she pushed hard wailing with the effort. The head was peaking through, pushing apart her folds in her underwear. But her body was driving this journey, Laura was just the passenger. After a solid minute the contraction let up and when she released the push with a gasp, the baby slipped back into the birth canal. With a trembling hand she felt the fabric between her legs, she was definitely bulging, but the head wasn’t crowning just yet. She breathed deeply, gathering her strength before getting back on her feet. She needed to get back with the extra towels, not just so she could birth her baby there but so she could help Char. She’d need a friend and the support right now, and so could Laura.
As Laura submitted, pushing freely and loudly as though nothing else mattered in the world except getting her baby out and getting it out now, Char resisted her baby’s inevitable birth. Panicked, she gulped in a breath, trying to ease up on her furious pushing as she felt the head filling her opening thoroughly. It was beginning to bulge her, though her lips remained shut. The pressure and incredible sensation of the head sitting low at her opening, almost ready to exit, was almost too much to bear. She mooed deeply, from the back of her throat. Her belly tightened even harder than before, squeezing her like a vice and she couldn’t help but push again. The baby strained against her opening, and she could feel her most delicate area distending obscenely.
“Oh god!” She cried, throwing her head back as her thighs spread and she pushed again and again uncontrollably. The urge was undeniable. She was subject to her body and right now, it was telling her to birth her baby. Here, now, into her trousers. She felt helpless. Out of control.
“It’s coming,” she moaned. “Ohhh, it’s coming!” She knew this deeply, intuitively, with an age-old maternal instinct. She was ready to birth her baby. But she felt alone and vulnerable.
“Laura,” she gasped, couldn’t say much more than that. “Laura, oh god, it’s coming and I’m pushing! I need to hold it in! Just a little longer!”
She could hear Char’s wailing from the corridor, becoming fast apparent the lead technician was losing her fight against the inevitable. With one arm carrying a load of towels, the other hand pressed against the wall as she waddled heavily back to the office. On walking into the room she saw her friend and colleague in a deep squat, white-knuckling the work bench, chin to chest and pushing. Loudly.
“Oh Char, it’s okay hun.” Laura shut the door behind her and dropped the towels beside her friend. “You have to breathe as well as push darling.” She said as she staggered to her own workbench and grabbed the medical supplies she’d collected. With the baby playing peek-a-boo into her underwear, Laura knew their time was almost up.
Cumbersomely, Laura got down to her knees beside her boss, putting the clamps and scissors on the pile of towels. “Shhhhh it’s okay Char, don’t fight it. Use that contraction and push with the pain.” Laura rubbed a hand up and down Char’s back, trying her best to support and encourage through this.
Unfortunately with their labors progressing in tandem, Laura’s role as carer was snatched away when the next contraction tore its way across her midsection. Instinctively, without intending to, her body was pushing with the pain and she could feel the baby start to leak through again and stretch apart her lips. She went to all fours and rocked, sinking backwards towards her heels whenever she had to bear down.
“Mnnnnghhhhhhh! Come on baby….” She groaned before gasping another breath and pushing hard again. She didn’t care that she was still in her work clothes, or that she was on the floor of a laboratory that was covered with two lots of amniotic fluid, she was simply following her instincts and soon the baby stopped slipping back in and stayed, keeping her lips in a perfect oval shape.
“Ohhhh god… I think it’s starting to c-crownnnn….” The assistant managed to huff when the contraction eventually dulled.
Char’s belly refused to fully relax at this point, now constantly flexing with forceful surging contractions, but there were brief moments of respite where she could pause in her pushing and some awareness returned to her. Laura, she realized, was beginning to tent her pants with pushing, on all fours with her back arched and her hips shoved forward, trying to make as much room for the large crowning head as possible. She was pushing the head into her clothes, Char realized, bulging them ridiculously, and between her spread thighs more fluids dripped and leaked. At the same time she processed this she realized that her own clothes had never been discarded, but she made no effort to remove them in her precious few moments before her body would force her baby further out of her. Instead she clung onto the naive hope that she’d miraculously stumble upon a cure while crowning into her pants, feeling the head beginning to press up against her underwear and part her lips slightly. Laura, she could tell, had offered less resistance to her body and had made more progress in her pushing, the head sitting permanently, she calculated from the bulge in Laura’s pants, at around a half-crown or more.
“Hey,” she croaked hoarsely, barely able to manage anything but grunts with her clenching belly. “You—you need to get your pants down, hun. Head’s coming out.”
Painstakingly, she began to squat down, moaning as the head was pressed back slightly into her sensitive lips by the tension of her underwear. It felt so low, so full, she needed to open up, she needed to push, relieve the immense pressure, yet her friend, yes friend, not just assistant, needed her. As she squatted low, she hooked her fingers around Laura’s waistline.
“I need, urgh, I need you to get your legs together. Mmmm, we gotta get your pants off, ‘kay?”
She was surprised to see Char moving in her peripheral vision, but Laura could pay no mind, for this baby wanted out and it wanted out now.
“Grhhhhh!!! It’s coming out… mnghh!” Laura cried into the next push, bearing down and feeling the head stretch her wider and wider. Her hips were so full, her pelvis felt like it could snap, the pressure of this baby’s head - this large and heavy mass - *needed* to come out.
Char’s attempt to remove her trousers was fruitless, though the black fabric was stretchy and comfortable with the expanding of her stomach, it was not elasticated enough to be pulled over the wide angle of her legs. The baby sat so low, right at her entrance, stretching her entrance wide with the emerging crown. There was no way in hell she would be able to put her legs closer together.
Instead, she widened them further. “Hmngh! Can’t… baby… coming…I have to pushhhh-mnghhhh!” Laura’s face sunk towards the floor, dropping to her elbows and opening up her hips to the skies. It was coming out, she could feel it sliding slowly out of her into her stretchy clothing. All she could do was push…. Pant and push again.
Char watched in utter fascination as Laura pushed with total abandonment, entirely consumed with the baby coming out of her, every last thought focused on the overwhelming, intense, undeniable urge to push. The bulge in Laura’s pants grew, stretched her thinly and Char could scarcely believe that such a huge head could come from her, pass through such a narrow opening with so much force. She removed her fingers from Laura’s waistline, realizing the impossibility of such a task at this stage in Laura’s labor. She was pushing it out into her pants, and there was nothing Char could do about that except cup the growing bulge as it emerged from Laura’s opening into the straining fabric.
It was terrifying, watching Laura push without regard for anything else. As she felt a powerful contraction wrack her own reddened, exhausted belly, she knew there was no stopping this. She was giving birth and was about to push a baby out into her pants exactly as Laura was doing now. She growled fiercely, deep in her squat—the perfect position. Her knees jackknifed and she opened her hips as wide as they could go. Against her opening the fabric of her underwear arched with the coming head as she bore down immensely. Her face turned bright red with her hardest push yet.
“Oh GODDDD!” She bellowed. “It’s COMING, I’m pushing it OOUUUTTTT!”
Her lips parted, wider and wider, trembling and convulsing around the head as it burned and stretched her. She jerked, trying to escape the ring of fire and yet she couldn’t stop pushing for a minute. She was in the final stages now, and the only way the burn would stop was when she had pushed her baby into the world. Instinct took over completely. This was what her body needed her to do. This was what SHE needed to do.
Even though they were consumed with their own births, Laura found comfort that at least they were together through this. Each laboring woman was not alone.
But the strength required to birth these babies, who didn’t even exist 24 hours ago, would be down to the mother. Gasping for air Laura pushed again with everything she had, through the pressure and pain and the burning ring of fire that had her mouth open in a silent scream. The baby’s head had to be almost out by now, surely!?
Despite being beside each other Char’s bellowing voice seemed so far away to Laura. Nothing else registered beside the baby being born into her pants. She growled with another push and suddenly yelped when the head slipped fully out.
“Oh my god oh my god…” Laura muttered over and over and pushed herself back up on her knees. She scrambled at the waistband of her elasticated trousers and pulled them down to her knees along with her underwear. Her baby, she had to get to her baby, the maternal instinct cried in her head. With a trembling hand she felt the newly born baby’s head that was now wedged between her thighs. “Hi…. baby… oh my gosh you’ve got hair!” Laura was in shock, but also in awe of what her body had just done.
It was only after the head was born that Laura properly heard the cries of her friend. “Char…” she muttered and saw the other woman squatting and huffing, red-faced, chin to chest, with an obscene bulge protruding from her clothes between her wide legs.
“Oh my god Char! Your baby is coming out!”
Had Char any piece of mind she might have answered with her customary sarcasm: oh really? I wouldn’t have guessed. Instead, the only sound that emerged from her mouth was a long lowing wail that only deepened and became more guttural as the head filled her bottom so thoroughly, and it felt as though her pelvis was creaking open to allow the massive head through. She opened slowly, barely pausing to take a breath as she bore down without repose. Dimly, she was aware of Laura’s own baby dangling between her thighs, having pushed the huge head out, and with renewed efforts Char grunted the head further and further out. Her lips tautened and thinned, red with the stretch. The head reached a full crown and for a moment Char pushed and it didn’t move, solid mass wedged tightly in her opening. She gasped, scared for a moment that it was too big, that there was no way she could push something of this size out of her body.
Then she heard Laura cooing to the head between her legs, and something stirred within her. She realized that the dread she’d been facing was being replaced with something like motherhood, her body responding naturally, automatically, to Laura’s awe and wonder. Char realized that she wanted to meet this thing she had carried inside her for a mere twenty-four hours.
“C’mon BABYYYYY!” She shouted, bearing down furiously. Her lips slipped around the head, and then—with a splash of fluids and a grunt of relief, Char freed the head into her pants.
Laura watched in fascination as Char grunted the head further and further into her clothing, it was huge. Char had been fighting this throughout the entire pregnancy and in that moment Laura understood why some women balked so much away from birth. It was hard work. But then she saw a change in her friend, the way her eyebrows furrowed with determination, the slight readjustment of her hips as she took a breath; she was no longer fighting against her body and was readying herself to meet her child.
“You can do it Char, push!” Laura called as Char bore down. She wished she could move to support her friend physically but she was still mid-way through her own rapid birth to risk moving.
Tears begun to well in her eyes at the thought of their babies, the exhaustion of labor and the stress of the last 24 hours hammering her emotions.
By the time Char had birthed the head of her baby into her pants Laura was already feeling the pangs of the next contraction and the baby’s head turned slightly in the palm of her hand. “Oohhhhh… mhhh okay okay… you ready little one?” She panted, pulling in air through her nose, widening her legs apart to steady her balance and preparing herself to push again. Both hands were between her legs when the contraction really got going and all too soon she was pushing once more and felt the shoulders stretch apart her already sore lips.
With trembling fingers, Char reached down between her legs, feeling the hard slick roundness of the head she’d just pushed out between her legs. She gasped. The aftershocks of her contraction clutched at her belly.
“Oh… oh, my—that’s a baby. I just gave birth.”
The evidence was conclusive. But she could scarcely believe that she’d pushed an entire baby through her birth canal and out into her pants. The experience she’d just been through, the effort, the haze of contractions and the hard pushes as she focused on nothing but expelling her baby, and the intense sensations throughout her body. It was all unbelievable. Inching down the waistband of her trousers, Char struggled them to her shins and sank to her knees. She panted in disbelief, feeling instinctually that this was *right,* that this was what she was meant to be doing. Her identity had irreconcilably changed to that of a mother and as she caressed the head between her legs, she felt a rush of contentment. Char was a scientist, an expert in her field, but now it all paled in comparison.
She glanced up at Laura, seeing her shock and awe mirrored in her eyes as she lifted her baby from between her legs and rested it against her chest. Laura smiled exhaustedly at her.
Char began to pant as another contraction took hold.
“Ooh—“ she exclaimed. “You’re ready…. c’mon, you’re ready to be—UGH! BORN!”
Her baby slipped between her lips with a spray of fluids and immediately she sank to the floor, sighing in immense relief.
Laura fell silent with her final pushes, holding her breath as she bore down, the head filling her palm as the shoulders squeezed their way through. She gasped another breath and pushed with everything she had, this was it, she could feel it. Come on baby…
Once the shoulders were freed Laura wasn’t expecting the speed of which the baby slipped out and the hush of fluid that came with it. Catching the slippery newborn Laura gasped, relieved and shocked, and immediately brought the babe to her chest.
“Hey…. Oh my- hey baby.” She cooed, eyes welling with tears as she looked upon this little miracle that had grown in the last 24 hours. When the baby started to cry she instinctively rocked and hushed the infant “it’s okay… you’re okay.” She said, wiping the blood and fluid off the newborn's face.
Laura had barely caught her breath back when Char started pulling down her trousers and panted heavily, a baby’s head hanging between her open legs. A second later Char was mirroring Laura’s actions and pulling her own baby to her chest and sobbing with relief.
“You did it.” Laura said softly to her friend. “We did it. I can’t believe they’re real, we just had babies.”
The Spell might currently be a scientific mystery, but as the two women sat exhausted on the floor cradling their newborns, the research could wait. For now, the scientists were in awe of the new lives they’d just birthed.
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eddiesxangel · 6 months ago
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Be Quiet Darling | Eric x Reader
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Cw: aqpdo, porn with an end of the world plot. Oral (m receiving), p in v, use of breeding, no use of pronouns for reader but reader has breasts and a vagina.
Wc: 2k
The city loomed in darkness; its once vibrant streets were now shrouded in an oppressive shade of gray. Following the invasion of New York City, layers of ash and soot blanketed every surface. Despite the efforts of millions to escape, a few thousand souls remained trapped within its confines.
You were among the few thousand who were not so lucky to be stranded in the city, hiding underground in the basements and parking garages.
The bunker was the only place you could call home. It was a sealed-off parking garage located on the lower levels of a towering skyscraper. Months had passed since you had seen the light of day, and the absence of natural light had become the new normal. Quietness enveloped the bunker, and you longed for the sounds of the outside world. Anything but the rumbles of the military battling those creatures. Those aliens who had ultrasonic hearing could still hear you even though you were deep in the ground.
Even if you couldn't speak, you bonded with the people around you, mainly the law student you met named Eric. He had made an impression on you. An ever-growing crush was forming, and you didn’t know how to deal with it. The world was ending, but Eric was in your mind twenty-four-seven. You wanted to be near him; you longed to hear his voice; you wanted him to hold you and tell you everything would work out, that you’d escape this place and live happily ever after with the white picket fence.
Only in your fantasy would that happen, but it was nice to hold onto that dream as you learned the military was on its way to the last remaining survivors. They radioed the bunker to say it wouldn’t be easy, and you may die as the death angels were waiting and hunting still. There were thousands of them in New York State; even up north near the Canadian border was invaded.
The plan was to move everyone at dawn; it was going smoothly, and you and Eric stuck together throughout the march. Holding hands as you silently made your way through the rubbled streets that once held so much life, then the worst happened. Someone sneezed, and they were on you in an instant. Eric pulled you, and you ran with him. Neither of you knew where you were going; the subway was your best bet. You found a staircase that wasn’t barricaded and stumbled your way down as quietly as possible.
It must have been hours. You and Eric were hiding in an isle of an abandoned shop, munching on a bag of cookies that hadn’t been broken. Half an hour ago, you heard the sirens warning you to stay put. It sounded awful in the streets above. The sounds of guns and bombs, the shrieks of the creatures, echoed through the underground tunnels.
You mouthed, “I’m scared,” tears breaching your lash lines.
Eric nods, and you can see his eyes are wet before he reaches over and cups your head into the crook of his neck. You both silently cry before you lift your head and do the unthinkable at a time like this. You kiss him.
Surprisingly, Eric kisses you back, but you’ll take anything from him that he will give.
The moment your lips touched, you felt his weight sink into you, like he wanted this just as badly as you did. You desperately wanted Eric to hold you, tell you everything would be okay, and protect you from the abovementioned monsters.
Your hands found his waistband and tugged on the belt loops to pull you in closer. You knew it would be so stupid to do anything else; you could die in an instant, but your primal need to procreate and survive was taking over.
His hands grabbed your waist as he pulled you closer to him as well, so close you could feel how hard his cock had gotten. You both have wanted this for so long, but you dare not utter a sound as the passion grew stronger.
Your hands bravely went lower, and Eric pulled away, looking at you with those eyes that make your heart race. He bobbed slowly to confirm this was okay, and you slowly pulled the zip to make as little noise as possible.
Eric’s chest fell up and down with each breath of anticipation as he watched you so close to where he wanted you to touch him the most. Through all of this madness, he had fallen deep and had for you and yearned for your affection. All he wanted was to hold you, for you to tell him that it would be okay, that you both would survive this and live happily ever after.
You fold down his dress pants and hold back a giggle when you see his cowboy boxers. He rolls his eyes in embarrassment; of course, these were the only other pair of underwear he could find this morning. However, that didn’t deter you from kissing him deeply. You kissed him passionately, letting your tongue slip past his plush pink lips as your hand ran the outline of his cock through his corny boxers. His endearing ways made you want him much more now that you’re alone, hiding from what was above.
Eric wanted to let out a moan so badly when your fingertip grazed the head of his cock through the thin cotton. He was already leaking so much precum there was a little wet patch that had formed. You circled it with your thumb before you slipped your hand under the waistband and pulled it out.
The lighting in the small store was dim, but your eyes had adjusted so you could see what you were working with. You smiled to yourself as you observed the thick shaft in your hands. Your pussy clenched around nothing as visions of him stretching you out flooded your thoughts.
“So big,” you mouthed, and Eric bashfully looked down, shaking his head. You hooked your index finger under his chin for him to look at you again, and you nodded yes while biting your lip.
You don’t break eye contact as you sink down to take him in your mouth.
The moment your hot, wet tongue touches his head with a kitten lick, he has his fist in his mouth to stifle the noise he was about to make. You would have begged him to hear those moans in any other situation, but you’ll now yearn in silence.
You want to praise him, tell him how good he was for being so quiet, and tell him how strong and handsome he is.
Eric ran his hand over the top of your head, gripping your hair l, surprising you a little. Your soft sweet teddy bear of a man taking a little bit of charge on how you sucked his cock was so hot. He only puts a little pressure on your head to take him further and releases the tension when you take him the furthest you can. The velvety walls of his shaft guided against your tongue so smoothly that you loved feeling him in your mouth. You couldn’t wait for him to split open your pussy.
A small gasp escaped his throat that sounded like a “fuck,” but you stopped and froze in place to make sure that nothing heard it.
You looked at him through your lashes, and he mouthed a “sorry.”
You pulled up off him, and he thought he had ruined it, thought you no bother trusted him to continue, but when he saw you were unbuttoning your jeans and lifting up your top, he relaxed his tense shoulders.
“Please,” you mouthed, as sores your legs wide for him to come between. You wanted to feel him inside of you, and you didn’t know how much longer you had.
Eric nodded his head percussively as he crawled towards you, and you lay down, resting your head on an unopened cardboard box.
You hold in a moan as Eric kisses your exposed body. He started at your lips and worked his way down your neck, to your shoulders, to your breasts, staying as he paid close attention to each nipple. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes as he sucked and flicked your sensitive buds. Your pussy grew wetter by the seconds as he kissed your tummy and stopped right above the tufts of hair that led to your needy pussy. You wanted nothing more than to have him go down on you, but your need to be filled was stronger.
You shake your head before he can move an inch closer, and he looks at you in confusion. Eric knows he gives amazing head. He wants to feel you cuming on his tongue for him, to taste him, but when he sees your plead for him to fuck you, he can’t say no.
You watch as Eric nods and aligns his cock yo to your entrance. You watch his face as he slowly sinks into you, your pussy aiming him in so tight that he lets his mouth fall open but doesn’t dare let out a sound as you kiss him. With an elbow propped up beside your head, he takes your face in the other as he ungulates his hips to thirst up into you with such precision.
The way he slowly rolled his hips so that he couldn’t make a sound made you want to cry out. It felt so good. You haven’t felt good in weeks. You slowly leaked a few tears as it was all so much to handle. You break as you hold back a sniffle, and Eric kisses your tears away; he coos you silently, whispering so lowly that he’s got you, that you’re doing so well for him, how you’re taking his cock so good.
You wanted to beg him to fill you with his cum, that you’ll be so good for him, that you love him, that he’s all you have left in this world. You want to be his so severely that it hurts. Even now, as his hips roll into yours, as his cock is hitting that spot deep up inside you, you want to scream that you want him to mark you, claim you, breed you.
But you can’t. All you can do is kiss him and pull him in closer; your feet wrap around him, making his thrusts sharper as your pussy clamps down on his thick hard cock that is making you see stars.
Your wet pussy threatens to echo throughout the tunnels of the subway, but Eric slows down and reaches down between you to circle your clit. You let in a sharp breath as he massages your swollen bud. You’re so close you can feel it. You stare at him, not daring to look away to break you into reality.
Right now, it was you and him. Nothing else mattered. You both needed this to feel something other than fright and loneliness.
As you unfold for him, you and Eric stare into one another’s eyes. A silent scream of pleasure doesn’t dare leave your throat, but you let your jaw fall open and arch up into your orgasm. Eric wants to tell you so badly that you did so good for him that your pussy feels so delicious as you cum on his cock. The way you clamp down on him has his head spinning as well, your hot spend coating his cock, making your wet walls all that much warmer, tighter and wetter for him. He can’t help but release himself deep inside of you.
With heavy breath, you both lay there in silence, unable to say anything, but you both know that it was good, great, fantastic sex. Eric kisses you again for confirmation, and you gladly roll your hips into his softening cock before he pulls out.
What could be between the two of you with words could be amazing, but for now, this is what you have to survive.
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mistydeyes · 6 months ago
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a surprise house guest
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summary: The last thing Gaz expected to see in your shared flat was a baby in your arms and a mess in the kitchen, what have you gotten yourself into?
pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!roommate!reader
warnings: swearing
a/n: hehe gaz roommate babysitting fluff! sidenote i've been babysitting and ngl kids are lil cuties like ahh
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Gaz's relaxed and warm morning in his mountain of blankets was soon interrupted by the loud clanging around in your shared kitchen. He groaned as he tousled his messy hair and tried to look for his phone. "Jesus, 7 am, really Y/N?" he muttered as the bright screen of his phone lit up the room. He wondered what trouble you had gotten into while he was away.
You had been his roommate for about a year now but it felt even shorter due to him consistently being called away on duty and your busy work schedule. You were friendly, sure, and on occasion a bit flirtatious but at the end of the day, you were just another facet of his life. You were just someone to collect the mail, take care of the dust, and occasionally make sure his room wasn't crawling with bugs. You had somehow managed to accomplish such while doing it so attractively. Wait what was he saying, you were his roommate after all. Just a young professional needing a place and not caring about his infrequent stays. But on the other hand, you were his age and he always had suspected you might fancy him when you joked about sharing a one-bedroom apartment for "the benefits." His thoughts were interrupted by a loud "FUCK" and crashing emanating from the hallway. He hurriedly ripped off the sheets and ran down the hall to assess what was going on.
The last thing he expected was to see you, baby bottle in hand, and a baby on your hip. "Jesus!" you jumped as he emerged into the kitchen, "when the hell did you get home?" He relaxed, seeing that the kitchen wasn't on fire and you weren't fighting some early morning burglar. "Last night," he replied before returning to looking at the baby. He looked at it as if it was an alien, "was I really gone that long?" he asked almost afraid to hear the response. It took you a minute to process his question but you quickly covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. "Oh my god, no, no, he isn't mine," you said through laughs that made your sides hurt. "my kid sister dropped him off this morning. I agreed to help out and look after him for the day." With that, the baby cooed and tried to reach to hold your hand as you relented and looked back at Gaz. "I would have definitely cleared this with you, but I didn't expect you back so early," you sighed as you tried to calm the small bundle trying to put your fingers in his mouth. You took a brief look around the kitchen and noticed how much of a mess you had caused trying to prepare some milk, "I promise I'll clean up once I've set him down."
"No worries," he replied as he made his way into the kitchen to make some coffee, "I was gonna say you look a little too good to have just given birth." You felt your face flush and before you could reply or even give him an introduction to your nephew, the bottle of formula was knocked out of your hands. "Oh for the love of God," you swore as you realized your tank top and pajama shorts were now stained with milk. Gaz couldn't help but laugh as he looked at you in such a state, it was clear you hadn't had time to get ready for the day as he took a good look at you. "Not funny, little man," you chided the baby before you looked at Gaz with a smirk. Before he could protest, you guided the baby into his arms and ran to your bedroom to get changed.
"Bloody hell, Y/N," he yelled after you, "what am I supposed to do?" "It's a baby, Kyle, I think you can handle it," you said through your partially opened door. He heard a few more clangs as you struggled to find something not soaked in milk. He looked back down to the bundle in his arms, "What's your name, little one?" He heard you laugh as you continued to rummage around. "Kyle for fucksake he's an infant, he can't talk," you shouted, "his name is Ben if you were wondering." Ben cooed at the sound of your voice and squirmed in Gaz's arms. "It's okay buddy, she'll be back in a moment," he tried to reassure him as he rocked his arms back and forth. The baby grew more impatient and began to let out a song of high-pitched cries. You emerged from the room, now in a different pair of shorts and a shirt. Without a second look, you rushed into the kitchen and began to clean up. "Take him to the living room," you said, exasperated, as Ben continued to wail. "You owe me one," Gaz called out and you could hear him trying to appease the now crying baby. You shook your head before going about tackling the mess in the kitchen. Once you finally finished and dried your hands on the hand towel, it was quiet except for some babbles from Ben.
"What do we have here?" you said as you walked up to the pair settled on the couch. Both turned to you, smiling like a pair of twins. You had to say Gaz looked rather handsome as the light streamed in from the window in your flat. An unshaven 5 o'clock shadow complimented his face nicely. "I got it handled," he said cockily as you sat on the couch next to him. "Sure you do," you replied and mocked his tone, your legs brushing against his as sat. You soon realized that the reason Ben had stopped crying was that he was now occupied by a small sealed bag of crisps. He was shaking it around proudly and slobbering all over the plastic. You turned your head to look at Gaz with a deadpan expression. "What?" he said defensively, "he likes it!" You let out a laugh as you crumbled back onto the couch and watched as Gaz held the baby on his lap. You couldn't deny, that once he got Ben to stop crying, he was a natural at this. You secretly envied the future, Mrs. Garrick. However, with Gaz's protective arm around the baby and you smiling right next to him, you looked like the perfect couple with a newborn. The moment quickly passed as you looked down at your hand. "Oh I have his bottle," you said and motioned for Gaz to pass you the baby. "Come here, love," you cooed and slowly rocked him in your arms. You set your feet on top of Gaz's lap and sang a soft little lullaby to calm the infant.
After watching the baby drink the formula at record speed, he was finally asleep in your arms. "Finally," you groaned as you watched his little eyelids flutter. You leaned back in the crook of the couch, making sure he was fast asleep before you looked back at Gaz. He had a sense of wonder and awe in his eyes as he looked up at you. You slowly moved Ben into the small lounger cushion your sister had brought and stretched out of exhaustion. "Thanks again," you whispered as you motioned for Gaz to follow you back to the kitchen, "I really appreciate it." He nodded in response and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes in a moment of peace. You stood next to him and placed your head against his arm. You could feel him slightly react to your action but soon relax as he looked down at you. To both of you, it felt oddly comfortable to be like this. "Welcome home, by the way," you said, finally acknowledging his return "Sorry about this whole mess." He smiled as you met eyes and then let out a low chuckle. "It's alright, I got caught up in watching you play Mummy today," he joked, slightly tussling your hair with his free hand. You blushed briefly at the compliment but you soon found yourself wrestling his arm to stop. You ended up placing it securely around your shoulders and held it in place to prevent any further assault.
"I'm serious," Gaz defended as he relaxed his confined arm, "you look like a natural with him. You looked up at him and decided to test the waters, just a tiny bit. "Oh really now?" you challenged, "something about this situation gives you baby fever?" Now Gaz was the one with a subtle blush on his cheeks as you smirked at his reaction. "Let's go on a date then, love, and find out," he blurted, seemingly without any hesitation. You tensed a bit as you processed what he was saying. "You asking me out now, Garrick?" you questioned, turning your body to look at him. "Maybe I am," he whispered, moving a piece of hair out of your face and moving his hand to cup your face. As time moved slowly, you stood on your tippy toes and moved closer to his lips. Just as the space was about to close, a shrieking cry filled the apartment. "I think he wants Daddy," you teased as you tried to hide your disappointment, "we'll talk about this after dinner?" As Kyle huffed away, you couldn't help but secretly thank your sister for the emergency nanny service.
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improper-use-of-germx · 1 year ago
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Imagine getting stranded on a very chilly planet, you and your crew have everything you need and help is coming, you just have to wait out the cold.
Amphibious/reptilian alien is very sluggish from the temperature, and you ask to cuddle and share your mammalian body heat. They're almost alarmed at the offer, but humans are very warm and it's not long before they give in to snuggles.
Alien who very recently started their heat and wanted to reject you, knowing just how erratic their thoughts on you were lately. But they weren't savage, they could be professional with their fellow crewmate, who so kindly offered them their natural warmth for nothing in return. They were cold, you wanted to touch them. How could they ever deny you?
You drape a large blanket over the both of you and almost politely embrace their body, resting your head on their shoulder so your warm exhalations reach their neck. You wince at how initially cold their skin is, but your touch quickly softens them. They practically melt against you, holding you tightly in return.
They try so hard to be good. They bask in your skin against theirs, strength returning with each restrained caress, like you're delivering them back their life. They keep their hands where they know they should be, raking their mandibles against any exposed skin to watch goosebumps prickle in their wake. How soft you are. How precious and giving, how they ache to return your kindness.
Alien who would never let their heat get the better of them and just enjoys what touch you're offering them. But that doesn't mean the entire time they sit with you their mind isn't absolutely overrun with...slightly indecent thoughts. Memories of particularly sweaty fights, that time sparring you had them pinned to the ground, human videos they had researched. It would be so easy, they knew exactly where to touch you. They imagined it over and over, showing you they knew what they were doing, watching your soft little body respond to them the way theirs did so often to you.
Eventually, they get to leave the awful, ice planet. Alien starts looking for any excuse to go someplace cold with you again.
2K notes · View notes
muletia · 29 days ago
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MULETIA
GIVE ME OBSESSED! KNOCK OUT AND MY LIFE IS YOURS
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[ btw it's perfectly fine if you don't 👍 I just think it'd be neat and I thought this would be funny ]
𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐦
[tfp] obsessed!knockout x human!reader very mild 18+ content
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summary: a relationship between individuals of two species in which one species obtains food or other benefits from the other without either harming or benefiting the latter
cw: obsession, yandere themes, possessiveness, suggestive, dub-con (not nsfw), clinginess, very messy relationship, knockout sends you spike pics lmao, reader's pov to knockout's pov
word count: 1400
You’re awakened from an unusually pleasant and long nap by the buzzing of your phone. You groan in displeasure, honestly preferring just a few more minutes of sleep, which, in your groggy, half-asleep state, feels like the best idea ever. You roll onto your other side and cocoon yourself tightly in your warm blanket, ready to welcome sleep back.
Your phone interrupts you again, but you’re determined not to give in. Pulling the blanket up to your ears, taking advantage of your partial awakening, and trying to fall asleep once more. That is until another vibration triggers a small earthquake on the coffee table. Whoever it is must have an extremely urgent matter to be this insistent. Finally, you give up. Reaching for the phone, you unlock the screen. What you see in the notification panel instantly banishes the last remnants of sleep from your body.
“Jesus Christ,” you whisper.
A hundred and thirty-four messages. From none other than the Decepticon lunatic who, some time ago, forced his way into your life. Before you can even move, another message pops up.
You rub your forehead, unwilling to even think about the implications of such a message count. You have a general idea of what he’s after—this kind of behavior is standard in your… relationship—but you still want to know what exactly prompted him to send so many texts.
Most of them are just spam repeating your name, differing only in the number of exclamation marks at the end. Others threaten that if you don’t respond within thirty seconds, he’ll personally show up at your doorstep and demonstrate the consequences of ignoring his majesty. Occasionally, he mentions that he misses you, even though you just saw him yesterday. However, such sweet sentiments are rare. Much more often, he bombards you with seductive longing, praising your (exceptional for a human) skills in the art of interfacing and expressing how badly he wants you by his side to “refresh his memory” on the matter. As proof of his misery, he’s sent you pictures of himself in very suggestive poses, one high-resolution 4k photo of his swollen and leaking spike, and a video you don’t even dare to open.
The last shreds of your sanity, combined with a reluctance to spend money, stop you from tossing your phone into the microwave.
You don’t need more proof of him being a freak. In fact, don’t need anything from him at all, having been accidentally dragged into matters far larger—literally—than yourself. You never secretly dreamed of an alien who’d make it his goal to torment you simply because he’d taken a liking to you. And certainly didn’t ask your creator to have alien dick-pics pics sent to you.
You want to reply and tell him to kiss your ass and leave you in peace, but the last time you tried that tactic, Knockout didn’t contact you for the most blissful two days of your life. After that, though, his sulk ended. When his majesty decided to visit you, he didn’t leave your side for a week, demanding attention and constant physical contact. For someone who cared about maintaining his image, he looked particularly miserable back then—especially while begging for your “pathetic, fleshy, and frail” body.
You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Massaging your face, wondering how much time you have to pull yourself together before Knockout shows up at your house, demanding attention. As it turns out, you have practically none, because even from inside, you hear something—or rather, someone—pulling into a driveway, revving an engine as if impatiently calling out to you. You don’t feel like testing the limits of his patience to see how long it takes before he punches a hole through a wall. And you’re absolutely certain that’s what would happen.
Before stepping out of your cozy home for who knows how long, a stream of colorful curses escapes your lips. However, even that doesn’t clear your mind enough to prepare you for the show your unwelcome companion is sure to deliver.
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His desire to drag you out of your sanctuary grows with every click, because you should’ve joined him by now. Oh, what an ungrateful, pitiful little human you were. Hadn’t he drilled it into your head by now that such games weren’t part of his repertoire? That he hated being made to wait? Not to mention the audacity of ignoring him for a torturous two Earth hours without responding to his romantic messages. And on his day off, no less. The nerve.
Hidden servos itch to transform and barge through your door. To pull you close and extinguish his longing, to fulfill needs so intense they scared even him. Because during those two hours of separation, he genuinely felt like he was dying—though he’d rather deny it than fully accept the power of his affection. Signals, hints—those were fine. But never an open display of softer, warmer emotions. You didn’t need to know about them. No one did. As long as he had consistent access to you, as long as he knew you were nearby, existing in the same world as him, his true feelings remained locked away.
When you open the door, he immediately notices your displeasure. Had prepared for this sight; knew you wouldn’t be happy, but the lack of any enthusiasm stings his ego. He wanted to see a smile, hear praise. A sign that you weren’t doing this out of obligation, even though he knew the truth.
Plans to show how deeply offended he is, even as your presence excites him more than he’d anticipated. Without regard for being seen, he transforms instantly, mass-shifting as he pins you to the front door. Your sweet scent envelops him, teasing his senses. Stimulating places hidden from the eye.
He needs you. Your attention and touch. The taste of human skin he once found repulsive but now can’t get enough of.
“Someone will see you, idiot,” you hiss. A warning, but it’s already too late for reason to reach him.
He kisses your neck hungrily, greedily, drinking in your closeness. Reclaims familiar territory, leaving his mark again to remind you, just in case it slipped your mind, that you belong to him. Despite his greed, trying to be romantic. He doesn’t torture your skin, keeping a rhythm. It’s the least you deserve - he hasn’t taken that away from you yet.
“I don’t care,” he growls between kisses. Draws closer to your lips, pausing briefly. “Why did you ignore me?”
Resumes his ministrations, wanting to see how you’ll handle him this time. How you’ll manage to rein him in, always appreciating your fighting spirit. You matched his ferocity and determination, completing him. A spark and an extinguisher. Fire and ocean.
“Because I was sleeping,” you reply as if your absence hadn’t driven his processor to ruin. To the point of risking exposure just because he couldn’t control his desire. Your indifference sometimes infuriates him.
He huffs; that’s no explanation.
He’s not ready to pull away just yet. Truthfully, if it were up to him, he could shower you with affection endlessly, and even that wouldn’t satisfy his appetite. Leaves kisses at the corners of your mouth until finally claiming the cherry on top.
“Knockout,” you interrupt sharply, “someone’s going to see you.”
Reluctantly, he pulls back, fighting the flickers bursting in his spark and the wave of heat enveloping his body when his name escapes your lips. He shifts back to his original size and transforms, already opening the car door for you.
“Careful, doll,” he purrs as you settle inside. “Say my name again, and this will end with more than just kisses.”
Ignores your groan of frustration as he speeds off, leaving a cloud of dust behind.
“Do you even care about me?” you ask, scanning the scenery outside the window, breaking a silence that had lasted a while.
He’s silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Or maybe too proud to admit it aloud? To let you into his spark and show you the chaos you’ve caused there? To shed thousands of layers and reveal his most intimate self?
No. He won’t give you that satisfaction just yet.
The seatbelt tightens around you slightly.
You smile, but he can’t quite discern what emotion you’re trying to convey.
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hidden-poet · 6 months ago
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Commander Snow: 10
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Commander Snow
Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.
Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death, sexual assault, child birth, Capitol bullies.
Editor: @hotline-to-hell
chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
chapter 9
Chapter 10
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The bed you were asleep on felt like a cloud under you. 
The bedding was fresh, and smelt slightly of lavender scented washing powder. It held a  crispness that could only be given by drying in the sun. 
Pillows surrounded you, giving you a sense of security while heavy blankets nearly pinned you to the mattress from their weight. 
You slept easy despite your predicament. Only the morning sun, as it streamed through the airy curtains, woke you. Still, you don’t move. Too comfortable, and too tired to face the day. 
Coriolanus was not next to you. The large bed was only occupied by yourself. You wondered how long he had been missing, and how much longer he would stay away. 
You were in an entirely new world, only he was familiar. And even he had changed. He was President of Panem, not Commander of District 12. His hair was long, and his clothes were fashionable. He even held himself taller and talked slower. 
Still, he was what you knew. Your lifeline in an alien world. 
Would you change too? You supposed you had. 
A District girl, now wife of the President. Soon the weight of the diamond on your hand would become unrecognizable. You would get used to the strange people here. Tigris and Grandma’am would become family and not Capitol enemies. 
So quickly, your life was snatched from under you. Everything you have ever known has been replaced. Even the air felt different upon your skin. The people around you ate differently, talked differently, dressed differently. Would anything be left of you? Would you be able to keep anything of your home inside of you?
Your heart hurts to think of your mother and brother. Were you to trust Coriolanus when he said he had released them? He was likely to have had them 
released and then shot outside of the gates. How could you ensure their safety? Would he let you call them? What would it cost you?
The quiet turning of the door knob broke your train of thought. 
You wondered if it was a maid or Coriolanus but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look. 
You didn’t want to face either one so you closed your eyes hoping that they would leave you. 
Coriolanus did not. He gently shook your shoulder, and you rolled over from your fake sleep. 
“Good morning,” he pushes back your hair, tucking it behind your ear, “Did you sleep okay?”
You brush his hand away. Your ring scratches the skin of his hand as you do. 
“I have a doctor on standby. Are you in any pain?” 
You sit up and surprisingly find very little pain. More tightness from a muscle that had never been used before. You were quite wet already, and he was slow. Allowing you time to adjust. 
“I feel fine,” you respond, “What time is it?” 
“It’s early. I’m sorry. The sign-in is at noon, so you need to start getting dressed. Just like yesterday, some women are going to come in and help you.” 
“The same women?” You hoped not. They were so Capitol. You felt repulsed at the thought of sharing a room with them again. 
“I don’t know. Was there a problem with them yesterday?” His Commander's face was put on. A displeased stone expression that made you feel like a scolded child. 
“No.” You deny. Your eyes go to your ring that sprays out a pale rainbow from the sunlight. 
He pulls your attention back to him with a hold on your chin. 
“You’re my wife. First Lady of Panem.” 
Him calling you wife made your heart curdle. 
“You hold the power over them. If there’s an issue you need to tell me.”
“There was no issue,” you insist. 
He doesn’t push you on it.
“They will be here soon. Come outside for breakfast.”
He gives your arm a tap before rising from the bed to retrieve a warm dressing gown from the closet. 
It was soft around your body and brought a surprising amount of warmth. 
The journey to the dining room table was simple. Just past a long hallway, it opened into the living room, where to the right an elevated platform formed the dining area. 
The Snow women were not dressed as casually as you were. Fine dresses and jewels were worn for breakfast. 
You looked to Coriolanus to see he was also dressed fashionably and felt embarrassed that he had brought you out in last night's worn make-up and a dressing gown. 
The women seemed unbothered to see you. 
“Good morning, Y/N.” Tigris greeted you. 
“Good morning.” You offer back. 
Coriolanus holds out a chair for you amongst the 12 available. 
“Did you have a good time last night?” she asks. 
You looked at her and saw no vindictiveness in her eyes. It was a genuine question, offered to make you feel at ease. 
It was, in fact, the worst night of your life. But you were a stranger at her table, you would not repay her kindness with scorn. 
“Yes,” you say instead, “Did you?” 
Tigris nods her head, as she pours out coffee from a pot into the small white tea cups. 
“Bet you never saw anything like that in the Districts.” Grandma’am quipped. 
You weren’t sure if she intended for her comment to be a way of reminding you of your place, or as an encouragement to how great the Capitol could be. 
“No, I haven’t.” You agree. 
There was food displayed on the table, across a long white cover. Coriolanus picked food from and dropped it onto the gold plate in front of you. 
You had no appetite. It was all so ghastly rich. There was no need for this amount of excess. 
Coriolanus did not share your off-put. He ate his plate, while you examined the strange contents of yours. 
Grandma’am doted on her grandson. Telling stories of his younger years. He always had leadership skills, she said. His presidential future was never in any doubt. 
“Even when-” Grandma’am stopped herself, suddenly looking at and pushing her food around on the plate. 
You were eager to hear what she had to say. Even when he was sent to be a Peacekeeper? Even when he got involved with Lucy Gray? Was there something else that Coriolanus has kept hidden?
“If only your father could see you now,” she redirects, “Oh he would be so proud.” 
“We’re so proud,” Tigris states. Trying to defuse the somber mood. 
Coriolanus smiles at Tigris under her praise. 
“And you?” he asks, turning to you. 
You nod your head, unsure on what he wanted to hear. 
“Congratulations, President Snow.”  You offer. 
“It sounds right, doesn’t it?” Grandma’am squeals. 
You wait until the rest of the company has finished their breakfast between idle chatter. 
Coriolanus was on his second cup of coffee. His arm slung over the back of your chair, as he sits casually, talking to Tigris. 
He leans down to your ear, the second Tigris is occupied with Grandma’am.
“Can you eat something, please? The stylists will be here soon,” he whispers. 
 His casual demeanor returns as Tigris’s attention does. 
You follow his request, taking a bite of some sort of breakfast biscuit. It was fresh, and soft, even stone-cold. You could taste the butter in it. Real butter, not the imitation type found in the Districts. 
“I am going to miss you,” Tigris sighed. 
“We’re not staying here?” You turn to Coriolanus who had just taken another sip of his drink. 
Your stomach fills with knots thinking about a new place. You didn’t want to move. 
He swallows quickly, trying to answer you before anyone else. 
“No. We’re going to the presidential estate, but we’ll come back and visit. And you're both always welcomed at the Presidential Palace.” 
You jump as a ringing sound breaks through the air, looking around to try and see the small bell hidden in the room. 
Coriolanus’s hand comes from the back of your chair to the back of your neck. “It’s okay,” he soothes. 
He reaches for a panel of buttons built into the table and holds one in. 
“Yes?” He answers the call. 
“Mr. President, the PR team is here,” a voice spoke back. 
“Send them up.” His hand returns from you, back to the chair. 
“You don’t have long. Try to have another bite,” he commands. 
You finish the breakfast biscuit by the time the two Peacekeepers escort a whole team of people up to the penthouse. It sat heavy in your stomach. 
You see the same two women in the group. They stand side by side in ridiculous outfits. The one who had burnt you with a curling iron had a spiky, purple hat that reached tall into the sky. 
Two racks of clothing, and four big black boxes on wheels, were carted behind them. 
Coriolanus walks to the living room to greet them. They all congratulate him on his win, which he brushes off quickly to talk to the head stylist about the plan for today. They mutter between themselves, and the stylist shows Coriolanus a large book, pointing to the pictures. Coriolanus points down the hall, explaining the layout of the apartment. 
The book shuts with a heavy snap, and the stylist turns to his workers directing them to their places. 
The team split up behind Coriolanus, as he walked back over to you. 
“You’ll go back to the bedroom. I’ll use one of the spares. If there are any problems, you come and find me.” He tells you. 
You nod in response, noting that three other women follow the two women from yesterday down the hall. 
Coriolanus says goodbye to Grandma’am and Tigris, before leading you back to the bedroom where he lets you go without a word. As he closes the door behind you, the women in the room snap their attention to you. 
They all begin talking to you. Not one voice is heard but hands are felt all around you as they pull you into the bathroom. 
They bicker amongst themselves on what needs to be done first. You had many faults that needed to be fixed before the signing. Your skin wasn’t tight or dewy enough. You needed a facial, and eyelash lift. Your chipped nails were disgusting. Your hair was dull and lifeless. 
You feel vulnerable as hands dig harshly into your clothing, pulling it off your body. As you push hands away, more hands take their place. They call you difficult as you beg them to allow you to do it yourself. 
The shower is turned on too hot, you could feel the heat of it standing five feet away. 
Stripped, you notice the mess of semen still between your legs. Others notice it too and begin to giggle to themselves. Coriolanus had run a wet towel over you so you could sleep comfortably, but it wasn’t enough. 
The shower was boiling as you were pushed under it. Your skin instantly turned red. The women themselves didn’t want to get wet, standing outside of the shower screen, and pulling you by your hair to bring you closer. 
One lathers a strong-smelling liquid into your hair without much care, while another scrubs a hard brush against your skin to rid the old skin. 
It hurt as it raked across your body without soap. The woman's rings got caught in your hair as she scrubbed your head, it yanked as she pulled back. 
With a cry of pain, you are pushed back under the stream of hot water. 
You think about running to find Coriolanus, but they are here now. Another team would not be sent. He would only reprimand them, and then you would be left alone with their wrath. 
You sob instead. You should be at home. It was Wednesday. You were pretty sure. You should be at work, making idle chatter with your co-workers. 
“Wash it out!” The woman commands, “We don’t have much time.” 
Trying to appease her, you do a quick rinse under the water. 
“All of it,” she sighs. 
‘'The water’s too hot,’’ you cry. You felt like a cornered animal.
She looks at her co-workers annoyed. “Turn the water down,” she commands. 
The water is turned ice-cold but you make no further complaint. 
Another round of the strong-smelling liquid is harshly rubbed into your hair, and a nice-smelling lotion is rubbed into your skin. 
The cold water makes you shiver as you stand under it, trying to wash everything off you. 
The water is turned off leaving you standing shivering in the shower. 
“Come on” the women demanded, “hurry”. 
You go to her, and she throws a towel at you. It helps to dry the cold water off you, bringing back a little warmth. 
They watch you as you dry yourself making you feel self conscious. The attempt to cover yourself with the towel is ripped from you, and thrown to the floor. You are once again being pushed instead of asked to do something. 
You were laid flat on a table they had brought. Bare under their eye. Nothing was given so you could cover yourself. 
Five women stand above you and begin work. 
You close your eyes trying to dissociate from everything. A mask is put on your face, leaving space around your eyebrows so they can be waxed. Another oil is put on your hair and skin. 
You could hear the buzzing of the laser and feel its zap as it took the hair off your body. She scaled the length of you with the laser, paying extra attention to your most private parts. 
Only a reprimand was spoken to you as tears ran down your face. You were wasting the product with your tears. 
For a long time, you laid still against the table as they worked. Your body became sore and stiff before they told you to get up and into the bedroom.
It was there you were given back your dressing gown and placed in front of a vanity. 
The women talk amongst themselves as they work. Not one of them asks you anything. You tune them out, thinking about home. 
It felt overstimulating to have so many people working on you at once. Someone cut your hair, while the other women took one hand or one leg. They massage more oil into your skin, before shaping and painting your nails. Your ring is given a shine, and they speak about how beautiful it was. 
You feel their jealousy as they work. Your fingers were twisted into unnatural positions as they were filed. Your hair was pulled ruthlessly as it was cut. One woman stepped on your toes as she rose from the floor for some polish. 
In your head, you were at home, baking for your market stall. Your mother would keep you company in the kitchen, reading a letter from your brother. He had found someone. A nice girl, who treats him well. He wasn’t lonely anymore and had plenty to eat. Edmund was alive, and you would see him when he finished work. He would be joyed at the news that his best friend found a girl, and after dinner that night you would sit with him and draft a letter explaining your new relationship. 
It was a surprise when they all stopped to address the President. 
You turn to see Coriolanus standing in the doorway with a large mug in his hands. He had been taken from his clothes this morning and undressed into a white singlet. He had no shoes on his feet, and his dress pants still had pins in them from the tailoring. 
“It’s time for a break,” he announced. His hair appeared to be cut back, and slightly curled more. His skin glowed with treatment. 
You had never been thankful to see him until that moment. A tear slipped from your eye and you quickly wiped it away.
“Sir, we still have lots to do,” one of the stylists said. 
“Leave the room,” he commanded. 
Tools are dropped as they follow his request.
The five women pass him through the door, and he kicks it closed as the last one leaves. 
You get up from the vanities chair with a headache from all the pulling. 
“I came to check on you. Are you okay?” he says. 
The tea in his hands was a welcomed surprise. The hot shower had dehydrated you, and your crying left your throat scratchy. You take it from him and take three large gulps. 
He takes your waist into his hands once they are free from the cup. 
“Yeah,” you lie. Your voice was quiet and broken from having not spoken for a long period of time. 
The tea was hot, burning your throat as you drank it, but it was good. You broke away from his hold, going to sit on the ottoman by the bed. He followed you as you sat. 
Certain parts of your head felt like they were burning from the harsh treatment, You reached up to soothe the sore spots. Coriolanus’s hands follow yours. You knock them away, wanting nothing more than not to be touched. 
He moves onto the bed behind you, sitting with either leg by your sides. His strong fingers reach into your hair and massage your scalp. It felt nice as his fingers dug into your head so you allowed him to do it. 
You lean back into him, the hot cup burning your lap. 
“Do you want to tell me something?” he gently asks. 
His fingers press into a very sore spot on your head, causing you to wince and pull forward out of his hold. 
He doesn’t let you sit up, pulling you back by your shoulders into him. His fingers go back to your hair once more, but he rakes his nails through your hair instead of pushing in. 
He rakes his nails in a continuous backward motion, soothingly as he talks. 
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. That shouldn’t have hurt.” 
A gentle kiss is placed against your ear. 
“Are you alright? Do you want me to stay? I’ll stay.” He offers. 
You think about it. The women would surely be kinder with Coriolanus in the room. But you didn’t want to admit you needed him. Worse, you didn’t want to feel indebted to him. After all, it was because of him you were going through this.  
You get up from him once more, and he allows you to create distance as you go back to the vanity set. 
“Leave me alone, Coriolanus,” you demanded. 
You wipe the tears harshly away from your face, and he sits there watching you. 
A gentle knock is heard at the door. Coriolanus rises to answer it. 
“Come in,” he orders. 
The women single file in, past him. Only he stops the women who had been barking orders at everyone all day. 
You watch him in the mirror as he brings his hand down across her face.  
A gasp leaves your lips as you watch her fall to the ground from the force. 
“I entrusted her to you. If you make me regret it, I’ll make you regret it,” he warns, staring down at her with eyes that spoke of his anger. 
He steps over her and back to his room. 
“What did you say?” the woman in the purple hat hisses at you. 
“Nothing,” you admit, “I said nothing. I promise.” 
The woman who was hit gathers herself from the floor, coming over to you and pinching the skin on your arm between her long, fake nails. 
“Well say less.” she rasped. 
“It wasn’t my fault. He’s like that,” you contend, rubbing the skin she had pinched. 
“Maybe to District scum, but not to us.” 
“Your red cheek would suggest otherwise,” you sass. 
It earns you a harsh tug on your hair as it is yanked to one side.
“Just do as you are told and face forward,” she spat.
She spins you by your hair towards the mirror. No more tears fall from your eyes, but a satisfied smirk stretches across your lips. The moment had made you feel powerful. 
While their nail files dug into your skin, and your hair was gripped too tightly just to be cut, they no longer spoke. Coriolanus had scared them into silence. 
A few moments later he reappears with his own styling crew as they struggle to bring everything they need into the room. 
He sets up next to you, and under the watchful eye of Coriolanus, your stylists turn gentle. With your body done, they move to your hair and make-up. 
The large room is crowded with all the people and equipment. The head stylist tries to persuade Coriolanus back to his own room, but he would hear none of it. 
As your hair is curled and pinned into a loose bun, the iron used slipped slightly from her hands as she pinned. It burnt behind your ear, causing you to jump from the hot touch, but no sound escaped you. 
Coriolanus noticed anyway. 
“Be careful. Watch what you are doing”, he reprimanded.  
“Yes, President Snow” the woman apologizes. 
With a spray all over your hair, the woman steps back to admire her work. 
“Alright. We are fifteen minutes behind schedule. We need to get her in her dress”, the woman with the red cheek called out. 
Coriolanus was done. Only one stylist was there with him, shining his shoes. 
They lead you to the bathroom with a dress bag. 
As soon as the door was closed, one of the stylists who had remained quiet all morning began to speak. 
“Yes, President Snow,” she mocked. 
“Shut up,” the hair stylist barked. 
The dress was pulled from the bag without a wrinkle. 
It was a sweetheart, white satin, strapless gown. The bodice had pearls strung along it, and it curved up in the middle into a line of pearls. 
It was matched with a pair of white heels with pearl straps and a jacket of the same material that was only meant to go around your shoulders and not to be worn, you learned. 
The shoulders of the jacket clipped into the dress so it didn’t move.
“There,” the head woman snapped, “You’re done.” 
You quickly rushed from her presence, back out to the bedroom where Coriolanus stood alone. 
You turn back as you walk to him, expecting the woman to come from the bathroom. But they never do.
He takes you into his arms, gaining your attention from the door
“You look beautiful,” he comments. 
He did too, but you wouldn’t admit it. He wore black instead of white, but his shirt and pocket square matched the material of your dress. 
“Thank you,” you reply. 
A slight squeak of the bathroom door had you pulling back. You would hate for them to see you so cozy in his arms. But the door never opens. 
Coriolanus pulls you tight against him again, leaning down to whisper something to you. 
“Do you want me to have them killed?” He asks. 
“No,” you say, astonished that he could think of no other solution.
“It’s up to you,” he states, “Come on. We are late.” 
He leads you back to the living room where Tigris and Grandma’am stood waiting amongst the stylists packing up. 
“Give us time to settle in before you come to visit,” Coriolanus spoke to his family. He leans his tall frame down to kiss each of them. 
“Of course,” Tigris answered. After she had kissed him, she moved over to you. Wrapping her arms around your shoulder, and placing a kiss on the corner of your head. 
“We’ll see each other again soon,” she promises. 
You smile back at her before she is replaced with Grandma’am. The older woman's hug is shorter and less affectionate. 
With a final goodbye, you follow Coriolanus and a series of Peacekeepers to the elevator and down to the car park. 
A sleek black car was waiting. A driver held out the back door, and Coriolanus placed you in the car first. 
The Peacekeepers piled into a large truck. Only one sat in the front of your car with the driver.
The divider was raised so you couldn’t see them, but you could have sworn you had seen the Peacekeeper before. You wondered if Coriolanus had brought back men from District 12. 
The car ride passed through the city. You had never seen such buzz. Colors and colors flew past you. Buildings that reached the sky gleamed. Tall statues were littered across the drive. You counted seven, and a possible eighth that flew past too fast to see more than a gray figure. 
You wanted to put the window down for a better view as the tint from the window dulled some of the colors. But Coriolanus denied your request. The wind would undo the work done on your hair, and it was important that you arrived looking your best. He had promised to take you out again later with the windows down. 
When you arrived at the presidential estate, it was surrounded by supporters of Coriolanus holding banners and sticks with a picture of Coriolanus’s face attached. They waited outside of the tall gates guarded by peacekeepers. 
As the car passed them, screams and cheers deafened you. 
It got worse when you entered the gates, the screaming was matched with flashes of white light. 
Coriolanus was unbothered by it all. His focus is all on the approaching building in front of him. 
The building was grand, surrounded by meticulously kept gardens. Large Panem flags hung on flag poles on either side of the staircase that led to the entrance. A line of staff stands at the top of the staircase. All of them were dressed in expensive white material that formed around their bodies in a long coat, and pants. Gold detailing was added to the stitches and a gold pin fashioned into the Panem symbol was pinned across their chest to keep their jacket closed. 
Even the servants dressed nicer than the high society of District 12. They looked better fed too. 
The car stopped as close as it could to the stairs and Coriolanus turned to you, taking your hand in his. 
“Stay close to me. People are excited and that can cause them to act mindless.” 
The door is opened by a Peacekeeper and Coriolanus leads you along the slim path through the sea of people. 
People reach out to touch him, yelling out to gain his attention. But his mind stayed focused on the approaching building. A look of smug satisfaction and determination played across his features. You must have looked terrified as you followed him.
These people looked like animals. They frenzied around you with only a few Peacekeepers to keep them in check. 
You stay as close as you can to Coriolanus, taking the back of his shirt into your spare hand. 
The path ends as it comes to the bottom of the step. Coriolanus reaches his hand back to release you from his shirt, bringing you to stand by him as you climb the steps. 
One woman in an all-black ensemble stood out in front of the line of staff. She greeted Coriolanus as he reached her on the steps. 
“President Snow, an honor to serve you as your head of staff.”
She reached out her right hand but his right hand was latched around yours. He was hesitant to let it go.
She pauses when he doesn’t react but quickly switches out hands which Coriolanus accepts in a handshake. 
Upon realizing your importance to him, she turns to you in a curtsy. 
“And you, Mistress.” 
The crowd cheers once more for President Snow. White roses are thrown from the crowd, falling on the road and upon the bottom of the stairs. 
Peacekeepers push back against the crowd. Things were not to be thrown at the President. 
“A pleasure. Perhaps we should get inside before the crowd decides to see how close they can get.” Coriolanus suggests. 
The woman steps back, nodding her head quickly and too many times. 
“Of course. If you would follow me, I will take you to the signing.” 
The rest of the staff remain on the steps as you and Coriolanus follow the woman.
The loudness of the crowd was shut out from the big, heavy doors. It offered you two seconds of relief before taking in the vastness of the house. 
The floors were polished and matched the furniture.  A big lush thick carpet was laid out to add some warmth to the room. It was dark red and had cream accents that splayed out in intricate designs. The entryway must have been 50 feet in width and length but the red carpet covered nearly all of it. 
Both you and Coriolanus looked around in wonder. Only Coriolanus was better at hiding his amazement. He acted indifferent as the women explained the history of the house. But you could see his eyes linger on the expensive and well-decorated decor of the house. 
Staircases were everywhere, leading up and down in all different forms of design. The house was too big. It would be easy for a person to get lost but the woman led you without stumbling. 
You wonder about her. How long had she been here? Was it a choice to serve the house? 
She didn’t seem scared or upset. There were no marks upon her cream skin suggesting a lifetime of servitude. She wore make-up, and her thick, black hair was styled fashionably. But looks could be deceiving in the Capitol. 
They liked to hide behind their fine things and sharp appearances. 
She leads you into a large office. The original flag of Panem hung framed behind a large desk. The dirt and blood that had gathered on it during the war blotted the bright colors. 
Only five reporters were allowed into the room, amongst a few other important people. They all greeted Coriolanus with a firm handshake. Only one reporter was female, and she towered over the men, assisted by her six-inch heels. She looks at your ring, and you notice an absence of one on hers. 
She was too smart to get trapped by the Capitol men. 
Coriolanus thanked them for being here with his dazzling smile while you stood behind him mute, and useless. 
The women who brought you in interrupted the polite conversation between the group. 
“President Snow, it is custom to sit in the chair while signing,” she directed. 
“Yes,” Coriolanus obliged, leading you behind the large oak desk. 
You tug your hand from him as he sits. They wanted him, not you. 
A dark green plush couch with colorful cushions called out to you. You needed to sit as your legs felt like jelly. 
“President Snow, did you want the picture with or without your First Lady?” The woman reporter asked as she readied her camera. 
“With.” Coriolanus beckoned you closer but your legs would not cooperate. 
You stood until the head of staff pushed you forward. 
“Alright, dear, you stand behind your husband and don’t forget to smile. Big smile!” She commands. 
You are thankful that her hands moved you into position. The referral to Coriolanus as your husband froze you. She told you once more to smile which activated your lips into a thin smile.
“Okay, Mr. President when you’re ready,” one of the male reporters called. 
The cameras flash blinding you as Coriolanus signs his name on the parchment. 
His signature is a series of neat loops finished by a long line that curled underneath his name. 
It was official. Coriolanus Snow would now rule over Panem. With the hopes that it was over, you go to move back out of the camera frames but it only caught the attention of the journalists. 
“Mrs. Snow, how about a kiss for the President?” One of the reporters called out. The comment frenzied the rest who shouted out encouragements. 
Coriolanus turns out to you in his chair, permitting you to follow the command. 
So you do. Bending down to his height and placing a kiss on his lips. He steadies you with a hand on the side of your face so that the kiss deepens. 
The cameras liked that. You pull away, but Coriolanus' hand keeps you in place. 
His thumb brushes against the lipstick that had smudged getting rid of it before wiping his hand over his mouth. 
A make-up artist comes over to him, helping him to rid the lipstick off his face and reapplying power from a compact. 
“Okay, can we get a shot of just the President staring down the lens with the flag in the background?” The woman once more directs. 
You move quickly out of the way as the journalists kneel on the floor for the shot, and point their cameras up. 
You find comfort on the couch and watch as Coriolanus is directed for the magazine shots. 
When he is not directed to stare into a camera his eyes are on you, making sure that you are still in the room. 
A deep regret sets on your posed photos. You should have said no. Coriolanus would be too cautious to correct you in front of what constituted the entirety of Panem. You could have gotten away with it. Now your family was sure to see the photos of you happily smiling behind him. Kissing him, with a diamond ring on your finger. 
What would Edmund's family think? Your own family would think of you as a traitor. What would the family who lost everything due to you think? Edmund was keeping them afloat. How would they get by now? Would your brother take care of them as Edmund took care of his family? Would they accept the help of a traitor's brother?
Coriolanus stands from the desk in front of the reporters. 
“As you can imagine, yesterday was a long day. If you are satisfied with the photos I would like to settle in with my new wife.” 
“Of course, Mr. President,” was the resounding response. 
He comes to collect you on the couch as the head of staff briefs the people in the room on what is to happen now. 
“No one is to leave this room. Peacekeepers will come and escort you out. You and your equipment will be searched before you are released back to your firm. The President thanks you for your time and service to your country.” 
Coriolanus brings your arm to loop through his as you follow the woman back out into the vast space of the house. 
She takes you up a large, twin staircase back at the main entrance of the house, and along a corridor lined with a long carpet. At the very end came a double-door entrance that stretched from the very bottom, all the way to the top. 
This was the President's quarters. She unlocks the door with a key that was passed to Coriolanus, and swings open the doors so you can see the space. 
Another enormous space was filled with plush rugs and expensive furniture. Back home a house consisted of the bare necessities. In the Capitol, they had space for every activity and filled it with unnecessary furniture. 
A breakfast nook, a long dinner table, a sitting area, a living room, a walk-in coat closet, two full bathrooms, a tall wine fridge, and a set-up bar were all contained within the floor. A staircase that led up suggested that there was more to the living space. 
The woman asks if she can do anymore, but Coriolanus assures her there is nothing to be done but rest now. 
She shows Coriolanus a button he could push to call for a servant before bidding him goodbye. 
He was quick to shut the door behind her as you wandered into the apartment. 
“What do you think?” He asks. 
“People live like this?” You run a hand over a soft blanket draped over the couch. 
“I never have,” he admits. 
 From a war-ruined boy, to a Peacekeeper, to Commander of District 12, Coriolanus lived far from the luxury of the Capitol. 
He got nights of Capitol living when he came to visit from District 12 but his home had always been rat-infested slums. 
“It’ll feel more like home when you settle in, and make it your own.”
“It’ll never feel like home,” you remark snidely. 
Coriolanus picks up a small decorative statue and examines it. 
“Well not your home back in District 12, but your home in the Capitol.” 
He places the statue back down and holds out his hand for you to take. 
“Shall we see upstairs?” 
Upstairs was as impressive as down. Six spare bedrooms each with their own bathrooms and ready for guests, a sizable private study that conjoined to a lavish sleeping arrangement. 
You open the doors to your closet to find that it already had been filled with clothing. A pair of comfortable-looking pants and a singlet call out to you, and you ask Coriolanus if you could change. 
He gives you permission, telling you that he was going to look around the estate but he would be back soon. 
The bathroom had heated tiles which helped to keep you warm as you tried to figure out the shower. There was a pad with buttons that had too many commands to work.
You finally figure it out with pure luck and a heavy stream of water shoots out from the shower head. 
You shower off the make-up and hair spray. Some glitter that had been dusted on your skin had to be scrubbed off which left you red, and pruny from the time it took. 
Another battle to turn off the water, before you could reach for a white fluffy towel off the rack. It was warm too from the heated rack.
With Coriolanus gone, you explored the room. Everything was set up as if you already lived here. 
You find a book about the history of Panem in the bookcase and flick through it. It talked about the Dark Days. How District people were dangerous and out to ruin Capitol life. 
Large black and white pictures taken during the war were displayed in large form across the page. The Capitol during the war looked like District 12 now. 
The next page showed a photo of rebels being lined up to be shot. The page after that had a photo of a man. A general during the war. The name shocked you. 
General Crassus Snow. He looked a little like Coriolanus. Same blonde hair and blue eyes, but without the name, you wouldn’t have known.
A hero they called him. It turned out Coriolanus wasn’t lying to you when he said his father was killed in 12. You wondered how that must have felt for him, to go back there and rule over the place that left him fatherless. 
A little blurb read that Crassus Snow was known to have an excellent head for strategy and nerves of steel. With a commanding presence that rose him quickly through the military ranks before he was cowardly killed in an ambush. 
Coriolanus had followed in his father’s footsteps. The page could have been Coriolanus' autobiography. 
Your fingers trace the photo of the man standing tall in his uniform. If he was alive, you doubt he would have let Coriolanus get involved with you. But he wasn’t, and you were here, trapped in the Capitol, while he was buried somewhere in District 12. 
You continue with the book, scoffing as they skew history to fit their narrative. War was never one-sided. 
You hear him as he enters the study. The door was heavy and loud. 
Expecting him to appear, you continue flipping through the pages of the book. 
But time passes with no appearance.
You finish the book and go to find out what he is doing. 
Taking the side door, you could see his back as it faced a large painting on the far wall. You knew from school that the picture was of the past President Ravenstill.
He gazes at the portrait with his hands clasped behind his back. 
“Coriolanus?” You call. It breaks his concentration, and he unhooks himself from his rigid posture to extend his hand out to you. But he never faces away from the painting. 
You rush to accept his hand, looking up at the painting with him. There was nothing special about it. An oil painting that depicted a hateful man in a powerful position. 
But something about it captivates Coriolanus. 
“Are you alright?” you ask. His broody eyes normally meant bad things for you.
“You see this?” He bends his forehead to your level and points to a faint scar on the top corner of his head. 
“During the war, I went looking for scraps around the Presidential palace. I found a great big bucket full of half-eaten bones with meat still on them just sitting there over the fence, so I reached my hand in to try and get one. I was found by a Peacekeeper who informed me that the President said they were for his dogs and left me with a scar from the butt of his rifle.” 
He looks away from you and back to the painting. You were grateful for it. There was a darkness in his eyes that scared you. 
“Now I am the man in the palace,” he mutters. 
“I am sorry that happened to you.” 
He smiles at your words. Pity was something he wanted from no one but you. 
“You can do a lot of good, Coriolanus,” you temper with a squeeze to his hand. 
He nods his head in agreement, “I will. The Capitol will flourish under me.”
“You could do good in the Districts too. You saw the disadvantages there.”
His grip around your hand tightened, and his jaw locked in place. The painting was no longer of any interest. You now bore his intense stare. 
“I saw a bunch of animals clawing at each other to get ahead. You should be thankful that I saved you.”
“Saved me?” You questioned. 
He had not saved you from a burning building but taken you from your bed at night. 
“It wouldn’t have been long before the animals tore into you.”
The hold on your hand loosens and he takes a step back from you. 
“I’ll ring down for lunch.” He disappears from the room, leaving you in front of the painting. That night it was replaced with one of Coriolanus. The painting of him was still wet but hung proudly in the room. 
The next morning after a luxurious breakfast you went straight back to bed and stayed there until Coriolanus returned home. 
You had no idea if he locked the door on his way out, you never checked. There was nothing out there for you. No family or friends to shield you in their arms. No familiar faces, or sense of community. 
Tigris and Grandma’am visited on the weekend, wanting to be shown around. But you only knew the bed, and Coriolanus spent too many hours at the official office downstairs to know the little details of the apartment. The head of staff was called again to show the group around the property. It took nearly half an hour to explore the place. 
Grandma’am was too old to do that much walking but she wouldn’t slow down. She had dreamt about this day, longer than Coriolanus had. She held on to him as he assisted her in walking, and you held her handbag. 
They stayed for coffee and cake which delighted Coriolanus. You spoke very little, even as Tigris tried to coax a conversation out of you. The crushing weight of defeat was hindering your ability to be social. 
When they left, you got an earful from Coriolanus, who was disappointed in your behavior. All was forgiven, however, when the lights turned off and you were alone in bed with him.
The staff thought it was odd when you insisted that you would do the cleaning and cooking for yourself and Coriolanus. He took great pride in it. Feeling as if it was a testimony of your love. But in truth, your days were so much longer without it.
Sometimes there were visitors from the Academy or acquaintances from high society. Grandma’am and Tigris came over consistently but most of the time you were left completely alone. 
For a brief period, while the facilities for you to cook and clean were installed, you lived back in the Snow Penthouse. 
You enjoyed other company besides Coriolanus. One night after he was finished with you, you asked him if home could be here instead of the Presidential Palace. 
He gave a laundry list of reasons as to why that wouldn’t be possible. The Presidential Palace was safer. It was the place where the President and the First Lady were supposed to live. Besides he didn’t want Tigris, and Grandma’am around while he adjusted to married life. You knew it all boiled down to the fact he simply didn’t want to. 
—------------------
The night you return to the Presidential Palace, he comes to bed with a stack of papers.
“Look,” he leans closer to you, holding out a bit of paper that you couldn’t read under the sporadic flashes of light from the Tv. 
“My first official act as President. Schools will now provide breakfast and lunch free of charge for every school student.”
“I thought children in the Capitol never had to worry about food”. 
“Some do,” he responds, “There are poorer and richer classes in the Capitol too. Not to the extent of the Districts, but we have our own troubles in the Capitol.” 
The Capitol people, no matter how poor, were not treated like animals, and terrorized by a militant group. They were still Capitol, and thus worthy of respect. 
“And university is free for those in the top 10% of their cohort. I’ll make the announcement first thing tomorrow morning.”
“That’s wonderful” you praise, although you cared little for the new change. 
He felt as if the bill would rewind the clock. Damn the Hunger Games, and the Plinth Prize. If he could bury the mistakes of his past, they never happened. 
—----------------
Coriolanus grew desperate for a baby after his first month of presidency. He wished he had gotten you pregnant back in District 12 so he could have a baby halfway through his first term. But he didn’t dwell on the past when he could focus on the future. 
He tried desperately every night to put a baby in you, but nothing stuck.
He grew worried that time in the Districts had made you barren. After a very uncomfortable examination by a doctor who assured him that you were able to bear children, but simply have not. 
The thought of children made you feel sick. You had no idea how you would manage it on top of everything. You did not want his children, but how could you stop him? He was the one who decided your future. 
Every morning he would wait outside of the bathroom door for you to do a test. You would bring a negative result back, and his face would sag. 
His frustration was rough in form. Since election night, fun was the only objective for Coriolanus. But as his want for a child grew, teasing and pleasing you were secondary to his need. Again and again, in the same night, he would manhandle you in positions he thought were best. They left him with a sore wife and no baby to show for it. 
A doctor had suggested that extreme stress can disrupt the ovulation cycle making it difficult to plan strategic timing of sex. This had annoyed Coriolanus greatly. You went on only a few official obligations in which you stayed by Coriolanus. You were fed, clothed, and rested. There was no extreme stress in your life that would hinder you from his baby. 
You verbally agreed with his rant but laughed in private at his delusional hissy fit. 
Every night when he was finished, he would sleep thinking tomorrow he would wake with good news. 
One day he did. He was getting ready to go down to the office, waiting for you to present him with the test. 
You expect the same as before, but as you expect the test, you notice an instant difference. 
Scrambling for the box, you check the instructions. A cold shot through you as you looked back to see the indication of pregnancy. 
In hope you take another one. 
Coriolanus knocks on the door, telling you he has to leave soon. 
You don’t care, you stare at the test waiting for a negative result. 
It appeared the same as the other.
Coriolanus calls out again. On auto-pilot, you unlock the door and show him the test. He knew from your expression that it was positive but he looks anyway. 
He kisses you deeply, but you can’t move against him. You were going to be a mother. Die nursing Coriolanus’s babies. 
“A baby,” he says joyously. He brings his hand to your stomach and smiles, “A Snow.” 
He ushers you back into bed, and calls for a maid to come tend to you while he is at work. All day you only move to throw up once. 
The maid annoys you all day by asking you to do things. You just wanted to cry in bed without an audience. 
As soon as the news was announced, floods of gifts came piling into the apartment. Designer clothes, a gold crib, flowers, and chocolate were sent for you. You threw them all out. 
Every day you spend organizing and putting away presents only for more to come. 
If you had thought your life was miserable before pregnancy, your life was unbearable while you were pregnant. Coriolanus was anxious about losing the baby. 
The whole nine months at breakfast each morning a doctor checked for any complications. It made it difficult to eat which frustrated you as you woke every morning with great hunger. Only to throw it up again by mid-morning. 
You were young and healthy so the pregnancy was low risk. Due to the rations in the Districts, your iron was low, but with your meals now being made by qualified chefs and nutritionists it quickly came back up to an acceptable level. 
Coriolanus insisted that everything was a risk. Cooking over a hot stove, or bending to clean.  You came to work with him like you did at the Compound. It was then you realized that he was more worried about you self-sabotaging the pregnancy than he was about the chemicals in cleaning products. 
You grew big and uncomfortable. With the hormones raging in your body you would cry randomly during the day. One time when Tigris came to drop off the baby clothes she had made you, Coriolanus insisted she stayed for tea in the garden. 
It was a beautiful day, and you had company other than Coriolanus. It was one of your better days. But upon seeing a dead baby bird at the edge of the garden, you began to cry uncontrollably. 
You resisted Coriolanus' hold as he shouted for the bird to be taken away. The scene greatly shocked Tigres who quickly left when Coriolanus returned you to your room. 
In addition to the mood swings, your baby kicked all day long giving you little rest. It took a toll on your appearance, leaving you looking half-dead.
Everywhere you turned someone was handing you a pillow and a blanket or offering you food. You felt like the main attraction at a circus. The only good thing about the pregnancy was that no meant no.
Coriolanus was far more respectful of your boundaries. All you had to put up with was his interactions with his unborn child. He liked to speak to it in your stomach and feel it kick. On daily walks for the baby's health, he would hold the bump as he accompanied you around the grounds. He was excited to be a father but you were terrified of being a mother in an entirely different world than your own. 
Both you and Coriolanus attended parenting classes to help with the transition. Even raising babies was different in the Capitol. Mothers were not supposed to leave the house for 40 days after the birth. District women went back to work before the week was out. 
The teachers talked about safe sleeping practices in a cot, District babies slept in a basket cushioned with rags. 
Special food was designed for every stage of toddler life here. Babies back home ate what was available. 
The classes made you grateful that your child was Capitol. At least you could give them a happy, comfortable life.
Coriolanus would ensure the best for his child that you were sure of. 
—--------
Nine months passed quickly. One early morning you woke up in a great deal of pain. Coriolanus was still asleep next to you. You knew the baby was ready to come, but you were not ready for the baby. 
You try to delay the baby. The midwife said you had another week. 
A hot bath stops the pain for a little while, but the sound of running water wakes Coriolanus. You’re in the bath for thirty minutes before he rises from bed to join you.
He doesn’t knock as he enters. There was a time when you would have tried to cover up, but those days were long gone.
Coriolanus kneels by the bathtub and places a hand on your rounded stomach. 
“Kicking, is he?” Coriolanus asks. 
“Yeah. Something like that,” you state. 
“He’s just excited to be here next week.” 
As if it was a call to action, your stomach begins to contract painfully tight. You wince, trying hard to keep a sound from coming out. 
“Are you alright?” He asks with concern. 
“Yes. Can you help me out of the tub?” 
The plug is pulled by twisting a round knob to your left, and the water drains quickly. 
He helps you out of the tub gently, wrapping you in a towel and helping you walk to your wardrobe. 
All of your pregnancy clothes were loose dresses that fell down to your ankles. You picked a light blue one but as the fabric fell around your body, your stomach gave a harsh twist. It felt as if your stomach muscles were being pulled from your stomach. 
You feel Coriolanus place a hand on your back. 
“I’ll call for the doctor,” he says. 
The doctor and his nurses had been moved into the presidential palace for the pregnancy. Coriolanus wanted to be sure that if anything went wrong, a team of experts was at hand. 
“No,” you moan, “He’s just moving that’s all.” 
The next contraction had you yelling and kneeling over in pain. 
“Is he coming?” His voice carried an excitement that could only be found in a person not about to give birth. 
“To the bed,” he demands, “Come on.” 
The team is quickly called up, bringing with them scary-looking machines. Your doctor had previously explained what they did and how he would deliver the baby. But none of it mattered now. You were terrified. 
Coriolanus only left your side to get dressed. The labor was nearly fourteen hours, during which Coriolanus held your hand and waited for the contractions to get closer together. 
He tried his best to make you comfortable. Hard pillows were brought in for you so you could sit up, and he held a water bottle close, ready for you. 
As you enter the second stage of labor, the pain intensifies as your body gets ready for the push. Your fear spikes, knowing that a baby would soon be placed in your care. 
“No, no,” you mutter. This wasn’t supposed to be like this, You were supposed to be married to the love of your life, and have your mother to coach you through this. 
“You’re alright, darling. He is almost here,” Coriolanus dabbed an ice-cold rag over your forehead as he spoke. 
“No,” you state more forcibly, “I want my mother.”
“Mrs. Snow, you need to start pushing,” the doctor instructs. Your body pushes automatically, causing a painful groan to resound around the room. 
Coriolanus gives you words of encouragement but they buzz in your ear. The sound of your mother's name coming from your lips was the only thing you heard.  
“You don’t need her. Just keep going.” He soothes. 
You scream at the pain. The room felt as if it was on fire around you, but you knew it was cold outside. The world began to blur, the beeping of the machines and talk of the medical team lapped. 
You look towards the doorway as your body begins to push again. You swear you see your mother peeking in. 
“Mum!” you scream, “Mum, please, don’t leave me.”
“No, No.” Coriolanus consoles. 
“No. Coriolanus, I want my mother. Where’s my brother?” You ask in a state of panic that brings tears to your eyes. 
“Mrs. Snow, push.” The doctor bids. 
“No!” you scream back, “Not without my mum.”
“Mrs. Snow, this baby is coming. You don’t have time,” the doctor says. 
“Push,” Coriolanus tells you. 
“Please, Coriolanus, please,” you beg. All you wanted was to see her. If he didn’t want you to speak that would be fine. You just needed to see your mother as you delivered your first child.
“What have you done?” You sob, looking at his worried face. 
“I haven’t done anything,” he defends, “You need to start pushing.”
Pain ripples through your body and you push to ease it. 
Three big pushes that burn, and suddenly the pressure in your stomach is gone. 
A loud cry fills the room, in constellation with your heavy panting. 
The crying buddle is brought to you by the doctor, but you push his hands away. One peak at his light blonde hair had you feeling sick. He was supposed to have dark hair like Edmund’s. He was supposed to be Edmund’s child. 
Instead, the child was given to Coriolanus who accepted him into his arms. 
“Coriolanus, where is my mother?” You ask. 
“She’s not here. You know that,” he answers. 
Still, you scream for her to save you. 
“Commander Snow, please! Just let me see her,” you beg. 
He looks down at you puzzled, with the screaming child in his arms. 
Despite feeling as if you had been hit by a train, you attempt to rise which is discouraged by everyone in the room.
 Coriolanus steps forward to stop you, but won’t release his hands from his son. 
You feel the pressure from the nurses on your shoulder as they press you back into the mattress. 
“Sir, can I administer a sedative to calm her?” a nurse asks. 
Coriolanus nods at the nurse, and she inserts a needle into your IV drip. 
“Get off. No!” You try to tug against the IV connection, but your hands are pinned down. 
“Mum!” you shout, “Archie!” 
The sedative works fast. You soon find yourself unable to hold your head up. The fight kicked out from under you. 
You watch as Coriolanus holds tight to the small blanket. 
“Commander, please.” You mumble, but hear no response as you slip into a deep sleep.  
—-----------
When you wake it feels as if each limb has been torn from your body, and you have been hastily stitched together again. 
The room is blurred but your eyes are opened. You could feel their sting as you failed to blink. 
You had a son, you think, but where is he? Why can’t I hear him crying?
With newfound motivation you will yourself to get your bearings. 
Your muscles move at your control once more, and your eyes focus on the lamp on the table. 
As you regain control, you hear footsteps by the end of the bed. Your head rolls on the pillow to see Coriolanus as he stands over a bassinet, still for a second, before he reaches down and picks up your baby, wrapped tightly and swaddled. 
You wanted to call out and demand that he place your baby back down but you were still hazy from the drugs. You're too slow to gain back your voice. 
He sits in a nearby rocking chair with the baby tightly in his arms, beginning to rock gently as he gazes down at the small bundle. 
The baby fusses slightly but is soon soothed back to sleep. 
Seeing your baby in no harm, you try and sit up 
“Coriolanus,” you call. His eyes shoot up to watch you as you rise into a sitting position but go back to your baby as he speaks. 
“Take it easy. He’s okay,” he consoles. 
“Is he healthy?” You ask. 
Coriolanus smiles down at his son, as he rocks back and forth. 
“He’s perfect. I’ve named him, Crassus Alexander Snow, after my father.”
You hate that your son is named after the man in the book. You hate that Coriolanus has named him without your approval. Your son wasn’t a doll for him to play with. He had taken enough from you, now it felt as if he was after your son too. 
“You named him?” Your voice was hard with your displeasure. 
“I had to. The nurses needed a name. Don’t worry you can have the next one.”
The next one. Not even 24 hours after an excruciating labor, and he was talking about the next one. 
Looking around, you see that you only felt like you had just given birth. The machines, apart from your IV drip next to you, had been taken back. The bed was fresh under you, and you had been changed into comfortable pajamas.  
You lean back into the bed, silent. This was not how you pictured your first child. You wanted your mother and brother to see him.  
You picture seeing them again. Just one last time to say goodbye. 
The thought of it makes you break the silence you otherwise never would have broken. 
“Coriolanus, do you think I could write to my mother to let her know I had a child?” You ask quietly. 
He is quiet which worries you. Your mother would know when the Capitol news circulated through the District, but you were hoping to at least let her know you tried to tell her. 
“Yes, you should,” he finally spoke.
He gets up from the rocker and walks slowly towards your bed. 
“Here, do you want to hold him?” 
You open your arms for Coriolanus to place your son into. 
He fits perfectly and doesn’t wake.
You stare at him. He didn’t feel like your son. Crassus was a small baby, with light blonde hair. Not how you imagined him. 
Coriolanus lays on the bed next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders so he could bring you close. 
“Thank you,” he says, “I know how scared you were. You called for your mother. Do you remember?”
You were hoping that he wouldn’t mention it. That it could just be something that happened and then forgotten.
“Did I?” you fawn. 
You're careful to keep your eyes on your son, and not to look anywhere that could gain Coriolanus's attention. 
He captures it anyway by bringing your chin up to his height. 
“You did so well, and I am so proud of you,” he praises. He places a quick kiss on your lips before drawing his head back. 
“I love you.” He states. His eyes look at you expecting. 
“I love you too, Coriolanus.”
You never know if the letter you write is sent home. No return was ever given. 
—--------------
A week later your baby boy lay between you and Coriolanus on the bed. He was sleeping after you had just fed him. It took a while for you to feel connected to him but now a mother's bond was established, and you could watch him sleep for hours. 
Coriolanus ran his finger down the side of his baby's face and down to his little belly, rubbing soothing circles to try and help him digest the milk. 
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Coriolanus spoke to you but kept his gaze on his child. 
“Yes,” you agree. 
You wished your mother could see your baby. To hold him as is her right as a grandmother. You had wanted to ask Coriolanus, but you knew the answer. Still, you had to ask. Maybe he would be kinder to you after birthing his child. 
“Coriolanus, I was wondering if I might be able to take him back home to see my family?”
His eyes shot up at you. The answer was more than no, it was how dare you. 
“Don’t you ever ask me that again.” he seethes. 
You held little hope that he would agree so his denial hurt less. 
“Can we video call them?” you try to compromise.
“No,” his answer was hard and cold, “Put him in his bassinet and come back.” He commanded. 
Crassus’s bassinet was only at the end of your bed. Coriolanus wanted to keep him close. 
Your baby stirs as you gently pick him up but settles back into his mother's arms. He was so milk-drunk that the normal fight to set him into his bassinet was won with a gentle rock. 
You knew you were in trouble with Coriolanus. The only time you had wished that your baby fought sleep was so you could avoid Coriolanus’ wrath. 
He holds his tongue until you are back lying next to him. 
“I don’t want you speaking about your family ever again. I don’t want our son to know that you are District. Think about them if you must, but if you continue to speak about them, I will have them killed.” 
“They are my family,” you spat. 
“We are your family. Us. Your son and your husband.”
You get up from next to him, even though you know you shouldn’t. 
“Lay back down,” he demands. 
“I’ve done everything you have asked of me,” you snivel, “Gone to every event where they look at me like a trained animal. Cooked your meals, washed your clothes. Gave you a son, just like you wanted.” 
Your voice was wobbly and raised. The hormones that were still raging through your body from birth trapped you between uncontrollable sadness and an unquenchable fury. 
“Be quiet. You’ll wake Crassus,” Coriolanus scolded. 
“I don’t care!” You yell. 
Coriolanus looks to the bassinet at the end of the bed, expecting his son to wake, crying. 
All is silent. You lower your voice as you continue speaking. If you upset Crassus all conversation would stop. 
“Crassus doesn’t have to come. I can have a one-hour phone call a month without him. He doesn’t have to know, but I can’t live like this.” 
His eyes snapped to you as he lay in the bed. “Can’t live like this? I have given you a life so terrible that you can’t bear it?”
He rises from the bed, and you take a step back. You were in a bad condition after birth. There was no way you could defend yourself against him. 
“Nothing I do for you is ever good enough for you” he exclaims. His eyes squint at you but his voice is calm and collected, “You know how dangerous it was for me to help you in 12? A Commander, and a District girl. How that looked for me in my presidential run? But I didn’t care. From the day I met you, I have looked after you. And you want me to feel in debt to you, because why? You cook the food I give you? Wash the clothes I buy? Birthed a beautiful son that you never would have had without me.” 
“You didn’t ‘take care of me’, Coriolanus. You took me. I never asked for any of it. I want to go home to my family.”
Coriolanus stood across from you, his face unmoving and hard. 
“You’re right. Family is important,” he suddenly says. His face relaxes, and body unwinded. 
He moves quickly to the end of the bed where Crassus lies. 
“Your brother had a child. A little girl, named after you,” he rocks the bassinet gently despite his threatening words. 
“You want to see her? I can bring her here,” he taunts. 
“No,” you whisper. 
“No? All this talk of family, and the answer is no?’’ 
He looks down at his sleeping baby, checking for any signs of distress. 
“I could bring them all here. They could work in the presidential estate. You’re the only one who doesn’t have to earn their keep”.
You imagine them dressed in the same white uniforms as the other servants. How much control Coriolanus would have over their lives daily. 
“That’s not what I am asking,” you state. 
“You’re asking to have your family around you, and I couldn’t agree more. Unless you don’t consider them family?” 
“Well?” he pushes after a moment of silence. 
“No.”
“Who do you consider family then?”
“You and Crasuss,” you gave the answer he wanted to hear. 
“That’s right!” He cooed, running a hand over Crassus’s head, “Just us. All you need is us.”
He straightens once more, giving his full attention back to you. 
“I am not asking you to be grateful, but I will not allow you to be thankless,” he shoves his hands in his pockets in a casual manner. 
“You should sleep as he sleeps,” he suggests. He wanted the fight to be over, and the newborn bliss to continue. 
“Lay back down, and go to sleep. No more talk of Districts.”
He leaves you in the room with your son, retreating from any further fighting. 
You wondered if it was true. Did Archie have a baby? 
Some part of you hoped it was true, and that she would fill the void of you in their lives. Just as Crassus filled the void for you. 
—-----------
With the success of Crasuss, Coriolanus was eager to have another one. You were still getting used to motherhood. You weren’t sure if you could deal with this one, let alone another one. 
Coriolanus stayed home with you for the 40 days that you were supposed to be on bed rest. He was up late with work, and then during the night with Crasuss. 
He tried to give you as much rest as he could. But Crassus needed you for feedings, and sometimes he would only settle if he was in your arms. 
Coriolanus was unversed in assessing others' needs. He would bounce Crassus when he needed to be held, change his diaper when he needed to be fed, and give him toys that were too old for him. 
He couldn’t decipher his cries like you could, leaving him frustrated. 
You knew he tried, which was more than you expected of him. 
You wake from the sound of your son crying from what feels like a two second nap. Coriolanus tried to prolong it for you by trying to soothe the baby himself. 
“He needs to be burped,” you tell Coriolanus, “Put him up on your shoulder and pat his back.”
He had only just fed so you knew it was just tummy pain. 
Coriolanus does as you say. Crassus settles as he is put upright but no burp comes. 
“It’s not working,” Coriolanus panics. Every little thing the doctor was to be called to check it out. 
“Keep going,” you encourage. 
Coriolanus sighs in relief when Crassus lets out a little burp and returns to being a happy baby. 
“You’re good at this,” he commented, “ A natural.” 
He always knew you would be, but to see it in action filled him with great joy and admiration. 
You huff in response, closing your eyes to go back to sleep. 
Coriolanus had to go back to his usual duties, leaving you with the full responsibilities of being a mother. 
It was overwhelming to have no one else to talk to but a baby. You spent your days in the apartment which drove you crazy. 
You eye the door. Coriolanus never told you to stay in the apartment. It was just an assumption you made. You knew you would never get outside of the gates, but you would settle for the gardens. 
With your baby in your arms, you cautiously twist the knob. 
There is no booby trap as you step out. No alarm rings. So you continue your journey. 
You vaguely remember the way from when you were out of the apartment with Coriolanus. 
A maid was polishing the wood of the staircase you needed to go down. You curse but try to act casual as you approach her. 
“Mrs. Snow,” the maid seemed surprised to see you, “Can I do something for you?” 
“No. I am just going to the gardens,” you justify. 
You walk quickly away from her. You hear her calling your name but you don’t stop. 
The house is large and echos as you make your way across it. The entrance out into the gardens was almost hidden. 
You wanted to run, but you were careful not to shake your baby too much. 
The big door comes into view. A sense of excitement and apprehension overcame you. You had never been outside of the Presidential quarters without Coriolanus. Now you were stepping outside. It felt as if you were gaining some independence back. 
When you open the door, you are confronted with a Peacekeeper, who stands aside out of your way. 
You thank him as you move past him, but he follows wordlessly as you cross the field. 
The maid had called the Peacekeeper on you, who called Coriolanus on you, and Coriolanus had told the Peacekeeper to keep an eye on what you were doing.
You find a spot under a tree in the lowest field, the Peacekeeper stands ten feet away to give you and your baby some privacy. 
You play with your baby in the short grass. He liked the feeling of it.
Some maids come, bringing a picnic blanket, and a glass of lemonade. 
You thank them although you wanted none of their assistance. 
Crassus has some tummy time listening to the birds. You lay back on the grass and watch the sun as it goes down. It was comforting to know that your mother and brother would be looking at the same sun. As far away as they were, at least something still connected you. 
You tell Crassus about them and he babbles back as if he was trying to talk. You tell him about Edmund in the prime of his life. You don’t discuss Edmund’s death or his father's involvement. 
You begin to explain District 12 to him just as the sun disappears behind the trees, when you hear the Peacekeeper stand to attention in greeting. You shut up immediately.
“It’s time to come inside” Coriolanus’s voice is heard. 
He picks his son up and places him on his shoulder after a quick kiss. 
You get up with the blanket and cup as you follow him back to the house. 
Coriolanus takes the items from you and gives them to the Peacekeeper in passing. 
“Look at this,” Coriolanus pulls out a small doll from his pocket,  “A senator's little girl gave it to me. She was so cute. We should try for a girl next.” 
You still had four weeks before the doctor gave you the go-ahead to engage in intercourse. But you knew Coriolanus would push the limits on that time frame. 
“I want to wait at least a year before another one,” you tell him. 
It already was so difficult, you wouldn’t survive having to care for another one. 
“No,” Coriolanus protested, “I would like a girl before the years out.”
You knew how obsessive Coriolanus could be when he had a thought trapped in his head. You also knew that nothing you said was going to change his mind. 
You wait until Crassus is asleep, and your shift with Coriolanus starts. 
He was waiting for you like he usually is. After Crassus was asleep, it was his turn to have his wife. 
He had opened a bottle of wine and was flicking through the tv channels. It surprised him when you dropped to your knees in front of him. 
Your hands reach for his trousers, and he eagerly helps you to take them off. During pregnancy he didn’t want to force you to do anything, thinking that it might harm the baby. After he was born, there was a recovery period that he had to wait through. It left Coriolanus pent up and hungry for your touch. 
Your lips were warm on him and worked so well. 
After all of your experience, you knew what Coriolanus liked. You swatted his hands off you as he tried to take control. He relents, bringing his hands to his thighs in a tight grip. 
You feel it grow in your mouth with your attention. It twitches under your tongue and you knew it as a sign he was close.
Just as he is reaching his high, you drag your lips back and off. 
He gasps as you do, throwing his head back onto the couch. 
“What are you doing?” He groans. He was irritated, which was not your desired effect. 
“Crassus turns one before another baby,” you demand. 
His hands curl into the couch as he counters, “Eight months.” 
You move to get up but his hands stop you, “Okay, okay, a year. Just finish.” He begs. 
You do finish him off, with the smug satisfaction that Coriolanus Snow is just a man. 
The day Crassus turns one, Coriolanus keeps you to your bargain. 
Coriolanus was determined to have a girl. Clothes and bows had already been brought. 
While Capitol technology allowed you to artificially change the sex of your baby, Coriolanus was more interested in conceiving the natural way. 
He researched old myths to increase his chances, and he tried all of them. 
He made you drink lemon juice before sex. He initiated sex on even days of the week. You were on a diet of fish, eggs, and vegetables. And you had to leave your legs raised for a couple of minutes after he was finished. 
You were slow to conceive like you were with Crassus. But one of the old wives' tales worked, for nearly nine months after Crassus turned one, you fell pregnant with a baby girl. 
You named her Aurora meaning dawn. A silent homage to your family back home, and the sun that connects you. 
—-------------------- 
Having children strangely settled you. You had five children in total within years of each other.  Your fifth child was your last. After you had lost too much blood during the birth of your next boy, Coriolanus put off plans to have a sixth. It scared him, seeing you so pale, laying half dead in a bed like his mother. The goal of children was to bring you closer, not to use you up. 
They gave your life purpose and little room to think about anything else but their needs. As they grew, you got more freedom to explore the city. Always under an army of guards. Coriolanus wanted them to have a full life, even if it meant granting you  access to be far from him. 
His children were not to miss out on anything the Capitol had to offer. Their names were on the top of the list for any attractions, child star concerts, and plays. The world was at their fingertips, and you got to experience Capitol life through them. 
He went when he could but his work was demanding. In his absence, a team of Peacekeepers escorted you and your kids around the Capitol. 
Despite his many faults, Coriolanus was a doting father. His children were first, sometimes before you. Where once his hold was tight around you all night, now you wake to find that one of your children had escaped their bed and taken your place. 
You always worried about his temper. He hasn’t hit you in years. You figure it was partly because you gave him little reason to, and partly because if you weren’t physically holding a child in your arms, you had one in your belly. 
But as your children grew would they be in the same danger as you if they acted out?
They all had the signature blonde hair of a Snow, but only the firstborn had Coriolanus’s blue eyes. Your other two boys and girls had your eyes. Something to tell you that they weren’t all Coriolanus. 
Date night normally consisted of an official event. They were far and few between as Coriolanus preferred you to be home with the babies. He disliked nannies but conceded to their usefulness. 
Tonight was a charity event to raise money for a new public swimming pool. Vapid and silly. At this stage, only Crassus and Aurona were born to be left crying as you tried to leave for the event. 
They were not used to being parted from you, and you were not used to being parted from them. 
“It’s okay,” you hush, “Mummy will be back soon, and she will check on you.”
Aurora was too young to know what your words meant. Her only cue that something was wrong was Crassus as he screamed. 
“No, Mummy, no!” His face was bright red from tears. You worried that he was short on breath from his screaming. 
He knew when you dressed up, you were leaving. He was four but a smart little thing.  As soon as the stylist crew arrived, his meltdown began. 
You held him as they did your hair and make-up, trying to soothe him. Coriolanus was still at work. All he needed to do was change his suit when he arrived home. 
He arrived home to chaos he could not settle. 
He stood behind you, watching as your son tried to tug off your elbow-length glove. 
“It’s alright, it’s okay. Mum will be back,” you promise. 
Aurora throws her head back, throwing her body off balance in your hold. 
The two nannies try to gain the kids' attention by holding out new toys, and calling out to them. 
“Once you leave they will settle,” one of the nannies promised. 
With teary eyes, you kiss both of your crying children, Coriolanus does the same, and Aurora is handed over. 
Crassus’s little hands claw onto your dress, he has to be picked up and yanked away by his nanny. 
You try not to let your tears fall as you walk to the car. It would ruin your make-up, and once you started to cry, you weren’t sure you would be able to stop. 
“They will be fine,” Coriolanus promises on the way to the event. 
“Why do I have to go tonight?” It was a silly thing that would survive without you. 
“Because you’re my wife. That’s why.”
Despite many years in the Capitol, events like this reminded you that you don’t belong. 
People would only talk to you in an attempt to gain an audience with Coriolanus. 
You would remain civil but not overly friendly. 
They all thought you were shy and timid as you were rarely seen, and always by Coriolanus’s side. 
Your relationship with Coriolanus had changed over the years but his overprotectiveness never dissolved.
His hand was always on you in some form. Where he went, you went. Who he talked to, you talked to. You were only an extension of him in public. At least at home, you were your own person to your kids. 
Tonight it seemed to all children. Only one person spoke to you apart from Coriolanus. 
It was a little girl, who passed you a flower in thanks. The public pool didn’t seem so silly in your eyes anymore. You bent down to talk to her, thanking her for the flower. You asked her about school and her siblings. You told her about your own children who were too young to attend a party like her. 
You were disappointed when her nanny came to collect her. She scolds the child for running away and bothering the President. 
Tucking the flower behind your ear, you blow the girl a kiss as she is carted off.
The rest of the night was dull as you acted as Coriolanus’s shadow. 
Coriolanus had just finished a speech on stage, you were walking back down the hallway to the party with him. You passed a few people running the events. They tried to talk to him, but he seemed in a rush. 
He turns off the direction of the party, and tugs you down an empty hallway. 
You ask him what he is doing as he checks the doors until he finds one that is opened and ushers you inside. It was a supply closest. Small and smelling slightly damp. 
He pushes you up against the wall, knocking over a broom and a bucket. 
“You’re such a good mother. Such a good little wife. I don’t tell you that enough,” he says. 
“Okay,” you respond, pushing back on his shoulders. 
“I love you so much.” He kisses you so hard, that your head is knocked painfully back into the cement wall. 
It reminded you of the harsh and needy kisses he used to give you as a Commander.
You feel his hands slide up your dress and grip the flesh of your butt. 
“Coriolanus, not here,” you beg. 
His lips go to your throat in slow, sexual kisses.
“I want another baby,” he requests. 
“Not here. Someone could find us.” 
“Not if you are quiet.” 
“Coryo,” You try. A bit too loud for this liking. He clamps a hand over your mouth, and shushes you with a hard look that tells you he was serious. 
“It would not look good if they found the President and First Lady fucking in a closet.”
He kneels on the floor in front of you, going under your dress and up your legs, bringing down your underwear. 
You feel him put his mouth on you, and you try to relax. It took you months to fall pregnant the last two times. This time wasn’t anything special. 
His fingers dig into the back of your thighs, keeping you close as he works. 
Soon a lapping sound is heard, and Coriolanus leaves your cunt with a kiss.
You try one more time to dissuade him. Telling him to wait until home. But he unbuckles his belt and hoists you up around his waist. 
Your arms circle his shoulders as he pins you to the wall.
You can feel how hard he is against your heat. He bucks up against your wetness in desperation before he lines himself up properly. 
You engulf him in your wetness as he thrusts his hips up into you. 
With no way to hold yourself up, you feel yourself sink and then be thrusted up into.
“Are you going to give me a baby?” He grunts.
He is fast and rough as he slams up into you. His words were heard but your mind was far from them.  
“Yeah?” He teases. His lips go to your neck again, trapping you head against the wall. 
He seemed to continuously hit the spot that you liked, no matter how you moved your hips. 
The pressure means you come too quickly. Coriolanus was nowhere close so would continue. 
You can’t help to groan as he fucks you through your orgasm. 
He reminds you to be quiet once more, and you bite his shoulder to stop the sounds you couldn’t stop coming. 
He knew you had come from the way you clenched around him. 
Taking the back of your neck, he leans you into his shoulder and wraps an arm around your waist. 
He delivers you to the floor, releasing you gently into the tight confines of the cluttered room.
“Think you can manage another one?” He asks. 
You shake your head ‘No’, your words failed you as he continued his brutal pace. 
“I think you could,” he states. 
He uses two fingers to circle your pearl as he drives into you.
The door had no lock. Anyone could open it and see you. 
You were being too loud. You knew you were. But he forced the sounds from you. Your whole body tingled under his touch, your legs shook with pleasure. 
He was not being entirely quiet himself. He grunted and shutters above you feeling his own end coming. 
You feel him twitch in your preceding his exploding into you. 
He beats you but doesn’t stop swirling his fingers, determined to have you finish again. 
You come too loudly causing Coriolanus to cover your mouth with an open palm and look to the door, expecting detection. 
His hand is pulled and with a kiss, Coriolanus pulls back on his ankles with a stupid grin. 
He uses your panties to clean up the excess cum from you before placing the underwear back on you. 
If you had any energy, you would have taken them back off but all you could do was lie there, watching him transform back into a respectable gentleman. 
“We have to get back out there before they send Peacekeepers looking for us.” 
He finishes tucking his shirt back into his pants before reaching down to help you to your feet. 
You’re a little wobbly at first but Coriolanus keeps a firm grip to keep you upright. 
You spend the rest of the fundraiser with damp panties and shaky legs which causes you to bump into Coriolanus as he stands next to you. 
The stupid grin never leaves his face, even in the car ride home. 
Your children are asleep when you arrive home. 
You leave them with a kiss, before going back to your room and rushing to beat Coriolanus to bed while he is occupied going through the messages left for him. 
He joins you in the shower but it’s quick and with the intention of going to bed. 
He talks about the night. Recalling things he enjoyed and disliked. 
He asks you what you think but you shrug. All Capitol events were the same to you. 
You finish your shower while Coriolanus washes his hair. Giving you time to dress and get into bed before him. 
You roll to your side, hoping that the supply closet tryst fulfilled him enough. 
You feel him as he moves in the bed to come over to your side, his arm wraps around your shoulder and his head rests against yours. 
“We should take the kids to the zoo tomorrow. I’ll have it cleared out.”
“Okay,” you reply, knowing that there wasn’t any other option. 
The zoo was large, and there were too many animals to see before nap time. 
Crassus got whiny and tired from all the walking and climbing on things. He demanded to be carried. Instead of using his words, he would scream when he got sick of looking at the same animal. 
Normally you would have returned home to put him down for a nap, but Coriolanus enjoyed having his son rest on his shoulder. Crassus was a mommy’s boy and very rarely wanted to be held by anyone else. 
It was not your first time at the zoo. You had taken Crassus while you were six months pregnant with Aurora. It still amazed you, however. You could spend hours just looking and learning about the animals, but Crassus was lucky to push a five hour awake period. 
It was a blessing to visit the penguins where the sound of the gentle flowing water, and cool air sent him to sleep on Coriolanus' shoulder. 
You pushed the pram that Aurora was asleep in as you and Coriolanus searched for a comfortable resting place.
Finding a canopy, you sit with your family in the shade. Coriolanus had successfully transferred Crassus from his shoulder to the bench with his head resting on his father's thigh. 
Coriolanus’s other leg went out to gently rock the pram with his expensive shoe. 
You lay back resting your eyes yourself. Crassus had woken you up from a nightmare. With him in your bed, you got very little sleep as he tossed and spread out. 
Coriolanus disturbs your peace by reaching out to place a hand on your stomach as if there was something already inside. 
“What do you think it will be?” he asks. 
“We don’t know there is anything in there.” 
Coriolanus had wanted you to take a test this morning but it was chaos trying to get the children ready for the day. 
“I don’t care what it is myself. I was thinking Marcellus for a boy, and Lillian for a girl”. 
You cry at the thought of being pregnant again. It was a horrible experience. It was uncomfortable, tiring, and you suffered great nausea all throughout the nine months. That's all before the recovery period while you run around after two other children.
“Hey,” his voice is soft and reassuring. He stops rocking the pram to reach his hand to yours. 
The hand that wasn’t captured by Coriolanus went to your mouth to quieten your blathering. You were always cautious about what the children saw.
“If it’s too much I’ll let you get a nanny to help during the day” he offers. 
You rip your hand out from under him in anger, “I don’t want a nanny.” 
You didn’t trust Capitol people to be around your children. Only when you were forced to where you parted from them. They were too young. They needed their mother. 
“You’re tired,” he pandered. His hand wraps around your shoulder to pull you down to his lap. You rest your head on his thigh like your son, and find your eyes shut by themselves. 
You feel his fingers itch your head until you are asleep. Coriolanus waits until your breath evens before returning to rock the pram with his hand. With his arm rested over his oldest child, and his hand lulling his baby girl to sleep, Coriolanus felt a swell of pride.  
His family slept under his protection and lead. Pamen had entered into a new golden age. All paths led him here. 
You woke to the sound of Aurona crying which woke and upset Crassus. 
On instinct, you shoot up from Coriolanus to retrieve your baby girl. She needed to be fed again, but Crassus was now rejecting Coriolanus’s hold, wanting to be picked up by you. 
You oblige him when his face starts to turn red from crying. You feel their tears on either side of your collarbones. Their screams rang in your ear. 
Coriolanus stretches his dead legs, slowly easing himself up to place a hand on Crassus' back.
“Let's get ice cream,” he bribes. 
Crasuss turns his head to look at his father and nods.
With a bright smile, Coriolanus claps his hands together before opening them wide, “Come to daddy?” He asks. 
You never let him get ice cream at the zoo. It was too close to nap time. So with the promise Crassus eagerly goes into his father's arms. 
At the ice cream shop you could feed Aurona but it took far longer than normal with the anxiety that you were pregnant with your third. Something told you that you were.
It was a boy. A gorgeous baby boy. Doll was your nickname for him, but Coriolanus officially names him Adrianus. He cried very little, and at six weeks old he slept through the night. He latched easily, and from 3 to 4 in the afternoon, he would laugh insatiably at everything. He was a dream child. You were very happy with him, despite his initial undesired conception. 
Life settled for a little bit as Coriolanus worked to quell a quiet rebellion brewing in the Districts. 
For a year Coriolanus was kept busy. His mind off expanding his family. 
For the moment he was happy with the three wonderful kids you had given him. Something you could share. Three young kids, five and under,  left you exhausted by the end of the day, yet when the day was over and the kids were asleep, Coriolanus demanded your attention. 
Coriolanus was not immune to jealousy even from his own kids. You had learnt to give him enough attention during the day when he was around but it only starved him off until night time. He rarely talked about work. Only upcoming events that concern you. He was more interested in you recounting every single thing the kids did. 
After having the kids hang off you all day, your least favorite thing to do was have Coriolanus all over you. But when it was his time, he followed you everywhere you went. Insisting that you sat on the couch with him for an hour. He didn’t feel like it was much, but you felt as if it was the last bit of energy zapped out of you. 
You normally got a break when Coriolanus returned home from work. He started early so normally he was home in the late afternoon. While you had lots of staff to help you with chores and cooking, you preferred to do it yourself. It gave you a routine that you could go auto-pilot on. 
From five to six every day you were in your kitchen while Coriolanus watched the children. Capitol food took some getting used to. Half of the meat you had never even seen before. Coriolanus organized cooking lessons to help you as a Mother’s Day gift. 
Dinner was often followed by free play if they weren’t too messy, allowing you time to feed Adrianus. It was important that he had your full attention as you fed as he was so quiet that you might miss a cue of his discomfort. 
Crassus sat coloring at the kitchen table while you were in the kitchen trying to feed your youngest boy, Adrianus, who had just turned one
Coriolanus sat next to his son watching as your daughter Aurora showed off her expensive ball gown that her father had brought her simply because she wanted it. ‘No’ was not in Coriolanus’s vocabulary when it came to his children. 
He held out accessories in his palm for her as she explained what they were and where they went. 
Despite ruling a country with an iron fist, at home, it was you who disciplined the children. He let them run wild, while you tried to raise them to be respectable, and moral children. Your work mostly paid off. They were good children. 
Aurora having free reign over her father and older brother, who both bent over backwards to please her, was spoiled. Her tantrums were something you were yet to stop, but she was sweet when not disappointed which was more often than not. 
She only had to cry and Coriolanus would pick her up, giving her what she wanted. It annoyed you to no end. If your marriage was equal, you would push more for him to discipline the kids, but Coriolanus only ever gave you the illusion of partnership. 
“Mummy, how did you meet Daddy?” Crassus asks out of nowhere as he draws. 
The small spoon in your hand drops to the floor as memories that you had buried spring up. The stalking, the harassment, the loss of freedom. You remember the late nights as your mother cried out from pain from the flogging that he ordered. 
“Mummy used to own a cake shop, and Daddy would go by every morning before University to buy one.” Coriolanus answered for you. He reaches out and brushes Crassus' hair lovingly. 
“Dad, you can’t have cake for breakfast!” Aurora exclaimed. 
“Oh, but I did! Your mother would make them special for me.” 
You close your eyes remembering the words, ‘Can you make me some more of those oat bars.’ A demand, not a gesture on your behalf. You remember the hard wall behind you as he pressed you there. Just the thought of it brought your heart back into your throat as if it was happening all over again.
“She doesn’t let me have cake for breakfast!” Aurora complained. Tears sprang to her eyes causing Crassus to push a lollypop you had given him for eating his dinner across the table, trying to fight off his sister's tears. 
Coriolanus picks her up from the floor and places her on his knee so she can cry into his arms. 
“Darling, these are special cakes. Ones you give to someone you want to marry.” 
You remember the cakes you used to make Edmund. Edmund, you hadn’t thought about him in years, yet the scar on your heart never healed. 
“Not growing little girls.” Still, your daughter cried, which displeased Coriolanus. 
He rises from the table with Aurora in his arms and heads into the fridge. 
“Let's see if Mum baked any for you”. 
Your youngest son begins to cry from hunger which snaps you out of your spiraling. With your daughter receiving a cupcake and your son resuming feeding, the room is calm once more. But your hand shook as your mind flooded with memories of Commander Snow. 
Moments later, Crassus presented you with a picture of two stick figures surrounded by out-of-proportion cupcakes. You stared at it with the weight of your baby resting on your hip. 
Just like that Coriolanus had rewritten history. Commander Snow was a distant dream. District 12 a vague thought. Lucy Gray no longer haunted the woods. No longer made Coriolanus Snow the victor of the 10th Hunger Games. The war scar had faded. He had fixed history’s mistakes. 
He had taken his rightful place as President of Pamen. Only you were left to remember him as Commander Snow. 
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The end!
Thank you all for reading, and coming along for the journey. Especially to those who commented and motivated me to write. This story would not have been complete without you.
A HUGE thank you to @hotline-to-hell for editing the work, and restructuring the mess.
And a HUGE thank you to @thaleleah and (who i assume is the same) anon who took the time out to encourage me with their long, and hilarious feedback.
Hope to see you all in my other works!
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